University of Santa Clara - Redwood Yearbook (Santa Clara, CA)

Page 27 text:

THE REDWOOD Then saw ' st the Indian in thy shade Sink wearily to rest Where he his gray-haired sires had laid In days more blest. Hark! loud resounds the drunken broil! And rusts thine ivy now; — The focus erst of Christian toil A tavern thou! The changes ring! Commingled rays — Faith, science — on thee fall And green the ivy fresh arrays Th ' adobe wall. Before me files a shining band Of eager youth sublime, Strong-armed by thee for high command Of mellowed time. And tones I hear ring light and gay, Destined the world to thrill: Tones, even were they hushed for aye, Thou ' dst echo still. Echo still, Adobe? — Fancy kind, That vanishes anon! — I ope my pensive eyes and find Thou too art gone! R. S., ' 07.

Page 26 text:

THE REDWOOD THE OLD ADOBE [The oUl adobe building used for many years by Santa Clara students for their debates, was so badly shattered by the earthquake that, in spite of its romantic associations, it had to be razed to the ground. Erected in 1818, it served as the residence of the Majordomo of the Mission Indians; then it was seized and used as a wayside inn, until it was purchased by Fr. Nobili in 1854. Right near it was an old Indian burying-ground.] Let Others hail the walls that r ise Upon thy hallowed site, They wear scant beauty in my eyes, Nor give delight. Thy walls to me were ivy-grown With memory ' s magic leaf, Adown a century was sown Mid joy, mid grief. Mid joy, mid grief, in truce and feud, — For thou had ' st braved them all! And varied empires had ' st thou viewed Arise and fall! The mind and heart of Serra ' s days Stood bodied in thy frame; The simple and the kindly ways. The exalted aim. Lo! comes the Mexican dread blight, — The Mission ruined lies. As when, a cold October night. The floweret dies.

Page 28 text:

: lo THE REDWOOD TME HERITAGE OF NELSON The verj ' first inkling I had of the whole affair came that night when I dropped in on Nelson unexpectedly. The room was dark, but over on the divan under the window I could make out the dim outline of his form. I turned on the light. He was lying flat on his stomach but with his head turned so that his face was towards me and his right ear pil- lowed on that old sea shell of his. His eyes were closed, so I started to leave the room. And then I noticed that his lip was curled up, baring the strong white teeth. That was Nelson ' s way of show- ing excitement, as he had often told me. So I stopped. Asleep, Nels ? He opened his eyes at once, not blinkingly or stupidly, like a man re- gaining consciousness, but alertly and — as I thought — a little impatient. Oh hello, Mac, — he sat up — glad to see you. Sit down, won ' t you ? Just taking a little snooze, you see. He laughed carelessly, but his eyes burned. There was something wrong, I knew. I never stood on ceremony with Nelson. What ' s the matter? I asked. He looked me in the eye for a full minute, without answering. I noticed that his hair curled a little in front from the moisture on his forehead. The room was cool. Then he took the sea shell, laid it on the table, and picked up a cigar. No, thanks, said I, anticipating the offer. Mac, — he struck a match and light- ed the weed — I ' m going to resign my position tomorrow. I thought he was joking and laughed. He snapped his finger nervously. I mean it. I gazed at him through the smoke mist. Sick or crazy? He did not answer at once. He was puffing furiously, and the tip of his cigar was brighter than his ej ' es. I don ' t know, he answered gloomily — at length, A little of both may be, Mac. I saw he was serious so I turned out the light. Whenever Nelson wanted to talk seriously he always liked the dark. He was a great fellow for talk- ing about primordial instincts and all that. Mac, he began, did you ever hear much about my parents? I hadn ' t, and told him so. Neither have I. I know that I was born on shipboard coming to America from Sweden. My mother died on the boat and I was raised in a foundling ' s home in New York. I afterwards heard that when my mother had been buried at sea, my father in despair had plunged in after her. It was night and they couldn ' t help him. He pufl ed on his cigar and his strong square face glowed a curious copper in