Above an elevation of four thousand feet timber is quite abundant. Along the river-bottoms and low grounds the sycamore is found as clean-limbed, tall and stately as elsewhere. The cottonwood, too, is common, though generally dwarfed, scraggy and full of dead limbs. A willow still more scraggy, and having many limbs destroyed with mistletoe, is often found in the same places. The elder rises above the dignity of a shrub, or under-shrub, but can hardly be found a respectable tree. Two varieties of oak are common, and the alder forms here a fine tree along the higher water-courses. T.S. VAN DYKE, in _Southern California._ JULY 4. A WESTERN FOURTH. Here, where Peralta's cattle used to stray; Here, where the Spaniards in their early day Rode, jingling, booted, spurred, nor ever guessed Our race would own the land by them possessed; Here, where Castilian bull-fights left their stain Of blood upon the soil of this New Spain; Here, where old live-oaks, spared till we condemn. Still wait within this city named for them-- We celebrate, with bombshell and with rhyme Our noisiest Day of Days of yearly time! O bare Antonio's hills that rim our sky-- Antonio's hills, that used to know July As but a time of sleep beneath the sun-- Such days of languorous dreaming are all done! MARY BAMFORD, in _Fourth of July Celebration, Oakland_, 1902. JULY 5. THE LIVE-OAKS. In massy green, upon the crest Of many a slanting hill, By gentle wind and sun caressed, The live-oaks carry still A ponderous head, a sinewy breast, A look of tameless will. They plant their roots full firmly deep, As for the avalanche; And warily and strongly creep Their slow trunks to the branch; A subtle, devious way they keep, Thrice cautious to be stanch. A mighty hospitality At last the builders yield, For man and horse and bird and bee A hospice and a shield, Whose monolithic mystery A curious power concealed. RUBY ARCHER, in _Los Angeles Times._ JULY 6. FATE AND I. "Thine the fault, not mine," I cried. Brooding bitterly, And Fate looked grim and once again Closed in and grappled me. "Mine, not thine, the fault," I said, Discerning verity, And Fate arose and clasped my hand And made a man of me. HAROLD S. SYMMES, in _The American Magazine, April_, 1909. JULY 7. THE BROTHERHOOD OF TREES. Dear brotherhood of trees! With you we find Robust and hearty friendship, free from all The laws of petty gods men travail for. No wrangle here o'er things of small avail-- No knavery, nor charity betrayed-- But comrade beings--'Stalwart, steadfast, good. You help the world in the noblest way of all-- By living nobly--showing in your lives The utmost beauty, the full power and love That through your wisdom and your long desire Thrill in your vibrant veins from heart of earth. Open your arms, O Trees, for us who come With woodland longings in our pilgrim souls! RUBY ARCHER.