The presidential campaign of 1892 quite revived his interest in politics and politicians, and drew him away from the association with books at home and with the Saints and Sinners at McClurg’s.  For a time it looked as if he had been weaned from the circle of collectors, and never had his column held up to ridicule so fiercely the humbug and hypocricy of political methods as during that summer.  One day after the nomination of Harrison and Reid, at Minneapolis, his column contained no fewer than forty-one political paragraphs, each one “ringing the bell” of mirth or scorn, as the subject warranted.

In the following winter there came the first hiatus in his regular contributions to the Record.  But he resumed work in May, his return being heralded by a paragraph beginning, “This is a beautiful world, and life herein is very sweet,” a note theretofore seldom heard in his paragraphs, though often struck in his “Profitable Tales”; and thenceforward in his daily work his thoughts recur to the beauty of the world and his gladness to be in it.  Thus in the following July he wrote: 

What beautiful weather this is!  How full of ozone the atmosphere is; how bright the sunshine is, and how blue this noble lake of ours lies under the cloudless sky!  It is simply ideal weather.  Who does not rejoice in the change from the oppressive heat of last week?  Vigor is restored to all.  Commerce revives, and humanity is hopeful and cheering again.

And what lovely nights we are having!  The moonlight was never more glorious.  Unhappy is that man, old or young, who hath not a sweetheart to share with him the poetic grace of our satellite!  And such nights for sleep!  Morning comes before it is welcome.

  Yes, this world of ours is very beautiful, and we are glad that we
  are in and of it.

The summer of 1893, with the crowds and various excitements of the World’s Fair, was very exhausting to Field, albeit he enjoyed the wonder and beauty of the Columbian Exposition with all the intent eagerness of a twelve-year-old lad at a country circus.  Everything that happened down at Jackson Park that memorable season, especially the social rivalries of the different managing bodies, was fair game for his roguish wit.  The liberties which he took with the names and reputations of public men showed that the old spirit of waggery was not dead within him.  This is illustrated in such verses as these: 

The shades of night were falling fast
As through the world’s fair portal passed
A certain Adlai Stevenson,
Whose bead-like eyes were fixed upon

                                        The Midway.

He was the very favorite son
Of proud, immortal Bloomington: 
And, hankering for forbidden joys,
He pined to whoop up with the boys

                                        The Midway