IN THE SAINTS' AND SINNERS' CORNER
To those of us who were closely associated with Eugene Field personally
or in his work, it was evident during the years from 1887 until after
his return from Europe that a radical change was taking place in his
methods of life and thought. His friend Cowen has ascribed this change
to settling down "in the must and rust of bibliomania"; but I fancy
that that settling down was more than half the result of the failing
health which warned him that he must conserve his powers. He felt the
shadows creeping up the mountain, and realized he had much to do while
yet it was day.
In Eugene Field's case it would be difficult to distinguish the line
where his bibliomania, that was an inherited infatuation for
collecting, ended, and the carefully cultivated affectation of the
craze for literary uses began. He was unquestionably a victim of the
disease about which he wrote so roguishly and withal so charmingly. But
though it was in his blood, it never blinded his sense of literary
values or restrained his sallies at the expense of his demented
fellows. He had too keen a sense of the ridiculous to go clean daft on
the subject. He yielded to the fascinating pursuit of rare and curious
editions, of old prints of celebrities, and of personal belongings of
distinguished individuals; but how far these impulses were irresistible
and how much he was mad only in craft, like Hamlet, it is impossible to
say. The bibliomaniacs claim him for their scribe and poet, the
defender of their faith, the high-priest of their craft. The scoffers
find a grimace in everything he ever wrote upon the subject, from "The
Bibliomaniac's Prayer," with its palpable reflection of Watts and its
ill-concealed raillery, down to the gentle, yet none the less
discernible, mockery of the "Love Affairs." It would be a bootless
task to follow the gradual evolution from the frequent authorship of
such quatrains as--
_In Cupid's artful toils I roll
And thrice ten thousand pangs I feel,
For Susie's eyes have ground my soul
Beneath their iron heel._
And:
_O thou, who at the age of three
Grew faint and weak and ill,
O'ertaken by the bitter pill
Of cold adversity!_
which frolic through his column as late as June, 1888; to such bits
as this:
_Oh, for a booke and a shady nooke
Eyther in doore or out,
With the greene leaves whispering overhead,
Or the streete cryes all about;
Where I maie read all at my ease
Both of the newe and old,
For a jollie goode booke whereon to looke
Is better to me than golde!_
But about September, 1888, his column began to reflect the effects of
his mania for and about collecting. For a short time he showed little
preference between both "the newe and old" books; but ere 1889 was
three months gone, "newe" books, however, "jollie goode" were almost
banished from his vocabulary and column. "The Bibliomaniac's Prayer"
(January, 1889) was one of the early symptoms of the transformation
that was impending and the paraphrases from Horace which began to
appear frequently in the same month indicated that he had entered upon
another study that was to exert such a marked influence upon his later
style and writings.
As has been indicated in an earlier chapter, Field began to frequent
the southwest corner of McClurg's book-store shortly after he came to
Chicago. That section of this "emporium of literature" was presided
over by George M. Millard, and contained as fine and, truth to tell, as
expensive an assortment of rare and choice books as was to be found
outside of the great collections of the land. Mr. Millard made annual
or biennial pilgrimages to London in the interests of his house; and
when he did not go, General McClurg, who was himself a book fancier of
rare good taste and eke business judgment, devoted part of his European
vacations to the bookshelves, book-shops, and binderies of Field's
"dear old London." On the occasion of the former's return from one of
his book-buying excursions, with the spoils of Europe for the
spoliation of Chicago's book-maniacs, Field announced the fact in the
following somewhat equivocal but wholly clever lines:
_GEORGE MILLARD IS HOME!
Come, ye maniacs, as of yore
From your musty, dusty hidings,
And in answer to the tidings
Crowd the corner full once more,
Lo, from distant England's shore,
Laden down with spoil galore
Such as bibliopoles adore--
Books and prints in endless store,
Treasures singly or in set
(Labelled "j.k.t." and "net"),
All who have the means to buy
Things that glad the heart and eye.
Ye who seek some rare old tome--
Maniacs shrewd or imbecilic,
Urban, pastoral, or idyllic,
Richly clad or dishabillic,
Heed the summons bibliophilic--
"George Millard is home!"_
Field was not first attracted to Millard's department by its treasures
of rare books, sacred and profane, but by its comprehensive stock of
early English balladry and a complete line of Bohn's Library. In these
he revelled until he had pretty thoroughly comprehended, as he would
say, their contents. But during our almost daily visit to McClurg's he
formed the acquaintance of a number of such chronic book collectors as
Ben. T. Cable, George A. Armour, Charles J. Barnes, James W. Ellsworth,
Rev. Frank W. Gunsaulus, the Rev. Frank M. Bristol, the Rev. M. Woolsey
Stryker, and others, some with ample wealth to indulge their
extravagant tastes, but the majority with lean purses coupled with
bookish tastes beyond the resources of a Philadelphia mint. Out of
these daily meetings and mousings among books and prints was evolved in
Field's fancy what he dubbed the "Saints' and Sinners' Corner." The
"Saints" may be easily identified by their titles, while the "Sinners"
included all those who had neither title nor pretence to holiness, but
were simply engaged in breaking the command against coveting their
neighbors' possessions. There was no formal organization, no club, no
stated meetings, no roll of members, and no gatherings such as after a
time were constantly reported in the "Sharps and Flats" column. All the
meetings and discussions in the Saints' and Sinners' Corner were held
in Field's fertile brain, and only occasionally were the subjects of
these meetings suggested by anything that happened at McClurg's.
The earliest reference I have found to this figment of Field's fancy
is a casual paragraph in April, 1889, where he speaks of a number of
bibliomaniacs having congregated in the Saints' and Sinners' Corner at
McClurg's. But the phrase was current among us long before that. It
was not until nearly two years had elapsed that Field gravely
announced "a sale of pews in the Saints' and Sinners' corner at
McClurg's immediately after the regular noontime service next
Wednesday" (December 31st, 1890). It is perhaps worthy of a remark
that General McClurg for a long time regarded Field's frequent jests
and squibs at the expense of the frequenters of his old-book
department with anything but an approving eye. He looked upon Field
for many years as a ribald mocker of the conventionalities not only of
literature but of life. "Culture's Garland" was an offence to his
social instincts and literary tastes. Among all the men with whom
Field came in frequent converse, the late lamented General Alexander
C. McClurg was the last to succumb to the engaging tormentor. Field's
lack of reverence for all earthly things, except womankind, was the
barrier between these two.
Thus it came about that Field made the Saints' and Sinners' Corner at
McClurg's famous throughout the book world against its owner's will,
but not against his fortune. For more than six years he advertised its
wares and bargains as no book-store had ever been advertised before.
All the general and his lieutenant had to do was to provide the books
collectors were after, and Field did the rest. He played upon the
strings of bibliomaniac acquisitiveness as a skilled musician upon the
violin; and whether the music they gave forth was grave or gay, it gave
a mocking pleasure to the man who rejoiced that there was so much power
in the "subtile" scratching of his pen.
Among the earliest friends Field made at McClurg's was the late William
F. Poole, for many years in charge of the Chicago Public Library, and
subsequently of the Newberry Library. Dr. Poole came from Salem, Mass.,
and his son at one time was catcher for the Yale base-ball nine. Field
took advantage of these facts, which appealed to his enjoyment of
contradictions to print all manner of odd conceits about Professor
Poole's relations to witches, base-ball, and libraries. The doctor
could not make a move in public that it did not inspire Field to some
new quidity involving his alleged belief in witches, his envy and
admiration of his son's prowess at base-ball, and his real and
extensive familiarity with libraries and literature. Some idea of the
good-natured liberties Field took with the name of Dr. Poole is given
in this paragraph of October 8th, 1889:
Dr. William F. Poole, the veteran bibliophile, is now in San
Francisco attending the meeting of the National Librarians'
Association. While the train bearing the excursionists was _en
route_ through Arizona, a stop of twenty minutes was made one
evening for supper at a rude eating-house, and here Dr. Poole had an
exciting experience with a tarantula. The venomous reptile attacked
the kindly old gentleman with singular voracity, and but for the
high-topped boots which Mr. Poole wore, serious injuries would have
been inflicted upon our friend's person. Mr. Fred Hild, our Public
Librarian, hearing Dr. Poole's cries for help, ran to the rescue,
and with his cane and umbrella succeeded in keeping the tarantula
at bay until the keeper of the restaurant fetched his gun and
dispatched the malignant monster. The tarantula weighed six pounds.
Dr. Poole took the skin to San Francisco and will have it tanned so
he can utilize it for the binding of one of his favorite books.
I have introduced Dr. Poole into this narrative because he was really
the dean of the interesting group of men who figured in Field's Saints'
and Sinners' Corner. Both Field and the venerable doctor had a slight
impediment in speech at the beginning of a sentence or in addressing
anyone. When they met after such a paragraph as the above had been
printed, Dr. Poole would blurt out in the most friendly way, "O-o-o-oh
Field! w-w-where did you get that lie from?" To which Field would
reply, "L-i-i-ie, d-doctor! W-w-why, F-f-fred Hild [Poole's successor
in the public library] g-g-gave me that!" Then the doctor would
ejaculate "Nonsense!" and the conversation would drift into some
discussion about books, in which all impediments of speech disappeared.
When McClurg's book-store was gutted by a fire some years ago, in which
the precious contents of the Saints' and Sinners' Corner were ruined
beyond restoration and the many associations that lingered around them
went up in smoke or were drowned out by water, the newspapers were
filled with all manner of stories about the Saints' and Sinners' Club
that had held its meetings there. The Rev. Dr. Gunsaulus, one of the
most widely known Saints, spoke of it as an association "without rules
of order or times of meeting." "It consisted," said he, in a published
interview, "of the most interesting group of liars ever assembled. For
ten years that Saints' and Sinners' Corner was a place where congenial
fellows met. We simply feasted our eyes on beautiful books or old
manuscripts and chatted with each other after the usual fashion of
book-lovers. The stories told were sometimes more amusing than
profitable." He also told how Field, on one occasion, saved a book
which he greatly coveted by writing on the fly-leaf:
_Swete friend, for Jesus's sake forbeare
To buy ye lake thou findest here,
For that when I do get ye pelf,
I meane to buy ye boke my selfe.
Eugene Field._
But the clergymen, doctors and merchants, actors and newspaper-men who
met by chance and the one common instinct of book-loving at McClurg's,
albeit "the greatest aggregation of liars" one of them had ever "met up
with," were a simple, ingenuous, and aimless lot compared to the group
which Field assembled in his corner in the "Sharps and Flats" column.
Only quotations from some of his reports of their imaginary meetings
can do justice to these children of his brain. These I should preface
with the explanation that Field always sought to preserve in his
fiction some general and distinguishing characteristics of his Saints
and Sinners, who were all real persons bearing their real names. His
many inventions stopped at bestowing fictitious names upon either his
Saints or his Sinners. I have selected "corners" which have not been
published between boards. It is, perhaps, needless to say that I am
always made to figure as a Philistine in these gatherings, as a penalty
for my lack of sympathy with the whole theory of valuing books by their
dates, editions, and bindings rather than their "eternal internals."
SOUVENIRS FROM EGYPT
At a meeting of the bibliomaniacs in the Saints and Sinners Corner
yesterday, Mr. E.G. Mason announced that he was about to start for
Africa. It was his intention to leave Chicago on the morrow, and
sail from New York on Saturday.
Mr. G.M. Millard: "Do you go in the interests of the Newberry
Library, or as the agent of Mr. Charles F. Gunther?"
Mr. Mason: "I go for pleasure, but during my absence I shall cast
around now and then for relics which I know my good friend, Mr.
Poole, desires to possess. For example, I am informed that the
Newberry Library is in need of a stock of papyrus, and if I can
secure a mummy or two I shall certainly do so. Indeed, I hope to
bring back a valise full of relics."
The Rev. Mr. Bristol: "Maybe the gentleman would like to borrow a
trunk?"
In the course of further parley it transpired that Mr. Mason
contemplated extending his tour to Syria, and he answered in the
affirmative Mr. Slason Thompson's inquiry whether he carried with
him from his venerable friend from Evanston (Dr. Poole) a letter of
introduction to the Pooles of Siloam and Bethesda. Mr. Mason only
agreed to fill the commissions involving procurement of the
following precious souvenirs:
An autograph letter of Rameses I, for the Rev. Mr. Bristol.
A quart of chestnuts from the groves of Lebanon, for Colonel J.S.
Norton.
One of Cleopatra's needles, for Mrs. F.S. Peabody.
The original Pipe of Pan, for Mr. Cox's collection of Tobacco-ana.
A genuine hieroglyphical epitaph, for Dr. Charles Gilman Smith.
A live unicorn for Mr. W.F. Poole; also the favorite broom-stick of
the witch of Endor.
A letter was read from Mr. Francis Wilson, the comedian, announcing
that the iniquitous operations of the McKinley act had practically
paralyzed the trade in Napoleona. A similar condition obtained in
the autograph market, the native mills engaged in manufacturing
autographs having doubled their prices since the enforcement of the
tariff discriminating against autographs made in foreign factories.
A committee, consisting of Messrs. R.M. Dornan, F.H. Head, and R.M.
Whipple, was authorized to investigate the alarming rumor that the
Rev. Dr. Gunsaulus had publicly offered to donate to one Roberts a
certain sum of money that clearly ought to be expended for first
editions and Cromwelliana.
Mr. Harry L. Hamlin announced that he had a daughter. (Applause.)
Mr. W.H. Wells: "Give title and date, please."
Mr. Hamlin: "She is entitled Dorothy (first edition), Chicago, 1890,
16mo, handsome frontispiece and beautiful type; I have had her
handsomely bound, and I regard her as a priceless specimen of
Americana." (Applause.)
Various suggestions were offered as to the character of the gift
which the Saints and Sinners should formally present to this first
babe that had accrued to a member of the organization. Finally, it
was determined to present a large silver spoon in behalf of the
Saints and Sinners collectively, and Dr. Poole was requested to
draft a presentation address.
Mr. Hamlin feelingly thanked his friends; he should guard the token
of their friendship jealously and affectionately.
The Rev. Mr. Bristol: "It won't be safe unless you keep it in a
trunk--better get a trunk, brother, ere it be too late--better get a
trunk!"
The meeting adjourned after singing the beautiful hymn, collected,
adapted, and arranged by the Rev. Dr. Stryker, beginning:
_"Though some, benight in sin, delight
To glut their vandal cravings,
These hands of mine shall not incline
To tear out old engravings."
January 22d, 1891._
PROPOSED CURE FOR BIBLIOMANIA
A smile of exceeding satisfaction illuminated General McClurg's
features as he walked into the corner yesterday noon and found that
historic spot crowded with Saints and Sinners. Said he to Mr.
Millard: "George, you are a famous angler!"
Mr. Millard assumed a self-deprecatory expression. "I make no
pretentions at all," answered he, modestly. "My only claim is that I
am not upon earth for my health."
"I see our handsome friend, Guy Magee, here to-day," observed
General McClurg. "I thought he had opened out a book-shop of his
own."
"So he has," replied Mr. Millard, "at 24 North Clark Street, and a
mighty good book-shop it is, too. I visited the place last week, and
was surprised to see a number of beautiful books in stock."
"Let's see," said General McClurg, "24 North Clark Street is the
other side of the bridge, isn't it?"
"Yes, just the other side--five minutes' walk from the Court House.
Magee proposed to cater to the higher class of purchasers only, and
with this end in view he has selected a choice line of books; in
splendid bindings and in illustrated books he has a particularly
large stock. Meanwhile he remains an active member of the noble
fraternity that has made this corner famous. On Thanksgiving day we
are going in a body to look at his fine things, and to hold what our
Saints call a praise-service in the snug, warm, cozy shop."
"That being the case, I will go, too," said General McClurg.
The Saints and Sinners were full of the Christmas spirit yesterday,
and they were telling one another what they meant to buy for
Christmas gifts. Dr. W.F. Poole said he had designs upon a set of
Grose's "Antiquities," bound in turkey-red morocco. In answer to Mr.
F.M. Larned's inquiry as to whom he intended to give this splendid
present, Dr. Poole said: "To myself, of course! Christmas comes but
once a year, and at that time of all times are we justified in
gratifying the lusts of the spirit. (Applause.) Nobody can scold us
if we choose to be good to ourselves at Christmas."
"I think we all have reason to felicitate Brother Poole," said Mr.
Charles J. Barnes. "Happening to visit the nord seit the other day,
I saw that work was progressing on the Newberry Library. I should
like to know when the corner-stone of that splendid edifice is to be
laid."
"The date has not yet been fixed," answered Dr. Poole, "but when it
is laid it will be with the most elaborate public ceremonies. The
corner-stone will be hollowed out, and into this cavity will be
placed a number of priceless and curious relics."
Mr. Millard: "The Saints and Sinners should be represented at those
ceremonies and in that hollow corner-stone."
Mr. Poole: "Of course. As for myself, I shall contribute the stuffed
tarantula which I brought back with me from Arizona."
Dr. F.M. Bristol: "Another interesting relic that should go into
that corner-stone is the stump of the cigar which the Rev. Dr.
Gunsaulus smoked at camp-meeting."
Dr. Gunsaulus: "I will cheerfully contribute that relic if upon his
part Brother Bristol will contribute his portrait of Eliphalet W.
Blatchford disguised as Falstaff." (Cheers.)
The Rev. Dr. Stryker: "I have a completed uncut set of 'Monk and
Knight,' which I will be happy to devote to the same cause."
Dr. Gunsaulus: "The contributions will be hardly complete without a
box of those matches with which Brother Stryker wanted to kindle a
bonfire which was to consume the body of the heretical Briggs. But
speaking of that novel of mine ('Monk and Knight') reminds me that I
wrote a poem on the railway the other day, and I will read it now if
there be no objection." (Cries of 'Read it,' 'Go ahead.') "The poem,
humble as it is, was suggested by seeing a fellow-passenger fall
asleep over his volume of Bion and Moschus. This is the way it goes:
_Wake, wake him not; the book lies in his hands--
Bion and Moschus smile within his sleep;
Tired of our world, he lives in other lands--
Wanders in Greece, where fauns and satyrs leap.
Dull, even sweet, the rumble of the train--
'Tis Circe singing near her golden loom;
No garish lamps afflicted his charmed brain--
Demeter's poppies brighten o'er her tomb.
But half-awake he looks on starlit trees--
Sees but the huntress in her eager chase;
Wake, wake him not upon the fragrant breeze,
Let horn and hound announce her rapid pace.
Blithe shepherds pipe within the Dorian vales,
Hellenic airs blow through their sun-bright hair,
To him alone the wooers whisper tales--
Bloomed kind Calypso's islet ne'er so fair.
Unbanished gods roam o'er the thymy hills,
Calm shadows slumber on the purple grapes,
Hid are the dryads near the star-gemmed rills,
Far through the moonlight wander love-lorn shapes.
Gray olives shade the dancing-naiads' smile,
Flutes loose their raptures in the murmuring stream,
These, these are visions modern cares beguil--
Echoes of the old Greek's dream._"
Mr. Stryker: "That is good poetry, Brother Gunsaulus. If you would
tone it down a little, and contrive to work in a touch of piety here
and there, I would be glad to print it in my next volume of hymns."
Mr. H.B. Smith: "I did not suppose that our reverend Brother
Gunsaulus ever attempted poetry. His verses have that grace and lilt
that are the prime essentials to successful comic-opera libretto
writing. When I want a collaborateur, I shall know whom to apply
to."
Mr. Bristol: "The brother's poem indicates the influence of the
Homer school. Can it be possible that our Plymouth Church friend has
fallen into the snare spread for him by the designing members of the
South Side Hellenic organization?"
Dr. Gunsaulus: "Since Brother Bristol seems so anxious to know, I
will admit that I have recently joined the Armour Commandery of the
South Side Sons of Homer."
Mr. Slason Thompson, heading off the discussion threatened by Mr.
Gunsaulus's declaration, arose and informed the company that he was
prepared to confer an inestimable boon upon his brother Saints and
brother Sinners. "You are all," said he, "victims to an exacting and
fierce mania--a madness that is unremitting in the despotism
directing every thought and practice in your waking hours, and
filling your brains with gilded fancies during your nocturnal
periods of repose. (Applause.) Many of you are so advanced in this
mania that the mania itself has become seemingly your very
existence--(cheers)--and the feet of others are fast taking hold
upon that path which leads down into the hopeless depths of this
insanity. (Prolonged applause.) Hitherto bibliomania has been
regarded as incurable; humanity has looked upon it as the one malady
whose tortures neither salve, elixir, plaster, poultice, nor pill,
can ever alleviate; it has been pronounced immedicable, immitigable,
and irremediable.
"For a long time," continued Mr. Thompson. "I have searched for an
antidote against this subtle and terrific poison of bibliomania. At
last, heaven be praised! I have found the cure! (Great sensation.)
Yes, a certain remedy for this madness is had in Keeley's bichloride
of gold bibliomania bolus, a packet of which I now hold in my hand!
Through the purging and regenerating influences of this magic
antidote, it is possible for every one of you to shake off the evil
with which you are cursed, and to restore that manhood which you
have lost in your insane pursuit of wretched book fancies. The
treatment requires only three weeks' time. You take one of these
boluses just before each meal and one before going to bed. In about
three days you become aware that your olfactories are losing that
keenness of function which has enabled you to nose out old books and
to determine the age thereof merely by sniffing at the binding. In a
week distaste for book-hunting is exhibited, and this increases
until at the end of a fortnight you are ready to burn every volume
you can lay hands on. No man can take this remedy for three weeks
without being wholly and permanently cured of bibliomania. I have
also another gold preparation warranted to cure the mania for old
prints, old china, old silver, and old furniture."
Mr. Thompson had no sooner ended his remarks when a score of Saints
and Sinners sprang up to protest against this ribald quackery. The
utmost confusion prevailed for several moments. Finally the
venerable Dr. Poole was accorded the floor. "Far be it from me,"
said he, solemnly, "to lend my approval to any enterprise that
contemplates bibliomania as a disease instead of a crime.
(Applause.) I live in Evanston, the home of that saintly woman Miss
Willard, and under her teachings I have become convinced that
bibliomania is a sin which must be eradicated by piety and not by
pills. Rather than be cured by heretical means, I prefer not to be
cured at all." (Great cheering.)
Remarks in a similar vein were made by Messrs. Ballantyne, Larned,
Hamlin, Smith, Barnes, Cole, Magee, Taylor, and Carpenter. Dr.
Gunsaulus seemed rather inclined to try the cure, but he doubted
whether he could stick to it for three weeks. Finally, a compromise
was effected by the adoption of the following resolutions submitted
by the Rev. Dr. Bristol:
"Resolved, that we, Saints and Sinners, individually and
collectively, defer, postpone, suspend, and delay all experiment and
essay with the bichloride bibliomania bolus until after the
approaching holiday season, and furthermore,
"Resolved, that at the expiration of this specified interdicted
season we will see about it."
Suspecting treachery, Dr. Gunsaulus secured the adoption of another
resolution forbidding any member of the organization to secure or
apply for an option on the said boluses before formal action with
reference to the vaunted cure had been taken by the Saints and
Sinners in regular meeting.
November, 1891.
However, Field did not confine all his attentions to what he called the
"book-bandits" to his reports on the proceedings in the Saints' and
Sinners' Corner. Scattered throughout his writings from 1887 onward
were paragraphs, ballads, and jests, praising, berating, and "joshing"
the maniac crew who held that "binding's the surest test," and who
bought books, as some would-be connoisseurs do wine, by the label. With
all his professions of sympathy with the maniacs, he never missed an
opportunity to make merry over what he regarded as their rivalries and
disappointments, and he never wearied of egging them on to imitate his
own besetting disposition to buy the curio you covet and "settle when
you can," as indicated in the beautiful hymn that concludes the
following paragraph:
Francis Wilson, the comedian, is the possessor of the chair which
Sir Walter Scott used in his library at Abbotsford. A beautiful bit
of furniture it is, and well worth, aside from all sentimental
consideration, the large price paid by the enterprising and
discriminating curio. As we understand it, Bouton, the New York
dealer, had this chair on exhibition for several months. Mr. Wilson
happened along one day, having just returned from a professional
tour in the West. Mr. William Winter, dramatic critic of the
Tribune, was looking at the chair; he had been after it for some
time, but had been waiting for the price to abate somewhat.
"The Players' Club should have that chair," said he to Bouton, "and
if you'll give better terms I'll get a number of the members to chip
in together and buy it."
To this appeal Bouton sturdily remained deaf. After Mr. Winter had
left the place, Wilson said to Bouton, "Send the chair up to my
house; here is a check for the money."
There are rumors to the effect that when Mr. Winter heard of this
transaction he rent his garments and gnashed his teeth, and wildly
implored somebody to hang a millstone about his neck and cast him
into outer darkness.
Horace Greeley used to say that the best way to resume was to
resume; so, in the science of collecting, it behooves the collector
never to put off till to-morrow what he can pick up to-day. This
theory has been most succinctly and beautifully set forth in one of
the hymns recently compiled by the Archbishop of the North Side
(page 217):
_How foolish of a man to wait
When once his chance is nigh:
To-morrow it may be too late--
Some other man may buy.
Nay, brother, comprehend the boon
That's offered in a trice,
Or else some other all too soon
Will pay the needful price.
Should some fair book engage your eye,
Or print invite your glance,
Oh, trifle not with faith, but buy
While yet you have the chance!
Else, glad to do thee grievous wrong,
Some wolf in human guise--
Some bibliophil shall snoop along
And nip that lovely prize!
No gem of purest ray serene
Gleams in the depthless sea,
There is no flower that blooms unseen
Upon the distant lea,
But the same snooping child of sin,
With fad or mania curst,
Will find it out and take it in
Unless you get there first.
Though undue haste may be a crime,
Procrastination's worse;
Now--now is the accepted time
To eviscerate your purse!
So buy what finds you find to-day--
That is the safest plan;
And if you find you cannot pay,
Why, settle when you can._
As I have said, there was no such organization as a Saints' and
Sinners' Club, no roll of membership, and no such meetings as were
exploited with such engaging verity by Field. The only formal gathering
of any considerable number of the habitués of the Saints' and Sinners'
Corner that ever took place was never reported by him. It occurred on
New Year's Eve, 1890, and everything appertaining to it, down to the
fragrant whiskey punch, was concocted by Field, who explained that his
poverty, not his will, consented to the substitution of the wine of
America for that of France in the huge iron-stone bowl that answered
all the demands of the occasion. About a week before the date all the
members whose names had been used without their consent in the Corner
in "Sharps and Flats" received a card, on which was written:
Saints' and Sinners' Corner,
December 31, 1890.
Be there 10.30 P.M. Sharp.
The Sinners turned out in full force. The Saints, I suppose, had
watch-night services of their own, for they were conspicuous by their
absence. Lawyers, doctors, actors, newspaper men, and book-lovers of
divers callings and degrees of iniquity were on hand at half-past ten
o'clock, or continued to drop in toward midnight. But if there was a
doctor of divinity in that hilarious gathering, I fail to recall his
presence. If one was present, he failed to exercise a restraining
influence on the gaiety of the Sinners. And yet without such presence
there was a subtle influence pervading the strange scene, that forbade
any approach to boisterousness. Out in the main body of the deserted
store all was dark and still. The curtains of the show-windows were
drawn down, shutting out the intrusive light of the street-lamps.
Field's guests--for we all, even George Millard, acknowledged him as
host and high priest of the evening--were assembled in the corner
devoted to old books and prints. The congregation, as he styled the
meeting, was seated on such chairs, stools, and boxes as the place
could afford. The darkness was made visible by a few sickly gas-jets
and some half dozen candles in appropriate black glass candlesticks
that looked suspiciously like bottles. Field was as busy as a shuttle
in a sewing-machine. He announced that Elder Melville E. Stone would
"preside over the meetin' and line out the hymns," which Mr. Stone,
though no singer, proceeded to do, calling on the mendacious Sinners
for brief confessions of their manifold transgressions during the dying
year. The tide of experiences was at its height when, on the first
stroke of midnight, every light was doused. So suddenly and
unexpectedly did darkness swallow us from each other's ken that there
was a gasp, and then for a moment a hushed silence. Before this was
broken by any other sound out from the impenetrable gloom came a deep
sepulchral voice, chanting:
_"From Canaan's beatific coast
I've come to visit thee,
For I am Frognall Dibdin's ghost,"
Says Dibdin's ghost to me.
I bade him welcome, and we twain
Discussed with buoyant hearts
The various things that appertain
To bibliomaniac arts.
"Since you are fresh from t'other side,
Pray, tell me of that host
That treasured books before they died,"
Says I to Dibdin's ghost.
"They've entered into perfect rest:
For in the life they've won,
There are no auctions to molest,
No creditors to dun.
"Their heavenly rapture has no bounds
Beside that jasper sea;
It is a joy unknown to Lowndes,"
Says Dibdin's ghost to me._
You could have heard the proverbial pin drop as Field's organ-like
voice, which all quickly recognized, rolled out the now familiar lines
of "Dibdin's Ghost," then heard for the first time by everyone in that
historic Corner. No point was missed in that weird recitation. I shall
never forget the graveyard unction with which he propounded the
question and answer of the poem:
_"But what of those who scold at us
When we would read in bed?
Or, wanting victuals, make a fuss
If we buy books instead?
And what of those who've dusted not
Our motley pride and boast,--
Shall they profane that sacred spot?"
Says I to Dibdin's ghost.
"Oh, no! they tread that other path
Which leads where torments roll,
And worms--yes, bookworms--vent their wrath
Upon the guilty soul,
Untouched of bibliomaniac grace,
That saveth such as we,
They wallow in that dreadful place,"
Says Dibdin's ghost to me._
Into these lines Field managed to throw all the exulting fanaticism of
the hopeless bibliomaniac without suppressing one jot of the chuckle of
the profane scoffer. And then the gas and candles were relit and the
punch and sandwiches and apple pie and cheese were served, and with
song and story we passed such a night as sinners mark with red letters
for saints to envy. If the reader should ever come across Paul du
Chaillu, who contributed to the varied pleasures of the occasion, let
him inquire of the veracious Paul whether, in all his travels and
experiences, he ever knew one man so capable of entertaining a host of
wits as Eugene Field proved himself on the eve of New Year, 1891.