James Whitcomb Riley went to Europe last summer. On the return voyage an incident happened which is well worth telling of. To beguile the tediousness of the voyage it was proposed to give a concert in the saloon of the ship--an entertainment to which all capable of amusing their fellow-voyagers should contribute. Mr. Riley was asked to recite some of his original poems, and of course he cheerfully agreed to do so. Among the number present at this mid-ocean entertainment, over which the Rev. Myron Reed presided, were two Scotchmen, very worthy gentlemen, _en route_ from the land o' cakes to the land of biscuits upon a tour of investigation. These twain shared the enthusiasm with which the auditors applauded Mr. Riley's charming recitations. They marvelled that so versatile a genius could have lived in a land reputed for uncouthness and savagery. "Is it no wonderfu', Donal'," remarked one of these Scots, "that a tradesman suld be sic a bonnie poet?" "And is he indeed a tradesman?" asked the other. "Indeed he is," answered the other. "Did ye no hear the dominie intryjuce him as the hoosier poet? Just think of it, mon!--just think of sic a gude poet dividing his time at making hoosiery?" 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.