ds,
birds, and mice, but has a special dislike for the rattlesnake, and
often meets him and beats him in fair combat. When it finds one sleeping
or torpid it makes a circle of cactus thorns around him so he cannot
escape--for "future reference," as my driver said.

This thorny circle is akin to the lariat made of horsehair, the ends
sticking out roughly all around, with which the Indian used to encircle
himself before going to sleep, as a protection from the rattlesnake, who
could not cross it. But here we are at Los Angeles. Hear the bawling
cabbies: "This way for The Westminster!" "Hollenbeck Hotel!"

CHAPTER V.

LOS ANGELES AND ROUND ABOUT.

"O southland! O dreamland! with cycles of green;
O moonlight enchanted by mocking-bird's song;
Cool sea winds, fair mountains, the fruit-lands between,
The pepper tree's shade, and the sunny days long."

Los Angeles is the chief city of Southern California, and truly
venerable in comparison with most places in the State--founded in 1781,
now one hundred and twelve years old. Its full name, "Nuestra Senora la
Reina de los Angeles," "musical as a chime of bells," would hardly do in
these days, and "The City of the Angels," as it is sometimes called,
scarcely suits the present big business-y place, which was started by
those shrewd old padres when everything west of the Alleghanies was an
almost unknown region, and Chicago and St. Louis were not thought of.
These Fathers were far-sighted fellows, with a keen eye for the
beautiful, sure to secure good soil, plenty of water, and fine scenery
for a settlement. Next came the Hispano-American era of adobe,
stage-coaches, and mule teams, now replaced by the purely American
possessions, with brick, stone, vestibule trains, and all the wonders of
electricity. It is now a commercial centre, a railroad terminal, with
one hundred miles of street-car track within the city limits, carrying
twelve million passengers yearly. It has outgrown the original grant of
six miles square, and has a city limit, and the first street traversed
this square diagonally. It lies on the west bank of the Los Angeles
River, one of those peculiar streams which hides itself half the year
only to burst forth in the spring in a most assertive manner. There are
fine public buildings, fifty-seven churches, to suit all shades of
religious belief, two handsome theatres, several parks, and long streets
showing homes and grounds comparing fav