Harper's Round Table, November 5, 1895

In Short

This collection represents a snapshot of a late-nineteenth-century youth magazine, curating a blend of serialized fiction, instructional essays, and correspondence columns. It functions as a guidebook for the "civilized" child, offering moral instruction alongside practical advice on everything from bicycle safety and culinary arts to the importance of military discipline. While the stories provide dramatic escapism, the surrounding commentary reflects the era’s pedagogical spirit, where every hobby—be it photography or amateur journalism—is framed as a building block toward a productive and honorable adulthood.

The Story

The narrative landscape is dominated by three distinct threads that weave through the pages, each highlighting different facets of contemporary life. In the colonial-era setting of New Jersey, the story of the orphaned Frothingham children unfolds. Left in the care of distant, stern relatives, the twins William and George, along with their little sister Grace, grow up like "wild flowers" under the tutelage of their faithful black foster-parents. Their lives are defined by small rebellions and deep, protective love for one another, painting a picture of children navigating a world defined by the cold, haughty expectations of their class.

Simultaneously, the modern world of the 1890s arrives with the story of Marjorie Mason. Following a house fire, a funeral, and a move, Marjorie finds herself grappling with the sudden vacuum in her home life. Determined to step into the role left by her mother, she maps out a path of domestic service. Her journey is one of trial and error; she learns the small, stinging lessons of household management, from misjudging the sugar in her father’s coffee to asserting her place at the table. It is a quiet, internal arc of a girl attempting to find purpose and authority within her own family.

Finally, the collection ventures into the high-stakes world of the railroad. Laurie, a young man finding his way in the world, befriends a grizzled station-master named Blundon. Their bond is tested when their train is targeted by robbers on a desolate, dark trestle. The story pivots from a peaceful evening of music and cider to a tense struggle for survival. Through this, Laurie discovers the dormant strength of his mentor, who transforms from a leisurely, round-shouldered man into a keen-eyed protector the moment he touches the engine’s throttle. This arc serves as a testament to the idea that true character is often revealed only when one is engaged in one’s "own especial vocation." These stories collectively move from the pastoral innocence of 1772 to the industrial, fast-paced tensions of 1895, tethered by the common desire of youth to prove their worth, whether through domestic duty, family loyalty, or cool-headed bravery in the face of sudden peril.

How It Unfolds

The pastoral setting The book opens with a vivid, tranquil description of 1772 New Jersey, where a leaping brook and a quiet meadow serve as the backdrop for the Frothingham orphans. This scene establishes a sense of historical remove, contrasted immediately by the children’s secret, daring play.

The domestic transition The narrative shifts abruptly to the modern nineteenth century with Marjorie’s ordeal, moving from the trauma of a house fire to the deliberate, daily efforts to rebuild a family rhythm. Each breakfast and dinner becomes a stage for her to practice the virtues of patience and responsibility.

The industrial encounter The focus turns to the rugged, mechanical world of the railways, where the atmospheric, cozy companionship of a station-house is violently disrupted. The tension builds through the dark, suspenseful crossing of a ravine, challenging the characters to act with courage.

The call to discipline The later portions of the book transition into didactic essays that advocate for the rigorous training of "boy soldiers," arguing that military structure in schools fosters the self-control required for good citizenship. This culminates in a vision of a nation strengthened by its disciplined youth.

The final correspondence The book concludes with a series of instructional columns and advice for young readers, emphasizing the importance of memory, the value of waiting for maturity before seeking commercial success, and the mechanics of turning sugar into art.

The People

The Frothingham children—William, George, and Grace—are defined by their status as orphans of a tragic mining accident. They are "wild flowers" who, despite the cold influence of their Uncle Nathan and Aunt Clarissa, maintain a fierce, pathetic devotion to one another. Their growth is marked by a transition from unsupervised play to a tentative navigation of an adult world that lacks their emotional warmth.

Marjorie Mason is a girl of spirit who seeks to fill the void left by her mother's death. She is characterized by her earnestness and her desire to map out a path of service. Her growth is measured by her ability to handle humiliation—such as her coffee-making errors—and her eventual success in establishing a new, albeit different, order within her father's household.

Laurie, the young enthusiast who plays the guitar and dreams of spectacular sights, serves as the bridge between the reader and the world of industry. His development is tied to his admiration for the station-master, Blundon. Through this relationship, Laurie learns to look past physical appearances to recognize the inherent power and expertise in a person’s chosen craft.

Blundon is the grizzled, round-shouldered railroad man who represents the hidden competence of the working class. He is content with the company of passing engines, yet reveals a sharp, alert, and heroic nature during the train robbery. He serves as an anchor for Laurie, showing him that a man’s true worth is often concealed beneath a quiet or leisurely exterior.

In Its Own Voice

The descriptive prose highlights the innocence of the children, who are oblivious to the looming weight of their social expectations:

The bank of the last pool shelved gently on one side, and on the other ran down into a little cliff, at the bottom of which the brook scarcely moved, so deep was the water above the pebbly bottom.

The practical, often stern, advice given to young girls regarding their physical activity and limitations is starkly rendered:

If a girl sets out for a bicycle ride without any definite point in view, she is likely to ride away from home until she becomes tired, and then there is the whole distance of the return to be covered in a more or less wearied condition.

What It's Really About

The book is an exploration of the transition from childhood to the disciplined, structured life of an adult. It asks how one preserves a sense of wonder and affection—like that shared by the Frothingham orphans or the music-playing Laurie—while adopting the rigid, often humorless expectations of a society that values "proper authority" and "good condition." It is deeply concerned with the formation of character through labor, whether that labor is the domestic management of a household, the technical mastery of a locomotive, or the mental discipline of memorizing history. Ultimately, it suggests that the world is a place of dangers, both physical and emotional, and that success requires a mixture of grit, foresight, and a quiet, consistent commitment to duty.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy historical sociology or the "period piece" will find this an invaluable primary source. The book captures the specific anxieties of the 1890s: the fear of the "quitter," the pride in American industrial might, and the rigid gendered expectations regarding everything from bicycle riding to the publication of poetry. It is a fascinating, if sometimes frustrating, experience to observe how the authors speak to children—with a mix of genuine encouragement and a stiff, moralizing authority that feels entirely alien to modern sensibilities.

Readers should be prepared for the period attitudes embedded in the text. The references to the "coolie-slaver" trade and the use of the "old colored man" as a faithful, subservient figure are painful reminders of the era's systemic prejudices. These are not merely background elements but are woven into the structure of the stories. The book is not a modern adventure; it is a document of its time, demanding a reader who can hold two thoughts at once: an appreciation for the warmth and detail of the period's storytelling, and a critical eye toward the biases that defined its social order. It lingers in the mind as a reminder of how much, and how little, the aims of childhood have changed.