LOS ANGELES AND ROUND ABOUT.
"O southland! O dreamland! with cycles of green;
O moonlight enchanted by mocking-bird's song;
Cool sea winds, fair mountains, the fruit-lands between,
The pepper tree's shade, and the sunny days long."
Los Angeles is the chief city of Southern California, and truly
venerable in comparison with most places in the State--founded in 1781,
now one hundred and twelve years old. Its full name, "Nuestra Senora la
Reina de los Angeles," "musical as a chime of bells," would hardly do in
these days, and "The City of the Angels," as it is sometimes called,
scarcely suits the present big business-y place, which was started by
those shrewd old padres when everything west of the Alleghanies was an
almost unknown region, and Chicago and St. Louis were not thought of.
These Fathers were far-sighted fellows, with a keen eye for the
beautiful, sure to secure good soil, plenty of water, and fine scenery
for a settlement. Next came the Hispano-American era of adobe,
stage-coaches, and mule teams, now replaced by the purely American
possessions, with brick, stone, vestibule trains, and all the wonders of
electricity. It is now a commercial centre, a railroad terminal, with
one hundred miles of street-car track within the city limits, carrying
twelve million passengers yearly. It has outgrown the original grant of
six miles square, and has a city limit, and the first street traversed
this square diagonally. It lies on the west bank of the Los Angeles
River, one of those peculiar streams which hides itself half the year
only to burst forth in the spring in a most assertive manner. There are
fine public buildings, fifty-seven churches, to suit all shades of
religious belief, two handsome theatres, several parks, and long streets
showing homes and grounds comparing favorably with the best environs of
Eastern cities. It is well to drive through Adams and Figueroa streets
before you leave. There are no attractive hotels at present; but one is
so greatly needed and desired that it will soon be designed and
realized.
Madame de Stael was right when she said she greatly preferred meeting
interesting men and women to admiring places or scenery. Among my
pleasantest memories of Los Angeles are my visits to Madame Fremont in
her pretty red cottage, presented by loving friends. It is a privilege
to meet such a clever, versatile woman. Her conversation flashes with
epigrams and pithy sayings, and her heart is almost as young as when it
was captured by the dashing "Pathfinder."
I believe there are men still existing who keep up the old absurd
fallacy that women are deficient in wit and humor! She would easily
convert all such.
The Coronels, to whom Mrs. Jackson was so indebted and of whom she wrote
so appreciatively, are still in the same home, cherishing her memory
most fondly, her photograph being placed in a shrine where the
sweet-faced madame kneels daily, and her books and knick-knacks are
preserved as precious souvenirs.
Don Antonio Coronel is truly a most interesting personage, the last
specimen of the grand old Spanish regime. His father was the first
schoolmaster in California, and the son has in his possession the first
schoolbook printed on this coast, at Monterey in 1835, a small
catechism; also the first book printed in California, a tiny volume
dated 1833, the father having brought the type from Spain.
I was taken to the basement to see a rare collection of antiquities. In
one corner is a cannon made in 1710, and brought by Junipero Serra.
Ranged on shelves is a collection such as can be found nowhere else, of
great value: strange stone idols, a few specimens of the famous
iridescent pottery, queer ornaments, toys, and relics. In another corner
see the firearms and weapons of long ago: old flintlocks, muskets,
Spanish bayonets, crossbows, and spears. There are coins, laces,
baskets, toys, skulls, scalps, and a sombrero with two long red
pennons, on which each feather represents a human scalp. Upstairs there
are early specimens of Mexican art; one of the oldest pictures of
Junipero Serra; groups in clay modelled by the Dona Mariana of Mexican
scenes; feather pictures made from the plumage of gorgeous birds--too
much to remember or describe here. But I do believe that if asked to say
what they valued most, they would point to the little wooden table where
their dear friend sat when she wrote the first pages of "Ramona."
For the stranger Los Angeles is the place to go to to see a new play, or
marvel at the display of fruits seen at a citrus fair--forts made of
thousands of oranges, and railroad stations and crowns of lemons,
etc.--and admire a carnival of flowers, or for a day's shopping; but
there are better spots in which to remain. I found the night air
extremely unpleasant last winter, and after hearing from a veracious
druggist, to whom I applied for a gargle, that there was an epidemic of
grip in the city, and that many died of pneumonia and that a small
majority of the invalids got well, I packed my trunk hastily and started
for Pasadena.
Those who live in the city and those who do not dislike raw, bracing
winds from the ocean pronounce Los Angeles to be the _only_ place worth
living in in all Southern California. Each place has its supporters
ignoring all other attractions, and absolutely opposite accounts of the
weather have been seriously given me by visitors to each. For those who
must be "high and dry" to improve, the rainy season is certainly unsafe.
Los Angeles is also a place to go from to the beach at Santa Monica, and
Redondo, or that wondrous island, "Santa Catalina," which has been
described by Mr. C. F. Holder in the _Californian_ so enthusiastically
that I should think the "Isle of Summer" could not receive all who would
unite to share his raptures--with a climate nearer to absolute
perfection than any land, so near all the conveniences of civilization,
and everything else that can be desired. His first jew-fish or black
sea-bass weighed 3421/2 pounds, and a dozen other varieties are gamy and
plentiful; fine sport with the rifle in the upland region, wealth of
verdure along the trail; below, good hotel, beaches, bathing, evening
concerts--"the true land of sweet idleness, where one can drift around
with all nature to entertain." To be strictly truthful, I must add that
the hotel was built just over an old Indian burying-ground, therefore
cases of typhoid fever are not unknown.