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_ VOLUME II CHAPTER III. SOME LETTERS
"There's no art," said the doomed Duncan, "to find the mind's construction in the face," nor after a somewhat extensive acquaintance with men and their letters am I inclined to think there is very much to be found of the true individuality of men in their letters. All men, and especially literary men, seem to consider themselves on dress parade in their correspondence, and pose accordingly. Ninety-nine persons out of a hundred are more self-conscious in writing than they are in talking. Even the least conscious seem to imagine that what they put down in black and white is to pass under some censorious eye. The professional writer, whether his reputation be international, like that of a Lowell or a Stevenson, or confined to the circle of his village associates, never appears to pen a line without some affectation. The literary artist does this with an ease and grace that provokes comment upon its charming naturalness, the journeyman only occasions some remark upon his effort to "show off." If language was given us to conceal thoughts, letter writing goes a step further and puts the black-and-white mask of deliberation on language.
Eugene Field was no exception to the rule that literary men scarcely ever write letters for the mere perusal or information of the recipient. He almost always wrote for an ulterior effect or for an ulterior audience. But he seldom wrote letters deliberately for reproduction in his "Memoirs." If he had done so they would have been written so skilfully that he would have made himself out to be pretty much the particular kind of a character he pleased. For obvious reasons most of the communications that passed between Field and myself were verbal, across a partition in the office, or by notes that were destroyed as soon as they had served their purpose. That Field had other correspondents the following request for a postage stamp will testify:
THE GOOD KNIGHT'S DIPLOMACY.[1]
One evening in his normal plight
The good but impecunious knight
Addressing Thompson said:
"Methinks a great increasing fame
Shall add new glory to thy name,
And cluster round thy head.
"There is no knight but he will yield
Before thy valor in the Field
Or in exploits of arms;
And all admit the pleasing force
Of thy most eloquent discourse--
Such are thy social charms.
"Alike to lord and vassal dear
Thou dost incline a pitying ear
To fellow-men in pain;
And be he wounded, sick, or broke,
No brother knight doth e'er invoke
Thy knightly aid in vain.
"Such--such a gentle knight thou art,
And it is solace to my heart
To have so fair a friend.
No better, sweeter boon I pray
Than thy affection--by the way,
Hast thou a stamp to lend?"
"Aye, marry, 'tis my sweet delight
To succor such an honest knight!"
Sir Thompson straight replied.
Field caught the proffered treasure up,
Then tossing off a stirrup-cup
From out the castle hied.
July 2d, 1885.
[1] In this specimen of Field's privately circulated verse, as in his letters, his own punctuation and capitalization are followed. He had a system of his own which, when complicated with the office style of the News, resulted in most admirable confusion and inconsistency.
Was ever request for so small a "boon" couched in such lordly pomp of phrase and in such insinuating rhyme?
It was shortly after Field secured this boon that he had his first opportunity to waste postage stamps on me. With a party of friends I went up to Mackinac Island to spend a few days. By the first mail that reached the island after I had registered at the old Island House, I received a letter bearing in no less than five different colored inks the following unique superscription:
For that Most Illustrious and Puissant Knight Errant,
Sir Slosson Thompson,
Erstwhile of Chicago, but now illumining
Mackinac Island, Michigan,
Where, under civic guise, he is accomplishing prodigious slaughter among the fish that do infest that coast.
It may be taken for granted that the clerks and the hotel guests were consumed with curiosity as to the contents of an envelope over which they had a chance to speculate before it reached me. These were:
CHICAGO, July 19th, 1885. SWEET KNIGHT:
Heedful of the promise I made to thee prior to thy setting out for the far-distant province of Mackinac, I am minded to temporarily lay aside the accoutrements of war and the chase, and pen thee this missive wherein I do discourse of all that has happened since thy departure. Upon Saturday I did lunch with that ill-tempered knight, Sir P----, and in the evening did I discuss a goodly feast with Sir Cowan, than whom a more hospitable knight doth not exist--saving only and always thyself, which art the paragon of courtesy. This day did I lunch at my own expense, but in very sooth I had it charged, whereat did the damned Dutchman sorely lament. Would to God I were now assured at whose expense I shall lunch upon the morrow and the many days that must elapse ere thy coming hence.
By this courier I send thee divers rhymes which may divert thee. Soothly they are most honest chronicles, albeit in all modesty I may say they do not o'erpraise me.
The good Knight Melville crieth it from the battlements that he will go into a far country next week. Meanwhile the valorous Sir Ballantyne saweth wood but sayeth naught. That winsome handmaiden Birdie quitteth our service a week hence; marry, I shall miss the wench.
The fair lady Julia doth commend thy prudence in getting out of the way ere she reproaches thee for seducing the good Knight into that Milwaukee journey, of the responsibility of which naughtiness I have in very sooth washed my hands as clean as a sheep's liver.
By what good fortune, too, hast thou escaped the heat and toil of this irksome weather. By my halidom the valor trickleth down my knightly chin as I pen these few lines, and my shirt cleaveth to my back like a porous plaster. The good knight of the Talking Cat speaketh to me of taking his vacation in the middle of August, whereat I much grieve, having a mind to hie me away at that sweet season myself.
One sumptuous feast have we already had at thy expense at Boyle's, as by the check thou shalt descry on thy return. Sir Harper did send me a large fish from Lake Okeboji to-day, which the same did I and my heirdom devour triumphantly this very evening. I have not beheld the Knight of the Lawn since thy departure. Make fair obeisance to the sweet ladies who are with thee, and remember me in all courtesy to Sir Barbour, the good Knight of the Four Winds.
Kissing thy hand a thousand times, I sign myself Thy loyal and sweet servant,
FIELD,
The Good and Honest Knight.
Under another cover addressed ostentatiously:
"For the Good and Generous Knight, Sir Slosson Thompson, now summering amid rejoicings and with triumphant cheer at Mackinac Island, Michigan,"
came the following poem, entitled:
THE GOOD SIR SLOSSON'S EPISODE WITH THE GARRULOUS SIR BARBOUR
Sir Slosson and companions three--
With hearts that reeked with careless glee--
Strode down the golden sand,
And pausing on the pebbly shore,
They heard the sullen, solemn roar
Of surf on every hand.
Then Lady Florence said "I ween"--
"Nay, 'tis not half so grand a scene,"
Sir Barbour quickly cried,
"As you may see in my fair state,
Where swings the well-greased golden gate
Above the foamy tide."
Sir Slosson quoth, "In very sooth"--
"Nay, say not so, impetuous youth,"
Sir Barbour made his boast:
"This northern breeze will not compare
With that delicious perfumed air
Which broods upon our coast."
Then Lady Helen fain would say
Her word, but in his restless way
Sir Barbour nipped that word;
The other three were dumb perforce--
Except Sir Barbour's glib discourse,
No human sound was heard.
And even that majestic roar
Of breakers on the northern shore
Sank to a murmur low;
The winds recoiled and cried, "I' sooth,
Until we heard this 'Frisco youth,
We reckoned we could blow!"
Sir Slosson paled with pent-up ire--
His eyes emitted fitful fire--
With rage his blood congealed;
Yet, exercising sweet restraint,
He swore no vow and breathed no plaint--
But pined for Good Old Field.
The ladies, too, we dare to say,
(If they survived that fateful day),
Eschew all 'Frisco men,
Who, as perchance you have inferred,
Won't let a person get a word
In edgewise now and then.
The subject of the good-natured and clever satire was our mutual friend, Barbour Lathrop, with whom I had been associated in journalism in San Francisco and who is famous from the Bohemian Club literally around the globe and in many of its most out-of-the-way islands as a most entertaining, albeit incessant, story-teller and conversationalist. Pretty nearly all subjects that interest humanity have engaged his attention. He could no more rest from travel than Ulysses; and he brought to those he associated with all the fruits that faring forth in strange lands could give to a mind singularly alert for education and experience under any and all conditions. His fondness for monologue frequently exposed him to raillery, like the above, in the column where Field daily held a monopoly of table talk.
But the episode with the "Garrulous Sir Barbour" was not the rhyme of chief interest (to Field and me) forwarded by "this courier."
This was confided to a third envelope even more elaborately addressed and embellished than either of the others, as follows:
For the valorous, joyous, Triumphant and Glorious Knight,
The ever gentle and Courteous Flower of Chivalry,
Cream of Knight Errantry and Pole Star of Manly virtues,
Sir Slosson Thompson,
who doth for the nonce sojourn at
Mackinac Island, Michigan,
Where under the guise of a lone Fisherman he is
regaled with sumptuous cheer and divers rejoicings,
wherein he doth right merrily disport.
The rhyme under this cover in which the impecunious knight did not "overpraise" himself bore the title "How the Good Knight protected Sir Slosson's Credit," and was well calculated to fill me with forebodings. It ran in this wise:
One midnight hour, Sir Ballantyne
Addressed Old Field: "Good comrade mine,
The times i' faith are drear;
Since you have not a son to spend
I would to God our generous friend
Sir Slosson now were here!"
Then spake the Impecunious Knight,
Regardful of his piteous plight:
"Odds bobs, you say the truth;
For since our friend has gone away,
It doth devolve on thee to pay--
Else would I starve i' sooth."
Emerging from their lofty lair
This much bereaved but worthy pair
Proceeded unto Boyle's,
Agreed that buttered toast would do.
Although they were accustomed to
The choicest roasts and broils.
"Heyday, sir knights," a varlet cried
('Twas Charlie, famous far and wide
As Boyle's devoted squire);
"Sir Slosson telegraphs me to
Deliver straightway unto you
Whatever you desire."
The knights with radiant features saw
The message dated Mackinaw--
Then ordered sumptuous cheer;
Two dollars' worth, at least, they "cheered"
While from his counter Charlie leered
An instigating leer.
I wot poor Charlie did not dream
The telegram was but a scheme
To mulct Sir Slosson's pelf;
For in the absence of his friend
The Honest Knight made bold to send
That telegram himself.
Oh, honest Field I to keep aright
The credit of an absent Knight--
And undefiled his name!
Upon such service for thy friends
Such knightly courtesies depends
Thy everlasting fame!
Two days later I received a postal written in a disguised hand by Ballantyne, I think, and purporting to come from "Charlie," showing the progress of the conspiracy to mulct Sir Slosson's pelf. It read:
FRIEND THOMPSON, Fields and Ballantyne gave me the telegram tonight ordering one supper. But they have been eating all the week at your expense. Is it all right?
Yours,
CHAS. BURKEY.
And by the same mail came this comforting epistle from the arch conspirator:
CHICAGO, July the 22d, 1885. DEAR SIR KNIGHT:
I have been too busy to reply to your many kind letters before this. On receipt of your telegram last night, we went to Boyle's and had sumptuous cheer at your expense. Charlie has begun to demur, and intends to write you a letter. Browne wrote me a note the other day. I enclose it to you. Please keep it for me. I hope your work will pan out more successfully.
I had a long talk with Stone to-night, and churned him up about the paper. He agreed with me in nearly all particulars. He is going to fire W---- when D---- goes (August 1). He said, "I am going to have a lively shaking up at that time." One important change I am not at liberty to specify, but you will approve it. By the way, Stone spoke very highly of you and your work. It would be safe for you to strike him on the salary question as soon as you please. The weather is oppressively warm. Things run along about so so in the office. Hawkins told me he woke up the other night, and could not go to sleep again till he had sung a song. The Dutch girls at Henrici's inquire tenderly for you.... Hastily yours,
EUGENE FIELD.
The note from Mr. Browne here mentioned related to the proposed publication of a collection of Field's verse and stories. The Browne was Francis F., for a long time editor of The Dial, and at that time holding the position of principal reader for A.C. McClurg & Co. As I remember, Mr. Browne was favorably disposed toward putting out a volume of Field's writings, but General McClurg was not enamoured of the breezy sort of personal persiflage with which Field's name was then chiefly associated. This was several years before Field made the Saints' and Sinners' Corner in McClurg's Chicago book-store famous throughout the bibliomaniac world by fictitious reports relating to it printed occasionally in his "Sharps and Flats" column. It was not until 1893 that McClurg & Co. published any of Field's writings.
My work to which Field refers was the collection of newspaper and periodical verse entitled "The Humbler Poets," which McClurg & Co. subsequently published.
Enclosed in the letter of July 22d was the following characteristic account, conveying the impression that while he was willing to waste all the resources of his colored inks and literary ingenuity on our friendship, I must pay the freight. I think he had a superstition that it would cause a flaw in his title of "The Good Knight, sans peur et sans monnaie" if he were to add the price of a two-cent postage stamp to that waste.
[Illustration: A STAMP ACCOUNT. Mr. Slosson Thompson.
to Eugene Field, Dr.
To 4 stamps at 2 cts--July 20--.08
To 1 stamp --July 22--.02
Total .10
Please remit.]
Shortly after my return from Mackinac, Field presented me with the following verses, enlivened with several drawings in colors, entitled "An Echo from Mackinac Island, August, 1885":
I.
A Thompson went rowing out into the strait--
Out into the strait in the early morn;
His step was light and his brow elate,
And his shirt was as new as the day just born.
His brow was cool and his breath was free,
And his hands were soft as a lady's hands,
And a song of the booming waves sang he
As he launched his bark from the golden sands.
The grayling chuckled a hoarse "ha-ha,"
And the Cisco tittered a rude "he-he"--
But the Thompson merrily sang "tra-la"
As his bark bounced over the Northern Sea.
II.
A Thompson came bobbling back into the bay--
Back into the bay as the Sun sank low,
And the people knew there was hell to pay,
For HE wasn't the first who had come back so.
His nose was skinned and his spine was sore,
And the blisters speckled his hands so white--
He had lost his hat and had dropped an oar,
And his bosom-shirt was a sad sea sight.
And the grayling chuckled again "ha-ha,"
And the Cisco tittered a harsh "ho-ho"--
But the Thompson anchored furninst a bar
And called for a schooner to drown his woe.
During the fall of 1885 I was again sent East on some political work that took me to Saratoga and New York. As usual, Field was unremitting in his epistolary attentions with which I will not weary the reader. But on the journey back from New York they afforded entertainment and almost excited the commiseration of a young lady travelling home under my escort. When we reached Chicago I casually remarked that if she was so moved by Field's financial straits I would take pleasure in conveying as much truage to the impecunious knight as would provide him with buttered toast, coffee, and pie at Henrici's. She accordingly entrusted me with a quarter of a dollar, which I was to deliver with every assurance of her esteem and sympathy. As I was pledged not to reveal the donor's name, this tribute of silver provided Field with another character, whom he named "The Fair Unknown," and to whom he indited several touching ballads, of which the first was:
THE GOOD KNIGHT AND THE FAIR UNKNOWN
Now, once when this good knight was broke
And all his chattels were in soak,
The brave Sir Thompson came
And saith: "I' faith accept this loan
Of silver from a fair unknown--
But do not ask her name!"
The Good Knight dropped his wassail cup
And took the proffered bauble up,
And cautiously he bit
Its surface, but it would not yield,
Which did convince the grand old Field
It was not counterfeit.
Then quoth the Good Knight, as he wept:
"Soothly this boon I must accept,
Else would I sore offend
The doer of this timely deed,
The nymph who would allay my need--
My fair but unknown friend.
"But take to her, O gallant knight,
This signet with my solemn plight
To seek her presence straight,
When varlets or a caitiff crew
Resolved some evil deed to do--
Besiege her castle gate.
"Then when her faithful squire shall bring
To him who sent this signet ring
Invoking aid of me--
Lo, by my faith, with this good sword
Will I disperse the base-born horde
And set the princess free!
"And yet, Sir Thompson, if I send
This signet to my unknown friend,
I jeopardize my life;
For this fair signet which you see,
Odds bobs, doth not belong to me,
But to my brawny wife!
"I should not risk so sweet a thing
As my salvation for a ring,
And all through jealous spite!
Haste to the fair unknown and say
You lost the ring upon the way--
Come, there's a courteous Knight!"
Eftsoons he spake, the Good Knight drew
His visor down, and waving to
Sir Thompson fond farewell,
He leapt upon his courser fleet
And crossed the drawbridge to the street
Which was ycleped La Salle.
Another bit of verse was inspired by this incident which is worth preserving: One night I was dining at the house of a friend on the North Side where the "Fair Unknown" was one of the company--a fact of which Field only became possessed when I left the office late in the afternoon. The dinner had not progressed quite to the withdrawal of the ladies when, with some confusion, one of the waiting-men brought in and gave to me a large packet from the office marked "Personal; deliver at once." Thinking it had something to do with work for the Morning News, I asked to be excused and hastily tore the enclosure open. One glance was enough to disclose its nature. It was a poem from Field, neatly arranged in the form of a pamphlet, with an illustration by Sclanders. The outside, which was in the form of a title page, ran thus:
HOW THE GOOD KNIGHT ATTENDED UPON SIR SLOSSON:
BEING A WOEFUL TALE
OF
THE MOST JOYOUS AND DIVERTING DAYS
WHEREIN
KNIGHTS ERRANT DID COURTEOUSLY
DISPORT THEMSELVES
AND ACHIEVE PRODIGIES OF VALOR,
AND
MARVELS OF SWEET FRIENDSHIP.
And inside the plaintive story was told in variegated ink in the following lines:
One chilly raw November night
Beneath a dull electric light,
At half-past ten o'clock,
The Good Knight, wan and hungry, stood,
And in a half-expectant mood
Peered up and down the block.
The smell of viands floated by
The Good Knight from a basement nigh
And tantalized his soul.
Keenly his classic, knightly nose
Envied the fragrance that arose
From many a steaming bowl.
Pining for stews not brewed for him,
The Good Knight stood there gaunt and grim--
A paragon of woe;
And muttered in a chiding tone,
"Odds bobs! Sir Slosson must have known
'Twas going to rain or snow!"
But while the Good and Honest Knight
Flocked by himself in sorry plight,
Sir Slosson did regale
Himself within a castle grand--
of the Good Knight and
His wonted stoup of ale.
Mid joyous knights and ladies fair
He little recked the evening air
Blew bitterly without;
Heedless of pelting storms that came
To drench his friend's dyspeptic frame,
He joined the merry rout.
But underneath the corner light
Lingered the impecunious Knight--
Wet, hungry and alone--
Hoping that from Sir Slosson some
Encouragement mayhap would come,
Or from the Fair Unknown.
The drawing in this verse marks the beginning of the transfer of our patronage from the steaks and gamblers' frowns of Billy Boyle's to the oysters and the cricket's friendly chirps of the Boston Oyster House. The reference to Field's "dyspeptic frame" is not without its significance, for it was about this time that he became increasingly conscious of that weakness of the stomach that grew upon him and began to give him serious concern.
How Field seized upon my absence from the city for the briefest visit to bombard me with queer and fanciful letters, found another illustration during Christmas week, 1885, which I spent with a house party at Blair Lodge, the home of Walter Cranston Larned, whom I have already mentioned as the possessor of Field's two masterpieces in color. Each day of my stay was enlivened by a letter from Field. As they are admirable specimens of the wonderful pains he took with letters of this sort, and the expertness he attained in the command of the archaic form of English, I need no excuse for introducing them here. The first, which bears date "December 27th, 1385," was written on an imitation sheet of old letter paper, browned with dirt and ragged edged. In the order of receipt these letters were as follows:
Soothly, sweet Sir, by thy hegira am I brought into sore distress and grievous discomfiture; for not only doth that austere man, Sir Melville, make me to perform prodigies of literary prowess, but all the other knights do laugh me to scorn and entreat me shamelessly when I be an hungered and do importune them for pelf whereby I may compass victual. Aye, marry, by my faith, I swear't, it hath gone ill with me since you strode from my castle in the direction of the province wherein doth dwell Sir Walter, the Knight of the Tennis and Toboggan. I beseech thee to hie presently unto me, or at least to send silver or gold wherewith I may procure cheer--else will it go hard with me, mayhap I shall die, in which event I do hereby name and constitute thee executor of my estates and I do call upon the saints in heaven to witness the solemn instrument. Verily, good Sir, I do grievously miss thee and I do pine for thy joyous discourse and triumphant cheer, nor, by my blade, shall I be content until once more thou art come to keep me company. Touching that varlet Knight, Sir Frank de Dock, I have naught to say, save and excepting only that he be a caitiff and base-born dotard that did deride me and steal away unto his castle this very night when I did supplicate him to regale me with goodly viands around the board of that noble host, the gracious Sir Wralsy of Murdough. I would to heaven a murrain would seize the hearts of all such craven caitiffs who hath not in them the sweet courtesy and generous hospitality that doth so well become thee, O glorious and ever-to-be-mulcted Sir Knight of the well-stored wallet. I do beseech thee to have a care to spread about in the province wherein thou dost sojourn a fair report of my gentleness and valor. Commend me to the glorious and triumphant ladies and privily advise them to send me hence guerdons of gold or silver if haply they are tormented by base enchanters, cruel dragons, vile hippogriffins, or other untoward monsters, and I do swear to redress their wrongs when those guerdons do come unto me. For it doth delight me beyond all else to avenge foul insults heaped upon princesses and lorn maidens. If so be thou dost behold that incomparable pearl of female beauty and virtue, the Fair Unknown, prithee kiss thou her bejewelled hand for me and by thy invincible blade renew my allegiance unto her sweet cause. Methinks her sunny locks and azure orbs do haunt my dreams, and anon I hear her silvery tones supplicating me to accept another arms. And I do lustily beshrew fate that these be but dreams.
Now in very sooth do I pray ye may speedily come unto me. Or if you abide in that far-off province, heaven grant ye prosperity and happiness such as surely cannot befall the Good Knight till thou dost uplift his arms again.
I do supplicate thee to make obeisance unto all in my name and to send hither tidings of thy well-being. How goeth the jousts and tourneys with the toboggan, and hath the cyclonic Sir Barbour wrought much havoc with his perennial rhetoric in the midst of thee? I do kiss thy hand and subscribe myself,
Thy sweet and sorry slave,
THE GOOD KNIGHT.
All of this exercise in the phraseology of chivalry was written on a single sheet of note-paper with such generous margins that the text only covered a space of two and one-half by four inches on each page. Next day I received the second of this knightly series:
While I addressed thee fair and subtile words on yester even, O sweet and incomparable knight! there did enter into my presence a base enchanter who did evilly enchant and bewitch me, making me to do dire offence unto the mother tongue. Soothly this base born enchanter did cause me to write "arms," when soothly I did mean an "alms," and sore grievousness be come upon me lest haply thou dost not understand this matter ere this missive reach thee. I do beseech thee have a care to tell the fair princesses and glorious ladies that I am in very truth a courteous knight and learned eke, and that I shall neither taste food nor wine until I have slain the evil enchanter that did so foully bewitch me. Odds bobs, I trow it was that varlet dotard, Sir Frank de Dock, who hath entreated me most naughtily since thou art departed unto that far-off province. By this courier do I dispatch certain papers of state unto thee, and faith would I have dispatched thy wages eke, but that caitiff in minion, Sir Shekelsford, did taunt and revile me when I did supplicate him to give up. The incomparable Sir Melville hath all the good knights writing editorials this eve, from the hoary and senile Dock down to the knavish squire that sweeps out the castle.
May peace bide with thee in thy waking hours and brood o'er thy slumbers, good gentle sir, and may heaven speed the day when in fair health and well-walleted thou shalt return unto
Thy pining and sweet slave,
THE GOOD KNIGHT.
December 28th, 1885.
Before another day elapsed I received the third, and, in some respects, most interesting of this series, addressed to me by my knightly title at "Blair Lodge Castle, Lake Forest," which is less than thirty miles from Chicago:
Joyous and merry knight:--Soothly I wot this be the last message you shall have from me ere you be come again hence, since else than the stamp hereupon attached have I none nor ween I whence another can be gotten. By the bright brow of Saint Aelfrida, this is a sorry world, and misery and vexation do hedge us round about! A letter did this day come unto the joyous and buxom wench, the lady Augusta, wherein did Sir Ballantyne write how that he did not believe that the poem "Thine Eyes" was printed in Sir Slosson's book. Now by St. Dunstan! right merrily will he rail when so he learneth the whole truth. Sir Melville hath not yet crossed the drawbridge of the castle, albeit it lacketh now but the length of a barleycorn till the tenth hour. Sir Frank de Dock hath hied him home for he is truly a senile varlet and when I did supplicate him to regale me with a pasty this night he quoth, "Out upon thee, thou scurvy leech!" "Beshrew thyself, thou hoary dotard!" quoth I, nor tarried I in his presence the saying of a pater noster, but departing hence did sup with that lusty blade, Sir Paul of Hull, and verily he did regale me as well beseemeth a good knight and a gentle eke. Now, by my sword I swear't, all this venal and base-born rabble shall rue their folly when thou art returned, O nonpareil of all the brave and hospitable! I pray thee bring rich booty from that province wherein thou dost now tarry--crowns, derniers, livres, ducats, golden angels, and farthings. Then soothly shall we make merry o'er butts of good October brewing. Commend me to the discreet and beauteous ladies after the manner of that country, for I have heard their virtues highly praised, it being said that they do sing well, play the lute and spinet and work fair marvels with the needle. I do beseech thee bespeak me fair unto the grand seneschal, Sir Barbour, and thy joyous and courteous host, Sir Walter. In sooth it is a devilry how I do miss you. Thy friend and slave in sweetness and humility,
THE GOOD KNIGHT.
December 29th, 1885.
_
Read next: Volume 2: Chapter 4. More Letters
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