Mountain," from which its name has been derived. The grounds embrace one hundred and sixty acres, inclosed with a handsome fence. There are many beautiful spots within this space. Delightful dells, scooped out among the hills, with the evergreen oaks bordering and fringing their quiet beauty; valleys smiling all over with flowers, of every hue, and knolls covered with shrubs, rejoicing in their crowns of white lilac. The views are as various and sudden as the avenues and their turnings. There are portions full of hidden springs, and, in a word, the spot is capable of being made one of the most delightful in California. More than twenty miles of avenues have been laid out, cleared, and sufficiently graded. These are as serpentine and zigzag as nature herself could dictate. Sweeping round the hill-sides, running through the vales and dingles, suddenly turning at acute or obtuse angles, now in a straight line, now a curve, all of the grounds, when completed, will form one of the most curious and beautiful diagrams imaginable. It is intended to give each avenue the name of one of the cemeteries in the Eastern States, for instance Laurel Hill, Mount Auburn, Greenwood, Oak Hill, Cypress Grove. By the side of many of these avenues, the evergreen vales and various charming shrubs and flowers, some of them in full bloom, extend like an artificial fringe, and form a quiet shade over the spaces destined for a last still repose.

THE first " 'great" fire occurred on the 24th of December, 1849. Some such calamity had been dreaded through the months of high winds, by all who took into consideration the exceedingly inflammable nature of the buildings. Thin boards, cloth, and paint, were tempting inviters of the destroyer. When it did. come, it spread like a pestilence; and although the windy season had passed, it consumed completely the most flourishing portion of the city. Dennison's Exchange, in which the fire originated, was ceiled with cotton cloth, and that was painted. Instantly this was on fire, and the whole building was burning before the neighborhood was aroused, it being not yet quite six o'clock in the morning. Scarcely a breath of wind was stirring to fan the fiery flame. At once the citizens crowded to the scene. Then the din of a thousand voices arose amid the crash of falling frames, the jingling of battered windows, the sharp sound of

axes; and, above all this, the roar of the devouring element, which now surged wildly round the Parker House, from the windows and doors of which, at both ends, dense clouds of smoke rolled forth. Just then the cry of "stored powder" was raised, and a general stampede of five or six thousand persons ensued. So rapidly spread the flames, that the conflagration was at once like a lion broke loose, defying all control. On, and still onward, it went and spread-water, labor, powder, every thing seemed powerless to stay it. Glutted at last, when half the square was in ashes, nothing but smoke from burning cinders, like the breath from the red nostrils of a dying monster, was to be seen, where so recently had stood the works of human skill and labor. More than a million of dollars had been destroyed in the property thus turned to ashes.

But those who had suffered did not wait for the embers to grow dim, and the cinders to disappear, before applying anew their native energy. At once new buildings were in process of erection-built-occupied, and the business of the section again travelling its former course almost before the smoke had sped away from sight. Four months rolled away, the city had revived, and prosperity smiled in all her streets. Even the blackened district, blasted by the fire of December, had put on a glow of health. Just then, on the morning of the 4th of May, 1850, the second great fire commenced, almost on the very site of the previous one, and within a few hours swept away three entire blocks, destroying property to the estimated amount of four millions of dollars. But, again, with more than former energy, the people went ahead, and within ten days from the time of the fire, more than half the burnt district was covered with new buildings.

This enterprise and energy were doomed not long to press onward unchecked. Already the fire-fiend felt again the cravings of hunger, and hovered around, preparatory to his third dreadful meal. Ashes had been hidden by new structures. Timber and brick had followed close upon the track of the devastator, charred timbers had given place to beautiful dwellings, and streets filled with active men took the place of those so lately swept by the living flames. But change is the order of

life, of nations, and of cities. The 14th of June, 1850, came, and with it the third of those dreadful devastations which seemed sent, like the serpent of old, to destroy the young Hercules in its cradle. This fire has been so fully spoken of elsewhere in this book, that it may be only necessary here to say, that it exceeded in extent and loss both of those which had preceded it. Like those, it was frightful, as well from its rapidity as from the completeness of the destruction. It was in a different location from the fires already noticed, being more to the south, and reaching to the bay. As before, efforts to check it availed not. The same causes aided the spread of the flames. and, besides, the summer sea-breezes were at full blast. So it devoured until satisfied. When the fiery meal was done, the citizens, like lively waiters at the fire-king's board, cleared away the rubbish, and set a new meal, more tempting than before. The appetite and digestion of the consumer seems to have been unimpaired by these repasts. Not yet glutted, he did not long endure the pangs of hunger, but once more sat down to breakfast at public expense.

At about four o'clock on the morning of the 17th of September, 1850, the startling cry of "Fire! fire!" alarmed the wakeful, and aroused the sleeping, with a suddenness and terror that an earthquake could not have produced. Perhaps in no other place in the wide world could that fearful cry create at once such general alarm and terror, and throw every individual of the community into such sudden and overwhelming excitement. So many whirlwinds of destruction had swept over the devoted city at short intervals, and with such fearful strides, that the whole community was as excitable as if they had stood on the brink of a crater. In a few minutes the streets were full of people, and the fire companies were on a full run for the scene. rapidly did the flames spread, that for a long time all efforts to arrest them seemed utterly vain.

But so

At first the atmosphere was perfectly calm, but the winds increased as rapidly as the flames, whirling the black masses of smoke, the lurid sheets of fire, and immense quantities of blazing cinders aloft, and in all directions. The conflagration spread on every side. From the "Philadelphia House," on the north side

of Jackson street, where the fire commenced, it extended instantly in all directions, notwithstanding several buildings were at once torn down. The speed of the terrible courser was too rapid for those who contested the field with him. Of the entire square, bounded by Jackson, Kearny, Pacific, and Dupont streets, the "Polka" was the only building saved. On the south side of Jackson street every thing was swept away up to the plaza, and east to Kearny street, leaving between the latter and Dupont street only the "Alta California" office, the California, Lafayette, and Excellent restaurants, and two dwellinghouses.

Below Kearny street, the whole row on the east side was destroyed, with the exception of the Verandah. About one hundred and twenty-five buildings were consumed. The entire loss could not be ascertained with any degree of accuracy. It was far less in proportion to the space burned over than at any of the previous fires, from the fact that a large portion of the buildings destroyed were of one story, and small. The total loss was estimated at amounts varying from two hundred and fifty thousand to one million of dollars. Probably three hundred thousand dollars would have been a fair estimate. That the buildings cost more, vastly, than they were worth at the time of the fire, is undoubtedly a fact. Many of them were mere shanties, and were easily replaced, and at a cost much less than that for which the first ones had been erected.

To those who had leisure, and a position suitable to take a view of the whole sea of flame, and who could divest themselves of the sensations of pain incident to the occasion, it was a grand, a sublime sight. The entire city was illuminated with a fierce glow of light, and the surrounding hills sent back again its reflective brilliancy, accompanied by ten thousand echoes of crackling timbers, rushing flames, the quick strokes of the engines, rattling of carts and wagons, the wrenching of falling houses, the roar and the tumult of thousands upon thousands struggling almost hopelessly against their dread enemy, which swayed to and fro in terrible mockery of human effort. The greedy flames shot forth their dry, forked, snake-like tongues, lapping at every thing within their reach, as if conscious of their own malignity