There was, too, a somewhat eccentric house where a man who was trying to be theosophical had lived and communed with his mystified soul. To foster the process he had more or less blue glass and a window of Gothic form in the peak of his rambling house. In his living-room a round window, with Sanskrit characters, let in a doubtful gleam from another room. In the side-hill a supposedly fireproof vault had been built to hold the manuscript that held his precious thoughts. In the gulch he had a sacred spot, where, under the majestic redwoods, he retired to write, and in a small building he had a small printing-press, from which the world was to have been led to the light. But there was some failure of connection, and stern necessity compelled the surrender of these high hopes. My friend took over the plant, and the reformer reformed and went off to earn his daily bread.
His memory is kept alive by the name Mahatma, given to the gulch, and the blue glass has what effect it may on a neighbor's vegetables. The little house was made habitable. The home of the press was comfortably ceiled and made into a guest-chamber, and apples and potatoes are stored in the fireproof vault. The acres were fairly covered with a second growth of redwood and a wealth of madroños and other native trees; but there were many spaces where Nature invited assistance, and my friend every year has planted trees of many kinds from many climes, until he has an arboretum hardly equaled anywhere. There are pines in endless variety—from the Sierra and from the seashore, from New England, France, Norway, and Japan. There flourish the cedar, spruce, hemlock, oak, beech, birch, and maple. There in peace and plenty are the sequoia, the bamboo, and the deodar. Eucalypts pierce the sky and Japanese dwarfs hug the ground.
These children of the woodland vary in age from six months to sixteen years, and each has its interest and tells its story of struggle, with results of success or failure, as conditions determine. At the entrance to the grounds an incense-cedar on one side and an arbor-vitae on the other stand dignified guard. The acres have been added to until about sixty are covered with growing trees. Around the house, which wisteria has almost covered, is a garden in which roses predominate, but hollyhocks, coreopsis, and other flowers not demanding constant care grow in luxuriance. There is abundance of water, and filtered sunshine gives a delightful temperature. The thermometer on the vine-clad porch runs up to 80 in the daytime and in the night drops down to 40.
A sympathetic Italian lives not far away, keeping a good cow, raising amazingly good vegetables, gathering the apples and other fruit, and caring for the place. The house is unoccupied except during the five days each month when my friend restores himself, mentally and physically, by rest and quiet contemplation and observation. He takes with him a faithful servitor, whose old age is made happy by these periodical sojourns, and the simple life is enjoyed to the full.
Into this Resthaven it was my happy privilege to spend five-sevenths of a week of August, and the rare privilege of being obliged to do nothing was a great delight. Early rising was permissible, but not encouraged. At eight o'clock a rich Hibernian voice was heard to say, "Hot water, Mr. Murdock," and it was so. A simple breakfast, meatless, but including the best of coffee and apricots, tree-ripened and fresh, was enjoyed at leisure undisturbed by thought of awaiting labor. Following the pleasant breakfast chat was a forenoon of converse with my friend or a friendly book or magazine, broken by a stroll through some part of the wood and introduction to the hospitably entertained trees from distant parts. My friend is something of a botanist, and was able to pronounce the court names of all his visitors. Wild flowers still persist, and among others was pointed out one which was unknown to the world till he chanced to find it.
Very interesting is the fact that the flora of the region, which is a thousand feet above sea-level, has many of the characteristics of beach vicinity, and the reason is disclosed by the outcropping at various points of a deposit of white sand, very fine, and showing under the microscope the smoothly rounded form that tells of the rolling waves. This deposit is said to be traceable for two hundred miles easterly, and where it has been eroded by the streams of today enormous trees have grown on the deposited soil. The mind is lost in conjecture of the time that must have elapsed since an ancient sea wore to infinitesimal bits the quartz that some rushing stream had brought from its native mountains.