Live for To-day!

* * * * *

Live for To-day! He wins the crown
Whose work stands but the crucial test!
Who scales the heights through sneer and frown
And gives unto the world his best.
Bend to your task! The steep slopes climb,
And Love's true light will lead the way
To perfect peace in God's own time--
Live for To-day!

E.A. BRININSTOOL

FEBRUARY 6.

It is a peculiar feature of our sailing that within a few hours we may
change our climate. Cool, windy, moist, in the lower bays; and hot,
calm, and quiet in the rivers, creeks, and sloughs. As you go to Napa,
for instance, the wind gradually lightens as the bay is left, the air
is balmier, and finally the yacht is left becalmed. We can, moreover,
in two hours run from salt into fresh water. In spring the water is
fresh down into Suisun Bay; and at Antioch, fresh water is the rule.
The yachts frequently sail up there so that the barnacles will be
killed by the fresh water.

CHARLES G. YALE,
in _The Californian._

FEBRUARY 7.

Across San Pablo's heaving breast
I see the home-lights gleam,
As the sable garments of the night
Drop down on vale and stream.

* * * * *

Hard by, yon vessel from the seas
Her cargo homeward brings,
And soon, like sea-bird on her nest,
Will sleep with folded wings.
The fisher's boat swings in the bay,
From yonder point below,
While ours is drifting with the tide,
And rocking to and fro.

LUCIUS HARWOOD FOOTE,
in _A Red-Letter Day._

FEBRUARY 8.

A few years ago this valley of San Gabriel was a long open stretch of
wavy slopes and low rolling hills; in winter robed in velvety green
and spangled with myriads of flowers all strange to Eastern eyes; in
summer brown with sun-dried grass, or silvery gray where the light
rippled over the wild oats. Here and there stood groves of huge
live-oaks, beneath whose broad, time-bowed heads thousands of cattle
stamped away the noons of summer. Around the old mission, whose bells
have rung o'er the valley for a century, a few houses were grouped;
but beyond this there was scarcely a sign of man's work except the
far-off speck of a herdsman looming in the mirage, or the white walls
of the old Spanish ranch-house glimmering afar through the hazy
sunshine in which the silent land lay always sleeping.

T.S. VAN DYKE,
in _Southern California._