All believed they were located over an inexhaustible, subterranean lake of oil, and Oilville, city of tents and shacks, within a month had acquired the recklessness, the devil-may-care air of a mining camp, or the Pennsylvania oil fields. * * * Then there was a pause in the work, for the experts decided that the new oil which spouted forth in such vast quantities was too heavy and malodorous to serve as an illuminant. Presently, however, it was discovered that this defect was a virtue, for here was a non-explosive petroleum that could be utilized in great quantities as a fuel, and work was hastened with renewed vigor, for now California possessed the monopoly of the one great need, not only of herself, but of all the world. MRS. FREMONT OLDER, in _The Giants._ OCTOBER 16. SAN PEDRO. MORNING. A smooth, smooth sea of gray, gray glass; An open sea, where big ships pass Into the sun; A boat-dotted harbor; gulls, wheeling and screaming, And surf-song and fisher-cry end our night's dreaming. Day has begun. EVENING. A broken sea of rosy jade; A rose-pink sky; black ships that fade Into the night; Across the bay, the city seems But elfin music, drowsy dreams And silver light! OLIVE PERCIVAL. OCTOBER 17. SUNSET IN SAN DIEGO. The city sits amid her palms; The perfume of her twilight breath Is something as the sacred balms That bound sweet Jesus after death, Such soft, warm twilight sense as lie Against the gates of Paradise. Such prayerful palms, wide palms upreached! This sea mist is as incense smoke, Yon ancient walls a sermon preached, White lily with a heart of oak. And O, this twilight! O the grace Of twilight on my lifted face. JOAQUIN MILLER, in _Collected Poems._ OCTOBER 18. AT EVENTIDE. Behind Point Loma's beacon height In shimmering waves of grey and gold The winter sunset dies; and Night Drops her dusk mantle, fold on fold, At Eventide. And now, above yon shadowy line That faintly limns the distant bar, Through darkening paths, with steps that shine, She comes at last, our favorite star, At Eventide. O friend, our lives are far apart As Western sea from Eastern shore! But in their orisons, dear heart, Our souls are with you, evermore, At Eventide. MARY E. MANNIX. OCTOBER 19. THE DOUGLAS SQUIRREL.