G.o.dspeed our namesake cruiser, G.o.dspeed 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.

HAROLD S. SYMMES.

JANUARY 15.

CALIFORNIA AND ITALY.

More and more it becomes apparent to me that the Climate of California spoils one for any other in the world. If Californians ever doubt that their winter weather is the finest in the world, let them try that of sunny Italy. If they have ever grumbled at their gentle rains, brought on the wings of mild winds from the south, let them try the raw rain, hail, snow, and sleet storms of sunny Italy. And then forever after let them hold their peace.

JEROME A. HART, in _Argonaut Letters._

JANUARY 16.

I see thee in this h.e.l.las of the West, Thy youngest, fairest child, upon whose crest Thy white snows gleam, and at whose dimpled feet The blue sea breaks, while on her heaving breast The flowers droop and languish for her smile, Thy grace is mirrored in her youthful form, She lifts her forehead to the battling storm, As proud, as fair as thou.

Like thee, she opens wide her snowy arms, And folds the Nations on her mother-breast.

The brawny Sons of Earth have made their home Where her wide Ocean casts its ceaseless foam, Where lifts her white Sierras' orient peak The wild exultant love of all that makes The n.o.bler life; the energy that shakes the Earth And gives new eons birth.

S.A.S.H. of College of Notre Dame, San Jose, in _h.e.l.las._

JANUARY 17.

THE RETURN TO CALIFORNIA.

Across the desert waste we sped; The cactus gloomed on either hand, Wild, weird, grotesque each frowning head Uprearing from the sand.

Through dull, gray dawn and blazing noon, Like furnace fire the quivering air, Till darkness fell, and the young moon Smiled forth serene and fair.

A single star adown the sky Shone like a jewel, clear and bright; We heard the far coyote's cry Pierce through the silent night.

Then morning--bathed in purple sheen; Beyond--the grand, eternal hills; With sunny, emerald vales between, Crossed by a thousand rills.

Sweet groves, green pastures; buzz of bee And scent of flower; a dash of foam On rugged cliffs; the blessed sea, And then--the lights of home!

MARY E. MANNIX.

JANUARY 18.

Around the Southern Californian home of the loving twain the roses are in perpetual bloom. The vines are laden with cl.u.s.tered grapes, the peach and the apricot trees bend under their loads of luscious fruit, the milch cows yield their creamy milk, the honey-bees laying in their stores of sweet spoil, the balmy air breathes fragrance, the drowsy hum of life is the music of peace.

EDMUND MITCh.e.l.l, in _Only a n.i.g.g.e.r._

JANUARY 19.

CALIFORNIA SONG.

DEDICATED TO GEORGE WHARTON JAMES.

Proud are we to own us thine, Land of Song and Land of Story, All thy glory Round our heart-hopes we entwine, In our souls thy fame enshrine, California!

Dear to us thy mystic name, Leal-land; Love-land; Land of Might, We would write On the walls of Years thy fame, With thy love a world inflame, California!

Dear to us thy maiden grace, Dear thy queenly Motherhood, Fain we would Keep the sun-smiles on thy face, Worthy live of thy strong Race, California!

Land of Beauty! Blossom-land!

Land of Heroes, Saints and Sages, Let the Ages Witness all thou canst command From each loyal heart and hand, California!

S.A.S.H.

JANUARY 20.

I always appreciate things as I go along, for no knowing whether you'll ever go the same way twice in this world.

ALBERTA LAWRENCE, in _The Travels of Phoebe Ann._

JANUARY 21.

MOUNT TAMALPAIS.

Home of the elements--where battling bands Of clouds and winds the rocks defy-- Mute yet great, old Tamalpais stands Outlined against the rosy sky.

His darkened form uprising there commands The country round, and every eye From lesser hills he strangely seems to draw With lifted glance that speaks of wonder and of awe.

It is the awe that makes us reverence show To men of might who proudly tower Above their fellow-men; the glance that we bestow On one whose native force and power Have lifted him above the race below-- The pigmy mortals of an hour-- We almost bend the knee and bow the head To the mighty force that marks his kingly tread.