"Peter Ibbetson," which appeared in Harper's Magazine in 1891; but it may be fairly said that he had considerable literary experience, for he used to spend as much time upon the construction of the dialogues which accompanied his pictures as upon the pictures themselves. "Peter Ibbetson" was a great popular success. It was followed, in 1894, by "Trilby," published in the same magazine, of which two hundred and fifty thousand copies have been sold. Du Maurier had sold the book for two thousand pounds; but its success was so great that the publishers felt justified in giving him a royalty, paying him at one time forty thousand dollars, and sharing with him the income which they received from the dramatization of the work. For the "Martian," completed just before his death, he received ten thousand pounds. These three books comprise the literary work of George Du Maurier. They did not deal with high themes, and his books have met with severe criticism; but there is in them a keenness of vision, an intimate knowledge of human nature, and a grasp of certain elements of beauty in character, which have been equaled by no other writer, and seem to promise permanence for his work. RUDYARD KIPLING. Another writer who has violated the canons of literary art, and in this violation been supported by the united voice of the greater number of critics, as well as by the multitude of readers, is Rudyard Kipling. Kipling was born in 1865, and, as astonishing as it may seem, has, since 1885, published twenty-six different volumes of prose and verse. His facility, his grace, the ease and beauty of his verse, his disregard for certain conventionalities, and his audacity, have perhaps all contributed to his undoubted great success. He has somehow had the penetration to discover a new mine of literary material, and has worked in it, not only with success, but to the satisfaction of the world at large. Rudyard Kipling was born in Calcutta, and, after his school-days in England, returned to India, and entered upon newspaper work as subeditor and war correspondent. He began at twenty-one to publish verses, taking the subject-matter from Indian life. "Plain Tales from the Hills," "Soldiers Three," "The Gadsbys," "In Black and White," "Under the Deodars," "The Phantom 'Rickshaw," and "Wee Willie Winkie," all appeared within a single year and appealed to the English public with such freshness and vigor that when Kipling returned to England, in 1889, he found himself already famous. In 1891 he formed the friendship of Wolcott Balestier, with whom he wrote "Naulahka," and whose sister he married. For three years he lived near the Balestier home in Vermont and then returned to London. Kipling is intensely fond of out-door life. He is not a great hunter, but is exceedingly fond of fishing, and when he was preparing "Captain Courageous," a story of New England fisherman life, he spent some weeks at Gloucester, making an intimate acquaintance with the actual life he was to portray. But perhaps no books of Kipling's are so widely known as the two collections of stories of animal life called the "Jungle Books." The wolves, the tiger, the elephants, and the oxen in these jungle stories talk and act in a way that makes the reader almost ready to believe that they are actually true. The imaginary republic of animals which Kip ling has portrayed, the laws of the wolf-pack, their contempt for mankind, their characteristic virtues, and their crimes against the law and order of their community, are all worked out with a vividness and truth which stamps their author as a genius indeed. A recent critic has said that Kipling is a poet of highly magnetized metal which attracts or repels alike very strongly, so those who insist that literature must be serious, dignified, and ceremonious, who think of Spenser as the model poet, will be repelled by Kipling's familiarity and his lack of reverence. Those who appreciate the musical quality in poetry, and an insight into the laws of nature, can not but acknowledge that he is not only a genius but a genuine artist. Besides those already mentioned, some of his most important books are "The City of Dreadful Night and Other Places," "Departmental Ditties," "The Light that Failed," "Many Inventions," and "My First Book." A. CONAN DOYLE. Like Du Maurier and Kipling, Doyle had excelled in a field of his own; but the likeness to them is only in this singularity and in the popularity of his work. Dr. Doyle would like to be judged by the serious and laborious work of his historic romances; but, in spite of himself, his fame will rest upon his creation of Sherlock Holmes, the wonderful detective who reasoned out from the smallest fragments the whole structure of the crime which he is to decipher. Dr. Doyle is the son of an artist, and was born in Edinburgh in 1859. He studied medicine, but in his early twenties definitely devoted himself to literature. His industry and studiousness are no less remarkable than his constructive faculty, and for his romance of "The White Company" he is said to have read more than two hundred books, and he devoted to it over two years of labor. He has described in his historical novels the England of the time of Edward III, James II, and of to-day; the Scotland of George III; the France of Edward III, of Louis XIV, and of Napoleon, and the America of Frontenac, and his fidelity to historical detail is no less marked than his success as a story-teller. His other famous works are "The Great Shadow" and "Micah Clarke"; but, as we have already said, he is most widely known by the series of detective stories which related the adventures and achievements of Sherlock Holmes. THOMAS HENRY HALL CAINE. Hall Caine has had the good fortune to find in the life of his native island the literary material upon which he has based his most successful work. He is the contemporary writer most distinguished by the elaborate care with which his work is done. Of the writing of his first story, "The Shadow of a Crime," he says, "Shall I ever forget the agonies of the first efforts? It took me nearly a fortnight to start that novel, sweating drops as of blood at every fresh attempt. It is said that the first half of this book was written at least four times, and after it was completed, more than half of the book was destroyed in order to use a fresh suggestion. If it is true that genius is a capacity for infinitely taking pains, then certainly Hall Caine is a genius; but such a proof as this is truly superfluous, for no one can read "The Deemster," "The Bondman," "The Scapegoat," "The Last Confession," "Cap'n Davy's Honeymoon," or "The Manxman" without acknowledging that here is the work of a master hand and the evidence of genius unexcelled in the art of our time. Mr. Hall Caine is a native of the Isle of Man, and began his career as an architect in Liverpool. In 1871, when he was eighteen years old, he had already done some literary work, and a little later he earned ten pounds by writing for some one else an alleged autobiography. He has interested himself in behalf of the persecuted Jews in Russia, and in 1895 came to the United States and Canada, representing the English Society of Authors, and obtained some important copyright concessions from the Canadian Parliament. His principal home is at Greeba Castle on the Isle of Man, and he is much beloved by the people among whom he lives. Beside the stories which have been mentioned, he has written "Recollection of Rossetti," "Sonnets of Three Centuries," "Cobwebs of Criticism," "The Life of Coleridge," and "The Christian," and it is reasonable to believe that his great literary work is nowhere near completed. -300 HOW WEE WILLIE WINKIE WON HIS SPURS. ERY early the next morning he climbed on to the roof of the house-that was not forbidden-and beheld Miss Allardyce going for a ride. "Where are you going?" cried Wee Willie Winkie. "Across the river," she answered, and trotted forward. Now the cantonment in which the 195th lay was bounded on the north by a river-dry in the winter. From his earliest years, Wee Willie Winkie had been forbidden to go across the river, and had noted that even Coppy-the almost almighty Coppy-had never set foot beyond it. Wee Willie Winkie had once been read to, out of a big blue book, the history of the Princess and the Goblins-a most wonderful tale of a land where the Goblins were always warring with the children of men until they were defeated by one Curdie. Ever since that date it seemed to him that the bare black and purple hills across the river were inhabited by Goblins, and, in truth, every one had said that there lived the Bad Men. Even in his own house the lower halves of the windows were covered with green paper on account of the Bad Men who might, if allowed clear view, fire into peaceful drawing-rooms and comfortable bedrooms. Certainly, beyond the river, which was the end of all the Earth, lived the Bad Men. And here was Major Allardyce's big girl, Coppy's property, preparing to venture into their borders! What would Coppy say if anything happened to her? If the Goblins ran off with her as they did with Curdie's Princess? She must at all hazards be turned back. It The house was still. Wee Willie Winkie reflected for a moment on the very terrible wrath of his father; and then-broke his arrest! was a crime unspeakable. The low sun threw his shadow, very large and very black, on the trim garden-paths, as he went down to the stables and ordered his pony. It seemed to him in the hush of the dawn that all the big world had been bidden to stand still and look at Wee Willie Winkie guilty of mutiny. The drowsy groom handed him his mount, and, since the one great sin made all others insignificant, Wee Willie Winkie said that he was going to ride over to Coppy Sahib, and went out at a foot-pace, stepping on the soft mould of the flower-borders. The devastating track of the pony's feet was the last misdeed that cut him off from all sympathy of Humanity. He turned into the road, leaned forward, and rode as fast as the pony could put foot to the ground in the direction of the river. But the liveliest of twelve-two ponies can do little against the long canter of a Waler. Miss Allardyce was far ahead, had passed through the crops, beyond the Police-post, when all the guards were asleep, and her mount was scattering the pebbles of the river-bed as Wee Willie Winkie left the cantonment and British India behind him. Bowed forward and still flogging, Wee Willie Winkie shot into Afghan territory, and could just see Miss Allardyce a black speck, flickering across the stony plain. The reason of her wandering was simple enough. Coppy, in a tone of too-hastily-assumed authority, had told her overnight that she must not ride out by the river. And she had gone to prove her own spirit and teach Coppy a lesson. Almost at the foot of the inhospitable hills, Wee Willie Winkie saw the Waler blunder and come down heavily. Miss Allardyce struggled clear, but her ankle had been severely twisted, and she could not stand. Having thus demonstrated her spirit, she wept copiously, and was surprised by the apparition of a white, wide-eyed child in khaki, on a nearly spent pony. "Are you badly, badly hurted?" shouted Wee Willie Winkie, as soon as he was within range. "You did n't ought to be here." "I don't know," said Miss Allardyce ruefully, ignoring the reproof. "Good gracious, child, what are you doing here?" "You said you was going acwoss ve wiver," panted Wee Willie Winkie, throwing himself off his pony. "And nobody-not even Coppy must go acwoss ve wiver, and I came after you ever so hard, but you would n't stop, and now you've hurted yourself, and Coppy will be angwy wiv me, and-I've bwoken my awwest! I've bwoken my awwest!" The future Colonel of the 195th sat down and sobbed. In spite of the pain in her ankle the girl was moved. "Have you ridden all the way from cantonments, little man? What for?" "You belonged to Coppy. Coppy told me so!" wailed Wee Willie Winkie disconsolately. "I saw him kissing you, and he said he was fonder of you van Bell or ve Butcha or me. And so I came. You must get up and come back. You did n't ought to be here. Vis is a bad place, and I've bwoken my awwest." "I can't move, Winkie," said Miss Allardyce, with a groan. "I've hurt my foot. What shall I do?" She showed a readiness to weep afresh, which steadied Wee Willie Winkie, who had been brought up to believe that tears were the depth of unmanliness. Still, when one is as great a sinner as Wee Willie Winkie, even a man may be permitted to break down. "Winkie," said Miss Allardyce," when you've rested a little, ride back and tell them to send out something to carry me back in. It hurts fearfully." The child sat still for a little time and Miss Allardyce closed her eyes; the pain was nearly making her faint. She was roused by Wee Willie Winkie tying up the reins on his pony's neck and setting it free with a vicious cut of his whip that made it whicker. The little animal headed toward the cantonments. "Oh, Winkie! What are you doing?" "Hush!" said Wee Willie Winkie. 'Vere's a man coming-one of ve Bad Men. I must stay wiv you. My faver says a man must always look after a girl. Jack will go home, and ven vey'll come and look for us. Vat's why I let him go." Not one man but two or three had appeared from behind the rocks of the hills, and the heart of Wee Willie Winkie sank within him, for just in this manner were the Goblins wont to steal out and vex Curdie's soul. Thus had they played in Curdie's garden, he had seen the picture, and thus had they frightened the Princess' nurse. He heard them talking to each other, and recognized with joy the bastard Pushto (dialect) that he had picked up from one of his father's grooms lately dismissed. People who spoke that tongue could not be the Bad Men. They were only natives after all. They came up to the bowlders on which Miss Allardyce's horse had blundered. Then rose from the rock Wee Willie Winkie, child of the Dominant Race, aged six and threequarters, and said briefly and emphatically "Jao!" The pony had crossed the river-bed. The men laughed, and laughter from natives was the one thing Wee Willie Winkie could not tolerate. He asked them what they wanted and why they did not depart. Other men with most evil faces and crooked-stocked guns crept out of the shadows of the hills, till, soon, Wee Willie Winkie was face to face with an audience some twenty strong. Miss Allardyce screamed. "Who are you?" said one of the men. "I am the Colonel Sahib's son, and my order is that you go at once. You black men are frighting the Miss Sahib. One of you must run into cantonments and take the news that the Miss Sahib has hurt herself, and that the Colonel's son is here with her." "Yes, my little Sahib Bahadur,” said the tallest of the men, "and eat you afterward." "That is child's talk," said Wee Willie Winkie. "Men do not eat men." A yell of laughter interrupted him, but he went on firmly," And if you do carry us away, I tell you that all my regiment will come up in a day and kill you all without leaving one. Who will take my message to the Colonel Sahib ?" Speech in any vernacular-and Wee Willie Winkie had a colloquial acquaintance with three -was easy to the boy who could not yet manage his "r's" and "th's" aright. Another man joined the conference, crying: "O foolish men! What this babe says is true. He is the heart's heart of those white troops. For the sake of peace let them go both, for if he be taken, the regiment will break loose and gut the valley. Our villages are in the valley, and we shall not escape. That regiment are devils. They broke Khoda Yar's breast-bone with kicks when he tried to take the rifles; and if we touch this child they will fire, and rape, and plunder for a month, till nothing remains. Better to send a man back to take the message and get a reward. I say that this child is their God, and that they will spare none of us, nor our women, if we harm him." It was Din Mahommed, the dismissed groom. of the Colonel, who made the diversion, and an "Put our feet into the trap?" was the laughing angry and heated discussion followed. Wee Wilreply. "Hear this boy's speech!' 66 Say that I sent you-I, the Colonel's son. They will give you money." "What is the use of this talk? Take up the child and the girl, and we can at least ask for the ransom. Ours are the villages on the heights," said a voice in the background. These were the Bad Men-worse than Goblins -and it needed all Wee Willie Winkie's training to prevent him from bursting into tears. But he felt that to cry before a native, excepting only his mother's ayah, would be an infamy greater than any mutiny. Moreover, he, as future Colonel of the 195th, had that grim regiment at his back. lie Winkie, standing over Miss Allardyce, waited the upshot. Surely his "wegiment," his own "wegiment," would not desert him if they knew of his extremity. The riderless pony brought the news to the 195th, though there had been consternation in the Colonel's household for an hour before. The little beast came in through the parade-ground in front of the main barracks, where the men were settling down to play Spoil-five till the afternoon. Devlin, the Color Sergeant of E Company, glanced at the empty saddle and tumbled through "Are you going to carry us away?" said Wee the barrack-rooms, kicking up each Room CorWillie Winkie, very blanched and uncomfortable. | poral as he passed. "Up, ye beggars! There's |