The California Birthday Book | Page 6

grow; There's not a single hour the streams
do not unfettered flow; There's not a briefest moment when the
songsters do not sing, And life's a sort of constant race 'twixt Summer
and the Spring. Why, just to know the joy of it one might his best years
give-- Out here in California, where it's comfort just to live.
A.J. WATERHOUSE.

FEBRUARY 1.
Night-time in California. Elsewhere men only guess
At the glory of
the evenings that are perfect--nothing less; But here the nights,
returning, are the wond'rous gifts of God-- As if the days were maidens
fair with golden slippers shod. There is no cloud to hide the sky; the
universe is ours,
And the starlight likes to look and laugh in
Cupid-haunted bowers. Oh the restful, peaceful evenings! In them my
soul delights, For God loved California when He gave to her her nights.
ALFRED JAMES WATERHOUSE,
in Some Homely Little Songs.
FEBRUARY 2.
There it lay, a constellation of lights, a golden radiance dimmed by the
distance. San Francisco the Impossible. The City of Miracles! Of it and
its people many stories have been told, and many shall be; but a
thousand tales shall not exhaust its treasury of romance. Earthquake
and fire shall not change it, terror and suffering shall not break its glad,
mad spirit. Time alone can tame the town, restrain its wanton manners,
refine its terrible beauty, rob it of its nameless charm, subdue it to the
commonplace. May time be merciful--may it delay its fatal duty till we
have learned that to love, to forgive, to enjoy, is but to understand!
GELETT BURGESS,
in The Heart Line.
FEBRUARY 3.
INCONSTANCY.
The bold West Wind loved a crimson Rose.
West winds do.
This
dainty secret he never had told.
He thought she knew.
But there
were poppies to be caressed--
When he returned from his fickle quest,

He found his Rose on another's breast.
Alas! Untrue!
IDA MANSFIELD-WILSON.

FEBRUARY 4.
THE FIRST FLAG RAISING IN CALIFORNIA.
In February, 1829 the ship Brookline of Boston arrived at San Diego.
The mate, James P. Arthur, was left at Point Loma, with a small party
to cure hides, while the vessel went up the coast. To attract passing
ships Arthur and one of his men, Greene, concluded to make and raise a
flag. This was done by using Greene's cotton shirt for the white and
Arthur's woolen shirts for the red and blue. With patient effort they cut
the stars and stripes with their knives, and sewed them together with
sail needles. A small tree lashed to their hut made a flag-pole. A day or
two later a schooner came in sight, and up went the flag. This was on
Point Loma, on the same spot, possibly, hallowed by the graves of the
seventy-five men who lost their lives in the Bennington explosion, July
21, 1905.
MAJOR W.J. HANDY.
FEBRUARY 5.
Live for to-day--nor pause to fear
Of what To-morrow's sun may
bring!
To-day has hours of hope and cheer.
To-day your songs of
joy should ring.
The Yesterdays are dead and gone
Adown the long,
uneven way;
But Hope is smiling with the dawn--
Live for To-day!

Live for To-day! He wins the crown
Whose work stands but the
crucial test!
Who scales the heights through sneer and frown
And
gives unto the world his best.
Bend to your task! The steep slopes
climb,
And Love's true light will lead the way
To perfect peace in
God's own time--
Live for To-day!

E.A. BRININSTOOL
FEBRUARY 6.
It is a peculiar feature of our sailing that within a few hours we may
change our climate. Cool, windy, moist, in the lower bays; and hot,
calm, and quiet in the rivers, creeks, and sloughs. As you go to Napa,
for instance, the wind gradually lightens as the bay is left, the air is
balmier, and finally the yacht is left becalmed. We can, moreover, in
two hours run from salt into fresh water. In spring the water is fresh
down into Suisun Bay; and at Antioch, fresh water is the rule. The
yachts frequently sail up there so that the barnacles will be killed by the
fresh water.
CHARLES G. YALE,
in The Californian.
FEBRUARY 7.
Across San Pablo's heaving breast
I see the home-lights gleam,
As
the sable garments of the night
Drop down on vale and stream.

Hard by, yon vessel from the seas
Her cargo homeward brings,
And
soon, like sea-bird on her nest,
Will sleep with folded wings.
The
fisher's boat swings in the bay,
From yonder point below,
While
ours is drifting with the tide,
And rocking to and fro.
LUCIUS HARWOOD FOOTE,
in A Red-Letter Day.
FEBRUARY 8.
A few years ago this valley of San Gabriel was a long open stretch of
wavy slopes and low rolling hills; in winter robed in velvety green and
spangled with myriads of flowers all strange to Eastern eyes; in
summer brown with sun-dried grass, or silvery gray where the