s read the tragic tale--how San Francisco died.

VI

PROPHECY--1906

Not dead! Though maimed, her Soul yet lives--indomitable will--
The Faith, the Hope, the Spirit bold nor quake nor fire can kill.
To-morrow hearts shall throb again with western enterprise,
And from the ruins of to-day a city shall arise--
A monument of beauty great reared by the Conquerors of Fate--
The City of the Golden Gate and matchless sunset skies!

VII

FULFILLMENT--1915

Reborn, rebuilt, she rose again, far vaster in expanse--
A radiant city smiling from the ashes of romance!
A San Francisco glorified, more beauteous than of yore,
Enthroned upon her splendid hills, queen of the sunset shore;
Her flags of industry unfurled, her portals open to the world!
Thus, in the Book of Destiny, she lives for evermore.

_Isabel Ambler Gilman._

Autumn

A DIRGE

The autumn is old;
The sere leaves are flying;
He hath gathered up gold,
And now he is dying:
Old age, begin sighing!

The vintage is ripe;
The harvest is heaping;
But some that have sowed
Have no riches for reaping:--
Poor wretch, fall a-weeping!

The year's in the wane;
There is nothing adorning;
The night has no eve,
And the day has no morning;
Cold winter gives warning.

The rivers run chill;
The red sun is sinking;
And I am grown old,
And life is fast shrinking;
Here's enow for sad thinking!

_Thomas Hood_.

Grandmother's Quilt

Why, yes, dear, we can put it by. It does seem out of place
On top of these down comforts and this spread of silk and lace,
You see, I'm used to having it lie so, across my feet,
But maybe I won't need it here, with this nice furnace heat;
I made it? Yes, dear, long ago. 'Twas lots of work, you think?
Oh, not so much. My rose quilt, now, all white and green and pink,
Is really handsome. This is just a plain, log cabin block,
Pieced out of odds and ends; but still--now that's your papa's frock
Before he walked, and this bit here is his first little suit.
I trimmed it up with silver braid. My, but he did look cute!
That red there in the centers, was your Aunt Ruth's for her name,
Her grandmother almost clothed the child, before the others came.
Those plaids? The younger girls', they were. I dressed them just alike.
And this was baby Winnie's sack--the precious little tyke!
Ma wore this gown to visit me (they drove the whole way then).
And little Edson wore this waist. He never came again.
This lavender par'm