Another celebrated "orange city" is Redlands, where the visitor
ceases to wonder at nature, and devotes himself to marveling at man.
How can he do otherwise when, in a place that was a wilderness ten
years ago, he drives for twenty miles over well-curbed roads, sixty
feet wide and as hard as asphalt, or strolls through handsome streets
adorned with palms and orange trees, and frequently embellished with
residences worthy of Newport? No doubt it is a surprise to many
tourists to find such elegant homes in these cities which were born
but yesterday; for Americans in the East, though far from
conservative themselves, do not, as a rule, appreciate the wonderful
growth of these towns which but a few years since had no existence.
Occasionally some neighbor goes out to the Pacific coast, and tells
his friends on his return what he has seen; but it makes little
impression until they go themselves. They think he is exaggerating.

"Would you like to see a converted mountain?" inquired my guide.

"What do you mean?" I asked incredulously.

"You will see," he replied, "and in ten minutes we shall be there."

[Illustration: PART OF THE "CONVERTED MOUNTAIN," REDLANDS.]

Accordingly, up we drove over magnificent, finely graded roads, till
we arrived at what appeared to be a gentleman's private park. The
park, however, seemed to have no limit, and we rode on through a
bewildering extent of cemented stone walls, umbrageous trees,
luxuriant flowers, trailing vines, and waving palms. At last we
reached the summit, and what a view unrolled itself before us!