April forest in New England, gives a pleasure
as poignant as, and more spiritual than,
the miles upon miles of Californian splendors.

Monotony is the ruling characteristic,--
monotony of beauty, monotony of desolation,
monotony even of variety. The glorious
blue overhead is monotonous: as for the
thermometer, it paces up and down within
the narrowest limits, like a prisoner in his
cell, or a meadow-lark hopping to and fro
in a seven-inch cage. The plan and aspect
of the buildings are monotonous, and so is
the way of life of those who inhabit them.
Fortunately, the sun does rise and set in
Southern California: otherwise life there
would be at an absolute stand-still, with no
past and no future. But, as it is, one can
look forward to morning, and remember the
evening.

Then, there are the not infrequent but
seldom very destructive earthquakes; the
occasional cloud-bursts and tornadoes,
sudden and violent as a gunpowder-explosion;
and, finally, the astounding contrast between
the fertile regions and the desert. There
are places where you can stand with one
foot planted in everlasting sterility and the
other in immortal verdure. In the midst of