The morning call., 1892-08-21
A DAY AT THE HEIGHTS.
The Poet Of the Sierras as He Is at
Home.
written for THE MORNING CALL.

Reading the interesting series of articles
| contributed TO THE CALL by the recluse OF
| The Heights recalls to mind my first meet
| ing with Joaquin Miller and MY first visit to
| his home shortly afterward.
1t was at Charlie Woodbury's delightful
| home in Oakland that the meeting took
| place. With two or three visitors from the
| East bad been invited to dine, and while
we sat Ia conversation prior to the serving
| of the meal Joaquin Miller entered the
| room. His figure seemed unusually tall and
| gauGt at the time, and long, faded locks
| falling about his shoulders lent an uncouth
| appearance which that celebrated opera
| ton of hair-cutting, consummated within
the last six months, has entirely dispelled.
The room. as recall it, was finished in
the natural tints of the wood, and as we sat
| what | fancied to be the odor Of shellac or
varRish was well.nigh sitting. Knowing
| Woodbury. to be the president of the var
nish company, / could not help thinking his
| own home Interior the worst possible adj
yertisement of his wares. Gradually, how
ever. it dawned upon me that it was not
varnish but garlic which assailed me, and
| at last Joaquin said he couldn't get his
Creole cooks out of the habit of being over
| liberal with their garlic. And that light
>
varnishes resumed their old place in my
esteem, for the interior of bis home is a
| beautiful bit of work. To the ladies of the
party Joaquin WAS gatlantry personified
| but on the gentlemen in the main he gazed
aoStractedly as II at loss where they
mlght De eiassed In his category of common
| places.
1 have understood that as a diner ont
| with gentlemen only Joaquin does not shine
as star OF the first magnitude in point of
conversational powers. but certainly where
tnere is sprlnkllDg OF the fair sex to do
him homage be warns TO the occasion and
their presence seems to thrill his soul like
flow of wine."
At dinner it fell to my lot to recite some
entirely Insignificant verses of my own I
had not been long away from a soiourn of
several years in the Big Horn Mountains,
| several hundreds Of miles from railway
communication, with few others about me
| than the picturesque. though decidedly
verses were picture of Indian
life, and for them JOAQUIN ex-
pressed decided admiration, although.
be 1t confessed, he differed widely in this
verses had been offered con their own
terms. 1t was very censiderate of Wood
bury, himself litterateur of quaint and
pleasing originality, to let me have my little
say out nrst, because whateyerl might have
done must necessarily have appeared COM
monplace beside what was to follow A
little verse of Joaquin's had Just appeared
IN the Century Magazine. l do not recall
the lines. Two doves were sitting on the
outermost tip of an olive branch and the
female was crowding her mate, as if to rob
him OF his coveted perch, while be- remon-
strating. was saying,
The world is full of to-morrows, my love,
There's only one today.
BE recited the lines, initiating the cooling
OF doves There may be some cynics who
having heard Joaquin talk will say his
voice isn't exactly keyed up to the cooing-
dove pitch, but ON this particular evening
he reeited his lines so well that don't ever
want to hear any one try to improve unon
the rendition. Then he told how he came
TO write them. and as ne talked there was a
charm in his manner which carried with it
an absolute conviction of the truth of all
his utteranees.
He said "one day had been walking
about my place, when having come TO the
sheterlng shades of an olive L sat down To
rest. VI on one of the branches overheard
the billing and cooling OF a pair of doves
and saw one pushing the other; and il was
all SO sweet and the female seemed so
womanlike in her desire to tease and please
that the lines ran out of the end of nv
pencil on 10 the t1yleaf of a book and that's
how II all came about" Then he told how
the doves never desert his olive trees up
there back of the Hermitage and how, the
leaves being SO nearly their own color, the
doves always seek The olive as a protection
against the sharp eye of the hawk. Some
that was old and very much that was crisp
and bright and new followed. He seemed
to have taken fancy to me, and ere the
evening was over asked me to come and
stay week with him.
Although L did not quite accept that In
ytatiOn, the single day visits | have msda
hlm since would aggregate many weeks.
From the Hermitage, he told me. it was
only half mile to his place, so on my first
trip took the horsecar to that point and
m Tha III.
day was hot. the road dusty and carried
my camera.
The half mile. on which l blessed the
poet many times, was nearer TWO and
half miles. Afterward he told me that to
some people he gave the distance as ten
miles, trusting the stretch of road would
scare them away. So, if some day you
chance 10 ask how long walk i. is, you NAV
discover from his reply in what esteem he
holds YOU
There are three little cottages at The
Heights. In one the poet lives; in one he
eats, and In the third his aged mother sits
and looks out on the beautiful vista of the
city and the bay and Contra Costa towns.
and save from Tamalpais' crest this has no
peer for panoramic view. narrow en-
trance through the painted fence admits
one to the grounds. A thin man enters
easily, but a fat one Will struggle hard and
stay outside. Once in you cross narrow
bridge over dry gully, ana then If you like
you can stoop and gather flowers. I asked
him why be had such an unc0nvent iOnal
gate, and he said ito keep out a lot of city
bores. If l made 1t easy and inviting thew
would overrun me every pleasant Sunday.1
At o'clock we were called to breakfast
which was in reality dinner At the table
beside his immediate family were Miss
Ethel Brandon, the actress, and her sister.
who has contributed number OF credta-
Bile verses to The CALI.
Joaquin remarked, I'VE dine oddly hare.
we have cur flsh first, and il you don't mind
we will serve 1t now" Through the ha r.
opened door as the servant disappeared I
thought the sayory odor of baked fish es-
pecially appetizng, and slipped my wine in
pleaSurabie anticipation.
The servant reappeared, but instead of
baked fish behold a crystal pitcher of spark
ling water in which swan a well-kept gold
fish.
From this cur glasses were filed, and
after receiving his full share of admiration
the fish was retired and dinner served
Later walked up the hillside and looked
around for 1.-THE sheltering shade of the
olive" There were thousands of trees on
Miller's place, which embraces something
over 100 acres. but not one was there large
enough to afford shelter to an infant.
Joaquin had imagined his trees, Imagined
his doves, imagined everything but his acres
and the View. And later on discovered he