Another day they drove into the Monte, a large park of a thousand acres. There were great trees—elders, willows, sycamores and live-oaks with enormous trunks, with plenty of flowers underneath them and upon the rocks, wild peonies, with variegated leaves, wild galiardia, tiny starry white flowers, pretty forget-me-nots, and others too numerous to mention. Many kinds of beautiful ferns, also.
There seemed to be a different drive for every day in the week, all beautiful and enjoyable. So a week passed most pleasantly, then they took the Surf line from San Diego to Los Angeles. It was a seventy-mile ride, but with so much that was interesting to see and gaze upon, and such delicious air to breathe, that it did not seem a long or wearisome trip. There was the great ocean, with its curling, sparkling waves, and seals and porpoises frolicking in the water, gulls circling above them, and from the ground flocks of birds starting up in affright at the approach of the train. Then when the train carried them away from the view of the ocean there were the wonderful groves of great trees, carpets of wild flowers, and the towns of Santa Ana and Anaheim.
“What is the name of the place we are going to, papa?” asked Ned, as they drew near the end of their short journey.
“’Nuestra Señora la Reina de los Angeles,” replied the captain, gravely enough but with a gleam of fun in his eye.
“What a long name!” cried Ned. “I should think they would have to make it shorter sometimes when they’re in a hurry.”
“Yes, sometimes it is called ‘The City of the Angels,’ but even that is too long; so it commonly goes by name of Los Angeles.”
“Oh, that’s better,” said Ned; “just a long enough name, I think.”
They found Los Angeles a handsome city, environed by gardens filled with beautiful flowers. They spent a few days there, then went on to Pasadena, nine miles from Los Angeles, hearing that it was eight hundred feet higher and the air much drier; information which drew from Dr. Harold the opinion that it would be much more beneficial for his invalids.
They found it a very Eden-like place, situated in the beautiful San Gabriel Valley, and at the foot of the Sierra Madre range of mountains.
“Pasadena, ‘the Crown of the Valley,’” murmured Grandma Elsie delightedly, from the carriage window, as they drove to their hotel.