During the Carnival sentiment reigns supreme—that is, if you have engaged rooms far in advance, and the matter of three daily meals is settled—and portly business men become gallant, chivalrous, and even poetic. In testimony I offer two verses sent to a lady visitor with a bunch of roses:
“We had not thought it was for aught He lingered round us, scanning, But to admire our spring attire, The south wind softly fanning.
“But when we knew it was for you Our charms he sought to capture, All round the bower each budding flower Blushed pink with rosy rapture.
“Lovingly,
THE ROSES.”
George Eliot once said: “You love the roses—so do I! I wish the sky would rain down roses as they rain from off the shaken bush. Why will it not? Then all the valleys would be pink and white, and soft to tread on. They would fall as light as feathers, smelling sweet; and it would be like sleeping and yet waking all at once.”
She never knew Santa Barbara.
I said the horses feel proud, and their owners tell me how they turn their heads to see their adornment. And well they may, for a true Barbareno loves his horse as does the Arab, and delights in his decoration. Easily first in this matter is Mr. W. D. Thompson, who came to Santa Barbara from Maine more than forty years ago, a nephew of the captain with whom Dana sailed. Mr. Thompson is a progressive man, who appreciates the many improvements achieved and contemplated, but still loves to tell of the good old times when he was roughing it as a pioneer. He has done a most important and valuable work in having a typical Mexican saddle and bridle of the most approved and correct pattern made out of the finest leather and several thousand silver dollars. As his favorite mare stood before me with this magnificent saddle on, and her forelegs tied with a little strap so that she could step daintily but not run, I never saw such a pretty sight of the kind. This saddle and bridle, worth over $3000, are now on exhibition in Chicago. No more significant or beautiful exhibition of the early argonautic period could be sent from Southern California, and it will surely attract constant and admiring attention. Here is a description from the San Francisco
“This saddle and bridle, manufactured of bullion from Mexican dollars, are exquisite works of art. The saddle is of typical Mexican pattern, with a high pommel, well-hollowed seat, and the most elaborate of trappings. The leather is stamped with elegant designs, and the whole thing is a complete, costly, and elaborate equipment, of good taste and artistic design. The saddle is studded over with silver ornaments. The leather facings are set thick with buttons and rosettes; the pommel is encased in silver; the corners of the aprons are tipped with silver; the stirrups are faced and edged with silver half an inch thick, elaborately chased and carved. The saddle-tree is hung with silver rings, fore and aft, to answer all the requirements of the vaquero in lacing up his riata. The girth, which passes under the horse’s belly and cinches the saddle in place, is woven of hair from horses’ manes by a native artisan, and is fully eight inches broad, with a tassel hanging at its middle. The saddle, the bridle, and all its appointments are marvels of beauty. The reins, martingale, and whip are composed of solid silver in woven strands. The headstall is covered with fluted silver, with large engraved silver rosettes at the sides, with decorations of flowers and heads of wheat, with an elaborate nose-piece with silver engraving. The side-pieces are of silver, massive and ornate, with a silver chain under the horse’s jaw. The bridle, reins, and accessories weigh about twelve pounds, and are worth not less than two hundred and fifty dollars in value of silver coin used in its manufacture.”
Everybody up and down the coast knows Dixie Thompson. His talk is full of delightful anecdotes of the early settlers, and he has a droll, dry humor of his own that is refreshing. Mr. Nordhoff, who is an old friend, once wrote to the Harper “Drawer” about his shrewd way of restraining the over-keen traders and laboring men who tried to impose upon him. He heads the pleasant bit of gossip, “Captain Thompson’s Club,” and says:
“Captain Dixie is, to all appearance, the man of most leisure in all leisurely Santa Barbara. He and his horses and carriages are always at the service of a friend. But while he seems to be the idlest of men, he is, in fact, an extremely capable business man who has many irons in the fire—tills much good land, has horses and cattle and pigs of the best breeds on many hills and in several rich valleys, and keeps all his affairs running in good order. Still, he is an easy-going, not a bustling, man of business. And it is just here that his social contrivance comes in: he has judged it expedient to form a club.
“‘You see,’ said he, the other day, to an old friend, ‘the boys don’t always see me around, and sometimes they try to take a little advantage. I find a fellow who don’t haul half a load for me while I am paying for a full load; another one who gives me short measure; or another who does not do what I have told him. I hate to scold; and as they all deny when I accuse them, and I can’t be telling men that they are lying to me, I thought I’d just establish a Liars’ Club and bring them all in. It is now in good, healthy operation. We don’t call it the Liars’ Club, of course; we speak of the Club. But when I catch a man trying to ‘do’ me, I just tell him that I’ll have to make him a member of the Club.—Oh, how do you do, Mr. President?’ said Captain Dixie to a well-known character just then passing by. —’He’s the president of the Club, you know,’ he added. ‘Here’s Pancho now; I told him the other day I would have to make him a member of the Club if he didn’t look out. I guess he’ll get in yet. It’s a very flourishing club, and more useful, I guess, than some others.’
“Don’t laugh, my dear Drawer. I believe Captain Thompson has struck an admirable idea, and one which might well have wide application. Don’t you suppose the material for such a club exists, for instance—not here in New Haven, of course, but over in New York, say, or perhaps in Washington? Think it over. The Drawer has always taken the lead in great moral and social improvements. I leave it to you.”
Here, as in all Southern California, you will never know anything of the real town unless you have a friend who can take you to unfrequented cross-country drives up winding paths to mesas, or upland pasture guarded by lock and key from the average tourist, and get views indescribably fine.
I am ashamed of my fellow-travellers who pick oranges by the score, and even break off boughs from the choicest and most conspicuous trees, and rush uninvited pell-mell into private grounds and quiet homes of well-bred people to see and exclaim and criticise. Add to this nuisance the fact that hundreds of invalids come yearly to the most desirable localities, turning them into camping-grounds for bacilli. I wonder at the singular forbearance and courtesy of the residents.
Occasionally some one invited to speechify or air his opinion of things in general here bluntly expresses his surprise at finding everywhere so much culture, wealth, and refinement. This is a queer reflection on the fact that this part of the State is filled with specimens of our finest families from the East. I will frankly admit that I must be at my very best to keep up with those I have been privileged to meet here.
You must not forget when in Santa Barbara to visit the fine public library, the best adapted for the convenience of actual workers of any I have entered. You must not fail to drive to Montecito (“little forest”), to Carpenteria and Goleta.
I also advise you to spend a morning in Mr. Ford’s studio, and an afternoon with Mr. Starke and his treasures in wood-carving and inlaying, brought yearly from the Yosemite, wrought out with his own hands. He uses nearly fifty
