When Field returned that one column had driven all thoughts of Mrs. Hayes's hens from his thoughts. There was a cold glitter in his pale blue eyes and a hollow mock in the forced "ha, ha" with which he greeted some of our "alleged efforts at wit." He said little, but a few days later relieved his pent-up feelings by printing the following: _MAY THE 26th, 1885 As when the bright, the ever-glorious sun In eastern slopes lifts up his flaming head, And sees the harm the envious night has done While he, the solar orb, has been abed-- Sees here a yawl wrecked on the slushy sea, Or there a chestnut from its roost blown down, Or last year's birds' nests scattered on the lea, Or some stale scandal rampant in the town-- Sees everywhere the petty work of night, Of sneaking winds and cunning, coward rats, Of hooting owls, of bugaboo and sprite, Of roaches, wolves, and serenading cats-- Beholds and smiles that bagatelles so small Should seek to devastate the slumbering earth-- Then smiling still he pours on one and all The warmth and sunshine of his grateful mirth; So he who rules in humor's vast domain, Borne far away by some Ohio train, Returns again, like some recurring sun, And shining, God-like, on the furrowed plain Repairs the ills that envious hands have done._ But the daring violation of Field's confidence effected its purpose. Never again did he employ the type-worn expressions of country journalism, except with set prepense and self-evident satire. He shunned them as he did an English solecism, which he never committed, save as a decoy to draw the fire of the ever-watchful and hopeless grammatical purist. CHAPTER XVI NATURE OF HIS DAILY WORK