he tooth of epicure ever watered
over. They were the first of the season, and fragrant with the
fragrance that has given the berry premiership in the estimation of
others besides Isaac Walton. While everybody was proving that the
berries tasted even better than they looked, and exclaiming over the
treat, Field was observed to push his saucer out of range of
temptation. At last Stone remarked Field's action, and asked: "What's
the matter, Gene, don't you like strawberries?"

"Like them?" said Field; "I fairly adore strawberries! They are the
only fruit I prefer to pie."

"Then why don't you eat yours?" queried Stone.

"B-because," answered Field, with a deep quaver in his voice,
"b-because I'm afraid it would s-s-spoil my appetite for p-prunes."

Through these years Field was also the central figure in the
entertainments of the Fellowship Club, and contributed more to the
reputation these attained for wit and mirth-provoking scenes than all
other participators combined. But he had begun to weary of the somewhat
forced play of such gatherings, and found more pleasure watching the
children romping in the Waller lot, or pottering about and overseeing
the planting in his own new front yard. He had arrived at the time when
he wanted to get away from the city and into the country as far as the
engagements of his profession would permit. This spirit is dominant in
these lines to his friend Louis Auer:

_The August days are very hot, the vengeance of the sky
Has sapped the groves' vitality and browned the meadows dry;
Creation droops, and languishes, one cannot sleep or eat--
Dead is the city market-place, and dead the city street!
It is the noontime of the year, when men should seek repose
Where rustic lakes go rippling and the water-lily grows;
Come, let us swerve a season from the dusty urban track,
And off with Louis Auer to his Lake Pewaukee shack!

Upon a slight declivity that quiet refuge lies,
Where stately forest-trees observe the hot of cloudy skies!
The shack is back a goodly distance from the mighty lake
Whose waters on the pebbly beach with pretty music break;
Boats go a-sailing to and fro, and fishermen are there
With schemes to tempt the pike or bass or pickerel from their lair--
Oh with sailing, shooting, fishing, you can fancy there's no lack
Of fun with Louis Auer at his Lake Pewaukee shack.

The shack is wide and rangey, with bunks built up around,
While on the wal