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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 159 pages of information about The California Birthday Book.

GEORGE N. LOWE.

FEBRUARY 26.

Tamalpais is a wooded mountain with ample slopes, and from it on the north stretch away ridges of forest land, the out posts of the great Northern woods of Sequoia sempervirens, This mountain and the mountainous country to the south bring the forest closer to San Francisco than to any other American city.  Within the last few years men have killed deer on the slopes of Tamalpais and looked down to see the cable cars crawling up the hills of San Francisco to the south.  In the suburbs coyotes still stole in and robbed hen roosts by night.

WILL IRWIN,
in The City That Was.

FEBRUARY 27.

DAWN ON MOUNT TAMALPAIS.

  A cloudless heaven is bending o’er us,
    The dawn is lighting the linn and lea;
  Island and headland and bay before us,
    And, dim in the distance, the heaving sea. 
  The Farallon light is faintly flashing,
    The birds are wheeling in fitful flocks,
  The coast-line brightens, the waves are dashing
    And tossing their spray on the Lobos rocks. 
  The Heralds of Morn in the east are glowing
    And boldly lifting the veil of night;
  Whitney and Shasta are bravely showing
    Their crowns of snow in the morning light. 
  The town is stirring with faint commotion,
    In all its highways it throbs and thrills;
  We greet you!  Queen of the Western Ocean,
    As you wake to life on your hundred hills. 
  The forts salute, and the flags are streaming
    From ships at anchor in cove and strait;
  O’er the mountain tops, in splendor beaming,
    The sun looks down on the Golden Gate.

LUCIUS HARWOOD FOOTE.

FEBRUARY 28.

ENOUGH.

  When my calm majestic mountains are piled white and high
  Against the perfect rose-tints of a living sunrise sky,
  I can resign the dearest wish without a single sigh,
  And let the whole world’s restlessness pass all unheeded by.

MARY RUSSELL MILLS.

FEBRUARY 29.

MARSHALL SAUNDERS ON SAN FRANCISCO.

How we all love a city that we have once contemplated making our home!  Such a city to me is San Francisco, and but for unavoidable duties elsewhere, I would be there today.  I loved that bright, beautiful city, and even the mention of its name sends my blood bounding more quickly through my veins.  That might have been my city, and I therefore rejoice in its prosperity.  I am distressed when calamity overtakes it—­I never lose faith in its ultimate success.  The heart of the city is sound.  It has always been sound, even in the early days when a ring of corrupt adventurers would have salted the city of the blessed herb with an unsavory reputation, but for the care of staunch and courageous protectors at the heart of it.

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