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Sierra Club Bulletin. 



gifted in various lines, which California has had from 

 the pre-Californian days of Dana's voyage down to the 

 present time. Not all have been actually strangers and 

 foreigners here. Some, like Bret Harte, were actually 

 participants, yet able amid the turmoil and bustle to pre- 

 serve a detachment of spirit brought with them from 

 elsewhere. Some even native born have been able to 

 attain the necessary detachment through life for a time 

 in other surroundings. Some, like Muir and Keith, have 

 been no transient visitors — have loved us so well that 

 they have taken us for better or for worse, and are Cali- 

 fornians of the Californians forever more. Nor are they 

 all writers. Some, like Yelland and Keith, are our fore- 

 most masters of color and form. But, with whatever ex- 

 ceptions, apparent or real, the broad fact remains that 

 to the insight of strangers are we chiefly indebted for 

 the revelation of California to ourselves and to the world. 

 To them are we indebted more than we can ever know, 

 not only for the joy we feel in the splendor of our earth 

 and sky, the stately procession of our seasons, the majesty 

 of our frowning mountains, the brightness of our flowing 

 waters, the grandeur of our solemn forests, the loveliness 

 of the flowers that carpet our hills and plains — but beyond 

 these, for the charm and perennial interest which invest 

 human life here of whatever degree or station, and for 

 the hopes which like bright auroral dreams light up our 

 vision of the future. 



It is not my intention to detain you this evening with 

 any extended comparison and criticism of the numerous 

 workers in this broad field. Many of them are already 

 forgotten. Many whose work still lives are for various 

 reasons not available for comparison with Stevenson. 

 The Southern Californians, for example, seem to form a 

 class by themselves, dealing with a province distinct in 

 climate, in physical features, and in its life, and appeal- 

 ing to a different temperament. Their California is not 

 ours. The poets, too, belong to another world, the world 

 of fancy and imagination. They rarely condescend to 



