"We ran him out of Strong's, and up through Eden

And 'cross the ford below,

And up this cañon (Peters' brother leadin'),

And me and Clark and Joe.

"He fou❜t us game: somehow I disremember

Jest how the thing kem round;

Some say 'twas wadding, some a scattered ember
From fires on the ground.

"But in one minute all the hill below him

Was just one sheet of flame;

Guardin' the crest, Sam Clark and I called to him, And,—well, the dog was game!

"He made no sign: the fires of hell were round him, The pit of hell below.

We sat and waited, but never found him ;

And then we turned to go.

"And then-you see that rock that's grown so bristly

With chapparal and tan

Suthin crep' out: it might hev been a grizzly,

It might hev been a man ;

"Suthin that howled, and gnashed its teeth, and shouted

In smoke and dust and flame;

Suthin that sprang into the depths about it,

Grizzly or man,—but game!

"That's all! Well, yes, it does look rather risky,

And kinder makes one queer

And dizzy looking down. A drop of whisky

Ain't a bad thing right here!"

Her Letter.

I'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 Is wasting an hour upon you.

A dozen engagements I've broken;
I left in the midst of a set;
Likewise a proposal, half spoken,

That waits on the stairs-for me yet. They say he'll be rich,-when he grows up,And then he adores me indeed;

And you, sir, are turning your nose up,
Three thousand miles off, as you read.

"And how do I like my position ?"

"And what do I think of New York?"

"And now, in my higher ambition,

With whom do I waltz, flirt, or talk?" "And isn't it nice to have riches,

And diamonds and silks, and all that?" "And aren't it a change to the ditches

And tunnels of Poverty Flat "

Well, yes, if you saw us out driving
Each day in the Park, four-in-hand,-
If you saw poor dear mamma contriving
To look supernaturally grand,

If you saw papa's picture, as taken
By Brady, and tinted at that,-
You'd never suspect he sold bacon
And flour at Poverty Flat.

And yet, just this moment, when sitting
In the glare of the grand chandelier,-
In the bustle and glitter befitting
The "finest soirée of the year,”-
In the mists of a gaze de Chambéry,

And the hum of the smallest of talk,-
Somehow, Joe, I thought of the "Ferry,"
And the dance that we had on "The Fork;"

Of Harrison's barn, with its muster

Of flags festooned over the wall;

Of the candles that shed their soft lustre
And tallow on head-dress and shawl;
Of the steps that we took to one fiddle,
Of the dress of my queer vis-à-vis ;
And how I once went down the middle
With the man that shot Sandy McGee;

Of the moon that was quietly sleeping

On the hill, when the time came to go;
Of the few baby peaks that were peeping
From under their bedclothes of snow;
Of that ride,—that to me was the rarest;
Of the something you said at the gate.

VOL. I.

L

Ah! Joe, then I wasn't an heiress

To "the best-paying lead in the State."

Well, well, it's all past; yet it's funny
To think, as I stood in the glare
Of fashion and beauty and money,

That I should be thinking, right there,
Of some one who breasted high water,

And swam the North Fork, and all that, Just to dance with old Folinsbee's daughter, The Lily of Poverty Flat.

But goodness! what nonsense I'm writing!
(Mamma says my taste still is low),
Instead of my triumphs reciting,

I'm spooning on Joseph,-heigh-ho!
And I'm to be "finished" by travel,—
Whatever's the meaning of that.
Oh, why did papa strike pay gravel
In drifting on Poverty Flat ?

Good night!-here's the end of my paper;
Good night!—if the longitude please,—

For maybe, while wasting my taper,

Your sun's climbing over the trees.

But know, if you haven'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.

His Answer to "her Letter."

(REPORTED BY TRUTHFUL JAMES.)

BEING asked by an intimate party,—

Which the same I would term as a friend,-
Though his health it were vain to call hearty,
Since the mind to deceit it might lend;
For his arm it was broken quite recent,

And there's something gone wrong with his lung,Which is why it is proper and decent

I should write what he runs off his tongue.

First, he says, Miss, he's read through your letter
To the end, and "the end came too soon;"
That a "slight illness kept him your debtor,"
(Which for weeks he was wild as a loon);
That "his spirits are buoyant as yours is;"
That with you, Miss, he "challenges Fate,"
(Which the language that invalid uses

At times it were vain to relate).

And he says "that the mountains are fairer
For once being held in your thought;"
That each rock "holds a wealth that is rarer
Than ever by gold-seeker sought."