The Pacific commercial advertiser. [volume] (Honolulu, Hawaiian Islands) 1885-1921, 1906-01-21

P Maurice Mcmahon, Hawaii's
in San Francisco, having wandered
thus far back towards Hawaii from
his visit to the old homeplace in Eng
| land He writes in his characteristic
| style of a visit on Sunday, the eve of
the New Year, to the famous poet of
| the Sierras, Joaquin Miller:
81 journeyed from San Francisco to
Fruitvale, the retreat of the Poeta de
| las Sierras, Joaquin Miller. After a
ride on the electric car for about a
mile or SO, passing pleasant little
cottages engirdled by trees and gar
dens, L turned my face to the hills,
meandering along a brown and pic
turesque road, bordered by frs and
eucalyptus. I asked a bright-eyed lit
tie chap, as I got off the car, if he
knew where Joaquin lived. Should
think I do he said why, / sees that
old fellow down here every day with
his big coat on and his top boots;
there's people goin' all the time to see
him, and he has a lot of Japs up
there and he puts goatskin pants on
um. So off I went with visions of
Japs in goatskin pants and the poet
in the midst of them. At last, after
a most enjoyable uphill walk of about
two miles, 1 reached the abode de la
Poeta on the lefthand side of the road:
four little whitewashed cottages, with
little garden in front, at the base of
HILL with trees all around, and quite
little forest Immediately behind
them. In the second cottage from the
left was the redoubtable Joaquin, yes,
with the top-boots on, and with his
light locks airly and artistically hang
ing on his shoulders, but nowhere
around could l see the Japs with the
goatskin pants. Well, the old man
greeted me as cordially as though I
had been a long-lost friend of his
shaking me heartily by the hand, say
ing, and how is the Poet for you
know I spent a couple of days with
him at Paso Robes once and sent him
a copy of my book of verse, which he
put in the library of the Bohemian
Club in San Francisco. And, faith,
Joaquin is a true Bohemian himself. In
the little rooms were several easy
chairs, bed, little altar wherein to
burn oriental incense, with pictures
pasted on the walls of poets and art
lists and great writer's, as we'll as copies
of poems in longhand and in print,
with curios strewn about, for the
hoary old poet is a great lover of the
antique and beautiful I was surprised
at the memory of Joaquin, when he
said, When last I saw you, four years
ago at Paso Robes, I invited you to
stay with me three or four days. or
a month or two, and now I'm sorry
am preparing to go and stay with
friend of mine till next year, as
wrote him. he added, with a merry
twinkle in his eye, though I am COM
ing home tomorrow the first day of
the New Year
With a hearty hospitality that
seems to be part of the aged poets
very nature, he insisted upon my par
taking of refreshments; then we chat
ted merrfly of poesy and of his
charming surroundings, whilst he
brushed his great big coat, preparing
for his journey to town with a young
lady, Miss Boyle (another exile
from Erin), a sculptor, who was en-
gagged on bust of the Poets mother,
recently deceased. He called me to
the door, and pointing to a dainty lit
tie kitten summing itself on a stone wall
close by, said, there is peace And