ns,
it is almost incredible how little is known of them by the average
Californian; for the Eastern tourist there is more excuse, since the
foot-hills of the Sierras lie outside the beaten tracks of travel.
He has, therefore, assumed that "a plain unvarnished tale" of actual
experiences might not be without interest to the casual reader; and
possibly might incite in him a desire to see for himself a country
not only possessed of rare beauty, but absolutely unique in its
associations.

But the point to be emphasized is that the glamour is not a thing of the
past: it is there now. Nay, to a person possessed of any imagination,
the ruins--say, of Coloma--appeal in all probability far stronger than
would the actual town itself in the days when it seethed with bustle and
excitement. Not to have visited the old mining towns is not to have
seen the "heart" of California, or felt its pulsations. It is not to
understand why the very name "California" still stirs the blood and
excites the imagination throughout the civilized world.

If this brief narrative should induce anyone to "gird up his loins,"
shoulder his pack and essay a similar pilgrimage, the author will feel
that he has not been unrewarded. And if a man over threescore years of
age can tramp through seven counties and return, in spite of intense
heat, feeling better and stronger than when he started, a young fellow
in the hey-day of life and sound of wind and limb surely ought not to be
discouraged.

Thomas Dykes Beasley.

A Tramp Through the Bret Harte Country

Chapter I

Reminiscences of Bret Harte. "Plain Language From Truthful James."
The Glamour of the Old Mining Towns

It is forty-four years since the writer met the author of "The Luck
of Roaring Camp"--that wonderful blending within the limits of a short
story of humor, pathos and tragedy--which, incredible as it may seem,
met with but a cold reception from the local press, and was even branded
as "indecent" and "immodest!"

On the occasion referred to, I was strolling on Rincon Hill--at that
time the fashionable residence quarter of San Francisco--in company with
Mr. J. H. Wildes, whose cousin, the late Admiral Frank Wildes, achieved
fame in the battle of Manila Bay. Mr. Wildes called my attention to an
approaching figure and said: "Here comes Bret Harte, a man of unusual
literary ability. He is having a hard struggle now, but only needs the
opportunity, to make a name for himself."