Lane’s native bent from the first was toward public life.  His citizenship was determined when his father decided to take his family to California, to escape the severity of the Canadian climate.  In 1902, Franklin Lane was asked how he became an American.  “By virtue of my father’s citizenship,” he replied, “I have been a resident of California since seven years of age, excepting during a brief absence in New York and Washington.”

In 1871, the mother, father, and four children, after visiting two brothers of Mrs. Lane’s on the way, finally reached the town of Napa, California.

“They came,” says an old schoolmate of Napa days, “bringing with them enough of the appearance and mannerisms of their former environment to make us youngsters ‘sit up and take notice,’ for the children were dressed in kilts, topped by handsome black velvet and silk plaid caps.  However, these costumes were soon discarded, for at school the children found themselves the center of both good—­and bad-natured gibes, until they were glad to dress as was the custom here.”  The “Lane boys,” he says, were then put into knee-trousers, “and Franklin, who was large for his age and quite stout, looked already too old for this style,” and so continued to be annoyed by the children, until he put a forcible end to it.  “He ‘licked’ one of the ringleaders,” says the chronicler, and won to peace.  “As we grew to know Franklin ... his right to act became accepted ... .  There was always something about his personality which made one feel his importance.”

The little California community was impressed by the close intimacy of the home-life of the Canadian family—­closer than was usual in hurriedly settled Western towns.  The father found time to take all three boys on daily walks.  Another companion remembers seeing them starting off together for a day’s hunting and fishing.  But it was the mother, who read aloud to them and told them stories and exacted quick obedience from them, who was the real power in the house.  There were regular family prayers, and family singing of hymns and songs.

This last custom survived among the brothers and sister through all the years.  Even after all had families of their own, and many cares, some chance reunion, or a little family dinner would, at parting, quicken memory and, with hats and coats already on, perhaps, in readiness to separate to their homes, they would stand together and shout, in unison, some song of the hour or some of their old Scotch melodies with that pleasant harmony of voices of one timbre, heard only in family singing.

Lane had a baritone of stirring quality, coming straight from his big lungs, and loved music all his life.  In the last weeks of his life he more than once wrote of his pleasure in his brother’s singing.  At Rochester, a few days before his operation, he reassured an anxious friend by writing, “My brother George is here, with his splendid philosophy and his Scotch songs.”