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Updated: July 22, 2025
A JOLLY FELLOWSHIP, By Frank R. Stockton. By Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge. THE BOY EMIGRANTS, By Noah Brooks. PHAETON ROGERS, By Rossiter Johnson. Four volumes, 12mo, in a box, illustrated, $5.00. Sold separately, price per volume $1.50.
Edith M. Thomas, in her poems, shows high culture, originality, and imagination. Those of Lucy Larcom belong to every-day life, and are truthful and pathetic. Mary Mapes Dodge is a charming writer of tales and poems for children, and of other poems, Celia Thaxter dwells on the picturesque features of nature on sea and land.
"There is no possibility of mistake; the description is almost photographic and the clothing I remember well." "Your husband, madam?" asked the Lieutenant, as I remained silent. "Yes; legally my husband, although he had driven me from him by dissipation and neglect. I I cannot tell you the wretched story now." "Nor do I ask it," he hastened to assure her. "What is it, Mapes?"
I expect she'd been some curious all along to see what this new Mrs. Zosco looked like. "What was it you said she used to be called, Torchy?" she demands. "'Myrtle Mapes, the Girl With the Million Dollar Smile, was the way she was billed," says I. "But them press agents don't care what they say half the time. And maybe she only smiles that way when the camera's set for a close-up."
Stockton was connected for many years: first on the Century Magazine, which succeeded Scribner's Monthly, and afterward on St. Nicholas, as assistant to Mrs. Mary Mapes Dodge, and, still later, when he decided to give up editorial work, as a constant contributor.
Burnett has made Lord Fauntleroy a thoughtful boy, and she is right in believing that the stories children like best are those best worth thinking about when they are being read. HANS BRINKER; or, The Silver Skates. By MARY MAPES DODGE. One volume, 12mo, with sixty beautiful illustrations. $1.50.
"I ain't told him how much I know. Let's get off where he can't hear. Back in the bushes there." And when we've circled the lodge and put some shrubbery between us and the road Ellery consents to open up. "They're tryin' to do away with Sister Maggie," says he. "You know who she is Mrs. Andres Zosco?" "But I thought she was Myrtle Mapes," says I. "Ah, that's only her screen name," says Ellery.
So I obeyed without a word, deeming it best to lie down quietly in the space allotted, and endeavor to think out some feasible plan for the morrow, rather than be caught again prowling around blindly in the dark. To assist me in this decision Mapes hung about the lower deck, until satisfied that I had actually turned in. But I made no effort to sleep, and my mind remained busy.
The names of Mary Mapes Dodge, Frank R. Stockton, Noah Brooks, and Rossiter Johnson are familiar ones in every household, and a set of books, to which each has contributed one, forms a present that will delight the heart of every boy who likes manly, spirited, and amusing tales. The volumes are beautifully illustrated and uniformly bound in a most attractive form.
The narrow space extending between rail and cabin never seemed entirely deserted, and my last attempt brought me face to face with Mapes, who very curtly ordered me below, accompanying his command with a profane request to remain there.
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