Thrill in your vibrant veins from heart of earth.
Open your arms, O Trees, for us who come
With woodland longings in our pilgrim souls!
RUBY ARCHER.
JULY 8.
The scene was a ravine that had been cloven into the flank of a mighty mountain as if by the stroke of a giant's axe. For about half a mile this gash ran sharp and narrow; but at the upper end, the resting place of the travelers, it widened into a spacious amphitheatre, dotted with palm trees that rose with clean cylindrical boles sixty to eighty feet before spreading their crowns of drooping leafage against the azure of a cloudless sky—a wonderful touch of Egypt and the East to surroundings typical of the American Far West.
EDMUND MITCHELL,
in In Desert Keeping.
The noblest life—the life of labor;