Let Ugarte be remembered not only as a man of fine physique, the first ship-builder in the Californias, but as an ardent Christian, a wise old diplomat and a fearless explorer. He stands forth bold, shrewd and aggressive, one of the most heroic figures in early California history. * * * At the same time that Ugarte was exploring the Gulf of California, Captain George Shevlock of England was cruising about California waters engaged in a little privateering enterprise. On his return to England, Shevlock set forth on the charts that California was an island. This assertion was not surprising, for at this time a controversy was raging between certain of the Episcopal authorities on the Spanish Main as to which bishopric _las Islas Californias_ belonged! Guadalajara was finally awarded the "island." ARTHUR W. NORTH, in _The Mother of California._ JANUARY 7. CALIFORNIA. A sleeping beauty, hammock-swung, Beside the sunset sea, And dowered with riches, wheat, and oil, Vineyard and orange tree; Her hand, her heart to that fair prince Whose genius shall unfold With rarest art her treasured tales Of life and love and gold. CLARENCE URMY, in _A Vintage of Verse._ JANUARY 8. BACK TO CALIFORNIA. To the Californian born, California is the only place to live. Why do men so love their native soil? It is perhaps a phase of the human love for the mother. For we are compact of the soil. Out of the crumbling granite eroded from the ribs of California's Sierras by California's mountain streams--out of the earth washed into California's great valleys by her mighty rivers--out of this the sons of California are made, brain, and muscle, and bone. Why then should they not love their mother, even as the mountaineers of Montenegro, of Switzerland, of Savoy, love their mountain birthplace? Why should not exiled Californians yearn to return? And we sons of California always do return; we are always brought back by the potent charm of our native land--back to the soil which gave us birth--and at the last back to Earth, the great mother, from whom we sprung, and on whose bosom we repose our tired bodies when our work is done. JEROME A. HART, in _Argonaut Letters._ JANUARY 9. GIVE ME CALIFORNY. Blizzard back in York state Sings its frosty tune, Here the sun a-shinin', Air as warm as June. Snow in Pennsylvany, Zero times down East, Here the flowers bloomin', A feller's eyes to feast. * * * * * Its every one his own way, The place he'd like to be, But give me Californy-- It's good enough for me. JOHN S. MCGROARTY, in _Just California._ JANUARY 10.