The California Birthday Book | Page 6

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 light rippled over the wild oats. Here and there stood groves of huge live-oaks, beneath whose broad, time-bowed heads thousands of cattle stamped away the noons of summer. Around the old mission, whose bells have rung o'er the valley for a century, a few houses were grouped; but beyond this there was scarcely a sign of man's work except the far-off speck of a herdsman looming in the mirage, or the white walls of the old Spanish ranch-house glimmering afar through the hazy sunshine in which the silent land lay always sleeping.
T.S. VAN DYKE,?in Southern California.
FEBRUARY 9.
The surroundings of Monterey could not well be more beautiful if they had been gotten up to order. Hills, gently rising, the chain broken here and there by a more abrupt peak, environ the city, crowned with dark pines and the famous cypress of Monterey (Cypressus macrocarpa.) Before us the bay lies calm and blue, and away across, can be seen the town of Santa Cruz, an indistinct white gleam on the mountain side.
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN,?in Another Juanita.
LOS ALTOS.
The lark sends up a carol blithe,?Bloom-billows