The California Birthday Book Part 1

The California Birthday Book.

by Various.

INTRODUCTORY

This book, as its t.i.tle-page states, is made up of selections from the writings of California authors. Most of the selections refer to California--her scenic glories, mountains, valleys, skies, canyons, Yosemites, islands, foothills, plains, deserts, sh.o.r.eline; her climatic charms, her flora and fauna, her varied population, her marvellous progress, her wonderful achievements, her diverse industries. Told by different authors, in both prose and poetry, the book is a unique presentation both of California and California writers. The Appendix gives further information (often asked for in vain) about the authors themselves and their work. It is the hope of the compiler that the taste given in these selections may lead many Californians to take a greater interest in the writings of their fellow citizens, and no interest pleases an author more than the purchase, commendation, and distribution of his book.

If this unpretentious book gives satisfaction to the lovers of California, both in and out of the State, the compiler will reap his highest reward. If any suitable author has been left out the omission was inadvertent, and will gladly be remedied in future editions.

GEORGE WHARTON JAMES.

1098 North Raymond Avenue Pasadena, California.

October, 1909.

THE CALIFORNIA BIRTHDAY BOOK

CALIFORNIA.

Hearken, how many years I sat alone, I sat alone and heard Only the silence stirred By wind and leaf, by clash of gra.s.sy spears, And singing bird that called to singing bird.

Heard but the savage tongue Of my brown savage children, that among The hills and valleys chased the buck and doe, And round the wigwam fires Chanted wild songs of their wild savage sires, And danced their wild, weird dances to and fro, And wrought their beaded robes of buffalo.

Day following upon day, Saw but the panther crouched upon the limb, Smooth serpents, swift and slim, Slip through the reeds and gra.s.ses, and the bear Crush through his tangled lair Of chaparral, upon the startled prey!

Listen, how I have seen Flash of strange fires in gorge and black ravine; Heard the sharp clang of steel, that came to drain The mountain's golden vein And laughed and sang, and sang and laughed again, Because that "Now," I said, "I shall be known!

I shall not sit alone, But shall reach my hands into my sister lands!

And they? Will they not turn Old, wondering dim eyes to me and yearn-- Aye, they will yearn, in sooth, To my glad beauty, and my glad, fresh youth."

INA D. COOLBRITH, in _Songs from the Golden Gate._

LET US MAKE EACH DAY OUR BIRTHDAY.

WRITTEN ESPECIALLY FOR THE CALIFORNIA BIRTHDAY BOOK.

Let us make each day our birthday, As with each new dawn we rise, To the glory and the gladness Of G.o.d's calm, o'erbending skies; To the soul-uplifting anthems Of Creation's swelling strains, Chanted by the towering mountains, Surging sea, and sweeping plains.

Let us make each day our birthday-- Every morning life is new, With the splendors of the sunrise, And the baptism of the dew; With the glisten of the woodlands, And the radiance of the flowers, And the birds' exultant matins, In the young day's wakening hours.

Let us make each day our birthday, To a newer, holier life, Rousing to some high endeavor, Arming for a n.o.bler strife, Toiling upward, looking G.o.dward, Lest our poor lives be as discords, In Heaven's symphony of love.

S.A.R., _College Notre Dame, San Jose, Cal._

JANUARY 1.

A NEW YEAR'S WISH.

May each day bring thee something Fair to hold in memory-- Some true light to shine Upon thee in the after days.

May each night bring thee peace, As when the dove broods o'er The young she loves; may day And night the circle of A rich experience weave About thy life, and make It rich with knowledge, but radiant With Love, whose blossoms shall be Tender deeds.

HELEN VAN ANDERSON GORDON.

JANUARY 2.

THE MIRAGE ON THE CALIFORNIA DESERT.

To the south the eye rests upon a vast lake, which can be seen ten or twelve miles distant from the slopes of the mountains, and when I first saw it, its beauty was entrancing. Away to the south, on its borders, were hills of purple, each reflected as clearly as though photographed, and still beyond rose the caps and summits of other peaks and mountains rising from this inland sea, whose waters were of turquoise; yet, as we moved down the slope, the lake was always stealing on before. It was of the things dreams are made of, that has driven men mad and to despair, its bed a level floor of alkali and clay, covered with a dry, impalpable dust that the slightest wind tossed and whirled in air.

CHARLES FREDERICK HOLDER, in _Life in the Open._

JANUARY 3.

When the green waves come dashing, With thunderous lashing, Against the bold cliffs that defend the scarred earth, He wheels through the roaring, Where foam-flakes are pouring, And flaps his broad wings in a transport of mirth.

JOSIAH KEEP, in _The Song of the Sea-Bird_, in _Sh.e.l.ls and Sea-Life._

JANUARY 4.

A long jagged peninsula, where barren heights and cactus-clad mesas glow in the biting rays of an un.o.bscured sun, where water holes are accorded locations on the maps, and where, under the fluttering shade of fluted palm boughs, life becomes a siesta dream. A land great in its past and lean in its present. A land where the rattlesnake and the sidewinder, the tarantula and the scorpion multiply, and where sickness is unknown and fivescore years no uncommon span of life. A land of strange contradictions! A peninsula which to the Spanish _conquistadores_ was an island glistening in the azure web of romance; a land for which the padres gave their lives in fanatic devotion to the Cross; a land rich in history, when the timbers of the _Mayflower_ were yet trees in the forest. Lower California, once sought and guarded for her ores and her jewels, now a veritable terra incognita, slumbering, unnoticed, at the feet of her courted child, the great State of California. Lower California, her romance nigh forgotten, her possibilities overlooked by enterprise and by the statesmen of the two republics.

ARTHUR W. NORTH, in _The Mother of California._

JANUARY 5.

Above me rise the snowy peaks Where golden sunbeams gleam and quiver, And far below, toward Golden Gate, O'er golden sand flows Yuba River.

Through crystal air the mountain mist Floats far beyond yon distant eagle, And swift o'er crag and hill and vale Steps morning, purple-robed and regal.

CLARENCE URMY, in _A Vintage of Verse._

JANUARY 6.