Citation
Pansy Sunday book

Material Information

Title:
Pansy Sunday book
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 )
Place of Publication:
Boston
Publisher:
Lothrop Publishing Company
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
[241] p. : ill. ; 26 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1898
Bldn -- 1898
Genre:
Children's poetry
fiction ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

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

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
University of Florida
Rights Management:
This item is presumed to be in the public domain. The University of Florida George A. Smathers Libraries respect the intellectual property rights of others and do not claim any copyright interest in this item. Users of this work have responsibility for determining copyright status prior to reusing, publishing or reproducing this item for purposes other than what is allowed by fair use or other copyright exemptions. Any reuse of this item in excess of fair use or other copyright exemptions may require permission of the copyright holder. The Smathers Libraries would like to learn more about this item and invite individuals or organizations to contact The Department of Special and Area Studies Collections (special@uflib.ufl.edu) with any additional information they can provide.
Resource Identifier:
024295069 ( ALEPH )
23831745 ( OCLC )
AHN8324 ( NOTIS )

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Full Text


SOME T al

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Boston.






















University



The Baldwin Library

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PANSY
SUNDAY BOOK

BY

FAMOUS AMERICAN WRITERS













FULLY ILLUSTRATED

BOSTON
LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY



CopyRiaHT, 1898,
BY
LotrHRop PUBLISHING COMPANY.



Eee Se SUNDA Yar OOK

<_<



A BAD SAVING OF TIME.

OU will recall the old story.
Jonathan had wrought a great
deed and deliverance in Israel.
The 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



A BAD

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,

SAVING

OF TIME.
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 :

“‘T am a shadow,
So art thou ;

I mark time ;
Dost thou ? ”’

Wayianp Hoyt, D. D. -

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.



































































































THE STORY RETOLD OF MOTHER’S CHILDHOOD.



ATHLETICS.

aM?

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fh

Bp

©.

ATHLETICS.

AN yourun? It is one of the
| most common of exercises.
{ You will always have need of
} it, no matter how old you get.
i After you feel too old to run
! for 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?
ss 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
ground. Grace Livineston Hitt.



SUNDAY AFTERNOON.

SUNDAY AFTERNOON.

NO. I.

What new thing shall we begin for Jesus?
(Mark iv. 26-82.)

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.

Po.yBius.

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.

NO. II.

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. Inv. 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.
GrorGE Enior.

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

No. III.

Harming and helping.

How do we harm, and how can we help each
other?

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
‘‘oo” 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.
SHELLEY.

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

NO. IV.

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



THANKFULNESS.—‘EVEN

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-
ses thus?

THANKFULNESS.

66 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
smile :

‘You are too fast, Andy. I can look back

AS GOD—FORGAVE YOU.”

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 asoulon board
was ever seen again. How do you suppose I
felt about my broken leg when I heard of that?”

‘QO, 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?”’

‘sWell,” said Andrew, after a thoughtful
pause, ‘‘perhaps so. I suppose that is what
it means; but at first it seemed queer.”

“EVEN AS GOD—FORGAVE YOU.”
66 HAT 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



“WHERE ART THOU, LORD?”—FLOWER SALUTE.

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
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.

‘¢T don’t know how you could do it, Hal,”
the boys said at recess, clustering about him.
‘¢T 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, [ knew I must
endeavor.”

down.

EstHer FIeLDING.

‘WHERE ART THOU, LORD?”

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.’ ””

FLOWER SALUTE.

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
preceding.

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.





GEORGE AND HARMON SET THEIR TRAP.



GETTING
GETTING CAUGHT.

T was Pinkie’s work from be-

ginning to end. If she had
not been sitting out there
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 oflice, 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



CAUGHT.

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.
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.”

Emmeline

But going to the country for the winter
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 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
‘¢ Almiry 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, ailow 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 ampie time to begin daily trips, if we
are in the country then. Meantime, the school

was another matter.

and let the house go.

2



GETTING

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.
called, and set out tempting bits for Pinkie’s

In vain she

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-

CAUGHT.

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.”

‘¢T 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.



GETTING

‘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.”

“¢T 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 yeur rabbit home. We're going to havea
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

CAUGHT.

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.







MONTH OF MAY.—THE HEART OF THE TREE.

MONTH OF MAY. In tremulous showers the apple-tree shed
Its pink and white blossoms on his head ;

ERE I am, and how do you do? The gay sun shone, and, like jubilant words,
H I’ve come afar to visit you. He heard the gay song of a thousand birds.
Little children, glad and free, ‘¢ All the others can sing,” he dolefully said —
Are you ready now for me? — ‘¢ All the others can sing,” he said.

I’m the month of May!
So he sat and he drooped. Butas far and wide
The music was born on the air’s warm tide,
Laid away with greatest care — A sudden thought came to the sad little bird,
Days of sunshine, song and flowers, And he lifted his head as within him it stirred :
Earth made into fairy bowers ! — «If I cannot sing, I can listen,” he cried.

I’m the month of May! ‘Ho! ho! Iean listen!” he cried ;
Juuia C. R. Dorr, in Harper’s Young People.

I’ve a store of treasures rare

In my loaded trunk I bring
Bees to buzz, and birds to sing!

Flowers to fill the balmy air, THE HEART OF THE TREE.

Violets are hiding there ! —
I’m the month of May! AN ARBOR DAY SONG.
— Selected.

HAT 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?

A LISTENING BIRD. He plants, in sap and leaf and wood,
In love of home and loyalty
LITTLE bird sat on an apple-tree, And far-cast thought of civic good —
And he wasas hoarse as hoarse could be : His blessings on the neighborhood
He preened and he prinked, and he ruffled his Who in the hollow of His hand
throat, Holds all the growth of all our land —
But from it there floated no silvery note. A nation’s growth from sea to sea
‘¢ Not a song can I sing,” sighed he — Stirs in his heart who plants a tree.

‘¢ Not a song can IJ sing,” sighed he. H. C. Bunner, in The Century.

















OUR PICTURE GALLERY.

OUR PICTURE GALLERY.



i O you know what poet it was who wrote
the lines —

‘Oh! wad some power the giftie gie us
Te see ourselves as ithers 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 ‘‘ithers” 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:

JANE AND ELIZA.

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.

GENTLEMAN CHARLIE.

E and papa and mamma were taking a

long ride on the horse-car. The car

was crowded. In avery 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.



BABY’S CORNER.



BABY’S CORNER.

oe HEE, chee, chee,” way up in the tree Begging for their supper just behind the
Sits mamma bird, with her five birdies wall.

wee.
¢¢ Quack, quack, quack ”





—‘*T must bathe my
feet,”

Says the little duckling,
‘‘for I must be

neat.”

“Bow, wow, wow!
we, too, must be
fed;

When we’ve had our sup-



per, then we’ll go to
bed.”



‘“Mamma, mamma, mamma,” cries our baby

by;
‘¢ Cock-a-doodle-doo”” — ‘‘ Now I’ve gone to Now she goes to s’eepin’s, shuts her little
bed,” eye.

i i f igh up in the shed.
Cries the little rooster high up in the she Sock day my darling. downs acoww n.d owen

‘¢ Peep, peep, peep,” the chickens run and creep t-o s-l-e-e-p,

Under mamma’s wing.
Now they’re fast
asleep.

6c Baa, baa, baa,” see
the lambies playing.
‘¢ Please give me some
supper’’; that’s



what they’re saying.

‘¢Oughwee, oughwee, oughwee,” hear the pig- Praying the good Shepherd my dear lamb to
gies call, Keep.



ROUND



girls and boys do nothing but
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
answer.

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

THE FAMILY

LAMF.

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.
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
We make them just as we

Each frame was to have a border



a good
many, in fact.
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.
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.

Maria SINGLETON.

Don’t you

BUZZ.

(A game to play at home.)

per 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
But the number ‘‘seven” 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
game.

ring.

MILire ROWELL.













































































































































































































































































































































: —=S==_—_—_—_—_==eE=——eey
SS

eT i ia a













THE ARLINGTON HOUSE—OVERLOOKING WASHINGTON, D. @.



OUR MISSION
DINAH’S LESSON.

HE dining-room was strewn
with coats, dresses, trousers,
under-garments, and second-
} best shoes. They were trying
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
the side, and sech
things. Dinah ain’t
got nothin’ to send.
I takes care of my
things, I does, and
don’ let ’em get
scoched and cut, and
streaks of paint on
’em. Hi!”

The exclamation
was caused by a
word from her mis-
tress.

“JT think, Carrie, I will put in this black
cashmere.” 1

‘‘ 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. Tl send it,
mamma.”





BULLETIN.

‘C 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 sendin’ off that black dress jes’
as good as new, and Miss Carrie givin’ 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 somethin’ to
sen’ if she b’long to dis yere fam’ly.”

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’].”

‘* 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. J 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.

THEODORA BEACH.

le 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
society.



BEST THINGS.

BEST THINGS.



(Dae. 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
Some of it is a prayer, which
Some of it

you will give.
we hope you can make your own.
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.”



FORECAST.

OD only changeth not;
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 ghall 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.

Joserpu Coon, in Union Signal.

FENCES.
(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





BEST THINGS.

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
sometimes. )

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
farms.

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.”

2

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.

MUSICAL TOPS.

SUPPOSE 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.



ALONE

ALONE.

ERE is a scene far away from your sunny
home — possibly five thousand miles
northward.

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
stillness.

How that man got there, and what he ex-

-—MORE ABOUT OUR CHINESE FRIENDS.

MORE ABOUT OUR CHINESE FRIENDS.

Y DEAR PANSIES:

I want to tell you how the
Chinese in California put away
their dead, to wait the five
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























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































FAR AWAY FROM HOME.

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



MORE ABOUT OUR CHINESE FRIENDS. “

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.

‘cA 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.”

Exiza Buckuart.



ATHLETICS. bi





ATHLETICS.



AVE you ever thought of the
similarity between bones and
clay? When a beautiful form
Se has been molded in clay by an

3 artist, with what jealous care
it is watched that it may be
protected from al! 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
themselves.

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,



Tan
ol
yneee

ih
i
if
f
itis

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.

Martua E. Maccarry.

Instructor Temple College Gymnasium, Philadelphia-



BABY’S CORNER.

BABY’S CORNER.

THE CAT FAMILY.

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



MR. CAT.

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.



ONE OF THE CAT BABIES,

Mr. Cat and Mrs. Cat’s
Babies fell a-crying ;
Mr. Cat and Mrs. Cat
Then went home a-sighing.
Doris Ricu (jive years old).



THE OTHER CAT BABY.























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS.



HEARING RIGHT,

HEARING RIGHT, AND DOING
WRONG.

DON’T see how anybody can
have patience with such fools,”
said Rufus, tossing down the
| paper which told the story
| of another victim to alcohol.
‘¢ Mother, don’t you think a
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-
eate 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



lot of stuff is

AND DOING WRONG.

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:

“‘sIf 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: ‘*O, 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? ”

“T 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.”



APRIL’S AFIELD.—HOUSE-CLEANING.

APRIL’S AFIELD.

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
burned,
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 biow;
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
things,
As human hearts shall do forevermore
When ours forget to beat.
— Selected.

HOUSE-CLEANING.

66 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
woodwork,
Till everything’s clean.

‘¢*My servants are willing enough, but so
plodding ;
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
expecting.
What bevies!
prepare ;
Whole families of birds, flocking in all together,
No trouble will spare.

and every one’s room to

‘“¢T must worry and work in the kitchen pre-
paring
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
ready,
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
praises
In cheeriest song.

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



DAISY’S THANKSGIVING TURKEY.

DAISY’S THANKSGIVING TURKEY.

LL, the child has good lungs;
we shall never need to worry
| lest she come to grief in that
direction.” Jt 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
interesting.”

‘* 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.

“©Q, 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



DAISY’S THANKSGIVING TURKEY.

curly hair anda pink dress? Yes, Ido. Hasn’t
she any turkeys to her house?”

‘‘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 J 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-









’ AT FIRST DAISY WAS INTERESTED,

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?”

‘“©O, 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



KINDLINGS.

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 ber 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
party?”

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. JI 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.

KINDLINGS. — I.

WANT to tell you a little story
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. JI 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?



KINDLINGS.

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
was. ;

‘¢It cannot be tobacco that you object to in
the pledge?” I said one day.

““O, 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.

‘“‘O, 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
reason.”

He laughed a little, and blushed a good deal,
and looked as though he would much rather be
excused; but at last le 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
‘ 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.

Frances A. Powers.





LEARNING TO READ.—THE

LEARNING TO READ.

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:
‘eat.’ 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.





THE THREE CLASSES.

66 PS and downs” in the world
U 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.
Tf 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



THREE CLASSES.

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.

Dorothy Tennant

TOGETHER ALL RIDE.

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.
THE SorIBE.







































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































TO A PANSY.—‘SWEET










THOUGHTS.”

TO A PANSY.



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.

An angel’s mission thine, and thou
Dost well fulfill thy part,
Casting thy sweetness all around —
By easing many a heart.
Nora LAUGHER.



“SWEET THOUGHTS.”

HAT 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.





THE STAR—BEARER.



WHY
WHY THE CHIMES RANG.
(A Christmas Wonder Story.)

HERE was once, in a far-
away country where few people
have ever traveled, a wonder-
yi fulchurch. It stood on a high
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



direction.

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

THE CHIMES RANG.

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 anytbing 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-



WHY THE CHIMES RANG.

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
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
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.
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

where she might have found shelter.

have tried to carry her away.

‘¢ And you

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



KINDLINGS.

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.

ELIzaABETH ABBOTT.

KINDLINGS. — II.

F you would leave off one of his
bracelets,” Harry said, smil-
{ ing, as he passed my desk, ‘+I
q would be glad to join the army
] and fight; but you made one
f 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
laughed.

‘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.

‘*] 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?” Iasked. ‘* 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 :



KINDLINGS.

‘“T 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,
und 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.”

‘J 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
Harry.

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 shaying. 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



KINDLINGS.

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.
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.

‘©O, Harry!” I said to him after the class
was dismissed, ‘¢I cannot tell you how glad I
What decided you?”

‘¢Jt was the kindlings, ma’am,”
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-
swered :

‘‘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

am.
he answered,

On

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, maam,” 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

Harry.”
‘©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.
Frances A. Powers.





THE

THE BAG OF SMILES.
(A Wonder Story. )

In Two Parts.

PART I.

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



BAG OF SMILES.

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 only the 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
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 ;
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

a famine all about the town.

their

way.

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



THE BAG OF SMILES.

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







HILARY AND HIS GRANDMOTHER.

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. Itwaslonely 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



THE BAG OF SMILES.

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
Perhaps your leg will be better in the

morning.”

«¢ 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 itspread 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-

again.

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. Ido 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 aclearing. Yes! and in a mo-
ment more there was a dark wall in frontof 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 Jed 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



THE BAG OF SMILES.

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
asleep.

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
home.

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
himself.”

Then Hilary looked sadly disappointed.
‘* But they have all been hunting ever since you
‘¢ And I have hunted as
well as I could, and my good grandmother
hunted, and nobody has found it.

went away,” he said.

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.
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.”

‘¢T can’t even show you the way,” said the
‘¢ But I will give you some

Iam

wise old woman.
help, and you can start as soon as you please.”

‘¢J will go now,” said Hilary.

Then the old woman went to her shelf and
took a goose-quill, and apot of ink, and a piece
of paper, and wrote three things on the paper
and gave itto Hilary. ‘* Here are three rules,”
she said. ‘*Do not read the second one until
you have finished with the first, anddo 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.”

R. M. Apen.







‘6LOOK AT THAT, WILL you?”



A “MEAN
A *“*MEAN FELLOW.”

=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
a pamecden 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
speak.

‘¢ J 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.
‘¢T 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



FELLOW.”

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
him.”

‘¢Oh! mean; sodidI. 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.”

?



A “MEAN

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
youll laugh out of the other side of your
mouth.”

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 todo
, 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
valuable.

‘ 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.

FELLOW.”

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
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.”

as



JOHNNIE’S

«¢ 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. Iwas 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
tastened 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. Vl
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
beavers.”

Then did Dick and Lucas Stevens look at
each other, and remain dumb, while their faces
were red with something besides the nipping
air.

‘¢ We are dreadfully obliged ” — began Dick,
at 1ast.

ANT FARM.

‘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.”

‘¢T shouldn’t wonder if he was,” said Dick,
looking thoughtfully out of the window. Then,
after a moment, he turned to his brother:

‘©T say, Lucas, don’t let’s do that thing
to-night. T’ye 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.”

Pansy.



OUR WALKING CLUB.

JOHNNIE’S ANT FARM.

HO ever heard of an ant farm?
Well, I think not anybody but
Johnnie and the people who
heard him talk about his.
This was how it happened that

’ be 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
Washington.

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



JOHNNIE’S

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
soda.

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

ANT FARM
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
school!

Papa, mamma and Aunt Edith all agreed
that the ant farm had been very profitable,
indeed.

Marie McCroup.



FOLLOWING.

FOLLOWING.

T must
have
been nice to
have lived
when Jesus
was
earth,” said
Effie, look-
ing up from
the large
Bible which
lay on her
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.’
been there I would have followed him just as
quick !”

‘¢ 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.”

‘‘T 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. Tl 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
Wishard.

“OQ, 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.

on



KATE.

If I had

I promised to come, but mamma has such a
headache that I cannot leave the baby with her ;
it is nurse’s day out.”

‘¢T 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.”

‘©O, 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
troubled.

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.
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.

How do you know that Jesus wants you

FROM THE JUNIOR C. E. SOCIETY
OF SIDNEY, OHIO.

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.

; Carotyn M. Witson.



A STORY WHICH TELLS ITSELF.

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SEE Eee i. -—
Re eased eae HERE



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f Jos ter,

A STORY WHICH TELLS ITSELF.



BABY’S CORNER.

BABY’S CORNER.



BABY FRANCES TO MISS FRANCES.

Y DEAR MISS FRANCES:
I want to write you a letter,

on account of the package I
got in the mail yesterday. It



“| is the first mail I ever had,
and I was very much surprised and very proud
of it.
pretty sunshine-colored things, and pinned one

Mamma opened it and took out two

BABY FRANCES.

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 swailowed. I have tried baked pota-
toes, and newspapers, and silver dollars, and

all kinds of things, but most generally some-



body scowls and says, ‘*No, no!” and then I
take the things out of my mouth and put my
head on one side, so they won’t scowl any
more. I can’t understand why everybody else
puts so many things in their mouths, and why
I can’t.

But the sunshine-colored things are pretty to
look at, even if I can’t eat them, and I thank
you and love you very much. I will send you
If I could

see you I would say ‘Baa, baa,

my picture when I have it taken.

baa, baa, baa,” and would pull
your hair and put my fingers in
your eyes. ‘That is the way I pet
people.

I 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.

strips, and they go ‘‘ Sssrrpsz!”

I tear them in

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. OnceI didn’t
have anything to do but sit in my wagon and
hear other babies cry. I don’t like to cry, and
I never do except when I want something to eat.
In those days the nurses didn’t pay much atten-
tion to me, but now I’m the only baby in the

house, and I have a nurse all to myself, and



CALLED.

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
Other folks

seem to fly around and do all sorts of things,

entertaining me between times.
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
things.
This is the first

Come and see me as soon

I must take a nap now.
letter I ever wrote.
as you can.

Lovingly,
FRANCES.





CALLED.

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?



CHRISTMAS CHRYSANTHEMUMS.



INDIA.—MISSIONARY DOLLS.

INDIA.

OW many people are there in India?
ite 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?

CALLING FOR HELP.

EWS 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.

MISSIONARY DOLLS.

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.

MISSIONARY BOOKS AND PAPERS.

N some mission stations where they are
I 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
‘6 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 Pansigs, that
you are willing to give or send to others?

GIVING TO GOD.

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?





MARIAN LOOKED UP AT THE TREES.



ATHLETICS.




























itd nda EI
ay Wy “EN Ay:



















ATHLETICS.



EAR YOUNG FRIENDS:

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, 7. 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” sco
familiar in all modern gymnasiums. This



“KEEP A SCRAP BOOK.”

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
exercise.

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 (This is accredited to the
gymnasium. )

2. It develops the lungs and chest, caus-
ing vigorous circulation of the blood in the
extremeties.

3. It greatly strengthens the muscles of the
arms and back.

air.

4. It enlarges the appetite. (Perhaps
your fathers and mothers may think this an
objection. )

d. 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.

Pastor RossENBERG.

“KEEP A SCRAP BOOK.”

HIS 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, J 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.

‘¢T 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.





N | AY has arrived, wearing the sweetest
chaplet of the year,
There spreads the oak its cool green light, and

here

The apple blossom flushes and the white thorn
breathes,

The fern sends leaflets, fresh from its downy
sheathes,

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.



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.
— Selected.

SONG OF THE PRINCESS MAY.

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

SONG

OF SPRING.

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.

A SONG OF SPRING.
UT 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 aud 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.





HURRAH FOR GARDEN !



THE BAG

THE BAG OF SMILES.
(A Wonder Story.)

In Two Parts.

PART II.

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 firstrule: ‘*Find the Bag of
Smiles.” ‘*Dear me!” he said to himself and
the little bird. ‘‘Sbhe 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. Youshall 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
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
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



late afternoon.

ahead.

OF SMILES.

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
hé 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 bad
long ago given up. The great man said no,
also, and added that he had never known any-



THE BAG

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 forsale.

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

OF SMILES.

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 thmk 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.



THE

Then Hilary almost cried for joy, and he
took the bag and loosened the gold cord and
gave italittle 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 with 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

BAG OF

SMILES.

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 2 moment. Then he said, ‘* This
is the Under-Garden, and I think you must
have fallen in through the wise eld woman’s
passenger-hole. I told her only yesterday that
something of this sort would happen before
long.”

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 I will 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
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

now.



THE BAG OF SMILES.

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
garden.

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.

R. MacponaLtp ALDEN.

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.



LOCUSTS.—CROWS IN PEKING.

LOCUSTS.

()* course you know the grasshopper when

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
All at once the sun will

you see him.

they as some armies.

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
them !

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!



































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































TRYING TO FRIGHTEN THE LOCUSTS.

be darkened, then down upon the green fields

of grain the hosts of locusts descend, and ina .

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
carcasses.

Then another wind often brings back the
sickening stench from which multitudes of
people die.

So, many people die of famine (want of

CROWS IN PEKING.

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.





A CURIOUS LIBRARY.

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? Id 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. 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.

Pexine, China.

A CURIOUS LIBRARY.

HE great library of the Dukes of Devon-
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.

HOUGHTS do not need the wings of words
To fly to any goal.
Like subtle lightnings, 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.
— Selected.



ROUND THE FAMILY LAMP.



GAMES.

ERE 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
blunders.

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
Arnold.”

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.”
sequences will be a forfeit.

When it is again the leader’s turn, he says:
‘¢ While in Chicago we met Elizabeth Barrett

The con-

Browning,” or any other person known to fame
whose name commences with ‘* B.”

Immediately his left-hand neighbor must be
ready to say, ‘‘O, 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
fun.

BOOKS.

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.



BILLY, ALIAS WILLIE.

BILLY, ALIAS WILLIE.

“qT 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
7 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.”

‘sWhat 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,”
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 chafling you. It’s all
about the prize in overcoats at the Broadway
House.”

‘¢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.
said I wouldn’t lie, nor steal, nor nothin’, ever,
and I won't.”

‘Good for you, my boy,” said the gentle-
man, laughing. ‘You'll beat in the end, I
believe. Tl stoke your paper now, anyhow —
two of them.’

But at that moment a woman who had been





said

coy

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
group.

‘¢ Billy who?” she asked.
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.”

‘“‘Ig 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,”
the tall boy.

‘*Tve had a specimen of your truth,”
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 for
two papers—had gone away without them,
which Billy, discovering,
whelmed with anxiety and shame, and begged
Joe, as being the fastest runner, to clip it after
him and give him back his money.

“JT 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

‘¢What is the

continued

said



was suddenly over-



BILLY,

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.

“Tl 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
supper?”

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, O, 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 somethin’ warm to
cover you up with? O, my!” Then to the
woman: ‘‘J 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. T’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-

ALIAS WILLIE.

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.
William had been a great care, and a

She was not used to living
alone.
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.

‘“Pl see him, if I have to go without my
supper, and my breakfast into the bargain,” he











\ NA 4 ")
le

WA



BILLY.



BILLY,

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-



ALIAS WILLIE.

per? And do you have a blanket or something
to cover you?”

“Lick me?” repeated Billy indignantly, ‘1
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 sbe 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 :
“JT 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.”

Pansy.



A MARCH BREEZE.



CELIA STUART’S TRUST.

CELIA STUART’S TRUST.

HE was a pretty girl when her
face was pleasant, but this
| 4 tires morning it was all in a frown.
VIE ie In vain Baby Frances made her
\ HE prettiest attempts at speech,
Sle 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













YZ
il

ay




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 sure until 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



THE KITTENS IN BABY’S PLACE.

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



CELIA STUART’S

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
seé what they are laughing about,” she said,
springing up; ‘‘ nothing can happen to Frances
in such a little minute as that.”

‘¢Q, 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.”

“TI 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
her 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.
short time indeed, then ran back as fast as she

In her own opinion she staid a very

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? Ido 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.

‘©Q, mamma! what has become of Frances?”

Through the house she ran, screaming louder

TRUST.

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.”

‘“©Q, Ann! are you sure mamma has her?”

‘¢Sure? of course lam. 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?”

‘¢T didn’t know,” said Celia, and she dropped
in a little heap on the floor and began to ery.

‘¢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?”
her work-basket for a

Celia’s idea some way

Mamma bent over
moment to hide a smile.
sounded very odd.

‘¢T think, dear, that God may have let Frisk
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: ‘¢O, 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.
of Frances, and you, and the birdies, and
everybody.” ALICE ParKER BEALE.

Presently she answered :

and Whisk help to teach you a lesson.

God will take care



BABY’S CORNER.

BABY’S CORNER.

MY VISIT TO

Cy 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 Mooun’s.
Iwas real glad, and the next night I went.
When I got to our door, a white cloud was

ready to take me.

THE MOON.

When I got there we had tea, and after-
wards, I looked down on the earth and saw
When they
ant said, ‘*‘ I beat.”
The other, ‘I

And so they kept on quarreling,

two little ants playing a game.
had got through, one little
The other, ‘‘You did not.”
did too.”
and I saw a good many other things.

When I got home, I told mamma all about it.

Doris A. Ricn (eight years old).





BENNY AND BUNNY,



THE

THE SQUIRREL’S HOME.

NE beautiful morning in May
my brother, little daughter
and myself left Paducah, Ky.,
where the two latter were vis-
iting the former, at the early
hour of 3.4. M. 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

cu

a

£0} S



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 fourtain
throws vp 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

SQUIRREL’S HOME.

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 —



AT HOME,

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,



A THOUGHTFUL

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
hands.

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.”

AuicE Hamiiton Ricu.





A THOUGHTFUL TOAD.

HERE 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.”

TOAD.—WISE BEN.

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
more.’

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?

WISE BEN.

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?



HARVEY’S EVIDENCE.

HARVEY’S EVIDENCE.

ALLOO! 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
A good-sized apple in his mouth,



thief for you.
and two bulging out of his pockets.”
spoke, Harvey Burroughs dragged his victim
inside the store, for the young clerk, Vick, to

look at. A newstore, 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.

‘¢T 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
post-oftice.”

‘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?” .

“¢J 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

As he.

wish father was here.
little boy?
apples?” -

‘‘ Yes, Iam,” said the little fellow. ‘+ My
name is Joseph Hart, and I don’t steal nothin’.
He give me the apples for standing by his
wagon; he knows me, he does; I usedeto live
out in the country by his house, and he knows
I wouldn’t steal; and I wishI lived there now.”
The tears began to come thick and fast; and
Vick looked anxiously at the little distressed
face.

‘“¢Let go of him, Harvey,” he said at last;
‘¢he’s such a little chap; and he has a kind
of honest face; I can’t think he took the apples.

What is your name,
Are you sure 2 man gave you those

‘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.”

6 Oh,
‘¢ 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 Dll let him go if you say so,
and he may scud quicker than lightning; and
after this you can look eut for your own goods ;
I'll not help you.”

“Yes, Ill stay,” said the little boy, the
moment his arm was released.
nothin’ 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, 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 bere
for you; he’s the chap who has been stealing
your apples.”

“‘T 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.

my!” said Harvey, in disgust;

“T ain't got



HARVEY’S EVIDENCE.

‘¢ Good-morning, my boy,” he said cheerily
to the little fellow. ‘+ What is all this trouble
about?”

‘¢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.”

«sT don’t need to see him,” said Mr. Wilson,
smiling. ‘Iu 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.

“PVE FOUND YOUR THIEF.”

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, Ido; 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
them.” '

‘* No, sir,” said Vick. ‘Father, I did not
think the little boy was a thief; I told Harvey

”

so.



OCTOBER

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 Sparrorp.

OCTOBER DAYS.

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 sparkllng 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 tothe clatter
of their voices—all talking at once, regard-
less of parliamentary rules — why, it’s positively
disgraceful! worse than a political convention
—jin 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 fromevery post and bush.



DAYS

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, burderied
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-
test.

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



OCTOBER DAYS.

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.



OCTOBER DAYS.

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,

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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 iu 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, Iam 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

sunny slope.

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
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.
ALBERT M. Moran.

The above article was written by a gentleman for the pleas-
ure and benefit of his ownchildren, 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.— (Eprirors oF THE PANSY.)



JUNE.—THE FAIRIES’ MISSION.

It is all God asks of them;

But 2 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.

66 TUNE! June! June!” — Selected.

: Low croon So ee eae a ae

The brown bees in the clover;
“¢ Sweet! Sweet! Sweet! ”

Repeat
The robins, nested over.



THE FAIRIES’ MISSION.

HEN the weary children their evening
prayers have said,
And their dear mamas have tucked them snug

Avis GREY. oped
: When the little birds have cuddled down to
SONG for June, whose-breath is sweet ant
. . ?
With blossoms opening at our feet ; Safe from every harm ’neath their mama’s
Whose voice is heard in brooks that run Gresee
2

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.

Keen E. Rexrorp. When the butterflies cease flitting in the sun,
And the frog’s loud croaking with the day is

done,

When the twinkling stars, laughing in the sky,
Seem to call good-night from their home so



DINNA FORGET.
(Published by request.)

HE lily bell on its swinging spray high ;
Hath but to be fair and sweet;
The humming bird in his own bright way Then it is the fairies, nicely dressed in white,
Flitteth gem-winged and fleet : Come with sweet perfume for the blossoms
And blue-birds warble a plaintive lay bright,
The breath of the spring to greet. Sprinkling it upon the lily and the rose,
Mignonette and pink, and every flower that
They are sweet to hear, blows.

They are fair to view — Auick May Dovuetas.



GEORGE’S
GEORGE'S VICTORY.

—=74qT was the first copper penny the
boys had ever seen; one of the
j large coins we used to have,
but now almost out of circu-
lation. George’s uncle had

fees civen 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.”



VICTORY.

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.

‘¢Ts 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
eyes.

‘¢ 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.



CHINATOWN.

CHINATOWN.

TRIP through Chinatown 1s
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
themselves.

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



A CHINESE GIRL.

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



CHINATOWN.

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.

E1izaBETH Burroucus Bucxxovt.



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?



POOR MAMIE.

POOR MAMIE.

T came over her all at once while
j she was dressing — not by any
{ means for the first time, either.
# Nobody but she knew how
7 many tears she had shed over
4 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.
be earnestly cautioned on no account to set
foot in a room whose door stood open— every-
thing about that wonderful April-fool party
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 heart 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

They were to

had been planned to go by contraries.



POOR MAMIE.

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,
‘¢T 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
dreadful.”’

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
morning.

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 had possession of her.

It is surprising how many disagreeable things
one can find in life if one sets 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
again.

‘‘Don’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; «I

e



POOR

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.”

‘¢©Q, daughter!” said her mother; ‘‘I am
sorry you cannot rise above such unworthy
feelings, and be happy in spite of your
disappointment.”

‘6O, now, mamma! you don’t know anything
about it; if you were a little girl you would
understand. JI 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.”

“©O, 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.

‘©Q, 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.

MAMIE.

‘“¢T 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
wear.

‘*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?”

‘¢O, 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



POOR MAMIE.

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
answered.

‘“‘ 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
softly.

‘¢ Which one does my daughter think?”

‘©O, mamma, dear mamma! the other one.
I am so sorry for her. How can she be
patient? I never could. But O, 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! ”

Pansy.





———

aS
SSS SS

=



















































DRESSING BABY.





‘6 THEY SET RHEBIE IN, TO MAKE UP THE LOAD.”



TOMMY’S DIFFICULT PLACE.

TOMMY’S DIFFICULT PLACE.

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 bon-
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,
‘Sand the men will swear at you, and cuff
you.”

‘¢ What of that?” said Conscience, you
didn’t promise to keep your pledge if it was
easy, and every one treated you well; you
promised.”

‘*So I did,” said Tommy; ‘‘O, 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.”

‘IT 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 fof that. And it was well that he



CONSIDERING.

HE STOOD STILL,

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 acall for help! No ex-
planation was necessary. Then he turned and
went quickly back to the shop.

' “Back already?” said one; ‘‘ where is the
beer? ”

“TT can’t getit, 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.”



SUNDAY AFTERNOON.

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 Iwas. 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
alone.”

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.”

Pansy.

SUNDAY AFTERNOON.

No. I.

Our promised land, and how to reach it.
(Rey. 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.”

Hom. CycLopapia.

‘¢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.” - Ipip.

‘¢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.”
AUGUSTINE.

‘Think of heaven with a hearty purpose,
and peremtory designs to get there.”
JEREMY TAYLor.

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.”

Baxter.

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
useful.

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?



TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING.

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
account.

How will you secure the help of Christ?
Ask for it, believe you will receive it, and all
the light he gives you, follow.

TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING.

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 ‘*O, mother, don’t! please. T’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?”

‘¢ 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
handle.”

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













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‘¢] WOULD LIKE TO HAVE MY PICTURE TAKEN.”



TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING.

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 fora 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? [ 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
came.

“* 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
I'll be awfully careful of it.”

‘s 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
this.” \

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.
‘sDon’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—”

‘sWhat 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?

one evening?

?

I heard



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PANSY
SUNDAY BOOK

BY

FAMOUS AMERICAN WRITERS













FULLY ILLUSTRATED

BOSTON
LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY
CopyRiaHT, 1898,
BY
LotrHRop PUBLISHING COMPANY.
Eee Se SUNDA Yar OOK

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A BAD SAVING OF TIME.

OU will recall the old story.
Jonathan had wrought a great
deed and deliverance in Israel.
The 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
A BAD

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,

SAVING

OF TIME.
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 :

“‘T am a shadow,
So art thou ;

I mark time ;
Dost thou ? ”’

Wayianp Hoyt, D. D. -

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.
































































































THE STORY RETOLD OF MOTHER’S CHILDHOOD.
ATHLETICS.

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ATHLETICS.

AN yourun? It is one of the
| most common of exercises.
{ You will always have need of
} it, no matter how old you get.
i After you feel too old to run
! for 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?
ss 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
ground. Grace Livineston Hitt.
SUNDAY AFTERNOON.

SUNDAY AFTERNOON.

NO. I.

What new thing shall we begin for Jesus?
(Mark iv. 26-82.)

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.

Po.yBius.

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.

NO. II.

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. Inv. 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.
GrorGE Enior.

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

No. III.

Harming and helping.

How do we harm, and how can we help each
other?

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
‘‘oo” 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.
SHELLEY.

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

NO. IV.

Bible promises. What are some of them,
and which is your favorite?
THANKFULNESS.—‘EVEN

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-
ses thus?

THANKFULNESS.

66 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
smile :

‘You are too fast, Andy. I can look back

AS GOD—FORGAVE YOU.”

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 asoulon board
was ever seen again. How do you suppose I
felt about my broken leg when I heard of that?”

‘QO, 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?”’

‘sWell,” said Andrew, after a thoughtful
pause, ‘‘perhaps so. I suppose that is what
it means; but at first it seemed queer.”

“EVEN AS GOD—FORGAVE YOU.”
66 HAT 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
“WHERE ART THOU, LORD?”—FLOWER SALUTE.

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
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.

‘¢T don’t know how you could do it, Hal,”
the boys said at recess, clustering about him.
‘¢T 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, [ knew I must
endeavor.”

down.

EstHer FIeLDING.

‘WHERE ART THOU, LORD?”

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.’ ””

FLOWER SALUTE.

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
preceding.

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.


GEORGE AND HARMON SET THEIR TRAP.
GETTING
GETTING CAUGHT.

T was Pinkie’s work from be-

ginning to end. If she had
not been sitting out there
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 oflice, 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



CAUGHT.

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.
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.”

Emmeline

But going to the country for the winter
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 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
‘¢ Almiry 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, ailow 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 ampie time to begin daily trips, if we
are in the country then. Meantime, the school

was another matter.

and let the house go.

2
GETTING

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.
called, and set out tempting bits for Pinkie’s

In vain she

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-

CAUGHT.

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.”

‘¢T 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.
GETTING

‘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.”

“¢T 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 yeur rabbit home. We're going to havea
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

CAUGHT.

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.




MONTH OF MAY.—THE HEART OF THE TREE.

MONTH OF MAY. In tremulous showers the apple-tree shed
Its pink and white blossoms on his head ;

ERE I am, and how do you do? The gay sun shone, and, like jubilant words,
H I’ve come afar to visit you. He heard the gay song of a thousand birds.
Little children, glad and free, ‘¢ All the others can sing,” he dolefully said —
Are you ready now for me? — ‘¢ All the others can sing,” he said.

I’m the month of May!
So he sat and he drooped. Butas far and wide
The music was born on the air’s warm tide,
Laid away with greatest care — A sudden thought came to the sad little bird,
Days of sunshine, song and flowers, And he lifted his head as within him it stirred :
Earth made into fairy bowers ! — «If I cannot sing, I can listen,” he cried.

I’m the month of May! ‘Ho! ho! Iean listen!” he cried ;
Juuia C. R. Dorr, in Harper’s Young People.

I’ve a store of treasures rare

In my loaded trunk I bring
Bees to buzz, and birds to sing!

Flowers to fill the balmy air, THE HEART OF THE TREE.

Violets are hiding there ! —
I’m the month of May! AN ARBOR DAY SONG.
— Selected.

HAT 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?

A LISTENING BIRD. He plants, in sap and leaf and wood,
In love of home and loyalty
LITTLE bird sat on an apple-tree, And far-cast thought of civic good —
And he wasas hoarse as hoarse could be : His blessings on the neighborhood
He preened and he prinked, and he ruffled his Who in the hollow of His hand
throat, Holds all the growth of all our land —
But from it there floated no silvery note. A nation’s growth from sea to sea
‘¢ Not a song can I sing,” sighed he — Stirs in his heart who plants a tree.

‘¢ Not a song can IJ sing,” sighed he. H. C. Bunner, in The Century.











OUR PICTURE GALLERY.

OUR PICTURE GALLERY.



i O you know what poet it was who wrote
the lines —

‘Oh! wad some power the giftie gie us
Te see ourselves as ithers 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 ‘‘ithers” 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:

JANE AND ELIZA.

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.

GENTLEMAN CHARLIE.

E and papa and mamma were taking a

long ride on the horse-car. The car

was crowded. In avery 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.
BABY’S CORNER.



BABY’S CORNER.

oe HEE, chee, chee,” way up in the tree Begging for their supper just behind the
Sits mamma bird, with her five birdies wall.

wee.
¢¢ Quack, quack, quack ”





—‘*T must bathe my
feet,”

Says the little duckling,
‘‘for I must be

neat.”

“Bow, wow, wow!
we, too, must be
fed;

When we’ve had our sup-



per, then we’ll go to
bed.”



‘“Mamma, mamma, mamma,” cries our baby

by;
‘¢ Cock-a-doodle-doo”” — ‘‘ Now I’ve gone to Now she goes to s’eepin’s, shuts her little
bed,” eye.

i i f igh up in the shed.
Cries the little rooster high up in the she Sock day my darling. downs acoww n.d owen

‘¢ Peep, peep, peep,” the chickens run and creep t-o s-l-e-e-p,

Under mamma’s wing.
Now they’re fast
asleep.

6c Baa, baa, baa,” see
the lambies playing.
‘¢ Please give me some
supper’’; that’s



what they’re saying.

‘¢Oughwee, oughwee, oughwee,” hear the pig- Praying the good Shepherd my dear lamb to
gies call, Keep.
ROUND



girls and boys do nothing but
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
answer.

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

THE FAMILY

LAMF.

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.
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
We make them just as we

Each frame was to have a border



a good
many, in fact.
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.
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.

Maria SINGLETON.

Don’t you

BUZZ.

(A game to play at home.)

per 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
But the number ‘‘seven” 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
game.

ring.

MILire ROWELL.










































































































































































































































































































































: —=S==_—_—_—_—_==eE=——eey
SS

eT i ia a













THE ARLINGTON HOUSE—OVERLOOKING WASHINGTON, D. @.
OUR MISSION
DINAH’S LESSON.

HE dining-room was strewn
with coats, dresses, trousers,
under-garments, and second-
} best shoes. They were trying
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
the side, and sech
things. Dinah ain’t
got nothin’ to send.
I takes care of my
things, I does, and
don’ let ’em get
scoched and cut, and
streaks of paint on
’em. Hi!”

The exclamation
was caused by a
word from her mis-
tress.

“JT think, Carrie, I will put in this black
cashmere.” 1

‘‘ 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. Tl send it,
mamma.”





BULLETIN.

‘C 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 sendin’ off that black dress jes’
as good as new, and Miss Carrie givin’ 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 somethin’ to
sen’ if she b’long to dis yere fam’ly.”

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’].”

‘* 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. J 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.

THEODORA BEACH.

le 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
society.
BEST THINGS.

BEST THINGS.



(Dae. 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
Some of it is a prayer, which
Some of it

you will give.
we hope you can make your own.
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.”



FORECAST.

OD only changeth not;
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 ghall 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.

Joserpu Coon, in Union Signal.

FENCES.
(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


BEST THINGS.

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
sometimes. )

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
farms.

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.”

2

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.

MUSICAL TOPS.

SUPPOSE 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.
ALONE

ALONE.

ERE is a scene far away from your sunny
home — possibly five thousand miles
northward.

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
stillness.

How that man got there, and what he ex-

-—MORE ABOUT OUR CHINESE FRIENDS.

MORE ABOUT OUR CHINESE FRIENDS.

Y DEAR PANSIES:

I want to tell you how the
Chinese in California put away
their dead, to wait the five
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























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































FAR AWAY FROM HOME.

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
MORE ABOUT OUR CHINESE FRIENDS. “

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.

‘cA 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.”

Exiza Buckuart.
ATHLETICS. bi





ATHLETICS.



AVE you ever thought of the
similarity between bones and
clay? When a beautiful form
Se has been molded in clay by an

3 artist, with what jealous care
it is watched that it may be
protected from al! 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
themselves.

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,



Tan
ol
yneee

ih
i
if
f
itis

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.

Martua E. Maccarry.

Instructor Temple College Gymnasium, Philadelphia-
BABY’S CORNER.

BABY’S CORNER.

THE CAT FAMILY.

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



MR. CAT.

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.



ONE OF THE CAT BABIES,

Mr. Cat and Mrs. Cat’s
Babies fell a-crying ;
Mr. Cat and Mrs. Cat
Then went home a-sighing.
Doris Ricu (jive years old).



THE OTHER CAT BABY.




















































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS.
HEARING RIGHT,

HEARING RIGHT, AND DOING
WRONG.

DON’T see how anybody can
have patience with such fools,”
said Rufus, tossing down the
| paper which told the story
| of another victim to alcohol.
‘¢ Mother, don’t you think a
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-
eate 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



lot of stuff is

AND DOING WRONG.

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:

“‘sIf 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: ‘*O, 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? ”

“T 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.”
APRIL’S AFIELD.—HOUSE-CLEANING.

APRIL’S AFIELD.

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
burned,
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 biow;
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
things,
As human hearts shall do forevermore
When ours forget to beat.
— Selected.

HOUSE-CLEANING.

66 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
woodwork,
Till everything’s clean.

‘¢*My servants are willing enough, but so
plodding ;
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
expecting.
What bevies!
prepare ;
Whole families of birds, flocking in all together,
No trouble will spare.

and every one’s room to

‘“¢T must worry and work in the kitchen pre-
paring
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
ready,
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
praises
In cheeriest song.

The crickets, the frogs, and the ants, and the
lizards,
The bees and the butterflies, ev’ry gray moth,
Found his place ready waiting, his dinner to
suit him,
Whether bread, meat or broth.
— Selected.
DAISY’S THANKSGIVING TURKEY.

DAISY’S THANKSGIVING TURKEY.

LL, the child has good lungs;
we shall never need to worry
| lest she come to grief in that
direction.” Jt 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
interesting.”

‘* 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.

“©Q, 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
DAISY’S THANKSGIVING TURKEY.

curly hair anda pink dress? Yes, Ido. Hasn’t
she any turkeys to her house?”

‘‘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 J 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-









’ AT FIRST DAISY WAS INTERESTED,

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?”

‘“©O, 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
KINDLINGS.

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 ber 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
party?”

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. JI 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.

KINDLINGS. — I.

WANT to tell you a little story
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. JI 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?
KINDLINGS.

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
was. ;

‘¢It cannot be tobacco that you object to in
the pledge?” I said one day.

““O, 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.

‘“‘O, 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
reason.”

He laughed a little, and blushed a good deal,
and looked as though he would much rather be
excused; but at last le 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
‘ 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.

Frances A. Powers.


LEARNING TO READ.—THE

LEARNING TO READ.

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:
‘eat.’ 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.





THE THREE CLASSES.

66 PS and downs” in the world
U 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.
Tf 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



THREE CLASSES.

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.

Dorothy Tennant

TOGETHER ALL RIDE.

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.
THE SorIBE.

































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































TO A PANSY.—‘SWEET










THOUGHTS.”

TO A PANSY.



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.

An angel’s mission thine, and thou
Dost well fulfill thy part,
Casting thy sweetness all around —
By easing many a heart.
Nora LAUGHER.



“SWEET THOUGHTS.”

HAT 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.


THE STAR—BEARER.
WHY
WHY THE CHIMES RANG.
(A Christmas Wonder Story.)

HERE was once, in a far-
away country where few people
have ever traveled, a wonder-
yi fulchurch. It stood on a high
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



direction.

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

THE CHIMES RANG.

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 anytbing 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-
WHY THE CHIMES RANG.

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
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
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.
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

where she might have found shelter.

have tried to carry her away.

‘¢ And you

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
KINDLINGS.

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.

ELIzaABETH ABBOTT.

KINDLINGS. — II.

F you would leave off one of his
bracelets,” Harry said, smil-
{ ing, as he passed my desk, ‘+I
q would be glad to join the army
] and fight; but you made one
f 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
laughed.

‘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.

‘*] 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?” Iasked. ‘* 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 :
KINDLINGS.

‘“T 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,
und 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.”

‘J 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
Harry.

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 shaying. 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
KINDLINGS.

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.
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.

‘©O, Harry!” I said to him after the class
was dismissed, ‘¢I cannot tell you how glad I
What decided you?”

‘¢Jt was the kindlings, ma’am,”
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-
swered :

‘‘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

am.
he answered,

On

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, maam,” 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

Harry.”
‘©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.
Frances A. Powers.


THE

THE BAG OF SMILES.
(A Wonder Story. )

In Two Parts.

PART I.

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



BAG OF SMILES.

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 only the 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
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 ;
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

a famine all about the town.

their

way.

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
THE BAG OF SMILES.

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







HILARY AND HIS GRANDMOTHER.

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. Itwaslonely 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
THE BAG OF SMILES.

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
Perhaps your leg will be better in the

morning.”

«¢ 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 itspread 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-

again.

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. Ido 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 aclearing. Yes! and in a mo-
ment more there was a dark wall in frontof 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 Jed 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
THE BAG OF SMILES.

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
asleep.

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
home.

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
himself.”

Then Hilary looked sadly disappointed.
‘* But they have all been hunting ever since you
‘¢ And I have hunted as
well as I could, and my good grandmother
hunted, and nobody has found it.

went away,” he said.

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.
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.”

‘¢T can’t even show you the way,” said the
‘¢ But I will give you some

Iam

wise old woman.
help, and you can start as soon as you please.”

‘¢J will go now,” said Hilary.

Then the old woman went to her shelf and
took a goose-quill, and apot of ink, and a piece
of paper, and wrote three things on the paper
and gave itto Hilary. ‘* Here are three rules,”
she said. ‘*Do not read the second one until
you have finished with the first, anddo 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.”

R. M. Apen.




‘6LOOK AT THAT, WILL you?”
A “MEAN
A *“*MEAN FELLOW.”

=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
a pamecden 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
speak.

‘¢ J 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.
‘¢T 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



FELLOW.”

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
him.”

‘¢Oh! mean; sodidI. 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.”

?
A “MEAN

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
youll laugh out of the other side of your
mouth.”

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 todo
, 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
valuable.

‘ 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.

FELLOW.”

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
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.”

as
JOHNNIE’S

«¢ 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. Iwas 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
tastened 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. Vl
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
beavers.”

Then did Dick and Lucas Stevens look at
each other, and remain dumb, while their faces
were red with something besides the nipping
air.

‘¢ We are dreadfully obliged ” — began Dick,
at 1ast.

ANT FARM.

‘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.”

‘¢T shouldn’t wonder if he was,” said Dick,
looking thoughtfully out of the window. Then,
after a moment, he turned to his brother:

‘©T say, Lucas, don’t let’s do that thing
to-night. T’ye 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.”

Pansy.



OUR WALKING CLUB.

JOHNNIE’S ANT FARM.

HO ever heard of an ant farm?
Well, I think not anybody but
Johnnie and the people who
heard him talk about his.
This was how it happened that

’ be 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
Washington.

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
JOHNNIE’S

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
soda.

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

ANT FARM
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
school!

Papa, mamma and Aunt Edith all agreed
that the ant farm had been very profitable,
indeed.

Marie McCroup.
FOLLOWING.

FOLLOWING.

T must
have
been nice to
have lived
when Jesus
was
earth,” said
Effie, look-
ing up from
the large
Bible which
lay on her
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.’
been there I would have followed him just as
quick !”

‘¢ 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.”

‘‘T 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. Tl 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
Wishard.

“OQ, 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.

on



KATE.

If I had

I promised to come, but mamma has such a
headache that I cannot leave the baby with her ;
it is nurse’s day out.”

‘¢T 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.”

‘©O, 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
troubled.

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.
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.

How do you know that Jesus wants you

FROM THE JUNIOR C. E. SOCIETY
OF SIDNEY, OHIO.

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.

; Carotyn M. Witson.
A STORY WHICH TELLS ITSELF.

=o a
SEE Eee i. -—
Re eased eae HERE



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f Jos ter,

A STORY WHICH TELLS ITSELF.
BABY’S CORNER.

BABY’S CORNER.



BABY FRANCES TO MISS FRANCES.

Y DEAR MISS FRANCES:
I want to write you a letter,

on account of the package I
got in the mail yesterday. It



“| is the first mail I ever had,
and I was very much surprised and very proud
of it.
pretty sunshine-colored things, and pinned one

Mamma opened it and took out two

BABY FRANCES.

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 swailowed. I have tried baked pota-
toes, and newspapers, and silver dollars, and

all kinds of things, but most generally some-



body scowls and says, ‘*No, no!” and then I
take the things out of my mouth and put my
head on one side, so they won’t scowl any
more. I can’t understand why everybody else
puts so many things in their mouths, and why
I can’t.

But the sunshine-colored things are pretty to
look at, even if I can’t eat them, and I thank
you and love you very much. I will send you
If I could

see you I would say ‘Baa, baa,

my picture when I have it taken.

baa, baa, baa,” and would pull
your hair and put my fingers in
your eyes. ‘That is the way I pet
people.

I 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.

strips, and they go ‘‘ Sssrrpsz!”

I tear them in

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. OnceI didn’t
have anything to do but sit in my wagon and
hear other babies cry. I don’t like to cry, and
I never do except when I want something to eat.
In those days the nurses didn’t pay much atten-
tion to me, but now I’m the only baby in the

house, and I have a nurse all to myself, and
CALLED.

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
Other folks

seem to fly around and do all sorts of things,

entertaining me between times.
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
things.
This is the first

Come and see me as soon

I must take a nap now.
letter I ever wrote.
as you can.

Lovingly,
FRANCES.





CALLED.

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?



CHRISTMAS CHRYSANTHEMUMS.
INDIA.—MISSIONARY DOLLS.

INDIA.

OW many people are there in India?
ite 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?

CALLING FOR HELP.

EWS 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.

MISSIONARY DOLLS.

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.

MISSIONARY BOOKS AND PAPERS.

N some mission stations where they are
I 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
‘6 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 Pansigs, that
you are willing to give or send to others?

GIVING TO GOD.

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?


MARIAN LOOKED UP AT THE TREES.
ATHLETICS.




























itd nda EI
ay Wy “EN Ay:



















ATHLETICS.



EAR YOUNG FRIENDS:

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, 7. 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” sco
familiar in all modern gymnasiums. This
“KEEP A SCRAP BOOK.”

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
exercise.

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 (This is accredited to the
gymnasium. )

2. It develops the lungs and chest, caus-
ing vigorous circulation of the blood in the
extremeties.

3. It greatly strengthens the muscles of the
arms and back.

air.

4. It enlarges the appetite. (Perhaps
your fathers and mothers may think this an
objection. )

d. 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.

Pastor RossENBERG.

“KEEP A SCRAP BOOK.”

HIS 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, J 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.

‘¢T 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.


N | AY has arrived, wearing the sweetest
chaplet of the year,
There spreads the oak its cool green light, and

here

The apple blossom flushes and the white thorn
breathes,

The fern sends leaflets, fresh from its downy
sheathes,

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.



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.
— Selected.

SONG OF THE PRINCESS MAY.

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

SONG

OF SPRING.

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.

A SONG OF SPRING.
UT 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 aud 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.


HURRAH FOR GARDEN !
THE BAG

THE BAG OF SMILES.
(A Wonder Story.)

In Two Parts.

PART II.

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 firstrule: ‘*Find the Bag of
Smiles.” ‘*Dear me!” he said to himself and
the little bird. ‘‘Sbhe 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. Youshall 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
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
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



late afternoon.

ahead.

OF SMILES.

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
hé 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 bad
long ago given up. The great man said no,
also, and added that he had never known any-
THE BAG

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 forsale.

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

OF SMILES.

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 thmk 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.
THE

Then Hilary almost cried for joy, and he
took the bag and loosened the gold cord and
gave italittle 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 with 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

BAG OF

SMILES.

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 2 moment. Then he said, ‘* This
is the Under-Garden, and I think you must
have fallen in through the wise eld woman’s
passenger-hole. I told her only yesterday that
something of this sort would happen before
long.”

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 I will 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
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

now.
THE BAG OF SMILES.

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
garden.

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.

R. MacponaLtp ALDEN.

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.
LOCUSTS.—CROWS IN PEKING.

LOCUSTS.

()* course you know the grasshopper when

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
All at once the sun will

you see him.

they as some armies.

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
them !

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!



































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































TRYING TO FRIGHTEN THE LOCUSTS.

be darkened, then down upon the green fields

of grain the hosts of locusts descend, and ina .

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
carcasses.

Then another wind often brings back the
sickening stench from which multitudes of
people die.

So, many people die of famine (want of

CROWS IN PEKING.

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.


A CURIOUS LIBRARY.

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? Id 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. 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.

Pexine, China.

A CURIOUS LIBRARY.

HE great library of the Dukes of Devon-
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.

HOUGHTS do not need the wings of words
To fly to any goal.
Like subtle lightnings, 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.
— Selected.
ROUND THE FAMILY LAMP.



GAMES.

ERE 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
blunders.

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
Arnold.”

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.”
sequences will be a forfeit.

When it is again the leader’s turn, he says:
‘¢ While in Chicago we met Elizabeth Barrett

The con-

Browning,” or any other person known to fame
whose name commences with ‘* B.”

Immediately his left-hand neighbor must be
ready to say, ‘‘O, 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
fun.

BOOKS.

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.
BILLY, ALIAS WILLIE.

BILLY, ALIAS WILLIE.

“qT 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
7 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.”

‘sWhat 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,”
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 chafling you. It’s all
about the prize in overcoats at the Broadway
House.”

‘¢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.
said I wouldn’t lie, nor steal, nor nothin’, ever,
and I won't.”

‘Good for you, my boy,” said the gentle-
man, laughing. ‘You'll beat in the end, I
believe. Tl stoke your paper now, anyhow —
two of them.’

But at that moment a woman who had been





said

coy

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
group.

‘¢ Billy who?” she asked.
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.”

‘“‘Ig 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,”
the tall boy.

‘*Tve had a specimen of your truth,”
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 for
two papers—had gone away without them,
which Billy, discovering,
whelmed with anxiety and shame, and begged
Joe, as being the fastest runner, to clip it after
him and give him back his money.

“JT 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

‘¢What is the

continued

said



was suddenly over-
BILLY,

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.

“Tl 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
supper?”

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, O, 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 somethin’ warm to
cover you up with? O, my!” Then to the
woman: ‘‘J 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. T’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-

ALIAS WILLIE.

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.
William had been a great care, and a

She was not used to living
alone.
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.

‘“Pl see him, if I have to go without my
supper, and my breakfast into the bargain,” he








\ NA 4 ")
le

WA



BILLY.
BILLY,

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-



ALIAS WILLIE.

per? And do you have a blanket or something
to cover you?”

“Lick me?” repeated Billy indignantly, ‘1
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 sbe 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 :
“JT 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.”

Pansy.



A MARCH BREEZE.
CELIA STUART’S TRUST.

CELIA STUART’S TRUST.

HE was a pretty girl when her
face was pleasant, but this
| 4 tires morning it was all in a frown.
VIE ie In vain Baby Frances made her
\ HE prettiest attempts at speech,
Sle 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













YZ
il

ay




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 sure until 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



THE KITTENS IN BABY’S PLACE.

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
CELIA STUART’S

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
seé what they are laughing about,” she said,
springing up; ‘‘ nothing can happen to Frances
in such a little minute as that.”

‘¢Q, 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.”

“TI 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
her 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.
short time indeed, then ran back as fast as she

In her own opinion she staid a very

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? Ido 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.

‘©Q, mamma! what has become of Frances?”

Through the house she ran, screaming louder

TRUST.

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.”

‘“©Q, Ann! are you sure mamma has her?”

‘¢Sure? of course lam. 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?”

‘¢T didn’t know,” said Celia, and she dropped
in a little heap on the floor and began to ery.

‘¢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?”
her work-basket for a

Celia’s idea some way

Mamma bent over
moment to hide a smile.
sounded very odd.

‘¢T think, dear, that God may have let Frisk
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: ‘¢O, 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.
of Frances, and you, and the birdies, and
everybody.” ALICE ParKER BEALE.

Presently she answered :

and Whisk help to teach you a lesson.

God will take care
BABY’S CORNER.

BABY’S CORNER.

MY VISIT TO

Cy 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 Mooun’s.
Iwas real glad, and the next night I went.
When I got to our door, a white cloud was

ready to take me.

THE MOON.

When I got there we had tea, and after-
wards, I looked down on the earth and saw
When they
ant said, ‘*‘ I beat.”
The other, ‘I

And so they kept on quarreling,

two little ants playing a game.
had got through, one little
The other, ‘‘You did not.”
did too.”
and I saw a good many other things.

When I got home, I told mamma all about it.

Doris A. Ricn (eight years old).





BENNY AND BUNNY,
THE

THE SQUIRREL’S HOME.

NE beautiful morning in May
my brother, little daughter
and myself left Paducah, Ky.,
where the two latter were vis-
iting the former, at the early
hour of 3.4. M. 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

cu

a

£0} S



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 fourtain
throws vp 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

SQUIRREL’S HOME.

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 —



AT HOME,

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,
A THOUGHTFUL

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
hands.

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.”

AuicE Hamiiton Ricu.





A THOUGHTFUL TOAD.

HERE 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.”

TOAD.—WISE BEN.

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
more.’

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?

WISE BEN.

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?
HARVEY’S EVIDENCE.

HARVEY’S EVIDENCE.

ALLOO! 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
A good-sized apple in his mouth,



thief for you.
and two bulging out of his pockets.”
spoke, Harvey Burroughs dragged his victim
inside the store, for the young clerk, Vick, to

look at. A newstore, 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.

‘¢T 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
post-oftice.”

‘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?” .

“¢J 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

As he.

wish father was here.
little boy?
apples?” -

‘‘ Yes, Iam,” said the little fellow. ‘+ My
name is Joseph Hart, and I don’t steal nothin’.
He give me the apples for standing by his
wagon; he knows me, he does; I usedeto live
out in the country by his house, and he knows
I wouldn’t steal; and I wishI lived there now.”
The tears began to come thick and fast; and
Vick looked anxiously at the little distressed
face.

‘“¢Let go of him, Harvey,” he said at last;
‘¢he’s such a little chap; and he has a kind
of honest face; I can’t think he took the apples.

What is your name,
Are you sure 2 man gave you those

‘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.”

6 Oh,
‘¢ 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 Dll let him go if you say so,
and he may scud quicker than lightning; and
after this you can look eut for your own goods ;
I'll not help you.”

“Yes, Ill stay,” said the little boy, the
moment his arm was released.
nothin’ 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, 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 bere
for you; he’s the chap who has been stealing
your apples.”

“‘T 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.

my!” said Harvey, in disgust;

“T ain't got
HARVEY’S EVIDENCE.

‘¢ Good-morning, my boy,” he said cheerily
to the little fellow. ‘+ What is all this trouble
about?”

‘¢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.”

«sT don’t need to see him,” said Mr. Wilson,
smiling. ‘Iu 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.

“PVE FOUND YOUR THIEF.”

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, Ido; 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
them.” '

‘* No, sir,” said Vick. ‘Father, I did not
think the little boy was a thief; I told Harvey

”

so.
OCTOBER

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 Sparrorp.

OCTOBER DAYS.

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 sparkllng 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 tothe clatter
of their voices—all talking at once, regard-
less of parliamentary rules — why, it’s positively
disgraceful! worse than a political convention
—jin 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 fromevery post and bush.



DAYS

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, burderied
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-
test.

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
OCTOBER DAYS.

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.
OCTOBER DAYS.

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,

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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 iu 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, Iam 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

sunny slope.

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
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.
ALBERT M. Moran.

The above article was written by a gentleman for the pleas-
ure and benefit of his ownchildren, 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.— (Eprirors oF THE PANSY.)
JUNE.—THE FAIRIES’ MISSION.

It is all God asks of them;

But 2 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.

66 TUNE! June! June!” — Selected.

: Low croon So ee eae a ae

The brown bees in the clover;
“¢ Sweet! Sweet! Sweet! ”

Repeat
The robins, nested over.



THE FAIRIES’ MISSION.

HEN the weary children their evening
prayers have said,
And their dear mamas have tucked them snug

Avis GREY. oped
: When the little birds have cuddled down to
SONG for June, whose-breath is sweet ant
. . ?
With blossoms opening at our feet ; Safe from every harm ’neath their mama’s
Whose voice is heard in brooks that run Gresee
2

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.

Keen E. Rexrorp. When the butterflies cease flitting in the sun,
And the frog’s loud croaking with the day is

done,

When the twinkling stars, laughing in the sky,
Seem to call good-night from their home so



DINNA FORGET.
(Published by request.)

HE lily bell on its swinging spray high ;
Hath but to be fair and sweet;
The humming bird in his own bright way Then it is the fairies, nicely dressed in white,
Flitteth gem-winged and fleet : Come with sweet perfume for the blossoms
And blue-birds warble a plaintive lay bright,
The breath of the spring to greet. Sprinkling it upon the lily and the rose,
Mignonette and pink, and every flower that
They are sweet to hear, blows.

They are fair to view — Auick May Dovuetas.
GEORGE’S
GEORGE'S VICTORY.

—=74qT was the first copper penny the
boys had ever seen; one of the
j large coins we used to have,
but now almost out of circu-
lation. George’s uncle had

fees civen 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.”



VICTORY.

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.

‘¢Ts 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
eyes.

‘¢ 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.
CHINATOWN.

CHINATOWN.

TRIP through Chinatown 1s
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
themselves.

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



A CHINESE GIRL.

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
CHINATOWN.

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.

E1izaBETH Burroucus Bucxxovt.



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?
POOR MAMIE.

POOR MAMIE.

T came over her all at once while
j she was dressing — not by any
{ means for the first time, either.
# Nobody but she knew how
7 many tears she had shed over
4 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.
be earnestly cautioned on no account to set
foot in a room whose door stood open— every-
thing about that wonderful April-fool party
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 heart 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

They were to

had been planned to go by contraries.
POOR MAMIE.

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,
‘¢T 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
dreadful.”’

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
morning.

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 had possession of her.

It is surprising how many disagreeable things
one can find in life if one sets 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
again.

‘‘Don’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; «I

e
POOR

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.”

‘¢©Q, daughter!” said her mother; ‘‘I am
sorry you cannot rise above such unworthy
feelings, and be happy in spite of your
disappointment.”

‘6O, now, mamma! you don’t know anything
about it; if you were a little girl you would
understand. JI 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.”

“©O, 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.

‘©Q, 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.

MAMIE.

‘“¢T 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
wear.

‘*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?”

‘¢O, 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
POOR MAMIE.

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
answered.

‘“‘ 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
softly.

‘¢ Which one does my daughter think?”

‘©O, mamma, dear mamma! the other one.
I am so sorry for her. How can she be
patient? I never could. But O, 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! ”

Pansy.





———

aS
SSS SS

=



















































DRESSING BABY.


‘6 THEY SET RHEBIE IN, TO MAKE UP THE LOAD.”
TOMMY’S DIFFICULT PLACE.

TOMMY’S DIFFICULT PLACE.

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 bon-
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,
‘Sand the men will swear at you, and cuff
you.”

‘¢ What of that?” said Conscience, you
didn’t promise to keep your pledge if it was
easy, and every one treated you well; you
promised.”

‘*So I did,” said Tommy; ‘‘O, 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.”

‘IT 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 fof that. And it was well that he



CONSIDERING.

HE STOOD STILL,

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 acall for help! No ex-
planation was necessary. Then he turned and
went quickly back to the shop.

' “Back already?” said one; ‘‘ where is the
beer? ”

“TT can’t getit, 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.”
SUNDAY AFTERNOON.

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 Iwas. 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
alone.”

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.”

Pansy.

SUNDAY AFTERNOON.

No. I.

Our promised land, and how to reach it.
(Rey. 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.”

Hom. CycLopapia.

‘¢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.” - Ipip.

‘¢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.”
AUGUSTINE.

‘Think of heaven with a hearty purpose,
and peremtory designs to get there.”
JEREMY TAYLor.

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.”

Baxter.

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
useful.

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?
TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING.

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
account.

How will you secure the help of Christ?
Ask for it, believe you will receive it, and all
the light he gives you, follow.

TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING.

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 ‘*O, mother, don’t! please. T’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?”

‘¢ 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
handle.”

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










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‘¢] WOULD LIKE TO HAVE MY PICTURE TAKEN.”
TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING.

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 fora 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? [ 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
came.

“* 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
I'll be awfully careful of it.”

‘s 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
this.” \

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.
‘sDon’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—”

‘sWhat 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?

one evening?

?

I heard
THE BABY’S NURSE.

you using very unbecoming language to your
sister, and to judge from your appearance
you have been about some very inappropriate
work.”

‘¢ Well, father, Laura burst in here and —”

‘¢ Never mind what Laura did, Millicent.
Uufortunately for you, I know which daughter
tries to care for and spare her sick mother in
every possible way. I overheard enough to
show me which one is to blame.
tell me what is the trouble, and you may listen.”

But Laura was already sorry that she had
spoken so sharply, and tried to soften the story
as much as truth would permit.

‘¢ Her mind is so full of the Physical Culture
entertainment, father, that she does not stop to
think. I know she did not mean to hinder and
make trouble.”

‘¢T see,” said Mr. Evans, speaking grimly.
‘¢T have heard a good deal about this Physical
Culture business. If every one is as much
carried out of common sense by it as our Milli-
cent is, I should say it was high time to have
some moral culture. Millicent, you may put
yourself into a suitable dress for sweeping, and
do the work you were sent to do, at once; and
you will not need to think any more about a
dress for the entertainment, for you are to be
excused from attending it. You may tell your
teacher that I said so.”

Poor Millie! the hall bedroom floor might
almost have been washed, if that were desir-
able, with the tears she shed. No hope had
she of any change of mind on her father’s part.
He rarely interfered with his children, but when
he did, his word was law.

And poor Laura! she went domueicaet heavy-
-hearted and miserable. Why had Millie been
so silly, and why had she allowed her vexation
to make matters worse?

The poor frail mother actually cried when
she heard of Millie’s disappointment. ‘‘ Yet
I really cannot ask her father not to notice it,”
she said sorrowfully. ‘‘ Millie has been so
remiss in her duties for weeks; all on account
of the hold which that Physical Culture craze
has upon her. It is too much of a good thing.
I am afraid her father is doing right.”

Pansy.

Laura may

tell you.

THE BABY’S NURSE.

66 ES,” said Mr. Hillier, as he carefully
dug around my pansy bed, ‘Oh!

yes’m, I’ve seen elephants in India many a

time. I was stationed at one point, with the

English army, you know, where I saw one who

used to take care of the children.”

‘Take care of the children!
he? What do you mean?”

‘© Well, he did, ma’am. It was wonderful
what that elephant knew. The first time I
made his acquaintance he gave me a blow that.
I had reason to remember. I was on duty in
the yard, and the Colonel’s little child was
playing about, and she kept running too near, I
thought, to the elephant’s feet. I was afraid
he would put his great clumsy foot on her by
mistake, so I made up my mind to carry her to
asafer place. I stooped to pick her up, and
the next thing I knew I had had a knock which
sent me fiat on the ground. That elephant
had hit me with his trunk. One of the ser-
vants came along just then and helped me up;
and when I told him about it, said he: ‘I
wonder the old fellow didn’t kill you. It isn’t
safe for anybody to interfere with that baby
when he has it in charge. Jd have you to
know that he’s that baby’s nurse.

‘© Well, I thought he was just saying it for
sport, but sure enough, after awhile the nurse
came out with the child fast asleep in her arms,
and what did she do but lay it in the elephant’s
trunk as though it had been a cradle! And
that great fellow stood there for more than an
hour, watching that baby, and rocking it gently
now and then!

‘¢ He was real good to the other children, too.
It used to be his business to take the family
out riding. The Colonel’s lady would come
out and mount to her cushioned seat on his
back; then, one by one, the three children
would be given to the elephant and he would
hand them up to the mother, nicer than any
nurse or servant could, you know, because he
could reach, amd knew how to doit. Oh! an
elephant is an uncommon handy nurse, when
he is trained to the business; and faithful, I
You can trust him every time.”

How could
OUR
KAPIOLANI.

HIS is the name of the daughter of a
Hawaiian chief, who lived many years
ago. She had been a wicked woman, a drunk-
ard, and a sinner in many ways. But the mis-
sionaries came to her part of the island, and
she became interested in them because they
knew how to read and write. This was knowl-
edge which astonished her, and she wanted to
be taught.

Before Kapiolani had learned to read very
well she had learned to know and love Jesus
Christ. This made such a wonderful difference
in her life that everybody who knew her was
greatly astonished. Among other things which
she did, she took a long journey to the great
volcano, because the people believed that the
goddess Pele took care of it, and would
destroy any person who offered it any dis-
honor.

Kapiolani, to show them the folly of this,
went close to the volcano, threw stones into its
mouth, ate the berries which the people said
were for the goddess alone, and said to the
frightened people who were watching, expect-
ing to see her die at once: ‘¢ Jehovah is God;
he made these fires. Jam not afraid of Pele.
If she kills me for what I have done, then you
may believe on her; but if God takes care of
me, after what I have done to her, then you
ought to believe on him.” Then, with her
Christian friends who had gone with her, she
sang a hymn; then they kneeled down near
the voleano, and Kapiolani prayed to God. Of
course no harm whatever came to her, and the
astonished people began from that time to think
about the God to whom she prayed. Her story
reminds me of Elijah on Mount Carmel. Do
you know that story? You will find it in the
Bible.

THE VOICE OF CONSCIENCE.

EARS ago Kaahumanu, Queen of the
Hawaiian Islands, called upon the mis-
sionaries who had tately come to the island and
asked for dinner. It was served to her. On

MISSION BULLETIN.

the table was a single silver spoon, the only
one the missionary owned. This spoon the
queen fancied, and quietly helped herself to,
merely saying in excuse the one word ‘ Mine.”
Her idea seemed to be that since she was queen
she had a right to seize anything she wanted
and call it hers. Years afterward that queen
lay dying.

Just before she died she sent one of her
servants to a certain chest, to get a package
which she described, and ordered it sent to
the missionaries with this message; ‘‘It is just
one; I give the other.” The package had two
silver spoons—the one she had stolen, and
another of about the same value.

IN HONOLULU.
NTERESTING work is now going on among
the Chinese in Honolulu. It is said that
a better class of Chinese go there than come to
America. 5
‘*The Advance” gives an account of one
missionary visitor who is trying to teach the
mothers better than to bandage the feet of
their poor babies. She says she can pick out
the children who are undergoing the torture by
the pinched look on their faces, and the low
moaus of pain which they give, whether wak-
ing or sleeping. One mother to whom she tried
to explain how cruel the practice was, pointed
triumphantly to her caller’s waist, as a proof
that she had made it smaller than was natural,
and. hinted that it was no worse to make feet
small than waists. Fortunately the visitor was
a woman who had done nothing of the kind.
Her waist was the size which nature had meant
she should have. She at once took off her
belt and passed it around the Chinese mother’s
waist, belting it over her baggy garments. The
woman was amazed to find that it fitted her
nicely, and that it was because her caller wore
clothes which fitted her form that she looked
small around the waist. I wondered, .in read-
ing the account, whether there were. not some:
American women who would. have been embar-’
rassed if they had been accused of making their
waists unnaturally small.




AMONG THE CHIPPEWAS.
HE mission school at Tower, Minn., is
chiefly attended by Indian girls; the
boys do not seem to care for education. The
teacher says that a year ago their pupils had
never been taught to wash themselves or their
clothes. When their clothing became too filthy
to endure any longer they threw it away. Now
the school girls have learned neat habits, and
seem shocked to hear of people who are doing
just as they did but a year ago. The homes,
too, are gradually changing. They begin to
lay floors in their cabins, and to paper the
walls with newspapers which they beg of the
missionaries. Papers with pictures in are in
great demand for this purpose. Very few of
the Chippewas have gotten so far that they
use tables, or stools; the most of them still

make the floor do duty for both of these.

WHISKEY IN NEW MEXICO.

HIS is one of the greatest enemies which
our missionaries have to mect. Not long

ago, just before one of the great Indian war
dances, some of the Indians in Zuni, N. M.,
came to the missionary teacher asking her to
write to the Indian agent at Santa Fé, beg-
ging him to send a soldier to prevent the sale
of liquor at that time. The missionary wrote,
but it did no good; the liquor was brought

into the village as usual. Then an old chief
came to the missionary to say that he had
poured out a large quantity of the whiskey and
thrown it away; he asked if she thought he
would get into trouble. She told him to keep
on with that good work, and the missionaries
would stand by him.

AN IMPORTANT PLEDGE.

DNs Band in one of our Western

States has taken a pledge which reads
somewhat like the Christian Endeavor one.
The members promise to be present at every
meeting, unless detained by a reason which
they would be willing to give to Jesus Christ;
they are to make a very special effort to come
if the day is stormy or very cold.

‘SMALL BOYS’ COTTAGE.”
HIS is the name of a mission ‘‘ Home ” in
Sisseton, S. D., where little Indian boys
are gathered and taught. At present there
are three Josephs, three named Amos, one Eli,
one Solomon, one Elias, and one Adam, besides
David, and Samuel, and Peter,and John. Miss
Patterson, their teacher, has undertaken to tell
these boys all about the Bible stories which
have to do with their names. This is the Sab-
bath evening entertainment. Each boy has his
FROM ONE OF

turn to hear about his namesake. A lady who
has visited the mission, says she never heard
of children before who were so fond of Bible
stories, nor who knew so many,

ARROW HEADS.

HOME Mission monthly suggests that
Mission Bands, Christian Endeavor so-
cieties, etc., cut out arrow heads from stiff
paper or fancy cardboard, write or print some
item about the Indians on them, and give them
out to be read at the next missionary meeting,
the members being each allowed to take one
home as a souvenir.

MR. TAN JIAKKIM.

ERHAPS you have never heard of the
gentleman, but he is worthy of being
known. Yes, he is a Chinaman; and besides
being noted for his large wealth, he has the
honor of being the largest giver to the Metho-
dist Mission at Singapore, India. He is a
banker in that city, and he gave, not long ago,
fifteen hundred dollars to the mission, and col-
lected for it five thousand dollars more from
his Chinese friends.

FROM ONE OF OUR PANSIES.

My pear Pansy:

My Auntie Frank wrote some verses for my
brother and me, and we liked them so much
that we thought the other Pansies would like
them, too; so I send them to you.

Your little friend, Dora Stoner.

AUNTIE FRANK’S VERSES.

In two little beds in a garden, are many fair
flowers blowing ;

Some things not flowers among them, are rough
and unlovely showing ;

And ever small seeds are dropping into the
ground, to break —

Some into weeds, some into blossoms, ‘for
Jesus’ sake.”

OUR PANSIES.

Where is the garden? The beds are two little
lives I know;

New little lives where the seeds of good and
evil will easily grow.

Dear little lives that the Father has put in the
world, to make —

Music, and sunshine, and gladness, ‘‘ for Jesus’
sake.”

Good thoughts, sweet words, kind actions,
burst into lovely flower ;

But the faults, dark weeds beside them, are
opening every hour;

Some one must draw them out quickly, and
nourish the blossoms, to make

Fragrance, and brightness, and beauty, ‘‘ for
Jesus’ sake.”



A PANSY BED.

Plant in only the seeds of the good, and the
pure, and the true;

Water the flowers of gentleness, love —coax
the sunlight, too ;

Root out the weeds of ill-nature, unkindness,
before through the soil they break,

Never forgetting the whisper motto:
Jesus’ sake.”

¢¢ for

Ah! my two little workers for Jesus, souls
fresh and fair,

Two little bits of God’s garden are given into
your care.

Watering, weeding, planting, patient your labor
take,

Cherishing only the sweet and lovely, ‘‘for
Jesus’ sake.
























































































































































































































































‘¢ NICE OLD FELLOW” SAID ESTELLE.
THE CROWN



HUMBERT I. OF ITALY.

THE CROWN PRINCE OF ITALY.
LL during the autumn the press
of Europe had a good deal to
say about the Prince of Naples,
and. the political significance

Ley of his visit to peste borane

=scfaes to see the German military
maneuvers. Perhaps some Pansy who occa-
sionally peeps at his father’s morning paper,
may have wished to know something more
about this young prince.

He was born November 11, 1869, in the
beautiful city of Naples, from which he takes
his title, and where he has lived since reaching
manhood. Being the only son of the King of
Italy, he is heir to the Italian throne, which he
will ascend, at his father’s death, as Victor
Emmanuel the Third.

Unlike most boys, he has never felt a grand
passion for military life, although he has been
so well trained that he is now a pretty good
soldier, and has attained to the rank of colonel
in the Italian army. He has been raised in a
very strict and simple fashion, and some Pan-
sies who feel insulted by being sent to bed so
early, may be consoled when they hear that,





. scrofulous tumors,

PRINCE OF ITALY.

even at the age of fifteen, the Crown Prince of
Italy retired at 9 Pp. mM.

No matter what distinguished guests hap-
pened to be present, promptly at nine o’clock
his tutor appeared, saying, ‘‘It is bedtime for
His Royal Highness,” and the principino —
little prince — marched off like a soldier. Next
morning, like a soldier again, he rose by five
o’clock, and went about his regular daily duties.

His tastes have been rather scientific and
literary, so that he early became a fine linguist,
reading and speaking fluently several languages
besides his own.
good numismatic, having an extensive eollec-
tion of rare old coins, to which he continues to
add from year to year.

While still quite young he suffered from
and at one time, Prince
Royal though he was, he was obliged to wear
ugly and uncomfortable irons on his legs to
strengthen their bones. A delicate boyhood
has left him small of stature, and not over-
strong physically.

The Prince of Naples and his beautiful

Even as a boy he was a very



QUEEN MARGARITA OF ITALY.
AN IMPORTANT
mother, Queen Margaret of Savoy, have al-
ways been particularly devoted to each other,
and in Italy one hears many pretty stories,
illustrative of their mutual affection. I shall
not attempt to tell them now, but will give one
funny tale of the prince’s boyhood, to show
that even his doting mother was too sensible to
let him have whatever he wanted.

An important council of cabinet ministers
had kept the king unusually late, and dinner
was delayed. The young prince felt his boyish
appetite getting too much for him, so he begged
his mother to order dinner, notwithstanding
the king’s absence. After several refusals. the
queen said, ‘‘Go and get your Dante,” which
to an Italian is what Shakspeare is to an Anglo-
Saxon. The prince obeyed, and seating him-
self said, ‘‘ What shall I read?” ‘+ Read Canto
thirty-three,” replied the royal mother, ‘‘ and
then your appetite will cease to trouble you.”

It was an account of the terrible sufferings
of a Tuscan nobleman, who was punished for
his crimes by being shut up with his two inno-
cent sons and two young grandsons, to die of
hunger in what is now called the ‘‘ Tower of
Famine,” in Florence. If any Pansy wishes
to see for himself what took away the crown
prince’s appetite, let him read the thirty-third
Canto of Longfellow’s translation of Dante’s
Inferno.

OxrvE May EaGer.

HERE is a stir of life amid the branches,
Faint songs begin to move the frosted air,
In sheltered corners, violet perfume wafted
Tells of the sweetness that is hidden there.
And tiny silver buds and yellow flowers
Rise up beneath the spring’s soft-falling showers.

Oh! sweet, fair time, when earth is in her
childhood,
When every day has its own precious gift,
When every bird has its love-song to utter,
When soft white cloudlets o’er the blue sky
drift ;
When all is pure and lovely, fair and mild,
And all the world is as some new-born child.
— Selected.

LETTER.—APRIL SONGS.

AN IMPORTANT LETTER.
HE town of Bourne, Lincolnshire, has
been having a hard time over the spell-
ing of its name. It seems that many people
have been in the habit of writing the word
‘¢ Bourn,” and as there is a ‘‘ Bourn” in Cain-
bridgeshire, endless delays and annoyances
have arisen because the letters, parcels, etc.,
which were intended for Bourne were sent to
Bourn. The people of Bourne were finally
called together in the town hall to decide what
should be done. It was unanimously voted to
report to the general post-office, to railway and
telegraph companies, and to all others supposed
to be interested, that their town of Bourne was
spelled with an e, and to beg them in future
not to omit it. So it seems that so small a
thing as the letter e is capable of making a
great deal of trouble.

>

APRIL SONGS.

RY-BABY APRIL comes along,
You never can tell whether
She’s going to smile
Or cry awhile —
She has such funny weather.



Now that April is here
We have light winds and laughter ;
The robins sing clear
Now that April is here,
And the best of the cheer
Is that May follows after :
Now that April is here
We have light winds and laughter.



Tell me, bonny April maiden,
Why those often-falling tears?
With what grief have you been laden
All these many, many years?
Send the tear-drops all a-Maying,
Give us smiles and give us kisses;
Then you'll hear the earth-folk saying,
‘¢ What a lovely April this is!”
— Selected.
BABY’S CORNER.

BABY’S CORNER.

——_

FRANCES.
Her Story as Told by Herself.

GO to bed at tick-kock (six
o'clock). J wear a pink flan-
nel ni-gown; it has a floor on
j it. ‘*Ba-ba” puts me in it,

Zi p
ZZ i then takes me to mamma to



say ‘nightie,’ and I spring into mamma’s
arms and hide my head, and won’t go back to
Ba-ba. When she tries to take me I throw my
head back, and laugh so loud that all the rest
laugh. I always laugh when other folks do;
I don’t know what I am laughing at, and I
guess the others don’t, either, but it is fun.

I like picsures (pictures). There is a book



HERE IS HER CHIN.

ot mens and womens and little children. My
mamma shows them to me, and she says,
‘¢Here is a little girl; here are her eyes, and

here is her nose, and here is her mouth, and

here is her chin.” Then she puts her finger on
my face and says, ‘‘ Here are Frances’ eyes,

and here is Frances’ nose, and here is Frances’



HERE IS HER NOSE.

Then I
put up my fingers and try to find my eyes and

chin, and here is Frances’ mouth.”
nose and chin, and everysing. I’ve got two
Ba-ba
has two eyes, too. Ba-ba is my nurse; I love
her. Folks call her ‘Cora,” but I don’t; I
say Ba-ba.

eyes, but I hasn’t got but one nose.

Pitty soon, after I won’t go back to Ba-ba
a good many times, and we have all laughed
a great deal, she snatches me up and carries
me off. I yell, but it doesn’t do any good,
for she plumps me into my crib. Then I know
it is tick-kock, and I shut my eyes and go

seepins until tick-kock comes again.








THE RACCOON AND HIS RELATIVES.

By L. H. M. Paumer.



HE raccoon and his
relatives are also
connections of the
bear, and belong to
the arctoidea, the
literal meaning of
which is ‘‘ bear-
like.”’ The raccoon
occupies such an
expanse of coun-
try, being found

in nearly all the wooded parts of the United

States, that his appearance is familiar to many

people, but I doubtif his interesting disposition

is as well known. The body is strongly made
and the fur a mixed gray and black, ‘‘ pepper
and salt”? color, darker on the back, the tail
ringed with five or six black marks. An odd
black streak across the face, which, with a little
upright dark marking between the eyes, helps
to give the sharp face that keen, inquisitive
expression that is its leading characteristic.
This animal loves best to make his home in
forests with swampy ground near by. There,
from his bed in a hollow tree, he goes forth in
quest of food, and he is not at all particular as
to quality, so the quantity is obtained. It



may be said the raccoon will eat anything
he can lay his hands on, and being a fellow of
skill and resource he generally obtains what is
desired. He is ‘‘ Jack of all trades,” but con-
trary to the old saying, master of each one of
them, being a successful hunter, fisher and fly-
catcher as occasion requires. Birds and their
eggs are eagerly taken, and should a nest be in
a cleft or hollow where the eggs cannot be
abstracted by the mouth, the ’coon will put a
paw in and maneuver until the coveted dainty
is drawn out. His method of fishing does not
require a net and no hooks other than the ani-
mal’s claws. Waiting beside a stream until a
fish comes within reach, he slaps it in the side
and hooks it out of the water.

To the farmer the raccoon is sometimes a
source of great annoyance because of his
depredations in the cornfield. When the ker-
nels are soft and full of milk, this destructive
creature climbs the stalk and bites into as
many ears as may suit his ’coon-ship to destroy,
and if other eatables fail, the chicken coop is
visited ; his menu also includes frogs and oys-
ters; but how the latter are gotten from the
shell, I do not know.

*Coon hunting is a time-honored sport in the
THE RACCOON AND HIS RELATIVES.

South, especially with the negroes, who de-
sire no better frolic than a moonlight hunt.
Equipped with guns, axes and material to
make a fire, and accompanied by trained
‘¢’eoon dogs ” to range far and near through
the woods, the party set forth. When a dog
finds a tree in which he thinks there is a ’coon,
he stations himself at the foot of it and barks
persistently until the hunters are guided to the
spot by the sound. Various methods are em-
ployed to dislodge the animal. If in a hollow
tree, a hole is cut at the bottom of the supposed
hollow and a bunch of lighted straw thrust in
to smoke him out at the top. When at bay,
the raccoon fights bravely and well, as many a
vanquished dog might tell, could he but speak.

One habit the raccoon possesses, and which
has not been satisfactorily explained, is that of
washing and soaking his food, especially meat,
before eating. It is not probable that this is
done to soften it, as an oyster is treated in the
same manner, and besides, the animal has
good teeth. For this habit, the title of
‘sWashing Bear” has been bestowed upon
In the northern United States the rac-
coon, snugly ensconced in some burrow or hol-
low tree, goes into hibernation, but his sleep is
not so long or as profound as that of the bear.
Some of these animals live in burrows which
they make in banks of streams and ditches.

’Coons make most interesting pets and are
easily tamed and taught when taken young.
Meddlesome and full of curiosity, there is little
or nothing about the premises that is not thor-
oughly investigated by the sharp eyes and
keen nose, and turned inside out and upside
down by those deft paws.

A few years ago at the office of a city coal
and wood yard, lived ‘‘ Jeff,” a tame ’coon
with something of a history. He came from
Wisconsin to Washington at the time of Presi-
dent Harrison’s inauguration and was in the
inaugural procession. What his history was
previous to that time, I do not know, but I am
sure it must have been interesting. Being a
fine brawny fellow of a lively disposition, he
was a source of great entertainment to his
master, who could never tell just what Jeff
would do next or what scrape he might get

him.

them both in. Soon after Jeff’s arrival at the
coal yard, the chain was taken off and he was
allowed to go about much as he chose, and well
he knew how far it was best to venture from
the protecting limits of the office. “He would
sometimes go to the outside door and peer out,
and then venture across the pavement if the
coast was clear. If a dog appeared, Jeff
climbed a tree. He was very fond of eggs,
and also English sparrows, which his master
shot for him. When Jeff heard the slight re-
port of the air gun he hastened to the scene of
action with joyful anticipation of the repast in
store for him. If not hungry, Jeff did not
always put in an appearance, being in the piles
of wood about the yard.

One night Mr. C (Jeff’s master) was
awakened by someone at the door saying,
‘¢Oh! Mr. C , Jeff is out!’ The messen-
ger proved to be from a house a few doors
away, occupied by two maiden ladies, whom
the mischievous little animal had badly fright-
ened. Prowling about on a nocturnal tour of
investigation, Jeff climbed upon the house-top,
and losing his foot-hold, had fallen through the
skylight! It is not difficult to imagine the
consternation of these worthy ladies (who sup-
posed burglars were in the house), rudely
awakened by so unceremonious an entrance;
and Jeff must have landed with a pretty loud
thud, for he was very fat.

One day a man asked permission to leave a
pair of chickens at the office until he could
conveniently carry them home. Not thinking
of the ’coon, Mr. C readily gave his con-
sent. Now any of the feathered tribe pos-
sessed great attractions for Jeff, and those
toothsome fowls proved too great a temptation
to be resisted. When the man called, an in-
quest was held over the remains of those
chickens and it was decided that they were not
fit to grace a civilized table.

About this time a large owl came into Mr.
C ’s possession. At the first meeting of
Jeff and the new-comer, a battle ensued in
which the owl was getting very much the
worst of it, and to judge by the quantities of
feathers pulled out, would probably have been
killed but for the timely arrival of Mr. C










a. :

eae a.

RACCOONS.


THE RACCOON AND HIS RELATIVES.

A popular Natural History states that ‘+ the
fact must not be withheld that upon oppor-
tunity the ’coon becomes very intemperate.
A publican in Nebraska had two tame ’coons.
One being more gentle, was allowed wider free-
dom in the saloon. He acquired a craving
appetite for strong drink and became an adept
in practice at the bar, for when he could not
get beer as a gift he learned to help himself.
He would stretch himself on his back under
the tap of the beer barrel, put his paws on the
stop-cock and manage to turn it but a little
and so let the beer trickle into his mouth until
he got his fill; intoxication would follow.” So
it would appear that the evils of strong drink
extend even to the animal kingdom.

The Black-footed Raccoon, sometimes called
the Mexican Raccoon, is a southwestern species,
being found in California, Texas and Mexico.
It is somewhat larger than the northern ani-
mal. There is one other true raccoon, the
crab-eater. Its home is in South America,
and there it is called Agouara. It is larger
than the North American species and its
shorter fur gives it a more slender appearance.
In tropical countries there are large land crabs
as well cs the water species, and by the ani-
mal’s fondness for these it acquired the name it
bears. Its food, aside from these, is much
the same as the northern species, with the
addition of sugar cane.

We now come to that curious animal, the
Coati Mondi, or Tejon. Itis quite bear-like in
some respects, but the nose is long and can be
made very flexible at the will of the animal, to
be thrust in all sorts of nooks and corners, or
correspondently rigid to plow up the ground in
search of worms. There are two species of
coati, the Mexican and Brazilian. The former
is a little the larger. The hair is rather long
and thick and varies much in color in different
animals, but perhaps the most general here is
chestnut-brown above, with a sprinkling of
light hair on the forepart of the body and light
yellow-gray underneath. The face is orna-
mented with several light patches. Like the

’coon, it has an appetite for everything that is
good, and can use that wonderful nose in
many ways to procure food. In drinking, or
at any time the animal wishes the long nose
out of the way, it is turned straight up with
perfect ease. It is a famous climber, and can
come down trees headfirst. Its home is from
southern Texas to Panama. The Brazilian
coati ranges over a large portion of South
America.

Another one of these ’coon-bears also in-
habiting South America is the Kinkajou, or
Potto. This interesting little animal is about
as large as a good-sized cat. Its fur is soft
and compact, the color reddish. Differing
from the preceding species, it has a prehensile
tail which it can coil two or three times around
a-branch of a tree. It can also put food to its
mouth with the hind-foot as well as the fore
paws. Passing through the main building one
day at the Zoo, my attention was arrested by
the comical spectacle the kinkajou presented.
He was lying upon his back with the forepart
of his body raised nearly upright and calmly
eating his dinner of lettuce. Three feet were
employed in this operation. The fore paws
held a leaf of lettuce to the mouth, from which
the kinkajou took dainty bites, the while re-
garding me gravely with his large eyes so
widely set apart. One hind leg was stretched
bolt upright, and in the foot was held a reserve
supply of lettuce, to be passed up when the
first installment had disappeared beneath the
kinkajou’s pink nose.


CLIMBING ST.
CLIMBING ST. PETER’S DOME.

LMOST every visitor to Rome
at once makes his way to the
far-famed church of St. Peter’s,
mi and if the day be fine, he
ES climbs to the ball over-topping
2-3 its great dome.

eee the church from the front, the
first sight of the dome is quite disappointing,
for it is so hidden by the facade as to seem too
low for grace and symmetry. But once inside
the church and standing under the immense and
lofty vault, one wonders how he could have
possibly thought it insignificant.

When he begins to climb to it, he is more
suprised than ever, for it is a long road to
travel.
spiral incline until he believes that he has
nearly reached the ball, he finds himself only as
far as the roof of the church, with the big
dome looming up higher than ever before him.

Over the door leading out of the church to
this ascent, is the tomb of Maria Clementina,
wife of James III. of England, who also died
in Rome. All the way up, when one winds
around to that side, he sees a mark which tells
him that he is just over the tomb. Were it not
for this constant reminder, and an occasional
peep out of the windows with which the way is
well lighted, one would entirely lose his bear-
ings, being and truly ‘‘ quite turned round,”
as people are wont to say.

Should any Pansy ever hear that the ascent
of St. Peter’s can be easily made on donkey-
back, let him remember that this is true only
so far as the roof. I have no doubt that don-
keys do sometimes go up with loads of material
for repairs, etc., but I have never seen any such
travelers there, although I have been up many
times. Perhaps donkeys, or sedan chairs, were
used by the very grand people, kings, queens,
and princes, whose visits are recorded on marble
slabs placed in the wall at many points.

There is also another common report that a
village has been built on the top of St. Peter’s,
and that many people live there. This is only
partially true, for although a good many houses
could find room on the immense flat roof, I have





After going round and round an easy

PETER’S DOME.

seen but three or four one-story cottages, built
so as to be out of sight from below. These
are for the use of the workmen and janitors
who are constantly employed about the huge
buildings. No women are allowed, but as I
peeped through the open, yet iron-grated
window of one airy dwelling, I thought a
woman’s hand might help the appearance of
the place. In another room I saw a pair of old
trousers hanging on a nail, while a white cat
seemed to be keeping house.

Just above the point where the dome springs
from the roof, an iron railing protects a narrow
landing that runs around the inside of the
curve, and commands the high altar far below.
Here the far-famed silver trumpeters sometimes
take their stand, and wake the music of the
echoes all around. On very grand occasions,
a hundred or so ‘‘sweet singers” range them-
selves around the railing, and letting their
lovely voices ring out through the numberless
arches and lofty waves of the great cathedral,
make wonderful melodies for the unseen listen-
ers below.

From the roof, the ascent becomes more and
more difficult, winding upward in the same
spiral fashion, and apparently fitted in between
two shells of domes, one three feet inside of
the other. As the dome curves, so the passage-
way curves, making one feel that the outer
dome is tumbling down upon him, and the
inner one is falling away from him, letting him
go he knows not where.

He is glad to reach the lantern, where if not
too dizzy, he can walk around the iron-railed
balcony which encircles its base, and gaze down
at the people swarming over the square below
like so many black ants about an ant-hill.
The view is far more extensive and beautiful
than even that from the roof, but often a
strong wind keeps one from enjoying it long.
There is a very perceptible difference in the
temperature at this height, and even on the
roof, I have seen hoar frost glistening when
the air of the city was comfortably warm and
agreeable.

In a stuffy little room stand two janitors,
who regulate the passing of visitors into the
ball, and who take charge of umbrellas and
TWO LOVING BEARS.—GOOD-BY, LITTLE FLOWERS.

wraps in the meantime. At this point many
ladies, losing courage or strength, refuse to go
higher, and it is small wonder, for the only
means of ascent is a light and fearfully perpen-
dicular ladder. Sixteen persons are allowed to
be in the ball at the same time, but when I had
been jammed in with thirteen, one being a very
fat priest, I thought there were quite enough of
us to fill it. Where the ball bulges outward,
there is a big curve for one’s back, but so little
space for one’s feet that he must double himself
up, and stand as round as he can.

As the ball is of iron, it gets very hot in the
sun of a bright winter day, and I should not
fancy being in it during July. Very narrow
slits let in enough light for one to see his neigh-
bor’s face, but they are too small to allow any
view of the city, not even a peep being pos-
sible. The ball is not steady, but although a
distinct trembling may be felt, there is no
danger of its losing its perfect equilibrium.

In the old days, when the Pope ruled Rome,
there was an annual illumination of ‘‘the
graceful dome which Michael Angelo hung in
the air,” as some onesays. With the entrance
of Victor Emmanuel into Rome, in 1870, this
féte was suspended, but writers describe as a
most wonderful sight, the immense half-spheri-
cal mass, twinkling with thousands of silvery
points of light that looked like so many stars.

As a rule, Pansies do not care for dry fig-
ures and dull statistics, so I will trouble their
memories a very wee bit in this direction, hop-
ing they will forgive me by never forgetting
what I tell them.

The height of the facade of St. Peter’s is
154 feet, but the distance from the ground to
the summit of the cross on the ball is 370 feet,
while the internal diameter of the cupola is
141 1-4 feet, or 21-2 feet less than that of
the Pantheon, which served Michael Angelo as
his model. OtiveE May Eacer.

OREDIENCE is the crowning grace of a fol-
lower of Christ. Nay, it is the very essence of
holiness.

TuHEopoRE L. CuyLer.

TWO LOVING BEARS.

HE CONGREGATIONALIST tells an in-
teresting story about two polar bears
who are in the Zoological Park at Washing-
ton, D. C. Their names are Ben and Rosa,
and they are evidently very fond of each other.
One proof of this is the way they manage their
dinners. They are given two huge loaves of
bread and some fish. They take the bread to
the water-tank and soak it to suit themselves.
Then, each having eaten half a loaf they ex-
change the other half and proceed to eating
each the other’s. This curious custom is always
carefully observed; and the same thing is done
with the fish. Ben divides his fish lengthwise,
cutting it neatly down the spine, doing it as
well, the writer says, as though he had a knife,
then, after eating half of it he gallantly offers
the other half to Rosa, and she does the same
with hers.

GOOD-BY, LITTLE FLOWERS.

ARK! through the holly boughs
Cold wails the blast,

Birds south are flying,

Summer is dying,
Flower-time is past,
Flower-time is past.

Cold are November skies,
Sunless and drear,
Golden rod, eyelids close,
Aster, tuck up your toes,
Winter is here,
Winter is here.

‘¢ Good-by, little flowers,”
The icy winds sing;
Snow, blanket them over,
Sleep well, little clover,
Sleep till the spring,
Sleep till the spring.
—From The Sunbeam.
BABY’S CORNER.

BABY’S CORNER.



MOLLY.

HIS is the
way I look
Thanks-

harness.

in my
giving
When

always know there

it is on I

is a long journey
before me; but I
like it,

have

for we

such nice
times on the way.

To be sure, I have



to get up before
daylight and walk
But then, what of a
My bells
jingle, and the children laugh and sing so
sweetly that the trip is made the delight of the

and walk until night.

little extra walk once a year.

whole year. At noon my master says: ‘¢ Well,

1»

Molly, would you like your dinner now

Then I say yes, in my language; and he knows

just what I mean. Master and mistress and
all the children sit in the wagon and picnic,
while I am allowed to eat my oats under the
trees by the side of the road.

The children run around among the trees for
awhile, then we start on our journey again.
When we get to grandmamma’s, I am hugged
and kissed and fed all sorts of dainties by the
little grandchildren; and grandmamma herself
always gives me an apple or something nice
when she says, ‘‘ Well, here is dear old Molly
again ;”’ then I am led to the barn where there
is always lots of the sweetest hay and corn and
oats ! i

In the morning, everyone seems to be very
happy ;
around !

and there are such lots of people
Old Ned, the horse that lives here,
says there is less noise in the barn-yard to-day:
yesterday the gobble, gobble, gobble of the
turkey nearly drove him wild; but it does not
Ned likes to have me
visit him because I keep the turkeys quiet.

N. M. W.

make a sound to-day.



THINKING IT OVER.
THE USE OF WORDS.

: Lo
2 oy és . 2
A \ SS I, 0
Y yj DPS 22.
Zp VAN a= .
eee



































SS Ss



nel”, ot

Ms

FOUNTAIN IN THE ALHAMBRA.

THE USE OF WORDS.

NC exchange gives a curious illustration of

the way in which young learners can be
bewildered by language. Little Edith went to
school for the first time. She came home look-
ing tired and disappointed.

‘¢T didn’t like it a bit; not a single bit,” she
explained to her questioning mother. ‘+ The
teacher isn’t nice at all; she doesn’t tell the
truf.”

The shocked mother began to question anx-
iously, to find what had given Edith such an
idea.

‘¢ She doesn’t, mamma,” said Edith, with great
earnestness, ‘‘she lifted me up into a chair and
told me to sit there for the present; and I sat
and sat just as still, twenty-leven hours, I guess,
and she never gave me any present at all, nor
said a word about it! She doesn’t tell the
truf, does she, mamma?”

SOUL that is rooted into Christ will

thrive like a tree planted by the rivers

of water. The leaves shall not wither, and
death will only be a transplanting into glory.
CuyLer.
CHRISTMAS BREAD CRUMBS.

CHRISTMAS BREAD CRUMBS.

T last dinner was ready. It had
been longer and slower work
than usual, not because there
was so much to be gotten, but
because the workers were heavy
hearted and slow motioned.

The truth is, it was the last Christmas dinner
they ever expected to eat in the little old house
to which the mother had come twenty-five years
before a bride, and in which all the children
had been born. As for the father, he had been
born in and buried from the dear old home, and
this fact made it doubly precious to them all.

No wonder Jennie sighed heavily as she cut
the bread, and Mary felt as though there was
such a lump in her throat that she could not
swallow even the Christmas mince pie.

What was the trouble? Oh! the old story.
A mortgage on the home which there was no
money to pay, and now it was to be foreclosed.
They had feared it all the fall, and on Christ-
mas Eve came the letter which made it sure.

No, the man would not wait until spring for
his interest; would not even wait two months.

‘¢ The old skinfiint!”’ Reuben said, and he
clinched his fists, and swallowed hard, and
winked, and tried in vain to keep the tears
from showing. Reuben was sixteen, and had
meant to pay that mortgage himself one of
these days. He felt sure they could have man-
aged the interest in three months more.

When they were all seated at the table the
mother tried to make talk which would lead
away from the unpleasant subject of their
thoughts, but it was hard work. She began to
tell them of a Christmas pudding her mother
once made, and Mary interrupted her to ask
if Grandmother had ever moved. And Mary
asked if the cow belonged to the house, or if
they could move her; then Reuben said gloomily
that he should like to know where they were to
move to. So it really seemed impossible to get
away from their trouble.

I think the knock which was presently heard
at the side door was a relief to them all. The
little house was set far back from the road, and
they had few callers.



Reuben sprang to open the door, and ad-
mitted an old man, who stamped the snow from
his boots, and entered with a familiar air, though
none of them had ever seen him before.

‘“¢Yes,” he said, looking about him with a
satisfied nod, ‘‘this is the very place. I re-
member everything about it quite well; and
you have kept it in good repair, Ill say that.”

Mrs. Webster, concluding that here was an
old acquaintance of somebody, perhaps her own
husband, made haste to be hospitable ; they were
just eating their Christmas dinner, wouldn’t he
join them?

‘* Well, now, I don’t care if I do,” he said
heartily, drawing up his chair. ‘It was in
this very identical room that I ate a supper and
breakfast that I never forgot.”

Mrs. Webster and her children looked inter-
ested. ‘Did he know her husband?” the
mother asked, while Reuben helped him gen-
erously to chicken and potato and turnip.

‘¢ Yes, ma’am, I knew him, though he was a
mite of a boy when I saw him; he had red
cheeks, and curly hair, and couldn’t have been
a day over ten, if he was that, and it is forty-
three years ago to a day since I saw him. He
sat over there where that pretty girl does, and
ate his Christmas breakfast; I ate mine, pretty
near the first one I had ever had in my life.”

This was very interesting. Here was a man
who must have taken breakfast with Grand-
father forty-three years ago. What a long,
long time to remember a breakfast. Reuben
hinted as much, and received an eager reply.
‘¢Remember it? IguessI do. I guess I was
pretty near your age — how old are you? Well,
I didn’t lack six weeks of being your age, and
I had been knocked and kicked and cuffed about
the world, and never had a decent breakfast
nor a decent word said to me till your grand-
father picked me up on the road the night
before Christmas, and brought me home with
him, and gave me a supper, and a bed, and a
breakfast, the like of which I had dreamed
about, many a time, but never expected to have.

‘¢J hinted something of the kind when I tried
to thank him. Oh! I haven’t told you the half
of it; there were kind words that were worth
even more than the bed and the breakfast, and
CHRISTMAS BREAD CRUMBS.

a whole silver dollar, and a stage ticket that
took me fourteen miles on my way, and when
I tried to thank him he said he was only scat-
tering a few bread crumbs on the water, and
didn’t need any thanks. I was struck dumb
with that, for there wasn’t any water anywhere
around, and I couldn’t imagine what he meant.

*¢¢ Don’t you know the promise, my boy?’
says he: ‘Cast thy bread upon the waters?’ I
didn’t know that promise nor any other, for I
hadn’t heard much Bible where I came from.
Well, he told me the whole verse, and explained
it to me, and his Reubie— that’s your husband,
ma’am, I take it?—he gave me a Bible, with
the verse marked. As I rode along in the stage
I studied it, and fitted it into my memory, and
says I to myself, ‘Bill Dunlap, if you don’t do
your level best to help find those bread crumbs
again you don’t deserve to live any longer.’

‘¢ Well, ma’am, I meant it; but for a long
time ill luck followed me. Then I went out of
the country and was gone for years, and — to
make a long story short—I never got back
into this part of the world until last week.
Then I began to inquire around, and I heard
a good bit of news, and some things which it
took me a little while to straighten out, but
I’m thankful to say I’ve done it at last, and

here, ma’am, is a few of the crumbs I prom-
ised myself to find. He’s gone where he doesn’t
need them; but I reckon he’ll be glad to have
his children and grandchildren have them.”

As the last mouthful of mince pie was swal-
lowed, the strange guést drew from his pocket a
formidable-looking paper and presented it to
his astonished hostess.

‘¢T don’t understand,” she said, as her trem-
bling fingers received it, while Reuben’s eyes
fairly blazed with excitement, ‘‘ what is this?”

‘¢That, ma’am, is the mortgage which I un-
derstand has been making more or less trouble.
I should like to see anybody foreclose it now.
The old home belongs to you and the children,
ma’am, without a cent of debt on it.”

To attempt a description of what followed is
quite beyond me. Reuben and Jennie and
Mary all tried to talk at once, and as for the
mother she did what she had not done through
all the trouble, broke down and cried.

When they reached the point where they tried
to stammer out some words of thanks, the guest
would hear none of them.

‘You needn’t thank me,” he said; ‘I’ve
nothing to do with it. Itis just Christmas bread
crumbs come back, according to promise.”

Pansy.






I a
f

4

Un



A POINT OF ORDER.
THE WREN.—FENCES.



VER the waves and far away
O The birds are winging their way,
Seeking a country new
Afar o’er the waters blue.
*Tis winter; they dare not stay;
They’re over the waves and away.

But one little bird is bold

To dare the rain and the cold,

The hail and the falling snow,

And winds that bluster and blow.
The big birds have fled from the cold,
But one little bird is bold.

Little wren with the golden crest,
A brave heart beats in your breast.
On boughs where the hoarfrosts cling
You sit in the woods and sing.
May gladness dwell in your nest,
Little wren with the golden crest.
— Selected.

FENCES.

(‘* Sermons in Stones.)

HEN I was a boy IJ saw a great
many stone fences, or stone
walls, as they were generally
called, and sometimes helped
to build them. I remember
hearing a story of a man who

built a wall three feet high and four feet

thick, and when asked why he built it thicker



than it was high, replied, ‘‘So that when
it tumbles over it will be higher than it was
before.”

I remember I thought it a very funny thing
to do; but let us suppose that wall of stone to
mean a man, and his good habits to be the
stones which helped to build the character —
which is the real man; and now suppose some
great trial comes which turns him over, or his
plans, ‘‘casts him down,” as we sometimes say ;
his property goes, and his friends die or for-
sake him. Is he ruined? ,

Not at all.

Granite is not spoiled by turning over, nor
do granite principles easily yield. Look at the
See how he stands. His trial has
proved him, helped to develop his manhood,

man now.

_ and he stands higher, stronger, firmer than be-

fore.

It would take much more to move him now
than it would have required previous to this
hard trial.

It is just the same with younger people, with
boys and girls. The granite in a little wall is
just as good as that in a big one.

I am thinking now of three boys whose father
died when they were quite young. What ‘‘gra-
nitic” boys they proved themselves to be.

In a little while that widowed mother learned
what true sons she had, and how restfully she
could lean upon them.

There was a sister, too, and she proved to
be as true and helpful as were her brothers.

I think all the family stood higher because of
that ‘¢turn” of Providence, which, if they had
not been built aright, might have prostrated
them in the dust, never to rise again.

Build only good material into your character,
and a great deal of it. Build broadly and well.

Pastor ROssENBERG.

TrutH, honesty, self-control, kindness, are
simple and practicable virtues, yet they are the
very foundations of character, on which may
be built all fine and noble qualities, all generous
enthusiasm, all pure and unselfish heroism, all
patriotic and philanthropic devotion.
BABY’S CORNER.

BABY’S CORNER.

FRANCES.
Her Story as Told by Herself.

Il.

HAVE a bow-wow.
| very fierce.

He is
He says, ‘* Bow-
? most all the time — at
He
ij. A is made of cloth; I saw him
My ‘*Ba-ba” stuffed him wiv cotton,
so he wouldn’t bite.

4 wow’



| prayers and everywhere.

made.

The cotton has got into
his mouf, I guess; so I have to make the
barks for him; and they are very loud. He
has a pink ribbon awound his neck. I’m
going to have a kitty when the summer days
come. She will say ‘‘Meow,” but she will not
There is a Bow-wow
he barks;

nobody has to bark it for him, he does it

sewatch; no, indeed.

the other side of the window;





hisself. I s’pose the cotton did not get into
his mouf. He has legs, and runs; but my
My

Bow-wow is the bestest; he doesn’t run away,

Bow-wow sits on his legs all the time.
and he doesn’t bite me. My Ba-ba can make
better dogs than the ones outside the window.
Ba-ba is my nurse; other folks call her Cora,
but I call her Ba-ba.

She says the Bow-wow on the other side of

She is the bestest nurse.

the window is alive. I don’t know what

‘¢ alive” means; I never saw it. I am glad
she didn’t put it into my Bow-wow. Some-
times I play he is my pillow; I put my head
on him and p’etend to go s’eepin’s. Some-
times I p’etend he is my dolly, and say
‘“‘By by,” but he can’t shut his eyes, ’cause

the cotton is in them.

A Boys |deal.

5 hat sort of coat is that you wear,
O Tom, the tailor’s son?”

“My father leE me have my way,
From my design ‘twas done.
Ive pockets for knives and tops and balls,
And some for candy too;

ow dont you think this sort of coat
Is just the thing for you? ”

—prdsman
ROUND THE FAMILY LAMP.





SERVING APPLES.

E do not recommend eating apples at a_

late hour, but there is a way of serv-
ing them that is a little out of the usual. We
used to have a little fun out of it without hurt-
ing, cheating or offending any of the company.

Let me suggest two ways of cutting apples
which may afford a pleasant surprise to the
guests.

I. Begin, say, at the stem-end of the apple,
the same as though going to halve it, and cut
only half the distance through, keeping the
knife as level as possible, so as to cut the same
on both sides. Now turn the apple over, and
cut in the same way from the blossom-end, but
holding the knife so that the cut will be at
right angles with the first.

Now you will have cut enough to make the
apple in halves, but you will see there will be a
quarter of it between the cuts, so it will still
hold together.

Next, turn the apple upon its side, and with
a pointed knife, cut the upper quarter in two,
as though you were going to divide the fruit the
other way from which you began. Be sure to
cut through the core. Then turn the apple over
and cut the opposite quarter the same as the
first.

Now your apple will hold together any side
up, but when taken in hand, will surprise the
receiver by coming into two queer parts. Per-
haps he will get but half of it at the first at-
tempt. In the same way you can cut an apple

and hand it to a friend, when he will be sur-
prised at leaving half of it in your hand.

II. Take a needle and some very strong,
fine thread; start around a mellow apple with
long stitches, and in the line in which you wish
Take a stitch of about
three quarters of an inch (leaving four or five
inches of the thread that you do not draw in),
then put the needle into the same hole from
which it came out, and take another stitch like
the first, and so on around the fruit, so the
thread will be just under the skin, all the way
around. Then let one hold the apple firmly,
while you cross the two ends of the thread,
and gently draw it through, so it will cut the
apple, all but the skin. In the same way the
apple may be quartered, by working carefully.

Of course you will provide a knife with
which to peel the fruit, and of course your
guest will be surprised to find that his apple
has grown, already halved or quartered.

to cut the fruit in two.

‘“NE PAS LIVRER LE DIMANCHE.”

HIS short sentence is a witness to one
man’s earnest desire to keep the Sab-
bath. It seems that the Minister of railways,
posts, etc., of Belgium, does not believe in
Sunday mails; at the same time he has not
power to close them entirely, so he has planned
a way to let his light shine, and to help others
who desire to honor the Sabbath in this way.
He has had printed tags in French and Dutch
languages, saying, ‘‘ Ne pas livrer le Dim-
” and ‘+ Niet bestellen op Zondag,”’ which
means, ‘‘ Not to be delivered on Sunday.”
These tags are fast to the postage stamps in
use in that country. If you are spending any
time there, and choose to have your letters
travel on Sunday as well as on other days,
you have only to tear off the tag bearing the
above words; but if you want to honor the °
day, you leave the tag fast to the stamp, and
the officials know, as they glance at it, that you
are helping them to keep the Sabbath. Of
course they do not know who your are, but the
One who said, ‘‘ Remember the Sabbath day
to keep it holy,” does.

anche,
QUEEN VICTORIA’S FLORENTINE

QUEEN VICTORIA’S FLORENTINE
HOLIDAY.

jUEEN VICTORIA is very fond
| of a little trip on the Conti-
nent, and takes one every
spring, notwithstanding some
| grumbling from her Cabinet
J ministers, who object to her
absence from England when important ques-
tions are before them for consideration. When
traveling, she is privately responsible for the
expenses of herself and suite, and must also
pay for the host of official telegrams made
necessary by her being out of the country.
But being a woman of strong will, she does
not allow such small obstacles to prevent her
from having a holiday.

When she really wishes to enjoy herself, she
does not travel as Queen of England, but as a
private individual, announcing beforehand her
desire for a quiet reception everywhere. She
often goes to the south of France, but in 1888
came to Florence, and was so charmed with
the beautiful town, its wonderful picture gal-
leries, and its delightful climate that she de-
cided to return for the month of April, 1893.
So she came under the name.of Countess
of Balmoral, accompanied by a comparatively
small suite, although that means fifty or more



persons. ;

Of course, a great queen expects to be com-
fortable when away from home, and a week
before her arrival in Florence, a courier came
with a goodly amount of heavy luggage for
Her Majesty. Among other things were all of
her toilet articles, the bed which is always sent
from Windsor when the queen visits the Con-
tinent, the big writing-table which she likes
to use when examing and signing state docu-
ments, besides various little ornaments which
she enjoys seeing about her rooms, even when
she goes abroad. Her own carriages were also
sent from England, and with them the low
chaise and pet donkey which she drives herself
about the private grounds, wherever she hap-
pens to be staying.

The special train, on which she traveled to
Florence, had two elegant royal coaches beauti-

HOLIDAY.

fully fitted up as parlor, dining-room and bed-
room. These coaches are kept in Germany,
as the queen’s eldest daughter, the Empress
Frederick, also uses them when she goes to
England to visit her royal mother.

Although Queen Victoria wished to arrive
without ceremony, the Florentines were too
proud of her preference for their beloved city
to refrain from some public demonstration.
An hour before the train was due, great crowds
lined the streets along which she must drive to
her temporary home. Some high dignitaries
met her inside of the railway station, and three
ladies of special rank were admitted, one of
them presenting the queen with a bouquet of
her favorite flowers, lilies-of-the-valley.

In the carriage with the queen were her
daughter, Princess Beatrice, and Prince Henry
of Battenberg, and on the box beside the
coachman, and in characteristic dress, sat the
big Scotch footman, who takes the place of
John Brown, so long the favorite attendant of
the queen.

But of course all eyes centered on the queen
herself, who hardly looked her seventy-four
years, as she smiled graciously on the enthusi-
astic throng that greeted so famous and re-
spected a sovereign. She was dressed in deep
mourning for her eldest grandson, who died
over a year ago, and who would have been
king of England some day. She looked so
much like a stout old Scotch lady of my ac-
quaintance that I mentioned the resemblance
later, supposing it would please my friend.
But she did not at all consider it a compliment,
from which I infer that notwithstanding their
love and esteem for Queen Victoria, even the
English themselves do not think her beautiful
in her old age.

After the royal carriage, which, as a dis-
appointed bystander remarked, was ‘‘like any
other turn-out,” there followed a long stream.
of carriages filled with gentlemen and ladies
in waiting, various attendants, and a host of
maids, footmen, cooks, etc.

Queen Victoria is a highly cultivated woman,
and during her stay in. Florence she occupied
herself with the artistic and historic sights of
the city, studying them up herself and pre-
QUEEN VICTORIA’S FLORENTINE HOLIDAY.

ferring to visit them in her own way, without
constant prompting from guide or courier as
to what she ought to admire most. In this, as
in many other things, she sets a good example
to some of her subjects.

Even in cloudy England, inclement weather
never interferes with her ‘‘ constitutional,” and
as what is called the ‘¢Queen’s weather” fav-
ored her in Florence she was daily seen driving
in an open carriage. She went about in very
plain, simple fashion, often wearing a big white
felt hat to protect her from the warm rays of
an Italian sun, to which she is unaccustomed
in foggy, smoky London.

Some public fétes and ceremonials were hon-
ored by her presence in Florence, but oftener
she preferred a quiet visit to some secluded
spot, leaving one of her daughters, the Princess
Beatrice or the Marchioness of Lorne, to rep-
resent royalty on public occasions. One must
know something of the heavy social and state
duties that overwhelmed her at home, to realize
how much the Queen of England enjoyed the
freedom of her life in the City of Flowers.
Several times she was heard to exclaim, ‘I
feel entirely at ease in Florence, and as quiet
as if I were at Windsor.”

Many noble and titled personages paid their
respects to her, but she received only such as
were pleasant, or absolutely necessary. When
the King of Italy came up from Rome to salute
her, she entertained him at a luncheon which
was furnished by the leading restaurant of
Florence. One is apt to suppose that kings
and queens live on ‘nectar and ambrosia,”
but after all their food is sensible enough.
The bill of fare which was placed before these
two sovereigns was not at all elaborate, being
as follows :

Vermicelli and Breaded Veal
Chicken
Mutton Chops
Asparagus
Green Peas
Strawberry Pudding
Gateau Marguerite
Orange Ice

Among Queen Victoria’s suite were a half
a dozen Indian attendants, for she is said to be
very proud of her title, ‘‘ Empress of India,”

and likes to keep it constantiy before the public.
Indeed, it is claimed that she has long desired
to visit India, but has been too strongly opposed
by the Government authorities, who do not
approve of so lengthy a journey. The Indians
attracted much attention in Florence, as they
always appeared in their Eastern costume —a
flowing, flowery robe, and a huge white turban.

One of them is a man of high rank and great
learning, under whose tuition Queen Victoria
for four years has been studying Hindustanee,
in order that she may converse in their native
tongue with any Indian subjects who visit her.
And although she has reached an age when
languages are not easily acquired, her tutor



QUEEN VICTORIA.

reports astonishing progress on the part of his
royal pupil, who brings two important aids to
her self-imposed task. One is a firm determi-
nation to accomplish her purpose, and the other
is a remarkable power of concentrating her
thoughts upon the subject in hand.

Even while taking a spring holiday in Flor-
ence the queen did not omit her daily lesson in
the Indian language, besides which she devoted
three full hours every morning to Government
QUEEN

business. After more than fifty years’ experi-
ence of state matters, the Queen of England is
thoroughly familiar with all the intricate con-
stitutional questions of Great Britain, and never
signs any paper whatever without understand-
ing its purport. The necessary explanations
devolve on the Cabinet Minister in attendance
upon the queen during her Continental sojourn.
In Florence, Hon. James Bryce was on duty
for this purpose —the author of ‘* The Ameri-
can Commonwealth,” ‘‘The Holy Roman Em-
pire,” and other well-known works.

Both in 1888, and also during her more
recent visit to Florence, Queen Victoria occu-
pied the magnificent Villa Palmieri, which was
placed at her disposal by the Countess of Craw-
ford, a wealthy English woman of high posi-
tion. Curious to say, the owner was not only
obliged to leave the Villa during the queen’s
occupancy, but by the strict requirements of
English etiquette was also obliged to absent
herself from Florence for the time being.

The Villa Palmiere is a mile out of town in a
fine position commanding extensive views, and
surrounded by beautiful pleasure grounds. Just
when it was built is not known, but in 1454, it
was bought by the Palmiere family, from which
it took its name, and in whose possession it
remained until it came into the hands of the
last Grand Duchess of Tuscany, who in turn
sold it to the late Earl of Crawford in 1874.
From quite early times the Villa has been a
center of historical interest, and Boccaccio,
that famous Italian writer of the fourteenth
century, lays the scene of his ‘‘ Decameron” in
the Villa Palmiere. Each successive proprietor
has left his stamp on Villa and grounds in
some way, but it was reserved for an English-
man to spend thousands of dollars on the
place, until it is truly an abode worthy of his
queen.

Queen Victoria occupied a suite of five rooms
on the second floor, and the rest of the royal
party were disposed of in various parts of the
commodious building. ‘The dining-rooms, re-
ception-rooms, and private chapel are on the
ground floor, the Bishop of Rochester officiat-
ing in the chapel during the queen’s stay in the

VICTORIA’S FLORENTINE HOLIDAY.

Villa. An army of cooks catered to the gas-
tronomic needs of the party, the different ranks
making several distinct tables necessary. The
Municipality supplied a guard both day and
night, and the City bands vied with each other
is furnishing Her Majesty with music while she
was at dinner, to which she went at 9 Pp. m.

Early every morning the queen drives about
the grounds in her donkey cart, enjoying the
lovely spring flowers and the balmy air. Her
donkey was a source of wonder to the Tuscan
populace, who cannot understand why a rich
queen should fancy such a common beast.
From good authority I hear that returning
from her first morning drive she reined up the
donkey at a convenient door where a dismayed
servant met her saying, ‘‘But Her Majesty
must pass through the kitchen, if she wishes to
reach her apartments by this door.”

‘“‘Oh!” said Her Majesty, getting out of the
chaise very nimbly for one of her age, ‘*I do
not at all mind going through the kitchen.”

Crowds of English tourists followed their
queen to Florence, and from them one heard
many anecdotes of her long life and reign.
One seems so very characteristic that I must
give it, although it is not recent, relating to
her husband of whom she was very fond, not-
withstanding the proud spirit which provoked
the incident: The Prince Consort was of course
the subject of the Queen of England, but being
a man of character did not choose to recognize
that fact in their private relations. After a
conjugal discussion in their early married life,
she said, ‘‘I command you as my subject,”
and he retorted, ‘‘I command you as my wife.”
He afterwards retired to his own room and
locked the door, but soon there came a knock,
and an imperious voice, saying, ‘‘ Open to your
Queen.”

No response was made, and the queen went
away in high dudgeon, but after a time true
affection and her natural good sense got the
better of her temper. An hour later came
another knock, and a humbler voice which said,
‘“¢Open to your wife.” It is needless to add
that this ended the quarrel.

Ourve May Eager.
BABY’S CORNER.

BABY’S CORNER.

FRANCES.
Her Story as Told by Herself.

Ill.

O you ever be tied up? I was two times
yest'day. Itrained; I am mostly tied up
when it rains. Mamma has a bright red

rope, that ties me; it goes around a chair.



I squeal and try to get away, but I can’t.
I say, ‘‘Ou! Oou! Oou! Oou!” very loud, but it does no
good. The reason I was tied up was because I didn’t
come when mamma called. Mamma said: ‘ Frances!”
then I ought to have runned pat-a-pat as fast as my
little feet could go; but I didn’t. I just stood still, and
thinked. Then mamma tied me. ’Nother time I just put
my white fur man and mamma’s kid gloves in the slop
jar and washed ’em. I used the gloves for a wash-cloth
and washed the white fur man’s face; but mamma said,

1»

‘¢ No, no!” when I opened the glove drawer, and I didn’t



pay no ’tention to her, but just opened it and snatched

““] HAVEN'T BEEN TIED TO-DAY.”?

the gloves; then I got tied. The sun shines to-day and

I haven’t been tied once. I’ve been out in my carriage most all day; so there wasn’t any

time for the red string. I don’t love red strings.






C "x f\ stingy old fellow wos Peter MsGee,
ME GEES Jl) ALN A “Why should | pay For a sidewalk; said he,
aw Ne\ “For Tom,Dick’ or Harry or some other man?
ND Ca Ohno! I've another quite different plan—
Pey=A circulor sidewalk is what | will get,
_j/<—\t will be quite the thing whenthe roads become wet,
SE SB eee Twill go round like @ wheel when In walking inside,
—— And the roads—l dort care if they never are dried |°







































































‘¢ THERE WAS ANOTHER LISTENER, THIS TIME.”
THEIR VACATION.

THEIR VACATION.

'T was early in June, but school
had already closed. The fact
is, these young people lived in

a region where what is called
‘‘public money” was always
giving out early in the season,
making long vacations.

The Spencers, brother and sister, and their
friend, Ellis Wells, talked over vacation and
several other matters on their way from Chris-
tian Endeavor meeting on Sunday afternoon.
Ellis Wells .had a topic card in his hand play-
ing with it while he talked. His eyes caught a
sentence which made him look again and read



it carefully.

‘*Halloo!” he said, ‘*that is a queer sub-
ject. How are we going to make anything out
of it?”

‘‘What is that?”’ asked Rebie Spencer.

‘¢ Why, the one for the last Sunday in June.
‘How can we consecrate this vacation to God?’
Who could do any such thing? There is a
lot about consecration that I don’t understand,
anyhow.” —

‘¢ Miss Mason made it plain enough to-day,
I thought,” said Rebie. ‘It is just setting a
thing apart, you know, for God’s use.”

‘¢ How could a fellow set a vacation apart,
I'd like to know? If there is anything that
belongs to yourself it is a vacation. My
mother says I have worked so hard in school
this winter that she wants me to have just a
splendid time all summer; and I mean to.”

There was more talk, a good deal of it,
about this matter of consecration. The super-
intendent of their Christian Endeavor had been
giving them some earnest words about it; but
there was a difference of opinion. Carl Spencer
declared that nobody expected to consecrate a
vacation —it was just talk; and Ellis Wells
said he shouldn’t do it anyhow; he didn’t know
what it meant, but he knew what he was going
to do, and that was, just as he liked. Rebie,
on the other hand, insisted that if.they were
Christian Endeavorers a vacation ‘belonged ”
as much as anything, and they ought to find
out how to use it.

The talk continued until Ellis had to turn off
to another street, and when the three met next
morning in the woods where they had gone for
treasures of all sorts, it was renewed. There
was another listener this time, to whom they
paid little attention. This was Nettie Fuller;
she was younger and smaller than the others,
and as Carl said, ‘‘ Not much account in any.
way.” They let her wander about alone, not
caring whether she listened to what they said
or not. So she listened earnestly and tried to
make up her small mind. It was all new talk
to her; she had not seen anything. about vaca-
tion on the topic card, and had never imagined ©
before that God had anything to do with such
things. Now, as she listened to Rebie Spen-
cer’s arguments, she felt that she agreed with
her. Vacations did ‘‘belong,” of course. She
wondered she had not thought of it before.
And then, all of a sudden, Nettie’s heart began
to beat faster. Was it possible that she knew
how to use hers for God? Only that morning
Mrs. Anderson, who lived in the large house
around the corner, had stopped Nettie’s mother
on the street and asked if she knew of a little
girl who could be trusted to run about the yard
and play with her little Margaret. ‘+ Nurse
will be in sight all the time,” explained Mrs.
Anderson, ‘‘but she has baby in charge and
cannot be running after Margaret; and the
child needs somebody who is gentle and patient
to play with her. I would pay a good little
girl for doing it. I would like one like your
Nettie, Mrs. Fuller. Nothing would please me
better than to have her.”

And Mrs. Fuller had smiled and told Mrs.
Anderson that her Nettie had the promise of
going to her grandpapa’s in the country for
vacation; and she was sure she did not know
any child whom she could recommend. Then
Mrs. Anderson had sighed, and said she was
very sorry; that Margaret was not well and
needed constant care, and the doctor said she
must be out of doors all the time.

Nettie had given very little thought to the
matter until she overheard this talk about con-
secrating vacation. Now it made her heart
beat. Ought she to give up going to grand-
papas and spend the long bright summer in
THEIR VACATION.

running after Margaret Anderson who, people
said, was a spoiled child, and very irritable?
But the money Mrs. Anderson would be willing
to pay for it would help mother; poor mother,
who had to work so hard, and could not spend
time from her sewing to go to grandpapa’s her-
self; and poor little Margaret was sick, which
was what made her irritable. Nettie felt very
sure that her pale, worried-looking mother would
find no little girl whom she could trust. <‘‘I
could be trusted,” said Nettie to herself; ‘‘ but
then, there are the cows and the horses, and
everything at Grandpa’s; and I was to ride the
pony every day. O, dear me! I don’t believe
I can. Maybe God doesn’t want me to; maybe
he wants me to go to Grandpa’s.”

It was quite a long struggle. Nettie went
over all the reasons for going and not going a
hundred times in the next two hours. The
Spencers and Ellis Wells had dismissed the
matter of consecration from their minds and
settled a dozen others, before Nettie was de-
cided. But when at last Rebie Spencer came
across: her again, and said with the air of
patronage which she always had in speaking to
Nettie :

‘Well, little girl, when are you going to
your Grandpa’s?” Said Nettie: ‘I most
know I am not going at all.”

‘* Not going!” repeated Carl, who had over-
heard the question. ‘‘ How is that? I thought
you were sure of the vacation there. Isn’t Ned
going, either? ”

‘©O, yes!” Nettie explained, ‘‘Ned would
go, she supposed, but she had made up her
mind that she wouldn’t.”

Rebie was curious and asked questions, and
exclaiméd over the answers, and looked back
to tell the boys: ‘‘ Did you ever hear of such
a thing, Carl and Ellis? Nettie Fuller heard

us talking about that subject on the topic card, |

and she is going to give up her vacation so as
to consecrate it. Mrs. Anderson wants some-
body to play with her cross little Margaret, and
she can’t get anybody; and she will pay Nettie
for doing it, and her mother needs the money,
and Nettie has decided this very morning that
she will do it.”

‘*That comes of your silly talk,” said Ellis

half-angrily. ‘+The little thing is muddled,
and thinks she ought to give up her vacation.
I don’t believe her folks will let her.”

‘*T don’t care,” said Rebie; ‘it is right, any-
how. Vacations and everything belong. Only
I didn’t suppose such little girls as Nettie would
think about it.” Rebie was two years older
than Nettie, and felt at least twice her age.

Nettie’s ‘‘folks” did let her do it. Her
mother objected at first, because poor Nettie
had been so long promised a visit to Grand-
papa’s; but the little girl was very firm, and
when her mother thought of the dollars Mrs.
Anderson was willing to pay, and of the din-
ners she was willing to give Nettie each day,
and of how lonely the summer would be with-
out her, she let herself be persuaded, and
Nettie’s vacation was ‘‘ consecrated.” As for
Carl Spencer, before that day was done, he
had agreed with himself to give one hour of
each day in doing some work, or some kind-
ness for others which did not really come under
the head of his regular duty, and which he
need not do unless he chose. And Ellis Wells
resolved to look after Jimmie all summer long.
Now ‘‘Jimmie” was a boy somewhat younger
than himself, who was very fond of ‘‘ tagging”
after Ellis, as that young man had heretofore
expressed it; Ellis could influence him to do
almost anything he wished. The sorrowful
truth was, that Jimmie was easily influenced
and that some of his boy companions were
almost constantly leading him astray. Ellis
had been in the habit of voting him a ‘ bore,”
and of having as little as possible to do with
him; so this resolve had some sacrifice in it.
The matter had to be thought about carefully,
yes, and prayed about, before he decided to
consecrate some vacation time in this way.

In point of fact, the only one of the group
who had talked in the morning, who did not
before the day was over decide for some vaca-
tion work to be done for Christ’s sake, was
Rebie Spencer. She, I grieve to tell you,
thought no more about it, and even spent part
of the evening sulking because she was re-
quired to stay home with Robin, while be slept
in the nursery near at hand. She thought he
might just as well have staid alone; what dif-
SUNDAY AFTERNOON.

ference did it make when he was sound asleep
all the time? And this was the first evening
of vacation, too. It was as mean as dirt.
Ah, well! it is so much easier to preach than
to practice, you know.
Pansy.

SUNDAY AFTERNOON.

NO. I.

What great escapes does the Bible tell about,
and what do you learn from them? (Isa. xliii.
1-7.

ee from the flood. (Gen. vii. 16.) Lot,
from the destruction of the ‘cities of the
plain.” (Gen. xix. 29.) Joseph. (Gen xli.)
The Israelites. (Ex. xii. 14.) From the
Midianites. (Judges vii.) Sampson, from a
lion. (Judges xiv. 5, 6.) From his enemies.
(Judges xv.) David, from the Philistines.
(1 Sam. xvii. 34-54.) From Saul (xviii. 10,
11; xix. 9, 10, 12-18.) Esther and her peo-
ple. (Esther iii. 8-15; vii.) Jeremiah, from
prison. (Jer. xviii.) The three Hebrews from
the furnace. (Dan. iii. 19-80.) Daniel, from
the lions. (Dan. vi. 16-23.) The child Jesus
from Herod. (Matt. ii. 11-15.) Peter, from
prison. (Acts xii.5-9.) Theapostles. (Acts
v. 17-20.) Paul and Silas. (Acts xvi. 23-
31.) Paul, from the Jews. (Acts xxiii.)
Paul, from drowning. (Acts xxvii.) These
are aS many escapes as we need mention.
Notice: It was God’s people to whom he sent
help. There were never so many that he could
not care for them. It made no difference if
there was but one. No prison was strong
enough to hold one whom God would deliver ;
no plans but what he could thwart, no waters
from which he could not deliver.
mighty now.

He is as
‘¢ Saves to the uttermost.”

NO. II.

What does the life of Joseph teach?
1. 15-21.)

When one is made a favorite in the family,
he is likely to incur the envy of those whose
love he would enjoy. (Gen. xxxviii. 3, 4.)

(Gen.

It does not usually win the love of those near,
to express the hope that we will some day be
above them. (Gen. xxxvii. 9-11). Joseph
was not spoiled though his father was unwise
in his favoritism. God can ‘‘ make the wrath
of man to praise him,” and ‘all things work
together for good to them that love him.”
(Ps. Ixxvi. 10; Rom. viii. 28.) Some of the
steps which lead to honor may not be easy.
(Gen. xxxvil. 23, 28, 86; xxxix. 4, 6, 20, 21;
xli. 14, 25, 35-44.) It is easy for us to be
mistaken, to misjudge our Heavenly Father,
and because we do not understand him. (Gen.
xlii. 36.) The true brother is ready to forgive
and to show the right spirit at the proper time.
(Gen. xliii. 26-381; xlv. 1-8.) The true son
will think of and plan for the comfort of his
father, especially when he is able, and _ his
father is old. (Gen. xlvi. 29, 30.) A dutiful
son will love and reverence his father (Gen.
xviii. 1) and respect his request and mourn
when he dies. (Gen. 1. 1-6; Ex. ii. 12.)
Joseph was obedient as a son, faithful as a
servant and officer, forgiving, unselfish — God-
fearing.
NO. III.

How are people hurt by strong drink? Isa.
v. 11, 12, 20-22.

Alcohol injures the body; its health, the
heart, the blood, brain, nerves, kidneys, the
strength, the skill, the appetite, taste; injures
the mind, judgment, reason, disposition, con-
science, character, affections; hinders the work
of the Holy Spirit, stifles good conviction,
hinders all good influences, as well as conver-
sion; or, if one is a Christian it hinders his
growth in spiritual life. In the end it unfits
one for society, for respect here, or for Heaven
hereafter. It destroys one’s self-respect, his
better purposes, his friendships, his hopes, and
wrecks body, mind and soul. Of those who
were once beautiful boys and girls, it makes such
dreadful looking creatures that mothers would
shrink from having them come near, or touch
their babies; of those who were once innocent
babes, it makes the men and women who are
guilty of all kinds of crime. It takes the father
A DEATH TRAP.—IN DAYS OF JUNE.

from his home, from his wife, his children, and
from his business into the saloon; puts hate
where there was love, poverty where there was
plenty, sorrow where there was joy. Hate such
an enemy as strong drink; fight such a foe as
alcohol, and let the friends of temperance know
where you stand.

NO. IV.

How can we consecrate this vacation to God?
(Ps. v. 11; ix. 2.)

There are certain things in which the Chris-
tian wants no vacation: He does not want God
to stop loving him for a few weeks in summer,
nor should he wish to stop loving Jesus for a
while, or stop being happy, or feeling he is
forgiven; and so, of course, one does not think
of taking a vacation from obedience. So we
must take no vacation in cheerfulness, or in
unselfishness, or in thoughtfulness for others.
But you want to be happy? Certainly; and
God wants you to be. No one was ever very
happy long who did not try to obey God, and
I do not believe you ever saw a really selfish
man very happy. Let us think as little about
ourselves as we can, that is, selfishly; start
out with a purpose to see how many we can
help to make happy, and in this way consecrate
this vacation. Let us show that we do not
need to do what is not right to make ourselves
happy.

Rest is not quitting the busy career ;
Rest is the fitting of self to one’s sphere.
Joun Dwieut.

Rest, that strengthens unto virtuous deeds,
Is one with prayer. Bayarp TayLor.

Ask Jesus to go with you, and in everything
to help you.

"A DEATH-TRAP.

HERE is a cave in Montana of a peculiar
shape, not unlike a flask. It is sixty

feet long, thirty wide, and about thirty-four
feet deep. This cave is almost filled with the
bones of animals who have perished there in

the years gone by. The mouth of it is of lime-
stone, and inclines a little, so that an unsus-
pecting animal walking near to it might slip in
without knowing that he was near to any dan-
ger. More than that, there are times in the
winter when the mouth of the cave is hidden by
snow, and an elk or buffalo rushing along the
trail, if he turned aside from the path just a
little, might land on this snow-covered trap
and plunge to the bottom. The bones to be
found there show that something of this sort
has taken place a great many times.

Do you wonder why I am telling you about
this ugly cave which is making a trap of itself
toruin unsuspecting animals? Do you know —
every time I think of it Iam reminded of worse
traps than that, set to catch human feet. The
other day I passed a handsome store, where
respectable people go for their sugars and
coffees and raisins, and all sorts of choice
groceries. In the window was a placard which
said: ‘*Sweet cider here.” Instantly I thought
of the Montana cave, with its slippery, danger-
ous mouth all covered with pure, clean snow.
How many think that sweet cider hides behind
it the horrible cave of drunkenness into which
so many victims have slipped and never been
rescued ?

Boys, suppose we change the name of sweet
cider, and call it as the people of Montana call
their cave, ‘¢a death-trap.” Do you think that
is too hard a name for it? Study the history
of cider; find what it has done in the world,
not for elks and buffaloes, but for men, and
decide for yourselves what name it has earned.

Joun WEst.

IN DAYS OF JUNE.

DAYS of June, bright days of June!
Whose lengthened light yet dies so soon,
When summer keeps her sabbath-tide
In green luxuriance satisfied.
Love meets us in the woodlands now
With more than Summer on her brow,
With speech more sweet than skylark’s tune
In days of June.
— Selected.
THE
THE TRAINED NURSE.

T began when she was only ten;
j and it grew out of a remark
Â¥ made about her new cap. She
# remembered the day vividly;
f it was her birthday, and among

sx* her gifts was that one of a
soft white silk cap with a lovely pink ribbon
twisted carelessly about its front. A fancy
cap, of course, to be used in the entertainment
called ‘‘ Costumes and Customs of all Nations,”
which was being gotten up in Winnie’s society.
Poor Winnie had been in anxiety for several
days lest her mother would think a white silk
cap with broad pink ribbon wound about it,
much too expensive an article for one enter-
tainment. She did say it was foolish, and that
white muslin and pink tarletan would do just
as well as silk and ribbon. But there was a
foolish auntie in the home who could not help
wanting Winnie to have everything that she
wanted, so the silk cap with its broad soft pink
ribbon was forthcoming on the birthday morn-
ing, and Winnie arrayed herself in it and
went to the sewing-room to exhibit. She was
greeted with bursts of laughter.

‘A little Greek maiden,” said Auntie Kate.

‘¢An Irish girl,” said cousin Tom, who was
loitering in the sewing-room snipping bits of
thread over his cousin Alice’s dress. ‘‘See,
it brings out the Irish likeness that I have
always contended was hovering about in Aunt
Winifred’s family.”

‘¢ She looks like a little trained nurse,” said
her mother. And this was the remark which
had arrested Winnie’s thoughts.

‘s A trained nurse?” she repeated.
for what, mother?”

‘Why, to take care of sick people, dear;
they go to schools established for the purpose,
and learn how to care for the sick— how to
bathe and feed them, you know, and arrange
their pillows and do everything to make them
comfortable. They are great blessings to the
world.

‘And do they wear white silk caps with
‘pink ribbons?”

‘« Hardly ; they are much more sensible.



‘¢' Trained

But

Some women did;

TRAINED NURSE.

they wear pretty white caps of muslin or lawn,
nicely starched; and they wear white aprons
and soft shoes which make no noise, and they
know just how warm the room should be kept,
and just what window to lower, and just how
to shade the light, and do everything to add to
one’s comfort.”

Now Winnie had had from her very baby-
hood a fondness for playing that she was a
famous doctor who could with a word and a
touch cure people who were thought to be
almost past cure. But she lived in a part of
the world and at a time when a lady physician
was almost a curiosity; so as she grew older
she used often to think with a sigh that it must
all be play; that being a girl instead of a boy
she could not go to college and study medicine
and become the great doctor of her dreams.
she had heard of but never
seen one, and her mother she felt sure would
not like it. She must just give up playing
that, and put away her powders and phials.
On this birthday morning the mother’s words
about trained nurses were a revelation. ‘There
was a chance then to distinguish herself in the
very line which she coveted. To be such a
trained nurse as her mother had described, to
know all those things, and to be called ‘‘ a great
blessing” by such a woman as her mother,
Winnie judged was distinction enough for any
woman. She paid little heed to the merry talk
which went on about her cap, her mind being
full of the new thought; and before the morn-
ing was over she had determined what she
would do in the world—she would be a trained
nurse.

In the course of the next few days Winnie
contrived to get much further informition from
her mother in regard to the matter. Particu-
larly she was interested in the kind of caps
the nurses wore, and being skillful with both
scissors and needle, in the course of the next
week she had fashioned some very creditable
caps of white lawn and adorned her choicest
dolls with them. From that time on Winifred
had a new ambition. The family were greatly
amused with it for a time, and called her
“Nurse,” but after awhile they forgot all about
it; not so Winnie. As she grew older her in-
THE TRAINED NURSE.

terest in nurses and nursing increased rather
than diminished. She cut from the daily papers
every scrap which she saw on the subject; she
listened attentively to the talk of Dr. Benson
when he called, in the hope that something
professional would creep in; she brought from
the library popular works on health and dis-
ease, and not only read but studied them to
such purpose that after awhile she really became
an authority in the matter of slight bruises,
burns, and the like. ‘‘Ask Winnie what to
do for it,” became a common sentence in
the household. Long after the white silk
cap had been made into dress trimmings,
and the pink ribbon had done duty as a
willow basket ornament, the lesson which
had been connected with them staid by
Winnie and grew with her growth. It
was almost a trial to her that theirs was
such a healthful household, that there was
really no opportunity for practicing her
arts. It was not that she wished people
to be sick, but if they had to be at any
time, she could not help wishing it would
come while she was so ready and willing
to serve. But the years passed, and be-
yond a few toothaches and a headache
now and then, no one in the family con-
nection had suffered, save Winnie herself ;
she, in the meantime, had measles and
searlet fever;.and being waited upon for
two days while her mother was resting,
by Betsey Hawkins from the kitchen, Win-
nie confided to her mother that she had
learned how not to do a good many things.

It was when Winnie had passed her four-
teenth year and was. grown a tall capable
girl, and had packed away all her dolls
because there was really no time to play with
them, that her opportunity came.

Came in a most romantic manner, which
made it of still more interest; for Winnie, I
am obliged to confess, had a touch of the
romantic about her.

A man on horseback was galloping by, and
came in contact with the steam fire-engine just
at the corner; the horse was frightened and
reared and plunged and finally threw the man,
who was past middle age and not much used to

horseback riding. He fell heavily, hitting his
head against the curbstone as he did so; Wini-
fred’s father was the first man at his side,
being just on his way home, and it naturally
followed that the wounded man was carried
to his own house. It was Winnie who ran
upstairs to open the spare chamber, and draw
down the shades, and make the bed ready for
its occupant. It was she who hovered about
Dr. Benson for the first few minutes after he
arrived, getting him water, and the scissors,



WINNIE.

and several other things for which he called.
Her mother was out when the accident occurred,
and Winnie was in the hall explaining matters
to her when Dr. Benson came out of the spare
room.

‘¢We shall have to make a private hospital
of your house for a time, I fear,” he said; ‘‘ the
man is a stranger in town, I fancy. He is not
able to speak, but I know most persons in or
about this region, and I have never seen him
before. He is quite badly hurt; not fatally, I
THE TRAINED NURSE.

think; but he must not be moved for weeks ;
and will probably need a great deal of care.”

Of course both Mr. and Mrs. Holden de-
clared themselves ready to do everything in
their power; and the doctor went away to try
to find a professional nurse. Early the next
morning he encountered Winnie on the stairs
A large white
apron very clean and neat covered her dress
in front entirely, the bib being fastened high
enough to show only the frill of her gingham
dress; and on her head was a dainty little
lawn cap for all the world like the professional
ones.

The doctor stopped and surveyed her from
head to foot.

‘¢ A trained nurse, I declare!” he said, with
a surprised little laugh; ‘‘I am extremely glad

arrayed in a new fashion.

to see you, for my patient is delirious this .

morning, and has taken a dislike to the one I
have provided. Perhaps you can coax him to
fancy you. Even an insane man might do
that, I should think.”

Winnie knew he was laughing at her, but
she kept her grave face.

“‘T thought I might be of use,” she said with
dignity, ‘‘and I might as well put on my cap
and gown; I have had them ready a long time,
and I know how to do a good many things for
sick people.”

The doctor’s words, spoken in jest, proved to
be more true than he had imagined. The sick
man, whose brain was full of all sorts of queer
conceits, took an instant fancy to the young,
fresh face looking gravely out at him from
under its quaint little cap. He accepted with
a gracious smile the soothing draught which
the doctor handed her to give him, notwith-
standing the fact that he had imperiously re-
fused to take it at the hands of either doctor
or professional nurse. For the next two weeks
Winnie certainly had a taste of genuine nurs-
ing. The delirious patient would have his
medicine and his nourishment at her hands and
none other. He would permit her to bathe his
head and cool his pillow, and do anything for
him indeed that she chose to do.

‘¢A born nurse!” said Dr. Benson to her
mother, who was half-annoyed and half-amused

at the composed way in which Winnie had super-
seded the doctor’s professional nurse, so that
she had little to do in the daytime.

‘ of training. She would be invaluable in the
sick room; she has just the gentle and yet
quick touch which a patient appreciates. Very
slow movements often irritate a nervous per-
son, and not one nurse in twenty knows how
to be quick, and quiet, and gentle at the same
time. That little woman in cap and white
gown is a treasure.”

So the invalid thought, as the weeks passed.
There came a day when he was quite himself,
but all the morning he appeared to be watching
for somebody, and at last he asked where the
little white-capped maid was, and Winnie was
summoned. From that hour they became warm
friends ; nobody could comb the threads of gray
hair on the man’s head, or arrange the pillows
for it, or do any of those numberless small
things which sick people want, equal to Winnie.

Meantime, Winnie’s thoughts had been very
busy during this time of responsibility. She
had other ambitions than merely to nurse
bodies. Was her dear gray-haired patient a
Christian? This was the question which daily
haunted her. There had been a time when she
was in terror lest he might die, and she never
know; now she feared he might get well and
go away without her having discovered whether
he belonged to Christ. That, to Winnie’s mind,
was very defective nursing; yet the doctor had
given strict orders that his patient must not be
excited in any way. At last the day came
when the sick man wanted to be read to, and
Winnie was chosen as reader. After reading
for an hour in the daily papers, turning to what-
ever page or column was demanded, Winnie
asked: ‘‘May I read to you a little bit out of
the Bible now, sir?”

He turned a pair of great gray eyes upon her
and asked briefly, ‘‘ Why?”

‘¢ Why, because you have been sick a long
time and must have missed it if you are used
to it, and if not””—she stopped, but he was
still looking at her her.

‘¢ Well,” he said after a minute, ‘‘and if not,
what then?”
THE TRAINED NURSE.

‘¢Why, then you have missed it without
knowing it, and that is worse.”

He laughed a little over this; said it was
“sharp,” and after a moment asked if it would
give her any pleasure to read to him out of the
Bible; if it would, he was willing to listen
simply to please her, for she:had been a very
good friend to him; indeed, he did not know
what he would have done without her; but it
had been years since he had listened to the
Bible, except occasionally in church.

So the Bible readings were commenced, and
went on every evening; Winnie being some-
times stopped abruptly and asked what she

thought such a verse meant, and if she knew"

any people who acted as the Bible said they
must. It was this question in some form or
other which seemed most to trouble her patient.
At last one evening she said: ‘‘I know people
who try to do as the Bible wants them to, but
if I didn’t know a single person it would make
no difference, so long as I knew Jesus. If
there was nobody trying to get rich, and yet
I knew there was money to be had, I think I
should try for it all the same.” After that he
told her again that she was ‘‘pretty sharp,”
and then he lay quite still and seemed to be
listening to the Bible words.

«¢T will tell you something,” he said to Win-
he was looking better than
he had before, and Winnie knew that the
doctor called him almost well; ‘‘ something
that I think will please you: a little maid like
you used to love to read and study her Bible ;
she was my little girl. I would not let her
read the Bible to me, but I made no objection

nie one morning ;

to her reading it herself; she loved it and tried
to live by it. She was all I had; one day she
died. I was angry about it, and said God was
cruel to take all I had, and that I would never
serve him. JI lived without him for years,
though I knew it would hurt my little girl if
she were here. I got on as best I could until
he had pity on me and let me be thrown from
a horse in front of a home where was another
little woman like my daughter; she has coaxed
me back to life and coaxed me back to God.
I have known how to serve him ever since I
was a child; now I am going to do it; and it
is my little trained nurse who has led me.”

‘¢ Mother,” said Winnie, ‘‘I do truly think
God put the desire to take care of sick people
into my heart, so I could work for him in this
way. And to think he has given me my first
patient. Don’t you believe he did it to encour-
age me in my life-work?”

Yes, it is her life-work. She is a trained
nurse now, and people when they have very
sick friends say: ‘*Oh! if we can only get
Miss Winifred Holden to take care of her.”

1 am not sure that Mrs. Holden is even yet
quite reconciled to it; she very much wanted
Winnie to be a lady of leisure, and live in a
grand house, and do good with her money.
‘¢But I brought it on myself,” she said once,
half-laughing. ‘‘ Winnie says it was a foolish
little remark which I made about a fancy cap
she had, which set her heart in that way. It
only shows how careful we ought to be of our
They accomplish, sometimes, things
which we had no idea of.”

words.

Pansy.



NOT EASILY DECEIVED.
A LECTURE

A LECTURE THAT FITTED.






Prince getting the benefit of
the lecture, but Nellie did not
know it. She gave a little
x jerk to the ribbon which held
SESE him and said: “ Wait! don’t
try to pull away from me as though you did
not want to hear anything about it. I know
you don’t. When we have been selfish and
hateful, that is the way we are; we try to get
out of the hearing of anything which will re-
mind us of how disagreeable we have been,
and try to make ourselves think that we are
poor injured creatures and ought to be pitied.
You can’t do it, Prince, and you may as well



cE

stop tugging at this ribbon, and listen to what

I have to say. I want to tell you that you are
a naughty fellow. Didn’t you go with Mr.
Robert all day yesterday, and leave Bruno at
home to get on the best way he could? And
didn’t you have a walk to the lake with Miss
Beulah in the evening? And here this morning
you are out of humor because Mr. Robert has
taken Bruno and left you athome. More than
that, you were jealous because Bruno had a
bone this morning and you did not— although
you had a beautiful one last night. Let me
tell you something; Prince, you are selfish!
Do you understand? You want all the nice
things for yourself; you don’t care whether
anybody else has any or not. It is true, and
you needn’t bark. Iam sorry to have to say
it, but it is the truth. You wanted to go off
by yourself this morning and sulk, just because
Mr. Robert did not take you again. Prince,
indeed, your name ought to be Sulk. I am
ashamed of you. What are you poking your
nose around that tree for? Stand still and
listen to me! You know every word I have
said is true; and that I had to put your harness
on and drag you along with me this morning,
just because you couldn’t have your own way,
which would be to have all the nice pleasant
things there are in this world for yourself.”

It is just possible that Prince knew that Miss
Beulah was behind the tree listening to all this,
but Nellie did not.

THAT

~|HERE was somebody beside

FITTED.

Miss Beulah was one of the boarders at the
large house, and a special friend of both Nellie
and Prince. ‘There were reasons why she was
standing alone behind a tree that beautiful
May morning instead of being with Mr. Robert
and the rest, preparing for the afternoon frolic.
If the truth were plainly spoken it would be
known that Miss Beulah was sulking. It made
her cheeks glow when she overheard that word,
and she admitted to herself that the lecture
intended for Prince, fitted her in more than one
particular.

These young people gathered from various
parts of the far North were spending the spring
months in a land where spring comes early ; and
where on the first day of May it was entirely
reasonable and convenient to dress in white,
wreathe their heads in flowers, and have exer-
cises and a collation out under the trees. All
this had been planned for that very afternoon.

**Not an old-fashioned May-day party with
a queen and all that botheration,” Mr. Robert
had explained, ‘‘ but a real free-and-easy en-
joyable entertainment. We are going to have
old-time songs, a recitation or two, and for the
rest, a sort of merry inaking, with plenty of
good eating and drinking.”

Miss Beulah had entered into the plans with
all her heart, and had been very happy until
she made the astonishing discovery that she
seemed to be omitted from the programme.
Three recitations to be given, and she not in-
vited to give one. Did not everybody know
that she was the best reciter in the house?
More than that, could she not sing, at least
much better than Celia Evarts could? Yet
Celia was to sing, and so was Bessie Hartt,
and she was to do nothing. It was certainly
very strange; especially when one remembered
that Mr. Robert had had much to do with all
the plans. She had believed up to this time,
that Mr. Robert would rather hear her voice
than any other. Now what was she to think?
What she had done was to go away under the
trees and sulk. She laughed, but at the same
time the tears almost started in her eyes when
she overheard the word. Mr. Robert, it seemed,
had offended Prince in much the same way.
He had been showing Bruno attentions, whereat














2 ‘‘1T MADE HER CHEEKS GLOW WHEN SHE OVERHEARD THAT WORD.”
A LECTURE THAT FITTED.

Prince was hurt. Certainly the lecture fitted
her; she had been the chief singer at the con-
cert the other evening, and in the parlor recita-
tions she was always éncored. She had had
attention enough, certainly; yet here she was
sulking because Celia Evarts and Bessie Hartt
were to have their turn.

It had grieved her so that she had been
cool to the girls all the morning; when Nettie
Benson asked her which white dress she was
going to wear that afternoon, she had replied
with dignity that she was not sure she should
wear either. While under the trees she had
almost planned to take the one o’clock train
and run up and spend the afternoon with the
Websters who were at Belmont Cottage, ten
miles away. They would be glad to see her,
and she could say to her own party that she
was tired of out-door frolics and wanted to
rest. Oh! it was the genuine ‘‘ sulk.”

Prince and his mistress came around the
tree and greeted her; Prince with a short,
quick bark, and Nellie with an exclamation :

‘Why, Miss Beulah! are you here? Did
you hear me scold Prince! Isn’t it a pity that
a dog should be so selfish? He wants all the
nice things himself. It is true, as I told him,
that he is not willing to share. He has been
disagreeable all the morning because he couldn’t
have all of Mr. Robert’s attention. But then,
he is only adog. I suppose he cannot be made
to understand how hateful he is.”

‘“¢T suppose not,” said Miss Beulah, with a
little laugh. ‘Perhaps he isn’t so disagreeable
as you think; people are sometimes misunder-
stood, it may be that dogs are. Perhaps he
only feels sad because his feelings have been
hurt.”

‘¢O, but, Miss Beulah! he acted real hate-
ful. Mr. Robert took Bruno to the woods
with them after palms and things, and Prince
wanted to go; and when he found he couldn’t
he sulked like everything; went and crawled
under the piazza and wouldn’t answer when I
called him, and I had to get a stick and poke
him out and just make him come with me. If
he had been only sad he wouldn’t have acted
like that and hurt my feelings, would he?”

Miss Beulah’s cheeks were very red. She

was thinking how Nettie and Emma Wilmott
called after her to help them arrange flowers,
and she told them she was tired of the sight
of flowers; then Celia had called as she passed
under her window, and she had pretended not
to hear. How very much alike she and Prince
had been.

Nellie sighed as she looked down upon him.
‘‘T suppose I must remember he is only a
dog,” she said, ‘‘and not expect too much of
him. Ifa human should act like that it would
be terrible, wouldn’t it? I told him he was not
worthy the name of Prince.”

Then Miss Beulah thought of the meaning
of her own sweet name, and made a sudden
resolve to try to be worthy of it.

She and Nellie, with Prince beside them,
went back toward the house, and Beulah ad-

‘vised Prince’s mistress to forgive him and tr
y

him again; assuring her that he was probably
ashamed of his selfishness by this time. She
did not add that at least she was of hers. For
the remainder of the morning there was no
busier person in or about the house than Beulah.
She was especially kind to the three reciters,
and helped Celia Evarts and Bessie Hartt with
their wreaths, and was thoughtful and unselfish
and sweet-hearted to everybody.

‘“* Halloo, old fellow!” said Mr. Robert to
Prince, early in the afternoon, ‘‘have you
gotten over your sulks?” Then he explained
laughingly to Beulah: ‘‘I wouldn’t let him go
to the woods with me this morning; it would
have been a pretty hard tug for so young a
dog, and I thought we would keep him fresh
to enjoy the afternoon, but he resented it and
has been sulky at me all day.”

Miss Beulah laughed at Prince’s expense,
but at the same time she blushed and wondered
if possibly she and Prince had not been treated
alike. Was it because Mr. Robert thought he
would give her a restful afternoon that he had
planned the programme without her? But he
knew she liked to recite, and did not mind
singing. Never mind, whatever the reason,
this experience should spoil no more of her
day. At least, she would try to behave as
well as Prince, who despite Mr. Robert’s words
was frisking around him apparently happy.
FLORA AND JEFF.

Two hours afterwards Beulah understood all
about the programme. This May day was her
birthday, and in the morning the boarders had
remembered her with flowers and kind wishes,
and she had not of course expected that any
further notice would be taken of it. But be-
hold, it appeared that the entire programme
had been arranged with reference to her birth-
day. The songs were chosen, and one, at
least, had been written in her honor; and each
recitation closed with a lovely offering to her,
in token of their friendship.

‘*Dear, dear!” said Beulah that evening, as
she went over by herself the pretty gifts, and
thought of all the charming things which had
been said and done for her that afternoon;
‘what if I had slipped away on the train as
I planned? How perfectly dreadful it would
have been. And JI should have done it but for
Prince and his mistress. What ashame it is
that there should have been so little difference
in our actions. I never before supposed that
I was so much like a dog. Whether or not
Prince has learned a lesson, I do believe I
have.”’

FLORA AND JEFF.

HESE are Mrs. Winters’s dogs. They are
funny little creatures who live in an
in Florida. There is a little
flower garden in the grove, fenced in, and the
dogs are not allowed to go outside that fence.
All day long they play in the flower gar-
den, and seem to be contented; but about four
o’clock Mrs. Winters generally takes them for
a walk in the orange grove. ‘They know just
as well when four o’clock comes as if they
could read the figures on the clock. They will
come whining and jumping around their mis-
tress, coaxing her to go. Flora will spring up
in her lap, and kiss her on her forehead, cheeks
and nose. Jeff, who is so fat that he cannot
spring into her lap, contents himself by jumping
up and down and rolling over on the ground.
When she finally starts they act as though
they were wild with delight. They travel all
over the grove, looking at everything with as

orange grove

much interest as though they were seeing it for
the first time. Every day they take the same
trip, and never seem to weary of it. They
never go outside the orange grove. The daily
walk over they return to the house, playing all
the way like two children. Flora expresses



FLORA AND JEFF,

her thanks by kissing her mistress every chance
she can get. I said the dogs never went out
of the orange grove, but that is a mistake.
Occasionally, Jeff gets a wild fit and digs a
hole under the fence into the next grove. But
as sure as he does this, he is shut up the next
day and not allowed to take the four o’clock
He evidently understands the reason
for this, and it is only once in a long while
that he forgets himself.

walk.
AUNTIE May.

FROM CALIFORNIA.

A hae grow more luxuriantly along

the Pacific coast, probably, than in any
other part of the world. In San Francisco the
fuchsia vines creep to the second-story win-
dows, and the bushes are as large as good-sized
rose bushes. The climate of San Francisco is
cool, and the soil sandy, both of which are
favorable to fuchsia growing. The colors —
pink, purple, red and cream— are combined in
such a variety of ways that they make a great
many different colored fuchsias.

Exiza Burrovucus BuckuaRrt.
WITH

WITH

THE POETS.

PEL PO HMS:



TENNYSON.

THINK you must know Tenny-
son’s ‘‘Song of the Brook,”
but it is so beautiful that we
must have it here, to lead our
paper. Perhaps some of the
Pansies have it set to music,
and will sing it on a pleasant evening, when
they are having songs and recitations, and the



like. A Tennyson Evening —how would that
do? TI have such lovely selections for you this
time !

There are more verses in ‘The Brook,” but
this is all we have room for.

SONG OF THE BROOK.

I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.

I chatter, chatter as I flow
v To join the brimming river;
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,

And here and there a grayling.

And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

I steal by lawns and grassy plots;
I slide by hazel covers;

I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.

Islip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows;

I make the netted sunbeam dance
Against my sandy shallows.

And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

Here is a quaint one about ‘‘The Flower.”
Haven’t you seen just such flowers? I once
knew a lady who was thought to be slightly

insane, or ‘* queer” as the country people
around her said; but the only reason they
could give for thinking so, was that she walked
along the streets picking dandelions, and seem-
ing to admire them!

THE FLOWER.

Once in a golden hour
I cast to earth a seed.
Up there came a flower,
The people said, a weed.

To and fro they went
Thro? my garden bower,
And muttering discontent
Cursed me and my flower.

Then it grew so tall
It wore a crown of light,
But thieves from o’er the wall
Stole the seed by night.
Sow’d it far and wide
By every town and tower,
Till all the people cried,
“Splendid is the flower.’?

Read my little fable:
He that runs may read.

Most can raise the flowers now,
For all have got the seed.

And some are pretty enough,
And some are poor indeed;

And now again the people
Call it but a weed.

This short poem on ‘‘ The Will” I hope many
of you will commit to memory. Each sentence
deserves study. There are lines in it which at
first reading seem hard to understand, but none
which you cannot master, if you make up your
mind to get at the poet’s meaning.

One of my objects in giving you these hours
with the poets is to help you to form habits of
studying standard poets, and making their
thoughts your own.

WILL.

O well for him whose will is strong!

He suffers, but he will not suffer long;

He suffers, but he cannot suffer wrong:

For him nor moves the loud world’s random mock,
Nor all Calamity’s hugest waves confound,

Who seems a promontory of rock,
WITH

That, compassed round with turbulent sound,
In middle ocean meets the surging shock,
Tempest-buffeted, citadel-crowned.

But ill for him who, bettering not with time,
Corrupts the strength of heaven-descended Will,
And ever weaker grows thro’ acted crime,
Or seeming-genial venial fault,

Recurring and suggesting still!

He seems as one whose footsteps halt,
Toiling in immeasurable sand,

And o’er a weary, sultry land,

Far beneath a blazing vault,

Sown in a wrinkle of the monstrous hill,
The city sparkles like a grain of salt.

There is a very long poem named ‘‘ Maud.”
Much of it many of our Pansies are not yet old
enough to enjoy; and some of it may not be
to their taste; but this bit about a sea shell I
feel sure we can all admire.

Some of. you spent your vacations at the sea-
side and perhaps walked along the beach and
picked up shells. Note how entirely these ex-
quisite lines fit the subject:

“ Made so fairily well
With delicate spire and whorl,’’

Then think of the ‘‘little living will” gone
out of the shell. Isn’t it a charming thought?
How much do you know about sea shells?

FROM MAUD.

See what a lovely shell,

Small and pure as a pearl,
Lying close to my feet,
Frail, but a work divine,

Made so fairily well

With delicate spire and whorl,

How exquisitely minute,

A miracle of design!

What is it ? a learned man
Could give it a clumsy name.
Let him name it who can.
The beauty would be the same.

The tidy cell is forlorn,

Void of the little living will

That made it stir on the shore.

Did he stand at the diamond door
Of his house in a rainbow frill ?
Did he push, when he was uncurl’d,
A golden foot or a fairy horn

Thro’ his dim water-world ?

Next we will have ‘‘ The Poet’s Song.”

This will make a pleasant recitation for some
sweet-voiced girl. I can imagine a most
charming evening gotten up by the Pansies,
with songs, readings and recitations, all from

THE POETS.

the great poet Tennyson. One person could
prepare a paper, very short, but filled with bits
about the poet’s life. I wonder how many of
you will get up something of the kind.

THE POET’S SONG.

The rain had fallen, the Poet arose.
He pass’d by the town and out of the street,

A light wind blew from the gates of the sun,
And waves.of shadow went over the wheat,

And he sat him down in a lonely place,
And chanted a melody loud and sweet,

That made the wild-swan pause in her cloud,
And the lark drop down at his feet.

The swallow stopped as he hunted the bee,
The snake slipt under a spray,

The wild hawk stood with the down on his beak,
And stared, with his foot on the prey,

And the nightingale thought, ‘I have sung many songs,
But never a one so gay,

For he sings of what the world will be
When the years have died away.”’

And now to close this delightful hour with
one of the immortal poets, let us take his
‘¢ Deserted House” for a study. If you have
ever stood beside one from whom the soul has
just gone away, you will understand this poem.
Whether you have or not, remember such expe-
riences are coming to you, and that at such a
time the joy and comfort will be to know that
the dear ones who have left you in

“A great and distant city — have bought
A mansion incorruptible.”

A DESERTED HOUSE.

Life and Thought have gone away
Side by side,

Leaving door and windows wide:
Careless tenants they.

All within is dark as night:

In the windows is no light;
And no murmur at the door,
So frequent on its hinge before.

Close the door, the shutters close,
Or thro’ the windows we shall see
The nakedness and vacancy
Of the dark deserted house.

Come away: no more of mirth

Ts here, or merry-making sound.
The house was builded of the earth,
And shall fall again to ground.

Come away: for Life and Thought

Here no longer dwell;

But in a city glorious —

A great and distant city — have bought
A mansion incorruptible.

Would they could have stayed with us !
ATHLETICS LONG AGO.

ATHLETICS.



ATHLETICS LONG AGO.

E had a running exercise, though
we never dignified it by any
such name; but it was very
good exercise for a cool day.
This was the way we man-
aged it:

Three sticks were set on end, made to lean
together in the form of a tripod, so they would
support one another.

As many as were to join in the game would
take hold of hands and form a ring around the
sticks, or as we call it, the ‘‘ goal.”

Our first object was to make somebody who
did not intend to do it, knock down that goal.
There was a great deal of pushing, and shout-
ing, and, as a rule, one of the smaller boys was
at last pushed on the sticks with such force as
to knock them over. Instantly we let go of
hands and were off, leaving the poor fellow
who had pushed over the goal to follow as fast
as he might. He was supposed to have been
‘“‘poisoned” by his contact with the sticks,
and his object in life was then to ‘‘ poison”
as many more as he could by touching them.
Round and round we skimmed, now coming as
near to the poisoned member as we dared, then
darting off just as he thought he hadus. In
a short time he would generally succeed in
‘¢poisoning” somebody by ever so slight a
touch; then there were two who could com-
municate the poison to others. So, every one
whom they touched was added to the number
of infected ones, and became in turn ready to
infect their neighbors. When there were thirty
or forty boys, all poisoned save three or four
fleet runners, the game became very exciting.
When there was only one boy unpoisoned, the
excitement was intense. Of course he was the



fleetest runner of the company, but with thirty
or forty others all after him in full chase he
was almost sure to be caught at last.

Sometimes in winter he would take to the
woods where the snow was three or four feet
deep; and being strong and hardy he would
plunge through it while the others floundered,
and contrive to get back to the schoolhouse
untouched. I neglected to tell you that our
aim was to keep all runners from the school-
house, for if they reached there untouched,
they escaped. The last runner rarely suc-
ceeded in this, too many being after him; but
if he did, he was a hero for the remainder of
the day.

We used to have a regular plan of pursuit
when there was but one runner left; some of
us would follow hard after him, others would
divide in companies to the right and left, others
still would hide in clumps of bushes, or behind
large trees or rocks, and watch for him to come
back that way.

We certainly had royal fun out of our “ run-
ning exercise,” and I claim for it some advan-
tages over some of the modern methods. In
the first place, there was never any dust rising
from the floor of a poorly-kept gymnasium, and
there was perfect ventilation; and in winter at
least, as well as generally in the fall and spring,
our gymnasium was not over-heated.

Moreover, the tuition was as free as the air,
so that no poor boy had to be counted out,
because he could not pay the bills.

As for developing the muscles of the legs, I
suppose nothing could be found which would
be much better than a forty-minutes run in two
or three feet of snow, say. I have seen a few
August days when I did not care about taking
the running exercise.

Pastor RossENBERG.








































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































A FIELD—DAY.

ON
BEST

THINGS.

BEST THINGS.






ERE do you think I found
one? It when I was
walking down a long, nar-
row, dreadful-looking street in
Philadelphia.

The houses were very old
and dirty. The windows were dirty, and the
doors, and everything about them. The peo-
ple who swarmed the streets were dirty; it was
really the last place in the world where one
would hope to find a ‘best thing.” Every
other house seemed to be a saloon; and the
people who kept going in and out behind those
doors were more forlorn and ugly looking even
than the others.

‘“‘Dear, dear!” I said to the lady who was
with me, ‘‘ what if you had to live on sucha
street as this? Does it seem as though a de-
cent person could live here? Every house is
dirtier and more dreadful than the last.”

And behold! just as I spoke something hap-
pened. We came all of a sudden to paradise.
On the same street, right in the midst of the
filth and dreadfulness, was a little house —in
no wise better built but, oh! so clean, so clean.
The glass in the windows shone, and at the
lower sashes there were the whitest curtains,
freshly ironed but a short time before, and on
a shelf above bloomed some lovely flowers,
bright red and gold colored. The steps and
the door were white and shining, and every-
thing about the place said, ‘* Here is a home.”

‘¢Look!” said my friend, ‘‘only look at
this. You thought people couldn’t live here,
but surely this is a home.”

We went in, of course; you couldn’t have
helped it. It was so blessed to get in out of
that noisy, crowded, filthy street. Yes, every-
thing inside was as sweet and pure as the
outside had been. Small and plain, but so
exquisitely pure. In one corner of the room
was a piano with ‘Gospel Hymns” piled on
it. On the walls were mottoes made of lovely
letters cut from bright paper. ‘+ Feed my

was

Lambs,” one of them said. Another, in larger
letters, ‘‘ Jesus is Victor.”

‘I should have known it was a Christian
home,” my friend said, ‘‘ before entering; the
windows told the story. But why do they live
here? Do you suppose they cannot get a better
place? Isn’t it too bad?”

No, it wasn’t ‘‘ too bad,” but instead, almost
too good to be believed. They could have
found a better place; indeed, they had left
pleasant places to come there. Three dear
women, cultured, refined, lovely in all their
thoughts and ways, had gone down there and
rented a house, and made it pure and sweet from
attic to basement; using very little money, and
the plainest of everything; a beautiful object
lesson. They were living a home right there,
to show people what homes could be made of,
and how they could be managed.

One of the dear women is a physician, and
another blessed servant of Jesus Christ, also a
physician, joins her every afternoon, and they
open the doors to those who need medicine and
advice for their bodies. Then there is singing
—some of the sweet Gospel Hymns, and a
message read from the Bible, and a few tender
words of invitation spoken, and a prayer. And
in this way the people who had come for the
sake of their bodies sometimes find that Bread
of Life which if a man eats he shall never
hunger. Is not that one of the ‘best things”

to be found anywhere? Pansy.

COSTLY SPORT.
IGHTEEN deaths were reported during the
year 1893 as the direct result of injuries
received while playing football. An exchange
remarks that if we could have the list of deaths
from the indirect results of accidents connected
with this game the number would bevery large.
Isn’t it time to think about so costly a game
as that?
TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND

TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND WOMEN.

T is said that the women of Boston, to the
number of twenty-five thousand, have
taken a pledge that they will do no shopping

after five o’clock in stores where women and

girls are clerks. The object of this is to make
it possible for the merchants to close their
stores at five o’clock instead of six. A com-
mittee of these same women has been appointed
to call on merchants and urge them to give this
extra hour, which it is claimed women and girls
need for rest and for work in their own homes.

WOMEN.—BABY’S CORNER.

Perhaps if we were more thoughtful we could
all plan to do our buying before the last hour
when clerks are tired, and have many things to
put away and arrange for the next day’s work.
Iam sorry when I see ladies or children rush into
a store perhaps ten minutes before the hour for
closing, to match sewing silk, or do some other
trifle which takes time, but could as well have
been done half an hour earlier.

Isn’t it wonderful how well the Golden Rule
would fit into every act in life, if we only
thought about it more, and tried to measure
by it?

BABY’S CORNER.



ahs 8






SG SS
WN

MILLIE OFFERS CHERRY THE SUGAR.

66 Gee chirp! chirp!” said the birdie

in the cage. He spoke as plainly as
he could; what he meant was: ‘‘I want a
lump of sugar; I want that one I see on the
table.”

swing calling ‘chirp!

Back and forth he flew from perch to
it all
Milly

was a little girl; she did not live in a cage,

chirp!” and

meant sugar. Milly saw the sugar.
but could hop all over the house and the yard.
She understood what the birdie said. ‘+ Does



you want some sugar, Cherry?” she asked.
The bird’s name was Cherry.

‘¢ Chirp! chirp!” said Cherry, coming to the
side of the cage and putting his bill through

the wires.
“All wight,” said Milly, “Pll get you
some. Mamma, Cherry wants a lump of

sugar; may I give him one?”

Mamma said, ‘‘ Yes, dear, just one lump;
put it through the wires so it will stay, and
Cherry can help himself.”

So Milly went to the table and took a white
lump from the bowl—the very one Cherry
wanted. He watched her while she climbed
down from the table, climbed up in another
chair near the cage, and reached out her small
Cherry’s head
was on one side and he was watching her with

fat fingers toward the wires.

his bright black eye, and he thought he knew
What do you
think Milly did just as the sugar was near
She
popped it into her own naughty mouth, and
What do

just how that sugar would taste.
enough for him to almost reach it?
Cherry did not have even a grain!

the babies think of Milly?
Mrs. A. M. BrELpon.
“SOMETHING

‘*SOMETHING DIFFERENT.”

O have seen them tumbling
about in the serf in their bath-
ing suits, Nellie with her bath-

y| ing hat tied under her chin, and
the others with their bathing
* hats hanging in the bath-house
where they liked best to keep them, one would
not have supposed that they ever had a thought
save for their own fun. Yet it was Elsie, the
giddiest of the three, who began the thought
about this Fourth of July.

They belonged, all of these young people, to
the Pembertons, who always went to the coast
for July and August, and who delighted in find-
ing what their friends
called ‘*¢ out-of-the-
way” places, where
other people did not
come. Several years
before, they had
found the Stough-
tons, mother and son,
and liked them so
well, that they kept
coming back for a
few weeks each sum-
mer. There was a
large party of them
this time. Mother,
older sisters, the two
boys, and the three
girls, Nellie and Elsie
Pemberton, and
Cousin Kate, Aunt
Fanny’s daughter;
besides Aunt Fanny
herself, and. Uncle



Robert who came for a few days only,