He could not help thinking of the little speech he had planned to make that evening—"Well, you see, Jimmie, I haven't time for it, anyway. I have to go to the Seminary, and maybe to the Medical College after that. So I thought I would resign, and I hope you'll apply for it and comeback to the old place for another year. You're sure to get it, if you apply for it." Wasn't it a pretty little speech?
He turned and glanced over at Linton, who sat with his head nestled contentedly against Reddy Armstrong's shoulder, while the happy-looking fellows all around him were punching and pounding him and rumpling up his hair as if they never would cease; and as if they were glad Dougal Davis was beaten. Linton himself only raised his eyebrows and shook his head deprecatingly. He seemed to take it all very easily, as if he were accustomed to winning prizes and beating Dougal Davis, and he still wore that imperturbable look, and Davis knew that it would have been just as imperturbable and contented looking if he had lost.
And this spoiled the salutatorian's day of triumph. He did not glance back now to where his sister and aunt were sitting. He forgot to unroll his sheepskin as the others did when they came down from the stage with them. He blew his breath through it against the palm of his hand and looked absent-mindedly at the scratched paint of the old-fashioned pew. He remained thus all through Smith's valedictory, except once when the speaker stretched out both arms and the class arose; then he listened for amoment and said, "Biff!" under his breath. When it was all over he passed out with his class and through the gazing throng, thinking not of the much that he had won, but only of the one thing he had lost, and this was unfortunate, because much people were looking at him and thinking how fine it was to be Davis, and that is fame, and it was too bad to miss it.
Linton had no ambition and he colored meerschaum beautifully. He was usually mum in a crowd, but he was fine company on a long cross-country walk, and he knew more about ordering a dinner than any man on the campus, except one of the faculty.
When he did not want you in his room he told you so, and he was the kind of a fellow you would do anything for after you came to know him.
He had a very efficient sense of humor, which does not mean that he said funny things at the table. Some people thought him sarcastic. But many fellows went to him for advice or sympathy, and it was not only because he could keep his mouth absolutely closed.
Linton had a walking acquaintance with every road, lane, and pathway within a radius of twenty miles of the campus. He knew how long it tookto cover any route, and where there were good places to stop and rest, especially the quaint ones where they served it in mugs.
Here he used to sit and sip and smoke the golden afternoon away, dreaming of how it all must have been years ago in the old stage coach days when the horses drew up on the clattering cobble-stones and the passengers alighted and looked about and asked how many more miles it was, and the red-faced driver jumped down from the box and swaggered into the tap-room, and called for a pint of ale, and told the landlord how bad the pike was near New Brunswick.
He considered himself somewhat of an artist. There were ever so many bits that he was fond of showing you if he thought you could appreciate them; like the bend in the canal up toward Baker's basin, with peculiar water and willow-coloring in springtime. Linton said it was like a French water-color. He used to carry a gun over his shoulder, and say he was going snipe-shooting; really it was to look for things like this, and get up a big appetite for dinner. He could also point out a view of gentle hills and rolling green fields on the way to Kingston that was a good imitation of English landscape, he said, and he knew just where the tower of the School of Science ought to make an effectthrough treetops, like the view of Magdalen tower from a point in Addison's walk, if it were only beautiful Gothic instead of ugly Renaissance. But perhaps all this was merely to show that he had once canoed down the Thames from Oxford to London.
He was very well up in the ancient history of the town, also. He knew all about most of the old houses, and he had sketches of the best of the old brass-knockers and colonial doorways. It is said that he used to prowl about on moonlight nights for this purpose. Small window-panes were another thing he was insane over. He had substituted for the ordinary panes of his windows, dingy little square ones with thick frames painted black. Some of the fellows said the reason he did this was to be odd. Linton blew smoke, and said yes, that was the reason.
But it was the old campus that he loved the most. He knew just about all there was to find out about it, and dreamed a great deal more.
He had ever so many favorite aspects, such as the one of the back of the Dean's house—with small, square window-panes—from away over at a point between Whig and Clio Halls, and the rear view of Prospect across the stretch of sloping meadow toward the canal, and a number of congenial little spots that meant something tohim, like the stone buttress at the bottom of the tower of Witherspoon, a great place to warm your back against in spring sunshine, with the blue smoke trickling lazily from your mouth and the fellows batting up flies on the old diamond; and then for midnight chats there were the smooth steps of chapel with the elms saying things in low tones overhead. But those midnight chats were all over now. It was Commencement Day, and it was the saddest thing that had ever happened to Linton.
He was not at all anxious to spring forth into the world and battle with opportunity and all the other things that the class-day speakers and the valedictorian said that he was going to do. He thought this little world was good enough for him, and there wasn't much spring in him.
Ever since he could read he had been told that youth was the happiest time in life, and he had come to the conclusion that it must be so. He did not like the idea of giving it up. He had become well settled where he was, and had just gotten rid of a persistent siege of kid-pessimism—of which he was now very much ashamed—and was just beginning to realize what a big, beautiful, real thing friendship was, and now—Jack and Timber and Billy and Red, where would they all be in three days' time? Itseemed pretty sudden, this thing of breaking up.
And there was very little comfort to him in the thought of coming back next year. What would the old place be without the old class. He did not like to think about it.
It struck the class as a pretty joke for Jimmie Linton to bob up and win a fellowship. "How did you happen to do it?" said Tucker, on the way out of church. "I didn't know you had any brains."
"Didn't you?" said Linton; "I've quite a lot of them. And I worked like a good little boy for that fellowship; but nobody will give me any credit for it. They all know that if Dougal hadn't been too busy with other things, I would have had no show." He was quite right. There was nothing modest in this. Dougal Davis had about as good powers of acquisition as anyone graduated since the time of Aaron Burr.
Political science was not strictly in Linton's line. He wrote things for the Lit., and elected all the English courses. He was a great browser in Elizabethan literature, and when he dabbled in verse this was evident. One of the exchanges once called him a nineteenth century Herrick. Linton felt right pleased, and wrote something nice about the University ofVirginia man that said it in the next Lit., and also made it an excuse to give one of his famous spreads. You would have expected him to go in for an English fellowship, if for any. But he did not go in for any deliberately. He was not in the habit of studying his courses more than enough to get through the examinations, except when he ran across something he was interested in, or a professor he liked. There are many excuses for laziness.
In Political Economy, and such subjects, he liked the lecturer very much, and he found himself becoming interested in the primitive man, and the origin of society, and all that. The farther he went in the course, the more interested he became. He went to the library, and often walked past the Elizabethan alcove. Next he began buying the books, because he liked to feel that he owned them, and rub them up against his cheek, and he soon had a shelf full of Bagehot and big, thick Sir Henry Maine and others.
Then because he had never done anything serious during his course, and because he knew it would please his people and amuse the fellows, he announced his intention of trying for the Political Science fellowship. There was no one else in for it.
He went about it scientifically, and was surprised to find how much enthusiasm he had aroused in himself. He had never known before what a fine thing study was. He said he wished he had done more of it during his college course.
He was surprised when he heard a few weeks later that Dougal Davis was in the field. Historical work he thought was still further out of Davis's line. But he only rolled over on the divan and went on reading. For he argued thus: "I like this stuff and I don't see how it can hurt me to learn a lot about something. If I don't fetch a fellowship I won't have to correct examination papers. I'd hate to correct examination papers."
One day at the club he asked Dougal—he sat opposite—what he wanted with political science. Davis cleared his throat and said every preacher of modern times should know something of sociology, which was undoubtedly true. But that was not the reason. And somehow Linton guessed it.
It was twilight and the class had gathered together on the steps of Old North for their last senior singing. Only they were no longer seniors; it was "by and by" now, and they wereout in the "wide, wide world." They huddled up close together as if half frightened at the thought of its being the last time.
There were but few undergrads. stretched out under the elms to listen, and most of these were the juniors—seniors they were now—waiting to rapaciously take possession of the steps the moment the present occupants marched off for their last supper together at nightfall. These and a handful of the out-of-town visitors were all that were left of the big Commencement crowds that had been gathering there every evening to hear the seniors sing. Sometimes they had felt that they would have preferred being left a little more to themselves, if it were possible, during the last days of college life.
But now this unmolested aloneness only added to their dreariness and made them feel the ghastly certainty of this evening's being the end of all. The grass was trampled and faded, and the crowd that had trodden it was gone. The bell in Old North belfry rang out painfully loud.
"Well, fellows, let's sing," said the leader, rising slowly. He raised his chin and then bobbed his head and started up, "The Orange and the Black," just as they had all seen him do many times before.
They sang as they had never sung before. It did not matter what were the words of the song. "They stole his wallet, they stole his staff," had nothing in it that was especially apropos of college friendships or the sadness of farewell, but the way they sang it, with the long-drawn "Ramski Ho," meant something. It was so full of association. And no one noticed this time whether the man behind him was on a key of his own. His only thought was, "When shall I hear Billy's good old bark again after to-night?" And when Sam's and when Ed's and Big Hill's and Little Hill's and where would be the fellow a year from now whose shoulder was next to his own.
During the past month or two the class of Ninety Blank had been drawn very close together by the thought of what was coming. They had never been very seriously cliqued up, but what there was of dissension was forgotten, and they were now one solid crowd. Fellows who had never anything to do with each other before except to say, "Hello, there, Ray!" and "Hello, Harry!" had taken to strolling around the campus together arm-in-arm talking about what they were going to do next year and wondering why they had never happened to see more of each other in the past, and regrettingthat there were to be no opportunities for doing so in the future.
But during the excitement of Commencement week, with the crowds of old grads. and of girls and the big baseball game and the concerts and Class Day full of its exhibition farewells in the church and around the cannon, and the teas and the big dance on Tuesday night, and the many other things that filled up every moment of every day and night—together with the responsibility of seeing to the entertainment of their guests—all this, and the feeling of importance at being the cause of so much color and sound had in a measure distracted their minds from the thought of what it all meant. But now all that was changed.
The last of the display ceremonies was finished. The class had their diplomas. It was all over. The rollicking old grads. with their many reunions and their old-fashioned cheers and their funny songs had left for the city and business again for a year. The girls and their mothers and their parasols had vanished like the chinese lanterns among the trees. The campus was almost deserted, and except for their own voices, was as still as a cemetery. Each man on the steps was realizing as he never had done before how glad had been those four years,and how startlingly fast they had sped by, and how much more these friends of his meant to him than he had ever imagined friends could mean.
Two of the number had been obliged to pack their trunks and depart during the afternoon without waiting for the banquet. The whole class were at the station to see them off. They did it in the old-fashioned way, with much cheering and singing, and the old custom of lifting them up and putting them through the car windows. Then after each man had shaken the hands of those departing, and said, "God bless you, Tommy," they had watched while the little train rolled down the grade and became smaller and smaller, and they cheered until the two men waving their hats on the rear platform were hidden behind the curve. Then they marched solemnly back across the campus again, and tried to go on with the packing of their own trunks.
But few had been able to remain very long in the lonely, old, familiar dens. There were too many things to suggest the old times which sent big wedges into throats, and they realized that there were to be few enough opportunities of being with those fellows out under the trees to waste time in dreary packing. "It's too deuced hot up there in my room," said Harry Lawrence to Billy Nolan.
For the most part they had spent the afternoon in silent, moody wanderings, in groups of twos and fours and half dozens, all about the old, dear, familiar landmarks of the campus. Now at evening they were gathered together as a body again. This was to be the last time. And that thought kept recurring to each man on the steps.
It was about dusk now. The front campus was wrapped in that strange half-glow that sometimes comes at late senior singing time. It was very much in keeping with other elements of the scene, and it had its effect upon the fellows.
Old North seemed solemn and dignified, but somehow more gentle and caressable than formerly. Even the old elms, who have seen this thing happen so many, many times, ceased whispering for a space and listened. John, the college policeman, left Reunion for his home down William Street, and Sam, the night watchman, said, "Good-night, John," and took his place. Bill Leggett took down his lantern and started around to light the campus lamps as he always did at this hour. The village street seemed far off, and its lights and its bit of life seemed part of another world. There was a pause in the singing.
It lasted a long time. Tucker scratched amatch on the stone steps. The crack seemed very loud. Those near by turned and watched him light his pipe and watched him throw the match to the ground. It kept on burning for a little while. They watched it until it went out.
Presently Doc. Devereaux, the leader, said, "Fellows, there are a lot of chairs and benches scattered about. Let's drag them up here in front of the steps and make a circle." They all arose and did it as if it had been a command.
The rattling of the chairs against each other sounded harsh and discordant, and yet no one seemed to want to lessen it. Some of the fellows laughed and joked a little, as though they weren't thinking of anything serious. It made a large circle. They sat down in comparative silence. The Class President arose and said, "Say, fellows, let's sing 'Here's to you, my jovial friend,' all around the class, and each man stand up while we're singing to him."
They started with the President and went around to the left. You know that drinking song. It's a simple little salute, but there's more heart in its swelling high notes than in anything ever written. But perhaps that is because of its association.
"Here's to you, Jack Stehman," they sang.
"Here's to you, my jovial friend,And we'll drink with all our heart,For sake of company—We'll drink before we part,Here's to you, Jack Stehman."
"Here's to you, my jovial friend,And we'll drink with all our heart,For sake of company—We'll drink before we part,Here's to you, Jack Stehman."
"Here's to you, my jovial friend,
And we'll drink with all our heart,
For sake of company—
We'll drink before we part,
Here's to you, Jack Stehman."
Stehman, the President, had arisen when his name was called, and remained standing while the song was carried through. The big fellow seemed to loom up bigger than ever in the half dark. He arose with his old, well-known slouch, and the sight of this little characteristic brought up to every one of them the whole big, lovable personality of the man.
He started to look around at the fellows and smile as they began to sing, but the clear, warm notes rang out, "We'll drink before we part," and he changed his mind and looked down at the grass under his feet. He was not embarrassed. He merely preferred looking down. It was so different from Class Day, when he had made his much-applauded President's address, and told people in his nice set speech about the sadness of farewell and the beauty of the elms. He was the one all the girls had asked the most questions about. The class censor had guyed him about his brand new dignity and his goodlooks. Nobody was feeling like guying him now.
Little Stacy sat next. He did not stand up very high. There was not much to him. He had been a poler all through the course, and you would not have expected the thing to affect him very much, but you could see his thin hands working nervously along the edge of his coat as he looked about at the half-darkened crowd of faces, and he smiled his foolish, little, self-conscious smile. The little chap had no idea that they would ever sing to him in that way, and when he heard Harry Lawrence's strong bass come out with "And we'll drink with all our heart," he fairly quivered. When he sat down the President reached a big arm about him.
Then came Reddy Armstrong. He was not very tall either. He stood up very straight and stiff with his round, freckled face screwed up into funny twists. He only stared straight ahead into nothing. He looked dazed. He was dazed. He had been through some very queer things that day. "Poor little Red," thought Linton as he looked at him.
All around the big circle went the song until it ended with Timberly, who sat on Stehman's right. By this time it was too dark to see Timberly'squeer features. Perhaps it was just as well.
"Now," said the President, simply, "let's all cross hands and sing 'Auld Lang Syne.' Doc., start it up, please."
They arose, and each man gave his right-hand comrade his left hand, and his left-hand comrade his right, and they sang the good old song in the good old way, with the clasped hands swinging far up and down in time to the music.
Presently the song was finished. It seemed to stop suddenly. They all waited a moment in silence to see whether the leader had another verse to begin.
But he did not. Jack Stehman stepped out into the middle of the ring. "Now, fellows," he said, "let's give three good rousing cheers for the dear old class—God bless every man in it—and then we'll give up the steps to the juniors—the seniors I mean—and march four abreast to the dinner. Are you ready? Hip! hip! ... another one—Hip! hip!"
Linton was standing apart over beside the steps. His back was turned toward the others.
While the rest were cheering, Dougal Davis crossed over to him.
"Jim," he said, "I haven't congratulated you yet on winning the fellowship."
Linton kept on looking at the newly planted class ivy. His hands were in his pockets and his legs spread apart.
"Did you notice that I hadn't, Jim?"
Linton turned around suddenly. "Oh, yes, I noticed it. But that was this morning." He put his hand on Davis's shoulder as in junior year.
"Shut up, Dougal," he said; "we haven't any time to waste in talk."
"All right," said Dougal. "Don't let's be left behind. They are starting." He laughed a little. It was a foolish-sounding laugh. Linton did not observe that. He laughed also, in very much the same way.
They stepped in line with the others and marched off the campus singing, with all their might,
"Nassau! Nassau! Ring out the chorus free.Nassau! Nassau! Thy jolly sons are we.Care shall be forgotten, all our sorrows flung away,While we are marching thro' Princeton."
"Nassau! Nassau! Ring out the chorus free.Nassau! Nassau! Thy jolly sons are we.Care shall be forgotten, all our sorrows flung away,While we are marching thro' Princeton."
"Nassau! Nassau! Ring out the chorus free.
Nassau! Nassau! Thy jolly sons are we.
Care shall be forgotten, all our sorrows flung away,
While we are marching thro' Princeton."
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Hibbard.The Governor, and Other Stories. 12mo, cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts."It is still often urged that, except in remote corners, there is nothing in our American life which appeals to the artistic sense, but certainly these stories are American to the core, and yet the artistic sense is strong in them throughout."—Critic.Dr. J. G. Holland.Sevenoaks.The Bay Path.Arthur Bonnicastle.Miss Gilbert's Career.Nicholas Minturn.Each, 12mo, $1.25; the set, $6.25.SevenoaksandArthur Bonnicastle. Each, paper, 50 cts."Dr. Holland will always find a congenial audience in the homes of culture and refinement. He does not affect the play of the darker and fiercer passions, but delights in the sweet images that cluster around the domestic hearth. He cherishes a strong fellow-feeling with the pure and tranquil life in the modest social circles of the American people, and has thus won his way to the companionship of many friendly hearts."—The New York Tribune.Thomas A. Janvier.Color Studies, and a Mexican Campaign.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00."Piquant, novel and ingenious, these little stories, with all their simplicity, have excited a wide interest. The best of them, 'Jaune D'Antimoine,' is a little wonder in its dramatic effect, its ingenious construction."—Critic.Henry Kingsley.Ravenshoe.Geoffrey Hammond.Austin Elliott.12mo. (In press.)George P. Lathrop.Newport.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.25.An Echo of Passion.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.In the Distance.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00."His novels have the refinement of motive which characterize the analytical school, but his manner is far more direct and dramatic."—The Christian Union.Brander Matthews.The Secret of the Sea, and Other Stories. 12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.The Last Meeting.12mo, cloth, $1.00."Mr. Matthews is a man of wide observation and of much familiarity with the world. His literary style is bright and crisp, with a peculiar sparkle about it—wit and humor judiciously mingled—which renders his pages more than ordinarily interesting."—The Rochester Post-Express.George Meredith.Lord Ormont and His Aminta.12mo, $1.50."A novel for which the lover of literature will do well to put up his hands and, in the words of the old grace, be 'truly thankful.'" —Pall Mall Budget.George Moore.Vain Fortune.12mo, $1.00."How a woman's previous ideas and actions will completely change when the medium of a wild, intense love is interposed, was never more skillfully sketched."—Boston Times.Fitz-James O'Brien.The Diamond Lens, with Other Stories. 12mo, paper, 50 cts."These stories are the only things in literature to be compared with Poe's work, and if they do not equal it in workmanship, they certainly do not yield to it in originality."—The Philadelphia Record.Duffield Osborne.The Spell of Ashtaroth.12mo, $1.00."It has a simple but picturesque plot, and the story is told in a vividly dramatic way."—Chicago Times.Bliss Perry.The Broughton House.12mo, $1.25.Salem Kittredge, and Other Stories. 12mo, $1.00."A wonderfully shrewd and vivid picture of life in one of our hill towns in summer."—Hartford Post.Thomas Nelson Page.In Old Virginia.Marse Chan and Other Stories. 12mo, $1.25.On Newfound River.12mo, $1.00.Elsket, and Other Stories. 12mo, $1.00.Marse Chan.Ills. by Smedley. Sq. 12mo, $1.50.Meh Lady.Ills. by Reinhart. Sq. 12mo, $1.50.A New Volume of Stories(in press)."Mr. Page enjoys the distinction of having written the most exquisite story of the war ('Marse Chan') which has yet appeared. His stories are beautiful and faithful pictures of a society now become a portion and parcel of the irrevocable past."—Harper's Magazine.George I. Putnam.In Blue Uniform.12mo, $1.00.On the Offensive.12mo, $1.00."An entertaining picture of life on the frontier by one who knows whereof he is writing."—The Churchman.Saxe Holm's Stories.First Series.Second Series.Each, 12mo, paper, 50cts.; cloth, $1.00."Saxe Holm's characters are strongly drawn, and she goes right to the heart of human experience, as one who knows the way. We heartily commend them as vigorous, wholesome, and sufficiently exciting stories."—The Advance.Stories from Scribner.Stories of New York.Stories of the South.Stories of the Sea.Stories of the Railway.Stories of Italy.Stories of the Army.Illustrated. Each, 16mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, 75 cts.; half calf, $1.50."Only those who have regularly read Scribner's have any idea of the delightful contents of these volumes, for they contain some of the best stories written for that periodical. They are exquisitely bound, clearly printed on fine paper, and admirably illustrated."—Boston Times.Robert Louis Stevenson.Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.12mo, paper, 25 cts.; cloth, $1.00.Kidnapped.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, ill., $1.25.The Merry Men, and Other Tales and Fables. 12mo, paper, 35 cts.; cloth, $1.00.New Arabian Nights.12mo, paper, 30 cts.; cloth, $1.00.The Dynamiter.12mo, paper, 30 cts.; cloth, $1.00.The Black Arrow.ill. 12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.The Wrong Box.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.The Master of Ballantrae.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, ill., $1.25.The Wrecker.12mo, ill., $1.25.Island Nights' Entertainments.12mo, ill., $1.25.David Balfour.12mo, $1.50."Stevenson belongs to the romantic school of fiction writers. He is original in style, charming, fascinating, and delicious, with a marvelous command of words, and with a manner ever delightful and magnetic."—Boston Transcript.Charles Warren Stoddard.South Sea Idyls.12mo, $1.50."Brimful of delicious descriptions of South Sea Island life. Neither Loti nor Stevenson has expressed from tropical life the luscious, fruity delicacy, or the rich wine-like bouquet of these sketches."—Independent.T. R. Sullivan.Day and Night Stories.First and Second Series. Each, 12mo, cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts.Roses of Shadow.12mo, $1.00.Tom Sylvester.12mo, $1.50."Mr. Sullivan's style is at once easy and refined, conveying most happily that atmosphere of good breeding and polite society which is indispensable to the novel of manners, but which so many of them lamentably fail of."—The Nation.Frederick J. Stimson(J. S. of Dale).Guerndale.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.25.The Crime of Henry Vane.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.The Sentimental Calendar.Ill. 12mo, $1.00.First Harvest.12mo, $1.25.The Residuary Legatee.12mo, paper, 35 cts.; cloth, $1.00.In the Three Zones.12mo, $1.00."No young novelist in this country seems better equipped than Mr. Stimson is."—The Philadelphia Bulletin.Frank R. Stockton.Pomona's Travels.Illustrated by A. B. Frost. 12mo, $2.00.Rudder Grange.12mo, paper, 60 cts.; cloth, $1.25. Illustrated by A. B. Frost. Sq. 12mo, $2.00.The Late Mrs. Null.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.25.The Lady, or the Tiger?and Other Stories. 12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.25.The Christmas Wreck, and Other Stories. 12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.25.The Bee-Man of Orn, and Other Fanciful Tales. 12mo, cloth, $1.25.Amos Kilbright, with Other Stories. 12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.25.The Rudder Grangers Abroad, and Other Stories. 12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.25.Ardis Claverden, new edition. 12mo, $1.50."Of Mr. Stockton's stories what is there to say, but that they are an unmixed blessing and delight? He is surely one of the most inventive of talents, discovering not only a new kind in humor and fancy, but accumulating an inexhaustible wealth of details in each fresh achievement, the least of which would be riches from another hand."—W. D. Howells.Stories by American Authors.Cloth, 16mo, 50 cts. each; set, 10 vols., $5.00; cabinet edition, in sets only, $7.50."The public ought to appreciate the value of this series, which is preserving permanently in American literature short stories that have contributed to its advancement."—The Boston Globe.Octave Thanet.Expiation.Illustrated by A. B. Frost. 12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.Stories of a Western Town.12mo. Illustrated by A. B. Frost. $1.25."Good, wholesome, and fresh. The Western character has never been better presented."—Boston Courier.John T. Wheelwright.A Child of the Century.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00."A typical story of political and social life, free from cynicism of morbid realism, and brimming over with fun."—The Christian at Work.
BRIEF LIST of Books of Fiction Published by Charles Scribner's Sons, 153-157 Fifth Avenue, New York.
William Waldorf Astor.
Valentino:An Historical Romance. 12mo, $1.00.Sforza:A Story of Milan. 12mo, $1.50.
"The story is full of clear-cut little tableaux of mediæval Italian manners, customs and observances. The movement throughout is spirited, the reproduction of bygone times realistic."—The New York Tribune.
Arlo Bates.
A Wheel of Fire.12mo, paper, 50cts.; cloth, $1.00.
"The novel deals with character rather than incident, and is evolved from one of the most terrible of moral problems with a subtlety not unlike that of Hawthorne."—The Critic.
W. H. Bishop.
A Pound of Cure.12mo, $1.00.
"A powerful and purposeful story, clean and strong and interesting throughout."—The Churchman.
Hjalmar H. Boyesen.
Falconberg.Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50.Gunnar.Sq. 12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.25.Tales from Two Hemispheres.Sq. 12mo, $1.00.Ilka on the Hill Top, and Other Stories. Sq. 12mo, $1.00.Queen Titania.Sq. 12mo, $1.00.Social Strugglers.12mo, $1.25.
"Mr. Boyesen's stories possess a sweetness, a tenderness and a drollery that are fascinating, and yet they are no more attractive than they are strong."—The Home Journal.
Robert Bridges.
Overheard in Arcady.12mo, illustrated, $1.25.
"The cleverest book of the year. Aside from the humor, it is a keen and subtile criticism of living authors."—Atlanta Constitution.
Noah Brooks.
Tales of the Maine Coast.12mo, $1.00.
"They are all good; 'Pansy Pegg' is a classic. Hawthorne did few, if any, better things than 'A Century Ago.'"—Boston Advertiser.
H. C. Bunner.
The Story of a New York House.Illustrated by A. B. Frost. 12mo, $1.25.The Midge.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.Zadoc Pine, and Other Stories. 12mo, pap., 50 cts.; clo., $1.00.
"It is Mr. Bunner's delicacy of touch and appreciation of what is literary art that give his writings distinctive quality. Everything Mr. Bunner paints shows the happy appreciation of an author who has not alone mental discernment, but the artistic appreciation."—N. Y. Times.
Frances Hodgson Burnett.
That Lass o' Lowrie's.Illustrated. paper, 50 cts; cloth, $1.25.Haworth's.Illustrated. 12mo, $1.25.Through One Administration.12mo, $1.50.Louisiana.12mo, $1.25.A Fair Barbarian.12mo, paper, 50 cts., cloth, $1.25.Vagabondia: A Love Story. 12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.25.Surly Tim, and Other Stories. 12mo, $1.25.Earlier Stories.First Series.Earlier Stories.Second Series. 12mo, each, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.25.The Pretty Sister of José.Illustrated by C. S. Reinhart. 12mo, $1.00.
Little Lord Fauntleroy.Sq. 8vo, $2.00.Sara Crewe.Sq. 8vo, $1.00.Little Saint Elizabeth, and Other Stories. Sq. 8vo, $1.50.Giovanni and the Other.Sq. 8vo, $2.00. Illustrated by R. B. Birch.
"Mrs. Burnett discovers gracious secrets in rough and forbidding natures—the sweetness that often underlies their bitterness—the soul of goodness in things evil. She seems to have an intuitive perception of character."—Richard Henry Stoddard.
William Allen Butler.
Domesticus.A Tale of the Imperial City. 12mo, $1.25.
George W. Cable.
The Grandissimes.12mo, paper, 50 cts., cloth, $1.25.Old Creole Days.12mo, cloth, $1.25; also in two parts, paper, each, 30 cts.Dr. Sevier.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.25.Bonaventure.12mo, paper, 50 cts; $1.25.The set, 4 vols., $5.00.John March, Southerner.(In Press.)
"There are few living American writers who can reproduce for us more perfectly than Mr. Cable does, in his best moments, the speech, the manners, the whole social atmosphere of a remote time and a peculiar people. A delicious flavor of humor penetrates his stories."—The New York Tribune
Rebecca Harding Davis.
Silhouettes of American Life.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.
"There are altogether thirteen stories in the volume, all written in that direct, forcible style which is Mrs. Davis's distinctive merit as a producer of fiction."—Boston Beacon.
Richard Harding Davis.
Gallegher, and Other Stories. 12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.
"The freshness, the strength, and the vivid picturesqueness of the stories are indisputable, and their originality and their marked distinction are no less decided."—Boston Saturday Gazette.
Paul Du Chaillu.
Ivar the Viking.12mo, $1.50.
"The story of a typical Norseman in the third and fourth centuries. The volume is a thrilling and an interesting one."—Boston Advertiser.
Edward Eggleston.
Roxy.The Circuit Rider.Illustrated. Each, 12mo, $1.50.
"Dr. Eggleston's fresh and vivid portraiture of a phase of life and manners hitherto almost unrepresented in literature; its boldly contrasted characters, and its unconventional, hearty, religious spirit, took hold of the public imagination."—The Christian Union.
Erckmann-Chatrian.
The Conscript.Illustrated.Waterloo.Illustrated. Sequel to The Conscript.Madame Thérèse.The Blockade of Phalsburg.Illustrated.The Invasion of France in 1814.Illustrated.A Miller's Story of the War.Illustrated.
The National Novels, each, $1.25; the set, 6 vols., $7.50.
Friend Fritz.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.25.
Harold Frederic.
Seth's Brother's Wife.12mo, $1.25.The Lawton Girl.12mo, $1.25; paper, 50 cts.In the Valley.Illustrated. 12mo, $1.50.The Copperhead.12mo, $1.00.Marsena, and Other Stories. 12mo, $1.00.
"It is always a pleasure to welcome a vigorous new-comer in literature, and the talents of Mr. Frederic abundantly entitle him to this description. Mr. Frederic is a realist and his work is well done."—Boston Post.
Eugene Field.
A Little Book of Profitable Tales.16mo, $1.25.
"This pretty little volume promises to perpetuate examples of a wit, humor and pathos, quaint and rare in their kind."—New York Tribune.
James Anthony Froude.
The Two Chiefs of Dunboy.An Irish Romance of the Last Century. 12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.50.
"The narrative is full of vigor, spirit and dramatic power. It will unquestionably be widely read, for it presents a vivid and life-like study of character with romantic color, and adventurous incident for the background."—The New York Tribune.
Robert Grant.
Face to Face.12mo, paper, 50cts.; cloth, $1.25.The Reflections of a Married Man.12 mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.The Opinions of a Philosopher.12mo, illustrated, $1.00.
"In the 'Reflections,' Mr. Grant has given us a capital little book which should easily strike up literary comradeship with 'The Reveries of a Bachelor.'"—Boston Transcript.
Edward Everett Hale.
Philip Nolan's Friends.Illust'd. 12mo, paper, 50cts.; cloth, $1.50.
"There is no question, we think, that this is Mr. Hale's completest and best novel."—The Atlantic Monthly.
Marion Harland.
Judith.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.Handicapped.12mo, $1.50.With the Best Intentions.12mo, cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts.
"Fiction has afforded no more charming glimpses of old Virginia life than are found in this delightful story, with its quaint pictures, its admirably drawn characters, its wit, and its frankness."—The Brooklyn Daily Times.
Joel Chandler Harris.
Free Joe,and Other Georgian Sketches. 12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.
"The author's skill as a story writer has never been more felicitously illustrated than in this volume."—The New York Sun.
Augustus Allen Hayes.
The Jesuit's Ring.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.
"The conception of the story is excellent."—The Boston Traveller.
George A. Hibbard.
The Governor, and Other Stories. 12mo, cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts.
"It is still often urged that, except in remote corners, there is nothing in our American life which appeals to the artistic sense, but certainly these stories are American to the core, and yet the artistic sense is strong in them throughout."—Critic.
Dr. J. G. Holland.
Sevenoaks.The Bay Path.Arthur Bonnicastle.Miss Gilbert's Career.Nicholas Minturn.Each, 12mo, $1.25; the set, $6.25.SevenoaksandArthur Bonnicastle. Each, paper, 50 cts.
"Dr. Holland will always find a congenial audience in the homes of culture and refinement. He does not affect the play of the darker and fiercer passions, but delights in the sweet images that cluster around the domestic hearth. He cherishes a strong fellow-feeling with the pure and tranquil life in the modest social circles of the American people, and has thus won his way to the companionship of many friendly hearts."—The New York Tribune.
Thomas A. Janvier.
Color Studies, and a Mexican Campaign.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.
"Piquant, novel and ingenious, these little stories, with all their simplicity, have excited a wide interest. The best of them, 'Jaune D'Antimoine,' is a little wonder in its dramatic effect, its ingenious construction."—Critic.
Henry Kingsley.
Ravenshoe.Geoffrey Hammond.Austin Elliott.12mo. (In press.)
George P. Lathrop.
Newport.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.25.An Echo of Passion.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.In the Distance.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.
"His novels have the refinement of motive which characterize the analytical school, but his manner is far more direct and dramatic."—The Christian Union.
Brander Matthews.
The Secret of the Sea, and Other Stories. 12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.The Last Meeting.12mo, cloth, $1.00.
"Mr. Matthews is a man of wide observation and of much familiarity with the world. His literary style is bright and crisp, with a peculiar sparkle about it—wit and humor judiciously mingled—which renders his pages more than ordinarily interesting."—The Rochester Post-Express.
George Meredith.
Lord Ormont and His Aminta.12mo, $1.50.
"A novel for which the lover of literature will do well to put up his hands and, in the words of the old grace, be 'truly thankful.'" —Pall Mall Budget.
George Moore.
Vain Fortune.12mo, $1.00.
"How a woman's previous ideas and actions will completely change when the medium of a wild, intense love is interposed, was never more skillfully sketched."—Boston Times.
Fitz-James O'Brien.
The Diamond Lens, with Other Stories. 12mo, paper, 50 cts.
"These stories are the only things in literature to be compared with Poe's work, and if they do not equal it in workmanship, they certainly do not yield to it in originality."—The Philadelphia Record.
Duffield Osborne.
The Spell of Ashtaroth.12mo, $1.00.
"It has a simple but picturesque plot, and the story is told in a vividly dramatic way."—Chicago Times.
Bliss Perry.
The Broughton House.12mo, $1.25.Salem Kittredge, and Other Stories. 12mo, $1.00.
"A wonderfully shrewd and vivid picture of life in one of our hill towns in summer."—Hartford Post.
Thomas Nelson Page.
In Old Virginia.Marse Chan and Other Stories. 12mo, $1.25.On Newfound River.12mo, $1.00.Elsket, and Other Stories. 12mo, $1.00.Marse Chan.Ills. by Smedley. Sq. 12mo, $1.50.Meh Lady.Ills. by Reinhart. Sq. 12mo, $1.50.A New Volume of Stories(in press).
"Mr. Page enjoys the distinction of having written the most exquisite story of the war ('Marse Chan') which has yet appeared. His stories are beautiful and faithful pictures of a society now become a portion and parcel of the irrevocable past."—Harper's Magazine.
George I. Putnam.
In Blue Uniform.12mo, $1.00.On the Offensive.12mo, $1.00.
"An entertaining picture of life on the frontier by one who knows whereof he is writing."—The Churchman.
Saxe Holm's Stories.
First Series.Second Series.Each, 12mo, paper, 50cts.; cloth, $1.00.
"Saxe Holm's characters are strongly drawn, and she goes right to the heart of human experience, as one who knows the way. We heartily commend them as vigorous, wholesome, and sufficiently exciting stories."—The Advance.
Stories from Scribner.
Illustrated. Each, 16mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, 75 cts.; half calf, $1.50.
"Only those who have regularly read Scribner's have any idea of the delightful contents of these volumes, for they contain some of the best stories written for that periodical. They are exquisitely bound, clearly printed on fine paper, and admirably illustrated."—Boston Times.
Robert Louis Stevenson.
Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.12mo, paper, 25 cts.; cloth, $1.00.Kidnapped.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, ill., $1.25.The Merry Men, and Other Tales and Fables. 12mo, paper, 35 cts.; cloth, $1.00.New Arabian Nights.12mo, paper, 30 cts.; cloth, $1.00.The Dynamiter.12mo, paper, 30 cts.; cloth, $1.00.The Black Arrow.ill. 12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.The Wrong Box.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.The Master of Ballantrae.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, ill., $1.25.The Wrecker.12mo, ill., $1.25.Island Nights' Entertainments.12mo, ill., $1.25.David Balfour.12mo, $1.50.
"Stevenson belongs to the romantic school of fiction writers. He is original in style, charming, fascinating, and delicious, with a marvelous command of words, and with a manner ever delightful and magnetic."—Boston Transcript.
Charles Warren Stoddard.
South Sea Idyls.12mo, $1.50.
"Brimful of delicious descriptions of South Sea Island life. Neither Loti nor Stevenson has expressed from tropical life the luscious, fruity delicacy, or the rich wine-like bouquet of these sketches."—Independent.
T. R. Sullivan.
Day and Night Stories.First and Second Series. Each, 12mo, cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cts.Roses of Shadow.12mo, $1.00.Tom Sylvester.12mo, $1.50.
"Mr. Sullivan's style is at once easy and refined, conveying most happily that atmosphere of good breeding and polite society which is indispensable to the novel of manners, but which so many of them lamentably fail of."—The Nation.
Frederick J. Stimson(J. S. of Dale).
Guerndale.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.25.The Crime of Henry Vane.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.The Sentimental Calendar.Ill. 12mo, $1.00.First Harvest.12mo, $1.25.The Residuary Legatee.12mo, paper, 35 cts.; cloth, $1.00.In the Three Zones.12mo, $1.00.
"No young novelist in this country seems better equipped than Mr. Stimson is."—The Philadelphia Bulletin.
Frank R. Stockton.
Pomona's Travels.Illustrated by A. B. Frost. 12mo, $2.00.Rudder Grange.12mo, paper, 60 cts.; cloth, $1.25. Illustrated by A. B. Frost. Sq. 12mo, $2.00.The Late Mrs. Null.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.25.The Lady, or the Tiger?and Other Stories. 12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.25.The Christmas Wreck, and Other Stories. 12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.25.The Bee-Man of Orn, and Other Fanciful Tales. 12mo, cloth, $1.25.Amos Kilbright, with Other Stories. 12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.25.The Rudder Grangers Abroad, and Other Stories. 12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.25.Ardis Claverden, new edition. 12mo, $1.50.
"Of Mr. Stockton's stories what is there to say, but that they are an unmixed blessing and delight? He is surely one of the most inventive of talents, discovering not only a new kind in humor and fancy, but accumulating an inexhaustible wealth of details in each fresh achievement, the least of which would be riches from another hand."—W. D. Howells.
Stories by American Authors.
Cloth, 16mo, 50 cts. each; set, 10 vols., $5.00; cabinet edition, in sets only, $7.50.
"The public ought to appreciate the value of this series, which is preserving permanently in American literature short stories that have contributed to its advancement."—The Boston Globe.
Octave Thanet.
Expiation.Illustrated by A. B. Frost. 12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.Stories of a Western Town.12mo. Illustrated by A. B. Frost. $1.25.
"Good, wholesome, and fresh. The Western character has never been better presented."—Boston Courier.
John T. Wheelwright.
A Child of the Century.12mo, paper, 50 cts.; cloth, $1.00.
"A typical story of political and social life, free from cynicism of morbid realism, and brimming over with fun."—The Christian at Work.