GERTRUDE ATHERTON, in _The Californians._

JUNE 25.

John Bidwell, prince of California pioneers, was my chief in a memorable camping trip in the northern Sierras. What a magnificent camper was Bidwell! What a world of experience, what a wealth of reminiscence! What a knowledge; what unbounded hospitality! Not while life lasts can I forget the gentle yet commanding greatness of this man, whose friendships and benefactions were as broad as his spreading acres of Rancho Chico.

ROCKWELL D. HUNT, in _Camping Out in California, Overland Monthly, September_, 1907.

JUNE 26.

The average stage-driver merits one's liveliest grat.i.tude. He is the essence of good nature and thoughtfulness. His stories, tinctured by his own quaint personality, ward off the drowsy wings of sleep and materially shorten the long hours of the night. * * * To the households scattered along his route he is the never-failing bearer of letters, and newspapers, and all sorts of commodities, from a sack of flour to a spool of cotton. His interest in their individual needs is universal, and the memory he displays is simply phenomenal. He has traveled up and down among them for many years, and calls each one by his or her given name, and in return is treated by them as one of the family. He is sympathetic and friendly without impertinence, and in spite of your aching head and disjointed bones, you feel an undercurrent of regret that civilization will soon do away with these fresh and original characters.

NINETTA EAMES, in _Overland Monthly, January_, 1888.

JUNE 27.

When the June sunshine gladdened the Sacramento Valley, three little bare-footed girls walked here and there among the homes and tents of Sutter's Fort. They were scantily clothed, and one carried a thin blanket. At night they said their prayers, lay down in whatever tent they happened to be, and, folding the blanket about them, fell asleep in each other's arms. When they were hungry they asked food of whomsoever they met. If anyone inquired who they were, they answered as their mother had taught them: "We are the children of Mr. and Mrs.

George Donner." But they added something which they had learned since.

It was: "And our parents are dead."

C.F. McGLASHAN, in _History of the Donner Party._

JUNE 28.

This cart was gaily decorated with a canopy which was in fact an exquisitely embroidered silken bedspread. The background was of gra.s.s-green silk, embroidered over the entire field with brightest red and yellow, pink and white roses, with intertwining leaves and stems, making the old _carreta_ appear to be a real rose-bower blooming along the King's Highway. From the edges hung a rich, deep, silken knotted fringe. Beneath the heavy fringe again hung lace curtains.

MRS. A.S.C. FORBES, in _Mission Tales in the Days of the Dons._

A half-naked beggar will find a dirty ribbon out of an ash-barrel to ornament himself, if he happens to be a she. * * * We women are such striking guys without our first little aids to the ugly.

MIRIAM MICHELSON, in _Anthony Overman._

JUNE 29.

During this unsettled period (1849), the "judge of first instance," or alcalde, sat each day in the little school-room on the plaza of San Francisco, trying cases, and rendering that speedy justice that was then more desirable than exact justice, since men's time, in those early days of 1849, was worth from sixteen dollars to one hundred dollars per day. The judge listened to brief arguments, announced his decision, took his fees, and called up another case; hardly once in a hundred trials was there any thought of an appeal to the Governor at Monterey.

CHARLES HOWARD SHINN, in _Mining-Camps._

JUNE 30.

Like the senators Cineas found at Rome, they were an a.s.sembly of kings, above law, who dealt out justice fresh and evenly balanced as from the hand of the eternal. In all the uprisings in California there has never been manifested any particular penchant on the part of the people for catching and hanging criminals. They do not like it.

Naturally the law detests vigilance because vigilance is a standing reproach to law. Let the law look to it and do its duty.

HUBERT HOWE BANCROFT, in _Popular Tribunals._

AMONG THE MARIPOSA BIG TREES.

Older than man or beast or bird, Ancient when G.o.d first spake and Adam heard-- We gaze with souls profoundly stirred And plead for one revealing word.

But the great trees all are silent.

BENJAMIN FAY MILLS.

JULY 1.

VINTAGE IN THE GOLDEN LAND.

O fruit of changeless, ever-changing beauty!

Heavy with summer and the gift of love-- Caressingly I gather and lay you down; Ensilvered as with dew, the innocent bloom Of quiet days, yet thrilling with the warmth Of life--tumultuous blood o' the earth!

The vital sap, the honey-laden juice Dripping with ripeness, yields to murmuring bee A pleasant burden; and the meadow-lark With slow, voluptuous beak the nectar drinks From the pierced purple.

How good it is, to sense the vineyard life!

To touch the fresh-veined leaves, the straggling stems, The heavy boughs that bend along the ground; And like a gay Bacchante, pluck the fruit And taste the imperial flavors, beauty-wild And singing child-songs with the bee and bird, Deep in the vineyard's heart, 'neath the open sky-- Wide, wide, and blue, filled with sun-flooded s.p.a.ce And the silent song of the ripening of days!-- Eternal symbol of the bearing earth-- Harvest and vintage.

RUBY ARCHER.

JULY 2.

Whatever you believe when you are alone at night with the little imp of conscience seated on the bedpost and whispering to you what to do, whatever you believe to be best for yourself and best for your city at that time, you do that thing and you won't be far wrong.

ANDREW FURUSETH.