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Like pillars of fire starkly stood.

All of the breezy solitude

Was filled with the spicing of pine and bay And resinous odors mixed and blended,

And dim and ghost-like far away
The smoke of the burning woods ascended.
Then of a sudden the mountains swam,
The rivers piled their floods in a dam,
The ridge above Los Gatos creek

Arched its spine in a feline fashion;
The forests waltzed till they grew sick,

And Nature shook in a speechless passion; And, swallowed up in the earthquake's spleen, The wonderful Spring of San Joaquin Vanished, and nevermore was seen!

Two days passed: the Mission folk
Out of their rosy dream awoke.
Some of them looked a trifle white;

But that, no doubt, was from earthquake fright.
Three days there was sore distress,

Headache, nausea, giddiness.

Four days faintings, tenderness

:

Of the mouth and fauces; and in less
Than one week, here the story closes;
We won't continue the prognosis
Enough that now no trace is seen
Of Spring or Mission of San Joaquin.

Bret Harte.

Santa Cruz, the Island, Cal.

TO A SEA-BIRD.

AUNTERING hither on listless wings, Careless vagabond of the sea, Little thou heedest the surf that sings, The bar that thunders, the shale that rings, -Give me to keep thy company.

Little thou hast, old friend, that's new;
Storms and wrecks are old things to thee;
Sick am I of these changes too;
Little to care for, little to rue,

I on the shore, and thou on the sea.

All of thy wanderings, far and near,

Bring thee at last to shore and me; All of my journeyings end them here, This our tether must be our cheer,

I on the shore, and thou on the sea.

Lazily rocking on ocean's breast,

Something in common, old friend, have we; Thou on the shingle seek'st thy nest,

I to the waters look for rest,

I on the shore, and thou on the sea.

Bret Harte.

Shiloh (Pittsburg Landing), Tenn.

"COME

THE OLD SERGEANT.

YOME a little nearer, Doctor,- thank you,— let me take the cup;

Draw your chair up, - draw it closer, just another little sup!

May be you may think I'm better; but I'm pretty well

66

used up,

Doctor, you've done all you could do, but I'm just a going up!

Feel my pulse, sir, if you want to, but it ain't much

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"Never say that," said the surgeon, as he smothered down a sigh;

"It will never do, old comrade, for a soldier to say die!"

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"What you say will make no difference, Doctor,

when you come to die.

Doctor, what has been the matter?"

very faint, they say;

"You were

You must try to get to sleep now." "Doctor, have I

been away?"

"Not that anybody knows of!" "Doctor, Doctor, please to stay!

There is something I must tell you, and you won't have long to stay!

"I have got my marching orders, and I'm ready now

to go;

Doctor, did you say I fainted? - but it could n't ha'

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For as sure as I'm a Sergeant, and was wounded at Shiloh,

I've this very night been back there, on the old field of Shiloh !

"This is all that I remember: The last time the Lighter came,

And the lights had all been lowered, and the noises much the same,

He had not been gone five minutes before something called my name :

'Orderly Sergeant Robert Burton!' — just that way it called my name.

"And I wondered who could call me so distinctly and so slow,

Knew it could n't be the Lighter, — he could not have

spoken so,

And I tried to answer, 'Here, sir!' but I could n't make it go;

For I could n't move a muscle, and I could n't make

it go!

"Then I thought: It's all a nightmare, all a humbug and a bore;

Just another foolish grape-vine,1—and it won't come any more;

1 Canard.

But it came, sir, notwithstanding, just the same way as before:

'Orderly Sergeant - Robert Burton!' even plainer

than before.

"That is all that I remember, till a sudden burst of

light,

And I stood beside the river, where we stood that Sunday night,

Waiting to be ferried over to the dark bluffs opposite,

When the river was perdition and all hell was opposite !

"And the same old palpitation came again in all its

power,

And I heard a bugle sounding, as from some celestial

tower;

And the same mysterious voice said: 'It is the eleventh hour!

Orderly Sergeant — Robert Burton-it is the eleventh

hour!'

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“Doctor Austin! what day is this?" "It is Wednesday night, you know.”

"Yes, — to-morrow will be New Year's, and a right good time below!

What time is it, Doctor Austin?"

"Then don't you go!

"Nearly twelve."

Can it be that all this happened — all this

not an

hour ago!

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