for his subjects the seamy side, to dwell more on what is wrong than on what is right, and with disdainful impartiality to reserve alike his blame and his approval. We doubt it; but should it be true, and should it be a fault, it would lie perhaps less in the judgment which he witholds, than in the nature of the society which he portrays, and to which he owes his unparalleled originality. His artistic tact tells him that there is a wider field for his peculiarly happy and genuine mode of expression, when his models are chosen from a time when men were untrammeled by opinion, when might was right, when the local coloring was crude and vivid, rather than from those later days, when undaunted perseverance and rare energy had achieved the miraculously rapid transformation of California into a civilized community, instead of a lawless gathering of gold-seekers, the scum of other nations united by the lust of the glittering dust, and ever divided by murderous thoughts of greed and rapine. Who would blame Bret Harte for preferring the picturesque ruffian, the Spanish colonist, the wild Irishman, to the refined commonplace successors of those first ex plorers of the young country? He does not pretend, and does not care, to introduce them otherwise than as they really are; but then he possesses the priceless gift of seeing the silver lining to the darkest cloud; he knows the "open sesame" to locked hearts; he can win a smile from sullen lips, a glance from proud, defiant eyes; he can strike the spark of feeling even in the most degraded of human beings. If he does select his heroines from among the least favored of their sex, plain to ugliness, uncouth, repellant, sinned against or sinning, crushed out of all semblance of what is lovable in woman-what matter? Out of some hidden source of kindliness in his own heart, he with subtle touch suddenly elicits an unexpected burst of devotion, self-sacrifice, love, or passion, which at once places the poor lost wretch on as high a moral ground as her more immaculate sisters. It is the same with his male characters. He takes the rudest life, the most lowering associations; he places in their midst a man devoid of moral sense or common honor, committing crimes without hesitation or remorse, and lo! that man also places his foot on the road of Damascus ; a light bursts upon him-the touch of baby fingers, a woman's tears, a comrade's dying words—and with the same dogged listlessness, heaven alone counting the cost, he gives away his hopes or his life, perchance as unconscious of being a martyr and a hero as he was of having been an outlaw. Have you seen Edwin Booth, the admirable American tragedian, the intelligent interpreter of Shakspeare, act King Lear? On the storm-beaten heath, warring alike with the elements and his own growing madness, the actor has a gesture of unspeakable pathos when, with what appears unconscious tenderness, he draws his royal cloak around the shivering form of the boy buffoon sobbing at his knee. It is the same spirit of innate, almost involuntary kindliness which seems to prompt Bret Harte to claim-nay, to compel our pity and our interests for the outcasts of civilization, the bankrupts in happiness and virtue, disinherited from their cradle of all that makes life worth living. In biographies of the American novelist, it has been implied that he himself belonged to the wild race of adventurers he appears to know so well, and that, born on the lowest rungs of the social ladder, he rose by his own exertions to the posi tion he now fills. It is, however, impossible to be acquainted with Mr. Bret Harte without being at once convinced of what is, indeed, the fact that he comes from a good stock; that his early surroundings were both intellectual and refined; and that, whatever may have been the associates of his youth and manhood, he must as a child have learned at a mother's knee those lessons of tact, gentle breeding, and perfect manners which can never be forgotten. He did not enrich his country with the labors of his pen alone. During the troubled times of the War of Secession he served on the frontier, and later on was appointed secretary of the Mint. His military career, though brief, was eminently successful. Among us he is deservedly liked and admired, and receives the same cordial reception in the circles where his literary and conversational powers are appreciated, as from those who in barrack or garrison hail him as a fellow-soldier. For a time he was Consul for the United States at Crefeld, near Dusseldorf; he was not very long ago transferred in the same capacity to Glasgow, leaving many regrets and many friends behind● him. There is little doubt, however, that he must soon be called to fill a more important post. In this short notice we do not dwell on facts so universally known as his busy editorship of the "Overland Monthly," and professorship of Belleslettres at the University of California. It seems almost presumptuous to give pre-eminence to any particular selection from among Bret Harte's works; still, we own to a preference for some of the shorter sketches and minor poems. Among the latter there are a few lines called "What the Wolf really said to Little Red Riding Hood," which are unrivalled for grace, simplicity, and delicacy of intention. It seems barely credible that the pen which wrote "Relieving Guard," "What the Bullet Sang,' "Fate," with their stern, forcible, dramatic depth, could change to such idyllic tenderness. "The Luck of Roaring Camp" is commonly called the most perfect of all the California tales. It truly deserves its world-wide popularity, but we confess to a partiality for two others equally rich in pathos, feeling, and humor, and which possess a strangely captivating charm: "Tennessee's Partner," the story of a love passing the love of woman, true unto death and beyond death; and "The Outcasts of Poker Flat," where two women who should never have met—one because so pure, the other because so lost-die in each other's arms, all unconscious of their great disparity, wrapped in the white icy mantle of snow which shrouds in its stainless embrace the innocence of the maiden and the shame of the fallen. Reading those tales, one cannot help wondering what the man who wrote them must have known himself of friendship and of pity. Next to these, will it ever be possible to forget "M'liss," "Miggles," "The Rose of Tuolumne," and many more which there is no space to mention? Is it not the highest triumph of the poet and the novelist, after having in turns moved you to laughter or to tears, to retain an imperishable hold on your memory? This triumph is Bret Harte's, and will remain his as long as he writes with his keen perception of truth, his shrewd humor, and that loyalty and tenderness of feeling which are so exclusively his own. He has at various times been compared with other authors— Dickens in England, Mérimée in France, etc. These parallels drawn between literary men, if flattering to one or both, are rarely correct, and more especially in this instance. Bret Harte stands quite alone on the ground he has chosen; his greatest claims to popularity are his individuality, his originality, his avoidance of beaten tracks and conventional grooves. His works are stamped with a hall-mark that distinguishes his sterling qualities from any others, and he has no more chosen to imitate any particular style than it will be possible for others to appropriate his. The public of both continents is now impatiently awaiting a new volume from the gifted pen that has already given the world so rich an intellectual feast. The golden vein cannot be exhausted, the muse must not be silent, for it is more especially to the aristocracy of talent and genius that the motto applies, motto applies, "Noblesse oblige." DUMAS AS A HERO. BY HART AYRAULT. THE narration contained in the memoirs of Alexander Dumas of his expedition to Soissons to seize the powder-magazine there and bear off its contents to Paris is of so thrilling and romantic a description that it deserves repetition, if only in confirmation of the theory that truth is stranger than fiction. In fact, when he afterward told this adventure, he elicited only many a scoffing laugh or an indifferent shrug of the shoulders; such a romance, coming from so amusing and nefarious a raconteur, not being thought worthy of refutation. Yet the story is perfectly true, and may be found set forth in a modest official report addressed to Lafayette, and published in the Moniteur of August 9th, 1830, signed by Dumas and the friends who assisted him in the expedition, the facts of which were these: During the Revolution of 1830, Alexandre Dumas, then a very young man, took his share in its stirring scenes as a skirmisher, and on hearing a remark made by Lafayette, to the effect that if the king were to advance on Paris there would be no powder to meet him with, he conceived the bold design of setting off for Soissons-a town he well knew-and seizing on the magazine there. He proposed it to the general. Lafayette only laughed, but consented to give him a pass to General Gérard, to which Dumas coolly added, “and we recommend his scheme to you." With more difficulty he obtained from Gérard a requisition addressed to the authorities of the town for the powder, and interloping the words, "minister of war," on this official document, a title, by the way, which no one but himself had conferred on the general, he returned to Lafayette, persuading the old and honored patriot to write him a kind of letter of recommendation to the good citizens of Soissons, naming him "one of our combatants," and a fit and proper person to whom they should hand over the powder. Thus equipped, our hero-for so he proved himself on this occasion-prepared himself for as spirited an adventure as can be found in the annals of war. He set out the middle of a fine afternoon,—the 30th of July, 1830,-and meeting one of his friends, a young artist of nineteen, named Bard, The he asked him to join. With all the well-known sand eager questions were asked, and, late as it ardor of the Gaul for adventure, this latter was, every house poured out its inhabitants to agreed, and returned home for his double-barreled hear the story of the last few days. Dumas was pistols and his horse, overtaking Dumas, who had soon carried off to the house of an old friend to pushed on in a cabriolet, at Le Bourget, the first get something to eat; a number of old comrades post on the road to Soissons. Here they exhib- gathered about him, and, while a hasty supper was ited the official documents to the postmaster, being discussed, listened eagerly to what their demanding conveyance for the mission. friend recounted between the mouthfuls. The postmaster was empressé, and his friendliness at open-eyed rustics who gathered around hearkened once took the necessary form of chaise and horses. with delight and wonder to the celebrated gasWhile waiting, the two friends went out and conader; but when he announced that he intended bought some strips of calico, with which they to capture, single-handed, all the powder that was made a tricolor flag, fastened on a broom-stick, in a military town containing eight thousand which latter was fixed to the chaise. When all inhabitants and a garrison of eight hundred men, was ready, they started, with ensign flying, and they looked at each other incredulously, as though causing the greatest excitement through the he were crazed. This, of course, was but the various villages they passed, hoping to reach fuel craved by the incurable vanity of the great Soissons by midnight. dramatist, who always set his own figure in the most effective positions, and who, true to his hobby, turned to his companion, Bard, for endorsement. Agreeing together that some sort of cry was necessary to keep their waning flag in countenance, they adopted, not without hesitation, the wellworn and tattered "Vive la Republique!" Accordingly, they took turns, alternately sleeping or hanging out of the window to vociferate the cry decided on. Striking the high-road, they met a chaise going to Paris, and a traveler some fifty years old asked for news. "The Bourbons have fled, the Louvre is taken, Provincial Government is established-Vive la Republique!" the excited artist panted forth, his head out of the window. The gentleman of fifty shrugged his shoulders, scratched his ear, and continued his journey. The next stop they shipped an old postilion, on whom cajolery or execrations were alike powerless to induce him to increase his steady jog-trot, and who at every remonstrance answered doggedly, "A man knows his own business best." At last, annoyed beyond endurance, Dumas, leaning from the chaise window, laid onto the backs of the horses, making them gallop. In a rage the man swore he would unharness the beasts, and actually proceeded to do so. Dumas fired at him with a blank cartridge, which so scared him that he lay motionless on the ground with terror. Drawing off his huge posting-boots, our hero donned them, and they left him to his fate, reaching the next post at a gallop. This was the old town of VillersColterets, and the appearance of the chaise with the tricolor, bearing Alexandre Dumas, threw its inhabitants into the wildest excitement. A thou As may be supposed, such gallantry confounded and awed the spectators, one of whom stepped forward, offering to get Alexandre into Soissons, as he had a friend at the gates. After drinking to his own return next evening, and ordering dinner for twenty people,-" and mind, it is to be eaten just the same be we dead or alive. Here are two hundred francs to defray the expenses,"-the great Alexandre tossed off his wine, and, slipping his hand through Hutin's arm,-the friend who was to pass them through he gates,-the bold trio dashed off into the darkness on their daring expedition. By one o'clock they reached the gates of Soissons, through which Hutin succeeded in getting them passed, the gate-keeper little dreaming that he was admitting the revolution. As no exploit is complete without the interposition of the fair sex, be it active or only hinted at, our trio at once proceeded to the house of Hutin's mother, where they enlisted the sympa. thies of both mistress and maids, and the rest of the night was spent in the manufacture of a huge tricolor flag, contributed from the blue and red curtains of the establishment and a table-cloth, to know what to do, when Colonel D'Orcourt, while the whole household took part in the sew- who was in command, was seen approaching. ing with patriotic ardor. By day-break the task Explaining the matter to him, a treaty was arwas completed. As for the flag-staff, they pro- ranged by which the three officers promised their posed utilizing the very pole from which the neutrality and engaged to keep quiet. Bourbon white flag was tranquilly floating, for, as Dumas remarked, "the flag-staff had no political opinions." Making every allowance for Dumas's bombast, the plan they now arranged seemed simply Quixotic in its extravagance, and, had we not every minutiæ of names, dates, and places to prove its verity, would read like the wildest flight of the novelist's fancy. It was settled that Hutin and Bard were to secrete the flag, by some strategic movement, in the cathedral, and, under pretense of seeing the sun rise from the tower, were to bribe the sacristan into their interests. If he resisted, he was to be flung over the parapet. Then, having substituted the tricolor for the white flag, Bard was to hurry to Dumas's aid, who would then be engaged at the powder magazine. At day-break Dumas made his way to a small pavilion close to the gateway of the Fort St. Jean, used as the magazine. Stealing past the gate, he cautiously climbed up the wall and took a peep into the fort. Only two soldiers were to be seen, too eagerly engaged in a discussion to notice him as he let himself down again. Looking toward the distant tower of the cathedral, he saw against the rosy dawn the dark, distinct outlines of some figures, then the white flag tossing about, far too stormily for the utterly windless day, and finally the tricolor taking its place. Now was his moment; his companions had accomplished their part. Slinging his double-barrelled gun about him, he hastily scaled the wall, and found the two soldiers before alluded to staring with wonder, as if doubting their senses, at the tricolor on the cathedral. Presenting his gun, he leaped down and stood before them. Advancing on them still, presenting his piece, he explained his errand in a courteous but hurried speech, announcing himself as Alexandre Dumas, son of General Dumas, coming in the name of the minister of war to demand the surrender of the powder, exhibiting with one hand his document, signed by General Gérard, and holding his cocked gun in the other. The pair, Captain Mollard and Sergeant Wagon, were too much taken by surprise Thus successful, he opened the gate to his friend Bard, and, handing over the charge of the magazine to him, sought the commandant of the fort, Liniers. He found considerable excitement in this quarter, where the commandant, just risen, was discussing the news of the sudden appearance of the tricolor on the cathedral. Introducing himself, Dumas made his demand for an order to remove the powder. The commandant seemed rather amused, and smiled patronizingly on the young man who announced the garrison at the fort as his prisoners; declining to acknowledge General Gérard's order, he insisted that there was very little powder in the magazine. Answering politely that he would bring proof under the hand of those in charge of the fort that there was powder there, Dumas flew back, and returned. presently with satisfactory proof that the magazine contained a large quantity. But in the meantime the party at the commandant's office had greatly increased, and included an officer of gendarmes and Bouvilliers, colonel of the engineers, all in full uniform and armed. In a scornful and bantering tone the commandant informed. Alexandre that he had sent for these officers, who, with him, were in command of the post, that they might have the pleasure of hearing M. Dumas—I think you said that was your name-explain his mission; the officers during this speech passing Gérard's order from one to the other in smiling contempt. Seeing that matters were coming to a crisis, and that boldness was his only resource, the young man took a prompt resolution, and before the party guessed his intention he stepped back against the door and presented his pistols, saying: "Gentlemen, you are four, but we are five, and if that order be not signed in five seconds I give my word of honor that I will blow your brains out, beginning with the commandant. Take care," he added, "I am in dead earnest. I mean what I say. I am going to count. One-twothree-" He confessed he felt nervous at this juncture, but was determined. Suddenly the side door was flung open, and a lady rushed upon the scene in an agony of alarm. |