s fellow citizens for whom the author of
_Pensieri-Vani_ had only contempt. Strange to say, he became my most
intimate friend and confidant--antithetic pair!

Eugene Field, his direct opposite, and the most distinguished member of
"the journalistic gang," took very little interest in the doings of "the
Bunnies" and few of them knew him, but I often visited him in his home
on the North Side, and greatly enjoyed his solemn-faced humor. He was a
singular character, as improvident as Lorado but in a far different way.

I recall meeting him one day on the street wearing, as usual, a long,
gray plaid ulster with enormous pockets at the sides. Confronting me
with coldly solemn visage, he thrust his right hand into his pocket and
lifted a heavy brass candlestick to the light. "Look," he said. I
looked. Dropping this he dipped his left hand into the opposite pocket
and displayed another similar piece, then with a faint smile lifting the
corners of his wide, thin-lipped mouth, he gravely boomed, "Brother
Garland--you see before you--a man--who lately--had ten dollars."

Thereupon he went his way, leaving me to wonder whether his wife would
be equally amused with his latest purchase.

His library was filled with all kinds of curious objects--worthless junk
they seemed to me--clocks, snuffers, butterflies, and the like but he
also possessed many autographed books and photographs whose value I
granted. His cottage which was not large, swarmed with growing boys and
noisy dogs; and Mrs. Field, a sweet and patient soul, seemed sadly out
of key with her husband's habit of buying collections of rare moths,
door-knockers, and candle molds with money which should have gone to buy
chairs and carpets or trousers for the boys.

Eugene was one of the first "Colyumists" in the country, and to fill his
"Sharps and Flats" levied pitilessly upon his friends. From time to time
we all figured as subjects for his humorous paragraphs; but each new
victim understood and smiled. For example, in his column I read one
morning these words: "La Crosse, a small city in Wisconsin, famous for
the fact that all its trains back into town, and as the home of Hamlin
Garland."

He was one of the most popular of Western writers, and his home of a
Sunday was usually crowded with visitors, many of whom were actors. I
recall meeting Francis Wilson there--also E. S. Willard and Bram
Stoker--but I do not remember to have seen Fuller there, although,
later, Roswell,