The day before Field’s death the mail brought a hundred dollars in payment for a magazine article he had written.  It was in small bills, and there was quite a quantity of them.  As he lay in bed, Field spread them out on the covers, and then called Mrs. Field.  As she came in she said:  “Why, what are you doing with all that money?”

Field, laughing, snatched the bills up and tucked them under the pillow, saying:  “You shan’t have it, this is my money.”  After his death, the bills, all crumpled up, were found still under his pillow.

It was a common happening in the “News” office, while Mr. Field still did his work there, for some ragged, unwashed, woe-begone creature, too much abashed to take the elevator, to come toiling up the stairs and down the long passage into one of the editorial rooms, where he would blurt out fearfully, sometimes half defiantly, but always as if confident in the power of the name he spoke:  “Is ’Gene Field here?” Sometimes an overzealous office-boy would try to drive one of these poor fellows away, and woe to that boy if Field found it out.  “I knew ’Gene Field in Denver,” or, “I worked with Field on the ’Kansas City Times,’”—­these were sufficient pass-words, and never failed to call forth the cheery voice from Field’s room:  “That’s all right, show him in here; he’s a friend of mine.”  And then, after a grip of the hand and some talk over former experiences—­which Field may or may not have remembered, but always pretended to—­the inevitable half dollar or dollar was forthcoming, and another unfortunate went out into the world blessing the name of a man who, whether he was orthodox or not in his religious views, always acted up to the principle that it is more blessed to give than to receive.

[Footnote H:  Note.—­See a “Conversation” between Eugene Field and Hamlin Garland, in which Mr. Field tells the story of his literary life, McCLURE’S magazine for August, 1893.  Also a series of portraits of Eugene Field in McCLURE’S magazine for September, 1893.  Price fifteen cents.]

POEMS OF CHILDHOOD, BY EUGENE FIELD.

The choicest literary expression of Eugene Field’s intimacy with the children is found in four volumes published by Messrs. Charles Scribner’s Sons—­“A Little Book of Western Verse,” “Second Book of Verse,” “With Trumpet and Drum,” and “Love-Songs of Childhood.”  It is only a few years since the earliest of these was published; but no books are better known, and they hold in the hearts of their readers the same fond place that their author held in the hearts of the children whose thoughts and adventures he so aptly and tenderly portrayed.  By the kind permission of the publishers, we reproduce here a few of the best known of the poems, adding pictures of the particular child friends of Mr. Field who inspired them.  The selections are from the last two volumes—­“With Trumpet and Drum” and “Love-Songs of Childhood.”  The pictures are from Mr. Field’s own collection, which chanced to be in New York at the time of his death; and the identifying phrases quoted under several of them were written on the backs of the photographs by Mr. Field’s own hand.