Framed in hills that are garlanded with
vineyards, these inns are often mere rose-hidden bowers. They make
California seem as gay as France. I can best put it by saying that I
know of no place so "haunted" in every poetic and plaintive sense as
California; yet I know of no place so perfectly suited to carnival and
festival.
All of this is part of the reason why you can't surprise a Californian.
This looks like respite, but there's no real relief in sight Easterners.
Keep right on reading, Californiacs!
Yes, California is beautiful.
Once upon a time, a Native Son lay dying. He did not know that he was
going to die. His physician had to break the news to him. He told the
Californian that the process would not be long or painful. He would go
to sleep presently and when he woke up, the great journey would have
been accomplished. His words fulfilled themselves. Soon the Native Son
fell into a coma. When he opened his eyes he was in Paradise. He raised
himself up, gave one look about and exclaimed, "What a boob that doctor
was! Whad'da he mean - Paradise! Here I am still in California."
Man has of course, here as elsewhere, chained nature; set her to toil
for him. She is a willing worker everywhere, but in California she puts
no stay nor stint on her productive efforts.
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