The California Condor 



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Taken in San Luis Obispo County 



Photo by the A uthor 



THE CONDOR'S FIEF 



congeries of human ants and bees and butterflies poured out eternal upon 

 the sunlit plain, — Los Angeles, the storied, the vaunting, the bound- 

 lessly achieving, the insatiable, at once the asylum, the laboratory, the 

 drawing-room, and the ultimate destiny of the human race. It is Berke- 

 ley and Stanford, twin eminences of learning, where the endless golden 

 tide of youth seeks oblation until the marvel is that the altars of wisdom 

 are not long since sated. It is the Desert, weird, empty, forlorn — or 

 God-filled — according to your mood. Surely it is the desert where, if 

 but a horned toad scuttles, you are startled ; where, at the least, your own 

 heart's beating fills you with a nameless terror, or else an exalted joy — 

 according to your kind. It is the Sierra Nevada, heart of the world, 

 where lightnings vie with cold snows to crown the dauntless monarchs 

 of space and time. Here is sanctuary and surcease of sorrow, and a world 

 brought near to its Maker. It is Monterey, beloved of the Mission 

 Fathers, the clearing house of history, beloved of artists, too, the authentic 

 meeting place of earth and sea and sky. It is Santa Barbara, the sheltered, 

 the favored, the hospitable, flawless gem of Nature's workshop, arabesqued 



1719 



