"I am glad you are here, Virginia, if only to read this. You were right, child, after all; and I am an old fool, over whose eyes any one seems to be able to pull the wool."

She spoke in her sternest tones, and held out to me a newspaper in which was the announcement of the nuptials of Mr. Charles Liversage Spence and Miss Lucretia Kingsley,—"no cards."

"Did you not know they were engaged?" I inquired.

"I know nothing but what you see there," replied my aunt; "and what is more, I wish to know nothing further."

"They have acted for some time as if they were engaged. If they are in love with each other it seems best that they should be married, after all," I said, not caring to express my opinion as to the especial fitness of the match with any greater emphasis.

"In love with each other! What right had she to fall in love with him, I should like to know?" she exclaimed with indignation. "She a mere disciple, a pupil, to fall in love with the master; aspire to be the wife of a man as far superior to her as a planet to an ordinary star! Bah! Fall in love with him! Tell me! It was bad enough when he fell in love with you, Virginia; but this is fifty times worse, because she knew better, and understood the value of celibacy to such a life. Her conduct amounts to utter selfishness."

"I think Miss Kingsley has had designs on Mr. Spence for a long time. That was why she was so bitter against me," I said.

"Would that you had married him, Virginia! I could have endured that. But this is disgusting! I never wish to see either of them again," emphatically remarked Aunt Agnes.

It was useless to represent to her that Mrs. Spence was very much in love with her husband, and that on that account would doubtless strive to make him happy. It was the fact of their marriage that distressed her; and, unlike me, she did not think of pitying Mr. Spence because of any flaws in the disposition of his wife. I tried therefore to dismiss the matter from the conversation as soon as possible; and before the end of the evening her mood was so far mollified that she introduced the subject of the Honorable Ernest's arrival.

"Yes, Virginia," she said, "it is forty-one years ago that I made the ocean passage with that young man's father, and we have corresponded ever since. That is what comes of being systematic in one's habits. Now, don't go fancying that there was anything more in it than there really was. We were friends simply, nothing else. But a friend means something to me; and I mean to receive this young man into my house, and show him every attention in my power. And you tell me that you have met him in New York, and like him very much? I am not a match-maker, Virginia, like your Aunt Helen; but it would doubtless be very agreeable to both the families if you young people should happen to take a fancy to each other. Stranger things have occurred; and since it is evident to me from an intimate knowledge of your character that you are sure to marry some day, I know of no one whom it would please me so much to intrust your future happiness to, as the son of my old friend. His presumptive rank would probably weigh for more with you than with me. Provided the young man has high principles and a steadfast purpose, I shall be content."

I laughed gently in reply. I had made up my mind not to thwart the old lady openly. It would be time enough for that later, if the Honorable Britain ever should come to the point. It was such a novel coincidence that my aunts should agree for once on anything, that the thought of putting myself in antagonism with them did not occur to me seriously for a moment. I felt the humor of the situation, and was also filled at once with the desire to harmonize them forever by means of this common interest.

"We will see, Aunt Agnes, what he thinks of me," I said; and all through my visit of two days I dropped hints of the efforts Aunt Helen had made in New York to prejudice Mr. Ferroll in my favor.

"She has spoiled all, I dare say, by showing her hand too openly," bristled Aunt Agnes, the first time I mentioned the subject.

"In that case, you will have to let him have a glimpse of the Harlan pride," I answered. "I shall depend on you not to allow me to be forced upon him, Aunt Agnes. I am sure, however, that Aunt Helen means well in the matter. She may be a little indiscreet, but if you were to talk it over with her I am sure you would come to a satisfactory agreement. Now, it strikes me as an excellent idea for you to come and spend a few days with us at Newport. It would give us both very great pleasure. Please do think of it seriously."

"Newport? Do you take me for a fashionable do-nothing, child? Why, your aunt wouldn't let me inside the door! I have only six dresses in the world. Newport! Tell me!"

"What nonsense, Aunt Agnes! I promise you that you shall have the warmest of welcomes if you will come, and you may, if you prefer, wear the same dress all the time you are there."

I did not press the matter at the moment, but I recurred to it many times afterwards; and as soon as I got home I told Aunt Helen of Aunt Agnes' proposal to invite Mr. Ferroll to her own house, and of her general enthusiasm in regard to his proposed visit.

"Bravo!" she responded, clapping her hands. "Your aunt shows her sense for once in her life, though one would have to be blind as a mole not to see that this is one chance in a thousand."

"What should you say to asking her down here for a few days?"

"Certainly, dear. She doesn't know any one, to be sure, and would probably dress like an antediluvian. But people wouldn't think any thing of that, if it was whispered around that she is literary and peculiar. I think on the whole it would be a good plan to ask her. I can give her a few ideas as to how a nobleman should be handled."

"Precisely," I answered.

Accordingly, Aunt Helen and I each wrote a most urgent letter of invitation; and after some further correspondence, my efforts were rewarded with the presence in my house of my father's sister. For the first twenty-four hours, despite my cordial welcome, I feared every moment lest she should announce her intention of going home again. Her manner was so stiff, and Aunt Helen's so airy, that I was apprehensive of a catastrophe. But at last by the display of tact, and by carefully humoring their respective prejudices, I drew them gradually together; and when at last I was taken apart by each of them successively one evening, to be told that save for certain unfortunate peculiarities her rival was an uncommonly sensible woman, I felt that I could safely retire, and leave them to their day-dream of making me Duchess of Clyde.

"Duchess or no duchess, it would be an admirable connection," said Aunt Agnes.

"And there is no shadow of a doubt that his wife will be a duchess," added Aunt Helen.

* * * * *

One day, shortly after we had returned to town, the news reached us that the Honorable Ernest Ferroll was in New York, and as a consequence there was great excitement among those who had been told of his projected visit to our city. In her wish to make the young nobleman comfortable, Aunt Agnes had yielded to the remonstrances of her former enemy as to the necessity of renovating her house, and accordingly was absorbed by plumbers, upholsterers, and decorators, who under the general supervision of Aunt Helen undermined the customs of a lifetime, but cemented this new friendship. The last touches were being put to the improvements, and complete harmony reigned between the two establishments. To think of Aunt Agnes dropping in on Aunt Helen, or Aunt Helen drinking tea with Aunt Agnes!

It therefore happened that I was taken very little notice of by my two relatives, and was free to indulge the sweet current of sentiment, of which they were so blissfully unaware, to my heart's content. The power of love, and the power of money! How when united did they each illumine the other,—they, the two greatest forces of the world!

On the morning following the day on which we heard of Mr. Ferroll's arrival in New York, I saw a statement in the daily paper which made me start violently. It was the announcement of the failure of Roger Dale, banker and broker, with liabilities of three millions and estimated assets of less than one hundred thousand. I hastened to get ready to call on Mr. Chelm, but before leaving the house I received a message from him which read as follows: "Francis Prime is in town, and I have made an appointment with him for twelve o'clock. You will please come to the office at once, if possible."

"What has happened, Mr. Chelm?" I asked, as I entered the room where he was sitting. I tried to seem calm and indifferent.

"Sit down, Miss Harlan. I am sorry to say that your friend Francis Prime has got into difficulties. Roger Dale, a rather prominent banker, has suspended payment, and Mr. Prime happens to be one of his largest creditors."

"Has Mr. Prime failed also?"

"Not yet. But I see no escape for him on his own showing. The circumstances are peculiar, and indicate deliberate fraud on the part of Dale; but, as Prime says, he can't let his own customers suffer."

"This is all a riddle to me," I said, a little impatiently. "You forget that I do not know the facts yet."

"The facts are simple enough; and the whole difficulty, it seems, is indirectly the result of having anything to do with men who take improper risks. As I told you the other day, young Prime has been egged on by the large sums he has seen made in a few days by others, to go joint account with this man Dale, who has had the reputation of being very shrewd and successful, and who, by the way, comes from this city. The speculations turned out very well, especially this last one, which our friend tells me was to have been his last."

"Yes, I am sure it was," I answered excitedly.

Mr. Chelm looked at me with a blank sort of gaze. "Very likely," he observed, with a dry smile. "Well, as I was saying, this like the others was profitable, and Prime not only had enriched himself but some of his customers who had taken the risk with him. The money was paid to him, and he made reports of the same to his customers. But the same day Dale came in and asked Prime to loan him over night the sum he had just paid in, as a personal favor. Prime says he hesitated, not because he suspected anything, but on grounds of common prudence. It seemed to him, however, that it would be churlish and punctilious to refuse to accommodate the man to whom he owed his good fortune, and so he lent the money. Next day, Dale failed disgracefully. Of course Mr. Prime feels bound in honor to pay his customers their profits, which happen to exceed his capital. There is the whole story."

"I see. And what do you advise me to do?" I asked, after a pause.

"Do?" Mr. Chelm shrugged his shoulders. "I do not see that you can do anything."

"I can pay his debts."

"You can pay his debts, and you can found a Home for unsuccessful merchant-princes, if you choose, but not with my consent."

"He has behaved very honorably."

"Pooh! Any honest man would do the same."

"You say he will be here at twelve?"

"At twelve."

"Why did you ask him to come back?"

"You interrogate like a lawyer. I told him I would communicate with my principal."

"Did he ask for help?"

"Not at all. He was ready to 'stand the racket,' he said. He merely wished to state the facts. He blamed himself for lack of discretion, and I could not contradict him. He was immaculate as ever in his personal appearance, but he looked pale."

"Poor fellow!"

"Yes, it is unfortunate, I admit. But it will teach him a lesson. A man who wishes to become a merchant-prince cannot afford to trust anybody."

"What a doctrine!"

"Business and sentiment are incompatible."

I was silent a moment. "Mr. Chelm, when he comes here at twelve, I want you to tell him that he shall not fail, and that I will pay his debts."

"Miss Harlan, do not be so foolish, I beseech you!"

"But I will do this only on one condition, and that is,—that he will marry me."

"What!"

I blushed before the lawyer's gaze and exclamation.

"Marry you?"

"Yes, Mr. Chelm. Do not be too much surprised. Trust me. I know what I am doing, believe me. Have I not hitherto usually been moderately sensible?"

"Up to this time I have regarded you as an uncommonly wise young woman; but this is sheer madness."

"As you please. But you will comply with my request if I insist?"

"He will accept the offer."

"If he does, you are to give me away, you remember. But I am sure he will not accept."

"You were sure he would make a fortune."

"But it was you who put the idea of marrying him into my head."

"I am to be made to bear the blame, of course. There is one hope, however,—he thinks you sixty-five."

"Ah! but he must be undeceived. You must tell him I am young and very beautiful."

"What madness is this, Virginia?"

"Trust me, Mr. Chelm, and do what I ask you."

"Very well."

"You will tell him?"

"If you insist."

"And I shall be in the other room and overhear it all. Stop, one thing more. In case he refuses, make him promise to come to see me this afternoon for a half hour. That at least he will not have the discourtesy to deny me. But only if he refuses, mind."

"Do you really wish me to make this offer?" said Mr. Chelm, as a last appeal.

"I was never more in earnest in my life," I replied.

A half hour later, Mr. Prime entered, followed as usual by Ike. I had made Mr. Chelm promise that he would leave no argument unused to induce Francis to accept my offer. He looked pale and worn, but there was nothing despairing or otherwise than manly in his air.

"I have seen my principal, sir," said Mr. Chelm with abruptness. "She is very sorry for you."

"I thank her with all my heart. And some day I hope to be able to restore to her the money which I have lost through my credulity."

"It is of that I wish to speak. Please sit down. My client does not wish you to fail. She will pay your debts."

"Impossible!"

"Please do not interrupt me. But she demands of you a favor in return."

"It is hers to command, whatever it is; but I will take no more money."

"Wait until you hear what I have to say. In consideration of what she has done for you, and what she is ready to do for you, she asks you to become her husband."

"Her husband?"

"Yes, that is the favor."

Francis Prime stood confounded, as if he were doubting either his sanity or that of his companion.

"Her husband? Wishes me to become her husband?"

"Why not? She loves you."

"She is an old lady, you told me."

"Did I? I was trying to conceal from you then that she is young and excessively beautiful. I will tell you more. She is worth four millions in her own right."

"What is her name?"

"That I will tell you also,—Miss Virginia Harlan."

"I have heard of her. And she loves me?"

"Desperately. Come, sir, you hesitate, it seems to me. This is a chance that does not come every day."

"Heavens and earth, what am I to say?"

"Say you accept. You asked my advice once, and now I give it to you again."

"But I do not love her."

"A mere bagatelle. You would very soon."

"I am of another opinion. I could never love her, for the reason,"—he paused an instant,—"for the reason that I love some one else."

"Ah! if you are married, that settles it."

"I am not married."

"Young man, you are a great fool then." The lawyer was really waxing angry. "This young lady is the superior of any man I know. You are throwing away a prize."

"That may be, sir. But if you recall a speech I made in this office some six months ago, you will remember that I said I was a gentleman. If I should accept the offer you make me, I should be one no longer. And I prize my reputation in that respect more than I cherish anything in the world."

"This sounds well, sir, but it is childishness. You are bound to make my client amends for your folly. It is in your power to marry her, and if you are a man you will make her that reparation."

"Excuse me, Mr. Chelm, it would be foolish for us to argue longer on this point. I will call again to-morrow, when we are both less excited. Do not think I wish time to reflect, for my decision is final. But I should like your client to know that I am not wholly an ingrate. To-morrow, if you say so, at the same hour."

"Stop one moment. I have one more request to make of you, which you can hardly refuse, perverse as you seem to be. My client expressed the wish that in case you should decide as you have done, you would call upon her this evening at her own house."

Francis bit his lip. "I should be obliged to make the same answer."

"The subject, sir, will not be broached."

"Certainly, then, I will come."

It was with difficulty that I could restrain myself from rushing into the room and falling at his feet; but when I knew that he was gone, I went up to Mr. Chelm with the tears in my eyes.

"I did my best for you, Virginia. But the fellow is right. He is a gentleman. I hated him for causing you such pain, but if he loves some one else—well—one can scarcely blame him."

"I told you he would refuse me. Do not mind my tears; and promise me that you will come to-night."

"What new mystery is this?"

"Never you mind; only promise that you will come."

* * * * *

How shall I describe that meeting? To begin with, I went home and broke the news to Aunt Helen and Aunt Agnes that my husband to be was to pass the evening with us, and for the moment did not break to them another bit of news I had heard before leaving Mr. Chelm,—that the Honorable Ernest Ferroll, having made a large fortune in the stock market through the agency of Mr. Dale, had withdrawn it from his hands in time, so as not to have it swallowed up by the failure, and had sailed for England. It was money he wanted, not me.

But both my aunts, poor old ladies, fancied, I fear, that it was the future Duke of Clyde who was to be the guest of the evening; and when Francis Prime was ushered in, although he looked distinguished enough to be a Prince, Aunt Helen, at least, suspected that there was something wrong. As I afterwards learned, her air towards my lover was distant and haughty; and as Aunt Agnes had begun of late to imitate her former enemy, his reception was not cordial. But while he was looking from one to another with some hesitation, Mr. Chelm, who was standing in one corner of the room, by previous agreement pulled away the drapery that covered the portrait of me painted by Paul Barr, which stood in the middle of the room.

Francis gave a start, and flung up both his hands. "Who is that?" he cried.

"That, sir, is my niece," replied Aunt Helen with haughtiness. "Are you not acquainted with her?"

"Impossible! It is Alice Bailey."

"Yes, Francis," I said, coming into the room, "it is Alice Bailey; but it is Virginia Harlan as well. The power of love and the power of money! My own sweet husband, you are mine forever,—that is, if you will have me. Ike the imperious, beautifully ugly Ike,"—for I had released the dog from the vestibule to share our happiness,—"you are mine now, as well as his."

It was thus that I gave expression to my happiness, clasped in the arms of him I loved, and who loved me, while the others were too dazed to speak. But when the time came for me to be given away, it was Mr. Chelm who said the necessary words.

In adding that my aunts never quarrelled again, I have told of my autobiography all that can possibly interest the public.



* * * * *



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EDGAR FAWCETT'S

Tinkling Cymbals $1.50 Adventures of a Widow 1.50 Social Silhouettes 1.50

ROBERT GRANT'S

Confessions of a Frivolous Girl $1.25 An Average Man 1.50 The Knave of Hearts 1.25

EDWARD KING'S

The Golden Spike $1.50 The Gentle Savage 2.00

E. W. HOWE'S

A Moonlight Boy $1.50 The Story of a Country Town 1.50 The Mystery of the Locks 1.50

BLANCHE W. HOWARD'S

Guenn $1.50 Aulnay Tower 1.50 Aunt Serena 1.25

HENRY GREVILLE'S

Dosia's Daughter $1.25 Cleopatra 1.25

For sale by all booksellers. Sent, postpaid, on receipt of the price, by the publishers,

TICKNOR AND COMPANY, Boston.

* * * * *

THE FAMILIAR LETTERS

OF

Peppermint Perkins.

16mo, Illustrated.

$1.00. In paper covers, 50 cents.

"These letters have attracted much attention in many quarters, and the orders for them have come in in large numbers from every State in the Union. They are original, bright, and breezy, and seem to strike a familiar chord everywhere."—Boston Gazette.

"A series of papers touching pretty sharply (and very funnily withal) upon fashion, society customs, personal frivolity, and ridiculous pretensions generally. These are addressed to her friend, 'Poesie Plympton' (who is abroad) in a spirit of most charming abandon, revealing such a familiarity with the scenes and subjects that she writes about that no one can doubt she has been among them taking notes, while her style indicates her femininity, though there are many who doubt it. There has nothing more piquant, spicy, and unconventional ever been published in Boston, and Peppermint 'takes the cake.'"—Hartford Post.

"These letters attracted not a little attention at the Hub for their audacity in kicking over the classic styles and violating all the established dogmas of dignity and lofty intellectuality. They are a reaction from the strain and intensity of ordinary Boston life, and thus supply a clearly defined want. This explains their local popularity, and gives, also, a reason why the outside world should turn the pages of the book as a sort of mirror reflecting a phase of Boston culture. It purports to be written by a woman, but there are indications that the character is assumed."—New York Home Journal.

"This bright series of amusing comments on characteristic failings of the last decade ... are supposed to be the weekly budgets of news written by a young girl in Boston to a dear friend in Venice.... 'Emergency lectures,' fashionable religion, amateur cooking, horse-car politeness, servants, summer hotels, symphony concerts, and other Boston topics are wittily touched upon, and the frailty of human nature, especially of feminine human nature, is most mercilessly exposed in the various phases which they suggest."—The Commercial Bulletin.

TICKNOR AND COMPANY, BOSTON.

* * * * *

LIFE OF HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

Edited by REV. SAMUEL LONGFELLOW. 2 vols. 12mo. With 5 new steel-engraved portraits and many wood engravings and fac-similes. In cloth, $6.00; in half calf, with marble edges, $11.00; in half morocco, with gilt top and rough edges, $11.00.

"Altogether the most fascinating book that has been published for months. It is full of the most interesting and picturesque and poetic things."—Boston Record.

"One thinks of the gentle scholar as a man who can never have made an enemy, or lost a friend; and we lay down his autobiography (for such the book can fairly be called) with a feeling that in these posthumous pages he has opened a view of his own soul as beautiful as the creations of his fancy."—New York Tribune.

"It is an admirable piece of biographical work, and the story of the poet's career gives a view of the growth of American literature that is full of instruction and interest. It is a book that is sure to become a classic both in this country and England, and, indeed, in cultivated circles throughout the world."—Boston Budget.

"It is needless to add that the publication of these noble volumes is the literary event of the day, that all continents will greet it with delight, and that coming ages will quote it affectionately in recalling that Longfellow was not only a pure and great poet, which is much, but also a pure and great man, which is more."—The Beacon (Boston).

"These volumes tell the story of his life with exquisite taste; they also unfold a panorama of the literary history of America, and are among the rare and monumental books of the present century."—Chicago Inter-Ocean.

* * * * *

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE AND HIS WIFE.

By JULIAN HAWTHORNE. With portraits newly engraved on steel and vignettes. Two vols. 12mo. In cloth, $5.00. Half morocco or half calf, $9.00. Edition de luxe, numbered copies, $12.00.

The fullest and most charming accounts of Hawthorne's ancestry and family; his boyhood and youth; his courtship and marriage; his life at Salem, Lenox, and Concord; his travels and residence in England and Italy; his later life in America; and his chief works and their motives and origins.

"It increases my admiration for the character of Hawthorne and my respect for his genius as an author."—R. H. Stoddard, in The Critic.

"The most charming biography of the year, pure and sweet from the beginning to end."—The Beacon (Boston).

"Colored with the very hues of life, and bearing the signature of truth. The reader will close the book with a new admiration for the pure-minded and honest gentleman who was the greatest original writer our country has produced."—New York Tribune.

"And so the inspiration left behind by this biography is that of increase of happy faith in the power of high, disinterested love to transmute the prose of daily life into poetry, to give beauty for ashes, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness."—Boston Herald.

"Leaves on the mind of the reader a clear perception of Hawthorne's moral and intellectual character, a vivid impression of his personal traits, disposition, and habits, as manifested in the alternations of work and play, in the study, in the family, and in society, and a singularly distinct and life-like image of his person."—George William Curtis, in Harper's Magazine.

TICKNOR AND COMPANY, Boston.

* * * * *

JOHN BODEWIN'S TESTIMONY.

By MARY HALLOCK FOOTE, author of "Led-Horse Claim," etc. 1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.

"Mrs. Foote is only to be compared with our best women novelists. To make this comparison briefly, Miss Woolson observes keenly, Mrs. Burnett writes charmingly, and Mrs. Foote feels intensely."—The Critic.

NEXT DOOR.

By CLARA LOUISE BURNHAM, author of "Dearly Bought," "No Gentlemen," etc. $1.50.

"'Next Door' is a love story, pure and simple. The conversations are vivacious, with an exceptional charm. The tone of the book is refined and pure, and it will make itself an especial favorite among the summer novels."—Boston Traveller.

TWO COLLEGE GIRLS.

By HELEN DAWES BROWN. 12mo. $1.50.

"A really bright and fresh story.... The author has given happy expression in a buoyant spirit to a bit of real life of to-day."—New York Commercial Advertiser.

"It will undoubtedly receive great attention, from the fact that it has a value wholly aside from the usual literary value of fiction. It marks an era in American literary art."—Boston Traveller.

THE SPHINX'S CHILDREN.

By ROSE TERRY COOKE. 12mo. $1.50.

Delightful stories of hill-country life in the quaintest and most singular parts of New England, set forth with the sparkle and the realism of a Parisian feuilletonist.

"In spite of a style which is carefully clear and elegant, in spite of a tone that is wonderfully pure and healthy, what one remembers longest in Mrs. Cooke's writings is these dialect passages, forgetting for their sake her delectable descriptions of quaint, old-fashioned gardens, pretty girls, odd old maids, and odder old men, and even forgetting the bit of moral usually concealed in each story."—Boston Transcript.

Sold everywhere. Sent, postpaid, by

TICKNOR AND COMPANY, Boston.

MR. HOWELLS'S LATEST NOVEL.

Sixth Edition Now Ready.

INDIAN SUMMER.

1 vol. 12mo. $1.50.

The "Christian Register" says that it has more of sweetness than all Howells's previous works, that its local color is exquisite, and that "the situation could not be more attractive than it is."

The London "Saturday Review" says: "Around and beneath it all is the exquisite Italian atmosphere, in which no one knows better than Mr. Howells how to steep his pictures."

The Chicago "Tribune" also finds this subtle characterization: "The city to which Mr. Howells leads his readers is not the revelling, brilliant Florence of Ouida. It is rather the Florence of Hawthorne,—quaint and dreamful. The story reminds one of a plant which grows in Old-World gardens,—so unobtrusive it is, and yet so rich in suggestion, so subtle-scented."

The last "Lippincott's Magazine" says: "It will rank with the most charming of the author's work.... It is almost his first spiritual work. Not only has Mr. Howells thus risen above his own standards in this latest work, but he has risen above the standard of other novelists in one unique respect."

* * * * *

Twelfth Thousand now ready.

THE RISE OF SILAS LAPHAM.

By W. D. HOWELLS. $1.50.

"'The Rise of Silas Lapham' invited more discussion than any serial since 'Daniel Deronda.'"—Publisher's Weekly.

"The dust of his writings is fine gold. Delightful in its perfection."—Philadelphia Record.

"The high-water mark of Mr. Howells's great and unique photographic genius."—Pall Mall Gazette.

"A work of genius; a great and perfect work of its kind."—New York Star.

NEW EDITIONS OF MR. HOWELLS'S NOVELS. ($1.50 each.)

A MODERN INSTANCE. DR. BREEN'S PRACTICE. A WOMAN'S REASON. A FEARFUL RESPONSIBILITY.

"There has been no more rigidly artistic writing done in America since Hawthorne's time."—The Critic.

Sold everywhere. Sent, postpaid, by

TICKNOR AND COMPANY, Boston.

THE END