SEVEN BOOKS FOR MANY YOUNGSTERS

IN olden days, when there was something important and interesting which people ought to know about, a personage called the town-crier would go to the market-place, and to such other spots as were likely to be frequented by the crowd in town or village, and there he would first ring a bell, and then proceed to cry aloud the news or the information, whatever it might be, in some such manner as the following:

"Oyez, oyez, oyez ! Whereas it has pleased his most gracious Majesty, the King, to order a day of general rejoicing, with feasting and jousting and sports of diverse kinds, notice is hereby given to all and sundry. Oyez, oyez, oyez !" Then he would ring his bell again, and go tramping off, followed by all the small boys, tremendously excited, turning handsprings and yelling in true boy fashion.

But to-day we don't dress up in a gay doublet and striped hose, with a cloak over our shoulders and a bell in our hands, worse luck, when we have something to say that it would be worth listening to, and go shouting in all the squares and down Main Street. If we did, you might hear a ringing one of these fine mornings, and run out to see me shaking a bell, and calling aloud:

"Oyez, oyez, oyez ! Here you are, boys and girls. Christmas is coming. It is little more than six weeks away, and what are you doing about it? Listen to me, while I tell you of seven books for seventy times seven children, books that will help to make Christmas what it ought to be, the best and sweetest day of all the year. I want you to know of these books. One tells the story of a brave, upstanding youth who was a "runaway," and of all that befell him. And one tells the story of a little girl who had a millionaire father, and was very much troubled in consequence. And another has for heroine a very poor and very amusing little girl who believed in fairies, and tells what occurred to her. Then there is a book full of the wonderful lives of men who were more than conquerors, as conquerors are usually thought of. The fifth book relates the splendid doings of a lot of friendly giants, the sixth tells of the adventures of a pair of the cunningest baby bears that were ever imagined, and the seventh and last sings many

lovely songs, songs as shining and light and floating as the bubble that is blown in the sunshine."

Here I would ring my bell again, and cry out once more, "Oyez, oyez, oyez !" and then make my way to the next likely corner, with a number of smiling boys and girls trailing after me to hear me tell my news all over again.

Since, however, things are managed differently nowadays, I am simply going to tell you right here in the magazine something of these same seven books, so that if you want to give a book for a Christmas present, or want to have one given to you, you will know how to choose one that appeals to you.

And this magazine is the very best place in which to tell you of them, because five of the seven have appeared, in part or entire, in ST. NICHOLAS itself during the past year. So, as you will see, I am merely reminding you of stories or articles or verses that have already delighted you, and are now collected into book form. You will recognize at my first mention of it each of these friends of your reading hours during the past twelvemonth.

There are always the fine old books, to be sure, and you cannot go wrong if you put several of these on your list. But we all like stories, too, that take up our own problems and difficulties, stories that make us acquainted with people like ourselves, living the kind of life we lead, having the same sort of fun we enjoy, bearing the same troubles that come to us. That is why older persons like a good novel of contemporary life, and why boys and girls want books about young folk who are going to school, or who are off on vacation, who play and work and plan as they do themselves, or at least as they might. Besides these books of to-day, it is also good to get an adventure story or a fairy story or whatnot that is quite new and fresh, and which was never heard of before this season.

In "The Runaway," by Allen French, there is a group of boys and girls (and the story is quite as good reading for brother as for sister) who are just the type of healthy minded, unaffected, and likable youngsters you are the better off for knowing. Brian, to be sure, is not so muchbut he learns a lot during the events of the story, and comes to be thoroughly ashamed of his meanness and his wrong standards; you can see,

toward the end, that there are the makings of a pretty decent chap in him, and certainly Harrict, as fine, brave, and delightful a girl as you are likely to meet anywhere-certainly Harriet will help bring out the best side of this boy's

nature.

As for the plot of the story, it is truly thrilling, and keeps you guessing very hard to the last chapter. You cannot imagine how on earth it is all coming out, for there is so much that is mysterious in the arrival of the runaway, in his lost memory, and in other matters, in which a wallet plays no small part. After you have found out, you will want to turn back and read some parts over again, partly because you like the characters so well-take old Nate, for instance-and partly because you may have hurried a trifle to get to that clearing up of the mystery, for it 's hard not to turn the pages fast when you want so much to discover just what the whole secret is; but don't skip, or read the end last, for that is to spoil a story.

"Phyllis," by Maria Thompson Daviess, is a story told by the little heroine herself. It is a book for girls, though, of course, there are boys in it, or it would n't have quite the right snap.

Phyllis is bothered by something most of us don't think of as a bother at all-too much money! But though she is only fifteen, she has already found out that the most worth-while things, the things that really make her happy, cannot be bought with money at all; indeed, that money seems to keep them away. At first she has no friend for a confidant, except Louise.

And Louise is only a leather-bound blank book, into which poor little Phyllis writes all the loneliness and longings of her affectionate little heart. Writes, too, of the new place to which she has come, and of the Byrds, who are so poor and so nice and so proud, and of the girls at school who won't associate with her because her father is a millionaire.

Then things begin to happen. Some are extremely funny, some are puzzling, some are sad. Altogether, they go to make up a story you don't want to lay down a moment sooner than you have to. Phyllis proves such a darling of a girl, and the Byrd family are so unexpected and fascinating, what with the small but energetic Lovelace, who is up to a trick a minute, and his sister, full of courage and good spirits, whatever the odds, and last, but perhaps best, the Idol. Then, fluttering for just a breath over the last page, there is a hint of romance-but you must find it all for yourself as you read this charming story of a Tennessee village, as you surely will if Christmas behaves properly.

Fairy stories are good, and real fairy stories are almost too good to be true. Yet you can't help hoping that Abbie Farwell Brown's story, "The Lucky Stone," is as true as it is real.

There is a Cinderella in it, and a princess, and a charm, and many surprising things. The Cinderella is a little girl of the tenements, with a heart of gold, that is always imagining lovely things and believing them against all kinds of heavy odds. The princess of this American fairy tale is a young heiress, who is so cold and tired and selfish, so bored with all the many things she has always had, that she cannot imagine anything at all, or believe anything worth believing.

Of course the two come to know each other, or what would be the use of the lucky stone? And in the end each does a great deal for the other, though the tenement child does most. It is a story full of charm and fancy and lovableThe pictures, by your old friend Reginald Birch, are just the right kind of pictures for this sort of story.

ness.

After these three books, with boys and girls like yourselves in them, come four of a different kind, which is good, for no one wants too much of anything.

First of the four is the group of biographical sketches by Ariadne Gilbert, called "More Than Conquerors." Here the idea has been to give you an understanding of the difficulties conquered and the obstacles overcome by a chosen number of world-famous men in their struggles toward the heights they all achieved. Here are Emerson, Beethoven, Lincoln, Agassiz, Stevenson, Scott, Saint-Gaudens, Lamb, and others. Every one of these men had what might be called a hard row to hoe, before fame and fortune or the fine influence of great work nobly done came to him. It is while they are hoeing this difficult row that they are revealed to us by Miss Gilbert. The book is full of splendid inspiration for both boys and girls, and teaches the truth that courage, not opportunity, devotion, not luck, are the ruling powers in life. The stories of these men are beautifully told, and the book is one you will be glad to have on your private book shelf. You will find that these true adventures are fully equal in interest and excitement to any that could be made up.

Another story of big men of a different kind is the one called "The Book of Friendly Giants," by Eunice Fuller.

Who is n't interested in giants? But most giants are a bad lot, and the business in hand is how to kill them off without getting hurt yourself. But here in this book the giants are quite

of them folk-lore giants. The people who told their stories in the long ago past were quite sure every word was true; and as far as I know, true they were. At least there is n't any doubt that they are extremely good, simply crowded with fun and adventure and escapes and the most extraordinary feats of strength and endurance. The pictures are by Pamela Coleman Smith, and you will love to look at them, for they will bear a lot of looking at, and are just as enjoyable as the stories. The frontispiece is in color, and that is best of all.

I suppose the broad, flat book called "Baby Bears" will be bought for the youngsters of the family; but I'm perfectly sure that it will be read and looked at by every one, big or middlesized, too. It is by Grace Drayton, whose amusing drawings are familiar to us all, and it is just as funny as you could wish. Delectable pictures, eighty of them, not to speak of the colored one

"Bubble Ballads." For the writer has imagined childhood to be like a bubble, so fleeting, so lovely, so full of light. This is how he puts it:

Perfect symbol of Childhood's day:
The Wonder-World of the Real-Unreal;
A Gossamer glory that melts away. .

They are real childhood songs, and are exquisite. They sing of your day, your wishes, hopes, and fancies, wonder about the things that you wonder over, answer questions you askand are so sweet and swinging and full of lovely music that you will want to read them over many times, and to turn the pages and gaze at the pictures and decorations for hours on end, made so beautifully by Gertrude Kay in the very spirit of the songs. They will go well with Stevenson's and Field's poems for children, so be sure to put them down on your list. Oyez, oyez, oyez !

SOME EXTINCT AMERICAN BIRDS A BIRD or other animal is said to be extinct when the last one of its kind is dead. Extinction may result from natural conditions being unfavorable to the life of the species, it may be caused by man, or, again, it may be from a combination of both. The extinction of our own birds has been caused largely through the agency of man. And men, if they will, can save most of the species which remain. To that end our States have protective laws relating to game- and other birds, and much has been done and is being done to teach people the value of wild birds and the wisdom of protecting them.

The great auk is perhaps the most famous of our extinct birds. This was a flightless waterbird about the size of a goose. Though its wings

were too small for flight and it was very awkward on land, it was an expert swimmer. Its home was in northern Europe, southern Greenland, southern Labrador, and on our Atlantic coast at least as far south as Massachusetts. Funk Island, north of Newfoundland, was a favorite nesting-place. Sailors landed here and killed them by the thousand for the oil to be obtained from their bodies; by 1844 or 1845, they had been exterminated here and in Iceland. With the natives it was an article of food, and it was easily caught on land. Another circumstance which no doubt hastened its extinction is that it laid only one egg to the nest. In 1852, the last great auk was seen alive, and the last dead one was found in 1853. There exist about eighty mounted and unmounted skins, four skeletons, and a good

many eggs. An egg is worth about $1200 at auc

tion.

The Labrador duck bred in Labrador, and was found on our Atlantic coast south to Chesapeake Bay. For many years before its final disappearance, it had not been a common duck; about 1875, it became extinct from some unknown cause. "Skunk duck" was one name by which it was known to hunters along the coast, this because of the black-and-white marking of the drake; the female was a grayish bird with a large white patch on each wing. About thirty-five skins and mounted specimens exist in museums, but not a single egg is known. In fact, the nesting of this duck, even as to where it occurred, is a matter of conjecture.

This year, the last known living passengerpigeon died. This was a captive bird in the Cin

As the Eskimo curlew has long been a very rare bird, and the latest specimen was taken in 1911 (at Waco, Nebraska), it is now regarded

ESKIMO CURLEW.

as extinct or on the very verge of extinction. This was a large snipe-like bird, and was much sought by gunners; they called it the dough-bird. It nested in the arctic regions and wintered in South America, so that in the United States it was found only during its migrations.

The Carolina parrakeet was one of our most interesting birds; it was the only parrot-like species within our borders. It was a handsome bird, its head and neck yellow excepting the sides of the face and top of the head in front, which were orange; the bend of the wings and the upper parts of the legs were also orange; the rest of the plumage was largely green, varied below

PASSENGER-PIGEON.

cinnati Zoological Gardens. In the wild state the species has long been considered extinct. The last records of specimens taken are of two birds, one near Detroit, Michigan, and one at Canandaigua Lake, New York, both, by a most remarkable coincidence, on the same day, September 14, 1898. There have been many reports of birds seen since then. Possibly some of these have been true, but generally such reports are due to mistaking other birds for the pigeon. Wholesale slaughter by man was doubtless the chief cause of extermination in this case.

The wild pigeon was once extremely abundant. Early writers tell of flocks of "countless millions" which "darkened the sky" and required days to pass a given point. They nested in great colonies, every available tree over a wide extent of forest being occupied by from several to as many as forty or fifty pairs. As late as 1876, a nesting in Michigan averaged three or four miles in width, and extended for twenty-eight miles.

HEATH-HEN.

SAWYER

with yellowish. Formerly its range embraced the southeastern and central States. Now only ten individuals, captives, are known to exist; they