_To Dr. Frank W. Reilly

If I were rich enough to buy A case of wine (though I abhor it!) I'd send a case of extra dry, And willingly get trusted for it. But, lack a day! you know that I'm As poor as Job's historic turkey-- In lieu of Mumm, accept this rhyme, An honest gift, though somewhat jerky.

This is your silver-wedding day-- You didn't mean to let me know it! And yet your smiles and raiment gay Beyond all peradventure show it! By all you say and do it's clear A birdling in your breast is singing, And everywhere you go you hear The old-time bridal bells a-ringing.

All, well, God grant that these dear chimes May mind you of the sweetness only Of those far-distant callow times When you were bachelor and lonely-- And when an angel blessed your lot-- For angel is your helpmate, truly-- And when to share the joy she brought, Came other little angels duly.

So here's a health to you and wife: Long may you mock the reaper's warning, And may the evening of your life In rising Sons renew the morning; May happiness and peace and love Come with each morrow to caress ye; And when you've done with earth, above-- God bless ye, dear old friend--God bless ye!_

The second is of a very different flavor and shows Field indulging in that play of personal persiflage, in which he took a never-flagging pleasure. It has no title and was written in pencil on two sheets of rough brown paper:

_The Dock he is a genial friend, He frequently has cash to lend; He writes for Rauch, and on the pay He sets 'em up three times a day. Oh, how serenely I would mock My creditors, if I were Dock.

The Cowen is a lusty lad For whom the women-folks go mad; He has a girl in every block-- Herein, methinks, he beats the Dock-- Yes, if the choice were left to me A lusty Cowen I would be.

Yet were I Cowen, where, oh, where Would be my Julia, plump and fair? And where would be those children four Which now I smilingly adore? The thought induces such a shock, I'd not be Cowen--I'd be Dock!

But were I Dock, with stores of gold, How would I pine at being old-- How grieve to see in Cowen's eyes That amorous fire which age denies-- Oh, no, I'd not be Dock forsooth, I'd rather be the lusty youth.

Nor Dock, nor Cowen would I be, But such as God hath fashioned me; For I may now with maidens fair Assume I'm Cowen debonnair, Or, splurging on a borrowed stock, I can imagine I'm the Dock._

The last tribute which I quote from Field to his school-master, literary guide, and friend is credited to the "Wit of the Silurian Age," and is accompanied by a drawing by the poet, who took a cut from some weekly of the day and touched it up with black, red, and green ink to represent the genial "Dock" seated in an arm-chair before a cheery fire, with the inevitable claret bottle on a stand within easy reach and a glass poised in his hand ready for the sip of a connoisseur, while the devotee of Kit North and Father Prout beamed graciously at you through his glasses:

_Said Field to Dr. Reilly, "You Are like the moon, for you get brighter When you get full, and it is true Your heavy woes thereby grow lighter."

"And you" the Doctor answer made, "Are like, the moon because you borrow The capital on which you trade-- As I'm acquainted, to my sorrow!"

"'Tis true I'm like the moon, I know," Replied the poor but honest wight, "For, journeying through this vale of woe, I borrow oft, but always light!"_

But Field's acknowledgments of an ever-increasing debt of gratitude to Dr. Reilly were not confined to privately circulated tokens of affection and friendship, as the following stanzas, printed in his column in the News, in February, 1889, testify:

_TO F.W.R. AT 6 P.M.

My friend, Mæcenas and physician, Is in so grumpy a condition I really more than half suspicion He nears his end; Who then would lie on earth to shave me, To feed me, coach me, and to save me From tedious cares that would enslave me-- Without this friend?

Nay, fate forfend such wild disaster! May I play Pollux to his Castor Thro' years that bind our hearts the faster With golden tether; And every morbid fear releasing, May our affection bide unceasing-- every salary raise increasing-- Then die together!_

Finally, Dr. Reilly is the Dr. O'Rell of "The Love Affairs of a Bibliomaniac," whom Field playfully credits with prescribing one or the other--the Noctes or the Reliques--to his patients, no matter what disease they might be afflicted with. He prescribed them to both of us, and Field took to his bed with the Reliques and did not get up until he had "comprehended" the greater part of its five hundred and odd pages of perennial literary stimulant.