A tour around New York, and My summer acre; being the recreations of MrFelix Oldboy . and I had unconscious-ly been rubbing it. As for candies, our parents wentdown to the candy-store of R. L. & A. Stuart, at thecorner of Chambers and Hudson streets (where I havestood on the sidewalk by the hour and watched theprogress of candy manufacture in the basement),bought us each a horn of sugar-plums, with an old-fashioned picture on it, and broken candy to an amountlimited only by the size of our stockings. This waswholesome and healthful, as were the apples and or-anges that were used as makeweights
A tour around New York, and My summer acre; being the recreations of MrFelix Oldboy . and I had unconscious-ly been rubbing it. As for candies, our parents wentdown to the candy-store of R. L. & A. Stuart, at thecorner of Chambers and Hudson streets (where I havestood on the sidewalk by the hour and watched theprogress of candy manufacture in the basement),bought us each a horn of sugar-plums, with an old-fashioned picture on it, and broken candy to an amountlimited only by the size of our stockings. This waswholesome and healthful, as were the apples and or-anges that were used as makeweights to fill heel andtoe of the stocking, and give it the proper bulge. I am sure the children of to-day do not appreciateall that has been done for them in literature duringthe past thirty years. There was but one weekly pa-per published then for the little ones — the YoiitJisCompanion, printed at Boston, and one magazine, pub-lished by old Tommy Stanford, on lower Broadway—both of them about as dreary in point of interest ascould well be imagined. Now every book-firm in our. THE ILLUMINATION IN NEW YORK ON THE OCCASION OF THEINAUGURATION OF PRESIDENT WASHINGTON A TOUR AROUND NEW YORK 121 leading cities is putting its best work into books andperiodicals for children, and our most brilliant writersare catering to their tastes. Do the boys who weremy contemporaries remember the literary chaff thatwas fed to us? There were the soul-thrilling andmirth-provoking adventures of Sandford and Merton,with that irredeemable prig, Mr. Tutor Barlow, and hisendless object-lessons. It was a highly moral book,also insufferably dull, and every mischievous boy hadat least six copies of it presented to him in a the Sunday-school library of St. Johns ChapelI once drew the blood-curdling account of the greatplague in London, which Mr. Daniel Defoe wrote en-tirely from his own imagination, but which I devoutlybelieved to be true. It was so unspeakably horriblethat it gave me a success
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