Nautilus

CHAPTER X.

IN THE VALLEY OF DECISION.

"And now, Colorado, son of my heart," the Skipper said, "you understand why I was a thief that yesterday, and why I could not permit you at that instant to tell of my thieving?"

They had put the old man to bed, and Mr. Bill Hen had gone for the doctor. In fact, when John ran out of the door, he had found Mr. Bill Hen leaning up against it, as speechless, with amazement and confusion, as Mr. Scraper himself! The good man, wholly unable to restrain his curiosity, had followed the Skipper and the boy, unbeknown to them, and posting himself in a convenient angle of the porch, had heard every word of the conversation. The Skipper, perceiving the facts, managed to rouse him with a few sharp words, and sent him off in hot haste to the village; and had then proceeded to make the old gentleman comfortable, and to set things shipshape, so far as might be.

"Do you think he will die?" asked John, peeping over the bed at the sunken features of the old man.

"I do not!" was the reply.

"I think this my revered uncle has yet many years to live—and repent, if so he be minded. He is a very bad old man, Colorado, this my revered uncle! Ah, thou ancient fish, thou art finally landed!"

"Are you sorry for a person when he is so bad as that?" asked the boy, as he had asked once before.

"Do you think a person could make him better, if he tried very hard indeed?"

"I have no knowledge!" said the Skipper, rather shortly. "I am a human person altogether, my son! and I concern myself not greatly with the improvement of this my revered uncle. Behold it, the will, made by my grandfather, the father of my poor mother, whose soul, with his, rest in eternal glory! By this, my mother, and I after her, inherit this house, this garden, these possessions such as they are. If I desire, son of mine, I may come here to-day to live, sell the 'Nautilus,' or cut her cable and let her drift down the river, with Rento and Franci, and all the shells; and I may live here in my house, to—what do you say? cultivate my lands, eat grass and give it to the cattle? What think you, Colorado? Is that a life? Shall I lead it, as is my right? Have I not had enough, think you, of roving over the sea, with no place where I may rest, save the heaving ocean, that rests never beneath the foot? Shall we turn out this old wicked man, who did to death his old father, who made my mother go sad of heart to her grave, who has done of all his life no kind act to any person—shall we turn him out, and live in peace here, you and I?"

The child came near to him, and laid his hand on his friend's knee, and looked up in his face with troubled eyes.

"I am not very bright," he said, "and you think so many things so quickly that I do not know what you mean a good deal of the time. But—but Cousin Scraper took me when my people died, and he has taken care of me ever since, and—and he has no one else to take care of him now."

"Yes, the fine care he has taken of you!" said the Skipper. "You are of skin and bone, my child, and there are marks on your skin of blows, I saw them yesterday: cruel blows, given from a bad heart. You have worked for him, this ancient fish-skin, how long? Of wages, how much has he paid you? Tell me these things, and I will tell you how much it is your duty to stay by him."

But John shook his head, and the shadows deepened in his blue eyes.

"You cannot tell a person those things," he said; "a person has to tell himself those things. But thank you all the same," he added, fervently; "and I love you always more and more, every day and every minute, and I always shall."

"Now the question is," said the Skipper, shrugging his shoulders in mock despair, "must I turn pirate in truth, to gain possession of a child whom I could hold in my pocket, and who would give all his coloured hair from his head to go with me? Go away, son of mine, that I reflect on these things, for you try my soul!"

John withdrew, very sad, and wondering how it was that right and wrong could ever get mixed. He thought of looking in some of the old books to see, but, somehow, books did not appeal to him just now. He went up to his own little room, and took down the china poodle, and had a long talk with him; that was very consoling, and he felt better after it; it was wonderful how it cleared the mind to talk a thing over with an old friend. The poodle said little, but his eyes were full of sympathy, and that was the main thing. By-and-by, as the child sat by his little window, polishing the pearl-shell on his sleeve, and thinking over the strange events of the last few days, there came to him from below the sound of voices. The doctor was there, evidently; perhaps Mr. Bill Hen, too; and little as he felt inclined to merriment, John fell into a helpless laughter, as he recalled the look of that worthy man when he was discovered flattened against the door. How much older one grew sometimes in a short time! Mr. Bill Hen used to look so old, so wise, and now he seemed no more than another boy, and perhaps rather a foolish boy. But seeing the Skipper made a great difference in a person's life.

Presently the door at the foot of the stairs opened, and John heard his name called; he hastened down, and found Mr. Scraper sitting up in bed, looking pale and savage, but in full possession of his faculties. The doctor was there, a burly, kind-eyed man, and Mr. Bill Hen was there, and the Skipper; and when little John entered, they all looked at him, and no one said anything for a moment.

At length the doctor broke the silence.

"I understand, sir," he said, addressing the Skipper, "that you have a paper, a will or the like, substantiating your claims?"

"I have!" the Skipper replied. "The letter received by my mother, shortly before her death, was dictated by my grandfather, and told that, hearing for many years nothing from his son, this child's grandfather, he had made a will in her favour. This, being timorous, he had not dared to show to anyone, neither to send her a copy, but he bade her send a messenger to make search in a certain cupboard of this house, on a certain shelf, where would be found this paper. My mother dying, commended to me this search. I at that time was a youth on adventures bent, with already plans for eastern voyages. Keeping always the letter in my pouch, and in my heart the desire of my mother, I came, nevertheless, not to this part of the world; years come and go, Señor, swiftly with men of the sea, and these shores seemed to me less of attraction than Borneo and other places where were easily to be found my wares. Briefly, I came not; till this year, a commission from a collector of some extent brought the 'Nautilus' to New York. And then, say I, how then if I go on, see this my inheritance, discover if it may profit me somewhat? I come, I discover my revered uncle, unknown to him. Is the discovery such that I desire to fall on his respected bosom, crying, 'My uncle, soul of my family, behold your son!' I ask you, Señors both! But I find this, my revered uncle, to be a collector of shells: thus he is in one way already dear to my heart. Again, I find here at the moment of my arrival a child, who is in effect of my own blood, who is to me a son from the moment of our first speech. Is it so, Colorado? Speak, my child!"

John could not speak, but he nodded like a little mandarin, and the red curls fell into his eyes and hid the tears, so that no one but the Skipper saw them.

"How then?" the Skipper resumed, after a moment's pause. "My soul not calling me to reveal myself to this so-dear relative, what do I? I come to this house, without special plan, to spy out the land, do we say? I find my uncle forth of the house; I find my child travailing in the garden. Good! The time appears to me accepted. I enter, I search, I find the cupboard, I find the paper. Briefly, Señors both, behold me possessor of this house, this garden, this domain royal."

He handed a paper to the doctor, who read it carefully, and nodded. Mr. Scraper made an attempt to clutch it in passing, but grasped the air only.

"What then, in finality, do I say?" the Skipper went on. "Do I desire to stay in this place? Wishing not to grieve the Señor Pike, whom greatly I esteem, I consider it unfit for the human being. Of property, I have little desire; I have for my wants enough, I have my 'Nautilus,' I have my boys, to what end should I retain these cold spots of earth, never before seen by me? To what purpose, I ask it of you, Señors? Therefore, in finality, I say to my revered uncle this: Give to me the child, give to me the boy, that I take away and make a sailor, for which he was born; and I of my part surrender house and garden, even any money bags which may be, what know I, perhaps at this moment in the bed of my revered uncle concealed?"

The old man gave a convulsive shudder at this, and shrieked faintly; all started, but the Skipper laughed.

"You see, Señor Pike, and Señor Doctor, greatly respected! Who shall know how great sums this ancient fish has hidden under him? Let him keep them, these sums. I take the child, and I go my way. Is it finished, uncle of my heart? Is it finished, venerable iniquity? Can you part with the child, beloved, even as your old father was beloved, and like him caressed and tenderly entreated? Answer, thou!"

But before Mr. Scraper could speak, little John stepped forward, very pale, but clear in his mind.

"If you please," he said, "I should like to speak. If you please, he (indicating the Skipper,) is so kind, and—and—he knows what I—he knows things I have thought about, but he does not know all. Cousin Scraper, you may be sick now, perhaps a long time, and perhaps you have gone upon your bed to die, like that king in the Bible who had figs put on; only he got well.

"And I want to stay and take care of you, and—and I will do as well as I know how, and I think I can work more than I used to, because I know more, these last days, than I did, and—and—I think that is all. But if you don't mind—if you would try to like me a little, I think we should get on better; and if dried figs would do, we might try those, you know."

Here he turned to the doctor, with a face of such clear brightness that the good man choked, and coughed, and finally went and looked out of the window, wondering whether he was laughing or crying.

Then John came forward, and held out both hands to the old man with an appealing gesture.

"Will you try to like me a little?" he said; and for the first time his voice quivered.

"For now my only friend is going away, and I am sending him, and I shall never see him again."

Mr. Endymion Scraper was a man of few ideas; and only one was in his mind at this moment. Gathering himself up in the bed, he pushed the boy away from him with all his feeble strength.

"Go 'way!" he said. "Go 'way, I tell ye. If that man there will take ye, he's welcome to ye, I guess. If he's fool enough to take ye in exchange for property, saying the property was his, which I aint fool enough to do without a lawyer—he's welcome to ye. I say, he's welcome. I don't want no brats round here. I took ye out of charity, and I've had enough of ye. Go 'long, I say, with that wuthless feller, if he is my sister's son. I want to be rid of the hull lot and passel of ye!"

His voice rose to a scream, and the veins on his narrow forehead stood out like cords. The doctor motioned to the Spaniard; and the latter, without another word, took the child up in his arms as he had done once before, swung him over his shoulder, and left the room.

CHAPTER XI.

SAILING.

"Rento!"

"Ay, ay, sir!"

"Franci!"

"Señor!"

"Jack and Jim!"

The monkeys for answer leaped on their master's shoulder, and chattered, and peered round into his face.

"The company of this schooner, attention! Behold Colorado, who comes to be my son! He sails with us, he receives kindness from you all, he is in his home. Instruction you will give him in ways of the sea, and he becomes in all things your brother. Am I understood?"

The different members of the crew received this intelligence each in his own way. Rento advanced, and shaking John cordially by the hand, assured him with honest warmth that he was proper glad to see him, and that he hoped they should be good friends.

Franci smiled like an angel, and the moment the Skipper's back was turned, made frightful grimaces at the boy, and threatened his life. But John was too happy to be afraid of Franci. Going boldly up to him, he asked,—

"Why don't you like me, and why do you want to kill me? I never did you any harm, and I should like to be friends, please."

The Spaniard looked at him sidelong out of his soft, sleepy eyes.

"Have you understanding?" he asked presently. "Have you intelligence to accept the idea of a person of poetry, of soul?"

"I think so!" said John, with some confidence. "I could try, anyhow."

"Look, then!" exclaimed Franci, throwing his arms abroad with a dramatic gesture.

"I am not of nature murderous. A dove, a lamb at sport in the meadow, such is the heart of Franci. But—behold me desolated on this infernal schooner. Torn by my parents from my home, from warm places of my delight, from various maidens, all enamoured of my person, I am sent to be a sailor. A life of horror, believe me who say it to you! Wetness, cold and work; work, cold and wetness! Behold the sea! may it be accursed, and dry up at the earliest moment! I come here, on this so disastrous voyage. Have I poetry, think you, on board this vessel? Is the pig-faced armadillo yonder a companion for me, for Franci? Is my beauty, the gentleness and grace of my soul appreciated here? even the Patron, a person in some ways of understanding, has for me only the treatment of a child, of a servant. Crushed to the ground by these afflictions, how do I revenge myself? How do I make possible the passage of time in this wooden prison? I make for myself the action, I make for myself the theatre. Born for the grace of life, deprived of it, let me have the horrors! In effect, I would not hurt the safety of a flea; in appearance, I desire blood, blood, blood!"

He shrieked the last words aloud, and leaped upon the boy, his eyes glaring like a madman's; but John was on his own ground now; his eyes shone with appreciation.

"That's splendid!" he cried. "Blood! Oh, I wish I could do it like that! I say, we can play all kind of things, can't we? We'll be pirates—only good pirates,—and we'll scour the seas, and save all the shipwrecked people, won't we? And you shall be the captain (or you might call it admiral, if you liked the sound better, I often do), and I will be the mate, or the prisoners, or the drowning folks, just as you like. I love to play things."

"Come to my heart, angelic child!" cried Franci, flinging out his arms once more. "At length I am understood, I am appreciated, I have found a comrade! That I weep on thy bosom, Colorado!"

And, much to the disgust of Rento, he fell upon John's neck, and shed, or appeared to shed, a few tears, with great parade of silk handkerchief. He then advanced to where the Skipper was smoking his cigar in the stern, and informed him, with a low bow, that he and Colorado were one soul, which the Skipper said he was delighted to hear, adding that he recommended the one soul to set the two bodies to work cleaning the brasses.

Franci liked to clean the brasses, because he could see his face in them, and make eyes at himself as he went along; accordingly he turned three back-somersaults, a sign of high good-humour with him, and returned to his new friend.

"Have you noticed, Colorado," he inquired, "the contour of my leg? Did you observe it now, quivering in the air?"

John nodded appreciation, and wondered how old Franci was.

"To possess beauty," said the latter, gravely, "is a responsibility, my friend. It is a burden, my soul! Franci has shed tears over it, the tears of a poet. You have read of Apollo, at least you have heard of him, the god of poetry, of music, of grace? yes? Behold him, Colorado! He lives before you, in the form of Franci. Come on, that we clean together the brasses!"

As for the monkeys, they at once adopted John as their companion and their lawful prey. They climbed over him, they tried to get into his pockets, they nestled in his arms, they challenged him to races among the yards. The Skipper was their king, Franci was their model, the ideal toward which they vainly aspired. Rento, good, homely Rento, was the person who fed them, and with whom they could take any liberties, with no danger of a beating; but the new-comer, the boy John, was simply another monkey like themselves. Dressed up, it was true, like men, but in no other way resembling them more than another, more than themselves. Let him come and play, then, and put on no airs. These were the sentiments of Jack and Jim, and John responded to them with hearty good-will.

The Skipper sat smoking, and watched with a quiet smile the gambols of the three young creatures, as they sped here and there about the rigging, chattering, laughing, shrieking with glee.

"Laugh, my son!" he said to himself, between the puffs of his cigar. "Laugh and play, my little son! Far too little laughter has been in thy life so far; here thou shalt be as gay as the sun is bright on the Bahamas. Of what use to be a sailor, if not to rejoice, and to see with joy the works of God and His glory? Laugh, Colorado, the sound is music in my ears!"

But by-and-by the play must cease. Orders were given, and Rento and Franci set to work in good earnest. The wind was fair, the tide was setting out. What should keep them longer here? The sails were hoisted to the tune of "Baltimore," and Rento's gruff bass and Franci's melting tenor were mingled for once in friendly harmony.

Just as the cables were about to be cast off, a hail was heard from the wharf, and Mr. Bill Hen Pike appeared, purple and breathless.

"Schooner ahoy!" he gasped; and then fell against a post and mopped his brow.

"Señor!" responded the Skipper, coming to the stern, and greeting his guest with a wave of the hand, "you come to bid us farewell? It is kindly done! Or you bring us, perhaps, a message from our revered uncle? Speak with haste, Señor, the tide waits not!"

"I—I brought this!" said Mr. Bill Hen, holding up a small object. "I went up into his room, to see if there was anything he might like, and there warn't nothing but just this. I thought you'd like to have it, Johnny, to take along with you."

The good man's voice faltered; John ran to the stern, and held out his hands eagerly, tenderly, crying,—"Oh, thank you, dear Mr. Pike! thank you so very, very much!"

For it was the china poodle that Mr. Bill Hen had brought. When the treasure was safe in the child's hands, Mr. Bill Hen breathed more freely.

"Now you'll have something to remember us by, Johnny!" he said. "We've lotted on ye a good deal, here to the village; more maybe than you thought on. I—I'll miss ye consid'able, off and on, ye see, off and on. You'll think about us nows and thens, won't ye, Bub?"

"Oh, yes, indeed!" cried little John, eagerly. "I shall think of you a great, great deal, Mr. Bill Hen! You have always been so good and kind to me, and I shall miss you, too, and Lena, and lots of people. And—and how is Cousin Scraper, please, Mr. Bill Hen? Does he miss me, do you think?"

"He's all right!" replied Mr. Bill Hen, gruffly. "Doosn't seem none the worse for his tantrum. No, if you ask me, I can't say as he seems to miss ye, not anyways to hurt him, that is. He'll be out again to-morrow all right, doctor says; and besides bein' rather uglier than common all day, I don't see no difference in him."

John sighed, but not very heavily.

"I suppose if I had been nicer he might have missed me," he said; "but then, on the other hand, if he missed me, he wouldn't be so comfortable at my going away; so, you see!"

Mr. Bill Hen did not see, but he said it was of no consequence. Then, coming to the edge of the wharf, he shook hands all round, never noticing, in the preoccupation of his mind, the knife that Franci flashed and brandished in his eyes as a parting dramatic effect. He held John's hand long, and seemed to labour for words, but found none; and so they slipped away and left him standing alone on the wharf, a forlorn figure.

Down the river! Sailing, sailing over the magical waters, past the fairy shores, already darkening into twilight shades of purple and gray. The white schooner glided along, passing, as she had come, like a dream. In the bow stood the Skipper, his eyes bent forward, his hand clasping fast the hand of the child.

"We go, Colorado!" he said. "We go, my son, to new worlds, to a new life. May a blessing be upon them, as my heart feels there will be. Behold, my friend, the ways of God, very wonderful to men of the sea. I come up this river, with what thoughts in my heart? Partly of curiosity, that I see the place where my mother, long dead, was born, came to her womanhood; partly of tenderness for her memory, regard for her wish; partly, also, for anger at the villain brother, my uncle, and desire for revenge, for my rights. I come, and I find—a child! A brother for my present life, a son for my age, a friend for my heart! Living upon the sea, Colorado, a man has much time for thought; the sea speaks to him, the sky, the wind and wave. What is the word they say, each and every one, in the ear of the sailor? 'Glory to God!' That is it, my son. Let us give thanks, and begin with joy our new life together!"

Down the river! The banks fade into shadow, the breeze sinks away, but still the tide flows free, and the schooner slips along like a spirit. Now comes up the white fog, the fog out of which she came gliding that first morning; and it receives her as a bride, and folds her in its arms, and she melts into the whiteness and is gone. Was it all a dream? Or does there still come back to us, faintly borne, sweetly ringing, the song of the sailors?

[Listen to this music.]

The Hildegarde Series

AND OTHER BOOKS BY LAURA E. RICHARDS.

***Next to Miss Alcott's famous "Little Women" series they easily rank, and no books that have appeared in recent times may be more safely put into the hands of a bright, intelligent girl than these four "Queen Hildegarde" books.

HILDEGARDE'S NEIGHBORS.

By Laura E. Richards. A companion to "Queen Hildegarde," etc. Illustrated from original designs. Square 16mo, cloth. $1.25.

A new volume in the "Hildegarde" Series, some of the best and most deservedly popular books for girls issued in recent years. This new volume is fully equal to its predecessors in point of interest, and is sure to renew the popularity of the entire series.

QUEEN HILDEGARDE.

A story for girls, by Laura E. Richards, author of "Captain January," etc. Illustrated from original designs by Garrett (292 pp). Square 16mo, cloth. $1.25.

"We would like to see the sensible, heroine-loving girl in her early teens who would not like this book. Not to like it would simply argue a screw loose somewhere." Boston Post.

HILDEGARDE'S HOLIDAY.

A companion to "Queen Hildegarde." By Laura E. Richards. Illustrated with full-page plates by Copeland. Square 16mo, cloth. $1.25.

HILDEGARDE'S HOME.

By Laura E. Richards, author of "Queen Hildegarde," "Captain January," etc. Illustrated with original designs by Merrill. Square 16mo, cloth. $1.25.

ALSO

FOUR FEET, TWO FEET, AND NO FEET;

Or, Furry and Feathery Pets, and How they Live. Stories of Animals, Fishes and Birds for the Little Folks. Edited by Laura E. Richards. Illustrated with nearly 250 wood engravings, all original in design, and engraved by George T. Andrew. Quarto. Illuminated board covers. $1.75.

FIVE MICE IN A MOUSE TRAP.

The story of their lives and other wonderful things related by The Man in the Moon, done in the vernacular from the lunacular form, by Laura E. Richards, daughter of Julia Ward Howe, author of "Four Feet, Two Feet, and No Feet," "Joyous Story of Toto," etc. With a large number of beautiful illustrations by Addie Ledyard, Kate Greenaway and others. Quarto. Illuminated board covers. $1.25.

SIX GIRLS.

A delightful book for girls. By Fannie Belle Irving, a gifted writer, and niece of Washington Irving. Illustrated from designs by Merrill. 16mo, cloth. Boston. $1.25.

Illustrated Gift Books

FOR ALL SEASONS.

AMERICA'S GODFATHER;

Or, the Florentine Gentleman. Being the story of Amerigo Vespucci. By Virginia W. Johnson, author of "The Lily of the Arno," etc. Handsomely printed from large type, on fine paper, and illustrated with twenty full-page plates in half-tone. Small, 8vo, handsomely bound in cloth, extra, original and very handsome cover design, gilt top, in a box. $2.50.

WILLIAM WARE'S BOOKS.

ZENOBIA;

Queen of Palmyra. A tale of the Roman Empire in the days of the Emperor Aurelian. By William Ware, author of "Aurelian," "Julian," etc. Holiday edition. Handsomely printed from new and large type on laid paper, and handsomely illustrated with twenty full-page plates in half-tone from photographs taken in Palmyra. Small 8vo, tastefully bound in parti-colored cloth, decorated in gold, with cameo portrait on side, gilt top, in a box. $2.50

A handsome holiday edition of a famous historical novel, still popular and worthy of preservation in an attractive form. The illustrations add considerably to its interest, depicting the ruins of a splendid civilization, that was at its zenith nearly two thousand years ago.

AURELIAN;

Emperor of Rome. A tale of the Roman Empire in the Third Century. By William Ware, author of "Zenobia," etc. Handsomely printed from new, large type, and illustrated with twenty full-page plates in half-tone from photographs of Roman scenes described in the story. Small 8vo, cloth, gilt top, uniform with our holiday edition of "Zenobia," each copy in a box. $2.50.

A companion edition to the handsome holiday edition of "Zenobia." It is an historical tale of no ordinary power, and is familiar to the present generation chiefly from the reputation of its former success, but well deserves renewed popularity.

JULIAN;

Or Scenes in Judea. By William Ware, author of "Zenobia," etc. Handsomely printed from new, large type, on laid paper, and illustrated with full-page plates reproducing historic scenes described in the narrative. Small 8vo, cloth, gilt top, uniform with our holiday editions of "Zenobia" and "Aurelian," each copy in a box. $2.50.

Completes the series of historical romances by the author of "Zenobia." The scene is laid at an earlier date than "Aurelian," being in fact during the time of Christ's ministrations in Judea, scenes which have since been so grandly used by Lew Wallace in "Ben Hur." To most of the present generation the book will possess all the charm of novelty.

Italian Cities Illustrated

ROME OF TO-DAY AND YESTERDAY:

The Pagan Centuries. By John Dennie. New holiday edition. Illustrated with maps, plans, and twenty full-page plates, reproducing, in photogravure, photographs of the most important points of interest. Small 8vo, vellum cloth, cover design in gold and colors, gilt tops, slip covers, in cloth case. $3.00.

GENOA THE SUPERB:

The City of Columbus. By Virginia W. Johnson, author of "The Lily of the Arno," etc. Handsomely printed from large type on laid paper and illustrated with twenty full-page photogravure plates from actual photographs of buildings, statues, church interiors, etc., in the City of Genoa. Small 8vo, tastefully bound in white vellum cloth, illuminated in gold and colors, gilt top, uncut edges, with slip cover in scarlet. Each copy in a neat cloth case. $3.00.

THE LILY OF THE ARNO;

Or, Florence, Past and Present, by Virginia W. Johnson. Charmingly illustrated with twenty-five full-page photogravure plates from original Photographs of points of interest in the beautiful City of Florence, "The Lily of the Arno." Small 8vo, handsomely bound in white vellum cloth, with cover design in gold and colors, gilt top, uncut edges, with slip covers in scarlet. Each copy in a neat cloth case. $3.00.

NAPLES; THE CITY OF PARTHENOPE;

And its environs. By Clara Erskine Clement, author of "A Handbook of Legendary and Mythological Art," "The Queen of the Adriatic," etc. Handsomely illustrated with twenty full-page plates in photogravure from photographs of historic scenes in and around Naples. Small 8vo, handsomely bound in extra cloth, with handsome cover design, gilt top, slip cover, in a neat cloth case. $3.00.

THE QUEEN OF THE ADRIATIC;

Or, Venice, Mediæval and Modern. By Clara Erskine Clement, author of "A Handbook of Legendary and Mythological Art," etc. Handsomely illustrated with twenty full-page photogravures from recent photographs of the principal points of interest. Small 8vo, vellum cloth, illuminated in gold and colors, gilt tops, with slip cover, in cloth case. $3.00.

Great Cities of the World.

THE CITY OF THE SULTANS;

Or, Constantinople, the Sentinel of the Bosphorus. By Clara Erskine Clement, author of "Naples," "Queen of the Adriatic," etc. Handsomely illustrated with full-page photogravures from original photographs. Small 8vo, cloth, substantially uniform in style with series of "Italian Cities Illustrated." with slip cover, in cloth case. $3.00.

The initial volume of a new series of handsome gift books, companions to the popular "Italian Cities Illustrated." Other volumes in press.

Estes & Lauriat, Publishers, Boston.