It is about ten miles from Pasadena by the eyes, but would be twenty by the feet, if they could walk an air line.
To the south and east of "Old Baldy" is Mt.

San Jacinto, 12,000 feet above the Pacific, upon which it looks, in the far distance.
The majestic mountain wall, almost bending over the homes of Pasadena, with their vines and fig trees, their roses and lilies, their orchards of orange and lemon, and the distant snow-clad peaks glittering in the gentle sunshine, combine to form a perfect picture.

There are detailed descriptions from the pens of those who feel an unctuous joy in painting the lily, kalsomining the calla, and adding perfumes to the violet, the rose, and the orange.
The "Pasadena Alps" are so smeared with oleaginous gush that I had conceived against them a sort of antipathy, which was not diminished by their barren, treeless appearance.
As Nature reasserted herself, this artificial nausea wore away.

I took a drive to Millard's Canon, and was surprised at finding a charming wooded road winding up through the canon along a mountain stream.

From the end of the carriage-road we walked half a mile to a picturesque waterfall having a sheer descent of perhaps forty feet.
This revelation inspired a drive to Eaton's Canon, where I found similar attractions, and which led me to the new Mt.