"Sir," said Frank, "I am as innocent as you are. This man is my enemy, and he must have put the pocket-book in my pocket. He threatened some time since to get me into a scrape."

"That story is rather too thin," said Haynes, looking around him with a sneer. "You won't find any one here quite verdant enough to believe it."

"There you are mistaken," said a gentleman who was seated directly opposite to Haynes and Frank. "I believe it."

Haynes scowled at him malignantly.

"I really don't think it very important what you believe, sir. The boy is evidently a professional thief, and you may belong to the same gang for aught I know. I propose to give him in charge to the next policeman we meet."

"Do so," said the stranger, coolly. "I shall be present at his trial, and offer some important testimony."

"Indeed!" said Haynes, uneasily. "May I ask what it is?"

"Certainly. I saw you thrust the wallet into the boy's pocket! Of that I am willing to make oath."

James Haynes turned pale. There was a sudden change in public opinion. It was he who now had become an object of suspicion.

"Young man," said the clergyman, solemnly, "what could have induced you to enter into such a wicked conspiracy against the poor boy?"

"Mind your own business!" said Haynes, rudely. "It is a lie."

"It is the truth," said the volunteer witness, calmly.

Here a policeman became visible from the car-window, leisurely walking his beat on the western sidewalk.

"There's a policeman," said Frank's new friend. "Call him, and have the boy arrested."

"He would be cleared by false testimony," said Haynes, sullenly. "I have my money back, and will let him go."

"Then," said the stranger, rising, and displaying the badge of a detective, "I shall arrest you on a charge of conspiracy."

Haynes was fairly caught in his own trap.

"This is a put-up job, gentlemen," he said. "Am I to be robbed first, and arrested afterwards for exposing the thief?"

He looked about him appealingly; but in vain. Public sentiment was wholly against him now.

"O you ould villain!" said a stout Irish woman, "to try to ruin the poor b'ye. Hangin's too good for you."

This was rather an extreme sentiment; but Haynes saw that he was in peril. He gave an unexpected spring, and, reaching the platform, sprang out, running up a side street.

"Do you know him?" asked the detective of Frank.

"Yes, sir."

"How do you account for his hostility to you?"

Frank briefly recounted the story already known to the reader.

"He can easily be found then."

"I hope you will not arrest him, sir," said Frank. "He has been pretty well punished already, and I don't think he will trouble me again."

"If he does, send for me," and the detective handed Frank his card and address.

"It is fortunate for me," said the telegraph boy, "that you saw him put the money in my pocket."

"You would have experienced some inconvenience; but the story you have told me would have cleared you with the jury."

"My young friend," said the clergyman, "I owe you an apology. I too hastily assumed that you were guilty."

"It looked like it, sir. You were quite justified in what you said. Mr. Haynes did not appear to relish your remarks to him," added Frank, laughing.

"His crime was greater and meaner than the one charged upon you. To steal is certainly a grave offence,—yet sometimes it is prompted by necessity; but a deliberate attempt to fasten a false charge upon a fellow-creature is vastly more atrocious."

"So it is, sir," said the old Irish woman, nodding assent vigorously. "I quite agree wid your honor. It is owtracious."

The passengers smiled at the old woman's mistake; but it was clear that they agreed with her in sentiment.

Meanwhile the car had been speeding along, and was near its terminus. Frank bethought himself that he had been carried considerably beyond his destination.

He pulled the bell, and, as he got out, he said, "Thank you all for taking my part."

"We don't quite deserve that," said one of the passengers, after Frank had left the car. "I was at first of opinion that the boy was guilty."

"We have been saved from doing a great injustice," said the clergyman. "It should be a lesson to all of us not to be too hasty in our judgments."

James Haynes in his hurried exit from the car fully believed that he would be pursued and arrested. He was relieved to find his fears groundless. But he was disappointed at the failure of his scheme. He had carefully prepared it, and for several days he had been in readiness to carry it into execution whenever he should meet Frank. This morning had brought the opportunity; but it had miscarried.

"But for that cursed detective I would have carried the thing through," he muttered. "He spoiled all. I hate that boy!"

But, though revengeful, Haynes was prudent. He gave up the thought of injuring Frank because he saw that it would be dangerous to himself. He did not remain long in New York, but soon joined his confederate in Hartford.



CHAPTER XXVII.

FRANK BECOMES A GOOD SAMARITAN.

The close of the month came, and Frank laid aside his uniform. He was a telegraph boy no more.

The superintendent shook hands with him cordially, and bade him good-by.

"Come and see us sometimes," he said. "I wish you all success. Your services have been very satisfactory, and you have gained an excellent reputation."

"Thank you, sir," said Frank. "I have tried to do my duty. Good-by, boys!"

He shook hands with all his young comrades, with whom he was very popular. They knew of his good fortune, and were disposed to regard him as very rich. Six thousand dollars in a boy's eyes is a fortune.

"Now you're rich, Frank, I suppose you won't notice the likes of us," said Johnny O'Connor.

"I hope you don't think as badly of me as that, Johnny," said Frank, earnestly. "I am not rich; but, even if I were, I should always be glad to meet any of you. If I am ever able to do a favor to any of you I will."

"I believe you, Frank," said Johnny. "You was always a good feller."

"Where's Tom Brady?" asked Frank, looking about him. "Is he out on an errand?"

"Tom's sick," said the superintendent. "He's got a fever."

"It's bad for him," said Johnny, "for his mother and sister depended on Tom's wages. Poor Tom felt bad because he had to give up work."

"Where does he live?" asked Frank, with quick sympathy.

"No. — East Fourteenth street," answered Johnny. "I know, because I live in the same block."

"I'll go and see him."

Frank's heart was not hardened by his own prosperity. He knew what it was to be poor, and could enter into the feelings of the unfortunate telegraph boy.

Half an hour found him in front of a large tenement-house, in front of which were playing children of all ages, most of them showing in their faces that unhealthy pallor which so generally marks a tenement-house population.

"Do you know where Mrs. Brady lives?" asked Frank of a girl of twelve.

"Which Brady is it?" asked the girl. "There's three lives here."

"It's Tom Brady's mother," answered our hero.

"Is it Tom, the telegraph boy?"

"Yes."

"I'll show you then. Tom's been sick for some time."

"I know it. I have come to see him."

"Do you know Tom?" asked the girl, in some surprise; for Frank, having laid aside his uniform, was handsomely dressed, and looked like the son of a rich man.

"Yes, Tom is a friend of mine. I am sorry he's sick."

Up two flights of rickety stairs Frank followed the girl, who halted before a door.

"That's the place," said his young guide, and disappeared down the stairs, sliding down the banisters. Young ladies in the best society do not often indulge in this amusement, but Mary Murphy knew little of etiquette or conventionality.

In answer to Frank's knock, the door was opened by Mrs. Brady, a poorly clad and care-worn woman.

"What is your wish, young gentleman?" she said.

"I've come to see Tom. How is he?"

"Do you know my Tom?" asked Mrs. Brady, in surprise.

"Yes; is he very sick?"

"The poor boy has got a fever."

"Can I see him?"

"If you'll come into such a poor place, sir. We're very poor, and now that Tom's wages is stopped I don't know how we'll get along at all."

"Better than you think, perhaps, Mrs. Brady," said Frank, cheerfully. "Why, Tom, what made you get sick?"

He had entered the room, and reached the bed on which the sick boy was lying.

Tom looked up in surprise and pleasure.

"Is it you, Frank?" he said. "I'm glad you've come to see me. But how did you find me out?"

"Johnny O'Connor told me where you lived. How long have you been sick?"

"Three days. It's rough on a poor boy like me. I ought to be earning money for my mother."

"We'll miss Tom's wages badly," said Mrs. Brady; "I can't earn much myself, and there's three of us to feed, let alone the rint."

"How did you get off, Frank?" asked Tom.

"I've left the office."

"Was this young gentleman a telegraph boy?" asked Mrs. Brady, in surprise.

"Yes," said Tom; "but he's come into a fortune, and now he won't have to work."

"I'm sure I'm glad of his good luck, and it's a great condescension for a rich young gentleman to come and see my Tom."

"I have come into some money, but not a fortune, Mrs. Brady," said Frank; "but it does not make me any better than when I was a poor telegraph boy."

Evidently Mrs. Brady was not of this opinion, for she carefully dusted with her apron the best chair in the room, and insisted on Frank's seating himself in it.

"Have you had a doctor, Mrs. Brady?" asked Frank.

"Yes."

"What does he say?"

"He says that Tom will be sick for three or four weeks, and I don't know what we'll do without his wages all that time."

"That's what troubles me," said Tom. "I wouldn't mind it so much if I'd get my pay reg'lar while I'm sick."

"Then you needn't be troubled, Tom," said Frank, promptly, "for you shall get it regularly."

"They won't give it to me," said Tom, incredulously.

"They won't, but I will."

"Do you mean it, Frank?"

"Certainly I do. I will give you a week's pay this morning, and I will call every week, and pay you the same."

"Do you hear that, mother?" said Tom, joyfully.

"God bless you, young gentleman, for your kindness to us!" said Mrs. Brady, gratefully.

"Oh, it isn't much," said Frank; "I can spare it well enough. I have had such good luck myself that I ought to do something for those who need it."

"You're a good feller, Frank," said Tom, warmly. "I'll get well quick now. If you ever want anybody to fight for you, just call on Tom Brady."

"I generally do my own fighting, Tom," said Frank, laughing, "but I'll remember your offer. When you are well, you must come and spend an evening with me."

"I'm sure he'll be proud to do the same," said Mrs. Brady.

"I must bid you good-by, now, Tom. Keep a 'stiff upper lip,' and don't be down-hearted. We must all be sick sometimes, you know, and you'll soon be well."

"I won't be down-hearted now," said Tom, "with my wages comin' in reg'lar. Remember me to the boys, Frank."

"I will, Tom."

When Frank reached home he found a large, overgrown boy, with big red hands, and clothes of rural cut, who apparently did not know what to do with his legs and arms, waiting to see him.

It was his cousin Jonathan.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

A COUNTRY COUSIN.

Jonathan was a loose-jointed, heavily built, and awkward boy of seventeen, bearing not the slightest resemblance to his cousin Frank. Still he was a relation, and our hero was glad to see him.

"How are you, Jonathan?" said Frank, cordially. "I wasn't expecting to see you. Are all well at home?"

"They're pooty smart," answered Jonathan. "I thought I'd come down and look round a little."

"I shall be glad to show you round. Where would you like to go?—to Central Park?"

"I don't care much about it," said the country cousin. "It's only a big pasture, dad says. I'd rather go round the streets. Is there any place where I can buy a few doughnuts? I feel kinder empty."

"Do you prefer doughnuts to anything else?" asked Frank, with a smile.

"I hear they're cheap,—only a cent apiece," answered Jonathan, "and I calc'late five or six will be enough to fill me up."

"You needn't mind the expense, cousin; I shall pay for your dinner."

Jonathan's heavy face lighted up with satisfaction.

"I don't care if you do," he said. "I hear you've got a lot of money now, Frank."

"I shall have enough, to make me comfortable, and start me in business."

"I wish I had as much money as you," said Jonathan, longingly.

"You are all right. Some time you will have more than I."

"I don't know about that. Dad keeps me awful close."

"You have all you want, don't you?"

"I've got some money in the bank," said Jonathan, "but I'd like to put in more. I never thought you'd have more money than I."

"You used to tell me I ought to go to the poor-house," said Frank, smiling.

"That's because you was livin' on dad, you know," explained Jonathan. "It wasn't fair to me, because he wouldn't have so much to leave me."

In the country Frank had not found much satisfaction in the company of his cousin, who inherited the combined meanness of both parents, and appeared to grudge poor Frank every mouthful he ate; but in the sunshine of his present prosperity he was disposed to forgive and forget.

Frank led the way to a restaurant not far away, where he allowed his cousin to order an ample dinner, which he did without scruple, since he was not to pay for it.

"It costs a sight to live in the city," he said, as he looked over the bill of fare.

"It costs something in the country, too, Jonathan."

"I wish you'd come and board with dad. He'd take you for five dollars a week, and it will cost you more in New York."

"Yes, it will cost me more here."

"Then you'll come, won't you? You'll be company for me."

Frank doubted whether Jonathan would be much company for him.

"You didn't use to think so, Jonathan."

"You couldn't pay your board then."

"Now that I can I prefer to remain in the city. I mean to go to school, and get a good education."

"How much do you have to pay for board here?"

"I can't tell what I shall have to pay. At present I am staying with friends, and pay nothing."

"Do you think they'd take me for a week the same way?" asked Jonathan, eagerly. "I'd like to stay a week first-rate if it didn't cost nothing."

"I shouldn't like to ask them; but some time I will invite you to come and pay me a visit of a week; it shall not cost you anything."

"You're a real good feller, Frank," said Jonathan, highly pleased by the invitation. "I'll come any time you send for me. It's pretty high payin' on the railroad, but I guess I can come."

Frank understood the hint, but did not feel called upon to pay his cousin's railway fare in addition to his week's board.

"What do you think of that?" asked Jonathan, presently, displaying a huge ring on one of his red fingers.

"Is that something you have bought in the city?" asked Frank.

"Yes," answered his cousin, complacently. "I got it at a bargain."

"Did you buy it in a jewelry store?"

"No; I'll tell you how it was. I was goin' along the street, when I saw a well-dressed feller, who looked kinder anxious. He come up to me, and he said, 'Do you know any one who wants to buy a splendid gold ring cheap?' Then he told me he needed some money right off to buy vittles for his family, bein' out of work for a month. He said the ring cost him fifteen dollars, and he'd sell it for three. I wasn't goin' to pay no such price, and I finally beat him down to a dollar," said Jonathan, chuckling. "I guess that's doing pretty well for one day. He said any jeweller would pay me six or seven dollars for it."

"Then why didn't he sell it to a jeweller him self, instead of giving it to you for a dollar?"

"I never thought of that," said Jonathan, looking puzzled.

"I am afraid it is not so good a bargain as you supposed," said Frank.

Great drops of perspiration came out on Jonathan's brow.

"You don't think it's brass, do you?" he gasped.

"Here is a jewelry store. We can go in and inquire."

They entered the store, and Frank, calling attention to the ring, inquired its probable value.

"It might be worth about three cents," said the jeweller, laughing. "I hope you didn't give much more for it."

"I gave a dollar," said Jonathan, in a voice which betrayed his anguish.

"Of whom did you buy it?"

"Of a man in the street."

"Served you right, then. You should have gone to a regular jewelry store."

"The man said it cost him fifteen dollars," said Jonathan, sadly.

"I dare say. He was a professional swindler, no doubt."

"I'd like to give him a lickin'," said Jonathan, wrathfully, as they left the store.

"What would you do if you was me?" he asked of his cousin.

"Throw it away."

"I wouldn't do that. Maybe I can sell it up in the country," he said, his face brightening up.

"For how much?"

"For what I gave."

"But that would be swindling."

"No, it wouldn't. I have a right to ask as much as I gave. It's real handsome if it is brass."

"I don't think that would be quite honest, Jonathan."

"You wouldn't have me lose the dollar, would you? That would be smart."

"I would rather be honest than be smart."

Jonathan dropped the subject, but eventually he sold the ring at home for a dollar and a quarter.



CHAPTER XXIX.

CONCLUSION.

After he had accompanied his cousin to the depot, where he took the cars for home, Frank met Victor Dupont, on Madison avenue.

"Where's your uniform?" he asked.

"I have taken it off."

"Aint you a telegraph boy any longer?"

"No, I have left the office."

"They turned you off, I suppose," said Victor, with a sneer.

"They would like to have had me stay longer," said Frank, with a smile.

Victor shrugged his shoulders incredulously.

"Are you going back to your old business of selling papers?" he asked.

"I think not."

"What are you going to do for a living?"

"I am much obliged to you for your interest in my affairs, Victor; I don't mean to go to work at all at present,—I am going to school."

"How are you going to pay your expenses, then?" asked Victor, in surprise.

"I have had some money left me."

"Is that so? How much?"

"Some thousands of dollars,—enough to support me while I am getting an education."

"Who left it to you?"

"My father left it, but I have only just received it."

"You are awfully lucky," said Victor, evidently annoyed. "Are you going to live with the Vivians?"

"I don't know."

"I shouldn't think you would. It would be imposing upon them."

"Thank you for your kind advice. Won't you take me to board at your house?"

"We don't take boarders," said Victor, haughtily.

It so happened that Frank entered himself as a scholar at the school where Victor was a student, and was put in the same class. Frank at once took a higher place, and in time graduated with the highest honors, while Victor came out nearly at the foot.

Frank did remain with the Vivians; they would not hear of his leaving them, nor would they permit him to pay any board.

"You are a companion for Fred," said Mrs. Vivian, "and you exert a good influence over him. Having your company, he does not wish to seek society outside. You must let me look upon you as one of my boys, and accept a home with us."

Against this, Frank could urge no objection. He was offered a home far more attractive than a boarding-house, which his presence made more social and attractive. Having no board to provide for, the income of his little property was abundant to supply his other wants, and, when he left school, it was unimpaired.

It was a serious question with our hero whether he would continue his studies through a collegiate course. He finally decided in the negative, and accepted a good position in the mercantile establishment of Mr. Hartley. Here he displayed such intelligence and aptitude for business that he rose rapidly, and in time acquired an interest in the firm, and will in time obtain a junior partnership. It must not be supposed that all this came without hard work. It had always been Frank's custom to discharge to the utmost of his ability the duties of any position in which he was placed. To this special trait of our hero, most of his success was owing.

Our hero had the satisfaction of giving a place to his companion in the telegraph office, Tom Brady, who was in time able to earn such a salary as raised his mother and sister above want. Frank did not forget his old street comrade, Dick Rafferty, but gave him a position as porter, Dick's education not being sufficient to qualify him for a clerkship. He even sought out old Mills, the blind man, to whom he had small reason to feel grateful; but found that the old man had suddenly died, leaving behind him, to the surprise of every one who knew him, several hundred dollars in gold and silver, which were claimed by a sister of the deceased, to whom they were most acceptable.

Here end the experiences of the Telegraph Boy. He has been favored above most of his class; but the qualities which helped him achieve success are within the reach of all. Among the busy little messengers who flit about the city, in all directions, there are some, no doubt, who will in years to come command a success and prosperity as great as our hero has attained. In a republic like our own, the boy who begins at the bottom of the ladder may in time reach the highest round.

THE END.



HORATIO ALGER, JR.

The enormous sales of the books of Horatio Alger, Jr., show the greatness of his popularity among the boys, and prove that he is one of their most favored writers. I am told that more than half a million copies altogether have been sold, and that all the large circulating libraries in the country have several complete sets, of which only two or three volumes are ever on the shelves at one time. If this is true, what thousands and thousands of boys have read and are reading Mr. Alger's books! His peculiar style of stories, often imitated but never equaled, have taken a hold upon the young people, and, despite their similarity, are eagerly read as soon as they appear.

Mr. Alger became famous with the publication of that undying book, "Ragged Dick, or Street Life in New York." It was his first book for young people, and its success was so great that he immediately devoted himself to that kind of writing. It was a new and fertile field for a writer then, and Mr. Alger's treatment of it at once caught the fancy of the boys. "Ragged Dick" first appeared in 1868, and ever since then it has been selling steadily, until now it is estimated that about 200,000 copies of the series have been sold.—"Pleasant Hours for Boys and Girls."

* * * * *

A writer for boys should have an abundant sympathy with them. He should be able to enter into their plans, hopes, and aspirations. He should learn to look upon life as they do. Boys object to be written down to. A boy's heart opens to the man or writer who understands him.—From "Writing Stories for Boys," by Horatio Alger, Jr.



FAMOUS ALGER BOOKS.

RAGGED DICK SERIES.

RAGGED DICK. FAME AND FORTUNE. MARK THE MATCH BOY. ROUGH AND READY. BEN THE LUGGAGE BOY. RUFUS AND ROSE.

TATTERED TOM SERIES.

TATTERED TOM. PAUL THE PEDDLER. PHIL THE FIDDLER. SLOW AND SURE.

TATTERED TOM SERIES. SECOND SERIES.

JULIUS. THE YOUNG OUTLAW. SAM'S CHANCE. THE TELEGRAPH BOY.

CAMPAIGN SERIES.

FRANK'S CAMPAIGN. PAUL PRESCOTT'S CHARGE. CHARLIE CODMAN'S CRUISE.

LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. FIRST SERIES.

LUCK AND PLUCK. SINK OR SWIM. STRONG AND STEADY. STRIVE AND SUCCEED.

LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. SECOND SERIES.

TRY AND TRUST. BOUND TO RISE. RISEN FROM THE RANKS. HERBERT CARTER'S LEGACY.

BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES.

BRAVE AND BOLD. JACK'S WARD. SHIFTING FOR HIMSELF. WAIT AND HOPE.

PACIFIC SERIES.

THE YOUNG ADVENTURER. THE YOUNG MINER. THE YOUNG EXPLORERS. BEN'S NUGGET.

ATLANTIC SERIES.

THE YOUNG CIRCUS RIDER. DO AND DARE. HECTOR'S INHERITANCE. HELPING HIMSELF.

WAY TO SUCCESS SERIES.

BOB BURTON. THE STORE BOY. LUKE WALTON. STRUGGLING UPWARD.

NEW WORLD SERIES.

DIGGING FOR GOLD. FACING THE WORLD. IN A NEW WORLD.

VICTORY SERIES.

ONLY AN IRISH BOY. ADRIFT IN THE CITY. VICTOR VANE, OR THE YOUNG SECRETARY.

FRANK AND FEARLESS SERIES.

FRANK HUNTER'S PERIL. FRANK AND FEARLESS. THE YOUNG SALESMAN.

GOOD FORTUNE LIBRARY.

WALTER SHERWOOD'S PROBATION. A BOY'S FORTUNE. THE YOUNG BANK MESSENGER.

HOW TO RISE LIBRARY.

JED, THE POORHOUSE BOY. RUPERT'S AMBITION. LESTER'S LUCK.



THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.'S POPULAR JUVENILES: HARRY CASTLEMON BOOKS

HOW I CAME TO WRITE MY FIRST BOOK.

When I was sixteen years old I belonged to a composition class. It was our custom to go on the recitation seat every day with clean slates, and we were allowed ten minutes to write seventy words on any subject the teacher thought suited to our capacity. One day he gave out "What a Man Would See if He Went to Greenland." My heart was in the matter, and before the ten minutes were up I had one side of my slate filled. The teacher listened to the reading of our compositions, and when they were all over he simply said: "Some of you will make your living by writing one of these days." That gave me something to ponder upon. I did not say so out loud, but I knew that my composition was as good as the best of them. By the way, there was another thing that came in my way just then. I was reading at that time one of Mayne Reid's works which I had drawn from the library, and I pondered upon it as much as I did upon what the teacher said to me. In introducing Swartboy to his readers he made use of this expression: "No visible change was observable in Swartboy's countenance." Now, it occurred to me that if a man of his education could make such a blunder as that and still write a book, I ought to be able to do it, too. I went home that very day and began a story, "The Old Guide's Narrative," which was sent to the New York Weekly, and came back, respectfully declined. It was written on both sides of the sheets but I didn't know that this was against the rules. Nothing abashed, I began another, and receiving some instruction, from a friend of mine who was a clerk in a book store, I wrote it on only one side of the paper. But mind you, he didn't know what I was doing. Nobody knew it; but one day, after a hard Saturday's work—the other boys had been out skating on the brick-pond—I shyly broached the subject to my mother. I felt the need of some sympathy. She listened in amazement, and then said: "Why, do you think you could write a book like that?" That settled the matter, and from that day no one knew what I was up to until I sent the first four volumes of Gunboat Series to my father. Was it work? Well, yes; it was hard work, but each week I had the satisfaction of seeing the manuscript grow until the "Young Naturalist" was all complete.—Harry Castlemon in the Writer.

GUNBOAT SERIES.

Frank the Young Naturalist. Frank on a Gunboat. Frank in the Woods. Frank before Vicksburg. Frank on the Lower Mississippi. Frank on the Prairie.

ROCKY MOUNTAIN SERIES.

Frank Among the Rancheros. Frank in the Mountains. Frank at Don Carlos' Rancho.

SPORTSMAN'S CLUB SERIES.

The Sportsman's Club in the Saddle. The Sportsman's Club Among the Trappers. The Sportsman's Club Afloat.

FRANK NELSON SERIES.

Snowed up. Frank in the Forecastle. The Boy Traders.

ROUGHING IT SERIES.

George in Camp. George at the Fort. George at the Wheel.

ROD AND GUN SERIES.

Don Gordon's Shooting Box. The Young Wild Fowlers. Rod and Gun Club.

GO-AHEAD SERIES.

Tom Newcombe. Go-Ahead. No Moss.

WAR SERIES.

True to His Colors. Rodney the Partisan. Rodney the Overseer. Marcy the Blockade-Runner. Marcy the Refugee. Sailor Jack the Trader.

HOUSEBOAT SERIES.

The Houseboat Boys. The Mystery of Lost River Canon. The Young Game Warden.

AFLOAT AND ASHORE SERIES.

Rebellion in Dixie. A Sailor in Spite of Himself. The Ten-Ton Cutter.



THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.'S POPULAR JUVENILES: J. T. TROWBRIDGE.

Neither as a writer does he stand apart from the great currents of life and select some exceptional phase or odd combination of circumstances. He stands on the common level and appeals to the universal heart, and all that he suggests or achieves is on the plane and in the line of march of the great body of humanity.

The Jack Hazard series of stories, published in the late Our Young Folks, and continued in the first volume of St. Nicholas, under the title of "Fast Friends," is no doubt destined to hold a high place in this class of literature. The delight of the boys in them (and of their seniors, too) is well founded. They go to the right spot every time. Trowbridge knows the heart of a boy like a book, and the heart of a man, too, and he has laid them both open in these books in a most successful manner. Apart from the qualities that render the series so attractive to all young readers, they have great value on account of their portraitures of American country life and character. The drawing is wonderfully accurate, and as spirited as it is true. The constable, Sellick, is an original character, and as minor figures where will we find anything better than Miss Wansey, and Mr. P. Pipkin, Esq. The picture of Mr. Dink's school, too, is capital, and where else in fiction is there a better nick-name than that the boys gave to poor little Stephen Treadwell, "Step Hen," as he himself pronounced his name in an unfortunate moment when he saw it in print for the first time in his lesson in school.

On the whole, these books are very satisfactory, and afford the critical reader the rare pleasure of the works that are just adequate, that easily fulfill themselves and accomplish all they set out to do.—Scribner's Monthly.

JACK HAZARD SERIES.

Jack Hazard and His Fortunes. The Young Surveyor. Fast Friends. Doing His Best. A Chance for Himself. Lawrence's Adventures.



CHARLES ASBURY STEPHENS.

This author wrote his "Camping Out Series" at the very height of his mental and physical powers.

"We do not wonder at the popularity of these books; there is a freshness and variety about them, and an enthusiasm in the description of sport and adventure, which even the older folk can hardly fail to share."—Worcester Spy.

"The author of the Camping Out Series is entitled to rank as decidedly at the head of what may be called boys' literature."—Buffalo Courier.

CAMPING OUT SERIES.

CAMPING OUT. As Recorded by "Kit."

"This book is bright, breezy, wholesome, instructive, and stands above the ordinary boys' books of the day by a whole head and shoulders."—The Christian Register, Boston.

LEFT ON LABRADOR; OR, THE CRUISE OF THE SCHOONER YACHT "CURLEW." As Recorded by "Wash."

"The perils of the voyagers, the narrow escapes, their strange expedients, and the fun and jollity when danger had passed, will make boys even unconscious of hunger."—New Bedford Mercury.

OFF TO THE GEYSERS; OR THE YOUNG YACHTERS IN ICELAND. AS RECORDED BY "WADE."

"It is difficult to believe that Wade and Raed and Kit and Wash were not live boys, sailing up Hudson Straits, and reigning temporarily over an Esquimaux tribe."—The Independent, New York.

LYNX HUNTING: From Notes by the Author of "Camping Out."

"Of first quality as a boys' book, and fit to take its place beside the best."—Richmond Enquirer.

FOX HUNTING. As Recorded by "Raed."

"The most spirited and entertaining book that has as yet appeared. It overflows with incident, and is characterized by dash and brilliancy throughout."—Boston Gazette.

ON THE AMAZON; OR, THE CRUISE OF THE "RAMBLER." As Recorded by "Wash."

"Gives vivid pictures of Brazilian adventure and scenery."—Buffalo Courier.



FAMOUS STANDARD JUVENILES FOR GIRLS

A GOOD GIRL'S BOOK IS HARD TO FIND!

One often hears the above quoted. These books have stood the tests of time and careful mothers, and will be of the greatest interest to girls of all ages. Free from any unhealthy sensationalism, yet full of incident and romance, they are the cream of the best girls' books published.

WAYS AND MEANS LIBRARY. By Margaret Vandegrift.

Queen's Body Guard. Rose Raymond's Wards. Doris and Theodora. Ways and Means.

STORIES FOR GIRLS.

Dr. Gilbert's Daughters. Marion Berkley. Hartwell Farm.

HONEST ENDEAVOR LIBRARY. By Lucy C. Lillie.

The Family Dilemma. Allison's Adventures. Ruth Endicott's Way.

MILBROOK LIBRARY. By Lucy C. Lillie.

Helen Glenn. The Squire's Daughter. Esther's Fortune. For Honor's Sake.

RECENT SUCCESSES

The following, though of recent date, have at once reached such a height of popularity that they can already be classified as standards.

Lady Green Satin. By Baroness Deschesney. Marion Berkley. By Elizabeth B. Comins. Lenny, the Orphan. By Margaret Hosmer. Family Dilemma. By Lucy C. Lillie. Question of Honor. By Lynde Palmer Girl's Ordeal, A. By Lucy C. Lillie. Elinor Belden; or The Step Brothers. By Lucy C. Lillie. Where Honor Leads. By Lynde Palmer. Under the Holly. By Margaret Hosmer. Two Bequests. The; or, Heavenward Led. By Jane R. Sommere. The Thistles of Mount Cedar. By Ursula Tannenforst.



HURLBUT'S STORY OF THE BIBLE told for YOUNG AND OLD

by Rev. Jesse Lyman Hurlbut, D.D.

A Veritable "Arabian Nights" of Entertainment Containing 168 Complete Illustrated Stories

THE BIBLE MADE FASCINATING TO CHILDREN.—The heroes and the noble men and women of the Bible are made to appear as living, acting people. The book is an original work, and in no sense an imitation. It has been in preparation for a number of years.

THE DISTINGUISHED AUTHOR.—Dr. Hurlbut has long been associated with, and director of, the Sunday School work of one of the largest denominations, and he has been more closely associated with the detail work of the Chautauqua movement than has any other man. He is also well known as a writer.

REMARKABLE FOR THE BEAUTY AND NUMBER OF ITS ILLUSTRATIONS.—There are sixteen pictures in color prepared for this work by the distinguished artist, W. H. Margetson, and reproduced with the beauty and attractiveness of the artist's original work. There are also nearly 300 half-tone engravings in this remarkable book, which is as original in the selection of its illustrations as it is in its stories.

WHAT OTHERS THINK OF IT

"It is a needed and original work. Not an imitation."—Christian Advocate, New York.

"Written in such a style as to fascinate and hold the interest of child or man."—REV. F. E. CLARK, Pres. Society of Christian Endeavor.

"It is a beautiful book. I hope every family in the land will secure 'Hurlbut's Story of the Bible,'"—GENERAL O. O. HOWARD.

"The best book of its kind, and that kind the most important."—REV. JAMES A. WORDEN, Presbyterian B'd of Pub. and S. S. Work.

"I like very much the vocabulary you have used, and I can see how careful you have been in choosing understandable words."—MR. PHILIP E. HOWARD, Sunday-School Times, Philadelphia.

"It is the completest and best thing of the kind I have seen. The book is splendidly illustrated." MARIAN LAWRANCE, General Secretary International Sunday-School Association.

"Many will be drawn to the Bible who otherwise might look upon it as only adapted for older people."—HON. DAVID J. BREWER, Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States.

THE END