[Illustration: SANTA BARBARA. ]

OUR ITALY

BY CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER

_Author of Their Pilgrimage, Studies in the South and West, A LittleJourney in the World ... With Many Illustrations_

[Illustration]

_NEW YORK__HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE_

Copyright, 1891, by HARPER & BROTHERS. 

_All rights reserved. _

CONTENTS. 

CHAP. PAGE

I. HOW OUR ITALY IS MADE 1

II. OUR CLIMATIC AND COMMERCIAL MEDITERRANEAN 10

III. EARLY VICISSITUDES. --PRODUCTIONS. --SANITARY CLIMATE 24

IV. THE WINTER OF OUR CONTENT 42

V. HEALTH AND LONGEVITY 52

VI. IS RESIDENCE HERE AGREEABLE? 65

VII. THE WINTER ON THE COAST 72

VIII. THE GENERAL OUTLOOK. --LAND AND PRICES 90

IX. THE ADVANTAGES OF IRRIGATION 99

X. THE CHANCE FOR LABORERS AND SMALL FARMERS 107

XI. SOME DETAILS OF THE WONDERFUL DEVELOPMENT 114

XII. HOW THE FRUIT PERILS WERE MET. --FURTHER DETAILS OF LOCALITIES 128

XIII. THE ADVANCE OF CULTIVATION SOUTHWARD 140

XIV. A LAND OF AGREEABLE HOMES 146

XV. SOME WONDERS BY THE WAY. --YOSEMITE. --MARIPOSA TREES. --MONTEREY 148

XVI. FASCINATIONS OF THE DESERT. --THE LAGUNA PUEBLO 163

XVII. THE HEART OF THE DESERT 177

XVIII. ON THE BRINK OF THE GRAND CAÑON. --THE UNIQUE MARVEL OF NATURE 189

APPENDIX 201

INDEX 219

ILLUSTRATIONS. 

SANTA BARBARA _Frontispiece_

 PAGE

MOJAVE DESERT 3

MOJAVE INDIAN 4

MOJAVE INDIAN 5

BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF RIVERSIDE 7

SCENE IN SAN BERNARDINO 11

SCENES IN MONTECITO AND LOS ANGELES 13

FAN-PALM, LOS ANGELES 16

YUCCA-PALM, SANTA BARBARA 17

MAGNOLIA AVENUE, RIVERSIDE 21

AVENUE LOS ANGELES 27

IN THE GARDEN AT SANTA BARBARA MISSION 31

SCENE AT PASADENA 35

LIVE-OAK NEAR LOS ANGELES 39

MIDWINTER, PASADENA 53

A TYPICAL GARDEN, NEAR SANTA ANA 57

OLD ADOBE HOUSE, POMONA 61

FAN-PALM, FERNANDO ST. LOS ANGELES 63

SCARLET PASSION-VINE 68

ROSE-BUSH, SANTA BARBARA 73

AT AVALON, SANTA CATALINA ISLAND 77

HOTEL DEL CORONADO 83

OSTRICH YARD, CORONADO BEACH 86

YUCCA-PALM 92

DATE-PALM 93

RAISIN-CURING 101

IRRIGATION BY ARTESIAN-WELL SYSTEM 104

IRRIGATION BY PIPE SYSTEM 105

GARDEN SCENE, SANTA ANA 110

A GRAPE-VINE, MONTECITO VALLEY, SANTA BARBARA 116

IRRIGATING AN ORCHARD 120

ORANGE CULTURE 121

IN A FIELD OF GOLDEN PUMPKINS 126

PACKING CHERRIES, POMONA 131

OLIVE-TREES SIX YEARS OLD 136

SEXTON NURSERIES, NEAR SANTA BARBARA 141

SWEETWATER DAM 144

THE YOSEMITE DOME 151

COAST OF MONTEREY 155

CYPRESS POINT 156

NEAR SEAL ROCK 157

LAGUNA--FROM THE SOUTH-EAST 159

CHURCH AT LAGUNA 164

TERRACED HOUSES, PUEBLO OF LAGUNA 167

GRAND CAÑON ON THE COLORADO--VIEW FROM POINT SUBLIME 171

INTERIOR OF THE CHURCH AT LAGUNA 174

GRAND CAÑON OF THE COLORADO--VIEW OPPOSITE POINT SUBLIME 179

TOURISTS IN THE COLORADO CAÑON 183

GRAND CAÑON OF THE COLORADO--VIEW FROM THE HANSE TRAIL 191

OUR ITALY. 

CHAPTER I. 

HOW OUR ITALY IS MADE. 

The traveller who descends into Italy by an Alpine pass never forgetsthe surprise and delight of the transition. In an hour he is whirleddown the slopes from the region of eternal snow to the verdure of springor the ripeness of summer. Suddenly--it may be at a turn in theroad--winter is left behind; the plains of Lombardy are in view; theLake of Como or Maggiore gleams below; there is a tree; there is anorchard; there is a garden; there is a villa overrun with vines; thesinging of birds is heard; the air is gracious; the slopes are terraced, and covered with vineyards; great sheets of silver sheen in thelandscape mark the growth of the olive; the dark green orchards oforanges and lemons are starred with gold; the lusty fig, always atemptation as of old, leans invitingly over the stone wall; everywhereare bloom and color under the blue sky; there are shrines by theway-side, chapels on the hill; one hears the melodious bells, the callof the vine-dressers, the laughter of girls. 

The contrast is as great from the Indians of the Mojave Desert, twotypes of which are here given, to the vine-dressers of the Santa AnaValley. 

Italy is the land of the imagination, but the sensation on firstbeholding it from the northern heights, aside from its associations ofromance and poetry, can be repeated in our own land by whoever willcross the burning desert of Colorado, or the savage wastes of the Mojavewilderness of stone and sage-brush, and come suddenly, as he must comeby train, into the bloom of Southern California. Let us study a littlethe physical conditions. 

The bay of San Diego is about three hundred miles east of San Francisco. The coast line runs south-east, but at Point Conception it turns sharplyeast, and then curves south-easterly about two hundred and fifty milesto the Mexican coast boundary, the extreme south-west limits of theUnited States, a few miles below San Diego. This coast, defined by thesetwo limits, has a southern exposure on the sunniest of oceans. Off thiscoast, south of Point Conception, lies a chain of islands, curving inposition in conformity with the shore, at a distance of twenty toseventy miles from the main-land. These islands are San Miguel, SantaRosa, Santa Cruz, Anacapa, Santa Barbara, San Nicolas, Santa Catalina, San Clemente, and Los Coronados, which lie in Mexican waters. Betweenthis chain of islands and the main-land is Santa Barbara Channel, flowing northward. The great ocean current from the north flows pastPoint Conception like a mill-race, and makes a suction, or a sort ofeddy. It approaches nearer the coast in Lower California, where thereturn current, which is much warmer, flows northward and westwardalong the curving shore. The Santa Barbara Channel, which may be calledan arm of the Pacific, flows by many a bold point and lovely bay, likethose of San Pedro, Redondo, and Santa Monica; but it has no secureharbor, except the magnificent and unique bay of San Diego. 

[Illustration: MOJAVE DESERT. ]

The southern and western boundary of Southern California is this mildPacific sea, studded with rocky and picturesque islands. The northernboundary of this region is ranges of lofty mountains, from five thousandto eleven thousand feet in height, some of them always snow-clad, whichrun eastward from Point Conception nearly to the Colorado Desert. Theyare parts of the Sierra Nevada range, but they take various names, Santa Ynes, San Gabriel, San Bernardino, and they are spoken of alltogether as the Sierra Madre. In the San Gabriel group, "Old Baldy"lifts its snow-peak over nine thousand feet, while the San Bernardino"Grayback" rises over eleven thousand feet above the sea. Southward ofthis, running down into San Diego County, is the San Jacinto range, alsosnow-clad; and eastward the land falls rapidly away into the Salt Desertof the Colorado, in which is a depression about three hundred feet belowthe Pacific. 

[Illustration]

The Point Arguilles, which is above Point Conception, by the aid of theoutlying islands, deflects the cold current from the north off the coastof Southern California, and the mountain ranges from Point Conceptioneast divide the State of California into two climatic regions, thesouthern having more warmth, less rain and fog, milder winds, and lessvariation of daily temperature than the climate of Central California tothe north. [A] Other striking climatic conditions are produced by thedaily interaction of the Pacific Ocean and the Colorado Desert, infinitely diversified in minor particulars by the exceedingly brokencharacter of the region--a jumble of bare mountains, fruitfulfoot-hills, and rich valleys. It would be only from a balloon that onecould get an adequate idea of this strange land. 

[Footnote A: For these and other observations upon physical and climaticconditions I am wholly indebted to Dr. P. C. Remondino and Mr. T. S. VanDyke, of San Diego, both scientific and competent authorities. ]

The United States has here, then, a unique corner of the earth, withoutits like in its own vast territory, and unparalleled, so far as I know, in the world. Shut off from sympathy with external conditions by thegiant mountain ranges and the desert wastes, it has its own climateunaffected by cosmic changes. Except a tidal wave from Japan, nothingwould seem to be able to affect or disturb it. The whole of Italy feelsmore or less the climatic variations of the rest of Europe. All ourAtlantic coast, all our interior basin from Texas to Manitoba, is inclimatic sympathy. Here is a region larger than New England whichmanufactures its own weather and refuses to import any other. 

[Illustration]

With considerable varieties of temperature according to elevation orprotection from the ocean breeze, its climate is nearly, on the whole, as agreeable as that of the Hawaiian Islands, though pitched in a lowerkey, and with greater variations between day and night. The key to itspeculiarity, aside from its southern exposure, is the Colorado Desert. That desert, waterless and treeless, is cool at night and intolerablyhot in the daytime, sending up a vast column of hot air, which cannotescape eastward, for Arizona manufactures a like column. It flows highabove the mountains westward till it strikes the Pacific and parts withits heat, creating an immense vacuum which is filled by the air fromthe coast flowing up the slope and over the range, and plunging down6000 feet into the desert. "It is easy to understand, " says Mr. VanDyke, making his observations from the summit of the Cuyamaca, in SanDiego County, 6500 feet above the sea-level, "how land thus rising amile or more in fifty or sixty miles, rising away from the coast, andfalling off abruptly a mile deep into the driest and hottest of Americandeserts, could have a great variety of climates.... Only ten miles awayon the east the summers are the hottest, and only sixty miles on thewest the coolest known in the United States (except on this coast), andbetween them is every combination that mountains and valleys canproduce. And it is easy to see whence comes the sea-breeze, the glory ofthe California summer. It is passing us here, a gentle breeze of six oreight miles an hour. It is flowing over this great ridge directly intothe basin of the Colorado Desert, 6000 feet deep, where the temperatureis probably 120°, and perhaps higher. For many leagues each side of usthis current is thus flowing at the same speed, and is probably half amile or more in depth. About sundown, when the air on the desert coolsand descends, the current will change and come the other way, and floodthese western slopes with an air as pure as that of the Sahara andnearly as dry. 

[Illustration: BIRD'S-EYE VIEW OF RIVERSIDE. ]

"The air, heated on the western slopes by the sea, would by risingproduce considerable suction, which could be filled only from the sea, but that alone would not make the sea-breeze as dry as it is. Theprincipal suction is caused by the rising of heated air from the greatdesert.... On the top of old Grayback (in San Bernardino) one can feelit [this breeze] setting westward, while in the cañons, 6000 feet below, it is blowing eastward.... All over Southern California the conditionsof this breeze are about the same, the great Mojave Desert and thevalley of the San Joaquin above operating in the same way, assisted byinterior plains and slopes. Hence these deserts, that at first seem tobe a disadvantage to the land, are the great conditions of its climate, and are of far more value than if they were like the prairies ofIllinois. Fortunately they will remain deserts forever. Some parts willin time be reclaimed by the waters of the Colorado River, but wet spotsof a few hundred thousand acres would be too trifling to affect generalresults, for millions of acres of burning desert would forever defy allattempts at irrigation or settlement. "

This desert-born breeze explains a seeming anomaly in regard to thehumidity of this coast. I have noticed on the sea-shore that salt doesnot become damp on the table, that the Portuguese fishermen on PointLoma are drying their fish on the shore, and that while the hydrometergives a humidity as high as seventy-four, and higher at times, and fogmay prevail for three or four days continuously, the fog is rather"dry, " and the general impression is that of a dry instead of the dampand chilling atmosphere such as exists in foggy times on the Atlanticcoast. 

"From the study of the origin of this breeze we see, " says Mr. Van Dyke, "why it is that a wind coming from the broad Pacific should be drierthan the dry land-breezes of the Atlantic States, causing no damp walls, swelling doors, or rusting guns, and even on the coast drying up, without salt or soda, meat cut in strips an inch thick and fish muchthicker. "

At times on the coast the air contains plenty of moisture, but with therising of this breeze the moisture decreases instead of increases. Itshould be said also that this constantly returning current of air isalways pure, coming in contact nowhere with marshy or malariousinfluences nor any agency injurious to health. Its character causes thewhole coast from Santa Barbara to San Diego to be an agreeable place ofresidence or resort summer and winter, while its daily inflowing tempersthe heat of the far inland valleys to a delightful atmosphere in theshade even in midsummer, while cool nights are everywhere the rule. Thegreatest surprise of the traveller is that a region which is inperpetual bloom and fruitage, where semi-tropical fruits mature inperfection, and the most delicate flowers dazzle the eye with color thewinter through, should have on the whole a low temperature, a climatenever enervating, and one requiring a dress of woollen in every month. 

CHAPTER II. 

OUR CLIMATIC AND COMMERCIAL MEDITERRANEAN. 

Winter as we understand it east of the Rockies does not exist. Iscarcely know how to divide the seasons. There are at most but three. Spring may be said to begin with December and end in April; summer, withMay (whose days, however, are often cooler than those of January), andend with September; while October and November are a mild autumn, whennature takes a partial rest, and the leaves of the deciduous trees aregone. But how shall we classify a climate in which the strawberry (noneyet in my experience equal to the Eastern berry) may be eaten in everymonth of the year, and ripe figs may be picked from July to March? Whatshall I say of a frost (an affair of only an hour just before sunrise)which is hardly anywhere severe enough to disturb the delicateheliotrope, and even in the deepest valleys where it may chill theorange, will respect the bloom of that fruit on contiguous ground fiftyor a hundred feet higher? We boast about many things in the UnitedStates, about our blizzards and our cyclones, our inundations and ourareas of low pressure, our hottest and our coldest places in the world, but what can we say for this little corner which is practicallyfrostless, and yet never had a sunstroke, knows nothing ofthunder-storms and lightning, never experienced a cyclone, which is sowarm that the year round one is tempted to live out-of-doors, and socold that woollen garments are never uncomfortable? Nature here, in thisprotected and petted area, has the knack of being genial without beingenervating, of being stimulating without "bracing" a person into thetomb. I think it conducive to equanimity of spirit and to longevity tosit in an orange grove and eat the fruit and inhale the fragrance of itwhile gazing upon a snow-mountain. 

[Illustration: SCENE IN SAN BERNARDINO. ]

This southward-facing portion of California is irrigated by many streamsof pure water rapidly falling from the mountains to the sea. The moreimportant are the Santa Clara, the Los Angeles and San Gabriel, theSanta Ana, the Santa Margarita, the San Luis Rey, the San Bernardo, theSan Diego, and, on the Mexican border, the Tia Juana. Many of them godry or flow underground in the summer months (or, as the Californianssay, the bed of the river gets on top), but most of them can be used forartificial irrigation. In the lowlands water is sufficiently near thesurface to moisten the soil, which is broken and cultivated; in mostregions good wells are reached at a small depth, in othersartesian-wells spout up abundance of water, and considerable portions ofthe regions best known for fruit are watered by irrigating ditches andpipes supplied by ample reservoirs in the mountains. From naturalrainfall and the sea moisture the mesas and hills, which look aridbefore ploughing, produce large crops of grain when cultivated after theannual rains, without artificial watering. 

Southern California has been slowly understood even by its occupants, who have wearied the world with boasting of its productiveness. Originally it was a vast cattle and sheep ranch. It was supposed thatthe land was worthless except for grazing. Held in princely ranches oftwenty, fifty, one hundred thousand acres, in some cases areas largerthan German principalities, tens of thousands of cattle roamed along thewatercourses and over the mesas, vast flocks of sheep cropped close thegrass and trod the soil into hard-pan. The owners exchanged cattle andsheep for corn, grain, and garden vegetables; they had no faith thatthey could grow cereals, and it was too much trouble to procure waterfor a garden or a fruit orchard. It was the firm belief that most of therolling mesa land was unfit for cultivation, and that neither forest norfruit trees would grow without irrigation. Between Los Angeles andRedondo Beach is a ranch of 35, 000 acres. Seventeen years ago it wasowned by a Scotchman, who used the whole of it as a sheep ranch. Inselling it to the present owner he warned him not to waste time byattempting to farm it; he himself raised no fruit or vegetables, plantedno trees, and bought all his corn, wheat, and barley. The purchaser, however, began to experiment. He planted trees and set out orchardswhich grew, and in a couple of years he wrote to the former owner thathe had 8000 acres in fine wheat. To say it in a word, there is scarcelyan acre of the tract which is not highly productive in barley, wheat, corn, potatoes, while considerable parts of it are especially adapted tothe English walnut and to the citrus fruits. 

[Illustration: SCENES IN MONTECITO AND LOS ANGELES. ]

On this route to the sea the road is lined with gardens. Nothing couldbe more unpromising in appearance than this soil before it is ploughedand pulverized by the cultivator. It looks like a barren waste. Wepassed a tract that was offered three years ago for twelve dollars anacre. Some of it now is rented to Chinamen at thirty dollars an acre;and I saw one field of two acres off which a Chinaman has sold in oneseason $750 worth of cabbages. 

The truth is that almost all the land is wonderfully productive ifintelligently handled. The low ground has water so near the surface thatthe pulverized soil will draw up sufficient moisture for the crops; themesa, if sown and cultivated after the annual rains, matures grain andcorn, and sustains vines and fruit-trees. It is singular that the firstsettlers should never have discovered this productiveness. When itbecame apparent--that is, productiveness without artificialwatering--there spread abroad a notion that irrigation generally was notneeded. We shall have occasion to speak of this more in detail, and Iwill now only say, on good authority, that while cultivation, not tokeep down the weeds only, but to keep the soil stirred and prevent itsbaking, is the prime necessity for almost all land in SouthernCalifornia, there are portions where irrigation is always necessary, andthere is no spot where the yield of fruit or grain will not bequadrupled by judicious irrigation. There are places where irrigation isexcessive and harmful both to the quality and quantity of oranges andgrapes. 

The history of the extension of cultivation in the last twenty andespecially in the past ten years from the foot-hills of the Sierra Madrein Los Angeles and San Bernardino counties southward to San Diego isvery curious. Experiments were timidly tried. Every acre of sand andsage-bush reclaimed southward was supposed to be the last capable ofprofitable farming or fruit-growing. It is unsafe now to say of any landthat has not been tried that it is not good. In every valley and onevery hill-side, on the mesas and in the sunny nooks in the mountains, nearly anything will grow, and the application of water producesmarvellous results. From San Bernardino and Redlands, Riverside, Pomona, Ontario, Santa Anita, San Gabriel, Pasadena, all the way to Los Angeles, is almost a continuous fruit garden, the green areas only emphasized bywastes yet unreclaimed; a land of charming cottages, thriving towns, hospitable to the fruit of every clime; a land of perpetual sun andever-flowing breeze, looked down on by purple mountain ranges tippedhere and there with enduring snow. And what is in progress here will beseen before long in almost every part of this wonderful land, forconditions of soil and climate are essentially everywhere the same, andcapital is finding out how to store in and bring from the fastnesses ofthe mountains rivers of clear water taken at such elevations that thewhole arable surface can be irrigated. The development of the countryhas only just begun. 

[Illustration: FAN-PALM, LOS ANGELES. ]

[Illustration: YUCCA-PALM, SANTA BARBARA. ]

If the reader will look upon the map of California he will see that theeight counties that form Southern California--San Luis Obispo, SantaBarbara, Ventura, Kern, Los Angeles, San Bernardino, Orange, and SanDiego--appear very mountainous. He will also notice that the easternslopes of San Bernardino and San Diego are deserts. But this is animmense area. San Diego County alone is as large as Massachusetts, Connecticut, and Rhode Island combined, and the amount of arable land inthe valleys, on the foot-hills, on the rolling mesas, is enormous, andcapable of sustaining a dense population, for its fertility and itsyield to the acre under cultivation are incomparable. The reader willalso notice another thing. With the railroads now built and certain tobe built through all this diversified region, round from the SantaBarbara Mountains to the San Bernardino, the San Jacinto, and down toCuyamaca, a ride of an hour or two hours brings one to some point on the250 miles of sea-coast--a sea-coast genial, inviting in winter andsummer, never harsh, and rarely tempestuous like the Atlantic shore. 

Here is our Mediterranean! Here is our Italy! It is a Mediterraneanwithout marshes and without malaria, and it does not at all resemble theMexican Gulf, which we have sometimes tried to fancy was like theclassic sea that laves Africa and Europe. Nor is this region Italian inappearance, though now and then some bay with its purple hills runningto the blue sea, its surrounding mesas and cañons blooming insemi-tropical luxuriance, some conjunction of shore and mountain, somegolden color, some white light and sharply defined shadows, somerefinement of lines, some poetic tints in violet and ashy ranges, someultramarine in the sea, or delicate blue in the sky, will remind thetraveller of more than one place of beauty in Southern Italy and Sicily. It is a Mediterranean with a more equable climate, warmer winters andcooler summers, than the North Mediterranean shore can offer; it is anItaly whose mountains and valleys give almost every variety of elevationand temperature. 

But it is our commercial Mediterranean. The time is not distant whenthis corner of the United States will produce in abundance, and yearafter year without failure, all the fruits and nuts which for a thousandyears the civilized world of Europe has looked to the Mediterranean tosupply. We shall not need any more to send over the Atlantic forraisins, English walnuts, almonds, figs, olives, prunes, oranges, lemons, limes, and a variety of other things which we know commerciallyas Mediterranean products. We have all this luxury and wealth at ourdoors, within our limits. The orange and the lemon we shall still bringfrom many places; the date and the pineapple and the banana will nevergrow here except as illustrations of the climate, but it is difficult toname any fruit of the temperate and semi-tropic zones that SouthernCalifornia cannot be relied on to produce, from the guava to the peach. 

It will need further experiment to determine what are the moreprofitable products of this soil, and it will take longer experience tocultivate them and send them to market in perfection. The pomegranateand the apple thrive side by side, but the apple is not good here unlessit is grown at an elevation where frost is certain and occasional snowmay be expected. There is no longer any doubt about the peach, thenectarine, the pear, the grape, the orange, the lemon, the apricot, andso on; but I believe that the greatest profit will be in the productsthat cannot be grown elsewhere in the United States--the products towhich we have long given the name of Mediterranean--the olive, the fig, the raisin, the hard and soft shell almond, and the walnut. The orangewill of course be a staple, and constantly improve its reputation asbetter varieties are raised, and the right amount of irrigation toproduce the finest and sweetest is ascertained. 

It is still a wonder that a land in which there was no indigenousproduct of value, or to which cultivation could give value, should be sohospitable to every sort of tree, shrub, root, grain, and flower thatcan be brought here from any zone and temperature, and that many ofthese foreigners to the soil grow here with a vigor and productivenesssurpassing those in their native land. This bewildering adaptability hasmisled many into unprofitable experiments, and the very rapidity ofgrowth has been a disadvantage. The land has been advertised by itsmonstrous vegetable productions, which are not fit to eat, and buttestify to the fertility of the soil; and the reputation of its fruits, both deciduous and citrus, has suffered by specimens sent to Easternmarkets whose sole recommendation was size. Even in the vineyards andorange orchards quality has been sacrificed to quantity. Nature hereresponds generously to every encouragement, but it cannot be forcedwithout taking its revenge in the return of inferior quality. It is justas true of Southern California as of any other land, that hard work andsagacity and experience are necessary to successful horticulture andagriculture, but it is undeniably true that the same amount ofwell-directed industry upon a much smaller area of land will producemore return than in almost any other section of the United States. Sensible people do not any longer pay much attention to those temptinglittle arithmetical sums by which it is demonstrated that paying so muchfor ten acres of barren land, and so much for planting it with vines ororanges, the income in three years will be a competence to the investorand his family. People do not spend much time now in gaping overabnormal vegetables, or trying to convince themselves that wines ofevery known variety and flavor can be produced within the limits of oneflat and well-watered field. Few now expect to make a fortune by cuttingarid land up into twenty-feet lots, but notwithstanding the extravaganceof recent speculation, the value of arable land has steadilyappreciated, and is not likely to recede, for the return from it, eitherin fruits, vegetables, or grain, is demonstrated to be beyond theexperience of farming elsewhere. 

[Illustration: MAGNOLIA AVENUE, RIVERSIDE. ]

Land cannot be called dear at one hundred or one thousand dollars anacre if the annual return from it is fifty or five hundred dollars. Theclimate is most agreeable the year through. There are no unpleasantmonths, and few unpleasant days. The eucalyptus grows so fast that thetrimmings from the trees of a small grove or highway avenue will in fouror five years furnish a family with its firewood. The strong, fatteningalfalfa gives three, four, five, and even six harvests a year. Natureneeds little rest, and, with the encouragement of water and fertilizers, apparently none. But all this prodigality and easiness of life detractsa little from ambition. The lesson has been slowly learned, but it isnow pretty well conned, that hard work is as necessary here as elsewhereto thrift and independence. The difference between this and many otherparts of our land is that nature seems to work with a man, and notagainst him. 

CHAPTER III. 

EARLY VICISSITUDES. --PRODUCTIONS. --SANITARY CLIMATE. 

Southern California has rapidly passed through varied experiences, andhas not yet had a fair chance to show the world what it is. It had itsperiod of romance, of pastoral life, of lawless adventure, of crazyspeculation, all within a hundred years, and it is just now enteringupon its period of solid, civilized development. A certain light ofromance is cast upon this coast by the Spanish voyagers of the sixteenthcentury, but its history begins with the establishment of the chain ofFranciscan missions, the first of which was founded by the great FatherJunipero Serra at San Diego in 1769. The fathers brought with them thevine and the olive, reduced the savage Indians to industrial pursuits, and opened the way for that ranchero and adobe civilization which, downto the coming of the American, in about 1840, made in this region themost picturesque life that our continent has ever seen. Following thisis a period of desperado adventure and revolution, of pioneerState-building; and then the advent of the restless, the cranky, theinvalid, the fanatic, from every other State in the Union. The firstexperimenters in making homes seem to have fancied that they had come toa ready-made elysium--the idle man's heaven. They seem to have broughtwith them little knowledge of agriculture or horticulture, were ignorantof the conditions of success in this soil and climate, and left behindthe good industrial maxims of the East. The result was a period ofchance experiment, one in which extravagant expectation and boasting tosome extent took the place of industry. The imagination was heated bythe novelty of such varied and rapid productiveness. Men's minds wereinflamed by the apparently limitless possibilities. The invalid and thespeculator thronged the transcontinental roads leading thither. In thiscondition the frenzy of 1886-87 was inevitable. I saw something of it inthe winter of 1887. The scenes then daily and commonplace now read likethe wildest freaks of the imagination. 

The bubble collapsed as suddenly as it expanded. Many were ruined, andleft the country. More were merely ruined in their great expectations. The speculation was in town lots. When it subsided it left the climateas it was, the fertility as it was, and the value of arable land notreduced. Marvellous as the boom was, I think the present recuperation isstill more wonderful. In 1890, to be sure, I miss the bustle of thecities, and the creation of towns in a week under the hammer of theauctioneer. But in all the cities, and most of the villages, there hasbeen growth in substantial buildings, and in the necessities of civiclife--good sewerage, water supply, and general organization; while thecountry, as the acreage of vines and oranges, wheat and barley, grainand corn, and the shipments by rail testify, has improved more than atany other period, and commerce is beginning to feel the impulse of agenuine prosperity, based upon the intelligent cultivation of theground. School-houses have multiplied; libraries have been founded; many"boom" hotels, built in order to sell city lots in the sage-brush, havebeen turned into schools and colleges. 

There is immense rivalry between different sections. Every Californianthinks that the spot where his house stands enjoys the best climate andis the most fertile in the world; and while you are with him you thinkhe is justified in his opinion; for this rivalry is generally awholesome one, backed by industry. I do not mean to say that the habitof tall talk is altogether lost. Whatever one sees he is asked tobelieve is the largest and best in the world. The gentleman of the whipwho showed us some of the finest places in Los Angeles--places that intheir wealth of flowers and semi-tropical gardens would rouse theenthusiasm of the most jaded traveller--was asked whether there were anyfiner in the city. "Finer? Hundreds of them;" and then, meditatively andregretfully, "I should not dare to show you the best. " Thesemi-ecclesiastical custodian of the old adobe mission of San Gabrielexplained to us the twenty portraits of apostles on the walls, all doneby Murillo. As they had got out of repair, he had them all repainted bythe best artist. "That one, " he said, simply, "cost ten dollars. Itoften costs more to repaint a picture than to buy an original. "

The temporary evils in the train of the "boom" are fast disappearing. Iwas told that I should find the country stagnant. Trade, it is true, isonly slowly coming in, real-estate deals are sleeping, but in allavenues of solid prosperity and productiveness the country is thereverse of stagnant. Another misapprehension this visit is correcting. Iwas told not to visit Southern California at this season on account ofthe heat. But I have no experience of a more delightful summer climatethan this, especially on or near the coast. 

[Illustration: AVENUE LOS ANGELES. ]

In secluded valleys in the interior the thermometer rises in the daytimeto 85°, 90°, and occasionally 100°, but I have found no place in themwhere there was not daily a refreshing breeze from the ocean, where thedryness of the air did not make the heat seem much less than it was, andwhere the nights were not agreeably cool. My belief is that the summerclimate of Southern California is as desirable for pleasure-seekers, forinvalids, for workmen, as its winter climate. It seems to me that acoast temperature 60° to 75°, stimulating, without harshness ordampness, is about the perfection of summer weather. It should be said, however, that there are secluded valleys which become very hot in thedaytime in midsummer, and intolerably dusty. The dust is the greatannoyance everywhere. It gives the whole landscape an ashy tint, likesome of our Eastern fields and way-sides in a dry August. The verdureand the wild flowers of the rainy season disappear entirely. There is, however, some picturesque compensation for this dust and lack of green. The mountains and hills and great plains take on wonderful hues ofbrown, yellow, and red. 

I write this paragraph in a high chamber in the Hotel del Coronado, onthe great and fertile beach in front of San Diego. It is the 2d of June. Looking southward, I see the great expanse of the Pacific Ocean, sparkling in the sun as blue as the waters at Amalfi. A low surf beatsalong the miles and miles of white sand continually, with the impetus offar-off seas and trade-winds, as it has beaten for thousands of years, with one unending roar and swish, and occasional shocks of sound as ifof distant thunder on the shore. Yonder, to the right, Point Lomastretches its sharp and rocky promontory into the ocean, purple in thesun, bearing a light-house on its highest elevation. From this signal, bending in a perfect crescent, with a silver rim, the shore sweepsaround twenty-five miles to another promontory running down beyond TiaJuana to the Point of Rocks, in Mexican territory. Directly infront--they say eighteen miles away, I think five sometimes, andsometimes a hundred--lie the islands of Coronado, named, I suppose, fromthe old Spanish adventurer Vasques de Coronado, huge bulks of beautifulred sandstone, uninhabited and barren, becalmed there in the changingblue of sky and sea, like enormous mastless galleons, like degradedicebergs, like Capri and Ischia. They say that they are stationary. Ionly know that when I walk along the shore towards Point Loma they seemto follow, until they lie opposite the harbor entrance, which is closeby the promontory; and that when I return, they recede and go awaytowards Mexico, to which they belong. Sometimes, as seen from the beach, owing to the difference in the humidity of the strata of air over theocean, they seem smaller at the bottom than at the top. Occasionallythey come quite near, as do the sea-lions and the gulls, and again theyalmost fade out of the horizon in a violet light. This morning theystand away, and the fleet of white-sailed fishing-boats from thePortuguese hamlet of La Playa, within the harbor entrance, which isdancing off Point Loma, will have a long sail if they pursue thebarracuda to those shadowy rocks. 

[Illustration: IN THE GARDEN AT SANTA BARBARA MISSION. ]

We crossed the bay the other day, and drove up a wild road to the heightof the promontory, and along its narrow ridge to the light-house. Thissite commands one of the most remarkable views in the accessiblecivilized world, one of the three or four really great prospects whichthe traveller can recall, astonishing in its immensity, interesting inits peculiar details. The general features are the great ocean, blue, flecked with sparkling, breaking wavelets, and the wide, curvingcoast-line, rising into mesas, foot-hills, ranges on ranges ofmountains, the faintly seen snow-peaks of San Bernardino and San Jacintoto the Cuyamaca and the flat top of Table Mountain in Mexico. Directlyunder us on one side are the fields of kelp, where the whales come tofeed in winter; and on the other is a point of sand on Coronado Beach, where a flock of pelicans have assembled after their day's fishing, inwhich occupation they are the rivals of the Portuguese. The perfectcrescent of the ocean beach is seen, the singular formation of North andSouth Coronado Beach, the entrance to the harbor along Point Loma, andthe spacious inner bay, on which lie San Diego and National City, withlowlands and heights outside sprinkled with houses, gardens, orchards, and vineyards. The near hills about this harbor are varied in form andpoetic in color, one of them, the conical San Miguel, constantlyrecalling Vesuvius. Indeed, the near view, in color, vegetation, andforms of hills and extent of arable land, suggests that of Naples, though on analysis it does not resemble it. If San Diego had half amillion of people it would be more like it; but the Naples view islimited, while this stretches away to the great mountains that overlookthe Colorado Desert. It is certainly one of the loveliest prospects inthe world, and worth long travel to see. 

Standing upon this point of view, I am reminded again of the strikingcontrasts and contiguous different climates on the coast. In the north, of course not visible from here, is Mount Whitney, on the borders ofInyo County and of the State of Nevada, 15, 086 feet above the sea, thehighest peak in the United States, excluding Alaska. South of it isGrayback, in the San Bernardino range, 11, 000 feet in altitude, thehighest point above its base in the United States. While south of thatis the depression in the Colorado Desert in San Diego County, aboutthree hundred feet below the level of the Pacific Ocean, the lowest landin the United States. These three exceptional points can be said to bealmost in sight of each other. 

[Illustration: SCENE AT PASADENA. ]

I have insisted so much upon the Mediterranean character of this regionthat it is necessary to emphasize the contrasts also. Reserving detailsand comments on different localities as to the commercial value ofproducts and climatic conditions, I will make some general observations. I am convinced that the fig can not only be grown here in sufficientquantity to supply our markets, but of the best quality. The same may besaid of the English walnut. This clean and handsome tree thriveswonderfully in large areas, and has no enemies. The olive culture is inits infancy, but I have never tasted better oil than that produced atSanta Barbara and on San Diego Bay. Specimens of the pickled olive aredelicious, and when the best varieties are generally grown, and the bestmethod of curing is adopted, it will be in great demand, not as a mererelish, but as food. The raisin is produced in all the valleys ofSouthern California, and in great quantities in the hot valley of SanJoaquin, beyond the Sierra Madre range. The best Malaga raisins, whichhave the reputation of being the best in the world, may never come toour market, but I have never eaten a better raisin for size, flavor, andthinness of skin than those raised in the El Cajon Valley, which iswatered by the great flume which taps a reservoir in the CuyamacaMountains, and supplies San Diego. But the quality of the raisin inCalifornia will be improved by experience in cultivation and handling. 

The contrast with the Mediterranean region--I refer to the westernbasin--is in climate. There is hardly any point along the French andItalian coast that is not subject to great and sudden changes, caused bythe north wind, which has many names, or in the extreme southernpeninsula and islands by the sirocco. There are few points that are notreached by malaria, and in many resorts--and some of them most sunny andagreeable to the invalid--the deadliest fevers always lie in wait. Thereis great contrast between summer and winter, and exceeding variabilityin the same month. This variability is the parent of many diseases ofthe lungs, the bowels, and the liver. It is demonstrated now bylong-continued observations that dampness and cold are not so inimicalto health as variability. 

The Southern California climate is an anomaly. It has been the subjectof a good deal of wonder and a good deal of boasting, but it is worthyof more scientific study than it has yet received. Its distinguishingfeature I take to be its equability. The temperature the year through islower than I had supposed, and the contrast is not great between thesummer and the winter months. The same clothing is appropriate, speakinggenerally, for the whole year. In all seasons, including the rainy daysof the winter months, sunshine is the rule. The variation of temperaturebetween day and night is considerable, but if the new-comer exercises alittle care, he will not be unpleasantly affected by it. There are coastfogs, but these are not chilling and raw. Why it is that with thehydrometer showing a considerable humidity in the air the general effectof the climate is that of dryness, scientists must explain. The constantexchange of desert airs with the ocean air may account for the anomaly, and the actual dryness of the soil, even on the coast, is put forward asanother explanation. Those who come from heated rooms on the Atlanticmay find the winters cooler than they expect, and those used to theheated terms of the Mississippi Valley and the East will be surprised atthe cool and salubrious summers. A land without high winds orthunder-storms may fairly be said to have a unique climate. 

[Illustration: LIVE-OAK NEAR LOS ANGELES. ]

I suppose it is the equability and not conditions of dampness or drynessthat renders this region so remarkably exempt from epidemics and endemicdiseases. The diseases of children prevalent elsewhere are unknown here;they cut their teeth without risk, and _cholera infantum_ never visitsthem. Diseases of the bowels are practically unknown. There is nomalaria, whatever that may be, and consequently an absence of thosevarious fevers and other disorders which are attributed to malarialconditions. Renal diseases are also wanting; disorders of the liver andkidneys, and Bright's disease, gout, and rheumatism, are not native. Theclimate in its effect is stimulating, but at the same time soothing tothe nerves, so that if "nervous prostration" is wanted, it must bebrought here, and cannot be relied on to continue long. These facts arederived from medical practice with the native Indian and Mexicanpopulation. Dr. Remondino, to whom I have before referred, has made thesubject a study for eighteen years, and later I shall offer some of theresults of his observations upon longevity. It is beyond my province toventure any suggestion upon the effect of the climate upon deep-seateddiseases, especially of the respiratory organs, of invalids who comehere for health. I only know that we meet daily and constantly so manypersons in fair health who say that it is impossible for them to liveelsewhere that the impression is produced that a considerable proportionof the immigrant population was invalid. There are, however, twosuggestions that should be made. Care is needed in acclimation to aclimate that differs from any previous experience; and the locality thatwill suit any invalid can only be determined by personal experience. Ifthe coast does not suit him, he may be benefited in a protected valley, or he may be improved on the foot-hills, or on an elevated mesa, or on ahigh mountain elevation. 

One thing may be regarded as settled. Whatever the sensibility or thepeculiarity of invalidism, the equable climate is exceedingly favorableto the smooth working of the great organic functions of respiration, digestion, and circulation. 

It is a pity to give this chapter a medical tone. One need not be aninvalid to come here and appreciate the graciousness of the air; thecolor of the landscape, which is wanting in our Northern clime; theconstant procession of flowers the year through; the purple hillsstretching into the sea; the hundreds of hamlets, with picturesque homesovergrown with roses and geranium and heliotrope, in the midst of orangeorchards and of palms and magnolias, in sight of the snow-peaks of thegiant mountain ranges which shut in this land of marvellous beauty. 

CHAPTER IV. 

THE WINTER OF OUR CONTENT. 

California is the land of the Pine and the Palm. The tree of theSierras, native, vigorous, gigantic, and the tree of the Desert, exotic, supple, poetic, both flourish within the nine degrees of latitude. Thesetwo, the widely separated lovers of Heine's song, symbolize thecapacities of the State, and although the sugar-pine is indigenous, andthe date-palm, which will never be more than an ornament in thishospitable soil, was planted by the Franciscan Fathers, who establisheda chain of missions from San Diego to Monterey over a century ago, theyshould both be the distinction of one commonwealth, which, in its sevenhundred miles of indented sea-coast, can boast the climates of allcountries and the products of all zones. 

If this State of mountains and valleys were divided by an east and westline, following the general course of the Sierra Madre range, andcutting off the eight lower counties, I suppose there would be conceitenough in either section to maintain that it only is the Paradise of theearth, but both are necessary to make the unique and contradictoryCalifornia which fascinates and bewilders the traveller. He is told thatthe inhabitants of San Francisco go away from the draught of the GoldenGate in the summer to get warm, and yet the earliest luscious cherriesand apricots which he finds in the far south market of San Diego comefrom the Northern Santa Clara Valley. The truth would seem to be that inan hour's ride in any part of the State one can change his climatetotally at any time of the year, and this not merely by changing hiselevation, but by getting in or out of the range of the sea or thedesert currents of air which follow the valleys. 

To recommend to any one a winter climate is far from the writer'sthought. No two persons agree on what is desirable for a winterresidence, and the inclination of the same person varies with his stateof health. I can only attempt to give some idea of what is called thewinter months in Southern California, to which my observations mainlyapply. The individual who comes here under the mistaken notion thatclimate ever does anything more than give nature a better chance, mayspeedily or more tardily need the service of an undertaker; and theinvalid whose powers are responsive to kindly influences may live solong, being unable to get away, that life will be a burden to him. Theperson in ordinary health will find very little that is hostile to theorderly organic processes. In order to appreciate the winter climate ofSouthern California one should stay here the year through, and selectthe days that suit his idea of winter from any of the months. From thefact that the greatest humidity is in the summer and the least in thewinter months, he may wear an overcoat in July in a temperature, according to the thermometer, which in January would render the overcoatunnecessary. It is dampness that causes both cold and heat to be mostfelt. The lowest temperatures, in Southern California generally, arecaused only by the extreme dryness of the air; in the long nights ofDecember and January there is a more rapid and longer continuedradiation of heat. It must be a dry and clear night that will send thetemperature down to thirty-four degrees. But the effect of the sun uponthis air is instantaneous, and the cold morning is followed at once by awarm forenoon; the difference between the average heat of July and theaverage cold of January, measured by the thermometer, is not great inthe valleys, foot-hills, and on the coast. Five points give this resultof average for January and July respectively: Santa Barbara, 52°, 66°;San Bernardino, 51°, 70°; Pomona, 52°, 68°; Los Angeles, 52°, 67°; SanDiego, 53°, 66°. The day in the winter months is warmer in the interiorand the nights are cooler than on the coast, as shown by the followingfigures for January: 7 A. M. , Los Angeles, 46. 5°; San Diego, 47. 5°; 3P. M. , Los Angeles, 65. 2°; San Diego, 60. 9°. In the summer the differenceis greater. In June I saw the thermometer reach 103° in Los Angeles whenit was only 79° in San Diego. But I have seen the weather unendurable inNew York with a temperature of 85°, while this dry heat of 103° was notoppressive. The extraordinary equanimity of the coast climate (certainlythe driest marine climate in my experience) will be evident from theaverage mean for each month, from records of sixteen years, ending in1877, taken at San Diego, giving each month in order, beginning withJanuary: 53. 5°, 54. 7°, 56. 0°, 58. 2°, 60. 2°, 64. 6°, 67. 1°, 69. 0°, 66. 7°, 62. 9°, 58. 1°, 56. 0°. In the year 1877 the mean temperature at 3 P. M. AtSan Diego was as follows, beginning with January: 60. 9°, 57. 7°, 62. 4°, 63. 3°, 66. 3°, 68. 5°, 69. 6°, 69. 6°, 69. 5°, 69. 6°, 64. 4°, 60. 5°. For thefour months of July, August, September, and October there was hardly ashade of difference at 3 P. M. The striking fact in all the records Ihave seen is that the difference of temperature in the daytime betweensummer and winter is very small, the great difference being frommidnight to just before sunrise, and this latter difference is greaterinland than on the coast. There are, of course, frost and ice in themountains, but the frost that comes occasionally in the low inlandvalleys is of very brief duration in the morning hour, and rarelycontinues long enough to have a serious effect upon vegetation. 

In considering the matter of temperature, the rule for vegetation andfor invalids will not be the same. A spot in which delicate flowers inSouthern California bloom the year round may be too cool for manyinvalids. It must not be forgotten that the general temperature here islower than that to which most Eastern people are accustomed. They areused to living all winter in overheated houses, and to protracted heatedterms rendered worse by humidity in the summer. The dry, low temperatureof the California winter, notwithstanding its perpetual sunshine, mayseem, therefore, wanting to them in direct warmth. It may take a year ortwo to acclimate them to this more equable and more refreshingtemperature. 

Neither on the coast nor in the foot-hills will the invalid find theclimate of the Riviera or of Tangier--not the tramontane wind of theformer, nor the absolutely genial but somewhat enervating climate ofthe latter. But it must be borne in mind that in this, ourMediterranean, the seeker for health or pleasure can find almost anyclimate (except the very cold or the very hot), down to the minutestsubdivision. He may try the dry marine climate of the coast, or thetemperature of the fruit lands and gardens from San Bernardino to LosAngeles, or he may climb to any altitude that suits him in the SierraMadre or the San Jacinto ranges. The difference may be all-important tohim between a valley and a mesa which is not a hundred feet higher; nay, between a valley and the slope of a foot-hill, with a shifting of notmore than fifty feet elevation, the change may be as marked for him asit is for the most sensitive young fruit-tree. It is undeniable, notwithstanding these encouraging "averages, " that cold snaps, thoughrare, do come occasionally, just as in summer there will occur one ortwo or three continued days of intense heat. And in the summer in somelocalities--it happened in June, 1890, in the Santiago hills in OrangeCounty--the desert sirocco, blowing over the Colorado furnace, makeslife just about unendurable for days at a time. Yet with this dry heatsunstroke is never experienced, and the diseases of the bowels usuallyaccompanying hot weather elsewhere are unknown. The experiencedtraveller who encounters unpleasant weather, heat that he does notexpect, cold that he did not provide for, or dust that deprives him ofhis last atom of good-humor, and is told that it is "exceptional, " knowsexactly what that word means. He is familiar with the "exceptional" theworld over, and he feels a sort of compassion for the inhabitants whohave not yet learned the adage, "Good wine needs no bush. " Even thosewho have bought more land than they can pay for can afford to tell thetruth. 

The rainy season in Southern California, which may open with a shower ortwo in October, but does not set in till late in November, or tillDecember, and is over in April, is not at all a period of cloudy weatheror continuous rainfall. On the contrary, bright warm days and brilliantsunshine are the rule. The rain is most likely to fall in the night. There may be a day of rain, or several days that are overcast withdistributed rain, but the showers are soon over, and the sky clears. Yetwinters vary greatly in this respect, the rainfall being much greater insome than in others. In 1890 there was rain beyond the average, and evenon the equable beach of Coronada there were some weeks of weather thatfrom the California point of view were very unpleasant. It wasunpleasant by local comparison, but it was not damp and chilly, like aprotracted period of falling weather on the Atlantic. The rain comeswith a southerly wind, caused by a disturbance far north, and with theresumption of the prevailing westerly winds it suddenly ceases, the airclears, and neither before nor after it is the atmosphere "steamy" orenervating. The average annual rainfall of the Pacific coast diminishesby regular gradation from point to point all the way from Puget Sound tothe Mexican boundary. At Neah Bay it is 111 inches, and it steadilylessens down to Santa Cruz, 25. 24; Monterey, 11. 42; Point Conception, 12. 21; San Diego, 11. 01. There is fog on the coast in every month, butthis diminishes, like the rainfall, from north to south. I haveencountered it in both February and June. In the south it is apt to bemost persistent in April and May, when for three or four days togetherthere will be a fine mist, which any one but a Scotchman would callrain. Usually, however, the fog-bank will roll in during the night, anddisappear by ten o'clock in the morning. There is no wet season properlyso called, and consequently few days in the winter months when it is notagreeable to be out-of-doors, perhaps no day when one may not walk ordrive during some part of it. Yet as to precipitation or temperature itis impossible to strike any general average for Southern California. In1883-84 San Diego had 25. 77 inches of rain, and Los Angeles (fifteenmiles inland) had 38. 22. The annual average at Los Angeles is 17. 64; butin 1876-77 the total at San Diego was only 3. 75, and at Los Angeles only5. 28. Yet elevation and distance from the coast do not always determinethe rainfall. The yearly mean rainfall at Julian, in the San Jacintorange, at an elevation of 4500 feet, is 37. 74; observations atRiverside, 1050 feet above the sea, give an average of 9. 37. 

It is probably impossible to give an Eastern man a just idea of thewinter of Southern California. Accustomed to extremes, he may expect toomuch. He wants a violent change. If he quits the snow, the slush, theleaden skies, the alternate sleet and cold rain of New England, he wouldlike the tropical heat, the languor, the color of Martinique. He willnot find them here. He comes instead into a strictly temperate region;and even when he arrives, his eyes deceive him. He sees the orangeripening in its dark foliage, the long lines of the eucalyptus, thefeathery pepper-tree, the magnolia, the English walnut, the blacklive-oak, the fan-palm, in all the vigor of June; everywhere beds offlowers of every hue and of every country blazing in the brightsunlight--the heliotrope, the geranium, the rare hot-house rosesoverrunning the hedges of cypress, and the scarlet passion-vine climbingto the roof-tree of the cottages; in the vineyard or the orchard thehorticulturist is following the cultivator in his shirt-sleeves; hehears running water, the song of birds, the scent of flowers is in theair, and he cannot understand why he needs winter clothing, why he isalways seeking the sun, why he wants a fire at night. It is a fraud, hesays, all this visible display of summer, and of an almost tropicalsummer at that; it is really a cold country. It is incongruous that heshould be looking at a date-palm in his overcoat, and he is puzzled thata thermometrical heat that should enervate him elsewhere, stimulates himhere. The green, brilliant, vigorous vegetation, the perpetual sunshine, deceive him; he is careless about the difference of shade and sun, hegets into a draught, and takes cold. Accustomed to extremes oftemperature and artificial heat, I think for most people the firstwinter here is a disappointment. I was told by a physician who hadeighteen years' experience of the climate that in his first winter hethought he had never seen a people so insensitive to cold as the SanDiegans, who seemed not to require warmth. And all this time the treesare growing like asparagus, the most delicate flowers are in perpetualbloom, the annual crops are most lusty. I fancy that the soil is alwayswarm. The temperature is truly moderate. The records for a number ofyears show that the mid-day temperature of clear days in winter is from60° to 70° on the coast, from 65° to 80° in the interior, while that ofrainy days is about 60° by the sea and inland. Mr. Van Dyke says thatthe lowest mid-day temperature recorded at the United States signalstation at San Diego during eight years is 51°. This occurred but once. In those eight years there were but twenty-one days when the mid-daytemperature was not above 55°. In all that time there were but six dayswhen the mercury fell below 36° at any time in the night; and but twowhen it fell to 32°, the lowest point ever reached there. On one ofthese two last-named days it went to 51° at noon, and on the other to56°. This was the great "cold snap" of December, 1879. 

It goes without saying that this sort of climate would suit any one inordinary health, inviting and stimulating to constant out-of-doorexercise, and that it would be equally favorable to that generalbreakdown of the system which has the name of nervous prostration. Theeffect upon diseases of the respiratory organs can only be determined byindividual experience. The government has lately been sending soldierswho have consumption from various stations in the United States to SanDiego for treatment. This experiment will furnish interesting data. Within a period covering a little over two years, Dr. Huntington, thepost surgeon, has had fifteen cases sent to him. Three of these patientshad tubercular consumption; twelve had consumption induced by attacks ofpneumonia. One of the tubercular patients died within a month after hisarrival; the second lived eight months; the third was discharged cured, left the army, and contracted malaria elsewhere, of which he died. Theremaining twelve were discharged practically cured of consumption, buttwo of them subsequently died. It is exceedingly common to meet personsof all ages and both sexes in Southern California who came invalided bydisease of the lungs or throat, who have every promise of fair healthhere, but who dare not leave this climate. The testimony is convincingof the good effect of the climate upon all children, upon womengenerally, and of its rejuvenating effect upon men and women of advancedyears. 

CHAPTER V. 

HEALTH AND LONGEVITY. 

In regard to the effect of climate upon health and longevity, Dr. Remondino quotes old Hufeland that "uniformity in the state of theatmosphere, particularly in regard to heat, cold, gravity, andlightness, contributes in a very considerable degree to the duration oflife. Countries, therefore, where great and sudden varieties in thebarometer and the thermometer are usual cannot be favorable tolongevity. Such countries may be healthy, and many men may become old inthem, but they will not attain to a great age, for all rapid variationsare so many internal mutations, and these occasion an astonishingconsumption both of the forces and the organs. " Hufeland thought amarine climate most favorable to longevity. He describes, and perhaps wemay say prophesied, a region he had never known, where the conditionsand combinations were most favorable to old age, which is epitomized byDr. Remondino: "where the latitude gives warmth and the sea or oceantempering winds, where the soil is warm and dry and the sun is alsobright and warm, where uninterrupted bright clear weather and a moderatetemperature are the rule, where extremes neither of heat nor cold are tobe found, where nothing may interfere with the exercise of the aged, andwhere the actual results and cases of longevity will bear testimony asto the efficacy of all its climatic conditions being favorable to a longand comfortable existence. "

[Illustration: MIDWINTER, PASADENA. ]

In an unpublished paper Dr. Remondino comments on the extraordinaryendurance of animals and men in the California climate, and cites manycases of uncommon longevity in natives. In reading the accounts of earlydays in California I am struck with the endurance of hardship, exposure, and wounds by the natives and the adventurers, the rancheros, horsemen, herdsmen, the descendants of soldiers and the Indians, theirinsensibility to fatigue, and their agility and strength. This isascribed to the climate; and what is true of man is true of the nativehorse. His only rival in strength, endurance, speed, and intelligence isthe Arabian. It was long supposed that this was racial, and that but forthe smallness of the size of the native horse, crossing with it wouldimprove the breed of the Eastern and Kentucky racers. But there wasreluctance to cross the finely proportioned Eastern horse with hisdiminutive Western brother. The importation and breeding ofthoroughbreds on this coast has led to the discovery that the desirablequalities of the California horse were not racial but climatic. TheEastern horse has been found to improve in size, compactness of muscle, in strength of limb, in wind, with a marked increase in power ofendurance. The traveller here notices the fine horses and theirexcellent condition, and the power and endurance of those that haveconsiderable age. The records made on Eastern race-courses by horsesfrom California breeding farms have already attracted attention. It isalso remarked that the Eastern horse is usually improved greatly by asojourn of a season or two on this coast, and the plan of bringingEastern race-horses here for the winter is already adopted. 

Man, it is asserted by our authority, is as much benefited as the horseby a change to this climate. The new-comer may have certain unpleasantsensations in coming here from different altitudes and conditions, buthe will soon be conscious of better being, of increased power in all thefunctions of life, more natural and recuperative sleep, and an accessionof vitality and endurance. Dr. Remondino also testifies that itoccasionally happens in this rejuvenation that families which haveseemed to have reached their limit at the East are increased afterresidence here. 

The early inhabitants of Southern California, according to the statementof Mr. H. H. Bancroft and other reports, were found to be living inSpartan conditions as to temperance and training, and in a highly moralcondition, in consequence of which they had uncommon physical enduranceand contempt for luxury. This training in abstinence and hardship, withtemperance in diet, combined with the climate to produce the astonishinglongevity to be found here. Contrary to the customs of most other tribesof Indians, their aged were the care of the community. Dr. W. A. Winder, of San Diego, is quoted as saying that in a visit to El Cajon Valleysome thirty years ago he was taken to a house in which the aged personswere cared for. There were half a dozen who had reached an extreme age. Some were unable to move, their bony frame being seemingly anchylosed. They were old, wrinkled, and blear-eyed; their skin was hanging inleathery folds about their withered limbs; some had hair as white assnow, and had seen some seven-score of years; others, still able tocrawl, but so aged as to be unable to stand, went slowly about on theirhands and knees, their limbs being attenuated and withered. The organsof special sense had in many nearly lost all activity some generationsback. Some had lost the use of their limbs for more than a decade or ageneration; but the organs of life and the "great sympathetic" stillkept up their automatic functions, not recognizing the fact, andsurprisingly indifferent to it, that the rest of the body had ceased tobe of any use a generation or more in the past. And it is remarked that"these thoracic and abdominal organs and their physiological actionbeing kept alive and active, as it were, against time, and the silentand unconscious functional activity of the great sympathetic and itsganglia, show a tenacity of the animal tissues to hold on to life thatis phenomenal. "

[Illustration: A TYPICAL GARDEN, NEAR SANTA ANA. ]

I have no space to enter upon the nature of the testimony upon which theage of certain Indians hereafter referred to is based. It is such as tosatisfy Dr. Remondino, Dr. Edward Palmer, long connected with theAgricultural Department of the Smithsonian Institution, and Father A. D. Ubach, who has religious charge of the Indians in this region. TheseIndians were not migratory; they lived within certain limits, and wereknown to each other. The missions established by the Franciscan friarswere built with the assistance of the Indians. The friars have handeddown by word of mouth many details in regard to their early missions;others are found in the mission records, such as carefully kept recordsof family events--births, marriages, and deaths. And there is thetestimony of the Indians regarding each other. Father Ubach has known anumber who were employed at the building of the mission of San Diego(1769-71), a century before he took charge of this mission. These menhad been engaged in carrying timber from the mountains or in makingbrick, and many of them were living within the last twenty years. Thereare persons still living at the Indian village of Capitan Grande whoseages he estimates at over one hundred and thirty years. Since the adventof civilization the abstemious habits and Spartan virtues of theseIndians have been impaired, and their care for the aged has relaxed. 

Dr. Palmer has a photograph (which I have seen) of a squaw whom heestimates to be 126 years old. When he visited her he saw her put sixwatermelons in a blanket, tie it up, and carry it on her back for twomiles. He is familiar with Indian customs and history, and a carefulcross-examination convinced him that her information of old customs wasnot obtained by tradition. She was conversant with tribal habits she hadseen practised, such as the cremation of the dead, which the missionfathers had compelled the Indians to relinquish. She had seen theIndians punished by the fathers with floggings for persisting in thepractice of cremation. 

At the mission of San Tomas, in Lower California, is still living anIndian (a photograph of whom Dr. Remondino shows), bent and wrinkled, whose age is computed at 140 years. Although blind and naked, he isstill active, and daily goes down the beach and along the beds of thecreeks in search of drift-wood, making it his daily task to gather andcarry to camp a fagot of wood. 

[Illustration: OLD ADOBE HOUSE, POMONA. ]

Another instance I give in Dr. Remondino's words: "Philip Crossthwaite, who has lived here since 1843, has an old man on his ranch who mountshis horse and rides about daily, who was a grown man breaking horses forthe mission fathers when Don Antonio Serrano was an infant. Don AntonioI know quite well, having attended him through a serious illness somesixteen years ago. Although now at the advanced age of ninety-three, heis as erect as a pine, and he rides his horse with his usual vigor andgrace. He is thin and spare and very tall, and those who knew him fiftyyears or more remember him as the most skilful horseman in theneighborhood of San Diego. And yet, as fabulous as it may seem, the manwho danced this Don Antonio on his knee when he was an infant is notonly still alive, but is active enough to mount his horse and canterabout the country. Some years ago I attended an elderly gentleman, sincedead, who knew this man as a full-grown man when he and Don Serrano wereplay-children together. From a conversation with Father Ubach I learnedthat the man's age is perfectly authenticated to be beyond one hundredand eighteen years. "

In the many instances given of extreme old age in this region the habitsof these Indians have been those of strict temperance andabstemiousness, and their long life in an equable climate is due toextreme simplicity of diet. In many cases of extreme age the diet hasconsisted simply of acorns, flour, and water. It is asserted that theclimate itself induces temperance in drink and abstemiousness in diet. In his estimate of the climate as a factor of longevity, Dr. Remondinosays that it is only necessary to look at the causes of death, and theages most subject to attack, to understand that the less of these causesthat are present the greater are the chances of man to reach great age. "Add to these reflections that you run no gantlet of diseases toundermine or deteriorate the organism; that in this climate childhoodfinds an escape from those diseases which are the terror of mothers, andagainst which physicians are helpless, as we have here none of thoseaffections of the first three years of life so prevalent during thesummer months in the East and the rest of the United States. Then, again, the chance of gastric or intestinal disease is almost incrediblysmall. This immunity extends through every age of life. Hepatic andkindred diseases are unknown; of lung affections there is no land thatcan boast of like exemption. Be it the equability of the temperature orthe aseptic condition of the atmosphere, the free sweep of winds or theabsence of disease germs, or what else it may be ascribed to, one thingis certain, that there is no pneumonia, bronchitis, or pleurisy lying inwait for either the infant or the aged. "

[Illustration: FAN-PALM, FERNANDO ST. LOS ANGELES. ]

The importance of this subject must excuse the space I have given to it. It is evident from this testimony that here are climatic conditionsnovel and worthy of the most patient scientific investigation. Theireffect upon hereditary tendencies and upon persons coming here withhereditary diseases will be studied. Three years ago there was in somelocalities a visitation of small-pox imported from Mexico. At that timethere were cases of pneumonia. Whether these were incident tocarelessness in vaccination, or were caused by local unsanitaryconditions, I do not know. It is not to be expected that unsanitaryconditions will not produce disease here as elsewhere. It cannot be toostrongly insisted that this is a climate that the new-comer must getused to, and that he cannot safely neglect the ordinary precautions. Thedifference between shade and sun is strikingly marked, and he must notbe deceived into imprudence by the prevailing sunshine or the generalequability. 

CHAPTER VI. 

IS RESIDENCE HERE AGREEABLE?

After all these averages and statistics, and not considering now thechances of the speculator, the farmer, the fruit-raiser, or the invalid, is Southern California a particularly agreeable winter residence? Thequestion deserves a candid answer, for it is of the last importance tothe people of the United States to know the truth--to know whether theyhave accessible by rail a region free from winter rigor andvicissitudes, and yet with few of the disadvantages of most winterresorts. One would have more pleasure in answering the question if hewere not irritated by the perpetual note of brag and exaggeration inevery locality that each is the paradise of the earth, and absolutelyfree from any physical discomfort. I hope that this note of exaggerationis not the effect of the climate, for if it is, the region will never besocially agreeable. 

There are no sudden changes of season here. Spring comes gradually dayby day, a perceptible hourly waking to life and color; and this glidesinto a summer which never ceases, but only becomes tired and fades intothe repose of a short autumn, when the sere and brown and red and yellowhills and the purple mountains are waiting for the rain clouds. This isaccording to the process of nature; but wherever irrigation bringsmoisture to the fertile soil, the green and bloom are perpetual the yearround, only the green is powdered with dust, and the cultivated flowershave their periods of exhaustion. 

I should think it well worth while to watch the procession of naturehere from late November or December to April. It is a land of delicateand brilliant wild flowers, of blooming shrubs, strange in form andwonderful in color. Before the annual rains the land lies in a sort ofswoon in a golden haze; the slopes and plains are bare, the hills yellowwith ripe wild-oats or ashy gray with sage, the sea-breeze is weak, theair grows drier, the sun hot, the shade cool. Then one day light cloudsstream up from the south-west, and there is a gentle rain. When the suncomes out again its rays are milder, the land is refreshed andbrightened, and almost immediately a greenish tinge appears on plain andhill-side. At intervals the rain continues, daily the landscape isgreener in infinite variety of shades, which seem to sweep over thehills in waves of color. Upon this carpet of green by February naturebegins to weave an embroidery of wild flowers, white, lavender, golden, pink, indigo, scarlet, changing day by day and every day more brilliant, and spreading from patches into great fields until dale and hill andtable-land are overspread with a refinement and glory of color thatwould be the despair of the carpet-weavers of Daghestan. 

This, with the scent of orange groves and tea-roses, with cool nights, snow in sight on the high mountains, an occasional day of rain, days ofbright sunshine, when an overcoat is needed in driving, must sufficethe sojourner for winter. He will be humiliated that he is moresensitive to cold than the heliotrope or the violet, but he must bearit. If he is looking for malaria, he must go to some other winterresort. If he wants a "norther" continuing for days, he must move on. Ifhe is accustomed to various insect pests, he will miss them here. Ifthere comes a day warmer than usual, it will not be damp or soggy. Sofar as nature is concerned there is very little to grumble at, and oneresource of the traveller is therefore taken away. 

But is it interesting? What is there to do? It must be confessed thatthere is a sort of monotony in the scenery as there is in the climate. There is, to be sure, great variety in a way between coast and mountain, as, for instance, between Santa Barbara and Pasadena, and if the touristwill make a business of exploring the valleys and uplands and cañonslittle visited, he will not complain of monotony; but the artist and thephotographer find the same elements repeated in little varyingcombinations. There is undeniable repetition in the succession offlower-gardens, fruit orchards, alleys of palms and peppers, vineyards, and the cultivation about the villas is repeated in all directions. TheAmericans have not the art of making houses or a land picturesque. Thetraveller is enthusiastic about the exquisite drives through thesegroves of fruit, with the ashy or the snow-covered hills for backgroundand contrast, and he exclaims at the pretty cottages, vine and roseclad, in their semi-tropical setting, but if by chance he comes upon anold adobe or a Mexican ranch house in the country, he has emotions of adifferent sort. 

[Illustration: SCARLET PASSION-VINE. ]

There is little left of the old Spanish occupation, but the remains ofit make the romance of the country, and appeal to our sense of fitnessand beauty. It is to be hoped that all such historical associations willbe preserved, for they give to the traveller that which our countrygenerally lacks, and which is so largely the attraction of Italy andSpain. Instead of adapting and modifying the houses and homes that theclimate suggests, the new American comers have brought here from theEast the smartness and prettiness of our modern nondescriptarchitecture. The low house, with recesses and galleries, built round aninner court, or _patio_, which, however small, would fill the wholeinterior with sunshine and the scent of flowers, is the sort of dwellingthat would suit the climate and the habit of life here. But the presentoccupiers have taken no hints from the natives. In village and countrythey have done all they can, in spite of the maguey and the cactus andthe palm and the umbrella-tree and the live-oak and the riotous flowersand the thousand novel forms of vegetation, to give everything a prosaiclook. But why should the tourist find fault with this? The Americanlikes it, and he would not like the picturesqueness of the Spanish orthe Latin races. 

So far as climate and natural beauty go to make one contented in awinter resort, Southern California has unsurpassed attractions, and bothseem to me to fit very well the American temperament; but theassociations of art and history are wanting, and the tourist knows howlargely his enjoyment of a vacation in Southern Italy or Sicily orNorthern Africa depends upon these--upon these and upon the aspects ofhuman nature foreign to his experience. 

It goes without saying that this is not Europe, either in its humaninterest or in a certain refinement of landscape that comes only by longcultivation and the occupancy of ages. One advantage of foreign travelto the restless American is that he carries with him no responsibilityfor the government or the progress of the country he is in, and that heleaves business behind him; whereas in this new country, which is hisown, the development of which is so interesting, and in which theopportunities of fortune seem so inviting, he is constantly tempted "totake a hand in. " If, however, he is superior to this fever, and iswilling simply to rest, to drift along with the equable days, I know ofno other place where he can be more truly contented. Year by year thecountry becomes more agreeable for the traveller, in the first place, through the improvement in the hotels, and in the second, by betterroads. In the large villages and cities there are miles of excellentdrives, well sprinkled, through delightful avenues, in a park-likecountry, where the eye is enchanted with color and luxurious vegetation, and captivated by the remarkable beauty of the hills, the wildness andpicturesqueness of which enhance the charming cultivation of theorchards and gardens. And no country is more agreeable for riding anddriving, for even at mid-day, in the direct sun rays, there is almosteverywhere a refreshing breeze, and one rides or drives or walks withlittle sense of fatigue. The horses are uniformly excellent, either inthe carriage or under the saddle. I am sure they are remarkable inspeed, endurance, and ease of motion. If the visiting season had noother attraction, the horses would make it distinguished. 

A great many people like to spend months in a comfortable hotel, lounging on the piazzas, playing lawn-tennis, taking a morning ride orafternoon drive, making an occasional picnic excursion up some mountaincañon, getting up charades, playing at private theatricals, dancing, flirting, floating along with more or less sentiment and only theweariness that comes when there are no duties. There are plenty ofplaces where all these things can be done, and with no sort of anxietyabout the weather from week to week, and with the added advantage thatthe women and children can take care of themselves. But for those whofind such a life monotonous there are other resources. There is verygood fishing in the clear streams in the foot-hills, hunting in themountains for large game still worthy of the steadiest nerves, and goodbird-shooting everywhere. There are mountains to climb, cañons toexplore, lovely valleys in the recesses of the hills to bediscovered--in short, one disposed to activity and not afraid ofroughing it could occupy himself most agreeably and healthfully in thewild parts of San Bernardino and San Diego counties; he may even stillstart a grizzly in the Sierra Madre range in Los Angeles County. Huntingand exploring in the mountains, riding over the mesas, which are greenfrom the winter rains and gay with a thousand delicate grasses andflowering plants, is manly occupation to suit the most robust andadventurous. Those who saunter in the trim gardens, or fly from onehotel parlor to the other, do not see the best of Southern California inthe winter. 

CHAPTER VII. 

THE WINTER ON THE COAST. 

But the distinction of this coast, and that which will forever make itattractive at the season when the North Atlantic is forbidding, is thatthe ocean-side is as equable, as delightful, in winter as in summer. Itssea-side places are truly all-the-year-round resorts. In subsequentchapters I shall speak in detail of different places as to climate anddevelopment and peculiarities of production. I will now only give ageneral idea of Southern California as a wintering place. Even as farnorth as Monterey, in the central part of the State, the famous Hoteldel Monte, with its magnificent park of pines and live-oaks, andexquisite flower-gardens underneath the trees, is remarkable for itssteadiness of temperature. I could see little difference between thetemperature of June and of February. The difference is of coursegreatest at night. The maximum the year through ranges from about 65° toabout 80°, and the minimum from about 35° to about 58°, though there aredays when the thermometer goes above 90°, and nights when it falls below30°. 

[Illustration: ROSE-BUSH, SANTA BARBARA. ]

To those who prefer the immediate ocean air to that air as modified bysuch valleys as the San Gabriel and the Santa Ana, the coast offers avariety of choice in different combinations of sea and mountain climateall along the southern sunny exposure from Santa Barbara to San Diego. In Santa Barbara County the Santa Inez range of mountains runs westwardto meet the Pacific at Point Conception. South of this noble range are anumber of little valleys opening to the sea, and in one of these, with aharbor and sloping upland and cañon of its own, lies Santa Barbara, looking southward towards the sunny islands of Santa Rosa and SantaCruz. Above it is the Mission Cañon, at the entrance of which is thebest-preserved of the old Franciscan missions. There is a superb driveeastward along the long and curving sea-beach of four miles to the cañonof Monticito, which is rather a series of nooks and terraces, of lovelyplaces and gardens, of plantations of oranges and figs, rising up to thebase of the gray mountains. The long line of the Santa Inez suggests thepromontory of Sorrento, and a view from the opposite rocky point, whichencloses the harbor on the west, by the help of cypresses which looklike stone-pines, recalls many an Italian coast scene, and in situationthe Bay of Naples. The whole aspect is foreign, enchanting, and thesemi-tropical fruits and vines and flowers, with a golden atmospherepoured over all, irresistibly take the mind to scenes of Italianromance. There is still a little Spanish flavor left in the town, in afew old houses, in names and families historic, and in the life withouthurry or apprehension. There is a delightful commingling here of sea andmountain air, and in a hundred fertile nooks in the hills one in themost delicate health may be sheltered from every harsh wind. I think noone ever leaves Santa Barbara without a desire to return to it. 

Farther down the coast, only eighteen miles from Los Angeles, and a sortof Coney Island resort of that thriving city, is Santa Monica. Its hotelstands on a high bluff in a lovely bend of the coast. It is popular insummer as well as winter, as the number of cottages attest, and it waschosen by the directors of the National Soldiers' Home as the site ofthe Home on the Pacific coast. There the veterans, in a commodiousbuilding, dream away their lives most contentedly, and can fancy thatthey hear the distant thunder of guns in the pounding of the surf. 

At about the same distance from Los Angeles, southward, above PointVincent, is Redondo Beach, a new resort, which, from its natural beautyand extensive improvements, promises to be a delightful place of sojournat any time of the year. The mountainous, embracing arms of the bay areexquisite in contour and color, and the beach is very fine. The hotel isperfectly comfortable--indeed, uncommonly attractive--and the extensiveplanting of trees, palms, and shrubs, and the cultivation of flowers, will change the place in a year or two into a scene of green and floralloveliness; in this region two years, such is the rapid growth, sufficesto transform a desert into a park or garden. On the hills, at a littledistance from the beach and pier, are the buildings of the Chautauqua, which holds a local summer session here. The Chautauqua people, thecountry over, seem to have, in selecting sightly and agreeable sites fortheir temples of education and amusement, as good judgment as the oldmonks had in planting their monasteries and missions. 

[Illustration: AT AVALON, SANTA CATALINA ISLAND. ]

If one desires a thoroughly insular climate, he may cross to thepicturesque island of Santa Catalina. All along the coast flowers bloomin the winter months, and the ornamental semi-tropical plants thrive;and there are many striking headlands and pretty bays and gentle seawardslopes which are already occupied by villages, and attract visitors whowould practise economy. The hills frequently come close to the shore, forming those valleys in which the Californians of the pastoral periodplaced their ranch houses. At San Juan Capristrano the fathers had oneof their most flourishing missions, the ruins of which are the mostpicturesque the traveller will find. It is altogether a genial, attractive coast, and if the tourist does not prefer an inlandsituation, like the Hotel Raymond (which scarcely has a rival anywherein its lovely surroundings), he will keep on down the coast to SanDiego. 

The transition from the well-planted counties of Los Angeles and Orangeis not altogether agreeable to the eye. One misses the trees. Thegeneral aspect of the coast about San Diego is bare in comparison. Thissimply means that the southern county is behind the others indevelopment. Nestled among the hills there are live-oaks and sycamores;and of course at National City and below, in El Cajon and the valley ofthe Sweetwater, there are extensive plantations of oranges, lemons, olives, and vines, but the San Diego region generally lies in the sunshadeless. I have a personal theory that much vegetation is inconsistentwith the best atmosphere for the human being. The air is nowhere else soagreeable to me as it is in a barren New Mexican or Arizona desert atthe proper elevation. I do not know whether the San Diego climate wouldbe injured if the hills were covered with forest and the valleys wereall in the highest and most luxuriant vegetation. The theory is that theinteraction of the desert and ocean winds will always keep it as it is, whatever man may do. I can only say that, as it is, I doubt if it hasits equal the year round for agreeableness and healthfulness in ourUnion; and it is the testimony of those whose experience of the bestMediterranean climate is more extended and much longer continued thanmine, that it is superior to any on that enclosed sea. About this greatharbor, whose outer beach has an extent of twenty-five miles, whoseinland circuit of mountains must be over fifty miles, there are greatvarieties of temperature, of shelter and exposure, minute subdivisionsof climate, whose personal fitness can only be attested by experience. There is a great difference, for instance, between the quality of theclimate at the elevation of the Florence Hotel, San Diego, and theUniversity Heights on the mesa above the town, and that on the longCoronado Beach which protects the inner harbor from the ocean surf. Thelatter, practically surrounded by water, has a true marine climate, buta peculiar and dry marine climate, as tonic in its effect as that ofCapri, and, I believe, with fewer harsh days in the winter season. Iwish to speak with entire frankness about this situation, for I am surethat what so much pleases me will suit a great number of people, whowill thank me for not being reserved. Doubtless it will not suithundreds of people as well as some other localities in SouthernCalifornia, but I found no other place where I had the feeling ofabsolute content and willingness to stay on indefinitely. There is ageniality about it for which the thermometer does not account, a charmwhich it is difficult to explain. Much of the agreeability is due toartificial conditions, but the climate man has not made nor marred. 

The Coronado Beach is about twelve miles long. A narrow sand promontory, running northward from the main-land, rises to the Heights, thenbroadens into a table-land, which seems to be an island, and measuresabout a mile and a half each way; this is called South Beach, and isconnected by another spit of sand with a like area called North Beach, which forms, with Point Loma, the entrance to the harbor. The NorthBeach, covered partly with chaparral and broad fields of barley, isalive with quail, and is a favorite coursing-ground for rabbits. Thesoil, which appears uninviting, is with water uncommonly fertile, beinga mixture of loam, disintegrated granite, and decomposed shells, andespecially adapted to flowers, rare tropical trees, fruits, andflowering shrubs of all countries. 

The development is on the South Beach, which was in January, 1887, nothing but a waste of sand and chaparral. I doubt if the world can showa like transformation in so short a time. I saw it in February of thatyear, when all the beauty, except that of ocean, sky, and atmosphere, was still to be imagined. It is now as if the wand of the magician hadtouched it. In the first place, abundance of water was brought over by asubmarine conduit, and later from the extraordinary Coronado Springs(excellent soft water for drinking and bathing, and with a recognizedmedicinal value), and with these streams the beach began to bloom like atropical garden. Tens of thousands of trees have attained a remarkablegrowth in three years. The nursery is one of the most interestingbotanical and flower gardens in the country; palms and hedges ofMonterey cypress and marguerites line the avenues. There are parks andgardens of rarest flowers and shrubs, whose brilliant color produces thesame excitement in the mind as strains of martial music. A railwaytraverses the beach for a mile from the ferry to the hotel. There arehundreds of cottages with their gardens scattered over the surface;there is a race-track, a museum, an ostrich farm, a labyrinth, goodroads for driving, and a dozen other attractions for the idle or theinquisitive. 

[Illustration: HOTEL DEL CORONADO. ]

The hotel stands upon the south front of the beach and near the sea, above which it is sufficiently elevated to give a fine prospect. Thesound of the beating surf is perpetual there. At low tide there is asplendid driving beach miles in extent, and though the slope is abrupt, the opportunity for bathing is good, with a little care in regard to theundertow. But there is a safe natatorium on the harbor side close to thehotel. The stranger, when he first comes upon this novel hotel and thismarvellous scene of natural and created beauty, is apt to exhaust hissuperlatives. I hesitate to attempt to describe this hotel--this airyand picturesque and half-bizarre wooden creation of the architect. Taking it and its situation together, I know nothing else in the worldwith which to compare it, and I have never seen any other which sosurprised at first, that so improved on a two weeks' acquaintance, andthat has left in the mind an impression so entirely agreeable. It coversabout four and a half acres of ground, including an inner court of aboutan acre, the rich made soil of which is raised to the level of the mainfloor. The house surrounds this, in the Spanish mode of building, with aseries of galleries, so that most of the suites of rooms have a doubleoutlook--one upon this lovely garden, the other upon the ocean or theharbor. The effect of this interior court or _patio_ is to give gayetyand an air of friendliness to the place, brilliant as it is with flowersand climbing vines; and when the royal and date palms that arevigorously thriving in it attain their growth it will be magnificent. Big hotels and caravansaries are usually tiresome, unfriendly places;and if I should lay too much stress upon the vast dining-room (which hasa floor area of ten thousand feet without post or pillar), or thebeautiful breakfast-room, or the circular ballroom (which has an area ofeleven thousand feet, with its timber roof open to the loftyobservatory), or the music-room, billiard-rooms for ladies, thereading-rooms and parlors, the pretty gallery overlooking the spaciousoffice rotunda, and then say that the whole is illuminated with electriclights, and capable of being heated to any temperature desired--I mightconvey a false impression as to the actual comfort and home-likeness ofthis charming place. On the sea side the broad galleries of each storyare shut in by glass, which can be opened to admit or shut to excludethe fresh ocean breeze. Whatever the temperature outside, those greatgalleries are always agreeable for lounging or promenading. For me, Inever tire of the sea and its changing color and movement. If this greathouse were filled with guests, so spacious are its lounging places Ishould think it would never appear to be crowded; and if it were nearlyempty, so admirably are the rooms contrived for family life it will notseem lonesome. I shall add that the management is of the sort that makesthe guest feel at home and at ease. Flowers, brought in from the gardensand nurseries, are every where in profusion--on the dining-tables, inthe rooms, all about the house. So abundantly are they produced that noamount of culling seems to make an impression upon their mass. 

[Illustration: OSTRICH YARD, CORONADO BEACH. ]

But any description would fail to give the secret of the charm ofexistence here. Restlessness disappears, for one thing, but there is nolanguor or depression. I cannot tell why, when the thermometer is at 60°or 63°, the air seems genial and has no sense of chilliness, or why itis not oppressive at 80° or 85°. I am sure the place will not suit thosewhose highest idea of winter enjoyment is tobogganing and an ice palace, nor those who revel in the steam and languor of a tropical island; butfor a person whose desires are moderate, whose tastes are temperate, whois willing for once to be good-humored and content in equableconditions, I should commend Coronado Beach and the Hotel del Coronado, if I had not long ago learned that it is unsafe to commend to any humanbeing a climate or a doctor. 

But you can take your choice. It lies there, our Mediterranean region, on a blue ocean, protected by barriers of granite from the Northerninfluences, an infinite variety of plain, cañon, hills, valleys, sea-coast; our New Italy without malaria, and with every sort of fruitwhich we desire (except the tropical), which will be grown in perfectionwhen our knowledge equals our ambition; and if you cannot find a winterhome there or pass some contented weeks in the months of Northerninclemency, you are weighing social advantages against those of theleast objectionable climate within the Union. It is not yet proved thatthis equability and the daily out-door life possible there will changecharacter, but they are likely to improve the disposition and soften theasperities of common life. At any rate, there is a land where fromNovember to April one has not to make a continual fight with theelements to keep alive. 

It has been said that this land of the sun and of the equable climatewill have the effect that other lands of a southern aspect have upontemperament and habits. It is feared that Northern-bred people, who areguided by the necessity of making hay while the sun shines, will notmake hay at all in a land where the sun always shines. It is thoughtthat unless people are spurred on incessantly by the exigencies of thechanging seasons they will lose energy, and fall into an idle floatingalong with gracious nature. Will not one sink into a comfortable andeasy procrastination if he has a whole year in which to perform thelabor of three months? Will Southern California be an exception to thoselands of equable climate and extraordinary fertility where every effortis postponed till "to-morrow?"

I wish there might be something solid in this expectation; that this maybe a region where the restless American will lose something of his hurryand petty, feverish ambition. Partially it may be so. He will take, heis already taking, something of the tone of the climate and of the oldSpanish occupation. But the race instinct of thrift and of "getting on"will not wear out in many generations. Besides, the condition of livingat all in Southern California in comfort, and with the social lifeindispensable to our people, demands labor, not exhausting and killing, but still incessant--demands industry. A land that will not yieldsatisfactorily without irrigation, and whose best paying producerequires intelligent as well as careful husbandry, will never be an idleland. Egypt, with all its _dolce far niente_, was never an idle land forthe laborer. 

It may be expected, however, that no more energy will be developed orencouraged than is needed for the daily tasks, and these tasks beinglighter than elsewhere, and capable of being postponed, that there willbe less stress and strain in the daily life. Although the climate ofSouthern California is not enervating, in fact is stimulating to thenew-comer, it is doubtless true that the monotony of good weather, ofthe sight of perpetual bloom and color in orchards and gardens, willtake away nervousness and produce a certain placidity, which might betaken for laziness by a Northern observer. It may be that engagementswill not be kept with desired punctuality, under the impression that theenjoyment of life does not depend upon exact response to the second-handof a watch; and it is not unpleasant to think that there is a corner ofthe Union where there will be a little more leisure, a little more ofserene waiting on Providence, an abatement of the restless rush andhaste of our usual life. The waves of population have been rollingwestward for a long time, and now, breaking over the mountains, theyflow over Pacific slopes and along the warm and inviting seas. Is italtogether an unpleasing thought that the conditions of life will besomewhat easier there, that there will be some physical repose, the racehaving reached the sunset of the continent, comparable to the desirableplacidity of life called the sunset of old age? This may be altogetherfanciful, but I have sometimes felt, in the sunny moderation of naturethere, that this land might offer for thousands at least a winter ofcontent. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE GENERAL OUTLOOK. --LAND AND PRICES. 

From the northern limit of California to the southern is about the samedistance as from Portsmouth, New Hampshire, to Charleston, SouthCarolina. Of these two coast lines, covering nearly ten degrees oflatitude, or over seven hundred miles, the Atlantic has greater extremesof climate and greater monthly variations, and the Pacific greatervariety of productions. The State of California is, however, somountainous, cut by longitudinal and transverse ranges, that anyreasonable person can find in it a temperature to suit him the yearthrough. But it does not need to be explained that it would be difficultto hit upon any general characteristic that would apply to the stretchof the Atlantic coast named, as a guide to a settler looking for a home;the description of Massachusetts would be wholly misleading for SouthCarolina. It is almost as difficult to make any comprehensive statementabout the long line of the California coast. 

It is possible, however, limiting the inquiry to the southern third ofthe State--an area of about fifty-eight thousand square miles, as largeas Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Connecticut, and RhodeIsland--to answer fairly some of the questions oftenest asked about it. These relate to the price of land, its productiveness, the kind ofproducts most profitable, the sort of labor required, and itsdesirability as a place of residence for the laborer, for the farmer orhorticulturist of small means, and for the man with considerablecapital. Questions on these subjects cannot be answered categorically, but I hope to be able, by setting down my own observations and usingtrustworthy reports, to give others the material on which to exercisetheir judgment. In the first place, I think it demonstrable that aperson would profitably exchange 160 acres of farming land east of theone hundredth parallel for ten acres, with a water right, in SouthernCalifornia. 

[Illustration: YUCCA-PALM. ]

In making this estimate I do not consider the question of health ormerely the agreeability of the climate, but the conditions of labor, theease with which one could support a family, and the profits over andabove a fair living. It has been customary in reckoning the value ofland there to look merely to the profit of it beyond its support of afamily, forgetting that agriculture and horticulture the world over, like almost all other kinds of business, usually do little more thanprocure a good comfortable living, with incidental education, to thosewho engage in them. That the majority of the inhabitants of SouthernCalifornia will become rich by the culture of the orange and the vine isan illusion; but it is not an illusion that twenty times its presentpopulation can live there in comfort, in what might be called luxuryelsewhere, by the cultivation of the soil, all far removed from povertyand much above the condition of the majority of the inhabitants of theforeign wine and fruit-producing countries. This result is assured bythe extraordinary productiveness of the land, uninterrupted the yearthrough, and by the amazing extension of the market in the United Statesfor products that can be nowhere else produced with such certainty andprofusion as in California. That State is only just learning how tosupply a demand which is daily increasing, but it already begins tocommand the market in certain fruits. This command of the market in thefuture will depend upon itself, that is, whether it will send East andNorth only sound wine, instead of crude, ill-cured juice of the grape, only the best and most carefully canned apricots, nectarines, peaches, and plums, only the raisins and prunes perfectly prepared, only suchoranges, lemons, and grapes and pears as the Californians are willing toeat themselves. California has yet much to learn about fruit-raising andfruit-curing, but it already knows that to compete with the rest of theworld in our markets it must beat the rest of the world in quality. Itwill take some time yet to remove the unfavorable opinion of Californiawines produced in the East by the first products of the vineyards senthere. 

[Illustration: DATE-PALM. ]

The difficulty for the settler is that he cannot "take up" ten acreswith water in California as he can 160 acres elsewhere. There is leftlittle available Government land. There is plenty of government land nottaken up and which may never be occupied, that is, inaccessible mountainand irreclaimable desert. There are also little nooks and fertile spotshere and there to be discovered which may be pre-empted, and which willsome day have value. But practically all the arable land, or that islikely to become so, is owned now in large tracts, under grants or bywholesale purchase. The circumstances of the case compelled associateeffort. Such a desert as that now blooming region known as Pasadena, Pomona, Riverside, and so on, could not be subdued by individualexertion. Consequently land and water companies were organized. Theybought large tracts of unimproved land, built dams in the mountaincañons, sunk wells, drew water from the rivers, made reservoirs, laidpipes, carried ditches and conduits across the country, and then soldthe land with the inseparable water right in small parcels. Thus theregion became subdivided among small holders, each independent, but allmutually dependent as to water, which is the _sine qua non_ ofexistence. It is only a few years since there was a forlorn andstruggling colony a few miles east of Los Angeles known as the Indianasettlement. It had scant water, no railway communication, and everythingto learn about horticulture. That spot is now the famous Pasadena. 

What has been done in the Santa Ana and San Gabriel valleys will be doneelsewhere in the State. There are places in Kern County, north of theSierra Madre, where the land produces grain and alfalfa withoutirrigation, where farms can be bought at from five to ten dollars anacre--land that will undoubtedly increase in value with settlement andalso by irrigation. The great county of San Diego is practicallyundeveloped, and contains an immense area, in scattered mesas andvalleys, of land which will produce apples, grain, and grass withoutirrigation, and which the settler can get at moderate prices. Nay, more, any one with a little ready money, who goes to Southern Californiaexpecting to establish himself and willing to work, will be welcomed andaided, and be pretty certain to find some place where he can steadilyimprove his condition. But the regions about which one hears most, which are already fruit gardens and well sprinkled with rose-clad homes, command prices per acre which seem extravagant. Land, however, like amine, gets its value from what it will produce; and it is to be notedthat while the subsidence of the "boom" knocked the value out oftwenty-feet city lots staked out in the wilderness, and out of insanelyinflated city property, the land upon which crops are raised hassteadily appreciated in value. 

So many conditions enter into the price of land that it is impossible toname an average price for the arable land of the southern counties, butI have heard good judges place it at $100 an acre. The lands, withwater, are very much alike in their producing power, but some, forclimatic reasons, are better adapted to citrus fruits, others to theraisin grape, and others to deciduous fruits. The value is also affectedby railway facilities, contiguity to the local commercial centre, andalso by the character of the settlement--that is, by its morality, public spirit, and facilities for education. Every town and settlementthinks it has special advantages as to improved irrigation, equabilityof temperature, adaptation to this or that product, attractions forinvalids, tempered ocean breezes, protection from "northers, " schools, and varied industries. These things are so much matter of personalchoice that each settler will do well to examine widely for himself, andnot buy until he is suited. 

Some figures, which may be depended on, of actual sales and of annualyields, may be of service. They are of the district east of Pasadena andPomona, but fairly represent the whole region down to Los Angeles. Theselling price of raisin grape land unimproved, but with water, atRiverside is $250 to $300 per acre; at South Riverside, $150 to $200; inthe highland district of San Bernardino, and at Redlands (which is a newsettlement east of the city of San Bernardino), $200 to $250 per acre. At Banning and at Hesperia, which lie north of the San Bernardino range, $125 to $150 per acre are the prices asked. Distance from the commercialcentre accounts for the difference in price in the towns named. The cropvaries with the care and skill of the cultivator, but a fair averagefrom the vines at two years is two tons per acre; three years, threetons; four years, five tons; five years, seven tons. The price varieswith the season, and also whether its sale is upon the vines, or afterpicking, drying, and sweating, or the packed product. On the vines $20per ton is a fair average price. In exceptional cases vineyards atRiverside have produced four tons per acre in twenty months from thesetting of the cuttings, and six-year-old vines have produced thirteenand a half tons per acre. If the grower has a crop of, say, 2000 packedboxes of raisins of twenty pounds each box, it will pay him to pack hisown crop and establish a "brand" for it. In 1889 three adjoiningvineyards in Riverside, producing about the same average crops, weresold as follows: The first vineyard, at $17 50 per ton on the vines, yielded $150 per acre; the second, at six cents a pound, in the sweatboxes, yielded $276 per acre; the third, at $1 80 per box, packed, yielded $414 per acre. 

Land adapted to the deciduous fruits, such as apricots and peaches, isworth as much as raisin land, and some years pays better. The pear andthe apple need greater elevation, and are of better quality when grownon high ground than in the valleys. I have reason to believe that themountain regions of San Diego County are specially adapted to the apple. 

Good orange land unimproved, but with water, is worth from $300 to $500an acre. If we add to this price the cost of budded trees, the care ofthem for four years, and interest at eight per cent. Per annum for fouryears, the cost of a good grove will be about $1000 an acre. It must beunderstood that the profit of an orange grove depends upon care, skill, and business ability. The kind of orange grown with reference to thedemand, the judgment about more or less irrigation as affecting thequality, the cultivation of the soil, and the arrangements formarketing, are all elements in the problem. There are young groves atRiverside, five years old, that are paying ten per cent. Net upon from$3000 to $5000 an acre; while there are older groves, which, at theprices for fruit in the spring of 1890--$1 60 per box for seedlings and$3 per box for navels delivered at the packing-houses--paid at the rateof ten per cent. Net on $7500 per acre. 

In all these estimates water must be reckoned as a prime factor. What, then, is water worth per inch, generally, in all this fruit region fromRedlands to Los Angeles? It is worth just the amount it will add to thecommercial value of land irrigated by it, and that may be roughlyestimated at from $500 to $1000 an inch of continuous flow. Take anillustration. A piece of land at Riverside below the flow of water wasworth $300 an acre. Contiguous to it was another piece not irrigatedwhich would not sell for $50 an acre. By bringing water to it, it wouldquickly sell for $300, thus adding $250 to its value. As the estimateat Riverside is that one inch of water will irrigate five acres of fruitland, five times $250 would be $1250 per inch, at which price water forirrigation has actually been sold at Riverside. 

The standard of measurement of water in Southern California is theminer's inch under four inches' pressure, or the amount that will flowthrough an inch-square opening under a pressure of four inches measuredfrom the surface of the water in the conduit to the centre of theopening through which it flows. This is nine gallons a minute, or, as itis figured, 1728 cubic feet or 12, 960 gallons in twenty-four hours, and1. 50 of a cubic foot a second. This flow would cover ten acres abouteighteen inches deep in a year; that is, it would give the land theequivalent of eighteen inches of rain, distributed exactly when andwhere it was needed, none being wasted, and more serviceable than fiftyinches of rainfall as it generally comes. This, with the naturalrainfall, is sufficient for citrus fruits and for corn and alfalfa, insoil not too sandy, and it is too much for grapes and all deciduousfruits. 

CHAPTER IX. 

THE ADVANTAGES OF IRRIGATION. 

It is necessary to understand this problem of irrigation in order tocomprehend Southern California, the exceptional value of its arableland, the certainty and great variety of its products, and the part itis to play in our markets. There are three factors in the expectation ofa crop--soil, sunshine, and water. In a region where we can assume thefirst two to be constant, the only uncertainty is water. SouthernCalifornia is practically without rain from May to December. Upon thisfact rests the immense value of its soil, and the certainty that it cansupply the rest of the Union with a great variety of products. Thiscertainty must be purchased by a previous investment of money. Water iseverywhere to be had for money, in some localities by surface wells, inothers by artesian-wells, in others from such streams as the Los Angelesand the Santa Ana, and from reservoirs secured by dams in the heart ofthe high mountains. It is possible to compute the cost of any one of thesystems of irrigation, to determine whether it will pay by calculatingthe amount of land it will irrigate. The cost of procuring water variesgreatly with the situation, and it is conceivable that money can be lostin such an investment, but I have yet to hear of any irrigation that hasnot been more or less successful. 

Farming and fruit-raising are usually games of hazard. Good crops andpoor crops depend upon enough rain and not too much at just the righttimes. A wheat field which has a good start with moderate rain may laterwither in a drought, or be ruined by too much water at the time ofmaturity. And, avoiding all serious reverses from either dryness or wet, every farmer knows that the quality and quantity of the product would beimmensely improved if the growing stalks and roots could have water whenand only when they need it. The difference would be between, say, twentyand forty bushels of grain or roots to the acre, and that means thedifference between profit and loss. There is probably not a crop of anykind grown in the great West that would not be immensely benefited if itcould be irrigated once or twice a year; and probably anywhere thatwater is attainable the cost of irrigation would be abundantly paid inthe yield from year to year. Farming in the West with even a littleirrigation would not be the game of hazard that it is. And it mayfurther be assumed that there is not a vegetable patch or a fruitorchard East or West that would not yield better quality and moreabundantly with irrigation. 

[Illustration: RAISIN-CURING. ]

But this is not all. Any farmer who attempts to raise grass and potatoesand strawberries on contiguous fields, subject to the same chance ofdrought or rainfall, has a vivid sense of his difficulties. The potatoesare spoiled by the water that helps the grass, and the coquettishstrawberry will not thrive on the regimen that suits the grosser crops. In California, which by its climate and soil gives a greater variety ofproducts than any other region in the Union, the supply of water isadjusted to the needs of each crop, even on contiguous fields. No twoproducts need the same amount of water, or need it at the same time. Theorange needs more than the grape, the alfalfa more than the orange, thepeach and apricot less than the orange; the olive, the fig, the almond, the English walnut, demand each a different supply. Depending entirelyon irrigation six months of the year, the farmer in Southern Californiais practically certain of his crop year after year; and if all hisplants and trees are in a healthful condition, as they will be if he isnot too idle to cultivate as well as irrigate, his yield will be aboutdouble what it would be without systematic irrigation. It is thispractical control of the water the year round, in a climate wheresunshine is the rule, that makes the productiveness of California solarge as to be incomprehensible to Eastern people. Even the trees arenot dormant more than three or four months in the year. 

But irrigation, in order to be successful, must be intelligentlyapplied. In unskilful hands it may work more damage than benefit. Mr. Theodore S. Van Dyke, who may always be quoted with confidence, saysthat the ground should never be flooded; that water must not touch theplant or tree, or come near enough to make the soil bake around it; andthat it should be let in in small streams for two or three days, and notin large streams for a few hours. It is of the first importance that theground shall be stirred as soon as dry enough, the cultivation to becontinued, and water never to be substituted for the cultivator toprevent baking. The methods of irrigation in use may be reduced tothree. First, the old Mexican way--running a small ditch from tree totree, without any basin round the tree. Second, the basin system, wherea large basin is made round the tree, and filled several times. Thisshould only be used where water is scarce, for it trains the roots likea brush, instead of sending them out laterally into the soil. Third, theRiverside method, which is the best in the world, and produces thelargest results with the least water and the least work. It is theclosest imitation of the natural process of wetting by gentle rain. "Asmall flume, eight or ten inches square, of common red-wood is laidalong the upper side of a ten-acre tract. At intervals of one to threefeet, according to the nature of the ground and the stuff to beirrigated, are bored one-inch holes, with a small wooden button overthem to regulate the flow. This flume costs a trifle, is left inposition, lasts for years, and is always ready. Into this flume isturned from the ditch an irrigating head of 20, 25, or 30 inches ofwater, generally about 20 inches. This is divided by the holes and thebuttons into streams of from one-sixth to one-tenth of an inch each, making from 120 to 200 small streams. From five to seven furrows aremade between two rows of trees, two between rows of grapes, one furrowbetween rows of corn, potatoes, etc. It may take from fifteen to twentyhours for one of the streams to get across the tract. They are allowedto run from forty-eight to seventy-two hours. The ground is thenthoroughly wet in all directions, and three or four feet deep. As soonas the ground is dry enough cultivation is begun, and kept up from sixto eight weeks before water is used again. " Only when the ground is verysandy is the basin system necessary. Long experiment has taught thatthis system is by far the best; and, says Mr. Van Dyke, "Those whoseideas are taken from the wasteful systems of flooding or soaking frombig ditches have something to learn in Southern California. "

As to the quantity of water needed in the kind of soil most common inSouthern California I will again quote Mr. Van Dyke: "They will tell youat Riverside that they use an inch of water to five acres, and some sayan inch to three acres. But this is because they charge to the land allthe waste on the main ditch, and because they use thirty per cent. Ofthe water in July and August, when it is the lowest. But this is no testof the duty of water; the amount actually delivered on the land shouldbe taken. What they actually use for ten acres at Riverside, Redlands, etc. , is a twenty-inch stream of three days' run five times a year, equal to 300 inches for one day, or one inch steady run for 300 days. Asan inch is the equivalent of 365 inches for one day, or one inch for 365days, 300 inches for one day equals an inch to twelve acres. Many useeven less than this, running the water only two or two and a half daysat a time. Others use more head; but it rarely exceeds 24 inches forthree days and five times a year, which would be 72 multiplied by 5, or360 inches--a little less than a full inch for a year for ten acres. "

[Illustration: IRRIGATION BY ARTESIAN-WELL SYSTEM. ]

[Illustration: IRRIGATION BY PIPE SYSTEM. ]

I have given room to these details because the Riverside experiment, which results in such large returns of excellent fruit, is worthy of theattention of cultivators everywhere. The constant stirring of the soil, to keep it loose as well as to keep down useless growths, is second inimportance only to irrigation. Some years ago, when it was ascertainedthat tracts of land which had been regarded as only fit for herdingcattle and sheep would by good ploughing and constant cultivationproduce fair crops without any artificial watering, there spread abroada notion that irrigation could be dispensed with. There are large areas, dry and cracked on the surface, where the soil is moist three and fourfeet below the surface in the dry season. By keeping the surface brokenand well pulverized the moisture rises sufficiently to insure a crop. Many Western farmers have found out this secret of cultivation, and morewill learn in time the good sense of not spreading themselves over toolarge an area; that forty acres planted and cultivated will give abetter return than eighty acres planted and neglected. Crops of varioussorts are raised in Southern California by careful cultivation withlittle or no irrigation, but the idea that cultivation alone will bringsufficiently good production is now practically abandoned, and thealmost universal experience is that judicious irrigation always improvesthe crop in quality and in quantity, and that irrigation and cultivationare both essential to profitable farming or fruit-raising. 

CHAPTER X. 

THE CHANCE FOR LABORERS AND SMALL FARMERS. 

It would seem, then, that capital is necessary for successfulagriculture or horticulture in Southern California. But where is it notneeded? In New England? In Kansas, where land which was given to actualsettlers is covered with mortgages for money absolutely necessary todevelop it? But passing this by, what is the chance in SouthernCalifornia for laborers and for mechanics? Let us understand thesituation. In California there is no exception to the rule thatcontinual labor, thrift, and foresight are essential to the getting of agood living or the gaining of a competence. No doubt speculation willspring up again. It is inevitable with the present enormous and yearlyincreasing yield of fruits, the better intelligence in vine culture, wine-making, and raisin-curing, the growth of marketable oranges, lemons, etc. , and the consequent rise in the value of land. Doubtlessfortunes will be made by enterprising companies who secure large areasof unimproved land at low prices, bring water on them, and then sell insmall lots. But this will come to an end. The tendency is to subdividethe land into small holdings--into farms and gardens of ten and twentyacres. The great ranches are sure to be broken up. With the resultingsettlement by industrious people the cities will again experience"booms;" but these are not peculiar to California. In my mind I see thetime when this region (because it will pay better proportionally tocultivate a small area) will be one of small farms, of neat cottages, ofindustrious homes. The owner is pretty certain to prosper--that is, toget a good living (which is independence), and lay aside a littleyearly--if the work is done by himself and his family. And thepeculiarity of the situation is that the farm or garden, whichever it iscalled, will give agreeable and most healthful occupation to all theboys and girls in the family all the days in the year that can be sparedfrom the school. Aside from the ploughing, the labor is light. Pruning, grafting, budding, the picking of the grapes, the gathering of the fruitfrom the trees, the sorting, packing, and canning, are labor for lightand deft hands, and labor distributed through the year. The harvest, ofone sort and another, is almost continuous, so that young girls and boyscan have, in well-settled districts, pretty steady employment--a longseason in establishments packing oranges; at another time, in canningfruits; at another, in packing raisins. 

It goes without saying that in the industries now developed, and inothers as important which are in their infancy (for instance, theculture of the olive for oil and as an article of food; the growth andcuring of figs; the gathering of almonds, English walnuts, etc. ), thelabor of the owners of the land and their families will not suffice. There must be as large a proportion of day-laborers as there are inother regions where such products are grown. Chinese labor at certainseasons has been a necessity. Under the present policy of Californiathis must diminish, and its place be taken by some other. The pay forthis labor has always been good. It is certain to be more and more indemand. Whether the pay will ever approach near to the European standardis a question, but it is a fair presumption that the exceptional profitof the land, owing to its productiveness, will for a long time keepwages up. 

During the "boom" period all wages were high, those of skilled mechanicsespecially, owing to the great amount of building on speculation. Theordinary laborer on a ranch had $30 a month and board and lodging;laborers of a higher grade, $2 to $2 50 a day; skilled masons, $6;carpenters, from $3 50 to $5; plasterers, $4 to $5; house-servants, from$23 to $33 a month. Since the "boom, " wages of skilled mechanics havedeclined at least 25 per cent. , and there has been less demand for laborgenerally, except in connection with fruit raising and harvesting. Itwould be unwise for laborers to go to California on an uncertainty, butit can be said of that country with more confidence than of any othersection that its peculiar industries, now daily increasing, will absorban increasing amount of day labor, and later on it will remunerateskilled artisan labor. 

In deciding whether Southern California would be an agreeable place ofresidence there are other things to be considered besides theproductiveness of the soil, the variety of products, the ease ofout-door labor distributed through the year, the certainty of returnsfor intelligent investment with labor, the equability of summer andwinter, and the adaptation to personal health. There are alwaysdisadvantages attending the development of a new country and theevolution of a new society. It is not a small thing, and may be one ofdaily discontent, the change from a landscape clad with verdure, theriotous and irrepressible growth of a rainy region, to a land that thegreater part of the year is green only where it is artificially watered, where all the hills and unwatered plains are brown and sere, where thefoliage is coated with dust, and where driving anywhere outside thesprinkled avenues of a town is to be enveloped in a cloud of powderedearth. This discomfort must be weighed against the commercial advantagesof a land of irrigation. 

[Illustration: GARDEN SCENE, SANTA ANA. ]

What are the chances for a family of very moderate means to obtain afoothold and thrive by farming in Southern California? I cannot answerthis better than by giving substantially the experience of one family, and by saying that this has been paralleled, with change of details, bymany others. Of course, in a highly developed settlement, where the landis mostly cultivated, and its actual yearly produce makes its price veryhigh, it is not easy to get a foothold. But there are many regions--sayin Orange County, and certainly in San Diego--where land can be had at amoderate price and on easy terms of payment. Indeed, there are fewplaces, as I have said, where an industrious family would not findwelcome and cordial help in establishing itself. And it must beremembered that there are many communities where life is very simple, and the great expense of keeping up an appearance attending lifeelsewhere need not be reckoned. 

A few years ago a professional man in a New England city, who was indelicate health, with his wife and five boys, all under sixteen, and onetoo young to be of any service, moved to San Diego. He had in money asmall sum, less than a thousand dollars. He had no experience in farmingor horticulture, and his health would not have permitted him to do muchfield work in our climate. Fortunately he found in the fertile El CajonValley, fifteen miles from San Diego, a farmer and fruit-grower, who hadupon his place a small unoccupied house. Into that house he moved, furnishing it very simply with furniture bought in San Diego, and hiredhis services to the landlord. The work required was comparatively easy, in the orchard and vineyards, and consisted largely in superintendingother laborers. The pay was about enough to support his family withoutencroaching on his little capital. Very soon, however, he made anarrangement to buy the small house and tract of some twenty acres onwhich he lived, on time, perhaps making a partial payment. He began atonce to put out an orange orchard and plant a vineyard; this heaccomplished with the assistance of his boys, who did practically mostof the work after the first planting, leaving him a chance to give mostof his days to his employer. The orchard and vineyard work is so lightthat a smart, intelligent boy is almost as valuable a worker in thefield as a man. The wife, meantime, kept the house and did its work. House-keeping was comparatively easy; little fuel was required exceptfor cooking; the question of clothes was a minor one. In that climatewants for a fairly comfortable existence are fewer than with us. Fromthe first, almost, vegetables, raised upon the ground while the vinesand oranges were growing, contributed largely to the support of thefamily. The out-door life and freedom from worry insured better health, and the diet of fruit and vegetables, suitable to the climate, reducedthe cost of living to a minimum. As soon as the orchard and the vineyardbegan to produce fruit, the owner was enabled to quit working for hisneighbor, and give all his time to the development of his own place. Heincreased his planting; he added to his house; he bought a piece of landadjoining which had a grove of eucalyptus, which would supply him withfuel. At first the society circle was small, and there was no school;but the incoming of families had increased the number of children, sothat an excellent public school was established. When I saw him he wasliving in conditions of comfortable industry; his land had trebled invalue; the pair of horses which he drove he had bought cheap, for theywere Eastern horses; but the climate had brought them up, so that theteam was a serviceable one in good condition. The story is not one ofbrilliant success, but to me it is much more hopeful for the countrythan the other tales I heard of sudden wealth or lucky speculation. Itis the founding in an unambitious way of a comfortable home. The boys ofthe family will branch out, get fields, orchards, vineyards of theirown, and add to the solid producing industry of the country. Thisorderly, contented industry, increasing its gains day by day, little bylittle, is the life and hope of any State. 

CHAPTER XI. 

SOME DETAILS OF THE WONDERFUL DEVELOPMENT. 

It is not the purpose of this volume to describe Southern California. That has been thoroughly done; and details, with figures and pictures inregard to every town and settlement, will be forthcoming on application, which will be helpful guides to persons who can see for themselves, ormake sufficient allowance for local enthusiasm. But before speakingfurther of certain industries south of the great mountain ranges, theregion north of the Sierra Madre, which is allied to Southern Californiaby its productions, should be mentioned. The beautiful antelope plainsand the Kern Valley (where land is still cheap and very productive)should not be overlooked. The splendid San Joaquin Valley is alreadyspeaking loudly and clearly for itself. The region north of themountains of Kern County, shut in by the Sierra Nevada range on the eastand the Coast Range on the west, substantially one valley, fifty tosixty miles in breadth, watered by the King and the San Joaquin, andgently sloping to the north, say for two hundred miles, is a land ofmarvellous capacity, capable of sustaining a dense population. It iscooler in winter than Southern California, and the summers average muchwarmer. Owing to the greater heat, the fruits mature sooner. It is justnow becoming celebrated for its raisins, which in quality areunexcelled; and its area, which can be well irrigated from the riversand from the mountains on either side, seems capable of producingraisins enough to supply the world. It is a wonderfully rich valley in agreat variety of products. Fresno County, which occupies the centre ofthis valley, has 1, 200, 000 acres of agricultural and 4, 400, 000 ofmountain and pasture land. The city of Fresno, which occupies land thatin 1870 was a sheep ranch, is the commercial centre of a beautifulagricultural and fruit region, and has a population estimated at 12, 000. From this centre were shipped in the season of 1890, 1500 car-loads ofraisins. In 1865 the only exports of Fresno County were a few bales ofwool. The report of 1889 gave a shipment of 700, 000 boxes of raisins, and the whole export of 1890, of all products, was estimated at$10, 000, 000. Whether these figures are exact or not, there is no doubtof the extraordinary success of the raisin industry, nor that this is aregion of great activity and promise. 

The traveller has constantly to remind himself that this is a newcountry, and to be judged as a new country. It is out of his experiencethat trees can grow so fast, and plantations in so short a time put onan appearance of maturity. When he sees a roomy, pretty cottage overrunwith vines and flowering plants, set in the midst of trees and lawns andgardens of tropical appearance and luxuriance, he can hardly believethat three years before this spot was desert land. When he looks overmiles of vineyards, of groves of oranges, olives, walnuts, prunes, thetrees all in vigorous bearing, he cannot believe that five or ten yearsbefore the whole region was a waste. When he enters a handsome village, with substantial buildings of brick, and perhaps of stone, with fineschool-houses, banks, hotels, an opera-house, large packing-houses, andwarehouses and shops of all sorts, with tasteful dwellings and lovelyornamented lawns, it is hard to understand that all this is the creationof two or three years. Yet these surprises meet the traveller at everyturn, and the wonder is that there is not visible more crudeness, eccentric taste, and evidence of hasty beginnings. 

[Illustration: A GRAPE-VINE, MONTECITO VALLEY, SANTA BARBARA. ]

San Bernardino is comparatively an old town. It was settled in 1853 bya colony of Mormons from Salt Lake. The remains of this colony, lessthan a hundred, still live here, and have a church like the other sects, but they call themselves Josephites, and do not practise polygamy. Thereis probably not a sect or schism in the United States that has not itsrepresentative in California. Until 1865 San Bernardino was merely astraggling settlement, and a point of distribution for Arizona. Thediscovery that a large part of the county was adapted to the orange andthe vine, and the advent of the Santa Fé railway, changed all that. Landthat then might have been bought for $4 an acre is now sold at from $200to $300, and the city has become the busy commercial centre of a largenumber of growing villages, and of one of the most remarkable orange andvine districts in the world. It has many fine buildings, a population ofabout 6000, and a decided air of vigorous business. The great plainabout it is mainly devoted to agricultural products, which are grownwithout irrigation, while in the near foot-hills the orange and the vineflourish by the aid of irrigation. Artesian-wells abound in the SanBernardino plain, but the mountains are the great and unfailing sourceof water supply. The Bear Valley Dam is a most daring and giganticconstruction. A solid wall of masonry, 300 feet long and 60 feet high, curving towards the reservoir, creates an inland lake in the mountainsholding water enough to irrigate 20, 000 acres of land. This is conveyedto distributing reservoirs in the east end of the valley. On a terracein the foot-hills a few miles to the north, 2000 feet above the sea, arethe Arrow-head Hot Springs (named from the figure of a gigantic"arrow-head" on the mountain above), already a favorite resort forhealth and pleasure. The views from the plain of the picturesquefoot-hills and the snow-peaks of the San Bernardino range areexceedingly fine. The marvellous beauty of the purple and deep violet ofthe giant hills at sunset, with spotless snow, lingers in the memory. 

Perhaps the settlement of Redlands, ten miles by rail east of SanBernardino, is as good an illustration as any of rapid development andgreat promise. It is devoted to the orange and the grape. As late as1875 much of it was Government land, considered valueless. It had a fewsettlers, but the town, which counts now about 2000 people, was onlybegun in 1887. It has many solid brick edifices and many pretty cottageson its gentle slopes and rounded hills, overlooked by the greatmountains. The view from any point of vantage of orchards and vineyardsand semi-tropical gardens, with the wide sky-line of noble and snow-cladhills, is exceedingly attractive. The region is watered by the Santa AnaRiver and Mill Creek, but the main irrigating streams, which make everyhill-top to bloom with vegetation, come from the Bear Valley Reservoir. On a hill to the south of the town the Smiley Brothers, of Catskillfame, are building fine residences, and planting their 125 acres withfruit-trees and vines, evergreens, flowers, and semi-tropic shrubbery ina style of landscape-gardening that in three years at the furthest willmake this spot one of the few great showplaces of the country. Behindtheir ridge is the San Mateo Cañon, through which the Southern PacificRailway runs, while in front are the splendid sloping plains, valleys, and orange groves, and the great sweep of mountains from San Jacintoround to the Sierra Madre range. It is almost a matchless prospect. Theclimate is most agreeable, the plantations increase month by month, andthus far the orange-trees have not been visited by the scale, nor thevines by any sickness. Although the groves are still young, there wereshipped from Redlands in the season of 1889-90 80 car-loads of oranges, of 286 boxes to the car, at a price averaging nearly $1000 a car. Thatseason's planting of oranges was over 1200 acres. It had over 5000 acresin fruits, of which nearly 3000 were in peaches, apricots, grapes, andother sorts called deciduous. 

Riverside may without prejudice be regarded as the centre of the orangegrowth and trade. The railway shipments of oranges from SouthernCalifornia in the season of 1890 aggregated about 2400 car-loads, orabout 800, 000 boxes, of oranges (in which estimate the lemons areincluded), valued at about $1, 500, 000. Of this shipment more than halfwas from Riverside. This has been, of course, greatly stimulated by theimproved railroad facilities, among them the shortening of the time toChicago by the Santa Fé route, and the running of special fruit trains. Southern California responds like magic to this chance to send herfruits to the East, and the area planted month by month is somethingenormous. It is estimated that the crop of oranges alone in 1891 will beover 4500 car-loads. We are accustomed to discount all Californiaestimates, but I think that no one yet has comprehended the amount towhich the shipments to Eastern markets of vegetables and fresh andcanned fruits will reach within five years. I base my prediction uponsome observation of the Eastern demand and the reports offruit-dealers, upon what I saw of the new planting all over the State in1890, and upon the statistics of increase. Take Riverside as an example. In 1872 it was a poor sheep ranch. In 1880-81 it shipped 15 car-loads, or 4290 boxes, of oranges; the amount yearly increased, until in 1888-89it was 925 car-loads, or 263, 879 boxes. In 1890 it rose to 1253car-loads, or 358, 341 boxes; and an important fact is that the largestshipment was in April (455 car-loads, or 130, 226 boxes), at the timewhen the supply from other orange regions for the markets East hadnearly ceased. 

[Illustration: IRRIGATING AN ORCHARD. ]

It should be said, also, that the quality of the oranges has vastlyimproved. This is owing to better cultivation, knowledge of properirrigation, and the adoption of the best varieties for the soil. Asdifferent sorts of oranges mature at different seasons, a variety isneeded to give edible fruit in each month from December to Mayinclusive. In February, 1887, I could not find an orange of the firstclass compared with the best fruit in other regions. It may have beentoo early for the varieties I tried; but I believe there has been amarked improvement in quality. In May, 1890, we found delicious orangesalmost everywhere. The seedless Washington and Australian navels arefavorites, especially for the market, on account of their great size andfine color. When in perfection they are very fine, but the skin is thickand the texture coarser than that of some others. The best orange Ihappened to taste was a Tahiti seedling at Montecito (Santa Barbara). Itis a small orange, with a thin skin and a compact, sweet pulp thatleaves little fibre. It resembles the famous orange of Malta. But thereare many excellent varieties--the Mediterranean sweet, the paper rindSt. Michael, the Maltese blood, etc. The experiments with seedlings areprofitable, and will give ever new varieties. I noted that the "grapefruit, " which is becoming so much liked in the East, is not appreciatedin California. 

[Illustration: ORANGE CULTURE. Packing Oranges--Navel Orange-tree SixYears Old--Irrigating an Orange Grove. ]

The city of Riverside occupies an area of some five miles by three, andclaims to have 6000 inhabitants; the centre is a substantial town withfine school and other public buildings, but the region is one successionof orange groves and vineyards, of comfortable houses and broad avenues. One avenue through which we drove is 125 feet wide and 12 miles long, planted in three rows with palms, magnolias, the _Grevillea robusta_(Australian fern), the pepper, and the eucalyptus, and lined all the wayby splendid orange groves, in the midst of which are houses and groundswith semi-tropical attractions. Nothing could be lovelier than such ascene of fruits and flowers, with the background of purple hills andsnowy peaks. The mountain views are superb. Frost is a rare visitor. Notin fifteen years has there been enough to affect the orange. There islittle rain after March, but there are fogs and dew-falls, and the oceanbreeze is felt daily. The grape grown for raisins is the muscat, andthis has had no "sickness. " Vigilance and a quarantine have also keptfrom the orange the scale which has been so annoying in some otherlocalities. The orange, when cared for, is a generous bearer; some treesproduce twenty boxes each, and there are areas of twenty acres in goodbearing which have brought to the owner as much as $10, 000 a year. 

The whole region of the Santa Ana and San Gabriel valleys, from thedesert on the east to Los Angeles, the city of gardens, is a surprise, and year by year an increasing wonder. In production it exhausts thecatalogue of fruits and flowers; its scenery is varied by ever newcombinations of the picturesque and the luxuriant; every town boastssome special advantage in climate, soil, water, or society; but thesedifferences, many of them visible to the eye, cannot appear in anywritten description. The traveller may prefer the scenery of Pasadena, or that of Pomona, or of Riverside, but the same words in regard tocolor, fertility, combinations of orchards, avenues, hills, must appearin the description of each. Ontario, Pomona, Puente, Alhambra--whereverone goes there is the same wonder of color and production. 

Pomona is a pleasant city in the midst of fine orange groves, wateredabundantly by artesian-wells and irrigating ditches from a mountainreservoir. A specimen of the ancient adobe residence is on the Meserveplantation, a lovely old place, with its gardens of cherries, strawberries, olives, and oranges. From the top of San José hill we hada view of a plain twenty-five miles by fifty in extent, dotted withcultivation, surrounded by mountains--a wonderful prospect. Pomona, likeits sister cities in this region, has a regard for the intellectual sideof life, exhibited in good school-houses and public libraries. In thelibrary of Pomona is what may be regarded as the tutelary deity of theplace--the goddess Pomona, a good copy in marble of the famous statue inthe Uffizi Gallery, presented to the city by the Rev. C. F. Loop. Thisenterprising citizen is making valuable experiments in olive culture, raising a dozen varieties in order to ascertain which is best adapted tothis soil, and which will make the best return in oil and in amarketable product of cured fruit for the table. 

The growth of the olive is to be, it seems to me, one of the leading andmost permanent industries of Southern California. It will give us, whatit is nearly impossible to buy now, pure olive oil, in place of thecotton-seed and lard mixture in general use. It is a most wholesome andpalatable article of food. Those whose chief experience of the olive isthe large, coarse, and not agreeable Spanish variety, used only as anappetizer, know little of the value of the best varieties as food, nutritious as meat, and always delicious. Good bread and a dish ofpickled olives make an excellent meal. The sort known as the Missionolive, planted by the Franciscans a century ago, is generally grown now, and the best fruit is from the older trees. The most successful attemptsin cultivating the olive and putting it on the market have been made byMr. F. A. Kimball, of National City, and Mr. Ellwood Cooper, of SantaBarbara. The experiments have gone far enough to show that the industryis very remunerative. The best olive oil I have ever tasted anywhere isthat produced from the Cooper and the Kimball orchards; but not enoughis produced to supply the local demand. Mr. Cooper has written a carefultreatise on olive culture, which will be of great service to allgrowers. The art of pickling is not yet mastered, and perhaps some othervariety will be preferred to the old Mission for the table. A matureolive grove in good bearing is a fortune. I feel sure that withintwenty-five years this will be one of the most profitable industries ofCalifornia, and that the demand for pure oil and edible fruit in theUnited States will drive out the adulterated and inferior presentcommercial products. But California can easily ruin its reputation byadopting the European systems of adulteration. 

[Illustration: IN A FIELD OF GOLDEN PUMPKINS. ]

We drove one day from Arcadia Station through the region occupied bythe Baldwin plantations, an area of over fifty thousand acres--a happyillustration of what industry and capital can do in the way of varietyof productions, especially in what are called the San Anita vineyardsand orchards, extending southward from the foot-hills. About the homeplace and in many sections where the irrigating streams flow one mightfancy he was in the tropics, so abundant and brilliant are the flowersand exotic plants. There are splendid orchards of oranges, almonds, English walnuts, lemons, peaches, apricots, figs, apples, and olives, with grain and corn--in short, everything that grows in garden or field. The ranch is famous for its brandies and wines as well as fruits. Welunched at the East San Gabriel Hotel, a charming place with a peacefulview from the wide veranda of live-oaks, orchards, vineyards, and thenoble Sierra Madre range. The Californians may be excused for using theterm paradisiacal about such scenes. Flowers, flowers everywhere, coloron color, and the song of the mocking-bird!

CHAPTER XII. 

HOW THE FRUIT PERILS WERE MET. --FURTHER DETAILS OF LOCALITIES. 

In the San Gabriel Valley and elsewhere I saw evidence of the perilsthat attend the culture of the vine and the fruit-tree in all othercountries, and from which California in the early days thought it wasexempt. Within the past three or four years there has prevailed asickness of the vine, the cause of which is unknown, and for which noremedy has been discovered. No blight was apparent, but the vinesickened and failed. The disease was called consumption of the vine. Isaw many vineyards subject to it, and hundreds of acres of old vines hadbeen rooted up as useless. I was told by a fruit-buyer in Los Angelesthat he thought the raisin industry below Fresno was ended unless newplanting recovered the vines, and that the great wine fields were about"played out. " The truth I believe to be that the disease is confined tothe vineyards of Old Mission grapes. Whether these had attained thelimit of their active life, and sickened, I do not know. The trouble fora time was alarming; but new plantings of other varieties of grapes havebeen successful, the vineyards look healthful, and the growers expect nofurther difficulty. The planting, which was for a time suspended, hasbeen more vigorously renewed. 

The insect pests attacking the orange were even more serious, and in1887-88, though little was published about it, there was something likea panic, in the fear that the orange and lemon culture in SouthernCalifornia would be a failure. The enemies were the black, the red, andthe white scale. The latter, the _icerya purchasi_, or cottony cushionscale, was especially loathsome and destructive; whole orchards wereenfeebled, and no way was discovered of staying its progress, whichthreatened also the olive and every other tree, shrub, and flower. Science was called on to discover its parasite. This was found to be theAustralian lady-bug (_vedolia cardinalis_), and in 1888-89 quantities ofthis insect were imported and spread throughout Los Angeles County, andsent to Santa Barbara and other afflicted districts. The effect wasmagical. The _vedolia_ attacked the cottony scale with intense vigor, and everywhere killed it. The orchards revived as if they had beenrecreated, and the danger was over. The enemies of the black and the redscale have not yet been discovered, but they probably will be. Meantimethe growers have recovered courage, and are fertilizing and fumigating. In Santa Ana I found that the red scale was fought successfully byfumigating the trees. The operation is performed at night under amovable tent, which covers the tree. The cost is about twenty cents atree. One lesson of all this is that trees must be fed in order to bekept vigorous to resist such attacks, and that fruit-raising, considering the number of enemies that all fruits have in all climates, is not an idle occupation. The clean, handsome English walnut is aboutthe only tree in the State that thus far has no enemy. 

One cannot take anywhere else a more exhilarating, delightful drive thanabout the rolling, highly cultivated, many-villaed Pasadena, and out tothe foot-hills and the Sierra Madre Villa. He is constantly exclaimingat the varied loveliness of the scene--oranges, palms, formal gardens, hedges of Monterey cypress. It is very Italy-like. The Sierra Madrefurnishes abundant water for all the valley, and the swift irrigatingstream from Eaton Cañon waters the Sierra Madre Villa. Among the peaksabove it rises Mt. Wilson, a thousand feet above the plain, the siteselected for the Harvard Observatory with its 40-inch glass. Theclearness of the air at this elevation, and the absence of clouds nightand day the greater portion of the year, make this a most advantageousposition, it is said, to use the glass in dissolving nebulæ. The SierraMadre Villa, once the most favorite resort in this region, was closed. In its sheltered situation, its luxuriant and half-neglected gardens, its wide plantations and irrigating streams, it reminds one of somesecularized monastery on the promontory of Sorrento. It only needs goodmanagement to make the hotel very attractive and especially agreeable inthe months of winter. 

[Illustration: PACKING CHERRIES, POMONA. ]

Pasadena, which exhibits everywhere evidences of wealth and culture, andclaims a permanent population of 12, 000, has the air of a winter resort;the great Hotel Raymond is closed in May, the boarding-houses wantoccupants, the shops and livery-stables customers, and the streets lackmovement. This is easily explained. It is not because Pasadena is not anagreeable summer residence, but because the visitors are drawn there inthe winter principally to escape the inclement climate of the North andEast, and because special efforts have been made for their entertainmentin the winter. We found the atmosphere delightful in the middle of May. The mean summer heat is 67°, and the nights are always cool. The hillsnear by may be resorted to with the certainty of finding as decided achange as one desires in the summer season. I must repeat that theSouthern California summer is not at all understood in the East. Thestatement of the general equability of the temperature the year throughmust be insisted on. We lunched one day in a typical California house, in the midst of a garden of fruits, flowers, and tropical shrubs; in ahouse that might be described as half roses and half tent, for added tothe wooden structure were rooms of canvas, which are used as sleepingapartments winter and summer. 

This attractive region, so lovely in its cultivation, with so manycharming drives, offering good shooting on the plains and in the hills, and centrally placed for excursions, is only eight miles from the busycity of Los Angeles. An excellent point of view of the country is fromthe graded hill on which stands the Raymond Hotel, a hill isolated buteasy of access, which is in itself a mountain of bloom, color, andfragrance. From all the broad verandas and from every window theprospect is charming, whether the eye rests upon cultivated orchards andgardens and pretty villas, or upon the purple foot-hills and the snowyranges. It enjoys a daily ocean breeze, and the air is alwaysexhilarating. This noble hill is a study in landscape-gardening. It is amass of brilliant color, and the hospitality of the region generally toforeign growths may be estimated by the trees acclimated on theseslopes. They are the pepper, eucalyptus, pine, cypress, sycamore, red-wood, olive, date and fan palms, banana, pomegranate, guava, Japanese persimmon, umbrella, maple, elm, locust, English walnut, birch, ailantus, poplar, willow, and more ornamental shrubs than one can wellname. 

I can indulge in few locality details except those which areillustrative of the general character of the country. In passing intoOrange County, which was recently set off from Los Angeles, we come intoa region of less "fashion, " but one that for many reasons is attractiveto people of moderate means who are content with independent simplicity. The country about the thriving village of Santa Ana is very rich, beingabundantly watered by the Santa Ana River and by artesian-wells. Thetown is nine miles from the ocean. On the ocean side the land is mainlyagricultural; on the inland side it is specially adapted to fruit. Wedrove about it, and in Tustin City, which has many pleasant residencesand a vacant "boom" hotel, through endless plantations of oranges. Onthe road towards Los Angeles we passed large herds of cattle and sheep, and fine groves of the English walnut, which thrives especially well inthis soil and the neighborhood of the sea. There is comparatively littlewaste land in this valley district, as one may see by driving throughthe country about Santa Ana, Orange, Anaheim, Tustin City, etc. Anaheimis a prosperous German colony. It was here that Madame Modjeska and herhusband, Count Bozenta, first settled in California. They own and occupynow a picturesque ranch in the Santiago Cañon of the Santa Ana range, twenty-two miles from Santa Ana. This is one of the richest regions inthe State, and with its fair quota of working population, it will be oneof the most productive. 

From Newport, on the coast, or from San Pedro, one may visit the islandof Santa Catalina. Want of time prevented our going there. Sportsmenenjoy there the exciting pastime of hunting the wild goat. From thephotographs I saw, and from all I heard of it, it must be as picturesquea resort in natural beauty as the British Channel islands. 

Los Angeles is the metropolitan centre of all this region. A handsome, solid, thriving city, environed by gardens, gay everywhere with flowers, it is too well known to require any description from me. To thetraveller from the East it will always be a surprise. Its growth hasbeen phenomenal, and although it may not equal the expectations of thecrazy excitement of 1886-87, 50, 000 people is a great assemblage for anew city which numbered only about 11, 000 in 1880. It of course felt thesubsidence of the "boom, " but while I missed the feverish crowds of1887, I was struck with its substantial progress in fine, solidbuildings, pavements, sewerage, railways, educational facilities, andornamental grounds. It has a secure hold on the commerce of the region. The assessment roll of the city increased from $7, 627, 632 in 1881 to$44, 871, 073 in 1889. Its bank business, public buildings, school-houses, and street improvements are in accord with this increase, and showsolid, vigorous growth. It is altogether an attractive city, whetherseen on a drive through its well-planted and bright avenues, or lookeddown on from the hills which are climbed by the cable roads. A curioussocial note was the effect of the "boom" excitement upon the birthrate. The report of children under the age of one year was in 1887, 271boy babies and 264 girl babies; from 1887 to 1888 there were only 176boy babies and 162 girl babies. The return at the end of 1889 was 465boy babies, and 500 girl babies. 

[Illustration: OLIVE-TREES SIX YEARS OLD. ]

Although Los Angeles County still produces a considerable quantity ofwine and brandy, I have an impression that the raising of raisins willsupplant wine-making largely in Southern California, and that theprincipal wine producing will be in the northern portions of the State. It is certain that the best quality is grown in the foot-hills. Thereputation of "California wines" has been much injured by placing uponthe market crude juice that was in no sense wine. Great improvement hasbeen made in the past three to five years, not only in the vine andknowledge of the soil adapted to it, but in the handling and the curingof the wine. One can now find without much difficulty excellent tablewines--sound claret, good white Reisling, and sauterne. None of thesewines are exactly like the foreign wines, and it may be some time beforethe taste accustomed to foreign wines is educated to like them. But inEastern markets some of the best brands are already much called for, andI think it only a question of time and a little more experience when thebest California wines will be popular. I found in the San Franciscomarket excellent red wines at $3. 50 the case, and what was still moreremarkable, at some of the best hotels sound, agreeable claret at fromfifteen to twenty cents the pint bottle. 

It is quite unnecessary to emphasize the attractions of Santa Barbara, or the productiveness of the valleys in the counties of Santa Barbaraand Ventura. There is no more poetic region on the continent than thebay south of Point Conception, and the pen and the camera have made theworld tolerably familiar with it. There is a graciousness, a softness, acolor in the sea, the cañons, the mountains there that dwell in thememory. It is capable of inspiring the same love that the Greekcolonists felt for the region between the bays of Salerno and Naples. Itis as fruitful as the Italian shores, and can support as dense apopulation. The figures that have been given as to productiveness andvariety of productions apply to it. Having more winter rainfall thanthe counties south of it, agriculture is profitable in most years. Sincethe railway was made down the valley of the Santa Clara River and alongthe coast to Santa Barbara, a great impulse has been given to farming. Orange and other fruit orchards have increased. Near Buenaventura I sawhundreds of acres of lima beans. The yield is about one ton to the acre. With good farming the valleys yield crops of corn, barley, and wheatmuch above the average. Still it is a fruit region, and no variety hasyet been tried that does not produce very well there. The rapid growthof all trees has enabled the region to demonstrate in a short time thatthere is scarcely any that it cannot naturalize. The curious growths oftropical lands, the trees of aromatic and medicinal gums, the trees ofexquisite foliage and wealth of fragrant blossoms, the sturdy forestnatives, and the bearers of edible nuts are all to be found in thegardens and by the road-side, from New England, from the SouthernStates, from Europe, from North and South Africa, Southern Asia, China, Japan, from Australia and New Zealand and South America. The region isan arboreal and botanical garden on an immense scale, and full ofsurprises. The floriculture is even more astonishing. Every land isrepresented. The profusion and vigor are as wonderful as the variety. Ata flower show in Santa Barbara were exhibited 160 varieties of roses allcut from one garden the same morning. The open garden rivals the Easternconservatory. The country is new and many of the conditions of life maybe primitive and rude, but it is impossible that any region shall not bebeautiful, clothed with such a profusion of bloom and color. 

I have spoken of the rapid growth. The practical advantage of this as tofruit-trees is that one begins to have an income from them here soonerthan in the East. No one need be under the delusion that he can live inCalifornia without work, or thrive without incessant and intelligentindustry, but the distinction of the country for the fruit-grower is therapidity with which trees and vines mature to the extent of beingprofitable. But nothing thrives without care, and kindly as the climateis to the weak, it cannot be too much insisted on that this is no placefor confirmed invalids who have not money enough to live without work. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

THE ADVANCE OF CULTIVATION SOUTHWARD. 

The immense county of San Diego is on the threshold of its development. It has comparatively only spots of cultivation here and there, in anarea on the western slope of the county only, that Mr. Van Dykeestimates to contain about one million acres of good arable land forfarming and fruit-raising. This mountainous region is full of charmingvalleys, and hidden among the hills are fruitful nooks capable ofsustaining thriving communities. There is no doubt about the salubrityof the climate, and one can literally suit himself as to temperature bychoosing his elevation. The traveller by rail down the wild TemeculaCañon will have some idea of the picturesqueness of the country, and, ashe descends in the broadening valley, of the beautiful mountain parks oflive-oak and clear running water, and of the richness both for grazingand grain of the ranches of the Santa Margarita, Las Flores, and SantaRosa. Or if he will see what a few years of vigorous cultivation willdo, he may visit Escondido, on the river of that name, which is at anelevation of less than a thousand feet, and fourteen miles from theocean. This is only one of many settlements that have great naturalbeauty and thrifty industrial life. In that region are numerousattractive villages. I have a report from a little cañon, a few milesnorth of Escondido, where a woman with an invalid husband settled in1883. The ground was thickly covered with brush, and its only productwas rabbits and quails. In 1888 they had 100 acres cleared and fenced, mostly devoted to orchard fruits and berries. They had in good bearingover 1200 fruit-trees among them 200 oranges and 283 figs, which yieldedone and a half tons of figs a week during the bearing season, fromAugust to November. The sprouts of the peach-trees grew twelve feet in1889. Of course such a little fruit farm as this is the result ofself-denial and hard work, but I am sure that the experiment in thisregion need not be exceptional. 

[Illustration: SEXTON NURSERIES, NEAR SANTA BARBARA. ]

San Diego will be to the southern part of the State what San Franciscois to the northern. Nature seems to have arranged for this, by providinga magnificent harbor, when it shut off the southern part by a mountainrange. During the town-lot lunacy it was said that San Diego could notgrow because it had no back country, and the retort was that it neededno back country, its harbor would command commerce. The fallacy of thisassumption lay in the forgetfulness of the fact that the profitable andpeculiar exports of Southern California must go East by rail, and reacha market in the shortest possible time, and that the inhabitants look tothe Pacific for comparatively little of the imports they need. If theIsthmus route were opened by a ship-canal, San Diego would doubtlesshave a great share of the Pacific trade, and when the population of thatpart of the State is large enough to demand great importations from theislands and lands of the Pacific, this harbor will not go begging. Butin its present development the entire Pacific trade of Japan, China, andthe islands, gives only a small dividend each to the competing ports. For these developments this fine harbor must wait, but meantime thewealth and prosperity of San Diego lie at its doors. A country as largeas the three richest New England States, with enormous wealth of mineraland stone in its mountains, with one of the finest climates in theworld, with a million acres of arable land, is certainly capable ofbuilding up one great seaport town. These million of acres on thewestern slope of the mountain ranges of the country are geographicallytributary to San Diego, and almost every acre by its products iscertain to attain a high value. 

The end of the ridiculous speculation in lots of 1887-88 was not sodisastrous in the loss of money invested, or even in the ruin of greatexpectations by the collapse of fictitious values, as in the stoppage ofimmigration. The country has been ever since adjusting itself to anormal growth, and the recovery is just in proportion to the arrival ofsettlers who come to work and not to speculate. I had heard that the"boom" had left San Diego and vicinity the "deadest" region to be foundanywhere. A speculator would probably so regard it. But the people havehad a great accession of common-sense. The expectation of attractingsettlers by a fictitious show has subsided, and attention is directed tothe development of the natural riches of the country. Since the boom SanDiego has perfected a splendid system of drainage, paved its streets, extended its railways, built up the business part of the town solidlyand handsomely, and greatly improved the mesa above the town. In allessentials of permanent growth it is much better in appearance than in1887. Business is better organized, and, best of all, there is anintelligent appreciation of the agricultural resources of the country. It is discovered that San Diego has a "back country" capable ofproducing great wealth. The Chamber of Commerce has organized apermanent exhibition of products. It is assisted in this work ofstimulation by competition by a "Ladies' Annex, " a society numberingsome five hundred ladies, who devote themselves not to æstheticpursuits, but to the quickening of all the industries of the farm andthe garden, and all public improvements. 

[Illustration: SWEETWATER DAM. ]

To the mere traveller who devotes only a couple of weeks to anexamination of this region it is evident that the spirit of industry isin the ascendant, and the result is a most gratifying increase inorchards and vineyards, and the storage and distribution of water forirrigation. The region is unsurpassed for the production of the orange, the lemon, the raisin-grape, the fig, and the olive. The great reservoirof the Cuyamaca, which supplies San Diego, sends its flume around thefertile valley of El Cajon (which has already a great reputation for itsraisins), and this has become a garden, the land rising in value everyyear. The region of National City and Chula Vista is supplied by thereservoir made by the great Sweetwater Dam--a marvel of engineeringskill--and is not only most productive in fruit, but is attractive bypretty villas and most sightly and agreeable homes. It is anunanswerable reply to the inquiry if this region was not killed by theboom that all the arable land, except that staked out for fancy cityprices, has steadily risen in value. This is true of all the bay regiondown through Otay (where a promising watch factory is established) tothe border at Tia Juana. The rate of settlement in the county outside ofthe cities and towns has been greater since the boom than before--a mosthealthful indication for the future. According to the school census of1889, Mr. Van Dyke estimates a permanent growth of nearly 50, 000 peoplein the county in four years. Half of these are well distributed in smallsettlements which have the advantages of roads, mails, andschool-houses, and which offer to settlers who wish to work adjacentunimproved land at prices which experience shows are still moderate. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

A LAND OF AGREEABLE HOMES. 

In this imperfect conspectus of a vast territory I should be sorry tosay anything that can raise false expectations. Our country is very big;and though scarcely any part of it has not some advantages, andnotwithstanding the census figures of our population, it will be a longtime before our vast territory will fill up. California must wait withthe rest; but it seems to me to have a great future. Its position in theUnion with regard to its peculiar productions is unique. It can and willsupply us with much that we now import, and labor and capital sooner orlater will find their profit in meeting the growing demand forCalifornia products. 

There are many people in the United States who could prolong life bymoving to Southern California; there are many who would find life easierthere by reason of the climate, and because out-door labor is moreagreeable there the year through; many who have to fight the weather anda niggardly soil for existence could there have pretty little homes withless expense of money and labor. It is well that people for whom this istrue should know it. It need not influence those who are already wellplaced to try the fortune of a distant country and new associations. 

I need not emphasize the disadvantage in regard to beauty of a landthat can for half the year only keep a vernal appearance by irrigation;but to eyes accustomed to it there is something pleasing in the contrastof the green valleys with the brown and gold and red of the hills. Thepicture in my mind for the future of the Land of the Sun, of themountains, of the sea--which is only an enlargement of the picture ofthe present--is one of great beauty. The rapid growth of fruit andornamental trees and the profusion of flowers render easy the making ofa lovely home, however humble it may be. The nature of theindustries--requiring careful attention to a small piece ofground--points to small holdings as a rule. The picture I see is of aland of small farms and gardens, highly cultivated, in all the valleysand on the foot-hills; a land, therefore, of luxuriance and greatproductiveness and agreeable homes. I see everywhere the gardens, thevineyards, the orchards, with the various greens of the olive, the fig, and the orange. It is always picturesque, because the country is brokenand even rugged; it is always interesting, because of the contrast withthe mountains and the desert; it has the color that makes Southern Italyso poetic. It is the fairest field for the experiment of a contentedcommunity, without any poverty and without excessive wealth. 

CHAPTER XV. 

SOME WONDERS BY THE WAY. --YOSEMITE. --MARIPOSA TREES. --MONTEREY. 

I went to it with reluctance. I shrink from attempting to say anythingabout it. If you knew that there was one spot on the earth where Naturekept her secret of secrets, the key to the action of her most giganticand patient forces through the long eras, the marvel of constructive anddestructive energy, in features of sublimity made possible to mentalendurance by the most exquisite devices of painting and sculpture, thewonder which is without parallel or comparison, would you not hesitateto approach it? Would you not wander and delay with this and thatwonder, and this and that beauty and nobility of scenery, putting offthe day when the imagination, which is our highest gift, must beextinguished by the reality? The mind has this judicious timidity. Do wenot loiter in the avenue of the temple, dallying with the vista of giantplane-trees and statues, and noting the carving and the color, mentallyshrinking from the moment when the full glory shall burst upon us? Weturn and look when we are near a summit, we pick a flower, we note theshape of the clouds, the passing breeze, before we take the last stepthat shall reveal to us the vast panorama of mountains and valleys. 

I cannot bring myself to any description of the Grand Cañon of theColorado by any other route, mental or physical, than that by which wereached it, by the way of such beauty as Monterey, such a wonder as theYosemite, and the infinite and picturesque deserts of New Mexico andArizona. I think the mind needs the training in the desert scenery toenable it to grasp the unique sublimity of the Grand Cañon. 

The road to the Yosemite, after leaving the branch of the SouthernPacific at Raymond, is an unnecessarily fatiguing one. The journey bystage--sixty-five miles--is accomplished in less than twodays--thirty-nine miles the first day, and twenty-six the second. Thedriving is necessarily slow, because two mountain ridges have to besurmounted, at an elevation each of about 6500 feet. The road is not a"road" at all as the term is understood in Switzerland, Spain, or in anyhighly civilized region--that is, a graded, smooth, hard, andsufficiently broad track. It is a makeshift highway, generally narrow(often too narrow for two teams to pass), cast up with loose material, or excavated on the slopes with frequent short curves and double curves. Like all mountain roads which skirt precipices, it may seem "pokerish, "but it is safe enough if the drivers are skilful and careful (all thedrivers on this route are not only excellent, but exceedingly civil aswell), and there is no break in wagon or harness. At the season thistrip is made the weather is apt to be warm, but this would not matter somuch if the road were not intolerably dusty. Over a great part of theway the dust rises in clouds and is stifling. On a well-engineered road, with a good road-bed, the time of passage might not be shortened, butthe journey would be made with positive comfort and enjoyment, forthough there is a certain monotony in the scenery, there is the wildfreshness of nature, now and then an extensive prospect, a sight of thesnow-clad Nevadas, and vast stretches of woodland; and a part of the waythe forests are magnificent, especially the stupendous growth of thesugar-pine. These noble forests are now protected by theirinaccessibility. 

From 1855 to 1864, nine years, the Yosemite had 653 visitors; in 1864there were 147. The number increased steadily till 1869, the year theoverland railroad was completed, when it jumped to 1122. Between 4000and 5000 persons visit it now each year. The number would be enormouslyincreased if it could be reached by rail, and doubtless a road will bebuilt to the valley in the near future, perhaps up the Merced River. Ibelieve that the pilgrims who used to go to the Yosemite on foot or onhorseback regret the building of the stage road, the enjoyment of thewonderful valley being somehow cheapened by the comparative ease ofreaching it. It is feared that a railway would still further cheapen, ifit did not vulgarize it, and that passengers by train would miss themountain scenery, the splendid forests, the surprises of the way (likethe first view of the valley from Inspiration Point), and that theMariposa big trees would be farther off the route than they are now. Thetraveller sees them now by driving eight miles from Wawona, the end ofthe first day's staging. But the romance for the few there is in stagingwill have to give way to the greater comfort of the many by rail. 

[Illustration: THE YOSEMITE DOME. ]

The railway will do no more injury to the Yosemite than it has done toNiagara, and, in fact, will be the means of immensely increasing thecomfort of the visitor's stay there, besides enabling tens of thousandsof people to see it who cannot stand the fatigue of the stage ride overthe present road. The Yosemite will remain as it is. The simplicity ofits grand features is unassailable so long as the Government protectsthe forests that surround it and the streams that pour into it. Thevisitor who goes there by rail will find plenty of adventure for daysand weeks in following the mountain trails, ascending to the greatpoints of view, exploring the cañons, or climbing so as to command thevast stretch of the snowy Sierras. Or, if he is not inclined toadventure, the valley itself will satisfy his highest imaginativeflights of the sublime in rock masses and perpendicular ledges, and hissense of beauty in the graceful water-falls, rainbow colors, andexquisite lines of domes and pinnacles. It is in the grouping of objectsof sublimity and beauty that the Yosemite excels. The narrow valley, with its gigantic walls, which vary in every change of the point ofview, lends itself to the most astonishing scenic effects, and these thephotograph has reproduced, so that the world is familiar with thestriking features of the valley, and has a tolerably correct idea of thesublimity of some of these features. What the photograph cannot do is togive an impression of the unique grouping, of the majesty, and at timescrushing weight upon the mind of the forms and masses, of theatmospheric splendor and illusion, and of the total value of such anassemblage of wonders. The level surface of the peaceful, park-likevalley has much to do with the impression. The effect of El Capitan, seen across a meadow and rising from a beautiful park, is much greaterthan if it were encountered in a savage mountain gorge. The travellermay have seen elsewhere greater water-falls, and domes and spires ofrock as surprising, but he has nowhere else seen such a combination asthis. He may be fortified against surprise by the photographs he hasseen and the reports of word painters, but he will not escape (say, atInspiration Point, or Artist Point, or other lookouts), a quickening ofthe pulse and an elation which is physical as well as mental, in thesight of such unexpected sublimity and beauty. And familiarity willscarcely take off the edge of his delight, so varied are the effects inthe passing hours and changing lights. The Rainbow Fall, when water isabundant, is exceedingly impressive as well as beautiful. Seen from thecarriage road, pouring out of the sky overhead, it gives a sense ofpower, and at the proper hour before sunset, when the vast mass ofleaping, foaming water is shot through with the colors of the spectrum, it is one of the most exquisite sights the world can offer; theelemental forces are overwhelming, but the loveliness is engaging. Oneturns from this to the noble mass of El Capitan with a shock ofsurprise, however often it may have been seen. This is the hour also, inthe time of high-water, to see the reflection of the Yosemite Falls. Asa spectacle it is infinitely finer than anything at Mirror Lake, and isunique in its way. To behold this beautiful series of falls, flowingdown out of the blue sky above, and flowing up out of an equally bluesky in the depths of the earth, is a sight not to be forgotten. Andwhen the observer passes from these displays to the sight of the aerialdomes in the upper end of the valley, new wonders opening at every turnof the forest road, his excitement has little chance of subsiding: hemay be even a little oppressed. The valley, so verdant and friendly withgrass and trees and flowers, is so narrow compared with the height ofits perpendicular guardian walls, and this little secluded spot is soimprisoned in the gigantic mountains, that man has a feeling ofhelplessness in it. This powerlessness in the presence of elementalforces was heightened by the deluge of water. There had been an immensefall of snow the winter before, the Merced was a raging torrent, overflowing its banks, and from every ledge poured a miniature cataract. 

[Illustration: COAST OF MONTEREY. ]

Noble simplicity is the key-note to the scenery of the Yosemite, andthis is enhanced by the park-like appearance of the floor of the valley. The stems of the fine trees are in harmony with the perpendicular lines, and their foliage adds the necessary contrast to the gray rock masses. In order to preserve these forest-trees, the underbrush, which isliable to make a conflagration in a dry season, should be removedgenerally, and the view of the great features be left unimpeded. Theminor cañons and the trails are, of course, left as much as possible tothe riot of vegetation. The State Commission, which labors under thedisadvantages of getting its supplies from a Legislature that does notappreciate the value of the Yosemite to California, has developed thetrails judiciously, and established a model trail service. The Yosemite, it need not be said, is a great attraction to tourists from all parts ofthe world; it is the interest of the State, therefore, to increase theirnumber by improving the facilities for reaching it, and by resolutelypreserving all the surrounding region from ravage. 

[Illustration: CYPRESS POINT. ]

[Illustration: NEAR SEAL ROCK. ]

This is as true of the Mariposa big tree region as of the valley. Indeed, more care is needed for the trees than for the great chasm, forman cannot permanently injure the distinctive features of the latter, while the destruction of the sequoias will be an irreparable loss to theState and to the world. The _Sequoia gigantea_ differs in leaf, and sizeand shape of cone, from the great _Sequoia semper virens_ on the coastnear Santa Cruz; neither can be spared. The Mariposa trees, scatteredalong on a mountain ridge 6500 feet above the sea, do not easily obtaintheir victory, for they are a part of a magnificent forest of othergrowths, among which the noble sugar-pine is conspicuous for itsenormous size and graceful vigor. The sequoias dominate among splendidrivals only by a magnitude that has no comparison elsewhere in theworld. I think no one can anticipate the effect that one of thesemonarchs will have upon him. He has read that a coach and six can drivethrough one of the trees that is standing; that another is thirty-threefeet in diameter, and that its vast stem, 350 feet high, is crowned witha mass of foliage that seems to brush against the sky. He might beprepared for a tower 100 feet in circumference, and even 400 feet high, standing upon a level plain; but this living growth is quite anotheraffair. Each tree is an individual, and has a personal character. No mancan stand in the presence of one of these giants without a new sense ofthe age of the world and the insignificant span of one human life; buthe is also overpowered by a sense of some gigantic personality. It doesnot relieve him to think of this as the Methuselah of trees, or to callit by the name of some great poet or captain. The awe the tree inspiresis of itself. As one lies and looks up at the enormous bulk, it seemsnot so much the bulk, so lightly is it carried, as the spirit of thetree--the elastic vigor, the patience, the endurance of storm andchange, the confident might, and the soaring, almost contemptuous pride, that overwhelm the puny spectator. It is just because man can measurehimself, his littleness, his brevity of existence, with this growth outof the earth, that he is more personally impressed by it than he mightbe by the mere variation in the contour of the globe which is called amountain. The imagination makes a plausible effort to comprehend it, andis foiled. No; clearly it is not mere size that impresses one; it is thedignity, the character in the tree, the authority and power ofantiquity. Side by side of these venerable forms are young sequoias, great trees themselves, that have only just begun their millennialcareer--trees that will, if spared, perpetuate to remote ages this raceof giants, and in two to four thousand years from now take the place oftheir great-grandfathers, who are sinking under the weight of years, andone by one measuring their length on the earth. 

[Illustration: LAGUNA, FROM THE SOUTH-EAST. ]

The transition from the sublime to the exquisitely lovely in nature cannowhere else be made with more celerity than from the Sierras to thecoast at Monterey; California abounds in such contrasts and surprises. After the great stirring of the emotions by the Yosemite and theMariposa, the Hotel del Monte Park and vicinity offer repose, and makean appeal to the sense of beauty and refinement. Yet even here somethingunique is again encountered. I do not refer to the extraordinary beautyof the giant live-oaks and the landscape-gardening about the hotel, which have made Monterey famous the world over, but to the sea-beachdrive of sixteen miles, which can scarcely be rivalled elsewhere eitherfor marine loveliness or variety of coast scenery. It has points likethe ocean drive at Newport, but is altogether on a grander scale, andshows a more poetic union of shore and sea; besides, it offers thecurious and fascinating spectacles of the rocks inhabited by thesea-lions, and the Cypress Point. These huge, uncouth creatures can beseen elsewhere, but probably nowhere else on this coast are they massedin greater numbers. The trees of Cypress Point are unique, this speciesof cypress having been found nowhere else. The long, never-ceasing swellof the Pacific incessantly flows up the many crescent sand beaches, casting up shells of brilliant hues, sea-weed, and kelp, which seemsinstinct with animal life, and flotsam from the far-off islands. But therocks that lie off the shore, and the jagged points that project infanciful forms, break the even great swell, and send the waters, churnedinto spray and foam, into the air with a thousand hues in the sun. Theshock of these sharp collisions mingles with the heavy ocean boom. Cypress Point is one of the most conspicuous of these projections, andits strange trees creep out upon the ragged ledges almost to the water'sedge. These cypresses are quite as instinct with individual life andquite as fantastic as any that Doré drew for his "Inferno. " They are asgnarled and twisted as olive-trees two centuries old, but theirattitudes seem not only to show struggle with the elements, but agony inthat struggle. The agony may be that of torture in the tempest, or ofsome fabled creatures fleeing and pursued, stretching out their longarms in terror, and fixed in that writhing fear. They are creatures ofthe sea quite as much as of the land, and they give to this lovely coasta strange charm and fascination. 

CHAPTER, XVI. 

FASCINATIONS OF THE DESERT. --THE LAGUNA PUEBLO. 

The traveller to California by the Santa Fé route comes into the aridregions gradually, and finds each day a variety of objects of interestthat upsets his conception of a monotonous desert land. If he chooses tobreak the continental journey midway, he can turn aside at Las Vegas tothe Hot Springs. Here, at the head of a picturesque valley, is theMontezuma Hotel, a luxurious and handsome house, 6767 feet abovesea-level, a great surprise in the midst of the broken and somewhatsavage New Mexican scenery. The low hills covered with pines and piñons, the romantic glens, and the wide views from the elevations about thehotel, make it an attractive place; and a great deal has been done, inthe erection of bath-houses, ornamental gardening, and the grading ofroads and walks, to make it a comfortable place. The latitude and thedryness of the atmosphere insure for the traveller from the North in ourwinter an agreeable reception, and the elevation makes the spot in thesummer a desirable resort from Southern heat. It is a sanitarium as wellas a pleasure resort. The Hot Springs have much the same character asthe Töplitz waters in Bohemia, and the saturated earth--the_Mütterlager_--furnishes the curative "mud baths" which are enjoyed atMarienbad and Carlsbad. The union of the climate, which is so favorablein diseases of the respiratory organs, with the waters, which do so muchfor rheumatic sufferers, gives a distinction to Las Vegas Hot Springs. This New Mexican air--there is none purer on the globe--is an enemy tohay-fever and malarial diseases. It was a wise enterprise to providethat those who wish to try its efficacy can do so at the Montezumawithout giving up any of the comforts of civilized life. 

[Illustration: CHURCH AT LAGUNA. ]

It is difficult to explain to one who has not seen it, or will not puthimself in the leisurely frame of mind to enjoy it, the charms of thedesert of the high plateaus of New Mexico and Arizona. Its aridcharacter is not so impressive as its ancientness; and the part whichinterests us is not only the procession of the long geologic eras, visible in the extinct volcanoes, the _barrancas_, the painted buttes, the petrified forests, but as well in the evidences of civilizationsgone by, or the remains of them surviving in our day--the cliffdwellings, the ruins of cities that were thriving when Coronado sent hislieutenants through the region three centuries ago, and the presentresidences of the Pueblo Indians, either villages perched upon an almostinaccessible rock like Acamo, or clusters of adobe dwellings like Isletaand Laguna. The Pueblo Indians, of whom the Zuñis are a tribe, have beendwellers in villages and cultivators of the soil and of the arts ofpeace immemorially, a gentle, amiable race. It is indeed such a race asone would expect to find in the land of the sun and the cactus. Theirmanners and their arts attest their antiquity and a long refinement infixed dwellings and occupations. The whole region is a most interestingfield for the antiquarian. 

We stopped one day at Laguna, which is on the Santa Fé line west ofIsleta, another Indian pueblo at the Atlantic and Pacific junction, where the road crosses the Rio Grande del Norte west of Albuquerque. Near Laguna a little stream called the Rio Puerco flows southward andjoins the Rio Grande. There is verdure along these streams, and gardensand fruit orchards repay the rude irrigation. In spite of thesewatercourses the aspect of the landscape is wild and desert-like--lowbarren hills and ragged ledges, wide sweeps of sand and dry gray bushes, with mountains and long lines of horizontal ledges in the distance. Laguna is built upon a rounded elevation of rock. Its appearance isexactly that of a Syrian village, the same cluster of little, square, flat-roofed houses in terraces, the same brown color, and under the samepale blue sky. And the resemblance was completed by the figures of thewomen on the roofs, or moving down the slope, erect and supple, carryingon the head a water jar, and holding together by one hand the mantleworn like a Spanish _rebozo_. The village is irregularly built, withoutmuch regard to streets or alleys, and it has no special side of entranceor approach. Every side presents a blank wall of adobe, and the entranceseems quite by chance. Yet the way we went over, the smooth slope wasworn here and there in channels three or four inches deep, as if by thepassing feet of many generations. The only semblance of architecturalregularity is in the plaza, not perfectly square, upon which some of thehouses look, and where the annual dances take place. The houses have theeffect of being built in terraces rising one above the other, but it ishard to say exactly what a house is--whether it is anything more thanone room. You can reach some of the houses only by aid of a ladder. Youenter others from the street. If you will go farther you must climb aladder which brings you to the roof that is used as the sitting-room ordoor-yard of the next room. From this room you may still ascend toothers, or you may pass through low and small door-ways to otherapartments. It is all haphazard, but exceedingly picturesque. You mayfind some of the family in every room, or they may be gathered, womenand babies, on a roof which is protected by a parapet. At the time ofour visit the men were all away at work in their fields. Notwithstandingthe houses are only sun-dried bricks, and the village is without wateror street commissioners, I was struck by the universal cleanliness. There was no refuse in the corners or alleys, no odors, and many of therooms were patterns of neatness. To be sure, an old woman here and therekept her hens in an adjoining apartment above her own, and there was thelitter of children and of rather careless house-keeping. But, takenaltogether, the town is an example for some more civilized, whoseinhabitants wash oftener and dress better than these Indians. 

[Illustration: TERRACED HOUSES, PUEBLO OF LAGUNA. ]

We were put on friendly terms with the whole settlement through three orfour young maidens who had been at the Carlisle school, and spokeEnglish very prettily. They were of the ages of fifteen and sixteen, andsome of them had been five years away. They came back, so far as I couldlearn, gladly to their own people and to the old ways. They had resumedthe Indian dress, which is much more becoming to them, as I think theyknow, than that which had been imposed upon them. I saw no books. Theydo not read any now, and they appear to be perfectly content with theidle drudgery of their semi-savage condition. In time they will marry intheir tribe, and the school episode will be a thing of the past. But notaltogether. The pretty Josephine, who was our best cicerone about theplace, a girl of lovely eyes and modest mien, showed us with pride herown room, or "house, " as she called it, neat as could be, simplyfurnished with an iron bedstead and snow-white cot, a mirror, chair, andtable, and a trunk, and some "advertising" prints on the walls. She saidthat she was needed at home to cook for her aged mother, and her presentambition was to make money enough by the sale of pottery and curios tobuy a cooking stove, so that she could cook more as the whites do. Thehouse-work of the family had mainly fallen upon her; but it was notburdensome, I fancied, and she and the other girls of her age hadleisure to go to the station on the arrival of every train, in hope ofselling something to the passengers, and to sit on the rocks in the sunand dream as maidens do. I fancy it would be better for Josephine andfor all the rest if there were no station and no passing trains. Theelder women were uniformly ugly, but not repulsive like the Mojaves; theplace swarmed with children, and the babies, aged women, and pleasingyoung girls grouped most effectively on the roofs. 

The whole community were very complaisant and friendly when we came toknow them well, which we did in the course of an hour, and they enjoyedas much as we did the bargaining for pottery. They have for sale a greatquantity of small pieces, fantastic in form and brilliantlycolored--toys, in fact; but we found in their houses many beautiful jarsof large size and excellent shape, decorated most effectively. Theordinary utensils for cooking and for cooling water are generally prettyin design and painted artistically. Like the ancient Peruvians, theymake many vessels in the forms of beasts and birds. Some of the designsof the decoration are highly conventionalized, and others are just inthe proper artistic line of the natural--a spray with a bird, or asunflower on its stalk. The ware is all unglazed, exceedingly light andthin, and baked so hard that it has a metallic sound when struck. Someof the large jars are classic in shape, and recall in form anddecoration the ancient Cypriote ware, but the colors are commonlybrilliant and barbaric. The designs seem to be indigenous, and to betraylittle Spanish influence. The art displayed in this pottery is indeedwonderful, and, to my eye, much more effective and lastingly pleasingthan much of our cultivated decoration. A couple of handsome jars that Ibought of an old woman, she assured me she made and decorated herself;but I saw no ovens there, nor any signs of manufacture, and supposethat most of the ware is made at Acoma. 

It did not seem to be a very religious community, although the town hasa Catholic church, and I understand that Protestant services aresometimes held in the place. The church is not much frequented, and theonly evidence of devotion I encountered was in a woman who wore a largeand handsome silver cross, made by the Navajos. When I asked its price, she clasped it to her bosom, with an upward look full of faith and ofrefusal to part with her religion at any price. The church, which isadobe, and at least two centuries old, is one of the most interesting Ihave seen anywhere. It is a simple parallelogram, 104 feet long and 21feet broad, the gable having an opening in which the bells hang. Theinterior is exceedingly curious, and its decorations are worthreproduction. The floor is of earth, and many of the tribe who weredistinguished and died long ago are said to repose under its smoothsurface, with nothing to mark their place of sepulture. It has an opentimber roof, the beams supported upon carved corbels. The ceiling ismade of wooden sticks, about two inches in diameter and some four feetlong, painted in alternated colors--red, blue, orange, and black--and sotwisted or woven together as to produce the effect of plaited straw, amost novel and agreeable decoration. Over the entrance is a smallgallery, the under roof of which is composed of sticks laid in strawpattern and colored. All around the wall runs a most striking dado, anodd, angular pattern, with conventionalized birds at intervals, paintedin strong yet _fade_ colors--red, yellow, black, and white. The northwall is without windows; all the light, when the door is closed, comesfrom two irregular windows, without glass, high up in the south wall. 

[Illustration: GRAND CAÑON ON THE COLORADO--VIEW FROM POINT SUBLIME. ]

The chancel walls are covered with frescos, and there are several quaintpaintings, some of them not very bad in color and drawing. The altar, which is supported at the sides by twisted wooden pillars, carved with aknife, is hung with ancient sheepskins brightly painted. Back of thealtar are some archaic wooden images, colored; and over the altar, onthe ceiling, are the stars of heaven, and the sun and the moon, eachwith a face in it. The interior was scrupulously clean and sweet andrestful to one coming in from the glare of the sun on the desert. It wasevidently little used, and the Indians who accompanied us seemed underno strong impression of its sanctity; but we liked to linger in it, itwas so _bizarre_, so picturesque, and exhibited in its rude decorationso much taste. Two or three small birds flitting about seemed to enjoythe coolness and the subdued light, and were undisturbed by ourpresence. 

These are children of the desert, kin in their condition and theinfluences that formed them to the sedentary tribes of upper Egypt andArabia, who pitch their villages upon the rocky eminences, and dependfor subsistence upon irrigation and scant pasturage. Their habits arethose of the dwellers in an arid land which has little in common withthe wilderness--the inhospitable northern wilderness of rain and frostand snow. Rain, to be sure, insures some sort of vegetation in the mostforbidding and intractable country, but that does not save the harshlandscape from being unattractive. The high plateaus of New Mexico andArizona have everything that the rainy wilderness lacks--sunshine, heaven's own air, immense breadth of horizon, color and infinite beautyof outline, and a warm soil with unlimited possibilities when moistened. All that these deserts need is water. A fatal want? No. That is simplysaying that science can do for this region what it cannot do for thehigh wilderness of frost--by the transportation of water transform itinto gardens of bloom and fields of fruitfulness. The wilderness shallbe made to feed the desert. 

[Illustration: INTERIOR OF THE CHURCH AT LAGUNA. ]

I confess that these deserts in the warm latitudes fascinate me. Perhapsit is because I perceive in them such a chance for the triumph of theskill of man, seeing how, here and there, his energy has pushed thedesert out of his path across the continent. But I fear that I am not sopractical. To many the desert in its stony sterility, its desolateness, its unbroken solitude, its fantastic savageness, is either appalling orrepulsive. To them it is tiresome and monotonous. The vast plains ofKansas and Nebraska are monotonous even in the agricultural green ofsummer. Not so to me the desert. It is as changeable in its lights andcolors as the ocean. It is even in its general features of samenessnever long the same. If you traverse it on foot or on horseback, thereis ever some minor novelty. And on the swift train, if you draw down thecurtain against the glare, or turn to your book, you are sure to misssomething of interest--a deep cañon rift in the plain, a turn that givesa wide view glowing in a hundred hues in the sun, a savage gorge withbeetling rocks, a solitary butte or red truncated pyramid thrust up intothe blue sky, a horizontal ledge cutting the horizon line as straight asa ruler for miles, a pointed cliff uplifted sheer from the plain andlaid in regular courses of Cyclopean masonry, the battlements of a fort, a terraced castle with towers and esplanade, a great trough of a valley, gray and parched, enclosed by far purple mountains. And then theunlimited freedom of it, its infinite expansion, its air like wine tothe senses, the floods of sunshine, the waves of color, the translucentatmosphere that aids the imagination to create in the distance allarchitectural splendors and realms of peace. It is all like a mirage anda dream. We pass swiftly, and make a moving panorama of beauty in hues, of strangeness in forms, of sublimity in extent, of overawing and savageantiquity. I would miss none of it. And when we pass to the accustomedagain, to the fields of verdure and the forests and the hills of green, and are limited in view and shut in by that which we love, after all, better than the arid land, I have a great longing to see again thedesert, to be a part of its vastness, and to feel once more the freedomand inspiration of its illimitable horizons. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

THE HEART OF THE DESERT. 

There is an arid region lying in Northern Arizona and Southern Utahwhich has been called the District of the Grand Cañon of the Colorado. The area, roughly estimated, contains from 13, 000 to 16, 000 squaremiles--about the size of the State of Maryland. This region, fullydescribed by the explorers and studied by the geologists in the UnitedStates service, but little known to even the travelling public, isprobably the most interesting territory of its size on the globe. Atleast it is unique. In attempting to convey an idea of it the writer canbe assisted by no comparison, nor can he appeal in the minds of hisreaders to any experience of scenery that can apply here. The so-calledGrand Cañon differs not in degree from all other scenes; it differs inkind. 

The Colorado River flows southward through Utah, and crosses the Arizonaline below the junction with the San Juan. It continues southward, flowing deep in what is called the Marble Cañon, till it is joined bythe Little Colorado, coming up from the south-east; it then turnswestward in a devious line until it drops straight south, and forms thewestern boundary of Arizona. The centre of the district mentioned is thewestwardly flowing part of the Colorado. South of the river is theColorado Plateau, at a general elevation of about 7000 feet. North ofit the land is higher, and ascends in a series of plateaus, and thenterraces, a succession of cliffs like a great stair-way, rising to thehigh plateaus of Utah. The plateaus, adjoining the river on the northand well marked by north and south dividing lines, or faults, are, naming them from east to west, the Paria, the Kaibab, the Kanab, theUinkaret, and the Sheavwitz, terminating in a great wall on the west, the Great Wash fault, where the surface of the country drops at oncefrom a general elevation of 6000 feet to from 1300 to 3000 feet abovethe sea-level--into a desolate and formidable desert. 

If the Grand Cañon itself did not dwarf everything else, the scenery ofthese plateaus would be superlative in interest. It is not all desert, nor are the gorges, cañons, cliffs, and terraces, which graduallyprepare the mind for the comprehension of the Grand Cañon, the onlywonders of this land of enchantment. These are contrasted with thesylvan scenery of the Kaibab Plateau, its giant forests and parks, andbroad meadows decked in the summer with wild flowers in dense masses ofscarlet, white, purple, and yellow. The Vermilion Cliffs, the PinkCliffs, the White Cliffs, surpass in fantastic form and brilliant coloranything that the imagination conceives possible in nature, and thereare dreamy landscapes quite beyond the most exquisite fancies of Claudeand of Turner. The region is full of wonders, of beauties, andsublimities that Shelley's imaginings do not match in the "PrometheusUnbound, " and when it becomes accessible to the tourist it will offer anendless field for the delight of those whose minds can rise to theheights of the sublime and the beautiful. In all imaginative writing orpainting the material used is that of human experience, otherwise itcould not be understood; even heaven must be described in the terms ofan earthly paradise. Human experience has no prototype of this region, and the imagination has never conceived of its forms and colors. It isimpossible to convey an adequate idea of it by pen or pencil or brush. The reader who is familiar with the glowing descriptions in the officialreports of Major J. W. Powell, Captain C. E. Dutton, Lieutenant Ives, and others, will not save himself from a shock of surprise when thereality is before him. This paper deals only with a single view in thismarvellous region. 

[Illustration: GRAND CAÑON OF THE COLORADO--VIEW OPPOSITE POINTSUBLIME. ]

The point where we struck the Grand Cañon, approaching it from thesouth, is opposite the promontory in the Kaibab Plateau named PointSublime by Major Powell, just north of the 36th parallel, and 112° 15'west longitude. This is only a few miles west of the junction with theLittle Colorado. About three or four miles west of this junction theriver enters the east slope of the east Kaibab monocline, and here theGrand Cañon begins. Rapidly the chasm deepens to about 6000 feet, orrather it penetrates a higher country, the slope of the river remainingabout the same. Through this lofty plateau--an elevation of 7000 to 9000feet--the chasm extends for sixty miles, gradually changing its courseto the north-west, and entering the Kanab Plateau. The Kaibab divisionof the Grand Cañon is by far the sublimest of all, being 1000 feetdeeper than any other. It is not grander only on account of its greaterdepth, but it is broader and more diversified with magnificentarchitectural features. 

The Kanab division, only less magnificent than the Kaibab, receives theKanab Cañon from the north and the Cataract Cañon from the south, andends at the Toroweap Valley. 

The section of the Grand Cañon seen by those who take the route fromPeach Springs is between 113° and 114° west longitude, and, thoughwonderful, presents few of the great features of either the Kaibab orthe Kanab divisions. The Grand Cañon ends, west longitude 114°, at theGreat Wash, west of the Hurricane Ledge or Fault. Its whole length fromLittle Colorado to the Great Wash, measured by the meanderings of thesurface of the river, is 220 miles; by a median line between the crestsof the summits of the walls with two-mile cords, about 195 miles; thedistance in a straight line is 125 miles. 

In our journey to the Grand Cañon we left the Santa Fé line atFlagstaff, a new town with a lively lumber industry, in the midst of aspruce-pine forest which occupies the broken country through which theroad passes for over fifty miles. The forest is open, the trees ofmoderate size are too thickly set with low-growing limbs to make cleanlumber, and the foliage furnishes the minimum of shade; but the changeto these woods is a welcome one from the treeless reaches of the deserton either side. The cañon is also reached from Williams, the nextstation west, the distance being a little shorter, and the point on thecañon visited being usually a little farther west. But the Flagstaffroute is for many reasons usually preferred. Flagstaff lies justsouth-east of the San Francisco Mountain, and on the great ColoradoPlateau, which has a pretty uniform elevation of about 7000 feet abovethe sea. The whole region is full of interest. Some of the mostremarkable cliff dwellings are within ten miles of Flagstaff, on theWalnut Creek Cañon. At Holbrook, 100 miles east, the traveller finds aroad some forty miles long, that leads to the great petrified forest, orChalcedony Park. Still farther east are the villages of the PuebloIndians, near the line, while to the northward is the great reservationof the Navajos, a nomadic tribe celebrated for its fine blankets andpretty work in silver--a tribe that preserves much of its manlyindependence by shunning the charity of the United States. No Indianshave come into intimate or dependent relations with the whites withoutbeing deteriorated. 

[Illustration: TOURISTS IN THE COLORADO CAÑON. ]

Flagstaff is the best present point of departure, because it has a smallhotel, good supply stores, and a large livery-stable, made necessary bythe business of the place and the objects of interest in theneighborhood, and because one reaches from there by the easiest road thefinest scenery incomparably on the Colorado. The distance is seventy-sixmiles through a practically uninhabited country, much of it a desert, and with water very infrequent. No work has been done on the road; it ismade simply by driving over it. There are a few miles here and there offair wheeling, but a good deal of it is intolerably dusty or exceedinglystony, and progress is slow. In the daytime (it was the last of June)the heat is apt to be excessive; but this could be borne, the air is soabsolutely dry and delicious, and breezes occasionally spring up, if itwere not for the dust. It is, notwithstanding the novelty of theadventure and of the scenery by the way, a tiresome journey of two days. A day of rest is absolutely required at the cañon, so that five daysmust be allowed for the trip. This will cost the traveller, according tothe size of the party made up, from forty to fifty dollars. But a muchlonger sojourn at the cañon is desirable. 

Our party of seven was stowed in and on an old Concord coach drawn bysix horses, and piled with camp equipage, bedding, and provisions. Afour-horse team followed, loaded with other supplies and cookingutensils. The road lies on the east side of the San Francisco Mountain. Returning, we passed around its west side, gaining thus a complete viewof this shapely peak. The compact range is a group of extinct volcanoes, the craters of which are distinctly visible. The cup-like summit of thehighest is 13, 000 feet above the sea, and snow always lies on the northescarpment. Rising about 6000 feet above the point of view of the greatplateau, it is from all sides a noble object, the dark rock, snow-sprinkled, rising out of the dense growth of pine and cedar. Wedrove at first through open pine forests, through park-like intervals, over the foot-hills of the mountain, through growths of scrub cedar, andout into the ever-varying rolling country to widely-extended prospects. Two considerable hills on our right attracted us by their unique beauty. Upon the summit and side of each was a red glow exactly like the tint ofsunset. We thought surely that it was the effect of reflected light, butthe sky was cloudless and the color remained constant. The color camefrom the soil. The first was called Sunset Mountain. One of our partynamed the other, and the more beautiful, Peachblow Mountain, a poeticand perfectly descriptive name. 

We lunched at noon beside a swift, clouded, cold stream of snow-waterfrom the San Francisco, along which grew a few gnarled cedars and somebrilliant wild flowers. The scene was more than picturesque; in theclear hot air of the desert the distant landscape made a hundredpictures of beauty. Behind us the dark form of San Francisco rose up6000 feet to its black crater and fields of spotless snow. Away off tothe north-east, beyond the brown and gray pastures, across a far linedistinct in dull color, lay the Painted Desert, like a mirage, like areally painted landscape, glowing in red and orange and pink, an immensecity rather than a landscape, with towers and terraces and façades, melting into indistinctness as in a rosy mist, spectral but constant, weltering in a tropic glow and heat, walls and columns and shafts, thewreck of an Oriental capital on a wide violet plain, suffused withbrilliant color softened into exquisite shades. All over this regionnature has such surprises, that laugh at our inadequate conception ofher resources. 

Our camp for the night was at the next place where water could beobtained, a station of the Arizona Cattle Company. Abundant water ispiped down to it from mountain springs. The log-house and stable of thecow-boys were unoccupied, and we pitched our tent on a knoll by thecorral. The night was absolutely dry, and sparkling with the starlight. A part of the company spread their blankets on the ground under the sky. It is apt to be cold in this region towards morning, but lodging in theopen air is no hardship in this delicious climate. The next day the waypart of the distance, with only a road marked by wagon wheels, wasthrough extensive and barren-looking cattle ranges, through pretty valesof grass surrounded by stunted cedars, and over stormy ridges and plainsof sand and small bowlders. The water having failed at Red Horse, theonly place where it is usually found in the day's march, our horses wentwithout, and we had resource to our canteens. The whole country isessentially arid, but snow falls in the winter-time, and its melting, with occasional showers in the summer, create what are called surfacewells, made by drainage. Many of them go dry by June. There had been norain in the region since the last of March, but clouds were gatheringdaily, and showers are always expected in July. The phenomenon of rainon this baked surface, in this hot air, and with this immense horizon, is very interesting. Showers in this tentative time are local. In ourjourney we saw showers far off, we experienced a dash for ten minutes, but it was local, covering not more than a mile or two square. We havein sight a vast canopy of blue sky, of forming and dispersing clouds. Itis difficult for them to drop their moisture in the rising columns ofhot air. The result at times was a very curious spectacle--rain in thesky that did not reach the earth. Perhaps some cold current high aboveus would condense the moisture, which would begin to fall in longtrailing sweeps, blown like fine folds of muslin, or like sheets ofdissolving sugar, and then the hot air of the earth would dissipate it, and the showers would be absorbed in the upper regions. The heat wassometimes intense, but at intervals a refreshing wind would blow, theair being as fickle as the rain; and now and then we would see a slendercolumn of dust, a thousand or two feet high, marching across the desert, apparently not more than two feet in diameter, and wavering like thethreads of moisture that tried in vain to reach the earth as rain. Oflife there was not much to be seen in our desert route. In the first daywe encountered no habitation except the ranch-house mentioned, and sawno human being; and the second day none except the solitary occupant ofthe dried well at Red Horse, and two or three Indians on the hunt. A fewsquirrels were seen, and a rabbit now and then, and occasionally a bird. The general impression was that of a deserted land. But antelope aboundin the timber regions, and we saw several of these graceful creaturesquite near us. Excellent antelope steaks, bought of the wandering Indianhunters, added something to our "canned" supplies. One day as welunched, without water, on the cedar slope of a lovely grass interval, we saw coming towards us over the swells of the prairie a figure of aman on a horse. It rode to us straight as the crow flies. The Indianpony stopped not two feet from where our group sat, and the rider, whowas an Oualapai chief, clad in sacking, with the print of the brand offlour or salt on his back, dismounted with his Winchester rifle, andstood silently looking at us without a word of salutation. He stoodthere, impassive, until we offered him something to eat. Having eatenall we gave him, he opened his mouth and said, "Smoke 'em?" Havingprocured from the other wagon a pipe of tobacco and a pull at thedriver's canteen, he returned to us all smiles. His only baggage was theskull of an antelope, with the horns, hung at his saddle. Into this heput the bread and meat which we gave him, mounted the wretched pony, andwithout a word rode straight away. At a little distance he halted, dismounted, and motioned towards the edge of the timber, where he hadspied an antelope. But the game eluded him, and he mounted again androde off across the desert--a strange figure. His tribe lives in thecañon some fifty miles west, and was at present encamped, for thepurpose of hunting, in the pine woods not far from the point we wereaiming at. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

ON THE BRINK OF THE GRAND CAÑON. --THE UNIQUE MARVEL OF NATURE. 

The way seemed long. With the heat and dust and slow progress, it wasexceedingly wearisome. Our modern nerves are not attuned to the slowcrawling of a prairie-wagon. There had been growing for some time in thecoach a feeling that the journey did not pay; that, in fact, no merescenery could compensate for the fatigue of the trip. The imaginationdid not rise to it. "It will have to be a very big cañon, " said theduchess. 

Late in the afternoon we entered an open pine forest, passed through ameadow where the Indians had set their camp by a shallow pond, and drovealong a ridge, in the cool shades, for three or four miles. Suddenly, onthe edge of a descent, we who were on the box saw through the tree-topsa vision that stopped the pulse for a second, and filled us withexcitement. It was only a glimpse, far off and apparently lifted up--redtowers, purple cliffs, wide-spread apart, hints of color and splendor;on the right distance, mansions, gold and white and carmine (so thelight made them), architectural habitations in the sky it must be, andsuggestions of others far off in the middle distance--a substantialaerial city, or the ruins of one, such as the prophet saw in a vision. It was only a glimpse. Our hearts were in our mouths. We had a vagueimpression of something wonderful, fearful--some incomparable splendorthat was not earthly. Were we drawing near the "City?" and should wehave yet a more perfect view thereof? Was it Jerusalem or some Hindootemples there in the sky? "It was builded of pearls and precious stones, also the streets were paved with gold; so that by reason of the naturalglory of the city, and the reflection of the sunbeams upon it, Christianwith desire fell sick. " It was a momentary vision of a vast amphitheatreof splendor, mostly hidden by the trees and the edge of the plateau. 

We descended into a hollow. There was the well, a log-cabin, a tent ortwo under the pine-trees. We dismounted with impatient haste. The sunwas low in the horizon, and had long withdrawn from this grassy dell. Tired as we were, we could not wait. It was only to ascend the littlesteep, stony slope--300 yards--and we should see! Our party werestraggling up the hill: two or three had reached the edge. I looked up. The duchess threw up her arms and screamed. We were not fifteen pacesbehind, but we saw nothing. We took the few steps, and the wholemagnificence broke upon us. No one could be prepared for it. The sceneis one to strike dumb with awe, or to unstring the nerves; one mightstand in silent astonishment, another would burst into tears. 

There are some experiences that cannot be repeated--one's first view ofRome, one's first view of Jerusalem. But these emotions are produced byassociation, by the sudden standing face to face with the scenes mostwrought into our whole life and education by tradition and religion. This was without association, as it was without parallel. It was a shockso novel that the mind, dazed, quite failed to comprehend it. All thatwe could grasp was a vast confusion of amphitheatres and strangearchitectural forms resplendent with color. The vastness of the viewamazed us quite as much as its transcendent beauty. 

[Illustration: GRAND CAÑON OF THE COLORADO--VIEW FROM THE HANSE TRAIL. ]

We had expected a cañon--two lines of perpendicular walls 6000 feethigh, with the ribbon of a river at the bottom; but the reader maydismiss all his notions of a cañon, indeed of any sort of mountain orgorge scenery with which he is familiar. We had come into a new world. What we saw was not a cañon, or a chasm, or a gorge, but a vast areawhich is a break in the plateau. From where we stood it was twelve milesacross to the opposite walls--a level line of mesa on the Utah side. Welooked up and down for twenty to thirty miles. This great space isfilled with gigantic architectural constructions, with amphitheatres, gorges, precipices, walls of masonry, fortresses terraced up to thelevel of the eye, temples mountain size, all brilliant with horizontallines of color--streaks of solid hues a few feet in width, streaks athousand feet in width--yellows, mingled white and gray, orange, dullred, brown, blue, carmine, green, all blending in the sunlight into onetranscendent suffusion of splendor. Afar off we saw the river in twoplaces, a mere thread, as motionless and smooth as a strip of mirror, only we knew it was a turbid, boiling torrent, 6000 feet below us. Directly opposite the overhanging ledge on which we stood was amountain, the sloping base of which was ashy gray and bluish; it rose ina series of terraces to a thousand-feet wall of dark red sandstone, receding upward, with ranges of columns and many fantastic sculptures, to a finial row of gigantic opera-glasses 6000 feet above the river. Thegreat San Francisco Mountain, with its snowy crater, which we had passedon the way, might have been set down in the place of this one, and itwould have been only one in a multitude of such forms that met the eyewhichever way we looked. Indeed, all the vast mountains in this regionmight be hidden in this cañon. 

Wandering a little away from the group and out of sight, and turningsuddenly to the scene from another point of view, I experienced for amoment an indescribable terror of nature, a confusion of mind, a fear tobe alone in such a presence. With all this grotesqueness and majesty ofform and radiance of color, creation seemed in a whirl. With oureducation in scenery of a totally different kind, I suppose it wouldneed long acquaintance with this to familiarize one with it to theextent of perfect mental comprehension. 

The vast abyss has an atmosphere of its own, one always changing andproducing new effects, an atmosphere and shadows and tones of itsown--golden, rosy, gray, brilliant, and sombre, and playing a thousandfantastic tricks to the vision. The rich and wonderful color effects, says Captain Dutton, "are due to the inherent colors of the rocks, modified by the atmosphere. Like any other great series of strata in theplateau province, the carboniferous has its own range of colors, whichmight serve to distinguish it, even if we had no other criterion. Thesummit strata are pale gray, with a faint yellowish cast. Beneath themthe cross-bedded sandstone appears, showing a mottled surface of palepinkish hue. Underneath this member are nearly 1000 feet of the lowerAubrey sandstones, displaying an intensely brilliant red, which issomewhat marked by the talus shot down from the gray cherty limestone atthe summit. Beneath the lower Aubrey is the face of the Red Walllimestone, from 2000 to 3000 feet high. It has a strong red tone, but avery peculiar one. Most of the red strata of the West have the brownishor vermilion tones, but these are rather purplish red, as if the pigmenthad been treated to a dash of blue. It is not quite certain that thismay not arise in part from the intervention of the blue haze, andprobably it is rendered more conspicuous by this cause; but, on thewhole, the purplish cast seems to be inherent. This is the dominantcolor of the cañon, for the expanse of the rock surface displayed ismore than half in the Red Wall group. "

I was continually likening this to a vast city rather than a landscape, but it was a city of no man's creation nor of any man's conception. Inthe visions which inspired or crazy painters have had of the NewJerusalem, of Babylon the Great, of a heaven in the atmosphere, withendless perspective of towers and steeps that hang in the twilight sky, the imagination has tried to reach this reality. But here are effectsbeyond the artist, forms the architect has not hinted at; and yeteverything reminds us of man's work. And the explorers have tried by theuse of Oriental nomenclature to bring it within our comprehension, theEast being the land of the imagination. There is the HindooAmphitheatre, the Bright Angel Amphitheatre, the Ottoman Amphitheatre, Shiva's Temple, Vishnu's Temple, Vulcan's Throne. And here, indeed, isthe idea of the pagoda architecture, of the terrace architecture, of thebizarre constructions which rise with projecting buttresses, rows ofpillars, recesses, battlements, esplanades, and low walls, hanginggardens, and truncated pinnacles. It is a city, but a city of theimagination. In many pages I could tell what I saw in one day's loungingfor a mile or so along the edge of the precipice. The view changed atevery step, and was never half an hour the same in one place. Nor did itneed much fancy to create illusions or pictures of unearthly beauty. There was a castle, terraced up with columns, plain enough, and below ita parade-ground; at any moment the knights in armor and with bannersmight emerge from the red gates and deploy there, while the ladieslooked down from the balconies. But there were many castles andfortresses and barracks and noble mansions. And the rich sculpture inthis brilliant color! In time I began to see queer details: a Richardsonhouse, with low portals and round arches, surmounted by a Nuremberggable; perfect panels, 600 feet high, for the setting of pictures; atrain of cars partly derailed at the door of a long, low warehouse, witha garden in front of it. There was no end to such devices. 

It was long before I could comprehend the vastness of the view, see theenormous chasms and rents and seams, and the many architectural rangesseparated by great gulfs, between me and the wall of the mesa twelvemiles distant. Away to the north-east was the blue Navajo Mountain, thelone peak in the horizon; but on the southern side of it lay a desertlevel, which in the afternoon light took on the exact appearance of ablue lake; its edge this side was a wall thousands of feet high, manymiles in length, and straightly horizontal; over this seemed to fallwater. I could see the foam of it at the foot of the cliff; and belowthat was a lake of shimmering silver, in which the giant precipice andthe fall and their color were mirrored. Of course there was no silverlake, and the reflection that simulated it was only the sun on the lowerpart of the immense wall. 

Some one said that all that was needed to perfect this scene was aNiagara Falls. I thought what figure a fall 150 feet high and 3000 longwould make in this arena. It would need a spy-glass to discover it. Anadequate Niagara here should be at least three miles in breadth, andfall 2000 feet over one of these walls. And the Yosemite--ah! the lovelyYosemite! Dumped down into this wilderness of gorges and mountains, itwould take a guide who knew of its existence a long time to find it. 

The process of creation is here laid bare through the geologic periods. The strata of rock, deposited or upheaved, preserve their horizontal andparallel courses. If we imagine a river flowing on a plain, it wouldwear for itself a deeper and deeper channel. The walls of this channelwould recede irregularly by weathering and by the coming in of otherstreams. The channel would go on deepening, and the outer walls wouldagain recede. If the rocks were of different material and degrees ofhardness, the forms would be carved in the fantastic and architecturalmanner we find them here. The Colorado flows through the tortuous innerchasm, and where we see it, it is 6000 feet below the surface where westand, and below the towers of the terraced forms nearer it. Thesplendid views of the cañon at this point given in Captain Dutton'sreport are from Point Sublime, on the north side. There seems to havebeen no way of reaching the river from that point. From the south sidethe descent, though wearisome, is feasible. It reverses mountaineeringto descend 6000 feet for a view, and there is a certain pleasure instanding on a mountain summit without the trouble of climbing it. Hance, the guide, who has charge of the well, has made a path to the bottom. The route is seven miles long. Half-way down he has a house by a spring. At the bottom, somewhere in those depths, is a sort of farm, grasscapable of sustaining horses and cattle, and ground where fruit-treescan grow. Horses are actually living there, and parties descend therewith tents, and camp for days at a time. It is a world of its own. Someof the photographic views presented here, all inadequate, are taken frompoints on Hance's trail. But no camera or pen can convey an adequateconception of what Captain Dutton happily calls a great innovation inthe modern ideas of scenery. To the eye educated to any other, it may beshocking, grotesque, incomprehensible; but "those who have long andcarefully studied the Grand Cañon of the Colorado do not hesitate for amoment to pronounce it by far the most sublime of all earthlyspectacles. "

I have space only to refer to the geologic history in Captain Dutton'sreport of 1882, of which there should be a popular edition. The watersof the Atlantic once overflowed this region, and were separated from thePacific, if at all, only by a ridge. The story is of long eras ofdeposits, of removal, of upheaval, and of volcanic action. It isestimated that in one period the thickness of strata removed andtransported away was 10, 000 feet. Long after the Colorado began its workof corrosion there was a mighty upheaval. The reader will find the storyof the making of the Grand Cañon more fascinating than any romance. 

Without knowing this story the impression that one has in looking onthis scene is that of immense antiquity, hardly anywhere else on earthso overwhelming as here. It has been here in all its lonely grandeur andtranscendent beauty, exactly as it is, for what to us is an eternity, unknown, unseen by human eye. To the recent Indian, who roved along itsbrink or descended to its recesses, it was not strange, because he hadknown no other than the plateau scenery. It is only within a quarter ofa century that the Grand Cañon has been known to the civilized world. Itis scarcely known now. It is a world largely unexplored. Those who bestknow it are most sensitive to its awe and splendor. It is never twicethe same, for, as I said, it has an atmosphere of its own. I was told byHance that he once saw a thunder-storm in it. He described the chaos ofclouds in the pit, the roar of the tempest, the reverberations ofthunder, the inconceivable splendor of the rainbows mingled with thecolors of the towers and terraces. It was as if the world were breakingup. He fled away to his hut in terror. 

The day is near when this scenery must be made accessible. A railway caneasily be built from Flagstaff. The projected road from Utah, crossingthe Colorado at Lee's Ferry, would come within twenty miles of theGrand Cañon, and a branch to it could be built. The region is arid, andin the "sight-seeing" part of the year the few surface wells and springsare likely to go dry. The greatest difficulty would be in procuringwater for railway service or for such houses of entertainment as arenecessary. It could, no doubt, be piped from the San Francisco Mountain. At any rate, ingenuity will overcome the difficulties, and travellersfrom the wide world will flock thither, for there is revealed thelong-kept secret, the unique achievement of nature. 

APPENDIX. 

A CLIMATE FOR INVALIDS. 

The following notes on the climate of Southern California, written byDr. H. A. Johnson, of Chicago, at the solicitation of the writer of thisvolume and for his information, I print with his permission, because thetestimony of a physician who has made a special study of climatology inEurope and America, and is a recognized authority, belongs of right tothe public:

 The choice of a climate for invalids or semi-invalids involves the consideration of: First, the invalid, his physical condition (that is, disease), his peculiarities (mental and emotional), his social habits, and his natural and artificial needs. Second, the elements of climate, such as temperature, moisture, direction and force of winds, the averages of the elements, the extremes of variation, and the rapidity of change. 

 The climates of the western and south-western portions of the United States are well suited to a variety of morbid conditions, especially those pertaining to the pulmonary organs and the nervous system. Very few localities, however, are equally well adapted to diseases of innervation of circulation and respiration. For the first and second, as a rule, high altitudes are not advisable; for the third, altitudes of from two thousand to six thousand feet are not only admissible but by many thought to be desirable. It seems, however, probable that it is to the dryness of the air and the general antagonisms to vegetable growths, rather than to altitude alone, that the benefits derived in these regions by persons suffering from consumption and kindred diseases should be credited. 

 Proximity to large bodies of water, river valleys, and damp plateaus are undesirable as places of residence for invalids with lung troubles. There are exceptions to this rule. Localities near the sea with a climate subject to slight variations in temperature, a dry atmosphere, little rainfall, much sunshine, not so cold in winter as to prevent much out-door life and not so hot in summer as to make out-door exercise exhausting, are well adapted not only to troubles of the nervous and circulatory systems, but also to those of the respiratory organs. 

 Such a climate is found in the extreme southern portions of California. At San Diego the rainfall is much less, the air is drier, and the number of sunshiny days very much larger than on our Atlantic seaboard, or in Central and Northern California. The winters are not cold; flowers bloom in the open air all the year round; the summers are not hot. The mountains and sea combine to give to this region a climate with few sudden changes, and with a comfortable range of all essential elements. 

 A residence during a part of the winter of 1889-90 at Coronado Beach, and a somewhat careful study of the comparative climatology of the south-western portions of the United States, leads me to think that we have few localities where the comforts of life can be secured, and which at the same time are so well adapted to the needs of a variety of invalids, as San Diego and its surroundings. In saying this I do not wish to be understood as preferring it to all others for some one condition or disease, but only that for weak hearts, disabled lungs, and worn-out nerves it seems to me to be unsurpassed. 

 CHICAGO, _July 12, 1890_. 

THE COMING OF WINTER IN SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA. 

From Mr. Theodore S. Van Dyke's altogether admirable book on _SouthernCalifornia_ I have permission to quote the following exquisitedescription of the floral procession from December to March, when theLand of the Sun is awakened by the first winter rain:

 Sometimes this season commences with a fair rain in November, after a light shower or two in October, but some of the very best seasons begin about the time that all begin to lose hope. November adds its full tribute to the stream of sunshine that for months has poured along the land; and, perhaps, December closes the long file of cloudless days with banners of blue and gold. The plains and slopes lie bare and brown; the low hills that break away from them are yellow with dead foxtail or wild oats, gray with mustard-stalks, or ashy green with chemisal or sage. Even the chaparral, that robes the higher hills in living green, has a tired air, and the long timber-line that marks the cañon winding up the mountain-slopes is decidedly paler. The sea-breeze has fallen off to a faint breath of air; the land lies silent and dreamy with golden haze; the air grows drier, the sun hotter, and the shade cooler; the smoke of brush-fires hangs at times along the sky; the water has risen in the springs and sloughs as if to meet the coming rain, but it has never looked less like rain than it now does. 

 Suddenly a new wind arises from the vast watery plains upon the south-west; long, fleecy streams of cloud reach out along the sky; the distant mountain-tops seem swimming in a film of haze, and the great California weather prophet--a creature upon whom the storms of adverse experience have beaten for years without making even a weather crack in the smooth cheek of his conceit--lavishes his wisdom as confidently as if he had never made a false prediction. After a large amount of fuss, and enough preliminary skirmishing over the sky for a dozen storms in any Eastern State, the clouds at last get ready, and a soft pattering is heard upon the roof--the sweetest music that ever cheers a Californian ear, and one which the author of "The Rain upon the Roof" should have heard before writing his poem. 

 When the sun again appears it is with a softer, milder beam than before. The land looks bright and refreshed, like a tired and dirty boy who has had a good bath and a nap, and already the lately bare plains and hill-sides show a greenish tinge. Fine little leaves of various kinds are springing from the ground, but nearly all are lost in a general profusion of dark green ones, of such shape and delicacy of texture that a careless eye might readily take them for ferns. This is the alfileria, the prevailing flower of the land. The rain may continue at intervals. Daily the land grows greener, while the shades of green, varied by the play of sunlight on the slopes and rolling hills, increase in number and intensity. Here the color is soft, and there bright; yonder it rolls in wavy alternations, and yonder it reaches in an unbroken shade where the plain sweeps broad and free. For many weeks green is the only color, though cold nights may perhaps tinge it with a rusty red. About the first of February a little starlike flower of bluish pink begins to shine along the ground. This is the bloom of the alfileria, and swiftly it spreads from the southern slopes, where it begins, and runs from meadow to hill-top. Soon after a cream-colored bell-flower begins to nod from a tall, slender stalk; another of sky-blue soon opens beside it; beneath these a little five-petaled flower of deep pink tries to outshine the blossoms of the alfileria; and above them soon stands the radiant shooting-star, with reflexed petals of white, yellow, and pink shining behind its purplish ovaries. On every side violets, here of the purest golden hue and overpowering fragrance, appear in numbers beyond all conception. And soon six or seven varieties of clover, all with fine, delicate leaves, unfold flowers of yellow, red, and pink. Delicate little crucifers of white and yellow shine modestly below all these; little cream-colored flowers on slender scapes look skyward on every side; while others of purer white, with every variety of petal, crowd up among them. Standing now upon some hill-side that commands miles of landscape, one is dazzled with a blaze of color, from acres and acres of pink, great fields of violets, vast reaches of blue, endless sweeps of white. 

 Upon this--merely the warp of the carpet about to cover the land--the sun fast weaves a woof of splendor. Along the southern slopes of the lower hills soon beams the orange light of the poppy, which swiftly kindles the adjacent slopes, then flames along the meadow, and blazes upon the northern hill-sides. Spires of green, mounting on every side, soon open upon the top into lilies of deep lavender, and the scarlet bracts of the painted-cup glow side by side with the crimson of the cardinal-flower. And soon comes the iris, with its broad golden eye fringed with rays of lavender blue; and five varieties of phacelia overwhelm some places with waves of purple, blue, indigo, and whitish pink. The evening primrose covers the lower slopes with long sheets of brightest yellow, and from the hills above the rock-rose adds its golden bloom to that of the sorrel and the wild alfalfa, until the hills almost outshine the bright light from the slopes and plains. And through all this nods a tulip of most delicate lavender; vetches, lupins, and all the members of the wild-pea family are pushing and winding their way everywhere in every shade of crimson, purple, and white; along the ground crowfoot weaves a mantle of white, through which, amid a thousand comrades, the orthocarpus rears its tufted head of pink. Among all these are mixed a thousand other flowers, plenty enough as plenty would be accounted in other countries, but here mere pin-points on a great map of colors. 

 As the stranger gazes upon this carpet that now covers hill and dale, undulates over the table-lands, and robes even the mountain with a brilliancy and breadth of color that strikes the eye from miles away, he exhausts his vocabulary of superlatives, and goes away imagining he has seen it all. Yet he has seen only the background of an embroidery more varied, more curious and splendid, than the carpet upon which it is wrought. Asters bright with centre of gold and lavender rays soon shine high above the iris, and a new and larger tulip of deepest yellow nods where its lavender cousin is drooping its lately proud head. New bell-flowers of white and blue and indigo rise above the first, which served merely as ushers to the display, and whole acres ablaze with the orange of the poppy are fast turning with the indigo of the larkspur. Where the ground was lately aglow with the marigold and the four-o'clock the tall penstemon now reaches out a hundred arms full-hung with trumpets of purple and pink. Here the silene rears high its head with fringed corolla of scarlet; and there the wild gooseberry dazzles the eye with a perfect shower of tubular flowers of the same bright color. The mimulus alone is almost enough to color the hills. Half a dozen varieties, some with long, narrow, trumpet-shaped flowers, others with broad flaring mouths; some of them tall herbs, and others large shrubs, with varying shades of dark red, light red, orange, cream-color, and yellow, spangle hill-side, rock-pile, and ravine. Among them the morning-glory twines with flowers of purest white, new lupins climb over the old ones, and the trailing vetch festoons rock and shrub and tree with long garlands of crimson, purple, and pink. Over the scarlet of the gooseberry or the gold of the high-bush mimulus along the hills, the honeysuckle hangs its tubes of richest cream-color, and the wild cucumber pours a shower of white over the green leaves of the sumach or sage. Snap-dragons of blue and white, dandelions that you must look at three or four times to be certain what they are, thistles that are soft and tender with flowers too pretty for the thistle family, orchids that you may try in vain to classify, and sages and mints of which you can barely recognize the genera, with cruciferæ, compositæ, and what-not, add to the glare and confusion. 

 Meanwhile, the chaparral, which during the long dry season has robed the hills in sombre green, begins to brighten with new life; new leaves adorn the ragged red arms of the manzanita, and among them blow thousands of little urn-shaped flowers of rose-color and white. The bright green of one lilac is almost lost in a luxuriance of sky-blue blossoms, and the white lilac looks at a distance as if drifted over with snow. The cercocarpus almost rivals the lilac in its display of white and blue, and the dark, forbidding adenostoma now showers forth dense panicles of little white flowers. Here, too, a new mimulus pours floods of yellow light, and high above them all the yucca rears its great plume of purple and white. 

 Thus marches on for weeks the floral procession, new turns bringing new banners into view, or casting on old ones a brighter light, but ever showing a riotous profusion of splendor until member after member drops gradually out of the ranks, and only a band of stragglers is left marching away into the summer. But myriads of ferns, twenty-one varieties of which are quite common, and of a fineness and delicacy rarely seen elsewhere, still stand green in the shade of the rocks and trees along the hills, and many a flower lingers in the timber or cañons long after its friends on the open hills or plains have faded away. In the cañons and timber are also many flowers that are not found in the open ground, and as late as the middle of September, only twenty miles from the sea, and at an elevation of but fifteen hundred feet, I have gathered bouquets that would attract immediate attention anywhere. The whole land abounds with flowers both curious and lovely; but those only have been mentioned which force themselves upon one's attention. Where the sheep have not ruined all beauty, and the rains have been sufficient, they take as full possession of the land as the daisy and wild carrot do of some Eastern meadows. There are thousands of others, which it would be a hopeless task to enumerate, which are even more numerous than most of the favorite wild flowers are in the East, yet they are not abundant enough to give character to the country. For instance, there is a great larkspur, six feet high, with a score of branching arms, all studded with spurred flowers of such brilliant red that it looks like a fountain of strontium fire; but you will not see it every time you turn around. A tall lily grows in the same way, with a hundred golden flowers shining on its many arms, but it must be sought in certain places. So the tiger-lily and the columbine must be sought in the mountains, the rose and sweetbrier on low ground, the night-shades and the helianthus in the timbered cañons and gulches. 

 Delicacy and brilliancy characterize nearly all the California flowers, and nearly all are so strange, so different from the other members of their families, that they would be an ornament to any greenhouse. The alfileria, for instance, is the richest and strongest fodder in the world. It is the main-stay of the stock-grower, and when raked up after drying makes excellent hay; yet it is a geranium, delicate and pretty, when not too rank. 

 But suddenly the full blaze of color is gone, and the summer is at hand. Brown tints begin to creep over the plains; the wild oats no longer ripple in silvery waves beneath the sun and wind; and the foxtail, that shone so brightly green along the hill-side, takes on a golden hue. The light lavender tint of the chorizanthe now spreads along the hills where the poppy so lately flamed, and over the dead morning-glory the dodder weaves its orange floss. A vast army of cruciferæ and compositæ soon overruns the land with bright yellow, and numerous varieties of mint tinge it with blue or purple; but the greater portion of the annual vegetation is dead or dying. The distant peaks of granite now begin to glow at evening with a soft purple hue; the light poured into the deep ravines towards sundown floods them with a crimson mist; on the shady hill-sides the chaparral looks bluer, and on the sunny hill-sides is a brighter green than before. 

COMPARATIVE TEMPERATURE AROUND THE WORLD. 

The following table, published by the Pasadena Board of Trade, shows thecomparative temperature of well-known places in various parts of theworld, arranged according to the difference between their average winterand average summer:

-----------------------------------------------------------------------Place. | Winter. | Spring. | Summer. | Autumn. | Difference | | | | | Summer, | | | | | Winter. -----------------------------------------------------------------------Funchal, Madeira | 62. 88 | 64. 55 | 70. 89 | 70. 19 | 8. 01St. Michael, Azores | 57. 83 | 61. 17 | 68. 33 | 62. 33 | 10. 50PASADENA | 56. 00 | 61. 07 | 67. 61 | 62. 31 | 11. 61Santa Cruz, Canaries | 64. 65 | 68. 87 | 76. 68 | 74. 17 | 12. 03Santa Barbara | 54. 29 | 59. 45 | 67. 71 | 63. 11 | 13. 42Nassau, Bahama Islands | 70. 67 | 77. 67 | 86. 00 | 80. 33 | 15. 33San Diego, California | 54. 09 | 60. 14 | 69. 67 | 64. 63 | 15. 58Cadiz, Spain | 52. 90 | 59. 93 | 70. 43 | 65. 35 | 17. 53Lisbon, Portugal | 53. 00 | 60. 00 | 71. 00 | 62. 00 | 18. 00Malta | 57. 46 | 62. 76 | 78. 20 | 71. 03 | 20. 74Algiers | 55. 00 | 66. 00 | 77. 00 | 60. 00 | 22. 00St Augustine, Florida | 58. 25 | 68. 69 | 80. 36 | 71. 90 | 22. 11Rome, Italy | 48. 90 | 57. 65 | 72. 16 | 63. 96 | 23. 26Sacramento, California | 47. 92 | 59. 17 | 71. 19 | 61. 72 | 23. 27Mentone | 49. 50 | 60. 00 | 73. 00 | 56. 60 | 23. 50Nice, Italy | 47. 88 | 56. 23 | 72. 26 | 61. 63 | 24. 44New Orleans, Louisiana | 56. 00 | 69. 37 | 81. 08 | 69. 80 | 25. 08Cairo, Egypt | 58. 52 | 73. 58 | 85. 10 | 71. 48 | 26. 58Jacksonville, Florida | 55. 02 | 68. 88 | 81. 93 | 62. 54 | 96. 91Pau, France | 41. 86 | 54. 06 | 70. 72 | 57. 39 | 28. 86Florence, Italy | 44. 30 | 56. 00 | 74. 00 | 60. 70 | 29. 70San Antonio, Texas | 52. 74 | 70. 48 | 83. 73 | 71. 56 | 30. 99Aiken, South Carolina | 45. 82 | 61. 32 | 77. 36 | 61. 96 | 31. 54Fort Yuma, California | 57. 96 | 73. 40 | 92. 07 | 75. 66 | 34. 11Visalia, California | 45. 38 | 59. 40 | 80. 78 | 60. 34 | 35. 40Santa Fé, New Mexico | 30. 28 | 50. 06 | 70. 50 | 51. 34 | 40. 22Boston, Mass | 28. 08 | 45. 61 | 68. 68 | 51. 04 | 40. 60New York, N. Y. | 31. 93 | 48. 26 | 72. 62 | 48. 50 | 40. 69Albuquerque, New Mexico| 34. 78 | 56. 36 | 76. 27 | 56. 33 | 41. 40Denver, Colorado, | 27. 66 | 46. 33 | 71. 66 | 47. 16 | 44. 00St. Paul, Minnesota | 15. 09 | 41. 29 | 68. 03 | 44. 98 | 52. 94Minneapolis, Minnesota | 12. 87 | 40. 12 | 68. 34 | 45. 33 | 55. 47-----------------------------------------------------------------------

CALIFORNIA AND ITALY. 

The Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce, in its pamphlet describing thatcity and county, gives a letter from the Signal Service Observer atSacramento, comparing the temperature of places in California and Italy. He writes:

 To prove to your many and intelligent readers the equability and uniformity Of the climate of Santa Barbara, San Diego, and Los Angeles, as compared with Mentone and San Remo, of the Riviera of Italy and of Corfu, I append the monthly temperature for each place. Please notice a much warmer temperature in winter at the California stations, and also a much cooler summer temperature at the same places than at any of the foreign places, except Corfu. The table speaks with more emphasis and certainty than I can, and is as follows:

+-----------+---------+-----------+----------+----------+---------+---------+| | San | Santa | Los | | San | || Month. | Diego's | Barbara's | Angeles' | Mentone's| Remo's | Corfu's || | mean temperature. |+-----------+---------+-----------+----------+----------+---------+---------+|January | 53. 7 | 54. 4 | 52. 8 | 48. 2 | 47. 2 | 53. 6 ||February | 54. 2 | 55. 6 | 54. 2 | 48. 5 | 50. 2 | 51. 8 ||March | 55. 6 | 56. 4 | 56. 0 | 52. 0 | 52. 0 | 53. 6 ||April | 57. 8 | 58. 8 | 57. 9 | 57. 2 | 57. 0 | 58. 3 ||May | 61. 1 | 60. 2 | 61. 0 | 63. 0 | 62. 9 | 66. 7 ||June | 64. 4 | 62. 6 | 65. 5 | 70. 0 | 69. 2 | 72. 3 ||July | 67. 3 | 65. 7 | 68. 3 | 75. 0 | 74. 3 | 67. 7 ||August | 68. 7 | 67. 0 | 69. 5 | 75. 0 | 73. 8 | 81. 3 ||September | 66. 6 | 65. 6 | 67. 5 | 69. 0 | 70. 6 | 78. 8 ||October | 62. 5 | 62. 1 | 62. 7 | 74. 4 | 61. 8 | 70. 8 ||November | 58. 2 | 58. 0 | 58. 8 | 54. 0 | 58. 3 | 63. 8 ||December | 55. 5 | 55. 3 | 54. 8 | 49. 0 | 49. 3 | 68. 4 || | | | | | | || Averages | 60. 6 | 60. 2 | 60. 4 | 60. 4 | 60. 1 | 65. 6 |+-----------+---------+-----------+----------+----------+---------+---------+

The table on pages 210 and 211, "Extremes of Heat and Cold, " ispublished by the San Diego Land and Farm Company, whose pamphlet says:

 The United States records at San Diego Signal Station show that in ten years there were but 120 days on which the mercury passed 80°. Of these 120 there were but 41 on which it passed 85°, but 22 when it passed 90°, but four over 95°, and only one over 100°; to wit, 101°, the highest ever recorded here. During all this time there was not a day on which the mercury did not fall to at least 70° during the night, and there were but five days on which it did not fall even lower. During the same ten years there were but six days on which the mercury fell below 35°. This low temperature comes only in extremely dry weather in winter, and lasts but a few minutes, happening just before sunrise. On two of these six days it fell to 32° at daylight, the lowest point ever registered here. The lowest mid-day temperature is 52°, occurring only four times in these ten years. From 65° to 70° is the average temperature of noonday throughout the greater part of the year. 

FIVE YEARS IN SANTA BARBARA. 

[Transcriber's note: Table has been turned from original to fit, alongwith using abbreviations for the months and a legend. ]

The following table, from the self-registering thermometer in theobservatory of Mr. Hugh D. Vail, shows the mean temperature of eachmonth in the years 1885 to 1889 at Santa Barbara, and also the meantemperature of the warmest and coldest days in each month:

A = Mean Temperature of each Month. B = Mean Temperature of Warmest Day. C = Mean Temperature of Coldest Day. D = Monthly Rainfall, Inches. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ MONTH. Jan. | Feb. | Mar. | Apr. | May | June| July| Aug. | Sep. | Oct. | Nov. | Dec. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------1885. A|53. 2 | 56. 7 |59. 1 |60. 9 |60. 0 |62. 0 | 66. 1| 68. 0| 66. 9| 63. 0|58. 9 | 57. 2 B|57. 0 | 65. 5 |62, 5 |70. 5 |64. 6 |68. 0 | 73. 0| 78. 8| 78. 8| 72. 0|64. 8 | 65. 7 C|49. 5 | 51, 5 |56. 0 |54. 0 |54. 0 |58. 5 | 62. 2| 62. 5| 72. 0| 58. 5|50. 0 | 52. 0-----------------------------------------------------------------------------1886. A|55. 0 | 59. 6 |53. 1 |55. 7 |60. 5 |62. 0 | 66. 3| 68. 2| 63. 8| 58. 3|56. 3 | 55. 8 B|73. 5 | 70. 0 |59. 5 |61. 5 |65. 5 |67. 5 | 72. 0| 72. 0| 68. 3| 62. 5|66. 2 | 65. 8 C|47. 5 | 45. 0 |46. 2 |50. 5 |54. 0 |58. 5 | 63. 3| 63. 2| 57. 0| 51. 7|49. 8 | 49. 5------------------------------------------------------------------------------1887. A|54. 67| 50. 4 |57. 0 |58. 43|60. 0 |63. 7 | 64. 6| 64. 8| 66. 0| 65. 0|58. 9 | 52. 8 B|63. 5 | 61. 1 |64. 8 |66. 8 |67. 0 |79. 0 | 71. 3| 69. 7| 70. 5| 74. 0|65. 3 | 59. 6 C|49. 0 | 45. 3 |52. 0 |51. 0 |53. 3 |59. 0 | 60. 9| 62. 0| 61. 5| 59. 3|47. 5 | 49. 0------------------------------------------------------------------------------1888. A|49. 0 | 53. 8 |53. 0 |59. 9 |57. 6 |64. 4 | 67. 0| 66. 3| 67. 9| 63. 5|59 8 |. 56. 5 B|58. 7 | 57. 5 |60. 5 |75. 0 |64. 5 |69. 0 | 72. 0| 72. 0| 76. 2| 76. 9|61. 3 | 63. 0 C|41. 0 | 49. 0 |46. 0 |53. 0 |51. 7 |59. 5 | 63. 0| 63. 5| 63. 2| 59. 0|54. 5 | 52. 0------------------------------------------------------------------------------1889. A|53. 0 | 55. 4 |58. 0 |59. 9 |60. 0 |62. 5 | 64. 2| 67. 3| 68. 8| 63. 9|59. 6 | 54. 4 B|58. 0 | 65. 0 |67. 0 |72. 7 |68. 5 |65. 7 | 84. 0| 77. 0| 78. 0| 70. 3|65. 7 | 60. 7 C|48. 8 | 45. 5 |52. 5 |52. 7 |54. 5 |58. 5 | 61. 0| 63. 0| 62. 0| 60. 0|54. 5 | 50. 0 D| 0. 29| 1. 29| 7. 31| 0. 49| 0. 76| 0. 13| ... | ... | ... | 8. 69| 3. 21| 10. 64

Observations made at San Diego City, compiled from Report Of the ChiefSignal Officer of the U. S. Army. 

[Transcriber's note: Table has been modified from original to fit, usingabbreviations for the months and a legend. ]

Column headers:a = Average number of cloudy days for each month and year. B = Average number of fair days for each month and year. C = Average number of clear days for each month and year. D = Average cloudiness, scale 0 to 10, for each month and year. E = Average hourly velocity of wind for each month and year. F = Average precipitation for each month and year. G = Minimum temperature for each month and year. H = Maximum temperature for each month and year. I = Mean temperature for each month and year. J = Mean normal barometer of San Diego for each month and year for four years. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ | OBSERVATIONS EXTENDING OVER A PERIOD OF TWELVE YEARS. MONTH. | a | b | c | d | e f | g | h | i | j---------+------------------------------------------------------------+-------January | 8. 5 | 11. 2 | 11. 3 | 4. 1 | 5. 1 | 1. 85 | 32. 0 | 78. 0 | 53. 6 | 30. 027February | 7. 9 | 11. 3 | 9. 0 | 4. 4 | 6. 0 | 2. 07 | 35. 0 | 82. 6 | 54. 3 | 30. 058March | 9. 6. | 12. 7 | 8. 7 | 4. 8 | 6. 4 | 0. 97 | 38. 0 | 99. 0 | 55. 7 | 30. 004April | 7. 9 | 11. 9 | 10. 2 | 4. 4 | 6. 6 | 0. 68 | 39. 0 | 87. 0 | 57. 7 | 29. 965May |10. 9 | 12. 1 | 8. 0 | 5. 2 | 6. 7 | 0. 26 | 45. 4 | 94. 0 | 61. 0 | 29. 893June | 8. 1. | 15. 2 | 6. 7 | 5. 0 | 6. 3 | 0. 05 | 51. 0 | 94. 0 | 64. 4 | 29. 864July | 6. 7 | 16. 1 | 8. 2 | 4. 7 | 6. 3 | 0. 02 | 54. 0 | 86. 0 | 67. 1 | 29. 849August | 4. 7 | 16. 9 | 9. 4 | 4. 1 | 6. 0 | 0. 23 | 54. 0 | 86. 0 | 68. 7 | 29. 894September| 4. 4 | 13. 9 | 11. 7 | 3. 7 | 5. 9 | 0. 05 | 49. 5 |101. 0 | 66. 8 | 29. 840October | 5. 6 | 12. 6 | 12. 8 | 3. 9 | 5. 4 | 0. 49 | 44. 0 | 92. 0 | 62. 9 | 29. 905November | 6. 5 | 10. 0 | 13. 5 | 3. 6 | 5. 1 | 0. 70 | 38. 0 | 85. 0 | 58. 3 | 29. 991December | 6. 6 | 11. 2 | 13. 2 | 3. 7 | 5. 1 | 2. 12 | 32. 0 | 82. 0 | 55. 6 | 30. 009Mean | | | | | | | | | | annual |87. 4 |155. 1 |122. 7 | 4. 3 | 5. 9. | 9. 49 | 42. 6 | 88. 8 | 60. 5 | 29. 942------------------------------------------------------------------------------

EXTREMES OF HEAT AND COLD. 

The following table, taken from the Report of the Chief Signal Officer, shows the highest and lowest temperatures recorded since the opening ofstations of the Signal Service at the points named, for the number ofyears indicated. An asterisk (*) denotes below zero:

a = Maximumb = Minimumc = Number of Years of Observation. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------- | | Jan. | Feb. | March. | April. | May. | June. |-------------------------------------------------------------------------Locality of Station | c | a | b | a | b | a | b | a | b | a | b | a | b |-------------------------------------------------------------------------Charleston, S. C. | 12| 80| 23| 78| 26| 85| 28| 87| 32| 94| 47| 94| 65|Denver, Col. | 12| 67|*29| 72|*22| 81|*10| 83| 4| 92| 27| 89| 50|Jacksonville, Fla. | 12| 80| 24| 83| 32| 88| 31| 91| 37| 99| 48|101| 62|L'S ANG'LES, CAL. | 6| 82| 30| 86| 28| 99| 34| 94| 39|100| 40|104| 47|New Orleans, La. | 13| 78| 20| 80| 33| 84| 37| 86| 38| 92| 56| 97| 65|Newport, R. I. | 2| 48| 2| 50| 4| 60| 4| 62| 26| 75| 33| 91| 41|New York | 13| 64| *6| 69| *4| 72| *3| 81| 20| 94| 34| 95| 47|Pensacola, Fla. | 4| 74| 29| 78| 31| 79| 36| 87| 34| 93| 47| 97| 64|SAN DIEGO, CAL. | 12| 78| 32| 83| 35| 99| 38| 87| 39| 94| 45| 94| 51|San Francisco, Cal. | 12| 69| 36| 71| 35| 77| 39| 81| 40| 86| 45| 95| 48|-------------------------------------------------------------------------

EXTREMES OF HEAT AND COLD. --_Continued. _

------------------------------------------------------------------------- | | July. | Aug. | Sept. | Oct. | Nov. | Dec. |-------------------------------------------------------------------------Locality of Station | c | a | b | a | b | a | b | a | b | a | b | a | b |-------------------------------------------------------------------------Charleston, S. C. | 12| 94| 69| 96| 69| 94| 64| 89| 49| 81| 33| 78| 22|Denver, Col. | 12| 91| 59| 93| 60| 93| 51| 84| 38| 73| 23| 69| 1|Jacksonville, Fla. | 12|104| 68|100| 66| 98| 56| 92| 40| 84| 30| 81| 19|L'S ANG'LES, CAL. | 6| 98| 51|100| 50|104| 44| 97| 43| 86| 34| 88| 30|New Orleans, La. | 13| 96| 70| 97| 69| 92| 58| 89| 40| 82| 32| 78| 20|Newport, R. I. | 9| 87| 56| 85| 45| 77| 39| 75| 29| 62| 17| 56| *9|New York | 13| 99| 57| 96| 53|100| 36| 83| 31| 74| 7| 66| *6|Pensacola, Fla. | 4| 97| 64| 93| 69| 93| 57| 89| 45| 81| 28| 76| 17|SAN DIEGO, CAL. | 12| 86| 54| 86| 54|101| 50| 92| 44| 85| 38| 82| 32|San Francisco, Cal. | 12| 83| 49| 89| 50| 92| 50| 84| 45| 78| 41| 68| 34|-------------------------------------------------------------------------

STATEMENTS OF SMALL CROPS. 

The following statements of crops on small pieces of ground, mostly inLos Angeles County, in 1890, were furnished to the Chamber of Commercein Los Angeles, and are entirely trustworthy. Nearly all of them beardate August 1st. This is a fair sample from all Southern California:

 PEACHES. 

 Ernest Dewey, Pomona--Golden Cling Peaches, 10 acres, 7 years old, produced 47 tons green; sold dried for $4800; cost of production, $243. 70; net profit, $4556. 30. Soil, sandy loam; not irrigated. Amount of rain, 28 inches, winter of 1889-90. 

 H. H. Rose, Santa Anita Township (3/4 of a mile from Lamanda Park)--2-6/7 acres; produced 47, 543 pounds; sold for $863. 46; cost of production, $104; net profit, $759. 46. Soil, light sandy loam; not irrigated. Produced in 1889 12, 000 pounds, which sold at $1. 70 per 100 pounds. 

 E. R. Thompson, Azusa (2 miles south of depot)--2-1/6 acres, 233 trees, produced 57, 655 pounds; sold for $864. 82-1/2; cost of production, $140; net profit, $724. 82-1/2. Soil, sandy loam; irrigated three times in summer, 1 inch to 7 acres. Trees 7 years old, not more than two-thirds grown. 

 P. O'Connor, Downey--20 trees produced 4000 pounds; sold for $60; cost of production $5; net profit, $55. Soil, sandy loam; not irrigated. Crop sold on the ground. 

 H. Hood, Downey City (1/4 of a mile from depot)--1/4 of an acre produced 7-1/2 tons; sold for $150; cost of production, $10; net profit, $140. Damp sandy soil; not irrigated. 

 F. D. Smith (between Azusa and Glendora, 1-1/4 miles from depot)--1 acre produced 14, 361 pounds; sold for $252. 51; cost of production, $20; net profit, $232. 51. Dark sandy loam; irrigated once. Trees 5 and 6 years old. 

 P. O. Johnson, Ranchito--17 trees, 10 years old, produced 4-3/4 tons; sold 4-1/4 tons for $120; cost of production, $10; net profit, $110; very little irrigation. Sales were 1/2c. Per pound under market rate. 

 PRUNES. 

 E. P. Naylor (3 miles from Pomona)--15 acres produced 149 tons; sold for $7450; cost of production, $527; net profit, $6923. Soil, loam, with some sand; irrigated, 1 inch per 10 acres. 

 W. H. Baker, Downey (1/2 a mile from depot)--1-1/2 acres produced 12, 529 pounds; sold for $551. 90; cost of production, $50; net profit, $501. 90. Soil, sandy loam; not irrigated. 

 Howe Bros. (2 miles from Lordsburg)--800 trees, which had received no care for 2 years, produced 28 tons; sold for $1400; cost of production, $200; net profit, $1200. Soil, gravelly loam, red; partially irrigated. Messrs. Howe state that they came into possession of this place in March, 1890. The weeds were as high as the trees and the ground was very hard. Only about 500 of the trees had a fair crop on them. 

 W. A. Spalding, Azusa--1/3 of an acre produced 10, 404 pounds; sold for $156. 06; cost of production, $10; net profit, $146. 06. Soil, sandy loam. 

 E. A. Hubbard, Pomona (1-1/2 miles from depot)--4-1/2 acres produced 24 tons; sold green for $1080; cost of production, $280; net profit, $800. Soil, dark sandy loam; irrigated. This entire ranch of 9 acres was bought in 1884 for $1575. 

 F. M. Smith (1-1/4 miles east of Azusa)--3/5 of an acre produced 17, 174 pounds; sold for $315. 84; cost of production, $25; net profit, $290. Soil, deep, dark sandy loam; irrigated once in the spring. Trees 5 years old. 

 George Rhorer (1/2 of a mile east of North Pomona)--13 acres produced 88 tons; sold for $4400 on the trees; cost of production, $260; net profit, $4140. Soil, gravelly loam; irrigated, 1 inch to 8 acres. Trees planted 5 years ago last spring. 

 J. S. Flory (between the Big and Little Tejunga rivers)--1-1/3 acres or 135 trees 20 feet apart each way; 100 of the trees 4 years old, the balance of the trees 5 years old; produced 5230 pounds dried; sold for $523; cost of production, $18; net profit, $505. Soil, light loam, with some sand; not irrigated. 

 W. Caruthers (2 miles north of Downey)--3/4 of an acre produced 5 tons; sold for $222; cost of production, $7. 50; net profit, $215. Soil, sandy loam; not irrigated. Trees 4 years old. 

 James Loney, Pomona--2 acres; product sold for $1150; cost of production, $50; net profit, $1100. Soil, sandy loam. 

 I. W. Lord, Eswena--5 acres produced 40 tons; sold for $2000; cost of production, $300; net profit, $1700. Soil, sandy loam. 

 M. B. Moulton, Pomona--3 acres; sold for $1873; cost of production, $215; net profit, $1658. Soil, deep sandy loam. Trees 9 years old. 

 Ernest Dewey, Pomona--6 acres produced 38 tons green; dried, at 10 cents a pound, $3147; cost of production, $403; profit, $2734. Soil, sandy loam; irrigated one inch to 10 acres. Sixty per cent. Increase over former year. 

 C. S. Ambrose, Pomona--12 acres produced 77 tons; $50 per ton gross, $3850; labor of one hand one year, $150; profit, $3700. Soil, gravelly; very little irrigation. Prunes sold on trees. 

 ORANGES. 

 Joachim F. Jarchow, San Gabriel--2-1/2 acres; 10-year trees; product sold for $1650; cost of production $100, including cultivation of 7-1/2 acres, not bearing; net profit, $1550. 

 F. D. Smith, Azusa--6-1/2 acres produced 600 boxes; sold for $1200; cost of production, $130; net profit, $1070. Soil, dark sandy loam; irrigated three times. Trees 4 years old. 

 George Lightfoot, South Pasadena--5-1/2 acres produced 700 boxes; sold for $1100; cost of production, $50; net profit, $1050. Soil, rich, sandy loam; irrigated once a year. 

 H. Hood, Downey--1/2 of an acre produced 275 boxes; sold for $275; cost of production, $25; net profit, $250. Soil, damp, sandy; not irrigated. 

 W. G. Earle, Azusa--1 acre produced 210 boxes; sold for $262; cost of production, $15; net profit, $247. Soil, sandy loam; irrigated four times. 

 Nathaniel Hayden, Vernon--4 acres; 986 boxes at $1. 20 per box; sales, $1182; cost of production, $50; net profit, $1132. Loam; irrigated. Other products on the 4 acres. 

 H. O. Fosdick, Santa Ana--1 acre; 6 years old; 350 boxes; sales, $700; cost of production and packing, $50; net profit, $650. Loam; irrigated. 

 J. H. Isbell, Rivera--1 acre, 82 trees; 16 years old; sales, $600; cost of production, $25; profit, $575. Irrigated. $1. 10 per box for early delivery, $1. 65 for later. 

 GRAPES. 

 William Bernhard, Monte Vista--10 acres produced 25 tons; sold for $750; cost of production, $70; net profit, $680. Soil, heavy loam; not irrigated. Vines 5 years old. 

 Dillon, Kennealy & McClure, Burbank (1 mile from Roscoe Station)--200 acres produced 90, 000 gallons of wine; cost of production, $5000; net profit, about $30, 000. Soil, sandy loam; not irrigated; vineyard in very healthy condition. 

 P. O'Connor (2-1/2 miles south of Downey)--12 acres produced 100 tons; sold for $1500; cost of production, $360; net profit, $1140. Soil, sandy loam; not irrigated. Vines planted in 1884, when the land would not sell for $100 per acre. 

 J. K. Banks (1-3/4 miles from Downey)--40 acres produced 250 tons; sold for $3900; cost of production, $1300; net profit, $2600. Soil, sandy loam. 

 BERRIES. 

 W. Y. Earle (2-1/2 miles from Azusa)--Strawberries, 2-1/2 acres produced 15, 000 boxes; sold for $750; cost of production, $225; net profit, $525. Soil, sandy loam; irrigated. Shipped 3000 boxes to Ogden, Utah, and 6000 boxes to Albuquerque and El Paso. 

 Benjamin Norris, Pomona--Blackberries, 1/4 of an acre produced 2500 pounds; sold for $100; cost of production, $5; net profit, $95. Soil, light sandy; irrigated. 

 S. H. Eye, Covina--Raspberries, 5/9 of an acre produced 1800 pounds; sold for $195; cost of production, $85; net profit, $110. Soil, sandy loam; irrigated. 

 J. O. Houser, Covina--Blackberries, 1/4 of an acre produced 648 pounds; sold for $71. 28; cost of production, $18; net profit, $53. 28. Soil, sandy loam; irrigated. First year's crop. 

 APRICOTS. 

 T. D. Leslie (1 mile from Pomona)--1 acre produced 10 tons; sold for $250; cost of production, $60; net profit, $190. Soil, loose, gravelly; irrigated; 1 inch to 10 acres. First crop. 

 George Lightfoot, South Pasadena--2 acres produced 11 tons; sold for $260; cost of production, $20; net profit, $240. Soil, sandy loam; not irrigated. 

 T. D. Smith, Azusa--1 acre produced 13, 555 pounds; sold for $169. 44; cost of production, $25; net profit, $144. 44. Soil, sandy loam; irrigated once. Trees 5 years old. 

 W. Y. Earle (2-1/2 miles from Azusa)--6 acres produced 6 tons; sold for $350; cost of production, $25; net profit, $325. Soil, sandy loam; not irrigated. Trees 3 years old. 

 W. A. Spalding, Azusa--335 trees produced 15, 478 pounds; sold for $647. 43; cost of production, $50; net profit, $597. 43. Soil, sandy loam. 

 Mrs. Winkler, Pomona--3/4 of an acre, 90 trees; product sold for $381; cost of production, $28. 40; net profit, $352. 60. Soil, sandy loam; not irrigated. Only help, small boys and girls. 

 MISCELLANEOUS FRUITS. 

 E. A. Bonine, Lamanda Park--Apricots, nectarines, prunes, peaches, and lemons, 30 acres produced 160 tons; sold for $8000; cost of production, $1500; net profit, $6500. No irrigation. 

 J. P. Fleming (1-1/2 miles from Rivera)--Walnuts, 40 acres produced 12-1/2 tons; sold for $2120; cost of production, $120; net profit, $2000. Soil, sandy loam; not irrigated. 

 George Lightfoot, South Pasadena--Lemons, 2 acres produced 500 boxes; sold for $720; cost of production, $20; net profit, $700. Soil, rich sandy loam; not irrigated. Trees 10 years old. 

 W. A. Spalding, Azusa--Nectarines, 96 trees produced 19, 378 pounds; sold for $242. 22; cost of production, $35; net profit, $207. 22. Soil, sandy loam. 

 F. D. Smith, Azusa--Nectarines, 1-2/5 acres produced 36, 350 pounds; sold for $363. 50; cost of production, $35; net profit, $318. 50. Soil, deep dark sandy loam; irrigated once in spring. Trees 5 and 6 years old. 

 C. D. Ambrose (4 miles north of Pomona)--Pears, 3 acres produced 33, 422 pounds; sold green for $1092. 66; cost of production, $57; net profit, $1035. 66. Soil, foot-hill loam; partly irrigated. 

 N. Hayden--Statement of amount of fruit taken from 4 acres for one season at Vernon District: 985 boxes oranges, 15 boxes lemons, 8000 pounds apricots, 2200 pounds peaches, 200 pounds loquats, 2500 pounds nectarines, 4000 pounds apples, 1000 pounds plums, 1000 pounds prunes, 1000 pounds figs, 150 pounds walnuts, 500 pounds pears. Proceeds, $1650. A family of five were supplied with all the fruit they wanted besides the above. 

 POTATOES. 

 O. Bullis, Compton--28-3/4 acres produced 3000 sacks; sold for $3000; cost of production, $500; net profit, $2500. Soil, peat; not irrigated. This land has been in potatoes 3 years, and will be sown to cabbages, thus producing two crops this year. 

 P. F. Cogswell, El Monte--25 acres produced 150 tons; sold for $3400; cost of production, $450; net profit, $2950. Soil, sediment; not irrigated. 

 M. Metcalf, El Monte--8 acres produced 64 tons; sold for $900; cost of production, $50; net profit, $850. Soil, sandy loam; not irrigated. 

 Jacob Vernon (1-1/2 miles from Covina)--3 acres produced 400 sacks; sold for $405. 88; cost of production, $5; net profit, $400. 88. Soil, sandy loam; irrigated one acre. Two-thirds of crop was volunteer. 

 H. Hood, Downey--Sweet potatoes, 1 acre produced 300 sacks; sold for $300; cost of production, $30; net profit, $270. Soil, sandy loam; not irrigated. 

 C. C. Stub, Savannah (1 mile from depot)--10 acres produced 1000 sacks; sold for $2000; cost of production, $100; net profit, $1900. Soil, sandy loam; not irrigated. A grain crop was raised on the same land this year. 

 ONIONS. 

 F. A. Atwater and C. P. Eldridge, Clearwater--1 acre produced 211 sacks; sold for $211; cost of production, $100; net profit, $111. Soil, sandy loam; no irrigation. At present prices the onions would have brought $633. 

 Charles Lauber, Downey--1 acre produced 113 sacks; sold for $642; cost of production, $50; net profit, $592. No attention was paid to the cultivation of this crop. Soil, sandy loam; not irrigated. At present prices the same onions would have brought $803. 

 MISCELLANEOUS VEGETABLES. 

 Eugene Lassene, University--Pumpkins, 5 acres produced 150 loads; sold for $4 per load; cost of production, $3 per acre; net profit, $585. Soil, sandy loam. A crop of barley was raised from the same land this year. 

 P. K. Wood, Clearwater--Pea-nuts, 3 acres produced 5000 pounds; sold for $250; cost of production, $40; net profit, $210. Soil, light sandy; not irrigated. Planted too deep, and got about one-third crop. 

 Oliver E. Roberts (Terrace Farm, Cahuenga Valley)--3 acres tomatoes; sold product for $461. 75. Soil, foot-hill; not irrigated; second crop, watermelons. One-half acre green peppers; sold product for $54. 30. 1-1/2 acres of green peas; sold product for $220. 17 fig-trees; first crop sold for $40. Total product of 54 acres, $776. 05. 

 Jacob Miller, Cahuenga--Green peas, 10 acres; 43, 615 pounds; sales, $3052; cost of production and marketing, $500; profit, $2552. Soil, foot-hill; not irrigated. Second crop, melons. 

 W. W. Bliss, Duarte--Honey, 215 stands; 15, 000 pounds; sales, $785. Mountain district. Bees worth $1 to $3 per stand. 

 James Stewart, Downey--Figs, 3 acres; 20 tons, at $50, $1000. Not irrigated; 26 inches rain; 1 acre of trees 16 years old, 2 acres 5 years. Figs sold on trees. 

 The mineral wealth of Southern California is not yet appreciated. Among the rare minerals which promise much is a very large deposit of tin in the Temescal Cañon, below South Riverside. It is in the hands of an English company. It is estimated that there are 23 square miles rich in tin ore, and it is said that the average yield of tin is 20-1/4 per cent. 

INDEX. 

Acamo, 165, 170. 

Adenostoma, 205. 

Africa, 18. 

Aiken, South Carolina, Temperature of, 207. 

Ailantus, 134. 

Alaska, 34. 

Albuquerque, New Mexico, 165. 

---- temperature of, 207. 

Alfalfa, 23, 98, 101, 204. 

Alfileria, 203, 206. 

Algiers, Temperature of, 207. 

Alhambra, 124. 

Almond, 18, 19, 101. 

Alpine pass, 1. 

Amalfi, 30. 

Ambrose, C. D. , 215. 

Ambrose, Ernest, 213. 

Anacapa, 2. 

Anaheim, 134. 

Antelope, 114, 188. 

Apples, 19, 96, 97, 127. 

---- prices and profits, 215. 

---- San Diego, 97. 

Apricots, 18, 19, 43, 92. 

---- prices and profits, 214, 215. 

Arcadian Station, 126. 

Arizona, 5, 149, 164, 173, 177. 

---- Cattle Company, 186. 

---- desert, 79. 

Arrow-head Hot Springs, 117. 

Artist Point, 154. 

Atlantic, 5, 18, 47, 165, 198. 

Atwater, F. A. , 216. 

Aubrey sandstones, 195. 

Australian lady-bug, 129. 

---- navels, 120. 

Azusa, 211-215. 

Baker, W. H. , 212. 

Baldwin plantation, 127. 

Banana, 19, 134. 

Bancroft, H. H. , 56. 

Banks, J. K. , 214. 

Banning, 96. 

Barley, 8, 14, 25, 138. 

---- prices and profits, 216. 

Beans, 138. 

Bear Valley Dam, 117, 118. 

Bees, 217. 

Bell-flower, 204. 

Bernhard, William, 214. 

Berries, 141. 

Big Tejunga River, 212. 

Big Trees (Mariposa), 150, 156-161. 

Birch, 134. 

Blackberries--prices and profits, 214. 

Bliss, W. W. , 217. 

Bohemia Töplitz waters, 163. 

Bonine, E. A. , 215. 

Boston, Massachusetts, Temperature of, 207. 

Bozenta (Count), 134. 

Brandy, 136. 

Breezes, 70, 123, 184, 203. (See Winds. )

Bright Angel Amphitheatre, 195. 

Buenaventura, 138. 

Bullis, O. , 215

Burbank, 214. 

Cactus, 69, 165. 

Cadiz, Spain. Temperature of, 207. 

Cahuenga Valley, 216. 

Cairo, Egypt, Temperature of, 207. 

Capri, 30, 80. 

Carlisle school, 168. 

Carlsbad, 163. 

Carrot (wild), 206. 

Caruthers, W. , 213. 

Cataract Cañon, 182. 

Cedars, 185, 186. 

Cereals, 12. (See Grains. )

Chalcedony Park, 183. 

Chamber of Commerce, Los Angeles, 211. 

---- ---- San Diego, 143. 

Chaparral, 81, 202, 205, 206. 

Charleston, South Carolina, Temperature of, 210, 211. 

Chautauqua, The, 76. 

Chemisal, 202. 

Cherries, 43. 

Chief Signal Officer, U. S. A. , Report of, 210. 

China trade, 142. 

Chorizanthe, 206. 

Chula Vista, 144. 

Clearwater, 216. 

Climate, 4-6, 9, 29, 43, 45, 48, 130, 140, 142, 146. 

---- adapted to health, 29, 37, 38, 45, 46. 

---- adapted to recreation, 70. 

---- compared to European, 5; to Italian, 18; to Mediterranean, 18; to Tangierian, 46. 

---- discussed and described, 10, 38, 44, 45. 

---- affected by ocean and deserts, 4, 8, 29, 45. 

---- effect on character, 88. 

---- effect on disease, 50. 

---- effect on fruits, 10. 

---- effect on horses, 55. 

---- effect on longevity, 56, 59, 62. 

---- effect on seasons, 10, 43, 65, 66. 

---- Hufeland on, 52. 

---- insular, 76. 

---- in various altitudes, 46. 

---- Johnson (Dr. ) on, 201. 

---- of Coronado Beach, 47, 81, 87. 

---- of New Mexico, 164. 

---- of Pasadena, 130. 

---- of San Diego, 49. 

---- of winter, 43, 48. 

---- Van Dyke on, 6, 78. 

Climatic regions, 4. 

Clover, 204. 

Cogswell, P. F. , 216. 

Colorado desert, 2-5, 6, 33, 34, 46. 

---- Grand Cañon, 149. (See Grand Cañon. )

---- Plateau, 182. 

---- ---- description of, 177. 

---- River, 8, 197, 199. 

---- ---- course described, 177. 

Columbine, 206. 

Como, 1. 

Compton, 215. 

Concord coach, 184. 

Cooper, Ellwood, 125. 

Corfu, Temperature of, 208. 

Corn, 9, 12, 14, 25, 98. 

Coronado Beach, 29, 33, 47, 87, 202. 

---- ---- climate, 47, 81, 87. 

---- ---- Description of, 80-87. 

---- Islands, 30. 

---- Vasques de, 32, 165. 

Covina, 214, 216. 

Cremation among Indians, 60. 

Crossthwaite, Philip, Longevity of, 61. 

Crowfoot, 204. 

Crucifers, 204. 

Cucumbers, 205. 

Cuyamaca (mountain) 6, 18, 33, 37. 

----(reservoir), 144. 

Cypress (Monterey), 49, 82, 130. 

---- Point (tree), 161. 

---- ---- description of, 162. 

Cypriote ware, 169. 

Cyprus, 82, 134. 

Daisy, 206. 

Dandelion, 205. 

Date (palms), 19, 42, 49, 85, 134. 

Denver, Colorado, Temperature of, 207, 210, 211. 

Deserts, 2-7, 84, 79. 

---- affecting climate, 4, 8, 29, 45. 

---- describing beauty of, 175. 

Dewey, Ernest, 211, 213. 

Dew-falls, 123. 

Dillon, Kennealy & McClure, 214. 

District of the Grand Cañon--area described, 177. 

Downey, 211-214, 216, 217. 

---- City, 211. 

Duarte, 217. 

Dutton, Captain C. E. , 181, 194, 198. 

Earle, W. G. , 213. 

Earle, W. Y. , 214, 215. 

East San Gabriel Hotel, 127. 

Eaton Cañon, 130. 

Egypt, 178. 

El Cajon, 37, 56, 79, 111, 144. 

El Capitan, 154. 

Eldridge, C. P. , 216. 

Elm, 134. 

El Monte, 216. 

English Walnut, 18, 19, 34, 48, 101, 129, 134. 

Escondido, 140, 141. 

Eswena, 213. 

Eucalyptus, 23, 48, 112, 123, 134. 

Eye, S. H. , 214. 

Fan-palm, 49, 134. 

Fern (Australian), 123, 205. 

Fig, 18, 19, 34, 101, 141, 144, 147. 

---- cultivation discussed, 34. 

---- prices and profits, 215-217. 

Flagstaff, 182, 183, 199. 

Fleming, J. P. , 215. 

Florence Hotel, 80. 

Florence, Italy, Temperature of, 207. 

Flory, J. S. , 212. 

Fogs, 4, 8, 38, 47, 123. 

Fort Yuma, California, Temperature of, 207. 

Fosdick, H. O. , 213. 

Foxtail, 206. 

Franciscan Fathers, 42. 

Franciscan missions, 24. 

Fresno, 115, 128. 

Frosts, 10, 19, 123. 

Fruits, 9, 12, 13, 15, 18, 20, 37, 43, 46, 47, 96, 141, 144, 198. 

Fruits compared to European, 18. 

---- cultivation and speculation discussed, 20, 93, 107, 140. 

---- great region for, 97. 

---- grouped, 18, 19, 92, 94-96, 101, 115, 127, 211-217. 

---- lands adapted to, 37, 46, 96. 

---- orchards, 67, 165. 

---- rapid growth of, 115. 

---- Riverside method for, 104. 

---- winter, 48. 

Fumigation, Cost of, 124, 129. 

Funchal, Madeira, Temperature of, 207. 

Gardens, 46, 67, 147, 165. 

Geraniums, 49. 

Glendora, 212. 

Golden Gate, 42. 

Gooseberry, 205. 

Government land, 93. 

Grain, 12, 14, 15, 19, 23, 25, 140. 

Grand Cañon, 149, 178, 181. 

---- ---- area of district of, 177. 

---- ---- description of, 181, 182, 190-200. 

---- ---- journey to the, 182-190. 

Grapes, 15, 18, 19, 92, 93, 98, 101. 

---- diseases of, 128. 

---- Old Mission, 128. 

---- prices and profits of, 96. 

---- raisin. (See Raisins. )

Grape-vines, 79, 91, 123. 

---- ---- on small farms, 107. 

---- ---- prices and profits of, 96. 

---- ---- Santa Anita, 127. 

Grayback (mountain), 34, 46. 

Great Wash fault, 178, 182. 

_Grevillea robusta_, 123. 

Guava, 19, 134. 

Gums, 138. 

Hance (guide), 198, 199. 

Harvard Observatory, 130. 

Hawaii Islands, 5. 

Hayden, Nathaniel, 213, 215. 

Helianthus, 206. 

Heliotrope, 10, 41, 49. 

Hesperia, 96. 

Hindoo Amphitheatre, 195. 

Holbrook, 183. 

Honey--prices and profits of, 217. 

Honeysuckle, 205. 

Hood, H. , 211, 213, 216. 

Horses, 55, 70. 

Hotel del Coronado, 29, 87. 

---- del Monte Park, 161. 

---- Raymond, 79, 130, 133. 

Hot Springs (Las Vegas), 163, 164. 

Houser, J. O. , 214. 

Houses, Suggestions on, 68. 

Howe Bros. , 212. 

Hubbard, E. A. , 212. 

Hufeland, on climate and health, 52. 

Humidity, 38, 43. 

Huntington, Dr. , 50. 

Hurricane Ledge or Fault, 182. 

_Icerya purchasi_, 129. 

Indiana settlement, 94. 

Indians, 55, 187, 188

---- affected by climate, 55. 

---- converted by missionaries, 24. 

---- longevity of, 59. 

---- Mojave, 2, 169. 

---- Navajos, 170, 183. 

---- Oualapai, 188. 

---- Pueblo, 165. 

---- ---- at Acamo, 165. 

---- ---- at Isleta, 165. 

---- ---- at Laguna, 165-173. 

Ingo County, 34. 

Inspiration Point, 150, 154. 

Iris, 204. 

Irrigation, 97, 117, 147, 165. 

---- at Pasadena, 130. 

---- at Pomona, 15, 94, 124, 211, 215. 

---- at Redlands, 102, 104, 118. 

---- at San Diego, 144. 

---- at Santa Ana, 134. 

---- by companies, 94. 

---- by natural means, 11, 14, 37. 

---- cost of, 98. 

---- for apricots, berries, grapes, onions, oranges, peaches, potatoes, prunes, vegetables, 211-217. 

---- for orchards, 120. 

---- for wheat, 100. 

---- in relation to fruits and crops, 19, 99, 100, 101. 

---- necessity of, 15, 19, 88. 

---- results of, discussed, 12, 14, 15. 

---- Riverside method of, 102, 104. 

---- three methods of, 102. 

---- Van Dyke on, 102, 103. 

Isbell, J. H. , 213. 

Ischia, 30. 

Isleta, 165. 

Isthmus route, 142. 

Italy, 1, 2, 4, 18, 68, 69, 75, 87. (See Our Italy. )

Ives, Lieutenant, 181. 

Jacksonville, Florida, Temperature of, 207, 210, 211. 

Japanese persimmon, 134. 

Japan trade, 142. 

Jarchom, Joachim F. , 213. 

Johnson, Dr. H. A. , on climate, 201. 

Johnson, P. O. , 212. 

Josephites, 117. 

Julian (rainfall), 48. 

Kaibab Plateau, 178, 181, 182. 

Kanab Cañon, 178, 182. 

Kanab Plateau, 178, 181, 182. 

Kelp, 38, 161. 

Kentucky racers, 55. 

Kern County, 16, 94, 114. 

Kimball, F. A. , 125. 

King River, 114. 

Labor, "boom" prices of, 109. 

---- necessity of, 108. 

Ladies' Annex, 143. 

Laguna--climate of, 174. 

---- description of, 165-168. 

---- Indians at, 165-173. 

Lamanda Park, 215. 

Land, 12, 14, 23, 147. 

---- adapted to apricots, berries, grapes, onions, oranges, peaches, potatoes, prunes, vegetables, 211-217. 

---- adapted to fruits, 97, 141. 

---- arable, 93, 140, 142, 145. 

---- capabilities of, 17, 91-95, 114. 

---- converted from deserts, 94. 

---- crops adapted to, 108. 

---- elements constituting value of, 95. 

---- experiments of settlers on, 111. 

---- for farms and gardens, 107. 

---- Government, 93. 

---- of the Sun, 147, 202. 

---- profits and prices of, 20, 23, 95-98, 117. 

---- raisin, 114. 

---- speculations in, 24, 107, 143. 

La Playa, 33. 

Larkspur, 205, 206. 

Las Flores, 140. 

Lassene, Eugene, 216. 

Las Vegas Hot Springs, 163, 164. 

Lauber, Charles, 216. 

Lee's Ferry, 199. 

Lemons, 1, 18, 19, 79, 93, 107, 129, 137, 144. 

Leslie, T. D. , 214. 

Lightfoot, George, 213, 214. 

Lilac, 205. 

Lilies, 204, 206. 

Limes, 18. 

Lisbon, Portugal, Temperature of, 207. 

Little Colorado River, 177, 181, 182. 

Little Tejunga River, 212. 

Live-oaks, 49, 69, 72, 79, 127, 134, 140, 161. 

Locust, 134. 

Lombardy, 1. 

Loney, James, 213. 

Longevity at El Cajon, 56. 

---- at San Diego, 59, 60. 

---- climatic influence on, 56, 59, 62. 

---- Dr. Bancroft on, 56. 

---- Dr. Palmer on, 59, 60. 

---- Dr. Remondino on, 52. 

---- Dr. Winder on, 56. 

---- Father Ubach on, 59, 62. 

---- Hufeland on, 52. 

Longevity, Philip Crossthwaite, Story of, 61. 

Loquats, 21. 

---- prices and profits of, 215. 

Lord, I. W. , 213. 

Lordsburg, 212. 

Los Angeles, 12, 15, 16, 26, 46, 71, 76, 79, 94, 95, 97, 124, 128, 129, 133-135. 

---- ---- assessment roll and birth rate of, 136. 

---- ---- climate of, 12, 15, 26, 76, 79, 95, 124, 129, 133. 

---- ---- County, 211. 

---- ---- description of, 135, 136. 

---- ---- report of Chamber of Commerce of, 207, 211. 

---- ---- River, 11, 99. 

---- ---- temperature of, 44, 207, 210, 211. 

---- ---- wines, 136. 

Los Coronados, 2. 

Lupins, 205. 

Maggiore, 1. 

Magnolia, 41, 48, 123. 

Maguey, 69. 

Malta, Temperature of, 207. 

Manitoba, 5. 

Manzanita, 205. 

Maple, 134. 

Marble Cañon, 177. 

Marguerites, 82. 

Marienbad, 163. 

Marigold, 205. 

Mariposa (big trees), 150, 156-161. 

Martinique, 48. 

Mediterranean--climate of the, 37, 46, 80. 

---- fruits and products of the, 18. 

---- Our, 18, 46. 

Mentone, 6. 

---- temperature of, 207, 208. 

Merced River, 150, 155. 

Meserve plantation, 124. 

Metcalf, M. , 216. 

Methusaleh of trees, 158. 

Mexican Gulf, 18. 

---- ranch house, 67. 

Mexico, 2, 11, 30, 33, 40, 47. 

---- small-pox from, 64. 

Miller, Jacob, 216. 

Mimulus, 205. 

Minerals, 142. 

Minneapolis, Minnesota, Temperature of, 207. 

Mint, 205, 206. 

Mirror Lake, 154. 

Mission Cañon, 75. 

---- of San Diego, 60. 

---- of San Tomas, 60. 

Mississippi Valley, 38. 

Modjeska, Madame, 134. 

Moisture in relation to health, 201. 

Mojave Desert, 2, 7. 

---- Indians, 7, 169. 

Montecito (Santa Barbara), 123. 

Monterey, 42, 47, 49, 72, 149. 

---- cypress, 82, 130. 

---- description of, 161, 162. 

Monte Vista, 214. 

Montezuma, 164. 

---- Hotel, 163. 

Monticello, 75. 

Mormons, 117. 

Morning-glory, 205. 

Moulton, M. B. , 213. 

Mount Whitney, 34. 

---- Wilson, 130. 

Murillo--pictures by, 26. 

Mustard stalks, 202. 

Mütterlager, 163. 

Naples, 34. 

Nassau, Bahama Islands, Temperature of, 207. 

National City, 33, 79, 125, 144. 

---- Soldiers' Home, 76. 

Navajo Indians, 170, 183. 

---- Mountains, 196. 

Naylor, E. P. , 212. 

Neah Bay, 47, 76. 

Nebraska, 175. 

Nectarines, 19, 92. 

---- prices and profits of, 215. 

Nevadas, 34, 150. 

New Mexico, 79, 164, 173. 

---- ---- climate of, 164. 

---- ---- desert of, 149. 

---- ---- scenery of, 163-165. 

New Orleans, Louisiana, Temperature of, 207, 210, 211. 

Newport, Rhode Island, Temperature of, 210, 211. 

New York, N. Y. , Temperature of, 207, 210, 211. 

Niagara Falls, 153, 197. 

Nice, 207. 

Nightshade, 206. 

Norris, Benjamin, 214. 

Northern Africa, 69. 

---- Arizona, 177. 

---- Pomona, 212. 

Nuts, 18, 138. 

Oats, 206. 

O'Connor, P. , 211, 214. 

Old Baldy Mountain, 4. 

Olives, 1, 18, 19, 24, 37, 115, 129, 134, 147, 162. 

---- at Pomona, 125. 

---- at Santa Barbara, 37. 

---- Cooper on, 125. 

---- cultivation of, discussed, 19, 37, 125. 

---- future of, 125, 126. 

---- Mission, 125, 126. 

---- prices and profits of, 126. 

Onions--prices and profits of, 216. 

Ontario, 15, 124. 

Orange City, 46. 

---- ---- description of, 134. 

---- County, 16, 46, 79, 111, 134. 

Oranges, 10, 11, 15, 16, 18, 19, 25, 66, 79, 93, 101, 107, 108, 115, 123, 129, 138, 144. 

---- as resource, 91. 

---- at Redlands, 119. 

---- cost of land for, 97. 

---- diseases and care of, 101, 129, 137. 

---- groves, 20, 118, 123, 127. 

---- irrigation for, 213. 

---- prices and profits of, 97, 107, 119, 120, 124, 213, 215. 

---- Riverside as centre, 119. 

---- varieties of, 120, 123. 

Orchards, 20, 24, 41, 144, 147. 

Orchids, 205. 

Orthocarpus, 204. 

Otay, 145. 

Ottoman Amphitheatre, 195. 

Oualapai Indians, 188. 

Our Italy, Description of, 18. 

Pacific, 2-5, 8, 16, 29, 58, 75, 142, 165, 198. 

---- trade, 142. 

Painted Desert, 185, 186. 

Palmer, Dr. Edward, 59, 60. 

Palms, 41, 42, 67, 69, 85, 123, 130, 134. 

---- date, 42, 49, 69, 85. 

---- fan, 49. 

---- royal, 55, 85. 

Paria Plateau, 178. 

Pasadena, 15, 67, 94, 95, 124, 130. 

---- Board of Trade, 207. 

---- climate, 130. 

---- description of, 130-134. 

---- temperature of, 133, 207. 

---- trees of, 134. 

Passion-vine, 49. 

Pau, France, Temperature of, 207. 

Peach, 92, 101, 182, 211. 

---- prices and profits of, 211, 212, 215. 

Peachblow Mountain, 185. 

Pea-nuts--prices and profits of, 216. 

Pears--prices and profits of, 215. 

Pensacola, Florida, Temperature of, 210, 211. 

Penstemon, 205. 

Pepper, 48, 67, 123, 134. 

---- prices and profits of, 216. 

Peruvians, 169. 

Pineapple, 19. 

Pines, 42, 72, 134, 185, 188-190. 

---- spruce, 182. 

---- sugar, 42, 150, 157. 

Pink Cliffs, 178. 

Plums, 92. 

---- prices and profits of, 215. 

Point Arguilles, 1. 

---- Conception, 2-4, 47, 72, 137. 

Point Loma, 8, 30, 33, 81. 

---- Sublime, 181, 198. 

---- Vincent, 76. 

Pomegranate, 19, 134. 

Pomona, 15, 94, 95, 124, 211-215. 

---- description of, 124. 

---- irrigation at, 15, 94, 95, 124, 211-215. 

---- land at, 94. 

---- olives at, 125. 

---- temperature of, 7, 44. 

Poplar, 134. 

Poppy, 204-206. 

Portuguese hamlet, 33. 

Potatoes, 14. 

---- prices and profits of, 215. 

Powell, Major J. W. , 181. 

Profitable products discussed, 19. 

Prometheus Unbound, 178. 

Prunes, 18, 93, 96, 115. 

---- prices and profits of, 212, 213, 215. 

Pueblo Indians, 165-183. 

Puenta, 124. 

Puget Sound, 47. 

Pumpkins--prices and profits of, 216. 

Quail, 8, 140. 

Rabbits, 140. 

Rain, 12, 38, 47, 48, 49, 123, 138, 202, 203, 206. 

---- at Julian, Los Angeles, Monterey, Neah Bay, Point Conception, Riverside, Santa Cruz, San Diego, San Jacinto, 47, 202. 

---- in relation to health, 202. 

---- on deserts described, 187. 

---- season for, 47. 

Rainbow Fall, 154. 

Raisin grape, 144. 

Raisins, 18, 19, 93, 108, 136. 

---- at Los Angeles, 136. 

---- at Redlands, 119. 

---- curing, 107. 

---- Malaga, 37. 

---- prices and profits of, 96, 114, 115. 

Ranchito, 212. 

Raspberries--prices and profits of, 214. 

Raymond Hotel, 133, 149. 

Red Horse Well, 186, 187. 

Redlands, 15, 95-97, 124. 

---- centre for oranges, 119. 

---- description of, 118, 121-123. 

---- history of growth of, 118. 

---- irrigation of, 102-104, 118. 

---- resources of, 120. 

---- return on fruits, 97, 98, 124. 

Redondo, 3. 

---- Beach, 12. 

---- description of, 76. 

Red Wall limestone, 195. 

Redwood, 134. 

Remondino, Dr. , 40, 52, 56, 59, 60. 

Remondino, Dr. , on health, 62. 

---- on horses, 55, 61. 

---- on longevity, 40, 61. 

Rhorer, George, 212. 

Rio Grande del Norte, 165. 

Rio Puerco, 165. 

Rivera, 213, 215. 

Riverside, 15, 95, 124. 

---- centre of orange growth, 119. 

---- description of, 123-127. 

---- growth in resources, 120. 

---- irrigation at, 102-104. 

---- price of land, 95-98. 

---- return on fruits, 97, 98, 124. 

Riviera, Italy, Temperature of, 7, 45, 208. 

Roberts, Oliver E. , 216. 

Rock-rose, 204. 

Rome, Italy, Temperature of, 207. 

Roscoe Station, 214. 

Rose, H. H. , 211. 

Roses, 41, 49, 66, 138, 206. 

Royal palms, 85. 

Sacramento, California, Temperature of, 207. 

Sages, 202, 205. 

Sahara, 6. 

San Antonio, Texas, Temperature of, 207. 

San Bernardino, 4, 15-17, 33, 34, 118. 

---- ---- description of, 116, 117. 

---- ---- land, prices of, 96, 117. 

---- ---- Mountain, 4, 7. 

---- ---- River, 11. 

---- ---- temperature at, 6, 33, 44, 46, 210, 211. 

San Diego, 2, 9, 15, 24, 26, 34, 42, 43, 47, 62, 72, 79, 80, 94. 

---- ---- as a health resort, 50. 

---- ---- Chamber of Commerce, 143. 

---- ---- climate of, 49, 50. 

---- ---- commercial possibilities of, 142. 

---- ---- converted lands, 94. 

---- ---- description of, 29-34, 79-81, 142-145. 

---- ---- fruits, 37, 97. 

---- ---- Land and Farm Company, 208. 

---- ---- longevity at, 60. 

---- ---- markets, 43. 

---- ---- mission, 24, 60. 

---- ---- rainfall at, 47, 202. 

---- ---- recreations at, 41, 71. 

---- ---- temperature of, 30, 44, 49, 50, 207, 210, 211. 

---- ---- Bay, 2, 3. 

---- ---- County, 4, 6, 16, 34. 

---- ---- ---- description of, 140-145. 

---- ---- River, 4, 6, 11, 16, 34. 

San Francisco, 2, 42, 142. 

---- ---- Mountain, 182, 185, 194, 200. 

---- ---- River, 185. 

---- ---- temperature at, 210, 211. 

San Gabriel, 4, 15, 26, 72, 94, 213. 

San Gabriel, description of, 124-128. 

---- ---- mission, 26. 

---- ---- Mountain, 4, 5. 

---- ---- River, 11. 

---- ---- Valley, 72, 94. 

San Jacinto Range, 4, 17, 33, 46, 118. 

---- ---- rain at, 48. 

San Joaquin, 7, 37, 114. 

San Juan, 177. 

---- ---- Capristrano, 79. 

---- ---- San José, 124. 

San Luis Obispo, 16. 

---- ---- River, 11. 

San Mateo Cañon, 118. 

San Miguel, 33. 

San Nicolas, 2. 

San Pedro, 3, 135. 

San Remo, Temperature of, 208. 

Santa Ana, 2, 13, 72, 94, 99, 118. 

---- ---- description of, 124. 

---- ---- Mountain, 134. 

---- ---- River, 11, 79, 134. 

---- ---- Township, 15, 127, 211. 

---- ---- Valley, 2, 72, 213. 

Santa Barbara, 2, 3, 9, 37, 67. 

---- ---- at Montecito, 123. 

---- ---- Channel, 2, 3. 

---- ---- County, 16. 

---- ---- description of, 72, 137, 138. 

---- ---- fruits, 37, 129. 

---- ---- Island, 2, 3. 

---- ---- Mountain, 17. 

---- ---- olives, 37, 125. 

---- ---- temperature of, 29, 44, 207. 

Santa Catalina, 2, 134. 

Santa Clara, 43, 138. 

---- ---- River, 11. 

Santa Clemente, 2. 

Santa Cruz, 2, 47, 157. 

---- ---- Canaries, Temperature of, 207. 

Santa Fé line, 117, 119, 163, 165, 182. 

---- ---- New Mexico, Temperature of, 207. 

Santa Margarita River, 11. 

Santa Miguel, 2. 

Santa Monica, 3. 

---- ---- description of, 76. 

---- ---- irrigation at, 134. 

Santa Rosa, 2, 140. 

Santa Ynes, 4, 72. 

Santiago, 46. 

---- ---- Cañon, 134. 

San Tomas mission, 60. 

Savannah, 216. 

Sea-lions, 30, 161. 

Seasons, 6, 10, 37, 38, 43, 65, 66, 81. 

---- description of the, 65, 66. 

---- Van Dyke on the, 202-206. 

_Sequoia semper virens_, 157. 

_Sequoias gigantea_, 157, 158. 

Serra, Father Junipero, 24. 

Serrano, Don Antonio, 61, 62. 

Sheavwitz Plateau, 178. 

Sheep, 12, 206. 

Shiva's Temple, 195. 

Shooting-star, 203. 

Sicily, 18, 69. 

Sierra Madre, 4, 15, 37, 42, 46, 71, 94, 114, 118. 

---- ---- Villa, 130. 

Sierra Nevada, 2, 3. 

Sierras, 153, 161. 

Signal Service Observer, 207. 

Silene, 204. 

Smith, F. D. , 212-215. 

---- F. M. , 212. 

---- T. D. , 214. 

Smithsonian Institution, 59. 

Snap-dragon, 205. 

Sorrel, 204. 

Sorrento, 132. 

Southern California, 2-4, 16. 

---- ---- climate of, 29, 38, 45, 55, 56, 59, 62, 130. 

---- ---- commerce of, 18. 

---- ---- compared to Italy, 46. 

---- ---- counties of, 16. 

---- ---- history of, 24, 25. 

---- ---- "Our Italy, " 18, 46. 

---- ---- pride of nations, the, 26. 

---- ---- rainy seasons in. (See Rain. )

---- ---- rapid growth of fruits in, 115. 

---- ---- recreations of, 69-71. 

---- ---- temperature of, 43, 133. (See Temperature. )

---- Italy, 69, 147. 

---- Pacific Railroad, 149. 

---- Utah, 177. 

South Pasadena, 213, 214. 

---- Riverside, 217. 

Spain, 149. 

Spalding, W. A. , 212, 215. 

Spanish adventurers, 24, 30. 

Spruce-pine, 182. 

St. Augustine, Florida, Temperature of, 207. 

St. Michael, Azores, Temperature of, 207. 

St. Paul, Minnesota, Temperature of, 207. 

State Commission, 156. 

Stewart, James, 217. 

Stone, 142. 

Strawberries, 10. 

---- prices and profits of, 214. 

Stub, C. C. , 216. 

Sugar-pine, 150, 157. 

Sumach, 205. 

Sunset Mountain, 185. 

Sweetbrier, 206. 

Sweetwater Dam, 144. 

Switzerland, 149. 

Sycamore, 79, 134. 

Table Mountain, 33. 

Tangier, 45. 

Temperature, 4, 5, 29, 37, 38. 

Temperature compared to European, 45. 

---- discussed, 43, 45. 

---- of Coronado Beach, 87. 

---- of Los Angeles, 44, 207, 210, 211. 

---- of Monterey, 72. 

---- of Pasadena, 13, 207. 

---- of Pomona, 44. 

---- of San Bernardino, 6, 33, 44, 46, 210, 211. 

---- of San Diego, 30, 44, 49, 50, 210, 211. 

---- of Santa Barbara, 29, 44, 207. 

---- relation of, to health, 201. 

---- statistics, 44, 45, 72. 

---- statistics compared, 207, 208, 210, 211. 

---- Van Dyke on, 50. 

Temecula Cañon, 140. 

Temescal Cañon, 217. 

The Rockies, 10. 

Thistle, 205. 

Thompson, E. R. , 211. 

Tia Juana River, 11, 30, 145. 

Tiger-lily, 206. 

Tin, 217. 

Tomatoes--prices and profits of, 216. 

Töplitz waters, 163. 

Toroweap Valley, 182. 

Trees, 48, 69, 130, 134, 138, 147, 156, 198. 

---- description of, 150, 156-161. 

---- region of Mariposa big, 156. 

Tulip, 204. 

Tustin City, 134. 

Ubach, Father A. D. , 59, 60, 62. 

Uinkaret Plateau, 178. 

Umbrella-tree, 69, 184. 

University Heights, 80, 81. 

Utah, 177, 178, 199. 

Vail, Hugh D. , 209. 

Van Dyke, Theodore S. , 4, 140, 202. 

---- on climate, 6, 78. 

---- on floral procession and seasons, 202-206. 

---- on growth in population, 145. 

---- on irrigation, 102, 103. 

---- on temperature, 50. 

Van Dyke, Theodore S. , on winds, 8, 203. 

Vedolia cardinalis (Australian lady-bug), 129. 

Vegetables, 112, 216. 

Ventura, 16, 137. 

Vermilion Cliffs, 178. 

Vernon, 213, 215. 

---- Jacob, 216. 

Vesuvius, 33. 

Vetch, 203. 

Vines, 20, 23-25, 67, 79, 91, 107, 123, 128, 144, 147. 

Violets, 203. 

Visalia, California, Temperature of, 207. 

Vishnu's Temple, 196. 

Vulcan's Throne, 196. 

Wages, "Boom, " 109. 

Walnut Creek Cañon, 183. 

Walnuts, 14, 19, 115. 

---- prices and profits of, 215. 

Water, 186. 

---- how measured, 98. 

---- price of, 97, 98. 

Watermelons--prices and profits of, 216. 

Wawona, 150. 

Wells, 186. 

Wheat, 2, 5, 14, 25, 138. 

---- affected by irrigation, 100. 

White Cliffs, 178. 

Wild Oats, 202. 

Williams, 182. 

Willow, 134. 

Winder, Dr. W. A. , on longevity, 56. 

Winds, 4, 6, 8, 29, 30, 38, 47, 70, 78, 123, 184, 203. 

---- relation of, to health, 201. 

---- Van Dyke on, 8, 203. 

Wine, 20, 92, 93, 107, 136, 137. 

Winkler, Mrs. , 215. 

Wood, P. K. , 216. 

Yosemite, 150, 153, 154, 161, 197. 

---- description of, 149-156. 

Yucca, 205. 

Zuñis, 165. 

THE END. 

BY CHARLES DUDLEY WARNER. 

As We Were Saying. 

With Portrait, and Illustrated by H. W. MACVICKAR and others. 

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The Last Journals of David Livingstone, in Central Africa, from 1865 tohis Death. Continued by a Narrative of his Last Moments and Sufferings, obtained from his Faithful Servants Chuma and Susi. By HORACE WALLER, F. R. G. S. With Maps and Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, $5 00; Sheep, $6 00;Half Calf, $7 25. 

Livingstone's Expedition to the Zambesi. 

Narrative of an Expedition to the Zambesi and its Tributaries; and ofthe Discovery of the Lakes Shirwa and Nyassa. 1858-1864. By DAVID andCHARLES LIVINGSTONE. With Maps and Illustrations. 8vo, Cloth, $5 00;Sheep, $5 50. 

Long's Central Africa. 

Central Africa: Naked Truths of Naked People. An Account of Expeditionsto the Lake Victoria Nyanza and the Makraka Niam-Niam, West of theBahr-El-Abiad (White Nile). By Col. C. CHAILLÉ LONG of the EgyptianStaff. Illustrated from Col. Long's own Sketches. With Map. 8vo, Cloth, $2 50. 

Du Chaillu's Equatorial Africa. 

Adventures in the Great Forest of Equatorial Africa, and the Country ofthe Dwarfs. By PAUL B. DU CHAILLU. _Abridged and Popular Edition. _ WithMap and Illustrations. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 75. 

Du Chaillu's Ashango-Land. 

A Journey to Ashango-Land, and Further Penetration into EquatorialAfrica. By PAUL B. DU CHAILLU. Illustrated. 8vo, Cloth, $5 00; Sheep, $550; Half Calf, $7 25. 

Du Chaillu's Land of the Midnight Sun. 

The Land of the Midnight Sun. Summer and Winter Journeys through Sweden, Norway, Lapland, and Northern Finland. By PAUL B. DU CHAILLU. With Mapand 235 Illustrations. In Two Volumes. 8vo, Cloth, $7 50; Half Calf, $12 00. 

Thomson's Voyage of the "Challenger. "

The Voyage of the "Challenger. " _The Atlantic_: An Account of theGeneral Results of the Voyage during the Year 1873 and the Early Part ofthe Year 1876. By Sir C. WYVILLE THOMSON, F. R. S. With a Portrait of theAuthor, many Colored Maps, And Illustrations. 2 vols. , 8vo, Cloth, $12 00. 

Thomson's Southern Palestine and Jerusalem. 

The Land and the Book: Southern Palestine and Jerusalem. By WILLIAM M. THOMSON, D. D. , Forty-five Years a Missionary in Syria and Palestine. 140Illustrations and Maps. Square 8vo, Cloth, $6 00; Sheep, $7 00; HalfMorocco, $8 50; Full Morocco, Gilt Edges, $10 00. 

Thomson's Central Palestine and Phoenicia. 

The Land and the Book: Central Palestine and Phoenicia. By WILLIAM M. THOMSON, D. D. 180 Illustrations and Maps. Square 8vo, Cloth, $6 00;Sheep, $7 00; Half Morocco, $8 50; Full Morocco, Gilt Edges, $10 00. 

Thomson's Lebanon, Damascus, and Beyond Jordan. 

The Land and the Book: Lebanon, Damascus, and Beyond Jordan. By WILLIAMM. THOMSON, D. D. 147 Illustrations and Maps. Square 8vo, Cloth, $6 00;Sheep, $7 00; Half Morocco, $8 50; Full Morocco, Gilt Edges, $10 00. 

The Land and the Book. (_Popular Edition. _)

Comprising the above three volumes. Square 8vo, Cloth, $9 00. (_Sold inSets only. _)

Bridgman's Algeria. 

Winters in Algeria. Written and Illustrated by FREDERICK ARTHURBRIDGMAN. Square 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, $2 50. 

Pennells' Hebrides. 

Our Journey to the Hebrides. By JOSEPH PENNELL and ELIZABETH ROBINSPENNELL. Illustrated. Post 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental. $1 75. 

Shoshone, and Other Western Wonders. 

By EDWARDS ROBERTS. With a Preface by CHARLES FRANCIS ADAMS. Illustrated. Pp. Xvi. , 276. Post 8vo, Cloth, $1 00; Paper, 75 cents. 

Schweinfurth's Heart of Africa. 

The Heart of Africa; or, Three Years' Travels and Adventures in theUnexplored Regions of the Centre of Africa. From 1868 to 1871. By Dr. GEORG SCHWEINFURTH. Translated by ELLEN E. FREWER. With an Introductionby WINWOOD READE. Illustrated by about 130 Wood-cuts from Drawings madeby the Author, and with Two Maps. 2 vols. , 8vo, Cloth, $8 00. 

Speke's Africa. 

Journal of the Discovery of the Source of the Nile. By JOHN HANNINGSPEKE, Captain H. M. Indian Army, Fellow and Gold Medalist of the RoyalGeographical Society, Hon. Corresponding Member and Gold Medalist of theFrench Geographical Society, &c. With Maps and Portraits and numerousIllustrations, chiefly from Drawings by Captain GRANT. 8vo, Cloth, $400; Sheep, $4 50. 

Baker's Ismailïa. 

Ismailïa: a Narrative of the Expedition to Central Africa for theSuppression of the Slave-trade, organized by ISMAIL, KHEDIVE OF EGYPT. By Sir SAMUEL WHITE BAKER, Pasha, M. A. , F. R. S. , F. R. G. S. , Major-generalof the Ottoman Empire, late Governor-general of the Equatorial NileBasin, &c. , &c. With Maps, Portraits, and upwards of fifty full-pageIllustrations by Zwecker and Durand. 8vo, Cloth, $5 00; Half Calf, $7 25.