1892;] Other ^Journalists 





of the human type known as "the man about town," 

 and possessed of a gift of sarcasm nearly as biting 

 as that of his colleague. Toward the last the two 

 fell out. McEwen then published a review of his 

 one-time friend so accurately vitriolic that it was 

 held to avenge all the latter's many victims. 



In quite a different journalistic class were George Fiuh 

 H. Fitch of the Chronicle and Bailey Millard of the ^jf^^^^^ 

 Examiner. Fitch, a serious, scholarly man of high 

 ability, I had known at Cornell, where he had taken 

 one of my botany courses. For many years city 

 editor of the Chronicle, he also had charge of its 

 literary pages; his book reviews and general dis- 

 cussions were always sound, often inspiring. 



Genial Bailey Millard, long absent from the 



Coast, returned not long ago to edit for a time the 



Bulletin, one of San Francisco's evening sheets. 



When I first met him, he was a keen and kindly 



young fellow, beloved of all who came within the 



range of his personal acquaintance, and full of plans 



and expedients. Sometime in the early part of the a great 



century, while in New York as editor of Hearst's p'^^^"" 



Cosmopolitan, he conceived the novel idea of giving a 



I dinner for three men whom he regarded in some degree 



i as sages or prophets — Edwin Markham, Hamlin Gar- 



, land, and myself — with a stenographer to take down 



i the conversation as it proceeded. But, as I remember, 



! not one of us said a single smart thing, though both 



, Markham and Garland had shown themselves amply 



capable of rising to form. When the material was 



ready for the magazine, Hearst ran his eye over the 



copy. "Cut out that stuff, nobody cares for it," 



was his comment. 



John McNaught, editor of the San Francisco 



1:463 3 



