They are constantly
changing as the day advances, and are a world of color. No wonder that
singers, poets, and artists love to look upon the glowing greens below
and the glowing lavenders afar. The view from Grossmont is extremely
poetic and beautiful.

We should have considered our visit to California very incomplete
without having seen San Diego, its Southern seas and its fascinating
"back country." It is wholly different from Los Angeles, and the charm
of the South is over it all. Were I a young business man, seeking to
cast in my lot with a growing California city, I should cast it in San
Diego.

From San Diego we proceeded through El Cajon Valley to the little town
of Julian, nearly 4000 feet high. That was a memorable ride, taking us
through green valleys and then up, up through broken hill country and
past heavy oak and pine forests and rich mountain pastures. In going
over Mussey's Grade I saw, for the first time, growing on the rocky
hillsides groups of tall yuccas. I could not be content until I had
climbed out of the motor and cut one of the towering stalks, springing
from a mass of thick, sword-shaped leaves. Its white scented bells
covered the stalk from top to bottom. It was a tree of creamy bloom and
perfume. I laid it on top of our luggage, enjoying its perfume from time
to time; but the beautiful bells began to droop, and by the time the
day's long journey was over the flowers had withered. Afterward, I saw
many of these yuccas growing in lonely, rocky places, blooming
luxuriantly. They were like tall white candelabra.

On our way to Julian, a few miles from the little town, by mistake we
turned left instead of right, and had a long wandering through a great
mountain country. The roads were narrow, twilight was coming on, and we
found ourselves in a seemingly endless forest. Sometimes from high
points we had wonderful sunset glimpses of distant mountains looming
above green valleys. Then again we came upon lush meadow patches, wide
and lonely in the midst of the hills. Still the road wound on, down
through ravines, up over steep hillsides. Not a house was to be seen,
only the lonely forest and the deepening darkness. It looked as if we
must spend the night in the woods. At last we came out through a rough
gate into the main road and reading a sign by the light of a match found
that we were a mile from Julian. It was good to reach the tiny village
and to find the Robinson House, a very clean and resp