The Project Gutenberg eBook of Her Letter, by Bret Harte.

The Project Gutenberg eBook of Her Letter, His Answer & Her Last Letter

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Title: Her Letter, His Answer & Her Last Letter

Author: Bret Harte

Illustrator: Arthur Ignatius Keller

Release date: November 7, 2010 [eBook #34227]
Most recently updated: January 7, 2021

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Charlene Taylor, David Garcia, Emmy and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HER LETTER, HIS ANSWER & HER LAST LETTER *** 










Endpapers






I'm sitting alone by the fire, Dressed just as I came from the dance




I'm sitting alone by the fire,

Dressed just as I came from the dance






Title Page



HER LETTER


His Answer & Her Last Letter


By BRET HARTE


Pictured by ARTHUR I KELLER





Boston & New York.

Houghton, Mifflin & Company

The Riverside Press, Cambridge.

1905







COPYRIGHT 1870 BY FIELDS, OSGOOD & CO.

COPYRIGHT 1871 BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO.

COPYRIGHT 1898 AND 1899 BY BRET HARTE.

COPYRIGHT 1905 BY HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED






[5]


 
















 

 



PUBLISHERS' NOTE


The first two of the poems here printed have
long been popular favorites, but the third was not
written till near the end of Mr. Harte's life. It
rounds out the romance with such completeness and
charm that it is peculiarly fitting that the poems
should be grouped, and issued in a form worthy of
their own excellence. The coöperation of Mr. Keller
was secured for making the illustrations, not only
on account of his recognized ability as an artist,
but also because of his admiration for Mr. Harte's
writings and his previous success in illustrating
several of the stories.


Boston, 4 Park St., October, 1905.














[7]



LIST OF DESIGNS







 PAGE


I'm sitting alone by the fire
Dressed just as I came from the dance. (In color) Frontispiece


Title. (In color)


Publishers' Note—Headpiece5


List of Designs—Headpiece7



Her Letter—Half-title
11


Is wasting an hour upon you13


That waits—on the stairs—for me yet15


With whom do I waltz, flirt, or talk?17


To look supernaturally grand19


And the hum of the smallest of talk21


With the man that shot Sandy McGee. (In color)23


The man that shot Sandy McGee25


Of that ride,—that to me was the rarest27


And swam the North Fork, and all that29


Mamma says my taste still is low31


That my heart's somewhere there in the ditches33



Page Number

[8]











His Answer—Half-title35


I should write what he runs off his tongue. (In color)37


Being asked by an intimate party39


That with you, Miss, he "challenges Fate"41


Though the claim not, at date, paying wages43


And the rose that you gave him. (In color)45


Is frequent and painful and free47


Imparts but small ease to the style49


In this green laurel spray that he treasures51


But he lies there quite peaceful and pensive53


For I have a small favor to ask you55


Here's my pile; which it's six hundred dollars57



Her Last Letter—Half-title
59


That you last wrote the 4th of December61


And you're not to be found in the ditches. (In color)63


From this spot, that you said was the fairest65


To London, when Pa wired, "Stop"67


And as to the stories you've heard69



Page Number

[9]







Whose father sold clothes on the Bar71


With a look, Joe, that made her eyes drop. (In color)73


To find myself here, all alone75


Ah! gone is the old necromancy77


And you called the place Eden, you know. (In color)79


And the copse where you once tied my shoe-knot81


There's the rustle of silk on the sidewalk83


But there's still the "lap, lap" of the river. (In color)85


There's a lot that remains which one fancies87


He thinks he may find you89


And good-night to the cañon that answers91


I've just got your note. You deceiver!93


Now I know why they had me transferred here. (In color)95


How dared you get rich—you great stupid!97


The man who shot Sandy McGee


You made mayor!99


Tailpiece100





All the headpieces and other decorations are from Mr. Keller's designs.





Page Number

[11][10]





She



HER LETTER


[12]








I'm sitting alone by the fire,

Dressed just as I came from the dance,

In a robe even you would admire,—

It cost a cool thousand in France;

I'm be-diamonded out of all reason,

My hair is done up in a cue:

In short, sir, "the belle of the season"

Is wasting an hour upon you.





Page Number

[13]



The belle of the season




In short, sir, "the belle of the season"

Is wasting an hour upon you




[14]








A dozen engagements I've broken;

I left in the midst of a set;

Likewise a proposal, half spoken,

That waits—on the stairs—for me yet.

They say he'll be rich,—when he grows up,—

And then he adores me indeed;

And you, sir, are turning your nose up,

Three thousand miles off, as you read.





Page number

[15]



Likewise a proposal, half spoken




Likewise a proposal, half spoken,

That waits—on the stairs—for me yet




[16]








"And how do I like my position?"

"And what do I think of New York?"

"And now, in my higher ambition,

With whom do I waltz, flirt, or talk?"

"And isn't it nice to have riches,

And diamonds and silks, and all that?"

"And aren't they a change to the ditches

And tunnels of Poverty Flat?"





Page Number

[17]



With whom do I waltz, flirt, or talk?

With whom do I waltz, flirt, or talk?
[18]








Well, yes,—if you saw us out driving

Each day in the Park, four-in-hand,

If you saw poor dear mamma contriving

To look supernaturally grand,—

If you saw papa's picture, as taken

By Brady, and tinted at that,—

You'd never suspect he sold bacon

And flour at Poverty Flat.





Page Number

[19]



If you saw poor dear Mamma contriving




If you saw poor dear Mamma contriving

To look supernaturally grand




[20]








And yet, just this moment, when sitting

In the glare of the grand chandelier,—

In the bustle and glitter befitting

The "finest soirée of the year,"—

In the mists of a gaze de Chambéry,

And the hum of the smallest of talk,—

Somehow, Joe, I thought of the "Ferry,"

And the dance that we had on "The Fork;"





Page Number

[21]



In the mists of a gaze de Chambéry,




In the mists of a gaze de Chambéry,

And the hum of the smallest of talk




[22]








Of Harrison's barn, with its muster

Of flags festooned over the wall;

Of the candles that shed their soft lustre

And tallow on head-dress and shawl;

Of the steps that we took to one fiddle,

Of the dress of my queer vis-à-vis;

And how I once went down the middle

With the man that shot Sandy McGee;





Page Number

[23]



And how I once went down the middle



And how I once went down the middle

With the man that shot Sandy McGee


[24]


[25]



The man that shot Sandy McGee

The man that shot Sandy McGee


[26]








Of the moon that was quietly sleeping

On the hill, when the time came to go;

Of the few baby peaks that were peeping

From under their bedclothes of snow;

Of that ride,—that to me was the rarest;

Of—the something you said at the gate.

Ah! Joe, then I wasn't an heiress

To "the best-paying lead in the State."





Page Number

[27]



Of that ride,—that to me was the rarest

Of that ride,—that to me was the rarest


[28]








Well, well, it's all past; yet it's funny

To think, as I stood in the glare

Of fashion and beauty and money,

That I should be thinking, right there,

Of some one who breasted high water,

And swam the North Fork, and all that,

Just to dance with old Folinsbee's daughter,

The Lily of Poverty Flat.





Page Number

[29]



And swam the North Fork, and all that,




And swam the North Fork, and all that,

Just to dance with old Folinsbee's daughter




[30]








But goodness! what nonsense I'm writing!

(Mamma says my taste still is low),

Instead of my triumphs reciting,

I'm spooning on Joseph,—heigh-ho!

And I'm to be "finished" by travel,—

Whatever's the meaning of that.

Oh, why did papa strike pay gravel

In drifting on Poverty Flat?





Page Number

[31]



Mamma says my taste still is low

Mamma says my taste still is low


[32]








Good-night!—here's the end of my paper;

Good-night!—if the longitude please,—

For maybe, while wasting my taper,

Your sun's climbing over the trees.

But know, if you haven't got riches,

And are poor, dearest Joe, and all that,

That my heart's somewhere there in the ditches,

And you've struck it,—on Poverty Flat.





Page Number

[33]



That my heart's somewhere there in the ditches,




That my heart's somewhere there in the ditches,

And you've struck it,—on Poverty Flat




[35]



Him



HIS ANSWER
[36]










Being asked by an intimate party,—

Which the same I would term as a friend,—

Though his health it were vain to call hearty,

Since the mind to deceit it might lend;

For his arm it was broken quite recent,

And there's something gone wrong with his lung,—

Which is why it is proper and decent

I should write what he runs off his tongue.





Page Number

[37]


[38]



Which is why it is proper and decent




Which is why it is proper and decent

I should write what he runs off his tongue




[39]



Being asked by an intimate party

Being asked by an intimate party


[40]








First, he says, Miss, he's read through your letter

To the end,—and "the end came too soon;"

That a "slight illness kept him your debtor,"

(Which for weeks he was wild as a loon);

That "his spirits are buoyant as yours is;"

That with you, Miss, he "challenges Fate"

(Which the language that invalid uses

At times it were vain to relate).





Page Number

[41]



That "his spirits are buoyant as yours is;




That "his spirits are buoyant as yours is;"

That with you, Miss, he "challenges Fate"




[42]








And he says "that the mountains are fairer

For once being held in your thought;"

That each rock "holds a wealth that is rarer

Than ever by gold-seeker sought."

(Which are words he would put in these pages,

By a party not given to guile;

Though the claim not, at date, paying wages,

Might produce in the sinful a smile.)





Page Number

[43]



Though the claim not, at date, paying wages,




Though the claim not, at date, paying wages,

Might produce in the sinful a smile




[44]








He remembers the ball at the Ferry,

And the ride, and the gate, and the vow,

And the rose that you gave him,—that very

Same rose he is "treasuring now."

(Which his blanket he's kicked on his trunk, Miss,

And insists on his legs being free;

And his language to me from his bunk, Miss,

Is frequent and painful and free.)





Page Number

[45]


[46]



And the rose that you gave him

[47]


And the rose that you gave him



And his language to me from his bunk, Miss,




And his language to me from his bunk, Miss,

Is frequent and painful and free




[48]








He hopes you are wearing no willows,

But are happy and gay all the while;

That he knows—(which this dodging of pillows

Imparts but small ease to the style,

And the same you will pardon)—he knows, Miss,

That, though parted by many a mile,

"Yet, were he lying under the snows, Miss,

They'd melt into tears at your smile."





Page Number

[49]



Which this dodging of pillows




Which this dodging of pillows

Imparts but small ease to the style




[50]








And "you'll still think of him in your pleasures,

In your brief twilight dreams of the past;

In this green laurel spray that he treasures,—

It was plucked where your parting was last;

In this specimen,—but a small trifle,—

It will do for a pin for your shawl."

(Which, the truth not to wickedly stifle,

Was his last week's "clean up,"—and his all.)





Page Number

[51]



In this green laurel-spray that he treasures




In this green laurel-spray that he treasures,

It was plucked where your parting was last




[52]








He's asleep, which the same might seem strange, Miss,

Were it not that I scorn to deny

That I raised his last dose, for a change, Miss,

In view that his fever was high;

But he lies there quite peaceful and pensive.

And now, my respects, Miss, to you;

Which my language, although comprehensive,

Might seem to be freedom, is true.





Page Number

[53]



But he lies there quite peaceful and pensive

But he lies there quite peaceful and pensive


[54]








For I have a small favor to ask you,

As concerns a bull-pup, and the same,—

If the duty would not overtask you,—

You would please to procure for me, game;

And send per express to the Flat, Miss,—

For they say York is famed for the breed,

Which, though words of deceit may be that, Miss,

I'll trust to your taste, Miss, indeed.





Page Number

[55]



For I have a small favor to ask you




For I have a small favor to ask you,

As concerns a bull-pup




[56]








P.S.—Which this same interfering

Into other folks' way I despise;

Yet if it so be I was hearing

That it's just empty pockets as lies

Between you and Joseph, it follers

That, having no family claims,

Here's my pile, which it's six hundred dollars

As is yours, with respects,

Truthful James.





Page Number

[57]



Here's my pile; which it's six hundred dollars,




Here's my pile; which it's six hundred dollars,

As is yours, with respects




[59]



She



HER LAST LETTER


[60]








June 4th! Do you know what that date means?

June 4th! by this air and these pines!

Well,—only you know how I hate scenes,—

These might be my very last lines!

For perhaps, sir, you'll kindly remember—

If some other things you've forgot—

That you last wrote the 4th of December,—

Just six months ago!—from this spot;





Page Number

[61]



That you last wrote the 4th of December




That you last wrote the 4th of December,—

Just six months ago!—from this spot




[62]








From this spot, that you said was "the fairest

For once being held in my thought."

Now, really I call that the barest

Of—well, I won't say what I ought!

For here I am back from my "riches,"

My "triumphs," my "tours," and all that;

And you're not to be found in the ditches

Or temples of Poverty Flat!





Page Number

[63]


[64]



And you're not to be found in the ditches




And you're not to be found in the ditches

Or temples of Poverty Flat!




[65]



From this spot, that you said was "the fairest




From this spot, that you said was "the fairest

For once being held in my thought"




[66]








From Paris we went for the season

To London, when pa wired, "Stop."

Mamma says "his health" was the reason.

(I've heard that some things took a "drop.")

But she said if my patience I'd summon

I could go back with him to the Flat—

Perhaps I was thinking of some one

Who of me—well—was not thinking that!





Page Number

[67]



From Paris we went for the season




From Paris we went for the season

To London, when Pa wired, "Stop"




[68]








Of course you will say that I "never

Replied to the letter you wrote."

That is just like a man! But, however,

I read it—or how could I quote?

And as to the stories you've heard (No,

Don't tell me you haven't—I know!)

You'll not believe one blessed word, Joe;

But just whence they came, let them go!





Page Number

[69]



And as to the stories you've heard (No, Don't tell me you haven't—I know!)




And as to the stories you've heard (No,

Don't tell me you haven't—I know!)




[70]








And they came from Sade Lotski of Yolo,

Whose father sold clothes on the Bar—

You called him Job-lotski, you know, Joe,

And the boys said her value was par.

Well, we met her in Paris—just flaring

With diamonds, and lost in a hat!

And she asked me "How Joseph was faring

In his love-suit on Poverty Flat!"





Page Number

[71]



Whose father sold clothes on the Bar—




Whose father sold clothes on the Bar—

You called him Job-lotski, you know, Joe




[72]








She thought it would shame me! I met her

With a look, Joe, that made her eyes drop;

And I said that your "love-suit fared better

Than any suit out of their shop!"

And I didn't blush then—as I'm doing

To find myself here, all alone,

And left, Joe, to do all the "suing"

To a lover that's certainly flown.





Page Number

[73]



I met her With a look, Joe, that made her eyes drop




I met her

With a look, Joe, that made her eyes drop




[74]


[75]



And I didn't blush then—as I'm doing




And I didn't blush then—as I'm doing

To find myself here, all alone




[76]








In this brand-new hotel, called "The Lily"

(I wonder who gave it that name?),

I really am feeling quite silly,

To think I was once called the same;

And I stare from its windows, and fancy

I'm labeled to each passer-by.

Ah! gone is the old necromancy,

For nothing seems right to my eye.





Page Number

[77]



Ah! gone is the old necromancy,




Ah! gone is the old necromancy,

For nothing seems right to my eye




[78]








On that hill there are stores that I knew not;

There's a street—where I once lost my way;

And the copse where you once tied my shoe-knot

Is shamelessly open as day!

And that bank by the spring—I once drank there,

And you called the place Eden, you know;

Now, I'm banished like Eve—though the bank there

Is belonging to "Adams and Co."





Page Number

[79]



And that bank by the spring—I once drank there,




And that bank by the spring—I once drank there,

And you called the place Eden, you know




[80]


[81]



And the copse where you once tied my shoe-knot




And the copse where you once tied my shoe-knot

Is shamelessly open as day!




[82]








There's the rustle of silk on the sidewalk;

Just now there passed by a tall hat;

But there's gloom in this "boom" and this wild talk

Of the "future" of Poverty Flat.

There's a decorous chill in the air, Joe,

Where once we were simple and free;

And I hear they've been making a mayor, Joe,

Of the man who shot Sandy McGee.





Page Number

[83]



There's the rustle of silk on the sidewalk;




There's the rustle of silk on the sidewalk;

Just now there passed by a tall hat




[84]








But there's still the "lap, lap" of the river;

There's the song of the pines, deep and low.

(How my longing for them made me quiver

In the park that they call Fontainebleau!)

There's the snow-peak that looked on our dances,

And blushed when the morning said, "Go!"

There's a lot that remains which one fancies—

But somehow there's never a Joe!





Page Number

[85]



But there is still the "lap, lap" of the river



But there is still the "lap, lap" of the river
[86]


[87]



There's a lot that remains which one fancies

There's a lot that remains which one fancies


[88]








Perhaps, on the whole, it is better,

For you might have been changed like the rest;

Though it's strange that I'm trusting this letter

To papa, just to have it addressed.

He thinks he may find you, and really

Seems kinder now I'm all alone.

You might have been here, Joe, if merely

To look what I'm willing to own.





Page Number

[89]



He thinks he may find you

He thinks he may find you


[90]








Well, well! that's all past; so good-night, Joe;

Good-night to the river and Flat;

Good-night to what's wrong and what's right, Joe;

Good-night to the past, and all that—

To Harrison's barn, and its dancers;

To the moon, and the white peak of snow;

And good-night to the cañon that answers

My "Joe!" with its echo of "No!"





Page Number

[91]



And good-night to the cañon that answers




And good-night to the cañon that answers

My "Joe!" with its echo of "No!"




[92]








P.S.—I've just got your note. You deceiver!

How dared you—how could you? Oh, Joe!

To think I've been kept a believer

In things that were six months ago!

And it's you've built this house, and the bank, too,

And the mills, and the stores, and all that!

And for everything changed I must thank you,

Who have "struck it" on Poverty Flat!





Page Number

[93]



I've just got your note. You deceiver!

I've just got your note. You deceiver!


[94]








How dared you get rich—you great stupid!—

Like papa, and some men that I know,

Instead of just trusting to Cupid

And to me for your money? Ah, Joe!

Just to think you sent never a word, dear,

Till you wrote to papa for consent!

Now I know why they had me transferred here,

And "the health of papa"—what that meant!





Page Number

[95]



Now I know why they had me transferred here




Now I know why they had me transferred here,

And "the health of papa"—what that meant!




[96]


[97]



How dared you get rich—you great stupid!—




How dared you get rich—you great stupid!—

Like papa, and some men that I know




[98]








Now I know why they call this "The Lily;"

Why the man who shot Sandy McGee

You made mayor! 'Twas because—oh, you silly!—

He once "went down the middle" with me!

I've been fooled to the top of my bent here,

So come, and ask pardon—you know

That you've still got to get my consent, dear!

And just think what that echo said—Joe!





Page Number

[99]



The man who shot Sandy McGee




The man who shot Sandy McGee

You made mayor!




[100]



END




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