A prettier love story than this the most fastidious critic could not desire; and being the offering of a new author the recommending of it is a pleasure. It is an unpretentious little volume, and it might easily escape notice amid the flood of books. The charm of the story lies in the quiet humor which illumines every line of the narrative, in the grace and delicacy of the style.
"Yep; Ted's still a-beout. Three days in the week he drives stage coach over to Spicerville, and the rest o' the time he does odd jobs--sort o' tendin' round."
And Sallie Cotton--black-eyed, curly-haired, mischievous little sprite, the agony of the teacher and the love and admiration of the boys! Who climbed trees, rattled to school in the butcher wagon, never knew a lesson, but was always leading lady in the school colloquies, and was surely destined to rise to eminence on the American stage if she did not break her neck tumbling out of old Skinner's walnut tree?
"Oh, Sal; she married the Congregational minister down to Peterfield, and was 'lected president of the Temperance Union and secretary of the Endeavorers. Read a piece down at Fust Church last week on 'Breakin' Away from Old Standards,' illustratin' the alarmin' degen'racy of children nowadays."
And George Hawley, our Achilles, our Samson, our ideal of everything manly and courageous! Strong as an ox and brave as a lion! Our cha