The story-writer's father married twice, and his second wife was the mother of Francis Richard. She was a Virginian, and from her side of the family tree was derived the name Ardis found in "Ardis Claverden." There is a Stocktonian touch in the familiar story that the author's Christian name was imposed upon him by one of his half-sisters, who borrowed a part of it from Francis I. of France and a part from Richard Coeur de Lion. The same relative gave Francis's sister the full name of Napoleon's second wife. Strange to say, Mr. Stockton has avowed a difficulty in giving his characters names.
The boy first was sent to a private school in West Philadelphia. Later he attended the public schools, and at the age of eighteen was graduated from the Central High School with the degree of Bachelor of Arts. It was noticed at school that his bent was to literature. In fact, this was obvious to his parents when he was only ten, for at that age he began to scribble verses. In spite of this proclivity, however, Francis, after leaving the high school, took up engraving as a profession. Just one bond was left existing between himself and the world of letters, and that was his membership in an organization of young men called the "Forensic and Literary Circle." Upon this slight basis has been erected an exceptionally successful career, for it was to the Circle that the "Ting-a-ling Stories" were first read. The Circle also heard "Kate" as soon as it was written. This tale and "The Story of Champaigne" were published by the _Southern Messenger_; and it is sufficient to relate that they created a demand for more like them. Thereafter, until 1874, Stockton wrote many short stories, his star all the time rising a little higher above the horizon.
But in 1874 the star blazed forth wondrously with the appearance of the first part of "Rudder Grange." From that day the author's place among the foremost American humorists has been secure. "Rudder Grange" is undoubtedly his most popular work, for it is in demand even at this late day. We have heard it said that among many of Mr. Stockton's admirers--and who, by the way, would attempt to number those happy beings?--it is regarded as his masterpiece. We shall let the statement pass without examination, believing as we do that in this case comparisons would be particularly odious. However, it is no backhanded compliment to say that upon the profusion and the quaintness of the humour of "Rudder Grange" the author has never improved.