grass, but there is no grass to be proud of in
California.

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

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

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

The cable road is 3000 feet long, with a direct ascent of 1400 feet, and
the Echo Mountain House will be 1500 feet higher than the Catskill
hotels overlooking the Hudson, and it is estimated that not less than
60,000 fares will be collected upon this mountain railroad the first
year.

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

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

Pasadena has no ragged shabby outskirts; the poorer classes seem to be
able to own or rent pretty little homes, some like large birdcages, all
well kept and attractive. Some gentlemen from Indianapolis came here in
1873 and started the town, planting their orange orchards under the
shadows of the mountains.

Each portion has its own attractions. Orange Grove Avenue, a street over
a mile long, is described by its name. Great trees stand in the centre
of the street, a fine road on either side, and the homes are embowered
in flower