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 h.e.l.lenic 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 p.r.o.nounced 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 st.u.r.dily remained deaf. After Mr. Winter had left the place, Wilson said to Bouton, "Send the chair up to my house; here is a check for the money."

There are rumors to the effect that when Mr. Winter heard of this transaction he rent his garments and gnashed his teeth, and wildly implored somebody to hang a millstone about his neck and cast him into outer darkness.

Horace Greeley used to say that the best way to resume was to resume; so, in the science of collecting, it behooves the collector never to put off till to-morrow what he can pick up to-day. This theory has been most succinctly and beautifully set forth in one of the hymns recently compiled by the Archbishop of the North Side (page 217):

How foolish of a man to wait When once his chance is nigh: To-morrow it may be too late- Some other man may buy.

Nay, brother, comprehend the boon That's offered in a trice, Or else some other all too soon Will pay the needful price.

Should some fair book engage your eye, Or print invite your glance, Oh, trifle not with faith, but buy While yet you have the chance!

Else, glad to do thee grievous wrong, Some wolf in human guise- Some bibliophil shall snoop along And nip that lovely prize!

No gem of purest ray serene Gleams in the depthless sea, There is no flower that blooms unseen Upon the distant lea, But the same snooping child of sin, With fad or mania curst, Will find it out and take it in Unless you get there first.

Though undue haste may be a crime, Procrastination's worse; Now-now is the accepted time To eviscerate your purse!

So buy what finds you find to-day- That is the safest plan; And if you find you cannot pay, Why, settle when you can.

As I have said, there was no such organization as a Saints' and Sinners' Club, no roll of membership, and no such meetings as were exploited with such engaging verity by Field. The only formal gathering of any considerable number of the habitues 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 subst.i.tution 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 a.s.sembled 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 gla.s.s candlesticks that looked suspiciously like bottles. Field was as busy as a shuttle in a sewing-machine. He announced that Elder Melville E. Stone would "preside over the meetin' and line out the hymns," which Mr. Stone, though no singer, proceeded to do, calling on the mendacious Sinners for brief confessions of their manifold transgressions during the dying year. The tide of experiences was at its height when, on the first stroke of midnight, every light was doused. So suddenly and unexpectedly did darkness swallow us from each other's ken that there was a gasp, and then for a moment a hushed silence. Before this was broken by any other sound out from the impenetrable gloom came a deep sepulchral voice, chanting:

"From Canaan's beatific coast I've come to visit thee, For I am Frognall Dibdin's ghost,"

Says Dibdin's ghost to me.

I bade him welcome, and we twain Discussed with buoyant hearts The various things that appertain To bibliomaniac arts.

"Since you are fresh from t'other side, Pray, tell me of that host That treasured books before they died,"

Says I to Dibdin's ghost.

"They've entered into perfect rest: For in the life they've won, There are no auctions to molest, No creditors to dun.

"Their heavenly rapture has no bounds Beside that jasper sea; It is a joy unknown to Lowndes,"

Says Dibdin's ghost to me.

You could have heard the proverbial pin drop as Field's organ-like voice, which all quickly recognized, rolled out the now familiar lines of "Dibdin's Ghost," then heard for the first time by everyone in that historic Corner. No point was missed in that weird recitation. I shall never forget the graveyard unction with which he propounded the question and answer of the poem:

"But what of those who scold at us When we would read in bed?

Or, wanting victuals, make a fuss If we buy books instead?

And what of those who've dusted not Our motley pride and boast,- Shall they profane that sacred spot?"

Says I to Dibdin's ghost.

"Oh, no! they tread that other path Which leads where torments roll, And worms-yes, bookworms-vent their wrath Upon the guilty soul, Untouched of bibliomaniac grace, That saveth such as we, They wallow in that dreadful place,"

Says Dibdin's ghost to me.

Into these lines Field managed to throw all the exulting fanaticism of the hopeless bibliomaniac without suppressing one jot of the chuckle of the profane scoffer. And then the gas and candles were relit and the punch and sandwiches and apple pie and cheese were served, and with song and story we pa.s.sed 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:

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 cease To rule our prosperous land?

Is not our country blessed with peace And wealth on every hand?

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 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-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 cla.s.ses of prominent and practical politicians.

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-p.r.i.c.k. With the a.s.sistance 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 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.