E-text prepared by Al Haines
Eugene Field.
Etched by W. H. W. Bicknell.
THE WORKS OF EUGENE FIELD
Vol. X
THE WRITINGS IN PROSE AND VERSE OF EUGENE FIELD
SECOND BOOK OF TALES
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
NEW YORK
1911
Copyright, 1896, by
JULIA SUTHERLAND FIELD.
NOTE
The tales down to and including "The Werewolf" in this volume have beenselected from those which remained unpublished in book form at the timeof Mr. Field's death. It was also thought desirable to take from"Culture's Garland," and to incorporate in this volume, such sketchesas seemed most likely to prove of permanent value and of interest asillustrating Mr. Field's earlier manner; and these, eight in number,form the latter part of the book.
INTRODUCTION
Of all American poets Field, it seems to me, best understood the heartof a child. Other sweet singers have given us the homely life of theWestern cabin, the unexpected tenderness of the mountaineer, theloyalty and quaint devotion of the negro servant, but to Field alone,and in preëminent degree, was given that keen insight into childnature, that compassion for its faults, that sympathy with its sorrowsand that delight in its joyous innocence which will endear him to hisrace as long as our language is read.
His poems too always kindle afresh that spark of child-life which stilllies smouldering in the hearts of us all, no matter how poor andsorrowful our beginnings. As we read, how the old memories come backto us! Old hopes, rosy with the expectation of the indefinite andunknowable. Old misgivings and fears; old rompings and holidays andprecious idle hours. We know them all, and we know how true they are.We remember in our own case the very hour and day, and how it allhappened and why, and what came of it,—joys and sorrows as real as ourkeenest experiences since.
This is a heritage plentiful and noble,—and this heritage is Field's.
In the last paragraphs of that tender prose poem of "Bill—the LokilEditor"—one of the Profitable Tales—Bill—"alluz fond uv children 'ndbirds 'nd flowers"—Bill, who was like the old sycamore that thelightning had struck,—with the vines spread all around and over it,covering its scars and splintered branches—occurs this passage:
"——That's Bill perhaps as he stands up f'r jedgment—a miserable,tremblin', 'nd unworthy thing, perhaps, but twined about, all over,with singin' and pleadin' little children—and that is pleasin' inGod's sight, I know."
If Field had nothing else to bring he could say truthfully as he facedhis Master:
"I followed in your footsteps. I loved the children and the childrenloved me."
F. HOPKINSON SMITH.