Night-time in California. Elsewhere men only guess
At the glory of the evenings that are perfect--nothing less;
But here the nights, returning, are the wond'rous gifts of God--
As if the days were maidens fair with golden slippers shod.
There is no cloud to hide the sky; the universe is ours,
And the starlight likes to look and laugh in Cupid-haunted bowers.
Oh the restful, peaceful evenings! In them my soul delights,
For God loved California when He gave to her her nights.

ALFRED JAMES WATERHOUSE,
in _Some Homely Little Songs._



FEBRUARY 2.


There it lay, a constellation of lights, a golden radiance dimmed by
the distance. San Francisco the Impossible. The City of Miracles! Of
it and its people many stories have been told, and many shall be; but
a thousand tales shall not exhaust its treasury of romance. Earthquake
and fire shall not change it, terror and suffering shall not break its
glad, mad spirit. Time alone can tame the town, restrain its wanton
manners, refine its terrible beauty, rob it of its nameless charm,
subdue it to the commonplace. May time be merciful--may it delay its
fatal duty till we have learned that to love, to forgive, to enjoy, is
but to understand!

GELETT BURGESS,