By my window a magician, breathing whispers of enchantment, Stands and waves a wand above me till the flowing of my soul, Like the tide's deep rhythm, rises in successive swells that widen All my circumscribed horizon, till the finite fades away; And the fountains of my being in their innermost recesses Are unsealed, and as the seas sweep, sweep the waters of my soul Till they reach the shores of Heaven and with ebb-tide bear a pearl Back in to the heart's safe-keeping, where no thieves break through nor steal. * * * * * By my window stands confessor with his hands outstretched to bless me, And on bended knee I listen to his low "Absolvo te." Ne'er was mass more sacramental, ne'er confessional more solemn, And the benediction given ne'er shall leave my shriven soul. * * * * * Just a tree beside my window--just a symbol sent from Heaven-- But with Proteus power it ever changes meaning--changes form-- And it speaks with tongues of angels, and it prophesies the rising Of the day-star which shall shine out from divinity in man. LANNIE HAYNES MARTIN. MARCH 21. IN THE REDWOOD CANYONS. Down in the redwood canyons cool and deep, The shadows of the forest ever sleep; The odorous redwoods, wet with fog and dew, Touch with the bay and mingle with the yew. Under the firs the red madrona shines, The graceful tan-oaks, fairest of them all, Lean lovingly unto the sturdy pines, In whose far tops the birds of passage call. Here, where the forest shadows ever sleep, The mountain-lily lifts its chalice white; The myriad ferns hang draperies soft and white Thick on each mossy bank and watered steep, Where slender deer tread softly in the night-- Down in the redwood canyons dark and deep. LILLIAN H. SHUEY, in _Among the Redwoods._ MARCH 22. You rode three miles on the flat, two in the leafy and gradually ascending creek-bed of a canyon, a half hour of laboring steepness in the overarching mountain lilac and laurel. There you came to a great rock gateway which seemed the top of the world. * * * Beyond the gateway a lush level canyon into which you plunged as into a bath; then again the laboring trail, up and always up toward the blue California sky, out of the lilacs, and laurels, and redwood chaparral into the manzanita, the Spanish bayonet, the creamy yucca, and the fine angular shale of the upper regions. Beyond the apparent summit you found always other summits yet to be climbed, and all at once, like thrusting your shoulders out of a hatchway, you looked over the top. STEWART EDWARD WHITE, in _The Mountains._ MARCH 23. DONNER LAKE. So fair thou art--so still and deep-- Half hidden in thy granite cup. From depths of crystal smiling up As smiles a woman in her sleep!