We have reached the object of our journey in the upper end of the San Bernardino valley. One of the features of South California, not Southern California, as we in the center all used to say, is the motor roads, not electric motors, but regular little steam engines, that will pull you anywhere, and which will not shock you with anything except perhaps with their smoke. Such motor roads lead almost everywhere, connecting the outlying colonies way up in the mesa with the headquarters on the regular railroad. And these motor roads are neither neglected, nor do they go begging for customers and freight. They are as much or more patronized even than the regular railroads, and they pay well. The cause of this is evident. They are more accommodating; they can without inconvenience stop wherever required, and passengers get on or off at almost every corner. The little train stops with equal readiness at the call in front of the rich man’s villa, to enable him and his family to embark, as at the poor man’s garden, to allow him to get on with a load of greens or with a basket of eggs. Thus managed, it rushes along with short and frequent stops, always full of passengers and freight. Going up the San Bernardino valley from Riverside is a trip that no one should neglect. It takes us through one of the best improved parts of South California, through a veritable garden spot, with a radius of six or seven miles. From Riverside we pass for several miles over the level mesa land, just brought into cultivation through the new Gage canal system. Over two thousand acres have been planted here within the last two years to oranges, lemons and vines, and the fine and regularly planted trees with the large distances between show us how much the new settlers have been able to profit from the experience of the older ones. For several miles there are young plantations, each with its neat and substantial residence and outhouses, indicating that the settlers mostly are people of some means and of much refinement and taste,--just the class of people that we all would choose for our nearest neighbors. Everywhere are school-houses of artistic designs, most magnificent ones in the older settlements, smaller but tasty ones in those of almost yesterday. As we pass along the mesa, the upper San Bernardino valley, closed in by steep and lofty mountains, lies on our right, and in front the Santa Ana river courses through the center of the valley, with its vast broad river bottom covered with wild vegetation, pastures or cultivated fields. We cross several ditches, one laid in cement, with the water running in them as clear as that in the washbowl.