he was a poet of a fine and fresh touch。 It must be allowed him that in
prose as well he had the inventive gift； but he had it in verse far more
importantly。 There are lines； phrases； turns in his poems；
characterizations； and pictures which will remain as enduringly as
anything American； if that is not saying altogether too little for them。
In poetry he rose to all the occasions he made for himself； though he
could not rise to the occasions made for him； and so far failed in the
demands he acceded to for a Phi Beta Kappa poem； as to come to that
august Harvard occasion with a jingle so trivial； so out of keeping； so
inadequate that his enemies； if he ever truly had any； must have suffered
from it almost as much as his friends。 He himself did not suffer from
his failure； from having read before the most elect assembly of the
country a poem which would hardly have served the careless needs of an
informal dinner after the speaking had begun； he took the whole
disastrous business lightly； gayly； leniently； kindly； as that golden
temperament of his enabled him to take all the good or bad of life。
The first year of his Eastern sojourn was salaried in a sum which took
the souls of all his young contemporaries with wonder； if no baser
passion； in the days when dollars were of so much farther flight than
now； but its net result in a literary return to his publishers was one
story and two or three poems。 They had not profited much by his book；
which； it will doubtless amaze a time of fifty thousand editions selling
before their publication； to learn had sold only thirty…five hundred in
the sixth month of its career； as Harte himself；
〃With sick and scornful looks averse；〃
confided to his Cambridge host after his first interview with the Boston
counting…room。 It was the volume which contained 〃The Luck of Roaring
Camp；〃 and the other early tales which made him a continental； and then
an all but a world…wide fame。 Stories that had been talked over； and
laughed over； and cried over all up and down the land； that had been
received with acclaim by criticism almost as boisterous as their
popularity； and recognized as the promise of greater things than any done
before in their kind； came to no more than this pitiful figure over the
booksellers' counters。 It argued much for the publishers that in spite
of this stupefying result they were willing； they were eager； to pay him
ten thousand dollars for whatever； however much or little； he chose to
write in a year： Their offer was made in Boston； after some offers
mortifyingly mean； and others insultingly vague； had been made in New
York。
It was not his fault that their venture proved of such slight return in
literary material。 Harte was in the midst of new and alien conditions； …
…＇See a corollary in M。 Froude who visited the U。S。 for a few months and
then published a comprehensive analysis of the nation and its people。
Twain's rebuttal （Mr。 Froude's Progress） would have been 'a propos' for
Harte in Cambridge。 D。W。＇ and he had always his temperament against
him； as well as the reluctant if not the niggard nature of his muse。 He
would no doubt have been only too glad to do more than he did for the
money； but actually if not literally he could not do more。 When it came
to literature； all the gay improvidence of life forsook him； and be
became a stern； rigorous； exacting self…master； who spared himself
nothing to achieve the perfection at which he aimed。 He was of the order
of literary men like Goldsmith and De Quincey； and Sterne and Steele； in
his relations with the outer world； but in his relations with the inner
world he was one of the most duteous and exemplary citizens。 There was
nothing of his easy…going hilarity in that world； there he was of a
Puritanic severity； and of a conscience that forgave him no pang。 Other
California writers have testified to the fidelity with which he did his
work as editor。 He made himself not merely the arbiter but the
inspiration of his contributors； and in a region where literature had
hardly yet replaced the wild sage…brush of frontier journalism； he made
the sand…lots of San Francisco to blossom as the rose； and created a
literary periodical of the first class on the borders of civilization。
It is useless to wonder now what would have been his future if the
publisher of the Overland Monthly had been of imagination or capital
enough to meet the demand which Harte dimly intimated to his Cambridge
host as the condition of his remaining in California。 Publishers； men
with sufficient capital； are of a greatly varying gift in the regions of
prophecy； and he of the Overland Monthly was not to be blamed if he could
not foresee his account in paying Harte ten thousand a year to continue
editing the magazine。 He did according to his lights； and Harte came to
the East； and then went to England； where his last twenty…five years were
passed in cultivating the wild plant of his Pacific Slope discovery。 It
was always the same plant； leaf and flower and fruit； but it perennially
pleased the constant English world； and thence the European world； though
it presently failed of much delighting these fastidious States。 Probably
he would have done something else if he could； he did not keep on doing
the wild mining…camp thing because it was the easiest； but because it was
for him the only possible thing。 Very likely he might have preferred not
doing anything。
IV。
The joyous visit of a week； which has been here so poorly recovered from
the past； came to an end； and the host went with his guest to the station
in as much vehicular magnificence as had marked his going to meet him
there。 Harte was no longer the alarming portent of the earlier time； but
an experience of unalloyed delight。 You must love a person whose worst
trouble…giving was made somehow a favor by his own unconsciousness of the
trouble； and it was a most flattering triumph to have got him in time； or
only a little late； to so many luncheons and dinners。 If only now he
could be got to the train in time the victory would be complete； the
happiness of the visit without a flaw。 Success seemed to crown the
fondest hope in this respect。 The train had not yet left the station；
there stood the parlor…car which Harte had seats in； and he was followed
aboard for those last words in which people try to linger out pleasures
they have known together。 In this case the sweetest of the pleasures had
been sitting up late after those dinners； and talking them over； and then
degenerating from that talk into the mere giggle and making giggle which
Charles Lamb found the best thing in life。 It had come to this as the
host and guest sat together for those parting moments； when Harte
suddenly started up in the discovery of having forgotten to get some
cigars。 They rushed out of the train together； and after a wild descent
upon the cigar…counter of the restaurant； Harte rushed back to his car。
But by this time the train was already moving with that deceitful
slowness of the departing train； and Harte had to clamber up the steps of
the rearmost platform。 His host clambered after； to make sure that he
was aboard； which done； he dropped to the ground； while Harte drew out of
the station； blandly smiling； and waving his hand with a cigar in it； in
picturesque farewell from the platform。
Then his host realized that he had dropped to the ground barely in time
to escape being crushed against the side of the archway that sharply
descended beside the steps of the train； and he went and sat down in that
handsomest hack； and was for a moment deathly sick at the danger that had
not realized itself to him in season。 To be sure； he was able； long
after； to adapt the incident to the exigencies of fiction； and to have a
character； not otherwise to be conveniently disposed of； actually crushed
to death between a moving train and such an archway。
Besides； he had then and always afterward； the immense super…compensation
of the memories of that visit from one of the most charming personalities
in the world；
〃In life's morning march when his bosom was young；〃
and when infinitely less would have sated him。 Now death has come to
join its vague conjectures to the broken expectations of life； and that
blithe spirit is elsewhere。 But nothing can take from him who remains
the witchery of that most winning presence。 Still it looks smiling from
the platform of the car； and casts a farewell of mock heartbreak from it。
Still a gay laugh comes across the abysm of the years that are now
numbered； and out of somewhere the hearer's sense is rapt with the mellow
cordial of a voice that was like no other。
End o