et us again stand at the southern boundary of Redlands and glance at the landscape spread out northward, eastward and westward. Not an iota of change, apparently, in the lofty and ragged mountain range since a decade ago. At this writing, Oct. 16, 1897, the higher mountains northward and eastward are capped with snow, as they usually are two-thirds of the year. San Bernardino and "Grayback" are still on silent sentinel duty at the upper end of the valley, and "Old Baldy" beams on us with the apparent good nature that makes him so general a favorite. The whole horseshoe of mountains bounding the landscape only reminds us that with the mighty works of the Creator "one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day."

But there is but little familiar in the landscape except the mountain chain, with its broken link at Cajon Pass and the bed of the Santa Ana river on the north side. The wild, stunted vegetation has nearly disappeared, and in its stead we see a picture that thousands of pens have vainly attempted to describe and hundreds of brushes vainly attempted to paint.

Looking eastward, toward the colossal peaks, where ten years ago was almost unbroken stretch of red soil, we now behold, clear up to the eastern foothills, a continuous succession of magnificent orange groves, divided by broad and beautiful avenues, lined with ornamental tress of varied form and verdure.

Northward in the immediate foreground, lies the ten-year-old city of Redlands, checkered by fine streets and avenues, handsome tree and flower embowered residences on every hand, and the spires of many modern churches pointing heavenward. There, too, we get glimpses of substantial business blocks, large fruit packing houses and other adjunts of commercial enterprise and three railway lines thread their way through the town and away. Beyond the business section more fine residences, a bran new hotel, modern throughout, on the site of the Lugonia opera house block, fine orange, apricot and peach orchards, flowers and ornamental trees in profusion, a vista of evergreen clear to the Santa Ana river. Beyond the river we see the orange groves of Highlands, the vast State hospital for the insane, and the thriving city of San Bernardino.

Down the valley to the westward, within the scope of Redlands, we see an extension of the orange groves, peach and apricot orchards, running back upon the foothills bordering the mountains on the south side of the valley, and as the eye turns to the southwestern foreground it longingly rests upon the magnificent Cañon Crest Park, the property of the Messrs. Smiley, to which attention will be called later.

(Source: Illustrated Redlands, 1897, p. 3)