The San Francisco call., 1898-01-16

sick mate. who has made no friends in Frisco" and doesn't like the place. told us Gas we watched the grain being put in the hold), how they pack frozen meat in the Australian and New Zealand ships.
 "Ev'rry carcass of them tied In cal leo sheet and covered with frrost. On 1t might be hot day, on on deck you'd be sweltering, while down there'-he pointed to the hold-'ye'd see the men clapping their arms aboot, trying to get warm"
 On down toward town again, through the grain sheds. untenanted save for the myriads of sparrows. who keep up ceaseless twittering in the dark rafters; paean of praise. doubtless, to God for a great harvest, and to man for gather ing the wheat and providentially ripping up a bag or two. Past groups of labor CTS now, contentedly smoking their aft er-lunch clay pipes, beneath unobtrusive prohibitive signs
 
 Here's Ffsherman's wharf. You'd know 1t before you saw it, for your sense of smell would forewarn you. But it's worth seeing-the most picturesque sight about the bay.
 All the jaunty fishing smacks are lying bobbing upon the waves in the rectangu- lar space inclosed by the pier. Their sails are furled but the diagonal lines of their tall, slanted masts show clear against the sky, which is blue, now that the sun is higher.
 This red-shirted. lack-mustached fel- low has a whole boatload of shad and striped bass, caught up in the Sacramen- to. He and the sunburned boy who helps him, load basket after basket full of the fish, their gills red with blood; and the merchant in shirtsleeves above on the wharf hauls up the catch. The other boats are covered thick with silver her ring. There are founders, too, and up on the wharf great sacks full of drowned and smothered mudhens.
 Watch young Italia. He's interesting A baby about years old, with a warm tinted face and dark eyes and clothes his mother made, of course. What tailor could turn out trousers such as these guaranteed 10 be of the same width top and bottom? The little fellow slings a dozen birds over his stout round arm and marches off to do his share toward supplying San Francisco's housewives with these poor, wreJched looking, un- bled birds.
 Two others of his kind, a few years older are rolling hoops in the market place, where no one exposes his wares, incidentally These two are smoking ci- garettes. They wear upon their heads crocheted red caps like their fathers. One has rubber boots and the other shoes that he can hardly keep upon his feet. Their clothes are beyond descrip- tion and yet with an absurd resemblance to those the fishermen outside wear.
 Up on the long side of the rectangle the red-brown nets lie drying in the sun. Look at this old fellow, who sits mending his triple net. He wears a great sealskin cap like a Russians kaftan, but with an absurd single, mangy fur tassel hang ing down in front. His rubber boots reach nearly to the thigh. What trousers | one may see are of the latest rough ma terial milady wears, green, tufted. Where | outside of a dry-goods store did he get | these? His shirt is of bluish green and i his coat is dark blue. He has a mustache l fierce enough for Tartarin and a smile as l gentle as Q child's. He weaves his bone shuttle in and out. using the toe of his great boot to hold the net taut l Here is a swarthy-faced artist mains. | takingly painting a slender line of dark | blue on his loved Savoia There ia 2 1 Tam O Shantered Slovenian painting the | bottom of the Reformo the most shrIeJx. l ing of scarlets, while above there is blue 1 and white. There is the Garibaldf lvine keel up in the sun. Here are the Rosetta the Lucia and all the rest of the pretty | Italian names.
 This is really Loungers' Wharf. It's E place to lie and dream, and, if others fin. sist upon working, why. to watch then work The men lie outstretched against the sides of their boats, their pipes be tween their teeth, their eyes narrowed partly through sheer physical comfort partly by way of tribute to the glancing shining waters of the bay.
 Look in this door and see what a beau tiful effect the sun produces. shining fl black bars through the deep blue smoke | You can barely see the faces of the mer beyond. They are tanning their net. with oak bark, and the great caldron: beneath which the fires crackle are sim mering and scenting the air.
 
 "The Alameda! The Alamedav'
 A tug goes whizzing by, men turn thei, steps toward the dock, the Ioungers leay, ! the fishermen and the smotherers--tta1