MR. BRET HARTE'S LATER VERSES.*

IN the second portion of the little volume of verse just pub- fished by Mr. Bret Harts, the delighted reader will find himself once more in the presence of Truthful James, of Abner of Angel's, of Nye, and even of the Heathen Chime himself. We will not say that Truthful James is quite as full of life and laughter as he was twenty years ago. We all grow old, and, as Dryden said long ago,— " The second temple was not like the first."

But even if Mr. Bret Harte's great creations are not quite as young and vigorous as they were, we "still may look on them with kindness," and they can still make us laugh and admire. In "Free Silver at Angel's" we see the old characters of "The Heathen Chinee " at work on bimetallism and the silver ques- tion, and very pleasant it is to hear them again :—

" It was ra,inin' up at Angel's—we war sittin' round the bar, Discussin' of 'Free Silver' that was going soon to par,' And Ah Sin stood that a listenin' like a simple guileless child, That hears the Angel's singin'—so dreamy like he smiled.

But we knew while he was standin' thar—of all that heathen heard And saw—he never understood a single blessed word; Till Brown of Calaveras, who had waltzed up on his bike, Sez : What is your opinion, John, that this Free Silver's like ? '

But Ah Sin said No shabbee,' in his childish simple way, And Brown he tipped a wink at us and then he had his say : He demonstrated then and tbar how silver was as good As gold—if folks warn't blasted fools, and only understood!

He showed how we 'were crucified upon a cross of gold' By millionaires, and banged his fist, until our blood ran cold. He was a most convincin' man—was Brown in all his ways, And his skill with a revolver, folks had oft remarked with praise.

He showed us how the ratio should be as 'sixteen to one,'

And he sorted out some dollars—while the boys enjoyed the fun—

And laid them on the counter—and heaped 'em in a pile, While Ah Sin, he drew nearer with his happy, pensive smile.

The heathen in his blindness bows down to wood and stone,' Said Brown, but this poor heathen won't bow to gold alone; So speak, my poor Mongolian, and show us your idee Of what we call "Free Silver" and what is meant by "Free."

Swift was the smile that stole across that heathen's face! I grieve That swifter was the hand that swept those dollars up his sleeve.

Me shabbee "Silvel " allee same as Mellican man,' says he, Me shabbee " Flee" means " B'longs to none," so Chinansan catch he ! '

Now, childlike as his logic was, it didn't justify The way the whole crowd went for him without a reason why ; And the language Brown made use of I shall not attempt to show, For my words are plain and simple, and I never yet was low."

We cannot quote any more, but may mention that Ah Sin again "comes out on top." They put him on the bicycle, fox he appeared to be unable to ride. Then as a farther joke, they put the silver in a bag and tied it to his pigtail tc "steady him." The poor benighted heathen is so steadied that he rides off on the bicycle at a speed which makes pursuit impossible :— " And here I would remark how vain are all deceitful tricks— The boomerang we throw comes back to give us its last licks— And that same weight on Ala Sin's queue set him up straight

and plumb. And he scooted past us down the grade and left us cold and dumb !

Come back ! Come back !' we called at last.. We heard a shriek of glee,

And something sounding strangely like All litee ! Silvers flee ! '

And saw his feet tucked on the wheel—the bike go all alone ! And break the biggest record Angel's camp had ever known!"

"Thought Reading at Angel's" is almost as good as "Free Silver," and there is another pleasant reminiscence of the old days in "A Question of Privilege." Best of all, however, is "The Spelling Bee at Angel's." Here we find Truthful James telling a lot of school-children of the Spelling Bee, and how the schoolmaster set all the men in the bar playing it :—

• Boma Later Farm, By Bret Harts. London : Matto and Windu&

"'For instance, take some simple word,' sez he. like " separate " : Now who can spell it ?' Dog my skin, ef thar was one in eight !

This set the boys all wild at once. The chairs was put in row, And at the head was Lanky Jim, and at the foot was Joe. And high upon the bar itself the schoolmaster was raised, And the bar-keep put his glasses down, and sat and silent gazed.

The first word out was 'parallel,' and seven let it be, Till Joe waltzed in his 'double l' betwixt the 'a' and e' ; For since he drilled them Mexicans in San Jacinto's fight Thar warn't no prouder man got up than Pistol Joe that night—

Till rhythm' came ! He tried to smile, then said 'they had him there,' And Lanky Jim, with one long stride, got up and took his chair.

0 little kids, my pretty kids, 'twas touchin' to survey These bearded men, with weppings on, like schoolboys at their play.

They'd laugh with glee, and shout to see each other lead the van, And Bob sat up as monitor with a cue for a rattan, Till the Chair gave out 'incinerate,' and Brown said he'd be durned

If any such blamed word as that in school was ever learned.

When phthisis ' came they all sprang up, and vowed the man who rung Another blamed Greek word on them be taken out and hung. As they sat down again I saw in Bilson's eye a flash, And Brown of Calaveras was a-twistin' his mustache. And when at last Brown slipped on gneiss,' and Bilson took his chair, He dropped some casual words about some folks who dyed their hair.

And then the Chair grew very white, and the Chair said he'd adjourn,

But Poker Dick remarked that he would wait and get his turn ; Then with a tremblin' voice and hand, and with a wanderin' eye, The Chair next offered eider-duck,' and Dick began with I,' And Bilson smiled—then Bilson shrieked ! Just how the fight

begun I never knowed, for Bilson dropped, and Dick, he moved up one."

There is yet one other poem that reads like an old friend in Mr. Bret Harte's volume. All lovers of Mr. Bret Harte will remember "Her Letter" and "His Answer," those attractive poems in which the poet wedded the manner and measure of Praed to Californian words. The poem in the present volume i8 not as good as "His Answer "—there is nothing in it like "this dodging of pillows imparts but small ease to the style" —hut for all that it is very pleasant reading, and we meet once more "the man who shot Sandy McGee." The rest of the later verses are accomplished and versatile, but they have not the charm that comes to Mr. Bret Harte only when he is in spirit with the men and women of Poverty Flat. However, it seems ungracious to close the book with any such grudging criti- cism. The poems from which we have quoted have pleased us so sincerely, and have brought back such pleasant memories of the days when we first heard Truthful James ask whether things were what they seemed or whether there were "visions about," that we do not care to criticise their companions too minutely. With Mr. Bret Harte one likes what one likes so much more intensely than one dislikes what one does not like, that it does not seem worth while to trouble about the dislikes. As it is, we can sincerely advise our readers to step inside and see Truthful James and his comrades once more. They need not fear a painful shock. If a little touched by age, as we have said above, they are still the same excellent people to meet that they were in the early seventies.