Besides the pleasure of sitting down amid the spoils of two continents and of two decades of collecting, Field fairly revelled in the, to him, novel sensation of land proprietorship.  He did not miss or feel the drain of the weekly deductions from his salary that went to the reduction of his building debt.  When that had been arranged for between the Record office and Mr. Gray, Field took no more account of it.  It came out of Mrs. Field’s allowance.  What was that to him?  He only recognized the fact that he was his own landlord, and paid taxes, and was exempt from the payment of rent.

[Illustration:  EUGENE FIELD WITH HIS DUTCH RING.]

So enamoured was he of these novel sensations of the Sabine Farm that he found it hard to tear himself away from the communion with the trees, and birds, and bees, out of doors, and with books, and curios, and visitors indoors.  Dearly did he love to show his treasures to his friends, who came, not single spies, but in troops, to warm his chairs and congratulate him upon the attainment of his heart’s desire.  Never did he appear to better advantage than here, except when outside under the trees, surrounded by groups of little children, to whom he discoursed on wonders in natural history more wonderful than all the amazing works of nature set down in their nature study-books.  All the animals, and birds, and creeping things in his natural history could talk and sing, could romp and play, could eat and drink—­not infrequently too much—­and in every way were superior to their kind to be met with among the dry leaves of their school-books.  He peopled the world with the trolls, elves, and nixies of fairy-land for his own and his neighbors’ babes of all ages.

Is it any wonder that his trips down town became less frequent, that he preferred to do his work at home, and subsidized one of his sons to be his regular messenger to bear his copy to the office?  Is it surprising that, along in August, 1895, we find him writing: 

Yes, there is no doubt that these rains which we have had in such plenty for the last three days have interrupted and otherwise interfered with the sports of many people.  Yet none of us should sulk or complain when he comes to consider how badly we needed the rain, and what a vast amount of good these refreshing down-pourings have done.  Vegetation was in a bad, sad way; the trees had begun to have a withered look, and the grass was turning brown.  What a change has been wrought by the grace of the rain!  Nature smiles once more; the lawns are green, the trees are reviving; the roadsides are beautiful with the grasses, the ferns, and the wild flowers, among which insectivorous life makes cheery music.  The rain has arrayed old Mother Earth in a bright new garb.

The month of September is close at hand; the conditions of its coming are favorable.  There is fun ahead for all us sentimental people.  A beautiful moon is waiting rather impatiently for