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ANNOUNCEMENT.

'J^HIS book is wholly devoted to a description of Western
scenes.

It is a trustworthy descriptive book of travel, unencumbered
with statistics or itineraries. It is hoped, however, that a perusal of
its pages will create a desire to visit the scenes described. The
reader who wishes to know something specifically about the cost
and other details of such a journey is respectfully requested to con-
sult a representative of the Santa Fe System lines. A list of
Agents is given on reverse side.

Excursion tickets for the round trip to California over the Santa
Fe are on sale at all times of the year in principal offices through-
out the country. The rates are low, and liberal provisions are
made for stop-overs and final-return limit, allowing ample time for
a prolonged stay at the many points of interest en route.

The trains of the Santa Fe are confidently recommended to a
discriminating traveling public as unsurpassed in the important
items of speed, safety, and luxurious equipment. The dining-car
and dining-room service is unrivaled. The employes are uni-
formly courteous.

W. J. BLACK,

Passenger Traffic Manager,
The Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railway System,

Chicago, Januar>', 1909.

SANTA FE TICKET OFFICES.

ATCHISON, Kan., 412 Commercia, St .L.E1^K^^^^^

gssffl^u:wt?:^i--.st «.|^^|^,^sr=-7- fl

1115KuUwByExchanBe ...C. i..»r. ,^ General ABent. Pusseiiger

CII.OINNATI. UU.O. -209 Xractxou «''^-- Il^WiX Va^en^ ^

CLEBnK>-F,Tex .....^^■^^y.a.iiiSvgl^NEUY.^ "»

J- Ifal^^S^fMUfeL LAWMER. Paasenger Ageut
DES MOINES. Iowa. 406 6th Ave.. E<iuxtable B j|o01lE,^P assenger Agent. ^^^^^^^ ^^^,

DETROIT. Mich.. 151 Griswold St l^l^g^^Ps^^-^^f^Tv^^^^r A,.nt.

..PASO.Te.MU.Blo. ^^^ESfB...^^.

S^-w HOBART; General Agent

Room 7. TTuion DePOt-f-^jS^-^'^ ^i4^elingP«BBenger Agent.
Room 7, Union Depot... J^. »• |roOK., General Agent. „„„„_.„ Agent.

^lfe-\^S'5*p'?.\\\' mnnVMet.LUe BWg. .0. 0. CARPE^ TEK,J«^^ t.

»?ekH5iTvll77 Broadway f f JlEEER. City Pa.«|ng«

9^^ WARNER General Agent.

. . . .W . S. GOLDS J^AViffiEIi, Passenger Agent.
PHOENIX Ari^... -^j.-p^-kBuii ding. . . . .F. E. |«|fi^^,^ciU- Ticket Agent.

?^7J^^<^''S^^o^.%f^onb Union Ave 0. G. ^KlK^i, , Agent^^^^^

^ General Agent.
1 Agent.

, .^T-rn-WTH Tbx lOlW. Commerce St.U.^."i^j,j^ggneral Agent.

S- It r.nnKWORTb, Passenger Agent.
g- ^- StFRNE, General Agent.

^oKTcc, ;:;::||«Ste4¥J^---'-

TEMPLE, Tex........ •.v-^-j;(VeaeraUvv j. cuBTIS. Passenger Agent.

TOPEKA, Kan., A. 1. « o. ^ • > ^Vvri t ttVNNEDY, Passenger Agent.

Office Building RALPH J. f^?^HER trav. Passenger Agent.

TORREON.Me. --f'SSj^^^^ftTSX^^^

|c5Sffi^Ml"aVan;4WaterSV T. B. McKA. , G. P.

TO CALIFORNIA

Over the Santa Fe Trail

TO CALIFORNIA

Over the Santa Fe Trail
by C. A. Higgins

Illustrations by

J. T. McCutcheon, Carl N. Werntz
& John W. Norton — —

Passenger Department, Santa Fe
Chicago, 1909

ch'f

PUBLIC LIBRARY

ASTOR, LENOX AND

TILDEN FOUNDATIONS.

R 1911 L

/k'<'(^'

Ad. 376. 1-21-09. iiM.

^^7 1913 ^

• • . • o - . . f

II. New Mexico

RATON' TO LAS VEGAS .....

CONTENTS.

East of the Rockies

... 19

las VEGAS TO ALBUQUERQUE 30

SANTA FE ,...'.' 54

PUEBLOS ° ° ' -X

III. Arizona 47

ALBUQUERQUE TO NEEDLES . . . . . ! ," 51

PETRIFIED FORESTS ...., = ... .° cc.

MOKIS i , ! CO

CANYON DIABLO !!.''! 64

FLAGSTAFF . , . \ \ '. dc.

SAN FRANCISCO PEAKS . . \ 67

GRAND CANYON OF ARIZONA ......] 71

CLIFF AND CAVE DWELLINGS ....,..' gi

CENTRAL AND SOUTHERN ARIZONA , . . ! ! 83

IV. Southern California oo

OF CLIMATE .,..'. 97

SAN DIEGO AND VICINITY ." 106

CAPISTRANO .' ! .' 116

STORY OF THE MISSIONS .....!.'! I19

LOS ANGELES .,.',' 127

PASADENA • • .

=•«• 140

MOUNT LOWE . . . ,.,
..... 144

THE KITE -SHAPED TRACK iTT

SEASIDE RESORTS ........ .' " ic^

SANTA CATALINA ISLAND - [ ICC

SANTA BARBARA ! ,' . ! ICQ

OSTRICH FARMING .'.',".' 162

WINTER SPORTS ! .' ! ] 161

A LAND OF FLOWERS .' .' ! 167

V. Central California ......... 170

SAN FRANCISCO \ \ . \nA

OAKLAND '...'. igt

SUBURBAN SAN FRANCISCO ....'.'.' *. 187

A PACIFIC TOUR igg

COAST LINE " .^ . 192

YOSEMITE VALLEY ....!!!.! 197

THE OLD SANTA FE TRAIL.

It wound through strange scarred hills, down canyons lone

meretilcl things screamed, with winds for company ,

It= milestones were the bones of pioneers.

Bronzed, haggard men. often with th.. n-moan.

Lashed on their beasts of burden toward the sea .

An epic quest it was of elder years

For fabled gardens or for good, red gold,

The trail men strove in iron days of old.

To-day the steam god thunders through the vast.

While dominant Saxons from the hurthng ua.ns

Smile at the aliens, Mexic, Indian,

Who offer wares, keen-colored. Lkethe.r past:

Dread dramas of immitigable plains
Rebuke the softness of the modern man ;
No menace, now, the desert's mood of sand ,
Still westward lies a green and golden land.

For, at the magic touch of water, blooms
The wilderness, and where of yore the yoke
Tortured the toilers into dateless tombs
Lo! brightsome fruits to feed a mighty folk.

_ Richard Burton in The Century.

EAST OF THE ROCKIES.

THE California trains of the Santa Fe (except
the California Fast Mail) leave Chicago
either in early evening, or at a later hour, w^hen
most travelers are ready to retire to the seclusion
of their berths. In either event the earliest stages
of the journey ofJer little of interest to the tourist
aside from the drainage canal, whose white rock-
debris closely parallels the way for thirty miles.

The same natural conditions which made the
Chicago River a favored route for the early explorers
made possible the creation of this most remarkable
of civic sanitary undertakings. The low water-
shed over which Marquette, Joliet, La Salle and
their fellows dragged light canoes, from the head
waters of the Chicago River to those flowing south-
westward to the Mississippi, has been penetrated
by the great canal. It is literally true, therefore,
^hat the current of the Chicago River has been
diverted from its natural direction into Lake Michi-
gan, and now flows by way of its source, " uphill."
The primary incentive for this stupendous under-

taking was the desire to divert the drainage of the
city from its outflow into Lake Michigan, where
it contaminated that noble water supply. Inciden-
tally, however, as a result of the work, a capacious
ship channel has been formed, connecting the basm
of the Great Lakes with the Mississippi River.

While no commercial advantage has been taken
of this new trade route as yet, river improvements
now under way will remove the final obstacle
to direct navigation between the lakes and the
great river. This drainage canal is one of those
rare achievements in which figures tell a dramatic
story The total cost of the enterprise from the
beginning to the end approximates $40,000,000.
The canal was begun September 3, 1892, and in
January of IQOO the water of Lake Michigan was
turned into it to find a new way to the ocean.
The length of the main channel is 28.5 miles, the
depth of water 22 feet, the width from 162 feet to
290 feet, and the total amount of excavation 42,-
397,904 cubic yards. The present capacity is
300,000 cubic feet per minute, and this flow will
be materially increased by the river improvements.
By day the adjacent country appears a level or
mildly undulating region, rich in agricultural prod-
ucts, and relieved by bits of stream and woodland
and by small villages, with here and there a con-
siderable city, such as Joliet, and Streator and
Galesburg, and important rivers, such as the lUinois,
which is crossed near Chillicothe. It is greater
than the whole of England and Wales, this State

of Illinois, but a very few hours' ride is sufficient
to bring one to its western boundary, the Missis-
sippi River. This is crossed at Fort Madison on an
eight-span drawbridge 1,925 feet long, and the
way continues across the narrow southeastern
corner of Iowa into Missouri. While gliding
through the State last named the traveler awakes
to the sight of a rolling country of distant
horizons, swelling here and there to considerable
hills, checkered with tilled fields and frequent farm-
houses, divided by numerous water-courses and
dense groves of deciduous trees. Not one whose
scenic features you would travel far to see, but
gratifying to the eye ; full of gentle contrasts and
pleasing variety.

La Plata is the highest point between Chicago
and Kansas City. Just east of Carrollton the wide
valley of the tawny Missouri is entered, which
river the Santa Fe follows to Kansas City. At
the lofty Sibley bridge (two-fifths of a mile long
and 135 feet high) across the Missouri River the
swift sand-laden volume of this famed stream flows
far below the level of the eye, and there is wide
outlook upon either hand. On the farther side
the way skirts bold bluffs for a considerable dis-
tance by the side of the broad and picturesque
river that is reminiscent of the days of steamboat
commerce. Then comes Kansas City.

There was a time when Kansas City was famed
almost entirely for its live stock industry, its great
packing houses, and its grain market. These en-

MW«»-"* J,

terprises have been growing year by year, but they
no longer dominate the commercial life of this
metropolis of the Missouri Valley. A great rail-
way, manufacturing and distributing center, Kansas
City holds an important place in the business activ-
ities of the whole Southwest. Its rapid growth
is uninterrupted, the present population, countmg
that portion over in Kansas, being 300,000. Its
people are energetic and practical in their civic
loyalty. The Kansas border lies just beyond, the
entrance to that State leading by the serpentine
course of the river of the same name through a
wooded landscape to the open prairie.

Kansas City is not the only gateway by which
the Santa Fe enters Kansas, although it is by this
route that the transcontinental trains travel. St.
Joseph, in Missouri, and Atchison and Leavenworth,
in Kansas, are Missouri River cities, all reached by
connecting Hnes of the same system, and all famous
in the early history of the region. St. Joseph was
an important point of exchange between the river
traffic and that of the overland route to Denver
and the Rocky Mountains. Atchison was the
initial point of the Santa Fe Railway system itself,
as originally planned, and gave its name to the
great railway. Leavenworth was one of the early
military posts of the great West, and is still known
as the seat of Fort Leavenworth. All of these are
flourishing cities, with important local industries.

The billowy surface of Kansas was once the bed
of an inland sea that deposited enormous quantities

of salt, gypsum and marbles, and its rock strata
abound in most remarkable fossils of colossal animal
life— elephants, mastodons, camels, rhinoceroses,
gigantic horses, sharks, crocodiles, and more ancient
aquatic monsters of extraordinary proportions, fright-
ful ap:.earance, and appalling name, whose skele-
tons are preserved in the National Museum. Its
eastern boundary was along the shore of the most
stubborn wilderness of our possession. The French
fur-traders were the first to establish footing of
civilization in Kansas, the greater portion of which
came to us as part of the Louisiana purchase.
More than seventy years ago Fort Leavenworth
was created to give military protection to the haz-
ardous trade with Santa Fe, and the great overland
exodus of Argonauts to California at the time of
the gold discovery was by way of that border sta-
tion. The first general settlement of its eastern
part was in the heat of the factional excitement
that led to the Civil War. It was the scene of
bloody encounters between free-soil and pro-slavery
colonists, and of historic exploits by John Brown
and the guerrilla Quantrell. In the space of one
g^^^ration it has been transformed as by a miracle.

A Santa Fe Dining Room.

University of Kansas.

The very Lawrence, whose name for years called
to mind the horrors of the Quantrell raid and the
massacre of its defenseless citizens, is now the most
flourishing of peaceful towns, the seat of the Uni-
versity of Kansas and of the famous Haskell Insti-
tute, a noteworthily successful school for Indians.
The vast plains whereon the Indian, antelope
and buffalo roamed supreme are now counted as
the second most important agricultural area o the
Union, and its uncultivated tracts sustain millions
of cattle, mules and horses. Vigorous young cities
are seen at frequent intervals. Topeka, with its
broad avenues and innumerable shade trees, is one
of the prettiest capitals of the West ; here are the
general offices and principal shops of the Santa Fe,
and several imposing State edifices. Between Law-
rence and Topeka the train passes historic Lecomp-
ton, the early territorial capital of Kansas — once
a strenuous pro-slavery stronghold, to-day a quiet
country village. The neighborhood of Newton
and Burrton is the home of Mennonites, a Russian
sect that fled to America from the domain of the
Czar to find relief from oppression. Newton was
in pioneer days a big shipping point on the cattle
drive from Texas.

The Capitol, Topeka.

Uni'versity of Kansas.

At Hutchinson (noted for its salt industry) one
enters western Kansas, and from this point for a
long distance the road follows the windings of the
Arkansas River, with only occasional digressions.
Dodge City, of cowboy fame, and Garden City,
the scene of Government experiments in agricul-
ture, are the chief centers of this district. East of
Great Bend are the ruins of old Fort Zarah. Paw-
nee Rock, further west, derives its name from a
high rock north of the little station, where many
fierce Indian battles were fought, and where Gen.
Hancock, Gen. Robert E. Lee and Kit Carson
made noteworthy visits.

Opposite Earned, on an island in the river, a
fierce battle occurred in 1870 between hostile
Cheyennes and Arapahoes.

The Santa Fe trail, mentioned in New Mexico
chapter, began at Westport (now Kansas City),
following the Kaw River to Lawrence, thence
over the hills to Burlingame and Council Grove —
the Arkansas Valley being reached at Fort Zarah
(now Great Bend). The trail crept up this valley
to Bent's Fort (now Las Animas), and climbed
the mountains through Raton Pass. There was a
short cut from Fort Dodge to Las Vegas, along
the Cimarron River. It is but thirty years since
Comanches and Pawnees made almost every toil-

»3

some mile of the slow passage through Kansas
dangerous for the wagon trains that wound slowly
across the plains, laden with the traffic for the
southwest. Except the trains were heavily guarded
by military escorts, they were subject to frequent
attacks by day and night. The stories of those
days make picturesque reading now for the traveler
who passes by rail swiftly and luxuriously along
this very pathway.

Colorado first presents itself as a plateau, ele-
vated 4,000 feet above the sea, railway and river
continuing as close neighbors through the gently
ascending plains.

The Arkansas Valley, all the way from east of
Garden City to La Junta and beyond, is in sum-
mer comparable to a two-hundred-mile-long green
ribbon stretched loosely across the wide gray prai-
rie. Its alfalfa fields, melon patches, beet sugar
acres and thrifty towns are proof that irrigation
pays, there being a never-failing supply of water
for these fertile lands. Garden City, Holly, Lamar,
Las Animas, La Junta and Rocky Ford are the
centers of this irrigated district, a bit of pastoral
prosperity in pleasing contrast with the grim and
forbidding mountains soon to be ventured.

Six factories have been built for the production
of sugar from beets— one each at Rocky Ford,
Lamar, Holly, Swink, Garden City and Sugar City.
They were erected at a cost of several million dol-
lars and their daily capacity is about 5. 000 tons of

beets. This convenient market is stimulating the
raising of sugar beets throughout the whole valley,
so that the cultivation of the succulent vegetable
has become one of the most important of local
industries.

Four miles west of Holly, and consequently just
over the Colorado line, is the little colony estab-
lished by the Salvation Army in 1898, under the
name of Fort Amity. As a measure of practical
benefit to certain elements in the crowded quar-
ters of the great cities, the Salvation Army
obtained 1,800 acres of land here and settled upon
it 250 colonists. The progress of the colony dur-
ing its early history seems to promise success for
the undertaking.

Passing Las Animas the tourist is again reminded
of the good old days when Kit Carson made
Bent's his headquarters, when the Arapahoes, Kio-
was and Cheyennes wintered at Big Timbers, and
when Fort William (later known as Fort Lyon)
afforded security for the frontiersmen in times of
unusual danger.

Every mile of progress westward carries the
traveler into a higher altitude as he approaches the
junction of the great plains and the foothills of the
Rockies. Soon the landscape begins to give hint
of the heroic. Pike's Peak is clearly distinguish-
able though a hundred miles distant, and the two
beautiful Spanish Peaks hover upon the horizon
and reappear long after the first-named has faded
from view. Slowly the Raton Range gathers sig-

/*<■■

nificance directly ahead, until it becomes a tower-
ing wall, at whose foot lies the city of Trinidad.
Trinidad is the center of large coal, coke, iron
and wool industries. Here, going west, is the first
appearance of adobe architecture and Mexican set-
tlements. Here also begins the final ascent to the
first of many lofty mountain gateways, the Raton

Pass.

Away back in 1540, when that Spanish soldier
of fortune, Coronado, traveled through the
Southwest, there was in his small band a brave
captain, known as Cardenas. The Santa Fe rail-
way hotel at Trinidad, managed by Fred Harvey,
is named after him.

The commodious dining-room of the Cardenas
accommodates nearly a hundred guests, and there
are thirty-seven sleeping apartments. The edifice
is two stories high, substantially built of brick and
stone in the impressive old Mission style of archi-
tecture, similar to the Castaneda, Alvarado and
Escalante elsewhere described. The hotel is beau-
tifully furnished throughout, and ^in the language
of the advertisement writer, has "all the modern
conveniences."

The grade up Raton Pass is remarkably steep,
and two powerful mountain engines are required
to haul the train at a pace hardly faster than a
walk. The vicissitudes of the pass are such that

Hotel Cardenas, at Trinidad.

tlie road winds tortuously in curves so sharp the
wheels shriek at the strain. From the rear vesti-
bule may be had an endlessly varied and long
continued series of mountain views, for the ascent
is no mere matter of a moment. There are level
side canyons prettily shaded with aspen, long
straight slopes covered with pine, tumbled waves
of rock overgrown with chaparral, huge bare clififs
with perpendicular gray or brown faces, conical
coke ovens, with their ghostly smoke wreaths,
and breaks through which one may look far out
across the lower levels to other ranges.

A short distance this side the summit stands
what is left of the old toll-house, an abandoned
and dismantled adobe dwelling, where for many
years the veteran Dick Wooten collected toll from
those who used the wagon road through the pass.
Both ruin and trail are of interest as belonging to
the ante-railroad period of thrilling adventure, for
by that road and past the site of the dilapidated
dwelling journeyed every overland stage, every
caravan, every prairie schooner, every emigrant,
and every soldier cavalcade bound to the south-
western country in early days.

Beyond this is a wide-sweeping curve from
whose farther side, looking backward down the
pass, an inspiring picture is unfolded to view for a
passing instant — a farewell glimpse of the poetic
Spanish Peaks at the end of a long vista past a
ragged foreground of gigantic measure. Then the
hills crowd and shut off the outside world ; there

is a deep sandstone cut, its faces seamed with lay-
ers of coal, a boundary post marked upon one side
Colorado and upon the other New Mexico, and
instantly following that a plunge into a half-mile
tunnel of midnight blackness, at an elevation of
something more than 7,500 feet.

A second tunnel was completed in April, 1908,
thus making a double-track over Raton Pass from
Trinidad to Raton. The new tunnel is a little
lower than the old one (built 30 years ago); it is
2,678 feet long, 26 feet high and 17 feet wide;
the floor is 7,548 feet above the sea; walls, roof
and two air shafts are lined with concrete; in
building this tunnel $230,000 was spent for labor
alone, and 9,020 different laborers were employed
during the thirteen months required for construction,
the force being replaced seven times.

At such a Rubicon the preliminary stages may

fairly be said to end.

And here, too, a few words may properly be said
of the Maxwell Land Grant, a princely domain
once owned by the American Fur Company, now
belonging to a foreign syndicate. The Santa Fe
is built along its eastern edge for sixty miles south
of Raton Pass. This rich empire of two million
acres is being occupied by miners, farmers and
ranchers.

Spanish Peaks,

II.

NEW MEXICO.

A LTHOUGH your introduction is by way of a
-*- ^ long tunnel, followed by a winding moun-
tain pass down whose steep incline the train rushes
to regain the low level from which the journey
was begun, you will find New Mexico a territory
in the sky. If its mountain ranges were leveled
smoothly over its valleys and plains the entire area
of more than 120,000 square miles would stand
higher above the sea than the summit of any peak
of the Catskills or the Adirondacks. Its broad
upland plains, that stretch to a horizon where
wintry peaks tower high above the bold salients of
gray-mottled foothills, themselves lie at an altitude
that in the Eastern States must be sought among

»9

the clouds, and at no time will you fall niuch below
an elevation of 5,000 feet in traversing the portion
of the territory that lies along the present route.

The landscape is oriental in aspect and flushed
with color. Nowhere else can you find sky of
deeper blue, sunlight more dazzling, shadows more
intense, clouds more luminously white, or stars that
throb with redder fire. Here the pure rarefied air
that is associated in the mind with arduous -moun-
tain climbing is the only air known — dry, cool and
gently stimulating. Through it, as through a crys-
tal, the rich red of the soil, the green of vegetation,
and the varied tints of the rocks gleam always
freshly on the sight.

You are borne over mountains above forests ot
pine and fir, with transient glimpses of distant
prairie; through canyons where fierce rock walls
yield grudging passage and massive gray slopes bend
downward from the sky ; along level stretches by
the side of the Great River of the North, whose
turbid stream is the Nile of the New World; past
picturesque desert tracts spotted with sage, and
past mesas, buttes, dead volcanoes and lava beds.
These last are in a region where you will see
not only mountain craters, with long basaltic slopes
that were the ancient flow of molten rock, but
dikes as well; fissures in the level plain through
which the blagk lava oozed and ran for many miles.
These vast rivers of rock, cracked, piled, scattered
in blocks, and in places overgrown with chaparral,
are full of interest, even to the accustomed eye.

They wear an appearance of newness, moreover,
as if the volcanic action were of recent date ; but
there has been found nothing in native tradition
that has any direct bearing upon them. Doubtless
they are many centuries old.

Geologically their age is of course determinable,
but geology deals in rock epochs; it talks darkly of
millions of years between events, and in particulars
is careful to avoid use of the calendar. It is well
to remember that the yesterday of creation is singu-
larly barren of mankind. We are practically con-
temporaries of Adam in the history of the cosmos,
and all of ancient and modern history that lies
between is a mere evanescent jumble of trivialities.
Dame Nature is a crone, fecund though she be, and
hugging to her breast the precious phial of rejuve-
nescence. Her face is wrinkled. Her back is bent.
Innumerable mutations lie heavy upon her, briskly

though she may plot for to-morrow. And nowhere
can you find her more haggard and gray than here
You feel that this place has always worn much
the same aspect that it wears to-day. Parce of
the arid region, it sleeps only for thirst. Slake
that and it becomes a garden of paradise as by a
magic word. The present generation has proved
it true in a hundred localities, where the proximity
of rivers or mountain streams has made irrigation

practicable. .

The confines of the Great American Desert are
narrowing rapidly. Do but reflect that a quarter
century back the journey you now make in pertect
comfort was a matter of wild adventure, at cost of
months of arduous travel and at hazard of life not
only because of human foes, but for scarcity of food
and water. One never appreciates the full stride
of American progress until he has traversed in a
Pullman car such a territory as this, where Valley
of Death and Journey of the Dead are names still
borne by waterless tracts, and justified by bleached
bones of cattle and lonely mounds of scattered

graves. i i * j

Rescued from centuries of horror and planted
in the front rank of young rising States by the
genius of our generation. New Mexico is aland of
broad ranges, where hundreds of thousands of sleek
cattle and countless flocks of sheep browse upon
the nutritious grasses; where fields of grain wave
in the healthful breeze ; where orchard trees bend
under their weight of luscious fruits, and where

the rocks lay bare inexhaustible veins of precious
metals.

Here may be found to-day as profitable large
ranches as any in the country, and innumerable
small aggregations of cultivated acres, whose owners
sit comfortably upon shaded verandas while their
servants till the field. This is the paradox of a
region whose softer scenes will often seem to be
overborne by bleak mountain and desert and lava
bed; that if you own ten acres of irrigated land
here you are that much-vaunted but seldom en-
countered individual, an independent farmer. You
may smile in a superior way when you hear talk of
the profits of bank stocks. You may look without
envy upon the man who is said to own a gold mine.
Scattered by the way are sleepy Mexican villages,
ancient Indian pueblos, still inhabited, and those
older abandoned ruins which give to the region its
peculiar atmosphere of mystery. The history of
New Mexico formerly began with a pretty legend
that dated back to a time in Spain when a sover-
eign, fighting amid his native mountains, found
himself hemmed in by the enemy, and would have
perished with all his army had not one of his enter-
prising soldiers discovered an unsuspected pass, the
entrance to which he marked with a bleached
cow's skull that lay convenient to his hand, and
then returning led a retreat through the pass to
safety. By order of the grateful king the family
name of the soldier was thereupon made Cabeza
de Vaca — fOM/'j head— to celebrate so opportune a

service. It is to be hoped he got a doubloon or
two as well, but on that particular head tradition
IS silent. However, among the soldier's descend-
ants a talent for discovery became a notorious fam-
ily trait. It amounted to a passion with them.
You could not get into any difficulty but a
Cabeza de Vaca could find you a way out. Natu-
rally, then, when Narvaez set sail from Spain for
the Florida coast, three and a half centuries ago,
he took one of that family along for a mascot.
The expedition came to grief on the Florida reefs,
but the mascot survived, and with him three others
who had wisely clung to him when the ship went
to pieces. Stranded upon an unknown coast, men-
aced by hostile Indians, an ocean behind and a
wilderness before, this Cabeza de Vaca felt his
heart strangely stirred within him. He gave no
thought to the dangers of his situation ; he per-
ceived only that he had the opportunity of a life-
time to discover something. So, remembering that
in far Mexico his fellow countrymen were known to

dwell, he pretended to pull a long face and told his
companions that to reach the Mexican settlements
was the only hope of surviving. Then brandishing his
sword in a becoming manner he called to them to
come on, and led them across the unexplored con-
tinent of North America, in the year of grace
1536, by a route which incidentally included what
is now known as New Mexico. Thus, in sub-
stance, runs the legend, which adds that he had a
queer tale to tell, on arrival, of Seven Cities of
Cibola, and outlandish people of heathen appear-
ance and notions, but of temperate and industrious
habits withal, and presumably rich in treasures of
silver and gold ; which incited Coronado to send
out an expedition under Marcos de Nizza in 1539,
and a year later himself to take charge of the first
real invasion, conquering native towns by force of
arms on his way.

But in the light of modern historical research
Cabeza de Vaca's local fame dwindles ; his head
diminishes. It is denied that he ever saw New
Mexico, and the title of discoverer is awarded to
Marcos de Nizza. It does not really matter, for
in either event the conquest was by Coronado, in
whose footsteps Spanish colonization was first
enabled to advance into the territory, which, it
should be remembered, was for a long time there-
after a vaguely defined area of much greater extent
than to-day. The friars early began their work of
founding missions, and in the course of time estab-
lished forty churches, attended by some 30,000

native communicants. These natives revolted in
1 680, and drove the Spaniards out of the territory,
successfully resisting their return for a period of
twelve years. From the time of their ultimate
subjection (1692) the country grew in population
and commercial importance until, early in the pres-
ent century, its trade with Missouri and the East
became very valuable. The route traversed by
pack-mules and prairie schooners loaded with mer-
chandise will forever be remembered as the Santa
Fe Trail, and was almost identical with that fol-
lowed by Coronado.

It is at present for the greater part of the dis-
tance the route of the Atchison, Topeka & Santa
Fe Railway between the Missouri River and Santa
Fe ; and through western Kansas, southeastern
Colorado, over the Raton Pass and at many points
in New Mexico, may easily be seen from the train.
The distance was 800 miles, and a round trip then
consumed no days.

Merchandise to an enormous value was often
carried by a single caravan. In spite of the pro-
tection of a strong military escort the trail was
almost continuously sodden with human blood and
marked by hundreds of rude graves dug for the
mutilated victims of murderous Apaches and other
tribes. Every scene recounted by romances of
Indian warfare had its counterpart along the Santa
Fe Trail. The ambush, the surprise, the, mas-
sacre, the capture, the torture, in terrifying and
heart-breaking detail, have been enacted over and
over. z6

Only with the advent of the rail-
road did the era of peace and secur-
ity begin. To-day the Apache is
decimated and harmless, and, with
the Pueblo Indian and the Mexican, forms a romantic
background to a thriving Anglo-Saxon civilization.

It is this background that gives New Mexico its
peculiar charm to the thoughtful tourist; not alone
its tremendous mountain ranges, its extensive
uplands, its fruitful valleys, or its unsurpassed
equability of climate. Its population includes 9,500
Pueblo Indians, 4,000 Navajos and 1,350 Apaches.

RATON TO LAS VEGAS.

The Culebra and Cimarron ranges of the Rockies
shut in the lower western sky as the train whirls
along southward from Raton to Las Vegas. En
route you pass Springer, whence stages run to the
Red River mines and to Taos pueblo ; Wagon
Mound, a former Mexican frontier customhouse and
a picturesque point on the Santa Fe trail; and Wat-
rous, at the head of Mora Canyon, near old Fort
Union. Mora Canyon is fifty miles long, a rather
modest affair, compared with Apache Canyon and
the greater gorges of Arizona, but typical of this
land of deeply cutting streams. Within a few miles
of Watrous is Valmora Ranch, at an altitude of
6,300 feet. Its thousand level acres lie in the valley
of the Coyote, protected by high mesa lands. Here
a new sanitarium has been established, where one
may enjoy pure air, sunshine and outdoor life.

The little Rio Gallinas issues by a tortuous path
through rugged, tree-fringed canyon walls from a
spur of the Rockies half a dozen miles northwest
from the city of Las Vegas. These vegas or
meadows gradually broaden until they finally open
up into the broad New Mexican plain that sweeps
away toward the southeast. Almost at the verge
of plain and mountain, the city of Las Vegas has
grown into prominence. It is the commercial
metropolis of northern New Mexico, and the seCond
city in the Territory in size and importance. Its
8,000 inhabitants, with the consequent social life,
its important wool-shipping interests, and the fact
that it is the headquarters of the New Mexican
division of the Santa Fe, may not in themselves be
things to attract special attention from the traveler.
But there are other things at Las Vegas.

First of all for the stranger, there has been
built a new hotel, so conspicuous in its comfort
and its attractions as to command attention. The
Castafieda it is called, erected a few years ago
near the depot, and combining the functions of
a railway dining-room and hotel. It is a long,
low building two stories high, faced with brick,
roofed with red tiles, and patterned after

The Casianeda.

the old California missions. This hotel is strictly
modern throughout in equipment and in manage-
ment. It is under the direction of Fred Harvey,
whose name stands as a synonym of satisfactory
hotel management.

Las Vegas itself, with its large stores, banks,
offices, hotel, and town life, its attractive climate
and its accessibility, entertains many a stranger in
the course of a year, and is steadily growing in
popularity as a resort. Its surroundings, readily
visited by strangers, ofifer varied forms of entertain-
ment,

LAS VEGAS TO ALBUQUERQUE.

Traveling from Las Vegas to Albuquerque the
Glorieta range of the Rockies is crossed through
Glorieta Pass (altitude, 7,453 feet). The upclimb
takes you near Starvation Peak, best seen from
Chapelle station. One legend says that a large
band of Spaniards was surrounded here by Nava-
jos in 1800 and starved to death; another story
ascribes the cross on summit to the Brotherhood of

3'^P-'-^

■'•'.. -s

:t^.^!SS-:^ v= ;=^ -

Pueblo of Taos

0.7 Jb---,

Penitentes. However the name may have origi-
nated, the peak itself is a prominent landmark.

Not far from the main line, the head waters of
the Pecos River can be reached — a famous haunt
of the black-spotted mountain trout. Within ten
miles of Glorieta there are a number of deep pools,
which, carefully whipped with the proper flies, will
yield trout weighing up to four pounds. Parties
wishing to fish in the Pecos can find accommoda-
tions at Windsor's, twenty miles from Glorieta.
Every little pool in the Mora River, a tributary of
the Pecos near this point, seems to be alive with
trout, though the larger fish are more abundant in
the main stream. Rainbow and eastern brook
trout are nearly as plentiful as the native varieties —
a rare combination in objects of the angler's desire.

The crumbling ruins of old Pecos Church —
most venerable pile in New Mexico — are four
miles from Pecos station, on the mythical site of
that Aztec city where Montezuma is said to have
been born.

The downward ride is through Apache Canyon,

where, in 1847, noted battles were fought between
Kearney's Army of the West and the Mexicans,
and in 1862 between Federal and Confederate
forces. Even here in the mountain soh'tudes war
would not be denied its cruel harvest. At Lamy
(named for the good archbishop) there is a branch
line to Santa Fe. The main line continues along
the tortuous Galisteo River to the Rio Grande
del Norte at Domingo, and down that sluggish
stream of the sand-bars to Albuquerque, the com-
mercial metropolis of central New Mexico.

Albuquerque, the point of junction of three
lines of the Santa Fe — that from the East, that
to the Pacific Ocean, and that to the Mexican
boundary — has never been extensively advertised
as a health resort, though it possesses valid claims
for being so considered. Its attractions have been
multiplied by the erection of a splendid new rail-
way hotel, the Alvarado, conducted, as is the Cas-
taneda at Las Vegas, by Fred Harvey. As the
traveler leaves the train, this hotel is his first
and most enduring impression. A wide-spreading,
low building, like a great Spanish mission save for
its newness; rough, gray walls, and a far-reaching
procession of arches ; a red-tiled roof with many
towers — this is the Alvarado. It looks out across
the plain to where purple distant peaks are set
against a turquoise sky. Behind it lies the city ;
before it the valley stretches to the shouldering
hills. The hotel proper is more than a hundred
yards long, sixty yards wide, and is built around a

Starvation Peak

court or peristyle, as its general archi-
tecture demands. It is connected by a
two hundred foot arcade with the new
Santa Fe depot, an edifice in perfect
harmony with the artistic hnes of the
main structure. In form and color, as
well as historical association and the detailed beauty
of its generous plan, the Alvarado is a distinct archi-
tectural achievement. Inside, the Spanish effect in
decoration is thoroughly and consistently observed.
The dining hall is the largest room in the building.
Its furnishings, severely elegant in design, contrast
pleasantly with the snow and glitter of the tables ; a
great projecting fireplace adds the inevitable cheer
of an open hearth. But of the hotel, as such,
nothing need be said except that it is the master-
piece of the Harvey system ; and this fact, to the
traveler who knows, is all-sufKcient.

It furnishes to the tourist a most luxurious
stopping-place in the midst of a trans-continental
journey — an enjoyable and interesting rest on the
way to California.

A special attraction which the Alvarado offers,
not to be duplicated elsewhere, is a very fine
collection of Indian relics and products gathered
during years of studious effort. In Moki, Navajo,
Zuni, Apache, Pima and Mexican treasures of
handicraft this collection is well nigh unrivaled,
and more than justifies a halt in the attractive
hotel which houses it. It is planned to here
assemble Navajo and Moki weavers, potters,

silversmiths and basketmakers engaged in their
various crafts. A model of an Indian pueblo is
shown ; also the finest wares from all the neigh-
boring region.

Albuquerque itself lies at an altitude of 4,935
feet above sea level, on a sunny slope of a broad
plain, amply protected against sudden storms by the
neighboring high mountain ranges. The winters
are generally open and bright, and the atmosphere
almost wholly devoid of humidity. The ancient
settlement dates back to the Spanish invasion,
while the new town, with a population of I0,000
Americans and all the improvements of a young
city, had its beginning with the advent of the Santa
Fe Railway.

But Albuquerque, aside from its life as a new
commercial center, makes other and more subtle de-
mands upon the attention ; while not equal to Santa
Fe as a picture of the past, the years have also
touched it with old colors. The Mexican quarter
— the old town — still sleeps in the sun as it did a
century — two centuries — ago. And all about it
are the dwellings of the most conservative people,
the Pueblos of the Rio Grande valley, living as
their fathers lived before the first invader came.

SANTA FE.

In 1605 the Spaniards founded this city under the
name La Ciudad Real de la Santa Fe de San Fran-
cisco (the True Citv of the Holy Faith of St. Francis) ,

North Entrance, The AlvaraJo.

which, like many another ponderous Spanish title,
has been reduced to lower terms in the lapse of time.
It occupies a plain rimmed by mountains whose
peaks tower to heights of 10,000 and 13,000 feet.
The extraordinary interest of its early days is kept
alive by monuments which the kindly elements pro-
tect from the accustomed ravages of the centuries.
The territorial governor until recently received his
guests in the same room that served visitors in the
time of the first viceroy. Nineteen American and
seventy-six Mexican and Spanish rulers have suc-
cessively occupied the palace. Here it was that
General Lew Wallace wrote "Ben Hur." It has
survived all those strange modulations by which a
Spanish province has become a territory of the
Union bordering on statehood. The story of th£
palace stretches back into real antiquity, to a time
when the Inquisition had power, when zealous
friars of the Order of St, Francis exhorted throngs
of dimly comprehending heathen, and when the
mailed warriors of Coronado told marvelous uncon-
tradicted tales of ogres that were believed to dwell
in the surrounding wilderness. Beneath its roof are
garnered priceless treasures of that ancient time,
which the curious visitor may behold. There are
faded pictures of saints painted upon puma-skins,
figures laboriously wrought in wood to shadow
forth the Nazarene; votive offerings of silver, in the
likeness of legs, arms and hands, brought to the
altar of Our Lady by those who had been healed
of wounds or disease; rude stone gods of the

heathen, and domestic utensils and implements of
war. There, too, may be seen ancient maps of the
New World, lettered in Latin and in French, on
which California appears as an island of the Pacific,
and the country at large is confidently displayed with
grotesque inaccuracy.

Nearly a mile distant from the palace, on an
eminence overlooking the town, stands the old
Chapel Rosario, now neighbored by the Ramona
school for Apache children. In 1692 Diego de
Vargas, marching up from the south, stood upon
that hill with his little army of 200 men and looked
over into the city from which his countrymen
had been driven with slaughter a dozen years
before. There he knelt and vowed to build upon
the spot a chapel for the glorification of Our Lady
of the Rosary, provided she would fight upon
his side.

The town was carried by assault after a des-
perate contest of eleven hours' duration, and the
chapel was built. It savors quaintly to us of a less
poetic age that those royal old adventurers should
have thought themselves hand and glove with the
celestial powers; but they certainly made acknowl-
edgment of services rendered upon occasion.

There are other places of antiquarian interest,
where are stored Spanish archives covering two
and a quarter centuries, and numerous paintings
and carvings of great age ; the Church of Our

Lady of Light, the Cathe-
dral of San Francisco, and
36

.^ifi?^\

finally the Church of San Miguel and the Old
House, isolated from everything that is in touch
with our century by their location in the heart of
a decrepit old Mexican village. Here, at last, is
the real Santa Fe of the traveler's anticipation ; a
straggling aggregation of lov/ adobe huts, divided
by narrow winding lanes, where in the sharply
defined shadows leathern-faced old men and women
sit in vacuous idleness and burros loaded with fire-
wood or garden truck pass to and fro; and in small
groups of chattering women one catches an occa-
sional glimpse of bright interrogating eyes and a
saucy face, in spite of the closely drawn tapelo. -

If now some sturdy figure in bright, clanking
armor should obligingly pass along, you would
have an exact picture of the place as it appeared
two and a half centuries ago. Nothing but that
figure has departed from the scene, and substan-
tially nothing new has entered in. It does not
change. The hurrying activities and transitions of
the outer world, from which it is separated by only
a narrow arroyo , count for nothing here. One
questions if the outline of a shadow has altered for
generations. The Old House, where Coronado is
said to have lodged in 1540, and the Church of
San Miguel, which was sacked in 1680, are not
distinguishable from their surroundings by any air
of superior age. All is old,

a petrifaction of medieval - ^. ^i'fe-w /^

human life done in adobe.

.^.

The Old

Go'vernor's

Palace,

More than a score of these many-
chambered communal homes are scat-
tered over New Mexico. Taos,
Picuris, San Juan, Santa Clara, San Ilde-
fonso, Pojoaque, Nambe and Teseque
are within twenty to ninety-five miles of Santa
Fe, their population varying from twenty-five
to four hundred persons. From Domingo one may
reach the pueblos of Cochiti.San Domingo and San
Felipe, while Sandia, Jemez, Zia and Santa Ana are
in the vicinity of Albuquerque. Few tourists know
that the Pueblo Indians of New Mexico own 900,000
acres of land, and that since the treaty of Guadeloupe
Hidalgo in 1848 they have been full-fledged United
States citizens, though not voting, and maintaining
their own forms of government. Three of the most
important pueblos are Isleta, Laguna, and Acoma.
Isleta and Laguna are within a stone's throw of the
railroad, ten miles and sixty-six miles, respectively,
beyond Albuquerque, and Acoma is reached from
Laguna or Cubero by a drive of fifteen miles. Meals
and lodging may be obtained at several places near
the depot. Team and driver for Acoma costs

$5-00 for one passenger and $6.00 for two. The
trip may be made in a day.

The aboriginal inhabitants of the pueblos, an
intelligent, complex, industrious and independent
race, are anomalous among North American natives.
Many are housed to-day in the self-same structures
in which their forebears were discovered, and in
three and a half centuries of contact with Europeans
their manner of life has not materially changed.
The Indian tribes that roamed over mountain and
plain have become wards of the Government,
But the Pueblo Indian has absolutely maintained
the integrity of his individuality, self-respecting and
self-sufficient. The extent to which he has adopted
the religion of his Spanish conquerers, or the
teachings of his present guardians, amounts to
only a slight concession from his persistent con-
servatism.

Laborious efforts have been made to penetrate
the reserve with which the involved inner life of
this strange child of the desert is guarded, but
it lies like a vast dark continent behind a dimly
visible shore, and he dwells within the shadowy
rim of a night that yields no ray to tell of his
origin.

Pueblo 0/ Zuni.

5^a;r — ■ Ho tel Alvarado ,

Albuquerque.

He is a true pagan, swathed in seem-
M ingly dense clouds of superstition, rich in
fanciful legend, and profoundly cere-
monious in religion. His gods are
innumerable. Not even the ancient Greeks pos-
sessed a more populous Olympus. On that austere
yet familiar height gods of peace and of war, of the
chase, of bountiful harvest and of famine, of sun
and rain and snow, elbow a thousand others for
standing-room. The trail of the serpent has
crossed his history, too, and he frets his pottery
with an imitation of its scales, and gives the rattle-
snake a prominent place among his deities.
Unmistakably a pagan, yet the purity and well-
being of his communities will bear favorable com-
parison with those of the enlightened world. He is
brave, honest and enterprising within the fixed limits
of his little sphere, his wife is virtuous, his children
are docile. And were the whole earth swept bare

of every living thing, save for a few leagues sur-
rounding his tribal home, his life would show little
disturbance. Possibly he might not at once learn
af so unimportant an occurrence. He would still
alternately labor and relax in festive games, still
reverence his gods, and rear his children to a life
of industry and content, so anomalous is he, so
firmly established in an absolute independence.

Pueblo architecture possesses nothing of the elab-
orate ornamentation found in so-called Aztec ruins
in Mexico. The house is usually built of stone,
covered with adobe cement, and is severely plain.
It is commonly two or three stories in height, of
terrace form, and joined to its neighbors. The
prevailing entrance is by means of a ladder to the
roof of the lowest story.

The most strikingly interestmgof New Mexican
pueblos is Acoma. It is built upon the summit of
a table-rock with eroded precipitous sides, 350 feet
above the plain, which is 7,000 feet above the sea.

Pueblo of Laguna.

Acoma pueblo is i,ooo feet in length and 40 feet
high, and there is besides a church of enormous
proportions. Formerly it was reached only by a
hazardous stairway in the rock, up which the inhab-
itants carried upon their backs every particle of the
materials of which the village is constructed; but
easier pathways now exist. The graveyard con-
sumed forty years in building, by reason of the
necessity of bringing earth from the plain below;
and the church must have cost the labor of many
generations, for its walls are 60 feet high and 10
feet thick, and it has timbers 40 feet long and 14
inches square.

The Acomas welcomed the soldiers of Coronado
with deference, ascribing to them celestial origin.
Subsequently, upon learning the distinctly human
character of the Spaniards, they professed allegiance,
but afterward wantonly slew a dozen of Zaldivar's
men.

By way of reprisal Zaldivar headed threescore
soldiers and undertook to carry the sky-citadel by

assault. After a three days' hand-to-hand struggle
the Spaniards stood victors upon that seemingly
impregnable fortress, and received the submission
of the Queres, w^ho for three-quarters of a century
thereafter remained tractable. In that interval the
priest came to Acoma and held footing for fifty
years, until the bloody uprising of 1680 occurred,
in which priest, soldier, and settler were massacred
or driven from the land, and every vestige of their
occupation was extirpated. After the resubjection
of the natives by Diego de Vargas the present
church was constructed, and the Pueblos have
not since rebelled against the contiguity of the
white man.

Anciently, according to a native tradition, for
which Mr. C. F. Lummis is authority, the original
pueblo of Acoma stood upon the crest of the
Enchanted Mesa, 430 feet above the valley, three
miles away, but its only approach was one
day destroyed by the falling of a clifi, and
three sick women, who chanced to be the
only occupants — the remainder of the popu-
lation being at work in the fields below —
perished there, beyond reach of aid from
their people, who then built a new pueblo
on the present site.

In 1897 ^^ Eastern college professor laid
siege to the Mesa Encantada with a mortar
and several miles of assorted ropes, supple-
mented by pulleys, a boatswain's chair, and a

■i
(/)

S
o

1-
z
<

team of horses. By these aids the summit was
reached, but the party reported that nothing was
found to indicate that it had ever been visited
before by man.

'A few weeks later, Dr. F. W. Hodge, of the
Bureau of Ethnology, made the ascent with several
companions, aided by a few short ladders, a guide
rope, and experience in mountaineering. This
party found a number of potsherds and fragments
of implements and ornaments, all of ancient type,
and vigorously championed the claim that the mesa
was once inhabited.

Afterward another party, including Mr. Lummis,
Dr. David Starr Jordan, and Prof. T. H. Hittell,
similarly ascended and were similarly rewarded.
The adherents of the legend assert that the gnaw-
ing tooth of centuries of summer storm and winter
frost would inevitably denude the summit of every
relic of that olden time save such as have been
securely pocketed in crevices instead of washing
away. The talus of the mesa abounds in ancient
potsherds, and the rapid annual rise of rock detritus
at the foot of the clifif not only lends corroboration

Turquoise- drilling.

but shows how recently the mesa has ceased to be
unscalable. Even so, it will be long before the
casual tourist will aspire to its giddy crest.

Laguna ("the lake") was founded in 1699 by
refugees from Acoma, Zuni, and Cochiti, on a high
rock near the San Jose River. Its old Spanish
mission name was San Josef de la Laguna. Several
great battles were fought here with the Navajos
and Apaches. The Laguna Indians also occupy
tributary villages, such as Paquate, Negra, Encinal,
and Casa Blanca.

III.

ARIZONA.

THE portion to be traversed is a land of pro-
digious mountain terraces, extensive plateaus,
profound canyons, and flat, arid plains, dotted with
gardens of fruits and 'flowers, patched with vast
tracts of pine timber, and veined with precious
stones and metals, alternating with desolate beds
of lava, bald mountainous cones of black and red
volcanic cinder, grass-carpeted parks, uncouth vege-
table growths of the desert, and bleak rock spires,
above all which white peaks gleam radiantly in
almost perpetual sunlight. The long-time residents
of this region are unable to shake off its charm,
even when no longer compelled by any other con-
sideration to remain. Its frequent wide stretches
of rugged horizon exert a fascination no less pow-
erful than that of arduous mountain fastnesses or
the secret shadows of the dense forest.

There is the same dignity of Nature, the same
mystery, potent even upon those who can least
define its thrall. , ,, /U , ' i

4 Jii '*

Miners confess to it, and herdsmen. To the
traveler it will appear a novel environment for con-
temporaneous American life, this land of sage and
mesquite, of frowning volcanic piles, shadowed can-
yons, lofty mesas and painted buttes. It seems
fitter for some cyclopean race; for the pterodactyl
and the behemoth. Its cliffs are flung in broad,
sinuous lines that approach and recede from the
way, their contour incessantly shifting in the simil-
itude of caverns, corridors, pyramids, monuments,
and a thousand other forms so full of structural idea
that they seem to be the unfinished work of some
giant architect who had planned more than he
could execute.

The altitude is practically the same as that of the
route through New Mexico, undulating between
5,000 and 7,000 feet above sea-level, until on the
western border the high plateaus break rapidly down
to an elevation of less than 500 feet at the valley
of a broad and capricious stream that flows through
alternate stretches of rich alluvial meadow and
barren rock-spires — obelisks rising against the sky.
This stream is the Colorado River, wayward,
strenuous, and possessed of creative imagination and
terrific energy when the mood is on. It chiseled
the Grand Canyon, far to the north and east, and
now complacently saunters oceanward. Despite
its quiet air, not long ago it conceived the whim
to make a Salton Sea far to the south, and the
affair was a national sensation for many months.

The great cantilever bridge that spans it here (one

of the largest of its kind in the world) was made
necessary by the restless spirit of the intractable
stream. The main suspended span is 660 feet in
length and the cantilever arms each 165 feet; the
cost was half a million dollars. Only a few years
ago the crossing was by means of a huge pile bridge
several miles toward the north ; but the river shifted
its channel so frequently it was thought desirable to
build a new bridge down here among the enduring
obelisks, which are known as The Needles. It is
a picturesque spot, full of color, and the air has a
pure transparency that lends depth and distance to
the view, such as the bird knows in its flight.

The Needles form the head of the gorgeously
beautiful Mojave Canyon, hidden from view. The
Colorado is an inveterate lover of a chaotic chan-
nel.

It is its genius to create works of art on a scale
to awe the spirit of cataclysm itself. It is a true
Hellespont, issuing from Cimmerian gloom to loiter
among sunny fields, which it periodically waters
with a fertilizing flood ; and while you follow its
gentle sweep it breaks into sudden uproar and hews
a further path of desolation and sublimity. One
who does not know the canyons of the Colorado
has never experienced the full exaltation of those
impersonal emotions to which the Arts are
addressed. There only are audience-halls fit for
tragedies of i^schylus, for Dante and the Sagas.

The known history of Arizona begins with the
same Mark of Nice whom we have already

accredited as the discoverer of New Mexico, of
which this Territory was long a part : and here, as
well, he was followed by Coronado and the mis-
sionaries. This is the true home of the Apache,
whose unsparing warfare repeatedly destroyed the
work of early Spanish civilization and won the land
back for a time to heathenesse. Its complete acqui-
sition by the United States dates from 1853, ^"^
in the early days of the Civil War it was again
devastated.

After its successful reoccupation by California
troops in 1862, settlers began to penetrate its
northern portion. Nearly twenty years later the
first railroad spanned its boundaries, and then
finally it became a tenable home for the Saxon,
although the well-remembered outbreak of Gero-
nimo occurred only two decades ago. To-day the
war-thirsty Apaches are widely scattered among dis-
tant reservations, and with them has departed the
last existing element of disturbance. But Arizona
will never lose its peculiar atmosphere of extreme
antiquity, for in addition to those overwhelming
chasms that have lain unchanged since the infancy
of the world, it contains within its borders the
ruins of once populous cities, maintained by an enor-
mous irrigation system which our modern science
has not yet outdone ; whose history was not writ-
ten upon any lasting scroll ; whose peoples are
classed among the undecipherable antiquities of our
continent, their deeds unsung, their heroes unchron-
icled and unknown.

Yet, if you have a chord for the heroic, hardly
shall you find another land so invigorating as this
of Arizona. It stiffens the mental fiber like a whiflf
of the north vv^ind. It stirs in the blood dim echoes
of days when achievement lay in the might of the
individual arm ; when sword met targe in exhilara-
ting struggles for supremacy. The super-refinement
of cities dissipates here. There is a tonic breeze
that blows toward simple relations and a lusty self-
hood.

ALBUQUERQUE TO NEEDLES.

The Santa Fe, in traversing western New Mex-
ico and Arizona, climbs the Continental Divide
from Albuquerque (altitude 4,935 feet) to Guam
(altitude 6,996 feet), a distance of 136 miles, along
the interesting valleys of the Puerco and San Jose.
There follows a downhill slide of 150 miles to
Winslow (altitude 4,343 feet) beside the Puerco
and Little Colorado rivers. The engine then puffs
up grade for many miles through fragrant pine for-
ests to a point just beyond Flagstaff. There is a
slight down grade to Ash Fork (altitude 5,129
feet), another rise of twenty-seven miles to Selig-
man (altitude 5,260 feet), and then the train
easily drops down a 150-mile incline to Needles,
the descent being nearly a mile, almost to sea-
level. You would scarcely notice the difference at
any given point, unless by comparison with track
behind or ahead.

The principal scenes en route will be briefly
noted, without attempting adequate description.

Isleta, *" little island," is a picturesque pueblo in
the Rio Grande Valley, occupied by six hundred
Indians who own flocks, cultivate vineyards and
work in silver. Laguna is mentioned elsewhere.
Cubero is a quiet Mexican village, three miles
from the station, where quaint ceremonies —
brought from Old Mexico — still hold sway; the
San Mateo Mountains are on the north from
Cubero to Grant's. Northeast of McCarty's is
\ Acomita, an ofifshoot of Acoma pueblo. Lava beds
are seen, McCarty's to beyond Blue water. The
Zuiii Mountains are southwest of Grant's station ;
San Rafael is on the road thither in a beautiful
valley; here, also at Cubero and San Rafael, the
strange rites of the Penitentes are performed :
southward are the pictured mesa fronts visible as
far as Gallup.

There is a low cone north of Bluewater called
Tintero, meaning inkstand, whence lava once pro-
fusely flowed. The station of Chaves is named
for a noted Indian fighter of early days. From
Thoreau, three miles east of Continental Divide,
various interesting canyons and Indian pueblos may
be reached, notably Pueblo Bonito, whose ancient
ruins cover seven acres, one building containing a
thousand rooms.

Between Guam and Wingate are Navajo Church
and Pyramid Rock. Inscription Rock is fifty miles
southeast of Wingate. The southern border of

A Navajo

the Navajo reservation is ten to fifty miles north
of the railway in northeastern Arizona. The
Navajos frequently visit Wingate, Canyon Diablo
and intermediate stations. They are a pastoral
people, progressive, intelligent and self-supporting.
They own large numbers of cattle, sheep and
goats, till small farms, make the celebrated Navajo
blankets, and are expert silversmiths.

Thirty-five miles south of Zuni Station, on Zuni
River, is the pueblo of Zuni, inhabited by a thou-
sand Indians, made famous through the writings
of an energetic ethnologist, Mr. Frank Gushing,
who lived in the pueblo for four years, first as a
welcome guest and then as a member of the tribe.
The Zunis have always been an imperious people.

Their history prior to the Spanish occupation indi-
cates that they were at that time the dominant
Pueblos. The Zuiii ceremonial dances are of
world-wide renown. Gallup is the best point of
departure for Zuni village. The trip is a com-
fortable carriage ride of six hours each way, over
good roads and through impressive scenery. Ex-
penses are about five dollars per day for each
person. Room and board, at Zuni, can be ob-
tained at the house of the resident trader.

Canyon de Chelly lies fifty miles north of Man-
uelito. Adamana and Holbrook are points of
departure for Petrified Forest. Holbrook is the
railroad station for Fort Apache, several Indian
villages and interior Mormon settlements. The
Painted Desert and Moki buttes north of Wins-
low, and the MogoUon Mountains south, are
prominent features of the landscape ; the old Con-
tinental stage route, a continuation of the Santa
Fe Trail, passed through Winslow. Canyon Diablo,
Flagstaff, Williams and Ash Fork are referred to
further on.

The Hualapai and Havasupai Indian agency is
reached from Tinnaka. The Hualapai mainly live
at near-by stations, or act as herders ; the Havasu-
pais reside in Cataract Canyon, a tributary of the
Grand Canyon.

•'r<:«v&Vr

PETRIFIED FORESTS.

From remotest epochs earth has striven against
the encroaching slime of seas in a wasting struggle
to free her face to air. Those who are learned
may tell you where she is left most deeply scarred
by the conflict, but in this region where her
triumph, if barren, is complete, and the last
straggling columns of her routed foe are sourly
retreating oceanward, at least her wounds are
bare, and with them many a strange record which
she thought to lock forever in her bosom. Long
ere Noan fell adrift with the heterogeneous com-
pany of the ark, or Adam was, perhaps even before
the ancestral ape first stood erect in the posture of
men that were to be, forests were growing in Ari-
zona, just as in some parts they grow to-day. And
it befell in the course of time that they lay pros-
trate and over them swept the waters of an inland
sea. __

1.:, >. , -.- i. "^t ; - ■ I .-,,■■■ ■.~v:-/,mm:..^.-'-M *■

Eons passed, and sands like drifting snowflakes
buried them so deep the plesiosaurus never sus-
pected their grave beneath him as he basked his
monstrous length in the tropic w^aters and hungrily
watched the pterodactyl lolling in the palm-shade
on the rim. Then the sea vanished, the uncouth
denizens of its deeps and shores became extinct,
and craters belched forth volcanic spume to spread
a further mantle of oblivion over the past. Yet
somewhere the chain of life remained unbroken,
and as fast as there came dust for worm to burrow
in, mould for seed to sprout in, and leaf for insect
to feed on, life crept back in multiplying forms,
only to retreat again before the surge of ele-
mental strife after a century or after a thousand
years.

The precise sequence of local events as here
sketched must not be too critically scanned. The
aim is to suggest an approximate notion, to those
who possess no better, of some prodigious happen-
ings which have a bearing on our immediate
theme. If still one chance to lack a working idea,
let him remember that the solid surface of the
earth is ceaselessly changing contour, that it act-
ually billows like the open sea. It merely moves
more slowly, for if the gradual upheavals and
depressions of the earth's crust throughout millions
of years were performed within the brief span of
an hour, you would have the wildest conceivable
spectacle of cold rock strata become as fluctuant
as water, and leaping and falling in waves whose

crests towered miles in air, and whose lengths were
measurable by half a continent. This region for
hundreds of square miles was once sunk so low
the ocean overflowed it ; then upheaved so high
the brine could find no footing. Again a partial
depression made it a vast repository of rivers that
drained the higher levels, which in time was
expelled by a further upheaval. During the peri-
ods of subsidence the incoming waters deposited
sand and silt, which time hardened to rock. But
in periods of upheaval the process was reversed and
the outgoing waters gnawed the mass and labored
constantly to bear it away.

So, to return to our long-buried forest, some
10,000 feet of rock was deposited over it, and sub-
sequently eroded clean away. And when these
ancient logs were uncovered, and, like so many Van
Winkles, they awoke — but from a sleep many
thousand times longer — to the sight of a world
that had forgotten them, lo! the sybaritic chemistry
of nature had transformed them every one into
chalcedony, topaz, onyx, carnelian, agate and ame-
thyst.

Thousands of acres are thickly strewn with
trunks and segments of trunks, and covered with
chiplike fragments. There are several separated
tracts, any one of which will seem to the aston-
ished beholder an inexhaustible store of gems,
measurable by no smaller phrase
than millions of tons ; a profusion
of splinters, limbs and logs, every

fragment of which as it lies would adorn the col-
lector's cabinet, and, polished by the lapidary, might
embellish a crown. Some of these prostrate trees
of stone are over 200 feet in length and seven to
ten feet in diameter, although they are most fre-
quently broken into sections by transverse fracture.

One of these huge trunks, its integrity still spared
by time, spans a canyon fifty feet wide — a bridge
of jasper and agate overhanging a tree-fringed
pool.

Mr. John Muir, the noted California naturalist,
says of the North Sigillaria Forest (discovered by
him in 1906) that the many finely preserved Sigil-
laria, Lepidodendron and Dadozylon trees here, with
their peculiar roots and leaf -marks, show plainly
that in this place flourished one of the noblest
forests of the Carboniferous period. The trees
grew where they now lie, instead of drifting in
from elsewhere, and there are many standing stumps
visible.

The forest covers many thousands of acres, in
five separate tracts.

The First Forest is distant six miles from Ada-
mana, being the one most frequently visited. It
contains the notable natural log bridge. The
Second Forest is three miles south of the first one
and is smaller. The Third Forest lies thirteen
miles southwest of Adamana ; it is the largest and
has the most unbroken tree trunks of great size.
The Blue Forest is seven miles southeast and the
North Sigillaria Forest is nine miles north; the pre-

vailing color of the former is a beautiful
nemophilia blue; the latter is famed for its
basin, the north wall of which is sculp-
tured like the Grand Canyon. The general
characteristics of these different tracts are
the same. One may also reach the Third
Forest from Holbrook; distance eighteen
miles. Round-trip livery fare from either
point is $4.00 to $5.00 for one person and
$2.50 each for two or more persons. Mr.
Al. Stevenson conducts a small hotel at
Adamana; rate $2.50 a day. There are also
good hotel accommodations at Holbrook.

MOKIS.

The Moki pueblos are seven in number: Orai-
bi, Shungopavi, Shipaulovi, Mishongnovi, Wolpi,
Sichomovi and Tewa (also called Hano). They
are embraced in a locality less than thirty miles
across, and are the citadels of a region which the
discovering Spaniards in the sixteenth century
named the Province of Tusayan. They are not
to be confounded with the "Seven Cities of
Cibola," whose site is now known to be Zuiii,
in New Mexico. They are reached by a pleasant
two days' wagon journey northward from Canyon
Diablo, Holbrook or Winslow, and by a longer route
through pine forests from Gallup in New
Mexico, at an expense of from $5 to $7 a day.

The peculiar attractions which they offer to
students of primitive community and pagan
ceremonies, as well as to the artist seeking

MOKI HAIR DRESSING.

strange subjects, or the casual traveler hoping to find
a new sensation, are acting to draw an increasing
number of visitors every year at the time of their
religious festivities. This increasing interest has
resulted in improving the means of access without
in any degree modifying the conditions of the
villages themselves or the Moki ceremonies. The
latter half of August is the time of the most spec-
tacular fiestas, and at that season a wagon journey
from the railway to the Province of Tusayan, with
the consequent camp life on the road and at the
pueblos, need be no hardship.

There are no tourist's accommodations at the
villages except such few rooms or houses as can be
rented from the Mokis at reasonable rates. Provi-
sions and such household comforts as the traveler
considers indispensable must be brought in. The
roads and trails lie across the almost level Painted
Desert, which, except in the Little Colorado Val-
ley and around a few springs or wells, has scant
vegetation. The soil is sandy or rocky, and in
August the weather is warm. The altitude, aver-
aging 6,000 feet, insures cool nights, and the
absence of humidity forbids that the daytime heat
should be oppressive. Even if the pueblos as an
objective did not exist, a voyage into that country
of extinct volcanoes and strangely sculp-
tured and tinted rock-masses would be well
worth the making. Aside from the
powerful charm exerted by this region
upon all visitors, there is an invigorat-

i L^ ing tonic quality in the pure air of Arizona that
is better than medicine.

Like Acoma, the Moki pueblos are perched
on the crests of lofty mesas, and at the first
were well nigh inaccessible to enemies, their only
approach being by way of narrow, precipitous
foot trails. In modern times less difficult paths
,;?jpt/have been constructed, such fortress homes
}\] being no longer needful for defense. But the
conservative Mokis continue to live as lived their
forbears and cling to their high dwelling place.
The women toil up the trails with water from
the spring below, and the men returning from
the fields climb a small mountain's height daily.
They are industrious, thrifty, orderly and mirth-
ful, and are probably the best entertained people
in the world. A round of ceremonies, each
terminating in the pageants called "dances,"
keeps going pretty continuously the whole year,
and all the spectacles are free. Subsisting almost
wholly by agriculture in an arid region of uncertain
crops, they find abundant time between their labors
for lighthearted dance and song, and for elaborate
ceremonials, which are grotesque in the Kachina,
or masked dances, ideally poetic in the Flute dance,
and intensely dramatic in the Snake dance.

Of the last two, both of which are drama-
tized prayers for rain at an appointed season, the
former is picturesque in costume and ritual, and
impressive in solemn beauty; the latter is grim and
startling, reptiles — including a liberal proportion of
rattlesnakes — being employed as messengers to
carry petitions to the gods of the underworld, who
are supposed to have power over the rain cloud.

To the onlooker it seems impossible that venom-
ous snakes can be handled so audaciously without
inflicting deadly wounds, yet it is positively known
that they are in no wise deprived of their natural
power to do so. There are those who claim to
have seen the dancers bitten by their rattlesnake
partners, but the claim lacks confirm.ation by care-
ful scientific observers, who incline to the belief that
the snake priests avoid injury by dexterity and a
knowledge of reptile ways. It is true that the
priests possess a secret antidote, to which they
resort in cases of snakebite, which occasionally
befalls the barefoot natives, but even in the land of
the snake dance such casualties are uncommon and
the efficacy of the antidote remains a matter for
investigation. That the dancers are some-
times bitten is pretty well established, but the
observer may not have distinguished the harm-
less from the venomous snakes, which are
intermingled, and the Mokis are reticent to
subsequent inquiry.

Moki is a nickname. It is said to signify
dead," and to have been applied at a time j^'ijj^cZ

of devastation by smallpox, that gift of civilized
man to the savage. Among themselves they are
known as Hopi, "good (or peaceful) people." It
„ is to be regretted that a name so much worthier
I these friendly and interesting aborigines cannot be
restored to current usage.

The Mokis are hospitable to all respectful visit-
ors, and they may be visited at any time of the
year except in midwinter, although the season of
the religious feasts made famous by the snake dance
is the time of the greatest attraction.

Extended mention of the Mokis and their cus-
toms, with ample illustration, will be found in a
separate publication, ^'Indians of the Southwest.'^

CANYON DIABLO.

This is a profound gash in the plateau, some 225
feet deep, 550 feet vv^ide, and many miles long. It
has the appearance of a volcanic rent in the earth's
crust, wedge-shaped, and terraced in bare dun rock
down to the thread of a stream that trickles
through the notch. It is one of those inconsequent
things which Arizona is fond of displaying. For
many miles you are bowled over a perfectly level
plain, and without any preparation whatever, save
only to slacken its pace, the train crosses the chasm
by a spider-web bridge, 225 feet high and
600 feet long, and then speeds again over
64

the self-same placid expanse.
In the darkness of night one
might unsuspectingly step ofi
into its void, it is so entirely
unlocked for. Yet, remark-
able as is the Canyon Diablo,
in comparison with those
grand gorges hereafter to be
mentioned it is worth little
better than an idle glance.

Several miles southeast of Canyon Diablo is a
remarkable place called Meteorite Mountain, where
it is supposed that a colossal sky-wanderer once
fell. The craterlike cavity marking its crash into
the earth is a mile wide. Large fragments of
meteoric stone have been found near by containing
small diamonds.

Mr. F. W.Volz, Indian trader here, is prepared
to take visitors to the Moki villages and Meteorite
Mountain at any time. His facilities are unusually
good and charges reasonable.

FLAGSTAFF.

Flagstaff is itself pictorial in character and rich
in interest. From it one finds access to most
remarkable ancient ruins and to one of the
most practicable and delightful of our great
mountains. It stands upon a clearing in an exten-

Canyon Diablo.

sive pine forest that here covers the plateau and
clothes the mountains nearly to their peaks;
although the word park better describes this sunlit,
grass-carpeted expanse of widely set, towering pines,
where cattle graze and the horseman may gallop
at will. Couched at the foot of a noble mountain
that dolifs its cap of snow for only a few weeks of
the year, and environed by vast resources of mate-
rial wealth in addition to the picturesque and his-
torical features of its surroundings, it is fortunately
located.

The extraordinarily pure atmosphere of this ele-
vated region and the predominance of clear weather
gave Flagstaff the Lowell Observatory. It is
charmingly situated in the heart of the pines, upon
a hill in the outskirts of the town. Visitors are
made welcome.

About fifty miles northeast of Flagstafif, on the
summit of a mesa, near the Little Colorado river,
are the Black Falls prehistoric ruins, reached over
a fairly good road. These consist of three large
groups. They are noted for the many high walls
still standing and the fine pottery that is found there.
Also accessible from Grand View (Grand Canyon).

^/.

SAN FRANCISCO PEAKS.

Here, as in many other parts of the West, the
actual height of a mountain is greater than is appar-
ent to the eye. The ascent begins at a point
considerably above where the Eastern mountain
climber leaves off, for the reason that the whole
region is itself a prodigious mountain, hundreds of
thousands of square miles in area, of which the
projecting peaks are but exalted lookouts. The
summits of San Francisco Peaks are elevated
nearly 13,000 feet above the sea, and only 6,000
feet above the town of Flagstaff. It follows that
more than half of the actual ascent has been made
without any effort by the traveler, and the same
altitude is attained as if he had climbed a sheer
height of 13,000 feet upon the rim of the sea.
There is the same rarefaction of air, the same wide
range over an empire that lies flat beneath the eye,
limited only by the interposition of other mountains,
the spherical contour of the earth, atmospheric
haze, or the power of vision itself.

ya^'>

The apex of Humphrey's Peak, the only summit
of this mountain yet practicable for the tourist, is
little more than ten miles from Flagstaff, and an
excellent carriage road covers fully seven miles of
the distance. From the end of that road a com-
fortable bridle-path leads to within a few feet of the
topmost crag. The entire trip may be made on
horseback if desired, and one who is accustomed to
the saddle will find it a preferable experience, for
then short cuts are taken through the timber, and
there is so much the more of freedom and the charm
of an untrammeled forest. The road crosses a
short stretch of clearing and then enters the magnifi-
cent pine park, rising at an easy grade and offering
frequent backward glimpses. The strained, con-
scious severity of the Rocky Mountain giants is
wanting here. It is a mountain without egotism,
breathing gentlest dignity, and frankly fond of its
robe of verdure. Birds flit and carol in its treetops,
and squirrels play. Grass and fern do not fear to
make soft-cushioned banks to allure the visitor,
flowers riot in their season, and the aspens have
whole hillsides to themselves ; soft, twinkling bow-
ers of delicate green, dells where one could wish to
lie and dream through long summer hours. The
bridle-path begins, with the conventional zig-zag of
mountain-trails, at the foot of a steep grass-grown
terrace that lies in full view of the spreading pano-
rama below. Above that sunny girdle the trail
winds through a more typical mountain forest,
where dead stalks of pine and fir are plentifully

sprinkled among the living, and ugly swaths show
where the avalanche has passed. Above this, for
the remaining few hundred feet, the peaks stand
bare — stern, swart crags that brook no mantle
except the snows, encompassed by a quiet which
only the wind redeems from everlasting silence.

The outlook from Humphrey's Peak is one of the
noblest of mountain views. It commands a recog-
nizable territory of not less than seventy-five thou-
sand square miles, with vague, shadowy contours
beyond the circle of definite vision. Categorically,
as pointed out by the guide, the main features of
the landscape are as follows: Directly north, the
farther wall of the Grand Canyon, at the Bright
Angel amphitheater, fifty miles away; and topping
that, the Buckskin Mountains of the Kaibab Pla-
teau, thirty or forty miles farther distant. To the
right, the Navajo Mountains, near the Colorado
state line, 200 miles. In the northeast, the won-
derful Painted Desert, tinted with rainbow-hues,
and the Navajo Reservation. Below that the Moki
buttes and villages. Toward the east, the broad
plateau and desert as far as the divide near Navajo
Springs, 130 miles east from Flagstafl by the rail-
road. In the southeast the White Mountains,
more than 200 miles. In the south , successively, the
Mogollon Plateau, a group of a dozen lakes —
unlooked-for sight in the arid lands — Baker's Butte,
the Four Peaks, and the Superstition Mountains
near Phoenix, the last named 160 miles distant. In
the southwest, the Bradshaw Mountains, 140 miles;

Granite Mountain at Prescott, lOO miles, and the
Juniper Range, 150 miles. The horizon directly
west is vague and doubtful, but is supposed to lie
near the California line. In the northwest a dis-
tant range is seen, north of the Colorado River and
east of the Nevada line, perhaps the Sheavwits or
the Hurricane Mountains. Among the less remote
objects are the Coconino forest and basin on the
north ; on the east the Little Colorado, traceable
by its fringe of cottonwoods, beds of lava flung like
the shadow of a cloud or the trail of a conflagra-
tion, and Sunset and Peachblow craters, black cones
of cinder capped with red scoria ; on the south and
southwest Oak Creek Canyon, the Jerome smel-
ters, and the rugged pictorial breakdown of the
Verde ; under foot, Flagstaff; and on the west the
peaks of Bill Williams, Sitgreaves and Kendricks,
neighborly near.

Yet, in spite of the grandeur of such a scene,
San Francisco Peak itself soon gains and monopo-
lizes the attention. It has slopes that bend in a
single sweeping curve to depths which the brain
reels to contemplate, down which a loosened stone
will spin until the eye can no longer distinguish
its course; and there are huge folds and preci-
pices and abysses of which no hint was given in
the ascent. Perhaps its most attractive single fea-
ture is a profound bowl-shaped cavity
between Humphrey's and Agassiz Peaks,
overhung by strangely sculptured clififs
that have the appearance of ruined
70

castle walls perforated with rude doorways,
windows and loopholes. It is called The Crater,
and is almost completely boxed in by steep but
uniform slopes of volcanic dust, in descending
which a horse sinks to his fetlocks. On one side
it breaks down into a canyon leading ofif to the
plain and set with tree, grass, fern and flower. Its
axis is marked by two parallel lines of bare bowl-
ders of great size, that might have been thrown up
from the underlying rock by some prodigious ebul-
lition of internal forces.

The round trip to the peak is customarily accom-
plished in a day, but arrangements may be made to
remain upon the mountain over night if determined
upon in advance, and such a plan is recommended
to those who are reasonably hardy and have never
seen the glories of sunset and sunrise from a
mountain-height.

GRAND CANYON OF ARIZONA.

The series of tremendous chasms which form the
channel of the Colorado River in its course through
northern Arizona reach their culmination in a cha-
otic gorge 2 1 7 miles long, nine to thirteen miles wide,
and, midway, more than 6,000 feet below the leve\
of the plateau. Standing upon the brink of that
plateau, at the point of the canyon's greatest width
and depth, the beholder is confronted by a scene
whose majesty and beauty are well nigh unbearable.

Snatched in a single instant glance from every
accustomed anchorage of human experience, the

stoutest heart here quavers, the senses cower. It
is one of the few advertised spots which one need
not fear approaching with anticipations too exalted.
It is a new world, compelling the tribute of sensa-
tions whose intensity exceeds the familiar signifi-
cation of words. It never has been adequately
described, and never will be. If you say of Niaga-
ra's gorge that it is profound, what shall you say
of the Colorado's chasm that yawns beneath 3'our
feet to a depth nearly fifty times greater? If you
have looked down from the height of the Eififel
tower and called it vertiginous, what shall you say
when you are brought to the verge of a gulf at
points of which you may drop a plummet five
times as far? And when you face, not a mere nar-
row frowning gash of incredible depth, but a broad
under-world that reaches to the uttermost horizon
and seems as vast as the earth itself; studded with
innumerable pyramidal mountains of massive bulk
hewn from gaudiest rock-strata, that barely lift
the cones and turrets of their crests to the level of
the eye ; divided by purple voids ; banded in vivid
colors of transparent brilliancy that are harmonized
by atmosphere and refraction to a marvelous deli-
cacy; controlled by a unity of idea that redeems
the whole from the menace of overwhelming
chaos — then, surely, you may be pardoned if your
pen halts. Some of the best descriptive writers
have prepared accounts of this wonderful gorge and
its surroundings. Major Powell, Captain Dutton,

G. Wharton James, and others, have written
magnificent volumes on this theme, and there are
graceful pages devoted to the subject in the book
and magazine v^^ritings of such men as Charles
Dudley Warner, C. F. Lummis, Joaquin Miller and
Hamlin Garland. It has been sympathetically
painted by the great landscape artist, Thomas
Moran, and men like Stoddard, Holmes, Monsen
and Brigham have portrayed its grandeur on the
lecture platform.

A special publication devoted to the Grand
Canyon of Arizona is issued by the Santa Fe, w^hich
contains articles by some of these and various other
eminent writers who have visited the canyon. It
treats the subject descriptively, historically and
scientifically, and may be had for a nominal price
upon application to any agent of the Santa Fe. A
few paragraphs therefrom are here inserted :

"An inferno, swathed in soft celestial fires; a
whole chaotic under-world, just emptied of pri-
meval floods and waiting for a new creative word ;
a boding, terrible thing, unflinchingly real, yet
spectral as a dream, eluding all sense of perspective
or dimension, outstretching the faculty of measure-
ment, overlapping the confines of definite appre-
hension. The beholder is at first unimpressed by
any detail ; he is overwhelmed by the ensemble of a
stupendous panorama, a thousand square miles in
extent, that lies wholly beneath the eye, as if he
stood upon a mountain peak instead of the level
brink of a fearful chasm in the plateau whose

opposite shore is thirteen miles away. A labyrinth
of huge architectural forms, endlessly varied in
design, fretted with ornamental devices, festooned
with lacelike webs formed of talus from the upper
clifiEs and painted with every color known to the
palette in pure transparent tones of marvelous deli-
cacy. Never was picture more harmonious, never
flower more exquisitely beautiful. It flashes instant
communication of all that architecture and paint-
ing and music for a thousand years have gropingly
striven to express. It is the soul of Michael Angelo
and of Beethoven."

" The panorama is the real overmastering charm.
It is never twice the same. Although you think
you have spelt out every temple and peak and
escarpment, as the angle of sunlight changes there
begins a ghostly advance of colossal forms from the
farther side, and what you had taken to be the
ultimate wall is seen to be made lip of still other
isolated sculptures, revealed now for the first time
by silhouetting shadows. The scene incessantly
changes, flushing and fading, advancing into crys-
talline clearness, retiring into slumberous haze."

Long may the visitor loiter upon the rim, pow-
erless to shake loose from the charm, tirelessly
intent upon the silent transformations until the
sun is low in the west. Then the canyon sinks
into mysterious purple shadow, the far Shinumo
Altar is tipped with a golden ray, and against a
leaden horizon the long line of the Echo Cliffs

reflects a soft brilliance ol indescribable beauty, a
light that, elsewhere, surely never was on sea or
land. Then darkness falls, and should there be a
moon, the scene in part revives in silver light, a
thousand spectral forms projected from inscrutable
gloom ; dreams of mountains, as in their sleep they
brood on things eternal."

Fortunately fhe way to the canyon is now easy.
Instead of the old route from Flagstaff, a two days'
stage journey twice a week, in summer only, the
tourist can now make the trip in three hours by
rail any day in the year.

Travelers holding through tickets who wish to
visit the canyon are granted stop-overs at Williams,
a town of 1,500 inhabitants, noted for its extensive
lumber interests. The branch, Williams to the can-
yon, is sixty-four miles long. Two daily trains each
make the round trip in six hours.

Fray Marcos, the new station hotel at Williams,
under Harvey management, is up to the Santa Fe
standard of excellence. It is built with wide
porticos, like an old Spanish mission, and has
pleasant guest rooms. The restaurant, lobby and
large Indian room are tastefully furnished in arts
and crafts style. Travelers who stop ofi between
trains at the "gateway to the Canyon " will appre-
ciate this improved hotel service.

There is usually ample time at Williams, between
trains, for the ascent of Bill Williams Mountain,

Fray Marcos Hotel, fFilliams.

THE RIVER, FOOT OF BRIGHT ANGEL TRAiL.

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which rises near the town to a height of 9,000 feet.
The trip can be made in five hours on horseback
in perfect safety. On the summit is buried the
historic pioneer scout, Bill Williams.

While the Grand Canyon may be reached by
private conveyance from Flagstaff, in open weather,
the main travel is by way of Williams. The railway
terminus at Bright Angel is in the middle of the
granite gorge district. From there one may reach
by carriage the eastern and western ends thereof,
at Grand View and Bass's. Cataract Canyon, rock-
fortress home of the Supai Indians, lies still further
west.

Grand View Hotel has been recently improved
by the erection of a new building with forty guest
rooms, steam heat and other modern conveniences.

A quarter-of-a-million-doUar hotel, "ElTovar"
— named for Pedro de Tovar, one of the officers
who accompanied Coronado's expedition through
Arizona in 1540 — was opened at Bright Angel
in January, 1905, under management of Fred
Harvey.

El Tovar is a long, low, rambling, rustic edifice,
solidly built of native boulders and pine logs. It
contains more than a hundred sleeping-rooms with
accommodations for nearly 300 guests. All the lux-
uries are provided, such as electric light, steam heat,
hot and cold water, room telephones, baths, private
dining-rooms, a solarium, roof gardens and music.
The furniture is of arts and crafts design. The inside
finish is mainly peeled slabs, wood in the rough

and tinted plaster, with here and there huge wooden
beams — for all the world like a big country club
house. Pure spring water is brought from a great
distance. The public dining-room is a notable
attraction. The in-door entertainment of guests is a
special feature.

High -class and adequate accommodations for
Grand Canyon travel are thus assured. To accom-
modate those desiring less expensive quarters, Bright
Angel Camp — old Bright Angel Hotel remodeled —
has been opened as an adjunct to El Tovar under
Harvey management, on European plan. Rooms,
in cottage or tent, $i.oo a day, each person;
meals at cafe. The service here is clean, whole-
some and comfortable.

Adjacent is a unique structure occupied by Moki
Indians, who here engage in their curious handi-
crafts. In this building are also installed several
costly Harvey Indian blanket and basket collections
— prize-winners at the St. Louis World's Fair.
Near by are several hogans, where a number of
Navajos live. The most expert basket-weavers and
pottery-makers in America are found here.

Fine views of the north wall and river may be
obtained from near-by points. The horseback jour-
ney down the trail to the Colorado River and back
is a novel experience. To fairly see the Grand
Canyon in this vicinity, one should plan
to stay at least four days; a week would
be better. In a month one might see
the greater part of the accessible area
bordering the principal trails.
80

In Cataract Canyem,

CLIFF AND CAVE DWELLINGS.

This region abounds in ruins of the dwelh'ngs of
a prehistoric people. The most important lie within
a radius of eight miles from Flagstaff. On the
southeast, Walnut Canyon breaks the plateau for a
distance of several miles, its walls deeply eroded in
horizontal lines. In these recesses, floored and
roofed by the more enduring strata, the clif^ dwell-
ings are found in great number, walled up on the
front and sides with rock fragments and cement,
and partitioned into compartments. Some have
fallen into decay, only portions of their walls
remaining, and but a narrow shelf of the once
broad floor of solid rock left to evidence their
extreme antiquity. Others are almost wholly intact,
having stubbornly resisted the weathering of time.
Nothing but fragments of pottery now remain of
the many quaint implements and trinkets that
characterized these dwellings at the time of their
discovery.

Fixed like swallows* nests upon the face of a
precipice, approachable from above or below only
by deliberate and cautious climbing, these dwell-
ings have the appearance of fortified retreats rather
than habitual abodes. That there was a time, in
the remote past, when warlike peoples of mysteri-
ous origin passed southward over this plateau, is
generally credited. And the existence of the clifi-

dwellings is ascribed to the exigencies of that dark
period, when the inhabitants of the plateau, unable
to cope with the superior energy, intelligence and
numbers of the descending hordes, devised these
unassailable retreats. All their quaintness and
antiquity can not conceal the deep pathos of their
being, for tragedy is written all over these poor
hovels hung between earth and sky. Their build-
ers hold no smallest niche in recorded history.
Their aspirations, their struggles and their fate are
all unwritten, save on these crumbling stones,
which are their sole monument and meager epi-
taph. Here once they dwelt. They left no other
print on time.

At an equal distance to the north of FlagstaflF,
among the cinder-buried cones, is one whose sum-
mit commands a wide-sweeping view of the plain.
Upon its apex, in the innumerable spout-holes that
were the outlet of ancient eruptions, are the cave-
dwellings, around many of which rude stone walls
still stand. The story of these habitations is like-
wise wholly conjectural. They may have been
contemporary with the cliff dwellings. That they
^.vere long inhabited is clearly apparent. Frag-
ments of shattered pottery lie on every hand.

Hotel Escalante, Ash Fork, Ariz.

CENTRAL AND SOUTHERN ARIZONA.

From Ash Fork, the Santa Fe, Prescott & Phoenix
Railway (a Santa Fe h'ne) extends southward
through Prescott to Phoenix in the Salt River
Valley. In a distance of about 200 miles the
traveler is afforded glimpses of nearly every variety
of scenery typical of the Territory. There are
bleak, barren mountains, and mountains covered
with forests of pine or cedar, on whose slopes are
seen the dumps of world-famous mines.

There are rocky desert wastes where only
uncouth cacti find footing to give some poor sem-
blance of life and hope, and vast arid stretches
which in early spring are overspread with flowers,
among which the poppy predominates and by virtue
of its superior size and brilliancy carpets the ground
with an almost unbroken sheet of tawny flame, far
as the eye can reach on either hand. There are
waterless canyons, and canyons walling turbid
streams, unreclaimed vales dotted with cattle, and
broad irrigated valley-plains level as a floor, where
is cultivated in extraordinary profusion nearly every
variety of fruit, nut and vegetable, not absolutely
restricted to the tropics, in addition to an enor-
mous acreage of alfalfa and the ordinary cereals of
the north temperate zone.

Were it not that modern tourists are somewhat
blase with respect to landscape wonders, and if
Arizona did not seem so far off, so out of the world,

it would be as much a fad to visit Point of Rocks
(once an Apache stronghold), near Prescott, as to
see the Garden of the Gods. The first-named is
a more striking bit of rock grotesquerie and fash-
ioned in more titanic form.

Ash Fork, instead of merely being as heretofore a
railroad junction, now makes a strong bid for tour-
ist patronage. A large new $150,000 Fred Harvey
depot hotel, the Escalante, has been opened there.
Wise travelers arrange to stop over at Ash Fork,
en route to the Salt River Valley, and "rest up."

This hotel was named after one of the Spaniards
of the Conquest, Padre Francisco Silvestre Velez
Escalante, a pioneer Franciscan priest, who jour-
neyed through this country in 1776.

Hotel Escalante is of steel and concrete fireproof
construction, built with wide shady verandas in the
fascinating Old Mission style. Here one may find
all the luxuries of the metropolis — hot and cold
water, baths, steam heat, telephones and electric
light.

The pretty curio building near by contains ex-
amples of the best Indian and Mexican handicraft.
It is a very pleasant place in which to while away
an idle hour.

Going south, one naturally expects warmer
weather. Nevertheless it comes as a surprise to
note how abrupt is the transition from bleak winter
to budding spring, or from spring to full midsum-
mer, by merely taking the half-day journey from
Ash Fork to Phoenix. There is not only an

advance into sunland, but a drop toward sea-level
of 4,500 feet. In one stretch of fourteen miles the
descent is nearly two thousand feet.

En route you reach Hassayampa River, near
Wickenberg — of which stream it is affirmed that
whoever drinks of its waters will never afterward
tell the truth, have a dollar, nor leave Arizona.
Within a few miles of this unreHable place is the reli-
able Vulture Mine, a $20,000,000 producer. The
Santa Fe has just built a branch line 1 10 miles long,
from Wickenberg to Parker, on the Colorado River,
which ultimately will be extended to a junction with
the main California line in the vicinity of Bengal.
Both north and south of Prescott some pretty
engineering problems have been solved by rock-cuts,
trestles, detours, and loops. At Cedar Glade is a
steel bridge 650 feet long, spanning Hell Canj'on,
170 feet above the dry stream bed. Here in a
gorge uptilted rock-pillars and tremendous bowlders
lying shoulder to shoulder contest the passage ;
yonder, on a slope, you may see far below a second
parallel track, and below that a third forming a
sweeping loop by which the safe descent of the
train is accomplished and the ascent of the opposite
side made possible. The way is now cautiously
over volcanic beds and rock terraces; then daringly
along the sheer faces of forbidding cliffs ; and again
with a rush and swing freely across level plains.

The developed agricultural and horticultural areas
are in the neighborhood of Phoenix, the territorial
capital and chief city of Salt River
Valley. The climate is especially
friendly to invalids, even during

/**?

the hot summer months, but as in the case of other
Southwestern health and pleasure resorts, winter
brings the influx of visitors. The beneficent effect
of this climate upon the sick, or upon those who
merely seek an enjoyable retreat from the harsh
winter of the North and East, is not easily exag-
gerated. The soft air has a tonic quality.

Low humidity, perpetual sunshine and favorable
breezes tempt the invalid out of doors and prolong
life. Whitelaw Reid writes that nowhere has he
seen a purer atmosphere. It reminds him of the
Great Sahara and Mount Sinai's deserts. He con-
siders southern Arizona as drier than Morocco,
Algiers or Tunis, and more sunshiny than Egypt.
Pulmonary and throat diseases are benefited to a
degree that borders on the miraculous.

In addition to a full complement of hotels, sani-
tariums and hospitals, a feature is made of " tenting
out" in the open desert all winter, to get full
benefit of sun, air and country quiet. But Phoenix
is not wholly a refuge for the sick. It is a busy
city of 15,000 inhabitants, mainly composed of
strenuous Americans, where merchants thrive and
wealth accumulates. For the fashionable visitors
and the "idle born" there are provided golf
grounds, palm-shaded drives, clubs, theaters, the
ease of well-kept inns, and a delightful social life.
Many wealthy Easterners stay in Phcenix at least
a part of each winter.

Strangers will be interested in the Pima and Mari-
copa Indians, who live near the city and who are

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daily seen on its streets disposing of baskets, bead-
work, pottery and mesquite. The wholly up-to-
date youthful Indian may be observed at the U. S.
Indian Industrial School.

In the foothills of the Bradshaw Mountains,
1,971 feet above sea-level, midway between Pres-
cott and Phoenix, and reached by automobile and
stage from Hot Springs Junction, is Castle Hot
Springs, a high-class Fall, Winter and Spring resort
which offers the many joys of life in the open from
Fall until late Spring. The hotel comprises three
separate buildings and five bungalows, modernly
equipped with all the conveniences that appeal to
the experienced traveler. There are electric light-
ing, cold storage and steam systems, also private
bath in connection with most of the rooms. The
table is excellent. The two bath houses are
equipped for the administration of hot medicinal
water by various methods. The mineral water is
a mild lithia, slightly alkaline-
saline chalybeate, and very
beneficial. Castle Hot
Springs is not a sanitarium, ^^^
but a high-class resort.

The valley, of which
Phoenix is the center, is on
of marvelous loveliness, which
only the painter's art can
convey to one who has not

Castle
Hot Springs

beheld it. Of the valleys of the West, there are
four pre-eminent in beauty — the San Gabriel and
Santa Clara in California, the valley of Salt Lake
in Utah, and this of the Salt River in Arizona.
Across the restful and infinitely modulated green of
orchard and shade trees, of alfalfa and barley fields,
of orange groves and palms, the eye is led to a dis-
tant horizon of rugged mountains, where shifting
light and shadow make an endless play of color,
astonishingly vivid to a traveler new to desert land-
scapes, and unceasingly attractive day after day.

It is for this Salt River Valley that the United
States Government, with the assistance of the people
to be benefited, is constructing the Tonto Basin
Reservoir Dam, one of the largest irrigating projects
in the world, which will place under certain irrigation
additional land of exceeding fertility and will make
desirable farm homes for intending settlers. The
earth here lies full-faced to the sun, as level as a calm
sea, widening to twenty miles and extending east
and west nearly a hundred. The sandy soil produces
abundantly. On a few acres one may make a fair
living. The result of this happy combination of
salubrious climate, fertile soil, commercial activity
and congenial society, is to make Phoenix a pecul-
iarly favored place for the traveler's attention.
Prescott is a lively town of 5,ooo population, its
I business district newly built from the ashes of a
\.»sk. destructive fire in 1 900. Up in
the high hills, a mile above the
sea, what wonder that the summers
88

■m&

are cool ! Prescott's growth largely depends upon
the mineral wealth that is being coaxed out of the
reluctant Arizona mountains — a substantial basis of
prosperity. The city is also a summer resort for those
who wish to escape the heat of the low-lying val-
leys. Here is located historic Fort Whipple, the
frontier post so frequently referred to in Cap'^ain
Charles King's novels. That peak, rising 9,000
feet skyward, is Granite Mountain; you would
hardly guess it is all of twelve miles away.

The greatest mineral development is in the vicin-
ity of Prescott. Here, among other famous depos-
its, are the United Verde copper mines and the
Congress and Rich Hill gold mines, the last named
situated upon an isolated summit, where, in early
days, gold was literally whittled from the rock with
knives and chisels. The branch lines from Prescott
to Crown King have made easy of access the rich
gold and copper mines of that flourishing district.
Congress, four miles from the junction, is a model
mining town. The United Verde copper mine is
at Jerome, which place is reached by a crooked nar-
row-gauge line built through a wild country.

i^»i'

IV.

SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA.
A FEW miles beyond the Colorado River cross-
ing at Needles is the railroad station of that
name, where the remnant of the once powerful
and warlike Mojave tribe, now become beggarly
hangers-on to civilization, love to congregate and
sell their bows and arrows and pottery trinkets.
Their hovels are scattered along the wayside, and
the eager congregation of women peddlers, some
with naked babies sitting stoically astride their hips,
and all dubiously picturesque in paint and rags is
sufficiently diverting. The men attain gigantic
stature, and are famed for their speed and bottom
as runners.

River boats occasionally ply between the Gulf of
California and Needles. The town is a Santa Fe
division point, and parties outfit here for the mines

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roundabout. The new Santa Fe station hotel,
El Garces, has made the Needles stop-over much
pleasanter for travelers. El Garces is 518 feet
long, two stories high, cost $250,000 and has 65
guest rooms. Its dining room seats 120 persons.
The wide verandas form an ideal promenade and
every modern comfort is provided.

As an introduction to Southern California you
are borne across an arid region, whose monotony
intercepts every approach to California except that
roundabout one by way of the sea. On either
hand lies a drear stretch of sand and alkali, relieved
only by black patches of lava and a mountainous
horizon — a Nubian desert in very truth. Through
this the train hastens to a more elevated country,
arid still, but relieved by rugged rocks, the gnarled
trunks and bolls of the yucca and occasional growths
of deciduous trees. Craters of extinct volcanoes
form interesting landmarks, and there are a num-
ber of rich mining districts tributary to the line,
but unseen from the train. A strange river, the
Mojave, keeps company with the track for several
miles, flowing gently northward, to finally lose
itself in thirsty sands. At Hesperia are vineyards —
first hint of the paradise just over the range.

THE WORLD'S TREASURE VAULT.

When the west-bound Santa Fe train crosses the
Colorado River, it enters the largest county in the
United States, within whose boundaries could be

El Garces Hotel.

placed, with some square miles to spare, the States
of Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts and
Rhode Island. Sterile as is its appearance, it is yet
a region of uncountable wealth. Precious and base
metals, as well as rare gems, are found in the ledges
which seam every mountain range, while the valleys
are a vast storehouse of borax, soda, gypsum, nitre,
salt and many other chemical compounds which are
in constant demand. So lavish has nature been in
heaping these great deposits that the world's need
of all these useful articles may here be gotten for
many years without exhausting the supply. And
desert though this country has been called, since
the first hardy pioneers dared its dangers of track-
less sand and consuming thirst, there are yet great
stretches of land where the most bounteous har-
vests may be gathered, provided water is spread over
it. Strangely enough, in this land athirst, the
precious fluid has been found in abundance where
it was supposed not to be, and so near the surface
that it is no task to raise and distribute it over the
fertile soil.

In almost the geographical center of this great
domain, named San Bernardino County, is Ludlow,
a station on the Santa Fe main line and the south-
ern terminus of the Tonopah & Tidewater Rail-
road. This new artery of commerce was opened
for business on December 6, 1907, the first through
train from Los Angeles, California, to Tonopah,
Nevada, passing over the line on that date. It was
built primarily to supersede the " 20 -mule -team

borax" wagons which formerly hauled this widely
used product from the depths of Death Valley to
railway transportation more than a hundred miles
away. A branch line seven miles long to the
Lila C mine affords rapid and easy handling of the
crystallized Colmanite or borax-bearing ores.

The ringing of the engine bell on this first
through train sounded the death-knell of another
wide section of the Great American Desert. It
was answered by the huzzahs of hardy pioneers,
standing at the mouths of tunnels and shafts on a
hundred mountain sides. They had braved the
hardships of remote regions to find and develop
the great ore bodies awaiting their coming. Now
their patience was justified, for the train meant a
market for their ores and easy acquisition of life's
comforts. The prospector now no longer fears
that his pack-train will suffer thirst while crossing
from one mountain range to another. A short
detour brings him to a plenteous supply of water,
developed by the railroad builders.

The opening of the Tonopah & Tidewater also
made accessible that weird rift in earth's surface
between the Funeral Range and the Panamints,
known as Death Valley. The floor of this mighty
sink is nearly 300 feet below sea level and is covered
in greater part by an incrustation of alkali com-
pounds, which resemble, at a distance, a blanket
of snow. In this one-time caldron nature's forces
are everywhere apparent. It is a most interesting
spot for the student, the scientist and the treasure

hunter, while the health-seeker, for eight months
of the year, can there rejuvenate his worn nerves
and enjoy a perfect climate.

The Tonopah & Tidewater is the shortest and
quickest route to Rhyolite, Bullfrog, Beatty,
Springdale, Bonnie Claire, Goldfield, Tonopah and
other bonanza mining camps of Nevada, whose
rich ores have caused the building of thriving
cities where a few years ago were only bare hill-
sides and sage-brush-covered plains. These offer
to men of affairs golden opportunities for invest-
ment and large returns, while the mere curiosity-
seeker will there find much that is unique and
educating.

SOUTH OF CAJON PASS.

The Santa Ana and San Gabriel Valleys of
Southern California are entered through the Cajon
Pass. It is the loveliest imaginable scene, a gently
billowing mountain flank densely set with thickets
of manzanita, gleaming through whose glossy foliage
and red stems the pale earth rices here and there in
graceful dunes of white unflecked by grass or shrub,
overhung by parallel-terraced ridges of the San Ber-
nardino Mountains, that pale in turn to a topmost
height far in the blue Italian sky. Entirely want-
ing in the austerity that characterizes the grander
mountains of loftier altitudes, it takes you from the
keeping of plateau and desert, and by seductive
windings leads you down to the garden of California.
In the descent from the summit (altitude 3,819 feet)

.94

a drop of 2,700 feet is made in twenty-five miles.
On reaching San Bernardino, typical scenes at once
appear. On either hand are seen orchards of the
peach, apricot, prune, olive, fig, almond, walnut,
and that always eagerly anticipated one of the
orange.

You will not, however, find this whole land a
jungle of orange and palm trees, parted only by thick
banks of flowers. The world is wide, even in
California, or, one might better say, particularly in
California, where over an area averaging 150 miles
wide and 1,000 miles long is scattered a population
less than that of the city of Chicago. It is
true that in many places along your route you may
almost pluck oranges by reaching from the car
window in passing; but the celebrated products of
California lie in restricted areas of cultivation, which
you are expected to visit; and herein lies much of
the Californian's pride, that there still remains so
much of opportunity for all. There is everything
in California that has been credited to it, but what
proves not uncommonly a surprise is the relatively
small area of improved land and the consequent
frequency of unfructed intervals. Only a moment's
reflection is needed to perceive that the case could
not be otherwise. As for flowers, even here they
are not eternal, except in the thousands of watered
gardens. In the dry summer season the hills turn
brown and sleep. Only when the winter rains have
slaked the parched earth do the grass and flowers
awake, and then for a few months there is enough

of bloom and fragrance to satisfy the most exuber-
ant fancy.

Now past pretty horticultural communities,
flanked by the Sierra Madre, the way leads quickly
from San Bernardino to Pasadena and Los Angeles.

Southward from the last-named city you pass
through a fruitful region, and within a stone's throw
of the impressive mission-ruins of Capistrano, to a
shore where the long waves of the Pacific break
upon gleaming white sands and the air is of the
sea.. Blue as the sky is the Pacific, paling in the
shallows toward land, and flecked with bright or
somber cloud reflections and smurring ripples of the
breeze. It is not only the westerly bound of the
North American continent, it is the South Seas of
old adventure, where many a hulk of once treasure-
laden galleons lies fathoms deep among the queer
denizens of the sea who repeat wild legends of
naughty buccaneers. There is challenge to the
imagination in the very tracklessness of the sea.
On the wrinkled face of earth you may read earth's
story. She has laid things to heart. She broods
on memories. But the sea denies the past; it is as
heedless of events that were as the air is of the
path where yesterday a butterfly was winging. Its
incontinent expanse is alluring to the fancy, and
this sunset sea even more than the tempestuous
ocean that beats upon our eastern shores^ for it is
so lately become our possession it seems still a
foreign thing, strewn with almost as many wrecks
of Spanish hopes as of galleons; and into its broad
bosom the sun sinks to rise upon quaint anti-
podean peoples, beyond a thousand mysterious
inhabited islands in the swirls of the equatorial
currents.

Next, swinging inland to find the pass of the
last intervening hills, you make a final descent to
the water's edge, and come to San Diego, that
dreamy city of Mediterranean atmosphere and
color, terraced along the rim of a sheltered bay of
surpassing beauty. Guarding the mouth of the
harbor lies the long crescent peninsular of Coro-
nado, the pale fagades of whose mammoth hotel
flash through tropical vegetation across the blue
intervening waters.

OF CLIMATE.

Here the sun habitually shines. Near the coast
flows the broad equable Japanese ocean-current,
from which a tempered breeze sweeps overland
every morning, every night to return from the cool
mountain-tops. Between the first of May and
the last of October rain almost never falls. By the
end of June the earth has evaporated most of its
surface moisture, and vegetation unsustained by
artificial watering begins to languish. The mid-
day temperature now rises, but the same breeze
swmgs like a pendulum between ocean and moun-
tain, and night and early morning are no less invig-

orating. This is summer, a joyous and active sea-
son generally misconceived by the tourist, who not
unreasonably visits California in the winter-time
to escape Northern cold and snow, and infers an
unendurable torrid summer from a winter of mild-
ness and luxuriance.

With November the first showers generally
begin, followed by an occasional heavy downpour,
and Northern pastures now whiten under falling
snow hardly faster than do these sere hills turn
beryl-green. The rainy season is so called not
because it is characterized by continuous rainfall,
but to distinguish it from that portion of the year
in which rain can not be looked for. Bright days
are still the rule, and showery days are marked by
transcendent beauties of earth and sky, fleeting
wonders of form and color. Let the morning open
with a murky zenith, dark tumbled cloud-masses,
dropping showers. As the invisible sun mounts, he
peeps unexpectedly through a rift to see that his
world is safe, then vanishes. The sky has an unre-
lenting look.

The dim, guardian mountains are obscured. Sud-
denly, far to the left, a rift breaks dazzling white,
just short of where the rain is falling on the hills
in a long bending column, and at one side a broad
patch pales into mottled gray ; and below the rift a
light mist is seen floating on the flank of a moun-
tain that shoots into sharp relief against a vapor-
wall of slate. At the mountain's foot a whole
hillside shows in warm brown tint, its right edge

merged in a low flat cloud of silver, born, you
could aver, on the instant, from which the trun-
cated base of a second mountain depends, blue as
indigo. jThe face of earth, washed newly, is a
patchwork of somber and gaudy transparent colors
— yellows, greens, sepias, grays. One's range and
clearness of vision are quickly expanded, as when a
telescope is fitted to the eye. Now begins a won-
derful shifting of light and shadow, peeps through
a curtain that veils unbearable splendors of upper
sky ; gradual dissolutions of cloud into curls and
twists and splashes, with filling of blue between.
Again the sun appears, at first with a pale bur-
nished light, flashing and fading irresolutely until
at length it flames out with summer ardor. The
clouds break into still more curious forms, into pic-
tures and images of quaint device, and outside a
wide circle of brilliant sunlight all the hills are in
purple shadow, fading into steel-blue, and about
their crests cling wisps of many-colored fleece.
Here and there a distant peak is blackly hooded,
or gleams subtly behind an intervening shower — a

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thin transparent wash of smoky hue. The veil
quickly dissipates, and at the same instant the peak
is robbed of its sunlight by billows of vapor that
marshal in appalling magnificence. Then the rain-
mist advances and hides the whole from view. A
strip of green next flashes on the sight, a distant
field lighted by the sun, but lying unaccountably
beneath a cloud of black. Beyond, the broad foot
of a rainbow winks and disappears. Among all the
hilltops rain next begins to fall hke amber smoke,
so thin is the veil that shields them from the sun.

Then the sun abruptly ceases to shine, the whole
heavens are overcast, and between the fine fast-fall-
ing drops the ground gleams wet in cool gray light.
By noon the sun again is shining clear, although
in occasional canyons there is night and deluge,
and at the close of a bright afternoon the farthest,
loftiest peak has a white cloud wreath around it,
as symmetrical as a smoke-ring breathed from the
lips of a senorita ; and out of the middle of it rises
the fragment of a rainbow — a cockade on a mist-
laureled Matterhorn. Then the sun drops, and
the day is done.

That is the way it rains in California, and between
such days are unclouded intervals of considerable
duration. They call this season winter. The
temperature is so finely balanced one does not
easily decide whether to walk upon the sunny or
the shady side of the street. It is cool, not cold —
not bracing in the ordinary sense, but just the
proper temperature for continuous out-of-door life.

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June does not define it, nor September. It has no
synonym. But if you cared to add one more to the
many unsuccessful attempts to define it in a phrase,
you might term it constant delicious weather; to-
day, to-morrow, and indefinitely in the future,
morally certain to be very much as you would have
it if you were to create an air and a sky exactly to
suit his or her majesty yourself. But even here
man is a clothes-wearing animal. There is a cool-
ness pervading the most brilliant sunshine. Remem-
bering this, the most apprehensive person will soon
discover that there is no menace in the dry, pure,
and gently invigorating air of the Southern Califor-
nia winter. It wins the invalid to health by
enticing him to remain out of doors.

Ranging from warm sea-level to peaks of frigid
inclemency, this varied state ofiers many climatic
gradations, whose contrasts are nearly always in
view. In winter you may sit upon almost any
veranda in Southern California and lift your eyes
from the brilliant green of ornamental trees and
shrubs, from orchards where fruits ripen in heavy
clusters, and from the variegated bloom of gar-
dens, to ragged horizon-lines buried deep in snow.
There above is a frozen waste and Alpine terror.
Here below is summer, shorn of summer languor.
And between may be found any modification that
could reasonably be sought, each steadfast in its
own characteristics.

The smallest of these communities is great in
content. Literally couched beneath his own vine

1 02

and fig-tree, plucking from friendly boughs delicious
fruits, finding in the multifarious products of the
soil nearly everything needful in domestic economy,
and free from most of the ills that flesh was thought
to be heir to, what wonder that the Californian
envies no man, nor ever looks wistfully over the
Sierra's crest toward the crowded cities and preca-
rious farming regions of the East? An uplifting
environment for a home, truly, fit to breed a race
worthy of the noblest empire among the States.

There is work to be done, in the house and the
field, but in such an air and scene it is as near a
transfiguration of labor as can well be imagined.
Here it is indeed a poor boy or girl who has not a
pony on which to scamper about, or lacks liberty
for such enjoyment. And every year there comes
a period of holiday, an interval when there is no
planting or harvesting to be done, no picking or
drying or packing of fruit, a recuperating spell of
nature, when the weather is just as glorious as ever,
and the mountains and ocean beckon seductively to
the poet that is in the heart of every unharassed
man and woman and child. Then for weeks the
canyons are dotted with tents, where the mountain-
torrents foam and spreading sycamores are festooned
with mistletoe ; and the trout of the stream and the
game of the forest have their solstice of woe. Or,

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on the rim of the sea, thousands of merry hearts,
both young and old, congregate and hold high car-
nival.

When the campers return to shop and field
it is not by reason of any inclemency of weather,
but because their term of holiday has expired.
Then come the tourists, and pale fugitives from
the buffets of Boreas, to vi^ander happily over hill-
side and shore in a land unvexed by the tyranny of
the seasons.

The most seductive of lands, and the most tena-
cious in its hold upon you. You have done but
little, and a day has fled ; have idled, walked, rid-
den, sailed a little, have seen two or three of the
thousand things to be seen, and a week, a month,
is gone. You could grieve that such golden bur-
denless hours should ever go into the past, did they
not flow from an inexhaustible fount. For to be
out all day in the careless freedom of perfect
weather ; to ramble over ruins of a former occupa-

tiofi; to wander through gardens and orchards, to
fish, to shoot, to gather flowers from the blossom-
ing hill-slopes; to explore a hundred fascinating
retreats of mountain and shore; to lounge on the
sands by the surf until the sun drops into the sea;
all this is permitted by the Southern California
winter.

SAN DIEGO AND VICINITY.

Fringing a bay that for a dozen miles glows like
a golden mirror below its purple rim, San Diego
stands upon a slope that rises from the water to
the summit of a broad mesa. In front the bold
promontory of Point Loma juts into the sea, over-
lapping the low, slender peninsular of Coronado,
and between them lies the narrow entrance to this
most beautiful of harbors. One may be happy in
San Diego and do nothing. Its soft, sensuous
beauty and caressing air create in the breast a new
sense of the joy of mere existence. But there is,
besides, abundant material for the sight-seer. Here,
with many, begins the first acquaintance with the
growing orange and lemon. Orchards are on every
hand. Paradise Valley, the Valley of the Sweet-
water, where may be seen the great irrigating fount
of so many farms, and Mission Valley, where the
San Diego River flows and the dismantled ruin of

Universal Brotherhood Buildings, Point Loma

the oldest California mission, elbowed by a modern
Indian school, watches over its ancient but still vig-
orous trees, afford the most impressive examples of
these growing fruits in the immediate neighbor-
hood. El Cajon Valley is celebrated for its vine-
yards. At National City, four miles away, are
extensive olive orchards. Fifteen miles to the south
the Mexican village of Tia Juana attracts many
visitors, whose average experience consists of a
pleasant railroad ride to the border and a half-
hour's residence in a foreign country.

The hotels at San Diego adequately care for
tourist travel. One of the best is Hotel Robinson,
pleasantly located on a breezy height near the
city's business center, where there is a wide outlook
across the blue bay and to the distant mountains.
This hotel is in favor with those who seek a quiet,
homelike place. It has two hundred guest rooms,
a roof garden, a palm court and sun parlor.

Construction has begun on the newU. S. Grant
Hotel, in the heart of the city. When completed
it will rank with the finest inns of Los Angeles
and San Francisco.

On the crest of Point Loma a group of build-
ings stands out against the azure sky. This is the
settlement of the Universal Brotherhood, a branch
of the Theosophical Society, presided over by Mrs.
Catharine Tingley. It combines benevolent work
with the search for the lost mysteries of antiquity.
A large amount of money has already been expended
on the buildings and grounds.

Hotel Rebinton, San Ditgt.

The diverse allurements of mountain and valley,
and northward-stretching shore of alternating beach
and high commanding bluff, are innumerable.
One marvelous bit of coast, thirteen miles away,
and easily reached by railway or carriage drive, is
called La Jolla Park. Here a plateau overlooks
the open sea from a bluff that tumbles precipitously
to a narrow strip of sand.

The face of the cliff for a distance of several miles
has been sculptured by the waves into most curious
forms. It projects in rectangular blocks, in stumps,
stools, benches, and bas-reliefs that strikingly
resemble natural objects, their surfaces chiseled
intaglio with almost intelligible devices. Loosened
fragments have worn deep symmetrical wells, or
pot-holes, to which the somewhat inadequate
Spanish-Indian name of the place is due ; and what
seem at first glance to be enormous bowlders
loosely piled, with spacious interstices through
which the foam spurts and crashes, are the self-
same solid cliff, carved and polished, but not wholly
separated by the sea. Some of the cavities are
mere pockets lined with mussels and minute weeds
with calcareous leaves. Others are commodious
secluded apartments, quite commonly used as dress-
ing-rooms by bathers. The real caverns can be
entered dryshod only at lowest tide. The cliff

U. S. Grant. Hotel,
San Diego.

where they h'e is gnawed into columns, arches and
aisles, through which one cave after another may
be seen, dimly lighted, dry and practicable. Sev-
enty-five feet is probably their utmost depth. They
are the culmination of this extraordinary work of
an insensate sculptor. There are alcove-niches,
friezes of small gray and black mosaic, horizontal
bands of red, and high-vaulted roofs. If the native
California Indians had possessed a poetic tempera-
ment they must certainly have performed religious
rites in such a temple. The water is as pellucid as
a mountain spring. The flush of the waves foams
dazzling white and pours through the intricacies of
countless channels and fissures in overwhelming
torrents, and in the brief intervals between ebb
and rise the bottom of rock and clean sand gleams
invitingly through a depth of many feet.

Sea-anemones are thickly clustered upon the
lov/er levels, their tinted petal-filaments scintillating
in the shallow element, or closed budlike while
waiting for the flood. Little crabs scamper in dis-
orderly procession through the crevices at your
approach, and the ornamental abalone is also
abundant. Seaweeds, trailing in and out with the
movement of the tide, flame through the trans-
parent water in twenty shades of green, and schools
of goldfish flash in the swirling current, distorted by
the varying density of the eddies into great blotches

"■5^-:^^

Coronado Tent City,

of brilliant color, unquenchable firebrands darting
hither and yon in their play. They are not the
true goldfish whose habitat is a globular glass half-
filled with tepid water, but their hue is every whit
as vivid. In the time of flowers this whole plateau
is covered with odorous bloom.

Then there is Coronado. Connected by ferry
with the mainland, Coronado bears the same rela-
tion to San Diego that fashionable suburbs bear to
many Eastern cities, and at the same time affords
recreative pleasures which the inhabitants of those
suburbs must go far to seek. Here the business-
man dwells in Elysian bowers by the sea, screened
from every reminder of business cares, yet barely
a mile distant from office or shop. Locking up in
his desk at evening all the prosaic details of bank
or factory, of railroad rates, of the price of stocks
and real estate and wares, in ten minutes he is at
home on what is in effect a South Sea Island,
where brant and curlew and pelican fiy, and not
all the myriad dwellings and the pomp of their
one architectural splendor can disturb the air of

The Japanese Garden, Coronado.

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perfect resttulness and sweet rusticity. From the
low ridge of the narrow peninsula may be seen,
upon the one hand, a wide-sweeping mountainous
arc, dipping to the pretty city that borders the bay.
Upon the other, the unobstructed ocean rolls. On
the ocean side, just beyond reach of the waves,
stands the hotel whose magnificence has given it
leading rank among the famous hostelries of the
world.

It is built around a quadrangular court, or
patio — a dense garden of rare shrubs and flowering
plants more than an acre in extent. Upon this
patio many sleeping-rooms open by way of the cir-
cumjacent balcony, besides fronting upon ocean
and bay, and a glass-covered veranda, extending
nearly the entire length of the western frontage,
looks over the sea toward the peaks of the distant
Coronado Islands. On the north lies Point Loma
and the harbor entrance, on the east San Diego Bay
and city, and on the south Glorieta Bay and the
mountains of Mexico, beyond a broad half-circle of
lawn dotted with semi-tropical trees and bright
beds of flowers, and bordered by hedges of cypress.

Here the fisherman has choice of surf or billow,
or the still surface of sheltered waters ; of sailboat,
skiff or iron pier. The gunner finds no lack of
sea-fowl, quail or rabbits. The bather may choose
between surf and huge tanks of salt water,
roofed with glass, fringed with flowers and fitted
with devices to enhance his sport. The sight-
seer is provided with a score of special local attrac-

tions, and all the resources
of the mainland are at elbow.
These diversions are the
advantage of geographical
location, independent of the social recreations one
naturally finds in fashionable resorts, at hotels
liberally managed and frequented by representatives
of the leisure class.

A recent addition to the manifold attractions of
Coronado is the summer tent city on the beach,
where neatly furnished cloth houses may be rented
by those who desire to get into closer touch with
nature than they would in a modern hotel. Res-
taurants, stores and other facilities are provided for
the comfort of those who camp here, and in sea-
son music and special entertainment are added to
the natural attractions.

The climate of the coast is necessarily distin-
guished from that of the interior by greater humid-
ity, and the percentage of invisible moisture in
the air, however small, must infallibly be greater
at Coronado than upon the heights of San Diego,
and greater in San Diego than at points farther
removed from the sea. This is the clew to the
only flaw in the otherwise perfect coast climate,
and it is a flaw only to supersensitive persons,
invalids of a certain class. The consumptive too
often delays taking advantage of the benefits of
climatic change until he has reached a point
when nicest discrimination has become necessary.
The purest, driest and most rarefied air compatible

114

with the complications of disease is his remedy,
if remedy exist for him. And the driest and most
rarefied air is not to be looked for by the sea.
Yet the difference is not great enough to be
brusquely prohibitory.

No one need fear to go to the coast, and usually
a short stay will determine whether or no the
relief that is sought can there be found ; while for
many derangements it is preferable to the interior.
For him who is not in precarious condition the
foregoing observations have no significance. He will
find the climate of all Southern California a mere
gradation of glory. But perhaps around San Diego,
and at one or two other coast points, there will
seem to be a spirit even gentler than that which
rules the hills.

^-e^-^'

The Arches, Capistran*.

San Antonio de Padua.

CAPISTRANO.

A tiny quaint village in a fertile valley that
slopes from a mountain w^all to the sea, unkempt
and mongrel, a jumble of adobe ruins, vvhite-
vi^ashed hovels and low^ semi-modern structures,
straggling like a moraine from the massive ruin of
the Mission San Juan Capistrano. The mission
dominates the valley. Go where you will, the eye
turns to this colossal fragment, a forlorn but vital
thing; broken, crushed, and yet undying. Swarthy
faces are mingled with the pale Saxon type, the
music of the Spanish tongue is heard wherever you
hear human speech, and from behind the lattices
of the adobes come the tinkle of guitars and the
cadence of soft voices in plaintive rhythm. The
sun makes black shadows by every house and tree,
and s^veeps in broad unbroken light over the undu-
lating hills to hazy mountain-tops; ground-squirrels

ii6

scamper across the way, wild doves start up with
whistling wings, and there is song of birds and cry
of barnyard fowls. The essence of the scene is
passing quiet and peace. The petty noises of the
village are powerless to break the silence that
enwraps the noble ruin ; its dignity is as imperturb-
able as that of mountain and sea. Never was
style of architecture more spontaneously in touch
with its environment than that followed by the
mission builders. It is rhythm and cadence and
rhyme. It is perfect art. Earthquake has rent,
man has despoiled, time has renounced the Mission
San Juan Capistrano, yet its pure nobility survives,
indestructible. ,The tower has fallen, the sanc-
tuary is bare and weatherbeaten, the cloisters of
the quadrangle are roofless, and the bones of for-
gotten padres lie beneath the roots of tangled
shrubbery; but the bells still hang in their rawhide
lashings, and the cross rises white against the sky.
A contemptuous century has rolled past, and the
whole ambitious and once promising dream of
monkish rule has long since ended, but this slow
crumbling structure will not have it so. Like some
dethroned and superannuated king, whose insistent
claim to royal function cloaks him with a certain
grandeur, it sits in silent state too venerable for
disrespect and too august for pity.

^■^*^.m ^rmimW^^

CO
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STORY OF THE MISSIONS.

In the middle of the eighteenth century the Span-
ish throne, desiring to encourage colonization of
its territory of Upper California, then unpeopled
save by native Indian tribes, entered into an arrange-
ment virith theOrder of St. Francis by virtue of which
that order undertook to establish missions in the
new country which were to be the nuclei of future
villages and cities, to which Spanish subjects were
encouraged to emigrate. By the terms of that
arrangement the Franciscans were to possess the
mission properties and their revenues for ten years,
which was deemed a sufficient period in which to
fairly establish the colonies, when the entire prop-
erty was to revert to the Spanish government. In
point of fact the Franciscans were left in undisputed
possession for more than half a century.

The monk chosen to take charge of the under-
taking was Junipero Serra, a man of saintly piety
and energetic character, who in childhood desired
only that he might be a priest, and in maturity
earnestly wished to be a martyr. Seven years
before the Declaration of the Independence of the
American Colonies, in the early summer of 1769,
he entered the bay of San Diego, 227 years after
Cabrillo had discovered it for Spain and 167 years
after it had been surveyed and named by Viscaino,
during all which preceding time the country had
lain fallow. Within two months Serra had founded
a mission near the mouth of the San Diego River,

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Mission San Luis Rey.

which five years after was removed some six miles up
the valley to a point about three miles distant from
the present city of San Diego. From that time one
mission after another was founded, twenty-one in
all, from San Diego along the coast as far north as
San Francisco. The more important of these were
built of stone and a hard burnt brick that even now
will turn the edge of the finest trowel. The labor
of their construction was appalling. Brick had to
be burnt, stone quarried and dressed, and huge
timbers for rafters brought on men's shoulders from
the mountain forests, sometimes thirty miles dis-
tant, through rocky canyons and over trackless
hills.

The Indians performed most of this labor,
under the direction of the fathers. These Indians
were tractable, as a rule. Once, or twice at most,
they rose against their masters, but the policy of the
padres was kindness and forgiveness, although it
must be inferred that the condition of the Indians
over whom they claimed spiritual and temporal

I20

authority was a form of slavery, without all the
cruelties that usually pertain to enforced servitude.

They were the bondsmen of the padres, whose
aim was to convert them to Christianity and civiliza-
tion, and many thousands of them were persuaded
to cluster around the missions, their daughters
becoming neophytes in the convents, and the others
contributing their labor to the erection of the enor-
mous structures that occupied many acres of ground
and to the industries of agriculture, cattle-raising,
and a variety of manufactures. There were, after
the primitive fashion of the time, woolen-mills,
wood-working and blacksmith shops, and such
other manufactories as were practicable in the exist-
ing state of the arts, which could be made orofitable.

The mission properties soon became enormously
valuable, their yearly revenues sometimes amounting
to $2,000,000. The exportation of hides was one
of the most important items, and merchant vessels
from our own Atlantic seaboard, from England and
from Spain, sailed to the CaHfornia coast for cargoes
of that commodity. Dana's romantic and univer-
sally read "Two Years Before the Mast" is the
record of such a voj^age. He visited California
more than a half a century ago, and found its
quaint Spanish-Indian life full of the picturesque
and romantic.

The padres invariably selected a site favorable for
defense, commanding views of entrancing scenery,
on the slopes of the most fertile valleys, and con-
venient to the running water which was the safe-

121

MISSION GARDEN. SANTA BARBARA.

guard of agriculture in a

country of sparse and un- '-'.i:^fe^^i5i^^i^^ ; j
certain rainfall. The In- B^- '''^.

dians, less warlike in nature than the roving
tribes east of the Rockies, were almost uni-
versally submissive. If there was ever an
Arcadia it was surely there and then.
Against the blue of the sky, unspotted by
a single cloud through many months of the year,
snow-crowned mountains rose in dazzling relief,
while oranges, olives, figs, dates, bananas, and every
other variety of temperate and sub-tropical fruit
which had been introduced by the Spaniards,
ripened in a sun whose ardency was tempered by
the dryness of the air into an equability Hke that of
June, while the regularly alternating breeze that
daily swept to and from ocean and mountain made
summer and winter almost indistinguishable sea-
sons, then as now, save for the welcome rains that
characterize the latter.

At the foot of the valley, between the mountain
slopes, and never more than a few miles away, the
waters of the Pacific rocked placidly in the brilliant
sunlight or broke in foam upon a broad beach of
sand. In such a scene Spaniard and Indian plied
their peaceful vocations, the one in picturesque
national garb, the other almost innocent of cloth-
ing, while over and around them lay an atmosphere
of sacredness which even to this day clings to the
broken arches and crumbling walls. Over the
peaceful valleys a veritable angelus rang. The

Santa Barbara Mission.

mellow bells of the mission churches summoned
dusky hordes to ceremonial devotion. Want and
strife were unknown. Prosperity and brotherly
love ruled as never before.

It is true they had their trials. Earthquakes,
which have been almost unknown in California for
a quarter of a century, were then not uncommon,
and were at times disastrous. Rio de los Temblores
was the name of a stream derived from the fre-
quency of earth rockings in the region through
which it flowed; and in the second decade of our
century the dreaded temblor upset the 120-foot
tower of the Mission San Juan Capistrano and
sent it crashing down through the roof upon a con-
gregation, of whom nearly forty perished. Those,
too, were lawless times upon the main. Pirates,
cruising the South Seas in quest of booty, hovered
about the California coast, and then the mission
men stood to their arms, while the women and
children fled to the interior canyons with their
portable treasures. One buccaneer, Bouchard,
repulsed in his attempt upon Dolores and Santa
Barbara, descended successfully upon another mis-
sion and dwelt there riotously for a time, carous-
ing, and destroying such valuables as he could not
carry away, while the entire population quaked
in the forest along the Rio Trabuco. This was
the same luckless San Juan Capistrano, six years
after the earthquake visitation. Then, too, there
were bickerings of a political nature, and struggles
for place, after the rule of Mexico had succeeded

124

to that of Spain, but the
common people troubled
themselves little with such
matters.

The end of the Fran-
ciscan dynasty came sud- San Gabriel Mission.
denly with the secularization of the mission
property by the Mexican government to replete the
exhausted treasuries of Santa Ana. Sadly the
fathers forsook the scene of their long labors, and
silently the Indians melted away into the wilderness
and the darkness of their natural ways, save such
as had intermarried with the families of Spanish
soldiers and colonists. The churches are now, for
the most part, only decayed legacies and fragmen-
tary reminders of a time whose like the world will
never know again. Save only three or four, pre-
served by reverent hands, where modern worship-
ers, denationalized and clad in American dress,
still kneel and recite their orisons, the venerable
ruins are forsaken by all except the tourist and
the antiquarian, and their bells are silent forever.
One can not but feel the pity of it, for in the
history of zealous servants of the cross there is
hardly a more noteworthy name than that of Juni-
pero Serra, and in the annals of their heroic
endeavor there is no more signal instance of abso-
lute failure than his who founded the California
missions, aside from the perpetuation of his saintly
name. They accomplished nothing so far as can
now be seen.

125

The descendants of their converts, what few have
survived contact with the Anglo-Saxon, have no
discoverable worth, and, together with the greater
part of the original Spanish population, have faded
away, as if a blight had fallen upon them.

But so long as one stone remains upon another,
and a single arch of the missions still stands, an
atmosphere will abide there, something that does
not come from mountain, or vale, or sea, or sky;
the spirit of consecration, it maybe; but if it is
only the aroma of ancient and romantic associations,
the suggestion of a peculiar phase of earnest and
simple human life and quaint environment that is
forever past, the mission-ruins must remain among
the most interesting monuments in all our varied
land, and will amply repay the inconsiderable effort
and outlay required to enable the tourist to view
them. San Diego, the oldest ; San Luis Rey, the
most poetically environed ; San Juan Capistrano, of
most tragic memory; San Gabriel, the most impos-
ing, and Santa Barbara, the most perfectly pre-
served, will suffice the casual sightseer. These
also lie comparatively near together, and are all
easily accessible ; the first three being located on or
adjacent to the railway line between Los Angeles
and San Diego, the fourth standing but a few miles
from the first named city, and the fifth being almost
in the heart of the famous resort that bears its
name.

"^ST^^J^

,-' 'tj*^

Reluctantly will the visitor tear himself from the
encompassing charm of their roofless arches and
reminiscent shadows. They are a dream of the
Old World, indifferent to the sordidness and turbu-
lence of the New; one of the few things that
have been spared by a relentless past, whose habit
is to sweep the things of yesterday into oblivion.
Almost can one hear the echoes of their sweet
bells ringing out to heathen thousands the sunset
and the dawn.

LOS ANGELES.

One can hardly cross this continent of ours with-
out gaining a new idea of the immense historical
significance of the westward yearning of the Saxon,
who in two and a half centuries has marched from
Plymouth Rock to the Sunset Sea, and has subor-
dinated every other people in his path from shore to
shore. The Spaniard was a world-conqueror in his
day, and master of California before the Stars and
Stripes had been devised. The story of his subju-
gation of the southwestern portion of the New
World is the most brilliant in modern history. It

'^-;i;^'^f^?i*»-^W^;

"^ikMr

Mission San Juan Capistrano,

(/)

CO
CO

111

</>

is a story of unexampled deeds of arms. Sword
and cross, and love of fame and gold, are inextri-
cably interwoven with it. The Saxon epic is a
more complex tale of obscure heroism, of emigrant
cavalcades, of pioneer homes, of business enter-
prise.

The world may never know a sublimer indif-
ference to fatigue, suffering and death than
characterized the Spanish invaders of America for
more than two centuries. Whatever the personal
considerations that allured them, the extension of
Spanish empire and the advancement of the cross
amid barbarians was their effectual purpose. The
conquistador was a crusader, and with all his cruelty
and rapacity he is a splendid figure of incarnate
force. But the westward-flowing wave of Saxon
conquest has set him, too, aside. In this fair land
of California, won at smallest cost, and seemingly
created for him, his descendants to-day are little
more than a tattered fringe upon the edges of the
displacing civilization. He has left his mark upon
every mountain and valley in nam.es that will long
endure, but himself has been supplanted. He has
not fled. He has diminished, faded away.

In 1 78 1 he named the city Pueblo de la Reina de
los Angeles (Town of the Queen of the Angels).
The Saxon, the man of business now supreme, has
retained only the last two words of that high-
sounding appellation; and hardly a greater
proportion remains of the original atmos-
phere of this old Spanish town. You

129

The Angelas.

will find a Spanish (Mexican) quarter, unkempt
and adobe, containing elements of the picturesque;
and in the modern portion of the city a restaurant
or two where English is spoken in a halting fashion
by very pretty dark-skinned girls, and you may sat-
isfy, if not your appetite, perhaps a long-standing
curiosity regarding tortillas, and frijoles, and chili
con came. As for tamales, they are, as with us, a
matter of curbstone speculation.

SeJiore^, senoras, and senoritas are plentifully
encountered upon the streets, but are not in general
distinguished by any peculiarity of attire. Upon
the borders of the city one finds more vivid types,
and there the jacal, a poor mud hovel thatched with
straw, is not quite extinct. The words Spanish and
Mexican are commonly used in California to dis-
tinguish a racial difference. Not a few of the
Spanish soldiery and colonists originally took wives
from among the native Indians. Their offspring
has had its charms for later comers of still other
races, and a complexity of mixture has resulted.

The term Mexican is generally understood to
apply to this amalgamation, those of pure Castilian
descent preferring to be known as Spanish. The
latter, numerically a small class, represent high
types, and the persistency of the old strain is such
that the poorest Mexican is to a certain manner
born. He wears a contented mien, as if his
Diogenes-tub and his imperceptible larder were regal
possessions, and he does not easily part with dignity
and self-respect .

Hotel Alexandria.

Hotel Lankershhn

The existence of these descendants of the con-
querors side by side with the exponents of the new
rigime is one of the charms of Los Angeles. It has
others in historic vein. After its first overland con-
nection with the East, by way of the Santa Fe
Trail, it rapidly took on the character of a wild
border town ; the influx of adventurers and the
stimulation of an unwonted commerce transforming
the Spanish idyl into a motley scene of remunerative
trade, abandoned carousal, and desperate personal
conflict. Its romantic career of progress and ame-
lioration to its present enviable estate is marked by
monuments that still endure. Fremont, the Path-
finder, here first raised the Stars and Stripes in
1846, and Winfield Scott Hancock, as a young
captain, had quarters in this historic town.

It is difficult to write of the growth and develop-
ment of Los Angeles without exaggeration, and the
reader who is unacquainted with the facts will have
no doubt that the writer drank of the water of the
Hassayampa before assuming his task.

In 1 860 Los Angeles numbered 4,500 inhabitants ;
ini88o, 11,000; in 1890, 50,000; in 1900, 102,479,
while to-day the population is estimated at 225,000.

With this gallop in growth its commercial, manu-
facturing, banking, transportation and other large
interests have kept pace, until the city ranks in all
particulars with the important cities of the country.

Owing to the great number of
strangers who annually come here, it
far outranks other cities of the same
population in metropolitan attrac-
tions. Its hotels are legion and range
from the most elaborate structures,
with luxurious furnishings, to the
most modest. In this respect Los
Angeles is outstripped by New York
Hoiel Van Nuys. ' ^]oj^g amongst American cities. The

fear has been expressed that the building of
new hotels must cease, not because of lack
of patronage, but because the supply of alluring
names is almost exhausted. Its public cafes and
theatres are numerous and as varied as the cosmo-
politan patronage requires. In two of its theatres
stock companies are maintained the year 'round,
producing the successful plays of the world in an
artistic manner, while the other theatres have the
traveling companies sent out from New York.

The clubs of Los Angeles will also take rank
with the most dignified and attractive clubs of
other cities. No better examples can be found
anywhere than the California Club, Jonathan,
University and Country; and for the women the
Women's Club and the Ebell, which own their
own homes, and others.

Los Angeles is an up-to-date American city

in every respect. To find evidences of the old

Spanish life we must hunt it out in obscure corners.

Geographically, Los Angeles covers a large area.

It is, consequently, not surprising to find that
the average family in Los Angeles has plenty
of elbow room. The ordinary size of a resi-
dence lot is 50 by 150 feet, and many are con-
siderably larger. It is only during the past few-
years that apartments have been introduced,
and probably ninety-five per cent of the
permanent residents live in separate homes.
Wood is the almost universal material for build-
ing, pine and redwood being used. Owing to
mild climate, the expense of building is considerably
less than in the East. There is a great and pleasing
variety in the architecture of Los Angeles residences.
Of late the Mission style, with some modifications,
has come into favor.

Any one who has not visited Los Angeles
for fifteen years would scarcely recognize it
to-day. In 1886 there was not a paved street,
few graded streets and scarcely any business blocks
of importance. To-day there are many miles of
paved streets, and several hundred miles of public
thoroughfares are graded and graveled.

Los Angeles is superbly lighted on its principal
down-town streets with elaborate clusters of electric
lamps,while the outlying districts are fairly sup-
plied with electricity. It was the first city in
the United States to adopt electricity exclu-
sively for its street lighting. Seen from one of
the surrounding hills, it is a striking sight, as
the lights are turned on in the evening,
twinkling like stars against the dark firmament.

133

ChrisV s Church.

' L'J>-

^ ff' ^ There is a great variety of sites for building

'^i^^fti-a'J' sp^"^" within the city Hmits. In the northern and
'W'S^^ northwestern and western districts are hills, from
^^ many of which a view of the ocean, distant about
fifteen miles, is obtained, with the Sierra Madre
range of mountains, snow-capped in winter,
*^^^ bounding the view on the north. These hills
have come into favor during the past few
years as residence sites. The city in the west
end, around Westlake Park, contains thousands
of beautiful homes.

The character of the residents reaches a high
average for refinement and cultivation, as is evi-
denced by their homes. A drive through the
residence districts will well repay the most veteran
explorer of cities. The architecture is as attractive
as it is varied and presents beautiful examples of
every school. These homes are set on lots never
less than 50 feet front, almost always adorned with
smooth lawns, and shaded by a great variety of
ornamental trees gathered from the four quarters
of the globe. One sees the acacia, the camphor,
jacaranda, crepe myrtle, pepper, magnolia, euca-
lyptus and cypress; also palm trees of many kinds.
Color is lent by flowers and flowering shrubs of
even greater variety than the trees, and as some of
them are always in bloom, the beauty of the home,
no matter howhumble, is enhanced
every day of the year.

Electric cars connect not only
the different sections of the citw
134

ur.

'ruM/iftJ

'c /"■////) / n<: >^>/ tr/»/>X.

^*^-

^^^

but furnish rapid and frequent
communication with Pasadena,
Santa Monica, Ocean Park, Venice,
Redondo, San Pedro, Long Beach,
Monrovia, Glendale, Santa Ana
and other adjacent towns.

There are altogether about a dozen parks within
the city limits of Los Angeles, of which five are
tracts of considerable size. In these parks may be
seen many beautiful examples of the semi-tropic
vegetation which flourishes here. In four of them
are lakes, with boats, and music is usually provided
on Sundays. In Eastlake Park, on the east side
of the river, the nurseries are worthy of inspection.
^The Indian Crafts exhibition occupies fifteen
acres of ground on Mission Road, near Eastlake
Park, and is easily reached by street car. Here
Mr. Antonio Apache has gathered typical groups
of Indians from the various American tribes, who
live in their primitive habitations, wear their native
dress, and work at their aboriginal handicrafts.
The principal exhibition building is an exact repro-
duction of one of the old Maya palaces of Yucatan.
Chief Son-i-hat's house and totem-pole, brought
from Alaska, are also located here.

Elysian Park, a romantic, hilly tract of over 500
acres in the northern part of the city, is a rem-
nant of the thousands of acres of land formerly
owned by the municipality. Little has been done at
Elysian Park, beyond improving the portion near the
entrance and the construction of a few roads from

frS>

Church of the
Angels.

»3S

t.7 :ir?"r*

Hotel Green, Pasadena.

Ne^w Raymond, Pasadena.

Hoiel Virgmia, long Bs-ic^-,

which enchanting views of the city and surrounding
country may be had. Just outside of Los Angeles,
on the north, is Griffith Park, a tract of 3,000 acres
of mountainous land. Nothing has yet been done
toward the improvement of this great tract, except
a start at reforestation under the direction of a
United States Government forestry expert.

A feu years ago Los Angeles purchased from
private companies the neighboring water sources
and their means of supply. In 1905 30,000,000
gallons were distributed at an average cost of ten
cents per thousand gallons. This average shows
the greatest per capita consumption in the United
States at a rate lower than the majority of our
cities. The large consumption is accounted for by
the quantity used in sprinkling lawns, added to the
long duration of summer weather and the compara-
tively short period of rain. As the growth of the
city threatened to be limited by shortage in the water
supply, it has reached 226 miles across mountains
and desert to the Owens River and has undertaken
to bring to Los Angeles, at a cost estimated at
$25,000,000, a supply of pure mountain water
sufficient to maintain a city of 1,000,000 people.

Socially, Los Angeles is a refined and cultivated
community. There is nothing here that might be
termed " wild and woolly." This is not surprising,
when we consider that Los Angeles has been
chiefly settled by people of culture from east of the
mountains. The school facilities are excellent,
including a great variety of private institutions, in

137

^^z^.

z
111

addition to the public schools. AH religious de-
nominations are liberally represented. An army of
specialists give instruction in music, painting and
every department of art and science. Many brilliant
writers and artists have made their permanent homes
here, or in the suburbs. Every fraternal society of
importance is represented.

Why does Los Angeles grovv^ at such an aston-
ishing rate? What is there back of her, what to
support such a city?

The answer comes back hot, that the whole
United States is back of her and supports her.
Just so long as people grow rich in the United
States, just so long will Los Angeles grow. She is
like the best residence street in the cities. People
who can afford it prefer to live there, and in their
living they create work for thousands of others.
Her climate is her chief asset, but this asset is not
shared by any important city of the East. She ha?
a monopoly.

Aside from this, Los Angeles is the center of a
rich agricultural section — richer than is commonly
supposed. She has mining interests in California,
Arizona, Nevada and Mexico, which return a big
sum every year in dividends. Her manufacturing
interests are growing rapidly — she is the centre of
the oil-producing section of California and she is
casting her eyes across the Pacific and down the
west coast at the commerce that may come to her
through the harbor at San Pedro.

Her growth really has been a normal one.

139

Plaza Church.

[iiilirii yMvl

Los Ans'eles Auditorium.

A glance at the following figures will indicate
the value of some of these things in dollars:

Citrus Fruits 115,000,000

Dried P'ruits and Rais-
ins 2,050,000

Nuts I 550 000

Beans 1,800,000

Otlier Vegetables 5,000,000

Grain and Hay 5,750,000

Sugar 35432, 155

Wine, Brandy and Beer 875,000

Canned Goods 1,000,000

Butter and Cheese. . . . 1,200,000

Borax 1,280,000

Poultry and Eggs 1,025,000

Miscellaneous Manu-
factured Products.. 45,000,000

Pork, Beef, Mutton,
dressed j

Fish

Wool and Hides

Fertilizers

Gold and Silver

Gems

Petroleum

Asphaltum

Salt, Mineral Waters,
Lithia

Cement, Clay, Brick,
Limestone, S a n d -
stone, Granite

Lumber

Lime

5,500,000
5,750,000

550,000

650,000
3,900,000

340 ,000
12,000,000

875,000

170,000

1,640,000
300,000
410,000

PASADENA.

Just outside the limits of Los Angeles, intimately
connected by railway and street car lines, is Pasa-
dena, a thriving modern city of 30,000 inhabitants.
For the origin of the name you may choose between
the imputed Indian signification, Crown of the
Valley, and a corruption of the Spanish Paso de
Eden (Threshold of Eden). It is in any event the
crown of that Eden, the San Gab-
riel Valley, which nestles warmly
in its groves and rosebowers below
lofty bulwarks tipped with snow.
Here an Eastern multitude
makes regular winter home in

California Club, Los Angeles.

modest cottage or imposing mansion. Every
fruit and flower and every ornamental tree
and shrub known to Southern California is
represented in the elaborate grounds of this
little realm. It is a playground of wealth, a
Nob Hill of Paradise, a blessed home of happy
men and women and children who prefer this
to vaunted foreign lands.

Orange Grove avenue is one of the most
beautiful residence thoroughfares in the
United States, or in any other country, for
that matter. Pasadena entertains a large
crowd of Eastern visitors within her gates dur-
ing the winter months. She is well prepared to
receive them, hotels and lodging houses being
numerous. The magnificent New Raymond hotel
on the hill, is a prominent landmark for many
miles around. Near by is the new Hotel Went-
worth, the latest addition to Pasadena's magnificent
resort inns. The Hotel Green, adjoining the
depot of the Santa Fe, is a fine specimen of Cal-
ifornia architecture. Another notable edifice is
Hotel Maryland, recently built.

The visitor to Pasadena in the present year of
grace finds it difficult to believe that less than
thirty years ago the site of this beautiful city, then
known as the San Pasqual rancho, was sold to the
Indiana Colony" for $5 an acre, and the seller
afterward expressed contrition at having taken
advantage of the "tenderfeet," in charging so exor-
bitant a price. Then there is Mount Lowe.

141

Hotel Maryland, Pasadena.

f/i,

The Busch Residence, Pasadena.

Orange Avenue, Pasadena.

MOUNT LOWE.

From Los Angeles, through Pasadena and
Altadena, electric railway cars run to Rubio
Canyon, a distance of sixteen miles. There
from an altitude of 2,200 feet, the cable
incline conveys visitors to the summit of
Echo Mountain, nearly 1,400 feet higher.
From this point, where there is an observa-
tory already somewhat famous for astronomical
discoveries, radiate many miles of bridle-paths,
and another electric railway extends to still
loftier heights at the Alpine Tavern, nearly
a mile above the sea, and within a thousand
feet of the objective summit, which is reached
by bridle-path. There is no more pleasurable
mountain trip than this, nor anj^where one more
easy of accomplishment. Sufficiently elevated
above its surroundings to afford commanding views
which stretch across wondrously fertile valleys to
other ranges upon the one hand and to the coast-
wise islands of the Pacific upon the other, the total
altitude is not great enough to distress those who
are disordered by the thin air of more exalted
summits, as in the Rockies. Among the manifold
attractive features of California the ascent of
Mount Lowe worthily holds a conspicuous place.
Its details are fully described in local publications,
and may be omitted here.

1+3

THE " KITE-SHAPED TRACK.'

The most interesting trip for a stranger in Southern
California is that over the "Kite-shaped Track"
of the Santa Fe. A visitor can not do better than
to make this journey, during which he passes
through the heart of the most thickly populated
and best cultivated portion of the ** Land of the
Afternoon." It is possible to make this trip be-
tween breakfast and dinner, allowing time for an
inspection of Riverside and Redlands, but days can
be most delightfully spent in many of the towns
passed, and indefinite periods in these two.

The track is in the shape of two loops, the
larger one extending from Los Angeles to San
Bernardino and the smaller end from San Bernar-
dino to Redlands.

The traveler may start from Los Angeles either
by the northern or southern branch of the " kite."
Twenty-five minutes after leaving the city, by the
northern route, the train arrives at Pasadena.
Turning eastward from Pasadena, the Santa Fe
line traverses the heart of the San Gabriel Valley,
the most beautiful stretch of country of equal
expanse in all California. Especially is this so in
winter when covered with a vivid mantle of green,
beyond which are the tawny foothills, dotted over
with chapparal, backed by the majestic Sierra

The California Limited at Pasadena.

Madre, pine-fringed and often snow-clad in winter,
when oranges are ripening in the valley below.

East of Pasadena the train runs for several miles
through the Santa Anita ranch of " Lucky" Bald-
win. The home place, with its lake and beautiful
grounds and thoroughbred horses, is a favorite resort
for Los Angeles people and visitors. There are
many well kept orchards of citrus and deciduous
fruits in the valley. The old mission, from which
the valley obtained its name, lies several miles to the
south, and is not visible from the train. A dozen
flourishing towns are scattered along the fifty
miles between Pasadena and San Bernardino. The
most important of these are Pomona, Upland and
Ontario, through which the Santa Fe runs. At
Pomona a specialty is made of olive culture.
Ontario is celebrated for its lemons.

An electric car line runs from Ontario through
Upland to the Canyon at the head of Euclid
avenue, a wide, shaded thoroughfare. On either
side nestle the homes of the citizens, embowered in
orange and lemon groves and gardens. Ontario
was founded by the Chaffey brothers, somewhat
more than twenty years ago. They then went to
Australia and laid out a large irrigated colony there,
after which they returned to Southern California,
and are now engaged in developing the settle-
ment of Imperial, on the Colorado desert,
near Yuma. The visitor from sections of
the East where heavy soils are the rule will
probably notice the lightness of much of the

145

soil between Ontario and San Bernardino. With
an ample water supply, this apparently poor soil
gives excellent results in fruit culture. As San
Bernardino is approached there is seen on the
mountain side a big arrowhead, a natural freak
that is visible for many miles around.

San Bernardino is an old city, as age is reckoned
among the American improvements of Southern
California, having been settled by Mormons from
Salt Lake City in the fifties. They were after-
ward ordered back to Utah, but a few of them
chose to remain in this land of promise, and some of
their descendants are still living there. Here are
the Santa Fe shops, which give employment to
hundreds of men. The merchants of the place do
a considerable trade with the surrounding country.
A fine toll road leads, by an easy grade, up to the
pine-clad summit of the mountains, back of San
Bernardino, where, amid the big forest trees, is a
picturesque clubhouse, known as Squirrel Inn,
surrounded by cottages, in which some of the
members of the club spend weeks every summer.

At San Bernardino commences the smaller loop
of the Kite-shaped Track, which runs around the
upper end of the Santa Ana Valley. Here, in the
foothills, overlooking a magnificent panorama of
mountain and valley, lies Redlands, a beautiful
little city, twenty years of age, having been laid out

Squirrel
Inn.

during the big real estate boom of 1887. Redlands
people claim that the finest oranges in California —
or in the world — are raised there, and the prices
paid for the product in the East seem to justify
their assertions. Canyon Crest Park, Smiley
Heights, a picturesque and beautifully improved
private estate, from w^hich there are magnificent
view^s of the surrounding country, is open to visitors.
Up in the mountains, behind Redlands, and con-
nected by a stage line during the summer months,
is Bear Valley, with its lake, from which water is
obtained for the thirsty orchards below.

This is a favorite camping place for the valley
people, who find excellent fishing and shooting, with
plain and comfortable accommodations at several
points in the valley. There are sawmills in the neigh-
borhood. Returning around the loop, close to the
foothills, the train passes Highland, where is located
one of the State insane asylums. Back in the hills,
but plainly visible from the train, lies Arrowhead
Hot Springs and its fine new hotel. San Bernardino
is soon again reached, and the train runs southward
on its spin around the lower branch of the loop.
Colton is a railroad junction. Between Colton and
Riverside a branch of the Santa Fe System runs ofi
to the southeast, through a section of the country
that has been celebrated by Helen Hunt Jackson,
in her widely read Southern California novel,
" Ramona," to Ferris, where it again divides. One
branch runs to San Jacinto, in the valley of that
name, the starting-place for Strawberry Valley, a

romantic spot among the pines, a mile above the
cities of the plain. This for many years has been a
favorite camping ground during the summer months,
and recently has been made more attractive by
the erection of a hotel on the detached cottage
plan with central cafe and casino. The visitor
who is fairly robust may scale the summit of San
Jacinto Mountain, five thousand feet higher up.
Idyllwild, as this resort is now known, is reached
from Hemet by stage. The main branch of the
Santa Fe from Ferris extends to Elsinore and
Temecula. At Elsinore there is a lake of consider-
able size, and more than a hundred hot springs,
with great curative properties. Around the lake is
a drive, fifteen miles long. Near Murietta, south
of Elsinore, is another group of hot springs.

The run from San Bernardino to Riverside is
alongside a big cement main ditch. Riverside is a
locality renowned for navel oranges, culminating in
a busy little city overhung by mountain battlements
and pendant to glorious avenues many miles in
length, lined with tall eucalyptus, drooping pepper
and sprightly magnolia trees in straight lines as
far as eye can see, and broken only by short lateral
driveways through palm, orange and cypress to
mansion homes. The almost continuous citrus

Arrowhead Hotel.

groves and vineyards of Riverside are the result
of tw^enty years of co-operative effort, supplemented
by some preponderating advantages of location.
The pioneer settlers had much to contend w^ith,
but they persevered, and their monument is visible
to all. The community is one of culture and
refinement, and the Riversiders boast that their
city is the vi^ealthiest in the United States, in
proportion to population.

The Glenw^ood Mission Inn, at Riverside, is a
modern hotel, combining the picturesqueness of
the eighteenth century with the luxury of the
twentieth. It is a long, low, cloistered building, in
style like the old missions — tiled roof, arched porches
and many a gable — built around a spacious court.
This court is faced by a long palm promenade.
The entrance archway forms a campanile, with
twelve ancient bells, where vesper hymns and old
Spanish tunes are played. Inside this hospitable
inn you see open chimney-places, massive beamed
ceilings, mission-bell chandeliers, iron latches on the
doors, and other reminders of the old California days.

Automobiles meet Santa Fe trains, carrying
passengers to the U. S. Indian School and up
Rubidoux mountain ; the summit is reached by a
fine road with easy grades, equal to any Alpine
highway, and the joy of all autoists.

After leaving the station, the train runs for sev-
eral miles through a succession of well-kept orange

3 i':::!^'

Mission Inn,
groves. Eighteen miles from Riverside is Corona.
A tree-lined avenue extends almost the entire dis-
tance between the two places. A few miles farther
and the track follows the windings of the Canyon
of the Santa Ana River, through a wild, picturesque
region, bounded on each side by low ranges of
mountains. Orange is the next place of importance.
The three towns of Santa Ana, Orange and Tustin
form practically one continuous settlement of
attractive homes.

Here one may travel mile after mile, over good
roads, aligned by beautiful shade trees, behind
which are orchards of deciduous and citrus fruit, in
a high state of cultivation. Orange is a railroad
junction on the line from Los Angeles to San
Diego, by way of Santa Ana. Anaheim, the next
stopping place, is the pioneer settlement of this
region, having been founded more than forty years
ago as a co-operative vineyard colony by Germans

A'-cady, Monlecito-

Riverside, Cal.

from San Francisco. The town lies a short distance
from the railroad, A few miles west of Anaheim,
and connected with it by a short line of railroad, is
the Los Alamitos beet and sugar factory, in which
Senator -Clark, the Montana and Arizona mining
millionaire, is interested. Fullerton, the next largest
town of Orange County, was laid out during the
real estate boom of 1 887. It has since developed on
merit, and it is now an important shipping point
for horticultural products. There is also a number
of profitable oil wells in the neighborhood.

La Mirada, with a pretty little station, built in
the Mission style of architecture, is the center of
an extensive tract of olive and lemon orchards,
covering 3,000 acres. It was founded by a well-
known Chicago publisher, whose
object was to assemble here a colony
of congenial people of wealth and
taste, who should erect country villas

151

to be occupied during the winter. In connec-
tion with this enterprise is a chemical laboratory,
in which are prepared a number of by-products
from the orange, lemon and grape fruit. Santa Fe
Springs, formerly known as Fulton Wells, is so
named from springs of mineral water, for which
great medicinal effects are claimed in the treat-
ment of rheumatism, gout and other diseases.
There is a sanitarium, which is open all the year
around. A few miles away, to the right, on the
side of a sloping hill, may be seen 'Whittier, which
was started in 1887 as a Quaker colony. The
large brick building is one of the State reform
schools, in which several hundred wayward boys
and girls are taught useful trades. Fine lemons
and other fruit are raised at Whittier, and there
are a number of producing oil wells in the hills
back of the town. Rivera, a small settlement
between the old and the new San Gabriel Rivers,
is the chief walnut-growing section of Southern
Cal'fornia. Standing upon the dome of the hotel,
and looking to the northeast, south and west, the
eye may follow long stretches of this valuable tree,
for miles in every direction. In less than twenty
minutes after leaving Rivera the train pulls up at
the Los Angeles depot.

Hotel
Redondo.

SEASIDE RESORTS.

There are several popular seaside resorts in the
vicinity of Los Angeles, easily reached, vi^ithin an
hour, by steam or electric cars. They are largely
patronized by residents and visitors, especially dur-
ing the summer months. Of late the fact has
begun to be realized that in some respects these
places are even more attractive during the vv^inter,
after the rains have carpeted the surrounding
country with a mantle of green, and laid the dust.
It is no uncommon thing to see a crow^d of merry
visitors sporting amid the breakers at Christmas,
in plain view of the snow-capped Sierra Madre
Mountains.

The chief of these resorts are Redondo, Santa
Monica, Long Beach, Ocean Park and Venice.
Santa Monica is the oldest. All are well improved,
progressive towns, with beautiful homes, fine
beaches, comfortable hotels and many attractions
for summer visitors. About three miles north of
Santa Monica is the mile-long wharf of the Southern
Pacific Company. Venice of America has been
built on novel and unique lines, and a vast sum of
money expended in making it attractive.

Redondo has a large hotel and wharf, from which
there is good fishing, a swimming bath, pebble
beach, and a nursery, where may be seen several
acres of beautiful carnations.
There is a commodious hotel,
facing the ocean.

153

Venice of America.

Long Beach, the most easterly of the seaside
resorts of Los Angeles County, has made a very
rapid growth during the past two years. It is
specially favored by families, and is the place of
meeting for the Chautauqua Association in this
part of the country. Here is one of the finest
hard beaches on the Pacific coast, several miles in
length, where excellent surf bathing may be
enjoyed.

A few miles west of Long Beach is Terminal
Island, a seaside resort on a narrow spit of land,
where a number of Los Angeles people have
summer cottages upon the beach. Across the bay
is San Pedro, the chief port of Los Angeles. Off
shore may be seen the long trestleworlc where
the United States Government is building a big
breakwater for the improvement of the harbor, so
that ocean-going vessels may enter, instead of lying
off shore. Standing out boldly against the horizon
is the lighthouse on Point Fermin, a beacon to
mariners. San Pedro is now a place of consider-
able importance, which will be greatly increased
after the harbor improvements are completed.

Hotel Bixly, Long Beach.

SANTA CATALINA ISLAND.

Thirty miles off the coast it rises, like Capri,
from the sea, a many-peaked mountain cap, vary-
ing in width from half a mile to nine miles, and
more than twenty long. Its bold cliff shores are
broken by occasional pockets rimmed by a semi-
circular beach of sand. The most famous of these
is Avalon, one of the most frequented camping
grounds of Southern California. In midsummer its
numerous hotels are filled to overflowing, and in
the hundreds of tents clustered by the water's edge
thousands of pleasure-seekers gather in the height
of the season. Summer is the period of Santa
Catalina's greatest animation, for then, as in other
lands, comes vacation time. But there is even less
variation of season than on the mainland, and the
nights are soft and alluring, because the seaward-
blowing mountain air is robbed of all its chill in
passing over the equable waters. Here after night-
fall verandas and the beach are still thronged. The
tiny harbor is filled with pleasure-craft of every
description, from rowboats to commodious yachts,
and hundreds of bathers disport in the placid ele-
ment.

Wonderful are the waters of Avalon, blue
as a Mediterranean sky and astonishingly clear.
Through the glass bottom of skiffs specially con-
structed for the purpose you may gaze down
through a hundred feet of transparency to where
emerald weeds wave and myriad fishes, blue and

»S5

brown and flaming red, swim over pebble and shell.
Or, climbing the overhanging cliffs, you gain the
fish-eagle's view of the life that teems in water-
depths, and looking down half a thousand feet upon
the fisherman in his boat see the bright-hued fishes
flashing far beneath him. He seems to hang sus-
pended in the sky.

Notable fishing is to be had. The barracuda is
plentiful; likewise the yellow-tail, or sea-salmon,
also generally taken by trolling, and frequently tip-
ping a truthful scale at fifty pounds. Sea-bass
fishing is a famous sport here, and probably the
most exciting known anywhere to the hand-fisher-
man. This fish is commonly taken, and in weight
ranges from 200 to 400 pounds. The fisherman
who hooks one is frequently dragged in his skiff for
several miles, and finds himself nearly as much
exhausted as the fish when it finally comes to gaff.

The most popular fishing at Catalina, however, is
for the tuna, known in the Mediterranean as the
"tunny," a gamy fish that furnishes the ambitious
angler all the sport he can reasonably expect, and
more than many can appreciate. Visitors come
from all over the world to fish for tuna at Catalina,
and a tuna club has been formed, which issues
diplomas and prizes to those who capture with rod
and reel the biggest tuna during each season. They
must do it without assistance, and this is frequently
a difficult job, as the tuna sometimes weighs over
250 pounds, and has been known to pull a boat con-
taining three people for nearly twelve hours. The

»S7

lavorite diet of the tuna is flying fish, in following
which they will jump out of the water and catch
their prey in the air. The average weight of
sixty-one tuna caught with rod and reel at Catalina
during the season of 1901 was 119 1-2 pounds, and
of 142 black sea-bass, or "jewfish," caught in like
manner, 225 i-2 pounds.

Perhaps the greatest novelty of a trip to Santa
Catalina, for most travelers, is the great number of
flying fish that inhabit its waters. At only a few
miles' distance from the mainland they begin to leap
from beneath the bows of the steamer, singly, by
twos and by half dozens, until one wearies of count-
ing, and skim over the waves like so many swal-
lows. The length of flight of which this poetical
fish is capable proves usually a surprise, for in spite
of its abundance ofif the Southern California coast its
precise character is none too generally known. In
size, form and color it may be roughly compared to
the mackerel. Its "wings" are muscular fins
whose spines are connected by a light but strong
membrane, and are four in number. The hinder-
most pair are quite small, mere butterfly wings of
stout fiber; the foremost pair attain a length of
seven or eight inches, and when extended are two
inches or more in breadth. Breaking from the
water at a high rate of speed, but at a very low
angle, the flying fish extends these winglike fins
and holds them rigid, like the set wings of a soaring
hawk. With the lower flange of its deeply forked
tail, which at first drags lightly, it sculls with a con-

158

vulsive wriggle of the whole body that gives it the
casual appearance of actually winging its way. The
additional impulse thus acquired lifts it entirely
from the water, over whose surface it then glides
without further effort for a long distance, until,
losing in momentum and in the sustaining pressure
of the air beneath its outstretched fins, it again
touches the water, either to abruptly disappear or
by renewed sculling to prolong its flight. Whales
of great size are frequently seen in the channel
separating Catalina from the main land.

In the less frequented portions of the island the
wild goat is still common. If you wish to hunt the
goat you must first procure a permit, and to obtain
that you must adduce evidence of your ability to
tell a goat from domestic sheep upon sight.

Santa Catalina is reached by steamer from San
Pedro, connecting with trains from Los Angeles.
The exhilarating ocean ride and the unique pleas-
ures of the island can not be too strongly com-
mended.

SANTA BARBARA.

Saint Barbara is, in Spain, the patroness of gun-
powder and coast defenses, and the invocation of
her name seems to have occurred in the light of a
desirable precaution to the founder of this mission,
who was so fond of building by the sea; although,
like one of our own heroes, who supplemented his
trust in Providence by protecting his ammunition
from the rain, he kept here, as at a number of other

IS9

points, a garrison of soldiers and a few small
cannon.

The place was long known the world over as
"The American Mentone," because in seeking a
term to convey its characteristics some comparison
with celebrated resorts of Europe was thought nec-
essary and this particular comparison most fitting.

Such definition is no longer required. Santa Bar-
bara is a name that now everywhere evokes the soft
picture of a rose-buried spot, more than a village,
less than a city, rising gently from the sea-rim by
way of shaded avenue and plaza to the foot of the
gray Santa Ynez Mountains, above whose peaks
the condor loves to soar; where, when with us the
winter winds are most bitter, normal existence is a
joyous activity in constant summer sunshine. It
presents an endless variety of winsomeness.

The flat beach is broken by rocky points
where the surf spouts in white columns with deaf-
ening roar, and above it lies a long mesa, dotted
w^ith live-oaks, that looks down upon the little
dreaming mission city and far oceanward ; and on
the other hand the mountain slopes beckon to
innumerable glens, and, when the rains have come,
to broad hillsides of green and banks of blossom.
There are long level drives by the shore, and up the
prolific valley to famous orchard ranches, and Mon-
tecito, a fairyland of homes, is close at hand.
Between Los Angeles and Santa Barbara, on the

Hotel Potter,
Santa Barbara.

coast, lies San Buena Ventura, with a well preserved
mission, and Summerland, where may be seen the
curious spectacle of oil wells pumping from wharves
erected for the purpose, and extending beyond low-
water mark.

Four of the Channel Islands lie opposite Santa
Barbara — Anacapa, Santa Cruz, Santa Rosa, and
San Miguel. The last three are only less attractive
by nature than Santa Catalina, of which mention
was made in its place, and although equal facilities
do not exist for the tourist, many persons find their
way there by means of fishing boats, which fre-
quently leave Santa Barbara for the island fishing
grounds.

These islands, now permanently inhabited only
by sheep-herders, who tend flocks of many thou-
sands, were once populated by a primitive people,
whose burial mounds, as yet only partly ex-
humed by casual visitors, are rich in archaeological
treasures.

Santa Barbara lies northwest from Los Angeles,
on the coast line of the Southern Pacific. The
new Hotel Potter, located on a large tract facing
the ocean boulevard, is the largest in the city.
This palatial edifice is six stories high, covers two
acres of ground, and cost a million dollars. The
architecture is that of the old Spanish missions.
There are five hundred guest rooms, four roof
gardens, polo grounds and tennis courts. Visitors
to Santa Barbara are thus guaranteed the very best
accommodations.

i6i

Arlington Hotel.

OSTRICH FARMING.

One of the popular attractions of Southern Cali-
fornia, that is visited by most new arrivals, is the
ostrich farm, at South Pasadena, beside the Santa
Fe track and a short ride from Los Angeles on the
electric. Here may be seen 150 ostriches, ranging
in size from the newly hatched chick to the
mammoth, full-grown bird. Ostriches appear to do
as well in Southern California as in South Africa,
their native habitat. There were formerly several
small ostrich farms in this section, but they have all
been combined in the establishment at South Pasa-
dena, which has been running for a number of
years. It is not merely a show place for visitors,
but does a large and profitable business in the sale of
ostrich feathers and useful and ornamental articles
manufactured therefrom, which are exported to all
parts of the United States.

There were recently imported to this farm seven-
teen Nubian birds, which are supposed to have the
finest plumage of any of the African ostriches. They
run wild, and the only way to obtain them is by bar-
tering with the natives for the chicks, the old ones
escaping. As there is an export duty of $500 on
each ostrich sent out of South Africa, these are the
only birds that can now be obtained to improve the
California stock. The proprietor of this establish-
ment recently opened an ostrich farm between

Nice and Monte Carlo, in the south of France,
with birds from South Pasadena, so that Southern.
California may now add to her other varied
resources the exportation of ostriches.

WINTER SPORTS.

Where out-of-door life is the rule, there being
neitherfrost nor chill throughout the day, recreation
becomes a matter of pure selection, unhampered by
any climatic condition outside the relatively infre-
quent rainstorm. A few enthusiasts make a point
of taking a daily dip in the surf, but the practice
does not reach the proportions of a popular pastime
in midwinter. Cross-country riding finds then its
perfect season, the whole land being transformed
into a garden, over enough of which the horseman
is free to wander. Happy must he be who knows
a purer sport than to gallop, either singly or with
comrades, in fragrant mornmg air over a fresh sod
spangled with poppy, violet, forget-me-not, larkspur
and alfilerilla; bursting through dense thickets of
lilac and mustard to cross an intervening highway ;
dipping to verdant meadow vales ; skirting orchards
heavy with fruit, and mounting tree-capped knolls
that look ofi to glimmers of sea between the slopes
of the hills.

Coaching has its proper season then, as well,
and the horn of the tallyho is frequently heard.
For such as like to trifle with the snows from which
they have fled, the foothills are at hand, serried with
tall firs in scattering growths or dense shadowy

jungles, topping canyons where the wagon-trail
crosses and recrosses a stream by pleasant fords, and
the crested mountain quail skulks over the ridge
above one's head. There may be had climbing to
suit every taste, touching extremes of chaotic tan-
gle of chaparral and crag. There are cliffs over
which the clear mountain-water tumbles sheer to
great depths; notches through which the distant
cones of the highest peaks of the mother range may
be seen in whitest ermine, huge pines dotting their
drifts like petty clumps of weed. Under foot, too,
on the northerly slopes is snow, just over the ridge
from where the sun is as warm and the air as gentle
as in the valley, save only the faintest sense of added
vigor and rarefaction. So near do these extremes
lie, and yet so effectually separated, you may thrust
into the mouth of a snow man a rose broken from
the bush an hour or two before, and pelt him with
oranges plucked at the very mouth of the canyon.
And one who is not too susceptible may comfort-
ably linger until the sun has set, and above the
lower dusky peaks the loftier ones glow rose-pink in
the light of its aftershine, until the moon lights the
fissures of the canyon with a ghostly radiance
against which the black shadows of the cliffs fall
like ink-blots.

Notwithstanding the rapid settlement of South-
ern California, this section can still show better
fishing and hunting during the winter season than
almost any other region of the country. With the
first grass that follows the early winter rains the

164

wild duck comes down from his northern nursery
to bathe in the warm sunshine. The glistening
green of the mallard's neck dots the water of the
lagoon. Duck-shooting on a moonlight night is a
favorite sport. With the mallard come the canvas-
back, the redhead, the sprigtail, the gadwell, the
widgeon, the spoonbill and the delicate little teal.
This is not the blue-winged teal of the Mississippi
Valley, or the green-wing that is there so common,
but another variety of green-wing, of about the
same size as the Eastern bird, and with equal
swiftness of wing. These ducks, and some others,
are found in great abundance during the winter
season, within an hour's ride of Los Angeles.
There are great flocks of the Canada goose,
together with the snow goose. They feed on the
alfilerilla and clover of the plains and hills, occa-
sionally making excursions into the grain fields.
The valley quail of California is a gamy bird, which
has become somewhat shy since guns have increased
in number. Formerly this bird was so abundant that
one might easily obtain as big a bag as could be car-
ried home, without a dog, but now a good bird dog
is becoming essential, unless the sportsman is an
expert, or goes into a thinly settled region. The
little brown plover makes good game for the begin-
ner during the greater part of the winter. The
mountain pigeons sometimes come down in flocks
and afford lively shooting. The English snipe is
found on some of the meadows. Among the
brush, on the foothills, cottontail and hare are

i6s

plentiful, in seasons of normal rainfall. One needs
to be a good shot to make a bag of these active
little animals. Deer are becoming scarce, but are
still brought in during the season. The Pacific
Ocean abounds in fish, and while midwinter is not
the best season, there is often good fishing along
the coast, long before the winter is over. Among
the leading members of the finny tribe that may be
counted on to furnish sport are tuna, mackerel,
yellow-tail, barracuda and bonita. Then, among
deep-water fish, are the rock cod and the redfish.

Catalina Island, thirty miles from the main-
land, is a noted place for the catching of big fish
with rod and reel, especially the gamy tuna, to
which sport reference has been made on a preced-
ing page. There are also found the monster
"jewfish," weighing sometimes over 400 pounds.
The catches frequently made by fishermen in the
Bay of Avalon, within a few hours, are so remark-
able as to challenge the credulity of Eastern peo-
ple, so that the sportsman usually carries home
with him a few photographs, as an ocular demon-
stration of his prowess. In the spring months
trout fishing is a favorite sport all along the streams
of the Sierra Madre range, within a few hours'
journey of Los Angeles, amid wild and romantic
scenery.

The grizzly was once exceedingly common. One
of the great sports of the old mission days was to
hunt the grizzly on horseback with the riata for
sole weapon, and it is of record that in a single

166

neighborhood thirty or forty of these formid-
able brutes were sometimes captured in a
night by roping, precisely as a modern cowboy
ropes a steer ; the secret of the sportsmen's
immunity lying in the fact that the bear was
almost simultaneously lassoed from different
sides and in that manner rigidly pinioned.
But Ursus horribilis has long since retreated
to deep solitudes,where his occasional pursuers,
far from approaching him with a rawhide
noose, go armed with heavy repeating rifles,
and even thus equipped are not eager to
encounter him at very close range.

Cricket is naturally a favorite diversion
among the many young Englishmen who have
located upon ranches; and yachting, polo and tennis
do not want for devotees. Golf finds many devotees
in this favored land, and is at its best during the
winter. Excellent links will be found in Los
Angeles, Pasadena, Riverside, Coronado, San Diego,
Santa Monica, Santa Catalina, and elsewhere.

A LAND OF FLOWERS.

Nothing is more delightful and astonishing to
visitors in California than the wonderful wealth of
flowers, and winter and early spring are the best
time to witness this beautiful exposition of nat-
ural beauty. Indeed, these are the only seasons
in which the wild flowers may be seen in variety.
Soon after the first rain the dull brown of the hills
and plains is supplanted by a mantle of vivid green,

167

and this, later in the season, is transformed into a
carpet of variegated hues. The most rare and ten-
der plants, which in the East are found only in
hot-houses, here grow rampant in the gardens.
The size to which some of these plants attain is
astonishing. The geranium and heliotrope cover
the side of a house, and two-story buildings are
smothered in blossoms from a single rose-bush.
The mammoth California violet has acquired a
world-wide reputation. In the front yard of the
humblest cottage may be seen the brilliant poin-
settias, luxuriant passion vines, heliotrope, bego-
nias, and calla-lilies, together with waving bananas,
magnificent palms and graceful bamboos. The
calla-lily and tube-rose are planted by the acre, for
the market.

Among the most interesting sights of Southern
California are the flower carnivals, held at regular
intervals in Los Angeles, Santa Barbara, and other
cities, where may be seen all kinds of vehicles,
from a bicycle to a four-in-hand, smothered in
fragrant blossoms. On New Year's Day, each
year, Pasadena has maintained its Tournament of
Roses, and established a reputation for the most
elaborate festival of this character.

Flowering trees are also here in abundance,
notable among which are varieties of the eucalyptus,
bearing bunches of beautiful white blossoms. At
the State Experiment Station, near Santa Monica,
are over one hundred varieties of this tree. The
crepe rr.yrtle, jacaranda, magnolia, acacia and

i68

Los Angeles
Couniry Club.

grevillia are also represented in great numbers. It
is not a constant struggle to make flowers and
plants grow in California throughout the year.
Plenty of water and a little cultivation, and a kindly
nature does the rest. The most noted of the wild
flowers which make the country a blaze of glory dur-
ing the later winter months and in the early spring
is the California poppy, which has been burdened
with the unromantic name of escholtzia. This has
been made the State flower. The hills back of
Pasadena are a blaze of gold with this beautiful wild
flower, in the early spring, and on a clear day the
flame tint may be clearly discerned from the ocean,
thirty miles distant. Another beautiful wild flower,
abundant in the foothills of Southern California, is
the scarlet larkspur, a flower peculiar to this State.
)There is a commercial side to flower culture in
Southern California. Besides supplying the local
market, florists have occasionally made shipments
of cut flowers to the East, with varying success.
At Redondo, Oceanside and Santa Monica may be
seen several acres of magnificent carnations. The
growing of seeds for Eastern dealers is a profitable
business. One enterprising woman at San Buena
Ventura has made a great success in growing seeds
and developing new varieties. There have been
attempts at the manufacture of perfumery from
flowers.

.titaij ^■f^--' f-y^ ■•.'.'.:ts.e.-A '■'f^r^ •"■^

.(T^/*'-^

CENTRAL CALIFORNIA.

/^ENTRAL CALIFORNIA comprises that part
^-^ of the State between Tehachapi Mountains
and San Francisco. Its chief feature is the great
San Joaquin Valley, bordered on sunset and sunrise
sides by the Sierra Nevada and coast ranges.

Going from Barstow (junction point for Southern
California) over the line of the Santa Fe to San
Francisco, the desert continues as far as Mojave.
The railroad has robbed these wastes of their worst
terrors.' Occasional friendly oases mark the homes
of adventurous settlers, and on either hand scarred
mountain-faces proclaim the conquering miner,
who, seeking gold, is undismayed by Nature's for-
bidding front. Ofif to the north is the Randsburg
mining district, reached from Kramer Station. But
the prevailing note is that of silence and desolation.

Beyond Mojave the line bears northward. The
summit of Tehachapi Range is achieved by a series
of remarkable loops and tunnels. Tehachapi Pass,
with its limpid streams, shady forests and cool air,

is in pleasing contrast to the hot Mojave sands.
The altitude is nearly 4,000 feet, with steep grades
that are only surmounted by a strong and steady,
pull. Rapidly descending, the imperial San Joa-'3
quin Valley, 32,000 square miles in extent, is
entered at Bakersfield. In this magnificent basin,
containing ten million acres of arable land, products
of the temperate, semi-tropical and tropical zones
flourish side by side. Along its eastern slope are
numerous mines and dense forests, while at its
southern extremity an extensive petroleum field
pours rich floods from a thousand throats.

The greatness of the San Joaquin is too super-
lative for more than a brief outline here. Those
interested in the subject are referred to a book
published by the Santa Fe, entitled "The San
Joaquin Valley in California."

The pleasure-seeker may be wooed from his
Pullman by stories of the wondrous big trees that
are reached by stage rides from either Merced or
Visalia stations; or he may be attracted by the
scenic beauties of lovely Yosemite (now expedi-
tiously reached via Merced and the Yosemite
Valley Railroad), and the wild canyons of Kings
and Kern rivers — these latter known to few
travelers, but pronounced indescribably grand.

A San Joaquin Valley "
Vineyard.

Mount Whitney, the king of the California Sierras,
rises higher than any peak in the United States,
exclusive of the Alaskan giants.

The business man will be allured by the many
opportunities here offered for successful farming,
manufacturing and trading. This vast expanse
constitutes one-fifth of California's total area, con-
tains twelve counties, is 260 miles long by 60 to 90
miles wide, and is nearly as large as Indiana.

Steamers ply between San Francisco and Stock-
ton; the San Joaquin River is navigable at all times
for a considerable distance, especially in the rainy
season. It is fed by many tributary streams, such
as Kern, Kings, Merced, Tuolumne, and Stanislaus
rivers, which head in mountain snows and furnish —
by irrigation's aid — abundant water for crops.
The east side of the valley is a network of main
and lateral canals. Abundant crops are thus
assured, for the soil only needs wetting at the right
times to yield luxuriantly.

Half the grain grown in California is harvested
along the San Joaquin. Wheat farms of 10,000 to
50,000 acres are not uncommon. On these big
areas wholesale methods are imperative. Large
gang plows, operated by traction engines, are
employed. Harvesting is accomplished only by the
aid of machines drawn by as many as thirty horses,
that cut and thrash the grain, delivering it in sacks
ready for shipment.

Alfalfa, the favorite forage plant of California,
grows greenly on thousands of acres, and great
cattle ranches contribute their quota of industrial
wealth. The tendency now is to divide these big
holdings and invite settlement by small farmers, fruit-
raisers, and cattlemen. The Laguna deTache grant,
west of Fresno, is an example of such colonization.

Raisin and wine industries center at Fresno,
where there are raisin-seeding and packing plants,
wineries and distilleries. Fresno County alone has
40,000 acres of vineyards.

Bakersfield, Corcoran, Tulare, Visalia, Hanford,
Fresno, Merced and Stockton are the principal
cities — thriving communities, with modern busi-
ness blocks, tree-bowered homes and public build-
ings worthy of cities twice their size.

Clustering around these busy centers of industry
are found immense orchards of prunes, peaches,
apricots, figs, and other fruits, also profitable dairies.

On the rich river bottom lands, near Stockton,
winter vegetables are grown for the Eastern markets.

A million and a quarter persons could easily be
accommodated on the farming lands of the San
Joaquin Valley, allowing a family of five to each
forty-acre tract. Without wishing to usurp the
prerogatives of the real estate boomer, one may
truthfully affirm that the San Joaquin Valley is an
ideal place for the man who wishes to begin in a

-<5.!SiJ>C''

moderate way and surely acquire a competence.
Small tracts can be bought at reasonable rates, on
time, with excellent water rights. One need not
wait years for his orchard to come into bearing.
Here the Iowa or Illinois or Nebraska farmer has no
new business to learn. He can at once start in
raising hogs and cattle, wheat, hay and garden
truck, and make the farm pay from the start —
gradually working into fruit, as a side issue or the
main support, at his convenience.

SAN FRANCISCO.

The bay of San Francisco is almost completely
encircled by land. The Golden Gate is the tide-
way, a narrow passage between the extremities of
two peninsulas, upon the point of the southern-
most of which the city stands.

Here, too, the Franciscan mission-builders were
first upon the field, and the present name is a cur-
tailment of Mission de los Dolores de Nuestro Padre
San Francisco de Asis, an appellation commemora-
tive of the sorrows of the originator of the order.
The Mission Dolores, founded in 1776, is still pre-
served with its little campo santo of the dead, a
poor, unsightly, strangled thing, structurally un-
imposing and wholly wanting in the poetic
atmosphere of semi-solitude that envelopes the
missions of Southern California. So nearly, in
forty years, has all trace of the preceding three-
quarters of a century been obliterated. Changed

»74

from a Spanish to a Mexican
province early in the century,
then promptly stripped of the
treasures that had been accu-
mulated by monkish administra-
tion, and subsequently ceded
to the United States, California
had on the whole a dreamy, quiet life until that
famous nugget was found in 1848. Then
followed the era of the Argonauts, seekers of
the golden fleece, who flocked by the thousand
from Eastern towns and cities by way of the plains,
the Isthmus and the Cape to dig in the gravel-
beds ; lawless adventurers in their train. San
Francisco practically dates from that period.
Its story is a wild one, a working-out of order
and stable commercial prosperity through chapters
that treat of feverish gold-crazy mobs, of rapine
grappled by the vigilance committee, of insurrection
crushed by military force. And in this prosperity,
oddly enough, the production of gold has been
superseded in importance by other resources ; for
although California annually yields more precious
metal than any other State, the yearly value of its
marketed cattle,wool, cereals, roots, fruits, sugar and
wines is twice as great, and forms the real com-
mercial basis of the great city of the Pacific coast.
As if it were fearful of being hid, it is set upon

The Santa Fe
Ferry.

IBTO

not one but a score of hills, overlooking land and
sea. As you near it, by way of Ferry Point, you
will be dull, indeed, if your pulses are not stirried in
anticipation of viewing one of the really great
cities of the world.

The traveler steps from the train at Ferry Point
or Oakland and soon is out on the bosom of the
bay — San Francisco Bay ; one of the finest harbors
in all the world.

Few bays are more picturesque ; none better
suited to the purposes of commerce. Crossing
on the fine Santa Fe ferry-boat (on which de-
licious meals are served) and leaving the dock
at Ferry Point, San Francisco Bay proper extends
far beyond the limits of vision southward. To
the north are other portions of the same bay,
though carrying distinctive names. At the head of
San Pablo Bay is Mare Island, with Uncle Sam's
big navy yard. Mount Diablo seems to rise close
upon the Suisun shore, while from Ferry Point,
and during the run to San Francisco, can be
seen upon the right the sharp peak of Mount
Tamalpais, which looks beyond across the wide
Pacific.

When the first burst of delight at the wondrous
panorama has settled into a calmer satisfaction, the
traveler will begin to pick out and enquire con-
cerning the various points of interest. Off to the
right, which is here the west, is a lofty red island,
and beyond, on the shore, a grim cluster of red and

Music Stand,
Golden Gate Park.

gray buildings. The cluster of foreboding build-
ings is the State Prison on Point San Quentin.

Angel Island, on the south of Raccoon Straits,
is, like all the islands of the bay, government prop-
erty. Just around the first headland is Hospital
Cove, and there is located the United States Quar-
antine Station. The island itself is one-and-a-half
miles long, its crest rises 760 feet from the bay,
and its area is about 600 acres.

Looking back tow^ard the bay shore on the left,
the island between Ferry Point and the main-
land carries the pastoral title of Sheep Island.
The Government puts it to no use. On the shore
beyond, the various building clusters generally mean
pow^der vi^orks, w^here dynamite and other high
explosives are manufactured for use in mines.

The eye, now sweeping to the southward, soon
catches evidences of urban life. This is Berkeley,
and against the shoulder of the hills, which mark
its boundary, may be seen the buildings of the great
State University. The present buildings are looked
upon as makeshifts and are soon to give place to
far more adequate and imposing structures to be
erected on the magnificent plans of M. Bernard,
of Paris. The buildings of the State Institute for
the Deaf, Dumb and Blind — one of the finest
schools of its kind in any country — are just south
of the University.

Across San Antonio estuary, which the work of
the Federal Government has converted into Oak-
land Harbor, the city of Alameda peeps from its

177

clustered oaks. A little closer on the view looms
the island which the Spaniards called Yerba Bucna,
but to which the more prosaic Anglo-Saxons have
given the name Goat. On this the Government
has a torpedo-supply station for the war-ships, a
depot for the buoys and supplies of the lighthouse
tenders, and a new Naval Training School, where
American lads are to be taught how to defend the
country's honor upon the sea.

But there is a whiff of a fresh salt breeze as the
boat passes beyond the southerly point of Angel
Island, and all travelers will turn to the right again
to get the first view of the Golden Gate.

Here, indeed, is fascinating beauty. The broad
bay narrows to the width of a mile — the Golden
Gate proper — and through this narrow passage ebb
and flow the mighty tides. Some resistless forces
of old earth's agony seem to have rent the big hills
to make this way for commerce. On the north
the bluffs rise sheer and frowning. From their
tops may be seen the guns of a heavy battery, of
1 2-inch rifles — 473 feet above the sea level — the
highest heavy gun battery in the world. General
Nelson A. Miles calls it the Gibraltar of America.

Inside the Gate are attractions for the nearer
view. In mid-channel the fortified island of Alca-
traz rears itself 140 feet above low water. Here is
the military prison and an artillery post, with a
torpedo station and a light that can be seen for
nineteen miles out at sea.

178

But now the eye begins to be engaged with the
view of the city of San Francisco itself — a city which
before the great fire contained 400,000 inhabitants
— a shifting concourse of strange peoples andstranger
trades — odors unknown and unfamiliar tongues, a
medley of the stories of the world.

It was then a city of fair aspect — in one direction
undulating from the water's edge, in another rising
abruptly to the precipitous heights of Telegraph
Hill — its topography such as to display, from each
of half a hundred vantage points, many new phases.

A world-city of great commercial activity — such
was San Francisco in the early morning of Wednes-
day, April 18, 1906. A moment later came the
earthquake — and after that the fire.

What of the future ?

At about 5:15 — the big clock on the Ferry
House tower stopped at 5:16 — came the first great
shock of that elemental calamity that was to write
the date of April 18, 1906, into the stirring history
of San Francisco as the most fateful day that ever
broke above her many hills. It had been a beauti-
ful night. In April, of all times in the year, the
finest nights that the coast climate knows redeem
the reputation of San Francisco's weather. More-
over it had been a gala night in the gay society life
of the most cosmopolitan of American cities, the
most Bohemian of gay, laughter-loving, music-
loving, pleasure-loving populations, gathered from
far-off European capitals, and from the best of
American blood as well. One of the greatest

179

grand opera organizations in the world was in the
city, and the post-Lenten fever of society's revels
was at its height. The climax of the grand opera
season had been reached the night before in a
magnificent performance which had called for the
supreme efforts of the strongest cast of world-
famous singers ever seen in San Francisco, and
never had enthusiasm run higher in San Francisco's
musical world. The performance was only con-
cluded at midnight, and then for hours the cafes
had been gay with the laughter and comment of
the opera-goers. Even when the great shock
struck and the first tall towers tottered to their fall
some of the revelers were in the streets, — only a
few, but it is from these that the most coherent
story of the beginning of San Francisco's great
tragedy has been gleaned. It is the story of a
series of more or less prolonged shuddering jerks
and writhings of the earth, here and there the
crash of falling walls, then a great silence for
several minutes. Then, of a sudden, from up
Market street came the growing clamor of the
gong on the on-dashing cart of the fire chief. The
destruction of San Francisco, only badly shaken by
the great earthquake, was at hand from fire. In
the twisted and tangled masses of rookery buildings
shaken into collapse by the temblor broken gas
pipes had started blazing. Worst of all, beneath
the surface of the streets the mains that brought

_^ the water supply had been twisted

■I^^^^H and broken. The doom of San
fSi^^^^^M Francisco had been pronounced.

Hotel St. Francis.

Fire had gotten under way. There was no water.
From that moment until, three days later, the
many fires, of which this first blaze was only a
forerunner, had burned themselves out, over four
square miles of the city's heart were eaten out
utterly, and nearly four hundred millions of dollars
worth of property was reduced to embers and hot
junk. Of the four hundred thousand prosperous,
happy, pleasure-loving population nearly three hun-
dred thousand were sleeping on the public ground
of the city's parks, ruined and homeless refugees.

Had not the human interest submerged all sense
of the scene as a spectacle, nothing so awful and
stupendous ever before has been witnessed as this
panorama of destruction from the hills across the
bay. But with every hour adding thousands to
the number of suffering, homeless human beings
the moments were all too crowded with horror and
sympathy for any sense of the spectacle itself.

While yet the fires were crackling and walls were
still falling; while the whole wide world seemed on
tiptoe to offer sympathy and material aid, these
children of the argonauts were planning the building
of the new San Francisco, which in a few years
will be the greater San Francisco.

San Francisco is already rising from its ruins ; nay
it has almost risen. Its rebuilding is a new wonder
of the world. Why not ? What Chicago and
Boston, Charleston, Galveston and Baltimore have
done, San Francisco is doing far more quickly and
completely — for in many ways conditions favor the

i8i

rapid rebuilding of great business buildings now as
they never did before. Its many fine new structures
are both fire-proof and quake-proof and present
the last word in the architect's art and skill.

But for the great fire which followed the temblor^
San Francisco's hum of industry would not have
ceased, and the wound caused by the earthquake
would long since have healed and cicatriced. Out
of its sad experience came one practical lesson that
IS fraught with most satisfying encouragement for
the future — that modern steel structures, properly
anchored, have nothing to fear from earthquake,
and survive the ravages of great fires adjoining.

Of the show places visited by so many thousands
in the past only a few remain.

The Clifif House, spared by the 1906 disaster, was
recently destroyed by fire. It will be rebuilt, either
on the old site or on Seal Rocks, with a connect-
ing arched bridge from the mainland. The near-by
Sutro Baths and Garden sustained no damage. A
little out from the shore below the old Clifif House
the big seals still sun themselves on the Seal Rocks
or swim about among the flashing breakers.

The old Presidio also was spared from destruc-
tion, and became a haven of refuge for the stricken
and bereft inhabitants of the city.

Golden Gate Park, which became a vast camp
where thousands of people were gathered in tents,
is now comparatively free from the camps of the
refugees, who are refugees no longer, but self-
respecting, self-supporting citizens, and its reha-

182

bilitation as one of the world's finest parks is under
way. This park is impossible of duplication and
beyond compare. This is due first to climatic
conditions, second to its topography. Beautiful
shrubbery, abundant bloom, varied landscapes and
artistic statuary are here. Wide stretches of grassy
plain are succeeded by beautiful eminences, at the
feet of which are on one hand placid lakes, on the
other the glittering waves of the Pacific. From the
Clifif House, on its sunset edge, may be seen bare
rocks where a colony of seals warm themselves in
the kindly sunshine after a frolic in the salt sea.

The United States Mint, though scorched by the
flames, fortunately survived, and the thirty millions
of dollars within its vaults were preserved.

The residence district is practically intact, very
little damage having been done there.

Chinatown — that quaint bit of Mongolian life,
squalid by day and overcast by an Oriental, mystical
glamor at night, foreign to the soil on which it
stood, a grotesque jumble and panopticon of peep
shows, is being rebuilt more rapidly than any other
portion of the city, and the same quaint character-
istics obtain in the new Chinatown that made the
old a place of such mystical allurement.

The old world of clubdom, the multitudinous
restaurants with their varied menus, and the gay

theaters where the world's greatest artists have
appeared, all passed away, but in their places new
and even more attractive ones are being built.

One may look in vain for many historic lana-
marks, for the old-time churches and libraries and
art galleries.

Yet there is much of even greater interest in
San Francisco for the sightseer. The rebuilding
of a great city is in itself such a titanic undertaking
and herculean labor as to appeal strongly to any
person who likes to see "things in the making."
Sooner than one would deem possible the world of
busy shops, brilliant theaters, stately churches and
hospitable hotels will hold the stage again in San
Francisco — more busy, more brilliant and more
beautiful than before.

San Francisco is now well equipped to care for
the hurried stranger of a day, or the visitor whose
stay lasts indefinitely. Many hotels have resumed
business; many new ones have been built and
opened. These will comfortably accommodate
30,000 people. All have been newly furnished,
have good rooms with baths, also first-class restau-
rants and grill rooms. The main edifice and annex
of St. Francis Hotel are entirely occupied. The
Palace Hotel is being rebuilt on the old site, and
on an even greater scale of magnificence, a tem-
porary building housing the Palace clientele in
the meantime. The magnificent new Fairmont
Hotel, one of the finest in the world, and massed
grandly on the crest of Nobs' Hill, was thrown
open to the public last summer.

184

OAKLAND.

Suffering somewhat in
prestige by having been
considered for many years
as a suburb of San Fran-
cisco, Oakland has recently been asserting a marked
and aggressive individuality of its ow^n, and probably
no city on the Pacific coast has made more
marked progress in the last five years than has this
wonderfully favored town. With a population
now of considerably more than one hundred thou-
sand, Oakland has thrown off the swaddling clothes
of suburbanism and become distinctly urban, with
a clearing-house of its own, with large and numer-
ous banking houses, hotels, theaters, cafes, public
buildings and all the other indicia of a rapid round-
ing into metropolitanism. It has had a wonderful
development in the last few years, and has every
assurance of a prosperous future on its own merits.

Resting in the great amphitheater formed by the
Sierran foothills back of it, with the great Bay on
its front and a landlocked harbor six miles in length
on its southern side, its location is at once pictur-
esque and commercially most fortunate. Its east-
ern shore has fifteen miles of water front, while
Oakland Estuary and the basin lying at its head is
suited for shipping of larger draught, and the shores
for extensive shipbuilding. Manufacturing inter-
ests will move steadily up the eastern shore of the
Bay; the room, the small cost of ground, close touch
with overland railway, ship and factory appealing

Santa Fe Station,
Oakland.

to manufacturers.

i8s

Oakland High School.

A STREET IN CHINATOWN BEFORE THE FIRE.

SUBURBAN SAN FRANCISCO.

Suburban San Francisco embraces much of inter-
est. The bay shore cities of Berkeley, Oakland
and Alameda (housing a population one-third as
great as San Francisco's normal number), are in
turn neighbored by pretty suburbs. On the heights
above Oakland is the home of Joaquin Miller,
farther south Mills College, delightfully environed,
and several charming picnic parks — among them
Piedmont Springs and Leona Heights,

On the Marin County shore, beyond the Golden
Gate, are Sausalito and Mill Valley, through which
a winding scenic railway is built to the half-mile
high summit of Mount Tamalpais, from whence
one may view the entire bay region. The trip is
similar to the climb up Mount Lowe, near Los
Angeles. Farther inland is the charming residence
suburb of San Rafael.

To the south, along the peninsula, one comes
upon the homes of some of California's million-
aires, at Burlingame, of polo repute, Milbrae, and
San Mateo, while below the junction of San Fran-
cisco's peninsula with the mainland the Santa
Clara Valley stretches southward between the Coast
and Santa Cruz ranges. Along this valley lies the
way to San Jose and the coast resorts of Santa
Cruz and Monterey, with intermediate ooints of
celebrity.

Palo Alto is the site of the Stanford University,
where, in a campus of 8,000 acres, an arboretum

187

to which every dime has liberally contributed,
stands this magnificent memorial of a cherished
son. The buildings are conceived in the style of
mission architecture — low structures connected
by an arcade surrounding an immense inner court,
with plain, thick walls, arches and columns, built
of buff sandstone and roofed with red tiles. Richly
endowed, this university is broadly and ambitiously
planned, and is open to both sexes in all depart-
ments. The damage done by the '06 earthquake
is being repaired.

Hard by, at Menlo Park, is the Stanford horse
breeding and training establishment, where hun-
dreds of thoroughbreds are carefully tended in
paddock and stable, and daily trained. Even one
who is not a lover of horses, if such a person exists,
cannot fail to find entertainment here, where daily
every phase of equine training is exhibited, from the
kindergarten, where toddling colts are taught the
habit of the track, to the open course, where
famous racers are speeded.

A PACIFIC TOUR.

Along the great San Francisco water front, with
its masts and spars, flapping sails and ship chan-
dlery stores, the very spirit of roving and adventure
is in the air. A stroll here will impress the visitor
with the city's wonderful future possibilities.
The dream that along San Francisco Bay
will be built a world-city bids
fair to become a reality.

Here one may observe the big four-masters, laden
with wheat brought around Cape Horn. A rakish
brig unloads a cargo of copra and sandalwood, w^hich
tells of the scented groves of south Pacific islands.
Over yonder are big bunkers, with sooty workmen
and busy engines, straining at coal buckets. Farther
on is a party of gold-seekers, bound for the Alaskan
fields. Other steamers are taking on passengers and
freight for lower California, Panama and Mexico, or
for the far-ofif countries of the Orient. Japanese,
Chinese and Koreans mingle with the throng.
A patriotic bit of color is displayed where soldiers
just back from the Philippines are disembarking.
And when evening comes on the deep-sea chants
rise above the city's roar as anchors are lifted.
One then keenly feels the call of the sea. The
genius of Stevenson has woven a halo of romance
over these semi-tropical seas that woos the traveler
with well-nigh irresistible charm. As you look
westward out of the nation's front door from the
Clifi House headland height, it would be strange,
indeed, if you were not seized with a longing to
set sail.

Where will you go — since go you must ?

To Hawaii ? Magical isles, wreathed in flowers
and laved by flashing summer seas ; land of banana

plantations, cane and rice fields ; land of roaring
volcanoes and verdant plains.

To Samoa ? Coral shores under the Stars and
Stripes ; happy natives, cocoanut palms and deli-
cious tropical fruit, transparent seas and beautiful
shells.

To Tahiti ? Riotous vegetation, the supple
bamboo, broad-leaved banana and lance-leaved
mango ; an out-of-doors country, where houses are
used only to sleep in.

To New Zealand ? Newest England, as it has
been fittingly called ; half round the world, but
nearer than many of you have thought ; the famous
west coast sounds, rivaling the fiords of Norway.

To Australia ? A partly explored continent of
vast and varied resources ; wonderful cities, strange
races, and strange flora and fauna, kangaroos and
paroquets, cockatoos and pouched bears.

Which one, or all of them ?

It can not be decided for you here. Indeed, the
purpose of these brief pages is only suggestive, to
point the way and tell you of the excellent facilities
for travel. Other publications will teU you more in
detail of the attractions, and they may be had for
the asking from agents of the Santa Fe. One
rare trip outlined therein is around the world via
San Francisco, Hawaii, Samoa, New Zealand, Aus-
tralian ports, India, Suez, the Mediterranean,
Continental Europe, England, Atlantic liners, and
United States railways.

190

.The superb fleet of steamships formerly main-
tained by the American and Australian (Oceanic
Steamship) Line, between San Francisco, Samoa,
New Zealand and Australia, has been temporarily
withdrawn. These boats favorably compared with
the finest Atlantic steamers. They were of 6,ooo
tons burden, with twin screws — the fastest, largest,
and most luxurious steamers in the Pacific trade.
These ships were specially fitted for tropical voyag-
ing with large and well-ventilated cabins. It is
confidently expected that they will resume regular
service within a few months.

The Oceanic S. S. Co. still has fast passenger
service to Honolulu, Hawaii, with sailings every
three weeks on the Alameda. Another staunch
boat of this line leaves San Francisco about every
five weeks for Papeete, Island of Tahiti.

Luxurious steamers of the Pacific Mail, Occi-
dental & Oriental and Toyo Kisen Kaisha lines
may be taken from San Francisco on a straight-
away cruise to Yokohama, and thence to Hong-
Kong. By this route both China and Japan may
be visited, including a run down to our new pos-
sessions in the Philippines. The steamers are all
swift, commodious and seaworthy.

COAST LINE TO SAN FRANCISCO.

The coast route northward from Los Angeles
by rail has many notable attractions, chief of which
are Santa Barbara (page 157), Monterey and
San Jose, The two last named may be conve-
niently visited by a short ride from San Francisco
and the first from Los Angeles.

The traveler who elects to follow the coast in
his journey to the Golden Gate will be taken
northward and then west to the sea at San Buena
Ventura, On the way San Fernando (near which
are the ruins of the San Fernando Mission) is
passed and a considerable oil district in the vicinity
of Newhall and Santa Paula ; also Oxnard and its
big beet sugar factory.

At San Buena Ventura is another mission estab-
lishment surrounded by luxuriant orchards of
deciduous fruits and vast bean fields, the product
of which reaches the far-away " Hub " on the
Atlantic.

Beyond San Buena Ventura the winding coast
line is closely followed for a hundred miles or more
to and through Santa Barbara, until crossing the
mountains it leads down into the Salinas Valley, a
mountain-walled, oak-dotted park, the northern
end of which merges in the far-famed Santa Clara
Valley of the north.

From the gray-brown bluffs and rounded hills,
for the hundred or so miles by the sea, but little

192

hint is given of the fertile interior ; but a continu-
ous marine panorama of wave-washed shore is
unfolded, with a far-reaching ocean view bounded
by the Channel Islands.

Wayside items are the asphaltum pits and ocean
oil-wells at Summerland, the mammoth eucalyptus
trees and great olive orchards at EUwood in the
Goleta Valley, the asphaltum works at Alcatraz
Landing, and the mouth of historic Gaviota Pass»
There are picturesque ranch houses of the old
days, also herds of grazing cattle and sheep, vast
fields of grain and mustard and sugar beets, the
largest vegetable and flower seed farms in the
world, and many other features, each adding inter-
est to the journey, but which must be considered
minor attractions where so much is worthy.

San Luis Obispo is a city of four thousand popu-
lation, the business center of a rich valley. The
mountains overshadow it. The church of the old
mission of San Luis Obispo is here.

Northward from San Luis a climb over a spur of
the Santa Lucia Mountains, with numerous curves
in the track, presents from the car window a bird's-
eye view of the city and fertile valley in which it
lies.

Paso Robles (pass of the oaks) is a place of
wonderful mineral springs with a fine hotel and
bath houses. Not far away is Santa Ysabel ranch,
and Hot Springs. Salinas is a town of growing
importance. Near it is the great Spreckels beet
sugar factory, one of the largest in the world.

Paso Robles
Hotel.

A slight divergence from the main line at Cas-
troville will bring you to Hotel del Monte and the
famous old town of Monterey, on the southern
shore of Monterey Bay.

Monterey was the old capital of California in the
earliest period of Spanish rule. Here the forest
crowds upon the sea and mingles its odor of balm
with that of the brine. The beach that divides
them is broken by cliffs where the cypress finds
footing to flaunt its rugged boughs above the spray
of the waves, and in the gentle air of a perfect cli-
mate the wild flowers hold almost perpetual carni-
val. Upon such a foundation the Hotel del
Monte, with its vast parks of lawn and garden and
driveway, covering many hundred acres, is set, all
its magnificence lending really less than it owes
to the infinite charm of Monterey. Its fame has
spread through every civilized land, and European
as well as American visitors make up its throng.
The hotel is located in a scattering grove of
200 acres, a little east from the town, and for lav-
ishness of luxury and splendor in construction and
accessory has perhaps no superior. The specific
points of interest are Carmel Mission, Pacific Grove,
Moss Beach, Seal Rocks, and Cypress Point.

The pretty city of Santa Cruz at the northern
end of Monterey Bay is reached from Del Monte
by a railway along the shore. It is also reached
direct from San Francisco by a line crossing the
beautiful Santa Cruz Mountains and passing
through the big trees (Sequoia semper virens).

194

It is San Francisco's most popular seaside resort
as well as a notable summering and wintering
place for many eastern people. There are good
hotels and ample facilities for enjoying the pleas-
ures of the sea.

An interesting industry of the place is the exca-
vation of asphalt from a small mountain of the
almost pure material.

By the main line again toward San Francisco
from Castroville one comes upon San Jose, the
Garden City, at the junction of the narrow gauge
line to Santa Cruz. The appellation Garden City
may be taken literally, for besides its urban beau-
ties, it lies in the center of the largest compact
orchard area in the world.

Perhaps there is not, in the whole of Northern
California, a town more attractively environed. It.
is protected by mountain walls from every wander-
ing asperity of land or sea, a clean, regularly plat-
ted city, reaching off through avenues of pine and
of eucalyptus, and through orchards and vineyards,
to pretty forest slopes where roads climb past rock,
glen and rivulet to fair, commanding heights. The
immediate neighborhood is the center of prune
production, and every year exports great quantities
of berries, fruits and wines. The largest seed-
farms and the largest herd of short-horned cattle
in the world are here.

Twenty-six miles east from San Jose is Mount
Hamilton, upon whose summit the white wall of
the Lick Observatory is plainly visible at that

195

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u

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o

1-
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o

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a

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111

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distance. This observatory has already
become celebrated for the discovery
of Jupiter's fifth satellite, and gives
promise of affording many another /^'

astronomical sensation in time to come. Visitors
are permitted to look through the great telescope one
night in the w^eek, and in the intervals a smaller
glass sufficiently powerful to yield a good view of
the planets in the broad sunlight of midday is
devoted to their entertainment. It is reached by
stage from San Jose, the round trip being made
daily. Aside from the attraction of the famous
sky-glass, supplemented by the multitudinous and
elaborate mechanisms of the observatory, the ride
through the mountains to Mount Hamilton more
than compensates the small fatigue of the journey.
There are backward glimpses of the beautiful val-
ley, and a changing panorama of the Sierra, the road
making loops and turns in the shadow of live-oaks
on the brink of profound craterlike depressions.

The remainder of the coast-line trip to the
Golden Gate has already received brief mention
under title of Suburban San Francisco.

YOSEMITE VALLEY.

The high Sierras have been termed the American
Alps, and merit the appellation. Here are snowy
peaks that meet the sky along a thousand miles of
the Cahfornia border, and, crowning all, Mount
Whitney, the loftiest
peak in the United
States.

There are in this Sierra region mighty evergreen
forests, groves of the greatest and grandest trees in
the world, the Canyons of Kings and Kern Rivers,
Lassen Buttes, the Minarets, and numerous other
wonders. Not a mile of the gigantic mountain
ridge but is replete with interest. Among them
all, however, Yosemite is the best known and the
most easily accessible. It lies due east of San Fran-
cisco, at an elevation of 4,000 feet, and is reached
from Merced (a prosperous town on the Santa Fe
in the San Joaquin Valley); thence by the newly
constructed Yosemite Valley R. R. eighty miles to
the boundary line of Yosemite Park, ending with
a short and enjoyable stage ride of twelve miles.
The way is by Merced Falls and Pleasant Valley, up
the picturesque Canyon of the Merced River and
near the old-time mining town of Coulterville, to
El Portal. The entire trip may be made easily and
comfortably in about half a day.

The Mariposa, Merced and Tuolumne groups of
giant sequoias may be reached as a side trip.
These monster trees are from 25 to 30 feet in
diameter at base and are of fabulous age — quite
the oldest living things on earth's crust. And there
is nothing finer in the Black Forest of Ger-
many than the great sugar pines near Hazel
Green. Yosemite Valley itself does not
disappoint. The floor is a parklike tract
about eight miles long by half a mile to a
mile wide. The Merced River frolics
its way through this mountain glade
198

V^^v »'.*>-. - »•

and around it rise imperious walls
thousands of feet high.

As you enter, mighty El Capitan
rears its monumental form 3,200
feet at your left. It is a solid
mass of granite, taller than the
valley is wide at this point and
presenting two perpendicular
faces. On the other hand Bridal
Veil Fall is flinging cascades of
lacelike delicacy from a height of
950 feet, and in the far distance
you catch a glimpse of Half
Dome, Washington Columns and
the crests of the highest Sierra
peaks.

The road leads on beyond
Cathedral Spires, Three Brothers
and Sentinel Rock, the valley
widens and Yosemite Falls appear,
with the Sentinel Hotel and the
little village at the stage terminus,
midway between the falls and Glacier Point opposite.

Beyond Glacier Point the valley angles sharply,
and in the recess thus formed Vernal, Nevada, and
Illiloutte Falls, Liberty Cap and Mount Broderick
are located, but are not visible from the hotel.

Looking east. Half Dome presents an almost per-
pendicular wall; at its base is Mirror Lake, and,
opposite. North Dome and Washington Arches.
The peak of Half Dome is 4,737 feet above

199

Yosemite Falls,

the valley floor, and 8,737 feet above
the sea.

The accessibility of Yosemite and
the comparative ease vv^ith which it may
be explored, add greatly to the enjoy-
ment of a visit. The hotel is well
managed and the charges reasonable.
The best time to go is in May and
June, when there is no dust and the falls
are full of water. The tourist season
usually begins the middle of April and
lasts until October, though one may go
in both earlier and later if desired. In
midwinter the snowfall is quite heavy.

There are excellent public camps, or you may
bring your own outfit and pitch tent almost any-
where, with reasonable limitations. There are tele-
phone and telegraph facilities, a general store and a
postoffice with daily mail. The custodian of the
valley resides here. The roads and trails have been
constructed by and have heretofore been kept in re-
pair by the State. Charges for guides, carriages, sad-
dle animals, etc., are regulated by a commission, and
there are no tolls. The entire Yosemite National
Park is now under control of the United States
Government. You may visit both the base and lip
of Nevada Falls, poise in mid-air from the over-
hanging rock at Glacier Point, gaze 4,000 feet below
from a parapet of Three Brothers or oflf to the
wilderness of peaks that lose themselves in the sky
to the eastward ; or you may pitch pebbles into
the gushing torrent of Yosemite Falls, where it
makes its dizzy leap over the clifi.

201

The glory of Yosemite has passed into litera-
ture. It lends to word-painting as do but few
of Nature's masterpieces. Yet all the pens
that have essayed to describe it can have con-
veyed to you but little of its charm unless
you have visited the wonderful valley. Only for
those who have seen can the name conjure up
visions of a waterfall of filmy tracery that bends
and sways in the breeze, of a gigantic cliff that
stands at the portal a colossal greeting and fare-
well, of another fall whose waters plunge from a
far height half a mile above you.

It were idle to enumerate. No single feature
wins admiration. It is the harmonious whole,
blending majesty with color, form and action, that
woos all our senses with siren touch. It is not a
matter of height or breadth or mere bigness. The
Grand Canyon of Arizona outclasses Yosemite a
hundred times over in greatness and other-world-
ness. But here Nature is truly feminine ; she is
tender, gracious and becomingly gowned ; she puts
on little airs ; she is in the mood for comradeship.
For here are found song birds, gorgeous wild flowers,
rippling streams, grassy parks and
bowers of shrubbery and ferns.
These, quite as much as the bee-
tling crag or stupendous waterfall,
are the secret of Yosemite's hold
on the imagination. It is this sense
of the supremely beautiful incar-
nated which makes Yosemite the
desire of all travelers.

El Capitan.

SPANISH NAMES, THEIR MEANING AND
PRONUNCIATION.

Name. Meaning. Pronunciation.

Adobe, sun-dried brick Ah-do'-bay.

Alameda, shady walk (from

Alamos, poplars) Ah-lah-may'-dah.

Alamitos, small cottonwoods. Ah-Iah-mee'-tos.

Alcatraz, pelican Al-cah-trahs'. (In Mexico z

is pronounced like double /,
in Spain like ih in think).

Albuquerque Ahl-boo-ker''-kay.

Alejandro, Alexander Ah-lay-hahn''-dr6.

Almaden, mine Al-mah-den''.

Alvarado, Spanish explorer . . Ahl-vah-rah'-do.

Amador, lover Ah-mah-dor'.

Anita, Anna Ah-nee'-tah.

Antonio, Anthony An-to'-nee-6.

Arroyo Seco, dry ravine Ar-row^yo Say'-co (with the r

strongly trilled) .

Bernalillo, little Bernal Behr-nal-eeK-yo.

Bernardino, little Bernard . . . Behr-nahr-dee''-n6.

Boca, mouth Bo''-cah.

Bonita, pretty Bo-nee^tah.

Buena Vista, good view Bway'-nah Vees'-tah.

Cajon, large chest or box Cah-hon''.

Calaveras, skulls Cah-lah-vay'-rahs.

Caliente, hot . . . o Cah-lee-en'-tay.

Campo, country or field Cahm'-po,

Canyon Diablo, Devil Canyon. Cahn-yon' Dee-ah'-bl6.

Capistrano, named from an

Indian saint Cah-pees-trah'-n6.

Carlos, Charles Car-'-los.

203

Name. Meaning. Pronunciation.

Carmencita, little Carmen . . .Car-men-see'-tah.

Casa Blanca, white house. . . .Cah'-sah Biahn'-ca.

Centinela, sentinel Sen-tee-nay-''lah.

Cerrillos, little hills Ser-reeK-yos.

Chico, small Chee'-k6.

Ci^naga, marsh See-en^ah-gah.

Colorado, red Ko-lo-rah'-do.

Conejo, rabbit Ko-nay'-ho.

Contra Costa, opposite coast .Kon'-trah Kos'-tah.

Coronado, crowned (named for
explorer) K6-r6-nah''-do.

Corral, enclosure Kor-rahK.

Corralitos, small enclosures . .Kor-rahl-ee'-tos.

Covina, small cane , . .Ko-vee'-nah.

Coyote, prairie wolf Ko-y6''-tay.

Del Norte, of the north Del Nor'-tay.

Dei Sur, of the south Del Soor'.

Dos Palmas, two palms Dos PahK-mahs,

El Cajon, the large box El Kah-hon''.

El Capitan, the captain El Kah-pee-tahn',

El Dorado, the gilded El Do-rah'-d6=

Ei Monte, the hill El Mon'-tay.

El Morro, the castle El Mor'-ro.

El Paso, the pass El Pah''-s6.

ElTorro, the bull... El To'-ro.

Encinitas, evergreen oaks. . . . En-see-nee'-tas,

Escondido, hidden . . . o Es-con-di'-do.

Estrella, star < Es-treK-ya.

Farallones, small islands, high,
rough and difficult of ac-
cess Fah^-rahl-yon^-es.

Fresno, ash tree Fres''-no.

Galisteo, a name Gah-lis-tay'-o.

Garbanza, wild pea Gar-banMhah,

Graciosa, graceful Grah-see-o'-sah.

Guadalupe, a name Gwah-dah-loo'-pay.

204

Name. Meaning. Pronunciation.

Hermosillo, little beauty Er-mo-seeK-yo,

Isleta, little island ees-layMa.

La Canada, the valley, glen,.Lah Cah-nah'-dah,

Laguna, lagoon, pond Lah-goa'-nah.

La Joya, the jewel Lah Ho''-yah.

La Junta, the junction Lah Hun'-tah.

La Mesa, the table-land Lah May'-sah.

La Punta, the point Lah Pun'-tah.

Las Animas, souls in purga-
tory Las Ah'-nee-mahs.

Las Cruces, the crosses Las Crew'-ses.

Las Flores, the flowers Las Flo''-re3.

Las Vegas, fertile fields Las Vay'-gahs.

Lerdo, slow Ler'-do.

Linda Vista, beautiful view . .Leen^-dah Vis'-tah.

Loma Alta, high hill Lo'-mah AhK-tah.

Loma Prieta, black hill Lo''-mah Pree-aMah

Los Alamitos, little cotton-
woods Los Ah-lah-mee'-tos

Los Alamos, cottonwood
trees Los Ah'-lah-mos.

Los Gatos, the cats Los Gah'-tos.

Los Nietos, the grandchildren. Los Nee-a'-tos.

Los Olivos, the olive trees. . . .Los o-lee'-vos.

Madera, timber wood Mah-day'-rah.

Manzana, apple Mahn-thah'-nah.

Merced, mercy Mer-sed'.

Mesa, table, table-land May'-sah.

Mesa Encantada, enchanted

land .May'-sah En-kan-tah'-dah

Mesquite, tree of that name . .Mes-quee'-tay.

Montecito, little hill Mon-tay-see''-to,

Morro, tower or fortification. .Mor'-ro (r strongly trilled)

Nacion, nation . Nah-see-6n',

Nuevo, new Nway'-vo.

Pdjaro, bird Pah'-hah'-rOo

205

Name. Meaning. Pronunciation.

Pampa, plain Pahm'-pah.

Paso de Robles, pass of the
oaks Pah'-so day Ro'-bles.

Picacho, peak Pee-kah'-cho.

Pinde, sweetened corn water. .Peen'-day.

Plumas, feathers Ploo'-mahs.

Presidio, garrison Pray-sec'-dee-o.

Pueblo, village Pway'-blo.

Puente, bridge Pwen^-tay.

Puerco, a hog, hence unclean. Pwer' -co.

Punta Gorda, thick point. ... Poon'-tah Gor'-dah.

Purgatoire, Purgatorio, pur-
gatory Poor-gah-to'-rio,

Ranchito, small ranch Rahn-chee'-to,

Raton, mouse Rah-ton'.

Redondo, round Ray-don'-do.

Rincon, corner Rin-kon'.

Rio, river Ree''-6.

Rivera, shore Ree-vay'-rah.

Sacramento, sacrament Sah-krah-men'-to.

Salinas, salt pits Sah-lee'-nahs.

San Andres, St. Andrew .... Sahn Ahn-dres'.

San Buena Ventura, St. Bon-

aventure (good fortune) Sahn Bway''-nah ven-too''-rah.

San Clemente, St. Clement ..Sahn Klay-men''-tay.

San Diego, St. James Sahn Dee-ay''-go.

San Francisco, St. Francis. .. Sahn Fran-sees''-ko.

San Jacinto, St. Hyacinth. . . .Sahn Hah-seen''-to.

San Joaquin, St. Joachin Sahn Hwah-keen'.

San Jose, St. Joseph Sahn Ho-say''.

San Luis Obispo, St. Louis the
bishop Sahn Loo-ees' 0-bees''-p6.

San Miguel, St. Michael Sahn Mee-gelK (hard g.)

San Pablo, St. Paul Sahn Pah^-blo.

San Pedro, St. Peter Sahn Pay^-dro.

San Rafael, St. Raphael Sahn Rah-fah-elK.

206

Name. Meaning. Pronunciation.

Santa Barbara, St. Barbara. .SahnMah Bar'-bah-rah.
Santa Cataiina, St. Catherine. Sahn^-tah Cah-tah-lee'-nah.

Santa Cruz, holy cross Sahn^-tah Krooss^.

Santa Fe, holy faith SahnMah Fay'.

Santa Rosa, St. Rose Sahn'-tah Ro'-sah.

Santa Ynez, St. Inez Sahn'-tah E-ne'ss.

Santa Isabel, St. Isabel Sahn'-tah E-sah-belK.

Saucilito, little willow Sau-see-lee'-to.

Savana, vast plain (Sdbana) .Sah''-bah-nah.

Sierra, mountain chain See-er''-rah.

Sierra Madre, mountain range

literally mother range See-er'-rah mah''-dre.

Sierra Nevada, snowy range

(saw-tooth) See-er''-rah Nay-vah'dah.

Soledad, solitude So-lay-dad'' {d in Spanish has

a peculiarly soft sound like

th in the.)
Tamalpais, Tamal Indians . .Tah-mahl-pais,

Temecula, Indian name Tay-may-coo''-lah.

Tia Juana, Aunt Jane Tee''-ah Hwah'-na.

Valle, valley VahK-yay.

Vallecito, little valley Vahl-yay-see'-to.

Vallejo, small valley VahKyay'-hS.

Ventura, luck Ven-too''-rah.

Verde, green Ver'-day.

Viejo, old Vee-ay''-ho.

Vista, view Vees'-tah.

ton

THE HENRY O. SHEPARP CO., PRINTERS, CHICAGO

(

THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY
REFERENCE DEPARTMENT

This book is under no circumstances to be
taken from the Building

If ^i

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irpr2^

MAY 3 i^i^

MAR 71914
/ViAH I i]9i4
MAR i 1-19H

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.,■6. -tvl/.:'/ 4 .

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