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After he grew larger the Squire failed to send him to school. When asked about it, he said, "Wal, I 'low he knows a good deal more'n I do now, an' 'taint no sort o' use to learn so much. Spiles a boy to fill him chock full." But Sammy was bent on learning, any how; and in the long winter mornings, before day, he used to study hard at such books as he could get.
"I never seed sich a chap," old Mrs. Higgins would say. "He got a invite to a party last week, and my old man tole him as how he mout go; but, d'ye b'lieve it? he jist sot right down thar, in that air chimney-corner, and didn't do nothin' but steddy an' steddy all the whole blessed time, while all the other youngsters wuz a frolickin'. It beats me all holler."
But the next winter poor Sam had a hard time of it. The new school-master, who was hired because he was cheap, knew very little; and when Sam got into trouble with his "sums," and asked the school-master about them, he answered, "Wal, now, Sam, I hain't cyphered no furder'n 'reduction,' and I can't tell you. But they's a preacher over in Johnsonville a-preachin' and a-teachin' school. He is a reg'lar college feller, and I reckon he knows single and double rule of three, and all the rest."
Sam coaxed the Squire to let him have old "Blaze-face," the blind mare, to ride to Johnsonville, three miles off, the next morning, if he would promise to be back "on time to begin shuckin' corn bright and airly." And before six o'clock he hitched old Blaze in front of "Preacher Brown's" door. When he knocked, Mr. Brown was making a fire in the stove, and he was not a little surprised to see a boy by the door in patched blue-jeans pantaloons that were too short, and a well-worn "round-about" that was too tight. He looked at the boy's old arithmetic and slate in surprise.
"If you please, sir," said Sam, "I'm Squire Higgins' bound boy. I want to learn somethin', but I can't go to school; and if I could, 'twouldn't amount to much, because the master don't know as much as I do, even. I got stalled on a sum in cube root, an' I come down here to get you to help me out, for I'm bound to know how to do everything there is in the old book; and I've got to be back to begin work in an hour."
The minister shook him by the hand, and sat down cheerfully, and soon put daylight through the "sum." Then Sam got up, and feeling down in the bottom of his pocket, he took out a quarter of a dollar. "Would that pay you, sir? It's all I've got, and all I will get in a year, I guess. I hope it's enough."
"Keep it! keep it!" said Mr. Brown, brushing away the tears; "God bless you, my boy, we don't charge for such work as that. I'd like to lend you this History of England to read. And come over any evening, and I'll help you, my brave fellow."
One evening in every week the bound boy rode old Blaze over to the minister's house, and rode back after eleven o'clock, for he and the parson came to be great friends. The next year Mr. Brown threatened the old Squire with the law for his violation of his part of the terms of the indenture, and forced him to release Sam, who was eighteen now, from any further service. He dug his way through college, and is now Professor of Mathematics in —— University. The old Squire, when he hears of Professor Tomkins' success, always chuckles, and says, "You don't say, now! Wal, he used to feed my hogs."
"We'll adj-j-journ with three cheers for Harlan," said Sampson. And they gave them.
"Oh, don't go yet," said Tom Miller; and so another half-hour was passed in general talk.
THE PROFLIGATE PRINCE.
Friday evening next after the one on which John Harlan told his story, it rained; so the club did not meet. But they came together on the following Friday evening, and it was decided that Hans Schlegel should tell the story.
"Come, Schlegel," said Harlan, "you must know a good many, for you are always studying big German books. Tell us one of the stories that those old German fellows, with jaw-breaking names, have to tell."
"Yes," said Jackson, "tell us about Herr Johannes Wilhelm Frederich Von Schmitzswartsschriekelversamanarbeitfrelinghuysen!"
Jimmy's good-natured raillery raised a hearty giggle, and Hans joined in it with great gusto.
"I think," said Harry Wilson, "Schlegel can make a better story than any of those old fellows, whose names take away your breath when you pronounce them. Tell us one of your own, Hans."
"D-d-d-do just as you p-p-please, Sch-sch—" but the stammering chairman fairly broke down in trying to pronounce the name, and the boys all had another laugh.
"Really, gentlemen," said Schlegel, "I should be delighted to please you, but as you have asked me to tell you a story that I've read in German, and to tell you one of my own make, and to do just as I please, I fear I shall be like the man who tried first to ride, and then to carry his donkey to please the crowd. But, I think I can fulfil all three requests. I read a story in Krummacher some time ago, and I have partly forgotten it. Now, if I tell you this story, partly translating from the German as I remember it, and partly filling up the story myself, I shall do just as I please, and gratify you all."
"Good," said Jackson; "takes Schlegel to make a nice distinction. Go on with the story."
THE STORY.
Hazael was the name of the son of an oriental prince. He was carefully educated by command of his father, and grew up in the valley of the wise men. What that is, I cannot tell you, for Herr Krummacher did not deign to tell me. At last, when he came to be a young man, his father thought best to have him travel, that he might know something of other people besides his own. For people who stay at home always are apt to think everything strange that differs from what they have been accustomed to. Thus it is that English-speaking people, where knowledge is limited, think that German names are uncouth, when it is only the narrowness of their own culture that makes them seem so.
Now, in the country in which Hazael lived, they didn't send young men to Europe, as we do, to complete their education by travelling at lightning speed over two or three countries, and then coming back to talk of their travels. But in that country, they sent them to Persia to live awhile, that they might study the manners and customs of the people. So Hazael came into Persia. He was allowed every liberty, but his old tutor, Serujah, followed him without his knowledge, and watched his course.
When Hazael reached the great city, he was dazzled with its splendors. The signs of wealth, the excitements of pleasure, and the influence of companions were too much for him. He saw the crowds of pleasure-seekers, he was intoxicated with music, he was charmed with the beauty and conversation of giddy women. He forgot all the lessons of Serujah. He forgot all his noble resolutions. Days and nights were spent in pleasure and dissipation. In vain Serujah looked for any signs of amendment. He was a "fast" young man, fast because he was going down hill.
One day, as he wandered in the pleasure gardens of Ispahan with his dissolute companions, he beheld his old master, Serujah, dressed as a pilgrim, with staff in hand, hurrying past him.
"Whence come you, and whither do you journey?" cried out the young prince to Serujah.
"I do not know where I am going," answered Serujah.
"What!" said Hazael, in astonishment, "have you left home and gone on a pilgrimage, and yet do not know where you are going?"
"Oh, yes," said Serujah, "I just go here and there, taking the road that seems to be the pleasantest, or that suits my fancy."
"But where will you come to at this rate? Where will such travelling lead you?" asked Hazael.
"I do not know. That matters not to me," said the wise man.
Then Hazael turned to his companion and said, "See! this man was once full of wisdom. He was the guide of my youth. But his reason has departed, and now, poor lunatic, he is wandering over the earth not knowing where he is going. How has the wise man become a fool!"
Serujah came up to the young prince, and taking his knapsack from his back, threw it upon the ground.
"You have spoken rightly," he said. "Hazael, I once led you, and you followed me. Now, I follow where you lead. I have lost my road, and forgotten where I am going. So have you. You set me the example. You are wandering round without purpose. Which is the greater fool, you or I? I have forgotten my destination. You have forgotten your high duties as a prince, and your manhood."
Thus spoke the wise man, and Hazael saw his folly.
"That story is solemn enough for Sunday-school," said Jimmy Jackson. "But it isn't bad. Sharp old fellow that Jerushy or Serujy, or whatever his name was. But I don't believe it's true. When a fellow gets a-going to the bad you can't turn him around so easy as that."
THE YOUNG SOAP-BOILER.
It was a mild evening in the early fall, when the boys got together for the next story, which of course fell to the lot of Tom Miller, the minister's son, whom the boys familiarly called "The Dominie." No boy in the cellar-door club was more obliging to his friends, more forgiving to those who injured him, than "The Dominie," and none was more generally loved. But Tom had some strong opinions of his own. He was a believer in "the dignity of work," and when he wanted a little spending money, would take a saw and cut wood on the sidewalk, without any regard to some of the fellows, who called him wood-sawyer. He was given to helping his mother, and did not mind having the boys catch him in the kitchen when his mother was without "help." If anybody laughed at him he only replied, "There is nothing I am more proud of than that I am not afraid to be useful." This independence, this utter contempt for the sneers of others when he was right, made the boys look for something a little peculiar when Tom should come to his story.
"G-g-gentlemen! this c-c-cellar-door society will come to order. Tom Miller, the dominie——"
"The wood-sawyer?" said Jackson, good-naturedly.
"Y-yes, the w-wood-sawyer, the f-fearless reformer, the b-b-believer in hard work, the bravest member of the c-cellar-door cl-club, has the slanting floor, the cellar-door itself, and I hope he will st-st-stand by his colors, and give us a story that has the meanest kind of work in it, made honorable by d-d-dig-dignity of character." I think Sampson stammered a little on "dig-dig" just for the fun. But the boys all agreed to his request and so they heard
TOM MILLER'S STORY.
My story, boys, shall be what you ask. I shall call it "The Young Soap-Boiler," for I suppose you'll admit that boiling soap is about as unpleasant work as there is.
"Touched bottom that time," interposed Harry Wilson.
Well, the boy that I'm going to tell about was Dudley Crawford. With a cheery eye and voice, a quick eye, a quicker hand and a fleet foot, he was a great favorite on the play-ground. If there was a weak boy, whom the others imposed upon, Dudley was always his fast friend, and the mean fellows who make up for their cowardice toward boys of their size by "picking" at little fellows or green boys, had always a wholesome fear of Dudley, though I do not think he ever struck one of them. But his fearless, honest eye cowed them, and I am sure he would have struck hard if it had been necessary to protect the poor little fellows who kept under his wing. The boys called them "Dud's chickens."
There was one boy in the school, Walter Whittaker, who had a special desire to be on good terms with Dudley. Walter's father had gotten rich during the war, and Walter had a special fondness for being genteel. He wore gloves, and kept his boots brighter than there was any occasion for. He was not much of a scholar, though older than Dudley. But he was fond of calling young Crawford his friend, because Dudley's father was a rich and talented lawyer.
At last, there came a financial crash that sent all of Mr. Crawford's half-million of dollars to the winds. He was in feeble health when it came, and the loss of his property hastened his death. The very same "panic" left Whittaker poor also. But the two boys took it very differently. Whittaker looked as crestfallen as if he had committed a crime. Dudley mourned the loss of his father, but held up his head bravely under the sudden poverty. Whittaker looked around for a "situation." But the times were hard, and situations were not to be had. Every clerk that could be dispensed with was sent away, and besides, merchants do not like to employ a fellow who wears gloves and looks afraid of soiling his hands. Dudley had his mother to support, and looked about bravely for work. But no work was to be had. He tried everything, as it seemed, until at last he asked stern old Mr. Bluff, who owned half a dozen factories of different kinds.
"You want work, do you, young man? I s'pose you want to keep books or suthin' o' that sort. I never saw such a lot o' fellers askin' for work and afraid to dirty their fingers."
"I'll do any honest work by which I can earn my bread, without being dependent on friends."
"Any honest work, will you? I'll make you back out of that air. I'll bet you won't begin where I did."
"Try me, sir, and see."
"Well, then, I'll give you good wages to go into my soap factory next Monday morning. Ha! ha! that's honest work; but fellers of your cloth don't do that sort of honest work."
"I will, sir."
Mr. Bluff was utterly surprised, but he gave Dudley the situation, saying that he reckoned the smell of soap-grease would send him out.
Dudley hardly knew what to make of his own boldness. But he only told his mother that he had a situation with Mr. Bluff, and that he did not know the precise nature of his duties. He was not ashamed of his work, but afraid of giving her pain.
Monday morning he went early to the soap factory, stopping at the tailor's on the way, and getting a pair of blue overalls that he had ordered. It must be confessed that the smell of the factory disgusted him at first, but he soon became interested. He saw that brains were used in soap-making. He became more and more interested as he saw how accurate some of the chemical processes were. He soon learned to cut the great blocks of hard soap with wires; he watched with eager interest the use of coloring matters in making the mottled soaps, and he soon became so skilful that surly Mr. Bluff promoted him to some of the less unpleasant parts of the work.
But there was much talk about it at first. Some of the young ladies who had been useless all their lives, and who had come to think that uselessness was necessary to respectability, were "surprised that Dudley Crawford should follow so low a trade." But those very people never once thought it disgraceful in Walter Whittaker to be a genteel loafer, living off his father's hard-earned salary, and pretending that he was looking for a situation. And I will not be too hard on Whittaker. I think if he could have had a situation in which he could do nothing, and be paid well for it, he would have been delighted. But he shunned Dudley. Partly because he was afraid of compromising his own respectability, and partly because he had sense enough to see that Dudley's honest eyes looked through him, and saw what a humbug he was.
After a year Dudley's father's estate was settled, and owing to an unexpected rise in some of the property, it was found that the debts would all be paid, and a small balance be left for the family. It was but a small amount, but it enabled Dudley to lay aside his blue overalls, and return to the old school again. Dr. Parmlee, the principal, was delighted to have such a good pupil back again. Whittaker came back about the same time, and the very first day he whispered to some of the boys that Dudley smelled of soap-grease. The boys laughed thoughtlessly, as boys are apt to do, and passed the poor joke round. Dudley maintained the respect of the school in general, but there was a small clique, who never knew their lessons, but who prided themselves on being genteel dunces. These folks used to talk about the soap-grease, even in Dr. Parmlee's presence; but the Doctor quietly retorted that if Crawford's hands smelled of soap-grease, that was better than to have soap-grease inside his head and pomatum on the outside. They were a little more modest after this, but they could not forbear allusions that kept Dudley under fire. His mother, who was very proud of her son's independence, could not but feel sorry that he was subject to such persecutions. "Ah, mother," he would say, "the thing that I am proudest of in my life is, that I spent a year in Bluff's soap factory. Don't think that I am annoyed at the barkings of lap-dogs."
At last came the day of graduation. Dudley led the class. There was a great crowd of fine people. The last speech of all on the programme was "Honest Work Honorable—Dudley Crawford." With a characteristic manliness he stood up bravely for work. So fine were his arguments, so undaunted his bearing, that the audience were carried away. Dr. Parmlee took off his spectacles to wipe his eyes. Dudley's mother could not conceal her pleasure. "Franklin's hands had printers' ink on them," he said, "but they were shaken by princes and savans—the lightning did not despise them. Garibaldi's fingers were soiled with candle-grease, but they have moulded a free nation. Stephenson's fingers were black with coal, and soiled with machine oil of a fireman's work, but they pointed out highways to commerce and revolutionized civilization. There are those" (Whittaker and his set looked crestfallen here) "who will gladly take the hand of worthless loafers, or of genteel villains" (here certain ladies looked down), "but who would not have dared shake hands with Franklin, the printer, with Garibaldi, the tallow-chandler, with Stephenson, the stoker. But before God and right-thinking men there are no soiled hands but guilty hands or idle ones."
When he sat down, others beside his mother shed tears, and good Dr. Parmlee shook his pupil's hand in sight of the audience, but the applause was so great that nobody could hear what he said. And the next day a note came from the chief editor of a leading paper, saying that one who believed enough in labor to carry out his principles in his life, would make an earnest advocate of them. He therefore tendered Mr. Crawford a place on the editorial staff of his paper.
"P-pretty well done, Dominie," stammered Will Sampson.
THE SHOEMAKER'S SECRET.
All things have an end. Among other things that had an end was the fine summer weather. Many other things came to an end with it. Grass, flowers, and leaves came to an end. Chirping of katydids came to an end, and chattering of swallows and songs of robins. And with the summer ended the Cellar-door Club, like all other out-door things that could not stand the frost. The boys understood that their last meeting had come. But Will Sampson, the stammering chairman, was to tell his story, and though the cold evening made them button up their coats, they determined to have one more good time together. And so with many a merry joke they took their places for what Jimmy Jackson called the "inclined plane of social enjoyment." Tom Miller got up under the window and called the meeting to order, announcing that Mr. Sampson would tell the story for the evening.
"I d-don't know about th-that," said Will. "You s-s-see, b-boys, if I tell it I shall have to d-do it b-by fits and starts. If you w-want a s-story told straight ahead, g-g-get somebody whose tongue w-will w-wag when they want it to. If you want a y-yarn j-j-jerked out, I am your man."
"We will take it jerked or any other way you choose, Will," said Miller. I want to say just here that patience and self-control would have cured Sampson of his stammerings. There is no excuse for anybody going through the world with such a defect, when there are so many instances of the victory of a strong and patient resolution over it. I shall give the story here as if he had spoken it smoothly.
WILL SAMPSON'S STORY.
In a country a long way off—I don't care to tell you the name of it for fear I should make some mistake in regard to its geography or history or manners, and besides don't think it's anybody's business just where a story happened—in a country a long way off—perhaps that country never existed except in somebody's head, who knows? Besides, a country that is in your head is just as good as one that is on the map. At least it's as good for a story. Well, in this country there was a village known as the village of shoemakers, because nearly all the people made shoes. Peg, peg, peg, could be heard from one end of it to the other, from morning till night. It was a perfect shower of hammers. Into this town came one day a peasant lad of twelve years of age, with a blue blouse and a queer red flannel cap. He had travelled many a weary mile, and he asked at every shop that he might learn the shoemakers' trade. At last he was taken into the shop of a hard master, who was accustomed to beat his boys severely. But when the master went out, the new boy in the red flannel cap did not throw bits of leather about as the rest did, but attended to his work and said nothing, even when the leather was thrown at his own red cap. And somehow he always got more work done than the rest. And the master never beat Hugo, the boy in the red flannel cap. The other boys said it was because of the charm that he wore round his neck. For Hugo wore an old copper coin suspended like a school-boy's medal. The master paid a little something for extra work, and for some reason, the boys said on account of his charm, Hugo always had more than the rest. He did not spend it, but once a year a man with a red flannel cap like Hugo's appeared and received all the boy's pay for overwork, and then went away. The boys made up their minds that Hugo had some sort of witchcraft in his copper coin. After some years his apprenticeship expired, and Hugo became a journeyman, working in the same quiet way and doing more work than any other man in the village, though he did not work any faster. Meantime several of his brothers, each with the same quiet way, had appeared, and sat down to work in the same shop. Each of them wore the red flannel cap with a tassel, and each of them had a copper coin about his neck. Hugo had disappeared for a few days once, and had brought back a wife. His brothers lived in his house. Soon he set up a shop. As the other shoemakers were afraid of his charm, he had neither apprentice nor journeyman except his brothers. Fortunately there were no less than ten of them, all with red flannel caps and blue blouses, and wearing copper coins about their necks. But Hugo's shop turned out more than any other. The dealers over the border, when there was an order to be quickly filled, always said, "Send to Hugo, he wears a charm."
At last there came a war. The king of the country in which the "village of shoemakers" was, sent a herald into the town, who proclaimed that if the village would furnish a certain number of shoes for the army by a given day, the young men should be exempt from conscription; but that if the village failed, every man in the town, young and old, should be marched off into the army. There was a great cry, for the task appeared to be an impossible one. Whether it was a superstitious reverence for Hugo's charm, or that in trouble they naturally depended on him, certain it is that the crowd by common consent gathered before the shop-door of the silent shoemaker in the blue blouse and red flannel cap. For so busy had Hugo been that he had not heard the herald's proclamation.
"Neighbors," said Hugo, "this is a great waste of time. We have a very few days to do a great work, and here is one hour wasted already. Every journeyman and apprentice is here idle. Let every one of them return to their benches and go to work. Let the masters step into my little house here to consult." The journeymen hastened off, the masters divided the work between them, and Hugo was put in charge of the whole village as one great shop. He did not allow a man to be seen on the street. He set the women at work doing such work as they could. He did not allow a shop to close until far into the night. But as the last day given by the king drew near, the masters were about to give up, for it was found that every shop was falling behind its proportion. But Hugo sternly told them to hold their men in their places. When the last night came, he did not allow a man to sleep. When morning came he made the women count the shoes from each shop, but kept the men at work. As the accounts were made up, it was found that each shop fell behind. The men quit work in despair at last, and women were crying in the streets. Hugo's shop came last. It was found that he and his brothers had made just enough over their share to make up the deficiency. The whole village hailed him as their deliverer, and everybody said that it was because of his charm.
When the war was over the king came to the village to thank the shoemakers for their aid. All but Hugo appeared before him. When he heard of Hugo's conduct he sent for him. "They tell me," said the king, "that you are the man who had the required number of shoes done. They say that you and your ten brothers wear charms. Tell me your secret."
Hugo, holding his red flannel cap in his hand, began: "Sire, when I was a lad my father had many children. I left my mountain home, and came here to earn something to help support them. These my ten brothers came after me. When each one left, our good mother hung a copper coin about his neck, and said, 'Remember that you are going to a town where there is much idleness among the shoemakers, masters and men. Whenever you are tempted to be idle or to be discouraged, remember what I tell you, KEEP PEGGING AWAY!' Behold, sire, the charm by which we have succeeded, by which we saved the village from your wrath, and your land from destruction."
And after that there might have been seen in the king's employ, in various affairs of importance, ten men in blue blouses and red flannel caps, wearing each a copper coin about his neck.
When Sampson had stammered his way through this story, the boys agreed to meet for the winter in Tom Miller's house.
Modern Fables.
FLAT TAIL, THE BEAVER.
A colony of beavers selected a beautiful spot on a clear stream, called Silver Creek, to build themselves a habitation. Without waiting for any orders, and without any wrangling about whose place was the best, they gnawed down some young trees and laid the foundation for a dam. With that skill for which they are so remarkable, they built it so that it would protect them from cold, from water, and from their foes. When it was completed, they were delighted with it, and paddled round joyously in the pond above, expressing their pleasure to each other in true beaver style.
In this colony there was one young beaver, by the name of Flat Tail. His father, whose name was Mud Dauber, had been a celebrated beaver, who, having very superior teeth, could gnaw through trees with great rapidity. Old Mud Dauber had distinguished himself chiefly, however, by saving the dam on three separate occasions in time of flood. He had done this by his courage and prudence, always beginning to work as soon as he saw the danger coming, without waiting till the damage had become too great to repair.
But his son, this young fellow Flat Tail, was a sorry fellow. As long as old Mud Dauber lived, he did pretty well, but as soon as his father died Flat Tail set up for somebody great. Whenever any one questioned his pretensions, he always replied:
"I am Mud Dauber's son. I belong to the best blood in the colony."
He utterly refused to gnaw or build. He was meant for something better, he said.
And so one day in autumn, when the beavers were going out in search of food for winter use, as Flat Tail was good for nothing else, they set him to mind the dam. After they had started, Flat Tail's uncle, old Mr. Webfoot, turned back and told his nephew to be very watchful, as there had been a great rain on the head-waters of Silver Creek, and he was afraid there would be a flood.
"Be very careful," said Webfoot, "about the small leaks."
"Pshaw," said Flat Tail, "who are you talking to? I am Mud Dauber's son, and do you think I need your advice?"
After they had gone the stream began to rise. Little sticks and leaves were eddying round in the pool above. Soon the water came up faster, to the great delight of the conceited young beaver, who was pleased with the opportunity to show the rest what kind of stuff he was made of. And though he disliked work, he now began to strengthen the dam in the middle where the water looked the most threatening. But just at this point the dam was the strongest, and, in fact, the least in danger. Near the shore there was a place where the water was already finding its way through. A friendly kingfisher who sat on a neighboring tree warned him that the water was coming through, but always too conceited to accept of counsel, he answered:
"Oh, that's only a small leak, and near the shore. What does a kingfisher know about a beaver dam anyway! You needn't advise me! I am the great Mud Dauber's son. I shall fight the stream bravely, right here in the worst of the flood."
But Flat Tail soon found that the water in the pond was falling. Looking round for the cause, he saw that the small leak had broken away a large portion of the dam, and that the torrent was rushing through it wildly. Poor Flat Tail now worked like a hero, throwing himself wildly into the water only to be carried away below and forced to walk up again on the shore. His efforts were of no avail, and had not the rest of the Silver Creek beaver family come along at that time, their home and their winter's stock of provisions would alike have been destroyed. Next day there was much beaver laughter over Flat Tail's repairs on the strong part of the dam, and the name that before had been a credit to him was turned into a reproach, for from that day the beavers called him, in derision, "Mud Dauber's son, the best blood in the colony."
Don't neglect a danger because it is small; don't boast of what your father did; and don't be too conceited to receive good advice.
THE MOCKING-BIRD'S SINGING-SCHOOL.
A lady brought a mocking-bird from New Orleans to her home in the North. At first all the birds in the neighborhood looked upon it with contempt. The chill northern air made the poor bird homesick, and for a few days he declined to sing for anybody.
"Well, I do declare," screamed out Miss Guinea-fowl, "to see the care our mistress takes of that homely bird. It don't seem to be able to sing a note. I can make more music than that myself. Indeed, my voice is quite operatic. Pot-rack! pot-rack! pot-rack!" and the empty-headed Miss Guinea-fowl nearly cracked her own throat, and the ears of everybody else, with her screams. And the great vain peacock spread his sparkling tail-feathers in the sun, and looked with annihilating scorn on the dull plumage of the poor mocking-bird. "Daddy Longlegs," the Shanghai rooster, crowed louder than ever, with one eye on the poor jaded bird, and said: "What a contemptible little thing you are, to be sure!" Gander White, Esq., the portly barn-yard alderman, hissed at him, and even Duck Waddler, the tadpole catcher, called him a quack.
But wise old Dr. Parrot, in the next cage, said: "Wait and see. There's more under a brown coat than some people think."
There came a day at last when the sun shone out warm. Daddy Longlegs crowed hoarsely his delight, the peacock tried his musical powers by shouting Ne-onk! ne-onk! and Duck Waddler quacked away more ridiculously than ever. Just then the mocking-bird ruffled his brown neck-feathers and began to sing. All the melody of all the song-birds of the South seemed to be bottled up in that one little bosom. Even Miss Guinea-fowl had sense enough to stop her hideous operatic "pot-rack," to listen to the wonderful sweetness of the stranger's song. Becoming cheered with his own singing, the bird began to mimic the hoarse crowing with which Daddy Longlegs wakened him in the morning. This set the barn-yard in a roar, and the peacock shouted his applause in a loud "ne-onk!" Alas! for him, the mocking-bird mimicked his hideous cry, then quacked like the duck, and even Miss Guinea-fowl found that he could "pot-rack" better than she could.
The Shanghai remarked to the peacock that this young Louisianian was a remarkable acquisition to the community; Gander White thought he ought to be elected to the city council, and Miss Guinea-fowl remarked that she had always thought there was something in the young man. Dr. Parrot laughed quietly at this last remark.
The very next day the mocking-bird was asked to take up a singing-school. The whole barn-yard was in the notion of improving the popular capacity to sing. And Daddy Longlegs came near breaking his neck in his hurry to get up on a barrel-head to advocate a measure that he saw was likely to be popular.
But it did not come to anything. The only song that the rooster could ever sing was the one in Mother Goose, about the dame losing her shoe and the master his fiddle-stick, at which Professor Mocking-bird couldn't help smiling. Mr. Peacock, the gentleman of leisure, could do nothing more than his frightful "ne-onk!" which made everybody shiver more than a saw-file would. Gander White said he himself had a good ear for music, but a poor voice, while the Hon. Turkey Pompous said he had a fine bass voice, but no ear for tune. Dr. Parrot was heard to say "Humbug!" when the whole company turned to him for an explanation. He was at that moment taking his morning gymnastic exercise, by swinging himself from perch to perch, holding on by his beak. When he got through, he straightened up and said:
"In the first place, you all made sport of a stranger about whom you knew nothing. I spent many years of my life with a learned doctor of divinity, and I often heard him speak severely of the sin of rash judgments. But when you found that our new friend could sing, you all desired to sing like him. Now, he was made to sing, and each of the rest of us to do something else. You, Mr. Gander White, are good to make feather beds and pillows; Hon. Turkey Pompous is good for the next Thanksgiving day; and you, Mr. Peacock Strutwell, are good for nothing but to grow tail-feathers to make fly-brushes of. But we all have our use. If we will all do our best to be as useful as we can in our own proper sphere, we will do better. There is our neighbor, Miss Sophie Jones, who has wasted two hours a day for the last ten years, trying to learn music, when nature did not give her musical talent, while Peter Thompson, across the street, means to starve to death, trying to be a lawyer, without any talent for it. Let us keep in our own proper spheres."
The company hoped he would say more, but Dr. Parrot here began to exercise again, in order to keep his digestion good, and the rest dispersed.
THE BOBOLINK AND THE OWL.
Having eaten his breakfast of beech-nuts, a bobolink thought he would show himself neighborly; so he hopped over to an old gloomy oak tree, where there sat a hooting owl, and after bowing his head gracefully, and waving his tail in the most friendly manner, he began chirruping cheerily, somewhat in this fashion:
"Good-morning, Mr. Owl! what a fine bright morning we have."
"Fine!" groaned the owl, "fine, indeed! I don't see how you can call it fine with that fierce sun glaring in one's eyes."
The bobolink was quite disconcerted by this outburst, but after jumping about nervously from twig to twig for a while, he began again:
"What a beautiful meadow that is which you can see from your south window! How sweet the flowers look! Really you have a pleasant view, if your house is a little gloomy."
"Beautiful! did you say? Pleasant! What sort of taste you must have! I haven't been able to look out of that window since May. The color of the grass is too bright, and the flowers are very painful. I don't mind that view so much in November, but this morning I must find a shadier place, where the light won't disturb my morning nap."
And so, with a complaining "Hoo! hoo! hoo-ah!" he flapped his melancholy wings and flitted away into the depths of a swamp.
And a waggish old squirrel, who had heard the conversation, asked the bobolink how he could expect any one to like beautiful things who looked out of such great staring eyes.
The pleasantness of our surroundings depends far more upon the eyes we see with, than upon the objects about us.
THE END.
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THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.
By EDWARD EGGLESTON,
Author of "The Hoosier Schoolmaster," etc.
With full page Illustrations. 1 vol., 12mo $1.00
Mr. Eggleston is one of the very few American novelists who have succeeded in giving to their work a genuine savor of the soil, a distinctively American character. His Roxy, Hoosier Schoolmaster, Circuit Rider, and the rest, are home-spun and native in all their features. The scene of the stories is the Western Reserve, and the characters are types of the pioneers of the early part of this century, in the territory now comprised in Indiana and Ohio.
The Hoosier School-boy, as its title shows, belongs to the same locality, and depicts some of the characteristics of boy life, years ago, on the Ohio, characteristics, however, that were not peculiar to that section only. The story presents a vivid and interesting picture of the difficulties which in those days beset the path of the youth aspiring for an education. These obstacles, which the hero of the story succeeds by his genuine manliness and force of character in surmounting, are just such as a majority of the most distinguished Americans, in all walks of life, including Lincoln and Garfield, have had to contend with, and which they have made the stepping stone to their future greatness. Mr. Bush's strong and life-like illustrations add much to the attractiveness of the book.
"Edward Eggleston's new story is a thoroughly excellent one to be put in the hands of a boy whose parents wish him to become a manly, high-minded American citizen."—Philadelphia Bulletin.
"A particularly wholesome volume. There is a delightful absence of the goody-good in it, and the incidents are all natural and true to life."—Madison (Ind.) Courier.
"Nobody has pictured boy-life with greater power or more fidelity than Mr. Eggleston. This story is one of his best—it should be in the hands of every boy."—Hartford Times.
"It has all the peculiarities of its author; his careful reproduction of nature, his vivid descriptions, and the naturalness of his characters, drawn, as they must have been, from life."—Indianapolis News.
—————————————————- CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, Publishers, 743 & 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. —————————————————-
THE MERRY ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD.
OF GREAT RENOWN IN NOTTINGHAMSHIRE.
Written and Illustrated by HOWARD PYLE.
One volume, 4to, full embossed leather, antique, from the author's designs $4.50
Cheaper edition, 1 vol., small quarto, cloth $3.00
There is something thoroughly English and home-bred in these episodes in the life of the bold outlaw. His sunny, open air nature, his matchless skill at archery, his generous disposition, his love of fair play, and his ever present courtesy to women, form a picture that has no counterpart in the folk-lore of any other people. The simple ballad English has been most successfully preserved in Mr. Pyle's easy prose, and, as regards the text, this edition is in all respects the most complete and in every way the most desirable that has ever been issued.
But it has other claims to notice in the admirable illustrations which Mr. Pyle has strewn profusely throughout his book. These pictures set forth most graphically every eventful scene in the narrative, and they are in perfect keeping with the story, even to the smallest detail; as specimens of figure-drawing they form the most admirable and artistic series that an American artist has created for many years. In them the persons of Robin Hood, Little John, Will Stutely, the Sheriff of Nottingham, Allan-a-Dale, Queen Eleanor, Friar Tuck, and all the rest, become as familiar as their names and characteristics.
"A volume that stands at the head of books for the young, both in the attractiveness of its letter-press, and singular beauty, variety, and antique character of its illustrations. * * * It is a book of varied delight, a credit to the author, illustrator and publisher, and will please every boy who has taste and likes to see a thorough piece of work."—Hartford Courant.
—————————————————- CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, Publishers, 743 & 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. —————————————————-
THE STORY OF SIEGFRIED.
By JAMES BALDWIN.
With a series of superb illustrations by Howard Pyle. One volume, square 12mo $2.00
"To wise parents who strive, as all parents should do, to regulate and supervise their children's reading, this book is most earnestly commended. Would there were more of its type and excellence. It has our most hearty approval and recommendation in every way, not only for beauty of illustration, which is of the highest order, but for the fascinating manner in which the old Norse legend is told."—The Churchman.
"What more calculated to inspire the courage, to elevate the imagination, to mould the conduct of youth, than these reproductions of the heroic legends of the old Norse and German folk?"—Minneapolis Tribune.
"No more delightful reading for the young can be imagined than that provided in this interesting book, and the manner of the recital is so graceful that older readers will derive from it scarcely less pleasure."—Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.
"The story is told simply and strongly, preserving the fire and force of the original, and not losing the subtle charm of the old fable with all its pathetic beauty."—Brooklyn Union-Argus.
"It is a good, strong story; it comes in among the mass of juvenile books like a wind blown from Northern woods."—Philadelphia Sunday-School Times.
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THE STORY OF ROLAND.
By JAMES BALDWIN.
With a series of illustrations by R. B. Birch. One volume, square 12mo $2.00
This volume is intended as a companion to The Story of Siegfried. As Siegfried was an adaptation of Northern myths and romances to the wants and the understanding of young readers, so is this story a similar adaptation of the middle-age romances relating to Charlemagne and his paladins. As Siegfried was the greatest of the heroes of the North, so too was Roland the most famous among the Knights of the Middle-Ages. While The Story of Siegfried exemplifies the sublime old-world spirit of the Gothic nature myths, its counterpart, The Story of Roland, is less remote, and the incidents, though equally wonderful, are of a more human character and appeal with greater force to our sympathies.
Mr. Birch has contributed a number of spirited illustrations that bring clearly before the eye the forms of Roland and his friend Oliver, of Ogier, the Dane, and other famous knights and paladins, as well as the scenes of their wondrous exploits and adventures.
—————————————————- CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, Publishers, 743 & 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. —————————————————-
THE AMERICAN BOY'S HANDY BOOK;
Or, What to Do and How to Do It.
By DANIEL C. BEARD.
Fully illustrated by the author. One volume, 8vo $3.00
Mr. Beard's book is the first to tell the active, inventive and practical American boy the things he really wants to know; the thousand things he wants to do, and the ten thousand ways in which he can do them, with the helps and ingenious contrivances which every boy can either procure or make. The author divides the book among the sports of the four seasons; and he has made an almost exhaustive collection of the cleverest modern devices,—besides himself inventing an immense number of capital and practical ideas—in
SPRING. AUTUMN. ————————— ————————— Kite-Making, Trapping, Fishing, Taxidermy, Aquarium-Making, Home-made Hunting Etc. Apparatus, etc.
SUMMER. WINTER. ————————— ————————— Boat-Building, Ice-Boating, Boat-Rigging, Snow-Ball Warfare, Boat-Sailing, Winter-Fishing, Camping-Out, Sled-Building, Balloons, Puppet-Shows, Etc. Etc.
"We can conceive of few books more useful and interactive to the average boy than this."—Troy Times.
"This is by far the most intelligible, comprehensive and practical boy's book which we have ever seen."—Kingston Freeman.
"When selecting books for a boy it should be remembered that such a one as this tends to make him handy, skillful and self-reliant, and that the boy would probably choose it himself."—Boston Globe.
"Each particular department is minutely illustrated, and the whole is a complete treasury, invaluable not only to the boys themselves, but to parents and guardians who have at heart their happiness and healthful development of mind and muscle."—Pittsburgh Telegraph.
"The boy who has learned to play all the games and make all the toys of which it teaches, has unconsciously exercised the inventive faculty that is in him, has acquired skill with his hands, and has become a good mechanic and an embryo inventor without knowing it."—Milwaukee Evening Wisconsin.
—————————————————- CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, Publishers, 743 & 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. —————————————————-
THE BOY'S LIBRARY OF LEGEND AND CHIVALRY.
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THE BOY'S PERCY.
Edited with an Introduction by Sidney Lanier. With 50 text and full page illustrations by E. B. Bensell. 1 vol., 12mo $2.00
"He who walks in the way these following ballads point will be manful in necessary fight, fair in trade, loyal in love, generous to the poor, tender in the household, prudent in living, plain in speech, merry upon occasion, simple in behavior, and honest in all things."—From Mr. Lanier's Introduction.
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KNIGHTLY LEGENDS OF WALES; or, THE BOY'S MABINOGION.
Being the Earliest Welsh Tales of King Arthur in the famous Red Book of Hergest. Edited for Boys, with an Introduction by Sidney Lanier. With 12 full-page illustrations by Alfred Fredericks. One volume, crown 8vo, extra cloth $2.00
"Amid all the strange and fanciful scenery of these stories, character and the ideals of character remain at the simplest and purest. The romantic history transpires in the healthy atmosphere of the open air on the green earth beneath the open sky.... The figures of Right, Truth, Justice, Honor, Purity, Courage, Reverence for Law are always in the background; and the grand passion inspired by the book is for strength to do well and nobly in the world."—The Independent.
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THE BOY'S KING ARTHUR.
Being Sir Thomas Mallory's History of King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. Edited for Boys, with an Introduction by Sidney Lanier. With 12 full-page illustrations by Alfred Kappes. One volume, crown 8vo, extra cloth $2.00
"Unconsciously as he reads of the brave deeds wrought by the gallant soldiers told of by Froissart or fancied by Mallory, the boy's heart is thrilled and his higher nature throbs with knightly longings. He craves for himself the sturdy courage of Bevis of Hampton, the courtly grace of Launcelot, the purity of Gallahad; and he hates with an honest hatred that unleal scoundrel, King Mark. He learns that he should protect those who are less strong than he is himself; that a man should never be rude to a woman; that truth must never be sacrificed, and that the most cowardly thing that a man can do is to flinch from his duty."—Philadelphia Times.
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THE BOY'S FROISSART.
Being Sir John Froissart's Chronicles of Adventure, Battle and Custom in England, France, Spain, etc. Edited for Boys, with an Introduction by Sidney Lanier. With 12 full-page illustrations by Alfred Kappes. One volume. crown 8vo, extra cloth $2.00
"It is quite the beau ideal of a book for a present to an intelligent boy or girl. * * * Mr. Sidney Lanier, in editing a boy's version of Froissart, has not only opened to them a world of romantic and poetic legend of the chivalric and heroic sort, but he has given them something which ennobles and does not poison the mind."—Baltimore Gazette.
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*** In sets. Four volumes put up in a box, uniform binding, $7.
—————————————————- CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, Publishers, 743 & 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. —————————————————-
WILLIAM O. STODDARD'S CAPITAL STORIES FOR BOYS.
The Boston Globe says of Mr. Stoddard's books for boys:
"It was a bold attempt, in the face of the great success of sensational literature for the young, to seek to bend boys to self-reliance, duty and honor, by interesting them in the incidents and rewards of manly boy-life at home and at school, and in its games and sports; and a good deal of knowledge of boy character, of sympathy with boy nature, and skill in reaching boy interest, and regard, were required to accomplish his purpose. The plan was a noble one, and its results are a triumph which shows that it is possible, without thrilling adventure on the ocean or in Western wilds, in exciting scenes of peril and death, or unnatural and bad characters and situations, to secure the earnest attention of boys and their approval."
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SALTILLO BOYS.
One volume, 12mo $1.00
"The story appeals to boys, not only on their better side, but on the side which is strongest and highest in the boy view of the matter."—The Independent.
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DAB KINZER.
A Story of a Growing Boy.
One volume, 12mo $1.00
"It is written in that peculiarly happy vein which enchants while it instructs, and is one of those thoroughly excellent bits of juvenile literature which now and then crop out from the surface of a mass of common-place."—Philadelphia Press.
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THE QUARTET.
A Sequel to "Dab Kinzer."
One volume, 12mo $1.00
"The Quartet is marked by all the brightness and incident which made 'Dab Kinzer' such a favorite with the boys."—Examiner and Chronicle.
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AMONG THE LAKES.
One volume, 12mo $1.00
Mr. Stoddard's bright, sympathetic story, Among the Lakes, is a fitting companion to his other books. It has the same flavor of happy, boyish country life, brimful of humor and abounding with incident and the various adventures of healthy, well-conditioned boys turned loose in the country, with all the resources of woods and water and their own unspoiled natures.
*** Mr. Stoddard's stories, DAB KINZER, THE QUARTET, SALTILLO BOYS, and AMONG THE LAKES, are furnished in sets, in uniform binding, in a box. Price, $4.00.
They are especially recommended for Sunday-school libraries.
—————————————————- CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, Publishers, 743 & 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. —————————————————-
NOAH BROOKS' OUT-OF-DOOR STORIES FOR BOYS.
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THE FAIRPORT NINE.
By NOAH BROOKS,
Author of "The Boy Emigrants."
One volume, 12mo $1.25
The Fairport Nine have their closely contested base-ball matches with the "White Bears," and the description will bring vividly before every lover of that manly sport similar scenes in which he has shared. But they also have their Fourth of July frolic, their military company, their camp in the woods, and the finding of hidden treasure, with many boyish episodes, in which are faithfully portrayed the characteristic features of American boys' life in the country. It is a capital story, with a manly and healthful tone, and will go straight to a boy's heart.
"As a thoroughly wholesome and delightful book for boys, 'The Fairport Nine' is not likely to have its superior this season. It is published, moreover, in an attractive form, with a taking cover and frontispiece."—N. Y. Evening Mail.
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THE BOY EMIGRANTS.
By NOAH BROOKS.
One volume, 12mo, cloth. New edition. With Illustrations by Thomas Moran, W. L. Sheppard, and others $1.50
"The Boy Emigrants" is a story of the adventures of a party of young gold seekers on the Overland Emigrant Route, and in California, during the early rush to the mines. Since the author was himself an emigrant of this description, the scenes and incidents are drawn from life, and the book may be accepted as a fresh and vivid picture of life on the Plains and in the mines from an entirely novel point of view.
"It is one of the best boy's stories we have ever read. There is nothing morbid or unhealthy about it. The author sets before his readers no impossible goodness or unattainable perfection. His heroes are thorough boys, with all the faults of their age."—Christian at Work.
"We do not think we have had so far any painting of the scenes on the Plains in the early days of the emigration to this State which, artistically, will at all compare with that dashed off by Mr. Brooks. The sketches of mining adventures which subsequently occurred have the rare merit of being true to the life and the fact."—San Francisco Bulletin.
—————————————————- CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, Publishers, 743 & 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. —————————————————-
MRS. MARY MAPES DODGE'S CHARMING BOOKS.
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A NEW ILLUSTRATED EDITION OF
HANS BRINKER; or, the Silver Skates.
A Story of Life in Holland.
By Mrs. MARY MAPES DODGE.
Author of "Rhymes and Jingles," and Editor of "St. Nicholas."
With twelve full-page illustrations. One vol. 12mo, cloth, beveled edges $1.50
"For children, what could be better as a gift than a copy of Mrs. Dodge's 'Hans Brinker; or, the Silver Skates,' of which we are now given a new and beautiful edition? This is one of the most charming of juvenile stories, dealing with fresh scenes and a strange life, and told with sweet simplicity and great beauty."—Congregationalist.
"'Hans Brinker' is a charming domestic story, which is addressed, indeed, to young people, but which may be read with pleasure and profit by their elders. * * The lessons inculcated, are elevated in tone, and are in the action of the story and the feelings and aspirations of the actors."—The Atlantic Monthly.
"This book has been a great favorite, not only in America but in other lands. The author has every reason to be gratified at the success and constant popularity of this charming narrative, which teaches so finely the noblest lessons of character and life, while picturing the customs and scenes of Holland."—Boston Advertiser.
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RHYMES AND JINGLES.
By Mrs. MARY MAPES DODGE,
Editor of "St. Nicholas."
Profusely illustrated. One vol. small quarto, extra cloth, a new edition $1.50
There are in this collection nonsense rhymes and verses of the soundest sense; there are brief bits of wisdom for little folks, and stories in verse for those who are older, while some of the so-called rhymes include verses which are as truly poetical as anything in the language.
Some of these poems have been pronounced "without rivals in our language." In the new edition now published, Mrs. Dodge has made a careful revision of the work. Every child should have a copy of these witty and beautiful verses.
—————————————————- CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, Publishers, 743 & 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. —————————————————-
GODFREY MORGAN.
A CALIFORNIA MYSTERY.
By JULES VERNE.
With numerous illustrations. One volume. 12mo $2.00
Jules Verne's cyclopedic fancy this time finds scope for its vagaries in the Californian Eldorado, among the millionaires of absolutely limitless resources, who, the French romancer would have us believe, form a large class of the population around the Golden Gate. Nevertheless, the story is of the Crusoe order, and is concerned with the adventures of the restless young Californian, Godfrey Morgan, and his companion, the dancing-master, Tartlet, upon a strange island where they have been wrecked. The story is one of the most amazing efforts of Verne's genius, and certainly lacks neither interest nor amusement. The illustrations are very numerous and equal the text in force and character.
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PHAETON ROGERS.
By Rossiter Johnson.
One volume. 12mo. With illustrations $1.50.
"As for 'Phaeton Rogers,' the adventures of that remarkable boy and his colleagues who investigate the mysteries of the art preservative, are full of delightful humor, in which the oldest member of the family can sympathize."—Minneapolis Journal.
"One of the funniest, liveliest juvenile stories of the year is 'Phaeton Rogers,' by Rossiter Johnson. The writer shows as much ingenuity in inventing comical adventures and situations as Phaeton does with his kite-teams, fire-ladders, and comets."—Holyoke Transcript.
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A NEW EDITION AT REDUCED PRICE.
ABOUT OLD STORY-TELLERS.
OF HOW AND WHEN THEY LIVED, AND WHAT STORIES THEY TOLD.
By Donald G. Mitchell. Author of "The Reveries of a Bachelor," etc., etc. With numerous illustrations. One volume, 12mo $1.25.
"Mr. Mitchell's literary style, so chaste, simple and pure, is admirably adapted for this kind of writing, and he employs his facile and congenial pen, in the present instance, with entire success. 'About Old Story-Tellers' is made up of the best of the old stories, gathered from all sources, re-told in Mr. Mitchell's inimitable manner, and interwoven with lively sketches of the original writers and the times in which they flourished."—New Haven Journal and Courier.
—————————————————- CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, Publishers, 743 & 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. —————————————————-
FRANK R. STOCKTON'S POPULAR STORIES.
"Stockton has the knack, perhaps genius would be a better word, of writing in the easiest of colloquial English without descending to the plane of the vulgar or common-place. The very perfection of his work hinders the reader from perceiving at once how good of its kind it is. * * With the added charm of a most delicate humor—a real humor, mellow, tender, and informed by a singularly quaint and racy fancy—his stories become irresistibly attractive."—Philadelphia Times.
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A JOLLY FELLOWSHIP.
By Frank R. Stockton, author of "Rudder Grange." Illustrated. 1 vol., 12mo, extra cloth $1.50
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THE FLOATING PRINCE, AND OTHER FAIRY TALES.
By Frank R. Stockton. With illustrations by Bensell and others. 1 vol., quarto, Boards, New Edition. Price reduced to $1.50
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NEW EDITIONS OF OLD FAVORITES.
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THE TING-A-LING TALES.
By Frank R. Stockton. Illustrated by E. B. Bensell. 1 vol., 12mo $1.00
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ROUNDABOUT RAMBLES IN LANDS OF FACT AND FICTION.
By Frank R. Stockton. 1 vol., 4to, boards, with very attractive lithographed cover, 370 pages, nearly 200 illustrations. A new edition. Price reduced from $3 to $1.50
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TALES OUT OF SCHOOL.
By Frank R. Stockton. One volume, 4to, boards, with handsome lithographed cover, 350 pages, nearly 200 illustrations. A new edition. Price reduced from $3 to $1.50
"The Roundabout Rambles and Tales Out of School are two large handsome volumes, full of stories of home, travel and adventure, and the elegance and finish of the engravings can scarcely be surpassed in juvenile literature. Without and within, they are a treasury of beauty and enjoyment for the children."—St. Paul Pioneer.
—————————————————- CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, Publishers, 743 & 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. —————————————————-
STANDARD BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE.
TRAVEL, HISTORY, SCIENCE AND ART.
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A NEW EDITION AT REDUCED PRICE.
BAYARD TAYLOR'S LIBRARY OF TRAVEL.
6 Vols., Square 12mo, with many illustrations. Handsomely bound.
JAPAN IN OUR DAY. CENTRAL ASIA. TRAVELS IN ARABIA. THE LAKE REGIONS OF CENTRAL AFRICA. TRAVELS IN SOUTH AFRICA. SIAM, THE LAND OF THE WHITE ELEPHANT.
Price per set, in a box, $6.00 or sold separately at $1.25 per volume.
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EPOCHS OF HISTORY.
"These volumes contain the ripe results of the studies of men who are authorities in the respective fields."—The Nation.
EPOCHS OF MODERN HISTORY. THE ERA OF PROTESTANT REVOLUTION. THE CRUSADES. THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR, 1618-1648. THE HOUSES OF LANCASTER AND YORK. THE FRENCH REVOLUTION AND FIRST EMPIRE. THE AGE OF ELIZABETH. THE FALL OF THE STUARTS. THE PURITAN REVOLUTION. THE EARLY PLANTAGENETS. AGE OF ANNE. THE BEGINNING OF THE MIDDLE AGES. THE NORMANS IN EUROPE. FREDERICK THE GREAT AND THE SEVEN YEARS' WAR. THE EPOCH OF REFORM, 1830-1850. EPOCHS OF ANCIENT HISTORY. THE GREEKS AND THE PERSIANS. THE ATHENIAN EMPIRE. THE MACEDONIAN EMPIRE. EARLY ROME. THE GRACCHI, MARIUS AND SULLA. THE ROMAN TRIUMVIRATES. THE EARLY EMPIRE. THE AGE OF THE ANTONINES. ROME AND CARTHAGE. TROY. THE SPARTAN AND THEBAN SUPREMACY. (In press.)
***Each one vol., 16mo, with Maps. Each volume complete in itself, and sold separately. Price per vol., in cloth, $1.00
The same in sets, Roxburgh binding, gilt top, at the rate of $1.00 per vol.
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ILLUSTRATED LIBRARY OF WONDERS.
The First Series Comprises:
Illus. WONDERFUL ESCAPES 26 BODILY STRENGTH AND SKILL 70 BALLOON ASCENTS 30 GREAT HUNTS 22 EGYPT 3,300 YEARS AGO 40 THE SUN. By Guillemin 58 WONDERS OF HEAT 93 OPTICAL WONDERS 71 WONDERS OF ACOUSTICS 110 THE HEAVENS 48 THE HUMAN BODY 43 THE SUBLIME IN NATURE 44 INTELLIGENCE OF ANIMALS 54 THUNDER AND LIGHTNING 39 BOTTOM OF THE SEA 68 ITALIAN ART 28 EUROPEAN ART 40 ARCHITECTURE 60 GLASS-MAKING 63 WONDERS OF POMPEII 22
Price per single vol., cloth, $1.25 The same, in sets of 20 vols., cloth, with a rack, 25.00
—————————————————- CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, Publishers, 743 & 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. —————————————————-
THE WORKS OF JULES VERNE.
THE COMPLETE AND AUTHORIZED EDITIONS.
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JULES VERNE'S GREATEST WORK
THE EXPLORATION OF THE WORLD.
Three volumes, 8vo, extra cloth, with 100 full-page engravings in each. Price per volume $3.50
The work includes three divisions, each in one volume complete in itself.
I. Famous Travels and Travellers. II. The Great Navigators. III. The Explorers of the Nineteenth Century.
Each volume in the series is very fully illustrated with full-page engravings by French artists of note; and the volume of "FAMOUS TRAVELS" is made still more interesting by many fac-similes from the original prints in old voyages, atlases, etc.
"Even if truth were not stranger than fiction, to the healthful mind it ought to be far more fascinating. Such works as this are not only entertaining and informing, but their whole atmosphere is bracing. They are as much better than sentimental heart histories or imaginary personal experiences as a day in the open air is better than a day in a close and crowded apartment."—N. Y. Observer.
"The book may very well be a favorite at the holiday time, but it has permanent worth and permanent interest also, which will give it a place in well-selected libraries."—N. Y. Evening Post.
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JULES VERNE'S OTHER WORKS.
Michael Strogoff; or, the Courier of the Czar. Profusely illustrated after designs by Riou. 1 vol., 8vo. New edition $2.00
The Mysterious Island. Vol. I. Dropped from the Clouds. Vol. II. Abandoned. Vol. III. The Secret of the Island. The complete work in 1 vol. with 150 illustrations. 8vo $3.00
A Journey to the Centre of the Earth. With 52 full-page illustrations. 1 vol., 8vo $3.00
Stories of Adventure. Comprising "Meridiana," and "A Journey to the Centre of the Earth." 68 full-page illustrations. 1 vol., 12mo $1.50
A Floating City, and the Blockade Runners. With numerous illustrations. 1 vol., 8vo., extra cloth, gilt. (New edition) $2.00
Hector Servadac; or, The Career of a Comet. With over 100 full-page illustrations. 1 vol., 8vo, elegantly bound (new edition) $2.00
From the Earth to the Moon Direct in Ninety-Seven Hours, Twenty Minutes; and a Journey Around it. 1 vol., 12mo $1.50
Dick Sands. Superbly illustrated by 100 full-page cuts. 1 vol., 8vo $3.00
The Demon of Cawnpore. (Part I. of the Steam House). Illustrated. 1 vol., 12mo $1.50
Tigers and Traitors. (Part II. of the Steam House). Illustrated. 1 vol., 12mo $1.50
Eight Hundred Leagues on the Amazon. (Part I. of the Giant Raft). Illustrated. 1 vol., 12mo $1.50
The Cryptogram. (Part II. of the Giant Raft). Illustrated. 1 vol., 12mo $1.50
—————————————————- CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, Publishers, 743 & 745 BROADWAY, NEW YORK. —————————————————-
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