V 
 
 ) 
 
 LETTERS EAST 
 
 A. PERCY BROWN 
 
LETTERS EAST 
 
 A. PERCY BROWN 
 
 . • • • • 
 
 MERCED, CALIF'ORN'TA 
 
 THE 'sun" PRESS 
 
THE LIBRARY OF 
 CONGRESS. 
 
 Two Copies Receiver 
 
 JUN 24 1903 
 
 Copyright Entry 
 CUSS CL XXc. No 
 
 o d ^ L ^ \ 
 
 ^ _COPY B. I 
 
 
 Copyright 1903 
 Hy ACLKX PERCY BROWN^. 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 To Her 
 
 Who is the ''boys best 
 friend," and 
 
 To Him 
 For whom, with ever}^ 
 man, the best appreciation 
 ever increases with the 
 ripening of the years. 
 
» 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 It has often been the bur- 
 den and is ever the gracious- 
 ness of one's own people to 
 bear with shortcomings too 
 grievous for others; in thi< 
 case, the task of the follow- 
 ing pages might be more 
 than could be borne, were 
 it not for the mythical char- 
 acter of those who endure. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Letters to : 
 
 Uncle Fred and Aunt Nellie - i 
 
 Aunt Alice and Uncle William - 14 
 
 Cousin Edith - - 32 
 
 Beatrice . . . ^g 
 
Looking From 
 A Graiv2Lry. 
 
 Home, Feb. i, 1903. 
 My dear Uncle Fred and 
 iVunt Nellie : 
 
 I have written you so 
 often it is hard to tell when 
 I last wrote; it was, at least, 
 a year ago, was it not? 
 
 You see, since Aunt Kit 
 came to California, it has 
 taken me all the time to 
 look after my extensive 
 
2 
 household affairs; it has 
 taken her very much of 
 the time, also; therefore, 
 it would seem that house- 
 keeping has not been mis- 
 represented by bacuelors, 
 as to its capacious places 
 for hiding innumerable 
 spare hours, half days, peri- 
 odical moments — otherwise 
 devoted to rest and leisure 
 — with every now and then 
 a whole diiy deliberately 
 and consciencelessly taken, 
 in the interests of some 
 long neglected trifle, a 
 needy petty convenience or 
 two, or a real but inoppor- 
 tune illustration of some of 
 life's inalienable rights. 
 
 Briefly, this must be why 
 I have found so much time 
 to write. 
 
 We are having the win- 
 
3 
 
 ter rains; they usually court 
 the good will of the farm- 
 ers, every now and then, 
 from November to April. 
 
 The rains are the barom- 
 eter of California hopes and 
 prosperity; which is one of 
 the few things wherein 
 ever}^ other place I know of 
 is so much like California. 
 
 It is particularly muddy 
 here, sometimes, during a 
 part of the Eastern sleigh- 
 ing season. When the sun 
 shines for a time, however, 
 the mud spares no effort to 
 get out of sight quickly. 
 The sun in this climate acts 
 on the face of the earth like 
 a thirsty sponge on a cup 
 of water. 
 
 When the water is no 
 more, for seven months, the 
 cup gets dry and dryer, and 
 
4 
 
 soon be^^ins to crack and 
 warp, is rapidly and repeat- 
 edly covered with dust, and, 
 to the inexperienced eye, 
 appears, certain!}^, to have 
 no glad future; but it is re- 
 vived by the heav}^ dews, 
 nightly, so, when the sum- 
 mer has passed, and trees 
 that have the habits of the 
 East have shed their bright 
 patches of Autumn color, 
 the dry cup is filled by the 
 early November rains, and 
 Nature soon enters upon 
 her Thanksgiving of gentle 
 showers, with the brightest 
 and clearest of greens 
 One's heart turns to thank- 
 fulness in a beautiful valley 
 where the mountains seem 
 but a few miles away, ajid 
 the sea, too, is not far. 
 Those beautiful bine masses 
 
5 
 of form and color, spotted, 
 here and there, with snow, 
 are unspeakably^ fascinating. 
 Today, it seems as though 
 the whole range were man}^ 
 miles awa}' — fort3% and as 
 many more; tomorrow, the 
 soft blue and patches of 
 white will seem scarcely 
 beyond a neighbor's place. 
 The sun before rising lends 
 the lower ranges enough 
 light for the deepest of 
 marine blues. Such a blue 
 as one struggles to make 
 forever one's own, to take 
 into one's innermost depths 
 of lasting realization. And 
 this deep dawn color, so 
 solid, so real, has, between 
 'it and you, low banks and 
 marshes of mist, silenil}^ 
 and softly changing outline, 
 as the sun draws near and 
 
6 
 over the horizon, and, finally 
 melting away in the begin- 
 ning of the day. One 
 leaves one's window reluct- 
 antly, for, after breakfast, 
 all will be gone; and the 
 day, that will have come, 
 will be going on — like all 
 other days — beautiful, but 
 with its morning passed — 
 morning in the charm of 
 its clear, brief hour without 
 a sun. i\nd this bothers 
 one so, too, to tell which is 
 the more charming, the 
 swiftly passing part of an 
 hour, just before sunrise, 
 or the one juSt after. '1 he 
 mountains ought to be ex- 
 cused fr.-m any blame in 
 this matter; for the same 
 difBculty awaits one in the 
 quiet valley of the Platte, 
 where the river has 3^et 
 
7 
 some four score of miles 
 and more to run before it 
 meets the ochre stream that 
 comes down from the great, 
 roomy Northwest. Or, if 
 one stand on an elevation, 
 a little back from the shore, 
 on old Cape Cod, Nantuck- 
 et side, the difficulty is here. 
 Even if one give way to one 
 of the real temptations of 
 life, and roll away to the 
 Southland, where the air 
 is so soft, the moonlight 
 so mellow, and the roses, 
 opening liberally, are an 
 enchantment of color in the 
 heaviest of morning dew, 
 the question is not evaded, 
 perhaps — perhaps, because 
 the hour after sunrise, in 
 the Southland, is, certainly, 
 a spell of delight. 
 
 But the day that has be- 
 
8 
 gun goes on; and, it is well, 
 for would it not be a most 
 unwelcome task to go about 
 one's work in a day that 
 were like either the half 
 hour before sunrise, or, the 
 one after. How could one 
 set about material things in 
 a day of such charms. 
 
 It has been said that there 
 are not many pretty drives 
 about a town which lies in 
 the center of this ap-ricul- 
 tural portion of the Valley; 
 and it is not meet for one 
 who is not native to a place, 
 by many summers, to dis- 
 pute the serious word of 
 those who have watched the 
 sun set over the Coast 
 Range for many years. 
 Nevertheless, one is con- 
 strained to be true to one's 
 self, even if others have 
 
9 
 the weight of conventional 
 authority on their side. It 
 is better to b^ true to one's 
 own conscientious miscon- 
 ceptions, and, thereby, 
 come, perhaps, to the truth, 
 surely, though tardily, than 
 to take the word of one's 
 neighbor, whose experience 
 helps him to know, but does 
 not necessarily bring con- 
 viction to another. There- 
 fore, one must be excused 
 for thinking that there are, 
 at least in one season, several 
 beautiful driveways or roads 
 in this particular section of 
 equable territory, and, many 
 pleasing features within a 
 step of the carriage and out 
 under the horizon. It is 
 true that there maybe more 
 of the latter. There is an 
 old chip off the block of 
 
10 
 
 wisdom of some ancient, 
 about distance and enchant- 
 ment; it may not apply 
 here; though, often, one is 
 inclined to think that it 
 does; but it is so hard to be 
 certain about things, any- 
 where, anyway, and in 
 California, partis ularly, 
 where there are so many 
 almost perfectly developed 
 mirages. 
 
 The mirage, by the 
 way, in California, is 
 not a creature of the far 
 distant horizon, on partic- 
 ularly favorable days. It 
 is a much bolder illusion, 
 yet, truly Western in its 
 habits, appearing at almost 
 any time, during the Spring 
 or Summer, whilmg away 
 the hazy hours of the live- 
 
11 
 
 long day in making * 
 stretches of burnt prairie 
 out of a recently ploughed 
 field, putting in a slough or 
 pond, here and there, 
 around which the fire has 
 run, and leaving the smoul- 
 dering ridges and tufts of 
 still smoking grass scat- 
 tered over the blackened 
 waste, just as one sees it 
 on a rolling middle West- 
 ern prairie, when the racing 
 head flame has passed over 
 the crest of the hill, and 
 the ashes are still so warm 
 as to make one's hardy In- 
 dian pony refuse to travel 
 
 * One day, in the month of May or June. 
 I was driving along under a burning 
 sky, although not an unpleasant one, 
 when I saw, in the near distance, over an 
 area of great extent, what appeared to 
 be the smouldering track of a prairie 
 fire. The flames appeared to have ju^t 
 passed over the ground, skipping little 
 spots, now and then; in some places there 
 seemed to be distinct little marshes or 
 lagoons, which the fire, of course, had 
 
12 
 across the slope that, a few 
 minutes before, was a field 
 of waving brown and pur- 
 ple. When the mirage is 
 not occupied with this sort 
 of amusement it may be en- 
 gaged in deluging a ranch- 
 er's building premises, leav- 
 ing just room for the larger 
 structures to stand out of 
 water, with an appearance 
 of good approaches to the 
 hay or straw stacks by the 
 Venetian method. 
 
 Though the length and 
 quality of this letter be an 
 affliction. Uncle Fred and 
 Aunt Nellie, the perpetrat- 
 
 to gro around; and here and there, a few 
 buildingrs loomed up hazily, out of the 
 smoke rift and brown marsh lands. 
 Knowing that I was in a country 
 where Nature spares no pains to be 
 remarkably deceptive. I was considera- 
 bly interested to see how consciously and 
 forcibly I was compelled to bring befo»"e 
 my attention the fact that this was only 
 a California mirage, in one of her 
 great valleys, during the dry season. 
 
13 
 
 or still has the temerity to 
 wish to remain, 
 
 Affectionately your 
 Nephew. 
 
 It was not unti] I had driven almost 
 along-side the border lines of this mirage, 
 that the true conditions revealed them- 
 selves plainly. A freshly plowed field 
 was the background for the burnt prai- 
 rie surface; variation in the contour of 
 the lan-l, some large buildings, and the 
 atmospheric conditions did the rest. 1 
 presume that one thing that caused this 
 picture to be remarkably real was that 
 the soaoking track of a prairie fire, es- 
 pecially if seen under circumstances of 
 more or less excitement, as such tires 
 were to be seen over the broad prairies 
 of the Middle West, a generation ago. 
 leaves an impression that is not soon ef- 
 faced from the mind. At any rate, this 
 water and smoke deception does not call 
 upon the imagination to fill out^hepicture 
 in anyway. If one recall the perfect sum- 
 mer days on the South Shore of Massa- 
 chusetts, opposite Martha's Vine>ard, 
 with the line of tall-masted schooners 
 drifting lazily along, far out in the chan- 
 nel, under the horizon, it is a pleasant 
 reminder of these fading Eastern mem- 
 ories to see, on the outskirts of the conti- 
 nent, this fine water deception of the 
 California mirage. 
 
14 
 
 PIoME, May 6, 1903. 
 My dear Aunt Alice and 
 Uncle William: 
 
 Once in a while one 
 goes driving; some people go 
 oftener. One of the most 
 pleasing things about the 
 country drives of Califor- 
 nia is that the tree trunks 
 are so richly covered with 
 lichens, owing, partly, I 
 suppose, to the large amount 
 of moisture in the atmos- 
 phere, for so many months 
 in the year. This growth 
 is very rich in strong 
 browns, yellows, grays, and 
 the softer tints of light 
 
15 
 
 blue. For a time, I believe, 
 these small plant folk were 
 not considered to belong to 
 the true Lichen family; 
 
 ' but, if I am not mistaken, 
 one of the most recent of 
 the German authorities 
 places the beautiful para- 
 sites among the true 
 Lichens. 
 
 One cannot help feeling, 
 in driving over the hills of 
 New England, or across the 
 fertile fields of the Middle 
 West, that nature has a 
 great variatioa in her cap- 
 acity for presenting a di- 
 versity of scene. A New 
 England or Middle West- 
 ern winter is certainly a 
 
 (' very different picture from 
 a mid-summer scene in the 
 same locality. I suppose 
 that it has been a common 
 
16 
 
 amusement for the youth 
 of many lands, on scorching 
 harvest days, to try and 
 picture to themselves a win- 
 ter day, from the memories ^ 
 of the past season, behind 
 the real summer scene, as 
 it were, with its intensely 
 hot sun and sweltering at- 
 mosphere. In some places 
 it would seem that the im- 
 agination might need to be 
 quite strong and persistent ^ 
 to get any clear impression 
 of a rigorous winter day 
 and a hot mid-summer day, 
 in the same half hour. In 
 California, however, the 
 task may be easier than 
 elsewhere. The residents 
 say that the seasons are so ^ 
 badly mixed that they do 
 not know themselves apart, 
 anyway; it is really true 
 
17 
 that the characteristics, re- 
 spectively, of winter and 
 summer are so different 
 from what they are in other 
 climates that Nature is giv- 
 en the appearance of having 
 got in a hurry, or hav- 
 ing become a trifle careless 
 or indifferent as to her cli- 
 matic distinctions, For in- 
 stance, it takes a very hard 
 frost, and a protracted one, to 
 lay the little violets low; as 
 for the grass, through the 
 cold mid -winter nights, 
 hard frosts seem to have 
 very little effect upon it. 
 Undoubtedly, the thousands 
 of cattle that graze in the 
 luxuriant valleys sometimes 
 feel ver\' chilly, especially 
 during the raiu}- season; 
 but their backs are not cov- 
 ered with snow, or icicles 
 
18 
 do not hang from their 
 sides, for days at a time, 
 which, often, is a part of the 
 winter decoration of their 
 less fortunate fellow crea- 
 tures of the Middle West. 
 
 It is human nature to 
 come to think that the 
 change of the seasons is a 
 part cf the very fabric of 
 creation; and humanit}^ is 
 very much a servant of 
 habit; thus, at first, it is not 
 a little incident, in one's 
 observation, to see, during 
 the winter months, hun- 
 dreds and thousands of 
 acres of waving grass, dot- 
 ted, sometimes, very per- 
 ceptibly with the well satis- 
 fied herds. 
 
 The contrast of this can 
 be easily realized, if, on an 
 August day, one goes into 
 
r; 
 
 19 
 the open, and sees stretch- 
 ing about him, almost like 
 a sea, the heat waves of a 
 temperature that is run- 
 ning from Too^ to 115^, 
 Fahrenheit, or higher, un- 
 der a cloudless sk}^ The 
 grass is a light brown; the 
 horizon is an unbroken bank 
 of haze; the grazing herds 
 stand motionless, and ap- 
 pear, through the oven-like 
 atmosphere, like phantom 
 creatures, abiding their 
 hour. I was driving with 
 an old, patriarchal resident 
 one da}-, who, in speaking 
 of the wonderful power 
 which this kind of an at- 
 mosphere has for giving the 
 effects of mirage, said, that, 
 in the pioneer da3S, a man 
 on a horse, well off under 
 the horizon, would appear 
 
20 
 very much like a ship in 
 the distance. 
 
 As to atmospheric eftcQts, 
 it is interesting to compare 
 various Southern and semi- 
 tropical climates. For in- 
 stance, the balmy air and 
 lazy days of Southern Ten- 
 nessee have a peculiar 
 charm not easily forgotten; 
 the mornings are so fresh 
 and soft, the roses are lad- 
 en so heavily with dew, the 
 sun rises over the moun- 
 tains so deliberately and 
 genially, that the tempta- 
 tion to simply sit down and 
 be happy is well nigh irre- 
 sistible. Mr. — , a gen- 
 tleman who was in business 
 in the South for some time, 
 and whose home was in one 
 of the most historic of spots, 
 had a charming wife, whose 
 
21 
 attitude on the question of 
 climate and industrj^ always 
 seemed to me particularly 
 logical. ''When I was in 
 
 / the North," said she, "I 
 was not laz}^ and I tried 
 to avoid being so here; 
 but I have given up the 
 fight, and now I enjoy be- 
 ing lazy, and feel in perfect 
 harmony with my environ- 
 
 \ ment; so I am going to be 
 
 ' satisfied, and I do not want 
 to go back North; for, then, 
 I should want to get over 
 being lazy." It seems to 
 me that some of the resi- 
 dents of the delightful 
 South have, to a great 
 extent, reached exactly this 
 
 ' condition. You cannot 
 make much money, as a 
 young man once told me, 
 but it is a good place to en- 
 
22 
 joy life, and simpl}' be 
 happy with things as they 
 are. This may not be 
 thoroughly American; but, 
 I dare say, it is, in a way, 
 quite accurately Southern, 
 and America is not meas- 
 ured in one direction only. 
 
 The cotton growers and 
 manufacturers of the South 
 have to contend, we know, 
 with certain conditions of 
 labor, which the white man, 
 as yet, has not met ver}- 
 successfully. And, one of 
 the most inconvenient char- 
 acteristics of these con- 
 ditions probably is, that the 
 energy of the North, on 
 finding itself in this South- 
 ern climate, refuses to con- 
 tinue, without great en- 
 couragement, its habitual 
 exertions. Therefore, 
 
23 
 
 some may reasonably be a 
 little slow to think of mak- 
 ing a home in a climate 
 where indnstry, of the 
 Northern t^^pe, is always 
 threatening, with the best 
 of people, to strike. 
 
 It is not very easy to 
 realize, that, in the State of 
 California, there are a num- 
 ber of private estates, the size 
 of some of which is greater 
 than the combined areas of 
 a number of the Atlantic 
 States. The owners of 
 these wide areas are gen- 
 erally engaged in the cattle 
 raising business, in connec- 
 tion with general agricul- 
 tural interests; particularly 
 such farming as would 
 naturally be required, to 
 conduct, profitably, large 
 stock ranches. The capital 
 
24 
 
 invested in some of these 
 great plants is not always 
 American. It would be in- 
 teresting to know whether, 
 on the whole, the great 
 ranches are paying a good 
 dividend, either actually, 
 or such, in comparison wath 
 the smaller general farms 
 and fruit places. 
 
 One cannot but feel that 
 the time will come, none 
 too soon, when the wheat 
 ranchers, as they are now 
 known, will become opera- 
 tors, or owners, of smaller 
 general farms. These men 
 who now raise wUeat on 
 farms, or ranches, as they 
 are called here, ranging 
 from several hundred to 
 several thousand acres in 
 size, seem to be losing, 
 quite uniformly, large 
 
25 
 aiiioLiiits of money. As one 
 recently told me, who is 
 operating 5000 acres, "This 
 is a gambling business; it is 
 simply a matter of gambling 
 on the weather." "I know," 
 he continued, "that this is 
 all there is to it, but it 
 seems to be necessary." 
 And, moreover, said he, the 
 harder the times, and the 
 more exacting the owners 
 are in their terms, the more 
 land one must operate in 
 order to make expenses and 
 something more; because, 
 one can only make so much 
 on a bushel of w^heat, and 
 to make more money one 
 must have more bushels, 
 which tan be raised with 
 the same number of nlule 
 teams and the same num- 
 ber of men, working harder, 
 
26 
 or with iiearh' the same 
 equipment. The laud that 
 we were riding over, dur- 
 ing this conversation, is an 
 excellent fruit soil; the gen- 
 tlemaii himself said that it 
 would some day be divided 
 into little fruit farms, de- 
 voted to peach culture. 
 
 About the first thing that 
 one is inclined to think of, 
 with reference to California, 
 is that nature seems to have 
 been very chary of her rain 
 fall. The people of South- 
 ern California would give 
 almost anything, I imagine, 
 if they could be quite sure 
 of a generous number of 
 rainy da^^s. The ranchers 
 of the wheat growing re- 
 gions would, probabl3^, not 
 be able to farm the thous- 
 ands of acres that they 
 
21\ 
 handle now so easil}-, if 
 there were as nmch rain 
 fall as the East and Middle 
 West are acquainted with. 
 It seems to be one of the 
 uniformities of nature that 
 her compensations are just 
 and certain. Owing to the 
 fact that the climate is so 
 dry in these wheat giowiiig 
 areas, the combined har- 
 vester takes the gram off 
 
 One of these highly useful machires 
 cuts, thrashes and sacks the grain as it 
 goes over the field, drawn by about 
 thirty mules or horses. One man with 
 one "jerk line" or, possibly, with two 
 lines for greater safet>. drives the long 
 column that furnishes the motive power, 
 another good man, by the exercise of 
 great agility, sews the sacks as they are 
 rapidly filled, and a third looks after the 
 running of the machine. One of these 
 modern cradles can cut in the neitjhbo/"- 
 hood of forty acres, in a day of twelve 
 hours. A single "swath/ is eighteen 
 feet wide, the number of sacks piled on 
 the stubble, about four hundred, and the 
 bushels of wheat ready for market, one 
 thousand. For the machine that makes 
 these things possible, the rancher, or one 
 of his neighbors, pays $1,650. Audit 
 seems to be worth wh'le, either to 
 own or to hire one. The broad tire ex- 
 panse of the gigantic maiu wheel is 
 
28 
 
 the stalk, and leaves it in 
 piles of sacks, regularl}- dis- 
 tributed over the stub- 
 ble field, ready for the 
 mule teams and great 
 wagons. The Eastern far- 
 mer could do nothing of the 
 sort. His grain is not fit 
 to thrash when it is on the 
 stalk, and he could not 
 thrash it to advantage, if 
 he wanted to; although, if 
 he lets it stand too long it 
 shells out. Therefore, he 
 goes through several oper- 
 ations, at the cost of much 
 time ] and labor, arriving, 
 some weeks or months later, 
 at the same end as the 
 California r a n c h e r. It 
 would, therefore, be sur- 
 
 equipped, in later years, with teeth so 
 long that, when the powerful breaks are 
 set. even thirty excited mules would be 
 wasting their time in trying to run awaj". 
 
29 
 
 prising if he were to attempt 
 to cultivate any such num- 
 ber of acres, as is possible 
 where twelve mule plows, 
 , following one another in 
 numbers, plowing the land 
 and planting the grain at 
 the same time, leave noth- 
 ing further to be done un- 
 til the following summer, 
 when the combined har- 
 . vester, with the mule teams 
 'and wagons, put the crop 
 in the warehouse and aboard 
 the cars in a trict . 
 
 Speaking of mule teams, 
 it might be interesting to 
 an Eastern farmer to see 
 how several thousand acres 
 are turned over, regularly, 
 ever}^ season, by each of 
 the hundreds of ranchers, 
 with no more difficulty than 
 farmers in other sections 
 
30 
 have, in plowing a very few- 
 hundred acres, or les>. 
 There are no snow banks 
 here to cover the fertile, 
 soft fields during the winter 
 months, and, as soon as the 
 fall rains begin, the rancher 
 can set his gang plows be- 
 hind his twelve mule teams 
 and not take them out of 
 the ground, as it were, until 
 his wide acres are read}- to 
 leave for the harvester, the 
 coming sunnier. The men 
 that drive these teams have 
 no very difficult task, and 
 receive good wages; which, 
 however, they are said to 
 spend in a questionable 
 way with a lamentable 
 thoroughness and regular- 
 ity. The laboring classes 
 seem, in the agricultural 
 districts, at least, not to 
 
31 
 
 have reached that industrial 
 period yet, where the value 
 of money is appreciated the 
 wa}^ it is in the older East- 
 ern localities. 
 
 You know, Aunt Alice 
 and Uncle Frank, that you 
 have sometimes been re- 
 lieved of my letters for even 
 days at a time. Kindly use 
 some of these saved mo- 
 ments in trying to overlook 
 the serious inroad upon 
 3^our leisure, caused b}^ the 
 above, through the unfor- 
 tunate regard of 
 
 Your affectionate 
 Nephew. 
 
 
 
32 
 
 Home, May 6, 1903. 
 My Dear Co jsin Edith, — 
 
 Why are you not around 
 to go with one, now and 
 then? When are 3^ou com- 
 ing out? "What first im- 
 pressed me when I came?" 
 Perhaps you wnll say, 
 '^How odd." It was the 
 trip across the Bay, and the 
 gulls. 
 
 If, in the winter season, 
 one go, for the first time, to 
 San Francisco, by w^ay of 
 one of the large ferry boats 
 that cross over from the 
 Oakland pier, the great 
 number of sea gulls that 
 accompany the boat from 
 
33 
 
 one side of Sau F^rancisco 
 bay to the other, may give 
 the observer a novel and 
 pleasing surprise. They are 
 very interesting creatures, 
 and it seems about as hard 
 for them to fly as it does 
 for a duck to swim; the 
 matter of getting tired does 
 not appear to be one of their 
 troubles; they all have ver^- 
 good appetites, and it seems 
 too bad that something to 
 eat does not oftener come 
 in their way. If a mouth- 
 ful of anything goes over- 
 board, it matters not much 
 what, all the gulls on that 
 side of the .boat imme- 
 diately give their attenti(;n 
 to getting that one mouth- 
 ful, or, rather, making the 
 attempt to get it. The gull 
 that is successful, at once 
 
34 
 
 chooses to be alone, in the 
 same way that a chicken or 
 a turkey, upon finding some- 
 thing edible, or even unedi- 
 ble, makes off with it, and is 
 at once followed vigorously 
 by all his companions. The 
 note of the gull is a plain- 
 tive, light cry, which, when 
 repeated by many voices, 
 becomes a matter of high 
 pitch. 
 
 1'he wind blows some- 
 times in San Francisco. It 
 is a good place to really 
 find out how much the same 
 any wnnd is, most anywhere, 
 whether on the New Eng- 
 land coast, off the shores of 
 Lake Michigan, over the 
 prairies of the Middle West, 
 or down Market street, San 
 Francisco. If there is any 
 difference, I think, perhaps. 
 
35 
 the ladies use slightly 
 longer hat pins, and the 
 men wear their hats a trifle 
 smaller in the Golden Gate 
 Cit}^ than elsewhere. People 
 who are not good friends of 
 a stiff breeze will find trouble 
 in living harmoniously 
 in this city. Those lovers 
 of the quiet, balmy air, 
 where not a leaf stirs, or 
 where it is quite an event to 
 see a little jostle in tht- tree 
 tops, should hie themselves 
 to the Southland. Of 
 course, the normal sea breeze 
 is expected abottt seaports, 
 and San F'rancisco Bay is 
 no exception, especially in 
 the summer. People should 
 find it a convenience to live 
 in the vicinity of the Bay, 
 because there are good 
 reasons for not packing 
 
36 
 away winter furs for the 
 summertime, and, now and 
 then, one is very likel}- to 
 need an August wardrobe 
 in January. In this respect 
 it is an accommodatin.8^ cli- 
 mate. One cannot get far 
 out of the way by taking an 
 overcoat in the morning any 
 month in the year; and, if 
 one chances to forget it, 
 there is not the likelihood 
 of presenting a lonely ap- 
 pearance; for, lawn dresses, 
 furs, light overcoats, heavy 
 suits, straw hats, and the 
 like, are all on very in- 
 timate terms on the street, 
 most any da}^; aboard the 
 ferry it is true from one 
 end of the calendar to the 
 other. 
 
 It would seem to me, 
 Edith, that the summer is 
 
37 
 a very dangerous season in 
 the East; it would be an ap- 
 propriate time for 3'ou to 
 visit California. While 
 earthquakes are very sug- 
 gestive natural phenomena 
 of what might happen, 
 the record of cyclones for 
 what has happened is a 
 much more pertinent con- 
 sideration. These, and 
 other things, are believed to 
 be true by one who remains, 
 x\ffectionatel\' your 
 Cousix. 
 
38 
 
 Home, Ma}- 9, 1903. 
 
 Dear Beatrice, — I sup- 
 pose that I am always writ- 
 ing about something which 
 my Uncle Charles would 
 consider to be of distinctl}' 
 no importance. But how is 
 this to be avoided? Things 
 of so called consequence re- 
 mind one of business, or, 
 what is worse, ma}^ lead to 
 serious moments, in which 
 there is every certainty of 
 saying something in earn- 
 est, and the saying of 
 earnest things is so ques- 
 tionable. Thus, is desire 
 driven back to the safe 
 
39 
 
 things, away from human 
 hopes and questions. 
 
 If one go out along Val- 
 ley View street and turn to 
 the right after crossing 
 Manor House Bridge, there 
 appears, just ahead the 
 opening to that portion of 
 Horseshoe Creek Drive 
 which lies toward the Si- 
 erras and El Capitan Road. 
 After crossing the space 
 immediately in front of the 
 House yard, one's attention 
 is taken by the attractive lit- 
 tle sketch on the road-side at 
 the left. There are about a 
 dozen locust trees stretched 
 along, in a broken, slightly 
 curved outline, and at their 
 /^,! bases, in the winter season, 
 is a strip of the finest Cali- 
 fornia green, sprinkled over 
 with the fallen locust leaves, 
 
40 
 now brown and sere, near 
 two months past. The tree 
 trunks are not large, and 
 from their tapering bodies 
 far into the branches the 
 climate has aided the tiny 
 lichen plants, or fungus 
 growths, to paint the bark 
 in rich, old lemon browns 
 and yellows. As the mel- 
 low afternoon sun comes 
 down through the naked 
 branches on to the green 
 beneath, the modest width 
 of which lies between the 
 road and the grass-choked 
 fence, itself covered very 
 thickly with lichen browns 
 aiid yellowish greens, one 
 recognizes a simple picture, 
 but the sight of it is a quick 
 and lasting joy. The mem- 
 ory of it haunts one in pass- 
 ing further along the drive 
 
41 
 way, looking down its 
 graceful lines, and througli 
 its charmingh- gilded tree 
 tops, on and out into the 
 warmer haze of the X'alley, 
 or off to the left on the solid 
 soft blue of the lower 
 Sierras, whose stern white 
 peaks and summits hold the 
 season for one; for, after 
 all, it is winter, the time 
 when the woodland scene 
 that is green has an added 
 charm and vigor. 
 
 So, one stands, to the 
 shoe top, in the thick, soft 
 green, with the water of a 
 near-b}' stream gurgling 
 merril}^ along, the finches 
 chattering busil}^ overhead, 
 and a sense of deep thank- 
 fulness withal for the land 
 where Summer and Winter 
 unite, and the heart, not 
 
42 
 being chilled by the vigor 
 of one or stupefied by the 
 intensity of the other, is 
 made glad b}' both. And, 
 more than this, the charm- 
 ing thing is not easily for- 
 gotten; even if is small and 
 of no repute. The memory 
 of the fine thing is worth 
 something. It abides with 
 one and the joy of it in 
 after days is a light to cue's 
 pathway. The image of it 
 remains strong and constant 
 through so/rovvs and lesser 
 jo3'S It does not become 
 angry or lose patience with 
 us like our fellows are wont 
 to do; even if we know that 
 we have done wTong and 
 are yet scarcely penitent 
 for it, the fine thing cen- 
 sures not, but remains firm 
 and beautiful, and waits for 
 
43 
 
 us to come to true repent- 
 ance; when this is accom- 
 plished it becomes to us a 
 r irrier of hope and a prom- 
 ise of brighter days. We 
 are friends again with our 
 own to take up life afresh 
 in a new day. And as the 
 fine and beautiful thing 
 tells us these things we are 
 iLirateful to it for the con- 
 fidence which it gives us in 
 ourselves, and in the future. 
 And because of these and 
 like things, Beatrice, it will 
 ever be impossible to re- 
 main less than 
 
 Faithfully yours, 
 
 i1 
 
JM. 24 lyucj 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 017 064 339 2