This seems a fitting place to pay a humble personal tribute of respect to the memory of the men of “the fall of ’49 and the spring of ’50.”  Not since the Crusades, when the best blood of Europe was spilt in defense of the Holy Sepulchre, has the world seen a finer body of men than the Argonauts of California.  True, the quest of the “Golden Fleece” was the prime motive, but sheer love of adventure for adventure’s sake played a most important part.  Later on, the turbulent element arrived.  It was due to the rectitude, inherent sense of justice and courage of the pioneers that they were held in check and, by force of arms when necessary, made to understand the white man’s code of honor.

So much in song and story has been said of the scramble for gold in the early days after the discovery, and so little attention given to the artistic and aesthetic sense of the pioneers, that the general impression made by the famous old mining towns of California, when seen for the first time, may be worth recording.  In the massive stone hotels and stores of that period, as well as in the careful construction of dwelling houses, they exhibited a true perception of “the eternal fitness of things.”  The buildings of the fifties, in their extreme simplicity, are far more imposing than the nondescript, pretentious structures of today, and will, beyond doubt, in usefulness outlast them.

As a result of ignoring the checker-board plan, and permitting the streets to follow the natural contour of the hills and ravines, these mountain towns seem to have become blended and to be in harmony with the wonderful setting Nature has provided.  All buildings, residential or otherwise, are protected from the summer heat by umbrageous trees.  Lawns of richest green delight the eye, and vines and flowers surround cottages perched on steep hillsides, or half-hidden in deep ravines.  The first glimpse from a distant eminence of any of the old mining towns conveys the suggestion of peaceful homes buried in greenery, basking contentedly in the brilliant sunshine, surrounded by the whispering pines, with the snow-clad peaks of the Sierra Nevada for a background.

You also receive the impression of cleanliness.  If there were any old cans, scraps of paper and miscellaneous rubbish lying about in any town through which I passed, I did not notice them.  One is struck, too, by the absence of the “vacant lot” — that unsightly blot of such frequent occurrence in all towns in the process of building, especially when forced by “booms” beyond their normal growth.  Fortunately the very word “boom,” in its significance as applied to inflated real estate values, has no meaning in these towns, with the result that they are compact.  One may search in vain for the “house to let” sign.  When no more houses were needed, no more houses were built.  This compactness of form, cleanliness, and the elimination to a great extent of the rectangular block, contribute in no small measure to that indefinable suggestion of the Old World — a charm that haunts the memory and finally becomes permanent acquisition.