AU REVOIR.
Just as a woman is leaving her friends she ever has the most to chatter about. How can I say au revoir briefly when there is so much more to tell? I so earnestly want to give California en verdad, or in truth. There has been too much bragging from the settlers, as in 1887 the Los Angeles Herald said that "New York would soon be excelled by that city." There is a general desire to surpass all the rest of the world in as many ways as possible, and a general belief that it can easily be done. And visitors have omitted all that was unpleasant, and exaggerated the good points, so that one Californian speaks "of the dancing dervishes of travel, singing insanely from the moment they come to us."
There is so much that is novel in this wonderland that it is hard to keep cool and look at all sides. In 1870 all vegetables and grain were imported. Mr. Webster declared long ago in Congress that California was absolutely worthless except for mining and grazing. The rancheros thought the land only fit for sheep to roam over. Now great train-loads of vegetables and grain leave daily for the East; all the earliest fruit of New York, Boston, and Chicago comes from this State, and ships are carrying all these products to all parts of the world. From north to south the State measures over 800 miles—as far as from New York to Florida—with an area of 189,000 square miles—as much as New England and the Middle States combined, throwing in Maryland. The northern and southern portions are as unlike as Massachusetts and Florida, and the State must soon be divided. How little is known of Northern California! Next year I hope to describe that, with its lofty mountains, wonderful scenery, lakes of rare beauty, immense interests in grain, fruits, and mining. This little bit along the coast is but a minute portion of the whole. I have only followed in the footsteps of the Fathers, and would like to take you to Monterey, where Junipero Serra founded his last mission. Mrs. Stanford has placed a statue of the dear old saint on the shore to honor his life-work. Realizing the size of the State and its capabilities, big stories seem inevitable. As Talleyrand said of Spain, "It is a country in which two and two make five."
Some statements need to be modified. It is declared over and over that here there are no thunderstorms. In the Examiner of May 19th I read: "Santa Rosa was visited by a very severe electrical storm about eleven o'clock last night. The sky was brilliantly illuminated by lightning, and peal after peal of heavy thunder was heard. This was followed by a rain which continued until near morning." A church steeple was struck by lightning and destroyed. This is unusual, but for "never" read "hardly ever." No mad dogs, yet a little terrier I bought in San Francisco to give to a friend had to be shot its first summer on account of rabies. Let us balance matters:
| No malaria, | but | rheumatism. |
| No cyclones, | " | wind and sand storms. |
| No thunderstorms, | " | earthquakes. |
| No mad dogs, | " | rattlesnakes and centipedes, tarantulas and scorpions. |
| No sunstrokes, | " | chilling fogs. |
All goes when the sun goes. The climate is "outdoors." A sunny room is essential. The difference between noonday and midnight, temperature between sun and shade, is something to be learned and guarded against.
Each place is recommended by doctors who have regained their own health as the place for invalids. What Dr. Edwards says of San Diego is repeated everywhere else by experts:
"San Diego presents the most even climate, the largest proportion of fair, clear days, a sandy and absorbent soil, and the minimum amount of atmospheric moisture—all the factors requisite in a perfect climate."
In each "peripheral resistances are reduced to a minimum." Dr. Radebaugh, of Pasadena, who, I believe, has not the normal amount of lung but has been restored to health by the air of Pasadena, where he has a large practice, assures me that, in his candid opinion, "Pasadena is the greatest all-the-year-round health-resort in the world." Dr. Isham, of same place, goes into details, and is almost the only physician I have consulted who acknowledges drawbacks in the Pasadena climate for those who desire a cure for throat or lungs. "This climate, like all else here, is paradoxical and contradictory," and he mentions that the winds blowing from the Pacific are not usually the rain-bearers, but those blowing from a point directly opposite, and that the arid desert. Among objectionable features he mentions the "marked changes of temperature daily, frequent fogs, excess of humidity in winter owing to protracted rains (thirty inches in five months, from November, 1892, to March of this year); hot, dry winds that prevail in summer, with wind and sand storms, which have a debilitating effect on nervous systems, and are irritating to the mucous membrane."
How refreshing to find one person who does not consider his own refuge from disease an ideal health-resort! He also owns that doctors do not know yet how to treat such troubles as bronchitis, as is proven by their experimenting upon patients in Minnesota, Colorado, Arizona, Florida, and Pasadena. And he closes his letter in this way:
"When local jealousies have subsided, and contending climates have had their day, the thing of cardinal importance for an invalid such as you have mentioned to do when about to change his or her home will be, not to attach too much importance to this or that particular climatic condition as determined by the barometer, thermometer, hygrometer, anemometer, and other meteorological instruments, nor to lay too much stress on a difference of a few hundred or thousand feet of elevation above the sea; but choose a home where the environments will afford the invalid or valetudinarian the greatest opportunity of living out-of-doors, and of spending the hours of sunshine in riding, driving, walking, and in other ways, whereby the entrance of pure air into the lungs is facilitated. In Pasadena the days in winter are warm enough to make outdoor life attractive and healthful, while the number of sunny days throughout the year is above the average of that prevailing in many other deservedly popular health-resorts."
I will also quote a letter received from Dr. W. B. Berry, formerly of Montclair, N. J., who, coming to Southern California an almost hopeless invalid, is now fairly well, and will probably entirely regain his health. He also is careful and conservative in statement, and therefore commands serious attention:
"Riverside, Cal., May 2, 1893.
"Dear Miss Sanborn: To recommend any place to an invalid is to an experienced climate-hunter no doubt, at times, a duty,—certainly it is a duty from which he shrinks.
"One does not see so many advanced cases of pulmonary disease here as at either Asheville or Colorado Springs. The thousands of miles of alkali, sage-brush, and desolation might explain that, but it does seem to me that a much larger proportion of consumptives are 'doing well' in this country than in those.
"Pure dry air, pure water, and clean dry soil are the climatic elements essential for the pulmonary invalid, and for most others. These conditions can be found at Riverside and its vicinity during a large proportion of the year.
"Here, too, are cool walks, with sunshine or shade, as may be desired, and things on every side to interest. For, unfortunately, the man with a sore chest has a brain and a spinal cord to be stimulated and fed, not to speak of those little heartstrings undiscovered by the anatomist, and which yet tug and pull mightily in a far country.
"In short, it would seem that any consumptive in an early stage of his disease who does not thrive at a moderate altitude would do well to come here and to stay—that is, if he will remember that all the climate is out-of-doors."
My own troublesome throat is almost as good as new, and I am proud to name my physician, Outdoors, M.D. Come and consult the same unfailing restorer.
I have given, according to my humble ability, la verdad cierta—the absolute truth—about the small fraction of the State known as Southern California.
I came with gargle and note-book, but long ago gave up the former; and as for these jottings, I offer them to those who want to see this much-talked-of Earthly Paradise as in a verbal mirror. And to all a cordial au revoir!
"Adieu to thee again!
A vain adieu!
There can be no farewell to scene like thine:
The mind is colored by thy every hue."
KATE SANBORN'S BOOKS.
Adopting an Abandoned Farm.
16mo. Boards, 50 cents.
"'Adopting an Abandoned Farm' has as much laugh to the square inch as any book we have read this many a day."—Boston Herald.
"If any one wants an hour's entertainment for a warm sunny day on the piazza, or cold wet day by a log fire, this is the book that will furnish it."—New York Observer.