AVALON, THE BEAUTIFUL 



some, restiul, and serene. The resort is democratic 

 and indifferent and aloof. Yet there is always mirth, 

 music, and laughter. Many and many a night have 

 I awakened, anywhere from ten to one, to listen to 

 the low lap of the waves on the beach, the soft 

 tones of an Hawaiian ukulele, the weird cry of a 

 nocturnal sea-gull, the bark of a sea-lion, or the faint, 

 haunting laugh of some happy girl, going by late, 

 perhaps with her lover. 



Avalon is so clean and sweet. It is the only place 

 I have been, except Long Key, where the omnipres- 

 ent, hateful, and stinking automobile does not ob- 

 trude upon real content. Think of air not reeking 

 with gasolene and a street safe to cross at any time! 

 Safe, I mean, of course, from being run down by 

 some joy-rider. You are liable to encounter one 

 of the Loreleis or Aphrodites at any hour from five 

 till sunset. You must risk chance of that. 



So, in conclusion, let me repeat that if you are a 

 fisherman of any degree, and if you aspire to some 

 wonderful experiences with the great and vanishing 

 game fish of the Pacific, and if you would love to 

 associate with these adventures some dazzling white 

 hot days, and unforgetable cool nights where your 

 eyelids get glued with sleep, and the fragrant salt 

 breath of the sea, its music and motion and color 

 and mystery and beauty — then go to Avalon before 

 it is too late. 



THE END 



