Most attractive are the beaches near Los Angeles. Here caterpillar trams crawl along, sidewalks which swarm with gum-chewers, popcorn-munchers, gingerale-guzzlers, peanut-masticators, hawkers of red hot dogs, spitters of tobacco, ice cream cone venders, stylish freaks and freakish styles, nice and naughty men, good and bad girls, and roller skaters. I grew dizzy at Ferris wheels, aeroplanes, rollercoasters, the plunge bath of the great unwashed, pavilions of dirt, drink, dancing and dissipation. Over all there hung a Cologne variety of smells. Couples were swinging in pier dance halls to ragtime orchestras. There were high dives in the water, and low dives on the street where the innocent were doped, debauched and robbed. Noise was raised to the nth power. Instead of the sweet sea breeze there was the strong aroma of popcorn and perspiration. At the beach you discover many things Columbus never found in his travels—peanut shells, dippy dippers, tin cans, can cans, tin horn sports, human lobsters and jelly fish, shell games, gulls and gullibles, papers, lunch boxes, bags, flasks, mermaids, mere men, kids with pails and shovels, playmates, families, spoony couples, kelp, garters, dead fish, fishermen, lines, nets, boats, cottages, hotels, resorts, boardwalks, promenades, bare legs, arms, feet, busts, driftwood and piers. Here one can find lost souls without exploring the shores of Phlegethon, Cocytus and Avernus. L. A.’s Elysium Park is like the classic one in one respect. When Aeneas went through the Elysian fields all the objects were clothed in a purple light—here it is the haze from innumerable autos whose exhausts wrap everything in smoky pall and smell. The park is a good place to spend hours with the Houris, and to keep it from being a Paradise Lost, one is prohibited from spending the night there. Many enact here the myths of the nymphs and satyrs. Holiday guests are often found “star-scattered” on the grass, acting out the Rubaiyat. There is only one “Lost” Angeles in all the world. * * * * * Dal’s Filosophy It’s easy enough to be pleasant, With a lass and a glass and a song, But the man worth while is the guy who can smile, When he’s got the old woman along. * * * * * Oh, I Wisha Wuza Lightnin’ Bug! (From Cortland, (N. Y.) Standard) Mr. and Mrs. H. C. Tayntor entertained Mr. and Mrs. Charles Olds and son, Walter, of Syracuse, on Monday, and learned from them that Mr. Olds’ daughter, Mrs. Hazel Hammond, was struck by lightning during a recent thunder storm, the skin being burned from one leg some six inches, and then the lightning followed a water pipe and came out of a faucet. * * * * * Let’s Swell Up and Bust A man took his wife out to dinner at a hotel restaurant the other night. A short-skirted damsel breezed in and, there being nobody else in sight, proceeded to vamp him.