was leading him to some magnificent family estate.  The pavement is delightfully smooth and hard; on either side are waving palms and beds of radiant flowers; two charming parks, with rare botanical shrubs and trees, are, also, visible and hold invitingly before him the prospect of delightful hours in their fragrant labyrinths; and, finally, out of a semi-tropical garden, the vast extent of which he does not comprehend at first, rises the far-famed hostelry which, itself, covers about four and a half acres of ground, at the extreme southwestern corner of the Union, and on a spot which yesterday was a mere tongue of sand.  In the tourist season this palatial place of entertainment presents a brilliant throng of joyous guests who have, apparently, subscribed to the motto:  “All care abandon ye, who enter here.”  It is one of the few spots on this continent where the great faults of our American civilization—­worry and incessant work—­are not conspicuous.  Men of the North too frequently forget that the object of life is not work, but that the object of work is life.  In lands like Southern California, however, where flowers fill the air with fragrance, where fruits are so abundant that starvation is impossible, and where the nerves are not continually whipped by atmospheric changes into restless energy, men live more calmly, probably more rationally.  Sunshine, roses, and the throbbing tones of the guitar would seem to be the most appropriate sources of amusement here.  Meanwhile the northern millionaire breaks down from overwork and leaves his money to be squandered by his relatives.  Yet he also, till the last gasp, claims that he is happy.  What is happiness? Quien sabe?

[Illustration:  Point Loma.]

[Illustration:  Hotel Coronado.]

[Illustration:  Courtyard of the hotel.]

The country about San Diego is a miniature reproduction of the plains of Arizona and New Mexico, and just above the city rises a genuine mesa, which, though comparatively small, resembles the large table-lands of the interior, and was formed in the same way.  Cutting it, here and there, are little canons, like that through which the Colorado rolls, not a mile deep, but still illustrative of the erosion made here by the rivers of a distant age; for these gashes are the result of rushing water, and every stone upon this small plateau has been worn round and smooth by friction with its fellows, tossed, whirled, and beaten by the waves of centuries.  Strange, is it not, that though, like many other areas of our continent, this region was once fashioned and completely ruled by water, at present it has practically none; and men must often bring the precious liquid fifty miles to crown the soil with beauty and fertility.

[Illustration:  View from the table-land.]

[Illustration:  PACHANGO Indians at home.]