There Is Nothing So Skillful In Its

By All These Lovely Tokens September Days Are Here, With Summer's Best Of Weather And Autumn's Best Of Cheer.

The Wild Mustard In Southern California Is Like That Spoken Of In The New Testament. . . . Its Gold Is As Distinct A Value To The Eye As The Nugget Gold Is In The Pocket.

The Goldenrod Is Yellow, The Corn Is Turning Brown, The Trees In Apple Orchards With Fruit Are Bending Down.

Gazing Around, Looking Up At The Lofty Pinnacles Above, Which Seemed To Pierce The Sky, Looking Down Upon The World,--it Seemed The Whole World, So Limitless It Stretched Away At Her Feet,--feeling That Infinite Unspeakable Sense Of Nearness To Heaven, Remoteness From Earth Which Comes Only On Mountain Heights, She Drew In A Long Breath Of Delight, And Cried: "at Last! At Last, Alessandro! Here We Are Safe! This Is Freedom! This Is Joy!

Wounded Vanity Knows When It Is Mortally Hurt; And Limps Off The Field, Piteous, All Disguises Thrown Away. But Pride Carries Its Banner To The Last; And Fast As It Is Driven From One Field Unfurls It In Another, Never Admitting That There Is A Shade Less Honor In The Second Field Than In The First, Or In The Third Than In The Second.