1 8803 Southern California 



Palos Verdes, the hill of "green trees," above the n f 

 two villages of San Pedro and Wilmington, both 

 now incorporated in the city of Los Angeles. But 

 as frequently happens in the clear air of the West, 

 Palos Verdes proved to be higher than it looked, 

 commanding a most beautiful prospect. So we 

 missed the boat and had to go by night and day 

 stage from Santa Ana to San Diego, a distance of 

 eighty miles. 



Toward midnight we changed horses at pic- 

 turesque San Juan Capistrano, the first Mission I 

 ever saw and the one which six years later furnished 

 the architectural motive of Stanford University. 

 Directly in front stands an old pepper tree, dating, 

 at least according to our veracious stage driver, 

 from the year One. For breakfast we stopped by 

 the side of the Mission San Luis Rey, perhaps the 

 most beautiful of the whole series, then neglected 

 but since partly restored, though not wholly to its 

 advantage. San Diego was reached the following San 

 afternoon. There in the local "Chinatown," to 

 which we at once made our way, I picked up a small 

 specimen of a true Sole Symphurus atricauda 

 the first of its type to be recorded from the American 

 side of the Pacific. That discovery we regarded as 

 a good omen, as it showed the field to be by no means 

 exhausted. 



San Diego was then a small, remote city which on 

 the strength of its climate (the most equable in the 

 United States) had been overtaken by an unfortu- 

 nate boom. This had dotted the neighboring hills 

 with city lots and left the town financially stranded. 



Our office stood at the foot of the wharf, in an 

 empty saloon with the significant legends "Last 



C 203 3 



