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                            UNIVERSITY EDUCATION

                                     IN

                                  IRELAND.

                                   BY THE

                     REV. SAMUEL HAUGHTON, M.D, F.R.S.,

                     FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN.

                        LONDON: WILLIAMS & NORGATE.
                         DUBLIN: McGLASHAN & GILL.

                                   1868.

                           _Price One Shilling._

                                  DUBLIN:
                      Printed at the University Press,
                               BY M. H. GILL.

UNIVERSITY EDUCATION IN IRELAND.

INTRODUCTION.

The political condition of Ireland is, at present, grave; and, in the event
of a war with the United States, would become menacing, to England.

Irish politicians assert--and it is partly admitted by their
opponents--that, in the existing state of Ireland, three questions demand
an immediate solution: these questions are, the Land Question, the Church
Question, and the Education Question.

The tenant farmers of Ireland wish for fixity of tenure, and care but
little for compensation for improvements, except as a means of obtaining a
practical fixity of tenure; and they would, unquestionably, rejoice to see
transferred to themselves, as occupiers of the soil, the rights now enjoyed
by absentee noblemen and landlords. It is the opinion of many that the
Land question cannot be settled without such a change of owners as would
practically amount to a revolution.

With respect to the question of the Church, the more intelligent laymen of
the Irish National party openly avow their wish to alienate the property of
the Church, on the ground that its existence forms a barrier to the union
of Irish Protestants with the Catholic majority in the formation of a truly
National Irish party. It is asserted, and apparently not without reason,
that if the Irish Protestants felt themselves cast off by England, and
their Church endowments confiscated, they might become more willing to join
their countrymen in an anti-English policy, which the rude breath of war
might some day fan into a demand for an Irish Republic, under the guarantee
of France and America. It is for English politicians to decide how far the
advantages of religious equality would compensate for the risk of national
disloyalty.

The questions of the Land and Church in Ireland will, doubtless, be fully
discussed in the House of Commons by persons acquainted with those
questions, and competent to do them justice; but it may be fairly doubted
whether the question of Education in Ireland will be examined with as full
a knowledge as will be brought to bear on the other questions. The
following lines are written in the hope of adding a contribution of facts
towards the discussion of one branch of the Education question--that which
relates to University Education in Ireland.

My apology for writing on this question is, that I have been a Fellow of
Trinity College for nearly a quarter of a century, during which time I have
taken an active part in the educational reforms which have placed the
Graduates of Trinity College foremost in all the competitions for the
public services of India, of the Army, and of the Colonies. I am also
entitled to be heard as a Clerical Fellow of Trinity College, holding in
trust for his brother Protestants the precious gift of education based on
pure religion, handed down to us by our forefathers, in defence of which
all true Protestants are prepared, if necessary, to sacrifice their lives.

Two proposals were discussed, and a third was incidentally alluded to, in
the summer of 1867, in the House of Commons, respecting University
Education in Ireland; one of these proposals involves a betrayal of the
religious base on which the Protestant College of Elizabeth was founded;
and another involves a surrender for ever of the high literary and
scientific standard of Dublin University, and a permanent lowering of high
class education in Ireland. Against the one I feel bound to protest, as an
earnest Protestant, and against the other as an advocate for the
advancement of science and letters.

The proposals made in Parliament respecting University Education are all
founded on the generally admitted fact that Roman Catholics in Ireland have
not got the same facilities for University Education as the Protestants of
that country, and that it is expedient at once to redress this grievance.
In order to do so, it has been proposed to do one or other of three
things:--

    I. To secularize Trinity College, by throwing open its Fellowships
       and Scholarships to all Students, irrespective of religious
       qualification.

   II. To open the University of Dublin to other Colleges than Trinity
       College, thus transforming the University of Dublin into a
       National Irish University, on the model of the University of
       France.

  III. To grant a Charter and Endowment to a Roman Catholic University,
       in which the education given shall be based on religion, as in
       Trinity College at present.

I shall endeavour to state briefly the objections which seem to me to be so
fatal to either of the first two proposals, as to leave us no alternative
but to accept the third horn of the Educational dilemma:--

I. SECULARIZATION OF TRINITY COLLEGE.

Trinity College was founded in Dublin by Queen Elizabeth, in 1591, as a
Protestant University, and for the purpose of giving to Irish Protestants a
University Education, based on the doctrines and discipline of the Reformed
Church of England. This infant University was fostered by the guiding hand
of the great Lord Burghley, its interests were defended by the ill-fated
Essex, and its Statutes were drafted by the highly gifted Bishop Bedell.

Trinity College has been well described by her enemies as a "handful of
Protestant Clergymen;" because her Fellows, with the exception of three,
were required to take Holy Orders in the English Church; and at the present
moment five only of her thirty-two Fellowships are permitted by Statute to
be held by laymen.

Trinity College is now nearly three centuries in existence, and may be
regarded as the only English institution that ever succeeded in Ireland.

The sons of the Alma Mater founded by Elizabeth may be excused if they
point with pride to the names of Ussher, King, and Magee, among her
theologians; to Berkeley, Brinkley, and Hamilton, among her thinkers and
mathematicians; and to Swift, Goldsmith, Burke, and Plunket, amongst those
whom she has given to literature, oratory, and politics, whose names shall
live so long as religion, science, and letters attract the respect and
claim the study of educated Englishmen.

Trinity College has never been, and never was intended to be, a national
institution; her emoluments, her Fellowships and Scholarships, are the
property of the Irish members of the English Church; and the proposal to
throw them open to the competition of Roman Catholics and Dissenters is a
proposal for the confiscation, so far, of the property of Irish
Protestants. Trinity College has well and faithfully discharged the part
she was required to fill; she has maintained the pure doctrine of the
English Church against all opponents; she has reared her Students as
faithful children of that Church; she has given them an education that
enables them to compete successfully with all rivals in the walks of
literature and science; and it cannot be fairly alleged against her as a
fault that she has not provided for the educational wants of Irish
Catholics; she was never intended to do so.

The lovers of the gorgeous Rose need not blush because she wants the colour
and grace of the beautiful Lily; and I may well be pardoned for believing
that no brighter or fairer flower blooms in the garden of the West, than
the Tudor Rose planted in Dublin by the proud Elizabeth.

In order to estimate rightly the effects of the secularization of Trinity
College, both upon the Protestants and the Roman Catholics of Ireland, it
will be necessary to give a numerical view of the relative proportions of
the different religions and professions among the Students of that College.
Taking an average of the past ten years, there are 1200 Students on the
books of Trinity College. Of these 1200 Students, 800 are in daily
attendance upon lectures, and may be classified as follows:--

    1. Divinity Students,                 160
    2. Medical Students,                  240
    3. Law Students,                       70
    4. Engineering Students,               60
    5. Civil Service of India,             30
    6. Non-professional Students,         240
                                         ----
                    Total,                800

In order to find the proportion of Roman Catholics,[1] I have taken, at
random, five years from 1855 to 1859, during which 1378 Students entered
Trinity College, of whom 80 were Roman Catholics, and 61 were Protestant
Dissenters and Jews. We may, therefore, assume that the 1200 Students are
distributed as follows:--

    1. English Church,                   1077
    2. Roman Catholic Church,              70
    3. Protestant Dissenters,              53
                                         ----
                    Total,               1200

The preceding figures give an average of six per cent. of Roman Catholic
Students in Trinity College, and in no department of the College do they
exceed ten per cent. Thus, in the Medical School, in which there is a
larger proportion than in other professional schools, during the four years
ending 1867, out of 300 Students matriculated in Medicine, exactly thirty
were Roman Catholics, and three were Jews.

Let us now examine briefly the effect of secularizing Trinity College upon
the Protestant and Roman Catholic Students respectively.

It cannot be believed by any one, that the passing of an Act of Parliament
secularizing Trinity College would alter in the slightest degree the
sentiments and wishes of the 1100 Students of the English Church, or those
of the parents and guardians who placed them in Trinity College, knowing
and expecting that they would there receive, not only a liberal education,
but instruction and training in the principles of the Church of England.
Those 1100 young and intelligent Students would still demand an education
based upon religion; a demand which would be promptly answered by the
Clerical Fellows of the College; and it cannot be doubted that, if they
were well led by earnest and competent teachers, they would found a second
Trinity College within the walls, which would perpetuate the principles of
the College founded by Elizabeth. Such a movement the Parliament would find
itself unable to control; for the portion of the funds of Trinity College
that is now expended on the education of the Clergy would be allowed, in
common justice, to be allocated in future to the same object; and the
Clerical Professors and Fellows would gather round them the germ of the
Trinity College of the future, faithful to the traditions of the past, and
perchance surpassing the reputation of the old College for learning.

From what I know of the earnest spirit of Irish Protestants, and of their
determination to secure for their children an education founded on the pure
word of God, I believe that the Clerical Tutors of the College would at
once transfer to themselves the great majority of the Protestant Students
of Trinity College.

Some 100 or 200 Students might prefer to receive the instruction, and
reward the care, of such lay Fellows as might find their way into the
secularized Corporation, and thus a permanent domestic schism would become
established between the clerical and lay elements of the College, which are
now happily at peace. Whatever might be the future of the College, it is
certain that, at the outset, the Secular Fellows of the College would have
to undergo the rivalry of a trained band of Protestant teachers, supported
by sympathizing Students, both smarting under an angry sense of wrong and
injustice.

Let us now inquire how the secularization of Trinity College would please
the Roman Catholic party in Ireland. The Roman Catholic Clergy warn their
flocks against Trinity College as a Protestant Institution, necessarily
dangerous to the principles of Catholic Students; and, in thus warning
them, they are practically wise, for it is simply impossible for seventy
Catholics to associate with 1100 Protestants, as equals and fellow
Students, without renouncing, more or less, the narrow views respecting
Protestants that prevail among the higher circles of their Hierarchy.

Trinity College, however, although considered dangerous, has never been
placed by the Roman Catholic Clergy in the same category as the Queen's
Colleges, which are essentially secularized institutions, without a
recognized religion, and "godless:" as such they are absolutely condemned
by the Hierarchy, and faithful Catholics are prohibited from entering their
walls.

The practical effect of secularizing Trinity College, if the experiment
were successful, would be to convert it into a fourth Queen's College, and
it would thus become one of a class of Educational Institutions which the
Church of Rome has always, and consistently, forbidden her children to
enter. It is hard to see how such a plan as this can be rationally
advocated, on the ground that it would satisfy the just demands of the
Catholics of Ireland.

So far, therefore, as Irish Roman Catholics are concerned, the
secularization of Trinity College would be to them a loss, and not a gain;
for it would transfer education in this College from the list of dangerous
to that of prohibited enjoyments.

I need scarcely add how mean and vindictive would be the spirit that would
secularize Trinity College, in order to injure the Irish Protestants,
without any corresponding benefit to the Irish Catholics.

I believe, therefore, that it would be impolitic for the English Parliament
to secularize Trinity College, for the following reasons:--

  1. It would irritate the Irish Protestants to deprive them of a College
     founded on the principles of their Church, which has done its duty,
     and has possessed their confidence for three centuries.

  2. It would not satisfy the just demand of the Irish Catholics for
     University Education, merely to admit them to the Fellowships and
     Scholarships of a secularized College, the principle of which they
     must feel bound to condemn.

II. NATIONAL UNIVERSITY OF IRELAND.

The second plan that has been suggested for solving the University question
in Ireland, in one form or other, amounts to a proposal to throw open the
University of Dublin, or the Queen's University in Ireland, or both, so as
to embrace in one University a number of Colleges, each retaining its own
system of religious training and discipline, and its own endowments, and
sending up its Students to pass the Examinations of the Central University,
whose functions would be reduced to those of an Examining Board.

I readily admit that this proposal is free from one of the objections I
have urged against the proposal to solve the University problem by
secularizing Trinity College, and that it leaves both Protestants and
Catholics free to train their sons in the religious faith and traditions of
their forefathers.

This advantage, although great, would, however, in my opinion, be purchased
at the cost of degrading for ever the standard of University Education in
Ireland.

If this objection can be established, it ought to have peculiar weight in
considering the question of Irish University Education. England differs
essentially from Ireland, in affording to her young men countless openings
in every walk of life, with or without the benefits of University
Education, which in England may be regarded as a luxury enjoyed by the
rich; whereas in Ireland an University Education is frequently a necessity
imposed upon the sons of the less wealthy middle classes. The openings in
life for young men of this class in Ireland are so very limited, that they
must either emigrate, or rely on their talents and education, in pushing
their way in the learned professions in England and the Colonies. Hence it
follows, that any lowering of the standard of University Education in
Ireland would be followed by peculiarly disastrous effects.

At the present moment, Trinity College may be regarded as a manufactory for
turning out the highest class of competitors for success in the Church, at
the English Bar, in the Civil Service of India, and in the Scientific and
Medical Services of the Army and Navy; and any legislation which would
produce the effect of lowering the present high standard of her degrees,
would tend to destroy the prospects of the educated classes in Ireland, and
become to those classes little short of a national calamity.

In order to establish my objection, it is necessary to call to our
recollection the ancient and true notion of an University.

With the exception of Oxford and Cambridge, there is no example of an
ancient University in Europe composed of a collection of free Colleges,
united by the common bond of an University, of which all are members, and
which conducts the Examinations for Degrees.

All other ancient Universities resemble the University of Trinity College
in Dublin, in consisting of a single College possessing, either from the
Pope or from the Crown, the University privilege of granting Degrees.

In modern times, no nation but France has seen fit to depart from this
ancient form of University Education; and in that country centralization is
so popular and so complete, that the University of France, with its
affiliated Colleges, has met with a success very certain not to follow a
similar experiment in Ireland. All the Colleges in France are moulded upon
the same type, from which no deviation is permitted; and all are under
State control, which in France restrains freedom of education by the same
trammels as freedom of speech, or liberty of the press. The Minister of
Public Instruction can boast that when the clock strikes his telegraphed
order sets in motion the tongues of his Professors in Paris, in Strasburgh,
in Lyons, and that the same lectures, in almost the same words, are
delivered within the same hour to all the educated youth of France. This
drilling of the intellect by the sergeants of the Emperor pleases for the
present the fancy of the French; it would infallibly fail in Ireland.

The condition essential to success in uniting several Colleges into a
common University is sameness of type in the education given, and sameness
of discipline in the various Colleges. This condition is attained in France
by the centralizing and irresistible power of the State; in Oxford and in
Cambridge it has grown up spontaneously, and has partially succeeded; in
Oxford, however, as in Cambridge, the multiplicity of Colleges and of
rival, though similar interests, has produced feebleness in the government
of the central authority, which is a fault little complained of in the
University of France.

I shall presently inquire whether the Colleges of Ireland present that
similarity of type which is essential to the success of the experiment of
fusing them all into a common University; but in the meantime, admitting,
for the sake of argument, that the experiment would succeed, it is worth
while to ask whether it would be an advantage to the country.

In France we see the perfection of centralization and identity in the
Lyceums and Colleges of the entire country; in Germany, on the contrary, we
witness the full development of the ancient collegiate idea of the
University; twenty-seven distinct and independent University centres of
education exist among forty millions of Germans, each University differing
from the other, and each possessing its peculiar type of excellence, to
attract its Students. I believe that all who are acquainted with the
present condition of science and letters in the two countries will be
disposed to agree in thinking that the intellect of France is cramped by
the imperial cradle in which it is reared, while the genius of Germany is
fostered by the freedom of thought, stimulated by such excellent, though
diverse centres of development, as Vienna, Munich, Heidelberg, Bonn, or
Berlin.

University education in France pleases the doctrinaire, just as parterres
of flowers of similar hue please the eyes of the gardener; while the
Universities of Germany delight the thinker, as the graceful forms and
varied colours of the flowers of some tropical forest please the traveller,
whose instinctive taste prefers the charms and grace of nature to the
symmetry and rules of art.

The experiment of the union of different Colleges in a common University
has succeeded in France, in Oxford, and in Cambridge, in consequence of the
similarity of the Colleges united together; but such an experiment
attempted in Ireland would fail, as certainly as an attempt to unite Oxford
and Cambridge into one University would fail.

We possess in Ireland three distinct types of Collegiate education, of
which may be cited as examples--Trinity College, in Dublin; the Roman
Catholic College of Carlow, and Queen's College, in Belfast. These Colleges
represent, respectively, the religious Protestant type, the Roman Catholic
type, and the secular or mixed type, of Collegiate discipline and training.
Any person of education acquainted with Ireland knows the impossibility of
fusing such distinct elements in a common crucible; and yet each system, in
its way, is excellent, and will produce good fruits, if left to develope
itself, and not forced upon those who conscientiously dissent from its
fundamental principles.

Let us suppose, however, the experiment tried by persons only partially
acquainted with education, and with the condition of Ireland--and by such
only could it be attempted--then it is easy to see that success could be
obtained only at the expense of lowering the standard of education.

It is plain that one or other of two things would happen: either the
University Senate would be composed of persons altogether independent of
the Colleges, and appointed by the State, or it would consist, as in Oxford
and Cambridge, of heads of Colleges and persons representing their varied
interests.

In the first case supposed we should witness the painful and degrading
spectacle of Irish Colleges submitted to the rule of State-appointed,
perhaps, State-paid Governors, who, under the name of an University Senate,
would prescribe the curriculum for degrees, appoint Examiners, and confer
the titles awarded by those Examiners.

It is not possible to suppose that a Senate appointed by an authority
outside the Colleges, and consisting of persons removed from the details of
University Education, would be competent to decide the weighty and
important questions that must come before them; in fact, a Senate
constituted as I have supposed, in discussing questions of education, would
be about as likely to come to a wise decision as a collection of shoemakers
speculating on the structure of a watch, and making proposals for its
improvement, who will certainly destroy the delicate machinery they are
unable to understand, unless they have the sagacity to call in the
watchmakers to their aid.

It might be imagined that the standard of education could be maintained by
such a system, on the hypothesis that a State-nominated Senate would always
appoint competent Examiners; but in such a case those Examiners would
themselves become the University, and would regulate the value of the
degrees conferred by it, and the country could have no guarantee that the
standard of education would continue to be maintained; for this would be to
suppose, on the part of successive Governments, a purity in their
appointment of Senators which no rational man expects will ever be found
outside the boundaries of the kingdom of Laputa.

If the Senate of the National University were composed of State officials,
they would feel themselves bound to maintain the interests of all the
Colleges committed to their care, and it would be impossible to maintain
the standard of Degrees at a point higher than the attainments of the
weakest College in the partnership, whose defective standard would regulate
that of the University Degree, just as the sailing of the slowest tub in
the squadron regulates the manoeuvres of the entire fleet.

If, on the other hand, the Senate of the National Irish University should
be composed, after the model of Oxford and Cambridge, of the heads and
representatives of the various Irish Colleges, although liberty of
education might be preserved, the standard of the degrees would become
degraded by the simple operation of a natural law easy to explain.

The heads of the Irish Colleges, united into a "happy family" University by
the hands of a paternal Government, would either struggle with each other
for supremacy, or enter into a compromise for peace sake, on some such plan
as the following:--

After a few preliminary skirmishes, to try each other's skill, in arranging
a common curriculum in Morals or History, it would be found that profound
and irreconcileable differences existed among the Colleges on the most
elementary principles, and that it would be impossible for the heads of
Trinity College, of St. Patrick's College of Maynooth, of Queen's College
of Belfast, and of other institutions, to agree upon a common curriculum of
education, or even of examination for Degrees, that would satisfy the
reasonable and conscientious scruples of all parties.

Under these circumstances, a sort of bargain would be made between the
heads of the various Colleges, who would agree to take each other's
certificates without challenge, and confer the Degrees recommended by each
independently of the others.

The University and its Senate would thus become simply a machinery for
authorizing the Students of the various Colleges to add certain letters,
such as M. A., or LL. B., after their names; and it would become the
interest of all the Colleges in which a really good education was given,
that such letters should have a formal significance only; the education
itself, testified by the addition of the name of the College, having alone
a real market value readily appreciated by the public. Each College of
reputation would be careful to have its own name inserted after the letters
signifying the University Degree, and thus would be practically created as
many Universities as there are Colleges in Ireland, and a disastrous
competition downwards would be the inevitable result.

The Degrees of the so-called National University would be like the bills of
a weak firm--dishonoured by the public unless endorsed by the name of a
solvent trader--and the letters M. A., or LL. B., would become like the
praises on a bad man's gravestone, purchaseable at so much a letter.

I believe, therefore, that I am entitled to protest against the scheme of
forming a National University by fusing together the different Colleges in
Ireland, on the following grounds:--

  1. Because such a scheme for a National University would prove to be a
     failure, on account of the want of similarity in the Colleges
     composing the University.

  2. Because such a scheme would, in the long run, infallibly lower the
     standard and degrade the character of Irish University Degrees; a
     result that would prove peculiarly disastrous to the educated classes
     in Ireland.

III. ROMAN CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF IRELAND.

Having disposed of the first two schemes for satisfying the demand of the
Irish Catholics for University Education, and shown one to be impolitic,
and the other to be injurious, it might naturally be expected that I should
now proceed to advocate the advantages of the remaining plan, which
consists in a Charter and Endowment for a Roman Catholic University in
Ireland, in which the Irish Catholics and their Clergy should be allowed to
arrange their own programme of University Education without the
interference of Irish Protestants, or of English doctrinaires; but this
course I feel to be unnecessary, as it mainly concerns Roman Catholics
themselves to state their wishes and explain their views respecting it.

Protestant interference in such a question is as irritating and as useless
as would be the interference of a mutual friend in a quarrel between a man
and his wife.

English politicians, in the matter of University Education for the Irish
Catholics, have hitherto imitated the doctrine laid down by Mr.
Bumble--that "the great principle of out-of-door relief is, to give the
paupers exactly what they don't want; and then they get tired of coming."

Twenty-seven out of twenty-nine of the Irish Catholic Bishops ask for a
Catholic University Charter and Endowment, and are supported in this claim
by an overwhelming majority of their flocks.

The Irish Catholics asked the English Parliament for bread, and they gave
them a stone: instead of a Chartered University, with a fair endowment and
perfect freedom of Education, they received Queen's Colleges, which were
condemned as godless, and which they were prohibited by their Church from
using.

Let the Parliament of England for once try an experiment which will meet
with the approval of Irishmen of all classes, and give to Ireland a third
University, in which the highest and best type of Catholic education shall
be developed freely. Protestantism cannot suffer by the contrast, and
education must certainly benefit.

If Germans can proudly boast of their twenty-seven Universities--if
Italians can point to twenty-one Universities, awaking from their slumbers
at the call of liberty--if little Belgium can support her four
Universities, all active, and required by the wants of her people--surely
it cannot be too much for the Irish people, divided as they unhappily are
by distinctions of religion and bitter recollections of ancient feuds, to
ask that the Protestant University of Elizabeth, and the Secular University
of Victoria, shall be supplemented by a Catholic University, possessing the
confidence of Irish Catholics, and sharing with her friendly rivals, no
longer jealous sisters, the glorious task of leading the youth of Ireland
into the pleasant paths of Literature and Science.

The milk-white Lily is not less beautiful than the crimson Rose; let them
flourish side by side in the garden of Ireland.

FOOTNOTES:

1: Roman Catholics were first admitted into Trinity College by an Act
passed by the Irish Parliament in 1793.

End of Project Gutenberg's University Education in Ireland, by Samuel Haughton


pockets. They found papers and certain marks on his body. They knew then
that they had murdered their own son. The old man hobbled all the way to
the nearest village, where he sent a letter to Olga's father and bought
a clothes-line to take home. The journey took him an entire day. With
that clothes-line Andrei Przenikowski and his wife hanged themselves,
from one of the rafters in the cow-shed.

Olga said that she was only five years old then, but she remembered
driving over with the others, after the letter had come to her father's
place. She can still remember seeing the two old bodies hanging side by
side and twisting slowly about in the wind. And she saw what was left of
the mushrooms. She says she can never forget it and dreams of it quite
often. And Olga is not what you would call emotional. She told me, as
she dried her hands and hung up the dish-pan, that she can still see her
people staring down at what was left of that plate of poisoned death
cups, which had turned quite black, almost as black as the dead man she
saw them lift up on the dirty bed.

_Monday the Twelfth_

Yesterday was Sunday and Olga in her best bib and tucker sat out in the
sun with Dinky-Dink. She seemed perfectly happy merely to hold him. I
looked out, to make sure he was all right, for a few days before Olga
had nearly given me heart failure by balancing my boy on one huge hand,
as though he were a mutton-chop, so that the adoring Olie might see him
kick. As I stood watching Olga crooning above Buddy Boy, Percy rode up.
Then he came over and joined Olga, who carefully lifted up the veil
covering Dinky-Dink's face, and showed him off to the somewhat
intimidated Percy. Percy poked a finger at him, and made absurd noises,
and felt his legs as Olga directed and then sat down in front of Olga.

They talked there for a long time, quite oblivious of everything about
them. At least Percy talked, for Olga's replies seemed mostly
monosyllabic. But she kept bathing him in that mystic moonlight stare
of hers and sometimes she showed her teeth in a slow and wistful sort of
smile. Percy clattered on, quite unconscious that I was standing in the
doorway staring at him. They seemed to be great pals. And I've been
wondering what they talked about.

_Wednesday the Fourteenth_

To-day after dinner Dinky-Dunk took the Boy and held him up on Paddy's
back, where he looked like a bump on a log. And that started me thinking
that it wouldn't be so long before my little Snoozerette had a pony of
his own and would be cantering off across the prairie like a monkey on a
circus horse. For I want my boy to ride, and ride well. And then a
little later he would be cantering off to school. And then it wouldn't
be such a great while before he'd be hitting the trail side by side with
some clear-eyed prairie girl on a dappled pinto, and I'd be a
silvery-haired old lady wondering if that clear-eyed girl was good
enough for my son! And there I was, as usual, dreaming of the future!

All day long the fact that Dinky-Dunk is getting extravagant has been
hitting me just under the fifth rib. So I asked him if we could really
afford a six-cylinder car with tan slip-covers and electric lights.
"Afford it?" he echoed, "of course we can afford it. We can afford
anything. Hang it all, our lean days are over and we haven't had the
imagination to wake up to the fact. And d'you know what I'm going to do
if certain things come my way? I'm going to send you and the Babe down
to New York for the winter!"

"And where will you be?" I promptly inquired. The look of mingled pride
and determination went out of his face.

"Oh, I'll have to hang around the Polar regions up here to look after
things. But you and the Boy have got to have your chance. And I'll come
down for two weeks at Easter and bring you home with me!"

"And will you be enjoying it up here?" I inquired.

"Of course I won't," acknowledged Dinky-Dunk. "But think what it will
mean to you, Gee-Gee, to have a few months in the city again! And think
what you've been missing!"

"Goosey-goosey-gander!" I said as I got his foolish old head in
Chancery. "I want you to listen to me. There's nothing I've been
missing. And you are plum locoed, Honey Chile, if you think I could ever
be happy away from you, in New York or any other city. And I wouldn't go
there for the winter if you gave me the Plaza and all the Park for a
back yard!"

That declaration of mine seemed to puzzle him. "But think what it would
mean to the Boy!" he contended.

"Well, what?" I demanded.

"Oh, good--er--good pictures and music and all that sort of thing!" he
vaguely explained. I couldn't help laughing at him.

"But, Dinky-Dunk, don't you think Babe's a month or so too young to take
up Debussy and the Post-Impressionists, you big, foolish, adorable old
muddle-headed captor of helpless ladies' hearts!" And I firmly announced
that he could never, never get rid of me.

_Thursday the Fifteenth_

Now that Olga is working altogether inside with me she is losing quite a
little of her sunburn. Her skin is softer and she has acquired a little
more of the Leonardo di Vinci look. She almost seems to be getting
spiritualized--but it may be simply because she's lengthened her skirts.
She loves Babe, and, I'm afraid, is rather spoiling him. I find her a
better and better companion, not only because she talks more, but
because she seems in some way to be climbing up to a newer level.
Between whiles, I'm teaching her to cook. She learns readily, and is
proud of her progress. But the thing of which she is proudest is her
corsets. And they _do_ make a difference. Even Dinky-Dunk has noticed
this. Yesterday he stood and stared after her.

"By gum," he sagely remarked, "that girl is getting a figure!" Men are
so absurd. When this same Olga was going about half uncovered he never
even noticed her. Now that she's mystified her nether limbs with a
little drapery he stands staring after her as though she were a Venus de
Milo come to life. And Olga is slowly but surely losing a little of her
Arcadian simplicity. Yesterday I caught her burning up her cowhide
boots. She is ashamed of them. And she is spending most of her money on
clothes, asking me many strange questions as to apparel and carrying off
my fashion magazines to her bedroom for secret perusal. For the first
time in her life she is using cold cream. And the end seems to justify
the means, for her skin is now like apple blossoms. Rodin, I feel sure,
would have carried that woman across America on his back, once to have
got her into his atelier!

Last week I persuaded Terry to take a try at Meredith and lent him my
green cloth copy of _Harry Richmond_. Three days ago I found the seventh
page turned down at the corner, and suspecting that this marked the
final frontier of his advance, I tied a strand of green silk thread
about the volume. It was still there this morning, though Terry daily
and stoutly maintains that he's getting on grand with that fine green
book of mine! But at noon to-day when Dinky-Dunk got back from Buckhorn
he handed Terry a parcel, and I noticed the latter glanced rather
uneasily about as he unwrapped it. This afternoon I discovered that it
held two new books in paper covers. One was _The Hidden Hand_ and the
other was called _The Terror of Tamaraska Gulch_. Terry, of late, has
been doing his reading in his own room. And Nick Carter, apparently, is
not to be so easily displaced. But a man who can make you read his books
for the third time must be a genius. If I were an author, that's the
sort of man I'd envy. And I think I'll try Percival Benson with _The
Terror of Tamaraska Gulch_ when Terry is through with it!

_Friday the Sixteenth_

We were just finishing dinner to-day, and an uncommonly good one it
seemed to me, and I was looking contentedly about my little family
circle, wondering what more life could hold for a big healthy hulk of a
woman like me, when the drone and purr of an approaching motor-car broke
through the sound of our talk. Dinky-Dunk, in fact, was laying down the
law about the farmer of the West, maintaining that he was a
broader-spirited and bigger-minded man than his brother of the East, and
pointing out that the westerner's wife was a queen who if she had little
ease at least had great honor. And I was just thinking that one glorious
thing about this same queen was that she at least escaped from all the
twentieth-century strain and dislocation in the relationship between
city men and women, when the hum of that car brought me back to earth
and reminded me that I might have a tableful of guests to feed. The car
itself drew up, with a flutter of its engine, half-way between the shack
and the corral, and at that sound I imagine we all rather felt like
Robinson Crusoes listening to the rattle of an anchor cable in Juan
Fernandez's quietest bay. And through the open window I could make out a
huge touring-car pretty well powdered with dust and with no less than
six men in it.

Terry, all eyes, dove for the window, and Olie, all mouth, for the door.
Olga leaned half-way across the table to look out, and I did a little
staring myself. The only person who remained quiet was Dinky-Dunk. He
knocked out his pipe, stuck it in his pocket, put on his hat and caught
up a package of papers from his work table. Then he stalked out, with
his gray fighting look about the eyes. He went out just as one of the
bigger men was about to step down from the car, so that the bigger man
changed his mind and climbed back in his seat, like a king reascending
his throne. And they all sat there so sedate and non-committal and
dignified, rather like dusty pallbearers in an undertaker's wagonette,
that I promptly decided they had come to foreclose a mortgage and take
my Dinky-Dunk's land away from him, at one fell swoop!

I could see my lord walk right up to the running-board, with curt little
nods to his visitors, and I knew by the trim of his shoulders that there
was trouble ahead. Yet they started talking quietly enough. But inside
of two minutes my Dinky-Dunk was shaking his fist in the face of one of
the younger and bigger men and calling him a liar and somewhat
tautologically accusing him of knowing that he was a liar and that he
always had been one. This altogether ungentlemanly language naturally
brought forth language quite as ungentlemanly from the accused, who
stood up in the car and took his turn at dancing about and shaking his
own fist. And then the others seemed to take sides, and voices rose to a
shout, and I saw that there was going to be another fight at Casa
Grande--and I promptly decided to be in it. So off went my apron and
out I went.

It was funny. For, oddly enough, the effect of my entrance on the scene
was like that on a noisy class-room at the teacher's return. The tumult
stopped, rather sheepishly, and that earful of men instinctively slipped
on their armor plate of over-obsequious sex gallantry. They knew I
wasn't a low-brow. I went right up to them, though something about their
funereal discomfiture made me smile. So Dinky-Dunk, mad as a wet hen
though he was, had to introduce every man-jack of them to me! One was a
member of Parliament, and another belonged to some kind of railway
committee, and another was a road construction official, and another was
a mere capitalist who owned two or three newspapers. The man Dinky-Dunk
had been calling a liar was a civil engineer, although it seemed to me
that he had been acting decidedly uncivil. They ventured a platitude
about the beautiful Indian summer weather and labored out a ponderous
joke or two about such a bad-tempered man having such a good-looking
wife--for which I despised them all. But I could see that even if my
intrusion had put the soft pedal on their talk it had also left
everything uncomfortably tentative and non-committal. For some reason or
other this was a man's fight, one which had to be settled in a man's
way. So I decided to retire with outward dignity even if with inward
embarrassment. But I resented their uncouth commercial gallantry almost
as much as I abominated their trying to bully my True Love. And I gave
them one Parthian shot as I turned away.

"The last prize-fight I saw was in a sort of _souteneur's_ cabaret in
the Avenue des Tilleuls," I sweetly explained to them. "But that was
nearly three years ago. So if there is going to be a bout in my back
yard, I trust you gentlemen will be so good as to call me!"

And smiling up into their somewhat puzzled faces, I turned on my heel
and went into the house. One of the men laughed loud and deep, at this
speech of mine, and a couple of the others seemed to sit puzzling over
it. Yet two minutes after I was inside the shack that most uncivil civil
engineer and Dinky-Dunk were at it again. Their language was more than I
should care to repeat. The end of it was, however, that the six dusty
pallbearers all stepped stiffly down out of their car and Dinky-Dunk
shouted for Olie and Terry. At first I thought it was to be a duel, only
I couldn't make out how it could be fought with a post-hole augur and a
few lengths of jointed gaspipe, for this was what the men carried away
with them.

Away across the prairie I could see them apparently engaged in the silly
and quite profitless occupation of putting down a post-hole where it
wasn't in the least needed, and then clustering about this hole like a
bunch of professorial bigwigs about a new specimen on a microscope
slide. Then they moved on and made another hole, and still another,
until I got tired of watching them. It was two hours later before they
came back. Their voices now seemed more facetious and there was more
laughing and joking, Dinky-Dunk and the uncivil civil engineer being the
only quiet ones. And then the car engine purred and hummed and they
climbed heavily in and lighted cigars and waved hands and were off in a
cloud of dust.

But Dinky-Dunk, when he came back to the shack with his papers, was in
no mood for talking. And I knew better than to try to pump him. To-night
he came in early for supper and announced that he'd have to leave for
Winnipeg right away and might even have to go on to Ottawa. So I cooked
his supper and packed his bag and held Babe up for him to kiss good-by.
But still I didn't bother him with questions, for I was afraid of bad
news. And he knew that I knew I could trust him.

He kissed me good-by in a tragically tender, or rather a tenderly tragic
sort of way, which made me wonder for a moment if he was possibly never
coming back again. So I made 'em all wait while I took one extra, for
good measure, in case I should be a grass widow for the rest of my
days.

To-night, however, I sat Terry down at the end of the table and third
degreed him to the queen's taste. The fight, as far as I can learn from
this circuitous young Irishman, is all about a right of way through our
part of the province. Dinky-Dunk, it seems, has been working for it for
over a year. And the man he called wicked names had been sent out by the
officials to report on the territory. My husband claims he was bribed by
the opposition party and turned in a report saying our district was
without water. He also proclaimed that our land--_our_ land, mark
you!--was unvaryingly poor and inferior soil! No wonder my Dinky-Dunk
had stormed! Then Terry rather disquieted me by chortlingly announcing
that they had put one over on the whole bunch. For, three days before,
he'd quietly put down twenty soil and water-test holes and carefully
filled them in again. But he'd found what he was after. And that little
army of paid knockers, he acknowledged, had been steered into the
neighborhood where the soil was deepest and the water was nearest. And
that soon showed who the liar was, for of course everything came out as
Dinky-Dunk wanted it to come out!

But this phase of it I didn't discuss with Terry, for I had no desire to
air my husband's moral obliquities before his hired man. Yet I am still
disturbed by what I have heard. Oh, Dinky-Dunk, I never imagined you
were one bit sly, even in business!

_Sunday the Eighteenth_

Olie and Terry seem convinced of the fact that Dinky-Dunk's farming has
been a success. We have saved all our wheat crop, and it's a whopper.
Terry, with his crazy Celtic enthusiasms, says that by next year they'll
be calling Dinky-Dunk the Wheat King of the West. Olga and Percy went
buggy riding this afternoon. I wish I had some sort of scales to weight
my Snoozerette. I know he's doubled in the last three weeks.

_Sunday the Twenty-fifth_

My Dinky-Dunk is home again. He looks a little tired and hollow-eyed,
but when the Boy crowed and smiled up at him his poor tired face
softened so wonderfully that it brought the tears to my eyes. I finally
persuaded him to stop petting Babe and pay a little attention to me.
After supper he opened up his extra hand-bag and hauled out the heaps of
things he'd brought Babe and me. Then I sat on his knee and held his
ears and made him blow away the smoke, every shred of it, so I could
kiss him in my own particular places.

_Tuesday the Twenty-seventh_

Dinky-Dunk has sailed off to Buckhorn to do some telegraphing he should
have done Saturday night. My suspicions about his slyness, by the way,
were quite unfounded. It was the guileless-eyed Terry who led those
railway officials out to the spot where he'd already secretly tested for
water and found signs of it. And Terry can't even understand why
Dinky-Dunk is so toweringly angry about it all!

_Wednesday the Twenty-eighth_

When Dinky-Dunk came in last night, after his drive out from Buckhorn,
there was a look on his face that rather frightened me. I backed him up
against the door, after he'd had a peep at the Boy, and said, "Let me
smell your breath, sir!" For with that strange light in his eyes I
surely thought he'd been drinking. "Lips that touch liquor," I sang,
"shall never touch mine!"

But I was mistaken. And Dinky-Dunk only laughed in a quiet inward
rumbling sort of way that was new to him. "I believe I am drunk, Boca
Chica," he solemnly confessed, "drunk as a lord!" Then he took both my
hands in his.

"D'you know what's going to happen?" he demanded. And of course I
didn't. Then he hurled it point-blank at me.

"_The railway's going to come!_"

"Come where?" I gasped.

"Come here, right across our land! It's settled. And there's no mistake
about it this time. Inside of ten months there'll be choo-choo cars
steaming past Casa Grande!"

"Skookum!" I shouted.

"And there'll be a station within a mile of where you stand! And inside
of two years this seventeen or eighteen hundred acres of land will be
worth forty dollars an acre, easily, and perhaps even fifty. And what
that means you can figure out for yourself!"

"Whoopee!" I gasped, trying in vain to figure out how much forty times
seventeen hundred was.

But that was not all. It would do away with the road haul to the
elevator, which might have taken most of the profit out of his grain
growing. To team wheat into Buckhorn would have been a terrible
discount, no matter what luck he might have with his crops. So he'd been
moving heaven and earth to get the steel to come his way. He'd pulled
wires and interviewed members and guaranteed a water-tank supply and
promised a right of way and made use of his old engineering
friends--until his battle was won. And his last fight had been against
the liar who'd sent in false reports about his district. But that was
over now, and Casa Grande will no longer be the jumping-off place of
civilization, the dot on the wilderness. It will be on the time-tables
and the mail-routes, and I know my Dinky-Dunk will be the first mayor of
the new city, if there ever is a city to be mayor of!

_Friday the Thirtieth_

Dinky-Dunk came in at noon to-day, tiptoed over to the crib to see if
the Boy was all right, and then came and put his hands on my shoulders,
looking me solemnly in the eye: "What do you suppose has happened?" he
demanded.

"Another railroad," I ventured.

He shook his head. Of course it was useless for me to try to guess. I
pushed my finger against Dinky-Dunk's Adam's apple and asked him what
the news was.

"Percival Benson Woodhouse has just calmly announced to me that, next
week, _he's going to marry Olga_," was my husband's answer.

And he wondered why I smiled.

_Sunday the First_

Little Dinky-Dink is fast asleep in his hand-carved Scandinavian cradle.
The night is cool, so we have a fire going. Big Dinky-Dunk, who has been
smoking his pipe, is sitting on one side of the table, and I am sitting
on the other. Between us lies the bundle of house-plans which have just
been mailed up to us from Philadelphia. This is the second night we've
pored over them. And we've decided what we're to do at Casa Grande.
We're to have a telephone, as soon as the railway gets through, and a
wind-mill and running water, and a new barn with a big soft-water tank
at one end, and a hot-water furnace in the new house and sleeping
porches and a butler's pantry and a laundry chute--and next winter in
California, if we want it. And Dinky-Dunk blames himself for never
having had brains enough to plant an avenue or two of poplars or
Manitoba maples about Casa Grande, for now we'll have to wait a few
years for foliage and shade. And he intends to have a playground for
little Dinky-Dink, for he agrees with me that our boy must be strong and
manly and muscular, and must not use tobacco in any form until he is
twenty at least. And Dinky-Dunk has also agreed that I shall do all the
punishing--if any punishing is ever necessary! His father, by the way,
has just announced that he wants Babe to go to McGill and then to
Oxford. But I have been insisting on Harvard, and I shall be firm about
this.

That promised to bring us to a dead-lock, so we went back to our
house-plans again, and Dinky-Dunk pointed out that the new living-room
would be bigger than all our present shack and the annex put together.
And that caused me to stare about our poor little cat-eyed cubby-hole of
a wickyup and for the first time realize that our first home was to be
wiped off the map. And nothing would ever be the same again, and even
the prairie over which I had stared in my joy and my sorrow would
always be different! A lump came in my throat. And when Olga came in and
I handed Dinky-Dink to her she could see that my lashes were wet. But
she couldn't understand.

So I slipped over to the piano and began to play. Very quietly I sang
through Herman Lohr's Irish song that begins:

  In the dead av the night, acushla,
  When the new big house is still ...

But before I got to the last two verses I'm afraid my voice was rather
shaky.

  In the dead av the year, acushla,
  When me wide new fields are brown,
  I think av a wee ould house,
  At the edge av an ould gray town!

  I think av the rush-lit faces,
  Where the room and loaf was small:
  _But the new years seem the lean years,
  And the ould years, best av all!_

Dinky-Dunk came and stood close beside me. "Has my Gee-Gee a big sadness
in her little prairie heart?" he asked as he slipped his arms about me.
But I was sniffling and couldn't answer him. And the cling of his
blessed big arms about me only seemed to make everything worse. So I was
bawling openly when he held up my face and helped himself to what must
have been a terribly briny kiss. But I slipped away into my bedroom, for
I'm not one of those apple-blossom women who can weep and still look
pretty. And for two blessed hours I've been sitting here, Matilda Anne,
wondering if our new life will be as happy as our old life was.... Those
old days are over and gone, and the page must be turned. And on that
last page I was about to write "_Tamám shud_." But kinglike and
imperative through the quietness of Casa Grande I hear the call of my
beloved little _tenor robusto_--and if it is the voice of hunger it is
also the voice of hope!

THE END

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Last Trail, The. By Zane Grey.
Laugh and Live. By Douglas Fairbanks.
Laughing Bill Hyde. By Rex Beach.
Laughing Girl, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
Law Breakers, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
Lifted Veil, The. By Basil King.
Lighted Way, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Lin McLean. By Owen Wister.
Lonesome Land. By B. M. Bower.
Lone Wolf, The. By Louis Joseph Vance.
Long Ever Ago. By Rupert Hughes.
Lonely Stronghold, The. By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.
Long Live the King. By Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Long Roll, The. By Mary Johnston.
Lord Tony's Wife. By Baroness Orczy.
Lost Ambassador. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Lost Prince, The. By Frances Hodgson Burnett.
Lydia of the Pines. By Honoré Willsie.
Maid of the Forest, The. By Randall Parrish.
Maid of the Whispering Hills, The. By Vingie E. Roe.
Maids of Paradise, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
Major, The. By Ralph Connor.
Maker of History, A. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Malefactor, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Man from Bar 20, The. By Clarence E. Mulford.
Man in Grey, The, By Baroness Orczy.
Man Trail, The. By Henry Oyen.
Man Who Couldn't Sleep, The. By Arthur Stringer.

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Man with the Club Foot, The. By Valentine Williams.
Mary-'Gusta. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
Mary Moreland. By Marie Van Vorst.
Mary Regan. By Leroy Scott.
Master Mummer, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle.
Men Who Wrought, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
Mischief Maker, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Missioner, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Miss Million's Maid. By Berta Ruck.
Molly McDonald. By Randall Parrish.
Money Master, The. By Gilbert Parker.
Money Moon, The. By Jeffery Farnol.
Mountain Girl, The. By Payne Erskine.
Moving Finger, The. By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.
Mr. Bingle. By George Barr McCutcheon.
Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Mr. Pratt. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
Mr. Pratt's Patients. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
Mrs. Belfame. By Gertrude Atherton.
Mrs. Red Pepper. By Grace S. Richmond
My Lady Caprice. By Jeffrey Farnol.
My Lady of the North. By Randall Parrish.
My Lady of the South. By Randall Parrish.
Mystery of the Hasty Arrow, The. By Anna K. Green.
Nameless Man, The. By Nataile Sumner Lincoln.
Ne'er-Do-Well, The. By Rex Beach.
Nest Builders, The. By Beatrice Forbes-Robertson Hale.
Net, The. By Rex Beach.
New Clarion. By Will N. Harben.
Night Operator, The. By Frank L. Packard.
Night Riders, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
Nobody. By Louis Joseph Vance.
Okewood of the Secret Service. By the Author of "The Man with the Club
Foot."
One Way Trail, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
Open Sesame. By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.
Otherwise Phyllis. By Meredith Nicholson.
Outlaw, The. By Jackson Gregory.

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Paradise Auction. By Nalbro Bartley.
Pardners. By Rex Beach.
Parrot & Co. By Harold MacGrath.
Partners of the Night. By Leroy Scott.
Partners of the Tide. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
Passionate Friends, The. By H. G. Wells.
Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail, The. By Ralph Connor.
Paul Anthony, Christian. By Hiram W. Hays.
Pawns Count, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
People's Man, A. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Perch of the Devil. By Gertrude Atherton.
Peter Ruff and the Double Four. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Pidgin Island. By Harold MacGrath.
Place of Honeymoon, The. By Harold MacGrath.
Pool of Flame, The. By Louis Joseph Vance.
Postmaster, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
Prairie Wife, The. By Arthur Stringer.
Price of the Prairie, The. By Margaret Hill McCarter.
Prince of Sinners, A. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Promise, The. By J. B. Hendryx.
Proof of the Pudding, The. By Meredith Nicholson.
Rainbow's End, The. By Rex Beach.
Ranch at the Wolverine, The. By B. M. Bower.
Ranching for Sylvia. By Harold Bindloss.
Ransom. By Arthur Somers Roche.
Reason Why, The. By Elinor Glyn.
Reclaimers, The. By Margaret Hill McCarter.
Red Mist, The. By Randall Parrish.
Red Pepper Burns. By Grace S. Richmond.
Red Pepper's Patients. By Grace S. Richmond.
Rejuvenation of Aunt Mary, The. By Anne Warner.
Restless Sex, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu, The. By Sax Rohmer.
Return of Tarzan, The. By Edgar Rice Burroughs.
Riddle of Night, The. By Thomas W. Hanshew.
Rim of the Desert, The. By Ada Woodruff Anderson.
Rise of Roscoe Paine, The. By J. C. Lincoln.
Rising Tide, The. By Margaret Deland.

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Rocks of Valpré, The. By Ethel M. Dell.
Rogue by Compulsion, A. By Victor Bridges.
Room Number 3. By Anna Katharine Green.
Rose in the Ring, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.
Rose of Old Harpeth, The. By Maria Thompson Daviess.
Round the Corner in Gay Street. By Grace S. Richmond.
Second Choice. By Will N. Harben.
Second Violin, The. By Grace S. Richmond.
Secret History. By C. N. & A. M. Williamson.
Secret of the Reef, The. By Harold Bindloss.
Seven Darlings, The. By Gouverneur Morris.
Shavings. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
Shepherd of the Hills, The. By Harold Bell Wright.
Sheriff of Dyke Hole, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
Sherry. By George Barr McCutcheon.
Side of the Angels, The. By Basil King.
Silver Horde, The. By Rex Beach.
Sin That Was His, The. By Frank L. Packard.
Sixty-first Second, The. By Owen Johnson.
Soldier of the Legion, A. By C. N. & A. M. Williamson.
Son of His Father, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
Son of Tarzan, The. By Edgar Rice Burroughs.
Source, The. By Clarence Buddington Kelland.
Speckled Bird, A. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
Spirit in Prison, A. By Robert Hichens.
Spirit of the Border, The. (New Edition.) By Zane Grey.
Spoilers, The. By Rex Beach.
Steele of the Royal Mounted. By James Oliver Curwood.
Still Jim. By Honoré Willsie.
Story of Foss River Ranch, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
Story of Marco, The. By Eleanor H. Porter.
Strange Case of Cavendish, The. By Randall Parrish.
Strawberry Acres. By Grace S. Richmond.
Sudden Jim. By Clarence B. Kelland.
Tales of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle.
Tarzan of the Apes. By Edgar R. Burroughs.
Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar. By Edgar Rice Burroughs.

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Tempting of Tavernake, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Tess of the D'Urbervilles. By Thos. Hardy.
Thankful's Inheritance. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
That Affair Next Door. By Anna Katharine Green.
That Printer of Udell's. By Harold Bell Wright.
Their Yesterdays. By Harold Bell Wright.
Thirteenth Commandment, The. By Rupert Hughes.
Three of Hearts, The. By Berta Ruck.
Three Strings, The. By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.
Threshold, The. By Marjorie Benton Cooke.
Throwback, The. By Alfred Henry Lewis.
Tish. By Mary Roberts Rinehart.
To M. L. G.; or, He Who Passed. Anon.
Trail of the Axe, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
Trail to Yesterday, The. By Chas. A. Seltzer.
Treasure of Heaven, The. By Marie Corelli.
Triumph, The. By Will N. Harben.
T. Tembarom. By Frances Hodgson Burnett.
Turn of the Tide. By Author of "Pollyanna.".
Twenty-fourth of June, The. By Grace S. Richmond.
Twins of Suffering Creek, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
Two-Gun Man, The. By Chas. A. Seltzer.
Uncle William. By Jeannette Lee.
Under Handicap. By Jackson Gregory.
Under the Country Sky. By Grace S. Richmond.
Unforgiving Offender, The. By John Reed Scott.
Unknown Mr. Kent, The. By Roy Norton.
Unpardonable Sin, The. By Major Rupert Hughes.
Up From Slavery. By Booker T. Washington.
Valiants of Virginia, The. By Hallie Ermine Rives.
Valley of Fear, The. By Sir A. Conan Doyle.
Vanished Messenger, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
Vanguards of the Plains. By Margaret Hill McCarter.
Vashti. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
Virtuous Wives. By Owen Johnson.
Visioning, The. By Susan Glaspell.

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Waif-o'-the-Sea. By Cyrus Townsend Brady.
Wall of Men, A. By Margaret H. McCarter.
Watchers of the Plans, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
Way Home, The. By Basil King.
Way of an Eagle, The. By E. M. Dell.
Way of the Strong, The. By Ridgwell Cullum.
Way of These Women, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
We Can't Have Everything. By Major Rupert Hughes.
Weavers, The. By Gilbert Parker.
When a Man's a Man. By Harold Bell Wright.
When Wilderness Was King. By Randall Parrish.
Where the Trail Divides. By Will Lillibridge.
Where There's a Will. By Mary R. Rinehart.
White Sister, The. By Marion Crawford.
Who Goes There? By Robert W. Chambers.
Why Not. By Margaret Widdemer.
Window at the White Cat, The. By Mary Roberts Rinehart.
Winds of Chance, The. By Rex Beach.
Wings of Youth, The. By Elizabeth Jordan.
Winning of Barbara Worth, The. By Harold Bell Wright.
Wire Devils, The. By Frank L. Packard.
Winning the Wilderness. By Margaret Hill McCarter.
Wishing Ring Man, The. By Margaret Widdemer.
With Juliet in England. By Grace S. Richmond.
Wolves of the Sea. By Randall Parrish.
Woman Gives, The. By Owen Johnson.
Woman Haters, The. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
Woman in Question, The. By John Reed Scott.
Woman Thou Gavest Me, The. By Hall Caine.
Woodcarver of 'Lympus, The. By Mary E. Waller.
Wooing of Rosamond Fayre, The. By Berta Ruck.
World for Sale, The. By Gilbert-Parker.
Years for Rachel, The. By Berta Ruck.
Yellow Claw, The. By Sax Rohmer.
You Never Know Your Luck. By Gilbert Parker.
Zeppelin's Passenger, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

1. Punctuation has been normalized to contemporary standards.
2. Added Table of Contents not in original edition.
3. OE ligatures have been expanded.