CHAPTER III

IN BOYHOOD AND NOW

As a travelling companion what a success he was! How he made friends in the train, at railway stations, on steamers! How, if one lost sight of him for a moment, he invariably reappeared full of delight, with the information that he had “found a friend.”

As I was struggling in the usual manner up the crowded gangway of an ocean steamer on one occasion, his flushed and radiant countenance appeared over the rail, where he had climbed.

“Dearest, dearest,” he said, “I’ve found a friend. He’s a French gentleman and can’t speak English.” He had found him on the tug, and they had apparently sworn eternal amity between the wharf and the steamer, though how this had been accomplished I was never quite able to determine, as he had only just begun to attack valiantly a verb or so of the first conjugation. But with the assistance of “donner,” “aller,” “aimer,” and a smile like his, nothing was impossible.

His circle of acquaintances during an ocean voyage was choice and large. And one languid passenger, lying in her steamer chair with cushions behind her and fur robes over her, was never passed without the affectionate, inquiring smiles of a protector, and at intervals through all the day he presented himself to “look after” her.

“Are you all right, dearest?” he would say. “Do you want your feet tucked in? Did the deck steward bring you your lunch? Are your cushions comfortable?” And these matters being attended to he would kiss her gayly and run off to explore engines, or gather valuable information about walking-beams.

On several occasions he and his brother made some rather long railroad journeys alone. It was quite safe to send them. If they had not been able to take care of themselves, half the world would have taken care of them. Conductors conversed with them, passengers were interested in them, and they arrived at the end of their travels laden with tribute. After one such journey, taken together between Washington and Boston, with what joy they performed their toilets through an entire summer with the assistance of a large box of wonderful soaps and perfumes, sent to them by an acquaintance made _en voyage_.

“He was Lionel’s friend,” Vivian explained. “I think he said he was a drummer. He was so nice to us. My friend that I made was a professor in a college, I believe, and he gave me this to remember him by.”

“This” was a pretty nugget of gold, and was accompanied by a card on which the donor had written the most affectionately kind things of the pleasure he had had in his brief acquaintance with his young travelling companion, whose _bonne mine_ he should not soon forget.

One could always be quite sure that he would give no trouble during a journey, that he would always be ready to perform any service, that no railroad nor ocean boat official could withstand him when he presented himself with a smiling request.

It is easy to call to mind, at any moment, some memory of him, his face flushed, his hair damp on his forehead, his eyes courageous, as he struggled with something too big for him, he had felt it his duty to take charge of, as he swayed with the crowd down the gangway of some steamer at Southampton or some _paquebot_ at Calais.

“It is too heavy for you, darling,” one would say. “You look so hot. Let me carry it.”

“Oh, no,” would be his valiant answer. “I’m all right, dearest. It’s rather a warm day, but a boy doesn’t mind being warm.”

Even foreign languages did not appall him.

“I’m only a little boy, you know,” he would say, cheerfully. “It doesn’t matter if it does sound funny, just so that they understand me. I like to talk to them.”

So he conversed with Annunciata in the kitchen, and Luigi in the dining-room, as it had been his habit to converse with Carrie and Dan years before, for by this time his love-locks had been cropped and had changed to brown, but he still remained the same charming and engaging little person.

“Boys are sometimes a great trouble,” commented Luigi, in referring to him and his brother, “but these—they are little _signorini_.”

Fauntleroy had “occurred” nearly four years before the time when he exhausted all the resources of the Paris Exposition, but it was still Fauntleroy, though a taller one, in schoolboy suit and Eton collar, and shorn of his _boucles blondes_, who marched off at nine o’clock every morning for two weeks, and spent the day exploring the treasures of the exhibition. Sometimes he was quite alone, sometimes he had appointments with some “friends” he had made in the passage from New York to Havre—three interesting men whose connection with the electrical exhibit inspired him with admiration and delight. My impression is that they did not speak French, and that it enraptured him to place his vocabulary at their disposal.

“They are so kind to me, dearest,” he said, just as he had said it at three years old, when he visited his “friend Mrs. Wilkins.”

“It must be an entertaining spectacle,” I often thought, “to see him walk into the restaurant quite unattended, order his little _déjeuner à la fourchette_, dispose of it in dignified solitude at a small table, and present the _garçon_ with a _pourboire_ as if he were forty. I should like to be a spectator from afar. No doubt the waiters know him and make jocular remarks among themselves.”

But it was when he was only seven that Fauntleroy really occurred. He had been so amusing and interesting that summer, and I had reflected upon him so much! Every few days I heard some delightful anecdote about him, or saw him do something incomparably quaint. What led me most into speculation was the effect he invariably produced upon people, touching little fascinations he exercised.

“Do you know, I never saw a child like him!” said a clever man of the world who had spent an hour talking to him.

And, curiously enough, it was exactly the idea expressed by an old colored aunty years before. “Dat chile,” she said, “he suttanly ain’t like no other chile. ’Tain’t jest dat he’s smart—though cose he’s smart, smart as they make ’em. It’s sump’n else. An’ he’s the frien’liest little human I ever seed—he suttanly is!”

I had been ill that year and the year before it, and of that illness I have many memories which are beautiful and touching things. One is of many disturbed and weary nights, when the door of my room opened quietly and a little figure entered—such an adorable little figure, in a white nightgown, and with bright hair, tumbled by sleep, falling about a serious, small face.

“I’ve come to take care of you, dearest,” he would say, with his indescribable protecting and comforting air. “I’ll sit by you and make you go to sleep.”

And somehow there seemed to emanate from his childish softness a sort of soothing which could not have been put into words.

It was his special province to put me to sleep when I was restless. He assumed it as a sacred duty, and had the utmost confidence in his power to do it.

“I’ll put you to sleep,” he would say. “I will just sit by you and hold your hand and make you quiet.”

How long had he sat by me on that one night which I shall always remember? I do not know. But he had been so quiet, and had sat holding my hand so long, that I could not find it in my heart to let him know that the charm had not worked and that I was not really asleep. I pretended that I was, lying very still, and breathing with soft regularity.

He stayed quite a long time after I knew he thought I was quiet for the night, he was so determined to be quite sure that nothing would disturb me. At last he began with the most cautious softness to take his hand away. When he had been a baby I had sometimes laid him down to sleep with just such cautious movement. How gradually and softly the small fingers released themselves one by one, how slowly, with what infinite precaution of slowness, the warm, kind little palm was detached from mine. Then there was a mysterious, careful movement, and I knew he was leaving his chair. I dared not open my eyes for fear he would see me, and be heartbroken because I was awake. What was he doing? There were no footsteps, and yet he was moving a little—a very little, it seemed. And the movement was so slow, and interrupted by such pauses, that the length of time it lasted added to my curiousness. What idea had he been inspired by? Whatsoever he was doing he was putting his entire soul into, and he should not be crushed by the thought that it was all in vain. When I could hear that he had reached the door I opened an eye very cautiously. The opening of the door was as clever and quiet as the mysterious movement. It was opened only a little, there was more careful movement, and then it was drawn to. But though I had been looking directly at the slip of light I had not seen him. Somehow he had passed through without coming within my line of vision.

I lay mystified. The incomprehensibleness of it gave me something to think about. His room was near my own, and I knew that he went to it and got into bed. I knew, also, that he would be asleep as soon as his curly head touched the pillow.

He had been asleep perhaps an hour when his brother came in. He had been spending the evening at the house of a friend. He was usually a tender and thoughtful thing himself, but this night the excitement of festivity had intoxicated him and made him forgetful. He came up the staircase and ran into the bedroom with a childish rush.

Exactly what happened I could only guess at. I had reason to suppose that my young protector and medical attendant was wakened with some extra sense of flurry taking place. He evidently sat up in bed in reproachful despair.

“What have I done?” said his brother. “What is the matter?”

I heard tears in the plaintive little voice that answered—actual tears.

“Oh!” he said, “I know you’ve wakened her! I know you have! It was so hard to get her to sleep. And at last I did, and then I was so afraid of wakening her that I went down on the floor and crawled out of the room on my hands and knees. And I think it took an hour.”

“Darling,” I murmured, in the drowsiest possible tone, when he crept into the room to look at me, “I’ve had a lovely sleep, and I’m going to sleep again. You made me so quiet.” But with the most serious difficulty I restrained myself from clutching him in my arms with a force which would have betrayed to him all my adoring duplicity.

It was things such as these I remembered when he was so deliciously amusing, and I heard stories of him every day.

Sometimes, when swinging in my hammock on the piazza, I caught sight of him flying on his small bicycle down the tree-shaded avenue, a delightful, animated picture, his strong, graceful child body beautifully defined in his trim, closefitting Jersey suit, his red scarf and fez brilliant touches of color, his waving, flying hair brightened to gold as he darted through the sunshine and into the shade. I used to say to myself: “He is so good to look at! He is so pretty! That is why every one likes him so.” And then, when I heard him say some quaint thing which was an actual delight through its droll ingenuousness, I said: “It is because he is so amusing!”

So I studied him day after day, often trying to imagine the effect his fearless candor and unsophisticated point of view would have upon certain persons who did not know his type.

I was convalescing from my long illness, and had plenty of time to amuse myself with such speculations. He was such a patriotic young American; he was so engaged in an impending presidential election at the time; his remarks were so well worth hearing. I began, among other fancies about him, to imagine his making them with that frankly glowing face to conservative English people. He had English blood in his veins, and things more unheard-of had occurred than that, through a combination of circumstances, he might be surrounded by things very new to him.

“When a person is a duke,” he had said to me once, “what makes him one? What has he done?” His opinion evidently was that dukedoms were a species of reward for superhuman sweetness of character and brilliant intellectual capacity. I began to imagine the interest that would be awakened in his mind by the contemplation of ducal personages.

It amused me to analyze the subject of what his point of view would be likely to be. I knew it would be productive of immense entertainment to his acquaintances. I was sure that the duke would be subjected to sweet but searching cross-questioning, and that much lively interest would be felt in the subject of coronets. He would regard them as a species of eccentric hat. What questions he would ask, what enthusiasm he would display, when he was impressed by things beautiful or stately and interesting! Would he seem “a cheeky little beggar” to less republican minds than his own? I asked myself this curiously. But no, I was sure he would not. He would be so simple; he would expect such splendor of mind and of noble friendliness that the hypothetical duke would like him as Dan and Carrie did, and he would end by saying “My friend the Duke of Blankshire,” as affectionately as he had said “My friend the milkman.”

It was only a thread of fancy for a while, but one day I had an idea.

“I will write a story about him,” I said. “I will put him in a world quite new to him, and see what he will do. How shall I bring a small American boy into close relationship with an English nobleman—irascible, conservative, disagreeable? He must live with him, talk to him, show him his small, unconscious, republican mind. He will be more effective if I make him a child who has lived in the simplest possible way. Eureka! Son of younger son, separated from ill-tempered noble father because he has married a poor young American beauty. Young father dead, elder brothers dead, boy comes into title! How it would amaze him and bewilder him! Yes, there it is, and Vivian shall be he—just Vivian, with his curls and his eyes, and his friendly, kind little soul. Little Lord Something-or-other. What a pretty title—Little Lord ——, Little Lord —— what?”

[Illustration: THE REAL FAUNTLEROY LISTENING TO THE STORY OF THE IDEAL FAUNTLEROY]

And a day later it was Little Lord Fauntleroy. A story like that is easily written. In part, it was being lived before my eyes.

“I can wash myself quite well, thank you,” he said, scrubbing vigorously one day. “I can do it quite well, dearest, if some one will just ’zamine the corners.”

He had always spoken very clearly, but there were a few words his pronunciation of which endeared them inexpressibly to me. On the evening of the day before “Fauntleroy” spent his first morning with “Lord Dorincourt” he brought into my room a parlor base-ball game to show me.

It was a lovely thing to see his delight over it, and to note the care with which he tried to make all technical points clear to an interested but unintelligent parent. What vigorous little attitudes he threw himself into when he endeavored to show me how the ball was thrown in the real game!

“I’m afraid that I am a very stupid little mammy,” I said. “What does the first base do? And what is the pitcher for? I’m very dull, you see.”

“Oh, no!” he said. “No, you’re not, dearest. It’s me, you know. I’m afraid that I’m not a very good ’splainer. And besides, you are a lady, you know, and ladies don’t play base-ball.”

Almost every day I recorded something he had said or suggested.

And how delightful it was to read the manuscript to him and his brother! He used to sit in a large arm-chair holding his knee, or with his hands in his pockets.

“Do you know,” he said to me once, “I like that boy! There’s one thing about him, he never forgets about dearest.”

When the first appearance of the false claimant occurred, he turned quite pale; so did his brother.

“Oh, dearest!” they gasped, “why did you do that? Oh, don’t do it!”

“What will he do?” the occupant of the arm-chair asked. “Won’t he, dearest, be the Earl’s boy any more?”

“‘That other boy,’ said Fauntleroy tremulously to Lord Dorincourt, the next day, ‘he will have to—to be your boy now—as I was—won’t he?’”

‘No,’ answered the Earl, and he said it so fiercely that Cedric quite jumped.

“‘Shall I be your boy even if I’m not going to be an earl?’ he said. ‘Shall I be your boy just as I was before?’”

But it was a real little heart that had beaten at the thought.

* * * * *

He has been considered such an ideal little person—Cedric Errol, Lord Fauntleroy—and he was so real after all. Perhaps it is worth while explaining that he was only a simple, natural thing—a child, whose great charm was that he was the innocent friend of the whole world.

I have reason to believe that an impression exists that the passage of years has produced no effect whatever on the great original, that he has still waving golden hair, and wears black velvet doublets and broad collars of lace. This is an error. He is sixteen. He plays foot-ball and tennis, and battles sternly with Greek. He is anxious not to “flunk” in geometry, and his hair is exceedingly short and brown. He has a fine sense of humor, and his relatives consider it rather a good joke to present him to intimates, as he appears before them, looking particularly cheerful and robust, in the words first heard by Havisham:

“This is—‘Little Lord Fauntleroy.’”

But there are things which do not change with the darkening of golden hair and the passage of boyish years.

Charles Scribner’s Sons’

New and Standard Books for Young Readers for 1897-98 ...

MRS. BURNETT’S FAMOUS JUVENILES

An entirely new edition of Mrs. Burnett’s famous juveniles from new plates, with all the original illustrations. Bound in a beautiful new cloth binding designed by R. B. Birch, and sold at very much reduced prices.

LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY TWO LITTLE PILGRIMS’ PROGRESS SARA CREWE and LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH AND OTHER STORIES (in one vol.) PICCINO AND OTHER CHILD STORIES GIOVANNI AND THE OTHER

_Five Volumes, 12mo, each, $1.25_

The original editions can still be supplied at the former prices:

=LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY.= Beautifully illustrated by REGINALD B. BIRCH. Square 8vo, $2.00.

=TWO LITTLE PILGRIMS’ PROGRESS.= A STORY OF THE CITY BEAUTIFUL. By Mrs. FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT. Illustrated by REGINALD B. BIRCH. Uniform with “Fauntleroy,” etc. Square 8vo, $1.50.

=SARA CREWE=; OR, WHAT HAPPENED AT MISS MINCHIN’S. Richly and fully illustrated by REGINALD B. BIRCH. Square 8vo, $1.00.

=LITTLE SAINT ELIZABETH=, AND OTHER STORIES. With 12 full-page drawings by REGINALD B. BIRCH. Square 8vo, $1.50.

=GIOVANNI AND THE OTHER=: CHILDREN WHO HAVE MADE STORIES. With 9 full-page illustrations by REGINALD B. BIRCH. Square 8vo, $1.50.

=PICCINO=, AND OTHER CHILD STORIES. Fully illustrated by REGINALD B. BIRCH. Square 8vo, $1.50.

_SCRIBNER’S BOOKS FOR THE YOUNG_

G. A. HENTY’S POPULAR STORIES FOR BOYS

New Volumes for 1897-98. Each, crown 8vo, handsomely Illustrated, $1.50.

Mr. Henty, the most popular writer of Books of Adventure in England, adds three new volumes to his list this fall—books that will delight thousands of boys on this side who have become his ardent admirers

=WITH FREDERICK THE GREAT.= A TALE OF THE SEVEN YEARS’ WAR. With 12 full-page illustrations. 12mo, $1.50.

This story, more than any other of Mr. Henty’s, follows closely the historic lines, and no better description of the memorable battles of Rossbach, Leuthen, Prague, Zorndorf, Hochkirch, and Torgau can be found anywhere than is given in this volume. Through the historic part there runs the record of the daring and hazardous adventures of the hero, so that the charm of romance is given to the whole narrative. It is one of the most important volumes Mr. Henty has written.

=A MARCH ON LONDON.= A STORY OF WAT TYLER’S RISING. With 8 full-page illustrations by W. H. MARGETSON. 12mo, $1.50.

This book weaves together, in a most interesting way, the story of Wat Tyler’s rebellion under King Richard, the civil war in Flanders which occurred soon after, and the ill-planned attack upon the French led by the Bishop of Norfolk. The whole story is singularly interesting, covering as it does a period of history which is but little known and which is well worth narrating.

=WITH MOORE AT CORUNNA.= A STORY OF THE PENINSULAR WAR. With 12 full-page illustrations by WAL. PAGET. 12mo, $1.50.

A bright Irish lad, Terence O’Connor, is living with his widowed father, Captain O’Connor of the Mayo Fusiliers, with the regiment, at the time when the Peninsular War against Napoleon began. Under the command of Sir John Moore, he shared in the same marching and sharp fighting which that expedition experienced up to the battle of Corunna. By his bravery and great usefulness, in spite of his youth, he received a commission as colonel in the Portuguese army, and during the remainder of the war rendered great services, being mentioned twice in the general orders of the Duke of Wellington. The whole story is full of exciting military experiences and gives a most careful and accurate account of the conduct of the campaigns.

MR. HENTY’S OTHER BOOKS

Each volume with numerous illustrations; handsomely bound. Olivine edges. 12mo. $1.50.

“Mr. Henty’s books never fail to interest boy readers. Among writers of stories of adventure he stands in the very first rank.”—_Academy_, London.

“No country nor epoch of history is there which Mr. Henty does not know, and what is really remarkable is that he always writes well and interestingly. Boys like stirring adventures, and Mr. Henty is a master of this method of composition.”—_New York Times._

=AT AGINCOURT.= A TALE OF THE WHITE HOODS OF PARIS. With 12 full-page illustrations by WAL. PAGET.

=COCHRANE THE DAUNTLESS.= A TALE OF THE EXPLOITS OF LORD COCHRANE IN SOUTH AMERICAN WATERS. With 12 full-page illustrations by W. H. MARGETSON.

=ON THE IRRAWADDY.= A STORY OF THE FIRST BURMESE WAR. With 8 full-page illustrations by W. H. OVEREND.

=THROUGH RUSSIAN SNOWS.= A STORY OF NAPOLEON’S RETREAT FROM MOSCOW. With 8 full-page illustrations by W. H. OVEREND.

=A KNIGHT OF THE WHITE CROSS.= A TALE OF THE SIEGE OF RHODES. With 12 full-page illustrations by RALPH PEACOCK.

=THE TIGER OF MYSORE.= A STORY OF THE WAR WITH TIPPOO SAID. With 12 full-page illustrations by W. H. MARGETSON.

=IN THE HEART OF THE ROCKIES.= A STORY OF ADVENTURE IN COLORADO.

=WHEN LONDON BURNED.= A STORY OF RESTORATION TIMES AND THE GREAT FIRE.

=WULF THE SAXON.= A STORY OF THE NORMAN CONQUEST.

=ST. BARTHOLOMEW’S EVE.= A TALE OF THE HUGUENOT WARS.

=THROUGH THE SIKH WAR.= A TALE OF THE CONQUEST OF THE PUNJAUB.

=A JACOBITE EXILE.= BEING THE ADVENTURES OF A YOUNG ENGLISHMAN IN THE SERVICE OF CHARLES XII. OF SWEDEN.

=CONDEMNED AS A NIHILIST.= A STORY OF ESCAPE FROM SIBERIA.

=BERIC THE BRITON.= A STORY OF THE ROMAN INVASION.

=IN GREEK WATERS.= A STORY OF THE GRECIAN WAR OF INDEPENDENCE [1821-1827].

=THE DASH FOR KHARTOUM.= A TALE OF THE NILE EXPEDITION.

=REDSKIN AND COWBOY.= A TALE OF THE WESTERN PLAINS.

=HELD FAST FOR ENGLAND.= A TALE OF THE SIEGE OF GIBRALTAR.

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A story, full of warm color and brisk movement, of Stratford life in Shakespeare’s day, the local atmosphere being reflected with rare fidelity, and the hero, the poet’s son, being drawn with sympathy and charm.

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=AN OLD-FIELD SCHOOL GIRL.= By MARION HARLAND. With 8 full-page illustrations. 12mo, $1.25.

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The scene of this story centres in the overthrow and destruction of Carthage by the Romans. The story is full of valuable historical details and the interest never flags.

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Never has this entertaining writer been more felicitous than in the present volume.

=THE LAST CRUISE OF THE MOHAWK.= By W. J. HENDERSON. Illustrated by HARRY EDWARDS. 12mo, $1.25.

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The story is of the Texas revolution in 1835, when American Texans under Sam Houston, Bowie, Crockett, and Travis, fought for relief from the intolerable tyranny of the Mexican Santa Ana. The hero, Rex Hardin, son of a Texas ranchman, and graduate of an American military school, takes a prominent part in the heroic defense of the Alamo, the terrible scenes at Golead, and the final triumph at San Jacinto. The historical side of the story has been carefully studied and its localities rendered familiar by a special trip to Texas undertaken by the author for that purpose within a year.

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=THROUGH SWAMP AND GLADE.= A TALE OF THE SEMINOLE WAR. With 8 full-page illustrations by VICTOR PÉRARD. 12mo, $1.25.

In this new story Mr. Munroe opens to view an exceedingly interesting period of American history—the period of the Seminole War in Florida. Coacoochee, the hero of the story, is a young Indian of noble birth, the son of Philip, the chieftain of the Seminoles. He is a boy at the time of the beginning of the Seminole troubles and grows up to lead his tribe in the long struggle which resulted in the Indians being driven from the north of Florida down to the distant southern wilderness. It is full of strange adventure, of stirring incident and rapid action, and it is a true and faithful picture of a period of history little known to young readers.

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A story of old days in America when Detroit was a frontier town and the shores of Lake Erie were held by hostile Indians under Pontiac. The hero, Donald Hester, goes in search of his sister Edith, who has been captured by the Indians. Strange and terrible are his experiences; for he is wounded, taken prisoner, condemned to be burned, and contrives to escape. In the end there is peace between Pontiac and the English, and all things terminate happily for the hero. One dares not skip a page of this enthralling story.

=THE WHITE CONQUERORS.= A TALE OF TOLTEC AND AZTEC. With 8 full-page illustrations by W. S. STACEY. 12mo, $1.25.

This story deals with the Conquest of Mexico by Cortes and his Spaniards, the “White Conquerors,” who, after many deeds of valor, pushed their way into the great Aztec kingdom and established their power in the wondrous city where Montezuma reigned in barbaric splendor.

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Mr. Frost’s volumes of folk-lore stories have achieved a deserved popularity, and this last one, dealing with the ever-fascinating theme of the Round Table and its knights, is equal to either of his earlier books.

_MR. FROST’S FORMER BOOKS_

=THE COURT OF KING ARTHUR.= STORIES FROM THE LAND OF THE ROUND TABLE. Illustrated by S. R. BURLEIGH. 12mo, $1.50.

Mr. Frost has had the happy idea of making a journey to the different places connected with the Arthurian romances by history or legend, and of relating the ever new Round Table Tales on their sites, to the same little girl, now somewhat older, to whom he told his charming Wagner stories.

=THE WAGNER STORY BOOK.= FIRELIGHT TALES OF THE GREAT MUSIC DRAMAS. Illustrated by SIDNEY R. BURLEIGH. 12mo, $1.50.

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ROBERT GRANT’S TWO BOOKS FOR BOYS

=JACK HALL=; OR, THE SCHOOL DAYS OF AN AMERICAN BOY. Illustrated by F. G. ATTWOOD. 12mo, $1.25.

“A better book for boys has never been written. It is pure, clean, and healthy, and has throughout a vigorous action that holds the reader breathlessly.”—_Boston Herald._

=JACK IN THE BUSH=; OR, A SUMMER ON A SALMON RIVER. Illustrated by F. T. MERRILL. 12mo, $1.25.

“A clever book for boys. It is the story of the camp life of a lot of boys, and is destined to please every boy reader. It is attractively illustrated.”—_Detroit Free Press._

THE KANTER GIRLS

=By MARY L. B. BRANCH=. Illustrated by HELEN M. ARMSTRONG. Square 12mo, $1.50.

The adventures of Jane and Prue, two small sisters, among different peoples of the imaginative world—dryads, snow-children, Kobolds, etc.—aided by their invisible rings, their magic boat, and their wonderful birds, are described by the author with great naturalness and a true gift for story-telling. The numerous illustrations are very attractive, and in thorough sympathy with the text.

SAMUEL ADAMS DRAKE’S HISTORICAL BOOKS

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THE BORDER WARS OF NEW ENGLAND

COMMONLY CALLED KING WILLIAM’S AND QUEEN ANNE’S WARS. By SAMUEL ADAMS DRAKE. With 58 illustrations and maps. 12mo, $1.50.

Mr. Drake has made a consecutive, entertaining narrative of the border wars which the French and Indians waged against the English settlers in New England during the reigns of King William and Queen Anne. The story is full of adventurous interest and is told with that minute attention to suggestive and instructive details which have been the distinguishing feature of Mr. Drake’s other books. The illustrations, many of them from photographs of historic spots and of buildings still standing, are of exceptional interest.

_FORMER VOLUMES_

=THE MAKING OF THE OHIO VALLEY STATES.= 1660-1837. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50.

=THE MAKING OF VIRGINIA AND THE MIDDLE COLONIES.= 1578-1701. Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50.

=THE MAKING OF NEW ENGLAND.= 1580-1643. With 148 illustrations and with maps. 12mo, $1.50.

=THE MAKING OF THE GREAT WEST.= 1812-1853. With 145 illustrations and with maps. 12mo, $1.50.

STORIES OF LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND HISTORY BY HENRIETTA CHRISTIAN WRIGHT

_A NEW VOLUME JUST ISSUED_

=CHILDREN’S STORIES IN AMERICAN LITERATURE.=—1860-1896. 12mo, $1.25.

Miss Wright here continues the attractive presentation of literary history begun in her “Children’s Stories in English Literature,” taking up the literary figures that have appeared since the time of the civil war, and treating their works and personalities in a simple manner, interesting to young readers.

=CHILDREN’S STORIES IN AMERICAN LITERATURE.=—1660-1860. 12mo, $1.25.

=CHILDREN’S STORIES IN ENGLISH LITERATURE.= Two volumes: TALIESIN TO SHAKESPEARE—SHAKESPEARE TO TENNYSON. 12mo, each, $1.25.

=CHILDREN’S STORIES OF THE GREAT SCIENTISTS.= With portraits. 12mo, $1.25.

=CHILDREN’S STORIES IN AMERICAN HISTORY.= Illustrated. 12mo, $1.25.

=CHILDREN’S STORIES OF AMERICAN PROGRESS.= Illustrated. 12mo, $1.25.

THREE BOOKS OF SPORTS AND GAMES

=THE AMERICAN BOY’S BOOK OF SPORT.= OUT-DOOR GAMES FOR ALL SEASONS. By DANIEL C. BEARD. With over 300 illustrations by the author. 8vo, $2.50.

This is an entirely new book by Mr. Beard, containing altogether new matter of great interest to all young lovers of sport. It is a companion volume to the author’s well-known “American Boy’s Handy Book,” of which over twenty-five thousand copies have been sold, and will undoubtedly rival that famous work in popularity as it does in interest.

=THE AMERICAN BOY’S HANDY BOOK=; OR, WHAT TO DO AND HOW TO DO IT. By DANIEL C. BEARD. With 360 illustrations by the author. Square 8vo, $2.00.

“The book has this great advantage over its predecessors, that most of the games, tricks, and other amusements described in it are new. It treats of sports adapted to all seasons of the year; it is practical, and it is well illustrated.”—_New York Tribune._

=THE AMERICAN GIRL’S HANDY BOOK.= By LENA and ADELIA B. BEARD. With over 500 illustrations by the authors. Square 8vo, $2.00.

“I have put it in my list of good and useful books for young people, as I have many requests for advice from my little friends and their anxious mothers. I am most happy to commend your very ingenious and entertaining book.”—LOUISA M. ALCOTT.

THOMAS NELSON PAGE’S TWO BOOKS

=AMONG THE CAMPS=; OR, YOUNG PEOPLE’S STORIES OF THE WAR. With 8 full-page illustrations. Square 8vo, $1.50.

“They are five in number, each having reference to some incident of the Civil War. A vein of mingled pathos and humor runs through them all, and greatly heightens the charm of them. It is the early experience of the author himself, doubtless, which makes his pictures of life in a Southern home during the great struggle so vivid and truthful.”—_The Nation._

=TWO LITTLE CONFEDERATES.= With 8 full-page illustrations by KEMBLE and REDWOOD. Square 8vo, $1.50.

“Mr. Page was ‘raised’ in Virginia, and he knows the ‘darkey’ of the South better than any one who writes about them. And he knows ‘white folks,’ too, and his stories, whether for old or young people, have the charm of sincerity and beauty and reality.”—_Harper’s Young People._

EDWARD EGGLESTON’S TWO POPULAR BOOKS

=THE HOOSIER SCHOOL-BOY.= Illustrated. 12mo, $1.00.

“‘The Hoosier School-Boy’ depicts some of the characteristics of boy-life years ago on the Ohio; characteristics, however, that were not peculiar to that section. 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.”—_Chicago Inter-Ocean._

=QUEER STORIES FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.= 12mo, $1.00.

“A very bright and attractive little volume for young readers. The stories are fresh, breezy, and healthy, with a good point to them and a good, sound American view of life and the road to success. The book abounds in good feeling and good sense, and is written in a style of homely art.”—_Independent._