SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS (1835-1910)

Samuel L. Clemens, or "Mark Twain" as he is better known to readers, was the first literary man of high rank to be born west of the Mississippi. His father was a member of that restless horde who during the greater part of the nineteenth century pushed westward into the new lands of the Mississippi and beyond, their picturesque caravans and border settlements making romantic a whole era of our history. It was at Hannibal, Missouri, on the west bank of the great river, that he finally settled, and it was in this little shiftless southern hamlet made vivid to us by the adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn that the future humorist was born. His schooling was meager. He found work early in the local printing office, learned his trade in due time, and at eighteen, longing for a glimpse of the world, he started on a tramp trip east, supporting himself as a typesetter as he went. Thus he saw New York and Philadelphia. Fifteen months later, he was back again, now as a "cub" on one of the river boats. and after four years he realized the first great ambition of his life,he was a professional pilot on the Mississippi.

Suddenly, however, he found his profession useless. The war had broken out, and the river was closed. Out of employment, he went home, served for a time in an improvised troop which tried to join the Confederate army, and then, his brother Orion having been appointed secretary to the Governor of Nevada, he started with him by stage coach across the plains. The next period of his life reads like romance: he saw the beginnings of the picturesque new state, reported its first legislative sessions, joined the excited tide of gold-seekers which was moving ever into the mountains, lived for two years at Virginia City, the home of the Comstock lode, at its highest boom period, drifted down to San Francisco and became acquainted with Bret Harte and his circle, was connected with the city papers and for them made at one time a trip to the Sandwich Islands, as they were then called, and at length drifted again into the Sierras as a pocket miner and adventurer.

The next period of his life began in 1867 when he went to New York to publish his first book, The Jumping Frog. While there he was attracted by a notice that The Quaker City was to start early in the summer with a personally conducted band of tourists for the Mediterranean lands. With a commission from The Alta California newspaper for letters, he joined it. The letters finally became Innocents Abroad, 1869, and from the date of its publication its author became a man of letters with a constantly increasing fame. He was married to Miss Lucretia Langdon of Elmira, New York, lived in her home town for a time, then moved to Hartford, Connecticut, which he thenceforth made his home. He traveled much abroad, and after the failure of his publishing house which plunged him heavily in debt, made a prolonged lecture trip through all the English-speaking parts of the world, finally, like Sir Walter Scott, succeeding in clearing himself of all obligations.

His writings fall into three classes: books like Roughing It, Life on the Mississippi, Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, which may be termed studies in the romance of early American life; secondly, his purely humorous work, like The Jumping Frog and much of his earlier farce; and thirdly, his more serious work, like his Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc, and his purpose stories like The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg. Of these the first are the most valuable. He has shown with rare faithfulness a picturesque area of American life that has passed away forever.

THE CELEBRATED JUMPING FROG
OF CALAVERAS COUNTY 1

old Simon Wheeler, and inquired after my friend's friend, Leonidas W. Smiley, as requested to do, and I hereunto append the result. I have a lurking susspicion that Leonidas W. Smiley is a myth; that my friend never knew such a personage; and that he only conjectured that, if I asked old Wheeler about him, it would 1 Published by express permission of the Trustees of the Estate of Samuel L. Clemens, the Mark remind him of his infamous Jim Smiley, Twain Company and Harper & Brothers, Publishers. 10 and he would go to work and bore me

In compliance with the request of a friend of mine, who wrote me from the East, I called on good-natured, garrulous

nearly to death with some infernal reminiscence of him as long and tedious as it should be useless to me. If that was the design, it certainly succeeded.

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I found Simon Wheeler dozing comfortably by the bar-room stove of the old, dilapidated tavern in the ancient mining camp of Angel's, and I noticed that he was fat and bald-headed, and had an expression of winning gentleness and to simplicity upon his tranquil countenance. He roused up and gave me good-day. I told him a friend of mine had commissioned me to make some inquiries about a cherished companion of his boyhood 15 named Leonidas W. Smiley - Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley - a young minister of the Gospel, who he had heard was at one time a resident of Angel's Camp. I added that, if Mr. Wheeler could tell me any- 20 thing about this Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, I would feel under many obligations to him.

that turned up you ever see, if he could get any body to bet on the other side; and if he could n't, he 'd change sides. Any way that suited the other man would suit him-any way just so's he got a bet, he was satisfied. But still he was lucky, uncommon lucky; he most always come out winner. He was always ready and laying for a chance; there could n't be no solitary thing mentioned but that feller 'd offer to bet on it, and take any side you please, as I was just telling you. If there was a horse-race, you'd find him flush, or you'd find him busted at the end of it; if there was a dog-fight, he 'd bet on it; if there was a cat-fight, he 'd bet on it; if there was a chicken-fight, he 'd bet on it; why, if there was two birds setting on a fence, he would bet you which one would fly first; or if there was a campmeeting, he would be there reg'lar, to bet on Parson Walker, which he judged to be the best exhorter about there, and so he was, too, and a good man. If he even

Simon Wheeler backed me into a corner and blockaded me there with his chair, and 25 seen a straddle-bug start to go anywheres, then sat me down and reeled off the monotonous narrative which follows this paragraph. He never smiled, he never frowned, he never changed his voice from the gentle-flowing key to which he tuned 30 the initial sentence, he never betrayed the slightest suspicion of enthusiasm; but all through the interminable narrative there ran a vein of impressive earnestness and sincerity, which showed me 35 plainly that, so far from his imagining that there was anything ridiculous or funny about his story, he regarded it as a really important matter, and admired its two heroes as men of transcendent 40 genius in finessc. To me, the spectacle of a man drifting serenely along through such a queer yarn without ever smiling, was exquisitely absurd. As I said before. I asked him to tell me what he knew of 45 Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, and he replied as follows. I let him go on in his own way, and never interrupted him once:

There was a feller here once by the 50 name of Jim Smiley, in the winter of '49

or may be it was the spring of 50I don't recollect exactly, somehow, though what makes me think it was one or the other is because I remember the big flume was n't finished when he first came to the camp; but any way, he was the curiosest man about always betting on any thing

he would bet you how long it would take him to get wherever he was going to, and if you took him up, he would follow that straddle-bug to Mexico but what he would find out where he was bound for and how long he was on the road. Lots of the boys here has seen that Smiley, and can tell you about him. Why, it never made no difference to him- he would bet on any thing-the dangdest feller. Parson Walker's wife laid very sick once, for a good while, and it seemed as if they war n't going to save her; but one morning he come in, and Smiley asked how she was, and he said she was considerable better thank the Lord for his inf'nit mercy and coming on so smart that, with the blessing of Prov'dence, she'd get well yet; and Smiley. before he thought, says, 'Well, I'll risk two-and-ahalf that she won't, any way.'

Thish-yer Smiley had a mare - the boys called her the fifteen-minute nag, but that was only in fun, you know, because, of course, she was faster than that- and he used to win money on that horse, for all she was so slow and always had the asthma, or the distemper, or the consumption, or something of that kind. They used to give her two or three hundred yards start, and then pass her under way; but always at the fag-end of the race she'd get excited and desperate-like, and

come cavorting and straddling up, and scattering her legs around limber, sometimes in the air, and sometimes out to one side amongst the fences, and kicking up m-o-r-e dust, and raising m-o-r-e racket with her coughing and sneezing and blowing her nose-and always fetch up at the stand just about a neck ahead, as near as you could cypher it down.

And he had a little small bull pup, that 1 to look at him you'd think he wa'n't worth a cent, but to set around and look ornery, and lay for a chance to steal something. But as soon as money was up on him, he was a different dog; his under- 15 jaw 'd begin to stick out like the fo'castle of a steamboat, and his teeth would uncover, and shine savage like the furnaces. And a dog might tackle him, and bullyrag him, and bite him, and throw him over 20 his shoulder two or three times, and Andrew Jackson—which was the name of the pup - Andrew Jackson would never let on but what he was satisfied, and had n't expected nothing else—and the 25 bets being doubled and doubled on the other side all the time, till the money was all up; and then all of a sudden he would grab that other dog jest by the j'int of his hind leg and freeze to it not chaw, you 30 understand, but only jest grip and hang on till they throwed up the sponge, if it was a year. Smiley always come out winner on that pup, till he harnessed a dog once that did n't have no hind legs, be-35 cause they'd been sawed off by a circular saw, and when the thing had gone along far enough, and the money was all up, and he come to make a snatch for his pet holt, he saw in a minute how he'd been 40 imposed on, and how the other dog had him in the door, so to speak, and he 'peared surprised, and then he looked sorter discouraged-like, and didn't try no more to win the fight, and so he got 45 shucked out bad. He give Smiley a look, as much as to say his heart was broke, and it was his fault, for putting up a dog that had n't no hind legs for him to take holt of, which was his main dependence in 50 a fight, and then he limped off a piece and laid down and died. It was a good pup, was that Andrew Jackson, and would have made a name for hisself if he'd lived, for the stuff was in him, and he had geniusI know it, because he had n't had no opportunity to speak of, and it don't stand to reason that a dog could make such a fight

as he could under them circumstances, if he had n't no talent. It always makes me feel sorry when I think of that last fight of his 'n, and the way it turned 5 out.

Well, thish-yer Smiley had rat-tarriers, and chicken cocks, and tom-cats, and all them kind of things, till you could n't rest, and you could n't fetch nothing for him to bet on but he'd match you. He ketched a frog one day, and took him home, and said he cal'klated to edercate him; and so he never done nothing for three months but set in his back yard and learn that frog to jump. And you bet he did learn him, too. He'd give him a little punch behind, and the next minute you'd see that frog whirling in the air like a doughnut see him turn one summerset, or may be a couple, if he got a good start, and come down flat-footed and all right, like a cat. He got him up so in the matter of catching flies, and kept him in practice so constant, that he 'd nail a fly every time as far as he could see him. Smiley said all a frog wanted was education, and he could do most anything - and I believe him. Why, I've seen him set Dan'l Webster down here on this floor - Dan'l Webster was the name of the frog - and sing out, 'Flies, Dan'l, flies!' and quicker 'n you could wink, he'd spring straight up, and snake a fly off 'n the counter there, and flop down on the floor again as solid as a gob of mud, and fall to scratching the side of his head with his hind foot as indifferent as if he had n't no idea he'd been doin' any more 'n any frog might do. You never see a frog so modest and straight for'ard as he was, for all he was so gifted. And when it come to fair and square jumping on a dead level, he could get over more ground at one straddle than any animal of his breed you ever see. Jumping on a dead level was his strong suit, you understand; and when it come to that, Smiley would ante up money on him as long as he had a red. Smiley was monstrous proud of his frog, and well he might be, for fellers that had traveled and been everywheres, all said he laid over any frog that ever they see.

Well Smiley kept the beast in a little lattice box, and he used to fetch him down 55 town sometimes and lay for a bet. One day a feller a stranger in the camp, he come across him with his box, and

was

says:

'What might it be that you've got in the box?'

And Smiley says, sorter indifferent like, 'It might be a parrot, or it might be a canary, may be, but it ain't—it's only just a frog.'

And the feller took it, and looked at it careful, and turned it round this way and that, and says, 'H'm so 'tis. Well, what's he good for?'

'Well,' Smiley says, easy and careless, 'He's good enough for one thing, I should judge he can outjump ary frog in Calaveras county.'

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Frenchman, but it want no use — could n't budge; he was planted as solid as an anvil, and he could n't no more stir than if he was anchored out. Smiley was a good deal surprised, and he was disgusted too, but he did n't have no idea what the matter was, of course.

The feller took the money and started away; and when he was going out of the 10 door, he sorter jerked his thumb over his shoulders this way at Dan'l, and says again, very deliberate, Well, I don' see no p'ints about that frog that's any better 'n any other frog.'

The feller took the box again, and took 15 another long, particular look, and give it back to Smiley, and says, very deliberate, 'Well, I don't see no p'ints about that frog that's any better 'n any other frog.' 'May be you don't,' Smiley says. May 20 be you understand frogs, and maybe you don't understand 'em; may be you've had experience, and may be you an't only a amature, as it were. Anyways, I've got my opinion, and I'll risk forty dollars he 25 can outjump any frog in Calaveras county.'

And the feller studied a minute, and then says, kinder sad like, 'Well, I'm only a stranger here, and I an't got no 30 frog, but if I had a frog, I'd bet you.'

And then Smiley says, That 's all right that's all right-if you 'll hold my box a minute, I'll go and get you a frog.' And so the feller took the box, and put up 35 his forty dollars along with Smiley's, and set down to wait.

Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking down at Dan'l a long time, and at last he says, 'I do wonder what in the nation that frog throw'd off for I wonder if there ain't something the matter with him- he 'pears to look mighty baggy, somehow.' And he ketched Danl by the nap of the neck, and lifted him up and says, Why, blame my cats, if he don't weigh five pound!' and turned him upside down, and he belched out a double handful of shot. And then he see how it was, and he was the maddest man - he set the frog down and took out after that feller, but he never ketched him. And

[Here Simon Wheeler heard his name called from the front yard, and got up to see what was wanted.] And turning to me as he moved away, he said: 'Just set where you are, stranger, and rest easyI an't going to be gone a second.'

But, by your leave, I did not think that a continuation of the history of the enterprising vagabond Jim Smiley would be likely to afford me much information concerning the Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, and so I started away.

At the door I met the sociable Wheeler returning, and he buttonholed me and recommenced:

Well, thish-yer Smiley had a yaller one-eyed cow that did n't have no tail, only jest a short stump like a bannanner, and

So he set there a good while thinking and thinking to hisself, and then he got the frog out and prized his mouth open 40 and took a teaspoon and filled him full of quail shot-filled him pretty near up to his chin and set him on the floor. Smiley he went to the swamp and slopped around in the mud for a long time, and 45 finally he ketched a frog, and fetched him in, and give him to this feller, and says: 'Now, if you're ready, set him alongside of Dan'l, with his fore-paws just even 'Oh! hang Smiley and his afflicted. with Dan'l, and I 'll give the word.' Then so cow! I muttered. good-naturedly, and he says, One-two-three — jump!' and him and the feller touched up the frogs from behind, and the new frog hopped off, but Dan'l give a heave, and hysted up his shoulders- so - like a 55

bidding the old gentleman good-day, I departed.

The New York Saturday Press, Nov. 18, 1865.

FRANCIS BRET HARTE (1839-1902)

Unlike Mark Twain, Bret Harte was reared among bookish surroundings. His father, like Twain's, was a wanderer, but a wanderer from school to school. When his son was born, the father was a teacher of languages at Albany, New York, and before the boy was nine he had lived at Providence, Rhode Island. at Philadelphia, at Lowell, Massachusetts, at Brooklyn, and New York City. A frail, precocious lad, he read almost continuously during the years when boys are most active. He was fifteen and was dreaming over his Irving and his Dickens when his mother, who had become a widow several years before, broke up the little home in New York to go to live with her eldest son in California, and much against his will he followed shortly afterwards. For a time he worked as druggist's clerk, then as a teacher, and later, in Humboldt County, whither he had gone as a private tutor, he may have seen something of the mines, but soon he was learning the printer's trade. Returning to San Francisco he found work on the Golden Eagle, first as type-setter and finally as editor, and with this journal he was connected for some years. Later he was married, secured a position in the San Francisco mint, and in 1868 was made editor of the newly established Overland Monthly. a literary magazine which was designed to be the Atlantic Monthly of the Pacific coast. "The Luck of Roaring Camp" in the second number made him known for the first time in the East. and the song known popularly as "The Heathen Chinee," 1870, gave him an international reputation. After an offer from the Atlantic Monthly publishers, Boston, he left with joy his California exile never to return. His later biography is brief. After a short stay in the East he accepted a small consulship in Germany, was soon transferred to Glasgow, and spent his last years in England, never once returning to his native land.

Harte preeminently was a short story writer. He wrote a few good poems, one or two novels of negligible value, and a great mass of short stories, the greater part of them dealing with early California life. His first collection, The Luck of Roaring Camp and other Sketches, 1870, contains by far his best work. In the history of the short story he occupies a unique place he blended the Irving sketch with the Dickens sentiment and the Dickens type of characters, added a melodramatic element, and presented the picture before the wild and picturesque background of the California gold era. His influence upon later American writers has been great. After his early volumes there began to appear the work of that "local color" school I which for several decades dominated American fiction.

THE MISSION DOLORES 1

The Mission Dolores is destined to be 'The Last Sigh' of the native Californian. When the last Greaser' shall indolently give way to the bustling Yankee, I can imagine he will, like the Moorish King, ascend one of the Mission hills to take his last lingering look at the hilled city. For a long time he will cling ten- 10 aciously to Pacific Street. He will delve in the rocky fastnesses of Telegraph Hill until progress shall remove it. He will haunt Vallejo Street, and those back slums which so vividly typify the degradation 15 of a people; but he will eventually make way for improvement. The Mission will be last to drop from his nerveless fingers.

1 Copyright by Houghton Mifflin & Co.

As I stand here this pleasant afternoon, looking up at the old chapel,- its ragged senility contrasting with the smart spring sunshine, its two gouty pillars with the 5 plaster dropping away like tattered bandages, its rayless windows, its crumbling entrances, the leper spots on its whitewashed wall eating through the dark adobe,-I give the poor old mendicant but a few years longer to sit by the highway and ask alms in the names of the blessed saints. Already the vicinity is haunted with the shadow of its dissolution. The shriek of the locomotive discords with the Angelus bell. An Episcopal church, of a green Gothic type, with massive buttresses of Oregon pine, even now mocks its hoary age with imitation and supplants it with a sham. Vain, alas! 20 were those rural accessories, the nurseries