We desire to announce that Mademoiselle Rhea, the gifted Flanders maid, who has the finest wardrobe on the stage, will play a season of bad brogue and flash dresses in this city very soon.  This announcement, however, will never see the dawn of November 13th, and we kiss it a fond farewell as we cheerfully submit it as a sop to Cerberus.

Field had a theory that Ballantyne, the managing editor, would not consider that he was earning his salary, and that Mr. Stone would not think that he was exercising the full authority of editorship, unless something in his column was sacrificed to the blue pencil of a watchful censorship.  Coupled with this was the more or less cunning belief that it was good tactics to write one or two outrageously unprintable paragraphs to draw the fire, so to speak, of the blue pencil, and so to divert attention from something, about which there might be question, which he particularly wished to have printed.  Ballantyne, as I have said, was a very much more exacting censor than Stone, for the reason that the humor of a story or paragraph often missed his Scotch literalness, while Stone never failed to let anything pass on that score.

By six o’clock Field’s writing for the day was done, and he generally went home for dinner.  But that this was not always the case the following notes testify: 

  GOOD AND GENTLE KNIGHT: 

If so be ye pine and so hanker after me this night I pray you come anon to the secret lair near the moat on the next floor, and there you will eke descry me.  There we will discourse on love and other joyous matters, and until then I shall be, as I have ever been,

  Your most courteous friend,

  E. FIELD.

* * * * *

An’ it please the good and gentle knight, Sir Slosson Thompson, his friend in very sooth, the honest knight will arrive at his castle this day at the 8th hour, being minded to partake of Sir Slosson’s cheer and regale him with the wealth of his joyous discourse.

  THE GOOD KNIGHT.

Five nights out of the week Field spent some part of the evening at one of the principal theatres of the town, of which at that time there were five.  He was generally accompanied by Mrs. Field and her sister, Miss Comstock, who subsequently became Mrs. Ballantyne.  When it was a family party, Ballantyne and I would join it about the last act, and there was invariably a late supper party, which broke up only in time for the last north-bound car.  When Field was a self-invited guest with any of his intimates at dinner the party would adjourn for a round of the theatres, ending at that one where the star or leading actor was most likely to join in a symposium of steak and story at Billy Boyle’s English chop-house.  This resort, on Calhoun Place, between Dearborn and Clark Streets, was for many years the most famous all-night eating-house in Chicago.  For chops and steaks it had not its equal in America, possibly not in the world.  Long after we had ceased to frequent Boyle’s, so long that our patronage could not have been charged with any share in the catastrophe, it went into the hands of the sheriff.  This afforded Field an opportunity to write the following sympathetic and serio-whimsical reminiscence of a unique institution in Chicago life: