SAUSALITO
is the end of my journey. My brother lives here in a lovely home built in a niche of the mountain and fronting the Bay, which is not twenty steps from his gate. San Francisco is plainly in view directly in front, and Oakland and other cities by the Bay, are to the left. This is the terminus of a railroad which runs back in Marin county through a beautiful country. People who live here and on back for miles to San Rafael, mostly have business in the city.
They are conveyed to and from their homes by cars and boats which run every half hour. It is said there are two thousand people in this burg; but I can't see where they are. In nooks and corners of the mountains they are stuck away so that it looks more like a thickly settled country community than a town. The streets run around the mountains on easy grades so that before one is aware of it he is on a high elevation. Exercise! You can get all you want here. The back entrance to my brother's home is some four hundred feet above his house and is reached by a flight of steps almost as steep as a ladder. I have always counted myself a good walker, but I am not in it with these Californians. Both men and women are great walkers. Remarking on the great number of ruddy-faced girls and women I saw, the quick explanation was: "We have so much open weather and the air is so bracing, our people are so much out of doors; hence the ruddy cheeks." I am a