The California Birthday Book Part 27

JULY 29.

Distinct from all others, the sequoias are a race apart. The big-tree, and the redwood of the Coast Range, are the only surviving members of that ancient family, the giants of the fore-world. Their immense trunks might be the fluted columns of some n.o.ble order of architecture, surviving its builders like the marble temples of Greece--columns three hundred feet high and thirty feet through at the base. Such a vast nave, such majestic aisles, such sublime spires, only the forest cathedrals know. Symmetrical silver firs, giant cedars and spruce, grow side by side with sugar pines of vast and irregular outline, whose huge branches, like outstretched arms, hold aloft the splendid cones--such is the ancient wood.

C.H. KIRKHAM, in _In the Open._

JULY 30.

Said one, "This city, as you know, Though young in years, as cities go, Has quite a history to repeat If records have been kept complete.

Oft has it felt the earthquake shock That made the strongest building rock.

And more than once 'gone up' in smoke Till scarce a building sheltered folk.

The citizens can point to spots Where people fashioned hangman's knots With nimble fingers, to supply Some hardened rogues a hempen tie, Whom _Vigilantes_ and their friends Saw fit to drop from gable-ends."

PALMER c.o.x, in _The Brownies Through California._

JULY 31.

ROSEMARY.

Indian summer has gone with its beautiful moon.

And all the sweet roses I gathered in June Are faded. It may be the cloud-sylphs of Even Have stolen the tints of those roses for Heaven.

O bonnie bright blossom! in the years far away.

So evanished thy bloom on an evening in May.

The sunlight now sleeps in the lap of the west, And the star-beams are barring its chamber of rest.

While Twilight is weaving her blue-tinted bowers To mellow the landscape where slumber the flowers.

I would fain learn the music that won thee away, When the earth was the beautiful temple of May; For our fancies were measured the bright summer long To the carols we learned from the lark's morning song.

They still haunt me--those echoes from Child land--but now My heart beats alone to their musical flow.

_Then_ I never looked up to the portals on high, For our Heaven was here; and our azure-stained sky Was the violet mead; the cloud-billows of snow Were the pale nodding lilies; the roses that glow On the crown of the hill, gave the soft blushing hue: The gold was the crocus; the silver, the dew Which met as it fell, the glad sunlight of smiles.

And wove the gay rainbow of Hope, o'er our aisles.

But the charm of the spring-time has vanished with thee; To its mystical speech I've forgotten the key; Yet, if angels and flowers _are_ closely allied, I may trace thy lost bloom on the blushing hillside; And when rose-buds are opening their petals in June, I'll feel thou art near me and teaching the tune.

Which chanted by seraphim, won thee away On that blossoming eve, from the gardens of May.

MARY V. TINGLEY LAWRENCE, in _Poetry of the Pacific._

A VOICE ON THE WIND.

And out of the West came a voice on the wind: O seek for the truth and behold, ye shall find!

O strive for the right and behold, ye shall do All things that the Master commandeth of you.

For love is the truth ye have sought for so long, And love is the right that ye strove for through wrong.

Love! love spheres our lives with a halo of fire, But G.o.d, how 'tis dimmed by each selfish desire!

CHARLES KEELER, in _Idyls of El Dorado_ (out of print).

AUGUST 1.

THE AGE OF THE SEQUOIAS.

Prof. Jordan estimates that the oldest of the sequoias is at least 7000 years old. The least age a.s.signed to it is 5000 years. It was a giant when the Hebrew Patriarchs were keeping sheep. It was a sapling when the first seeds of human civilization were germinating on the banks of the Euphrates and the Nile. It had attained its full growth before the Apostles went forth to spread the Christian religion. It began to die before William of Normandy won the battle of Hastings. It has been dying for a thousand years. And unless some accident comes to it, it will hardly be entirely dead a thousand years from now. It has seen the birth, growth and decay of all the generations and tribes and nations of civilized men. It will see the birth and decay of many more generations. It is the oldest living thing on the face of the earth.

G.W. BURTON, in _Burton's Book on California._

AUGUST 2.

Adown the land great rivers glide With lyric odes upon their lips, The sheltered bay with singing tide Forever woos the storm-tossed ships-- And yet, for me more magic teems By California's willowed streams.

For some the crowded market place.

The bustle of the jammed bazaars.

The fleeting chance in fortune's race That ends somewhere amid the stars-- Give me a chance to gather dreams By California's willowed streams.

CLARENCE URMY, in _Sunset Magazine._

AUGUST 3.

But what the land lacks in trees it nearly makes up in shrubs. Three varieties of sumac, reaching often as high as fifteen or eighteen feet, and spreading as many wide, stand thick upon a thousand hill-sides and fill with green the driest and stoniest ravines. Two kinds of live oak bushes, two varieties of lilac, one with white, the other with lavender flowers, the _madrona_, the coffee-berry, the manzanita, the wild mahogany, the choke-berry, all of brightest green, with _adenostoma_ and _baccharis_, two dark-green bushes, looking like red and white cedar, form what is called the chaparral.

Three varieties of dwarf-willow often grow along the water-courses, and with the elder, wild grape, rose and sweet-briar, all well huddled together, the c.h.i.n.ks filled with nettles and the whole tied together with long, trailing blackberry vines, often form an interesting subject of contemplation for one who wants to get on the other side.

T.S. VAN d.y.k.e, in _Southern California._

AUGUST 4.

You who would find a new delight in the wild and waste places of the earth, a new meaning to life, and an enlarged sympathy with your fellow creatures, should seek them out, not in the books, but in their homes. One bird learned and known as an individual creature, with a life all its own, is worth volumes of reading. Listen to their call-notes; observe their plumage and their motions; seek out their homes, and note their devotion to their young. Then will the lower animals become invested with a new dignity, and the homes builded not with hands will become as sacred as the dwelling-place of your neighbor.

CHARLES KEELER, in _Bird Notes Afield._

AUGUST 5.