EVENING. 
  A broken sea of rosy jade;
  A rose-pink sky; black ships that fade
  Into the night;
  Across the bay, the city seems
  But elfin music, drowsy dreams
  And silver light!

OLIVE PERCIVAL.

OCTOBER 17.

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 shore! 
  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 prick 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.