A TRUTHFUL WOMAN IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA

BY KATE SANBORN

AUTHOR OF ADOPTING AN ABANDONED FARM, ETC. 

NEW YORKD. APPLETON AND COMPANY1906

COPYRIGHT, 1893, BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY. 

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER PAGE

 I. --HINTS FOR THE JOURNEY II. --AT CORONADO BEACH III. --SAN DIEGO IV. --EN ROUTE TO LOS ANGELES V. --LOS ANGELES AND ROUND ABOUT VI. --PASADENA VII. --CAMPING ON MOUNT WILSONVIII. --CATCHING UP ON THE KITE-SHAPED TRACK IX. --RIVERSIDE X. --A LESSON ON THE TRAIN XI. --SANTA BARBARA XII. --HER CITY AND COUNTYXIII. --IN GALA DRESS XIV. --AU REVOIR

A Truthful Woman in Southern California

CHAPTER I. 

HINTS FOR THE JOURNEY. 

 The typical Forty-niner, in alluring dreams, grips the Golden Fleece. 

 The _fin-de-siècle_ Argonaut, in Pullman train, flees the Cold and Grip. 

 _En Sol y la Sombra_--shade as well as sun. 

Yes, as California is. I resolve neither to soar into romance nor dropinto poetry (as even Chicago drummers do here), nor to idealize norquote too many prodigious stories, but to write such a book as I neededto read before leaving my "Abandoned Farm, " "Gooseville, " Mass. For Ihave discovered that many other travellers are as ignorant as myselfregarding practical information about every-day life here, and manyothers at home may know even less. 

So let me say that California has not a tropical, but a semi-tropicalclimate, and you need the same clothing for almost every month that isfound necessary and comfortable in New York or Chicago during thewinter. 

Bring fur capes, heavy wraps, simple woolen dresses for morning andoutdoor life; and unless rolling in wealth, pack as little as possibleof everything else, for extra baggage is a curse and will deplete aheavy purse, --that rhymes and has reason too. I know of one man who paid$300 for extra baggage for his party of fifteen from Boston to LosAngeles. 

Last year I brought dresses and underwear for every season, and for avague unknown fifth; also my lectures, causing profanity all along theline, and costing enough to provide drawing-room accommodations for theentire trip. 

Why did I come? Laryngitis, bronchitis, tonsilitis, had claimed me astheir own. Grip (I will not honor it with a foreign spelling, now it isso thoroughly acclimated and in every home) had clutched me twice--nay, thrice; doctors shook their heads, thumped my lungs, sprayed my throat, douched my nose, dosed me with cough anodynes and nerve tonics, andpronounced another winter in the North a dangerous experiment. Some ofyou know about this from personal experience. Not a human being could Iinduce to join me. If this hits your case, do not be deterred; just comeand be made over into a joyous, healthful life. I would not urge thoseto take the tedious journey who are hopelessly consumptive. Home is thebest place for such, and although I see many dragging wearily along withone lung, or even half of that, who settle here and get married andprolong existence for a few years, and although some marvellous cureshave been effected, still I say the same. 

And what is to be put in the one big trunk? Plenty of flannels of mediumthickness, a few pretty evening dresses, two blouses, silk and woolen orvelvet for morning wear, with simple skirts, a gossamer, rubbers, thickboots for long tramps and excursions, parasol, umbrella, soft hat toshade the face, and gloves for all sorts of occasions. I do not ventureto suggest anything for men, they travel so sensibly. The moreexperienced one is, the less he carries with him. 

So do not load up with portfolio and portable inkstand, your favoritestationery, the books that delighted your childhood or exerted aformative influence upon your character in youth. Deny yourself andleave at home the gold or silver toilet set, photograph album, familyBibles, heavy fancy work, gilded horseshoe for luck, etc. I know ofbright people who actually carried their favorite matches from aneastern city to Tacoma, also a big box of crackers, cheese, pickles, andpreserved fruits, only to find the best of everything in that brilliantand up-with-the-times city. One old lady brought a calla-lily in a pot!When she arrived and saw hedges and fields of lilies, hers went out ofthe window. Another lady from Boston brought a quart bottle of theblackest ink, only to spill it all upon a new carpet at Santa Barbara, costing the boarding-house keeper thirty-five dollars. Everything thatone needs can be purchased all along the way, from a quinine capsule toa complete outfit for any occasion. 

As to the various ways of coming here, I greatly prefer the SouthernPacific in winter, and Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fé in spring or summer. Either will take you from New York to San Diego and return for $137, allowing six months' stay. The "Phillips Excursion" will take you fromBoston to San Francisco for fifty-five dollars. But in this case thebeds are hard, and you provide your own meals. Some try the long voyage, twenty-three days from New York to San Francisco. It is consideredmonotonous and undesirable by some; others, equally good judges, preferit decidedly. 

I believe in taking along a loose wrapper to wear in the cars, especially when crossing the desert. It greatly lessens fatigue to beable to curl up cosily in a corner and go to sleep, with a silktravelling hat or a long veil on one's head, and the stiff bonnet orbig hat with showy plumes nicely covered in its long purse-like bag, andhanging on a hook above. The sand and alkali ruin everything, and areapt to inflame the eyes and nose. I find a hamper with strapindispensable on the train; it will hold as much as a small trunk, yetit can be easily carried. 

Now imagine you have arrived, very tired, and probably with a cold inyour head, for the close heated cars and the sudden changes of climateare trying. You may be at The Raymond, and "personally conducted. "Nothing can be better than that. But if you are alone at Los Angeles, orSan Francisco, come straight down to Coronado Beach, and begin at thebeginning--or the end, as you may think it. 

CHAPTER II. 

AT CORONADO BEACH. 

I associate Coronado Beach so closely with Warner (Charles D. ), thecultured and cosmopolitan, that every wave seems to murmur his name, andthe immense hotel lives and flourishes under the magic of his rhetoricand commendation. Just as Philadelphia is to me Wanamakerville andTerrapin, so Coronado Beach is permeated and lastingly magnetized byWarner's sojourn here and what he "was saying. "

But I must venture to find fault with his million-times-quoted adjective"unique" as it is used. It has been stamped on stationery and menucards, and has gone the world over in his volume "Our Italy, " and no oneever visits this spot who has not made the phrase his own. To me itdeserves a stronger word, or series of words. We say a pretty girl has a"unique" way of dressing her hair, or an author a "unique" way ofputting things. 

But as I look out of my window this glorious morning, and watch thetriple line of foaming waves breaking on the long beach, a silver sicklein the sunshine; the broad expanse of the Pacific, with distant sailslooking like butterflies apoise; Point Loma grandly guarding the right, and farther back the mountain view, where snowy peaks can just bediscerned over the nearer ranges; the quiet beauty of the grounds below, where borders and ovals and beds of marguerites contrast prettily withlong lines and curves of the brilliant marigolds; grass, trees, andhedges green as June--a view which embraces the palm and the pine, theocean and lofty mountains, cultivated gardens and rocky wastes, as I seeall this, I for one moment forget "unique" and exclaim, "How bold, magnificent, and unrivalled!" Give me a new and fitting adjective todescribe what I see. Our best descriptive adjectives are so recklesslyused in daily life over minute matters, that absolutely nothing is leftfor this rare combination. 

As a daughter of New Hampshire in this farthest corner of the southwest, my mind crosses the continent to the remote northeast and the greatStone Face of the Franconia Mountains. Chiselled by an Almighty hand, its rugged brow seamed by the centuries, its features scarred by thestorms of ages, gazing out over the broad land, where centre the hopesof the human race, who can forget that face, sad with the mysteries ofpain and sorrow, yet inspiring with its rugged determination, and attimes softened with the touch of sunlit hope?

Point Loma has something of the same sphinx-like grandeur, with its longbold promontory stretching out into the western waters. These two seemto be keeping watch and ward over mountain and sea: each appropriate inits place and equally impressive. There the stern prophet surveying thehome of great beginnings, the cradle of creative energy; and here, itscounterpart, a mighty recumbent lion, its dreamy, peaceful gaze turnedwith confidence out over the wide Pacific to the setting sun, withassurance of ultimate success, a pledge of aspirations satisfied, ofachievements assured, of----Whoa there! Hello! This to my runawaysteeds, Imagination and Sentiment. Brought back by a passing bell-boy, Ishall now keep a tighter rein. 

But when one first breathes the air of California, there is a curiousexaltation and excitement, which leads on irresistibly. This is oftenfollowed by a natural depression, sleepiness, and reaction. But thatview never changes, and I know you will say the same. A florid, effervescent, rhapsodical style seems irresistible. One man of uncommonbusiness ability and particularly level head caught the spirit of theplace, and wrote that "the most practical and unpoetical minds, too, come here and go away, as they afterward gingerly admit, carrying withthem the memory of sunsets emblazoned in gold and crimson upon cloud, sea, and mountain; of violet promontories, sails, and lighthousesetched against the orange of a western sky; of moonlight silveringbreeze-rippled breadths of liquid blue; of distant islands shimmering insun-lit haze; of sunrises with crowns of glory chasing the vapory, fleece-like shadows from the wet, irridescent beach, and silhouettingthe fishermen's sails in the opalescent tints of a glassy sea. "

Some temperaments may not be affected at all. But the first morning Ifelt like leaping a five-barred fence, and the next like lying downanywhere and sleeping indefinitely. I met a distinguished Boston artistrecently, who had just arrived. The day was superb. He seemed in asemi-delirium of ecstasy over everything. His face glowed, his eyesshone, his hands were full of flowers. He said, "My heart jumps so I'mreally afraid it will jump out of my body. " The next morning he waswholly subdued. It had poured all night, and the contrast wasdepressing. A six-footer from Albany was in the sleepy state. "If Idon't pull out soon, " he said, "I shall be bedridden. I want to sleepafter breakfast, or bowling, or bath, or my ride or dinner, and reallylong to go to bed by nine. "

There has probably been more fine writing and florid rhetoric aboutCalifornia than any other State in the Union. 

The Hotel del Coronado is a mammoth hostelry, yet homelike in everypart, built in a rectangle with inner court, adorned with trees, flowers, vines, and a fountain encircled by callas; color, pure white, roofs and chimneys red; prevailing woods, oak, ash, pine, and redwood. 

All around the inner court a series of suites of rooms, each with itsown bath and corner sitting-room--literally "a linkèd suiteness longdrawn out. " It is one eighth of a mile from my bedroom to my seat in thedining-room, so that lazy people are obliged to take dailyconstitutionals whether they want to or not, sighing midway for trolleyaccommodations. The dining-room may safely be called roomy, as it seatsa thousand guests, and your dearest friends could not be recognized atthe extreme end. Yet there is no dreary stretch or caravansary effect, and to-day every seat is filled, and a dozen tourists waiting at thedoor. 

Every recreation of city or country is found in this little world:thirty billiard-tables, pool, bowling, tennis, polo, bathing (wherebucking barrel-horses and toboggan slides, fat men who produce tidalwaves, and tiny boys who do the heroic as sliders and divers, make funfor the spectators), hunting, fishing, yachting, rowing, riding tohounds, rabbit hunts, pigeon shoot, shooting-galleries, driving, coaching, cards, theatre, ballroom, lectures, minstrels, exhibitions ofthe Mammoth and Minute from Yosemite with the stereopticon, to Pacificsea-mosses, the ostrich farm, the museum or maze for a morning hour, dressing or undressing for evening display, watching the collection ofhuman beings who throng everywhere with a critical or humorous eye, finding as much variety as on Broadway or Tremont Street;dancing-classes for children; a chaperon and a master of ceremonies forgrown folks; a walk or drive twelve miles long on a smooth beach at lowtide, not forgetting the "dark room" for kodak and camera f--amateurs. 

You see many athletic, fine-looking men, who ride daringly and ride tokill. Once a week the centre of the office is filled with game:rabbits, quail, snipe, ducks, etc. , everything here--but an undertaker. And old Ocean eternally booming (the only permanent boom I know of inSouthern California). 

And that is what you see and hear at the Hotel del Coronado. The summerclimate is better than the winter--never too warm for comfort, themercury never moving for weeks. I expected constant sunshine, asuccession of June's fairest days, which would have been monotonous, tosay nothing of the effect upon crops and orchards. The rainy season isnecessary and a blessing to the land-owners, hard as it is for "lungers"and the nervous invalids who only feel well on fine days and complainunreasonably. 

Ten inches is the average needed just here. Rain is rainy and wetweather is wet, but the ground dries as soon as the pelting shower isover. I do not find the raw, searching dampness of our Eastern seashoreresorts. Here we are said to have "dry fogs" and an ideal marineatmosphere, but it was too cold for comfort during the March rains forthose not in robust health. 

As I sit in the upper gallery and watch the throng issuing from thedining-room, I make a nice and unerring social distinction between theToothpick Brigade who leave the table with the final mouthfulsemi-masticated, and those who have an air of finished contentment. 

The orchestra is unusually good, giving choice selections admirablyexecuted. I have not decided whether music at meals is a blessing orotherwise. If sad, it seems a mockery; if gay, an interruption. For oneextremely sensitive to time and tune it is difficult to eat to slowmeasures. And when the steak is tough and a galop is going on above, itis hard to keep up. 

Among the many fleeting impressions of faces and friends here, one ortwo stand out clearly and indelibly--stars of the first magnitude in thenebulæ--as dear Grandma Wade from Chicago, the most attractive old ladyI ever met: eighty-three years old, with a firm step, rotund figure, andsweet, unruffled face, crowned with the softest snow-white curls, onwhich rests an artistic cap trimmed with ribbons of blue or delicateheliotrope, and small artificial flowers to match. I have known severalinteresting octogenarians, but never one that surpassed her inloveliness, wit, and positive jollity. Her spontaneous fun is betterthan the labored efforts of many a famous humorist. 

She still has her ardent admirers among men as well as women, and nowand then receives an earnest proposal from some lonely old fellow. 

The last of these aged lovers, when refused and relegated to theposition of a brother, urged her to reconsider this important matter, making it a subject of prayer. But she quietly said, "I'm not going tobother the Lord with questions I can answer myself. " When choked by abread-crumb at table, she said to the frightened waiter, as soon as shehad regained her breath, "Never mind, if that did go down the wrong way, a great many good things have gone down the right way this winter. "

She is invariably cheerful, and when parting with her son for the wintershe said, "Well, John, I want to know before I go just what you haveleft me in your will!" which little joke changed a tear into a smile. 

Even when ill she is still bright and hopeful, so that a friendexclaimed, "Grandma, I do believe you would laugh if you were dying;"and she replied, "Well, so many folks go to the Lord with a long face, Iguess He will be glad to see one come in smiling. "

Oh, how repulsive the artificial bloom, the cosmetics and hair-dyeswhich make old age a horror, compared with her natural beauty! God blessand keep dear Grandma Wade!

Little "Ted" is another character and favorite, and his letter to hisnurse in New York gives a good idea of how the place affects a bright, impressionable child. 

 "My dear Julia: _It is a dummy near the hotel and it takes five days to come here and there is an island right beyond the boat house and they have a pigeon shoot every week. And there is six hundred people here Julia, one hundred and fifty came yesterday. _

 "_There is a mountin across the river and a house very far away by itself, Julia. I play in the sand every day of my life, and I take swimming lessons and I have two oranges. California is the biggest world in the country and there is a tree very, very far away. Julia it is a puzzle walk near the hotel, Rose and me went all through it and Julia, we got our way out easy. _"

He has it all. All the trees are cultivated here, so I looked round forthe one Ted spoke of, and find it lights up at night and revolves forthe aid of the mariners. I think that all Californians echo hissentiment that "California is the biggest world in the country"; andcompared with the hard work of the New England farmers, what is thecultivation of orchards but playing in the sand with golden oranges?Some one says that Californians "irrigate, cultivate, and exaggerate. "

Charles Nordhoff, the veteran journalist and author, lives within sightof the hotel (which he pronounces the most perfect and charming hotel heknows of in Europe or America), in a rambling bungalow consisting ofthree small cottages moved from different points and made into one. Hebelieves in California for "health, pleasure, and residence. " It is arare privilege to listen to his conversation, sitting by his open fireor at his library table, or when he is entertaining friends at dinner. 

So ends my sketch of Coronado. Coronado! What a perfect word! Musical, euphonious, regal, "the crowned"! The name of the governor of NewGalicia, and captain-general of the Spanish army, sent forth in 1540 insearch of the seven cities of Cibola. General J. H. Simpson, U. S. A. , has written a valuable monograph on "Coronado's March, " which can befound in the Smithsonian Report for 1869. 

I intend to avoid statistics and history on the one side, andextravagant eulogy on the other. 

Now we will say good-by to our new friends, take one more look at PointLoma, and cross the ferry to San Diego. 

CHAPTER III. 

SAN DIEGO. 

 "The truly magnificent, and--with reason--famous port of San Diego. "--_From the first letter of Father Junipero in Alto California. _

Fifteen cents for motor, ferry, and car will take you to Hotel Florence, on the heights overlooking the bay, where I advise you to stop. TheHorton House is on an open, sunny site, and is frequented by"transients" and business men of moderate means. The Brewster is afirst-class hotel, with excellent table. The Florence is not a largeboarding-house or family hotel, but open for all. It has a friendly, homelike atmosphere, without the exactions of an ultra-fashionableresort. The maximum January temperature is seventy-four degrees, whilethat of July is seventy-nine degrees, and invalid guests at this housewear the same weight clothing in summer that they do in winter. Therooms of this house are all sunny, and each has a charming ocean ormountain view. It is easy to get there; hard to go away. Arriving fromCoronado Beach, I was reminded of the Frenchman who married a quietlittle home body after a desperate flirtation with a brilliant societyqueen full of tyrannical whims and capricious demands. When this wascommented on as surprising, he explained that after playing with asquirrel one likes to take a cat in his lap. Really, it is so restfulthat the building suggests a big yellow tabby purring sleepily in thesunshine. I sat on the veranda, or piazza, taking a sun-bath, in a happydream or doze, until the condition of nirvana was almost attained. Whatday of the week was it? And the season? Who could tell? And who cares?Certainly no one has the energy to decide it. Last year, going there tospend one day, I remained for five weeks, hypnotized by myenvironments--beguiled, deluded, unconscious of the flight of time, serenely happy. Many come for a season, and wake up after five or sixyears to find it is now their home. "There seems to exist in thiscountry a something which cheats the senses; whether it be in the air, the sunshine, or in the ocean breeze, or in all three combined, I cannotsay. Certainly the climate is not the home-made common-sense article ofthe anti-Rocky Mountain States; and unreality is thrown round life--allwalk and work in a dream. "

At Coronado Beach one rushes out after breakfast for an all-dayexcursion or morning tramp; here one sits and sits, always intending togo somewhere or do something, until the pile of unanswered lettersaccumulates and the projected trips weary one in a dim perspective. Itis all so beautiful, so new, so wonderful! San Diego is the Naples ofAmerica, with the San Jacinto Mountains for a background and the bluesunlit bay to gaze upon, and one of the finest harbors in the world. Yetwith all this, few have the energy even to go a-fishing. 

Now, as a truthful "tourist, " I must admit that in the winter there aremany days when the sun does not shine, and the rainy season is notaltogether cheerful for the invalid and the stranger. Sunshine, gloriousgolden sunshine, is what we want all the time; but we do not get it. Inoticed that during the heavy rains the invalids retired to their rooms, overcome by the chill and dampness, and some were seriously ill. Butthen they would have been in their graves if they had remained in theEast. There are many charming people residing in San Diego, well, happy, useful, who know they can never safely return to their old homes. 

There has been such a rosy glamour thrown over southern California byenthusiastic romancers that many are disappointed when they fail to findan absolute Paradise. 

Humboldt said of California: "The sky is constantly serene and of a deepblue, and without a cloud; and should any clouds appear for a moment atthe setting of the sun, they display the most beautiful shades ofviolet, purple, and green. "[1]

[Footnote 1: Humboldt had never been in Alta California, and procuredthis information in Mexico or Spain. ]

Now, after reading that, a real rainy day, when the water leaks throughthe roof and beats in at the doors, makes a depressed invalid feel likea drenched fowl standing forlornly on one leg in the midst of a NewEngland storm. With snow-covered mountains on one side and the oceanwith its heavy fogs on the other, and the tedious rain pouring down withgloomy persistence, and consumptives coughing violently, and physicianshurrying in to attend to a sudden hemorrhage or heart-failure, the sceneis not wholly gay and inspiriting. But when the sun comes forth againand the flowers (that look to me a little tired of blooming all thetime) brighten up with fresh washed faces, and all vegetation rejoicesand you can almost see things grow, and the waves dance and glitter, andthe mountains no longer look cold and threatening but seem like paintedscenery, _a la_ Bierstadt, hung up for our admiration, and the valleysbreathe the spicy fragrance of orange blossoms, we are once more happy, and ready to rave a little ourselves over the much-talked-of "bay 'n'climate. " But there are dangers even on the sunniest day. I know ayoung physician who came this year on a semi-professional tour, to trythe effects of inhalations on tuberculosis, and it was so delightfullywarm that he straightway took off his flannels, was careless about nightair, and was down with pneumonia. 

The tourist or traveller who writes of San Diego usually knows nothingof it but a week or two in winter or early spring. 

Southern California has fifty-two weeks in the year, and for two thirdsof this time the weather is superb. 

I can imagine even a mission Indian grunting and complaining if taken toour part of the country in the midst of a week's storm. We flee fromdeadly horrors of climate to be fastidiously critical. If, in midsummer, sweltering sufferers in New York or Chicago could be transported to thisland they would not hurry away. The heat is rarely above eighty-fivedegrees, and nearly always mitigated by a refreshing breeze from thebay. I am assured that there have not been five nights in as many yearswhen one or more blankets have not been necessary for comfort. In summereverything is serene. No rain, no thunder-storms, no hail, orwater-spouts. (The dust pest is never spoken of!) The picnic can bearranged three weeks ahead without an anxious thought about the weather. The summer sunsets are marvellously beautiful. 

One must summer and winter here before he can judge fairly, and thehyper-sensitive should tarry in New Mexico or in the desert untilspring. I believe that rheumatic or neuralgic invalids should avoid thedamp resorts to which they are constantly flocking only to bedissatisfied. Every sort of climate can be found in the State, so thatno one has the right to grumble. 

Do not take off flannels, although the perspiration does trickle downthe side of your face as you sit in the sun. A fur cape is always neededto protect one shoulder from a chilling breeze while the other side istoasted. It is not safe for new-comers to be out-of-doors after four orfive o'clock in the afternoon, nor must they ride in open cars exceptin the middle of the day. These innocent diversions give the doctorstheir support. 

Bill Nye, with his usual good sense, refused to drive in a pouring rainto view the scenery and orchards when visiting San Diego in March, andsays: "Orange orchards are rare and beautiful sights, but when I can sitin this warm room, gathered about a big coal fire, and see miles of themfrom the window, why should I put on my fur overcoat and a mackintosh inorder to freeze and cry out with assumed delight every half-mile while Igradually get Pomona of the lungs?"

There are many places worth visiting if you can rouse yourselves for theeffort. Point Loma, twelve miles distant, gives a wonderful view, one ofthe finest in the world. I warrant you will be so famished on arrivingthat you will empty every lunch-basket before attending to the outlook. National City, Sweet Water Dam, Tia Juana (Aunt Jane), La Jolla--youwill hear of all these. I have tried them and will report. 

The Kimball brothers, Warren and Frank, who came from New Hampshiretwenty-five years ago and devoted their energies to planting orchards oforanges, lemons, and olives, have made the desert bloom, and found thebusiness most profitable. You will like to watch the processes ofpickling olives and pressing out the clear amber oil, which is now usedby consumptives in preference to the cod-liver oil. Many are rubbed withit daily for increasing flesh. It is delicious for the table, but theprofits are small, as cotton-seed oil is much cheaper. Lemons pay betterthan oranges, Mr. Kimball tells me. Mrs. Flora Kimball has worked sideby side with her husband, who is an enthusiast for the rights of woman. She is progressive, and ready to help in every good work, with greatexecutive ability and a hearty appreciation of any good quality inothers. 

It does not pay to take the trip to Mexico if time is limited, there isso little of Mexico in it. After leaving the train and getting into anomnibus, the voluble darkey in charge soon shouts out, "We are nowcrossing the line, " but as no difference of scene is observed, it is notdeeply impressive. One young fellow got out and jumped back and forthover the line, so that if asked on his return if he had been to Mexicohe could conscientiously answer, "Oh yes, many times. " We were thentaken to the custom-house, where we mailed some hastily scribbledletters for the sake of using a Mexican stamp, --some preferred itstamped on a handkerchief. And near by is the curio store, where youfind the same things which are seen everywhere, and where you willdoubtless buy a lot of stuff and be sorry for it. But whatever otherfolly you may be led into, let me implore you to wholly abstain fromthat deadly concoction, the Mexican _tamale_. Ugh! I can taste mine now. 

A _tamale_ is a curious and dubious combination of chicken hash, meal, olives, red pepper, and I know not what, enclosed in a corn-husk, steamed until furiously hot, and then offered for sale by Mexicans insuch a sweet, appealing way that few can resist the novelty. It has amore uncertain pedigree than the sausage, and its effects are serious. 

A friend of mine tasted a small portion of one late at night. It waslater before she could sleep, and then terrible nightmares intruded uponher slumber. Next morning she looked so ill and enfeebled, so unlike herrosy self, that we begged to know the cause. The tale was thrilling. Shethought a civil war had broken out and she could not telegraph to herdistant spouse. The agony was intense. She must go to him with her fivechildren, and at once. They climbed mountains, tumbled into cañons, werearrested in their progress by cataracts and wild storms, and even thehostile Indian appeared in full war-paint at a point above. This awokeher, only to fall into another horrible situation. An old lover suddenlyreturned, tried to approach her; she screamed, "I am now a marriedwoman!"--he lifted his revolver, and once again she returned toconsciousness and the _tamale_, and brandy, and Brown's Jamaica ginger. If she had eaten half the _tamale_ the pistol would doubtless havecompleted its deadly work. A kind old gentleman of our party bought adozen to treat us all. We were obliged to refuse, and it was amusing towatch him in his endeavor to get rid of them. At last he made severaljourneys to the car door, throwing out a few each trip in a solemn way. He didn't want to hurt the feelings of the natives by casting them allout at once. 

Sweet Water Dam is a triumph of engineering, one of the largest dams inthe world, holding six million gallons of water, used for irrigatingranches in Sweet Water Valley; and at La Jolla you will find prettyshells and clamber down to the caves. There the stones are slippery, andan absorbing flirtation should be resisted, as the tide often intrudesmost unexpectedly, and in dangerous haste. Besides the caves theattractions are the fishing and the kelp beds. These kelp beds form asubmarine garden, and the water is so clear that one can see beautifulplants, fish, etc. , at forty or fifty feet below the sea surface--notunlike the famous sea-gardens at Nassau in the Bahamas. There is a goodhotel, open the year round. 

Lakeside is a quiet inland retreat twenty-two miles from San Diego, where many go for a little excursion and change of air. The LakesideHotel has seventy large rooms and complete appointments. The table issupplied with plenty of milk and _real_ cream from their own cows, vegetables and fruit from the neighboring ranches, game in its season, shot on the lake near by, and, in the valleys, meats from homegrownstock. The guests who are not too invalidish often go out for longdrives, never forgetting the lunch-baskets. One day we try the Alpinestage. Winding across the mesa at the rear of the hotel, we have alovely view of the little lake half hidden in the trees, reflecting inits quiet surface the mountains that rise up beyond it. Graduallyclimbing upward, we come to a tract of land that is watered by theFlume. To our surprise we learn that this is practically frostless, andthat since this has been discovered many young orchards of oranges andlemons have been planted. The red mesa land on the side-hills will notbe touched by the frosts of a cold night when the valley at its footwill have enough frost to kill all tender growth. This is a newdiscovery, and has placed thousands of acres on the market as suitablefor the culture of citrus fruits. Do you notice how the appearance ofthe landscape is changing? The nearer hills are much sharper andsteeper, and their sides are studded by great boulders. There are stonewalls, and here and there are great flocks of sheep. The horses stop oftheir own accord at a lovely spot where they are used to getting a drinkof cool spring water. Did any ever taste quite so good as that drunkfrom an old dipper after a long warm drive? The live-oaks and sycamoreslook too inviting to be resisted, and we get out to explore while thehorses are resting. Underneath the evergreen shade we pick up some ofthe large pointed acorns and carry them away as souvenirs. This would bea delightful spot for a picnic, but we have many miles before us andmust go on. In a few more miles we reach a little town known as"Alpine. " In the distance looms the Viejas, and if any of the party wishto travel over a grade, now is the opportunity. The top of the gradebrings us to a lovely view. Eastward is an unbroken chain ofmountain-peaks, from whose summits may be seen the broad Pacific on oneside and the Colorado Desert on the other. 

One of the favorite drives is into the Monte. This is a large park ortract of a thousand acres. On each side the hills rise, and in front ElCajon shows new beauties with every step of the way. Great live-oakswith enormous trunks, ancient sycamores, elders, and willows make insome spots a dense shade. On the edge of the hillsides the Flume may beseen, which furnishes many ranches as well as the city of San Diego withthe purest mountain water. Underneath the trees and up on the rocks thelover of flowers and ferns will scramble. There are the daintyforget-me-nots, tiny flowers of starry white, flowers of pale orangewith centres of deep maroon, the wild galliardia, and the wild peonywith its variegated leaves. Many other delicate blossoms which we cannotstop to describe are there too. And the ferns! All kinds may be foundby the initiated, and many are close at hand. The fern lined with goldor with silver, the running ferns, the ferns of lace-like fineness, theferns as soft as velvet, all growing in the greatest profusion. And eachday of the week a different drive and new delights. 

There is the valley of El Cajon ("the box"), which should be visited ingrape-picking time. The great Boston ranch alone employs three hundredand twenty-five pickers. Men, women, children, all busy, and the grapeswhen just turned are sweet, spicy, and delicious, making the airfragrant. This valley is dotted with handsome villas and prosperousranches. The range of mountains which looms up before us from theveranda of the hotel is not yet dignified by a name, yet it is moreimposing than the White Mountains, and in the distance we see oldCuyamaca, nearly seven thousand feet high. But we must take the nexttrain for San Diego, or this chapter will be a volume in itself. And Ihave not even alluded to the "Great Back Country. "

The founder of San Diego is still living, still hopeful, still young atheart. "Father" Horton, the typical pioneer, deserves more honors thanhe has yet received. Coming from Connecticut to California in 1851, hesoon made a small fortune in mining, buying and selling gold-dust, andproviding the diggers with ice and water for their work. He rode overthe country in those lawless times selling the precious dust disguisedas a poverty-stricken good-for-naught, with trusty revolver always inhis right hand on the pommel of the saddle--the handsome green saddlecovered with an old potato sack. In this way he evaded the very men whohad been on his track for weeks. Once he came near capture. He passed abad-looking lot of horsemen, one of whom had a deep red scar the wholelength of his cheek. He got by safely, but one, looking round, exclaimed, "My God! That's Horton! I see the green saddle. " And backthey dashed to kill him and gain his treasure, but he escaped into acañon, and they lost their one chance. 

At another time he had $3500 in gold in his belt, and at a tavern ofpoor repute he could hear through cracks in the floor of his bedroom thegamblers below laughing about the old greenhorn above who had his supperof mush and milk and had asked for a lock on his door. 

Returning East _via_ Panama in 1856, he proved himself a hero and asoldier during the terrible riot there. The natives, angry because theyhad lost the money they used to make in transporting passengers, attacked the foreigners, killing and plundering all who came in theirway, the police turning traitors and aiding them. The hotel wasattacked, and among all the passengers only three were armed. Mr. Hortonand these two young men stood at the top of the stairs and shot all whotried to get nearer. When they fell back eight rioters were dead andothers wounded. Then Mr. Horton formed the two hundred passengers inorder and marched them off to a lighter, and put them aboard thesteamer. About half this number wanted to go on to San Francisco, buthad lost all their money and baggage. Mr. Ralston and Mr. Horton helpedmany to pay their passage, but not one person was ever heard of again, not one cent was returned, not even one word of gratitude or goodintentions. 

Up to the period which is known as the boom of 1870-71, the history ofSan Diego was so interwoven and closely connected with the life of Mr. Horton that the story of one is inseparable from that of the other. 

When Mr. Horton came from San Francisco to see the wonderful harbordescribed by friends, there was nothing there but two old buildings, thebarren hillsides, and the sheep pastures. 

His gifts to the city and to individuals amount to a present valuationof over a million of dollars. Of the nine hundred acres of land which heoriginally bought (a part of the Mexican grant) at twenty-seven cents anacre, he owns but little. 

But it is to his common sense, foresight, and business ability that thepresent city owes much of its success; and it is interesting to hear himtell of exciting adventures in "Poker Flat, " and other places which BretHarte has worked up so successfully. 

Lieut. George H. Derby is amusingly associated with "Old Town, " theformer San Diego, three miles from the present city. He had offendedJefferson Davis, then Secretary of War, by his irreverent wit, and waspunished by exile to this then almost unknown region, which he called"Sandy Ague, " chiefly inhabited by the flea, the horned toad, and therattlesnake. Mr. Ames, of the _Herald_, a democratic paper, asked Derby, a stanch whig, to occupy the editorial chair during a brief absence. Hedid so, changing its politics at once, and furnishing funny articleswhich later appeared as "Phoenixiana, " and ranked him with Artemus Wardas a genuine American humorist. Here is his closing paragraph afterthose preposterous somersaults and daring pranks as editor _pro tem_:

"Very little news will be found in the _Herald_ this week; the fact is, there never is much news in it, and it is very well that it is so; theclimate here is so delightful that residents in the enjoyment of their_dolce far niente_ care very little about what is going on elsewhere, and residents of other places care very little about what is going onin San Diego, so all parties are likely to be gratified with the littlepaper, 'and long may it wave. '"

The present city has eighteen thousand inhabitants, twenty-three churchorganizations, remarkably fine schools, a handsome opera-house, broadasphalt pavements, electric lights, electric and cable cars, --a compact, well-built city, from the fine homes on the Heights to the businessportion near the water. 

In regard to society, I find that the "best society" is much the sameall over the civilized world. Accomplished, cultured, well-bred men andwomen are found in every town and city in California. And distance frommetropolitan privileges makes people more independent, better able toentertain themselves and their guests, more eagerly appreciative of thebest in every direction. 

 "O city reflecting thy might from the sea, There is grandeur and power in the future for thee, Whose flower-broidered garments the soft billows lave, Thy brow on the hillside, thy feet in the wave. "

Many of San Diego's guests have no idea of her at her best. The majorityof winter tourists leave California just as Mother Nature braces up todo her best with wild-flowers, blossoming orchards, and wavinggrain-fields. The summers are really more enjoyable than the winters. When the Nicaragua Canal is completed it will be a pleasant trip to SanDiego from any Atlantic seaport. A railroad to Phoenix, Arizona, _via_Yuma, will allow the melting, panting, gasping inhabitants of New Mexicoand Arizona an opportunity to get into a delightfully cool climate. 

THE INDIANS AND THE MISSION FATHERS. 

As for Indians, I have never seen such Indians as Helen Hunt Jacksondepicts so lovingly. I have never seen any one who has seen one. Theyexisted in her imagination only, as did Fenimore Cooper's noble redmenof the forest solely in his fancy. Both have given us delightful novels, and we are grateful. 

The repulsive stolid creatures I have seen at stations, with sullenstare, long be-vermined locks, and filthy blankets full of fleas, arepossibly not a fair representation of the remnants of the race. Theyhave been unfairly dealt with. I am glad they can be educated andimproved. They seem to need it. After reading "Ramona" and Mrs. Jackson's touching article on the "Mission Indians in California, " andthen looking over the opinions of honest writers of a previousgeneration regarding the Indians, it is more puzzling than ever. Thefollowing criticisms apply exclusively to the Southern Californiantribes. 

Mr. Robinson, after a twenty years' residence among them, said: "TheIndian of California is a species of monkey; he imitates and copieswhite men, but selects vice in preference to virtue. He is hypocriticaland treacherous, never looks at any one in conversation, but has awandering, malicious gaze. Truth is not in him. "

And the next testimony is from an Indian curate: "The Indians lead alife of indolence rather than devote themselves to the enlightening oftheir souls with ideas of civilization and cultivation; it is repugnantto their feelings, which have become vitiated by the unrestrictedcustoms among them. Their inclination to possess themselves of theproperty of others is unbounded. Their hypocrisy when they pray is asmuch to be feared as their insolence when in tumultuous disorder. Theyare never grateful for any benefit, nor do they pardon an injury, andthey never proffer civilities, unless to accomplish some interestedmotive. They are ready to expose themselves to the greatest danger tosatisfy their predominant passions. The future from them is ever veiledby the present. Their inconstancy and want of confidence deprives themof friends, and he who by deception holds them in subjection may reducethem to almost abject slavery. "

Dana, speaking of the language of the Californian Indians, described itas "brutish" and "a complete slabber. "

The missionary Fathers did their best to teach and convert them, and themissions must be spoken of. So we will go back a little. 

No one knows how California was so named. St. Diego was the patron saintof Spain. St. Francis, who founded the Franciscan order, was a gay youngItalian, who after conversion led a life of mortification and extremeself-denial, tramped about like a beggar, scourged himself, slept onground, rolled in snow to subdue the flesh, fasted, wept until he wasalmost blind, saw visions, like all other great religious leaders, received messages directly from Christ, and was at last rewarded withthe stigmata (the marks of the crucifix on his body), and commemorationafter death. 

Father Junipero, of this order, was appointed presiding missionary ofCalifornia, and arrived July, 1769, erected a great cross on the coast, celebrated mass, and commenced his work. Like St. Francis, he wasearnest, devout, pure, and self-sacrificing, blessed with wonderfulmagnetism. Once, while exhorting his hearers to repent, he scourged hisown shoulders so unmercifully with a chain that his audience shudderedand wept; and one man, overcome by emotion, rushed to the pulpit, secured the chain, and, disrobing, flogged himself to death. This holyFather believed that he was especially protected by Heaven, and thatonce, when journeying on a desolate road, he was hospitably entertainedby the Holy Family. 

He said, "I have placed my faith in God, and trust in His goodness toplant the standard of the holy cross not only at San Diego, but even asfar as Monterey. "

And this was done in less than ten years, but with many discouragements. 

The first Indian who was induced to bring his baby for baptism gotfrightened, and dashed away, taking, however, the handsome piece ofcloth which had been wrapped around the child for the ceremony. 

Next there was an attack with arrows; in less than a month seriousfighting followed; and later more than one thousand Indians joined inthe attack. One priest was killed and all inhabitants of the missionmore or less wounded, and the mission itself was burned. The presentruins are the "new" buildings on the site of the old, completed in 1784, the walls of adobe four feet thick, the doorways and windows of burnttiles. These half-cylindrical plates of hard-burnt clay were used toprotect the inmates from the sun and the burning arrows of the Indians, and are now greatly valued as relics. 

In front is the orchard of three hundred olive trees, more than acentury old, still bearing a full crop, and likely to do so forcenturies to come. As the Indians disliked work much, and churchservices more, they were encouraged in both matters by rather forciblemeans, as the Irishman "enticed" the pig into his pen with a pitchfork. We "tourists" who, dismounting from our carriages, view with sentimentalreverence the picturesque ruins, the crumbling arches, the heavy bellsnow silent but mutely telling a wondrous story of the past, and tiptoequietly through the damp interiors, gazing at pictures of saints and ofhell and paradise, dropping our coins into the box at the door, andgoing out duly impressed to admire the architecture or the carving, orthe general fine effect against the sky of fleckless blue--we picturethese sable neophytes coming gladly, bowing in devout homage, delightedto learn of God and Duty, and cheerfully coöperating with the goodpriests who had come so far to teach them. In 1827 the San Diego missionhad within its boundaries an Indian population of 1500, 10, 000 head ofcattle, 17, 000 sheep, and more than 1000 horses. But Mr. Robinson tellsus that the Indians were dragged to service, were punished and chainedif they tried to escape, and that it was not unusual to see numbers ofthem driven along by a leader and forced with a whip-lash into the doorsof the sanctuary. 

It is said that they were literally enslaved and scared into submissionby dreadful pictures of hell and fear of everlasting torment. Afterchurch they would gamble, and they often lost everything, even wives andchildren. They were low, brutal, unintelligent, with an exceedinglylimited vocabulary and an unbounded appetite. A man is as he eats, and, as some one says, "If a man eats peanuts he will think peanuts. "

"There was nothing that could be swallowed and digested which the SanDiego Indian would not eat. Snakes, half roasted and even raw, weretoothsome dainties. The horned toad and the lizard had favorite placesat each repast. Human parasites were not refused, and mice, gophers, bats, caterpillars, worms, entrails, and even carrion, were consumedwith a greed that did not stop at pounds. Hittel says that twenty-fourpounds of meat in a day was not too much for a Californian Indian, andBaegart mentions the case of one native who ate seventeen watermelons ata sitting. The smoking of wild tobacco was carried on to equal excess. "

The saintly Fathers deserve unlimited praise for making them accomplishso much and behave as well as they did. Those New Englanders whocriticise them as severe in discipline must remember that at the sameperiod our ancestors were persecuting Quakers and burning witches. Thebeautiful hospitality of these early priests should also be mentioned. 

Alfred Robinson described a miracle play which he saw performed at SanDiego at Christmas, in 1830, as akin to the miracle plays of mediævalEurope. The actors took the part of Gabriel, Lucifer, shepherds, ahermit, and Bartolo, a lazy vagabond who was the clown and furnished theelement of comedy: the whole interspersed with songs and incidentsbetter adapted to the stage than to the church. 

CHAPTER IV. 

EN ROUTE TO LOS ANGELES. 

 "Bless me, this is pleasant, Riding on the rail!"

On the Surf Line from San Diego to Los Angeles, a seventy-mile run alongthe coast, there is so much to see, admire, and think about, that thetime passes rapidly without napping or nodding. Take a chair seat on theleft of car--the ocean side--and enjoy the panoramic view from thewindow: the broad expanse of the Pacific, its long curling breakers, theseals and porpoises tumbling about in clumsy frolics, the graceful gullscircling above them, the picturesque cañons, and the flocks of birdsstarting from the ground, frightened by our approach. This we watch formore than an hour; then the scene changes, and, leaving the water, wehave glimpses of wondrous carpets of wild-flowers, the golden poppypredominant, miles of brilliant green on either hand, peeps at the threemissions, the groves at Orange, the town of Santa Ana, and Anaheim, theparent colony, the first of all the irrigated settlements of SouthernCalifornia, now a wealthy city. 

The missions are always interesting. San Juan Capistrano was seriouslyinjured by an earthquake in 1812; the tower was shaken so severely thatit toppled over during morning mass, killing thirty of the worshippers, the priests escaping through the sacristy. It was the latest andcostliest of the missions. "Its broken olive mill and crumblingdove-cote, and the spacious weed-grown courts and corridors, arepathetic witnesses to the grandeur of the plans and purposes of thefounders, and also of the rapidity with which nature effaces the noblestworks of human hands. "

But San Luis Rey is in good condition, having been restored to somethingof its original beauty, and recently re-dedicated. The walledenclosures once contained fifty-six acres, six being covered by thesacred edifice, its arched colonnades, and the cloisters, in which theFathers lived, surrounded by three thousand baptized savages. Mrs. Jeanne C. Carr quotes a stage-driver with whom she talked on the box assaying: "Ye see, ma'am, what them old padders didn't know 'bout findin'work for their subjicks and pervidin' for the saints 'n' angels, not tosay therselves, wa'n't wuth knowin'. They carried on all kinds o'bizness. Meat was plenty, keepin' an' vittles was to be had at all themissions an' ranches too, jes' by settin' round. The pastures and hillswas alive with horses and cattle, an' hides an' taller was their coin. They cured and stacked the hides, dug holes in stiff ground, an' run thetaller into 'em; it kep' sweet until a ship laid up to Capistrano, _thenthat taller turned into gold_. They could load up a big ship in a singleday, they had so many Indians to help. " And he proceeded to tell of hisown lucky find: "A lot of that holy taller was lost 'n' fergot, nobuddyknows how many years. One night I went up into the grass beyant themission to stake out my hosses; an' when I druv the fust stake it wentway deawn, like 'twas in soft mud. I jes' yanked it up: half on 't waskivered with grease. The evening was cool, but the day had been brilin', an' now mebbe ye kin guess how I found my taller mine. 'Twas a leetlemouldy on top, but the heft on 't was hard, --a reg'lar bonanzy fer astage-driver. "

It may seem irreverent to introduce this droll fellow in sharp contrastwith the beautiful ruin, full of the most cherished memories of oldSpain, but reality often gives romance a hard jar. It is pleasant toknow that the expelled Franciscan order has just returned to California, and that San Luis Rey is now occupied. It is worth making the trip toSan Juan to see the old bells struck, as in former times, by a ropeattached to the clapper. They have different tones, and how eloquentlythey speak to us. These missions along the coast and a line fartherinland are the only real ruins that we have in America, and must bepreserved, whether as a matter of sentiment or money, and in some wayprotected from the vandals who think it jolly fun to lug off the old redtiles, or even the stone bowl for holy water--anything they can steal. At San Juan the plaster statues have been disgracefully mutilated byrelic-hunters and thoughtless visitors. Eyes have been picked out, nosescut off, fingers carried away, and the altar-cloths everywhere have beenslashed at the corners. 

A society has been formed to try to save them, and one learned andenthusiastic mission lover proposes to revive the old Camino del Rey, orKing's Highway. "What could not the drive from San Diego to Sonoma bemade if the State once roused herself to make it? Planted and wateredand owned as an illustration of forestry, why should it not also as aroute of pilgrimage rank with that to Canterbury or Cologne on theRhine? The Franciscans have given to California a nomenclature whichconnects them and us permanently with what was great in theircontemporary history, while we preserve daily upon our lips the names ofthe great chiefs of their own order. "

But where am I? Those mouldering walls led me into a reverie. Speakingof "ruins" reminds me of a Frenchman who called on the poet Longfellowin his old age and explained his visit in this way: "Sare, you 'ave noruins in dis country, so I 'ave come to see you. "

The cactus hedge around each mission to keep the cattle in, and possiblythe hostile Indians out, must have been effective. We see now and then alittle that has survived. This makes me think of a curious bird Inoticed in my drives at San Diego, the roadrunner, classed with thecuckoo. It has various names, the chaparral-cock, the ground-cuckoo, theprairie-cock, paisano, and worst of all, in classic nomenclature, the_Geococcyx californianus_. 

It keeps on the ground most of the time, and can run with such swiftnessthat it cannot be easily overtaken by horse and hounds. It has a taillonger than its body, which it bears erect. It kills beetles, toads, birds, and mice, but has a special dislike for the rattlesnake, andoften meets him and beats him in fair combat. When it finds one sleepingor torpid it makes a circle of cactus thorns around him so he cannotescape--for "future reference, " as my driver said. 

This thorny circle is akin to the lariat made of horsehair, the endssticking out roughly all around, with which the Indian used to encirclehimself before going to sleep, as a protection from the rattlesnake, whocould not cross it. But here we are at Los Angeles. Hear the bawlingcabbies: "This way for The Westminster!" "Hollenbeck Hotel!"

CHAPTER V. 

LOS ANGELES AND ROUND ABOUT. 

 "O southland! O dreamland! with cycles of green; O moonlight enchanted by mocking-bird's song; Cool sea winds, fair mountains, the fruit-lands between, The pepper tree's shade, and the sunny days long. "

Los Angeles is the chief city of Southern California, and trulyvenerable in comparison with most places in the State--founded in 1781, now one hundred and twelve years old. Its full name, "Nuestra Senora laReina de los Angeles, " "musical as a chime of bells, " would hardly do inthese days, and "The City of the Angels, " as it is sometimes called, scarcely suits the present big business-y place, which was started bythose shrewd old padres when everything west of the Alleghanies was analmost unknown region, and Chicago and St. Louis were not thought of. These Fathers were far-sighted fellows, with a keen eye for thebeautiful, sure to secure good soil, plenty of water, and fine sceneryfor a settlement. Next came the Hispano-American era of adobe, stage-coaches, and mule teams, now replaced by the purely Americanpossessions, with brick, stone, vestibule trains, and all the wonders ofelectricity. It is now a commercial centre, a railroad terminal, withone hundred miles of street-car track within the city limits, carryingtwelve million passengers yearly. It has outgrown the original grant ofsix miles square, and has a city limit, and the first street traversedthis square diagonally. It lies on the west bank of the Los AngelesRiver, one of those peculiar streams which hides itself half the yearonly to burst forth in the spring in a most assertive manner. There arefine public buildings, fifty-seven churches, to suit all shades ofreligious belief, two handsome theatres, several parks, and long streetsshowing homes and grounds comparing favorably with the best environs ofEastern cities. It is well to drive through Adams and Figueroa streetsbefore you leave. There are no attractive hotels at present; but one isso greatly needed and desired that it will soon be designed andrealized. 

Madame de Staël was right when she said she greatly preferred meetinginteresting men and women to admiring places or scenery. Among mypleasantest memories of Los Angeles are my visits to Madame Fremont inher pretty red cottage, presented by loving friends. It is a privilegeto meet such a clever, versatile woman. Her conversation flashes withepigrams and pithy sayings, and her heart is almost as young as when itwas captured by the dashing "Pathfinder. "

I believe there are men still existing who keep up the old absurdfallacy that women are deficient in wit and humor! She would easilyconvert all such. 

The Coronels, to whom Mrs. Jackson was so indebted and of whom she wroteso appreciatively, are still in the same home, cherishing her memorymost fondly, her photograph being placed in a shrine where thesweet-faced madame kneels daily, and her books and knick-knacks arepreserved as precious souvenirs. 

Don Antonio Coronel is truly a most interesting personage, the lastspecimen of the grand old Spanish régime. His father was the firstschoolmaster in California, and the son has in his possession the firstschoolbook printed on this coast, at Monterey in 1835, a smallcatechism; also the first book printed in California, a tiny volumedated 1833, the father having brought the type from Spain. 

I was taken to the basement to see a rare collection of antiquities. Inone corner is a cannon made in 1710, and brought by Junipero Serra. Ranged on shelves is a collection such as can be found nowhere else, ofgreat value: strange stone idols, a few specimens of the famousiridescent pottery, queer ornaments, toys, and relics. In another cornersee the firearms and weapons of long ago: old flintlocks, muskets, Spanish bayonets, crossbows, and spears. There are coins, laces, baskets, toys, skulls, scalps, and a sombrero with two long redpennons, on which each feather represents a human scalp. Upstairs thereare early specimens of Mexican art; one of the oldest pictures ofJunipero Serra; groups in clay modelled by the Dona Mariana of Mexicanscenes; feather pictures made from the plumage of gorgeous birds--toomuch to remember or describe here. But I do believe that if asked to saywhat they valued most, they would point to the little wooden table wheretheir dear friend sat when she wrote the first pages of "Ramona. "

For the stranger Los Angeles is the place to go to to see a new play, ormarvel at the display of fruits seen at a citrus fair--forts made ofthousands of oranges, and railroad stations and crowns of lemons, etc. --and admire a carnival of flowers, or for a day's shopping; butthere are better spots in which to remain. I found the night airextremely unpleasant last winter, and after hearing from a veraciousdruggist, to whom I applied for a gargle, that there was an epidemic ofgrip in the city, and that many died of pneumonia and that a smallmajority of the invalids got well, I packed my trunk hastily and startedfor Pasadena. 

Those who live in the city and those who do not dislike raw, bracingwinds from the ocean pronounce Los Angeles to be the _only_ place worthliving in in all Southern California. Each place has its supportersignoring all other attractions, and absolutely opposite accounts of theweather have been seriously given me by visitors to each. For those whomust be "high and dry" to improve, the rainy season is certainly unsafe. 

Los Angeles is also a place to go from to the beach at Santa Monica, andRedondo, or that wondrous island, "Santa Catalina, " which has beendescribed by Mr. C. F. Holder in the _Californian_ so enthusiasticallythat I should think the "Isle of Summer" could not receive all who wouldunite to share his raptures--with a climate nearer to absoluteperfection than any land, so near all the conveniences of civilization, and everything else that can be desired. His first jew-fish or blacksea-bass weighed 342½ pounds, and a dozen other varieties are gamy andplentiful; fine sport with the rifle in the upland region, wealth ofverdure along the trail; below, good hotel, beaches, bathing, eveningconcerts--"the true land of sweet idleness, where one can drift aroundwith all nature to entertain. " To be strictly truthful, I must add thatthe hotel was built just over an old Indian burying-ground, thereforecases of typhoid fever are not unknown. 

CHAPTER VI. 

PASADENA. 

 "If there be an Elysium upon earth, It is this, it is this. "

For my own taste, I prefer Pasadena, the "Crown of the Valley"--ninemiles from Los Angeles, but eight hundred feet higher and with muchdrier air, at the foot of the Sierra Madre range, in the beauteous SanGabriel Valley. Yes, Pasadena seems to me as near Eden as can be foundby mortal man. 

Columbus in a letter to Ferdinand and Isabella said, "I believe that ifI should pass under the equator in arriving at this higher region ofwhich I speak, I should find there a milder temperature and a diversityin the stars and in the waters.... I am convinced that there is theTerrestrial Paradise. "

Poor persecuted Columbus! I wish he could have once seen Pasadena, thevery spot he dreamed of. Can I now write calmly, critically, judiciallyof what I see, enjoy, admire and wonder over? If I succeed it will bewhat no one else has done. I was here last year and gave my impressionsthen, which are only strengthened by a second visit, so that I willquote my own words, which read like the veriest gush, but are absolutelytrue, came straight from my heart, and, after all, didn't half tell thestory. 

I am fascinated and enthralled by your sun-kissed, rose-embowered, semi-tropical summer-land of Hellenic sky and hills of Hymettus, withits paradoxical antitheses: of flowers and flannels; strawberries andsealskin sacks; open fires with open windows; snow-capped mountains andorange blossoms; winter looking down upon summer--a topsy-turvy land, where you dig for your wood and climb for your coal; where water-pipesare laid above ground, with no fear of Jack Frost, and your principalrivers flow bottom side up and invisible most of the time; where theboys climb up hill on burros and slide down hills on wheels; where thetrees are green all the year, and you go outdoors in December to getwarm; where squirrels live in the ground with owls for chums, while ratsbuild in the trees, and where water runs up hill; where anythingunpleasant, from a seismic disturbance to mosquitoes in March, is"exceptional" and surprising. A land where there are no seasons, butwhere sunshine and shade are so distinctly marked that one can be easilyhalf baked on one side and dangerously chilled on the other. 

Then the Climate--spell it with a capital, and then try to think of anadjective worthy to precede it. Glorious! Delicious! Incomparable!Paradisaical!!! To a tenderfoot straight from New Hampshire, where wehave nine months of winter and three of pretty cold weather, where wehave absolutely but three months that are free from frost, this seemslike enchanted ground. 

A climate warm, with a constant refreshing coolness in its heart; cool, with a latent vivifying warmth forever peeping out of its coat-tailpocket. 

June does not define it, nor September. It has no synonym, for there isnothing like it. I am glad that I have lived to see hedges ofheliotrope, of geraniums and calla-lilies. I remember, in contrast, solitary calla plants that I have nursed with care all winter in hopesof one blossom for Easter. And I do not feel sure that I can ever tearmyself away. I am reminded of good old Dr. Watts, who was invited byLady Abney to pass a fortnight at her home, and remained for fortyyears. 

Here we all unconsciously eat the lotus in some occult fashion, arestraightway bewitched and held willing captives. I have looked up thelotus, about which so much is said or sung and so little definitelyknown, and find it is a prickly shrub of Africa, bearing a fruit of asweet taste, and the early Greeks knew all about its power. Homer in theOdyssey says that whoever ate of the fruit wished never to depart noragain to see his native land. Many of Ulysses' sailors ate this fruit, and lost all desire for home. 

The last letter received by me from New Hampshire, April 3d, begins inthis way: "It is like the middle of winter here, good sleighing andstill very cold. " And then comes a sad series of announcements ofsickness and deaths caused by the protracted rigors of the season. Andhere, at the same date, all the glories of the spring, which far exceedsour summer--Spanish breezes, Italian sky and sunsets, Alpine mountains, tropical luxuriance of vegetation, a nearly uniform climate, a bigoutdoor conservatory. There is no other place on earth that combines somuch in the same limits. You can snowball your companions on Christmasmorning on the mountain-top, pelt your lady friends with rose leaves inthe foot-hills three hours later, and in another sixty minutes dip inthe surf no cooler than Newport in July; and the theatre in the evening. As a bright workman said, you can freeze through and thaw out in oneday. 

An electric railroad will soon connect Los Angeles with Pasadena andMount Wilson, and a fine hotel is to be placed on the top of EchoMountain, 3500 feet high, and this will then certainly be the idealhealth and pleasure resort of the world. 

Pasadena's homes, protected on three sides by mountain ranges, aresurrounded by groves and gardens, trees and hedges from every clime. Everything will grow and flourish here. Capitalists from the East seemengaged in a generous rivalry to create the ideal paradise. Passionvines completely cover the arbors, roses clamber to the tops of housesand blossom by tens of thousands. I notice displays fit for a floralshow in the windows of butcher shops and shoe stores. The churches areadorned with a mantle of vines and flowers. 

Are there no "outs, " no defects in this Pasadena? One must not forgetthe rainy days, the occasional "hot spells" of August and September, awind now and then that blows off steeples and tears down fragilestructures, bringing along a good deal more sand than is wanted. Andevery year an earthquake may be expected. I have experienced two, andthey are not agreeable. 

Aside from these drawbacks and dust in summer, all else is perfection, except that the weather is so uniformly glorious that there is seldom aday when one is willing to stay at home. I feel just now like a"deestrick" schoolboy who has been "kept in" on a summer afternoon. 

The wild-flowers are more fascinating to me than all those so profuselycultivated. I weary of five thousand calla-lilies in one church atEaster, and lose a little interest in roses when they bloom perenniallyand in such profusion that I have had enough given me in one morning tofill a wash-tub or clothes-basket!

The wealth of color on the hills and mesas in springtime can never bedescribed or painted. The State flower, the yellow poppy with the namethat would floor any spelling-match hero--the eschscholtzia--is mostconspicuous, and can be seen far away at sea; but there are dozens ofothers, that it is better to admire and leave unplucked, as they wilt sosoon. "The ground is literally dolly-vardened with buttercups, violets, dodecatheons, gilias, nemophilas, and the like. And yet these are themere skirmish line of the mighty invading hosts, whose uniforms surpassthe kingly robes of Solomon, and whose banners of crimson and yellow andpurple will soon wave on every hilltop and in every valley. 

"In April and May the lover of nature may pass into the seventh heavenof botanical delight. Then in favored sections the display reaches agorgeousness and a profusion that surpass both description andimagination. "

No one can paint the grain fields as they look when the sun puts intoevery blade a tiny golden ray and it is no longer every-day commongrain, but an enchanted carpet of living, radiant, golden green. Wetourists call it grass, but there is no grass to be proud of inCalifornia. 

No one can paint the sky; no one would accept it as true to nature ifonce caught on the canvas. 

I will not attempt to describe the mountains with their many charms. Ilistened to a lecture lately where a man was struggling to do this, andit was positively painful. The flowery verbiage, the accumulatedadjectives, the poetical quotations were overpowering. I seemed actuallysinking into luscious mellifluousness. I shook it off my fingers, as ifit were maple syrup. Then, as he climbed higher and higher, on and up, never getting away from the richest verdure and the sweetest flowers, scenes for an artist to paint with rapture, and a poet to sing inecstasy, I found myself pushing up my forehead to improvise a mansardroof for my brain to swell in sympathy. And when he reached the summitand the panorama burst upon his enraptured vision, it was too much formy strained emotions, and I quietly slipped out. 

And the strangest part is that every word is true, and, say what onewill, one never gets near the reality. In this respect, you see, itdiffers from a floral catalogue sent out in early spring, or a hotelpamphlet with illustrations. 

The cable road is 3000 feet long, with a direct ascent of 1400 feet, andthe Echo Mountain House will be 1500 feet higher than the Catskillhotels overlooking the Hudson, and it is estimated that not less than60, 000 fares will be collected upon this mountain railroad the firstyear. 

All this was designed and executed by Professor Lowe, of aeronaut fame, a scientist and banker, the inventor of water-gas and artificial ice, and a man of great business ability. 

One of the best proofs of the health-giving power of this air is thefact that the physicians practising here, with one exception, cameseriously ill and have not only recovered, but are strong enough to keepvery busy helping others. 

Pasadena has no ragged shabby outskirts; the poorer classes seem to beable to own or rent pretty little homes, some like large birdcages, allwell kept and attractive. Some gentlemen from Indianapolis came here in1873 and started the town, planting their orange orchards under theshadows of the mountains. 

Each portion has its own attractions. Orange Grove Avenue, a street overa mile long, is described by its name. Great trees stand in the centreof the street, a fine road on either side, and the homes are emboweredin flowers and palms, while hedges are made of the pomegranate, thehoneysuckle, and even the heliotrope. Marengo Avenue is lined on eitherside by splendid specimens of the pepper, the prettiest and mostgraceful of all trees here. Colorado Street, with its homes and shopsand churches, leads out to the foot-hills and "Altadena, " which is oftenspoken of as recalling the handsome residences along the Riviera. 

The street cars which go from the station toward the mountains bear oneach the words, "This Car for the Poppy Fields, " and they are a sightworth seeing. Mrs. Kellog describes this flower more perfectly than anyartist could paint it: "Think of finest gold, of clearest lemon, ofdeepest orange on silkiest texture, just bedewed with a frost-likesheen, a silvery film, and you have a faint impression of what aneschscholtzia is. Multiply this impression by acres of waving color. "And in February this may sometimes be seen. It has been well chosen forthe State flower. 

If consumptives must go away from the comforts of home, this is a havenof rest for them. In a late _Medical Record_ I see that a physiciandeprecates the custom of sending hopeless cases to the high altitudes ofColorado, where the poor victim gasps out a few weeks or months ofexistence. "If such cases as the above must be sent from home, as wesometimes think here, to rid their home physicians of the annoyance oftheir presence, they should be sent to Florida or Southern California, where at least they may be chloroformed off into eternity by a soothingclimate, and not suffer an actual shortening of their days from aclimate acting on a radically different principle and entirely unsuitedto them. "

This is a bit of the shady side after all the sunlight. It is a placefor the invalid to rejoice in, and those in robust health can findenough to do to employ all their energies. 

The "Tournament of Roses" last winter was a grand success, praised byall. The "Pageant of Roses" was celebrated here lately, and I cannotgive you a better idea of it than by copying the synopsis. 

Imagine the opera-house trimmed inside with wreaths and festoons andbouquets of roses--a picture in itself; audience in full evening dress, each lady carrying roses, each man with a rose for a boutonnière. 

The dancing in costume was exquisitely graceful, and the evolutions andfigures admirably exact--no mistake, nothing amateurish about the wholeperformance. 

 PART FIRST. 

 Los Flores, a garden in the Crown of the Valley. Goddess Flora and her pages asleep. Harlequin, the magic spirit, enters, produces by incantation the rain and summons the maiden Spring, who rouses the Goddess and her pages. The Goddess commands the Harlequin to usher in the Pageant of Roses. Enter the Red or Colonial Roses; march and form for the reception and dance of the Ladies of the Minuet. Retire. Harlequin, at the request of the Goddess, summons the Gold of Ophirs, bearing urn as offering to the Goddess, when is performed the dance of the Orient, including solo. Curtain falls on tableau. 

 PART SECOND. 

 Same garden. Goddess on her throne, surrounded by her pages. She summons the Harlequin, who in turn brings the Roses of Castile. They bring offering of flowers to the Goddess, and perform a dance. 

 Goddess again summons Harlequin, who, by great effort, brings the Roses of the Snow, or the Little Girls from Boston, led by Frost Maiden. They perform a dance and retire. Both Harlequins enter, perform a dance, and command the blooming of the Pink Rose Buds. Pink Rose Buds enter without offering for the Goddess, and prevail upon the Harlequins to help them out of their difficulties. The Harlequins send Poppies for the great La France Rose Buds as an offering, and perform "The Transformation of the Rose. " Rose Buds dance and are joined by the little Roses in the Snow. All dance and retire. Enter White Harlequin, who calls for the White Rose dance by the Greek maidens. They perform ceremonies and deck the altar of their Goddess, dance and retire. Curtain. 

 PART THIRD. 

 Grand march. Tableau, with falling Rose petals, in the magic cañon. 

And not a word yet of The Raymond, that popular house set upon a hillthat commands a view hard to equal. The house is always filled tooverflowing, and this year General Wentworth tells me the business hasbeen better than ever. This famous resort is in East Pasadena, and hasits own station. It is always closed in April, just at the time whenthere is the most to see and enjoy, and the flowers are left to bloomunseen. 

The other fine hotel here, named for its owner, Colonel Green of"August Flower" fame, is on ground eight feet higher, although by theconformation of the land it does not look so. 

Many prefer to be in the town and nearer the mountains, and this houseproving insufficient for its patrons, an addition four times the size ofthe present building is being added in semi-Moorish architecture, at acost of $300, 000. 

That item shows what an experienced man of business thinks about thefuture of Pasadena. 

The town is full of pleasant boarding-houses, as Mrs. Dexter's, Mrs. Bangs's, and Mrs. Roberts's, and many enjoy having rooms at one houseand taking meals at another. You can spend as much or as little as youchoose. At Mrs. Snyder's I found simple but delicious old-fashionedhome-cooking at most reasonable rates. 

And still more? Yes, the Public Library must be mentioned, the valuablecollections I was permitted to see, the old mission of San Gabrielthree miles away, and then I shall give the next chapter to my brother, who spent a week on Mt. Wilson, and came down wonderfully benefited evenby that short stay. One invalid he met there had gained four pounds inas many days. His ambition now is to open a law office up among theclouds and transact business by telephone, saying the fact that hisclients could not see him would be no disadvantage. 

While he is discoursing I will be studying the history of the Indianbaskets and report later. 

CHAPTER VII. 

CAMPING ON MOUNT WILSON. 

 "On every height there lies repose. "

At Pasadena the mountain wall which guards the California of the Southstands very near and looks down with pride upon the blooming gardenbelow. The mountains which belong especially to Pasadena are but threemiles away. Their average height exceeds slightly that of the Mt. Washington range in New Hampshire. The Sierra Madre system, of whichthey form a part, contains some peaks considerably higher. 

Farther to the East, "Old Baldy"--Mt. San Antonio--raises its snowysummit to a height just close enough to ten thousand feet to test theveracity of its admirers. It is about ten miles from Pasadena by theeyes, but would be twenty by the feet, if they could walk an air line. 

To the south and east of "Old Baldy" is Mt. San Jacinto, 12, 000 feetabove the Pacific, upon which it looks, in the far distance. 

The majestic mountain wall, almost bending over the homes of Pasadena, with their vines and fig trees, their roses and lilies, their orchardsof orange and lemon, and the distant snow-clad peaks glittering in thegentle sunshine, combine to form a perfect picture. There are detaileddescriptions from the pens of those who feel an unctuous joy in paintingthe lily, kalsomining the calla, and adding perfumes to the violet, therose, and the orange. 

The "Pasadena Alps" are so smeared with oleaginous gush that I hadconceived against them a sort of antipathy, which was not diminished bytheir barren, treeless appearance. 

As Nature reasserted herself, this artificial nausea wore away. I took adrive to Millard's Cañon, and was surprised at finding a charming woodedroad winding up through the cañon along a mountain stream. From the endof the carriage-road we walked half a mile to a picturesque waterfallhaving a sheer descent of perhaps forty feet. 

This revelation inspired a drive to Eaton's Cañon, where I found similarattractions, and which led me to the new Mt. Wilson trail, or "TollRoad. " I made inquiries, inspected the small but substantial mules whichdo the pedestrian part of the trip, went up the trail a short distance, and, after many assurances, arranged to make the ascent. 

In fact, this trail is remarkably well built. It winds up the mountainby a gradual and even ascent of nine miles, the grade nowhere exceedingten per cent. There are two camps near the summit, open all the year. You may return the same day or stay for the remainder of your life. 

Take little luggage, of course: a heavy overcoat or wrap, and a smallgrip. In the winter the nights are cold, and clouds and rain are notunlikely to present the compliments of the season. 

The mountains of California are as topsy-turvy as its rivers. We usedto learn in our physical geographies that as the traveller ascends amountain the large trees continually give place to smaller--shrinking atlast to stunted shrubs, with a summit of barren rock. 

As our mules plod up Mt. Wilson, the trail at first is sandy, and themountain's flanks a barren waste, with thin covering of cactus andchaparral. Half a mile from the starting-point appear small bushes, which grow larger as we move upward. The trail turns into a cañon, andbecomes a hard, cool pathway leading up through small live-oaks and highgrowth of bushes. We begin to see slender pines and larger oaks. Now thetrail leaves the cañon and winds out upon the open mountain-side. Herethe chaparral is green and flourishing. 

We wind abruptly into a cañon. Bushes of wild lilac overhang the path. The manzanita reminds one of lilies of the valley transplanted toCalifornia and growing on a bush. Down to the torrent at the bottom ofthe cañon, and up its steep side, are large pines and live-oaks, mountain mahogany and cedar. Near the summit we wind along a precipicewhere the trail is blasted from the solid rock. Even here, any one whois disposed to "look aloft" will see pine trees hanging over his headhundreds of feet above. 

The summit is a forest of towering trees. On the topmost ridges are themonarchs of the mountains--oaks three and four feet, and pines four andfive feet in diameter. Of course this increase in the size of timber isnoticeably uniform, only where the soil and natural features of themountains favor it. But the summit of Mt. Wilson, at least, resembles apicnic ground raised nearly six thousand feet above the sea. The air islight, dry, and exhilarating. The ground is carpeted with pine needles. Delicate wild-flowers are seen in their season. In April I found wildpeas in blossom, harebells, morning-glories, poppies, and many varietiesof yellow flowers. I also saw hummingbirds, butterflies, swallows, andsquirrels, and here and there patches of plain white old-fashioned snow. It is a novel spectacle to see a small boy snowballing a butterfly. Inthe spring even dead trees are glorified with a mantle of golden greenmoss. It covers the trunks of some of the living pines, making anartistic background for the deep green of their boughs. 

From this upside-down mountain we look down upon rivers flowing bottomside up. And that is California. 

As to the safety of the ascent, no one need hesitate who is free fromsettled prejudice against a side-hill. You will soon let the reins hangfrom the pommel of the saddle. One who chooses may jump off and walk fora change. Only, if you are at the end of the procession, be careful tokeep between your mule and the foot of the mountain; otherwise he willwheel around and wend his way homeward. If toiling along near thesummit, absorbed in the beauties of the prospect, it might be awkward tofeel the halter jerked from your hand and to see the mule gallopingaround a sharp bend with your satchel, hung loosely over the pommel, bobbing violently up and down, and perhaps hurled off into space as theintelligent animal rounds the corner. 

Yes, it is safe, but there is a spice of excitement about it. I wasnervous at first, and seeing that the mule wished to nibble such herbageas offered itself, I had thought it well to humor him. At a narrow spacewith sharp declivity below, the beast fixed his jaws upon a small toughbush on the upper bank. As he warmed up to the work, his hind feetworked around toward the edge of the chasm. The bush began to come outby the roots, which seemed to be without end. As the weight of the mulewas thrown heavily backward, I looked forward with some apprehension tothe time when the root should finally give way: I saw now that the mulehad fixed his stubborn jaws upon the entrails of the mountain, andexpected every instant to see other vital organs brought to light. Idared not and could not move. The root gave way, allowing the mule tofall backward, and startling him with a rattling down of stones andgravel. One foot slipped over the edge, but three stuck to the path, andthe majority prevailed. After that I saw it was safer to let my faithfulbeast graze on the outer edge. All went well until he became absorbed infollowing downward the foliage of a bush which grew up from below. Ashe stretched his neck farther and farther down, I saw that he wasbending his forelegs. His shoulders sank more and more. There wasnothing between me and the sea-level except the mule's ears. By franticexertions I worked myself backward, and was sliding down behind--toolate. The bush broke, causing the mule to fall back forcibly against theinner bank, with myself sandwiched between the adamantine wall of themountain and the well-shod heels of the mule. The animal, being as muchscared as myself, started up the trail at a gallop. I had saved my lifebut lost my mule. I have no taste for overtaking runaway mules on asteep and interminable up-grade. It is a taste which must be acquired. But then, of course, the mule would turn after his first alarm and teardown to the stable. I resolved to push on in the hope of finding a widerportion of the path, or at least of meeting the animal before he hadacquired uncontrollable momentum. 

At the very first turn a boy appeared hurrying back with my palfry. Themule had galloped on until he overtook the rest of the party, who hadsent him back in haste, while they followed on as quickly as possible. 

It flashed upon my mind that the mule understands his business. Weimagine, egotistically, that the mule is all the time thinking about us, and that he may take umbrage at some fancied slight and leap with usdown the abyss. Now the mule does not care to make the descent in thatway. He is thinking about himself just like the rest of us. We are onlyso much freight packed upon his back. 

The foregoing narrative may be exaggerated in some details, but theessential facts remain, that the mule has a healthy appetite and that helooks out for himself. 

A little further on I had an opportunity to judge how a passenger wouldconduct himself if he should be thrown from the trail. At the pointwhere the slope of the mountains is most abrupt, certain repairs hadlately been made upon the trail, and a man was now prying large stonesover the edge. They rolled and tumbled down, taking wild leaps into theair and plunging from rock to rock. After they disappeared in the woodswe could hear them crashing and clattering down the cañon. A smallavalanche of broken fragments followed in their wake. 

It must have been a fine sight when the blasting was first done in theside of the rocky precipice: when huge masses of rock, half as big as ahouse, were rent from the side of the mountain and thundered down withfrightful crash, cutting off huge trees and shaking the very mountains. And now I will say again that the trail is wide and safe; the slopes onthe side are seldom very steep, and the mules could not be pushed overby any available power. 

Some people, in fact, prefer the old trail because it is more wild andromantic and not so well kept. The new road has enough picturesquefeatures to satisfy me. 

I remember when the valley came in sight again, after half an hour'sclimbing, the first objects to catch my eye were the storage reservoirs, which dot the valley and are used in irrigation. Their regular shapesand the margins of masonry about them give them, from the mountains, the appearance of mirrors. One seemed almost directly below. Probably itwas at least a hundred feet in length. In the form of a rectangle withrounded corners, it was the exact counterpart of a framed mirror. Thesurface was like polished glass, and trees upon the bank were reflectedwith beautiful distinctness. 

After another half-hour's ride comes a glimpse in the other direction. Through a gap in the mountains we look for a moment behind the hills ofPasadena into the heart of the Sierra Madre. Vistas of mountain-sidesare seen on either hand, one beyond the other, the long slope of oneslightly overlapping that of its nearer neighbor, offering for ourinspection a succession of blue tints, becoming more and more delicatein the distance till they melt into the sky. 

The mules care less for visible azure than for edible verdure, and sooncarried us by this picture. Far up the trail is a pretty scene upon ourown mountain. Suddenly we came out of the cool, wild forest upon alittle level spot, by the spring of the mountain stream. Here is an oldcamp with green grass growing up about the deserted building. After afinal winding journey around the steep southerly side of the mountain, came the first full view of the wild chaos of broken ranges toward thedesert. Then follows a gradual shaded ascent to the camp. The world hasvaried panoramas of mountain scenery "set off" by the glitter of snowypeaks. In California there are many accessible summits rising fromhalf-tropical valleys. Mountains which overlook the sea are withoutnumber. There may be in America other points from which one may lookdown upon a "city of homes, " and a "business centre" with sixty thousandbusy inhabitants. I do not know any spot apart from the mountains ofPasadena where you may put all of these in combination. From thenortherly peak of Mt. Wilson to the southerly peak of Mt. Harvard is adistance by trail along the ridge of perhaps three miles, offering avariety of points of view. To the north and east you may look down intoa gorge two thousand feet beneath, from which rises on the gentle breezethe mingled voice of brawling brook and murmuring pines. Beyond is aconfusion of green mountains, from which a range of white summits risesin the calm distance. Toward the south are solitary peaks with halos offleecy cloud. 

As for the prospect in the other direction, it shows at once that theway to print upon the mind a map of California's physical formation isto see it _a la_ bird's-eye--as the short path to acquaintance with agreat city is a vertical one--to the tower of the City Hall. 

One would require but a few more well-selected stations to map out allof Southern California. 

The several valleys of which Los Angeles is the commercial capital arestretched out before us like perfectly level plains, divided by rangesof hills. In the distance lies the glistening Pacific, with the blueoutlines of Catalina and more distant islands etched upon the westernsky. This picture is sometimes so distinct that you find yourselftrying to recognize acquaintances on the streets of Pasadena. Againeverything is dreamy with haze. Another morning you may stumble outtrying to rub yesterday's sunburn from your eyes, and find everythingbelow curtained by a bank of snowy fog. As for myself, I enjoy theprospect most when I cannot see it at all--that is, at night. 

There is a varied interchange of signals between the mountains and thevalley. At noon the people here talk with their Pasadena friends bygleaming flashlight. Then there are the reservoirs scattered over thevalley. In certain lights they are not seen at all, but in line with thesun they send up great flash signals themselves, and just after sunsetthey are always seen reflecting the calm twilight. An hour after sunsetour camp-fire is lighted. As we stand by it, the horizon seems to haveretired for the night. There is continuous sky, shading without a breakinto the shadows below. Gazing dreamily down, I am startled by theflashing forth of a hundred brilliant stars from what was the valleybelow. They disappear for a moment and then blaze out and become apermanent constellation. These stars are too numerous to resemble anyknown constellation. I concluded after a little that the mighty Orionhad drawn his sword and slain the Great Bear; that the lion had rashlyinterfered and his carcass had been dragged to that of the bear, andthat the exhausted Orion had thrown himself wearily upon them to rest. And there are the Pleiades close by; with feminine curiosity they havecome as near as they dared, to see what it is all about. 

Those wishing a scientific explanation of these phenomena must consultthe Pasadena Electric Lighting Company, except as to the stray Pleiades, which seem to have some connection with the lights of the Raymond Hotel. 

But what is that dim and curious meteor slowly moving toward the spotwhere Los Angeles used to be? Perhaps it is the headlight which heraldsthe coming of the belated overland train. Suddenly I see out of thedarkness beyond Pasadena the blazing forth of a majestic cross, ofwavering, uneven outline, but made up of crowded multitudes ofsparkling, glittering, scintillating stars. Los Angeles hassubstantially the same system of street illumination as Pasadena. 

You will note that I have abstained from hauling the sun above theeastern Sierras in the morning, and from tucking it under the Pacific atnight. This rearrangement of ponderous constellations is all that mystrength and my other engagements will permit. Those who want to knowthe glories of the sunset and moonlight must climb Mt. Wilsonthemselves. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

CATCHING UP ON THE KITE-SHAPED TRACK. 

Not the kite-shaped track of new-made trotting records and pneumatictires, but a track upon which you may pass a pleasant day riding afterthe iron horse. 

The route extends easterly from Los Angeles to San Bernardino _via_Pasadena. Beyond San Bernardino is the "loop, " which will take us twelvemiles farther east to Mentone, and around an oval curve back to SanBernardino. Thence we kite down to Riverside, then southwesterly toOrange, and so up to Los Angeles. Leaving Los Angeles at 9 A. M. You mayreturn by 4 P. M. , with time for dinner at San Bernardino. 

Taking the traveller back and forth across the central part of SouthernCalifornia as it does, the kite-shaped trip is naturally a favoritewith tourists, and, as its "catchy" name indicates, it caters to thatelement of travel. One always sees also anxious and eager "prospectors"or expectant settlers, who lose no opportunity to inquire all aboutcitrus and deciduous fruits, and prices of land and of water forirrigating the same. This excursion will show you the heart of theorange belt or belts of Southern California, especially on the northernand eastern sides of the "kite. "

The schedule of trains allows of convenient stop-overs, and several maybe made to advantage. 

Pasadena and Riverside of course must not be passed by. A short stay atOrange or Anaheim gives an interesting glimpse of a region where orangeculture is combined with that of other citrus fruits, as well as thegrape and olive. 

Aside from these points, the most interesting feature of the trip is the"loop" beyond San Bernardino. The town of San Bernardino is a thrivingbusiness centre. Perhaps it is on this account that its appearance fromthe car window is not as attractive as that of Riverside or Pasadena, which from all points of view seem peacefully embowered in half-tropicfoliage. But away from the railroads San Bernardino also has itscharming residence district, with the same general characteristics asits sister towns. 

Upon the "loop" a stop should be made at Redlands, an interesting spot, where the successful culture of oranges is carried on at a much higherelevation than was thought possible until a few years ago. There isnever any frost there to injure the fruit. The Hotel Terracina, on theheights, has a wondrous view, and the Smiley brothers, of "Lake Mohunk"celebrity, have fine grounds and homes on Cañon Crest, and are thinkingof building a hotel. 

The circuit of the "loop" reminds me of roving around upon the rim of avery large and shallow spoon, tilted upward toward Mentone at thesmaller end. San Bernardino is 1075 feet above the sea, and Mentone 1640feet. At that point we have nearly climbed the foothills, and are veryclose to the great mountains themselves. As we skim around upon theupper side of the "loop, " the long gradual slope from the foot of themountains to the stream at the centre of the valley seems an idealconformation for leading the irrigation streams from the mountains alongthe rows of orange trees which will soon entirely cover this valley. 

Four miles from San Bernardino is the station of Arrowhead, from whichwe have a near view of the peak of nature which gives the place itsname. It is a bare, gravelly tract on the side of the mountain, which, in contrast with the chaparral about it, takes the shape of an Indianarrowhead with a portion of the shaft attached. Covering a large area, the arrowhead is a landmark for many miles around. I could not helpthinking that if a gang of Italian laborers were employed for a few dayssharpening the outline of the arrowhead by cutting away bushes along theedge, and setting out others judiciously in the converted background, the effect of this interesting natural phenomenon might be muchbrightened. There are hot-springs at Arrowhead, and a hotel renders thevaried attractions of the place available. 

While we are kiting along let me tell you what I know about basketsmade by the Indian women of the Pacific Coast of now and long ago, thelast considered valuable and now commanding high prices. There areseveral experts on this subject in Pasadena--Mrs. Lowe, ex-Mayor Lukens, Mrs. Jeanne C. Carr, and Mrs. Belle Jewett, who has the most preciouscollection of all. 

Mrs. Lowe has gathered together for her Basement Museum, which any Statewould be proud to own, all that she could find of special interestrelative to the Indians of California--clothing, headdress, weapons, medicine charms, money, beads, and of course many baskets, for basketsare as indispensable to the Indian as the reindeer to the Esquimau. Theywere used as cradles, caps for the head when carrying burdens, wardrobesfor garments not in use, granaries on roof, sifters for pounded meal, for carrying water, and keeping it for use, for cooking, receptacles formoney, plaques to gamble on, and so on. And the basket plays animportant part in their legends and folk-lore. 

Mrs. Lowe determined to preserve these specimens, as tourists wererapidly carrying away all they could find of such relics, and soon theState would be without proofs to tell how the Indian of the past livedand fed and fought, bought and sold, how he was dressed, and how heamused himself. 

Mrs. Ellen B. Farr, an artist in Pasadena who is famous for her successin painting the pepper tree and the big yellow poppy, with its reddishorange line changing toward petal tips to pale lemon, has also devotedher skill to pictures of such baskets grouped effectually--baskets nowscattered all over the world, each with its own history, its ownindividuality, and no duplicate, for no two baskets are ever exactlysimilar. 

The true way to obtain these baskets is, go a-hunting for them, not buythem at stores. They are handed down for generations as heirloomsoriginally, never intended for sale, and with the needles used inweaving, made usually of a fine bone from a hawk's wing, and thegambling dice, are the carefully concealed family treasures. Butsometimes by going yourself to see the aged squaws, or paying one whois familiar with their ways to explore for you, you may get a richreturn. Baskets are of all sizes, from the little beauties no biggerthan a teacup, woven finely and adorned with beads and bits of dyedfeathers, to the granaries, or the storage baskets, holding half a ton, nine feet and nine inches in circumference, three feet deep. Mrs. Jewettshowed me a photograph of one of this sort, in which she sat comfortablyseated with her six-foot son and his wife. This had been in use morethan fifty years, and was as fine as ever. Her one hundred andtwenty-eight baskets represent twenty-eight tribes. In regard to theshapes and designs, the women seem to have copied straight from nature'spatterns, as seen in acorns, pine cones, seed vessels, etc. , so they aretruly artists. 

Figures of men are sometimes woven in: those with heads on represent thevictorious warriors; those decapitated depict the braves vanquished bythe fighters of their special tribe. An open palm is sometimes seen;this is an emblem of peace. 

Willow wands and stiff long-stemmed grasses are gathered and dried forthese baskets, then woven in coils and increased as they go on, as in acrochet stitch. It often requires a deal of coaxing and good pay tosecure one of these highly prized "Coras. "

The women were as devoted to gambling as the men, and made flat traysfor this purpose. The dice were eight acorn shells, or half-walnutshells, first daubed over inside with pitch, and then inlaid with littleshells which represented money. 

I saw a tray and dice purchased most adroitly from an excited gamblingparty, who were at the time too much intoxicated to know exactly whatthey were doing. After it had been paid for the owner was implored tosit down and gamble himself, hoping in this way to win more money andget back the board. It was hard to withstand their forcible appeals, butthe man ran away, and was obliged to hide all night for fear of assault. Squaws would sometimes bet pieces of flesh from their arms when theirmoney was gone, and many of them have been seen with rows of scars ontheir arms for this reason. No basket can be finished by an Indian womanuntil she has ceased to bear children. Then her work is done. 

The Japanese are famous basket-makers, but they do not far excel thebest work found among these untutored workwomen. 

Most curious of all is the fact that a _savant_ connected with theSmithsonian Institute was amazed when examining a "buck, " or man'splaque, to find it almost exactly like one he had brought from northernIndia--similar in weaving, size, and shading. 

And a lady told me that she could make herself understood by those of acertain tribe in Mexico by speaking to them in Sicilian. Which makes methink of Joel Chandler Harris and his embarrassment, after publishinghis stories of "Uncle Remus, " to receive letters from learned men athome and abroad, inquiring how this legend that he had given was thesame as one in India, or Egypt, or Siam. 

The art of basketry is rapidly deteriorating, and will soon be lostunless Indian children in the reservation are taught something of theold skill by their grandmothers, before the few now living depart forthat happy, unmolested hunting-ground they like to believe in, where Ido hope they will find a land all their own. 

The Mexican drawn-work is seen everywhere for sale, and at moderateprices--so moderate that any one is foolish to waste eyesight inimitating it. Each stitch has a name, and is full of meaning to thepatient maker. 

One can easily spend a good deal for curios, such as plaques, cups, vases, napkin-rings, plates and toothpicks of orange wood, barkpin-cushions, cat's-eye pins, etchings of all the missions in India ink, wild-flower, fern, and moss work, and, perhaps most popular of all, thepictures on orange wood of the burro, the poppy, and pepper and oranges. Or, if interested in natural history, you can secure a horned toad, acentipede, or a tarantula, alive or dead, and "set up. "

A horned toad is more easy to care for than the average baby alligatorof Florida, and as a pet is not more exacting, as it can live six monthswithout eating. 

"Why do some women like horrible things for pets?

"Mother Eve set the example, and ever since serpents have been in thefront rank of woman's eccentric loves. Cleopatra was fond of tigers andferocious beasts, but she turned at last to a snake as the most fittingcreature to do her bidding. 

"Centuries ago the queens of Egypt made pets of horned toads, and theugly little reptiles became things of state, and their lives more sacredthan the highest ministers to the court. Daughters of the Nileworshipped crocodiles. "

A very intelligent man, who has every reason to speak with authorityabout the tarantula as found in California, declares that it is notdangerous. He says they live in ground that has not been disturbed bythe plough. Their hole in the ground is about three fourths of an inchin diameter and twelve or fourteen inches deep, with only a web over thetop. Many tell us that the tarantula has a lid on the top of his house, but this is incorrect, as that belongs to the trap-door spider. It issold, however, here as a tarantula's nest. This creature dislikes thewinter rains as much as the tourist does, and fills up the entrance ofthe nest in October and November, not appearing until May. The greaternumber are found on adobe and clay soil. Tarantulas never come out atnight; the male sometimes appears just before sundown, but the female isseldom seen away from home unless disturbed. They seem to have a modelfamily life. Mr. Wakely, who has caught more of these spiders than anyliving man, does not seem to dread the job in the least. One man goesahead and places a small red flag at the opening of the nest; the nextman pours down a little water, which brings Mr. T---- up to see what isthe matter, and then Mr. W---- quietly secures it with a pair of pincersand puts it in a bottle, and has thus succeeded in catching hundreds, but has never had a bite. (This last line reminds me of the amateurangler. ) He tells me that there seems to be a general impression that atarantula will jump into the second-story window of a house, and, springing upon the neck of a young lady sitting there, will kill herinstantly. He has never seen one jump three inches. If one leg is brokenoff nature soon provides another. The Texas variety is believed to bemore dangerous. I do not know. 

There are rattlesnakes to be seen and heard about the mountains in hotweather. 

As to buying precious stones, especially opals, in this part of thecountry, I think it is wisest to buy opals in the real old Mexico foryourselves, often very cheaply. The prices rise rapidly here. A wateropal, however beautiful, has no commercial value. It is but animprisoned soap-bubble, and is apt to crumble. There are stores wherepretty colored stones can be bought, but the majority get cheated as toprice. 

But we are not paying proper attention to the "panorama. " Many have beenled to settle here by taking this picturesque trip; and with plenty ofwater oranges pay splendidly. So there is substantial wealth, ever onthe increase, in these new towns. 

By the way, were you ever asked to be a "panorama"? I once had thathonor. A lady came to my house one Sunday morning, and explained thather husband was dreadfully depressed over a fall in stocks or something, and she knew I could be "so amusing" if I chose, and wouldn't I get intoher carriage and go with her to amuse said husband, and be a sort ofpanorama for the poor man? "I don't want him to be in the panorama, " shesaid, "nor of the panorama; I want you just to be the panorama byyourself. " I was forced to decline this singular appeal, glad as Ishould have been to cheer her dumpy spouse. 

Why, oh why is it, that if persons have the slightest power of beingwhat is vaguely called "entertaining, " they are expected to be ever onduty at the call of any one who feels a desire for inexpensivediversion?

At one hotel I sat by the side of an odd old man, a retired tobaccomerchant of great wealth, who was ready for conversation with allnewcomers, and who seemed to feel that I was not doing my full share asan entertainer for the masses. He also had the unusual habit ofspeaking his thoughts aloud, whether complimentary or otherwise, infrank soliloquy, like that absent-minded Lord Dudley whom Sydney Smithalludes to, as meeting and greeting him with effusive cordiality, andthen saying, _sotto voce_, "I suppose I shall have to ask this man hometo dinner. "

But my friend at my elbow had very little of the _sotto_ in his _voce_. He began in this way:

"Ahem! I hear you can be funny. " No response from person addressed. Thento himself: "I don't much believe she can do anything--don't look likeit. " To me: "Well, now, if you _can_ be funny, why don't you?" I couldnot help laughing then. "Yes, if you can, you ought to go into theparlor every night and show what you can do, and amuse us. It is yourduty. Why, I told Quilletts--you know 'bout Quilletts? awfully funnyfeller; good company, you see--says I, 'Quilletts, I like you. Now, ifyou'll stay I'll give you a cottage, rent free, all summer (I've got anisland home--lots of us fellers on it--great times we have); but youmust agree to be funny every night, and keep the ball a-rollin'. ' Nowwe want you to get up and do something to entertain the guests. We wantto be amused--somethin' that will set us laughin'!"

I replied: "Mr. Brushwood, I understand you are a dealer in tobacco?"

"Yes, mum; and you won't find finer tobacker anywhere in this world thanwhat's got my name on it. Here's a picture of my store. Why, Brushwood'stobacker is known all over the United States. "

"Yes? Well, when I notice you freely distributing that tobacco, bunchesof your choicest brands, papers of the very best for chewing, cigarettesby the dozen, in the parlor evenings, I'll follow on just behind you, and try to amuse as a condensed circus. I'm not lacking in philanthropy. I only need to be roused by your noble example, sustained by yourinfluence. "

Brushwood looked disgusted, grunted his disapproval, backed his chairout from the table, and as he walked to the door of the dining-room manyheard him mutter, "She's a queer dick; don't amount to much, anyway;thought so when I first saw her; impudent, too!"

As the farmer remarked when he first encountered a sportsman dude, "Whatthings a feller does meet when he hasn't got his gun!"

But the train is slowing up, and see, Judge Brown, my old friend of TheAnchorage, is looking for us. No! No "Glenwood"; no "Arlington"; no"kerridge"!

CHAPTER IX. 

RIVERSIDE. 

 "Knowest thou the land where the lemon trees bloom, Where the golden orange grows in the deep thickets' gloom, Where a wind ever soft from the blue heavens blows, And the groves are of laurel and myrtle and rose?"

Yes, that describes Riverside, and reads like a prophecy. If Pasadena isa big garden with pretty homes scattered all through its shade andflowers, then Riverside is an immense orange grove, having one city-likestreet, with substantial business blocks and excellent stores, twobanks, one in the Evans block, especially fine in all its architectureand arrangements, and the rest is devoted by the land-owners to raisingoranges and making them pay. You will see flowers enough to overwhelm aBroadway florist, every sort of cereal, every fruit that grows, in primecondition for the table ten months out of the twelve. Three hundredsunny days are claimed here out of the three hundred and sixty-five. They are once in a while bothered by a frost, but that is "unusual. "Before 1870 this was a dusty desert of decomposed granite. What hascaused the change? Scientific irrigation and plenty of it. Or, as GrantAllen puts it, "mud. " He says: "Mud is the most valuable material in theworld. It is by mud we live; without it we should die. Mud is filling upthe lakes. Mud created Egypt, and mud created Lombardy. "

Yes, one can get rich here by turning dust into mud. It is said to bethe richest town "per capita" in all California of the same size, $1100being the average allowance for each person. This is solemnly vouchedfor by reliable citizens. And they have no destitute poor--a remarkablerecord. The city and district are said to enjoy an annual income of$1, 500, 000 from the fruit alone, and there is a million of unused moneyin the two banks. 

Irrigation is better than rain, for the orange growers can turn on ashower or a stream whenever and wherever needed. It requires courageand faith to go straight into a desert with frowning mountains, big, little, and middle-sized, all about, and not an available drop of water, and say, "I'm going to settle right here and turn this desert into abeautiful home, and start a prosperous, wealthy city. All that thisrocky, barren plain needs is water and careful cultivation, and I willgive it both. " That was Judge Brown's decision, and the result shows hiswisdom. No one agreed with him; it was declared that colonists could notbe induced to try it. But he could not relinquish the idea. He wascharmed by the dry, balmy air, so different from Los Angeles. He saw thesmooth plain was well adapted for irrigation, and Santa Ana could bemade to furnish all the water needed. So that it is really to him we owethe pleasure of seeing these orchards, vineyards, avenues, and homes. Where once the coyote and jack-rabbit had full sway, land now sells atprices from $400 to $3000 per acre. There are no fences--at least, thereis but one in all Riverside. You see everywhere fine, well-trimmedcypress hedges with trees occasionally cut in fantastic, elaboratedesigns. There are many century plants about the grounds; they blossomin this climate after twelve years, and die after the tall homely flowerhas come to maturity. The roadsides have pretty flowers planted allalong, giving a gay look, and the very weeds just now are covered withblossoms. Irrigation is carried on most scientifically, the water comingfrom a creek and the "cienaga, " which I will explain later. There areseveral handsome avenues shaded with peppers, and hedges twenty feethigh, through which are obtained peeps at enchanting homes; but thecelebrated drive which all tourists are expected to take is that to andfro through Magnolia Avenue, twelve miles long. The name now seems illychosen, as only a few magnolia trees were originally planted at eachcorner, and these have mostly died, so that the whole effect is moreeucalyptical, palmy, and pepperaneous than it is magnolious. People comehere "by chance the usual way, " and buy because they see the chance tomake money. You are told pretty big stories of successes; the failuresare not alluded to. 

I saw a large and prosperous place belonging to a woman of businessability, who came out all alone, took up a government grant, ploughedand planted and irrigated, sent for a sister to help her, sold land atgreat prices, and is now a wealthy woman. If I had not passed throughsuch depressing and enthusiasm-subduing experiences as an agriculturistin the East I might be tempted here. I did look with interest at theostrich farms, and had visions of great profits from feathers, eggs, andegg-shells. But it takes a small fortune to get started in thatbusiness, as eggs are twenty dollars each, and the birds are sometimesfive hundred dollars apiece. And they are subject to rheumatism and adozen other diseases, and a blow from a kicking bird will kill one. Iconcluded to let that dream be unrealized. Did you ever hear of thenervous invalid who was told by his physician to buy a Barbary ostrichand imitate him exactly for three months? It was a capital story. Thelazy dyspeptic was completely cured. As a hen woman I will remark _enpassant_ that it is hard to raise poultry in this part of California. The climate is too exhilarating, and if the head of each chicken doesnot get a drop of oil at once it dies of brain disease. 

Corn does not thrive. Mr. Brown at first put down ten acres to corn. Itlooked promising, but grew all to stalk. These stalks were over twelvefeet high, but corn was of no value, so he sold the stalks for eightydollars, and started his oranges. 

The English are largely interested here, and have invested two or threemillions, which will pay large interest to their grandchildren. Theirlong avenue is loyally named "Victoria. " A thrifty Canadian crazed bythe "boom, " the queerest mental epidemic or delusion that ever took holdof sensible people, bought some stony land just under Rubidoux Mountainfor $4000. It was possibly worth $100, but in those delirious days manydid much worse. It is amazing to see what hard work and water and goodtaste will do for such a place. He has blasted the rocks, made fountainsand cisterns, planted several acres of strawberries, set out hundredsof orange trees, has a beautiful garden, two pretty cottages, and someday he will get back his original price for a building site, for theview is grand. 

Riverside, while leading the orange-producing section of SouthernCalifornia, is not exactly the location which would have been selectedby the original settlers had they possessed the experience of theproducers of today. The oranges do not have to be washed, as in someother places; they are not injured by smut or scale; the groves arefaultless in size of trees, shape, and taste of fruit. One orangepresented to me weighed thirty-one ounces. But the growers, having lost$1, 000, 000 by Jack Frost several years ago, are obliged now to resort tothe use of lighted tar-pots on cold nights to make a dense smudge tokeep the temperature above the danger line. One man uses petroleum inhundred-gallon casks, one for each acre, from which two pipes run alongbetween the rows of trees, with half a dozen elbows twenty feet apart, over which are flat sheet-iron pans, into which the oil spatters as itvaporizes. An intensely hot flame keeps off the frost. This I do nothear spoken of at Riverside; you must go to a rival for any disagreeableinformation. At Pasadena their severe winds are called "Riversiders"; atAnaheim they are "Santa Anas"; and friends write me from damp LosAngeles to the dry air of Riverside, "How can you stay in that 'damp'place?" The inhabitants of Riverside do not concede that Pasadena is aplace for orange growers. At Redlands, luckily above frost terrors, theterrible losses at Riverside from that trouble are profusely narrated. San Diego gets its share of humorous belittlement from all. You hear thestory quoted of the shrewd Chinee who went to that city to look forbusiness, where one hears much of future developments, but did notsettle, saying, "It has too muchee bym-bye. " Friends, and especiallyhotel proprietors, exclaim in disgusted astonishment, "What! going toRiverside? Why, there's nothing there but oranges. "

I find more: fine and charming drives, scenery that differs from thatof Pasadena, "that poem of nature set to music beneath the swayingrhythm of the pine forests of the lofty Sierra Madres, " but is equallyenjoyable and admirable. 

Still, above all, and permeating every other interest, is the _orange_. As to dampness, a physician threatened with consumption, and naturallydesirous of finding the driest air, began while at Coronado Beach asimple but sure test for comparative degrees of "humidity" by justhanging a woolen stocking out of his window at night. At that place itwas wet all through, quite moist at Los Angeles, very much less so atPasadena, dry as a bone or red herring or an old-fashioned sermon atRiverside. Stockings will tell! (From April to September is really thebest time to visit Coronado. ) I experienced a very sudden change from awarm, delightful morning to an afternoon so penetrating by cold that Ireally suffered during a drive, although encased in the heaviest ofJaeger flannels, a woolen dress, and a heavy wrap. I thought of therough buffalo coat my uncle, a doctor, used to put on when called outon a winter night in New Hampshire, and wished I was enveloped insomething like it, with a heated freestone, for feet and a hot potatofor each hand. If I can make my readers understand that these suddenchanges make flannels necessary, and that one needs to be as carefulhere as in Canada as regards catching cold from night air and theseunexpected rigors, I shall feel, as the old writers used to say, "that Ihave not written entirely in vain. "

In one day you can sit under the trees in a thin dress and be too warmif the sun is at its best, and then be half frozen two hours later ifthe wind is in earnest and the sun has retired. In the sun, Paradise; inshade, protect yourself!

CHAPTER X. 

A LESSON ON THE TRAIN. 

"The Schoolmistress Abroad. "

All through Southern California I hear words of whose meaning I have noidea until they are explained. For instance, a friend wrote from SanDiego in February: "Do not longer delay your coming; the mesas arealready bright with wild-flowers. " A mesa is a plateau, or upland, orhigh plain. And then there are fifty words in common use retained fromthe Spanish rule that really need a glossary. As, arroyo, a brook orcreek; and arroyo seco, a dry creek or bed of extinct river. 

Alameda, an avenue. 

Alamitos, little cotton-wood. 

Alamo, the cotton-wood; in Spain, the poplar. 

Alma, soul. 

That is all I have learned in A's. Then for B's. 

I asked at Riverside what name they had for a big, big rock that roseright out of the plain, and was told it was a "butte. " That gave ameaning to Butte City, and was another lesson. 

Banos means baths, and barranca is a small ravine. 

Then, if we go on alphabetically, cajon, pronounced _cahone_, is a box. 

Calaveras, skull. 

Campo, plain. 

Ciénaga, a marshy place. 

Campo sancto, cemetery. 

Canyon or cañon, gulch. 

Cruz, cross. 

Colorado, red. 

Some of the Spanish words are so musical it is a pleasure to repeat themaloud; as:

Ensenada, bright. 

Escondido, hidden. 

Fresno means ash. 

I inquired the meaning of "Los Gatos, " and was kindly informed it was"The Gates, " but it really is "The Cats. "

Goleta, the name of another town, means schooner. 

The Spanish _j_ nearly always has the sound of _h_. 

Jacinto, Hyacinth. 

José, Joseph. 

Lago is lake; pond, laguna; and for a little lake the pretty namelagunita. "Lagunita Rancho" is the name of an immense fruit ranch inVacaville--and, by the way, vaca is cow. 

Madre is mother; nevada, snowy. 

San Luis Obispo is San Luis the Bishop. 

El Paso is The Pass. 

Pueblo, a town. 

Pinola is parched corn ground fine between stones, eaten with milk. 

Pinoche, chopped English walnuts cooked in brown sugar--a nice candy. 

Rancho, a farm; and rio, river. 

Everything is a ranch out here; the word in the minds of many standsfor home. A little four-year-old boy was overheard praying the other daythat when he died the Lord would take him to His ranch. 

Sacramento is the sacrament. 

Sierra, saw-toothed; an earthquake is a temblor. 

San and Santa, the masculine and feminine form of saint. 

As the men who laid out a part of New York evidently travelled with aclassical dictionary, and named the towns from that, as Rome, Syracuse, Palmyra, Utica, so the devout Spanish explorer named the places where hehalted by the name of the saint whose name was on the church calendarfor that day. And we have San Diego (St. James), San Juan (St. John), San Luis, San José, San Pedro, Santa Inez, Santa Maria, Santa Clara, and, best of all, Santa Barbara, to which town we are now going. 

The Mexican dialect furnishes words which are now permanentlyincorporated in our common speech; as:

Adobe, sun-dried brick. 

Cañon, gorge. 

Tules, rush or water-weed. (Bret Harte's _Apostle of the Tules_. )

Bonanza, originally _fair weather at sea_, now _good fortune in mining_. 

Fandango, dance of the people. 

Corral, a place to collect stock. (A farmer of the West never sayscow-pen, or barnyard, or farmyard, but corral. )

Cascarones, egg-shells filled with finely cut gold or silver paper, orperfumes, broken on head of young man, in friendly banter or challengeto a dance. 

Burro, small kind of donkey. 

Broncho, wild, untamed animal. 

Sombrero, hat. 

Rebozo, scarf. 

Serape, blanket. 

Lariat, rawhide rope. 

Hacienda, estate. 

While we are rattling along there is so little to see until we reachthe ocean, that we may as well be recalling a few more facts worthknowing. At Riverside I learned that the leaf of the orange tree waslarger when it first came out than later. It grows smaller as itmatures. And most people say that the fig tree has no blossom, the fruitcoming right out of the branch. But there is a blossom, and you have tocut the fruit open to find it. Just split a young fig in two and noticethe perfect blossom in the centre. 

They say it takes two Eastern men to believe a Californian, but it onlytakes one Eastern woman to tell true stories which do seem almost toobig for belief. One man got lost in a mustard field, and he was onhorseback too. 

I saw at San Diego a tomato vine only eight months old, which wasnineteen feet high and twenty-five feet wide, and loaded full of fruitin January. A man picking the tomatoes on a stepladder added to theeffect. And a Gold of Ophir rose-bush at Pasadena which had 200, 000blossoms. This is vouched for by its owner, a retired missionary, whocannot be doubted. There are truly true pumpkins that weigh 256 poundsand are seven feet in circumference; cucumbers seven feet long; sevenbeets weighed 500 pounds; three bites to a strawberry; and theeucalyptus shoots often grow twenty feet the first year, carrying withthem in their rapid ascension the stakes to which they were tied. Allthis is true. But here are two stories which may be doubtful, just toshow what anecdotes are current in California. "A man was on top of aCalifornia pumpkin chopping off a piece with an axe, when it dropped in. He pulled up his ladder and put it down on the inside to look for it. While groping about he met a man, who exclaimed, 'Hello! What are youdoing here?' 'Looking for my axe. ' 'Gosh! you might as well give thatup. I lost my horse and cart in here three days ago, and haven't found'em yet!'"

"A farmer raised one thousand bushels of popcorn and stored it in abarn. The barn caught fire, and the corn began to pop and filled aten-acre field. An old mare in a neighboring pasture had defectiveeyesight, saw the corn, thought it was snow, and lay down and froze todeath. "

As to serious farming, and how it pays in this part of the State, I haveclipped several paragraphs from the papers, and will give three assamples of the whole. I desire also to communicate the cheerful newsthat there are no potato bugs to make life seem too hard to bear. 

"RAISED ON TWENTY ACRES. 

"How much land do I need in California? is a question often asked. Theanswer is readily made: as much as you can profitably and economicallywork. A gentleman has made the following exhibit in the Los AngelesChamber of Commerce: 'Raised on twenty acres of ground, 2500 boxes oforanges, 1500 boxes of lemons, 37, 000 pounds of grapes, 2000 pounds ofpears, 35, 000 pounds of apples, 15, 000 pounds of berries, black and red, 1000 pounds of English walnuts. Besides nectarines, apricots, plums, three crops of potatoes, 500 pounds of crab-apples, and one acre ofalfalfa kept for cows, and flowers of different varieties. Theseoranges are worth on the trees $3500, the lemons $3000, the grapes $370, pears $30, apples $75, berries $30, walnuts $80. The total will be$7085, and all the products not counted. That surely is more than thecrops of a half section in Kansas or Illinois will sell for. ' Every onemay not do as well, but they can approach it, and if they do, twentyacres is quite enough. "

"PROFITS OF BERRY CULTURE. 

"Speaking of the profits of growing strawberries in Southern California, the Covina _Argus_ gives some interesting facts and figures. That papersays: 'One of the growers stated to us that last year he picked andshipped from three acres the enormous amount of fourteen tons. Theseberries brought as high as fifteen cents and as low as four cents perpound, but netted an average of about eight cents per pound, or $2240. That would make an acre of berries produce a cash return of $746. 66⅔, which, considering the shortness of the berry season, from four to fivemonths, is a pretty good income on the money invested. '"

"PROFIT IN ALMONDS. 

"M. Treat, an authority on almond culture, has contributed the followingto the Woodland _Mail_: 'This year from 190 California paper-shellalmond trees (five years old), covering two and five-sevenths acres, Igathered 3502 pounds of nuts, which sold in Chicago at twenty-two centsa pound. This is $316. 82 to the acre--a little over $4 to the tree--18½pounds to the tree. When these same trees were four years old theyaveraged about three pounds, and in eight years they will double whatthey bore at five. They will at eight years bear full 40 pounds to thetree. At twelve years they will bear fully 100 pounds to the treewithout the least exertion. This is at seventy trees to the acre, andreckoning at twenty-two cents to the pound, $1540 per acre. Now theseare nothing but plain, bare, raw facts. 

"'Almond trees live and do well for fifty years, and in some places inEurope when fifteen years old bear from 150 to 200 pounds per tree. '"

At Saugus Junction Mr. Tolfree has established one of his famousrestaurants, where I can conscientiously urge you to get out and dine. Every course is delicious. 

Ventura County is partially devoted to the culture of Beans. I use acapital because Beans represent Culture, or are associated with it inone State at least, and the very meaning of the word is property, money, from the French _biens_--goods. I wonder how many of my Boston friendsknew that! I did not until a friend showed it to me in Brewer'sphrase-book, where I also learned that beans played an important part inthe politics of the Greeks, being used in voting by ballot. I always hada liking for beans, but I have a profound respect for them since viewingthe largest Lima Bean Ranch in the world, belonging to my friend Mr. D. W. Thompson, of Santa Barbara. There are 2500 acres of rich land, level as a house floor, bounded by a line of trees on one side and theocean on the other; 1600 acres are planted to beans, and the profitsare nearly $60, 000 yearly. Thirty-six tons of beans were used this yearin planting. This could not be done in the East, but beans do not needto be "poled" here, as, influenced by the dreamy atmosphere, they showno desire to climb, but just lie lazily along the ground. Still, thereis a deal of work connected with the business. Dairying, building, horseshoeing, repairing of machinery, are all done on the place. "Assoon as the spring rains are over, eleven gang ploughs, four ploughs toa gang, each gang drawn by six horses, plough about seven acres perday. " Then the harrowing and planting in the same big way. During theentire summer these vines grow without a drop of water, freshened dailyby the heavy sea fogs. Harvesting and threshing all done by machinery. The steam thresher would amaze some of our overworked, land-poorfarmers. About one hundred and twenty carloads of beans are annuallyshipped from this ranch, reserving the tons needed for seed. 

And all along the way fine ranches are seen, where beans are seengrowing alone, or planted between the long even rows of fruit trees. Mr. Thompson also owns a large hog ranch. But dear me! We are now skirtingthe beautiful ocean curve which leads to the "Channel City"--so near thebeach that the waves almost touch the rails and the dash of the surfseems under the cars. See how fine a situation! The coast line taking asudden and most fortunate turn, the trend of mountain range and plainland is east and west, instead of north and south. Sheltered bymountains and mesas, and nestled in the green foot-hills, with the oceanbreeze tempered by a chain of islands, making a serene harbor, SantaBarbara has much to make it the rival of San Diego and Pasadena. Porkand beans must now give way to legend and romance, martyred virgin, holymonks, untutored "neophytes, " handsome Castilians, dashing Mexicans, energetic pioneers, the old Spanish, the imported Chinese, the easternelement now thoroughly at home, and the inevitable, ubiquitous invalid, globe-trotter, and hotel habitué--each type or stratum as distinctlymarked as in a pousse café, or jelly cake. What a comparison! I askSanta Barbara's pardon, and beg not to be struck with lightning, ordestroyed by gunpowder. --"_Yes, to the Arlington. _"

CHAPTER XI. 

SANTA BARBARA. 

 "Saints will aid if men will call, For the blue sky bends o'er all. "

Sweet sixteen and an "awful dad. " Santa Barbara and Dioscurus. Such acruel story, and so varied in version that the student of sacred legendgets decidedly puzzled. The fair-haired daughter was advised secretly byOrigen, who sent a pupil disguised as a physician to instruct her in theChristian faith. She insisted on putting three windows instead of twointo the bathroom of the tower to which her father sent her, either toprevent her from marrying or to imprison her until she would wed one ofthe many gay young suitors. These three windows showed her belief in theTrinity, which she could not have learned from Origen, as amongChristians he was regarded as heretical, and his followers wereUnitarians and Universalists combined, adding the cheerful theory of the"second opportunity" and that all punishment from sin would have an end, yet clinging to the old pagan mythology and believing that sun, moon, stars, and the ocean all had souls--a "Neo-Platonist. "

Refusing to recant, Barbara was arraigned and condemned to death. Herenergetic paternal evidently had heard the maxim, "If you want anythingdone, do it yourself. " His heavy blows fell soft as feathers. She seemedin sweet slumber. So he drew his sword, cut off her head, and wasinstantly killed by lightning from Heaven. Thus ends the history of two"Early Fathers. "

But sweet St. Barbara will never be forgotten. She is the patroness ofartillery soldiers, and protects from lightning and sudden death. In themany pictures where she appears she carries a feather, or the martyr'ssword and palm, or a book; and the three windows are often seen. She isthe only Santa who bears the cup and wafer. 

The appreciative Spaniards honored her memory by bestowing her prettyname on the choicest spot of the coast, a belt of land seventy mileslong and thirty-five wide, from Point Concepcion to Buena Ventura. Noone can dare to doubt this tragic tale, for Barbara's head may still beseen preserved as a relic in the temple of All Saints at Rome. I do notwant to be too severe in my estimate of the Roman noble, Dioscurus. Anold lady who never spoke ill of any one, when called upon to saysomething good of the devil, said, "We might all imitate hispersistence;" and this impulsive demon was certainly a creature who, ifhe had an unpleasant duty confronting him, attended to it himself. 

The first navigator who landed on the coast of Santa Barbara, or on oneof the four islands, was Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo, in 1542. He is buriedon San Miguel (pronounced _Magell_). The Indians (and the entire Indianpopulation at that time amounted to 22, 000) were exceedingly glad towelcome the strangers, much better behaved than those found at SanDiego, who stripped the clothing from those too ill to defendthemselves. Perhaps a reason for this superiority may be found in thefact that these tribes were entirely naked, and had no desire for anyconventional covering. They serenaded their new friends so loudly thatsleep or rest was impossible, and offered their most delicious food andfree use of canoes. They ate seeds, fruit, fish, locusts; hunted rabbit, hare, and deer; dried the meat of the latter on trees; placed acorns ina sieve basket, rinsed and boiled them. As every race is unhappy withoutan intoxicating drink and something to chew or smoke, they extracted abitter beverage from a certain seed, and used a root in place oftobacco. 

These Channel Indians let their hair grow so long that they could makebraids and fasten them round the face with stone rings. The visitorsspoke of the "Island of the Bearded People. " They had substantial brushhuts, supported by pillars bearing inscriptions supposed to allude totheir religion, and they enjoyed dancing to the music of bone flutes. For gifts, they most desired red calico and chocolate. 

Cabrillo's men found a primitive temple on one of the islands, and in itan unknown god or idol. One of the eight original tribes had a form ofworship strongly resembling a Turkish bath. The men sat round a hot fireuntil drenched in perspiration; then plunged into a pool of cold water. The women were not permitted to be devout in this "cleanliness next togodliness" manner. It was a luxury and prerogative the noble braveswanted entirely for themselves. (We see something similar in our ownprogressive, enlightened churches, where women are expected to provideand pack clothing for missionary boxes, attend unfailingly on the statedmeans of grace, visit and nurse the sick and poor members, denythemselves for charity, listen reverently to stupid discourses on theunknown, delivered with profound certainty that approaches omniscience, but are not allowed to "speak out in meetin', " or to have the honor ofbeing represented by women delegates at denominational conventions, orclubs and councils. They are to lead heavenward, but earthly pleasuresand honors are strictly "reserved"! About the same, isn't it?)

When Father Junipero Sena reached Santa Barbara on his mission-startingpilgrimage, he sent for Mexican artisans, who taught his converts allthe industrial arts. They were taught to support themselves, then apiece of ground was parcelled out to each, with a yoke of oxen andfarming utensils. Serra formed eleven missions; ten were added later. Hebuilt the great aqueduct which is still used in Santa Barbara. All honorto his memory! "There lingers around Santa Barbara more of the aroma andromance of a bygone civilization, when the worthy Padres set an exampleof practical Christianity to the Indian aborigines that we would do wellto emulate, than is found elsewhere in the State. "

In the good old days a person could travel from San Diego to SanFrancisco and not expend one shilling. The Mission Fathers would furnishsaddle, horse, or a comfortable bed, meals, and the Spanish host wouldleave in the guest-chamber a small heap of silver covered by a cloth, and the stranger, if needy, was expected to take some of it to supplyhis wants. 

Would you like to see a specimen of the Indian dialect used by the"Bearded People"? I can count to five in the Siujtu language--or, atleast, I don't care to go much further: paca, sco, masa, scu, itapaca;twenty is sco-quealisco; and to-morrow, huanahuit. 

The islands are now only occupied by flocks of sheep, sheared twice ayear, and paying their owners a good profit; $100, 000 one year fromSanta Rosa alone. The wool gets full of seed, and it is not the finestquality, but this is counterbalanced by the quantity. 

Many large abalone shells are found on San Miguel. They are pried offwith a crow-bar, the shells are polished for sale, made into buttons, etc. , and the meat is dried and sent to China, where it is ground andmade into soup. It has been used here, and pronounced by some to beequal to terrapin, and by others to closely resemble leather. 

These islands are always a delight to look upon. As the state of theatmosphere varies they seem near or far away, clearly defined, or with ahazy outline. But in sunlight or shadow, mist or mirage, they are everbeautiful. Within the peaceful channel ships are safe while a wind stormrages just beyond. The government sends big war-ships here for a trialof speed. None of these islands are now desirable for residence. Thereis no natural supply of fresh water, and the sheep rely on the moistureleft by the heavy fogs, and on a certain plant which holds water in itscup-like blossom. I hear that at Catalina the goats, deprived of theirnatural pabulum of hoop-skirts, tomato cans, and old shoes, feed onclover and drink the dew. 

That's what this climate does for a goat. I do not dare to make manystatements in regard to novelties in natural history since one poorwoman poetized upon the coyote "howling" in the desert, and rousedhundreds of critics to deny that coyotes ever howled. And a scientificstudent came to Santa Barbara not so long ago, and found on one of theseislands a species of tailless fox, and hastened to communicate theinteresting anomaly to the Smithsonian Institute. It seems that theotter hunters trapped these foxes for their tails, then let them go. 

If it were not for these blunders I would state that roosters seem tokeep awake most of the night in Southern California, and can be heardcrowing at most irregular hours. Considering the risks, I refrain. 

The islands were named by a pious priest, who made the map; and those wesee in looking out from Santa Barbara are San Miguel, Santa Rosa, SantaCruz, Ana, Capa. San Nicholas Island is interesting as having been theabode for sixteen years of a solitary Indian woman, a feminine RobinsonCrusoe, without even a Friday, who was left by mistake when the rest ofthe Indians were carried away by order of the Mission Fathers. Two ofthe men who at last succeeded in finding her gave their testimony, whichhas been preserved; and one of them, Charlie Brown, is still alive, andlikes to tell the strange story. It seems she had run back to get herchild, and the ship went off without her. Nidever tells his story inthis way:

"We scattered off two or three hundred yards apart. She had a littlehouse made of brush and had a fire; she was sitting by the fire with alittle knife; she was working with it. She had a bone; all came up andlooked at her; she had a heap of roots--that is what she lived on--andhad little sacks to carry them in. As soon as we sat down she put a lumpof them to roast on the fire. Finally we got ready to go, and we madesigns for her to come with us. She understood the signs for her to comewith us; she picked up her things to take them on board. "

She had a dress made of duck skins, sewed together with the sinews of aseal, with needles made of bone--an eye drilled through. This dress thepriests sent to Rome. 

The demijohn in which she carried water was made out of rushes andstopped with asphaltum. She was making one of these water bottles. Sheheated small round stones in the fire and put them in the asphaltum, andthen lined the bottle, making it tight. She had no matches, of course, nor even a tinder-box, but started fire by rubbing two sticks together. 

She said her child was eaten up by wolves. None of the Indiansunderstood her dialect; finally one woman was found who could talk toher a little, who had been raised on the same island. The woman wasfound in 1853. She seemed happy and contented, and would go round todifferent houses and dance the Indian dances. She was a great curiosity;twenty or thirty would go along with her. Many who were sailing by wouldstop just to see her. 

The other hunters had noticed small human tracks, but never could seeany one. At last several men were scattered all over the island, andCharlie Brown was the first to discover her. He thought at first it wasonly a black crow sitting on a whalebone. I give his version, as hislanguage is far more picturesque and vivid than my paraphrase would be. He says:

"She had built a brush fence about two feet high to break the wind. Thesun was coming in her face. She was skinning a seal. The dog when henoticed me he began to growl. I thought if she should run. I steppedright round her, and she bowed as if she knew me before, and when theIndians came up they all kneeled down, and when she saw there was someof her color, she held out some of her food and offered all some. 

"I took her by the shoulder, and I said, '_Varmoose_, ' and sheunderstood at once. I took everything she had, and she took a big sealhead in basket. We all had something to carry. Then she had a littlebrand of fire, and she took that away and wobbled along with a strangekind of a step like until we came to a watering-place about fifty feetdown the bank, and they all went down there and she went too, and shesat down there and we watched to see what she would do, and she washedherself over; her hair was all rotting away, a kind of bleached by thesun, and we got to the vessel and she kneeled down, and we had a stoveright on deck and she crawled to the stove and we gave her a piece ofbiscuit and she ate like a good fellow. It came on to blow; old manNidever had some bed-ticking. I made her a dress, and gave her a man'sshirt. She was tickled to death. If I was where she was she would holdup her dress and point that I made it. "

He was asked how she happened to be left, repeated Nidever's story, andadded: "She found they were all gone, and commenced to hollo. No answer, and hunted round and saw the tracks and found they went to lower part ofthe island. When she got there found the vessel going away, and shecalled, 'Mancyavina, ' but it never came. She put her head on the groundand laid on the ground and cried, and they never came. 

"The priest here had all the Indians in Santa Barbara and Santa Inez tosee if they understood her. They could understand some words, but notall. She got baptized, and they made her a Christian and everything. Asteamer came up from below; the captain offered to take her up and showher, but old man Nidever would not agree. She died; they gave her greencorn and melons, and they were too much for her. She made knives ofbone and wood, and had pointed nails for catching fish. She had ropesnicely twisted with sinews, twisted as true as any rope-maker couldmake, and had bottles made of grass, and dishes of wood with handles;she put the feathers next her skin to keep warm. "

I will only add that wild dogs were numerous, and she tamed them forfriends. The priests called her Juana Maria, and I think the name of theisland should be changed in her honor. I doubt if Santa Barbara herselfcould have done as well under similar circumstances. 

CHAPTER XII. 

HER CITY AND COUNTY. 

 "Syrian apples, Othmanee quinces, Limes and citrons and apricots, And wines that are known to Eastern princes. "

In walking through the streets of Santa Barbara you may still see thevarious types, but not so clearly defined as of old. Holy Fathers stillintone the service within the massive mission walls; they stillcultivate the large garden, from which woman is sedulously excluded. Butthe faces are German and Irish. At a street corner two men are talkingearnestly, and as you pass you get a glance from Mexican eyes, dark andsoft, but the hair shows Indian blood. A real old Mexican vaquero ridesby in the genuine outfit, well worn and showing long use; next acarriage full of fashionable visitors; then a queerer combination thanthe Anglomaniac with his trousers legs turned up if the cable reports arainy day in London. This is the American vaquero--usually a short, fatman with dumpy legs, who dons a flapping sombrero, buys a new Mexicansaddle, wooden stirrups, and leather riata, sometimes adding a coil ofrope at left side, wears the botas with a corduroy suit at dinner athotel, and doesn't know at all how comical an appearance he presents. The very next to pass is one of the pioneers, who, although worth amillion or more, puts on no style, and surveys the mongrel in front witha twinkle in his eye. Every one should own a horse or pony or burrohere, for the various drives are the greatest charm of the place. Through all Southern California the happy children ride to school, wherethe steeds, fastened to fence in front of building, wait patiently inline, like Mary's lamb. But in Santa Barbara you see mere tots onhorseback, who look as if it were no new accomplishment. I believe themothers put them on gentle ponies to be cared for, or safe, as mothersin general use the cradle or high-chair. One of the old Mexicanresidents of Santa Barbara, when over eighty years of age, had themisfortune to break his leg. He lay in bed uneasily until a surgeoncould be summoned and the fractured bones set and duly encased inplaster. He then insisted on being carried out and placed upon hisfavorite horse, where he sat during each day with patient serenity untilthe damage was repaired by nature. 

The drives are all delightful. You cannot make a mistake; there aretwenty-eight drives distinct and beautiful. Those best known are, to theMission Cañon, to the Lighthouse, to Montecito and Carpenteria, Cooper'sRanch, through the far-famed Ojai Valley, and the stage or coaching tripto San Luis Obispo, not forgetting La Vina Grande (the big grapevine), the trunk eighteen inches in diameter, foliage covering 10, 000 squarefeet, producing in one year 12, 000 pounds of grapes; and the CathedralOaks. I jotted down a few facts at the Lighthouse _a la_ Jingle in_Pickwick Papers_: gleaming white tower, black lantern, rising from neatwhite cottage, green window-shutters, light 180 feet above sea-level, fine view from balcony, fields of young barley down to water's edge, bluest blue in sea and sky, the lamp holds only one quart of oil, reflectors do big business, considering, throwing the light 417 miles. 

The keeper, a woman, has been there over thirty years, never goes awayfor a single night, trim, quaint, and decided, doesn't want to bewritten up, will oblige her, don't believe a woman ever did so much goodwith a quart of kerosene daily before. Been a widow a long time, heardof one woman, wife of lighthouse-keeper, he died, she too stout to begotten out of the one room, next incumbent married her. 

Montecito, as Roe described it, is a village of charming gardens andgreen lawns, with a softer climate even than Santa Barbara--a mostdesirable situation for an elegant country retreat. I had the privilegeof visiting the home of Mr. W. P. Gould, a former resident of Boston, who has one of the most perfect places I have ever seen. He has beenexperimenting this year with olive oil in one room of his large housefor curing lemons, and has perfected a machine which expresses the"virgin oil" without cracking a single pit or stone. This is a greatimprovement, as one crushed stone will give an acrid taste to a quart ofoil. There is a fashion in fruits as much as in bonnets or sleeves. Olive culture is just now the fad. Pears, prunes, almonds, walnuts, haveeach had their day, or their special boom. Pomona is headquarters forthe olive industry. Nursery men there sold over 500, 000 trees last year. The tree does not require the richest soil. Hon. Elwood Cooper's oliveoil is justly famous, but the machinery designed by Mr. Gould makes amuch purer oil, pronounced by connoisseurs to be the finest in theworld. The olives are sun-dried; the ponderous rollers and keen knivesof the masher mash the fruit, and every after-process is the perfectionof cleanliness and skill. There is a nutty sweetness about this oil, anda clear amber color, which makes it most desirable for the fastidiousinvalid. 

This new process has been purchased by a company who are going to try togive the country what it has never known before--pure olive oil, freefrom a bit of the stone. No pure oil is brought to our country. Thepublic think the price too high; they prefer to buy cotton-seed oil atthirty-five cents a gallon, and this is adulterated with peanuts, sunflowers, and so on. This will do for the masses, but the best is nonetoo good if it can be found. 

Few appreciate the medicinal value of olive oil. Nations making useregularly of this and the fruit are freed from dyspepsia. A free use inthe United States would round out Brother Jonathan's angular sparenessof form, and make him less nervous and less like the typical Yankee ofwhom the witty Grace Greenwood said: "He looks as if the Lord had madehim and then pinched him. " One does not see the orange groves here, butthe lemon trees and walnuts and olives are an agreeable change--just fora change. 

"Who ever thinks of connecting such a commonplace article of diet as thelemon with the romantic history of ill-fated Anne Boleyn? Yet, indirectly, she was the cause of its first introduction into England, and so into popular notice. Henry VIII. , who, if he rid himself of hiswives like a brute, certainly won them like a prince, gave such splendidfeasts and pageants in honor of the coronation of Anne and of theirprevious nuptials as had seldom been accorded to queens of the royalblood. These kingly entertainments were in turn followed by the greatcivic feast of London, for which the whole world was searched fordelicacies to add to the splendor. At one such banquet, graced by thepresence of the royal pair, a lemon was introduced as an elegantnovelty. To an epicure such as Henry, the acquisition of a castle inFrance would have proved less acceptable, and such was the importanceattached to the discovery--so says an old biographer--that a specialrecord was made of the fact that the cost of this precious lemon was sixsilver pennies. "

We hear nothing of irrigation, but almost everything will thrive withoutit. The soil grows well all varieties of fruits found in the Eastern andNew England States, besides all the semi-tropical fruits, as guavas, loquats, persimmons, dates, etc. As the Rev. Mr. Jackson says: "Couldit be shown that the primitive Eden bore as many fruits pleasant to thetaste, it would add a new pang to the thought of original sin. "

The number of native trees seems small, but trees have been naturalizedhere from every part of the world. The pepper tree is from Peru, alsothe quinine tree: from Chili, the monkey tree and the Norfolk Islandpine. 

Mr. Cooper imported the eucalyptus from Australia. It grows rapidly, andis planted for windbreaks. It is used for firewood, and when cut downnearly to the ground will start up with the same old courage andambition. Its roots are so eager for water that they make long detours, sometimes even climbing up and down a stone wall, if it is in theirroute, or into a well. From the same country comes the acacia, therubber tree, and a large number of shrubs. New Zealand contributes hershare, and to China and Japan they are indebted for the camphor tree, the gingko, the loquat, and the chestnuts. To South Africa they areindebted for the silver tree, and from the northern part of thatcountry the date-palm and the tamarind. 

One sees side by side here, and in Pasadena, trees from almost oppositeclimes: the New England elm and a cork tree, a cedar of Lebanon and amaple or an English oak. Then the glorious palm--twenty-two varieties inMontecito Valley alone. 

Sydney Smith said of the fertility of Australia, "Tickle her with a hoeand she laughs with a harvest. " But in California even the hoe is notneeded, for "volunteer crops" come up all by themselves, and look betterthan ours so carefully cultivated. They say that if a Chinaman eats awatermelon under a tree the result is a fine crop of melons next year. And I read of a volunteer tomato plant ploughed down twice that measuredtwelve feet square, and bore thousands of small red tomatoes. 

Alfalfa is an ever-growing crop--can be garnered five times each year. 

And as for flowers, I really cannot attempt to enumerate or describe indetail. There are hundreds of varieties of roses. They were foundgrowing wild by myriads, and have been most carefully cultivated andimproved. One rose tree in the grounds of the Arlington Hotel has spreadover sixty feet of the veranda, and three lady guests have climbed intoits branches at once. As one man said: "The roses here would climb tothe moon if a trellis could be provided. "

A friend sent me twenty-five large bunches of the choicest roses fromher garden one morning in April, each bunch a different variety. Theirroses are shipped in large quantities to San Francisco, and Chicago hasher churches decorated at Easter from the rose gardens of Santa Barbara. 

Honey naturally is thought of. Apiculture here is a great business. Thebee has to be busy all day long and all through the year--no rest. Oneingenious fellow proposed crossing the working bee with the firefly, soit could work all night long by its own lantern. But this is better. Ihear wondrous stories of bees getting into cracks of church towers orupper stories, and bulging out the buildings with their accumulatedstores--positively cartloads of sweetness. Think of honey made fromorange flowers selling at five cents a pound!

A clergyman writing of Santa Barbara County says that twenty-five yearsago all their vegetables were imported. Now beans yield a ton to theacre, potatoes two hundred and fifty bushels per acre, and he has seenpotatoes that weighed six, seven, and eight and a half pounds--as muchas an ordinary baby; beets, seventy-five tons to the acre; carrots, thirty. Mr. Webster once declared in Congress that this State couldnever raise a bushel of grain. Corn yields fifty bushels to the acre;barley, sixty; wheat, thirty. Others give much higher records: corn, onehundred and thirty bushels; barley, eighty; potatoes, four hundred;forty tons of squashes, four tons of hay, sixty tons of beets. 

I have spoken of stock-raising. Dairying is a profitable industry. Poultry farming a little uncertain. If interested in mining there ismuch to explore. Just in this county are found gold, silver, copper, asphaltum, bituminous rock, gypsum, quicksilver, natural gas, andpetroleum. 

And what sort of a climate does one find? Santa Barbara is anall-year-round resort. It has all that one could ask. 

 "The mountains look on Marathon, And Marathon looks on the sea. "

It is a perpetual summer--sometimes a cold and rainy June, sometimes alittle too warm, sometimes a three days' sand-storm, disagreeable andtrying; but it is always June, as we in New England know June. At leastit is Juney from 9 A. M. Until 4 P. M. Just before sunset the temperaturefalls. Then when the sun goes rapidly in or down it is like being out atsea. And to a sensitive patient, with nerves all on outside, chilled bythe least coolness, it is unpleasantly piercing. 

When any one describes Santa Barbara to you as a town

 "Where winds are hushed nor dare to breathe aloud, Where skies seem never to have borne a cloud, "

remember that this applies truthfully to "a Santa Barbara day, " but_not_ to all days. Surf bathers go in every month of the year. But thisdoes not alter the fact that a person would be disappointed and considerhimself deceived if he accepted the general idea of absolute heaven onearth. The inhabitants do not wish such exaggerations andmisrepresentations to go forth. California can bear to have the wholetruth told, and still be far ahead. Who wants eternal sunshine, eternalmonotony?

The temperature during the day varies little. I see that one residentcompares it with May in other parts of the country. I think he has nevertried to find a picnic day in early May in New England. He says: "Ourcoldest month is warmer than April at Philadelphia, and our warmest onemuch cooler than June at same place. " They did have one simoon in 1859, when the mercury rose to 133°, and stayed there for eight hours. Animalsand birds died, trees were blasted and burned, and gardens ruined. Butthat was most "unusual. "

Flannels are worn the year round. Average of rain, seventeen inches. There are sixty-one mineral and medicinal springs in California thatare already famous. Here we can take hot sulphur baths, and drink thenauseous water that is said to cure almost all diseases. 

Farming is comparatively easy. But grapevines are smitten by amysterious disease called "cellular degeneration, " and phylloxera; ablack scale that injures orange and olive, and a white scale that isworse. Apples are not free from worms; the gopher is sure to go forevery root it can find. There was a serpent even in the original Eden. The historian remarks: "The cloddish, shiftless farmer is perhaps saferin Massachusetts. " I think of experiences at "Gooseville, " and decidenot to buy, nor even rent a ranch, nor accept one if offered. "Fly toills I know not of?" No, thank you!

I'm tired now of agriculture and climate, and will turn to lesspractical themes. You sympathize. We will stop and begin a new chapter, with a hope of being more interesting. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

IN GALA DRESS. 

 "The sun is warm, the sky is clear, The waves are dancing, fast and bright; Both isles and snowy mountains wear The purple noon's transparent light. "

To see Santa Barbara at its best you must go there for the FloralCarnival. Then at high noon, on a mid-April day, all State Street isbrilliantly decorated with leaves of the date-palm, pampa plumes, mosscombined with tropical foliage, calla-lilies, wildflowers, bamboo, immortelles, branches of pepper trees, evergreens, lemon boughs ladenwith yellow fruit, and variegated shrubs. Draperies of white and gold, with green or red in contrast, or blue and white, in harmony with redflowers, or floral arches draped with fish-nets bestrewn with pinkroses; or yellow alone in draperies combined with the poppy, or graymoss and roses. No one fails to respond to the color summons for theday of days. The meat-markets are tastefully concealed with a leafyscreen and callas. The undertaker makes his place as cheerful aspossible with evergreens, roses, and red geraniums. The drugstore isgaily trimmed, and above the door see the great golden mortar made ofmarigolds. The Mexican and Californian colors are often flung out, andflags are flying from many windows. The long broad street is a blaze ofglory; the immense audience, seated on tiers of benches, wait patiently, then impatiently, for the expected procession; and as many more peopleare standing in line, equally eager. Many have baskets or armfuls offlowers, with which to pelt the passing acquaintance. There are momentsof such intense interest that everything is indelibly and eternallyphotographed. I see, as I write, the absolutely cloudless sky of perfectblue, the sea a darker shade, equally perfect, the white paved street, the kaleidoscope of color, the fluttering pennants, the faces of thecrowd all turned in one direction, and hark! the band is really coming, the beginning of the pageant is just seen, and now sea, sky, flags, crowds are no more regarded, for the long-talked-of parade is here. Seeadvancing the Grand Commander and his showy aids, gay Spanish cavaliers, the horses stepping proudly, realizing the importance of the occasion, the saddles and bridles wound with ribbons or covered with flowers. Andnext the Goddess of Flowers, in canopy-covered shell, a pretty littleMayflower of a maiden, with a band of maids of honor, each in a daintyshell. The shouts and applause add to the excitement, and flowers arehurled in merry war at the cavaliers, and the goddess and herattendants. Next comes the George Washington coach, modelled after thehistoric vehicle, occupied by stately dames and courtly gentlemen incolonial array; even the footmen are perfection in the regulation liveryof that period. Solemn and imposing this may be, but they get amerciless shower of roses, and one of the prizes. And do look at thehaymakers! Oh, that is charming! Country girls and boys on a load ofnew-mown hay, with broad-brimmed hats, and dresses trimmed withwild-flowers. And now the advance-guard is coming down again; they havejust turned at the head of the line, and it is already a littleconfusing. But the judges! How can they keep cool, or even think, withsuch a clamor of voices, and guests chattering thoughtlessly to them. Here comes a big basket on wheels, handle and all covered with moss androses. Four girls in pink silk trimmed with moss stand within, bearingshields of pink roses to protect their laughing faces from excess ofattention. What a lovely picture! Another basket just behind coveredentirely with marguerites; the wheels also are each a marguerite, thewhite horses with harness covered with yellow ribbon--so dainty, socool. Is it better than the other? And here is a Roman chariot, aSpanish market-wagon, a phaeton covered with yellow mustard, a hermit inmonastic garb; then Robin Hood and his merry men, and Maid Marian inyellow-green habit, Will Scarlet and Friar Tuck in green doublets, yellow facings, bright green felt hats, bows and quivers flower-trimmed, even the tiny arrows winged with blossoms. Now there are equipagesthree deep to survey instead of one, as they pass and repass inbewildering splendor. And do look! Here come the comicalities! "The OldWoman who lived in a Shoe"--a big floral slipper, with a dozen childrenin pink and gray-green, and the old woman on great poke-bonnet; aJapanese jinrikisha; an egg of white flowers, and a little boy hid awayso as to peep and put out a downy head as a yellow chicken; a bicyclebrigade; equestriennes; an interesting procession of nativeCalifornians, with the accoutrements of the Castilian, on horseback. Onecarriage is banked with marigolds, and the black horses are harnessed inyellow of the exact shade. It is fitly occupied by black-eyed Spanishbeauties, with raven hair done up high with gold combs, and black lacecostumes with marigolds for trimming, and takes a well-deserved prize. 

Roses, roses, roses, roses! How they fly and fall as the fleetingdisplay is passing! Thirty thousand on one carriage. Roses cover thestreet. And yet the gardens don't seem stripped. Where millions areblooming thousands are not missed. And not roses alone, but every flowerof field and garden and conservatory is honored and displayed. Now thecontestants are driving up to the grand stand to secure silken banners. Every one looks a little bit weary in procession and audience. Is itover? I murmur regretfully:

 "All that's bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest. "

Yes, it is over! Waving banners, rainbow colors, showers of blossoms, rosy faces, mimic battle, fairy scenes, the ideal realized!

This is better than the New Orleans Mardi Gras, so often marred by rainand mud, with mythological ambiguities that few can understand, anddifficult to interpret in passing tableaux; better than similar displayat Nice and Mentone. _This_ I do call "unique" and the only. Let SantaBarbara have this yearly festa for her own. She has fairly won thepreëminence. 

We at the comparatively frozen and prosaic north can indulge in gaycoaching parades at Franconia, Newport, or Lenox, where costumes ofgorgeous hues assist the natural beauty of the flowers. But it is only acoaching parade, at the wind-up of a gay season. We cannot catch theevanescent glamour, the optical enchantment, the fantastic fun, theexquisite art of making long preparation and hard work, careful schemesfor effect, appear like airy nonsense for the amusement of an idle hour. We show the machinery. A true carnival can only be a success in aperpetual "summer-land, " "within a lovely landscape on a bright andlaughing seacoast. " Taine said, "Give me the race, the surroundings, andthe epoch, and I show you the man. " Give me fair women, roses, sunshine, leisure, and high-bred, prancing steeds, and I show you this SantaBarbara Carnival. 

But this is only a portion of the entertainment. There is a display offlowers at the Pavilion, where everything can be found that blooms inCalifornia, all most artistically arrayed; and more fascinating in theevening, when hundreds of tiny electric lights twinkle everywhere fromout the grayish-green moss, and the hall is filled with admiring guests. There is always a play given one evening by amateur talent, atournament, and a grand closing ball. 

The tournament is exciting, where skilful riders try tilting at rings, trying to take as many rings as possible on lance while galloping by thewires on which these rings are lightly suspended---a difficultaccomplishment. Their costumes are elaborate and gay, but never _outrè_or bizarre, and no two alike. Each has his own color, and, like theknights of old, has a fayre ladye among the spectators who is especiallyinterested and anxious for his success. 

Next comes the Spanish game of "colgar, " picking up ten-dollar goldpieces from the saddle, the horse at full speed. And the gymkhana raceends the games. Those who enter, saddle at the word "go, " open anumbrella, and, taking out a cigar, light and smoke it--then see whofirst rides to the goal. 

Last came the real _vaqueros_, and they ride untamed, unbroken horses, after a long and rather painful struggle to mount. They lasso mustangsand do wonderful things. But it was too much. I was glad to go and rest. 

The Flower Dance at the ball, where human flowers formed intricatefigures and dances for our edification and delight, was so attractivethat my words are of no avail. Picture twenty-eight young ladies, eachdressed to represent a flower--hollyhock, pansy, moss, rose, morning-glory, eucalyptus blossom, pink clover, yellow marguerite, Cherokee rose, pink carnation, forget-me-not, buttercup, pink-and-whitefuchsia, lily of the valley, wine-colored peony, white iris, daffodil, and so on. They advance with slowly swaying motion, with wreathsuplifted until they reach the stage, where sit the guests of honor. There they bow low, then lay the garlands at their feet, and retire, forming ingeniously pretty groups and figures, while bees andbutterflies flit in and out. See the bees pursuing the little pinkrosebuds until at last they join hands and dance gaily away, only to beenthusiastically recalled. 

Do you ladies want to understand a little in detail about the dresses?Of course you do. Well, here is the yellow marguerite:

Slender petals of yellow satin falling over a skirt of white silk crêpe, a green satin calyx girdle about her waist, and golden petals droopedagain from the neck of her low bodice and over her shoulders. 

A handsome brunette represented a wine-colored peony in a rich costumeof wine-colored velvet and satin. The petals fell to make the skirt, androse again from a bell sheathing the neck of her low corsage, and thecap on her dark hair was a copy of the flower. 

There, you see how it is done. But it requires genius to succeed in suchan undertaking. Look at Walter Crane's pictures of human flowers formore suggestions. 

Most effective of all was the cachuca, danced by a girl of pureCastilian blood, who was dressed to symbolize the scarlet passionflower. The room was darkened save where she stood, and her steps and poses werefull of Spanish fire and feeling, combined with poetic grace. 

Yes, it is over, but the pictures remain as freshly colored as if I sawit all but yesterday. 

During the Carnival sentiment reigns supreme--that is, if you haveengaged rooms far in advance, and the matter of three daily meals issettled--and portly business men become gallant, chivalrous, and evenpoetic. In testimony I offer two verses sent to a lady visitor with abunch of roses:

 "We had not thought it was for aught He lingered round us, scanning, But to admire our spring attire, The south wind softly fanning. 

 "But when we knew it was for you Our charms he sought to capture, All round the bower each budding flower Blushed pink with rosy rapture. 

 "Lovingly, THE ROSES. "

George Eliot once said: "You love the roses--so do I! I wish the skywould rain down roses as they rain from off the shaken bush. Why will itnot? Then all the valleys would be pink and white, and soft to tread on. They would fall as light as feathers, smelling sweet; and it would belike sleeping and yet waking all at once. "

She never knew Santa Barbara. 

I said the horses feel proud, and their owners tell me how they turntheir heads to see their adornment. And well they may, for a trueBarbareno loves his horse as does the Arab, and delights in hisdecoration. Easily first in this matter is Mr. W. D. Thompson, who cameto Santa Barbara from Maine more than forty years ago, a nephew of thecaptain with whom Dana sailed. Mr. Thompson is a progressive man, whoappreciates the many improvements achieved and contemplated, but stillloves to tell of the good old times when he was roughing it as apioneer. He has done a most important and valuable work in having atypical Mexican saddle and bridle of the most approved and correctpattern made out of the finest leather and several thousand silverdollars. As his favorite mare stood before me with this magnificentsaddle on, and her forelegs tied with a little strap so that she couldstep daintily but not run, I never saw such a pretty sight of the kind. This saddle and bridle, worth over $3000, are now on exhibition inChicago. No more significant or beautiful exhibition of the earlyargonautic period could be sent from Southern California, and it willsurely attract constant and admiring attention. Here is a descriptionfrom the San Francisco _Argonaut_:

"This saddle and bridle, manufactured of bullion from Mexican dollars, are exquisite works of art. The saddle is of typical Mexican pattern, with a high pommel, well-hollowed seat, and the most elaborate oftrappings. The leather is stamped with elegant designs, and the wholething is a complete, costly, and elaborate equipment, of good taste andartistic design. The saddle is studded over with silver ornaments. Theleather facings are set thick with buttons and rosettes; the pommel isencased in silver; the corners of the aprons are tipped with silver; thestirrups are faced and edged with silver half an inch thick, elaboratelychased and carved. The saddle-tree is hung with silver rings, fore andaft, to answer all the requirements of the vaquero in lacing up hisriata. The girth, which passes under the horse's belly and cinches thesaddle in place, is woven of hair from horses' manes by a nativeartisan, and is fully eight inches broad, with a tassel hanging at itsmiddle. The saddle, the bridle, and all its appointments are marvels ofbeauty. The reins, martingale, and whip are composed of solid silver inwoven strands. The headstall is covered with fluted silver, with largeengraved silver rosettes at the sides, with decorations of flowers andheads of wheat, with an elaborate nose-piece with silver engraving. Theside-pieces are of silver, massive and ornate, with a silver chain underthe horse's jaw. The bridle, reins, and accessories weigh about twelvepounds, and are worth not less than two hundred and fifty dollars invalue of silver coin used in its manufacture. "

Everybody up and down the coast knows Dixie Thompson. His talk is fullof delightful anecdotes of the early settlers, and he has a droll, dryhumor of his own that is refreshing. Mr. Nordhoff, who is an oldfriend, once wrote to the Harper "Drawer" about his shrewd way ofrestraining the over-keen traders and laboring men who tried to imposeupon him. He heads the pleasant bit of gossip, "Captain Thompson'sClub, " and says:

"Captain Dixie is, to all appearance, the man of most leisure in allleisurely Santa Barbara. He and his horses and carriages are always atthe service of a friend. But while he seems to be the idlest of men, heis, in fact, an extremely capable business man who has many irons in thefire--tills much good land, has horses and cattle and pigs of the bestbreeds on many hills and in several rich valleys, and keeps all hisaffairs running in good order. Still, he is an easy-going, not abustling, man of business. And it is just here that his socialcontrivance comes in: he has judged it expedient to form a club. 

"'You see, ' said he, the other day, to an old friend, 'the boys don'talways see me around, and sometimes they try to take a little advantage. I find a fellow who don't haul half a load for me while I am paying fora full load; another one who gives me short measure; or another who doesnot do what I have told him. I hate to scold; and as they all deny whenI accuse them, and I can't be telling men that they are lying to me, Ithought I'd just establish a Liars' Club and bring them all in. It isnow in good, healthy operation. We don't call it the Liars' Club, ofcourse; we speak of the Club. But when I catch a man trying to 'do' me, I just tell him that I'll have to make him a member of the Club. --Oh, how do you do, Mr. President?' said Captain Dixie to a well-knowncharacter just then passing by. --'He's the president of the Club, youknow, ' he added. 'Here's Pancho now; I told him the other day I wouldhave to make him a member of the Club if he didn't look out. I guesshe'll get in yet. It's a very flourishing club, and more useful, Iguess, than some others. '

"Don't laugh, my dear Drawer. I believe Captain Thompson has struck anadmirable idea, and one which might well have wide application. Don'tyou suppose the material for such a club exists, for instance--not herein New Haven, of course, but over in New York, say, or perhaps inWashington? Think it over. The Drawer has always taken the lead in greatmoral and social improvements. I leave it to you. "

Here, as in all Southern California, you will never know anything of thereal town unless you have a friend who can take you to unfrequentedcross-country drives up winding paths to mesas, or upland pastureguarded by lock and key from the average tourist, and get viewsindescribably fine. 

I am ashamed of my fellow-travellers who pick oranges by the score, andeven break off boughs from the choicest and most conspicuous trees, andrush uninvited pell-mell into private grounds and quiet homes ofwell-bred people to see and exclaim and criticise. Add to this nuisancethe fact that hundreds of invalids come yearly to the most desirablelocalities, turning them into camping-grounds for bacilli. I wonder atthe singular forbearance and courtesy of the residents. 

Occasionally some one invited to speechify or air his opinion of thingsin general here bluntly expresses his surprise at finding everywhere somuch culture, wealth, and refinement. This is a queer reflection on thefact that this part of the State is filled with specimens of our finestfamilies from the East. I will frankly admit that I must be at my verybest to keep up with those I have been privileged to meet here. 

You must not forget when in Santa Barbara to visit the fine publiclibrary, the best adapted for the convenience of actual workers of any Ihave entered. You must not fail to drive to Montecito ("little forest"), to Carpenteria and Goleta. 

I also advise you to spend a morning in Mr. Ford's studio, and anafternoon with Mr. Starke and his treasures in wood-carving andinlaying, brought yearly from the Yosemite, wrought out with his ownhands. He uses nearly fifty varieties of trees in his woodwork, and fewsee his stock and go away without investing in a redwood cane, apaper-knife, or an inlaid table. His orders come from all parts of theworld, and are often very large, mounting up to hundreds of dollars. Heis a simple-hearted student of nature, and a thorough workman. I enjoyeda brief visit to Chinatown and Spanishtown close by, where I saw a womanscrubbing clothes on a long flat board, with a piece of soap in eachhand, standing in a hut made of poles covered with brush, and noticed anold oven outdoors and the meat hung up in strips to dry. I enjoyed alsoa call on the old fellow who "catcha de fisha. "

And now, looking back as we are whirled away, I find I am repeatingthose lines from Shelley which so exactly reproduce the picture:

 "The earth and ocean seem To sleep in one another's arms and dream Of waves, flowers, clouds, woods, rocks, and all that we Read in their smiles, and call reality. "

CHAPTER XIV. 

AU REVOIR. 

Just as a woman is leaving her friends she ever has the most to chatterabout. How can I say _au revoir_ briefly when there is so much more totell? I so earnestly want to give California _en verdad_, or in truth. There has been too much bragging from the settlers, as in 1887 the LosAngeles _Herald_ said that "New York would soon be excelled by thatcity. " There is a general desire to surpass all the rest of the world inas many ways as possible, and a general belief that it can easily bedone. And visitors have omitted all that was unpleasant, and exaggeratedthe good points, so that one Californian speaks "of the dancingdervishes of travel, singing insanely from the moment they come to us. "

There is so much that is novel in this wonderland that it is hard tokeep cool and look at all sides. In 1870 all vegetables and grain wereimported. Mr. Webster declared long ago in Congress that California wasabsolutely worthless except for mining and grazing. The rancherosthought the land only fit for sheep to roam over. Now great train-loadsof vegetables and grain leave daily for the East; all the earliest fruitof New York, Boston, and Chicago comes from this State, and ships arecarrying all these products to all parts of the world. From north tosouth the State measures over 800 miles--as far as from New York toFlorida--with an area of 189, 000 square miles--as much as New Englandand the Middle States combined, throwing in Maryland. The northern andsouthern portions are as unlike as Massachusetts and Florida, and theState must soon be divided. How little is known of Northern California!Next year I hope to describe that, with its lofty mountains, wonderfulscenery, lakes of rare beauty, immense interests in grain, fruits, andmining. This little bit along the coast is but a minute portion of thewhole. I have only followed in the footsteps of the Fathers, and wouldlike to take you to Monterey, where Junipero Serra founded his lastmission. Mrs. Stanford has placed a statue of the dear old saint on theshore to honor his life-work. Realizing the size of the State and itscapabilities, big stories seem inevitable. As Talleyrand said of Spain, "It is a country in which two and two make five. "

Some statements need to be modified. It is declared over and over thathere there are no thunderstorms. In the _Examiner_ of May 19th I read:"Santa Rosa was visited by a very severe electrical storm about eleveno'clock last night. The sky was brilliantly illuminated by lightning, and peal after peal of heavy thunder was heard. This was followed by arain which continued until near morning. " A church steeple was struck bylightning and destroyed. This is unusual, but for "never" read "hardlyever. " No mad dogs, yet a little terrier I bought in San Francisco togive to a friend had to be shot its first summer on account of rabies. Let us balance matters:

No malaria, but rheumatism. No cyclones, " wind and sand storms. No thunderstorms, " earthquakes. No mad dogs, " rattlesnakes and centipedes, tarantulas and scorpions. No sunstrokes, " chilling fogs. 

All goes when the sun goes. The climate is "outdoors. " A sunny room isessential. The difference between noonday and midnight, temperaturebetween sun and shade, is something to be learned and guarded against. 

Each place is recommended by doctors who have regained their own healthas _the_ place for invalids. What Dr. Edwards says of San Diego isrepeated everywhere else by experts:

"San Diego presents the most even climate, the largest proportion offair, clear days, a sandy and absorbent soil, and the minimum amount ofatmospheric moisture--all the factors requisite in a perfect climate. "

In each "_peripheral resistances are reduced to a minimum_. " Dr. Radebaugh, of Pasadena, who, I believe, has not the normal amount oflung but has been restored to health by the air of Pasadena, where hehas a large practice, assures me that, in his candid opinion, "Pasadenais the greatest all-the-year-round health-resort in the world. " Dr. Isham, of same place, goes into details, and is almost the onlyphysician I have consulted who acknowledges drawbacks in the Pasadenaclimate for those who desire a cure for throat or lungs. "This climate, like all else here, is paradoxical and contradictory, " and he mentionsthat the winds blowing from the Pacific are not usually therain-bearers, but those blowing from a point directly opposite, and thatthe arid desert. Among objectionable features he mentions the "markedchanges of temperature daily, frequent fogs, excess of humidity inwinter owing to protracted rains (thirty inches in five months, fromNovember, 1892, to March of this year); hot, dry winds that prevail insummer, with wind and sand storms, which have a debilitating effect onnervous systems, and are irritating to the mucous membrane. "

How refreshing to find one person who does not consider his own refugefrom disease an ideal health-resort! He also owns that doctors do notknow yet how to treat such troubles as bronchitis, as is proven by theirexperimenting upon patients in Minnesota, Colorado, Arizona, Florida, and Pasadena. And he closes his letter in this way:

"When local jealousies have subsided, and contending climates have hadtheir day, the thing of cardinal importance for an invalid such as youhave mentioned to do when about to change his or her home will be, notto attach too much importance to this or that particular climaticcondition as determined by the barometer, thermometer, hygrometer, anemometer, and other meteorological instruments, nor to lay too muchstress on a difference of a few hundred or thousand feet of elevationabove the sea; but choose a home where the environments will afford theinvalid or valetudinarian the greatest opportunity of livingout-of-doors, and of spending the hours of sunshine in riding, driving, walking, and in other ways, whereby the entrance of pure air into thelungs is facilitated. In Pasadena the days in winter are warm enough tomake outdoor life attractive and healthful, while the number of sunnydays throughout the year is above the average of that prevailing in manyother deservedly popular health-resorts. "

I will also quote a letter received from Dr. W. B. Berry, formerly ofMontclair, N. J. , who, coming to Southern California an almost hopelessinvalid, is now fairly well, and will probably entirely regain hishealth. He also is careful and conservative in statement, and thereforecommands serious attention:

 "Riverside, Cal. , May 2, 1893. 

 "Dear Miss Sanborn: To recommend any place to an invalid is to an experienced climate-hunter no doubt, at times, a duty, --certainly it is a duty from which he shrinks. 

 "One does not see so many advanced cases of pulmonary disease here as at either Asheville or Colorado Springs. The thousands of miles of alkali, sage-brush, and desolation might explain that, but it does seem to me that a much larger proportion of consumptives are 'doing well' in this country than in those. 

 "_Pure dry air_, _pure water_, and _clean dry soil_ are the climatic elements essential for the pulmonary invalid, and for most others. These conditions can be found at Riverside and its vicinity during a large proportion of the year. 

 "Here, too, are cool walks, with sunshine or shade, as may be desired, and things on every side to interest. For, unfortunately, the man with a sore chest has a brain and a spinal cord to be stimulated and fed, not to speak of those little heartstrings undiscovered by the anatomist, and which yet tug and pull mightily in a far country. 

 "In short, it would seem that any consumptive in an early stage of his disease who does not thrive at a moderate altitude would do well to come here and to stay--that is, if he will remember that all the climate is out-of-doors. "

My own troublesome throat is almost as good as new, and I am proud toname my physician, _Outdoors, M. D. _ Come and consult the same unfailingrestorer. 

I have given, according to my humble ability, _la verdad cierta_--theabsolute truth--about the small fraction of the State known as SouthernCalifornia. 

I came with gargle and note-book, but long ago gave up the former; andas for these jottings, I offer them to those who want to see thismuch-talked-of Earthly Paradise as in a verbal mirror. And to all acordial _au revoir_!

 "Adieu to thee again! A vain adieu! There can be no farewell to scene like thine: The mind is colored by thy every hue. "

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Father Marquette, the Explorer of the Mississippi. By Reuben Gold Thwaites, Editor of "The Jesuit Relations, " etc. 

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Horace Greeley. By William A. Linn, Author of "The Story of the Mormons. "

Sir William Johnson. By Augustus C. Buell, Author of "Paul Jones, Founder of the AmericanNavy. "

Anthony Wayne. By John R. Spears. 

Champlain: The Founder of New France. By Edwin Asa Dix, M. A. , LL. D. , Formerly Fellow in History in PrincetonUniversity; Author of "Deacon Bradbury, " "A Midsummer Drive through thePyrenees, " etc. 

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It is remarkable that so little has been written about Greeley since hedied; in fact, since Parton's book appeared, just before the civil war, no one has undertaken a comprehensive life of Greeley. Greeley's ownautobiography, which he called "Recollections of a Busy Life, " has beenthe only later work of note to which readers could go, and that book hasnot been in general circulation for a great many years. Mr. Linn'svolume, therefore, should have a large public waiting to receive it. Thecharacter of Horace Greeley is studied by Mr. Linn in his editorialwork. He traces his opinions as set forth in his editorial writings. Inthis way he shows how he "grew up" to his earnest advocacy of aprotective tariff; how he became the most powerful opponent of theextension of the slave power, after looking on the subject almost withindifference in his earlier years; his curious inconsistencies duringthe civil war, when he was a source of constant interference with theAdministration at Washington; and the circumstances that led to hisselection as the Liberal candidate for President in 1872. 

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"The three portraits of Lincoln are the best that exist; and not theleast characteristic of these, the Lincoln of the Douglas debates, hasnever before been engraved.... Herndon's narrative gives, as nothingelse is likely to give, the material from which we may form a truepicture of the man from infancy to maturity. "--_The Nation_. 

"Truly, they who wish to know Lincoln as he really was must read thebiography by his friend and law-partner, W. H. Herndon. This book wasimperatively needed to brush aside the rank growth of myth and legendwhich was threatening to hide the real lineaments of Lincoln from theeyes of posterity.... There is no doubt about the faithfulness of Mr. Herndon's delineation. The marks of unflinching veracity are patent inevery line. "--_New York Sun_. 

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"Accurate as well as picturesque.... Mr. Hemment has done his work well. In point of faithful realism there has thus far been nothing better inthe whole war literature. "--_Boston Journal_. 

"Clever and picturesque.... Over one hundred capital instantaneousphotographs illustrate Mr. Hemment's well-written record, and not theleast of the book's recommendations is the outspoken simplicity of itsstyle, and the strong impression it makes upon the reader of being theuninfluenced evidence of an eyewitness who 'draws the thing as he seesit' and without exaggeration or prejudice. "--_Sunday School Times_. 

Recollections of the Civil War. 

By CHARLES A. DANA. With Portrait. Large 12mo. Cloth, gilt top, uncut, $2. 00. 

"The book will rank among the trustworthy sources of knowledge of thecivil war. "--_New York Evening Post_. 

"Mr. Dana's official position as Assistant Secretary of War while therebellion was in progress gave him exceptional opportunities ofobservation which he was keen to take advantage of, while his rare giftof terse and vivid expression enabled him to record what he saw in aseries of pen pictures that are little less than instantaneousphotographs. The feature _par excellence_ of these reminiscences istheir interesting character.... He tells you briefly but graphicallywhat he saw, heard, or did himself. One gains a very real and personalknowledge of the war from these recollections. "--_Chicago Times-Herald_. 

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[Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors have beencorrected. 

In Chapter II, "irridescent" has been changed to "iridescent", and"witten" has been changed to "written". ]