Sinew and bone she drew them; steel-thewed--and the weaklings shrank--
Grim-wrought of granite and iron were the men of her foremost rank.

* * * * *

The wanderers of earth turned to her--outcast of the older lands--
With a promise and hope in their pleading, and she reached them
pitying hands;
And she cried to the Old World cities that drowse by the Eastern main:
"Send me your weary, house-worn broods and I'll send you men again!
Lo! here in my wind-swept reaches, by my marshalled peaks of snow,
Is room for a larger reaping than your o'er-tilled fields can grow;
Seed of the Man-seed springing to stature and strength in my sun,
Free with a limitless freedom no battles of men, have won."

SHARLOT HALL,
in _Out West._



NOVEMBER 1.


One night when the plain was like a sea of liquid black, and the sky
blazed with stars, we rode by a sheep-herder's camp. The flicker of a
fire threw a glow out into the dark. A tall wagon, a group of
silhouetted men, three or four squatting dogs, were squarely within
the circle or illumination. And outside, in the penumbra of shifting
half light, now showing clearly, now fading into darkness, were the
sheep, indeterminate in bulk, melting away by mysterious thousands