lous power of presenting them in vivid and attractive form. His
humor is unsurpassed. It is pervasive, like the perfume of the rose,
never offending by violence. His style is a constant surprise and a
never-ending delight. His spirit is kindly and generous. He finds good
in unsuspected places, and he leaves hope for all mankind. He was
sensitive, peace-loving, and indignant at wrong, a scorner of pretense,
independent in thought, just in judgment. He surmounted many
difficulties, bore suffering without complaint, and left with those who
really knew him a pleasant memory. It would seem that he was a greater
artist and a better man than is commonly conceded.

In failing to honor him California suffers. He should be cherished as
her early interpreter, if not as her spirit's discoverer, and ranked
high among those who have contributed to her fame. He is the
representative literary figure of the state. In her imaginary Temple of
Fame or Hall of Heroes he deserves a prominent, if not the foremost,
niche. As the generations move forward he must not be forgotten. Bret
Harte at our hands needs not to be idealized, but he does deserve to be
justly, gratefully, and fittingly realized.

CHAPTER V

SAN FRANCISCO--THE SIXTIES

We are familiar with the romantic birth of San Francisco and its
precocious childhood; we are well acquainted with its picturesque
background of Spanish history and the glorious days of '49; but I doubt
if we are as well informed as to the significant and perhaps equally
important second decade.

It was my fortune to catch a hurried glance of San Francisco in 1855,
when the population was about forty-five thousand. I was then on the way
from New England to my father's home in Humboldt County. I next saw it
in 1861 while on my way to and from attendance at the State Fair. In
1864 I took up my residence in the city and it has since been
continuous.

That the almost neglected sixties may have some setting, let me briefly
trace the beginnings. Things moved slowly when America was discovered.
Columbus found the mainland in 1503. Ten years later Balboa reached the
Pacific, and, wading into the ocean, modestly claimed for his sovereign
all that bordered its shores. Thirty years thereafter the point
farthest west was named Mendocino, for Mendoza, the viceroy ordering the
expedition of Cabrillo and Ferrelos. Thirty-seven years later came
Drake, and almost found San Francisco Bay. But all these discoveries