YOMET, OR SOUNDING ROCK. This is the name of one of the wildest and most singular scenes to be witnessed upon the rivers of California. About a mile below Bowman's Bridge, the Cosumnes river near the forks, commences to pass through a steep, deep and exceedingly rough and rocky cañon; and down which it rushes in angry and foaming confusion at an angle of about thirty degrees, until it reaches a large oblong hole, worn in the solid rock through which it leaps, making a very beautiful waterfall, some three hun 66 dred feet in length. On its sides stand bold and broken rocks, some of them overhanging, about four hundred feet in height; and where a sound given is echoed nine times. Hence arises the Indian name Yomet, or Sounding Rock." In the eddying pool below the falls, the Indians are very fond of fishing, and consequently it is quite a place of resort during the spring and summer months. And as they stand, dressed in an endless variety of costume, they present a striking contrast to the magnificent panorama of beauty around them, which is indiscribable. THE THREE GRAVES. BY W. B. S. It was a beautiful morning in May, in the year 185-, that Jo and I started on a prospecting tour on the South Fork of the Salmon river, in the northern portion of the State; our claim having failed where we were working, and we determined to try our luck in new diggings, and as considerable had been said about the diggings on the Salmon, we thought our chances good for some of the "dust." I tried to prevail upon Jo to stop with them, as I believed they had a good thing, but I could not unless they would give me a situation, which they could not conveniently do. After considerable persuasion he reluctantly consented. Next morning, long before the sun made his appearance, I rolled up my blankets preparatory to retracing my steps across the mountains, but on a different trail. When I took Jo by the hand to bid him adieu I could see a tear lingering in the corner of his noble eyes, while a melancholy sigh escaped his manly bosom. The last Jo was my first mining companion; salutation was given and I started alone he shared all the fortunes and misfor- on my long and lonesome road, for I tunes of a miner's life for many a long had near twenty miles to go before I and lonely day, and had it not been for came to any house. As I was ascendhis lively disposition, and determined ing the mountain, and when about three perseverence, I should left off mining miles distant, I heard some one calling long since, but he was always pointing my name, and when I looked back Ĭ out to me the bright star of hope, and saw Jo coming up the mountain. I telling me there was a "better time sat down and waited until he came up coming," when we should make our to me, smiling as he came, saying, fortunes and return to distant friends," Bill, I could not stay and see you go who were anxiously awaiting our coming. Should this little narrative fall under his observation he will recognise the scenes here portrayed, and the graves by the mountain trail. After many days of toilsome travel over the mountains, with our blankets on our backs, a portion of the time over snow from ten to fifty feet deep, we arrived at the place of our destination, which I think was one of the most desolate looking places I have ever seen in California. We stoped at a trading post, where they fed us on spoiled pork and beans; but we did not remain there long, as we could find nothing by prospecting which would pay us to locate. Here let me relate a little incident, to show the affections that exist between two mining companions when thrown together in the mountains. While we were at the trading post Jo was offered an interest in a company which had just "struck" pay dirt, which prospected very rich, and they wanted another partner to complete the company to work to good advantage. I off alone, for wherever your destination is there shall be mine, so long as you and I follow mining." Jo and I spent many a long day together in the mines, but for the last year I have heard nothing from him, but presume he has gone to the Atlantic States. We traveled on until dark that night before we came to a place to stop. The place where we put up was composed of two stores, and one hotel kept by a man with a family. There were about two hundred miners around there at work doing well, as far as I could learn. We remained at this place several days, prospecting, and during our stay there I became acquainted with a man whose appearance was of a melancholy character, and whom I knew was oppressed with sorrow from some cause, which I intended to find out if he did not tell me without asking. One evening after tea he asked me to take a walk with him, which I willingly consented to do. He took me up the trail about a half a mile, where we turned off to the left, beneath a stately pine tree, and beneath its wide-spread branches were two graves, one very small and the other the common size. After we became seated I asked him if he knew whose remains these were, interred here in this lonely spot so far from the endearments of a sweet home. I noticed a shade pass over his countenance, and his eyes were turned to the ground,and the first words he spoke were: "Would to God I did not!" and then he continued: "You are a stranger to me, but from what I have seen of you since you came here I take you to be a person who will sympathize with the disconsolate, and to such my heart beats in unison. These graves contain the remains of all that was dear to me on earth all that gave life a charm, now are mingled with the dust, and their spirits have gone to that sweet repose around the throne of Him who gave them, and would that mine was there to dwell with them, where the sorrows of earth would cease, and we should be united in one holy band, never more to part. I was married in 1846, and lived on the banks of the Illinois river, a few miles below Peru, where I had a little farm, and was as happy as the heart could wish, for I had a wife who was kind and affectionate, on whose bright beaming countenance ever rested a sweet smile at my approach; and then the little angel Eva, who was the image of her mother, had just began to get large enough to climb upon my lap. Julia and Eva were all the world to me; besides them the world had no charm for me, and to be with them I asked no happier boon, for I never cherished a happy thought that was not theirs, or spent a happy moment that I did not wish them to enjoy it with me. Thus passed four years of my life with the cup of pleasure overflowing, when, in '50, the California fever was running high in that portion of the country; I became one of its subjects, and, after long and earnest persuasion, I prevailed upon Julia to start to this country with me, much against her will and that of her relatives, who were very wealthy, and offered me many inducements if I would only give up the idea of going to California; but all would not do, go I must; and, alas! how many thousand times I have regretted the hour I started, for Julia scarcely ever saw a well day after we left home." Here he stopped to give vent to his over-charged heart by the flowing of tears, and nothing was said for several minutes, for I could not refrain from shedding tears to see the grief of the poor disconsolate fellow. The brightest hopes of a fond heart had been crushed, the last object dear to the soul had been swept away, and now the dark and mysterious future only remained, with no bright spot to which he could point, and say there is a happier time coming on earth, for his hopes were buried in those two graves. He continued-"Julia said when we got aboard of the river steamer, and our little cottage was fast disappearing in the distance, that she felt as though she should never see that happy home again. Little did I think so then; but, alas! how true was the saying; for her remains now rest in the narrow chambers of death by the side of that of our dear little Eva, here in the wild mountains, far from their native land, where the moaning winds whisper the last requiem over their lonely graves; in those graves is buried my last hope of earth, and may I soon meet them beyond the stars, and join with them in singing the praises of Him who is the dispenser of all that is good." We returned to the hotel, but sleep came not to my eyes until the night had far advanced, so excited had I become at the recital of his melancholy narrative. Jo and I remained a few days more and then started on our journey, since which time I never heard a word of Theodore Worthington until a few days ago I heard that he had been dead over a year, and that he was buried, as re quested, by the side of his dear Julia and little Eva. The information of his death is what gave rise to the title of my piece, "THE THREE GRAVES." I have often thought of him during my wanderings in California, and wondered what had become of the poor fellow; but he sleeps in death with those he loved in life, and their friends in a distant land will no more gather around the domestic fireside to wait their return, for the mournful tidings have long since been borne to them on the wings of time of their sad fate. A TALE OF MEXICO. EVENINGS WITH THE POETS. NO. II. cian Epic was entirely unsuitable for the The supernatural machinery of the Grespirit of the age, and besides was objectionable on the score of religion; but the Eastern stories which detailed the adventures of errant youths, who, leaving their fathers' roof had strolled into foreign places, where all manner of incidents befel them, in which magicians and genii performed a principal part, were not so discordant with popular opinion. The alchemists, who, according to common belief, could transform the baser metals into gold, were also supposed to possess other arts no less powerful and equally mysterious. The prediction from horoscopes of the future They led them out, 'neath the bright heavens, fortunes of those scions of nobility, for They stood on that old plaza bound, Oh! God! what scenes of sorrow deep, Thine eye hath looked upon! One spake he was a noble youth, And while he spake, you might have heard "I have a mother, weak and old, In the land beyond the seaUnloose the chain from off my breast, When ye have laid this form to rest, And bear one word for me. Tell her I died a soldier's death, On a far distant shore; Tell her to bear this crushing blow, He ceased-and eyes unused to weep, At that brave youth's despair. He ceased-and when they led him forth, G. T. S. whom astrological observations and calculations were chiefly made, was believed in by all, and the power of the devil and his angels was universally admitted to be much more extensive than it is now supposed to be-an opinion which was fully supported and confirmed by the legends of the saints, as promulgated by the authority of the Church herself. There was a supernatural machinery belonging to themselves, which afforded to writers of fiction opportunities of becoming conspicuous with a facility which, since the days of Hume and his cotemporaries, the world had not possessed. It only wanted to be ignited by this spark of oriental origin to be taken advantage of, especially as they had in those oriental stories a good precedent for having their romances in prose. An excellent ground-work was also afforded in the Crusades, furnishing a fit cause to make the noblest of the land leave their homes, and visit countries with whom the inhabitants of Europe were entirely unacquainted; whereby any amount of wonders might be introduced, and their heroes made to meet with any sort of supernatural adventures, and perform any amount of supernatural achievements, without risk of detection. Thus the introduction of Romance, as a species of literature exactly suited for the times, followed almost as a natural consequence of the peculiar circumstances of the age. So far Romance, by which for a time Poetry was eclipsed and confined almost exclusively to pastoral life, boldly undertook to discharge one of the principal duties of the Epic Muse, in furnishing stories equally interesting, and equally abundant horse in the fable, which courted the alliance of the man to enable it to humble the offending bear, they found in their new allies associates who were no less scrupulous and more tenacious than the highland brigands whom they had helped them to expel. To the sturdier Saxons, the green fields of Britain presented too inviting a prospect of rural felicity to relinquish to the feeble natives, who, without their aid, seemed unable to preserve them; and like other moral sophists, they concluded they might as well have them as the Scots, or any other people who had no more right to them than they had. The country, which they had been invited to guard, they resolved to appropriate; and they did so. But the possessions which they had obtained by stealth, they were destined to lose by violence. The same attractions which had tempted them to violate the laws of honor and hospitality, had equal influence over the bastard of Normandy; and thus within a comparatively short time, in England four different races successively had the ascendency-British, Roman, Saxon, and Norman. in incidents, both natural and supernatural. To make up in some measure for the apparent defect of the want of poetical numbers, the inventors of this species of writing introduced a peculiarly flowery and hyperbolical kind of style, which is more or less in favor with people of a romantic turn of mind to this day. Looked at philosophically, this species of writing seems highly ridiculous, adopting, as it frequently does, as an admitted rule, never to introduce a substantive without lugging in an adjective along with it, to give it a certificate of character-a task which chaster writers now-a-days generally leave to be discharged by verbs, if they deem it worth their while to take any notice of the gentleman at all, except to let him do his work quietly without saying a word about him. Though this species of writing, which has received the appropriate designation of "prose run mad," may now seem perfectly ridiculous, it effected an improvement on language of which even Poetry might have despaired. Writers of Romance were no less careful in finding words of proper length and sound to suit the roundings of their sentences than the poets had been; and as they wrote in prose, their writings were more suitable for common conversation. It is true their language was pompous and unwieldy, but its chief defect was that it was richer in words than in ideas, and aimed at having an excess of gorge-tinental neighbors. But as those who are ousness and beauty which was inconvenient and absurd. But these were defects which the increasing intelligence and common sense of mankind could not fail to curtail; and the mere fact that society was thus set to setting their words on end, and selecting those which were most suitable for display, had a wonderful effect in improving the languages of Continental Europe; and another of the advantages which Poetry confers on the world was for a time no less efficiently discharged by her new deputy. In England, owing to various causes, native literature was not of so early growth as on the continent. Britain was the most remote of the Roman colonies, and among the first from which she withdrew her soldiers. The domination of the Romans had tamed their former warlike spirit, and on their departure, though the number of the inhabitants of England greatly exceeded that of Scotland, they found themselves unable to contend with their hardier and less reducible neighbors, and for the purpose of enabling them to resist their daring inroads, they were glad to procure the assistance of the Saxons. Like the The literature of the ancient Celts, by whom Great Britain and Ireland were originally peopled, if we may believe the glowing accounts of the remnants of the race who still retain their original language, was superior to that of their Con loudest in its praise affirm that it also excelled that of modern times, we have good reason to suspect the soundness of the opinion. The specimens which they produce, even admitting Assian to be genuine, (whom the investigations of the Highland Society have left with scarcely a foot to stand on,) would warrant us in arriving at a very different conclusion. The poems exhibit a gorgeousness of display but a sameness of incident; a faint and dreamy, but also gloomy delineation of Gods seen only through the haze of mist, and whose voices could only be indistinctly heard through the louder peals of the storm. Then the Gods of the Irish Muse were merely Titans, in whom brute force supplied the place of wisdom. We may often be annoyed, in reading Homer, at the intermeddling spirit of the Grecian Gods, but they display an energy of character and intelligible action, which we look for in vain in the bulky and clouded divinities of the Western Islands. Their heralds, as was natural, partook of the character of their Gods; and in the crude compositions of those simple barbarians (of the |