"Oh we'll soon be thar In the land of gold, Through the forest old, O'er the mounting cold, With spirits bold— Oh, we come, we come, And we'll soon be thar. Gee up Bolly! whoo, up, whoo haw!"

The train now encamp. The unpacking of the kettles and mess-pans, the unyoking of the oxen, the gathering about the various camp-fires, the frizzling of the pork, are so clearly expressed by the music that the most untutored savage could readily comprehend it. Indeed, so vivid and lifelike was the representation, that a lady sitting near us involuntarily exclaimed aloud, at a certain passage, "Thar, that pork's burning!" and it was truly interesting to watch the gratified expression of her face when, by a few notes of the guitar, the pan was removed from the fire, and the blazing pork extinguished.

This is followed by the beautiful aria:

"O! marm, I want a pancake!"

Followed by that touching recitative:

"Shet up, or I will spank you!"

To which succeeds a grand crescendo movement, representing the flight of the child with the pancake, the pursuit of the mother, and the final arrest and summary punishment of the former, represented by the rapid and successive strokes of the castanet.

The turning in for the night follows; and the deep and stertorous breathing of the encampment is well given by the bassoon, while the sufferings and trials of an unhappy father with an unpleasant infant are touchingly set forth by the cornet à piston.

Part Second.—The night attack of the Pi Utahs; the fearful cries of the demoniac Indians; the shrieks of the females and children; the rapid and effective fire of the rifles; the stampede of the oxen; their recovery and the final repulse, the Pi Utahs being routed after a loss of thirty-six killed and wounded, while the Pikes lose but one scalp (from an old fellow who wore a wig, and lost it in the scuffle), are faithfully given, and excite the most intense interest in the minds of the hearers; the emotions of fear, admiration and delight: succeeding each other, in their minds, with almost painful rapidity. Then follows the grand chorus:

"Oh! we gin them fits, The Ingen Utahs. With our six-shooters— We gin 'em pertickuler fits."

After which we have the charming recitative of Herr Tuden Links, to the infant, which is really one of the most charming gems in the performance:

"Now, dern your skin, can't you be easy?"

Morning succeeds. The sun rises magnificently (octavo flute)—breakfast is eaten,—in a rapid movement on three sharps; the oxen are caught and yoked up—with a small drum and triangle; the watches, purses and other valuables of the conquered Pi Utahs are stored away in a camp-kettle, to a small movement on the piccolo, and the train moves on, with the grand chorus:

"We'll soon be thar, Gee up Bolly! Whoo hup! whoo haw!"

The whole concludes with the grand hymn and chorus:

"When we die we'll go to Benton, Whup! Whoo, haw! The greatest man that e'er land saw, Gee! Who this little airth was sent on Whup! Whoo, haw! To tell a 'hawk from a handsaw!' Gee!"

The immense expense attending the production of this magnificent work, the length of time required to prepare the chorus, and the incredible number of instruments destroyed at each rehearsal, have hitherto prevented M. Tarbox from placing it before the American public, and it has remained for San Diego to show herself superior to her sister cities of the Union, in musical taste and appreciation, and in high-souled liberality, by patronizing this immortal prodigy, and enabling its author to bring it forth in accordance with his wishes and its capabilities. We trust every citizen of San Diego and Vallecetos will listen to it ere it is withdrawn; and if there yet lingers in San Francisco one spark of musical fervor, or a remnant of taste for pure harmony, we can only say that the Southerner sails from that place once a fortnight, and that the passage money is but forty-five dollars.

THE RUNAWAY BOY

By James Whitcomb Riley

Wunst I sassed my Pa, an' he Won't stand that, an' punished me,— Nen when he was gone that day, I slipped out an' runned away. I tooked all my copper-cents, An' clumbed over our back fence In the jimpson-weeds 'at growed Ever'where all down the road. Nen I got out there, an' nen I runned some—an' runned again When I met a man 'at led A big cow 'at shooked her head. I went down a long, long lane Where was little pigs a-play'n'; An' a grea'-big pig went "Booh!" An' jumped up, an' skeered me too. Nen I scampered past, an' they Was somebody hollered "Hey!" An' I ist looked ever'where, An' they was nobody there. I want to, but I'm 'fraid to try To go back.... An' by-an'-by Somepin' hurts my throat inside— An' I want my Ma—an' cried. Nen a grea'-big girl come through Where's a gate, an' telled me who Am I? an' ef I tell where My home's at she'll show me there. But I couldn't ist but tell What's my name; an' she says well, An' she tooked me up an' says She know where I live, she guess. Nen she telled me hug wite close Round her neck!—an' off she goes Skippin' up the street! An' nen Purty soon I'm home again. An' my Ma, when she kissed me, Kissed the big girl too, an' she Kissed me—ef I p'omise shore I won't run away no more!

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