Come, shout Columbia's birthday song in the new Golden State.
Ho! children of imperial France; ho! Erin's brave and true;
Ho! England's golden-bearded race,—we fain would welcome you,
And dark-eyed friends from those glad climes where Spain's proud blood is seen;
To join in Freedom's holy psalm ye'll not refuse, I ween.
For now the banner of the free's in very deed our own,
And, 'mid the brotherhood of states, not ours the feeblest one.
Then proudly shout, ye bushy men with throats all brown and bare,
For, lo! from 'midst our flag's brave blue, leaps out a golden star.
After reading the above lines, Mr. B. pronounced beautifully a very splendid oration. Unlike such efforts in general, it was exceedingly fresh and new, so that, instead of its being that infliction that Fourth of July orations commonly are, it was a high pleasure to listen to him. Perhaps, where nature herself is so original, it is impossible for even thought to be hackneyed. It is too long for a letter, but as the miners have requested a copy for publication, I will send it to you in print.