Chapter 2 First Edition Preface (2)

On the afternoon of Saturday, November 2, Chapter 19 of this book was written.It was also the end of his literary career.Those verses, which are said to have been dedicated by a friend of Judge Methuen's (with which this chapter ends abruptly), were the last words written by Eugene Field.He looked no different then than he did any other day this fall.Neither he nor his family had the slightest premonition that the god of death was wandering around the family.The next day, though still not feeling well, he got up and walked now and then, as he had been for the last few years, always cheerful, full of kindness and cheerfulness.These, now seem to have been prepared for the end of life.He spoke of the chapter he had written the day before, and then outlined his plans for the work he was finishing.There was only one chapter left to be written, which would record the death of the old bookworm, but that would not be until the sudden and unexpected inheritance of a very rare and almost priceless Horace.The acquisition of this book marks the pinnacle of the book hunter's hunting in his life.[The Sabines are an ancient people in central Italy who were conquered and assimilated by the Romans in 290 BC.The "Sabine singer" here refers to the poet Horace. ]’s love is sincere, the Western poet who wrote immortal odes to the bookish joys of the past two thousand years.

In the early morning of November 4th, Eugene Field's soul returned to heaven.Wrapped and sealed on the desk is the old man's memoirs.Among them, the death sentence has been declared.On the bed in the corner of the room, the poet lay quietly, with one arm lightly covering his chest, and a peaceful and serene smile appeared on his peaceful face.On the shelf, in the cabinet, and surrounding him are the books he loves all his life.Ah, who's to say his conjecture wasn't confirmed that morning?Just as the feeble light shone humbly through the window, those cherished volumes did not cheer up, waiting for his cheery voice: "Good morning, my dear fellows. How they look at me and smile kindly, must How happy they are to know that my sleep was uninterrupted last night."

Henceforth sleep has been your glorious prize--which you have gone to with faith and gladness, and toil which has labored hard for.Ah, brother, can they still look at you so kindly and smile in this room that was once warmed by your friendship and is now sanctified by the coming of death?Will they be as happy to know that your sleep will never be interrupted? Roswell Martin Field December 1895 Buena Park