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the acolyte wind-spirits, who could wander without aspiration or worship?

"Are not the children of thy solitudes,

the flitting songster weaving his golden thread of melody through the woof of thy light and shadow, the pure, meek monotropa, serving in its sisterhood of beauty, the tossing evergreen branches, sifting sunbeams for the dwellers beneath, the cataract from the mountain-side, murmurously chanting in thy leafy depths, evermore joyously praising?

"Lives then the soul though seared by worldliness, benumbed by artificiality and selfishness, that could not thrill with responsive emotion and

awaken here to look up to the heaven above in prayerful longing and love? "How glorious to be, even as thy multitudinous and venerable company, O majestic, mysterious, shadowy, illimitable forest, evermore steadfastly worshipping and praising!" From afar in the dark recesses of the forest came answering whispers:. "O children of men, if ye would know worship and praise, prayer and meditation, with joyous reward, return to my shadowy aisles, kneel in my sunlit spaces, tarry under my sheltering branches, banish care, worldliness and futile sorrow, SO shall your souls be healed, and ye be evermore worthily, steadfastly, joyously praising!"

BUBBLES

From the Sausalito Ferry

Floating sunlighted on the blue bowl's rim,
Breathed from the foam through fragile pipe of clay
In eager effort of the child at play,

The bubble domes all iridescent swim,
Fresh blown by fancy on the sea fog dim,
Light wreathed to crown a nation's holiday.
Brief, evanescent, poised to drift away,
Reflected in their resting globes they limn
The image of the mirrored universe.
Its iridescent hopes, embodied thought,
The mimic forms, the myriad hues diverse
By the skilled artist hand in beauty wrought,
His visioned ideal ere their shapes disperse,
A wistful moment in their radiance caught.

M. P. C.

[graphic]

I

A Criticism of "The Gray Dawn"

By Charles B. Turrill

Member Advisory Committee Historical Survey Committee

HAD been asked by so many people for my opinion of the accuracy of Stewart Edward White's "Gray Dawn," as a picture of the period that I had intended preparing a criticism from the work in its serial form. Other matters interfered with such work, and I had about abandoned the idea until I read your criticism in the January "Bookman."

You say Mr. White "has not so much tried to tell a story as to paint an epoch, the turbulent days of the early fifties in California. Undeniably he has done a good piece of work . . . . He gets the atmosphere beyond question; the book is saturated with it, redolent of it. . . it is idle to pretend that the reader will become seriously excited about the individual characters... but as a picture of San Francisco in the days of the gold fever and the Vigilantes and the volunteer fire companies, the 'Gray Dawn' is distinctly worth while, it bears the hallmark of truth."

Were all your readers fully informed regarding the period in question your criticism would be received in the nature of an after dinner speech to be interpreted by the "brown taste" of the morning after. But, unfortunately, the majority of your readers are of those to whom everything "Western" is a terra incognita into which callow writers have adventured and have flooded the book-stores with Munchausen tales.

We of California, who have lived here nearly as long as the State has been a part of the American Union (and whose fathers and mothers were here before us, each doing his or her

part in the work of founding a commonwealth), respecting the memories of our forebears, their friends, neighbors and associates, most earnestly protest against the continued and systematic misrepresentation of the forceful and earnest life of the Pioneers of California. We have a right to be proud of those virile young men and women who, endowed with the restless nature of Americans, braved the dangers of months of travel over almost untracked wastes or long and oft tempestuous ocean voyages that they might make for themselves homes where there was room for their energies. They may not all have been highly educated, they may not have al! been poc-marked by the corroding punctualities of social precedence. But they were warm blooded human beings. For the number of inhabitants, there was no greater number of adventurers or undesirables than among our earlier ancestors in New England, or Virginia. But those people of the Californian early days lived their lives honestly, as a rule. They did not steal the livery of Heaven in which to serve the Devil. They did not practice present-day subterfuges in an effort to gain caste by deception. Yes, some of them drank, and possibly as heavily as others did in New York, for instance, at the same period. We must recall that drinking was prevalent all over the world, and had been for at least a few thousand years. That drinking was done openly and in a convivial spirit. It was not considered manly to talk prohibition and patronize "blind pigs." Yes, there was gambling. And that was done openly.

Bridge whist had not arisen above the horizon of chance. In the sense that everybody gambled, gambling in the early days of California was no more universal than at present in any other community. It is a historic fact that in San Francisco in the early days when a street preacher began his exhortation in front of a noted gambling saloon, the proprietor of the place ordered all games stopped until the preacher had finished. It was an era of fair play. The man of God had for the time no competition in the interest of his auditors.

I do not dispute the fact that in that great rush to California many undesirable characters were to be found. That undesirability was also a purely relative quality. So long as those men and women conducted themselves in a manner which did not interfere with the rights of others, they were not interfered with. Whenever they ceased to do so it was not long before they met with opposition. A man was accepted at his own valuation and was given an opportunity of conducting his affairs as he thought best, regardless of what he had been elsewhere. was the threat by James King of William that he would publish in the "Bulletin" the "record" of James P. Casey in New York after Casey had told him. that he was trying to live down that record which led Casey to shoot King, which act was the direct cause of the '56 Vigilance Committee.

It

In these days it is difficult to realize the bitterness of political contests in the '50's. All over the country institutions were in a formative condition, and on every topic everywhere party sentiment was virile and aggressive. It is not denied that political corruption existed. In our milk and water purity of politics of later years we can of course have no sympathy with or charity for the frailities of those who were half a century ago sacrificing themselves for their country's good at a regular per diem. Time has brought refinements in methods.

In the "Gray Dawn" we read much of the effect of technicalities of law.

This punctilio was not of California origin. Our legal procedure was founded on that of the other States, to a great extent that of New York and Missouri. The men who were the first to make names for themselves here as lawyers were the bright young men whose training had been in the schools and courts of other States. It is very doubtful whether their efforts in these especial lines of jurisprudence were more noted in California than elsewhere either in the '50's or even to-day. Half a century of experiment has not materially lessened litigation or hastened decisions.

As I was born in a different part of California and had no relatives, nor close friends in San Francisco in the '50's, I feel I can object to some of the statements in "The Gray Dawn" without the imputation that I feel personally aggrieved. It would seem that Mr. White had purposely heaped insults on the memories of many while striving to imagine "local color." I shall not use the quoted words of his characters, but rather Mr. White's own comments.

Speaking of Wm. T. Coleman on page 44 of "The Gray Dawn," the author writes: "His complexion was florid, and this, in conjunction with a sweeping blue-black mustache, gave him exactly the appearance of a gambler or bartender!" Again on page 206: "Coleman, quite, grim, complacent, but looking, with his sweeping, inky mustache and his florid complexion, like a flashy 'sport.' Was the desire for "local color" the motive for so falsely painting the man who came to California in his active youth and throughout a long life of active business and civic probity, left an honorable name to be cherished not only by his family, but by every Californian? Before me as I write lies the copy of a portrait of Wm. T. Coleman, which was made just as he was leaving the East for San Francisco, with high, intellectual forehead, thoughtful eyes and smoothly shaven face. Before me, also, is the portrait of Coleman in the prime of life. It is the picture of a

clean-living man of affairs. We have no gauge of measuring what is Mr. White's conception of the features of a gambler and "sport" other than a florid face and long mustache, which on one page is blue-black and on another inky. There have probably been several million men who have had florid faces and who may have worn mustaches. Were they all gamblers or sports?

On page 209, this critic of early morality writes: "Many of these exjailbirds rose to wealth and influence, so that to this day the sound of their names means aristocracy and birth to those ignorant of local history. Their descendants may be seen to-day ruffling it proudly on the strength of their 'birth!" This is an unqualified and unnecessary insult. Society in California rests on as firm a foundation of real merit and worth as anywhere. At the present time, as always, it is less busy in "ruffling" (whatever that may be), than in doing as it has always done, all in its power to help the less successful and to alleviate to the best of its abilities the sufferings and needs of others.

There is scarcely a chapter that does not bristle with inaccuracies. The geography of the book is ridiculous. The opening sentence is an index to the author's ignorance or lack of care in the little items that tend to make for "local color." It has been said of Sir Walter Scott that when planning a romance he was so careful to secure true "local color" that he visited the proposed scenes of his story and even noted in his note book the wild flowers growing in the several localities. With libraries full of accurate data he seems to have been content with the most hasty and imperfect gleaning. The story begins: "On the veranda of the Bella Union Hotel." There never was a hotel of that name in San Francisco, and the building bearing the name was destitute of a veranda. The thrilling. description of the georgeous dining room is a pure fiction. A little care of investigation would have suggested the Portsmouth House on the corner of

the Plaza diagonally opposite as the home of the Sherwoods.

The time of the story is definitely established by the statement on page three, "which was the year of grace, 1852." Passing over other haphazard statements, we come to Chapter XIX which details the beginning of Keith's legal advancement. How dramatic is this chapter: "His door opened, and a meek, mild little wisp of a man sidled in. He held his hat in his hand, revealing clearly sandy hair and a narrow forehead." How interesting! And to think that that little man, who gave his name as Dr. Jacob Jones was to be the means of Keith's wealth and advancement under the careful manipulation of our author. How breathlessly we read "Little Doctor Jones came to him much depressed." How cleverly does Keith tie up the money-grasping Neil and astonish all the perverse dilatory lawyers of the city. It is all superb. It is history paraphrased, for, in the "Annals of San Francisco," we read the full account of the Dr. Peter Smith claims for the same services as the story-teller's, "Dr. Jacob Jones," and note that even through the maligned courts of the time, judgment had been rendered on the 25th of February, 1851, and the sales of water lots to satisfy the judgment, all took place prior to "the year of grace, 1852," when the interesting personality, "Milton Keith, a young lawyer from Baltimore," appeared in San Francisco. How the "Gray Dawn" really reeks with local color! More than a year after a certain incident occurred, which is used to make the hero celebrated, a garbled recital of the real incident is dished up for our entertainment! Why could not the book have been dated: "In the year of grace 1850 or '51?" Or is it possible that Keith might not have been weaned so early in his life. Thus we see the entire structure of Keith's legal financial and social advancement is laid on shifting sand of inaccuracy.

A fair sized book might be written in correcting the palpable errors without investigating the implied person

alities referred to or hinted at. It is enough to allege that the entire performance is at such variance to fact that it can be accepted as valueless as a portrayal of the period. The story, as a story, is outside the purview of my criticism. The literary style might be improved materially. The use of the words "chink" and "piffle" is uncalled for introduction of modern slang. "The decoration committee had done its most desperate," can scarcely be styled elevating literature.

Each writer has the inalienable right to the life and liberty of his characters into whom he has breathed the breath of life to make each a living soul. His success as a writer depends on his creative ability to produce mind-children worthy of life and development. He can place them in any environment that suits his fancy, and by cleverness can let their lives de

velop and produce natural effects on the lives of other mind-children in his story. He should be given reasonable choice in the development of his story, and may use to the exigencies of his work such local atmosphere as best fits his purposes. But when he includes in his story by implication or by direct mention historical characters he owes it to those characters and their descendents to adhere to the fixed record of history. It is to be regretted that Stewart Edward White has carelessly done his work. To the uninformed reader he has given false ideas of historical perspective. He has advanced arguments on false premises. For this there has not been the excuse of necessity in the development of his story. He has given us a book called "The Gray Dawn," which might as well have been called "The Lurid Awakening."

LIFE'S GREAT INHERITANCE

A baron stood within his stately gate

Where blooming shrubs and roses charmed the air,
And proudly gazed upon the mansion there
That crowned the splendor of his broad estate,
So hardly won from long contending fate;
Yet spite of all his riches, work and care,
His mind was like a desert, arid, bare,
With nothing in his outlook truly great:

For he ne'er knew the dreams that make true men
Nor felt the wealth a mighty Past has wrought;
The richest mine on earth, unseen, unsought,

Like hidden gold lay dark beyond his ken-
The treasures of the pencil and the pen,
Life's great inheritance-its Art and Thought.

WASHINGTON VAN DUSEN.

MASTE

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