this night he quoth, “Out upon thee, thou scurvy leech!” “Beshrew thyself, thou hoary dotard!” quoth I, nor tarried I in his presence the saying of a pater noster, but departing hence did sup with that lusty blade, Sir Paul of Hull, and verily he did regale me as well beseemeth a good knight and a gentle eke.

Now, by my sword I swear’t, all this venal and base-born rabble shall rue their folly when thou art returned, O nonpareil of all the brave and hospitable!  I pray thee bring rich booty from that province wherein thou dost now tarry—­crowns, derniers, livres, ducats, golden angels, and farthings.  Then soothly shall we make merry o’er butts of good October brewing.  Commend me to the discreet and beauteous ladies after the manner of that country, for I have heard their virtues highly praised, it being said that they do sing well, play the lute and spinet and work fair marvels with the needle.  I do beseech thee bespeak me fair unto the grand seneschal, Sir Barbour, and thy joyous and courteous host, Sir Walter.  In sooth it is a devilry how I do miss you.  Thy friend and slave in sweetness and humility,

  THE GOOD KNIGHT. 
  December 29th, 1885.

CHAPTER IV

MORE LETTERS

In the fall and winter of 1885-86 I succeeded in inducing Field to take the only form of exercise he was ever known voluntarily to indulge.  While his column of “Sharps and Flats” to the end bore almost daily testimony to his enthusiastic devotion to the national game and of his critical familiarity with its fine points and leading exponents, he was never known to bat or throw a ball.  He never wearied of singing the praises in prose and verse of Michael J. Kelly, who for many years was the star of the celebrated “White Stockings” of Chicago when it won the National League pennant year after year.  Nor did he cease to revile the Chicago base-ball management when it transferred “King Kel” to the Boston club for the then unheard-of premium of $10,000.  When the base-ball season was at its height his column would bristle with the proofs of his vivid interest in it.  I have known it on one day to contain over a score of paragraphs relating to the national game, encouraging the home nine or lampooning the rival club with all the personal vivacity of a sporting reporter writing for a country weekly.  Interspersed among these notes would be many an odorous comparison like this, printed June 28th, 1888: 

Benjamin Harrison is a good, honest, patriotic man, and we like him.  But he never stole second base in all his life and he could not swat Mickey Welch’s down curves over the left-field fence.  Therefore we say again, as we have said many times before, that much as we revere Benjamin Harrison’s purity and amiability, we cannot but accord the tribute of our sincerest admiration, to that paragon of American manhood, Michael J. Kelly.

So when Kelly essayed to change the scene of his labors from the diamond to the melodramatic stage in 1893 it is not surprising to find that Field, in a semi-humorous and semi-serious vein, thus applauded and approved his choice: