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Page 76 - wax. That for ways that are dark, And for tricks that are vain, The heathen Chinee is peculiar, — Which the same I am free to maintain. THE SOCIETY UPON THE STANISLAUS. T RESIDE at Table Mountain, and my
Page 26 - DICKENS IN CAMP. A BOVE the pines the moon was slowly drifting, The river sang below ; The dim Sierras, far beyond, uplifting Their minarets of snow. The roaring camp-fire, with rude humor, painted The ruddy tints of health On haggard face and form that drooped and fainted In the fierce race for wealth
Page 79 - Now nothing could be finer or more beautiful to see Than the first six months' proceedings- of that same society, Till Brown of Calaveras brought a lot of fossil bones That he found within a tunnel near the tenement of Jones. Then Brown he read a paper, and he reconstructed there,
Page 125 - ARK ! I hear the tramp of thousands, And of armed men the hum ; Lo! a nation's hosts have gathered Round the quick alarming drum,— Saying, " Come, Freemen, come ! Ere your heritage be wasted," said the quick alarming drum. " Let me of my heart take counsel : War is not of Life the sum ; Who shall stay and reap the harvest
Page 5 - of the Past, whose long-forgotten music Still fills the wide expanse, Tingeing the sober twilight of the Present With color of romance : I hear your call, and see the sun descending On rock and wave and sand, As down the coast the Mission voices blending Girdle the heathen land.
Page 20 - M sitting alone by the fire, Dressed just as I came from the dance, In a robe even you would admire, — It cost a cool thousand in France ; I 'm be-diamonded out of all reason, My hair is done up in a cue : In short, sir, " the belle of the season
Page 7 - O solemn bells ! whose consecrated masses Recall the faith of old, — O tinkling bells ! that lulled with twilight music The spiritual fold! Your voices break and falter in the darkness,— Break, falter, and are still ; And veiled and mystic, like the Host descending, The sun sinks from the hill ! THE MOUNTAIN HEARTS-EASE.
Page 82 - For I live at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James ; And I've told in simple language what I know about the row That broke up our society -upon the Stanislow. POEMS FROM 1860 TO 1868. JOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG.
Page 25 - For maybe, while wasting my taper, Your sun 's climbing over the trees. But know, if you have n't got riches, And are poor, dearest Joe, and all that, That my heart's somewhere there in the ditches, And you've struck it, — on Poverty Flat. DICKENS IN CAMP.
Page 121 - I cannot tell," said the aged man, "And should have remarked, before, That I was with Grant, — in Illinois, — Some three years before the war." Then the farmer spake him never a word, But beat with his fist full sore That aged man, who had worked for Grant Some three years before the war. "HOW ARE YOU, SANITARY?

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