SUNSET IN SAN DIEGO.

The city sits amid her palms; The perfume of her twilight breath Is something as the sacred balms That bound sweet Jesus after death, Such soft, warm twilight sense as lie Against the gates of Paradise.

Such prayerful palms, wide palms upreached!

This sea mist is as incense smoke, Yon ancient walls a sermon preached, White lily with a heart of oak.

And O, this twilight! O the grace Of twilight on my lifted face.

JOAQUIN MILLER, in _Collected Poems._

OCTOBER 18.

AT EVENTIDE.

Behind Point Loma's beacon height In shimmering waves of grey and gold The winter sunset dies; and Night Drops her dusk mantle, fold on fold, At Eventide.

And now, above yon shadowy line That faintly limns the distant bar, Through darkening paths, with steps that shine, She comes at last, our favorite star, At Eventide.

O friend, our lives are far apart As Western sea from Eastern sh.o.r.e!

But in their orisons, dear heart, Our souls are with you, evermore, At Eventide.

MARY E. MANNIX.

OCTOBER 19.

THE DOUGLAS SQUIRREL.

One never tires of this bright chip of nature--this brave little voice crying in the wilderness--of observing his many works and ways, and listening to his curious language. His musical, piny gossip is as savory to the ear as balsam to the palate; and, though he has not exactly the gift of song, some of his notes are as sweet as those of a linnet--almost flute-like in softness, while others p.r.i.c.k and tingle like thistles. He is the mocking-bird of squirrels, pouring forth mixed chatter and song like a perennial fountain; barking like a dog, screaming like a hawk, chirping like a blackbird or a sparrow; while in bluff, audacious noisiness he is a very jay.

JOHN MUIR, in _The Mountains of California._

OCTOBER 20.

A beautiful sight it must have been, the wild-eyed graceful mustang with its gaily dressed rider sweeping hither and thither among the frightened hosts, swerving suddenly to right or left to avoid the horns of some infuriated beast, the riata flashing high in air, then, with unerring aim, descending upon the shoulders of some reluctant prisoner; amid all the confusion the bursts of musical laughter or noisier applause, then the oaths, in the liquid Spanish tongue sounding sweetly to the ear of the uninitiated.

HELEN ELLIOTT BANDINI, in _Camping with Fox-Hounds in Southern California, Overland Monthly, February_, 1892.

OCTOBER 21.

Immediately, with that short, pumping bay that tells the trail is hot, the game near, and sends the blood rushing to one's very finger-ends, the swaying, eager line of hounds came swiftly down the rocky slope, across the gully ahead and up the other side, following, exactly, the path of the game. One directly behind the other they went, heads well up, so strong was the scent, necks out-stretched, rumps in air, tails wagging in short, fierce strokes. No thought had they for us, intent only on the game their noses told them must be close at hand.

HELEN ELLIOTT BANDINI, in _Hunting the Wild Cat in Southern California. From Overland Monthly, March_, 1892.

OCTOBER 22.

Life is a fight. Millions fail. Only the strong win. Failure is worse than death. Man's internal strength is created by watching circ.u.mstances like a hawk, meeting her every spring stiff and straight, laughing at her pit-falls--which in the beginning of life are excess, excess, and always excess, and all manner of dishonor. Strength is created by adversity, by trying to win first the small battles of life, then the great, by casting out fear, by training the mind to rule in all things--the heart, the pa.s.sions, the impulses, which if indulged make the brain the slave instead of the master. Success, for which alone a man lives, if he be honest with himself, comes to those who are strong, strong, strong.

GERTRUDE ATHERTON, in _Rulers of Kings._

OCTOBER 23.

WITH THE ARIZONA COWBOYS.

The cow or steer that is selected to be roped or cut out rarely escapes. While the horse is in hot pursuit the rider dexterously whirls his riata above his head until, at a favorable moment, it leaves his hand, uncoiling as it flies through the air, and if the throw is successful, the noose falls over the animal's head. Suddenly the horse comes to a full stop and braces himself for the shock. When the animal caught reaches the end of the rope it is brought to an abrupt halt and tumbled in a heap on the ground. * * * The cowboy is out of the saddle and on his feet in a jiffy. He grasps the prostrate animal by the tail and a hind leg, throws it on its side, and ties its four feet together, so that it is helpless and ready for branding or inspection.

J.A. MUNK, in _Arizona Sketches._

OCTOBER 24.

So here I am--settled at the ole Bar Y. And it'd take a twenty-mule team t'pull me offen it. Of a evenin', like this, the boss, he sits on the east porch, smokin'; the boys're strung along the side of the bunk-house t'rest and pa.s.s and laugh; and, out yonder, is the cottonwoods, same as ever, and the ditch, and the mesquite leveler'n a floor; and--up over it all--the moon, white and smilin'.

Then, outen the door nigh where the sunflowers're growin', mebbe she'll come--a slim, little figger in white. And, if it's plenty warm, and not too late, why, she'll be totin' the smartest, cutest---- * * * That's my little wife--that's Macie, now--a-singin' to the kid!

ELEANOR GATES, in _Cupid: the Cow-Punch._

OCTOBER 25.

Let this be known, that a west-land ranch is no more than a farm, and a farm at the outermost edge of man's dominions is forever a school and a field of strife and a means of grace to those who live thereon.

* * * The ways of the earth, the ways of the seasons, the ways of the elements, these had something to impart, eternally. And man, no longer in the bond with the wild things all about him, wages ceaseless war against them, to protect his crops and the fowls and the animals that have come beneath his guardian-ship and know no laws of the air-folk, the brush-folk, or the forest-folk with whom they were once in brotherhood.

PHILIP VERRILL MIGHELS, in _Chatwit, the Man-Talk Bird._

OCTOBER 26.