Redondo Beach, Cal., March 13, 1891.

New Orleans obtained its sub-title from the crescent shape of its banks on the Mississippi river. The trend of the Pacific shore here suggested the pretty name, “Redondo,” in Spanish, signifying round.

It is midway between Capistrano, south, and Point Duma, north, and is sixteen miles in a southwest direction from Los Angeles, from which city there are several trains daily over two roads—the Santa FÉ and the new Redondo Beach railroad. All passenger steamers to and from San Francisco and way points stop at Redondo.

Three years ago Redondo was a waste, or at best it was a cattle ranch. There was not a house nor a hut here, now it is a garden spot of Southern California. It came into existence as if by magic, as do many flourishing towns on the Pacific slope.

Beautifully situated on grounds rising gradually from the ocean, backed by rich, tillable lands and ranges of green hills, with seaport facilities not surpassed in California south of San Francisco, its rapid growth is not surprising.

The creation of Redondo, according to plans which promise such a satisfactory result, is due to Californians—men of irrepressible energy and wide experience in large affairs—Captain J. C. Ainsworth, Captain R. R. Thompson and Captain George J. Ainsworth, not captains by courtesy, either. They planned and have established successfully railroad and steamship lines in Oregon and the northwest.

That they have ample capital at their command may be judged by a few figures given at random. Their first step was to buy one thousand acres of land; second, to build a railroad and wharf; third, to secure an ocean front of one mile, then to erect a hotel four hundred and fifty feet long to accommodate three hundred people. It was first opened May 1, 1890.

In the hotel they built a music room, 48 × 80 feet, spending two thousand dollars simply on an inlaid floor; there is a tennis court which cost seven thousand dollars; they laid a Portland cement walk from the station to hotel, sixteen feet wide and a quarter of a mile long, expending another ten thousand in that way—altogether it is easy to believe that checks for more than a million have been drawn in the enterprise. These Californians, with their big trees and their forty-thousand-acre ranches, do nothing in a small way.

Do you ask what are the natural attractions of the place? “First, last and all the time,” there is the almost wonderful climate—genial, balmy and equable, such as you will find nowhere but in Southern California. The hotel proprietor tells me that the average winter temperature is 61 degrees. In case you should not care for figures at second hand, here is a record from my own thermometer. Yesterday, March 12, noon, 68, this morning at seven it registered 53; at this writing, eight P.M., 60, the instrument hanging outside my window.

The summer here, I am assured, and I firmly believe, is more delightful than the winter, and the hotel will be kept open the year round. Like the Hygeia at Old Point Comfort, Redondo attracts people from a distance in winter; in summer it is largely patronized by residents of San Francisco, Los Angeles and other cities of the State.

I do not agree entirely with Mrs. Malaprop that “comparisons are odorous.” They often serve a very useful purpose in illustration. At any rate I am given to the habit of comparing, be it a good or a bad habit. What is large or small, fine or coarse, hot or cold, wet or dry, good or bad, except by comparison?

For once, however, I am put to my wits’ ends for comparison. Redondo is like no place on the Atlantic coast, because, although directly on the seashore, every foot of ground, almost up to the edge of the ocean, is covered with fine grass; and the most tender flowers grow and flourish in profusion everywhere, almost within a few feet of the surf. This in winter, mind you—a Southern California winter, though. It is not so, even in summer, on the Atlantic coast, in the United States, nor in England. Yes, I have it: I can indulge in the old habit; the climate of Redondo is like that in the South of France: in fact it is in the same latitude: there!

In the hotel nurseries, which are distant from the surf but a few hundred feet, you may revel in roses, heliotrope, tulips, mignonette, daisies, etc. There are tall calla lilies in plenty and the pleasing sight of acres and acres of pinks of various colors is one that is very fascinating. The hotel farm of two hundred acres, where choice stock is kept, supplies the house with more than all the milk, cream, butter, fruit and vegetables it requires.

The hotel is only four stories high, yet there is an elevator; of course electric lights and all modern improvements. Neither is the building deep, but it has great length, to give views of ocean in front and of green hills in the rear. It stands north and south thus affording ocean views from three sides. Of the 225 rooms, every one has a sunny exposure at some hour of the day; every one is well ventilated and lighted; every one is an “outside room,” and every guest feels that his is the best suite in the house.

The porch is not one straight, unbroken line like the porches of so many summer hotels in the east. It has a few graceful curves in it and from it you may watch the craft sailing by—coast steamers to and from San Francisco and other ports. The golden sunsets you may see from this porch are such as no artist could represent. It is not within the possibilities of paint and canvas to reproduce such gorgeous scenes. On a clear day without the aid of a glass Catalina island is visible thirty miles away.

The dining-room of the hotel juts out in a northerly direction and has windows on three sides. From a distance it looks as if it might have been an after-thought in construction, but the architect planned it this way, to give what was most desired—light, ventilation and pleasing views, and he succeeded.

Two hundred and sixty can sit down to dinner at one time.

There are no loose wardrobes nor clothes presses; all the bedrooms have closets built in the walls. Every room is supplied with hot and cold water running into marble basins. Every room has a tiled fireplace in color and design to match the carpet, and what is also worthy of mention, the furniture in the bedrooms is not duplicated, nor are the carpets.

The drinking water is from an Artesian well. It has been analyzed and pronounced pure. The plumbing seems to have been done in a careful manner, and the question of sewerage need give nobody concern. The hotel stands on a mesa. The refuse goes through an iron pipe and empties into the sea half a mile from the house.

There are no better fishing grounds on the coast, so they say. If you are lucky with the line you may catch bonita, Spanish mackerel, baracouta, smelt and yellow tails, whatever they are.

The circular of the Redondo Hotel as to rates merely says, “same as any first-class hotel.” This is hardly in accordance with the facts, as I see them. The terms at the Redondo are from three to four dollars per day, while hotels in the east, of the same class, charge from four to five dollars. Why such low rates obtain in California hotels is something I intend to find out before I leave the State. For illustrated circulars address Redondo Hotel Co., Redondo Beach, Cal.