Snow in Pennsylvany,
Zero times down East,
Here the flowers bloomin',
A feller's eyes to feast.

* * * * *

Its every one his own way,
The place he'd like to be,
But give me Californy--
It's good enough for me.

JOHN S. MCGROARTY,
in _Just California._



JANUARY 10.


If Mother Nature is indeed as we see her here, broad-browed and
broad-bosomed, strong and calm--calm because strong--swaying her
vain brats by unruffled love, not by fear; by wise giving, not by
privation; by caresses and gentle precepts, not by cuffs and scoldings
and hysterics--why, then she shall better justify our memories and the
name we have given her. It is well that our New England mothers had
a different climate in their hearts from that which beat at their
windows. I know one Yankee boy who never could quite understand that
his mother had gone _home_ till he came to know the skies of
California.