ld in a first-rate way; he divined in it the magic
quality unsuspected by the narrator--universal humour. He made notes in
order to remember the story, and on his return to the Gillis' cabin,
"wrote it up." He wrote a number of other things besides, all of which
he valued above the frog story; but Gillis thought it the best thing he
had ever written.

Meantime the rain had washed off the surface soil from their last pan,
which they had left in their hurry. Some passing miners were astonished
to behold the ground glittering with gold; they appropriated it, but
dared not molest the deposit until the expiration of the thirty-day
claim-notice posted by Jim Gillis. They sat down to wait, hoping that
the claimants would not return. At the expiration of the thirty days,
the claim-jumpers took possession, and soon cleared out the pocket,
which yielded twenty thousand dollars. It was one of the most fortunate
accidents in Mark Twain's career. He came within one pail of water of
comparative wealth; but had he discovered that pocket, he would probably
have settled down as a pocketminer, and might have pounded quartz for
the rest of his life. Had his nerve held out a moment longer, he would
never have gone to Angel's Camp, would never have heard The Story of the
Jumping Frog, and would have escaped that sudden fame which this little
story soon brought him.

On his return to San Francisco, he dropped in one morning to see Bret
Harte, and told him this story. As Harte records:

"He spoke in a slow, rather satirical drawl, which was in itself
irresistible. He went on to tell one of those extravagant stories,
and half-unconsciously dropped into the lazy tone and manner of the
original narrator. I asked him to tell it again to a friend who
came in, and they asked him to write it for 'The Californian'. He
did so, and when published it was an emphatic success. It was the
first work of his that had attracted general attention, and it
crossed the Sierras for an Eastern reading. The story was 'The
Jumping Frog of Calaveras.' It is now known and laughed over, I
suppose, wherever the English language is spoken; but it will never
be as funny to anyone in print as it was to me, told for the first
time, by the unknown Twain himself, on that morning in the San
Francisco Mint."

When Artemus Ward passed through California on a literary tour in 1864,
Mark Twain regal