1898 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



615 



mountains northeast of the city. Mount Lowe 

 is noted from having an observatory and a 

 hotel well up toward the summit, with a cable- 

 line railroad to nicely deposit the traveler at 

 its doors. This railroad and the hotel are 

 very prominent objects from the valley below, 

 and are easily pointed out to the stranger. 



A little beyond Mount Lowe is Mount Wil- 

 son, and a little more elevated. Here, instead 

 of the cable and the electric line, we have to 

 take the donkey train; and if any person 

 wishes to take the most picturesque and en- 

 joyable climb, this is far preferable. We take 

 almost any kind of conveyance to the foot of 



"But, Mr. Sturtevant," said I, " I have no 

 lady." 



" Why, get one, Mr. Rambler, get one; it is 

 the easiest thing in the world if you only start 

 right." 



The matter rested right there for several 

 weeks; and one day Mr. C. A. Hatch, another 

 good friend of mine, was in town, and I men- 

 tioned the matter to him. Now, I might have 

 known belter; for Mr. Hatch is one of those 

 men like A. I. Root, Prof. Cook, and others, 

 who are always preaching and practicing mat- 

 rimony, and I had scarcely mentioned the 

 matter to him when he excl dmed with much 



rambler's donkey-ride up the mountains. 



the trail at Sierra Madre, and here we find an- 

 other very good friend of the Rambler in the 

 person of W. M. Sturtevant. This genial gen- 

 tleman has charge of the trail and the don- 

 keys, and attends to the comfort of the trav- 

 eling public, whether old or young, grave or 

 gay. Just through the gum-trees from the 

 donkey corral he has a fine apiary; and, owing 

 to the apiary, we became acquainted. 



Mr. Sturtevant, when in the city, had sever- 

 al times invited me to his place, "and," said 

 he, "come out anytime, and you and your 

 lady shall have donkeys to take you to the 

 top of the mountain." 



enthusiasm, "Just the thing, Mr. Rambler; 

 my home in Pasadena, you know, is half way 

 to Sierra Madre; come over and stop all night 

 with me, and then you can get an early start 

 in the morning, and have more time to spend 

 on the mountain; and the lady — " 



"Don't mention her, Mr. Hatch; don't," 

 said I. 



I finally agreed to go over the next Friday 

 evening, and was promptly there at tea-time. 

 I found Mr. Hatch apparently enjoying a 

 well-regulated family — wife, son, and daugh- 

 ter, and occupying half a house; the other 

 half was occupied by a Mr. Cole, who had 



