into Mountains; westward, thousands of miles of ocean billows
shoulder one another toward the setting sun; southward, extends that
barren, almost unknown strip of earth, the peninsula of Lower
California; yet in this _cul-de-sac_, this corner between mountain,
desert, and sea, rises a charming and inspiring picture,--San Diego.

[Illustration: SAN DIEGO.]

The beautiful harbor of this city is almost closed, on one side, by a
bold majestic promontory called Point Loma; and on the other, by a
natural breakwater, in the form of a crescent, twelve miles long,
upon the outer rim of which the ocean beats a ceaseless monody. At
one extremity of this silver strand, directly opposite Point Loma and
close to the rhythmic surf, stands the Hotel Coronado; its west front
facing the Pacific, its east side looking on the azure of the
peaceful bay, beyond which rises San Diego with a population of
twenty thousand souls. To reach this hotel, the tourist crosses the
harbor from the city by a ferry, and then in an electric car is
whirled for a mile along an avenue which he might well suppose was
leading him to some magnificent family estate. The pavement is
delightfully smooth and hard; on either side are waving palms and
beds of radiant flowers; two charming parks, with rare botanical
shrubs and trees, are, also, visible and hold invitingly before him
the prospect of delightful hours in their fragrant labyrinths; and,
finally, out of a semi-tropical garden, the vast extent of which he
does not comprehend at first, rises the far-famed hostelry which,
itself, covers about four and a half acres of ground, at the extreme
southwestern corner of the Union, and on a spot which yesterday was a
mere tongue of sand. In the tourist season this palatial place of
entertainment presents a brilliant throng of joyous guests who have,
apparently, subscribed to the motto: "All care abandon ye, who enter
here." It is one of the few spots on this continent where the great
faults of our American civilization--worry and incessant work--are
not conspicuous. Men of the North too frequently forget that the
object of life is not work, but that the object of work is life. In
lands like Southern California, however, where flowers fill the air
with fragrance, where fruits are so abundant that starvation is
impossible, and where the nerves are not continually whipped by
atmospheric changes into restless energy, men live more calmly,
probably more rationally. Sunshi