How bitterly my soul cries out for thee!
HERMAN SCHEFFAUER,
in Of Both Worlds.
MARCH 8.
Across the valley was another mountain, dark and grand, with flecks of black growing chemisai in clefts and crevices, and sunny slopes and green fields lying at its base. And oh, the charm of these mountains. In the valley there might be fog and the chill of the north, but on the mountains lay the warmth and the dreaminess of the south.
JOSEPHINE CLIFFORD McCRACKIN,
in Overland Tales.
The furious wind that came driving down the canyon lying far below him was the breath of the approaching multitude of storm-demons. The giant trees on the slopes of the canyon seemed to brace themselves against the impending assault. ∗ ∗ ∗
At the bottom of the canyon, the Sacramento River here a turbulent mountain stream, and now a roaring torrent from the earlier rains of the season, fumed and foamed as it raced with the wind down the canyon hurrying on its way to the placid reaches in the plains of California.
W.C. MORROW,
in A Man: His Mark.