We visited a big packing house and saw dark eyed Sicilians, alert and prosperous, sorting, cleaning, and packing the lemons. Everything proceeded with swiftness and yet with orderliness. Down the long troughs rolled the lemons, each gravitating through a hole according to its size. Into a bubbling cauldron they were gently railroaded, where brushes from above and from below washed them and pushed them on. With much deftness packers caught a square of tissue paper with the left hand, a lemon with the right hand and wrapped the fruit. The filled box was pushed along a polished runway to the inspector. He deftly and quickly looked the box over, decided whether the packing was close and firm, nailed on a top, and bound the box with supporting iron bands. It was then ready to go into the freight car on the track a few feet away, where experienced men were loading the car with the yellow fruit. We were told that notwithstanding competition with the Sicilian and Italian fruit, California lemons had all the market their owners could wish for. Certainly when one sees the care with which the fruit is grown, the mellow sun under which it matures, and the skillful gathering, cleaning, and packing of the packing houses, one wishes every right of way for California lemons. One lemon grower told us that in the course of the past twenty years he had advanced hundreds of dollars to his Sicilian laborers who had asked his help to bring over their fathers, their brothers, and other relatives. He said that kinsman after kinsman had been brought over and had added himself and his work to the Corona colony, and that their benefactor had never lost a dollar. All the loans had been conscientiously returned in the course of time. Californians look forward to a great flood of immigration within the next few years, and hope that Europe will send them the men to till their lands and cultivate their rich valleys and hill-slopes. There is plenty of room for them in this splendid empire of a State. CHAPTER V It was an easy drive from Corona to Riverside, which we reached in the late afternoon in time for a sunset drive up and around the corkscrew road leading to the top of Mt. Rubidoux. No one should miss the view from the top of Rubidoux Mountain. While its summit is not at a great height, yet the mountain is so isolated and the whole surrounding country is so level a valley that the view is very extensive. One looks down upon the town of Riverside, with its pleasant homes and church steeples; and upon miles of lemon and orange orchards groomed to the last degree of fertility and perfection. It is an immense garden. Orchards, towns, grassy spaces with a silver river winding through them, all give one that sense, ever present in California, of happiness, of genial climate, of unfailing beauty of surrounding.