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