Phillipsburg herald. [volume] (Phillipsburg, Kan.) 1882-1905, 1888-07-20

/ coin Journal; Through the kindness OF
the editor of the Overland Monthly,
/ had the pleasure of a visit yesterday
( with the distinguished American poet,
Joaquin Miller. I foHad him several
miles back of Oakland, in lonely and
secluded ravine, in the foothills of the
mountains. He lives here alone in a
small quaint cottage Of his own plan
Mig. Here he bought z bl& of land
ami made this a retreat into which he
has immured himself for literary work
I went as far as Fruitva1e on the horse
cars, and then walked mile and half
up COZ paths and unfrequented way, till
I arrived at his home. As I approached,
the cottage seemed uninhabited; not a
living thing could I see. The doors
and windows were closed and the blinds
drawn. knocked at the door. No
response came. Then again, louder
and longer. After a time heard
movement within. Presently the door
partially opened A ghostIy appari-
ton met my gaze. 1t was a man in a
long night-shirt, with disheveled hair,
neglected beard, and peering from be
meath his gown discovered a pair of
slender, ungainly legs. This was JOa-
gum Miller, the literary lion of the
Sierras, whose den was in the act of
storming. He told me to tarry a mo-
ment on the Threshold and he would
permit me to enter. Presently I heard
a voice" come in" 1 did so, and
found that he had enscOnced him
self in bed again. It was near midday.
He said he had Just come in from work,
was fatigued, and had lain down to
rest. Seeing that was flushed with
heat, he begged be to remove my coat.
L did so, and as I sat there tanning my
self, the author of Kit CarsOn's Ride"
by many thought superior to Paul
Revere-lay in his bed pouring forth
such food of Misrepresentation that
an hour passed before I was aware of
it. He then asked me to pass into his
study and he would soon Join me with
some wine, after which we would take
a tour over his domain. From his
study window I discovered one of the
finest views that can be found anywhere
on the Pacific coast. Stretched out
far below me are orange, fig and fruit
orchards, winding roads, cultivated
landscape, Oakland city of 60, 600,
with it's elegant residences and tree
lined streets, the broad bay, the Golden
Gate, San Francisco and the blue Pa
dific beyond. 1t was a coy little study
floor covered with skins of the buff
alO and mountain ion-papers and
books in glorious confusiOn-pictures
of LOngfellOw, Byron and Bryant on
the walls, and an odd old Mexican sad
die, a relic of his MOdOc war eXperien-
ces, hanging in the corner. Here he
writes. He is now busily engaged on
e poem of some Legends of
Christ EN-" Odying quaint little sto-
RES he picked up when living in the
Levant. He has lead a nOmadic, as
well as a romantic, life. His real name
is Cineinnatus Heine Miller. He was
born at liberty, Ind, November 10,
1912. His mother was a sister of Gen.
Burnside. At six he was taken to Or
egon, at fourteen he joined the Filibus-
ter Capt. William Walker and went to
Honduras. -Four years later we again
find him in OregOn-he now studies
law-and subsequently became Judge.
Since then he has led q Bohemian lit
erary life. For four years he lived at
Jerusalem, two years in the City Of
Mexico. Then living with his friend,
Bret Harte, in a little log cabin of their
own constructing, just back Of Wash
ington city, in the Virginia hills. Get
ting tired of so much visiting from drum
ken congressman, who made their
cabin a resort, he told me he was
obliged to flee to California that he
might find more seclusiOn. Among his
many popular works are " Songs Of the
Sierras, "the Ship of the Desert,
My Life Among the AIOdocs,' The
Shadows of the Shasta" "The One
Fair Woman Songs of the Sun
lands, 1.-THE Baroness at New York,
and The Danites," one of the most
noted of our American plays. Like
most literary people, his domestic life
has been an unhappy one. The story
of his marriage to the beautiful Minnie
Myrtle is a sadly plaintive one.
OF all lands he likes California the
best. He says he will live and die in
"the Heights" as he calls his rocky
nest. With melancholy sadness ne
said to me, What more do I care for
the busy world 1 see yOnder," pointing
to San Francisco; my simple PASTORAL
life among the Indians is the happiest
I ever knew" On my return to the
city he accompanied me half a mile
down the mountain side, and as he
bade me good bye, he did it in the
sweet idiOm Of his Quaker ancestry,
God bless thee. MARION THRAsHER.
San Francisco, Cal, June p, 1888.
Like a Chapter From a Novel
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