the east are glowing
And boldly lifting the veil of night;
Whitney and Shasta are bravely showing
Their crowns of snow in the morning light.
The town is stirring with faint commotion,
In all its highways it throbs and thrills;
We greet you! Queen of the Western Ocean,
As you wake to life on your hundred hills.
The forts salute, and the flags are streaming
From ships at anchor in cove and strait;
O'er the mountain tops, in splendor beaming,
The sun looks down on the Golden Gate.

LUCIUS HARWOOD FOOTE.

FEBRUARY 28.

ENOUGH.

When my calm majestic mountains are piled white and high
Against the perfect rose-tints of a living sunrise sky,
I can resign the dearest wish without a single sigh,
And let the whole world's restlessness pass all unheeded by.

MARY RUSSELL MILLS.

FEBRUARY 29.

MARSHALL SAUNDERS ON SAN FRANCISCO.

How we all love a city that we have once contemplated making our home!
Such a city to me is San Francisco, and but for unavoidable duties
elsewhere, I would be there today. I loved that bright, beautiful
city, and even the mention of its name sends my blood bounding more
quickly through my veins. That might have been _my_ city, and I
therefore rejoice in its prosperity. I am distressed when calamity
overtakes it--I never lose faith in its ultimate success. The heart of
the city is sound. It has always been sound, even in the early days
when a ring of corrupt adventurers would have salted the city of the
blessed herb with an unsavory reputation, but for the care of staunch
and courageous protectors at the heart of it.

San Francisco is not the back door of the continent. San Francisco is
the front door. Every ship sailing out of its magnificent bay to the
Orient, proclaims this fact. San Francisco will one day lead the
continent. A city that cares for its poor and helpless, its children
and dumb animals, that encourages art and learning, and never wearies
in its prosecution of evil-doers--that city will eventually emerge
triumphant from every cloud of evil report. Long live the dear city by
the Golden Gate!

MARSHALL SAUNDERS, _July_, 1909.

"Senor Barrow, I congratulate you," Morale said, in his native tongue.
"A woman who cannot be won away by passion or by chance, is a woman of
gold."

GERTRUDE B. MILLARD,
in _On the Ciudad Road, The Newsletter, Jan._, 1899.

AT THE PRESIDIO OF SAN FRANCISCO.

The rose and honey-suckle h