dejection, as the scenery was beautiful or barren, till, suddenly,
some sixty miles from Los Angeles, our train drew up before a city,
containing asphalt pavements, buildings made of brick, and streets
embowered in palms. This city which, in 1872, was a sheep-ranch, yet
whose assessed valuation, in 1892, was more than four million
dollars, is called Riverside; but, save in the rainy season, one
looks in vain for the stream from which it takes its name. The
river has retired, as so many western rivers do, to wander in
obscurity six feet below the sand. "A providential thing," said a wag
to me, "for, in such heat as this, if the water rose to the surface
it would all evaporate." The sun was, indeed, ardent as we walked
through the town, and we were impressed by the fact that the
dwellings most appropriate for this region are those which its first
settlers seem to have instinctively adopted; for the white,
one-storied adobe house, refreshing to the eye, cool in the heat,
warm in the cold, caressed by clinging vines and overhung with trees,
is surely the ideal residence for Southern California. Such buildings
can, of course, be greatly varied and embellished by wealthy owners;
but modern houses of red brick, fanciful "Queen Annes," and
imitations of castles, seem less suited to this land of sun and sand,
where nothing is so much to be desired as repose in form and color. I
always welcomed, therefore, genuine southern dwellings and, in the
place of asphalt pavements, natural roadways domed by arching trees.

[Illustration: A HOUSE MODELED AFTER THE OLD MEXICAN FASHION.]

[Illustration: THE IDEAL HOME.]

The pride of Riverside is its far-famed Magnolia Avenue, fifteen
miles in length, with two broad driveways lined with pepper and