Poetry and Prose Selections 
 
 From the Works of 
 
 Ridgway George Rowley 
 
GIFT OF 
 
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 wKs1 
 
Poetry and Prose 
 
 Selections 
 
 From the Works of 
 
 Ridsway Georse Rowley 
 
 THE AUTHOR 
 
 As District Attorney of San Mateo County Cal.. and Proprietor 
 and Editor of * San Mateo County Journal." 
 
 ( For private distribution only ) 
 
3s ;,< 
 
 INTRODUCTORY AND REMINISCENT 
 
 A i . i . * 
 
 .. 
 
 To my Friends, the few, still in the flesh living; to the memory * 
 of the many more, nearer and dearer ones, who have passed on, * (jg 
 and out, and "over the Great Divide," leaving me here to follow on, 
 alone, as best I may, in the "Trail of the Lonesome Pine," this small 
 tribute of loyalty and respect is dutifully inscribed. 
 
 The Author, for himself alone, claims at least one merit for his 
 work, and that is its true and significant originality. Not a line 
 or thought therein, (saving, of course, marked quotations) was 
 "begged, borrowed, or stolen," from any other source whatever, 
 save the melting pot of his own fervid fancy and imagination. 
 (Ah, well-a-day! The conceit of youth! To be nothing is less 
 than something, to be something is more than nothing; but to be 
 young is everything. ) 
 
 Much of the verse, it will be noticed, is of the extreme west, 
 written in California some years ago, and published, for the most 
 part, over the signature of "R" in the "San Jose Mercury" at that 
 time one of the leading newspapers of the state, owned and edited 
 by Hon. J. J. Owen, then easily at the head of the literary editors 
 of the state. It was his more than friendly commendation and 
 encouragement that spurred an ambitious youngster on to strive 
 for higher things. In fact, about this time, it is verily believed, 
 that had the Author s "Pegasus" but slipped his (or her) halter, 
 (really, we forget now whether Pegasus was a horse or a mare) 
 the brute would have vaulted over the moon with its rider, and 
 landed safely on the other side, "withers all unwrung." 
 
 Mr. Owen s criticisms were certainly flattering. They kept 
 coming like this: "Amy Spain, a splendid original poem of rare 
 merit, that would grace the columns of the best literary papers in 
 the land, will appear next week." 
 
tf "i bETRY AM) PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 "All lovers of good poetry will find a beautiful original poem 
 on our first page, entitled, Swift the Days of Spring are Passing., 
 It is from the pen of our gifted contributor, R 
 
 " Only a Little Brook, a beautiful poem by R will l>c admired 
 by every lover of the Divine Muse." 
 
 44 4 The Wounded Scout contains a grand idea clothed in state 
 ly measure." 
 
 44 4 R comes back to us again this week as fresh and vigorous as 
 ever. He is cordially welcomed by our many readers." 
 
 "Don t fail to read 4 R s charming Christmas Memories 
 in these columns. It is better than good." 
 
 "A beautiful original poem, The Wooing of Nature, by R 
 will appear next week." 
 
 And so they kept coming. With such provocation as this why 
 shouldn t one well let a-mind. 
 
 A word in explanation of some of the prose articles may be in 
 order. The writer at that time was engaged in a very strenuous 
 contest in San Mateo County, California, chiefly with the Spring 
 Valley Water Company, a corporation supplying San Francisco 
 with water from said county, and which by reason of its great 
 wealth and arrogant power had dominated the policies and politics 
 of that county for years, to its great detriment. The good people 
 of the county finally arose in revolt and the writer, a citizen there 
 of for years, was "in it." He established a newspaper, "The San 
 Mateo County Journal," to espouse the cause of reform, became 
 the leader of the cause and was warmly supported by the majority 
 of the people of the county, so that after a struggle of two years or 
 more, chiefly by the aid of the newspaper, as pitted against the 
 op|X)sition paper, the T. <S: (/ ., the government of the County was 
 redeemed, the Author made District Attorney, and all the import 
 ant offices in the County filled by the reform candidates. 
 
 In the meantime, an able and most strenuous Kdhor for the 
 "other paper" had Iiecn imported from the east, for the express 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 
 
 purpose of running " Rowley" out of the County by his strenuous 
 efforts, and he, having been a war correspondent for the New York 
 Herald, was supposed to be especially adapted for the purpose, 
 having been on the "firing line" for years. But it couldn t be done. 
 The fur flew thick and fast, as only western Editors can make it fly; 
 but "Rowley s mud-hook" had too firm a grip on the county and 
 with his now important office to back him up, the fight was soon 
 won; the County was made over. (To understand the situation 
 better, it may be well to note, in passing, that the Editor succeed 
 ing me was shot dead in the streets of Redwood City. Now, had 
 this happened to Rowley under like conditions, and in the dis 
 charge of his public duties, it is safe to say that on the "morning 
 after" every lamp post in the county-seat would have been hung 
 with an emblem of mourning, each six feet long. His friends were 
 many, and tried and true, and they knew it.) It was after swords 
 had been crossed for some time and definite results known, that the 
 Ring Editor threw up his arms in despair and exclaimed, "It s of 
 no use, no use! You can t down Rowley with a pen, it will take a 
 bullet." The above noted tragedy would show that this was at 
 the time no idle word, no empty threat. 
 
 It was about this time that Fremont Older, then quite a young 
 man, became connected with the Journal office. He has since risen 
 so high in California Journalism, as a reformer, that it is with diffi 
 dence we mention his name here. Still, we think, he can but hold 
 kindly remembrance of the first lessons he took in the Reformation 
 of a County, from the columns of the Journal. Mr. Older has cer 
 tainly proven a most worthy son of its succeeding. His reputation 
 is more than state-wide; it is national; and we recall with pride 
 the fact that he was wont to closely study the "copy" of the "lead 
 ers" sent in by his chief, since he was the only one in the office who 
 could read it. Yes, he has beaten his old chief out, on his own lines, 
 hands down. This is the result of persistency coupled with ability. 
 Oh, Persistency! thou art a jewel! shine on! Ability; without Per- 
 
6 RIDCAVAY C.KORC.K ROWLEY 
 
 sistency, you cannot make good; having no lustre of your own you 
 cannot shine. 
 
 Now, returning to earth once more, inasmuch as this little vol 
 ume is "for private distribution only" the Public can have no chance 
 at it. Indeed, in this respect, the sense of security is so well assured, 
 that we can almost sympathize with that multi-millionaire, who in 
 his extremity declared: "The Public be d d." (But then he 
 was soon sorry 1 or ii. Tli.it >.mu- public i> .il\vay> lo IK- reckoned 
 with: there is so many of it, and it keeps coming.) Again, since 
 this is a "gift enterprise," and it is so out of form to "look a gift 
 horse in the mouth," we guess our friends too are held down to good 
 lx. havior; so there we are. 
 
 Yes, we are painfully well aware that the commercialism of the 
 day has fairly strangled the "Divine Muse" so that but few men 
 care for poetry now-a-days. Like the Church, for the most part, 
 Poetry has been consigned to the domain of Woman. Man is too 
 busy with what he is pleased to consider as more important things. 
 But in the meantime, and all the more, it behooves all lovers of the 
 Muse, to stand by their colors until she shall come into her own 
 again. Even now things are changing. Yes, that "Towhead" 
 of the Syracuse Boys Club, in a recent debate stated the case ele 
 gantly and eloquently, when he oracularly ejaculated: "When 
 the Ball of Life goes rolling down the Alley of Time, and shunts out 
 into the Boulevard of Eternity, things do change." 
 
 "Yet ever has the light of Song 
 
 Illumed our darkest hours, 
 And cheered us on life s toiling way 
 
 And gemmed our path with flowers." 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 Dated, Cortland, N. Y. 
 May 1, 1914. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 
 
 YOSEMITE 
 
 I have stood upon Inspiration Point, 
 
 Far o er the wondrous vision of Yosemite; 
 
 There felt my soul spring forth and deep anoint 
 The memory of that vision with immortality. 
 
 It was I know not how it was but yet 
 
 Did seem I stood upon the brink of a universe, 
 
 With other worlds as barriers deep set 
 
 To baffle farther sight, and limit sweet converse. 
 
 Of things forbidden; the windows of my soul 
 
 Thrown widest ope, still all too small to right receive 
 
 The light my spirit craved ; upon the scroll 
 
 Of the blue heaven above twas written "7 believe," 
 
 Yea! in th Eternal God I do believe 
 
 And here see my witness and my testimony! 
 
 Stand forth, ye mountain walls and peaks! that heave 
 Your massive brows as in convulsive agony ; 
 
 Wrenched by the living God the truth to yield, 
 Of Him, of thee, of Time and of Eternity, 
 
 To stubborn unbelieving man, whose shield, 
 Defying God his armor, Infidelity, 
 
 Lies pierced and broken now, a wretched thing! 
 
 Be ye my strong, swift voice, and mute with eloquence 
 Proclaim Thy word and work sublime, to bring 
 
 Conviction unto him; this be thy recompense. 
 
 And yet, somewhat of thee, remembrance craves, 
 Thou marvel, Yosemite! Not e en the graves 
 
 Of long forgotten sights and sounds, heaped o er 
 With the dark mouldering dust of mounds, the dower 
 
 Oblivion brings, can ever aught conceal 
 Of t hee or thine ; forever thou lt reveal 
 
 Thy awful presence unto me by night, 
 
 By day with the infinity of might 
 
POFTRY AM) PROSK SKLF(T1<>\^ 
 
 M.idc -loriou- by ihv >.K Tc( I in i -i > a IK! >hn>u<l>. 
 
 Where, all victorious, rushed from out the clouds 
 The leaping waters, spanned by the gilded arch 
 Of His great promise beating an angel s march 
 
 From out the deep bowl of their seething Hood, 
 Whose froth and foam roll on like whitened blood 
 Of spirits pure, let fall from skies above, 
 To reassure to doubting man their mortal love. 
 
 Again, that placid water neath South Dome; 
 
 I gazed into its depths and saw the home 
 Of Nature mirrored there, so bright, so fair, 
 I thought that sure the spirits dealt me double there 
 
 Twas here, o er the pris m d edge of that high mount 
 I looked beneath my feet and slow did count 
 The coming moments of the orb of day, 
 As its gorgeous colors rose in magnificent display. 
 
 4 Tis Vernal Fall, where summer s queen 
 Arrays herself in garlands green 
 To meet the joyous stream that flows 
 From out the white eternal snows. 
 
 And thou, Nevada! stronger one! 
 The first that, heedless, dares to run 
 That awful race; oh, fearful plunge! 
 It must thy waters all expunge. 
 
 The crystal drops, dissolved in tears, 
 \\\ ^linnt their feathery darts, like tpean 
 Hurled from on high by the wrath of Jove; 
 But lo! they meet again in love. 
 
 Then on and on, and down and down, 
 They plunge and hiss and roar and frown, 
 A creamy mass of seething spray 
 Mid clouds of mist that hide the day. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 
 
 But pure as a maiden s dream of love, 
 And soft and low as a cooing dove, 
 And gentle as the dews of night 
 That nestle on the lily white, 
 
 Is the pride of th falls, the Bridal Veil! 
 So spiritually delicate and frail 
 An angel s robe of filmy lace 
 Concealing an exquisite grace. 
 
 Like a stream of silvery thread on high, 
 Dropped, waving down from out the sky, 
 To adorn a dark, cold, rocky breast, 
 Loftier far than the eagle s nest, 
 
 Yosemite s rill runs smooth and still. 
 The hour is quiet as your will, 
 When summer s eve brings sweet repose, 
 Reclining neath the fragrant rose. 
 
 But hark! Tis the thunder drum of heaven! 
 The skies are pierced, in twain are riven! 
 From peak to peak, from crag to crag 
 The lurid lightnings flash their flag 
 
 Of blue and gold athwart the sky! 
 The glorious banner of th Most High! 
 The stricken rocks in fragments fall 
 Clashing down the mountain s wall! 
 
 From Glacier Point to Royal Arch, 
 Back and forth the echoes march, 
 To the time of stately numbers, 
 The music of the rolling thunders. 
 
 On the dreadful brink of Yosemite s fall 
 A storm-cloud gathers and bursts, and all 
 Its volume of water sends thundering down, 
 Like a snow-avalanche o er a doomed town. 
 
10 POKTRY AM) PROS!. SKLKCTH >\^ 
 
 The South Dome nods unto the North, 
 While Mirror Lake goes rushing forth 
 In fear, from twixt the two, to save 
 Her threatened waters from a grave. 
 
 Cathedral s spires and turrets dun 
 
 ( )f somber rock look gloomy on ; 
 
 Whilst Union, free, though brown and bare, 
 
 Stands proud and stately in the air. 
 
 The Brothers, from their granite bed 
 Would leap across the blue Merced, 
 In joy of their great ecstacy, 
 Awakened by the storm-king s glee. 
 
 * * *i 
 
 And now, ye valley chief, so fair! 
 Thy name the last we shall declare; 
 The place of honor, the post of fame, 
 Is thine, and thine alone to name. 
 
 Amazing precipice of clay! 
 Proud rock of earth! the light of day 
 Ne er shone on other equal thee, 
 So bright, so pure, so grand, so free! 
 
 ElCapitan! El Capitan! 
 Oh, when my spirit, faint and wan, 
 Shall seek relief from troubled thought 
 That solace which the world ne er brought 
 
 Nor can bring thy beauteous form, 
 Unmarred through centuries of storm, 
 Massive, majestic, calm, serene, 
 ( )f almost marbled-whiteness seen, 
 
 Pure as the Spirit of the Vale, 
 That sits above the cloud and gale, 
 Enthroned in thee shall give me peace, 
 And in thy presence strife shall cease. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 11 
 
 Swift the Days of Spring are Passing! 
 
 I. 
 
 Yes, swift the days of Spring are passing! 
 Fleeting like a thought away, 
 The bloom and blossom of the orchards 
 
 Fading, falling, day by day 
 Now, growing fruit and ripening berries 
 
 Hang where but a while ago 
 Flowers of red and flowers of purple, 
 
 Flowers as fair as virgin snow, 
 
 II. 
 
 Hung clustering thick upon the branches, 
 
 Drooping low their fragrant heads, 
 Slumbering in the balmy morning, 
 
 Ere they rose from dewy beds- 
 Sweet fair flowers, thou rt gone forever! 
 
 Short thy living, brief thy stay! 
 The tell-tale music of thy passing 
 
 Greets our ear in plaintive lay. 
 
 III. 
 
 The swallows twitter freer, faster, 
 
 Since their homes of clay are done ; 
 Swift they skim aerial meadows, 
 
 Kind they meet the coming sun; 
 Up the slopes of heaven they re gliding, 
 
 Downward sink in seas of air 
 O, would that mortals could be joyous 
 
 As a happy birding pair! 
 
 IV. 
 
 But swift the days of Spring are passing, 
 
 Passing, silently away, 
 The morrow brings at twilight s dawning 
 
 A full blushing Summer s day 
 The tide of life is at its flooding, 
 
12 POKTRY AM) PkOSK SKLKCTIONS 
 
 Soon its waters turn and flow ; 
 List! as it murmurs in its running 
 To the eternal sea lx?low. 
 
 V. 
 
 The high ambitions of our youth-time, 
 Hopes as bright as starry flame, 
 
 This summer sun is fast consuming- 
 Naught is left them but a name. 
 
 The fairest buds of spring-time s wakening, 
 Into listless flowers are spread, 
 
 Their leaves are falling, falling, falling, 
 Soon they ll mingle with the dead. 
 
 VI. 
 Whence now the joy, the joy of living? 
 
 Spring and seed time are no more! 
 The harvest to the sickle s yielding, 
 
 Reapers garner up their store! 
 And what have I ? A few stray gleanings! 
 
 Fields of plenty have I none, 
 While overhead in noonday brightness 
 
 Shines the glittering summer sun. 
 
 VII. 
 Away! away! to our own green spring-time, 
 
 Leaving all this gilded show, 
 Memory trips it o er the Past-ground, 
 
 Time is watching as we go 
 Long streaming locks of silky whiteness 
 
 Float upon the evening wind, 
 Child of Misfortune! born of Sorrow! 
 
 Look not back, pale Death s behind! 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 13 
 
 Amy Spain 
 
 (Amy Spain was a colored woman of Darlington, South Carolina, the center 
 of a rich cotton growing district. At the time of the entrance of the Union army 
 under Sherman into the town, this poor slave, unable to restrain her emotion, in 
 the supreme joy of her heart involuntarily exclaimed: "Bless the Lord, the Yan 
 kees have come!" For this, and this alone, immediately after the troops had left, 
 she was taken by the citizens of the town and hung to the limb of an old sycamore 
 tree, which stood in front of the Court House. An auction block used in the 
 monthly sale of "chattels," served as a scaffold. From this Amy Spain was 
 launched into eternity. She died in the firm spirit of a martyr, with a prayer up 
 on her lips, which was rudely interrupted by the oaths of one of her executioners. ) 
 
 Oh, stand old sycamore tree! 
 A long, long life to thee! 
 
 And ever keep from harm, 
 Neath thy sheltering arm, 
 That Hall of Justice free; 
 To teach proud Chivalry 
 That the name 
 And martyred fame 
 Of Amy Spain 
 Shall remain 
 
 Till trees shall cease to grow, 
 And streams of Justice flow. 
 
 Let birds above thee sing, 
 While maids beneath thee bring 
 
 Flowers sweet flowers of May, 
 Around thy limbs to lay; 
 Thus consecrate, of thee, 
 A shrine to liberty 
 
 That the name 
 And storied fame 
 Of Amy Spain 
 Shall remain 
 
 Till songs no more are heard 
 From maiden or from bird. 
 
 In the calm stilly night, 
 When the stars are shining bright, 
 Looking down with their eyes 
 
roKTKY AM) I ROSK SKl.K(Tln\^ 
 
 From the mild blue skies, 
 Amy s spiiit then shall come 
 To the town of Darlington, 
 For the name 
 And quenchless fame 
 Of Amy Spain 
 Shall remain 
 
 As long as night shall be, 
 And stars shine brilliantly. 
 
 To the watchers of the dead, 
 To the weary in their bed, 
 
 Mid their dreams, and their sleep, 
 In th hour of midnight deep, 
 Shall be heard the voice of one, 
 "God bless them, they have come" 
 So the name 
 And martyred fame 
 Of Amy Spain 
 Shall remain 
 
 On South Carolina s shore, 
 Evermore! evermore! 
 
 Oft, that same block of wood 
 Fore thee in terror stood ; 
 
 But now its fears are gone 
 Tis a mercy-seat alone, 
 Since, through eternity, 
 It gives thee liberty, 
 
 While thy name 
 And gloried fame 
 Oh, Amy Spain 1 
 Shall remain 
 A beacon of the past . 
 To the people oi ihv casti . 
 
 Thou poor old >la\ c! to die. 
 And ne.ith tin- MH! to lie! 
 
 C.reen be the grass ili.n ^n\vs, 
 
RTDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 15 
 
 And lightly lay the snows 
 Upon the honored grave 
 Of a most loyal slave. 
 
 Yea! the name 
 And martyred fame 
 Of Amy Spain 
 Shall remain 
 In story and in song 
 As the ages roll along. 
 
 Our Valley 
 
 A vale, outstretching like the main, 
 Its billowy waves of growing grain 
 
 Twixt mountain shores held beating- 
 A summer breeze soft creeping on, 
 Whilst April skies restrain the sun 
 
 From a too ardent greeting. 
 
 A stream, a brook, a river wide, 
 Which, mid the willows, seek to hide 
 
 Their crooked pathway running; 
 Adown the mountain s wild ravine 
 Their limped waters rush, unseen, 
 
 In all their native cunning. 
 
 But quick, like wild birds to their rest, 
 They nestle on the valley s breast, 
 
 Their mountain home forgetting, 
 Then, slowly down the creeping tide 
 Go wandering toward their ocean bride 
 
 In fondness, still regretting. 
 
 The peasant s home, a fairy spot, 
 Mid grove of oak or flowery grot, 
 
 In its calm quiet seeming, 
 W T ith trellised porch, and old arm-chair, 
 How oft have you and I sat there 
 
 In visions of our dreaming? 
 
16 I OKTKY AND PROS!-; SKI.KCTK )\S 
 
 A cottage white, neath boughs of green, 
 Yea! in the distance still, I wean, 
 
 1 hear tin- lowing cattle 
 I see a matron, grave, yet fair, 
 With ruddy children playing there, 
 
 In miniature, life s battle. 
 
 No discontent of winter s storm 
 Can ever reach this summer home, 
 
 Where bees are constant sipping 
 Sweets from out the flowers that bloom, 
 Where sunshine paints with feathered plume, 
 
 In rain-bow colors dipping. 
 
 Fair fields below, warm skies above, 
 A fitting place for youthful love 
 
 To meet at evening s glowing, 
 And neath the stars inquiring glance 
 Two mortals each their joy enhance 
 
 By two full hearts bestowing. 
 
 With Heaven above, earth s calm below, 
 A fitting place for age to grow 
 
 In grace and in believing, 
 As through the live oak s spreading limbs 
 Arise the Sabbath morning hymns, 
 
 In praise of One redeeming. 
 
 The Wounded Scout 
 
 (This is a piece of statuary, representing a wounded Union scout, in the 
 swamps of Carolina, leaning upon a friendly negro slave. The scout has been 
 wounded in the right arm, the coat sleeve of which is ripped open, disclosing the 
 wound, with a handkerchief twisted tight above it, and around the arm, by means 
 of a stick, applied as a tourniquet, to stop the flow of blood; while the fore-arm 
 shows the full veins swollen by the compression. He h.i- .ipp.irmtly been com- 
 IK lled to forsake his gun, but still retains his havrr-.n k. .uuid^t l.<.\, t tc ., and 
 stands in a drooping position with hi> It It .inn upon the right >houl<lrr of t In- slave, 
 his wounded limb hanging hrlplr--.lv \>\ hi- -i<lr, while hi- p.ilr, w.in, but youthful 
 face rests upon the neck of the slave. The negro is a refugee, of a stalwart form, 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 17 
 
 while his fierce looks, torn and ragged clothes, and bare head and feet, tell of days 
 and nights spent in the swamps, and of the fearful pursuit of the blood-hounds. 
 He stands with his right arm around the waist of the scout, supporting him. With 
 a defiant front and determined gaze he is peering forward, evidently on the look 
 out for the enemy, while conducting his helpless charge to a place of safety. The 
 model is of the first conception, and the work of the most artistic execution. The 
 expression of the features of the scout is so in accordance with his suffering and 
 helpless condition, and that of the slave with his desperate position, that it is al 
 together a most speaking, life-like, and affecting scene. It tells more of the genius 
 and spirit of this war of rebellion than could written volumes. It is the work of a 
 New Yorker ) : 
 
 Can marble speak in fuller tone 
 Than human tongue? Can senseless stone 
 Inspire thoughts divine within us? 
 Kindle that spark which Eloquence 
 Alone is deemed the tinder of? 
 Arouse the slumbering soul to love 
 Of all that s beautiful and good? 
 Curdle in our hearts the chilled blood, 
 Which renewed with power returns again 
 Its rushing tide through tingling vein? 
 Oh, where, cold chiselled stone! doth lie 
 
 The secret of thy spell, and why 
 
 Doth man bow in reverence to thee? 
 
 Come forth thou hidden mystery! 
 
 Declare to us thy magic source, 
 
 Whither flows thy wondrous course? 
 
 Ah! there is a weird spirit within 
 
 Thy hardened breast which, though unseen, 
 
 Responds with music all its own 
 
 To mortal flesh, and blood, and bone! 
 
 Cold, cold the heart, senseless the soul! 
 
 Of him who heeds not the story told 
 
 By the sculptured group, "The W 7 ounded Scout," 
 
 It breathes a tale each day poured out 
 
 In reddened stream of warm life-blood 
 
 For our country s cause, our country s good . 
 
18 I OKTRY AM) PROSK SKLKCTK 
 
 It tells of heroes, Spartans all, 
 
 Who midst wild bogs, and swamps do fall ; 
 
 With slaves to catch their dying groan, 
 
 There lie uncoffined and unknown 
 
 ( .rant, oh God! that hereafter may 
 
 The stones from their graves be rolled away 
 
 Even as I gaze 
 
 My thoughts like living fire do Hash 
 Athwart my brain, and instant dash 
 Their light ning course far, far beyond 
 The stone I see I stand spell-bound 
 Mine outward eye is dark as night , 
 Within there gleams a holier light ; 
 By it all earthly objects seem 
 As things unworthy of a name 
 My sculptured forms have soared on high, 
 As angels float mid earth and sky 
 I see them now, encircled round 
 With spirits from the deep profound. 
 A radiance brighter far, I ween, 
 Than e er in Heaven before was seen, 
 Lights up the arched vault of blue 
 With mellow tints of golden hue; 
 Angelic wings fill all the air, 
 fathering near our marble pair; 
 Around, about, beneath, above 
 Are hovering spirits crowned with love; 
 While gentle-flowing zephyrs rise 
 To waft their hymns beyond the skies, 
 There floats this glorious anthem back : 
 
 "The White Man leaneth on the Bh .ck, 
 Ye hosts of Heaven draw ye near, 
 Behold the slave hath lost his fear! 
 A man he looks, a man he is, 
 Bound arm in arm, mingling his tears 
 In sympathy and l<>\( \\iih our. 
 
 Whom God, the Father and the Son. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 19 
 
 Created of a fairer mien, 
 
 Yet made he not his soul more clean. 
 
 No longer shall he an outcast roam 
 
 E en on earth (as in heaven) hast he found a home, 
 
 Say, spirits of the holy dead! 
 
 Oh, whither, whither hast thou fled! 
 
 Come guard our soldiers, guard them well, 
 
 Rebellion s fiends drive back to Hell 
 
 The daring scout, the lonely guard, 
 
 Be ever with them watch and ward! 
 
 Age and I 
 
 Age and I could never agree, 
 
 I scarce know why ; 
 I have no lack of sympathy, 
 
 Regard most high, 
 Reverence, respect all dutiful, 
 For silvered heads made beautiful 
 
 In th dreamy light 
 
 That gilds the night 
 
 Of parting days 
 
 With heavenly rays. 
 
 I can support the tottering form 
 And shield it from Life s wintry storm 
 With all the strength that in me lies; 
 Yea, more! Exhausted nature cries, 
 I n vain to me to cease 
 And give her rest and peace ; 
 When duty calls 
 The narrow walls 
 
 Of my own comfort, dear and sweet, 
 Can ne er restrain my anxious feet, 
 Nor keep them from the door 
 Of the suffering poor, 
 
 Where Age and Misery 
 Weep with Poverty. 
 
20 I OKTRY AND I kosK sl.U.CTlONS 
 
 And yet, must I confess, 
 Tis duty all, nor less, 
 Nor more I take no praise, 
 Ask none but could my ways 
 Be fathomed, and the deep sea 
 Of this heart s mystery 
 
 Measured, then would the reeking line disclose 
 The quantity and the quality of its loves! 
 
 Age is not one of these! 
 
 Like wintry wind through trees 
 
 Leafless, almost lifeless, sighing 
 
 A requiem o er the doomed and dying, 
 
 Filling the soul with a mournful dread, 
 As when we tread the graves of the dead- 
 Something like this is Age! 
 An ever written page 
 Of human history the story told, 
 With nothing left to explore or to unfold. 
 
 I would my heart had other eyes 
 That it could see in Winter s skies 
 
 Some beauty lingering 
 
 Of Love s own fingering! 
 But dark and dread and drear 
 They inspire me with but fear 
 
 And awe and trembling. 
 Age! thou art the Antipode of Youth, 
 
 Else its dissembling! 
 And I must yield thee unto Truth 
 
 A sacrifice remembering 
 
 The long and weary way 
 
 Rehind thee. and I he day 
 ^Mxhon before Thy work is done! 
 Tli. it other -horc will >ooii be won! 
 
 The en >\\ n is t hine! 
 
 I \\ould lucre mine 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 21 
 
 The Coast Range 
 
 Looking down upon the ocean. 
 
 Bathing its rocky feet, 
 With an ever easy motion, 
 
 That it ever will repeat ; 
 
 Till the storm in anger tosses, 
 
 The foaming surf-bound waves, 
 
 And merchants count their losses, 
 And mothers count their graves. 
 
 With the distant, dim Sierra, 
 
 Crowned in eternal snow, 
 A grim perpetual terror 
 
 To the sunny fields below, 
 
 The dawn of morn restraining, 
 
 Hiding the eastern sky, 
 Theme of poet s refraining, 
 
 Whose cragg d peaks heavenward lie 
 
 Thou sea-kissed one! the fairest 
 
 Of all the mazy hills, 
 Enthroned with forests rarest, 
 
 Thick-set with sparkling rills; 
 
 Fields be-spangled with the glories 
 Of a thousand opening flowers, 
 
 Fit trysting-place for Fairies 
 
 Concealed amid thy bowers; 
 
 The cabin and the cottage, 
 
 Of the hardy mountaineer, 
 
 Peeping out behind the foliage 
 Of the vine and volunteer; 
 
22 POKTRY AM) I ROSK Sl.l.l .( 1 IONS 
 
 The hamlet and the village 
 That glorify thy shore 
 
 The sloping land of tillage, 
 
 Beneath the breaker s roar ; 
 
 The lowing herds of cattle 
 
 That browse thy green hill-sides 
 Yea! thy young men fit for battle, 
 
 Or to take home Ixmny brides; 
 
 All these I d sing! and singing, 
 
 Crown mine effort with the joy, 
 
 That came ringing, ringing, ringing, 
 From these hills, to me, a boy! 
 
 The Curse of Speech 
 
 Away! Away! I hate ye, Words! 
 Ye are to me like quar lsome herds 
 That feed where stinted pasture grows. 
 Whose flesh would tempt but carrion crows. 
 Thou art but the shadow of the thing 
 Whose substance soul alone can bring. 
 Wherefore art thou at all? what need? 
 The sun shines bright his shade indeed 
 Rolls o er the grass when leafy screen 
 Its darkened form would intervene 
 But grass Ixjneath a tree is ix>or, 
 While sunny shadows on a fhx>r 
 Serve well a baby s sport ivi- mood : 
 A man should seek sonic higher good. 
 
 A vehicle forsooth ye are 
 
 In which to carry out to war 
 
 The gilded deeds and thought sol" nun 1 
 
 But tell me! on the field what then 
 
 Yt glitt ciing chariot > are \ e North.** 
 
 The tinsel trappings of your birth? 
 
Rinr.WAY GEORGE ROWLEY 23 
 
 Nay! ye things! ye but strew the ground, 
 And cui b the steed in his mettled bound, 
 Confuse the charge, delay the time, 
 And blunt the valor of the line. 
 Men had better walk to battle 
 Than be cumbered with such cattle. 
 
 The songless birds that flit the grove 
 Are warmest in their mated love; 
 The cooing of the plaintive pair 
 Floats sweetest on the evening air 
 The swan that sits upon the lake 
 The eloquence of grace doth take 
 The chiefest terror and alarm 
 Comes in the stillness of the storm ; 
 While proud Earth s greatest sublimity 
 Is in the silent walls of Yosemitc. 
 
 The sign-language of the deaf mute 
 The touching plea of the dumb brute 
 The eternal silence of the spheres 
 Dewy night with its flood of tears 
 The soft caress of the noiseless breeze 
 As it nods the plumes of the voiceless trees- 
 The lesson of the ocean-shore, 
 These simple things and many more 
 Rest in the chambers of my soul. 
 Spirit guests they are, who ne er unroll 
 Their deep intendment, nor rejoice 
 In the utterance of human voice. 
 Dark and silent as mid-night s hour 
 They hold me in their spell of power; 
 Nor would I break it for the curse 
 Of speech this to me is no release 
 My fettered thoughts may darkling grope, 
 But loose them down the steepy slope 
 Of free expression, and quick to the sea, 
 With the herd they rush, and are lost to me. 
 
M POETRY AND I ROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 Down deep in the heart of man untaught 
 There wells a spring of silent thought ; 
 So bright and beauteous is the fount 
 Angels its crystal drops do count . 
 But lo! no streams are spreading there, 
 The plains below are stark and bare, 
 While round the brink of the lonely spring 
 The richest flowers their odors fling. 
 Even so I drink and drink again : 
 Mine is the pleasure, mine be the pain; 
 I will divide it not, nor turn 
 Its streams away, though parched lips burn 
 To sip its juices; but the traveller may 
 Sit with me and drink the live-long day. 
 
 Words and Voice of man, I hate ye! 
 As a thief in the night come ye 
 And steal my thoughts away, and lose 
 The current of my soul refuse 
 Me the ray of that kindly star 
 Which in the silent night afar 
 Is wont to brightly gleam and shed 
 Unearthly lustre round my head- 
 Away, all speech and all expression, 
 Nor trifle with man s holy passion! 
 Wrapt in the glory of a dream. 
 Eternal silence is my theme. 
 
 Let soul to soul and heart to heart 
 I ts each first meaning thus impart : 
 Let natural motions clear convey 
 The deep impression swift away- 
 Let glance meet glance and softly yirld 
 The temper of its burnished >hic Id 
 When hand join> hand Id >peech In- dumb 
 And \\onU i-.ink justly to their tomb 
 Then mind to mind will instant da^h 
 A- light n ings through the heavens flash ; 
 So thought gret t thought but partly formed 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 25 
 
 And where deformed be there transformed ; 
 
 Instinct and native intuition 
 
 Assume the place of false fruition ; 
 
 Till mind shall conquer matter, space, 
 
 Aye, meet the Eternal face to face 
 
 Each human life be linked to each 
 
 And taught what Nature s God would teach. 
 
 In Reverie 
 
 Ah me! my morning reverie is come 
 
 Rolled in the smoke of burning hopes, I sit 
 
 And breathe their incense; from their altar s dome 
 Arise the ashes of years, by Time s torch lit. 
 
 The red glow of the fire-flame I see not ; 
 
 Hidden within their marbled tomb they burn, 
 And burn, tis left me but to mark the spot 
 
 Whence upward dart the fingered flames, and turn 
 
 To smoke Time s hand, as t were, of quenchless fire 
 F^nwrought, and pointing fingers lifted out 
 
 Toward Eternity. A funeral pyre 
 
 Of cherished hours, of perished days a knout 
 
 Of bitter years, grouped to one eternal scourge 
 Wherewith to lash the soul in fiery stripes 
 
 And leave it scarred, then only to emerge 
 
 From out its thralls of misery when pipes 
 
 The sound of angel s horn on mortal ears, 
 
 And fall the cares of life away in shroud 
 
 Of dust, and all our drops of blood and tears 
 
 Are mingled in one cup of joy, while proud 
 
 The spirit soars above its clod of clay. 
 
 Roll on! thou endless tide of years, roll on! 
 Weary of thy rolling? Nay! Endless? Yea! 
 
 But not as to me. Thy shore I stand upon, 
 
26 POKTRV AM) PROS!, SKLKCTK >NS 
 
 And turn to view my foot-prints on the strand. 
 
 But lo! thy licking wave hath smoothed them o er, 
 
 Till now unruffled lies the trackless sand- 
 E en as the desert seems thy lonely shore. 
 
 Along the silent current of my dream 
 
 There floateth many a thought wrecks of the past 
 Dismantled and deserted barks they seem, 
 
 Whose gloomy hulls and broken spars e er cast 
 
 Dark shadows on the banks by which they glide, 
 Till the very flowers thereon wither and die 
 
 And thus the present in the past would hide, 
 
 While neath our feet life s cherished blossoms lie. 
 
 Only a Little Brook 
 
 (A simple but very touching incident has been related to us, says the Maine 
 Press, in connection with the last moments of a beautiful little girl, in Bath, who 
 lately died at the age of nine. A little while before she died, as the sorrowing 
 friends stood around her, watching the moving of the gentle breath, the last faint 
 fluttering of the little pulse, they became aware, from broken words, that she 
 shrank with natural dread from the unknown way that was opening before her. 
 She had come to the border of the mysterious river which separates us from the 
 dim hereafter, and her timid feet seemed to hesitate and fear to stem the flood. 
 But after awhile her fears subsided, she grew calm and ceased to talk about the 
 long, dark way, till at the very last she brightened suddenly, a smih <>t confidence 
 and courage lighted up her sweet face. "O, it is only a little brook!" she cried, 
 and so passed over to the heavenly shore. ) 
 
 "Only a little brook!" she cried, 
 "Only a little br(X)k!" and died 
 God give to us, as thou did>i gi\e hei . 
 Faith to sec that rolling rivrr! 
 
 Dark i> t hi night , and wild! 
 
 There stands a lovely child 
 Down by tin- shore <>t a great riser-crossing; 
 
 The winds around her moan. 
 
 The ru>hing Waters groan 
 In woe of their tempestuous billou - toeing. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 27 
 
 A little woman-child! 
 
 With fluttering heart, and mild 
 In th first years of a tender infant s knowing, 
 
 Bathing her tiny feet, 
 
 Alone, at drear midnight, 
 In the swift tide of a fearful river s flowing. 
 
 The stars above her sleep 
 
 In beds of darkness deep, 
 Nor gleam of light is seen her pathway telling; 
 
 But from the other shore, 
 
 Above the waters roar, 
 Is heard the silvery voice of angels swelling. 
 
 Mounting unto the skies 
 
 The joyous strains arise, 
 A music unrevealed to mortal hearing, 
 
 Till, by its mighty w r ill, 
 
 The very waves stand still, 
 Tideless, voiceless, fettered, trembling with fearing. 
 
 Through the deep gloom of night 
 
 Swift breaks a glorious light, 
 In its jewelled arms the stream and shore enfolding; 
 
 In magic spell seem bound 
 
 The wood and rock around, 
 While tears, to smiles are turned, in her beholding. 
 
 From out a gilded cloud 
 
 She hears a whisper loud, 
 "Oh come, oh come away, thy Father s calling! 
 
 Thou child of infant years, 
 
 Wrapt in a mother s tears, 
 Across the river come the water s falling! 
 
 "A hand you cannot see 
 
 Will lead thee on to me, 
 Then come without thy fears and hesitating!" 
 
 That hand she kindly took 
 
 "Only a little brook, 
 Mother! and see on the other side the angels waiting. 
 
I OKTKY AM) I KOSK SELECTIONS 
 
 When age doth totter to the shore 
 Of the dark stream of Nevermore, 
 May God give us as he did give her, 
 Faith to see that Bowing river! 
 
 The Wooing of Nature 
 
 On the high-uplifted mountain 
 
 On its bleakest barren peak, 
 Where slow drips the oozy fountain 
 
 To the brooklet at your feet, 
 Down its rocky path-way rushing, 
 
 Stumbling heedlessly along, 
 In its bright bold beauty gushing, 
 
 Uttering oft a weird-like song 
 
 In the home of Nature s fondest, 
 
 Best, and kindest gifts to man, 
 Things sublimest, greatest, grandest, 
 
 In God s comprehensive plan- 
 On the height of Earth s possessions 
 
 Towering far above the main, 
 Where the white-winged cloud s processions 
 
 Stream swift across heaven s blue 4 plain 
 
 Where the soul of man is nighest 
 
 To the throne of Him above 
 Where the spirit soars the highest 
 
 After His infinite love 
 Where the very air about us 
 
 Seems surcharged with crowning joy, 
 Whilst the heart doth beat with proudest, 
 
 Fullest pulse of fearless joy 
 
 On this throne of the Supernal, 
 
 Mid the rough uml rugged lie.nl- 
 
 ( )f m.ijotic hills eternal. 
 
 I ligh upiv.ired [mm granite bed- 
 
GKOR(;K ROWLEY 29 
 
 Mid the wildness and the rudeness 
 Of untutored Nature s self, 
 
 Where, primeval in their goodness 
 Dwell her sons unknown to pelf 
 
 In the last warm kissing glances 
 
 Of a bright and blushing sun, 
 As on the distant wave it dances 
 
 Out its moments nearly run 
 Mid a scene of passing glory, 
 
 While the flickering light doth play 
 Round the hill-tops fringed and hoary 
 
 With the locks of olden-day, 
 
 Stands alone a child of Nature, 
 
 Pensive, musing, weary, wan, 
 Sad, desponding of the future, 
 
 Gazing out that scene upon; 
 Ocean breezes, round him playing, 
 
 Gently chant their sweetest hymns, 
 Whilst in the gorge below are swaying 
 
 To and fro the oaken limbs. 
 
 He views in the distance glowing, 
 
 The blue waters of the sea, 
 Like a curtain downward flowing, 
 
 Concealing Eternity : 
 In its heaving breast, now dying, 
 
 Sinks the world s fair torch of day; 
 With earth s splendors neath him lying, 
 
 Gorgeous skies above him lay. 
 
 From that sea of sparkling beauty, 
 From that sky of golden light, 
 
 His soul inspired with love and duty 
 Rises higher in its flight 
 
 Higher! higher! higher soaring, 
 Climbing far above the past, 
 
30 POKTRY AM) I ROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 A glorious future opens o er him! 
 Nature woos and wins at last ! 
 
 Sweetly, softly, sadly sighing, 
 
 Murmuring as it glides along, 
 Comes the soul of day, now Hying 
 
 Fore the night -winds chilling song. 
 Down the Occident slope it glideth, 
 
 Seeking out its bride, the Sea, 
 In the gilded waves it hideth, 
 
 And alone leaves Night with me. 
 
 Remember Us 
 
 Remember us! 
 \\"e charge you now in solemn trust 
 
 Remember us! 
 That as we mingle dust with dust 
 
 Remember us! 
 
 Neath the palm-tree s endless weeping, 
 And where cypress vines are creeping 
 Over Southern swamps, we are sleeping 
 In our graves. 
 
 Remember us! 
 \\t joyed with you, we sighed with you- 
 
 Remembtr us! 
 We fought for you, we died for you 
 
 Remember us! 
 
 In the front we took our station 
 For the Nation s preservation, 
 And for Freedom s own salvation 
 When sore 
 
 RemrinluT us! 
 
 Let thy thoughts of us ne er tarnish 
 KrinrmbiT us 
 
 B\ tli, it bright steel s glittering burnish 
 
RIDGWAY GKORGk ROWLEY 31 
 
 Remember us 
 
 When we marched and never faltered, 
 Never turned and never halted 
 Till o er Treason s towers we vaulted 
 Bringing peace. 
 
 Remember us! 
 Under Sherman s glorious banner 
 
 Remember us! 
 From Atlanta to Savannah 
 
 Remember us! 
 
 E en the waves are still repeating, 
 O er and o er, the joyous greeting 
 Of that wondrous sea-side meeting 
 Of our men. 
 
 Remember us! 
 But then once more in solemn thought 
 
 Remember us! 
 How in the Wilderness we fought 
 
 Remember us! 
 
 Till the pine s dull, ceaseless moaning 
 Mingled with the soldier s groaning, 
 As he lay in blood atoning 
 
 Another s sins. 
 
 Remember us! 
 
 We would not lisp Belle-Island s name- 
 Remember us! 
 
 But only for our Country s fame 
 Remember us! 
 
 Think not of us dead, but living 
 
 In the spirit near you, giving 
 
 Voice and word for your believing 
 And your good. 
 
32 POKTRY AND PROS!. SKLKCTIONS 
 
 Remcml>er us 
 Then in your marbled halls of state! 
 
 Remember us 
 While pondering there the Nation s fate! 
 
 Remember us! 
 
 And cease not your constant heeding! 
 See ye not our wounds yet bleeding 
 And that treason still is feeding 
 O er our graven? 
 
 Remember us! 
 But be not blind to things that are! 
 
 Remember us, 
 That we with victory crowned this war! 
 
 Remember us, 
 
 That the strife was not our making, 
 Twas but one of our own taking 
 What if traitors now be quaking, 
 Tit-: but just. 
 
 Remember us 
 By the love we bore each other! 
 
 Remember us 
 By the ties of kindred brother! 
 
 Remember us 
 
 By that weeping and that wailing 
 W 7 hich filled the land with quailing 
 By those broken hearts low trailing 
 In their woe! 
 
 Oh, remember us! 
 Was there glory in that (King? 
 
 Then rcin< mber UN 
 Till t he dnM < >1 till un ajL^o. 
 When ( )blivi<m > conflict rago 
 
 O er proud History s gilded pages, 
 
 Shall be spread. 
 And \ ( arc d< ad. 
 
RII)C;\VAY GEORGE ROWLEY 33 
 
 All Alone 
 
 I sit me down this star-lit eve 
 
 To ponder, muse aye, weep and grieve. 
 
 For many a long and weary day 
 
 Hath rose and filled and passed away, 
 
 Since kindly hand hath soothed my fears, 
 
 Or wiped away youth s bitter tears. 
 
 I m all alone! I m all alone! 
 My soul is sad! Earth s joy is gone! 
 I look around, but cannot see 
 One winning smile of love for me ; 
 A mother s care, a sister s tear, 
 Ne er bless me whilst I tarry here. 
 
 No gentle fingers deftly sweep 
 
 The wooing harp-strings when I weep ; 
 
 E en in sickness I must rest 
 
 On weary couch, and not on breast 
 
 Of her whom I could call mine own, 
 
 Eor I, alas! am all alone. 
 
 I go where crowds are wont to throng, 
 I mingle in, am thrust along, 
 Striving to feel that these, my kin 
 By Adam s fall and Eve s dire sin, 
 As part and parcel of God s brood, 
 Will ease my burden tote the load- 
 But even here I m all alone, 
 I fail to greet a single one 
 Where love and sympathy embrace 
 The kindly features of their face; 
 All, all, seem passionless as well, 
 To none would I my story tell. 
 
 I turn away to Nature s haunts, 
 
 Mid wood and wild, far from the taunts 
 
POETRY AM) PROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 Of living thing, save Nature s own, 
 
 To find that still I am alone; 
 
 The mountain s crest, the murmuring sea, 
 
 Hath now e en lost their charms for me. 
 
 The very warblers of the wood. 
 Seem piping songs for other s good. 
 But I must wander forth alone, 
 No song of bird or human tone 
 To cheer me on my lonely way, 
 Or turn life s morn to pleasing day. 
 
 I strive to see a gleam of light 
 Breaking through this hideous night , 
 But ever, ever, where I gaze, 
 I see but my heart s own fearful blaze 
 Burn brightly round grim despair s throne, 
 \Yhiledemonschant "Alone! Alone!" 
 
 The Demon of Rebellion. 
 
 Twas the lonely hour of twilight; the distant village bell 
 Toll VI faltering down the valley, a sad and solemn swell ; 
 As each billowy sound came rolling, far-spreading o er the plain, 
 My soul, responsive to the tolling, caught up the plaintive 
 
 strain. 
 
 Now, startled at the booming of Alcatraz minute gun, 
 Whose sonorous roar came looming out from neath the setting 
 
 sun, 
 
 Louder filling, swiftly flying across the murky bay, 
 Faintly echoing, softly dying, as t floated far away; 
 
 Mid that melancholy wailing, those notes of woe unknown. 
 The uncertain light fast fading, as night resumed her throne. 
 All animate nature wearing a garb of doubt and gloom. 
 In that dread hour, whilst peering from the window ot my 
 
 room. 
 In dreamy mood, nor -Irrpini;. tin- casement raised on high, 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 35 
 
 Watching the darkness as t came creeping thwart a starless 
 
 sky, 
 
 Drearily, wearily musing, counting the mournful chime, 
 As it told a soul was losing its mortal hold of time, 
 
 In that dim, mysterious dawning, where the horizon was yawn 
 ing, 
 
 Twixt a blood-lit sky and earth s black pall, 
 I saw the Demon of Rebellion, leading on his imps, a million, 
 
 Rise up from the coverts of a sulphurous hell. 
 On his crest sat plum d Horror, in his eyes were gleaming Terror 
 
 With deadly hate they glistened, glowed and burned, 
 In that dread vision seeming, gazing toward their fearful 
 gleaming. 
 
 A hissing stream of flame I saw where er they turned. 
 
 From his throat came gurgling, bubbling, as twere fiend with 
 
 flesh were struggling, 
 
 In human speech yet Demon s voice, as sound 
 Of Etna when the Titan turning, belches forth its fiery burning, 
 
 And hurls the reddened lava far around. 
 
 Oh, God! that hideous stuttering, that horrid fiendish mutter 
 ing! 
 
 E en now mine ears are stun ned with the din, 
 Exulting, boasting, blaspheming, the air seemed blackened 
 
 with the streaming 
 Of his looks of hate, his words of gall, so steeped in awful sin : 
 
 "I m the Demon of War! the Fiend of Fire! Rebellion s chiefest 
 
 power! 
 
 I soar to hunt my foe, and I will roam 
 Over seas of gore to meet him, with sword and with fire I ll 
 
 greet him 
 
 Let loose the hounds of Hell to track him home! 
 The battle s roar is harmony, there s pleasure in death s agony 
 
 I love to feast mine eyes on scenes of blood, 
 Where the sulphur smoke is wreathing, and sabres in gore are 
 
 seething; 
 There in joy and fond delight I ve ever stood! 
 
36 I OKTRY AM) I ROSK SKLKCTIONS 
 
 "When the might of battle s failing, and the heart within me s 
 
 quailing, 
 
 Fore the fearless front of a victorious foe, 
 From afar I call my legions back to chaos darkest regions, 
 
 And the gleaming steel of the assassin show." 
 Twas thus he spoke, then striding, onward, upward, as twere 
 
 gliding, 
 
 ( O er the pave of Hell made smooth with bloody stream, 
 O er earth s battlements now vaulting, with scarce momentary- 
 halting, 
 
 I saw, as he leaped, that steel s deadly gleam. 
 * * * * 
 
 I turned away, and yet again, I saw another sight, 
 
 A new-made grave, a man, meek, plain, a spirit clothed in 
 white. 
 
 Freedom at the head-stone kneeled, enwrapped in thought pro 
 found, 
 
 While Justice, with her sword and shield, cast sterner look 
 around. 
 
 Columbia s sons were gathered near, their eyes upraised to 
 Heaven, 
 
 In attitude of prayer to Him, whence consolation s given ; 
 
 A nation wept amid its joy, sorrow spread o er the earth, 
 
 While grief sincere, without alloy, welled up from every hearth. 
 
 I Would I Were a Boy Again. 
 
 I would I were a boy again , 
 
 A gleeful laughter-loving boy, 
 So free from trouble, free from pain, 
 
 And caring naught but for my toy. 
 Smiling when my mother smiled, 
 
 And crying only when she cried 
 Give me the bliss, the joy so wild 
 
 ( )f childhood s hour by grief untried! 
 
 Then, never, never, would I seek 
 To reach again to man s estate; 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 37 
 
 A little child I d be, though meek, 
 
 And laugh to scorn the frown of fate. 
 
 I care not for Ambition s voice, 
 
 Tis all a mock, a cheat, a snare 
 
 To lure us on and then rejoice 
 
 O er withered hopes once bright and fair. 
 
 Oh, give me back the cup I ask! 
 
 That I may quaff oblivion s draught, 
 Forgetting all my worldly task 
 
 Beyond this cruel sphere I d waft. 
 Is there a spot, is there a clime 
 
 Where youth and pleasure ever dwell, 
 And care comes not, while hoary time 
 
 Is marked not by the tolling bell? 
 
 My childhood s days my childhood s days 
 
 Embodied this, and so would I 
 Turn gladly back to youthful plays 
 
 Nor think to weep, to pine, to sigh. 
 No! tell me not of manhood s pride, 
 
 Of wealth, of honor, and such joys; 
 They re but the reflex of a tide 
 
 Which ebbs and leaves these bauble toys. 
 
 The green pastures of youth I see 
 
 Floating weirdly before my mind, 
 Oh, welcome! welcome thoti to me! 
 
 No joys can equal these in kind. 
 There babbles on the little brook, 
 
 There stands that grand old maple tree, 
 Beneath whose sheltering arms I took 
 
 A long and last farewell of thee, 
 
 My father! yes, thou too art gone 
 
 Upon thy pilgrimage afar, 
 And thou wert here when I was young, 
 
 But now thou rt gone, my good mama! 
 
38 I OKTRY AM) PROSK SKLKCTIONS 
 
 The golden chords of home are broken, 
 
 We ll group around that hearth no more 
 
 Yet in this breast there lives a token 
 
 ( )f those dear olden times that were. 
 
 I cannot chide away these tears 
 
 So let them flow, twill ease my brain. 
 Oh, call these not all foolish fears! 
 
 Wouldst thou not be a boy again 
 To seek that peaceful, happy sleep, 
 
 Which came to thee in trundle-bed, 
 Never to come again so deep 
 
 Till thou art sleeping with the dead? 
 
 I would I were a boy again! 
 
 To roam my native hillsides o er, 
 Plucking the early flowers of spring, 
 
 Or gazing where the wild birds soar. 
 I ve wandered up and down the strand 
 
 Full many a long and weary day, 
 But never yet have found a land 
 
 As fair as home home when a boy. 
 
 The Rain! the Rain! the Welcome Rain 
 
 The rain! the rain! the welcome rain! 
 
 O er field and meadow, hill and plain, 
 
 Tis falling free and fast again 
 
 By Kolus hither driven 
 Tear-drops of a weeping heaven- 
 <)f health, of wealth the leaven 
 To mortals kindly given. 
 
 The earth doth drink the pn c i< u^ M n .mis 
 Through many mouths, and still it seems 
 She thirsteth yet her fomh ^i < In-. mis 
 
 Are o! llii^ cup >ln sips 
 With parched and fevered lips 
 A pricrlr-- draught for life 
 ( )r diaih i> in the strife. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 39 
 
 The fields do leap in maddened joy 
 The hills would kiss the weeping sky- 
 Away to the sea, so merrily, 
 
 The little brooks dance on, 
 In frolic and in fun, 
 Murmuring as they run 
 "Ever on! ever on!" 
 
 Now, man and beast and bird as well, 
 
 Would all a happy story tell; 
 
 The green grass cometh, buds do swell, 
 
 Speaking of future store, 
 Of garners laden o er, 
 And comfort to the poor 
 Who sitteth at our door. 
 
 Yet, dark! dark! dark is the night! 
 
 Nor moon nor stars are giving light 
 
 The God of storms, in kingly might, 
 
 Abroad doth rule the hour: 
 The leaden clouds do pour 
 Their quickening torrents down 
 O er cottage-roof and town. 
 
 The chafing sea doth beat the shore 
 
 With a hoarse and sullen roar 
 
 The storm-birds shriek, as inward pour 
 
 The loosened winds, striving 
 In vain with flapping wing. 
 To stem the driving storm 
 And quell their fierce alarm. 
 
 Drop by drop comes the stealthy rain, 
 
 Beating against the window-pane, 
 
 Beating upon the roof so plain, 
 
 In soothing sound, and slow 
 With music sad and low, 
 In measured time and deep, 
 Lulling the soul to sleep. 
 
40 POKTRV AM) I ROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 Andersonville 
 
 On the gentle slope of a Georgia hill 
 St<x>cl the prison-pen of Andersonville; 
 Twenty-four acres within a stockade 
 Twenty-four thousand men in it arc laid 
 To the acre a thousand lives, loyal and true, 
 Like a field, or meadow, where corn or grass grew, 
 Each acre by southern husbandmen sowed 
 The harvest, when ripe, by death to be mowed. 
 
 Weak, wounded, weary, sick, pallid and starved, 
 Naked and fainting, their rations now halved; 
 Without shelter at noon, or cover at night, 
 Save the blue vault of heaven, a God-given right, 
 They lay and they suffered, they sighed and they moaned 
 With heat and with cold alternate they groaned, 
 Mid the mud and the mire, the sleet and the rain, 
 Twenty-four thousand men wept in their pain. 
 
 A mere scratch of earth, a stake for a sign, 
 Marks where around them is drawn the "dead line," 
 And woe be to him, poor wandering wight, 
 Who in anguish of pain, or dimness of sight , 
 Approached or crossed over this boundary mark 
 Twixt Time and Eternity sunlight and dark 
 The hiss of the bullet, the shriek and the moan, 
 Quick told that another proud spirit was gone. 
 ***** 
 
 Now, all crimsoned with gore, a pale, white hand 
 Leads onward and upward a skeleton band 
 Bove the clouds they re winding, a funeral train, 
 To the solemn march of a heavenly strain, 
 Slowly and silently file they along 
 Twenty-four thousand, their numbers are strong. 
 
 As martyrs are robed in garment- of white 
 
 A mantle of glory, a halo of light 
 
 Gleams o er them, round them, about them, above. 
 
 Reveal i MI- the home of the 1 Iea\ enly 1 )o\ c 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 41 
 
 Now the pale, white hand, all crimsoned with gore, 
 Knocks at the portals of the jasper door. 
 
 Wide open it flew and passed within 
 
 This skeleton band, forgiven of sin; 
 
 While outward and downward, with Venging might, 
 
 Flew the angel of sorrow the angel of night ; 
 
 Dark and fearful his course, an avenger indeed, 
 
 And swifter than death on his whitened steed. 
 
 The grim skeletons saw they saw and smiled 
 Twas but the smile of Justice, bland and mild. 
 Though the sword is shattered and victory s won, 
 Let Justice s will, not Mercy s, be done; 
 Then shall Wirtz die, and memory live to sing; 
 "Death unto them whom death to others bring." 
 
 The Mourning Dove of California 
 
 Oft, amid stillness most profound, 
 With naught of living thing around, 
 Save self, and horse, and faithful hound, 
 
 I ve stood at close of day, 
 On mountain top or desert plain, 
 And heard repeated gain and gain 
 A mournful melancholy strain, 
 
 Till summer s light grew gre> . 
 
 The cooing of the mourning dove 
 As t sings its plaintive song of love 
 To feathered mate while perched above 
 
 On leafless bough or limb 
 In accents deep, and clear, and low, 
 A touching music in its flow, 
 As the wild echoes come and go 
 
 A weird-like, solemn hymn. 
 
42 POETRY AND PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 The sadness of that lone refrain 
 Doth fill my very soul and brain 
 I would not hear it e er again, 
 
 Yet still it comes once more ; 
 The wakening of that plaintive voice 
 Can hush the heart that would rejoice, 
 E en as the song of Eurydice 
 
 In melting murmurs pour. 
 
 As from the mountain s deep ravine, 
 Where sweeps along the pearly stream, 
 There comes the minstrels all unseen, 
 
 Music, strange, unknown, 
 Floating on the midnight air, 
 Borne by gentle breezes fair, 
 The song of an unearthly pair, 
 
 In tender, wooing tone; 
 
 Or when from distant leafy grove- 
 Bright stars and silvery moon above 
 The harp doth weep its song of love 
 
 In low and murmuring mood- 
 Sweet whisperings from the spirit land 
 The soul doth feel their magic wand, 
 As gently touched by fairy hand 
 
 This syren of the wood. 
 
 E en Silence self doth seem to start , 
 As pierced by subtle arrowy dart, 
 And from herself were fain to part 
 
 In abrupt, moody way, 
 When, from the mountain s barren side, 
 At early dawn or even-tide, 
 The cooing of this mournful bride 
 
 Doth call her groom away. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 43 
 
 Ambition 
 
 The time has come, thou unknown one, 
 When thou must tell me who thou art! 
 Years agone, a homely youth, thou didst 
 Knock at my life s door, I opened 
 Unto thee and bid thee welcome! 
 When, tearing off thine outer robes, 
 Thou didst reveal a form as fair 
 As ever won a Juno s love. 
 I gazed! of more than mortal s state 
 I deemed thee, so finely wrought in 
 All the graces that charm the soul 
 Or fill the human eye with faith! 
 Thou didst dine with me, sup with me, 
 Aye! made mine home and hearth your own ; 
 And on one winter s night, the grim 
 Storm King, with his embattled hosts, 
 Raging relentless war without, 
 While we within, around the blaze 
 Of oaken log, sat cosily, 
 Didst tell the story of thy wrongs; 
 How a great Cardinal, beneath 
 Whose roof thou wast, in dying rage, 
 Cursed thee and sent thee forth to starve! 
 How good men turned thee from their doors 
 And called thee "Wretch! Accursed of Earth!" 
 Whilst I, in simple innocence, 
 Did wonder so that this could be, 
 Resolved, the more to shield that form 
 From further woes and suffering. 
 
 Oft some pleasing tale thou dst tell, 
 Of sea, and land, of towns and men ; 
 E en as you spoke, those fancied scenes 
 Were spread upon the walls of my 
 Imagination, till all aglow, 
 And wrapt in the spell of thy story, 
 I drew still closer to thy side, 
 
44 I OKTKY AM) I ROSK SKLKCTIONS 
 
 To drink in every word, and watch 
 
 The changes of that winsome face 
 
 So animate with expression 
 
 Night after night twas thus, until 
 
 I was made all thine own, and naught 
 
 But that sweet-sounding voice could please 
 
 Mine ear! Then it was thy story 
 
 Changed. From silvery flute-like notes, 
 
 As soft and low as Syren s song. 
 
 Quick came a trumpet-blast! a fierce 
 
 Sounding call of a bugle horn! 
 
 Winding through my echoing heart 
 
 Till its deepest chambers were filled 
 
 From quiet fields, and purling brooks 
 
 Along whose banks stood peasants cots, 
 
 Embowered in fragrant flowers, and love, 
 
 Swiftly was I carried along 
 
 The strong current of thy sailing 
 
 To find myself neath strangest skies; 
 
 With all that dreamy softness gone 
 
 From sun and sun-lit cloud! I saw 
 
 Around strange forms! No comrades of 
 
 My youth! Whilst thoughts tumultuous whirled 
 
 Like meteors o er my brain, until 
 
 My very soul was filled with doubt 
 
 Of my own mortal existence! 
 
 I turned to thee, 
 
 But lo! How amazing changed wert thou 
 From that first night I took thee in 
 To my house, and home, my heart and all! 
 With wand of fire you waved a name 
 Upon the vault alx>ve, and bade 
 Me read, and told me how men climbed 
 
 To reaeh thai gilded /one where stretched 
 
 Wide fields of jjory and of fame! 
 I hen didst thou show me battle-fields, 
 And bade me list to music made 
 
 l>\ the groans of dying men ; anon. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROVVLKV 45 
 
 A horse and rider, likened to me, 
 Charged through smoke and blood to victory! 
 Telling me that tis thus men climb 
 To reach that glittering name above. 
 
 Another scene -a student s form, 
 At midnight s darkest hour, alone, 
 
 With glimmering light, low bending o er 
 The lettered tokens of a past, 
 Whose burning words of eloquence 
 Do thrill the modern heart and page, 
 
 Conning the problems of the soul, 
 Of life, of matter, and of mind, 
 Until the founts of life refuse 
 
 Another vital drop to ooze! 
 E en thus, thou saidst, that men do climb 
 To reach that glittering gilded zone 
 Where fields of fame and glory lie! 
 Still other visions rose; and now 
 
 Thou unknown one! quick! tell me who 
 
 Thou art, and whence thy magic power! 
 Or by my soul, I ll stifle thee! 
 Whether born of Hell or Heaven 
 Say on! else light to night will turn 
 To thee! No more thou lit sweep the skies 
 With wand of demon s power! no more 
 Sing Syren songs to lure men on 
 To a deep and damned destruction! 
 Or art thou of that other part, 
 Brighter than thy showing; whose inner 
 Life would e en dazzle mortal sight 
 With purity of its purpose? 
 But angel or demon, I ll know 
 Thee now, tell me thy name! thy name! 
 "Proud mortal! this is all thou lit know, 
 "In Heaven and Hell I am as one ; 
 "On Earth could I be more! then 
 "List to my name it is Ambition! 
 
46 I OKTRY AM) I ROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 No Rest 
 
 I love the mountain s storm! 
 
 I love the fierce wild night ! 
 Mid terror s loud alarm, 
 
 When storm-kings bitter fight 
 
 I laugh to hear their roar! 
 
 I joy in all the strife 
 Of elements at war, 
 
 With pleasure deep as life! 
 
 No tame sunshine for me! 
 
 No quiet simple hour! 
 Give me the raging sea 
 
 With its majestic power! 
 
 Give me the old-bird s cry 
 
 Around its eyrie home, 
 When eaglets seek to fly 
 
 Above the mountain s dome! 
 
 I love the hunter s horn 
 
 When pants the weary hind!- 
 
 A> ;*i.ilr> >\\vrp madly on 
 
 There s music in the wind! 
 
 When rolls the thunder-drum 
 Of Heaven s artillery car 
 
 And Storm -Kings cry "We come!" 
 I answer back, ha! ha! 
 
 Give me the rock-bound coast 
 
 Where waves dash mountain hi^ 
 
 And in their angry boast 
 
 Would sweep the stars from sky! 
 
 Give me ruin on the lam I! 
 
 Give me ruin on tin- wave! 
 H en Mich trom Nature s hand 
 
 My spirit wild would crave. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 47 
 
 The Fog- Bell of Alcatraz 
 
 In solemn numbers, 
 Mid the slumbers, 
 
 Of the town, 
 
 Tolls the Bell of Alcatraz, out o er the sea. 
 On the slippery pavement of the deep 
 Slow glides that saddening swell 
 
 Not a white-fingered spray 
 Uplifts, its course to stay- 
 Smooth as a marbled floor, so quiet lay 
 The unruffled waves, lulled into sleep 
 
 By the gentle song of the Island-bell. 
 
 The blue mid-night, 
 In starless light, 
 
 Kisses the blue and placid sea, yet weeps to feel 
 One ray of lamp, 
 As in pity, 
 From the City, 
 Upon its damp 
 And dark cold bosom steal. 
 
 The Golden-Gate of the Occident lies ope 
 Its portals wide are thrown a watery slope 
 Glides downward to the sea, the eternal sea, 
 And all is lost in its immensity! 
 
 Far out on the wave 
 
 The mariner brave 
 Lists to the voice of the speaking one; 
 
 O er the deep tis borne 
 
 Like a winding horn, 
 E en to the cliffs of the Farallone 
 
 As on mine sorrowing ear slow fell 
 The tuneful echoing of this bell, 
 Sweeping over the silent deep, 
 And over the silent couch of sleep, 
 
1 OKTRY AND PROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 And over the island, and over the bay 
 Where white-winged ships like phantoms lay, 
 The night-air, laden with its toll, 
 Flung its burden o er my soul 
 
 Till my heart was bound 
 In its mournful sound 
 And the pent-up memories of years did roll. 
 
 Twas there, where the white-winged ships lay dreaming. 
 That as they lay, it seemed if this is seeming 
 The full oared boat of fancy steered its way 
 Betwixt dark hulls and masts, and night s dismay, 
 Far out upon Time s mighty deep, 
 Alone, with all the world asleep 
 On ship and shore, 
 While evermore 
 That bell tolled on and on in it s wondrous pealing. 
 
 Oh Memory! Memory! 
 Stirred by the deep melody 
 Of this solemn mid-night music, 
 Thou comest like a soft zephyr from the sea 
 
 And greetest me! 
 
 In thy warm refreshment am 1 made a child again, 
 While in the tender arms of night I fall and weep my woe! 
 The moss of years is torn from this bleeding heart, 
 Young, fresh, and naked, its throbbing pulses start 
 
 Into life s first purity 
 
 And to thee, sweet sounding bell! to thee alone I owe 
 This fond enchantment with its spell upon my brain 
 I would live alway, live to quaff the pleasing cup 
 Of these unutterable emotions; nor yield it up 
 Till the waters l>;-ar a fainter knell, 
 
 A funeral dirge, from th.- Maud-Bell. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 49 
 
 Wooed, Won and Lost! 
 
 Yes, gently, softly break the news to her 
 She is my wife, and once I could not stir 
 But in the circle of her life and love. 
 I knew no other world ; I wanted none 
 Save when, few years ago, I wooed and won 
 Her to whom you ll bear my dying prayer, 
 Yes, tell her gently I am dead! above 
 A whisper lisp no more ; tis true it will 
 Not wring her heart, nor cast an icy chill ; 
 Upon her soul ; twill quickly pass away! 
 But she s my wife; unto her I did swear 
 Fore the holy altar, and the high priest 
 Of God, in solemn oath and plighted faith, 
 To cherish, love, as long as life might last. 
 I ll keep my vow till memories of the past 
 No longer tarry on my weakened brain. 
 I long for the oblivious draught of death ; 
 Not that I may with this departing breath 
 Breathe out mine own release from sacred vow, 
 But that these bitter recollections may 
 No more recall woman s inconstancy. 
 
 I loved with all my strength, and wooed and won 
 Mid the extatic joy but felt by one 
 Who deems that love requited turns again 
 Its passioned stream unto an ardent soul. 
 Love s fetters round my very life did roll 
 Their welcome links; the music of the spheres 
 Did seem in harmony to blend their chime 
 With the merry tinkling of my own heart. 
 Oh, the illusion of love s happy time! 
 How soon, alas, to vanish and to part! 
 
 Once, did I say, that thou wert dear to me? 
 And why not now? oh, tell me where and how 
 I lost the love thou once professed for me! 
 My sight is blind, perhaps, with worldliness 
 And with selfishness. I may have wronged thee. 
 
50 I OKTRY AM) 1 kOSK SELECTIONS 
 
 S|xak out, my wife, and tell me is it so? 
 Again, as oft before thou sayest, " No," 
 Oh, rather would I hear theL> tell it " Yes." 
 Than this cold apathy and indifference! 
 It stingeth like a viper into my soul ; 
 Can I with love thy spirit ne er control.- 
 (irant me, at least, this little toon I ask, 
 The respect and fealty of a loyal wife; 
 This to thee should e er be a grateful task, 
 Not a burden imposed upon thy life! 
 Oh, God! and is t for this I loved so well? 
 Did my proud bosom with emotions swell 
 Only to be stifled, withered, crushed, 
 Like flowers neath the feet of a lawless child ; 
 ( )r, as spray upon the billow s crest, brushed 
 Away by the winds of a woman s fancy? 
 
 Unloved, unhonored, unwept for, 1 sought 
 Relief from the thraldom my misery brought, 
 This is why I am here, and why I am dying 
 Afar from my wife; on a weary bed lying 
 And telling thee the story of my wrong. 
 But, oh that I could hear once more that song 
 She sung so sweet to me in days of yore! 
 Methinks I hear those strains, now evermore 
 To float upon the air and fill my brain 
 With their soft dreaminess; and still again 
 I see thee, my wife, thou art come at last! 
 Too late! too late! my earthly minutes fast 
 Are waning! I have not time to forget, 
 Forgive I do. I ve nothing to forgive; 
 Rememlxjr, wife, man s love doth ever livel 
 Cicxxl night! farewell! we may be happy yet, 
 Across the river, on that other shore. 
 Where woman s constancv dwells evermore . 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 51 
 
 "Lay Me Down and Save the Flag" 
 
 Col. Mulligan. 
 
 Where in the wide world s longest day 
 Did Bard e er scribe a holier lay? 
 The valiant cry, "On, Marmion, On!" 
 Shall not outlive our "Mulligan," 
 When o er the turf his men did drag, 
 Cned, "Lay me down and save the Flag." 
 
 Pride, Country, Honor, all held dear 
 By man or saint was echoed here : 
 The pulse of life is ebbing low, 
 Earth s green sod is stained with flow 
 Of reddened stream, but still he cried, 
 Oh, "Lay me down and save the Flag." 
 
 "Old Glory," neath foul treason s feet 
 
 Was not a sight his eyes could meet ; 
 
 Now, rising bove all earthly pain, 
 
 He rallies on his men again 
 
 With words, well worth a Freeman s brag, 
 
 Of "Lay me down and save the Flag." 
 
 A traitor grasps its sacred fold ; 
 
 Oh, may the story ne er be told, 
 
 We fled from where our banner stood! 
 
 But let it first be drenched in blood, 
 
 O er it shall float no rebel rag, 
 
 Go! "Lay me down and save the Flag." 
 
 Oh, when in coming peaceful years 
 Our children read through eyes of tears 
 The history of their country s woes, 
 While struggling with intestine foes, 
 They ll fling the shout from crag to crag 
 Of "Lay me down and save the Flag." 
 
 That glorious chant will rise and swell 
 From field or town where Freemen dwell ; 
 The starry night shall hear it ring 
 From maiden s voice, or lute, or string, 
 The spirit of the Past shall brag 
 In "Lay me down and save the Flag." 
 
52 I OKTRY AND PROSK SKLKCTIONS 
 
 Where First We Met 
 
 Though sadly touched with loves regret, 
 Still memory holds it fondly yet 
 That is was by the sea we met. 
 
 And as I ponder, fresher still, 
 
 Without an effort or a will. 
 
 Until my sentient frame does thrill. 
 
 Returns that olden scene. Tis now 
 Some years, yes, many years ago, 
 \Vhen Time was running limp and slow 
 
 And mocking youth laughed merrily, 
 That she and I met by the sea 
 And thus it was with her and me 
 
 Yet may my story have its way 
 In passing order, nor delay 
 To tell of that eventful day 
 
 Beginning with the morning beam 
 That threw its golden glance o er stream 
 Of ocean wide, till it did s<-( m. 
 
 In its placid glory, a dancing pave 
 For watery nymphs, so unlike a grave 
 Beneath whose marbled surface lave 
 
 The wave-tossed bones of him who d make 
 The elements to yield and take. 
 I nto himself, for Victory s sake, 
 
 The sea-weed crown and coral throne. 
 Such was the sea! and yet did moan 
 Along the rocky shore, and groan 
 
 With the unutterable agony 
 Of a suffering Divinity 
 O er its conscious ct( rnit\ 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 53 
 
 Such was the morn! so calm and bright, 
 With its pure ether buoyant and light 
 As the spirit of youth itself, while Night, 
 
 Receding in the west afar, 
 
 Held sway by one pale glowing star 
 
 Alone. No zephry e en did mar 
 
 The stillness of the wave or sky. 
 Twas an orient shore, and low did lie 
 The dripping sun; the sea-gull s cry 
 
 Not yet had waked the morning air ; 
 
 The sleeping shore looked wondrous fair 
 
 Twas here and now we met a pair 
 
 By love s quick instinct each to each 
 Other known nor could time e er teach 
 Us more the morn, the sea, the beach 
 
 Told all too well her soul was mine 
 And mine was hers ; and hearts entwine 
 Where souls do meet, at love s own shrine. 
 
 And thus we gazed upon the sea ; 
 And I on her and she on me 
 Cast looks of deepest sympathy; 
 
 Joy in my soul did rise to feel 
 
 There was one other that could steal 
 
 Away from the world, and sleep, and kneel 
 
 In homage before Nature s throne, 
 Adoring the beautiful so did she own 
 By this same deed that she had grown 
 
 To an exalted womanhood. 
 
 Oft on the mountain had I stood, 
 
 Or in the deep, dark tangled wood, 
 
54 I OKTRY AM) I ROSK SHLKlTIOXS 
 
 And sought the spirit of the place to yield 
 Me one fair being that could wield 
 The shaft of love so well no shield 
 
 Might save my heart but all was vain. 
 The leveled dart but brought a pain 
 Unto my heart, and blood like rain 
 
 Might flow from out the wound, but still 
 Untouched the heart, nor woman s will 
 Could reach it, nor a single thrill 
 
 Of woman s love pervade it now 
 Twas changed down by the sea a vow 
 Of deathless love was given, and oh, how 
 
 Freely given! and yet I d almost said 
 
 Twas still in vain e en so for ere we wed, 
 
 She whom I wooed and won by the sea, was dead. 
 
 Baby-Life 
 
 Pure and fresh as a mountain stream, 
 But gentle as an evening dream, 
 Amid its mothers milk and song 
 So flows our baby-life along. 
 
 The rosy hue of morn is here 
 Upon the baby s cheek or ear 
 The fading splendors of the day 
 In its heart -winning smile do lay. 
 
 With love and liberty its shrine 
 Its mother thinks it half divine; 
 Nor wonder, for what c.in o >ni| >aiv 
 
 \\iih babv s eves, or baby s hair. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 55 
 
 And tender as the dews of night, 
 And fair as morning s dawning light, 
 And richer far than Ophir s wealth 
 Is our baby s life, our baby s health. 
 
 The stately oak in the acorn s heart 
 In miniature is found nor part 
 Is wanting there, leaf, limb and form, 
 As when the fury of the storm 
 Beats on the full-grown tree, nor less, 
 Are seen tis Nature s deep impress 
 The Man is stamped upon the Child, 
 Though form and feature are more mild. 
 
 The pride of years may from this germ 
 
 Unfold, but ne er increase its term 
 
 The substance of its quantity 
 
 May change, but not its quality 
 
 Whether white with hoar, or vernal, 
 
 The soul is changeless and eternal ; 
 
 Years can not span it, nor days 
 
 Confess it, but same are all its ways. 
 
 I would not in this much conceit 
 
 Of fuller time deem tiny feet 
 
 May not impress the sod as deep 
 
 As mine, according to their keep. 
 
 I d fain believe that the deep sense 
 
 Of wondrous life is most intense 
 
 In the infant soul ; the deep compress 
 
 Of endless time is here, nor less, 
 
 As when the close-shut bud does hold 
 
 The fairest leaves that fairest flowers unfold 
 
 The silence of the infant heart 
 
 Is broken not nor words impart 
 
 The deep unuttered instinct, bound, 
 
 As the heavens hold the thunders sound 
 
 Before the spark is given I dare 
 
 Not seek to know how full the share 
 
5<> I OF.TKY AND I ROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 Of infant knowledge is, lest shame 
 Taunt me of man s estate and name. 
 OVr philosophy, bark, hack. 
 I anxious stretch my thoughts and wrack 
 My soul to know the secret spring 
 Which touched, or when, or how, does bring 
 Immortal life from naught, but vain! 
 Tis unfathomable and yet again 
 The supreme source of Divinity, 
 The duration of Eternity 
 Such things on which to ponder make 
 Men mad, and sense and reason take 
 From their throne and down to ruin hurl, 
 All these unto the infant soul 
 I d leave, believing that from the fount 
 Of life alone, such inspirations mount. 
 Nor would I trifle e en with one 
 Just brought to life and light, nor run 
 The venturous chance nearer by far 
 Is that little life unto the star 
 Of our nativity than mine- 
 Its brightest beams upon it shine, 
 While deep in th glow of night I stand, 
 Far reaching for my Maker s hand 
 But feel it not so deep my fears 
 That in the coming lapse of years, 
 Perhaps when time itself is gone 
 And all of mortal things is done, 
 That baby -one, now grown to speech, 
 Remembering still, shall to me teach 
 A lesson of humility 
 And of the soul s docility 
 Before the throne of Heaven, and Heaven s King. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 57 
 
 II Penseroso 
 
 I cannot sing for thee tonight, 
 
 My harp is out of string and poor ; 
 
 But could my soul in tearful flight 
 A-wing its way unto thy door 
 
 Could Melody on sweeping wing, 
 
 Bear up and on this heavy heart, 
 
 Then might it open forth and sing 
 
 Such strains as Orpheus self could start. 
 
 The quivering air should outward swell 
 The wakened music of my soul, 
 
 And Earth and Sky and Nature tell 
 
 What currents neath this bosom roll. 
 
 I would there were unto this breast 
 A window wide, such vision clear 
 
 That human eye could pierce the nest 
 
 Where brood my passions dark and drear. 
 
 No more the silent woe would seek 
 To hide in this its wonted place ; 
 
 No more a human heart would reek, 
 
 And by its blood-spots leave a trace. 
 
 Oh Melancholy! the contempt ous churl 
 Can mock the spirit that would feed 
 
 Thee from its hand, and fondly twirl 
 
 Thy sable plumes the funeral weed 
 
 Of other hearts, but not of mine. 
 
 Life! Love! Joy! vanish all! 
 But one lone star of hope shall shine 
 
 For me; and this, beneath the pall 
 
5s POETRY AM) PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 Of night and gloom, with constant ray, 
 
 Forth from the deep-set vault of Heaven, 
 
 Like Bethlehem s star, shall point the way 
 Where new-horn Faith itself has risen. 
 
 Tis Sorrow s torch, and by its light 
 I see the plains of earth bestrewed 
 
 With won drous truths, so living bright 
 
 Like glittering pearls they seem, bedewed 
 
 With tears of night and one by one 
 I gather them, sweet boon denied 
 
 To mortal kind save him alone 
 
 Who lives to love this pensive bride. 
 
 By the Sea 
 
 Upon the bright and shining sand, 
 The white sea-sand, I mean, 
 
 That lines the ocean-shore, I stand 
 And gaze upon the scene. 
 
 The morning opes its misty eyes 
 
 Upon a waking world 
 Swift o er the waters darkness flics, 
 
 Before Aurora hurled. 
 
 Now mid the cliffs and mountain peaks 
 That fringe the orient shore, 
 
 The mellow light of morning seeks 
 A golden flood to pour. 
 
 It raineth down upon the wave, 
 It s glittering glories show 
 
 The deep recesses of the grave 
 Dark fathoms down below. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 59 
 
 Come forth, my soul! the beating sea 
 Now calls thee from thy tent, 
 
 The stirring roll of its reveille 
 
 To the mountain-tops is sent. 
 
 E en up the mountain of my soul, 
 
 In deep prophetic voice. 
 The thundering seas climb on, and roll 
 
 The volume of their noise. 
 
 The eternal call of years is here- 
 
 Who answer? Children of men 
 
 Thy response is brief! and then appear 
 But sinking forms and then? 
 
 Oh then the wild waves sweep along, 
 The dark night comes once more. 
 
 New morning breaks, and still that song 
 Is cast upon the shore. 
 
 Ye jutting cliffs! that outward stretch 
 Your beaten fronts to sea. 
 
 Methinks that ye in profile sketch 
 Are likened unto me, 
 
 Or me to you the surging deep 
 So foams and eddies round, 
 
 Its tides in every crevice creep 
 
 And waste the yielding ground. 
 
 As from the distant deck the watch 
 Close scans the night-bound sky. 
 
 Tis only thus that he may catch 
 Thine outline on his eye. 
 
 So twixt the light of sky and earth 
 Man looms to measure just, 
 
 He rises to a higher birth 
 
 And leaves behind his dust. 
 
60 I OKTRY AM) I KOSK SKLK(T1<>\^ 
 
 Ye tireless and unceasing sea! 
 
 In a nook upon thy shore, 
 Close by thy side. I d dwell with thee, 
 
 Forgetting all things more. 
 
 The ripples of thy waves should count 
 
 The moments of my life 
 Thy mighty self should Ixj the fount 
 
 Whence flows a balm to strife. 
 
 Thou should st yield up the things that are 
 
 Of Nature s mystery 
 E en by the light ot Evening s star, 
 
 Intense I d study thee. 
 
 Thy drift upon the beach I d scan 
 
 And cull thy science out- 
 Yea! learn from thee far more of man 
 
 Than man has yet found out. 
 
 Oh, there should come unto my soul 
 Such knowledge sweet as blind 
 
 Philosophy did ne er unroll 
 To one of mortal kind. 
 
 Tis in the salt-sea brine the key 
 
 Of Nature s Chemistry 
 Lies hid ; say not tis not for me 
 
 To find it out, oh, sea! 
 
 The monotone, whence comes all sound 
 
 Of music sad or sweet, 
 In thy rebounding wave is found, 
 
 And in thy bass we meet. 
 
 The (ienius, which kindles at the fire 
 
 Of heavenly song until 
 The ecstatic blaze consuim > ilu lyre 
 
 Whose touch was wont to thrill 
 
GEORGE ROWLEY 51 
 
 With all pervading sympathy 
 The immoi tal part of man 
 
 (E en as high Heaven s own symphony 
 Through all its arches ran ) 
 
 From that quick phosphorescent flash, 
 Oh Sea! that skims upon 
 
 The surface of thy waters as they dash 
 In foam, and then is gone, 
 
 Receives its best and kindliest spark. 
 
 But now the glowing sun 
 And the tiring song of the spotted lark 
 
 Tell me my walk is done. 
 
 Victory is Peace 
 
 Hail, happy Peace, all hail to thee! 
 Thy youthful form once more we see 
 Crowned with garlands of victory, 
 
 All hail, all hail! 
 
 Our country s night of dark despair 
 Hath passed away for evermore, 
 The golden light of morn is there 
 
 Oh, welcome morn! 
 
 Each Patriot s heart with hope beats high 
 For Treason s death-knell soundeth nigh ; 
 Columbia echoes back the cry, 
 
 Victory! Victory! 
 
 The starry flag goes marching on, 
 The bright emblem of Freedom s sons, 
 To tell of battles fought and won 
 
 Our Starry Flag! 
 
62 POKTRY AM) PROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 In land where nought but Freemen dwell, 
 The Soldier s grave marks where he fell 
 Facing the fire of treason s hell, 
 
 Of Treason s hell! 
 
 A holy cry doth reach our ear, 
 Made sacred by the orphan s tear 
 And widow s sigh tis coming near, 
 
 Oh hear! Oh hear! 
 
 "Beloved land of Liberty, 
 We fought and bled and died for thee; 
 Keep honored now our memory 
 Our memory! 
 
 "Nor let the roll of drum e er cease 
 Till conquered Traitors sue for peace- 
 Wit h victory there cometh Peace 
 
 Victorv is Peace!" 
 
 Passion-Song 
 
 Away! Away! Away! thou cursed One! 
 I know thee not. Go hence! I would be done 
 With thee forever! Did st say "I know thee not?" 
 Then draw I back these words all hissing hot 
 Betwixt my teeth, and struggling, swallow whole. 
 Yea! I know thee well too well and by my soul 
 I ll tell whereof I know! And this it is, 
 In sum and substance, knowledge drawn from years 
 Sojourned with thee in all thy moodsand ways 
 And various attitudes, and nights and (lay- 
 Spent here beneath the Sun 
 
 And yet. I fear 
 
 That now, as Reason backs, and Passion s tear 
 Sub^ido. I may not ought not cry aloud 
 
 Mv \\r in human car: but . ncath the cloud 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 63 
 
 Of its own dark affliction, rest it silent 
 And alone, and bear with it, and be content; 
 Suffering to nurse it darkling to my breast, 
 E en as a viper coiled in th birdling s nest, 
 And 
 
 But no! I ll clutch it from me and hurl 
 The slimy thing back to its kind ; then twirl 
 My envenomed fingers twixt the hoary locks 
 Of Time, to cleanse them well, and pile the rocks 
 Of Oblivion on the den of this fearful thing, 
 No more to crawl and twine about and sting 
 The trusting heart 
 
 And yet, as now again, 
 In the vision of my hot-heated brain 
 I see thee! horrid, livid, as before; 
 And the memory of my wrongs knocks at the door 
 Of Reason ; the empty tenement echoes 
 Back the sound, hollow-ringing as the throes 
 Of Death hurled gainst the buried coffin-lid! 
 
 Oh God! and was t for this my young life bid 
 Me walk mongst Men, rejoicing in my Youth, 
 And Spirit s strength, confiding in the Truth 
 That dwelt within me believing loving 
 Toward him, yea! I admit it, toward her, turning, 
 Seeking that sweet solace of the soul 
 Which love, and human love alone, can roll 
 In gentle stream through human heart the crumb 
 Of Passion-bread, from loaf w r hich Christ, dumb 
 With eloquent silence, broke at his feast of love! 
 Manna from Heaven, to feed Earth s starving Dove! 
 
 Oh Love! Youth s Love! Age s Love! and Love of all 
 The Human Race, that neath the stars do call 
 Each other brother, sister, husband, wife, 
 I cannot pass thee by until the life 
 
64 POKTRV AM) PROSK SKLKCTIONS 
 
 Within me is wrung to find some fitting measure 
 
 To express this burning thought, this marvellous 
 
 pleasure 
 
 That consumes me like unto a liquid Hame 
 Poured o er my brain, and writes the deathless name 
 Of Love o er all my being! Blind though I be, 
 Yet willing so, to outward things, I see 
 Twixt Heaven and me one only messenger, 
 And that is Love! Love came a passenger 
 Along with Life and me, when I was born, 
 And ever since 
 
 Ah, my heart s flesh has been torn 
 
 By conflicting passions, fruit of seeds not of my sowing 
 Not of my nursing, not of my knowing; 
 But of yours! aye yours! theme of my discourse; 
 My Hate for thee I ll speak until this hoarse 
 Voice can no longer sound the bitter word. 
 Then shall its lingering echo still be heard 
 Ringing down the grooves of Time for aye and aye, 
 Till Life and Soul bid each a long good-bye. 
 
 Night 
 
 Come, Night, and spread 
 
 Around my head 
 Thy mantle s sable fold! 
 
 I d lift mine eyes 
 
 Toward darkest skies, 
 Nor light of day behold! 
 
 I do rejoice 
 
 When human voice 
 Is hushed in midnight s hour. 
 
 I d breathe the sjK ll 
 
 Ol silence well, 
 And yield me to its power. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 65 
 
 The awful mystery 
 Of life s eternity 
 
 Seems wrapped in Night s embrace. 
 Earth s joy and misery, 
 And death s philosophy, 
 
 Are here met face to face. 
 
 First-born of heaven! 
 
 Chaos was riven 
 To give thee kingly birth 
 
 On sea and land 
 
 Thy throne did stand ; 
 And worlds proclaimed thy worth. 
 
 Imperial One! 
 
 Thou wert undone 
 By treachery dire and deep ; 
 
 For mortal s tears 
 
 And doubts and fears 
 Resolved thy realm to sleep. 
 
 And yet a few 
 
 Tried ones and true 
 Confess their souls to thee! 
 
 Nor light of day 
 
 Can e er gainsay 
 Their immortality. 
 
 Lines to a "Kloochman" 
 
 Sweet nymph! although of duskier hue thou art 
 
 Than other maidens brought from Eastern climes, 
 
 To thee I yield the tribute of my love, 
 
 To thee I dedicate these humble rhymes; 
 
 And if too faint I string my trembling lyre 
 
 Great Pocahontas! thou my muse inspire! 
 
(.(. I OKTRY AM) 1 ROSK SKLKCTIONS 
 
 Long time, whilom, I thought the pallid cheek 
 And blue eyes smiling like the sky at morn, 
 
 With auburn curls and fingers rosy tipped, 
 
 Comprised all beauty that of earth was born; 
 
 But other charms exceeding all of these 
 I ve found at last on far Pacific s seas. 
 
 Where Puget Sound its placid waters spread, 
 And Steilacoom uplifts its bosky shore, 
 
 Paddling the light canoe, the maid I met 
 
 Whose modest graces did enchant me more 
 
 Than all the pictures fair by poets wrought 
 
 In golden dreams or raptured words of thought . 
 
 A fairy form, around whose shoulders twined 
 A blanket red, so gracefully and meet 
 
 That one did soon forget the holes it bore, 
 
 In gazing downward toward her tender feet; 
 
 Oh cruel fate! to thus expose to view 
 
 Limbs of Ireauty, though slightly turned askew. 
 
 From raven locks the sunny light doth gleam, 
 As moon-beams shine afar from glassy pool 
 
 Of dark asphaltum, or petroleum spring, 
 
 Where boreth on the hopeful "He struck" fool, 
 
 E en thus with dog-fish oil resplendent shone 
 
 My maiden s tresses, ne er to comb yet known. 
 
 A mild but fishy odor round her clung, 
 
 As from the deck of Ochotsk cod-fish craft 
 
 There scends full visibly a nasal twang, 
 
 And o er the poop floats gallantly abaft; 
 
 Cologne! and eau de vie\ a vaunt ! away! 
 
 I d smell thee not on shores of Pugtt Bay. 
 
 And thus thou art, far in thy savage home. 
 
 Where Chinook wigwam looks o er waters blue 
 Whose custom tis to spear tin- speckled fish 
 
 And smoke them wlu-n t hou si nothing else to do, 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 67 
 
 For huckleberries are a watery food, 
 
 And clams and oysters are not always good. 
 
 But though thou smellest strong of salmon dry 
 Though innocent of soap thy limbs appear 
 
 Though smeared with dog-fish oil thy jetty locks, 
 And flat thy skull from frontal-bone to rear, 
 
 Yet Indian maidens still are loved it seems 
 As "Minnehaha" in Longfellow s dreams. 
 
 Then give me but a blanket and a spear 
 
 Dried clams and fish my only grub shall be 
 
 My only home a half-upturned canoe- 
 Whisky my drink, and love alone for thee ; 
 
 Then fair-haired dames for me will vainly shine 
 In all the charms of hoops and crinoline. 
 
 By Sitkum Siwash, Esq. 
 
 My Island 
 
 Where the murky Mokolumne quickly divides, 
 And sends its dark waters to meet the sea tides, 
 That here ebb and flow yet a little, no more, 
 The pulse of old Ocean afar from its roar, 
 
 Rests an island, the Queen of those emerald isles, 
 That sparkle like gems neath the day s sunny smiles, 
 Set in sheen of bright silver, a wealth yet untold, 
 Worth more, California! than all your bright gold 
 
 Dug from hill-side or mountain, or scraped up from 
 
 plain, 
 
 A hundred times over and over again! 
 For here is the solid, the long lasting wealth 
 That brings life and good comfort, and cheer and good 
 
 health 
 
68 I OKTRY AND PROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 To proud sons and fair daughters, the children of men, 
 Born and unborn for generations to come ; 
 Whilst the poor breed of men who are delving for gold, 
 Who have bartered their life, and with it their soul, 
 
 Shall never succeed to estate of their own 
 
 To be handed down to their children full grown; 
 
 For posterity ceases, dried up in their loins 
 
 And here are their losses, but where are their gains? 
 
 Now, back to my Island I rapidly flee! 
 Away with thee, Mammon! thou rt nothing to me! 
 Were it not for thy gilded and glittering show 
 That baffles and blinds us wherever we go, 
 
 I d mention thee not, but for ever and aye. 
 Refraining, disdaining, pass hurriedly by, 
 And sing of my Island, its proud sycamores, 
 Its vine-covered willows that garland its shores 
 
 The green arching columns that twine o er the river, 
 Interwoven with flowers, all blessing the giver 
 W T ith the prayer of their bright and beautiful eyes, 
 Raised smiling aloft tow r ard heaven s blue skies 
 
 The wide-stretching meadow, so fragrant and fair, 
 With its blossoming clover perfuming the air 
 The kine, that so curious peer over the brink 
 At the stranger there kissing the waters they drink 
 
 The myriad warblers that fill all the air 
 With the cooing and billing of each mated pair, 
 Love s sweet chorus swelling, till the morn and the eve, 
 Delighted, long tarry, unwilling to leave- 
 But that miserable shadow e en followed me here: 
 I tell it in honor, repentance is near; 
 Let the loss and the stain be all of my own, 
 I ask for no pity, I give it to none! 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 69 
 
 I thought that afar from the hum of the town, 
 In quiet seclusion I d settle me down. 
 I found this the fairest, the loveliest spot, 
 Of all that my travels had shown to me yet. 
 
 From the Coast to the centre, and back to the Sea, 
 
 Santa Cruz, Santa Clara, and far Monterey, 
 
 With their mountains and valleys, and wide fertile 
 
 plains, 
 Their forests and prairies, and orchards and vines, 
 
 Ne er gave me the promise, ne er sated my joy 
 With more of real pleasure, and less of alloy 
 So wild was its beauty, so fresh and so glad, 
 That my spirit forgot it ever was sad. 
 
 Here methought I would build a low humble cot, 
 Adorn it with flowers, thus make me a grot 
 To hide in forever, and from its retreat 
 Go forth the Mokolumne s waters to greet 
 
 With the bared-breast that loveth to dip and to glide, 
 Seeking fair water-nymphs, or whither they hide, 
 Till, finding a spirit congenial as fair, 
 We d o er the smooth waters together repair 
 
 Our skiff with the current goes floating along, 
 
 Whilst the shores stand and listen to Love s sweetest 
 
 song. 
 
 The dying day quivers on the faint rippled stream 
 Oh, is this but seeming? Is t naught but a dream? 
 
 No! No! She is here, and her hand is in mine ; 
 Now I feel her heart beat, I see her eyes shine ; 
 Her long loosened hair floats over the railing 
 Into the river! Tis a boat! and we re sailing 
 
70 I OKTRY AND I KOSK SELECTIONS 
 
 On, on, neath the stars that come out from the night, 
 And twinkle and twinkle their keen eyes so bright; 
 The music of waters keeps time to our flow 
 As the boat s tiny keel parts the wavelets l>elow. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Tis enough, Oh my Island! thy purpose is done! 
 From the World s false inducements forever I m won! 
 I have found in thee, Nature! a balm for my soul, 
 Thy pleasures alone in rich volume shall roll 
 
 O er and o er me the Waters of Life to the fill, 
 And my spirit, so restless, at last shall be still. 
 But, alas! and alas! for my new founded hope, 
 O er the sward of that meadow it soon did elope! 
 
 "Sweet clover is sweeter when made into hay" 
 So came the fond tempter and told me one day ; 
 I listened; and listening, sufficed for my fall, 
 Then vanished my Island, my Kden, and all! 
 
 The Sea of Years 
 
 The old year s dead ! let it be dead ! 
 
 The corpse is cold, the spirit gone, 
 Its life is out, the soul has fled, 
 
 Nor let us weep, nor let us mourn! 
 
 Around, and round, and still around 
 The years glide on an endless sea 
 
 Striving in vain wit h heaving Ixnmd 
 To reach the shores of Kternity. 
 
 Its angry billows toss and moan 
 
 Fore- winds of Time they >|><-<-<l away; 
 
 \\a\v after wave comes rolling on, 
 
 Karh wave a year, each \ rar a day. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 71 
 
 And thus the years do come and go, 
 
 While mortals from a changing shore 
 
 E er count the pulses, as they flow 
 
 And wash the beach of Nevermore. 
 
 As sands upon that tide-set beach 
 Are watered by the ebbing sea, 
 
 So Time, this human life doth reach, 
 And drifts it off from you and me. 
 
 The Revenge of Encina 
 
 Oh! Maid of Milpitas, 
 
 Come over and meet us 
 Neath the palms of the "Quad" of the L. S. J. U. 
 
 The Maid of the Robles 
 
 Is made of the noblesse, 
 Too stiff and too starch for me or for you. 
 
 Oh! give us a fairy, 
 
 Though fresh from a dairy, 
 II she will but skip it and trip it along. 
 
 Away with the proud ones ; 
 
 We d rather have loud ones, 
 To while away time in the dance and the song. 
 
 So, Maid of Milpitas, 
 
 Tho your feet are as big as 
 That girl s from Chicago, we don t care a boo; 
 
 With complexion the fairest, 
 
 And lips ripe and rarest, 
 Yes, Maid of Milpitas, we re ready to woo. 
 
 But, oh! Maid of the townie 
 
 That every poor clownie 
 Burlesqueth its name in torturing mood, 
 
 Come out and come over 
 
 To Mayfield s sweet clover, 
 And we ll sue you and woo you for all that is good 
 
72 POETRY AND PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 The Freedman s Hymn Four Million Freemen More 
 
 Air "Three Hundred Thousand More." 
 
 We are coming, Father Abra am, four million Freemen more 
 From South Carolina s glowing fields, from Texas farthest shore ; 
 We leave our galling chains behind, the brutal whip and block, 
 The w r eeping and the w r ailing that uprose from every flock, 
 To meet thee, and to greet thee, on that bright and shining 
 
 shore, 
 We are coming, Father Abra am, four million freemen more! 
 
 Behold us on the hill-tops stretched toward a Southern sky, 
 
 In the early dews of morning, as the mists ascend on high, 
 
 ( lathered round those family altars, where husband, child and 
 
 wife. 
 
 Would offer up a sacrifice to that devoted life 
 To him who broke our shackles off bid us be slaves no more 
 We are coming, Father Abra am, four million freemen more! 
 
 Thou hast made us men among ye e en as in days of old, 
 Christ said, "Suffer these to come unto me; they are of my fold," 
 So thou, "with malice toward none, with charity for all," 
 In that "Great Emancipation," the poor black race did st call; 
 And we are coming, we are coming, looking hopefully before ; 
 We are coming, Father Abra am, four million freemen more! 
 
 Where blooms the whitest cotton, and where stands the tallest 
 
 cane 
 
 That sheds o er Southern hill-side, or waves o er Southern plain, 
 Thou wilt find a little cottage the freedman s home is there 
 Oh, come tarry with us, stranger, partake our cheerful fare, 
 Hear the welcome of our little ones, now grouped around the 
 
 door; 
 We are coming, Father Abra am, four million freemen more! 
 
 From out the hours so wear some of a dark and hideous night, 
 There came a voice, so still, so small, which said, "Let there be 
 light," 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 
 
 73 
 
 "And there was light," which turned the darkness to an en 
 during day 
 
 Thou hast lived for us, died for us, we would not stay alway 
 
 Our hearts are broken pitchers at the fount our souls would 
 pour; 
 
 We are coming, Father Abra am, four million freemen more! 
 
 "Long and weary years I ve served thee, oh white man let 
 
 me go," 
 
 Cried the aged slave amongst us, with beard of whitened snow- 
 E en as that poor man s soul went up and found a heavenly rest, 
 From earthly toil and grief and pain, upon our Savior s breast, 
 So, to meet thee, to greet thee, on that bright and shining shore, 
 We are coming, Father Abra am, four million freemen more! 
 
 THE AUTHOR 
 
 At 18 
 
74 POETRY AM) I KOSK SKLKCTIONS 
 
 Oh, Who is Afraid to Die? 
 
 Oh, who is afraid to die? 
 
 Tis true that life has many charms, 
 There s pleasure in her ways; 
 
 We fain would keep from grim death s arms 
 And lengthen all our days, 
 Yet who is afraid to die? 
 
 Oh, who is afraid to die? 
 
 A glorious sight our setting sun, 
 The rising silver moon ; 
 
 Bright visions long our path may run, 
 With summer flowers strewn, 
 Yet who is afraid to die? 
 
 Oh, who is afraid to die? 
 
 Though through life s garden many a stream 
 Of nectar d honey winds, 
 
 \Vhile love and light upon us gleam, 
 And fond arms doth entwine, 
 Yet who is afraid to die? 
 
 Oh, who is afraid to die? 
 
 Though Beauty sits upon her throne, 
 Apollo s very self, 
 
 And laurels bout our brows are crowned. 
 Ambition s glorious pelf, 
 Yet who is afraid to die? 
 
 Oh, who is afraid to die? 
 
 While on the battle s bloody field 
 A wounded soldier lay, 
 
 His comrades round him gailu red near 
 To look on wild deal h - play. 
 Oh, who is afraid to <li< . 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 75 
 
 "Oh, who is afraid to die?" 
 
 He cried in tones so weird, so clear, 
 Had you or I been there 
 
 We sure had thought a spirit near, 
 And so did all declare, 
 Oh, who is afraid to die? 
 
 "Oh, who is afraid to die? 
 
 Come near, my boys I love you all, 
 But one far more I love; 
 
 Give this to her tell her I fall 
 With spirit unsubdued, 
 Oh, who is afraid to die? 
 
 "Oh, who is afraid to die? 
 
 I left her at my country s call ; 
 She was to be my bride. 
 
 But at the beat of Freedom s roll 
 I strapped my sword to side, 
 Oh, who is afraid to die? 
 
 "Oh, who is afraid to die? 
 
 Twixt love and country then, my boys, 
 I quickly did decide, 
 
 For all things else are but as toys 
 Compared with country s pride ; 
 Oh, who is afraid to die? 
 
 "Oh who is afraid to die?" 
 
 His pallid cheek grew paler still, 
 
 His pulse beat as a thread, 
 
 His comrades heard his whispering will 
 
 As they bent o er the dead, 
 
 "Oh, who is afraid to die?" 
 
76 POKTRV AM) I ROSK SKLK(TIONS 
 
 "Oh, who is afraid to die?" 
 
 You d thought (I said) a spirit near; 
 There was a spirit there ; 
 
 And ran you ask it without fear 
 
 \YImsi >|)irit t\va> \v,i^ llu-tv. 
 "Oh, who is afraid to die?" 
 
 "Oh, who is afraid to die?" 
 
 An answer comes from depths of spare, 
 Tis glorious to hear, 
 
 The spirit s wings fan o er my face, 
 Tis coming, nearer, near 
 "Oh, who is afraid to die?" 
 
 "Oh, who is afraid to die?" 
 
 An echoing voice, so clear, I hear, 
 I cannot tell from where 
 
 My name is Freedom, do you fear 
 To die when I am there? 
 Oh, who is afraid to die?" 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 77 
 
 HIS SISTER ROMAIN C. 
 
 (deceased) 
 
 Twilight Reflections 
 
 The sun is sinking in the sea, 
 
 The shades of night are coming fast, 
 My thoughts alone are left with me, 
 
 Why will they ever bring the past 
 
 Before me as a mirror bright, 
 
 In which I see my childhood s days 
 Reflected back in brilliant light, 
 
 Subduing all the milder rays 
 
 Of the lamp of maturer years, 
 
 Whose flame I trim as best I can, 
 
 Yet may not, cause of doubts and fears 
 See half so well, though now a man? 
 
78 TOKTRY AM) I ROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 E en now the stars are peeping through 
 The scroll of Heaven, and as I 
 
 Gaze into that ethereal blue, 
 
 (God s emblem of Eternity) 
 
 I feel within a lonely sense 
 
 Of fear, of want, of hope, of love, 
 
 Hound each to each with innocence 
 Of all that may be far above. 
 
 Yet in yon group of Pleiades 
 
 In that bright star so pure, so fair-- 
 
 Methinks I see a smile for me, 
 
 From lips of one gone evermore. 
 
 Gone evermore! gone evermore! 
 
 Oh, well-a-day, that this should be; 
 Gone evermore! gone evermore! 
 
 My God! who now is left to me? 
 
 She s gone! she s gone! she would not stay ; 
 
 I tried in vain to catch her breath, 
 I clasped her hand, I called her name, 
 
 She loosed my hold stiff, cold, in death 
 
 Her form receded, disappeared, 
 
 And kind oblivion shut the view; 
 
 But this was heaven now to me, 
 
 Beside the hell just then gone through. 
 
 Yes, tell me who is left me now? 
 
 Oh, whisper quick, I faint to hear! 
 I seek, I strive, I look around, 
 
 There s none to love like a sister dear. 
 
 Be calm, be still, my troubled heart . 
 
 The moon is rising o er the hill ; 
 She comes a herald in the dark 
 
 To bring thee tidings of good will. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 79 
 
 A flood of light spreads o er the vale, 
 
 Tis streaming from each silvery brook 
 
 That winds its merry, blithesome way 
 
 Down grassy glade, through flowery nook. 
 
 And so upon my weary soul 
 
 There falls a light from Heaven above, 
 Tis streaming from the tears that roll 
 
 Upon a breast once full of love 
 
 For one who was of mortal clay, 
 But now translated to a sphere 
 
 Where night comes not, but endless day 
 Reigns throughout the eternal year. 
 

 
 
 
 I 
 
 n ^ 
 
 
RIDGWAY GEORC.E ROWLEY si 
 
 A Successful Surprise 
 
 Mr. Ridgway Rowley of South Cortland was treated to a 
 surprise on Saturday last by his relatives in this vicinity. It had 
 been so carefully planned that twenty-seven of the relatives had 
 assembled at the old Rowley homestead, where Mr. Rowley lives, 
 before he discovered that anything unusual was happening. Mr. 
 Dan Rowley held him in conversation at the barn until all were 
 assembled, when they announced their presence by ringing bells 
 and blowing horns, and Mr. Rowley came in to see what was wrong. 
 He received the surprise gracefully and at once proceeded to per 
 form the full duty of a host. The ladies who had engineered the 
 surprise had provided bountifully and a dinner followed. 
 
 It was a very enjoyable reunion. So many of the Rowley 
 family have not been together in many years. The relatives pres 
 ent were: Mr. and Mrs. A. P. Rowley, Miss Louise Rowley and 
 Mr. and Mrs. Wilbur Sanders and sons of South Cortland, Mr. and 
 Mrs. Daniel Rowley of McLean, Mrs. Chester Wickwire and sons, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hilton Rouse, Mrs. Anna Rowley, Mr. Clayton Row 
 ley, Mrs. Andrew Van Bergen, Miss Florence Van Bergen, Mrs. 
 Charles E. Sanders, Miss Carrie Sanders, Mrs. Dayton Beach, 
 Mrs. Prudence Rowley all of Cortland; Mr. and Mrs. Louis L. 
 Waters and daughter of Syracuse, Mr. E. J. Page of Syracuse, 
 who was a guest of Mr. A. P. Rowley, was also present. 
 
 Mr. Charles Wickwire photographed the group, amid much 
 merriment, and great things are expected from the development of 
 the plate. 
 
82 
 
 POKTRY AM) PROS!. SKLK( TH>\s 
 
 THE AITHOR 
 
 At an age when he refused to further court 
 the muses; they wouldn t respond. 
 
 His Niece, 
 FLORENCE VanBEI.l.\ 
 
 Christmas Memories 
 
 "I wish you a Merry Christmas, 
 
 And a Happy New Year, 
 A pocket full of money, 
 
 And a cellar full of l>eer." 
 
 This was the Christmas morning greeting, Mr. Kditor, when I 
 was young, and happy was that youngster who could thus first 
 salute his companions on this merry morn. Oh dear, dear! how one 
 wishes he were a little boy again, or a little girl, or a little anything. 
 so as to be only little and young! How an- we old folk- going tot n- 
 joy Christmas? Pshaw! As one passes by the toy shops and gaily 
 tin* d u | \\ indow- of our Christmas decorated stores, ami sees there- 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 83 
 
 in the little peeping, piping, paper parrots, the little squatting, 
 squealing, squalling squirrels, the wee, white, woolly, whistling 
 whiffets, the red, ro welled, rumpled roosters, the many mounted, 
 mimic moving monkeys, and the chittering, chirping, chattering, 
 chick-a-dee-dees all, all remind us but too forcibly of days lang syne, 
 when we too were young and received our inspirations from even 
 such little things as these, toys, which we would now in our greater 
 wisdom spurn aside in utter contempt. 
 
 Visions of Santa Claus, or as we were wont to call him Kriss 
 Kringle with his merry, round, red face, his jingling bells, his furs, 
 his sled, his tiny deer, and above all his well-filled pack coasting 
 over the housetops, diving down the chimney flues, and filling our 
 well selected long stocking, so carefully hung up in a conspicuous 
 place are now once again conjured up from the depths of our mem 
 ory, upon the tablets of which this impression was so vividly and 
 joyfully stamped that the lapse of years cannot efface it. It may 
 be that the pleasing remembrances of these our youthful joys are 
 now enhanced by the mellowing influence of time; that from this 
 standpoint of view of maturer years, surrounded by far greater 
 trials and vexations, we see. in the dim distance, as its first rays 
 gently creep up the eastern slope of life, the rosy morn of youth, 
 begirt around with naught but rich and gorgeous skies, athwart 
 whose blue and gilded folds there flit no clouds, there steal no shad 
 ows, to mar the beauty of the scene, or cause a pang of sorrow or 
 regret. But still, it seems as though the Christmas morn of the 
 early days of our childhood had more of unalloyed pleasure, more 
 of unfeigned joy, more of real delight of existence concentrated 
 within its few brief hours, than could be pressed into the measure of 
 many years of this after experience. 
 
 Who cannot recall the pleasing time when his or her childish 
 belief in Santa Claus was undisturbed by doubts or fears? And 
 how, in later years, when the pleasant fiction was revealed to us, 
 we were almost sorry we knew the truth, more willing and better 
 satisfied to abide in the faith and trust of our childish belief than 
 to have it so rudely torn from us by unthinking age. We were 
 loth to part from our progenitor of the Christmas morning delight. 
 Cakes and candies from home had lost their charm. Mother s gifts 
 were not so good as Santa Claus. And then our wonder and anx- 
 
84 1 OKTRY AM) I ROSK SKLKCTK )\S 
 
 iety to know how he could get down the chimney with his pack; 
 and our futile attempts to keep awake to witness his coming, and 
 how the cracking of the frost in the old house walls, would awaken 
 us and arouse our excited fancies to an alarming pitch, and though 
 ever so anxious for a look, yet we dare not venture one, and so 
 smothered our fears under the bed-clothes. 
 
 I said thoughtless" for I deem it cruel to take away from chil 
 dren this pleasing and harmless belief in an old "gray-beard" who 
 loves to dispense good things amongst them. For soon enough 
 comes the stern realization that the fiction of their fancy cannot be 
 replaced, and that age and childhood are separated by a gulf, which, 
 once crossed, becomes forever impassable. Soon enough comes "a 
 change o er the spirit of their dream," and they awake to find the 
 "dream" of their childhocxl gone, the spirit of their youthful fancies 
 vanished into thin, cold air, and the temper of the joy of their 
 Christmas days weakened by the flame of burning years. Let the 
 children have their Santa Claus with his Christmas trees and gifts. 
 Do not break in upon the sanctity of their childish affections with 
 the careless remark or jesting taunt of riper years. For, after all, 
 it is but too often the spirit of jealousy which moves us, and surely 
 we should be above this. 
 
 Then is there really no Christmas for old folks? Is the good 
 cheer of this day all to be absorbed by the young people? Have 
 our hearts no soft place left in them? Can not we too eat and drink 
 and be merry? Let us see. Who kills the fatted calf today? What 
 father will welcome home his returned prodigal son? What mother 
 will bid her lost Ruth come in from the harvest field and say to her 
 "let the gleanings alone, go out no more to follow atu r tin reapers," 
 I have enough for both, welcome home, daughter! strayed from the 
 fold? Surely no better time for this than to-day! Rememl>er the 
 name and the occasion which hallowed this day! "I bring glad 
 tidings unto earth, peace, and good will toward men." There is a 
 pleasure and satisfaction left for age on Christina^ day il" it will but 
 seek them. NO better time than this for family reunions, wherein 
 the outcast and neglected members can be u.itlnnd once more 
 around that social board which years ago, while beneath our father s 
 roof, rang with our merry voices. No letter day than this on which 
 to forget those things which should be forgotten, to recall those 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 85 
 
 memories which should be re-called, to connect together the dis 
 severed links of the family chain, heal up old wounds, sear over old 
 scars, and make the surface of our social relations smooth and bright 
 again. 
 
 Let old folks, then, plant in the center of each household a 
 Christmas tree and all join hands and circle around it. Make of 
 it a family altar before whose shrine we will reconsecrate and re 
 kindle the expiring flame of parental and brotherly love. Let us 
 hang upon its evergreen limbs not the glittering toys of youth, but 
 rather the golden caskets of ripened affection; not the tinsel joys 
 of a day alone, but the silver chords of friendship and good will, 
 festooned from limb to limb, stretching from the highest to the low 
 est, covering all in its embrace, reaching out to the utmost limit of 
 human life, and sustaining those "golden bowls" that death alone 
 may break. And thus may old folks, with "malice toward none, 
 with charity for all" have a Merry Christmas, and make unto them 
 selves a Happy New Year. 
 
 Woman s Duties vs. Woman s Rights 
 
 Since the subject of "Woman s Rights" is being so extensively 
 ventilated, at the present time, through the medium of the press of 
 this state, it becomes your correspondent, not only as a right, but 
 his duty, perhaps, to take up the current topic, and assist, if possible, 
 to reduce the many rays of light, thus far shed upon it, to a focus. 
 
 I see, in the first place, looming head and shoulders above all 
 other contemporaries, your correspondent, (as well as occasionally 
 that of the A Ita California) "Hagar," who, in the midst of what she 
 conceives to be a desert and barren waste of woman s hopes, with 
 more than a woman s strength, contends and wrestles with the 
 forces of Nature, which she deems are being hurled against her, to 
 overwhelm, not herself alone, but that dearer and more cherished 
 one which she presses so closely to her bosom her "Ishmael," 
 "Woman s Rights." 
 
 As the image of Hagar of old, contending with the pitiless 
 elements, enduring famine and fatigue, and "suffering beyond en 
 durance," in the desert, alone with her child, now overwhelmed with 
 
M, POKTRY AND 1 ROSK SKLKCTloNs 
 
 sorrow, now upon the brink of despair, yet ever, forgetful of self, 
 shielding and protecting her own first-born Ishmael sending up 
 her tearful prayers for deliverance, and in the bitter anguish of her 
 soul crying, "Save! oh save my son!" as this sublime picture rises 
 lx?fore my mind, I must confess I see therein embodied the substance 
 of a principle antagonistic to the one advanced by the "Hagar" of 
 today. 
 
 It is not in a spirit of controversy or for sweet opposition s sake, 
 that I would seek to encroach upon "Hagar s" especial domain: 
 nor yet is it from an entire sympathy with the cause of her adver 
 saries that I seem rather to expouse it. "Hagar" complains bitter 
 ly, yet "Hagar" complains truthfully. I will not pretend to deny 
 the existence of the evils she refers to nor will I so trifle with truth 
 as to call them "imaginary." I only differ with her in respect to the 
 quality of the remedy she would seek to apply. 
 
 In an article entitled, "A Question for Hagar," by "A Reader of 
 the Mercury," and which "Hagar" answers in the Mercury of 
 January 18th, the following passage occurs: 
 
 (What other rights can a mother desire than those at her own fireside? She 
 has the right to so train her sons that if their country calls them to her legislative 
 halls (or to the battle-field?} they can fill that call with honor to themselves, their 
 country and their (iod. She has the right to train her daughters to make good 
 wives and good mothers. And these, in my humble opinion, are woman s rights.) 
 
 And "Hagar" in reply says "These, truly, are woman s rights, 
 and sacred rights." I was somewhat surprised at this answer, believ 
 ing that "Hagar" would quickly perceive the fallacy in confounding 
 rights with duties. This distinction, "Hagar" as an advocate of 
 "Woman s Rights," should most especially, above all others, pre 
 serve, else she will speedily be drawn into the inextricable vortex of 
 fallacious argument and unsound reasoning. By rights, as properly 
 used, we must understand those obligations coming from other mem- 
 ben of society toward ourselves, while by duties we mean those ob 
 ligations and liabilities proceeding from ourselves toward others. 
 Not to go into a nice distinction Ixjtween tin u-rm^ natural rights 
 and natural duties, the discrimination here drawn will be sufficient 
 for the purposes of this short and incomplete article. Therefore, 
 what Hagar s questioner above refers to, so well and eloquently, as 
 among the rights of woman, and which "Hagar" herself acquiesces 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 87 
 
 in, are simply her natural duties, as a member of the human family, 
 as a wife, as a mother and as a member of society. If these are of 
 the "rights" which "Hagar" would seek to establish for her sex, 
 may that pen be palsied that would utter a syllable against them. 
 "Hagar" acknowledges that "it is much to be a good wife and a good 
 mother"; and that, "it is much to be a good husband and a good 
 father." Indeed it is, "Hagar!" To be a good wife and a good 
 mother to be a good husband and a good father, is all there is of 
 human life. You ask, "why not end the son s training here as well 
 as the daughter s?" I answer, I would end both here. The am 
 bition of that man or that woman, which leads him or her to this 
 high attainment, can rest, satisfied with having reached the crown 
 ing height of true human ambition. It is the ultima thule of human 
 existence. There is nothing more beyond worth striving for. All 
 other achievements are subsidiary to and beneath this final and 
 great one. Human life, in all its varied complications, ramifica 
 tions and pursuits, but tends finally toward this one great natural 
 highway leading to the summit of earthly bliss and happiness. 
 
 Again, "Hagar" says, "it is woman s the same as man s right 
 to do whatever she can do well. It is her right to do what and as she 
 pleases, so that she pleases to do the right." The italics are hers. If 
 they had not been used, I should myself have been tempted to 
 italicise these same words, they are so expressive. Very good. 
 This is all so true that it is in fact a truism. She has an undoubted 
 right to do whatever she can do well, and to do as she pleases, pro 
 vided she pleases to do right. We will not take issue upon this 
 declaration. It is unissuable. But, has a woman the right to do 
 all she thinks she can do well, and can she do well all she thinks she 
 can? If, as "Hagar" asserts, women think they can make good 
 lawyers or priests; good bankers or statesmen, or "chief magistrates 
 of the nation," they evidently think wrong; and if they would seek 
 to assume the responsibilities of these various positions, they would 
 be asserting no natural "right" of theirs, but, on the contrary, be 
 doing themselves a great and incalculable natural "wrong." It is not 
 a spirit of resistance which induces men to contest these assumed 
 rights of women it is not because we are jealous of such an assump 
 tion on their part it is not because we would foolishly assert "our 
 God-given rights as lords of creation" nor is it because we deem 
 
88 I OKTRY AND I ROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 woman to be altogether incompetent and unworthy to fill the 
 pulpit, the bench, the bar, the bank, the office it is for no such 
 slight and superficial reasons as these that men stand firm and un 
 yielding to the demands of the "champions" of "woman s rights." 
 Their reasons lie deeper down and are far greater than these. The 
 principles involved in "Hagar s" rights of women are principles 
 which lie iml>edded in the very foundation stones of the fabric of 
 our social system and of human relations. To subvert these prin 
 ciples would be to overturn the structure itself. But methinks I 
 hear "Hagar" now saying, "that is just what I would do, overturn 
 the whole structure; it is rotten!" But not so fast, "Hagar," 
 l>efore you would tear down the habitation in which you dwell, seek 
 first to build you a new abode; else you may be left to buffet against 
 fiercer storms than ever beat upon "Hagar in the wilderness." 
 Before you would destroy man s love and respect for woman, al 
 ready firmly established upon natural grounds, it were better to 
 know that you can still win or preserve that love and respect upon 
 some other basis, or upon some other ground. "Hagar" herself 
 confesses to this present "vantage ground" of woman, when she 
 says, "I know this, men love truth, and men love sincerity." Yes, 
 and when "truth" and "sincerity" are embodied in the "lovely 
 guise of woman s form," men love these qualities far more than in 
 the abstract. 
 
 We conceive woman s true sphere to be this and it 
 "Hagar" would substitute this change of "woman s true sphere" 
 for the theme of "woman s rights," she would be far less likely to 
 be led astray. Woman is by nature a weak and dependent being. 
 I know, to strong "Hagar" this assertion is very like "hark from 
 the tombs a doleful sound," nevertheless it is just as I write it. 
 Indeed I will go still further and say, this very weakness and de 
 pendence of woman constitute her chief est strength. "Hagar" may 
 now retort I am getting subtle and metaphysical. Then we will 
 return to our former plainness. Man loves woman, not because she 
 is like himself, but, because she is so very unlike him. Then would 
 you seek to destroy the basis of that love by making woman like 
 man? Here again I hear the voice of "Hagar" crying, "we do not 
 want man s love, we want our rights! our rights!" But you do 
 want man s love; you could not thrive without it; you may think 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 89 
 
 you can, yet here, too, you evidently think wrong. Moreover your 
 first and highest "right" is man s love, so when you so vehemently 
 demand your rights, you simply demand, first, our love. 
 
 Woman, like man, as a member of society, has duties to per 
 form, duties distinct and individual, though reciprocal, pertaining 
 each to their own proper sphere. To attempt to blend these different 
 duties promiscuously together, would be to undo nature herself. 
 If our duties are properly performed our rights will as necessarily 
 follow as night follows day, or light darkness. A misconception and 
 a misapprehension of these "duties" will not lead to our "rights," 
 but, on the contrary, we will be farther from them at the end of our 
 journey than ever. We do not pretend that our present social 
 system is a perfect one, or that woman s present position in that 
 system is one which gives to her all her rights so neither is man s 
 present condition by any means a perfect one. We are, at best, 
 with all our systems, but imperfect creatures. As a young man, 
 I could raise a wail for my class of burdens which society throws 
 upon us of tributes which she unmercifully exacts from us of 
 grievous oppressions with which she would bear us down that 
 would ring out nearly as loud as "Hagar s" cry for her sex. "Hagar" 
 does well to retort bitterly upon calling these wrongs "imaginary 
 wrongs." She does well, too, to take up the cause of Mercer s 
 load of suffering humanity; it is an honor to herself and to her sex. 
 But some one has somewhere said that "The Empire of Woman 
 is boundless"; by her mere volition she can control the minds of 
 men, and this is literally and absolutely true. Woman has it in her 
 power to better, not only her own condition, but also that of all 
 society; and if this volition were properly exercised such would now 
 be the condition of her sex that there would be no need for the terse 
 and vigorous pen of a "Hagar" to arouse them to a sense of the 
 alarming condition into which they are indeed fallen fallen not 
 from the want of rights which are denied them, but rather from the 
 want of a proper performance of their own duties\ 
 

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RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 91 
 
 In the Chapel 
 
 Dr. Jordan filled the pulpit of the University Chapel on Sunday 
 morning, addressing what may well be called a crowded house, since 
 there was not a seat to spare, and listeners stood in the corridors. 
 The present chapel proves entirely inadequate to the uses required 
 of it. The not far off wants of the institution will require that the 
 new Memorial Chapel to be built should seat at least two thousand 
 people. It is not only the students who will congregate there, but 
 the surrounding towns and country will have eager hundreds who 
 will be all too glad to avail themselves of the unusual opportunities 
 offered by these Sunday discourses, if they could be made to feel 
 that they are not intruding. Plenty of seating room will dissipate 
 the feeling which must now prevail amongst outsiders, that they are 
 possible intruders. The hall, or lecture room, of the Quadrangle, 
 now temporarily used as the University Chapel, is so bright and 
 comfortable in its fittings up, and so beautiful in its adornments, 
 that it bespeaks, already, a forecast of what the grand Memorial 
 Chapel itself will be when completed. All, however, hope that the 
 proportions of the new Chapel may not curtail its future usefulness. 
 It must ever be a prominent feature of the moral and intellectual, as 
 well as of the architectural plan of the University, and should be 
 commensurate in its proportions. 
 
 The Sunday morning lecture by the President was a thoughtful 
 and carefully wrought picture of the possibilities of man through 
 his natural progress. It was entitled "The Ethics of Dust." 
 Original depravity, and native sin, have no part in the human plan, 
 if preachers will insist that they have in the divine one. An abid 
 ing faith in man s progressive and almost constant development, 
 through the potentiality of his own agency, as it were, and by the 
 potency of the forces planted and set to work within him and his 
 race from the beginning, drew the distinctive line of demarkation 
 between this scientific view of man s progress on earth, and that of 
 the theologians. 
 
 The speaker insisted that all material progress was but "step 
 ping stones to higher things" that great battles may be fought 
 and won, as were the great nine battles of the world, and to these 
 be given the credit of the great and better progress following; still, 
 
POKTRY AM) PROSK SKLKCTIONS 
 
 if these battles had never been fought, the changes would as assured 
 ly have followed, but perhaps have been slower in development. 
 On and on must go the destiny of man toward the greatest possible 
 fulfillment. And here, as the highest example of man s ultimate 
 moral and intellectual development, for the first time, the learned 
 speaker trenched upon the domain of the normal pulpit, by making 
 that example Christ himself. Perhaps, too, right here, the Unitar 
 ian or utilitarian mind of some hearers was disturbed in the hitherto 
 unbroken chain of logic which led steadily along the pathway of hu 
 man progress from miserable ages of old down to the greatness 
 of the twentieth century, gradually step by step to higher things 
 that the fully developed man, as illustrated in the great example 
 above given by the speaker, ought, in consonance with the premises, 
 and the conclusions sought, to have been born two thousand years 
 hence, rather than two thousand years ago. Otherwise, that pro 
 digious development as quoted, must, from a scientific point of 
 view, have been an abnormal one, and thus defeat any purpose as 
 an illustrative example. 
 
 These little stumbling blocks in the way of science helping to 
 develop religion, may yet only be "stepping stones to higher things, " 
 but they show that, as we step, we must depend, still, upon faith, 
 and not upon reason, upon the light given us not by man, but by 
 his creator; and that when science wrestles with things not of this 
 world, with the immaterial rather than the material, man s aids 
 of mathematical precision are of no avail, and he must fall in the 
 struggle. 
 
 Labor and Capital 
 
 "We can t get along without capital." Very good; but do 
 you think you can get along without labor any better? And what 
 is capital but the result of labor? Who made our capitalists what 
 they are but the laboring classes? Now that they have got all the 
 golden eggs that the poor goose could well lay, is it the part of wise 
 men to kill the goose beside? What gives your money and your 
 proj)erty value but the proximity of the people? If you do not 
 think so, just take your "capital" to the North Pole and squat on 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 93 
 
 the summit of an iceberg, and there sit and endeavor to enjoy it. 
 We think such a trip would do some men who have a little capital, 
 but less brains, a vast deal of good. 
 
 It is not, however, always the real capitalist, he who, by the 
 exercise of intellect and good judgment, has accumulated property, 
 who asserts the great superiority of capital over every other species 
 of human wealth; it is only the tools and agents men without a 
 dollar themselves, or the ability to make it who, in the imagined 
 interests of those whom they seek to so servilely subserve, publicly 
 proclaim the vast superiority of capital over labor, and that the 
 country is going to pieces because capital, forsooth, is offended at 
 labor, and at its claims. An honorable Sand-Lotter, even, is a 
 prince amongst men, in comparison with such an apostate and hu 
 man deceiver. 
 
 If the presence of capital is so essential to the welfare of a 
 community, so greatly to the interest of the poor, then show us one 
 single instance in the thousands of recent foreclosures of mortgages 
 upon the property of the country, whereby men were driven with 
 their wives and children out into the wide world again, to commence 
 the battle of life anew, with the weight of years and gray hairs upon 
 them we say show us the capitalist, or the bank, or the corpora 
 tion, that would, or did come to such a poor one s rescue, and save 
 him from destruction. It is not in them to do these deeds of justice 
 and mercy, though in nearly every case it could have been easily 
 done without damage or ultimate loss to themselves. The test of 
 true merits is in acts, not words. The general concern of capital in 
 this State has been to collect its interest. High rates of interest 
 have caused it to seek this channel of productiveness rather than 
 any other. The money lender, as such, is a positive injury to any 
 community. He is well aware that there is no business which can 
 possibly support such a usurious loan as that he is making; yet, be 
 cause he is secured against loss, he will lend his money just as a 
 spider will give time to a fly to become at last ensnared in the mesh 
 es of his net. That capitalist who w r ill invest his money in manufac 
 turing industries, in producing-interests of any kind, is a public 
 benefactor. But he who would hide it away in trust-deeds and 
 mortgage loans, for the sake of interest, is not a benefit to the com 
 munity in which and from which he collected these dollars, by which 
 he would now seek to elevate himself over the heads of his neighbors. 
 
94 1 OKTRY AM) PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 Human pride and conceit have much, very much, to do with 
 this clash of arms of two pretending armies. There is no real an 
 tagonism, save in the false system of education which prevails over 
 the land today, and which ignores honor and debases the soul, and 
 laughs at virtue for the sake of the almighty dollar. The reign of 
 Mammon is, just now, at its vain-glorious height, just as is prophe 
 sied in holy writ. Let us all labor effectively to hurl this tyrant 
 from the throne, and set up instead, one worthy to rule and to be 
 served, and let this be the inscription above his seat: " Nobilitas 
 sola est atque unica virtas" "Virtue is the true and only nobility." 
 
 At Last 
 
 "Huzza for Fitz-Smythe! He has done it at last! Cest un 
 fait accompli! For four and a half years he has been straining every 
 intellectual nerve to get off a good thing, and at last he has actually 
 done it! His "boot-black" story in yesterday s Alta, was capital. 
 It is too good to be lost; here it is."- - San Francisco Argonaut" 
 
 A True Story of a Boot-black 
 
 Many of our readers doubtless know "J ," a "gemman ob 
 color," doing business as a "sole trader," in the boot-blacking line, 
 on Merchant street, immediately in the rear of the Bulletin 
 office, for some time past. Early in the morning of the day on 
 which a late Panama steamer sailed, a regular customer of 
 J s, whom we shall designate as Clark, was having his boots 
 "done up" in a scientific manner by Professor J . While 
 seating himself in the "operative chair" Clark says, by way of 
 
 caution, "Now, J , I want you to do them up in ship shape," 
 
 referring of course to the polishing of his boot> "I se do it, 
 Massa Clark, I se just the individooal wat ran do it, that 
 
 ere way, ship shape," responded J ; "for I se been board 
 
 ship long time; I se sailed round the world two, tree times. I has." 
 "Oh, indeed," returned Clark, "then we arc brother sailors, J 
 tori have been at sea ten or twelve years of my life, too, and 1 should 
 probably have been there Mill, if if ," here Clark, with a lowered 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 95 
 
 voice, and in a hesitating manner, continued, "if I hadn t done a 
 bad deed on a ship once, so I have been afraid to go aboard of one 
 
 ever since." "Wat, wat s dat bad deed you se did?" queries J , 
 
 in an interested manner. "Oh," says Clark, "I dasn t tell, I never 
 told any human being of it, and I dasn t tell you for fear you would 
 go and inform on me, and get me into trouble." "Now I does no 
 such bad ting as dat, Massa Clark, I forms on no man," interposes 
 
 J , in an injured and dignified tone. "Well, if you ll agree not 
 
 to tell anybody else, I ll let you into the secret" ; and so Clark, in a 
 serious and confiding way proceeded to relate to the astonished J 
 how, a few years ago, when mate of a merchant ship, he had mur 
 dered the Captain and crew of the vessel, threw their bodies over 
 board, and run the ship alone into a foreign port, disposed of the 
 cargo, pocketed the results, and came to California to enjoy the 
 fruits of his ill-gotten wealth, amounting to a hundred thousand 
 dollars or more. All this the enlightened J - heard and drank 
 in with open mouth and staring eyes, the blacking-brush flying 
 faster as the story went along, until, at the conclusion, his excited 
 feelings could be pent up no longer. Throwing down the brushes 
 he paced to and fro before the solemn occupant of the chair in a 
 true stage style, and at length broke out with, "I black no man s 
 boots like dat, sah! You kill four, five, six men, sah, and now lives 
 like a gemman on their money! Orful bad deed, sah! orful bad!" 
 Here a sudden thought seemed to pass through his woolly head, and 
 going down after it with his fingers into the dark depths of his som 
 bre curls, he brought up once more, all standing, directly in front of 
 the amused Clark, who still sat silently watching the course of 
 events. In the voice and attitude of an Othello, he broke in upon 
 Clark s cogitations as follows: "Now, see here, Massa Clark, you ve 
 gone and done murder; I knows it, an that ere boy knows it," 
 pointing to his assistant standing near, "an* if yer don t cum down 
 and see this nigger wid der stuff, I goes right off and forms Cheef 
 Burke all bout it." Clark pleaded piteously for mercy, begging 
 J not to do it, and reminding him of his promise not to tell, etc 
 But J - was inexorable and turned a deaf ear to mercy, his only 
 reply being: "You s no business for ter do it, sah, no business for 
 ter do it." J s only terms were "ten tousand dollars"; 
 nothing less would do. Finally, a bargain was struck after this 
 
96 I OKTRY AM) 1 kOSK SKI.KCTK )\s 
 
 wise: Jim and the boy were to go immediately and purchase their 
 tickets for the East, since, as Clark said, if he paid them the money 
 they must leave the country, so as never to appear as witnesses 
 against him. Clark was to go right off and get the ten thousand 
 dollars, and meet J on board the steamer to pay it to him. So 
 off goes J - and purchases tickets for himself and boy for a 
 passage to New York, which took about all the money which he was 
 supposed to have. Coming back to close his "office" preparatory 
 to his final departure, he there met a brother "professional," whom, 
 in a most eager and delighted manner, he proceeded to inform he 
 was "gwoin to leave the country gwoin Hast right off." The 
 second individual proposed to buy out his stock in trade. J 
 in a most transported state, makes answer: "Take em, take em, 
 sah ; I wants noting to do wid em ; I cares noting alxmt such traps ; 
 dey are all yours; what do I want wid such tings as dese? I se 
 rich, I is; I am worth ten tousand dollars!" and this assertion he 
 clinches with a considerable manifestation of the "Kssence of Old 
 Virginny," in the way of a regular breakdown. Suffice it to say, 
 J - gave away all his worldly possessions, proceeds at once with 
 the boy aboard the steamer, there to await the arrival of Clark with 
 the "ten tousand dollars." But, strange to say, Clark didn t come. 
 The steamer starts, but just as she pushes off, the boy, smelling a 
 
 small mice, jumps ashore, while away goes the confident J , en 
 
 route for Panama, probably imagining that Clark would yet board 
 the steamer in a small boat off the Heads, bringing with him his 
 "ten tousand dollars." Alas! poor innocent, covetous J 
 His dreams of sudden wealth are no doubt by this time considerably 
 disturbed by the rank odor of a large-sized rat, if not by visions of 
 the murdered bodies of a captain and crew floating on the surface 
 of the briny water, in the wake of the steamer, while Mother Cary s 
 chickens shriek a requiem above them. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 97 
 
 Midnight Mass at St. Mary s Cathedral 
 
 The midnight hour of every-day life, with its accompanying 
 thoughtfulness, its silence, and its darkness, is ever an hallowed time. 
 But the midnight of a Christmas eve, spent in the nave of a great 
 cathedral, beneath whose arched and pillared roof the dim light 
 reveals the presence of assembled thousands, called together from 
 the quiet and rest of their homes, in the stillness of night s darkest 
 hour, with prayer and solemn communion, to do honor and rever 
 ence to Him, the first moments of whose natal day are being born 
 again in their midst, has that grandeur, impressiveness and sub 
 limity about it, which religion alone can give to earthly objects and 
 scenes. 
 
 As the hand of time marks the dividing line between those two 
 eventful days, on one of which the world was without a Christ, and 
 on the other had received the precious gift of Heaven, the tolling 
 bell reveals the "glad tidings" to the outward world; while within, 
 the deep rich music of the grand organ and choir breaks out upon 
 the midnight air, filling the surrounding space with its volume of 
 sweet harmony and solemn sound, sweeping like a great wave over 
 that sea of human heads, rippling at first the surface only, but grad 
 ually sinking into the heart itself stirring up the deep waters of 
 the soul, and agitating the spirit even to its lowest depths 
 
 "For, if such holy song 
 
 Enwrap our fancy long, 
 Time will run back and fetch the age of gold; 
 
 And speckled vanity 
 
 Will sicken soon and die, 
 And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould; 
 
 And hell itself will pass away, 
 
 And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day." 
 
 At the same moment, as we are entranced by the outburst of the 
 glorious anthem, the Bishop of the Roman Catholic Church, clad 
 in his pontifical robes, crowned with the mitred cap, and followed 
 by the many accompanying priests and attendants, with the insig 
 nia, emblems and dignities of their office, suddenly emerges into the 
 open space in front of the altar, and all with bended knee do hom 
 age to the shrine before them a holy train, led on by the gilded 
 
98 POETRY AM) PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 crosier of the Bishop, winding about in solemn procession, seeking 
 as it were once more the place where 
 
 the Virgin blest 
 Hath laid her babe to rest"- 
 
 like unto that other train of sages journeying towards the east to 
 seek the Babe of Bethlehem, led on by the gilded rays of that "bright 
 shining star" set up as a sign in the orient sky. Surrounding all, 
 the rows of great white pillars which support the vaulted and fret 
 ted roof above draped in evergreen vines and limbs stand like tall 
 spectral ghosts peering through the leaves of their hedge boundary, 
 whose clouded and veiled entrance opens into the awfulness of an 
 eternal world. The altar, decorated with flowers and shrubs, and 
 adorned with gold and silver ornaments, is radiant and gleaming 
 in the light of many "burning candlesticks;" above, on either side, 
 in attitudes of devotion and love, stand youthful cherubims of 
 purest marbled whiteness, gazing into the mysteries of the "inner 
 sanctuary" beneath; while before us, and over all, hangs suspended 
 a life-size picture of the sanctified Madonna, the presiding spirit of 
 the hour, appearing as though the wall of the church had opened 
 and the Virgin Mother, in the midst of a halo of light and glory, 
 was descending from heaven amongst us, and with outstretched 
 arms supplicating us to remember, not her alone, but that One far 
 greater than her, Him to whom she gave birth. Peal after peal 
 of the full notes of the organ, swelled into a louder echo by the many 
 voices of the choristers and the music of the accompanying instru 
 ments, respond in measured depths to the stately recitations of the 
 bishop, while the words "lesus Hominum Salvator," as pronounced 
 from his lips, cause all good Catholics to bow the head in recogni 
 tion of the name. 
 
 The annointing of the altar by the prelate; the thick clouds of 
 perfume going up from the swinging censer, filling chancel and nave 
 with the odor of its burning incense; the repeated and formal 
 opening and shutting the holy book; the gilded cross upheld before 
 the bishop s seat; the many burning candles with their t ticks of 
 gold and silver; the shining altar; the robes of the priests; the 
 gowns of the attendants; the bow and bended knee and symbolic 
 cross given in passing the altar front ; and again, the massive church, 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 99 
 
 with its carved roof and decorated walls, its painted windows, its 
 adorned galleries, its splendid organ, its great choir; the thousands 
 of human beings, filling in reverential silence every seat, and aisle, 
 and gallery of the huge building, chanting the solemn mass, mur 
 muring the whispered prayer all seen by the dimly reflected light 
 of burning tapers, which seek in vain to conquer the eternal dark 
 ness of earth s midnight; while without the brighter tapers of 
 heaven are burning and twinkling from the depths of an azure sky; 
 with the surrounding multitudes of the city s populace sunk in the 
 deep bosom of sleep and rest all lend their influence and magic- 
 spell to enlist the heart, soften the spirit, and subdue the soul; 
 leading the thoughts of those present away from sublunary things; 
 and under the guidance of an angel of light, with our eyes closed to 
 outward scenes, we are made willing followers, to be soon brought 
 into the direct presence of that "Son of Man" who sitteth at the 
 right hand of a throne encircled about with visions of far greater 
 brightness than these all intensely solemnizing and sanctifying 
 the hallowedness of an hour, in which, centuries ago, the morn of a 
 new life, the dawn of a new light, broke in upon the darkness of 
 former ages an hour in which a lost world was redeemed. 
 
 The impressiveness of the ceremonies of the Roman Catholic 
 Church; the gloom, the mystery, the doubt, the reverential awe 
 with which its high priests ever seek to clothe their proceedings 
 have all had their due influence upon the world. It is folly to 
 call this the result of ignorance, superstition or bigotry, for the 
 Church of Rome has had its allotted place in the sisterhood of 
 Churches. It has filled a niche in the great temple of religion, 
 which, perhaps, could not have been filled as well by any other form. 
 There is as much of sincerity, integrity and devoutness amongst 
 the leaders; as much of reverence, and love, and fear of God, amongst 
 the followers of this religion, as will be found, relatively, amongst 
 the believers in the Protestant faith. And, judging from the fruits 
 of their labor, the past history of the two Churches will lead us to 
 the inevitable conclusion that the Cassock of the priest contains 
 more ability, more energy, more potency within the breadths of its 
 folds, than does the more unassuming garb of the orthodox clergy 
 man. For, send forth both as missionaries amongst the Indian 
 tribes of our continent, or amongst other rude and uncultivated 
 nations of the world, and the former will quickly number hundreds 
 
inn I OKTRV AM) 1 ROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 of sincere and worshipful followers, whereas those of the latter may 
 be counted by tens. An analysis of this circumstance brings us at 
 once to a consideration of the essential and material differences exist 
 ing between these two branches of Christian faith. The sources of 
 the two streams are evidently one and the same, they have but one 
 fountain head ; and so are they both tending in their course toward 
 the same great sea, and both emptying their waters therein. Their 
 true differences lie only in the channels through which their waters 
 flow, and the countries through which their channels pass; in the 
 nations camped upon the banks of these streams, and in the natural 
 growth of ideas upon their banks. 
 
 The power of Rome in controlling the minds and dispositions of 
 uncultivated and unenlightened nations and peoples consists in, and 
 is the result of, the liberal use and exercise of imposing ceremonies 
 and impressive forms of worship; the pomp of show and costly 
 pageantry attached to the construction of outward, visible and tan 
 gible semblances of the attributes of God and of Divine Being. 
 In short, it is much easier for a rude and untutored nature to seize 
 hold of an image of the Cross, or of the Virgin Mary, and worship 
 it, than to pay reverence to an invisible being, a conception of whose 
 manner and place of existence can be impressed upon its mind only 
 with effort and difficulty. It is easier, too, for still ruder natures, 
 though tutored in many other respects, to fall down and worship 
 wooden gods and stone idols, direct representations of deities whose 
 other existence they cannot conceive; so was brought about, and 
 still exists, the heathen idolatry of the Chinese and Hindoos, the 
 lowest form of religious worship and belief. From this, we ascend 
 higher and higher, until, at an infinite distance above it, we find 
 Catholicism, with its more ideal and sublime image of a dying 
 Savior stretched upon a cross, which is knelt to, kissed and wor 
 shiped; and thus the seeds of a religious sentiment scattered and 
 sown which finally become established in a firm conviction and 
 l>elief in the rights and principles of the Roman Catholic Church. 
 
 Inferior minds must be dealt with by inferior means. The 
 crude intellect can readily seize hold of and understand a real rep 
 resentation, when it could not receive an impression of an ideal one. 
 To attempt to convey to such a mind a proper knowledge of God, 
 by means of word power, and ideal comparisons, and logic and rea- 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 101 
 
 son to endeavor to send that uncultivated imagination off into 
 the depths of thought, and there to conjure up and form for itself 
 an immaterial and unconstructed being to worship, to fear, and to 
 love, is, at best, as history, as I have before said, has proved an ar 
 duous undertaking, and one fraught with many uncertain results. 
 On the other hand the highly cultivated and intelligent mind, one 
 accustomed to employ the loftier powers of reason, memory and 
 imagination, disdains to employ inferior means to convey to it a 
 sense and perception of some great truth. The strong intellect can 
 form pictures and images of its own, and with its mental eye can 
 see and deal with them as well as though they were painted upon 
 canvas, or graven upon stone, or carved of wood or of iron. Luther 
 and Calvin when they tore themselves away from the mother 
 Church took with them far higher purposes and nobler resolves 
 than they left behind them. From their elevated standpoint of 
 intellectuality they could look below them, and see the Church they 
 had left, occupying only an intermediate position between them 
 selves at the top, and pure idolatry at the foot; only half way up 
 the hill stood the spires of Rome, while at the base shone the gilded 
 domes of the Pagan Mosques. 
 
 The Church of Rome has had a great work to perform, and that 
 it has done that work well the past and present condition of the 
 Church truly testify. The Protestant Church has a great work to 
 perform, and that it will perform that work well the present and 
 certain future of society truly testify. As mind develops, and the 
 dominion of intellect expands; as the roughness and rudeness of 
 uncultivated natures, become more polished and refined; as the 
 world becomes more enlightened, while society moves on, the neces 
 sity for the existence of the Roman Catholic Church ceases to be. 
 As a link, connecting a higher intellectual future with a less intel 
 lectual past, it may continue yet for a while to hold its place in the 
 chain of religious faiths and beliefs. But its doctrines are of the 
 past; its power and means of doing good are steadily decreasing, 
 while in an inverse ratio rises the power of the Protestant Church. 
 The time is not far distant when will be heard again, sounding all 
 over the world, those significant words "Rome is no more." Already 
 its walls are crumbling ; its foundations are disturbed already the 
 throne of its high prelate is tottering and even now we await to 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 103 
 
 hear the announcement of its fall! Popes, Bishops, and Priests 
 cannot sustain it all the accumulated wealth and centralized power 
 of ages fail, now in its last extremity, to support it it must go down, 
 and in its place must rise the higher and more refined, yet simpler 
 and more sublime faith of that other Church whose head is in Christ 
 and not at Rome! Catholicism must die! and when dead it shall 
 be for Protestantism to lay its finger upon the cold corpse, and ex 
 claim, as did the Prince of Orange, standing over the dead body of 
 Charles the V., "// is dead, let it be dead!" 
 
 Hear Us for Our Cause! 
 
 "Menlonian," the able correspondent of the Redwood City 
 Democrat writing from Menlo Park, says in last week s Democrat: 
 
 "The Mayfield Palo Alta, bearing the editorial ear-marks of 
 Ridgway Rowley is at hand and fills us with memories of our own 
 correspondent debut and early journalistic association with him 
 upon the San Mateo Journal. His pen has lost none of its 
 accustomed trenchancy nor its local spice. The facetious present 
 of two decks of cards to Supervisor Stafford from our public-spirit 
 ed townsman, Hon. John T. Doyle, is made the subject of an edi 
 torial in which quiet Menlo is satirically dubbed as the hoggish 
 Nabobville (on account of its demand for a little more than twen 
 ty-five per cent of its own paid-up road tax) and Bluff Jack is 
 patted upon the shoulder, all of which is accounted for in a deli 
 cately-wrought editorial in another column upon highways, in 
 which the turnpike eyesore of Wilson s Hill, on the Mayfield and 
 Alpine road is pictured, over which hill the produce of Ridgway s 
 Alpine home, Sunnyside, must pass, and which hill is within Su 
 pervisor Stafford s jurisdiction. 
 
 "Thus do we see the mote in Bro. Ridgway s eye. But in ob 
 serving the mote in Mr. Stafford s eye, it seems to regard Ridg 
 way s flattery with a pleasant suspicion as being opposed to San 
 Mateo county policy; for why should this county be improving 
 outlets of its own produce to the town of another county, when a 
 magnificent grade can be run down the Coal Mine ridge, or Martinez 
 canyon, to Menlo Park, shortening the route to the railroad and its 
 
104 POETRY AM) PROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 own county seat several miles? Now, if Bluff Jack will not re 
 move the hill, Bro. Ridgway, nor employ part of Menlo s $8,000 
 road taxes in building a grade from Menlo to Alpine, why not let 
 us compromise, throw Bluff Jack to the winds, and form a little 
 county of our own? Let us invite Bro. Foster of Mountain View 
 to join in, so that he will not be an interloping foreigner when he 
 crosses his own county lines to angle in the shady pools of the Pesca- 
 dero. Let us throw out our county lines so as to include Pescadero, 
 Alpine, the Big Basin, Saratoga, Mountain View, Mayfield and 
 Menlo Park. Menlo Park could rest in its fame, Mayfield be the 
 county seat, Palo Alto the college town, Mountain View the fruit 
 part, Saratoga the manufacturing town, Pescadero the seaport. 
 We could build trident turnpikes connecting Menlo, Mayfield and 
 Mountain View with the summit, then branch out again in trident 
 routes to La Honda, Pescadero and Santa Cruz. We could build a 
 railroad to Pescadero and work up Mr. Loud for a harbor appropria 
 tion and a steamship subsidy and we could boodle the Legislature. 
 We could boast of our oaks, our college, our fruits and wines, our 
 great natural park, our Pebble Beach. Why waste your breath 
 upon an humble Supervisor, Ridgway, while such great possibili 
 ties are to be worked out?" 
 
 The above is not impersonal, by any means, but we will answer 
 it, all the same, just for the public good and our own satisfaction, 
 which may prove considerable : 
 
 Now, Mr. Menlo, lend us your ears, and, long as they are, we ll 
 fill them full. Yes, we have an axe to grind, and any man who goes 
 to a public stone usually has. Our axe, however, this time, is 
 only a little hatchet, and mayhap, before we get through, you may 
 call it a toma-hawk, and not go amiss. Yes, dear Menlo, we want 
 a decent road to "Sunnyside," for, as it is now, one may about as 
 well climb to "Moonside," the stair up could not be steeper. Then, 
 the gcxMJ man up there has such a jolly, round face, looking down 
 so much more encouragingly at one than does a San Mateo Super 
 visor when approached to improve a mountain road. 
 
 Now, about the little axe. Let us retrospect. Away back in 
 the early days of San Mateo county lived a man named Temple- 
 ton. He was a politician, and worked politics in his county for a 
 purpose. It finally elected him Judge. He is dead now, (iod rest 
 him, but we ll show presently that he left his marks behind him. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 105 
 
 He was a man of energy, was this same Horace, full of mental and 
 physical force and activity. He would go away back into the then 
 dense redwood forests of your county, Menlo, and build him a saw 
 mill. When he had it built, he would ask the county to build a 
 road to it. And the county always did it, too, for he was running 
 the county in those days. By and by, when timber got scarce, and 
 he wanted to move his mill further back, back went a county road 
 to meet the new mill-site. The result was that, in a few years, this 
 indomitable man had a series of fine mountain roads built, which are 
 used to this day by the public as the best and most convenient 
 routes of travel across the mountain range and coastwise. In 
 fact, they are the only roads in these parts; they have never been 
 added to or taken away from since, so admirably were they located. 
 Indeed, there are persons still living who are willing to vouch that, 
 had it not been for Judge Templeton s mills, these great thorough 
 fares would never have been built at all. In the light of modern 
 days, Menlo, we are constrained to so think, ourself. So, we see 
 that to grind an axe is not always so grievous a thing, and the pub 
 lic may sometimes be thankful that some men have axes that need 
 grinding. 
 
 You mention the "Coal Mine Ridge Road." Ah, we are glad. 
 It shows that your environment has not completely saturated you 
 with the Upas drops dripping from your Park oaks, beautiful as 
 they are. Now, we can point our moral and adorn our tale by use 
 of the history of that Ridge road. Understanding full well the 
 great advantages it would offer to all that great mountain country, 
 as well as to the county in general, and Menlo Park in particular, 
 we set about in early days to have this road built by the county. 
 But, by reason of that contracted spirit of littleness, and utter want 
 of fore-sight, back-sight or any sight at all, on the part of your Hon 
 orable Board, called Supervisors and which seems to be an in 
 herited quality with them, for it has passed down through nearly a 
 whole generation, existing today as it did a quarter of a century 
 ago, and with what results we will tell you further along the road 
 was lost in court, because the sum of just one dollar was not award 
 ed to the owner as damages. We are quoting History now, Menlo, 
 " tis true, tis pity, and pity tis, tis true." Several futile attempts 
 have since been made to have this road opened, but in vain. 
 
 Now, we come to the point of our story, the Alpine Road, lead- 
 
106 POETRY AND PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 ing from May field. It is the birthright of Mayficld and of Santa 
 Clara county. San Mateo county did not build a foot of it. It 
 was built by a Mayficld man, Wm. Page, from his personal fortune, 
 and the building of it finally made him a poor man. See how much 
 better was the plan of Judge Tcmplcton. No thanks to San Mateo 
 county for that road, Mr. Menlo, and Mayfield is fully entitled 
 to the profits and privileges it offers. When fully constructed, 
 this noble corporation steps in and takes possession of it, without 
 paying a dollar recompense to its owner. But who ever knew 
 that county to pay a dollar for right of way, or purchase of a moun 
 tain road? It acquires them only by gift or theft. The roads 
 themselves are as few and far between as time and space will per 
 mit ; just near enough to bridge over time and connect it with eter 
 nity. In the interval this generation must all pass away, they and 
 theirs be dissolved, waiting, hoping, praying for a change in public 
 affairs of the county that will lead to improvement, development 
 and prosperity. 
 
 One-third of San Mateo county is today an unbroken wilder 
 ness, untrod by man or beast, save by the wild brute; impassable, 
 impenetrable; not a solitary road, not even a bridle trail built 
 by the county enters this vast domain of not less than 250 square 
 miles. Yes, within a bare fifty miles of the great metropolis of the 
 coast, this splendid forest of redwoods lies untouched for a whole 
 generation, for want of access. That metropolis, too, deserves its 
 share of blame for this situation, but more especially for that de 
 scribed further along San Francisco! that sponge of the Pacific 
 waters! that leech of the State horse-pond! Gorged to repletion 
 with the life blood of its best friends, it now lies prostrate and inane 
 at the feet of its competitors, unable to crawl or roll away. The 
 young North but touches it with its little toe, the ambitious South 
 with its little finger, and the thing squirms and struggles in an almost 
 dying agony. Now, let it disgorge, and begin again, and try to 
 become a decent, honest city, where farmers and dairymen, fruit 
 men and wine men may not be robbed of their last possession the 
 coat on their back. 
 
 But Menlo, where were we? Yes, we have caught on again. 
 Countless millions of feet of lumber, tenfold as many shingles, un 
 told cords of tan-bark, and measureless cords of wood, could have 
 been, all these years, pouring their enormous values into the lap of 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 107 
 
 San Mateo county. Today this noble forest has fallen chiefly 
 into alien hands. Its original owners have been taxed and taxed 
 by the county, with no recompense or return whatever, until they 
 have been obliged to let their possessions fall from their hands. We 
 hear of taxation without representation, and here it is with a ven 
 geance. Now, the bulk of the great redwoods of San Mateo county, 
 an inheritance that should have made it rich, is tied up in the hands 
 of that adventurer Searles, through the caprice of a foolish old 
 woman, and is thus lost to this generation. 
 
 Let us part, Menlo, by summing up what the imbecility of 
 your county government has done for you in the last quarter of a 
 century. It has set back all that region called the coast country, 
 extending from the Pacific s bluffs to the mountain tops, and reach 
 ing the whole length of the county, just this number of twenty-five 
 years. So long ago all that rich country, the best producing part of 
 your county, and the most valuable, intrinsically, today of any of 
 it, was peopled by an intelligent and industrious class of American 
 citizens. Their ranches were homes of comfort, and some of luxury. 
 Their families were well clothed, well fed and well housed. Their 
 cattle spread over a thousand hills. The valleys were rich in the 
 verdure of growing grain. The warehouses on the seaside were 
 groaning with their loads. This yeomanry labored and waited for 
 a proper development of their country, under the belief that to him 
 who labors and waits all things come. Not so. Aftei the lapse of 
 a quarter of a century, not a single new road had been added to their 
 country; the existing ones kept but in an ill state of repair, often, 
 very often, impassable. Steep hills and mountains were climbed 
 day after day and year after year, until at last man s hope fled and 
 his beasts dropped dead. Look over that land now, and what is 
 the vision? What in place of those once happy homes of America s 
 best yeomanry? those smiling fields, and contented people? 
 
 Bend near to us, Menlo dear, for our voice is stifled with emo 
 tion. Tell it not in Gath, nor in the valleys of the Hebron, but 
 here in the mountains of Hepsidam, we dare tell it. What you 
 see in these homes, forsaken of their owners, on porch or in parlor, 
 is naught but Portuguese Butter-boxes and milk-stools with straps 
 on them. You see, in addition, a county with 8,000 souls that 
 should have 80,000. And still these would-be wise men, these 
 counsellors of a people, sit in important state month after month, 
 
108 POKTRY AND PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 year ufier year, babbling like babes over spilt milk, or the loss of 
 their nursing bottle. The Past is before them, the Present under 
 them, but the Future never in sight . 
 
 We are still talking, Menlo! Do you hear us? Contrast your 
 condition with that this side the boundary creek, and then we ll 
 give you a penny for your thought. But, ah! you are realizing 
 much of it, else why the thought of the new county? You begin 
 to see that the stream that separates the two counties is as deep as a 
 sea and wide as an ocean. Come out of it! Come over! We see 
 you want to come over into God s country, where we have men and 
 brains and ways and means to back them up else why that new 
 county idea? Ah, there you have builded better than you knew. 
 Of this, more anon and anon, sir. 
 
 Grandly Eloquent 
 
 The following beautiful and eloquent extract we clip from a 
 speech of R. G. Rowley, Esq., delivered as an opening statement of 
 Prosecuting Council in the "Miniature Senate of the United States," 
 setting in the Rooms of the Young Men s Christian Association of 
 this city, April 16th, as a High Court of Impeachment for the trial 
 of Andrew Johnson. It was reported for the San Francisco Mer 
 cury. San Francisco A merican Flag. 
 
 "In every land Freedom is creating a commotion, and in none 
 more than in our own has that constant endeavor created a greater 
 or more beneficial effect: Here we find her enemies completely 
 routed, and over the broad and fair extent ol our domain lives not a 
 man who can now call himself a slave. In the regions where the 
 cold north-winds blow; in the south where the warm sun-beams 
 shine; in the east where the chariot of morn first comes with steeds 
 of fiery light, even to the golden west where slow sinks the orb of 
 day in the bosom of the great deep, everywhere . < <n^u niation and 
 confusion sit deep upon tin- t.uo of the em-mirs of liberty their 
 banners are trailing low in the dust their idols are fallen, and we 
 are here to sacrifice the last of tlu-ir gods! Let us heap upon hi- 
 head, rather than lay at his feet, the burnt <>!!< -rings of the people, 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 109 
 
 and then in a whirlwind, not of wrath, but of justice tempered by 
 mercy, scatter them again, that the poor object may go forth free 
 and unharmed, but harmless, an example to all coming generations 
 that a President of this Republic is but a Subject, while the people is 
 the Kingl" 
 
 A City Asleep 
 
 A city asleep is ever to the thinking mind an object of solemn 
 interest. There is an influence connected with its contemplation, 
 which almost involuntarily raises the tide of our thoughts, and rolls 
 in upon us a big wave of reflection. By it all the petty weakness 
 es and frailties of the human family all uncharities, all resent 
 ments, all animosities are submerged, while the life-boat of faith 
 and hope, buoyed up by charity and forgiveness, rides on the crest 
 of the billow. The young, the old; the strong, the weak; the rich, 
 the poor; the great intellect, and the little; the ambitious, and the 
 unambitious; the hopeful, and the despairing, all are now reduced 
 to one condition, alike helpless and dependent no incentive re 
 maining for strife, envy, jealousy, animosity, since "the lord and 
 his steward are as one." 
 
 Tis thus, as one sits in his room with the "midnight oil" burn 
 ing dimly beside him, while without "the sound of feet has died 
 away from the empty street," and all is silent as the tomb arounel 
 him; save, perhaps, the one lone stroke of a distant bell, noting the 
 birth of a new-born day, while still another catches up the melan 
 choly echo ere it has ceased, throwing it forth again into the shades 
 of night those watchful guardians of time, speaking to mortals 
 in the dead hours of sleep, telling them that the Car of Eternity 
 still rolls on, crushing time beneath its wheels, and that sleeping 
 or waking still those wheels revolve it is in this ominous silence of 
 the world s darkness, when we can look up into the face of heaven, 
 alone, and feel, that though still in the heart of one of the great 
 habitations of men, yet twas thus, "naked and alone we were born, 
 naked and alone shall we die, and naked go up to the judgment- 
 seat above!" 
 
110 I OKTRY AM) I ROSK SKLKCTIONS 
 
 Now, like a little child at rest, a great city lies sleeping with 
 a slumber deep and sweet. Its pulse beats calmly, evenly, peace 
 fully, without passion, or tumult, or excitement; while the great 
 mother of all, Nature, stands tenderly by its bedside, keeping watch 
 and ward through the vigils of the lonely night oft looking up 
 anxiously into the face of the Eternal One, in l)eseeching inquiry 
 whether the end were yet come, or that still a little while she should 
 watch and wait. 
 
 We are conscious that everywhere about us, even close beside 
 us, separated only by immaterial veils of man s formation, lie 
 thousands and tens of thousands of beings like ourself; stretched 
 out on the couch of repose, and wrapped in the close embrace of the 
 twin sister of death. All, children of the same great family, with 
 hopes, impulses, aspirations and ambitions not unlike all animated 
 by the same unseen and unknown inspiration all alike going for 
 ward toward the great unseen and unknown future like children 
 strolling along the shore of the great waters of eternity, casting each 
 his pebble of life therein, and watching with prayerful eye the 
 widening ripple till it is lost in the deep bosom of the ocean. All, 
 breathing the same vital air, whence we receive, we know not how, 
 the sustaining principle of life; satisfied to know its crimson tide 
 is made to flow by a power superior to our own content to lean 
 in trust upon Him in the hollow of whose hands all things are held ; 
 and l>elieving there still awaits us another principle of life eternal. 
 
 Thus, with but one Earth, one Heaven, one God we are jour 
 neying on toward one great common end. Like an army on the 
 march, tis true, the van often forgets the rear, individuals are lost, 
 the weak, the wounded, the sick drop by the waysid?, forgotten but 
 not forgetting, while the strong march on, but soon they too must 
 obey the final command of "halt!" when they are willing to acknowl 
 edge they are no stronger no better than other men, for death claims 
 all alike. 
 
 Thoughts like these come welling up from one s heart, stifling 
 and oppressive. Never does man feel more deeply the great re 
 sponsibilities of life resting upon him, or the warmth of those mag 
 netic links of the bond of brotherhood which join him so closely to 
 his fellowman, as when in the stillness of the night, in his chamber, 
 alone, he casts his thoughts upon eternity and the things therein. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 111 
 
 All the base ambitions of mortality, and the petty strifes of human 
 existence are bslittled and absorbed. He realizes that he is himself 
 but as a grain of sand on the sea shore but an infinitesimal por 
 tion of a great universe; and as he looks from the window of that 
 chamber into the dark heavens, and sees there, sown broadcast over 
 its face, myriads of grains of light, sparkling and beaming in their 
 deep-set orbs, each of which he knows, in the economy of the uni 
 verse, is the germ of a full-grown world; and as he attempts to 
 number them, or with his eye fathom the depths of that awful space 
 which surrounds them, and thus drinks into his soul a faint concep 
 tion of the vastness of infinity, and the duration of eternity, he is 
 overwhelmed with the consciousness of his own insignificance, and 
 is led to wonder that the great God, who rules the universe, does 
 not forget him and the little earth he calls his home. He shrinks 
 within himself, feels the littleness of all his efforts, the bands of 
 conceit and selfishness fall off blind no longer, his heart opens, 
 his spirit goes out, and from the yearnings of his soul there arise a 
 sympathy and a love for the whole human race that he never felt 
 before while deeper down and greater than this comes an adora 
 tion, a reverence, and love for the Mighty Author of all; and tis 
 thus he is led to cry, "Father, forgive us, we know not what we do." 
 This is repentance. 
 
 When the Bible, with its abstract reasoning, its cogent teach 
 ings, its logic and its history, fails to convince the Atheist of the 
 existence of a God, I would put a telescope into his hand, and bid 
 him, alone in the silence and darkness of the night, look up into 
 the heavens with it, and there in the mirror of the universe behold 
 the impress of Divinity, the image of God himself; for it is not only 
 "the untutored mind that sees God in the clouds and hears him in 
 the wind," it is also the educated and enlightened mind before 
 which Truth has unrolled her ample scroll of science and of wisdom. 
 Yet were it not so, would I rather be the "poor Indian" who can see 
 God everywhere, than the Atheist, who can see God nowhere. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 113 
 
 A Born Fool 
 
 The following self-explaining communication was received from 
 a Deputy Constable of a distant township. The matter is one on 
 which we have been feeling full for some time; it is one of consid 
 erable moment to the public, far more so than to Mr. Deputy 
 Constable, therefore the opportunity is taken to illustrate the sub 
 ject with an appropriate pen-picture: 
 
 "The Board of Supervisors evidently expects a man to work for 
 nothing. A warrant of arrest being placed in my hands to arrest a 
 man for an attempt to poison, I followed the accused to Santa Clara 
 county before I made the arrest (some forty miles distant), and 
 brought him back for trial; sat up two nights with him. As there 
 was no calaboose in town I had to sit up to guard my prisoner. I 
 also paid fifty cents a meal for him for three days. I presented 
 my bill to the Board of Supervisors for $30, as low a figure as I 
 could, and they cut it down to $10. The mileage for forty miles 
 would amount to nearly $10, besides serving the warrant, which was 
 $2; his board $4.50. They ought to allow a man something for 
 sitting up all night. Now, Mr. Rowley, I wish you would touch 
 them up a little to let them know that deputized constables do not 
 work for nothing." 
 
 Now, Mr. Constable, we don t just rightly know whether it 
 is the business of the Board to "allow a man something for sitting 
 up all night." If this was so, there s lots of fellows over this way 
 who would present bills for services. They live now by "sitting 
 up nights," and if the Board would allow them pay for it they would 
 live much better, certainly. Then again much depends on who 
 one sits up with. It would be a privilege, in some instances, worth 
 paying for, rather than being paid for. In your particular case, 
 Mr. Constable, it was certainly preferable "to sit up all night." 
 with that fellow than to have gone to bed with him. You had your 
 choice, and it s hardly the right thing now to ask pay for the best 
 choice, when, if you had taken the poorest you wouldn t have 
 thought of charging the county for it. 
 
 You are evidently a green hand at the bellcws, Mr. Deputy 
 Constable. You shouldn t reckon without your host. If you knew 
 the little peculiarities of that Board of Supervisors as well as we do, 
 
114 I OKTRY AM) PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 you wouldn t have made such a fool of yourself as you have. Thirty 
 dollars for arresting a prisoner for poisoning a man? You ought 
 to have known better. \Vhy, with that Board, thirty dollars is 
 enough to pay for arresting ten prisoners for poisoning ten men. Yes, 
 sir! What you should have done was to have gone to your Dist. 
 Roadmaster, or, for that matter, any other one in the county, and 
 told him what a foolish scrape you had got into. He d have fixed 
 it in a minute so you d have got your money. He d have just 
 tacked it on to the tail end of one of those thousand dollar bills of 
 his, under the head of "sprinkling road," or "plank for a bridge," 
 or "hauling rock," or some indefinite little thing like that, and away 
 the bill would have gone to the Auditor, and "no questions asked." 
 Take our advice, you green deputy, and when you arrest another 
 man for murder, just tell him you don t propose to pungle for his 
 bed and board in advance. Inform him how economical the Board 
 is, and that his board must come down to it. Feed him on Spring 
 Valley soup. An ocean of it ain t worth a picayune, in Lawrence s 
 estimation ; still, he lives on it, and some ten thousand other flunkies ; 
 (flunkies we mean for see how the late city election was carried 
 by their aid.) Don t sit up to watch your prisoner all night, ex 
 pecting the Board to pay for it. Just knock him in the head with a 
 club so that he ll lay still until morning. If he should happen to be 
 still lying quietly in the morning, when you wanted to go with him, 
 why, don t fret about it, you could walk out of the county at your 
 leisure; for assuredly there isn t another deputy constable like 
 yourself, who would pursue a murderer at their own expense, think 
 ing to get it back from that Board; that is, if their bill is over four 
 bits. 
 
 Please don t call upon us to "touch them up a little," "to let 
 them know deputized constables do not work for nothing," for we 
 couldn t possibly "touch them" on that subject in your interest. 
 Their sense of touch is about as sensitive and touching as the tip of 
 a Kangaroo s tail. A sledge hammer wouldn t touch it. And then 
 you should take some lessons in constabulary business in this coun 
 ty before you act so rashly and innocently as to put out, bald-head 
 ed, and on your own hook, to catch a runaway murderer. You 
 should come over here and talk with the Sheriff on the matter, and get 
 some valuable ideas from him. He could tell you better than that. 
 In fact almost any police officer in the county could. You have, 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 115 
 
 made the unpardonable mistake in this county. In short, you must 
 be a natural-born fool, and we don t want to be bothered any more 
 about you, or your foolish bills. In the meantime, though, you 
 have the right to sue the county for the amount of a just bill, and 
 then the Board will call upon us, as District Attorney, to defend 
 their act, and we ll do so before a jury, just as we do here, only a 
 little more so. 
 
 College Jamborees 
 
 The recent decided manifestation of an overplus of animal 
 spirit on the part of some of the Berkeley students, wherein an old 
 woman s geese were plucked and broiled, a cow introduced into 
 the girls sleeping apartments, and the same bombarded with pump 
 kins and beer bottles, proves one little fact, however, that is often 
 lost sight of in these college disturbances. The Freshman class 
 generally come in for the greater share of the blame, as being the 
 younger and hot-headed ones. But an investigation in this Berke 
 ley trouble showed up, what many other similar inquiries would 
 doubtlessly disclose, that the Freshmen had nothing to do with it. 
 It was the oldest class in the University, the Seniors, who were the 
 principal offenders against the order and good name of the institu 
 tion. And it will generally transpire that the younger class at col 
 lege is the most cautious and timid, and therefore the most conserva 
 tive set in the lot. They have a long future before them in the 
 college, and so are more careful of their reputation; while the older 
 classes, Seniors especially, who are about through with their course, 
 are not so particular, and will get on jamborees that a Freshman 
 couldn t possibly raise gall enough to compass. His youth and 
 inexperience wouldn t carry him through. So, in the Berkeley 
 disturbances of last week, three Seniors were expelled, and several 
 others suspended. 
 
 It seems that the W. C. T. U. which the boys translate as 
 the "Women s Contemplated Trouble Union" have seriously ta 
 ken hold of the matter, and are determined to involve not only 
 students, but members of the faculty as well. They charge that 
 there is a private "Professors Room" at Haggerty s, a notorious 
 
116 P< >KTRY AND PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 "Ginger Pop" establishment, close to the University gateway, and 
 that all the corks there drawn do not pop, but many can be loosed 
 easily and noiselessly. This question of corks has set the whole 
 University of California to popping in a most fizzling manner, 
 (juite detrimental to good order and discipline, as well as to dignity 
 and character. If the charges are well laid, it does strike one as a 
 forcible projx)sition that there could be men enough found to handle 
 such a privileged sex question without resorting to the aid of fe 
 males, even if they do belong to the W. C. T. U. 
 
 Mac-Dough! Hold! Enough! 
 
 "A new paper, published at May field, is called the May field 
 Palo Alto. This is like establishing a paper here and calling it 
 the Santa Cruz Soquel, only that Mayfield is in Santa Clara county 
 and Palo Alto in San Mateo county. The city of Santa Cruz and 
 the town of Soquel are in the county of Santa Cruz." Santa Cruz 
 Sentinel. 
 
 Well, well, this makes us tired. It is bad enough for San Fran 
 cisco papers to continually place Stanford University in San Mateo 
 county; a newly published magazine to get Menlo Park into Santa 
 Clara county; and for outsiders and strangers to eternally mix up 
 and misplace all the geography of this section of the country, until 
 no one knows where to find his town or what his county is. But 
 for as old a resident of San Mateo county as the editor of the Santa 
 Cruz Sentinel to make such a mess of truth as the above only con 
 firms the rather sarcastic remark often made by laymen that "The 
 Great American Fool" is a country editor. A fool to waste his 
 life in such a sapless, hapless, enterprise. Then his usual ignorance 
 and conceit so far outspeed his f(x>lish enterprise, that the end is 
 laughable as well as lamentable, and this is his obituary: "Here lies 
 the Great American Fule, who spent his life like a poor ring mule, 
 three days in a circus and one in a school." Now that we had got 
 back into the profession, we had hoped never to hear the remark 
 again, but In-yond all patirnrr \\ nui>t ivprat ii and believe it, and 
 if it includes ourself, for truth s sake we ll stand with the laymen and 
 withdraw all pretension*. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 117 
 
 Now there isn t a single straight assertion, save an accidental 
 one, made in the above remarks of the Santa Cruz Sentinel editor; 
 he who brags that he has a private graveyard of murdered news 
 papers, and that his, above all, proves the survival of the fittest. 
 Oh, may the ghosts of these departed ones haunt ye, Duncan, and 
 prove the Macbeth of your weary life, until you do penance by the 
 study of the plan of your native land. 
 
 That "new paper" is not a new paper. It has been published 
 nearly two years, and has long been acknowledged by the Sentinel 
 as one of its exchanges. It is not called the "Mayfield Palo Alto," 
 but is called the "Weekly Palo Alto." The comparison with a"San- 
 ta Cruz Soquel" is impotently as well as impudently lame, because 
 Palo Alto is not in San Mateo county, it is in Santa Clara county 
 where Mayfield is, if you ll but believe us, Duncan. "Palo Alto" 
 is not the name of a town; it is the name of a tree, and of a ranch, 
 and of a horse, and of a newspaper, and thank God they are all in 
 Santa Clara county. Even the latter part of your assertion, simple 
 as it seems, is not correct, Duncan; for years you have told us and 
 made us believe that your home and snorting ground, the city of 
 Santa Cruz, embraced within its magnificent limits the whole of 
 the poor little county of Santa Cruz, and we ll not now go back on 
 your early teachings. Soquel your feelings, Mac, and give us no 
 more such slack. 
 
 More Dam Nonsense 
 
 As intimated in last week s Journal, the little chicks, which the 
 old patent incubator, now a long time well known in this State as 
 the San Mateo County Board of Equalization, had resolved should 
 break their shells and come forth, were hatched out on the last days 
 of the concern Saturday and Monday. On Saturday Spring 
 Valley was reduced from $1,051,830 to $407,010 a reduction of 
 $644,820 made in a very few minutes. There is one advantage 
 our honorable Board of Supervisors has over most other ministe 
 rial or judicial bodies known to the jurisprudence of the laws, and 
 that is, that all its important matters are well considered and digest 
 ed before assembling. This expedites public business very much. 
 
118 POKTRY AND PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 Valuable public time is saved, and a good square solid conclusion 
 can be reached in that way much more readily than by the old fogy 
 way that most tribunals and courts have, of waiting to hear evi 
 dence offered before it, and deciding issues after the fact, rather 
 than before it, and in Court rather than out of it. For quick per 
 ceptions and apt business qualities, San Mateo s Board can beat 
 all the Boards on this coast, from the Board of State Prison Direct 
 ors to the board at Ames chute over which grain slides, from a long 
 ton to a very short one. 
 
 Hon. Chas. N. Fox appeared as attorney for Spring Valley 
 Ircfore the Board, and offered an extended argument in favor of the 
 reduction asked for. Reference to the article on the opposite page, 
 entitled an "Interesting Document," will show the basis of the 
 counsel s argument, and the detailed statement of the reduction 
 asked for. Mr. Elliott, the city agent, was produced as a witness. 
 He it was who made the application vice Mr. Lawrence, resigned, be 
 cause of a little warmth created in Spring Valley s water, by the 
 District Attorney s objecting to Lawrence acting as such, and at 
 the same time sitting in judgment on his own application. 
 
 Mr. Elliott swore that the flumes are rotten, and worth no 
 more than they would be for kindling wood. The pipes are bursted 
 to pieces, and will have to be replaced immediately. It will cost a 
 great deal to dig them up and throw them away, to give room for 
 the new ones; therefore they are an actual incumbrance, and should 
 be treated as such. The tunnels are only holes in the ground, and 
 wouldn t be taken in payment of a solvent debt by any man in the 
 State. Mr. Fox followed up this line of logic and deep thought, 
 by an argument showing that "under the revenue laws of the State" 
 he had the right to take each assessed article separately, and prove 
 what it was worth, independent of its fellows, or of the system of 
 which it formed a part. "What," says the counsel learned in "the 
 revenue laws of the state"; "what is that old rotten tlunie worth, 
 but its value for kindling wood? What that ruMl nut sheet-iron 
 pipe? What would you give for it, Mr. Chairman: How can you 
 say that hole in the hill has any value! \\h<> \\imld buy it? what 
 could they do with it if they bought it ? what could anybody else do 
 with these dams? what earthly value have they? who would take 
 one of tilt in alone, in pa\ ni< nt t" a H!\ ( nt <K 1 >t . a- requin d by the 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 119 
 
 revenue laws of the State? It may be a dam, but it isn t worth a 
 dam!" 
 
 This gentleman then quoted from "Angel on Water Courses," 
 to show that the water went with the land, and couldn t be in 
 cluded with the dam, and other personal property or improvements. 
 The District Attorney replied to this that he thought a legal work 
 entitled "The Devil on Spring Valley s ponds" would be more ap 
 plicable to the case than any "Angel on Water-courses," that 
 there was nary angel in the case that he could see, and that what was 
 good law on natural streams and water courses, did not hold good 
 in relation to artificial reservoirs, and created supplies of water, 
 collected for purposes of sale and commerce; that to tear property 
 to pieces, and in detail say each piece was worthless to a buyer, was 
 well illustrated by the watch he held in his hand. It was a valuable 
 piece of property as an entirety, but tear the wheels out of it one 
 by one, and say they shall be sold one by one, for some other pur 
 pose, such as to run a mill with, and of course they are valueless, and 
 so could the whole watch be proved to be of no value ; for adding the 
 nothings together, and nothing is still the sum. But it is "under 
 the revenue law of the State," replies the crafty Fox. So the whole 
 specious argument in behalf of his client, was to beat the revenue 
 laws of the State. There was no plea of injustice, nor of too great 
 valuation of property in reality and fact ; none that they should not 
 pay taxes on a valuable property of right, but only the specious 
 pettifogging that "under the revenue laws of the State" their prop 
 erty had no value, and should not be assessed. 
 
 Now there is but one conclusion reached by an observing mind, 
 in this nice matter, and that is this: That Spring Valley, having 
 been represented in the Legislature well and truly, its representa 
 tions have had a big finger in framing those same revenue laws of 
 the State! and that a like amount of craft exhibited by its represent 
 atives there, as here, would make the revenue laws of the State, as 
 they probably are, the work of this pernicious agency. So Spring 
 Valley seeks to take advantage of its own wrong, and having made 
 the "revenue laws of the State" so loose as it thinks, that they can 
 drive a horse through them, and so starts an ass ahead to break the 
 way, and make a hole big enough for the horse to follow. 
 
 In reply to the question of the District Attorney, "What, in 
 
120 I OKTRY AND I ROSK SKLKCTIONS 
 
 your estimation, is the entire property of Spring Valley in this coun 
 ty worth? Mr. Fox objecting strenuously to the question as im 
 pertinent and immaterial, while the witness very hesitatingly an 
 swered, "that would take six men two weeks to compute." The 
 questioner agreed with the witness, and proposed to the Board that 
 the six men should be set to work immediately, and that the Board 
 adjourn for the two weeks to receive the answer. But this was 
 only like throwing chaff in a wind, or pearls before swine, for the 
 "majority of the Board" had had their minds made up ever since 
 the time when they found they couldn t influence the Assessor to 
 "tumble" to them, to reduce Spring Valley, and they reduced it 
 from $1,051,830 to $407,010 a loss to poor but honest; tax-payers 
 of $644,820 assessable property, representing a revenue to the coun 
 ty of SI 1 ,284 taxes to be paid. Thus endeth the second chapter of 
 this interesting history; but the third chapter will be different. 
 
 Bare Not Bear Facts 
 
 Hitherto we have had some considerable native and acquired 
 confidence in newspaporial veracity, as well as voracity. But since 
 the publication, in our absence, of that "bear story" concerning us, 
 appearing first in the Journal, and then, as usual in all news matters, 
 after l>eing Cooked over and made to agree in spirit and substance 
 with the line of noble thought running in the master mind of the 
 editor of the Gazette in this instance such "spirit" being quite na 
 tive and to the manor born, to-wit: the translation of as noble an 
 animal as a roaring grizzly, the one that treed Rowley, into a grunt 
 ing hog, a pen companion of friend Cook, of course appearing in 
 that latter paper, why, our sublime faith in eternal truth has been 
 most sadly and severely shaken, so that now, were we asked, "Who 
 next to Roscoe, is the greatest liar in America. " we should unlie^i- 
 tatingly, but blushingly reply, "ye newspaper-man." 
 
 We have ordered that fool of a newspaper stopped, and shall 
 take it no longer we mean, of course, the Journal, for that other 
 paper hasn t sense enough about or in it to cause even a hall -wax- 
 decent Darwin ape, let alone a tolerable, endurable human fool, 
 to take it or read it and in this grand exercise of the glorious pre- 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 121 
 
 rogative and divine right of the great American citizen, to wit : of 
 stopping the newspaper which he takes but never pays for, we feel 
 profoundly proud, under the sweet consciousness of obliterated 
 wrongs and that we are now "even" with the man who would dare 
 to profane our sacred name, or take it in vain through the newspaper. 
 
 No, gentlemen, though we had grovelled with Cook s hogs all 
 our life, and had taken to trees on the call of screech owls to their 
 mates, and all our neighbors, and the rest of mankind, had known 
 these things of us from our sap-trough up, never shall we allow our 
 character and courage to be questioned through a newspaper! We 
 tell you that the difference betwixt published and unpublished facts 
 is great, it is awful, it is most profound. Although newspapers are 
 of no account, have no influence, nobody paying any attention to 
 what they say, or how they say it; and though to advertise a busi 
 ness, or a trade, or a profession, or a name, in their columns, is but 
 to throw so much money away; though to publish in them the good 
 a man may do in this world, goes for naught, and weighs as nothing 
 with him ; yet you do tell us that when the bad concerning him is 
 published, it is much, it is something to make that newspaper in 
 stantly accountable for; because, don t you see, there are a thous 
 and eyes seeing it, a thousand minds revolving it, a thousand tongues 
 discussing it. 
 
 Yes, gentlemen, the press is of no account, it has no influence, 
 its publications are harmless, its advertisements are worthless. We 
 would advise you to pay no attention to what the papers say of you, 
 good, bad, or indifferent; the good they say can do you no good, 
 therefore the bad they publish concerning you can do no harm. 
 But you answer that your bad conduct published will, does, do you 
 great harm. But why, friend, this great and sudden difference? 
 Why do you thus make fish and fowl of the same dish, to suit your 
 fancy? Because there is a difference, you say. Yes, friend, there 
 is a difference, a great difference, and it is your conscience alone 
 that makes the difference. It is this silent monitor of the soul that 
 speaks to you and tells you that you are convicted, and you feel 
 that men will believe it of you, because you believe it of yourself. 
 This is why your feelings are so suddenly outraged ; you have out 
 raged them yourself. Your demand for satisfaction is not as an 
 atonement for any wrong done you, really, it is only a means of 
 
.2 
 
 ~2*o 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 123 
 
 resentment and revenge, and is a futile attempt to justify yourself 
 by yourself. But it is a rule of moral conduct that sin and wrong 
 can never satisfy or justify itself. The bare attempt to make it 
 do so but leads the subject to further wrongs, to the commission of 
 greater sins. 
 
 So it is that one of the three usual methods of getting even on 
 the editor is adopted; first, for publishing little truths, just prick 
 ing the thin skin of the conscience a little by stopping the paper; 
 second, for greater truths, piercing man s moral monitor still deep 
 er a written retraction demanded; third, under the smart of still 
 graver facts published, entering the very core of the conscience by 
 their deep penetration into the guilty soul satisfaction by blood. 
 Men should remember that as virtue has its rewards, so vice has its 
 penalties, and that to break the moral laws of nature, implies pun 
 ishment as well as to break her physical laws, and that no amount of 
 self-imposed conceit or deceit, or wrestling with one s own soul under 
 the simple belief that the burden of the penalty and obligation can 
 thus be shifted to another s shoulders or that, in short, it is he, the 
 editor, who is the sinner, and not ourself the original guilty one- 
 can absolve us or make us whole again. 
 
 The Reason Why 
 
 "Warden Ames, of the State prison, is supposed to be interested 
 in a grist-mill at Half Moon Bay, and a half moon circle correspond 
 ent says he has sent down but a part of the water-wheel promised, 
 and the irresponsive ink-slinger intimates that the investigation go 
 ing on at the State Prison may interfere with its arrival. We guess 
 not. Ames is not the kind of a Warden that will let the trifling 
 matter of an investigation by the State into his official affairs in 
 terfere with the size or revolutions of a first-class water wheel. 
 The wheel will arrive on time. But why does Rowley, the watch 
 dog of the San Mateo treasury, maintain an oyster-like silence these 
 examination times?" Santa Cruz Sentinel. 
 
 Silence, dear friend, is the part of wisdom in a time like this. 
 We predicted from the beginning a total failure of that investiga 
 tion. No use of undertaking the herculean task of cleaning out the 
 
124 POETRY AND PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 San Quentin stables, without knowledge aforethought, deep, pene 
 trating and long enduring. It would take a river of pure water to 
 wash that thing clean. We re no river. Spring Valley gives us all 
 the water we desire here at home, it is true, but it is awful dirty 
 stuff, and you can wash nothing white with it. In fact, it makes 
 things Brown that it touches, indeed it does. Now, the little truth 
 is, we in this county are only too glad to have the burden of that 
 load which you speak of so glibly, shifted to larger shoulders than 
 ours. We sincerely feel like the wench carrying the tub of hot-corn 
 on her head, who was jostled by the boys anxious to see it fall, when 
 she remarked, "Go way dar, chillen, that corn s bilin hot, an if it 
 comes down on yer little white skins yer ll feel it, and Sail won t 
 care for the schucks, either." 
 
 Ain t you great big Sentinel concerned in affairs of State? Why 
 don t you pitch in now and get even on your old-time enemy? You 
 never had, never will have, a better opportunity. This, thank San 
 Mateo s stars, and Governor Perkins , is a State concern. Nobody 
 in this county cares particularly about San Quentin, save to keep 
 out of it; and with this crowd surrounding one, it is no easy matter 
 to do this. No, sir, Mr. Sentinel! we recall, with chills running 
 through our marrow, the circumstance of that dark dungeon, and 
 that awful hose turned on a poor fellow stretched out on a ladder s 
 rungs, and that bread and water business for months, and those 
 other little conventionalities under the control of that Mr. Warden, 
 and we care not, dare not, excite his ire too much. The future is 
 before us, and all unknown. You are very anxious to have us 
 tread upon this dangerous ground. No, sir; just do it yourself, 
 and then when you may fall in that Warden s clutches as fall you 
 may any moment, and you know it just send us word about the 
 irregularities of San Quentin, and we promise you, as a brother 
 scribe, to get up an investigation in your behalf, and when we do so, 
 it will be more successful than the last one, and don t you forget it! 
 This is a golden opix>rtunity, Duncan ; seize it! embrace it! 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 125 
 
 The Sack of the Capitol" 
 
 The Legislature went out, at last, on Friday night at 11 o clock. 
 Since the Tuesday previous, it had sat at its own expense, that is, 
 nominally ; but when it is understood that several thousand dollars 
 worth of stationery and postage stamps, books, committee room 
 outfits, even to the furniture of the rooms, were packed up in the 
 private trunks and boxes of the members, it will then be seen they 
 did not sit in vain. Such vandalism never before disgraced a legis 
 lative body. Why, one member, who had not been in his seat a 
 week, had signed a requisition" that s what they call them for 
 stationery, books, and other valuables, to the value of $250. Such 
 is one of the little "inside" movements of some of the servants of 
 the people. Oh, yes, they ll serve the dear people; but they ll get 
 pay for it every time, and don t you forget it. The only difference 
 between stealing, and one of those "requisitions," is, that one re 
 fers to private property, the other to public. The ornaments of 
 the Capitol, the bronze figures of Moses and the other saints, 
 that adorn the dome and turrets of the towers, were only saved from 
 being torn from their pedestals and carried away, because the mem 
 bers were too drunk at the time of their final departure, to climb 
 up and take them. 
 
 The janitors of the buildings were unable to obtain even the 
 return of the keys of the various committee-rooms, though printed 
 notices were posted over the walls for this purpose. These were 
 carried off. "The sack of the Capitol," next to the Debris Bill, 
 and the Insurance Bill, and the County Government Bill, will mark 
 the footsteps of that California Legislature with such a brand as was 
 set upon Cain s brow, never to be obliterated. 
 
 An Outrageous Monopoly 
 
 The Land, and all that on it is; and the Sea, and all that in it is, To 
 gether with its Fishes, and its Oysters, and its Clams, are Ours! 
 Ours! Ours! to Have, to Hold, and to Enjoy ! 
 
 Thus claim the different combinations of monied powers 
 throughout the State. Having swept the land and all its products 
 
126 roKTRY AM) I ROSK SKI.KCTK ).\S 
 
 into their yawning maw, they now seek to gobble up the seas, and 
 the waters of the bay, and the lands beneath the waters of the bay, 
 and the shell-fish beneath the lands beneath the waters of the bay, 
 and the lands again beneath the shell-fish beneath the lands beneath 
 the waters of the bay, and the surface of the waters, and the waters 
 themselves, and all moving things thereon, or therein, animate or 
 inanimate, brute or human, beast or bird, fish, flesh or fowl, muscle 
 or corpuscle, valve or bivalve! All are theirs by virtue of their 
 God-given right of money, against any pretensions of human rights, 
 or claims of common humanity. 
 
 For the past two or three years thinking men have viewed with 
 some little concern for the future, the constant aggressions of the 
 combination of San Francisco capital called Oystermen. Little 
 by little they have stealthily staked out and fenced the borders of 
 the Bay in large tracts, extending from Alviso on the south, to the 
 Mission Bay on the north. So far the operations of these men have 
 been acquiesced in tacitly, by the people living along the shores of 
 the Bay, they deeming it an enterprise of value to commerce, and a 
 public good. So within bounds and reasonable limits, this oyster 
 planting business is a worthy industry and valuable adjunct to 
 trade. And so long as the enterprise was conducted in a fair and 
 proper manner by the individual owners of planted beds, o long 
 nobody has seriously complained. But now the situation is changed 
 altogether. The interest has concentrated into a very few hands, 
 as all valuable business speedily does in California, to the great detri 
 ment of the common people. These immense oyster beds have 
 thriven and multiplied beyond all precedent. Oysters have spread 
 themselves all over the Bay and into the sloughs far outside of every 
 prepared or staked bed. The bivalves are of the finest flavor, and 
 bring the highest prices in the markets. The business has enlarged 
 until it has reached great proportions. The oystermen have found 
 themselves suddenly rich, beyond their wildest hope> and dreams 
 of success. Their oyster beds have proved a veritable bonan/a, 
 second only to Flood & O Brien s. They are actually worth hun 
 dreds of thousands of dollars, today. 
 
 \Vtih this suddm and great im iva-r of wealth, has grown >elt- 
 importance, presumption, implicit no , on the part of owners, 
 until now th< y absolutely defy public rights, and claim to own and 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 127 
 
 to hold, by virtue of possession, and the fee from the State as tide 
 lands, the solid body of the bay, from the narrow limits of a main 
 ship canal through its middle to the shores on either side, including 
 every navigable slough, stream, estuary or creek leading thereto. 
 They now not only claim the oysters in their beds, but all outside 
 them, miles away, all over the bay, up the sloughs and inlets, and 
 down the creeks, wherever they may be found. 
 
 Three or four prominent citizens of this place were arrested 
 last week by the police force of these grand monopolists for they 
 have special officers employed to arrest parties sailing for pleasure 
 or business upon their waters, which simply, as they claim now, 
 include the whole surface of the bay, except the deep-water channel. 
 These cormorants have a:tually the temerity to tell us "that if it is 
 any accommodation to us they will fence the whole thing in," 
 meaning thereby, the navigable stream leading to Redwood, and 
 they mean it, too, because they are setting themselves about doing 
 it, even now. Fence in a ship canal for miles! and make oyster beds 
 of it, because, forsooth, the tide leaves it bare in places, when it 
 runs well out ; it is thus they would found their assumed legal rights 
 thereto. 
 
 The conduct of the State authorities in selling the swamp and 
 tide lands, has undoubtedly been of the most shameful and bare 
 faced character. For money the State officers have bartered away 
 rights and privileges which should have been held sacred to the 
 people forever. To what extent this has been done in relation to 
 sloughs and portions of the bay lying about their mouths, w r e have 
 not yet had time to learn definitely; but the county map shows a 
 solid and continuous line of locations for many miles along the bay 
 shore, extending far out to deep water. It may be these arrogant 
 parties have legal rights thereto, which it may be difficult to sur 
 mount ; but we are not yet prepared to believe the case is so desper 
 ate as this. If so, it will be a terrible drawback to the free naviga 
 tion and use of the waters of the bay such an one as will be felt in 
 all its rigor, as these owners become rich and richer; for with wealth 
 in this country there seems to come necessarily, arrogance, haughti 
 ness and complete disdain of all public or other private rights. Ours 
 are not the large-souled millionaires that can bless a country and a 
 people with their wealth ; they are rather of that other kind who 
 
128 POKTRY AM) PROSK SKLHXTlnNS 
 
 can curse a land with their overshadowing selfish presence, and 
 produce a moral, social and financial blight on all within their 
 reach. 
 
 This oystt r question is indeed getting to be a serious one, and we 
 shall examine it more closely in time. In the interval the people of 
 the county can take this little satisfaction, that if these presuming, 
 daring men would defy them because of their great wealth that lies 
 within our borders if their lands are so valuable that they cannot 
 be passed over with impunity, or trespassed upon save at risk of 
 arrest and prosecution, at the hands of the people themselves, 
 whom they would rob, and through the agency of whose laws they 
 seek redress at no expense to themselves then the nominal assess 
 ment of SI. 25 per acre, now rated as the value of these lands, worth 
 hundreds and thousands of dollars per acre, according to their own 
 estimate thereof, is no sufficient inducement for the people to be 
 thus troubled and annoyed. The Journal proposes that these oyster 
 beds shall be hereafter assessed at a fair and just valuation, and 
 thus show to these pirates of the seas, that the people have still 
 some rights left, w r hich they are bound to respect the right of 
 property-holders to contribute to the revenue of the county. 
 
 Economy and the Ass 
 
 The Board of Supervisors of this county are trying hard, very 
 hard indeed, to be economical, and make the public money at their 
 disposal go as far as possible. They should be congratulated on 
 their good intentions in this respect, and on their laudable efforts in 
 this direction. Tax-payers are all fully agreed th.it economy is 
 necessary and that that Board, of all particular Boards, should lie- 
 gin to exercise it. 
 
 For many years the word "economy" with that Board meant 
 but giving to airy nothing a local habitat ion and a name." To 
 pr.ictict it, or to even make the at lempt to do so. was never thought 
 of for a moment. But now all this is changed. Necessity, which 
 is the mother of other brats beside invention, coupled, it HUM !,< 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 129 
 
 ad mi tted , wi th other circumstances over which they have no control , 
 has made that Board per se economical, or at least driven them to 
 desperate attempts to be economical. 
 
 But to a man up a tree, looking down on the circus below, the 
 scene is often a very comic, serio-dramatic one. Some of the mem 
 bers of that Board have about as good, just, and perfect an idea of 
 the first principles of public economy as an ordinary jack-ass has of 
 the value in dollars and cents, of the load on his back. If it is cord 
 wood at $5 a cord, and the brute packs a quarter of a cord, he knows 
 it weighs 300 pounds. If it is a bale of silk worth a thousand cords 
 of wood, he knows still, and only, that he is packing a full load of 300 
 pounds. To discriminate between fish, flesh and fowl, is not an ass 
 business. He has just as much of a load to carry, and how best to 
 do so with ease to himself, regardless of the quality or value of that 
 load, or whether it is bumped against tree or rock, broken or torn, 
 so as it doesn t gall his tender withers, is a matter of extreme uncon 
 cern to Mr. Donkey. 
 
 To illustrate the Board s method and knowledge of economy by 
 referring to the trite and usual illustration of "saving at the spigot 
 and losing at the bung," is an unfair proceeding on the cooper s 
 business, and so the unimportant ass is chosen as a vehicle for con 
 veying the thought instead. The donkey may be able to survive 
 the unwarranted use of its name, but a good barrel and its contents, 
 never. 
 
 The heaviest load of economy which that virtuous Board, repre 
 sented by the aforesaid donkey, is now wont to stagger under, is 
 the cord-wood load, value about $5. A thousand-dollar load don t 
 trouble the brute at all. The soft silk bale fits the bony hollow of 
 his back much easier than the cheap, rough pack. So is it when 
 that Board comes across a five dollar demand against the treasury, 
 it bucks and antics around until it dumps the load all in a heap at 
 its feet, and then sets up a loud bray of success and self-congratula 
 tion, inviting beholders to join in praise of itself, as much as to say 
 "see what a great ass am I!" 
 
 Now the worst load that pack-animal ever had to carry, be 
 yond a doubt or peradventure, in this county, is the present Dis 
 trict Attorney. Mr. Ass bucks at that load if it is a $5 one. It 
 
130 I OKTRY AM) PROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 duni|H d a S5 demand of his once before, all for sweet economy s 
 sake, of course. Last Monday it bucked savagely at a seven-dollar 
 demand presented for expenses of the District Attorney s office for 
 nine months, Ijcing less than one dollar per month, for necessary 
 traveling expenses and hotel bills in prosecuting criminal cases at 
 distant points in the county. Of course he had spent much more 
 than this out of his own pocket, but made no charge of it. The law 
 fully justifies and allows such necessary expenses to be paid the 
 District Attorney. Such bills have been allowed to other District 
 Attorneys to the extent of S93 for a single quarter, and now when 
 the almost ridiculous bill of but S7 for three quarters, is presented 
 by the present District Attorney, it is rejected and refused to be 
 allowed. 
 
 And this is done under the name and guise of economy, for 
 sooth. But calling things by their right names, then it will be said 
 rather to be done as a personal spite and petty means of revenge, 
 which can but revert back upon the men who would perpetrate it, 
 and thus disgrace the name of law and right by their wretched per 
 sonal meannesses. The result of this action of the Board will 
 be to compel the District Attorney to refuse to go to any distant part 
 of the county to prosecute criminal cases. To suppose that he can 
 do so and pay his expenses out of the small stipend allowed him as 
 salary, is not only nonsense, but an open insult to the officer, and 
 to the decent name of the county. 
 
 Personal Journalism 
 
 The curse of California journalism is its personality. Any 
 man or set of men, who would aspire to the honorable and responsi 
 ble position of conducting a public newspaper, should have charac 
 ter enough to be able to lay aside all personal feelings, of either ani 
 mosity towards some, or friendship toward others, in their conduct 
 of such paper. The Press is undoubtedly the greatest lever of 
 either moral good or evil that can be established in a community. 
 By it private sentiment, as well as public opinion, is oft times mould 
 ed and established. With the young, whose natural confidence is 
 such as to ever lead them to have implicit faith in the truth of what 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 131 
 
 they read in print, the influence of the paper they read and trust 
 in, is often remarkable. Far beyond the teaching of parents and 
 instructors, is the influence of a moral journal over the minds of the 
 young. A man of experience, knowing these things to be so, in 
 departing from a straight-forward, manly course of conduct in a 
 newspaper he is conducting, can only do so wilfully, maliciously, 
 and without cause or concern for the minds of the community in 
 which his engine of evil is circulated. Worse than the bane of the 
 Upas tree is the wide-spread, far-reaching poison distilled into the 
 minds of young souls by an immoral editor. Although he may seek 
 to conceal the natural instincts of a depraved mind, by cloaks and 
 covers of pretended fair and high-mindedness, still the gauzy tex 
 ture is all too thin, and it takes but little fixity of gaze to discern 
 beneath, the foul forms of corruption, deceit and falsehood. 
 
 Public character, when necessary to subserve public ends, is a 
 proper and legitimate object of criticism, either of censure or of 
 praise. Private character, never. When a man makes himself 
 amenable to the laws, in so far, his private relations deserve scru 
 tiny and public comment. His business relations with the world, 
 his ties of family and kindred, his honor and integrity in his deal 
 ings with his fellow-men, are, from the very nature of their privacy, 
 sacred, and should be safe from the attacks of any enemy, because 
 he happens to occupy a position which enables him to make a pub 
 lic parade and exposure of such personal matters, wherein the pub 
 lic can have no possible interest or concern. 
 
 These thoughts have suggested themselves to the writer as he 
 read in the Times and Gazette of last week, the following local no 
 tice: 
 
 "We have to acknowledge the receipt of the subjoined polite 
 note: 
 
 "Redwood Farm, Nov. 30, 1879. 
 
 "Ed. Times and Gazette: You will discontinue forwarding 
 your paper to our address from date. By presenting your ac 
 count, you will receive cash due to date. 
 
 "Yours, etc., 
 
 "H. Hawes for Mrs. H. Hawes," 
 
 What right has the conductor of that paper to publish to the 
 world the privacy contained in that note? What right has he to 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 133 
 
 parade to public gaze, the name of a prominent lady in such a con 
 nection as this? Is there anything in this communication of a 
 public nature at all? Are the people of the county concerned in it? 
 Does that paper propose to publish the names of all persons who 
 decline or refuse for reasons of their own, to support that sheet? 
 If so, we are quite sure, indeed, that for the next year they will have 
 but little space for news or other matter. The note is further sar 
 castically alluded to as "polite." This is a fling unworthy of any 
 source, either public or private, since the note is simply a straight 
 forward business one, with no attempt at either politeness or disre 
 spect. Parties have a right to discontinue that paper for reasons 
 of their own, and if that concern means to intimidate people from 
 asserting that right by publishing their declination, with cutting 
 allusions thereto, we do not mistake the character of the people of 
 the county when we say, they will assert that right regardless of the 
 penalty. We make no consideration of the merits of any personal 
 controversy between the parties to the above transaction, as to who 
 is right or who is wrong therein ; it is sufficient for us to know that 
 it is purely personal, that is sufficient to brand with condemnation 
 the attempt to gratify personal ill-will on the part of a newspaper 
 publisher toward a private citizen, by using the great means at his 
 command, in this personal, and positively malicious manner. It is 
 the principle of the thing that we discuss, not the merits of this 
 individual case. 
 
 As far as The Journal is concerned and connected with the 
 principle involved in this article, we can say with the utmost as 
 surance, that we know of matters and things pertaining to the life 
 and record of an individual in this county, which, if made public 
 through its columns, would compel the subject thereof to step down 
 and out from the high position which he occupies in the community, 
 and leave the county in disgrace. But the knowledge is personal 
 and private, it has no concern for the public here, and never should 
 it be used by us except in absolute self-defense. We are willing to 
 take men as they are, and believe in their reform. We care not for 
 their past, as much as for their present. There is no more worthy 
 object of the sympathy and help of his fellow man, than is the poor 
 unfortunate being whom the doors of the State Prison have just 
 shut out into the world again. His attempt to reform and to lead 
 
134 POETRY AND PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 a life of law and virtue should l>e heljK-d, not scorned. The fact 
 that the walls of that prison once restrained him of his liberty, under 
 the law, is no proof that he is a greater rascal at heart, than hundreds 
 of others who escape punishment. 
 
 No journal of character and dignity, will descend to gratify 
 private ends, at public expense. So when the author of the article 
 in last week s issue of the first-named paper, entitled "Gnawing a 
 File," made another direct, and purely personal invasion of private 
 affairs and rights, the comments here made apply as well. We 
 answer the details of that personality in our local columns. The 
 subject matter therein is too gross and vilely personal to disgrace 
 our editorial columns with. We reply at all, merely because a 
 prominent and high judicial officer s name is connected with the 
 scandal. For our own sake we had no occasion to notice the arti 
 cle, nor should we have done so. The Journal is a public newspaper. 
 The private affairs of the editor have no more right to be connected 
 with it than those of any other private citizen. Its columns shall 
 never be used to further his private designs or defend his private 
 wrongs, or make in any manner a personal journal of it. The two 
 characters, private citizen and editor, are and shall be kept distinct 
 and aloof from each other, in all its publication. That is really 
 the best paper, which, like the metropolitan journals, has no person 
 al editor, or name of one, at the head of its columns. His personal 
 identity is then, as it should be, lost. It is the journal and not the 
 man that the public care about. In the local journalism of coun 
 ties, however, this wise rule has not prevailed, and we have but 
 yielded to the common usage and custom in putting any name for 
 ward in connection with the management of The Journal. 
 
 Substance Not Shadow 
 
 This little contrcti nips affords a good opportunity to speak 
 upon a subject which has lain close to the tongue s end of more than 
 one observant citizen within the past few months. It is the saving 
 at the spigot and losing at the bung process of economy adopted by 
 the Board. The chief economical effort, of Supervisors G. and L. 
 most especially, is in the direction of present county officers. The 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 135 
 
 supply of blanks, stationery, office furniture, and the little et-ceteras 
 and wants of the various offices were reduced to such a minimum that 
 officers prefer to furnish them themselves than to run the gauntlet, 
 and be vexed by hunting up some member of that supply commit 
 tee," one of which may be at the Sandwich Islands and the other 
 at the North Pole. When an officer wants something in a hurry 
 he must communicate his wants to either Messrs. L. or G. and ob 
 tain their requisition for it. This would take a week on some oc 
 casions. The supply committee should have a member resident at 
 the county seat who could be reached in time, and make all neces 
 sary requisitions. The present District Attorney found his office 
 without suitable and absolutely necessary blanks, which were want 
 ed immediately, so he went to San Francisco and bought $12.75 
 worth, paying for them out of his own pocket, since under the new 
 "requisition" order he could not present a bill therefor to the Board. 
 He is using his own stamps, paper and envelopes, to the extent of 
 several dollars a month. He must borrow statutes and codes, and 
 other absolutely necessary law-books for his office, or buy them 
 himself. He must give up his office to another officer, probably 
 wanting it with more pressing need, and pay his own office rent. 
 He must go begging, borrowing, stealing that which the Board 
 should promptly furnish him. Yet, when forsooth he presents a 
 petty bill for $5 for services distinctly independent of his office, he 
 is met by the bully of the machine with a column and a quarter of 
 his tornado. And with all this, but let a road master present a bill 
 for a round thousand dollars, more, or less, and not one item of it 
 will be scrutinized, and the Chairman will sing out in his stereotyped 
 cry, "if there is no objection, this bill will pass." It is barely 
 opened, let alone closely examined in its details. And when thus 
 the road funds become exhausted, there comes a steal from the 
 general fund at the expense of the general government of the county 
 and the payment of its officers, to replenish the road exchequer. 
 Instead of petty larceny of $5 at the last Board, Cook should have 
 said something about that grand larceny of $600 as then and there 
 perpetrated. 
 
 And all this, too, with a stable for a Court House and stalls for 
 offices; a building bringing disgrace and reproach upon the people 
 of the county, as well as upon the Board which perpetuates it. A 
 short time ago we had occasion to visit the District Attorney of 
 
136 POETRY AM) PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 Santa Clara County, in his office furnished by the county. We 
 ascended broad flights of massive stone steps, and passed between 
 huge columns of chiselled marble, supporting a high and beautiful 
 dome. We traversed through high and wide halls, paved with 
 tablets of marble. We entered the portals of a huge carved oaken 
 door, swinging back heavily on its massive hinges. We entered a 
 suite of magnificent rooms with high ceilings, marbled walls, great 
 high and wide windows, with gilded cornice and frescoed roof; 
 soft beautiful carpets under the feet; fine book-cases filled with a 
 competent law library; heavy armed-chairs arranged about the 
 room; solid black walnut desks and tables, with beautiful appoint 
 ments. On every hand were the signs and evidence of comfort and 
 convenience; of use and ornament; of the solid substantial wealth 
 of a people. It could but be a pleasure to sit and work in such apart 
 ments, and the thoughts that would come to a man there would be 
 encouraged by the surroundings-:, and be measurably greater, 
 grander. We returned home to the hovel furnished us by San Mateo 
 county. We entered the dismal cell allotted to the District Attor 
 ney of rich San Mateo county. And as we looked around the 
 squalid 7x9 closet, with its narrow dirty walls, its pine tables and 
 broken down chairs, with its cobwebs for frescoes, and two-bit 
 cotton drugget for tapestry carpets, our heart sank within us, the 
 spirit of the scene overcame us, our soul became depressed, and we 
 cried out in our misery, "How long, oh, San Mateo, how long shall 
 you be thus abused, and when shall the time come when you can 
 take your befitting place and sphere in the sisterhood of communi 
 ties?" Civilization, advancement, intellectual and moral progress 
 are stayed, as well as the credit and honor of its people sacrificed by 
 the wretched policy of the county s rulers. And it is from these, 
 and their paid scribblers, come columns of criticisms about five dol 
 lars, indeed, when tens of thousands that should have been placed 
 in county buildings, and other necessary and valuable county 
 property have been yearly squandered on roads and poor- farms, 
 and public printing, and politics and party pets. Away with such 
 mistaken economy as this! Give us the substance of economy, 
 and not its shadow! Let us carp about five thousand dollars, and 
 not five dollars! and let the critics be honest, honorable men, and 
 not hypocrites and frauds. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 137 
 
 Steelheads vs. Blockheads 
 
 As was pretty well believed by the most observing fishermen of 
 California s streams, the theory that all, or nearly, all of the trout 
 species are anadromous (not anandrous, as the Greek editor of 
 the Examiner has it) and that their connection with the sea was not 
 merely an incident but a potent element in their growth and devel 
 opment, has been pretty well established by the scientific investiga 
 tions of Professor Jordan of the Stanford University. The scales 
 of a fish, especially when under the power of the microscope, show 
 distinctive features which are much more used and to be depended 
 upon in classification than the fisher sport s manner of counting 
 teeth and measuring size of mouth, etc., and looking for pink, yel 
 low and red tinges of flesh. The dorsal and anal fins, not only in 
 the number and expansion of the rays, but in the exact form of them, 
 are also leading marks to identify or separate classes of fish. These 
 points not noticeable to the casual observer, who is led away by 
 size and color chiefly together with the particular contour or 
 outline of back and belly, and position of eyes, extremity of nose, 
 etc., are fast settling the long mooted questions of the trout and 
 salmon business. 
 
 It seems our State Fish Commissioners, not hitherto having the 
 fear of science before their eyes, started into the trout hatching 
 business on the diction, chiefly, of local San Francisco sports, whom 
 Dr. Jordan has now tolerably well proven, do not know a six-inch 
 trout from a two-foot salmon, or whether the two are one, or the 
 one are two. For instance, the propagation of the beautiful rain 
 bow trout, as a fresh-water fish, and one, which if placed in the local 
 streams, would add greatly to their proficiency, has been a specialty 
 with the Commissioners for some years; and these, together with 
 the kind sometimes called Dolly Varden, have been placed in 
 streams connecting with the ocean, by the millions. But no fisher 
 man could ever see that the millions added ever gave them another 
 bite next year; and for the very good reason that down to the sea, 
 and out into the Pacific, and possibly off up to the Chinook hook 
 of the Alaska Indian, would go the spotted pets of the Commission 
 ers. Not being born in that stream, their native instinct started 
 them out, on a still hunt for the home waters of that hatchery, and 
 
138 I OKTRY AM) I ROSK SKLKCTIONS 
 
 millions of them are probably today circling the arctic pole, and 
 l>erhnps trying to climb it, in search of that particular Fish Commis 
 sioner who first squeezed their mother and made spawn of them. 
 Thus have these natural sons of Mother Partington been all these 
 years trying to stock the Pacific ocean with trout. 
 
 Dr. Jordan decides that the steel-head salmon, or salmon trout, 
 as more popularly known hereabouts, is the parent fish of nearly 
 all, if not all of our mountain trout. That its habitat and food 
 control its size and color. It may make a "rainbow" trout or a 
 "silver sides." It may be no bigger, full grown, than eight inches, 
 if it does not get out to sea, and feed and grow fat ; or it can develop 
 into the full-fledged salmon trout, of a score or more of pounds, by 
 doing so. All these big things depending upon little circumstances. 
 These conclusions, it is only just to state, have been held as con 
 vincing by more than one of our home fisherman, for a long time. 
 A doubting Thomas, just at our elbow, requests us to ask Prof. 
 Jordan, how it is that the small brook trout of a few inches in length 
 have so far developed as to become breeders, when, if they were but 
 undeveloped steelheads, their propagating power should not appear 
 at so early and immature a stage? 
 
 The Play of the Faculty 
 
 The Freshman class had a circus of their own at the game of 
 baseball between the Faculty and Seniors of Stanford on Saturday. 
 Their sympathy was evidently with the Faculty, but the expression 
 of it was rather warm; in fact, it might be termed hot at times. 
 What with the dinner gong, which they captured from the Seniors, 
 a half dozen tin cans, toot horns, and bugles, and their melodious 
 voices combined, the racket was quite enough to rattle more ex 
 perienced fielders than the Faculty. The latter played well for the 
 first few innings, but the supply of wind wouldn t hold out, and sub 
 stitute runners were put on. This was not to be wondered at, for, 
 when stripped for the fray, the Napoleonic development of some of 
 the Faculty showed that their bellows must be pressed for working 
 room. Beside there was an evident fear on their part that their 
 opponents would make a bull s-eye of the above projection for their 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 139 
 
 swift balls and thus render them horse do come bat. But they 
 batted well when they did come, especially the President, who also 
 showed he was not a broken pitcher. 
 
 Altogether the game was an interesting one, especially for the 
 outsiders. The entire force of the University was in sight, except 
 Roble Hill, which was so hidden by the array of parasols, as they 
 sat on the benches, that they were out of sight. Much nervousness 
 was manifested by the better halves of some of the Faculty, who 
 watched the game closely, lest some unforeseen accident should 
 happen their brave spouses, or that they might drop their dignity 
 in the sand and not find it again. For the arena was sanded ankle 
 deep, and the gait of the weighty ones, as they essayed to run the 
 bases, was an apt reminder of that of the sand crab making for 
 the water, with equal speed from either front. But the exercise 
 was good and showed that the Stanford Faculty are not bench worn 
 nor limping men, but vigorous and active, robust in body as well as 
 in mind, with an abiding faith in the motto, mens sana in sano cor- 
 pore; and that they believe their otium cum dignitate can be en 
 joyed as well in the field as in the corridors of the Quadrangle. 
 
 I Bid Adieu to My Government" 
 
 The United States Courts, through its famous, or otherwise, 
 Marshal Poole, are engaged in prosecuting the dirty work of the 
 railroad company in evicting the Mussel Slough settlers from their 
 lands, by what is facetiously called "legal process." This, more 
 fully explained, means that after poor men are invited by the most 
 solemn promises of security, to settle on otherwise valueless lands, 
 and by their sole labor in introducing water, make the lands valu 
 able, to then be sued by a railroad company which obtained the 
 right to the self-same lands from the people themselves for the 
 extreme value of the lands, as made by the occupants; failing to 
 pay which they must be thrown out of their houses, and their places 
 filled by the disreputable characters employed by the railroad 
 especially for the purpose desperadoes, ex-convicts, and other 
 vagabonds of society, willing, for pay, to do the dirty work of any 
 
140 1 OKTRY AM) I ROSK SKLKCTIONS 
 
 masters. Major McQuiddy, one of the recently dispossessed set 
 tlers, left upon the gate post of his premises, the following expres 
 sion of his opinion: 
 
 "When courts become so corrupt that I have to surrender my 
 house to ex-convicts to satisfy the greed of a thieving corporation, 
 then I bid adieu to the Government and take my chances with those 
 who know nothing of civilization." 
 
 The throwing of these settlers out of the homes created by their 
 own hands under the advice and promise of the men who would 
 now ruin them, is but the sowing of another crop of dragon s teeth, 
 from which in due time must come a full harvest of armed men. 
 As they sow, so shall they reap. Though it be the whirlwind of 
 men s wrath and passion, it must be reaped. The inevitable is 
 
 A Bull and Bear Fight 
 
 The chivalric days of "Old Spain" are returned to us again. 
 Bull and bear fights are the order of the day. The Supervisors of 
 our city, w r ith their usual good taste and discretion, allow the laws 
 to be winked at, and even compromise themselves and the dignity 
 of the city by stationing a police torce, with the silver star of office 
 upon their breasts, around a Sanish bull corral. What next? The 
 future is very uncertain! () temporal () mores! Alas pool 
 Frisco! how art thou degenerating since this turn in the tide of 
 democratic fortune*. The wave of pure democracy which swept over 
 us so suddenly last fall, is now depositing its natural sediment of 
 filth and corruption! Our sacred days are now polluted with the 
 practice of barbarous customs and demoralizing scenes! Our days 
 of festival or thanksgiving devoted to the pursuits of the basest 
 pleasures! The morals of our rising generation contaminated by 
 the unworthy example of their more unworthy guardians! In 
 short, looseness of principles and laxity of morals, impurity of pur 
 pose and degradation in carrying these purposes into execution, 
 mark a new era in the history of Frisco, an era ushered in under 
 the auspices and influence of the dog star of Democracy. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 141 
 
 The "Willows" of Frisco far outshine Wall St. of New York. 
 "Bulls" and "Bears" are here shown in all their native vigor. Our 
 "stock" market does not, it appears, afford sufficient scope for the 
 exercise of the powers of these terrific beasts; and so an amphi 
 theatre is built at the "Willows" and the "animiles" turned loose 
 therein. But poor bruin gets the worst of it, the "bulls" are alto 
 gether "too heavy." The "Little" "bear" of Wall St. is evidently 
 better adapted to fight "bulls" than our tame grizzlies are. On New 
 Year s day some five or six thousand people were assembled at 
 the above-mentioned place to witness, first, a farce between some 
 poor "Greasers" and some poorer bulls. The latter animals were 
 evidently better trained than the former, for "un grande toro" 
 knocked "un hombre," "muy mala 1 in "el estomago" ; and with a 
 grand "carrajo" his "companeros" rushed to his assistance, but 
 whether they rendered the most to the bull or the man was more 
 than I (eye) could see. (There is no implication here whatever 
 that your correspondent was there to see ; he only has the story from 
 an eye (/) witness). Our idea of grizzlies was much reduced by 
 the result of the bull and bear fight which followed. Mr. Grizzly 
 was, practically speaking, nowhere, while Mr. Bull was everywhere. 
 The bull which did fight was a good sized black Spanish steer; the 
 bear which didn t fight was a good sized grizzly bear, in fact a 
 splendid specimen of that only animal, pertaining to California, 
 which, on the authority of "Frank" is exempt from the deteriorating 
 influence of "Electricity." But I couldn t see the point in this case; 
 a finer "battery" applied to animal life than was this black bull s 
 head to this poor grizzly s ribs; and the spectators all bear witness 
 in saying, that the "electric shock" following was very demoralizing 
 on the physical energies of Mr. Bruin. Alas for theories! Grizzly 
 showed a decided inclination to "turn tail" upon the bull. Tis 
 true it was only a short tail, but then that doesn t matter. Old 
 Adams, and many other bare hunters, tell long tales about grizzlies, 
 but this bear s tail was short and soon told. It was the story, told 
 over again on the bull s part, "heads, I win" on the bear s part, 
 "tails, I lose!" 
 
 The conclusion to be drawn from this bare tale is simply this, 
 and I wish, Mr. Editor, you would tell it to "Spiggles," so that when 
 again he shall assume the part of the "bowld mountaineer," and 
 essay to "beard the grizzly in his den," as I understand he has a great 
 
142 POKTRY AM) PROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 predilection for doing, he may take with him the experience of "one 
 who ort to no," and who has the same exalted notion of the prowess 
 of California grizzlies, as has the editor of the Sacramento Union 
 of the utility and valor of the "California Militia" they are a 
 "no-account" sort of an institution, and most decidedly "ain t on 
 it." Ti ll "Spiggles" that when he goes hunting for bares again, to 
 take a bull for a saddle-ftorse, and, mounting him, to mount the 
 mountain top, and there upon its wooded crest, with his maiden 
 spear at rest, Sancho Panza like, saunter along in perfect security, 
 and in full confidence that the first bear he chances to meet will l>e 
 made meat of instanter by the aforesaid hull and that when camped 
 at night, though grizzlies round him roam, no need for fear or 
 fright, the bull will drive them home. So, in the morning, as he 
 saddles up his Rosinante steed, from the fullness of his stomach, 
 he will be led to exclaim, "Oh, bully for the bull! upon thy bare 
 back, oh, bull! bear me back home with my bear, and evermore I will 
 swear to iorbear to bear upon a bear, upon a bare back of a bull!" 
 
 That Awful Head 
 
 The attempt to blow up the New York millionaire Sage, by an 
 anarchist, with a dynamite bomb, whereby he blew himself instead 
 into a thousand eternities, has its philosophical as well as tragical 
 side. It may well be said it had a historical aspect in one view. 
 That was when the dynamiter s head, hoist by his own petard, was 
 carried in a basket to Sage s sick room and set up on a platter, like 
 John the Baptist s on the dancing girl s charger, that it might be 
 identified. 
 
 The awful sight of that grim and ghastly relic of mortality, a 
 bloody human head, lifeless, trunkless, with open eyes staring into 
 the face of that owner of millions as he lay on his couch of pain, 
 must have stirred up feelings in that man of gold though not 
 touched by conscience, yet by the common tie of humanity to 
 question his inmost soul whether purse-strings are really as long 
 and strong as heart-strings; whether the severed head of that mis 
 guided being with its seat of soul and spirit, or the shattered body 
 scattered in fragments to the winds of heaven, with its pockets for 
 the needed gold still empty, made the man; and which was the 
 mortal and which the immortal part? Is Mammon immortal, 
 while man is but mortal? 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 143 
 
 Journal Mites and Palo Alto Items 
 
 The Record speaks of a woman who lost her mind in the streets 
 of San Jose. That ends it, no earthly use to look for it now. The 
 demand for these little things is too great in that town to ever permit 
 of its recovery. 
 
 " Young man," said a Menlo Park divine the other Sunday, 
 to a University boy, as the latter was met carrying a string of fish 
 just caught in the creek, "is this your work, to-day?" "Ye-yes, sir," 
 prayerfully responded young Encina, "you see what they got for 
 chasing up worms on a Sunday." 
 
 Young reporter "The storm king hurled his torn and tum 
 bling torrents over the ruins of the broken and dismembered edi 
 fice." 
 
 Old editor " What s that? What do you mean, young fel 
 low?" 
 
 Young reporter "I er er the flood washed away Patrick 
 McDougal s old soap factory." 
 
 Mrs. Senator Stanford has, very consistently with that Chris 
 tian lady s character, placed a handsome volume of the Bible in 
 each of the student s rooms at the University. Now, from a 
 practical father s point of view, this circumstance suggests a gold 
 en opportunity to prove what the young sons of science there 
 domiciled are, or will be, good for, in the future. A philosophical, 
 as well as practical parent proved it once in this wise: He placed 
 in his son s room a Bible, a silver dollar, a jack-knife and a tempt 
 ing apple, with the intention that if he found the young scion of his 
 house most interested in the Bible, he would make a minister of 
 him; it in the dollar, a merchant; if in the jack-knife, a 
 carpenter; if in the apple, an agriculturist. He entered the 
 room after a proper time, to find the young man sitting on the 
 Bible, with the dollar in his pocket, and paring and eating the apple 
 with the jack-knife. Laying his hand affectionately and encourag 
 ingly on the curly locks before him, he said: "Young man, 
 you ll make a good lawyer," and ha did. We opine that this test 
 applied in the rooms of Encina Hall will turn out more than one 
 "good lawyer." 
 
144 POETRY AND PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 The Boss is Dead!" "Long Live the Boss! 
 
 The outside press seems to think that San Jose is the only boss- 
 ridden town in the state; when the fact is nearly every city has its 
 gang of bosses and hoodlers. Phoenix. 
 
 Yes, and ever will have as long as American politics are run as 
 they now are. The "Boss" is just as essential in the existing con 
 formation of the political affairs of a city or county or state, as is 
 the ruler to a people, or a king to a kingdom. Politics, as is, cannot 
 be run without bosses, and the bigger the tyrant and the stronger 
 the leader the boss is, the bigger and stronger the party hold. 
 
 The people are not in the politics of American governments, as 
 yet, by no means. They may flatter themselves that they are, but 
 the Bosses and their followers can tell them they know better. 
 The People do the voting, it is true, but they follow their leaders as 
 blindly, as sheep. Once in a while they get suddenly ashamed of 
 their demure and abject following, and boast aloud: "We are 
 the People," but the Bosses only retire a step or two to the rear, 
 until the spasmodic outburst is over, and to the front they come 
 a.u.tin. It one Boss is downed, another takes his place, without loss 
 of time. Their succession is as sure as that of Princes to their 
 thrones. Politics can not actually be run successfully without 
 bosses. The statement is humiliating to make, but the fact behind 
 the statement is doubly so, sorrowfully so. The fault is in the 
 people, of course. They have got used to it now, and are pleased 
 to be led. It takes off so much of the responsibility of the average 
 citizen, if somebody will only run his politics for him. He has so 
 much more time to attend to business in. He is relieved of all 
 Ixjther and worry over public matters. After all, what are public 
 matters are only every txxly s business, and what is everybody s 
 business is nobody s business; therefore the boss picks up the lines 
 right where the people drop them, and on goes the chariot of free 
 dom right merrily. 
 
 The Primary, now sanctified and blessed so supremely by the 
 solemn hands of the law lain upon it> innocent head, is not the sa 
 cred child of the family politic that devoted believers imagine it to 
 be. It is but a faint and false representation, a delusion and a 
 snare. The primary system in American politics is father to more 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 145 
 
 political evils and troubles than all else in our elective policy. The 
 primary is the tool of the Boss. It was made for him and by him. 
 As long as the primary exists, the Boss will exist. As long as the 
 Boss lives, the People will be dead to their political rights and free 
 dom. They may exult in a moment of short-lived virtuous victory 
 and shout as San Jose now does, "The Boss is dead"; but on the 
 morrow s morn, when exulting cocks of victory crow, above their 
 clarion notes will be heard a still louder and more exulting shout: 
 "Long live the Boss!" A new one is reinstated. The corpse of 
 the old one is yet warm. "The King is dead! Long live the King!" 
 
 Church Going 
 
 Rev. Geo. H. Smith, on Sunday morning, the 22d ult., at the 
 Congregational Church in this city, delivered a well prepared and 
 eloquent discourse on the activity and earnestness of St. Paul in 
 the cause of his great Master, showing that as St. Paul viewed sin 
 and its results to mankind, he was not too enthusiastic or over 
 earnest in behalf of his work. 
 
 The fact seems evident that notwithstanding the best efforts of 
 the pulpits to fill their churches, there are altogether too many va 
 cant seats still. Some of Paul s enthusiasm should enter into the 
 spirit of this people and cause them to become church-goers. Why 
 this indifference and want of feeling in the matter? There are 
 people enough in this town and immediate vicinity to fill every 
 church in it to overflowing, each Sabbath. Yet, two churches are 
 now closed, or might as well be, and the remainder are not half at 
 tended. It is a dispiriting, thankless task, one would think, on the 
 part of an earnest, zealous minister, to see his best efforts of so little 
 avail. 
 
 Church-going is a habit, and like other habits, when left off for 
 a time it becomes much weaker, and finally disappears. It is for 
 the women of this community to break through this apathy and 
 indifference and set the example to their sons and daughters, hus 
 bands, brothers, and friends, to attend church at least once on each 
 Sabbath. Let the work commence now; let each one resolve that 
 she, at least, will be a regular attendant at church, and quickly 
 
146 I OKTRY AND PROSK SKLKCTIONS 
 
 i lu- empty pews will l>e filled. The example is contagious, and each 
 will induce at least one other to attend. Try it, women, and see 
 how your husbands will soon want to go with you! Try it, girls, 
 and see how the young men will soon be there, too! In fact, to do 
 these latter justice, a large proportion of the present church-goers 
 are the young people. It is amongst the men and women that the 
 trouble seems to exist. The ease and lazy comfort of a Sunday at 
 home, in slippers and dressing gown, are too enticing for many peo 
 ple. Break through your lazy habits, and go to church, we say! 
 This community is giving way to the dry-rot, socially, morally, and 
 intellectually. Commence on the first day of the week to work a 
 radical cure, and the disorder is more than half abated. Go to 
 church! Let the religious part of it out of your calculations, if 
 necessary, and if you want it so; but go, on moral grounds; go, 
 on social grounds; go, even on the lowest of all, intellectual grounds; 
 but still, go, and you will be happier, better, wiser. 
 
 Very Modern Journalism 
 
 It is the universal wish, beyond much perad venture, of news 
 paper loving and reading people, that the "great dailies" would get 
 down to the ability of their readers. By this is meant not in quali 
 ty, for they have not got up to that, but in quantity. If the pub 
 lishers of these mammoth sheets of twelve, twenty, forty, even 
 sixty closely printed pages, issued day after day, flatter themselves 
 that there is a single reader within the limit of their circulation who 
 reads a moiety of what is served up to them, then their conceit is 
 bigger than the mountain of their effort. These newspaper people 
 evidently think that other people have nothing else to do, and want 
 to do nothing more than sit and read and read and sit; for a man 
 would certainly fall in a fit, if he undertook to stand and read the 
 stuff. 
 
 This making a monthly magazine out of a daily newspaper is 
 not relished so keenly by the American people as some publishers 
 t>elieve. The ambition to print the biggest sheet has got many of 
 the strivers pretty well out of their senses. It is true that some of 
 them hadn t far to go, but they have got there all the same. This 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 147 
 
 great mass of indigestible, unread and unreadable printed matter is 
 not only useless, but absolutely hurtful. It lessens the apprecia 
 tion of all good and worthy effort. It palls the mental sense of the 
 would-be reader, overwhelms the understanding, and one stands 
 paralyzed by the magnitude of the job placed before him, and in 
 despair throws down the sheet without having read a tithe of what 
 he would, were it but possible for human effort to compass the whole, 
 or anything near to it. It cheapens the value of all printed matter, 
 just as an over-production of any article necessarily lessens the 
 value and consideration of it. The present situation is really de 
 plorable, and the more to be deplored because it is fast getting 
 worse. 
 
 The contest for the largest sheets has already gone so far as to 
 surpass the ability of the publishers themselves, in many instances, 
 to fill their square yards and almost rods of white paper with al 
 phabetical combinations; so the result is a resort to sketches and 
 drawings and pictures, and black lines and marks and dots on a 
 white surface, arranged in an oval form and facetiously denominated 
 the profiles of "prominent citizens," etc. These caricatures of the 
 artists work are plainly enough merely to fill up with. The type 
 fonts of the establishment are exhausted, and even slugs and leads 
 and misere dashes are of no further avail. The strife of contention 
 has waxed too hot, and the lines are too extended for any small con 
 siderations. Even the existing times and age are too narrow in 
 their limit to furnish food for these gluttons of the press. Gigantic 
 frames and skeletons of pre-historic monsters, in double and treble 
 column porportions, are expanded upon and drawn out until some 
 of their tails are many feet long. 
 
 And all this is presented to the reader as the "morning news." 
 Why, old Noah himself disdained to take these brutes into the ark 
 with him, and now the morning searcher after news must delve 
 down amongst their musty bones for scraps of intelligence. If it is 
 the design of these publishers to burlesque the business of news- 
 making, caricature the art of journalism, make the legitimate re 
 porter a tertiary deposit, and the editor an entirely unknown quan 
 tity, with the noble art of printing the art preservative of all arts 
 reduced to a mere exponent of a factor no higher than that of an 
 illustrated comic almanac, then it may well be said their object is 
 fully and fairly accomplished. 
 
14S 
 
 POKTRY AND I ROSK SKLK( TIONS 
 
 His Uncle, 
 SIMEON ROUSE, 
 
 Who built the first Presbyterian Church 
 
 in C ortland, and didn t get 
 
 paid for it. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 149 
 
 Journal Mites and Palo Alto Items 
 
 According to the T. & G., Sheriff G must be the most 
 profound linguist in the land. He can read German from the ashes 
 of burnt letters. Let us see whether he can read English as well, 
 from the ashes of his burnt hopes, this fall. 
 
 A grand and worthy offshoot of the Stanford educational 
 system would be the founding of a school for the thorough intellect 
 ual training of all maimed, crippled and disabled youth of both 
 sexes, who are otherwise debarred from making a living, or of being 
 of any use to themselves or to the world. A nobler charity could 
 hardly be conceived of, nor one more necessary, or that would be so 
 fully appreciated and made the utmost of by its beneficiaries. 
 
 Some smart Alecks, probably as drunk as fools, and as fool 
 ish as drunk, stripped the decorations from the front of several 
 buildings in town on Monday night. Flags, bunting, streamers 
 and lanterns were torn down and destroyed. We call them drunk 
 for charity s sake ; but if they were sober and did the deed as a lark, 
 or a matter of fun, the young loafers had better go home and hide 
 their heads under their mother s apron strings until they get sense 
 enough to walk alone. One apron string is quite enough to cover 
 all the brains they have got, or ever will have. There is such a 
 thing as fun and fun, but such a trick as this is neither fun nor trick; 
 it is nothing but pure unadulterated cussedness, inborn and inbred. 
 Were we a young man incapable of devising more appropriate mat 
 ter of fun than this malicious mischief, we would enlist in the regu 
 lar army, and getting ourself attached to the stable department, 
 lead government mules to water, lying down every night with a 
 prayer upon our lips that the morning sun might shine on the noble 
 brute with sense enough to kick our wretched brains all over that 
 mule trough, so that we could fill up the empty hollow with some 
 thing decent and tolerable to civilized society. If every mule 
 would refuse the dirty job, as it naturally would, we d crawl into a 
 squirrel hole and smother the thankless life out of us with bisulphide 
 of carbon, the stinkingest stuff in the drug shop. 
 
150 1 OKTRY AM) PKOSK SELECTIONS 
 
 Breaking the Record 
 
 Says a recent despatch from Chicago: "Jas. Charlsen broke 
 the record today with a frightful fall of nineteen stories from the top 
 of the new Masonic Temple; every bone in his body was broken, 
 and the corpse presented a frightful spectacle. The distance to 
 the ground was covered in three seconds." It is now the proper 
 thing to time everything that moves, from a bob-tail car to a carrier 
 pigeon. A man can be truly said to have broken the record when 
 he has broken every bone in his body. He has broken his own rec 
 ord, anyway. Then the exact time of his descent being given is so 
 fearfully American like. Just think of a man on the sidewalk haul 
 ing out his patent timer, as the poor mortal starts from his dizzy 
 height, and when the body strikes the pavement with a "dull and 
 sickening thud" the reporter forgot to put that in to slap his 
 thigh in a moment of exulting glee as he exclaims, "just three sec 
 onds; by George, who can beat that?" To time a man s flight 
 into eternity may not be so bad in the abstract, but then, as for our- 
 self, we should prefer it with a pair of wings hooked on, after the 
 gcxxl old bible way of getting there. 
 
 Aestheticism Aestheticised 
 
 This from Oakland, nee "Athens" : 
 
 "On the steps of the Hall of Records, Deputy Recorder Chase 
 sold at auction the personal effects of Louisa Hess, the girl who com 
 mitted suicide at Laundry Farm several months ago. The blood 
 stained nickel-plated revolver brought $2. A well-worn nickel open 
 face watch was sold for the same price; while the leather hand 
 satchel, also spattered with blood, brought $2.25. The looking- 
 glass into which the demented girl gazed as she placed the pistol to 
 her head, her comb and brush, shoes, slippers, jacket, hat, empty 
 purse and other small things sold for a few cents. The gas nippers 
 and the long rubber tubing which she intended to have used to 
 asphyxiate herself, if she had found a suitable room, went for 25 
 cents. A silver thimble and nail cleaner also sold for 25 cents." 
 
 And all this from the aesthetic center of the State; from the 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 151 
 
 moral and intellectual hub of the social wheel; from the high toned, 
 fine tuned, over strung, double grand, the very precise and proper 
 city of Oakland! The city of churches, of schools par excellence, 
 of young ladies seminaries of learning strung up to the top-notch of 
 the gamut. Oakland! the especial home of the pride and dignity of 
 Frisco, that city of the sinful, too vile a place to live in for the 
 creme-de-la-creme, who would cross the raging main night and morn, 
 to escape its pollution. 
 
 Now, these personal effects of the poor dead girl should be pre 
 sented, by the purchasers, to the city of refinement across the bay, 
 to the end that they be placed in a glass case, with a velvet edge 
 about it, to keep contaminating dust away, and set up in the Hall 
 of Records as a monumental record of either the cupidity or stu 
 pidity of Oakland s governmental officials. The coffin of the dead 
 one might, perhaps, with equal good taste, be disinterred and stood 
 up in the same public department, with the valuable belongings of 
 the dead on top. It might not be amiss to drop the upper part of 
 the coffin lid, and then the "record" is complete, and no future 
 "Recorder" could find fault with the perfection of his predecessor s 
 records. 
 
 Thanks Giving 
 
 This day comes but once a year, queerly enough, for why 
 should we not be thankful every day? Ah, but there is the turkey. 
 Perhaps it is best as it is. It is certainly better for the turkeys. 
 And then the day calls for a summing up of the causes for which we 
 are, or ought to be, thankful. This may be a little irksome to some 
 of us. To consider ourself as under obligation to others implies 
 humility, and to be humble is not one of the cardinal virtues of 
 man. So perhaps it is better that the strain of a confessional de 
 pendence be not placed upon all of us too often. 
 
 How purely mechanical this day comes around to many men. 
 The public proclamation and the private dinner begins and ends 
 all conscientious scruples, Other folk may do the thanking; we ll 
 follow, in our minds, as a matter of course, the open conventionali- 
 
152 1 OKTRY AM) I ROSK SKI-K(TI<>\> 
 
 ties of the day perhaps suspend our routine of business for a twen 
 ty-four hours, but the observance is purely superficial; duty has 
 little part in it, conscience none at all. The church and Christians 
 must do the leading, Ix? the hosts of the day; the masses are the 
 guests, and will follow at a respectful distance the empty forms only 
 of the occasion. 
 
 Is it then so true that we are all such a thankless lot? So 
 independent, as it were, of the Creator and the created, and like 
 the anarchists and socialists affect to despise all sources of authority, 
 all external control and influences? Yes, man is a supremely sel 
 fish animal. His carnal appetites are all in all to him, and as long 
 as they are satisfied, the sources of their supply are of no particular 
 consequence. He was born, brought into the world, he says, with 
 out being consulted. He is not responsible for his coming or his 
 going. He is one only amongst ten thousand. And should he, 
 by accident, Ixicome chief of that ten thousand, his vanity cries 
 out: "I made myself; I have no one to thank for it but myself." 
 Thus he lives and reasons out the mysteries of his existence. His 
 conscience may argue with him at times on different lines. Tell 
 him how helpless he was once as an infant in his mother s arms; 
 how the daily support of life had then to be furnished him by others; 
 how impotent in his human weakness to even perpetuate the life 
 that was given him. Hut in answer, he will throw himself back up 
 on the still stubborn independence of his spirit, and defy you, 
 pointing to the brutes that were as helpless as he, and yet were 
 nourished and grew to maturity, thanking neither parent, nor na 
 ture, much less nature s Author. 
 
 So to be a thankful soul, man must forget his animal part, and 
 rrmrinluT only hi> higher r\i>tcn<v. lie miiM M-|>. irate himself 
 from the mere brute creation and bring himself within the realms 
 of the intellectual and spiritual. To be truly thankful involves 
 more than a mere bread and butter existence. Even a turkey din 
 ner with cranberry sauce is not a thing to particularly call forth 
 thanks from men. Mere physical existence is part and parcel of 
 the common lot of all life. To live, alone, implies supplied suste 
 nance and support. But the food for the spiritual, intellectual and 
 moral natures of human beings, is akin to "angel food," and is so 
 far above and beyond the pabulum that makes but flesh and blood, 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 153 
 
 that it calls from man s inner being, or should call from it, profound 
 thanks for its supply, and that by it he was made and is reared a 
 man, and not simply a created thing. 
 
 Creation is irresponsible and therefore irresponsive and thank 
 less to any creator. All created matter obeys, or yields obedience, 
 only blindly and through natural laws. It never looks up through 
 creation to the Creator, nor through nature to nature s God. This 
 is left for the immortal part of man alone to do. And for this great 
 gift he should be thankful; he cannot be too truly and sincerely 
 thankful for it. Let us then this day, set apart but once in the 
 annual circuit of time, conquer our innate selfishness, acknowledge 
 humbly our dependence, and thank the Supreme One, not merely 
 that we are permitted to live and have the wherewith to support 
 that life, but rather that we were born with souls, with spiritual 
 and intellectual needs, and that these have been supplied and fed, 
 and that the life within us is a life immortal. 
 
 The Fierce Spirit of Youth 
 
 The Berkeley "Junior-day Farce," in which the Faculty are 
 criticised freely once a year, has been sat down on by the Faculty 
 this year, as being derogatory to their dignity. The Juniors are 
 much exercised over the situation. The Berkeley college paper, 
 "Occident," is also in trouble from having published charges that 
 members of the Faculty get drunk at Haggerty s. The stream 
 of college life, like true love, seldom runs smooth. Russia has found 
 her most turbulent citizens to be college students. America seems 
 to find in the intellectual young man of her universities, one whose 
 ideas of liberty and license are also badly mixed. A little more 
 muscular work nature s balance wheel to the nervous engine of 
 the young and the forces of life will be expended in more harmon 
 ious action with duty; while the clashing of the fierce swords of 
 youth against the shields of age, instead of that now harsh jangling 
 which makes a perpetual discord, will then sound as nature s music 
 to go ringing down through the avenues of time. Guardians of 
 youth are fully recognizing this elementary principle of nerve con 
 trol, and, in consonance with it, establishing gymnasiums and tennis 
 
154 I OKTRY AM) PROSK SKLKCTIONS 
 
 courts, encouraging hall games and running matches. The pent- 
 up forces of strong youth must have a safety valve, else the pres 
 sure explodes the nervous generator and makes sad wreck of all 
 within reach. The condemnation, and oft times galling criticism, 
 of college athletics, coming from busy marts of trade, are unjust, 
 and are made without full consideiation. These are not time wasted 
 but are an essential part of the educational as well as moral train 
 ing of youth. And by youth is meant both sexes. The same neces 
 sity exists for girls gymnasiums and out-door sports as for boys, 
 and this necessity is at last being fortunately understood and prop 
 erly provided for. 
 
 So Much For It 
 
 The railroad franchise in this county was assessed at $2,000 per 
 mile, making $50,000. The Company applied to have it reduced to 
 $25 for the whole, on the ground that it was of no more value than 
 the cost of filing the incorporation papers. Brown had it reduced 
 to $40 per mile, with the aid of Green and Lawrence on what 
 principle of computation no man may ever know, unless he d fall into 
 a Brown study; then might heaven help the poor unfortunate, for 
 softening of the brain would naturally follow. Now that franchise 
 was either worth something, like the State Board s figures for it, or 
 nothing, like the Company s figures for it. It is a complete sur 
 prise to common sense to find a man so Green or Brown as to fix such 
 unmeaning figures as $40 per mile for a great railroad franchise. We 
 do insist that there is not to be found in all nature, another Brown 
 so green, or a Green so Brown, as to give color of right to such a 
 Spring Valley dam nonsensical valuation of property as this. It 
 makes one sick of his kind, as well as kind of sick, to contemplate 
 such a complete debauch of mentality, and such a base prostitution 
 of human intellect. Now give us Darwin! Tell us we are descend 
 ed from Asiatic apes or African baboons, and we ll rejoice over the 
 present situation, as one consistent with our ancestry. But to say 
 that such stock could come, as Adam came, fresh from the hands of 
 the Almighty, is an eternal libel on the Creator, and an infernal 
 disgrace to Adam s sons. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 155 
 
 Journal Mites and Palo Alto Items 
 
 Santa Clara county is proud over the expected publication 
 of a county history. So was this county until it was published, 
 and then it would have been proud to have collected all said histories 
 and burnt them. County Histories are frauds nine times out of 
 ten, and the tenth time is only when the history is not published. 
 
 The Castroville Enterprise heads an editorial article: "We 
 are Squeezed." Now, since that Editor is an Editoress, we feel, 
 being a bachelor Editor, professionally jealous, and demand as a 
 right to know the name of the miserable feller that is doing the 
 squeezing. We feel bound to offer all the protection possible, even 
 to killing the miscreant. 
 
 Oh! dear, what a lot of horrid dumps they must be over there 
 in that little New York town. Just think of it! It seems hardly 
 possible, yet it is even so reported. After the Sage dynamite bomb 
 went off last week, a human leg was found in the building, and all 
 New York was baffled to know to a certainty whether it was a 
 woman s or not. The idea! It s perfectly preposterous. In 
 doubt, indeed! Why, it is a huge libel on the sex, and on the other 
 sex, too. Couldn t tell! Pshaw! What nonsense! What duffers 
 they are over there, to be sure. It makes one tired. 
 
 There is a divorce suit pending in San Benito County, 
 says the Advance, of a man aged 78 from his wife aged 72. They 
 have been married over fifty years. "An old fool for a big fool." 
 But the old man should not be judged so harshly of. No man may 
 know how he has suffered in that last fifty years, and how now, 
 with one foot in the grave, he wants a chance to put the other in, 
 in peace of his own accord, and not be pushed in headlong. These 
 are dangerous matters to judge men of. This old man may deserve 
 great credit. Possibly another man would have been divorced 
 forty-nine years ago. There is no telling how noble a hero he may 
 be, and how he has struggled through, hoping death would relieve 
 him at last. But now that the three score and ten mark is reached 
 he has a right to wait no longer for old death. We hope he ll get 
 his divorce and marry again, just to spite the old woman. Then 
 she ll live ten years longer just to wait to see him buried. And so 
 there ll be great joy all around. 
 
156 I OKTRY AM) PKOSK SKI.KCTIONS 
 
 Purer Politics 
 
 It is probable that the American people will learn more of par 
 ty principles, and of the essential differences between the political 
 parties in the country during the coming Presidential campaign, 
 than ever before. Heretofore there seemed to all parties to be but 
 one way to make a political party issue, and that was to abuse the 
 leaders, the nominees of the opposite party, or of all other parties. 
 Personality was essential to a complete success in this sort of fight. 
 Detectives and experts were put upon the track of the men desired 
 to be defeated, and the history of their lives was ransacked from 
 the cradle, along up through their boyhood to manhood, and on to 
 age. Their slightest words and deeds looking toward any possible 
 mortal weakness, were diligently recorded against them. Perhaps 
 if these were not exaggerated and misrepresented, as they undoubt 
 edly ever have been, then there might be some good come from even 
 as apparent an unmixed evil as this, so that men in public life, and 
 connected with governmental matters, would be ever mindful of 
 the "great hereafter," when they should become ambitious and 
 aspire to still higher things, and would be more careful to keep their 
 skirts clean, and their record as straight as possible. But owing 
 to the gross exaggeration and falsehood used in writing up the his 
 tories of political candidates during campaign time, men have be 
 come to be hardened and desperate, careless and indifferent as to 
 such records, knowing that they will be infinitely falsified, and gross 
 ly and unjustly assailed, though they should be as pure as Caesar s 
 wife. Again, all sensitive, nervous, moral men, have on this ac 
 count, shrunk from coming forward for public positions, knowing 
 the result, that their private characters, and that of their very house 
 holds, would l>e ruthlessly assailed. Hence American politics have 
 degenerated, constantly forcing to the surface the most unscrupu 
 lous men, indifferent alike to good or evil report concerning them, 
 anxious only for the office at any hazard of character or reputation. 
 It is now noticeable that the best citizens of the- republic, and of the 
 State, and of the county, and of the municipality, are not, and nev 
 er want to be, office-holders or seekers. The gauntlet to run in 
 getting there is too much of an ordeal to permit them to take the 
 first step in the pursuit. Highly hononibh men are highly sensi- 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 157 
 
 tive, and the horror of being dragged headlong through the political 
 slums of the public thoroughfares, in sight of the body of the people, 
 tied to the tail of some miserable party horse, is quite too much for 
 such men. 
 
 It is to be ardently hoped that the apparently radical changes 
 in this respect, now being inaugurated, will be lasting, and become 
 indeed radical. In no other way will political life become purified, 
 and the republic s best citizens become willing to take an active 
 part in her politics. There is still a hard fight ahead, however, to 
 fully establish this new order of things. The old politicians are not 
 in sympathy with the reform movement. Too many of them will, 
 by it, be ruled out altogether, and their occupation lost. Nothing 
 but a concerted action on the part of the reform press, backed by 
 the approval of the masses, which is now unqualifiedly offered them, 
 will ever fully establish this political millennium. 
 
 Spring Thoughts 
 
 Our inspiration being seriously pinched by reading an essay on 
 "Winter Thoughts" appearing in a late paper published not more 
 than a thousand miles away we were instantly and thereupon im 
 pelled, by that unseen hand which ever prompts genius, to sit us 
 down in the quiet twilight and give vent to our feelings. We had 
 to do it or we should have "bust." That "Winter Thoughts" got 
 us in our soft place; it went right to our weak spot, and with a 
 swelling heart, and a spirit full of tears, bubbling o er with emotion 
 and sentiment, and feller-feelin , we described these stanzas, en 
 titling them: 
 
 OWED TO SPRING 
 By A. Lark 
 
 This is the time for thoughts to spring. Now or never is our 
 motto. After Winter Thoughts" come spring thoughts, as natural 
 ly as a poodle dog takes to fleas, or vice versa. We sit with our win 
 dow close shut, for fear of being strangled by the balmy breeze that 
 floats gently o er our moustache, steals through our expanded nos 
 trils, and thus up and on and in and down, even to our very boots. 
 The lazy bums sit in the sweet sunshine holding up the gratefully 
 
158 I OKTRY AM) PROSK SKLI-XTK )\S 
 
 warm brick walls. The delicious odor of the fragrant meadows that 
 close shut in our beauteous bay on every hand, steal gently o er 
 us like a springtime dream of fair women and brave men, and were 
 it not for the fact that our boots were already full, it would even 
 steal there, too. With our "blue glass" we look a hundred and thir 
 ty miles away over the expanse of the beautiful bay, and see the 
 daisies grow on the green hill sides, and the violets greet their pan 
 sy brides, all glimmering and shimmering under the glory of a mad 
 March sun. Without turning around we see in the opposite direc 
 tion, well what do we see? why, our eyes walled in by lofty moun 
 tain w r alls that rear their majestic heads athwart our vision, clad in 
 verdure to their very summit, even as that immortal hirsute ap 
 pendage rises in its grandeur from the immense proboscis of "Km- 
 peror Norton" and darkens his celestial vision. Oh fearful walls! 
 ( )h immense proboscis! To the north, still standing still, and chuck 
 ing our blue glass in the gutter, we see w r ith our clear blue eyes (re 
 flection from the aforesaid glass) a smoky horizon lowering like a 
 dim dark curtain of fate shutting out a bright vision of future hope, 
 and settling like a pall of night and darkness o er the classic pre 
 cincts of Long Bridge and Butchertown. Oh Long Bridge! Oh 
 Butchertown! California skyes, (skyc-terriers) bend like a hoop 
 above us, or hoop like a bend above us, as if a coterie of dog-stars, 
 even the great Sirius, were smiling down upon us with their bright 
 twinkling eyes, rejoicing to be hung in the heavens by the hand of 
 Omnipotence over the fair fields of this grand old California while 
 squirrels, hawks, and hawking owls, fill the grand expanse of na 
 ture with their merry tuneful warblings, reminding one of the Hap 
 py Family in Barnum s Museum, or any other man s museum. Oh 
 Happy Family! Oh, any other man! We are filled to the brim 
 with these deep emanations of an overflowing soul, while up to the 
 top of our old felt hat climb memories, oh sweet memories! of a 
 land three thousand miles away, and of the gal we left behind us. 
 In our mind s eye we think we see her even now gliding swiftly over 
 the beautiful snow, muffled in furs and warm robe*, with a spanking 
 team of matchless bays, bob-tailed at that, no white in the face, 
 with the merry jingle of the sleigh-bells keeping time to their 
 prancing steps while the sweeter sublimer music of two loving 
 hearts, beating as one, light and joyous as the feathery snowflakc 
 that comes floating so ><>ttly down from the crystal depths of an 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 159 
 
 azure sky to light upon the tip of that off-horse s ear, thence to be 
 shaken into a thousand atoms, while that miserable "other fellow" 
 whispers sweet words and soft nonsense into an ear, that was once 
 only too willing that we should sit upon and fill with our melodious 
 warblings. Oh fickle gal! Oh miserable fellow! So man declares 
 that nature supplies to his joys in every land beneath the sun, or the 
 moon, or twinkling stars, making us all better prepared to enjoy our 
 matutinal meal, with soft-boiled eggs and quail on toast as side- 
 dishes, thanks to the productive hens and feathered tribes of this 
 great and glorious country. 
 
 Diabolism 
 
 On the 14th of February last, the T. &G. in an editorial, said: 
 "The Watsonville Transcript is now issued semi-weekly. It is a 
 lively, spicy, newsy, enterprising and interesting newspaper, a cred 
 it to the community which supports it, and no doubt sufficiently 
 remunerative to its wideawake and accomplished editor, Wm. H. 
 Wheeler, Esq." Two weeks ago the same paper spoke very libel- 
 lously and meanly of the self-same Transcript, and its editor, the 
 self-same gentleman. The only possible reason for this change of 
 opinion is that the Transcript has had the audacity to speak highly 
 of the Journal, recently. This is quite enough to excite the animosi 
 ty and revenge of Spring Valley s tool. Did Mr. Wheeler but live 
 in this county, he would now be made to feel the lash of their re 
 venge. It is the sin unpardonable for any newspaper or individual 
 in the county or out of it, to speak well of the Journal. Such things 
 are watched for and bitterly resented. Spring Valley s hatred is 
 of the hot and heating kind ; the sort that they melt up in hell and 
 pour over devils to give a bright and sulphurous glow to their scales; 
 but they had better save what they ve got of it, for they ll w r ant it 
 all when they get to where the article is in good demand. This 
 Christian land has no need of it, and good Christians, like their 
 editor, should not indulge in its use, in this bitter, revengeful way. 
 
 Mr. Wheeler, in replying to the uncalled for attack upon him, 
 says: "It pays to do right, Bro. Cook, but we are afraid you will 
 never live long enough to discover that fact by experience. The 
 remainder of your article is principally as false as the part we have 
 quoted. Post yourself a little on the subjects you discuss, Bro. Cook, 
 and you will be able to make a better impression on the public." 
 
160 POETRY AM) PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 Hark! From the Skies a Cheering Sound ! 
 
 Oh, yc valiant sons of ease you, ye noble sons of toil! 
 To the traders of the seas to the tillers of the soil! 
 Need I tell that ye stand upon the threshold of a morn, 
 Akin in glory to the day when sound of angel s horn 
 Shall sweep o er earth, informing man in one triumphant tone, 
 That Gabriel approaches, heralding a greater One. 
 
 The eastern skies in radiance shine, and all therein is bright; 
 
 The cloud that hid their beauty in the darkness of the night 
 
 Is gone aye, gone forever! but a tracery now appears, 
 
 Nor care we for the oracles of Prophets old or Seers, 
 
 To tell us of the future, and that never, never more 
 
 Its blackening form shall mar the skies as in the days of yore. 
 
 With Phoebus steeds, in gilded car, on wheels of living fire, 
 
 There comes a minstrelsy of Truth now list ye to its lyre: 
 
 E en as David swept the "Harp which was greater than his throne, 
 
 These angel minstrels tuned the air with voices all their own. 
 
 As up the steep of Heaven they climb, celestial strains I hear, 
 
 So wild, so deep, they seem to thrill the soul as well as ear. 
 
 Twas thus they sang, with varied touch of golden reed and string- 
 On, would such notes were oftener heard through heaven s welkin 
 
 ring! 
 
 The sweetness and the joyousness of that angelic strain 
 Could wake the heavy heart from grief, and make it young again. 
 Though it by Sorrow had been nursed and rocked by Slavery long, 
 Its grief would part, its chains would burst, at echo of that song: 
 
 "Oh, sacred Truth! mong sons of men thy triumph ceased awhile, 
 And Hope, thy sister, bowed with grief, ceased with thee to smile, 
 When long the plains of earth thou look st and saw a saddening 
 
 sight; 
 
 Weary mortals travelling on amid a starless night, 
 Whil st all around were clanking chains upheld by human hands, 
 Which, clasped in prayer, besought of thee to loose their cruel bands. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 161 
 
 "Could st thou, O daughter of the skies, behold with unconcern 
 The souls of men the gift of Heaven in one sepulchral urn 
 Entombed, and view the unfathomed darkness of despair pervade 
 The dominions of God s creatures, who in his own mould were 
 
 made? 
 
 No; thou could st not; but thy pure breast filled with indignation 
 Thy tearful eye upturned to Heaven, there sought the Slave s salvation. 
 
 "And thou hast found it. Glorious Truth, let thine be all the praise! 
 Victorious chants we ll sing to thee, and, through Time s endless 
 
 days, 
 
 Garlands of flowers we ll wreathe, as fillets of a worthy Priest 
 To crown thee with, as once with thorns foul Error crowned a Christ ; 
 On wings of love we ll waft thee to Jehovah s high abode, 
 On bended knee, before His throne, proclaim thy mission good." 
 
 Oh, when in midst of Israel s gloom a fiery pillar rose, 
 
 And as they marched through desert land, their pathway clearly 
 
 shows ! 
 
 Oh, when proud Pharaoh bold essayed to follow through the waves, 
 And tide of waters rolled within to fill those warriors graves! 
 Oh, when the sun stood still in heaven and turn d red as blood, 
 While Freedom s conquering hosts rushed on with Joshua at their 
 
 head! 
 
 True to his written word the Mighty God did rule the land ; 
 
 The destiny of nations held in "hollow of his hand." 
 
 E en now again we witness "the coming of the Lord," 
 
 Who s "loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword." 
 
 Let us march out to meet him, and we ll join that heavenly throng, 
 
 Whose banner white, in words of gold, has thus inscribed thereon : 
 
 "Error and Slavery, thrice armed in coats of iron mail, 
 
 O er Truth and Freedom, unarmored and unarmed, can ne er prevail. 
 
 Though the heavens fall, and all earth in tears and ashes wail. 
 
 Truth fore Error, Freedom fore Slavery, must and shall not quail" 
 
 Consistent with this principle let us triumphant live, 
 
 \Vith offered prayer and sacrifice to Him who st all things give. 
 
162 POKTRV AM) PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 And true to those great interests entrusted to our care, 
 
 Let us resign our Present weal and Future glory share; 
 
 All sordid -minded ness we ll leave with narrow selfish ends, 
 
 And rising far above our Self we ll soar where Truth e er tends. 
 
 Her path is one of light in which a Universe is seen 
 
 To traverse round and round in faith ; and thus has t always been. 
 
 What worth to us our petty lives, our fortunes, interests all, 
 Should this Excelsior Monument of (ilorious Freedom fall? 
 Tis cemented with the honor of our fathers gone before, 
 And they would weep as angels weep to know it was no more. 
 Then may we not with broken faith ambition s fell desires, 
 Prove to be degenerate sons of far more worthy sires! 
 
 But lifting up our hearts to Him, let all the Nations hear. 
 
 Crowns and Dominions, Tyrants all, our Union doth not fear! 
 
 It was not reared to be destroyed by rebels impious hand 
 
 In traitors wiles, though they may strive with many a venomed 
 
 band 
 
 To crush the life from out a soul which moulded into form, 
 And breathed into by Divinity, shall live till time is gone. 
 
 This is a splendid time for subscribers in arrears with the 
 Journal to settle up and start anew. The increased expense at 
 tached to the publication of the supplement to the Journal, renders 
 it necessary that a little more coin flow inwards towards this sanc 
 tum. We don t care to be flooded with the filthy lucre, not being 
 one of its worshipers; but just start the stream flowing this way, 
 and see how grandly we can stretch up and keep our head above the 
 flood. We are sure we can astonish timid ones who may fear to 
 drown us in this way, by showing a length of limb and neck they 
 never suspected. Don t fear, we ll not drown. The other side of 
 the house has tried hard to drown us by holding our head down in 
 its little shallow dirty pool; but pshaw! they may as well try to 
 drown a bull-frog in a mud pond; just when they think they ve got 
 him quiet, a hind leg will jerk a little, then the other, and the next 
 minute the drowned rana pipiens will jump clear over the heads of 
 the operators, and squatting safe upon its amphibious haunches, 
 set up its tuneful melodious song, in defiant triumph. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 163 
 
 Journal Mites and Palo Alto Items. 
 
 That "nu Editor" very heartily endorsed what the Journal 
 said two weeks ago about fools of husbands publishing their wives 
 they had driven away from home, and then goes right at it and pub 
 lishes just such a notice. 
 
 -Twas but on last Saturday, that as we stood alone and still, 
 on the brow of Wilson s Hill, there could be as plainly seen, as a 
 bright and silvery sheen, the lovely bay of Monterey, as it lay, far 
 away, betwixt the empurpled hills of the Sacred Cross, and the mur 
 muring rills that ever toss their waters down fair Carmel s slope 
 Oh! we forgot. This is but Mayfield s little newspaper. We 
 thought it was the Santa Cruz Sentinel. Excuse us. 
 
 Supervisor B. Oh B.! Oh B! why do you do so? Remember 
 the time when you swore that you knew so; that Spring Valley 
 ne er paid its legitimate tax; and that had you the chance you d 
 give it some whacks. Now you ve had your good time, you ve 
 had your good chance; the fiddler is paid, and yet you but dance 
 to the tune of Spring Valley, the same as the rest. Oh, B! oh, B, 
 and is this all your best? (Elected on reform ticket, but who "fell 
 down.") 
 
 A trial was had before a jury in Judge Easton s Court, at 
 San Mateo, oh change of venue from Judge Pringle s Court of 
 Half Moon Bay, of William Bunemann, bar-tender for E. Schubert, 
 brewer of the latter place, for selling intoxicating drink to Thomas 
 Johnston, a boy under 16 years of age. The case was brought un 
 der the statute of 1872, yet many saloon-keepers insist they never 
 knew there was such a law. The jury in the case disagreed, the 
 majority however being for conviction. The testimony presented 
 by the District Attorney was clear and conclusive, and under the 
 law and the jurors oath a conviction should have been had without 
 hesitation. In order to duly notify all interested parties in future 
 that there is such a law and that infraction of it will be prosecuted 
 with vigor, conviction or no conviction, until this most reprehensible 
 practice, obtaining, as we understand, altogether too frequently 
 in certain places in the county, is broken up, the law in full is 
 given here. Because a few men on a jury or two may see fit to 
 refuse to perform their sworn duty, is no good reason why other 
 officers of the law should refuse and neglect to perform theirs. 
 
164 POETRY AM) PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 After the Battle, Mother 
 
 It is a sad disappointment to them, this no election business. 
 It almost bankrupts the crowd ; for without elections they are with 
 out stock in trade, so poor, indeed, that none will do them rever 
 ence. They were almost certain there was to be an election, for 
 didn t their oracle proclaim it aloud some weeks ago, that there 
 must be an election? The wish was so much father to the thought 
 with them, that a whole troop of beggarly brats were born there 
 from; and now that they should all die so young, so innocent, we 
 are overcome with profound pity for their o erwhelming loss. 
 
 You see the way of it was this: When, about a month ago, 
 they became self-satisfied that there were to be county elections 
 this fall, by an anticipated decision of the Supreme Court, they 
 pooled their issues (as they do do, as they will do, sometimes, you 
 know, when things get desperate), and told their willing henchman 
 to "pile it up on the District Attorney." "Break him all up!" 
 "The time is short, sling the lies at him, he ll never have time to 
 answer or refute them before the voting day. Then we ll beat him. 
 Just commence now and publish column after column against him; 
 no matter what the subject matter is, anything to hurt him." 
 "Tear him down!" "Ruin him!" "Lies will do it. There is no 
 truth to work on. Anything, everything." "The bigger the lie 
 the better the canvass." But it was terrible to see what a rout 
 and crushing defeat came upon them when the election fell through, 
 and all their plot and plan went for naught, and their viceroy from 
 Egypt, or Africa (as you will), came to such sudden, bitter grief in 
 his fight, that now he lays him down in the ditch of despair and 
 cries out pitifully in his discomfiture, "We wish it distinctly under 
 stood that we have no rivalry with R. C. Rowley," etc. "We yield 
 him the palm of superiority," etc. 
 
 Well, it s time. You have made several distinct efforts in that 
 same direction before. Each and every time you have commenced 
 the attack, and we have but acted in self-defense. If this last bat 
 tle was a short, sharp, and decisive one, more so than the rest, it 
 was only because your attack was sharper and hotter, and called for 
 quick, warm work. Now, gentlemen, just let us alone, and go on 
 and mind your own business. Do, in fact, what you only pretend 
 to do, labor for the best interests of the people, and of the county; 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 165 
 
 try and build up its material interests; advance its prosperity, and 
 add to that people s happiness. You have nothing to gain by your 
 persistent abuse and ridicule of the District Attorney. Nature 
 never made one of you with brains enough to either successfully 
 abuse or ridicule him, and you ll be brought to grief every time you 
 undertake it. Just remember this; and that it is not bragging, or 
 special cause of boasting on his part, either; for did he but spend a 
 fraction of the time on his defenses, that you do in studying up 
 your diabolical plans of attack, the battle-field would show neither 
 hide nor hair left of the brute who so viciously seeks the affray. 
 
 It is all very veil now for you to ape the airs of respectability 
 and morality, and to flourish the dignity of silence in the face of one 
 you have egregiously insulted ; but this only comes after the severe 
 lesson of signal defeat. Did we but let you pile up the agony of your 
 infamy upon us in silence, we know well, it is in you by nature and 
 education to make that pile so deep over us that our best friends 
 would never be able to dig us out with long-handled shovels. No, 
 don t think for a moment that you are dealing with babes or chil 
 dren. Your present aspect of superior dignity is only a feint for 
 you to retire to cover under; there to get a little more filthy breath 
 in your carcass to renew the fight with. Silence is the part of wis 
 dom in you only before you open fire; afterward it is only an evi 
 dence of the arrant coward who would fight and run away, run to 
 fight another day. 
 
 The modern American plea of "self defense" usually inter 
 posed in murder cases, is beautifully illustrated by the following 
 anecdote: "Some steamer wandering along the Rehoboth beach 
 last winter, found a drowned man. They took the corpse up, car 
 ried it to Captain Trendendick s bar-room, stood it up at the corner 
 of the bar, and went out and told Trendendick a friend wanted to 
 treat the crowd. The crowd drank and left. To Trendendick s 
 surprise he could get neither money nor answer from the corpse, 
 and becoming enraged, struck him. He fell on the floor with a 
 thud. Becoming scared, he called on the man s friends, and each 
 solemnly declared the fellow was dead. Trendendick, white as a 
 sheet, and with trembling voice, was at first dumbfounded, but at 
 last he exclaimed: "Well, I did it in self defense; he drew a knife 
 on me before I struck him." 
 
166 POKTRY AND PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 Journal Mites and Palo Alto Items. 
 
 F. H. Bowen, an able newspaper writer, committed suicide 
 recently at Dubuque, Iowa, by holding his head in a bucket of 
 water. \Ye think we know an editor over in Egypt who ll never kill 
 himself that way. He don t like water well enough. 
 
 It moves! It moves! Eureka! Eureka! The county is to 
 have a new Court House at Redwood City, and the Board proposes 
 to buy at a moderate price, the Half Moon Bay and San Mateo Toll 
 Road. Can such things be and overcome us like a summer cloud, 
 without our special wonder? Well, we tired them out on this hitch, 
 anyway. They can take our little S7 now and put it in the Court 
 House or the toll-road. It moves! It moves! Eureka! Eureka! 
 
 All that saves Assemblyman Tyler his seat, is his eye-glasses. 
 After bulldozing the Assembly, until the members become so exas 
 perated, that they feel like ordering him to the care of the Sergeant- 
 at-Arms, he will seize those eye-glasses, and adjust them to his bel 
 ligerent nose he becomes immediately metamorphosed from a 
 bellowing bull, into a sedate, dignified looking old gentleman, with 
 that arch elevation of the head, so indicative of profound sight 
 through those glasses. The other members at once cool off, and 
 so Tyler is saved from day to day. 
 
 A correspondent wants to know "what is that Robbers 
 Roost at Sacramento?" Ah, my dear sir, thereby hangs an in 
 teresting tale! We ll tell it you some other time. In the interim 
 we would simply say that it is, or was, rather, a private house oppo 
 site the State Capitol, handsomely fitted up, and gloriously equip 
 ped with French cooks and negro servants, and dinners and sup 
 pers, and champagne free as air to all members of the Legislature, 
 influential lobbyists, etc. The "robbers" run the first floor of the 
 mansion; the "roost" is on the second floor. Taking both floors 
 together, and an interesting whole was made, which has a history 
 deep and abiding, and one of such unusual character and incident, 
 even in these immoral times of public men, that the public char 
 acter of the "robbers roost" will cling to the private character of 
 the men who occupied it, long after the Legislature over which it 
 exerted such a baneful influence, shall have passed from the mem- 
 <>ri< - of men. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 167 
 
 Human Nature As It Is 
 
 When, two or three years ago, that philosophical bird s-eye 
 view of society as it might be in the year two thousand, under cer 
 tain conditions, "Looking Backward," by Bellamy, was published, 
 its readers, in the fullness of their appreciation of the sublime possi 
 bilities of the perfect man, said a hearty amen to it. They not only 
 wished that the millenium there so graphically pictured out might 
 be realized, but acquiesced in its entire possibility. As a reader, 
 one may well recollect how this latter impression was forced upon the 
 mind by the simple process of induction, so naturally and plausibly 
 did Bellamy make out his case. The only reservation made by many 
 readers was in respect to time. The year two thousand, to some 
 seemed too far ahead ; to others as a competent period in which the 
 wonderful changes might be wrought ; while to a third and more 
 skeptical but more practical class, the thought occurred that 
 perhaps another little cipher at the end of the figures would better 
 the chances of fulfillment, and that Bellamy s dream might possibly 
 materialize in two thousand years, instead of the year two thousand. 
 
 But as one reads the interesting story of the Kaweah colony, 
 formed a few years ago, on somewhat of the Bellamy plan, in the 
 wilds of Tulare county, on the timbered slopes of the Sierras a 
 story, too, which has been repeated in other histories of men, is be^- 
 ing repeated in fact every day in our own individual and collective 
 histories, and right before our living senses, so that there is nothing 
 really new in it he can not but feel sorry for poor "human nature," 
 and say, with a certain social writer, "man, and woman, too, is 
 better off without it than with it." The story of the fall of Ka 
 weah, as told by a member of the colony, proves, were it necessary 
 it should be proved, that what is commonly called and known as 
 "human" nature, is in no essential quality different from the natuie 
 of any other animal. There is a general animal nature, and the 
 differentiation of species, though modifying never overcomes it. 
 
 Man is but a magnificent animal. His impulses and desires 
 direct his means and ends, and are given him by nature to sustain 
 himself in the great strife for the survival of the fittest. Just as 
 one animal will fight another, in the supreme selfishness of its hun 
 ger and its thirst, to the death, so does and will man. The re- 
 
168 I OKTRY AM) I ROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 straints of laws and of society may modify his fight, and repress its 
 cruelty and ferocity; but, for all that, there still remains the innate 
 selfishness of the original animal, the desire and the determination 
 to live and supply that life with food in the easiest manner possible 
 to himself, and with no more regard for the wants of others than he 
 is compelled to have by the cultivated courtesies and amenities of 
 the social compact. 
 
 But free man from all these obligations to his neighbor; take 
 away the incentive to labor, by supplying him with his daily bread; 
 place him where he can assert his superiority over his fellows; in 
 short, make for him an attempted Bellamy s paradise in a Kaweah 
 colony, and inevitably the deep-lying instinct of the original animal 
 will assert itself, and in spite of centuries of civilization, of education, 
 and of spiritual and moral training, back he goes in almost an instant 
 of time to the base resources of the brute within him. And this 
 is "human nature." It is grandly illustrated in the history of 
 poor Kaweah given in this issue. 
 
 The Conviction of Gray 
 
 Clarence Gray, who killed Theodore Glancey, late editor of 
 the Santa Barbara Press, has been found guilty of murder in the 
 second degree, on his second trial, which took place at Redwood 
 City, San Mateo county, on change of venue from Santa Barbara 
 Co. The penalty for this crime is imprisonment in the State 
 Prison for not less than ten years, and presumably for as much 
 longer a time as the Court may see fit to impose. This verdict will 
 be accepted as adequate. The murder of Glancey, though brutal 
 and cruel, cannot be said to have been an unprovoked crime, and 
 therefore it is doubtful whether any jury would have made it a 
 hanging matter. 
 
 The court-room was so crowded that the speakers had scarce 
 standing room, while the hall leading to the court-room was also 
 densely packed. An exciting scene or two occurred during the 
 arguments. The District Attorney had the door leading from the 
 court-room to the Auditor s office, and in front of the jury, re-hung, 
 so as to swing like the door through which Glancey ran in his re- 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 169 
 
 treat from Gray. The piece of the door jamb which the fatal bullet 
 had creased as it went on its course, was also fastened into position 
 in the door-frame, so that the scene could be brought effectually to 
 the minds of the jury. This was used in a most impressive man 
 ner, showing the way of Glancey s flight, and the manner in which 
 he was shot as he was about to close the door upon his pursuer. 
 * * * * 
 
 Mr. Rowley, the District Attorney of San Mateo county, took 
 an unwonted interest in the case. He is a young man possessed of 
 rare tact and ability. He was indefatigable in his efforts to secure 
 justice, and proved himself a thorough, capable attorney, as well 
 as a genial, accomplished gentleman. -Santa Barbara Press. 
 
 Bed and Board 
 
 "Whereas, my wife, Alice Cowling, having left my bed and 
 board without just cause or provocation, I hereby forbid any per 
 sons harboring or trusting her," etc., etc. Such disgusting notices 
 as this are far too frequently seen in the columns of what claim to 
 be respectable newspapers, newspapers controlled by men who would 
 resent imputation that they would lend themselves or their paper 
 to unjust or immoral purposes. Yet such an advertisement as the 
 above is only the spitting out of a miserable jealous spite by a petty 
 tyrant of a husband. There is not the slightest excuse for its 
 publication by any man, as it serves no possible purpose in law, 
 either as a notice to anybody, or for the purpose of exempting the 
 husband from paying for the necessities of life for his wife as long 
 as she is his lawful wife. It is only his one-sided view of the ques 
 tion that she left "my bed and board without just cause or provoca 
 tion." The woman that does such an act generally feels fully justi 
 fied in doing it, and has good cause and provocation for it. The very 
 temper and spirit shown by the fact and act of such a mean and 
 cruel publication is sufficient evidence that the husband is a brute, 
 and is not fit to have either his "bed" or his "board" occupied by a 
 decent woman. Such "bed and board" as he could offer would be 
 more appropriately shared by a digger squaw, than by a respectable 
 white woman. Such an indecent advertisement of a wife by a 
 
170 POKTRY AM) PROSK SKLKCTlON s 
 
 husband, shows nothing but a bad and depraved spirit, one that 
 would stoop to anything to gratify its base, selfish purposes. News- 
 pajKr publishers should not lend their aid to give air and light to 
 such men s spite and bad temper; let them sweat it out in silence, 
 and under cover of their own deserted roof, and when a thinking 
 time comes they may possibly see what fools and rascals they were 
 to ever want to publish a woman, the mother of their children, the 
 partner of their life, to the world in this scandalous manner. 
 
 Possibly, The Ring is Broken? 
 
 (A sample of strenuous Western Journalism fit for that time and occa 
 sion, but scarcely so tor the effete east in piping times of peace.) 
 
 They admit in so many words, that "the ring is smashed," and 
 add "now let reform begin." Well, we had fondly trusted and be 
 lieved that the ring in this county was smashed, and would have 
 continued so to believe, if they had not so openly avowed it them 
 selves. Now, to tell the truth, we are in doubt about the fact, are 
 beginning to be suspicious, for we never did know them to tell the 
 truth purposely, and so have never believed what they said. We 
 shall now be put upon the alert as to the discovery of side-issues, 
 and new editions, and branch rings, outside of officials, but with 
 inside influence. That avowal of theirs completely upsets our 
 former solid lx;lief. We are again at sea. We shall henceforth 
 carefully feel around, like a man in the dark, for an open door; 
 and when our nose hits it, we shall then be sure that the ring is not 
 altogether dead, yet; but that it is hydra-headed, and still lives as 
 long as one head is left to it; and though we may play St. George, 
 and the Dragon with it, and suppose it overcome, yet the first tiling 
 we shall know of its resurrection is, that it is spitting fire in our faces 
 again, and hissing and hissing with that horrid sulphurous smell to 
 
 its breath so peculiar, and so suggestive of ; but then we are 
 
 getting away from the point. Possibly the ring is dead. If not, 
 however, we promise to further try lances with it, until something 
 or somclxxly is dead, stone dead. 
 
 Woe be unto him, who, as a public officer, shall now fall down 
 and betray the people! We care not who or what he is, or of what 
 party or parties. The people have reached the present hopeful 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 171 
 
 promise in county affairs, only through great trial, trouble and tribu 
 lation. It has cost them much anxiety, much suffering, much toil, 
 much expenditure of energy, will, purpose and treasure, to break 
 away from the bonds that held them in the iron bands of the old 
 ring, and the wrath of a vengeful people shall quickly be poured out 
 on the head of that miserable man or men who shall dare to fall 
 before them, and help form a new bond, a new ring! The resist 
 less torments of hell shall be to such an one as a royal couch of 
 pleasure in comparison. We shall make him wish he had never 
 been born. We shall hold him up to the fiery scorn and withering 
 contempt of the populace. We shall not only call upon the people 
 to drive him forth from their midst, but we shall, if necessary, arouse 
 the violence of society, that it may tear down his house about his 
 ears, and send him forth into the world with the mark of Cain upon 
 his brow. He shall be scourged with thorns, lashed with scorpion s 
 tails, and into his ears shall be poured the hot molten lead of the 
 fiercest vituperation, invective and execration, that our command of 
 the good Queen s English can possibly produce. We give fair 
 warning in time. There is a bottled wrath in waiting, beside which 
 the vial poured forth by the angel of death, as it sped over seas and 
 lands, and left horrid livid corpses behind, in its desolating track, 
 shall be as a beam of morning light, fair and bright, and beauteous 
 to behold. We say, beware of forming new rings in this county; 
 they can not, they shall not live. 
 
 Certainly, "Incorporate" 
 
 It is said that a number of students recently went to Senator 
 Stanford with complaints about the management of the Dormitory, 
 and they were asked if they hadn t better run the concern them 
 selves, and if they wished to, they might "incorporate" for that 
 purpose. 
 
 We have always insisted that the Senator never uses words 
 without meaning, and that some of them are so meaning-full, that 
 they have to be studied to know just what is intended. Now in 
 this suggestion to the boys to "incorporate" it will be found upon 
 delving deep into the verbal lore of this ordinarily simple phrase, 
 just how comprehensive and complete an answer, so exactly suited 
 
172 POKTRY AND PROSK SKLKCTIONS 
 
 to the occasion, did the boys get to their complaint. It is more 
 than probable that the Stanford students do not yet understand 
 the full significance of the little remark made to them by their 
 friendly counsellor, although they have had several days to think 
 the matter over in. So the "Palo Alto," true to its name, assumes 
 the responsibility of revealing the hidden meaning of the Ruler of 
 Palo Alto when he used that one little word "incorporate." 
 
 After the fashion of the old-time pulpit we ll divide our text 
 into several heads. These will be simply the different syllables of 
 the word itself. To begin with by dropping the first syllable we 
 have "corporate." Here the Senator undoubtedly intended to al 
 lude to the future magnificent proportions of the rotund um pro- 
 fundum of the young gentlemen themselves after rioting in their 
 own luxurious style of feasting for a time. With a material in 
 crease of grub, a corresponding increase of corporation would fol 
 low, as a matter of course. In like manner, as the boys began to 
 Corporate" on the mysteries of the kitchen range in baking slap 
 jacks, they d naturally "porate" to an extent that their tender 
 young meat never before reached, as it is not supposable that many 
 of them ever sawed their mother s wood before breakfast, or after 
 it, either. 
 
 And now we have come step by step to the grand climax of the 
 occasion, and one assuredly forethought of by the Governor in his 
 advice; and that is that the time must soon come when the boys 
 would "orate." And now it has come. The slap-jacks are burned, 
 perspiration bursts from every pore of the cooks while the Beta 
 Pi club at the table is frantic. It is well that there are five stories 
 above that dining-room, else the roof must rise with the volume of 
 their pent-up vociferations. Yes, they ll "orate" at a "rate" far 
 swifter than they ever "ate" boarding house hash before, or after, 
 incorporation; while from the far-off recesses of Robles Hall comes 
 in not uncertain sounds, though half suppressed, a prolonged and 
 tantalizing tittering of "te-e-e-e-e." Even the inverted commas at 
 the end of the word "incorporate" may now well be used to repre 
 sent the poor boys in their utter desperation standing on their 
 heads. And so may the broken syllable thereof "rat" be added to 
 by one little letter and be made a thoroughly responsible and final 
 reply to the youthful complainants, as it possibly existed in the 
 Governor s mind at the time, to wit: "rats." 
 
RTDGWAY <;EORGE ROWLEY 173 
 
 Journal Mites and Palo Alto Items 
 
 It s a Salinas man who found it out. It s a secret worth a 
 great deal to many heads of households. He found it out, though, 
 by accident. Still, the result is the same. He kissed the hired 
 girl, and his wife catching him at it, discharged her immediately, 
 and said she could do her own work, and she has done it ever since. 
 
 He deserves a royal mention. It is safe to say there is not 
 another like him on the Coast. He is a Frisco poll-tax collector, 
 who was cleaned out of a China wash-house by the two inmates, 
 one scalping him with a stick of wood, and the other hurling a flat- 
 iron at him. He had them arrested, but upon looking the matter 
 up, he refused to prosecute, stating in extenuation of the belliger 
 ent heathen, that they had already paid their poll-tax, and that 
 he had no business to go in there to try to collect a second time; 
 that white men won t stand such nonsense, and Chinamen ought 
 not to be expected to. His name was F. Berne, and he deserves to 
 be made Governor of the Orient, or a mandarin in China, for the ex 
 cellency of his feelings. 
 
 Our District Attorney, after the fatigue and mental exertion 
 attending the Gray trial, left for his ranch, in the mountains for a 
 little relaxation. The report comes floating hither from that di 
 rection, that he found ample scope to exercise his Nimrod proclivi 
 ties. It seems, if report be true, that of late young stock and hogs 
 have suffered from the attacks of a family of grizzly bears domiciled 
 in the vicinity. Mr. Rowley concluded to exterminate the disa 
 greeable pests, and one day last week, Winchester in hand, started 
 out into the woods to lay in wait for Bruin, but instead of capturing 
 Bruin, that savage beast came out master of the situation. Our 
 worthy chief R. had just entered a dense thicket of underbrush in 
 the woods, when he suddenly came upon an old she bear with two 
 cubs nearly grown. There happened to be a small sappling at hand 
 and the agility he showed in reaching a safe position in that little 
 tree, would have filled with envy the finest acrobat or gymnast that 
 will perform at the great Turn-Fest to be given here next Sunday 
 and Monday. (It is enough to say that those three grizzlies have 
 done more than the combined forces of a certain clique in this coun 
 ty have been able to do, to wit : Run Rowley up a tree. ) 
 
174 POKTRY AM) I ROSK SKLKC TIONS 
 
 Ghouls of the Press 
 
 As a sample of the style of much of the news served up to a 
 confiding people under the head of "Associated Press Dispatches," 
 we are compelled to mention an item appearing in a Monday eve 
 ning San Francisco paper, and in many leading pajK rs on the fol 
 lowing morning, purporting to be the story of a young girl s shame 
 but far more shameful in its telling telegraphed from Redwood 
 City, as having taken place the evening before. There is good 
 reason to believe that the article was never telegraphed at all or at 
 any time from Redwood City. It is hardly possible that such an 
 exaggerated liar as the forwarder of such a dispatch must be, could 
 live in as respectable a town as Redwood City. No such incident 
 occurred on the evening in question, nor on any day or evening of 
 that week, or of the week l>efore. In the meantime, there have 
 been at least two issues of two home papers, published at Redwood 
 City, and if ever such a thing happened, or any other thing hap- 
 jxmed worthy of publication, and from which any possible good 
 could come, these two sensible sheets would have published it. 
 But neither of them published it. And such local happenings, 
 when they occur, should be left with the local press. Its good sense 
 and judgment in such matters should command the respect of all 
 outside decent newspapers. 
 
 These Vultures of the Press, these filthy scavengers of society, 
 that go around, seeking even in cess-pools some wretched morsel of 
 so-called news, to serve up in its unsavory filthiness, are a disgrace 
 to the profession, an abomination to society and a positive evil to 
 the State. There is no good in them or their practices. Private 
 life is invaded and sacrileged of its privileges. The doors of family 
 homes are thrown wide open, that the winds of hell may blow 
 through them; and all to the despicable end that some miserable, 
 putrefying, petrifying scoundrel, under the garb of a "Reporter 
 of the Press," may serve thereby his personal ends or private satis 
 faction, or gratify some wretched motive of revenge or spite. The 
 decent newspapers of the land should begin the work of weeding 
 these rascals out. They have lived and flourished all too long on 
 other people s misfortunes. 
 
RIDGVVAY GEORGE ROWLEY 175 
 
 The Devil and the Mount 
 
 Would-be Assessor T. M. Cook indulged in a little philosophy 
 last week on the subject of "Revenue and Taxation." The sub 
 stance of this soliloquy is that property should not pay taxes in 
 proportion to its value, but that the property of the rich should be 
 reduced and made equal with the poor. That a palace filled with 
 costly furniture, articles of elegant and luxurious works of art, 
 choice libraries of valuable books, and all the other surroundings of 
 wealth, indoors; with splendid carriages, horses, and fancy stock, 
 outside, all of course, for the owner s private use and enjoyment; 
 that this constitutes a sort of public easance, or is a matter of so 
 much importance to the people, so valuable to them because, 
 forsooth, these millions "give constant employment to a retinue of 
 gardeners, coachmen, hostlers and house servants" that the prop 
 erty should not be assessed, either at all, or just for a little ; about on 
 the same grade with the poor farmer who ties his horse to his wagon 
 with hayropes, and brings, by his hard labor, every acre of his land 
 under uses which adds to the world s prosperity and supplies, and 
 who is in nowise one of C s valuable "storehouses," but is one of 
 "Rowley s" invaluable producers. 
 
 Yes, we distinctly remember the circumstance, although we 
 were not there, of the Devil taking up a certain very good man on a 
 very high mount, and talking very nicely and sweetly to him, but 
 the good man only quietly answered, "Get thee behind me, Sa 
 tan." 
 
 A New Volume 
 
 The present number opens the fourth volume of the Journal, 
 thus completing its eighteenth month of existence. The patronage 
 and support of the paper is better today than at any time since its 
 commencement. And this is no vain assertion, for few new coun 
 try papers have met with as great success at the start as did the 
 Journal. The people of the county now fully realize how great 
 the necessity was and is for a little healthful newspaper opposition 
 in their midst. The Journal has reduced the cost of public print- 
 
176 POKTRY AM) PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 ing to tax-payers very many hundreds of dollars per year. It has 
 lessened the cost of publication of legal notices, to litigants, more 
 than one-half. It has greatly reduced the price of commercial and 
 general advertising. It has reduced the price of a county paper. 
 It has much lessened the cost of all job work to merchants and citi 
 zens generally. In short, it is an easy matter to produce the figures 
 to show that the Journal has saved the people generally more than 
 ten times its cost to them. Therefore, as a mere business proposi 
 tion, we say the Journal should be supported and sustained beyond 
 the peradventure of a mishap to it. And this is said in no conceit 
 of personal proprietorship, or pride of ownership or editorship, for 
 this has been and is ever ready to be sacrificed for the sake of having 
 the paper well and permanently established. 
 
 It is gratifying to be able to add that the paper is now self- 
 sustaining. This, too, is saying a great deal considering the circum 
 stances of .its birth, fortune, and education. Like Topsy, the 
 Journal came into the world without even a mother. It just "kind 
 of grew, it did," by the force of circumstances, and out of the neces 
 sities of the occasion. And when, last fall, it had the brazen pre 
 sumption and foolish temerity to protest against the selection of a 
 San Francisco mining sharp as being an improper representative of 
 the county, forsooth, because the man was rich and powerful, the 
 great anaconda of the county, otherwise known as the "Ring" 
 snake, must needs wind its crushing folds about the little lamb, and 
 crush its life out for the pretentious sake of party and politics. 
 But then, as is often the case, when a little power proposes, a great 
 er one disposes, and so the aforesaid crushing of the little lamb 
 didn t succeed, and the aforesaid snake finally hunted its hole in 
 shame of itself and of the spirit that moved it. "There s a divinity 
 that shapes our ends," etc., and this lamb s tail is not an exception 
 to the general rule. 
 
 Says the Santa Barbara Independent: "R. (". Rowley, Dis 
 trict Attorney of San Mateo County, and editor of the San Mateo 
 Journal, has a lively fight on his hands over the Gray trial. He- 
 strikes, in his issue of August 18th, straight from the shoulder, and 
 talks the best of Anglo-Saxon." 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 177 
 
 Journal Mites and Palo Alto Items. 
 
 For two Sabbaths the Sunday law has been very generally 
 observed at most points in the county. District Attorney Rowley 
 desires it understood that all who infringe the statute will be prompt 
 ly prosecuted. 
 
 The Board of Supervisors meet on Monday next to make the 
 tax levy for the year. The amount will probably be about $1.10, 
 which with the State Tax, Slickens off, of 65 cents, will make total 
 levy of $1.75. The condition of the County Fund, at present is 
 vastly better than at this time last year. Economy is having its 
 effect, and the General Fund is thousands of dollars better off than 
 at the same time of year for some years past. 
 
 In answer to a correspondent who asks "who was the poet 
 Bowring that Mr. Cook quotes in his leading article last week," 
 we reply, "ask us something easy, please do!" If you should at 
 tempt to follow that fellow through all the mazy, crazy windings of 
 his editorial peregrinations, you will certainly bring up in Napa or 
 Stockton. There is but one subject on which his course is consist 
 ent and clear, and that is the county printing. His head is as 
 level here as is that of a belabored, hungry pack-ass cropping succu 
 lent thistle-tops by the wayside. He will reach that long nose of 
 his far out of the straight pathway of right and duty, to nip the 
 tempting bait. But then whack comes down the merciless club of 
 the Journal over the poor beast s ribs with a thud that makes the 
 hollow air reverberate. And the cry, "move on, oh, ass, move on!" 
 brings the sorry jade back to his little wits once more. But about 
 that poet "Bowring." We suspect Cook had in mind, when he 
 wrote the name, the old Roman custom of compelling the conquered 
 to "pass under the yoke." This "Bow-ring" suggests part of that 
 ox-yoke. The Ring seems impressed with the idea that the times 
 are propitious once more for the old Roman Triumvirate of the coun 
 ty, to attempt to compel the people to pass under their yoke again. 
 But then they should remember what Spartacus, the Thracian 
 shepherd did, and the fate of the great first triumvirate, Caesar 
 and Pompey and Crassus. No more triumvirates! The Plebians 
 hold the field. Patricians, pause and consider before advancing 
 further! The Rubicon is just ahead! 
 
178 I OKTRY AM) PROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 "Bull Pups " and Fifteen Cents" 
 
 M i . ( . - owes his defeat in the municipal election in this city 
 Monday last to the following editorial in the Times and Gazette 
 of last week: "Let us elevate the municipality above the rule of 
 the brainless set who pay taxes on a bull-pup and personal property 
 yielding fifteen cents a year to the public treasury." 
 
 Now "bull-pups" are not so easily swallowed. They have a 
 wonderful large head for the size of the rest of tht body, and this 
 is apt to make it stick in the gullet before it can be forced down. The 
 lofty Cook further continued his glorious electoral proclamation 
 thuswise: "If we would see life and activity and enterprise and 
 prosperity in the town, these small men must be sent to the rear, 
 and some encouragement given to men of brains, and energy, and 
 business capacity, and go-aheaditiveness to take the lead." The 
 philosophical objection to this is that it is not all small men who 
 can own "bull-pups." "Bull-pups" are "bull-pups" every time; 
 and some of them are of that nature that it takes large men, and 
 men of brains and energy, etc., to hold them in, else the brutes may 
 get away and do much mischief. And then one can t help asking 
 the little foolish question how many "bull-pups" and "fifteen-cent 
 pieces" did that fellow have when he came to this town; or for that 
 matter, how many has he got now? These are certainly pertinent 
 questions, if they are a little impertinent. No, no, Cook! You can 
 bull-dose your innocent readers sometimes, but you can t "/>////- 
 pup" this community. "Fifteen-cent pieces" are very potent when 
 you get enough of them together, especially about election day. All 
 the same with "bull-pups." This little story covers a deep moral, 
 and if it may l>e hidden under a little just irony and deserved sar 
 casm, yet it is well worth the time and trouble of some people to 
 uncover it and take it home and keep it. 
 
 "T. M. Cook is succeeded as editor of the San Mateo Times 
 andGazette by J. F. Bowman. It is no easy thing Mr. Cook has had 
 of editing a Spring Valley organ and pleasing the people at the same 
 time. The hired-man editor has about as unenviable a position as 
 there is on God s foot-stool, and he should IKJ charitably criticised." 
 Santa Cruz Sentinel. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 179 
 
 Why Not? 
 
 Santa Clara County raised $210,000 on its bonds for the pur 
 pose of building a Court House and Jail. San Mateo County 
 ought, it would seem, to be able to raise one-fourth part of that sum 
 for the same purpose, in some way or another. We would suggest 
 that it sell the Poor Farm for a starter toward the fund. The 
 Poor Farm is a poor farm, and a poor farm is a poor thing for a poor 
 county, as every poor farmer will say. Let us sell the Poor Farm 
 and build a Court House. Let the dead bury the dead, if neces 
 sary, and the poor keep the poor, and the sick tend the sick but let 
 the living live so that all may not be dead, or poor, or sick, and none 
 left to keep us or attend us. The poor people want a Court House 
 more than they want a lazor or a lazy house. The cost of keep 
 ing the indigent and sick of the county has been reduced fully one- 
 half within the past year, and this can be again reduced easily 
 another half, by letting out the keeping by contract. It should be 
 done. 
 
 The New Inspiration 
 
 The newly revised testament is upon us; and now ye book 
 agent, with holy hands and oily tongue, will visit each hearthstone 
 and proclaim aloud to the sitters there, that through this book alone 
 can heaven now be reached. Old bibles will be sought in exchange 
 for the new ones like the Yankee clock peddler charging more boot 
 than the new one is worth, and throwing the old one into the first 
 road-side ditch. Such is the great American people. They will 
 speculate in life, on death, on earth, in heaven. May our souls 
 all be saved from this new affliction and torment at the hands of ye 
 book agent. Let us stick to our old bibles until we have some bet 
 ter assurance than is yet offered us, that the new book is inspired of 
 God, and that His decree and word are as changeable as human 
 thought or human tongue; and that the inspiration of God is not 
 bartered cheaply off for the constipation of the classics, or the per 
 spiration of the scholar s brow. 
 
180 1 OKTRY AM) PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 Fairs and Unfairs 
 
 Referring to the little insinuation that this paper is adverse in 
 its criticism of the "San Mateo and Santa Clara Agricultural Asso 
 ciation" (what a long tail our cat has got) simply because the Direct 
 ors did not advertise the thing with us, is best answered by saying 
 that this management feels all the better toward that management, 
 for its kind discrimination in favor of the office that has lots of cuts 
 of running horses, jockey-fields, and racing courses, wherewith to 
 adorn their admirable "speed programme," published in their pro 
 tege, the Times and Gazette. The Journal office has no such figure 
 heads and pretty pictures to place at the head of its advertisements, 
 and therefore would have to go and socially buy for the occasion; 
 and quite sure it is that all there is left, after the Directors make the 
 usual annual dividend of the profits of the show, to pay newspaper 
 bills with, wouldn t buy one three-legged leaden horse with the 
 smallest possible nigger boy on top of it. 
 
 How quickly that Gazette man knew what the occasion called 
 for; how surely his ken of the "eternal fitness of things" suggested 
 that what those Directors wanted, and what that fair advertisement 
 wanted to duly decorate and adorn it, was a trio of running racing 
 horses, with their jockeys putting the whip to them. That s "ex 
 hibiting horses"; that s what the people s money is going for. 
 
 How entirely inadequate to appropriately express the artistic 
 and "agricultural" emotions of those Directors, would it have been 
 for thcGazette fellow to have headed the notice with a Durham bull, 
 or a Jersey cow, or a Berkshire hog, or a South Down sheep, or a 
 threshing machine, or a dog churn, or any other animal or implement 
 of the farm, save the one money-making, people-drawing, entrance- 
 feeing, bought up and paid for, race-horse and horse-race. 
 
 What has a race-horse got to do with a farm 01 farmer? or what 
 has a farm or a farmer to do with a race-horse? They are, and of 
 right ought to be, as remote and disconnected as are the antip 
 odes. It is public money now that is, under the new law, going 
 in to these fairs. And taking the sample of them so far" offered by 
 the State Fair and the Golden Gate Fair, they deserve to be 
 condemned, and the law which taxes everybody to support them, 
 repealed, so that they can IK? supported only by those who are in 
 terested in them, and who run them to make money out of them. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 181 
 
 Only this and nothing more, is the fundamental principle underly 
 ing our opposition to these legalized prostitutes, facetiously called 
 "agricultural exhibitions"; such as the San Jose fair is advertised 
 to be a six-day s horse-race, and not a thing else. 
 
 Brass Mounted 
 
 On Saturday last at 2 p. m., there came flying into town, at 
 express speed, a special train from the north, consisting of a splendid 
 brass mounted engine, with tender, and one coach. It was a 
 "special" conveying the attorney of the Southern Pacific Railroad, 
 with two witnesses the Auditor and Chief Engineer of the road 
 to the Board of Equalization of this county, to apply for a reduction 
 of assessment of the property of the road from $414,150, as fixed 
 by the State Board, to $246,005, being a reduction asked for of 65 
 per cent. As the royal travelers halted their magnificent equipage 
 in front of the depot, with the American flag flying proudly over 
 the bull-catcher, and the American people lying supinely under it, 
 with the rolling wheels of this juggernaut passing over their bodies, 
 the brazen metal of the engine gleamed and glittered under the 
 noon-day sun, almost as conspicuously as the cheek of its owners. 
 They presume to tell us, and to have us believe it, that the "full 
 cash value" of the 25 miles of their road passing through this 
 county, with its proportion of rolling stock, etc., is worth but $246,- 
 005. The $5 is probably put on to make the figures odd instead of 
 even; being even it was thought they might challenge attention; 
 but being so very odd it may rightfully be said that they attract a 
 great deal more attention. On the company s basis of valuation 
 the road from San Francisco to San Jose is worth something less 
 than $500,000, including engines, cars, etc. It is quite safe to say 
 that the road is worth $2,500,000, and when it is assessed by the 
 State Board at the total valuation of $828,300, or $414,150 for the 
 one-half in this county, it is not assessed too high, and should not 
 be reduced. But then what matters it to the anaconda of the 
 coast, whether assessed high 01 low, as long as they don t intend to 
 pay any taxes at all? Let them pay their last year s taxes before 
 they come around seeking to reduce this year s. They have more 
 brass in their cheek than shines on the backs of their iron horses. 
 
182 I OKTRY AM) PROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 Journal Mites and Palo Alto Items. 
 
 -The new dodge of the Gazette, by its "campaign issue," to 
 maintain its position in order to hatch out political chicks in the 
 county this fall, to order of its owners, reminds us of the Egyptian 
 way of hatching. It is simply to fill a barrel with eggs, head it up 
 and set an old hen on the bung. The chickens are supposed to 
 come out of the faucet in due time. It is only a question, whether 
 in the interval the old hen won t become so lousy as to be compelled 
 to desert the nest to save herself from dying. We are satisfied she 
 will in this instance. Poor old hen, what a terrible waste of eggs is 
 here! 
 
 Santa Cruz has been terribly shocked and convulsed of late, 
 by an ignominious failure of the law, through the circumvention of a 
 jury, to get rid of of of a certain house situated too centrally 
 and publicly for high-toned virtue to submit to. The newspapers 
 agree, sotto voce, that "if the house was only farther out," or "off 
 the most public street in town," or "if the inmates had but kept 
 more retired, and not paraded on the best side of the street right 
 in the middle of the afternoon," they would not have been molest 
 ed. Just so! there is nothing so nice as public morals, except it is 
 private virtue. It was a little boy who was playing marbles in the 
 stret t on Sunday, when his much offended mamma addressed him 
 thuswise: "Charles, you must not play marbles in the street on 
 Sunday! Go in the back yard if you want to play." "But, ma," 
 says the little gamin, "ain t it Sunday in the back yard, too?" 
 Moral: Some people hate sin only because it is in their way, in 
 sight, obnoxious to their presence. They do not hate it because it 
 is sin, nor because of its infamy. Just put it out of their immediate 
 sight, so that their august presences are not contaminated by it, 
 and little do they care about sin in the abstract, or who else it may 
 contaminate. The churches, as well as the laity, are full of these 
 holy-horror hypocrites. Oh, yes! just put sin back in the by-ways, 
 and out of the high-ways, and there let it fester and rot, and stink, 
 to high heaven, as long as our fine noses are not smelling it! And 
 this, forsooth, is public virtue! What can be expected of private 
 morals, with such deformity and hypocrisy amongst the leaders of 
 the people? 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 183 
 
 Private Agents Wanted 
 
 The times are evidently reeking with corruption. It comes to 
 us from public and private sources. It is heaped up in places in 
 such monstrous piles, as from its very enormity to dull public 
 apprehension, and soothe the doubting mind with the solecism 
 "well, it is universal, it cannot be helped." But it must be helped 
 else this people must lose not only their honor but their liberty. 
 The foundations of society are being upheaved by this collossal 
 wave of corruption. It is evidenced everywhere over the land. 
 From city and town and hamlet, the dishonesty of men is pro 
 claimed. By wire and rail comes the sorry news of the disgrace of 
 a man or a city, or of a state or government. The stench of San 
 Jose is close to our nostrils, while now farther off comes word of 
 the culmination of the great strife amongst the lot owners of San 
 Francisco, to defraud Uncle Sam out of hundreds of thousands by 
 the sale of a postoffice site. This disgraceful and unseemly con 
 test has been waged unrelentingly for many months. The Govern 
 ment authorities have been solicited and pestered and abused until 
 in a fit of seeming desperation the matter is ended by what may be 
 termed a public suicide. 
 
 The San Francisco Postoffice site has been finally located by 
 the purchase of a lot on the corner of Mission and Seventh streets 
 for the sum of $1,040,000 a property that stands assessed for $189,- 
 295. The frontage is 350 feet, which would make $3,000 a foot 
 purchase price, more than a Market street price for property on as 
 poor a street as Mission. Of course there is jobbery in this busi 
 ness. The Government is not to blame, either, under the circum 
 stances; every piece of property selected for the site thereof has 
 been valued at from three to four times its true value by owners as 
 soon as the desire to purchase was made manifest. Schemes and 
 combinations of the different site owners were made with a view of 
 forcing the Government to pay large tribute to their unholy greed, 
 and now the result is that the most desirable sites for a Postoffice 
 had to be passed over, and a fourth-class position bought for more 
 than a first class-price. A good round market price for the proper 
 ty sought is placed at $400,000. So Uncle Sam is bled to the tune 
 of $600,000 in one little job. 
 
 Now as these jobs are duplicated all over the country, the mil- 
 
184 POKTRY AM) I ROSK SKLKCTIONS 
 
 lions to be saved ought by this time to suggest to the sagacious 
 officials, that a private manner of doing public business would l>r a 
 great improvement. No millionaire would dare to announce be 
 forehand, that he wanted to purchase a certain piece of property 
 and was going to have it. He would employ a private agent to 
 quietly get in and buy the property before the owner knew who 
 wanted it or what it was wanted for. Such men too well know how 
 they would have to pay for their boldness by sallying out with 
 heralds to publicly announce their intentions before hand. I ncle 
 Sam should take the lesson in hand; find out just what he wants, 
 and where his wants can be best satisfied for the public good ; se 
 cure the property through private agency, and then announce just 
 what he has done. Better sites and far better prices can thus be 
 obtained. It is costly folly for any government to place itself at 
 the mercy of its individual subjects. They have no mercy. A 
 Government whether it be a Nation, a State, a County, or a City, 
 is considered as a proper goose to be plucked by whosoever can 
 pull a feather. And now this truly American art is so re-fined that 
 feathers will not satisfy the greed of the pluckers, they must singe 
 the hair off. 
 
 That reprimand the T. & G. gave The Spring Valley Co. for 
 their refusal to do what the law required them in re-districting the 
 county, reminds us of a little story, illustrating that editor s con 
 nection with the matter; it is: 
 
 True to the Old Man 
 
 "Look here, Matilda," said a Galveston lady to the colored 
 cook, "you sleep right close to the chicken-house, and you must 
 have heard those thieves stealing the chickens." 
 
 "Yes, ma am, I heerd de chickens holler, and heerd de woices 
 ob de men." 
 
 "Why didn t you go out, then?" 
 
 " Case, ma am (bursting into tears), case, ma am, I knowed 
 my ole fadder was out dar, and I wouldn t hab him know I se 
 los* confidence in him foah all de chickens in de world. If I had gone 
 out dar and cotched him, it would hab broke his ole heart, and he 
 would hab made me tote de chickens home foah him, besides. He 
 done tole me de day before, dat he s gwine to pull dem chickens dat 
 night." 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 185 
 
 "Uriah Keep" 
 
 This is one of Dickens most detestable creations. The char 
 acter occurs, you will remember, in "David Copperfield." Uriah 
 Heep, under the garb of the most abject humility, concealed a dia 
 bolical hatred and malignity. "I am well aware," quoth he, "that 
 I am the umblest person going, let the other be who he may. My 
 mother is likewise a very umble person; we live in a very humble 
 abode, Master Copperfield, but we have much to be thankful for. 
 My father s former calling was umble, he was a sexton." It is 
 such characters, that, when out of the presence of a man, can assail 
 him with shafts of most malignant touch, and deny him the com 
 monest respect of humanity; but on the very morrow, let the self 
 same man appear, and Uriah will bow in such humble meekness as 
 that his forehead shall touch the very stones at his feet. He will, 
 in a moment s time, become transformed from a base slanderer and 
 a petty dishonorer of man, and name, and title, to a fawning syco 
 phant, who, with bended knee, would stoop and brush the dust off 
 his better s shoes or, draw near, and with low bow and cringing 
 form, like an Oriental eunuch waving a peacock s tail over the per 
 son of his mistress, volunteer to hold a lady s parasol over the head 
 of a man whom he hates, to shield it from the rays of a cool September 
 sun. Oh, Uriah! Uriah! there are a keep more honest men than 
 you in the world. If your father was a sexton, he missed his best 
 job when he failed to bury you, with your hypocrisy and cant, and 
 deceit, in one deep grave, and in one common coffin : 
 
 Said the editor of the 7\ and G. Friday last: "Ladies and 
 Gentlemen of Redwood City: I have the distinguished and exalt 
 ed honor of holding a parasol over the much honored head of His 
 excellency, the President of the United States." Said Rutherford 
 B. Hayes: "My dear sir, you will please excuse me, there is no 
 necessity for this, whatever; in fact, it annoys me. The sun and I 
 are old acquaintances, we have known each other a long time ; please 
 remove the parasol." Exit, crest-fallen Cook. 
 
 Petaluma has a cow with 30 horns. The horns are distribut 
 ed along the backbone toward the tail. Exchange. 
 
 We know of still more wonderful animals in this vicinity who 
 have that number of horns, renewed daily, with a like distribution. 
 
186 POKTRY AND PROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 Journal Mites and Palo Alto Items. 
 
 It is here quietly suggested, that Sunday evening is not a 
 fitting time to indulge in noisy break-downs and Ixjisterous singing 
 in saloons, within an incorporated town having a Town Marshal, 
 active and energetic enough, at times, if need be, to arrest the fur 
 ther progress of a wood-tick up a mule s ear. 
 
 We are in receipt of the Voz Portugueza, a new paper in the 
 Portuguese language, published in San Francisco. It contains a 
 most delightful miscellany of general news and reading matter, 
 and has very able editorials. A passage in one particularly chal 
 lenged our admiration, it so suited the case of Cook and his con 
 freres. It reads as follows: "O ministerio, que depois de um for 
 nada escandalosa, immoralissima, e, na quasi totalidade, deshonrosa 
 para as institulcoes constitucionaes, nao pode fazer passar na cam- 
 ara dos pares, senao os projectos que fizeram aranjo." \Ve would 
 quote more of it, but fear a few of our readers might not understand 
 
 the application. The "O ministerio" of course, means Senator B , 
 
 and the "fizeram arranjo" means thcGazette. We don t know what 
 the mischief the rest of it means. 
 
 Young Stanton s body, as it lay in Undertaker Crowe s 
 room on Tuesday night, for the purpose of examination, disclosing 
 a finely-moulded youthful form, with the ghastly wound in his side 
 through which the poor boy s life had passed out to a dread eter 
 nity, with a face showing mere boyhood, and as calm and life-like 
 in its expression as if in deep sleep only, his head resting on its 
 black curly locks, made a picture which we could only wish, as we 
 viewed it, that every boy in the land might gaze at. No other 
 lesson or precept, counsel or advice, could make so deep and solemn 
 an impression on a young man s mind, warning him of the terribli 
 end that vice and dissipation inevitably lead to, sooner or later, 
 as would the mutilated body of that poor, misguided youth, so 
 early fallen into a dishonorable grave. Could his slayer have seen 
 him lying there cold, a boy of but nineteen years, fair to look upon, 
 even in the cold embrace of a hideous death, it would seem that the 
 stirred up conscience and mental tortures of a guilty soul would 
 be more terrible to him, than even the fear of an approaching gal 
 lows. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 187 
 
 Death of Judge Daingerfield 
 
 We give elsewhere the memorial resolutions of the San Fran 
 cisco Bar, touching the sudden and melancholic, and almost tragic 
 death, of William P. Daingerfield. The circumstances of his death 
 are there sufficiently related, as well as the eventful mutations of his 
 life. He died as he had often expressed a wish to die, quietly and 
 quickly. He died as a hero would wish to die, at his post, in dis 
 charge of his duties; he was carried from his judicial seat and court 
 room as the honored dead alone are carried. It remains to us but 
 to add our small tribute to the great respect of a sorrowing com 
 munity over his fallen body. 
 
 Wm. P. Daingerfield s virtues as a man and gentleman, great 
 ly exceeded, in our estimation, the mere intellectual abilities dis 
 played by him as a Judge, high and honored as these latter may have 
 been. We have seen him in the exalted moods of the grandest man 
 hood, and have living evidence of the depth of his soul, and of the 
 nobility of his feelings. At a time when party feeling in this county, 
 last fall, ran so high in certain quarters, that a base attempt was 
 made to involve the Journal in a misunderstanding with Judge 
 Daingerfield, the man s quick perceptions of truth and right, and 
 of the sincerity of the course of this paper toward him, immediate 
 ly after his final departure from the scenes of his labor in this coun 
 ty as District Judge, and upon his reception of the Journal relating 
 the facts of the farewell scene in his court room with the people of 
 this county, led him to indite and forward from San Francisco, the 
 following note to the editor: 
 
 In Court, Dec. 12, 1879. 
 R. G. Rowley, Esq. Dear Sir: I thank you sincerely 
 
 for your kindly and generous words in the Journal. May 
 
 you never have reason to retract them. I am truly, truly 
 
 grateful to the people of San Mateo County for all their 
 
 kindnesses to me. 
 
 Very Hastily, your Obliged Servant, 
 
 Wm. P. Daingerfield. 
 
 This expression of good will toward the people of this county, 
 was the heartfelt feeling of the man. He ever entertained the kind 
 est regard for them. It is not amiss here to state the fact, too, that 
 Judge Daingerfield owed his recent elevation to the Superior bench 
 
188 POETRY AND PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 of San Francisco, to the Workingmen. He was truly a representa 
 tive man amongst the laboring classes few real friends. His was 
 of the true Robert Burns sympathy; the spontaneous outburst of a 
 deep natural feeling for, and love of, humanity. It is a fact, too, 
 that despite the jibes and sneers of their enemies, the laboring 
 classes have elevated to the Supreme bench of the State, the finest 
 and ablest judiciary that has yet graced the position. So in the 
 Superior Court of that county, as of this, the men selected and 
 elected by them, are an honor to the bench, as well as to the men 
 that sent them. So much, at least, have the people to thank the 
 Plebian rabble, the Sand-lotters, or what you will, for. 
 
 Judge Daingerfield was one of these. His untiring devotion 
 to his duties has now cost him his life. He laid it down where he 
 picked it up, kindly, gently, nobly, at the people s tVi t . It becomes 
 them to honor him now, dead, and to cherish his memory as kindly 
 as he served them. Few men are so well deserving of this tribute 
 of honor and respect. Rest, good Judge! Rest, kind man! Rest! 
 
 A Ring Supervisor Giving Way to a Reform Supervisor 
 
 Mr. Ames, to the Chairman of the Board: "I rise, Mr. Chair 
 man, to perform one of the most pleasing duties of my life, introduce 
 my successor, Mr. Hatch. I believe now, that I made a most se 
 rious mistake in not retiring from the Board in October last. Had 
 I this to do over again, I should unhesitatingly vacate my seat at 
 once, and not attempt to thwart the will of the people. The duties 
 of Supervisor of this county, are arduous and responsible. From 
 my experience and knowledge, I can safely say to my successor, in 
 all kindness and g(x>d intention, that he will find his road anything 
 but an easy one to travel, and that he will almost immediately 
 from its inception by him, find the position one of great difficulty 
 and care, beset with troubles he now r dreams but little of, with the 
 pathway strewed with stumbling blocks, and filled with hidden 
 ditches, which will take his utmost caution and sagacity to over 
 come and pass in safety." To all of the latter portion of which ad 
 dress Mr. Hatch l>owed a most profound acquiescence. 
 
RIDCAYAY r.KORC.K ROWLEY 189 
 
 Journal Mites and Palo Alto Items. 
 
 The second trial of Carlton for the killing of Editor Brummet 
 at Hollister, was concluded at San Jose recently by a disagreement 
 of the jury. The third trial will commence immediately. This 
 makes three recent cases in the State where the attempt to convict 
 a murderer of an editor has failed. Only an editor, nothing more! 
 In the name of Charity! that Christian rarity! what is a poor edi 
 tor s life worth? Seemingly not the salt that he eats with his crust 
 of daily bread! Working for nothing! living for others! dying for 
 them! he must live like a dog, to die like a hog! kicked into eternity 
 on the toe of some revengeful scoundrel s boot! denied a grave, a 
 tear, or even the slight recompense of the law s satisfaction! 
 
 The Journal has had occasion to comment upon the decisions 
 of Judge Daingerfield, in one or two important instances, but has 
 always done so, we believe, in a fair and lawful manner; and we 
 are quite sure that if Judge Daingerfield was consulted thereon, to 
 day, he would admit the justice and correctness of such criticisms; 
 we have that much confidence in his fairness, and knowledge of 
 law, when a whole case has been properly presented to him. The 
 challenge of keeping juries without occasion, at great expense to 
 the county, was not directed especially at the Judge; the bar is 
 chiefly responsible for it. But we did not care who it was directed 
 at, so long as the charge was a fair and truthful one, w^hich it was 
 in that instance; and the savage manner in which it was replied to 
 shows how deeply it cut. Truth is the sharpest of weapons. False 
 hood can never be whetted to such an edge. The flimsy attempt 
 to talk law to us by an asinus ad lyrum, is too puerile and conceited 
 to be noticed. They further say "Mr. Rowley doubtless knows 
 what an issue of fact is." Well, really, do our eyes deceive us? 
 If there isn t a handle put to that name at last! Chalk us one, 
 anyway. We ve been so used to seeing it "that Rowley" and "that 
 fellow" and "that man," that we had almost despaired. Well, 
 you know there are spaniels that the more you whip them, the 
 better they like you. Yes, we do know what an issue of fact is. 
 It is precisely the issue that is raised between the Times & Gazette, 
 and the San Mateo County Journal, and which we now propose to 
 try before the bar of the people. 
 
190 POKTRY AM) PROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 The Poisoned Touch of Gold 
 
 The vital weakness of the American Press is its stooping to 
 wealth and influence. This vice has grown with the body politic, 
 expanding with it year by year, until now it lies over all the best 
 works and powers of the Press like an incubus of portentous dark 
 ness, ominous of self-destruction. We much fear that the self-re 
 liance, self-rtspect, honor and integrity of the writers of public 
 opinion have, under the touch of Midas, bowed down in their wor 
 ship of the Golden Calf, until now but a shadow of their former 
 greatness remains to them. 
 
 When men, simply because poor, can humble themselves, and 
 in abject attitude bend low the head, with cringing knee, as wealth 
 passes by or greets them, the loss of manliness has no offset, no relief, 
 made possible by any momentary touch of flattered vanity or pride . 
 There are qualities in human nature which make strong, stern, 
 manly hearts revolt at the sycophancy of their fellow-men, and the 
 mortal weakness of their race, as manifested so often when the poor 
 stand in the presence of the rich. \Vhat is there of man that should 
 yield such supremacy to man? What are all the gilded trappings 
 of wealth, compared with the solid worth of a true human heart? 
 
 As society is now organized, as reared upon the false base on 
 which it now stands, the highest and chiefest glories of humanity 
 are made subservient to its basest and most selfish attributes. The 
 time seems to have come for the advent of another Burns, who shall 
 advocate the cause of man from a standpoint of pure humanity; 
 when, by his life of song, in which the true inspiration of genius 
 concentrates burning words of eloquent human sympathy, man 
 shall be again taught that the soul alone is the measure of the man ; 
 and that despite the outward tokens of the wealth of gold he bears, a 
 man may still be infinitely poorer than he whose chalice of life has 
 naught of the frosted ornament of leaf or vine without, but rather 
 conceals, by its plainness, the lining of gold within. 
 
 We read, with much annoyance of spirit, the printed record of a 
 wedding in high life, as it is called ; when two human beings are pre 
 tended to be made as one under the ban of gold. The costly orna 
 ments of dress, the glittering diamonds of tht bride, the flowing lace 
 and satined trail, the flowered path and marriage bell, the gorgeous 
 presents and royal feast, are all there described and descanted upon 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 191 
 
 with the full power of word-painting, as if all this, and these alone 
 could make two hearts as one. There may stand side by side before 
 the altar, two mortal figures, one draped in the glowing splendors of 
 wealth and fashion, the other proud and grand in his formal cloth, 
 and yet, with all these surroundings of gilded riches, they may both 
 be the poorest of the poor marble hearts, united by society in the 
 ties of wedlock, which to them may be, and oft times are, the grave 
 of all true youthful hopes, of love, and human affection. Then 
 are the trappings of wealth but the trappings of woe; then has gold 
 lost its power to contribute to human happiness, and justly sinks 
 into insignificance, as weighed with human feeling. When souls 
 are thus made a living sacrifice upon the altar of Mammon, the 
 curse of gold is seen in all its horror, and one could well shrink in 
 terror from its blighting touch. 
 
 But to what source shall we turn to read of the marriage of two 
 loving hearts, the one clad in the simple but spotless muslin robe of 
 a maid, the other arrayed, not in broadcloth and kid, but in the 
 plain attire of a man? The roof, beneath which they stand with 
 clasped hands, is humble and unpretending. No polished mirrors 
 and costly pictures, and carved furniture here all is as the ordinary 
 home of an American farmer. But the swain and fair maid that 
 stand there, not rigid with frigid form and ceremony, but natural 
 and unaffected, each yielding to the other the full measure of a hap 
 py, loving human heart, and showing by their illumined faces that 
 the best feelings of their best natures are triumphant so truthful, 
 hopeful, loveful, joyful what pen is employed to describe their 
 wedding, their natural union of heart and soul, the highest crown of 
 human hope and glory? Standing beside this boy and girl, what 
 right have your painted statues of society to claim all the honor and 
 homage of mankind? In which exists the true worth? What is 
 the proper test of true wealth? Shall it be measured by the depth 
 of the purse, or by the span of the heart, the reach of the soul? 
 When the age comes, as come at last it must, when human worth 
 shall be measured by this rule of right, then will man be indeed 
 free, and enjoy the state of his earthly existence as his maker in 
 tended he should. The age of gold will then be transformed into 
 an age of humanity, and though poor, a man will be "a man for a 
 that." 
 
192 1 OKTRY AND PROSK SKI.KCTK )NS 
 
 Journal Mites and Palo Alta Items. 
 
 A late fashion journal says: "Babies short dresses are cov 
 ered with lace." When was there a time since babies were babies, 
 and each mother s the best, that their little dresses were not a mar 
 vel of whiteness and lace? There is but one garment that ever ap 
 proached a baby s dress in being so spotless white and covered with 
 lace, and this is well, we have forgotten the name; in fact, as we 
 now think about it, we don t believe we ever saw one. 
 
 The shadow of great wealth falls like a funeral pall of dark 
 ness and distress on all about it. There is something in the very 
 atmosphere near it that seems to choke and stifle the growth of all 
 other men s prosperity. It is of itself such a central sun that all 
 smaller satellites must be made subservient to it; and by its su 
 perior gravitation all smaller bodies are hopelessly drawn towards 
 its centre, there to be absorbed. The greater the palace, the smaller 
 and meaner the hovels under its garden walls. There would seem 
 to be some hidden law of nature here which should be laid bare to 
 the study of mankind. It is well we should awake to this new 
 study, and not sleep or dream over it too long. 
 
 A subscriber who, "always pays for his paper in advance," 
 and finds another paper that he hasn t subscribed for, "thrown over 
 his fence" but which latter paper he is sure to go for just as soon 
 as it gets over that fence, and which he reads from top to bottom, 
 and from left hand to right, every time and without fail sends us 
 the following question to answer: "Mr. Editor, suppose you had a 
 kitchen on the northwest corner of your house, and a horse stable 
 on the southeast corner of your lot, the question is how would 
 you manage to keep out of your sitting-room the smell of corned- 
 beef and cabbage when the northwest wind blows, and the rank 
 odor of horses when the southeast wind blows?" Why, easy enough, 
 Mr. Subscriber, you who pay for your paper in advance; the ques 
 tion is as easily disposed of as is that newspaper law so constantly 
 quoted by "that paper that you pay for." Our reply is simply, 
 stable your horses in the kitchen and cook your corned-beef and 
 cabbage in the stable. Then- i> nothing .in editor can do so much 
 to the advantage of the general interests of tin public, as answer at 
 length the silly questions of that altogether too much honored 
 individual, facetiously -inning him-clf "SuliM-riU r." 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 193 
 
 LIST TO IT! 
 
 A Still Small Voice from the Coast Speaks in Thunder Tones to the 
 People, and Though from a Woman, it Comes With More than 
 a Mans Strength! 
 
 Editor Journal: If I could grasp your hand and bid you "God 
 speed" in your noble work, you would know how earnestly I desire 
 it, for I believe you are the right man in the right place, at the head 
 of a great reform, and my prayer is that God will help you, for I 
 almost fear the people will not do just their share of the work. I 
 have great faith, but I believe in works also. Too many would 
 be friends of the Journal if they were only sure it would be on the 
 ultimately strong side if it had a gold basis as well as a true one. 
 ***** 
 
 I wish I could do real work for the Journal. If I was only a 
 man I would canvass the county over for subscribers. But what 
 can a poor farmer s wife do tied up at home with the manifold cares 
 of her household? We all know a farmer s household means a 
 house full of cares and troubles, and then what business have we 
 to do anything but toil early and late? Interest and taxes are hard 
 task-masters, and shall we dare to enter our protest against them? 
 Shall we murmur because denied necessaries, wherewith others, not 
 toiling, may enjoy luxuries? Nay, more, shall we speak when our 
 very homes are imperilled by their presence? 
 
 I think if the Journal lives and is supported and who can 
 doubt it there will be some loud utterances ere they make this 
 last demand, and they are on the very threshold now. W T e hear 
 the cry, "hard times," "retrench," "retreat," Journal! But how 
 can we, and why should we? Let us forward like men and throw 
 off the shackles. Stand by the Journal, friends, take it, read it, 
 write for it, and finally pay j or it, if you do without tea or coffee or 
 some other things that we deem physical necessities, for it is indeed 
 a balm for the soul, a cure for troubled minds. It is your only 
 salvation, stand by the Journal and it will stand by you, it will fight 
 for you and your rights, will it not, Mr. Editor? You are not go 
 ing to sell out, are you? Some are terribly afraid you will, and they 
 might lose their subscription, which we know has never been paid. 
 
1<U POETRY AM) PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 I may hazard the assertion, however, that money does not buy 
 brains, or integrity, at least it did not when the People s Journal 
 sold out. We are certain of that, for we have never seen anything 
 of either in the Gazette since, and that was the buyer; but then we 
 did not look for it. Some one has beautifully said, laborare est 
 orare. Now, friends, let us labor in the right direction, and our 
 prayers, in time, will be answered. Through the Journal "man 
 dost hear us" ; you know he will not through the Gazette. Our task 
 masters wield the pen of that paper, and will they give space to our 
 utterances? to our complaints of exhorbitant taxes, or as to the 
 manner in which they are dispensed? Nay, they would rather say, 
 "Ye tillers of the soil, walk ye up and pay, and say not a word! 
 You know nothing of all these things!" And many do not say a 
 word, because they do not understand the intricacies of county 
 government, etc.; but Mr. Editor does, and he will expose them for 
 the benefit of us poor tax-payers. I have great confidence that he 
 will, if you will only pay for his paper, instead of giving your sub 
 scription over into the hands of the enemy. J ust now we are called 
 upon to pay a tax of two per cent, when one should be ample, on an 
 equitable taxation, to defray all county expenses. 
 
 How many farmers wives understand these things better than 
 I do, and still they are doing the work of two or three women, turn 
 ing and making over garments, and economizing in every possible 
 way, even to letting their dear little ones paddle out in the mud and 
 cold, barefooted, for want of means to buy shoes with, until possibly 
 the fell destroyer comes and takes them to Heaven, away from us. 
 Now, we ve economized in tlii> way for the past three or tour years, 
 and still are no letter off. Let us now throw away needles and 
 thread, and work another way speak of these wrongs through t he- 
 columns of the Journal, as duty and conscience have compelled 
 me to. Tin ii, good >ooth. we pray indeed, and a> man dost hear 
 US, (iod, He will, and in due time our wrongs shall be righted. 
 
 Substitute. 
 Pescadnn. I >ec. 15th. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 195 
 
 Journal Mites and Palo Alto Items. 
 
 -"Rattle his bones, over the stones, only a pauper that no 
 body owns." The poor dead of San Francisco are kept in an un 
 dertaker s cellar, in naked heaps, until "a load" is accumulated, 
 when they are carted off in the night to the Potter s field, and thrown 
 into a common pit, like dogs. It costs the city just $1.37^ each 
 to bury them, while a quarter of a million dollars was stolen from 
 tax- payers in the Dupont street frauds alone. This is "our ad 
 vanced stage of civilization." Let us go back to barbarism. Sav 
 ages have at least a decent respect for their dead, and may steal 
 bread, but not rob corpses of decent burial. 
 
 T. M. Cook went to San Francisco on Friday last to testify 
 against Robert Desty before the Justices taking testimony in the 
 case. Mr. Cook took with him a spare copy of a paper called the 
 Times and Gazette, in order to prove from it that the voters of San 
 Mateo and San Francisco counties had full knowledge of the fact 
 that Mr. Desty was not a citizen at the time he became a candidate 
 for the Senate. Such evidence might be admitted in a Justice s 
 Court, but never in a court of higher degree. The presumption 
 that the people of San Francisco "had full knowledge" of any fact 
 merely because it was published in that paper, is simply immense. 
 We cannot recall an instance of like conceit since the day that Ba 
 laam rode his ass forth, and made it talk in his stead. The circum 
 stances of the two cases are quite similar. 
 
 At the public school yesterday a boy got up to read a com 
 position on "The Tree." He got as far as "This subject has many 
 branches," when Gid said, "Stop, you have not made your bough 
 yet." "If you interrupt me again," said the boy, "I ll leave." 
 "You give me any more impudence and I ll take the Sap out of you. 
 Do you understand?" said the teacher. "I twig," said the boy, and 
 then the regular order of business proceeded. Eureka Leader. 
 
 But it hadn t proceeded far before the boy began to cough. 
 "Stop your barking," said the teacher, "or I ll give you the bud." 
 "Wood you be so mean when a feller can t help it?" replied the boy. 
 "You little rascal, I ll tear you limb from limb, if you talk back to 
 me." Here the boy began to cry, and paused to wipe his nose, it 
 was knotty. 
 
196 POKTRY AND PROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 G s Indigent Fund 
 
 Stij t rvisor (i has an indigent in the north end of the county 
 
 \\l)o>r I.IM bill presented to the Board by a store-keeper, and al 
 lowed, sh<>\\- >oim- features which the economical Cook should cer 
 tainly know about. It is a shame that this learned writer on po 
 litical economy should waste his mighty efforts over such small 
 points as he does, and fritter away his massive intellect on unworthy 
 objects. We propose, hereafter, to give him material to work upon 
 so that he may have a foe worthy of his steal. Hark ye, Cook, to 
 the following: lf> in a bill filed by order of Supervisor G 
 for the expense of an indigent outside of the Poor Farm, and al 
 lowed under his advice at the last Board: "Bottle of port wine, 65 
 cts. ; bottle of brandy, 75 cts. ; clothes line, 20 cts. ; 1 dozen cans 
 oysters, $1.50; cash, $5; one tub, 50 cts.; to subscription to Daily 
 Call, S3; to cash, $5; to nails, 50 cts.; to horehound candy, 25 cts.; 
 to cash, $5 ; to bottle ot brandy, 75 cts. ; to cash, $5. 
 
 Now, port wine, and brandy, and oysters, and cash, and sub 
 scription to daily newspapers, and a little more cash, then hore 
 hound candy, and a little more cash, then another bottle of brandy, 
 and another five-dollar piece, is pretty generous treatment of a 
 county indigent. But then our leading Supervisors are large-souled, 
 most generous-hearted men w r ith the county s money. With 
 such liberal fare and good treatment as this, there are but few poor 
 in the county who would not like to be under good Supervisor 
 
 s special care. But when election time should come around, then 
 would it be expected that the day of return thanks had arrived, and 
 unless properly responded to, the stern order would follow soon after: 
 "To the poor house! to the poor house! go! to the poor house!" 
 Alas for human nature! It s ever so queer! 
 
 We Rise to Explain 
 
 We understand that some persons are misapprehending the 
 nature of those articles published in the Times andGazette, and signed 
 R. G. Rowley. We would say to such that they are but extracts of 
 something that was written three years ago, and related only to the 
 People s Journal. They have no reference to the present, or to the 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 197 
 
 existing County Journal. The leaving out of any statement of what 
 the article refers to, as well as of quotation marks at times, showing 
 that the article was copied from something else, is only one of the 
 little petty meannesses practiced by that paper to mislead people. 
 By this they hope to induce some persons to believe the article re 
 fers to the present and to the County Journal. This is the spirit ol 
 fairness which has ever characterized the management of that pa 
 per, so we expect nothing better; in fact, we want nothing better 
 than the republication of that farewell address, on a square basis. 
 It shows upon the face of it that it is not the language of a man "sell 
 ing out," as that phrase is usually understood to mean, to-wit: to 
 make money. It shows, on the contrary, only a desire to "get-out" 
 as soon as possible, in a righteous fit of indignation. There is the 
 mark of pride and spirit there, but not of avarice or cupidity. We 
 leave sensible men to judge of that distinction, which is quite ma 
 terial in the present issue. At a day not far distant, we shall pub 
 lish the history of the "true inwardness" of the persecution and 
 harassment of that journal, a reiteration of which is being attempt 
 ed against this journal, but with very poor prospects of success. 
 We shall there open the eyes of the people of this county to some 
 things they now little dream of, and if the reaction, then, is not most 
 favorable to the support of the new County Journal by them, then 
 we greatly mistake the temper of the people in whose midst we live. 
 We want it, once for all, distinctly understood that the County 
 Journal stays and lives, or dies, by virtue of its own merits or de 
 merits, right here, according as the will of the people of the county 
 shall determine. It is for them to support it, and make it in every 
 sense their paper, or to let it die out as unworthy of support. The 
 Sheriff may sell it out, but no other man. 
 
 The editor of The Journal would further add that he has no 
 axes of his own to grind, he wants no office, and under no circum 
 stances will he ever seek one; he simply desires to establish a news 
 paper in San Mateo County, and have it supported by the people 
 as their paper. He failed at it once, hence his determined effort 
 this time to redeem that failure; now, with the vox Dei as well as 
 the vox Populi on his side, it must succeed it shall succeed. 
 
198 POETRY AND PROSE SELECTION^ 
 
 Journal Mites and Palo Alto Items. 
 
 Yes, consider the matter of raising the assessment of a print 
 ing press a hundred dollars or so; give it good thought and consid 
 eration, gentlemen, lest you do harm, and wrong the county out of 
 an assessment of a hundred dollars. But when great corporations 
 come before you and ask for a reduction of a million and a half 
 at one fell blow, go right about it and do it ; wait not upon the order 
 of your doing it, but do it at once. Twas ever thus. From child 
 hood s hour, I ve seen the rich man have his way, but for the de 
 spised, down-trodden poor, there is no hope, nor better day. 
 
 Mr. T. M. Cook, editor Times and Gazette, made a voluntary 
 appearance before the Redwood Literary Club, in the Court House 
 on Saturday evening last. A good audience greeted the speaker. 
 Mr. Cook s remarks were off-hand, and consisted of an interesting 
 description of his adventures as war correspondent of the New York 
 Herald, during the war of the Rebellion. His description of several 
 battles, as witnessed by himself, was vivid and effective. He thinks 
 the duty of a newspaper war correspondent, however, is to "cor 
 respond" and not to fight. He is willing to leave that part of the 
 business to the "editor." Now, that the gentleman is an editor, 
 this suggestion would seem to be doubly suggestive. 
 
 They, the T. &G. give a horticultural work along with it now, 
 all for four dollars. If this don t win, a magnificent chromo will 
 be thrown in, and finally a setting hen, and a bull pup. If they 
 would only take the newspaper part of the dose out, they may find 
 a few patients willing to swallow the book and pup part of it. But 
 oh, my readers, it is a terrible dose to take the w r hole compound 
 as it is; castor oil, senna and manna, Jaynes Hair Restorative, are 
 all sweet and palatable in comparison. There is but one way to 
 swallow the mixture, and that is as we did our medicine when chil 
 dren shut the eyes, open the mouth, stick out the tongue, let 
 mamma put it in with a spoon, and then with a spasmodic gulp, 
 a wrench and a wry face, choke it down and go off and cry about 
 it. We would we were a child again, for now, in our a^e, it is not 
 so ea>y a mailer to cry, and we know, too well, that unless our feel 
 ings can have expressive vent over this nauseous compound, we 
 shall have need for a physician of the soul. Spare us! in mercy 
 spare us! 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 199 
 
 America s Weakness 
 
 Uncle Sam is bristling up with courage over the Chilian situa 
 tion. The activity in the Navy and Navy yards exceeds anything 
 since war times. Of course, all this is not to bluff poor little Chili. 
 This is entirely unnecessary. There is the power behind the ni 
 trate beds that must be made to get out and show itself. It has 
 skulked through the South American Republics to the great detri 
 ment and almost destruction of American interests there, long 
 enough. It is the Union-Jack of England, and as good a Jack as 
 he may have been in the past at some trades, he will soon find that 
 he is not master of this one. It is time, high time, that the United 
 States should most emphatically say to England and to all Euro 
 pean powers, "Let the American Republics and governments alone. 
 America for Americans. Let them work out their own destinies, 
 and do not try to control them, especially against the principles and 
 policies of the United States government, or even against the trade 
 and commerce of its people." These lesser American Republics 
 have been neglected by the greater one too long. The United 
 States should stand, not only as a mediator between them in their 
 internal dissensions, but as a protector against the insidious designs 
 of European powers, through the wily machinations of their mer 
 chants. England s present bluff, and almost impudence, as mani 
 fested through its leading press, notably the old-time thunderer, 
 the London Times and its malicious correspondent, is only done 
 through the speaking-trumpet on the quarter deck of her iron-clads. 
 
 If the United States would become a great commercial people, 
 they must have a great Navy. Each year shows the increasing 
 necessity of this, until now the necessity is ripened absolutely into 
 a question of national existence. It is passing strange that Ameri 
 can statesmen would not have seen the inevitable and prepared for 
 it in the by-gone years. But American statesmen, bah! where 
 are they? With but one exception, there isn t a living one. The 
 living pretenders have all degenerated into sectional politicians, and 
 their example is fast bringing down the mass of the American people 
 to their own level. Public thought is becoming concentrated on 
 home matters, trifles many of them are, when compared with the 
 issues forced upon us by the world at large. We have no foreign 
 policy. We have no international principles or precedents to guide 
 
200 POKTRY AM) PROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 us. Kach day is presenting to us a question Dimple in it> form as 
 may be, yet we have no answer to it. The iiu-s of tin recent Ital 
 ian imbroglio went straight home to the hearts a> well a> tin h< ad- 
 of all true Americans. We were astonished at our \\takm >s and 
 our ignorance, and could answer no questions but by bluff. There 
 should be an American foreign policy, American international law, 
 American principles of justice, and, behind all, the bulwarks of a 
 powerful American Navy, sufficient to command respect, demand 
 retraction, punish enemies, and assist friends. 1891 
 
 A word to the Monthly Palo Alto, "for, of, to. with and by the 
 students, of the Leland Stanford Junior I niversity." Do change 
 that head line. It looks so stupid to repeat it t wice. We know 
 you are "tenderfeet" from the East. We could excuse one error of 
 the sort, but not its repetition Menlo Park is not in Santa Clara 
 county, it is in San Mateo county. We are well aware that the ur 
 ban and sub-urban residents of that classic town \\ish tin y were in 
 Santa Clara county, but the fates drew the line at the creek and we 
 cannot now help it. So have your Palo Alto l : icld change its tune 
 on its Fyffe, so that its Smith and its Sawyer may do more n --pon-i- 
 ble work. 
 
 Palo Alto Answered 
 
 Under the above head, "Menlonian," in last week s Democrat, 
 of Redwood City, very neatly, and we might >ay rather s\\eetly, 
 answered the Palo Alto s arraignment of the government of San 
 Mateo county, in the isMieof the 15th in>iant , a- follows: 
 
 "The suggestive editorial of Kditor Rowley in the Palo Alto 
 last week was kec nly ( njoyed. not alone on account of its lit< rarj 
 beauty or eonimversial charm, or its inMriictive road history, but 
 also upon the assurance that friend Rowley is still in accord wit h u> 
 upon t he ">iiper\ i>orial imbecility" that ha- marked our count \ and 
 has dom- so much to check M- prOgTCSS. \Ye had feared that the- 
 plumed knight we had fought BO resolutely with in year> gone by 
 
 had yielded t<> the blandishments of that supervisorial imbecility, 
 
 or rat In r duplicity, as we have n ad ii \\ i ii len by the editorial pen 
 ot old. We feared that our intellectual 1 ru nd had yielded, etc.. etc. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 201 
 
 Journal Mites and Palo Alto Items. 
 
 Sprinkling streets is a distinct political issue in Santa Cruz 
 county, this fall. The use of water is not so much an issue in this 
 county, in political times, as that of whisky. 
 
 "There is no room in this small county for two newspapers." 
 (Signed R. G. Rowley. ) T. & G. So say we now, so say we ever, 
 and as we live, there shall be but one newspaper in this county and 
 that one shall be The Journal. 
 
 The renowned Commodore Nutt was in town on Sunday. 
 He is just the biggest little man out, and a hard nut to crack. He 
 says if he lived in this county he d beat toll roads. We presume 
 he means by throwing his great bulk in the tollgate, and blocking 
 up the road- way. We wish he would move here. 
 
 A little suit in a Justice Court, wherein a judgment of twenty 
 dollars, only, was involved, recently shows a cost bill filed of $60.50. 
 This is what might be well termed getting justice with a vengeance. 
 A good deal more vengeance, though, than justice, as a man up a 
 tree sees it. If a man to recover $20 by process of law has to first 
 lay out and expend $60.50, paying his lawyer extra beside, and a 
 debtor who is compelled by law to pay a judgment of $20 must also 
 pay $60.50 for costs of collecting, then Justice s scales are indeed 
 badly balanced, or her bandage slipped down off her eyes so that the 
 old lady can go but one eye on it. 
 
 A grizzly bear was seen on the Dubb s ranch, near La Honda, 
 by the Keiffer boys one day this week. His bearship sat bolt up 
 right on open ground not far from the ranch house, and caused great 
 consternation amongst the stock of cattle and horses, which fled pell- 
 mell to the safety of the barn corral. On the opposite side of La 
 Honda, on the same day, a pair of beautiful California lions were 
 seen very near, by a deer-hunter, but the young hunter preferred the 
 buck he was after, and shot it, letting the lions escape, which, he 
 says, he could at one time have killed at one shot. And while these 
 things were going on, down below in the fair camp of La Honda, by 
 the banks of its beautiful creek, there slept gentle women and ten 
 der kids within the frail walls of canvas tents, all unsuspecting of 
 the great brutes sitting on the neighboring hill-tops looking down 
 with keen nose and eager eyes on what might be such a nice and 
 enjoyable breakfast. 
 
202 POKTRY AND PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 The Home vs. The Dormitory 
 
 The Dormitory system at Universities is not all that it is 
 thought to he when viewed at a distance. The objections to it are 
 immense, and concentrate their force rapidly when it is attempted 
 to house five hundred young men under one roof, or a hundred young 
 women under another. If these were scattered under five hundred 
 roofs their educational progress would he accelerated almost that 
 number of times. The evils of such a social compact and impact 
 are making themselves quickly manifest even in the Stanford, with 
 its stone palace for a house. The home is the place for the boy and 
 young man, while a student ; his ideas of life and living are too im 
 mature and impracticable to commit him to himself, in such a wil 
 derness of raw and undisciplined material as the huge barracks now 
 proposed. When the country about the Stanford becomes occupied 
 by the houses and homes of parents and guardians, then the in 
 stitution will be founded upon a basis broad and enduring, and then 
 only. It should be the chief aim of the founders to assist in every 
 way this desirable end. With means of access and entrances on all 
 sides, the surrounding lands will quickly be built up with the found 
 ations of a University, rock-built. Now they are but placed upon 
 shifting sands, and the tempests of time are certain in their destruct 
 ive force. The present system can only be a temporary and what 
 may well be called a make-shift one. 
 
 The existing situation would seem to imply that the recourse to 
 the Dormitory system was absolutely necessary, and had to be in 
 dulged in. But this excuse cannot long exist if the founders do 
 not desire it to, and have not made it part of their perpetual plans. 
 It is safe to say that the two Dormitories at Stanford, even at this 
 early stage of progress, are today causing more trouble and anxiety 
 to both Faculty and Founders than the whole (Juadrangle, with its 
 class rooms and laboratories from end to end. Relief must come, 
 and the sooner the better; and it can only come by the home system, 
 and by responsible private boarding houses, and the private room 
 ing system so well established now in Cambridge and New Haven. 
 The Yale barracks at the latter place stand today a^ an evidence of 
 the inutility of the Dormitory system. They are dilapidated and 
 deserted, and not desired nor desirable. The students are scattered 
 through the city, in nx>ms and boarding houses, and the restraints 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 203 
 
 of home life and family discipline take the place of the abused liber 
 ty and license of the great public hotel. The students themselves 
 soon find out the difference between the two manners of living, and 
 turn toward the more natural and sensible one of their own accord. 
 In this connection it is not deemed best to more than allude to 
 the Co-educational University, which further and still stronger em 
 phasizes every argument that can be advanced against the Dormi 
 tory system. Every objection that can be raised or thought of 
 against putting young men in Dormitories is doubly intensified and 
 becomes personified to a degree so alarming that is not publicly 
 debatable, when young girls are placed therein. The private house, 
 the family home, the individual room and bed and table, are the 
 only proper and natural places, to rear children in, to educate the 
 young in, to sanctify the life of the student in. 
 
 Two Old Ladies of France 
 
 France is producing some remarkable old ladies. Or rather, 
 to put it correctly, they are just now about dying off. One in 
 particular leaves a legacy of a hundred thousand francs "to that as 
 tronomer, who, within the next ten years, communicates successfully 
 with one of the stars and receives an answer" the old woman 
 doubtless meant one of the planets, but it is immaterial. The fact, 
 however, shows how the fitful wanderings of scientific minds can 
 impress inferior mortals with a sublime understanding of the ridic 
 ulous. 
 
 Another far wiser old gal was she who left her old-time, long 
 time "family physician," in reward for his many years of valuable 
 services, which she said "had enabled her to reach a ripe old age," 
 everything contained in her bonheur du jour whatever that is, 
 but it may be supposed to be a locked secretary. The executors 
 opened the case to the anxious and expectant M. D., to find within 
 it nothing but the unopened and unused pill-boxes and potions that 
 he had prescribed for the old lady for the past ten years. Now, 
 there was a woman of fine feeling and tender consideration, with a 
 philosophy in her mental make-up worthy of analysis. She had 
 not the heart to offend her old friend, by letting him know she was 
 not taking his stuff, and she had not the stomach to take it ; so 
 
204 POETRY AND PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 she makes a splendid compromise between the two keeping the 
 medico in the blissful conceit, for years, that his remedies were vir 
 tuous and vital; thus making him happy all her life, and at her 
 death only making manifest what, by this time, if he had any sense, 
 he should have discovered for himself, that nature is vastly superior 
 to physic, and that human life is controlled by natural laws and not 
 bv accident. 
 
 Vale! Almaden! 
 
 Poor old New Almaden is no more. The great quicksilver 
 mine of the last half century is exhausted and its men are discharged. 
 Thirty-five years ago and the very life of San Jose depended upon 
 this mine. It was then in its prime, and was considered the most 
 valuable mine property in the state. A thousand men found work 
 in and about it, and millions of dollars were produced and put in 
 circulation by it. Santa Clara county proudly boasted of this in 
 valuable possession; San Jose thought it could not possibly exist 
 without it. Today it dies, and but one newspaper in that town more 
 than briefly alludes to its demise, as though it were a little thing, c n- 
 tirely inconsequential. Yet San Jose exists, bigger and prouder 
 than ever (barring the Rea-Wood suit) and the great revenue* of the 
 Almaden of old are not missed by it, much less made a necessity. 
 Such is life; one constant change. Up we go, down we go, now all 
 go together. Vale, Almaden! You were a power in the land once. 
 Many men fought for you, and died for you. Now none so poor 
 as to do you reverence. Vale! 
 
 -The Mayfield Palo Alto has changed hands. Mr. H. K. 
 Hayne, who lias conducted the paper since l-"ebniary, has disposed 
 of it to Mr. R. ( .. Rowley, a well known re>idcnt and capitalist of 
 Ma\ field. The incoming man has had a great deal of experience a* a 
 writer, having conducted a paper very Miccefully in San Mateo 
 county. The Journal welcomes Mr. Rowley to the newspaper fra 
 ternity of the Santa Clara valley and wishes for him abundant 
 success. Santa Clara Journal. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 205 
 
 Journal Mites and Palo Alto Items. 
 
 We copy: "Near Hollister, February 1st, to the wife of John 
 Garcia, a son the eleventh." John! John! but one more makes a 
 dozen! Eleven sons! Surely, John, yours is a sonny home, and 
 sonny skies must gleam brightly over sonny fields. John! we must 
 say that the nursery rhyme beginning "John! John! my son John, 
 went, etc., etc.!" was never a truthful song of thee, John! never! 
 
 -"He shall gnaw a file, and flee unto the mountains of Hep- 
 sidam, where the lion roareth, and the whangdoodle mourneth for 
 its first born." 
 
 The long silence of our contemporary, concerning The Journal, 
 which some people had foolishly enough construed as being a 
 quiescent state of wisdom and dignity, was broken last week in 
 exactly the manner we expected it would be, to wit: like the up 
 setting of an old swill tub by a long-nosed sow, rooting around a 
 hoosier s back door. The offal spilt on the ground was something 
 truly awful. The stench filleth our nostrils at this distance. What 
 a stomach a brute must have to enjoy rooting around in such a mess. 
 Magna est vis consuetudinis . 
 
 The double-headed, four-armed, four-legged, two-in-one- 
 bodied, two-souled woman, was exhibited in Germania Hall, Tues 
 day evening to a crowded house. It is now evident, what it takes 
 to fill a house, in Redwood; so many open mouths, and wondering 
 eyes, never before stared stage-ward. The immortal mystery sur 
 rounding that piece of humanity, is something awful. One went 
 away after seeing her, in doubt whether he was himself one or two, 
 and after retiring at night, would feel over on the other pillow, to see 
 whether another head was lying there. It is perfectly horrible to 
 think of. Just imagine your two heads turning around, and look 
 ing into each others eyes, or of kissing one s self. But stop we 
 shall go crazy in trying to solve the many awful situations possible. 
 If she should marry, which head would the fellow talk to, for his 
 wife, and we wonder whether the other head would not be jealous, 
 and kick up a row about it with those four legs down below. Then 
 what a confusion worse confounded would be when a flea got on one 
 of those four legs, and four hands went down to hunt him up, 
 amongst all those troubles, and wanting to scratch, etc., etc. The 
 situation is too much for us, we succumb. 
 
206 1 OKTRY AND I ROSK SELECTIONS 
 
 All the Way from Chicago 
 
 And still they come. This time it is directed to "Sec y Board 
 <>t Education, Mayfield, Cal." Oh, whatever have we done that 
 we should be taken by these Easterners for a whole Municipal Board 
 with an electrical plant and water-works thrown in? If it wasn t 
 that Leap Year is so close at hand, we verily would go off and drown 
 ourself in one of Pucker s vats. Life is getting unbearable. This 
 new communication comes from Chicago, and starts out with: 
 "Thinking that you might be in need of something in the way of 
 furniture and apparatus, we," etc. No, sir; dam it, we want noth 
 ing. Just because we have recently set up bachelor s hall here, do 
 you think we want your old furniture and school benches to sit on? 
 And must we be insulted in this way, as though we were really 
 "in need of something?" What is it, you old bloke? May be you 
 know better than we do ourself what we want. Just go and drown 
 yourself in your big lake, and let us alone. 
 
 Another thing this fellow wants to impose upon us is a "Ken 
 dall s Lunar Telluric Globe." Oh, Kendall! are we such a Tellur 
 ic Lunatic as to have use for such a thing? But now comes the 
 sweet consolation, the balm of Gilead. Our wounded soul is healed 
 instanter and made whole. Here is the soothing syrup: "On all 
 school furniture except teachers desks, 50 per cent off the list price." 
 Oh! now; why weren t we born or made a School Trustee! What 
 lost opportunities are here disclosed! Fifty per cent profit on all 
 purchases we should make, except on teachers desks, and as they 
 generally have to furnish their own desks, what difference does this 
 little exception make? Oh, lack-a-day! how we had always been 
 so innocently presuming that school trustees were working for pub 
 lic weal only, and here it is for private veal, instead. But, sir, Mr. 
 Universal School Supplier, you have made a slight mistake in the 
 town, don t you? You certainly couldn t have intended it for May- 
 field. San Jose is the place you want. Direct to "The Board of 
 Education, care of Jim Rea, San Jose," and blooming right you ll be. 
 
 "The San Mateo County Journal has entered on volume 
 four. The Journal is a bright, newsy, and interesting paper. 
 Continued success, Bro. Rowley." San Benito Advance. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 207 
 
 Our Figure Head 
 
 The engraving at the head of the Journal is believed to be a 
 great improvement upon the old spread-eagle figure which constant 
 ly meets our eye. The Great American Bird has been too long 
 soaring through infinite space, in an aimless, speculative way. His 
 restless, untiring wings, have fanned the upper ether from Alaska 
 to Central America from Cuba to the Sandwich Islands in a con 
 stant round of flight. It is time the Bird of Freedom changed his 
 habits, quit his soaring, and alighted with his foot upon his own 
 sufficient soil, there to become domesticated domiciled looking 
 after his own and his home. 
 
 This is the idea carried out in our new cut. The National Bird 
 is here quite content to rest from its long flight, and near its nest, 
 to look after its home interests its uneasy, crying, hungry young 
 lings, the great, dissatisfied American People. 
 
 "Equal and Just" 
 
 We have read, with considerable curiosity, as well as interest, 
 the communications to a local paper, of a Deputy Assessor of this 
 County, while at work in the field. His vivid description of at 
 tempting to reach a cabin in the mountains, for the purpose of as 
 sessing its sole occupant, by climbing almost inaccessible ridges, 
 then lowering himself and mule, or rather the mule and himself, 
 down nearly perpendicular precipices, by means of a rope fastened 
 to trees, in order to reach the goal of his ambition, the aforesaid cab 
 in ; which he succinctly describes as being seven by nine, with slap 
 jacks for supper a three foot bunk for two to sleep in at night 
 with the irrepressible slap-jack for breakfast in the morning 
 makes an imposing spectacle of how much a faithful public servant 
 is willing to do and dare in his efforts to serve the people. 
 
 While reading the article we were secretly compelled to admire 
 the intrepid spirit which would, for the dear people s sake, storm 
 mountain fortresses, scale buttresses of everlasting rock; climb first 
 toward the stars, then descend to the unknown depths of bottom 
 less pits in order that the Assessment Roll of the County shall be 
 "equal and just." 
 
 But while absorbed in contemplation of the sublime moral as 
 
208 POKTRY AM) PKOSK SKl.KCTloNS 
 
 well as physical aspect presented us here, in spite of oursill". our 
 mind would wander toward the many elegant villas and palatial 
 residences that adorn our fair oak vales; with their enchanting 
 serpentine carriage drives, winding through an Kden of landscape 
 and horticultural beauty; adorned with all the costly ornament > of 
 art, as well as with the quieter and sublimer ones of Nature we say 
 we were compelled to stop and consider whether the poor man up 
 yonder in his little mountain hut, with his narrow crib, and morn 
 ing slap-jacks, really believes the assessment of the County is 
 "equal and just": while he wonders why it is that mules and ropes 
 should be used to reach him in his secluded home wherein he is 
 probably compelled, by poverty and misery, to banish himself 
 from the world and society, and all their comforts and luxuries in 
 order that he may be assessed upon a few paltry dollars worth of 
 property, while the broad level roads leading to the gorgeous homes 
 of millionaires, are so easily traversed, so easily reached, with thous 
 ands and tens of thousands of dollars of assessable property lying on 
 every hand, "unknelled" by the Deputy, and almost "unknown" 
 to his books. 
 
 Journal Mites and Palo Alto Items 
 
 Boys! Boys! out there at the University. "Once a man, al 
 ways a boy." But let us have the "once a man" come about now, 
 and the "always a boy" some other time. This is hardly the prop 
 er time for the "always" business. 
 
 R. G. Rowley, a newspaper veteran, has assumed the editorial 
 control of the Palo Alto. The marks of his facile pen are visible in 
 the well-filled columns of the University journal. We extend the 
 right hand of fellowship, and welcome to the lists another earnest 
 worker in a small but most promising field of journalism. Redwood 
 City Democrat. 
 
 Master Tommy Moore of Alpiw was recently tin- recipient 
 of a fine donkey at the hands of Tax Collector Pitcher of Redwood, a 
 good friend of Tommy s. The donkey now rejoice- in the -oul.ri- 
 quet of "Little Pitcher." When Tommy was challenged as to his 
 good taste in naming M diminutive an animal alter M> big a man as 
 the donor, hi- .tn-\\tr \\a-. "(Mi, it ain t that \\ayat all; mamma 
 is always telling me that little pitcher- have l.iu ears, and ju-1 look 
 at h " 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 209 
 
 An Impressive Power 
 
 The names drawn in San Mateo county for the Grand Jury 
 show a more than usually strong force. This august tribunal 
 should always consist of a county s best and most intelligent citi 
 zens. Grand Juries may now well be called the palladium of 
 American liberty. The hopes of the people are more and more 
 becoming centered in this formidable legal body. This shows that, 
 despite all our broad ideas of freedom and liberty, we are well aware 
 that constituted power and authority are essential to preserve these 
 great privileges, and that when that power is almost complete in 
 its plentitude, then evil-doers stand in most wholesome awe. 
 
 The Grand Jury system should never be abolished. It is now 
 the one power in the Republic that is fully respected ; and it is be 
 cause of the sceptre it holds that craven hearts and evil minds dread 
 it, and would connive at its destruction. Good citizens have noth 
 ing to fear from Grand Juries. It is the terror only of bad citizens. 
 Petit Juries are far more liable to err, and do mischief by their 
 errors than Grand Juries. It has seldom or never been recorded of 
 a Grand Jury that it abused the office or committed the follies that 
 Petit Juries are continually doing. 
 
 The respect which Grand Juries ever command amongst the 
 body of citizens of itself augurs well in its favor. It is getting too 
 trite a saying, too much of an altruism, that Americans have re 
 spect for nothing, for nobody; neither on earth, nor in the heavens 
 above, nor deep down under the sea." The secret, silent power of 
 this august tribunal does enforce a wholesome fear, does command 
 a dutiful respect, does control the highest places in the land which 
 otherwise could not be controlled. And the general effect of the 
 Grand Jury system, aside from any direct manifestation of power or 
 exercise of authority, is wholesome and salutary, and no American 
 freeman, true to the constitution and laws of his native land, with 
 the well being of that country at heart, would ever desire to destroy, 
 or even lessen, the majesty and authority, though it be kingly in 
 its prerogatives, of the American Grand Jury. 
 
 "The San Mateo Journal is one of the neatest and cleanest 
 printed papers in California. We admire a good looking paper, and 
 the Journal comes nearest the mark. No taffy." San Jose Pioneer. 
 
210 POETRY AM) PK< ^1 SE1 ECTIQNS 
 
 Journal Mites and Palo Alto Items. 
 
 Parties were in town last week prospecting the advantages 
 of Redwood for a cotton mill. A splendid place for the thing; 
 plenty of wood, water, boys and girls. The town ought to be well 
 able to encourage one cotton mill, seeing how well it supports some 
 two dozen gin mills. 
 
 Willie Jung, a Mountain View youth, rested the muzzle of 
 his gun on his toe for a moment one day last week, and two other 
 toes sympathized with the idea so well that Willie can now carry 
 all three of them in his pocket in place of a bunch of cigarettes, if 
 he desires. 
 
 There is a very serious truth involved in the statement, that 
 when a man gets mad about what a newspaper says of him, the same 
 gentleman should be duly and truly thankful to that paper for what 
 it knows about him and does not repeat. It would many times off 
 set the score of the little said that vexed him, and leave a large 
 balance in the paper s favor. 
 
 It was a Palo Alto publication day when Burt (it was Bertie 
 only a year ago,and now it s Burt with a big B ) came running breath 
 lessly into the office, exclaiming: "You have left me out of the 
 paper!" "How is that?" replied the mild-eyed Editor. "Why, my 
 baby, you know it was a girl and weighed 11 pounds," was the 
 response. "Great Scott!" answered the now interested chief. "Bring 
 it in, quick, and we ll open the forms and put it in the last edition." 
 Then, with a question whether the sex was satisfactory, and if a 
 boy wouldn t have suited better, Burt turned on his heel and said 
 he d "see us later about that." Whatever he meant, wewondei. 
 Now this is a good specimen of how a poor country Editor is sup 
 posed to be everywhere and see everything that happens, it In- gets 
 any news. This was the first we had heard about that baby. Of 
 course, it was only natural for the young papa to imagine that tin- 
 whole county ought to have known of its arrival. May In- tin -y had, 
 but we are not up to this sort of thing, and so were in ignorance. 
 The baby is all right, however, and is just a buster. Burt has 
 bought a two-quart fruit can for a nursing bottle. He is in a little 
 d<mbt about the mouth fit I ing. but thinks it ll come all right. Ver 
 ily, the responsibilities of life are great. See the 
 in this issue for the rest ot the storv. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 211 
 
 Words of Wisdom 
 
 There are a few of the people s maxims or proverbs so true and 
 consistent with human nature as to make them a rule of human con 
 duct so general that the exceptions prove nothing. The sayings, 
 "Familiarity begets contempt," "A man is never great to his valet," 
 etc., are the particular ones alluded to now. But when an excep 
 tion does arise to a great general rule, it is of such a peculiar and un 
 expected a nature, so marked and characterized, that it is recognized 
 at once as a proposition worthy of being placed alongside of the 
 parent stock, a child well worthy of its origin. 
 
 This line of thought is suggested to us by a careful perusal 
 no, we must say a study, because the subject is too deep to be mere 
 ly perused, it must be studied to be fully appreciated of the ad 
 dress of Senator Stanford, delivered at Palo Alto on the Opening 
 Day of the University, and which is given in full in this issue, and 
 of which the Monitor says : "We were particularly impressed with 
 the remarks delivered by Governor Stanford; there is a world of 
 meaning in every sentence, more, in fact, than the outside mind can 
 comprehend." 
 
 Mr. Stanford has been so long and intimately known about Pa 
 lo Alto and Mayfield as to be appreciated hereabouts only as a resi 
 dent millionaire, a Senator of late years, it is true, but a man whose 
 chief occupation was with millions rather than with ideas and 
 thoughts. That this is the grand mistake and grievous misconcep 
 tion of our people, which can be traced to no more worthy a source 
 than to the reflective sentiment conveyed by the mean adages above 
 quoted, is to-day all too apparent by thesubstantialism, thereflective 
 thought, and, we may well add, the profound wisdom exhibited in 
 the founder s address to the faculty and students of his University. 
 This production will bear the closest scrutiny and criticism of all 
 scholars, and even of teachers of philosophy. Like some of Lin 
 coln s famous solid chunks of wisdom, which now stand as the phil 
 osophic maxims of the people, so will these Stanfordian sentences 
 be some time recognized at their full worth. 
 
 It may be urged by cynics that they have no originality about 
 them, that they only express ideas that all consent readily to. Ad 
 mitted, but it is just in this power of expression that lies the gift of 
 genius. "There is nothing new under the sun." The stronger the 
 
212 TOKTRY AND PR( )SK SKLECTIONS 
 
 thought comes home to the listening mind, as the embodied spirit 
 of a grand idea, familiar as that idea may be to all of us, so much 
 the greater is the mind that gives expression to the conception in a 
 manner that rings and tingles through the whole mentality. This is 
 the worthy occupation of ability. Ideas were born long before men ; 
 their creator will have to be hunted for in the far past of the uni 
 verse. It is only left for man to cull them from the great shores 
 of the ocean of truth, and set the precious stones in a diadem, that 
 princes should not scorn to wear, because, foresooth, they were not 
 made at the hands of him who would place them on the kingly brow. 
 
 And why should we not always have thought of him thus? 
 Is not the final evidence, by the establishment of this great scheme 
 of the Stanford University, sufficient cause for such consideration 
 in the past? The germ must then have existed or it would never 
 have developed now into Palo Alto. Let every reader study the 
 address, and consider it well. And in this connection let no one 
 fail to become impressed with the all importance to himself and to 
 his interests in this section of country, as well as to the great future 
 general good of all, of the following words of the Senator, as there 
 in found: "We have decided to start this institution with the col 
 lege course of study, beginning with the freshman year. In time 
 we hope to extend its scope from the kindergarten through the high 
 school to the university course, and afford opportunities for improve 
 ment and investigation to post-graduates and specialists." 
 
 The pregnant thought involved in these few words is, like much 
 other in the address, so condensed as to be fully understood and 
 realized only after extensive study and elucidation. We shall have 
 much to say in the future concerning the ideas necessarily involved 
 in this open declaration of the founder s plan, and will make it 
 many times a text for a Palo Alto homily. It is the bed-rock on 
 which the Stanford University is being built, and which will sus 
 tain a structure that time shall not injure, much less man s petty 
 jealousy or envy destroy. 
 
 "The Redwood City Journal entered iijxm a new volume 
 last week. Br<>. Rowley publishes one of the IK-SI papers issued 
 of San Francisco." Watsonville Pajoranian, May \2th. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 213 
 
 Impeachment 
 
 (Extracts from speech of R. G. Rowley, delivered as an opening statement of 
 prosecuting counsel, in the "Miniature Senate of the United States," sitting in 
 the rooms of the "Young Men s Christian Association," San Francisco, April 
 16th, 1867, as a High Court of Impeachment for the Trial of Andrew Johnson, 
 President, etc. ) 
 
 "Give him trial just and grand, 
 Worthy of our race and land; 
 Yet, stript of power, let him stand, 
 But to obey not command. 
 
 "Read his words to true hearts given; 
 Read his oaths up- writ in heaven; 
 Scan his deeds in blood engraven 
 Deeds of demagogue and craven. 
 
 "Let the people s shame and hate 
 For his doom no longer wait; 
 Deal him quick the tyrant s fate 
 Tear him from the chair of State!" 
 
 While the terrible and bloody rebellion of slavery stands linked 
 heart to heart, and joined hand to hand with that other great act 
 of infamy and dishonor, the assassination of a President, we are 
 now compelled to form a trio of national sufferings and disasters, by 
 adding a third, and, under the mercy of Providence, may it be the 
 last, the impeachment and dismissal from office of a living President. 
 
 I do not say these things to deter us from our duties, or cause 
 us to falter or hesitate in their perlormance, but rather to quicken 
 our perceptions of them, and to nerve us for the commission of an 
 act, which, though we may feel reluctant and unwilling to per form, 
 yet, with stern duty and the country s honor staring us in the face, 
 with the boldness and fearlessness of freemen, with the power and 
 honor and self-respect of a Senate of the great American people, we 
 must perform, and which, under Divine guidance and assistance, we 
 will perform. 
 
 Then, dealing firmly but justly with this issue, let us declare 
 to the world that the freedom and power of this nation is such, 
 that even a President who would throw himself beneath the rolling 
 wheels of its chariot of progress, shall not stay its course but shall 
 
214 POKTRY AND PROSK SKUX TIONS 
 
 be crushed into dust. Never was the supremacy of the people of 
 this government so well asserted and established as now. At no t inn 
 hitherto in our history have circumstances called into existence an 
 occasion for the use of the red right hand of power, and the flaming 
 sword of the wrath of this People. That the people of these United 
 States are but mere auxiliaries to help do the great work, has just 
 been proclaimed in a "voice as of many thunders." That the peo 
 ple are the Government, and that the President is but a servant un 
 der them, who must and shall do their will, is now about to be pro 
 claimed in a manner equally significant. * * * 
 
 The issue before us is not one concerning men alone, but rather 
 one of principles and ideas. We are not assembled here clothed 
 with all the majesty and authority of the highest court or tribunal 
 of justice in the nation, merely to try Andrew Johnson as President 
 of the United States, and remove him from office by reason of certain 
 crimes and misdemeanors committed, but we are here, rather, 
 to assert and establish the broad principle that no man or body of 
 men, be he or they a President, a Cabinet, a Supreme Court or a 
 Congress, shall thwart the expressed will of their masters, the people, 
 or place obstacles in the way to obstruct their onward progress; 
 but like chaff from the threshing floor they shall be swept to the 
 winds, and man after man chosen to fill their places, until all shall 
 come to know that the Government of America is truly a Govern 
 ment of the people, and that neither the conceit of office nor the 
 pride of power can saddle their privileges or ride high-handed over 
 their rights! 
 
 Senators, let us be in earnest! It becomes us to be true to these 
 great principles, these foundation stones upon which is reared this 
 noble temple of liberty, built by the hands of man, but consecrated 
 by Divinity itself. Should we at tempt tot urn away from our duty 
 or flinch in its l>ot performance, the great spirit ot Ireedoin. justice 
 and equality, which now prevails in this land, and lills the heart of 
 its people, would come flitting into the windows of t \\\^ Si nate 1 lall, 
 and, like the raven of old. >h perelnd alm\i- our door, crying con 
 tinuously in our ears, " Ye shall In- St-nutors, nevermore! nevermore!" 
 
 We an- hen- to exprett our determination that ihe -pirit which 
 p( rv.ided u> through lour years of civil strife still lives and shall lie 
 perpetuated. And that , as the benefit sand results of this madman s 
 war. during which the noblest lives of the land were sacrificed, and 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 215 
 
 the best blood poured out, a willing libation upon the altar of their 
 country s devotion, now hang clustering thick about the loins of 
 our liberty-loving goddess, so the fruits of those victories and the 
 triumphs of that conquest shall not slip from her grasp as long as 
 Americans can wield the steel for her sake and in her cause! 
 
 And so are we here to declare that those bright buds of prom 
 ise, the growth of over eighteen hundred years of Christian civiliza 
 tion, which are so deeply engrafted upon the free institutions of 
 this Republic, shall be nourished, and that the tree shall live, and 
 those buds shall blossom, and, in God s own good time, shall de 
 velop into the perfect fruit, of which all the nations of the world 
 shall eat and call it good. We are here to meet the issue whether 
 the principles upon which this Government was founded shall 
 stand, and whether the sovereignty of the people shall remain, or 
 whether we shall fall back upon the doctrines and teachings of 
 aristocrats and kings, while State and individual sovereignty as 
 sumes that of the people. We cannot afford to do the latter. 
 The age is notoriously one of progression. Even states of barbaric 
 and semi-civilized power are steadily advancing from out the shad 
 ow of their night into the broad full day of the sun-light of progress! 
 And shall we, who have trod so long in this bright and shining path, 
 lit up by whole constellations of brilliant thoughts and deeds, until 
 our course is marked as vividly upon the zenith of national skies 
 as is the milky-way upon the sky of nature, turn aside into the blue 
 and black of a lower firmament? Around the circling orbit of the 
 earth, Liberty, the bright-eyed goddess, flies, in advance of the na 
 tions, directing the way, and ever looking back tenderly and coax- 
 ingly, urging us to follow; and now who so recreant to the great 
 trust placed in him as to turn away from her and say "depart, I 
 know ye not?" In every land Freedom is creating a commotion, 
 and in none more than in our own has that constant endeavor creat 
 ed a greater or more beneficial effect : here we find her enemies com 
 pletely routed, and over the broad and fair extent of our domain 
 lives not a man who can now call himself a slave. In the regions where 
 the cold north-winds blow, in the south where the warm sun-beams 
 shine, in the east where the chariot of morn first comes with steeds 
 of fiery light, even to the golden west where slow sinks the orb of 
 day in the bosom of the great deep, everywhere, consternation and 
 confusion sit deep upon the faces of the enemies of liberty their 
 
216 POKTRY AM) PROSK SKI.KCTIONS 
 
 banners are trailing low in the dust their idols arc fallen, and we 
 are here to sacrifice the last of their gods! Let us heap upon hi> 
 head, rather than lay at his feet, the burnt offerings of the people, 
 and then in a whirlwind, not of wrath, but of justice tempered by 
 mercy, scatter them again, that the poor object may go forth free 
 and unharmed, but harmless, an example to all coming generations 
 that a President of this Republic is but a subject, while the people 
 isthetowg/ * * * 
 
 I said I would give an unvarnished rehearsal of the facts upon 
 which are based these articles of Impeachment. I would I were at 
 liberty to varnish them over, that I might so cover up and conceal 
 from the eyes of the world their hideousness and deformity, and thus 
 protect the good name and honor of the American nation. It is 
 now an old timed remark made of a great European empire, but 
 which, happily, at the present day, has little or no application, that, 
 "the government of Russia is a despotism tempered only by assas 
 sination." And it is now a painful truth which I utter, as an Ameri 
 can citizen, and as a Senator standing upon the floor of the Ameri 
 can Capitol, when I say, as I do now, that "the American Govern 
 ment has, during the present administration, degenerated to a 
 despotism tempered only by impeachment." 
 
 But it is a source of supreme consolation to all of us to know 
 that which is a most pertinent truth as well as a matter of history, 
 that Andrew Johnson was not called to his present position hy (lie 
 suffrages of this people. This trutli is pregnant with meaning when 
 applied to the present subject of impeachment. Americans will 
 not then stand, having stultified their own election of chief execu 
 tive officer, nor will their good judgment have Miflcnd or been at 
 fault. There is no doubt that Andrew Johnson, at tin time he was 
 elected to the office of Vice-Presidency, would have been almost 
 the last man selected by the people for the Presidency. In this 
 respect, then, their judgment now stands thrice affirmed. It was 
 only by a bloody accident that Andn \\ Johnson became elex.itid 
 to the mo>t roponsible office in the nation; and with what fear 
 and trembling did we not see him advance to a seat in the Pit -i 
 dential chair? a seat yet warm with the dripping life blood of hi- 
 noble predecessor a seat that had become almost sanctified and 
 made holy in the hearts of the people through the virtue^ and serene 
 wisdom of him who had just been called from it to a higher seat at 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 217 
 
 the feet of One whom he loved to serve! With what anxiety did 
 we not turn toward the new-made President to catch the first utter 
 ance of power which fell from his lips? And how, having heard it 
 did we not turn toward each other for an interpretation of our doubts 
 knowing not what meaning to place upon his words, yet fondly 
 trusting in that meaning, hoping, and believing, until conviction 
 forced back hope and belief? And how we still clung to him and 
 around him when all hope and belief were gone, and endeavored to 
 deceive ourselves into a false trust and confidence for was he not 
 our President? and was not the sun-burst which streamed out its 
 rays of glory from the high place where he sat, sufficient to dazzle 
 the eyes of an innocent and unsuspecting people? Truly, who shall 
 now say that the reverence of Americans for their President is not 
 great? and that the dignity and calling of his office did not command 
 their respect, and did not long shield the President, Andrew John 
 son, when the man Andrew Johnson had been, erstwhile, swept out 
 of public opinion and respect into the mire of infamy and shame? 
 But there is a point at which the endurance of a patient people end- 
 eth, and when further forbearance on their part ceases to be a virtue. 
 That point is now reached, and we are commanded to do our duty, 
 and our whole duty, toward the President Johnson, to the man 
 Johnson, and to the country. * * * We propose to prove to 
 you that the speech of Andrew Johnson made on the 22d of Feb 
 ruary, 1866, in the city of Washington, has no parallel in the his 
 tory of public oratory except, perhaps, other speeches coming from 
 the same source. We recognize in it immediately the lowness and 
 impurity of its source. Like the fabled river Styx, it rose out of 
 Chaos, flowed through the regions of darkness and evil, while only 
 demons, with features distorted to a horrid grin, could be seen by 
 the lurid glow of its sulphurous light dancing in devils glee upon 
 its borders, or paddling their canoe in its reeking, murky waters. 
 Its foul stench overcomes the nostrils. We look upon its flow, 
 and see in its eddying, whirling tide of foul disorder and corruption, 
 many whirlpools, upon the brink of whose engulphing vortex floats, 
 tremblingly, a Nation s pride and honor. We see, tossed along by 
 its current, drift-wood of lost virtue and abandoned principle. We 
 see, passing down to swift destruction, a noble ship of State, a ship 
 which has many a time weathered the storm of a wider water and a 
 more tempestuous sea: but here, shut in between these narrow 
 
21s I OKTRY AM) I ROSK SKUXTIONS 
 
 rocks, the angry stream would seem to dash her to pieces and de 
 stroy her. We can see, tossed upon its turbid bosom, the washed 
 away homes of freedmen; floating on to death and ruin their little 
 cabins go, while dark faces stand peering out the opened doorway 
 uix>n those ruthless, rushing waters, and dark hands are wrung in 
 agony, imploring assistance, while he, who had promised to be their 
 Moses, and who had power to turn each floating bed of reeds into 
 an ark of salvation, sits like a grim and sullen Pluto upon the shore, 
 and nods at their destruction. 
 
 We will find in this, and other speeches of Andrew Johnson, the 
 fury of conceit lashed into a foam of passion. And where a little 
 ripple was formed upon the waters of time by the casting in of a 
 pebble, a mere waif of human intellect and ability, we see it, by its 
 own mere volition, endeavoring to create the effect and purpose of a 
 mighty wave of intellectual genius; but, mistaking the way, form 
 ing itself into a breaker to dash headlong upon the rocks of ruin. 
 
 So, as we, who make up the jolly boats crew of the old ship 
 of State, go coasting along the rocks and find the mangled corpse 
 of this man, who, not being born great, would thrust greatness upon 
 himself, floating and dashing upon the green sea wave, let us take 
 pity upon it, and out of a decent respect for the opinion of our own 
 countrymen, and of all mankind, let us carry the body to the beach, 
 and there with our hands scoop him out a grave in the sands, and 
 digging it deep lay him therein, and with his arms folded upon his 
 heart in this his last triumph, and with the cast-off weeds of a 
 Nation s mourning for a shroud, we will cover him up and smooth 
 well over the spot where he lies, lest the vultures of history scent 
 the dank grave, and scratch out the fetid and corrupting body, and 
 leave it there to taint the air, pollute the soil and make the toil and 
 trouble of a Nation s woe double in its misery! Still more, if we have 
 them at our hands, let us pile upon the rotten sands above his grave 
 the rocks of oblivion, so that each passerby may C.IM hitone there 
 at, even as the believers of the east do at the tomb of Judas IM .tri<>i . 
 until the pile shall grow to a monument, and the monument t<> a 
 mountain, thus to stand for ages an emblem of tin civil virtue but 
 stern justice of this people while he who would at tempi to Bav< . 
 or mark the spot by sacred cross or holy sign, let him seek refuge 
 from the just wrath of an outraged people. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 219 
 
 Journal Mites and Palo Alto Items. 
 
 There is a man wanted in the East. His name is John Jones, 
 and he deserted his wife and baby twenty years ago. If he will now 
 return, said baby promises to lick the stuffin out of him. 
 
 "For every created man there is a created woman who stands 
 to him, and him alone, as the only true wife he can have in this world 
 or any other." San Josean. 
 
 But bless us! man alive, after looking this wide world over and 
 over, and failing to recognize her, do tell a poor fellow, quickly, just 
 how, when and where to go about finding her in that "other world" 
 that you are so kind as to mention. 
 
 -"Happy Harry" has resigned his commission as night watch 
 at the University Dormitory to the boys. The young gentlemen 
 can just sit up all night and watch themselves, or each other, or 
 anybody else that they please, for all he cares. He d rather make a 
 sheep-herder or a swine-herder, or any other kind of a herder than a 
 boy herder. Harry is evidently not so "happy" as he was before 
 he undertook to watch that corral of bronchos. 
 
 A fair sample of the reasonability of most applicants for the 
 reduction of assessment, is that of a person who, on Saturday last 
 filed an application with our county Board, claiming that property 
 assessed to him at $15,500, was only fairly worth $13,000. This 
 was sworn to, of course. But when the Assessor was called upon 
 to explain, he showed how the applicant had looked in the last 
 year s book for his figures, and that the property complained of 
 was only assessed this year at $12,495, just $5.00 less than the 
 owner had sworn it was worth. But when this was pointed out to 
 him the party wasn t any better satisfied. He wanted it reduced 
 anyway, on general principles. Such is human nature, that is, 
 of tax payers. 
 
 R. G. Rowley, who in former years was the editor and pub 
 lisher of the San Mateo county Journal of Redwood City, has as 
 sumed editorial control of the Mayfield Palo Alto. Mr. Rowley 
 is a strong and vigorous writer, and the first issue of the Palo Alto 
 under his management shows a marked improvement in the edit 
 orial columns. San Francisco Evening Post. 
 
220 POETRY AND PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 Announcement 
 
 Having sold the Journal to S. C. Leahy, all proprietorship and 
 connection therewith on the part of the undersigned necessarily 
 ceases from date. 
 
 The position advanced and sustained by the originator of the 
 Journal, during its continuance, is one which, under the peculiar sit 
 uation of the parties, and of county affairs as well, generally, re 
 quires immense vitality and strength of constitution, as well as the 
 minor considerations of length of purse and breadth of intellect, to 
 successfully sustain for a great length of time. The proprietor had 
 become conscious of failing strength in at least one of these respects, 
 and which one it may not be essential here to particularize, inas 
 much as all three are of the first importance in a contest of this kind. 
 In consequence the undersigned has deemed it best to retire, doing 
 so, as he flatters himself, with as good a grace as circumstances will 
 admit of, and hoping to leave the Journal in the hands of the people 
 to be supported and continued by them, if they will to do so. 
 
 The row in the field which the undersigned intended to hoe he 
 has found to be a more difficult one than he at first anticipated, so 
 that he now feels, as he looks on his work, a few hills hoed and a 
 great many left to be grubbed about yet with a deal of hard work, 
 like the boy with his cabbage garden, who, either too tired or too 
 lazy to proceed farther with his work of hoeing, looked at the long 
 rows of uncultivated cabbage heads before him, and then behind at 
 the few there dressed out, and philosophically remarked of the 
 situation: "Mr. Cabbages, I am going to leave you to go hunting. 
 Now you know what you were planted for and what is expected of 
 you just as well as I can tell you, and if you don t want to grow any 
 more, that s your own business. I don t eat cabbage, anyway, and 
 if you can t grow without my digging and sweating over you this 
 ere way, you can just go back in the ground if you want to. This 
 is the old man s business not mine. He likes sour kraut and the 
 old woman likes cold-slaw, and between the two they d eat you all 
 anyway. I don t get a cent more for working like a nigger in this 
 hot sun and I just ain t going to do it any longer. So good-by, 
 cabbages." Them s our scntinu-nt>, as far as we have got any just 
 now, or are able to express them. We have endeavored hard for 
 some time past after having been fully convinced that it was a 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 221 
 
 duty to self, strong and urgent, to retire from the further prosecu 
 tion of the herculean task before us to place the Journal in hands 
 where it would not be suppressed by a foe, but would live and do 
 good, being as fully convinced, as ever, that the county was better 
 off with two papers than one. We believe we have done so; hav 
 ing sold only under promises that the paper should live and be run, 
 if possible. Mr. Leahy is a printer by trade, a resident of the coun 
 ty since boyhood, and has always desired to run a newspaper in 
 this county. It is for the people to say whether they will support 
 him and the Journal, or whether it shall die out and perish altogeth 
 er. With its future course, or politics, of course we have nothing 
 to do, and cannot dictate or control them. 
 
 Thankful for the many kind favors conferred on us, and the 
 good support given the Journal by numerous friends, and, we may 
 well say and ought to say, by the people of the county generally, we 
 would now take our hasty exit from public view; satisfied to be 
 lieve and know that in the enjoyment of an honorable private life, 
 however humble that may be, comes a far greater and higher source 
 of happiness, to some men at least, than can ever be derived from 
 the most exalted public places, reached, or to be reached only 
 through the detestable mire and degradation and corruption of 
 modern American politics. For them we have a just horror, and a 
 disgust unutterable; and to run a newspaper in this county of 
 course means to run politics. To be an independent American 
 farmer is now the height of our ambition, and we retire to our farm 
 and cows, knowing that these poor brutes, at least, will fully appre 
 ciate all our disinterested labors in their behalf. Again we say adieu, 
 a long and last adieu. R. G. ROWLEY. 
 
222 I OI IKY AND I KOSK SKI.KCTK >.\S 
 
 \ DARING RESCUE 
 
 Ridgway Rowley Saves Three Young MenFrom Otisco 
 
 Lake 
 
 Terrific Gale Blowing. It was Night and Very Dark. 
 
 Ridgway Rowley, of Cortland, and Daniel DeBarof Borodino, 
 are today happy in the thought that they saved three young men 
 from drowning Saturday night, and the three young men in question 
 are exceedingly grateful to their rescuers, for they had given up 
 all hope and their strength was rapidly going when the help came. 
 
 Saturday morning five young men from Syracuse went down to 
 Otisco lake to stay a few days. They made headquarters at a cot 
 tage on the west side of the lake about midway of its length, and 
 nearly opposite the cottage of Ridgway Rowley of Tort land which is 
 on the east side of the lake. The lake is a mile wide at this point. 
 During the day, Saturday, they went out sailing in the Pierce sail- 
 lx>at, the same boat which capsized on the night of July 27 with 
 which Ray Harrington and Ray Smith of Cortland and a fellow 
 camper of Syracuse, Max Blackwell, had an experience after cap 
 sizing. The wind was blowing hard all the afternoon and it was 
 hazardous to be out upon the water at that time. 
 
 As the evening came on the wind freshened and the waves ran 
 higher, so that it was with difficulty that a small boat could live on 
 the water. It was after dark when three of the five, George ( .ill x-rt , 
 Jack Strong and Carl Blackwell, a younger brother of Max Black- 
 well, who had the experience in July, decided to go to a dance in A ni 
 ter that night. They took the sailboat and started away, attired 
 in their best clothes. Out in the middle of the lake a sudden Haw 
 struck the boat and over it went. All three \\crc >t niggling in tin- 
 water. They contrived to get hold of tin- boat, which was bottom 
 side up, and hung on, but the waves broke over the keel of the boat 
 and struck them in the face so frequently and ><> violently that they 
 swallowed a good deal of water. The water wa- icy cold and they 
 were soon chilled to the marrow. They succeeded in getting off 
 their clothing to lighten them and to help them in ca^e they needed 
 to swim ashore. Then they >houted for help, but there wa> not a 
 house in tin region except the Rowley cottage, half a mile away. 
 The wind blew the >onnd in the direction of the- Rowley-. They 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 223 
 
 decided to shout in concert, hoping that the volume of sound thus 
 produced would carry across the water. No response came and 
 they were disheartened. 
 
 Strong finally said he could hold on no longer, they had got to 
 drown and they might as well have it over with. Just then there 
 was a sudden appearance of light at the Rowleys, and the others 
 exhorted him to try a little longer. 
 
 Miss Florence Van Bergen, a niece of Mr. Rowley, who with 
 her mother, Mrs. A. V. Van Bergen of Cortland, was at the cottage 
 had retired and was on the side of the cottage next the shore. The 
 mournful sound of the voices floated to her ears. She sat up in bed 
 and listened, ran to a window and listened. Down stairs she dashed. 
 
 "There is some one in trouble out on the water. I can hear 
 their voices, and there is no fun in them. It is too mournful a 
 sound to mean anything else than a call for help." 
 
 Mr. Rowley ran outside and listened. True, enough, it was a 
 cry for help. Daniel DeBar of Borodino was also at the cottage and 
 Mr. Rowley asked if he would go with him to the rescue. The lat 
 ter thought no boat could live in the water that night, but Mr. Row 
 ley declared he should go anyway ; he couldn t let those boys drown. 
 
 Mr. DeBar then said he would go too. 
 
 While the two men were rushing down to their rowboat the 
 ladies waved a lantern to show that the cries were heard. 
 
 It was a hard pull out to the capsized sail-boat. When the row- 
 boat was nearly up to the boys they seemed inclined to let go and 
 swim for the row-boat, but Mr. Rowley warned them to let his boat 
 alone till he gave them permission. He said they would swamp 
 him if they climbed the side of his boat, and there were five of them 
 for a small boat to carry. He would rescue them if they would obey 
 him, otherwise he should leave them. They promised to obey. He 
 rowed the prow of the boat up to Strong, who was the nearest gone 
 of the three, and let him swing himself into the boat over the prow. 
 Then he backed away and turned the stern of the boat toward one 
 of the others, and let him crawl in over the stern, and the third 
 followed him. The three were quite content to lie down quietly in 
 the bottom of the boat. Then they set out for shore, which was 
 safely reached. 
 
 Mr. Rowley built up a big fire in the cottage and wrapped the 
 boys in blankets and finally succeeded in getting them warmed up. 
 
224 1 OKTRY AND TkOSK SKI.I-X TIONS 
 
 Strong was so nearly used up that he was sick all night and had to 
 go to bed at once. 
 
 Toward 11 o clock the other two concluded that their friends 
 across the lake would be wild with anxiety if they did not get back 
 and as the wind had gone down to a considerable degree they bor 
 rowed Mr. Rowley s row-boat and crossed the lake. 
 
 The people in that vicinity declare they will smash this sailboat 
 to pieces as it has nearly caused the death of six young men this 
 summer and has kept the friends of others in perfect torment while 
 it has been in use on the lake. 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 225 
 
 As Pants the Hart, When Hunter s Horn! 
 
 Married, in Redwood City, May 10, 1881, at the residence of the bride s 
 mother, W. W. Hunter, of Mariposa, to Mary Doyle, of Redwood City. 
 
 With the marriage notice came a very large slice of beautiful 
 frosted cake, accompanied by the following note : 
 
 R. G. Rowley, Esq., Dear Sir: By request of the bride I send 
 you this cake, earnestly hoping that the dreams over it will convince 
 you of the error of longer living in bachelordom. The happy cou 
 ple have departed to San Francisco for a brief honeymoon. 
 
 Respectfully, G. 
 
 We pause in solemn thought. The moment is a portentous 
 one in our existence. We tremble as we pause. Move on, oh life! 
 move on! leave us not alone with this o erwhelming reverie! To 
 be or not to be married, that s the question! Dear Friend "G," 
 had we but been "convinced" by our "dreams" on this matter, we 
 should have been married long ago; aye, well married. But 
 dreams are treacherous, luring, deceiving things. It is life s waking 
 hours alone that may be trusted. When the day dawns, and the 
 night dream s gone, it is but the cold-hearted world only that stands 
 ready to hold us in her cruel disappointing arms, congealing the 
 warm currents that might, could, would, should have flowed for 
 some other. U G," your deft fingers have touched a chord in our 
 soul we had rashly deemed was silent ever more. But man is man, 
 as woe is woe, and more s the pity. In the hopeful strength of your 
 youthful manhood you can lovingly look up to woman as the star 
 of your life, the one bright particular spot of your destiny. But to 
 us all stars have set, night reigns supreme with darkest hour, and 
 we but await the herald of a new morn to bring us the welcome light. 
 But returning to our wedding cake. This happy Hunter, with his 
 dark bright eyes, has won the chase; and now a panting "hart" 
 lies at his feet pierced by their soft gleam. May his look of love 
 ne er turn away from her who has been so ardently pursued and 
 caught. And when, in time, the quick step of the Hunter shall be 
 slowed, may there be no lack of young Hunters then to take up the 
 bow and quiver and go forth to the chase, as their father went, tri 
 umphant in victory. 
 
226 POETRY AND PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 Earthquakes and Electricity 
 
 It is comparatively, an easy thing, Mr. Editor, amid the reti 
 cence and seclusion of one s closet, shut out from all visible < >1 n ect . 
 conversing only with our own crude ideas of what was, is, and ought 
 to be, relying on the evidence offered us by others, receiving as 
 truths the dogmatical doctrines of subtle metaphysicians, while 
 the great, actual, living facts presented by an earnest nature are 
 entirely discarded; it is easy, I say, thus to build up, Phoenix like, 
 theories of our own. on the ashes of the conflagration of the Temple 
 of Truth, consumed by the blaze of our own vivid imagination and 
 by the burning heat of that "central fire" around whose forked 
 flames have danced for ages those would-be immortalized philoso 
 phers, who, at different intervals in the world s history, amid the 
 gratulation and conceit of their self-made philosophy, have cried 
 aloud from their cell-tops, "Eureka!" "Eureka!" 
 
 But when men go forth from their dwellings, and with deter 
 mined effort and infinite labor climb to the mountain peaks, striv 
 ing to reach the clouds to sec- of what manner of stuff they are made, 
 descending into the craters of belching, bursting, heaving, throb 
 bing volcanoes; hanging suspended by their heels over the edge 
 of a jutting cliff, thus peering down into that seething, hissing 
 cauldron of molten liquid fire beneath; while the walls of rock 
 around them spurt forth their fiery juices, the red-hot lava burning 
 the shoes from off their feet, and the deafening roar of the warring 
 elements astounding their ears penetrating, as it were, the very 
 bowels of a living volcano, there seeing Truth and Nature unveiled 
 before them it is to such men as these we must look for the exposi 
 tion of philosophical truths; for the proof and final test of all specu 
 lative theories, to-wit: by personal investigation and ocular demon 
 stration. It was from this physical contact with the forces of na 
 ture, that the men named in my last article arrived at conclusions 
 which the world has ever >ince received and acknowledged as the 
 principles of truth. 
 
 Matters of fact, and deductions from theories are quite often 
 found to be antagonistic to each other. " Tis true, tis pity, and 
 pity tis tis true." So with "Frank s" process, "from an able Eng 
 lish philosopher." of raising salad, fit to eat, /;/ a few minutes, from 
 mustard seed soaked in acid, sowed, and covered with a metalic 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 227 
 
 plate, connected with the prime conductor of an electrical machine 
 (vide Mercury, Nov. 9th). Very beautiful in theory; but I make 
 bold to declare, that this "simple experiment" was never produced 
 in the laboratory of any electrician in England or America it has 
 existed only in the brain of that "able English philosopher." Such 
 a "simple experiment" as this, were it true, would be repeated every 
 day before the classes in our schools. Upon the strength of this, 
 "Frank" builds up his theory of the immense influence of electricity 
 upon all vegetable life; so, by tapping the fountain head of his ar 
 guments, I will, I think, let out the life-blood of his deductions. 
 Moreover, were it true, as stated by this "English philosopher," 
 what would it prove? I can truthfully assert the wonderful effect 
 of electricity when applied by a powerful battery, upon a dead body, 
 galvanizing into a momentary new life. But would I be justified 
 in concluding from this, that electricity is the means to be used by 
 Omnipotence in the final resurrection of the dead? or that animal 
 life is greatly influenced by the action of electricity, without the 
 application of a battery? 
 
 The pith and marrow of "Frank s" theory of electricity being 
 the cause of local earthquakes, is, that the atmosphere in certain 
 places is too dry to act as a medium, whereby to convey away from 
 the earth to the upper regions the superfluous generated electricity. 
 Were this true, we should, of course, look for the severest earth 
 quakes in the driest localities, and as far as possible from so wet a 
 body as a great ocean; as for instance, the central portions of this 
 continent, say in Arizona, or southern Utah, where rain falls quite 
 as seldom as on this coast; or, to be very reasonable, we will go no 
 farther than the interior or eastern portion of our own state. But 
 facts, unfortunately for "Frank," do not substantiate this specula 
 tive theory. Invariably earthquakes are felt more severely directly 
 on our coast than in the interior. In fact, the shocks, according to 
 the evidence of mariners, reach far out into the ocean itself, being 
 felt very violently hundreds of miles from land. Who then is pre 
 pared to say that the center of all this subterranean commotion is 
 not under the ocean itself, and that we on this coast are not merely on 
 the edge of the convulsed portion ? 
 
 A digest of the chronicles of all authentic earthquakes that have 
 occurred in all time and in all parts of the world, will prove beyond 
 a peradventure this, that the islands of the sea, and the lands bor- 
 
1 OKTRY AND P R OS K SELECTIONS 
 
 dering on the sea, are most frequently \isited \viih earthquake-. 
 I might say exclusively subject to them, for tin- interior of the great 
 continents appear to be exempt from their effects. Certainly 
 "Frank" will not contend that the atmosphere over the ocean is 
 so very dry, when it is so frequently filled with the most humid 
 and vaporous fogs, while the presence of so large a body of water is 
 of itself sufficient to render moist and to dampen the air in its vicin 
 ity. Coming directly home with the issue, the county of Santa 
 Cruz is probably more- sensibly affected by earthquakes than any 
 other equal portion of the State; yet this very county is notorious 
 for its humid atmosphere, being subject to constant heavy fogs 
 drifting in from the ocean during the dry season, and covering a 
 wide t>elt of the country, which are far more efficacious for the pur 
 pose of rendering the atmosphere a good conductor of electricity 
 than would be the heaviest rains. 
 
 And right here, again, with the same weapon, let us deal a blow 
 at his theory of the electrical current in its "exosmic" passage, suck 
 ing out the sweets from our fruits, and the fragrance from our (low 
 ers, and absorbing the juices of the animal body suggesting as a 
 remedy the wetting of trees and plants, etc. Now the fogs of our 
 coast country perform this "wetting" process better, I imagine, 
 than "Frank" could with his sprinkling pot; yet who will presume to 
 say that the fruits and flowers of Santa Cruz are sweeter or more ha 
 grant than those of Santa Clara or San Joaquin? or that the rattle 
 or children are better, or that nervous diseases are less frequent? 
 
 "Frank." in one of his earlier articles (vide Mercury, Oct. 
 26th) encloses his theory in the following nut-shell: "The dry air 
 furnishe^ no media of CM ape, and the slightest local disturbance 
 in the conductor is sufficient to produce the result we have described. 
 If the air contains clouds, or vapors, the pluselectricity will seek the 
 upper current in the atmosphere, and perform its circle in the air 
 in-irad of the ground" meaning that earthquakes would then be 
 avoided. I think I have sufficiently answered this, above; but it 
 is a well known fact, as Frank himself admits in his article No. 5, 
 that electrical current^ arc confined entirely and exclusively to the 
 surface of bodies; electricians have failed to find evidences of eler- 
 tricity in the interior of charged bodies, it doe- not permeate them 
 to any depth at all, it merely lies in a superficial state; how then 
 can the body of the earth be filled with electricity, seeking an outlet? 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGE ROWLEY 229 
 
 This is, as "Frank" says, an u un philosophical impossibility. He 
 says further that during an earthquake gravitation is suspended. 
 It will be difficult to make any resident of this city believe that; 
 on the contrary, we are of the opinion that gravitation is wonderful 
 ly accelerated during earthquakes, if falling bricks and tottering 
 walls are any evidence. 
 
 Again, in article No. 5, "Frank" says, "If my reasoning be 
 correct that the attracting, gravitating power of the earth is con 
 fined to the solid or mineral zone, that, together with the rotary 
 motion of the globe, would cause the gaseous matter of the interior 
 to seek an outlet." The italics are ours; and in our next we will en 
 deavor to show that "Frank" has, unwittingly, caught the right 
 sow by the ear this time, and that in this "gaseous matter of the 
 interior seeking an outlet," we have the most palpable and natural 
 cause of the phenomenon of earthquakes, without seeking the aid of 
 electricity, or the direct influence of internal fires; also, why their 
 effects are confined to the vicinity of the sea. Then we will "dry" 
 on earthquakes. 
 
 Our Greeting 
 
 It is but meet the Journal should greet its kind patrons and len 
 ient readers with the warm welcome of a "Merry Christmas and a 
 Happy New Year" and, as we extend it to young and old, we can 
 but count how many New Years Days have so far thrust us along 
 into New Years of life, which have all too soon grown old and gone 
 down into the great dead past. 
 
 There is no memory so living green and beautifully fresh, as 
 that of the Christmas morn of our childhood s days. We could 
 almost wish, yea, we do wish, that we were back again on life s 
 young journey, until the springtime of youth alone surrounded us. 
 Freely could we spare the joyless harvest of age, for the rich bloom 
 and perfume of our early summers flowers. Were our walk 
 amongst them made perpetual, and these swift stalking seasons that 
 bring the "sere and yellow leaf" checked in their headlong progress, 
 willingly, I think, would we surrender the busy hope and vain am 
 bition of maturer years. The exulting joy of a child s heart as it 
 wakes so early on the Christmas morn to find that merry old Kriss 
 
230 POETRY AND PROSE SELECTIONS 
 
 Kringle did not ride over the house last night; hut. that In- did 
 really stop at our little chimney-top and come down its narrow and 
 blackened flue up which we have been petting for the last week in 
 wonder how r he could ever get down there, and sore afraid lest he 
 might be compelled to leave his pack behind on the roof \v hi li 
 the big long stocking over the fire-place is so round and full, and 
 over-full, with the merry givers gifts, has no parallel in these blase 
 days of after life. 
 
 Then what a season rolls between the coming of the New Year s 
 days. It is as if the winter would never end, and spring-time came 
 only because old winter had worn itself away with age and care; 
 while summer followed upon spring so slow that even the early 
 apples and pears hang green, yet coveted, all too long upon the 
 boughs; while autumn itself is so far away it can never come at all. 
 Not so now: years are but the briefest of seasons, while the revolv 
 ing cycles turn so fast that they become blended together until the 
 distinction of years themselves is lost. And whither hasten \\< 
 all so fast? Aye, whither! Let the idle moments of these holidays, 
 when care and business are for the nonce laid aside, reflect a solemn 
 answer. 
 
 Errata: 
 
 Page 11 First and second lines of first verse misplaced; should he aligned with 
 
 the others. 
 
 Page 16 In second line read "ween" for "wean." 
 Page 43 In third line lead "comely" for "homely." 
 Page 81 "A Succc!ul Sutpri-r" >h<>uld be given as quoted from theCortland 
 
 Daily Standard of Oct. 3d, 1892. 
 Page 222 "A Daring Rt-M-iir." -hould be given as quotrd from the Cortluml 
 
 Daily Stand. in! of Sept. 26, 1903. 
 
 Where the punctuation i- inronvn, make it right to Miii tin- M DM . 
 
RIDGWAY GEORGP: ROWLEY 
 
 231 
 
 Index 
 
 Page No. 
 
 ABornFool 113 
 
 A Bull and Bear Fight 140 
 
 A City Asleep 10Q 
 
 Aestheticism Aestheticised 1 50 
 
 After the Battle, Mother 164 
 
 Age and I 19 
 
 AllAlone___ 33 
 
 All the Way from Chicago 206 
 
 Ambition 43 
 
 America s Weakness 199 
 
 Amy Spain 13 
 
 Andersonville 40 
 
 A New Volume. _ _ 175 
 
 An Impressive Power 209 
 
 Announcement 220 
 
 An Outrageous Monopoly 125 
 
 A Ring Supervisor Giving Way to 
 
 a Reform Supervisor 188 
 
 As Pants the Hart When Hunter s 
 
 Horn__ _ 225 
 
 A Successful Surprise 81 
 
 A True Story of a Bootblack 94 
 
 Baby-Life __ 54 
 
 Bare not Bear Facts 120 
 
 Bed and Board 169 
 
 Brass Mounted 181 
 
 Breaking the Record __ 150 
 
 "Bull Pups" and "Fifteen Cents"_ 178 
 BytheSea__ 58 
 
 Certainly, I ncorporate" 171 
 
 Christmas Memories 82 
 
 Church Going 145 
 
 College Jamborees __ 115 
 
 Death of Judge Daingerfield 187 
 
 Diabolism 159 
 
 Earthquakes and Electricity 226 
 
 Economy and the Ass 128 
 
 "Equal and Just" 207 
 
 Fairs and Unfairs_. _ 180 
 
 Page No. 
 
 Ghouls of the Press 174 
 
 Grandly Eloquent 108 
 
 G s Indigent Fund 196 
 
 Hark! From the Skies a Cheering 
 
 Sound 160 
 
 Hear Us for Our Cause 103 
 
 Human Nature as it Is 167 
 
 I Bid Adieu to My Government. __ 139 
 
 II Penseroso 57 
 
 Impeachment 213 
 
 In Reverie 25 
 
 IntheChapel ___ 91 
 
 Introductory and Reminiscent 3 
 
 I Would I Were a Boy Again 36 
 
 Journal Mites and Palo Alto Items 
 
 143, 149, 155, 163, 166, 173, 177, 
 
 182, 186, 189, 192, 195, 198, 201, 
 
 205, 208, 210, 219 
 
 Labor and Capital 92 
 
 "Lay Me Down and Save the Flag" 51 
 
 Lines to a "Kloochman" 65 
 
 ListToIt__ 193 
 
 Mac-Dough! Hold! Enough! 116 
 
 Midnight Mass at St. Mary s 
 
 Cathedral __ 97 
 
 More Dam Nonsense 117 
 
 Mylsland__ 67 
 
 Night___ 64 
 
 No Rest. _ 46 
 
 Oh Who s Afraid to Die 74 
 
 Only a Little Brook ._. 26 
 
 Our Figure Head 207 
 
 Our Greeting 229 
 
 OurValley 15 
 
 Palo Alto Answered 200 
 
 Passion-Song 62 
 
 Personal Journalism 130 
 
 Possibly, the Ring is Broken? 1 70 
 
 Private Agents Wanted 183 
 
232 
 
 POKTRV AND I KOSK SKLKITIONS 
 
 Index Continued 
 
 Page No. 
 
 Purer Politics.. - 156 
 
 Remember Us __ 30 
 
 So Much For It.. 
 Spring Thoughts 
 
 Steelheads vs. Blockheads.. . 137 
 Substance not Shadow ____ ...... 134 
 
 Swift the Days of Spring are Pass 
 
 ing 
 
 Thanks Giving.... - 151 
 
 That Awful Head _____ - 142 
 The Boss is Dead! Long Live the 
 
 Bo] - 144 
 
 The Coast Range. . 21 
 
 The Conviction of Gray.. - 168 
 The Curse of Speech ------ 
 
 The Demon of Rebellion. . . 34 
 
 The Devil and the Mount.. . 175 
 
 The Fierce Spirit of Youth ----- . 153 
 
 The Fog Bell of Alcatraz. _ 47 
 The Freedman s Hymn, Four Mil 
 
 lion Freemen More ---------- 72 
 
 The Home vs. the Dormitory. . . 202 
 
 The Mourning Dove of California. 41 
 
 The New Inspiration ---- - 179 
 
 The Play of the Faculty . ...... - - 138 
 
 Page No. 
 
 The Poisoned Touch of Gold.. . 190 
 The Rain! The Rain! The Wel- 
 
 rnnu- K.iin! 
 
 The Reason Why._ 123 
 
 The Revenge of Encina 
 
 The Sack of the Capitol . 125 
 
 The Sea of Years.. 70 
 
 The Wooing of Nature 
 
 Tin Wounded Scout. 16 
 
 True to the Old Man LM 
 
 Twilight Reflect ions 
 
 Two Old Ladies of France 203 
 
 "Uriah Heep". 1^ 
 
 Vale! Almadrn! -?l 
 
 Very Modern Journalism. 146 
 
 Victory i- Peace 61 
 
 We Rise to Explain 1 ( >7 
 
 Where First We Met 
 
 Why Not..-. - 179 
 
 Woman s I hit it- vs. Woman s 
 
 Rights, 
 
 Wooed, Won and Lost I 1 
 
 WordsofWisdom.... 211 
 
 Yosemite.. - 
 
From Duncan McPherson of the Santa Cruz Sentinel, Gala. 
 
 (An Old-time, Long-time, Editor of San Mateo County Newspapers, "Washed" 
 out of the County by Spring Valley Waters. ) 
 
 "Two weeks ago we asked Mr. Rowley, district attorney and 
 watch-dog of San Mateo Co., why he did not bark about State 
 Prison matters. Last week he went through the form of answer 
 ing our interrogatory, but he did not answer it. The article is not 
 written in a spirit of seriousness. It is a little fun, a good many 
 words, and immensely shows how not to do it. Every person 
 who knows R. G. Rowley knows that that gentleman does not 
 know what fear is. It is enough for him to know that he is right, 
 and the great waters of Spring Valley cannot wash him from his 
 firm resolve. He smiles at death and laughs at prisons. Of course 
 we do not expect him to enter the contest as an attorney, unless he 
 is paid for his services. We do not even expect him to assume the 
 responsibility of an editorial expression, as he has not lost any pris 
 ons or things, and yet we did hope that a newspaper, so fearless as 
 the Journal, born as it was as the necessary defender of an outraged 
 people, would so far comply with the demands of its hungry pat 
 rons as to pull off its muzzle. Can you not, Mr. Journal, just pub 
 lish the essence of the damaging evidence wrung from unwilling 
 witnesses? There is an umbilical cord connecting San Mateo Co. 
 and San Quentin. What you say in behalf of honesty, and justice, 
 and jobs, and wheels, and purchases, and officers, and contracts, 
 and harnesses, and furniture, and hay, will have its weight, and you 
 must not seriously tell us that your silence is the price of coward 
 ice." 
 

 
 
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