FRANCES CHARLES,
in The Siege of Youth.
May the tangling of sunshine and roses never cease upon your path until after the snows of Winter have covered your way with whiteness.
MARTIN V. MERLE,
in The Vagabond Prince, Act IV.
DECEMBER 15.
It was one of those wonderful warm winter days given to San Francisco instead of the spring she has never experienced. After a week's rain the sun shone out of a sky as warmly blue as late spring brings in other climates. The world seemed in a very rapture of creation. The bay below the garden, new washed and sparkling like a pale emerald, spread gaily out, and the city's streets terraced down to meet it. The peculiar delicacy and richness of California roses coaxed by the softness of the climate to live out-doors sent up a perfume that hot-house flowers cannot yield. The turf was of a thick, healthy, wet green, teeming with life. The hills beyond were green as summer in California cannot make them, and off to the west against the tender sky the cross on Lone Mountain was etched.
MIRIAM MICHELSON,
in Anthony Overman.
DECEMBER 16.