The use of the names of distinguished men and women to lend interest to worthless or uninteresting articles on topics of current interest dates back to the most remote period of the world’s history, but it was Mr. Bok who discovered, during a temporary depression in the celebrity market, that a vast horde of their relations were available for literary purposes, and that there was not much greater “pull” in the name of a citizen who had won distinction in commerce, art, literature, in the pulpit or on the bench, than there was in those of his wife, his aunt, his sister, and his children even unto the third and fourth generation. It was this discovery that led to the publication of the popular and apparently endless series of essays bearing such titles as “The Wives of Famous Pastors,” “Bright Daughters of Well-known Men,” “Proud Uncles of Promising Young Story-writers,” and “Invalid Aunts of Daring Athletes.” The masterpiece of these biographical batches was the one bearing the general head of “Faces We Seldom See,” and it was this one which established beyond all question or doubt the permanent worth and importance of Mr. Bok’s discovery. The faces of those whom we often see have been described in the public prints from time immemorial, but it was the editor of the _Ladies’ Home Journal_ who discovered the great commercial value that lurked in the faces of men and women who were absolutely unknown outside their own limited circles of friends. Then the relations of the celebrities became writers on their own account, and straightway the pages of Mr. Bok’s invaluable magazine glistened with “How My Wife’s Great-uncle Wrote ‘Rip Van Winkle,’” by Peter Pointdexter; “My Childhood in the White House,” by Ruth McKee; “How Much Money My Uncle is Worth,” by Cornelius Waldorf Astorbilt: and “Recollections of R. B. Hayes,” by his ox and his ass. Even a well-trained mind becomes stunned and bewildered in an attempt to estimate the extent to which this newly discovered force can be carried. The imagination can no more grasp it than it can grasp the idea of either space or eternity, and it is my firm belief that under the impetus already acquired in the _Ladies’ Home Journal_ the hoofs of the relations of celebrities will go clattering down through the literature of centuries as yet unborn. In the mind of a celebrity the prospect is one calculated to rob the grave of half its repose; nevertheless it must be a comfort to pass away in the great white light of fame, cheered by the thought that the stricken wife, the orphaned children, and the consumptive aunt are left with a perpetual source of income at their fingers’ ends.