s possessed of my itinerary and was bound that I
should not escape his embarrassing attentions.

There is no need to tell that of all anniversaries of the year
Christmas was the one that appealed most strongly to Eugene Field's
heart and ever-youthful fancy. It was in his mind peculiarly the
children's festival, and his books bear all the testimony that is
needed, from the first poem he acknowledged, "Christmas Treasures," to
the last word he wrote, that it filled his heart with rejoicings and
love and good will. But there is an incident in our friendship which
shows how he managed to weave in with the blessed spirit of Christmas
the elfish, cheery spirit of his own.

We had spent Christmas Eve, 1884, together, and, as usual, had expended
our last dime in providing small tokens of remembrance for everyone
within the circle of our immediate friends. I parted from him at the
midnight car, which he took for the North Side. Going to the Sherman
House, I caught the last elevator for my room on the top floor, and it
was not long ere I was oblivious to all sublunary things.

Before it was fairly light the next morning I was disturbed and finally
awakened by the sound of voices and subdued tittering in the corridor
outside my door. Then there came a knock, and I was told that there was
a message for me. Opening the door, my eyes were greeted with a huge
home-knit stocking tacked to it with a two-pronged fork and filled with
a collection of conventional presents for a boy--a fair idea of which
the reader can glean from the following lines in Field's handwriting
dangling from the toe:

_I prithee, gentle traveller, pause
And view the work of Santa Claus.
Behold this sock that's brimming o'er
With good things near our Slason's door;
Before he went to bed last night
He paddled out in robe of white,
And hung this sock upon the wall
Prepared for Santa Claus's call.
And said, "Come, Santa Claus, and bring
Some truck to fill this empty thing."
Then back he went and locked the door,
And soon was lost in dream and snore.

The Saint arrived at half-past one--
Behold how well his work is done:
See what a wealth of food and toy
He brought unto the sleeping boy:
An apple, fig, and orange, too,
A jumping-jack of carmine hue,
A book, some candy, and a cat,
Two athletes in a wrestling spat,
A nervous monkey on a stick,
And honey cake that's hard and thick.
Oh, what a wealth of joy is