They could hear the roar and crackle of the fire and the crashing of walls; but even more formidable was that tramping of thousands of feet, the scraping of trunks and furniture on the tracks and stones. * * * It was a well and a carefully dressed crowd, for by this time nearly everyone had recovered from the shock of the earthquake; many forgotten it, no doubt, in the new horror. * * * They pushed trunks to which skates had been attached, or pulled them by ropes; they trundled sewing machines and pieces of small furniture, laden with bundles. Many carried pillow-cases, into which they had stuffed a favorite dress and hat, an extra pair of boots and a change of underclothing, some valuable bibelot or bundle of documents; to say nothing of their jewels and what food they could lay hands on. Several women wore their furs, as an easier way of saving them, and children carried their dolls. Their state of mind was elemental. * * * The refinements of sentiment and all complexity were forgotten; they indulged in nothing so futile as complaint, nor even conversation. And the sense of the common calamity sustained them, no doubt, de-individualized them for the hour. GERTRUDE ATHERTON, in _Ancestors._ APRIL 22. The sun is dying; space and room. Serenity, vast sense of rest, Lie bosomed in the orange west Of Orient waters. Hear the boom Of long, strong billows; wave on wave, Like funeral guns above a grave. JOAQUIN MILLER, in _Collected Poems._ APRIL 23. SAN FRANCISCO. IN CHRISTMAS TWILIGHT, 1898. In somber silhouette, against a golden sky, Francisco's city sits as sunbeams die. The serrated hills her throne; the ocean laves her feet: Her jeweled crown the Western zephyrs greet; Their breath is fragrance, sweet as wreath of bride, In winter season as at summer tide. AFTER APRIL 18, 1906. Clothed with sack-cloth, strewn with ashes, Seated on a desolate throne 'Mid the spectral walls of stately domes And the skeletons of regal homes, Francisco weeps while westward thrashes Through the wrecks of mansions, stricken prone By the rock of earth and sweep of flame Which, unheralded and unbidden, came In the greatness of her pride full-blown And at the zenith of her matchless fame. TALIESIN EVANS. APRIL 24. And let it be remembered that whatever San Francisco, her citizens and her lovers, do now or neglect to do in this present regeneration will be felt for good or ill to remotest ages. Let us build and rebuild accordingly, bearing in mind that the new San Francisco is to stand forever before the world as the measure of the civic taste and intelligence of her people. HUBERT HOWE BANCROFT, in _Some Cities and San Francisco._ APRIL 25. SAN FRANCISCO.