The San Francisco call., 1895-11-05

bore his signature. His sense of humor |
was always alert, but it was gentle, and /
took the quality of pathos. As mimic |
he was irresistible. He could do the Riley |
pathetic better than Riley could do it him !
self. 1t was in his line TO initiate Bill |
Nye. 1t was no trick for him to be funnier
than Nye, if he wanted to be.
Some idea OF Fields early life may be |
formed from the following, which he wrote |
to the Ladies Home Journal in January Of
this year:
AFTER our mothers death the trio OF
little boys were sent East. 1t was at that
time that our father wrote to Grandma
Field that he did not care to have his sons
imbued with the superstit1ons Of New
England. To this our grandma made
answer in these words: Roswell, | do not
know what you mean by ''superstitions,
but OF one thing you can rest assured, my
grandchildren shall be brought up in the
nurture and admonition of the Lord
Eugene Field was born in Missouri and
was 45 years old September 8 last. He was
| fitted for college at a private school at
Monson, Mass. He went to Columbia Col
lege in Missouri and Knox College, Gales
burg, Ill.
Eugene Fields death is distinct loss to
American literature. Only short time
ago he wrote to his cousin that his affairs
were in such condition that he could de-
vote the time required for doing what he
regarded as work of a higher class than he
| had done. The income from his readings,
the sale of his books and the returns from
his magazine and daily paper contribu-
tions gave him the means for travel and
observation, and therefore he resolved to
do something to establish for himself
higher place in literature. Field, like
others of modest worth, had ''builded bet
ter than he knew and his verses will live
as long as children shall come and go. For
example, Julian Hawthorne says that
| Little Boy Blue" is not surpassed in the
realm of literature for children.
LITTLE BOY BLUE.
| The little toy dog is covered with dust,
| But sturdy and stanch he stands;
| And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
| And his musket molds in his hand.
| Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair;
| And that the time our Little Boy Blue
| Kissed them and put them there.
Now, don't you go till come" he said,
| "And don't you make any noise!'
so toddling OF TO his trundle-bed
| he dreamt OF the pretty toys
And he dreaming, an angel song
| Awakened our Little Boy Blue
Oh the years are many, the years are long,
| But the little toy friends are true!
Ave. faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand
| Each in the same Old place
Awaiting the touch Of g little hand,
| The smile Of little face.
And they wonder. as waiting the long years through
| In the dust OF that little chair,
haS hanN ~ Trfl-V Ia EOx- Rfra
Since he kissed them and put them there.
Il Tribute From William Greer Harrison.
A few months ago one OF the brightest spirits,
one of the truest men and kindliest, paid
| flying visit 70 San Francisco, making his home
| in the Bohemian Club. His gentle manners, his
brilliant wit and his thorough knowledge of
hum anity and his love for it endeared him to
every man whose good fortune it was to come
into close contact with him. But three short
weeks ago 1 sat with him in the home of
mutual friend on the lake shore in Chicago,
drinking in his bright thoughts, his pleasant
sayings, hearing him touch upon every hu man
feeling, sympathetically suffering with hu-
manity, hoping for humanity, believing in
| humanity.
His tongue is silenced by the cold hand OF
death. The busy brain has ceased to work for
US. Never again shall we feel the pressure of
the kindly hand, never again rejoice with him in
is all. For him, as tor all bright intelligences,
there must be wider and grander field of
! thought. We must mourn him; yet he needs
no mourning. So true man, so honest q
spirit, leaving so much OF genuine work behind
! him, viii never be forgotten, yet we mourn.
, His place in literature q disting guished
: one. He did not fear TO attack the shams, the
impostures, the corruption, the tyranny, which
+. belongs to poor humanity at its worst; but he
: handled all these subjects as the true gentle
man must of necessity handle them. While
there was the utmost lucidity and clesrness in
his expression, ne was never coarse, never
vulgar. It was always evident in what he said
that he pitied, even where he reproved. He
, belonged to the highest and best class OF
l literary men.
:, He loved literature for its own sake. He
, created worlds for himself and for his friends,
I and he peopled those worlds with human be.
: tngs such as the poet dreams of, such as the
optimist believes in. He carried Us away from
ourselves and the sordid surroundings OF our
common life. He gave something 70 hope
for, something to believe in, and he leaves Us
with his memory TO be held ever as the per
2 | fume of the rose, his name name to conjure
with his dreams to fill US not with passion
not with thoughts harsh and vengeful, bur
| with an abiding faith in our fellow-man.
WILLIAM GREER HARRISON