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On a Cone of the Big Trees.

Yet lie thou there, O friend! and speak
The moral of thy simple story :
Though life is all that thou dost seek,
And age alone thy crown of glory,—
Not thine the only germs that fail

The purpose of the high creation,
If their poor tenements avail

For worldly show and ostentation.

Lone Mountain.

(CEMETERY, SAN FRANCISCO.)

THIS is that hill of awe

That Persian Sindbad saw,—

The mount magnetic;

And on its seaward face,

Scattered along its base,

The wrecks prophetic.

Here come the argosies

Blown by each idle breeze,

To and fro shifting;

Yet to the hill of Fate

All drawing, soon or late,

Day by day drifting;

Drifting forever here

Barks that for many a year

Braved wind and weather;

Shallops but yesterday

Launched on yon shining bay,

Drawn all together.

This is the end of all:
Sun thyself by the wall,
O poorer Hindbad!

Envy not Sindbad's fame :
Here come alike the same
Hindbad and Sindbad.

Alnaschar.

HERE'S yer toy balloons! All sizes!
Twenty cents for that. It rises

Jest as quick as that 'ere, Miss,
Twice as big. Ye see it is

That's the sixth I've sold since noon.
Trade's reviving. Just as soon
As this lot's worked off, I'll take
Wholesale figgers. Make or break,
That's my motto! Then I'll buy
In some first-class lottery
One half ticket, numbered right-
As I dreamed about last night.

That'll fetch it. Don't tell me!
When a man's in luck, you see,
All things help him. Every chance

Hits him like an avalanche.

Here's your toy balloons, Miss. Eh? You won't turn your face this way? Mebbe you'll be glad some day

With that clear ten thousand prize
This 'yer trade I'll drop, and rise
Into wholesale. No! I'll take
Stocks in Wall Street. Make or break,
That's my motto! With my luck,
Where's the chance of being stuck?
Call it sixty thousand, clear,
Made in Wall Street in one year.

Sixty thousand! Umph! Let's see!
Bond and mortgage'll do for me.
Good! That gal that passed me by
Scornful like-why, mebbe I
Some day'll hold in pawn-why not?
All her father's prop. She'll spot
What's my little game, and see
What I'm after's her. He! he!

He he! When she comes to sue-
Let's see! What's the thing to do?
Kick her? No! There's the perliss!
Sorter throw her off like this.

Hello! Stop! Help! Murder! Hey!
There's my whole stock got away,
Kiting on the house-tops! Lost!
All a poor man's fortin! Cost?
Twenty dollars! Eh! What's this?
Fifty cents God bless ye, Miss !