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BY FRANCIS DE HAES JANVIER.
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“A late letter from California states that the writer counted six hundred new graves, in the course of his journey across the Plains.”
Far away, beyond the western mountains, lies a lovely land,
Where bright streamlets, gently gliding, murmur over golden sand,
Where in valleys fresh and verdant, open grottoes old and hoar,
In whose deep recesses treasured, glitter heaps of golden ore—
Lies a lovely land where Fortune long hath hidden priceless store.
But the path which leadeth thither, windeth o’er a dreary plain,