ng rows of
pretty suburban homes. Then it rises, swings up over the hills on to the
high ridge of Point Loma proper, the open sea to the right, the harbor
to the left, passing the beautifully kept grounds of the fine property
belonging to the School of Theosophy. Beyond, the road still climbs
until it comes to the end of the Point, on which stands a little old
Spanish lighthouse, now abandoned. High above the sea one looks off to
the far away islands. Turning about, one sees the city, white in the
sun, the mountains rising in the distance behind it. Running out from
the city is a long, narrow strip of land which widens into Coronado
Beach, with the red roofs of the hotel and the green stretches of the
beautiful little town of Coronado. Just below is the blue water of the
great harbor. It is a grand view, and ranks in my opinion with the noble
views of Sydney Harbor in Australia and of Auckland harbor in New
Zealand.

San Diego, like her sister cities of Los Angeles and San Francisco, is a
town frequented by tourists. Many are the hotels and apartment houses,
devoted to winter sojourns and light housekeeping, offset by excellent
cafeterias. There are plenty of excursions from San Diego, a short one
being to the Spanish house in the village of old San Diego, known as the
home of Ramona. The old house with its walled garden and its wide
porches has been put in order and is now used as a depot for curios and
Indian goods. Another delightful trip, somewhat longer, is to Grossmont.
Grossmont is, in spite of its name, a little mountain, some fifteen
miles back of San Diego. It is an irregular heap of rocks, rising from
rather barren surrounding country. Mr. Fletcher of San Diego first saw
the possibilities of Grossmont and marked out the road which now runs
around the mountain to its summit. Here are the modest houses of an
artist and literary colony, among them the cottage of Madame
Schumann-Heinck. From the porches of these cottages, perched high upon
the bare rocks, one looks down upon the exquisite little El Cajon (The
Box) Valley, where grow lemons, oranges, and other fruits in beautiful
green luxuriance. El Cajon could once have been bought for a song, but
now its fertile acres, under the spell of irrigation, are worth many
thousands.

Beyond El Cajon rise the superb mountains of the South in all their
rocky grandeur. They take on most wonderful colors; warm clay yellows,
rich browns, lavenders, tints of ashes of rose.