The cold wind that blew on the bay did not reach the shore. The closing day was warm and balmy in beautiful Oakland, and Margaret came to the dinner-table in white, with scarlet flowers at her throat and in her hair. Mrs. Dufresne was delighted with this change from her morning's costume, and Philip's eyes spoke volumes of thanks. After dinner, when she had sung Mrs. Dufresne's favorite airs, Margaret passed quietly out to the moonlit veranda, and Philip was soon by her side. lenient as his father and his brother-in-law, and it required large sums to cover the boy's criminal acts and save the family from disgrace. Mr. Kendal looked disheartened, Philip said, and had declared that a hundred such mines as the Kendal Con. could not keep his wife and her brother in pocket-money. Sitting by the window one bright summer morning gazing idly down the well-kept walk, Margaret was startled to see their old friend enter the gate. She hastened out to meet him, "Will you walk with me?" he asked. And extending both her hands. He looked so forlorn she silently laid her hand on his arm. The lake beneath them glittered in the moonlight, the air was heavy with the odor of jasmine and heliotrope; from the open windows floated the soft strains that Mrs. Dufresne was calling forth from the grand piano, and all around seemed harmony and peace. Philip's step grew slower. "Margaret, you will give me my answer now -this night." and wretched that it made her heart ache. "Welcome, Mr. Kendal!" she cried cordially, and at the sound of her voice he looked wistfully up into her face. "Oh, Margaret-Miss Benson-Mrs. Dufresne-what a blind fool I have been! I deserve all my trials. I am not fit to be a white man-I'm worse than an Indian." She smiled in spite of herself at his favorite form of self-revilement; but she brought him She bent her head, but the moonlight be- into the parlor and seated him by the window, trayed the flush on her face: "And it is yes!" She did not release the trembling hand he had seized, and he drew her to his bosom and held her in a close embrace. speaking to him cheerfully to dispel his gloom. "It's no use," he said; "I have come to bid you good-bye. You are the only friends I ever had here-you and your husband." He was going back to Arizona, he went on "My darling," he murmured, "it was so long to say, for he was almost beggared, and was of to wait." no more use to himself or his young wife. With "You knew my heart, Philip,” she answered empty hands he would never return to her, for softly. "As true and faithful a heart as ever beat in woman's breast," he said, earnestly. Then he drew her into the house. He knew how his mother longed to clasp her to her breast as her daughter. Days of busy preparation followed for Mrs. Dufresne, who often declared, in comic despair, that she must apprentice her son to some trade in San Francisco to keep him away from under her feet in Oakland. Margaret did not forget her old friend, Mrs. Ward; many a lovely bouquet of Oakland flowers graced her center-table. Mr. Kendal was married, and young Mrs. Kendal, in answer to a protest against her extravagance, had said that, "as she had married the old fellow for his money, she wanted the pleasure of spending it." Philip Dufresne had always liked the honesthearted miner, and did not lose sight of him altogether. Soon after his own quiet wedding he brought distressing news to Margaret about their old friend. He was greatly harassed in mind and pocket by the pranks of his worthless brother-in-law, for the young gentleman had carried his operations into strange territory after appropriating as much of his father's funds as he could lay hands on. Strangers were not as there were only slights and reproaches for him in his own home, though his fortune had been sacrificed to gratify his wife's whims and save her brother from prison. His fingers strayed nervously through his grizzled hair, while he spoke, and idly plucked at the tangled beard, and altogether he was the picture of a man who saw only desolation and a waste before him, where he had spent his life's best strength to build him up a blooming Eden. Looking upon him, a great pity flooded all the woman's heart, and she knelt beside him and held the poor awkward hands in her own, speaking words of comfort and sympathy that filled the man's soul with peace, made him feel fresh hope, and called back something of his old energy. Margaret would fain have detained him till her husband came, but Mr. Kendal said he would bid him good-bye at his office, and, softened and cheered, he went out from her presence. Months later, Philip laid his arm tenderly around his wife's shoulder, and bade her read a paragraph he had marked in the paper: "The body of a man supposed to be the once famous Mr. Kendal, the discoverer of the mine known by his It seems to be a fact that misapprehension of the peculiarities of climate and of the agricultural capacities of Southern California is more marked among the people of the upper portion of the State than among residents of the East. Odd as the fact may seem, there is yet a certain reason for it. To the inhabitant of the Eastern States, Southern California is simply a new region, where, he has heard, his harsh winters are unknown, and where the orange flourishes as in its native home. When he reads of it, it is the account of men who have gone with eyes free from any preëxisting prejudice, and have told what they saw. Of the people of Northern California, however, comparatively few have ever visited the southern portion of the State, while they have learned just enough of the climatic peculiarities of the coast to know the general law that rainfall diminishes as you go south; and observing that the average annual rainfall of Sacramento is eighteen inches, while that of Stockton, upon the south, is sixteen and eight-tenths inches, and that in the Tulare country, which is still farther to the south, it has decreased to only six and a half inches, they reason that as what is distinctively known as Southern California lies yet beyond those lands of steadily failing moisture, it must be still more arid. They have not stopped to inquire whether there may not be other influences at work changing or suspending the action of the law. For a proper understanding of the climate of Southern California, it is essential that the general climatic laws of the whole State should be studied. The most strongly marked feature in the physical geography of California, and the one which at once catches the eye of the observant traveler, is the fact that its mountains, for hundreds of miles, run parallel with the in a daily fog to the seaward face of the Coast Range. How thoroughly the Sierra has accomplished the remaining work of condensation is shown in the almost hopeless aridity of the plains lying eastward from its base, and to which the now desiccated rain-wind next passes. coast, and that there are two of these great | which, after the winter rains have ceased, rolls chains, one rising abruptly almost from the sealine, like a long wall, with only here and there a shallow coast valley, as at Santa Cruz, lying outside of the range and facing directly upon the ocean. This is known as the Coast Range. The other is the great uplifted crest of the Sierra Nevada, which, for hundreds of miles, in unbroken chain, forms the horizon line upon the east, crossed only, at long distances, by some rugged pass, leading to, the interior basin of the continent. This range, with its great altitude, its heavy snows, and its immense condensing power, is the source of all the important rivers of California. From it come the Sacramento and San Joaquin, with their tributaries, and in Southern California, the Los Angeles, the San Gabriel, and the Santa Aña. These two ranges of mountains divide the lands of the State into two classes of widely different climatic features-the humid coast valleys, lying outside of the Coast Range, facing upon the ocean, and marked by a comparatively great precipitation of moisture and slight evaporation; and the more arid interior valleys, lying between the two ranges, and characterized by just the reverse—a light rainfall and an excessive evaporation. The great interior basin of California, the Sacramento and San Joaquin, together with several smaller valleys, as the Santa Clara and Napa, formed by a local splitting of the coast mountains into two ranges, drains outward to the ocean through the gap which forms the inlet to San Francisco Bay, while through the same gap flows back the cool air current which gives the daily sea-breeze to these valleys. This winter rain-current in its sweep inland passes over the crest of the Coast Range in a more or less continuous sheet; yet, like a vast aerial river, which it is, it avails itself of every break and depression of the range to pour through in still denser volume. And it is opposite these breaks and depressions of the range that we find the line of greatest rainfall in the interior valleys, as the lower and more humid portion of the current has at these points been able to reach the interior without having its moisture wrung out in crossing the range. It is in this way that the Sacramento country, with its river-valley leading out to the ocean through that break in the Coast Range which forms the entrance to San Francisco harbor, has a greater rainfall and a more humid climate than the plains which lie behind the range. Whoever has stood and watched the evening fog roll in at the Golden Gate, seeking, like a river flood, first the lower level of the water-ways, and then the broken passes in the hills, will readily understand how the south-east currents of the winter obey the same general law. The comparatively great rainfall of the country north of the Sacramento, as contrasted with the plains upon the south in the San Joaquin and Tulare country, is to be attributed to the same cause; for while the main volume of the rain-current entering through the break and the adjacent depressions of the range west of San Francisco Bay, and then, following the water-level back to Sacramento, keeps on with its original north-easterly sweep to the section north and east of the river, any portion of the current seeking to turn aside to the level plains upon the south must double back upon itself, and struggle against the drier portion of the same south-west wind, which has, in the general sweep, after losing a large portion of its moisture in crossing, forced its way over the higher line of the same Coast Range south of San Francisco, and passed on directly inland. Hence the rainfall of the country north and east of Sacramento increases, while upon the South, although the land drains by the same outlet to the sea, it steadily diminishes. The winter rain-current, which is a southwesterly wind blowing in from the sea, has to cross this Coast Range before it can reach and water the dry interior valleys. According to a well known law, it parts with much of its moisture in climbing the elevation, giving a climate upon the ocean face of the range damp and foggy-home of the redwood and the fern, both of which are types of vegetation flourishing only in a comparatively humid atmosphere. After crossing this range, the rain-current, thus deprived of a large portion of its moisture, passes on to give a lighter rainfall upon the level plains of the interior, until it reaches the tall line of the Sierra, where, with the cold of a still greater elevation, the remaining moisture is wrung out of the clouds, giving precipitation The working of the same law may be seen, largely in excess of that which fell in the val- although upon a more limited scale, in the leys; and again we find forests of dense growth, smaller valleys which surround and drain into yet of a type that does not, like the redwood, | San Francisco Bay. Napa Valley, lying upon need the constant humidity of the ocean air, the north, with its mouth opening at an acute angle toward the incoming rain-current of the Golden Gate, hardly knows what it is to have a failure of crops through lack of moisture; while Santa Clara Valley, upon the south, and opening out toward the north, rather in the direction toward which the rain-current is going than toward that from which it is coming, has a much lighter rainfall, and suffers from drought more frequently. The lower and moister stratum of the rain-current, entering at the Golden Gate, in order to reach the Santa Clara Valley would have to double back upon itself, and battle with the direct current from the south, which, after parting with enough of its moisture to water the Santa Cruz country, has already forced itself, a partly desiccated wind, over the mountains of the Coast Range through what is known as the Santa Cruz Gap. The influence of the Coast Range upon the climate of the interior valleys is felt in still another way by obstructing the inward flow of the daily sea breeze, with its moister air, its lower temperature, and the frequent night fogs, evaporation in these valleys goes on with scarcely a check the moment the rains are over, and so the water that does fall is more quickly dried up. The direction of the two ranges, the Coast and the Sierra, also has its influence, and that far from a favorable one, upon the climate of these valleys; for by their course from north to south they leave the country open to the full sweep, both winter and summer, of the harsh, dry north wind, while the chill which comes with this wind in winter retards and checks vegetation during the first three months of the rainy season, and to that extent practically shortens what might otherwise be the season of most rapid growth. If one were asked how the physical features of California might be changed to give a moister and more productive climate to the interior valleys, he would probably reply: (1.) Drop the Coast Range of moutains down until it is practically obliterated. By doing this the great winter rain-current would be no longer obstructed in its landward flow, neither would it be robbed of a portion of its moisture, as now, before it had fairly left the coast line, and so precipitation would be increased. Also, with this barrier removed the ocean fogs would no longer be walled out, but would pass inward over the land, and add their portion of moisture, while by giving the humid ocean air ready access, in the shape of these fogs and the damp, cool daily sea-breeze, evaporation would be checked, and a dry, hot air no longer greedily suck up the surface moisture of the soil. (2.) Keep up the elevation of the Sierra, but bring it slightly nearer to the coast, so that it may condense all the moisture possible from the rain-currents, and its melting snows and its rivers may be available for irrigating the plains lying between it and the ocean. (3.) Wall the land in upon the north-west with mountains, so as to shelter it from the drying winds that now sweep over it, in winter checking and retarding, by their chill, the growth of vegetation, and in summer parching it up and blasting the tender grain. (4.) If, in addition to these changes, the winter could be made slightly warmer, so that vegetation should not be retarded by the cold, then the whole duration of the rainy season would be a period of growth, and so the season practically lengthened. In making the reply thus itemized under these four sections, one would be describing exactly what has taken place in Southern California. Out of the broken confusion of the Tehachape and Tejon Mountains, where the Sierra and the Coast Ranges seem to become inextricably entangled, the Sierra at length emerges, and, skirting the Mojave Desert upon the west, turns eastward under the local name of the Sierra Madre as the northern wall of the Los Angeles and San Bernardino country; then turning again southward along the western rim of the Colorado Desert, goes on to form the backbone of the peninsula of Lower California. A stray fragment of the Coast Range rises again for a while, under the name of the Santa Monica Mountains; joins the dividing ridge between the westerly plains of the Los Angeles country and the San Fernando Valley; breaks down entirely where the San Fernando Valley opens into the Los Angeles, giving outlet to the Los Angeles River; then rises as a low, irregu lar range of hills between Los Angeles and the San Gabriel country-hills having an elevation of only two or three hundred feet; breaks down again completely after a few miles, where the broad valley of the San Gabriel comes out from the Sierra, irrigating with its waters the fertile, low-lying lands of El Monte and Los Nietos; then the hills rise again as a broken range, gradually attaining to a hight in scattered peaks of one or two thousand feet, but torn asunder where the Santa Aña, coming from its source in the San Bernardino portion of the Sierra, and watering upon its way the San Bernardino and Riverside countries, bursts through to the lands of Santa Aña and Anaheim and the coast plain, and on to the sea. Beyond, this broken, wandering remnant of the Coast Range becomes again, but this time hopelessly, entangled with and lost in the Sierra. This breaking down of the Coast Range throws the whole valley system of Southern California, known collectively as the Los Angeles country, open to the sea, making it practically a vast system of coast valleys, with the Sierra as a background; and it is to be classed with the Humboldt and Santa Cruz countries in climate, but from the sheltering mountains and the more southern latitude milder in temperature, and in extent upon an infinitely larger scale. About three thousand square miles of level valley land open out to the sea at this point. The sharp trend eastward of the coast line south of Point Conception also brings the sea nearer to the Sierra, making its influence more felt, while the deflection of the Sierra from a north and south direction to almost due east turns it into a huge barrier, raised directly across the path of the cold north wind, which sweeps the upper portion of the State. Under the shelter of its peaks, ranging in elevation from six to eleven thousand feet, these southern valleys nestle, looking from the snow-clad crests above them out toward the warm southern sea. There is something about the coast south of Point Conception which reminds me always of that land of the Lotus-eaters, "Wherein it always seemed afternoon;" something in the smoother heaving of the waters, the softer sky, the milder breezes, and the dreamy haze that lingers tenderly about the dim outline of the distant mountains. I well recollect my first trip down the coast; it was upon the Orizaba, thirteen years ago. We left San Francisco, sailing out into the fog and the cold north-west wind that whistled drearily through the rigging as we turned southward. All day it chased after us, as, with overcoats tightly buttoned, we shivered about the decks. All night it drove us on. The next day, about noon, we rounded the lighthouse and fog-bell of Point Conception. It was like the transformation scene in an Oriental tale of magic. Almost in a steamer's length we had passed from the fog-bank into sunshine. The cold wind died away. The rough tossing of the ship changed to a gentle rocking upon the glassy swell. And hour after hour we coasted along a shore, such as those tired wanderers drew nigh who sailed on and on in the hush of the afternoon toward the "hollow Lotus-land." And then, just at daybreak the next morning, we rounded a high headland, and all one dreamy forenoon lay at anchor in the roadstead of San Pedro, gently rocking upon the lazy swell that rolled slowly in from the south. I have never forgotten the picture. Hour after hour I lay watching the green of hill and plain, stretching away league upon league to the great white line of the Sierra; watching the green of the long, heaving billows rolling in | from the southern seas; watching the gulls idly circling about the ship; gazing down through the transparent waters at the strands of trailing seaweed waving gently about the keel, and at the fish lazily basking amid the floating leaves. And over all, though it was only January, a glow and a glory of sunshine, such as northlands may dream of, but never know. The exemption of Southern California from the working of the general law of a continuously diminishing rainfall, and an even more arid climate as you go south, lies in the fact that it is essentially a coast country, and not a continuation of the San Joaquin and Tulare Valleys. The mountains which shut those valleys off from the sea are, as already shown, broken down and lost in Southern California. The tendency to a reversion to the interior type is seen, however, in the San Fernando Valley, which is partly shut off from the ocean by the Santa Monica Mountains, belonging to the coast system. The tendency is seen only by a comparison with the great open valley system, which is not so shut off. Even in the San Fernando Valley the elevation of the Coast Range is so slight, and the breaks so open, that the only result is to shelter it partially from the fogs and give a somewhat drier air and higher summer temperature. The shelter is only enough to make this valley the most noted wheat region of Southern California; not enough to rank it with the parched and unreliable San Joaquin and Tulare plains. The Mojave Desert may be looked upon, not as the geological, but as the climatic, southern continuation of the great interior valley of California. The following tables, giving the temperature and humidity, month by month, of Sacramento and Los Angeles, are compiled from the last published annual report of the United States Signal Service: |