Telegram-herald., 1890-09-16
soseoM su-lEs = HssMT.
De ~ttAars.s fruas tae s&tStns trSS
- esez1eAi 0Ass u~Axats-


There a. zrgyple q s~rprlse manifest
~Aea yoasain MlllsF. the re~t e fhe
-serras. EetaSe1 - farnisA t1e annual
qo~m feE tks l1eGl cozanlitt0s. feoI-e
@ho snew the erEstle Jo44uia- hoW~fsts
Id not uarve1 oFex KS retLasa-s - t-sss
bare Known for = long giEs that t2s
Paet Is ~ loager the puoile chAractsf,
the nan = tee lKorld aad the p,aEfoEn
speaker q aays gone by, bal has q re-
ceut years developed into YeTit&ole 10
cluse.
Mr. Miller Is not a. az charmed with
ear ul0dern civilization. There are many
material things which crate hazshly upon
his poetic nature. aud he has learned %
ignore rather than 70 love the busting,
busy life Of city and town. Net many
wears ago be declared that never again
woaid be cross the continent, and tA@t
the country ~ the east of Mount shasta,
whose ruggei PEAKS he loves 50 well.
would see him 10 more.
High up on the foothills. three miles
back of last Oakland, Miller purchased
4 fifty acre tract Of land two years ago,
and here no has built his home. From
the doorway q his cottage he views tho
Golden Gate and the cities Of san Fran
cisco and Oakland. They are near
enough 10 him. he says. from that dis
tance, and he has se far followed his life
as a hermit that he scarcely ever comes
70 the city During the past year his
visits have been growing more infre-
quent. and he even refuses 10 see the city
people who climb the mountain side 10
pay their respects 70 him.
A long. winding, narrow path, just
wide enough for a sharp shod horse TO
climb, leads TO the home OF the poet
recluse. Once upon the summit Joaquin
Milier's place is pointed ont to the visitor
by rancher's child. There is scarcely
foot of level land on the poets tract Of
fifty acres. Shade and fruit trees, young
but sturdy; plants, flowers and strag-
Cling stone wall cling to the mountain
side as il fastened there aud held in
place by invisible strings. The ''home"
consists Of three cottages, fifty feet
apart, strange, odd and fanciful build
ings, designed after some weird genius
of an architect Miller lives in one. his
mother in another and the other mem
bers Of the household in tho third
When reporter climbed the dizzy
height he found the door Of the poets
cottage open. In the center of the room
was n cot, luxurious IN rugs and furs,
and on the cot reclined the poet, busy
with pen and paper. pausing in his work
only long enough to glance through the
open doorway at the city below and the
blue expanse of ocean far beyond This,
AZ the poet claims. is his only inspiration
the view of what man has made and
the work of God as the background of
the picture.
Joaquin remains in bed until high
noon. Awaking at an early hour, he
takes light repast and smokes cigar,
and then he writes and works necessarily
until noon. When his days task is done
he gets up like other men, roams about
his acres, trains his vines or nurses the
young trees growing on the hillside. His
trees are a passion with him. Even
while composing verses, and while en-
joying his morning labor III night cap
and dressing gown, he thinks of his trees.
He has gathered them from the utter
most parts of the earth, has imported
sprig, spray and sprout from every
known part Of the civilized world.
Mrs. Miller and her daughter, from
New York city, when the guests of Joa-
quin at THE Heights" obey the poets
dictate and live apart, as does the mother
of this erratic man. Each has her own
dwelling place, which is sacred to the
occupant.
Il believe in personal seclusion." says
the poet. "a man should not be famil-
lar even with members of his own fam
ily. There are times in the life of every
one when solitude is an absolute neces-
sity. Men enjoy their own society the
best, and, doubtless. women are the
same. Every day men and women in
trude too much upon each other. When
| walk over to mothers cottage | stand
without her door, hat in hand, and
knock for permission 10 enter. The
same is true when she calls at my door.
We meet in common only at table. Ny
house is my castle, and even my mother
would not break in on my solitude with
out first asking permission. San Fran
cisco Chronicle.