[Illustration:  Midwinter at Los Angeles.]

“I believe this to be the best climate in the world,” said a gentleman to me in San Diego, “but I confess that, when strangers are visiting me, it occasionally does something it ought not to do.”

The truth is, there are several climates in Southern California, some of which are forced upon the resident, while others can be secured by going in search of them in a trolley car or a railway carriage.  The three determining factors in the problem of temperature are the desert, the ocean, and the mountains.  Thus, in midsummer, although it may be fiercely hot in the inland valleys, it is invariably cool in the mountains on account of their altitude, and near the shore because the hot air rising from the desert invites a daily ocean breeze.  Even at a distance from the comfortable coast, humanity never passes into that abject, panting, and perspiring condition in which the inhabitants of the Eastern States are usually seen when the mercury goes to ninety.  The nights are always cool; although not quite as much so in July as the enthusiasts tell us who have never seen the country later in the season than the month of May, and who weary us with the threadbare tale of never sleeping without a blanket.

“Is it true, madam,” I said to a lady of San Diego, “that here one must always take a blanket to bed with him?”

“Hush,” she replied, “never ask that question unless you are sure that there are no tourists within hearing.”

[Illustration:  Pier at Santa Monica.]

[Illustration:  Avalon, Santa Catalina island.]

Three statements are, I think, unquestionably accurate:  first, that for many months of the year the residents need not take into consideration for a moment the possibility of rain; second, that on account of this drought there must inevitably be during that period a superfluity of dust; and, third, that every day there will be felt “a cool refreshing breeze,” which frequently increases to a strong wind.  My memory of California will always retain a vivid impression of this wind, and the effect of it upon the trees is evident from the fact that it has compelled most of them to lean toward the east, while one of the last sights I beheld in San Diego was a man chasing his hat.  Nevertheless, acclimated Californians would no more complain of their daily breeze, however vigorous, than a man would speak disrespectfully of his mother.

As in most semi-tropical countries, there is a noticeable difference in temperature between sun and shade.  In the sun one feels a genial glow, or even a decided heat; but let him step into the shade, or stand on a street-corner waiting for a car, and the cool wind from the mountains or the ocean will be felt immediately.  People accustomed to these changes pay little heed to them; but to new-comers the temperature of the shade, and even that of the interiors of the hotels and houses, appears decidedly cool.