THE BEACH AT CORONADO, CALIFORNIA. 



The morning dawned bright and beau- 

 tiful; the sky had cleared from the rain 

 of the day before, and the sun was shin- 

 ing joyously. 



All the poetry and romance in our 

 souls seems to bubble upward, when 

 upon this June-like January day, our 

 party starts out for a ride or jaunt along 

 the beach. 



We ride lazily on through the little 

 city, down through a long, broad avenue, 

 beneath the sylvan arches, of the pepper 

 trees, past cottages, surrounded by varia- 

 gated gardens, cypress hedges and green 

 lawns. 



There are long avenues of palm, fig, 

 cypress, acacia, pepper and eucalyptus 

 trees. At the end of each avenue a glint 

 of foam shows where the bay and ocean 

 meet the shore. 



Here and there the eucalyptus or Aus- 

 tralian gum trees, display their stately 

 trunks and long, blue, shapely leaves. 

 They stand out alone in their princely 

 glory towering with a lofty air far above 

 all, and when their leaves are swaying 

 gently in the breeze, they present a sight 

 of rare beauty and imposing dignity. 

 The palms so tropical in appearance, 

 with their broad, flat tops and intensely 

 green spike-like foliage, stand in long- 

 rows. The bushy topped green pepper 

 trees, with their gracefully plumed droop- 

 ing branches, lift their circles of glory, 

 consisting of creamy blossoms and long 

 clusters of crimson berries. 



Guided by the deep roar of the surf, 

 we turn our eyes toward the west, and 

 the full grandeur of the Pacific Ocean is 

 before us. Now we catch full breezes 

 from the sea, and our party becomes 

 radiant with buoyancy. We watch with 

 interest the great waves as they roll in 

 one after another and dash musically 

 along the sandy beach, sending their 

 spray up into the air, which falling, looks 

 like silver. 



There is life and beauty in the scene 

 before us. There lies the great ocean 



with the sunbeams dancing over the rip- 

 pling waters. Off there, the white caps 

 dash to and fro, making us think of balls 

 of snow. Sometimes the rainbow colors 

 play through the bubbles, and the gleam- 

 ing white dazzles our eyes. 



Occasionally a fish jumps above the 

 surface of the water and once in a while 

 a flock of sea fowl sport upon its bosom, 

 while the long-billed road-runner stalks 

 along the shore through the ice plant, 

 and vast numbers of quail nestle in the 

 small bushes a short distance away. 



There is a mild and solemn beauty in 

 the shifting scene which appeals to the 

 imagination with special strength when 

 the cool of the morning light or the 

 warmer glow of the evening imparts the 

 colors of the atmosphere to the glassy 

 waters. 



On Coronado we behold the glory of 

 the great Pacific. With the roar of the 

 old ocean in our ears, we sit and dream- 

 ily listen to what the waves tell us. 

 Could they but tell of the scenes they 

 have witnessed ? Ah ! but they do speak, 

 when we lend our ears to their musical 

 whispers. They tell of strange things, 

 old wrecks, foreign lands, seaweed, kelp, 

 shells, whales, weather beaten sailors, of 

 storms, adventures, danger, of old times 

 years ago when the tides came and went 

 as they do now, but when no vessels 

 found their way through the channel, 

 when there was no San Diego, when no 

 cottages breasted the sea on Coronado, 

 and no sound broke the solitude of this 

 dreamy land. 



Old ocean has a particular interest of 

 its own. It is the great highway of the 

 world, something the whole of which 

 cannot be seen, and at all times and in 

 all places it produces a singularly impres- 

 sive scene of mystery, irresistless power 

 and grandeur ; but in no other place does 

 it present a more stirring picture of ani- 

 mation and it must appeal to the imagi- 

 nation of every one. Oh ! the glory of 

 the view ! To the west, a broad grand 



■manHMBHMHBHni 



