And the green hills shudder to feel his breath-- The challenge of New to Old.
FRANCES MARGARET MILNE, in _For Today._
MAY 8.
JOAQUIN MILLER TO THE MONEY GETTER.
Yes! I am a dreamer.
While you seek gold in the earth, why, I See gold in the steeps of the starry sky; And which do you think has the fairer view Of G.o.d in heaven--the dreamer or you?
JOAQUIN MILLER.
MAY 9.
THE GLa.s.s BOTTOM BOAT AT CATALINA.
When you land in the beautiful Bay of Avalon, on Santa Catalina Island, you are met, not by hackmen, but by gla.s.s-bottom boatmen: "Here you are! Marine Jimmie"s boat, only fifty cents." "Take the _Cleopatra_," or "Right away now for the Marine Gardens." These craft, that look like old-fashioned river side-wheelers are made on the Island, and some range from row-boats with gla.s.s bottoms to large side-wheel steamers valued at $3000. There is a fleet of them, big and little, and they skim over the kelp beds, and have introduced an altogether new variety of entertainment and zoological study combined.
CHARLES FREDERICK HOLDER.
in _The Gla.s.s Bottom Boat._
MAY 10.
THE HANGING SEA GARDENS AT CATALINA.
The animals of the hanging gardens are not confined to the kelp or the rocks of the bottom. The blue water where the sunlight enters brings out myriads of delicate forms, poising, drifting, swimming, the veritable gems of the sea; some are red as the ruby; others blue like sapphire; some yellow, white, brown, or emitting vivid flashes of seeming phosph.o.r.escent light. Ocean sapphires they are called; the true gems of the sea, thickly strewn in the deep blue water. Sweeping by, poised in cla.s.sic shapes, are the smaller jelly-fishes; crystal vases, so delicate that the rich tone of the ocean can be seen through them, changing to a steely blue. Some are mere spectres, a tracery of lace; others rich in colors and flaunting long trains.
CHARLES FREDERICK HOLDER, in _Life in the Open._
MAY 11.
BUILDING THE TRANSCONTINENTAL RAILWAY.
Few can realize the problem before those intrepid men, who, with little money and large hostility behind them, hauled their strenuously obtained subsistence and material over nearly a thousand miles of poorly equipped road. They fought mountains of snow as they had never before been fought. They forced their weak, wheezy little engines up tremendous grades with green wood that must sometimes be coaxed with sage-brush gathered by the firemen running alongside of their creeping or stalled iron horses. There were no steel rails. Engineers worked unhelped by the example of perfected railroad building of later times.
No tracks or charts of the man-killing desert! No modern helps, no ready, over-eager capital seeking their enterprise! Only skepticism, hatred from their enemies, and "You can"t do it!" flung at them from friend and foe.
SARAH PRATT CARR, in _The Iron Way._
MAY 12.
ANGLING THE SWORDFISH.
As he brought the great fish around again, a wonderful sight with its gaudy fins, enormous black eyes and menacing sword, the head boatman hurled the heavy spear into it. The swordfish fairly doubled up under the shock, deluging with water the fishermen, its sword coming out and striking the boat. A moment more and it might have escaped; but one of the men seized it by the sword, while another threw a rope around it, and the big game was theirs; in all probability the first large swordfish ever taken with a rod and reel.
CHARLES FREDERICK HOLDER, in _Big Game at Sea._
MAY 13.
The old Greeks taught their children how to sing, because it taught them how to be obedient. This is a difficult universe to the man who drives dead against it, but to the man who has learned the secret of harmony through obedience it is a happy place. Discord is sickness; harmony is health. Discord is restlessness; harmony is peace. Discord is sorrow; harmony is joy. Discord is death; harmony is life. Discord is h.e.l.l; harmony is heaven. He who is in love and peace with his neighbors, filling the sphere where G.o.d has placed him, hath heaven in his heart already. Only through blue in the eye, the scientist tells us, can blue out of the eye be seen. Only through C in the ear can C out of the ear be heard. Only through Heaven down here can Heaven up there be interpreted.
MALCOLM McLEOD, in _Earthly Discords._
MAY 14.
As one approaches the mission from the road, it defines itself more and more as a distinct element in the view: the hills ... seem to distribute themselves on either side, as though realizing that here, at least, they are subordinate and must not intrude. This brings Santa Lucia into view, directly behind the mission, and thus the two most prominent, most interesting, most beautiful objects in the landscape are brought together in one perfect whole: Mt. Santa Lucia--Nature"s grandest creation for miles around; Mission San Antonio--man"s n.o.blest, most artistic handiwork between Santa Barbara and Carrnelo.
CHARLES FRANKLIN CARTER, in _Some By-Ways of California._
MAY 15.
There is what may be called a _sense_ of the sea, which is indefinable. No lesser body of water, no other aspect of Nature affords this. It is in the air, like a touch of autumn, and we know it as much through feeling as through seeing. The coast is saturated for some distance inland with this presence of the sea, much as the beach is soaked with salt water. It is music and poetry to the soul and as elusive as they, wrapping us in dreams and yielding fugitive glimpses of that which we may never grasp, but which skirts, like a beautiful phantom, the mind"s horizon. Like music, it is an opiate, and unlocks for us new states of mind in which we wander, as in halls of alabaster and mother-of-pearl, but where, alas, we may not linger. We can as readily sound the ocean as fathom the feelings it inspires. It is too deep for thought. As often as the sea speaks to us of the birth of Venus and of Joy, so also does it remind of Prometheus bound and the thrall of Nature.
STANTON DAVIS KIRKHAM, in _In the Open._
MAY 16.
The morning breeze with breath of rose Steals from the dawn and softly blows Beneath the lintel, where is hung My little bell with winged tongue; Steals from the dawn, that it may be An oracle of peace to me; For hark! athwart my fitful dreams There mingles with the Orient beams A wakening psalm of tinkling bell: "G.o.d brings the day, and all is well."
CLIFFORD HOWARD, in _The Wind Bell._