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.

MRS. PHILIP VERRILL MICHELS,
in _Readings from the California Poets._

JANUARY 22.

Broadly speaking, California is the only _elective_ State. Its
people are not here because their mothers happened to be here at the
time; not as refugees; not as ne'er-do-wells, drifting to do no
better; not even, in bulk, as joining the scrimmage for more money.
They have come by deliberate choice, and a larger proportion of them,
and more single-heartedly, for home's sake than in any other as large
migration on record.

CHARLES F. LUMMIS,
in _The Right Hand of the Continent, Out West,
August_, 1902.

JANUARY 23.

Is there any kind of climate,
Any scene for painter's eye,
The Almighty hath not crowded
'Neath our California sky?
Is there any fruit or flower,
Any gem or jewel old,
Any wonder of creation
This Gar