"Oh, if this dreadful war could only be ended!" cried a bright-looking boy, clenching his stick, and striking it on the pavement. "Why don't the President just proclaim freedom to every soul at once! My father says that would end the trouble double quick!"

"If the President thought so," said Harry, "he would soon say the word. I think he is the very best President we ever had; so honest and straight out. He don't think of himself; only of his country, and what is best for her. He's a dear, good old fellow, and if I saw him, I should just go up to him and say, 'I love you, President Lincoln, for you are an honest man.'"

"And so should I," said Johnny. "Aunt Fanny declares that anybody else's head would have become addled and utterly confounded by this time, with all this terrible war and confusion; but Mr. Lincoln's HONESTY OF HEART keeps his head clear, and so he does his duty; while his enemies snap and snarl; but they never 'catch a gudgeon.' Do you know Aunt Fanny?" he asked.

"Oh yes," cried all the boys.

"Well, her daughter wrote such a nice piece about the President, that I have learned it. If you like, I will tell it to you."

"That we should!" cried the boys; so Johnny in a clear voice began:

By the time Johnny had finished, a dozen more lads and some gentlemen had gathered round to listen. The little fellow's color mounted high, but he went on with admirable emphasis and animation to the end; and then let me tell you that, when he uttered the last "Hurrah," the boys snatched their hats off, and joined in with such a will, that the stunted old trees in the Park cracked again! and if it was not a very immense mass meeting, it was a highly respectable one, and perfectly unanimous.

"That was splendid!" said the bright boy, who had advised the President to proclaim universal freedom. "I love Aunt Fanny's daughter for writing it; and you may tell her so. I wonder if she wrote the beautiful little poem mother read to me the other day from the Rebellion Record. It set her crying; and I had hard work, I can tell you, to keep my face from puckering up."

"Oh, can you remember it?" asked some of the boys. "Do try."

"Yes; I learned it, only reading it twice after mother had read it to me. I don't know as you will like it as much as I did; but I've got a little brother, who says just such things the whole time." "Why, so have we," cried Johnny, "lots of them! so come let's hear it."

The little fellow put his finger on his lip, to think for a moment, and then began in a low voice; all the boys crowding round so as not to lose a word.

"What a dear little fellow he was," cried Johnny. "Yes, God is for the Union. Why can't everybody see it?"

"All in good time—His good time," said his brother; "come, Johnny, let's us go back to mother." And so they separated; and our boys, Harry and Johnny, walked quickly home.

They had not been in the house ten minutes, when the postman's peculiarly loud and impatient ring was heard. The little mother's heart stopped beating for a moment, while the children, too anxious to wait for a servant to come, rushed in a body to open the door. One united scream of joy greeted the dear brother's well-known handwriting.

"Safe! safe!" they cried, as they ran with the precious letter to their mother, who had turned so ghastly white that she seemed to be dying. It was a thick enclosure. With trembling, eager fingers, the envelope was torn away. Within was a long letter written on several sheets of paper, which were closely wrapped around a miniature of a beautiful young girl; a short, thick lock of dark curling hair, and a small card, on which was a tiny but most exquisite painting.

It represented a dark and stormy sea; the angry waves beating furiously against a great rock, which stood like a tower of strength in the midst of the waters.

On the rock far above, a cross, stead-fast and immovable, was planted, from which all the light in the picture came.

The inscription below was: "Our faith;" and on the back was written, "For dear Walter's birthday."

"These must belong to some one else," said the little mother in a low, sobbing voice. Then looking again at the miniature, she uttered a cry of grief, as she saw that it was a likeness of one she knew and loved dearly. She took up the letter, and read, half blinded with tears—

"February 12th, 1862.

"Darling Mother, Father, Brothers, and Sisters:—I have had my wish. I have been in a battle and, I hope, did my duty. I have come out unharmed; and I thank God humbly, for his goodness and mercy.

"We went through the inlet on the sternwheel boat 'Cadet,' February 7th. Soon General Burnside directed Lieutenant Andrews to take a boat's crew and ten soldiers, and pull for the shore to take soundings and examine the landing.

"Lieutenant Andrews, who is a cool, brave fellow, went through this enterprise splendidly. I had the good fortune to go with him. He took the soundings, went ashore, saw the glitter of bayonets, and was convinced that the landing was commanded by the rebels.

"Just as he returned to the boat, a number of men sprang up like lightning from the tall grass, and fired at us. One bullet took effect; one poor fellow was severely wounded.

"Then our vessels bombarded them. A hurricane of shot and shell was poured into their battery, till they seemed to be enveloped in one sheet of white smoke and flame; for we had set their quarters on fire. But with a desperation that filled me with a sorrowful admiration, they still worked at their guns.

"Then the rebel gunboats came down upon our vessels, and the brazen throats of our guns opened upon them with such deadly effect, that a boat of the enemy's was soon enveloped in flames. One of those awful hundred-pound shells from a Parrott gun fell and exploded on her deck.

"At four o'clock in the afternoon, our general made a circuit of the fleet. A shell from the enemy was aimed at his boat, but it exploded, fell into the water, hurting no one. The fighting continued till six o'clock, when our vessels hauled off, and all became quiet. No light was seen on shore but the red glow of the burning ruins of the enemy's quarters. They had fought bravely; and though in the wrong, I could not help feeling a respect for their courage, while I condemned their cause.

"The landing of our brave fellows was effected in a wonderfully short time; for we had no trouble from the enemy, as the men who fired on Lieutenant Andrews and his crew, were sent scampering into the woods by a shell from one of our boats, which went howling like a fiend through the air, and fell down upon them.

"But it began to rain, and in a cold driving storm we waded through the swamp, the rank grass up to our eyes, until we came out on a sandy plain. We tore up a rail fence, and at eleven o'clock that night our bivouac fires spangled the earth.

"You may imagine how much rest we got, with nothing but our thin overcoats to protect us. But our courage flamed up bright in spite of the weather; and when the order to form was given next morning, we rushed to our places with hearty good-will.

"Generals Foster and Burnside came up and said a few pleasant words. Then the reconnaissance was made, and we soon heard firing. We were ordered to advance. The men laughed and joked with each other as they marched, while our great guns boomed and thundered, and the fierce, incessant shriek of rifle shot filled the air.

"We went a mile, then two, and now the shot rattled among the leaves, and men came past carrying the brave Massachusetts boys, pierced by ball and bayonet, showing frightful bleeding wounds. As they were borne to the rear, they would pass us with a smile on their ghastly faces; or would utter a faint, trembling cheer, and the words, 'Never give up, boys, Victory or death!' and then a grand heroic fire would blaze up in their eyes.

"On we marched, till we heard cheers and screams of fury mingling with the thundering of the guns. Thick smoke, through which came flashes with a gleam like tiger's eyes, enveloped us, and the whistle of the bullets rushed close past our ears.

"We were under fire; and now, dear mother, I breathed a prayer to God to nerve my arm and heart. Not a weak soul—not a coward was in our ranks. I looked around, and saw in every resolute face a look which plainly said, 'Glory, or a grave.'

"Then our colonel gave the order to fire. Directly in front of us was the famous redoubt, of which we had heard so much; and we could see riflemen in the trees, under the turfed walls, and behind every possible cover. But we obeyed the order with a will, and for an hour we fought. Not a soul flinched. As the balls struck our men, and they fell, they were carried to the rear, and the ranks closed up without wavering. I seemed turned into stone; my heart hardened. I saw a ball strike poor Walter Averill, who fought at my side. He gave a low cry, and sank to the ground. Two privates carried him to an ambulance, and I turned away with my heart of granite harder, stonier than ever. It seemed impossible to feel sorrow. Suddenly a wild cheer rose up above the awful din. Our flag waved from the redoubt! Another! another! The battle was won!

"Roanoke Island was ours! with all the enemy's guns, and three thousand men with their arms, ammunition, and stores. The victory was complete.

"There was one young fellow, dear mother, who deserved to be made a general. Oh, mother! he was only seventeen years old—three years younger than I. He was ordered to plant a battery of six twelve-pounder boat howitzers from the vessels in the advance of the centre. He dragged these through the swamp and placed them in position. They soon began to thunder and flash into the enemy, who returned the fire with such fury and desperation that every man, one after the other, was shot down, and he was left alone. The chaplain of the Twenty-fifth Massachusetts, Rev. Mr. James, then rushed up and worked at one of the howitzers till his ammunition gave out, and he had to retire. Still this undaunted boy kept on loading and discharging his gun, now entirely alone, and a mark for the most terrible galling fire; and he did this until the enemy had surrendered.

"What a heroic soul lives in that brave boy's body! You may be sure that I found him out when the battle was over, and I just took him in my arms and hugged him tight. I hope we shall be fast friends as long as we live. His name is Benjamin H. Porter, and he lives in New York State. So give three cheers for him, and our grand old State."

The children, though in tears at hearing of all their brother had passed through, complied with his wish, and heartily cheered the brave young midshipman and the dear old State. Then the little mother went on reading—

"The grand, comfortable wooden camps of the enemy were of course turned over to our use; and our miserable captives, who certainly looked like mudsills—though we have the name—were bivouacked outside, well guarded.

"When the madness—for such hardness must have been a temporary frenzy—left me after the battle was over, I got permission to hunt up poor Walter Averill. I soon found him, lying in a room, with five other wounded men. His eye caught mine—a thankful gleam came into them as he beckoned me to him.

"'Oh, Walter!' I cried, my heart now softened and beating loud with sorrow, 'we've gained the victory, but you lie here wounded'—I stopped, for my voice became choked.

"'Yes, George, and dying,' he hoarsely whispered. 'Thank God you have come. I shall never see my home again. Look here.'

"He raised his bloody shirt, and I saw the life-blood slowly ebbing away, from a ghastly wound in his breast.

"Oh, mother, don't think me weak; but I burst into tears, crying, 'Walter, Walter, what will your mother do?'

"'Will you take a message to her and all the dear ones at home?' he answered. 'Tell them I fought bravely, and they must not grieve, for victory spread her pinions over my bloody bed, and took away the sting of death. Tell brother Gus he must comfort mother, and stand with his arms clasped lovingly round her, when the troops come marching home without me. Tell him to look upon them with proud, steadfast eyes; for his brother filled his own place with honor in the ranks, while he was among them, and did not fear to die. It is God's will. He knows best.'

"'And, George, there is another. She who was to have been my dear wife when I came back.' He turned away his head, and through my own blinding tears I saw the great woful drops roll down his cheeks.

"'Oh, Walter,' I sobbed, 'it's too hard!'

"'Next Tuesday would have been my birthday,' he said. 'I should have been twenty-two years old. Some little precious gift will be sure to come from Helen. If it comes in time, will you lay it on my breast to be buried with me? But if too late, take care of it, and return it to her when you find an opportunity. And cut one or two locks of my hair for my mother, and my poor—' his face changed all at once. With a last, dying effort he put his hand to his neck and drew out a ribbon, to which was attached a miniature, and placed it in my hand. Then in a voice faint, hoarse, dying, he murmured 'Mother—Helen.' One fluttering sigh, and he lay quite still. He was dead.

"The first pale moonbeam came creeping in, and rested softly on his face. It was calmly looking down on the red sand of the battle field with its bloody corses strewn here and there; and it was shining as calmly upon you at home, dear mother, who knew nothing then of that dreadful scene. As I thought of this, and the anguish the events of that day would make for Walter's family, and many another beside, I threw my head down on my dear lost comrade's bed, and sobbed till I thought my heart would break.

"I send the miniature, the locks of hair, and the little package that came the day after we buried him, with this letter. You will have to make these sad tidings known to his family. No one can do it as tenderly—but, 'Walter killed!' There is no softening of that terrible word.

"Good-by, dear mother, and all my dear ones. Write often to me; and, above all, pray for

"Your loving son and brother,

George."

As the letter concluded, Harry, who loved his friend, Gus Averill, next to his own brothers, exclaimed, "Oh, poor Gus!"—threw his arms on the table, and laying his forehead on them, gave way to such terrible convulsive sobs that it seemed as if his very heart was bursting with grief. The poor children could not comfort him, for they were crying themselves. Grateful that their own dear brother was safe, they could still feel the sharp sting of sympathetic sorrow at their friend's loss. No family had taken a greater interest in the children's evening work for the soldiers than Mrs. Averill's; and for the first time that winter, the whole evening was passed by them alone, and in a mournful silence; for the little mother went immediately on her sad and terrible errand, and did not return till quite late.

But a loving, thankful letter was to be despatched without delay to the dear son and brother; and as there was a prospect of his remaining some time in his present quarters, a box of comforts was eagerly prepared.

Every one of the children wrote letters perfectly running over with love and joy at his safety; and Willie and Bennie, with immense efforts and a great deal of rubbing out to make them better, sent to him divers pictures which they had drawn on purpose to please him.

Bennie sent this—which he called General Floyd—with a shield with a C in the middle for "Confederate," and four legs to show how very fast he could run. I am sure we all ought to be glad he did run; for the expression of his face, if Bennie's portrait is correct, is enough to strike terror and dismay to the heart of every loyal soul.

Willie made a likeness of President Davis, with a crown on his head, and pointing with a grin to the stars, which represented the Southern States.

Then Bennie made an elegant picture of the army of the Potomac, with the American eagle in one of the corners looking approvingly at it, all travelling down together to kill a turkey buzzard and a mud turtle, which somebody told him were Southern productions. He put numbers on the heads of those he meant for our generals, also on the guns, and Southern celebrities; and left the American eagle and the privates to get along as well as they could without them.

When Willie was favored with a glance at this remarkable picture, he concluded that it would never do for him to take no notice of the army; so he devoted himself to the production of a cavalry scene. Here it is. I think the horse with five tails and a square lump on his back, is particularly fine, or funny; but Willie is very proud of the whole thing, and wants to have it framed, and hung up in the parlor when George comes home.

A few days after, George wrote another letter, which was much more cheerful. He said:

"February 17th, 1862.

"Dear Mother:

"We are quietly bivouacked here, and everything is coming right except the loss of our friends.

"I send you a rough sketch of the tent in which we worshipped on Sundays. We have the Presbyterian form of service, and every one seems to enjoy the holy quiet of the day. It seems so dreadful that most of our battles have been fought on Sunday. Ah! I am called. I will write more to-morrow if I can.

"February 23d. I am so glad that my letter did not go the other day, as it gives me the opportunity to thank you all—dear, dear ones! for your letters. The box, of course, of which you speak, cannot be here near as quickly, as the express has thousands upon thousands to deliver.

"But Bennie and Willie! what shall I say to express my delight at their elegant pictures! I have pinned them to my tent, and I look at them and think that never were such funny, darling little brothers before! and certainly never were more perfect pictures of the kind. Here is a drawing of an ambulance, which I send in return: two poor wounded soldiers are inside, and two sitting behind with their arms in slings; and here is one I have made of the celebration we had yesterday in honor of Washington's birthday. It was a pretty rough affair; and the few natives who gathered round, did not remind me in the least of New York. The country people here are very uncouth and ignorant; and do not seem to know what comfort is, as we understand it. They "reckon" about everything; and when they consider themselves fortunate in any possession, they say they "reckon" they have a "pretty smart chance" of it.

"I am cheerful during the day, but in my dreams at night, I still hear the deadly whiz of bullets, and feel the horrible breath of the great balls and shells on my cheek. You can form no idea of the peculiar sensation it causes. Then poor Walter's dying form and words rise up in my brain; and I go over that woful scene, again and again. It will be many a long month before I can think of him without grief. He was beloved by everybody in the regiment. Tell this, dear mother, to his family.

"Tell Bennie, I think General Floyd must have used all his four legs when he ran away so fast from Fort Donelson; while that brave Commodore Foote stuck like wax to his duty, and did not leave the fort till he had put not only his own foot in it, but the foot of every man who helped him to take it. That's the kind of Foote for us! Isn't it, Bennie?

"And tell Willie, I showed his picture of Jeff. Davis grinning at his stars, to a darkey, who waits upon me; and he stooped over, put his hands on his knees, and said, laughing, "Hech! hech! y-a-h! Mas' Jeff. Davis, he grin toder side he mouf, bimeby; he mighty fas' wid he larf. Let ole Mas' Linkum 'lone. He knows. He make me for free, de Lord bress him!"

"Oh! oh! how I wish I could be with you all for just one day. I think I should kiss and hug you nearly to death.

"Don't forget to read my letters to Aunt Fanny, dear little old soul! I am afraid she will forget me, or will not have me hanging round her any more, now that I have got so big and clumsy. But she need not try to get rid of me. I'm a deal the strongest, and if she says she won't have me for one of her children forever and a day, I'll come home and pack her up in my cartridge box, and keep her there till she repents of her cruelty. Tell her that I would rather she should

Stab me through,
And shoot me too,
And kill me, which is worse, worse, worse,

than to refuse to consider me as one of her boys.

"And now, dear sisters and brothers, I must get ready for parade. I love you all, oh, how dearly! God grant we may meet again. Pray that this awful war between brothers, which is literally, most sadly true in many cases, may come to a speedy ending; and pray for, and love your son and brother,

George."

You may be sure I got all the letters to read; and every scrap of news about my dear boy, that the little mother and her children could glean. We knew that he had won the warm approbation of his superior officers for his coolness and bravery in the battle; but not a word did we hear from him in praise of himself.

A few evenings after this letter, all the mittens were gathered together for the last time; for, as spring approached, no more could be needed, at least this winter; and all prayed, that when another cold season came round, it would be bright with peace restored all over our beloved land.

There were just twenty-one pairs. George's birthday would come on the 8th of March, when he would be of age, and they hoped that a box containing these mittens and a loving gift from each and every member of his family, would reach him in time.

"Twenty-one years old!" cried Harry. "Why, George can vote! I think that is the very best of being a man."

"So do I," said a voice at the door.

"Oh, Aunt Fanny! you little darling; come help us count up our mittens."

Down we sat, with pencils and paper, and did dreadful hard sums, the smaller ones thought, casting up the long column of mittens which had been sent to the brave soldiers. Poor Mary O'Reilly had rubbed her red bags off at last, and was sitting close to Pet, comfortably washing her face, while the "tremendous dog" winked lazily at us, to let us know that he was all right, and on our side.

How many do you guess had been made and given, beside those the little play brought? Just take the six books, turn to the last pages of each, and then count up for yourselves. It will make a very nice little sum in arithmetic.

And, my darlings, it will do more, I hope, and believe. It will show you that children can do a great deal of good, if they only try. If I have proved this to your satisfaction, and if you should ever form or join a children's society to work for the soldiers, or help the poor, I really think you must let me know it, so that I can write you a letter, or come and give you a good, loving kiss.

And now, as my book is already getting too long, I can only tell you that George remained in his beloved General Burnside's division during the spring and summer of this year, 1862; doing his duty well, and winning the respect and love of all who knew him.

At first the General thought he was only a dandified chap, without much fighting in him, because his hair was parted so very evenly down the back of his head, and his gloves and boots were always, the one so snowy white, and the other so brilliantly black. The General did not know, as we do, that our little Johnny had given George a comb, expressly that he might make that very particular parting; and that his habits of scrupulous neatness in dress were a part of West Point and home education, which he would never neglect. But it was not long before the little mother's soldier son was rated as his courage and merits deserved; in proof of which he was soon writing a letter home, with the good news that he had been chosen one of the General's aids, and had had a horse given him, whose merits, in his estimation, were very little inferior to Mr. Bonner's famous horse Lantern.

Ah! how I grieve to part with you, my dear little readers. As I write, I always think of the sweet and bright eyes that will read, and the small hands that will hold my true story book. I wonder to myself if you have good and pure hearts; and then I pray for you all, though I do not know you, and hope that you are obedient, lovely children. Above all, I pray that no written or spoken word of mine will ever do you the least grain of harm. It would make me most wretched, did I think it possible.

Before I say good-by, I must tell you what I saw the other day, in one of the splendid show windows of Ball & Black's magnificent store.

An elegant sword and belt lay on the velvet cover, and above was a sheet of parchment with an inscription, which I went in and asked permission to copy, as I knew you would be delighted to read it. Here it is:

"Presented by the citizens of Lockport to Midshipman Benjamin H. Porter, as a testimony of their appreciation of his gallant conduct at Roanoke Island." (We know something about that, don't we?)

"Midshipman Porter was but seventeen years old, when, at the battle of Roanoke Island, his noble daring elicited the admiration of his superior officer, who exclaimed, 'My brave boy, you have won your epaulettes!'

"He led his battery, six Dahlgren howitzers, through the swamp, and, in the face of a galling fire, continued to load and discharge one of his guns, after every man around him had been shot down; bravely remaining at his post until the enemy was dislodged and had made an unconditional surrender."

Oh! how pleased I was to see this testimony, and touch with my hand the sword that his true and brave hands would clasp.

I had just written the last word, when my little Alice's grandpapa came into the room, and handed her a package, saying, "Here, Monsieur Pop, your uncle John has sent you something by a soldier who came home wounded, and too ill to fight;" and he handed her a little parcel.

This uncle was my dear brother John. He had been in some dreadful battles, and we, like all left at home, suffered constant anxiety about him, dreading that each day might bring bad news.

He had been very ill with the terrible fever, which, I believe, has killed more than the guns of the enemy, and had taken "a cartload or so" of quinine, which is the very bitterest medicine that ever was invented. It ought always to cure, it is so very bad to take. It did cure my brother; and, so far, we were grateful to know, that though foremost in the fight, no bullet had yet touched him.

So Alice eagerly took the parcel, and undid it—my father and I looking on with our eyes very wide open. Inside the first paper were three smaller parcels. She unrolled the smallest first, and out came a little doll's china leg, with the foot broken off.

"Why, how funny!" she exclaimed.

"Camp near Harrison's Landing,}
August 12, 1862. }

"My Dear Father:

"This, with its accompanying parcel, will be handed to you by a comrade, who has gone home ill. The parcel contains the head and legs of a porcelain doll. I picked them up last week, when out scouting with the regiment, on the right bank of the James river. They had been taken, I suppose, from one of the houses of an F. F. V., and dropped again. I found them on the estate of the Ruffin family, one of whom fired the first gun at Sumter.

"Give it to Alice, with my love, and let her place it in disgrace among her numerous family as 'Miss Secesh.' I will write you by mail to-day or to-morrow.

"Your affectionate son,

"John."

"Oh!" said Alice, "I am sorry for the little girl that lost her doll; but I'm glad I've got it. What a good uncle John, to send it to me!"—and she immediately whirled round and made two cheeses, in honor of the event.

"How many dolls will that make?" inquired Grandpa.

"Let me see," she answered, thinking, with her finger on her lip. "Forty-one paper dolls. Then there is Willie, my small china doll; Anna, my large china doll; Baby, my wax doll, that cries, and opens and shuts its eyes; Genevieve Virginie, my new porcelain doll; and Miss Secesh.

"Bless me!" said Grandpa, "what a family to look after! You ought to write down the day you got Miss Secesh—twenty-fourth of August."

"No, Grandpa," said Alice, "it is the twenty-tooth—"

"So it is," cried Grandpa—while I had to run and look out of the window, so that the dear little old monkey should not see me laughing at her funny mistake. She meant the "twenty-second;" but you see she spoke in a hurry.

And now I must really say good-by, my darlings, and throw my pen out of the window.

The door opens. Every one of the Little Mother's children rush in.

"What?!! what is that you say?!"

"Yes, Aunt Fanny! George is made a Captain! Hurrah!!!"

END OF THE SIXTH AND LAST BOOK.

D. Appleton & Co.'s Publications.

Juvenile Works.

A PLACE FOR EVERYTHING, and EVERYTHING IN ITS PLACE. By Cousin Alice. 16mo, illustrated, cloth, 75 c.

AMERICAN HISTORICAL TALES. 16mo, 75 cents.

APPLETON'S BOYS' AND GIRLS' AMERICAN ANNUAL for 1860. 1 vol. 12mo, illustrated. Cloth, gilt, $1 50.

AUNT KITTY'S TALES. By Maria J. McIntosh. 12mo, 75 cents.

AUNT FANNY'S STORY BOOK FOR LITTLE BOYS AND GIRLS. 18mo, illustrated, boards, 31 cents. Cloth, 38 cents.

BARON MUNCHAUSEN'S SURPRISING TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES. A new and beautiful edition. Illustrated with characteristic designs, by Crowquill. (Several colored.) 1 vol. 12mo. Extra cloth, gilt edges, $2 50.

BERTRAM NOEL. A Story for Youth. By E. J. May, author of "Louis' School Days," &c. 16mo, 75 cents.

BLIND ALICE. A Tale for Good Children. By Maria J. McIntosh. 1 vol. square 16mo, 38 cents.

BOYS (The) AT HOME. By the author of "Edgar Clifton." 16mo, illustrated, 75 cents.

BOY'S BOOK OF MODERN TRAVEL AND ADVENTURE, By Meredith Johnes. 1 neat vol. 16mo, illustrated, cloth, 75c.

BOYS' AND GIRLS' AMERICAN ANNUAL. Edited by T. Martin. With finely colored illustrations. 1 vol. 12mo, in extra cloth, gilt edges, $1 50.

BOY'S (The) BIRTH-DAY BOOK: a Collection of Tales, Essays, and Narratives of Adventures. By Mrs. S. C. Hall, William Howitt, Augustus Mayhew, Thomas Miller, G. A. Sala, &c., &c. 1 vol. crown 8vo, illustrated with 100 engravings. Cloth, gilt edges, $2.

BOY'S BOOK OF INDUSTRIAL INFORMATION. By Elisha Noyce, author of Outlines of Creation. Illustrated with 370 engravings. 12mo, extra cloth, $1 25.

BOY'S (The) OWN TOY MAKER. Square 16mo. 50 cents.

BIBLE STORIES: or, Tales from Scripture. 1 vol. square 12mo.

BOY'S OWN BOOK: a Complete Encyclopædia of all the Diversions, Athletic, Scientific, and Recreative, of Boyhood and Youth. New and enlarged edition, with numerous additional illustrations. 1 thick vol., extra cloth, $2.

CHILDREN'S HOLIDAYS. A Story Book for the whole Year. 18mo, illustrated. Cloth, 50 cents.

CHILD'S FIRST HISTORY OF AMERICA. By the author of "Little Dora." Square 18mo, engravings. Half cloth, 25 cents.

CHILDREN'S (The) PICTURE GALLERY. Engravings from one hundred paintings by eminent English artists. 1 vol. 4to, $1 50.

DOUGLASS FARM. A Juvenile Story of Life in Virginia. By Mary E. Bradley. 16mo, illustrated. Cloth, 75 cents.

EDGAR CLIFTON; or, RIGHT and WRONG. 16mo. illus. 75 cents.

ELLEN LESLIE; or, the REWARD of SELF-CONTROL. By Maria J. McIntosh. 1 vol. square 16mo, 38 cents.

EMILY HERBERT; or, THE HAPPY HOME. By Maria J. McIntosh. 1 vol. square 12mo, 38 cents.

ENTOMOLOGY in SPORT and ENTOMOLOGY in EARNEST. By Two Lovers of the Science. 1 vol. 12mo. $1 25.

FAGGOTS for THE FIRESIDE; or, FACTS and FANCY. By Peter Parley. 1 vol. 12mo, beautifully illustrated, $1 12.

FLORENCE ARNOTT; or, IS SHE GENEROUS? By Maria J. McIntosh. 1 vol. square 16mo, 38 cents.

FUNNY STORY BOOK; A LAUGHTER PROVOKING BOOK FOR YOUNG FOLKS. 16mo, illustrated, cloth, 75c. Extra cloth, gilt edges, $1.

GEORGE READY; or, HOW TO LIVE FOR OTHERS. By Robert O'Lincoln. 16mo, illustrated. Cloth, 75 cents.

GOOD IN EVERY THING. By Mrs. Barwell. Square 16mo, illustrated, 50 cents.

GRACE AND CLARA; or, BE JUST, as WELL AS GENEROUS. 1 vol. square 16mo, 38 cents.

GRANDMAMMA EASY'S TOY BOOKS. 8vo. colored. Per dozen, $1 50.

HEWET'S ILLUMINATED HOUSEHOLD STORIES FOR LITTLE FOLKS. Beautifully illustrated.

No. 1. CINDERELLA.
" 2. JACK THE GIANT KILLER.
" 3. PUSS IN BOOTS.
" 4. LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD.
" 5. JACK AND THE BEAN STALK.
" 6. TOM THUMB.
" 7. BEAUTY AND THE BEAST. In fancy paper
covers, each 25 cents. In fancy boards, each 50 cents.

H ISTORY OF PETER THE GREAT, CZAR OF RUSSIA. By Sarah H. Bradford. 16mo, illustrated, cloth, 75 cents.

HOUSEHOLD STORIES. Collected by the Brothers Grimm Newly translated, embellished with 240 illustrations by Wehnert. 1 vol., cloth, $2 00. Gilt edges, $2 50.

HOWITT'S (MARY), SERIES of POPULAR JUVENILE WORKS. 14 vols. uniform, in a case, in extra cloth, neat style.

HOWITT'S (MARY), PICTURE AND VERSE BOOK, commonly called Otto Speckter's Fable Book. Illustrated with 100 plates. Cheap edition, 50 cents. Cloth, 63 cents. Gilt leaves, 75 cents.

JESSIE GRAHAM; or, FRIENDS DEAR, BUT TRUTH DEARER. By Maria J. McIntosh. 1 vol., square 16mo, 88 cents.

LITTLE DORA; or, THE FOUR SEASONS. By a Lady of Charleston. Beautifully illustrated, 25 cents. Cloth, 38 cents.

LITTLE FRANK, and other TALES. Square 16mo. Cloth, 25 cents.

LOSS AND GAIN; or, MARGARET'S HOME. By Cousin Alice.

LOUIS' SCHOOL DAYS. By E. J. May. Illustrated 16mo. 75 cents.

LOUISE; or, THE BEAUTY OF INTEGRITY, and other TALES. 16mo, boards, 25 cents. Cloth, 38 cents.

McINTOSH'S NEW JUVENILE LIBRARY. 7 beautiful vols. With illustrations. In a case, $2 50.

—— META GRAY; or, What Makes HOME HAPPY? 16mo, cloth.

MARY LEE. A Story for the Young. By Kate Livermore. 1 neat vol 16mo, illustrated. Extra Cloth, 63 cents.

MARTHA'S HOOKS and EYES. 1 vol. 18mo, 37 cents.

MARRYATT'S SETTLERS IN CANADA. 2 vols. in one, colored, 62 cents.

—— SCENES IN AFRICA. 2 vols. in one, colored,62 cents.

—— MASTERMAN READY. 3 vols in one, colored, 62 cents.

MIDSUMMER FAYS: or, THE HOLIDAYS at WOODLEIGH. By Susan Pindar. 1 vol. 16mo, 63 cents.

MORTIMER'S COLLEGE LIFE. With neat illustrations, 16mo, cloth, 75 cents. Extra cloth, gilt edges, $1.

MYSTERIOUS STORY BOOK; or, the GOOD STEPMOTHER. Illustrated, 16mo, cloth, 75 cents. Gilt edges, $1.

NEAL (ALICE B.) CONTENTMENT Better than WEALTH. 16mo, illustrated, 63 cents. Gilt edges, 90 cents.

—— PATIENT WAITING NO LOSS. 16mo, illustrated, 63 cents. Gilt edges, 90 cents.

—— NO SUCH WORD AS FAIL. 16mo, illustrated, 63 cents. Gilt edges, 90 cents.

—— "ALL'S NOT GOLD that GLITTERS," or, the YOUNG CALIFORNIAN. 1 vol. 16mo, neatly illustrated, 75 cents. Gilt edges, $1.

—— NOTHING VENTURE, NOTHING HAVE. 1 vol. 16mo, beautifully illustrated, 63 cents. Gilt edges, 90 cents.

—— OUT OF DEBT, OUT OF DANGER. 16mo, illustrated, cloth, 75 cents. Gilt edges, $1.

—— A PLACE for EVERYTHING. 16mo, cloth, 75 cents

—— THE COOPERS, or, GETTING UNDER WAY. 12mo, cloth, 75 cents.

NIGHT CAPS. By the author of "Aunt Fanny's Christmas Stories." 1 vol. 18mo, cloth, 50 cents.

NIGHT CAPS (The New). Told to Charley. By the author of "Aunt Fanny's Christmas Stories."

OUTLINES OF CREATION. By Elisha Noyce, author of "The Boy's Book of Industrial Information." 12mo, profusely illustrated, extra cloth, $1 50.

PARLEY'S PRESENT for ALL SEASONS. By S. G. Goodrich, (Peter Parley.) Illustrated with 16 fine engravings. 12mo, elegantly bound in a new style, $1. Gilt edges, $1 25.

PELL'S GUIDE for THE YOUNG to Success and Happiness. 12mo, cloth, 38 cents. Extra cloth, gilt edges, 50 cents.

PHILIP RANDOLPH. A Tale of Virginia. By Mary Gertrude. 18mo, 38 cents.

PICTURE PLEASURE BOOK (The). Illustrated by upwards of five hundred engravings from drawings by eminent artists. 4to. size, beautifully printed, on fine paper, and bound in fancy covers. First and Second Series, each $1 25.

PUSS IN BOOTS. Finely illustrated by Otto Speckter. Square 18mo, boards, 25 cents. Cloth, 38 cents. Extra gilt, 50 cents.

ROBINSON CRUSOE. Pictorial edition. 300 plates, 8vo, $1 50. Gilt edges, $2.

ROSE and LILLIE STANHOPE; or, THE POWER of CONSCIENCE. By Maria J. McIntosh. 1 vol., 38 cents.

SEDGEMOOR; or, HOME LESSONS. By Mrs. Manners. 16mo. Cloth, 75 cents.

STORIES of an OLD MAID. By Madame De Girardin. 16mo, Illustrated, cloth, 75 cents.

SUNSHINE of GREYSTONE. By the author of "Louis' School Days." 16mo, illustrated, 75 cents.

UNCLE JOHN'S FIRST BOOK. Illustrated with numerous pretty engravings. Square 16mo, neat cloth, 31 cents.

UNCLE JOHN'S SECOND BOOK. Illustrated with numerous pretty engravings. Square 18mo, in neat cloth, 38 cents.

VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. A Tale. By Oliver Goldsmith. 1 vol, 12mo, with numerous illustrations, 75 cents. Gilt edges.

WANDERERS (The): by SEA and LAND, with Other Tales. By Peter Parley. Illustrated with exquisite designs. 1 vol. 12mo. $1 12.

THE WEEK'S DELIGHT; or, GAMES and STORIES for the PARLOR and FIRESIDE. 1 neat volume. 16mo, engravings. 75 cents.

WILLIAM TELL, The PATRIOT OF SWITZERLAND: to which is added, Andreas Hofer, the "Tell" of the Tyrol. Cloth, 50 cents. Half cloth, 38 cents.

A WINTER WREATH of SUMMER FLOWERS. By S. G. Goodrich. Illustrated with splendid colored plates by French artists. 1 superb vol. 8vo, extra cloth, gilt edges, $3.

YOUNG STUDENT (The); or, RALPH and VICTOR. By Madame Guizot. From the French, by Samuel Jackson. 1 vol. of 500 pages, with illustrations, 75 cents.

YOUTH'S CORONAL. By H. F. Gould, 16mo, 63 cents.

——- STORY BOOK. 16mo, 75 cents.

D. Appleton & Co.'s Publications.

MINIATURE CLASSICAL LIBRARY.

PUBLISHED IN ELEGANT FORM, WITH FRONTISPIECES.