FROM MAY TO THANKSGIVING IN LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA.

Otago Witness, Issue 1856, 17 June 1887, Page 14

FROM MAY TO THANKSGIVING IN LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA.

■»' ■ - No. 111. THE SEASIDE. Santa Monica -A Calico Encampment on the Seaside-Dirt and Filth v. Nature's Purity —Luxurious Camp Life at the Seaside— Money-making! Speculations— Trade Under Canvas— Daily Papers in Oanvastown— How Sunday is Spent— Bathing and Amusements. There are numerous places of summer resort in the county of Los Angeles, but chief amongst them in popularity is the seaside town of Santa Monica. Canvastovm-sur-la-Mer would be a truly well-fitting title for this little city in cotton that, beginning its annual existence early in the merry month of May, flutters blithely along all through the summer, until the chill grey nights and mornings of September cause a sudden day-by-day furling and flitting that, ere autumn has well settled on the land, leaves the never silent sea with nothing to talk to but the sands and. bluffs that belong to it. In the beginning of the season nothing could be brighter or more cheerful than this calico encampment, when its every aspect is of clean brand-newness. The tents stand straight on their planked foundations, and glisten whitely in the sun ; the sea flashes and sparkles in silvergilt ripples; the sands, washed and. purified by the past high tides of winter, glitter with a radiance that dazzles the vision. To see the place then and to come upon it again suddenly at the other end of summer, just before the striking of tents and clearance of people, is to experience a shock in the realisation that a human crowd in small compass and with limited conveniences oan create as much uncleanness and unpleasantness as a menagerie of wild animals. The accumulation of refuse poisons the very air, or would, if 'the sweet salt breath of ocean were not powerful enough to annihilate all other odours, A Faded, Careless Aspect of Dirty Untidiness prevails. The tents have turned from white to dingy grey ; their once taut walls are slack and bulgy, with here and there rents and tears and careless, glaring patches. Some of them pitch tipsily forward, or slope heavily backward, or lurch sideways in dissipated attitudes that tell, all too plainly, of ruinous night sprees with vagabond breezes, who have been too much for them. The sands are thick with the wilted rinds of watermelons, with peanut shells, and the husks and parings of all manner of consumed edibles. Under the cliffs lie withering and fermenting heaps of animal and vegetable refuse. Nothing looks cleans but the sea, and even the sea is grown muddy and thick at the edges, and shows you a sullen, resentful countenance, like the face of a kidnapped child — well born and naturally cleanly — after a period of enforced personal neglect and dirt passed among its naturally foul-lived captors. One could almost weep over the change between this phase and that of the early summer whea Skies were fairer and shores were firmer, The blue sea over the bright sand rolled, Babble and prattle, ripple and murmur, Sheen of silver, and glamour of gold ; When the sunset bathed in the gulf to lend her A garland of pinks and of garlands tender, A tinge of the sun-god's roseate splendour, A tithe of his glories manifold. Into one's mind come Ruskin's very words (somewhere in " Sesame and Giles " you will find them) as one looks and wonders at the rapid increase of human disagreeableness in and about their temporary dwellings: — "With deliberate mind I say that I have never seen anything so ghastly in its inner tragic meaning as the slow stealing of aspects of reckless indolent animal neglect over the 'grand purity of the sea and sands [may I crave forgiveness for bringing the great author's sentences to fit in with my own for the sake of my subject ?] nor is any blasphemy or impiety— any frantic saying or Godless thought— more appalling than the insolent defiling of these springs ' of health and en joymeat. In the very rush and murmur of the spreading currents are cast heaps of dust and slime, broken scraps of old metal, and rags of cast-off clothe?, the people having neither energy to cart them away nor the decency to dig them into the ground. . . . Half a dozen men with one day's work might cleanse this place and make every breath of summer air rich with cool balm, every glittering wave medicinal, as if it ran, troubled of angels, straight from the ppol of Bethesda. But this day's work is never given, nor will be." All this might have been written solely for Santa Monica's Oanvastown. The trouble is that it is - No Man's Business. Why should Smith dig his refuse decently into the ground when Brown and Jones leave theirs spread all over the surface? And Jones and Brown make the same query as to each other and Smith ; and to none of them does it ever occur probably that this same principle of doing as your neighbours do would work equally well in inverse ratio ; that if Smith buried his stubble, the spirit of emulation that is almost as strong and unreasoning in men as in sheep, would lead Brown and Jones to shoulder their shovels in one impulse, and every man's heap of unpleasantness would soon be deep under a friendly cover of sand. As it is, naught but the strength of ocean's purity preserves this city by the sea from annual epidemic. The heightened tides of winter providentially wash the whole expanse of beach, sweeping away the fever-breeding, decaying remnants of human uncleanness until the sandy shore is sweetened again for another summer's use and abuse. Front Tlirec to Five Hundred Tents are pitched yearly at the foot of the steep bluff that, scraped and worn by the tides of bygone ages, stands like a castellated fort or barbican between the camping people on the beach and the permanent populace whose homes are embowered in the gardens of Santa Monica, the town that stretches in fine streets and avenues over two or three miles along the top of the cliff. Standing on the bluff at night, looking down on the sloping white roofs all glimmering and shimmering fitfully with the light of lamp or candle, one might almost imagine the tented field of an army, an encampment of foreign invaders, holding the dark town above in siege and planning its final sack and pillage. All that lacks in the illusion is the fleet of invaders' vessels. Neither ship nor seabird saw we ever at Santa Monica ; nor canvas wings nor wings of feathers ; and the want of them makes the sea look lonely.

Given a family of from two to six and upwards in every tent of from 300 to 500, and you have a pretty sum total of campers. These families bring with them their household comforts and conveniences, their rocking chairs and

couches, their sewing machines and musical instruments, their kittens and puppies, their mocking birds and canaries, and all the odds and ends of daily use and ornament. Many pitch their own tents; they to whom this procedure is inconvenient or impossible can hire a temporary home at prices ranging between lOdol a month and 50dol from enterprising individuals who make a lucrative business of this cotton speculation. There is no stint of variety; tents large and tents small, tents luxurious and , tents ascetic, are at your service ; in the language of the showman, " You pays your money and you takes your choice." The child of fortune with abundant ducats may possess himself in luxury almost as perfect as at his hotel. It is only a matter of money in these days, when nothing is ■ reallyunattainable, save health and truth sometimes, or haply some loved presence, that your heart is sick with longing for. With the earliest settlers come The Tradespeople, who make a summer living out of other people's needs — bakers, grocers, fruit, candy, peanut and popcorn vendors. Restaurants, "ice-cream parlours," and manufacturers of soda-water, cider, lemonade, fruit drinks, and all the other chilling beverages with which young America, especially when feminine, delights its palate and astonishes its stomach — all these places abound in Canvastown. Nor is the too familiar "Vc " lacking in the usual proportion, fluttering forth its calico signal with a friendly and ensnaring invitation to come in and partake of your favourite " Milwaukee," " Philadelphia," or any other you may choose of the countless competing brain-soaking beer brews, for the paltry exchange of "only a nickel." There are barber shops and cigar stores, even the drug trade is represented in a booth for the sale of patent medicines, hair restorers, and the various cosmetics with which women are tempted to abase their complexions. Under a tall um-brella-like awning on the sands you may gamble away your small silver at the seductive cane and ring trick, or you may wander from this up a narrow street and into a canvas " art gallery," where for Idol and an hour of torturing posturising you will receive four tin-type objects that you are requested to consider faithful porbraitß of yourself. Next door to the gallery is a newspaper office where, unless warned off by the padlock on the door, and the usual "Back in five minutes " notice, you may drop in for the latest news and a chat with the editor of the Surf Gazette, one of the two daily sheets. — the Santa Monica Wave is the mellifluous title of the other — which find their business in the publication of personal notes and advertisements, and their pleasure in a merciless lampooning of each other in the choicest vernacular. Canvassers, hawkers, and peddlers make daily rounds of Canvastown, from the suave and eloquent book-on-sewing-machine agent down to the indispensable little brown Celestial, to whom we look with a touching and child-like trust for our mercies of clean linen and good vegetables. And so all things, from the veriest necessaries to the most superfluous luxuries, being easily available to everybody having the wherewithal to buy, life at the seaside goes on merrily throughout the summer months, seven days in every week and The Day of Days being Sunday. On that day everybody's friends come avisiting to everybody, and the regular gaiety is increased sevenfold. Ten-thirty a.m. marks the arrival of the first train from Los Angeles and intermediate points, and that hour sees a hearty crowd of the camping population waiting to welcome expected visitors. There is a great hubbub of hilarious greeting as the dashing engine switches its long tail of cars up to the thronged platform ; the passengers swarm down the steps, and mingle in a general confusion of kissing and embracing, and then there is a unanimous move seaward. There are many visitors besides those who have come to see friends among the tent dwellers, crowds of tired toilers who want a day's outing in the tonic atmosphere of the sea. Family groups— pater forging ahead with a two-year-old cherub aloft on his shoulder holding on with grim tenacity to a lock of grizzled hair, the small fry close following "by ones, by twos, by threes," each carrying his quota of the day's picnic provisions. Mater — plump and glowing-— brings up the rear with cheerful effort, yet wishing in her heart that God had made the world more level and " less peaked-like." Joyous little cries break from the young ones as they reach the long, steep stairway, straddling so insecurely, like a crazy letter "V," from one crumbling chasm to another on the face of the cliff ; gasping little squeaks escape the maternal lips as the whole brood goes scampering down and lands at the bottom without even a broken neck. Away they go through the heavy sands, scudding gleefully on with their cargo of "goodies"; not half so cheerfully do they wend their way back at the other end of the day — the picnic over, the cargo, now on deck, so to speak, stowed safely away in their capacious little holds. Men and maidens, in groups and couples, swarm swiftly down to the beach. Old men and women, pairs and solitaires, follow leisurely after. Clerks and salespeople, pallid and shortwinded, open their mouths for the better inhaling of the strong, sweet breeze that already clears their brains of cobwebs and their senses of the odour of shop. White, wan invalids lag wearily along, and wonder, poor souls, if the sea, after all, is worth the trouble of getting to it. Down in Canvastown everybody is Getting? Iteady'to Bathe. Very soon the water is studded with bobbing heads and shoulders, and the air rings with , feminine screams in various keys of shrillness. Now and then comes a gurgling cry as a feminine head goes under the waves and two feminine feet come up in its place, kicking frantically uutil some strong and friendly hand comes to the rescue and reverses the position, the breakers have a special and murderous knack of catching the uninitiated thus, inverting one with the quick and easy grace of a Mrs M'Stringer with her offspring. It is easy to recognise the novice in surf bathing. She betrays herself at once. Peeping cautiously from behind the door of her dressing closet, she reaches one stockinged leg, into the open air to see how it feels without a petticoat. She does this nervously for some five minutes, then pettishly " Pshaws " her own " ridiculousness," and runs suddenly out on the platform. Ten paces from her door, behold — a man! A wild scream, a quick bending of her knees, and a general twist that reminds you at once of Constance de Beverly at the tragic moment of uncloaking, and of Rosalind when she wonders what see shall do " with her doublet and hose " ; I then with a frantic, futile effort to pull down the skirt of her tunic all round at once, the novice rushes back to her dressing room and drops panting and palpitating on her knees behind the door. When she presently recovers sufficiently to peer forth again it is only to realise that she " can never, never do it," and had better get into her normal raiment again before she catches her death of cold. " She is

disappointed enough to cry ; she would so like to try it — just once ; her longing roving glance lights suddenly on the face of a friend. Only the face ; even in her excitement she can wonder at the awful and complete metamorphosis of form, the tremendous length and breadth of limbs that fill out those bright magenta encasements. But it is a friend, and more welcome in this moment of need than flowers in May. "Mrs Jones ! O, dear Mrs Jones." " Why, how do you do ? Just going in ? What, never been in before? For patience's sake John, here, nevermind me; take Miss Smith in, do." John is Mr Jones, and generally amiable and docile. The trio make for the waves in company ; Madame marching in large majesty through the interested crowd, to whose remarks she is profoundly indifferent, John chatting encouragingly to the novice ; the latter with flushed face and downcast eyes, progressing between the two at a pace that is a, funny mixture, of the crab's oblique travel and the pigeon-toed gait of a cockatoo. Nobody notices her ; Madame's .magnificent proportions would hide three such stripling figures, but to her conscious senses the beach is composed of one big staring pair ' of vulgar, inquisitive eyes, of which she forms the focus. All is well, however, when the waters rise about her, concealing her like a friendly mantle, she dips and floats under John's kindly tuition, adds her pretty squeak to the chorus around her, and enjoys herself most thoroughly, She has another trying ordeal in regaining the dressing room, but -finds the whole affair much easier next day. The fine edge of her modesty is quickly worn off; a few more baths, and her native bashfulness, that sweet essence of pure womanhood, is brushed off like the bloom from fruit, and is gone for ever ; her novitiate is over. One of Our Daily Amusements was watching from our porch the matutinal dip of a family that' camped in a tent close neighbouring our own. It was a large family ; father, mother, and a comely brood of seven, ranging up or down in regular gradation, and a fair balancing of gender that was very pleasing to one's sense of the general fitness of things. A brotherly dog, who lived constantly with the children, and a round-barrelled business-eyed horse, with an air of self- consciousness and importance, quite imposing to behold, completed the interesting circle. There is nothing more wonderful than the way in which dumb animals will beget a resemblance to human beings with whom they come in close association and sympathy. I have observed frequent instances of this peculiarity, but none more striking than this of Bobby and his owner. Not only had the steed acquired the same comfortable soundness of girth and business-like expressions of countenance, but the two actually walked alike, Bobby's hind legs and his master'sunderstandings having a similar bend and action. Every morning this entire family bathed in the surf, the operation being conducted on the strictest business principles. Every child was conscientiously and thoroughly ducked, and then sent off to be rough rubbed indoors. Rover, the dog, submitted under protest ; he was not of the breed of water dogs. He went in at one end of a cord, and after a dip or two invariably jerked himself free and rushed off to dry his coat in the sand, making a point of assuring each of his playmates that he really enjoyed bathing, but did not want too much of a good thing at one time. Bobby came last. He evidently considered the affair in the light of a duty — disagreeable as duties generally are, but none the less imperative, and in no wise to be shirked. Now, experienced surf-bathers have a clever little trick of springing upwards through each breaker as it comes rolling upon them, the leap taking them buoyantly over to the other side, so that they escape that miserable moment of engulphment and drowning suffocation that'is the sure experience of the uninitiated. Bobby's master was an adept in this manoeuvre. »Deeper and deeper go horse and man through the surf, each, turning a shoulder sagaciously to the rollers that thwack a poor body bo unmercifully when they catch him broadside, now both, are immersed up to the neck, and the crested waves come on. Surely they must wash right over. Not a bit of it. Example has not been wasted on Bobby. Up he rears on his hinder legs, and as his master rises easily ou the crest of the breaker, so rises Bobby. Nose in the air, and forefeet held high, he rises and dips— rises and dips — with the practised' ease of 1 an old stager, and comes out finally with the crown of his sagacious old head scarce dampened. That this was an act of reason, and not of mere instinct, was evident to us when we had opportunity of comparison. ; Horses bathing occasionally had no Buch clever knack ; Bobby had learned it from his master. One could have watched him delightedly for hours, but when he considered he had had enough for one day— and often very little was enough, apparently — he came out, whether his owner was agreeable or not. When they went in Bobby goodnaturedly suffered himself to be led with a rope. It was the veriest pretence of human authority, but it looked proper and respectable of course. But when Bobby concluded to come out, >he did the leadiug ; any attempt at argument or coercion was summarily cut short— the horse was master of the situation. He always led the way to his calico stable, anil loudly neighed his disapproval if there was any unnecessary delay in the rough rubbing and combing that completed his daily toilet. • Thorpe Talbot.