Eugene Field, a Study in Heredity and Contradictions — Volume 2

by Slason Thompson

EUGENE FIELD.

The next and last letter which I shall quote from this interesting correspondence has the unique distinction of being the only one from him of all that passed between them that is not in Field's own chirography. In inditing this, he substituted the serviceable typewriter for the pen, that had been his companion for so many years, and that had served him "so diligently," as he so beautifully acknowledged in the apostrophe to it addressed to his brother Roswell. It bears date July 2d, and testifies to the writer's failure to realize the bright anticipation of getting into his new home during the early days of the leafy month of June:

Chicago, July 3d, 1895.

DEAR MR GRAY: For the last two weeks I have been deferring writing to you, hoping from day to day that I would be able to announce our removal into the new house, but it seems as though the Fates are conspired against us. First it was one thing to delay our removal, then it was another, and finally everything. Here it is the first of the month, and we are still in our rented quarters. We intended to begin moving yesterday, and up to the very last moment on Saturday hoped to be able to do so, but the painters, and carpenters, and the plumbers combined against us, and we are in the spot where you saw us when last in Chicago.

From this beginning you will gather that the new house is in rather a sad plight. It is not altogether so. The paper-hangers and painters are nearly through with the second-story, and have done considerable work down-stairs. I suppose that if everything was ready for them they could get through in two days. The work that remains for the carpenters and for the plumbers to do is of a pottering character, just enough and of just such a character as to be slow, and, consequently, exasperating. I presume to say that we will be in the house at the end of this week, but another week must elapse before we are in anything like order. Meanwhile the painters have nearly completed painting the outside of the building, which, with its new fresh coat of white paint and its green blinds is going to look quite stunning, we think.

The front lawn has engaged my attention pretty much all of the time since you were here, and I have brought it around into a state of subjection, although I am told—and I think—that it will not be at its best before another year. The neighbors have been very kind, and have provided me with plants and flowers, and other green growing things, and the consequence is that I have a fine lot of flowers, roses, nasturtiums, and poppies. I have devoted about five square feet of ground to pop-corn, and, not knowing anything about the habits of the creature, planted it in a bunch. I have now enough pop-corn to do the whole State of Illinois for the next two years. It grows so fast that I seem almost to hear it grow. I also have thirty hills of potatoes which I planted myself. I dug them up every day to see how they were getting along. The neighbors made all sorts of fun, and said the potatoes would not live. They are not only living, but flourishing. All that I fear now is that the potato-bug will put in an appearance, and thus blast my first and fondest agricultural hope.

You see I am so devoted to the garden and to the lawn that I am likely to neglect telling you what you are probably most anxious to know about—the interior of the house. We have extended a porch from the front side around to the north side of the house, so that when you come here next (and I hope that will be soon), you will be able to step from your room out through a French window upon the north side to the porch. This change we did not have in view when you were here, but our friends tell us it is a vast improvement upon the original plan. The front door is a very imposing affair. It is of solid oak, very tasteful in design and very imposing in appearance. We are going to hang our best brass knocker upon it, and this ornamentation will enhance its beauty. The front hall is completed, and so is the parlor, through which you go to enter your room. The large front room on the ground floor, which we call the library, is now in the hands of the cabinetmaker. By this you are to understand that we are having the oak trimming stained very dark so as to match the permanent book-cases which the cabinetmaker has constructed for us, and which will be set up this week. These book-cases extend around three sides of the room, and will be capable of containing about twelve hundred books. They are very handsome pieces of furniture. We had them constructed in such a way as to be able to add glass doors when we think we can afford to do so. We shall not put any mantel either in the library or in Julia's room until the financial outlook clears, for, as you surmised when you were here, the funds with which you provided us are not sufficient to do all that we want to do.

The roof to the old house will have to be patched up some. Then I think we ought to have a roadway constructed from the front gate to the house. The road at present is pretty nearly impassable. My idea is that we ought to have a road-bed of coal cinders rolled down and covered with fine gravel. This kind of road in private grounds is, I understand, practically everlasting. Then, we have got to have a front gate, the old affair having gone all to pieces. It is not at all necessary to have a new fence for some time to come. I am told that a roadway such as we want will cost $50. This means, I suppose, $75. Mr. Stone is going to pay for the exterior painting of the house. I suppose we ought to have the shingle roof painted. One coat would be sufficient, and would involve a cost of $35 at the outside.

So far we have done pretty well, I think, with the means at our disposal. What we have put into the house is of a good and durable quality. Of course I understand, and so do you, that if we had the same work to do over again doubtless we could do it cheaper, if not better. There are also changes which have suggested themselves as we went along which we did not deem it wise to make, inasmuch as they were not absolutely necessary, and would have involved an expenditure which we did not feel justified in making.

I am hoping that you will find it possible to spend your birthday with us. If you will send me the date of the auspicious anniversary I will gladly send passes for you and Miss Eva to come, and we shall try to make your stay pleasant. You asked me in your letter what plans I had for a summer trip. I have no plans at all. It is so cool here that I do not feel disposed to go away from home. Then, again, I am so much interested in the new premises that I find in that interest another reason for staying home.