Switzerland of
California. The roads are only ordinary country roads and very hilly at
that, but the rolling green fields and glimpses of distant hills, with
heavy forests here and there, are very beautiful. I saw for the first
time in all its spring glory the glowing California poppy. Great masses
of bright orange yellow were painted against the lush green of the thick
hillside grass; masses that fairly radiated light. Alongside these
patches of flaming yellow were other patches of the deep blue lupine.
Some great painter should immortalize the spring fields of California.
The wonderful greenness of the grass, the glowing masses of yellow, and
the deep gentian blue of the lupine would rank with the coloring of
McWhirter's "Tyrol in Springtime." California in the spring is an ideal
State in which to motor. We were sorry that we could not accept our
host's invitation to motor still farther north into Lake County, a
county of rough roads but fine scenery.

Northern California has not yet been developed or exploited for tourists
as has the southern part of the State, but there is beautiful scenery in
all the counties north of San Francisco. As we drove through Sonoma
(Half Moon) Valley, we saw the green slopes of Jack London's ranch, not
many miles away. Jack London's recent book, "The Valley of the Half
Moon," describes the scenery of this region.

Back of Vallejo, reached by ferry from San Francisco, lies the lovely
Napa Valley, filled with fruit ranches. Its southern end is narrow, but
as one drives farther north it widens out into a broad green expanse of
orderly fruit farms and pleasant homes, dominated by green hills on
either side. Sonoma Valley and Napa Valley were the first of many
enchanting valleys which we saw in California. As I look back on our
long drive, it seems to me now that in California you are always either
climbing a mountain slope or descending into a green valley flanked by
ranges of hills. Calistoga, at the northern end of Napa Valley, has
interesting literary associations. It was on the slope of Calistoga
Mountain that Robert Louis Stevenson spent his honeymoon and had the
experience of which we read to-day in "The Silverado Squatters."

San Francisco is a pleasure-loving town. When its people are not eating
in public places to the sound of music, they are likely to be amusing
themselves in public places. The moving picture, the theatre, the
vaudeville, all flourish in this big, gay, rushing c