might return to Scotland and attempt
to recover his estates, thereby incurring the resentment of the
existing dynasty.

Of course when she heard of his noble lineage, Mary Matilda could do
naught but accept the addresses of the brave prince. He speedily
regained his health and flesh under the grateful influences of her
cuisine. The wedding day has been set, and little Bessie is to be one
of her bridesmaids. The brother Slosson is to be present, and he is
to bring with him his other friend, whose name he will not mention,
since his lineage is still in doubt.

CHAPTER III

SOME LETTERS

"There's no art," said the doomed Duncan, "to find the mind's
construction in the face," nor after a somewhat extensive acquaintance
with men and their letters am I inclined to think there is very much
to be found of the true individuality of men in their letters. All
men, and especially literary men, seem to consider themselves on dress
parade in their correspondence, and pose accordingly. Ninety-nine
persons out of a hundred are more self-conscious in writing than they
are in talking. Even the least conscious seem to imagine that what
they put down in black and white is to pass under some censorious eye.
The professional writer, whether his reputation be international,
like that of a Lowell or a Stevenson, or confined to the circle of
his village associates, never appears to pen a line without some
affectation. The literary artist does this with an ease and grace that
provokes comment upon its charming naturalness, the journeyman only
occasions some remark upon his effort to "show off." If language was
given us to conceal thoughts, letter writing goes a step further and
puts the black-and-white mask of deliberation on language.

Eugene Field was no exception to the rule that literary men scarcely
ever write letters for the mere perusal or information of the
recipient. He almost always wrote for an ulterior effect or for an
ulterior audience. But he seldom wrote letters deliberately for
reproduction in his "Memoirs." If he had done so they would have been
written so skilfully that he would have made himself out to be pretty
much the particular kind of a character he pleased. For obvious
reasons most of the communications that passed between Field and
myself were verbal, across a partition in the office, or by notes that
were destroyed as soon as they had served their purpose. That Field
had other correspo