Chapter 6

Swete friend, for Jesus's sake forbeareTo buy ye lake thou findest here,For that when I do get ye pelf,I meane to buy ye boke my selfe.Eugene Field.

Swete friend, for Jesus's sake forbeareTo buy ye lake thou findest here,For that when I do get ye pelf,I meane to buy ye boke my selfe.

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, delightTo glut their vandal cravings,These hands of mine shall not inclineTo tear out old engravings."January 22d, 1891.

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, delightTo glut their vandal cravings,These hands of mine shall not inclineTo tear out old engravings."

"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.

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."

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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 waitWhen once his chance is nigh:To-morrow it may be too late—Some other man may buy.Nay, brother, comprehend the boonThat's offered in a trice,Or else some other all too soonWill pay the needful price.Should some fair book engage your eye,Or print invite your glance,Oh, trifle not with faith, but buyWhile yet you have the chance!Else, glad to do thee grievous wrong,Some wolf in human guise—Some bibliophil shall snoop alongAnd nip that lovely prize!No gem of purest ray sereneGleams in the depthless sea,There is no flower that blooms unseenUpon the distant lea,But the same snooping child of sin,With fad or mania curst,Will find it out and take it inUnless you get there first.Though undue haste may be a crime,Procrastination's worse;Now—now is the accepted timeTo 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.

"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 waitWhen once his chance is nigh:To-morrow it may be too late—Some other man may buy.Nay, brother, comprehend the boonThat's offered in a trice,Or else some other all too soonWill pay the needful price.Should some fair book engage your eye,Or print invite your glance,Oh, trifle not with faith, but buyWhile yet you have the chance!Else, glad to do thee grievous wrong,Some wolf in human guise—Some bibliophil shall snoop alongAnd nip that lovely prize!No gem of purest ray sereneGleams in the depthless sea,There is no flower that blooms unseenUpon the distant lea,But the same snooping child of sin,With fad or mania curst,Will find it out and take it inUnless you get there first.Though undue haste may be a crime,Procrastination's worse;Now—now is the accepted timeTo 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.

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 buyWhile yet you have the chance!Else, glad to do thee grievous wrong,Some wolf in human guise—Some bibliophil shall snoop alongAnd nip that lovely prize!

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 sereneGleams in the depthless sea,There is no flower that blooms unseenUpon the distant lea,But the same snooping child of sin,With fad or mania curst,Will find it out and take it inUnless you get there first.

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 timeTo 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.

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 coastI've come to visit thee,For I am Frognall Dibdin's ghost,"Says Dibdin's ghost to me.I bade him welcome, and we twainDiscussed with buoyant heartsThe various things that appertainTo bibliomaniac arts."Since you are fresh from t'other side,Pray, tell me of that hostThat 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 boundsBeside that jasper sea;It is a joy unknown to Lowndes,"Says Dibdin's ghost to me.

"From Canaan's beatific coastI've come to visit thee,For I am Frognall Dibdin's ghost,"Says Dibdin's ghost to me.

"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 twainDiscussed with buoyant heartsThe various things that appertainTo bibliomaniac arts.

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 hostThat treasured books before they died,"Says I to Dibdin's ghost.

"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.

"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 boundsBeside that jasper sea;It is a joy unknown to Lowndes,"Says Dibdin's ghost to me.

"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 usWhen we would read in bed?Or, wanting victuals, make a fussIf we buy books instead?And what of those who've dusted notOur motley pride and boast,—Shall they profane that sacred spot?"Says I to Dibdin's ghost."Oh, no! they tread that other pathWhich leads where torments roll,And worms—yes, bookworms—vent their wrathUpon the guilty soul,Untouched of bibliomaniac grace,That saveth such as we,They wallow in that dreadful place,"Says Dibdin's ghost to me.

"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 pathWhich leads where torments roll,And worms—yes, bookworms—vent their wrathUpon the guilty soul,Untouched of bibliomaniac grace,That saveth such as we,They wallow in that dreadful place,"Says Dibdin's ghost to me.

"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.

CHAPTER VIII

POLITICAL RELATIONS

It is due to the numberless friends and acquaintances Field made among the politicians of three states particularly and of the nation generally that this study of his life should take some account of his political writings, if not of his political principles. Those not familiar with political events during the past twenty years may skip this chapter, as it pleases them.

Field was a Republican by inheritance, and a Missouri Republican at that, which means a Republican who may die but never compromises. The Vermont views and prejudices which he inherited from his father were not weakened, we may be sure, under the tutelage of the women folks at Amherst, or of Dr. Tufts, at Monson. But rock-ribbed as he was in his adherence to the Republican party, he never took the trouble to make a study of its principles, nor did he care to discuss any of the political issues of his day. It was enough that the Democratic party embodied in his mind his twin aversions, slavery and rebellion, against the Union. He was a thorough-going believer in the doctrine, "To the victors belong the spoils," and as he credited the Republican party with the preservation of the Union, he saw no reason why its adherents should not use or abuse its government without let or hindrance from men who had sought to destroy it. This view he has set forth in a scornful bit of verse, which I copy from his rough draft:

REFORMWhat means this pewter teapot storm,This incoherent yell—This boisterous blubber for "reform"When everything goes well?Why should the good old party ceaseTo rule our prosperous land?Is not our country blessed with peaceAnd wealth on every hand?The Democrats desired reformTwo dozen years ago,But with our life-blood, red and warm,We gave the answer "No."We see the same old foe to-dayWe saw in Sixty-one—"Deeds of reform," they whining say,Must for our land be done!"Deeds of reform?" And these the menWho, in the warful years,Starved soldiers in a prison-pen,And mocked their dying tears!By these our mother's heart was broke—By these our father fell—These bold "reformers" once awokeOur land with rebel yell!These quondam rebels come to-dayIn penitential form,And hypocritically sayThe country needs "reform!"Out on reformers such as these!By Freedom's sacred pow'rsWe'll run the country as we please—We saved it, and it's ours!

REFORM

What means this pewter teapot storm,This incoherent yell—This boisterous blubber for "reform"When everything goes well?Why should the good old party ceaseTo rule our prosperous land?Is not our country blessed with peaceAnd wealth on every hand?

What means this pewter teapot storm,

This incoherent yell—

This boisterous blubber for "reform"

When everything goes well?

Why should the good old party cease

To rule our prosperous land?

Is not our country blessed with peace

And wealth on every hand?

The Democrats desired reformTwo dozen years ago,But with our life-blood, red and warm,We gave the answer "No."We see the same old foe to-dayWe saw in Sixty-one—"Deeds of reform," they whining say,Must for our land be done!

The Democrats desired reform

Two dozen years ago,

But with our life-blood, red and warm,

We gave the answer "No."

We see the same old foe to-day

We saw in Sixty-one—

"Deeds of reform," they whining say,

Must for our land be done!

"Deeds of reform?" And these the menWho, in the warful years,Starved soldiers in a prison-pen,And mocked their dying tears!By these our mother's heart was broke—By these our father fell—These bold "reformers" once awokeOur land with rebel yell!

"Deeds of reform?" And these the men

Who, in the warful years,

Starved soldiers in a prison-pen,

And mocked their dying tears!

By these our mother's heart was broke—

By these our father fell—

These bold "reformers" once awoke

Our land with rebel yell!

These quondam rebels come to-dayIn penitential form,And hypocritically sayThe country needs "reform!"Out on reformers such as these!By Freedom's sacred pow'rsWe'll run the country as we please—We saved it, and it's ours!

These quondam rebels come to-day

In penitential form,

And hypocritically say

The country needs "reform!"

Out on reformers such as these!

By Freedom's sacred pow'rs

We'll run the country as we please—

We saved it, and it's ours!

From this as the rock of all his political prejudices, Field was immovable. But happily, for the pleasure of his friends and the entertainment of his readers, he took politics no more seriously than he did many of the other responsibilities of life. As early as 1873, in a letter already published, he announced that he had "given over all hope of rescuing my torn and bleeding country from Grant and his minions," and from that time on he devoted his study of politics to the development of satirical and humorous paragraphs at the expense of the two classes of prominent and practical politicians.

OFF TO SPRINGFIELD.

For more than a decade, and until he became enamoured of books and bibliomania, Field was the most widely quoted political paragrapher in America. It was not in vain that he mingled with the "statesmen" frequenting the capitals of Missouri, Colorado, and Illinois, attended state and national conventions, and spent many weeks in the lobby of the capitol, and of the lobbies of the hotels in Washington. It was the comprehension of men, and not of measures, he was after, and he got what he sought. In St. Louis, Kansas City, and Denver his sketches, notes, and Primer stories attracted more attention and caused more talk among politicians than all the serious reports and discussions of the issues of the times. He had the gift of putting distorted statements in the form of innocent facts so artfully developed that his victims had difficulty in disputing the often compromising inferences of his paragraphs.

Many a time and oft have I known every one of the paragraphs in Field's column in the News, sometimes numbering as high as sixty, to relate to something of a political nature, and most of them containing a personal pin-prick. With the assistance of the printer, let me reconstruct here in the type and narrow measure of the Morning News a column of specimens of Field's political paragraphs. The reader must allow for the lapse of time. Only those referring to persons or matters of national note are, for obvious reasons, preserved. The first one has the peculiar interest of being the initial paragraph in "Sharps and Flats." In point of time they ran all the way from 1883 to 1895, thus covering the entire period of Field's work on the News and Record:

SHARPS AND FLATSSenator Dawes has been out among the Sioux Indians too. They call him Ne-Ha-Wo-Ne-To—which, according to our office dictionary, is the Indian for Go-To-Sleep-Standing-Up.Sol Smith Russell, the comedian, is reported to have contributed $5,000 to the National Prohibition campaign fund.The suspicion is still rife that when the Democratic party wakes up on Christmas morning it will find S.J. Tilden in its stocking.Drawing of a flower sitting on a barrel.See the Flower. It is sitting on its Barrel derisively Mocking the Eager hands that strive to Pluck it. Oh, beautiful but cruel Flower.If the mild weather continues Secretary Chandler will be able to get the American Navy out of its winter quarters and on to roller skates by the first of April.Mr. Charles A. Dana has appeared as the third witch in "Macbeth." He says Roosevelt cannot be Mayor, but may go to Congress, to the Senate, or be elected President.It is believed that a horizontal reduction in the Democratic statesmen of the time would leave nothing of the Hon. William R. Morrison but a pair of spindle legs, three bunions, and seven corns.Russia, always a menace to civilization, is prepared to aid China in her resistance against modern progress, and will not hesitate to fly to the succor of the unspeakable Turk when the opportune moment comes.We do not entirely believe the story that El Mahdi is dead. On the contrary, we confidently expect that this enterprising false prophet will turn up in a reconstructed condition at Washington after the 4th of next March, howling for a post-office.BLUE CUT, TENN., May 2, 1885.—The second section of the train bearing the Illinois legislature to New Orleans was stopped near this station by bandits last night. After relieving the bandits of their watches and money, the excursionists proceeded on their journey with increased enthusiasm.Hamlin Garland has finally crawled out of the populist party and has reappeared in Chicago fiercer than ever for the predominance of realism in literature and art. He regrets to find that during his absence Franklin H. Head has relapsed into romanticism and that the verist's fences generally in these parts are in bad condition.The national Carl Schurz committee will meet in New York on the 1st of April to fix a date and place for the national Carl Schurz convention. As Chicago will make no attempt to secure this convention, we do not mind telling St. Louis, Philadelphia and Cincinnati that the biggeet inducement which can be held out to the Carl Schurz party is a diet of oatmeal and skim milk and piano—rent free."You are looking tough, O Diogenes," quoth Socrates. "Now, by the dog, what have you been doing?" "I have been searching for an honest man in the Chicago City Council," replied the grim philosopher mournfully, "With what result?" inquired the other. "Well, you see," said Diogenes sarcastically, "my pockets are cleaned out and my lantern is gone! I praise Zeus that they left me my girdle!"Major McKinley is being highly commended because he would not allow the Ohio delegation to betray John Sherman in the Republican convention. Other men from other States were perhaps just as loyal, but it is so seldom that an Ohio politician does the decent thing that when one honorable Ohio politician is found he excites quite as much surprise and admiration as a double-headed calf or any other natural curiosity would.Oh, what a beautiful Hill. How it looms up in the Misty Horizon. See the Indians on the hill. They are Tammany braves. The Hill belongs to the Indians. Why are the Indians on the Hill? They are hunting for the flower which they Fondly hope Blooms on the Hill. Not this year—some other Year, but not this year. The Flower is Roosting high. It has resigned. Are the Indians resigned? They are not as Resigned as they Would be if they could Find the Flower. Alas that there should be More Sorrows than Flowers in this World.The Hon. Thomas B. Reed, of Maine, is to be the leader of the Republican minority in Congress this winter. He is a smart, fat, brilliant, lazy man, with a Shakespearian head and face and clean-cut record. He is a great improvement on the Hon. J. Warren Keifer, of Ohio, who was the Republican leader (so-called) last winter. It would be hard to imagine a more imbecile leader than Keifer was, and it would be hard to find an abler leader than Reed will be, provided his natural physical indolence does not get the better of his splendid intellectual vigor.Marcus A. Hanna has just been elected a delegate to the National Republican Convention in the Tenth Ohio district. He has also just been appointed to a government position by President Cleveland. The National Republican Convention ought to determine, immediately upon assembling, whether its platform and its nominations shall be dictated, even remotely, by a beneficiary of a Democratic administration. Hanna was in 1884 a loudmouthed Blaine follower. He has a happy faculty of always lighting on his feet—after the fashion of the singed cat.President Cleveland—Rose, are you sure the window-screens are in repair?Miss Cleveland—Quite sure.President Cleveland—And are you using that flypaper according to directions?Miss Cleveland—Yes.President Cleveland—And you sprinkle the furniture with insect powder every day?Miss Cleveland—Certainly; why do you ask? Are the mosquitoes troubling you?President Cleveland—No, not the mosquitoes; but that Second District Congressman from Illinois seems to be just as thick as ever.We've come from Indiany, five hundred miles or more,Supposin' we wuz goin' to git the nominashin shore;For Colonel New assured us (in that noospaper o' his)That we cud hev the airth, if we'd only tend to biz.But here we've been slavin' more like hosees than like menTo diskiver that the people do not hanker after Ben;It is for Jeemes G. Blaine an' not for Harrison they shoutAnd the gobble-uns 'el git usEf weDon'tWatchOut!"As for me, Daniel, I declined the tickets on the ground that, as President of this great nation, it was beneath my dignity to accept free passes to a show." "You did quite right, Grover; I, too, declined the passes in my capacity as a cabinet officer." "Good, good!" "But I accepted them in my capacity as editor of the Albany Argus. I owe it to my profession, Grover, not to surrender any of its rights to a strained sense of the dignity of an employment which is only temporary." "Ah, yes; I see." "There must be a dividing line between the Honorable Daniel Manning, cabinet minister, and plain Dan Manning, editor. I draw that line at free show-tickets."Another instance of the liberality of the Hon. William H. English, of Indiana, has just come to light. It seems that that gentleman's venerable father, Deacon Elisha English, lives in Scott County, Ind., where he is a highly esteemed citizen and a bright light in the Methodist church. Not long ago the church people concluded they ought to have some improvements upon their modest temple of worship, and consequently a subscription paper was circulating among the members of the congregation. Deacon English readily signified his willingness to do his share toward the proposed improvements, and he led off the subscription list with the line:Elisha English $50.00The congregation were so much pleased with this that they determined to apply to William H. English, the son, for a donation, and they believed that the liberality of the father would serve as an inducement to the son to display at least a moderate generosity. Accordingly the subscription list was forwarded to Indianapolis, and a prominent Methodist of that city took it around to Mr. English's office. The ex-vice-president hemmed and hawed and fumbled the paper over for quite a while, and finally, with a profound sigh, sat down at his desk and scribbled a few words on the subscription sheet. The triumphant smile on the visiting churchman's face relaxed into an expression of combined amazement and dismay when, upon regaining the paper, he learned that Mr. English had reconstructed the first line, so that it read:Elisha English and Son $50.00

SHARPS AND FLATS

Senator Dawes has been out among the Sioux Indians too. They call him Ne-Ha-Wo-Ne-To—which, according to our office dictionary, is the Indian for Go-To-Sleep-Standing-Up.

Sol Smith Russell, the comedian, is reported to have contributed $5,000 to the National Prohibition campaign fund.

The suspicion is still rife that when the Democratic party wakes up on Christmas morning it will find S.J. Tilden in its stocking.

See the Flower. It is sitting on its Barrel derisively Mocking the Eager hands that strive to Pluck it. Oh, beautiful but cruel Flower.

If the mild weather continues Secretary Chandler will be able to get the American Navy out of its winter quarters and on to roller skates by the first of April.

Mr. Charles A. Dana has appeared as the third witch in "Macbeth." He says Roosevelt cannot be Mayor, but may go to Congress, to the Senate, or be elected President.

It is believed that a horizontal reduction in the Democratic statesmen of the time would leave nothing of the Hon. William R. Morrison but a pair of spindle legs, three bunions, and seven corns.

Russia, always a menace to civilization, is prepared to aid China in her resistance against modern progress, and will not hesitate to fly to the succor of the unspeakable Turk when the opportune moment comes.

We do not entirely believe the story that El Mahdi is dead. On the contrary, we confidently expect that this enterprising false prophet will turn up in a reconstructed condition at Washington after the 4th of next March, howling for a post-office.

BLUE CUT, TENN., May 2, 1885.—The second section of the train bearing the Illinois legislature to New Orleans was stopped near this station by bandits last night. After relieving the bandits of their watches and money, the excursionists proceeded on their journey with increased enthusiasm.

Hamlin Garland has finally crawled out of the populist party and has reappeared in Chicago fiercer than ever for the predominance of realism in literature and art. He regrets to find that during his absence Franklin H. Head has relapsed into romanticism and that the verist's fences generally in these parts are in bad condition.

The national Carl Schurz committee will meet in New York on the 1st of April to fix a date and place for the national Carl Schurz convention. As Chicago will make no attempt to secure this convention, we do not mind telling St. Louis, Philadelphia and Cincinnati that the biggeet inducement which can be held out to the Carl Schurz party is a diet of oatmeal and skim milk and piano—rent free.

"You are looking tough, O Diogenes," quoth Socrates. "Now, by the dog, what have you been doing?" "I have been searching for an honest man in the Chicago City Council," replied the grim philosopher mournfully, "With what result?" inquired the other. "Well, you see," said Diogenes sarcastically, "my pockets are cleaned out and my lantern is gone! I praise Zeus that they left me my girdle!"

Major McKinley is being highly commended because he would not allow the Ohio delegation to betray John Sherman in the Republican convention. Other men from other States were perhaps just as loyal, but it is so seldom that an Ohio politician does the decent thing that when one honorable Ohio politician is found he excites quite as much surprise and admiration as a double-headed calf or any other natural curiosity would.

Oh, what a beautiful Hill. How it looms up in the Misty Horizon. See the Indians on the hill. They are Tammany braves. The Hill belongs to the Indians. Why are the Indians on the Hill? They are hunting for the flower which they Fondly hope Blooms on the Hill. Not this year—some other Year, but not this year. The Flower is Roosting high. It has resigned. Are the Indians resigned? They are not as Resigned as they Would be if they could Find the Flower. Alas that there should be More Sorrows than Flowers in this World.

The Hon. Thomas B. Reed, of Maine, is to be the leader of the Republican minority in Congress this winter. He is a smart, fat, brilliant, lazy man, with a Shakespearian head and face and clean-cut record. He is a great improvement on the Hon. J. Warren Keifer, of Ohio, who was the Republican leader (so-called) last winter. It would be hard to imagine a more imbecile leader than Keifer was, and it would be hard to find an abler leader than Reed will be, provided his natural physical indolence does not get the better of his splendid intellectual vigor.

Marcus A. Hanna has just been elected a delegate to the National Republican Convention in the Tenth Ohio district. He has also just been appointed to a government position by President Cleveland. The National Republican Convention ought to determine, immediately upon assembling, whether its platform and its nominations shall be dictated, even remotely, by a beneficiary of a Democratic administration. Hanna was in 1884 a loudmouthed Blaine follower. He has a happy faculty of always lighting on his feet—after the fashion of the singed cat.

President Cleveland—Rose, are you sure the window-screens are in repair?

Miss Cleveland—Quite sure.

President Cleveland—And are you using that flypaper according to directions?

Miss Cleveland—Yes.

President Cleveland—And you sprinkle the furniture with insect powder every day?

Miss Cleveland—Certainly; why do you ask? Are the mosquitoes troubling you?

President Cleveland—No, not the mosquitoes; but that Second District Congressman from Illinois seems to be just as thick as ever.

We've come from Indiany, five hundred miles or more,Supposin' we wuz goin' to git the nominashin shore;For Colonel New assured us (in that noospaper o' his)That we cud hev the airth, if we'd only tend to biz.But here we've been slavin' more like hosees than like menTo diskiver that the people do not hanker after Ben;It is for Jeemes G. Blaine an' not for Harrison they shoutAnd the gobble-uns 'el git usEf weDon'tWatchOut!

We've come from Indiany, five hundred miles or more,

Supposin' we wuz goin' to git the nominashin shore;

For Colonel New assured us (in that noospaper o' his)

That we cud hev the airth, if we'd only tend to biz.

But here we've been slavin' more like hosees than like men

To diskiver that the people do not hanker after Ben;

It is for Jeemes G. Blaine an' not for Harrison they shout

And the gobble-uns 'el git us

Ef we

Don't

Watch

Out!

"As for me, Daniel, I declined the tickets on the ground that, as President of this great nation, it was beneath my dignity to accept free passes to a show." "You did quite right, Grover; I, too, declined the passes in my capacity as a cabinet officer." "Good, good!" "But I accepted them in my capacity as editor of the Albany Argus. I owe it to my profession, Grover, not to surrender any of its rights to a strained sense of the dignity of an employment which is only temporary." "Ah, yes; I see." "There must be a dividing line between the Honorable Daniel Manning, cabinet minister, and plain Dan Manning, editor. I draw that line at free show-tickets."

Another instance of the liberality of the Hon. William H. English, of Indiana, has just come to light. It seems that that gentleman's venerable father, Deacon Elisha English, lives in Scott County, Ind., where he is a highly esteemed citizen and a bright light in the Methodist church. Not long ago the church people concluded they ought to have some improvements upon their modest temple of worship, and consequently a subscription paper was circulating among the members of the congregation. Deacon English readily signified his willingness to do his share toward the proposed improvements, and he led off the subscription list with the line:

Elisha English $50.00

The congregation were so much pleased with this that they determined to apply to William H. English, the son, for a donation, and they believed that the liberality of the father would serve as an inducement to the son to display at least a moderate generosity. Accordingly the subscription list was forwarded to Indianapolis, and a prominent Methodist of that city took it around to Mr. English's office. The ex-vice-president hemmed and hawed and fumbled the paper over for quite a while, and finally, with a profound sigh, sat down at his desk and scribbled a few words on the subscription sheet. The triumphant smile on the visiting churchman's face relaxed into an expression of combined amazement and dismay when, upon regaining the paper, he learned that Mr. English had reconstructed the first line, so that it read:

Elisha English and Son $50.00

This column will serve two purposes—to illustrate the truly American spirit of levity in which Eugene Field regarded politics and politicians, and also the extent and general character of his daily "wood sawing" for nearly twelve years. Although these selections cover a period of many years, they fairly represent the character of his political paragraphs on any one day except in the matter of subjects. These, of course, varied from day to day, from the President of the United States down to the Chicago bridge-tender. What delighted him most was some matter-of-fact announcement such as that which credited Herman H. Kohlsaat, then editor of the Chicago Inter-Ocean and a delegate to the Republican National Convention of 1892, with saying that he had no particular choice for Vice-President, but he favored the nomination of some colored Republican as a fitting recognition of the loyalty of the colored voters to the memory and party of Lincoln. The cunningly foreseen consequence was that what Mr. Kohlsaat gained in popularity with the colored brethren he lost in the estimation of those serious-minded souls who swallowed the hoax. Among the latter were many fire-eating editors in the South who seized upon Field's self-evident absurdity to denounce Mr. Kohlsaat as a violent demagogue who sought to curry favor with black Republicans at the expense of the South. It was also accepted as fairly representing the Northern disposition to flout and trample on the most sensitive sensibilities of the South. In the meantime Mr. Kohlsaat's office was besieged by the friends of colored aspirants to the vice-presidency, and Field chuckled in his chair and took every opportunity to add fuel to his confrère's embarrassment and to the flame of Southern indignation. All the while he would meet Mr. Kohlsaat, who was one of his intimate friends, and express to him astonishment that he should feel any annoyance over such a palpable, harmless pleasantry.

Although there is one bit of verse in the foregoing sample column of Field's political paragraphs, it does scant justice to his most effective weapon. His political jingles were the delight or vexation of partisans as they happened to ridicule or scarify this side or that. He was on terms of personal friendship with General John A. Logan, whose admiration for General Grant he shared to the fullest degree. But this never restrained Field from taking all sorts of waggish liberties with General Logan's well-known fondness for mixed metaphors and other perversions of the Queen's English. The general, on one occasion, in a burst of eloquence, had spoken of "the day when the bloody hand of rebellion stalked through the land"; and for a year thereafter that "bloody hand" "stalked" through Field's column. He enjoyed attributing to General Logan all sorts of literary undertakings. Among others, was the writing of a play, to which reference is made in the following paragraph:

Senator John A. Logan's play, "The Spy," is in great demand, a number of theatrical speculators having entered the lists for it, the managers for the Madison Square and Union Square theatres being specially eager to get hold of it. A gentleman who is in the author's confidence assures us he has read the play, and can testify to its high dramatic merits. "It will have to be rewritten," said he, "for Logan has thrown it together with characteristic looseness; but it is full of lively dialogue and exciting situations. In the hands of a thorough playwright it would become a splendid melodrama." The play treats upon certain incidents of the late Civil War, and the romantic experiences of a certain Major Algernon Bellville, U.S.A., who is beloved by Maud Glynne, daughter of a Confederate general. The plot turns upon the young lady's unsuccessful effort to convey intelligence of a proposed sortie to her lover in the Union ranks. She is slain while masking in male attire by Reginald De Courcey, a rejected lover, who is serving as her father's aide-de-camp. This melancholy tragedy is enacted at a spot appointed by the lovers as a rendezvous. Major Bellville rushes in to find his fair idol a corpse. He is wild with grief. The melodrama concludes thus:De Bell—Aha! Who done this deed?Lieutenant Smythe—Yonder Reginald De Courcey done it, for I seen him when he done it.Reginald—'Sdeath! 'Tis a lie upon my honor. I didn't do no such thing.De Bell—Thou must die. (Draws his sword.) Prepare to meet thy Maker. (Stabs him.)Reginald (falling)—I see angels. (Dies.)De Bell—Now, leave me, good Smythe; I fain would rest. (Exit Smythe.) O Maud, Maud, my spotless pearl, what craven hand has snatched thee from our midst? But I will follow thee. Aha, what have we here? A phial of poison secreted in the stump of this gnarled oak! I thank thee, auspicious heaven, for this sweet boon! (Drinks poison.) Farewell, my native land, I die for thee. (Falls and writhes.) Oh, horror! what if the poison be drugged—no, no—it must not be—I must die—O Maud—O flag—O my sweet country! I reel, I cannot see—my heart is bursting—Oh! (Dies.) (Enter troops.)General Glynne—Aha! My daughter! And Bellville, too! Both dead! How sad—how mortifying. Convey them to yonder cemetery, and bury them side by side under the weeping-willow. They were separated in life—in death let them be united. (Slow curtain.)

De Bell—Aha! Who done this deed?

Lieutenant Smythe—Yonder Reginald De Courcey done it, for I seen him when he done it.

Reginald—'Sdeath! 'Tis a lie upon my honor. I didn't do no such thing.

De Bell—Thou must die. (Draws his sword.) Prepare to meet thy Maker. (Stabs him.)

Reginald (falling)—I see angels. (Dies.)

De Bell—Now, leave me, good Smythe; I fain would rest. (Exit Smythe.) O Maud, Maud, my spotless pearl, what craven hand has snatched thee from our midst? But I will follow thee. Aha, what have we here? A phial of poison secreted in the stump of this gnarled oak! I thank thee, auspicious heaven, for this sweet boon! (Drinks poison.) Farewell, my native land, I die for thee. (Falls and writhes.) Oh, horror! what if the poison be drugged—no, no—it must not be—I must die—O Maud—O flag—O my sweet country! I reel, I cannot see—my heart is bursting—Oh! (Dies.) (Enter troops.)

General Glynne—Aha! My daughter! And Bellville, too! Both dead! How sad—how mortifying. Convey them to yonder cemetery, and bury them side by side under the weeping-willow. They were separated in life—in death let them be united. (Slow curtain.)

During the preliminary campaign of 1884 Field had no end of fun with what he called the "Logan Lyrics," after this manner:

LOGAN'S LAMENTWe never speak as we pass by—Me to Jim Blaine nor him to I;'Twixt us there floats a cloud of gloomSince I have found he's got a boom.We never speak as we pass by,We simply nod and drop our eye;Yet I can tell by his strange lookThe reason why he writ that book.We never speak as we pass by;No more we're bound by friendly tie.The cause of this is very plain—He's not for me; he's for Jim Blaine.

LOGAN'S LAMENT

We never speak as we pass by—Me to Jim Blaine nor him to I;'Twixt us there floats a cloud of gloomSince I have found he's got a boom.

We never speak as we pass by—

Me to Jim Blaine nor him to I;

'Twixt us there floats a cloud of gloom

Since I have found he's got a boom.

We never speak as we pass by,We simply nod and drop our eye;Yet I can tell by his strange lookThe reason why he writ that book.

We never speak as we pass by,

We simply nod and drop our eye;

Yet I can tell by his strange look

The reason why he writ that book.

We never speak as we pass by;No more we're bound by friendly tie.The cause of this is very plain—He's not for me; he's for Jim Blaine.

We never speak as we pass by;

No more we're bound by friendly tie.

The cause of this is very plain—

He's not for me; he's for Jim Blaine.

As a sequel to the preceding verse, the following touching reminiscence may be read with interest by those familiar with what befell in the fall of 1884:

BAR HARBOR: A REMINISCENCEUpon the sandy, rock-ribb'd shoreOne year ago sat you and I,And heard the sullen breakers roar,And saw the stately ships go by;And wanton ocean breezes fannedYour cheeks into a ruddy glow,And I—I pressed your fevered hand—One year ago.IIThe ocean rose, the mountains fell—And those fair castles we had rearedWere blighted by the breath of hell,And every prospect disappeared;Revenge incarnate overthrewAnd wrapped in eternal woeThe mutual, pleasing hopes we knewOne year ago!IIII sit to-night in sorrow, andI watch the stately ships go by—The hand I hold is not your hand—Alas! 'tis but a ten-spot high!This is the hardest deal of all—Oh! why should fate pursue me so,To mind me of that cruel fall—One year ago!

BAR HARBOR: A REMINISCENCE

Upon the sandy, rock-ribb'd shoreOne year ago sat you and I,And heard the sullen breakers roar,And saw the stately ships go by;And wanton ocean breezes fannedYour cheeks into a ruddy glow,And I—I pressed your fevered hand—One year ago.

Upon the sandy, rock-ribb'd shore

One year ago sat you and I,

And heard the sullen breakers roar,

And saw the stately ships go by;

And wanton ocean breezes fanned

Your cheeks into a ruddy glow,

And I—I pressed your fevered hand—

One year ago.

The ocean rose, the mountains fell—And those fair castles we had rearedWere blighted by the breath of hell,And every prospect disappeared;Revenge incarnate overthrewAnd wrapped in eternal woeThe mutual, pleasing hopes we knewOne year ago!

The ocean rose, the mountains fell—

And those fair castles we had reared

Were blighted by the breath of hell,

And every prospect disappeared;

Revenge incarnate overthrew

And wrapped in eternal woe

The mutual, pleasing hopes we knew

One year ago!

III

I sit to-night in sorrow, andI watch the stately ships go by—The hand I hold is not your hand—Alas! 'tis but a ten-spot high!This is the hardest deal of all—Oh! why should fate pursue me so,To mind me of that cruel fall—One year ago!

I sit to-night in sorrow, and

I watch the stately ships go by—

The hand I hold is not your hand—

Alas! 'tis but a ten-spot high!

This is the hardest deal of all—

Oh! why should fate pursue me so,

To mind me of that cruel fall—

One year ago!

In the senatorial campaign at Springfield, in the winter of 1885, when General Logan's return to the Senate was threatened by a deadlock in the Legislature, in which the balance of power was held by three greenbackers, Field made ample amends for all his jibes and jeers over Logan's assaults on his mother-tongue. His "Sharps and Flats" column was a daily fusilade, or, rather,feu de joie, upon or at the expense of the Democrats and three legislators, by whose assistance they hoped to defeat and humiliate Logan. Congressman Morrison, he of horizontal fame, was the caucus choice of the Democrats. But as the struggle was prolonged from day to day, it was thought that someone with a barrel, or "soap," as it had been termed by General Arthur in a preceding campaign, was needed to bring the Greenbackers into camp. In the emergency, Judge Lambert Tree, since then our Minister to Belgium, was drafted into the service, and for several days it looked as if the Democrats had struck the hot trail to General Logan's seat. The situation fired Field's Republican soul with righteous indignation, and his column fairly blazed with sizzling paragraphs. He seized upon Judge Tree's name and made it the target of his shafts of wit and satire. One day it was:

Judge Tree

Here we have a tree. How Green the Tree is! Can you See the Lightning? Oh, how red and Vivid the Lightning is! Will the Lightning Strike the Tree? Children, that is a Conundrum; we answer conundrums in our Weekly Edition, but not in our daily.

The next day it was:

The Lightning did not strike the Green Tree. But the Springfield Politicians did. This is Why the Tree is Green.

And then there came what I regard as one of the most telling pieces of political satirical humor ever put into English verse, its literary merit alone justifying its preservation, Field himself considering it worth copying in the presentation volume of his verse written prior to 1887:

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