ormons and Gentiles held a love feast in the
Tabernacle and decided to build a few railroads for themselves.

San Francisco could not wait until the 10th. They started the evening
of the 8th, when it was announced at the theaters the two roads had
met, and it took two good solid days of celebrating to satisfy the
people of that town.

It was rightly felt that the completion of the line was an event in
the history of our country. It marked the progress of the West, united
the Pacific Coast population with that of the East. It was the
commencement of the end of the Indian troubles--assured the settlement
of the West, and the development of its mines and other resources.

There has been but three general celebrations held in this country
over works of public improvement viz: the Erie Canal, Atlantic Cable,
and the Pacific Railroad. Of the three the latter was by far the more
general.

The Poem by Bret Harte on this event is reproduced below:

What the Engines Said.

What was it the engines said,
Pilots touching head to head.
Facing on the single track,
Half a world behind each back.
This is what the engines said,
Unreported and unread.

With a prefatory screech,
In a florid Western speech,
Said the engine from the West,
"I am from Sierra's crest,
And if Altitudes' a test,
Why I reckon its confessed,
That I've done my level best."
"Said the engine from the East,
They who work best, talk the least,
Suppose you whistle down your brakes,
What you're done is no great shakes.
Pretty fair, but let our meeting,
Be a different kind of greeting,
Let these folks with champagne stuffing,
Not the engines do the puffing.

"Listen where Atlanta beats,
Shores of-snow and summer heats.
Where the Indian Autumn skies
Paint the woods with wampum dyes.
I have chased the flying sun,
Seeing all that he looked upon,
Blessing all that he blest.
Nursing in my iron-breast;
All his vivifying heat.
All his clouds about my crest
And before my flying feet
Every shadow must retreat."

Said the Western Engine, "phew!"
And a long whistle blew,
"Come now, really that's the oddest
Talk for one so modest.
You brag of your East, you do,
Why, I bring the East to you.
All the Orient, all Cathay
Find me through the shortest way
And the sun you follow here
Rises in my hemisphere.
Really if one must be rude,
Length, my friend, ain't longitu