The San Francisco call. [volume] (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913, 1895-12-25

Tor MIN 10 get uOWn 10 Woih AAS "OU-N
heard of again. But he is "weal tixed
and knows how to enjoy his good fortune,
which nobody begrudges him.
D. f. Mccarthy was natural-born
journalist. What he could not learn from
others he taught to himself. Particularly
peculiar in many respects-dlsagreeably
grave and rollickingly gay almost in the
same breath-he was at heart noble man.
None brighter than he when newspaper
work was to be done. His ideas were mis-
own He borrowed nobody's brains, and,
right or wrong, wanted things to go his
way without deviation. If he antagonized
a few who did not understand him, he
also drew to himself many friends and re-
tanned them. He was one of the best
real, practical journalists that California
ever produced. He has been dead about
ten years, but his name still continues at
the head of the Virginia Chronicle, which
for some years he marked with his char
acteristics.
Elbridge Gerry Page Glow Jr.) was an
other of the old Era stand-bys. He died
| in harness in 1859. He was too queer for
anything. He would make rag-baby
| laugh or cry at will. His 'Patent Ser
| mons had attracted considerable atten-
ton in the New York Mercury before he
came to California and had been published
in book form. Taking a serious thought
| for y text he would dress it up in a gro
tesaue manner peculiarly his own. He
would trifle with the finest feelings of
ones nature until scalping seemed too
| good for him, but there was happy con-
clusion to everything. Pulling at ones
heartstrings one moment and tickling him
to laughter the next, he showed up the
dark and bright sides of life, and made
the sermons leading feature of the
Era for some years. AS "Sol Soaker'
| be was an irresistible humorist. Fun
fairly gurgled out OF him like
molasses out of jug. Then he
would sober up and dispense the most
somber stuff ever heard outside of darby
| funeral. Dow was a droll creature.
Had he lived he would have totally
| eclipsed most of our latter-day joke
carpenters. But he joked himself to death
one day, and the Era force buried him in
good style at Lone Mountain.
In SO, Bret Harte blew down from the
upper country and ''got case" on the
Era. He was q pinched, punv, ornery-
| looking automaton, for whom it would not
| have been reasonable to predict notice
able future. But it seems, in the light of
! these DAYS, that there was good leather in
! him, though there was not much polish
! on it at the time. He built little screeds
which were tucked away in obscure
corners OF the paper to escape observation.
/ By-and-by he wrote a sketch entitled
7 s'Boggs on the Horse" which was really
good, and Harte went up notch in the
estimation of those who thought he was
| only what he looked to be. He was in
dustrious, and the good leather became
more and more apparent, until he was
| promoted to a corner in the editorial
room to do literary chores, and there he
| remained at hackwork until he obtained
| situation in the Mint and became too
big to sit in an ordinary chair. He was
| not a companionable man. In fact, it
seemed as if he tried to be disagreeably
Idistant. His face ptted like watfle-iron,
eyes like dull opals, and sort
of falsetto voice, he was in no.
| wise attractive. But the leather was
there. James E. Lawrence, who sue
ceeded Daggett and Foard or the Era, cuz-
zened up to Harte, cultivated and boosted
him, and he became so great man in
letters that he was invited to straddle the
| tTlpOu VI LILO OfCllaAQ 4nOAtnAyt WalSn A0
did gracefully.
! A year or two afterward Prentice Null
| ford came down from his Jimtown school
in Tuolumne and essayed journalism Of
the literary kind. He was a good-hearted
| fellow, but SO odd. He was afflicted with
chronic grievance of some sort. Nissan
thropic and morose at most times, ordina-
rily he would loosen up his grievances
and be as jolly as anybody, but not for
long. Jollity did not seem to agree with
him. He was jaundiced, vet there was
never more sympathetic soul than Null
ford. In remote corner of his heart
there seemed to be something that ache d
j all the time He kept in the byways of
life and Stunned any thing that would at
tract attention to himself. A pleasant
talker, it was difficult to get him started.
His writings all bore trace of his phleg-
matte temperament. He would have made
a good Robinson Crusoe, as he loved to be
alone. Industrious and painstaking In
any work assigned him, he seemed to
think it improper to accept pay for it. He
would have starved rather than make
known his wants even to a friend. He
died alone in his little canoe on Long
Island Sound few years ago.
Early in 1860 Daggett & Foard sold the
Era to ]. E. Lawrence and with I. B.
Rutherford started the Daily Mirror. 1t
seemed at first to have fair prospect, but
the War of the Rebellion was coming on.
Things were not only warm, but hob. The
people wanted all the Eastern news, and
wanted it badly. The telegraphic reports
were monopolized by the Bulletin, Alta
and Sacramento Union and no other paper
could get in for love or money. This
worked against the Mirror, so that it
finally succumbed to the adverse circum-
stances, which compelled it to print Sec
ond-hand news. Daggett went to Virginia
City and became stockbr oker, amassing
neat fortune, which eventually flowed
back to the source whence it came Then
he fell from grace entirely and Went to
Congress, where his efforts gave Nevada as
generous school fund as any State pos-
sesses. McDonough Foard followed journal
ism in San Francisco until he was called
for and passed over to the silent majority.
, a h0n 10, . H. 1