ot of the explorer, however great his strength or skill may be, but
thorny chaparral constitutes their chief defense. With the exception
of little park and garden spots not visible in comprehensive views, the
entire surface is covered with it, from the highest peaks to the plain.
It swoops into every hollow and swells over every ridge, gracefully
complying with the varied topography, in shaggy, ungovernable
exuberance, fairly dwarfing the utmost efforts of human culture out of
sight and mind.

But in the very heart of this thorny wilderness, down in the dells, you
may find gardens filled with the fairest flowers, that any child would
love, and unapproachable linns lined with lilies and ferns, where the
ousel builds its mossy hut and sings in chorus with the white falling
water. Bears, also, and panthers, wolves, wildcats; wood rats,
squirrels, foxes, snakes, and innumerable birds, all find grateful homes
here, adding wildness to wildness in glorious profusion and variety.

Where the coast ranges and the Sierra Nevada come together we find a
very complicated system of short ranges, the geology and topography of
which is yet hidden, and many years of laborious study must be given for
anything like a complete interpretation of them. The San Gabriel is one
or more of these ranges, forty or fifty miles long, and half as broad,
extending from the Cajon Pass on the east, to the Santa Monica and Santa
Susanna ranges on the west. San Antonio, the dominating peak, rises
towards the eastern extremity of the range to a height of about six
thousand feet, forming a sure landmark throughout the valley and all
the way down to the coast, without, however, possessing much striking
individuality. The whole range, seen from the plain, with the hot sun
beating upon its southern slopes, wears a terribly forbidding aspect.
There is nothing of the grandeur of snow, or glaciers, or deep forests,
to excite curiosity or adventure; no trace of gardens or waterfalls.
From base to summit all seems gray, barren, silent--dead, bleached bones
of mountains, overgrown with scrubby bushes, like gray moss. But all
mountains are full of hidden beauty, and the next day after my arrival
at Pasadena I supplied myself with bread and eagerly set out to give
myself to their keeping.

On the first day of my excursion I went only as far as the mouth of
Eaton Canyon, because the heat was oppressive, and a pair of new shoes
were chafing my feet to such an extent th