The California Birthday Book Part 16

Old San Francisco, which is the San Francisco of only the other day--the day before the earthquake--was divided midway by the Slot.

The Slot was an iron crack that ran along the center of Market street, and from the Slot arose the burr of the ceaseless, endless cable that was. .h.i.tched at will to the cars it dragged up and down. In truth, there were two Slots, but, in the quick grammar of the West, time was saved by calling them, and much more that they stood for, "The Slot."

North of the Slot were the theaters, hotels and shipping district, the banks and the staid, respectable business houses. South of the Slot were the factories, slums, laundries, machine shops, boiler works, and the abodes of the working cla.s.s.

JACK LONDON, in _Sat.u.r.day Evening Post._

MAY 1.

HAWAII, WEDNESDAY, MAY 1. 1907.

A year ago, Jack and I set out on a horseback trip through the northern counties of California. It just now came to me--not the date itself, but the feel of the sweet country, the sweetness of mountain lilacs, the warm summer-dusty air. * * * And here in Hawaii, I am not sure but I am at home, for our ground is red, too, in the Valley of the Moon, where home is--dear home on the side of Sonoma Mountain, where the colts are, and where the Brown Wolf died.

CHARMIAN K. LONDON, in _Log of the Snark._

MAY 2.

A dull eyed rattlesnake that lay All loathsome, yellow-skinned, and slept, Coil'd tight as pine-knot, in the sun With flat head through the center run, Struck blindly back.

JOAQUIN MILLER.

The air was steeped in the warm fragrance of a California spring.

Every crease and wrinkle of the encircling hills was reflected in the blue stillness of the laguna. Patches of poppies blazed like bonfires on the mesa, and higher up the faint smoke of the blossoming buckthorn tangled its drifts in the chaparral. Bees droned in the wild buckwheat, and powdered themselves with the yellow of the mustard, and now and then the clear, staccato voice of the meadow-lark broke into the drowsy quiet--a swift little dagger of sound.

MARGARET COLLIER GRAHAM, in _Stories of the Foothills._

MAY 3.

THE SEA GARDENS AT CATALINA.

The voyager when the gla.s.s-bottom boat starts is first regaled with the sandy beach, in three or four feet of water. He sees the wave lines, the effect of waves on soft sand, the delicate shading of the bottom in grays innumerable; now the collar-like egg of a univalve or the sharp eye of a sole or halibut protruding from the sand. A school of smelt dart by, pursued by a ba.s.s; and as the water deepens bands of small fish, gleaming like silver, appear; then a black cormorant dashing after them, or perchance a sea-lion browsing on the bottom in pursuit of prey. Suddenly the light grows dimmer; quaint shadows appear on the bottom, and almost without warning the lookers on are in the depths of the kelpian forest.

CHARLES FREDERICK HOLDER, in _Life in the Open._

MAY 4.

THE HIDEOUS OCTOPUS.

From the gla.s.s-bottom boat we can see all the fauna of the ocean, and, without question, the most fascinating of them all is the octopus.

Timid, constantly changing color, hideous to a degree, having a peculiarly devilish expression, it is well named the _Mephistopheles of the Sea_, and with the bill of a parrot, the power to adapt its color to almost any rock, and to throw out a cloud of smoke or ink, it well deserves the terror it arouses. The average specimen is about two feet across, but I have seen individuals fourteen feet in radial spread, and larger ones have been taken in deep water off sh.o.r.e.

CHARLES FREDERICK HOLDER, in _The Gla.s.s Bottom Boat._

MAY 5.

A SIERRA STORM FROM A TREE TOP.

Being accustomed to climb trees in making botanical studies, I experienced no difficulty in reaching the top of this one (a pine about 100 feet high), and never before did I enjoy so n.o.ble an exhilaration of motion. The slender tops fairly flapped and swished in the pa.s.sionate torrent, bending and swirling backward and forward, round and round, tracing indescribable combinations of vertical and horizontal curves, while I clung with muscles firm braced, like a bobolink on a reed.

JOHN MUIR, in _The Mountains of California._

MAY 6.

There is a breeziness, a s.p.a.ciousness, an undefiled ecstasy of purity about the High Sierras. Nature, yet untainted by man, has expressed herself largely in mighty pine-clad, snow-topped blue mountains, and rolling stretches of foot-hills; in rivers whose clarity is as perfect as the first snow-formed drops that heralded them; and a sky of chaste and limpid blue, pale as with awe of the celestial wonders it has gazed upon. But there is an effect of simplicity with it all, an omission of sensational landscape contrasts.

MIRIAM MICHELSON, in _Anthony Overman._

The ocean is a great home. Its waters are full of life. The rocks along its sh.o.r.es are thickly set with living things; the mud and sand of its bays are pierced with innumerable burrows, and even the abyss of the deep sea has its curious inhabitants.

JOSIAH KEEP, in _West Coast Sh.e.l.ls._

MAY 7.

THE COMING OF THE RAILROAD.

(IN CALIFORNIA.)

It was folded, away from strife, In the beautiful pastoral hills; And the mountain peaks kept watch and ward O'er the peace that the valley fills-- Kept watch and ward lest the bold world pa.s.s The fair green rampart of hills.

The rains of the winter fell In benison on its sod; And the smiling fields of the spring looked up, A thanksgiving glad, to G.o.d; And the little children laughed to see The wild-flowers star the sod.

Hark! hark! to the thundrous roar!

Like a demon of fable old, The fiery steed of the rail hath swept Thro' the ancient mountain-hold.