FEBRUARY 9.

The surroundings of Monterey could not well be more beautiful if they
had been gotten up to order. Hills, gently rising, the chain broken
here and there by a more abrupt peak, environ the city, crowned with
dark pines and the famous cypress of Monterey (_Cypressus macrocarpa_.)
Before us the bay lies calm and blue, and away across, can be seen
the town of Santa Cruz, an indistinct white gleam on the mountain side.

JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN,
in _Another Juanita._

LOS ALTOS.

The lark sends up a carol blithe,
Bloom-billows scent the breeze,
Green-robed the rolling foot-hills rise
And poppies paint the leas.

HANNA OTIS BRUN.

FEBRUARY 10.

SANTA BARBARA.

A golden bay 'neath soft blue skies,
Where on a hillside creamy rise
The mission towers, whose patron saint
Is Barbara--with legend quaint.

HELEN ELLIOTT BANDINI,
in __History of California._

Dare to be free. Free to do the thing you crave to do and that craves
the doing. Free to live in that higher realm where none is fit to
criticise save one's self. Free to scorn ridicule, to face contempt,
to brave remorse. Free to give life to the one human soul that can
demand and grant such a boon--one's own self.

MIRIAM MICHELSON,
in _Anthony Overman._

FEBRUARY 11.

In Carmel pines the summer wind
Sings like a distant sea.
O harps of green, your murmurs find
An echoing chord in me!
On Carmel shore the breakers moan
Like pines that breast the gale.
O whence, ye winds and billows, flown
To cry your wordless tale?

GEORGE STERLING,
in _A Wine of Wizardry and Other Poems._

OAKLAND--BERKELEY--ALAMEDA.

O close-clasped towns across the bay,
Whose lights like gleaming jewels stray,
A ruby, golden, splendid way,
When day from earth has flown.
I watch you lighting night by night,
O twisted strands of jewels bright,
The altar-fires of home, alight--
I who am all alone.

GRACE HIBBARD,
in _Forget-me-nots from California._

FEBRUARY 12.

On the Berkeley Hills for miles away
I went a-roaming one winter's day,
And what do you think I saw, my dear?
A place where the sky came down to the hill,
And a big white cloud on the fresh green grass,
And bright red berries my basket to fill,
And mustard that grew in a golden mass--
All on a winter's day, my dear!

CHARLES KEELER,
in _Elfin Songs of Sunland._

FEBRUARY 13.