green, a rainbow-affluence of flowers, an air like a draught
from windows left open in heaven.

Just across the boundary, we sat down on the brink of glorious Lake
Tahoe, (once "Bigler," till the ex-Governor of that name became a
Copperhead, and the loyal Californians kicked him out of their
geography, as he had already been thrust out of their politics,)--a
crystal sheet of water fresh-distilled from the snow-peaks, its granite
bottom visible at the depth of a hundred feet, its banks a celestial
garden, lying in a basin thirty-five miles long by ten wide, and nearly
seven thousand feet above the Pacific level. Geography has no superior
to this glorious sea, this chalice of divine cloud-wine held sublimely
up against the very press whence it was wrung. Here, virtually at the
end of our overland journey, since our feet pressed the green borders of
the Golden State, we sat down to rest, feeling that one short hour, one
little league, had translated us out of the infernal world into heaven.

* * * * *

ON PICKET DUTY.

Within a green and shadowy wood,
Circled with spring, alone I stood:
The nook was peaceful, fair, and good.

The wild-plum blossoms lured the bees,
The birds sang madly in the trees,
Magnolia-scents were on the breeze.

All else was silent; but the ear
Caught sounds of distant bugle clear,
And heard the bullets whistle near,--

When from the winding river's shore
The Rebel guns began to roar,
And ours to answer, thundering o'er;

And echoed from the wooded hill,
Repeated and repeated still,
Through all my soul they seemed to thrill.

For, as their rattling storm awoke,
And loud and fast the discord broke,
In rude and trenchant _words_ they spoke.

"_We hate!_" boomed fiercely o'er the tide;
"We fear not!" from the other side;
"_We strike!_" the Rebel guns replied.

Quick roared our answer, "We defend!"
"_Our rights!_" the battle-sounds contend;
"The rights of _all_!" we answer send.

"_We conquer!_" rolled across the wave;
"We persevere!" our answer gave;
"_Our chivalry!_" they wildly rave.

"Ours _are the brave_!" "Be _ours_ the free!"
"_Be ours the slave, the masters we_!"
"On us their blood no more shall be!"

As when some magic word is spoken,
By which a wizard spell is broken,
There was a silence at that token.

The wild birds dared once more to sing,
I heard the pine-bou