John Muir, naturalist, enthusiast, writer, glorifier of the Sierras, is held in affectionate memory the world over, but especially in California, where he was known as a delightful personality. Real pleasure and a good understanding of his nature and quality await those who read of the meeting of Emerson and Muir in the Yosemite in 1871. It is recorded in their diaries. He was a very rare and versatile man. It was my good fortune to sit by him at a dinner on his return from Alaska, where he had studied its glaciers, and had incidentally been honored by having its most characteristic one named after him. He was tremendously impressed by the wonder and majesty of what he had seen, but it in no wise dimmed his enthusiasm for the beauty and glory of the Sierra Nevada. In speaking of the exquisite loveliness of a mountain meadow he exclaimed: "I could conceive it no punishment to be staked out for a thousand years on one of those meadows." His tales of experiences in the High Sierra, where he spent days alone and unarmed, with nothing but tea and a few breadcrusts to sustain him, were most thrilling.

I was afterward charmed by his sketch of an adventure with a dog called "Stickeen," on one of the great Alaskan glaciers, and, meeting him, urged that he make a little book of it. He was pleased and told me he had just done it. Late in life he was shocked at what he considered the desecration of the Hetch-Hetchy Valley by the city of San Francisco, which sought to dam it and form a great lake that should forever furnish a supply of water and power. He came to my office to supervise the publication of the _Sierra Club Bulletin_, and we had a spirited but friendly discussion of the matter, I being much interested as a supervisor of the city. As a climax he exclaimed, "Why, if San Francisco ever gets the Hetch-Hetchy I shall _swear_, even if I am in heaven."

GEORGE HOLMES HOWISON

Among the many beneficent acts of Horatio Stebbins in his distinguished ministry in San Francisco was his influence in the establishment of the chair of Moral Philosophy in the University of California. It was the gift of D.O. Mills, who provided the endowment on the advice of Dr.

Stebbins. The first occupant appointed was Professor Howison, who from 1884 to 1912 happily held a fruitful term. He was admirably fitted for his duties, and with the added influence of the Philosophical Union contributed much to the value of the university. A genial and kindly man, with a keen sense of humor, he was universally and deeply respected by the students and by his a.s.sociates. He made philosophy almost popular, and could differ utterly from others without any of the common results of antagonism, for he generated so much more light than heat.

His mind was so stored that when he began to speak there seemed to be no reason aside from discretion why he should ever stop.

I enjoyed to the full one little business incident with him. In my publications I followed a somewhat severe style of typography, especially priding myself on the possession of a complete series of genuine old-style faces cast in Philadelphia from moulds cut a hundred and seventy years ago. In these latter days a few bold men have tried to improve on this cla.s.sic. One Ronaldson especially departed from the simplicity and dignity of the cut approved by Caxton, Aldus, and Elzevir, and subst.i.tuted for the beautiful terminal of, say the capital T, two ridiculous curled points. I resented it pa.s.sionately, and frequently remarked that a printer who would use Ronaldson old-style would not hesitate to eat his pie with a knife. One day Professor Howison (I think his dog "Socrates" was with him) came into my office and inquired if I had a cut of old-style type that had curved terminals on the capital Ts. I had no idea why he asked the question; I might have supposed that he wanted the face, but I replied somewhat warmly that I had not, that I had never allowed it in the shop, to which he replied with a chuckle, "Good! I was afraid I might get them."

Professor Howison furnished one of the best stories of the great earthquake of 1906. In common with most people, he was in bed at fourteen minutes past five on the 18th of April. While victims generally arose and dressed more or less, the Professor calmly remained between the sheets, concluding that if he was to die the bed would be the most fitting and convenient place to be in. It took more than a full-grown earthquake to disturb his philosophy.

JOSIAH ROYCE

It is doubtful if any son of California has won greater recognition than Josiah Royce, born in Gra.s.s Valley in November, 1855. In 1875 he graduated at the University of California. After gaining his Ph.D. at Johns Hopkins, he returned to his _alma mater_ and for four years was instructor in English literature and logic.

He joined the Chit-Chat Club in 1879 and continued a member until his removal to Harvard in 1882. He was a brilliant and devoted member, with a whimsical wit and entire indifference to fit of clothes and general personal appearance. He was eminently good-natured and a very clever debater. With all the honors heaped upon him, he never forgot his youthful a.s.sociates. At a reunion held in 1916 he sent this friendly message to the club: "Have warmest memories of olden time. Send heartiest greetings to all my fellow members. I used to be a long-winded speaker in Chit-Chat, but my love far outlasts my speeches. You inspired my youth. You make my older years glow."

In my youthful complacency I had the audacity to print an essay on "The Policy of Protection," taking issue with most of my brother members, college men and free-traders. Later, while on a visit to California, he told me, with a twinkle in his eye, "I am using your book at Harvard as an example of logic."

He died honored everywhere as America's greatest philosopher, one of the world's foremost thinkers, and withal a very lovable man.

CHARLES GORDON AMES

In the early days Rev. Charles Gordon Ames preached for a time in Santa Cruz. Later he removed to San Jose, and occasionally addressed San Francisco audiences. He was original and witty and was in demand for special occasions. In an address at a commencement day at Berkeley, I heard him express his wonder at being called upon, since he had matriculated at a wood-pile and graduated in a printing-office. Several years after he had returned East I was walking with him in Boston. We met one of his friends, who said, "How are you, Ames?" "Why, I'm still at large, and have lucid intervals," replied the witty preacher. He once told me of an early experience in candidating. He was asked to preach in Worcester, where there was a vacancy. Next day he met a friend who told him the results, saying: "You seem to have been fortunate in satisfying both the radicals and the conservatives. But your language was something of a surprise; it does not follow the usual Harvard type, and does not seem ministerial. You used unaccustomed ill.u.s.trations. You spoke of something being as slow as mola.s.ses. Now, so far as I know, mola.s.ses is not a scriptural word. Honey is mentioned in the Bible, but not mola.s.ses."

JOAQUIN MILLER

The pa.s.sing of Joaquin Miller removed from California her most picturesque figure. In his three-score and twelve years he found wide experience, and while his garb and habits were somewhat theatrical he was a strong character and a poet of power. In some respects he was more like Walt Whitman than any other American poet, and in vigor and grasp was perhaps his equal. Of California authors he is the last of the acknowledged leading three, Harte and Clemens completing the group. For many years he lived with his wife and daughter at "The Heights," in the foothills back of Oakland, writing infrequently, but with power and insight. His "Columbus" will probably be conceded to be his finest poem, and one of the most perfect in the language. He held his faculties till the last, writing a few days before his death a tender message of faith in the eternal.

With strong unconventionality and a somewhat abrupt manner, he was genial and kindly in his feelings, with warm affections and great companionability.

An amusing incident of many years ago comes back to freshen his memory.

An entertainment of a social character was given at the Oakland Unitarian church, and when my turn came for a brief paper on wit and humor I found that Joaquin Miller sat near me on the platform. As an ill.u.s.tration of parody, bordering on burlesque, I introduced a Miller imitation--the story of a frontiersman on an Arizona desert accompanied by a native woman of "bare, brown beauty," and overtaken by heat so intense that but one could live, whereupon, to preserve the superior race, he seized a huge rock and

"Crushed with fearful blow Her well-poised head."

It was highly audacious, and but for a youthful pride of authorship and some curiosity as to how he would take it I should have omitted it.

Friends in the audience told me that the way in which I watched him from the corner of my eye was the most humorous thing in the paper. At the beginning his head was bowed, and for some time he showed no emotion of any sort, but as I went on and it grew worse and worse, he gave way to a burst of merriment and I saw that I was saved.

I was gratified then, and his kindliness brings a little glow of good-will--that softens my farewell.

MARK TWAIN

Of Mark Twain my memory is confined to two brief views, both before he had achieved his fame. One was hearing him tell a story with his inimitable drawl, as he stood smoking in front of a Montgomery Street cigar-store, and the other when on his return from a voyage to the Hawaiian Islands he delivered his famous lecture at the Academy of Music. It was a marvelous address, in which with apparently no effort he led his audience to heights of appreciative enthusiasm in the most felicitous description of the beautiful and wonderful things he had seen, and then dropped them from the sublime to the ridiculous by some absurd reference or surprisingly humorous reflection.

The sharp contrast between his incomparably beautiful word paintings and his ludicrous humor was characteristic of two sides of the waggish newspaper reporter who developed into a good deal of a philosopher and the first humorist of his time.

SHELDON g.a.y.l.o.r.d KELLOGG

Among my nearest friends I am proud to count Sheldon G. Kellogg, a.s.sociated through both the Unitarian church, the Sunday-school, and the Chit-Chat Club. He was a lawyer with a large and serviceable conscience as well as a well-trained mind. He grew to manhood in the Middle West, graduated in a small Methodist college, and studied deeply in Germany.

He came to San Francisco, establishing himself in practice without acquaintance, and by sheer ability and character compelled success. His integrity and thoroughness were beyond any question. He went to the root of any matter that arose. He was remarkably well read and a pa.s.sionate lover of books. He was exact and accurate in his large store of information. Dr. Stebbins, in his delightful extravagance, once said to Mrs. Kellogg, "Your husband is the only man I'm afraid of--he knows so much." At the Chit-Chat no one dared to hazard a doubtful statement of fact. If it was not so, Kellogg would know it. He was the most modest of men and would almost hesitate to quote the last census report to set us right, but such was our respect for him that his statements were never questioned; he inspired complete confidence. I remember an occasion when the Supreme Court of the state, or a department of it, had rendered an opinion setting aside a certain sum as the share of certain trustees.

Kellogg was our attorney. He studied the facts and the decision until he was perfectly sure the court had erred and that he could convince them of it. We applied for a hearing in bank and he was completely sustained.

Kellogg was an eminently fair man. He took part in a political convention on one occasion and was elected chairman. There was a bitter fight between contending factions, but Kellogg was so just in his rulings that both sides were satisfied and counted him friendly.

He was a lovable personality and the embodiment of honor. He was studious and scholarly and always justified our expectation of an able, valuable paper on whatever topic he treated. I do not recall that in all my experience I have ever known any other man so unreservedly and universally respected.

JOSEPH WORCESTER

It is a salutary experience to see the power of goodness, to know a man whose loveliness of life and character exerts an influence beyond the reach of great intellectual gift or conscious effort. Joseph Worcester was a modest, shrinking Swedenborgian minister. His congregation was a handful of refined mystics who took no prominent part in public affairs and were quiet and un.o.btrusive citizens. He was not attractive as a preacher, his voice trembled with emotion and bashfulness, and he read with difficulty. He was painfully shy, and he was oppressed and suffered in a crowd. He was unmarried and lived by himself in great simplicity.

He seemed to sustain generally good health on tea, toast, and marmalade, which at noonday he often shared with his friend William Keith, the artist.

He was essentially the gentle man. In public speaking his voice never rang out with indignation. He preserved the conversational tone and seemed devoid of pa.s.sion and severity. He was patient, kind, and loving.

He had humor, and a pleasant smile generally lighted up his benignant countenance. He was often playfully indignant. I remember that at one time an aesthetic character named Russell addressed gatherings of society people advising them what they should throw out of their over-furnished rooms. In conversation with Mr. Worcester I asked him how he felt about it. He replied, "I know what I should throw out--Mr.

Russell." It was so incongruous to think of the violence implied in Mr.

Worcester's throwing out anything that it provoked a hearty laugh. Yet there was no weakness in his kindliness. He was simply "slow to wrath,"

not acquiescent with wrong. His strength was not that of the storm, but of the genial shower and the smiling sun. His heart was full of love and everybody loved him. His hold was through the affections and his blissful unselfishness. He seemed never to think of himself at all.

He thought very effectually of others. He was helpfulness incarnate, and since he was influential, surprising results followed. He was fond of children and gave much time to the inmates of the Protestant Orphan Asylum, conducting services and reading to them. They grew very fond of him, and his influence on them was naturally great. He was much interested in the education of the boys and in their finding normal life. He took up especially the providing for them of a home where they could live happily and profitably while pursuing a course of study in the California School of Mechanical Arts. An incident of his efforts in their behalf ill.u.s.trates what an influence he had gained in the community. A young man of wealth, not a member of his congregation and not considered a philanthropist, but conversant with what Mr. Worcester was doing and hoped to do, called upon him one day and said: "Mr.

Worcester, here is a key that I wish to leave with you. I have taken a safe-deposit box; it has two keys. One I will keep to open the box and put in bonds from time to time, and the other I give you that you may open it and use coupons or bonds in carrying out your plans for helping the boys." This ill.u.s.trates how he was loved and what good he provoked in others. Without knowing it or seeking it he was a great community influence. He was gifted of the Spirit. He had beauty of character, simplicity, unselfishness, love of G.o.d and his fellow-men. His special beliefs interested few, his life gave life, his goodness was radiant. He drew all men to him by his love, and he showed them the way.

FREDERICK LUCIAN HOSMER

I cannot forego the pleasure of referring with sincere affection to my brother octogenarian, Frederick L. Hosmer. He achieved the fullness of honor two months in advance of me, which is wholly fitting, since we are much farther separated in every other regard. He has been a leader for a great many years, and I am proud to be in sight of him.

His kindly friendship has long been one of the delights of my life, and I have long entertained the greatest respect and admiration for his ability and quality. As a writer of hymns he has won the first place in the world's esteem, and probably his n.o.ble verse is (after the Psalms) the most universally used expression of the religious feeling of mankind. More worshipers unite in singing his hymns, Unitarian though he be, than those of any other man, living or dead. It is a great distinction, and in meriting it he holds enviable rank as one of the world's greatest benefactors.

Yet he remains the most modest of men, with no apparent consciousness that he is great. His humility is an added charm and his geniality is beautiful.

He has made the most of a fancied resemblance to me, and in many delightful ways has indulged in pleasantries based on it. In my room hangs a framed photograph signed "Faithfully yours, Chas. A. Murdock."

It is far better-looking than I ever was--but that makes no difference.

We were once at a conference at Seattle. He said with all seriousness, "Murdock, I want you to understand that I intend to exercise great circ.u.mspection in my conduct, and I rely upon you to do the same."

I greatly enjoyed Dr. Hosmer's party, with its eighty candles, and I was made happy that he could be at mine and nibble my cake. Not all good and great men are so thoroughly lovable.