O month when they who love must love and wed.

The wild mustard in Southern California is like that spoken of in the New Testament. . . . Its gold is as distinct a value to the eye as the nugget gold is in the pocket.

By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather And autumn's best of cheer.

When Time is spent, Eternity begins.

Nothing can be so bad as to be displeased with one's self.

Wounded vanity knows when it is mortally hurt; and limps off the field, piteous, all disguises thrown away. But pride carries its banner to the last; and fast as it is driven from one field unfurls it in another, never admitting that there is a shade less honor in the second field than in the first, or in the third than in the second.

O sweet, delusive Noon, Which the morning climbs to find, O moment sped too soon, And morning left behind.