heads, an opening in the mountain side.
There lie the lodes; there run the seams of coal.
Yon cleft, to which no native climbs, conceals a future town, just as this acorn hides a future oak.
Two foreign artists come into these parts.
To grow their beards, to bronze their cheeks, to shake the dust of Paris
from their feet.
A gay Bohemian circle welcomes them to San Francisco
; where a man may smoke and laugh, sitting over his cakes and ale, into those mystic hours which brush away the bloom from youthful cheeks.
This circle gives them Mont Parnasse
; but they are born for higher flights than Mont Parnasse
Donning their Indian pants and jackets, Monsieur Tavernier
grasps his sketch-book, Signor Franzeny
loads his gun. Each has an eye for nature, and observes her moods with care; noting how sunlight plays with colour in the sea, and how metallic veins add lustre to the earth.
Seeking for beauty, they find a seam of coal.
These young adventurers are tapping at the mountain side, assisted by some friends from San Francisco
, trusting that the seams will float into their trucks and sheds.
If so, a street will