The Laurens advertiser. (Laurens, S.C.) 1885-1973, 1895-11-12
EUGENE FIELD IS DEAD.
a Brilliant Prose Writer, u Charmi
Poet and DrOlI HumOrist.

Poet ana DrOll HumOrist.
Eugene Field, tho poet, journalist
and story writer, died suddenly 1T his
home in Chicago on the 18th inst, OF
heart failure. He leaves Il widow and
five children, two sons and three
daughters.
Mr.. Field was born in St. Louis
forty-five years ago. His father was u
lawyer, and, Q good ole, too. The
father, Roswell Field, WAS one OF the
counsel for bred Scott in the famous
slave case. Eugene's mother came
from one Of the old families that
crossed to this country in the May
flower, or about that time. The mother
dying when Eugene was seven years
old, he was placed in the care of a
cousin, Mary Field French, at Am
herst, Mass. This cousin was devoted
to tho bright boy md he never forgot
her tenGerly, m%Otherly care for him.
He was educated Mt the University of
Missouri. Then he went abroad for
six months travel. In 1873, two years
after returning from his European
trip, he married Miss Julia S. Com.
stock, Of ST. Joseph. The same year
he became a reporter on The St. Louis
Evening journal, and before he had
been there u year he was made city
S"icoi oiii low W IOOU no WIS un
editorial writer on the Times-Journal
Of ST. Louis, and from there he went
to The Kansas City Times us managing
editor. In 1881 he went to Denver as
cditoEof The Times of that city. Field
Il befO"e this made u reputation as u
brilliant and versatile writer, espe-
clally strong rs a feuilletOnist, as the
French would say. He had q droll
humOr, and more than that, q keen
wit. He wrote much delicate verse,
but his passion for innocent practical
jokes extended his reputation almost
RS much as his literary work. In 1888
he accepted a position on The Chicago
News and then he started that column
known as ''Sharps and Flats-a col
umn which has contained more de-
lightful writing than any other in any
paper In America in the past eleven or
twelve years. The year lSS9-lS9O he
spent with his family in Europe and it
was a happy time for him. Field loved
hooks and quaint old books he adored.
He was q judicious collector, and his
home was u treasure house of curious
volumes OF forgotten lore. One Of his
pets was an AK presented to him by Mr..
Gladstone. IL was ore with which the
old statesman had cut down q tree at
Hawarden. for Field had expressed a.
wish for one which Mr.. Gladstone had
used.
Mr.. Field leaves several small VOL
umes. The best known Of these are
"A Little Book of Western Verse"
and Little Book Of Profitable Tales"
His verses for and about children are
touching. Little Boy Blue" is one OF
the very best known. And who does
not remember "a Little Peach of
E,Lcrald Hue?" Every newspaper
worker in this country had O warm
place In his heart for Elgene Field.
he had a large acquaintance among
the stage people and none will mourn
him more sincerely than the pIayers
whom he was ever ready to aid by Il
kindly word, as he was ready to assist
the needy from the very bottom Of his
purse, Tor he was generous to q fault.
In his tender lullabies and touching
verses about little children he has
sung his way into the hearts of parents
the world over. What could be more
true to nature, more simple, and vet
more touching than these familiar
lines:
A little toy. dog, all covered with dust,
hut sturdy and staunc he stands,
And alittle tin soldier, all red with rust
And his musket moulds III his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new
Aud the soldier passing fair,
Ana that was the time when our Little
Boy Blue ~
Kissed them and PIT them there.
Now don't you go till | come" he said.
And don't YOU make any noise
toddling of 10 his tIundle bed,
He dreampt of his pretty TOYS,
And us he was dreaming an angel sOng
Awakened our Little Boy Blue
On, the years are many, and the years are
long,
u the little toy friends are true.
Aye, faithful To Little Boy Blue they stand,
Each in the same old place.
Awaiting the touch Of a little hand
And the smiles OF his beaming face.
And they wonder. as waiting the long
years through,
In the dust of the little chair,
has become OF our Little Boy Blue
Since he kissed them and put them there.