by almost every mountain pool or practicable beach in the whole wide
expanse of the United States. The Briton may not have yet abdicated
his post as the champion traveller or explorer of unknown lands, but
the American is certainly the most restless mover from one resort of
civilisation to another.

Perhaps the most beautiful hotel in the world is the Ponce de Leon at
St. Augustine, Florida, named after the Spanish voyager who discovered
the flowery[32] State in 1512, and explored its streams on his
romantic search for the fountain of eternal youth. And when I say
beautiful I use the word in no auctioneering sense of mere size, and
height, and evidence of expenditure, but as meaning a truly artistic
creation, fine in itself and appropriate to its environment. The hotel
is built of "coquina," or shell concrete, in a Spanish renaissance
style with Moorish features, which harmonises admirably with the
sunny sky of Florida and the historic associations of St. Augustine.
Its colour scheme, with the creamy white of the concrete, the
overhanging roofs of red tile, and the brick and terra-cotta details,
is very effective, and contrasts well with the deep-blue overhead and
the luxuriant verdancy of the orange-trees, magnolias, palmettos,
oleanders, bananas, and date-palms that surround it. The building
encloses a large open court, and is lined by columned verandas, while
the minaret-like towers dominate the expanse of dark-red roof. The
interior is richly adorned with wall and ceiling paintings of
historical or allegorical import, skilfully avoiding crudity or
garishness; and the marble and oak decorations of the four-galleried
rotunda are worthy of the rest of the structure. The general effect is
one of luxurious and artistic ease, with suggestions of an Oriental
_dolce far niente_ in excellent keeping with the idea of the winter
idler's home. The Ponce de Leon and the adjoining and more or less
similar structures of the Alcazar, the Cordova, and the Villa Zorayda
form indeed an architectural group which, taken along with the
semi-tropical vegetation and atmosphere, alone repays a long journey
to see. But let the strictly economical traveller take up his quarters
in one of the more modest hostelries of the little town, unless he is
willing to pay dearly (and yet not perhaps too dearly) for the
privilege of living in the most artistic hotel in the world.

It is a long cry from Florida to California, where stands another
hote