In July, 1868, A. Roman & Co. launched the Overland Monthly, with Harte as editor.  He took up the work with eager interest.  He named the child, planned its every feature, and chose his contributors.  It was a handsome publication, modeled, in a way, on the Atlantic Monthly, but with a flavor and a character all its own.  The first number was attractive and readable, with articles of varied interest by Mark Twain, Noah Brooks, Charles Warren Stoddard, William C. Bartlett, T.H.  Rearden, Ina Coolbrith, and others—­a brilliant galaxy for any period.  Harte contributed “San Francisco from the Sea.”

Mark Twain, long after, alluding to this period in his life, pays this characteristic acknowledgment:  “Bret Harte trimmed and trained and schooled me patiently until he changed me from an awkward utterer of coarse grotesqueness to a writer of paragraphs and chapters that have found favor in the eyes of even some of the decentest people in the land.”

The first issue of the Overland was well received, but the second sounded a note heard round the world.  The editor contributed a story—­“The Luck of Roaring Camp”—­that was hailed as a new venture in literature.  It was so revolutionary that it shocked an estimable proofreader, and she sounded the alarm.  The publishers were timid, but the gentle editor was firm.  When it was found that it must go in or he would go out, it went—­and he stayed.  When the conservative and dignified Atlantic wrote to the author soliciting something like it, the publishers were reassured.

Harte had struck ore.  Up to this time he had been prospecting.  He had early found color and followed promising stringers.  He had opened some fair pockets, but with the explosion of this blast he had laid bare the true vein, and the ore assayed well.  It was high grade, and the fissure was broad.

“The Luck of Roaring Camp” was the first of a series of stories depicting the picturesque life of the early days which made California known the world over and gave it a romantic interest enjoyed by no other community.  They were fresh and virile, original in treatment, with real men and women using a new vocabulary, with humor and pathos delightfully blended.  They moved on a stage beautifully set, with a background of heroic grandeur.  No wonder that California and Bret Harte became familiar household words.  When one reflects on the fact that the exposure to the life depicted had occurred more than ten years before, from very brief experience, the wonder is incomprehensibly great.  Nothing less than genius can account for such a result.  “Tennessee’s Partner,” “M’liss,” “The Outcasts of Poker Flat,” and dozens more of these stories that became classics followed.  The supply seemed exhaustless, and fresh welcome awaited every one.