her soiled sister upon her virgin breast, they fell asleep. The wind lulled as if it feared to waken them. Feathery drifts of snow, shaken from the long pine boughs, flew like white-winged birds, and settled about them as they slept. The moon through the rifted clouds looked down upon what had been the camp. But all human stain, all trace of earthly travail, was hidden beneath the spotless mantle mercifully flung from above. They slept all that day and the next, nor did they waken when voices and footsteps broke the silence of the camp. And when pitying fingers brushed the snow from their wan faces, you could scarcely have told from the equal peace that dwelt upon them, which was she that had sinned. Even the Law of Poker Flat recognized this, and turned away, leaving them still locked in each other's arms. But at the head of the gulch, on one of the largest pine trees, they found the deuce of clubs pinned to the bark with a bowie knife. It bore the following, written in pencil, in a firm hand: Beneath this Tree JOHN OAKHURST, who struck a streak of bad luck Handed in his Checks On the 7th December, 1-50. And pulseless and cold, with a derringer by his side and a bullet in his heart, though still calm as in life, beneath the snow, lay he who was at once the strongest and yet the weakest of the outcasts of Poker Flat. Good Bye, Bret Harte! BY JOAQUIN MILLER Yon yellow sun melts in the sea; A mist is rising to the eyes— Good bye, Bret Harte, good night, good night! Your sea bank booms far funeral guns! Companion of the peak and pine, What secrets of the spheres are thine? Good bye, Bret Harte, good night, good night! You loved the lowly, laughed at pride, We mocked, we mocked and pierced your side; Good night! How stately tall your ship, how vast, Good bye, Bret Harte, good night, good night! A budget of letters, memories and original manuscripts, including opinions from William Dean Howells, Hon. John Hay, Anton Roman, Irving M. Scott, Josephine Clifford McCracken, W. C. Bartlett, Noah Brooks and Taliesin Evans. The Genesis of the Overland Monthly. N the month of December, 1851, while strolling about the city, having come almost direct by way of Shasta from Scott's Bar, with over a hundred ounces of gold dust, a little more than two weeks' earnings of my share from a claim on that fabulously rich Bar, I incidentally stepped into the bookstore of Burgess, Gilbert & Still on the old Plaza. Then I had no possible intention of purchasing even a single copy of a book, and so informed a clerk. However, he seemed quite interested in what I told him about the miners-likewise observed my fondness for books-and easily persuaded me to exchange my gold dust for them. My original intention was to dispose of the books during the winter months in the Shasta mining region, and at the opening of spring return to my claim on Scott's Bar, but finding the book-business apparently so profitable, I gave up golddigging and continued selling books and later began publishing. In 1857 I left the northern counties, and two years later I established myself permanently with a large stock of bound books on the west side of Montgomery street, north of California street. It was from this store, nine years later, that the first issue of the Overland Monthly was published. By 1868 my book-selling and publishing had brought me a personal acquaintance with most of the contributors to the current literature of this Coast. Manuscripts were being constantly submitted to me by various writers, and naturally I became impressed with the idea that good and abundant material could be picked up for the making of a magazine. I considered the geographical position of San Francisco and California, the large extent of territory surrounding it, its immense seacoast both on the American side and across the Pacific, embracing the oldest countries in the world. Here I saw an opportunity for a magazine that would furnish information for the development of our new State and all this great territory, to make itself of such value that it could not fail to impress the West, and the East also. Strongly impressed with these views, I set at once to work for financial aid, knowing full well the cost attached to such an enterprise, and with a brief circular I sought sufficient advertisements to cover part of the outlay. Next I My efforts were successful. looked about me for proper editorial management. The matter had been pretty thoroughly discussed with Noah Brooks, then editor of the Alta California, W. C. Bartlett of the Bulletin, the Hittells, John and Theodore, John F. Swift, B. P. Avery, and Charles Warren Stoddard. Stoddard recommended Francis Bret Harte. I had some objections to Mr. Harte-one was that he would be likely to lean too much toward the purely literary articles, while what I was then aiming at was a magazine that would help the material development of this Coast; likewise, I knew quite well of his ability as a story writer, and I would have preferred to reserve his efforts as a contributor. 'I had my first experience with Mr. Harte when I engaged his supervision as editor of "Outcroppings," a small volume of selected blank verse to which he often referred as his first book "which contained nothing of his own." My memory served me better than his, for he actually inserted one of his poems in the little book. Mr. Harte entertained serious doubts of the success of such an enterprisequestioned whether sufficient material of a proper character to interest magazine readers could be secured. He doubted, too, whether or not the field for operating a magazine was large enough. I remember distinctly showing him a map of the two hemispheres which hung in my office, so he could plainly see the central position of San Francisco on the Pacific Coast, and judge for himself whether or not the field was too limited. Later I showed him the financial support which I had secured. Furthermore, I promised to procure at least one-half of the articles for the first six numbers of the magazine, and the index of those volumes reminds me of how well I kept my promise. It was finally agreed that Noah Brooks and W. C. Bartlett should become joint editors with Harte. But after the first or second number had been issued, it was evident that the main labor of editing the magazine devolved on Mr. Harte. Soon after he had entire charge of the editorial department of the Overland Monthly. When the enterprise was fairly on the way, arrangements completed for Harte, Brooks and Bartlett to take charge of the editorial management of the magazine, I set at once earnestly to work planning to get a story from Mr. Harte at least for every other number, and to that end brought it about that for nearly three months prior to the issue of the first number of the magazine, we never dwelt apart-together with our wives and children we went, first to San Jose, then after a month or so to a pleasant retreat in the Santa Cruz Mountains, and thence to Santa Cruz. Meanwhile, I secured for Mr. Harte whatever was within my reach in the way of sketches, tales and incidents in print and picture formshowing the life of miners in the gold diggings during the early pioneer days of California. I still retain duplicates of many of them, though I remember how unwillingly I parted with some of them, of which no duplicates could be secured. Furthermore, I used my best efforts to impress upon his mind that the field of story writing of the early California gold diggers and their mining camps was yet comparatively new ground, and almost entirely open on all sides for him. I have no recollection in detail of the many pleasant interviews we had together at our leisure moments and during the many hours while journeying in the cars up and down the attractive valley of Santa Clara, and during our excursions in stage coaches across the beautifully wooded mountain roads. They were three months of delightful pleasure to me, and never can I forget his charming companionship. It was a little more than two years after we met again in New York city-for several months we lived not far apart-but I could not help noticing a decided change had overtaken him-too much of a change for so short a time. I feared then that the success and overwhelming notoriety of his stories and poems might have come too suddenly upon him. While we were still in Santa CruzI remember well the day-Harte and I were walking along some of its shady by-ways, when for the first time he gave me outlines of "The Luck of Roaring Camp," and gladdened me yet more by telling me that the story would be in print before we would bid good-by to the landlord of our hotel. And so it was. One Sunday afternoon, upon the arrival of the stage-coach, while looking for my mail matter, I found duplicate galley proofs of "The Luck of Roaring Camp." One copy I gave to him, and took the other to my own room, where I asked my wife to read it aloud to me. She did so, but the story so affected her that she could not finish reading it aloud. Then I took it and finished reading it. We were both pleased with it, and I so expressed myself to Mr. Harte. The following day, Monday morning, Harte and I returned to San Francisco. On reaching the city, Harte went to the printer's and I to the store. My chief clerk, Joseph Hoffmann, greeted me with the statement that there was a great hullabaloo at the printer's over the immorality of the Luck. They were saying that it would kill the magazine. To this I replied that if it killed the magazine it could do nothing more. Mr. Harte also came in from the printer's very much excited over what he had heard, and asked me what I intended to do about it. "Nothing," I said, "but go ahead." It is hardly necessary here to speak of the success the Overland Monthly met with from the outset. The press |