s and palms, while hedges are made of the pomegranate, the
honeysuckle, and even the heliotrope. Marengo Avenue is lined on either
side by splendid specimens of the pepper, the prettiest and most
graceful of all trees here. Colorado Street, with its homes and shops
and churches, leads out to the foot-hills and "Altadena," which is often
spoken of as recalling the handsome residences along the Riviera.

The street cars which go from the station toward the mountains bear on
each the words, "This Car for the Poppy Fields," and they are a sight
worth seeing. Mrs. Kellog describes this flower more perfectly than any
artist could paint it: "Think of finest gold, of clearest lemon, of
deepest orange on silkiest texture, just bedewed with a frost-like
sheen, a silvery film, and you have a faint impression of what an
eschscholtzia is. Multiply this impression by acres of waving color."
And in February this may sometimes be seen. It has been well chosen for
the State flower.

If consumptives must go away from the comforts of home, this is a haven
of rest for them. In a late _Medical Record_ I see that a physician
deprecates the custom of sending hopeless cases to the high altitudes of
Colorado, where the poor victim gasps out a few weeks or months of
existence. "If such cases as the above must be sent from home, as we
sometimes think here, to rid their home physicians of the annoyance of
their presence, they should be sent to Florida or Southern California,
where at least they may be chloroformed off into eternity by a soothing
climate, and not suffer an actual shortening of their days from a
climate acting on a radically different principle and entirely unsuited
to them."

This is a bit of the shady side after all the sunlight. It is a place
for the invalid to rejoice in, and those in robust health can find
enough to do to employ all their energies.

The "Tournament of Roses" last winter was a grand success, praised by
all. The "Pageant of Roses" was celebrated here lately, and I cannot
give you a better idea of it than by copying the synopsis.

Imagine the opera-house trimmed inside with wreaths and festoons and
bouquets of roses--a picture in itself; audience in full evening dress,
each lady carrying roses, each man with a rose for a boutonniere.

The dancing in costume was exquisitely graceful, and the evolutions and
figures admirably exact--no mistake, nothing amateurish about the whole
performance.

PART FIRST.