(The figures indicate where the contributions may be found.) Ambrose (J. Clement), 115, 262, 517. Author (The) of "The First Violin," 25, 129, 217, 313, 409, 505. | Ford (Marian), 75, 169, 265, 557. Griffith (George Bancroft), 385, 494. tor's shrill cry announces their arrival in Los Angeles, those who have formerly made the trip by stage or steamer can hardly realize that this is all. Los Angeles is one of the few places in California for which I claim a classic past, on the score of its representing all there is ancient or antique in this new land of ours, being one of the three original free towns or pueblos established under Spanish reign. San José and B'anciforte share the honors with it; but Los Angeles was established first of the thr e. Alter all this flourish, however, I must acknowledge that this boasted antiquity does not date back farther than 1770, for we cannot learn of a civilization anterior to that introduced by the Franciscan friars of mission building fame. The elements composing this first settlement-how new and "American" the word sounds in this connection-were not all classic, by any means. The retired soldiers of the military presidios established for the protection of the mis sions, who generally married among the Indian mission converts, the few adventurers and strag THE CITY OF THE ANGELS. glers who happened along, and later, the Spanish street makes a curve and comes to an end it winds families that were brought from Mexico by Cap- its way on, in reality, to the old Spanish quarter, tain Juan Bautesta Anza in 1776, formed the nuclei of these towns, which in two cases have expanded into thrifty cities, in one instance dropped almost entirely out of existence; for Branciforte is only remembered by the few scattered ruins to be seen in the neighborhood of Santa Cruz. Our bright particular city was named in honor of the Queen of the Angels-Pueblo de la Reina de los Angeles was the style and title; the present generation is satisfied to call it simply the City of Angels, and I think the most of them have made good use of their wings. In my humble opinion the pen can better describe Los Angeles than brush or pencil. At least, I have never yet seen a representation, on canvas or from the photographer's camera, that did justice to this fairest city of the South. They give you the square, hard lines of the square, flat roofs of the houses and storebuildings in the dusty, close-built portion of the town, without one softening feature, and completely hiding the lovely flower-wreathed villas that grace the spot. The effect of the wide plain on the east, blooming in verdure; the grand, dark mountain to the northwest, and the chain of low hills, forever veiled in the soft, dreamy haze peculiar to all these mountains of the South, altogether lost in the pictures, and the prominence which the boardfences and dust flooded streets assume is anything but pleasing to the eye. is By taking a look at the main thoroughfare of the city, however, we will find that even in its business portion the place is quite hand some. The streets do not all run at right angles, nor are they all straight, except, perhaps, in the Where Main more recent American addition. called "Sonora" by the people living there. The Plaza, which adjoins the Pico House, and lies right opposite the little old Catholic church, marks, together with it, the boundary-line between the Spanish and the American-built portion THE FRUIT OF THE VINE. of the town. Not that the Spanish people live exclusively in that quarter; it is the original Spanish settlement, though many of the better class of Spaniards and Mexicans have built up fine residences in the new American city, leaving the old quarters mostly to the lower classes. Little, squat adobe casas crowd up the narrow streets in "Sonora," looking old without looking venerable, half in ruins, but without a shadow of romance about them. That has all fled out toward the Mission, as we shall see later. One of the public schools is situated here, somewhere among the narrow streets and shabby houses; but it looks almost as much out of place as one of the cheap American bar-rooms established under the tile roof of some dilapidated casa, which still bears lingering traces of its former grandeur. Once out of these ugly streets, and pleasant green fields smile at us; even a feathery palm or two tries to coax us into a hasty visit; but we are not ready to go to the country yet. We have all the modern part of the city to survey, and will begin at the head of Main street, where the Pico House stands. Even along the line of this broad, handsome street, where there are stately, elegant structures of brick and stone.-mercantile houses, bankbuildings, and balconied hotels,-the walls of a low, solid adobe now and then breaks up the rows of taller buildings, and not always to the improve ment of the looks of the street. I like an adobe house,-yes, in its place, which is not on the principal business street of a city in Americanized California. There is a slumbrous, peaceful, standstill air about it that is delightfully refreshing to behold when the casa stands on an open plain, or under the shade of the fig or the olive tree; but in the midst of a bustling American town it is just as much out of its natural sphere as a Spanish don from one of the large cattleranches would be among the bulls and the bears of the San Francisco mining-stock boards. Vehicles of all descriptions fill the street, and in some places form an almost unbroken line in front of the stores where they are "hitched," while their owners are attending to their business or pursuing their pleasure. The country immediately about Los Angeles is quite thickly settled, and these vehicles comprise every style of turnout, from the costly, airy American barouche, drawn by blooded, high-priced stock, down to the lumbering Mexican careta, with its vicious, roughcoated mustang. By the side of the slow-rolling |