g Bret Harte, who trimmed and
trained and schooled me patiently until he changed me from an awkward
utterer of coarse grotesquenesses to a writer of paragraphs and chapters
that have found a certain favor in the eyes of even some of the very
decentest people in the land--and this grateful remembrance of mine
ought to be worth its face, seeing that Bret broke our long friendship a
year ago without any cause or provocation that I am aware of.

Well, it is funny, the reminiscences that glare out from murky corners
of one's memory, now and then, without warning. Just at this moment a
picture flits before me: Scene--private room in Barnum's Restaurant,
Virginia, Nevada; present, Artemus Ward, Joseph T. Goodman, (editor
and proprietor Daily "Enterprise"), and "Dan de Quille" and myself,
reporters for same; remnants of the feast thin and scattering, but such
tautology and repetition of empty bottles everywhere visible as to
be offensive to the sensitive eye; time, 2.30 A.M.; Artemus thickly
reciting a poem about a certain infant you wot of, and interrupting
himself and being interrupted every few lines by poundings of the table
and shouts of "Splendid, by Shorzhe!" Finally, a long, vociferous,
poundiferous and vitreous jingling of applause announces the conclusion,
and then Artemus: "Let every man 'at loves his fellow man and 'preciates
a poet 'at loves his fellow man, stan' up!--Stan' up and drink health
and long life to Thomas Bailey Aldrich!--and drink it stanning!" (On all
hands fervent, enthusiastic, and sincerely honest attempts to comply.)
Then Artemus: "Well--consider it stanning, and drink it just as ye are!"
Which was done.

You must excuse all this stuff from a stranger, for the present, and
when I see you I will apologize in full.

Do you know the prettiest fancy and the neatest that ever shot through
Harte's brain? It was this: When they were trying to decide upon a
vignette for the cover of the Overland, a grizzly bear (of the arms of
the State of California) was chosen. Nahl Bras. carved him and the page
was printed, with him in it, looking thus: [Rude sketch of a grizzly
bear.]

As a bear, he was a success--he was a good bear--. But then, it was
objected, that he was an objectless bear--a bear that meant nothing in
particular, signified nothing,--simply stood there snarling over his
shoulder at nothing--and was painfully and manifestly a boorish and
ill-natured intruder upon the fair page. All hands said th