362 
compass in both hands, at half arm’s length 
from the body, with the elbows resting 
against your sides and so as to bring the 
compass in direct line with center of your 
body. To settle the needle quickly tip the 
compass until the end of the needle touches 
the glass thus checking the vibration. Re- 
peat this quickly 2 or 3 times as the needle 
is passing the center of the arc it is making, 
Then carefully level the box and as soon 
as the needle stops vibrating take a sight 
on some object in exact alignment with 
your course and as far ahead as you can 
see. Walk to it and repeat the operation. 
RECREATION. 
A little practice will enable you to run an 
accurate line. 
Your confidence in the utility of the com- 
pass will increase rapidly as you become 
more familiar with it. It adds greatly to 
the pleasure and success of a trip “in the 
woods to feel that you are not altogether 
dependent on a more experienced fellow 
sportsman, or a guide, to enable you to get 
back to camp; and it is a source of great 
satisfaction to know that you can strike 
out and explore new territory alone and 
find your way back to camp with the aid 
of the most absolutely reliable guide you 
‘could possib'y have, a pocket compass. 
MY FIRST DAY’S WORK. 
ARTHUR S. PHELPS. 
The reddening dawn in the twilight gray, 
Before the rising sun 
Has kindled his fires on whirling tires, 
Behold my day’s begun! 
A tiring spin on a spinning tire. 
A league between the pines, 
The foot hill’s slope is swallowed up 
Ere Winter’s sunlight shines. 
The ice king’s sceptre has never controlled 
These hills of the Sunset State; 
The climate how rare! How balmy the air 
That streams through the Golden Gate! 
Robbed of my coat by the overbold sun, 
I am armed with mattock and hoe, 
My thousands to slay, that weary day, 
Where the weeds their faces show. 
My first day’s work! How slowly it dragged 
Its infinite length along! 
When the motor at 1o whistled loud in the 
glen, 
The conductor’s 
wrong! 
watch surely was 
My curses on Adam, who left us these 
weeds 
To hoe by the sweat of our brow! 
This mattock is dull, my shoes are half full, 
It must be noon-time now! 
At length up through the hills came a note, 
Never so sweet before; 
At the whistle from town, the tools are 
laid down, . 
And I lunch on the porch by the door. 
My first day’s work! Words fail to describe 
The taste of that cold meat and pie! 
The hunger of health, forbidden to wealth, 
Is the workingman’s proud legacy. 
In the afternoon, on the sunny slope, 
Through the orchard’s leafless trees 
Blew sweet below, from th’ eternal snow, 
Sierra’s cooling breeze. 
Before the eyes, a wondrous view, 
The fruitful valley lies; 
Earth’s workday vision, fields Elysian, 
Beyond toil, Paradise. 
My first day’s work! A drudge’s day, - 
Spent grubbing in the soil? 7 
In hand-wrought earth rich fruits have 
birth ; 
Life’s problem’s saved by toil! 
