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W. M. THACKERAY. From Portraits of the Sixties, by Justin McCarthy, M.P., author of A History of our Own Times," etc.

We cannot think long over Charles Dickens and the place he held in English Literature without finding our thoughts turn to his great contemporary, and, according to common acceptation, his great rival, W. M. Thackeray. There was at one time a school of Thackeray and a school of Dickens. Thackeray was born about a year earlier than Dickens, but Dickens made his mark in the Sketches of Boz some four years before the publication of Thackeray's Paris Sketch Book. Thackeray was becoming known to readers as a brilliant and original writer of magazine articles before Dickens had made his sudden uprising to the front rank in literature. Dickens must have still been a reporter in the House of Commons press gallery while Thackeray was beginning to make a certain reputation for himself among the readers of magazines. But Thackeray did not achieve, even by his first published book, anything like the reputation instantaneously accomplished by Dickens on his first venture in the form. of a volume. My own recollections of my boyish days. make it clear to me that Dickens was recognized as a great author before those of us who lived far away from the centre of England's literary life had come to know anything about the rising genius of Thackeray. I can even remember that we were all in these days so completely possessed by or admiration for Dickens as to feel a kind of resentment when we read in London papers that a new man was coming to the front who threatened a possible rivalry with the author of Pickwick and Nicholas Nickleby. I had the great good fortune at a later period of meeting both men several times in London and the honor of some slight acquaintanceship with each of them. My life holds no clearer memories than those which it treasures of Dickens and Thackeray.

In appearance and manner Thackeray was as unlike Dickens as in his literary style. Thackeray was very tall, standing quite six feet four inches in height, and was built with a broad framework. His great massive head and his expansive forehead were crowned with a covering of thick and prematurely white hair. He did not live to be what we should now call an elderly man, and the first time I ever saw him, which was many years before his death, his hair was snowy white. He always wore spectacles, and his eyes never gave out the penetrating flashlights which Dickens could turn upon those around him. Thackeray's manners were in general quiet, grave, and even gentle, and his most humorous utterances, which were as frequent as they were delightful, had an air of restraint about them as if the great satirist wished rather to repress than to indulge his amusing and sarcastic. sallies of wit.

The first time I ever saw Thackeray, except as the solitary figure on a lecturer's platform, he wore a thick moustache, and the moustache was of a dark color, contrasting oddly with his white locks. That first sight of him thus unusually adorned was on the platform of the

Lime Street Station, Liverpool, when he came down from London to go on board the Cunard steamer on his way to deliver his course of lectures in the United States. There were a few small groups of people gathered on the platform to get a glimpse of the great author as he passed out, and I well remember that one enthusiastic young lady, who was personally quite unknown to him, went boldly up and pressed a bunch of roses into his hand. Nothing could be more graceful and genial than the manner in which Thackeray accepted this unexpected tribute, and took off his hat with a benignant smile in acknowledgement of the gift. I know that that young woman was made happy for long after by the memory of the silent welcome which was accorded to her votive offering.


"How do you plan your stories?" asked a New York newspaper man of Miss Ellen Glasgow, the author of The Deliverance, a notable novel of the year.

"I get the central figure in my mind," she said, "and then build around it the chief dramatic incident of the story. Having conceived that, I work out the rest of the novel. It is like working down from the climax. In the case of The Deliverance the first character that I had in mind was that of Christopher Blake, and the first incident that developed in the story was the one in which he gives himself up to the authorities as the supposed murderer of Fletcher. But when I sat down to write the first chapter I had the whole story planned and had even the words of many chapters already in my mind."

Miss Glasgow has written all her novels in her den in the Glasgow home at Richmond, Virginia. She always locks herself in this room to avoid interruption. She began The Deliverance two years ago, immediately after the publication of The Battle Ground, and she worked at it steadily, with the exception of three months spent abroad last summer.


Public speakers should be cauticus about asking question for their audiences to answer, as the following incident shows.

Some time ago, a lecturer in England declared that Great Britain had still a great deal to learn before she could command the undivided admiration and respect of the whole world, and he was the man to show how it was to be done.

"What does this nation need?" shouted the impassioned orator. "What does this nation require if she steps proudly across the broad Atlantic-if she strides. boldly across the mighty ocean in her march of trade and freedom? I repeat, what does she need?"

"Rubber boots!" suggested the grossly materialistic person in a near seat.

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SIR MORTIMER. BY MARY JOHNSTON, Author of "To Have and to Hold."

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CANADA IN THE TWENTIETH CENTURY. By A. G. BRADLEY, Author of "The Fight with France for North America."

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HESPER. By HAMLIN GARLAND, Author of "The Captain of the Gray Horse Troop."
This is a love story of a gently-bred and charming girl, who goes from a luxurious social life in the East to the far
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The most vivid and exciting love story Mr. Chambers has ever written.




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Mrs. Margaret Deland's success as the author of Dr. Lavendar's People (Toronto: The Book Supply Company, Limited) and the creator of good old Dr. Lavendar, is equalled by her success as a floriculturist. Much has been written of her love of flowers, but not of the humane and practical use to which she has devoted it. As some one has said, "she has but to touch a plant to

of them as large as a derby hat, fell all around them. Mr. Tarkington said that the mountain itself was not more active than he as he hurriedly left, leaving his cap behind, which was later secured unhurt by one of the guides.


Miss Mary Johnston, whose novel, Sir Mortimer, now appearing in Harper's Magazine, grows more absorbing with every number, was born in Buchanan, Virginia, in November of 1870, and is, therefore, only thirtythree years of age. She is one of the very few women novelists in the history of literature who can describe a fight on sea or land, as she has described them in Sir Mortimer, with convincing power. THE BOOK SUPPLY COMPANY, LIMITED, Toronto, will publish an illustrated. Canadian edition of Sir Mortimer, early in March.


Author of

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The Interference of Patricia," "A Book of Girls," etc.

make it live," and the result is a house and garden overflowing with blooming plants, including even such difficult experiments as a fig-tree. When winter is over, it has been Mrs. Deland's custom to hold a sale of her flowers and devote the proceeds to some worthy charity. An ulterior purpose of the sale is to show women how flowers may be cultivated indoors, and become a source of profit to gentlewomen who need to earn money.

BOOTH TARKINGTON ON VESUVIUS. Booth Tarkington, again the author of a notable success Cherry, (Toronto: The Book Supply Company, Limited), recently made the ascent of Vesuvius and had a rather dangerous experience. Accompanied by his family, nine guides, and a caterer, Mr. Tarkington neared the rim of the crater when a shower of stones, mary


From The Deliverance, by Ellen Glasgow. You kin fool the quality about the quality, but I'll be blamed if you kin fool the niggers.

A Blake kin hate twice as long as a man kin love. Cats are jest like gals anyway-they arn't never happy unless they are eternally gallyvantin'.

I've passed the time of life when a man begins a habit merely for the sake of it's being a habit.

He's the sort that looks as if God Almighty had put the finishin' touches and forgot to make the man.

Trouble may be born of a woman, but it generally manages to take the shape of a man.

The only way to be sartin you're followin' yo' duty in the world is to find out the things you hate worst to do an' then do it with all yo' might.

Virtue's a slipperv thing, an' if you don't get a good grip on it an' watch it with a mighty stern eye, it's precious apt to wiggle through yo' fingers.

Money is a mighty good thing, but you can't put it in the blood, like you kin meanness.

A man's table manners are part of his morality. Since the Garden of Eden, men have taken a good deal mo' pleasure in layin' blame on thar wives than in layin' blame on the devil.

A plain truth is better than a pretty lie.

Author-Whoop! I've just got an order from my publisher to write a life of Alexander the Great. Wife-Why, you don't know anything about him, do you?

Author-No; but I will by to-morrow night.

Scribblehard-I believe I've written myself out; I don't seem to have an idea left.

Penhandler-Well, why don't you write stories for the magazines, then?




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If Paul had not appealed to Cæsar, history might have a different story to tell us of the course of Christendom. Paul has been called the savior of Christianity because he withstood Peter at Antioch, and claimed that the Gospel was for the Gentile as well as the Jew. But it was not until Paul made his famous appeal before Festus in the Palace at Cæsarea, and henceforth embarked on his perilous voyage to Rome, that the tide of Christianity set Westward. In Lux Crucis, "A Tale of the Great Apostle," by Mr. Samuel M. Gardenhire, the author has grasped the full significance of the momentous decision at Cæsarea, and has made it the starting point of his great story. "This man might have been set at liberty," said Herod Agrippa to Festus, "if he hal not appealed unto Cæsar." The theme is a lofty one, and invests the tale of the Great Apostle with dignity and strength. The figure of Paul appears in a light new to fiction, for it is not only the Great Apostle that we see in the pages of the story, but the man himself, suffering and sorrowing, achieving and rejoicing,

ed an unusual popularity, and Lux Crucis will naturally invite comparison with these novels. Mr. Gardenhire opens his story in the prison of the Palace at Cæsarea, when Paul appealed to Cæsar, and thence follows Paul to Rome, where the stirring scenes of the story unroll

their splendor and sacrifice, contrasting the voluptuous pleasures and luxurious surroundings of the court with the earnest simplicity, the faith and courage, of the early Christians amid persecution and martyrdom. The story culminates with those scenes of horror in the amphitheatre that blast the name of Nero with everlasting obloquy, when he gave full vent to his riotous imagination and pitted the Christians against the gladiators and wild beasts as the crowning spectacle of


the arena. These are the historic facts and landmarks from which no story of the period can get away, but Mr. Gardenhire has brought to them a fresh invention and an ingenious plot adroitly conceived and skilfully executed, which revive anew our imaginative interest, as well as our reverent regard for the struggle of the early Christians in whose blood lay the seed of Christian civilization. In no novel of the times has this great theme been treated with such simplicity of style, such directness and force, such tact and reverence.

Author of Lux Crucis: A Tale of the Great Apostle

shedding loving kindness and sharing the joy and tribulations of his friends.

In so far as Paul is an historic figure and one that has been made familiar to us in the writings of the New Testament, his appearance in any work of fiction is certain to command great interest. His portrait shines through the pages of Lux Crucis with a nobility of outline and with a halo of humanity that will make the book most precious and invaluable to many readers. But Lux Crucis is more than a reverent shrine for the Great Apostle; it is a novel of vivid power and dramatic strength with a plot of sustained and breathless interest. We have had novels of the same period, dealing with the same material, some of which, like Quo Vadis for example, have obtain

It is impossible to do more than indicate the large scope and range of Lux Crucis. We see the salient events of those memorable years pass in procession across its pages. Nero and Tigellinus, Poppæa and Berenice, Festus and Agrippa, Paul and Peter, are conjured up from the past and made to re-enact one of the great triumphant tragedies of human history. Lux Crucis will appeal widely to the popular imagination.

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