Books published by publisher Horatio Alger Association

“Where are you goin’, Julius? Where’s yer blackin’ box? ” asked Patrick Riley.“I’ve retired from business,” said Julius.“Did yer rich uncle die, and leave yer a fortune? ”“No, but he’s goin’ up the river to Sing Sing, for the benefit of his constitushun, and I’m goin’ West fer my health.”“Goin’ West? You’re gassin’.”“No, I ain’t, I’m goin’ in a few days, along of Mr. O’Connor, and a lot of other chaps.”“Is it far out there? ” asked Pat.“More’n a hundred miles,” said Julius, whose ideas of geography and distances were rather vague.“Yer don’t mean ter live out there? ”“Yes, I do, I’m goin’ on to a farm, or into a store, and grow up respectable.”“Won’t yer miss the city, Julius? ”“Likely I will.”“I don’t think I’d like the country,” said Pat, reflectively. “New York’s a bully place. There’s always something goin’ on. I say, did you hear of that murder in Center Street last night? ”“No; what was it? ”“A feller stabbed a cop that was trottin’ him round to the station house for bein’ tight. There’s always something to make it lively here. In the country there ain’t no murders, nor burglaries, nor nothin’,” concluded Pat, rather contemptuously.

“I wish I could send you to college, Guy,” said Mr. Fenwick, as they sat in the library, reading by the soft light of a student lamp. The speaker was the Rev. Mr. Fenwick, the pastor of a church in Bayport, a few miles from New Bedford, Massachusetts. “I don't think I care much about going to college, father,” said Guy, a bright, manly, broad-shouldered boy of sixteen. “When I was of your age, Guy,” replied his father, “I was already a student of Harvard. You are ready for college, but my means are not sufficient to send you there.” “Don't worry about that, father. There are other paths to success than through college.” “I am rather surprised to hear you speak so indifferently, Guy. At the academy you are acknowledged to be the best Latin and Greek scholar they have had for years.” “That may be, father.”