being killed outright in the end to abandoning the consumption of their favorite delicacy.
There is a low ragged rock just off shore, but a little distance from the natural bridge, which is a favorite resort for the sea-lions, and hundreds of the unwieldy monsters may be seen disporting themselves there at almost any time. A few years since, a party from San Francisco came down to the natural bridge for a picnic, and while the men were preparing the lunch at the upper end of the cañon, a lady of the party strolled down to the beach under the main arch. The tide was low, and, as she went down by the water's edge, she saw lying alongside the abutment of the bridge, in the sun, a monster dead sea-lion, or what seemed to be such. The carcass did not emit any offensive smell, and she concluded the animal had just been shot. Going up to it without fear, she stood looking at it for some minutes, and finally gave it a vigorous poke with the end of her parasol. In an instant the party in the cañon above were alarmed by wild screams, and the lady, half frantic with terror, came running up toward them, with the infuriated monster struggling after her and uttering hoarse roars of rage as he vainly sought to keep up with her in her hurried flight. He was not dead, but sleeping, and the poke in the ribs which she had given him had awakened him and infuriated him at the same time. The men ran down to meet her, and, having luckily revolvers at hand, despatched the brute with repeated shots. I saw his body lying there, and measured it; it was fully twelve feet in length from tip to tip, and must
