in the mountains on account of their altitude, and near the shore
because the hot air rising from the desert invites a daily ocean
breeze. Even at a distance from the comfortable coast, humanity never
passes into that abject, panting, and perspiring condition in which
the inhabitants of the Eastern States are usually seen when the
mercury goes to ninety. The nights are always cool; although not
quite as much so in July as the enthusiasts tell us who have never
seen the country later in the season than the month of May, and who
weary us with the threadbare tale of never sleeping without a
blanket.

"Is it true, madam," I said to a lady of San Diego, "that here one
must always take a blanket to bed with him?"

"Hush," she replied, "never ask that question unless you are sure
that there are no tourists within hearing."

[Illustration: PIER AT SANTA MONICA.]

[Illustration: AVALON, SANTA CATALINA ISLAND.]

Three statements are, I think, unquestionably accurate: first, that
for many months of the year the residents need not take into
consideration for a moment the possibility of rain; second, that on
account of this drought there must inevitably be during that period a
superfluity of dust; and, third, that every day there will be felt "a
cool refreshing breeze," which frequently increases to a strong wind.
My memory of California will always retain a vivid impression of this
wind, and the effect of it upon the trees is evident from the fact
that it has compelled most of them to lean toward the east, while one