The swordfish was not disturbed by reflections of any kind. Of an
uncertain and vicious temper it was annoyed, then maddened by being
held by something it could not see, and dropping into the water it
dashed away in blind fear and fury, still feeling the strange, uncanny
check which seemed to follow it as a sheet of foam. Cutting the water
one hundred, two hundred feet, it shot ahead with the speed of light,
then still held, still in the toils, it again sprang into the air
with frenzied shake and twist, whirling itself from side to side,
striking terrific blows in search of the invisible enemy. Falling,
the swordfish plunged downward, and reached two hundred feet below
the surface and the bottom, then turned, and rose with a mighty
rush, going high into the air again, whirling itself completely over
in its madness, so that it fell upon its back, beating the sea into
a maelstrom of foam and spume, in its blind and savage fury.

CHARLES FREDERICK HOLDER,
in _Big Game at Sea._



MAY 18.


One is disposed to put "climate" in the plural when writing of so
large a state as California and one so wonderfully endowed with
conditions which make health, comfort and beauty in all seasons. Its
great length of coast-line and its mountain ranges irregularly
paralleling that, offer a wealth of resource in varying temperature,
altitudes, shelter from the sea breezes or exposure to them, perhaps
unequaled by any state in the union, or indeed by any country in the