Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Title Page
 Pansy Sunday book
 Back Cover

Title: Pansy Sunday book
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00085596/00001
 Material Information
Title: Pansy Sunday book
Physical Description: 241 p. : ill. ; 26 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Barnes, Hiram Putnam, b. 1857 ( Illustrator )
L. R ( Illustrator )
B. P ( Illustrator )
M. L. D. V ( Illustrator )
W. P. B ( Illustrator )
Ronnin, Henrietta ( Illustrator )
Sweeney, Morgan J ( Illustrator )
Rea ( Illustrator )
Lungren, Fernand, 1857-1932 ( Illustrator )
Hayden, Parker ( Illustrator )
Tennant, Dorothy ( Illustrator )
Bridgman, L. J ( Lewis Jesse ), 1857-1931 ( Illustrator )
Foster, W ( Illustrator )
P. A. N ( Illustrator )
Mente ( Illustrator )
Palmer, L ( Illustrator )
Sandham, J. Henry, 1842-1912 ( Illustrator )
Cox, Albert Scott, b. 1863 ( Illustrator )
Arnold, Harry ( Illustrator )
Tucker, E. S ( Illustrator )
Bacon, Henry, 1839-1912 ( Illustrator )
Foulquier, Jean Antoine Valentin, 1822-1896 ( Illustrator )
Hassam, Childe, 1859-1935 ( Illustrator )
Laplante, Charles, d. 1903 ( Illustrator )
Crosby ( Illustrator )
Wing, G. F. ( Illustrator )
Giacomelli, Hector, 1822-1904 ( Illustrator )
Nichols, Henry, b. ca. 1816 ( Engraver )
Faber, J ( Engraver )
Cowee ( Engraver )
Latham ( Engraver )
Pansy, 1841-1930
Lothrop Publishing Company ( Publisher )
Publisher: Lothrop Publishing Company
Place of Publication: Boston
Publication Date: c1898
Subject: Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1898
Bldn -- 1898
Genre: Children's poetry
fiction   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
General Note: Illustrations by Hiram P. Barnes, R.L., P.B., M.L.D.V., W.P.B., Henrietta Ronnin, Boz (Morgan J. Sweeney), Rea, Lungren, Parker Hayden, Dorothy Tennant, L.J. Bridgman, W. Foster, P.A.N., Mente, L. Palmer, H.J. Sandham, Albert Scott Cox, Harry Arnold, E.S. Tucker, Henry Bacon, V. Foulquier, Childe Hassam, C. Laplante, Crosby, G.F. Wing, Jr., H. Giacomelli, and others; engraved by H.H. Nichols, J. Faber, Cowee, Latham, and others.
Statement of Responsibility: by famous American writers.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00085596
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 001613906
oclc - 23831745
notis - AHN8324

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Page 1
        Page 2
    Front Matter
        Page 3
        Page 4
    Title Page
        Page 5
        Page 6
    Pansy Sunday book
        Page 7
        Page 8
        Page 9
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
        Page 14
        Page 15
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
        Page 19
        Page 20
        Page 21
        Page 22
        Page 23
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
        Page 27
        Page 28
        Page 29
        Page 30
        Page 31
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
        Page 38
        Page 39
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
        Page 43
        Page 44
        Page 45
        Page 46
        Page 47
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
        Page 55
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
        Page 59
        Page 60
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
        Page 68
        Page 69
        Page 70
        Page 71
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
        Page 75
        Page 76
        Page 77
        Page 78
        Page 79
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
        Page 86
        Page 87
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
        Page 91
        Page 92
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
        Page 99
        Page 100
        Page 101
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
        Page 106
        Page 107
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
        Page 111
        Page 112
        Page 113
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
        Page 117
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
        Page 122
        Page 123
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
        Page 127
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
        Page 133
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
        Page 137
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
        Page 141
        Page 142
        Page 143
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
        Page 156
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
        Page 163
        Page 164
        Page 165
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
        Page 175
        Page 176
        Page 177
        Page 178
        Page 179
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
        Page 183
        Page 184
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
        Page 194
        Page 195
        Page 196
        Page 197
        Page 198
        Page 199
        Page 200
        Page 201
        Page 202
        Page 203
        Page 204
        Page 205
        Page 206
        Page 207
        Page 208
        Page 209
        Page 210
        Page 211
        Page 212
        Page 213
        Page 214
        Page 215
        Page 216
        Page 217
        Page 218
        Page 219
        Page 220
        Page 221
        Page 222
        Page 223
        Page 224
        Page 225
        Page 226
        Page 227
        Page 228
        Page 229
        Page 230
        Page 231
        Page 232
        Page 233
        Page 234
        Page 235
        Page 236
        Page 237
        Page 238
        Page 239
        Page 240
        Page 241
        Page 242
        Page 243
        Page 244
    Back Cover
        Page 245
        Page 246
Full Text

4b. I~a4~


- -



*a B,5TOrK


k. ,~i;l



F:~- :

.j *'~O~ I:;,;
i.r .-: f..;
4~ :C-
~! '1~ ' ~
~:~- '?i~~



il .!..



~P~p-~s~5~ ~



~rrw w r.LT~-T-- -.~~- --










CoPYRIGEr, 1898,



OU will recall the old story.
Jonathan had wrought a great
deed and deliverance in Israel.
IThe Philistines were marshalled
in full force and courage on
one ridge. There was a deep,
wide valley between. And on the opposite
ridge, called Michmash, the Hebrews were
gathered, but hesitant and discouraged. But
one morning Jonathan and his armor-bearer
saying to themselves, God can save as well
by few as by many," have gone across the
valley and climbed the rocks on the top of
which the Philistines are encamped, and have
laid about them so lustily that the Philistines
are smitten with a vast fear. And then King
Saul, looking across the valley and seeing what
is happening to the Philistines, and how they
are fleeing, commands immediate pursuit; and
the whole army of the Hebrews dashing across
the valley, fall upon the fleeing Philistines,
rout them utterly, follow their scattered frag-
ments for many miles, and a glorious victory
is won by Israel. But the beginning and the
credit of the victory are due to the brave

Jonathan and the armor-bearer, who so nobly
stood by Jonathan.
Meanwhile, Saul the king has done a very
foolish thing. In order that the Israelites
might not cease in the least in their pursuit
of the fleeing Philistines, Saul the king has
commanded that the people shall not eat any-
thing all that day. They must not wait to eat;
they must keep on pursuing. But that was
the unwisest sort of a command. For the peo-
ple having had no breakfast or dinner become
so faint they can pursue no longer. And so
Saul, who sought to save time by refusing to
let the people wait even a little to eat and
refresh themselves really lost time, for the
people as the evening fell had become so ex-
hausted they could not take another step or
strike another stroke. He was a very fool-
ish king in many respects that King Saul.
Wanting to save time he did it in such an un-
wise way he really lost time, and hindered
himself from the full accomplishment of his
object. I think it must be plain enough to
anybody; this refusing the people time for
eating that they might swiftly pursue, and so
saving time from needed refreshment that they
might pursue, was really a bad and pernicious
saving of time; was a hindrance rather than
a help. For, through lack of food, the peo-
ple had become so worn out they could not
pursue. It had been vastly wiser and better to
give the people time for eating, so that with re-
freshed strength they might the farther pursue.
I think the old story has a very real relation
to ourselves. I think there is now a great deal


of this bad saving of time illustrated thus by
the unwise King Saul.
Well, how frequently young people make
such bad saving of time when they refuse
themselves the food of preparation for future
service, by using the time of their youth in
too great devotion to other and less valuable
things. Young people so often say, "I want
to have a good time and I am bound to take
time to have a good time." Well, within cer-
tain bounds and at certain seasons, that is all
right. I think young people ought to have
good times, and that they ought to take time
to have them. But if they think only of a
present good time, and are quite careless about
the getting ready for the strong and noble
service the future time will demand of them, it
seems to me they are saving time for what they
call their good time in most sad and serious
fashion. Mr. Gladstone, speaking to the
young, once said: "Thrift of time will repay
you in after life with a usury of profit beyond
your most sanguine dreams." But, ah, me!
If there be not such thrift of time; if there be
this bad saving of it in order to use it just for
the fun of what young people call good times
now! They wanted once to set Michael Angelo
to carving a statue in snow. Think of it; the
great artist sedulously at work at something
which a few hot breaths of the sun would dis-
solve to water. What a bad saving of time
for such a sculptor to put his time to a use like
that. But, I fear me, there are multitudes of
young people doing a thing as sad and silly.
Forgetting the time to come and the getting
ready for the high, strong service appropriate
to it, they are seeking only to save out what
they call a good time from the swiftly passing
present. They slouch their studies; they
dodge their practicing; they forget their En-
deavor pledge; they do little reading, except a
flashy novel now and then; they fuss and frit-
ter and fizzle all the time. They are having
their good time, but what an awfully bad sav-
ing of time they make in having it.
Also, how frequently young people make
such bad saving of time when, like Saul refus-
ing to let the people take time for eating, they
refuse to take time for their duty next them,

and use that time in doing or in dreaming
about the duty third or twentieth or fortieth
to them. So life gets into a pell-mell distrac-
tion and order. The undone duty next them
clamors for its doing, but they have used the
time for its doing in trying to do or in dream-
ing about doing the duty far ahead, and so
they are pressed and bewildered and exhausted,
as were these Israelites whom Saul would not
let do the duty next them the refreshing
themselves with food, that after that they
might effectually pursue.
Whene'er a duty waits for thee,
With sober judgment view it.
And do not vainly wish it done,
Begin at once and do it.
For sloth says idly, 'Bye and bye
Will be as well to do it;'
But present strength is surest strength;
Begin at once and do it."

Ah, my young friend! it is the philosophy
of life, the weal of it and the joy of it as well,
to refuse to make a bad saving of time such as
the old king made. Be gladly thankful for
your youth, and make it as pleasant as you
may, but remember the service of the coming
years and see to it that you get ready for it.
Save time in right true fashion by steadily
doing the duty next you; refuse to save it
for wishing and idly dreaming, or even for
attempting to do now what you have got to do
a year ahead. Let the duties of each day,
nobly done, fit you for the duty a year ahead.
So save time wisely.
A sun-dial in an old churchyard at Stirling
has written round it this impressive legend:
I am a shadow,
So art thou;
I mark time ;
Dost thou?"

N his furrowed fields around us,
God has work for all who will:
Those who may not scatter broadcast,
Yet may plant it hill by hill.
Shall we find these hills, and plant them?
Shall we scatter when we may?
Or with idle hands stand waiting
Till the seed time pass away -Selected.

rF~ r~


I 1
-_. .^'--..
.. ,'--*. ^ .
*i., _-_: ", -Si;

~:* S Ch E


~-- i




C AN you run? It is one of the
most common of exercises.
You will always have need of
S it, no matter how old you get.
c After you feel too old to run
Sfor fun, you will need to run
sometimes to catch trains, it may be, or to stop
a runaway horse, or get away from a mad dog,
or save some one's life. So you see it is not
like some of the sports that people are fond of
and urge you to learn, it is not useless. You
ought to learn how to run as well as how to
read, or write, or chop wood, or sew a seam.
But you think running is a simple matter
which people can do without learning. Can
they? Did you ever watch a lot of boys and
girls, or men and women, running? Did you
not see a difference in the running? Some
throw their bodies into all sorts of shapes.
They stick out their heads, saw their elbows
back and forth, pound their heels into the
ground, and stretch their backs as far ahead
of them as they can. Some wiggle along, some
women and girls mince and squirm, and might
better walk, as far as getting on faster is con-
cerned, and come puffing and panting up after
everything is over, while a few skim over the
air like birds flying, heads erect, body all
springs, and are not one bit tired or out of
breath when the goal is reached. Isn't there a
difference between running, and running well?
What's the difference, if you get there all

the same? said a boy, in reply to this question.
Well, there is a difference. In the first place,
if you run badly you are likely to injure some
of the delicate organs of your body by the jar-
ring, when you pound your heels into the side-
walk. You lose the benefit of the fresh air in
your lungs when you press your head down and
forward, and you pull your body all out of
shape. People will laugh at you, and call you
awkward, too; and, what the boys and some
of the girls will care a great deal more for than
any of these reasons, you cannot get there so
rapidly, nor do half so much running in a day
if you run poorly as if you ran well.
If you don't know how, teach yourself.
Stand erect, with your head up, chest well out,
hips thrown back, arms hanging at the sides,
the elbows slightly bent, the fingers partly
closed, to conserve all your force. Then sway
the body forward till all your weight is on the
balls of your feet, rise up on the toes, then in
that position raise the left foot till the knee is
at a right angle, and spring lightly with the
right foot back to the left, and so on, practic-
ing stationary running at first, then going on
forward. Get some friend to play a rapid
march for you, and keep time to it. This will
help you to run evenly, besides making the ex-
ercise much pleasanter. If you keep the rules
in mind while running it will become a most
delightful exercise to you, and nothing will
please you better, or make you feel more ex-
hilarated, than flying through the air over the



NO. I.

What new thing shall we begin for Jesus?
(Mark iv. 26-32.)
How can I tell, not knowing what you have
already begun to do? Have you not begun to
follow Jesus; pray to him, speak for him?
Now is the time. But perhaps we can all be-
gin to be a great deal more in earnest in work
for the Master in prayer, in trying to learn
just what he wants us to do, and in trying to
be unselfish.
There are two points to remember:
1. Begin right.
2. Keep at it.

When the ancients said that a work well be-
gun was half-done, they meant that we ought
to take the utmost pains in every undertaking
to make a good beginning.

Queen Victoria was aroused at night and in-
formed that she was queen of England. She
asked the one who brought the news to pray;
so right there they prayed for her that she
might have God's help in her great work.
Let me add just this: Do not begin anything
upon which you cannot ask God's blessing.


What are our temptations, and how can we
conquer them ?
Jesus fought the tempter with the sword of
the Spirit (Eph. vi. 17), and conquered every
time. He is our example. When he saw how
Peter was to be tempted he told him to watch
and pray (Matt. xxvi. 41), and the same pre-
scription is good for us. His experiences were
like ours (Heb. iv. 15), so he is able to help
us (Heb. ii. 18). See the story of the tempta-
tion (Matt. iv). "If," says Satan (v. iii.) -
a suggestion of doubt as to his being the Son
of God. So he was tempted through his appe-
tite. In v. 6 he was tempted to run a great
risk and astonish the people, to gratify pride.
In vs. 8 and 9 Satan tried to win Jesus by an

appeal to his supposed ambition. Did you
ever hear of a student who was tempted to
cheat, in order to win the prize? Would over-
eating, or drinking, smoking, or over-dressing
come under any of these heads?

The Devil tempts us not 'tis we tempt him,
Beckoning his skill with opportunity.

Some temptations come to the industrious,
but all temptations attack the idle.


Harming and helping.
How do we harm, and how can we help each
Every human heart is a magnet, drawing
some other heart after it.
Some one follows, turn we to the right hand
or to the left.
To help: 1. Love. 2. Love to a purpose.
3. Love wisely, so as to purpose well. After
all, it depends much upon the degree. Notice
that locomotive. Its fire has just been kindled,
the water is only "lukewarm." There is no
"go" to it now. Wait till the steam is well
up, and then it must be set in motion, or the
steam be permitted to escape. So if the heart
is fired up something is going to be done, and
some way found by which to do it. "Where
there's a will there's a way."
Words are weighty things, in whichever side
of the scale you place them. Smiles are more
useful than frowns, and much more winning.

We know not what we do
When we speak words.

One pupil in the class may help greatly
toward making the teacher's work a success or
a failure.


Bible promises. What are some of them,
and which is your favorite?


Suppose God had never given any promises?
Suppose he was not to be trusted? Suppose
the condition was money, or education, or skill?
What is the condition? What a wonderful
thought that a little child, by conforming to
the condition, can bind the King of kings to do.
An old ragged Indian, with a bright string
about his neck, upon which was hung a dirty
pouch, was begging for bread. He said the
bag contained a charm given him when he was
young, and opening it displayed a faded, greasy
paper. It proved to be a regular discharge
from the Federal army, and was signed by Gen-
eral Washington himself. Here was a name
which would have been honored almost any-
where, and a paper which would have insured
him support for the remainder of his days, yet
he wandered about hungry, helpless and for-
lorn, begging. Are you treating God's prom-
ises thus?


( in HERE are some directions in the Bible
that you can't follow." Andrew Dun-
lap closed his Bible as he spoke, and looked
about him in a resolute manner, as though he
expected to be challenged; but his cousin only
smiled as she said:
That is a remarkable admission for an
Endeavorer to make."
"Well, it's so, all the same. Look at that
verse we have for our meeting: Giving thanks
always for all things.' How is a fellow going
to do it? I can think of a dozen things for
which I can't be thankful, and so can you.
Think of Phil Morrison on his back this minute
with a broken leg, and the prospect of hobbling
about on crutches when he does get up; and he
expected to be in Chicago tramping over the
Fair ground by this time. How is he going to
work to be thankful?"
Professor Welldon was standing by the south
window catching the fading gleams of daylight
on his paper, and was not supposed to be lis-
tening; but he turned at this, and said with a
You are too fast, Andy. I can look back

to a broken leg, and there is nothing I recall
for which I feel more thankful."
He laughed at Andy's astonished look, and
continued: Father and mother and my one
sister were going abroad; I was to wait to see
them off, and then go back to school with my
cousins. The morning of the day on which
they were to sail I fell from a great height,
and broke my leg in two places, and was deli-
rious all day. Father and mother would not
leave me, and the steamer sailed without them.
But it never reached port. Not a soul on board
was ever seen again. How do you suppose I
felt about my broken leg when I heard of that? "
"0, well!" said Andrew, "that is different,
of course. You saw how it had helped. A
fellow can be thankful for a thing when he
knows it has helped him, of course. But I am
talking about other things."
The look on the professor's face was pleasant
to see, as he said gently: My boy, cannot
you imagine a father so good that his boy can
be sure that everything he does is right, whether
he sees how it will help him, or not? especially
if that father has assured him that all things
shall be planned for his good?"
"Well," said Andrew, after a thoughtful
pause, "perhaps so. I suppose that is what
it means; but at first it seemed queer."


T FTHAT is a lie, young man, and you know
it." The speaker was a middle-aged
man, who had lived long enough to know better
than to get into such a passion as he evidently
was. His eyes glared, and his face was red
with rage. Three boys stood before him in
the hall.
"I did not touch the door, sir," the younger
of the three had said, speaking firmly but re-
spectfully; "there came a rush of wind just
then and slammed it; I had not thought of
doing it."
Then the angry man said the words with
which this account began: "'That is a lie,
young man, and you know it. There isn't a
breath of wind, and I saw you reach out your


hand toward the door; you young scamp, to
make a commotion like this in the schoolroom.
You deserve a thrashing." Then he actually
reached forth his hand and gave the boy a slap
on his cheek.
The blood rushed into the young fellow's
face. He was well-built and strong, and the
angry teacher was a small, weak-bodied man.
There was a terrible temptation to knock him
down. He knew the other boys would help if
he led the way, and had he not been insulted?
Only a moment he stood glaring, then dropped
his half-raised arm, and said quietly: "I for-
give you, sir," and walked across the room to
his seat.
"I don't know how you could do it, Hal,"
the boys said at recess, clustering about him.
"I should have knocked him down in a minute
if he had told me what he did you. And it
must have been especially hard for you, such a
stickler for truth as you are. How did you
manage it?"
Hal pointed to the tiny badge he wore on his
necktie : C. E. "That helped," he said, smil-
ing. I caught the flash of it in the sunlight
just as my arm came up. Do you remember
our verses for next Sunday -' Even as God
also in Christ forgave you'? When I thought
of the C. E.' and the pattern, I knew I must


T HE Rev. F. D. Power, in a Christian En-
deavor address on How to Reach Peo-
ple," quoted the following verses, which are in
themselves a sermon, hinting plainly that we
must be like brothers and sisters to the people
whom we would help.

"The parish priest of austerity
Climbed up in a high church steeple
To be nearer God,
So that he might hand
His word down to his people,
And in sermon script
He daily wrote
What he thought was sent from Heaven,
And he dropt this down
On his people's heads,

Two times one day in seven.
In his age God said:
'Come down and die.'
And he called from out the steeple:
'Where art thou, Lord?'
And the Lord replied,
'Down here among my people.'"


H ERE is a pretty thing for the "Juniors"
which we find in the "Golden Rule."
The children stand facing the audience, with
small bouquets in right hand and handkerchiefs
in left.
The signals are given by the piano, and
are the ordinary four chords of any key, and
the octave chord.
The salute is as follows:
First chord: Flowers to lips.
Second chord: Flowers extended in right
hand as if kiss thrown, at the same time step
forward on right foot.
Third chord: Handkerchiefs waved briskly
with left hand, flowers and position same as
Fourth chord: Resume erect position, flowers
and handkerchief at side.
Octave chord: All seated.
This salute was given by the Juniors at the
New Jersey State Convention not long ago,
and the effect was said to be beautiful. The
"Golden Rule" suggests that it be universally
adopted by the Juniors, and adds that of course
the flowers could be used afterwards by the
flower committees.

REFORMED ENDEAVORERS. -Queer title, isn't
it? You did not think they needed reforming.
This item applies to the church which wears that
denominational name. An effort is being made
among them to support a Christian Endeavor
missionary in Japan. The "Golden Rule"
says that if each Reformed Endeavor Society
should give ten dollars, enough money would
be raised." What an army of them there
must be.






T was Pinkie's work from be-
5. I ginning to end. If she had
'- ot been sitting out there
i that frosty morning watching
George and Harmon set their
trap, and if she had not fallen
in love with the dear little, neat little, cosey
little house which they left behind, and come
closer and closer to look at it, she would not
have been caught; and if she had not been
caught, why, then--But I must not begin my
story in the middle. Pinkie was a rabbit; this
much you ought to know. She was named
Pinkie, not so much on account of her pretty
pink eyes, as because it suited the taste of her
mistress to dress her in a wide band of pink
satin ribbon.
Now, to go away back, at least a month be-
fore New Year's Day the Hendersons came to
the country to live. Yes, in midwinter, to the
great grief of Emmeline, and not a little to the
annoyance of her father and elder sister, though
they said less about it. You see it was this
way. They had a chance to sell their house in
town if they could give immediate possession.
They had not thought of doing this, though
they were very anxious to sell. Mr. Hender-
son was a clerk in an office, and was far from
well. His physician had told him if he could
get into the country, and spend his leisure mo-
ments digging in the ground, it might help him
very much. After that Mrs. Henderson and
the grown-up daughter, Laura, were eager to
go. They did not say much about their reasons
to Emmeline, because they said she was too
young to be worried over father; so they let
her worry over leaving school in the middle of
a term, and going to the country where she
knew no one, and dreaded the thought of en-
tering a strange school after the holidays. It
was all settled in a hurry. Mrs. Henderson
and Laura had spent a day at Laurelton once
last summer, when Laura had a day off -for
she was also an office clerk and had fallen in
love with the beauty of hill, and wood, and
fern. There was a lovely rambling old house
for rent very cheap, because it had fallen a

good deal out of repair, and because the owner
did not care to spend much money on improve-
ments. They told Mr. Henderson much about
it when they came home; for as early as last
summer these two had begun to be anxious
about father."
He was interested in their story; he said he
could tinker up the place if he had it; that he
used to be very handy with tools, and liked
nothing better than working with them. After
awhile it began to be generally understood that
sometime in the early spring he and mother"
would go to Laurelton and look about them,
and possibly rent the old place. Emmeline
listened to the plans in an interested way,
and quite liked saying to the girls that they
"thought of going to the country for the sum-
mer." But going to the country for the winter
was another matter. When Mr. Parker made
his offer for the house, and added that he had
the refusal of another, but liked this best, pro-
vided he could have it in ten days' time, the
family agreed that such an opportunity was not
to be lost, that they must board, or something,
and let the house go. And greatly to Emme-
line's dismay, the "something" had proved to
be Laurelton.
Here she had been for three dismal weeks,
" in a great bare-treed, snow-covered, sullen-
looking stretch of country." So she wrote to
one of the girls, and was so homesick while she
did so that the sheet was blistered in two or
three places with tears. It really was harder
for Emmeline than for the others. Laura and
her father took the eight o'clock train every
morning for the city, and Mrs. Henderson and
"IAlmiry Jane," as she called herself, were as
busy as bees all day long getting the old house
in order, and Emmeline had not a great deal to
occupy either body or mind. She was not very
strong, and her mother would not let her lift
much, or stay in the cold, or tire herself greatly
in any way. And she would not, no, not for
anything in the world, she said, allow Emme-
line the desire of her heart -to go into town
on the train to school.
"Wait until you are fifteen," she said; "that
will be ample time to begin daily trips, if we
are in the country then. Meantime, the school


here is excellent; I inquired about it particu-
larly. You need not begin until after the holi-
days, and by that time you will be a little
acquainted with the young people."
But the holidays were upon them, almost
over, indeed--for it was New Year's Day-
and Emmeline was not in the least acquainted
with anybody, and in five days school would
open. All things considered, it was a very
gloomy little girl who came downstairs on the
snowy New Year's morning and hunted high
and low for her one pet, who had come from
the city with her -dear Pinkie. In vain she
called, and set out tempting bits for Pinkie's
breakfast, and wandered through the snowy
paths in search of her; Pinkie was nowhere to
be found.
Perhaps it is no wonder that Emmeline came
in, after an hour's fruitless search, and throw-
ing herself on the wide old couch in the dining-
room, burst into a passion of tears. Between
the sobs she managed to get out something
like this:
"They've got her, I know they have, those
great horrid boys who go by here almost every
morning with their dead rabbits -mean, cruel,
ugly wretches They are great rough fellows,
and they would just as soon kill Pinkie as not.
Oh! what shall I do? I cannot live here in
this dreadful place without my darling Pinkie."
Mrs. Henderson was as comforting as she
could be, and Laura said she was almost cer-
tain she could find Pinkie; she would go out
with her sister in a very little while and see.
And Mr. Henderson said that he did not be-
lieve any boys would snare a tame rabbit; that
the woods about were full of wild rabbits, and
he thought probably some of the boys earned
their school-books by snaring them for the city
trade. But Emmeline refused to be comforted.
She told Laura that she was not going out
again, there was no use in it; she had looked
everywhere for Pinkie, and was sure she should
never see her again. And she assured her
father that if he had seen those great rough
boys as often as she had, he would know that
they were hateful enough for anything. She
didn't care if they did earn school-books by
killing them; she would go without school-

books until she was an old woman without any
teeth, before she would kill dear, darling little
white rabbits to get them with.
"Emmeline, hush! said Mrs. Henderson,
at last, and she spoke quite sternly; "I am
ashamed of you. We are all sorry if Pinkie is
really lost, which we hope she isn't; but you
should not make our New Year's Day miserable
on that account; at least we are none of us to
blame. Bring your self-control to bear upon
it, daughter, and make the best of this, as well
as any other trouble."
After this, though Emmeline murmured that
there wasn't any "best" to it, and told "Almiry
Jane in confidence that she thought it was a
perfectly horrid place, and that she was glad
she did not know any of the young people, be-
cause she was sure she should dislike them all,
she shed no more tears, and made an effort to
help put the house in order for a gay family
dinner. She had just finished laying the knives
and forks on the dining table as she liked to
see them, and was bemoaning to "Almiry
Jane" the contrast between that New Year's
Day and the last one, when there came a knock
at the dining-room door.
For the land! said Almiry Jane, looking
in from the kitchen. "You open the door,
won't you, Emmie? my hands is all in the
suds." And Emmeline, who had a slight con-
tempt for Almiry Jane, in company with all
other country things and people, went forward
and opened the door. There stood two of the
"great rough boys," their faces aglow with
the frosty air, and in the arms of one of them
Pinkie herself.
Good-morning," said her caller, and he
lifted his cap as though he had not been a
country boy. "Is this your rabbit? She got
caught in our snare; we are ever so sorry.
We did not know there were any tame rabbits
around. She isn't hurt a bit, but she is dread-
fully scared, and we are afraid you have been
worried about her."
"I was dreadfully worried," said Emmeline,
and she could not help saying it a little stiffly.
She held out her hands and Pinkie sprang into
them, extremely glad to get away from the cun-
ning house which she had run away to examine.


"It is too awfully bad," said Harmon Welch,
"George and I wouldn't have had it happen for
anything. You see our snare is set as much as
half a mile from here, and we did not know of
your tame rabbit, any way. But of course we
wouldn't have killed her for anything."
I should not think you would like to kill
any kind of rabbits," said Emmeline; they are
such dear little innocent things. Haven't they
as good a right to live as anybody has?"
"Well, as to that," said George, who had
not yet spoken, I don't suppose they have any
better right than chickens, and lambs, and New
Year's turkeys. You eat all such things, don't
you? Rabbits are used for food, and their skins
are valuable. Then they are so thick about
here that if we did not kill some of them I don't
know but the farmers would have to give up."
Just forgive us this time," put in Harmon.
merrily. It is a dreadful way to get intro-
duced, but we are glad we know you at last.
We've been wanting to ever since you came.
We wanted you to come to our frolic to-night,
but I don't know as we should have gotten up
courage to ask you if we hadn't had to come to
bring your rabbit home. We're going to have a
candy pull, and lots of fun. Our sister Hannah
is only a little older than you, I guess, and she
is first-rate at entertaining folks. If you will

come George or I will call for you at seven
o'clock, and father is going to take all the girls
and boys home in the wood sleigh at ten o'clock."
Imagine how Emmeline felt, in view of all
she had said about the boys. But mother"
and the rest helped her to get ready for a New
Year's gathering in the country, and kept her
courage up by reminding her that George and
Harmon Welch lived in one of the pleasantest
houses in Laurelton, and that Almiry Jane"
said they were "tip-top folks, and no mistake."
"They were real truly splendid, every one
of them," declared Emmeline the next day. I
never had a nicer time in my life. And mother,
they all go to school. They use the same books
we did in town, and George Welch he's the
smartest one -is in my class in history. I
mean, I know I will be in his class, and he is
just as nice as he can be. I sha'n't mind going
to school, now that I know him and the others."
What, those great rough boys?" said Mr.
Henderson, with a twinkle in his eyes. "I
should not think you would like to have any-
thing to do with them; they are hateful enough
for anything, and -
"Now, father," said Emmeline, and she
moved Pinkie from her arms to her shoulder,
and rushing over to him stopped his mouth
with kisses. PANSY.

* "'44



HERE I am, and how do you do?
I've come afar to visit you.
Little children, glad and free,
Are you ready now for me ?-
I'm the month of May!

I've a store of treasures rare
Laid away with greatest care -
Days of sunshine, song and flowers,
Earth made into fairy bowers! -
I'm the month of May!

In my loaded trunk I bring
Bees to buzz, and birds to sing!
Flowers to fill the balmy air,
Violets are hiding there -
I'm the month of May!


A LITTLE bird sat on an apple-tree,
And he was as hoarse as hoarse could be;
He preened and he prinked, and he ruffled his
But from it there floated no silvery note.
" Not a song can I sing," sighed he -
"Not a song can I sing," sighed he.

In tremulous showers the apple-tree shed
Its pink and white blossoms on his head;
The gay sun shone, and, like jubilant words,
He heard the gay song of a thousand birds.
"All the others can sing," he dolefully said-
All the others can sing," he said.

So he sat and he drooped. But as far and wide
The music was born on the air's warm tide,
A sudden thought came to the sad little bird,
And he lifted his head as within him it stirred:
" If I cannot sing, I can listen," he cried.
Ho! ho! Ican listen! he cried;
JULIA C. R. DORR, in Harper's Young People.



W IHAT does he plant who plants a tree?
He plants a friend of sun and sky;
He plants the flag of breezes free;
The shaft of beauty, towering high;
He plants a home to heaven anigh
For song and mother-croon of bird
In hushed and happy twilight heard-
The treble of heaven's harmony-
These things he plants who plants a tree.

What does he plant who plants a tree?
He plants cool shade and tender rain,
And seed and bud of days to be,
And years that fade and flush again;
He plants the glory of the plain;
He plants the forest's heritage;
The harvest of a coming age;
The joy that unborn eyes shall see -
These things he plants who plants a tree.

What does he plant who plants a tree?
He plants, in sap and leaf and wood,
In love of home and loyalty
And far-cast thought of civic good -
His blessings on the neighborhood
Who in the hollow of His hand
Holds all the growth of all our land -
A nation's growth from sea to sea
Stirs in his heart who plants a tree.
H. C. BUNNER, in The Century.

TJ 4Ay

* gimF"


-P M



D O you know what poet it was who wrote
the lines -

"Oh! wad some power the giftie gie us
Ti see ourselves as others see us.
It wad frae mony a blinder free us,
An' foolish notion."

There has scarcely anything truer ever been
written. Years ago there was an English
woman named Jane Taylor who wrote much
for children, and older people, in prose and
verse. I do not know that many of her rhymes
have a right to be called poetry, but there was
a great deal of truth in them. I came across
an old one, written perhaps ninety years ago;
but so far as the description of the two girls,
"Eliza" and "Jane," are concerned, the rhyme
might have been written yesterday. I know
both of those girls, do not you?
Do you think it may be possible that there
are others who would see any of us in the
description? A Picture Gallery" which will
show us our own photographs may be profitable.
Study the old poem, and see what you think:

There were two little girls, neither handsome nor plain;
One's name was Eliza, the other's was Jane.
They were both of one height, as I've heard people say;
They were both of one age, I believe, to a day.
'Twas fancied by some, who but slightly had seen them,
That scarcely a difference was there between them;
But no one for long in this notion persisted,
So great a distinction there really existed.
Eliza knew well that she could not be pleasing
While fretting and fuming, while sulky or teasing,
And therefore in company artfully tried,
Not to break her bad habits, but only to hide.
So when she was out, with much labor and pain,
She contrived to look almost as pleasant as Jane;
But then, you might see that in forcing a smile
Her mouth was uneasy, and ached all the while.
And in spite of her care, it would sometimes befall
That some cross event happened to ruin it all;
And because it might chance that her share was the worst,
Her temper broke loose, and her dimples dispersed.
But Jane, who had nothing she wanted to hide,
And therefore these troublesome arts never tried,

Had none of the care and fatigue of concealing,
But her face always showed what her good heart was feeling,
At home or abroad there was peace in her smile,
A cheerful good nature that needed no guile.
And Eliza worked hard, but could never obtain
The affection that freely was given to Jane.


H E and papa and mamma were taking a
long ride on the horse-car. The car
was crowded. In a very short time papa arose,
plumped Charlie on his mother's knee, and
lifted his hat to a lady who had just come in,
as he said, "Take my seat, madam."
Soon afterward several people left the car,
and papa had his seat again, and took Charlie
on his knee. But no sooner were they arranged
than in came another company of ladies, and
again papa transferred Charlie to mamma's
care, and said: "Take my seat, madam."
Charlie, who was four and a half years old,
looked on with the deepest interest. He ad-
mired his papa, and watched to see just how
he lifted his hat. By and by they reached
papa's office, and he kissed Charlie, and lifted
his hat to mamma, and left the two to go further
down town. Charlie sat very still and thought.
A very large thought was in .his mind; he was
going to be a gentleman just like papa; it was
surely time for him to begin; in fact, mamma
often said to him, "Charlie must be a little
gentleman; papa wouldn't do so."
He watched the people getting off and on the
car. By and by they came to the Eighth Street
junction, and half a dozen ladies crowded into
the car. Now was Charlie's opportunity. In
an instant he slipped from his mother's knee,
and while he tugged vigorously at the elastic
which held his cap, said with grave politeness
to the pretty lady who stood nearest them,
"Take my seat, madam."
And to this hour Charlie cannot imagine why
all the people in that car laughed. He knows
they didn't laugh at papa.



' (-'HEE, chee, chee," way up in the tree
K- Sits mamma bird, with her five birdies

" Cock-a-doodle-doo Now I've gone to
Cries the little rooster high up in the shed.

"Peep, peep, peep," the chickens run and creep
Under mamma's wing.
"NTnw +.l-. re, fast


"Baa, baa, baa," see
the lambies playing.
"Please give me some
supper"; that's
what they're saying.

" Oughwee, oughwee, oug
gies call,

hwee," hear the pig-

Begging for their

"Mamma, mamma,
Now she goes to

supper just behind the

"Quack, quack, quack"
- "I must bathe my
Says the little duckling,
"for I must be

"Bow, wow, wow!
we, too, must be
When we've had our sup-
per, then we'll go to

mamma," cries our baby

s'eepin's, shuts her little

So I lay my darling down, d-o-w-n, d-o-w-n
t-o s-l-e-e-p,



Praying the good Shepherd my dear lamb to



,- is a mistake to suppose that
I girls and boys do nothing but
S play games around the family
'lamp. It was my privilege to
be admitted to a family sitting-
room where the young people
were enjoying themselves. They were every
one at work making picture-frames. How? I
asked that question, and they gave me careful
To be sure I had the help of my eyes, for I
could see what they were doing; but they got
their knowledge from a book. Let us see if
you can.
They had taken pieces of pasteboard, and
cut from the center ovals, or squares, the size
of the pictures which they wished to frame.
These pasteboards they had covered neatly,
some with silk, others with velvet, others with
handsome dark cloth. Then they sewed com-
mon brass rings-little curtain rings, you know
-all over the cloth-covered boards. Each
worker exercised his, or rather her, taste (for
they made the girls do the sewing) as to the
position of the rings. Some formed diamonds,
others irregular shell-like shapes, and others
carefully exact squares.
Then came very pretty work with oil paints
and artist's brushes. The rings were filled up
with paints of different colors, a good deal of
paint being used, laid on in ridges, or perhaps
piled up. When finished they looked like raised

circles of colored glass. Then the rings were
touched with gold paint, and so were the lines
which connected the rings. That is, you know,
lines were made from ring to ring, and touched
with the paint, until they looked like threads
of gold. Each frame was to have a border
painted to suit the taste.
I do not think you can judge from my de-
scription how very pretty the work was. The
young people who were doing it had a port-
folio full of pictures, photographs, engravings,
and the like, which they had long wanted to
have framed. "Father always says he cannot
afford it this year," explained one of the girls,
" so we thought we would afford it ourselves.
We learned how out of a book Will brought
from the public library, 'Boys' Useful Pas-
times.' We have made some changes-a good
many, in fact. We make them just as we
please now; but we took the first hints from
that book. We have had some pleasant even-
ings together making them, and we are going
to make some for our society fair. Don't you
think they will sell? "
I assured her that I thought they would, and
immediately ordered a dozen of various sizes.
Then I came home to tell you about them.

(A game to play at home.)

ANY number of persons can play this
game. They seat themselves in a cir-
cle, and the one appointed to lead says, "One,"
the next says "two," and so on around the
ring. But the number "Iseven" must not be
spoken, nor must any number with that sound
in it; as, for instance, seventeen" or
" seventy."
The person to whom such a number comes
should say Buzz" instead. If he fails to do
so promptly he is at once counted out of the
circle. Then the counting begins again. The
one who is left alone in the circle wins the








- --Z

~t~Lv, )-



4v m HE dining-room was strewn
: with coats, dresses, trousers,
under-garments, and second-
best shoes. They were trying
.Y to plan what should go into
the box which was to be packed
at the chapel for the missionary's family in the
far West. Dinah, with one hand on her side,
and the other on the door-knob, waited to see
what would be done. Dinah knew about the
box; she belonged to the same church.
'Spect Missis will send her ole gray dress
that she can't wear no mo', and Miss Carrie
will send the hat that got its feathers scoched,
and the shoes that
got a hole cut into
S the side, and sech
things. Dinah ain't
S got nothing' to send.
I takes care of my
S )1. I things, I does, and
Sdon' let 'em get
Sscoched and cut, and
Streaks of paint on
'em. Hi!"
The exclamation
I was caused by a
word from her mis-
"I think, Carrie, I will put in this black
"Why, mamma, can you spare that?"
"I think so. The other black one is in good
order, and I can get along without two second-
best black dresses, when there are people who
have none. It looks very nice since I sponged
and pressed it, and the woman is so exactly
my size that it seems like a Providence."
Miss Carrie laughed. "Then, mamma, ac-
cording to that reasoning, I ought to send my
gray coat; it will fit that 'Maria' they wrote
about as well as though it was made for her.
I thought I should like it to wear to school, but
my other will answer every purpose; and it
seems, as you say, a pity to keep two second-
best, when other people are cold. I'll send it,

"All right, dear," the mother said, with a
smile. Then Dinah went out and shut the door
hard. She did some hard thinking while she
was paring the turnips for dinner. Jest to
think of Missis sending' off that black dress jes'
as good as new, and Miss Carrie giving' her gray
coat that she said she liked so much, and that
she looks as pretty as a picture in; and the ole
dress I thought would go ain't no 'count, it
seems. Reckon Dinah better find something' to
sen' if she b'long to dis yere family."
When Dinah went in to set the table for din-
ner she had a bundle under her arm. "Here,
Mis' Webber," she said, "I done foun' dis
yere for de barr'l."
Why, Dinah, are you going to send your
new calico dress ?"
Yas'm; reckon I kin spare it for dat are
brak woman the letter tole about. I don't need
three; I got two good second-han' ones, and I
kin wash 'em week about, and let her have
this one."
"Dinah has taught us a lesson," said her
mistress, as the door closed after the cook.
But Dinah knew it was just the other way.

IF there were not so many young people
springing up all over the country who are
going to take hold of this mission work with
vigor, there would be room for discouragement.
So many fields are opening, and the people
begging for teachers, who have to be refused
because there is no money to support the
teachers. Twenty-five dollars will buy a
scholarship in the schools of New Mexico, and
make one young learner happy. I suppose
there are Pansy Societies which could easily
earn the twenty-five dollars a year, if their
hearts were set upon helping. Who will try?
Of course each member of the society will pay
his or her mission money in through the Board
of the church to which he belongs; but the Lord
Jesus, for whose sake we work, will know just
how much each member gives.
We would like to report all the mission work
of this kind which is done in the name of our



BEGINNING with this first month of the
year it is the aim of the Editors to give
our Pansies as often as possible a grand poem
from some strong writer, either of the past or
the present a poem which it will help one to
read and study. We hope that thousands of
the young people will commit them to memory,
and thus store them up for future use.
In all the long line of poets and poems,
though we have been reading and considering
for hours, we could find nothing which suited
us so well as this one, "Forecast," by Joseph
Cook. It seems peculiarly fitted to the begin-
ning of the year. Some of it will be hard for
you to understand without study; this we hope
you will give. Some of it is a prayer, which
we hope you can make your own. Some of it
is a prophecy concerning your life and ours:

"God will remember me;
To him I go."

Some of it is an exulting statement of facts;
and we pray that it may tell the story of all
our hearts:

"My Sun and Moon and Sky
And Sea and Land
And Home eternally,
Is God's Right Hand."


G OD only changeth iot;
The sun and moon,
And earth's dim wheeling dot,
I shall leave soon;
Nor sky, nor land, nor sea,
Abides with fleeting me;
I shall forgotten be
Beneath the moon.

God will remember me;
To him I go.
Which shall I choose to be,
His friend or foe?

Behind death's open gate,
What destinies await
My final love or hate,
I soon shall know.

Faith, Hope and Love abide.
God's perfect Whole
Is mine, though heavens wide
Together roll.
His Face I cannot flee.
Complete Thy work in me;
Enrapture Thine with Thee,
Soul of my soul!

My Sun and Moon and Sky
And Sea and Land
And Home eternally
Is God's Right Hand.
From it all blessings fall,
And better He than all,
And rapture is the thrall
Of His command.
JOSEPH COOK, in Union Signal.


(Snowed under.)

HE boys and girls of the South
will hardly be able to appreci-
ate the term snowed under"
as much as those of New Eng-
-:'- land and Canada.
But most of you know about
fences; some will remember what we said about
the stone wall. Well, there was a time of year
when I was a boy, and lived "away down
East," that we could hardly see the fences.
You might look out over fields and pastures,
from one farm to another, and you could hardly
tell where one field ended and another began,
or where the field ended and the pasture be-
gan, or where one farm ended and another
began. Sometimes the snow would become so
hard on the top, by reason of recent rains and


frost, that people would drive over the tops of
fences, and we could run our hand-sleds down
the hill without fear of breaking them or our
heads against a rail or post.
1 do not know how it is now, for I have not
been in that cold part of the country in win-
ter for many years. (Some of the boys and
girls write, and let me know if it is still so
You can see that when this state of things
existed the fences did little good, though they
were there, just the same as in summer.
You know fences are to keep creatures in
their places, and from doing mischief, and to
show where the "line" is between lots or
What liberty we boys had in "sliding," as
we called it (they call it coasting," I believe,
now). We could go where we pleased so
could the cattle and sheep; but when the win-
ter clouds had gone, and the warm spring sun-
shine came back, then away went the piles of
snow, and the fences would appear again, just
where they were in the fall, before the snow
fell in such quantities.
Do you know, I was thinking that those
fences reminded me of God's laws? He marked
them out, and made them so people would know
the "lines" between right and wrong, and to
restrain us, as a good fence restrains the cattle,
and keeps them from doing mischief.
There are many fences of this kind, but I
cannot think of any that were not made for
some good purpose, and which are not really
best for us. See those cattle snuffing the corn-
field, when the corn is growing so beautifully,
and would taste so sweet; they think, "This
is a mean old fence to keep us from having a
good feast over there. I wish we could break
it down." But when the cold winter comes,
and they feast on the sweet "fodder," and now
and then get a taste of some of the beautiful
ears of corn, all of which they would have made
impossible if they could only have gotten rid
of the fence in the summer, then, if they could
reason, they would be glad they couldn't have
their own way.
There is the Sabbath fence, which says,
Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy."

How many there are who would like to "snow
that under," or break it down, and let in upon
this quiet day, calculated for our present and
future good, all the wild beasts -in human
form who are longing for liberty to do evil.
Then there is the fence made of the "Golden
Rule," which tells us "Whatsoever ye would
that men should do unto you, do ye even so to
them." How many would like to "snow that
under," with their selfishness. Of all God's
fences I do not know which one we could spare.
So remember, that though the custom of Sab-
bath desecration, and other forms of evil grow-
ing out of selfishness, should sometimes seem
to cover up the law of God, so that men do
not heed it, or feel the obligation to obey it,
Jesus hath said, "Till Heaven and earth pass,
one jot or tittle shall in no wise pass from the
law, till all be fulfilled."
No, the law can in no wise be disposed of.
When God's spirit shines in upon the heart and
mind, like the sunshine of spring, we will see
it written there, standing sure; then if we re-
pent and turn unto God, we will be able to say
from the heart, with one of old, "Oh! how
love I thy law." PASTOR ROSSENBERG.


ISUPPOSE many of the Pansies are familiar
with the pretty humming things, and have
perhaps bought them for little brothers and sis-
ters. Did it ever occur to you to wonder how
many of them are made? An exchange says
that one single firm sold a million of them a
year, for three years. Wouldn't you like to
have been the inventor of that top?
Which remark reminds me of another toy -
the "return ball." This is so simple an affair
that any of us might have invented it, if we
had only thought of it. It is just a small
wooden ball, with a bit of elastic tape attached.
The play is, to fasten the elastic to the finger,
then throw out the ball; of course it comes
back when it has gone as far as the elastic will
let it. Simple as it is, this ball is said to be
earning about fifty thousand dollars a year for
its inventor.



H ERE is a scene far away from your sunny
home -possibly five thousand miles
Look it over. There is not a house in sight;
no church, store, barn, railroad station or school-
house. No apple-trees, strawberry patch or
green grass; no grasshoppers, toads or robins.
Nothing but great blocks of ice and dreadful
How that man got there, and what he ex-


I want to tell you how the
i Chinese in California put away
their dead, to wait the five
I 1 years which the law says must
elapse before they can be re-
turned to their native land, and how they finally
disinter the bones, and sort and arrange them
for the homeward trip.
Every once in a while the Chinese have a day


pected to do, he knows better than I. I would
not like to be in his shoes.
However, he may be out a-fishing. His home
may be a mile off. He really seems to be well
clothed and fed. Perhaps he and his family
are contented in that desolate country, but I
prefer the United States, and my church and
Sunday-school. L.

Submission is the footprint of faith in the
pathway of sorrow.

for feeding their dead. I have not noticed just
how often it occurs, but probably two or three
times a year. I always know when the time
has arrived, for I see the Chinamen going to
and fro between the cemetery and Chinatown
carrying huge parcels, or with baskets on their
arms covered with white cloth; and if on one
of these occasions you could go out to the
cemetery with me, and sit where we could
watch them, you would see what would appear
to you a very strange performance. But the
Chinamen all look solemn and earnest, as


though they were performing an important
duty. They have a furnace built of brick near
their parcel of ground in the cemetery, which
looks like a chimney set on the ground. In this
furnace they burn letters, books and papers
which they wish to send to their departed
friends. Then they have an altar on which
they cook the food which they give to these
same dear departed ones.
The Chinamen go to the cemetery in parties,
or companies, to attend to this business, and
as soon as one lot has completed its work
another is ready to take its place.
It is quite easy to distinguish between the
"well-to-do" parties and the poor ones. Those
who can afford it sometimes roast a whole hog
on the altar, besides cooking poultry, making
nice biscuits and tea, and bringing out fruit.
When everything is ready, each man takes
a pair of chopsticks, a cup of tea, and such
other things as he may wish (according to the
taste of the dead, I suppose), and solemnly
places them at the head of his friend's grave.
I say each man, for the women have very little
to do with this work; and, indeed, compara-
tively speaking, there are very few Chinese
women in this country, so the men attend to
this business.
Perhaps the next company will roast only a
small piece of meat, and make some nice bis-
cuits for their dear departed ones. Some of
them carry the food out in baskets, already
cooked, and place it at the head of the graves.
How these poor people can delude themselves
with the idea that they are benefiting the dead
in any way, I cannot imagine, for the fruit
sometimes lies there for months, while the
victuals that the Digger Indians do not carry
away the dogs devour; and at the end of the
five years, when the graves are opened, the
bones are all bare, in spite of the feeding.
When I see a certain hideous Chinaman, with
a rice-straw sack on his back, pacing back and
forth, I know that some happy bones are get-
ting ready to go back to their native land.
They do not always take up a body as soon
as the five years have elapsed, for they gene-
rally like to take up quite a number at the same
time. When a number of graves are to be

opened the acting Chinaman opens them all
before he removes any bones. Then he begins
with the first, and takes out the bones and
lays them on the ground in the sun, and
proceeds in this way until all the graves are
empty. Then he goes back to the first one
again, and cleans and scrapes all the bones.
When a body has lain in the grave so long
that the bones are crumbled they sometimes
save the dirt, so particular are they about find-
ing every particle and sending it back to China,
for it is said to be a part of the Chinese reli-
gion that every one who expects to be saved
must be buried in China.
The superintendent of the cemetery once ex-
plained to me how the bones are arranged for
shipping. The skull is first wrapped up in a
white cloth, and labelled skull," in the Chi-
nese language. Then the backbone and ribs
are wrapped together in a similar manner, and
made into a separate parcel. Every bone in
the skeleton has its proper place, and after all
are sorted, cleaned and wrapped up, they are
made into one large bundle, enveloped in a
white cloth, and marked with the man's name.
Then they are placed in a sack, and eventually
carried to Chinatown, where they are packed in
a zinc-lined box and sent to San Francisco,
and from there to China.
The cemetery sexton told me of a circum-
stance that occurred once when the Chinese
were removing some of their dead.
"A grave was opened," said he, "in which
no remains could be found no coffin, no
bones, not even a long cue to show that a
Chinaman had once been buried there. Some
friends of the missing dead man were standing
by, and I, too, was noticing the strange work.
How they ki-yied and pow-wowed around, but
all of no avail; they could find nothing even
with a sieve, which they carefully used. Finally
one of them came over to me and said: 'He
all go; no can find him. You see one white
man ketch him?'
"But I knew nothing about the matter. I
hadn't the slightest idea what had happened;
so there was one poor Chinaman who never got
back. to his native land."



SAVE you ever thought of the
i similarity between bones and
clay? When a beautiful form
has been molded in clay by an
artist, with what jealous care
it is watched that it may be
protected from all that would tend to mar its
beauty while it is drying.
The bones of young folks are as pliable and
soft as clay, so that one can make of them what
one wills. It is not until the age of twenty-
five or thirty that they are really ossified," or
hardened. There is not one of us who, if he
stops to think of the matter, would want any-
thing but the very best shaped body that he
could have. How we all admire soldiers, and
delight to see them. Why is it? Because they
hold themselves so erect, and carry themselves
so well. There is no reason why each one of
us should not stand and walk as well as the
soldier does.
One of the greatest helps to a good carriage
is to keep the chest well arched. How familiar
is the sound of, "Put your shoulders back, and
stand up straight." We have grown weary of
executing the command, because the shoulders
never stay put." Let me tell you something
new to think of which will bring about the same
result. Elevate the chest, and think nothing
about the shoulders; they will take care of
If our chests are well raised, our lungs and
hearts can do the great work which is required
of them. If we cramp our lungs by rounding
our shoulders and letting the head fall forward,

we are beginning to destroy the beauty of the
body which God has given us to serve as a
shrine for the soul. He has said, Know ye
not that your bodies are the temples of the
Holy Ghost?" If we are to be fit homes for
the Spirit of God to dwell in, shall we not do
all we can to make our bodies healthful, pure
and clean?
In standing, the weight should be over the
balls of the feet, the hips well back, the arms
at the sides, the chest well arched, and the
head erect, with the chin in. Some one has
said, In walking or standing you should feel
that you are trying to touch the sky with your
head." If you do not think you do stand or
walk well, just test yourself by placing a book
or a basket on your head; advance a few steps;
if you can walk easily and gracefully, and if the
object which you are balancing retains its posi-
tion, then you may consider yourself one of the
few who know how to carry themselves.
The women of Italy, and especially of Capri,
are very graceful, and they daily carry baskets
or jars upon their heads. It is a most inter-
esting sight to watch the little Italian children
jump rope or run with their queer little wooden
sabots on. They always walk on the balls of
their feet, for their shoes are pieces of wood
with just a little strap across the toes to hold
them on, and nothing to fasten them about the
ankles. They run and play as nimbly as most
children, and grow into very graceful and erect
men and women.
Instructor Temple College Gymnasium, Philadelphia-




MR. CAT and Mrs. Cat
Were walking out one day;
They had two little baby cats
In their arms at play.


Mr. Cat and Mrs. Cat
Went out a-moonlight walking;
They only had their nightgowns on,
Yet still they were a-talking.



Mr. Cat and Mrs. Cat
Were sitting by a tree
By a pleasant river,
Happy as can be.


Mr. Cat and Mrs. Cat's
Babies fell a-crying;
Mr. Cat and Mrs. Cat
Then went home a-sighing.
DORIS RICH (five years old).




4. -" T-7 DON'T see how anybody can
S''" *h I have patience with such fools,"
'', said Rufus, tossing down the
'- paper which told the story
of another victim to alcohol.
S' "Mother, don't you think a
lot of stuff is talked about their being 'vic-
tims,' and all that? They are just weak-
minded idiots; they know what is right, and
they don't choose to do it. Haven't they
heard, like the rest of us, ever since they were
born, about the danger there is in the first
drop? Why do they ever begin?"
Mrs. Martin opened her lips to reply, but
Rob and Stella were both ahead of her. "0,
ho!" said Rob, "a 'weak-minded idiot.' Did
you ever hear of a strong-minded one?"
"But, Rufus," said Stella's gentler voice,
"they get begun before they know it. They
think they will just taste, to be like other boys,
and they don't realize that it will do any harm
until it is too late."
Well, they ought to realize it. Do you
suppose I would ever taste the stuff, if every
other boy in town did?"
There is something in bringing up, my
son," said the mother.
The argument was continued for some time,
Rufus protesting that he had no patience with
drunkards, and there was no sense in their be-
ginning, and Stella trying to speak a word for
them, until her cousin got out of patience with
her also, and called her a molly coddle."
Three days afterward Rufus and Stella, who
had gone into town with Stella's father, were
left at Judge Potter's to wait until the father
attended to some business. During their stay
lunch was served, and of course they were in-
vited to join the family at table. A very deli-
cate dish of what Rufus afterward said looked
like silver jelly sprinkled with rubies, was set
before each place, and a lovely crimson liquid
was passed to be poured over it.
Before either Stella or Rufus had tasted
theirs, Mrs. Potter remarked that Sally's wine
sauce was not so good as usual, for some

reason, and questioned the judge about the
quality of the wine. Rufus and Stella ex-
changed glances, and Stella gave her pretty
dish a very tiny push away from her. What
was her surprise, a moment later, to see Rufus
taking dainty mouthfuls of his. Had he not
understood that it was served with wine sauce?
She tried to give him a warning glance, but he
only shook his head at her and frowned.
"Do you not like your jelly, my dear?"
asked Mrs. Potter presently, seeing Stella's
still untasted. "Why, you haven't tried it yet,
have you? John, give Miss Stella one of the
smaller spoons; they are better for jelly. Try
it, dear; it is quite refreshing on a day like
this, especially when one is tired."
There was a pretty glow of color on Stella's
cheeks, but she answered without hesitation:
"If you please, I would rather not taste it."
"Why not, my dear?" asked Mrs. Potter,
smiling. "Do you not like to try new things ?"
Rufus was frowning harder than before, but
Stella turned her troubled eyes away from him,
and answered firmly: "0, yes, ma'am it isn't
that; but you see I cannot take wine sauce,
because I do not believe in even the first drop."
Whereupon Mrs. Potter seemed much amused
and Stella had to endure several merry little
speeches made at her expense. In fact, they
laughed and talked about it more than good
taste admitted. Nor was this all. No sooner
had the street door closed after them than
Rufus began: "Stella Adams, I'm ashamed
of you. What right have you to go to people's
houses and tell them what they shall eat? "
"I didn't," said Stella, her cheeks ablaze;
I only said I couldn't eat it myself."
"Well, that is just as bad. Folks ought to
eat what is given them at such a grand table
as that, and you will find that mother says so."
"But, Rufus, how could I? Don't you know
what we were talking about the other day, and
you said folks that knew the right and did not
choose to do it were weak-minded idiots? And
you called me a 'molly coddle' because I said
maybe they couldn't help drinking liquor; and
you said you wouldn't touch a drop of it even
if every boy in town did."
Said Rufus, "That's a different thing."



A PRIL'S afield, April's in the air!
Almost you may see each hour
Willows that at dawn were bare,
Meadows that were brown,
On which the lengthening mellow day has
Creep into green before the sun goes down,
And some black bough, while mortal backs
were turned,
Swift stolen into flower.

April's afield, April's in the air!
Fleeting over earth's slow dust,
Leaving us behind here, where
Pass and pass the years.
Soulless as Echo, she can never know
Our kisses that she hastens, nor our tears.
Not for us watchers do her blossoms blow;
Their day is come; they must.

April's afield, April's in the air
Heavy Winter turns his feet
Northward with his load of care;
And on April's wings
Unreasoning our human hearts upsoar,
As hearts have done since they were human
As human hearts shall do forevermore
When ours forget to beat.

- Selected.



0 DEAR! murmured old Mother Earth,
\ '' how annoying !
The winter has ended and spring has begun;
There's all my spring house-cleaning waiting
before me,
And not a thing done.

"There'll be sweeping and scouring in every
odd corner;
I must lift my brown carpets and put down
the green,
Clear my ceilings of cobwebs, and wash all my
Till everything's clean.

"My servants are willing enough, but so
My daughters are idle; I have but one sun,
And he looks as if he considered my trouble
Just nothing but fun.

"There are garments to make; yes, there's the
spring sewing,
Great heaps upon heaps, and I almost despair,
With the spinning and weaving, and no one to
help me
Or lighten my care.

"Then think of the guests I am hourly
What bevies! and every one's room to
Whole families of birds, flocking in all together,
No trouble will spare.

"I must worry and work in the kitchen pre-
A separate dish for each separate guest;
For their tastes always differ; what one fails
to relish
The other likes best."

But the south wind brought water, and all the
winds helped her,
Even her sun kindly proffered his aid;
Till, at last, every parlor and chamber made
She proudly displayed.

Then the bluebirds, the blackbirds, the robins
and thrushes,
Came hurrying past in a chattering throng.
They greeted her warmly, and uttered her
In cheeriest song.

The crickets, the frogs, and the ants, and the
The bees and the butterflies, ev'ry gray moth,
Found his place ready waiting, his dinner to
suit him,
Whether bread, meat or broth.



\ LL, the child has good lungs;
we shall never need to worry
lest she come to grief in that
direction." It was Grandpa
Westlake who said this, and
his handsome face expressed
both amusement and annoyance. He was not
used to yells. Daisy was in the farmyard.
She, on her part, was not used to farmyards.
Her father had gone to Heaven but a few
months before, and she had been only a few
days at her grandfather's country home. It
was such a beautiful home that the Westlakes
staid just as late as they could; often until
after the holidays, and had the children all
home to enjoy a Christmas dinner in the coun-
try. But Daisy's father and mother had been
too far away to come; and now the father had
gone too far away ever to come back. On this
bright November morning, which was so sunny
and like September instead of November that
Daisy in her sunbonnet had gone out to view
the country, she had met the enemy. A great
turkey gobbler with his tail spread had come to
interview her. At first Daisy was interested,
for she was not inclined to be afraid of things.
She watched the turkey in amazement, but had
not thought of screaming until suddenly he
stepped quite close to her, even put out his
curious mouth as if to take a bite out of her
plump hand. Then Daisy yelled, and called
forth from her grandfather the exclamation I
have given you. Hannah left the eggs she was
beating to go back to liquid if they would, and
ran to Daisy's rescue. Hannah was the cook,
but Nurse Marie was away upstairs in the back
room, and did not hear Daisy.
He did not even think of such a thing as
hurting you," Hannah explained, as she took
the trembling little girl by the hand and led her
back to safety.
Then what made him put his tail out at me
and make such a naughty noise? asked Daisy,
her lip still quivering; and at the dreadful
memory she cuddled closer to Hannah.
"Why, he was just talking," said Hannah,
in soothing tones; "that is the way turkeys

talk, you see; you don't understand their lan-
guage, but he was trying to tell you something
"What was he saying?" Now Hannah had
by no means intended to explain what the tur-
key was saying, but Daisy was so evidently
pleased with the thought that it seemed neces-
sary to try.
"Well," she said, "Thanksgiving is coming,
you know, and the turkey is getting ready to
celebrate; and I guess he thought about some
people who don't have any turkeys to eat, not
even on Thanksgiving Day, and he was telling
you that if he was you, with such a rich grand-
father as you have got, he would help some of
them folks."
"Do turkeys like to be eated?" was Daisy's
next question, put in tremulous tones, and the
lips were actually quivering again, this time not
with terror, but with pity for the turkey; it
seemed dreadful to be eaten. Hannah saw that
she must make some definite statements.
"0, yes! of course they like to be eaten;
that is what they were made for, so that people
could have good things, and grow strong and
do lots of work, you know. Of course turkeys
like to do the thing they are made for."
Daisy considered this for a few minutes in
silence, and it comforted her.
"Who needs a turkey for Thanksgiving?"
This was her next startling question.
Oh! lots and lots of folks," said Hannah.
" My! you needn't think all little girls are like
you, and have turkeys, and pies, and everything
they want. I guess they wouldn't know them-
selves if they had."
Daisy made a little impatient gesture; she
liked direct answers to questions. But,
Hannah, I don't know 'lots and lots' of
folks; I only know just a few. Who is there
that I know who won't have any turkey on
Thanksgiving ?"
Hannah considered; this was certainly get-
ting deeper than she had planned when she
commenced. "Well," she said meditatively,
"let me think. Do you remember that little
white house just at the edge of the village?"
"Where there is such a cunning little gray
kitty with a white foot? And the little girl has


curly hair and a pink dress? Yes, I do. Hasn't
she any turkeys to her house?"
I Not a turkey," said Hannah, with assur-
ance; "they ain't poor, you know-not low-
down poor; but there's a mean old mortgage
on the house that eats up everything they can
rake and scrape; and times has been unusual
hard this year, and you can take my word for
it they won't see no Thanksgiving turkey there.

enough, but it stays alive in spite of 'em.
Now, here we are at the house, and I must run
in to my eggs this minute, or you won't get any
pumpkin pie this week."
Hannah had not the least idea what she had
done. The thought of no Thanksgiving turkey
in the little white house took such hold of
Daisy's imagination that she talked about it
during the days, and dreamed of it nights, un-


If they have a chicken it will be as much as
they can do, and even chickens is high about
Thanksgiving time."
Hannah, what is a mortgage? "
0, my said Hannah, and she wished she
were back beating her eggs. "A mortgage is
a mean, horrid old thing that makes folks lots
*of trouble."
"Why don't they kill it?"
Hannah shook her sides with laughter.
"They can't do it, child; they try hard

til her grandfather said if anybody knew a way
to present the Johnsons with a turkey it would
be a great comfort to him. They were by no
means objects of charity, nor were they his
friends, to whom he could make presents. To
drive up to their door and offer them a Thanks-
giving turkey would in his opinion be an insult.
Daisy did not see it in that light, and she per-
sisted in her desires until Grandfather West-
lake, who hated to have her disappointed about
anything, actually halted his handsome carriage

-- '
,'~-----;---~- E


one November afternoon, and hailed Mr. John-
son just as he was driving his meek little market
wagon into the yard.
"How do you do, sir?" asked Mr. West-
lake, to the much astonished man. "You
don't keep poultry, I believe? "
Mr. Johnson explained that he raised vege-
tables and flowers for the early market, and that
poultry interfered too much with his garden.
So I supposed. Well, the fact is I have a
singular favor to ask of you. My little girl,
my son's child, you know all we have left of
him--has taken a great fancy to your little
daughter; she has seen her playing with her
kitty as she passed, and she wants to give her a
Thanksgiving turkey. She has one of her own
to do with as she chooses, and she has chosen
that. If your daughter will accept it from our
Daisy you will be doing me a great favor."
What could Mr. Johnson say? He was not
used to gifts from strangers, and he had few
friends who were able to make any; but being
a gentleman he thanked his rich neighbor, and
said his little Mary certainly ought and no
doubt would be very grateful to her stranger
friend. It ended in the largest turkey on the
well-stocked farm--in fact the very one who
frightened Daisy being sent, with Daisy
Westlake's love to Mary Johnson and her kitty
for Thanksgiving.
"Now that we have a turkey," said Mr.
Johnson to his wife, after they had talked the
singular present over, and told each other how
plump he was, and how many pounds he must
weigh, what would you say to having a
When Mrs. Johnson exclaimed in dismay he
laughed, and explained that he only meant a
party of one. There was young Webster who
worked in the printing-office in the village; he
was far away from home and very lonely, and
a trifle homesick; how would she like to invite
him to help eat the turkey?
And Mrs. Johnson, who had a son who was
far away from home, felt the tears coming into
her eyes, as she said she should like it very
much, and she hoped somebody would do the
same for their Jamie.
So young Webster received with great sur-

prise his invitation to a Thanksgiving dinner,
and wrote home to his mother about it. The
letter pleased her so much that she read it
aloud when Fannie Foster was there, visiting
her Bessie. And Fannie said: "What a lovely
thing to do; and it is real easy, too. I wonder
if John doesn't know some homesick boys whom
he could invite to our dinner? "
John was her brother, and he knew four boys
whom he was glad to invite. And the Thanks-
giving dinner grew and grew, until actually
sixty-five people were fed because of the story
which the turkey told Daisy Westlake that
November morning. And the events which
grew out of those invitations would make a
book, and some day I am going to write it
for you. PANSY.


S.,.WANT to tell you a little story
I ,'r- | about one of my Loyal Legion
" ''',' boys. We used to have a
meeting every Saturday after-
noon, and Harry-that was
my boy's name -was gener-
ally present, and apparently very much inter-
ested in the lesson, but he would not put his
name to our triple pledge. Nearly every other
boy who attended regularly wore the pin of the
Loyal Legion, and had his name in my tem-
perance autograph album, but every Saturday
Harry politely yet decidedly refused my invi-
tation. I was puzzled and troubled. Harry
was a handsome boy, with a fine-shaped head
and large brown eyes, and was so gentlemanly
and refined that he was a great favorite among
the little girls. He belonged to one of the
choice families in town, and had been very
carefully taught. I knew he had a great deal
of influence, and felt that his example about
signing, or rather not signing the pledge, would
keep back certain other boys whom we were
trying to reach. Besides, how could I be sure
that Harry himself was not in danger of the
enemy we were fighting, since he was not will-
ing to take a pledge to have nothing to do
with him?


As often as I had an opportunity I used to
try to have a little talk with Harry in pri-
vate, to see if I could learn what the trouble
"It cannot be tobacco that you object to in
the pledge?" I said one day.
"0, no, ma'am! said Harry, lifting his
handsome eyebrows at me as though he was
astonished at the question; "I never intend to
smoke. Mamma thinks it is a disgusting habit,
and I am sure I agree with her."
"And you don't take wine, I hope?" I
hesitated a little over this question, for his
mother was a fashionable lady, and I did not
know but they served it, on great occasions, to
their guests.
"0, no, ma'am!" said Harry again, as
promptly as before. "We never have wine
at our house. Mamma does not approve
of it."
I was relieved, but still puzzled. Why
should a boy whose mother did not approve of
serving wine, and thought the use of tobacco
"a disgusting habit," hesitate about signing
our triple pledge? Of course I could not for a
moment think that the third pledge about pro-
fanity was the objection, for so far from ever
speaking a profane word, Harry was careful
not to use one in the slightest degree coarse or
rough. In fact he had everywhere, and among
children as well as among grown people, earned
the name of gentleman."
After trying in vain to discover what lay in
his way, I said one day:
"Harry, I wish you would tell me frankly
why you will not let me have your name in
my autograph album. I cannot imagine any
He laughed a little, and blushed a good deal,
and looked as though he would much rather be
excused; but at last he said:
"Well, ma'am, to tell you the truth, it is
that part about cider which I don't like. In-
cluding wine, beer and cider,' you know. I
am quite willing to pledge against the wine and
beer; but we go to my grandfather's every
autumn, and he makes a great many barrels of
cider, and always counts upon us children hav-
ing such fun sucking it through a straw, you

know, and all that sort of thing; I would not
like to pledge myself against a thing which
gives my grandfather pleasure; besides, I like
the taste of cider myself. Of course if I really
believed that it did any harm to drink it, why,
I wouldn't touch it; but I think, and my father
and mother think, it is a very harmless and re-
freshing drink; and my grandfather, who is
one of the best of men, would not make it if
he did not know it to be harmless."
What was to be said to a boy like Harry?
He was an intelligent little fellow, and could
talk well about many things; and like a great
many other boys and girls, too of my ac-
quaintance, thought he knew a great deal more
than he did. Besides, when a boy quotes his
mother and father and grandfather as on his
side, it is rather hard to argue with him, with-
out seeming to be disrespectful to them. I
decided not to try to say any more to Harry
directly for awhile, but to teach in the class as
many lessons about cider as I could crowd in.
Soon after that we had in the Sabbath-school a
lesson about Goliath, the giant, and David with
his sling and stones. So in our Loyal Legion
meeting the next Saturday we had a picture of
a giant, drawn on paper with colored crayons.
The helmet on his great head was marked
"brandy," his breastplate said beer," the
shoulder pieces were marked "milk punch"
and "whisky," and the great brass wristlets
had "wine" on one, "cider" on the other.
Then we selected the stones with which we
would fight this giant. Five smooth ones, all
marked in blue letters. One was "I will not,"
which was the stone we were to throw with firm
hand whenever we were asked to taste any of
the trimmings of this giant's robe. One was
" Sign," which was what we promised to do
whenever a pledge against this foe was pre-
sented to us. One was "Please do not," which
stone we were going to try to use with any of
our friends who played with the giant, or
touched the bracelets on his arm. The Legion
arose almost to a boy with every vote, pledging
themselves to fight bravely with each stone as
they had opportunity; all but Harry, and two
boys who were copying him.



I HEARD Miss Dox, a teacher in New
Mexico, give an interesting account of
her first lesson to pupils who did not understand
one word of English, while their teacher did
not understand one word of Spanish. Miss
Dox hung an illustrated chart on the mud walls,
and pointed to the picture of a cat. Then she
pointed to the word in English, and pronounced
it. They took the hint and said it after her:
"cat." Then they all laughed to think that
an English word had been spoken. After that,
by various motions she made them understand
that she would like to learn Spanish, so they
gave her the cat's name in Spanish, and she
pronounced it. Then they shouted with de-
light; and this was the first lesson.


'' T PS and downs" in the world
LU There surely must be.
"Classes," we call them,
One, two and three.
The "upper class" borne,
As we find, by the others,
Thus proving their claim
Of relations as brothers.
While the great backbone class,"
Which we find in the middle,
Makes the music for all,
Like the strings of a fiddle.
The "lower class" stands,
Its feet on the earth,
Result of misfortune,
Of habits, or birth;

It bends to its task
With face looking down,
Regardless alike
Of smile or of frown.
If its cup runneth o'er
'Tis dripping with sorrow,
Little pleasure to-day,
Less hope for the morrow.
Oh! you who are kept
From the dust and the mire

By those who but crumbs
Receive for their hire,
As brothers come down,
And stand side by side;
Let all go on foot,
Or together all ride.

The helping hand lend,
The cheery word utter,
None climbing too high,
None dragging the gutter.
All fighting together
The battles of life,
All crowned alike
At the end of the strife.


Of dust" were all made,
Both master and slave;
God gives each his breath,
The earth each his grave,
And if faithful in time
To the Lord of the sky,
We'll live there together
In "' mansions on high.


-- -~-
~i ~-- -~

(II 1 .
*Tl ~.:..



ib14..~ 's



I LOVE thee for thy winsome bloom,
The velvet of thy cheek;
But love thee mostly for the thoughts
Thou silently dost speak.

Thou tell'st me of my many friends
Far, far across the sea,
For when I gaze at thy bright eye
I feel they think of me.

H An angel's mission thine, and thou
Dost well fulfill thy part,
Casting thy sweetness all around
By easing many a heart.


WTHAT do the pansies say ?
Making faces
With sweet graces,
Opening eyes at peep of day,
Fainting not when sun's last ray
Sinks slow to rest
In crimson West.

Who dipped his brush in gold
Or sunshine rare
To paint so fair
Beauties yellow ? Black eyes bold,
Brown eyes. mild, to us have told
Secrets so dear,
Sweethearts seem near.

Fresh from skies did come
This one in white -
Since of the light
Whispers it of that fair home
Pure ones reach, no more to roam,
Where all is bloom -
No night no gloom!

Blossoms the blue of sky
And bluer blue
Bid us be true.
Standing firm since God on high
Maketh rule, we, by and by,
Shall see love's day -
The pansies say.

And some in somber hue
Are black as night,
Yet always bright.
Lifting face to catch the dew
Heaven sends, that maketh new
Little faces,
With sweet graces.

" Sweet thoughts," too short your stay!
When we are sad
You make us glad;
Perfume sweet and saucy ways
Chase the clouds these summer days.
Ah! pansies say,
Be glad to-day! Selected.





. *. ,



(A Christmas Wonder Story.)

I H' E HERE was once, in a far-
t'NY I away country where few people
S have ever traveled, a wonder-
3t'/ T7; :, | ful church. It stood on a high
g;^..i. hill in the midst of a great city,
and every Sunday, and on
sacred days like Christmas, thousands of peo-
ple climbed the hill to its great archways, look-
ing like lines of ants all moving in the same
When you came to the building itself you
found stone columns and dark passage-ways,
and a grand entrance leading to the main room
of the church. This room was so long that one
could stand at the doorway and scarcely see to
the other end, where the choir and the ministers
sat behind the marble altar. At the furthest
corner was the organ, which was so loud that
when it began to play the people for miles
around would close their shutters and prepare
for a great thunderstorm. Altogether, there
was no such church ever seen as this one, espe-
cially when it was lighted up for some festival,
and crowded with people young and old.
But the strangest thing about the whole
building was the wonderful chime of bells.
There stood on one corner of the church a gray
stone tower, with ivy growing over it as far up
as one could see. As far as one could see, I
said, for the tower was quite great enough to
fit the great church, and it reached so far above
into the sky that it was only in very fair weather
that any one claimed to be able to see the top,
and there were few who thought that it was
within sight even then. Up, and up, and up
climbed the stones and the ivy, and, as the
men who built the church had been dead for
hundreds of years, every one had forgotten
how many feet high the tower was supposed
to be.
Now all the wise people knew that at the top
of the tower was a chime of Christmas bells.
They had hung there ever since the church was
finished, and were the most beautiful bells in
the world. Some thought it was because a

great musician had cast them and arranged
them in their place, and others said it was the
great height, reaching up to where the air was
clear and pure; however this may be, no one
who had heard the chimes ever denied that
they were the sweetest in the world. Some
described them as sounding like angels far up
in the sky, and others like strange winds sing-
ing through the trees.
But the fact was no one had heard them for
years and years. There was an old man living
not far from the church who said that he re-
membered that his mother had spoken of hear-
ing them when she was a little girl, and he was
the only one who knew as much as that. They
were Christmas chimes, I said, and were not
meant to be played by men. On Christmas
Eve all the people brought to the church their
offerings to the Christ-child, and when the
greatest and best offering was laid on the altar
there came sounding through the music of the
choir the Christmas chimes far up in the tower.
Some said the wind rang them, and others that
they were so high that the angels could set
them swinging. But for many long years they
had never been heard; people had been grow-
ing less careful of their gifts for the Christ-
child, the ministers said, and there was no
offering brought great enough to deserve the
music of the chimes. Every Christmas Eve
the rich people crowded to the altar, each one
trying to give some better gift than any one
else, without taking anything that he might
want for himself; and the church was crowded
with those who thought that perhaps the won-
derful bells might be heard again; but although
the music was always sweet, and the offerings
plenty, only the roar of the wind could be heard
far up in the stone tower.
Now a number of miles from the city, in a
little country village where nothing could be
seen of the great church but glimpses of the
tower when the weather was fine, lived a boy
named Pedro, and his little brother. They
knew very little about the Christmas chimes,
but they had heard of the service in the church
on Christmas Eve, and had a secret plan that
they had often talked over when by themselves,
to go to see the beautiful celebration. No-


body can guess, Little Brother," Pedro would
say, all the fine things there are to see and
hear; and I have even heard it said that the
Christ-child comes down to bless the meeting
sometimes. What if we could see him?"
The day before Christmas was bitterly cold,
with a few lonesome snowflakes flying in the
air, and a hard white crust on the ground.
Sure enough, Pedro and Little Brother were
able to slip quietly away early in the afternoon;
and although the walking was hard in the frosty
air, before nightfall they had trudged so far,
hand in hand, that they saw the lights of the
big city just ahead of them. Indeed, they were
about to enter one of the great gates in the wall
that surrounded it, when they saw something
dark on the snow near their path, and stepped
aside to look at it.
It was a poor woman, who had fallen just
outside the city, too sick and tired to get in
where she might have found shelter. The soft
snow made a sort of a pillow for her, and she
would soon be so sound asleep, in the wintry
air, that no one could ever waken her again.
All this Pedro saw in a moment, and he knelt
down beside her and tried to rouse her, even
tugging at her arm a little, as though he would
have tried to carry her away. He turned her
face toward him, so that he could rub some of
the cold white snow on it, and when he had
looked at her silently a moment he stood up
again and said: '' It's no use, Little Brother,
you will have to go on alone."
Alone? cried Little Brother. "And you
not see the Christmas festival?"
"No," said Pedro, and he couldn't help the
least bit of a choking sound in his throat.
See this poor woman; her face looks like the
Madonna in the chapel window, and she will
freeze to death if nobody cares for her. You
can bring some one to help her when you come
back, but both of us need not miss the celebra-
tion, and it would better be I. You can easily
find your way to the church; and you must see
and hear everything twice, Little Brother-once
for you and once for me. I am sure the Christ-
child must know how I would love to come and
worship him; and oh! if you get a chance,
Little Brother, to slip up to the altar without

getting in any one's way, take this little silver
piece of mine and lay it down for my offering,
when no one is looking. Don't forget the place
where you left me, and forgive me for not go-
ing with you, as I would like."
In this way he hurried off Little Brother to
the city, and winked very hard to keep back
the tears as he heard the crunching footsteps
sounding farther and farther away in the dark-
ness. It was all so hard, to lose the music and
splendor of the Christmas celebration that he
had planned for so long, and spend the time
instead in that lonesome place in the snow.
The great church was a wonderful place that
night. Every one said it had never looked so
bright and beautiful before. When the organ
played, and the thousands of people sang the
hymn, the walls shook with the sound, and
little Pedro, outside the wall of the city, felt
the earth tremble all around him. Then came
the procession to bear the offerings to the altar,
when rich and great men marched proudly up
to lay down their gifts to the Christ-child.
Some brought wonderful jewels, some baskets
of gold so heavy that they could scarcely carry
them down the aisle; a great writer laid down
a book that he had been making for years and
years; and last of all walked the king of the
country, hoping with all the rest to win for him-
self the chime of the Christmas bells. There
went a great murmur all through the church as
the people saw the king take from his head the
royal crown, all set with wonderful precious
stones, and lay it gleaming on the altar, as his
offering to the holy Child. "Surely," every
one said, "we shall hear the bells now, for
nothing like this has ever happened before."
But only the cold old wind was heard in the
stone tower, and the people shook their heads;
and some of them said, as they had done be-
fore, that they never really believed the story
of the chimes, and doubted if they ever rang
at all.
The procession was over, and the choir be-
gan the closing hymn. Suddenly the organist
stopped playing as though he had been shot,
and every one looked at the old minister, who
was standing at the back of the altar, and
holding up his hand for silence. Not a sound


could be heard from any one in the church,
but as all the people strained their ears to lis-
ten, there came softly but distinctly, swinging
through the air, the sound of the bells in the
tower. So far away, and yet so clear seemed
the music--so much sweeter were the notes
than anything that had been heard before, ris-
ing and falling away up there in the sky, that
the people in the church sat for a moment as
still as though something held each of them by
the shoulders, then they all stood up together
and stared straight at the altar, to see what
great gift had awakened the long-silent bells.
But all that the nearest of them saw was the
childish figure of Little Brother, who had crept
softly down the aisle when no one was looking,
and had laid Pedro's little piece of silver on
the altar.


F you would leave off one of his
bracelets," Harry said, smil-
ing, as he passed my desk, I
would be glad to join the army
and fight; but you made one
of wine, and one of cider, and
I think the wine does mischief and the cider
doesn't, so of course I could not vote."
Very soon after that we bought some cider
at a grocery store, just the kind which the chil-
dren were sucking through straws, brought it
to the class, and with a distilling machine drew
off the alcohol and set fire to it, before the eyes
of our pupils; but Harry shook his head and
There wasn't enough alcohol in that to hurt
a kitten," he said afterwards, to one of the
boys who was copying him; "not so much as
there is in sour bread. And besides, my grand-
father uses his cider when it is sweet; I don't
like it after it gets hard."
One of the teachers, hearing this, made, not
long afterwards, some sweet cider, and got
Harry to take a swallow of it in its perfectly
sweet and insipid stage; he made a wry face,
and assured her that nothing more utterly un-

like his grandfather's cider than that could be
imagined. But he smiled and looked wise when
she told him that it was its perfect sweetness
which made it taste so "flat," and that nobody
liked cider until after it had begun to form
alcohol. It was evident that he thought she
was mistaken, or if not, the alcohol thus
formed was so very slight in amount that it
could not possibly do harm. We had failed
once more. Harry came every Saturday to the
class, but steadily refused the pledge.
"I wish I could sign it to please you," he
would say to me, with an apologetic smile;
"but I can't, you know, so long as I think it
does no harm."
I tried to catch him in that line. "Why not,
Harry?" I asked. Suppose you really think
it does no harm, and suppose other people older
than yourself think otherwise, and are troubled
and disappointed because you will not promise
not to have anything to do with it, could you
not give it up for their sakes? It certainly
could not be wrong to give it up? "
Yes'm," he said, looking grave, "I really
think it would be wrong to give it up, situated
as I am. I go to my grandfather's, as I told
you, and I meet a large company of country
cousins, who think no more of drinking cider
than they do of drinking water; and if I should
not join them they would feel that I set myself
above them, and especially if, when they asked
me why I did not drink it any more, I should
have to confess that I thought it was all right,
only I had promised not to. They would think
it mean in me to promise not to do a thing
which had cut me off from some of their sports."
Well, the weeks went by, and we had many
lessons which brought in cider, and, so far as
Harry was concerned, brought it in in vain.
He was nearly always present.
"I come because I like the object and black-
board lessons, and experiments," he would say
to me, and I agree with most of them, too,
if only that one word could be left out."
He seemed to be very skillful in getting up
arguments to prove that we were all mistaken
about cider, and was so interested in the sub-
ject, and so earnest to prove himself right, that
one of the teachers said to me anxiously:


"I am afraid Harry will be a drunkard by
the time he is a young man. No boy would
take such an interest in cider, and fight so hard
for it, unless he were unnaturally fond of it."
I confess that I had something of the same
feeling, and was very anxious for Harry. I
tried to plan all my lessons with a view to
reaching him. I remember we had a pyramid
of blocks to show the amount of money spent
in the United States for various articles. We
began with one of a certain length marked
"bread," and placed on one side of it the
number of dollars spent each year for bread.
Then followed "clothing," "fuel," and the
like, the pyramid growing smaller and smaller,
until when we got to the block which stood for
what we spent for missions, it was so tiny that
one of the children said we needed a microscope
to examine it with. However, they agreed that
bread and clothes were necessities, and that of
course very large sums must be spent for them.
Then I asked: "What about liquors?" They
were ready to affirm that the amount used to
buy alcohol for medicine, and for what people
called necessary things, ought certainly to be
much less than that required for bread, for in-
stance, and they were overwhelmed with aston-
ishment and actual shame for their country,
when we produced to represent it a block so
large that the very foundations of our pyramid
had to be removed to make room for it, and it
became actually the foundation block itself.
Marked "alcohol." Then we put in a word
about cider. Suppose alcohol itself to be
needed for medicine, for machinery, and the
like, and therefore useful, to a degree, what
about cider? How much money did the chil-
dren think ought to be spent for cider in a
year? They agreed that it could not certainly
be right to waste a great deal of money on it,
and were shocked beyond measure at the size
of the block which came on to represent it. I
had not expected to reach Harry by this lesson,
and I did not. He smiled wisely, and took
care to explain to certain of the boys who lin-
gered after the class was dismissed, that we
might reason in the same way about lemonade,
and soda water, and candies; that lots more
money was spent for these things than was for

Bibles and missionaries. Of course, he said,
it wasn't right; but because people spent a lot
of money on them did not prove that they ought
to sign a pledge against touching them at all.
"We have taught Harry all we can," said
one of the teachers, soon after this. "He
thinks he knows more than we do; I really
wish he would not come to the class; I think
his influence on some of the other boys is bad."
Then another spoke somewhat hesitatingly:
"What if we teachers should sign a pledge to
pray for Harry? Not as one of the scholars,
but single him out and pray for him by name
every day, asking God to teach him in some
way, which we seem unable to do."
I will take such a pledge," I said, "with
all my heart," and before we went home that
night we were banded together to pray for
Several more weeks went by, and one day
we had a lesson which deeply interested the
class. We had been talking about how drunk-
ards were made. I had said that men did not
become drunkards all at once; they did not
reel home, and whip their children and kick
their wives the first time they took a taste of
anything which had alcohol in it, but that little
by little the taste grew; they wanted something
stronger and stronger, and by and by they were
victims to a raging appetite. "It is something
like building a fire," I said. "Look here." I
tossed a shaving, light and delicate, on the
stone hearth, and set fire to it; it blazed up
prettily for a minute, and was gone; it had
done no harm; it was only a shaving. Then I
lighted a match and tried to set fire to a pile of
heavy and damp wood piled close together in
the grate; it would not burn; I tried it again
and again, to no purpose. Then I knelt down
before it and went to work; I placed delicate
slips of pine kindling under the heavy sticks, I
arranged them skillfully, and placed a pile of
shavings under the kindling wood, and finally
selected a shaving as light as the first had been,
and placing it close to the others set fire to it.
In a few minutes the whole mass was in a blaze,
and crackled and threw out its tongues of flame,
and wrapped themselves around the large sticks
in a way which plainly said that they would


have them blazing, too. Then I asked the
scholars to tell me how that fire was like the
liquor business. What was used for kindling
wood? and a little fellow about ten years old
said solemnly: "Boys." You ought to have
seen how it made the mothers shiver to hear
his answer. A little girl who was carefully
taught at home asked me if I did not think
cigarettes made good kindling wood, and I
answered yes. Then a boy announced that
sweet cider was tip-top kindling wood, and I
said again "Yes." I thought the scholars had
made their own application better than I could
have done it, and dismissed them without an-
other word. For two weeks Harry failed to
appear in class, and we thought he had deserted
us; but those pledged to pray reminded one
another that a pledge was a solemn thing, never
to be broken lightly, and we prayed on. On
the third Saturday Harry was there, and when
the usual invitation came: "If there are any
present who would like to join our Loyal Legion
to-day let them rise," imagine, if you can, our
delight when Harry was the first to be on his
feet. He wrote a clear round hand as plain as
print, and it looked beautiful to me in my
autograph pledge album.
"0, Harry!" I said to him after the class
was dismissed, "I cannot tell you how glad I
am. What decided you?"
"It was the kindlings, ma'am," he answered,
with a grave smile.
The kindlings? Oh! the lesson we had the
last time you were here? I am very glad. I
thought you were too clear-brained a boy not
to see the point; and I knew when you did
you would decide for the right."
Harry's face became very grave as he an-
"No, ma'am, I didn't. I saw the point
plainly, but I would not believe that cider could
do any harm; and I knew that it did, for my
uncle told me about one man who grew to be a
drunkard through his love for cider, but I did

not want to believe it; I was not willing to
give up the cider. I made up my mind that I
wouldn't come to your meetings any more. It
was little Johnny Ferris who settled it for me
at last."
Now Johnny Ferris was one of our youngest
boys; only seven, small for his years. I very
seldom thought of him in giving the lesson, be-
cause he really seemed too young to understand
its meaning.
How could little Johnny help you?" I
asked, in wonder.
"Why, ma'am," said Harry, "Johnny's
auntie brought him a birthday present one day
last week. It was a pretty little satin-covered
box, and had the word "cigars" painted on
one side, and cigarettes" on the other; and
it was filled with the cunningest little candy
cigars and cigarettes that I ever saw. Very
choice candy, too, and so natural that you
would have thought they must be real. Johnny
is very fond of candy, but don't you think when
his auntie brought the box he refused it; he
said they were 'kindlings,' and he did not want
to have anything to do with them. And his
father and grandfather both smoke. I made
up my mind then, if a little fellow seven years
old could give up a box of candy made in the
shape of cigars and cigarettes because it looked
like kindlings, when he sees the real things
smoked by his father and grandfather, it was
time for me to be willing to give up the cider
kindlings. I didn't like to think that little
Johnny was ahead of me, either in argument
or principle, so I have joined."
And we teachers, as we walked home talking
about it, said one to another: "It seems it
was little Johnny, after all, who got hold of
"No," said one; "it was God."
"Yes," we all agreed; it is God's answer
to our prayer; but he has let little Johnny and
our lesson on kindlings' help.

~~IW- B;'---U~

~--t- 3~- siil~li1lJiiIiill


!,r~c- ----


(A Wonder Story. )



HERE was once, a great many
years ago, a queer little town in
a country which has now been
almost forgotten. It lay on
some sloping hillsides and in the
little valleys between them, and
was just at the edge of an immense forest,
which was so deep and dark that few people
had gone far into its depths. The people who
lived in the little old houses looked very much
like other people in most respects, and the coun-
try around them was very much like all other
country, with violets in the spring, and daisies in
the summer, and golden-rod in the autumn; but
in spite of this, there was something sadly differ-
ent. No one who lived in this town was ever
happy. That was the one thing which made
the people look queer; they had not smiled for
so long that the wrinkles which smiling makes,
had been lost long ago; they had allgrown thin
from never laughing, and their faces were so
long that no ordinary yard stick could be used
to measure them.
The reason for all this was strange enough.
There was a story in the town, of a wise old
woman who had once lived there, years and
years before anyone could remember, and who
had learned how to be happy. Almost every
person had some different thing to tell about
her how she had been the friend of everyone,
had always nursed sick people and generally
cured them, always had a smile and a gift for
anyone in trouble, and best of all, had dis-
covered the wonderful secret of how to be happy.
One sad day she had disappeared; her little cot-
tage was found in perfect order, with every-
thing in it just as she must have left it, but its
mistress was never seen again. Some little
boys who had been playing near the edge of
the great forest, said that they had seen her fly
in there at sunset, as though she had been a
great bird; and although people did not know

how true this was, it was generally thought that
the wise old woman had gone to live in the depths
of the forest, and was probably living there still.
Nobody dared to try to find her, as the forest
was so dark, and dreadful stories were told of
those who had tried to explore it.
But the worst of it all was that the old woman
had not left her secret of being happy with any-
one in the town. They had not minded this so
long as she had been with them and was always
ready to help anyone; and if they ever thought
of it at all, they supposed that when she died
or moved away, she would leave the secret in
her will, or whisper it to someone before she left.
When her house was found empty, they hunted in
it for anything which might give them the secret,
but the old woman's drawers held nothing won-
derful, but onlythe stockings which she had knit
for the poor children, neat little packages of lav-
ender and dried sweet-clover, and the clothes
which they had often seen her wear. After this
the town began to grow sadder and sadder.
Everyone thought that the secret of being hap-
py must be discovered over again, and so each
person set himself in his own way to work for it.
The farmers stopped caring for their fields, as
they needed all the time to hunt for the secret;
and so the weeds began to grow where the wheat
ought to have been, and there came near being
a famine all about the town. The school teach-
ers closed their schools, because it was more im-
portant to learn how to be happy than to try to
teach the children; and very many of the chil-
dren themselves gave up their playing and their
picnics, and hunted for the secret all through
their spare time. Instead of finding anything,
people became more and more unhappy; their
faces began to grow long; nobody had anything
to smile over; people no longer came to the town
to live when they heard what an unhappy place
it was, and things went on in the worst possible
Now at the time our story begins, there lived
alone with his grandmother, in one of the houses
nearest the forest, a boy named Hilary. He
was a fine little fellow, with yellow hair and big
eyes, and a mouth which, without losing its
sweetness, seemed to say that when its owner set
about doing anything, he was pretty certain to


carry it through. He was not quite so sad as
most of the people about him, because, although
he had not found the wonderful secret, he had
not lost hope of succeeding; and he did not
stop his work or play entirely, but went on
plenty of errands for his grandmother. Often
he had sat knitting by her side when she was
knitting too, and had heard the story of the


wise old woman; he felt sure that if he could
only be allowed to hunt for her in the forest he
could find her and persuade her to tell him the
secret, and some day he meant to try.
But it was not until his grandmother died,
that Hilary had any time to himself. When
she was gone he was all alone in the world, and
at first he felt sad enough. He knew nothing

of the world except the sober people in the old
town, and the dark leafy forest, and of the two
he preferred the woods, with their whispering
leaves and the little birds that sang in the
branches; then came the thought that now he
was free to hunt for the wise old woman, and
perhaps to be a great blessing to the world, for
Hilary always thought that if he could find the
secret he would never keep it to himself, but
give to anyone who asked.
So it happened that, on the day after his
grandmother's death, without waiting for any
of the neighbors who would come to take him
to live with them, he went softly about the little
house and gathered up in a handkerchief all the
things which he wanted to take with him. There
were some nuts and buns for luncheon, a compass
and a little geography to help him on his jour-
ney, a sling to use in case he should have to
shoot anything, and a piece of knitting with the
needles left in it by his grandmother, to re-
member her by. With only this bundle and
his everyday clothes and cap, Hilary started into
the forest without telling anyone of his plans;
and when the neighbors came next to the little
cottage they found the door wide open, and no
one anywhere about. Some thought that the
boy had run away on account of his grief for
his grandmother, and others said that the wise
old woman might have come out of the woods
and taken him away, because he was left alone;
just what had happened they never knew.
It would be too long a story to tell much of
Hilary's journey into the forest. He had not
gone far when it began to grow so dark, from
the thickness of the leaves, that you could not
tell whether the sun was shining or not; and
the squirrels and birds, who lived around the
edge of the woods, were no longer to be seen.
Then the sun set in the world outside, and in
the forest one could not see the way between
the trees. It was lonely enough, and sometimes
queer noises would rise up out of the darkest
places; so that Hilary was almost decided to
turn back, but when he thought of the empty
house and the solemn neighbors at home, and
of the wise old woman whom he had started to
find, he said, No, I will not be frightened out
of my journey," and he lay down at the foot of


a tree and slept with his head on his little bundle,
all night long.
Next day he went miles farther on, looking
everywhere for the wise old woman or for some
sign of where she might have been. His lunch-
eon was gone, and he was beginning to feel
tired and discouraged. It was almost night
again, and he was hurrying to find a safe spot
where he might go to sleep, when he heard
something say Cheep! in a mournful little
voice. He looked everywhere about, and at
length caught sight of a bird lying just at the
foot of a maple-tree. He had not seen a bird
all day long; this one must have in some way,
been led into the forest looking for food, and
had met with an accident and broken its little
leg. It could only lie on one side and roll its
round eyes up to Hilary and say, "Cheep!"
as though it would ask for help.
Dear me!" said Hilary. "I am sorry
for you, but I can't stop now, it is so near night
again. Perhaps your leg will be better in the
Chee-weep said the little bird.
"Dear me said Hilary again. "It is dread-
ful to be alone in the forest with a broken leg.
I guess I must stop and try to help you." And
he sat down at the foot of the tree and picked
up a twig and tried to make a splint for the
broken leg, as he had seen his grandmother do
for a lame robin. He tore off a string from his
handkerchief and tied the twig on, while all the
time the little bird rolled its eyes and tried to
thank him as well as it could. At last, Hilary
had done all that he knew how, and said good-
by to his patient and started to go; but it called
Chee-wee-weep !" so loud that he could not
help turning back. The bird had started to hop
a little way along the ground, and presently
came around in front of him and walked ahead
briskly, as though it wished him to follow.
Hilary's eyes grew bigger and bigger with sur-
prise, but he slowly followed, wondering what
he really ought to do. Now the bird could hop
quite briskly, and sometimes it spread its wings
and flew from one tree-twig to another, but
never so far that Hilary could not easily keep
up with it. So together they went into the
forest, and it was so pleasant to have a com-

panion even if it was only a bird, that Hilary
would have been sorry to lose his new friend,
and walked and talked with it as best he could.
Presently it was quite dark, so that the bird
had to call out Cheep to show which way
to go. I do not know how long they had been
walking in this way, when Hilary thought that
even in the darkness he could see a change in
the forest. For one thing, he did not have to
feel his way among such thick trees; there
seemed to be a clearing. Yes! and in a mo-
ment more there was a dark wall in front of him,
so that he stopped and could go no farther. As
for the little bird, it hopped straight up to the
wall, and tapped with its bill as though it were
knocking at a door. Hilary waited, trembling
with wonder, for what might happen. In a
moment he saw a light shine through a keyhole;
another moment, and the door opened wide.
The first thing Hilary saw was a candle, then
he saw that some one was holding it up in the
doorway, and then he saw that it was a queer
little, old woman, with smile-wrinkles all about
her face, such as he had never seen among the
people of his town, and smooth, white hair like
his grandmother's, and eyes that twinkled like
little candle-wicks. And although Hilary was
very much frightened, he could not help clap-
ping his hands and crying: I believe I have
found the wise old woman! All this time the
little bird was sitting on the old woman's shoul-
der, as contented as could be.
Then the old woman beckoned Hilary to come
inside, and he came in and told her how he had
been hunting for her through the forest, since
he was left all alone in the world, how he had
stopped to mend the leg of her little bird, and
how the bird had led him to her house.
"Dear me! said the wise old woman,
how lucky it is that you stopped and nursed
his leg; for nobody can ever find the way to
my house unless my little bird shows it, and
if you had not stopped you would have had
another lonesome night in the forest."
Then she lighted a whole row of candles that
stood on the shelf over the fireplace, and Hilary
could see a great old-fashioned room, with
shelves and chests that looked like his grand-
mother's drawers, with knitted stockings and


bunches of sweet-clover and all kinds of com-
forts for poor and sick people. But best of all
he liked to look at the face of the queer old wo-
man, because there was almost always a smile
on it, and that was something which he had
scarcely seen before. Then she lighted the
sticks in the fireplace and made some hot por-
ridge in a kettle, and gave Hilary a warm sup-
per after his tired and hungry day. There was
a bed in the corner, and after supper the old
woman showed him to it and told him to sleep
soundly and dream pleasant dreams. It was
so soft and comfortable, and Hilary was so
tired and sleepy, that although he wanted to
ask about the secret as soon as possible, he de-
cided to wait till morning, and before the little
bird could have taken one hop, he was sound
The sun could shine into the clearing of the
wise old woman, and it awakened her and
Hilary and the bird early in the morning, and
they had dewy mushrooms and porridge for
breakfast. As soon as he could find a chance,
Hilary asked about the lost secret of being
happy, and told the old woman what dreadful
times they had been having in his town since she
had gone away. And he asked her if she liked
living in the forest better than in town, and
whether she had kept happy all these years that
she had been away, and whether she would
mind telling him the secret, so that he could re-
turn and bring back the good times to his old
The wise old woman looked almost sad,
when she heard how things were going on.
"Dear me! she said, it is well that I came
away, if all the people knew so little about the
secret of happiness as that. If they didn't
find it out while I was there, I never could
have told them. Every one must hunt it for
Then Hilary looked sadly disappointed.
"But they have all been hunting ever since you
went away," he said. "And I have hunted as
well as I could, and my good grandmother
hunted, and nobody has found it. Do you

really mean that you can't tell me the secret,
now that I have found you?"
"Dear me, said the old woman again.
"Don't look so sad about it, or you will never
be on the right track. Yes, I meant what I
said, that the secret cannot be told. But a
bright boy can find it if he has a little help in
starting right. I can give you that; but it is
a long, long journey after the whole of the
secret. Do you think you want to start?"
Yes," said Hilary sturdily. I am alone
in the world, and I have in my little bundle
everything that I need to have with me. I am
young and strong, and I don't like to give up
anything that I have started to try for. If
you will show me the way, I will go."
"I can't even show you the way," said the
wise old woman. But I will give you some
help, and you can start as soon as you please."
"I will go now," said Hilary.
Then the old woman went to her shelf and
took a goose-quill, and a pot of ink, and a piece
of paper, and wrote three things on the paper
and gave it to Hilary. Here are three rules,"
she said. Do not read the second one until
you have finished with the first, and do not read
the third until you have finished with the second.
Do your best, and you will find the secret.
So Hilary took the paper and his bundle,
with a new luncheon which the wise old woman
had put up for him, and started into the forest
again. As he was leaving the door the little
bird said "Cheep! and began to hop after
him. Oh! said the old woman, my little
bird wants to go with you. I will let you take
him for company, if you like, and you will find
him a faithful friend." Then Hilary set the
bird on his shoulder and waved his hand for
good-by to the old woman, and trudged off with
his one little companion.
Now these were the rules which the wise old
woman had written down for him:
"Find the bag of smiles.
Plant them in the under-garden.
"Find what is behind the sunset."



\, I, IU


a -





OOK at that now, will you? "
said Lucas. He spoke hardly
above a whisper, but his voice
was hoarse with excitement
and indignation. He touched
Dick's shoulder as he spoke,
and pointed with his other hand.
Dick looked up from the hole in the ice
down which he had been peering, and gave
vent to his feelings in a low growl: "I call
that meaner than dirt! "
Mean?" echoed Lucas excitedly; "why,
that's stealing! That's our beaver just as
much as though we had gone to the fur store
and bought it. That's our trap, and we fixed
it there, and have been watching it for hours
and hours. Didn't we see the old fellow peek-
mg around, trying to make up his mind to go
into the trap; and haven't we gone without
our breakfast and most froze our ears and our
thumbs waiting for him? And then, just as
the trap clicked and he was a prisoner, to see
him walked off with in that fashion, is not only
too mean for anything, but it is stealing, into
the bargain."
Dick slowly arose from his kneeling posture,
brushed the snow from his knee, rubbed his
benumbed hands together, and looked mourn-
fully after a tall fellow who was making long
strides across the snow, with a beaver trap in
his arms.
What is to be done?" asked Lucas, after
waiting as long as he could, for his brother to
I don't see as there is anything to be done,
except to go home and eat our breakfast, if
there is any to eat," Dick said sorrowfully.
" I don't suppose he will steal the trap. He
will probably bring it back after the beaver is
safe in his clutches."
"But, Dick Stevens, are you going to sit
down like a molly coddle and stand it ?"
When Lucas was excited he did not mind
how many figures of speech he mixed. Dick,
who was slower of speech, besides being a
better scholar than his brother, could not help
smiling grimly, as he said: I reckon we've

got to stand it; and for all I know, we may as
well sit down once in awhile. You see, he is
a great strong fellow -the strongest boy in
school, they say, and we are nobodies, com-
pared with him. We are new boys, and
younger than most of them, and there is no-
body to take our part. I knew that fellow
was mean, the first time I ever laid eyes on
Oh mean; so did I. Anybody with half an
eye could tell that. But I didn't suppose he
would steal, and be as bold as that about it,
too in broad daylight. He is just the mean-
est wretch I ever heard of! I wonder what he
would have done if he had turned around and
seen us here behind the tree? I wish I had
called out. I don't see why I didn't. I was
just dumb with astonishment. I couldn't be-
lieve that he was going to walk off with it;
and he did it all so quick! just as though he
was afraid of being caught at it."
I presume he would have bullied us with
the notion that it wasn't our trap at all,"
Dick answered, beginning to move slowly in
the direction of home. "That's his little
game, I suppose; he has one almost precisely
like ours. I heard him tell the boys he had
half a dozen different kinds. I dare say he
keeps different kinds on purpose to bully the
younger fellows. It is just as well you didn't
call out to him -we might have got into a
fight and scared mother. Come on, Lucas; we
may as well go home. It is too late to do any-
thing this morning, and we haven't any trap,
if it wasn't. Next time we'll put our name in
large letters on our trap -if we ever get it
back -and stand close by it on guard."
There won't be any next time,' said
Lucas dolefully. Didn't Mr. Barrows say
yesterday it was getting pretty late for beavers,
and they weren't very plenty around here any-
how. He said a good-sized beaver was quite
a find nowadays. And this was such a splen-
did-looking fellow If he hadn't fooled around
so long, we could have nabbed him and gone
home before that mean old Dexter appeared.
I wonder how long he has been skulking around
keeping watch? He was large enough to have
bought us each a pair of shoes."


Lucas mixed pronouns as well as figures of
speech. His older brother was betrayed into a
laugh, as he said: You don't mean to say
you want that fellow Dexter cut up to make
shoes for us, do you?"
"Oh! you would joke," said Lucas glumly,
"if we had lost our heads as well as our beaver.
But I don't for my part see where the joke
comes in. If we have to leave school because
we can't get any decent shoes to wear, I guess
you'll laugh out of the other side of your
If you have listened to the boys I presume
you understand nearly all that there is to tell
about them: brothers, and schoolboys, in a
new settlement, and poor. Times had gone
hard with their father; so hard, indeed, that
he had lost his home, and in a fit of something
very like desperation had moved out to this
wild North country where he owned a tract of
land, and where he made up his mind to try to
earn enough to keep his family from starving.
If he had come in the spring instead of the fall
it would have been better; but he was a man
who did things on the impulse of the moment,
so he had moved in September. It was all
new to the boys this kind of life. But to do
them justice, they had complained less than the
other members of the family, and had taken to
the ways of this part of the world with zest;
even to the making for themselves a trap for
catching beavers. They found their instruct-
ions in an old book which had been stowed
away in the attic at home, and had only come
to light during the moving; and so successful
had they been that two young beavers had
already rewarded them. This beautiful fellow
was the third, and they knew enough about the
animal to be sure that his fur would be quite
I know it was thick and soft," burst forth
Lucas, on the walk home. Mean old sneak "
he added. It was the fur of the beaver which
he knew was soft," and the boy Dexter was
the mean old sneak."
The outburst seemed to start both boys
again; and they recalled everything they had
ever seen Dexter do or appear to do which
would confirm them in their opinion of him.

To be sure, this was not much; for they had
only entered school after the holiday vacation;
and Dexter who was at least three years older
than Dick, was in another department alto-
gether. But the boys declared and repeated
it in various forms that he was a bully,"
and a "sneak" and a "coward," and they
knew it! Hadn't they seen his little brother
crying bitterly as he walked along to school
hold of Dexter's hand? No doubt the great,
rough, hateful fellow had pinched him, or
kicked him, or something, else why should he
cry? Besides, didn't little Ted Jones say that
he threatened to give him a ducking in the
river if he didn't come right straight down from
that tree he was in? What business had he to
order another boy out of a tree? Oh! there
was proof enough that he was mean. All the
small boys were afraid of him, probably; he
was so large and strong.
They wouldn't join us in punishing him,"
said Lucas. They would be afraid to, I
know they would. Besides, they don't care
for us--we are nothing but strangers. We
must just depend on ourselves. I know a
thing to do. He is going to set his traps out
around the West pond to-morrow night; I
heard him tell Joe Blakesley so. He said he
shouldn't wonder if that would be a tip top
place, and he was going to try it. We would
not steal anything from him, of course--I
should hope we had been too well brought up
for that -but I'll tell you what we can do.
We can walk around the West pond and spring
every one of his old traps; then see how much
he will catch. That would serve him right."
Dick admitted that a fellow as mean as
Dexter Traverse ought to be punished; but
he would not quite agree to the scheme pro-
posed. He said he had not made up his mind
that it wouldn't be rather mean; perhaps it
wouldn't, though, since Dexter had got their
beaver. He would think about it; but just now
they must get home and have some breakfast.
He felt about starved.
"There is a boy waiting to see you two,"
Mr. Stevens said, meeting his sons at the
barnyard gate. "He has been there a few
minutes. I don't know what he wants."


-' Who can it be? said the boys, and they
hurried on, dashing around to the back door in
such haste that they almost ran into Dexter
Traverse, who sat astride the saw horse with a
beaver trap at his feet.
"Halloo!" he said; "don't tip a fellow
over. I say, I've got something you two boys
will like to see. I was coming across lots from
the West pond a few minutes ago, just as this
fellow down there was stepping into your trap.
I halted long enough to see that there was a
kink in the door which would give him a chance
to open it again if he was smart enough, and I
decided that the snuggest thing to make sure
of him for you, was to tote him along. I've
fastened the door since I got here, and he is
safe enough now, and a real beauty. I'm
awful glad you've had such good luck. I'll
venture he will bring as good a price as any
beaver that has been caught around here in
quite a spell; and I'm some acquainted with
Then did Dick and Lucas Stevens look at
each other, and remain dumb, while their faces
were red with something besides the nipping
"We are dreadfully obliged" began Dick,
at last.

"Oh! that's all right," said the great fel-
low, good-naturedly, springing from his seat as
he spoke. "It was just a neighborly turn
that a fellow would have done, of course. If
I were you I'd see Mr. Winslow down at the
Falls, about this chap. He is the most liberal
man to deal with in these parts, and he knows
a good thing when he sees it, too. Good luck
to you; I'm off." And with his hands in his
pockets and whistling Hail, Columbia," with
all his might the old scamp that anybody
with half an eye could tell was as mean as
dirt," went with long strides across the snow.
He has a good face," said Mrs. Stevens
after she had heard the story. I told your
father when he came this morning, that it was
a face to be trusted, and that I'd venture he
was good to little boys, and animals, and any-
thing less strong than he."
"I shouldn't wonder if he was," said Dick,
looking thoughtfully out of the window. Then,
after a moment, he turned to his brother:
"I say, Lucas, don't let's do that thing
to-night. I've made up my mind I won't."
"All right," said Lucas, with a curious
twinkle in his eye, you needn't. I've decided
I won't either."



HO ever heard of an ant farm?
SWell, I think not anybody but
Johnnie and the people who
heard him talk about his.
This was how it happened that
he went into the business.
He was with his papa one day, when he and
some other gentlemen were talking of different
kinds of queer farms. Of course there was
nothing strange about a wheat farm, or a bar-
ley farm; but one of the gentlemen had visited
a wonderful ostrich farm, where they raised

plumes and tips and feathers for ladies' bon-
nets. Another gentleman happened to know
about a turkey farm, which did a rushing busi-
ness at Thanksgiving and Christmas times.
Then there were mentioned deer parks and
cattle farms; but they all agreed that the
strangest venture was the black cat farm up in
Walking home Johnnie asked his papa what
farming is, and papa explained that it is rais-
ing something for profit on a large scale. It
was not the answer in the dictionary, but
Johnnie thought he understood.
Next day Johnnie astonished the household


by announcing that he was going into the ant
farm business. He had decided to take charge
of the big black ants that lived beside the car-
riage drive. They were not wanted there, and
a flood of water had been poured into their
nest from the pump hose, and pitfalls in the
shape of old tin cans had been sunk in their
path; but all without effect. So they held
their place beside the drive.
See they made their own fence," he ex-
claimed, triumphantly pointing to the circular
heap of tiny pebbles and bits of grass and
seeds around the clean place in the center of
which was their underground home.
Aunt Edith tried to explain to him that
there was no profit in that kind of a farm;
but Johnnie had not yet learned to measure
every gain in money, and stoutly maintained
that he was "making lots."
So day after day he watched his ants, more
interested in them than in any game the chil-
dren could devise. Papa said he made an
excellent overseer, he was so careful not to
help the little workers, and so faithful an ob-
server of their work. He very soon learned
that if he interfered with them they would give
a sharp bite with their tiny pincers.
Once he let one of them bite his. hand, just
to see the funny way it had of doubling itself
up to put its poison in the bite; but one or two
observations proved enough of that sort.
An ant's bite can swell up as big as an
ant hill," he told mamma while she bound on
One day he came in with great shining eyes,
looking very pleased and surprised.
Mamma, Aunt Edith, Fred the ants have
all been down Broadway and got their new
bonnets. Come and see; they all have white
feathers in them."
We knew he called their path down the side
of the drive their Broadway," but we hurried
out to see their "new bonnets." Sure enough;
the ants had been gathering dandelion seeds,
and the white plumes made them look very
much as though they had been indulging in a
dainty bit of finery.
Mamma," he said one day, as she hurried,
confused and tired, from the oven full of

cookies that would soon be baked, to tie up a
hurt toe for Jamie, and to rescue baby Nan
from the stairway before she should fall;
"mamma, you ought to have wings like the
mamma ants."
Mamma's face smoothed out into a smile,
as she asked, Do mamma ants have wings?"
Yes, indeed; at least I saw some red
ants have wings, and I 'most know they are
mammas, 'cause mammas do need wings to
get around fast enough."
But the best lesson he learned from his ant
farm was perseverance. He had so often
watched an ant bring a dead bug many times
its own size and weight, slowly, carefully and
so far over the clods and under the sticks that
lay in the path, sometimes letting it fall, but
trying again, that he learned to say when he
had a hard task which he was tempted to give
up, "That is not the way the ants do." So
he learned to carry through what he began,
though it took long and hard work.
Next winter, when he started to school at
the kindergarten, how pleased he was to learn
that the little white grains of which he had
seen the ants take such good care, bringing
them out into the sunshine and carrying them
in again at sundown, and which he had called
eggs, were little nests of finest silk, called
pupa cases, where the baby ants were waiting
for their feet to grow. Then, too, he learned
to call their pincers mandibles, and that the
mamma ants take off and throw away their
wings like some old traveling dress, after they
have set up housekeeping and have ever so
many workers to be servants for them. He
learned, also, that the ants are just as tidy in
their little homes and just as careful to keep
all the tiny rooms in order, as they are to carry
all the broken straws and seed pods out to the
" fence."
How his summer farming helped him to un-
derstand what the teacher explained of the
habits of ants, and how he loved to go to
Papa, mamma and Aunt Edith all agreed
that the ant farm had been very profitable,



IT must
been nice to
have lived
when Jesus
was on
earth," said
Effie, look-
ing up from
the large
Bible which
lay on her
KATE. knee, a wist-
ful expression in her soft eyes. "Just think
how it must have felt to have heard him speak,
as Philip did, and say, Follow me.' If I had
been there I would have followed him just as
quick "
"t You can follow Him just the same now, if
you want to," her older sister said, as she
hurriedly dusted the mantel; people who do as
He tells them, are following as much as ever
Philip or any of the rest of them were."
I know," said Effie, but it doesn't seem
the same. I should like to hear His voice, and
see Him going down the street; you could be
so sure then which way to go, and sometimes
now, you don't know."
Oh! yes, you do. I'll risk your not
knowing which way to go if you have made up
your mind to follow. It is very foolish to
think it was easier in those days than now;
more than that, it is wrong; for Jesus said he
would make it easier for people after he went
away than it was before."
Effie said not another word; she had copied
her verses and meant to study them during the
day, to be ready for Sunday. More than once
that day, things happened which reminded her
of the people who followed, or did not follow
Jesus. In the evening, she was walking down
Pearl Street with her sister, when they met Alice
"O, Kate !" said Alice, "won't you go
around to the Chapel and play for the Junior
choir? They are practicing for to-morrow's
service; they sing in the morning, you know.

I promised to come, but mamma has such a
headache that I cannot leave the baby with her;
it is nurse's day out."
I can't, possibly," said Kate promptly; "I
am on my way to Madame Vesey's after my
new dress; she will have to fix some things
after I get there, and she said I must be sure
to come by eight; then I shall have to stay
and wait for it."
0, dear! Couldn't she send it home, Kate?
Or, must you have the dress for to-morrow? "
"Yes, indeed, I must; I can't go to church
again without it; I have been disappointed for
two Sundays. Let the children go without
practicing, they sing well enough, I dare say."
"But I promised to go, or send some one,"
said Alice, and she hurried away, looking
Kate and her sister walked on in silence for
some minutes; then Effie asked the question
which was puzzling her.
Kate, that makes me think of the verse
about following, and what you said this morn-
ing. How do you know that Jesus wants you
to go to Madame Vesey's, instead of playing
for the choir ? They will be afraid to sing in
church to-morrow unless they practice to-night.
And it is just an illustration of what I meant;
I don't see how people tell which way to go."
Said her sister: Don't be silly, Effie;
you talk altogether too much for a little girl.
Don't bother me now, anyway ; I'm thinking."
Do you suppose she was thinking about ways
of following ? F. A. POWER.


T E have a hundred and seventeen mem-
bers; fifty-three of them are boys. We
have eight committees, as follows: Lookout,
Missionary, Temperance, Sunshine, Lend-a-
hand, Visiting, Social, and Birthday. We
have a scholarship for one of the Mountain
Whites in North Carolina, for which we pay
fifty dollars a year. We have just organized a
Pansy Society among our Juniors.



HO' E' 7


I,, IIIIIIIltll 't' -I-- -








I want to write you a letter, more
'/"'L on account of the package I puts
S..',:)I got in the mail yesterday. It I cai
,i?', ..'- L is the first mail I ever had, Bi
and I was very much surprised and very proud look
of it. Mamma opened it and took out two you
pretty sunshine-colored things, and pinned one my i

U' ^ 11 +' .-- : !+ : ,i,'ll


of them on my dress right away, and I tried to
eat it up, but it wouldn't come off. I try to
eat everything, but there are very few things
that I get swallowed. I have tried baked pota-
toes, and newspapers, and silver dollars, and
all kinds of things, but most generally some-

scowls and says, "No, no!" and then I
the things out of my mouth and put my
on one side, so they won't scowl any
.I can't understand why everybody else
so many things in their mouths, and why
it the sunshine-colored things are pretty to
at, even if I can't eat them, and I thank
and love you very much. I will send you
picture when I have it taken. If I could
see you I would say "Baa, baa,
baa, baa, baa," and would pull
your hair and put my fingers in
i1 your eyes. That is the way I pet
SI can do lots of things now.
Literature is my favorite pursuit,
and if you have any old news-
papers and magazines to send me
I should like them. I tear them in
strips, and they go Sssrrpsz "
which is a very pretty sound.
When anybody coughs anywhere
I cough too, so that they won't
feel embarrassed, and then every-
body laughs, and I cough some
more. When I am surprised I
can sigh, and say "My! and I
can also make several interesting
noises to entertain people who call
on me.
This is a better place than
where I was before. Once I didn't
e anything to do but sit in my wagon and
r other babies cry. I don't like to cry, and
ever do except when I want something to eat.
hose days the nurses didn't pay much atten-
Sto me, but now I'm the only baby in the
se, and I have a nurse all to myself, and


every one else attends to me whenever I want
them to. I take two or three rides every day.
Cora takes me down by the lake, and I wear a
pink sunbonnet that shuts me in so that I can't
see much, and makes everybody that goes by
say, How perfectly cute." I go to all the band
concerts, and shake my carriage up and down
in time to the music, and I also go to some of
the amphitheater concerts, and keep real still
while people squeal like the cats in Washington,
and while the organ rumbles the way it does
when it gets dark and rains. Sometimes I flirt
with nice-looking boys, but most people I won't
talk to at all.
The world is a kind of a queer place. I
don't have to do anything but eat breakfast
five or six times a day, and keep people busy
entertaining me between times. Other folks
seem to fly around and do all sorts of things,
and I'm sorry for them. Sometimes they try
to get me to walk, and to talk big ugly words
like them; but I don't see why any one wants
to walk that can be carried around everywhere,
and I'm sure I can make myself understood

well enough with Baa, baa," and a few other
I must take a nap now. This is the first
letter I ever wrote. Come and see me as soon
as you can.


A MISSIONARY in India visited at one of
the homes and sang a hymn, the first
line of the chorus of which was:

The voice of Christ is calling."

A little child in the home caught the words and
remembered them. She did not know the mis-
sionary's name, but the next time she saw her
coming toward their home, said: "Mother,
'the voice of Christ is calling' again." Sup-
pose you and I pray that that missionary's
voice may be to that heathen mother like the
voice of Christ, and that she will learn the way
to him?




H OW many people are there in India?
When some speaker tells us in num-
bers we find it very hard to realize what he is
saying, because mere figures, after they get
above numbers with which we are very familiar,
do not give us ideas. A writer on missions has
tried to illustrate the multitudes for us by say-
ing that if we could place all the people in
India single file in a procession, allowing three
feet of space for each person to walk in, and
then could take our station at a given point to
see them pass by, it would take how long,
do you think, for them to pass? I am certain
you could never guess right, so I will tell you
-forty years.
Another of his illustrations is, that if some
good man made up his mind to give each
woman in India a Bible, and wanted to hand
it to each one himself, suppose he could, by
working fast, give out twenty thousand a day,
it would take him seventeen years to hand one
to each.
What are you and I doing for our brothers
and sisters in India?


NEWS comes from China that the heathen
people of Sa Yong, a large city, have
visited the missionaries stationed a long dis-
tance from them, and asked them to come and
reopen a chapel which has long been closed,
because they have discovered that their young
men are being ruined with gambling and opium
smoking, and they do not know of anything
but Christian teaching that can save them.


A RETURNED missionary says that part
of every missionary's outfit ought to be
several neatly-dressed dolls. She told of her
experience in trying to get the women of China
to come and visit her. At first they seemed
afraid to do so; but she had been given a great
doll by her little niece, and one day she dressed

it neatly and set it in the window of her recep-
tion-room. In a short time the room was filled
with women who wanted to see that little baby,
and ask questions about its eyes, its hair, its
dress, and the like. Such a dollie as that they
had never seen before. The lady said that
after that the dollie held daily receptions for
a long time, drawing in more of those poor
heathen women in a few weeks than she could
have done by months, perhaps years of effort.
The best of it was they came again, and con-
tinued to come, long after their curiosity about
the doll was satisfied; and some of them are
now earnest Christian women, at work for
Jesus in their own land.


N some mission stations where they are
teaching the people to speak English, the
teachers are very glad to have copies of maga-
zines and illustrated papers sent to them. One
friend writes that she had a few copies of
" Wide Awake," St. Nicholas," PANSY, and
the like, sent to her, which she kept for re-
wards for good behavior and good lessons, and
had gotten great help from them. Is not here
a hint for some of you who have PANSIES, that
you are willing to give or send to others?


A POOR woman in China, who has lately
become a Christian, told her teacher
that she always prayed to God, and to no one
else; but she could not help taking a few sticks
of incense along with her when she went to
pray, because it seemed too mean not to give
him anything. How glad that woman will be
when she learns that Jesus said, "Inasmuch as
you have done it unto the least of these, my
brethren, ye have done it unto me." She can
find so many things to do for her brothers and
sisters, and it will be such joy to her to know
that Jesus accepts every little act as if done
for himself. Do you know any people in this
Christian land who are troubled because they
do not give anything to Jesus?


. -





The oldest is supposed to be first, so
while we are waiting for our dear friend, Pro-
fessor Stagg, let me tell you a little of some of
the athletics of half a century ago.
In the first place let me say that, so far as
developing muscle was concerned, the old
method was quite a success. Many of the
exercises had a further advantage for those
whose cash account was limited; some of them
being paid for in food and clothing, while the
tuition was free.
Then again, there was a sort of satisfaction
in the feeling that we had exercised to some
purpose, i. e., had accomplished something.
These exercises differed in winter from what
they were in summer, and for all seasons there
was a great variety.
The gymnasium was large--much larger
than any I have ever known to be built for any
particular college or university in our land.
Much of the apparatus was large, and while
I am describing some of it, I may as well give
you a brief account of one of the winter exer-

cises. For example, one kind required in-
struments, or apparatus as follows: First was
chosen a perpendicular shaft of considerable
height, say from thirty to a hundred feet high.
No particular height or size was required--
you see the rules as to form, or kind of wood
were not at all strict. Indeed, now I think of
it, I do not remember any two just alike, so
there was much chance for variety; only we
took what was provided.
Now about the exercises. But perhaps I
should first say, we were required to prepare
our own horizontal bars rather, bar, for
we used but one at a time, as a rule, but
always beginning with the perpendicular shaft.
After exercising with that for a little while, we
turned it into a "horizontal," after which we
mostly practiced upon that.
There was another bit of apparatus which
should be mentioned, as needful for the exer-
cise on the shaft and upon the "horizontal."
This differed in several particulars from the
"dumb bells" or the "'Indian clubs" so
familiar in all modern gymnasiums. This


consisted of a piece of steel, which was pene-
trated by a piece of wood, not far from three
feet long, very smooth and shapely. Perhaps
more strictly speaking, I should have said a
piece of iron and steel; for this article was
partly of iron, partly of steel; the iron part
flat on the outer surface that farthest from
the steel; while the steel in its extreme part
was very thin, being brought to a sharp angle.
Now with this, the gymnast took his place
by his shaft, one hand firmly grasping the
wooden part of his instrument, at or near the
end farthest from the head; the other hand a
little lower down and nearer the heavy end,
grasped not quite so firmly. Then with one
foot a little advanced, the instrument was
lifted high, and then made to descend quickly
against the shaft at a point a little above the
base. This was repeated for from three to
ten minutes, according to the skill of the actor
and the size of the shaft.
Then the person would take his place upon
the opposite side of the shaft, and repeat the
By this he usually transformed his shaft
into a "horizontal," and if the day was not
too cold, he would then feel like removing his
outer garment, or sweater."
The lad would then have an opportunity to
exercise his eye for a few moments by spacing
off his "horizontal" into equal parts or dis-
tances from the larger end. Having done
this carefully, he was then required to stand
upon it and repeat the exercise which he had
while the shaft was standing, and also at each
given point spaced.
Of course there was considerable more than
just this which I have described, making quite
a goodly variety, all of which was thought to
be very profitable.
Now the advantages which we claim for this,
over many other exercises, are:
1. Pure air. (This is accredited to the
2. It develops the lungs and chest, caus-
ing vigorous circulation of the blood in the
3. It greatly strengthens the muscles of the
arms and back.

4. It enlarges the appetite. (Perhaps
your fathers and mothers may think this an
5. It indirectly increases the comfort of
the home, and aids in cooking the food.
As I said, in summer the exercises changed
greatly, affording a large variety, but were
none the less vigorous.


THIS is the title of a very good article
found in the Christian Advocate. It is
written by a wise and good man whose advice
on most subjects is worth following. He says:
"When I was a boy I did not have sense
enough to keep a scrap book. I began some,
but did not keep on with them. My memory
was good, and I thought I did not need them;
but I can now remember a great many things
that I can't remember. What I mean by that,
is, I remember reading a very beautiful piece
of poetry, for instance, two or three lines of
which I can call up, but the rest is gone. In
many cases I do not even know the name of
the writer. I have seen many fine pictures
in papers and magazines that would be very
interesting to look over. Some of them I cut
out, but they are lost. I have also lost many
wise remarks, proverbs, charming short stories,
and directions for doing useful and interesting
things. So much do I feel sure that I have
lost, that I would give fifty dollars apiece for
the scrap books of each year, that I might have
made from the time I was ten until I began
really to preserve things, a few years ago.
I know a gentleman who has kept a scrap
book since he was eight years old. He is now
fifty, and has been arranging his books in
volumes with an index in the back of each.
The older he grows the more useful his collec-
tions become. He can go to his books, and
get information about anything of importance
that has happened during his life."
There is more to the article; but my object
in quoting from it is to get the Pansies inter-
ested in the suggestion which the writer makes.


MAY has arrived, wearing the sweetest
chaplet of the year,
There spreads the oak its cool green light, and
The apple blossom flushes and the white thorn
The fern sends leaflets, fresh from its downy
The woods aglow with flowers, soft drift of
perfumed light,
A picture of greens and browns, a smile of
spring's delight.
Mackay Sutherland, in Songs of the Months.

O H! fragrant are the May winds,
And fair the May-time skies,
And tender is the gleaming,
Whene'er a May day dies;
Of all the months the year unfolds,
In this our favored clime,
None holds the loveliness we find
In sweet May-time.


M ARCH and April go your way!
You have had your fitful day,
Wind and shower, and snow and sleet,
Make wet walking for my feet,

For I come unsandaled down
From the hillsides bare and brown;
But wherever I do tread
There I leave a little thread

Of bright emerald, softly set
Like a jewel in the wet,
And I make the peach-buds turn
Pink and white, until they burn

Rosy red within their cells;
Then I set the blooming bells
Of the flowering alder ringing,
And apple blossoms swinging

In a shower of rosy snow
As I come and as I go
On my gay and jocund way,
I, the merry Princess May.
Nora Perry, in S. S. Visitor.


OUT in the garden, working away
From early morn till the close of day,
The florist coaxes the sun and dews
To bring for his help their brightest hues;
Purple and crimson, scarlet, gold -
See the beauties as they unfold.
What can there be so rich and rare
As the colors the garden flowers wear?

Down in the valley dark
and deep,
Under the grasses you
must peep
To spy the treasures of dainty blue
Dear Mother Nature hides for you.
Only a modest, smiling eye
Gazing up at the quiet sky,
But merry children with shout and call
Declare the violet the best of all.
M. H. C.

iI "-' '






6c~ 5



(A Wonder Story. )



S soon as Hilary had gone far
enough to be out of sight of
the wise old woman's house,
he sat down under a tree and
looked at the paper which she
had given him, taking care to
read only the first rule : Find the Bag of
Smiles." "Dear me! he said to himself and
the little bird. She didn't say where to go
for it, or what it looks like, or who has it now.
But there's nothing to do but go right on and
hunt." And he trudged on brave as ever.
For some days now they walked on through
the forest without meeting anyone or finding
anything new, but this time Hilary did not be-
come discouraged, for he felt that he had had
some success in finding the wise old woman,
and that he had a wise little companion, too.
The bird was a great help on the journey, for
it always seemed to know where to go for nuts
or water or a good resting-place in the forest;
and when the dark night would come on, it was
very comforting to hear its little "Cheep! "
just over Hilary's head. At last Hilary said to
it, To-day you shall lead the way all the time,
little bird, and see if we do not come to some-
thing better than we have found. You shall go
wherever you think best, and I will follow."
So the bird hopped off, and they two went
through the forest in long straight lines until
late afternoon. Then they did find something
different from what they had seen, for the
woods began to grow lighter, and the trees be-
came fewer, and they saw patches of sunshine
ahead. At last they came to the very edge of
the forest, where the shade stopped and wide
fields and meadows began again; and Hilary
stood still and looked with wide eyes at a coun-
try which he had never seen before. It was
pleasant to be out in the sunshine again, but it
seemed likely that the bag of smiles would be
somewhere in the great forest, so they did not

leave the edge of it, but walked along in the
grass until, near sunset, they came to some
houses standing in the midst of grassy fields.
There were three of these houses, and they
were owned by three men who lived in them
with their families. One man was very rich,
one was very poor, and one was very great.
The rich man was so rich that he used his silver
and gold money to pave the driveways and
footpaths around his yards and gardens, and
he had moved to this quiet place near the for-
est in order to be away from the people who
came and asked him for money. The poor
man was so poor that he used sand instead of
sugar, and water instead of cream, and he had
moved to the meadows near the forest because
there he could have all the sand and water that
he wanted. The great man was so great that
there was no grass in his yard, because it had
been worn away by people who had come there
to look at him; and he had moved to the quiet
meadow so that it might not be so easy for
strangers to find him. These men and their
families were the only people anywhere about,
and it was to their grounds that Hilary and the
little bird came walking, not knowing what
they should do.
All three families received them very kindly,
when they found that they had not come to get
money, or to look at the great man, and the
rich man's wife was so pleased with Hilary and
the little bird that she made them stop and visit
her, and gave them a beautiful room to sleep
in, and all they wanted to eat. Hilary could
have staid there always, and have had money
enough to buy anything that he wished, but he
would not stop his search for the bag of smiles.
He thought at first that he might receive some
help from the families who lived in the meadow,
and so he talked with the different people in
each of them, but they had none of them heard
of the bag of smiles, and many of them doubted
whether there was such a thing. Then Hilary
explained to them that he was looking for the
secret of happiness, and asked if any of them
knew it. The rich man said no, and told how
he had once thought he could find it, but had
long ago given up. The great man said no,
also, and added that he had never known any-


one who had heard of anyone who had seen
anyone who was happy. The poor man said,
"no, indeed; I never was so foolish as to
think that I could find the secret." And so
Hilary lost his hope of being helped by his new
friends, though the rich man's wife promised
him enough money to buy the bag of smiles, in
case he should find anyone who offered it for sale.
Every day he and the little bird started into
the forest to continue their search, and every
night the bird would lead Hilary safely back to
the rich man's house. But they never found
anything new on their journeys. At last there
came a day when something dreadful happened.
The rich man's little daughter was lost. Hilary
had never seen her, because she was kept
always in the high tower of the great house, that
no one might steal her in the hope of getting
some of her father's money. The windows of
her room were so high that no one could climb
to them, and the walls were so thick that no
could get through them; and yet in some way
the little girl Phyllis had been lost!
There was great excitement all about, and
when Hilary came back at night he found the
house turned almost upside down with trouble.
Next morning it was no better; no sign of
Phyllis had been found. He was about to
start on his daily journey to the forest, but was
not sure but he ought instead to help the rich
man's family in their search. There was no
telling but the little bird might help them as it
had so often helped Hilary; yet there was the
bag of smiles still waiting to be found! He
tried to think what the wise old woman would
be most likely to wish him to do, and when he
remembered how he had found her by stopping
to help the little bird, he decided to stop again
to help the rich man and his little daughter.
So they all went together on their search,
and the little bird led the way, for everyone
had heard of its wisdom and was willing to
follow where it should go. But when they had
walked all day and all night, and had seen
nothing of the lost Phyllis, they began to
grumble. "You would better be patient,"
said Hilary, and keep right on, for the little
bird always knows best." But they were not
patient, and at last they decided that it was

very silly to follow a foolish little bird through
the woods; so everyone went his own way, and
Hilary and the little bird were again left alone.
Hilary had almost forgotten to think about the
bag of smiles, he was now so eager to find the
little Phyllis. At last, not many hours after
he and the bird had been left by the others, he
saw something yellow, like gold or sunshine,
shining through the tree ahead of him. At first
he could not think what it was, but as he came
closer it looked more and more like long golden
hair, and then he clasped his hands together
and stood still as a mouse, for there was little
Phyllis lying asleep at the foot of a tree Her
face was smiling as though pleasant dreams
were floating around her, and in one hand she
held tightly a leather bag which had a gold cord
about its neck.
Hilary and the bird remained very quiet
until the little maid awakened; and it was not
long before she had opened her eyes and smiled
at them both. I think you must be Hilary,"
she said. "I have heard of you and your
little bird."
And you must be Phyllis! said Hilary,
and he told her how they had been searching
everywhere for her.
Then they sat down together, while the little
bird hopped about and chirped for them, and
Phyllis told how some enemies of her father
had climbed up to her tower on a ladder which
they had been building for years and years,
but had only just finished. They carried her
down and out into the forest before anyone
knew it, and she could not guess what they
would have done with her, for in the darkness
she ran away from them at last, and for fear of
never finding their way out they did not dare
follow. Then she had been frightened and
lonely enough, and had sat down under this
tree to cry herself to sleep. While she was
sleeping, she dreamed that a dear old woman
had come to her through the forest, had whis-
pered to her that she must not be troubled,
since some one was coming to find her, and had
put a leather bag into her hand, telling her to
give it to whoever should come. Sure enough,
when she had awakened again, the real bag
was there.


Then Hilary almost cried for joy, and he
took the bag and loosened the gold cord and
gave it a little squeeze. As he did so he began
to smile all over his face, for it seemed to him
he had never been so happy before; and Phyl-
lis was smiling just as much, and the little bird
hopped about and chirped as though its throat
would burst for gladness. There could be no
doubt that this was the bag of smiles.
After this, they started on together, Hilary
and Phyllis hand in hand; and Hilary told all
about his search for the secret of happiness,
and how, oddly enough, he never seemed to
find anything except at the time when he was
not looking for it. Then he thought of how he
could now read the next rule on the paper
which the wise old woman had given him, and
he drew it out and read it aloud:
Plant them in the Under-Garden."
This seemed even harder than the first, for
who had any idea where the Under-Garden was ?
But Phyllis told him she would help him find it,
and together, with the little bird's help, they
would surely have a beautiful time. It was very
much quicker traveling in the forest when there
were two who could take hold of hands and talk
together, and almost before they knew it they had
come to the place where they must turn out toward
the rich man's and the poor man's and the great
man's houses. This would not be so pleasant;
for Phyllis did not want to go back to her
tower, which would now be more lonely than
ever, and they both wished to find the Under-
Garden. They waited to see where the little
bird would lead, but he sat on the twig of a
tree and would not lead at all. So they talked
about what they ought to do, and when they
remembered the sadness of Phyllis's father and
mother, which must be growing deeper and
deeper all the time, they decided that she must
go home. And the little bird hopped down
again and showed them the path.
They had scarcely taken three steps before
something strange happened. Phyllis' foot
slipped into a hole, and as Hilary would not let
her hand go he slipped down witf her. At
first they thought they would fall only two or
three feet; but instead of stopping they went
on, down and down, and it grew dark and then

light again, and when at last they stood still
they were in a place far different from any that
they had seen before.
There was a queer light all about, more like
moonlight than sunlight, and they could see no
sky overhead. There were beautiful scents in
the air, and in a moment they could see that
these came from wonderful flower-beds which
stretched around them in every direction. They
hardly knew whether to be frightened or inter-
ested in what they saw, but the bag of smiles
was still with them so that they could not be
unhappy, and very soon they heard a familiar
" Chirp !" that made them clap their hands for
joy. The little bird had come down with them.
They had not walked far before they saw a
kind-looking man in a big gray cloak, who car-
ried a basket in one hand and a watering-pot
in the other. If you please cried Hilary,
"can you tell us where we are and how we
came here ?"
The man in the cloak set the basket and the
watering-pot on the ground, and looked at the
children for a moment. Then he said, This
is the Under-Garden, and I think you must
have fallen in through the wise old woman's
passenger-hole. I told her only yesterday that
something of this sort would happen before
Then Hilary and Phyllis laughed again for
joy, for was not the Under-Garden the very
place in the whole world (if it was in the world)
where they wanted most to be? And they
begged the man in the cloak to tell them what
it was, and whether they could be allowed to
plant anything there for themselves.
Come with me," he said, "' and Iwill show
you everything. The Under-Garden is the
place where the flowers and bushes and trees
come from, and you shall see me plant some
now. This is not such a good season of the
year as our busy time in the spring, of course,
but something is being done every day. This
morning it is just time for the golden-rod to
begin, and I have a basketful here."
Then Hilary and Phyllis saw that his basket
was full of tiny golden-rod blossoms, with little
sticks fastened to them. The man in the cloak
took those, one by one, and pushed them up


into the roof of the garden, which hung just
over his head; there they stuck fast, and he
told the children that in the morning they would
be growing out-of-doors up in the world.
And is this the way all the flowers come?"
asked Phyllis.
Yes," said the man in the cloak. In the
autumn we pull them down again, and every
spring there is a violet day, and a daisy day,
and a day for each of the early flowers, when
we go about and send them up." Then the
children noticed that as far as they could see
there were other men in gray cloaks either
gathering tiny golden-rod blossoms from the
great flower-beds, or carrying them about in
baskets and putting them into the roof of the
At last Hilary showed their new friend the
bag of smiles, and told him how the wise old
woman had bidden him plant them here. "Very
good," said the man, "there is nothing that
grows so well if they are only planted. Hold
your bag up and squeeze it a little, and
wherever you go the smiles will go up. There
are several things besides flowers that we plant
down here. If you stay long enough you can
see some of the sigh-beds and the song-beds,
and the thought-beds, I suppose; each different
thing is planted where the right soil and the
right air are found."
So the children went about in the greatest
happiness, planting smiles wherever the men in
the gray cloaks would allow them. Very soon
Hilary asked how he might find the under-
garden of his old home, where they needed
smiles so much; but the men shook their heads.
" It would be no use," they said; "they would
never grow there. We have tried again and
again. The people there are all trying to plant
them in their own gardens, and in such places
they are never found. Since the wise old
woman moved away no one there has thought
to plant them in the gardens of other people."
As long as they dared to stay in the under-
garden, Hilary and Phillis were kept busy in
trying to empty their bag of smiles, but they
could not begin to use them up. "It will take
forever! said Hilary at last. ''But it does
not matter at all, I believe, for how could we

be happier than we are now? There is no need
of finding the third rule on the paper."
Perhaps," said Phyllis, when we are very
old we may find out what it is. The bag of
smiles will surely last as long as that."
And since the bag of smiles would surely
last so long, what need to make this story any
longer? No matter how far we might try to
follow Hilary and Phyllis, we should certainly
find them scattering the smile-seeds, and slowly
finding the secret of happiness. I suppose that
when they went back to the rich man's house
they made everything smiling there, and that
when the rich man and his wife died they left
their money to their two dear children. I sup-
pose that the wise old woman and her little bird
always remained their fast friends, while the
swift years went on. It is quite likely that
even in Hilary's old home he may have been
able at last to teach some of the people the
secret of happiness, as far as he had found it;
and that was far enough. It is quite likely
that he and Phyllis never gave up their journey-
ings together, hand in hand, even when her
golden hair began to shine as grayly as Hilary
remembered his grandmother's when they had
lived all alone in the little old cottage by the
forest. But all these things, I say again, do
not matter, for always the bag of smiles lasted,
and the secret of happiness came nearer and
nearer every day.

L ORD, for the erring thought
Not into evil wrought;
Lord, for the wicked will
Betrayed and baffled still;
For the heart from itself kept,
Our thanksgiving accept.

For ignorant hopes that were
Broken to our blind prayer;
For pain, death, sorrow, sent
Unto our chastisement;
For all loss of seeming good,
Quicken our gratitude.
W. D. Howells.



OF course you know the grasshopper when
you see him. Much the same is the
locust, except the wings. Locusts fly as well
as leap. They often seem like a dark cloud,
as they go marching through the air like a
mighty army. And quite as destructive are
they as some armies. All at once the sun will

food, destroyed by the locusts) and perhaps
quite as many from pestilence (wide-spread
disease, caused by the dead locusts).
What awful havoc creatures so small can
make, if they but get together, every one of
Why can't we all work together for God?
These locusts are mainly in Africa and Asia;
but drops of alcohol are everywhere; look out!


be darkened, then down upon the green fields
of grain the hosts of locusts descend, and in a
little while all the wheat or rye and every green
thing are devoured.
In vain the farmer and his family run out,
and with every possible noise and flourish of
flags try to frighten their ravenous enemy away.
They will not leave till every blade is eaten.
Then with a mighty noise of the wings they
arise and rush away in the current of wind
toward another green field. So on till some
strong blast blows them into the sea where the
-waters for miles will be covered with their
Then another wind often brings back the
sickening stench from which multitudes of
people die.
So, many people die of famine (want of


C- ROWS are not pretty birds,
and we do not blame the far-
mer who keeps his shot gun
ready to pepper them when
they come to steal his corn
~ from the cornfield.
Perhaps not many of the Pansies have ever
seen a crow's nest in America, where they are
built high up in the trees of the thick woods.
But if any Pansy should visit Peking, away off
in China, where Teddy's uncle came after he
made them his short visit, to say good-by, he
would see more crows' nests than he could
count, unless he is very good indeed at count-
ing, and would hear the hoarse caw of his
crowship all day long.


Peking is a very large city with a high
brick wall, so high that you cannot see over it
from the top of the highest house; nor climb
over it unless you had Jack's beanstalk to
help you. And there are trees and bushes
growing all over the wide top of the wall.
I should think there must be as many crows
as people, living inside of the wall. But they
can get out without going around to one of the
large gates. Although there are always plenty
of crows around all day, yet if you were in
Peking, and should awake at the gray of early
dawn, you would hear what would be pretty
sure to awaken you for a good many mornings
after you first came the caw, caw, cawing of
many, many crows altogether. And if you
got up and went to the window to see what all
this noise was about, you would see a great
black stream of crows flying off over the tree-
tops and over the city wall, away to the coun-
try to get their breakfast. Then in the evening
as the sun was just going down behind the
hilltops away off in the west, you would see
them coming back home from every direction,
some in flocks, some in long straggling lines,
some alone.
There are many trees in Peking, and all the
larger trees are homes for the crows. One day
I counted twenty-seven nests in one tree.
And when I tell you that each nest was a
bundle of dry sticks as large as a pretty good-
sized boy could carry in both arms, you may
think the tree was well loaded.
Yes; Ned is saying to himself, "Wouldn't
that be jolly? I'd soon be in that treetop! "
No, my little man; not if you were a Chinese
boy in Peking. No one there ever thinks of
disturbing a crow, or its nest. One would
just as soon think of tearing down his neigh-
bor's house, as the nest of a crow in his tree-
top. So the crows become very neighborly in
a way. A few days ago, when it was very
hot and dry, I was sitting on the edge of my
veranda. Suddenly two large crows, with
their beaks open, and panting with thirst, flew
to the ground a few feet away, and walking to
the saucer of a pot of flowers that had just
been watered, each took a good drink. They
then walked carelessly about for a time, then

flew and perched on the wall a little way off,
and finally flew away.
Although no one disturbs them, and they do
a great deal of good in the city by gathering
up and eating things that would be harmful if
left to decay, yet they also do a good deal of
mischief. They are worse than hawks in car-
rying off little chickens, if they are let loose
in the court. The magpie, who is nearly as
large, and quite as noisy as the crow, and who
knows how to keep his rights, and the little
sparrow that builds its nest in a hole far under
the tiles of the house roof, or in some other
safe corner, out of Mr. Crow's reach, are the
only birds that can live in his neighborhood.
A. B. L.
PEKING, China.


THE great library of the Dukes of Devon-
S shire has one singular feature. The doors
to this large room are made, when closed, to
look like rows and rows of shelves, and are
filled with what are called "Dummy" books.
That is, pieces of thin board shaped like books,
and having titles printed on their backs like
real books. Of course they are not heavy as
real books would be, so the doors open readily,
but when they are closed, it is said that a
stranger left in the room, if he had not noticed
this peculiarity, would be perfectly bewildered,
and imagine that there was no possible way
out of the room. Turn which way he would,
the eye would rest on nothing but rows and
rows of books reaching from floor to ceiling.

PHOUGHTS do not need the wings of words
STo fly to any goal.
Like subtle lightning, not like birds,
They speed from soul to soul.

Hide in your heart a bitter thought,
Still it has power to blight.
Think Love, although you speak it not;
It gives the world more light.



HERE is one, which though quite old never
goes out of fashion, because it not only
interests and amuses, but helps us to think. I
have discovered that intelligent girls and boys
have no objection to being helped a little, even
by a game, if it does not destroy the fun.
Two of the Pansies write us that they enjoy
the Historic Game at their house very much.
They say that the one who makes a mistake is
called upon to pay a forfeit; and "mother"
gives a flower or a bonbon to the one that can
get through the alphabet without any delays or
I find in an exchange the modern sugges-
tions of how to play this old-time game.
Suppose a party of friends to be pleasantly
seated for an hour's enjoyment, and to have
voted for the "Historic Game." The leader
says, "Once upon a time I took a trip to
Chicago in company with Addison."
His next neighbor on the left says, "I re-
member, Thomas Bailey Aldrich was one of
the party."
The next one adds, "And so was Matthew
In this way it passes around the circle. Woe
to the unfortunate girl or boy who cannot think
of a celebrated person of the past or the pres-
ent whose name begins with A." The con-
sequences will be a forfeit.
When it is again the leader's turn, he says:
While in Chicago we met Elizabeth Barrett

Browning," or any other person known to fame
whose name commences with B."
Immediately his left-hand neighbor must be
ready to say, "0, yes! and don't you know
William Cullen Bryant was talking with her
when we called?"
The next one adds, "Robert Browning was
in the back parlor at the same time." And the
fourth is ready with, "I was more interested
in meeting Lord Byron; you know he was
present that evening."
Of course, this is merely suggestive; any
names commencing with "B" may be used,
and any form of sentence used to introduce
them. For older persons accustomed to these
great names it will after a time become very
amusing to think of people who lived perhaps
hundreds of years apart, meeting in Chicago.
By the time a company of young people have
gone through the alphabet, they will be either
remarkably intelligent and quick-witted, or else
a number of forfeits will have to be paid. Of
course the funnier these forfeits are the more


W HAT an exchange claims to be the
largest book store in the world is
kept by a Mr. Cole of Melbourne. He has
over a million books in his store, and is con-
stantly buying. In the large salesroom he has
easy chairs and lounges, and customers are
invited there to rest and read. Very many of
those who come to read go away, it is said,
without buying a penny's worth. Still Mr.
Cole finds that this attention to the comforts
of his friends is a paying business. Very
often some one comes in to look at a book of
reference without intending to buy it. He is
made perfectly welcome, and served with the
book he wants; before he leaves the store he
has, perhaps, found two or three other books
that he had not thought of but wants to own,
so he makes a large purchase.
Mr. Cole began at the lowest round of the
ladder. His first store was a wheelbarrow
filled with books, which he set up in the Mel-
bourne market.



T was not very cold, but there
was an ugly wind blowing, as
there is apt to be in March.
The newsboys were out in full
force with the afternoon edi-
tion of the large dailies,- and
as usual half a dozen of them waylaid the same
man and besought him to buy. Three, more
persistent than the rest, followed one man, who
had already shaken his head at several, and
shouted their wares in his ears. "Have a
daily, sir-daily? Last edition, just out. All
about the great prize in the Broadway House."
"What is that?" asked the man, turning
back after shaking his head. Great fires
where? Has there been a great fire?"
"Yes, sir," said the oldest- boy promptly.
" Great fire in New York; Lower Broadway in
ashes; fire still raging."
"It is strange I haven't heard of it," said
the man irresolutely. "Well, give me a paper.
Here, I'll take one of the little chap; you older
fellows are better able to look out for your-
selves." And he held out a piece of money to
the small boy who had been reaching forth his
papers with the others.
Instead of taking it he drew back his hand,
and said earnestly, "There ain't been no big
fire, sir; Joe is just chaffing you. It's all
about the prize in overcoats at the Broadway
Shut up, Billy, and hand out your paper.
What do you know about business? There's
always fires in New York. It may all be burned
up by this time." This from the big boy, who
snatched at a paper from the little fellow's pack,
and tried to hand it to the customer. But Billy
made a firm grasp after it.
"I say I ain't going to get no lying livin',
not if I starve for it," he declared proudly. "I
said I wouldn't lie, nor steal, nor nothing ever,
and I won't."
Good for you, my boy," said the gentle-
man, laughing. "You'll beat in the end, I
believe. I'll take your paper now, anyhow-
two of them."
But at that moment a woman who had been

passing, and who had paid no attention to the
boys until Billy spoke, and then had turned and
stared at him, now stepped back and joined the
"Billy who?" she asked. "What is the
little fellow's name?"
"Billy Snyder, ma'am," explained the large
boy eagerly. He's an awful little chap to be
selling papers; and he ain't no warm clothes
to wear, neither, 'cause his father and mother
is dead, and he has to support himself."
"Is that true?" asked the woman, giving a
severe look at the tall boy, and turning toward
the little fellow for her answer.
"Yes, ma'am; it is Gospel truth," continued
the tall boy.
"I've had a specimen of your truth," said
the woman, regarding him with disdain; "I
asked the boy who can be believed." And she
looked steadily at Billy. Thus appealed to,
Billy nodded his head, his lip quivering. The
tall boy was looking at him, too, and gravely
added, "His mother only died last month, and
she left him to my care. I do the best I can
for him, but that ain't much."
Have you had your dinner?"
Billy nodded again, and struggling for his
voice explained that he had a chunk of bread
that Joe gave him.
Meantime, the customer, having slipped his
money into Billy's hand enough to pay foi
two papers had gone away without them,
which Billy, discovering, was suddenly over-
whelmed with anxiety and shame, and begged
Joe, as being the fastest runner, to clip it after
him and give him back his money.
I ain't goin' to do it," said Joe firmly.
"There's two reasons: first off, he's got so far
ahead of me that I couldn't catch him in the
crowd, and the p'licemen would nab me for try-
ing; and the other reason is he meant you to
have the money. You're too green to do busi-
ness, Billy, if you don't see that he give it to
you a-purpose. There ain't no call for a fuss
about it."
"Yes," said the woman, when Billy's eyes
appealed to hers,."I think that is so; he slipped
it into your hand while I was talking with you
and walked away; but I like you the better for


trying to be honest clear through. It shows
what your mother must have been, and how
she must have felt to have left you in bad com-
pany," with another severe look at Joe.
I'll tell you what it is, little boy; you can
go along home with me if you want to. I was
looking for a little boy to take home and bring
up. I meant to take a bigger one than you, it
is true; but your voice sounded so like his, I
had to turn around and see who you were; and
your name is Willie, I suppose? Would you
like to go home with me and have a good
Billy looked at Joe, and that young man
made haste to add a reassuring word. "A real
prime supper, Billy, piping hot; and put on a
plate, you know, like folks, and maybe a swal-
low of real downright milk. Tell you what!
wouldn't you be sot up ?"
"Could I come back to you to-night?" ques-
tioned Billy. And Joe, seeing a decided nega-
tive in the woman's firm blue eyes, hurried on.
"Not to-night, 0, bless you, no! It's goin'
to be downright cold after the sun goes down,
and you know how cold it is in our cellar, Billy?
Well, wot would you say to a bed to sleep on,
and like as not a blanket or something' warm to
cover you up with? 0, my! Then to the
woman: "I hate to part with him, ma'am; he's
a cute little fellow, and a spry one, and all that,
and I promised his mother to look after him ;
but I don't believe I can do better than to coax
him up to go with you. I can see, as well as
the next one, that you would be good to him.
Where do you live? "
"You are very kind," said the woman, with
calm sarcasm. "If I can't do better by him
than to teach him to tell what is false, I shall
be sorry. However, I suppose you really mean
to be good to him. I live at Rosegarten, and
I must make the four o'clock train. I'll take
the little boy out with me to-night if he chooses
to go; and next Wednesday -a week from
to-day -if you don't see him before, you may
come to the Arnold House and ask for Mrs.
Traverse. Do you know where the Arnold
House is ? "
"You bet I do!" said Joe, and his eyes
danced. "You go ahead, Billy, and eat sup-

per enough for me and you both," was his last
bit of advice to the shivering Billy, who, now
that he had been standing still so long, realized
how sharp was the March wind.
It had all been done so suddenly that even
Mrs. Traverse, who was used to doing things
suddenly, was astonished. It was five months
since her William went away her good boy
William, who had lived with her ever since he
was seven, and on his fifteenth birthday had
gone to Heaven. Such care as she had taken
of him. It was no fault of hers, nor indeed of
his, that the omnibus ran over him that even-
ing, and wounded him so that in two months
he died. It was only another crime added to
the long list of those which are caused by
drunken drivers. Mrs. Traverse said then, to
all her neighbors, that she would never take
another boy. But they knew her well, and did
not believe her. She was not used to living
alone. William had been a great care, and a
great comfort; and Bruce missed him almost
as much as she did-Bruce was the Newfound-
land dog. And here she was this March after-
noon hurrying toward the station with a little
shivering boy by her side, in a jacket much too
thin for him, and with no mittens at all. Mrs.
Traverse thought of William's outgrown clothes
packed neatly away in a trunk in the store-
room, and was gratified.
Exactly a week later, at three o'clock of the
afternoon, a tall, rough-looking newsboy, with
a red face and a shock of red hair, and bare
red hands, came all but breathlessly up the
steps of the Arnold House, very much out of
breath from walking in the March wind, for it
was an ugly day, and was rapidly growing
uglier. Joe had had ill luck that day; people
were too cold or in too much haste to care for
papers, and his dinner had been missed entirely,
after a very scanty breakfast. The three o'clock
train was due, and the latest edition of the
dailies was just out; he would probably have
his share of custom at the station if he were
there; but Joe had waived business, and re-
solved upon seeing little Billy, whom he missed
as he had not supposed he could.
"I'll see him, if I have to go without my
supper, and my breakfast into the bargain," he



muttered, and if he ain't having good times,
and the something hot for supper, and some-
thing warm to cover over him at night is all
gammon, I'll take him back to the cellar, if we
have to both starve for it."
Then a side entrance door of the Arnold
House suddenly opened, and a voice he knew
said, "Come right in, Joe." And he found
himself dragged into a room so bright, and, to
his eyes so handsomely furnished, that it looked
like another world. The boy who dragged him
was dressed from head to foot in a handsome
gray suit, and had on a collar, and a bit of blue
ribbon for a neck-tie. His trousers came just
below the knees, like what Joe called the
" swell" boys on the street, and his long black
stockings fitted perfectly; so did his buttoned
boots, that shone, Joe explained when describ-
ing him, "like any gent's on the Avenue."
Such stories as Billy had to tell. What did
Joe think of hot breakfasts as well as suppers?
And a mug of milk with every meal -two of
them, if he wanted them-and fresh eggs, and
meat every day for dinner, and all eaten at a
toble with a cloth on as white as snow. And
napkins, Joe, like those things they had at that
little boy's house that time he got hurt and we
helped him home."
"Jewhickity! said Joe, feeling that there
was no other word known to him which would
express his views. And don't she never lick
you, nor send you off to bed without any sup-

per? And do you have a blanket or something
to cover you?"
"Lick me?" repeated Billy indignantly, "I
guess she don't! She don't lick nobody, Aunt
Hannah doesn't. She's my Aunt Hannah -
you didn't know that, did you? And I've got
a bed all my own, as soft-oh! as soft as any-
thing and long white things on it, and blan-
kets, two of 'em, big and soft, and a white
beautiful one that looks like snow made of silk
spread over it all, and two pillows ; and she tucks
me up; and one night, Joe -she kissed me."
Billy's voice sank lower and lower while he
talked, until, when he reached this astounding
statement, it was given in an awe-struck whisper.
"Jewhickity-Jane said Joe.
"Yes," said Billy, "and she says my voice
is like her William's that died, and that if I am
good I shall be her Willie; she calls me Willie
all the time; there ain't no Billy' any more.
She said she noticed my voice the first thing.
That's what made her turn around and listen to
what I said; and she liked what I said, too.
Then Joe, after a moment's thoughtful silence:
"I say, little kid, wot if you hadn't up and told
the truth that day about the fire? Where would
you have been now ?"
But Billy's thoughts were already elsewhere.
" You are to stay to dinner," he announced,
with radiant face; and we are going to have
chicken, and pie, and lots of goodies."




HE was a pretty girl when her
face was pleasant, but this
morning it was all in a frown.
In vain Baby Frances made her
Prettiest attempts at speech,
Celia would not smile. Some-
thing was the matter with one of the wheels to
Baby Frances' carriage, so the willow top had
been taken off and set on the floor, with Frances

her Amelia Jane and go and call upon them.
In her secret heart she believed that Amelia
Jane was better looking and better dressed
than any of the other dollies, but she could not
be quite sureuntil she had a nearer view. It
was very trying, just as she had Amelia Jane
dressed in her best, and was going out of the
door, to be called back to Frances. Celia could
never remember feeling so thoroughly out of
humor as she did when she slammed her dollie
on the floor, and told her sharply to "lie still


in it, and Celia had been called to amuse her,
while the wheels went to the carriage maker's
to be repaired. As a general thing Celia was
ready to play with Baby Frances, but this
morning she was not. Carrie Wheelock, her
next-door neighbor, had company, two little
girls with curls and dollies; they were out in
the yard at this moment having a party for
their dollies, and Celia had intended to take

and behave herself and then sat down in a
sullen little heap in front of Frances. She was
half-frightened at the thoughts which floated
through her mind. "I'm sick and tired of
taking care of Frances! I just wish she had
some wings and would fly away." I suppose
what made her think of this, was the fact that
two bright-winged birds at that moment flew
past the window and alighted on one of the


limbs of the great oak-tree. Celia reflected
that Frances would look very pretty in her
white dress, seated up there among the green
leaves. Frances, however, not being a bird,
wanted to be amused, and puckered her lip when
she found Celia was not going to amuse her.
"Hush up said that young woman, speak-
ing sharply; it is bad enough to have to stay
in the house and take care of you, without
having you cry about it."
Just then she heard a shout of laughter from
the yard next door. Celia's curiosity got the
better of her. I'll just run to the door and
se6 what they are laughing about," she said,
springing up; nothing can happen to Frances
in such a little minute as that."
O, Celia! called Carrie, the minute the
side door opened and Celia's head appeared,
" do come here and see what we found in the
china bowl in our playhouse."
"I can't," said Celia; "I have Baby to take
care of. What did you find?" and she moved
three steps toward the next yard. She did not
mean to do it, but they held up something for
lier to see, and she could not see it; she took
three steps more, and at last was fairly inside
the yard, gazing at the curious flying bug with
great green wings, that had set up housekeep-
ing in the china bowl. After that it could do
no harm merely to glance at the dollies and see
if they were in any way superior to Amelia
Jane. In her own opinion she staid a very
short time indeed, then ran back as fast as she
could, expecting to hear Frances scream as
she neared the sitting-room. But no sound
reached her ears. She pushed open the door
in breathless haste. There lay Amelia Jane on
the floor where she had thrown her, but in the
willow carriage top sat Frisk and Whisk, look-
ing as full of mischief as their names suggested.
But where was Frances? I do not think poor
Celia ever forgot the feeling which came over
her as she saw the kittens in Baby's place, and
realized that Baby was gone. For a moment
it seemed to her as though her heart stopped
beating. The next, she gave a scream which
could have been heard away out at the stables.
0, mamma what has become of Frances? "
Through the house she ran, screaming louder

with every step, until Ann caught hold of her
arm and spoke with authority. For pity's
sake, Miss Celia, stop your yelling. You will
scare your mamma to pieces, and set the baby
into fits. Whatever is the matter?"
The baby screamed Celia. Somebody
has carried her off."
Why, what ails the child? The baby is in
her mamma's arms this minute going to sleep,
or trying to, if you don't scare her out of it."
O, Ann! are you sure mamma has her? "
"Sure? of course I am. Didn't I just take
her up a glass of water? Sit down, child, and
get your breath; you are all of a tremble.
What did you think had happened?"
"I didn't know," said Celia, and she dropped
in a little heap on the floor and began to cry.
"Mamma," said the little girl that evening,
after several things had been explained, "do
you think perhaps God had you take Frances
out of her carriage just then, and let Frisk and
Whisk come in her place to scare me and pun-
ish me? He wouldn't do that, would he, when
he could see right into my heart, and knew I
did not mean it at all; that I would not have
her fly away for anything in the world?"
Mamma bent over her work-basket for a
moment to hide a smile. Celia's idea some way
sounded very odd. Presently she answered:
I think, dear, that God may have let Frisk
and Whisk help to teach you a lesson. You
were given a trust, you know, and were not
faithful to it. Serious things might have hap-
pened to Frances even in that short time, which
was not so short as it seemed to you. If the
fright you had has taught you to be faithful
when you are called to take a responsibility, you
will have reason to thank the kittens for their
share in the day's lesson, will you not? "
Celia smiled somewhat gravely; but the next
moment she shivered as she said : "0, mamma !
wouldn't it have been dreadful if He had given
her wings, and she had flown up in a tree, and
we could not get her down?"
"Poor little girlie," said her mother, "your
nerves need resting. If I were you I would
go to bed, and to sleep. God will take care
of Frances, and you, and the birdies, and




O NE night I looked out of the window to
see if my friend the Moon was up.
No, the sky was filled with dark clouds.
When I had gone to bed I heard the door-
bell ring, and mamma brought an invitation
that invited me to take tea at the Moon's.
I was real glad, and the next night I went.
When I got to our door, a white cloud was
ready to take me.

When I got there we had tea, and after-
wards, I looked down on the earth and saw
two little ants playing a game. When they
had got through, one little ant said, I beat."
The other, "You did not." The other, I
did too." And so they kept on quarreling,
and I saw a good many other things.
When I got home, I told mamma all about it.
Doiis A. RiCH (eight years old).




NE beautiful morning in May
my brother, little daughter
Sand myself left Paducah, Ky.,
where the two latter were vis-
Siting the former, at the early
hour of 3 A. It is not my
intention to describe the journey, and but one
feature or experience at a park in Memphis,
Tenn., which we reached at about nine o'clock.
This park is in the heart of the city, sur-
rounded on all sides by business houses. I
should say it was not more than a block in size,
with trees that were either a natural growth, or
had been planted so long ago that they had
grown large and strong, and extended their
branches in every direction, giving welcome
shade to visitors, and affording ample room for
hundreds of homes of squirrels. These squir-
rels are perfectly tame, and it is of them I wish
to write.
It is said that years ago an old man became
interested in the squirrels in the park--then
many less than now-and spent most of his
time with them. He probably being one of
those who have a kind of magnetic attraction
for all animals, the squirrels became very fond
of him, and would come at his call to eat from
his hand.
I do not know how it came about that the
city authorities were brought to protect these
little animals, or how it is that in the four or
five hours we spent there not a dog was to be
seen, but certain it is that the squirrels were
wholly free from fear of man, and only the
animals that live at peace with them are allowed
to be there. The stately peacock spreads his
matchless tail, the shy rabbit nibbles the clover,
and the guinea-pig burrows into its hole under
the trees; but nothing that can disturb or an-
noy comes near this lovely place. A fountain
throws up its spray in the center, and benches
are placed around the outside, and at infrequent
intervals inside the park, which is without fence,
open to the business street, accessible as a
resting place to any weary passer-by.
I had heard of these squirrels from my
brother, and came to see in an exceedingly

skeptical frame of mind, but like the wonders
of King Solomon to the Queen of Sheba, "The
half had not been told."
We had provided ourselves with an abun-
dance of peanuts, and quietly seated ourselves
on the edge of the walks with them in our
hands. The little creatures for a time were
shy, seeming to know we were strangers, and
one and another would come nearer and yet
nearer, only to run away a little distance and
watch us with their bright eyes, as if making a
natural study of us. I began to feel like say-
ing, "I told you so,"-that the stories that
had been told me were largely imaginative -

when an old gray-beard of a
fellow came trotting up and
took a nut I had thrown
two or three arm's lengths
from me; becoming bolder,
he came yet nearer and took
the nuts very near my hand; a third trial, and
he helped himself generously from my hand.
Encouraged by his success, others came from
all directions, taking the nuts thrown to them,


either eating them, or with many queer antics
carrying them with them, digging little holes in
the ground and hiding them. One fellow, after
hiding several nuts, came back for more, and
as I refused to give him one, with a sly twinkle
of his eye retreated and dug up one he had
hidden, and as if in derision shook his head at
me, and contentedly ate it.
One mother squirrel in whom I had become
much interested, who had been fed from my
hand several times, came up for more for
they are veritable Oliver Twists and I hung
on to the nut with my thumb and finger; she
pulled and pulled in vain; finally, bracing her-
self on her hind legs, she put her cold front
paws on my hand, and succeeded in drawing
the nut from my fingers. The others had like
experiences with myself, my little girl being
especially fortunate, and, naturally, greatly
delighted with her success.
A gentleman who was near seemed to be an
expert in gaining the little creatures' confidence.
He shelled his pecan nuts-which seemed to be
a greater favorite than peanuts and, keeping
a quantity in his hand, the squirrels would climb
over his knees into his lap, and remain, two or
three of them at a time, as contentedly as little
kittens, eating their plunder close under his
We had but one day to spend in the city of
Memphis, but, yielding to the wishes of my
little girl--I confess my brother and myself
were not unwilling to do so -we spent the
larger part of the day with the squirrels; and
should any of my young friends visit the city,
they have but to go and see for themselves that
this is an "o'er true tale."


THERE was once a toad who planned an
easy way of getting his living. He lived
near a yard where many chickens were fed.
The meal which they left in their saucers natu-
rally soured very soon, and called the flies in
large numbers. "Here," said the toad, look-
ing on, "is my opportunity."

Towards evening he would arrive, choose his
saucer, climb into it, and roll over and over
until he was covered with meal. Before long
he was surrounded by flies, who had also come
to supper. They buzzed about the great lump
of meal, so busy getting their share that they
did not seem to notice what was steadily going
on. No sooner did one of them get within
reach of the toad's mouth when out went his
tongue, and that particular fly was seen no
This story is a fact, and is taken from a
scientific journal. It says, moreover, that the
toad planned and carried out this scheme, not
once, nor twice, but every day for many days.
Besides being an interesting item in natural
history, it strikes me that there is a curious
moral for human creatures wrapped up in it.
Can you find it?


H E was a dog, and he knew as much as
some human beings, and was kinder
hearted than some. He lived at a farmhouse.
One very cold day, toward night, it was dis-
covered that the hens had not come home.
The snow was very deep, and there was no-
body at the farm who could go in the cold and
hunt for hens. At least, it was supposed that
there was nobody.
Whether they had forgotten all about Ben,
or thought him not capable of going, the
article from which I am taking this account
does not state. However, Ben did not wait
to have his duty pointed out to him. He
presently pawed at the kitchen door, and it
being opened, brought in, in his mouth and
dropped in a comfortable place before the fire
a half-frozen hen; then rushed away and
speedily returned with another. Nor did he
give up his humane efforts until every hen was
lying on the hearth getting thawed out. I am
glad to tell you that, thanks to Ben, the hens
all recovered; though a few minutes more in
the icy air would have finished their lives.
The question is, who told Ben that they were
freezing, and ought to be rescued?



IALLOO! you're the thief, are
you? It's lucky I came around
this way. Here, sir! Don't
you undertake to run; just
march in and show yourself.
Halloo, Vick! I've found your
thief for you. A good-sized apple in his mouth,
and two bulging out of his pockets." As he
spoke, Harvey Burroughs dragged his victim
inside the store, for the young clerk, Vick, to
look at. A new store, just opened on that cor-
ner, and for three days there had been a sus-
picion that apples and plums and even tomatoes
disappeared faster than they were bought.
Vick Wilson, the boy clerk, was much distressed
about it. While trying to keep a close watch,
he had told his friend Harvey of his fears, not
two hours before; and behold, here he was
dragging in the thief! a little bare-footed boy,
who looked frightened enough to soften a
harder heart than Vick's; and who was trying
with one doubled-up fist to brush away the
tears which had already gathered in his eyes.
"Now, sir," said Harvey, holding on to his
prisoner's sleeve, "what will you have done
with him? There's a policeman at the other
corner; I'll hold the scamp while you run for
him, if you want to. He's the greenest thief I
ever heard of; stuff his pockets full of apples,
and then stand there and eat one right before
the door "
He doesn't look like a thief," said Vick.
This seemed to give the little fellow courage.
"I ain't no thief," he said. "The man
down at the square gave me three apples for
standing by his wagon while he went into the
Oh, my said Harvey, aren't you green,
my lad! And sharp, as well. Look, Vick,
they are exactly like your apples; and your
father said this morning that he hadn't seen
any like them before this season. Come! I
don't agree to hold him all day. What do you
want done?"
I can't want to do anything," said Vick,
looking at the boy with troubled eyes. He
doesn't appear to me like a thief, somehow. I

wish father was here. What is your name,
little boy? Are you sure a man gave you those
"Yes, I am," said the little fellow. "My
name is Joseph Hart, and I don't steal nothing .
He give me the apples for standing by his
wagon; he knows me, he does; I useito live
out in the country by his house, and he knows
I wouldn't steal; and I wish I lived there now."
The tears began to come thick and fast; and
Vick looked anxiously at the little distressed
"Let go of him, Harvey," he said at last;
" e's such a little chap; and he has a kind
of honest face; I can't think he took the apples.
Anyhow, I don't believe he will run away.
You'll sit down, little boy, and wait, won't you,
until my father comes, and then he will know
what to do."
"Oh, my!" said Harvey, in disgust;
" You are a green one, and no mistake; you
better change places with the little chap; he
would make a sharper clerk than you. Wait
for your father,' indeed! I think I see him
doing it. But I'll let him go if you say so,
and he may scud quicker than lightning; and
after this you can look out for your own goods;
I'1l not help you."
"Yes, I'll stay," said the little boy, the
moment his arm was released. "I ain't got
nothing' to run for. I was on my way to school,
but mother would think I ought to stay, I
guess, for this." As he spoke, he walked
over to a stool which stood in the corner far-
thest from the door, and sat down.
"Oh, my land!" said Harvey, how good
we are! Our wings must be starting; we
wouldn't think of running away, I know. Good-
by, Vick; I can't stay to help watch your an-
gel; by the time I reach the street corner look
out for him to skip. Halloo! here is your
father, this minute. Now I'll wait and see the
fun. Mr. Wilson, I've got a prisoner in here
for you; he's the chap who has been stealing
your apples."
"I didn't steal apples! came indignantly
from the stool in the corner, and then Mr. Wil-
son, with a swift glance at his basket of apples
outside, came into the store.


Good-morning, my boy," he said cheerily
to the little fellow. "What is all this trouble
"He says I stole apples, and I didn't," said
poor Joseph.
Did you see this boy taking my apples,
Harvey? asked Mr. Wilson.
Yes, sir; or, why, no, sir, I didn't exactly
see him. I went to the door just after he had
helped himself; but I saw them sticking out of

here; and if you should see him, he would tell
you that he gave me three apples."
I don't need to see him," said Mr. Wilson,
smiling. In the first place, I am acquainted
with you, you know. Aren't you the little
boy who ran back to me with the five-cent
piece I dropped when I was paying for my
paper? I thought so. I have asked some
questions about you since, and I know you are
not the sort of boy who steals apples. Mr.

'St B )

'^*^^^SSS- .-=------, ar81-
--- o -. ...- ..---. ...----


his pockets, and he was munching one; and
they were your apples,, the kind you said you
hadn't seen before this year."
Mr. Wilson turned to his prisoner. "Jo-
seph," he said, "where did you get your
apples? "
Joseph explained, and the next question was:
' Do you know the man's name? "
Yes, sir, I do; it was Mr. David Brewster;
he lives out in the country, eight miles from

David Brewster is the man of whom I bought
my apples this morning; and I arranged my
baskets so I should know at a glance whenever
they had been disturbed. You have not sold
any of them yet, have you, Vick? I noticed
that they had not been touched since I fixed
No, sir," said Vick. "Father, I did not
think the little boy was a thief; I told Harvey


And said Harvey: Well, I thought myself
that he had a pretty good face; but it looked
very suspicious. Didn't it, Mr. Wilson? "
Circumstantial evidence, my boy," said
Mr. Wilson smiling; and not always to be
trusted. If you are going to be a lawyer, you
must learn about that." MYRA SPAFFORD.


F the narrow plain in the de-
partment of Calias should have
been dubbed the Field of the
Cloth of Gold," merely from
the fact that some royal pup-
pets were once brought to-
gether at that point by a crafty old politician,
by what name shall we know our Autumn woods
when they have donned their Robes of State
in honor of October?
Here we have not only gold, but rubies,
emeralds and sparkling diamonds, for as yet
the nights are warm, and the dew hangs on leaf
and spray, and each gossamer web glistens in
the early light under a weight of gems that
might well arouse the envy of a queen.
And royalty is here- King Jay, the old
tyrant, with all his noisy retinue, Prince Black-
bird, Lord and Lady Robin, in full court dress,
and a host of other summer visitors to our
Northern forests, now assembled in a great
mass meeting to discuss the probability of an
early winter, and to arrange for their annual
journey to the South. Just listen to the clatter
of their voices--all talking at once, regard-
less of parliamentary rules why, it's positively
disgraceful! worse than a political convention
- in fact, almost as bad as- as a young
ladies' sewing society. Even the jays, loud-
mouthed and saucy as all the world knows them
to be, are silenced to-day by the stormy gossip
of the blackbirds; what a racket, chuck!
chuck! chuck! from a hundred trees, from a
hundred throats even farmer Brown's old
gray mare pricks up her ears and hastens down
the lane, urged to unwonted activity by the
myriad chick, chack, chucks" that she imag-
ines are hurled at her from everypost and bush.

But they are not all given to idle chatter-
here and there a pair have separated from the
noisy throng, and moved by memories of the
past, are practicing their spring songs; and
very sweet and melodious they sound, here on
the threshold of winter. What visions of early
April days they bring- the swollen stream,
the wide swamp, with its watery spaces inter-
spersed with tufts of last year's grass, among
which the first green blades appear, bursting
buds, early flowers, violets, quaker ladies,"
the ever-present dandelion, and over all the
uncertain April sky. Days dear to the heart
of the school-boy whose fortune it was to tramp
those oozy valleys and reeking fields, burdened
by a strange array of fishing tackle, boxes of
fruit and baskets of lunch -but with hearts
as light as the morning.
Come now to the groves where we walked
last May, and behold the work of a magician;
where are the green alcoves leading to dark,
mysterious caverns of foliage that tempted us
to follow on on on with their ever-
changing vistas of beauty?
All is changed; where lately rose walls of
emerald we find halls of gold- in place of
the banners of summer, the crimson drapery of
autumn sways gently in the mild air. So great
is the transformation we hardly recognize the
paths made familiar by many a summer ramble.
The very forms of the trees look strange -
only that old oak holds out stoutly against the
advances of the season no touch of frost has
tinged his leaves, and as he stands there with
his green cloak tightly drawn about him, he
seems to defy the power of autumn, and laughs
at the shivering birch, who, even now half
stripped, holds up her white arms in silent pro-
Never mind, old boaster, before the birds
assemble again your glossy leaves will be dry
and crisp, turned from green to purple by the
wet winds of November, and later, to a dull
brown, when January's icy blasts destroy the
last hope of a too mild December; but even
yet you will hold them fast in your frozen fin-
gers, as a miser clutches his gold when all hope
of life is past.
See, yonder in the meadow is the same old


stump with its drapery of vines, that we noted
last June; then it was covered with a net-work
of delicate green, and a bobolink made his head-
quarters on its splintered top, from which he
took frequent excursions over the field, all the
while pouring forth a torrent of erratic music;
his very heart seemed breaking with joy that
bright morning, and we listened with delight
to his silvery notes, now clear and strong,
breaking on the ear like a chime of bells, now
low and faint, like water falling over the mossy
rocks in the glen below. Mabel compared his
voice to her Swiss music box; but Donald de-
clared it sounded more like dropping pebbles in
a deep well. Both were right, I think.
But summer is past, and the Virginia creeper
that charmed us in June by its graceful form
and gentle habits, is now a tangle of ruby
flame, and Master "Robert of Lincoln" has
also doffed his gaudy summer coat, and comes
out in a new fall suit of sober brown; his June
song, too, is quite forgotten, and he chirps
sadly to his fellows who have gathered on the
thorn bush by the fence. Perhaps he has a
premonition of the dangers he and his com-
rades must encounter on their Southern trip,
from the Pot hunters
who esteem him for his
delicate flavor, especially
when he figures in a huge
pie with a dozen com-
panions, imprisoned be-
neath the crisp brown
crust, alas!
I know an old orchard .
whose ancient trees, with
their gnarled limbs cov-
ered with silver-gray lich-
ens, have never known
the pruning-knife; beau-
tifully picturesque in this place, marking the
enterprise of some old pioneer, long since
gone to his rest. I often come to this spot
to while away a few hours, and gain a brief
respite from the cares of life. Particularly
attractive I find it in the ideal month of
October. It is situated on the eastern slope of
a hill, and far away across the valley one gets
delightful glimpses of wooded hills, over which

the blue haze falls like a veil, half hiding the
blushing maples that line the road. The old
trees have long ceased to be profitable, the few
apples produced being left for birds and squir-
rels, who very amiably divide the spoils with
the vagrant bees, wasps and yellow-jackets,
whose taste for cider is scarcely inferior to their
own; and of all the dreamy sounds of autumn,
the droning of their myriad wings as they flit
from tree to tree is one of the pleasantest -
now they tarry with the old Rambo, now they
sip the nectar that exudes from a wound on a
golden pippin that last night's wind brought
down -for their especial benefit, no doubt.
From golden pippins to golden gates is but
a step, and here they stop, evidently having
reached the acme of delight how deeply they
drink, and return and drink again, 'til their
unsteady flight proclaims to all the fact of
their mad revel. What kind of a reception,
think you, will that old toper get from Madam
Bee, when he goes reeling home? One thing
is certain, Mrs. Yellow Jacket will not be able
to boast of her husband's temperance principles
after to-day; here he comes now, his zigzag
flight telling too plainly the story of his fall;

now he rests awhile on a fallen leaf, and rubs
his legs together in an absent-minded way, as
though he had forgotten they were there, and
was vainly trying to recall the circumstances
under which they were acquired -he has to
give it up; "Too deep, too deep," he mum-
bles, smiles vacantly, then lifting his wings,
hums a bar of some old drinking song, and
resumes his uncertain flight.


Only Sir Wasp maintains his dignity, and
rises from this October feast with a clear head
and a strong wing. Hist what rustling sound
is that? Ah! I see, another guest is here, the
field-mouse is coming for his portion, a little
late, perhaps, but we'll excuse him. See how
timidly he advances, stopping every few steps
to listen; now he stands erect on his hind feet,

to get a better view of the field; how his little
eyes twinkle from the depths of the dead grass,
through which he makes his way with such cau-
tion. Step up, little friend, no harm shall come
to thee while we are here, though doubtless
Madam Owl is prophesying in a different line,
as she sits half asleep in her dusky apartments
near the top of that hollow poplar tree.
While the writer has no desire to instill a
spirit of boastfulness, he feels he would be
guilty of negligence if he failed to call attention
to the fact that this glory of autumn is peculiar
to North America, and belongs almost exclu-
sively to the United States, and so far as our
boys and girls are concerned, I am sure this love
of country will not be lessened, or their patriot-
ism suffer, when they are told that no other
country approaches our own in the variety and

brilliancy of its fall foliage, whose gorgeous
masses of color would pale the palette of a
Titian, and defy alike the power of words, or
the cunning of the brush. Whatever pleasures
the youths of other lands may find in their ru-
ral rambles at this delightful season, American
boys have at least one additional joy in the
dreamy days of "' Indian summer days when
the distant hills seem more remote, and distant
sounds more distant still- the lowing of cat-
tle in the far meadow, the crowing of some
braggart cock, the barking of a dog, the muf-
fled blows of an axe, wielded by some over-
ambitious woodsman, the shout of the farmer as
he urges his lagging team, the monotonous
chant of the insect host, all come to the ear
with a soft insinuation that half rebukes, half
excuses the idle lounger lying at ease on this
sunny slope. But boys of ten are not given to
dreaming, and Donald is impatient to proceed.
He finds his only pleasure in motion; onward,
ever onward, just to the top of the hill; he
can't be content with the beauty at his feet, he
must see over the hills into the valley beyond.
After all, there is not much difference be-
tween boy and man; both are restless, unsatis-
fied, ever pressing forward in the vain endeavor
to reach the horizon's rim; ever striving after
the unattainable rainbow chasers, followers
of phantoms dim and airy, that easily elude us,
and smile at our defeat. The song of the
cricket, the lengthing shadows, the drowsy caw-
ing of a colony of crows, as they settle them-
selves for the night among the highest branches
of the oaks, all remind us that our October
holiday has already glided into the past, and
we must return to the crazy town with its new-
fangled conveniences, that astonish Uncle
Joshua and Aunt Rebecca at each annual visit,
almost as much as the clouds of smoke and
dust, and the never-ceasing turmoil. Yes, we
must return to town and the prosaic duties
of life, which we trust may be brightened by the
memories of these hours in the autumn woods.
The above article was written by a gentleman for the pleas-
ure and benefit of his own children, and then sent to us. The
Pansies will find it a charming autumn study. Watch the
trees and flowers and birds in October, and see how well they
match the writing.- (EDITORS OF THE PANSY.)


J TUNE! June! June! "
UJ Low croon
The brown bees in the clover;
"Sweet! Sweet! Sweet!"
The robins, nested over.
Avis GREY.

A SONG for June, whose breath is sweet
With blossoms opening at our feet;
Whose voice is heard in brooks that run
Through meadows, glad with song and sun.
Oh! happy, happy June.

The robin in the apple-trees
His nest among the branches sees,
And, bubbling from his silver throat,
What worldless songs of rapture float.

Above the world the firmament
Spreads out the azure of its tent;
How blest are we, whose dwelling is
Beneath so kind a roof as this.

Our hearts are glad, with bird and bee,
For what we feel, and hear, and see;
Life seems a song to sweetest tune,
Oh! would it were forever June.

(Published by request.)

THE lily bell on its swinging spray
Hath but to be fair and sweet;
The humming bird in his own bright way
Flitteth gem-winged and fleet:
And blue-birds warble a plaintive lay
The breath of the spring to greet.

They are sweet to hear,
They are fair to view -

It is all God asks of them;
But a woman graceful and bright and dear -
Fair to the eye, and sweet to the ear -
Bringing more a soul that is deep and true,
And a mind enriched with the old and new
Becometh a jewel, matched by few
For the Master's diadem.


WT HEN the weary children their evening
prayers have said,
And their dear mamas have tucked them snug
in bed,
When the little birds have cuddled down to
Safe from every harm neathh their mama's

When the butterflies cease flitting in the sun,
And the frog's loud croaking with the day is
When the twinkling stars, laughing in the sky,
Seem to call good-night from their home so

Then it is the fairies, nicely dressed in white,
Come with sweet perfume for the blossoms
Sprinkling it upon the lily and the rose,
Mignonette and pink, and every flower that



T was the first copper penny the
boys had ever seen; one of the
large coins we used to have,
but now almost out of circu-
lation. George's uncle had
given him the penny, and natu-
rally he valued it very highly. He spent much
time admiring its bright and shiny designs and
turning it over and over in his hand, lovingly.
The boys stood on the brink of a deep gulf
just behind the old red school-house, and
George had been showing his penny quite
proudly to the little circle of schoolmates.
What wonder if all wished they had a penny
like George's? Was it strange that they en-
vied him his pretty pocket-piece? He was in
their opinion as rich as a king.
Let me see it," said Rodney Lester, after
most of the boys had held the coin in their
hands and examined it.
George trustingly handed his treasure to
Rodney, who for a moment looked longingly at
it, then stepping away from the group he raised
his hand and hurled the shining thing far down
the gulf. It cut its way through the leaves of
the trees below and then disappeared from sight.
Cries of shame! shame!" went up from
the boys as they realized what a mean thing
their companion had done. George's eyes
flashed as he saw the penny flying out of sight,
and felt that most likely he never would see it
again, and he sprang madly at Rodney, who was
much larger than himself. Quickly he drew
back his clenched fist to strike Rodney. Then
as suddenly he dropped his hand and ran into
the school-house, where he cried for some time.
That night, as soon as he reached home, he
told Uncle John the story of his loss.
"It was a mean thing for Rodney to do,
George," said his uncle, when the boy had fin-
ished his story. But Rodney is a poor boy;
I suppose he never had seen such a thing be-
fore, and his envy caused him to do that
unkind act. You did a manly thing in not
striking him when so sorely tempted; and I am
sure you will forgive your comrade when you
think the matter over a little."

George sat by the side of his uncle for a
long time, looking very thoughtfully into the
fire. Then he said:
"Uncle John, can you get me another penny
just like the other?"
"Why, I think so, George," was the an-
swer. And a few days afterward, Uncle John
handed the boy another coin, just as bright and
handsome as the first.
Is this mine? Can I do just what I want
to with it?" asked George earnestly, looking
into his uncle's face.
, Yes, my boy. It certainly is yours to do
with as you see fit."
At school that day, George shyly slipped
around to Rodney Lester's seat and placed the
penny in his hand.
What's that for? asked Rodney, with a
shamed look on his face.
"Because I want you to have it, Rodney,"
was all George said, and away he went, leav-
ing Rodney gazing at the coin with an expres-
sion of pleasure mingled with humility on his
countenance. Several times that afternoon he
glanced over at George who returned his look
with such a happy and friendly smile that
Rodney felt more humbled than ever.
Some time after that, Uncle John thought he
would make inquiry about the penny, as George
had been curiously silent regarding it. George
then told his uncle what he had done, and how
kind and good his schoolmate had been ever
since; and not only Rodney, but every boy in
the school, had been a better friend to him than
ever before.
Uncle John drew his nephew to his side and
stroked his head lovingly, a tender light in his
You could not have put the penny to a
better use, my boy," he said.
The next Christmas, when George took his
stocking down from its place behind the
kitchen stove, he found a bright dollar piece
snugly tucked away in the toe. Around it
was wrapped a paper, on which was written in
Uncle John's handwriting, these words:
He that is slow to anger, is better than the
mighty; and he that ruleth his .spirit, than he
that taketh a city." E. L. VINCENT.



TRIP through Chinatown is
not a pleasure trip by any
means. The streets are dirty
and there is always a smell
of burned powder and opium.
The people seem to know noth-
ing of domestic comfort. They sit around out-
side the doors on rude benches, or on hard-
bottomed chairs inside. A little close room
full of uncomfortable-looking bunks seems to
be all the home they have. A little cook stove
back of the shop serves to cook their rice and
make their tea. In the matter of eating they
are regular stoics. They feed their dead quite
sumptuously, but are not at all indulgent to
themselves, though some of them are excellent
cooks, and can get up fine dinners in American
style. Instead of using knives and forks to
eat with, they have chopsticks. These are
made of wood, and are slender enough to be
placed between the fingers; they are eight or
nine inches long. The upper part, or handle,
has four sides, like a quadrangular prism, and
the lower part which they eat with, is cylinder
shaped. They hold them both in the right
hand, placing one between the index and mid-
dle fingers, and the other between the middle
and third fingers; then they press them to-
gether with the thumb and little finger. It is
quite wonderful to see how deftly they convey
the food from the dish to their mouths.
The married Chinamen who come to this
country generally leave their, wives in China;
and what few Chinese women are here live by
I notice one peculiarity about the Chinese as
a people; no matter how dirty their surround-
ings, they generally wear clean clothes.
We saw two little boys and a girl playing
merrily on the street. There is so little differ-
ence in their dress that it is hard to distinguish
the girls from the boys. They wear large loose
pants flapping around their slender limbs, and
blouses with large, loose sleeves. Over these
the girls wear what we would call bib aprons,
buttoned at the neck and tied around the waist.
The boys wear a queue, which is all the differ-

ence between them and the girls, except that
the colors of the girls' clothes are somewhat
brighter than those of the boys. The little
girl I saw wore green pants, a purple blouse,
and a red pinafore. They had a wagon in
which the little girl was riding, one boy acting
as horse, the other as driver. They came rac-
ing up the street in high glee, but stopped as
we approached, to stare at the strangers. They
made a very comical picture in their grotesque
attire, gazing out of their almond-shaped eyes.
I spoke pleasantly to them, and asked the
oldest boy his name. He smiled back at me
showing two rows of very white teeth, and
answered: "Name, Ah Sid." The little girl's
name was "Toy," and the other boy was
"Grum Dow."
Chinese children stay up very late, and sleep
late in the morning; we can often hear their


voices shouting, far into the night, when every-
where else the city is still.
The first door into which I peeped, opened
into a barber shop. The room was small and
rude; the walls made of boards nailed straight
up and down, and neither papered nor white-
washed. One small window high up, served to
light the room, which when the door was shut


must have been very gloomy. Most of the
Chinese houses are built after the same plan,
and are really nothing more than shanties.
Often several Chinamen sleep in one small
room without any ventilation. Such close
quarters would soon kill a white man, but
the Chinese do not seem to be affected by it.
In the barber's chair sat a Chinaman with
the most of his queue lying on a chair beside
him. His head was well-lathered, and the
barber was shaving a clean circle around his
head, leaving the crown covered with black
hair. This he soon began to braid, weaving
in with it the movable part of the queue which
was made of long silk thread. If the man had
been in mourning, a blue strand would have
been braided in with the black.
Our next visit was at a lottery. A couple
of tables were in the room, and before them
were men arranging for a lottery drawing.
When the game is ready one of the men goes
up and down the street shouting what sounds
like "Fi-yi-ire." This we have learned to
know means that all interested are invited to
the game; but we used to think it meant a cry
of fire.
After leaving this place we saw the only bit
of domestic comfort that was discoverable in
Chinatown that day. In one of the stores
seated around a small table, four men were
taking an early supper. In the center of the
table sat a huge bowl of boiled rice. Each
man had a chopstick and a bowl of soup.
They held the bowls close to their mouths stir-
ring the soup rapidly with the chopsticks, and
with every round throwing a portion of the
liquid into their mouths. It was astonishing
to see how rapidly they emptied the bowls.
Then they attacked the rice. No time was
wasted in dishing out; all ate from the same
great dish, and at the same moment. It defies
my powers of description to tell you how they
got the rice into their mouths, but they did it.
Our next stop was before a building where
they gather to smoke opium. It was closed,
but we peeped in at the window. The room
was very small; on a low platform at one end
was a narrow bed covered with a width of
gingham. The bed seemed perfectly flat; as

though there were only boards under the ging-
ham. The Chinese pillow looks like an oblong
block of wood; but it is really made of leather
and wicker work. Beside the bed stood a
small tin tray holding a glass lamp, a jar of
opium, a small steel instrument about the size
of a darning needle, flattened at the end like a
chisel, and an opium pipe. Nearly all China-
men smoke opium; a few of them use it mod-
erately, but very many are victims to it, as
some people are to alcohol; and like that, it
ruins the health, and unfits people for business.
One who is going to take an opium smoke
lies down on the bed, dips the steel needle into
the jar of opium, twists it around until he has
opium enough on the flat end, then he places
the needle in the bowl of his pipe which is
closed except for a little hole in the center,
lights the pipe, and resting his head on the
hard pillow smokes away until he falls into a
heavy, drunken sleep.
Next, we stopped before a Chinese restau-
rant, the owner of which invited us in broken
English to enter. A large cook stove stood
in the middle of the room, and on it a mess
was being cooked which offended our American
noses. Teapots, skillets, and innumerable fry-
ing-pans hung on the walls, and small tables
were set in all possible places. One could
imagine them surrounded by Chinamen plying
their chopsticks, shaking their queues, and jab-
bering in their own tongue. At the end of the
Chinese block we came to the theater, but I
shall have to leave that, and several other
things, until another time.

T is said that the British Museum has shelf
room thirty miles in length, filled even to
crowding, with books. Many of these books
are very old, and many of them are never
taken from the shelves except to be dusted;
but, of course, in this great library there are
thousands of volumes worth large sums of
money. Every year sees large additions, fifty
thousand dollars being spent each year in buy-
ing old, rare, or foreign books. How long do
you think it would take to read all these books?



T came over her all at once while
she was dressing--not by any
means for the first time, either.
Nobody but she knew how
many tears she had shed over
this trouble which had come
upon her; but on this first of April morning,
with the sun shining brightly outside, and the
birds singing their welcome to spring, it seemed
harder than ever. At the risk of rumpling her
pretty hair, which she had arranged neatly,
Mamie threw herself in a disconsolate heap
on her bed, buried her head in the pillow, and
cried as though her heart would break.
What great trouble had come to Mamie? I
am sure you will not laugh when I tell you; it
was no laughing matter.
An "April-fool party" had been in the air
for the past three weeks. Mamie's particular
friend, Estelle Burton, was to give it, and fifty
girls and boys were invited. Great prepara-
tions had been made, for Estelle's father was
a rich man, and could afford to spend a good
deal of money to please his daughter.
She is well worth pleasing," he used to
say, with a nod of his head, when he saw her
pretty figure skipping across the lawn. She
is well worth pleasing, if she was born on
April-fool's Day."
Estelle was a year older than Mamie thir-
teen this April day.
Perhaps you do not know what an "April-
fool's party" is'?
I suspect it is anything that the persons
planning choose to make it. Estelle's was to
be very interesting and delightful. Mamie was
in all the secrets, had been one of the helpers,
indeed, and knew just how charming it was to
be. To begin with, the elegant supper which
had been prepared was not to be served in the
dining-room. When the call to supper came,
and the guests filed out, they were to find noth-
ing in the dining-room but the ordinary furni-
ture; the great dining-table, made as small as
possible, and strewn with books and papers,
instead of with good things to eat. The guests
were to be informed that they would have to

hunt for their supper. Then the way they
would scamper over that great, handsome
house, after they had been given leave to
search in every room whose door was closed,
Mamie could readily imagine. They were to
be earnestly cautioned on no account to set
foot in a room whose door stood open-every-
thing about that wonderful April-fool party
had been planned to go by contraries. At
last, on the third floor back, in a room which
had been used once as a nursery, the guests
would find the table set with elegance, and
covered with all sorts, of delightful surprises.
The English walnuts were to be carefully
split open, their meats removed, and in their
places choice bits of French candies fitted;
then the edges were to be touched with muci-
lage, and made to look as though the nuts were
not yet cracked. In the center of the table
was to be a huge dish piled high with potatoes
very much baked. Such a queer dish for a
birthday party! But every guest was to be
urged by all means to take one, and very glad
would they be to have done so; for they would
find that the potato had been carefully scraped
out, and in its place there would be found a
pretty gift for each to carry home. Oh! it was
to be as charming an April-fool party as had
ever been planned.
Mamie had enjoyed it all so much. It had
been so pleasant to be taken into the secrets,
and to be consulted as to this or that plan. It
had given her a position of importance among
the girls; they had asked her as many ques-
tions as they had Estelle, and seemed to under-
stand that she was quite as well posted. What
was there in all this to land poor Mamie on her
bed and make her bury her head in the pillow?
The trouble was all about a dress. Every
girl in her class was to appear at the party in
a new spring dress, and Mamie's heat had
been set upon having one for the occasion.
Her mother had done what she could to make
her daughter think that the neat blue dress she
had worn for best all winter would be the most
suitable. for a party so early in the season.
She had reminded her that it was too late to
buy a winter dress, and too early for a summer
one. At last they had compromised. Aunt


Kate's pretty cashmere skirt, the front breadth
of which had been ruined by coffee, had been
presented to Mamie, and her mother had bought
silk enough to make it up with. This was al-
most as good as a new dress, though not quite,
for poor Mamie, who had not a great deal of
moral courage in some directions, could seem
to see Mabel Blair's great black eyes as she
examined the dress from head to foot, and
hear her high-keyed voice as she asked, Is
your dress every speck new, or is it made over
from one of your mother's ?" For Mabel Blair
had not been well brought up, and did not know
that such questions were rude.
The bitter tears were being caused by the
fact that a message had come from the dress-
maker's but the evening before, that one of her
girls was ill, and another had been called home
to wait upon a sick mother, and therefore the
dress could not possibly be ready in time. I
am obliged to confess that for the next few
hours Mamie made every one around her un-
comfortable. She had half a dozen impracti-
cable schemes for finishing that dress, which
had to be discussed and abandoned one by one.
Her mother was very patient and sympathetic.
If her "thimble finger" had not been sore
she would have sent for the dress and finished
it herself, despite all her other duties; if Aunt
Kate hadn't gone to Boston by the early train
she would have finished it for her. If they
could afford to send it to Madame Rainsford
and pay her very high price possibly it might
be done; but that was out of the question.
"You know, Mamie dear," said the mother,
I strained a point to get the silk, and father
has had heavy expenses this spring; we must
not even think of Madame Rainsford. Try not
to care about it, little daughter; your blue
dress is very neat and appropriate."
But Mamie's face was all in a frown. "I
don't care a bit about the old dress now," she
said; "it doesn't make any difference if it is
never finished. If I can't have it for the party
I don't want it ever."
As a rule Mamie spoke the truth, but these
words she knew were not true. Sore as her
heart was, if she had thought that the pretty
dress would never be finished, it would have

been sorer still. As it was, she cried half a
dozen times before the morning was over, and
began the new month in a shower of tears. It
was not that she did not consider her blue dress
quite respectable, although she had given it a
kick the night before and called it "that old
thing; it was simply the feeling that all the
other girls had new dresses to wear, and that
possibly Mabel Blair would say to her before
all the girls, "I thought you was going to have
a new dress for to-day. Didn't you hate to
come in the dress you have worn to church all
winter?" Mamie believed this would be "too
It took so much time to cry, and then to try
to remove the traces of tears, that the break-
fast-bell rang before she was ready, and she
had to go down without her daily Bible reading
and prayer. A bad beginning, certainly; no
wonder that Satan had the best of it all that
Her mother was very patient; she was sorry
for the little red-eyed, foolish girl, and tried to
make life as endurable for her as she could.
But Mamie on her part made no such effort.
She said she did not want an egg for breakfast,
she was tired of the sight of eggs; and the
toast was scorched; she did not see why they
always had to have scorched toast. Nobody
reminded her of the untruthfulness of this hint,
because everybody saw that it was not Mamie
who was speaking, but an evil spirit who for
the time being ha.d possession of her.
It is surprising how many disagreeable things
one can find in life if one set's out to look for
them. Nothing was right in or about Mamie's
home. It was "the most tucked-up house"
she ever saw. She was sure she could not
clear up the sitting-room; there were no places
to put things. John had his boxes on the
shelves where they did not belong, and Sarah
was so cross when she went to the kitchen for
something that she did not want to go there
"IDon't you want me to put some of this
lace in your dress, dear?" her mother asked,
as she took from her drawer a bit of choice old
lace that belonged to herself.
"No, ma'am," said Mamie drearily; c"I


don't think I shall go to the party. I can't
wear that old dress when all the others will be
in new ones."
"0 daughter!" said her mother; "I am
sorry you cannot rise above such unworthy
feelings, and be happy in spite of your
"0, now, mamma! you don't know anything
about it; if you were a little girl you would
understand. I have real trying times all the
while. The girls I go with dress a great deal
nicer than I; they have new, stylish things,
and I have to go looking like an old dowdy.
I'm tired of it; I wish we had money enough
to do like other people, or else didn't have to
go with them. I wish we lived away out in
the woods, and never got invited to parties,
or anywhere."
S0, no, daughter! I don't think you really
wish that. Come to the window and see this
sweet-faced girl in the carriage across the street.
I have been looking at her for several minutes.
She is just about your age, and her face is as
sweet and quiet as a flower."
Mamie came to the window with the frown
still on her face.
"0, yes!" she said; "I know who that
girl is. No wonder she is sweet what has
she got to make her anything else? They
are the Easterwoods, from Boston; they board
at the hotel, and are just as rich as they can
be. They brought their own servants, and
horses, and carriage, and everything. See
what a lovely carriage it is, and look how ele-
gantly the little girl is dressed. How would I
look sitting beside her in that old blue dress
that you think is so nice? All she has to do is
to be prinked up like a doll, and ride around
in that splendid carriage with a coachman to
wait on her, and a servant to do just as she
says. They say she has a servant with her all
the time."
So that is your idea of happiness, -is it,
dear?" Mrs. Hood looked half-amused, half-
reproachful; she hardly knew her daughter in
this mood, for though inclined to be a trifle
envious sometimes, Mamie seldom allowed her
evil thoughts to get the better of her as they
had this morning.

"I don't care!" she said, in answer to the
reproach in her mother's tone, it would make
a difference; you know it would. Don't you
believe if I had such pretty things as that girl
has, and could ride around in a carriage, I
should be happy? I know I should; I just
love beautiful things, and I hardly ever have
any. Mother, the carriage is stopping here! "
This last sentence was spoken in a tone of
excitement, with all the fretful gone out of it.
"They are probably in search of some one
they cannot find," said Mrs. Hood. She went
at once to the door, Mamie following, and stand-
ing on the little porch, where she could hear the
conversation. Mrs. Easterwood wanted to ask
about a girl who had once worked for Mrs.
Hood, and the two ladies stood talking for
some minutes.
Mamie could not help observing that Mrs.
Easterwood was very courteous to her mother,
treating her as well as though she had been
dressed in silk, instead of a plain morning
gingham. The fact is, Mamie had yet to learn
that really refined people do not gauge their
treatment of others by the style of dress they
"Do you think the young woman would be
able to do plain sewing, like the repairing of
garments?" the lady asked; "my daughter
needs some work of that kind." And she
turned tender eyes upon the fair-faced girl at
her side.
"As to that," said Mrs. Hood, "I am not
prepared to answer. Perhaps you would like
to come in and see her? She is at my house
now; her sister is helping me for a few days,
and she has come to spend the morning with
her; you could perhaps judge better about her
by seeing her at her work. Meantime, would
your daughter like to take a walk around our
yard and see some of the early spring flowers? "
"0, dear me said Mamie, from the piazza,
what can mamma mean by asking that ele-
gant girl to walk around our little country yard?
I hope I sha'n't. have to go and speak to her;
I should be frightened out of my senses. I
wish mamma wouldn't."
But Mrs. Easterwood was speaking again,
the tender look in her eyes deepening as they


rested sadly on her daughter. She would
like it above all things, dear madam; but it is
quite out of her power. My daughter cannot
take a step. It is four years since she has
even stood, without being carefully supported
on either side."
There followed earnest words of sympathy,
and a few tender questions were asked and
"Yes," said Mrs. Easterwood, laying her
hand lovingly on her daughter's arm, "Mamie
has been very patient through all these months
and years of suffering. I have never heard a
murmur from her lips; it is truly wonderful
how she has been sustained."
A few minutes afterwards the carriage rolled
away, and Mrs. Hood came slowly up the walk,

her eyes on the ground, and they were dim
with tears.
Her daughter flew down the steps to meet
her, and Mrs. Hood put her arms about her
and smoothed the hair from her face, as she
said tenderly, "Poor Mamie "
"Which one, mamma dear?" asked Mamie
"Which one does my daughter think?"
"0, mamma, dear mamma! the other one.
I am so sorry for her. How can she be
patient? I never could. But 0, mamma! I
am so ashamed. I will never fret any more
about my dress, or anything; I will be just as
grateful and glad as I can be. Only think of
not being able to take a step. Poor Mamie! "





OMMY stood still in the street,
considering. He had come to
a difficult place in his life.
He was errand boy in general
in the great shop where he
worked, and as a rule, nobody
could have been found more willing and prompt
at doing errands than he. To-day he was
troubled. In his hand were several pieces of
money, and with them he was expected to buy
several bottles of a certain kind of beer of
which the workmen in his room were fond.
Tommy had known this for some days, and
that they drank too much of it. In truth,
Tommy's opinion was that a single drop was
too much. But he was a new boy, and they
were grown men, and of course he said noth-
ing. He had been sent for hammers, and saws,
and nails, and once, for a man's dinner, and
had been prompt and willing, but this was a
new errand.
He had dropped his chisel and seized his hat,
from force of habit, as soon as the order came;
and was out of doors before he had taken time
to consider. Then he remembered who he
was. A member of the Loyal Legion, wearing
the Greek cross of honor; pledged against
touching beer himself, pledged to use all hon-
orable ways to keep others from touching it.
Was it "' honorable to go for it, and bring it
to these tempted men? Wasn't that a sense
in which that was touching it?
They will get it anyway, whether you bring
it or not," said a voice in his ear.
"What if they do," said Conscience in reply;
" you can't help that; but you can help carry-
ing it to them."
You will lose your place," said the Voice,
"and the men will swear at you, and cuff
"What of that?" said Conscience, "you
didn't promise to keep your pledge if it was
easy, and every one treated you well; you
"So I did," said Tommy; "0, dear! I
ought not to go for that beer. But I shall get
into trouble; what shall I do? "

Then a verse he had learned but the night
before, seemed to come quietly and stand be-
side him. This was it: Then they cry
unto the Lord in their trouble, and he bringeth
them out of their distresses."
"I don't see how the Lord can help me,"
said Tommy; the boss himself drinks beer, and
he'll take the part of the men; but I'll try it."
What a fortunate thing for Tommy that he
did not have to go a mile or two to find the
One who was to help There would not have
been time fot that. And it was well that he
I ______


did not have to kneel down in the street, for
that would have brought a crowd around him,
and made much trouble; all he had to do was
to speak so quietly that he did not even hear
his own voice. Just a call for help! No ex-
planation was necessary. Then he turned and
went quickly back to the shop.
"Back already?" said one; "where is the
"I can't get it, sir; I forgot at the moment;
that is, I mean I did not know what I ought
to do; but I'm a Loyal Legioner, sir; pledged,
you know, not to touch it or help anybody else
to it; and of course I couldn't."


B~P~ `


For a few seconds the shop reeked with pro-
fanity; then one, older than the others, said:
Look here, boys; quit that. I'm no tee-
totaller myself, but it would be better for me
if I was. I like the chap's pluck. I shouldn't
want my youngster to bring beer; and this one
needn't if he isn't a mind to. We'll let him
Some of the men growled. One said: I'll
not swallow him; but I'll tell the boss; he said
Tommy was to do our bidding."
Sure enough; the "boss" happening to ap-
pear at that moment, was appealed to, and
heard the story. He turned and looked steadily
at the trembling Tommy. So that is your
stamp, is it, my boy? I guess you'll do for
upstairs; I've been thinking about it and try-
ing to decide. You may take off your apron
and report up there."
Now upstairs" was a pleasanter room
with pleasanter men, and the wages were a
dollar a week more. Tommy had had a tremb-
ling hope that he might be promoted there by
spring if he worked hard all the fall and winter.
As he marched across the long room to which
he was bidding good-bye so soon, he smiled
broadly as he said to himself: and he bring-
eth them out of their distresses."


No. I.
Our promised land, and how to reach it.
(Rev. xxi. 1-7; 22-27.
John Bunyan was once asked a question
about heaven which he could not answer, be-
cause the matter was not revealed in Scripture;
he therefore advised the inquirer to live a holy
life and go and see.",

We often make narrow entrances through
which but one at a time can pass, that we may
examine his ticket, and see whether he has a
right to pass. And, be sure, though we may
look respectable on the fashionable broadway
of the world or church, we cannot enter heaven

as those we pass in a crowd. God deals with
souls as men deal with sovereigns, which they
examine and weigh, one by one." IBID.

A man may lose the good things of this
life against his will; but if he loses eternal
blessings, he does so with his own consent."

Think of heaven with a hearty purpose,
and peremtory designs to get there."

No. II.
Christ the great physician. (Mark ii. 1-17.)
Soul-sickness is worse than bodily sickness.
For the latter there may be many remedies, or
may be none for this life; but for the soul,
there is but one cure -the blood of Jesus.
A spark is the beginning of a flame; and
a small disease may bring a greater."

Read the first chapter of the prophecy of
Isaiah, and learn the needs of poor human
nature, "from the crown of the head, to the
soul of the foot." And yet in all our being
there is nothing that he who formed us cannot
reform. The one who invented the watch,
should know enough to repair it. And will
this frail body be included in the work of re-
pair? Yes. Go to the foundry and see the
old castings lying around. They are skeletons
of what have been of service. Who can mend
that broken casting, that old plough, or wheel,
or shaft? It may not be worth the while to
mend it. It has been brought back to the
shop where it was cast, to him who first formed
it. What will he do with it? Resolve it by
heat, and re-cast it; perhaps into something
more beautiful than it was before, and more
So may the Creator re-cast these poor
bodies, instead of mending them.

No. III.
Christ's work for the world. (John i. 1-14.)
This is a very great theme! Who can an-
swer it in an hour? much less, in a few lines?


Christ's great work was to redeem the world.
In doing this, he kept the law for us, so that
we have a perfect righteousness to plead, and
to have imputed to us, by faith. He made
atonement for sin, so that we have a perfect
sacrifice to offer the lamb of God which taketh
away the sin of the world." Besides he is now
seated at the right hand of God, henceforth to
make intercessions for us.
John declares he is the "light of the world."
Light dispels darkness. So the religion of
Jesus Christ dispels the darkness of heathen-
ism, its superstitions, cruelties, ignorance and
barbarities. Light shows the way, or enables
us to see the path, if there is one. So the
gospel shows us the way to heaven. But this
gospel of Christ does more than merely save a
man. It is the Christian nations who have
wrought so much for the world. Christianity
affords good schools, gives us just laws; at
least, lays the foundation for such, gives us
good neighbors, and kind parents, and unsel-
fish brothers and sisters.

No. IV.
Conquering difficulties, with Christ's help.
It is to be our privilege to come off more
than conquerors; not in our own strength,
but through him that loved us." Because
this is a world of sin, there are many difficul-
ties in it, and we are sure to meet more or less
of them.
It may be that through these struggles
we may develop our strength of character,
as one of the rewards of the struggle. Paul
says, I can do all things through Christ who
strengtheneth me." So we will constantly
need to be under the eye and leadership of the
" captain of our salvation." To insure victory
we should fight in his way follow our leader.
Learn this by the study of his life, and book
of orders the Bible. Though we may fear
no foe, while he is with us, and leads us,
we must not venture outside the picket-
line, nor undertake to skirmish on our own
How will you secure the help of Christ?
Ask for it, believe you will receive it, and all
the light lie gives you, follow.


OWNSTAIRS every one was
busy. Uncle Morris and his
entire family, just from
Europe, were coming by an
earlier train than it had been
expected they could take, and
many last preparations for making them com-
fortable had still to be attended to.
Mrs. Evans had been up since daylight,
planning, directing, and helping to the utmost
that her small strength would admit.
Indeed, her eldest daughter Laura had con-
stantly to watch, to save her mother from lift-
ing something heavy, or reaching for something
high. Often her clear voice could be heard
with a "0, mother, don't! please. I'll take
care of that." And often the gentle answer
was: "Dear child, you cannot do everything,
though your will is strong enough. Where is
"Millie has gone to sweep and dust the hall
room; you know we didn't think we should
need that, and I used it as a sort of store room;
but since Arthur is coming with them, we
shall have to get it ready; and he will need to
go at once to his room, since he is an invalid,
so I sent Millie to put it in order. I told her
just what to do, and she will manage it nicely.
She must be nearly through now, and I'll have
her finish dusting here, so I can help you with
those books; they are too heavy for you to
No, Millie wasn't nearly through. In fact,
she could hardly have been said to have com-
menced. The truth is, she had been thrown
off the track. It was an old print which fell
out of an unused portfolio that did it. The
print showed the picture of a girl in full Greek
costume, and reminded Millie of what was not
long out of her mind, that in the coming Phys-
ical Culture entertainment she was to dress in
a costume which was supposed to be after the
Greek order.
Let me see," she said, bending over the
print, this girl has short sleeves and low neck.
Why, the dress is almost precisely like the one
which Laura wears with her lace over-dress; I



might wear that. It would be too long, of
course, but it could be hemmed up. I am
almost sure Laura would let me have it; and
with her white sash ribbon tied around my
waist it would be just lovely. Then that
would save buying anything new, and save
mother any trouble. I mean to go this minute
and try on the dress, before I say anything
about it."
Away dashed the Greek maiden to one of
the guest chambers which Laura had left in
perfect order, dragged from a seldom used
drawer the elegant white mull dress with its
lace belongings, all of which saw the light
only on state occasions, and rushed back to the
hall room again, where she had left the print
she was trying to copy. In her haste, she
dragged out with the dress various articles of
the toilet. Laura's white kid gloves which she
wore when she graduated, a quantity of laces,
and a handkerchief or two, to say nothing of
sprays of dried flowers. These she trailed over
the carpet, seeing nothing of them. The
important thing in life just now was to get her-
self into that dress.
It was accomplished at last, not without a
tiny tear having been made in the delicate
stuff, but which Millie's fingers were too eager
to notice. She tied the white sash high up
about her waist, after the fashion of the picture,
seized the dust brush in one hand as if it were
a dumb bell, or an Indian club, and struck a
graceful attitude with her arm on the corner of
the mantel.
There she said, "I would like to have
my picture taken in this dress; I have a very
nice position now for it. I wish the girls were
here to see me. Laura must let me wear this;
it fits exactly. I don't believe it is much too
long for a Greek maiden. I should like to wear
my dresses long; it must be great fun. I won-
der if we couldn't have our pictures taken in
costume? I think it would be real nice; and
our folks would each want to buy one. Per-
haps we could make some money."
There were hurried steps in the hall, and the
Greek maiden's musings were cut short.
Laura came forward rapidly, talking as she

"Millie, aren't you through here ? You have
had plenty of time, and mother needs your
help right away. Hurry down just as quickly
as you can; she is over-doing, and it is grow-
ing late; the carriage may come any minute
now. Why, Millie Evans! "
She stopped in amazement, for the Greek
maiden was still posing. She smiled graciously
and said: Don't I look fine? I borrowed it
a minute to see if it will do to wear to the
entertainment. It is just the thing, isn't it?
You will lend it to me, won't you? Just for
one evening? I'll be awfully careful of it."
"And you have been to that drawer where
all the nice things are packed, and dragged
them out! There is one of my white gloves
under your feet, and my only lace handker-
chief keeping it company! I must say, Millie
Evans, you deserve to be punished. Here we
are trying our best to get ready for company,
and keep mother from -getting too tired, and
you neglect your work to rig up like a circus
girl; and go to a drawer which you have no
right to open. I shall certainly tell father of
The Greek maiden's cheeks were in an un-
becoming blaze. Laura was hurried and tired,
and spoke with more severity than was her cus-
tom. It certainly was trying to find the room
in disorder, and her best dress in danger.
"Take care," she said, as Millie's frantic
efforts to get it off put it in greater danger.
' Don't quite ruin that dress. Indeed you
shall not wear it. I am astonished at you for
thinking of such a thing; when father hears
what you have been doing, I doubt if you will
need a dress for the entertainment."
Then Millie lost all self control. "You are
a hateful, selfish thing!" she burst forth.
" Take your old dress; I don't want to wear
it; and I won't be ordered about by you as
though you were my grandmother. I'm nearly
fourteen, and you have no right to manage me.
I'll just tell father myself that I- "
What is all this? Mr. Evans' voice was
sternness itself, and he looked at the girl with
blazing cheeks, in a way that made her angry
eyes droop.
"What does it mean, Millicent? I heard

University of Florida Home Page
© 2004 - 2010 University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries.
All rights reserved.

Acceptable Use, Copyright, and Disclaimer Statement
Last updated October 10, 2010 - - mvs