ired of freezing to death, and I have made
up my mind to get into a country where I can at least _keep warm_.
Ever since I got to California I have shivered, and shivered, and
shivered, and there seem to be no facilities for ameliorating this
unpleasant condition here. I am told that in six months or a year
the new-comer becomes acclimated; I do not regard that as
encouraging. So I am heading for New Orleans. But we drop off at Los
Angeles to admit of my being with you long enough to write the
memoir of dear Mrs. Gray--a duty to which I shall apply myself with
melancholy pleasure. I think we shall arrive Thursday morning. I
hope you are all well, and that Miss Eva has not yet been carried
off by any pirate or Philadelphia brewer. I continue to gain in
weight.

Affectionately yours,

EUGENE FIELD.
Alameda, Cal.,
January 6th, 1894, Saturday evening.

Field kept the promise of this letter, and the memoir of Mrs. Gray
then written is a genuine work of love, composed amid "environments,"
as he wrote, "conducive to the sincerity and the enthusiasm which
should characterize such a noble task." Here is his picture of the
surroundings, redolent of the incense of sunshine and flowers that
fills that favored clime:

A glorious panorama is spread before me--such a picture as the
latitude of southern California presents at the time when elsewhere
upon this continent of ours the resentment of winter is visited. All
around me is the mellow grace of sunshine, roses, lilies,
heliotropes, carnations, marigolds, nasturtiums, marguerites, and
geraniums are a-bloom; and as far as the eye can reach, the green
velvet of billowing acres is blended with the passion of wild
poppies; the olive, the orange, and the lemon abound; yonder a
vineyard lies fast asleep in the glorious noonday; the giant rubber
trees in all this remarkable fairy-land are close at hand; and the
pepper, the eucalyptus, the live oak, and the palm are here, and
there, and everywhere.

A city is in the distance; the smoke that curls up therefrom makes
dim fantastic figures against the beautiful blue of the sky. There
is toil in that place, and the din of busy humanity; but upon this
faraway hillside, with the sweetest gifts of Nature about me, I care
not for these things. I am soothed by the melodies of wild birds,
and by the music of the gentle winds that come from the great white
ocean beyond the