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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Selected Stories of Bret Harte"


He was buried in the Indian mound--the single spot of strange perennial
greenness which the poor aborigines had raised above the dusty plain. A
little slab of sandstone with the initials "G. T." is his monument,
and one of the bearings of the initial corner of the new survey of the
"Espiritu Santo Rancho."


AN EPISODE OF FIDDLETOWN

In 1858 Fiddletown considered her a very pretty woman. She had a
quantity of light chestnut hair, a good figure, a dazzling complexion,
and a certain languid grace which passed easily for gentle-womanliness.
She always dressed becomingly, and in what Fiddletown accepted as the
latest fashion. She had only two blemishes: one of her velvety eyes,
when examined closely, had a slight cast; and her left cheek bore a
small scar left by a single drop of vitriol--happily the only drop of
an entire phial--thrown upon her by one of her own jealous sex, that
reached the pretty face it was intended to mar. But when the observer
had studied the eyes sufficiently to notice this defect, he was
generally incapacitated for criticism; and even the scar on her cheek
was thought by some to add piquancy to her smile. The youthful editor of
THE FIDDLETOWN AVALANCHE had said privately that it was "an exaggerated
dimple." Colonel Starbottle was instantly "reminded of the beautifying
patches of the days of Queen Anne, but more particularly, sir, of the
blankest beautiful women that, blank you, you ever laid your two blank
eyes upon--a Creole woman, sir, in New Orleans.


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