e Garden City.
Detroit, the City of the Straits.
Cleveland, the Forest City.
Pittsburgh, the Smoky City.
New Haven, the City of Elms.
Indianapolis, the Railroad City.
St. Louis, the Mound City.
Keokuk, the Gate City.
Louisville, the Falls City.
Nashville, the City of Rocks.
Hannibal, the Bluff City.

THE LAST WORD--POET TO POET.

JOAQUIN MILLER'S FAREWELL TO BRET HARTE, HIS FAMOUS
CONTEMPORARY IN THE LITERATURE OF THE FAR WEST.

From his cabin on the heights back of Oakland, California, the gray poet
of the Sierras, Joaquin Miller [pronounced "Hwah-keen"], looks down across
San Francisco Harbor and through the Golden Gate.

When word came to Joaquin Miller, in May, 1902, that his friend, Bret
Harte, was dead, he embalmed his grief in the wonderful poem of farewell
here printed. He pictured the somber ship of death traveling silently at
sunset out through the Golden Gate.

The poem originally appeared in the _Overland Monthly_ for September,
1902. The issue was devoted to the memory of Bret Harte, and included
reprints of "The Luck of Roaring Camp," "The Outcasts of Poker Flat,"
"Plain Language from Truthful James," and other of Harte's best work.

* * * * *

GOOD-BY, BRET HARTE!

BY JOAQUIN MILLER.

Yon yellow sun melts in the sea;
A somber ship sweeps silently
Past Alcatraz tow'rd Orient skies--
A mist is rising to the eyes--
Good-by, Bret Harte, good night, good night!

Yon sea-bank booms far funeral guns!
What secrets of His central suns,
Companion of the peak and pine,
What secrets of the spheres are thine?
Good-by, Bret Harte, good night, good night!

You loved the lowly, laughed at pride,
We mocked, we mocked and pierced your side;
And yet for all harsh scoffings heard
You answered not one unkind word,
But went your way, as now: Good night!

How stately tall your ship, how vast,
With night nailed to your leaning mast,
With mighty stars of hammered gold
And moon-wrought cordage manifold!
Good-by, Bret Harte, good night, good night!

"THE LITTLE CHURCH 'ROUND THE CORNER."

In Twenty-Ninth Street, New York, and only a few paces distant from Fifth
Avenue, stands a low, rambling, picturesque brown structure that has the
appearance of a modest chapel to which various additions have been built
from time to time. Between this building an