G.W. BURTON
 
 Ij.
 
 3V 
 
 Beloved California 
 
 A Lyric of the Soul 
 
 SECOND THOUSAND 
 
 BY 
 
 G. W. BURTON 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 A. B. DODGE 
 
 LOS ANGELES, 1914 
 
 Copyright, 1914 
 
 by 
 
 G. W. BURTON 
 
 as the "Eagle," in the Illustrated Weekly Magazine 
 of the Los Angeles Times
 
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 274415
 
 ILO V E you, California, with all my heart 
 and soul. 
 I love your every beauty spot. I love you as 
 
 a whole. 
 I love you as a mother loves her little new born 
 
 child. 
 As lovers love their sweethearts all, so gentle, 
 
 sweet ana mild. 
 I love the breezes from your seas that roll upon 
 
 your shore, 
 
 And while the rolling years run by I love you 
 more and more. 
 
 I love your plains and grass-clad kills. 
 Your dells and vales and murmuring rills. 
 Your meadows daisy-pied and green. 
 Your orchards bright with shimmering sheen. 
 The golden stores within your rocks. 
 And all your sleek, tat kine and flocks.
 
 I LOVE you, California, with affection 
 deep ana strong. 
 
 I love the murmur of your bees and all 
 your birds of song. 
 Your mesas gleaming in the sun, painted 
 
 with poppy gold. 
 Your sacred ruins on the lea of storied days 
 
 of old, 
 Their cloisters where the friars brown set 
 
 up the blessed Tree, 
 
 And taught the savage from the wood to 
 Christ to bend the knee. 
 
 m 
 
 Yes, every -wooded mountain glade 
 ^A' here lingering lovers walk in shade. 
 And every snow-capped towering peak 
 \Vliere nature-lovers interest seek, 
 ^Vhere breakers roll on shining sands, 
 Vv^here many a cloud-high pine tree stands.
 
 I LOVE you, California, when summer 
 suns glow warm. 
 
 And when the rugged oak tree bends 
 before the driving storm. 
 
 I love you when your cloudless skies spread 
 comfort o er the plain. 
 
 And when the storm-chased clouds pour 
 down their torrent floods amain. 
 
 I love you -when the sun comes up o er 
 earth s high eastern wall. 
 
 And when at night he sinks to rest, a fire- 
 consuming ball. 
 
 I love your laughing rivulets 
 
 ere nature all her beauty sets. 
 Your every leafy flower-decked nook 
 By every babbling rock-bound brook, 
 
 something sweet from every sod 
 Blooms bright as Aaron s magic rod.
 
 I LOVE you, California, in sun 
 shine ana in shade. 
 
 I love you with devotion such as 
 
 man may love a maid, 
 The league-long rollers of your seas 
 
 of heavenly sapphire-hlue. 
 Your far-flung mountains towering 
 
 heights in tints of royal hue. 
 The golden glow of mustard spread 
 
 o er hillside, plain and dell. 
 The goldenrod that crowns the streams 
 
 that through your valleys swell. 
 
 Anemones in spring days blow 
 And roses rivaling the snow. 
 And poppies like a butterfly 
 O er many a league of landscape 
 
 lie; 
 
 Thus rainbow California smiles 
 Like sorceress spreading magic 
 
 wiles.
 
 I LOVE you, California, where wheat fields' 
 rolling gold 
 
 Spread far and wide o er hill and plain. I 
 
 love you -when the fold 
 \Vith tinkling hells at eventide lulls like the 
 
 peace of God 
 i he peace once brought to our dark world hy 
 
 Jesse s glorious Rod. 
 I love you, California, -where deserts lonely 
 
 spread 
 Their glistening sands beneath our feet and bright 
 
 stars overhead. 
 
 O -wondrous land of the Far 
 Of all best lands the very best, 
 \Vnere following seasons come and go, 
 \Vnere men may reap e en as they sow, 
 In confidence and peace. I say 
 Fruit follows toil as day does day.
 
 ELOVED California, the richness of 
 
 your soils 
 
 Assures their fruit abundantly to 
 every man who toils; 
 
 No plowman turns your sod in vain on up 
 land, plain or vale ; 
 
 In all the good land of the \Vest the har 
 vest must prevail. 
 He sows in hope to reap in joy, as sure as 
 
 day is day, 
 
 As in the garden of the Lord, as the old 
 prophets say. 
 
 If Paradise was half as rich 
 They laud that garden overmuch 
 Lost by old Adam's greed 
 1 hen Adam s fault was great indeed. 
 For California thou are worth 
 To me more than all else of earth.
 
 I LOVE you, California, with love as 
 death is strong. 
 
 The glories spread o'er many a page in 
 
 story and in song. 
 Poet and hard thy praises sing, prophets and 
 
 priests relate 
 Heroic deeds wrought hy the sons of thee, 
 
 loved Golden State. 
 Thy sunheams make the blood run red and 
 
 pulses raster heat. 
 And all the blessings from the skies beneath 
 
 thy bright suns meet. 
 
 Round Zion goodly hills may stand. 
 And in that ancient promised land 
 The milk and honey flowed apace 
 For Gods elected favored race; 
 But Golden State, God cast thy lot 
 In full as rich and happy a spot.
 
 UNTO thy tills I lift my eyes, my well-beloved 
 State. 
 
 I love tnee from thy snow-capped peaks unto thy 
 Golden Gate, 
 Tny rills and purling brooks are dear unto my mind and 
 
 heart. 
 
 That from my soul the love of tnee can never more depart; 
 MVnile memory rules this mind of mine and reason holds 
 
 its sway, 
 I'll tell thy story, sing thy praise, in bypath and Highway. 
 
 But on, how weak is all the praise 
 Phrased in the most enchanting ways 
 To tell the glories that are thine; 
 For all thy beauties far outshine 
 The -warmest words of human tongue 
 By poet, bard or minstrel sung.
 
 THE nebulous streams of ligkt tkat flow- 
 across tke nigkt- veiled, star- 
 gemmed sky. 
 Are less resplendent than tKe dyes tkat on 
 
 thy fair face lie. 
 The sun bends low at morn and eve to kiss 
 
 tkat radiant face. 
 And wonders at tke matckless charms wkick 
 
 wrap tkee witk suck grace. 
 Tke winds tkat sweep tky cloudless skies 
 
 caress tky tresses krigkt. 
 
 And all tky seas roll at tky feet to wonder 
 at tke sigkt. 
 
 Clotked in suck wondrous loveliness 
 
 Ak, wko could ever love tkee less? 
 
 I love tkee from tky Silver Gate 
 
 To wkere grand Skasta sits in state, 
 
 By all tky rivers, krooks and rills. 
 
 By all tky flower-strewn plains and kills. 

 
 WHERE wood -decked 
 mountains rear their heads 
 And streams flow deep 
 o er sandy beds. 
 From fir-clad land of Oregon 
 To where thy southern limits run. 
 The realm once owned by ancient 
 
 Spain 
 Closes once more thy broad domain. 
 
 I love thee, California. Ok, I have 
 
 loved thee long. 
 And told thy love so many times 
 
 in warmest speech, and song. 
 And when I come to love thee less 
 Tnen earth, shall lack all loveli-
 
 HOW IT CAME TO PASS 
 
 Sunlight mornings, starlit evenings, so they pass away. 
 Man is ever weary, weary waiting for the May. 
 
 Excepting in California, where from January to June nearly every clay is May-like, 
 and then nearly every day to January again is June-like. 
 
 The few little verses that precede this post-face were written one beautiful day in 
 January, 1914, when the air was as warm as a May day, the plains as green as Ireland 
 in June, and all the wild flowers struggling to express themselves in a thousand colors 
 all over upland and plain, in dell and mountain canyon throughout all California. The 
 writer's being was thrilled full with the sunlight and his memory keen with all that 
 he owed to his beloved California as he drew near the end of half a century of peaceful 
 successful life in a region the richest and most beautiful, under skies the brightest and 
 amid airs the balmiest in the wide, wide world. 
 
 As he writes these words, May is drawing to a close, and on the following week 
 when the fourth of June comes it will be exactly forty-eight years since he packed up 
 his small belongings by the shores of Lake Michigan in Kenosha, Wisconsin, to start 
 on his pilgrimage for California, an exceedingly sick man of twenty-six years, almost 
 without hope in the world. Do you blame him, sympathetic reader, for loving Cali 
 fornia, where now at the age of almost seventy-five he is still doing a full day's work 
 every day in the week, in better health than he had half a century before, young as 
 he was? And do you blame him for wanting to tell what California's balmy climate 
 has done for his health and what her opportunities have done to make him independent 
 of the world in his old age? 
 
 That is his only (not excuse but) good reason ior desiring to spread his admiration 
 of California before the eyes of as many readers as he can reach, especially those in 
 poor health threatened with worse, and above all before the eyes of young people 
 afflicted with any kind of disease, threatened with premature death and without hope 
 in the world, that they may know that there is here a "land of pure delight" where 
 hope springs eternal even in the breasts of invalids, that health may be recovered with 
 a useful life and success to be achieved to those who will only hear the message and 
 come in time. 
 
 With these aspirations in mind, the author went before a gathering of the Realty 
 Board, a body of men larger in numbers and more successful in their calling than could 
 be found anywhere else in any similar city in the world, and read his simple tribute 
 to the State that did so much for him, and they advised the publication of the verses 
 with the story he told them of its writing. The story follows: 
 
 There is gathered here a large number of business men of the city whom I am 
 \lery proud to have greet me as a friend and to profess themselves my friends. Friend 
 ship, in my opinion, is the greatest asset in life a man can have outside of his own 
 personality. 
 
 These reminiscences, being personal and touching the speaker, they would require 
 the personal pronoun in the first person, a big "I," six feet two tall, broad-shouldered, 
 bold-faced, with a very small dot at the top. Therefore, to avoid the use of this per 
 sonal pronoun, a thing so disagreeable to a modest man, it would be well to provide 
 a substitute for the big "I." Let the speaker, therefore, refer to himself as "the in 
 valid," for his invalidism is what brought him to California. 
 
 Nearly fifty years ago the invalid was a teacher in a Wisconsin college, and after 
 an attack of typhoid fever, from being an all-around college athlete he was left a 
 physical wreck. A consultation was held on his case by three doctors who sat over 
 him like three crows watching the movements of a dying mule, and after auscultating
 
 his lungs, punching his ribs, feeling his pulse and inspecting his tongue, they came to 
 the conclusion expressed about like this :\ "Get out of here. You can't live two more 
 years in Wisconsin, probably not one. Go to California, and we will promise you an 
 extension of your life possibly six years." The invalid promised to go if he could 
 beg or borrow $300 to take him, but remarked that he would not die in six years nor 
 in twenty-six. 
 
 His case was tragic in its sadness. With the prospect of death unless he went to 
 California, without money enough to reach New York, he betook himself to the music- 
 room and there told the decision to a lady who was teaching music, French and 
 Italian in the college. She said: "I will lend you the money." But the invalid re 
 marked: "Perhaps you'll never get it back. Perhaps I may forget you and the 
 money." And the lady replied: "The loss of your friendship would be great, that of 
 the money little." So the invalid said to the lady, "Will you go with me?" 
 
 On the fourth day of June, 1866. the two were married, and as the invalid said: 
 "With all my worldly goods I thee endow." a twinkle glistened in his eye at the thought 
 of the borrowed money to take him to California. 
 
 In due time the ships and the Panama Railroad landed the invalid and the lady in 
 the Golden State. He taught school all the way from Los Angeles to Portland for a 
 period of more than ten years. The audience is a gathering of real estate people, and 
 it may interest them to know that one of his first acts was to save his salary and secure 
 a piece of California real estate. This was ten acres of land at Redwood City, in the 
 county of Sarr Mateo, for which he paid $1000. A year later he disposed of this and 
 went to Fair Oaks, three miles farther south, where he purchased ten acres of beauti 
 ful park-like land, studded with magnificent oaks, for $1750. 
 
 The invalid and the lady had eastern friends in the city of Los Angeles, and these 
 wrote, holding out glowing prospects for a private school of high grade here in this 
 city. The invalid could not forget in a thousand years this first visit to Southern Cali 
 fornia. After landing at Timm's Point, mounting one of John M. Griffith's stage 
 coaches, with old John Reynolds holding the ribbons, the race with the Banning stage 
 from Wilmington began, and with the four horses in the sixteen-mile race it was 
 "ventre a terre" every rod of the road. Between San Pedro and about Washington 
 and San Pedro street corner in Los Angeles the plains that March day were covered 
 with a luxuriant growth of grass a couple of feet high, and the grass was covered by 
 thousands and tens of thousands of wild geese. They would scarcely move out of the 
 way of the horses' feet, and when the invalid got off his box by the driver and armed 
 himself with a peckful of clods one of these cast into the flock/ of geese would cause 
 a fluttering of wings, and when the birds soared over the stage they made an eclipse 
 of the sun. 
 
 Now, to the real estate reminiscences. The invalid in 1869 bought from Dr. 
 W'illiam Hammell, the excellent father of the very excellent Sheriff of Los Angeles 
 county today, a regular city lot 120 feet on Spring street by 165 on Fifth, where the 
 old buildings are now being cleared off to erect a home for the Citizens' Bank. The 
 property was recently secured at an investment of $1,000,000, and the building is to 
 cost another million. Oh, friends, that is not the only time the invalid just missed 
 being a millionaire. 
 
 His school prospered, and one evening in his study he was visited by a committee 
 of three: the late John M. Griffith, the late John G. Nichols and the late Vincent 
 Hoover. Griffith acted as spokesman. He presented the invalid with a deed, made 
 and executed in due form, conveying to him for a "thank you," the title to a forty-acre 
 donation lot in the city of Los Angeles. This lay along what is now Figueroa street, 
 from about Fifth to Eighth, and stretching away back over the hills to Lucas or \\it- 
 mer street. The gift implied that the invalid would remain in Los Angeles for ten 
 years and conduct a private school for boys and girls. He thanked the committee, 
 but remarked that he would not pledge himself to stay in the city ten years if they 
 gave him the whole country.
 
 There was the second time the invalid missed ranking as a millionaire. The price 
 of that forty acres was $1600. John G. Xichols was the seller, and in view of the pur 
 poses for which the donation was being made be abated the price by $200. On the 
 advice of the invalid the property was conveyed to trustees, to be used for educational 
 purposes. The further fate of the property does not concern us at this time. It is 
 values we are considering. 
 
 The population of Los Angeles at that time was about 5000. Probably 3000 of 
 these were what we call native Californians or Mexicans, 1000 probably represented 
 various nationalities of Europe, and about 1000 Americans. As the speaker remarked 
 last night at a gathering of church people, there were nnore persons in St. Paul's Pro- 
 Cathedral on Sunday morning than the entire American population of Los Angeles 
 at the date referred to. 
 
 With a population of 500.000 the corner of Spring and Fifth streets purchased by 
 the invalid for $5000, is now worth a million, and the forty-acre donation lot just re 
 ferred to is worth millions. The corner of Seventh and Figueroa, now a part of the 
 Foy estate, is worth more for one foot of frontage than the whole forty acres cost 
 when offered to the invalid. 
 
 Well, California suns and breezes from limitless seas uncontaminated as the 
 breath of heaven, did wonders for the invalid, and by the time he had been in this 
 State the period allotted to him for a lifetime he had become pretty sound in lung 
 and limb. But Southern California was struck with the longest period of dry weather 
 ever known before or since. Three seasons passed with so little rain that the plains 
 lay covered with dead animals perishing from lack of food and water. The poor cat 
 tle, forced to live on cactus, had tongues like a pin-cushion, full of the last spines of 
 the cactus that could stick into them. When they waded into a cienaga to get a drink 
 they were too weak to get out. The invalid had made money, and with a partner had 
 purchased 6000 to 7000 acres of the Puente Hills, mortgaging their flock of sheep as 
 security for the land. The flock survived a second dry winter, but succumbed the 
 third, sweeping away all the economies of the invalid the land reverting to the orig 
 inal owner. He was offered a place in a school in Portland, Or., and was obliged to 
 leave the lady behind and borrow money again to make his journey. He fell on a 
 soft spot up in Oregon, and soon sent for the lady to join him, and there they invested 
 again in Pacific Coast realty, and prospered in that. 
 
 Eighteen hundred and eighty saw the invalid back in Los Angeles county. Ah, 
 what a magnetic attraction there is about this land of the heart's desire, so beautiful, 
 so salubrious! None who has even fallen under the spell of that charm has been able 
 to go away and stay away otherwise than through compelling necessities. 
 
 This time the invalid took a big jump in Los Angeles real estate. With a partner, 
 he purchased the Howard ranch at San Gabriel, 640 acres. It had a good house on 
 it, and other improvements, ten acres of bearing vines, several acres of oranges in 
 full bearing, ditto of walnuts, and a small orchard of deciduous fruits. The land cost 
 $25,000, or about $40 an acre. Before purchasing it the invalid had visited at the Occi 
 dental Hotel in San Francisco the late J. DeBarth Shorb, who offered him any amount 
 of land well stocked with water, at $20 an acre, a dollar down and a dollar a year until 
 paid out. The interest was 12 per cent, per annum, on the deferred payments. The 
 Shorb tract, at this time, includes the site of South Pasadena, and stretches down to 
 Shorb and Ramona Acres. The Howard ranch is worth from $1000 an acre to $1000 
 a building lot today. This is another time the invalid missed being a millionaire. For 
 about three years after the purchase of the Howard ranch the invalid parted with his 
 interest in it, which had cost about $10,000, for $15,000 cash and mortgage, the mort 
 gage bearing 12 per cent, interest. 
 
 With the cash in his pocket and a little more savings, the invalid was in Los 
 Angeles one day, and passing the office of A. E. Pomeroy, with us here this morning, 
 he saw on his board an advertisement of fifty acres at Vernon for $6500. The real 
 estate man took the invalid in his buggy down Alameda street below Washington, 
 where an inspection of the property was made, and a bargain struck for its purchase.
 
 There was a good house on the property, and with it went a team of horses, a wagon 
 and a full outfit of agricultural implements. Before the deed passed, these accessories 
 were sold for $600. and the property rented to a Chinese gardener for $800 a year. 
 Pretty good interest on an investment of $6000. And upon the first day of every 
 month the Chinaman came into the invalid's office and counted out in nickels, dimes, 
 quarters, half-dollars and dollars his month's rent. Today the property is worth from 
 $100 a foot to $10,000 a lot. And once more the invalid missed being a millionaire. 
 
 He traded the property off for the cprner of Franklin and N"ew High streets, 
 where the Title Insurance and Trust Company put up its first building. This piece 
 was traded for 270 acres in the San Gabriel Valley, which was sold a short time after 
 for $27,500. In three years an investment of $6000 had grown to $27,500, and in the 
 four years the invalid had been back in Los Angeles his $10,000 had grown to $40,000. 
 For he had purchased on Bunker Hill, near Second street, from the late William D. 
 Stephens, brother of former Judge Albert M., a house and lot for $1500, the house 
 having cost $1800 to build. Lots all around there were worth $300 apiece, and the 
 lady, who had very good judgment, urged the invalid to buy some of them. Instead 
 of taking her advice, he followed his own superior wisdom, and went around the coun 
 try and bought up barley at a dollar a sack, which he warehoused for a year, paid 
 insurance on it, and then sold it for 60 cents. 
 
 The lots on Bunker Hill avenue referred to just above are now, at the end of 
 thirty years, worth at least $12,000. Population is the foundation of realty values, 
 friends, but the value of real property increases more than in the ratio of the increase 
 of population. When the invalid bought that property on Bunker Hill avenue, house 
 and lot for $300 less than the 'house had cost, the population of Los Angeles was about 
 11,000. 
 
 The next time the invalid missed being a millionaire was when J. R. Scott, an 
 attorney of this city, urged him to purchase an estate which had come into his hands 
 to settle. It was that of a worthy German citizen, a respected friend of the invalid, 
 who had died, and the widow wished to sell the ranch. It has escaped the memory of 
 the speaker what the acreage was. or the price exactly, but the ranch of that day 
 covered the area of the city of Los Angeles, running from about the corner of Spring 
 and Seventh streets along Seventh street to somewhere near Grand avenue, and ex 
 tending southward beyond Pico, possibly to Washington street. The price could -not 
 have been more than $6000, and was probably less. Remember that was less than 
 thirty years ago, and today the speaker is informed that the corner of Broadway and 
 Seventh, across from Bullock's, is held at $15,000 a front foot, or more for a single 
 foot frontage twice over than the whole tract could have been had for a short genera 
 tion ago. 
 
 Here was perhaps the last opportunity that came right into the hands of the in 
 valid to be a millionaire, and he let it slip out. Friends of his have stayed with the 
 real estate business and prospered marvelously. Many of them are here in this room 
 at this moment, and hundreds of them belong to the Realty Board. It is simply a 
 question of temperament, friends. When one of you puts through a deal and banks 
 a check for $1000 for his commission, he thinks he has done something, and he has. 
 When one of you organizes a syndicate and carries through a deal that involves a 
 million or so he thinks he has done something very great, and he does not flatter 
 himself. 
 
 You see, it's different with different people. There is our friend, your excellent 
 secretary. Philip Wilson, once an associate of the invalid in the newspaper profession, 
 and a pen artist of no small degree. There you get the point of view of the invalid. 
 He has flattered himself with the idea that he is somewhat of a pen artist, and the 
 community, including hundreds of members of the Realty Board, have encouraged 
 him to hug "this flattering unction to his soul." When one of you meets him and 
 congratulates him on the beauty of an article reeled off at the end of his pencil or the 
 end of his tongue to a typewriter, he thinks he feels as you feel when you put through 
 a big real estate deal.
 
 The other day, thinking of his half-century of life in California arid what its balmy 
 climate had done for his health, and of all the enjoyments he has had out of its beauti 
 ful scenery of mountain and mesa, plain and seashore, an inspiration struck his soul, 
 and before dinner time he had reeled off what he calls "A Lyric of the Soul." The 
 invalid begs your attention while he reads this appreciation of the beloved State which 
 has prolonged his life so marvelously. 
 
 At the end of the reading the speaker said: "And now the worst is yet to come." 
 Many of you will remember a book the invalid published some years ago containing 
 selections from his newspaper writings. The artist seeks fame, not fortune. You are 
 more intent on fortune than on fame. So you made a generous division of your for 
 tune to enable your friend to win fame. He was in San Francisco and went into the 
 bank of I. W. Hellman to solicit a subscription to his work. Upon learning the price 
 of it the banker smiled and said: "You and I have known each other a long time. I 
 do not flatter you in saying that in my opinion your writings have attracted more 
 population, capital, enterprise and industry to Southern California than those of any 
 other newspaper writer who has ever penned a word in praise of that section. You 
 have lived op a salary and remained poor while you have made many rich. Now the 
 Bank of Nevada will subscribe the price of twenty of your books, the Union Trust 
 Company will do the same, and the Farmers' and Merchants' Bank of Los Angeles 
 as many more, and T will give for the three lots, $150." 
 
 The invalid has had many gratifications in his long life, but none that surpasses 
 the way in which the business men of this city gratify his ambition to win fame by 
 contributing so liberally of their fortunes. It's probably a foolish feeling, but to this 
 day when somebody stops the invalid on the street and tells him for the tenth or the 
 twentieth time that he is still enjoying reading his book, he feels as if he had won a 
 little measure of fame, and his heart swells very full with a very foolish pride. 
 
 Now he is told that the lyric which he has just read is not bad, and he is still 
 athirst for fame, and asks you to again share your fortune w r ith him in publishing this 
 effusion in verse. He proposes to illustrate it superbly, and all he wants is to get it 
 distributed widely to assuage his own thirst for fame and to attract more people to 
 the State for their own sakes and for yours. There are many invalids in the United 
 States who might be benefited by the California climate as your speaker has been, and 
 there are invalids being born and made every day in the year. This little lyric of the 
 soul will be put upon the market at an exceedingly small price, and if distributed 
 broadcast will gratify the invalid's thirst for fame and help you to swell your fortunes. 
 Still my thirst for fame is very great, and I have no misgiving as to what your re 
 sponse will be to assuage it. 
 
 [The first thousand sold before they were out of the printer's hands, 
 and now this second edition is selling as rapidly for holiday presents.] 
 
 274415
 
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