"Culture's Garland" really cleared the way for Field's subsequent literary success. It taught him the lesson that his average daily newspaper work had not body enough to fill out the covers of a book. With grim determination he set himself the task to master the art of telling stories in prose. He was absolutely confident of himself in verse, but to his dying day he was never quite satisfied with anything he wrote in prose. His poems went to the printer almost exactly as they were originally composed. Nearly all of his tales were written over and over again with fastidious pains before they were committed to type. Every word and sentence of such stories as "The Robin and the Violet," "The First Christmas Tree," "Margaret, a Pearl," and "The Mountain and the Sea" was scrutinized and weighed by his keen literary sense and discriminating ear before it was permitted to pa.s.s final muster. In only one instance do I remember that this extreme care failed to improve the original story. "The Werewolf" ("Second Book of Tales") was a more powerful and moving fancy as first written than as eventually printed. He consulted with me during four revisions of "The Werewolf," and told me that he had written the whole thing over seven times. I never knew him so finicky and beset with doubts as to the use of words and phrases as he was in this instance. The result is a marvellous piece of technicality perfect archaic old English mosaic, with the soul-the fascinating shudder-refined, out of a weird and fearful tale.

But all the care, study, and exercise Field put upon his prose stories bore fruit in the gradual improvement in tone and style of his daily composition. His study of old English ballads started him about this time on the production of a truly remarkable series of lullabies, while his work began to show more and more the influence of Father Prout. But the old Field continued to show itself in such occasional quatrains as this:

For there was Egypt in her eye- The languor of the South- Persia was in her perfumed sigh, And Turkey in her mouth.

Along in January, 1889, began the frequent paraphrases from Horace. "Wynken, Blynken and Nod," over which Field expended more than the usual pains he bestowed on his verse, was printed in March of the same year. One day in April, in 1889, Field surprised and delighted the readers of the News with the publication of the following amazing array of verse in one issue: "Our Two Opinions," Horace I, 4; Heine's "Love Song," Horace I, 20; Hugo's "Pool in the Forest," Horace I, 5; Beranger's "Broken Fiddle," Horace I, 28; "Chloe"; Uhland's "Three Cavaliers," and Horace IV, 11.

It must not be imagined that this was the result of one day's or one week's work. He had been preparing for it for months; and each piece of versification was as perfect as he could make it. The amazement and widely expressed admiration with which this broadside of verse was received encouraged Field to a still greater tour de force, upon the preparation of which he bent all his energies and spare time for more than three months. What Field described in a letter to Cowen as "The 'Golden Week' in my newspaper career," consisted in "the paper running a column of my (his) verse per diem-something never before attempted in American journalism." The t.i.tles of the verse printed during the "Golden Week" testify alike to his industry and versatility:

THE GOLDEN WEEK, JULY 15TH-20TH, 1889.

Monday, July 15, "Prof. Vere de Blaw."

Tuesday, "Horace to His Patron," "Poet and King," "Alaskan Lullaby," "Lizzie," "Horace I, 30."

Wednesday, "The Conversazzhyony."

Thursday, "Egyptian Folk Song," Beranger's "To My Old Coat," "Horace's Sailor and Shade," "Uhland's Chapel," "Guess," "Alaskan Balladry."

Friday, "Marthy's Younkit," "Fairy and Child," "A Heine Love Song," "Jennie," "Horace I, 27."

Sat.u.r.day, "The Happy Isles of Horace," Beranger's "Ma Vocation," "Child and Mother," "The Bibliomaniac's Bride," "Alaskan Balladry, No. 2," "Mediaeval Eventide Song."

Upon some of these now familiar poems Field had been at work for more than a month. He read to me portions of "Marthy's Younkit" as early as the spring of 1887. Among the letters which his guardian, Mr. Gray, kindly placed at my disposal, I find the following bearing on "The Golden Week." It is written from the Benedict Farm, Genoa Junction, Wis., some sixty miles from Chicago, to which Field had retired to recuperate after having provided enough poetry in advance to fill his column during the week of his absence:

DEAR MR. GRAY: I send herewith copies of poems which have appeared in the Daily News this week. I am proud to have been the first newspaper man to have made the record of a column of original verse every day for a week; I am greatly mistaken if this feeling of pardonable pride is not shared by you. I regard some of the poems as my best work so far, but I shall do better yet if my life is spared. We are rusticating here by the side of a Wisconsin lake this summer. Farm board seems to agree with us and we shall in all likelihood remain here until September. I have been grievously afflicted with nervous dyspepsia for a month, but am much better just now. The paper gives me a three months' European vacation whensoever I wish to go. At present I intend to go in the winter and shall take Julia and Mary (Trotty) with me. I do wish that Mrs. Gray would write to me; I want to know all about her home affairs and especially about Mrs. Bacon-my grudge against her in re mince pie has expired under the statute of limitations. G.o.d bless you, dear friend-you and yours,

Affectionately,

EUGENE FIELD.

Although Field's body was rusticating on farm fare in Wisconsin, his pen was furnishing its two thousand three hundred words a day to the Daily News, as the "Sharps and Flats" column through the summer of 1889 shows. In a letter written from the Benedict Farm during the Golden Week to Cowen, who was at this time in London working on the English edition of the New York Herald, Field unfolds some of his doings and plans:

The copies of the London Herald came to hand to-day; I am sure I am very much indebted to you for the boom you are giving me; it is of distinct value to me, and I appreciate it. I send you herewith a number of my verses that have appeared this week in my column. Having done my work ahead I am rusticating in great shape and have become a veritable terror to the small fry in which the lakes of this delectable locality abound. My books will be issued about the first of August; they will be very pretty pieces of work; I shall send you a set at once. My western verse seems to be catching on; I notice that a good many others of the boys are striking out in the same vein. Young McCarthy has made a translation from the Persian, and I have half a notion to paraphrase parts of it. I want to dip around in all sorts of versification, simply to show people that determination and perseverance can accomplish much in this direction. You know that I do not set much store by "genius."

The books to which Field refers as likely to be issued about the first of August were his two "Little Books" of verse and tales, the copy for which had not, when he wrote the foregoing, all gone to the printer. His idea then was that a book could be got out with something like the same lightning dispatch as a daily newspaper.

To tell the story of the publication of Field's two "Little Books," unique as it was in the making of books, requires that I say a few words of the change that had come over our personal relations, though not in our friendship. Two causes operated to make this change-my marriage in the spring of 1887, which drew from Field "Ye Piteous Appeal of a Forsooken Habbit" and the ma.n.u.script volumes of the best of his verse prior to that event, and my retirement from the staff of the Daily News, to a.s.sist in the foundation of the weekly political and literary journal called America. It was through my persuasion that we secured from Field his now famous "Little Boy Blue" for the initial number of the new periodical. Many stories are extant as to how this affecting bit of child verse was written, and many fac-similes of copies of it in Field's handwriting have been printed as originals. But the truth is, "Little Boy Blue" was written without any special suggestion or personal experience attending its conception and composition. It was an honest child, begotten of the freest and best genius of Field's fancy-the genius of a master craftsman who had the instinct to use only the simplest means to tell the significant story of the little toy dog that is covered with dust and the little toy soldier that is red with rust in so many a home.

Field handed his original copy of "Little Boy Blue" to me in the Daily News office. We read it over carefully together, and there I, with his consent, made the change in the seventh line of the last verse, that may be noted in the fac-simile. With my interlineation the copy went to the printer, who had orders to return it to me, which was accordingly done, and it has been in my possession ever since.

Field made several other noteworthy contributions to the pages of America, including such important verse or articles as "Apple Pie and Cheese," "To Robin Goodfellow," "A Proper Trewe Idyll of Camelot," "The Shadwell Folio," "Poe, Patterson, and Oquawka," "The Holy Cross," and "The Three Kings." The most remarkable of these was undoubtedly "The Shadwell Folio," which ran through two issues of America and afforded a prose setting for the following proofs of Field's versatility: "The Death of Robin Hood," "The Alliaunce," "Madge: Ye Hoyden," "The Lost Schooner," "Ye Crewel Sa.s.singer Mill," "The Texas Steere," "A Vallentine," "Waly, Waly," "Ailsie, My Bairn," "Ye Morris Daunce," "Ye Battaile Aux Dames," "How Trewe Love Won Ye Battel," "Lollaby" (old English).

The first section of the "Shadwell Folio" appeared in the issue of America of October 25th, 1888. It was one of those conceits in which Field took the greatest pleasure and in the preparation of which he grudged no labor. It purported to be a parchment folio discovered in an old hair trunk by Colonel John C. Shadwell, "a wealthy and aristocratic contractor," while laying certain main and sewer pipes in the cellar of a deserted frame house at 1423 Michigan Street, Chicago. This number would have located the cellar well out in Lake Michigan. Colonel Shadwell presented this incomparable folio to "The Ballad and Broadside Society of Cook County, Illinois, for the Discovery of Ancient Ma.n.u.scripts and for the Dissemination of Culture (limited)." On receipt of the folio, this society immediately adopted the following resolutions:

Resolved, That the ballads set forth in the parchment ma.n.u.script, known as the Shadwell folio, are genuine old English ballads, composed by English balladists, and ill.u.s.trating most correctly life in Chicago in Ancient Times, which is to say, before the fire.

Resolved, That the parchment cover of said folio is, in our opinion, neither pigskin nor sheep, but genuine calf, and undoubtedly the pelt of the original fatted calf celebrated in Shakespeare's play of the "Prodigal Son."

Resolved, That we hail with pride these indisputable proofs that our refinement and culture had an ancestry, and that our present civilization did not spring, as ribald scoffers have alleged, mushroom-like from the sties and wallows of the prairies.

Resolved, That we get these ballads printed in an edition of not to exceed 500 copies, and at a cost of $50 per copy, or, at least, at a price beyond the capability of the hoy polloi.

Field then proceeded to review the contents of the fict.i.tious folio, taking the precaution to premise his remarks and extracts with the statement that "it must not be surmised that all the poems in this Shadwell folio are purely local; quite a number treat of historical subjects." Of the poems in the first half of "The Shadwell Folio" I am able to give one of the most interesting in fac-simile, premising that, although this did not see the light of print until October, 1888, it was written in an early month of 1887.

On pages 19 and 20 of the folio, according to Field, we get a "pleasant glimpse of the rare old time" in the ballad ent.i.tled:

Come hither, gossip, let us sit beneath this plaisaunt vine; I fain wolde counsel thee a bit whiles that we sip our wine.

The air is cool and we can hear the voicing of the kine come from the pasture lot anear the styes where grunt the swine.

See how that Tom, my sone, doth fare with posies in his hands- Methinks he minds to mend him where thy dochter waiting stands.

Boys will be boys and girls be girls for G.o.dde hath willed it soe; Thy dochter Tib hath goodly curles- my Toms none fole, I trom.

His evening ch.o.r.es ben all to-done, and she hath fed the pigges, and now the village green upon they daunce and sing their jigges.

His squeaking crowd the fiddler plies, And Tom and Tib can see The babies in echoders eyes- saye, neighbour, shall it bee?

Nould give Frank in goodly store- that I; in sooth, ne can; but I have steers and hoggs gillore- and thats what makes the man!

Your family trees and blade be naught In these progressive years- The only blode that counts (goes?) for aught Is blode of piggs and steeres!

So, gossip, let us found a line On mouton, porke and beefe; The which in coming years shall shine In cultures world as chief.

Sic stout and braw a sone as mine I lay youle never see, and theres nae huskier wench than thine- Saye, neighbor, shall it bee?

On pages 123 and 124 of the folio Field discovered "this ballad of Chicago's patient Grissel (erroneously p.r.o.nounced 'Gristle' in leading western circles), setting forth the miseries and the fate of a la.s.s who loved a sailor ":

THE LOST SCHOONER Hard by ye lake, beneath ye shade, Upon a somer's daye, There ben a faire Chicago maid That greeting sore did saye: I wonder where can Willie bee- O waly, waly! woe is mee!

He fared him off on Aprille 4, And now 'tis August 2, I stood upon ye slimy shoore And swere me to be trewe; I sawe yt schippe bear out to sea- O waly, waly! woe is mee!

"Ye schippe she ben as braw an hulk As ever clave ye tides, And in her hold she bore a bulk Of new-mown pelts and hides- Pelts ben they all of high degree- O waly, waly! woe is mee!

"Ye schippes yt saile untill ye towne Ffor mee no plaisaunce hath, Syn most of them ben loded down With schingle, slabs and lath; That ither schipp-say, where is shee?

O waly, waly! woe is mee!

"Ye Mary Jane ben lode with logs, Ye Fairy Belle with beer- Ye Mackinack ben Ffull of hoggs And ither carnal cheer; But nony pelt nor hide I see- O waly, waly! woe is mee!

"And ither schippes bring salt and ore, And some bring hams and sides, And some bring garden truck gillore- But none brings pelt and hides!

Where can my Willie's schooner be- O waly, waly! woe is mee!"

So wailed ye faire Chicago maide Upon ye shady sh.o.r.e, And swounded oft whiles yt she prayed Her loon to come oncet more, And crying, "Waly, woe is mee,"

That maiden's harte did brast in three.

The second half of "The Shadwell Folio," printed November 1st, 1888, besides being memorable for the first publication of his well-known "Ailsie, My Bairn," and the exquisite "Old English Lullaby," contained "a homely little ballad," as Field described it, "which reminds one somewhat of 'Winfreda,' and which in the volume before us is ent.i.tled 'A Valentine.'"

The "Winfreda" here referred to is one of the poems upon which Field exhausted his ingenuity in composing with the verbal phraseology of different periods of archaic English. The version which appears in his "Songs and Other Verse" is his first attempt at versification "in pure Anglo-Saxon," as he says in a note to one of the ma.n.u.script copies. Field intended to render this finally into "current English," but, so far as I know, he never got to it.

The publication of numerous poems and tales in the Daily News during the years 1888 and 1889, together with those printed in America, culminating in "The Golden Week," in July of the latter year, was but the prelude to the issue of his two "Little Books," according to a unique plan over which we spent much thought and consumed endless luncheons of coffee and apple pie. As I have intimated, Field was quite piqued over the cavalier reception of "Culture's Garland," and was determined that his next venture in book form should be between boards, a perfect specimen of book-making, and restricted, as far as his judgment could decide, to the best in various styles which he had written prior to the date of publication. He did not wish to entrust this to any publisher, and finally hit upon the idea of publishing privately, by subscription, which was carried out.

The circular, which was prepared and mailed to a selected list of my friends, as well as his, will best explain the rather unusual method of this venture:

PRIVATE CIRCULAR

CHICAGO, February 23d, 1889.

Dear Sir:-It is proposed to issue privately, and as soon as possible, a limited edition of my work in verse and in prose. Negotiations for the publication of two volumes are now in progress with the University Press at Cambridge.

1. It is proposed to print one volume (200 pages) of my best verse, and one volume (300 pages) of tales and sketches. These books will be printed upon heavy uncut paper and in the best style known to the University printer.

2. The edition will be limited to 200 sets (each set of two volumes), and none will be put upon sale.