ts of Eddy. There is a tragedy too deep for tears in the
silent monuments of Field's ignorance of moccasins.

In explanation of the final scene in this "sad, eventful history" it
should be said that "poor Eddie" was a harmless, half-witted giant who
sawed the cord wood and did odd chores about my father's place. This
gives significance to the pendant buck-saw and the lonely wood-horse.
His lance rusts upon the wall and his steed stands silent in the stall.
The reader should not pass from these examples of Field's humor with
pen and ink without marking the changes that come across the face of
the moon as the tragedy unfolds.

That Field found a congenial spirit and correspondent in my sister is
further evidenced in the following letter written in gamboge brown:

CHICAGO, July the 2d, 1885.

DEAR MISS:

In order that you may no longer groan under the erroneous impression
which you appear to harbor, touching my physique, I remit to you a
photograph of a majority of myself. The photograph was made last
December, when I was, so to speak, at my perihelion in the matter of
avoirdupois. You may be gratified to know that I have not shrunken
much since that time. I have taken the timely precaution to label the
picture in order that none of your Fredericton people thumbing over
your domestic album shall mistake me for either a young Episcopal
rector or a rising young negro minstrel.

The several drawings and paintings I have sent you ever and anon at
your brother's expense are really not the best samples of my art. Mr.
Walter Cranston Larned, a wealthy young tennis player of this city,
has most of my _chef d'oeuvres_ in his private gallery. I hope
to be able to paint you a landscape in oil very soon. There is no
sacrifice I would not be willing to make for one whom I esteem so
highly as I do you. It might be just as well not to read this line to
the old folks. Your brother Slosson has recently developed an
insatiate passion for horse racing, and in consequence of his losses
at pools I find him less prone to regale me with sumptuous cheer than
he was before the racing season broke out. The prince, too, has
blossomed out as a patron of the track, and I am slowly becoming more
and more aware that this is a bitter world. I think I may safely say
that I look wholly to such noble, generous young women as you and
your sisters to preserve in me a consciousness that there is in li