ith brave humor,
but the work was uncongenial and the returns disappointing.

From Ottawa he writes: "Do not let this worry you, but kiss the children
for me, and hope for the best. I should send you some money, but there
_isn't any to send_, and maybe I shall only bring back myself." The next
day he added a postscript: "Dear Nan--I did not send this yesterday,
waiting to find the results of last night's lecture. It was a fair
house, and this morning--paid me $150, of which I send you the greater
part."

A few days later he wrote from Lawrence, the morning after an
unexpectedly good audience: "I made a hundred dollars by the lecture,
and it is yours for yourself, Nan, to buy minxes with, if you want to."

From Washington he writes: "Thank you, dear Nan, for your kind, hopeful
letter. I have been very sick, very much disappointed; but I am better
now and am only waiting for money to return. Can you wonder that I have
kept this from you? You have so hard a time of it there, that I cannot
bear to have you worried if there is the least hope of a change in my
affairs. God bless you and keep you and the children safe, for the sake
of Frank."

No one can read these letters without feeling that they mirror the real
man, refined of feeling, kindly and humorous, but not strong of courage,
oppressed by obligations, and burdened by doubts of how he was to care
for those he loved. With all his talent he could not command
independence, and the lot of the man who earns less than it costs to
live is hard to bear.

Harte had the faculty of making friends, even if by neglect he sometimes
lost them, and they came to his rescue in this trying time. Charles A.
Dana and others secured for him an appointment by President Hayes as
Commercial Agent at Crefeld, Prussia. In June, 1878, he sailed for
England, leaving his family at Sea Cliff, Long Island, little supposing
that he would never see them or America again.

On the day he reached Crefeld he wrote his wife in a homesick and almost
despondent strain: "I am to all appearance utterly friendless; I have
not received the first act of kindness or courtesy from anyone. I think
things must be better soon. I shall, please God, make some good friends
in good time, and will try and be patient. But I shall not think of
sending for you until I see clearly that I can stay myself. If worst
comes to worst I shall try to stand it for a year, and save enough to
come home and begin anew there. But I