You are here
قراءة كتاب The California Birthday Book Prose and Poetical Selections from the Writings of Living California Authors with a Brief Biographical Sketch of each
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"

The California Birthday Book Prose and Poetical Selections from the Writings of Living California Authors with a Brief Biographical Sketch of each
alt="Decorative line" tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}img"/>
JANUARY 20.
I always appreciate things as I go along, for no knowing whether you'll ever go the same way twice in this world.
ALBERTA LAWRENCE,
in The Travels of Phoebe Ann.

JANUARY 21.
MOUNT TAMALPAIS.
Home of the elements—where battling bands
Of clouds and winds the rocks defy—
Mute yet great, old Tamalpais stands
Outlined against the rosy sky.
His darkened form uprising there commands
The country round, and every eye
From lesser hills he strangely seems to draw
With lifted glance that speaks of wonder and of awe.
It is the awe that makes us reverence show
To men of might who proudly tower
Above their fellow-men; the glance that we bestow
On one whose native force and power
Have lifted him above the race below—
The pigmy mortals of an hour—
We almost bend the knee and bow the head
To the mighty force that marks his kingly tread.
MRS. PHILIP VERRILL MICHELS,
in Readings from the California Poets.

JANUARY 22.
Broadly speaking, California is the only elective State. Its people are not here because their mothers happened to be here at the time; not as refugees; not as ne'er-do-wells, drifting to do no better; not even, in bulk, as joining the scrimmage for more money. They have come by deliberate choice, and a larger proportion of them, and more single-heartedly, for home's sake than in any other as large migration on record.
CHARLES F. LUMMIS,
in The Right Hand of the Continent, Out West, August, 1902.

JANUARY 23.
Is there any kind of climate,
Any scene for painter's eye,
The Almighty hath not crowded
'Neath our California sky?
Is there any fruit or flower,
Any gem or jewel old,
Any wonder of creation
This Garden doth not hold—
From the tiny midget blossom
To the grand Sequoia high,
With its roots in God's own country
And its top in God's own sky?
FRED EMERSON BROOKS,
in Old Abe and Other Poems.

JANUARY 24.
A MENDOCINO MEMORY.
I climbed the canyon to a river-head,
And looking backward saw a splendor spread.
Miles beyond miles, of every kingly hue
And trembling tint the looms of Arras knew—
A flowery pomp as of the dying day,
A splendor where a god might take his way.
∗ ∗ ∗
It was the brink of night and everywhere
Tall redwoods spread their filmy tops in air;
Huge trunks, like shadows upon shadow cast,
Pillared the under twilight, vague and vast.
∗ ∗ ∗
Lightly I broke green branches for a bed,
And gathered ferns, a pillow for my head.
And what to this were kingly chambers worth—
Sleeping, an ant, upon the sheltering earth.
EDWIN MARKHAM,
in Lincoln and Other Poems.

JANUARY 25.
CALIFORNIA.
Queen of the Coast, she stands here emerald-crowned,
Waiting her ships that sail in from the sea,
Fairer than all the western world to me,
Is this young Goddess whom the years have found
Ocean and land, with riches rare and sweet.
Loyally bring their treasures to her feet;
In her brave arms she holds with proud content
The varied plenty of a continent;
In her fair face, and in her dreaming eyes,
Shines the bright promise of her destinies;
Winds kiss her cheek, and fret the restless tides,
She in their truth with faith divine confides,
Watching the course of empire's brilliant fate,
She looks serenely through the Golden Gate.
ANNA MORRISON REED.

JANUARY 26.
Here was our first (and still largest) national romance, the first wild-flower of mystery, the first fierce passion of an uncommonly hard-fisted youth. To this day it persists the only glamour between the covers of our geography. For more than fifty years its only name has been a witchcraft, and its spell is stronger now than ever, as shall be coolly demonstrated. This has meant something in the psychology of so unfanciful a race. The flowering of imagination is no trivial incident, whether in one farm boy's life or in a people's. It may be outgrown, and so much as forgotten; but it shall never again be as if it had never been. Without just that flower we should not have just this fruit.
CHARLES F. LUMMIS,
in Out West, June, 1892.

JANUARY 27.
As time goes on its endless course, environment is sure to crystallize the American nation. Its varying elements will become unified and the weeding out process will probably leave the finest human product ever known. The color, the perfume, the size and form that are placed in the plants will have their analogies in the composite, the American of the future.
And now what will hasten this development most of all? The proper rearing of children. Don't feed children on maudlin sentimentalism or dogmatic religion; give them nature. Let their souls drink in all that is pure and sweet. Rear them, if possible, amid pleasant surroundings. If they come into the world with souls groping in darkness, let them see and feel the light. Don't terrify them in early life with the fear of an after world. There never was a child that was made more noble and good by the fear of a hell. Let nature teach them the lessons of good and proper living. Those children will grow to be the best of men and women. Put the best in them in contact with the best outside. They will absorb it as a plant does sunshine and the dew.
LUTHER BURBANK.

JANUARY 28.
Let us embark freely upon the ocean of truth; listen to every word of God-like genius as to a whisper of the Holy Ghost, with the conviction that beauty, truth and love are always divine, and that the real Bible, whose inspiration can never be questioned, comprises all noble and true words spoken and written by man in all

