The Daily Ardmoreite. [volume] (Ardmore, Okla.) 1893-current, 1902-05-15
the NOVELIST OF ~
Anecdotes OF Bret Harte, the
American Short Story Writer.
ENJOYED JOKING AND TEASING.

Amusing Manner In which ne Once
MADE n Victim ot Labouchere' tn.
Eminent London Journaiist-story
Of MS First Literary Enort-His
Most Famous Poems.
Bret Harte. the novelist OF 40 and the
famous short story writer OF America,
recently deceased. was a good deal Of
n Joker. A man who knew him during
his lecture tours in the United states
told this story. said n correspondent Of
the Washington Post:
During a trip over the Pennsylvania
circuit Harte found himself one even
ing In small town the very atmos-
phsre OF which was depressing. Turn
ing to the committeeman who waited
upon him at his room in the hotel,
Harte said:
'Is this a healthfrl climate?"
"Passably," responded the commit.
teeman.
whats the mortality OF this cityT"
about one a day"
about one, en-" said uarte. Come
this way a minute" and he drew the
committeeman into the recess OF the
bay window and then said TO him sol
emnly:
is the man dead for today? | am
going 20 lecture here tonight. and IL
would be great relief 60 me TO know
that could get through alive"
His most famous London joke made
victim OF y celebrated man. Dressing
himself IN tap thrcadhare. trayed.
tringod and faded garments which
would quite llkely be worn by a cross
between bohemian journalist and n
tramp. iSret Harte visited the Office OF
Labouchere's Truth and asked TO see
the eminent journalist. He was usher.
ed into the holy OF HOLES. the inner
Office Of the newspaporial NJ. j., and
told him that be had a poem which
he would be pleased 20 sell and asked
Mr.. Laboucherc 10 look IL over But
che famous lance hurler OF the London
press at first refused TO glance at the
Offering. but upon Hartes earnestly
pleading his immediate need OF money
Mr.. Labouchcre hastily examined the
production. Then he returned IL with
the remark:
II cannot use this trash"
But my God" exclaimed Harte.
I'm starving
what do you want for IT," inquired
Labouchere.
'1s 1t worth a pound?" said Harte.
with an expression indicating that his
heart was crawling up in the vicinity
of his larynx.
want a poundl II is not worth the
paper II Is written on" ragged Labou
chere. III you want charity ] car
give you n few shilllngs. but it would
only be accompanied by advice TO III,
effect that a strong. ablebodied man
Ike you can make more money and
give lees cause OF offense by seeking
employment at hop picking or shipping
before the mast Instead of attempt
ing TO worm your way into jouraalism
why did you not join the expedition
for the relief of General Gordon? WI,
are you, anyway
Bret Harte." was the answer as tn,
major portion OF the disguise was re
moved aud the astonished Laboucher,
beheld a club companion whom he haJ
known for years. The poem was pub
Nshed. aud IL was one OF Harte's great
est efforts.
MIR. Har'e was born in Albany II
1880 He lived in that city til he wa
ten years OF age. when he went 10 liy,
with his married sister In Broadway
New York city, IL was here, too. tina
his very first literary effort was made
an incident which Mr.. Harte relate,
1n his deliciously humorous way. say
IN exchange.
His sisters husband was man o
mercantile pursuits and OF a severel.
practical turn OF mind, who looked up
ON his wife's small brother as a use
less dreamer who would never amour
TO much OF anything in life. and b
when young Harte composed som
verses at the tender age OF eleven an,
called them "Autumnal Musings" b
felt very much OF a culprit. but never
theless addressed them 10 the edito
OF The Sunday Alta aud sneaked ther
into the postbox. They We're signe
Bret, his middle name, for he wa
called Frank In those days.
The following Sunday on his wa
from Sunday school he passed a news
stand where the papers were alway
spread ont on boards and held dow
with stones. He glanced fugitivel
over them. and there uppermost on IN
first page OF The Alta was his poem
or course his boylsh heart was over
Joyed. He scnmpercd home with IA
precious paper and brayely displaye
the poem to his sister and her prosai
husband and owned up TO It's author
ship.
Then what a storm followed. "Never,
said Mr.. Harte. have passed throug
anything so terrible as that scene wa
10 my young mind My sister sobbo