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

Page 18 text:

Mission Bells of Santa Clara E mellow tKroated bards of Orpheus, CKime fortK your peaceful call. The misty gray Is softly fallen o ' er a troubled world And youthful shadows flit in silent play. With strained ear I list for your refrain; But all is still save yonder rustling palm, Swayed gently by the lazy evening breeze, And mystic olive chanting Nature ' s psalm. Lo! NIow your soothing voice is heard, how soft! Celestial cymbals tuned to earthly key; Sweet sounds sublime, intone the hallowed hour. Enchanting echoes of eternity. DONALD J. PIERR 12

Page 17 text:

THE REDWOOD 11 wires placed on the ground, under the surface, or suspended a few feet above the ground running parallel to the an- tennae. The earth connection is as im- portant, if not more so, than the aerial. In concluding I will say that Wire- less Telephony can be received on any Audion Receiving set, and on a Crys- tal set, provided that the oscillations are well modulated and the transmit- ting station sufficiently close. The Radio Engineer has a very broad and comparatively new field before him. Sending pictures through the ether is in the process of beginning. And sending electrical energy, in worth while quantities and small dissi- pation losses, without wires, will some day be mastered by a Radio Engineer. Bear this in mind. Radio is not the mysterious something which most peo- ple think ; it is an exact Science.

Page 19 text:

On Purissima Ridge A. J. Steiss, Jr. [GUSTY blackness turned a cold grey; and a Jan- uary dawn of the year 1881 showed a pallid face to the west- ern slope of the Coast Range. A piercing wind had driven the fog up the mountain, and like a rising sea the mist had swallowed the gnarled, twisted tree-tops, and poured its flood into the valley. At intervals the dull booming of the surf rolled upward ; and the sad cry of the sea mews, blown eastward by the wind and lost in the fog, sounded weirdly over the torn, bleak solitude. A man stumbled upward among the boulders and the undergrowth and the manzanita. Often he glanced about him furtively, his bronzed face seamed and drawn, his gleam- ing eyes sunken, their darkness accentuated by the heavy eyebrows above them. His shock head and beard were wet with the clinging silver mist. His attire denoted him a seaman : a heavy jacket was buttoned to his throat and he wore loose trousers, torn and frayed by the brush. One would have fancied a monastery in the vicinity, it was so coldly still ; the effect was heightened by the im- prisoning walls of mist that formed a lone meditation cell for the hollow-eyed man of the mountain. Too lo nely and far too conducive to meditation the sailor thought ; and as unescapable as a prison! He was within the great clois- ter of nature. The tolling of the surf was indistinct now as the pulse beat of a distant bell. An hour later he was nearing the summit. The fog had thinned a little and far below him he saw the ocean, grey, furrowed, and flecked with white along the shore ; there was not a vessel upon all that dun, dismal expanse. The dull drone of the waves washing among the rocks was no longer audible to the sailor; only the rustling of the brush as he made his way among the red- woods, disturbed the sepulchral still- ness of the mountain. He lay down to rest once but a cope of leaden silence crushed him and he continued his weary climb. When he had topped a small ri se he saw a tall redwood upon the ridge, not half a mile distant, with a halo of mist fast dis- solving. Wet beads that were not fog stood out upon his forehead and his mouth moved convulsively. When he climbed again he seemed to be strug- gling against himself. Perhaps it was the demoniacal Imp of the Perverse who goaded him onward; or it may have been Fate (an idea we might credit were we followers of Mahomet). Howbeit, before the tattered shreds of the mist had disappeared the man lay at the foot of the great redwood, gasp- ing for breath. Soon he rose. The cabin , he thought. It must be somewhere be- 13