grassy hills to the mountains. Going down the first hillside and over towards Beaudry’s reservoir for a picnic, I once found maidenhair ferns under some brush, and was frightened by what sounded like a rattlesnake—probably only a cicada. Court Street disappeared in a hollow at Hope, where a pond was made interesting by a large flock of white ducks.
Across the street from us on top of a hill that is now gone, at the head of a long flight of wide steps, stood “The Horticultural Pavilion,” destroyed a few years later by fire. It was replaced by Hazard’s Pavilion, an equally barn-like, wooden building on the site of the present Philharmonic Auditorium. The first Pavilion held county fairs, conventions, and operas. It was in this place that I once had a great disappointment, for when I was hearing Pinafore a child ahead of me suddenly coughed and whooped, and I was removed with haste just at the most entrancing moment. The opera had been put on in London first in the spring of ’78. It had reached Los Angeles by ’79, and we revelled in its wit and melody with the rest of the world.
It must have been somewhat later than this that the city took such pride in the singing of one of its own girls, Mamie Perry (Mrs. Modini-Wood) who was educated abroad and made her debut in Italy. Another name that will recall many a concert and social event to old timers is that of Madame Mara.
In this building I once saw a strange instrument, a box into which one could speak and be heard half a
