CHAPTER XI

LAST DAYS

At last (July, 1895) Field was in his own house, provided, as he said,

with all the modern conveniences, including an ample veranda and a

genial mortgage. About it were the oaks, in whose branches the birds

had built their nests before Chicago was a frontier post. He could sit

upon the "front stoop" and look across vacant lots to where Lake

Michigan beat upon the sandy shore with ceaseless rhythm. Inside, the

house was roomy and cheery with God's own sunlight pouring in through

generous windows. Reversing the usual order of things in this climate

of the southwest wind, the porch was on the northeast exposure of the

house. The best room in it was the library, and here, for the first

time in his career, Field had the opportunity to provide shelf-room for

his books and cabinets for his curios. An artist would have said that

their arrangement was crude and ineffective; but from the collector's

point of view the arrangement could scarcely have been bettered.

Everything seemed to have settled in its appropriate niche, according

to its value in the collector's eye, irrespective of its value in the

dealer's catalogue. Of his collection before it was moved from the

house on Evanston Avenue, adjoining the Waller lot, his friend Julian

Ralph wrote:

"He had cabinets and closets filled with the wreckage of England, New

England, Holland, and Louisiana; walls littered with mugs, and prints,

and pictures, plates, and warming-pans; shelves crowded with such

things, and mantel-pieces likewise loaded, through two stories of his

house. All were curios of value, or else beauty, for he was no

ignoramus in his madness. His den above stairs, where he sat surrounded

by a great and valuable collection of first editions and other prized

books, was part of the museum. There hung the axe Mr. Gladstone gave

him at Hawarden, and the shears that Charles A. Dana used during a

quarter of a century. These two prizes he cherished most. He had been

to Mr. Dana and begged the shears, receiving the promise that he should

have them left to him in Mr. Dana's will. He waited five years, grew

impatient, past endurance, and then came on to New York and got the

shears from Paul Dana."

To his new home, which he christened "The Sabine Farm," were moved all

the accumulated treasures of his mania for curiosities and antiques. "I

do not think he thought much of art," wrote Edward Everett Hale in his

introduction to "A Little Book of Profitable Tales"; and the motley,

albeit fascinating, aggregation of rare and outlandish chattels in

Eugene Field's house justified that conclusion. Of what the world calls

art, whether the creation of the brush, the chisel, the loom, or the

potter's oven, he had the most rudimentary conception. His eye was ever

alert for things queer, rare, and "out of print." Of these he was a

connoisseur beyond compare, a collector without a peer. He valued

prints, not for their beauty or the art of the engraver, but for some

peculiarity in the plate, or because of the difficulties overcome in

their "comprehension." He knew all that was to be known of the

delightful art of the binder, but his most cherished specimen would

always be one where a master had made some slip in tooling. For

oddities and rarities in all the range of the collector's fever, from

books and prints to pewter mugs and rag dolls, his mania was omnivorous

and catholic. And strange as it may seem, with his mania was mingled a

shrewd appreciation of the commercial side of it all. This is what Mr.

Ralph means when he says Field was no ignoramus in his madness.

Therefore it is not to be wondered at that his collection of strange

and fantastic, odd and curious, things filled his library and

overflowed and clustered every nook and corner of the Sabine Farm. Here

was a "thumb" Bible, there the smallest dictionary in the world. In one

corner was stacked a freakish lot of canes--some bought because they

were freaks, some with a story behind their acquisition, and more

presented to him because Field let it be known that he had a penchant

for canes--which, by the way, he never carried. In one room there was a

shelf of empty bottles of every conceivable shape, size, and "previous

condition of servitude"; in another was a perfect menagerie of

mechanical toy animals. As he could not decide which he liked best,

hideous pewter mugs or delicate china dishes, he "annexed" them

indiscriminately, and stored them cheek by jowl, much to the annoyance

of his more orderly wife. The old New England pie-plate was a dearer

article of vertu to him than the most fragile vase, unless the latter

was a rare specimen of a forgotten art. He had a genuine affection for

clocks of high and low degree. He loved them for their friendly faces,

and endowed them with personal idiosyncrasies, according to their

tickings, by which he distinguished them. And so the Sabine Farm had

old-fashioned clocks and new-fangled clocks in the halls and bedrooms,

on the stairs and mantels, in the cellars beneath and in the garret

above--all ticking merrily or sedately, as became their respective

makes and natures. But keeping time? Never!

Of books there was no end. Books he had inherited, books he had bought

with money pinched from household expenses, and presentation books by

the score. All were jumbled together in a confusion that delighted him,

but which would have been the despair of an orderly mind. His rare and

well-nigh complete collection of books on Horace and of editions of the

poet had the place of honor in his library, with the rest nowhere in

particular and everywhere in general. Hundreds of his books bear the

autographs of their respective authors, while the walls of the house

were covered with autograph letters from many of the celebrities and

not a few of the notorieties of the world. Even the nonentities found

lodgement there. Such another collection as Field's is not to be met

with under any roof in this country; nor could its like be duplicated

anywhere, because it reflects the man in all his personal

contradictions and predispositions. It is queer and _sui generis_--but

mostly "queer"--which word to him always conveyed a sense of inimitable

incongruity.

When Field returned from Holland he wore on his third finger a hideous

silver ring, that looked like pewter, in which shone, but did not

sparkle, a huge green crystal. It was a gorgeous travesty on an

emerald. Beauty it had none, nor even quaintness of design. It was just

plain ugly; but he had become attached to it because it was conspicuous

and had some association with Dutch life connected with it. From this

it may be inferred that Field's taste in jewelry was barbaric; but,

happily for Mrs. Field, it was a taste he seldom indulged.

Besides the pleasure of sitting down amid the spoils of two continents

and of two decades of collecting, Field fairly revelled in the, to him,

novel sensation of land proprietorship. He did not miss or feel the

drain of the weekly deductions from his salary that went to the

reduction of his building debt. When that had been arranged for between

the Record office and Mr. Gray, Field took no more account of it. It

came out of Mrs. Field's allowance. What was that to him? He only

recognized the fact that he was his own landlord, and paid taxes, and

was exempt from the payment of rent.

[Illustration: EUGENE FIELD WITH HIS DUTCH RING.]

So enamoured was he of these novel sensations of the Sabine Farm that

he found it hard to tear himself away from the communion with the

trees, and birds, and bees, out of doors, and with books, and curios,

and visitors indoors. Dearly did he love to show his treasures to his

friends, who came, not single spies, but in troops, to warm his chairs

and congratulate him upon the attainment of his heart's desire. Never

did he appear to better advantage than here, except when outside under

the trees, surrounded by groups of little children, to whom he

discoursed on wonders in natural history more wonderful than all the

amazing works of nature set down in their nature study-books. All the

animals, and birds, and creeping things in his natural history could

talk and sing, could romp and play, could eat and drink--not

infrequently too much--and in every way were superior to their kind to

be met with among the dry leaves of their school-books. He peopled the

world with the trolls, elves, and nixies of fairy-land for his own and

his neighbors' babes of all ages.

Is it any wonder that his trips down town became less frequent, that he

preferred to do his work at home, and subsidized one of his sons to be

his regular messenger to bear his copy to the office? Is it surprising

that, along in August, 1895, we find him writing:

Yes, there is no doubt that these rains which we have had in such

plenty for the last three days have interrupted and otherwise

interfered with the sports of many people. Yet none of us should

sulk or complain when he comes to consider how badly we needed the

rain, and what a vast amount of good these refreshing down-pourings

have done. Vegetation was in a bad, sad way; the trees had begun to

have a withered look, and the grass was turning brown. What a change

has been wrought by the grace of the rain! Nature smiles once more;

the lawns are green, the trees are reviving; the roadsides are

beautiful with the grasses, the ferns, and the wild flowers, among

which insectivorous life makes cheery music. The rain has arrayed

old Mother Earth in a bright new garb.

The month of September is close at hand; the conditions of its

coming are favorable. There is fun ahead for all us sentimental

people. A beautiful moon is waiting rather impatiently for the

clouds to roll by; the moon is always at her best in the full

summer-time.

How good it is to live in this beautiful world of ours; how varied

and countless are the blessings bestowed upon us; how sweet is the

beneficence of Nature; how dear is the companionship of humanity!

"The companionship of humanity!" Nothing could make up to him any

narrowing of that. His friends became dearer to him than ever. He could

send his copy down to the printer, but when his friends did not come

out in sufficient numbers to Buena Park he made the long trip to town

to meet them at luncheon or in the Saints' and Sinners' Corner at

McClurg's. Here he held almost daily court, and mulled over the

materials for "The Love Affairs of a Bibliomaniac"--the opening chapter

of which appeared in his "Sharps and Flats" on August 30th. Here he

confided to a few that the grasshopper had "become a burden," by reason

of the weariness of his long convalescence. Here he had those meetings

with the Rev. Frank W. Gunsaulus which resulted in the frequent

transfer of poems from the latter's pocket to the "Sharps and Flats"

column, without initial or sign to intimate that they were other than

Field's own vintage, only from a new press. Here, too, his whole

bearing and conversation were so uniformly hopeful, hearty, and

light-hearted, that they deceived all his associates into confidence

that the new home had instilled new life into our friend's gaunt frame.

His column, too, reflected the genial, mellow spirit that played

through all his speech and ways during the early autumn days of 1895.

No other work that he had done so completely satisfied him as "The Love

Affairs of a Bibliomaniac." He was steeped in the lore of the cult. He

had yielded to its fascinations while preserving the keenest

appreciation of its whims and weaknesses. And so the story meandered on

through September and October with an ever-increasing charm of mingled

sentiment and sweet satire; and so it seemed as if it might meander on

forever.

But he did not attempt to write a chapter of this exquisite reminiscing

every day. It was sandwiched in between columns of paragraphs and verse

such as had earned for him his great vogue with the readers of the

Record. He could still surprise and pain the "first literary circles of

Chicago" with such literary notes as:

It is officially announced by the official board of managers of the

National Federation of Realists that Hamlin Garland put on his

light-weight flannels last week.

In the north branch recently was found a turtle having upon its back

the letters P.B.S.--the initials of the revered name of the immortal

Percy Bysshe Shelley.

And he did not fail to keep Chicago informed of the latest Buena Park

news in such rural journal notes as these:

Among the many improvements to be noticed in the Park this spring is

the handsome new collar with which the ever-enterprising William

Clow, Esq., has provided his St. Bernard dog.

A dessert of sliced bananas and oranges is all the rage in the Park

this season. Tapioca pudding is a thing of the past. How true it is

that humanity is ever variable and fickle!

But there was very much less of this sort of thing and of the daily

badinage of the paragrapher than in the days of Field's primacy in that

line. He was reserving all that was freshest, and sweetest, and most

delicate in his fancy for the "Love Affairs."

I spent the summer of 1895 in Evanston, and one night in October, just

as the family was thinking of retiring, I was called to the telephone

by Field, who asked if we had any pie in the house, for he was coming

up to get a slice from the pantry of my Vermont mother-in-law. He was

gladly bidden to come along. In a few minutes in he walked, and was

made welcome to whatever the pantry afforded--whether it was pie,

pickles, or plain cheese and crackers, I do not now recall. It appeared

that he had been in Evanston that night, giving a reading for the

benefit of a social and literary club such as were always drawing

drafts upon his good-nature and powers of entertaining. I never knew

Field in better spirits than he was that night. He told of several

humorous incidents that happened at the reading, and then recited one

or two of the things he had read there. He sat at the piano and crooned

songs and caressed the ivory keys as he told stories and we talked of

the "Love Affairs" and of his prospects, which were never brighter.

None who were present that memorable night will forget his reading of

"The Night Wind." We turned the lights down low and listened, while

with that wonderful voice he brought "the night that broods outside"

into the darkened room, with that weird and ghostly:

Yoooooooo!

Yoooooooo!

Yoooooooo!

Not until there was barely time to catch the last electric-car for

Buena Park did Field tear himself away from that appreciative company;

and then he insisted that I should go with him to the cars. And so we

"walked and talked," as of old, until the last south-bound car came.

And as he boarded it, it seemed as if ten years had been wiped off the

record, and I should see him at the office next morning. And that was

the last time I ever saw Eugene Field alive.

For a few mornings after that I read his column in the Record. A few

more chapters were added to the "Love Affairs," and then:

On Saturday morning, November 2d, Field spoke to the readers of the

Record, through his accustomed column and in his accustomed spirit of

human sympathy and genial humor. It led off with the little shot at his

native city:

No matter what else it did, if the earthquake shock waked up St.

Louis, there should be no complaint.

And it concluded with a loyal defence of his old friend and associate,

"Bill" Nye, who, having aroused the ire of an audience at Paterson,

N.J., had been roughly set upon and egged by a turbulent crowd of men

while on his way to the railroad station. Field indignantly repelled

the suggestion that Nye's indiscretion was due to inebriety, but traced

it to his bad health. "Only the utmost caution," he wrote, "and the

most scrupulous observance of the rules laid down by his physician have

enabled Nye to go ahead with his work. This work in itself has been

arduous. If there is anything more vexatious or more wearing than

travelling about the country in all kinds of weather and at the mercy

of railroads, and lecture-bureaus, and hotel-keepers, we do not know

it."

And yet, at the very moment Field wrote this he, a more delicately

organized invalid than "Bill" Nye, had his ticket bought, his

state-room engaged, and his trunk packed to leave for Kansas City,

where he was to give a reading on the evening of Monday, November 4th.

He felt so indisposed on Saturday that he did not leave his bed. That,

however, did not prevent his finishing Chapter XIX of the "Love

Affairs." As it was no unusual thing for him to write, as well as read,

in bed, this occasioned no alarm in the family circle. But that evening

he decided to give up the Kansas City trip, and asked his brother

Roswell to wire the management of the affair to that effect. On Sunday

he was still indisposed, but received numerous visitors. To one of

them, who remarked that it was a perfect November day, Field said:

"Yes, it is a lovely day, but this is the season of the year when

things die, and this fine weather may mean death to a thousand people.

We may hear of many deaths to-morrow."

In the evening he complained of a pain in his head; and as he was

feeling a little feverish, Dr. Hedges, who lived near by, was called

in. He came about half-past ten o'clock; and after taking Field's

temperature, which was only slightly above normal, said it was due to

weakness, and probably resulted from the excitement of seeing so many

visitors. Field joked with the doctor, told him several stories, and

was assured that he was getting on all right. Before leaving, the

doctor said that if it was fine on Monday it would do Field good to get

out and take some exercise. Shortly before midnight a message came from

Kansas City, asking when he would be able to appear there. He dictated

an answer, saying that he would come November 16th. Then wishing

everybody goodnight, he turned over and went to sleep as peacefully as

any little child in one of his stories.

An hour before daylight the sleeper turned in his bed and groaned. His

second son, "Daisy," who always slept with his father, spoke to him,

but got no answer. Then he reached over and touched him; but there was

not the usual response of a word or a caress. In terror-stricken

recognition of the awful presence, Daisy alarmed the whole household

with his cry, "Come quick! I believe papa is dead!"

And so it was. Death had stolen upon Eugene Field as he slept. And so

they found him, lying in a natural position, his hands clasped over his

heart, his head turned to one side, and his lips half parted, as if

about to speak.

It was just such a death as he had often said would be his choice. Just

a dropping to sleep here and an awakening yonder. The doctor said it

was heart-failure, resulting from a sudden spasm of pain. But the face

bore no trace of pain. The moan that wakened Daisy was probably that

sigh with which mortal parts with mortality--the parting breath between

life and death, which will scarcely stir a feather and yet will awaken

the soundest sleeper. To my mind Eugene Field died as his father, "of

physical exhaustion, a deterioration of the bodily organs, and an

incapacity on their part to discharge the vital functions--a wearing

out of the machine before the end of the term for which its duration

was designed."

And thus there passed from the midst of us as gentle and genial a

spirit as ever walked the earth. I know not why his death should recall

that memorable scene of Mallory's, the death of Launcelot, unless it be

that Field considered it the most beautiful passage in English

literature:

So when sir Bors and his fellowes came to his bed, they found him

starke dead, and hee lay as hee had smiled, and the sweetest savour

about him that ever they smelled. Then was there weeping and wringing

of hands, and the greatest dole they made that ever made men....

Then went sir Bors unto sir Ector, and told him how there lay his

brother sir Launcelot dead. And then sir Ector threw his shield, his

sword, and his helme from him; and when hee beheld sir Launcelot's

visage hee fell down in a sowne, and when hee awaked it were hard for

any tongue to tell the dolefull complaints that hee made for his

brother. "Ah, sir Launcelot," said hee, "thou were head of all

Christian knights! And now, I dare say," said sir Ector, "that, sir

Launcelot there thou liest, thou were never matched of none earthly

knights hands; and thou were the curtiest that ever beare shield; and

thou were the truest friend to thy lover that ever bestrood horse, and

thou were the truest lover of a sinful man that ever loved woman; and

thou were the kindest man that ever strooke with sword; and thou were

the goodliest person that ever came among presse of knights; and thou

were the meekest man and the gentlest that ever eate in hall among

ladies; and thou were the sternest knight to thy mortall foe that ever

put speare in the rest."

Then there was weeping and dolour out of measure.

If I have interpreted the story of "The Good Knight's" life aright, the

reader will comprehend the relation there is in my mind between the

scene at the death of the knightliest knight of romance and that of him

who moved in our modern life, steeped and imbued with the thoughts,

fancies, and speech of the age of chivalry. For the age of shield, and

spear, and tourney, he would have been the unlikeliest man ever born of

woman; but with his "sweet pen" he waged unceasing battle for all

things beautiful, and true, and pure in this modern world. That is why

his best songs sing of mother's love and childhood and of the eternal

bond between them. He hated sham, and humbug, and false pretence, and

that is why his daily paragraphs gleam and sparkle with the relentless

satire and ridicule; he detested the solemn dulness of conventional

life, and that is why he scourged society with the "knotted lash of

sarcasm" and dissipated melancholy with the unchecked effrontery of his

mirth. And so his songs were full of sweetness, and his words were

words of strength; and his last message to the children of his pen was:

Go forth, little lyrics, and sing to the hearts of men. This

beautiful world is full of song, and thy voices may not be heard of

all--but sing on, children of ours; sing to the hearts of men, and

thy song shall at least swell the universal harmony that bespeaketh

God's love and the sweetness of humanity.

And so is it any wonder that when the tidings of his death was borne

throughout the land "there was weeping and dolour out of measure," and

that a wave of sympathy swept over the country for the bereft family of

the silent singer?

I have often been asked what was Eugene Field's religious belief--a

question I cannot answer better than in the language of the Rev. Frank

M. Bristol in his funeral address:

I have said of my dear friend that he had a creed. His creed was

love. He had a religion. His religion was kindness. He belonged to

the church--the church of the common brotherhood of man. With all

the changes that came to his definitions and formulas, he never lost

from his heart of hearts the reverence for sacred things learned in

childhood, and inherited from a sturdy Puritan ancestry. From that

deep store of love and faith and reverence sprang the streams of his

happy songs, and ever was he putting into his tender verses those

ideas of the living God, the blessed Christ, the ministering angels

of immortal love, the happiness of heaven, which were instilled into

his-heart when but a boy.

Those who gathered at his house on the day of the funeral and looked

upon the form of the "Good Knight" in his last sleep saw a large white

rose in one of his hands. There was a touching story connected with

that rose: On the preceding afternoon a lady, who was a friend of

Field's, went to a florist's to order some flowers for the grave. A

poorly clad little girl was looking wistfully in at the window and

followed the lady into the store.

"Are those flowers for Mr. Field?" she asked. "Oh, I wish I could send

him just one. Won't you, please, give me one flower?"

The florist placed a beautiful white rose in her little hand. Then she

turned and gave it to the lady, with the request: "Please put it near

Mr. Field with your flowers." And the little girl's single rose--the

gift of love without money and without price--was given the place of

honor that day beyond the wealth of flowers that filled house and

church with the incense of affection for the dead.

The funeral was a memorable demonstration of the common regard in which

Field was held by all classes of citizens. The services took place in

the Fourth Presbyterian Church, from which hundreds turned sorrowfully

away, because they could not gain admission. The Rev. Thomas C. Hall,

who had recently succeeded Dr. Stryker, one of Field's intimate

friends, who had been called to the presidency of Hamilton College,

conducted the formal ceremonies, in which he was assisted by the Rev.

Frank M. Bristol, who delivered the address, and the Rev. Frank W.

Gunsaulus, who embodied his tribute to his friend in a poem remarkable

for the felicity with which it passed in review many of the more

noteworthy of Field's lyrics. Its opening stanzas read:

_'Midst rustling of leaves in the rich autumn air,

At eve when man's life is an unuttered prayer,

There came through the dusk, each with torch shining bright,

From far and from near, in his sorrow bedight,

The old earth's lone pilgrim o'er land and o'er wave.

Who gathered around their dear poet's loved grave.

With trumpet and drum, but in silence, they came--

Their paths were illumed by their torches' mild flame,

Whose soft lambent streams by love's glory were lit;

And where fairy knights and bright elves used to flit

Across the wan world when the lights quivered dim,

These watched at the grave, and were mourning for him._

That the spirit of those funeral services was neither local nor

ephemeral is proved by the following poem, which, by a strange

coincidence, came in a round-about way to my desk in the Record-Herald

office from their author in Texarkana, Texas, the very day I

transcribed the above lines from Dr. Gunsaulus's "Songs of Night and

Morning" into the manuscript of this book:

_EUGENE FIELD

1.

Sleep well, dear poet of the heart!

In dreamless rest by cares unbroken;

Thy mission filled, in peace depart.

Thy message to the world is spoken.

2.

Thy song the weary heart beguiles;

Like generous wine it soothes and cheers,

Yet oftentimes, amid our smiles,

Thy pathos melts a soul to tears.

3.

In "Casey's Tabble-Dote" no more

Thy kindly humor will be heard;

In silence now we must deplore

The horrors of that "small hot bird."

4.

The "Restauraw" is silent now,

The "Conversazzhyony's" over;

And "Red Hoss Mountain's" gloomy brow

Looks down where lies "Three-fingered Hoover."

5.

Our friend "Perfesser Vere de Blaw"

No longer on the "Steenway" prances

With "Mizzer-Reery" "Opry-Boof,"

And old familiar songs and dances.

6.

Old "Red floss Mountain's" wrapped in gloom,

And "Silas Pettibone's shef-doover"

Has long since vanished from the room

With "Casey" and "Three-fingered Hoover."

7.

Yet will they live! Though Field depart;

Thousands his memory will cherish;

The gentle poet of the heart

Shall live till life and language perish.

C.S.T._

The initials are those of Mr. Charles S. Todd, of Texarkana, Texas; and

the poem, besides testifying to the wide-spread sorrow over Field's

death, bears witness to the fact that his western dialect verse had a

hold on the popular heart only second to his lullabies and poems of

childhood.

From the Fourth Presbyterian Church Field's body was borne to its last

resting-place, in Graceland cemetery. It is a quiet spot where the poet

is interred, in a lovely little glade, away from the sorrowful

processions of the main driveways. Leafy branches wave above his grave,

shielding it from the glare of the sun in summer and the rude sweep of

the winds in winter. The birds flit across it from tree to tree,

casting "strange, flutterin' shadders" over the grave of him who loved

them so well. And there, one day in the early summer, another

bird-lover, Edward B. Clark, heard a wood-thrush, the sweetest of

American songsters, singing its vesper hymn, and was moved out of his

wont himself to sing:

_THE TRIBUTE OF THE THRUSH

A bird voice comes from the maple

Across the green of the sod,

Breaking the silence of evening

That rests on this "acre of God."

'Tis the note of the bird of the woodland,

Of thickets and sunless retreats;

Yet the plashing of sunlit waters

Is the sound of the song it repeats.

Why sing you here in the open,

O gold-tongued bird of the shade;

What spirit moves you to echo

This hymn from the angels strayed?

And then as the shadows lengthened,

The thrush made its answer clear:

"There was void in the world of music,

A singer lies voiceless here."_

Thus endeth this inadequate study of my gentle and joyous friend, "the

good knight, _sans peur et sans monnaie_."

APPENDIX

The two articles by Eugene Field which follow here are not to be taken

as particularly illuminating examples of his literary art or style. For

those the reader is referred to his collected works; especially those

tales and poems published during his lifetime and to "The Love Affairs

of a Bibliomaniac." These are given to illustrate the liberties Field

took with his living friends and with the verities of literary history.

There was no such book as the "Ten Years of a Song Bird: Memoirs of a

Busy Life," by Emma Abbott; and "The Discoverer of Shakespeare," by

Franklin H. Head, was equally a creation of Field's lively fancy. I

reproduce the latter review from the copy which Field cut from the

Record and sent in pamphlet form to Mr. Head with the following note:

DEAR MR. HEAD: The printers jumbled my review of your essay so

fearfully to-day that I make bold to send you the review

straightened out in seemly wise. Now, I shall expect you to send me

a copy of the book when it is printed, and then I shall feel amply

compensated for the worry which the hotch-potch in the Daily News of

this morning has given me.

Ever sincerely yours,

EUGENE FIELD.

May 21st, 1891.

WHO DISCOVERED SHAKESPEARE?

Mr. Franklin H. Head is about to publish his scholarly and ingenious

essay upon "The Discoverer of Shakespeare." Mr. Head is as

enthusiastic a Shakespeare student as we have in the West, and his

enthusiasm is tempered by a certain reverence which has led him to

view with dismay, if not with horror, the exploits of latter-day

iconoclasts, who would fain convince the credulous that what has

been was not and that he who once wrought never existed. It was Mr.

Head who gave to the world several years ago the charming brochure

wherein Shakespeare's relations and experience with insomnia were so

pleasantly set forth, and now the public is to be favored with a

second essay, one of greater value to the Shakespearian student, in

that it deals directly and intimately and explicitly with the

earlier years of the poet's life. This essay was read before the

Chicago Literary Club several weeks ago, and would doubtless not

have been published but for the earnest solicitations of General

McClurg, the Rev. Dr. Herrick Johnson, Colonel J.S. Norton, and

other local literary patrons, who recognized Mr. Head's work as a

distinctly valuable contribution to Shakespeariana. Answering the

importunities of these sagacious critics, the author will publish

the essay, supplementing it with notes and appendices.

Of the interesting narrative given by Mr. Head, it is our present

purpose to make as complete a review as the limits afforded us this

morning will allow, and we enter into the task with genuine

timidity, for it is no easy thing to give in so small a compass a

fair sketch of the tale and the argument which Mr. Head has

presented so entertainingly, so elegantly, and so persuasively.

Before his courtship of, and marriage with, Anne Hathaway,

Shakespeare was comparatively unknown. By a few boon companions he

was recognized as a gay and talented young fellow, not wholly averse

to hazardous adventure, as his famous connection with a certain

poaching affair demonstrated. Shakespeare's father was a pious man,

who was properly revered by his neighbors. The son was not held in

such high estimation by these simple folk. "Willie, thee beest a

merry fellow," quoth the parson to the young player when he first

came back from London, "but thee shall never be soche a man as thy

father."

Down in London his friends were of the rollicking, happy-go-lucky

kind; they divided their time between the play-houses and the

pot-houses; they lived by their wits, and they were not the first to

demonstrate that he who would enjoy immortality must first have

learned to live by his wits among mortals. It was while he led this

irresponsible bachelor life in London that Shakespeare met one

Elizabeth Frum, or Thrum, and with this young woman he appears to

have fallen in love. The affair did not last very long, but it was

fierce while it was on. Anne Hathaway was temporarily forgotten, and

Mistress Frum (whose father kept the Bell and Canister)

engaged--aye, absorbed--the attentions of the frisky young poet. At

that time Shakespeare was spare of figure, melancholy of visage, but

lively of demeanor; an inclination to baldness had already begun to

exhibit itself, a predisposition hastened and encouraged doubtless

by that disordered digestion to which the poet at an early age

became a prey by reason of his excesses. Elizabeth Frum was deeply

enamoured of Willie, but the young man soon wearied of the girl and

returned to his first love. Curiously enough, Elizabeth subsequently

was married to Andrew Wilwhite of Stratford-on-Avon, and lived up to

the day of her death (1636) in the house next to the cottage

occupied by Anne Hathaway Shakespeare and her children! Wilwhite was

two years younger than Shakespeare; he was the son of a farmer, was

fairly well-to-do, and had been properly educated. Perhaps more for

the amusement than for the glory or for the financial remuneration

there was in it, he printed a modest weekly paper which he named

"The Tidings"--"an Instrument for the Spreading of Proper New Arts

and Philosophies, and for the Indication and Diffusion of What Haps

and Hearsays Soever Are Meet for Chronicling Withal." This journal

was of unpretentious appearance, and its editorial tone was modest

to a degree. The size of the paper was eight by twelve inches, four

pages, with two columns to the page. The type used in the printing

was large and coarse, but the paper and ink seem to have been of the

best quality. A complete file of The Tidings does not survive. The

British Museum has all but the third, eleventh, twelfth, and

seventeenth volumes; the Newberry Library of Chicago has secured the

first, seventh, sixteenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth volumes, and

the Duke of Devonshire has half-a-dozen volumes. Aside from these

copies none other is known to be in existence.

Wilwhite was an ardent and life-long admirer of Shakespeare. It is

not improbable that after her marriage Elizabeth Frum, proud of her

former relations with the poet, encouraged her husband in those

cordial offices which helped to promote Shakespeare's

contemporaneous fame. At any rate, The Tidings was the first public

print to recognize Shakespeare's genius, and Andrew Wilwhite was the

first of Shakespeare's contemporaries to give public expression to

his admiration and abiding faith in the talents of the poet.

"We print in our supplement to-day a sonnet from the pen of Willie

Shakespeare, son of our esteemed townsman, Squire John Shakespeare.

Willie is now located in London, and is recognized as one of the

brightest constellations in the literary galaxy of the

metropolis."--The Tidings, May 18th, 1587.

"Mistress Shakespeare laid an egg on our table yesterday measuring

eleven inches in circumference. The amiable and accomplished wench

informs us that her husband, whose poetic genius frequently

illuminates these columns, will visit our midst next month. William,

here is our [hand pointing to the right]."--The Tidings, June 13th,

1587.

"The gifted W. Shaxpur honored this office with a call last

Thursday. He was smiling all over. It is a boy, and weighs ten

pounds. Thanks, Willie, for the cigar; it was a daisy."--The

Tidings, July 9th, 1587.

"The fireworks on Squire Shakespere's lawn last Fourth of July night

were the finest ever witnessed in the county. They were brought up

from London by the Squire's son William, the famous poet."--Ibid.

"If you want to make Bill Shaxpeare hopping mad, just ask him how

much venison is a pound. All joking aside, Willie is the leading

poet of the age."--The Tidings, July 16th, 1587.

Two years later the following references were made by Wilwhite to

the dramatic prodigy:

"We would acknowledge the receipt (from Isaac Jaggard and Edward

Blount, the well-known publishers) of a volume entitled, 'The First

Part of King Henry the Sixt,' the same being a dramatic poem by

Willie Shaxper, formerly of this town. Critique of the work is

deferred."--April 23d, 1589.

"Our London exchanges agree that Willie Shaksper's new play is the

greatest thing of the season. We knew that Willie would get there

sooner or later. There are no flies on him."--April 23d, 1589.

"The Thespian Amateur association of the Congregational church will

give a performance of 'King Henry Sixt' in the town hall next

Thursday evening. Reuben Bobbin, our talented tinsmith, enacting the

rôle of his majesty. This play, being written by one of our townsmen

and the greatest poet of the age; should be patronized by all.

Ice-cream will be served inter actes."--November 6th, 1589.

"We print elsewhere to-day an excerpt from the Sadler's Wells Daily

Blowpipe, critically examining into the literary work of W.

Shakspeyr, late of this village. The conclusion reached by our

discriminating and able exchange is that Mr. Shackspeere is without

question a mighty genius. We have said so all along, and we have

known him ten years. Now that the Metropolitan press indorses us, we

wonder what will the doddering dotard of the Avon Palladium have to

say for his festering and flyblown self."--December 14th, 1589.

In 1592 the Palladium reprinted an opinion given by Robert Greene:

"Here is an upstart crow," said Greene of Shakespeare, "beautified

with our feathers, that supposes he is as well able to bombast out a

blank verse as the rest of you, and, being an absolute Johannes

factotum, is, in his own conceit, the only shake-scene in the

country." Another contemporaneous critic said of the scene between

Brutus and Cassius in "Julius Caesar": "They are put there to play

the bully and the buffoon, to show their activity of face and

muscles. They are to play a prize, a trial of skill and hugging and

swaggering, like two drunken Hectors, for a two-penny reckoning."

Shakespeare's contemporaries--or, at least, many of them--sought to

belittle his work in this wise. Why, even in later years so acute a

critic as John Dennis declared that "his lines are utterly void of

celestial fire," and Shaftesbury spoke of his "rude, unpolished

style and antiquated phrase and wit."

In the year 1600, having written his _chef d'oeuvre_, the poet

retired to Stratford for a brief period of rest.

"Our distinguished poet-townsman, Shakespyr, accompanied us on an

angling last Thursday, and ye editor returned well-laden with

spoils. Two-score trouts and a multitude of dace and chubs were

taken. Spending the night at the Rose and Crown, we were hospitably

entertained by Jerry Sellars and his estimable lady, who have

recently added a buttery to their hostelry, and otherwise adorned

the premises. Over our brew in the evening the poet regaled us with

reminiscences of life in London, and recited certain passages from

his melancholy history of Hamlet, prince of Denmark, the same being

a new and full mournful tragedic of mightie excellence."--The

Tidings, May 13th, 1600.

In the London News-Letter, September 6th, 1600, there occurred this

personal notice: "At the Sweet Briar coffee-house Mr. A. Wilwhite,

from Stratford-on-Avon, sojourneth as the guest of William

Shack-speyr, player." About the same time Ben Jonson wrote to Dick

Craven at Canterbury: "Andrew Wilwhite hath been with us amid great

cheer and merriment, the same being that he saith he was the one

that discovered our master, Will Shackpur, and that I do for a

verity believe, for that Shakspur is vastly beholden unto him, and

speaketh of him as he were a twin-brother or one by some great

office bounden unto him."

Wilwhite went on Shakespeare's bond in 1604, in certain property

transfers involving what was then regarded as a considerable sum of

money. The same year an infant Shakespeare was named after Wilwhite,

the second daughter in the family having already been christened

Elizabeth Wilwhite. From 1605 up to the time of the poet's death,

eleven years later, nearly every issue of The Tidings bristled with

friendly notices of "our eminent townsman," "our world-famed

Shakespeare," and "our immortal poet." Shakespeare lived in

Stratford those last years; he was well-to-do; he had prospered, and

his last days were passed serenely. The musty files of that rurally

candid little paper bear pleasing testimony to the Arcadian

simplicity of the noble bard's declining years. They tell us with

severe brevity of the trifling duties and recreations that engaged

the poet. We learn that "a new and handsome front gate has been put

up on the premises of our famous Shakspear"; that "our honored

townsman-poet hath graciously contributed three-and-sixpence toward

the mending of the town pump"; that "a gloom hath been cast over the

entire community by the bone-felon upon Mr. Shaikspur's left thumb";

that "our immortal Shakespeere hath well discharged the onerous

offices of road-overseer for the year past"; that "our sweete

friend, Will Shakespear, will go fishing for trouts to-morrow with

his good gossip, Ben Jonson, that hath come to be his guest a little

season"; that "Master W. Shackspur hath a barrow that upon the

slaughtering did weigh 400 weight"; that "the laylocks in the

Shaxpur yard being now in bloom filleth the air with delectable

smells, whereby the poet is mightily joyed in that he did plant and

nurture the same," etc., etc.

"Sweet were those declining years," writes the essayist; "sweet in

their homely moderate delights, sweet in their wholesome

employments, sweet in their peacefulness and repose. But sweeter and

holier yet were they in the loyalty of a friendship that, covering a

long period of endeavor, of struggle and adversity, survived to

illumine and to glorify, as it has been a quenchless flame, the

evening of the poet's life. An o'erturned stone, upon which the ivy

seeks to hide the ravages which time has made, marks the spot where

Wilwhite sleeps the last gracious sleep of humanity. Now and again

wayfarers, straying thence, wonder whose dust it is that mingles

with the warmth of Mother Earth beneath that broken tablet. And

while they wonder there amid the hush, which only the music of the

birds profanes, and with the fragrance of wild flowers all around,

love is fulfilled and loyalty perfected; for beyond the compass of

years they that wrought together and were true abide in sweet

companionship eternally."

EUGENE FIELD.

May 20th, 1891.

The review of Miss Abbott's fictitious autobiography needs no further

introduction, save the statement that the only parts of it that are

based on fact are those which refer to the high esteem in which its

subject--or shall I say its victim?--was held by Field and the names

and relations of the parties mentioned. If the reader cares to compare

some of the phrases used in this autobiography with others quoted from

the proceedings in the Vermont litigation in the early chapters of this

book, he will find striking evidence of the persistence of literary

expression in the Field family:

REVIEW OF THE MEMOIRS OF MISS EMMA ABBOTT.

The advance sheets of Miss Abbott's biography have been sent to us

by the publishers. This volume, consisting of 868 pages, is

entitled, "Ten Years a Song Bird: Memoirs of a Busy Life, by Emma

Abbott." It will be put upon the market in time to catch what is

called the holiday trade, and we hope it will have that enormous

sale to which its merits entitle it. It is altogether a charming

book--it reads like a woman's letters, so full is it of confidence

couched in the artless, easy, unpretentious language of femininity.

The style is so unconscious that at times it really seems as if,

attired in wrapper and slippers, the fair narrator were lolling back

in an easy-chair talking these interesting things into your friendly

ear.

Miss Abbott is a lady for whom we have had for a number of

years--ever since her debut as a public singer--the highest esteem.

She is one of the most conscientious of women in her private walk,

conscientious in every relationship and duty and practice that go to

make the sum of her daily life. This conscientiousness, involving

patience, humility, perseverance, and integrity, has been, we think,

the real secret of her success. And no one who has watched her

steady rise from poverty to affluence, and from obscurity to fame,

will deny the proposition that the woman is genuinely successful;

and successful, too, in the best sense, and by hard American

methods. However, it shall be our attempt not to suffer our warm

personal regard for this admirable lady to color too highly our

professional estimate of the literary work now before us.

Although the "Memoirs of a Busy Life" purports to be a review merely

of the period of Miss Abbott's career as a prima donna, there are

three prefatory chapters wherein are detailed quite elaborately the

incidents of her girl-life and of her early struggles. This we view

with particular approval, the more in especial because, since Miss

Abbott's achievement of fame, a number of hitherto obscure

localities have claimed distinction as being the place of her birth.

Miss Abbott records this historical fact: "It was on the first day

of June, 1858, the month of flowers, of song and of bridals, in the

then quiet hamlet of Peoria, whose shores are laved by the waters of

the peaceful Illinois river and whose sun-kissed hills melt away

into the clouds--it was then and there that I was ushered into

life." The old family nurse, one Barbara Deacon (for whom the

grateful cantatrice has abundantly provided), recalls that at the

very moment of the infant's birth a strangely beautiful bird

fluttered down from a pear-tree, alighting upon the window-sill, and

caroled forth a wondrous song, hearing which the infant (_mirabile

dictu!_) turned over in its crib and accompanied the winged

songster's melody with an accurate second alto. This incident Miss

Abbott repeats as one of the many legends bearing upon her infancy;

but, with that admirable practical sense so truly characteristic of

her, she adds: "Of course I repose no confidence in this story--I

have always taken this bird's tale _cum grano salis_."

In early childhood Emma exhibited a passion for music; at three

years of age she discoursed upon the piano-forte in such a manner as

to excite the marvel of all auditors. The teacher of the village

school at that time was one Eugene F. Baldwin, who, being somewhat

of a musician and an accomplished tenor singer of the old school,

discovered the genius of this child, and did all he could to develop

and encourage it. When she began to go to school Emma indicated that

she had an apt, acquisitive, and retentive mind; she progressed

rapidly in her studies, but her health was totally inadequate, so at

the age of twelve years she was compelled to abandon her studies.

Shortly thereafter she removed with her family to Chicago. In this

city Emma lived for four years, during most of which time she

received instruction in vocalism from the venerable Professor

Perkins. On several occasions she sang in public, and the papers

complimented her as the "Child Patti." When she was sixteen years

old Emma went East with the determination to make her own living.

All she had she carried in a homely carpet-bag--"nay, not all," she

adds, "for I had a strong heart and a willing hand." Her mother had

taught her to do well whatsoever she did." I could cook well, and

scrub well, and sew well," she says, "and now I was resolved to

learn to sing well. At any rate, I was going to make a living, for

if I failed at all else I could cook or sew or scrub." That's pluck

of the noblest kind!

Emma was a devoutly religious girl; she joined the Rev. Dr. Bellow's

church soon after her arrival in Brooklyn, and presently secured a

position in the choir of the church. The members of the congregation

soon began to take more than a passing interest in her, being

attracted more and more by the sweetness of her singing and the

saintliness of her beauty and by the circumspection and modesty of

her demeanor. One member of the congregation (and we now come to an

interesting period in our heroine's life) was a young druggist named

Wetherell--Eugene Wetherell--who became deeply enamoured of the

spirituelle choir-singer. He was handsome, talented, and pious, and

to these charms Emma very properly was not wholly insensible. With

commendable candor she told young Wetherell that she had certain

high ambitions or duties which she was determined to follow at the

sacrifice of every selfish consideration; if he were willing to wait

for her until she saw her way clear to the accomplishment of those

duties, she would then link her destiny indissolubly with his. To

this the young druggist acceded.

In 1877 Emma was enabled to go to Paris to perfect her music

studies. Certain wealthy members of Dr. Bellow's church provided her

with the financial means, which she accepted as a loan, to be paid

in due season. In chapter four of the memoirs we are regaled with an

instructive record of Emma's voyage across the Atlantic, her

admiration of the magnitude of the ocean, her consciousness of man's

utter helplessness should storms arise and drive the ship upon

hidden rocks, etc., etc. In the next chapter she laments the

exceeding depravity of Paris, and expresses wonderment that in so

fair a city humanity should abandon itself to such godless and

damnable practices. These things we refer to because they show the

serious, not to say pious, trend of the young woman's mind. In one

place she says: "I thank God that my Eugene is tending a drug-store

in Brooklyn instead of being surrounded by the divers temptations of

this modern Babylon; for, circumspect and pure though he may be by

nature, hardly could he be environed by all this wretchedness

without receiving some taint therein."

While she was in Paris she became acquainted with the great Gounod

and with the brilliant but erratic Offenbach. Gounod introduced her

to many of the greatest composers and singers. Among her friendliest

acquaintances she numbered Wagner and Liszt. The latter wrote her a

sonata to sing, and Wagner tried to get her permission for him to

introduce her into the trilogy he was then at work upon. Meissonier

made an exquisite study of her, and the younger Dumas made her the

heroine of one of his brightest comedies, "La Petite Americaine."

There was one man, however, whom our heroine would not suffer to be

introduced to her; that man was Zola. She would never recognize in

her list of acquaintances, so she told Gounod with an angry stamp of

her tiny foot, any man who debased his God-given talents to smut and

lubricity.

In 1879 Miss Abbott returned to her native land, fully prepared to

engage in the profession of a public singer. Her first tour of the

country was a continuous round of ovations. The public hailed her as

the queen of American song; the press was generous in its

appreciation. The next year she embarked in opera. This cost her a

season of severe self-struggle. She dreaded to expose herself to the

temptations of the stage. In her memoirs she assures us with all

gravity that she prayed long and earnestly for courage to put on and

wear the short dress required in the performance of the "Bohemian

Girl." We may smile at this feminine squeamishness; yet, after all,

we cannot help admiring the possessor of it wherever we find her.

Miss Abbott says that she was particularly fortunate in having

secured Mr. James W. Morrissey for her manager. This young man was

full of energy and of device; moreover, he was personally acquainted

with many of the journalists throughout the country. He was with

Miss Abbott three years, and she acknowledges herself under great

obligations to him. "It is pleasant," she writes, "to feel that our

friendship still exists, as hearty and as generous as ever; and that

it will abide to the end I doubt not, for, by naming his little son

Abbott in honor of me, my dear, good, kind Jimmy Morrissey has

simply welded more closely the bonds of friendship uniting us."

These words are characteristic of honest Emma Abbott's candor.

In these memoirs there is a chapter devoted to the newspaper

critics, and it is interesting to note the good-nature with which

the sprightly cantatrice handles these touchy gentlemen. Not an

unkind word is said; occasionally a foible or a trait is hit off,

but all is done cleverly and in the most genial temper. Considerable

space is devoted to the Chicago critics--Messrs. Upton, Mathews,

McConnell, and Gleason--who, Miss Abbott says, have helped her with

what they have written about her. Messrs. Moore, Johns, and

Jennings, of St. Louis; R.M. Field, of Kansas City; William

Stapleton, of Denver; Alf Sorenson, of Cincinnati, are prominent

among the western critics whom she specifies as her "dear, good

friends." She calls upon heaven to bless them.

There is a chapter (the thirteenth) which tells how a public singer

should dress; we wish we had the space for liberal quotations from

this interesting essay, because this is a subject which all the

ladies are anxious to know all about. Miss Abbott ridicules the idea

that the small-waisted dress is harmful to the wearer. Women breathe

with their lungs, and do not enlist the co-operation of the

diaphragm, as men do. So, therefore, it matters not how tight a

woman laces her waist so long as she insists that her gown be made

ample about the bust; nay, the fair author maintains that the singer

has a better command of her powers, and is more capable of sustained

exertion, when her waist is girt and cinched to the very limit. Of

course, knowing nothing whatsoever of this thing, we are wholly

incompetent to discuss the subject. It interests us to know that

Miss Abbott's theory is indorsed by Worth, Madame Demorest, Dr.

Hamilton, and other recognized authorities.

Of her married life the famous prima donna speaks tenderly and at

length; she is evidently of a domestic nature; she says she pines

for the day when she can retire to a quiet little home, and devote

herself to children and to household duties. An affectionate tribute

is paid to her husband, Mr. Wetherell, to whom she was wedded just

before her debut in opera; he has been a constant solace and help,

she says, and no disagreement or harshness has ruffled the felicity

of their holy relation. In the appendix to the memoirs are to be

found letters addressed at different times to Miss Abbott by Patti,

Gounod, Kellogg, Longfellow, Jenny Lind, Nilsson, Wagner, Dumas,

Brignoli, Liszt, and other notables. Numerous fine steel portraits

add value to the volume.

In a word, this book serves as a delightful history of the time of

which it treats. It gives us pictures of places, manners, and

morals, and chats with distinguished men and women. Better than

this, it is the reflex of an earnest life and of a stanch, pure

heart, challenging our admiration, and worthy of our emulation.

INDEX

Abbott, Miss Emma, a friend of Field, i., 228, 346;

Field's review of her imaginary autobiography, ii., 332-340

"Ailsie, My Bairn," ii., 129

Aldrich, Thomas Bailey, i., 134

"Alliaunce, The," ii., 124-126

"An Appreciation" of Eugene Field, i., 201

"April Vespers," i., 129, 130

Archer, Belle, i., 249

Arion Quartette, formed by Field and others, i., 113

Armour, George A., ii., 173

Auer, Louis, ii., 294

"Aunt Mary Matilda Series," ii., 28, 35

"Auto-Analysis, An," i., 51, 99, 106;

reference to Field's early verse, 135, 227;

origin and publication of, ii., 234-240

"Awful Bugaboo, The," i., 152, 153

Baker, Thomas C., i., 113

Ballantyne, John F., i., 206;

his relations with Field, 207, 208;

his office, 215;

hero of "How Mary Matilda Won a Prince," ii., 36;

married, 89, 90

"Bar Harbor: A Reminiscence," ii., 212, 213

Barrett, Wilson, ii., 276, 277

Barnes, Charles A., ii., 173

Barnum, P.T., ii., 153

Barren, Elwin, i., 285

Bates, Mrs. Morgan, entertains Field, ii., 84-86

Bates, Morgan, i., 216, 282;

suffers from his political attitude, ii., 223, 224

Below, Mrs., i., 101, 105

Bernhardt, Madame, i., 173, 243

"Bibliomaniac's Prayer, The," ii., 170, 171

Bikens, Judge, i., 27

Bingham, Joseph, ii., 226, 227

Blaine, James G., ii., 10, 11, 217;

defeated in his campaign for the Presidency, 221

Blair, Montgomery, i., 44

Bristol, Rev. Frank M., ii., 173;

delivers address at Field's funeral, 315

Broderick, Mr. and Mrs. George, i., 249

Browne, Francis, proposes to publish Field's writings, ii., 56

Burdette, Robert J., i., 134

Burgess, Professor John W., i., 78

Burke, Judge Henry W., association with Field, i., 115

Buskett, William C., hero of "Penn Yan Bill," i., 112;

describes Field's life in St. Louis, 112-114;

receives letter from Field, ii., 161, 162

Cable, Ben. T., ii., 173

Cable, George W., ii., 265

"Camille," i., 241-245

Capel, Monseigneur, his meeting with William J. Florence, i., 231

"Casey's Table d'Hote," i., 112

Charless, Joseph, i., 41

Chicago, Field comes to, i., 189;

description of, 194-197

Chicago Daily News, description of editorial rooms of, i., 211-218

"Christmas Treasures," i., 135

Clark, Edward B., ii., 320

Claxton, Kate, her reputation as an actress, i., 260;

biography of, 261, 262

Cleveland, Grover, ii., 217;

elected President, 221

Cleveland, Miss Rose, retires from editorship of Literary Life, ii., 106

Comstock, Miss Carrie, i., 104, 113

Comstock, Edgar V., visits Europe with Field, i., 98-100, 104, 113

Comstock, Miss Georgia, i., 104, 113

Comstock, Miss Gussle, i., 104, 113

Comstock, Miss Ida, i., 104

Comstock, Miss Julia Sutherland, i., 104;

married to Eugene Field, 109

Cooley, Judge, responsible for some of Field's poems, i., 331-337;

ii., 112

Cowen, E.D., characterizes Field, i., 143;

accounts for inspiration of Tribune Primer, 147;

describes Field's bottomless chair, 159;

tells of Wickersham's methods, 163;

writes of Field's ill-health, 185;

assaulted, 209, 210;

analyzes Field's dramatic relations, 227;

bowls against Field, ii., 74, 76;

attends ball-game with Field, 77-79;

an experience with crickets, 86, 87;

receives letters from Field, 119, 120, 139-142, 144-146, 148, 149,

158, 159

Crane, Mr. and Mrs. William, acquaintance with Field, i., 235-241;

"Mrs. Billy Crane," 237-239

Crawford, Thomas L., joins Arion Quartette, i., 113

"Culture's Garland," i., 338;

description of, ii., 108-113;

Gen. A.C. McClurg's objection to, 175

"Current Gossip" becomes "Sharps and Flats," i., 201

Curtis, George Ticknor, i., 44

Dana, Charles A., visits Denver, i., 179, 180;

assists Field in a hoax, 337;

subscribes to the "Little Books," ii., 132

"Danger that Threatens, A," i., 339, 340

Davis, Jessie Bartlett, i., 255

Davis, Mrs. Will J., i., 254

Davis, Will J., i., 61

Dawson, R. L., ii., 101

"Death and the Soldier," ii., 101

"Delectable Ballad of the Waller Lot, The," ii., 269

De Koven, Reginald, ii., 240

Denver, description of, i., 144, 145;

centre of railway interests, 162

"Der Niebelrungen und Der Schlabbergasterfeldt," ii., 23, 24

"Dibdin's Ghost," ii., 195, 190

"Divine Lullaby," i., 337

Drew, Cyrus K., ii., 276

Du Chaillu, Paul, ii., 197

Earle, Alice Morse, i., 1;

letter from Eugene Field, 56

"Echo from Mackinac Island, An," ii., 57, 58

"Echoes from the Sabine Farm," i., 2;

dedication of, 93, 94;

publication of, ii., 155-157, 165, 166

Ela, John W., a Mugwump, ii., 218-220

Ellsworth, James W., ii., 173

Emerson, Dr. John, owner of Dred Scott, i., 37

"Eugene Field," a tribute by a Texan, ii., 318, 319

"Eugene Field in His Home," i., 101

Evans, Governor, i., 147

"Fickle Woman, A," i., 332

Field, Charles Kellogg, uncle of Eugene Field, i., 2;

education, 5, 9, 10;

studies law, 10;

capacity for mischief, 48;

his memoir of Roswell M. Field, ii., 262, 263

Field, Miss Kate, her acquaintance with Eugene Field, i., 174, 175;

subscribes to the "Little Books," ii., 132

Field, Eugene, ancestry, i., 2;

birthplace, 50, 51;

doubt as to date of birth, 51, 52;

death of mother, 52, 53;

cared for by Miss French, 53;

early youth in Newfane and Amherst, 54-60;

fondness for pets, 60-65;

religious training, 66-69;

sentiments toward Vermont and New England, 69-71;

education under Mr. Tufts at Monson, 73-78;

enters Williams College, 78;

anecdotes of college life, 79-84;

lack of interest in studies, 79-81;

leaves Williams, 81;

summoned to deathbed of father, 84;

enters Knox College, 84;

joins brother at University of Missouri, 85;

severs connection with the University, 85;

indication of literary genius, 86-90;

life in St. Louis, 91-98;

fascination for the stage, 95-97;

inherits $8,000, makes a tour of Europe, and squanders his

patrimony, 98-100;

returns to St. Louis, 100;

descriptions of his trip, 101, 102;

affection for the fair sex, 103-106;

courtship and marriage, 105-109;

honeymoon, 109, 110;

investment of $20,000 on experience, 111;

goes to work as reporter on St. Louis Evening Journal, 112;

description of early married life in St. Louis, 112, 113, 121;

love of fun, 113-117, 118;

members of household, 113;

fondness for singing, 114;

his children, 114, 121, 122, 191; ii., 255-258, 261, 278, 279;

city editor of St. Joseph Gazette, i., 114;

returns to St. Louis and continues writing for the Evening Journal,

115, 116;

lack of business ability, 116;

attack by the Spectator, 117-119;

reply to the same, 120;

becomes managing editor of Kansas City Times, 122, 136;

his home relations, 122-125;

method of reporting, 126, 127;

whimsical verses and fancies, 128-131;

misreports and plays practical jokes on Carl Schurz, 131-133;

character of his early journalistic work, 133-135;

revels in Kansas City, 130-138;

writes "The Little Peach," 139;

Greek translation and English equivalent of same, 140-142;

moves to Denver and becomes managing editor of The Denver Tribune,

143-145;

writes "Odds and Ends," 145-151;

his "Tribune Primer," 146-152;

his views on journalism, 149, 150;

creates the "Bugaboo," 151-153;

his friendship for Madame Modjeska, 154;

writes "The Wanderer," 154, 155;

credits "The Wanderer" to Madame Modjeska, 154-157;

anecdotes of his life in Denver, 158-182;

description of his office, 158, 159;

his acquaintance with "Bill" Nye, 159-161;

his inability to keep money, 162;

the Wickersham episode, 163-171;

impersonates Oscar Wilde, 171-172;

his dramatic qualifications and acquaintances, 173;

his relations and correspondence with Miss Kate Field, 174, 175;

his disposition, 175, 176;

plays pranks on Wolfe Londoner, 176-180;

gives a single-handed entertainment at Manîtou, 181, 182;

his hatred of hypocrisy, 182; ii., 314;

failure of health, i., 183-185;

accepts position on the Chicago Morning News and leaves Denver,

183-189;

ambition to achieve literary fame, 190;

his home and family in Chicago, 191;

introduces himself to the public, 191, 192;

his favorite child, 192;

means of increasing salary, 192, 193; ii., 7;

reasons for staying in Chicago, i., 193-195;

his objections to Chicago, 196-201;

begins "Sharps and Flats," 201-203;

his scholarship, 204, 205;

held in check by John F. Ballantyne, 207-209;

writes on assault of Edward D. Cowen, 209, 210;

description of the editorial rooms of the Chicago Daily News, 211-

217;

his office described, 218-220;

his personal appearance and characteristics, 220-223;

meets Christine Nilsson, 224-227;

his fondness for stage folk, 227;

invents tales respecting Emma Abbott, 228;

his friendship with Francis Wilson, 229, 230;

his relations with William Florence, 230-235;

his friendship with the Cranes, 235-241;

mutual friendship between Madame Modjeska and himself, 241-249;

enjoys "The Mikado," 240-251;

his favorite prima donna, 251-254;

dedicates three poems to the Davises, 254-261;

satires Kate Claxton, 261-262;

impersonates Sir Henry Irving, 263, 264;

his association with Sol Smith Russell, 264-270;

lack of literary education, 271-274;

studies early English literature, 275-278;

makes acquaintance of Dr. Reilly, 279-280;

inspired by Dr. Reilly, 282-293;

his debt to Father Prout and Béranger, 282-288; ii., 116;

tributes to Dr. Reilly, i., 289-293;

his method of work, 294-300;

love of the theatre, 300, 301;

describes Billy Boyle's Chop-house, 301-305;

partakes of midnight suppers, 307, 308; ii., 5;

exposes Rutherford B. Hayes, i., 309;

while absent from Chicago, learns a lesson, 310-313;

derives profit from his play, 314-317;

his aim in life, 315;

evolution of his life and writings, 317;

his keen appreciation of humor, 317-319;

an international hoax, 320-323;

foisters the authorship of "The Lost Sheep" on Miss Sally McLean,

324, 325;

involves Miss Wheeler in a controversy, 326-328;

methods of calling public attention to own compositions, 329-331;

makes Judge Cooley responsible for some of his poems, 331-337;

hoaxes Chicago critics, 337, 338;

prophecies a danger, 339, 340;

characterized by E.C. Stedman, 340, 341;

comments on Mr. Stedman's visit to Chicago, 341-345;

his companionship with Slason Thompson, ii., 1-14;

presents a cherished wedding gift to Mrs. Thompson, 1, 2;

condition of his finances, 6, 7;

obtains advances on his salary, 7-9;

embarrasses Slason Thompson with postal-cards, 9-11;

plays a Christmas prank. 12-14;

character of handwriting, 15, 16;

origin of use of colored inks, 16-18;

reproduces Corot's "St. Sebastian" and other pictures from written

descriptions, 18-22;

composes a German poem, 23, 24;

his means of obtaining, and using, colored inks, 24-32;

corresponds with Miss Thompson, 27, 28, 33, 34;

two artistic efforts, 28-33;

writes "Aunt Mary Matilda" series, 35, 36;

character of his letters, 45;

sends letters and poems to Slason Thompson, 47-58, 65-70, 77-105;

dines at Thompson's expense, 53-55;

dedicates two ballads to "The Fair Unknown," 59-64;

his interest in baseball, 71-73;

participates in the game of bowling, 73-76;

describes a ball game, 77, 78, 80;

plays a practical joke, 80, 81;

verses to two of his friends, 82-84;

celebrates Mrs. Morgan Bates' birthday, 84-80;

his first appearance as a reader, 101, 102;

discusses pronunciation of Goethe's name, 102;

induces Miss Cleveland to retire from an editorship, 105, 106;

publishes his first book, 107;

description of "Culture's Garland," 108-114;

resolves to master prose writing, 114, 115;

writes a column of verse a day, 116-120;

origin of "Little Boy Blue," 121;

contributions to America, 122;

invents "The Shadwell Folio," 122-129;

proposes to privately publish two books of his verses and tales,

130, 131;

responses to his appeal, 131-133;

publishes his "Little Books," 133-137;

his struggle with dyspepsia, 138;

writes to E.D. Cowen concerning his proposed visit to Europe, 139-

142;

and to Melvin L. Gray, 143, 144;

arrives in London, 144-146;

tells a story on James Whitcomb Riley, 147, 148;

places his children in school, 148, 149;

writes to Mr. Gray of his life in London, 149-153;

tells yarns to Mrs. Humphry Ward, 153-155;

publication of the limited edition of "Echoes from the Sabine

Farm," 155-157, 165, 166;

collects rarities, 158;

death of his eldest son, 159-161;

his return to Chicago, 161;

prepares other books for publication, 162, 163;

describes burial of his son, 163, 164;

ill-health, 166;

writes Christmas stories, 166-168;

becomes a bibliomaniac, 169-171;

frequents McClurg's store, 171;

originates the "Saints' and Sinners' Corner," 173-175;

his relations with William F. Poole, 175-177;

saves a coveted book, 178;

reports two imaginary meetings in the "Saints' and Sinners' Corner,"

179-190;

his theory regarding the buying of curios, 190-192;

entertains the Saints and Sinners, 193-197;

his politics, 198-201;

his skill in writing political paragraphs, 202, 266;

specimens of his political writings, 203-207;

embarrasses a politician, 208, 209;

plays pranks on General Logan, 209-212;

assists General Logan, 213, 214;

lampoons Judge Tree, 214-217;

ridicules the Mugwumps, 218-222;

becomes a Democrat, 221, 222;

unburdens his feelings upon the subject of his political

martyrdom, 223-229;

describes M.E. Stone before and after Blaine's defeat, 224-226;

writes a parody on "Jest 'fore Christmas," 229, 231;

his description of politics and business in a country store, 231-233;

his whimsical attitude toward serious questions, 233;

demands for biographical data concerning himself, 234, 235;

the result, "An Auto-Analysis," 235-240;

inaccuracy of his statements, 240-242;

his favorite authors, 242, 243;

his aversion to brutality, 244;

his love of music, 244, 245;

starts to write a comic opera, 246-251;

his tobacco habit, 252-254;

love of children, 254-258;

interviewed by Hamlin Garland, 259, 260;

becomes aware of his failing health, 262-264;

his struggle to provide for his family, 264;

reads in public, 265;

affected by beautiful weather, 266, 277;

enjoys the World's Fair, 267, 268;

his desire to own a home, 269-271;

recovers from pneumonia, 271;

visits California, 272-276;

and New Orleans, 276-278;

embarrasses Miss Jeffries, 277, 278;

letters to Mr. Gray, 278-290;

buys and remodels a house, 281-283;

delayed by repairs from taking possession of his new home, 284-286;

experiments with gardening, 286, 287;

describes his home, 287-289;

entertains Edward Everett Hale, 291-293;

his desire to lead a more quiet life, 293-296;

his strange collection of curios, 297-301;

his autographs and books, 301;

his taste in jewelry, 301, 302;

stays at home, 302-304;

gathers material for "The Love Affairs of a Bibliomaniac," 305,

306;

specimens of his later paragraphs, 306, 307;

spends an evening with Slason Thompson, 307, 308;

defends "Bill" Nye, 309;

feels sick, 310, 311;

his death, 311-313;

a true knight, 314;

his religion, 315;

his funeral, 316, 317;

tributes by his friends, 314-320;

his resting-place, 319, 320;

reviews of two imaginary books, 321-340

Field, Eugene, letters of,

to William C. Buskett, ii., 161, 162;

to E.D. Cowen, 119, 120, 130-142, 144-146, 148, 149, 158, 159;

to R.L. Dawson, 101, 102;

to Mrs. Earle, i., 56;

to Melvin L. Gray, 120; ii., 118, 119, 143, 144, 149-153, 162-165,

166, 270, 274, 278-290;

to Edith Long, i., 64, 65;

to Collins Shackelford, 217;

to Miss Thompson, ii., 27, 28, 33, 34;

to Slason Thompson, 47-58, 63-70, 77-105

Field, Henry, appreciates Field's artistic efforts, ii., 22

Field, General Martin, grandfather of Eugene Field, i., 2;

letter to daughter Mary, 8, 9;

troubles with sons, 4-8

Field, Mary, aunt of Eugene Field, i., 5, 8, 9;

assumes care of Eugene and Roswell Field, 53;

description of, 54;

lives with Eugene Field, 113

Field, Roswell Martin, father of Eugene Field, birth-place and

parentage, i., 2;

brother Charles, 4, 5, 9;

education, 5, 9, 10;

sister Mary, 8, 9;

practices law, 10, 11;

accomplishments, 11;

first love-affair, 13-22;

secretly married, 23-33;

marriage annulled, 33, 34;

emigrates to Missouri, 35;

opinions on slavery, 37;

defends Dred Scott, 37-44;

tributes by his associates, 45-47;

marries Miss Frances Reed, 49;

children, 49, 50;

death of, 84;

memoir of, by his brother, ii., 262, 263

Field, Roswell Martin, Jr., brother of Eugene Field, birth, i., 50;

early education, 54-60;

student at University of Missouri, 85-86;

advice from father concerning property, 111;

his "Memory of Eugene Field," ii., 1;

wishes to leave Kansas City, 142;

contributes part of "Echoes from the Sabine Farm," 157, 162;

becomes editorial writer on Times-Herald, 290

Fiske, John, his imaginary autobiography, ii., 238;

his death, 238, 239

"First Christmas Tree, The," ii., 102

Florence, William, a friend of Eugene Field, i., 230;

his meeting with Capel, 231;

his love of good living, 232-235

"For the Little Folks," i., 147

Forrest, Edwin, i., 95, 96

French, Mary Field, i., 8, 9

"Funny Fancies," i., 130, 134

Garland, Hamlin, i., 155;

reports an imaginary conversation with Field, ii., 259, 260

Gaston, George, i., 137, 138

"George Millard is Home!" ii., 172, 173

Gilbert, William S., receives credit for Field's "April Vespers,"

i., 129

"Golden Week, The," ii., 117, 129

"Good Knight and His Lady," i., 121-124

"Good Knight and the Fair Unknown, The," ii., 59

"Good Knight's Diplomacy," ii., 45, 46

"Good Knight to Sir Slosson, The," ii., 3, 4

"Good Sir Slosson's Episode with the Garrulous Sir Barbour, The,"

ii., 50, 51

Gray, Mrs. Melvin L., i., 71, 92, 03, 103; ii., 274

Gray, Melvin L., i., 92-94, 99;

financial difficulties with Field, 116, 117;

letters from Field, 120;

ii., 118, 119, 143, 144, 149-153, 162-163, 166, 270, 274, 278-290;

assists Field to buy a home, 281 _et seq._

Greene, Clay M., i., 203

Griffin, Solomon B., describes Field at Williams, i., 82, 83

Gunsaulus, Rev. Frank W., ii., 173;

describes the "Saints' and Sinners' Corner," 178;

writes for the "Sharps and Flats" column, 305;

tribute to Eugene Field, 317

Hale, Edward Everett, entertained by Field, ii., 291, 292

Hall, Rev. Thomas C., ii., 316

Hamilton, Judge Alexander, i., 40, 41

Harrison, Alice, i., 249, 250

Hawkins, Willis, i., 282;

bowls with Field, ii., 74, 76;

attends ball game with Field, 77, 78

Hawthorne, Julian, writes introduction for "Culture's Garland," ii.,

110, 112

Hayes, Mrs. Rutherford B., admired by Field, i., 310

Hayes, Rutherford B., exposed by Field, i., 309

Head, Franklin II., his imaginary book reviewed by Field, ii., 321-331

"Holy Cross and Other Tales, The," ii., 265

Hopkins, President Mark, i., 79

"House, The," ii., 281, 282

"How Mary Matilda Won a Prince," ii., 35-43

"How the Good Knight Attended Upon Sir Slosson," ii., 62-64

"How the Good Knight Protected Sir Slosson's Credit," ii., 53, 54

Howells, William Dean, i., 134

Hull, Paul, i., 282

"Hushaby Song, A," 254, 255

Irving, Sir Henry,

his tribute to Eugene Field, i., 263;

mimicked by Field, 263, 264

James, Henry, i., 134

Jefferson, Joseph, i., 230;

relates a story about William J. Florence, 234, 235

Jeffries, Miss Maude, embarrassed by one of Field's jokes, ii., 276-278

"Jest 'fore Election," a parody, ii., 229-231

Jewett, Miss Sara, i., 260

Joy, Major Moses, i., 24

Joyce, Colonel John A., i., 326-328

Kelley, Michael J., star of the Chicago Baseball Club, ii., 71-73

Kellog, Esther Smith, grandmother of Eugene Field, i., 2;

character, 57;

picture of, by Eugene Field, 57-59

Larned, Walter Cranston,

describes the Walters gallery, ii., 16-21;

Field reproduces his descriptions in colored inks, 18-21;

presented with a work of art, 22

Lathrop, Barbour, ii., 51

Lawson, Victor F., i., 185, 186; ii., 132;

acquires control of the Morning and Daily News, 222

"Little Book of Profitable Tales, A," i., 316;

concerning publication of, ii., 130-137

"Little Book of Western Verse, A," i., 8, 93, 112, 157, 317, 337; ii., 1;

concerning publication of, 130-137, 147

"Little Boy Blue," ii., 112;

origin of, 121

"Little Peach, The," i., 139-141

Livingstone, John B.,

accounts for title of "Sharps and Flats," i., 201-203

Logan, General John A.,

victim of Field's pranks, ii., 209-212;

"The Spy," 210, 211;

"Logan's Lament," 212;

aided by Field, 213-216;

re-elected to the Senate, 216

Londoner, Wolfe, describes Field, i., 175, 176;

victimized by Field, 176-179;

story of his meeting with Charles A. Dana, 179, 180

"Lonesome Little Shoe, The," title-page of, ii., 35

Long, Edith, letter to Eugene Field, i., 63, 64;

reply to same, 64, 65

"Lost Schooner, The," ii., 127, 128

"Lost Sheep, The," il., 324

"Love and Laughter," i., 326

"Love Affairs of a Bibliomaniac, The," i., 317; ii., 305

"Love Plaint," i., 228, 220

"Love Songs of Childhood," ii., 265, 278, 280

"Lyrics of a Convalescent," ii., 276

McClurg, General A.C., ii., 56;

knowledge of rare books, 172;

disapproves of "Culture's Garland," 174, 175;

as a Mugwump, 218-220

McClurg, A.C., & Co.'s bookstore, i., 275; ii., 56;

gutted by fire, 177, 178

MacKenzie, Sir Morell, prescribes for William Florence, i., 233

McLean, Sally Pratt, alleged author of "The Lost Sheep," i., 324, 325

McPhelim, Edward J., ii., 4

MacVeagh, Franklin, ii., 218

"Mæcenas," i., 285, 286

"Margaret, a Pearl," ii., 115

"Markessy di Pullman," ii., 112

"Marthy's Younkit," ii., 117;

dedicated to E. D. Cowen, 141

Mason, David H., his small handwriting, ii., 15, 16

"Merciful Lad, The," ii., 113, 114

"Mikado, The," i., 249, 250

Millard, George M., ii., 171, 172;

"George Millard is Home!" 172, 173

Modjeska, Madame, i., 154;

her attitude toward "The Wanderer." 156, 157;

her friendship with Field, 242, 249;

"To Helena Modjeska," 246, 247

Moon, Mrs. Temperance, i., 50

Morgan, Edward B., gives origin of "Odds and Ends," i., 146, 147

Morris, Clara, in "Camille," i., 243

"Mortality," i., 332

"Mountain and the Sea," ii., 115, 202

"Mr. Peattie's Cape," ii., 82

"New Baby, The," i., 128

Newfane, village of, i., 2-4

"Night Wind, The," ii., 308

Nilsson, Christine, meets Eugene Field, i., 224-227

"Noontide Hymn, A," ii., 245

Norton, Colonel J.S.,

a victim of Field, i., 320;

"To Eugene Field," 323;

makes a presentation speech, ii., 22

Nye, "Bill,"

meets Eugene Field, i., 159-161; ii., 265;

defended by Field, 309

"Old English Lullaby," ii., 129

"Old Sexton," i., 113

"Ossian's Serenade," i., 114

"Our Two Opinions," i., 267

Peattie, Mr. and Mrs. Robert, objects of a practical joke, ii., 80, 81;

verses to, 82, 83

"Penn Yan Bill," i., 112

"Piteous Appeal of a Forsooken Habbit, Ye," ii., 2, 121

Plumbe, George E., i., 212

Poole, William F., i., 212;

his relations with Field, ii., 175-177

"'Possum Jim," i., 167, 169

"Proposed Cure for Bibliomania," ii., 182-190

Ralph, Julian, describes Field's curios, ii., 298

Ranney, Mrs. Deacon, i., 58

Reed, Miss Frances, i., 49

Reed, Roland, i., 240

"Reform," ii., 199, 200

Reid, Whitelaw, ii., 132

Reilly, Dr. Frank W., becomes a helpful friend to Field, i., 279, 280;

benefits Illinois, 281;

his accomplishments 283-285;

"To Dr. Frank W. Riley," 289, 290;

"To F.W.R. at 6 P.M.," 293;

Field complains of, ii., 86, 88

"Return of the Highlander, The," ii., 83, 84

Rice, John A., i., 263

Riley, James Whitcomb, Field tells a story at his expense, ii.,

147, 148;

reads with Field, 265

"Robin and the Violet, The," i., 317; ii., 102

Robson, Stuart, ii., 132

"Rose, The," ii., 106

Rothacker, O.H., editor of Denver Tribune, i., 144, 189

Russell, Sol Smith, one of Field's best friends, i., 264;

his mimicry, i., 265, 266, 292

St. Joseph Gazette, i., 114

St. Louis, Field's father dies in, i., 84;

Field's home, 91-98, 112

"Saints' and Sinners' Corner," origin of, ii., 173-175;

described, 178;

description of entertainment given by Field, 193-197

Sandford, Alexander, i., 41

Schurz, Carl, misreported by Field, 131, 132

Sclanders, J.L., i., 218

Scott, Dred, statement of his case, i., 38;

first petition to the Circuit Court, 39, 40;

complaint against Alexander Sandford and others, 41, 42;

Justice Taney's decision, 42, 43

"Second Book of Verse," i., 53; ii., 264

"Seein' Things," i., 153

Sembrich, Madame, a favorite of Field, i., 251;

her genius and accomplishments, 252, 253

Shackelford, Collins, i., 217;

wheedled into advancing money to Field, ii., 7-9

"Shadwell Folio, The," ii., 122-129

"Sharps and Flats," i., 53, 97, 114;

beginning and origin of, 201-203;

mention of William Crane, 235, 240;

ii., 56, 119, 254

"Singer Mother, The," i., 255, 256

Skiff, Fred V., i., 144;

advances money to Field, 162;

subscribes to the "Little Books," ii., 132

Smith, Harry B, ii., 250

"Songs and Other Verse," ii., 129

"Sonnet to Shekelsford, A," ii., 8

"Souvenirs from Egypt," ii., 179-182

"Statesman's Sorrow, A," ii., 231-233

Stedman, Edmund Clarence, writes an appreciation of Eugene Field, i.,

340, 341;

visits Chicago, 341-345

Stevenson, Adlai, ii., 207, 288

Stone, Melvin B., establishes the Chicago Daily News, i., 185, 186;

first meeting with Field, 187;

offers Field a position, 188;

accounts for "Sharps and Flats," 203;

a Mugwump, ii., 218-220;

retires from the Daily News, 222;

described before and after Blaine's defeat, 224-226;

bears expense of painting Field's house, 288

Stryker. Rev. M. Woolsey, ii., 173

"Symbol and the Salut, The," ii., 167

Taney, Chief Justice, decision in Dred Scott case, i., 37, 38, 42, 43

"Ten Years of a Song Bird: Memoirs of a Busy Life," ii., 321, 332-340

Terry, Ellen, i., 264

"The Eugene Field I Knew," i., 96

Thompson, Mary Matilda, receives illuminated letters from Field, ii.,

27, 28, 33, 34;

"How Mary Matilda Won a Prince," dedicated to, 36

Thompson, Mrs., i., 156

Thompson, Slason, personal relations with Field, ii., 1-14;

his marriage, 1, 2, 120;

bombarded with postal-cards, 9-12;

receives a Christmas stocking, 12-14;

his rooms pictured by Field, 28-31;

letters and poems from Field, 47-58, 65-70;

publishes "The Humbler Poets," 56;

receives twelve more letters from Field, 77-105;

retires from The Daily News to join America, 121;

letters from John Wilson & Son concerning publication of Field's

"Little Books," 133-136;

receives two letters from Francis Wilson about publication

of "Echoes from the Sabine Farm," 153-157;

a Mugwump, 218-220;

his last evening with Field, 307, 308

Thorne, Charles H., Jr., i., 260

Ticknor & Co., ii., 107

Tilden, S.J., ii., 253

"To a Blue Jay," i., 334-336

"To Clara Doty Bates," ii., 85, 86

Todd, Charles S., ii., 319

Tree, Judge Lambert, lampooned by Field, ii., 214-217

"Tribune Primer," i., 146;

not Field's first book, ii., 107

"Tribute of the Thrush, The," ii., 320

Tufts, Rev. James, i., 54;

educates Eugene Field, i., 73-78

"Valentine, A," ii., 129

"Vision of the Holy Grail, The," i., 333

Walters Gallery, The, described, ii., 16-21

"Wanderer, The," i., 154-157

Ward, Mrs. Humphry, believes two of Field's yarns, ii., 153-155

Warner, Charles Dudley, i., 134

Waterloo, Stanley, i., 98

"Werewolf, The," ii., 115

Wilcox, Ella Wheeler, involved in a controversy over "Love and

Laughter," i., 326-328

Wilde, Oscar, impersonated by Field, i., 171, 172

Wilson, Francis, i., 96, 148;

made fun of, 229, 230;

issues "Echoes from the Sabine Farm," ii., 155-157, 165, 166;

buys Sir Walter Scott's chair, 190, 191

Wilson & Son, John, letters to Slason Thompson concerning Field's

"Little Books," ii., 133-136

"Winfreda," ii., 129

"Wit of the Silurian Age," i., 291

"With Trumpet and Drum," ii., 264

Wood, Mrs. Hanna, i., 24, 25

"Wynken, Blynken, and Nod," ii., 116

"Yvytot," ii., 146, 147