Chapter XV: “the Through Sleeper.”

“Mr. Harding tells me you have asked for a month’s vacation, Dick, and that he has given it to you,” Darling said one night when they were eating their late supper together. “I am glad to hear it; a rest will do you good.”

“I went to him direct instead of applying to you,” Dick answered, “because I thought it might be awkward for you to grant it, though you would not want to refuse me. But it is not for a rest; I am going to do some more writing.”

Nearly six months had passed since Dick had arrived at the melancholy conclusion that the novel was a failure. He had borne his disappointment manfully, working harder than ever and making himself not only by all means the best reporter on the Transport, but one of the very best in New York. Besides his regular work, he had been doing a number of humorous sketches for his own paper and for the syndicates, and they had proved as popular as the best of his descriptive articles. With these and his Transport pay he had added largely to his savings, and nothing seemed lacking to make him happy but the one thing he had striven for and failed to obtain.

“Oh, ho!” Darling exclaimed. “Going to do some more writing, are you? I thought you’d hardly be satisfied with one trial, and that a failure. Is it another novel, Dick?”

A weaker man might have been confused at the mere mention of novel-writing after such a decided rebuff, but Dick saw nothing to be ashamed of in the failure he had made. He had done his best, and though the result was unfortunate, it was not disgraceful.

“I have not given up the idea of novel-writing,” he answered; “not by any means. But I know a heap more than I did a year ago, Darling. I can see now that I was one of the fools who ‘rush in where angels fear to tread.’ I was entirely too young and inexperienced then to undertake a novel, just as I am now. I tried to fly too high. I wonder that you didn’t tell me so, for you must have known it.”

“I am delighted to hear you say so, Dick,” Darling answered. “Of course I knew it. But I saw that you had your heart set upon writing a novel, and I thought the best way was to let you find out for yourself. You had had so much success with your newspaper articles that it was natural for you to think yourself something of a writer. Nothing but experience, I knew, would teach you that a man needs great knowledge of the world and of human nature to write a really good novel.

“You learned that,” Darling went on; “and from the way you swallowed the unpleasant medicine I knew that some good would come of it. There was no sulking about you, no bitterness, no repining. You pitched into newspaper work harder than ever and fell to reading whenever you had a chance. I may tell you now, though I did not want to raise your hopes at the time, that I found a great deal of the real stuff in your novel when I read it. The construction was bad and the style rather stilted (two faults that were pretty sure to kill it), but there was enough meat in it to convince me that you will write a real novel some day if you keep at it.”

“I’m awfully glad to hear you say so, old chap;” and Dick spoke as though he meant it. “But that will be in the dim and distant future. They gave my wings such a clipping I’ll not undertake to fly again in a hurry; I must learn to walk first. It’s not a novel I am after this time, but something much simpler and shorter. It is a humorous sketch of American life on the rail that I want to write, to the title of ‘The Through Sleeper.’ It will be about forty or fifty thousand words; and if some publisher will take it up and illustrate it in the way I have in mind, I think it will go. I can do it easily in a month.”

Through the whole of the month’s vacation Dick worked almost day and night.

“No, I don’t want to go and exercise in the park,” he said when his friends tried to get him out of the house; “I don’t want to hear the birds sing or see the lambs gambol on the green. I have no business with such things just now. I live in ‘The Through Sleeper’ at present, and my head is full of air brakes and coal dust and lower berths, and I don’t want anything to drive them out till I put a dash at the end of the story.”

When the month expired he went down to the office, looking thinner and paler, but as full of energy as ever.

“Now, then, Darling,” he said, “here I am, ready for the old work again. ‘The Through Sleeper’ has started on time. I have gone through the regulation correspondence with Brounlow & Company. They have asked to see my work, and it has gone to them; and I have resolved to think no more about it till I hear from them. Perhaps it will go and perhaps it won’t. If that doesn’t go, I’ll write something that will; they may depend on that; they may even drive me to writing verses yet, if they continue to return my prose.”

“You are back just in time to do a little artistic work for us,” Darling replied. “There is some trouble among the students down at Princeton, and I want you to go down there and write us a good story. If it turns out well, you might telegraph about a column of it, for you cannot get through in time to bring or mail it. You will have to see Dr. McCosh, of course, and get both sides of the story from the students.”

It was after six o’clock in the evening when Dick reached Princeton, and he walked directly over to the college grounds and called at President McCosh’s house. His conversation with the president convinced him that the story was a capital one, and that he would have at least a column to send.

“Now I must look out for my wires,” he said to himself; “these country telegraph offices have an awkward way of closing early in the evening sometimes, and I can’t have my copy ready much before midnight.”

He went to the telegraph office and introduced himself to the operator.

“I want to send a two thousand word special to the Transport to-night,” he said. “I will have the first copy in about half-past eleven.”

“You can’t do it from this office!” the operator replied very gruffly. “We close at eight o’clock.”

“But you wouldn’t close at eight with a two thousand word special in sight, would you?” Dick asked. He knew that a month’s regular business in the office would hardly amount to two thousand words.

“We close at eight o’clock!” was the only reply; and the operator said it very decidedly.

“Well, suppose I pay you a couple of dollars for your trouble in keeping open?” Dick suggested.

“Can’t be done!” the operator snarled. “I tell you we close at eight o’clock.”

“Then maybe five dollars would make it an object to you?”

“No, nor five hundred!” snapped the operator. “I have an engagement to-night, and I wouldn’t keep the office open for fifty specials.”

The situation was growing serious. He must get the special off, and there was no other telegraph office within reach. Dick had had some experience with unaccommodating operators, but precisely such a refusal as this he had not met before. He thought it over for a few moments and then said quietly:--

“Let me have a blank, please.”

The operator pushed a pad of blanks through the window, and Dick wrote this message:--

Superintendent Western Union, New York.
Please instruct Princeton operator to keep open till midnight
for two thousand word Transport special.
RICHARD SUMNER, _Transport Correspondent_.

Usually newspaper dispatches are sent “collect”; that is, they are paid not for at the sending office, but are charged to the newspaper and paid in the monthly bill. But Dick laid a silver half-dollar on top of his dispatch, as he pushed it back to the operator, to make sure.

As the operator picked up the message and read it his face flushed.

“Oh, say!” he exclaimed; “you don’t need to send this message. I’ll keep open for you all night. If you were to send that, they’d make inquiries why you had to send it, and then they’d bounce me, sure.”

It was precisely what Dick had anticipated; he was sure the operator would not let the message go through; for a two thousand word special is not to be despised even by a great telegraph company, and the company would not have much further use for an operator who refused one.

“Of course they would,” he answered; “but that is your affair, not mine. My business is to get my dispatch through, even though it gives you some extra work. As you agree to keep open for me you can tear the dispatch up and give me back the money; but I give you fair warning that if you close the office I shall have to report you.”

“That’s a wrinkle that I must tell the boys about,” Dick said to himself as he went out to finish gathering his facts. “Every reporter has trouble about getting his dispatches through sometimes, and a message to the superintendent opens the way in a hurry.” A few months before, when he was constantly in touch with the telegraph offices, he would have thought nothing of such an incident; but now he was glad to find that the old newspaper instinct was still strong within him; he was half-afraid that novel-writing and story-writing might have spoiled him for reporting.

His next work was a large political meeting in the Metropolitan Opera House, at which some of the great statesmen of the country were the speakers. Several of the speeches were to be reported in full, and Dick expected to be put in charge of at least four or five reporters, as he had often been before. His own part was to write about a column and a half of introduction and description. But no other reporters were sent with him, and he soon found that a new order of things had begun in stenographic reporting.

“It was a narrow escape I had,” he thought, “for at one time I had a strong notion to learn shorthand writing. Even when I began work on the Transport it was quite the fashion for the reporters to learn stenography. But I was a lucky fellow that I did not waste the time over it, for it has become a separate business entirely, and has nothing to do any more with real reporting. The new way is much better for the paper, too, because much quicker.”

It was a pleasure to him to see how the system of verbatim reporting had improved. Instead of sending a half-dozen reporters to take the speeches desired, the Transport had simply sent for one of the new order of employing stenographers, and told him what speeches were desired in full. This man attended the meeting with a dozen messenger boys in waiting. He took all the notes himself, and as fast as he filled a page or two with notes a messenger boy rushed off with it to the stenographer’s office near Printing House Square, where a half-dozen young stenographers, all trained to read their employer’s notes, were ready to write them out in full. As fast as the pages of copy were ready they were sent over to the Transport office; and so rapidly was it all done that by the time the last speaker finished, the previous speeches were in type. More marvelous still, some of the earlier speakers, while still on the platform, were actually shown proofs of the speeches they had delivered an hour before.

“I must be growing old!” Dick said to himself, “to see these changes going on in newspaper systems. Some day they may do away with reporters altogether. I hope my novels or funny sketches will begin to sell before that time comes.”

In less than a month after the completion of “The Through Sleeper” he found a letter from Brounlow & Company waiting for him in the office. It contained simply a request that he call and see them, and he found time to go the same day.

“Our readers have given a very favorable opinion of ‘The Through Sleeper,’ Mr. Sumner,” one of the members of the firm said to him. “In fact they consider it unusually good; but of course we never can tell how much such a thing may strike the public. We have decided that we can offer you five hundred dollars for it, for publication in The Illustrated Weekly, the story to be brought out in book form immediately after the serial publication, well illustrated, in a one-dollar volume. On sales of the book, of course, we will pay you the usual ten per cent. royalty.”

Here was a victory at last! That was Dick’s first thought; but a moment later he began to consider that the battle was not half-won yet. It was only the publisher who was convinced so far of the excellence of his story. The publisher was willing to risk his money in bringing out the book, but it was the public who had to give the final verdict. If the public liked the book well enough to buy it, the publisher would buy more stories from him. But if otherwise--why, then otherwise.

Some imposingly long blank contracts were filled out and signed, and “The Through Sleeper” became the property of Brounlow & Company, under certain conditions. Dick read the contract through before signing it, like a prudent business man; but in the end he had only a confused notion of having agreed to all sorts of odd things about reading proofs, charge for changes in type, sale of copies at trade price, insurance of stereotype plates, and assignment of copyright.

It had long been a heroic notion of Dick’s that when he got his first check for a piece of real literary work, if indeed he ever did get one, he would carry it lovingly to his mother and lay it in her hands.

“There, mother,” he would say, “that is the first money I have made out of literature. It is yours, every cent of it; buy yourself something nice with it.” And then he would hold his mother in his arms and kiss her, and she would congratulate him on his success. He thought of this while he sat in the Brounlow office. But this little castle in the air crumbled, as so many of them do.

“Our custom is to pay for serial stories as they appear,” the partner said. “‘The Through Sleeper’ will run through five numbers, so we will pay you one hundred dollars for each instalment as fast as it is published. I suppose that will be satisfactory?”

“That will answer every purpose,” Dick replied; he would not say that it was satisfactory, for he had set his heart on a good plump check to carry home. But never mind; he had good news to carry--news that was better than the check.

There was no telling how soon the story might appear, or how long it might be kept waiting; even the publishers could not tell that, so much depended upon circumstances. Dick had heard of manuscript being kept for months, even years, in the publishers’ safes, after it was accepted and paid for.

Weeks passed without any signs of “The Through Sleeper”; and the weeks grew into months. Dick was sent on a mission to the far Northwest, and for many days he saw no newspapers. He was in the midst of his work there when a very short note came from Darling.

“No time to write you a letter to-night, Dick,” the note said.

“Just want to tell you your ‘Through Sleeper’ began in to-day’s Illustrated Weekly.

“I read it at lunch time; it’s immense. The fellows say it’s the funniest thing that’s appeared in this generation; I think so, too.

“They’re all talking about it. If it holds out as it begins, you’ve made a hit, sure.

“All well at home. Yours, Darling.”

Dick’s face flushed as he read the note--the old flush around the temples that he had not felt for many a day.

It was an army post that he was staying at, and in a few days more a bundle of papers arrived, among them some copies of The Illustrated Weekly.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were an author as well as a correspondent, Sumner?” the officers asked after they had read the story. They had been very hospitable before, but now they could hardly do enough for him. Of course they told him how much they enjoyed the story; but what was much better was to see them splitting their sides with laughter over it, and to hear them talking about it.

“Score two points!” Dick said to himself. “They like my story in the office, and they like it at the army post; but they’re all my friends. That fickle old military man, General Public, is still to be heard from.”

Four of the five numbers had appeared when Dick returned to New York, and there was no longer any doubt about the fate of “The Through Sleeper.” It was not only a success; it had carried everything by storm.

“Oh, you go take ‘De T’rew Sleeper’!” he heard one newsboy say to another on his way to the office; and he reflected that newsboys do not commonly read The Illustrated Weekly stories, so they must have heard the expression from some one else. Yes, it was true enough. Everybody was talking about it and repeating odd sayings from it.

In the office he had to go through an ordeal of congratulations. Not only Darling, but Jack Randall, Lawrence, Herrick, Banks, Black, and a dozen others, told him how glad they were that he had made such a success. Even Mr. Harding sent for him.

“I’m much obliged to you, Sumner,” the editor-in-chief said. “You have given me more good laughs than I had had in an age before. I’ll never be able to ride in a sleeper again without thinking of you. It is good clean humor, too; wholesome, easily digested.”

The welcome at home was equally flattering. “You’ve about killed mother and me,” was Florrie’s salutation. “We’re just sore with laughing over that ‘Through Sleeper.’ How in the world could you do it, Dick? You’re never a bit funny at home.”

“I don’t have time to be,” was the only answer Dick could give.

He might have been hand-shaken to death if he had not been sent to Washington to write a series of articles about the National Capital--a mission that required time, and that was sure to keep him away for several weeks. He was walking down Pennsylvania Avenue one day when his eye was caught by an attractive poster on a bill-board. There was a big picture of a railway train, with red fire puffing out of the engine’s black smokestack, and some lettering above and below the picture.

“Just a railroad advertisement,” he said to himself, and went on. But in an instant he stopped and turned back. He had not clearly read the words, but something about them seemed familiar.

“The Through Sleeper,” he read on the poster in letters six inches long.

Then came the picture of a train made up of sleeping-cars, and underneath the picture several more big lines:--

“By Richard Sumner.

“The Talk of the Town.--New York Herald.

“Nothing recent has approached it in wit and vigor.--New York Transport.

“All Booksellers.... One Dollar.”

This was Dick’s first intimation that his work had appeared in book form. He soon found a book store and bought a copy and went to his room in Willard’s Hotel to examine it. It was “alive with illustrations,” as he said, and they added greatly to its handsome appearance. The printer, the engraver, the binder, had all helped to make an attractive volume.

For two or three weeks after the appearance of the book he was busy among the public buildings, going through the Smithsonian Institution and the National Museum, the Treasury building, and scores of others. One of his articles was to be a characteristic description of the White House; and with the aid of the Transport’s Washington correspondent Dick secured an appointment with the President.

When the hour arrived he was shown to the second story of the White House, where the offices are; and for a few minutes he was kept waiting in the broad hall where Tad Lincoln used to play while his father was closeted in an adjoining room with Seward and Sumner, Grant and Sherman, and many another man of note. At length the private secretary stepped out and ushered him into the apartment where so much of the history of this nation has been made,--the Chief Executive’s private office,--and he was introduced to the President of the United States.

“Glad to meet you, Mr. Sumner,” was the President’s greeting. “I suppose you came down in The Through Sleeper? You have kept us all laughing here for the last two or three weeks.”

The President himself took Dick over the White House and through the conservatories; and when he returned to the hotel he found one of Darling’s short letters waiting for him.

“Brounlows announce ten thousand ‘Through Sleepers’ sold up to to-day,” the letter said.

“The Transport fellows propose to give you a dinner at Delmonico’s. You fix the date and wire answer.”

It did not take Dick long to prepare the answer. “Dinner declined with thanks,” he telegraphed. So many congratulations had been a worriment to him for some time, and he was sure he could not stand a whole evening of it around a dinner table.

But he was not to get out of it so easily. “Cannot be declined,” Darling wired later in the day; “arrangements all made. Fix the date.”

Very reluctantly he selected the next Thursday evening, and necessarily he returned to New York on the Thursday afternoon. He expected to feel uncomfortable, with everybody staring at him and talking about him in one of Delmonico’s great private rooms, but it proved different. “The old man” himself was there, and Darling, of course, and Mr. Brown, who was in Dr. Goode’s place, and Jack Randall, and about fifteen more from the Transport office, and men from several of the other papers--all of whom Dick knew; and with great thoughtfulness they had invited Mr. Davis, the editor of The Russellville Record, Dick’s former employer. Several members of the Brounlow firm were present, too; it was a real family party with no strangers to chill the atmosphere.

When the coffee cups came round after dinner, the diners were not content to abide by the toast program they had made, but began to shout for “Sumner! Sumner!”

Dick was compelled to make a speech, and he did it very modestly and sensibly. He liked to write funny stories, he said, particularly when they paid well; but for real thorough enjoyment nothing suited him as well as regular newspaper reporting. He hoped that no matter what happened he might always be able to devote at least part of his time to reporting and newspaper correspondence; and he wished that his lines might always fall among as able and kind and true a set of comrades as his fellows of the Transport.

There was great cheering when Dick sat down, and then came calls for “Mr. Harding! Mr. Harding! The chief!”

“Gentlemen,” Mr. Harding began when he arose amid the clapping of hands, “this is an unusual sight for Delmonico’s--a banqueting table upon which no wine glasses appear. I see in this a delicate compliment to the guest we have assembled to honor, who has shown us that he is capable of doing hard work and good work without the use of wine or stronger liquids. You have honored yourselves by honoring his principles in this way.”

He went on to pay a tribute to Dick’s character that brought the red flush about the young author’s temples again. He was industrious, he was manly, he was upright; true, solid, unwavering, always in what he thought was right.

“Ask me to show you a man of brains,” he concluded; “a man who has done many good things and who is destined to do many more; who would not stoop to a mean act; whose watchword is ‘Upward,’ ever upward; who is as gentle and pure in his life as he is brilliant in his profession; ask me to show you such a man and I point, gentlemen, to our young friend, Dick Sumner.”

In these later days, when Dick is needed in the Transport office, a telegram quickly reaches him in the cottage in which he and his mother live in Russellville. He is frequently to be seen in the offices of Brounlow & Company, for his second and third and fourth books have succeeded as well as the first, and he is a man of affairs. Sometimes he is detained till the last train has left the city, but that makes no difference now; for there is a room always ready for him in the big old-fashioned brick house on Brooklyn Heights that has been Florrie’s home ever since she became Mrs. Harry Darling.

W. A. WILDE & CO., PUBLISHERS.

_IN WILD AFRICA._ _Adventures of Two Boys in the Sahara Desert, etc._ By Col. THOS. W. KNOX, author of “The Boy Travelers,” “The Young Nimrods,” “A Lost Army,” etc. 325 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50.

The least known part of the Dark Continent is the one described
in the new book “In Wild Africa.” Central Africa has been
traversed by many explorers, until every part of it is known,
and the larger part of South Africa has entered the domain of
civilization and is equipped with railway and wagon roads.
Northern Africa, with the exception of a strip two or three
hundred miles wide along the coast of the Mediterranean, is
almost a terra incognita; its only roads are caravan trails,
and comparatively few explorers have ventured to brave its
inhospitalities. Lake Chad has been known to exist for more than
ten centuries, but it has been seen by fewer white men than Lake
Tanganyika and the Victoria Nyanza, both discovered within the
past forty years.

The narrative is replete with adventure and incident, combined
with the description of the countries traversed and the people
who inhabit them. A part of the route has been personally
traveled by the author, who has thus been enabled to inform
himself thoroughly concerning the countries he has described.

No author understands better how to write for young people than
Colonel Knox, and parents and guardians owe much to him for
conveying a vast deal of very useful information, geographical
and historical, respecting the manners and customs of foreign
nations.--_Boston Commercial Bulletin._

We can hardly imagine a better way of imparting information to
young people. The present volume is similar in plan to those
which preceded it, and is worthy of the same hearty commendation
which was accorded them.--_Christian Intelligencer, N. Y._

_FOREMAN JENNIE. A Young Woman of Business_. By AMOS R. WELLS, editor of _The Golden Rule_. 268 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.25.

Foreman Jennie was a young woman of business; she was also a
young woman who was an out and out Christian, and nobly strove to
live up to her ideals. She was the moving spirit in the formation
of the Printers’ Christian Endeavor Society, whose struggles form
one of the interesting features of the story. It was received
most heartily when it ran as a serial in _The Golden Rule_.
In its present form it is greatly enlarged, containing twice
as much matter as originally. It is a splendid story for young
people, whether they belong to the Christian Endeavor movement or
not.

_QUARTERDECK & FOK’SLE._ By MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL, author of “Paul Jones,” “Midshipman Paulding,” “Little Jarvis,” etc. 272 pp. Illustrated. $1.25.

Two exceptionally interesting stories of our navy, written for
boys, but which will be of equal interest to girls, as well as
older readers. The first story tells of how a young fellow, who
hated study and had never been made to go to school, learned the
lesson of self-control, and by a series of disgraceful failures
to pass his examinations for Annapolis, found by experience that
the important things of this world are accomplished only by the
hardest kind of work. The success which came to him afterwards
shows how thoroughly and well this lesson was learned. The second
story deals with a famous incident of the English occupation
of Newport, R. I., during the Revolutionary War, where General
Prescott was captured in his own house by a handful of Americans.
An important part in this incident was taken by a boy. What he
did and how he did it is fully told in the story. His service in
the young American navy is the natural result of his love for the
sea and his ardent patriotism.

The author knows how to tell her stories to captivate the boys,
and the character of her heroes is such as to elevate and ennoble
the reader.--_Hartford Evening Post._

_THE YOUNG REPORTER. A Story of Printing House Square._ By WILLIAM DRYSDALE, author of “Abel Forefinger,” “In Sunny Lands,” “Proverbs from Plymouth Pulpit,” etc. 300 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50.

Every American boy who reads the newspapers is interested in the
methods and adventures of the reporters who gather news for the
great dailies. They go everywhere, meet all the prominent people
of the time, and are constantly in the front of everything that
is interesting and exciting.

In “The Young Reporter” Mr. William Drysdale has described the
adventures of a young printer boy with a taste for newspaper
work, who became a reporter for one of the great New York dailies
when he was only eighteen. His introduction to the office by
taking in an important piece of news, his early experience
there, his trials and temptations, his adventures among the
convicts in Sing Sing, his exciting search for the stolen body
of a millionaire, his voyage to Mexico and the West Indies, his
experience with bookmakers, who consider a reporter a person to
be bribed, are all described to the life.

Every adventure through which Dick Sumner is taken is an actual
adventure,--something that has really happened. From his first
visit to the _Transport_ office till his successful
production of “The Through Sleeper,” his experiences are as true
to life as actual truth can make them. It is a book which no boy
can read without having his ambition stirred and his character
strengthened.

_THREE COLONIAL BOYS. A Story of the Times of ’76._ By EVERETT T. TOMLINSON, author of “The Search for Andrew Field,” “The Boy Soldiers of 1812,” etc. 368 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50.

We have issued this book as an aid in the solution of that
difficult problem, “What shall our young people read?”

It deals with one of the most interesting periods of American
history, and embraces many incidents and regions which heretofore
have been kept in the background.

Young people like excitement, as children crave sugar, and, while
the book deals largely with actual experiences, it furnishes an
excitement which is not born of the unnatural or impossible.

It is a story of three boys who were drawn into the events of
the times; is patriotic, exciting, clean, and healthful, and
instructs without appearing to. The heroes are manly boys and no
objectionable language or character is introduced. The lessons of
courage and patriotism especially will be appreciated in this day.

It is handsomely illustrated, printed, and bound, and we are
confident will be eagerly welcomed by all who are seeking for
a book for young people which shall be wholesome, interesting,
healthfully exciting, and at the same time instructive.

It is the first of a series, but is complete in itself.

_CAP’N THISTLETOP._ By SOPHIE SWETT, author of “Captain Polly,” “Flying Hill Farm,” “Mate of the Mary Ann,” etc. 266 pp. Illustrated. $1.25.

Sophie Swett has won a remarkable and deserved popularity for the
strong and wholesome stories for girls which she has written.
In her stories she believes in introducing boys, and it is this
feature of her work that gives her stories their naturalness and
much of their interest. In her latest book, “Cap’n Thistletop,”
the principal characters are a boy and a girl, brother and
sister; the girl’s firmness of character holds her brother up to
his work for making a place for himself in the world. She urges,
beguiles, and compels, as occasion serves, but still remains the
natural, lovable girl, herself, so many thousands of whom are
daily making the world brighter and better.

Margaret E. Sangster says, “Miss Swett has the knack of telling a
story so naturally and in so interesting a manner that you cannot
put her books down until you are at the very end of the last
chapter, and then you sigh and wish there was a sequel.”

_JACK BENSON’S LOG; or, Afloat with the Flag in ’61._ By CHAS. LEDYARD NORTON. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.25.

Of all the boys who enlisted in the navy at the outbreak of the
Civil War, perhaps Jack Benson was the luckiest. His guardian,
an old sailor, wanted him to enlist; his first ship was “Old
Ironsides,” and he helped to save her from an attempted capture
by the secessionists at Annapolis in 1861. Then he had the good
fortune to ship on board a fast little steamer that was hurried
into commission for blockading purposes and had a very pretty
little fight off Cape Hatteras, and captured a prize at the
very beginning of her career. In short, Jack was on hand as a
spectator, if not as a participant, at most of the notable naval
events that took place on the Atlantic coast during the four
years of the war.

_THE MYSTERIOUS VOYAGE OF THE DAPHNE_, By Lieut. H. P. WHITMARSH, R. N., and others. 305 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.25.

A book of stories for boys and girls by some of the best American
authors. Such names as Wm. O. Stoddard, Hezekiah Butterworth,
James G. Austin, Lieut. H. P. Whitmarsh, Marjorie Richardson,
and Emma H. Nason will give a fair idea of the reputation and
the standing of the writers whose stories are included in this
book. The book is made exceptionally interesting by a large
number of illustrations, while the quality of the stories cannot
be questioned. The book is one that we can recommend as entirely
safe to put in any girl’s or boy’s hands.

_BIG CYPRESS._ By KIRK MUNROE, author of “Fur Seal’s Tooth,” “Camp-mates,” “Raft-mates,” “Dory-mates,” “Canoe-mates,” etc. 164 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.00.

Kirk Munroe’s books always teach something worth knowing. In his
last story, “Big Cypress,” the author includes a large amount
of information about Florida, its coast, the Everglades region,
the climate, and the Seminole Indians as they are to-day. * * *
The story is so fascinating that it will hold the absorbed
attention of every boy and girl reader to the end.--_Boston
Transcript._

A bright, wide-awake book as interesting and helpful for girls as
for boys.--_Golden Rule._

A vivid picture of life among the Seminole Indians of Florida,
about whom so little is known.--_Advance, Chicago._

A story * * * inculcating manliness and full of
incident.--_Congregationalist._

_PHILIP LEICESTER._ By JESSIE E. WRIGHT, author of “Freshman and Senior,” “Marjoribank,” “Curly Head,” etc. 264 pp. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.25.

The real motive of the story is a lesson for mothers,--that
God will be with the children of love and prayer, even though
they may be passing through the fires of temptation and bad
influence.--_The Evangelist, New York._

The book ought to make any reader thankful for a good home and
thoughtful for the homeless and neglected.--_Golden Rule._

The idea of the story is happily conceived and skilfully
handled.--_S. S. Library Bulletin._

There is real merit in the story.--_Epworth Herald._

A charming story for young people.--_Young Men’s Era._

The interest of the reader is engaged and never flags until the
last page is read.--_Christian Observer._

_PELOUBET’S SELECT NOTES._ By F. N. PELOUBET, D. D., and M. A. Peloubet. A Commentary on the International Sunday-School Lessons. Illustrated. 340 pp. Cloth, $1.25.

This commentary is the _one_ book every teacher must have
in order to do the best work. It interprets the scripture,
illustrates the truths, and by striking comments convinces the
mind.

It is comprehensive, and yet not verbose, and furnishes winnowed
material in the most attractive and yet convincing form from both
spiritual and practical standpoints. Accurate colored maps and
profuse original illustrations illuminate the text, and create an
intelligent and instructive view of the subject matter.

Teachers are invited to send for sample pages of Select Notes.

It is safe to say that no better help on the International
Lessons has ever been printed than Select Notes.--_Christian at
Work._

We know of no other book that fills the place of Select
Notes.--_Golden Rule._

Teachers and scholars have come to regard Select Notes
as an essential part of their annual Sunday-school
outfit.--_Cumberland Presbyterian._

Select Notes has become as much of an institution as the
International Lessons.--_Advance._

Select Notes is current everywhere. Among the many books issued
as helps to the study of the Sunday-school lessons this is the
best.--_Messiah’s Herald._

_WAYS Of WORKING; or, Helpful Hints to Sunday-School Workers of all Kinds._ By Rev. A. F. SCHAUFFLER, D. D. 212 pp. Cloth, $1.00.

All the methods of work suggested in the following pages have
been tried and approved by the author. There is nothing that
is merely theoretical. Many things other than those alluded to
have also been tried, and, having proved failures, have been
laid aside. Nothing but what came through the fire of experience
unscathed has been dwelt upon. Not all the methods recommended
have been originated by the author. In fact, the land was
ransacked during the time of his actual superintendency for
helpful methods, and wherever these were found they were adopted.
Sometimes they had to be adapted, as well as adopted, and this
will probably be the case in many schools who try to take up with
some of the forms suggested. But if the suggestions given here
serve to stimulate others in the line of advance, the aim of the
book will have been accomplished.--_Author’s Preface._

_THE GOSPELS COMBINED._ Compiled by Rev. CHARLES H. POPE. 208 pp. Cloth, 75c.

Parallel passages blended, and separate accounts connected;
presenting in one continuous narrative the life of Jesus Christ
as told by Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.

This book will be the best help to a clear connected view
of the life and words of our Lord. Just the thing for every
Sunday-school Teacher and Bible Class Student.

_THE BEACON LIGHT SERIES._ By NATALIE L. RICE. Illustrated. Each vol. 96 pp.

A collection of bright, attractive stories from the best known
writers for young people in the Junior and Intermediate classes.
The set, 5 vols., in a box, $2.50.

_DOT’S LIBRARY._ Edited by LUCY WHEELOCK.

Without question the most delightful set of books for little
ones. Over 400 illustrations. The set, 10 vols., in a box, $2.50.

BOSTON, W. A. WILDE & CO., 25 BROMFIELD ST.

Transcriber’s Note:

Punctuation; has been standardised.

Changes have been made as follows:

Page 95
But I have a important _changed to_
But I have an important

Page 124
Aqui no se permite fumar _changed to_
Aquí no se permite fumar

Page 141
Calle Estampa de Jesus Maria, Numero Cinto _changed to_
Calle Estampa de Jesus Maria, Numero Cinco

Haysoos Mar-eea, Numero Cinto _changed to_
Haysoos Mar-eea, Numero Cinco

Page 144
cinto, number five _changed to_
cinco, number five

Page 199
Columbus and telegraph his _changed to_
Columbus and telegraph this

Page 267
and all the fireman _changed to_
and all the firemen

Page 268
Up they went wih a rush _changed to_
Up they went with a rush