shness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will
drop off like autumn leaves.

JOHN MUIR.

It was indeed a glorious morning. The bay, a molten blaze of many
blended hues, bore upon its serene surface the flags of all nations,
above which brooded the white doves of peace. Crafts of every
conceivable description swung in the flame-lit fathoms that laved the
feet of the stately hills, then stepping out, one by one, from their
gossamer night robes to receive the first kiss of dawn.

Grim Alcatraz, girdled with bristling armaments, scintillating in the
sun, suggested the presence of some monster leviathan, emerging from
the deep, still undivested of gems, from his submarine home.

EUGENIA KELLOGG,
in _The Awakening of Poccalito._

FEBRUARY 25.

THE SIERRA NEVADAS

They watch and guard the sleeping dells
Where ice born torrents flow--
A myriad granite sentinels,
Helmed and cuirassed with snow.

* * * * *

Yon glacial torrent's deep, hoarse lute
Its upward music flings--
The great, eternal crags stand mute,
And listen while it sings
O mighty range! Thy wounds and scars,
Thy weird, bewildering forms,
Attest thine everlasting wars--
Thy heritage of storms
And still what peace! Serenity
On crag and deep abyss,
O, may such calmness fall on me
When Azrael stoops to kiss.

GEORGE N. LOWE.

FEBRUARY 26.

Tamalpais is a wooded mountain with ample slopes, and from it on the
north stretch away ridges of forest land, the out posts of the great
Northern woods of _Sequoia sempervirens_, This mountain and the
mountainous country to the south bring the forest closer to San
Francisco than to any other American city. Within the last few years
men have killed deer on the slopes of Tamalpais and looked down to see
the cable cars crawling up the hills of San Francisco to the south. In
the suburbs coyotes still stole in and robbed hen roosts by night.

WILL IRWIN,
in _The City That Was._

FEBRUARY 27.

DAWN ON MOUNT TAMALPAIS.

A cloudless heaven is bending o'er us,
The dawn is lighting the linn and lea;
Island and headland and bay before us,
And, dim in the distance, the heaving sea.
The Farallon light is faintly flashing,
The birds are wheeling in fitful flocks,
The coast-line brightens, the waves are dashing
And tossing their spray on the Lobos rocks.
The Heralds of Morn in