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"The Lady of the Land," Del Mar, California. Looking northward from Stratford Inn.

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E have been touring the southland by way of a change from excursions to the forests in the north, and incursions of the desert to the east, with now and then a week or two across the Pacific in the fairyland of the western islands. You see, like most young Americans, we are constantly seeking change, only that our restlessness takes the somewhat mild form of seeking new playgrounds in God's out of doors.

The "Artist" is happy, for a month or two in the studio at the little, brown bungalow, and then one morning he presents himself before the "Lady of the Land" and says, laconically: "Let's go!"

The "Lady of the Land" takes a look into the family purse, has a confidential talk with "Little Sister" and "Peter Pan," and packs her portfolio and the portable writing machine, and away they go somewhere-anywhere -until the "Artist" finds his "picture country" and settles down to his canvases and his long hours of patient study of the landscape.

That is how we found ourselves in San Diego County and the lovely and

picturesque Del Mar country. The purse had been depleted by the last long jaunt, and "Little Sister" had advised a run down the coast to San Diego, always lovely in the springtime, as the most inexpensive short trip she knew, and so we found ourselves one twilight time seated on the broad veranda of the delightful inn at Del Mar enjoying the soft, salt-laden sea breeze and a glorious approaching sunset.

Now the "Lady of the Land" and "Little Sister" had passed a happy girlhood in this section of the State at a period when the country was one large cattle ranch, and one paid friendly visits to their relatives in Los Angeles and San Francisco by passing several weeks on a carriage drive, or a week or two (according to the cargo) on a sailing vessel. The "Lady of the Land" earned her title during these early days by affirming with more or less vehemence that it was through no fault of her own that her parents carelessly allowed her to be born east of the Mississippi, and so far as she was concerned, it should be forgotten, and henceforth and forever

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"The Fairy Staircase leading to Happy Mine," Del Mar, California."

Stratford Inn, overlooking the sea, and Red Cliff, and waiting for the sun to set in its customary glory.

The "Lady of the Land" sat in a great hickory chair apart from the group, the pose of her small, plump figure and the tip of her bird-like head indicating her retrospective mood.

"Do you remember," she called out to "Little Sister," "how I used to run away from you when we were gathering shells on the beach, and travel as far south as I dared, and then retrace my steps slowly and with my 'head in the clouds,' as you used to say, and for a long time I would not tell you why I made these strange 'excursions.'

"Little Sister" smiled and explained to the rest of us that "The Lady" was always prone to sentimental dreaming, and that in the long ago days of childhood she had discerned a curious outline of the face of the cliff underlying the ranch house, which closely resembled the Sphinx, which she always declared was the guardian of the San Dieguito river, and which could be seen most plainly from a point on the beach just about where the bath-house stands now.

"It was a great comfort to me in those days," said the "Lady of the Land." "The Sphinx was clearly outlined against the sky, and the lower part of the figure was most distinct until the storm of 1893 washed away a portion of it. We were not altogether free from fear in those days, and sometimes at night, when I lay in my little bed at the ranch house I would hear strange rumblings groans and outcries of the wild animals and birds, and I would be filled with fear, and then I would call upon the spirit or the noble Red Cliff Sphinx, and the thought seemed always to quiet my fears. You see, I grew up with full faith in fairies and giants, and even the trees and the flowers had a personality in my mind."

"And do you remember," replied "Little Sister," "the moonlight walks upon the cliff, and the row boat on the Serpentine, and how we used to row

miles about the valley in the winding silvery lagoons on nights when the moon was bright, and one could hear never a sound except the leaping of the silver perch in the water. I liked the dark nights, too, when in the trail of the boat there was the flash of fire of myriads of infusoria, a phenomenal we did not at all comprehend, and which filled us with much awe.

"And then Cousin Alice came, and taught us to listen to the sound of the fairies weaving their silk in the cornfields, and Oh! 'Lady,' do you remember the cave in the Pine Hills that you and Alice found and hid away in on bright summer days to weave story upon story of 'Alice in Wonderland ?'

"And do you recall the day we found honey welling out from a crevice in the cliff, and when we finally located the hive in a cave in the canyon, the bees chased us out, and we all carried away stings as souvenirs!"

"Twenty-five years is a long way back," said "The Lady of the Land," "but I never shall forget the long rides over the Pine Hills, before the horn of the automobile was heard in its dolorous honk over the land. Still, I must admit I enjoy the drive into San Diego over the Torrey Pine Hills, past La Jolla, and it takes us less than an hour in the machine even when we drive so as to enjoy the views, and I can well remember that my father and I took from daylight to dark in the old days when we drove our broncho ponies over the old Indian trail. Father liked to go that way to town, and invariably

variably recited Bayard Taylor's "Paso del Mar" as we drove over the narrow trail supposed to have been the scene of the graphic and dramatic tale. 'Little Sister' and I have many a time picked our way down the face of the cliff on our horses, and made them swim with us across the Soledad River where to-day you will see only a dry wash."

"Nature changes the face of things," said the Artist, "but I think that I have made as interesting discoveries here this summer as you girls did long ago. There is the 'Scold,' for instance, a

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