There is more of the old spirit of the genuine Eugene Field in the next letter, written from London, November 13th, 1889, than in any of his other correspondence after 1888:
MY DEAR COWEN: I am now (so to speak) in God's hands. Getting the four children fitted out for school and paying a quarter's tuition in advance has reduced me to a condition of financial weakness which fills me with the gloomiest apprehension. You of fertile resource must tell me what I am to do. I will not steal; to beg I am ashamed. My bank account shows £15. Verily, I am in hell's hole.
Had I received your letter in time I should have gone to Paris with the children. Not a word have I heard from Moffett, and your letter reached me after my return from Germany. Instinct all along has told me "Paris," but reason has counselled "Germany." I have yielded to reason, and the children are in Hanover—Trotty at the school of Fraulein Gensen, Allee Strasse, No. 1, and the three boys with Professor C. Rühle (prophetic name!), Heinrich Strasse, 26 A. Parting from them was like plucking my heart from me; but they are contented. The night before they went to live with the professor, Pinny and Daisy were plotting to "do" that worthy man, but I do not fear for him, as he is a very husky gentleman. It seems the smart thing now to keep the children at Hanover for six months; then, if a change be deemed advisable, I shall take them to Paris.
My health appears to be better. I have written five poems, which are highly commended. My books are out, and, though I have not clapped eyes on them yet, they are being highly praised by the American press. I shall see that you get copies. So far, we have been about but very little. Our finances are too cramped to admit of our doing or seeing much. But we may be happy yet. Julia joins me in affectionate assurances.
Ever sincerely yours,
EUGENE FIELD.
Of a different tone, and yet giving very much the same impression of how Field was spending his time in London, is the following letter to his quondam guardian, Mr. Gray, beginning with an illuminated initial V, of date London, January 9th, 1890:
Very many times during the last three months, dear Mr. Gray, have I thought of you and yours, and upon several occasions have I been at the point of sitting down and writing to you. There is perhaps no one to whom letter-writing is as a practice—I had almost said habit—more of a horror than it is to me. The conventional letter seems to me to be a dreadful thing—twice dreadful (as Portia's quality of mercy was twice blessed)—an affliction to the sender and equally an affliction to the recipient. But you and I seldom write letters of this kind. I do not think I ever before received a letter that moved me so deeply as did the letter you sent me just before I left Chicago. I am not ashamed to admit that I like to know that I have your regard, but the whole tone of this letter was that of a kindly affection which was very comforting to me, and for which I shall always feel deeply grateful to you. My health has improved much since I last wrote to you. I am now feeling quite as I felt when I was in my original condition—perhaps I should say my normal condition of original sin. For a week past I have been confined to the house with a catarrhal cold, but aside from this temporary local ailment my health is vastly better. I should be in the mood to return home at once were it not for a sense that being here I should further improve the opportunity to gather material that may be of value to me in my work when I get back into the rut again.
I have a very great desire to go to Norway and the Orkney Islands for a month in order to see those countries and their people, for I am much interested in North of Europe romance, and I am ambitious to write tales about the folk of those particular points. I think it possible that I shall find a way to gratify this urgent desire before returning to America, although with the children at school I am hardly prepared just now to say what further sacrifice I shall be able to make in order to achieve my project.
The children are in school at Hanover. Trotty is at the girls' school of a Miss Julia Gensen, No. 1 Allee Strasse, and the three boys are with Prof. C. Rühle, No. 26 Heinrich Strasse. I give the exact localities, for the reason that Mrs. Gray may kindly take the notion one of these days to write to the little exiles. The children are healthy and happy; we have not seen them for nine weeks, but we hear from them every week, and we are assured that they are making desirable progress. In her last letter Trotty says, with a naîveté that is simply electric: "Nobody would guess that the boys were your boys—they are so gentlemanly!" Prof. Rühle is an old instructor of boys, and for several years he was a professor at Woolwich Academy.... Pinny is acquiring the German so rapidly that he is accounted quite a marvel by his instructor and his associates. Melvin and Trotty are not so quick; they progress slowly, but Daisy seems to be doing admirably. Hanover is a lovely city; I enjoyed my week there, and upon our way back to London Julia and I sojourned four days in Holland, to our great delight.