more dry and withered than this centenarian, whose hair drooped from
his skull like Spanish moss, and whose brown hands resembled lumps of
adobe.

[Illustration: AN AGED SQUAW.]

"I am glad to have you see this man," said the guide, "for he has
rung these bells for seventy years, and is said to be more than a
hundred years old."

I could not obtain a portrait of this decrepit bell-ringer, for many
Indians are superstitiously opposed to being photographed; but I
procured the picture of an equally shriveled female aged one hundred
and thirty who might have been his sister.

[Illustration: RELICS OF AN ANCIENT RACE.]

[Illustration: "ECSTATIC BATHERS."]

"This," remarked my guide with a smile, "is what the climate of San
Diego does for the natives."

"The glorious climate of California" has been for years a theme of
song and story, and a discussion of its merits forms one of the
principal occupations of the dwellers on the Pacific coast. It is
indeed difficult to see how tourists could pass their time here
without this topic of conversation, so infinite is its variety and so
debatable are many of the conclusions drawn from it. It is the Sphinx
of California; differing, however, from the Sphinx of Egypt in that
it offers a new problem every day. The literature that treats of the