The
The Joseph Downs Collection of Manuscripts and
Printed Ephemera
Henry Francis du Pont
5105 Kennett Pike, Winterthur,
Delaware 19735
Telephone: 302-888-4600 or 800-448-3883
OVERVIEW OF
THE COLLECTION
Creator: Farwell, Asa J.
Title: Letters
Dates: 1903-1904
Call No.: Doc. 1087
Acc. No.: 77x111
Quantity: 4 items (ca. 106 pages)
Location: 31 G 4
BIOGRAPHICAL
STATEMENT
Asa J. Farwell lived in Brooklyn, New York, in
1903-1904, and was a clerk in a bank. That
much is certain.
A search of a genealogy web site found Asa J.
Farwell, born July 27, 1857, in Connecticut, the son of John I. and Emma
Farwell. The father died in 1862 and the
mother remarried a Mr. Wraight. She also
had daughters named Emma and Catherine Farwell.
This Asa died Sept. 1, 1916, and he is buried in Connecticut. He was listed in the 1905 New York state
census and the 1910 federal census as being in New York. The 1900 census listed him in Lynn,
Massachusetts, living with his mother and his two sisters (evidently both
widows).
SCOPE AND
CONTENT
This collection of four long letters written by Asa
J. Farwell in 1903 and 1904 serves as a travel diary that recounts his journey
between Boston and Los Angeles and back to New York. He addressed the first letter to James and
the others were to Miss Grimes. All are
on illustrated stationery that features pictures of famous sites in California
and Colorado. Farwell's route of travel
included stops in New York, Chicago, Denver, Colorado Springs, Pueblo, Salt
Lake City, Sacramento, San Francisco, Santa Cruz, Long Beach, Pasadena, Catalina
Island, and Los Angeles. Highlights of
his trip were a visit to the Bronx Zoo, an excursion to Salt Air Beach near
Salt Lake City, a festival in San Francisco's Chinatown, a visit to an orange
grove and an ostrich farm in Pasadena, a visit to Catalina Island off the coast
near Long Beach, and a visit to the Mormon Tabernacle in Salt Lake City. He captured many of the sights in photographs
with what he called his "pocket Kodak," which was, at one point,
plucked from his hand by an ostrich as he photographed it. On his journey west, his train derailed
between Pueblo and Salt Lake City, due to a damaged trestle over a river. Uninjured, he commented on the rescue
efforts.
The last letter was not intended to be a description
of his journey, although in it, he makes references to photographs he took on
his trip. The letter begins with a
discussion of opera singers and the best place in Mechanics Hall in Boston to
hear opera. Farwell also mentions the
noise in his boarding house, the wonderful views from the Brooklyn Bridge, an
exhibit of landscapes by George Inness, a visit to the American Museum of
Natural History, and writes a bit about Christmas.
ORGANIZATION
The letters are in chronological order.
LANGUAGE OF
MATERIALS
The materials are in English.
RESTRICTIONS
ON ACCESS
Collection is open to the public. Copyright restrictions may apply.
PROVENANCE
Purchased from Douglas N. Harding.
ACCESS POINTS
Topics:
American Museum of Natural
History.
Mechanics Hall (Boston,
Mass.)
New York Zoological Park.
Christmas.
Opera.
Railroad
accidents.
Railroad travel
- United States - 19th century.
Singers.
Voyages and
travels.
California -
Description and travel.
Colorado -
Description and travel.
New York (N.Y.)
- Description and travel.
Utah - Description and travel.
Letters.
Travelers.
TRANSCRIPTION
OF LETTERS:
Letter 1: Sept. 20, 1903, written from Long Beach,
California.
This letter is written on 15 sheets of stationery,
captioned “From California, the Golden State, Land of Sunshine, Fruit and
Flowers,” each with 3 photographic images, all copyrighted 1901 by Edw. H.
Mitchell, S.F.
Sheets 1 and 8: images of Avalon, Home of Ramona [San
Diego], Mt. Lowe Incline;
Sheets 2 and 9: San Gabriel Mission, Home of
Modjeska, San Gabriel steps;
Sheets 3 and 10: Beach [at] Santa Monica, Westlake
Park, Garden [at] Santa Barbara [mission];
Sheets 4 and 11: San Diego Mission, Public Library
[of] Redlands, Santa Barbara Mission;
Sheets 5 and 12: Hotel Coronado, Redlands, Ostrich
[with man riding it];
Sheets 6 and 14: San Luis Rey [mission], San Juan
Mission, mission bells;
Sheets 7 and 15: Marengo Ave., lake at Baldwin’s
Ranch, Magnolia Ave.;
Sheet 13: Hotel Green, oil wells, orange grove [with
harvesters]
[Sheet 1:]
Long Beach, Calif.
Sept. 20, 1903
Friend James:
I wrote you that I would send you an account of my
trip from Los Angeles, and I would have written it before had there been a
rainy day or a park[?] [illegible] large enough to write a letter in, but as I
stopped at a hotel on one of the principal streets where trams and electrics
were constantly passing, I could not get in the mood for writing such an
account of the trip as I wanted to.
Here the conditions are decidedly better, as I am
sitting on a third story balcony which extends the length of the front of the
hotel, from which, as I write, I can get a view of the surf of the Pacific
breaking in long lines on the beach.
Just now I can see four long lines of the white foaming water stretching
along the beach in front of the hotel, while the long pier on which many people
are promenading is in view a quarter of a mile or so distant.
I hardly know what to write you for I must limit
myself to what I think may interest you for fear of overtaxing your patience,
whereas I could really write a book of the sights and experiences of this trip
which has been full of interest to me ever since I left Boston. Mind I do not say that the book would interest
anyone else, but I have material enough to write one.
I stopped over a couple of days in New York, and
there I had an opportunity to see in addition to the grand collection of
paintings belonging to the Metropolitan Museum of Art the greater part of George
W. Vanderbilt’s fine collection, 160 paintings, everyone [sic] of which was by
a famous artist; and among which I saw the originals of several engravings with
which I was familiar. There was not one
among them that was not a masterpiece, and they included fully twenty by
Meissonier, one of which the artist had told Mr. Wm. K. Vanderbilt was his very
best. I visited the Museum both days,
and so I took away a pretty good idea of it.
I also visited Bronx Park, which had been acquired
and laid out by the city since I lived there; and I am sure that it will some
day become the most celebrated in the country for its zoological collection, as
that part has
[sheet 2]
been planned with a long look ahead, and provision
has been made for a wonderful growth, which will be wholly along scientific
lines as the New York Zoological Society has complete care of it and charge of
the plans and arrangements.
They have built a lion house at an expense of
$125,000 – which is a wonderful building, having perfect ventilation and
sanitary equipment, and in which the accommodations for the animals are grand,
each set having a suite of three large rooms, one opening inside the building
provided with a high rocky platform on which the animals can rest and take
their after dinner siesta; one large open air room opening outside the
building, with a like platform; while between and connecting these two rooms is
a large cave-like room where the animals can retire and rest in seclusion.
I happened to be in this house when the animals were
fed, and it was most interesting to watch the display of their different
characteristics.
One cage contained a large lioness and four baby
lions, and it was great fun to watch them after they had eaten their dinner:
the old one played with the cubs just as a cat would with its kittens, and it was
just as gentle, using its huge paws to chide them with just as slight a touch
as a cat would. I saw it punish one of
the cubs for insisting on keeping to itself an extra piece of bone and meat
that was left after the rest had been eaten, and it was more entertaining than
a play by trained animals would have been, for this was natural and quite human
like.
There were some grand specimens of lions, tigers,
&c, in this house, and they all were in perfect condition and looked happy
and contented.
The Zoological Society makes a study of the nature
and characteristics of the different animals, and their natural habitats, and
tries to provide for them houses and conditions a near the natural as possible.
They have an aviary, a large fine building,
containing a great variety of birds, but more interesting than this building is
what they call the flying cage, which is a framework as large as a big building
covered with strong wire netting in which are shrubs and trees, many large ones
[sheet 3]
about which fly countless birds, large and small,
ranging in size from a condor measuring at least six feet between tips of wings
to a canary. While I was there near the
wire side the great condor made a swoop, and I involuntarily jumped back,
although he of course could not break through.
There were also in this cage white and grey cranes, beautiful pink
flamingoes, and ungainly pelicans: all interesting in not being native to New
England.
The beavers had a large pond in which there were
many trees growing, some of which they were allowed to cut down, which they
could do very neatly. The trees reserved
were protected by strong wire netting. I
was there towards evening, but I did not see a beaver: they will not come out
of their houses until evening if anyone is around; and they work at night.
There was also a fine collection of bears, which had
natural looking caves provided for their accommodation.
There was also a great variety of other kinds of
animals, and it was interesting and pleasant to see the care and study shown in
the clearly apparent endeavor to make them comfortable and happy.
I bought my ticket for Los Angeles of the Chicago
Burlington & Quincy R.R. and came via Lehigh Valley, CB&Q, Denver &
Rio Grande, and Southern Pacific.
I stopped over en route at Chicago, Denver, Colorado
Springs, Pueblo, Salida (involuntarily on account of wreck of our train), Salt
Lake City, Sacramento, San Francisco, Santa Cruz, and finally reached Los
Angeles about two weeks ago.
I have not seen any rain with the exception of night
[illegible] since I left N.Y. City: at first I wished for a shower or rainy day
for a change and to freshen things up and wash off the dust, but now I have
gotten so used to this continuing pleasant weather that I do not think of rain
at all and enjoy this as it is.
I stopped at Denver only during a morning and part
of an afternoon, but I managed to see a great part of the city and most of the
sights by taking a trolley ride called “Seeing Denver,” which extended about
twenty miles and took in most of the city except the best residential part:
this I walked
[sheet 4]
through, and so I consider that I saw most of
Denver; and I was not greatly impressed with it. Perhaps it was because it was the first
Western city that I had seen, and expected too much.
Colorado Springs is not very large although it would
seem that they try to impress you with its size by charging a double fare on
the electrics whenever you go. But what
it lacks in size it makes up in points of interest: one could easily remain
there for weeks. I remained only two
days, and I crowded into that time so much that I am thinking of stopping over
there again in order to get just impression of its surrounding grandeur.
I took the trip up Pike’s Peak by cog-road at 2 a.m.
on a bright moonlight night in order to see the sun-rise. The trip up the mountain, which took over two
hours, was a fine one, as the bright moonlight enabled us to see quite an
extent of the scenery which had a decidedly weird[?] appearance: and the
electric lights of the cities of Pueblo, fifty miles distant, and Colorado
Springs showed up brightly.
There was quite a heavy mist at sunrise but no
clouds, and so, although we missed seeing the sun come up, as it were, out of a
sea, we did see it apparently come up through a crack in what appeared a flat
dark surface: we could see this dark flat surface extending back and in front
of the red round disc which was coming up through what, as I have said,
appeared to be a crack. It was a
peculiar sight and I risked several films in trying to photograph it with my pocket
Kodak, and I hope that I shall get some sort of a picture of it.
Pike’s Peak is 14,147 ft. high hence the rarified
atmosphere was very noticeable. When I stepped
from the car at the top I noticed it quite perceptibly, but soon I could skip
about the rocks right lively. Several of
us hunted for snow, and found a little after quite a hunt in a crevise [sic]. One could probably find as much with less
trouble on Mt. Washington.
The height of Pike’s Peak does not show from
Colorado Springs and vicinity, as the town is nearly 6000 ft. high or almost as
high as Mt. Washington, hence the Peak appears to be about 8000 ft. high.
The descent on the cog-road was most interesting as
the day was a fine one and the
[sheet 5]
views were perfect.
I sat on the rear seat of the rear car, where I could see all the steep
grades, and they were many and might steep.
But really, Cheyenne Canyon impressed me more, for
there one sees precipitous slides thousands of feet high separated by only a
narrow space through which flows a stream which makes a series of seven falls,
most beautiful! before it reaches the level.
There is a series of flights of stairs extending to the top of the
falls, but the sides of the canyon are considerable higher: I walked up the
stairs and attempted to climb the rest of the distance to the top, but the path
was gravelly, and hence the footing insecure which made me feel that there was
a liability of slipping over the edge, although there was not as the path was
several feet wide, yet the feeling of insecurity so different from that given
by the firm granite footing of the White Mts. nearly unnerved[?] me when the
path approached the edge, and I had carefully to make may way back to the top
of the stairs. I hope to visit the
canyon again and to be able to sit at the top of these stairs for an hour or
more that I may absorb more fully the sense of grandeur: it is truly one of the
most wonderful places I have ever seen.
I also visited the “Garden of the Gods” at Manitou,
but I was really disappointed in its wonders, for it took quite an imagination
to appreciate many of the objects they pointed out; yet it was well worth
visiting.
At Colorado Springs I also saw many of those
peculiar animals, the burros. I bought a
book containing photographs of them, and I sent you some so that you may see
how they appear around Colorado Springs, for I should think that most of the photos
were taken there. I saw a whole cavalcade
of them at the top of Pike’s Peak, and saw them start on the homeward
trip. I say that I saw them start, for
it was impossible for their riders or the
[sheet 6]
assistants to start them, before they were ready of
their own free will to make the start themselves. I saw several persons at work on a single
burro, but the little fellow looked around unconcernedly until he took it into
his head to start, when he ambled along the path as though he had lots of time
and did not intend to hurry.
I photographed several little tots on them at
Cheyenne Canyon and in the “Garden of the Gods,” and I hope that I was
successful in getting good pictures, for they looked mighty cute.
I stopped over in Pueblo to get a good night’s rest
for I had only four or five hours sleep at Colorado Springs owning to taking
the Pike’s Peak train so early in the morning.
I went to Pueblo because Colorado Springs was
overcrowded and it was impossible to get good accommodations there.
At Pueblo I first realized the different between the
effect of high temperature in a dry atmosphere and that in the East. The thermometer registered over 90°, and,
while I stood in the sunshine waiting for a car, I was somewhat conscious of
it, but when I stepped back into the shade of a tree I felt comfortable. In like manner at Los Angeles last Friday the
thermometer registered 95°, yet I could walk briskly in the sunshine without
perspiring, and when about 1 o’clock I sat in the shade of a large peppertree
at the ostrich farm I was really comfortable, and I had no idea that the
temperature was so high: truly there is a difference!
I had quite a little trouble at Pueblo in
endeavoring to get a seat in car for Salt Lake City owing to their running the
trains in sections made up principally of Pullman cars and with certain cars
reserved for organizations of the Grand Army: after I had tried several
sections, and spent a couple of hours in chasing after the trains as they came
in, I went to the Superintendent and complained, and insisted that if I did not
get a seat on the next train I would hunt through the railroad yard for an
empty car, and if I found one I would make him attach it to the train. As a result of this complaint I was informed
when the next train came in, and allowed to get a seat in it a half hour before
the rest of the passengers were admitted.
And what do you think! This seat was
[sheet 7]
in about the worst position in a railroad wreck, for
our car was twisted and our part the rear of car rested almost on its side more
than halfway down a sixty foot embankment, being attached to another car which
rested wholly on its side.
The accident occurred at half past ten o’clock at
night, and was caused by a cloud-burst wreaking the supports of a trestle over
a waterway. The engineer of the first
engine, there were two on the train, was looking from the cab-window as we
approached this place, and he said that the track looked straight and perfectly
firm, but when the engine got on to trestle he felt it give, and then he knew
that there would be an accident, and so he put on full steam hoping to get the
train over, but his engine broke away from the second and stopped in the wreck
two hundred feet ahead of it.
The way the train appeared after the wreck was as
follows: the first engine was off the track two hundred feet ahead of the
train; the second engine, with its tender tipped over, was next; the baggage
car had fallen on its top to the foot of the embankment and had split its sides
apart and smashed the front end into kindling wood; the smoker rested on its
front end down along (kaTa) the side of embankment; the next car was on top of
embankment but off the track; our car, which was next, was at its front end
attached to this car, and at the rear end attached to the Tourist car, which lay
on its side at foot of embankment, hence it was twisted and our part was almost
on its side three quarters down the embankment; the Tourist car was on its side
with rear part in five feet of water; the Pullman coaches, three in number,
broke away from Tourist car and remained on track on other side of trestle.
I was occupying a seat in chair car and had just
made myself comfortable for several hours’ sleep: in fact, I had called to a
gentleman across the isle [sic] that I was good for at least six hours sleep
and was just dozing when there came a strong sudden jar, at which I jumped up
and grabbed the back of seat in front, and then began to perform like a monkey
on a stick, conforming as much as possible to the jolting and swaying and the
gradual turning over and slipping back of the car.
[sheet 8]
When the car had settled firmly I shoved my window
back, for it was almost horizontal, and raised myself by my hands and arms, as
I used to do in the gymnasium on parallel bars and looked out. It was a wild and terrible sight that met my
eyes, for high up on the track across the broken trestle I could see the lights
of the Pullman coaches, while between them and our car was what appeared to be
a rushing, roaring river, while the Tourist car was nowhere to be seen. I thought that it must be in the water, and
my heart seemed to stop beating, and I dropped back into the car. Then I raised myself again and sat on the
side of the window, when a man in car rushed up and told me to jump. I told him that it was no place to jump, and,
when he insisted and was going to jump himself, I asked him to hand me my grip
and I would show him, which I quickly did by tossing it on what he said was
solid ground when [or where] it bounded back and disappeared down the
embankment under the car. Then I told
him that I would creep along on the side of the car and find a place where we
could step from car to firm ground, and that I would knock on window there, and
I told him to open that one and we would help passengers out.
This we did, and after I had helped many of the
passengers from window to the firm ground, they handed me a child about two or
three years old, and when I turned to hand it on there wasn’t anyone to whom to
hand it, and so, as the mother came out next with an infant, and I knew that
they were traveling alone, I saw that my duty lay there, and hence I took
charge of the little family and made them as comfortable as possible until they
could be transferred to a Pullman car that was made ready for injured and
children.
They only thing I personally saved from the wreck
was my umbrella, which I used as a cane to steady me as I crept along the car,
but my grip was found for me, and even my pocket Kodak was brought to me: the
only thing I lost was a hat. I was
unable to hunt for anything, as the little child I took charge of went to sleep
after the excitement had subsided. It
seemed strange to me that some woman did not come forward to help, but not one
offered.
One of the tram-men, who had been in
[sheet 9]
three wrecks before, said that considering the
condition of the cars after the wreck our escape was truly miraculous; for only
two passengers were seriously injured: one man had his leg broken, and a woman
had her shoulder badly bruised. Some
thirty had received bruises, including the lady who had received a bad bruise
by hitting its face against the arm of the seat.
A young man who was stealing a ride on tender of
second engine was thrown against a rock and he had his skull fractured.
After the wreck we had to return to Salida, a small
town about seventeen miles back, and here we were detained until the next
afternoon, when I proceeded to Salt Lake City, where I stopped two days.
Salt Lake City is a beautiful city, one of the very
finest I have ever seen, but its atmosphere is something fierce. The first afternoon I spent there I thought
that the water was brackish, but I was informed that that was impossible, as
the water came from the mountains. On
the second day, I felt as though I had a sore throat and had gargled with salt
and water, while during the next day it seemed as though the roof of my mouth
was encrusted with salt and my tongue was parched and dry, so that really I
felt comfortable only while I was drinking ice-cream soda through straws. Previous to visiting Salt Lake City I had
tried only one ice-cream soda, but I think that I made up for my missed
opportunities on the second day I spent there.
But, as I have said, the city is a beautiful one.
One afternoon I went out to Salt Air Beach, the
shore resort of the city. It happened to
be what the management termed “Ladies’ Day,” when all ladies and children were
given a free excursion and free admittance, and I should really think that
nearly all the ladies and children had taken
[sheet 10]
advantage of the invitation, for our train numbered
21 cars and I counted 22 cars on a train arriving later, and we found a
multitude there when we arrived. The
principal attraction of the place was the bathing, which I failed to
participate in, as, owing to the numbers, it was impossible within a reasonable
time to get a key to a bath-house appartment [sic].
It is said to be great fun, as the water is so heavy
with salt (five pails of the water provides by evaporation one pail of salt)
that it is difficult to keep ones feet on the bottom, and should they get off
the bottom there is no way to get them back, and one has to float in, taking
care to keep face above the surface.
While I was standing there someone shouted “I have learned to float!” to
which someone else added “Couldn’t help it!”
Along the route to the beach we saw a number of
large shallow reservoirs to which water of the lake is brought by an aqueduct
and here evaporated producing vast quantities of crude salt, which is
afterwards refined and marketed. The
aqueduct leaked in spots; and here “salt-cylces” formed by evaporation, and
while the train was delayed here a few minutes, many rushed and secured some: I
was given a piece of one, and I found that it was slightly stronger than the
roof of my mouth tasted.
Between Salt Lake City and Sacramento I again had to
assert my right to a seat on the train in return for a first-class ticket, and
after a contest of brains with the conductor was permitted to occupy seat in
Pullman sleeper until they added a car at Truckee (for my personal convenience
the conductor said); which they had declined to do at Ogden some five hours
earlier. After our argumentative debate
in the presence, I afterward learned, of the Division Superintendent, he asked
me if I was a lawyer, and on my replying that I was not, he volunteered the
opinion that I ought to be. He told me
the next morning that in the twenty one years that he had been conductor on
that road that was the first time that it had worked: he said that people had
often gotten into the sleepers without special tickets, but they had always
gotten them
[sheet 11]
out. But I
would not pay extra for a seat in the sleeper as I did not want a berth, as
they are stuffy and I stopped over at some city every other night and had a
good bath at a hotel and a good night’s rest and continued my journey next day
refreshed.
I had been told years ago that it was the law that a
first-class ticket entitles the holder to a seat on the train: if there
should not be one in chair car but an unoccupied in the Pullman then the holder
of the first-class ticket is entitled to that until a seat has been provided
for him in chair car. I found that
information of value as it saved me from paying for what I did not want, and it
helped not only myself but many who had been standing or sitting on the arms of
seats for the five hours until the car was added (for my personal
convenience according to conductor).
The kind of car differed a little, but the principle
was the same, and Massachusetts law prevailed.
I stopped over a day in Sacramento and found it to
be a fine little city, with a beautiful capitol situated in the middle of a
small park ornamented profusely with luxuriant flowers and shrubs and trees of
semi-tropical growth. Here I saw my first
examples of such, and they compare well with what I have seen since: I felt
repaid for stopping over even[?] by the beauty of the scene.
I spent two weeks in San Francisco, and I must say
that it is the most like an Eastern city of the New York & Boston type that
I have seen since leaving New York & Chicago. There is an air of business to it that causes
one to brace up and move lively and, the people look like Eastern people, and
have the
[sheet 12]
same air about them.
A healthier looking people I never saw: it struck me so one day, and
then I took notice for a time, and was surprised to note the result of my
observation. I suggested that it might
be a case of the “survival of the fittest,” as the climate is pretty severe,
but I was told that it was due to the fogs, which, but in another sense, was
really the pith of my idea.
I hope that my little mementoes arrived safely, and
in good condition: I had great pleasure in selecting them, as it was like
visiting again the World’s Fair, for I saw things as wonderfully curious and
beautiful as I did there, and the selecting gave me an excuse with a purpose
for visiting wonderful stores and examining goods that could well have a place
in a museum.
I did not go “through Chinatown” in the accepted
sense of the term, for I neither went into or under, and hence
saw none of the disagreeable features, but I went through the streets of
Chinatown and have many pleasant impressions of it.
One day while passing through I saw a group of
youngsters just going into a mission school, and had the pleasure of taking a
snap-shot of those who were willing to be photographed. One of the group, a little fellow about 5
years old the teacher said, asked me if I would give him one, and when I told
him that I would send him one if he would give me his address, he gave it
promptly and fully without any hesitation.
Another day a little fellow asked me if I would take
his photograph which I did, and he wrote out his address which was in care of
the Mun Kee Telephone Co. A queer name
as pronounced, isn’t it? He asked me if
I would send him five, which I hope to have the pleasure of doing.
I also took a number of photographs of the ladies
and children of Chinatown arrayed in their very best: many of the costumes were
[sheet 13]
richly embroidered and all were genuinely Chinese.
It seems that it was a festival celebration which
occupies three days of the year, when the ladies hold receptions where they
display the work in embroidery, &c, which they have done during the year,
and all visit each other and view the work.
They apparently would meet and form processions, and
many of these would number as many as twenty, ranging in age from small
children to elderly women. Some bands
would carry large white feather fans, others embroidered silk ones, and many
wore stilt-like shoes which kept the feet, supported under the instep, several
inches from the ground.
By using my pocket-kodak I was able to get many
photographs, which I think will made interesting pictures.
San Francisco also resembles the large cities of the
East in its street-car service. The cars
are very inferior, but one does not have to wait many minutes on the corner,
and their transfer system is excellent.
One thing I missed in San Francisco that is a
feature of most cities, namely a fine residential section. I hardly saw what one could call a really
fine residence, one that was worth standing to admire; and as for an ensemble,
any street or section of a street, I did not see one that was worth visiting a
second time.
I visited their principal art gallery, and found
that only a dozen or so really great artists were represented, and they by only
a single example of their work.
But they have a fine park, and when they have the
right kind of weather the people can enjoy it.
I attempted to write a letter there one Sunday, and listened while doing
so to many remarks such as; “He ought to be writing by his own fireside with a
good log burning on the hearth”; and I had to acknowledge the good sense of
this later, as I caught a cold which affected a defective wisdom-tooth, so that
as a result I had a swollen face for nearly two weeks.
And I saw on that day that which, if I could have
gotten it into my camera, would have typified the San Francisco climate. In the parade of carriages during the band
concert I saw in one carriage two ladies dressed in flimsy white and carrying
white parasols edged with deep white lace, looking
[sheet 14]
decidedly Summery, while in the third carriage
behind them was a lady wearing a large fur cape: I wished much for my Kodak!
It is a common sight to see men wearing overcoats
and straw hats.
I went over to Berkeley where the California
University is located, and while there happened upon a baseball game between
the freshmen and sophomores, and actually saw sophomores applaud a freshman’s
good play! And there was no cheering or
encouragement given either nine until nearly the close of the game: during most
of it the students, of whom there were hardly more than a hundred present, were
perfectly quiet. I couldn’t account for
it: it is so different in the East. One
student explained it by lack of class feeling; and I should think that there
was a lack of something!
I saw the wonderful seal-rocks, and watched the
clumsy animals tumble each other into the water; and listened so attentively to
their barking that I was able to recognize from afar that of the poor lone seal
in West Lake Park Los Angeles. The poor
seal there gets lonesome apparently and makes friends with everybody: and, too,
it has not water enough to dive in, and what there is is not kept fresh
enough. It strikes me that it is almost
worthy the attention of the society with the long name.
I went out to the Presidio several times. On one day I saw a fine drill by several
batteries of heavy artillery; on another I enjoyed an athletic field-day of the
7th infantry; while on a third I saw a dress parade by the 7th. There were several squadrons, about a dozen
companies, of cavalry there, but they were without mounts as they were there
only as a rendezvous preparatory to leaving for the Philippines.
The Presidio is an immense place and an ideal one
for the purpose: its location is magnificent, looking out on the Golden Gate.
I am inclined to believe that you will think this is
a long letter, but really
[sheet 15]
if I get a chance I am going to continue it at San
Francisco, and the only way you can avoid being made “twice tired” will be by
refusing to read the second installment.
Of course, you will not think that I have written
this at one sitting (the different dates[?] do not affect it), and you are at
full liberty to take as many in reading it: and I hope that you will
survive[?].
With kind regards to all I will close this long
instalment [sic].
Yours
sincerely,
Asa
J. Farwell
P.S. By the
way please tell your father that those “[illegible]” were a memento, and
I hope that he has found them of use.
Letter 2: Nov. 22, 1903, written from New York
This letter is written on 8 sheets of stationery,
decorated with California poppies, and each with 3 photographic images. (The same style stationery was used for
letter 4.)
The images are as follows:
Sheet 1: Ferry
depot and piers, [San Francisco], Donohue Fountain, Golden Gate [with sail
boats];
Sheet
2:Fisherman’s Wharf, [San Francisco]. “Wawona” on road to Yosemite [large
redwood with tunnel cut through it], and City Hall, [San Francisco];
Sheet 3: Carmel
Mission, redwood grove, Mission Dolores [in San Francisco];
Sheet 4:
quadrangle of Stanford University, Yosemite Falls, Cliff House [in San
Francisco];
Sheet 5: Mt.
Shasta; Glacier Point in Yosemite Valley, rocks at Cliff House;
Sheet 6:
Yosemite Valley, street scene in Chinatown, view from Mt. Tamalpais;
Sheet 7: Union
Square and Spreckels Building, Market St. showing Chronicle Building, Music
Stand [in] Golden Gate Park;
Sheet 8: Fort
Point showing Golden Gate, Claus Spreckels Building; [elk at a lake]
[Sheet 1]
New York, Nov. 22/03
My dear Miss Grimes:
I was very pleased to learn that my first instalment
[sic] did not thoroughly tire you all, for I can now take advantage of you to
change this rainy Sunday in New York into one of sunshine by spending it in
memory in the “Land of Sunshine and Flowers.”
Think of a land where from the 1st of May until October one
can count on every day being sunshiny, and where the flowers bloom profusely
every month in the year except one!
Where geraniums, fuschias [sic] and heliotrope, almost constantly in
bloom, grow to the height of ten to fifteen feet! I stopped at a hotel, the Sea Beach, at Santa
Cruz where the broad piazza, at the height of half a dozen steps from the
ground, was screened by geraniums, fuchsias and heliotrope instead of vines;
and the evenings I spent there, which happened to be at the full of the moon,
sitting on the piazza looking out through this screen over a sloping lawn
luxuriant with semi-tropical foliage onto the moonlit Pacific while inhaling
the sea air scented with the heliotrope, are truly memorable. It seems that this hotel is called in Los
Angeles and San Francisco, and, perhaps throughout the state, “the
Spoon-holder.” Perhaps you may guess
why, but in order that you may not miss the joke I will tell you: they say that
is is especially favored by the “Richardsons.”
The scene as I saw it was truly most poetic!
If I remember rightly I ended my first instalment
[sic] at the close of my first visit in San Francisco.
On my way from there to Los Angeles I stopped over a
couple of days at Santa Cruz with the intention of visiting the redwoods, but,
as I found that our train had really passed through the grove, and that I had
had an excellent view of many of them, I decided not to spend a day in visiting
them, but to enjoy the beauty of the ocean from the beach and cliffs at Santa
Cruz.
The redwoods were not disappointing in appearance,
although I, of course, did not
[sheet 2]
see the very tallest, which are in Mariposa Grove in
another part of the state: the ones I saw were only from 200 to 300 feet high,
but they were tall enough to give one an excellent idea of what a redwood is.
The beach at Santa Cruz is a fine one and perfectly
safe, but the cliffs, so called, are not to be compared with the sturdy rocky
ones of New England. They were composed
of some material that is soft and consequently easily worn away by the action
of the ocean into caverns and natural bridges; and as they are slippery in
addition to being soft they give an insecure footing that takes away the
pleasure in climbing about them, in just the same way that the gravelly
composition of the Rockies does. I saw
some splendid surf caused by merely the natural swell of the ocean. You know no storm sirs the ocean there from
May 1st to October!
On my way from Santa Cruz I had a rather odd
experience, at which I could laugh as it happened not to cause me any
inconvenience, whereby my ignorance of Spanish pronunciation cost me 65
cents. I knew by my railroad time-table
that I must change cars at Pajaro, which I read Pa-jar-o, and so when the brakeman called out something in regard to Par-har-o without mentioning Los
Angeles, I paid no attention to it, and consequently I had to pay them 65 cents
for the privilege of meeting the Los Angeles train at the next station. The joke is that I one Winter started to study
Spanish and French at the same time, but as I found that words spelled
identically alike in both languages had radically different pronunciations I
stopped the Spanish for the sake of the French: thus was the Spanish language
avenged!
And what can I write about Los Angeles! Or rather to what can I limit myself?
It is a beautiful clean city with stores and hotels
comparing well with the best in New York and Boston, though of course smaller,
and with many interesting and delightful suburbs: for Pasadena and the beaches
are really only suburbs of Los Angeles, as
[sheet 3]
they are connected with the city by electric
railroads which are I am inclined to believe, as I have heard them called, the
finest in the world.
One road especially, that from Los Angeles to Long
Beach, has a road-bed and rails superior to many steam-roads, and its cars are
like the finest passenger coaches, while they think nothing of making the
distance between Los Angeles and Long Beach, 22 miles, in half an hour: as
several miles of this distance are within Lost Angeles the greatest part must
be made at the rate of a mile a minute, but this speed is made without any
discomfort whatever, as the road is nearly straight and well ballasted, which
the rails and cars are heavy. It makes a
grand ride!
And the roads to Redondo, Santa Monica, and San
Pedro, on the shore, and the two to Pasadena in the other direction, rank well
with this one.
Pasadena is probably the suburb (this would
undoubtedly call forth a protest from the residents) of which you have heard
most. It is a beautiful city, having
many fine residences, in fact it is distinctively a city of homes for they are
mostly single, each with its own grass-plot and palm, presided over by the ever
present garden-hose, which is a necessary attachment to every house; for where
no rain falls from May to October it requires lots of stored water to keep the
lawns green.
At first the brown appearance of the mountains hills
and vacant lots caused me to wish: “Oh! For a good rain to wash the dust off
and freshen up nature,” but after awhile I became used to the appearance of the
hills and was content to look to the lawns for the green, and to enjoy the
continuous sunshine and the freedom from that often weighty question as to
whether I should carry an umbrella or not.
They say there that one can tell an Easterner by the
umbrella he carries under his arm, and, after I had been there a month or more,
I was not surprised at seeing two umbrellas in a curio store, for it really
seemed a very appropriate place for them.
[sheet 4]
At Pasadena are many orange groves, and, although I
was there really between seasons and most of the oranges were of deep green
color, I saw many ripe ones on tree and ground.
The trees ranged in size from that of a bush to that of a large
apple-tree, the smaller bearing the choisest [sic] oranges.
I was surprised to learn that orange-groves require
even more attention that a vegetable garden: I thought that an orange-grove in
Southern California, where frosts are unknown, was like an apple orchard in New
England, but it is decidedly different.
Before planting an orange-grove it is necessary to
first provide a wind-break, then the best trees are grafted on three year old
lemon trees: the orchard has to be ploughed and fertilized each year, and the
ground must be kept loose and smooth, and the trees must be pruned and sprayed,
and the fruited thinned out: in fact, a large grove requires almost constant
attention to bring the best results. An
orchard left to itself soon shows its neglect.
While writing about Pasadena I must not omit the
Ostrich Farm, which is a mighty interesting place, as they have there over 160
large birds and a number of “chickens”; while Mr. & Mrs. Washington you
will be told are patiently sitting 40 days and 40 nights on a nest of eggs, which
you can see if you happen to be around when the patience is shifted. I happened to be on hand during one of the
interims, and I should think that there were about a dozen eggs in the nest: I
snapped a photo of Mr. W just as he was about sitting down. I took a small pocket-Kodak with me, and I
have many interesting souvenirs in consequence.
While at the farm, I thought that I should like to
take a photograph of an ostrich’s head, and so I held the camera at the top of
the fence to their
[sheet 5]
enclosure and waited as one approached, noting in
the finder the head becoming larger until suddenly there was an eclipse, which
I found was due to the ostrich having taken the front part of the camera
between its beak. I touched the button
but fear that I did not get any photograph, as, you know, it requires a time
exposure for an interior view.
I just missed seeing several of the birds
“plucked.” This sounds cruel, but they
are not hurt as the feathers are cut several inches from the wing proper, and
the stubs dry and fall off, so the ostrich suffers no pain. They spread out the wing of one bird that
would be ready for plucking in two months, and it looked as if it would already
make a fine fan.
The chickens grow very rapidly, something I should
judge as a St. Bernard puppy does: you can almost see them grow. I think that I sent a photo of some just
hatched: I enclose a small one of them at the age of five weeks.
The beaches of Los Angeles, one might say as they
are so directly connected with the city, Redondo, Santa Monica, and Long Beach,
are all fine ones: Redondo being the least attractive, and Long Beach, I think,
the most. Santa Monica has a stretch of
beach fully three miles long with cottages extending the whole distance: one
part called Ocean Point has a settlement of modern substantial and pretty
cottages with small well-kept grass-plots facing on regular streets running
back from the beach: it must be a fine Sumer resort for families, for
everything about it is first-class and the people that I saw on the porches and
piazzas and promenading on the wide board walks looked substantial and “all
right”: and the beach is of the whitest sand.
[sheet 6]
But the ocean I think is best at Long Beach, for
there, due probably to some conformation, the natural swell of the ocean on the
incoming tide produces four distinct lines of white surf.
I think that I wrote of the pleasure I had in
writing a whole Sunday while sitting on the third story piazza of a hotel
looking out on that beautiful phase of the Pacific.
All the beaches have long piers extending into the
ocean, and here again I think Long Beach surpasses the others, for its pier,
conveniently located and connected with a fine pavillion [sic], is long and
kept in excellent order as a promenade, while the one at Santa Monica, although
celebrated for its length, is remote and hence somewhat inaccessible to the
best part of the beach: that at Redondo has two lines of railroad track on it,
and is almost always blocked by lumber or other merchandise unloading from
vessels along its sides. All the piers
usually have from fifty to a hundred men, women and children fishing from their
sides, some of whom arrive early to get good positions and often do not adjourn
even for lunch, as this is brought to them by friends or relations [or
relatives], and remain until it grows dark.
I have at different times watched them for a half
hour or so sitting there patiently without being rewarded with even a bite, and
I have heard some say as they reeled in their lines” “I have not had a bite the
whole afternoon.” I cannot understand such
patience: but, of course, they do sometimes get good and many fish, but such
times seemed to me to be the exception.
I visited Redondo several times for the great sport
of gathering
[sheet 7]
moonstones, so called. One part of the beach is called Moonstone
Beach, for here, owing to something nobody seemed to know what, the ocean
brings in and displays, for the space of time represented by the interim between
the waves, stones called by some moonstones, by others water opals; and if one
is spry he can sometimes secure a gem before the next wave takes them
back. On two different occasions I was
quite successful and I send you herewith a few testimonials to my agility. I would state that if one does not secure the
stone when shown it is useless to seek it, for it is not covered by the sand
but taken back.
From Long Beach several small gasoline launches run
to the different points of interest every day during the season; one of them
even taking parties to Catalina Island twenty seven miles out in the
ocean. They asked me to make one of a
party on one occasion, but I took a good look at the small boat and then
thankfully declined. But they knew the
Pacific better than I did, and made the trip without accident: a boat of that
size would not be used even in the outer harbor of Boston.
I took the trip later on a larger steamer, and shall
always treasure the memory of that visit to that peculiar place. It is unnecessary to state that the day was
fine, for all the days were fine ones, and the sail over most enjoyable. I tried to realize that I was on the Pacific,
and I succeeded when I saw a peculiar looking animal flitting[?] along a few
feet above the water, supporting itself on what appeared to be a double set of
wings, but, as I noticed that it glistened in the sunshine, I was not deceived
into thinking, as a
[sheet 8]
young lady did, who, on seeing one on the other side
of the boat, exclaimed: “Oh, see that queer bird”! for I thought at once that
it must be a flying-fish, and my estimate was confirmed later by a folder that
was passed around, which in describing the trip over mentioned that the steamer
often started them up. But the sight of
it helped me to appreciate the fact that I was on a strange ocean.
Avalon Catalina Island is a most peculiar place,
wholly and only a place of transcient [sic] resort, and when I returned to Los
Angeles I was really glad to get back to a really live and everyday city, but
owing to this peculiarity it is well worth visiting; but I should not care to
remain there long.
Well, I think that I had better give you a chance to
recuperate, for it will really require another instalment [sic] for me to
complete the trip; and I am going to take that advantage of you – but you can
remain at Avalon if you choose, and I will give you my word that it is a place
of quiet and rest.
I was glad to hear that the second cup & saucer
reached you safely: the artist-proprietor packed it himself, and he assured
[several words along the fold line are difficult to read] safely, and his
assurance was evidently based on sound knowledge, for the second one I sent my
sister-in-law also arrived unbroken, although the wooden box enclosing it did
not fare so well.
I took great pleasure in making the purchases in the
Japanese & Chinese stores, for they were veritable museums; and I am glad
that the souvenirs pleased you. By the
way, I am going to take the liberty to send you what I intended to be a part of
the memento, but which, owing to a misunderstanding of Mr. Weisman’s, I did not
receive until my return from my trip.
Has your father used the micro-audiphones[?] enough to get used to
them? I hope so, as my cousin says that
they really did help him, but he would not get used to them.
I have had a hundred or so of my trip negatives
printed, and some of them are capital: I will enclose a few: if I had had the
camera at Franconia I should have gotten a fine photo of those kittens sparring
I am sure. I suppose that these incubator
chicks are now good sized chickens: what did James think of the ostrich
“chicks”? With kind regards to all .
Yours
sincerely,
Asa
J. Farwell
Letter 3: Dec. 23, 1903, written from Brooklyn
Letter written on 16 sheets, and one blank sheet
included with the bundle. Each sheet was
printed by Tom Jones and has 4 photographic images of Colorado and Utah, as
follows:
Sheets 1 and 5:
Soda Springs, Manitou; Denver; Georgetown; Glenwood Springs;
Sheet 2: unloading
pack train [burros]; train of burrons, “chums” [man on burro], helpers on
Pike’s Peak Cog Road [mother burro with young burro]
Sheet 3: Mirror
Rocks, Canonof the Grand; Clear Creek Canon, Black Canon, Williams Canon;
Sheet 4: Green
Lake, near Georgetown; Bear and Seal Rock, Garden of the Gods; irrigating ditch
above stream, irrigating ditch through rock;
Sheet 6: cowboy,
a bunch of Holsteins, Indian Chief, Squaw and Pappoose [sic];
Sheet 7: Pillar
of Hercules, Cheyenne Canon; 1200 feet below the surface [in a mine], from mine
to train, elk in their natural haunts;
Sheet 8:
approach to Royal Gorge, Toltec Gorge, in Canon of the Grand, Royal Gorge [with
note under this picture: “Our train-wreck occurred only a few hours’ ride from
this place.”];
Sheet 9:
Georgetown, Colo.; Saltair Pavilion, Utah; Salt Lake City; Garfield Beach,
Utah;
Sheet 10: Echo
Cliffs, Canon of the Grand; Mount of the Holy Cross; Palisades, Alpine Pass;
first tunnel, Canon of the Ground [railroad tunnel];
Sheet 11: Hanging
Rock, Clear Creek Canon; High Bridge, the Loop; Canon of the Arkansas; Las
Animas Canon;
Sheet 12: Red
Canon; Eagle River Canon; Royal Gorge; Canon of the Grand;
Sheet 13:
Approaching timber line; Manitou, Windy Point; Half way up Pike’s Peak [note
added below pictures: “views of trip up Pike’s Peak”]
Sheet 14: Garden
of the Gods: Bear and Seal, Siamese Twins, Balanced Rock, Cathedral Spires;
Sheet 15: Native
Americans: Ute Chief, Chepita [woman], Piah and other chiefs; Americans [woman
and child]
Sheet 16:
Hagerman Pass; The Needles, Las Animas Canon; Hanging Bridge, Royal Gorge;
Rainbow Falls, Ute Pass;
Blank sheet:
mirror rocks, Canon of the Ground; Clear Creek Canon, Black Canon, Williams
Canon
142 Henry St.
Brooklyn, Dec.
23/03
My dear Miss
Grimes:
Perhaps before leaving you at Avalon Catalina
Island, as I did in my second instalment [sic], I should have described the
place so that you could have better appreciated your sojourn there: Excuse the
omission, please, and permit me to supply it in this third test of your
endurance.
Avalon is surrounded on three sides by high hills,
while it fronts on a bay so protected from breezes that there is hardly more
than a ripple on the water any time unless the wind comes from the North-east,
which very seldom happens: hence the air is fairly lifeless and the atmosphere
oppressive, while the stillness is weirdly unnatural, for, as there is
practically only one street, a very wide one edging on the shore and backed by
the hotels and stores, there are no teams rattling about as there is no need of
them, for hand-trucks serve all requirements.
It seems in reality what they term it: “An Enchanted
City”; under some spell.
When the sun shines brightly it is decidedly
beautiful, but when the sun does not shine it has an unnatural gloom and
oppression, that, as I have said, gives one the impression of enchantment. I would not care to remain there long, but I
would like to visit it again “in the season.”
It is described as being “a land of dreams,” and it
even now seems as though it were a dream that I was there: it is a mighty
peculiar place. I took several photos of
the place, and I shall prize them as substantiations of the impressions.
[sheet 2]
I cannot describe the impression of the unnatural
quiet! Even the tide rises and falls
without producing noise, and the occasional shout of a bather is heard all
along the beach and strikes one as a shock: and the voices of a couple of boat
agents soliciting patronage for trips to the beaches seem wholly out of place
and sound like mockery.
And if one yields and takes a trip the idea of enchantment
is intensified, for you make the trip with eyes riveted toward the bottom of
the boat, where, through large panes of glass, you view the “Gardens of
Neptune”; and seem to be yourself, buy the ever-changing scene, passing through
and among the beautiful flowers, shrubs, and trees, a very companion of the
countless golden, blue, and varied colored fish of all sizes and many shapes.
It is a wonderful trip, and the impression a strange
one.
I went out fishing and caught a twenty pounder ---
in my camera: another man in the boat hooked it and brought it into the boat: I
got three different photographs of the operation. But, as I did not get even a bite, the
fishing hardly seems real: you may smile at this, but I had company, as the
majority of the party experienced a like unreality.
The twenty pounder gave us the best catch of the
day, but hardly reconciled the party to the failure to make a season’s record.
[sheet 3]
I climbed one of the hills to a wireless telegraph
station, but as the foot-trail, path we should call it, was of the usual loose
gravel, and in some places quite steep, I chose to make a detour and to return
by the wagon-trail -- after I was struck with a chill at just missing sprawling
all over an opuntia robusta (as you may not be aware of what an opuntia robusta
is, I will explain), a wide-spreading cactus of great lobster-claw pattern,
with which the hillside abounded. I
think that opuntia robusta has the right sound to it to express the impression
it made on me at that time: for it was truly formidable.
I was afterwards told that the paths were really
quite dangerous, persons slipping from them frequently, and sometimes with
serious injury. A gentleman told me that
he had seen a man killed that season by falling from a path which I had been
recommended to climb for the sake of a view; but I had told them that there was
no fun in climbing their gravel heaps, and I could dispense with the view. I took some photographs of Avalon and
vicinity, and they all seem in deep shadow and really characteristic of the
place.
Catalina Island is celebrated for its fishing, and
during each season several black sea-bass are caught weighing from 300 lbs to
the weight of the record fish 487 lbs; as well as many tunas, arranging [?]
five feet and more in length: both kinds giving the fisherman an exhausting
fight of from three to five hours’ duration.
A sport in true keeping with the “peculiarity” of
the island is sometimes indulged in when the guests go gunning for flying
fish. Where else would men go fishing
with a gun!
I visited an aquarium there and saw what appeared to
be flowers eat fish; saw them while in the process of eating. You will probably recognize the “flower” as
the Sea Anemone: I had never seen them feeding before, and so found it
interesting.
[sheet 4]
I saw sea-porcupines; fish with beautiful opal-like
eyes; fish that climbed over rocks; starfish that were climbing up the glass
side of their tank; electric fish; specimens of the horrible octopus; and, in
fact, fish of enough peculiarities to give one a nightmare: again in keeping
with the pervading impression of the place.
It is truly a strange place, and the return to Los
Angeles was like returning to the real from the unreal.
I spent several days at Los Angeles after my visit to
Catalina Island, and visited with keen pleasure the beautiful locality about Chester
Place.
By the way, I believe that in describing so fully
the suburbs of Los Angeles I omitted to say much about the city itself.
This Chester Place is really the very most beautiful
(excuse, please, the tautology, for it is worth it) street I have ever
seen. I wish that you all could see it,
for I am not equal to a description of it.
But I will try just to give you some idea of it.
It is not a long street, and is protected at both
ends by beautiful high double-swinging iron gates of handsome design and
supported by graceful ornamental granite posts, such as you may see at the
entrance of some fine private estate.
Whether these gate are ever closed I do not know, but I hardly think so,
as the city evidently controls and takes care of the roadway.
The residences, about twenty in number, set back
from the street and are surrounded on sides and front by green velvety lawns
extending to the edge of the wide granolith walk, and being embellished with
graceful date-palms and luxuriant semi-tropical shrubs and flowering plants
which show in their arrangement the hand of a skilled landscape gardener.
Between the sidewalk and the curbing is another
stretch of fine lawn fully ten feet
[sheet 5]
wide, through the center of which extends a row of
tall palms and yuccas at regular intervals, planted around which and trained up
to whose trunks to the height of ten feet or so are geraniums, heliotrope,
morning glories, ivy, and several varieties of vines bearing lavender, scarlet,
blue, and other colored blossoms, while between these trees are interspersed
large century plants, beautiful lilies of various colors, flowering coleus, and
many Southern plants.
My favorite point of view was at the end of the
street, where, in the shade of a large pepper tree, I looked out on a picture
framed by its graceful dropping foliage.
Opposite was a residence built of wood painted a bright canary yellow
with white trimmings, having in front four large white pillars extending up two
stories supporting the roof of a wide porch: while its lawn, bordered next the
house with variegated flowers, was embellished with artistically arranged
shrubs and trees of various kinds, including a grand specimen of the beautiful
date-palm.
The next residence, forming a background for another
arrangement of shrubs and trees, was built in Southern style of architecture
having thick walls of cement open on second story in wide arches under which
was fitted boxes containing bright flowering plants. This residence was painted a terra cotta
color with salmon color trimmings.
The strip of lawn between sidewalk and curbing in
front of the canary colored residence had a large bayonet-shaped leafed plant
bearing white flowers, and a large pink lily, while the palm tree trunk had
trained up to it a vine bearing a brilliant blue blossom: in the space between
this palm and the next was a large scarlet flowered coleus and a large century
plant, while the next palm tree trunk was made to blossom with morning-glories,
blue, pink, and white, in color, and many times larger than those of New
England.
[sheet 6]
The first space on the side where I stood had a
foliage plant and a handsome Southern plant bearing a bright yellow flower, while
the palm tree trunk bore a delicate vine with a lavender blossom.
Add to this display of color and form the
atmospheric effect and the gradations of sunshine and shadow and I think that
you will admit that on each visit I enjoyed a perfect symphony: -- not a
Beethoven, but a Schubert.
But an artist should paint it for you – or better
you should see it for yourself, for I am unequal to
it.
The whole section about there is fine, including as
it does St. James Park, Adams St., and Figueroa St.: but Chester Place is the
gem.
To return to the foresaid, but important, business
section of the city. It is that of a
thriving live city and is mostly embraced by three parallel streets, extending
in length something like two miles, and the intersecting streets.
One street, the most Eastern, Broadway, is the
ladies’ shopping street, and it has whole blocks of stores that will compare in
quality, though, of course, not in size, with the best of New York and Boston,
catering as they do to the patronage of the guests of the wonderful hotels of
Pasadena and Los Angeles, and to the wealthy residents.
I was told in all seriousness by a resident of
Pasadena that there were more millionaires living on Orange Grove Ave.,
Pasadena, than there were in any other city in the United States. I straightway informed him that that
statement was ridiculous, and told him that there was probably twice as many
living within a half a dozen blocks of each other in New York, and that there
were undoubtedly from ten to twenty times as many in the city. He claimed also that Orange Grove Ave. was
the finest street in that section: I agreed that it was a grand street, lined
on either side for over a mile
[sheet 7]
by fine estates with elegant residences; but Chester
Place is as a choice mosaic in comparison with it.
The middle street, Spring St., is the men’s street,
containing, as it does, the best hotels, the Post office, the railroad and
telegraph offices, and the large office buildings. There are no buildings of the class of the
New York skyscrapers, from 20 to 30 stories high, but there are several of ten
stories or more and several building.
The third street is a mixture and hence rather less
important.
Well, I have given you an exhaustive and at the same
time, I fear, exhausting description of Los Angeles; but really I think the
city is worth it.
On September 27th (almost on time), just
before going up to San Francisco, I was treated to a drizzling rain. I had often during the first few days of my
visit expressed the wish that we might have a rain to wash the dust off the
trees and freshen up nature – and we got it and it washed the dust off the
trees onto my umbrella and left it thoroughly streaked.
I went up to the ostrich farm that day to arrange
for the printing of some photographs, and was invited in to see how the
ostriches behaved on a rainy day; and it was a strange sight to see them all
sitting down, as is their custom during a rain.
The grown ones were left in the open, but the chicks were housed as they
are somewhat delicate.
I returned to San Francisco via the Coast Line
Division of the Southern Pacific, and was treated to a ride for hours along the
edge of the ocean with the surf breaking on the beach in full sight, and then
on leaving the shore to a climb over a range of mountains which furnished a
continuous series of beautiful and wonderful views. The journey took fourteen hours, but I
enjoyed it thoroughly.
I spent only a few days in San Francisco, renewing
my acquaintance with Golden Gate Park and Cliff House, principally.
[sheet 8]
The park really improved on better acquaintance, for
I was at leisure to appreciate how thoroughly it is the people’s park. There are no signs around requesting all to
keep off the grass, and the people roam about at will. And I discovered even another provision for
recreation: this a bowling-green for the men.
I had never seen one before, and I became greatly interested in a
club-tournament game, in which an elderly man with very gray hair gave a great
exhibition of skill, being able, when it became so dark that the scorers had to
use a handkerchief to indicate the mark, to bowl the ball within a few inches
of it.
The balls are bowled across the green, which is a
perfectly level and velvety lawn, and only those that stop nearest the mark
count, hence it is a part of the game to knock away the nearest if it be that
of an opponent; and it seemed to me that this idea interfered somewhat with the
old gentleman’s bowling while it was light enough for him to see the whole
field, but when only the mark was indicated he showed what he could do, and it
was wonderful.
And so I must add that to the list of the pleasure
grounds in the park which, as I believe I wrote you, comprise croquet, tennis,
base-ball, a picnic ground provided with tables and seats and a lot of public
swings for the small children. There are
also boats on the lake, a zoo, a fine museum and a band stand which cost
$30,000 – in which concerts are given which are listened to by thousands of
people seated on settees placed in rows through a grove fronting it, and by
hundreds seated in an ever-moving procession of carriages.
It is, as I have said, a grand pleasure ground for
the people, who flock there in great numbers every day. It is in addition a most beautiful park, as it
abounds in flowers and luxuriant semi-tropical plants and trees,
[sheet 9]
for there is no fear of a frost injuring them.
Did I write that I saw many water-pipes on the
outside of houses? Probably water was
introduced after the house was built and that was the easiest and cheapest way
to provide for it. No wonder that the
plumbers there will not sell even a washer for a faucet to a layman, but
require him to pay a plumber to attend to it.
Think of the luxury of freedom from bursting pipes!
I overheard a person on the train from San Francisco
to Santa Cruz telling another about a visit to Alaska, and she said that the
most wonderful thing she saw there was the snow and ice, and she stated that it
looked quite different from what she supposed it would. And she must have been thirty five years
old! Experiences differ with localities
truly.
I stopped over during a day at Salt Lake City just
to break the journey and freshen up, and was thus enabled to visit the interior
of the Mormon Tabernacle, which I had omitted to do on my way West. It is truly a wonderful structure, having a
dome supported by wooden trusses which enabled them to dispense with pillars,
hence everyone of the ten thousand seats has an uninterrupted view of the stage;
and the acoustic properties are so perfect that it is possible to hear and
understand a whisper from the pulpit in any seat in the building. A man dropped a pin on the railing near the
pulpit, and it was perfectly audible to me at a distance of two hundred and
fifty feet. This building was designed
and built by Brigham Young, and was constructed without nails.
We visited the Assembly Hall, but not the Temple as
“gentiles” are not allowed inside it. I
got some fine photographs of the different buildings.
I think I told you in my first instalment [sic] that
I thought Salt Lake City one of the finest cities I had ever seen, and that it
was a city of homes, so many [illegible] single ones. On mentioning this opinion to
[sheet 10]
the guide, he remarked: “Yes, and the best thing
about it is that most of them are owned by the people who live in them.[“]
I think I wrote you about my experience at the lake
resort, ten miles or so from Salt Lake City, Salt Air Beach: I will enclose a
photograph showing the crowd. By the
way, I hope that you did not hunt for enclosures in my second instalment [sic],
for I did not enclose them as I had loaned them and they were not returned in
time: I shall try to do better this
time. I shall enclose some blue prints,
as I think them cleaner than the regular ones.
I returned to Colorado Springs, where I spent a
couple of days, by the Colorado Midland RR instead of by the Denver and Rio
Grande, which, as you may recall, tumbled me down an embankment on my way West.
I got better treatment on this road, for I passed
through the best scenery by daylight on a day perfect in every respect: all the
conditions were conducive to the highest enjoyment. If fact, a gentleman who had taken the same
trip towards evening exclaimed: “This has been the very best day of the whole
trip: I have enjoyed it most!” And so
far as the traveling was concerned, I could fully agree with him, for, as there
were few passengers, there was lots of room, enabling us to change from one
side of car to the other at will: and the conductor was pleasant and obliging,
and he tried to make it enjoyable for the passengers.
I spent the greater part of the day in the
vestibules where it was possible to get views ahead and back as well as on the
sides, and sometimes these forward and back views were thrilling.
While we were in the valley we discovered some lofty
snow-capped peaks, and when we asked the conductor about them he informed us
that we should climb that range, though of course not the peaks: and from there
on until dark
[sheet 11]
there was presented one continuous succession of
views, wonderful and green.
We saw from the heights the narrow source of the
Arkansas River, and later from along the top of the range we could see several
lines of the track by which we had climbed the mountain at different
elevations, with the beautiful Arkansas Valley bright with sunshine spread out
below.
At one place the line of track by a double curve
formed a perfect loop to the view though being really of course at different
elevations.
I was very glad that I had selected almost the same
route to return by, for the Colorado Midland follows about the course as the
Denver & Rio Grande, as I obtained a very different impression of the
appearance and grandeur of the Rockies of Colorado than I received on my way
West; and I have a much better opinion of them than when I wrote my first
instalment. [sic] This was owing to the
fact that their brown gravelly appearance (I called them great gravel heaps)
harmonized with the Autumnal tints of the foliage, and there had evidently been
heavy rains to freshen things up, while the day, as I have said, was perfection;
clear, bright, and inclining to be crisp.
Then too the highest peaks were covered with a light fall of snow which
caused them to glisten in the sunlight, and, forming as they did with the lower
ranges, which were often in shadow, a constantly changing picture, they gave
one a truer idea of their height and grandeur.
But the grand old Granite Hills are worth a hundred of them, for they
always look grand and are always beautiful; they do not require a coating of
snow to conceal a yellow gravelly top, and they look relatively almost as high,
excepting Pike’s Peak and a few others, as
[sheet 12]
the Rockies rise from a level that ranges from 4000
to 6000 ft in height.
That guest at Mt. Jackson House [in Franconia, N.H.]
who seemed to depreciate the Franconia Mountains I am sure inwardly
congratulated herself that she lived nearer the White Mts., and I am also sure
that she would not swap those “foot-hills” for whole ranges of the “gravel
heaps.”
The foliage along the route was gorgeous, and I was
surprised to see so much of it, for I did not realize on the way out that there
were so many trees, but now they were all brilliant, and each one was conspicuous
although together they formed beautiful harmonious pictures.
Even the rivers, along whose edges our train sped,
took on the tints of the neighboring trees and bushes and looked like rapidly
flowing streams of amber, ruby, and emerald.
Add to this a background at the right perspective distance of high
precipitous cliffs, colored some red others yellow, and I think you will agree
that it was a picture for an artist.
Think of a whole day of such enjoyment!
It was truly a memorable one.
And it included a sight of Leadville, that
celebrated town, where we stopped ten minutes, giving us a chance to step out
on the platform of the station and inhale the air at an elevation of 10,200
feet; nearly twice as high as grand old Lafayette [Mount Lafayette is in the
Franconia Range]: but it did not look it.
Still there was a beautiful picture, as the surrounding peaks were
sprinkled with snow.
[sheet 13]
We reached Colorado Springs in the evening, but I
did not find any difficulty in getting accommodations at a good hotel: you may
remember that on my former visit there accommodations were at a premium, and,
after stopping the night of my trip up Pike’s Peak at Manitou, I went to Pueblo
the next afternoon to get a good night’s rest.
The next day I renewed my acquaintance with South
Cheyenne Canyon and Seven Falls, and they too improved on acquaintance, for I
now have a thoroughly clear impression of it, and it is that of a most
wonderful place.
I think that I described it to you in my first
instalment [sic], and, as this will prove a severe enough test of your
endurance without repetitions, I will refrain from any attempt here, except to
add that a tree on the edge of a perpendicular cliff, a thousand or more feet
high, was pointed out to me as being the one under which Helen Hunt Jackson
wrote her novels, and the place was most appropriately called “Inspiration
Point”; and, recalling the Pine Grove of Mt. Jackson House, I could sympathize
with the idea.
I planned to take an early train the next morning
for Denver, and was called in consequence at 6 o’clock, but, when on looking
out of my window I discovered that snow had covered Pike’s Peak during the
night, and that it was presenting just the phase I had wished to see but hardly
hoped to, I changed my plans and spent the morning at the Springs.
I was out while yet the sun lighted up the peak
alone, even before its
[sheet 14]
rays touched the lower ranges, and so I was able to
view the mountain in all its majesty, wearing, as it were, a glistening crown,
which well became its lofty head.
Wasn’t I fortunate?
Another wonderful impression to be added to the already rich store.
From a good vantage point I just stood and gazed
until the sunlight tipped the top of the lower ranges, and then I watched it
while it gradually crept down the sides until it finally lighted up the valley.
During the morning I took a car-ride to a lake that
is located on a plateau from which is obtained the best impression of the whole
range, including Pike’s Peak and several almost as high. It was a wonderfully grand panorama, with a
background of mountains topped by a whole row and ridge of snow-capped ones,
while the city, beautiful in the sunlight, lay between.
These grand old snow-caps kept me company until I
reached Denver, yes, I really did not lose them until I had left that city
several hours behind.
Then followed a rather uninteresting, because
monotonous, journey of a night and a day through Nebraska and Iowa to Chicago,
where I spent an evening and a part of a morning visiting a sister who resides
there.
Then an eventless journey of a day and a half, but
one enlivened by the mildly grand and beautiful scenery of Pennsylvania and New
York, and I had used up the two yards-in-length ticket
[sheet 15]
with which I had started from Los Angeles, and my
most enjoyable and enlightening trip was ended, to be continued indefinitely in
memory, and, I am inclined to believe you have reason to think, -- on paper.
I was glad to hear that your mother and others can
endorse my opinion of Hilton’s Specific No. 3, for I am sure that it has during
the past two weeks saved me from pneumonia, and cured a cold for a friend; and
so enabling him to enjoy a $5 dinner that he fully anticipated losing. But I was sorry to hear that your father did
not give the “phones” a longer trial, as he seems to have tired of them even
sooner than my cousin, who persisted long enough to show his family that they
were really a benefit: but I suppose that they are mighty disagreeable and hard
to become accustomed to: still he may find them of benefit on extraordinary
occasions.
I have changed my address to Brooklyn, as I am now
with the Fifth Guarantee & Trust Co. of this city and New York City.
The climate here is so different from Los
Angeles! A rather odd lament for an
Easterner, isn’t it? But I have had a
cold for the past two weeks, and during that time I have thought of the “Land
where Frosts are unknown, and where Flowers bloom eleven months of the Year”:
but really I am sure that I should enjoy seeing and experiencing the huge
drifts of New Hampshire, for I can well remember the pleasure I derived from
them years ago in Connecticut: and the Winter period of “Nature’s Serial
Story,” which, by the way, is one of my choicest favorites, which I have read
many times; and each time I enjoy it better than the time before: I think it a
wonderful book. [Nature’s Serial Story was written by Edward Payson Roe.]
Have you read that idyl [sic] by E.P. Roe? I spoke to James about it, and I think that
he said he had read it.
Please tell James that I was reminded of him the
other day, when, in passing a store-window, I saw a large brood of chicks just
from an incubator: I send him with this a calendar appropriate for the little
house on the hill.
[sheet 16]
By the way, you guessed rightly in regard to
enclosures, or the failure to enclose would, perhaps, be more accurate. I had loaned the small photos, and did not
receive them back in time to forward them; and I came across some choicer
moonstones, which I want to get polished before sending.
I am going to enclose with this a slight
propitiatory offering, for such a number of pages must be an infliction.
Wishing you all:
A Merry Christmas
And
A Happy New Year,
I am
Yours
sincerely,
Asa
J. Farwell
[a blank sheet of stationery was enclosed with this
letter, evidently sent because of the pictures on it]
Letter 4: Brooklyn, Feb. 7 and 14, 1904
This letter is written on 14 sheets of stationery,
decorated with California poppies, and each with 3 photographic images. (The same style stationery was used for
letter 2.)
The images are as follows:
Sheet 1:
quadrangle of Stanford University, Yosemite Falls, Cliff House [in San
Francisco];
Sheets 2 and 10:
Union Square and Spreckels Building, Market St. showing Chronicle Building,
Music Stand [in] Golden Gate Park;
Sheet 3: Mt.
Shasta; Glacier Point in Yosemite Valley, rocks at Cliff House;
Sheets 4, 9, and
12: Fisherman’s Wharf, [San Francisco]. “Wawona” on road to Yosemite [large
redwood with tunnel cut through it], and City Hall, [San Francisco];
Sheets 5 and 11:
Fort Point showing Golden Gate, Claus Spreckels Building; [elk at a lake]
Sheets 6 and 13:
Yosemite Valley, street scene in Chinatown, view from Mt. Tamalpais;
Sheet 7: Ferry
depot and piers, [San Francisco], Donohue Fountain, Golden Gate [with sail
boats];
Sheets 8 and 14:
Carmel Mission, redwood grove, Mission Dolores [in San Francisco];
142 Henry St.
Brooklyn, Feby.
7/04
My dear Miss
Grimes:
I think that you will acknowledge that it was in
kindness that your mother retained the “instalment” [sic] until your return
home, for you will need the strength resulting from your recreation visit to
help you bear up under it, for it is the greatest test of your endurance with
which you have been inflicted: I do not recall just the number of pages, but I
think they total something like thirty.
Think of that – and thank your mother!
You will notice that I am using “Souvenir” paper, and I ask you to
excuse it, for after having spread myself over so much of this sized paper I
find it difficult to limit myself to the regulation note paper.
You wrote that you had heard Melba. [Nellie Melba, the famed opera singer] You should hear her in opera where you could
hear her voice in arias and duets, and then I am sure that you would be
enthusiastic in praise. I heard her with
Jean DeReshe in Romeo and Juliette when at the close of the opera the audience,
which nearly filled Mechanics Hall in Boston, called them before the curtain
more than twenty times; one near me counted up to twenty and then devoted
himself to applauding until the curtain was raised and an upright piano was
rolled in on the stage, and Melba sang “Home Sweet Home” to the accompaniment
of Jean DeReshe. I had my favorite
position as usual that evening, and remember
[sheet 2]
well the wonderful singing.
If you happen to be in Boston during the Spring
opera season, and the operas happen to be given at Mechanics Hall, I should
advise you to go “rush” once, i.e. on [illegible] admission ticket, and try my
favorite position which is on the right side facing the stage in second balcony
just in front of second arch.
It is not very tiresome standing there (there are no
seats in second balcony) as there is a wide railing to lean on which can be
made comfortable by a folded coat: and it is possible to sit during the
intermissions. Sisters of a friend of
mine often buy two dollar seats in order to be admitted before the line of
waiters, so that they can stand near “my position.” It is not necessary to pay even the two dollars,
or to stand in line, as one can buy a position near the head of the line by
paying some boy or man from twenty five to fifty cents. These young ladies and the brother sometimes
sit in what would be called the orchestra, but they say that they enjoy the
music better standing there in second balcony.
And I had my opinion most strongly endorsed one
evening at the first performance of Verdi’s then new opera, “Falstaff,” when
three of the greatest musical critics, including Philip Hale and Wolff, came
from the orchestra and stood, scorebooks in hand, just back of me for over an
[sheet 3]
hour during the 2nd act of the opera,
remarking when they reached “my position”: “Here is the very best place in the
whole hall to get the effect of the music.”
My finding “the very best place in the hall” was not
the result of chance, but deliberate choice after trying many other places, for
I had attended operas there from the first performances when Abbey [Henry
Eugene Abbey] had his great company, including Patti, Gerster, Fursch-Madi,
& Campanini [Adelina Patti, Etelka Gerster,
Emma Fursch-Madi, and Italo Campanini]; when owing to trouble with
management of Boston Theater Mechanics Hall was used as an emergency, and the
orchestra chairs were common unpainted kitchen chairs fastened together in rows
by boards underneath, and with the rear rows on the same level as the front. But the singing sounded just as well in the
second balcony, and I had the pleasure of attending many times during the
engagement. And every season after I
made sure of securing my position for the best performances, and so I have had
the pleasure of hearing most of the great singers many times.
I attended Beethoven’s beautiful opera Fidelio last
evening and heard Ternina [Milka Ternina] for the first time. She has a fine voice, but in the arias her
high notes did not have a perfectly clear sweet tone, there seemed to be just a
slight wornness, as it were, that was very aggravating as the effect produced
just fell short of what you wanted and expected.
[sheet 4]
But as Isolde is considered her great role, that
probably accounts for it for a voice can hardly answer the demands of Isolde
and produce the best effects of Fidelio.
I heard Tristan and Isolde when Sucher and Alvary
sang in it [Rosa Sucher and Max Alvary], and, so far as they were concerned, it
seemed a contrast in screeching: first Sucher would screech and then Alvary
would seem to say I think I can screech louder, to which Sucher would respond
with a greater effort, which would be met by Albary, until I fairly put my
thumbs in my ears and waited until they stopped: and often I felt like calling
out to them to stop and not interfere with the orchestra, for when it had a
chance it showed that the music was grandly beautiful.
As Termina is to sing the part next Saturday evening
I may go over to hear the opera sung. It
was the same way with “Das Rheingold”: I wished that the singers would not
interrupt the orchestra. But it was not
so when I heard Lehman [Lille Lehman] and Alvary in “Siegfried,” “Die Walkurie”
and “Die Gotterdammerung.” I shall never
forget that great duet in “Siegfried” between Lehman and Alvary.
February
14, 1904
I have gotten so accustomed to writing in
“instalments” [sic] that I find it difficult to limit myself to one sitting,
hence I put off finishing this letter until I could write a second instalment:
which really has seemed possible only on Sundays for there are so many rooming
in this house that there
[sheet 5]
is really never quiet for the space of many minutes
at a time, which condition is not conducive to letter writing. It is a fine house on “the Heights” and the
people and everything in every way first-class, and there is no more noise than
one would expect from so many, but there is hardly a minute during the evening
until late that one does not hear loud talking, whistling, or some noise, to
say nothing of two pianos, a violin, a ‘cello, or a viola, and an harmonica,
which is just enough intrusion to interfere with writing. One can read very well and pay no attention
to it, but I find it difficult to write under these conditions: quite in
contrast with “Inspiration Point” at South Cheyenne Canyon.
I did not go to hear Termina in Isolde last evening,
but expect to hear her with Sembrich and Gadski on next Thursday evening in
“The Magic Flute.” [Marcella Sembrich
and Johanna Gadski]
I enclose a picture clipped from last week’s paper,
which is from a photograph of New York as it looks in early evening from the
Brooklyn Bridge. A few weeks ago I
walked over between 5.30 and 6 o’clock just for the pleasure of seeing this
picture, and a wonderfully beautiful picture it is. This clipping does not give a good idea of it,
for it merely shows the buildings to be seen in one direction and it gives no
idea of their beauty, aglow with their countless yellow lights. And to this part of the picture must be added
the brilliant white star fixed to the torch of the great statue of “Liberty
Enlightening the World,” and the moving picture of the myriad of ferry boats
with their double rows of yellow lighted windows and their brilliant red and
green lights above, these again multiplied by their reflection in the river:
while to the North appears the great arch of strong white electric lights
marking the vast span of that new “World’s Wonder,” the Williamsburgh Bridge,
while below it and between us and the bridge move hither and thither their
courses indicated by their red and
[sheet 6]
green lights another flotilla of ferry boats: and if
you are fortunate enough to be on the bridge, not “at midnight,” but soon after
five o’clock, the procession of Boston, Providence, & Stonington
Steamboats, four or five in number, adds an element of stately grandeur.
It is truly a picture well worth seeing.
And I never tire of the view from the bridge by
daylight. I frequently walk over and
back just for the view and exercise: it is a mile each way when one can enjoy
the good fresh air without inhaling any portion of that alotted [sic] “frick[?]”:
and at the same time can find entertainment in the ever changing picture below
him for the river is always alive with a great variety of craft: one can
usually see among them one or more ocean steamers, either arriving from or
leaving for Foreign ports. It is interesting
to watch the small tugs maneuver to get the great leviathans out into the
channel and headed for the ocean: they generally have to back them out and turn
them around, while the tide, if strong, in the meantime takes them some
distance either up or down the river.
Friday being a holiday I went over to New York about
noon, and walked up to Central Park. On
the way I stopped at an art gallery on Fifth Ave. to see an exhibition of
Inness’ [George Inness] wonderful landscape paintings: there were several that
I hope the Metropolitan Museum of Art bought, for I should like to see them
often. While looking at them you could
almost enjoy being in the fields or woods, for the impression was so perfectly
painted that you could say that you had seen the woods and fields in just such
condition of color light and atmosphere.
[sheet 7]
Some of them seemed to surpass the examples owned by
the museum, perhaps because they appealed to my recognition of just such a phase
of nature: they were wonderful.
At the park, I watched the skating for some time,
being entertained by the fancy skating of some and amused at the efforts of
several men, who evidently had not been on skates many times before: one man in
particular seemed to think that he was doing finely, while the difference in
the length of his strokes[?] and the frequency of his slides reminded me of my
brief experience with roller-skates, while I was in training for a “Rinking
Party,” which a military company to which I belonged was to give.
From the Park, I went over to the Museum of Natural
History, where in two of the departments I saw mammals and birds ranging from
the Moose to the Mouse, and from the Condor to the Frilled Coguette [sic, i.e.
coquette]. As you may not be acquainted
with the Frilled Coguette I will explain that it is the smallest sized
hummingbird, not over an inch or so in length and about as large as a lead
pencil, but a beautiful little mite arrayed in green, bronze, and blue.
It is really impossible for one to visit all the
departments in one afternoon, unless he should walk through them rapidly,
paying little attention to the exhibits: and I should think that it would take
many to do it justice.
There is a most wonderful collection of butterflys
[sic], gathered from many states and countries, which would be the despair of
any artist to try to paint.
There is an extensive ethnological exhibition
representative of the tribes of Alaska and the Indians, which is most
interesting
[sheet 8]
And there is an immense and complete collection of
minerals, precious and semi-precious, embracing everything from the “ites” to
the diamond. By the way, I asked the
Professor what those so-called moonstones were that I brought from California,
and he said that they were agates, “but very pretty.” When I can get over to New York during business
hours I am going to have some polished, and will send those that I failed to
with that “instalment.”
Each department of the museum is so arranged that
one can easily get an intelligent idea of the collections comprising it, and
visited systematically, is decidedly educational.
There is a wonderful collection of fossils which
make history of millions of years ago, and by means of them and the charts
shown it is possible to have learn a lot without reading a book. For one thing, they show the development of
the horse from the small five toed prehistoric animal to the present
race-horse: and they show skeletons of a number of “’saurs” that make you glad
that you did not live when they roamed the woods and fields. I would hardly have the same feeling on
meeting one of those that I did on seeing that antlered deer jump across the
road way back of the sugar grove.
They have many exhibits in large glass cases showing
birds with their nests on trees, in chimneys, in clay banks, or plastered
against the side
[sheet 9]
of a cliff, according to their natural custom.
I returned home feeling that I had spent my holiday
well and enjoyably.
I should have begun this – I can hardly call
it a letter as it has outgrown all proportions of a letter – infliction is a better
term two weeks ago, had I not spent the day with a friend who has two mighty
interesting boys, the older is in the Polytechnic Institute, while the younger
one is still at home being between three and four years old. He is a bright, sunny-dispositioned littler
fellow with the profile of a cherub and a mass of yellow curls.
After dinner he insisted on my going upstairs to see
the toys that Santa Claus brought him.
He said that he wrote a letter to Santa Claus and put it into the
fireplace so that no one else should see it.
When I remarked on seeing the abundance of toys that
he must have been a very good boy to have had Santa Claus bring him so many
toys, he replied: “But Santa Claus did not know when I was bad”: and when I
repeated that he must be a good boy he said: “I am bad sometimes.” Wasn’t that good? He is a dear little fellow, and his father
says that he is markedly considerate of everyone.
The paper stated today that a thirty four story
building was to built only fifty feed wide: it does not seem possible when you
read it, but I enclose a clipping showing a building that actually exists to
the discomfort,
[sheet 10]
and discomfiture often, of many who have to weather
it in a gale, for, through its location and by its conformation, it gives a
moderate wind the force of a gale, and so almost always deprives strangers of
their hats and often of their footing: natives pass on the other side unless
necessity compels them to weather it when they brace themselves and cling to
their hats. It has something the
appearance of the bow of a steamship heading for Madison Square. This prospective skyscraper will have more
the appearance of a tower; the more so as it is to be located near Central Park
where there are no skyscrapers that will detract from its individual and
peculiar appearance.
Did I write you that I lost my umbrella while
loading my Santa Claus pack; that umbrella! the only thing I personally saved
at the time of railroad wreck; the umbrella I carried about from place to place
during two and a half months of sunshiny weather; the umbrella that traveled
with me 7500 miles: think of losing it by separating from it not more than
twenty feet, while at Reno, Nev. I let it travel on a different section of our
train half a day until I caught up with it.
Had I once supposed that I should have lost it so carelessly I would
have had a case
[sheet 11]
made for it and preserved it as a memento of my
trip.
But there were pleasant associations connected with
its loss, for I was purchasing presents for the two boys I mentioned, and for
some young cousins residing in East Orange, N.J. where I passed a mighty happy
Christmas in the presence of a Christmas tree and in the atmosphere of the
children’s happiness.
My appearance on Christmas Eve while on my way to my
friend’s called forth from a prosaic policeman the title of “Santa Claus.” I was then rather wishing for those “eight
tiny reindeer” for the package was weighted with a box of blocks in the shape
of a good sized cart fully rigged for transporting them. I thought once when coming across City Hall
Park in New York (I purchased them on 6th Ave.) of taking off the
stout paper wrapping and drawing them.
My friend says that the little fellow takes great pleasure with them,
building houses, forts, and everything buildable.
I have had some photographs of Santa Cruz and
vicinity printed, and I herewith enclose a few from which you may be able to
get some slight idea of the beauty of the location and surroundings of “The
Spoonholder.” The geraniums fuchsias and
heliotrope do not, perhaps, show up in the photos to be as wonderful as I
described, but please note the height of piazza and
[sheet 12]
railing from the ground and see how much they extend
above it, and I think that you will concede that from ten to fifteen feet is a
low estimate.
The orange tree does not show up, nor does the
coloring of the blooms and variegated shrubs and plants, but, as I have
written, the photos may give you a slight idea of the scene, and so I enclose
them.
You will notice the natural bridge formed by the
action of the ocean and bear in mind that the cliffs are not formed of the same
material as the rugged cliffs of New England, but of a soft rock which is
easily worn away, forming frequent natural bridges and many caverns, often
causing the surface to cave in. You
should have seen that great dash of spray lighted by the sun, and the picture
which shows framed by the arch. I think
that this makes an exceedingly fine and effective photograph for one so small.
[sheet 13]
In the other photograph of the cliffs the apparent
white side of the cliff is really spray which was dashed over the top of it,
and this surf was caused, not by any storm, but by the usual swell of the
ocean.
That picture of the ocean framed by the palms made
with its frame a most beautiful one, and was one of those to be had from the
piazza of the hotel: in the light of the full moon it was especially beautiful.
I also enclose a photo of the tennis courts in
Golden Gate Park, San Francisco, with two games in progress: for such a small
photo I think that the scope and detail are wonderful; as it is a new one it
will not duplicate any I have sent you.
I also enclose two rather comical photos of an
ostrich which I snapped about the time of that eclipse I mentioned in one of my
“instalments.” [sic]
It may puzzle you at first to find the ostrich in
one of the photos, but he is there: I showed the film
[sheet 14]
to my friend the Sunday I dined with him, and
neither he nor I could find any ostrich; but I knew he was there, so I had the
film printed; and sure enough there he was looking over the post at me. The other one is plainer, but the light was
not strong enough to produce a good clear photo: there are too many shade trees
in the farm for instantaneous photographing.
They say that it has been a cloudy, dull, cheerless,
day but I have not noticed it: and so please be considerate and excuse this
infliction.
With kind regards to all. I am
Yours
sincerely,
Asa
J. Farwell
I send this to Franconia thinking that you must have
returned ere this. I enclose some
clippings for James showing some phases of the ostrich raising business.