place is named; and as I took into view the wider range of the coast lands, and the blue waters of the magnificent Bay, some fifty miles in length, and, on an average, eight miles wide, and reflected on the significance which attaches to this favoured region, and the influences which go out from this seat of power, and fountain head of riches, I instinctively recalled the noble lines which the eighteenth century prophet wrote when he mused, “On the Prospect of Planting Arts and Learning in America:” 

  “Westward the course of empire takes its way;
    The four first acts already past,
  A fifth shall close the drama with the day: 
    Time’s noblest offspring is the last.”

East of us, in picturesqueness, as in a panorama spread out, were the counties of Alameda and Contra Costa, with their receding hills, and Mount Diablo, 3,855 feet in height, lifting up its head proudly.  Farther to the south was the rich and beautiful valley of Santa Clara, with its orchards and vineyards.  On the west across the Bay were the counties of San Mateo, and San Francisco, with their teeming life, covering a Peninsula twenty-six miles long, and extending up to the Golden Gate; while off to the north, and bordering on the ocean was Marin in its grandeur, crowned with Tamalpais, 2,606 feet above the sea;—­and skirting San Pablo Bay was Sonoma with its vine-clad vale.  There were the islands of the Bay also, which attracted our attention.  Not far from the Oakland pier is Goat Island rising to the height of 340 feet out of the waters, and consisting of 300 acres.  It was brown on that October morning when I first saw it, but when the rains come with refreshment in November the islands and all the surrounding country are invested with a robe of emerald green, and flowers spring up to gladden the eyes.  Goat Island was so named because goats which were brought in ships from southern ports to San Francisco, for fresh meat, were turned loose here for pasturage for a time; and as these creatures multiplied the island took their name.  But it formerly bore the more euphonious title, Yerba Buena, which means in Spanish “Good Herbs.”  Later in my journeyings to and fro I overheard a lady instructing another person as to the proper way in which to pronounce it, and she made sad work of it.  She gave the “B” the sound of the letter G. It also had another name, as you may learn from an old Spanish map of Miguel Costanso, where it is called—­Ysla de Mal Abrigo, which means that it afforded poor shelter.  It is a government possession, as also the other islands, Alcatraz and Angel.  Alcatraz, which Costanso styles, White Island, is smaller than Yerba Buena.  In its greatest elevation it is 135 feet above the Bay, and it embraces in its surface about thirty-five acres, about the same area as the Haram Esh-Sherif, or sacred enclosure of the Temple Hill in Jerusalem, with the Mosque of Omar and the Mosque el-Aksa.  On its top is a lighthouse, which, on a clear night,