I wish I could remember the speech against the new school-house.  It may be in print for ought I know, but I have never run across it.  He opened with the declaration, “Fellow Citizens, I’m agin this yer new skule house.”  Then he went on to say that “the little old red skule house was good enuff fur them as cum afore us, it was good enuff fur us, an’ I reckon its good enuff fur them as cum arter us.”  Before proceeding he would take a generous mouthful of loose tobacco.  Next he told how he had never been to school more than a few weeks “atween seasons, and yet I reckon I kin mow my swarth with the best of them that’s full of book-larnin an’ all them sort of jim-cracks.”  Then he proceeded to illustrate the uselessness of “book-larnin” by referring to “Dan’l Webster, good likely a boy ez wus raised in these parts, what’s bekum ov him?  Got his head full of redin, ritin, cifern, and book-larnin.  What’s bekum of him, I say?  Went off to Boston and I never hearn tell of him arterwards.”

Russell’s version of the story ended here with an emphatic declaration that the old deacon voted “No!” Field, on the contrary, when the laugh over Daniel Webster’s disappearance subsided, and, seemingly as an after-thought, before taking his seat mumbled out, “By the way, I did hear somebody tell Dan’l had written a dictionary on a bridge, huh!”

Field’s attentions to Russell did not end with their personal association.  Week after week and month after month he sent apocryphal stories flying through the newspapers about wonderful things that never happened to Sol and his family.  At one time he had Russell on the high road to a Presidential nomination on the Prohibition ticket.  He solemnly recorded generous donations that Russell was (not) constantly making to philanthropic objects, with the result that the gentle comedian was pestered with applications for money for all sorts of institutions.  In order to provide Russell with the means to bestow unlimited largess, Field endowed him with the touch of Midas.  He would report that the matchless exponent of “Shabby Genteel” bought lead mines, to be disappointed by finding tons of virgin gold in the quartz.  Like Bret Harte’s hero of Downs Flat, when Russell dug for water his luck was so contrary that he struck diamonds.  When he ordered oysters each half shell had its bed of pearls.  One specimen will do to illustrate the character of the gifts Field bestowed on Russell “as from an exhaustless urn”: 

Sol Smith Russell’s luck is almost as great as his art.  Last week his little son Bob was digging in the back yard of the family residence in Minneapolis, and he developed a vein of coal big enough to supply the whole state of Minnesota with fuel for the next ten years.  Mr. Russell was away from home at the time, but his wife (who has plenty of what the Yankees call faculty) had presence of mind not to say anything about the “Find” until, through her attorney, she had secured an option on all the real estate in the locality.

They never had any differences of opinion like “me ’nd Jim.”