JANUARY 11.

California, the orchid in the garden of the states, the warm motherland of genius, the land of enchantment, the land of romance, the land of magic; California, the beautiful courtezan land, whose ravishing form the enamored gods had strewed with scarlet roses and white lilies, and buried deep in her bosom rich treasure; California began the twentieth century with another tale, fantastic, incredible. * * *

Until the oil was discovered the land had been worth from one to four dollars an acre, but now offers were made for it from five hundred to as many thousands.

MRS. FREMONT OLDER,
in The Giants.

JANUARY 12.

A CALIFORNIAN TO HIS OLD HOME.

  I oft feel sad and lone and cold
    Here in the Golden West,
  When I recall the times of old,
    And fond hearts laid to rest;
  The gladsome village crowd at e’en,
    The stars a-peeping down,
  And all the meadows robed in green
    Around Claremorris Town.

* * * * *

  This is, in truth, a lovely sphere,
    A heaven-favored clime,
  Here Nature smiles the whole long year,
    ’Tis summer all the time,
  With spreading palms and pine trees tall
    And grape-vines drooping down—­
  But gladly would I give them all
    For you, Claremorris Town.

LAURENCE BRANNICK.

JANUARY 13.

The establishment of the Mission of Santa Catarina marks the close of what may well be termed the third period of Lower California history.  It is a period remarkable for progress rather than for individual actors.  The great Junipero Serra passes quickly across the stage, figuring as a man of physical endurance and a diplomat—­not as an explorer or a founder of many missions.  His most historic act on the Peninsula was performed when he drew a line of division between the territory of the Dominicans and the Franciscans.  He is a link between the two Californias.

ARTHUR W. NORTH,
in The Mother of California.

JANUARY 14.

TO THE U.S.  CRUISER CALIFORNIA.

  Godspeed our namesake cruiser,
    Godspeed till the echoes cease
  ’Fore all may the nation choose her
    To speak her will for peace. 
  That she in the hour of battle
    Her western fangs may show. 
  That from her broadsides’ rattle
    A listening world may know—­
  She’s more than a fighting vessel,
    More than mere moving steel,
  More than a hull to wrestle
    With the currents at her keel;
  That she bodies a living-spirit. 
    The spirit of a state,
  A people’s strength and merit,
    Their hope, their love, their fate.