Ramblings 
 of a 
 Pen 
 
 
 
 
OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 GIF~T 
 
 
Ramblings of a Pen 
 
 Selections from the Writings 
 
 OF 
 
 WM. N. HOLWAY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 l/NIVERSITY 
 
 OF 
 
 1904 
 
 Ford Smith & Little Co., Printers 
 Los Angeles, Cal. 
 

 
A (gift 
 
 TjThe thought that prompts a gift is 
 the true measure of its value* 
 But who can measure the unseen, 
 unspoken thought of another ? A 
 thought ? It is etched on the pages of 
 the mind, oft hidden beneath the worn 
 covers of daily care, and fastened with 
 the rusty clasp of time* Yet the kindly 
 remembrance of friends unclasps the 
 volume, and thought flashes through 
 space to our own stations on the cir- 
 cuit of life* 
 
 AH mtemnrg Surna iJf? 
 
 fhen we turn an introspective eye 
 over the pages of the volume 
 our experience is editing, we find, not 
 material things, but an unselfish deed, 
 the sincere praise of a friend, a sacri- 
 fice one for another, the inspiring con- 
 tact of human souls, the love and con- 
 fidence and trust, all these light the 
 record as memory turns the leaves, 
 
 (3) 
 
 1278 
 
Seal 
 
 TTfhe wages of truth is friendship, and 
 
 a friend is an anchor of life* 
 
 But in the nature of things, there 
 
 are but few real friends to whom we 
 
 reveal the inner sanctuary of the heart, 
 
 who know us as we are who so 
 
 love and trust, that when stormy 
 
 winds and tempestuous seas assail us, 
 
 still clearly discern the compass of our 
 
 soul, pointing to the north star of 
 
 right* 
 
 A 
 
 ODur 
 
 s long as Hope uplifts the human 
 heart, mankind will strive for 
 the fleeting prize of material success* 
 Some gain it, and any success that 
 makes character stronger and better, 
 is a worthy achievement, a sturdy 
 mile post of progress* 
 
 But when we look over the vanished 
 years, what have we retained that 
 adds to our sum of happiness and 
 
 (4) 
 
content? Material advantages are 
 often strong and worthy factors, yet 
 fade away and are gone, as thought 
 turns the pages of our book of life, in 
 search of our real being's garnered 
 treasures* 
 
 Yes, away back on the first pages, 
 there is a young mother's love and 
 pride, and later an aged mother's 
 blessing for tender care in her evening 
 of life* There is the faith and unfalter- 
 ing trust of woman the love and con- 
 fidence of children's joyous life, en- 
 obling your own ; the trust and esteem 
 of friends to whom you gave of your 
 best; the overcoming of extreme diffi- 
 culties and the ultimate triumph of 
 right and the ringing echo of the silent 
 "well done" of conscience* Yes, all 
 in all, love, faith and trust these are 
 the gems that shine from our store- 
 house when memory draws the cur- 
 tain, and all that was worth saving in 
 our Yesterdays, smiles upon us as a 
 living possession of To-Day. 
 
 (5) 
 
An lEtetttttg bg Jh? 
 
 / 7j( am swinging gently in a restful 
 hammock, in a cottage by the 
 sea, swinging gently, for all nature 
 seems in its gentlest, sweetest mood* 
 The sun descending behind the 
 mountains has kissed the sky a warm 
 good night, and the clouds blush in 
 rosyhued delight* The sea is calm 
 and smooth, and the long, low swell 
 of the ebbing tide falls with soothing, 
 rythmic sound, as if caressing the 
 sandy beach to make amends for 
 some angry mood of the past. 
 
 One's soul reaches out in sympa- 
 thetic response to nature's peaceful 
 moods, the best within us, the deepest 
 emotions, the noblest thought 'tis 
 but the voice, the soul of nature 
 through us finding expression* 
 
 Verily, we tread the shore of the 
 great sea and drink in the fragrant air 
 that comes sweeping across the wide 
 expanse, untainted of the earth, fresh 
 from nature's store-house; so, too, 
 
 (6) 
 
we tread the shore of life's great sea 
 and each deed of love, each act of 
 kindness, all that's sweet and pure 
 and true in life, is the breath from 
 nature's other world across the sea* 
 
 Slf* g>0ul nf Nature 
 
 we behold the light that oft 
 has obscured the wondrous rela- 
 tionship between the soul of man and 
 the life of the universal creator that 
 which smiles in the glad sunshine, 
 lives in the tiny flower, paints the sky 
 above the sundown sea in colors 
 beyond the dream of the human mind, 
 that draws our echoing sigh in the 
 moan of the sobbing sea, that lulls us 
 to rest by the music of the ebbing tide, 
 or inspires to nobler moods in the 
 grandeur of the storm* We recall 
 sharply our little intermittent periods 
 of longing when our lame and halting 
 verse of life seemed almost shaping 
 
 (7) 
 
itself into poetic measure, that here 
 and now inhaling the sweet breath 
 from across the sea, we find our 
 delightful, musical, perfecting rhyme* 
 
 /TThe charm of life is the individuality 
 of the soul, the personality stand- 
 ing out clearly against the common 
 back ground ; and the sacred obligation 
 is ours, that every noble ideal be culti- 
 vated and developed to its higher 
 destiny, that the full power of the inner 
 life speed in its flight every inspiring 
 thought found beating its wings against 
 the wall of circumstance, longing for 
 freedom in the growth of selfhood* 
 
 We are often at a loss to comprehend 
 the musical voices that are borne on 
 the silent breezes, wafted over our 
 unknown sea of destiny, stirring the 
 heart with the infinite joy of hope, 
 awakening the soul to a consciousness 
 
 (8) 
 
Xv o* 
 
 (**** 
 
 of an inherent power, that beckons us 
 forward into the fullness of life* 
 
 The infinite, unerring desires of the 
 soul, the voiceless impressions that 
 flash along the lines that connect our 
 life with its source, these should be 
 our guide. 
 
 IKttflhm, % Jlttktuihm ani 3. 
 
 fe are a congenial set, the known, 
 the unknown and L The 
 Known, the few choice spirits who 
 read the compass of my soul aright, 
 with whom I love to share what life 
 bestows ; and the Unknown, who peep 
 out the covers of delightful books, their 
 personality in pleasing accord with my 
 own, saying my says and thinking my 
 thoughts, as I pat them approvingly 
 on the back* 
 
 Blessed are the Known and Un- 
 known that agree with us. 
 
 (9) 
 
Instinctively we exhibit our beautiful 
 pictures to those in whose souls we 
 behold their reflection. 
 
 We open our garden of roses and 
 the choicest belong of right to the one 
 who loves them most ; and the beauty 
 of the rose and the soul of its lover t 
 verily, we behold the one in the other. 
 
 Our musical instruments ornament 
 our rooms, but he in whom dwells 
 the soul of music, enters we own 
 them not, they are his. 
 
 3mu>r 
 
 3t is pleasant to think that the real 
 comrades of life, the congenial 
 ones whose personality fits so comfort- 
 ably into our own, have each a 
 distinct place, an inner nook in our 
 hearts, where kind words, gentle 
 deeds, the love and confidence of all 
 the fleeting years, have builded an 
 altar unto a friend. Here thought 
 
 (10) 
 
speeds joyously in many a busy hour, 
 or careworn day, communing with 
 treasures that are more than memories, 
 that renew the spirit of human faith, 
 and add to the measure of human 
 courage* 
 
 Appmialuitu 
 
 Tj/lnd words of praise, sincere appre- 
 ciation of that one does, is the 
 unseen gem in the crown of the soul's 
 achievement; one loves to look at this 
 harmless jewel of the inner life, not 
 vainly, but that its radiance may light 
 the pathway with its good cheer* 
 
 /TThe beautiful spirit draws from the 
 soul of nature the beauty, grace 
 and loveliness which come again to 
 us in the poem the picture in every 
 realm of creative art in every good 
 impulse, worthy aim or noble deed. 
 
The inspiration of a great poem, the 
 power of a great painting, the beauty 
 of the sculptured marble, are but the 
 materialized form of the individual 
 soul that created them. 
 
 It is only by rising on the stepping 
 stones of our failures, that we can 
 carve from the cold marble of existence, 
 the warm, living statue of our own 
 destiny* 
 
 The soul's unsatisfied desires are 
 but the pleading voice of the spirit, to 
 unfold as the rose, and become, not 
 what others plan for us, but whatever 
 our power for growth entitles us to 
 become* 
 
 Each flower lives its to-day, sheds 
 its petals of beauty, and is gone, 
 leaving only a fragrance of yesterday* 
 
 (12) 
 
Each soul that lives a pure and 
 joyous to-day, sends its radiance into 
 other lives, builds yesterdays of fra- 
 grant memory, and makes glad all the 
 to-morrows of life* 
 
 nig a f atrff. 
 
 fhen we meet one whom time has 
 long parted from us, memory 
 leaps the abyss of the years, but each 
 feels the shock of the change time has 
 wrought in the other* Slowly we 
 take up the threads and patch the gap 
 between past and present, but it is ever 
 a patch, as we strive to reveal to one 
 another what experience has stamped 
 on the soul, in the absent years* We 
 mend and mend, until the threads are 
 interwoven into a tangible something 
 upon which we journey back and forth 
 between yesterday and to-day, but it 
 is only a patch* 
 
 (13) 
 
/TThere, too, are the self-sufficient 
 kind, ever contented with their 
 own wondrous personality, patting 
 themselves approvingly on the back 
 for exercise, and shaking hands with 
 themselves for company* 
 
 44 We pick a fellow creature to pieces 
 with a keen edge of albeit good- 
 natured satire, and then, if time per- 
 mits, paste the remnants together with 
 belated praise* " 
 
 44 Criticism in an automobile leads 
 the procession, but praise in a lumber 
 wagon brings up the rear," 
 
 'here are rare and ideal moments 
 in life, moments when the soul 
 is attuned to breathe its sweetest 
 
 (14) 
 
melodies, by the touch of the master 
 hand on the invisible chords that link 
 our life with the Divine* These 
 moments are sacred to each life ; the 
 culmination of the silent longings of 
 the vanished years, the crucial points 
 in ambition hope love when the 
 soul looking upward beholds the light 
 gleaming through the darkness, and 
 unspoken thought voices our deepest 
 emotion* 
 
 Tho' we smile again or sigh again, 
 as the shadowy substance of a by-gone 
 hour comes into view, a moment, an 
 emotion, an impulse, is not born anew. 
 
 True, they are graven on the 
 tablets of experience that have builded 
 the yesterdays of life, they linger in 
 the deep recesses of the heart* Turn 
 to an old letter with a faded flower, a 
 face from out the distant past, a voice 
 that touches chords long silent, a 
 flash of memory's search-light and 
 we are apart of other days* But it is 
 
 (15) 
 
for an instant, faintly the mists fade 
 away, slowly the hands move forward 
 on the dial of time, and we return to 
 the living present an emotion, and 
 impulse to do, we recall but we can 
 not re-live. 
 
 (16) 
 
Syrac- 
 Stc 
 
 IARF 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNF 
 
 OF