to be the leader of that press. In addition to the Alta California, there is the Bulletin, also a firstclass paper, while the Morning Call is a journal filled with chit-chat and gossip, retailed with a view to piquancy and effect, and without marked consideration for the rules of etiquette and the canons of good taste. Among weekly journals, the Golden City and Sunday Mercury are what Americans would call 'real live papers.' A monthly magazine entitled the Overland Monthly has recently been established. Already, it is acknowledged to be one of the best among American periodicals. Severa English periodicals of repute are infinitely inferior to it. With considerable difficulty could many magazines be named which are both better written and more worthy of being read through from the first page to the last. Its articles on the affairs of China, Japan, and of the Pacific slope, are filled with details which are invaluable. Having become acquainted with the press of this city, I am disposed to concur with the compiler of a guide-book, who, after naming the several journals, and indicating their character, thus concludes his remarks:- If among these papers you can find nothing to suit you, nothing new, why, then, we advise you to read the Bible, and profit by its teachings.'

When the citizens of San Francisco are anxious

to exchange the air of the city for that of the open country, they can easily gratify their longing. If they sail across the bay to Alameda or Oakland, they are in a beautiful country and surrounded by Santa Clara and San Matteo, on the

new scenes.

south, can be reached by rail, and there sights which recall the magic gardens of the Arabian Nights may be beheld and enjoyed. A shorter and more popular excursion is to the Cliff House, which is five miles distant from the city, and built on the shore of the Pacific Ocean. In front of the house

may be seen the sea lions, a species of seal, gambolling on the rocks, over which the heavy ocean swell rolls and foams. In the house itself a pleasant meal may be enjoyed. Indeed, the Cliff House is to San Francisco what the Trafalgar at Greenwich is to London, and what Taft's at Point Shirley is to Boston.

283

XXI.

THE TIGERS' AND CHINESE IN SAN FRANCISCO.

ONE afternoon, after having been treated to drinks at the bar of the Cosmopolitan Hall by Californian friends, I had some interesting talk with a gentleman to whom I had been introduced, and with whom, as with several others, I had formed a drinking acquaintance. He was a man of middle age, of quiet demeanour and pleasant manners. He resembled a gentleman who had retired from business after having made his fortune as a banker or a solicitor. Like the rest of his countrymen he conversed with fluency on the most various topics, from the prospects of gold-mining to the nature of the Alabama claims. He resembled his countrymen also in being as cocksure about everything' as Lord Melbourne asserted that Macaulay was. I had previously been fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of distinguished lawyers, and of one who was about to leave the bar for the career of diplomacy, having been appointed United States

Minister at an Eastern court. Between these gentlemen, one of whom now occupies the highest judicial office in the gift of the citizens of San Francisco, the Minister to whom I have referred, others who were considered notable men by their fellow-countrymen, and the gentleman of agreeable talk and smooth demeanour, no external difference was perceptible. Shortly before parting he told me that he was engaged in the pasteboard business, and that I might possibly like to visit his establishment. As I had come here in order to see everything of a novel and interesting kind, I expressed my readiness to pay a visit to his pasteboard manufactory. Perceiving that I had misapprehended him, my acquaintance entered into an explanation, in the course of which he asked me if I had ever heard of Faro, and if I knew the meaning of Fighting the Tiger.' Soon afterwards I learned that I was conversing with the keeper of one of the most notable among the gaming hells of San Francisco. He was a prosperous man and a respected citizen. He courteously invited me to visit his establishment, which, he said, I should find open all the night. He added that he would rather I did not play, as he should regret were I to lose money after having come at his invitation. These kindly sentiments I reciprocated, assuring him that he

would not grieve more bitterly and sincerely than I should were I to lose my money while madly engaged in Fighting the Tiger.' The following description of what I saw will give a fair notion of these banks as a whole, without reference to any particular one.

Admittance into a Faro Bank is not always a matter of course. At Sacramento, indeed, the one which I visited was accessible to any who ascended the stairs leading to it. All of them appear to be on the first floor, both in Sacramento and San Francisco. The visitor rings a bell, and before the door is opened he is generally reconnoitred through a small aperture or grating. As soon as the guardian is satisfied, either from appearances, or from personal knowledge, or from the inspection of a card in the proprietor's handwriting, that no objection exists, the door is opened, the visitor takes a few steps forward, and is brought face to face with the Tiger.' He sees what he is told is a Faro table. This table is small, and will not accommodate more than six or eight persons. The dealer occupies one side, and sits with his back to the wall. Facing him, one of the players holds a marking-board, on which the cards, whereof the chances are exhausted, are scored for the information alike of the players and the lookers-on. A