sents.

that brings about these results. But there is a limit to it all. A time comes when Mr. Harte becomes satisfied that the expression, or method, or whatever it may be, has reached the proper degree of perfection. From this time forward it becomes a type, and will always be used by Mr. Harte if he has occasion to speak of the thing it repreFor instance: Mr. Harte has persuaded himself that the best method of introducing the subject of a beautiful evening is by the expression, "It was a lovely night." I cannot pretend to know the reasoning that led to this conclusion. In the earlier work the phrase has more in the way of ornate accompaniment. But the evolution is traceable through various degrees of change down to the present form; and this reached, Mr. Harte is satisfied to use it no less than eight times as an introduction to various kinds of nocturnal descriptions. This crystallizing process extends equally to characters. The Oakhursts, the Padres, the Kentucks, were caught from real life; worked over and pruned; finished and labeled with some trick of speech or action that would be characteristic; and finally put aside to be lugged in by the ears wherever there came a need for that particlar class of character. It is an impeachment of the breadth of Mr. Harte's genius that he should limit himself within such narrow bounds. Consistency is absolutely necessary to character drawing; and it is like meeting an old friend to find a familiar face in a fresh literary setting. The method of characterizing a man by his peculiarites was borrowed from Dickens and Hugo. But neither of these great men go so far as to crystallize states as well as characters. Mr. Harte does this constantly, and in it, I think, shows a decided limitation of ability. After reading one or two of his books, both the actions and settings of his puppets in the remainder can for the most part be foretold; and a new volume is approached much as one approaches a boarding-house meal with a routine bill of fare. We know that the quality of food will be good, and that it will be dished in taste; but the knowledge born

of the routine has left no surprise either in meats or condiments, and so much of the zest as comes of freshness has been lost.

There is one of Bret Harte's earlier tales that, curfously enough, never has reached the crystallizing point. "M'liss" is a study rather than a story. It was written between 1862 and 1866, and first appeared as a serial in the San Francisco "Golden Era." It was afterwards published as a paper-covered novel, making, perhaps, a volume of a hundred and fifty pages. It was this more ambitious work that Mr. Harte finally pruned down into the short sketch that now passes under that name. It is quietly and simply written, and is strong in the outlining of the quaint character of the child. The descriptions, too, are direct and charming, and the whole might have been drawn from life if it were not for the melodramatic touches, and the cheapness of sentiment and language used by McSnagley and the "Prairie Rose."

Of the six masterpieces-"The Luck of Roaring Camp," "The Outcasts of Poker Flat," "Miggles,” "Brown of Calaveras." and the "Idyl of Red Gulch"-I think the "Outcasts of Poker Flat" is the best. The work is more original. There is no imitation about it, except that of poignant reality clothing itself in words; and these words, too, are so well chosen as to be practicably invisible. The range of character is greater and the contrasts are more strongly marked. Mr. John Oakhurst, gambler, is the most perfect of Bret Harte's creations, and has had his prototype again and again in early Californian history. His sentimentality is perhaps overdrawn, but that is a minor blemish. The whole plan of the story is good: the expulsion of Oakhurst, Uncle Billy, the Duchess, and Mother Shipton from the Flat; the sullen journey; the stop in the cañon; the meeting with Tommy Simpson and his runaway betrothed, Piney; Uncle Billy's treacherous desertion with the animals; the snow-storm; the long hours passed in listening to Tommy's Homeric recital of the adventures of "Ashheels"; the humorous yet pathetic efforts of the banished ones to conduct themselves in accordance

book with a very suspicious softness about the heart for the poor, bewildered, sinful souls that are sacrificed.

Second only to the "Outcasts of Poker Flat" is "Tennessee's Partner," which for local color, quaint humor, and delicate pathos is unequaled in the language. It is more masculine in sentiment, and probably would not be so generally relished by women as "Miggles" and the "Idyl of Red Gulch." The speech made at Tennessee's grave by his partner is as tender as it is uncouth. Tennessee has been hanged by decree of Judge Lynch, and his body delivered to his partner. Coffined in a section of sluicing, the corpse was hauled to the grave in a cart drawn by Jinny, the partner's donkey; and then, over the open grave, this homely speech was made:

"When a man,' began Tennessee's partner, slowly, has been running free all day, what's the natural thing for him to do? Why, to come home. And if he ain't in a condition to go home, what can his best friend do? Why, bring him home! And here's Tennessee has been running free, and we brings him home from his wandering.' He paused and picked up a fragment of quartz, rubbed it thoughtfully on his sleeve, and went on: 'It ain't the first time that I've packed him on my back, as you see'd me now. It ain't the first time that I brought him to this yer cabin when he couldn't help himself; it ain't the first time that I and "Jinny" have waited for him on yon hill, and picked him up and so fetched him home when he couldn't speak and

didn't know me. And now that it's the last time, why he paused and rubbed the quartz gently on his sleeve-you see it's sort o' rough on his partner. And now, gentlemen,' he added abruptly, picking up his long-handled shovel, 'the fun'l's over; and my thanks and Tennessee's thanks to you for your

trouble.'

"Brown of Calaveras" ranks next in merit, and then the "Luck of Roaring Camp." This latter is more daring in its conception and delineation, but is less generally perfect

of Red Gulch" suffer from the expression of a morbid sentimentality; and the latter is rather aimless and cloudy in some of its lines. The scene between the schoolmistress and Tommy's mother, however, is natural and artistic.

Many of the remaining sketches are clever and elaborate, but they do not display the serious care given to those above mentioned; and further, they have the disadvantage of being in large degree the author's imitation. of himself. Mr. Harte's first and highest successes were made under the inspiration of his genius, and I believe that he was as astonished as the rest of us at their wonderful success. But when the inspiration had passed, and he remained face to face with the results, it no doubt seemed to him that he had evolved rather than discovered these new things in literature. He did not recognize that there had been something outside of himself which had guided him in the matter. It was a natural result that he should set out, with full confidence in his ability, to evolve from himself further work of the same sort, as good as he had done before. The result was of course a failure, and "The Romance of Madroño Hollow," "The Poet of Sierra Flat," and the others that followed in train never-and justlyhave attained the excellence or fame of those on which they were modeled.

Passing from these sketches, a word as to Bret Harte's general equipment will not be out of order. Only in a small group of his stories can he be said to be truly individual, however fresh and new his thought. His colorlessness, the suppression of his own judgment in that of others, the intuitively emotional practice of accepting at second-hand their literary temperament and devices, prevent the establishment of such a claim. His want of individuality is in strong contrast with that of Dickens; but sometimes he excelled Dickens in directness and simplicity of description. The impress of most authors on their work is sufficiently strong to give an idea of their character. With novelists of strong feeling,

like Thackeray, one is even forced into an idea of the man from his work. With Bret Harte no such forecasting is possible. A condensed novel, such as he has made of others, could not be written in analysis of his work. The reason for this lies in the fact that he presents no mannerisms nor strongly marked qualities on which the critic can fix a hold. The most tangible quality is his morbid sense of humor. This acts and re-acts upon his style. It has a good effect, in that it sprinkles his tales with flashes of wit that have, in many cases, a finer and more subtle quality than that of his illustrious English teachers. On the other hand, it is harmful, in that as has that—as been well noticed by the English criticsit renders Mr. Harte disagreeably self-conscious. This affectation crops out in the use of such expressions as "I regret to state," "I fear," and the like, when Mr. Harte desires to introduce something concerning which he fears that the world will judge him too sentimental if he makes the simple statement without this qualification.

A second point is the truly wonderful range of Mr. Harte's vocabulary. He seems to have gathered every word and expression that might become of service to him, and stored them away in his memory for future reference and use. But this advantage, too, at times, becomes a fault, because it leads Mr. Harte into the difficulty of being too free and ornate in the use of words of guiding himself by the sound rather than the sense, and of writing for sensational effect.

The most remarkable feature of the man, however, is his inability to carry on susstained production. With most authors there is a level of general excellence along which they can plod if the wings of genius chance to tire for a time; but with Mr. Harte the case is a different one. His pow

are impulsive rather than enduring. Ideas strike him with extraordinary force, but the inspiration is of equally short duration. So long as the flush of excitement lasts, his work will be up to standard; but when the genius flags, he has no individual fund of dramatic or narrative proper

ties to sustain him. No one has recognized this more fully than Mr. Harte. His only novel, "Gabriel Conroy," was a failure because it was not evenly inspired. Its plot was hopelessly entangling to the general reader; and the most general criticism has been that it is nothing more than a series of detached flights, unequal in themselves and incongruous to each other.

Perhaps the most agreeable thing about Mr. Harte is his terseness and felicitous neatness of interpretation. Like Dickens, his chief charm lies in his suggestiveness. He trusts daringly to his reader's common sense, thereby avoiding pages of tedious explanation. It requires genius to determine how much may safely be omitted; but Mr. Harte has shown himself a master. The danger lies in the fact that the author, judging from the standpoint of perfect knowledge, forgets that the reader's standpoint is only that of comparative knowledge, and assumes too much. It is Mr. Harte's tendency to omit rather than to over-explain, and he has so far erred as to render some of the later tales obscure. In the majority of cases, however, the result has been simply to heighten the effect. Indeed, Mr. Harte's method may be stamped throughout as being dramatic rather than novelistic. I doubt whether this is the highest form of method that can be used in fiction, or whether in longer work it would produce as good results. Be that as it may, Mr. Harte has proved its efficiency and value in the construction of the short story, and so far no method has given better results in that line. But Bret Harte has himself publicly advanced the claim of being the founder of a distinct school of American literature. In spite of this fact, and also that his claim has been upheld by many eminent critics at home and abroad, I venture to assert a negative. The reason lies in this: In the close relations that have always existed between England and the United States, in the similarity between the thought, customs, manners, and civilization of the two countries, there exists an impassable barrier to the growth of anything distinctively American as

The city itself, outside of the principal thoroughfare, bears a singularly rural aspect, and were it not for the massive walls and ruined gateways of the old castle of the feudal lords of the province, around which the town is built, it would look as little like a city as one could well imagine. This rural appearance is explained by the fact that the town is mainly composed of the dwellings of the samurai, or former retain ers of the daimios; each house standing within its own little lot, surrounded by dwarf mulberry trees, with here and there a row of tea plants. These, in the old days, furnished a means of eking out the yearly allowance drawn from the castle; in these modern times they form the sole source of revenue of an impoverished aristocracy. Alas for the days that are dead! The glory has indeed departed, and the pride of the haughty is trailed in the dust.

When, on the overthrow of the Shogunate and the re-establishment of the rule of the Mikados, the rage set in for foreign institutions, the little principality of Yamazawa, following the example given it by the rest of Japan, set about the establishment of a school or college to be presided over by a European teacher, wherein its youth might acquire a knowledge of the mysteries of the uncouth English tongue, and learn to trace the difficult "crab-characters"-those barbarous hieroglyphics, which, contrary to all known usage, progressed (crab-like) sideways over the page, instead of from top to bottom, like civilized logograms. It was not that Yamazawa particularly desired to render itself familiar with the wisdom of the western barbarians; or that, emulous of its neighbors, it wished to keep abreast of the times the good old times were good enough for old-world Yamazawa, and its people yearned for nothing new and nothing strange. But the great men who controlled the machinery of the government, up at the capital, had dropped a hint that the establishment of a foreign language school was a desirable thing; and in view of

to gainsay them? So the school was established, a dwelling in what was supposed to be the European style was erected for the accommodation of the foreign teacher, and a deputation of officials was dispatched to the capital to secure the services of an English or American pedagogue.

During the years that followed, the school suffered many vicissitudes, and underwent various changes. The teachers did not as a rule make a lengthened stay, especially in the early days of the school's history; and perhaps it was as well for the pupils that they did not, for some of them were far from being proficient in the grammar of the English tongue, and were moreover addicted to the use of potent waters and the employment of profane language. As the years rolled on, however, this class of tutor gave place to one better fitted to inspire respect and esteem for the foreigner; and at the date of the beginning of this veracious history, the Yamazawa Ei Go Gakko was a flourishing institution, and annually turned out a respectable quota of students, qualified by their studies under a competent teacher to obtain admission to the Tokio University.

The

Towards the close of the year 187–, a vacancy occurred in the tutorship of the school, through the resignation of the then incumbent of the position, an American. salary being a good one, as times went, and the duties by no means arduous, there were of course many applicants for the appointment: most of them, however, were utterly unqualified by previous training or knowledge to fill the position. The authorities of the prefecture hesitated for some time in their choice between two applicants, one of whom was at the moment engaged in a "foreign language school," in a large castle city on the sea-coast, distant a couple of hundred miles. Mr. Gilmour-for that was his name

-was highly spoken of by the director and other Japanese officials of the school; and the Yamazawa board decided that he was the best man that could be had, and accordingly engaged him.