"A man he seems of cheerful yesterdays,
And confident to-morrows."
We made a trip to San Francisco at a time when life seemed a continued
carnival season, for there winter is the most delightful portion of the
year. We rented apartments in a delightful New England family, named
Collins. This, at that time, was the most comfortable way of living, for
in no part of the United States did restaurants furnish such good and
liberal fare at such reasonable rates. The characteristic cheerfulness of
California became intensified in San Francisco, where every face looked
radiant and happy as if all who entered the Golden Gate found a City of
the Sun.
We had so often asked the reason of this, and were as often told that "it
was all owing to the climate." We finally concluded that the climate
carried an unusual weight of responsibility; indeed, according to Joaquin
Miller, among "the first families of the Sierras," every unusual
phenomenon of nature, whether it came in the form of a fascinating widow,
a spooney man, a premature birth, or a fish with gold in its stomach, was
all owing to "this glorious climate of Californy."
Although San Francisco is pervaded by the business activity of a great
commercial metropolis, it is not possessed of the spirit of excessive
drudgery in the hot pursuit of the "almighty dollar" which prevails in
many other places. Every Saturday afternoon there is a lull in the labor
routine, business being entirely suspended, and the fashionable
promenades, Montgomery and Kearney Streets, are thronged with pleasure
seekers; husbands and wives, lovers and sweethearts, happy children, gay
colors and brilliant equipages.
Among the beautiful resorts is that of the Woodward Gardens, with
zoological and floral departments, parks, lakes, dancing halls and skating
rink. A friend kindly accompanied us to the Cliff House, a delightful
resort upon the beach, about six miles from the city, and too well known
to require description.
We remained in San Francisco about three months and a half, became every
day more fascinated with its charms, and would fain have rested longer
under the spell, but duty called us to many places on the coast, among
them the floral Oakland, a perfect bijou garden and grove, and, like
Alemeda, a beautiful, suburban home for the merchant princes of San
Francisco.
We visited San Rafael and Santa Cruz, the Newport of California. At the
former place there was an incident, which, although of a personal nature,
we mention as illustrative of the magnanimous character of the
Californian, prone to err, but ever ready to confess a wrong. We entered
the office of the County Clerk and offered him a book. Without removing
his feet from the counter, upon which they were elevated at an angle of
forty-five degrees, he threw down a dollar and bade us "go along."
We "stood not upon the order of our going," but went, taking care to leave
the dollar. A bystander said to me: "Take it! he is rich!" I quietly
assured him that I never accepted money without rendering an honest
equivalent, and as I left I heard the ejaculation: "She's plucky, isn't
she." On entering a livery stable on the opposite side of the street, a
gentleman took the proffered book and opened to a page containing the name
of Aunt Nancy Lee. With an exclamation of surprise he said: "I have an
aunt of that name." This led to further conversation and a better
acquaintance, the person really proving to be his aunt. While we were
talking, the four gentlemen from the office of the County Clerk came in,
and I being introduced in a new light they each bought a book, and the
clerk made an ample apology for his abruptness, which I readily accepted
as an "amende honorable."
We went to Santa Barbara by steamer and greatly enjoyed the sail. Finding
no pier upon our arrival, we had to descend an almost perpendicular ladder
to a small boat. In this apparently perilous process, the boatmen were
actively assisted by Captain Johnson, whose mellow toned voice softened
and cheered the transit. In the descent, a woman dropped her baby into
the water, and, although it was quickly rescued by the seamen, her
continued screams even after its safe delivery quite intimidated me, but
with the usual sure-footedness of the blind, I went down with so much ease
that I was greatly complimented by the astonished captain. Our skiff-ride
to shore was a pleasant episode, and the romance was much heightened by
the floating sea plants around us, which could be easily touched with our
hands. There were no good hotels in Santa Barbara, but we were comfortably
accommodated in a private family. The climate is finer there than in any
locality in the State, the thermometer most of the time standing at
seventy degrees, hence it is so greatly sought by consumptives.
It was to me a delightful pastime to spend an occasional hour with the
fishermen on the coast, who are so happy to impart any information
regarding their own calling, and from whom I learned many a valuable
lesson.
From Santa Barbara we went down the coast to a little railroad landing and
took the train bound inland; after leaving the beach the road passes
through dense, fragrant orange-groves and rich, fruitful vineyards. A ride
of twenty-five miles brought us to Los Angeles, a town with the same
beautiful surroundings. It was, at that time, a quaint, old, dilapidated
Spanish place, with an air of shabby gentility, but the subsequent tide of
immigration and trade has doubtless transformed it. We returned to the
coast and took the steamer to San Diego, which, with its arid, sandy
waste, has little to recommend it to the visitor, save its truly, palatial
hotel, which must have been built in anticipation of the many projected
railways diverging from this point.
While there, our hearts were rejoiced by a meeting with Dr. Baird and his
wife, a pleasure known only to those who, exiled from home, see a "dear
familiar face."