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William Lair Hill
HE WIDE SPACES of which poets sing and for which those of vision strive, were always in the thought of one man. A hunting trip or a long walk gave William Lair Hill, lawyer, new vistas, not merely of the heartening loveliness of the spacious country "where rolls the Oregon," but also of the men and women and children of the city of the future. The land that he secured for the city-pent people as a breathing place for all time is the main city park of Portland.
From a duck hunt back of Lake Union in the State of Washington, he returned with an idea so compelling that he personally went before the legislature and appealed for a change in the law that precluded the acquisition of land by the University. He thus secured the present campus of the University of Washington at Seattle.
A California city, too, is debtor to William Lair Hill for his unselfish foresight. Before many Oaklanders saw the possibilities of Lake Merritt as a park center, Judge Hill worked tirelessly to prevent the erection of factories not far from where the auditorium now stands.
While William Lair Hill wrote extensively during a long life, and was for
By LAURA BELL EVERETT
Territory of Washington as a state, he was appointed by the legislature to compile the laws of Washington. pile the laws of Washington. Upon the completion of the Washington codes, he removed to Oakland where he was associated with William R. Davis in the practice of law.
With Colonel John P. Irish he represented American claimants against the Republic of Salvador, in 1901, before a court of arbitration in Washington, D. C., and recovered a verdict of more than five hundred thousand dollars, which the government of Salvador afterward paid.
Devoted as he was to the study and practice of law, William Lair Hill was notable for the offices that he refused. He resigned the judgeship of the Superior Court of Grant County, Oregon, to return to his private practice. General U. S. Grant, while president, twice offered him appointment to the Federal bench, and Governor Z. F. Moody tendered him the appointment as United States senator from Oregon. Although he shrank from public office, Judge Hill never slighted the duties of citizenship.
'N HIS OWN HOME he was an
dustry, life is a long school course. addition to his Greek and Latin, he had a reading knowledge of French and Italian, besides the languages mentioned by Franklin Pierce Mays, his law partner in Portland, who says of him:
"Hill was the kindest, sweetest man I ever knew. He knew more law than any other man I have ever had anything to do with, and he knew more of everything else than he did of law. He could name every flower and plant he saw in an afternoon's walk. When more than eighty he learned to drive an automobile and to do it well. For relaxation it was his habit to read scientific works in the original German. He read and talked Spanish fluently. He was a lifelong student and a man of the keenest intellect. He seemed to know something of every conceivable subject and to know it thoroughly."
This Grand Old Man kept his interest in life to the last. He was regularly in his law office in Oakland at eighty-four and after, until an attack of pneumonia warned him to lessen his daily exertion, and he and Mrs. Hill went to spend some months with one of their sons in the San Joaquin Valley. He died at his home in Oakland in
a time editor of the Portland Oregonian, exemplar of the American husband February of this year.
it is for his legal accomplishment that he is best known. In 1884 he was appointed Code Commissioner for the State of Oregon. Hill's Annotated Codes of Oregon was so favorably known that upon the admission of the
in its details is suggestive of close study of Indian characteristics, and has an atmosphere of the real, old West. In coloring and portrayal the artist has achieved a wonderful success, even the broken window pane, through which the adobe buildings outside can be seen, increasing the general impression of realism.
"The painting was hung for display in the Salt Lake office of the Denver and Rio Grande Railroad as it was painted near the Salt Lake Route, where Welch has spent considerable time studying the Pueblo Indians and their country."
Arriving in Australia Welch painted cycloramas of the "Battle of Waterloo,' "The Ballarat Riots" and "Jerusalem on the Day of the Crucifixion." latter was said to be a marvellous production, the lighting of the entire picture coming from the figure of Christ.
and father. A Tennesseean by birth, he married the daughter of the president of McMinnville College, Oregon, where he received the foundations of his training. To a man of his mind and in
Nelson Hawks was busy in his shop on Clay Street in San Francisco. His back was toward the door and he was unconscious of any one having entered until a voice called out:
"Is this the time you get down to work?"
Without turning his head in the direction of the speaker, he replied: "Yes, Thad."
Welch had just arrived from Australia and was going to paint some large pictures for the Chicago Exposition, of Del Monte Hotel, the Golden Gate from Yerba Buena Island, and Stanford Vineyard.
This latter picture was painted for Senator Stanford and like most orders is not a Welch subject or in his characteristic style. Senator Stanford is in the foreground of the vineyard, a la
In an age of specialization we need to keep before us the example of those who live widely and deeply, and to recognize the all-round life as the highest development.
and the shadows beneath being the best part of the picture.
After the earthquake of 1906, this painting was found under three feet of debris in the Stanford Museum at Palo Alto, California and though torn in several places has been carefully restored.
Welch returned to Ossining in the Spring of 1893 for Ludmilla and then left for the Chicago Exposition and remained there six months.
Ludmilla was named for Queen Ludmilla of Bohemia, about whose life Dvorak wove the beautiful oratorio which was given in Chicago shortly after they arrived there. This was one of the few treats they were able to indulge in, for their circumstances became precarious.
borer holding up a huge bunch of purple A
Welch remained in Australia nearly two years, his wife living at her old home in Ossining because of lack of funds for the trip. His expenses were paid and at the termination of his stay grapes for his inspection, Mt. Shasta is there was a nice little sum netted from in the distance and a ditch at one side the work. partially covered by a culvert is wonOne morning in the summer of 1889, derfully done, the sunlight on the boards.
T first they stayed at a hotel but the funds were getting lower and the money for the Exposition pictures failing to arrive, owing to a misunder(Continued on page 279)
The High Graders
HERE am I?" she asked incredulously, then realizing her whereabouts, she smiled
"Ann, you told me you were going to have a nap. You said you were simply dead for sleep," she admonished, "and here you are out here cooking. You simply can't leave it alone."
Ann began her excuses when Mrs. Carson interrupted, addressing herself to Barbara. "Are you one of them scientific cooks too?" she inquired. She was rolling out the dough now and menacingly poised the bottle which answered for a rolling pin.
"Don't throw it. Keep it for your husband," laughed Barbara, who awoke instantly to the levity of the threat. "No, I am that is, I was just a plain stenographer. Maybe I had better have stayed one."
"Fraid cat," countered Mrs. Carson with smiling accent, "Now you're homesick too. Just think of it, honey, you might find a millionaire husband up here, and wouldn't have to peck, peck at an old typewriter, except to write out invitations to your swell dinners and parties."
"Oh, do you think so?" cried Miss Conners, "I'd like ever so much to, but he must be rich and handsome. Do you think Mr. Shorty has much money?"
E may have as much as a couple of hundred," replied Mrs. Carson after grave deliberation, "Maybe sometimes he runs it up to a little more."
"Two hundred thousand dollars," gasped Barbara, "Why I would have never thought he was so rich as all that, and he is so common acting, and so brave and good looking.
"He's mine, Ann, I saw him first." She was all vivacity now.
By CHARLES H. SNOW
dered over the term, "domestic science."
The men arrived at the right moment, when the dinner was five minutes from ready. Bill Staley greeted the two girls with worldly lack of self consciousness. Their meeting some hours previously had served as a sort of introduction. Jimmy Rawlins in the company of his sex was able to hold his own, word for word and deed for deed, but in the presence of these two girls he became a good deal of a big school boy who had not had very much schooling.
It had been a long time since he had met girls like these. He thought of his "Two hundred dollars, not thou- sister, whom he had not seen for more sands," corrected Mrs. Carson.
"There goes my bubble," moaned Barbara, and she sank limply into a chair.
"Now, I am sorry, but don't give up," Mrs. Carson consoled. tatoes are done fine. You girls wash and primp up. The men folks will be along in a minute. Bill Staley is worth a million or two and he's a bachelor." "I'll vamp him for sure," cried Barbara, reacting to her natural temperament. In her joking remarks and tone there had been what the uncouth, though astute, Mrs. Carson took for more than mere idle words.
For a short while Mrs. Carson pon
than five years, and compared her with them. In his memory she compared favorably, yet not to the disparagement of the two guests. Madeline must be somewhat Conners, he thought. She had the same brown eyes, as he remembered her, a slim girl of She had the same brown hair and vivacious manner, and irregular though intelligent face. Instantly he conceived the thought that he wanted to see her badly, as much as he wanted to see his mother. His first decision was to go to them, but this was immediately vetoed, for the reason that as the work upon the mine was now to begin in earnest, he could not be spared.
"Jimmy," cried Mrs. Carson. Rawlins was so relieved by the summons that he failed. to excuse his disappearance through the kitchen door. He stood waiting for the rest of what he knew from experience was coming.
"I'm ashamed of you," Mrs. Carson began reprovingly, "without your claw hammer coat and best pants and boiled shirt, and young ladies for dinner, city young ladies, scientific young ladies! I'm sure ashamed of you." She surveyed him with cool criticism and added with a smile, "Go outside and wash up, Jimmy. You're all right. Clothes don't make the man, do they?" Jimmy was outside in search of soap and water before he could have been expected to reply.
At first the spirit of the diners was a little constrained. Mrs. Carson awaited for the decision on her culinary prowess. It came soon, and was volubly approbative. Barbara and Ann were slightly in awe of a man so mighty in the mining world as Bill Staley. They were relieved when they found he was a normal human being, who talked of ordinary things more than anything else. Ann had noticed Jimmy Rawlins' embarrassment and felt a sort of sisterly solicitude for him. Because of it, she was very skillful in putting him at his ease by her display of common sense. Shorty, who was at home anywhere, needed no coddling to make him comfortable in this assemblage. Pete Carson, by virtue of being visible head of the house, assumed a dignity entirely compatible with his exalted station.
It was not a meal of many courses, but of long duration. Before it was fairly begun, every one was getting well. acquainted. Jimmy Rawlins announced that Bill Staley had bought half the Sultana, and this elicited much speculative comment as to the price. Neither
Staley or Rawlins, however, gave the figure. Barbara insisted that the price paid for the half interest must have been almost as extravagant a sum as the one run up by Terence Tierney in his alcoholic flight flight of fancy. Rawlins laughed loudly at this hazard, while Staley answered it with his enigmatic smile.
Gradually the talk drifted from the mine to other topics, reminiscences of other camps in which the girls could take little part. This might have continued indefinitely had not Staley mentioned the object of the girls' presence in camp, the nature of which Shorty had hurriedly explained to him. Ann explained the character and the hopes of their venture. Barbara was concluding a more animated estimate of its possibilities when Shorty interrupted. He had taken the piece of high-grade from his pocket and was examining it, unnoticed.
HAT do you think of that?"
he asked. He held up the piece of rock and twisted it about in such a manner that the light from the kerosene lamp brought out its effect most startlingly.
"Oh," cried Barbara, clapping her hands, "High-grade! Let me have it, please." Shorty passed the specimen to her and they all watched her examine it with quick impulsive movements of fingers and eyes.
"Oh, it is so pretty," she said at length, "and so valuable. How much is it worth?"
Shorty named a sum which was more than the value, had the piece been solid gold. She accepted his estimate without question, and with a sigh of reluctance she passed the specimen to her companion, who had waited with patience for the opportunity to examine it. Ann, after one look, weighed the piece in the palm of her hand, while her brows contracted in perplexity. She looked from the rock to Shorty, who sat smilingly expectant. Something instinctive, or intuitive, told him that she would be a hard person to lie to successfully.
"I was wondering," she at last timorously announced, "if you are really telling us the truth about the value of this?" In her hand she held the questioned article, "It seems to me that this gold must be very much more valuable than that in our twenty dollar pieces."
"Good for you," Pete Carson heartily endorsed, "You called him. Watch out for Shorty, girls. He never tells the truth when he can get out of it. Now that piece of rock is worth about-" he took the lump from Ann and examined it practically, "about fifty dollars," he concluded.
"Oh," Barbara exclaimed a little
impetuously, but with a tone of disappointment, "That is a lot, but I believe Mr. Shorty, just the same. Anyway, I wish it was mine," I wish it was mine," A quick glance around the table caused her to add, "and Ann's of course. I would want Ann to have half of it."
"Barbara," said Ann reprovingly, "You shouldn't wish for such things; why it's just the same as if you were asking Mr. Shorty to give you money. "I wish I had it, just the same," she maintained. Ann did not further remonstrate. Instead, she turned to Shorty.
"Where did you get that high-grade?" she demanded with mock severity. Shorty explained the manner in which the specimen had come into his possession, and gave a lurid account of old Terence and his lavish expenditure of enthusiasm.
"The old devil," exclaimed Rawlins, who had sat a silent but interested auditor, "The only man I'm working and him high-grading on me before my
don't think old Terence meant to steal it," he began judiciously, his words and tone restoring the equilibrium of his listeners. "He is, from what I know of him, not that kind, but he might have taken it for keeps. Let's give him the benefit of the doubt and say that his enthusiastic interest in the mine made him take the rock just so that he might prove that the mine really contained such ore." A quick survey of his listeners convinced him that this charitable suggestion had been accepted. "Now without any presumption, young ladies," he addressed his words and looks to both girls, "as half owner of the Sultana, I suggest that you allow us to break this rock in two, and present
it to you as an expression of our interest in your venture, and as the first piece of high grade taken from the Sultana, stolen or simply borrowed."
"Oh, would you really?" exclaimed Barbara beamingly.
"With my partner's consent," Staley looked at Rawlins. His consent was readily given.
"Now, pursued Staley, "It will be impossible to break the piece squarely, "so I suggest that you two draw straws to determine which gets which." He indicated the two ends of the rock which he had taken and now held. "The long straw gets this end;" here he tapped the richer half of the rock.
"I'm going to draw the long straw," Barbara cried gleefully. Mrs. Carson rose and took two straws from the bloom, which stood in a nearby corner. She gave them to Staley, who held them beneath the table while he arranged them. When he withdrew his hands, the briefest ends of the two straws extended from them.
"I want to draw first," said Barbara, with much the manner of a spoiled child.
"Go ahead," agreed her companion with repressed excitement. After a careful scrutiny of the straws and Staley's tightly clenched hand, Barbara selected one of the projecting ends, and withdrew it. The straw was not more than an inch in length. An apprehensive expression crossed her face. Ann drew. Her straw was twice the length of the one drawn by Barbara.
"You just cheated me," the latter said half accusingly to Staley.
The look he gave her made her instantly regret her words.
"I really didn't mean that," she hurriedly apologized.
"I know," said Staley, "The sight of gold does strange things sometimes." At the implication of his words, the conversation began to lag. Ann insisted that her friend take the more valuable portion of the rock, which was now broken by Pete Carson with a skillful tap of a hammer. Barbara reluctantly accepted the generous offer, for the rock had broken very unevenly.
With brusque authority, Mrs. Carson said, "Now you men better clear out. These girls are tired and sleepy; Pete, you can go up and sleep with Jimmy or the coyotes. The girls are goin' to bunk with me. Ann, here, is goin' to be my baby tonight instead of you, and Barbara can sleep on the foldin' cot." This ultimatum was accepted without protest.
A quarter of an hour later, Mrs. Carson cuddled Ann Dorr upon her arm, and whispered, "I just love you, honey, I just do." Half awake, the girl aroused herself to kiss the older woman with a touch of understanding.
Sometime in the night Ann Dorr awoke with a frightened start. The tent house rocked and vibrated before some onslaught. The flaps, which had been let down for the night but not fastened, whipped and snapped with pistol like reports. As her realization became more acute there came a rattle and crash of something metallic above the roar of the wind. A small cyclone had swept over a pile of empty tin cans and was carrying them aloft and dropping them where it would. She realized that a desert storm was in full swing. It seemed that everything not firmly fastened would be torn away. Would the tent house weather the storm, she wondered, or would it be swept from over them, leaving them at the mercy of the hurricane and exposed to the full sight of the rest of the camp?
She lay and tried to collect her senses. Mrs. Carson was breathing heavily. Ann marvelled how any one could sleep in such a din. She wondered if Barbara were sleeping. Barbara had not made a move nor a sound. This thought restored Ann Dorr to her usual practical self. If others could ride out such a hurricane, she reasoned that she could also. A large can, driven with the wind, smashed upon the tent top and bounced noisily to the ground. Still the others slept. There in the darkness Ann Dorr smiled. Beneath her serious side lay one as humorous when the occasion uncovered it.
"The Tin Can," she mused half aloud, "It's a good omen. There may be nothing in a name, but there is something in coincidence."
She decided to get out of bed and go out to see if she could lash down the tent flaps in order that the wind and part of the noise might be shut out. She was slipping quietly from the bed when Mrs. Carson stirred, sat upright
and demanded, "Where're you goin' honey?"
Ann explained and asked, "Is there any danger? Is it a real cyclone?"
ORD A'mighty, honey, no," answered Mrs. Carson, who had awakened instantly and fully, "It ain't nothin' but a little breeze. You'll get used to 'em like this one. Just wait till we have a sure enough one. I've seen 'em blow a cat through a key hole. This ain't no wind. Now you just crawl back into bed and I'll go out and hitch things down." Ann was very grateful for this change of plans. She huddled beneath the covers while Mrs. Carson, barefoot and clad only in her night dress, went out. The wind whipped the door from her hand as she loosened the catch. It crashed violently against the frame work close by where Barbara's head lay, and she awoke with a startling, piercing scream.
"Where am I? Where am I? Oh! Where am I?" she cried with hysterical incoherency. Instantly Ann was at her side and was saying, "It's nothing but the wind, dear. Don't be frightened. Don't be frightened. Mrs. Carson is outside tying down the flaps."
Mrs. Carson was indeed outside, valiantly fighting the forces of nature as she flinched from the rough ground under her feet and shivered as the wind whipped her scanty clothing about in a manner entirely regardless of all proper procedure; but she persisted and the wind became less violent within the tent. Finally it became almost still when the flaps on the windward side had been fastened. There was another tinny crash; the wash tub had been blown from its moorings upon the rear wall, and went clattering down the hillside to bring up with a crash against the side of another house.
"Some little wind," commented Ann, reverting to the slang she sometimes employed for emphasis when they were alone.
"Oh!" moaned Barbara, "It's awful, Ann, it's horrid, Oh, I want to go home." Mrs. Carson had circumvented the tent house and now came in just in time to hear the girl's lament.
"What's that?" she demanded, out of the gloom. She had come in, unnoticed, "You ain't goin' to be a quitter, just because old Jupiter is sweepin' house. This ain't anything to be afraid of, honey." At first sound of the words, Barbara had convulsively clutched her companion, too frightened to speak. Her senses were clearing when Mrs. Carson said cheerfully, "Come on and pile in with us. The bed'll hold three if we lay jack knife and sardine fashion." Barbara needed no second invitation; in less than five seconds she was comfortably lying between the two other women, shivering with what was part fright, part cold, for the wind whipping over the wide, cold desert had the sting of early winter in it, though it was summer. Barbara had not yet learned that when the summer sun sets upon the high desert regions, there follows a coolness, comfortable and revitalizing, like that nowhere else upon earth. At this moment the clock, which had maintained its balance upon the kitchen shelf, struck
"You had better try and go to sleep, girls," advised Mrs. Carson, who must have included herself, for she absorbed her own advice literally. She was soon sleeping soundly, oblivious of the noises about her, which gave the two strangers little chance of rest for the remaining long hours of the night.
It was still early when the four men left the Carson home.
"There's things in this here village that's worth seein'," Pete insinuated to
Shorty, when they were alone. Staley and Rawlins had gone to the latter's
cabin to talk business.
"I've got eyes," responded Shorty, "It's the time and the place. Let's travel." The alacrity with which Shorty accepted the suggestion acted as a partial damper tial damper upon Carson's ebullient spirit. He knew Shorty would not stop at halves.
"Now, Shorty," he hedged, "I don't have when I was single like you, but mean a rip roarin' time like I used to just somethin' to make me forget, for the time, the gallin' shackles of matrimony. You sort of know what I mean, somethin' like bustin' a fargo bank or a roulette outfit or, well, takin' on enough tarantula juice to feel opulent."
Shorty stopped, and facing Carson, became very serious.
(Continued on page 274)
HE FAMILIAR EXPRESSION, "Mother Earth," is strongly suggestive of man's dependence upon the products of the soil. Tilling the soil means a fixed abode and it is one of the foundation stones of civilization. Agriculture must ever be the basal occupation of the human race and therefore the extent and the productivity of the tillable lands of a state are of the greatest importance.
When California was admitted to the Union few believed that it had large potential value as an agricultural area. Cattle raising and wheat growing were the leading industries. The ranchers were few and lived upon large holdings. Today practically one third of the population or more than 1,000,000 people live upon farms. So vast is the area of the state that, in 1920, the average density was but twenty-two persons to the square mile. If California were as densely populated as is Illinois the former would have a population of about 18,000,000 instead of approximately 4,000,000.
The plant foods which the soil contains are depleted through repeated cropping unless fertilizers be added. In humid regions the rains of centuries wash out the elements so necessary to plant growth. Because much of the lowland of California receives a small annual rainfall the nitrate, phosphorus and potassium, the three most essential elements, are found in comparative abundance. The importance of California agriculturally is shown by the fact that the last Federal Census gives the state fifth rank in total value of all farm crops. Texas, Iowa, Illinois, Ohio and California ranked in the order given.
The breaking up of the large ranches marked a great advance in rural prosperity. In 1850 there were but 872 ranches in the state, the average size of which was 4,465 acres. In 1920 the average farm consisted of but 249 acres, as against 148 for the United States as a whole. To such an extent has division (Figures used in this article were obtained from the Reports of the Fourteenth Census.)