as hastened with renewed vigor, for now
California possessed the monopoly of the one great need, not only of
herself, but of all the world.

MRS. FREMONT OLDER,
in _The Giants._

OCTOBER 16.

SAN PEDRO.

MORNING.
A smooth, smooth sea of gray, gray glass;
An open sea, where big ships pass
Into the sun;
A boat-dotted harbor; gulls, wheeling and screaming,
And surf-song and fisher-cry end our night's dreaming.
Day has begun.

EVENING.
A broken sea of rosy jade;
A rose-pink sky; black ships that fade
Into the night;
Across the bay, the city seems
But elfin music, drowsy dreams
And silver light!

OLIVE PERCIVAL.

OCTOBER 17.

SUNSET IN SAN DIEGO.

The city sits amid her palms;
The perfume of her twilight breath
Is something as the sacred balms
That bound sweet Jesus after death,
Such soft, warm twilight sense as lie
Against the gates of Paradise.
Such prayerful palms, wide palms upreached!
This sea mist is as incense smoke,
Yon ancient walls a sermon preached,
White lily with a heart of oak.
And O, this twilight! O the grace
Of twilight on my lifted face.

JOAQUIN MILLER,
in _Collected Poems._

OCTOBER 18.

AT EVENTIDE.

Behind Point Loma's beacon height
In shimmering waves of grey and gold
The winter sunset dies; and Night
Drops her dusk mantle, fold on fold,
At Eventide.

And now, above yon shadowy line
That faintly limns the distant bar,
Through darkening paths, with steps that shine,
She comes at last, our favorite star,
At Eventide.

O friend, our lives are far apart
As Western sea from Eastern shore!
But in their orisons, dear heart,
Our souls are with you, evermore,
At Eventide.

MARY E. MANNIX.

OCTOBER 19.

THE DOUGLAS SQUIRREL.

One never tires of this bright chip of nature--this brave little voice
crying in the wilderness--of observing his many works and ways, and
listening to his curious language. His musical, piny gossip is as
savory to the ear as balsam to the palate; and, though he has not
exactly the gift of song, some of his notes are as sweet as those of a
linnet--almost flute-like in softness, while others prick and tingle
like thistles. He is the mocking-bird of squirrels, pouring forth mixed
chatter and song like a perennial fountain; barking like a dog,
screaming like a hawk, chirping like a blackbird or a sparrow; while in
bluff,