From his cabin on the heights back of Oakland, California, the gray poet of the Sierras, Joaquin Miller [pronounced "Hwah-keen"], looks down across San Francisco Harbor and through the Golden Gate. When word came to Joaquin Miller, in May, 1902, that his friend, Bret Harte, was dead, he embalmed his grief in the wonderful poem of farewell here printed. He pictured the somber ship of death traveling silently at sunset out through the Golden Gate. The poem originally appeared in the _Overland Monthly_ for September, 1902. The issue was devoted to the memory of Bret Harte, and included reprints of "The Luck of Roaring Camp," "The Outcasts of Poker Flat," "Plain Language from Truthful James," and other of Harte's best work. * * * * * GOOD-BY, BRET HARTE! BY JOAQUIN MILLER. Yon yellow sun melts in the sea; A somber ship sweeps silently Past Alcatraz tow'rd Orient skies-- A mist is rising to the eyes-- Good-by, Bret Harte, good night, good night! Yon sea-bank booms far funeral guns! What secrets of His central suns, Companion of the peak and pine, What secrets of the spheres are thine? Good-by, Bret Harte, good night, good night! You loved the lowly, laughed at pride, We mocked, we mocked and pierced your side; And yet for all harsh scoffings heard You answered not one unkind word, But went your way, as now: Good night! How stately tall your ship, how vast, With night nailed to your leaning mast, With mighty stars of hammered gold And moon-wrought cordage manifold! Good-by, Bret Harte, good night, good night! "THE LITTLE CHURCH 'ROUND THE CORNER." In Twenty-Ninth Street, New York, and only a few paces distant from Fifth Avenue, stands a low, rambling, picturesque brown structure that has the appearance of a modest chapel to which various additions have been built from time to time. Between this building and the street is a well-shaded lawn, and there is scarcely a day in the year on which the twittering of birds among the boughs of the big trees does not attract the attention of passers-by. There is a sort of rural atmosphere about the quaint church and its yard that seems so singularly out of place in the heart of a big city that strangers invariably glance curiously at the board on which are inscribed the hours of service and the name "Church of the Transfiguration." To most strangers this means nothing more than the name of any other church. But were some friend to add, "It is also known as the 'Little Church 'Round the Corner,'" a new light would dawn on the stranger's mind, and he would know that he was standing before one of the most celebrated church edifices in the United States--a church supported largely by members of the theatrical profession--a church that has been famous for many romantic wedding ceremonies, and from which hundreds of dead actors and actresses have been borne to the grave.