Citation
Young folks' story book

Material Information

Title:
Young folks' story book
Creator:
Pansy, 1841-1930 ( Editor )
Swain, George F ( Engraver )
Hassam, Childe, 1859-1935 ( Illustrator )
D. Lothrop & Company ( Publisher )
Place of Publication:
Boston
Publisher:
D. Lothrop Company
Publication Date:
Language:
English
Physical Description:
1 v. (unpaged) : ill. (some col.) ; 26 cm.

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature ( lcsh )
Children's stories ( lcsh )
Children's poetry ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1893 ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1893 ( lcsh )
Bldn -- 1893
Genre:
Children's stories
Children's poetry
Spatial Coverage:
United States -- Massachusetts -- Boston
Target Audience:
juvenile ( marctarget )

Notes

General Note:
Frontispiece printed in colors ; some illustrations engraved by Swain after Childe Hassam.
Statement of Responsibility:
edited by Pansy ; with nearly one hundred illustrations.

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:
026667306 ( ALEPH )
ALG5560 ( NOTIS )
20915304 ( OCLC )

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Full Text
EDITED BY

PANsy. =

Ae’































er





The Baldwin Library

RmB wee

















YOUNG FOLKS STORY BOOK

EDITED BY PANSY



WITH NEARLY ONE HUNDRED ILLUSTRATIONS

BOSTON
D: LOTHROP COMPANY
PUBLISHERS oo











A .

os CopyRIGHT, ’1893,
ae 3 . BY
D. LotHrop Company,













YOUNG FOLKS’ STORY BOOK



COLUMBUS.






“ CTOBER 11, 1492, there came to this
country the first missionary. See that
picture of this remarkable man and his
companions, when they landed at San
Salvador, on their knees thanking God for
bringing them safely over the dreadful ocean
to this new and wonderful America. He.did
not come to preach the Gospel just exactly as



missionaries now go to India or Africa to do
it. He was a sort of John the Baptist, going
on before to prepare the way.

You will now hear much of this missionary,
discoverer and grand man, forit is four hundred
years ago since he undertook his great work,
and this discovery is to be celebrated in a mag-
nificent way, especially in Chicago. So it is
Rone too soon to begin to think about it.

Now you should read a good history of this
man and of Spain, and her king and queen —
Ferdinand and Isabella — who helped Columbus
when he wanted to go on his voyage of discov-
ery, and needed ships and men and money —
as missionaries do nowadays — and everybody
called him a mad man, as missionaries like Bishop
Taylor, now in Africa, are often called, and no-
body would aid him. Yes; you must learn all
about this nation and her rulers, and about



























































































COLUMBUS'S FIRST LANDING.

ships and navigation at that ‘time — four hun-
dred years ago. Then it would do you good
to step upon one of the great Cunarders, and
try to compare it with Columbus’s ship.
A good history of Spain is Arthur Gilman’s.
Another excellent history is Prescott’s.
Don’t let another day go by without begin-
ning to think and read and talk about Columbus.
CMe Li:





WHO WAS HE?

WHO WAS HE?

missionaries. He didn’t have to go
more than two hundred miles to get
there. Nor did he have to sail. He did not
go of his own accord. He was not ordained,
ag missionaries are nowadays. He was not
married when he started. Afterward he mar-
ried one of the natives. She was a high-caste
lady. Her name began with A. He had two
sons. Their names began with M. and E. -

Within an hour he was the poorest man in
the country and the richest, the greatest slave
and the greatest freeman, the feeblest and the
strongest, a great criminal, a greater judge, the
tenderest, and yet to some the most terrible
of men. No man in all that region could see
'so far down into the future as could this
missionary.

One of the strangest things about it all was,
he: never went back home—as missionaries



nowadays do every ten years— but his home— -

his father and old friends and neighbors— came
to him to hear him preach and dine with him
and buy wheat of him and receive great favors.
Indeed, many of them just broke up house-
keeping and went where he lived and settled
near him.

If it hadn’t been for him, it looks as though
the whole world would have starved to death.

How much often depends upon one man or
woman or child.

How much may this day hang upon what
you say or say not!

So it was with this strange missionary. How
little the society that sent him out thought
what would come of it all! Truth to tell, they
did not like him overmuch, ‘and sent:him on a
mission to get rid-of him. It was so strange;
in a few years every member of that society
paid him a visit, several, indeed, and the last
one lasted years and years ard years.

And all this happened years and years ago,
and miles and miles and miles away.

Suppose now you read this puzzle over three
times to grandma, and then with a wise look
say, “I know. It was By Cc. M. L.

~



—MISSIONARY WORK OF

TWO KINDS.

MISSIONARY WORK OF TWO KINDS.

“ GENTLEMAN who has ‘traveled in

_ Africa says that one Sunday at the dia-
mond mines he countéd over three hundred
natives, all drunk. A funeral occasion there,
it is said, is something ‘horrible, for hundreds
of dollars are often spent for rum for the cele-
bration. So this missionary work is going on
all the while with that of the churches, for all
this intoxicating liquor comes from so-called
“Christian” countries, and a very large-amount
of it from our own. Look on the map and find
little Sierra Leone, and think that into that
country alone were shipped last year about two
hundred million gallons, or much over a billion
drinks, which is a very much larger number
than could be counted in a year, working twelve
hours a.day. Every ship that carries mission-
aries, carries liquor enough to counteract the
work of a thousand missionaries.

Ho. should you like to go to Samoa and
be treated to a drink of kava? You
don’t know what that is?

Why, it is a root that belongs to the pepper
family of plants, and when properly prepared,
makes a drink of which the Samoans are very
fond, and which they are sure to offer to their
guests. _ Perhaps you would like to know how
it is made? The belle of the village is always
chosen to prepare it. The first thing ‘she does,
is to carefully wash out her mouth! Then she
fills it with bits of root, and chews and chews;
by and by she removes the mass from. her
mouth, places it in a great wooden bowl at her
side, fills her mouth again and chews. When
enough of the root has been made into pulp by -
this human machine, water is poured on it, and
the young lady, having first washed her hands
carefully, dives them into the bow] and mixes
pulp and water vigorously ; then, when strained,
it is ready to drink. If you care to hear more
about these curious:people and their ways, get
the Century for May, which has a long article,
and many pictures describing them.



In Tokio it is estimated that there are 560
persons added to Christianity every month.






*

Ngans THE DIFFERENCE.—THE JUDGE’S ENTERTAINMENT.



THE DIFFERENCE.

N every Mohammedan country it is more
fun to be a boy than to be-a girl.- When
‘a boy is born everybody rejoices; when a girl
is born everybody is disappointed, even dis-
gusted. The father pets and fondles his son;
he will not speak of his daughter, If he is
compelled to mention his having a daughter he
begs your pardon for introducing the subject.

As the boy grows up he is sent to school.

He learns to read .and write, and studies the.
Koran —the Arab’s Bible—and is taught the |

duties of his religion. Not many years ago a
Mohammedan said to Dr. Jessup of Beirut,
when the missionary suggested that his daugh-
ter should be sent to ‘school, “Educate a girl!
‘ You might as well educate a cat!
The difference between the treatment of a
- boy and girl is continued until the boy is pre-
pared to take his place as a man among men
and the girl becomes the slave of some man.

In Beirut and other places where the Gospel .

of Christ is getting hold of the hearts and
minds of this people. a change! is coming ; gui
are being educated.

Rev. J. H. Dutwer, in Romard:



A MODEL BOY.

NE of our boys told us in thé children’s
meeting how he had been tempted. He
went to the ranch to visit his parents. Just as
_ he entered the house he saw his step-father
pushing the bottles of liquor under the hed.
The next week he went again and found them
drinking. They tried to persuade him to taste
the whiskey, offering him a dollar if he would;
finally they offered him three dollars if he
would but taste. But he said he. would not
touch it if they would give him three hundred
dollars; that he had taken a pledge never
to taste it, and that he would stand true to his
promise; he would not lie for any one.
Mrs, Austin (of Alaska) in the Interior.

Tre Sultan has given authority to construct

and to maintain for seventy-one years a railway
from Jaffa to Jerusalem,

THE JUDGE’S ENTERTAINMENT.
1

JHE Judge was a goat, the property, if
) the term may be applied to so intelli-
9 gent an animal, of Ralph Seymour and
his brother Phil. : He was a goat whose
grave and rever end demeanor had won

him his name. The truth is, he bore a slight

resemblance to thé genuine judge who at stated
intervals dealt justice in the same town with
his namesake.

The Judge (meaning my hero) had a remark-
able appetite, which covered a very wide range
of. objects. He was not particular whether he
was. eating grass, straw or newspapers, or even
articles of wearing apparel, as some of his
fellow towns-people discovered to their sorrow.
His only occupations were eating and deliber-*
ating, and as the latter process did not neces:
sarily interrupt the former, they were usually
carried on simultaneously. ._Tom Smith said
he had seen the Judge eat a flat-iron with a,
leather strip tied to its; but the Judge and I
both agree that Tom Smith’s testimony is not



’ reliable.

At the time when my story begins there
were two missionaries in town. One was a
real, genuine missionary —from a place with a

_dreadful name off in Hindoostan — who was

trying to-raise money to buy the little Hindoo-
stanee children little Hindoostanee books. He
had spoken in all the Sunday-schools, and the
boys and girls, Ralph and Phil Seymour among
them, were. very much interested in’ raising -
money-to help this missionary.

The other missionary was just as "genuine,
only he didn’t call himself one. Nobody called
him one. They called him a book-agent. He
didn’t speak in the Sunday-schools; he didn’t
even go around bothering the Sunday-school
children’s fathers and mothers. He sold the
stores a great many books, and the stores sold
them to the.people. There were Detective
Stories, with very cheap covers, and delightful
pictures of big men with pistols.. There were
“ Lord Lynne’s Choice,” arid-“ A Fatal Secret,”
and “The Terrible Temptation.” There were
beantiful story papers, called the “Firelight

3



“THAT LITTLE ELLEN SHULER.”- «





Companion.” And all these things were so
cheap and interesting, that the people in town,
and especially the boys and girls in town, read
“a great many of them.
Ralph and Phil Seymour’s papa and mamma

did not believe in these books, and taught their’

children to believe that they were doing a



A YOUNG ARAB.

great deal of harm. And it was in this way,

strangely enough, that Ralph and Phil came ~

to think of a way for raising some money for
Mr. Bradley, the first missionary. ©
know whether it was the Judge who inspired
them with the thought, or not, as he medita-
tively chewed a Tribune which had floated out
to the fence-corner. It was Ralph who sug-
gested it, and Phil thought it was a very nice
plan indeed.

“Let's go and get him,” said Phil. He
meant, the Judge.

“ All right,” said Ralph.

“He must be at the Wailing Place,, said

Phil.
And there they found him, smacking his lips
over the last corner of a “Firelight Cerra ey

IT don’t

The Judge, like some wiser sages, I fear, was
not to be relied upon in a taste for literature.
The Wailing Place was the rear of Mr.

Smith’s barn, which was very high, and had

no expression on its face at all. Here the |
Judge, with some other goats in town—all

very much less’ respectable than he— used

sometimes to congregate, with their heads to/
the wall, and such a mournful.expression on
their faces, that Ralpb had once declared they
looked exactly like the Jews at the Wailing -
Place in Jerusalem! After that the spot came —
to-be called the Wailing Place, and there the
Judge was pretty sure to be, when he’ had so:

far forgotten his superior education. and station

as to huts far away from the Seymour place.

Ralph and Phil brought him home, and hav-
ing thought a little longer, went in to tell the
plan to Papa Seymour, who helped them ané
improved it, as he always did.

Thus it came to pass that the next week
there was posted in the Square (sometimes.
called the Green, probably because it was
neither square nor green) the following an-

. houncement:

MISSIONARY ENTERTAINMENT

AT MR. SEYMOUR’S WOODSHED
Frapay Niaur.

For the Benejit of Mr. Bradiley’s Missionary Fund,

Under the auspices of the Judge.
ADMITTANCE :. ‘‘ FIRELIGHT COMPANION.”

PARANETE.



zs Toe LITTLE ELLEN, SHULER. ee





ial LIZABETH was in the garden explain-
“74 ing something to the boys with a
Sep troubled air. Henry was listening
- gravely, and Beyoe with an amused
smile on his face.

“Come here,” he said, beokoning ‘to his
mother and aunt, who were coming slowly
down the lawn. “Come and listen to Eliza-

- beth going into high tragedy over the depravity
~ of the human race.”



“

“THAT LITTLE ELLEN SHULER.”



ee ee

“ What is it, Elizalieth ?” Mrs. Chapin asked,
as she paused by the young girl’s chair.

Elizabeth turned toward her.

“Why, mamma, it is those seeds, you know,
which I bought and started for the class. -Be-
fore I went away last
spring I explained to
them that the plants
were bought with my
missionary money, and
therefore did not be-
long to me, but were
the Lord’s. I was very
solemn and careful
about the explanation,
and they seemed to un-
derstand. They were to
raise flowers to sell at
the hotels so that they
might have money to
put in the home and
foreign mission boxes;
you know the little
things never have any-
thing to give. I told
them if they took care
of the plants and
watered them, that the
flowers would be their
gift to the Lord. That
is, that they would
honestly earn the money
for him, and he would
accept it as their gift.
Well, that little Ellen
Shuler seems to have been the most successful
of them all; her plant has really done wonders ;
it has grown into almost a tree. She has had
any number of blossoms from it, and they were
so large and perfect that they brought good
prices; now what has the child done but spent
every penny on herself, buying shoes and a
bonnet, and I don’t know what. I can’t seem
to make her feel that she has been doing
wrong, yet it is just the same as stealing, you
know, and I’m discouraged.”

Raynor laughed, though his mother and aunt
looked sober enough, and Mrs. Chapin said, —

“Poor little ignorant thing! One cannot
but be sorry for her. I suppose she was really







in need of shoes, and bonnet, and such things.”

“O, yes, mamma! They are poor enough,
but that doesn’t alter the fact that she has
taken what did not in the least belong to her.
It is so discouraging to teach and teach, and









































































ELIZABETH EXPLAINS,

find that you have accomplished no more than
that. Why, Auntie, I’ve had that child in my
class ,for nearly two years, and see how well ~
Pve succeeded in training her.” . i



“THAT LITTLE ELLEN SHULER.”

“Jt is a distressing proof of the depravity
-of the human heart, just as I said,” declared
‘Raynor. “Who would suppose that in the
breast of little children would lurk such wick-
-edness?” :

There was an air of gay mockery in his tone,
and Elizabeth turned toward him in grave
inquiry. sf é

' “Raynor, what makes you treat it in this
way? Don’t you really think that the child
has been guilty of dishonesty?”

“Why, of course,” he said, still laughing,
“she is the most thieving of mortals; but then,
I don’t know that we ought to be surprised or
‘disappointed, in a sense; think how the child
has been brought up, and what is the probable
‘standard of her father in regard to all questions
of honesty. You couldn’t expect to undo in
two years the tendencies that were born with
her, and the teachings of a life-time. I’m not
‘surprised in the least.” :

“We can hardly realize what a temptation
it must have been to the child,” said Mrs.
‘Chapin gently. “Think how little she sees of
money, and what a trial it must be to her not
to be dressed like other children whom she
sees; and how little she really knows or cares
about missions or benevolence. I think as
Raynor says, you ought not to be surprised.”

“Well, but, mamma, she stoutly declares that
‘she has done nothing wrong; that I gave her
the plant for her.own, and told her what she
earned would be her very own, and that she
- had a right to do what she liked with it after
- that; and she brought me a miserable little
penny which she said she had saved to give to
the missionary box.”

Elizabeth could not keep from smiling at the
thought, though the tears were very near the
‘surface. As for Raynor, he shouted.

- “She’s willing to divide the spoils, is she?”
he said, between the bursts of laughter. “Come,
now, I think that’s encouraging. Cheer up,
- Elizabeth, you will make a saint of the little
Shuler girl yet.”

Then Henry, who had not spoken since his
mother joined them, and whose face was grave,
even sorrowful, said slowly, —

“Surely, Elizabeth, though you may be sad
about this, you cannot be surprised. Is there

so much honesty with the Lord’s possessions in.
these days that any personal appropriation
should astonish us ?”

“Why,” said Elizabeth, hesitating, “there is
a great deal of selfishness, it is true, but people
don’t as a rule deliberately take that which
belongs to God to use on themselves. Do
they ?” Pa? , ‘

“Tt seems to me they are doing it all the
time, everywhere; don’t you think so, mamma?
Doing it with things which are much more im-
portant than money ; and it is not confined to
those who, like poor little Ellen Shuler, have
had no teaching, but is found in homes where
the highest idea of honesty might be expected.”

“ When it comes to that,” said Raynor, with
more gravity than he had used before, “I think
you are too sweeping altogether. The world
is far from perfect, but most of us can with
justice lay claim to common: honesty, I think.
We don’t deliberately use what doesn’t belong
to us. Dve a case in point myself” — with a
little good-humored Jaugh—‘“ Uncle Horace
sent me a gold piece at Christmas, you know,
half to be used as I liked, and half for benevo-
lence; now, though I’ve been bankrupt for two
weeks and have cast longing looks at the box
where the half of that gold piece reposes wait-
ing for an especially interesting object on which ~
to bestow it, I declare to you that no thought

‘of spending it on myself has been entertained

for a moment. If I’m so virtuous, my good
brother, may you not hope to find honesty more
general than you seem to suppose? By the
way, I believe I’ll spend that money on the
little Shuler Pharisee. I’m getting interested
in my fellow sinner.”

“T was not thinking of money,” said Henry,
in a grave voice. “‘Ye are not your own, ye
are bought with a price.’ I was thinking of
that verse, Raynor, and of valuable lives which
ought to be spent in His service, being used in
other ways. What, after all, is one poor little
plant in Ellen Shuler’s window, the only one
ever given to her, beside our entire garden
given’to us to cultivate on purpose to raise
flowers and fruit for Christ? And we raise
lovely flowers of character, and give promise
of good fruit, which we are bent on using for
our own delight, without a thought of the



MWEPO AND DULANGA.—SHE* WAS PERSECUTED.



directions. Isn’t that so, Raynor?” and he
laid his hand tenderly on his young brother’s
shoulder. : ey

“ There’s no need for your entering the theo-
logical seminary,” said Raynor, with an attempt
at another laugh, “you can preach now, and
make a text out of poor little Ellen Shuler and
me. So she and J are.on a level, after all, as
regards honesty. I didn’t think it, but perhaps
it is so. Elizabeth, you take Ellen in hand,
and Henry will take me, and between you see
what you can accomplish.”

Then, as he was about to move away, he laid
his hand on Henry’s arm, adding gravely, “Tl
say this for your argument, my boy, I wish
with all my heart I was half as honest and
good as you are.” Pansy.

MWEPO AND DULANGA.

ISSIONARY ARNOT of Africa, speak-
‘Ling of a band of slaves, says: “ Among
them were two girls, Mwepo and Dulanga, fast
friends, but the rough hands of Msidi’s soldiers
now separated them. Three years after I was
talking with Msidi, when some slaves were
brought in. The youngest was a girl of nine,
suffering from ulcers on her feet.

Msidi gave away the healthy ones, and then
asked if I could do anything with this one. I
took her to my cottage and nursed her till she
recovered. ; Se

I happened again to be sitting beside Msidi,
breakfasting with him. A little girl entered
and threw herself at his feet, and did obeisance
by rubbing dust on her forehead and arms.
She had run away from her mistress because of
a severe beating. She had traveled all night,
six or eight miles. Some of Msidi’s breakfast
lay by me, which I handed in pity to the poor
thing. Ina short time I left. Looking back
I saw the child following me, Msidi saying if
she was afraid of beating, she would better
follow the white man.

_ So on she*tame with me to my cottage. I
handed her over to the care of the other little
girl, Mwepo, when, to my astonishment, they
few into each other’s arms, embracing one
another and weeping. The two Luba free-born

children had met again, in my cottage, after
each had passed through her own three years
of unmixed sorrow and hardship. It was days
before I could do anything with them, so con-
tinually did: they hang round each other’s neck.”

SHE WAS PERSECUTED.

HEN I was seven years old I first ene

to a public school. Brother wanted to

go to Tokio to school. Father would not per-
mit him. My brother was very sorry, and
asked him over and over again. .At last they
quarreled about it, but he did not go. So he
waited God’s time. The next year father died ;.
then he asked mother to go to Tokio. So the
next year he went there and entered the semi-
nary. While he was there he sent Christian.
books to mother. One summer when he came

‘home on his vacation she went to church.

When she heard the preaching she felt she was,
a great sinner. The next year she became a
Christian. I also went to. church with her.
The next year I was baptized. From that
time I went to church every Sunday and heard
preaching, and was taught at Sunday-school,
and was very happy, but there was one sorrow
for me. After I became a Christian, I was
teased: by the boys at school. They threw
stones at me or struck me. The teacher also
teased me, saying, “Jesus, Jesus.” At first I
was sad and cried, but my mother said I must
not beangry about such things; Jesus wasteased ~
sneered at, crucified and killed by his enemies.
Sapa Hayasut, in The Interior.

(HERE has recently died, in the South Ses
Islands, Queen Pomare, of Tahiti and
Moarea, seventy years old. Let us see how.
much work may be done in a lifetime. When
she was born there was not a native Chistian in-
that region. When she died, more than three
hundred islands had been entirely Christianized. -
Over in Madagascar, twenty-five years ago, the
missionaries had seven little schools, with less
than four hundred scholars. Three years ago
they reported more than a thousand schoois, °
and neariy three hundred tnousand sshriars,



i

A

= sh \

Sima

|
7 ——— ——— —<——=

A STORY THAT TELLS ITSELF.





aa =

CHRISTMAS EVE.—HOW PAPA KNEW.

CHRISTMAS EVE.

ie the snow the lights are gleaming, ~
From above the stars are beaming
Through the cold ;
And the year sighs in the blowing,
And weeps softly in the snowing } ;
He is old.

Merry music now is speeding,
Now advancing, now receding,
Through the air,
-And a sound of Christmas pleasure
Fills each joyful, thoughtful measure —
Half a prayer.

And the youth and brown-eyed maiden

With their gifts of gladness laden,
Soft and slow 3

Tell the wondrous, ancient story

Of the first great Christmas glory,
Long ago!

For o’er mountain, mist and’ meadows.
? 7:

Through the centuries’ gold-lined shadows,

Shines the Star !
Through the sighing and the sobbing
Comes the music’s joyous throbbing
From afar.

And the angels seem a-whispering,

"Mid the stars’ pale, silvery glistening,
In the frost,

Of the good-will and the glory

Coming down from dead years hoary —
Heavenly host!

Is there wonder that all nations,

From their wide-set signal stations

Ali along

The great track of pain and sadness,

Catch a glimpse of breaking sla
Raise their song,

On this night when vows were plighted

*Twixt the heavens and earth, united
By one Love,

And the skies, with joy o’erflowing,

Sent their clear-toned heralds glowing,
From above?

As around the earth doth hover,

And its stains lightly o’ercover,
The fair snow,

With its purity and beauty

(The frost-angels’ happy duty),
Even so

Let the good news of the morrow
Cover o’er the old-time sorrow
Near and far!
Let the clouds break into lightness!
Let our lives shine with the brightness
Of the Star!

Let the bells be set a-chiming,
As, the sunrise steeps up-climbing,
Breaks the day!) _
For the Saviour of the sages
Is the Saviour of the-ages,
And alway !. é =.
: R. M. ApEn.



HOW PAPA KNEW.

A LITTLE girl of nine summers came to
ask her pastor about joining the church.
The pastor said, —

“ Nellie, does your father think you are a
Christian ?”

“ Yes, sir.”

“Have you told him?”

“ No, sir.”

“ How, ens does he know?”

“ He sees.’

“ How does he see that ?”

“Sees that I am a better girl.”

*¢ What else does he see?”

cc Boe I love to read my Bible and love to
pray.”

“Then you think he sees you are a Christian,
do you?”

“JT know he does; he can’t hel it,” was -
Nellie’s quick reply. And with “a modest,
happy boldness she was sure her father knew
she was a Christian because he could not help
seeing it in her life.

Is not such the privilege of God’s people
to be sure that others see they are following
Christ ? — Selected.









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‘ROSSIE’S EDUCATION.

ROSSIE’S EDUCATION.




Oe




(( T began years ago when he was three
oy years old. Oht I don’t mean that, of
nf vi course; in point of fact his education

f really began nearly three years before

that time; but I mean he was three
years old on the Christmas morning of which I
am about to tell you. And he looked very







content, until with shouts of glee he was pro-
nounced ready for his ride.”

“Not in that rig!” Yes, in exactly that
rig — dolls and shovels, and clocks, and drums,
and books, and balls, and every conceivable

-thing stuffed into his pockets, into his hat, -

hung on his buttons, wound about his neck,
pinned to his sash; everywhere that toys and
handkerchiefs, and books and boxes and all

NEARS AGO,
t

much like the pictare I have given you. They
had buttoned his father’s coat about him over
his own little cloth sack, stuffed out Uncle
Dick’s hat with handkerchiefs and mufflers

until it would stay on the child’s curly head,-

and then trimmed him up to their hearts’

the rest could be put, you may be sure they |
were put. ‘
Besides all this, in one hand he held the
reins attached to a fierce-looking team piled
high with toys, and flourished a riding-whip in
the other to use, on occasion, over the heads



ROSSIE’S EDUCATION.





Fee

of a still wilder-looking “rig” at his right.
It was some trouble to get this remarkable
human bundle bundled into the sleigh at the
‘door, and the real horses attached to it tossed
their heads and pawed the snow somewhat
doubtfully, over all the noise that was made
during the packing, but at last they were off —
Papa, Auntie Dell, Laurie and Rossie. Christ-
mas morning calls — such was their business.
They drove down one of the main avenues
“ Just for fun,” Laurie said, then turned down
a back street and began stopping almost at
every house. Sometimes the people who lived
in the houses came to the sidewalk to receive
their call, and sometimes the odd little bundle
was lifted out and went inside. Wherever
there was a sick person, or an old: person, or
one too lame, or too young to come to the
sleigh, Rossie was carried in to see them; and
at every home he left some of his load —a ball
and doll, or a cup and knife at this one, a hand-
kerchief and a muffler, and a toy sled and a
bag of candies at that, and sometimes from the
’ large basket piled in behind apie, or a chicken,
or, some delicacy of that sort; at one place a
fat. little turkey all ready to cook was left by
the red-cheeked baby in: whose name all the
gifts were marked. That was for Auntie Per-
kins, who lived alone and had the rheumatism;
she had a ‘good, hard-working son, who with
his wife and three children always tried to get
away from the big house where the father
and mother worked, to spend Christmas with
“mother. Rossie’on these occasions always
. furnished the turkey—at least this was the
third time he had done it. ;
Well, it was a grand frolic. No one ayes
"it better than the baby, who understood only a
part of what was going on. I don’t know how

early in life he began to remember scenes like .

these, but I know he considers them as much a
part of Christmas as the snow is, and he has
neyer yet seen a Christmas without snow. on
the ground. *

’ As I told you, this one which the picture
describes took place a good while ago. Rossie
‘is fourteen now, and is called by his friends
“Roswell,” and by his professors in school
. “Chester,” and he writes his name “ Roswell

B. Chester, Jr.,” with many a handsome flourish

at a laugh,

thereto, but a Christmas frolic of some sort,
modeled after this one, he always contrives to
have. He is not given quite as much help
about it in these days as when he was younger.
Much of the planning-he has to do for himself,
as well as some of the sacrificing with a view
to carrying out his plans.

His father is a rich man, but a wise one, and
Roswell has his allowance, as well as a certain
income which he earns; but he: also has many
wants, and it requires planning and sacrificing
to have his Christmas “frolic.” But on the
whole he succeeds very well.

It is not Christmas yet, it is true, and Roswell

B. Chester’s plans are still an immense secret
from certain of his friends; but as I am sure
you will never tell until after the secret is out,
I mean to share it with you.

Auntie Perkins still lives in the little Ronse
where she did when the fat turkey was carried
to her, but the good son is gone, and two of
the children, and the daughter-in-law with her
one boy, lives with Auntie Perkins. The boy
is sick. Something is the matter with his spine
which the doctors fear cannot. be cured, and
poor Joe, only thirteen years old, has to. lie all
the days and nights in a certain position, and
suffer at times a good deal of pain. “The
nights are bad enough,” he said one day to
Roswell, “but the days are worse. I do get

~so tired! If I could only write, or make fig- -

ures, it would be such a help; you know I was
fond of writing, and lots of queer things go
slipping through my mind that Td like to put
on paper if I could, just for the fun of it;
sometimes I think they might come to. more

than fun, some day. Then, if I could figure, I
‘could go on with my arithmetic, and I was

good,at that, you know, but I can’t.” The
sentence ended with a weary sigh.

“Why can’t you?” asked Roswell, deeply
interested. What if Jo should write books
and be a great author, and earn ever so much
money! He had heard of such things. —

“Why,” said Jo, with a queer little attempt
“T can’t move myself the least bit,
and I can’t somehow twist my hand around to
make the quirls to the letters —I never knew,
before I was hurt, that it took so much twist-
ing to make letters. I hurt myself trying to

.

Wi oe







THE ROYAL TENS.



write the other day, and the doctor said I
mustn’t do it again. I don’t suppose I should
care to, either, for I couldn’t make the letters
plain enough for me to tell myself what they
were an hour afterwards.” And again Jo tried
to smile. Roswell went away very thoughtful.

That was some time in August, but his
Christmas plans were already being considered.
Out of this talk grew so large a plan that it
needed much considering, and indeed it looked
to the resolute boy for quite a while as though
the thing was really too large for him to do
alone, but he has done it. He doesn’t think I
know how many things he has gone without in
order to accomplish it, and I’ll never tell, only.
this: on Christmas morning by nine o’clock, I
know there will stand on a neat little frame
contrived expressly for it, and fitting like a
footstool into Jo’s bed, a Century Type-writer,
weighing only three pounds, easily lifted from
bed to chair, or table, or. floor, and with the
raised plate at such an angle that Jo’s eyes can
see all the letters and figures, and with so
ingenious a contrivance for making the “twists”
in the letters that Jo need have no further fear
about not being able to read his work, for it
will be in print.

Isn’t that an outgrowth of “Christmas
frolics” worth telling? To be sure the ma-
chine, which stands at this moment on’ one
corner of Roswell’s study table, has cost him
thirty dollars, and the Kodac camera on which
he had supposed he had set his heart must
retire into the background for another year;
but he looks at the neat little maple case which
incloses the machine always with a smile, and
I know that on Christmas morning, 1889, there
will be two happy boys, namely: Joseph Per-
kins, and Roswell B. Chester, Jr. Pansy.

Apne inventor of a safety elevator invited

several to witness a test of his invention.
Three men got on the elevator, and it was con-
fidently expected that when the elevator was
cut loose it would easily and safely descend a
distance of some sixty-five feet, owing to cer-
tain safety appliances. Instead, however, when
it was cut loose, it descended with awful ve-
locity, and when the door was opened the three

men were found lying on the bottom of the car-
insensible, and frightfully bruised and mangled. -

There is a similar danger in spiritual things.
Many, trusting in some brilliant theory or false-
reasoning, have gone down to death, in spite-
of all their confidence in their system. There-
is only one thing that has stood the test of the
centuries, and trusting in it not one. has ever
been disappointed, and that is the simple
religion of the Lord Jesus Christ. — Zhe:
Treasury.

THE ROYAL TENS.

ees something beautiful-to tell —
Perhaps you all have heard ;
But if you have I’ll tell it,
Pll add one happy word.
*Tis all about the royal tens
Fast mustering in the land ;
For sweet and loving service,
Each ten a joyous band.

Each unit wears a silver cross
To show it is a part, .

Stamped with the kingly “I. H. N.”
Above each loyal heart,

_ Held by a purple ribbon —

, Purple, the royal hue—

And royal is the labor
These workers find to do.

They are the King’s own daughters,
And each one “lends a hand”
To help in every lovely way
The helpless ofthe land.
Some do grand work and noble,
Some wait on little needs.
There’s always for the weakest one
Some little loving deeds.

They work as worked their Sovereign
To bring upon the earth
The reign of love and blessing
Begun at Jesus’ birth.
Come, then, ye little maidens,
Your loving service bring ;
Come all and join the royal tens,
Ye daughters of the King. ~
Emity Baker SMALLE..



CAUGHT.



‘lth,







BABY’S

BABY’S CORNER.

THE DOG THAT WENT TO CHURCH.



g@~

APTAIN is a big black dog with a
He
knows almost as much as some men.

shaggy coat. He is very wise.
His name for short is Cap.

Cap’s master lives a mile from town. On
Sundays he takes his family to church.
He likes it

best in winter, because there is no dust, and

Cap likes to go to church too.

there is a soft white cover on the ground.
After breakfast the big sleigh. dashes up to
the door. All the children get in and cuddle



CAPTAIN.

Then the horses
prance off; the bells jingle, and Cap trots
along behind, a very happy ‘dog.

Cap used to follow the family into church
and lie down at his master’s feet.

down in the warm’ robes.

Sometimes
he fell asleep —Cap, not his master —and he
_ snored so loud everybody heard him. It made
Bobby laugh right out.
After that his master said he must be left at
-home on Sundays. So‘they tried to slip off

CORNER.



as

while Cap lay by the fire and not let him know.
But they could not cheat Cap. He always

-came scampering after them as hard as he >

could run, and looked up at them with his big
brown eyes as if to say, “ Why did you go off
and leave me?” Sy

One night his master said, “To-morrow Cap
must be shut up. He must not go to church
any more.”

So in the morning Bobby and his father took
Cap out to the barn. Then they went out
quick and shut the door.

He

scratched on the door and cried, but nobody

- Poor Cap had a long, lonely day.

heard him. The church-bells were ringing and
the sun was shining — it shone through a knot-
hole in the barn—he wanted to go to church’ 4
somuch!- Buthe had to give it up. Poor Cap!

“Next Sunday morning after breakfast they
went to get Cap to shut him up again, but

doggie was not to be found. They looked up-

_ stairs and downstairs, and outdoors and every-

where, nut no Cap. So they started for .
church.

When they had got almost there, what did
they see but Cap sitting in a cérner of a fence
waiting for them!

. He was glad to see them. He jumped up
and wagged his tail and trotted after the sleigh.

Cap was a wise old fellow. After that he

seemed to know when Sunday came. When

the nine o’clock bell rang Cap was up and off.

Sometimes he would_get to church first, and
when they came, there he would sit in a corner
of the pew. Even Bobby’s father could not
help laughing then.

But Cap snored so badly one Sunday that
his master had to put him out right in the
midst of the sermon. Cap went out with his
head down and his tail down, very much
ashamed.

After meeting his master told the minister
how much Cap loved to go to church.







ADA’S TREASURE BOX.

. The minister said, “ Poor old fellow, let him
come, I will find a place for him.”

' So the next Sunday the minister took. Cap

up into his nice warm study and let him lie by

the fire and sleep while the folks were in

ehurch. |
And now Cap is a very happy dog once
more. He goes to church every Sunday when
the others go, and does not have to run away.
Mrs. C. M. Livineston.

ADA’S TREASURE BOX.

I’ was on a Sunday afternoon just a
year ago that Ada sat all alone in her
room, book in hand, but looking into
space. She had been studying her

Sunday-school lesson, and had been interested
in it, but something troubled her.

The door opened quietly, and Edgar came
in, Edgar was nearly always quiet in his
movements, so different from Ada.

“But then, he is a grown-up man,” Ada used
to say, “and I am only a little girl.”

The fact was, that Edgar was not yet nine-
teen, but he seemed “ grown-up” to his little
sister.

“Hada happy time?” he asked cheerfully,
That was another thing about Edgar, he was
nearly always cheerful.

“ Why —yes,” Ada said, drawing the words
out in the way we do when, after all, we feel a
little uncertain about the answer we are mak-
ing. “Only, Edgar” —

“Yes; that is my name.”

’ «TI wish I had a very new way of reading
the Bible.” é

“A very new way—what do you want of
that? Have you used up the old way?” |

“Not used it up, but then, I’m sort.of tired
of it. I don’t mean that, either; I mean that
it doesn’t seem to help me as much as it might
—I forget, you see; I like averse very much,
and have a nice pleasant thought about it, and
think I'll keep it always to belong to that
verse, but I don’t. The next time I read the
verse, or the story, I try to think what it was,

and I can’t. All I remember is, that once when :
I read this before there was something nice in.
it, which won’t come back to me.”

“J understand. How would it do to write a
neat little word, now and then, on the margin
of your Bible? Something that students call
‘catch words,’ with which to refresh your
memory ?” ;

“ Aunt Laura won’t let me do that. She
says it makes a Bible look badly, all marked up

200

oo



“ LOOKING INTO SPACE,

with pencil, and that jt would look dreadful in
my Bible, because I am such a poor writer. I
do write badly,” added Ada humbly.

‘Edgar privately thought that when he had
the management of a little girl she should mark
her Bible as much as she pleased, provided she
did it intelligently, and as well as she could.



“THOU GOD

SEEST. ME.”



—



But he had too much sense to criticise Aunt.

Laura, who stood in place of mother to this
little sister. .

“ That’s the trouble, is it?” he said cheerily.
“Well, you must hurry and grow up, and learn
to write beautifully, because ‘grown-up Bibles’

. look better marked than. they do left blank.
Meantime, let us see if we cannot think of a
plan to help us. You know I go away to-
morrow ?”

“O, yes!” said Ada quickly, “I know-that,”
and she drew a long, long sigh. —

“Well, suppose during the year that I am
away you and I read over the Sabbath-school
lesson once every day, and write on a slip of
paper one thought which we have found, some-
thing to comfort us, or warn us, or in some
way help us? We will each have a little box
to keep them in—TI will furnish them — just
alike for you and me; each shall have a tiny
key which we will wear. [Tl put mine on my
watch chain, and yours can be fastened-on a
ribbon and tucked out of sight around your
neck if you choose. We will call them our

_ treasure-boxes, and none but us shall see the

inside of them. On Monday of each week we
will mail their contents to each other. Then,
on the following Sunday you will have my
thoughts, and I will have yours, and we will
read them over and enjoy them; then we will
each kneel down and ask God to help us through
the week to live by them. Then next New

Year’s day I hope to be at home again, you
know, and on Sunday I will bring my treasure
box to this room filled with your helpful

thoughts, and you shall bring yours here filled’

with mine, and we will dip into them and enjoy
them together. Will not that be a help?”

“A lovely help,” said Ada, and she smiled
more cheerfully than she had been able to
since she had known that Edgar was going out
West to his uncle’s for a “ whole year.”

So now you know how Ada filled her treas-
ure box for the year 1889. It has almost
closed, with her. ‘Next Sunday,” she says to
herself gleefully, as she sits alone on the last
Sabbath of the old year, and she turns the
pretty little key and peeps into the beloved
“treasure box,” well filled now with small
cards, each having a thought printed on it in

Edgar’s round, plain hand. How many treas-
ures she has, and what a delightful hour(#she
and Edgar will spend over them.
The question is, my Blossoms, could not you
each start a “treasure box” of your own?
Pansy.

“THOU GOD SEEST ME.”



| ie is a copy of a “sermon” which a
“at little girl preached years ago to her
1 playmates. She is a young lady now,
‘ and an earnest Christian worker. She
sent me a copy of her “sermon” to
show me how little people sometimes think of
the truths they have learned. She says it did
not seem to occur to her that she had based
her right-doing on very low ground, and that
it was several years afterwards before she saw
how poor her motive was, after all.

Read the little sermon carefully, and see if
you understand what the lady means by her
criticism.

“ A little boy and a little girl were sent to
carry a basket of cake to their grandmother,
The boy was going to eat one, when the little:
girl said, ‘Thou God seest me.’ The little boy
did not eat the cake after that; he did not
want to do wrong if God saw him.”

We must try to do right, for if we do
wrong God sees us and he will surely punish
us. . Mary was a little girl who lived with her
mother. They were very poor. -The mother
did washing and ironing, and Mary carried the
clothes around to the houses
belonged.

One day she found a silver half-dollar in one
of the pockets. She was going to keep it,.
when our text came into her mind; she thought
that God would punish her if she did, so she
gave it back. When she had given it back she
felt very much happier than if she had kept it.

We must try to remember that God sees us.
all the time.

2



where they

“God sees us all the time,
No matter what we do.

He sees us when we tell a lie,
And when we tell what’s true.’”’

E. E. GC.



A NEW YEAR’S BREAKFAST.







A NEW YEAR’S BREAKFAST.





BABY’S CORNER.



BABY’S CORNER.

A STOCKING FULL.



T was almost Christmas time, and Uncle
Ben was in a big ship on the ocean.
He was in a hurry to get home, because
he had something nice to put in a little girl’s
stocking. Her name was Nellie.
were blue. Her hair was yellow and curly,
and she had a little pink mouth round as an o.
What was Uncle Ben going to bring her?
Something in a cage.
But
it was something very nice that he had brought

Was it a canary bird? No, it was not.

from a country far away over the seas.
Well, the big ship got there at last. Christ-
mas morning came, and Nellie’s stocking hung
in the chimney cor-
Uncle Ben
was there, too,
up
the
Mamma was there
sitting by the fire

ner.
walking and

down room.

talking to him.

At last the door
opened and Nellie
She had
her new blue dress
on. ‘“Halloo, lit-
tle bluebird,” said
Uncle Ben; “fly
over to me and give me a kiss, and then let

ran in.



NELLIE AND POLLY

us see what is in the stocking.”

Just then a funny little voice said, “Merry
Christmas, Nellie!”

Nellie looked all about to see who spoke.
What did she see? A little green head with

bright eyes was poking itself out of her

stocking. It was a Poll parrot!
“Take me out, take me out,” Polly screamed,
s0 Uncle Ben took her out.

Her eyes.

What a beauty she was! Her feathers were
blue and green and red and pink and yellow.

Nellie clapped her hands and said, “Isn’t
she pretty?”

“Pretty Polly,” said the parrot. That made
Nellie laugh. Then Polly laughed. She opened
her mouth wide and said “Ha! ha! ha!”

Then everybody laughed, and Poll screamed
out “Ha! ha! ha!” again, and laughed till
she almost tumbled over.

Nellie tried to take hold of her, but Poll ran |
away and turned her head on one side and
said, “Take care there!’ What are you at?”

The next thing Polly did was to hop up on
a chair and look at herself in the glass.

She bobbed her head up and down and said,
“How do you do? Glad to meet you.”

Then she got down and walked about, and
looked at things. When Nellie called out
“Pretty Polly,” Poll would put her head on
one side and look very wise, and say in her
little cracked voice, ‘Pretty Nellie!”

At last Poll said in a cross voice, “ I’m hun-
gry. Is breakfast ready?” and screamed out,

‘* Polly put the kettle on,
We’ll all take tea,”’

“Sure enough,” said Nellie’s mamma, “JT
When they
went out to breakfast, Poll said, ‘O, my stars!”

After breakfast Nellie fell and hurt her a lit-
tle.
up before her in such a funny way and said, —

think we must all be hungry.”

She began to cry, but Poll came and stood

“Now, cry-baby, cry-baby, cry-baby!” that
she had to stop crying and laugh.

At bedtime Nellie said, “ Good-night, Polly.”

“ Good-night, Nellie,’ Poll said, “sweet
dreams, my dear.”

Nellie thinks that Poll is the very best
Christmas present she ever had.

All parrots cannot talk as much as this one.
Uncle Ben spent a long time teaching her.

Mrs. C. M. Livineston.



THE STAR IN THE EAST.
















i if ERE is a little baby of to-day
Wit being pointed to the Star

o/\eY while mamma tries to tell a
little of the “old, old story.”
How old it is!

Did you ever hear of an old man
named Alexander, who lived about
seventeen hundred years ago? Did
you ever hear of a place called the ,
Catacombs? Look up: that word,
will you, in the Encyclopedia and .
see what you can learn about it.

Then think of a company of Chris-
tians gathered in the place which it
describes, talking about the star
which not two hundred years before



THE JUDGE’S ENTERTAINMENT.

pointed the way to the Saviour. It is Christmas
night, and some of them have met in this hid-
ing-place of theirs to celebrate it. Yes, they
had to hide. The emperor hated all who loved
. the name of Jesus, and was trying to find them
out and put them to death.

One old man, Alexander, on that Christmas
evening so long ago, spoke words’ like these,
pointing upward with his hand as he spoke:
“This roof of stone hides the stars, but they
shine; and they that turn many to righteous-
ness shall shine as the stars of heaven. I know
that when this feast day passes in the city, I
shall be given to the beasts; but the hosts of
the righteous shall increase, shining in their
beauty, and Bethlehem’s Star shall never set.”

He was right. They hunted him out, before
long, and his name is on the list of the Chris-
tian martyrs of that day.” He has been for
sixteen hundred years with the Saviour whose
birth he celebrated that night. And Bethle-
hem’s Star shines on. Pansy.

THE JUDGE'S ENTERTAINMENT.
II.

y
OW the Judge was very well known
3 about town, and no little curiosity was

Dyes excited by this connection of his with

missionary interests. It was, therefore, quite
a good-sized company which gathered in Mr.
Seymour’s woodshed when Friday evening
arrived, and seated itself on a varied assort-
ment of chairs, to hear, or see, the entertain-
ment. Possibly the peculiar nature of the
admittance fee had something to do, also, with
the size of the audience.

They had not long to wait before the goat
—I mean the Judge—walked slowly across
what took the place of the stage, bearing a pla-
eard which announced the first number of the
programme: “Overture, Missionary Chorus.”
Some thought that a dish of beans in plain sight
of the Judge, as he entered from the opposite
opening, had to do with his prompt progress
across the stage ; however, he did his part in a
graceful and dignified manner. Nothing short
of a fight could induce him to hurry.

This “Missionary Chorus” was set to the
tune of the “ Battle Hymn of the Republic,”
because that proved to be the only one which
Ralph, Phil and Susie Seymour could sing
together with any adequate regard for har-
mony and time. So mueh difficulty there was
in finding any suitable words for this tune, that
I strongly suspect that Papa Seymour himself
is responsible for those which finally were ren-
dered. The first verse, if I remember rightly,
ran as follows : —

‘Far across the ocean many little children dwell,
They have no books, they have no schools, no ringing Sab-
bath bell;
Then help to send them what they need, and help us, too, to
swell
Our missionary song.”’

The chorus, in-which the audience were in-
vited to join, of course contained some refer-
ence to “marching on,” and the last time it
was repeated the trio marched out demurely,
followed by the Judge, who, queerly enough,
had appeared just in time.

Before the next item on the programme there
was some little delay, but at last the goat am-
bled in again, this time with little Phil on his
back. Phil often used to ride him, and ‘with
him the Judge was always perfectly gentle.

Phil was dressed in the costume of a Chinese
boy, partly obtained from Chee Fung, the laun-
dry-man, and partly made with the aid of gor-
geous pictures in the Seymour library. Phil
was beating the goat very hard, and although
this did not seem to hurt very much, probably
owing to the board under the saddle-cloth, on
which the beating was done, it seemed to sur-
prise the Judge a great deal, and he looked
rather injured. This arrangement was doubt-
less intended by the youthful managers to
typify the uncivilized cruelty of the Celestial
mind. The Chinese boy carried a fan bearing
some pictures of his own people, and an in-
scription in his own tongue made by the afore-
said laundry-man— probably Mrs. Seymour's
washing bill— which Ralph (very truthfully)
explained to the audience the bearer couldn’t
read, as he was very ignorant indeed, although
the missionaries were trying to educate him.

The next scene was of a litle Iindoo boy,



THE JUDGE’S ENTERTAINMENT.





———

which Ralph and Phil had taken especial pains crackers behind the scenes, to represent the

with, inasmuch as Hindoostan was Mr. Bradley’s
especial field of labor. That gentleman had
furnished the costume Phil wore, although it
appeared’ from the aforementioned book of
pictures that not much costume was needed
for a small Hindoo boy. Phil’s face presented
a most ghastly appearance, having been covy-
ered with burnt cork, which had been rubbed
off in a few places. Ralph explained to the
audience this time that the reason the Hindoo
had so many clothes on was because he had
been to school to the missionaries, and had
learned to wear them.
ever, he was interrupted by the Hindoo himself,
who whispered loudly, in surprisingly good
English, —

“Why, Ralph, you know it was because
mamma wouldn’t let me go the way the boy
in the picture looked.”

The audience seemed much delighted with
this small difference of opinion, which exposed
_ Mr. Seymour’s innocent explanation, which he

At this juncture, how-

had suggested to Ralph.

In the Hindoo scene, which was further graced
by several ornaments and mats from India, fur-
nished by Mr. Bradley, the goat was very well
treated, Ralph further explaining that the re-
deeming feature of Hindoo barbarism was the
kind treatment granted animals... But the
Judge appeared so much excited by the ap-
plause he elicited, that it was thought best to
remove him, and the curtain, metaphorically
speaking, fell.

The next number, doubtless owing to the
equal appropriateness of the burnt cork, was
a representation of a view in the South Sea
Islands, and here the Judge appeared with a
garland of leaves around his picturesque head,
led along rather savagely by Phil, who carried
a fierce-looking sickle, stained with beet-juice.
This seemed rather exciting, and the expositor
explained to the audience that this: South Sea
Islander, in the depravity of ignorance ‘and
superstition, was about to sacrifice the goat by
throwing it into a voleano which had for some
time been in.a state of eruption, to appease the
anger of its god. The Judge looked appropri-
ately discouraged, and the reality was still more
heightened by the explosion of a few fire-

thunderings of the volcano. At this the vic-
tim was so disturbed that he disappeared from
view with a little less dignity than usual.

It seemed, a few moments later, that he had
been rescued from his terrible fate, for he was
observed calmly grazing in a pastoral scene,
near a tent where an Arab family were resting

peacefully, in white turbans and long robes.

A boy in a peculiarly arranged night-shirt was
diligently beating a large sack against a post.
Ralph this time explained, somewhat to the
surprise of the audience, that the goat appear-
ing in the background had recently been milked,
since the Arabs used goats’ milk altogether,
and that the person with the sack (who was
seen to have a few streaks of burnt cork re-
maining on his face) was churning the butter
to be made from the milk. He further showed
that the sack was the skin of another goat,
which, on being removed, was turned inside
out, without washing, and the milk poured in.
I fear that none of those present, if they shall
ever travel to Syria, will partake of Arab butter
with genuine enjoyment.

But my notes of this remarkable entertain-
ment are becoming too long, and I must hasten
on. At the close of the dramatic part of the
programme, Susie Seymour appeared to recite
for the Judge his address to his audience,
which he had felt unable to, deliver. I may
say that in this case it is suspected that Mamma
Seymour may be held responsible for what
followed.

Tf my hasty: notes are correct, this was the
address :

“Dear friends: you have listened with gravest attention
To the facts which to you we have ventured to mention.
The kindness you’ ve shown is really relieving,

But as we’re about through we must soon say good-evening.
Tam sure you have all been delighted to note

How much interest in missions I take, for a goat.

If you all do as well, in your several stations,

Tam sure you'll have heeded our just exhortations.

Of the poor | ttle children of whom you have heard,
Since you’ve seen now so much, I shall not say a word;
No doubt they all have your sincerest affection,

And therefore it is I take up a collection.

To help them your moncy is needed most surely —

To reach them, to teach them, to house them securely.
Iam positive, friends, as a goat often can be,

Yow 'll assist these poor people to read Hindoostanee.
And to those who are asking for teachers so sadly,

The money’ll be carried by good Mr. Bradley.

Trepeat it: I’m sure you’re delighted to note

How much interest in missions I have, for a goat.

Your dimes, like your presence, you'll surely net grudge,
But give gladly and freely. Yours truly, The Judge.”’



MERRY CHRISTMAS!





This address was received with earnest
applause, as was its pretended author, who
appeared with a basket fastened on his back,
and walked down the aisle, chewing a handful
of greens which had been given him to calm
him. From every hand pennies, dimes and
quarters were dropped into his basket, so that
he moved all too rapidly to receive them, which
is a fault collectors are not usually accused of.

There was no interruption save by the irre-
pressible Tom Smith, who tried to excite the
Judge by too close attentions, but as a punish-
ment for his misdemeanor he was seized by his
companions, and made to give three times as
much money as he had any intention of doing.

The collection taken, the goat again appeared
on the stage, and Mr. Seymour arose and said
that the closing exercises were held for two
reasons: first, because it was thought that the
Judge, who had so meritoriously conducted the
entertainment, should receive some substantial
reward, although the kind donation of the
audience he doubtless regarded as sufficient
remuneration; and second, because the enter-
tainment was held in the interests of good lit-
erature, and it was thought fitting to recognize

the fact by the destruction of some of an
exactly opposite character.

These sentiments the company applauded,
when Mr. Seymour produced the bundle of
“ Firelight Companions” which had been taken
in at the door, and handing them over to the
Judge, that worthy rapidly and entirely con-
sumed a large portion, and smacked his lips
over the remembrance.

It is safe to say that no item of the pro-
gramme produced more enthusiastic admiration
among the audience than this. They shouted
and cheered so vigorously that if he had not,
so to speak, been too full for utterance, I think
the goat would have shown no little alarm.

The company dispersed, the goat lay down
to sweet slumbers, and the little Seymours,
with tired hands and brains, counted over the
pile of money the entertainment had brought.

“Didn't the Judge do splendidly?” said
Ralph.

“Yes,” said little Phil gravely, “I think we
all did.”

And J, as a humble reporter of the evening,
must add that I think so too.

PaRaNETE.



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MERRY CHRISTMAS !







"SW ag PANN Na
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By



DRINKING UNDER DIFFICULTIES.







THE DEMON THAT LURKS IN THE BOTTLE.—A DAY’S JOURNEY.





THE DEMON THAT LURKS IN THE
BOTTLE.

E want your help, my noble boys,
An army of you, to throttle
The powerful demon of all unrest,
Who lurks in a black glass bottle.
Sometimes ’tisn’t black, but it usually is,
And you may not see him lurk,
But you can’t turn to left, or right, or front,
Without seeing some of his work.

He’s the grandest ally old Satan has,
Cunning as well as strong,
And he works by night as well as day,
And hides his work with a song.
*Tis only to stifle his victim’s cries
That he hides his work with mirth,
For the greatest woe is the demon’s own,
- That is known in all the earth,

And the world wants you who are growing men
To help in this coming fight.
The race before you have battled long,
But have failed to make things right.
So gird yourselves, it will need you all,
All, on the righteous side,
To put your feet on the demon’s neck,
And his terrible power outride.

But oh! beware, lest he conquer you,
“For the end thereof is death ” —
Death to the body and death to the soul
Is dealt by his deadly breath.
So come, even now we want you all
To save the world to-day ;
Your strong young arms, and courage high, «
To cast the curse away.

The cry goes up from the anguished earth,
“ How long, O, Lord! how long?”
"Mid the din of midnight revelry
And the victim’s drunken song.
So move to your places in the ranks,
And give all your strength to throttle
Him who is peopling the under world —
The demon that lurks in the bottle. E. B.S.





A FINE Newfoundland dog and a mastiff
had a quarrel.
a bridge, and being blind with rage, as is often
the case, over they went into the water.
The banks were so high that they were

They were fighting on

forced to swim some distance before they came
to a landing-place. It was very easy for the
Newfoundland dog; he was as much at home
in the water as a seal. But not so with poor
Bruce. He struggled and tried his best to
swim, but made little headway.

Old Bravo, the Newfoundland, had reached
the land, and turned to look at his old enemy.
He saw plainly that his strength was fast fail-
ing, and that he was likely to drown. So what
should he do but plunge in, seize him gently
by the collar, and, keéping his nose above
water, tow him safely into port.

Tt was curious to see the dogs look at each
other as soon as they shook their wet coats.
Their glances said plainly as words, “We will
never quarrel any more.” — Selected.

A DAY’S JOURNEY.

N the way to Wonderland ;
Maidens three, all dressed so grand t

Bonnets, boots and basket,
Umbrellas, bundle, casket,
Book to write the wondcis in;
Each one bound the prize to win.
Oh! ’twas queer to see each maiden,
With her baggage heavy laden,
On her way; each bound to stand,



ON THE WAY TO WON\ERLAND.

That same day, in Wonderland.

On they went, with right. good-will,

Fast as farmers to the mill.

But, alas!’ What did they see?

Nought but bird, and bush, and tree,
Hop-toad, mouse, and Granny Cricket,
Hiding low within the thicket.

Then, home they scampered, one, two, three,
Just as fast as fast could be. A. G. R.







































































































































































































PARENTAL ANXIETY.





WEBSTER’S VALENTINES.



Sens bs

WEBSTER’S VALENTINES.






DON’T know how it happened. It
certainly wasn’t like Webster; as a
rule he was one of the most trust-
worthy boys in school. Why such a
terrible temptation should have overtaken him
that day and been yielded to, perhaps his own
conscience can tell, I’m sure I cannot. Of
course I can “guess” that he may have been
growing careless; may have thought that of
course he would be a good boy, and may not
have asked for special help that morning, and

in that way have let
Satan get the advan-
tage of him; or it may
have been in some
other way —I don’t
know. But I know
this. Into the quiet
of that February
morning, when all the
scholars were bend-
ing over their books,
there came a sudden
buzzing sound from
Webster’s corner.
The teacher had been
much tried with whisperers, and had made, a

POOR WEBSTER !

short time before, a pretty severe threat hay-

ing to do with the next one who whispered.
It looked as though Webster was that one.
The teacher was surprised and grieved. He
was one of her favorites. “Webster, did you
whisper just now?” she asked, and Webster
said, promptly and distinctly, “No, ma’am.”
Up to that moment he had had the sympathy
of every girl and boy in the room; but along

*=

with that distinct “No, ma’am,” came, almost
in the same breath, a subdued murmur of
“O-h-h!” from his classmates. You know
how they make that long-drawn-out undertone
which expresses astonishment, and dissent, and
strong disapproval ?

Mamie Howell, who was Webster’s very
special friend, looked down on her slate and
said not a word, but her cheeks grew scarlet,
and a mist very like tears came into her eyes.
At recess, instead of going out to play, she sat
down by herself on the teacher’s platform in
front of the large window, and by turns
watched the snow-birds outside, or,
with her finger in her history to
keep the place, looked at nothing
in particular, and thought her sore
rowful thoughts. She was so disap.
pointed in Webster. Who would
have supposed that he could tell a
lie? She knew he had whispered ;
she had even heard what he said. _

Poor Webster! he knew it too,
and his heart was even heavier at this minute
than Mamie’s. He too was alone, out in the
great hall, leaning against one of the high

_window-seats, his finger also keeping the place

in history, but his mind too busy over his down-
fall to have room for more ancient history.

What an extraordinary thing that he, Web-
ster Briggs, should have said what was not
true! Nothing dreadful had happened in con-
sequence. The teacher had looked relieved
rather than otherwise at his answer, and had
asked no more questions. But then Webster
knew, and he knew that Mamie Howell knew,
and for the matter of that, all the girls and
boys on the west side knew that it was he who
had whispered. What was to be done?

What was done was certainly very disagree-
able. Not a boy or a girl spoke to Webster
during that long recess. The girls gathered in
groups and talked about him, and the boys
voted with one consent that he was a “ muff,”.
and let him alone. Mamie neither talked about
him nor to him, but she cried once or twice
and her eyes were red.

It may be surprising, but none of these things
helped Webster. When he asked Clay Peter-
son for his jack-knife, and Clay answered only



WEBSTER’S VALENTINES.

a

by a low whistle, Webster’s face grew scarlet,
and he muttered that for his part he didn’t
think it was any worse to whisper than it was
to whistle, and that if Miss Parkhurst hadn’t
been out of the room a minute, Clay wouldn’t
have dared to whistle.

Then Clay answered that that might all be
true, but if Miss Parkhurst asked him when
she came back whether he had whistled he
should certainly say Yes.

At that moment Miss Parkhurst returned,
but as it was an hour when the scholars had a
right to ask each other ques-
tions in low tones about what-
ever they needed to know, she
did not inquire as to what had
been going on while she was
gone.

The disagreeable day was
over at last, and Webster went
home feeling cross and fierce.
What business had the scholars
to treat him so? He had not
meant to tell a lie. He had
meant to say in the next
second that it was a mistake,
that he did not think what
he was saying when he said
that “No, ma’am.”. He would
. have done it, too, before recess,
if they hadn’t acted so mean.
What business was it of theirs?

Webster was not on the road to happiness.

It. was a busy evening to several of his
schoolmates. Clay Peterson and his small
friend Hugh Borland spent the evening to-
gether. .Hugh was the school artist. Small as
he was, he could make very comical pictures,
and had a dangerous talent for sketching like-
nesses. It had dawned upon both of these boys
that the next would be Valentine’s Day, and
they had decided to send Webster Briggs a valen-
tine. So Hugh made a very ridiculous picture
of him, with a very large mouth out of which
was issuing a very large “No, ma’am!” and
Clay added a doggerel in rhyme beginning : —

‘This is the boy all shaven and shorn,
Who sat in the schoolroom one winter morn,
And created a sigh,
And made Mamie cry,
And made all the scholars say ‘Oh! why
Will a good little boy ever tell a lie ?’””

There were four verses, all equally poetic
and helpful. What a blessed thing it was that
other valentines were being written that even-
ing. It was Helen Borland, Hugh’s sister, who
thought out her plan and went to her mother’s
writing-tableto carryitout. It was avery highly
ornamented valentine on which she wrote:

DEAR WEBSTER:

We, the undersigned, are sorry you did not tell the truth.
If you will say you are sorry, adore do so any more, we
will all forgive you and treat you good; because we do bad
things too, sometimes, and you don’t hardly ever, and we
must forgive one another.



ARTIST AND POET AT WORK.

Helen’s own name was signed to this, and it
was her plan to try to get every girl and boy
in the room to follow her example. She began
with her brother Hugh.

“Huh!” he said, “I can’t sign that thing ; it
won’t match.” Then he giggled over the
thought of the caricature which was already in
the post-office. Yet he signed the paper, after
all. “I am scrry for him,” he said to himself;
“T only made that picture for fun.”

But Clay Peterson wouldn’t sign it; he
wanted to be “consistent,” he said.

Three valentines for Webster Briggs. Of
course he opened the largest first. It was the
picture and the poem. Have you any idea
how angry the boy was? He almost choked in
his effort to talk fast enough. He called all
his schoolmates a mean, horrid set, and declared



WEBSTER’S VALENTINES.





‘wr, THE UNDERSIGNED.’

he would never speak to any of them again.
Then he cried, poor fellow — hot, angry tears.
He had been excused from school that morn-
ing—his mother thought he didn’t seem well
—so there was plenty of time to read ‘his val-
entines. He didn’t open the next one for half
an hour. When he did, and saw the long list
of names— twenty-eight of them; only one miss-
ing —he cried again, but this time the tears were
not so bitter, and his heart was growing softer.
They were his friends, after all, and he hadn’t
deserved that they should be; he had done a
mean thing; what was the use of pretending it
wasn’t?

_With these thoughts coming thick and fast
into his heart he opened the third valentine.
A wee white note With a picture of a white
dove in the corner, and these words carefully
written :

DEAR WERSTER:!
I love you, but you will not be happy any more, nor shall
_I, until you ask Jesus and Miss Parkhurst to forgive you. I
know that is so, for when I do wrong it is the only way to
get back the happy. Dear Webster, I know you will do it.
MAMIE.

Then Webster buried his curly head in his
hands and cried hard for five minutes; then ‘he

went in search of his mother. An hour after-
wards he went to school, taking an excuse from



his mother for tardiness. Just before recess
Miss Parkhurst announced that one of the
scholars had something he wished to say. Up
came Webster Briggs, his face quite pale, and
his voice low but steady. He wanted to say
that he had told a lie the day before; it was
he who had whispered; he had not meant to
say “No, ma’am,” when Miss Parkhurst asked
him; he did not know why he had, but he felt
almost certain that he would never say such a
thing again. Would Miss Parkhurst forgive .
him and give him the punishment now that he
ought to have had yesterday ?

What was the matter with Miss Parkhurst ?
She was brushing a tear away from her eyes.
What she did, was to ask all the scholars who
believed that Webster Briggs had received
punishment enough and wanted to have him
forgiven, to rise. Up came every scholar, as
though they were connected by electric wires!

. The moment recess was announced, Clay

Peterson bounded over the top of his desk and
reached Webster’s side. “Look here,” he said,
“JT want to sign that valentine you got this
morning. My name belongs there, and I want
, the other one to burn up; I do, honest. We
only did it for fun, but it was mean. IIclen
had the best fun, I think. And look here, Pll
lend you my jack-knife— two of ’em if you
want them.” ; Pansy.



SO DISAPPOINTED IN WEBSTER,



ONE OF MY CHRISTMAS PRESENTS.





CASSIE’S ENEMIES. =e
ooaaenanapaEeeeeeeeaeaeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee es,

CASSIE’S ENEMIES.



. OY hovered about his mother, watch-
uN ing her work, handing her spool, her
2), scissors, even threading her needle

once or twice. Roy was very fond of
his mother.

“Tve settled on my verse for the term,” he
said presently. “It took me some time to
decide between three; but at last I chose
‘That we may be saved from our enemies. A
boy has so many enemies, you know.”

“I know,” his mother said, smiling up_ at
him fondly, her heart very glad over Roy’s
manly fight against his enemies.

' Cassie listened doubtfully. “I don’t see
what enemies you coald have, Roy,” she said,
“ everybody likes you.”

Roy laughed. “That is just what is the
matter sometimes,” he said. But Cassie did
not understand.

“TI can’t take that for my verse, any way,”
he said, with a satisfied air. “I haven’t an
enemy in the world.”

Roy looked at his mother and smiled.

“Tye seen an enemy of yours,” he said,
“‘and one who is on the watch to do you
harm, too.”

“Who is it?” Cassie asked quickly. “I
most know you are mistaken. Faye Bennet
was my enemy, but -we’ve made up, and now
there isn’t anybody.”

“Mother, don’t you know one who is very
anxious to get Cassie into trouble? ” asked
Roy.

“T am sorry to say that I do. And I’ve
seen traces of his influence this very day,”
was the mother’s answer.

“JT don’t know what you mean,” declared
Cassie, and her tone was almost fretful. i

Roy and his mother often talked in a way
that she did not understand.

“Tl tell you what,” said Roy; “I'll ee
watch of this enemy of yours all day to-
morrow. There’s no school, you know, and
Pll keep a list of the number of times he
undertakes to do you harm, and show it to
you in the afternoon — shall I?”

“You may keep all the watch you want to,”
Cassie said loftily; “I know you won’t find



anybody who is trying to make any trouble for
me. How can they, and I not know anything
about it?”

Nevertheless, the plan was agreed upon, and
for the remainder of the evening Cassie had a
good deal to say about it, but the next day she
forgot it.

Not so Roy.

“Cassie,” called her mother, from the dining-

room, “bring me the scissors from my work-
table.”
“In a minute, mamma; I just want to get
these flowers in the vase,” and she continued
to arrange the dried grasses and leaves for a
winter bouquet.

“Cassie,” said her father, an hour afterwards,
“run up to my dressing-room and bring me my
slippers.”

Cassie went, but was so long that Roy went
in search of her. He found her at the head of
the stairs, trying to make Rover carry the
slippers down in his mouth.

“ Father is waiting,” he said reproachfully.

“Well, ’m coming. I’m only trying to
teach Rover how to be useful.”

If Cassie hadn’t forgotten, she would have
noticed that Roy, frequently during the day,
had occasion to write something in his note-
book.

It was late in the afternoon, however, before
the crowning record of the day was made.
Cassie was dressed and ready for the parlor,
where a very interesting thing was about to
happen.

Almira, the second girl, who had pean in the
family for three years, and was an orphan with
no home of her own, was to be married at four
o’clock, in the back parlor. It had been beau-
tifully trimmed for the occasion with ever-
greens and bright red berries. In fact, Cassie’s
mother had been busy all day making various
preparations, and Cassie believed herself to
have been very helpful. She was a good deal
excited.

It so happened that she had never had the
pleasure of attending a wedding, so it was a
great event to her.

The hour for the ceremony was drawing
near, and Almira’s friends who had been invited
were beginning to arrive, when Cassie was sent



HOW HIS CHARIOT MOVES.





to her mother’s room for a handkerchief and
fan which lay on the bureau. “Make haste,
Cassie,” her mother had said, “I shall want
them in a few minutes, everything is ready
now.”

And Cassie had fully intended to make
haste, but on the sofa, flung hastily aside, was
a handsome silk wrapper of her mother’s, which
was so rarely worn that a sight of it was a treat
to the beauty-loving little girl.

“Oh! that pretty dress,” she said. “I wish
wrappers were nice to wear fo weddings; I’d
like to see mamma in it. S’pose I was a tall
lady, and this wasn’t a wrapper, but a dress for
a bride, and I was putting it on, and was going
to be married in a few minutes; I wonder how
I would feel? I hope they will wear great
long trains when I’m married, and that my
dress will be bright pink satin, with gold-
colored ribbons, and be as long for me as
this is.”

By this time the “lovely” wrapper was
thrown around the little girl, and was being
trailed grandly across the room, the feather
fan for which she had been sent carried in one
hand, and swayed gracefully now and then.

“Come, Alice,” said Cassie’s father down-
stairs, speaking to his wife, “you are being
waited for. The bride is ready to enter the
room.”

“Where can Cassie be?” said Mrs. Bennet,
coming in haste across the hall.

“She is still upstairs,” said her father gravely.
“No, don’t call her,” as Roy made a movement
toward the stairs. ‘The child has not done
anything promptly to-day. She must have her
lesson in some form, perhaps this is as well as
any.”

So they went into the parlor and closed the
doors.

Five minutes afterwards Cassie came flying
down the stairs, only to find those folding-doors
that led into the parlors tightly closed.

“Remember,” her father had said, “to be
tardy at a wedding is unpardonable. If you
young ones are not down until after the doors
are closed, it will be a signal that you are too
late ; don’t presume to open them.”

Poor Cassie, when she had -heard this, had
smiled to herself and thought, “The idea of

being late to-day! Ill be there a half-hour
before time.” Yet for the pleasure of parading
about the room in her mother’s flowered
wrapper, she had lost the marriage ceremony.

“T didn’t see her until after she was all mar-
ried, and I couldn’t see her then, because’ I
had cried so hard that my eyes were red, and
my nose was all swollen, and mamma had to
make me over, hair and all.”

This was the way Cassie told her trouble to
Roy as she cuddled on the sofa beside him that
evening.

Roy’s arm was about her, and his sympathy
for her disappointment had been hearty and
loving, but at this point he said, “It was all
the fault of that enemy of yours, Cassie dear.
Don’t you remember mamma and I warned
you against him?”

“Who?” asked Cassie, going slowly over in
her mind the talk of the evening before.
“There hasn’t anybody been near me all day
only just our own folks, and Almira’s wedding
friends; none of them hindered me. I don’t
know what you mean. What is my enemy’s
name?”

“‘ He has a good many nicknames,” said Roy
gravely, “and I’ve noticed that you generally
speak of him by, one of them. ‘By-and-by,’
‘Pretty Soon,’ ‘In a Minute,’ he answers to all
of these, but his real name is ‘ Procrastination,’
and he is a thief.”

Myra Sparrorp.

HOW HIS CHARIOT MOVES.



‘ae? O-DAY thirty-four missionary societies
work in Africa, and all its two hun-
dred million souls are within reach of
Christian missions; thirty-three socie-
ties in China, and its three hundred

and fifty million may be visited with the Gos-

pel message (unless the Government drives
these societies out); fifty societies in India,
and the light is dawning upon its two hundred
and fifty million. Turkey, Persia and Japan
are filling with mission churches and schools.

The world is opening. The greatest day for
the Kingdom of God earth has ever seen, has
dawned. — Selected.



RACHEL’S FRIEND.



RACHEL’S FRIEND.
PART I.

3M T was one cold November morning that
a little girl stood beside the teacher’s
desk in one of the city schools waiting
for a seat to be given her.

Rachel Ford was a new scholar, and felt shy
and strange as she looked down the long room
at rows of boys and girls who stared coldly at
her. She felt uncomfortable when she remem-
bered that her elbows were patched, and that
her shoes were coarse and clumsy beside the
trim boots of the girl who sat nearest her.

Rachel’s little pale face, with dark locks fall-
ing about it, seemed to grow paler, and her
black eyes sadder as she cast a wistful look at
a girl whose blue cashmere dress and dainty
scrap of a white apron made of muslin and
lace, set off her pink and white face and golden
hair to advantage.

“How pretty she is,” thought Rachel. “How
happy she must be to wear such a nice dress
and shoes every day.” Then she looked down
at her own faded brown dress and old shoes
again and sighed.

Lina Brooks, the pretty girl, was studying
her grammar lesson and the new scholar at the
same time. Mixed up in her mind with verbs
and pronouns were remarks to herself like this:

“What a faded dress! Patched! What
horrid boots! Her hair and eyes are awful
black; maybe she’s a Jew,” whereupon she
turned to the girl who sat behind her and
whispered, nodding at Rachel, “I guess she’s a
Jew.”

Lina had just learned a long column where
she found that the feminine of Jew was Jewess,
and. her lesson at Sabbath-school yesterday had
been on the duty of showing kindness to others.
Apparently she had forgotten both lessons now.

Sarah Rogers, who had caught only the last
word of Lina’s remark, stared a moment at
Rachel and then whispered to her seat-mate, as
she motioned toward the new scholar, “‘She’s
a Jew.” Then all three girls stared in concert.

Rachel heard them, and looking up suddenly
met their scornful eyes.. Her own flashed in
return. She felt as if she should cry that very

a
minute. She had a great notion to run out of
the door and never come back.

But just then the teacher came and gave her
a seat not far from Lina Brooks, and then all
three girls made eyes at each other, and Rachel
saw it and knew it was about her.. Then Sarah
Rogers in a loud whisper informed a girl across
the aisle that the new scholar was a Jew; her
name was Rachel, and that was areal Jew name.

“No it isn’t either,” whispered a stout girl.
“My grandmother’s name was Rachel, and she
isn’t any Jew.”

‘It’s in the Bible, anyway,” Sarah declared.
“She was Abraham’s wife, and he was a Jew.”

“Oh! that is too good,” said an older girl.
“ Abraham’s wife’s name was Sarah. Now,
Sarah Rogers, what have you got to say?”

This caused a general giggle, and the teacher
announced demerits for all four girls, so order
was restored.

Poor Rachel tried to put her thoughts on
the lesson Miss Hall had given her to learn, but
it was hard work; the tears would come and
blind her eyes so that she could scarcely see.

Rachel’s life had been a happy one until her
father’s death. He was a minister, and had
preached in a pleasant little town. They had
a nice snug home, with everything they needed,
and Rachel attended a good school where all the
girls were her friends. Now all was so changed.
They were very poor, and had no friends in
the city. Mrs. Ford had removed there be-
cause she thought she could find a place to
teach, but so far she had failed in that, and
was obliged to take in sewing. She could not
earn much at that, so could not buy all the
shoes and dresses she would have liked for her
little daughter. — .

Rachel was glad when that first dreary day
of school was over-and she could go. Her
home was in a poor part of the city in a back
room of the fourth story. She was thinking
as she went slowly up the last flight of stairs
that she never could stand it to go to school
with all those “hateful girls.”

Her mother sat by the one window bending
over her sewing, but she dropped it and held
out her arms to Rachel. “I’m so glad you are
home, dear,” she said,“and how did school go?”

Mrs. C. M. Livinesron,



a

,

|









































**S’POSE I WAS.’?





RACHEL’S FRIEND.



RACHEL’S FRIEND.

PART II.

“HY ACHEL had resolved, like a wise little
U.S woman, as she came along, that she
would not tell her trouble lest it would
t grieve her mother. But mother had
seen it in her eyes as soon as she opened the
door. *“ What is it, dear?” she asked.. “‘Were
the lessons too hard? ‘Tell mother all about
it, Rachie.”

Rachel’s good resolutions all vanished. She
hid her head in her mother’s neck, and the
tears she had held back all day fell fast.

“O, mother!” she sobbed out, “I can’t stand
it. There are some bad, hateful girls. They
looked at me so!
and they -whispered about me. One said I
looked like the Jews. O, dear! I never can
go to that horrid school again. What makes
me look like a Jew? Dol? They said Rachel
was a Jew name. What was I named that
for, anyway?” and Rachel, with overwrought
nerves, nearly screamed out the last words.

Her mother did not ray anything for a few
minutes. She kissed her forehead and softly
smoothed her hair, and let her have the cry out,
then she asked, “Did you find the lessons hard,
dear?”

“Not a bit,” said Rachel, ‘and the teacher
was nice to me; but do I look like a Jew girl?”

“No, my dear, you do not; some ignorant
little girl must have said that. Jews have
black hair and eyes, and yours are unusually
dark; they have noses, too—everybody who
owns a nose is not a Jew on that account.
Your eyes and hair are like dear papa’s, Rachie;
I would not have them different for anything.
But you must not think in that way of the
Jews. There are good and bad people among
them just as in our nation. They are deceived,
and do not believe the truth about Jesus, but
some day they will come to the light and know
Him as He is. The Lord Jesus himself was a
Jew, you remember. And now my darling
must try to be a brave girl and rise above these
things. You are making a character now, and
these trials have to do in forming it. The way
you bear them will mould you into a Christ-like



They’ve got pretty clothes, °

- eyes.



woman or one who is bitter and hard. You
want to be God’s dear, patient daughter, don’t
you, dear?”

“Yes, I do,” said Rachel softly, the fire all
gone from her eyes.

“Well, then, do as He would tell you to do
if He were here. Treat those girls kindly.
Pray for them, and you will feel kinder. Now
let us go and see what we can get up for a nice
supper.”

It would seem as if it were easy to be kind
and pleasant, surrounded by as many nice things
as Lina Brooks had in her home, but strangely
enough those who have every wish gratified
are apt to be most selfish.

One evening the Brooks family were gath-
ered in their pleasant sitting-room, Lina with
a basket of bright wools and pretty ribbons
was making Christmas presents, while her
mother was giving an account of her visits
among the poor that afternoon.

“ And who do you think I found?” she said
to her husband, “away up in a dingy fourth-
story back room but my old friend Mary Rob-
erts! I was so glad to see her. She married
a minister by the name of Ford, but he died
about a year ago. Mary is trying to earn her
living at sewing, but she can never do it. She
is finely educated, and is an excellent teacher.
We must try to find a good position for her.
She has one child, a little girl with lovely great
She is a sensitive little creature, and
has been made very unhappy in school by
some rude girls who looked down upon her
because she was poorly dressed, I suppose. I
hope no child of mine will be guilty of such
actions,” she said, looking at Lina. “I do
trust I have taught them better. Why, she
must be in your school, Lina, for they live in
this ward. Have you seen a little girl by the
name of Rachel Ford?”

Lina, while she bent over her basket, said in
some confusion she believed she had heard that
name.

Her mother did not notice that her face
grew quite red, and she went on charging her
to find out the little girl and be friendly to her.

“Mrs. Ford was one of my dear friends

-when I was a schoolgirl,” she said, “and I love

her very much.”



HARD TEXT.







Lina soon lost all interest in her work. What
would her mother say if she knew all? A
vision of poor little Rachel bending over her
books, patient and sad, kept coming up before
cher. For three whole weeks she had sat across
the aisle from her and hed not given her a
kind word or look, although she knew she was
lonely and neglected.

Lina went early to bed and tried to go to
sleep and forget her disagreeable thoughts, but
sleep ran away from her. She was tormented
with the thought that she was deceiving her
mother. She had not been the sort of girl in
school that her mother supposed she was.
Lying there in the darkness and quiet she felt
condemned in the sight of Jesus, her Saviour,
for she had promised to live to please Him. It
is so good that when we have done wrong we
do not need to go away above the clouds to
find Him. Just a whisper in the darkness —
He hears and forgives.

But Lina could not rest until she called her
mother in and confessed everything to her.

The next morning Rachel, who had come
early to school, was in her seat before the bell
rang studying her arithmetic lesson. She felt
a hand laid on her shoulder and looking up
saw, to her surprise, Lina Brooks. Lina’s
cheeks were pinker than ever as she said in a
low tone, “I was hateful and wicked to you;
will you forgive me? My mamma went to
see your mamma yesterday, and they are old
friends. Let us be friends too.”

Rachel was too much surprised to speak for
a minute, then her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh! will you like me just a little? I’m so
glad!” she said eagerly.

The girls opened their eyes wide at recess
when Lina Brooks asked Rachel to come and
play with them. Whatever Lina did, though,
was considered by the other girls the thing to
do, and as they followed her example in being
rude to Rachel they now followed it in being:
friendly, so the forlorn little girl seemed to
have plenty of friends by the end of another
week,

The night before Christmas, just as Rachel
and her mother had drawn up to the fire to
have a little talk, there came a knock at the
door, and a man appeared with a good-sized



box, which he said he was ordered to leave
there.

Mrs. Ford thought there must be some mis-
take, but there was her. name on a card, so:
Rachel ran for the hammer and the box was
soon opened. On the top was a slip of paper
which said, “For Rachel, from Santa Claus.”
It seemed as if Santa Claus had not forgotten
anything that a girl needed. There was a
brown dress and a scarlet dress, prettily made.
There was a long brown cloak—‘“ warm as
toast,” Mrs. Ford said—and a little brown
hat with a scarlet wing and a white one. There
were soft, thick stockings of red and blue and
brown, and a pair of boots, and a pair of gloves.

Rachel laughed and danced, and cried at
last, for joy, and her mother cried with her.
The first thing in the morning the postman
brought a letter. That was an invitation for
Mrs. Ford and Rachel to take their Christmas.
dinner with Mrs. Brooks. In fact, it seemed
as if there were no end of surprises that day,
for Mr. Brooks told Mrs. Ford while they were
at dinner that he could secure a position for
her to teach in the same school that Rachel
attended.

Lina and Rachel grew to love each other
dearly, and are fast friends this very minute.

Mrs. C. M. Livinesron.

HARD TEXT.

(Matt. vi. 19-21.)

HE Bible requires us to work, and work-
ing we make money, and we must not
throw that money away, but take care of it,
“lay it up” for the winter, a “rainy day,” for
old age, for a time of need. Neglecting to do
this many people suffer, some starve or freeze.
They must not expect our Father in Heaven to
do for them what He expects them to do for
themselves.

But this verse warns against laying up
treasures, not so much as something to be used
in time of need, but as treasures for the heart
to be set upon: 7. ¢., to steal away one’s affec-
tion from Christ: 7. ¢, to become one’s god!
The Kingdom of Heaven, not that of dollars,
must be within us —in the heart.



BABY’S CORNER.



BABY’S CORNER.

A BAD SUPPER.






NE day. Ann was in the pantry making
mince pies. She put raisins and spice
and sugar in them. She made little

They

stars and ferns on the crust.
were very nice pies.

Two bright eyes were watching Ann while
she worked. They were the eyes of a little
gray mouse. He was hiding behind a can on
the shelf. He said to himself:

“U-h, um! What a good smell.
see if I don’t have some of those pies.

We shall
Just
wait till to-night when all the folks are sound
asleep.” So Mouse crept back into his hole
and took a long nap. Then he came out and
looked out of the pantry window. “Yes,”
he said, “night has come, I know, because the

sun has gone and the stars are in the sky. I

2



AT THE FEAST. *

guess the folks have gone to bed. Now I will
look for the pies.”
He knew the shelf where the pies were kept.
“Here they are,” he said. “Hi! how good
What a feast I shall have! I

think I will invite some of my friends to sup-

they do smell.

per.” So he ran around to the neighbors in
the woodshed and asked them. They were
very glad to come. One, two, three, four more

mice. They hurried back and they all got
around a nice big pie. They had taken just
one little nibble when the pantry door opened.

and Ann came in with a light in her hand.

‘When she saw a lot of mice standing around

one of her best pies she just opened her mouth
and screamed.
“O-w! oh!” she said.

How those mice did scamper! The wood-

shed mice went home, and the pantry mouse

went back into his hole.

Ann took every one of those pies and carried
them down cellar. Then she got a trap. She
put a nice little fresh piece of cheese in it and
set it on the shelf. After that she went out
and shut the door. ,

Mousey. waited a long time. At last the
house was ‘still. “JT shall go by myself this
time,” said this selfish little mouse. “I can’t
be troubled running after the others.”

Everybody was fast asleep. He slipped
softly out. The pantry was dark as a
_ 4 pocket. Mousey thought the pies were
gis} on the shelf yet, so he went sniffing
about trying to find them.

' «TI believe I smell cheese,” he said.
“Cheese goes first-rate with pie.” He
came a little nearer to the trap.

How nice!”
He put his head softly through the lit-

tle hole of the trap.

“ Yes, here it is, cheese!

Snap! went the
spring, and there he was fast.

Poor Mousey! No more mince pie,

no more cheese for him.

In the morning Ann said, when she opened
the pantry door —

“There, that little scamp is caught, and I
am glad of it!”

She took the trap out and opened it, and
Mousey fell into a pail of water.

And that is the bad end to which a little
mouse came who tried to steal mince pies.

Mrs. C. M. Livineston.



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SCALES AND SQUASH.

SCALES AND SQUASH.





“SIEYANNY TALBOT’S face was nearly
UES always bright, but on this Christmas
aN SS morning there was an unusual sparkle
"of pleasure in her eye as she tied on
the great work-apron which was so long for
her that it had to be tucked into the belt to
save her from falling
on it. Fanny was a
dumpy little thing, I
shall have to confess —
“ Almost as broad as
_ she was long,” Aunt
Erminasaid, and Fanny
was silly enough to
shed some tears over
it. Besides, she looked
younger than she really
was, which was also a
source of grief to her.
“Nobody would sup-
pose to look at the child
that she was in her
thirteenth year.” This
was also an opinion of
Aunt Ermina’s, spoken
in a tone of strong dis- af
approval; yet despite
it all, as I say, Fanny
was happy. She had
been away from home
for more than a year;
not with Aunt Ermina,
but with dear “ Auntie
Beth,” who lived in a
town where there was
an excellent school—
better, Auntie Beth
thought, than any other
in the world, and there-
fore the very place for
her precious niece, Fan-
ny. “Sheis very young
to send away from
home,” Fanny’s mother
had said, with a weary
sigh, “and I don’t know what I shall do
without her,” and then, with the unselfishness
of all mothers, because she lived in a mining











































































































































































































































































































































































































town, where there was no good school for her
darling, went quietly to work to get her ready.
That was in November. Fanny was surely to
come home in June, but the way was long, and
her uncle’s plans for taking the journey fell
through, and Fanny could not go alone, and
the summer slipped away while they were wait-
ing; and, to make a long, weary waiting into

me

a ie
ict

























































































“SKATE, INDEED !”?

a short story, it was not till the day before
Christmas that. Fanny saw home again.
“A whole year!” she said, drawing a long



SCALES AND SQUASH.



Saas” oees—e—e—ewoOsaooaeon9RqomTuOuO ee ssooaaaawaa@a@oeoqo®qo®= Ooo ee

breath of mingled sadness and delight — dis-
may over the past, and satisfaction that the
long separation was over, and that she was at
home. An escort had been hastily found for
her at last, because her mother was sick, and
father felt sure she could not get well very
fast until her little daughter was with her.
Fanny found her just creeping back to health,
her cheeks still pale and her eyes weary-look-
ing, but “so much better,” she had said cheer-
fully, when the tears came into Fanny’s eyes,
and then she had kissed her, and assured her
that she would certainly get well fast now.
But on this Christmas morning the mother had
looked troubled, and had sighed once or twice
before she said, —

“T am sorry we cannot have a better Christ-
mas dinner, my darling, in honor of your home-
coming, than Susan can manage. She doesn’t
know how to cook anything, not even a potato;
your father has had dreadful times all alone in
the dining-room, trying to eat such meals as

“she has prepared. I would have tried to get
out to direct her about dinner, but your father
says it will not do.” |

“No, indeed,” said Fanny; “but you are to
come to the table, you know; that will be
dinner enough for father and me. Susan is
good-natured, I think.”

“Oh! she is good-natured, and has been as
faithful as possible all through my sickness,
The only trouble with the girl is, she doesn’t
know how to do things; no one has ever taught
her. Your father doesn’t say much, and has

pnt as good a face as possible on the matter, _

all through, but I know by the slops the poor
thing has brought to me, and the way they
have been served, how miserable everything
must be in the kitchen. In fact, I knew how
ignorant she was before I was taken sick, but
she was the best we could get,” and the sen-
tence ended with another sigh.

Fanny’s face did not look sympathetic — it
was even bright—though she said “poor
mother” in as comforting a tone as she could,
but in the next breath said, “‘ What is she to
get for dinner?” .

“Why, I told your father I thought with my
direction she could manage to stew a chicken.
He wanted to have a turkey, but of course that

was not to. be thought of, and I’m afraid the
chicken will not be fit to eat, though I gave
her most careful directions. The trouble is,
the girl is not used to giving heed to directions,
and she listens good-naturedly, and then does
any way it happens. You and father must get
your Christmas out of one another this time,
and be as comfortable as you can. Mother
will soon be well enough to look after things,
I hope.”

She could not help sighing a little as she
finished. She felt very weak, and the thought
of the dinner Susan would serve made her feel
weaker. “I was hoping that your Aunt
Ermina would get home in time to look after
things a little for us,” she said.

But Fanny’s eyes were fairly dazzling as she
answered, “I don’t want to see Aunt Ermina
to-day. Don’t worry about dinner; father and
I will do nicely, see if we don’t.” Then she
kissed this precious mother several times, and
asked her if she was sure she would not be
lonely if she left her all the morning, as she
had something very partioular to do. And
mother smiled on her and assured her that she
would do nicely alone until dinner-time, and
she hoped her daughter would go out and have
a good skate with the girls.

“Skate indeed!” said Fanny to herself, as
she tied on that big apron of her mother’s, her
face all in a glow of pleasure. “I guess all
the skating Tl do to-day”— And then she
laughed, and ran in search of the good-natured,
slatternly Susan.

The truth was, that Fanny, though not yet
thirteen, and not tall enough to suit her Aunt
Ermina, had a wonderful secret which had
been stored up for ten long months, in order
to surprise her father and mother.

“Tt is so splendid that it should happen on
Christmas day,” she told herself, her eyes shin
ing the while. “If I had known it would have
happened like that, I guess maybe I wouldn’t
have grumbled so much about having to wait.”
Certainly Fanny was happy; she was by no
means glad that her mother was sick and not
able to attend to the dinner, but since such
was the case, how very splendid it was to think
that the dinner, at least, need not suffer.

“Stewed chickens,” she repeated, with her



SCALES AND SQUASH.





gleeful laugh, as she waited in the kitchen for
Susan’s slow, clamping feet to ascend the cellar
stairs. “If there is anything I can do to per-
fection it is to stew chickens. If it had been
turkey I might have been a little bit nervous
over the first one done all alone, but chickens
—dear me!”

Now the secret is out. Fanny, short and
round as she was, had learned to cook.

Not merely to make a gingerbread, or a cus-

tard, or some simple dish of that character;
she had been regularly every afternoon for two
hours to a first-class cooking-school, and _lis-
tened, and studied, and experimented, to her
heart’s content. “She is.a born genius,” had
Aunt Beth said, more than once, looking én in
astonished admiration as the child’s deft fingers
concocted some dainty dish; but Fanny her-
self knew better.
* “T have a kind of a knack for it,” she ex-
plained gravely, “my teacher says so; but it is
because she has tried so hard to teach me and
I have tried so hard to learn that I know how,
after all; and, Aunt Beth, you know I can’t
play the scales as the other girls can.”

Aunt Beth laughed. “No,” she said cheer-
fully, “you are not a musician, and I suppose
your Aunt Ermina will be disappointed, but I
think you will play very pleasantly for your
friends, for all that; and as for the time you
have taken from practice to learn this new
accomplishment, I believe your mother and
father will be delighted.”

“T know they will,” Fanny had answered
confidently. “Father thinks a young lady
who doesn’t know how to cook is a disgrace.”

For all that, she had not expected the honor
of managing the Christmas dinner.

She felt safe about that, but the question
was, could she manage Susan?

By the time that slattern appeared, she had
resolved on her method of attack.

“Susan, Pve come to help; you don’t want
tu work all alone on Christmas day, I know,
and I can do ever so many things. What are
you going to have besides chicken? O, Susan!
let us have squash; that goes so nicely with
chicken, and I know how to season it, and
squeeze it, and all those things; and mashed
potatoes, Susan. I have the loveliest new

masher, which makes the potatoes come out all
in little rings. Won’t it be fun?”

Susan looked at the glowing face and the
big apron, and plump hands and shining eyes,
and “allowed” that it would.

Self-sacrificing she was, too. She had felt in
a hurry, and had meant to get the dinner out
of the way as soon as possible, without the
trouble of mashed potatoes, or squash, or any

such nonsense; what was the use, when the

mistress was sick? But this was kind of a
lonesome Christmas to the little girl with her
mother sick, and if she wanted to play help,
and muss around the kitchen, what if it did
make lots more work? “It’s all in a lifetime,”
said Susan to herself. Smothering the little
sigh over the extra hour or two which she was
going ‘up, she declared with great heartiness
they two would “git all the fun out of that
there dinner which it was possible to find in it.”

And the work began. Before one o’clock

Fanny was tired but triumphant, and Susan ,

had learned several things. “Don’t let’s put
so much water on them at first,” she had
begged, when Susan was preparing to drown
the chickens; “we can add a little from time
to time if it boils off, but I don’t believe it. will
if we keep them carefully covered, and they
will taste so much richer, you know.”

Susan really did not know whether to laugh
or be respectful before so much knowledge, but
she compromised with a broad grin and a good-
natured “All right; have ’em jest according to
your notion; and let’s see how it will come out.”

By the time the great, juicy quarters of the
Spitzenberg apples came out whole with. the
juice looking like maple syrup, and the squash
was almost as dry as flour, and seasoned to a
nicety, and the gravy for the chicken was
thickened without a lump, and the lightest and
smallest of cream biscuits were broken in two
and laid in rows about the platter ready for
the stewed chicken, and the potatoes curled
themselves in lovely brown waves over the
bright dish in which they were taken from the
oven, and the little sponge-cake cups of Char-
lotte Russe sat in tempting rows, waiting to be
served for dessert, Susan had decided the ques-
tion which had puzzled her at first, and was
almost lost in respectful admiration.



CHRISTMAS SPORT.





She was even betrayed once into the use of
‘a title of respect. “For the land’s sake, Miss
Fanny, what don’t you know?” This was
after Fanny had said, “Let me set the table,
Susan; I can leave these chickens now, and you
are tired; and I know exactly how to do it.”

She had judged from the appearance of the

breakfast table that Susan knew exactly how
not to do it.
' At last everything was complete, and the
triumphant, weary little maiden went to sum-
mon her mother to the dining-room. “How
rosy your cheeks are!” the mother said ad-
miringly. “ave you been skating, dear?”

“Not exactly, ma’am,” and Fanny’s face
sparkled with fun. ‘Motherie, how pretty
you look in that wrapper. Won’t you please
to hurry just a little bit? Father has come in,
and there is something for your dinner which
will spoil by standing.”

What fun it was! How utterly astonished
both father and. mother looked at the sight of
the gracefully laid table, with squares of care-
fully cut bread placed in the fold of each fresh
napkin. What a marvel of perfection the
oyster stew was! Tow delicious mother said

the bit of breast of chicken tasted! How
heartily father ate, and how lavish was the
praise bestowed upon the rosy-cheeked little
fairy who had “evolved” all this comfort.
For of course it came out—had to be told in
answer to the eager questions poured upon her
—all the story of that busy winter, and the
sacrifice of chromatic scales to the proper
seasoning of chicken and squash.

“Scales!” said the hungry father, helping
himself: to another spoonful of the mashed
potato; “don’t mention them, if you please,
in comparison with this dinner; at least not to
a man who has been served for five weeks by
Susan Barker.”

Fanny laughed merrily. “But Susan is real
good-natured,” she said quickly; ‘and, mother,
I think she will let me teach her a good many
things.”

“J think she will,” the mother said compla-
cently. “Judging from this effort, my little
daughter has learned not only how to do things,
but how to pleasantly show others. . It is a
very great comfort, daughter; and as for the
scales, there is time enough for them.”

Pansy.



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CHRISTMAS SPORT.



BARBADOES.—POOR, YET MAKING MANY RICH.





BARBADOES.

OME of you have not yet learned where
SYS) that is. Let us find it. Look ‘on the
* map for the Caribbean Islands. Find

St. Vincent, which for some reason
- always seems to be the easiest one to
find, then let your eye travel eastward until it
reaches Barbadoes. What do we know-about
that island? Not much, I imagine. First, the
name. What does it mean, and why was it
chosen? Hard to answer. Probably it is the
Spanish word for a certain vine whose branches
run down and strike into the earth again.

When did the history of Barbadoes begin?
The first we really know about it is in 1605,
when a company of Englishmen from the good
ship Olive Blossom landed there, set up a
eross in honor of their visit, and cut the name
of “James, King of England,” on the bark of a
tree. Since then, if we had kept careful watch,
we might have iowa a good deal about the
island.

Why am I calling your attention to it?
Because I want to tell you about a little negro
boy in one of its Sunday-schools. He is only
eight years old. One day he said to his teacher,
pointing to a new scholar with a look of aston-
ishment, not to say indignation, “Massa this
boy say he don’t believe in any resurrection!”

“Poor fellow!” said the teacher. “But,
my boy, why do you believe in a resurrection?”

“’Cause the Bible say so.”

“ Are you sure of that?”

“O, yes, massa! Job say, ‘I know that my
Redeemer liveth: and though after my skin
worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall
Isee God.’ And David say, ‘I shall be satis-
fied when I awake in thy likeness.’ And Jesus
say, ‘He that believeth in me, though he were
dead, yet shall he live.’”

“My boy,” said the teacher, surprised at the
little fellow’s judgment and memory, “can you
show those words to your friend — in the Bible?”

Instantly the child seized his Bible and
turned rapidly to Job, to the Psalms, to John,
and pointed out the verses he had repeated.

The question for the Pansies is, How many
eight-year-old scholars in our Sunday-schools
in this country could do as well?







———

POOR, YET MAKING MANY RICH.

HAT little mite of a creature, a little
larger than a spool of thread as she
appears in this picture, is worrying her bit. of
a head and heart about poverty and wealth.
You see the room is very plain, very little
furniture, very little finery in that house, but
our small Primrose never would have thought
of their not being just as “well off” as others.
But this bit of a miss was one day invited out
to tea to a grand house, and her sharp eyes saw
the difference at a glance, and now her wee
heart is heavy, and she “ wonders if they’ll ever
be rich.”

But she grew and she grew, her heart much
faster than her eyes—so fast that one day she
read about the poor benighted heathen who
never knew of Christ, and her heart in a mo-
ment almost opened a wide door and took
them all in, millions and millions of them, took _
them in in their sin and misery. And when
she was nearly or quite a young woman, what
think you? Our little Primrose, no longer a
wee thing as you see her there, woe-begone,
leaning against her mother, but tall, beautiful,
educated, our Primrose sets sail from New
York to be a missionary among the heathen
to make them rich as sons and daughters of
the King of Giory. “Primrose wonders no
more if she will ever be rich.” C. M. L.

N the land of Moab, which, you remember,
was the home of Ruth before she left it
to go with her mother-in-law, there is living a
missionary from London, whose work it is to
sell Bibles to the people. ‘They do not use
money to buy with, but flour. One morning
the missionary counted over his Bibles, and
found that he had fifty-four. But at evening
of that same day not a Bible was left, and
every spare dish in his house was full of flour.
The people of Moab know more about the
true God than they did when Ruth’s mother-
in-law went there to live. Do you suppose,
when they get their new Bibles, they sit down
as soon as they can and read the story of Ruth?
Perhaps you do not know that story your-
selves? You will find it very interesting.



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PATIENT WAITING.





ONE OF YOUR SISTERS.—THE HARD TEXT.

&



ONE OF YOUR SISTERS.

Zs ITA MATSUDA is her name.
Queer name for an American girl,
did you say?

But she is not American, although
her eyes are as bright, her feet as swift and
her tongue as nimble as any of yours.

Kita was not using her tongue though, that
bright October afternoon. She was sitting in
a hammock under the shade of a large tree,
with a book in her hand.

The tree is in her father’s garden.
garden is in Osaka. Osaka is in Japan.
the book? Guess.

It was the identical story some of you read
—perhaps that same October afternoon —
“ Christie’s Christmas.” And she liked it just
as much as you did. She laughed when she
came to something funny, her eyes grew ear-
nest at the sober parts, and she almost held
her breath when Christie was on the cars all
Christmas day, and was so glad when she got
safely home to her nice supper.

No, the book is not printed in Japanese
characters. Kita can read English almost as
well as you can yourself.

Kita attends the mission school. Her teacher
is an American lady, and she takes great pains
to teach her pupils to read English. She buys
the “Pansy” books and reads aloud to them,
and sometimes lets them read by themselves
when they have learned their lessons well.

The Japanese girls think American girls are
queer, and their teacher has to answer a great
many questions about your dress and your
manners and way of speaking.

But Kita knows one thing exactly as you
know it. She has learned about the Father in
heaven, and that he sent his Son to save us.
She reads the same Bible, sings the same
hymns, and loves the same Saviour.

Kita’s father has become a true Christian
too. He has family worship, but besides that
he takes little Kita upstairs every morning and
prays with her alone. He prays that she may
have a clear mind and learn her lessons well
that day, and that she may be kept from think-
ing bad thoughts or speaking rude, cross words.
Perhaps that is the reason Kita is growing to



The
And

be one of the sweetest girls in school, and why
she is so bright at her books.

One morning Kita was in a hurry. She
wished to get to school very early that morn-
ing to give a flower to her teacher before school
opened, and because she was in a hurry, she
wished her father would not pray with her
that morning. So she thought she would slip
off to school and he would not find her. She
picked her flower, and away she went as fast
as her feet could carry her. But something
seemed to whisper right in her heart, “ Kita,
Kita, what are you doing?”

She turned about quickly, and ran back as
fast as she went. The tears of sorrow and
shame were on her cheeks when she met her.
father in the door.

“Why, what is the matter with my dear
child ?” he said, wiping away her tears.

Then Kita told him how naughty she had
been.

Her father took her in his arms and kissed
her and said, “I forgive you, dear child, and
just so the Heavenly Father will take you in
his arms when you come to him and are sorry
for your sin.”

Then he took her by the hand and they went
upstairs to pray, her father saying as he went,
“You see, my Kita cannot do well when she
runs away from God, not even one little, small
moment.”

Mrs. C. M. Livinesron.

THE HARD TEXT.
(Matt. vi. 25.) .

T cannot be that God would give us think-
ing powers and then command us not to
use them.

“Take no thought,” ete.

Suppose mother should not think about
bread-making, would the bread come miracu-
lously ? No, no. One must think about these
things, and there is no wrong about that, but
the wrong comes in when we begin to doubt

“our Heavenly Father, as we do when we “take

anxious thought,” for that is the real meaning
of the word “thought ” in the text.



Ss
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HARD QUESTIONS.





HARD QUESTIONS.

re) TE, kitchen was large and neat, and
I Miss Helen was always kind. Gustave

wood, especially when Miss Helen was
at work, as she was this May morning.

Gustave lingered to watch the skillful knife
go around the apple she was pealing, at least
that was what he was apparently lingering for,
but Miss Helen, who understood him pretty
well, as she glanced at his wistful face, was
sure that he wanted to ask a question.

«Sit down, Gustave,” she said, “and let us
have a little visit. You are not in haste?”

“No, ma’am,” said Gustave; “I am pretty
near done with what Mr. Williams left me to
do, and after that he said I might whistle till
he got back.”

“Then suppose instead of whistling you talk
tome. How are you getting on nowadays?”

“Pretty well, ma’am,” said Gustave; but he
spoke slowly, and the wistful look was still on



his face. He sat down on the edge of his chair
and waited for Miss Helen to say more. She
always seemed to know just what to say.

“ Do you find it easy to be a soldier?”

“Not so very, ma’am—not in school. The

boys don’t always like to have me around, you
know, and I don’t know what to do with my-
self. Sometimes I’m mad about it,” said Gus-
tave frankly.

“Don’t like to have you around?” said Miss
Helen. “ Why is that? Don’t you get on
well with the boys?”

“Not always. Sometimes they call me
names and make me feel mad inside, and I
have to run, or maybe I should knock them.”

“O,I hope not! That would be the wrong
kind of fighting for a soldier under your Captain,
you know. What names do they call you?”

Gustave looked down, and the tears twinkled
in his big blue eyes. “You know, ma’am,” he
said faintly.

“Why, Gustave, no, I’m sure I don’t. I
thought you were good friends with the boys
in your school. What names can they call
you? Don’t you want to tell me?”

“Tt is about father, you know,” said Gustave,
blushing violently, “He sells whiskey, you

see, and the boys don’t like it; and I don’t
either, I’m sure, but it is not my fault nor
mother’s, and they call him ‘Old Rummie,’
and they say I’m the rum-seller’s boy. I am,
I know, but I don’t like to be told of it. My
father is not a drunkard, if he is a rum-seller,
but the boys say he will be. They say all rum-
sellers go to drinking after a while. Do you
think that is so, Miss Helen?”

Poor Gustave! his teacher’s heart ached for
him.

“Not all of them, Gustave,” she said gently.
“JT am sorry the boys are so thoughtlessly un-
kind. It is not your fault, as you say, and
your father may become acquainted with Jesus
one of these days and be a soldier too; then

you will have nothing to worry about.”

But Gustave did not look encouraged.

“J don’t know,” he said sorrowfully, “father
does not seem to care about Jesus. I’m afraid
he will not be a soldier; he does not like to
hear about him.. He asks me questions about
the day school, and likes to have me know my
lessons, but when I try to tell him the Sunday
lesson he gets cross and says, ‘No matter about
that.’ Miss Helen, what do you think is the
reason why people do not all like to know
Jesus and follow him? You said it was the
only sure and happy way. Don’t they all like
to be safe and happy? One day I asked my
father why,.and he told me to be off and not
bother him with questions; and I saw he did
not like to be talked to about it, but I don’t
understand why.”

“Gustave, have you studied your lesson for
next Sunday?”

“A little, ma’am. I read the story and
learned two verses, and found where the place
is on the map. That’s as far as I’ve got yet.”

“ And do you remember the verse which
says, ‘They forsook all and followed Him’ ?”

“Yes, ma’am; that’s one of the verses I
learned.”

“Well, I think it answers your question,
better perhaps than any words of mine could.
People do not like to ‘forsake all’-to follow
Jesus, and many think they would have to do’
it, so they are held back.”

“But, ma’am,” said Gustave eagerly, “ that
is not true, is it? You said He did not want



HARD QUESTIONS.







people to leave one thing that is good; that
He liked to have them glad and happy, and
would help them to be happier than before.”

“ Which is all true, Gustave, every word.
He doesn’t want them to forsake any good
thing. But sometimes people make money out
of bad things, and they like to make money
and are not willing to stop, though they know
that Jesus asks them to. Such people do not
want to hear about him, and try to make them-
selves think they do not believe what he says.”

Gustave was silent, and looked more troubled
than ever. After a while he asked timidly, —

‘What. business is bad and ought to be given
up, Miss Helen?”

“Think, Gustave. Don’t you know of any
business that makes people poor and cross and
stupid, and the more they have to do with it
the worse they get?”

“Do you mean-selling liquor, Miss Helen?”

“Have I described a part of what liquor
does for people?”

“Yes’m, I think you have.
are made s0 by drinking it.”

“Then can it be right to drink it?”

“O, no, ma’am! but my father doesn’t drink
hardly any. Sometimes he doesn’t drink a bit,
and he never staggers like old Pete Smith.”

“No, he doesn’t drink enough for that; but,
Gustave, can it be right for him to give others
what will make them cross and ugly?”

“But, ma’am, he doesn’t make them drink
it. They come to him and want it and pay
him for getting it for them.”

“True; does that make it right, Gustave ?
Suppose I should give you a knife, with which
you went home and killed your mother, know-
ing when I gave it that you would be likely to
use it for some such purpose ?”

“O, Miss Helen! you wouldn’t do that!”

“But suppose I should? People do wicked
things, sometimes. For the sake of our argu-
ment, suppose I should sell you a knife for
such a purpose— would that make it right?”

“No, ma’am, it wouldn’t, and I see what
you mean. Then you think it is wicked for
my father to sell beer ?”

“The question is, Gustave, not what I think
but what you think.”

Gustave was silent for a few moments; then

Some _ people

—— Ff

he drew a long sigh and produced another argu-
ment. ‘But, Miss Helen, people would sell it
if he didn’t, so what difference does it make?”

“Other people would steal Mr. Proctor’s
chickens to-night — some people did last night
—wouldn’t it make any. difference whether
Gustave Smicht did it? Could you be a soldier
of Jesus and do anything that you knew was
making sin in the world, no matter how many
others were doing it?”

“No,” said Gustave, after a few troubled
moments. In his distress he forgot to say
“No, ma’am.” Evidently he understood just
whither his own conclusions were leading him.

“Then you see where a great deal of the
trouble lies. I don’t think, my boy, that your
father will ever be a soldier of Jesus so long
as he has his present business. You know
about conscience, Gustave? The consciences
of people tell them that Jesus does not approve
of such a business, and really honest people
shrink from hearing anything about him while

‘they are doing what he does not want done.”

Silence, then another question :

“Miss Helen, then why do people who are
soldiers of Jesus buy beer of father, and help
along his business, and why do they rent him
a store to do such business in, and why do they
sign his papers and help him to get started?”

“T don’t know,” said Helen, pealing apples
very fast, the glow on her face growing deeper.
“You must ask them if you want to find out,
for I really cannot tell you why it is so.”

Gustave waited, his anxious eyes studying
his oracle’s face. Was it possible that she had
no explanation of this painful puzzle? Nothing
that would give him a hint by which to reach
his father?

The glow on her cheeks did not fade, but
there came, presently, a softer light in her
eyes, and she looked up at the waiting boy and
smiled.

“Some things are hard. to understand, Gus-
tave,” she said, “but you and I know two
things—the Lord Jesus Christ is the king of
this world, and we are his servants; and some
day he will reign here in all hearts, and right
all wrongs, and explain all puzzles. Suppose
you and J trust him, and work hard to bring
his kingdom in?” Pansy.



WICKED BIRDS



WICKED BIRDS.

RE you acquainted with a family of
birds named Barn Martins? I have
heard of a wicked bit of work of theirs
—so wicked, I can hardly believe it; yet

the gentleman who tells the story can.

be depended upon as speaking the truth.

It seems that a young couple not long ago
selected a certain barn in the State of Penn-
sylvania in which to build their house. They
built a lovely home, with a door in the side,

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if

that, for try as they would the Barn Martins
could not get him out of their house.

They used every means at their command
and failed. Had the story stopped here, what
sympathy we could have had for the Barn
Martins. But I am sorry to tell you that,
smarting under a sense of wrong, their evil
passions entirely got the better of them; they
brought mud and plastered it over the little
door in the side of the house, working with such
speed that before the sparrow realized what was
going on, he was a prisoner for life, walled in



BIRDLAND,

according to their usual habit, but before they
had set up housekeeping an English sparrow
deliberately moved in while they were away
one afternoon, and refused to come out. I say
nothing for the English sparrow; it was a clear
case of glaring dishonesty on his part, of
course, and the boldest kind of dishonesty at

to the home he had stolen. Terrible, isn’t it?
Wouldn’t you suppose their happiness for life
would be destroyed — that is, if they have con-
sciences. Who knows? All I am sure of is,
that they have set to work exactly next door te
the walled-up house and built again, and are
living there in apparent happiness. Pansy.



Mv by

4s

i







THE VOICE





THE VOICE OF POWER.





#T wasalovely home. Miss Ellis
thought this, as she had many
times before. She slackened her pace
as she neared the house, and went
slowly up the broad stone steps ; she
dreaded to be shown in. She won-

dered what words there were to fit the hour.

A heavy sorrow had shut down on the home.

since she last visited it. Her favorite scholar
in Sabbath-school, Ellie Westwood, lived here,
but Miss Ellis knew that at this moment ina
closed and darkened room, Ellie’s father lay in



















































































































































































































































Ti at Tee
i 7 Hi a

OF POWER.



Grandma say that there was comfort in the
Bible for every sorrow, but it made mine all
the worse. Don’t you think the book opened
of itself, papa’s Bible! to the story of the
young man being carried to the grave, and
Jesus met them and stopped the procession and
said, ‘Young man, I say unto thee arise.’ Oh!
if he were only here now, he could just speak
papa’s name and he would answer right away!
The young man did, you know; sat up and
began to speak. Papa loved Jesus, and would
have obeyed his voice. O, Miss Ellis! how
can I bear it?” And once more Ellie buried
her face in her hands in a flood of tears.



ei

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i )

AS SHE NEARED THE HOUSE,

his coffin, waiting to be taken to his resting
place, in the hillside cemetery.

Poor Ellie! she loved her father even more
than girls of her age often do; and as she
threw herself into her teacher’s arms, and gave
way to a fresh burst of grief, it seemed to her
for a moment, that her heart must break.

“O, Miss Ellis!” she said at last, between
the sobs, “I tried to get some help this after-
noon out of the Bible. I have often heard

“Dear Ellie,’ Miss Ellis said, in a low,
soothing voice, after waiting a few moments
for the poor girl to grow more quiet ; “you for-
get; you spoke as though that dear Friend
was far away, when he is close beside you, and
knows all about it. Do you realize that he has

- spoken to your papa, called him by name, and

directed him to come home to the place which
has been long waiting? He wanted him in
heaven, Ellie dear, not on earth any more.



THE VOICE

OF POWER.

Your papa heard his voice, and was too glad
to obey.”

Oh! but,” said Ellie, sobbing still, though
more quietly, “it is-so different. He gave the
young man back to his mother, and she heard
his voice again, and I suppose he walked home
by her side and took care of her, and mamma
has no one now.”

“TI know He did, dear; for some good reason
known to Him, He wanted that young man to
live longer on the earth — perhaps he was not
ready for heaven. But He wanted your father
to go to his inheritance. I suppose He has
some blessed work for him to do there, before
it is time for mamma to go. He certainly
knows all about it, dear, and has planned it in
the best way possible, both for papa and you;
cannot you trust Him?”

The sobs which had shaken the young girl’s
form grew less and less violent, and at last,
though she cried still, it was in a quiet way.
The passionate outburst of grief was evidently
over for the time.

Miss Ellis had drawn the brown head to her
shoulder, and while she held her with one arm,
with the other hand she gently smoothed back
the disordered waves of hair from her fore-
head. After a few moments of silence she
spoke again.

“Ellie dear, papa is safe at home, where
nothing can ever trouble him any more; do
you think you could turn your thoughts from
him to one who is not safe, and not happy, and
needs oh! so much to hear the voice of Jesus
calling to him to ‘arise’ ?”

“You mean Bert,” said Ellie. “O, Miss
. Ellis! if something could be done for Bert.”
_ «There can be,” said Miss Ellis firmly.

“ Perhaps, Ellie, God called your papa home
just at this time in order to-help your brother
to hear the voice that is calling him. Papa
doesn’t need your prayers any more, Ellie, but
Bert is in great need. Can’t you help him,
can’t you carry him on your heart to this
Jesus who is as ready to-day as he was when
he met the young man by the gates of Nain,
and beg him to speak to your brother in such
a way that he will hear? And is there nothing
else that you can do to help your brother at
this time?”

“Pll try, Miss Ellis,” said the little girl,
raising herself up to kiss her teacher’s cheek.
“You have helped me so much! I did not
think of papa as at home in heaven; I could
only think of him as dead, and it almost seemed
to me as though Jesus were dead, too. [ll try
as hard as I can to help Bert.”

Miss Ellis walked away from the grand
house, a little more hopeful than she had been
when she entered it. Perhaps she had been
able to do some good; if her words had helped
Ellie any she was thankful. But her heart
was heavy over the “only son” of this widow.
Young, handsome, well-educated, and getting
to be what people called “wild,” getting more
and more under the influence of the elegant
up-town saloon, with its high license, and its
elegant bar, and costly wines. Would he listen
to the voice of power before it was too late?

Miss Ellis dreaded the funeral; dreaded to
meet Ellie again, and listen to her outbursts
of sorrow, but she need not have been afraid,
Ellie was very quiet. She cried a good deal
of the time, it is true, but always softly, and
held her little sister’s hand, and looked after
her with almost a mother’s care, and once she
actually smiled on Miss Ellis when she caught
her eye; such a brave, pitiful little smile, it
was sad, almost more pathetic than tears; but
after all it encouraged Miss Ellis. Jesus had
evidently helped to comfort this little girl.

Later, on that same trying day, the teacher
went to try to make the desolateness of the
house a little less hard to bear. Ellie met her
in the hall, and from behind the tears shone a
smile. “O, dear Miss Ellis!” she said, “I
have something to tell you; something which
ought to make me happy, even to-day. Don’t
you think Bert has heard His voice! We
have been having a long talk, and he says he
promised papa he would be a different man
from this time, and that he went down on his
knees beside papa’s coffin and promised Jesus
that he would serve him forever. Miss Ellis,
don’t you think papa is glad about it in
heaven ?”

“TI am sure of it,” said Miss Ellis, kissing
her. ‘You see, Ellie darling, it is the same
Voice: still, and has proved its power once
more.” Pansy.



BABY’S CORNER.

~



BABY’S CORNER.

A PIKCE OF BABY’S MIND.




zt AMMA calls everybody to see my
& two pretty pink feet. She kisses them
ph and says they are sweet little footsie
tootsies; and then she goes and covers them
up with little ugly woolly things she calls
socks.

I don’t like socks. My feet are pretty; Ido
I like
to play with them, and I do not want them

think my ten toes are real cunning.

bundled up in socks.
first that I would not wear socks.

I made up my mind at
I told
mamma so, but she doesn’t seem to know what
I mean.

It does seem as if all the folks in this house,
mamma and grandma and auntie and nurse,
just live on purpose to keep my socks on.
Everybody who takes me up goes to fumbling
after my feet the first thing. They always
find my socks off, and they always put them
on again.

Foolish people! They don’t know that I
just rub my feet together hard and give them
a little toss, and off come the old socks quick
as a wink, the minute after they have tied
them on. I am glad I wear long dresses, It
is very hard work kicking them off so much.
I am tired out some days, they keep me 80
busy. Then I get cross and they think I have
a pain.

Grandma is the worst one. She is always
after my feet. She feels of them and says,
“Mary, this child’s feet are cold as ice” —
Mary ismy mamma. Then she toasts them at
the fire.

It doesn’t feel good to me, but I have to
lie and take it. I wonder if Grandma would
like to have her bare feet turned up to some
live coals?

One day nurse tied my socks very tight. I

could not get them off. They hurt me, and I
cried all day. Mamma thought I was sick.
She gave me some catnip tea, and then she
sent for the doctor. He left some funny little
pills. He told them to give me two every
hour. They were good, but my feet hurt just
the same.

I did not feel easy until they took off those
hateful socks. Then mamma said, “That medi-
cine is doing the darling good.” It is queer
how much big folks don’t know.

My socks don’t get tied tight any more,
Grandma saw the bright red streaks the strings
made on my feet that day, and she tends —
to it now.

But we just go on, they putting the socks on,
and I kicking them off, and I suppose it will
always be so till I grow up. Then I’m sure I
shall go barefoot.

Mrs. C. M. Livinaston.



APRIL.

ARK! the hours are softly calling,
Bidding spring arise,
To listen to the rain drops falling
From the cloudy skies ;
To listen to earth’s weary voices,
Louder every day,
Bidding her no longer linger
On her charmed way,
But hasten to her task of beauty
Searcely yet begun.
~ Apeams A. Procter.



N many a green branch swinging,
Little birdlets singing,
Warble sweet notes in the air.
Flowers fair there I found,
Green spread, the meadow all around.
— From “ Spring Song” of Germany.













































THE LITTLE KING OF SPAIN.

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A “MAGIC BOOK.”

—HE WAS WELCOME.





A “MAGIC BOOK.” |

&

} WRITER in the St. Nicholas tells the

story of a narrow escape of Stanley’s
in Africas He was one day making
notes in his book, when a company of
savages came down the river in their canoes,,
long spears in their hands, and with fierce looks
and savage mutterings approached Mr. Stanley.

The moment he saw them-he spoke the word
“‘Sen-nen-neh!” which in their language means
“peace.” But they looked fierce and angry. “At
last the chief spoke for them: “If white man
wishes peace, why does he try to bewitch us?”

Stanley assured them that he had not such a
thought; that he and his men had laid down
their swords and wanted to be treated as guests,
and to be friends. But the chief spoke again:
«The stranger’s words are not straight! Did
we not see him making spells of witchcraft
against us, and drawing them on the magic
charm that he carries with him?”

In an instant, Stanley understood that it was
his note-book which had made them angry.
The chief assured him that if he meant to be
“fair” with them he must throw his magic
work into the fire near by, then they would
creat him as a brother. This was hard for Mr.
Stanley. His notes were very important; he
had spent long, weary months and years in
gathering the knowledge written there. Sud-
denly a bright thought came to him.. He had
a pocket volume of Shakespeare which looked
much like the offending nete-book. He drew it
out, asking if that was the charm they wished
him to burn. A hundred voices answered it
was, and the chief once more assured him that
“if he\ would burn it, before their eyes, he and
his men should have food and be cared for.

There was a blazing fire close at hand, into
which Mr. Stanley. at once flung the book.
The savages watched it burn in silence for a

rv

moment, then broke into a yell of delight. -

The thing they feared was gone. They rushed
forward to welcome their “ white brother,” and
brought fruit and fish and all the dainties of
the island for him.

Mr. Stanley lost his volume of Siabecpeare
but ‘his precious notes were saved, and given
to the world, Pansy.

HE WAS WELCOME.

MA men have trusty watch-dogs, but
the banker represented in the Pail’
Mall Gazette seems to possess a canine curiosity
that is faithful almost to the verge of being
morbidly conscientious : —

“An Austrian banker lately went to Vien ¢
on business. He arrived in the evening, trav
eling with a large, handsome dog. The two
put up at a hotel, and next morning the gentle-
man went out, bidding care to be taken that
his dog did not stray from the house. The
chamber-maid went to make up the banker’s:
room. Bruno was very pleased to see her,,
wagged his huge tail, licked her hand, and
made friends thoroughly until, her business-
being done, she was about to leave. Not so.
Bruno calmly stretched himself full length be-
fore the door. He explained, as perfectly as
possible, that ‘he knew his duty.? No one
should leave his master’s room in his absence..
When the girl tried to pull the dvor open sufti-
ciently, te growled, showed his ee and:
finally held her fast.

“The woman’s screams brought another
maid, and yet another, and then in succession
all the waiters. Bruno was glad to let them all
in, but he allowed no one to go out. The room
became pretty well crowded, and every bell in:
the house, meantime, rang, while the walls
echoed cries of ‘Waiter! waiter!’ Finally the
lady who kept the hotel appeared, and pushed
ber way irately into the room, asking angrily,
as she walked in, what sort of picnic they were
all holding here. Bruno let her in, too, but not
out again—O, no! When the lady’s husband
appeared, she called him loudly, telling him
to keep outside, to send messengers scour-
ing the city for the banker, and meantime to:
endeavor to pacify the angry customers down-
stairs.

“That Austrian banker was a welcome mar
when he arrived.” — Selected.



In point of population the sexes are about
equal in the United States, but in church mem-
bership two thirds are females, and of sixty
thousand penitentiary inmates fifty-five thou-
sand are men.



BABY’S

-

CORNER.



BABY’S CORNER.

HEN-PEN.



BT was a warm, pleasant spring

morning. A little hen that lived
in a big barn on the hill thought
she would take’a walk all by herself.
The barn-door stood wide open, so
she stepped out.

First she went into the orchard and picked
about in the fresh grass. She found some new
bugs and worms. Then she flew up on the
fence and looked down the road.

“That’s a nice little path in the grass by the
roadside,” Hen-pen said to herself. “«T wonder
‘what is at the foot of the hill? I mean to find
out.” .

She looked behind her to see if anybody
What a

Ten-pen was very hap-

was coming, then down she flew.
nice smooth path!
py walking along in the sweet air singing a
little song.

Pretty soon Hen-pen came to a_ brook.
She saw two boys sitting on a green bank,
fishing, but she did not stop; she took a drink
. and went on.

By and by she got to the foot of the hill,
and there she saw a wee house among the trees.
Hen-pen was tired. She thought she would go
and rest in the shade a few minutes, so she



HEN-PLN.

slipped under the fence. She went around to
the back of the house. The woodshed door
stood open; Hen-pen stepped softly in.

She spied a round basket in the corner half-
full of chips.

_“What a pretty nest that would make!”
said Hen-pen, and into the basket she got and
sat down.

A poor old woman lived alone in this little
house. She was lame, and had to walk with a
cane. She got
up that

morning, be-

late

‘cause she did
not sleep well.
When — she
was dressed she
went to the
wood shed to
get some chips
to boil her tea-
kettle.
Ten-pen had



MRS. KIP’S TEAK ETTLE.

gone home half an-hour ago. But what was
in Mrs. Kip’s chip basket? A pretty white
warm egg!

Now Mrs. Kip had nothing in the house for
She

was just wishing she had a nice fresh egg, and

breakfast but some dry bread and butter.

here it was.

She was very glad. She boiled it and ate it,
and it was good. P

“Tf I ever find out whose hen it is,” said
good Mother Kip, “I will pay them for that
egg.”

Hen-pen came every day for a long time
after that and left an ege in the pretty basket
for Mrs. Kip’s breakfast.

Mrs. C. M. Livrneston.

A NEw pair of shoes came home for little
five-year-old. He tried them on, and finding
that his feet were in very close quarters, ex-
claimed: “O, my! they are so tight I can’t
Wink my toes.”



FROM SIVAS, ASIA MINOR.—TEMPTATION.



FROM SIVAS, ASIA MINOR.

E went out tosome cold springs not far
from here one summer and | saw a long
a pile of stones that some folks said was
the grave of a very big man who used
to sit cn the top of a steep hill with his feet
reaching to a pond in the valley. One day a
woman was bathing in the water and she bcgan
io drown, when he without leaving his high
seat reached down his hand and rescued her,
and after doing many other great performances
like this they say he died and was folded up
seven times and buried, and yet his grave was
fifteen feet long. Some of the Turks that go
there tie rags on the bushes near the grave to
cure their diseases. One day I saw some men
come and put stones on the grave, so it becomes
longer and higher every year.

One winter in the city not long ago papa was
returning from school with a magnet in his
hand when he met the Secretary of the Board
of Education of Sivas, who is a Turk. Papa
took his knife and rubbed it on the magnet a
few times, and showed him that it would pick
up a needle. A few days afterwards, the Sec-
retary meeting a Greek who had just received
a large invoice of knives, the following dialogue
took place :

Turk. Any of your. knives English?

Greek. O, yes! most all of them.

Turk. Bring us some needles; let’s try
them. E

Greek. What do needles have to do with
them ?

Turk. Why, of course if it’s genuine English
it will pick up needles.

Greek. No knife will pick up needles.

_ Turk. Tt won't, eh? look at mine. You
‘iaven’t got a single English knife among your
whole lot.

Saying this the Turk left in apparently great
disgust. A few days afterwards he happened
around again at the store and found the Greek
still in great distress.

“Secretary Effendim,” he said, “those Eng-
lish at Constantinople haven’t even the shadow
of a conscience. I paid an extra high price to
get knives warranted English. Now here I
have more than- twenty liras worth of this

bogus trash that nobody wants to buy. Where
will I tind bread for my wife and children
this year? There’s no end to the woes of a
merelinnt in Turkey.” .

The Secretary had to confess immediately,
and the Greek was changed for a while into
the happiest man in this city of fifty thousand
people. ;

Last year I got thirty-seven people to sign
the temperance pledge, all but one of whom
signed the tobacco pledge too.

{send my love to you.

Your loving reader,
Ray S. Hussarp.

TEMPTATION.
ql Corinthians x. 13.)

HAT God is faithful, well I know,
Since all my life has proven so ;

Aud never have I suffered more
Than He could know whom J adore.

Temptation oft has been my foe,
But such as common is below;

While God the Father has not let
Me perish in my sufferings yet.

For my escape, His kindly way
Deserves my gratitude each day.

So in this, His own holy morn,
I bless His name, whose Son was born

To cleanse me from my guilt and sin,
My soul unto Himself to win.

Be unto God my whole intent,
My life with him forever spent.

A special note of praise I sing
While here His help remembering.

And may His love possess my soul,
So that I be in His control

Until within the realms of light
I gain new voice, new song, new might.
Haze. Wyrups, in Home Guardian.



A OUEL

faa ple ia ial

i i " d

nee

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WIN
Hee Dy

yen

Nyy ays K
aya eo

Aa nye ‘
ei y K

Adie sy vn N hietsh See

“hh hig mi iy
Mi

se’ Nit HT

Ee oy

HAH i]
oe 7

AN OLD STORY IN A NEW DRESS.

fei Vai

Fuel <.
es so oe ied For.

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Ay

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if} UC)

if, 4 iH

gle Ga H HG

N (Ces
NZ Hi diliy /,

in
ae

ait
I

an i |
eh





A DIFFICULT QUESTION.—THE DAY DAWNS.





A DIFFICULT QUESTION.

CHINAMAN who has become a Chris-
tian asked one of the missionaries how
many ministers there were in his country. The
missionary, curious to know what his judgment
would be, told him the number of people who
lived in his country (the missionary was from
England), and asked him to guess.

PRISON OF THE INQUISITION.

“Well,” said the Chinaman, “it is a little
country ; I guess there are fifteen hundred.”

“No,” said the missionary, “you are wrong.
“here are twenty-three thousand.”

The reply was, “ Why, you.can afford a thou-
sand missionaries for China, as well as not.”



THE DAY DAWNS.






Cy
VO)

HIS picture carries us back into the
dark days of persecution and pain in
Spain. What tears were shed and
what groans were heard within those
prison walls—tears and groans of

Christians — no living person knows. Ah! if

those walls, those dungeons, could speak, what

a sad story they would tell.

“Why did those children of God

suffer such torture on the rack?”

Because they would not give up

their faith for that of their ene-

mies. “They loved not their lives

unto the death.” (Zev, xii. 11.)

They laid down their best gift
“for Jesus’ suse.” That was their

Whisper Motto, to which they

were so true when the trying hour

came, What that you prize so
highly, are you ready to give up

- for his dear sake?

But those dark days of persecu-
tion and death are about gone
from the earth, and most people
may now worship God according
to the dictates of their conscience.
{ don’t think we need fear that
our faithfulness to Jesus will ever
vost us our lives.

And in heathen lands, whither
our missionaries are going and
preaching “On earth peace, good-
w-ll to man, and glory to God
in the highest,” wars and cruelty
are possing away.

Husbands are not selling their
wives into slavery, fathers are
not delivering up their children
to shame 4rd pain as once. And
when, oh! when the heathenism
of the saloor and strong drink
passes ae it surely will ‘in

te good time coming” — what a song of angels”
there’ll be, and rejoicing on the earth. What
are you and I doing to bring it about? C.

A Christian is a man who is restoring God’s
likeness to his character. — Robertson.

















































4
a
5
Ba
A.
g
a
5
e





THE HARD

TEXT.—NATURE GROANING.



THE HARD TEXT.

(Matt. vi. 22, 23.)

INGLE,” fixed steadily upon one object, as
when the rope-dancer fixes his eye, not
upon the confusing people, but upon some ob-
ject on the wall. So one must look steadily to
Jesus.
The eye is the body’s guide. Suppose it be



CHAMOIS OVERTAKEN BY AN AVALANCHE,

unsteady or diseased or blind, what a calamity
to the poor body.

So the soul is for our light; what if it be
wicked or not steadily fixed upon Jesus— upon
Bible truth? Wow much more mischief this
would bring than mere eye blindness.

Let us pray Jesus, who is the Light of the
world, to lead us into all truth, to lead us to
think, speak, do and feel right.

Are you aiming to have a conscience void of
offense toward God and man ? Cc. M. L.



NATURE GROANING.




AN’T you see something more in
those pictures of nature than beauty
and wonder? Can’t you hear groans
and wails, not only of those frightened,
suffering animals, but of very Nature herself ?
the very hills and valleys sighing, moaning as
if some terrivle thing had torn them apart,
as tears the exgle the lamb, leaving wide
wounds gaping and gushing with
their own gore! When they eruci-
fied Jesus the very rocks rent, and
so the storms, the earthquakes, the
rumbling thunder, the cyclones,
with the earth and sea roaring;
altogether, is not creation groaning
over something that has happened
—is going on now —

“The loss of Eden
And all its woe’?

In other words, sin has wrecked
creation, and like a once beautiful
and noble ship, it now lies among
the rocks, the wild waves dashing
against and over it.

But the time is near, we hope,
when the Master will speak as he
once spoke to stormy Galilee —
“Peace, be still» — and there will
be a great calm the wide world
over, and wildness, wickedness and
wars will cease. Then “the lion
and the lamb will lie down together
and a young child shall lead them.”
Instead of. the opening picture i:
will be more like the one laxi
shown you.

When the kingdoms of this world become
the kingdom of our Lord and his Church,
creation’s groans will cease —rather will be a
mighty hallelujah of praise to our God.

Toward all this our missionary work moves.

How much are we pushing? C. M. L.

Tr is the little things that make the world’s
history and fix the destiny for eternity.



REBECCA AND ISAAC.





REBECCA AND ISAAC.

girl whom we will call Rebecca.

One day her sister came home from
the primary Sunday-school class with
a missionary paper, and handed it to Rebecca

to see the pictures. They were pictures of
heathen people in Africa, And there were
interesting stories about these heathen — telling
how ignorant they were of God and Jesus, the



those far-away, awful folks? I’m only a child,”
she reasoned — “only a girl—and sick besides
in bed.”

So she cast the question away, thinking it
was not for her to answer.

But some days after, when she was up and
dressed, the same little question came and stood
before her and said, “Here I am. Can’t you
do something with me? I’ve been waiting
about for you to speak to me.”

So Rebecca fell to thinking again what she
should say to this questioner. She said not a



REBECCA.

Saviour. And one of the stories ended with
the question, “ What Sunday-school child will
make ready to go to teach these blind people
about God’s love in sending his dear Son to
die for them?”

Now these pictures and stories set Rebecca
to thinking, and that question seemed to look
her right in the face for an answer.

But she said to herself, “ What can I do for

—

word, but just kept on thinking till her tired
head sank upon the lounge, and she fell fast
asleep.

Here she is, you see.

As she slept, she dreamed of —

‘The heathen in their blindness
Bow down to wood and stone.”

Again she thought the queer bit of a ques-



DO YOU THINK TO PRAY?



===



tioner stood there, saying, “ Who will go, and
whom shall I send?”
And while she wondered she almost house

she heard:

‘Shall we, whose souls are lighted .
With wisdom from on high,

Shall we to men benighted

The lamp of life deny?”

Awaking from the strange dream, she sought
her mother and told it all, and her mother hid
it away in her heart, wondering if, like dear
Samuel, her darling had been called of the
Lord to a great work.

On and on rushed the years. Rebecca was
now a young woman, and in her heart was
Jesus, and one day she said to him, “ Here am
I, send me.”

Now there had lived in her neighborhood a
dear boy, whom we will call Isaac. They had
met often at school and played together, and
once and again Isaac had walked home with
Rebecca to assist her through the snow, and as
they walked on they talked, and once Rebecca
told Isaac her queer dream, and about the
heathen. This set Isaac to thinking; and so,
though it was cold, they stopped and thought.

Now they.were both grown up. Isaac came
home from the theological seminary for his
vacation. And his minister had him preach
for him that Sabbath, and as he preached all
that were in the house saw that his heart was
set upon being a missionary.

The next year he finished his studies in the
seminary and came home, and —he and Rebecca
went away off among the Zulus of Africa as
missionaries. But they were now Mr. and Mrs.
Isaac

Every one said, “Poor Rebecca, she is so
frail and sickly, she’ll soon die in that bad
climate.”

“Did she die?”

Not till after she had done so much for the

lind heathen, leading many of them into the
Light of God; not till she had been many,
many years the brightest, dearest companion of
Isaac as he preached and taught this people
from house to house; not until she saw her
own darling sons and daughters growing up to
take her place.



--

After that— only two years ago—she fell
asleep again —in the arms of Jesus.

A few days ago I saw dear “Isaac” and one
of the lovely daughters here in Florida at
Winter Park, and I heard him preach a won-
derful sermon about these Zulus, and the daugh-
ter played, and sang in the Zulu language.

And now while I write they are sitting near
the seashore or on the bank of the Indian River
at Rock Ledge, Fla., thinking of Zululand, and
wishing to go back there again.

And “Isaac” is really and truly Rev. Dr.
Tyler. When you read this, they will be in
St. Johnsbury, Vt. C. M. L.

DO YOU THINK TO PRAY?

We you left your room this morning,
Did you think to pray?

In the name of Christ our Saviour,

Did you sue for loving favor
As a shield to-day?

When you meet with great temptations,
Do you think to pray?

By His dying love and merit,

Do you claim His Holy Spirit
As your guide and stay?

When your heart was filled with anger,
"Did you think to pray?
Did you plead for grace, my brother,
That you might forgive another

Who had crossed your way?

When sore trials came upon you,

Did you tkink to pray?
When your soul was bowed with sorrow,
Balm of Gilead did you borrow

At the gates of day? — Selected.

As the word of God, well studied, will help
us to understand his providences, so the provi-
dence of God, well observed, will help us to
understand his Word, for God is every day
fulfilling the Scripture.







THE BOASTER.—CHEERING WORDS.





THE BOASTER.

| : ff AVE you read the story of the little

boy who boasted that he could learn
any verse in the. Bible in five minutes?

The New York Christian Advocate
tells about him.

It seems he won a prize in Sunday-school for
learning the greatest number of verses in a
certain length of time. He showed so much
vanity about it that the pastor concluded to
give him a little lesson. After he had proudly
declared that he could learn any verse in the
Bible in five minutes, he was given a verse and
sent into a corner by himself to learn it, the
minister engaging to time him.

The following is the verse:

“Then were the king’s scribes called at that
time in the third month, that is, the month
Sivan, on the three and twentieth day thereof;
and it was written according to all that Mor-
decai commanded unto the Jews, and to the
lieutenants, and the deputies, and rulers of the
provinces which are from India unto Ethiopia,
an hundred and twenty-seven provinces,’ unto
every province according to the writing thereof,
and unto every people after their language, and
to the Jews according to their writing, and
according to their language.”

It is said that the poor vain boy after one
hour’s effort failed in reciting the verse
correctly.

I suppose it helped to teach him a much-
needed lesson; still, after all, do you think it
was quite fair?

Moreover, if he had only known how to
study, and had had a reasonably good memory,
even a verse of that kind need not have taken
an hour. Try it, Pansies, and see how long it
will take you to memorize it, after you have
carefully analyzed it.

What do I mean by that? Why, try what
shape you can get it into, which will aid your
memory. What does the verse say ?, What
facts does it give you? How many facts are
there in it? This for a hint; you do the rest.



Do thy little, or do thy much,
For the Maker loveth such.



CHEERING WORDS.

ROM Africa, the home of the first civi-
lized nation of the world —the Egyptians
—comes cheering words. Explorers, travelers
and navigators have made valuable contribu-
tions to the geography and history of thist
country, but to the zealous, earnest worker in
the Master’s cause, has been given the blessed
opportunity of promoting a greater work than
was ever before undertaken. And this not in.
one benighted land. Wherever the need is.
manifest thither are the sturdy ones going.
An exchange says:

“ Nothing was known of the interior of the
Dark Continent until within a few years; now
Africa is girded with Christian missions. Thirty-
four missionary societies are at work, and all
its 200,000,000 souls are practically within the
reach of Christian ministers. Thirty-three:
societies have begun work in China, and all
its 850,000,000 souls may be visited with the-
message of the Gospel. More than fifty socie..
ties have entered India, and the light is dawn-
ing on its 250,000,000. Turkey and Persia and
Japan are filling with mission churches and
schools. Practically, the whole world is open,
and the grandest day of opportunity for the
kingdom of God that the earth has ever seen:
has fully dawned.”

T the end of 1887 there were 38 mission-

ary societies represented in China by

1,030 missionaries, of whom 489 were men and
221 were single ladies. There were 175 native
ordained ministers and 1,316 unordained helpers,

_ 81,290 communicants, 13,777 pupils in schools,

and the contributions by native Christians
amounted to $38,136.70. The increase over
the preceding year was, of missionaries includ.
ing men and women, 111, or over 11 per cent. ;
of communicants, 4,268, or over 12} per cent. ;
and of contributions, $19,862.14, or over 100
per cent.

Last year the Chinese Christians, in their
extreme poverty, doubled their contributions:
to every benevolent work. Do not they set a
noble example to their brethren in this more

favored land ?— Missionary Review.



BABY’S

CORNER.







BABY’S CORNER.

~ AUNT MARY’S PET.




N old bird was teaching her children to
fly, one day. i

“We will go to the top of that

barn,” said mother-bird. ‘Now all ready!”

and away they went.

One poor birdie, as he stood on the edge of
the nest, fell down. Aunt Mary found him on
the ground under an orange-tree. She took
him into the
house and
got a
basket, and
made a nice
bed in it for
‘birdie, and
put him into
it.
brought a
bottle of lini-

Then she



ment and

TIP.

some rags
and did up his hurt leg. After that she gave
him some supper, and birdie soon fell asleep.

In the morning he felt better, but he coula
not move his leg. He had to lie on his bed a
long time. But Aunt Mary was kind to him.
She spread a clean white sheet upon bis hed
every day, and fed him bread and milk and
sweet berries, and she gave him a name, too;
she called him Tip.

One morning when Tip woke up the sun was
shining on him. He felt so well and happy he
hopped right out of his bed, and when Aunt
Mary came down he was walking about the
floor!

And now Tip follows Aunt Mary all about
the house. When she works in the kitchen he
stands on the window sill and sings to her, for
he has learned to sing pretty songs now.

little ©

»Sometimes he is a naughty little rogue.
When they are eating breakfast he flies upon
the table and steals the biggest strawberry,
then he takes a drink out of the cream pitcher.
He likes tea, too, and drinks from Aunt Mary’s
cup.

When she eats an orange he stands on the
arm of her chair and takes bites.

He likes bread and milk, and eats it every
morning for breakfast. Sometimes he does not
come quickly when Aunt Mary calls him, but
if she holds out to him a spoonful of milk he
will run to her as fast as he can.

But what do you think Tip loves best of
A cricket! When Aunt
Mary says “See here! see here!” then Tip

anything to eat?

knows she has a cricket for him, and he runs

to.get it. 3
He goes out-of-doors and walks about some-
I think he
never will, because he loves Aunt Mary.
Mrs. C. M. Livineston.

times, but he does not fly away.

BUTTON, BUTTON!

HO has the button? Who, O, who?
Tell me quickly, true, O, true!
“T’ve dot some on my little shoe.”
“And I have some on my dress, too!”
“T have seven of ’em on my sack.”
“T’ve a whole row up and down my back.”
“We've all got buttons, buttons plenty,
Some have seven, and some have twenty.
And you ask us all ‘Who has the button ?’
As well ask a sheep has she got some mutton!”
RossENBERG.

(Nore: —The above arranges prettily for a dialogue be-
tween very little people and an older one. The line ‘‘ We’ve
all got buttons,’’ and the one following, may be recited in
concert by the wee ones; and the last two by a clear little
voice capable of throwing into it considerable sarcasm. — THE
Eprrors.]



WHY ?—“DAN.”





WHY?





“HY do people laugh when any-
body says that some house or
store, or some building about which
they have been talking is made of
paper?”
This was the question which I
heard one boy ask of another older than himself,
“Do they laugh?” asked the older boy.
“Why, of course they do. Didn’t you ever
hear them? Only yesterday father was talk-
ing with those men who are boarding at the
Beck House, about a village down South; they
told about the hotel in the village, and the
schoolhouse, and the depot, and oh! I don’t
know, ever so many other buildings — churches,
and handsome private ‘houses —all built up in
a little while, where there used to be only pine
woods; and when the man turned away, Mr.
Brockton said to father, ‘I think those build-
ings are made of paper, don’t you?’ and father
laughed, and said, ‘Yes; churches and depots
and all” I meant to ask him what he meant,
but I didn’t think of it when I had a chance.”

“Oh!” said the older boy, “I know what
they meant. It is a town they are trying to
boom. They make maps of the town, and have
pictures drawn of churches and schoolhouses,
private houses, stores, banks, and all sorts of
buildings, such as they mean to have some day,
or want to have, and then they scatter those
maps over the country and call them pictures of
the place, before a single building is put up, per-
haps; so you see they are really made of paper.”

“Ho!” said boy number one, “I shouldn’t
call that honest, should you?”

The older one laughed. “Well,” he said,
“T shouldn’t like to buy a house unless I was
sure it was built of something more substantial
than paper, that is a fact.”

All this is true, and the boy’s conclusions
were also true; and yet paper is getting to be
known as a very substantial thing indeed. The
time is fast coming when people will have to
get some other sentence than that,one “made

of paper” with which to express their distrust

of a story, because at this present time there
has been finished in the city of Hamburg a
very large ‘hotel, the front of which is built

entirely of paper! More than that, the paper
has been made fire-proof; and it is said that
rain and sunshine, and cold and frost,have no
effect on it, so that it is better for buildings
than brick, or stone, or wood.

It certainly does seem strange to think of an
actual house in which people live built of paper,
but when we remember that we have paper
wash-bowls and pitchers, and pails, and tubs, car-
wheels, and I know not what else, we need not
be surprised that houses are growing out of the
same material. The truth is, there is by no means
so much chance to laugh over that phrase “ made
of paper” as there used to be. Pansy.

“DAN.”

WRITER in the Boston Post tells a

story about a horse, which leads to the
wonderment as to how much these animals
know. The gentleman says he went to a large
livery stable one afternoon just as a number of
men who had left their horses there for safe
keeping were driving from the yard. Among
them was a man with a large gray horse, who
looked about him with an air that seemed to
say “I know a great deal about several things;
I know more than you have an idea of.” He
had broken into a little trot, and was evidently
intent upon getting home as goon as possible.

Suddenly a man who had been watching him
called out: “Dan, don’s you want a piece of
cake?” Instantly the horse stopped, pricked
up his ears, looked about him eagerly and
uttered that peculiar “whinny,” which says as -
plainly as words can, “ Where is the man who
spoke just then? He is an old friend of mine.”

No urging from his owner could get the
horse to move an inch. The one who had
made the disturbance came forward laughing,
and explained. He recognized the horse as one
which he had owned several years before.

The animal’s name at that time was Dan,
and though it had since been changed, he re-
membered it instantly, and also that he. was
very fond of cake, and was in the habit of
receiving a piece from the man whose voice he
heard once more after the lapse of years.

Did not “Dan” prove that he had a memory?!







NINA AMONG THE POPPIES.







BABY’S CORNER.



BABY’S CORNER.

A NEW TOOTH.




ca OR-O-THE-A—that was Baby’s name.
Dor-o-the-a was good and sweet when
she felt well, but that day she had a
toothache. Her little hands were dry
and hot, her mouth was sore, and
she did not want her dinner. She cried a good
deal, too.

Brother Bobby played all his funny pranks,
but she would not laugh. She only shut her
four little white teeth tight and wrinkled up
her forehead, and said “ Ugh—um?”

«I will tell you what must be done,” said

dresses and bibs and blankets and shirts and
skirts and socks into a big trunk.

Then a carriage came to the door and they
all got in—mamma and papa and Baby and
Fred and Frank and Bobby. The trunk was
put on behind, the driver cracked his whip,
and away they all went.

How hot and dusty the big city was; they
were all glad to be going out of it.

Pretty soon the carriage came down to the
Quick as
a wink they jumped out of the carriage and

lake, and there was the steamboat.

got on to the boat, because it was time for it to
start.

The big bell was going —“Clang! ding,
dong!” and the captain was shouting — “ All



UNDER THE TREES,

‘papa at last, “we will take this baby to the
country.”

Then the little brothers all clapped their
hhands and shouted :

“Goody, goody, good!”

So one morning mamma put Baby’s white

aboard!” So they sailed away over the beau-
tiftil blue water.

So swiftly and 86 smoothly they went along,
that Baby thought the boat must be a big
cradle.

It was quite dark when they stopped. They



“UNITED,

WE STAND.”



all went to bed and to sleep as fast as they
-could.

But in the morning what did they see and
thear ?

They saw. beautiful big trees and pretty
flowers, and oh! such grass. Baby thought
there was a green carpet spread over all the
wworld when she first looked out.

And how the birds did sing: “Hark, hark!”



—=——

“UNITED, WE STAND.”

—

See and Mary and baby,
Baby and Mary and Sue;
As happy, as happy as may be,
Each loving and gentle and true.

Their feet keep step, keep step,
And their bands hold tight, hold tight,



“THEIR FEET KEEP STEP,’?

said Baby, in a very cautious tone of voice.

They had a nice breakfast of fresh eggs and
new milk, and strawberries just from the
garden. _

Then little brothers took Baby out and put
They
The
soft sweet air fanned her, and the bees hummed

her in the hammock under the trees.
swung her and picked flowers fur her.

a pretty song:, Buzz, buzz, buzz-z—z! Soon
Baby was asleep. When she woke up she felt
better.

And now little Dor-o-the-a is quite well
again. Her new tooth has come, and she
laughs and frolics all day long.

Mrs. C. M. Livrnesron.

And their eyes — because they have slept —
Are speaking and sparkling and bright.

May they walk, ever walk, the good way;
May their feet, little feet, never stray,
But be kept, O, be kept to the end!
Good Shepherd, our darlings defend.
A. G. RossEensBera.



A LITTLE boy, becoming tired of the silence
of a Quaker meeting, got up on the seat, and,
folding his arms over his breast, said, “I do
wish the Lord would make us all gooder and
gooder and gooder, till there is no bad left.”



“EVERY CREATURE.”



“EVERY CREATURE.”

3
ITAT dog in the picture, if dressed up,
3 would look almost as wise as his mas-
ters there. Study their faces; how
heathenish! how earthly! What, such
creatures some day look like Jesus and
wear robes of light and sing the everlasting












SOME OF THE PEASANTS MISSIONARIES MEET.

song? you ask. And my answer is this: —

May be. “Preach the Gospel to every creat-
ure,” says our Book. As though God, who first
made man from the very dust, could not con-
vert such men—simply change him after he is
made!



And yet some good people once said strange
things about such matters. Only one hundred
years ago Dr. Carey, the pioneer of English
missions, was laughed at in a conference of
pastors at Northampton, England, because he
urged missions among such people.

Ten years later in the Scotch Assembly such
an undertaking was called “fanciful and laugh. .
able!” In 1810 Mr. Judson andj
some other pious students of And-
over Seminary asked the Congrega-
tional Association of Massachusetts
if their thoughts of going among
the heathen to preach the Gospel
were “visionary and impractica-
ble?”

About forty years ago it is said
that these words were written over
a church door in Cape Colony:
“Dogs and Hottentots not ad-
mitted.” ,

The French governor of the
island of Bourbon called out to the
first missionary to Madagascar, “ So
you will make the Malagasy Chris.
tians? Impossible! they are mere
brutes. They have no more sense
than cattle!”

Were these doubters and ridi-
culers right, or was God right when
he made man in his own image,
and knew he could make every such
man more precious than gold?
Was Jesus right when he said,
“Preach the Gospel to every creat-
ure?” Are they not being con-
verted ? Cc. M. LL.



















“¢Srrvine’ Christ means serving
him personally, just the same as
‘serving’ is applied to a fellow-
creature. Serving Christ means to
labor with nerve and muscle, with
voice and hands and feet. It likewise means
to get physically tired, and then be at work
again as earnestly as before. That is, to give
personal service to a personal Saviour. That
is what it means to be a Christian.”

— Selected.



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CHILDREN’S DAY EXERCISE..





CHILDREN’S DAY EXERCISE.

(The following selections, arranged for reci-
tation, can be made very effective by a little care
in the management of details. The opening
verses are for an older scholar, and care should
be taken to train the speaker to recite well the
somewhat difficult measure.

A profusion of flowers should be displayed,
‘especially in the hands of those who recite
_Jlower verses.

Of course the recitation beginning,

“T think that an angel, maybe,’’

4s intended for a very little child.

Some of the Bible responses could be given
by a class trained to good concert recitation,
others by single voices.

The whole should be interspersed with appro-
priate singing, some of it done by a choir of
children.

I notice in a book entitled“ Wondrous Love,”*
-& most appropriate song for an opening to such
an exercise. It is on page 48, title: “ Sweet
Flowers are Blooming.” We. quote the first
verse.

“‘ When summer outpours her wealth untold,
And meadows are decked with green and gold,
There cometh an hour to praise and pray —
We call it the Children’s Day.

-Cuorus: Sweet flowers are blooming everywhere,
Sweet perfume filling all the air,

. While carroling birds their voices raise,
And join in our songs of praise.’’

The exquisite anthem entitled “ Consider the
Lilies,” would be most appropriate rendered as
a solo by some good singer in the church.

In short, we have purposely left much to the
individual taste in filling out this exercise, and
yet have grouped recitations which we believe
cannot fail to please, if the right committees
take them in hand to work up their sur-
‘roundings.

The exercise should close by the recitation of
George MacDonald's “ Consider the Ravens,”
which will be found on another page of this

magazine.) ;

* Published by the John Church Company, Cincinnati.

Number One:

O, come and woo the spring!
Listen to the birds that sing.
Pluck the violets, pluck the daisies —
Sing their praises.
See the birds together
In this splendid weather,
Worship God, for He is God a!
Of birds, as well as men.
And each feathered neighbor
Enters on his labor —
Sparrow, swallow, robin,
The linnet and the wren.
Worship the God of nature in your childhood. ;
Worship Him in the flowers,
Amid their leafy bowers.
Pluck the buttercups and raise
Your voices in His praise.
Worship Him in your work with best endeavor,
Worship Him in your play,
Worship Him forever.
Epwarp Youu.

Number Two:

“The flowers appear on the earth, and the
time of the singing of birds is come.” —
2 Samuel ii. 12.

Number Three:

(Recitation. Single voice. Little girl with
a bouquet of flowers of many varieties.)

“T think that an angel, maybe, don’t you?
With a window pushed up very high,

Let some of the seeds of the flowers fall through
From the gardens they have in the sky.

For they couldn’t think, here, of lilies so white,
And such beautiful flowers, you know.

But I wonder, when falling from such a height,
That the dear little things could grow.”

Number Four: e

“And God saw everything that He had
made, and behold, it was very good.” — @en.
i. 31.
“He hath made everything beautiful in His
time. No man can find out the work that God
maketh, from the beginning to the end.”

Number Five:

(Recitation. By another litile girl.)
“They ask not your planting,
They need not your care,
They grow
Dropped down in the valley,



CHILDREN’S DAY EXERCISE.



The field, anywhere.
They grow in their beauty, arrayed in pure white,
They grow clothed in glory by heaven’s own light —
Sweetly grow.”

Number Siz: ,

‘Something round which it may twine
God gives every little vine.

Some little nook or sunny bower,
God gives every little fluwer.’”’

Number Seven:

“Casting all your care upon Him; for He
eareth for you.” —1 Peter v. 7.

“Consider the lilies, how they grow; they
toil not, neither do they spin; and yet I say
unto you that even Solomon in all his glory

was not arrayed like one of these.” — Luke —

xii. 27.

“Tf then God so clothe the grass of the field,
how much more will he clothe you?” — Luke
xii. 28.

Number Hight:

“Then leave it with Him;
The lilies all do,
And they grow;
They grow in the rain,
And they grow in the dew —
Grow and grow!
They grow in the darkness, all hid by the night;
They grow in the sunshine, revealed in the light —
Still they grow.”

Number Nine:

“Out on the hills in mild spring weather;
So early, only the bluebirds knew;
Thousands of little flowers grew together;
Purple and pink, and white and blue;
While the March storm raged and fretted, and wept,
And froze its song in the bluebird’s throat;
*Neath mottled-leaf blankets they softly slept,
Close wrapped in their soft fur overcoats.

Now the sun shines warm, and under our feet
They nod and smile in the sweet spring air;
So daintily hued, and faintly sweet —
What flowers of the garden are half so fair?
And the sweet old sermon is preached again
Of life from death, for the doubter’s need,
Of rest, after struggle, and grief, and pain ~
The text: ‘The Lord is risen again.’ ”

Number Ten:

_ “The wilderness and the solitary place shal?
be glad for them; and the desert shall rejoice,
and blossom as the rose. It shall blossom
abundantly, and rejoice.. Say to them that are
of a fearful heart, be strong, fear not: behold
your God will come.” — Jsa, xxxv. 1, 2, 4.

!

Number Eleven:

‘Twas a bluebird told the story,
On his way from heaven this morn.
It was starlight soft and tender,
Yet the East was flushed with rose,
And the weary world was waking
From the calm of its repose.
This the message, sweet and holy,
‘Tired souls, forget your pain.
Christ the Lord for you is risen —
Joy! dear hearts, He comes to reign.’ ”

Number Twelve :

“The Lord reigneth; let the earth rejoice ;
let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth
be glad; let the field be joyful, and all
that is therein; then shall all the trees of
the wood rejoice before the Lord; for He
cometh, He cometh to judge the earth; He
shall judge the world with righteousness and
the people with his truth.— Ps. xevi. 11-13;
xevii. 1.

Number Thirteen:

“Do you think that the sermons men preach
us in words, are worth any more than the ser-
mons of birds?”

Number Fourteen:

“Behold the fowls of the air; for they
sow not, neither do. they reap, nor gather
into barns; yet your Heavenly Father feedeth
them.”

Number Fifteen :

A wee little nest you could hold in your hand,
Lightly lashed to the topmost mast of a tree!
Why so:high, so dizzy a height was chosen,
Is just the question that puzzles me. .
JANET Hay.



CHILDREN’S DAY EXERCISE.





Number Sixteen:

Oh! I think that the mother-bird wanted to hold
Her own little cares close up to God’s eye,

High up in the limbs, as we would a prayer,
And that is the very reason why

She builded her nest in the high tree-top. *
Not knowing He’s everywhere, over the land,
And holdeth the stars, and the lives of men,
And her own wee nest in the palm of His hand.
JANET Hay.

Number Seventeen:

‘*Some green bough or mossy sward,
God gives every little bird.”

Number Ei ghteen 8

“The sparrow hath found a house, and the
swallow a nest for herself. — Ps. Ixxxiv, 38.

Number Nineteen:

‘‘A sparrow was twittering at my feet,
With its beautiful auburn head,
And looked at me with dark, mild eyes,
As it picked up crumbs of bread;
And said to me in-werds as plain as
The words of a bird could be:
Tam only a little sparrow,
A bird of low degree;
My life is of little value,
But the dear Lord cares for me.
I know there are many sparrows —
All over the world we are found —
But our Heavenly Father knoweth
When one of us falls to the ground.’’

Number Twenty:

“Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing?
and one of them shall not fall on the ground
without your Father. Fear ye not therefore,
ye are of more value than many sparrows.” —
Matt. x. 29, 31.

Number Twenty-one:

I saw some birdies once, white and brown,
Gay and beautiful, lighting down
with a cheery twitter upon the snow.

Where do the little snowbirds go
for something to eat when the fields are bare,
And the frost has bitten the wintry air?
Mary E. ATKINSON.

Number Twenty-two:

Oh! you know that the Lord takes care
Of His little tender birds of the air, ©
And the snowbird’s life is as safe and gay
As the robin’s is on this sweet June day.
Mary E. ATKINSON.

Number Twenty-three:

“Consider the ravens, for they neither. sow
nor reap; which neither have storehouse nor
barns; and God feedeth them.”

Number Twenty-four :

“The grasses are clothed
And the ravens are fed
From His store;
And you who are loved
And guarded and led,
How much more
Will He clothe you and feed you
And give you His care?
Then leave it with Him, He is everywhere.’”?

Number Twenty-five:

“Oh wise little birds, how do you know

The way to go

Southward and Northward to and fro?”

Far up in the ether piped they:

“We but obey

One that calleth us, far away.

He calleth, and calleth, year by year—
. Now there, now here;

Even He maketh the way appear.”

‘ Dear little birds, He calleth me

Who calleth thee.

Would that I might as trusting be.”

Number Twenty-six :

“ As birds flying, so will the Lord of hosts
defend Jerusalem; defending also He will de-
liver it; and passing over, He will preserve it.”
— Isa. xxxi. 5.

“Great is the Lord and of great power.” —
Ps. exlvii. 5.

“Remember His marvellous works that He
hath done.” — Ps. cv. 1.

“Make known His deeds among the people.”
— Ps. ev. 1. Pansy.

As certainly as your Master’s love is in you,
his work will be upon you. — Bushnell.












Ute

AMONG THE FLOWERS.



ws Hd, 4

Wea #



ri





AN INDIGNANT MOTHER.—A

MISSIONARY OF LONG AGO.









AN INDIGNANT MOTHER.




HE is very sick,” said Dr. Robbie Proc-

tor, in his grandfather's hat and_ his
uncle’s coat, with Aunt Katie’s glasses
seated astride his nose, “very sick indeed!”
and he laid his hand with professional skill on
the kitten’s paw. ‘If you do not follow my
directions she will die, and there’s no help for
it. She bas the small-pox, and cholera, and
yellow fever, all mixed up together. It would
be hard for anybody but me to tell you so
much, but I can tell.”

“QO, dear, dear me!” said the frightened
little mother, “I will be sure to follow your
directions. To think that my child should
have so many sicknesses all at once.”

“Yes, it is very sad; and she must have a
pint of brandy every ten minutes for the next
fifty-five hours, or she will die, certain true,
black and blue.”

Up rose the little mother, her face. all in a
glow of indignation. Gathering the precious
child in the skirt of her dress with true
womanly dignity, she spoke in freezing tones.

“She never will, Dr. Robbie, and you need
not think it. I wonder at you for saying such
words*in my mother’s house, when you know

she never lets a drop of brandy come into it, .

and does not believe in using it for anything!
The idea that I wou'd let my kitten play take
brandy! I’m ashamed cf you, Robbie Proctor,
and don’t want to have anything more to do
with you.”

So saying, she walked across the room and
out at the door.

“ Well,” said Dr. Robbie in great indigna-
.tion, “if you won’t do as the doctor says, how
can you expect him to help you?”

“JT don’t expect it,” came from the hall in
freezing tones. “I never will expect help from

a doctor who uses such dreadful medicines as

that.”

There was a sound of clapping of hands
which came from the library, and papa’s voice
said:

“Three cheers for the little mother, who
has the ‘courage of her convictions,” though
what he meant by such long words as that, you
must ask your father. Myra Sparrorp.

A MISSIONARY OF LONG AGO.

lived a man who was one of God’s.
missionaries. That is, he was sent to
do a certain work for God — for the
word missionary means one who is
sent. He was sent to the people of his own
nation. He was a shepherd, and God gent a
message to all the shepherds to let the people
know that they had been doing wickedly, and
that He was displeased with them.

The whole story of this man’s mission work.
is written in a book, and the book is called
“The words of ——.” Iam not going to tell
you his name, because I want you to see if you
can find out what it was. This book, though
not printed in quite the same form as most of
our books, yet has a title-page just like any
other book. After giving the name of the
book, it goes on to tell who this man was, and
gives the time of the writing of the book. It.
says that this man was one of the herdmen of
Tekoa, and that the words written in the book
are “concerning” a certain country or people,
and that the story happened in the time of two:
kings whom it names, and “two years before
the earthquake.”

Now I am going to tell you a little about.
what this man said would happen to the people,
and then I want you to see if you can tell the
name of this man, the name of the nation to
whom he was sent, and the names of the two
kings who were ruling in two countries at that
time.

It seems that this man started out by preach-
ing a sermon to the people, just as missionaries.
do nowadays. You see God had chosen him
because he was.of their number —a herdsman
or shepherd just like the rest of them —and he
knew just how to talk to the people to make:
them understand.

All missionaries usually take texts for their
sermons, and s0 this missionary took his text,
and it was this: “The Lord will roar from
Zion, and utter his voice from Jerusalem; and
the habitations of the shepherds shall mourn,
and the top of Carmel shall wither.”

Then the people all listened, and were ready
to be very angry with this man for saying all





A MISSIONARY

OF LONG AGO.







this, but before they had time to say to one
another, “ What is all this that he is saying?
What does it mean?” this missionary went on.
Without waiting for them to grow angry at
what he had said was going to happen to them,
he went on to speak about some other wicked
nations who were their enemies. He told of

dreadful things that were to happen to them in

punishment for all their sins, and the people
listened and said to themselves, “That is all
right. That is just what ought to happen to
them; they are very wicked people indeed.
And this man must know what he is talking
about.”

The missionary goes on naming nation after
nation, and telling of the terrible things that
are coming to them, and the people grow more
and more excited, until he names the nation
which they hate the most and think the wicked-
est. They begin to see that the man is in
earnest, and they are in sympathy with all that
he has said, and think it right that a dreadful
judgment should fall upon all those wicked peo-
ple, when suddenly the man looks straight at
them and says, “And not only to all these
nations is this terrible punishment coming, but
to you, too, will the Lord bring judgment,” and
he reminds them of all their sins before the
Lord. :

The people stand there listening, and know
that it is true. This missionary has introduced
himself to them, and they all understand just
what he has come for, now. He asks them
some plain questions, which they do not seem
to have answered except in their own hearts:
questions that help them to understand what a
great wrong they have done, and how surely
God is going to bring judgment upon them.
He tells them that they are empty of all that
is right. He calls upon them to let the nations
iLyound about them who do not believe in and
profess to love God, come in and testify against
them and see if they will not say that it is all
true.

The people are filled with solemnity as he
tells them that they will be utterly destroyed.
And then he tells them who has sent this word
to them : —

“¢ For lo, he that formeth the mountains,
and createth the wind, and declareth unto man

what is his thought, that maketh the morning
darkness, and treadeth upon the high places of
the earth, the Lord the God of Hosts is his
name,’ he is the One that sends this word to
you.”

The missionary’s first sermon is ended, and
he goes away and leaves the people to think
about the terrible truths he has declared unto
them.

The next day, or the next week, or the next
month, or possibly not until the next year, we
do not know just when, he comes back and
preaches another sermon to them.

He tries to rouse them up to see what they
are doing. He says, “You hate the people
who tell you you are doing wrong, and you
abhor those who speak the truth. You are
stealing from the poor and treading them
down; you have built beautiful houses, but
you shall not live in them; you have planted
pleasant vineyards, but you shall not enjoy
them. For I know your sins; how you afflict
people, and take bribes, and will not let the
poor people have their rights. Some of you
know better than all this, but you are afraid to
say anything about it; some of you think you
are sorry and are repenting, but you are deceiv-
ing yourselves, for you are merely afraid that
something terrible may happen to you. Some
of you think that you will offer sacrifices, and
then the Lord will not send trouble upon you,
but that will not make any difference. The
terrible day is surely coming, and it will be
such an awful time that a few of the wicked
ones who may escape will say to those around
them, ‘Hush! do not attract God’s attention
to us.’”

And so ends the missionary’s second sermon,
and the people are left thinking with terror
and dread.

When the missionary comes to preach his
third sermon, those people have become angry,
and though the preacher has chosen a very in-
teresting way of preaching this time, by telling
stories, and the people have to listen for a little
while, still, right in the middle of his sermon
there rises up a man and sends word to the
king that this thing must be stopped; that “the
land is not able to bear all the words” of the

preacher. Then the king sends word to the



FROM INDIA.—HOME MISSIONS AND PEANUTS.







missionary that he must stop preaching; but
_the missionary has been sent to his work by
God, and not by the king, so he goes right on
just the same and preaches to the people all
that the Lord has told him to do. He preaches
sermon after sermon, telling them his dreams
and stories to help them understand.

But he gives them a blessed hope. He tells
them that there shall be a very few of them —
all those who are truly repentant — that shall
be saved from this terrible judgment, and he
closes up his mission by reciting for them some
beautiful promises that God has sent for that
precious “remnant,” as he calls them, of his
people.

And he says, “They shall be restored, and
they shall no more be pulled up out of their
land which I have given them, saith the Lord
thy God.”

Now who were all these people, and did this
terrible judgment that the missionary told
about ever come to pass?

Grace Livineston.



FROM INDIA.

HE work in the schools has its ups and
downs. I do wish the Hindoos and
Mohammedans would get through their wed-
ding festivities in one day, or two at most.

Each wedding requires weeks, in which the

little girls take no active part, but it keeps
them out of school.

To-morrow will be a day of great rejoicing,
though none of the children can tell why. It
is the festival of Holi; when they throw over
each other a magenta colored powder mixed
with water. Men dress up in skirts and dance,
singing obscene songs.

We always close our Hindoo schools and
warn our Christian women to keep away from
the city.

We cannot make you realize what filth of
all kinds we must wade through to reach the
women and girls. But in spite of it all, I often
come home from teaching these little ones feel-
ing that there is hope. They are wonderfully
nice girls, in spite of their surroundings.

Mrs. Ketso.

HOME MISSIONS AND PEANUTS.



* Uae AMIE STUART was the crossest:

Y boy in the village, at least I hope there:
was none crosser. It was Sunday, too,.
which is certainly a poor day in which
to be cross, if there is any difference in the
days which we may choose for that accom-
plishment.

He was cross to his sister Delia. On the way
home from Sunday-school he gave her what he:
called a “piece of his mind.”

“Of all the silly girls I ever heard of, I think
you are the silliest.”

This was the way he began.

“What ever possessed you to put in such a.
lot of pennies in the box? I was looking at
you when you dropped them in, and there must.
have been nine or ten.”

“Seven,” said Delia promptly.

“Well, then, seven. You are rich, seems to:
me, if you can afford to give so much money
at once.”

“Why, it was ‘foreign missionary day,’ you
know,” explained Delia, “and we always give
just as much as we can on that day, to help
support Miss Colburn.”

“Poh!” said Jamie; “as if your seven pen-
nies would do much toward supporting Miss.
Colburn! What if mother had to depend on
them to help support us, how much would they
do?”

“Why, they would help,” said Delia meekly,.
“and it was all I had, you know.”

“Yes; that’s the silliness of it,” said Jamie,.
growing more wrathful as he thought of its.
“the idea of giving every cent you had to
foreign missions! For my part, I think it was.
downright selfish. What is to become of home
missions if that is the way people do?”

“Why, I give to that when the time comes,”
said poor bewildered Delia, who was two years.
younger than Jamie, and could not always keep:
track of his logic.

“The time comes all the time for that,” said
Jamie, in an oracular tone. “ There’s always:
something at home that needs doing; needs it
a great deal worse than the old heathen do.
Just think of poor old Mr. Oswald, poking:
away in his little store on that back street, try-



HOME MISSIONS AND PEANUTS. 4

—



ing as hard as he can to support a family. Only
yesterday, when I went in there with a lot of
boys who didn’t all of them together spend
tnree cents, he said to me, ‘ What has become
of that nice little sister of yours who used to
buy so many peanuts of me? I haven’t seen
her in more than a week.’ I wish I had
thought, and I’d have told him vou were so

guess he only keeps peanuts to accommodate
the children.” ,

“That’s just where you are mistaken, Miss
Missionary; he lets that lame Phil Oswald have
all the money he can make from peanuts and
gum and such things, and he’s trying as hard
as ever he can to get money enough to buy
him a wheeled chair so he can go around the

IN MR. OSWALD’S STORE.

busy supporting the heathen out in China, or
somewhere, you couldn’t think of your neigh-
bors.”

“But, Jamie,” said Delia, much disturbed,
‘¢Mr. Oswald surely doesn’t have to support
his family on peanuts? he: keeps lots of useful
things, and men and women buy of him. I

streets and do errands and such things. It is
real missionary work to buy peanuts — enough
sight more important than the old heathen, I
think.”

This was news indeed! Delia was so much
interested that she forgot to answer Jamie, and
kept on thinking of the lame Oswald boy, and





HOW MARY HELPS MISSIONS.



oOo oooo——aaoaoooaooomoooomommmmmme®@w@aae SS 290—«“aaeeuq“
of how nice it would be if he could have a
wheeled chair, and how nice it would be if
she could help him, until Jamie, finding that
she had nothing to say, and having expressed
his mind pretty freely, fell back to walk
with Dick Watson, and left her to her own
thoughts.

Less than a week afterwards Jamie Stuart
was cross again—crosser than before, so his
sister thought.

“You are the biggest goose in all this world,
I do believe!” he said to the gentle little Delia.
As well acquainted as she was with her brother,
this made the little girl open her eyes, for it
seemed to her that in view of his last Sunday’s
talk she certainly must have pleased him
mow.

This is what she had done. There had unex-
spectedly fallen into her hands a whole ten-cent
‘piece, which she was at liberty to spend just as
‘she pleased. She had pleased to go at once to
Mr. Oswald’s store and asked for two cents
worth of peanuts, handing out her ten cents for
jayment; but the amazing part of it was, that
when Phil, who was himself waiting on her,
turned to the. drawer for change, she said
sweetly, “Never mind the change, please; I
want you to put it with your fund for the
wheeled chair. I hope you will very soon get
enough.”

How glad she was to tell Jamie the story.
He had wanted Phil helped so much. How
pleased he would be! His answer had been
those words which I told you.

“Why,” said Delia bewildered, “I don’t
know what to think of you, Jamie Stuart. I
thought you would like it so much. Don’t you
see that he has a great many peanuts left to
sell to other people, and eight whole cents to
go into his fund? I’d have given him the ten
cents without any peanuts, only I thought per-
haps he wouldn’t like that.”

“Of course he wouldn’t,” answered Jamie;
“the isn’t a beggar. I dare say he did not like
it to have you give him the eight cents; he
would a great deal rather have given you pea-
nuts for them.”

“Oh! you are mistaken,” declared Delia;
“che thanked me beautifully, and said he would

remember how kind I had been, and that his

fund did not grow very fast; that selling pea
nuts enough to raise twenty dollars was slow
work, and I think it must be. I was as glad as
I could be that I could help, and I thought you

_would like it ever so much.”

“TI thought you were a ninny!” said cross
Jamie, “and I know you are, and Phil Oswald
is another.”

Then he flounced off with the two cents
worth of peanuts in his pocket.

Delia looked after him in grave anxiety.
“Jamie must have missed in his arithmetio
again, I’m afraid, and that is what makes him
cross,” she said to himself.

But it wasn’t. I, understanding Jamie Stuart
better than his sister did, will tell you some-
thing. He liked peanuts very much indeed,
and Delia liked them very little. So when she
bought them, which she often did just for his _
sake, he was sure to get the most of them,
which was the entire secret of his deep interest
in “ home missions.”

I have sorrowful reason to think that there
are a great many people, some of them older
than Jamie Stuart, whose interest in home mis-
sions is just about as deep-seated as his.

Myra Sparrorp.

HOW MARY HELPS MISSIONS.

1. She sees she has something to do about .
them. :

2. She has decided to do something.

3. She is trying to do what she can.

4. She has picked out her missionary.

5. She is learning all she can about him —
his history, his family, his field, where it is, and
just what it is; everything about it, you see, 50
that she can talk about and talk to this family
as if they were across the street. _

6. She writes to them: this month to the
missionary father, the next month to the mother,
then to his little daughter Kittie, then to Mar-
jorie, and so on; once a month to some one of
them. Of course Mary gets good long letters
back. Some of them she shows to her pastor.
He reads them in the monthly meetings. Some-
times they are printed in the village paper.
Everybody reads the village paper. Mattie



FROM BOGOTA.—PENITENTES.



Missildine always reads it. Her heart is now
being stirred, and she is hunting about to find
her missionary to write to.
Mary’s heart very warm, so—

7. She prays for her missionary. You'd be
surprised to know how hard it is for Mary to
stop praying for her missionary and his family
when she begins. I wish I had room to print
one of her long, particular, earnest prayers —
though of course she does not know that often
and often her mother, in the next room, hears
them word for word.

8. She has set herself to finding ways to
raise money for her missionary and his family.
She doesn’t spend a cent any more foolishly, as
once. She sees now that she would have just
forty dollars to send to her missionary if she
had not wasted the money given her the last
four years. So Mary is helping—Mary’s teeth
and stomach as well as —her missionary. And
somehow other girls in her Sunday-school are
hearing of her ways of economy and self-sacri-
fice and are thinking of doing likewise; the
next thing will be a wide-awake missionary
society of these girls. Of course the other girls
will insist upon Mary’s being the president.

9. She is preparing a paper on her mission-
ary,and his field. Her pastor insists upon it.
She said at first she did not want to. He said
she could do it ‘‘for Jesus’ sake.” So she is
working at it. I would like to be in the
monthly meeting when it is read. Of course

Mary’s parents will be there. They do not
usually attend this meeting. C. M. L.
FOR CHRIST’S SAKE.

Hi! what shall I give to the Saviour
For what He hath given to me?
I'll give Him the gift of an earnest life,
Of a heart that is loving and free from strife,
As He hath given for me.

And what shall I do for the Saviour
For what He hath done for me?
T’ll pray for the sick and the evil doer ;
Ill make my friends among the poor
As He hath done for me.
— Selected.

All this keeps



——s

FROM. BOGOTA, SOUTH AMERICA.

HIS is Holy Week. If you could see the

sights we have seen, you would know

how much this dark land needs the pure
Gospel.

I must tell you about the procession: A large
number of soldiers came first, then masked
men, carrying a platform on which stood a
figure representing our Saviour after He had
been scourged. This figure was covered with
red paint to make it look as if it were bleeding.

The many Saints are carried in the same way
by masked men.

The procession of to-day — which is Good
Friday —is one of the saddest sights in Colom-
bia. Think of their having the funeral of our
Saviour !

The figure representing the body of Christ
is taken down from the cross. After this
it is laid in a handsome coffin, then, with a
great many Saints from the Cathedral, it is
carried to another church, where it is left till
Sabbath morning. ‘

The Virgin Mary is also borne on a platform.
She is as large as life, and wears a fine black
velvet dress with a long train, which is carried
by an angel. This platform is covered with
lovely flowers.

Do you wonder that our hearts are sad when
we see such things? Pray for Colombia and
its few workers.

Mr. Touzeau sells a little book, “The Life
and Death of our Saviour.” It sells rapidly
this week. It may speak where we cannot.

Mrs. Tovzrav.

PENITENTES.

N New Mexico is the Order of Penitent

Brothers. During Lent they inflict dread-

ful torture upon their bodies, professing to imi-
tate Christ’s suffering.

You remember that Jesus was scourged. So
one of these Penitentes will scourge the bare
back of another till he is covered with blood,
and in this horrible state the bleeding one will
attempt to esirry a very-heavy cross. All this
and much more in our own country !



WHY SOME ROSES ARE RED.—WANTED—THE MOON.



=

WHY SOME ROSES ARE RED.



A Flower Legend.

LL roses were white, in the long ago,
According to flower lore ;
But one day an angel passed by that way
As a message of love he bore

To a sorrowful soul bowed down by woe,
And weary with ceaseless pain,

And as he noticed the fragrant white flowers,
He poised on the wing amain,

And quickly approaching those roses sweet,
A beautiful bud to pick,

He whispered, “Tl take it with word of love
I bear to the lonely sick.”

But as he plucked the beauteous flower,
Whose soft cheek was pale as death,

He said, “ As my errand this time brings life —
T will warm it with my breath.”

So he kissed the cheek of the fair white rose,
Which ’neath his thrilling touch blushed,

And with message of love, and pink rose of hope,
The sighs of the sick one he hushed.

And ever since then, when a,rose is red,
Or blushes with delicate tint,
A kiss, from some angel of love and life,
On its cheek has left its imprint.
Lyp1a Horr Farmer.

A MOTHER’S LOVE.

"N December, 1821, a man with his wife and.

child were riding in a sleigh over the
mountains of Vermont. At last the horse re-
fused to proceed. The man set off to look for
help, but soon he perished in the cold. The
mother set off to look for him, with her baby in
her arms, but she was found dead near the sleigh,
next morning. The babe, however, was living,
for that mother had wrapped it in her shawl.
There is a sweet poem written about it. This
proves to you the deep love that wells up in the
mother’s heart. Any mother would have done
the same for her child.
How earnestly should every child strive to
Jove and please his dear parents. Rinewoop.



WANTED—THE MOON.

HE Moon rose early, and Baby Ned
Was rather late in going to bed.

Not two years old, this dear little fellow,

With head so round, and bright, and yellow,

With his eyes so brown, and mouth so sweet,
His fair little hands, and dainty feet —
Wee feet, that have barely learned to walk —
And his wise, quaint, broken, baby talk.

He was perched that night on grandma’s knee,
The place where the small king loved to be.
Where the wise brown eyes saw something new
Through the window, up there in the blue.

Over the top of the tallest hill,

Round and silvery, fair, and still,

God’s grand old moon! that for ages past
Has held its way in the night-sky vast.

And Neddie wanted that shining ball
To hold in his hands so soft and small,
And nobody went and took it down.
He wrinkled his face to a little frown;

Red lips quivered — he wanted it soon ;
Then — one more baby cried for the moon!
But mamma brought him his milk and bread,
And patted his dear little curly head.

Then quickly he smiled and forgot the moon,
And laughed at his face in his silver spoon.
O happy Neddie! so easy to smile;

Your life will be glad, if all the while

As the years go on you can turn away

From all that you want when God says “ Nay,”

And laugh, and thank Him for what He may
pive —

That is the way for His child to live.

O manly boys, and sweet little-girls!

With all your colors of eyes and curls,

If you would have life like a summer day,

Be content with the things that are in your way.

Seek ever the things that are pure and high,

As planets that move in the evening sky,

But if you can’t have the shining moon,

Be glad when God offers the silver spoon.
Esiry Baker SMALLE.





a | i

“i i i























PRINCESS WILHELMINE, — THE FUTURE QUEEN OF THE HOLLANDERS.









LESTER,





LITTLE BEN.—FLOSSY’S DATES.

LITTLE BEN.

Sr EARLY two hundred years ago there
Ww lived in Boston a Mr. Josiah Franklin.
’ He had a family of seventeen children.

“Whew!”

“Whew” if you will, yet it’s true.

Moreover, he must needs house, warm, clothe

and feed them all from the simple business of

candle and. soap making.

However, as “many hands make light work,”
and as each of the thirty-eight hands in Mr.
Franklin’s house did what it could to bring in
“bread and butter,” the Franklin family got
on quite prosperously, though a fat turkey was
not always on hand for Thanksgiving, or stock-
ings full of toys for the holidays.

Don’t they seem comfortable in the picture?

The boys are preparing their kite; little Ben,
with back toward you, with the bunch of kite-
string in his right hand, is looking on and doing
a big amount of thinking, which some day will
astonish all the world,

There sits father, dozing awhile, and Moll,
fast asleep, by his side.

They have watched the work of the boys on
the kite till it is all done but the tail, and
Tommy, with scissors and bits of paper, and a
_ smnile of triumph, is putting on the final touches.

But we must let the kite-flying go — and the
kite, too. It went off into the clouds or into
the top of a tree, and that was the end of it;
but not the end of our little Ben. He lived
to be eighty-four years old, and for something
higher than kites.

He did not fancy his father’s greasy shop,
cutting candle wicks and running on errands, so
one day he quietly informed the Franklin family
that he had made up his mind to go to sea!

But as it was quite necessary that some more
of the family should be of the same mind be-
fore he could “ set sail,” and as none was, that
scheme was abandoned by our young Benjamin.
Instead, his father bound him out to his brother
James, to be a printer.

That proved just to his mind; for, besides
type-setting, he found books to read. Not one
escaped his sharp eye. He would read nearly
all night long.

Meanwhile he mastered the printing business.



But he and James could not get on smoothly.

One morning, when he was seventeen, he
slipped away from James on board a vessel,
and was soon in New York, and from there,
partly by water and partly on foot, he pushed
on to Philadelphia. There a year in a printing-
office, then to London; another year with type;
back again; married to Deborah Read ; in 1729
editing a paper, “The Pennsylvania Gazette,”
all his own. All this our little Ben.

It would take a big book to tell the half
about Ben. One of the great things was his
signing the Declaration of Independence with
the self-same hand that holds that bunch of
kite-string, another, his catching — lightning!

You see he became a man of science as well
as a great writer and statesman.

Among other things his mind got to running
about’ electricity. “What is it?” he would
ask himself. At last he thought it out. It is
the same as lightning.

How should he prove it? He thought that
out, too. He made a kite, and he did it with-
out Tommy’s aid. He slipped away from home
with this kite and his son. No one else knew
anything about it, so that if he failed to prove
that electricity and lightning were one and the
same, nobody could laugh at him and say, “I
told you so.”

The sky was dark; thunder was rolling; rain
was falling. Up, bigher, higher, went Ben’s
kite among the clouds. Soon there came a
“shock.” It was proved. You must’ read
about it. God raised Benjamin Franklin up for
a great good. What are you for? C. M. L.

FLOSSY’S DATES.

) REAMING!” The exclamation, partly
if an interrogation, was Uncle Hube s, as

just over the fence his niece Flossy,
lying under the big apple-tree,: her
elbow in the grass and her cheek resting upon
her hand. °

“Say, Floss, are you dreaming?” he said
again. At this second call the little girl started
up and came to the fence, swinging her hat by
the band.





FLOSSY’S DATES.

“Vittle one, do you want to ride?”

“Indeed, I do.”

“Very well; Pll drive down to the gate, and
you can run in and tell mamma.”

“ Now we are off,” he said, a few moments
later, as he tucked the afghan about Flossy
and gave the signal for starting.

“ Well, Flossy, what were you paeziing over
there under the old apple-tree?”

“T was just saying over my dates.”

“Your dates! What are those?”

“The dates for August. Our class in history
are hunting up remarkable events for every day
in the year. We have got as far as August.”

“ And can you find remarkable events enough
to cover the whole year?” asked Uncle Huve.

“Sometimes we have to hunt a long time,
and sometimes there oes not seem to be any-
thing worth remembering.”

“J wish I hed taken you with me this morn-
ing,” said Uncle Hube. “I drove out to a
place where there was a battle fought on the
sixth of August, a long time ago.”

“T wish I could have gone; you.mean out
to Oriskany, I suppose ?”

“Do you know about that ?”

“Yes; that is one of my dates.”

“T went out to see the monument that has
been erected on the hill just east of the ravine
where the ambush occurred. It is supposed that
General Herkimer received the wound which
cost him his life, down there in the valley. The

spot where he sat after he was wounded, lean- -

ing against a tree giving orders to his men, is
pointed out. What do you know about that
battle, Flossy ?”

“T know that in 1777 General St. Leger was
sent by way of Oswego at the head of a band
of Tories and Indians to take Fort Schuyler,
where Rome now is; and that General Herki-
mer gathered an army and was going as fast as
possible to relieve the fort, when they met the
enemy near Oriskany, and General Herkimer
was wounded.”

“Yes; St. Leger had been warned of Herki-
mer’s approach, and he sent forward the Tories
and Indians, who made an ambuscade, and as
Herkimer’s men were marching along, not
thinking of danger, they found themselves in
deadly peril. The fight lasted five hours, but





though more than two hundred of the patriots
were killed, the enemy fled at last. The im-
portance of this battle seems not to have been
fully appreciated by early historians. The plan
of the British was to invade New York with
the main army under Burgoyne by way of Lake
Champlain, while St. Leger should march down
the Mohawk Valley and unite with Burgoyne
at Albany. With the control of the Hudson
and Lake Champlain, and with the fertile Mo-
hawk Valley from which to draw their supplies,
they could cut New England off from the rest
of the Colonies; and Governor Dorshcimer
said in his address at the dedication of the
yronument, that it is now seen that the success
of ehis scheme depended upon the success with
which St. Leger should carry out his part of
the plan, and that Burgoyne afterwards inti-
mated that he would have succeeded if he had
been aided as he expected by St. Leger. So it
appears that this battle over there in the ravine
and upon the thickly wooded slopes was a most
devisive one.” ;

“There is something about the name of the
fort which I do not understand,” said Flossy.
“Sometimes it is callel Fort Stanwix, and
sometimes Fort Schuyler. Which is correct?”

“The fort was built during the French and
Indian War, and named Fort Stanwix, but fell
into ruin, and was rebuilt in 1776, and after
that time called Fort Schuyler, in .honor of
General Philip Schuyler.”

“ Are your dates confined to American his-
tory?” asked Uncle Hube, as they rode along.

“QO, no! we can go all over the world, and,
as Miss Blake says, ‘all through the ages.’
You see, we took it up last fall when we began
United States History, and we got interested,
and now we can’t let it alone. We have a
club that meets every Friday through vacation,
and we compare our lists and ask and answer
questions.”

“JT don’t know about girls studying thr ough
vacation,” said Uncle Hube doubtfully.

“Oh! it isn’t study, it is play. Miss Blake
says it is better than getting books from the
loan library, as the girls do who do not belong
to the club.”

“T shouldn’t wonder,” replied Uncle Hube.

Fayr Huntineton,

.

























































MAY-DAY STUDIES.





WHO WAS TO BLAME?



WHO WAS TO BLAME?




gg” R. FOSTER was in the hall gather-

‘® ing his letters and papers into a con-

way? venient package as he spoke.

“Be sure you are ready, Katie, when
Icome. I can’t tell when it will be, but I shall
be certain to be in a hurry, and have no time
for waiting; so remember, if you want to go
you must be on the watch.”

“T will, papa,” Katie said positively; “you
needn’t be afraid. I shall get ready this morn-
ing, and b+ iooking out for you all the while.”

Mr. Foster smiled on his young daughter,
kissed her, then sprang down the piazza stairs

“three steps at a time, to catch a passing car.
He was a very busy man, and was nearly

WS \s WS \N

i



Oh

ul

“LL BE READY,” SAID KATIE.

always in a hurry. On this particular day busi-
ness was calling him to the large city, which
was only thirty miles away from the small one
where he lived. Katie was very fond of going
vo the city with her papa, partly because she
had a friend living there who was always glad
to see her and did everything imaginable to
make her have a good time, and partly because
papa was such a busy man he rarely had time
to take her with him. So when: she returned

her father’s kiss and assured him for the second
time she would be sure to be ready, nobody
could have been more certain than Katie Foster
that she was speaking the truth.

An hour afterward Mrs. Bennett, the house-
keeper, called out to her on the piazza where
she sat teasing the cat, “I should think you
would go and get ready, Katie. How do you
know but what your papa will come soon?”

“Tm going in a minute,” said Katie, “but
papa will be sure not to come this morning; he
can’t get away from the office in time for a
morning train.” :

Ten minutes more and Irish Kate looked out
of the window and spoke good-humoredly :

“My name is Kate, and I’ve more sense than
some people of that name that I know of. If
a certain Kate of my acquaintance was go-
ing to the city some time to-day you’d see
her brushing her hair and putting on her
best dress in a hurry.”

Katie laughed.

“Tt doesn’t take me so long to prink as.
it does you, Kate,” she said; “I'll be ready
in good time; don’t you be afraid. Papa is
always later than he has any idea he will
be.”

Another half-hour and Katie had really
made her way upstairs and laid out the
dress and ribbons she meant to wear, and
begun to brush her hair. Then she espied
the Sunday-school book she had been read-
ing the afternoon before.

“TJ declare,” she said, stopping short in
her work, “I forgot all about that book.
I wonder what became of Norm Decker? I
do hope he got to be somebody. Ill just
read a few pages; there will be plenty of
time to dress, after that; papa is sure not to
come before the two o’clock train. I know
as well as I want to, that we shall not get
back to-night. Dll put up my night things
in a bag and have them all ready, and papa’s,
too, so he can be comfortable if he has to stay.
but first Pll read just a little bit.”

So saying she plumped herself on to the
white bed which Irish Kate had made up nicely
for the day, and in two minutes more was so
absorbed in the fortunes of Susie and Nettie
Decker, to say nothing of Norm and Jerry,



PAINTER.





that all thought of dressing or of packing was
forgotten. One more warning she had. Her
cousin Edna, who was a young lady and had
charge of her uncle’s house, looked in and said,

“Why, Katie, you ought to be dressed, dear..

I heard Uncle tell you he might come at any
moment, and it is nearly lunch time.”

“Tl be ready,” said Katie dreamily ; “papa
is sure to be late.”

“ But it is late already, child; the lunch bell
will ring in fifteen minutes.”

“Well, it doesn’t take me fifteen minutes to

dress, and papa won’t go before the two o’clock |

train, I feel sure. Edna, you ought to read
this book; it is real exciting.”

“J’m afraid you will be excited in another
way before long,” was Edna’s last warning, but
she shut the door and went on with her work.

Five, ten minutes more, and a faint tinkle of
a bell about to ring made Katie realize that
her few minutes had been many, and that the
morning was gone. She raised herself slowly
to a sitting posture, still with her eyes on her
book. If she could only find out whether the
General was Jerry’s father she would be con-
tent to wait for the rest. Suddenly she threw

the book from her with such force that it landed:

on the floor, kicked off her slippers and began
to button her shoes with anxious haste. She
was thoroughly aroused. It was not the bell,
but her father’s voice sounding distinctly
through the hall:

“Where is Katie? Tell her to come quick,
there is not a moment to lose. I want to catch
the 1:15 train. Never mind lunch; we will
lunch in town. No, the two o’clock train will
not do; I must get to the lower bank before it
closes. Isn’t Katie ready? Where is she?”

“Papa, ’m coming,” sounded a tremulous
voice. “T]’ll be ready in five minutes.”

“ There is not five minutes to wait, daughter.
I had just time to rush home for you.. I must
be going this instant. I’m sorry, daughter;
you must wait until next time. Good-by!”
and Mr. Foster was gone.

Poor Katie! . Do you wonder that she buried
her head in her pillow and sobbed? But really,
do you think anybody was to blame for her
disappointment but her own silly self?

Myra SpParrorp.

PAINTER.

BER on there was a boy. His name
was Mark. Mark had a cage. The
cage had a bird. The bird had a face.
The face had eyes, nose and mouth,
only the nose and mouth were about the same
thing; but that didn’t matter so long as this
“thing” answered the same purpose.

Now just as the eyes and nose happened to
feel and fix themselves, so the bird looked.

Mark went daily to see his bird; indeed,
often each hour, sometimes. Looking sharply




mess

re
ae



MARK’S BIRD.

at it with the eye of a student, he would have
known it from a hundred others.

But it had a way of being a different bird
every time; that is to say, it put on a different
face. It was as if it had a great store, and the
store had great shelves, and each shelf was full
of faces, and each was unlike the other, and
the bird put on one as often as it felt like it.
Now it seemed handsome, now ugly; this hour
wise, the next a dunce. On Monday like a
rose; Tuesday, as a brier; Wednesday, happy |
as a harp; Thursday, sour as a pickle; Friday,
cross as a cat; Saturday, pretty as a peach;
Sabbath, bright as a star.

So Mark called his bird “ Painter,” because
it made faces; and he set himself daily to find
out where Painter got his paint, since he was



HIS FOLD.—HOW ABIJAH

“MUSTERED” IN 1796.





ee
pink or blue or green or black or scarlet, or

whatever he would.
One day, as he steod watching, . Painter
opened his throat wide enough almost to split

it, and poured forth one of the sweetest songs:

he had ever heard.

“Oh!” said Mark, “I see; Painter’s paint-
pots must be away down there.” ;

Then came a scolding blast from Painter.
Now he would smile upon the neighbor bird
that came to spend the afternoon with him,
and now fly at him as though he would tear
him to pieces.

“Yes, yes,” went on Mark, “paint of all
colors, and no end to it down in that little
stomach ; good, bad and indifferent. Dear,
dear! I wish Painter would use only the good,
and so his face would always seem beautiful.”

Just what Mark’s mother wished of him!

“My Mark’s heart is full of thoughts, good,
bad and indifferent. Sometimes this one, some-
times that, sits upon his face and paints it
handsome or ugly. Oh! if he would use the
good thoughts only.”

Did you ever ask Jesus to cleanse your heart
from evil thoughts?

Uncitre Cuartes. -

HIS FOLD.

(St. John viii. 27.)

NE Shepherd leads and guides the flock
aright,
Keeping it ever tenderly in sight ;
His voice is true, and in all places heard,
So follow on the sheep at His dear Word.

“I know my sheep!” the gracious Shepherd
saith ;

“Naught in the world their hearing hindereth,

For when I call they gather, far and near,

Nor know, with my protection, any fear.”

One fold, one Shepherd, happy ‘is the way
That leads to life, nor will the loved ones stray
While ever onward in His steps they tread,
Glad to be owned and guided, as is said.
Hazet Wytps, in Home Guardian.

HOW ABIJAH “MUSTERED” IN 1796.

Yo) BIJAH TERRY was my great-grand-
a, father’s friend—as good and brave a
» little lad as ever wore homespun flax
and wool garments. He came from
good old Puritan stock who fought for
liberty and freedom.

“°Bijah” helped tend the farm. There was.
always a call for ’Bijah to do this, and ’Bijah
to do that — chores in the house and out—he
was so “ willin’ an? handy,” Mother Terry said.

Don’t you know of a little tanned, freckle-
faced boy who goes barefoot in summer, and is.
areal mother boy? Ido.

Well, ’Bijah was going to the “muster”
on training-day. It was to be on the Boston
Commons. His father was a captain, and could
flourish his bright sword beautifully, and mother
kept his uniform done up in a clean linen cloth,
perfumed with bergamot and lemon thyme.

*Bijah’s mother sometimes went, about with
red eyes. She did not like the “musters” very
well, though she always helped her husband to.
“fix” up. It wasn’t long before ’Bijah began
to see that a beautiful gold: and glass bottle
and cup that came out from its honored place,
the parlor mantel, had something to do with



’ her sadness.

When the friends came in of evenings the
lovely bottle was brought out, and the dainty
drinking-glass filled, and often a drink brewed
from roast apples, lemons, loaf sugar, and a.
little from the bottle poured in it. ’Bijah
always hoped they would leave a little in the
bottom of the enp, but they always drained it.

“What’s in it, mother?” he asked, as she:
dusted it one morning.

“Headache, ’Bijah, ruin and misery, is in
this bottle.’ Mrs. Terry wept, and the boy
said no more.

“ Trainin’ day to-morrow, on the Green, an”
itll be a grand sight to see the soldiers.
Brother Abe is one of them. How many six--
pences you got for gingerbread and cider,
Bige?” A warm, dirty little hand was thrust
through a knot-hole in the tight fence, and two
new silver sixpences glittered there. It was:
Neighbor Hildred’s Richard.

“Why-ee, Richard, who gave you all that.



HOW TO BE HAPPY.

=
money?” said ’Bijah, round-eyed with wonder
at such wealth in a little boy’s hand.

“Brother Abe gave em to me. Our apples
turned out poor, an’ he means me to have, oh!
—a lot of cider, because it’s muster.”

“T’ll go to trainin’ if mother goes, but
mother doesn’t drink cider or the stuff that’s
in our lovely bottle —T’ve watched her. She
says there’s a headache an’ misery in it. Have
you a drinkin’ bottle at your house?”

“Of course we have; an’ mother keeps real
Vera Cruz in it, an’ sets it out for company.”

’Bijah sat upon the flat stone step at sunset
with his bowl] of blueberries and creamy milk.
Mother was rubbing up the brass buttons on
father’s uniform, but she sighed all the time.

Muster morning dawned clear and bright.
Father looked grand indeed in his military suit.
He called ’Bijah to him and gave him silver.
“Tt’s for the gingerbread horses. you'll want,”
he said. “You must come and watch us train,
my boy. No cowards or mush-and-milk boys
do I want about me,” and Mr. Terry at the
drum signalling, hurried away to be in time.

Tle was straight and handsome, and the
plume in his cap waved jauntily. Last muster
he did not come back looking as he went. The
fine blue uniform was soiled and dusted, his
step was unsteady, his face scarlet and swollen,
and the plume broken.and drooping. It took
mother a long time to clean the pretty suit.
Why was it?

“Will father spoil his nice clothes again,
mother?” ’Bijah asked.

“JT fear so, dear,” was the low reply.

“Isn't father a good man?” he added.

“Yes, yes, darling; why do you ask?”

“Ts it the — what’s in our glass bottle, mother,
that makes him do so?”

“Yes, dear, it is; O, my son!” and the
mother held her boy close, wishing she could
ever keep him innocent and loving. Then,
kissing him, and folding him closer still, she
combed out the yellow curls, dressed him in a
new suit of linen, and gave him his straw hat
plaited by her own fingers.

The “trainers” marched right by their door.
’Bijah sat on the flat steps and saw the gay
- crowds pass. Te cheered when he saw the tall
form of the captain, as he led hismen. Richard



called for him, but he did not leave his seat.

“Don’t you want to go?” asked his mother.

“No, mother, I’d rather not.”

“Why not, ’Bijah?” she continued.

Climbing into mother’s lap, he said, with his
lips close to her ear, “I don’t want to see father
get so he staggers and can’t talk plain; it makes
me cry. And, mother, I’m never going to drink
from that bottle.”

How proud that mother was of her boy.
After their talk she made him a whole family
of animals from sugar gingerbread, and a deli-
cious raspberry jam shortcake. Then she told
him stories of the Revolutionary War, and
they had a very happy time together.

And better than all, ’Bijah kept his word,
too. The handsome bottle is in the family
to-day, but it holds nothing more dangerous
than arnica—to heal wounds, instead of caus-
ing sore and grievous ones.

ELLA GUERNSEY.

HOW TO BE HAPPY.

ya you almost disgusted
With life, little man?
T will tell you a wonderful trick
That will bring you contentment
If anything can —
Do something for somebody, quick ;
Do something for somebody, quick!

Are you awfully tired
With play, little girl?
Weary, discouraged and sick?
Tl tell you the loveliest
Game in the world —
Do something for somebody, quick ;
Do something for somebody, quick!

Though it rains like the rain
Of the flood, little man,
And the clouds are forbidding and thick,
You can make the sun shine
In your soul, little man —
Do something for somebody, quick ;
Do something for somebody, quick!

Though the skies are like brass
Overhead, little girl,
And the walk like a well-heated brick 3.
And are earthly affairs
In a terrible whirl?
Do something for somebody, quick;

Do something for somebody, quick!
— Selected.



BABY’S CORNER.



FLUFF’S FRIEND.
sy
ELL, my dears,” said an old Mother
Bird to her children, one fine day, “it
is time we were starting South.”

“O, no! not yet,” said Fluff; “I want to
stay longer.”

“ No, indeed!” said Mother Bird; “ we must
go. The cold winter will soon be here.”

_ So they started. But naughty little Fluff

did not go with them. He hid in the pine-tree
till they were gone.

The next day it was very cold. The sky
was dark. The trees were bare, and little
snowflakes were flying about.

Poor little Fluff sat on the fence alone.
His feathers stuck out, and his feet were
blue and cold. He felt sad and lonely.
He wished he had gone with the others.
He had wanted his own way, and now that
he had it it wasn’t nice a bit.

Oh! how cold the wind was. How black
the clouds were!

“Chee! chee! chee!” said Fluff, “I’m
so hungry. I can’t find any supper. O,
dear! what shall I do?”

Just then a little girl named Daisy came
and looked out of the window.

“Oh! do see that poor little bird,” she
said. “He looks so cold. I guess he is
hungry.”

She went to the kiteben and got some
bread. She threw some crumbs on the
stones and said, “There, dear birdie, come
and eat your supper.”

Fluff looked at her with bright eyes.
He wanted some supper, but he was afraid.

“Come, Birdie; come, Birdie,” said Daisy.

She looked so sweet, and her voice was s0
kind, that Fluff forgot to be afraid. He
hopped down and ate a nice supper. Then he

felt better. He flew up in the pine-tree and



tucked his head under his wing and was soon
fast asleep. In the morning when he woke up
what do you think he saw?

His own dear mother! She had come all the
way back to find him. Oh! how glad he was.

Daisy got up early and put some more
Fluff and his mother
went down and had a nice breakfast. Then

crumbs on the stones.

they started on their journey. They sailed up
into the sky and flew, and flew, and flew, far
away. By and by they got home to the South.

It is a pretty home. There is no snow. The
sun shines, the roses bloom, and little birds

FLUFF.

never have cold toes. Fluff is happy. He

knows that his way was not best. Sometimes
when he is very happy he remembers the little
girl who fed him on that cold night. He sings
little songs about her. He will not forget her.

Mrs. C. M. Livineston.





A MAY QUEEN OF ITALY.





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YOUNG FOLKS STORY BOOK

EDITED BY PANSY



WITH NEARLY ONE HUNDRED ILLUSTRATIONS

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YOUNG FOLKS’ STORY BOOK



COLUMBUS.






“ CTOBER 11, 1492, there came to this
country the first missionary. See that
picture of this remarkable man and his
companions, when they landed at San
Salvador, on their knees thanking God for
bringing them safely over the dreadful ocean
to this new and wonderful America. He.did
not come to preach the Gospel just exactly as



missionaries now go to India or Africa to do
it. He was a sort of John the Baptist, going
on before to prepare the way.

You will now hear much of this missionary,
discoverer and grand man, forit is four hundred
years ago since he undertook his great work,
and this discovery is to be celebrated in a mag-
nificent way, especially in Chicago. So it is
Rone too soon to begin to think about it.

Now you should read a good history of this
man and of Spain, and her king and queen —
Ferdinand and Isabella — who helped Columbus
when he wanted to go on his voyage of discov-
ery, and needed ships and men and money —
as missionaries do nowadays — and everybody
called him a mad man, as missionaries like Bishop
Taylor, now in Africa, are often called, and no-
body would aid him. Yes; you must learn all
about this nation and her rulers, and about



























































































COLUMBUS'S FIRST LANDING.

ships and navigation at that ‘time — four hun-
dred years ago. Then it would do you good
to step upon one of the great Cunarders, and
try to compare it with Columbus’s ship.
A good history of Spain is Arthur Gilman’s.
Another excellent history is Prescott’s.
Don’t let another day go by without begin-
ning to think and read and talk about Columbus.
CMe Li:


WHO WAS HE?

WHO WAS HE?

missionaries. He didn’t have to go
more than two hundred miles to get
there. Nor did he have to sail. He did not
go of his own accord. He was not ordained,
ag missionaries are nowadays. He was not
married when he started. Afterward he mar-
ried one of the natives. She was a high-caste
lady. Her name began with A. He had two
sons. Their names began with M. and E. -

Within an hour he was the poorest man in
the country and the richest, the greatest slave
and the greatest freeman, the feeblest and the
strongest, a great criminal, a greater judge, the
tenderest, and yet to some the most terrible
of men. No man in all that region could see
'so far down into the future as could this
missionary.

One of the strangest things about it all was,
he: never went back home—as missionaries



nowadays do every ten years— but his home— -

his father and old friends and neighbors— came
to him to hear him preach and dine with him
and buy wheat of him and receive great favors.
Indeed, many of them just broke up house-
keeping and went where he lived and settled
near him.

If it hadn’t been for him, it looks as though
the whole world would have starved to death.

How much often depends upon one man or
woman or child.

How much may this day hang upon what
you say or say not!

So it was with this strange missionary. How
little the society that sent him out thought
what would come of it all! Truth to tell, they
did not like him overmuch, ‘and sent:him on a
mission to get rid-of him. It was so strange;
in a few years every member of that society
paid him a visit, several, indeed, and the last
one lasted years and years ard years.

And all this happened years and years ago,
and miles and miles and miles away.

Suppose now you read this puzzle over three
times to grandma, and then with a wise look
say, “I know. It was By Cc. M. L.

~



—MISSIONARY WORK OF

TWO KINDS.

MISSIONARY WORK OF TWO KINDS.

“ GENTLEMAN who has ‘traveled in

_ Africa says that one Sunday at the dia-
mond mines he countéd over three hundred
natives, all drunk. A funeral occasion there,
it is said, is something ‘horrible, for hundreds
of dollars are often spent for rum for the cele-
bration. So this missionary work is going on
all the while with that of the churches, for all
this intoxicating liquor comes from so-called
“Christian” countries, and a very large-amount
of it from our own. Look on the map and find
little Sierra Leone, and think that into that
country alone were shipped last year about two
hundred million gallons, or much over a billion
drinks, which is a very much larger number
than could be counted in a year, working twelve
hours a.day. Every ship that carries mission-
aries, carries liquor enough to counteract the
work of a thousand missionaries.

Ho. should you like to go to Samoa and
be treated to a drink of kava? You
don’t know what that is?

Why, it is a root that belongs to the pepper
family of plants, and when properly prepared,
makes a drink of which the Samoans are very
fond, and which they are sure to offer to their
guests. _ Perhaps you would like to know how
it is made? The belle of the village is always
chosen to prepare it. The first thing ‘she does,
is to carefully wash out her mouth! Then she
fills it with bits of root, and chews and chews;
by and by she removes the mass from. her
mouth, places it in a great wooden bowl at her
side, fills her mouth again and chews. When
enough of the root has been made into pulp by -
this human machine, water is poured on it, and
the young lady, having first washed her hands
carefully, dives them into the bow] and mixes
pulp and water vigorously ; then, when strained,
it is ready to drink. If you care to hear more
about these curious:people and their ways, get
the Century for May, which has a long article,
and many pictures describing them.



In Tokio it is estimated that there are 560
persons added to Christianity every month.
*

Ngans THE DIFFERENCE.—THE JUDGE’S ENTERTAINMENT.



THE DIFFERENCE.

N every Mohammedan country it is more
fun to be a boy than to be-a girl.- When
‘a boy is born everybody rejoices; when a girl
is born everybody is disappointed, even dis-
gusted. The father pets and fondles his son;
he will not speak of his daughter, If he is
compelled to mention his having a daughter he
begs your pardon for introducing the subject.

As the boy grows up he is sent to school.

He learns to read .and write, and studies the.
Koran —the Arab’s Bible—and is taught the |

duties of his religion. Not many years ago a
Mohammedan said to Dr. Jessup of Beirut,
when the missionary suggested that his daugh-
ter should be sent to ‘school, “Educate a girl!
‘ You might as well educate a cat!
The difference between the treatment of a
- boy and girl is continued until the boy is pre-
pared to take his place as a man among men
and the girl becomes the slave of some man.

In Beirut and other places where the Gospel .

of Christ is getting hold of the hearts and
minds of this people. a change! is coming ; gui
are being educated.

Rev. J. H. Dutwer, in Romard:



A MODEL BOY.

NE of our boys told us in thé children’s
meeting how he had been tempted. He
went to the ranch to visit his parents. Just as
_ he entered the house he saw his step-father
pushing the bottles of liquor under the hed.
The next week he went again and found them
drinking. They tried to persuade him to taste
the whiskey, offering him a dollar if he would;
finally they offered him three dollars if he
would but taste. But he said he. would not
touch it if they would give him three hundred
dollars; that he had taken a pledge never
to taste it, and that he would stand true to his
promise; he would not lie for any one.
Mrs, Austin (of Alaska) in the Interior.

Tre Sultan has given authority to construct

and to maintain for seventy-one years a railway
from Jaffa to Jerusalem,

THE JUDGE’S ENTERTAINMENT.
1

JHE Judge was a goat, the property, if
) the term may be applied to so intelli-
9 gent an animal, of Ralph Seymour and
his brother Phil. : He was a goat whose
grave and rever end demeanor had won

him his name. The truth is, he bore a slight

resemblance to thé genuine judge who at stated
intervals dealt justice in the same town with
his namesake.

The Judge (meaning my hero) had a remark-
able appetite, which covered a very wide range
of. objects. He was not particular whether he
was. eating grass, straw or newspapers, or even
articles of wearing apparel, as some of his
fellow towns-people discovered to their sorrow.
His only occupations were eating and deliber-*
ating, and as the latter process did not neces:
sarily interrupt the former, they were usually
carried on simultaneously. ._Tom Smith said
he had seen the Judge eat a flat-iron with a,
leather strip tied to its; but the Judge and I
both agree that Tom Smith’s testimony is not



’ reliable.

At the time when my story begins there
were two missionaries in town. One was a
real, genuine missionary —from a place with a

_dreadful name off in Hindoostan — who was

trying to-raise money to buy the little Hindoo-
stanee children little Hindoostanee books. He
had spoken in all the Sunday-schools, and the
boys and girls, Ralph and Phil Seymour among
them, were. very much interested in’ raising -
money-to help this missionary.

The other missionary was just as "genuine,
only he didn’t call himself one. Nobody called
him one. They called him a book-agent. He
didn’t speak in the Sunday-schools; he didn’t
even go around bothering the Sunday-school
children’s fathers and mothers. He sold the
stores a great many books, and the stores sold
them to the.people. There were Detective
Stories, with very cheap covers, and delightful
pictures of big men with pistols.. There were
“ Lord Lynne’s Choice,” arid-“ A Fatal Secret,”
and “The Terrible Temptation.” There were
beantiful story papers, called the “Firelight

3
“THAT LITTLE ELLEN SHULER.”- «





Companion.” And all these things were so
cheap and interesting, that the people in town,
and especially the boys and girls in town, read
“a great many of them.
Ralph and Phil Seymour’s papa and mamma

did not believe in these books, and taught their’

children to believe that they were doing a



A YOUNG ARAB.

great deal of harm. And it was in this way,

strangely enough, that Ralph and Phil came ~

to think of a way for raising some money for
Mr. Bradley, the first missionary. ©
know whether it was the Judge who inspired
them with the thought, or not, as he medita-
tively chewed a Tribune which had floated out
to the fence-corner. It was Ralph who sug-
gested it, and Phil thought it was a very nice
plan indeed.

“Let's go and get him,” said Phil. He
meant, the Judge.

“ All right,” said Ralph.

“He must be at the Wailing Place,, said

Phil.
And there they found him, smacking his lips
over the last corner of a “Firelight Cerra ey

IT don’t

The Judge, like some wiser sages, I fear, was
not to be relied upon in a taste for literature.
The Wailing Place was the rear of Mr.

Smith’s barn, which was very high, and had

no expression on its face at all. Here the |
Judge, with some other goats in town—all

very much less’ respectable than he— used

sometimes to congregate, with their heads to/
the wall, and such a mournful.expression on
their faces, that Ralpb had once declared they
looked exactly like the Jews at the Wailing -
Place in Jerusalem! After that the spot came —
to-be called the Wailing Place, and there the
Judge was pretty sure to be, when he’ had so:

far forgotten his superior education. and station

as to huts far away from the Seymour place.

Ralph and Phil brought him home, and hav-
ing thought a little longer, went in to tell the
plan to Papa Seymour, who helped them ané
improved it, as he always did.

Thus it came to pass that the next week
there was posted in the Square (sometimes.
called the Green, probably because it was
neither square nor green) the following an-

. houncement:

MISSIONARY ENTERTAINMENT

AT MR. SEYMOUR’S WOODSHED
Frapay Niaur.

For the Benejit of Mr. Bradiley’s Missionary Fund,

Under the auspices of the Judge.
ADMITTANCE :. ‘‘ FIRELIGHT COMPANION.”

PARANETE.



zs Toe LITTLE ELLEN, SHULER. ee





ial LIZABETH was in the garden explain-
“74 ing something to the boys with a
Sep troubled air. Henry was listening
- gravely, and Beyoe with an amused
smile on his face.

“Come here,” he said, beokoning ‘to his
mother and aunt, who were coming slowly
down the lawn. “Come and listen to Eliza-

- beth going into high tragedy over the depravity
~ of the human race.”
“

“THAT LITTLE ELLEN SHULER.”



ee ee

“ What is it, Elizalieth ?” Mrs. Chapin asked,
as she paused by the young girl’s chair.

Elizabeth turned toward her.

“Why, mamma, it is those seeds, you know,
which I bought and started for the class. -Be-
fore I went away last
spring I explained to
them that the plants
were bought with my
missionary money, and
therefore did not be-
long to me, but were
the Lord’s. I was very
solemn and careful
about the explanation,
and they seemed to un-
derstand. They were to
raise flowers to sell at
the hotels so that they
might have money to
put in the home and
foreign mission boxes;
you know the little
things never have any-
thing to give. I told
them if they took care
of the plants and
watered them, that the
flowers would be their
gift to the Lord. That
is, that they would
honestly earn the money
for him, and he would
accept it as their gift.
Well, that little Ellen
Shuler seems to have been the most successful
of them all; her plant has really done wonders ;
it has grown into almost a tree. She has had
any number of blossoms from it, and they were
so large and perfect that they brought good
prices; now what has the child done but spent
every penny on herself, buying shoes and a
bonnet, and I don’t know what. I can’t seem
to make her feel that she has been doing
wrong, yet it is just the same as stealing, you
know, and I’m discouraged.”

Raynor laughed, though his mother and aunt
looked sober enough, and Mrs. Chapin said, —

“Poor little ignorant thing! One cannot
but be sorry for her. I suppose she was really







in need of shoes, and bonnet, and such things.”

“O, yes, mamma! They are poor enough,
but that doesn’t alter the fact that she has
taken what did not in the least belong to her.
It is so discouraging to teach and teach, and









































































ELIZABETH EXPLAINS,

find that you have accomplished no more than
that. Why, Auntie, I’ve had that child in my
class ,for nearly two years, and see how well ~
Pve succeeded in training her.” . i
“THAT LITTLE ELLEN SHULER.”

“Jt is a distressing proof of the depravity
-of the human heart, just as I said,” declared
‘Raynor. “Who would suppose that in the
breast of little children would lurk such wick-
-edness?” :

There was an air of gay mockery in his tone,
and Elizabeth turned toward him in grave
inquiry. sf é

' “Raynor, what makes you treat it in this
way? Don’t you really think that the child
has been guilty of dishonesty?”

“Why, of course,” he said, still laughing,
“she is the most thieving of mortals; but then,
I don’t know that we ought to be surprised or
‘disappointed, in a sense; think how the child
has been brought up, and what is the probable
‘standard of her father in regard to all questions
of honesty. You couldn’t expect to undo in
two years the tendencies that were born with
her, and the teachings of a life-time. I’m not
‘surprised in the least.” :

“We can hardly realize what a temptation
it must have been to the child,” said Mrs.
‘Chapin gently. “Think how little she sees of
money, and what a trial it must be to her not
to be dressed like other children whom she
sees; and how little she really knows or cares
about missions or benevolence. I think as
Raynor says, you ought not to be surprised.”

“Well, but, mamma, she stoutly declares that
‘she has done nothing wrong; that I gave her
the plant for her.own, and told her what she
earned would be her very own, and that she
- had a right to do what she liked with it after
- that; and she brought me a miserable little
penny which she said she had saved to give to
the missionary box.”

Elizabeth could not keep from smiling at the
thought, though the tears were very near the
‘surface. As for Raynor, he shouted.

- “She’s willing to divide the spoils, is she?”
he said, between the bursts of laughter. “Come,
now, I think that’s encouraging. Cheer up,
- Elizabeth, you will make a saint of the little
Shuler girl yet.”

Then Henry, who had not spoken since his
mother joined them, and whose face was grave,
even sorrowful, said slowly, —

“Surely, Elizabeth, though you may be sad
about this, you cannot be surprised. Is there

so much honesty with the Lord’s possessions in.
these days that any personal appropriation
should astonish us ?”

“Why,” said Elizabeth, hesitating, “there is
a great deal of selfishness, it is true, but people
don’t as a rule deliberately take that which
belongs to God to use on themselves. Do
they ?” Pa? , ‘

“Tt seems to me they are doing it all the
time, everywhere; don’t you think so, mamma?
Doing it with things which are much more im-
portant than money ; and it is not confined to
those who, like poor little Ellen Shuler, have
had no teaching, but is found in homes where
the highest idea of honesty might be expected.”

“ When it comes to that,” said Raynor, with
more gravity than he had used before, “I think
you are too sweeping altogether. The world
is far from perfect, but most of us can with
justice lay claim to common: honesty, I think.
We don’t deliberately use what doesn’t belong
to us. Dve a case in point myself” — with a
little good-humored Jaugh—‘“ Uncle Horace
sent me a gold piece at Christmas, you know,
half to be used as I liked, and half for benevo-
lence; now, though I’ve been bankrupt for two
weeks and have cast longing looks at the box
where the half of that gold piece reposes wait-
ing for an especially interesting object on which ~
to bestow it, I declare to you that no thought

‘of spending it on myself has been entertained

for a moment. If I’m so virtuous, my good
brother, may you not hope to find honesty more
general than you seem to suppose? By the
way, I believe I’ll spend that money on the
little Shuler Pharisee. I’m getting interested
in my fellow sinner.”

“T was not thinking of money,” said Henry,
in a grave voice. “‘Ye are not your own, ye
are bought with a price.’ I was thinking of
that verse, Raynor, and of valuable lives which
ought to be spent in His service, being used in
other ways. What, after all, is one poor little
plant in Ellen Shuler’s window, the only one
ever given to her, beside our entire garden
given’to us to cultivate on purpose to raise
flowers and fruit for Christ? And we raise
lovely flowers of character, and give promise
of good fruit, which we are bent on using for
our own delight, without a thought of the
MWEPO AND DULANGA.—SHE* WAS PERSECUTED.



directions. Isn’t that so, Raynor?” and he
laid his hand tenderly on his young brother’s
shoulder. : ey

“ There’s no need for your entering the theo-
logical seminary,” said Raynor, with an attempt
at another laugh, “you can preach now, and
make a text out of poor little Ellen Shuler and
me. So she and J are.on a level, after all, as
regards honesty. I didn’t think it, but perhaps
it is so. Elizabeth, you take Ellen in hand,
and Henry will take me, and between you see
what you can accomplish.”

Then, as he was about to move away, he laid
his hand on Henry’s arm, adding gravely, “Tl
say this for your argument, my boy, I wish
with all my heart I was half as honest and
good as you are.” Pansy.

MWEPO AND DULANGA.

ISSIONARY ARNOT of Africa, speak-
‘Ling of a band of slaves, says: “ Among
them were two girls, Mwepo and Dulanga, fast
friends, but the rough hands of Msidi’s soldiers
now separated them. Three years after I was
talking with Msidi, when some slaves were
brought in. The youngest was a girl of nine,
suffering from ulcers on her feet.

Msidi gave away the healthy ones, and then
asked if I could do anything with this one. I
took her to my cottage and nursed her till she
recovered. ; Se

I happened again to be sitting beside Msidi,
breakfasting with him. A little girl entered
and threw herself at his feet, and did obeisance
by rubbing dust on her forehead and arms.
She had run away from her mistress because of
a severe beating. She had traveled all night,
six or eight miles. Some of Msidi’s breakfast
lay by me, which I handed in pity to the poor
thing. Ina short time I left. Looking back
I saw the child following me, Msidi saying if
she was afraid of beating, she would better
follow the white man.

_ So on she*tame with me to my cottage. I
handed her over to the care of the other little
girl, Mwepo, when, to my astonishment, they
few into each other’s arms, embracing one
another and weeping. The two Luba free-born

children had met again, in my cottage, after
each had passed through her own three years
of unmixed sorrow and hardship. It was days
before I could do anything with them, so con-
tinually did: they hang round each other’s neck.”

SHE WAS PERSECUTED.

HEN I was seven years old I first ene

to a public school. Brother wanted to

go to Tokio to school. Father would not per-
mit him. My brother was very sorry, and
asked him over and over again. .At last they
quarreled about it, but he did not go. So he
waited God’s time. The next year father died ;.
then he asked mother to go to Tokio. So the
next year he went there and entered the semi-
nary. While he was there he sent Christian.
books to mother. One summer when he came

‘home on his vacation she went to church.

When she heard the preaching she felt she was,
a great sinner. The next year she became a
Christian. I also went to. church with her.
The next year I was baptized. From that
time I went to church every Sunday and heard
preaching, and was taught at Sunday-school,
and was very happy, but there was one sorrow
for me. After I became a Christian, I was
teased: by the boys at school. They threw
stones at me or struck me. The teacher also
teased me, saying, “Jesus, Jesus.” At first I
was sad and cried, but my mother said I must
not beangry about such things; Jesus wasteased ~
sneered at, crucified and killed by his enemies.
Sapa Hayasut, in The Interior.

(HERE has recently died, in the South Ses
Islands, Queen Pomare, of Tahiti and
Moarea, seventy years old. Let us see how.
much work may be done in a lifetime. When
she was born there was not a native Chistian in-
that region. When she died, more than three
hundred islands had been entirely Christianized. -
Over in Madagascar, twenty-five years ago, the
missionaries had seven little schools, with less
than four hundred scholars. Three years ago
they reported more than a thousand schoois, °
and neariy three hundred tnousand sshriars,
i

A

= sh \

Sima

|
7 ——— ——— —<——=

A STORY THAT TELLS ITSELF.


aa =

CHRISTMAS EVE.—HOW PAPA KNEW.

CHRISTMAS EVE.

ie the snow the lights are gleaming, ~
From above the stars are beaming
Through the cold ;
And the year sighs in the blowing,
And weeps softly in the snowing } ;
He is old.

Merry music now is speeding,
Now advancing, now receding,
Through the air,
-And a sound of Christmas pleasure
Fills each joyful, thoughtful measure —
Half a prayer.

And the youth and brown-eyed maiden

With their gifts of gladness laden,
Soft and slow 3

Tell the wondrous, ancient story

Of the first great Christmas glory,
Long ago!

For o’er mountain, mist and’ meadows.
? 7:

Through the centuries’ gold-lined shadows,

Shines the Star !
Through the sighing and the sobbing
Comes the music’s joyous throbbing
From afar.

And the angels seem a-whispering,

"Mid the stars’ pale, silvery glistening,
In the frost,

Of the good-will and the glory

Coming down from dead years hoary —
Heavenly host!

Is there wonder that all nations,

From their wide-set signal stations

Ali along

The great track of pain and sadness,

Catch a glimpse of breaking sla
Raise their song,

On this night when vows were plighted

*Twixt the heavens and earth, united
By one Love,

And the skies, with joy o’erflowing,

Sent their clear-toned heralds glowing,
From above?

As around the earth doth hover,

And its stains lightly o’ercover,
The fair snow,

With its purity and beauty

(The frost-angels’ happy duty),
Even so

Let the good news of the morrow
Cover o’er the old-time sorrow
Near and far!
Let the clouds break into lightness!
Let our lives shine with the brightness
Of the Star!

Let the bells be set a-chiming,
As, the sunrise steeps up-climbing,
Breaks the day!) _
For the Saviour of the sages
Is the Saviour of the-ages,
And alway !. é =.
: R. M. ApEn.



HOW PAPA KNEW.

A LITTLE girl of nine summers came to
ask her pastor about joining the church.
The pastor said, —

“ Nellie, does your father think you are a
Christian ?”

“ Yes, sir.”

“Have you told him?”

“ No, sir.”

“ How, ens does he know?”

“ He sees.’

“ How does he see that ?”

“Sees that I am a better girl.”

*¢ What else does he see?”

cc Boe I love to read my Bible and love to
pray.”

“Then you think he sees you are a Christian,
do you?”

“JT know he does; he can’t hel it,” was -
Nellie’s quick reply. And with “a modest,
happy boldness she was sure her father knew
she was a Christian because he could not help
seeing it in her life.

Is not such the privilege of God’s people
to be sure that others see they are following
Christ ? — Selected.






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‘ROSSIE’S EDUCATION.

ROSSIE’S EDUCATION.




Oe




(( T began years ago when he was three
oy years old. Oht I don’t mean that, of
nf vi course; in point of fact his education

f really began nearly three years before

that time; but I mean he was three
years old on the Christmas morning of which I
am about to tell you. And he looked very







content, until with shouts of glee he was pro-
nounced ready for his ride.”

“Not in that rig!” Yes, in exactly that
rig — dolls and shovels, and clocks, and drums,
and books, and balls, and every conceivable

-thing stuffed into his pockets, into his hat, -

hung on his buttons, wound about his neck,
pinned to his sash; everywhere that toys and
handkerchiefs, and books and boxes and all

NEARS AGO,
t

much like the pictare I have given you. They
had buttoned his father’s coat about him over
his own little cloth sack, stuffed out Uncle
Dick’s hat with handkerchiefs and mufflers

until it would stay on the child’s curly head,-

and then trimmed him up to their hearts’

the rest could be put, you may be sure they |
were put. ‘
Besides all this, in one hand he held the
reins attached to a fierce-looking team piled
high with toys, and flourished a riding-whip in
the other to use, on occasion, over the heads
ROSSIE’S EDUCATION.





Fee

of a still wilder-looking “rig” at his right.
It was some trouble to get this remarkable
human bundle bundled into the sleigh at the
‘door, and the real horses attached to it tossed
their heads and pawed the snow somewhat
doubtfully, over all the noise that was made
during the packing, but at last they were off —
Papa, Auntie Dell, Laurie and Rossie. Christ-
mas morning calls — such was their business.
They drove down one of the main avenues
“ Just for fun,” Laurie said, then turned down
a back street and began stopping almost at
every house. Sometimes the people who lived
in the houses came to the sidewalk to receive
their call, and sometimes the odd little bundle
was lifted out and went inside. Wherever
there was a sick person, or an old: person, or
one too lame, or too young to come to the
sleigh, Rossie was carried in to see them; and
at every home he left some of his load —a ball
and doll, or a cup and knife at this one, a hand-
kerchief and a muffler, and a toy sled and a
bag of candies at that, and sometimes from the
’ large basket piled in behind apie, or a chicken,
or, some delicacy of that sort; at one place a
fat. little turkey all ready to cook was left by
the red-cheeked baby in: whose name all the
gifts were marked. That was for Auntie Per-
kins, who lived alone and had the rheumatism;
she had a ‘good, hard-working son, who with
his wife and three children always tried to get
away from the big house where the father
and mother worked, to spend Christmas with
“mother. Rossie’on these occasions always
. furnished the turkey—at least this was the
third time he had done it. ;
Well, it was a grand frolic. No one ayes
"it better than the baby, who understood only a
part of what was going on. I don’t know how

early in life he began to remember scenes like .

these, but I know he considers them as much a
part of Christmas as the snow is, and he has
neyer yet seen a Christmas without snow. on
the ground. *

’ As I told you, this one which the picture
describes took place a good while ago. Rossie
‘is fourteen now, and is called by his friends
“Roswell,” and by his professors in school
. “Chester,” and he writes his name “ Roswell

B. Chester, Jr.,” with many a handsome flourish

at a laugh,

thereto, but a Christmas frolic of some sort,
modeled after this one, he always contrives to
have. He is not given quite as much help
about it in these days as when he was younger.
Much of the planning-he has to do for himself,
as well as some of the sacrificing with a view
to carrying out his plans.

His father is a rich man, but a wise one, and
Roswell has his allowance, as well as a certain
income which he earns; but he: also has many
wants, and it requires planning and sacrificing
to have his Christmas “frolic.” But on the
whole he succeeds very well.

It is not Christmas yet, it is true, and Roswell

B. Chester’s plans are still an immense secret
from certain of his friends; but as I am sure
you will never tell until after the secret is out,
I mean to share it with you.

Auntie Perkins still lives in the little Ronse
where she did when the fat turkey was carried
to her, but the good son is gone, and two of
the children, and the daughter-in-law with her
one boy, lives with Auntie Perkins. The boy
is sick. Something is the matter with his spine
which the doctors fear cannot. be cured, and
poor Joe, only thirteen years old, has to. lie all
the days and nights in a certain position, and
suffer at times a good deal of pain. “The
nights are bad enough,” he said one day to
Roswell, “but the days are worse. I do get

~so tired! If I could only write, or make fig- -

ures, it would be such a help; you know I was
fond of writing, and lots of queer things go
slipping through my mind that Td like to put
on paper if I could, just for the fun of it;
sometimes I think they might come to. more

than fun, some day. Then, if I could figure, I
‘could go on with my arithmetic, and I was

good,at that, you know, but I can’t.” The
sentence ended with a weary sigh.

“Why can’t you?” asked Roswell, deeply
interested. What if Jo should write books
and be a great author, and earn ever so much
money! He had heard of such things. —

“Why,” said Jo, with a queer little attempt
“T can’t move myself the least bit,
and I can’t somehow twist my hand around to
make the quirls to the letters —I never knew,
before I was hurt, that it took so much twist-
ing to make letters. I hurt myself trying to

.

Wi oe




THE ROYAL TENS.



write the other day, and the doctor said I
mustn’t do it again. I don’t suppose I should
care to, either, for I couldn’t make the letters
plain enough for me to tell myself what they
were an hour afterwards.” And again Jo tried
to smile. Roswell went away very thoughtful.

That was some time in August, but his
Christmas plans were already being considered.
Out of this talk grew so large a plan that it
needed much considering, and indeed it looked
to the resolute boy for quite a while as though
the thing was really too large for him to do
alone, but he has done it. He doesn’t think I
know how many things he has gone without in
order to accomplish it, and I’ll never tell, only.
this: on Christmas morning by nine o’clock, I
know there will stand on a neat little frame
contrived expressly for it, and fitting like a
footstool into Jo’s bed, a Century Type-writer,
weighing only three pounds, easily lifted from
bed to chair, or table, or. floor, and with the
raised plate at such an angle that Jo’s eyes can
see all the letters and figures, and with so
ingenious a contrivance for making the “twists”
in the letters that Jo need have no further fear
about not being able to read his work, for it
will be in print.

Isn’t that an outgrowth of “Christmas
frolics” worth telling? To be sure the ma-
chine, which stands at this moment on’ one
corner of Roswell’s study table, has cost him
thirty dollars, and the Kodac camera on which
he had supposed he had set his heart must
retire into the background for another year;
but he looks at the neat little maple case which
incloses the machine always with a smile, and
I know that on Christmas morning, 1889, there
will be two happy boys, namely: Joseph Per-
kins, and Roswell B. Chester, Jr. Pansy.

Apne inventor of a safety elevator invited

several to witness a test of his invention.
Three men got on the elevator, and it was con-
fidently expected that when the elevator was
cut loose it would easily and safely descend a
distance of some sixty-five feet, owing to cer-
tain safety appliances. Instead, however, when
it was cut loose, it descended with awful ve-
locity, and when the door was opened the three

men were found lying on the bottom of the car-
insensible, and frightfully bruised and mangled. -

There is a similar danger in spiritual things.
Many, trusting in some brilliant theory or false-
reasoning, have gone down to death, in spite-
of all their confidence in their system. There-
is only one thing that has stood the test of the
centuries, and trusting in it not one. has ever
been disappointed, and that is the simple
religion of the Lord Jesus Christ. — Zhe:
Treasury.

THE ROYAL TENS.

ees something beautiful-to tell —
Perhaps you all have heard ;
But if you have I’ll tell it,
Pll add one happy word.
*Tis all about the royal tens
Fast mustering in the land ;
For sweet and loving service,
Each ten a joyous band.

Each unit wears a silver cross
To show it is a part, .

Stamped with the kingly “I. H. N.”
Above each loyal heart,

_ Held by a purple ribbon —

, Purple, the royal hue—

And royal is the labor
These workers find to do.

They are the King’s own daughters,
And each one “lends a hand”
To help in every lovely way
The helpless ofthe land.
Some do grand work and noble,
Some wait on little needs.
There’s always for the weakest one
Some little loving deeds.

They work as worked their Sovereign
To bring upon the earth
The reign of love and blessing
Begun at Jesus’ birth.
Come, then, ye little maidens,
Your loving service bring ;
Come all and join the royal tens,
Ye daughters of the King. ~
Emity Baker SMALLE..
CAUGHT.



‘lth,




BABY’S

BABY’S CORNER.

THE DOG THAT WENT TO CHURCH.



g@~

APTAIN is a big black dog with a
He
knows almost as much as some men.

shaggy coat. He is very wise.
His name for short is Cap.

Cap’s master lives a mile from town. On
Sundays he takes his family to church.
He likes it

best in winter, because there is no dust, and

Cap likes to go to church too.

there is a soft white cover on the ground.
After breakfast the big sleigh. dashes up to
the door. All the children get in and cuddle



CAPTAIN.

Then the horses
prance off; the bells jingle, and Cap trots
along behind, a very happy ‘dog.

Cap used to follow the family into church
and lie down at his master’s feet.

down in the warm’ robes.

Sometimes
he fell asleep —Cap, not his master —and he
_ snored so loud everybody heard him. It made
Bobby laugh right out.
After that his master said he must be left at
-home on Sundays. So‘they tried to slip off

CORNER.



as

while Cap lay by the fire and not let him know.
But they could not cheat Cap. He always

-came scampering after them as hard as he >

could run, and looked up at them with his big
brown eyes as if to say, “ Why did you go off
and leave me?” Sy

One night his master said, “To-morrow Cap
must be shut up. He must not go to church
any more.”

So in the morning Bobby and his father took
Cap out to the barn. Then they went out
quick and shut the door.

He

scratched on the door and cried, but nobody

- Poor Cap had a long, lonely day.

heard him. The church-bells were ringing and
the sun was shining — it shone through a knot-
hole in the barn—he wanted to go to church’ 4
somuch!- Buthe had to give it up. Poor Cap!

“Next Sunday morning after breakfast they
went to get Cap to shut him up again, but

doggie was not to be found. They looked up-

_ stairs and downstairs, and outdoors and every-

where, nut no Cap. So they started for .
church.

When they had got almost there, what did
they see but Cap sitting in a cérner of a fence
waiting for them!

. He was glad to see them. He jumped up
and wagged his tail and trotted after the sleigh.

Cap was a wise old fellow. After that he

seemed to know when Sunday came. When

the nine o’clock bell rang Cap was up and off.

Sometimes he would_get to church first, and
when they came, there he would sit in a corner
of the pew. Even Bobby’s father could not
help laughing then.

But Cap snored so badly one Sunday that
his master had to put him out right in the
midst of the sermon. Cap went out with his
head down and his tail down, very much
ashamed.

After meeting his master told the minister
how much Cap loved to go to church.




ADA’S TREASURE BOX.

. The minister said, “ Poor old fellow, let him
come, I will find a place for him.”

' So the next Sunday the minister took. Cap

up into his nice warm study and let him lie by

the fire and sleep while the folks were in

ehurch. |
And now Cap is a very happy dog once
more. He goes to church every Sunday when
the others go, and does not have to run away.
Mrs. C. M. Livineston.

ADA’S TREASURE BOX.

I’ was on a Sunday afternoon just a
year ago that Ada sat all alone in her
room, book in hand, but looking into
space. She had been studying her

Sunday-school lesson, and had been interested
in it, but something troubled her.

The door opened quietly, and Edgar came
in, Edgar was nearly always quiet in his
movements, so different from Ada.

“But then, he is a grown-up man,” Ada used
to say, “and I am only a little girl.”

The fact was, that Edgar was not yet nine-
teen, but he seemed “ grown-up” to his little
sister.

“Hada happy time?” he asked cheerfully,
That was another thing about Edgar, he was
nearly always cheerful.

“ Why —yes,” Ada said, drawing the words
out in the way we do when, after all, we feel a
little uncertain about the answer we are mak-
ing. “Only, Edgar” —

“Yes; that is my name.”

’ «TI wish I had a very new way of reading
the Bible.” é

“A very new way—what do you want of
that? Have you used up the old way?” |

“Not used it up, but then, I’m sort.of tired
of it. I don’t mean that, either; I mean that
it doesn’t seem to help me as much as it might
—I forget, you see; I like averse very much,
and have a nice pleasant thought about it, and
think I'll keep it always to belong to that
verse, but I don’t. The next time I read the
verse, or the story, I try to think what it was,

and I can’t. All I remember is, that once when :
I read this before there was something nice in.
it, which won’t come back to me.”

“J understand. How would it do to write a
neat little word, now and then, on the margin
of your Bible? Something that students call
‘catch words,’ with which to refresh your
memory ?” ;

“ Aunt Laura won’t let me do that. She
says it makes a Bible look badly, all marked up

200

oo



“ LOOKING INTO SPACE,

with pencil, and that jt would look dreadful in
my Bible, because I am such a poor writer. I
do write badly,” added Ada humbly.

‘Edgar privately thought that when he had
the management of a little girl she should mark
her Bible as much as she pleased, provided she
did it intelligently, and as well as she could.
“THOU GOD

SEEST. ME.”



—



But he had too much sense to criticise Aunt.

Laura, who stood in place of mother to this
little sister. .

“ That’s the trouble, is it?” he said cheerily.
“Well, you must hurry and grow up, and learn
to write beautifully, because ‘grown-up Bibles’

. look better marked than. they do left blank.
Meantime, let us see if we cannot think of a
plan to help us. You know I go away to-
morrow ?”

“O, yes!” said Ada quickly, “I know-that,”
and she drew a long, long sigh. —

“Well, suppose during the year that I am
away you and I read over the Sabbath-school
lesson once every day, and write on a slip of
paper one thought which we have found, some-
thing to comfort us, or warn us, or in some
way help us? We will each have a little box
to keep them in—TI will furnish them — just
alike for you and me; each shall have a tiny
key which we will wear. [Tl put mine on my
watch chain, and yours can be fastened-on a
ribbon and tucked out of sight around your
neck if you choose. We will call them our

_ treasure-boxes, and none but us shall see the

inside of them. On Monday of each week we
will mail their contents to each other. Then,
on the following Sunday you will have my
thoughts, and I will have yours, and we will
read them over and enjoy them; then we will
each kneel down and ask God to help us through
the week to live by them. Then next New

Year’s day I hope to be at home again, you
know, and on Sunday I will bring my treasure
box to this room filled with your helpful

thoughts, and you shall bring yours here filled’

with mine, and we will dip into them and enjoy
them together. Will not that be a help?”

“A lovely help,” said Ada, and she smiled
more cheerfully than she had been able to
since she had known that Edgar was going out
West to his uncle’s for a “ whole year.”

So now you know how Ada filled her treas-
ure box for the year 1889. It has almost
closed, with her. ‘Next Sunday,” she says to
herself gleefully, as she sits alone on the last
Sabbath of the old year, and she turns the
pretty little key and peeps into the beloved
“treasure box,” well filled now with small
cards, each having a thought printed on it in

Edgar’s round, plain hand. How many treas-
ures she has, and what a delightful hour(#she
and Edgar will spend over them.
The question is, my Blossoms, could not you
each start a “treasure box” of your own?
Pansy.

“THOU GOD SEEST ME.”



| ie is a copy of a “sermon” which a
“at little girl preached years ago to her
1 playmates. She is a young lady now,
‘ and an earnest Christian worker. She
sent me a copy of her “sermon” to
show me how little people sometimes think of
the truths they have learned. She says it did
not seem to occur to her that she had based
her right-doing on very low ground, and that
it was several years afterwards before she saw
how poor her motive was, after all.

Read the little sermon carefully, and see if
you understand what the lady means by her
criticism.

“ A little boy and a little girl were sent to
carry a basket of cake to their grandmother,
The boy was going to eat one, when the little:
girl said, ‘Thou God seest me.’ The little boy
did not eat the cake after that; he did not
want to do wrong if God saw him.”

We must try to do right, for if we do
wrong God sees us and he will surely punish
us. . Mary was a little girl who lived with her
mother. They were very poor. -The mother
did washing and ironing, and Mary carried the
clothes around to the houses
belonged.

One day she found a silver half-dollar in one
of the pockets. She was going to keep it,.
when our text came into her mind; she thought
that God would punish her if she did, so she
gave it back. When she had given it back she
felt very much happier than if she had kept it.

We must try to remember that God sees us.
all the time.

2



where they

“God sees us all the time,
No matter what we do.

He sees us when we tell a lie,
And when we tell what’s true.’”’

E. E. GC.
A NEW YEAR’S BREAKFAST.







A NEW YEAR’S BREAKFAST.


BABY’S CORNER.



BABY’S CORNER.

A STOCKING FULL.



T was almost Christmas time, and Uncle
Ben was in a big ship on the ocean.
He was in a hurry to get home, because
he had something nice to put in a little girl’s
stocking. Her name was Nellie.
were blue. Her hair was yellow and curly,
and she had a little pink mouth round as an o.
What was Uncle Ben going to bring her?
Something in a cage.
But
it was something very nice that he had brought

Was it a canary bird? No, it was not.

from a country far away over the seas.
Well, the big ship got there at last. Christ-
mas morning came, and Nellie’s stocking hung
in the chimney cor-
Uncle Ben
was there, too,
up
the
Mamma was there
sitting by the fire

ner.
walking and

down room.

talking to him.

At last the door
opened and Nellie
She had
her new blue dress
on. ‘“Halloo, lit-
tle bluebird,” said
Uncle Ben; “fly
over to me and give me a kiss, and then let

ran in.



NELLIE AND POLLY

us see what is in the stocking.”

Just then a funny little voice said, “Merry
Christmas, Nellie!”

Nellie looked all about to see who spoke.
What did she see? A little green head with

bright eyes was poking itself out of her

stocking. It was a Poll parrot!
“Take me out, take me out,” Polly screamed,
s0 Uncle Ben took her out.

Her eyes.

What a beauty she was! Her feathers were
blue and green and red and pink and yellow.

Nellie clapped her hands and said, “Isn’t
she pretty?”

“Pretty Polly,” said the parrot. That made
Nellie laugh. Then Polly laughed. She opened
her mouth wide and said “Ha! ha! ha!”

Then everybody laughed, and Poll screamed
out “Ha! ha! ha!” again, and laughed till
she almost tumbled over.

Nellie tried to take hold of her, but Poll ran |
away and turned her head on one side and
said, “Take care there!’ What are you at?”

The next thing Polly did was to hop up on
a chair and look at herself in the glass.

She bobbed her head up and down and said,
“How do you do? Glad to meet you.”

Then she got down and walked about, and
looked at things. When Nellie called out
“Pretty Polly,” Poll would put her head on
one side and look very wise, and say in her
little cracked voice, ‘Pretty Nellie!”

At last Poll said in a cross voice, “ I’m hun-
gry. Is breakfast ready?” and screamed out,

‘* Polly put the kettle on,
We’ll all take tea,”’

“Sure enough,” said Nellie’s mamma, “JT
When they
went out to breakfast, Poll said, ‘O, my stars!”

After breakfast Nellie fell and hurt her a lit-
tle.
up before her in such a funny way and said, —

think we must all be hungry.”

She began to cry, but Poll came and stood

“Now, cry-baby, cry-baby, cry-baby!” that
she had to stop crying and laugh.

At bedtime Nellie said, “ Good-night, Polly.”

“ Good-night, Nellie,’ Poll said, “sweet
dreams, my dear.”

Nellie thinks that Poll is the very best
Christmas present she ever had.

All parrots cannot talk as much as this one.
Uncle Ben spent a long time teaching her.

Mrs. C. M. Livineston.
THE STAR IN THE EAST.
















i if ERE is a little baby of to-day
Wit being pointed to the Star

o/\eY while mamma tries to tell a
little of the “old, old story.”
How old it is!

Did you ever hear of an old man
named Alexander, who lived about
seventeen hundred years ago? Did
you ever hear of a place called the ,
Catacombs? Look up: that word,
will you, in the Encyclopedia and .
see what you can learn about it.

Then think of a company of Chris-
tians gathered in the place which it
describes, talking about the star
which not two hundred years before
THE JUDGE’S ENTERTAINMENT.

pointed the way to the Saviour. It is Christmas
night, and some of them have met in this hid-
ing-place of theirs to celebrate it. Yes, they
had to hide. The emperor hated all who loved
. the name of Jesus, and was trying to find them
out and put them to death.

One old man, Alexander, on that Christmas
evening so long ago, spoke words’ like these,
pointing upward with his hand as he spoke:
“This roof of stone hides the stars, but they
shine; and they that turn many to righteous-
ness shall shine as the stars of heaven. I know
that when this feast day passes in the city, I
shall be given to the beasts; but the hosts of
the righteous shall increase, shining in their
beauty, and Bethlehem’s Star shall never set.”

He was right. They hunted him out, before
long, and his name is on the list of the Chris-
tian martyrs of that day.” He has been for
sixteen hundred years with the Saviour whose
birth he celebrated that night. And Bethle-
hem’s Star shines on. Pansy.

THE JUDGE'S ENTERTAINMENT.
II.

y
OW the Judge was very well known
3 about town, and no little curiosity was

Dyes excited by this connection of his with

missionary interests. It was, therefore, quite
a good-sized company which gathered in Mr.
Seymour’s woodshed when Friday evening
arrived, and seated itself on a varied assort-
ment of chairs, to hear, or see, the entertain-
ment. Possibly the peculiar nature of the
admittance fee had something to do, also, with
the size of the audience.

They had not long to wait before the goat
—I mean the Judge—walked slowly across
what took the place of the stage, bearing a pla-
eard which announced the first number of the
programme: “Overture, Missionary Chorus.”
Some thought that a dish of beans in plain sight
of the Judge, as he entered from the opposite
opening, had to do with his prompt progress
across the stage ; however, he did his part in a
graceful and dignified manner. Nothing short
of a fight could induce him to hurry.

This “Missionary Chorus” was set to the
tune of the “ Battle Hymn of the Republic,”
because that proved to be the only one which
Ralph, Phil and Susie Seymour could sing
together with any adequate regard for har-
mony and time. So mueh difficulty there was
in finding any suitable words for this tune, that
I strongly suspect that Papa Seymour himself
is responsible for those which finally were ren-
dered. The first verse, if I remember rightly,
ran as follows : —

‘Far across the ocean many little children dwell,
They have no books, they have no schools, no ringing Sab-
bath bell;
Then help to send them what they need, and help us, too, to
swell
Our missionary song.”’

The chorus, in-which the audience were in-
vited to join, of course contained some refer-
ence to “marching on,” and the last time it
was repeated the trio marched out demurely,
followed by the Judge, who, queerly enough,
had appeared just in time.

Before the next item on the programme there
was some little delay, but at last the goat am-
bled in again, this time with little Phil on his
back. Phil often used to ride him, and ‘with
him the Judge was always perfectly gentle.

Phil was dressed in the costume of a Chinese
boy, partly obtained from Chee Fung, the laun-
dry-man, and partly made with the aid of gor-
geous pictures in the Seymour library. Phil
was beating the goat very hard, and although
this did not seem to hurt very much, probably
owing to the board under the saddle-cloth, on
which the beating was done, it seemed to sur-
prise the Judge a great deal, and he looked
rather injured. This arrangement was doubt-
less intended by the youthful managers to
typify the uncivilized cruelty of the Celestial
mind. The Chinese boy carried a fan bearing
some pictures of his own people, and an in-
scription in his own tongue made by the afore-
said laundry-man— probably Mrs. Seymour's
washing bill— which Ralph (very truthfully)
explained to the audience the bearer couldn’t
read, as he was very ignorant indeed, although
the missionaries were trying to educate him.

The next scene was of a litle Iindoo boy,
THE JUDGE’S ENTERTAINMENT.





———

which Ralph and Phil had taken especial pains crackers behind the scenes, to represent the

with, inasmuch as Hindoostan was Mr. Bradley’s
especial field of labor. That gentleman had
furnished the costume Phil wore, although it
appeared’ from the aforementioned book of
pictures that not much costume was needed
for a small Hindoo boy. Phil’s face presented
a most ghastly appearance, having been covy-
ered with burnt cork, which had been rubbed
off in a few places. Ralph explained to the
audience this time that the reason the Hindoo
had so many clothes on was because he had
been to school to the missionaries, and had
learned to wear them.
ever, he was interrupted by the Hindoo himself,
who whispered loudly, in surprisingly good
English, —

“Why, Ralph, you know it was because
mamma wouldn’t let me go the way the boy
in the picture looked.”

The audience seemed much delighted with
this small difference of opinion, which exposed
_ Mr. Seymour’s innocent explanation, which he

At this juncture, how-

had suggested to Ralph.

In the Hindoo scene, which was further graced
by several ornaments and mats from India, fur-
nished by Mr. Bradley, the goat was very well
treated, Ralph further explaining that the re-
deeming feature of Hindoo barbarism was the
kind treatment granted animals... But the
Judge appeared so much excited by the ap-
plause he elicited, that it was thought best to
remove him, and the curtain, metaphorically
speaking, fell.

The next number, doubtless owing to the
equal appropriateness of the burnt cork, was
a representation of a view in the South Sea
Islands, and here the Judge appeared with a
garland of leaves around his picturesque head,
led along rather savagely by Phil, who carried
a fierce-looking sickle, stained with beet-juice.
This seemed rather exciting, and the expositor
explained to the audience that this: South Sea
Islander, in the depravity of ignorance ‘and
superstition, was about to sacrifice the goat by
throwing it into a voleano which had for some
time been in.a state of eruption, to appease the
anger of its god. The Judge looked appropri-
ately discouraged, and the reality was still more
heightened by the explosion of a few fire-

thunderings of the volcano. At this the vic-
tim was so disturbed that he disappeared from
view with a little less dignity than usual.

It seemed, a few moments later, that he had
been rescued from his terrible fate, for he was
observed calmly grazing in a pastoral scene,
near a tent where an Arab family were resting

peacefully, in white turbans and long robes.

A boy in a peculiarly arranged night-shirt was
diligently beating a large sack against a post.
Ralph this time explained, somewhat to the
surprise of the audience, that the goat appear-
ing in the background had recently been milked,
since the Arabs used goats’ milk altogether,
and that the person with the sack (who was
seen to have a few streaks of burnt cork re-
maining on his face) was churning the butter
to be made from the milk. He further showed
that the sack was the skin of another goat,
which, on being removed, was turned inside
out, without washing, and the milk poured in.
I fear that none of those present, if they shall
ever travel to Syria, will partake of Arab butter
with genuine enjoyment.

But my notes of this remarkable entertain-
ment are becoming too long, and I must hasten
on. At the close of the dramatic part of the
programme, Susie Seymour appeared to recite
for the Judge his address to his audience,
which he had felt unable to, deliver. I may
say that in this case it is suspected that Mamma
Seymour may be held responsible for what
followed.

Tf my hasty: notes are correct, this was the
address :

“Dear friends: you have listened with gravest attention
To the facts which to you we have ventured to mention.
The kindness you’ ve shown is really relieving,

But as we’re about through we must soon say good-evening.
Tam sure you have all been delighted to note

How much interest in missions I take, for a goat.

If you all do as well, in your several stations,

Tam sure you'll have heeded our just exhortations.

Of the poor | ttle children of whom you have heard,
Since you’ve seen now so much, I shall not say a word;
No doubt they all have your sincerest affection,

And therefore it is I take up a collection.

To help them your moncy is needed most surely —

To reach them, to teach them, to house them securely.
Iam positive, friends, as a goat often can be,

Yow 'll assist these poor people to read Hindoostanee.
And to those who are asking for teachers so sadly,

The money’ll be carried by good Mr. Bradley.

Trepeat it: I’m sure you’re delighted to note

How much interest in missions I have, for a goat.

Your dimes, like your presence, you'll surely net grudge,
But give gladly and freely. Yours truly, The Judge.”’
MERRY CHRISTMAS!





This address was received with earnest
applause, as was its pretended author, who
appeared with a basket fastened on his back,
and walked down the aisle, chewing a handful
of greens which had been given him to calm
him. From every hand pennies, dimes and
quarters were dropped into his basket, so that
he moved all too rapidly to receive them, which
is a fault collectors are not usually accused of.

There was no interruption save by the irre-
pressible Tom Smith, who tried to excite the
Judge by too close attentions, but as a punish-
ment for his misdemeanor he was seized by his
companions, and made to give three times as
much money as he had any intention of doing.

The collection taken, the goat again appeared
on the stage, and Mr. Seymour arose and said
that the closing exercises were held for two
reasons: first, because it was thought that the
Judge, who had so meritoriously conducted the
entertainment, should receive some substantial
reward, although the kind donation of the
audience he doubtless regarded as sufficient
remuneration; and second, because the enter-
tainment was held in the interests of good lit-
erature, and it was thought fitting to recognize

the fact by the destruction of some of an
exactly opposite character.

These sentiments the company applauded,
when Mr. Seymour produced the bundle of
“ Firelight Companions” which had been taken
in at the door, and handing them over to the
Judge, that worthy rapidly and entirely con-
sumed a large portion, and smacked his lips
over the remembrance.

It is safe to say that no item of the pro-
gramme produced more enthusiastic admiration
among the audience than this. They shouted
and cheered so vigorously that if he had not,
so to speak, been too full for utterance, I think
the goat would have shown no little alarm.

The company dispersed, the goat lay down
to sweet slumbers, and the little Seymours,
with tired hands and brains, counted over the
pile of money the entertainment had brought.

“Didn't the Judge do splendidly?” said
Ralph.

“Yes,” said little Phil gravely, “I think we
all did.”

And J, as a humble reporter of the evening,
must add that I think so too.

PaRaNETE.



=
a

Wha mes

Mtoe Ss

Ws

Ul Hit Woe

OS

Le

WS

ft | i \
yf ie
A !
Audi, | V|
(Py? | S

Nyy



MERRY CHRISTMAS !




"SW ag PANN Na
ben una | ma

By



DRINKING UNDER DIFFICULTIES.




THE DEMON THAT LURKS IN THE BOTTLE.—A DAY’S JOURNEY.





THE DEMON THAT LURKS IN THE
BOTTLE.

E want your help, my noble boys,
An army of you, to throttle
The powerful demon of all unrest,
Who lurks in a black glass bottle.
Sometimes ’tisn’t black, but it usually is,
And you may not see him lurk,
But you can’t turn to left, or right, or front,
Without seeing some of his work.

He’s the grandest ally old Satan has,
Cunning as well as strong,
And he works by night as well as day,
And hides his work with a song.
*Tis only to stifle his victim’s cries
That he hides his work with mirth,
For the greatest woe is the demon’s own,
- That is known in all the earth,

And the world wants you who are growing men
To help in this coming fight.
The race before you have battled long,
But have failed to make things right.
So gird yourselves, it will need you all,
All, on the righteous side,
To put your feet on the demon’s neck,
And his terrible power outride.

But oh! beware, lest he conquer you,
“For the end thereof is death ” —
Death to the body and death to the soul
Is dealt by his deadly breath.
So come, even now we want you all
To save the world to-day ;
Your strong young arms, and courage high, «
To cast the curse away.

The cry goes up from the anguished earth,
“ How long, O, Lord! how long?”
"Mid the din of midnight revelry
And the victim’s drunken song.
So move to your places in the ranks,
And give all your strength to throttle
Him who is peopling the under world —
The demon that lurks in the bottle. E. B.S.





A FINE Newfoundland dog and a mastiff
had a quarrel.
a bridge, and being blind with rage, as is often
the case, over they went into the water.
The banks were so high that they were

They were fighting on

forced to swim some distance before they came
to a landing-place. It was very easy for the
Newfoundland dog; he was as much at home
in the water as a seal. But not so with poor
Bruce. He struggled and tried his best to
swim, but made little headway.

Old Bravo, the Newfoundland, had reached
the land, and turned to look at his old enemy.
He saw plainly that his strength was fast fail-
ing, and that he was likely to drown. So what
should he do but plunge in, seize him gently
by the collar, and, keéping his nose above
water, tow him safely into port.

Tt was curious to see the dogs look at each
other as soon as they shook their wet coats.
Their glances said plainly as words, “We will
never quarrel any more.” — Selected.

A DAY’S JOURNEY.

N the way to Wonderland ;
Maidens three, all dressed so grand t

Bonnets, boots and basket,
Umbrellas, bundle, casket,
Book to write the wondcis in;
Each one bound the prize to win.
Oh! ’twas queer to see each maiden,
With her baggage heavy laden,
On her way; each bound to stand,



ON THE WAY TO WON\ERLAND.

That same day, in Wonderland.

On they went, with right. good-will,

Fast as farmers to the mill.

But, alas!’ What did they see?

Nought but bird, and bush, and tree,
Hop-toad, mouse, and Granny Cricket,
Hiding low within the thicket.

Then, home they scampered, one, two, three,
Just as fast as fast could be. A. G. R.




































































































































































































PARENTAL ANXIETY.


WEBSTER’S VALENTINES.



Sens bs

WEBSTER’S VALENTINES.






DON’T know how it happened. It
certainly wasn’t like Webster; as a
rule he was one of the most trust-
worthy boys in school. Why such a
terrible temptation should have overtaken him
that day and been yielded to, perhaps his own
conscience can tell, I’m sure I cannot. Of
course I can “guess” that he may have been
growing careless; may have thought that of
course he would be a good boy, and may not
have asked for special help that morning, and

in that way have let
Satan get the advan-
tage of him; or it may
have been in some
other way —I don’t
know. But I know
this. Into the quiet
of that February
morning, when all the
scholars were bend-
ing over their books,
there came a sudden
buzzing sound from
Webster’s corner.
The teacher had been
much tried with whisperers, and had made, a

POOR WEBSTER !

short time before, a pretty severe threat hay-

ing to do with the next one who whispered.
It looked as though Webster was that one.
The teacher was surprised and grieved. He
was one of her favorites. “Webster, did you
whisper just now?” she asked, and Webster
said, promptly and distinctly, “No, ma’am.”
Up to that moment he had had the sympathy
of every girl and boy in the room; but along

*=

with that distinct “No, ma’am,” came, almost
in the same breath, a subdued murmur of
“O-h-h!” from his classmates. You know
how they make that long-drawn-out undertone
which expresses astonishment, and dissent, and
strong disapproval ?

Mamie Howell, who was Webster’s very
special friend, looked down on her slate and
said not a word, but her cheeks grew scarlet,
and a mist very like tears came into her eyes.
At recess, instead of going out to play, she sat
down by herself on the teacher’s platform in
front of the large window, and by turns
watched the snow-birds outside, or,
with her finger in her history to
keep the place, looked at nothing
in particular, and thought her sore
rowful thoughts. She was so disap.
pointed in Webster. Who would
have supposed that he could tell a
lie? She knew he had whispered ;
she had even heard what he said. _

Poor Webster! he knew it too,
and his heart was even heavier at this minute
than Mamie’s. He too was alone, out in the
great hall, leaning against one of the high

_window-seats, his finger also keeping the place

in history, but his mind too busy over his down-
fall to have room for more ancient history.

What an extraordinary thing that he, Web-
ster Briggs, should have said what was not
true! Nothing dreadful had happened in con-
sequence. The teacher had looked relieved
rather than otherwise at his answer, and had
asked no more questions. But then Webster
knew, and he knew that Mamie Howell knew,
and for the matter of that, all the girls and
boys on the west side knew that it was he who
had whispered. What was to be done?

What was done was certainly very disagree-
able. Not a boy or a girl spoke to Webster
during that long recess. The girls gathered in
groups and talked about him, and the boys
voted with one consent that he was a “ muff,”.
and let him alone. Mamie neither talked about
him nor to him, but she cried once or twice
and her eyes were red.

It may be surprising, but none of these things
helped Webster. When he asked Clay Peter-
son for his jack-knife, and Clay answered only
WEBSTER’S VALENTINES.

a

by a low whistle, Webster’s face grew scarlet,
and he muttered that for his part he didn’t
think it was any worse to whisper than it was
to whistle, and that if Miss Parkhurst hadn’t
been out of the room a minute, Clay wouldn’t
have dared to whistle.

Then Clay answered that that might all be
true, but if Miss Parkhurst asked him when
she came back whether he had whistled he
should certainly say Yes.

At that moment Miss Parkhurst returned,
but as it was an hour when the scholars had a
right to ask each other ques-
tions in low tones about what-
ever they needed to know, she
did not inquire as to what had
been going on while she was
gone.

The disagreeable day was
over at last, and Webster went
home feeling cross and fierce.
What business had the scholars
to treat him so? He had not
meant to tell a lie. He had
meant to say in the next
second that it was a mistake,
that he did not think what
he was saying when he said
that “No, ma’am.”. He would
. have done it, too, before recess,
if they hadn’t acted so mean.
What business was it of theirs?

Webster was not on the road to happiness.

It. was a busy evening to several of his
schoolmates. Clay Peterson and his small
friend Hugh Borland spent the evening to-
gether. .Hugh was the school artist. Small as
he was, he could make very comical pictures,
and had a dangerous talent for sketching like-
nesses. It had dawned upon both of these boys
that the next would be Valentine’s Day, and
they had decided to send Webster Briggs a valen-
tine. So Hugh made a very ridiculous picture
of him, with a very large mouth out of which
was issuing a very large “No, ma’am!” and
Clay added a doggerel in rhyme beginning : —

‘This is the boy all shaven and shorn,
Who sat in the schoolroom one winter morn,
And created a sigh,
And made Mamie cry,
And made all the scholars say ‘Oh! why
Will a good little boy ever tell a lie ?’””

There were four verses, all equally poetic
and helpful. What a blessed thing it was that
other valentines were being written that even-
ing. It was Helen Borland, Hugh’s sister, who
thought out her plan and went to her mother’s
writing-tableto carryitout. It was avery highly
ornamented valentine on which she wrote:

DEAR WEBSTER:

We, the undersigned, are sorry you did not tell the truth.
If you will say you are sorry, adore do so any more, we
will all forgive you and treat you good; because we do bad
things too, sometimes, and you don’t hardly ever, and we
must forgive one another.



ARTIST AND POET AT WORK.

Helen’s own name was signed to this, and it
was her plan to try to get every girl and boy
in the room to follow her example. She began
with her brother Hugh.

“Huh!” he said, “I can’t sign that thing ; it
won’t match.” Then he giggled over the
thought of the caricature which was already in
the post-office. Yet he signed the paper, after
all. “I am scrry for him,” he said to himself;
“T only made that picture for fun.”

But Clay Peterson wouldn’t sign it; he
wanted to be “consistent,” he said.

Three valentines for Webster Briggs. Of
course he opened the largest first. It was the
picture and the poem. Have you any idea
how angry the boy was? He almost choked in
his effort to talk fast enough. He called all
his schoolmates a mean, horrid set, and declared
WEBSTER’S VALENTINES.





‘wr, THE UNDERSIGNED.’

he would never speak to any of them again.
Then he cried, poor fellow — hot, angry tears.
He had been excused from school that morn-
ing—his mother thought he didn’t seem well
—so there was plenty of time to read ‘his val-
entines. He didn’t open the next one for half
an hour. When he did, and saw the long list
of names— twenty-eight of them; only one miss-
ing —he cried again, but this time the tears were
not so bitter, and his heart was growing softer.
They were his friends, after all, and he hadn’t
deserved that they should be; he had done a
mean thing; what was the use of pretending it
wasn’t?

_With these thoughts coming thick and fast
into his heart he opened the third valentine.
A wee white note With a picture of a white
dove in the corner, and these words carefully
written :

DEAR WERSTER:!
I love you, but you will not be happy any more, nor shall
_I, until you ask Jesus and Miss Parkhurst to forgive you. I
know that is so, for when I do wrong it is the only way to
get back the happy. Dear Webster, I know you will do it.
MAMIE.

Then Webster buried his curly head in his
hands and cried hard for five minutes; then ‘he

went in search of his mother. An hour after-
wards he went to school, taking an excuse from



his mother for tardiness. Just before recess
Miss Parkhurst announced that one of the
scholars had something he wished to say. Up
came Webster Briggs, his face quite pale, and
his voice low but steady. He wanted to say
that he had told a lie the day before; it was
he who had whispered; he had not meant to
say “No, ma’am,” when Miss Parkhurst asked
him; he did not know why he had, but he felt
almost certain that he would never say such a
thing again. Would Miss Parkhurst forgive .
him and give him the punishment now that he
ought to have had yesterday ?

What was the matter with Miss Parkhurst ?
She was brushing a tear away from her eyes.
What she did, was to ask all the scholars who
believed that Webster Briggs had received
punishment enough and wanted to have him
forgiven, to rise. Up came every scholar, as
though they were connected by electric wires!

. The moment recess was announced, Clay

Peterson bounded over the top of his desk and
reached Webster’s side. “Look here,” he said,
“JT want to sign that valentine you got this
morning. My name belongs there, and I want
, the other one to burn up; I do, honest. We
only did it for fun, but it was mean. IIclen
had the best fun, I think. And look here, Pll
lend you my jack-knife— two of ’em if you
want them.” ; Pansy.



SO DISAPPOINTED IN WEBSTER,
ONE OF MY CHRISTMAS PRESENTS.


CASSIE’S ENEMIES. =e
ooaaenanapaEeeeeeeeaeaeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee es,

CASSIE’S ENEMIES.



. OY hovered about his mother, watch-
uN ing her work, handing her spool, her
2), scissors, even threading her needle

once or twice. Roy was very fond of
his mother.

“Tve settled on my verse for the term,” he
said presently. “It took me some time to
decide between three; but at last I chose
‘That we may be saved from our enemies. A
boy has so many enemies, you know.”

“I know,” his mother said, smiling up_ at
him fondly, her heart very glad over Roy’s
manly fight against his enemies.

' Cassie listened doubtfully. “I don’t see
what enemies you coald have, Roy,” she said,
“ everybody likes you.”

Roy laughed. “That is just what is the
matter sometimes,” he said. But Cassie did
not understand.

“TI can’t take that for my verse, any way,”
he said, with a satisfied air. “I haven’t an
enemy in the world.”

Roy looked at his mother and smiled.

“Tye seen an enemy of yours,” he said,
“‘and one who is on the watch to do you
harm, too.”

“Who is it?” Cassie asked quickly. “I
most know you are mistaken. Faye Bennet
was my enemy, but -we’ve made up, and now
there isn’t anybody.”

“Mother, don’t you know one who is very
anxious to get Cassie into trouble? ” asked
Roy.

“T am sorry to say that I do. And I’ve
seen traces of his influence this very day,”
was the mother’s answer.

“JT don’t know what you mean,” declared
Cassie, and her tone was almost fretful. i

Roy and his mother often talked in a way
that she did not understand.

“Tl tell you what,” said Roy; “I'll ee
watch of this enemy of yours all day to-
morrow. There’s no school, you know, and
Pll keep a list of the number of times he
undertakes to do you harm, and show it to
you in the afternoon — shall I?”

“You may keep all the watch you want to,”
Cassie said loftily; “I know you won’t find



anybody who is trying to make any trouble for
me. How can they, and I not know anything
about it?”

Nevertheless, the plan was agreed upon, and
for the remainder of the evening Cassie had a
good deal to say about it, but the next day she
forgot it.

Not so Roy.

“Cassie,” called her mother, from the dining-

room, “bring me the scissors from my work-
table.”
“In a minute, mamma; I just want to get
these flowers in the vase,” and she continued
to arrange the dried grasses and leaves for a
winter bouquet.

“Cassie,” said her father, an hour afterwards,
“run up to my dressing-room and bring me my
slippers.”

Cassie went, but was so long that Roy went
in search of her. He found her at the head of
the stairs, trying to make Rover carry the
slippers down in his mouth.

“ Father is waiting,” he said reproachfully.

“Well, ’m coming. I’m only trying to
teach Rover how to be useful.”

If Cassie hadn’t forgotten, she would have
noticed that Roy, frequently during the day,
had occasion to write something in his note-
book.

It was late in the afternoon, however, before
the crowning record of the day was made.
Cassie was dressed and ready for the parlor,
where a very interesting thing was about to
happen.

Almira, the second girl, who had pean in the
family for three years, and was an orphan with
no home of her own, was to be married at four
o’clock, in the back parlor. It had been beau-
tifully trimmed for the occasion with ever-
greens and bright red berries. In fact, Cassie’s
mother had been busy all day making various
preparations, and Cassie believed herself to
have been very helpful. She was a good deal
excited.

It so happened that she had never had the
pleasure of attending a wedding, so it was a
great event to her.

The hour for the ceremony was drawing
near, and Almira’s friends who had been invited
were beginning to arrive, when Cassie was sent
HOW HIS CHARIOT MOVES.





to her mother’s room for a handkerchief and
fan which lay on the bureau. “Make haste,
Cassie,” her mother had said, “I shall want
them in a few minutes, everything is ready
now.”

And Cassie had fully intended to make
haste, but on the sofa, flung hastily aside, was
a handsome silk wrapper of her mother’s, which
was so rarely worn that a sight of it was a treat
to the beauty-loving little girl.

“Oh! that pretty dress,” she said. “I wish
wrappers were nice to wear fo weddings; I’d
like to see mamma in it. S’pose I was a tall
lady, and this wasn’t a wrapper, but a dress for
a bride, and I was putting it on, and was going
to be married in a few minutes; I wonder how
I would feel? I hope they will wear great
long trains when I’m married, and that my
dress will be bright pink satin, with gold-
colored ribbons, and be as long for me as
this is.”

By this time the “lovely” wrapper was
thrown around the little girl, and was being
trailed grandly across the room, the feather
fan for which she had been sent carried in one
hand, and swayed gracefully now and then.

“Come, Alice,” said Cassie’s father down-
stairs, speaking to his wife, “you are being
waited for. The bride is ready to enter the
room.”

“Where can Cassie be?” said Mrs. Bennet,
coming in haste across the hall.

“She is still upstairs,” said her father gravely.
“No, don’t call her,” as Roy made a movement
toward the stairs. ‘The child has not done
anything promptly to-day. She must have her
lesson in some form, perhaps this is as well as
any.”

So they went into the parlor and closed the
doors.

Five minutes afterwards Cassie came flying
down the stairs, only to find those folding-doors
that led into the parlors tightly closed.

“Remember,” her father had said, “to be
tardy at a wedding is unpardonable. If you
young ones are not down until after the doors
are closed, it will be a signal that you are too
late ; don’t presume to open them.”

Poor Cassie, when she had -heard this, had
smiled to herself and thought, “The idea of

being late to-day! Ill be there a half-hour
before time.” Yet for the pleasure of parading
about the room in her mother’s flowered
wrapper, she had lost the marriage ceremony.

“T didn’t see her until after she was all mar-
ried, and I couldn’t see her then, because’ I
had cried so hard that my eyes were red, and
my nose was all swollen, and mamma had to
make me over, hair and all.”

This was the way Cassie told her trouble to
Roy as she cuddled on the sofa beside him that
evening.

Roy’s arm was about her, and his sympathy
for her disappointment had been hearty and
loving, but at this point he said, “It was all
the fault of that enemy of yours, Cassie dear.
Don’t you remember mamma and I warned
you against him?”

“Who?” asked Cassie, going slowly over in
her mind the talk of the evening before.
“There hasn’t anybody been near me all day
only just our own folks, and Almira’s wedding
friends; none of them hindered me. I don’t
know what you mean. What is my enemy’s
name?”

“‘ He has a good many nicknames,” said Roy
gravely, “and I’ve noticed that you generally
speak of him by, one of them. ‘By-and-by,’
‘Pretty Soon,’ ‘In a Minute,’ he answers to all
of these, but his real name is ‘ Procrastination,’
and he is a thief.”

Myra Sparrorp.

HOW HIS CHARIOT MOVES.



‘ae? O-DAY thirty-four missionary societies
work in Africa, and all its two hun-
dred million souls are within reach of
Christian missions; thirty-three socie-
ties in China, and its three hundred

and fifty million may be visited with the Gos-

pel message (unless the Government drives
these societies out); fifty societies in India,
and the light is dawning upon its two hundred
and fifty million. Turkey, Persia and Japan
are filling with mission churches and schools.

The world is opening. The greatest day for
the Kingdom of God earth has ever seen, has
dawned. — Selected.
RACHEL’S FRIEND.



RACHEL’S FRIEND.
PART I.

3M T was one cold November morning that
a little girl stood beside the teacher’s
desk in one of the city schools waiting
for a seat to be given her.

Rachel Ford was a new scholar, and felt shy
and strange as she looked down the long room
at rows of boys and girls who stared coldly at
her. She felt uncomfortable when she remem-
bered that her elbows were patched, and that
her shoes were coarse and clumsy beside the
trim boots of the girl who sat nearest her.

Rachel’s little pale face, with dark locks fall-
ing about it, seemed to grow paler, and her
black eyes sadder as she cast a wistful look at
a girl whose blue cashmere dress and dainty
scrap of a white apron made of muslin and
lace, set off her pink and white face and golden
hair to advantage.

“How pretty she is,” thought Rachel. “How
happy she must be to wear such a nice dress
and shoes every day.” Then she looked down
at her own faded brown dress and old shoes
again and sighed.

Lina Brooks, the pretty girl, was studying
her grammar lesson and the new scholar at the
same time. Mixed up in her mind with verbs
and pronouns were remarks to herself like this:

“What a faded dress! Patched! What
horrid boots! Her hair and eyes are awful
black; maybe she’s a Jew,” whereupon she
turned to the girl who sat behind her and
whispered, nodding at Rachel, “I guess she’s a
Jew.”

Lina had just learned a long column where
she found that the feminine of Jew was Jewess,
and. her lesson at Sabbath-school yesterday had
been on the duty of showing kindness to others.
Apparently she had forgotten both lessons now.

Sarah Rogers, who had caught only the last
word of Lina’s remark, stared a moment at
Rachel and then whispered to her seat-mate, as
she motioned toward the new scholar, “‘She’s
a Jew.” Then all three girls stared in concert.

Rachel heard them, and looking up suddenly
met their scornful eyes.. Her own flashed in
return. She felt as if she should cry that very

a
minute. She had a great notion to run out of
the door and never come back.

But just then the teacher came and gave her
a seat not far from Lina Brooks, and then all
three girls made eyes at each other, and Rachel
saw it and knew it was about her.. Then Sarah
Rogers in a loud whisper informed a girl across
the aisle that the new scholar was a Jew; her
name was Rachel, and that was areal Jew name.

“No it isn’t either,” whispered a stout girl.
“My grandmother’s name was Rachel, and she
isn’t any Jew.”

‘It’s in the Bible, anyway,” Sarah declared.
“She was Abraham’s wife, and he was a Jew.”

“Oh! that is too good,” said an older girl.
“ Abraham’s wife’s name was Sarah. Now,
Sarah Rogers, what have you got to say?”

This caused a general giggle, and the teacher
announced demerits for all four girls, so order
was restored.

Poor Rachel tried to put her thoughts on
the lesson Miss Hall had given her to learn, but
it was hard work; the tears would come and
blind her eyes so that she could scarcely see.

Rachel’s life had been a happy one until her
father’s death. He was a minister, and had
preached in a pleasant little town. They had
a nice snug home, with everything they needed,
and Rachel attended a good school where all the
girls were her friends. Now all was so changed.
They were very poor, and had no friends in
the city. Mrs. Ford had removed there be-
cause she thought she could find a place to
teach, but so far she had failed in that, and
was obliged to take in sewing. She could not
earn much at that, so could not buy all the
shoes and dresses she would have liked for her
little daughter. — .

Rachel was glad when that first dreary day
of school was over-and she could go. Her
home was in a poor part of the city in a back
room of the fourth story. She was thinking
as she went slowly up the last flight of stairs
that she never could stand it to go to school
with all those “hateful girls.”

Her mother sat by the one window bending
over her sewing, but she dropped it and held
out her arms to Rachel. “I’m so glad you are
home, dear,” she said,“and how did school go?”

Mrs. C. M. Livinesron,
a

,

|









































**S’POSE I WAS.’?


RACHEL’S FRIEND.



RACHEL’S FRIEND.

PART II.

“HY ACHEL had resolved, like a wise little
U.S woman, as she came along, that she
would not tell her trouble lest it would
t grieve her mother. But mother had
seen it in her eyes as soon as she opened the
door. *“ What is it, dear?” she asked.. “‘Were
the lessons too hard? ‘Tell mother all about
it, Rachie.”

Rachel’s good resolutions all vanished. She
hid her head in her mother’s neck, and the
tears she had held back all day fell fast.

“O, mother!” she sobbed out, “I can’t stand
it. There are some bad, hateful girls. They
looked at me so!
and they -whispered about me. One said I
looked like the Jews. O, dear! I never can
go to that horrid school again. What makes
me look like a Jew? Dol? They said Rachel
was a Jew name. What was I named that
for, anyway?” and Rachel, with overwrought
nerves, nearly screamed out the last words.

Her mother did not ray anything for a few
minutes. She kissed her forehead and softly
smoothed her hair, and let her have the cry out,
then she asked, “Did you find the lessons hard,
dear?”

“Not a bit,” said Rachel, ‘and the teacher
was nice to me; but do I look like a Jew girl?”

“No, my dear, you do not; some ignorant
little girl must have said that. Jews have
black hair and eyes, and yours are unusually
dark; they have noses, too—everybody who
owns a nose is not a Jew on that account.
Your eyes and hair are like dear papa’s, Rachie;
I would not have them different for anything.
But you must not think in that way of the
Jews. There are good and bad people among
them just as in our nation. They are deceived,
and do not believe the truth about Jesus, but
some day they will come to the light and know
Him as He is. The Lord Jesus himself was a
Jew, you remember. And now my darling
must try to be a brave girl and rise above these
things. You are making a character now, and
these trials have to do in forming it. The way
you bear them will mould you into a Christ-like



They’ve got pretty clothes, °

- eyes.



woman or one who is bitter and hard. You
want to be God’s dear, patient daughter, don’t
you, dear?”

“Yes, I do,” said Rachel softly, the fire all
gone from her eyes.

“Well, then, do as He would tell you to do
if He were here. Treat those girls kindly.
Pray for them, and you will feel kinder. Now
let us go and see what we can get up for a nice
supper.”

It would seem as if it were easy to be kind
and pleasant, surrounded by as many nice things
as Lina Brooks had in her home, but strangely
enough those who have every wish gratified
are apt to be most selfish.

One evening the Brooks family were gath-
ered in their pleasant sitting-room, Lina with
a basket of bright wools and pretty ribbons
was making Christmas presents, while her
mother was giving an account of her visits
among the poor that afternoon.

“ And who do you think I found?” she said
to her husband, “away up in a dingy fourth-
story back room but my old friend Mary Rob-
erts! I was so glad to see her. She married
a minister by the name of Ford, but he died
about a year ago. Mary is trying to earn her
living at sewing, but she can never do it. She
is finely educated, and is an excellent teacher.
We must try to find a good position for her.
She has one child, a little girl with lovely great
She is a sensitive little creature, and
has been made very unhappy in school by
some rude girls who looked down upon her
because she was poorly dressed, I suppose. I
hope no child of mine will be guilty of such
actions,” she said, looking at Lina. “I do
trust I have taught them better. Why, she
must be in your school, Lina, for they live in
this ward. Have you seen a little girl by the
name of Rachel Ford?”

Lina, while she bent over her basket, said in
some confusion she believed she had heard that
name.

Her mother did not notice that her face
grew quite red, and she went on charging her
to find out the little girl and be friendly to her.

“Mrs. Ford was one of my dear friends

-when I was a schoolgirl,” she said, “and I love

her very much.”
HARD TEXT.







Lina soon lost all interest in her work. What
would her mother say if she knew all? A
vision of poor little Rachel bending over her
books, patient and sad, kept coming up before
cher. For three whole weeks she had sat across
the aisle from her and hed not given her a
kind word or look, although she knew she was
lonely and neglected.

Lina went early to bed and tried to go to
sleep and forget her disagreeable thoughts, but
sleep ran away from her. She was tormented
with the thought that she was deceiving her
mother. She had not been the sort of girl in
school that her mother supposed she was.
Lying there in the darkness and quiet she felt
condemned in the sight of Jesus, her Saviour,
for she had promised to live to please Him. It
is so good that when we have done wrong we
do not need to go away above the clouds to
find Him. Just a whisper in the darkness —
He hears and forgives.

But Lina could not rest until she called her
mother in and confessed everything to her.

The next morning Rachel, who had come
early to school, was in her seat before the bell
rang studying her arithmetic lesson. She felt
a hand laid on her shoulder and looking up
saw, to her surprise, Lina Brooks. Lina’s
cheeks were pinker than ever as she said in a
low tone, “I was hateful and wicked to you;
will you forgive me? My mamma went to
see your mamma yesterday, and they are old
friends. Let us be friends too.”

Rachel was too much surprised to speak for
a minute, then her eyes filled with tears.

“Oh! will you like me just a little? I’m so
glad!” she said eagerly.

The girls opened their eyes wide at recess
when Lina Brooks asked Rachel to come and
play with them. Whatever Lina did, though,
was considered by the other girls the thing to
do, and as they followed her example in being
rude to Rachel they now followed it in being:
friendly, so the forlorn little girl seemed to
have plenty of friends by the end of another
week,

The night before Christmas, just as Rachel
and her mother had drawn up to the fire to
have a little talk, there came a knock at the
door, and a man appeared with a good-sized



box, which he said he was ordered to leave
there.

Mrs. Ford thought there must be some mis-
take, but there was her. name on a card, so:
Rachel ran for the hammer and the box was
soon opened. On the top was a slip of paper
which said, “For Rachel, from Santa Claus.”
It seemed as if Santa Claus had not forgotten
anything that a girl needed. There was a
brown dress and a scarlet dress, prettily made.
There was a long brown cloak—‘“ warm as
toast,” Mrs. Ford said—and a little brown
hat with a scarlet wing and a white one. There
were soft, thick stockings of red and blue and
brown, and a pair of boots, and a pair of gloves.

Rachel laughed and danced, and cried at
last, for joy, and her mother cried with her.
The first thing in the morning the postman
brought a letter. That was an invitation for
Mrs. Ford and Rachel to take their Christmas.
dinner with Mrs. Brooks. In fact, it seemed
as if there were no end of surprises that day,
for Mr. Brooks told Mrs. Ford while they were
at dinner that he could secure a position for
her to teach in the same school that Rachel
attended.

Lina and Rachel grew to love each other
dearly, and are fast friends this very minute.

Mrs. C. M. Livinesron.

HARD TEXT.

(Matt. vi. 19-21.)

HE Bible requires us to work, and work-
ing we make money, and we must not
throw that money away, but take care of it,
“lay it up” for the winter, a “rainy day,” for
old age, for a time of need. Neglecting to do
this many people suffer, some starve or freeze.
They must not expect our Father in Heaven to
do for them what He expects them to do for
themselves.

But this verse warns against laying up
treasures, not so much as something to be used
in time of need, but as treasures for the heart
to be set upon: 7. ¢., to steal away one’s affec-
tion from Christ: 7. ¢, to become one’s god!
The Kingdom of Heaven, not that of dollars,
must be within us —in the heart.
BABY’S CORNER.



BABY’S CORNER.

A BAD SUPPER.






NE day. Ann was in the pantry making
mince pies. She put raisins and spice
and sugar in them. She made little

They

stars and ferns on the crust.
were very nice pies.

Two bright eyes were watching Ann while
she worked. They were the eyes of a little
gray mouse. He was hiding behind a can on
the shelf. He said to himself:

“U-h, um! What a good smell.
see if I don’t have some of those pies.

We shall
Just
wait till to-night when all the folks are sound
asleep.” So Mouse crept back into his hole
and took a long nap. Then he came out and
looked out of the pantry window. “Yes,”
he said, “night has come, I know, because the

sun has gone and the stars are in the sky. I

2



AT THE FEAST. *

guess the folks have gone to bed. Now I will
look for the pies.”
He knew the shelf where the pies were kept.
“Here they are,” he said. “Hi! how good
What a feast I shall have! I

think I will invite some of my friends to sup-

they do smell.

per.” So he ran around to the neighbors in
the woodshed and asked them. They were
very glad to come. One, two, three, four more

mice. They hurried back and they all got
around a nice big pie. They had taken just
one little nibble when the pantry door opened.

and Ann came in with a light in her hand.

‘When she saw a lot of mice standing around

one of her best pies she just opened her mouth
and screamed.
“O-w! oh!” she said.

How those mice did scamper! The wood-

shed mice went home, and the pantry mouse

went back into his hole.

Ann took every one of those pies and carried
them down cellar. Then she got a trap. She
put a nice little fresh piece of cheese in it and
set it on the shelf. After that she went out
and shut the door. ,

Mousey. waited a long time. At last the
house was ‘still. “JT shall go by myself this
time,” said this selfish little mouse. “I can’t
be troubled running after the others.”

Everybody was fast asleep. He slipped
softly out. The pantry was dark as a
_ 4 pocket. Mousey thought the pies were
gis} on the shelf yet, so he went sniffing
about trying to find them.

' «TI believe I smell cheese,” he said.
“Cheese goes first-rate with pie.” He
came a little nearer to the trap.

How nice!”
He put his head softly through the lit-

tle hole of the trap.

“ Yes, here it is, cheese!

Snap! went the
spring, and there he was fast.

Poor Mousey! No more mince pie,

no more cheese for him.

In the morning Ann said, when she opened
the pantry door —

“There, that little scamp is caught, and I
am glad of it!”

She took the trap out and opened it, and
Mousey fell into a pail of water.

And that is the bad end to which a little
mouse came who tried to steal mince pies.

Mrs. C. M. Livineston.
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SCALES AND SQUASH.

SCALES AND SQUASH.





“SIEYANNY TALBOT’S face was nearly
UES always bright, but on this Christmas
aN SS morning there was an unusual sparkle
"of pleasure in her eye as she tied on
the great work-apron which was so long for
her that it had to be tucked into the belt to
save her from falling
on it. Fanny was a
dumpy little thing, I
shall have to confess —
“ Almost as broad as
_ she was long,” Aunt
Erminasaid, and Fanny
was silly enough to
shed some tears over
it. Besides, she looked
younger than she really
was, which was also a
source of grief to her.
“Nobody would sup-
pose to look at the child
that she was in her
thirteenth year.” This
was also an opinion of
Aunt Ermina’s, spoken
in a tone of strong dis- af
approval; yet despite
it all, as I say, Fanny
was happy. She had
been away from home
for more than a year;
not with Aunt Ermina,
but with dear “ Auntie
Beth,” who lived in a
town where there was
an excellent school—
better, Auntie Beth
thought, than any other
in the world, and there-
fore the very place for
her precious niece, Fan-
ny. “Sheis very young
to send away from
home,” Fanny’s mother
had said, with a weary
sigh, “and I don’t know what I shall do
without her,” and then, with the unselfishness
of all mothers, because she lived in a mining











































































































































































































































































































































































































town, where there was no good school for her
darling, went quietly to work to get her ready.
That was in November. Fanny was surely to
come home in June, but the way was long, and
her uncle’s plans for taking the journey fell
through, and Fanny could not go alone, and
the summer slipped away while they were wait-
ing; and, to make a long, weary waiting into

me

a ie
ict

























































































“SKATE, INDEED !”?

a short story, it was not till the day before
Christmas that. Fanny saw home again.
“A whole year!” she said, drawing a long
SCALES AND SQUASH.



Saas” oees—e—e—ewoOsaooaeon9RqomTuOuO ee ssooaaaawaa@a@oeoqo®qo®= Ooo ee

breath of mingled sadness and delight — dis-
may over the past, and satisfaction that the
long separation was over, and that she was at
home. An escort had been hastily found for
her at last, because her mother was sick, and
father felt sure she could not get well very
fast until her little daughter was with her.
Fanny found her just creeping back to health,
her cheeks still pale and her eyes weary-look-
ing, but “so much better,” she had said cheer-
fully, when the tears came into Fanny’s eyes,
and then she had kissed her, and assured her
that she would certainly get well fast now.
But on this Christmas morning the mother had
looked troubled, and had sighed once or twice
before she said, —

“T am sorry we cannot have a better Christ-
mas dinner, my darling, in honor of your home-
coming, than Susan can manage. She doesn’t
know how to cook anything, not even a potato;
your father has had dreadful times all alone in
the dining-room, trying to eat such meals as

“she has prepared. I would have tried to get
out to direct her about dinner, but your father
says it will not do.” |

“No, indeed,” said Fanny; “but you are to
come to the table, you know; that will be
dinner enough for father and me. Susan is
good-natured, I think.”

“Oh! she is good-natured, and has been as
faithful as possible all through my sickness,
The only trouble with the girl is, she doesn’t
know how to do things; no one has ever taught
her. Your father doesn’t say much, and has

pnt as good a face as possible on the matter, _

all through, but I know by the slops the poor
thing has brought to me, and the way they
have been served, how miserable everything
must be in the kitchen. In fact, I knew how
ignorant she was before I was taken sick, but
she was the best we could get,” and the sen-
tence ended with another sigh.

Fanny’s face did not look sympathetic — it
was even bright—though she said “poor
mother” in as comforting a tone as she could,
but in the next breath said, “‘ What is she to
get for dinner?” .

“Why, I told your father I thought with my
direction she could manage to stew a chicken.
He wanted to have a turkey, but of course that

was not to. be thought of, and I’m afraid the
chicken will not be fit to eat, though I gave
her most careful directions. The trouble is,
the girl is not used to giving heed to directions,
and she listens good-naturedly, and then does
any way it happens. You and father must get
your Christmas out of one another this time,
and be as comfortable as you can. Mother
will soon be well enough to look after things,
I hope.”

She could not help sighing a little as she
finished. She felt very weak, and the thought
of the dinner Susan would serve made her feel
weaker. “I was hoping that your Aunt
Ermina would get home in time to look after
things a little for us,” she said.

But Fanny’s eyes were fairly dazzling as she
answered, “I don’t want to see Aunt Ermina
to-day. Don’t worry about dinner; father and
I will do nicely, see if we don’t.” Then she
kissed this precious mother several times, and
asked her if she was sure she would not be
lonely if she left her all the morning, as she
had something very partioular to do. And
mother smiled on her and assured her that she
would do nicely alone until dinner-time, and
she hoped her daughter would go out and have
a good skate with the girls.

“Skate indeed!” said Fanny to herself, as
she tied on that big apron of her mother’s, her
face all in a glow of pleasure. “I guess all
the skating Tl do to-day”— And then she
laughed, and ran in search of the good-natured,
slatternly Susan.

The truth was, that Fanny, though not yet
thirteen, and not tall enough to suit her Aunt
Ermina, had a wonderful secret which had
been stored up for ten long months, in order
to surprise her father and mother.

“Tt is so splendid that it should happen on
Christmas day,” she told herself, her eyes shin
ing the while. “If I had known it would have
happened like that, I guess maybe I wouldn’t
have grumbled so much about having to wait.”
Certainly Fanny was happy; she was by no
means glad that her mother was sick and not
able to attend to the dinner, but since such
was the case, how very splendid it was to think
that the dinner, at least, need not suffer.

“Stewed chickens,” she repeated, with her
SCALES AND SQUASH.





gleeful laugh, as she waited in the kitchen for
Susan’s slow, clamping feet to ascend the cellar
stairs. “If there is anything I can do to per-
fection it is to stew chickens. If it had been
turkey I might have been a little bit nervous
over the first one done all alone, but chickens
—dear me!”

Now the secret is out. Fanny, short and
round as she was, had learned to cook.

Not merely to make a gingerbread, or a cus-

tard, or some simple dish of that character;
she had been regularly every afternoon for two
hours to a first-class cooking-school, and _lis-
tened, and studied, and experimented, to her
heart’s content. “She is.a born genius,” had
Aunt Beth said, more than once, looking én in
astonished admiration as the child’s deft fingers
concocted some dainty dish; but Fanny her-
self knew better.
* “T have a kind of a knack for it,” she ex-
plained gravely, “my teacher says so; but it is
because she has tried so hard to teach me and
I have tried so hard to learn that I know how,
after all; and, Aunt Beth, you know I can’t
play the scales as the other girls can.”

Aunt Beth laughed. “No,” she said cheer-
fully, “you are not a musician, and I suppose
your Aunt Ermina will be disappointed, but I
think you will play very pleasantly for your
friends, for all that; and as for the time you
have taken from practice to learn this new
accomplishment, I believe your mother and
father will be delighted.”

“T know they will,” Fanny had answered
confidently. “Father thinks a young lady
who doesn’t know how to cook is a disgrace.”

For all that, she had not expected the honor
of managing the Christmas dinner.

She felt safe about that, but the question
was, could she manage Susan?

By the time that slattern appeared, she had
resolved on her method of attack.

“Susan, Pve come to help; you don’t want
tu work all alone on Christmas day, I know,
and I can do ever so many things. What are
you going to have besides chicken? O, Susan!
let us have squash; that goes so nicely with
chicken, and I know how to season it, and
squeeze it, and all those things; and mashed
potatoes, Susan. I have the loveliest new

masher, which makes the potatoes come out all
in little rings. Won’t it be fun?”

Susan looked at the glowing face and the
big apron, and plump hands and shining eyes,
and “allowed” that it would.

Self-sacrificing she was, too. She had felt in
a hurry, and had meant to get the dinner out
of the way as soon as possible, without the
trouble of mashed potatoes, or squash, or any

such nonsense; what was the use, when the

mistress was sick? But this was kind of a
lonesome Christmas to the little girl with her
mother sick, and if she wanted to play help,
and muss around the kitchen, what if it did
make lots more work? “It’s all in a lifetime,”
said Susan to herself. Smothering the little
sigh over the extra hour or two which she was
going ‘up, she declared with great heartiness
they two would “git all the fun out of that
there dinner which it was possible to find in it.”

And the work began. Before one o’clock

Fanny was tired but triumphant, and Susan ,

had learned several things. “Don’t let’s put
so much water on them at first,” she had
begged, when Susan was preparing to drown
the chickens; “we can add a little from time
to time if it boils off, but I don’t believe it. will
if we keep them carefully covered, and they
will taste so much richer, you know.”

Susan really did not know whether to laugh
or be respectful before so much knowledge, but
she compromised with a broad grin and a good-
natured “All right; have ’em jest according to
your notion; and let’s see how it will come out.”

By the time the great, juicy quarters of the
Spitzenberg apples came out whole with. the
juice looking like maple syrup, and the squash
was almost as dry as flour, and seasoned to a
nicety, and the gravy for the chicken was
thickened without a lump, and the lightest and
smallest of cream biscuits were broken in two
and laid in rows about the platter ready for
the stewed chicken, and the potatoes curled
themselves in lovely brown waves over the
bright dish in which they were taken from the
oven, and the little sponge-cake cups of Char-
lotte Russe sat in tempting rows, waiting to be
served for dessert, Susan had decided the ques-
tion which had puzzled her at first, and was
almost lost in respectful admiration.
CHRISTMAS SPORT.





She was even betrayed once into the use of
‘a title of respect. “For the land’s sake, Miss
Fanny, what don’t you know?” This was
after Fanny had said, “Let me set the table,
Susan; I can leave these chickens now, and you
are tired; and I know exactly how to do it.”

She had judged from the appearance of the

breakfast table that Susan knew exactly how
not to do it.
' At last everything was complete, and the
triumphant, weary little maiden went to sum-
mon her mother to the dining-room. “How
rosy your cheeks are!” the mother said ad-
miringly. “ave you been skating, dear?”

“Not exactly, ma’am,” and Fanny’s face
sparkled with fun. ‘Motherie, how pretty
you look in that wrapper. Won’t you please
to hurry just a little bit? Father has come in,
and there is something for your dinner which
will spoil by standing.”

What fun it was! How utterly astonished
both father and. mother looked at the sight of
the gracefully laid table, with squares of care-
fully cut bread placed in the fold of each fresh
napkin. What a marvel of perfection the
oyster stew was! Tow delicious mother said

the bit of breast of chicken tasted! How
heartily father ate, and how lavish was the
praise bestowed upon the rosy-cheeked little
fairy who had “evolved” all this comfort.
For of course it came out—had to be told in
answer to the eager questions poured upon her
—all the story of that busy winter, and the
sacrifice of chromatic scales to the proper
seasoning of chicken and squash.

“Scales!” said the hungry father, helping
himself: to another spoonful of the mashed
potato; “don’t mention them, if you please,
in comparison with this dinner; at least not to
a man who has been served for five weeks by
Susan Barker.”

Fanny laughed merrily. “But Susan is real
good-natured,” she said quickly; ‘and, mother,
I think she will let me teach her a good many
things.”

“J think she will,” the mother said compla-
cently. “Judging from this effort, my little
daughter has learned not only how to do things,
but how to pleasantly show others. . It is a
very great comfort, daughter; and as for the
scales, there is time enough for them.”

Pansy.



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CHRISTMAS SPORT.
BARBADOES.—POOR, YET MAKING MANY RICH.





BARBADOES.

OME of you have not yet learned where
SYS) that is. Let us find it. Look ‘on the
* map for the Caribbean Islands. Find

St. Vincent, which for some reason
- always seems to be the easiest one to
find, then let your eye travel eastward until it
reaches Barbadoes. What do we know-about
that island? Not much, I imagine. First, the
name. What does it mean, and why was it
chosen? Hard to answer. Probably it is the
Spanish word for a certain vine whose branches
run down and strike into the earth again.

When did the history of Barbadoes begin?
The first we really know about it is in 1605,
when a company of Englishmen from the good
ship Olive Blossom landed there, set up a
eross in honor of their visit, and cut the name
of “James, King of England,” on the bark of a
tree. Since then, if we had kept careful watch,
we might have iowa a good deal about the
island.

Why am I calling your attention to it?
Because I want to tell you about a little negro
boy in one of its Sunday-schools. He is only
eight years old. One day he said to his teacher,
pointing to a new scholar with a look of aston-
ishment, not to say indignation, “Massa this
boy say he don’t believe in any resurrection!”

“Poor fellow!” said the teacher. “But,
my boy, why do you believe in a resurrection?”

“’Cause the Bible say so.”

“ Are you sure of that?”

“O, yes, massa! Job say, ‘I know that my
Redeemer liveth: and though after my skin
worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall
Isee God.’ And David say, ‘I shall be satis-
fied when I awake in thy likeness.’ And Jesus
say, ‘He that believeth in me, though he were
dead, yet shall he live.’”

“My boy,” said the teacher, surprised at the
little fellow’s judgment and memory, “can you
show those words to your friend — in the Bible?”

Instantly the child seized his Bible and
turned rapidly to Job, to the Psalms, to John,
and pointed out the verses he had repeated.

The question for the Pansies is, How many
eight-year-old scholars in our Sunday-schools
in this country could do as well?







———

POOR, YET MAKING MANY RICH.

HAT little mite of a creature, a little
larger than a spool of thread as she
appears in this picture, is worrying her bit. of
a head and heart about poverty and wealth.
You see the room is very plain, very little
furniture, very little finery in that house, but
our small Primrose never would have thought
of their not being just as “well off” as others.
But this bit of a miss was one day invited out
to tea to a grand house, and her sharp eyes saw
the difference at a glance, and now her wee
heart is heavy, and she “ wonders if they’ll ever
be rich.”

But she grew and she grew, her heart much
faster than her eyes—so fast that one day she
read about the poor benighted heathen who
never knew of Christ, and her heart in a mo-
ment almost opened a wide door and took
them all in, millions and millions of them, took _
them in in their sin and misery. And when
she was nearly or quite a young woman, what
think you? Our little Primrose, no longer a
wee thing as you see her there, woe-begone,
leaning against her mother, but tall, beautiful,
educated, our Primrose sets sail from New
York to be a missionary among the heathen
to make them rich as sons and daughters of
the King of Giory. “Primrose wonders no
more if she will ever be rich.” C. M. L.

N the land of Moab, which, you remember,
was the home of Ruth before she left it
to go with her mother-in-law, there is living a
missionary from London, whose work it is to
sell Bibles to the people. ‘They do not use
money to buy with, but flour. One morning
the missionary counted over his Bibles, and
found that he had fifty-four. But at evening
of that same day not a Bible was left, and
every spare dish in his house was full of flour.
The people of Moab know more about the
true God than they did when Ruth’s mother-
in-law went there to live. Do you suppose,
when they get their new Bibles, they sit down
as soon as they can and read the story of Ruth?
Perhaps you do not know that story your-
selves? You will find it very interesting.
ar er ape

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SSE ng
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PATIENT WAITING.


ONE OF YOUR SISTERS.—THE HARD TEXT.

&



ONE OF YOUR SISTERS.

Zs ITA MATSUDA is her name.
Queer name for an American girl,
did you say?

But she is not American, although
her eyes are as bright, her feet as swift and
her tongue as nimble as any of yours.

Kita was not using her tongue though, that
bright October afternoon. She was sitting in
a hammock under the shade of a large tree,
with a book in her hand.

The tree is in her father’s garden.
garden is in Osaka. Osaka is in Japan.
the book? Guess.

It was the identical story some of you read
—perhaps that same October afternoon —
“ Christie’s Christmas.” And she liked it just
as much as you did. She laughed when she
came to something funny, her eyes grew ear-
nest at the sober parts, and she almost held
her breath when Christie was on the cars all
Christmas day, and was so glad when she got
safely home to her nice supper.

No, the book is not printed in Japanese
characters. Kita can read English almost as
well as you can yourself.

Kita attends the mission school. Her teacher
is an American lady, and she takes great pains
to teach her pupils to read English. She buys
the “Pansy” books and reads aloud to them,
and sometimes lets them read by themselves
when they have learned their lessons well.

The Japanese girls think American girls are
queer, and their teacher has to answer a great
many questions about your dress and your
manners and way of speaking.

But Kita knows one thing exactly as you
know it. She has learned about the Father in
heaven, and that he sent his Son to save us.
She reads the same Bible, sings the same
hymns, and loves the same Saviour.

Kita’s father has become a true Christian
too. He has family worship, but besides that
he takes little Kita upstairs every morning and
prays with her alone. He prays that she may
have a clear mind and learn her lessons well
that day, and that she may be kept from think-
ing bad thoughts or speaking rude, cross words.
Perhaps that is the reason Kita is growing to



The
And

be one of the sweetest girls in school, and why
she is so bright at her books.

One morning Kita was in a hurry. She
wished to get to school very early that morn-
ing to give a flower to her teacher before school
opened, and because she was in a hurry, she
wished her father would not pray with her
that morning. So she thought she would slip
off to school and he would not find her. She
picked her flower, and away she went as fast
as her feet could carry her. But something
seemed to whisper right in her heart, “ Kita,
Kita, what are you doing?”

She turned about quickly, and ran back as
fast as she went. The tears of sorrow and
shame were on her cheeks when she met her.
father in the door.

“Why, what is the matter with my dear
child ?” he said, wiping away her tears.

Then Kita told him how naughty she had
been.

Her father took her in his arms and kissed
her and said, “I forgive you, dear child, and
just so the Heavenly Father will take you in
his arms when you come to him and are sorry
for your sin.”

Then he took her by the hand and they went
upstairs to pray, her father saying as he went,
“You see, my Kita cannot do well when she
runs away from God, not even one little, small
moment.”

Mrs. C. M. Livinesron.

THE HARD TEXT.
(Matt. vi. 25.) .

T cannot be that God would give us think-
ing powers and then command us not to
use them.

“Take no thought,” ete.

Suppose mother should not think about
bread-making, would the bread come miracu-
lously ? No, no. One must think about these
things, and there is no wrong about that, but
the wrong comes in when we begin to doubt

“our Heavenly Father, as we do when we “take

anxious thought,” for that is the real meaning
of the word “thought ” in the text.
Ss
Ses cg

Sh


HARD QUESTIONS.





HARD QUESTIONS.

re) TE, kitchen was large and neat, and
I Miss Helen was always kind. Gustave

wood, especially when Miss Helen was
at work, as she was this May morning.

Gustave lingered to watch the skillful knife
go around the apple she was pealing, at least
that was what he was apparently lingering for,
but Miss Helen, who understood him pretty
well, as she glanced at his wistful face, was
sure that he wanted to ask a question.

«Sit down, Gustave,” she said, “and let us
have a little visit. You are not in haste?”

“No, ma’am,” said Gustave; “I am pretty
near done with what Mr. Williams left me to
do, and after that he said I might whistle till
he got back.”

“Then suppose instead of whistling you talk
tome. How are you getting on nowadays?”

“Pretty well, ma’am,” said Gustave; but he
spoke slowly, and the wistful look was still on



his face. He sat down on the edge of his chair
and waited for Miss Helen to say more. She
always seemed to know just what to say.

“ Do you find it easy to be a soldier?”

“Not so very, ma’am—not in school. The

boys don’t always like to have me around, you
know, and I don’t know what to do with my-
self. Sometimes I’m mad about it,” said Gus-
tave frankly.

“Don’t like to have you around?” said Miss
Helen. “ Why is that? Don’t you get on
well with the boys?”

“Not always. Sometimes they call me
names and make me feel mad inside, and I
have to run, or maybe I should knock them.”

“O,I hope not! That would be the wrong
kind of fighting for a soldier under your Captain,
you know. What names do they call you?”

Gustave looked down, and the tears twinkled
in his big blue eyes. “You know, ma’am,” he
said faintly.

“Why, Gustave, no, I’m sure I don’t. I
thought you were good friends with the boys
in your school. What names can they call
you? Don’t you want to tell me?”

“Tt is about father, you know,” said Gustave,
blushing violently, “He sells whiskey, you

see, and the boys don’t like it; and I don’t
either, I’m sure, but it is not my fault nor
mother’s, and they call him ‘Old Rummie,’
and they say I’m the rum-seller’s boy. I am,
I know, but I don’t like to be told of it. My
father is not a drunkard, if he is a rum-seller,
but the boys say he will be. They say all rum-
sellers go to drinking after a while. Do you
think that is so, Miss Helen?”

Poor Gustave! his teacher’s heart ached for
him.

“Not all of them, Gustave,” she said gently.
“JT am sorry the boys are so thoughtlessly un-
kind. It is not your fault, as you say, and
your father may become acquainted with Jesus
one of these days and be a soldier too; then

you will have nothing to worry about.”

But Gustave did not look encouraged.

“J don’t know,” he said sorrowfully, “father
does not seem to care about Jesus. I’m afraid
he will not be a soldier; he does not like to
hear about him.. He asks me questions about
the day school, and likes to have me know my
lessons, but when I try to tell him the Sunday
lesson he gets cross and says, ‘No matter about
that.’ Miss Helen, what do you think is the
reason why people do not all like to know
Jesus and follow him? You said it was the
only sure and happy way. Don’t they all like
to be safe and happy? One day I asked my
father why,.and he told me to be off and not
bother him with questions; and I saw he did
not like to be talked to about it, but I don’t
understand why.”

“Gustave, have you studied your lesson for
next Sunday?”

“A little, ma’am. I read the story and
learned two verses, and found where the place
is on the map. That’s as far as I’ve got yet.”

“ And do you remember the verse which
says, ‘They forsook all and followed Him’ ?”

“Yes, ma’am; that’s one of the verses I
learned.”

“Well, I think it answers your question,
better perhaps than any words of mine could.
People do not like to ‘forsake all’-to follow
Jesus, and many think they would have to do’
it, so they are held back.”

“But, ma’am,” said Gustave eagerly, “ that
is not true, is it? You said He did not want
HARD QUESTIONS.







people to leave one thing that is good; that
He liked to have them glad and happy, and
would help them to be happier than before.”

“ Which is all true, Gustave, every word.
He doesn’t want them to forsake any good
thing. But sometimes people make money out
of bad things, and they like to make money
and are not willing to stop, though they know
that Jesus asks them to. Such people do not
want to hear about him, and try to make them-
selves think they do not believe what he says.”

Gustave was silent, and looked more troubled
than ever. After a while he asked timidly, —

‘What. business is bad and ought to be given
up, Miss Helen?”

“Think, Gustave. Don’t you know of any
business that makes people poor and cross and
stupid, and the more they have to do with it
the worse they get?”

“Do you mean-selling liquor, Miss Helen?”

“Have I described a part of what liquor
does for people?”

“Yes’m, I think you have.
are made s0 by drinking it.”

“Then can it be right to drink it?”

“O, no, ma’am! but my father doesn’t drink
hardly any. Sometimes he doesn’t drink a bit,
and he never staggers like old Pete Smith.”

“No, he doesn’t drink enough for that; but,
Gustave, can it be right for him to give others
what will make them cross and ugly?”

“But, ma’am, he doesn’t make them drink
it. They come to him and want it and pay
him for getting it for them.”

“True; does that make it right, Gustave ?
Suppose I should give you a knife, with which
you went home and killed your mother, know-
ing when I gave it that you would be likely to
use it for some such purpose ?”

“O, Miss Helen! you wouldn’t do that!”

“But suppose I should? People do wicked
things, sometimes. For the sake of our argu-
ment, suppose I should sell you a knife for
such a purpose— would that make it right?”

“No, ma’am, it wouldn’t, and I see what
you mean. Then you think it is wicked for
my father to sell beer ?”

“The question is, Gustave, not what I think
but what you think.”

Gustave was silent for a few moments; then

Some _ people

—— Ff

he drew a long sigh and produced another argu-
ment. ‘But, Miss Helen, people would sell it
if he didn’t, so what difference does it make?”

“Other people would steal Mr. Proctor’s
chickens to-night — some people did last night
—wouldn’t it make any. difference whether
Gustave Smicht did it? Could you be a soldier
of Jesus and do anything that you knew was
making sin in the world, no matter how many
others were doing it?”

“No,” said Gustave, after a few troubled
moments. In his distress he forgot to say
“No, ma’am.” Evidently he understood just
whither his own conclusions were leading him.

“Then you see where a great deal of the
trouble lies. I don’t think, my boy, that your
father will ever be a soldier of Jesus so long
as he has his present business. You know
about conscience, Gustave? The consciences
of people tell them that Jesus does not approve
of such a business, and really honest people
shrink from hearing anything about him while

‘they are doing what he does not want done.”

Silence, then another question :

“Miss Helen, then why do people who are
soldiers of Jesus buy beer of father, and help
along his business, and why do they rent him
a store to do such business in, and why do they
sign his papers and help him to get started?”

“T don’t know,” said Helen, pealing apples
very fast, the glow on her face growing deeper.
“You must ask them if you want to find out,
for I really cannot tell you why it is so.”

Gustave waited, his anxious eyes studying
his oracle’s face. Was it possible that she had
no explanation of this painful puzzle? Nothing
that would give him a hint by which to reach
his father?

The glow on her cheeks did not fade, but
there came, presently, a softer light in her
eyes, and she looked up at the waiting boy and
smiled.

“Some things are hard. to understand, Gus-
tave,” she said, “but you and I know two
things—the Lord Jesus Christ is the king of
this world, and we are his servants; and some
day he will reign here in all hearts, and right
all wrongs, and explain all puzzles. Suppose
you and J trust him, and work hard to bring
his kingdom in?” Pansy.
WICKED BIRDS



WICKED BIRDS.

RE you acquainted with a family of
birds named Barn Martins? I have
heard of a wicked bit of work of theirs
—so wicked, I can hardly believe it; yet

the gentleman who tells the story can.

be depended upon as speaking the truth.

It seems that a young couple not long ago
selected a certain barn in the State of Penn-
sylvania in which to build their house. They
built a lovely home, with a door in the side,

}
i)

if

that, for try as they would the Barn Martins
could not get him out of their house.

They used every means at their command
and failed. Had the story stopped here, what
sympathy we could have had for the Barn
Martins. But I am sorry to tell you that,
smarting under a sense of wrong, their evil
passions entirely got the better of them; they
brought mud and plastered it over the little
door in the side of the house, working with such
speed that before the sparrow realized what was
going on, he was a prisoner for life, walled in



BIRDLAND,

according to their usual habit, but before they
had set up housekeeping an English sparrow
deliberately moved in while they were away
one afternoon, and refused to come out. I say
nothing for the English sparrow; it was a clear
case of glaring dishonesty on his part, of
course, and the boldest kind of dishonesty at

to the home he had stolen. Terrible, isn’t it?
Wouldn’t you suppose their happiness for life
would be destroyed — that is, if they have con-
sciences. Who knows? All I am sure of is,
that they have set to work exactly next door te
the walled-up house and built again, and are
living there in apparent happiness. Pansy.
Mv by

4s

i




THE VOICE





THE VOICE OF POWER.





#T wasalovely home. Miss Ellis
thought this, as she had many
times before. She slackened her pace
as she neared the house, and went
slowly up the broad stone steps ; she
dreaded to be shown in. She won-

dered what words there were to fit the hour.

A heavy sorrow had shut down on the home.

since she last visited it. Her favorite scholar
in Sabbath-school, Ellie Westwood, lived here,
but Miss Ellis knew that at this moment ina
closed and darkened room, Ellie’s father lay in



















































































































































































































































Ti at Tee
i 7 Hi a

OF POWER.



Grandma say that there was comfort in the
Bible for every sorrow, but it made mine all
the worse. Don’t you think the book opened
of itself, papa’s Bible! to the story of the
young man being carried to the grave, and
Jesus met them and stopped the procession and
said, ‘Young man, I say unto thee arise.’ Oh!
if he were only here now, he could just speak
papa’s name and he would answer right away!
The young man did, you know; sat up and
began to speak. Papa loved Jesus, and would
have obeyed his voice. O, Miss Ellis! how
can I bear it?” And once more Ellie buried
her face in her hands in a flood of tears.



ei

Hi a
til aul

a i: |





















































































































































































































































































































































































































i )

AS SHE NEARED THE HOUSE,

his coffin, waiting to be taken to his resting
place, in the hillside cemetery.

Poor Ellie! she loved her father even more
than girls of her age often do; and as she
threw herself into her teacher’s arms, and gave
way to a fresh burst of grief, it seemed to her
for a moment, that her heart must break.

“O, Miss Ellis!” she said at last, between
the sobs, “I tried to get some help this after-
noon out of the Bible. I have often heard

“Dear Ellie,’ Miss Ellis said, in a low,
soothing voice, after waiting a few moments
for the poor girl to grow more quiet ; “you for-
get; you spoke as though that dear Friend
was far away, when he is close beside you, and
knows all about it. Do you realize that he has

- spoken to your papa, called him by name, and

directed him to come home to the place which
has been long waiting? He wanted him in
heaven, Ellie dear, not on earth any more.
THE VOICE

OF POWER.

Your papa heard his voice, and was too glad
to obey.”

Oh! but,” said Ellie, sobbing still, though
more quietly, “it is-so different. He gave the
young man back to his mother, and she heard
his voice again, and I suppose he walked home
by her side and took care of her, and mamma
has no one now.”

“TI know He did, dear; for some good reason
known to Him, He wanted that young man to
live longer on the earth — perhaps he was not
ready for heaven. But He wanted your father
to go to his inheritance. I suppose He has
some blessed work for him to do there, before
it is time for mamma to go. He certainly
knows all about it, dear, and has planned it in
the best way possible, both for papa and you;
cannot you trust Him?”

The sobs which had shaken the young girl’s
form grew less and less violent, and at last,
though she cried still, it was in a quiet way.
The passionate outburst of grief was evidently
over for the time.

Miss Ellis had drawn the brown head to her
shoulder, and while she held her with one arm,
with the other hand she gently smoothed back
the disordered waves of hair from her fore-
head. After a few moments of silence she
spoke again.

“Ellie dear, papa is safe at home, where
nothing can ever trouble him any more; do
you think you could turn your thoughts from
him to one who is not safe, and not happy, and
needs oh! so much to hear the voice of Jesus
calling to him to ‘arise’ ?”

“You mean Bert,” said Ellie. “O, Miss
. Ellis! if something could be done for Bert.”
_ «There can be,” said Miss Ellis firmly.

“ Perhaps, Ellie, God called your papa home
just at this time in order to-help your brother
to hear the voice that is calling him. Papa
doesn’t need your prayers any more, Ellie, but
Bert is in great need. Can’t you help him,
can’t you carry him on your heart to this
Jesus who is as ready to-day as he was when
he met the young man by the gates of Nain,
and beg him to speak to your brother in such
a way that he will hear? And is there nothing
else that you can do to help your brother at
this time?”

“Pll try, Miss Ellis,” said the little girl,
raising herself up to kiss her teacher’s cheek.
“You have helped me so much! I did not
think of papa as at home in heaven; I could
only think of him as dead, and it almost seemed
to me as though Jesus were dead, too. [ll try
as hard as I can to help Bert.”

Miss Ellis walked away from the grand
house, a little more hopeful than she had been
when she entered it. Perhaps she had been
able to do some good; if her words had helped
Ellie any she was thankful. But her heart
was heavy over the “only son” of this widow.
Young, handsome, well-educated, and getting
to be what people called “wild,” getting more
and more under the influence of the elegant
up-town saloon, with its high license, and its
elegant bar, and costly wines. Would he listen
to the voice of power before it was too late?

Miss Ellis dreaded the funeral; dreaded to
meet Ellie again, and listen to her outbursts
of sorrow, but she need not have been afraid,
Ellie was very quiet. She cried a good deal
of the time, it is true, but always softly, and
held her little sister’s hand, and looked after
her with almost a mother’s care, and once she
actually smiled on Miss Ellis when she caught
her eye; such a brave, pitiful little smile, it
was sad, almost more pathetic than tears; but
after all it encouraged Miss Ellis. Jesus had
evidently helped to comfort this little girl.

Later, on that same trying day, the teacher
went to try to make the desolateness of the
house a little less hard to bear. Ellie met her
in the hall, and from behind the tears shone a
smile. “O, dear Miss Ellis!” she said, “I
have something to tell you; something which
ought to make me happy, even to-day. Don’t
you think Bert has heard His voice! We
have been having a long talk, and he says he
promised papa he would be a different man
from this time, and that he went down on his
knees beside papa’s coffin and promised Jesus
that he would serve him forever. Miss Ellis,
don’t you think papa is glad about it in
heaven ?”

“TI am sure of it,” said Miss Ellis, kissing
her. ‘You see, Ellie darling, it is the same
Voice: still, and has proved its power once
more.” Pansy.
BABY’S CORNER.

~



BABY’S CORNER.

A PIKCE OF BABY’S MIND.




zt AMMA calls everybody to see my
& two pretty pink feet. She kisses them
ph and says they are sweet little footsie
tootsies; and then she goes and covers them
up with little ugly woolly things she calls
socks.

I don’t like socks. My feet are pretty; Ido
I like
to play with them, and I do not want them

think my ten toes are real cunning.

bundled up in socks.
first that I would not wear socks.

I made up my mind at
I told
mamma so, but she doesn’t seem to know what
I mean.

It does seem as if all the folks in this house,
mamma and grandma and auntie and nurse,
just live on purpose to keep my socks on.
Everybody who takes me up goes to fumbling
after my feet the first thing. They always
find my socks off, and they always put them
on again.

Foolish people! They don’t know that I
just rub my feet together hard and give them
a little toss, and off come the old socks quick
as a wink, the minute after they have tied
them on. I am glad I wear long dresses, It
is very hard work kicking them off so much.
I am tired out some days, they keep me 80
busy. Then I get cross and they think I have
a pain.

Grandma is the worst one. She is always
after my feet. She feels of them and says,
“Mary, this child’s feet are cold as ice” —
Mary ismy mamma. Then she toasts them at
the fire.

It doesn’t feel good to me, but I have to
lie and take it. I wonder if Grandma would
like to have her bare feet turned up to some
live coals?

One day nurse tied my socks very tight. I

could not get them off. They hurt me, and I
cried all day. Mamma thought I was sick.
She gave me some catnip tea, and then she
sent for the doctor. He left some funny little
pills. He told them to give me two every
hour. They were good, but my feet hurt just
the same.

I did not feel easy until they took off those
hateful socks. Then mamma said, “That medi-
cine is doing the darling good.” It is queer
how much big folks don’t know.

My socks don’t get tied tight any more,
Grandma saw the bright red streaks the strings
made on my feet that day, and she tends —
to it now.

But we just go on, they putting the socks on,
and I kicking them off, and I suppose it will
always be so till I grow up. Then I’m sure I
shall go barefoot.

Mrs. C. M. Livinaston.



APRIL.

ARK! the hours are softly calling,
Bidding spring arise,
To listen to the rain drops falling
From the cloudy skies ;
To listen to earth’s weary voices,
Louder every day,
Bidding her no longer linger
On her charmed way,
But hasten to her task of beauty
Searcely yet begun.
~ Apeams A. Procter.



N many a green branch swinging,
Little birdlets singing,
Warble sweet notes in the air.
Flowers fair there I found,
Green spread, the meadow all around.
— From “ Spring Song” of Germany.










































THE LITTLE KING OF SPAIN.

2
q
nw
5
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A “MAGIC BOOK.”

—HE WAS WELCOME.





A “MAGIC BOOK.” |

&

} WRITER in the St. Nicholas tells the

story of a narrow escape of Stanley’s
in Africas He was one day making
notes in his book, when a company of
savages came down the river in their canoes,,
long spears in their hands, and with fierce looks
and savage mutterings approached Mr. Stanley.

The moment he saw them-he spoke the word
“‘Sen-nen-neh!” which in their language means
“peace.” But they looked fierce and angry. “At
last the chief spoke for them: “If white man
wishes peace, why does he try to bewitch us?”

Stanley assured them that he had not such a
thought; that he and his men had laid down
their swords and wanted to be treated as guests,
and to be friends. But the chief spoke again:
«The stranger’s words are not straight! Did
we not see him making spells of witchcraft
against us, and drawing them on the magic
charm that he carries with him?”

In an instant, Stanley understood that it was
his note-book which had made them angry.
The chief assured him that if he meant to be
“fair” with them he must throw his magic
work into the fire near by, then they would
creat him as a brother. This was hard for Mr.
Stanley. His notes were very important; he
had spent long, weary months and years in
gathering the knowledge written there. Sud-
denly a bright thought came to him.. He had
a pocket volume of Shakespeare which looked
much like the offending nete-book. He drew it
out, asking if that was the charm they wished
him to burn. A hundred voices answered it
was, and the chief once more assured him that
“if he\ would burn it, before their eyes, he and
his men should have food and be cared for.

There was a blazing fire close at hand, into
which Mr. Stanley. at once flung the book.
The savages watched it burn in silence for a

rv

moment, then broke into a yell of delight. -

The thing they feared was gone. They rushed
forward to welcome their “ white brother,” and
brought fruit and fish and all the dainties of
the island for him.

Mr. Stanley lost his volume of Siabecpeare
but ‘his precious notes were saved, and given
to the world, Pansy.

HE WAS WELCOME.

MA men have trusty watch-dogs, but
the banker represented in the Pail’
Mall Gazette seems to possess a canine curiosity
that is faithful almost to the verge of being
morbidly conscientious : —

“An Austrian banker lately went to Vien ¢
on business. He arrived in the evening, trav
eling with a large, handsome dog. The two
put up at a hotel, and next morning the gentle-
man went out, bidding care to be taken that
his dog did not stray from the house. The
chamber-maid went to make up the banker’s:
room. Bruno was very pleased to see her,,
wagged his huge tail, licked her hand, and
made friends thoroughly until, her business-
being done, she was about to leave. Not so.
Bruno calmly stretched himself full length be-
fore the door. He explained, as perfectly as
possible, that ‘he knew his duty.? No one
should leave his master’s room in his absence..
When the girl tried to pull the dvor open sufti-
ciently, te growled, showed his ee and:
finally held her fast.

“The woman’s screams brought another
maid, and yet another, and then in succession
all the waiters. Bruno was glad to let them all
in, but he allowed no one to go out. The room
became pretty well crowded, and every bell in:
the house, meantime, rang, while the walls
echoed cries of ‘Waiter! waiter!’ Finally the
lady who kept the hotel appeared, and pushed
ber way irately into the room, asking angrily,
as she walked in, what sort of picnic they were
all holding here. Bruno let her in, too, but not
out again—O, no! When the lady’s husband
appeared, she called him loudly, telling him
to keep outside, to send messengers scour-
ing the city for the banker, and meantime to:
endeavor to pacify the angry customers down-
stairs.

“That Austrian banker was a welcome mar
when he arrived.” — Selected.



In point of population the sexes are about
equal in the United States, but in church mem-
bership two thirds are females, and of sixty
thousand penitentiary inmates fifty-five thou-
sand are men.
BABY’S

-

CORNER.



BABY’S CORNER.

HEN-PEN.



BT was a warm, pleasant spring

morning. A little hen that lived
in a big barn on the hill thought
she would take’a walk all by herself.
The barn-door stood wide open, so
she stepped out.

First she went into the orchard and picked
about in the fresh grass. She found some new
bugs and worms. Then she flew up on the
fence and looked down the road.

“That’s a nice little path in the grass by the
roadside,” Hen-pen said to herself. “«T wonder
‘what is at the foot of the hill? I mean to find
out.” .

She looked behind her to see if anybody
What a

Ten-pen was very hap-

was coming, then down she flew.
nice smooth path!
py walking along in the sweet air singing a
little song.

Pretty soon Hen-pen came to a_ brook.
She saw two boys sitting on a green bank,
fishing, but she did not stop; she took a drink
. and went on.

By and by she got to the foot of the hill,
and there she saw a wee house among the trees.
Hen-pen was tired. She thought she would go
and rest in the shade a few minutes, so she



HEN-PLN.

slipped under the fence. She went around to
the back of the house. The woodshed door
stood open; Hen-pen stepped softly in.

She spied a round basket in the corner half-
full of chips.

_“What a pretty nest that would make!”
said Hen-pen, and into the basket she got and
sat down.

A poor old woman lived alone in this little
house. She was lame, and had to walk with a
cane. She got
up that

morning, be-

late

‘cause she did
not sleep well.
When — she
was dressed she
went to the
wood shed to
get some chips
to boil her tea-
kettle.
Ten-pen had



MRS. KIP’S TEAK ETTLE.

gone home half an-hour ago. But what was
in Mrs. Kip’s chip basket? A pretty white
warm egg!

Now Mrs. Kip had nothing in the house for
She

was just wishing she had a nice fresh egg, and

breakfast but some dry bread and butter.

here it was.

She was very glad. She boiled it and ate it,
and it was good. P

“Tf I ever find out whose hen it is,” said
good Mother Kip, “I will pay them for that
egg.”

Hen-pen came every day for a long time
after that and left an ege in the pretty basket
for Mrs. Kip’s breakfast.

Mrs. C. M. Livrneston.

A NEw pair of shoes came home for little
five-year-old. He tried them on, and finding
that his feet were in very close quarters, ex-
claimed: “O, my! they are so tight I can’t
Wink my toes.”
FROM SIVAS, ASIA MINOR.—TEMPTATION.



FROM SIVAS, ASIA MINOR.

E went out tosome cold springs not far
from here one summer and | saw a long
a pile of stones that some folks said was
the grave of a very big man who used
to sit cn the top of a steep hill with his feet
reaching to a pond in the valley. One day a
woman was bathing in the water and she bcgan
io drown, when he without leaving his high
seat reached down his hand and rescued her,
and after doing many other great performances
like this they say he died and was folded up
seven times and buried, and yet his grave was
fifteen feet long. Some of the Turks that go
there tie rags on the bushes near the grave to
cure their diseases. One day I saw some men
come and put stones on the grave, so it becomes
longer and higher every year.

One winter in the city not long ago papa was
returning from school with a magnet in his
hand when he met the Secretary of the Board
of Education of Sivas, who is a Turk. Papa
took his knife and rubbed it on the magnet a
few times, and showed him that it would pick
up a needle. A few days afterwards, the Sec-
retary meeting a Greek who had just received
a large invoice of knives, the following dialogue
took place :

Turk. Any of your. knives English?

Greek. O, yes! most all of them.

Turk. Bring us some needles; let’s try
them. E

Greek. What do needles have to do with
them ?

Turk. Why, of course if it’s genuine English
it will pick up needles.

Greek. No knife will pick up needles.

_ Turk. Tt won't, eh? look at mine. You
‘iaven’t got a single English knife among your
whole lot.

Saying this the Turk left in apparently great
disgust. A few days afterwards he happened
around again at the store and found the Greek
still in great distress.

“Secretary Effendim,” he said, “those Eng-
lish at Constantinople haven’t even the shadow
of a conscience. I paid an extra high price to
get knives warranted English. Now here I
have more than- twenty liras worth of this

bogus trash that nobody wants to buy. Where
will I tind bread for my wife and children
this year? There’s no end to the woes of a
merelinnt in Turkey.” .

The Secretary had to confess immediately,
and the Greek was changed for a while into
the happiest man in this city of fifty thousand
people. ;

Last year I got thirty-seven people to sign
the temperance pledge, all but one of whom
signed the tobacco pledge too.

{send my love to you.

Your loving reader,
Ray S. Hussarp.

TEMPTATION.
ql Corinthians x. 13.)

HAT God is faithful, well I know,
Since all my life has proven so ;

Aud never have I suffered more
Than He could know whom J adore.

Temptation oft has been my foe,
But such as common is below;

While God the Father has not let
Me perish in my sufferings yet.

For my escape, His kindly way
Deserves my gratitude each day.

So in this, His own holy morn,
I bless His name, whose Son was born

To cleanse me from my guilt and sin,
My soul unto Himself to win.

Be unto God my whole intent,
My life with him forever spent.

A special note of praise I sing
While here His help remembering.

And may His love possess my soul,
So that I be in His control

Until within the realms of light
I gain new voice, new song, new might.
Haze. Wyrups, in Home Guardian.
A OUEL

faa ple ia ial

i i " d

nee

I
WIN
Hee Dy

yen

Nyy ays K
aya eo

Aa nye ‘
ei y K

Adie sy vn N hietsh See

“hh hig mi iy
Mi

se’ Nit HT

Ee oy

HAH i]
oe 7

AN OLD STORY IN A NEW DRESS.

fei Vai

Fuel <.
es so oe ied For.

q AN

Ay

it WHEE
if} UC)

if, 4 iH

gle Ga H HG

N (Ces
NZ Hi diliy /,

in
ae

ait
I

an i |
eh


A DIFFICULT QUESTION.—THE DAY DAWNS.





A DIFFICULT QUESTION.

CHINAMAN who has become a Chris-
tian asked one of the missionaries how
many ministers there were in his country. The
missionary, curious to know what his judgment
would be, told him the number of people who
lived in his country (the missionary was from
England), and asked him to guess.

PRISON OF THE INQUISITION.

“Well,” said the Chinaman, “it is a little
country ; I guess there are fifteen hundred.”

“No,” said the missionary, “you are wrong.
“here are twenty-three thousand.”

The reply was, “ Why, you.can afford a thou-
sand missionaries for China, as well as not.”



THE DAY DAWNS.






Cy
VO)

HIS picture carries us back into the
dark days of persecution and pain in
Spain. What tears were shed and
what groans were heard within those
prison walls—tears and groans of

Christians — no living person knows. Ah! if

those walls, those dungeons, could speak, what

a sad story they would tell.

“Why did those children of God

suffer such torture on the rack?”

Because they would not give up

their faith for that of their ene-

mies. “They loved not their lives

unto the death.” (Zev, xii. 11.)

They laid down their best gift
“for Jesus’ suse.” That was their

Whisper Motto, to which they

were so true when the trying hour

came, What that you prize so
highly, are you ready to give up

- for his dear sake?

But those dark days of persecu-
tion and death are about gone
from the earth, and most people
may now worship God according
to the dictates of their conscience.
{ don’t think we need fear that
our faithfulness to Jesus will ever
vost us our lives.

And in heathen lands, whither
our missionaries are going and
preaching “On earth peace, good-
w-ll to man, and glory to God
in the highest,” wars and cruelty
are possing away.

Husbands are not selling their
wives into slavery, fathers are
not delivering up their children
to shame 4rd pain as once. And
when, oh! when the heathenism
of the saloor and strong drink
passes ae it surely will ‘in

te good time coming” — what a song of angels”
there’ll be, and rejoicing on the earth. What
are you and I doing to bring it about? C.

A Christian is a man who is restoring God’s
likeness to his character. — Robertson.














































4
a
5
Ba
A.
g
a
5
e


THE HARD

TEXT.—NATURE GROANING.



THE HARD TEXT.

(Matt. vi. 22, 23.)

INGLE,” fixed steadily upon one object, as
when the rope-dancer fixes his eye, not
upon the confusing people, but upon some ob-
ject on the wall. So one must look steadily to
Jesus.
The eye is the body’s guide. Suppose it be



CHAMOIS OVERTAKEN BY AN AVALANCHE,

unsteady or diseased or blind, what a calamity
to the poor body.

So the soul is for our light; what if it be
wicked or not steadily fixed upon Jesus— upon
Bible truth? Wow much more mischief this
would bring than mere eye blindness.

Let us pray Jesus, who is the Light of the
world, to lead us into all truth, to lead us to
think, speak, do and feel right.

Are you aiming to have a conscience void of
offense toward God and man ? Cc. M. L.



NATURE GROANING.




AN’T you see something more in
those pictures of nature than beauty
and wonder? Can’t you hear groans
and wails, not only of those frightened,
suffering animals, but of very Nature herself ?
the very hills and valleys sighing, moaning as
if some terrivle thing had torn them apart,
as tears the exgle the lamb, leaving wide
wounds gaping and gushing with
their own gore! When they eruci-
fied Jesus the very rocks rent, and
so the storms, the earthquakes, the
rumbling thunder, the cyclones,
with the earth and sea roaring;
altogether, is not creation groaning
over something that has happened
—is going on now —

“The loss of Eden
And all its woe’?

In other words, sin has wrecked
creation, and like a once beautiful
and noble ship, it now lies among
the rocks, the wild waves dashing
against and over it.

But the time is near, we hope,
when the Master will speak as he
once spoke to stormy Galilee —
“Peace, be still» — and there will
be a great calm the wide world
over, and wildness, wickedness and
wars will cease. Then “the lion
and the lamb will lie down together
and a young child shall lead them.”
Instead of. the opening picture i:
will be more like the one laxi
shown you.

When the kingdoms of this world become
the kingdom of our Lord and his Church,
creation’s groans will cease —rather will be a
mighty hallelujah of praise to our God.

Toward all this our missionary work moves.

How much are we pushing? C. M. L.

Tr is the little things that make the world’s
history and fix the destiny for eternity.
REBECCA AND ISAAC.





REBECCA AND ISAAC.

girl whom we will call Rebecca.

One day her sister came home from
the primary Sunday-school class with
a missionary paper, and handed it to Rebecca

to see the pictures. They were pictures of
heathen people in Africa, And there were
interesting stories about these heathen — telling
how ignorant they were of God and Jesus, the



those far-away, awful folks? I’m only a child,”
she reasoned — “only a girl—and sick besides
in bed.”

So she cast the question away, thinking it
was not for her to answer.

But some days after, when she was up and
dressed, the same little question came and stood
before her and said, “Here I am. Can’t you
do something with me? I’ve been waiting
about for you to speak to me.”

So Rebecca fell to thinking again what she
should say to this questioner. She said not a



REBECCA.

Saviour. And one of the stories ended with
the question, “ What Sunday-school child will
make ready to go to teach these blind people
about God’s love in sending his dear Son to
die for them?”

Now these pictures and stories set Rebecca
to thinking, and that question seemed to look
her right in the face for an answer.

But she said to herself, “ What can I do for

—

word, but just kept on thinking till her tired
head sank upon the lounge, and she fell fast
asleep.

Here she is, you see.

As she slept, she dreamed of —

‘The heathen in their blindness
Bow down to wood and stone.”

Again she thought the queer bit of a ques-
DO YOU THINK TO PRAY?



===



tioner stood there, saying, “ Who will go, and
whom shall I send?”
And while she wondered she almost house

she heard:

‘Shall we, whose souls are lighted .
With wisdom from on high,

Shall we to men benighted

The lamp of life deny?”

Awaking from the strange dream, she sought
her mother and told it all, and her mother hid
it away in her heart, wondering if, like dear
Samuel, her darling had been called of the
Lord to a great work.

On and on rushed the years. Rebecca was
now a young woman, and in her heart was
Jesus, and one day she said to him, “ Here am
I, send me.”

Now there had lived in her neighborhood a
dear boy, whom we will call Isaac. They had
met often at school and played together, and
once and again Isaac had walked home with
Rebecca to assist her through the snow, and as
they walked on they talked, and once Rebecca
told Isaac her queer dream, and about the
heathen. This set Isaac to thinking; and so,
though it was cold, they stopped and thought.

Now they.were both grown up. Isaac came
home from the theological seminary for his
vacation. And his minister had him preach
for him that Sabbath, and as he preached all
that were in the house saw that his heart was
set upon being a missionary.

The next year he finished his studies in the
seminary and came home, and —he and Rebecca
went away off among the Zulus of Africa as
missionaries. But they were now Mr. and Mrs.
Isaac

Every one said, “Poor Rebecca, she is so
frail and sickly, she’ll soon die in that bad
climate.”

“Did she die?”

Not till after she had done so much for the

lind heathen, leading many of them into the
Light of God; not till she had been many,
many years the brightest, dearest companion of
Isaac as he preached and taught this people
from house to house; not until she saw her
own darling sons and daughters growing up to
take her place.



--

After that— only two years ago—she fell
asleep again —in the arms of Jesus.

A few days ago I saw dear “Isaac” and one
of the lovely daughters here in Florida at
Winter Park, and I heard him preach a won-
derful sermon about these Zulus, and the daugh-
ter played, and sang in the Zulu language.

And now while I write they are sitting near
the seashore or on the bank of the Indian River
at Rock Ledge, Fla., thinking of Zululand, and
wishing to go back there again.

And “Isaac” is really and truly Rev. Dr.
Tyler. When you read this, they will be in
St. Johnsbury, Vt. C. M. L.

DO YOU THINK TO PRAY?

We you left your room this morning,
Did you think to pray?

In the name of Christ our Saviour,

Did you sue for loving favor
As a shield to-day?

When you meet with great temptations,
Do you think to pray?

By His dying love and merit,

Do you claim His Holy Spirit
As your guide and stay?

When your heart was filled with anger,
"Did you think to pray?
Did you plead for grace, my brother,
That you might forgive another

Who had crossed your way?

When sore trials came upon you,

Did you tkink to pray?
When your soul was bowed with sorrow,
Balm of Gilead did you borrow

At the gates of day? — Selected.

As the word of God, well studied, will help
us to understand his providences, so the provi-
dence of God, well observed, will help us to
understand his Word, for God is every day
fulfilling the Scripture.

THE BOASTER.—CHEERING WORDS.





THE BOASTER.

| : ff AVE you read the story of the little

boy who boasted that he could learn
any verse in the. Bible in five minutes?

The New York Christian Advocate
tells about him.

It seems he won a prize in Sunday-school for
learning the greatest number of verses in a
certain length of time. He showed so much
vanity about it that the pastor concluded to
give him a little lesson. After he had proudly
declared that he could learn any verse in the
Bible in five minutes, he was given a verse and
sent into a corner by himself to learn it, the
minister engaging to time him.

The following is the verse:

“Then were the king’s scribes called at that
time in the third month, that is, the month
Sivan, on the three and twentieth day thereof;
and it was written according to all that Mor-
decai commanded unto the Jews, and to the
lieutenants, and the deputies, and rulers of the
provinces which are from India unto Ethiopia,
an hundred and twenty-seven provinces,’ unto
every province according to the writing thereof,
and unto every people after their language, and
to the Jews according to their writing, and
according to their language.”

It is said that the poor vain boy after one
hour’s effort failed in reciting the verse
correctly.

I suppose it helped to teach him a much-
needed lesson; still, after all, do you think it
was quite fair?

Moreover, if he had only known how to
study, and had had a reasonably good memory,
even a verse of that kind need not have taken
an hour. Try it, Pansies, and see how long it
will take you to memorize it, after you have
carefully analyzed it.

What do I mean by that? Why, try what
shape you can get it into, which will aid your
memory. What does the verse say ?, What
facts does it give you? How many facts are
there in it? This for a hint; you do the rest.



Do thy little, or do thy much,
For the Maker loveth such.



CHEERING WORDS.

ROM Africa, the home of the first civi-
lized nation of the world —the Egyptians
—comes cheering words. Explorers, travelers
and navigators have made valuable contribu-
tions to the geography and history of thist
country, but to the zealous, earnest worker in
the Master’s cause, has been given the blessed
opportunity of promoting a greater work than
was ever before undertaken. And this not in.
one benighted land. Wherever the need is.
manifest thither are the sturdy ones going.
An exchange says:

“ Nothing was known of the interior of the
Dark Continent until within a few years; now
Africa is girded with Christian missions. Thirty-
four missionary societies are at work, and all
its 200,000,000 souls are practically within the
reach of Christian ministers. Thirty-three:
societies have begun work in China, and all
its 850,000,000 souls may be visited with the-
message of the Gospel. More than fifty socie..
ties have entered India, and the light is dawn-
ing on its 250,000,000. Turkey and Persia and
Japan are filling with mission churches and
schools. Practically, the whole world is open,
and the grandest day of opportunity for the
kingdom of God that the earth has ever seen:
has fully dawned.”

T the end of 1887 there were 38 mission-

ary societies represented in China by

1,030 missionaries, of whom 489 were men and
221 were single ladies. There were 175 native
ordained ministers and 1,316 unordained helpers,

_ 81,290 communicants, 13,777 pupils in schools,

and the contributions by native Christians
amounted to $38,136.70. The increase over
the preceding year was, of missionaries includ.
ing men and women, 111, or over 11 per cent. ;
of communicants, 4,268, or over 12} per cent. ;
and of contributions, $19,862.14, or over 100
per cent.

Last year the Chinese Christians, in their
extreme poverty, doubled their contributions:
to every benevolent work. Do not they set a
noble example to their brethren in this more

favored land ?— Missionary Review.
BABY’S

CORNER.







BABY’S CORNER.

~ AUNT MARY’S PET.




N old bird was teaching her children to
fly, one day. i

“We will go to the top of that

barn,” said mother-bird. ‘Now all ready!”

and away they went.

One poor birdie, as he stood on the edge of
the nest, fell down. Aunt Mary found him on
the ground under an orange-tree. She took
him into the
house and
got a
basket, and
made a nice
bed in it for
‘birdie, and
put him into
it.
brought a
bottle of lini-

Then she



ment and

TIP.

some rags
and did up his hurt leg. After that she gave
him some supper, and birdie soon fell asleep.

In the morning he felt better, but he coula
not move his leg. He had to lie on his bed a
long time. But Aunt Mary was kind to him.
She spread a clean white sheet upon bis hed
every day, and fed him bread and milk and
sweet berries, and she gave him a name, too;
she called him Tip.

One morning when Tip woke up the sun was
shining on him. He felt so well and happy he
hopped right out of his bed, and when Aunt
Mary came down he was walking about the
floor!

And now Tip follows Aunt Mary all about
the house. When she works in the kitchen he
stands on the window sill and sings to her, for
he has learned to sing pretty songs now.

little ©

»Sometimes he is a naughty little rogue.
When they are eating breakfast he flies upon
the table and steals the biggest strawberry,
then he takes a drink out of the cream pitcher.
He likes tea, too, and drinks from Aunt Mary’s
cup.

When she eats an orange he stands on the
arm of her chair and takes bites.

He likes bread and milk, and eats it every
morning for breakfast. Sometimes he does not
come quickly when Aunt Mary calls him, but
if she holds out to him a spoonful of milk he
will run to her as fast as he can.

But what do you think Tip loves best of
A cricket! When Aunt
Mary says “See here! see here!” then Tip

anything to eat?

knows she has a cricket for him, and he runs

to.get it. 3
He goes out-of-doors and walks about some-
I think he
never will, because he loves Aunt Mary.
Mrs. C. M. Livineston.

times, but he does not fly away.

BUTTON, BUTTON!

HO has the button? Who, O, who?
Tell me quickly, true, O, true!
“T’ve dot some on my little shoe.”
“And I have some on my dress, too!”
“T have seven of ’em on my sack.”
“T’ve a whole row up and down my back.”
“We've all got buttons, buttons plenty,
Some have seven, and some have twenty.
And you ask us all ‘Who has the button ?’
As well ask a sheep has she got some mutton!”
RossENBERG.

(Nore: —The above arranges prettily for a dialogue be-
tween very little people and an older one. The line ‘‘ We’ve
all got buttons,’’ and the one following, may be recited in
concert by the wee ones; and the last two by a clear little
voice capable of throwing into it considerable sarcasm. — THE
Eprrors.]
WHY ?—“DAN.”





WHY?





“HY do people laugh when any-
body says that some house or
store, or some building about which
they have been talking is made of
paper?”
This was the question which I
heard one boy ask of another older than himself,
“Do they laugh?” asked the older boy.
“Why, of course they do. Didn’t you ever
hear them? Only yesterday father was talk-
ing with those men who are boarding at the
Beck House, about a village down South; they
told about the hotel in the village, and the
schoolhouse, and the depot, and oh! I don’t
know, ever so many other buildings — churches,
and handsome private ‘houses —all built up in
a little while, where there used to be only pine
woods; and when the man turned away, Mr.
Brockton said to father, ‘I think those build-
ings are made of paper, don’t you?’ and father
laughed, and said, ‘Yes; churches and depots
and all” I meant to ask him what he meant,
but I didn’t think of it when I had a chance.”

“Oh!” said the older boy, “I know what
they meant. It is a town they are trying to
boom. They make maps of the town, and have
pictures drawn of churches and schoolhouses,
private houses, stores, banks, and all sorts of
buildings, such as they mean to have some day,
or want to have, and then they scatter those
maps over the country and call them pictures of
the place, before a single building is put up, per-
haps; so you see they are really made of paper.”

“Ho!” said boy number one, “I shouldn’t
call that honest, should you?”

The older one laughed. “Well,” he said,
“T shouldn’t like to buy a house unless I was
sure it was built of something more substantial
than paper, that is a fact.”

All this is true, and the boy’s conclusions
were also true; and yet paper is getting to be
known as a very substantial thing indeed. The
time is fast coming when people will have to
get some other sentence than that,one “made

of paper” with which to express their distrust

of a story, because at this present time there
has been finished in the city of Hamburg a
very large ‘hotel, the front of which is built

entirely of paper! More than that, the paper
has been made fire-proof; and it is said that
rain and sunshine, and cold and frost,have no
effect on it, so that it is better for buildings
than brick, or stone, or wood.

It certainly does seem strange to think of an
actual house in which people live built of paper,
but when we remember that we have paper
wash-bowls and pitchers, and pails, and tubs, car-
wheels, and I know not what else, we need not
be surprised that houses are growing out of the
same material. The truth is, there is by no means
so much chance to laugh over that phrase “ made
of paper” as there used to be. Pansy.

“DAN.”

WRITER in the Boston Post tells a

story about a horse, which leads to the
wonderment as to how much these animals
know. The gentleman says he went to a large
livery stable one afternoon just as a number of
men who had left their horses there for safe
keeping were driving from the yard. Among
them was a man with a large gray horse, who
looked about him with an air that seemed to
say “I know a great deal about several things;
I know more than you have an idea of.” He
had broken into a little trot, and was evidently
intent upon getting home as goon as possible.

Suddenly a man who had been watching him
called out: “Dan, don’s you want a piece of
cake?” Instantly the horse stopped, pricked
up his ears, looked about him eagerly and
uttered that peculiar “whinny,” which says as -
plainly as words can, “ Where is the man who
spoke just then? He is an old friend of mine.”

No urging from his owner could get the
horse to move an inch. The one who had
made the disturbance came forward laughing,
and explained. He recognized the horse as one
which he had owned several years before.

The animal’s name at that time was Dan,
and though it had since been changed, he re-
membered it instantly, and also that he. was
very fond of cake, and was in the habit of
receiving a piece from the man whose voice he
heard once more after the lapse of years.

Did not “Dan” prove that he had a memory?!




NINA AMONG THE POPPIES.




BABY’S CORNER.



BABY’S CORNER.

A NEW TOOTH.




ca OR-O-THE-A—that was Baby’s name.
Dor-o-the-a was good and sweet when
she felt well, but that day she had a
toothache. Her little hands were dry
and hot, her mouth was sore, and
she did not want her dinner. She cried a good
deal, too.

Brother Bobby played all his funny pranks,
but she would not laugh. She only shut her
four little white teeth tight and wrinkled up
her forehead, and said “ Ugh—um?”

«I will tell you what must be done,” said

dresses and bibs and blankets and shirts and
skirts and socks into a big trunk.

Then a carriage came to the door and they
all got in—mamma and papa and Baby and
Fred and Frank and Bobby. The trunk was
put on behind, the driver cracked his whip,
and away they all went.

How hot and dusty the big city was; they
were all glad to be going out of it.

Pretty soon the carriage came down to the
Quick as
a wink they jumped out of the carriage and

lake, and there was the steamboat.

got on to the boat, because it was time for it to
start.

The big bell was going —“Clang! ding,
dong!” and the captain was shouting — “ All



UNDER THE TREES,

‘papa at last, “we will take this baby to the
country.”

Then the little brothers all clapped their
hhands and shouted :

“Goody, goody, good!”

So one morning mamma put Baby’s white

aboard!” So they sailed away over the beau-
tiftil blue water.

So swiftly and 86 smoothly they went along,
that Baby thought the boat must be a big
cradle.

It was quite dark when they stopped. They
“UNITED,

WE STAND.”



all went to bed and to sleep as fast as they
-could.

But in the morning what did they see and
thear ?

They saw. beautiful big trees and pretty
flowers, and oh! such grass. Baby thought
there was a green carpet spread over all the
wworld when she first looked out.

And how the birds did sing: “Hark, hark!”



—=——

“UNITED, WE STAND.”

—

See and Mary and baby,
Baby and Mary and Sue;
As happy, as happy as may be,
Each loving and gentle and true.

Their feet keep step, keep step,
And their bands hold tight, hold tight,



“THEIR FEET KEEP STEP,’?

said Baby, in a very cautious tone of voice.

They had a nice breakfast of fresh eggs and
new milk, and strawberries just from the
garden. _

Then little brothers took Baby out and put
They
The
soft sweet air fanned her, and the bees hummed

her in the hammock under the trees.
swung her and picked flowers fur her.

a pretty song:, Buzz, buzz, buzz-z—z! Soon
Baby was asleep. When she woke up she felt
better.

And now little Dor-o-the-a is quite well
again. Her new tooth has come, and she
laughs and frolics all day long.

Mrs. C. M. Livrnesron.

And their eyes — because they have slept —
Are speaking and sparkling and bright.

May they walk, ever walk, the good way;
May their feet, little feet, never stray,
But be kept, O, be kept to the end!
Good Shepherd, our darlings defend.
A. G. RossEensBera.



A LITTLE boy, becoming tired of the silence
of a Quaker meeting, got up on the seat, and,
folding his arms over his breast, said, “I do
wish the Lord would make us all gooder and
gooder and gooder, till there is no bad left.”
“EVERY CREATURE.”



“EVERY CREATURE.”

3
ITAT dog in the picture, if dressed up,
3 would look almost as wise as his mas-
ters there. Study their faces; how
heathenish! how earthly! What, such
creatures some day look like Jesus and
wear robes of light and sing the everlasting












SOME OF THE PEASANTS MISSIONARIES MEET.

song? you ask. And my answer is this: —

May be. “Preach the Gospel to every creat-
ure,” says our Book. As though God, who first
made man from the very dust, could not con-
vert such men—simply change him after he is
made!



And yet some good people once said strange
things about such matters. Only one hundred
years ago Dr. Carey, the pioneer of English
missions, was laughed at in a conference of
pastors at Northampton, England, because he
urged missions among such people.

Ten years later in the Scotch Assembly such
an undertaking was called “fanciful and laugh. .
able!” In 1810 Mr. Judson andj
some other pious students of And-
over Seminary asked the Congrega-
tional Association of Massachusetts
if their thoughts of going among
the heathen to preach the Gospel
were “visionary and impractica-
ble?”

About forty years ago it is said
that these words were written over
a church door in Cape Colony:
“Dogs and Hottentots not ad-
mitted.” ,

The French governor of the
island of Bourbon called out to the
first missionary to Madagascar, “ So
you will make the Malagasy Chris.
tians? Impossible! they are mere
brutes. They have no more sense
than cattle!”

Were these doubters and ridi-
culers right, or was God right when
he made man in his own image,
and knew he could make every such
man more precious than gold?
Was Jesus right when he said,
“Preach the Gospel to every creat-
ure?” Are they not being con-
verted ? Cc. M. LL.



















“¢Srrvine’ Christ means serving
him personally, just the same as
‘serving’ is applied to a fellow-
creature. Serving Christ means to
labor with nerve and muscle, with
voice and hands and feet. It likewise means
to get physically tired, and then be at work
again as earnestly as before. That is, to give
personal service to a personal Saviour. That
is what it means to be a Christian.”

— Selected.
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CHILDREN’S DAY EXERCISE..





CHILDREN’S DAY EXERCISE.

(The following selections, arranged for reci-
tation, can be made very effective by a little care
in the management of details. The opening
verses are for an older scholar, and care should
be taken to train the speaker to recite well the
somewhat difficult measure.

A profusion of flowers should be displayed,
‘especially in the hands of those who recite
_Jlower verses.

Of course the recitation beginning,

“T think that an angel, maybe,’’

4s intended for a very little child.

Some of the Bible responses could be given
by a class trained to good concert recitation,
others by single voices.

The whole should be interspersed with appro-
priate singing, some of it done by a choir of
children.

I notice in a book entitled“ Wondrous Love,”*
-& most appropriate song for an opening to such
an exercise. It is on page 48, title: “ Sweet
Flowers are Blooming.” We. quote the first
verse.

“‘ When summer outpours her wealth untold,
And meadows are decked with green and gold,
There cometh an hour to praise and pray —
We call it the Children’s Day.

-Cuorus: Sweet flowers are blooming everywhere,
Sweet perfume filling all the air,

. While carroling birds their voices raise,
And join in our songs of praise.’’

The exquisite anthem entitled “ Consider the
Lilies,” would be most appropriate rendered as
a solo by some good singer in the church.

In short, we have purposely left much to the
individual taste in filling out this exercise, and
yet have grouped recitations which we believe
cannot fail to please, if the right committees
take them in hand to work up their sur-
‘roundings.

The exercise should close by the recitation of
George MacDonald's “ Consider the Ravens,”
which will be found on another page of this

magazine.) ;

* Published by the John Church Company, Cincinnati.

Number One:

O, come and woo the spring!
Listen to the birds that sing.
Pluck the violets, pluck the daisies —
Sing their praises.
See the birds together
In this splendid weather,
Worship God, for He is God a!
Of birds, as well as men.
And each feathered neighbor
Enters on his labor —
Sparrow, swallow, robin,
The linnet and the wren.
Worship the God of nature in your childhood. ;
Worship Him in the flowers,
Amid their leafy bowers.
Pluck the buttercups and raise
Your voices in His praise.
Worship Him in your work with best endeavor,
Worship Him in your play,
Worship Him forever.
Epwarp Youu.

Number Two:

“The flowers appear on the earth, and the
time of the singing of birds is come.” —
2 Samuel ii. 12.

Number Three:

(Recitation. Single voice. Little girl with
a bouquet of flowers of many varieties.)

“T think that an angel, maybe, don’t you?
With a window pushed up very high,

Let some of the seeds of the flowers fall through
From the gardens they have in the sky.

For they couldn’t think, here, of lilies so white,
And such beautiful flowers, you know.

But I wonder, when falling from such a height,
That the dear little things could grow.”

Number Four: e

“And God saw everything that He had
made, and behold, it was very good.” — @en.
i. 31.
“He hath made everything beautiful in His
time. No man can find out the work that God
maketh, from the beginning to the end.”

Number Five:

(Recitation. By another litile girl.)
“They ask not your planting,
They need not your care,
They grow
Dropped down in the valley,
CHILDREN’S DAY EXERCISE.



The field, anywhere.
They grow in their beauty, arrayed in pure white,
They grow clothed in glory by heaven’s own light —
Sweetly grow.”

Number Siz: ,

‘Something round which it may twine
God gives every little vine.

Some little nook or sunny bower,
God gives every little fluwer.’”’

Number Seven:

“Casting all your care upon Him; for He
eareth for you.” —1 Peter v. 7.

“Consider the lilies, how they grow; they
toil not, neither do they spin; and yet I say
unto you that even Solomon in all his glory

was not arrayed like one of these.” — Luke —

xii. 27.

“Tf then God so clothe the grass of the field,
how much more will he clothe you?” — Luke
xii. 28.

Number Hight:

“Then leave it with Him;
The lilies all do,
And they grow;
They grow in the rain,
And they grow in the dew —
Grow and grow!
They grow in the darkness, all hid by the night;
They grow in the sunshine, revealed in the light —
Still they grow.”

Number Nine:

“Out on the hills in mild spring weather;
So early, only the bluebirds knew;
Thousands of little flowers grew together;
Purple and pink, and white and blue;
While the March storm raged and fretted, and wept,
And froze its song in the bluebird’s throat;
*Neath mottled-leaf blankets they softly slept,
Close wrapped in their soft fur overcoats.

Now the sun shines warm, and under our feet
They nod and smile in the sweet spring air;
So daintily hued, and faintly sweet —
What flowers of the garden are half so fair?
And the sweet old sermon is preached again
Of life from death, for the doubter’s need,
Of rest, after struggle, and grief, and pain ~
The text: ‘The Lord is risen again.’ ”

Number Ten:

_ “The wilderness and the solitary place shal?
be glad for them; and the desert shall rejoice,
and blossom as the rose. It shall blossom
abundantly, and rejoice.. Say to them that are
of a fearful heart, be strong, fear not: behold
your God will come.” — Jsa, xxxv. 1, 2, 4.

!

Number Eleven:

‘Twas a bluebird told the story,
On his way from heaven this morn.
It was starlight soft and tender,
Yet the East was flushed with rose,
And the weary world was waking
From the calm of its repose.
This the message, sweet and holy,
‘Tired souls, forget your pain.
Christ the Lord for you is risen —
Joy! dear hearts, He comes to reign.’ ”

Number Twelve :

“The Lord reigneth; let the earth rejoice ;
let the heavens rejoice, and let the earth
be glad; let the field be joyful, and all
that is therein; then shall all the trees of
the wood rejoice before the Lord; for He
cometh, He cometh to judge the earth; He
shall judge the world with righteousness and
the people with his truth.— Ps. xevi. 11-13;
xevii. 1.

Number Thirteen:

“Do you think that the sermons men preach
us in words, are worth any more than the ser-
mons of birds?”

Number Fourteen:

“Behold the fowls of the air; for they
sow not, neither do. they reap, nor gather
into barns; yet your Heavenly Father feedeth
them.”

Number Fifteen :

A wee little nest you could hold in your hand,
Lightly lashed to the topmost mast of a tree!
Why so:high, so dizzy a height was chosen,
Is just the question that puzzles me. .
JANET Hay.
CHILDREN’S DAY EXERCISE.





Number Sixteen:

Oh! I think that the mother-bird wanted to hold
Her own little cares close up to God’s eye,

High up in the limbs, as we would a prayer,
And that is the very reason why

She builded her nest in the high tree-top. *
Not knowing He’s everywhere, over the land,
And holdeth the stars, and the lives of men,
And her own wee nest in the palm of His hand.
JANET Hay.

Number Seventeen:

‘*Some green bough or mossy sward,
God gives every little bird.”

Number Ei ghteen 8

“The sparrow hath found a house, and the
swallow a nest for herself. — Ps. Ixxxiv, 38.

Number Nineteen:

‘‘A sparrow was twittering at my feet,
With its beautiful auburn head,
And looked at me with dark, mild eyes,
As it picked up crumbs of bread;
And said to me in-werds as plain as
The words of a bird could be:
Tam only a little sparrow,
A bird of low degree;
My life is of little value,
But the dear Lord cares for me.
I know there are many sparrows —
All over the world we are found —
But our Heavenly Father knoweth
When one of us falls to the ground.’’

Number Twenty:

“Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing?
and one of them shall not fall on the ground
without your Father. Fear ye not therefore,
ye are of more value than many sparrows.” —
Matt. x. 29, 31.

Number Twenty-one:

I saw some birdies once, white and brown,
Gay and beautiful, lighting down
with a cheery twitter upon the snow.

Where do the little snowbirds go
for something to eat when the fields are bare,
And the frost has bitten the wintry air?
Mary E. ATKINSON.

Number Twenty-two:

Oh! you know that the Lord takes care
Of His little tender birds of the air, ©
And the snowbird’s life is as safe and gay
As the robin’s is on this sweet June day.
Mary E. ATKINSON.

Number Twenty-three:

“Consider the ravens, for they neither. sow
nor reap; which neither have storehouse nor
barns; and God feedeth them.”

Number Twenty-four :

“The grasses are clothed
And the ravens are fed
From His store;
And you who are loved
And guarded and led,
How much more
Will He clothe you and feed you
And give you His care?
Then leave it with Him, He is everywhere.’”?

Number Twenty-five:

“Oh wise little birds, how do you know

The way to go

Southward and Northward to and fro?”

Far up in the ether piped they:

“We but obey

One that calleth us, far away.

He calleth, and calleth, year by year—
. Now there, now here;

Even He maketh the way appear.”

‘ Dear little birds, He calleth me

Who calleth thee.

Would that I might as trusting be.”

Number Twenty-six :

“ As birds flying, so will the Lord of hosts
defend Jerusalem; defending also He will de-
liver it; and passing over, He will preserve it.”
— Isa. xxxi. 5.

“Great is the Lord and of great power.” —
Ps. exlvii. 5.

“Remember His marvellous works that He
hath done.” — Ps. cv. 1.

“Make known His deeds among the people.”
— Ps. ev. 1. Pansy.

As certainly as your Master’s love is in you,
his work will be upon you. — Bushnell.









Ute

AMONG THE FLOWERS.



ws Hd, 4

Wea #



ri


AN INDIGNANT MOTHER.—A

MISSIONARY OF LONG AGO.









AN INDIGNANT MOTHER.




HE is very sick,” said Dr. Robbie Proc-

tor, in his grandfather's hat and_ his
uncle’s coat, with Aunt Katie’s glasses
seated astride his nose, “very sick indeed!”
and he laid his hand with professional skill on
the kitten’s paw. ‘If you do not follow my
directions she will die, and there’s no help for
it. She bas the small-pox, and cholera, and
yellow fever, all mixed up together. It would
be hard for anybody but me to tell you so
much, but I can tell.”

“QO, dear, dear me!” said the frightened
little mother, “I will be sure to follow your
directions. To think that my child should
have so many sicknesses all at once.”

“Yes, it is very sad; and she must have a
pint of brandy every ten minutes for the next
fifty-five hours, or she will die, certain true,
black and blue.”

Up rose the little mother, her face. all in a
glow of indignation. Gathering the precious
child in the skirt of her dress with true
womanly dignity, she spoke in freezing tones.

“She never will, Dr. Robbie, and you need
not think it. I wonder at you for saying such
words*in my mother’s house, when you know

she never lets a drop of brandy come into it, .

and does not believe in using it for anything!
The idea that I wou'd let my kitten play take
brandy! I’m ashamed cf you, Robbie Proctor,
and don’t want to have anything more to do
with you.”

So saying, she walked across the room and
out at the door.

“ Well,” said Dr. Robbie in great indigna-
.tion, “if you won’t do as the doctor says, how
can you expect him to help you?”

“JT don’t expect it,” came from the hall in
freezing tones. “I never will expect help from

a doctor who uses such dreadful medicines as

that.”

There was a sound of clapping of hands
which came from the library, and papa’s voice
said:

“Three cheers for the little mother, who
has the ‘courage of her convictions,” though
what he meant by such long words as that, you
must ask your father. Myra Sparrorp.

A MISSIONARY OF LONG AGO.

lived a man who was one of God’s.
missionaries. That is, he was sent to
do a certain work for God — for the
word missionary means one who is
sent. He was sent to the people of his own
nation. He was a shepherd, and God gent a
message to all the shepherds to let the people
know that they had been doing wickedly, and
that He was displeased with them.

The whole story of this man’s mission work.
is written in a book, and the book is called
“The words of ——.” Iam not going to tell
you his name, because I want you to see if you
can find out what it was. This book, though
not printed in quite the same form as most of
our books, yet has a title-page just like any
other book. After giving the name of the
book, it goes on to tell who this man was, and
gives the time of the writing of the book. It.
says that this man was one of the herdmen of
Tekoa, and that the words written in the book
are “concerning” a certain country or people,
and that the story happened in the time of two:
kings whom it names, and “two years before
the earthquake.”

Now I am going to tell you a little about.
what this man said would happen to the people,
and then I want you to see if you can tell the
name of this man, the name of the nation to
whom he was sent, and the names of the two
kings who were ruling in two countries at that
time.

It seems that this man started out by preach-
ing a sermon to the people, just as missionaries.
do nowadays. You see God had chosen him
because he was.of their number —a herdsman
or shepherd just like the rest of them —and he
knew just how to talk to the people to make:
them understand.

All missionaries usually take texts for their
sermons, and s0 this missionary took his text,
and it was this: “The Lord will roar from
Zion, and utter his voice from Jerusalem; and
the habitations of the shepherds shall mourn,
and the top of Carmel shall wither.”

Then the people all listened, and were ready
to be very angry with this man for saying all


A MISSIONARY

OF LONG AGO.







this, but before they had time to say to one
another, “ What is all this that he is saying?
What does it mean?” this missionary went on.
Without waiting for them to grow angry at
what he had said was going to happen to them,
he went on to speak about some other wicked
nations who were their enemies. He told of

dreadful things that were to happen to them in

punishment for all their sins, and the people
listened and said to themselves, “That is all
right. That is just what ought to happen to
them; they are very wicked people indeed.
And this man must know what he is talking
about.”

The missionary goes on naming nation after
nation, and telling of the terrible things that
are coming to them, and the people grow more
and more excited, until he names the nation
which they hate the most and think the wicked-
est. They begin to see that the man is in
earnest, and they are in sympathy with all that
he has said, and think it right that a dreadful
judgment should fall upon all those wicked peo-
ple, when suddenly the man looks straight at
them and says, “And not only to all these
nations is this terrible punishment coming, but
to you, too, will the Lord bring judgment,” and
he reminds them of all their sins before the
Lord. :

The people stand there listening, and know
that it is true. This missionary has introduced
himself to them, and they all understand just
what he has come for, now. He asks them
some plain questions, which they do not seem
to have answered except in their own hearts:
questions that help them to understand what a
great wrong they have done, and how surely
God is going to bring judgment upon them.
He tells them that they are empty of all that
is right. He calls upon them to let the nations
iLyound about them who do not believe in and
profess to love God, come in and testify against
them and see if they will not say that it is all
true.

The people are filled with solemnity as he
tells them that they will be utterly destroyed.
And then he tells them who has sent this word
to them : —

“¢ For lo, he that formeth the mountains,
and createth the wind, and declareth unto man

what is his thought, that maketh the morning
darkness, and treadeth upon the high places of
the earth, the Lord the God of Hosts is his
name,’ he is the One that sends this word to
you.”

The missionary’s first sermon is ended, and
he goes away and leaves the people to think
about the terrible truths he has declared unto
them.

The next day, or the next week, or the next
month, or possibly not until the next year, we
do not know just when, he comes back and
preaches another sermon to them.

He tries to rouse them up to see what they
are doing. He says, “You hate the people
who tell you you are doing wrong, and you
abhor those who speak the truth. You are
stealing from the poor and treading them
down; you have built beautiful houses, but
you shall not live in them; you have planted
pleasant vineyards, but you shall not enjoy
them. For I know your sins; how you afflict
people, and take bribes, and will not let the
poor people have their rights. Some of you
know better than all this, but you are afraid to
say anything about it; some of you think you
are sorry and are repenting, but you are deceiv-
ing yourselves, for you are merely afraid that
something terrible may happen to you. Some
of you think that you will offer sacrifices, and
then the Lord will not send trouble upon you,
but that will not make any difference. The
terrible day is surely coming, and it will be
such an awful time that a few of the wicked
ones who may escape will say to those around
them, ‘Hush! do not attract God’s attention
to us.’”

And so ends the missionary’s second sermon,
and the people are left thinking with terror
and dread.

When the missionary comes to preach his
third sermon, those people have become angry,
and though the preacher has chosen a very in-
teresting way of preaching this time, by telling
stories, and the people have to listen for a little
while, still, right in the middle of his sermon
there rises up a man and sends word to the
king that this thing must be stopped; that “the
land is not able to bear all the words” of the

preacher. Then the king sends word to the
FROM INDIA.—HOME MISSIONS AND PEANUTS.







missionary that he must stop preaching; but
_the missionary has been sent to his work by
God, and not by the king, so he goes right on
just the same and preaches to the people all
that the Lord has told him to do. He preaches
sermon after sermon, telling them his dreams
and stories to help them understand.

But he gives them a blessed hope. He tells
them that there shall be a very few of them —
all those who are truly repentant — that shall
be saved from this terrible judgment, and he
closes up his mission by reciting for them some
beautiful promises that God has sent for that
precious “remnant,” as he calls them, of his
people.

And he says, “They shall be restored, and
they shall no more be pulled up out of their
land which I have given them, saith the Lord
thy God.”

Now who were all these people, and did this
terrible judgment that the missionary told
about ever come to pass?

Grace Livineston.



FROM INDIA.

HE work in the schools has its ups and
downs. I do wish the Hindoos and
Mohammedans would get through their wed-
ding festivities in one day, or two at most.

Each wedding requires weeks, in which the

little girls take no active part, but it keeps
them out of school.

To-morrow will be a day of great rejoicing,
though none of the children can tell why. It
is the festival of Holi; when they throw over
each other a magenta colored powder mixed
with water. Men dress up in skirts and dance,
singing obscene songs.

We always close our Hindoo schools and
warn our Christian women to keep away from
the city.

We cannot make you realize what filth of
all kinds we must wade through to reach the
women and girls. But in spite of it all, I often
come home from teaching these little ones feel-
ing that there is hope. They are wonderfully
nice girls, in spite of their surroundings.

Mrs. Ketso.

HOME MISSIONS AND PEANUTS.



* Uae AMIE STUART was the crossest:

Y boy in the village, at least I hope there:
was none crosser. It was Sunday, too,.
which is certainly a poor day in which
to be cross, if there is any difference in the
days which we may choose for that accom-
plishment.

He was cross to his sister Delia. On the way
home from Sunday-school he gave her what he:
called a “piece of his mind.”

“Of all the silly girls I ever heard of, I think
you are the silliest.”

This was the way he began.

“What ever possessed you to put in such a.
lot of pennies in the box? I was looking at
you when you dropped them in, and there must.
have been nine or ten.”

“Seven,” said Delia promptly.

“Well, then, seven. You are rich, seems to:
me, if you can afford to give so much money
at once.”

“Why, it was ‘foreign missionary day,’ you
know,” explained Delia, “and we always give
just as much as we can on that day, to help
support Miss Colburn.”

“Poh!” said Jamie; “as if your seven pen-
nies would do much toward supporting Miss.
Colburn! What if mother had to depend on
them to help support us, how much would they
do?”

“Why, they would help,” said Delia meekly,.
“and it was all I had, you know.”

“Yes; that’s the silliness of it,” said Jamie,.
growing more wrathful as he thought of its.
“the idea of giving every cent you had to
foreign missions! For my part, I think it was.
downright selfish. What is to become of home
missions if that is the way people do?”

“Why, I give to that when the time comes,”
said poor bewildered Delia, who was two years.
younger than Jamie, and could not always keep:
track of his logic.

“The time comes all the time for that,” said
Jamie, in an oracular tone. “ There’s always:
something at home that needs doing; needs it
a great deal worse than the old heathen do.
Just think of poor old Mr. Oswald, poking:
away in his little store on that back street, try-
HOME MISSIONS AND PEANUTS. 4

—



ing as hard as he can to support a family. Only
yesterday, when I went in there with a lot of
boys who didn’t all of them together spend
tnree cents, he said to me, ‘ What has become
of that nice little sister of yours who used to
buy so many peanuts of me? I haven’t seen
her in more than a week.’ I wish I had
thought, and I’d have told him vou were so

guess he only keeps peanuts to accommodate
the children.” ,

“That’s just where you are mistaken, Miss
Missionary; he lets that lame Phil Oswald have
all the money he can make from peanuts and
gum and such things, and he’s trying as hard
as ever he can to get money enough to buy
him a wheeled chair so he can go around the

IN MR. OSWALD’S STORE.

busy supporting the heathen out in China, or
somewhere, you couldn’t think of your neigh-
bors.”

“But, Jamie,” said Delia, much disturbed,
‘¢Mr. Oswald surely doesn’t have to support
his family on peanuts? he: keeps lots of useful
things, and men and women buy of him. I

streets and do errands and such things. It is
real missionary work to buy peanuts — enough
sight more important than the old heathen, I
think.”

This was news indeed! Delia was so much
interested that she forgot to answer Jamie, and
kept on thinking of the lame Oswald boy, and


HOW MARY HELPS MISSIONS.



oOo oooo——aaoaoooaooomoooomommmmmme®@w@aae SS 290—«“aaeeuq“
of how nice it would be if he could have a
wheeled chair, and how nice it would be if
she could help him, until Jamie, finding that
she had nothing to say, and having expressed
his mind pretty freely, fell back to walk
with Dick Watson, and left her to her own
thoughts.

Less than a week afterwards Jamie Stuart
was cross again—crosser than before, so his
sister thought.

“You are the biggest goose in all this world,
I do believe!” he said to the gentle little Delia.
As well acquainted as she was with her brother,
this made the little girl open her eyes, for it
seemed to her that in view of his last Sunday’s
talk she certainly must have pleased him
mow.

This is what she had done. There had unex-
spectedly fallen into her hands a whole ten-cent
‘piece, which she was at liberty to spend just as
‘she pleased. She had pleased to go at once to
Mr. Oswald’s store and asked for two cents
worth of peanuts, handing out her ten cents for
jayment; but the amazing part of it was, that
when Phil, who was himself waiting on her,
turned to the. drawer for change, she said
sweetly, “Never mind the change, please; I
want you to put it with your fund for the
wheeled chair. I hope you will very soon get
enough.”

How glad she was to tell Jamie the story.
He had wanted Phil helped so much. How
pleased he would be! His answer had been
those words which I told you.

“Why,” said Delia bewildered, “I don’t
know what to think of you, Jamie Stuart. I
thought you would like it so much. Don’t you
see that he has a great many peanuts left to
sell to other people, and eight whole cents to
go into his fund? I’d have given him the ten
cents without any peanuts, only I thought per-
haps he wouldn’t like that.”

“Of course he wouldn’t,” answered Jamie;
“the isn’t a beggar. I dare say he did not like
it to have you give him the eight cents; he
would a great deal rather have given you pea-
nuts for them.”

“Oh! you are mistaken,” declared Delia;
“che thanked me beautifully, and said he would

remember how kind I had been, and that his

fund did not grow very fast; that selling pea
nuts enough to raise twenty dollars was slow
work, and I think it must be. I was as glad as
I could be that I could help, and I thought you

_would like it ever so much.”

“TI thought you were a ninny!” said cross
Jamie, “and I know you are, and Phil Oswald
is another.”

Then he flounced off with the two cents
worth of peanuts in his pocket.

Delia looked after him in grave anxiety.
“Jamie must have missed in his arithmetio
again, I’m afraid, and that is what makes him
cross,” she said to himself.

But it wasn’t. I, understanding Jamie Stuart
better than his sister did, will tell you some-
thing. He liked peanuts very much indeed,
and Delia liked them very little. So when she
bought them, which she often did just for his _
sake, he was sure to get the most of them,
which was the entire secret of his deep interest
in “ home missions.”

I have sorrowful reason to think that there
are a great many people, some of them older
than Jamie Stuart, whose interest in home mis-
sions is just about as deep-seated as his.

Myra Sparrorp.

HOW MARY HELPS MISSIONS.

1. She sees she has something to do about .
them. :

2. She has decided to do something.

3. She is trying to do what she can.

4. She has picked out her missionary.

5. She is learning all she can about him —
his history, his family, his field, where it is, and
just what it is; everything about it, you see, 50
that she can talk about and talk to this family
as if they were across the street. _

6. She writes to them: this month to the
missionary father, the next month to the mother,
then to his little daughter Kittie, then to Mar-
jorie, and so on; once a month to some one of
them. Of course Mary gets good long letters
back. Some of them she shows to her pastor.
He reads them in the monthly meetings. Some-
times they are printed in the village paper.
Everybody reads the village paper. Mattie
FROM BOGOTA.—PENITENTES.



Missildine always reads it. Her heart is now
being stirred, and she is hunting about to find
her missionary to write to.
Mary’s heart very warm, so—

7. She prays for her missionary. You'd be
surprised to know how hard it is for Mary to
stop praying for her missionary and his family
when she begins. I wish I had room to print
one of her long, particular, earnest prayers —
though of course she does not know that often
and often her mother, in the next room, hears
them word for word.

8. She has set herself to finding ways to
raise money for her missionary and his family.
She doesn’t spend a cent any more foolishly, as
once. She sees now that she would have just
forty dollars to send to her missionary if she
had not wasted the money given her the last
four years. So Mary is helping—Mary’s teeth
and stomach as well as —her missionary. And
somehow other girls in her Sunday-school are
hearing of her ways of economy and self-sacri-
fice and are thinking of doing likewise; the
next thing will be a wide-awake missionary
society of these girls. Of course the other girls
will insist upon Mary’s being the president.

9. She is preparing a paper on her mission-
ary,and his field. Her pastor insists upon it.
She said at first she did not want to. He said
she could do it ‘‘for Jesus’ sake.” So she is
working at it. I would like to be in the
monthly meeting when it is read. Of course

Mary’s parents will be there. They do not
usually attend this meeting. C. M. L.
FOR CHRIST’S SAKE.

Hi! what shall I give to the Saviour
For what He hath given to me?
I'll give Him the gift of an earnest life,
Of a heart that is loving and free from strife,
As He hath given for me.

And what shall I do for the Saviour
For what He hath done for me?
T’ll pray for the sick and the evil doer ;
Ill make my friends among the poor
As He hath done for me.
— Selected.

All this keeps



——s

FROM. BOGOTA, SOUTH AMERICA.

HIS is Holy Week. If you could see the

sights we have seen, you would know

how much this dark land needs the pure
Gospel.

I must tell you about the procession: A large
number of soldiers came first, then masked
men, carrying a platform on which stood a
figure representing our Saviour after He had
been scourged. This figure was covered with
red paint to make it look as if it were bleeding.

The many Saints are carried in the same way
by masked men.

The procession of to-day — which is Good
Friday —is one of the saddest sights in Colom-
bia. Think of their having the funeral of our
Saviour !

The figure representing the body of Christ
is taken down from the cross. After this
it is laid in a handsome coffin, then, with a
great many Saints from the Cathedral, it is
carried to another church, where it is left till
Sabbath morning. ‘

The Virgin Mary is also borne on a platform.
She is as large as life, and wears a fine black
velvet dress with a long train, which is carried
by an angel. This platform is covered with
lovely flowers.

Do you wonder that our hearts are sad when
we see such things? Pray for Colombia and
its few workers.

Mr. Touzeau sells a little book, “The Life
and Death of our Saviour.” It sells rapidly
this week. It may speak where we cannot.

Mrs. Tovzrav.

PENITENTES.

N New Mexico is the Order of Penitent

Brothers. During Lent they inflict dread-

ful torture upon their bodies, professing to imi-
tate Christ’s suffering.

You remember that Jesus was scourged. So
one of these Penitentes will scourge the bare
back of another till he is covered with blood,
and in this horrible state the bleeding one will
attempt to esirry a very-heavy cross. All this
and much more in our own country !
WHY SOME ROSES ARE RED.—WANTED—THE MOON.



=

WHY SOME ROSES ARE RED.



A Flower Legend.

LL roses were white, in the long ago,
According to flower lore ;
But one day an angel passed by that way
As a message of love he bore

To a sorrowful soul bowed down by woe,
And weary with ceaseless pain,

And as he noticed the fragrant white flowers,
He poised on the wing amain,

And quickly approaching those roses sweet,
A beautiful bud to pick,

He whispered, “Tl take it with word of love
I bear to the lonely sick.”

But as he plucked the beauteous flower,
Whose soft cheek was pale as death,

He said, “ As my errand this time brings life —
T will warm it with my breath.”

So he kissed the cheek of the fair white rose,
Which ’neath his thrilling touch blushed,

And with message of love, and pink rose of hope,
The sighs of the sick one he hushed.

And ever since then, when a,rose is red,
Or blushes with delicate tint,
A kiss, from some angel of love and life,
On its cheek has left its imprint.
Lyp1a Horr Farmer.

A MOTHER’S LOVE.

"N December, 1821, a man with his wife and.

child were riding in a sleigh over the
mountains of Vermont. At last the horse re-
fused to proceed. The man set off to look for
help, but soon he perished in the cold. The
mother set off to look for him, with her baby in
her arms, but she was found dead near the sleigh,
next morning. The babe, however, was living,
for that mother had wrapped it in her shawl.
There is a sweet poem written about it. This
proves to you the deep love that wells up in the
mother’s heart. Any mother would have done
the same for her child.
How earnestly should every child strive to
Jove and please his dear parents. Rinewoop.



WANTED—THE MOON.

HE Moon rose early, and Baby Ned
Was rather late in going to bed.

Not two years old, this dear little fellow,

With head so round, and bright, and yellow,

With his eyes so brown, and mouth so sweet,
His fair little hands, and dainty feet —
Wee feet, that have barely learned to walk —
And his wise, quaint, broken, baby talk.

He was perched that night on grandma’s knee,
The place where the small king loved to be.
Where the wise brown eyes saw something new
Through the window, up there in the blue.

Over the top of the tallest hill,

Round and silvery, fair, and still,

God’s grand old moon! that for ages past
Has held its way in the night-sky vast.

And Neddie wanted that shining ball
To hold in his hands so soft and small,
And nobody went and took it down.
He wrinkled his face to a little frown;

Red lips quivered — he wanted it soon ;
Then — one more baby cried for the moon!
But mamma brought him his milk and bread,
And patted his dear little curly head.

Then quickly he smiled and forgot the moon,
And laughed at his face in his silver spoon.
O happy Neddie! so easy to smile;

Your life will be glad, if all the while

As the years go on you can turn away

From all that you want when God says “ Nay,”

And laugh, and thank Him for what He may
pive —

That is the way for His child to live.

O manly boys, and sweet little-girls!

With all your colors of eyes and curls,

If you would have life like a summer day,

Be content with the things that are in your way.

Seek ever the things that are pure and high,

As planets that move in the evening sky,

But if you can’t have the shining moon,

Be glad when God offers the silver spoon.
Esiry Baker SMALLE.


a | i

“i i i























PRINCESS WILHELMINE, — THE FUTURE QUEEN OF THE HOLLANDERS.






LESTER,


LITTLE BEN.—FLOSSY’S DATES.

LITTLE BEN.

Sr EARLY two hundred years ago there
Ww lived in Boston a Mr. Josiah Franklin.
’ He had a family of seventeen children.

“Whew!”

“Whew” if you will, yet it’s true.

Moreover, he must needs house, warm, clothe

and feed them all from the simple business of

candle and. soap making.

However, as “many hands make light work,”
and as each of the thirty-eight hands in Mr.
Franklin’s house did what it could to bring in
“bread and butter,” the Franklin family got
on quite prosperously, though a fat turkey was
not always on hand for Thanksgiving, or stock-
ings full of toys for the holidays.

Don’t they seem comfortable in the picture?

The boys are preparing their kite; little Ben,
with back toward you, with the bunch of kite-
string in his right hand, is looking on and doing
a big amount of thinking, which some day will
astonish all the world,

There sits father, dozing awhile, and Moll,
fast asleep, by his side.

They have watched the work of the boys on
the kite till it is all done but the tail, and
Tommy, with scissors and bits of paper, and a
_ smnile of triumph, is putting on the final touches.

But we must let the kite-flying go — and the
kite, too. It went off into the clouds or into
the top of a tree, and that was the end of it;
but not the end of our little Ben. He lived
to be eighty-four years old, and for something
higher than kites.

He did not fancy his father’s greasy shop,
cutting candle wicks and running on errands, so
one day he quietly informed the Franklin family
that he had made up his mind to go to sea!

But as it was quite necessary that some more
of the family should be of the same mind be-
fore he could “ set sail,” and as none was, that
scheme was abandoned by our young Benjamin.
Instead, his father bound him out to his brother
James, to be a printer.

That proved just to his mind; for, besides
type-setting, he found books to read. Not one
escaped his sharp eye. He would read nearly
all night long.

Meanwhile he mastered the printing business.



But he and James could not get on smoothly.

One morning, when he was seventeen, he
slipped away from James on board a vessel,
and was soon in New York, and from there,
partly by water and partly on foot, he pushed
on to Philadelphia. There a year in a printing-
office, then to London; another year with type;
back again; married to Deborah Read ; in 1729
editing a paper, “The Pennsylvania Gazette,”
all his own. All this our little Ben.

It would take a big book to tell the half
about Ben. One of the great things was his
signing the Declaration of Independence with
the self-same hand that holds that bunch of
kite-string, another, his catching — lightning!

You see he became a man of science as well
as a great writer and statesman.

Among other things his mind got to running
about’ electricity. “What is it?” he would
ask himself. At last he thought it out. It is
the same as lightning.

How should he prove it? He thought that
out, too. He made a kite, and he did it with-
out Tommy’s aid. He slipped away from home
with this kite and his son. No one else knew
anything about it, so that if he failed to prove
that electricity and lightning were one and the
same, nobody could laugh at him and say, “I
told you so.”

The sky was dark; thunder was rolling; rain
was falling. Up, bigher, higher, went Ben’s
kite among the clouds. Soon there came a
“shock.” It was proved. You must’ read
about it. God raised Benjamin Franklin up for
a great good. What are you for? C. M. L.

FLOSSY’S DATES.

) REAMING!” The exclamation, partly
if an interrogation, was Uncle Hube s, as

just over the fence his niece Flossy,
lying under the big apple-tree,: her
elbow in the grass and her cheek resting upon
her hand. °

“Say, Floss, are you dreaming?” he said
again. At this second call the little girl started
up and came to the fence, swinging her hat by
the band.


FLOSSY’S DATES.

“Vittle one, do you want to ride?”

“Indeed, I do.”

“Very well; Pll drive down to the gate, and
you can run in and tell mamma.”

“ Now we are off,” he said, a few moments
later, as he tucked the afghan about Flossy
and gave the signal for starting.

“ Well, Flossy, what were you paeziing over
there under the old apple-tree?”

“T was just saying over my dates.”

“Your dates! What are those?”

“The dates for August. Our class in history
are hunting up remarkable events for every day
in the year. We have got as far as August.”

“ And can you find remarkable events enough
to cover the whole year?” asked Uncle Huve.

“Sometimes we have to hunt a long time,
and sometimes there oes not seem to be any-
thing worth remembering.”

“J wish I hed taken you with me this morn-
ing,” said Uncle Hube. “I drove out to a
place where there was a battle fought on the
sixth of August, a long time ago.”

“T wish I could have gone; you.mean out
to Oriskany, I suppose ?”

“Do you know about that ?”

“Yes; that is one of my dates.”

“T went out to see the monument that has
been erected on the hill just east of the ravine
where the ambush occurred. It is supposed that
General Herkimer received the wound which
cost him his life, down there in the valley. The

spot where he sat after he was wounded, lean- -

ing against a tree giving orders to his men, is
pointed out. What do you know about that
battle, Flossy ?”

“T know that in 1777 General St. Leger was
sent by way of Oswego at the head of a band
of Tories and Indians to take Fort Schuyler,
where Rome now is; and that General Herki-
mer gathered an army and was going as fast as
possible to relieve the fort, when they met the
enemy near Oriskany, and General Herkimer
was wounded.”

“Yes; St. Leger had been warned of Herki-
mer’s approach, and he sent forward the Tories
and Indians, who made an ambuscade, and as
Herkimer’s men were marching along, not
thinking of danger, they found themselves in
deadly peril. The fight lasted five hours, but





though more than two hundred of the patriots
were killed, the enemy fled at last. The im-
portance of this battle seems not to have been
fully appreciated by early historians. The plan
of the British was to invade New York with
the main army under Burgoyne by way of Lake
Champlain, while St. Leger should march down
the Mohawk Valley and unite with Burgoyne
at Albany. With the control of the Hudson
and Lake Champlain, and with the fertile Mo-
hawk Valley from which to draw their supplies,
they could cut New England off from the rest
of the Colonies; and Governor Dorshcimer
said in his address at the dedication of the
yronument, that it is now seen that the success
of ehis scheme depended upon the success with
which St. Leger should carry out his part of
the plan, and that Burgoyne afterwards inti-
mated that he would have succeeded if he had
been aided as he expected by St. Leger. So it
appears that this battle over there in the ravine
and upon the thickly wooded slopes was a most
devisive one.” ;

“There is something about the name of the
fort which I do not understand,” said Flossy.
“Sometimes it is callel Fort Stanwix, and
sometimes Fort Schuyler. Which is correct?”

“The fort was built during the French and
Indian War, and named Fort Stanwix, but fell
into ruin, and was rebuilt in 1776, and after
that time called Fort Schuyler, in .honor of
General Philip Schuyler.”

“ Are your dates confined to American his-
tory?” asked Uncle Hube, as they rode along.

“QO, no! we can go all over the world, and,
as Miss Blake says, ‘all through the ages.’
You see, we took it up last fall when we began
United States History, and we got interested,
and now we can’t let it alone. We have a
club that meets every Friday through vacation,
and we compare our lists and ask and answer
questions.”

“JT don’t know about girls studying thr ough
vacation,” said Uncle Hube doubtfully.

“Oh! it isn’t study, it is play. Miss Blake
says it is better than getting books from the
loan library, as the girls do who do not belong
to the club.”

“T shouldn’t wonder,” replied Uncle Hube.

Fayr Huntineton,

.






















































MAY-DAY STUDIES.


WHO WAS TO BLAME?



WHO WAS TO BLAME?




gg” R. FOSTER was in the hall gather-

‘® ing his letters and papers into a con-

way? venient package as he spoke.

“Be sure you are ready, Katie, when
Icome. I can’t tell when it will be, but I shall
be certain to be in a hurry, and have no time
for waiting; so remember, if you want to go
you must be on the watch.”

“T will, papa,” Katie said positively; “you
needn’t be afraid. I shall get ready this morn-
ing, and b+ iooking out for you all the while.”

Mr. Foster smiled on his young daughter,
kissed her, then sprang down the piazza stairs

“three steps at a time, to catch a passing car.
He was a very busy man, and was nearly

WS \s WS \N

i



Oh

ul

“LL BE READY,” SAID KATIE.

always in a hurry. On this particular day busi-
ness was calling him to the large city, which
was only thirty miles away from the small one
where he lived. Katie was very fond of going
vo the city with her papa, partly because she
had a friend living there who was always glad
to see her and did everything imaginable to
make her have a good time, and partly because
papa was such a busy man he rarely had time
to take her with him. So when: she returned

her father’s kiss and assured him for the second
time she would be sure to be ready, nobody
could have been more certain than Katie Foster
that she was speaking the truth.

An hour afterward Mrs. Bennett, the house-
keeper, called out to her on the piazza where
she sat teasing the cat, “I should think you
would go and get ready, Katie. How do you
know but what your papa will come soon?”

“Tm going in a minute,” said Katie, “but
papa will be sure not to come this morning; he
can’t get away from the office in time for a
morning train.” :

Ten minutes more and Irish Kate looked out
of the window and spoke good-humoredly :

“My name is Kate, and I’ve more sense than
some people of that name that I know of. If
a certain Kate of my acquaintance was go-
ing to the city some time to-day you’d see
her brushing her hair and putting on her
best dress in a hurry.”

Katie laughed.

“Tt doesn’t take me so long to prink as.
it does you, Kate,” she said; “I'll be ready
in good time; don’t you be afraid. Papa is
always later than he has any idea he will
be.”

Another half-hour and Katie had really
made her way upstairs and laid out the
dress and ribbons she meant to wear, and
begun to brush her hair. Then she espied
the Sunday-school book she had been read-
ing the afternoon before.

“TJ declare,” she said, stopping short in
her work, “I forgot all about that book.
I wonder what became of Norm Decker? I
do hope he got to be somebody. Ill just
read a few pages; there will be plenty of
time to dress, after that; papa is sure not to
come before the two o’clock train. I know
as well as I want to, that we shall not get
back to-night. Dll put up my night things
in a bag and have them all ready, and papa’s,
too, so he can be comfortable if he has to stay.
but first Pll read just a little bit.”

So saying she plumped herself on to the
white bed which Irish Kate had made up nicely
for the day, and in two minutes more was so
absorbed in the fortunes of Susie and Nettie
Decker, to say nothing of Norm and Jerry,
PAINTER.





that all thought of dressing or of packing was
forgotten. One more warning she had. Her
cousin Edna, who was a young lady and had
charge of her uncle’s house, looked in and said,

“Why, Katie, you ought to be dressed, dear..

I heard Uncle tell you he might come at any
moment, and it is nearly lunch time.”

“Tl be ready,” said Katie dreamily ; “papa
is sure to be late.”

“ But it is late already, child; the lunch bell
will ring in fifteen minutes.”

“Well, it doesn’t take me fifteen minutes to

dress, and papa won’t go before the two o’clock |

train, I feel sure. Edna, you ought to read
this book; it is real exciting.”

“J’m afraid you will be excited in another
way before long,” was Edna’s last warning, but
she shut the door and went on with her work.

Five, ten minutes more, and a faint tinkle of
a bell about to ring made Katie realize that
her few minutes had been many, and that the
morning was gone. She raised herself slowly
to a sitting posture, still with her eyes on her
book. If she could only find out whether the
General was Jerry’s father she would be con-
tent to wait for the rest. Suddenly she threw

the book from her with such force that it landed:

on the floor, kicked off her slippers and began
to button her shoes with anxious haste. She
was thoroughly aroused. It was not the bell,
but her father’s voice sounding distinctly
through the hall:

“Where is Katie? Tell her to come quick,
there is not a moment to lose. I want to catch
the 1:15 train. Never mind lunch; we will
lunch in town. No, the two o’clock train will
not do; I must get to the lower bank before it
closes. Isn’t Katie ready? Where is she?”

“Papa, ’m coming,” sounded a tremulous
voice. “T]’ll be ready in five minutes.”

“ There is not five minutes to wait, daughter.
I had just time to rush home for you.. I must
be going this instant. I’m sorry, daughter;
you must wait until next time. Good-by!”
and Mr. Foster was gone.

Poor Katie! . Do you wonder that she buried
her head in her pillow and sobbed? But really,
do you think anybody was to blame for her
disappointment but her own silly self?

Myra SpParrorp.

PAINTER.

BER on there was a boy. His name
was Mark. Mark had a cage. The
cage had a bird. The bird had a face.
The face had eyes, nose and mouth,
only the nose and mouth were about the same
thing; but that didn’t matter so long as this
“thing” answered the same purpose.

Now just as the eyes and nose happened to
feel and fix themselves, so the bird looked.

Mark went daily to see his bird; indeed,
often each hour, sometimes. Looking sharply




mess

re
ae



MARK’S BIRD.

at it with the eye of a student, he would have
known it from a hundred others.

But it had a way of being a different bird
every time; that is to say, it put on a different
face. It was as if it had a great store, and the
store had great shelves, and each shelf was full
of faces, and each was unlike the other, and
the bird put on one as often as it felt like it.
Now it seemed handsome, now ugly; this hour
wise, the next a dunce. On Monday like a
rose; Tuesday, as a brier; Wednesday, happy |
as a harp; Thursday, sour as a pickle; Friday,
cross as a cat; Saturday, pretty as a peach;
Sabbath, bright as a star.

So Mark called his bird “ Painter,” because
it made faces; and he set himself daily to find
out where Painter got his paint, since he was
HIS FOLD.—HOW ABIJAH

“MUSTERED” IN 1796.





ee
pink or blue or green or black or scarlet, or

whatever he would.
One day, as he steod watching, . Painter
opened his throat wide enough almost to split

it, and poured forth one of the sweetest songs:

he had ever heard.

“Oh!” said Mark, “I see; Painter’s paint-
pots must be away down there.” ;

Then came a scolding blast from Painter.
Now he would smile upon the neighbor bird
that came to spend the afternoon with him,
and now fly at him as though he would tear
him to pieces.

“Yes, yes,” went on Mark, “paint of all
colors, and no end to it down in that little
stomach ; good, bad and indifferent. Dear,
dear! I wish Painter would use only the good,
and so his face would always seem beautiful.”

Just what Mark’s mother wished of him!

“My Mark’s heart is full of thoughts, good,
bad and indifferent. Sometimes this one, some-
times that, sits upon his face and paints it
handsome or ugly. Oh! if he would use the
good thoughts only.”

Did you ever ask Jesus to cleanse your heart
from evil thoughts?

Uncitre Cuartes. -

HIS FOLD.

(St. John viii. 27.)

NE Shepherd leads and guides the flock
aright,
Keeping it ever tenderly in sight ;
His voice is true, and in all places heard,
So follow on the sheep at His dear Word.

“I know my sheep!” the gracious Shepherd
saith ;

“Naught in the world their hearing hindereth,

For when I call they gather, far and near,

Nor know, with my protection, any fear.”

One fold, one Shepherd, happy ‘is the way
That leads to life, nor will the loved ones stray
While ever onward in His steps they tread,
Glad to be owned and guided, as is said.
Hazet Wytps, in Home Guardian.

HOW ABIJAH “MUSTERED” IN 1796.

Yo) BIJAH TERRY was my great-grand-
a, father’s friend—as good and brave a
» little lad as ever wore homespun flax
and wool garments. He came from
good old Puritan stock who fought for
liberty and freedom.

“°Bijah” helped tend the farm. There was.
always a call for ’Bijah to do this, and ’Bijah
to do that — chores in the house and out—he
was so “ willin’ an? handy,” Mother Terry said.

Don’t you know of a little tanned, freckle-
faced boy who goes barefoot in summer, and is.
areal mother boy? Ido.

Well, ’Bijah was going to the “muster”
on training-day. It was to be on the Boston
Commons. His father was a captain, and could
flourish his bright sword beautifully, and mother
kept his uniform done up in a clean linen cloth,
perfumed with bergamot and lemon thyme.

*Bijah’s mother sometimes went, about with
red eyes. She did not like the “musters” very
well, though she always helped her husband to.
“fix” up. It wasn’t long before ’Bijah began
to see that a beautiful gold: and glass bottle
and cup that came out from its honored place,
the parlor mantel, had something to do with



’ her sadness.

When the friends came in of evenings the
lovely bottle was brought out, and the dainty
drinking-glass filled, and often a drink brewed
from roast apples, lemons, loaf sugar, and a.
little from the bottle poured in it. ’Bijah
always hoped they would leave a little in the
bottom of the enp, but they always drained it.

“What’s in it, mother?” he asked, as she:
dusted it one morning.

“Headache, ’Bijah, ruin and misery, is in
this bottle.’ Mrs. Terry wept, and the boy
said no more.

“ Trainin’ day to-morrow, on the Green, an”
itll be a grand sight to see the soldiers.
Brother Abe is one of them. How many six--
pences you got for gingerbread and cider,
Bige?” A warm, dirty little hand was thrust
through a knot-hole in the tight fence, and two
new silver sixpences glittered there. It was:
Neighbor Hildred’s Richard.

“Why-ee, Richard, who gave you all that.
HOW TO BE HAPPY.

=
money?” said ’Bijah, round-eyed with wonder
at such wealth in a little boy’s hand.

“Brother Abe gave em to me. Our apples
turned out poor, an’ he means me to have, oh!
—a lot of cider, because it’s muster.”

“T’ll go to trainin’ if mother goes, but
mother doesn’t drink cider or the stuff that’s
in our lovely bottle —T’ve watched her. She
says there’s a headache an’ misery in it. Have
you a drinkin’ bottle at your house?”

“Of course we have; an’ mother keeps real
Vera Cruz in it, an’ sets it out for company.”

’Bijah sat upon the flat stone step at sunset
with his bowl] of blueberries and creamy milk.
Mother was rubbing up the brass buttons on
father’s uniform, but she sighed all the time.

Muster morning dawned clear and bright.
Father looked grand indeed in his military suit.
He called ’Bijah to him and gave him silver.
“Tt’s for the gingerbread horses. you'll want,”
he said. “You must come and watch us train,
my boy. No cowards or mush-and-milk boys
do I want about me,” and Mr. Terry at the
drum signalling, hurried away to be in time.

Tle was straight and handsome, and the
plume in his cap waved jauntily. Last muster
he did not come back looking as he went. The
fine blue uniform was soiled and dusted, his
step was unsteady, his face scarlet and swollen,
and the plume broken.and drooping. It took
mother a long time to clean the pretty suit.
Why was it?

“Will father spoil his nice clothes again,
mother?” ’Bijah asked.

“JT fear so, dear,” was the low reply.

“Isn't father a good man?” he added.

“Yes, yes, darling; why do you ask?”

“Ts it the — what’s in our glass bottle, mother,
that makes him do so?”

“Yes, dear, it is; O, my son!” and the
mother held her boy close, wishing she could
ever keep him innocent and loving. Then,
kissing him, and folding him closer still, she
combed out the yellow curls, dressed him in a
new suit of linen, and gave him his straw hat
plaited by her own fingers.

The “trainers” marched right by their door.
’Bijah sat on the flat steps and saw the gay
- crowds pass. Te cheered when he saw the tall
form of the captain, as he led hismen. Richard



called for him, but he did not leave his seat.

“Don’t you want to go?” asked his mother.

“No, mother, I’d rather not.”

“Why not, ’Bijah?” she continued.

Climbing into mother’s lap, he said, with his
lips close to her ear, “I don’t want to see father
get so he staggers and can’t talk plain; it makes
me cry. And, mother, I’m never going to drink
from that bottle.”

How proud that mother was of her boy.
After their talk she made him a whole family
of animals from sugar gingerbread, and a deli-
cious raspberry jam shortcake. Then she told
him stories of the Revolutionary War, and
they had a very happy time together.

And better than all, ’Bijah kept his word,
too. The handsome bottle is in the family
to-day, but it holds nothing more dangerous
than arnica—to heal wounds, instead of caus-
ing sore and grievous ones.

ELLA GUERNSEY.

HOW TO BE HAPPY.

ya you almost disgusted
With life, little man?
T will tell you a wonderful trick
That will bring you contentment
If anything can —
Do something for somebody, quick ;
Do something for somebody, quick!

Are you awfully tired
With play, little girl?
Weary, discouraged and sick?
Tl tell you the loveliest
Game in the world —
Do something for somebody, quick ;
Do something for somebody, quick!

Though it rains like the rain
Of the flood, little man,
And the clouds are forbidding and thick,
You can make the sun shine
In your soul, little man —
Do something for somebody, quick ;
Do something for somebody, quick!

Though the skies are like brass
Overhead, little girl,
And the walk like a well-heated brick 3.
And are earthly affairs
In a terrible whirl?
Do something for somebody, quick;

Do something for somebody, quick!
— Selected.
BABY’S CORNER.



FLUFF’S FRIEND.
sy
ELL, my dears,” said an old Mother
Bird to her children, one fine day, “it
is time we were starting South.”

“O, no! not yet,” said Fluff; “I want to
stay longer.”

“ No, indeed!” said Mother Bird; “ we must
go. The cold winter will soon be here.”

_ So they started. But naughty little Fluff

did not go with them. He hid in the pine-tree
till they were gone.

The next day it was very cold. The sky
was dark. The trees were bare, and little
snowflakes were flying about.

Poor little Fluff sat on the fence alone.
His feathers stuck out, and his feet were
blue and cold. He felt sad and lonely.
He wished he had gone with the others.
He had wanted his own way, and now that
he had it it wasn’t nice a bit.

Oh! how cold the wind was. How black
the clouds were!

“Chee! chee! chee!” said Fluff, “I’m
so hungry. I can’t find any supper. O,
dear! what shall I do?”

Just then a little girl named Daisy came
and looked out of the window.

“Oh! do see that poor little bird,” she
said. “He looks so cold. I guess he is
hungry.”

She went to the kiteben and got some
bread. She threw some crumbs on the
stones and said, “There, dear birdie, come
and eat your supper.”

Fluff looked at her with bright eyes.
He wanted some supper, but he was afraid.

“Come, Birdie; come, Birdie,” said Daisy.

She looked so sweet, and her voice was s0
kind, that Fluff forgot to be afraid. He
hopped down and ate a nice supper. Then he

felt better. He flew up in the pine-tree and



tucked his head under his wing and was soon
fast asleep. In the morning when he woke up
what do you think he saw?

His own dear mother! She had come all the
way back to find him. Oh! how glad he was.

Daisy got up early and put some more
Fluff and his mother
went down and had a nice breakfast. Then

crumbs on the stones.

they started on their journey. They sailed up
into the sky and flew, and flew, and flew, far
away. By and by they got home to the South.

It is a pretty home. There is no snow. The
sun shines, the roses bloom, and little birds

FLUFF.

never have cold toes. Fluff is happy. He

knows that his way was not best. Sometimes
when he is very happy he remembers the little
girl who fed him on that cold night. He sings
little songs about her. He will not forget her.

Mrs. C. M. Livineston.


A MAY QUEEN OF ITALY.


“OUR STONE.”







“OUR STONE.”

careless and merry as usual, a few of
them quiet and thoughtful.

Among these were two girls who
presently turned into a side street and went on



alone together.

“ T wish we hadn’t promised,” declared the
brown-eyed one, after a few minutes of troubled
silence.

“I don’t know what made me say I would,
I’m sure I can’t. There’s no one to talk to but
papa, and he doesn’t believe any of these things.
You know Miss-Chambers told us to begin by
telling this story about how the great stone was
rolled away from the door of the cave, without
anybody touching it, and Jesus, who had been
ead so many hours, just walked out and began
living again! But I can’t say anything about
it to papa. If I should he would just laugh
with all his might, and say it was surprising
that a girl so intelligent as I, could believe
such nonsense. I tell you, Alice, it is dread-
ful to have a papa who doesn’t believe in the
Bible.”

A great sigh seemed to be the only answer
Alice had for her friend.

At last she said, “It must be very hard to be
laughed at, but, after all, don’t you believe it

would be worse if you were really afraid to say

anything ?”

“What if you had a father who was cross
almost all the time, and who didn’t like to hear
you talk at all?”

“Oh, my!” said Jennie, and stopped. She
did not like to be laughed at, but she certainly
was not afraid of her father.

After a little silence Alice spoke again in a
tone of almost hopeless gravity.

“Tt is the brandy, you know, Jennie, Every-
body knows that my father drinks, so I may as
well say it right out. I can remember when he
used to take me on his lap and ask me about
where I had been, and what had happened ; he
used to like to have me tell him everything.
But that was before we had any saloons. If I
should try to tell him of our Saturday meet-
ings, and he found we talked about alcohol,

and had a pledge, I don’t believe he would let
me go any more. Don’t you think I will have
to tell Miss Chambers that I can’t tell the story
to papa?”

“T don’t know,” said Jennie, her brown eyes
looking troubled. “We promised, you see,
and we haven’t anybody else to tell. Maybe” —

She did not finish her sentence, for just as
they turned into the lane to go home by the
short road, they met Sarah West with her
hands full of bright-colored flowers. Her sun-
bonnet was pushed back from a pleasant freckled
face.

“ Aren’t they pretty?” she said, holding up
the flowers. ‘Miss Palmer gave them to me.
Tm going to take them home, mother likes
flowers so much.”

Both girls looked at her wistfully. Sarah
lived in a dingy little brown house just the
other side of the lane, and had a homely
freckled face, and was poor, and wore homely
common dresses, but she had a mother to take
flowers to, and the homes of both these other
girls were motherless.

“ You didn’t come to the class?” Jennie said
presently, in an inquiring tone. It was her way
of asking “ Why not?”

“No,” said Sarah, “mother had the scrubbing
to do and couldn’t spare me, Johnny is so mis-
chievous when she scrubs. What did you do?”

Then began the story of the hour, told by
both girls, each furnishing in turn an item.
From it Sarah learned that the Bible lesson had
been on the words “Go tell,” and the scholars
had pledged themselves to find the person near-
est home who did not know Jesus Christ, and
talk about his power and love.

We promised with the others,” Jennie said;
“but now we almost wish we hadn’t. We don’t
know how to do it, nor what good it will do.
We think there is a great big stone in our way
too.” .

The sentence closed with a little laugh, but
Sarah had an answer ready. She knew the
story of the resurrection very well indeed, if
she had not been to the Saturday class.

“They found the stone rolled away when
they got there,” she said quickly. ‘They
worried about it, you know, but when they
reached the spot it was gone,”
“OUR STONE.”



Jennie and Alice looked at one another.
“ Ours won’t be,” said Jennie significantly.

“TI know what Pll do,” said Sarah, “Tl tell
Timmy about it. He is mowing the lot right
next to our house, and I’m going over to the
meadow just below to pick strawberries. I’ve
often wanted to say something to Timmy, now
I know how to begin. I think Miss Chambers
has a splendid way of showing folks how to
begin things.”

“But you didn’t promise,” said both girls at
once.

Sarah seemed surprised.

“No,” she said slowly, “but that is because
I wasn’t there. And it is a way to help along,
you know.”

The two listeners looked at each other again,
but this time they said nothing. They walked
on presently, quite still, until Jennie was nearly
home. Then she said,

‘¢ Sarah seems to think she is bound to do it,
without any promising.”

“Yes,” said Alice. Then Jennie said good-
by and went in.

In the twilight of that evening Jennie, who
had made up her mind to brave a laugh and
keep her word, sought her father in his office
and began her story with an abrupt question.

“Papa, may I tell you about our class and
what we talked of this afternoon?”

Mr. Shepherd held an open letter in his hand.
Jennie did not know it was from an old friend
and had touched him very much, but she no-
ticed that the tone was grave and kind in which
he said,

“Why, yes, daughter; I have a few minutes
to give to it.” %

In an almost breathless way Jennie began
her account of that wonderful scene, when the
angel of the resurrection told the troubled
seekers the glad news.

“ And, papa, Miss Chambers said it was one
of the proofs of how strong Jesus was, and of
what He could do to help people who would let
Him. And, papa, I wish you believed on Him.”

Jennie had hurried through these sentences
with tremulous eagerness. The merry mocking
laugh had not come yet; she expected it every
moment; she wanted to get those last words in
before it came.

There was no answer for her, neither was
there any laughter. Mr. Shepherd sat quite
still, with his arm around his young daughter.
Presently he spoke, in a low grave tone:

“It might be better, daughter, if I could; I
am almost tempted to wish so myself. At least
I will not stand in the way of my little girl
getting all the help in that direction that she
can.”

“There wasn’t any stone, after all,” Jennie
said to herself almost gleefully, that night.

As for Alice, she waited up until after nine
o’clock, resolved upon trying to speak a few
words to her father, provided he would let her.

She planned a great many ways of begin-
ning; ways which she thought might vex him
the least, but was not satisfied with any of
them, and was almost tempted to give it up
for the night, especially after Mrs. Green the
housekeeper looked in to say, “If I were you
I wouldn’t wait any longer for your pa; it is
going on to ten o’clock.”

But just then he came. And after all her
planning, Alice had no words ready. Her
father came directly over to the lounge where
she was waiting; but instead of scolding her as
she had feared for being up so late, what do
you think he said?

You would never guess, so I will tell you.
“T’m glad you are up yet, Alice. Isn’t to-
morrow your birthday? I have a present for
you.”

He dropped imto her lap a little blue card
like the one they used in the Saturday class —
a Loyal Temperance Legion pledge card — and
through the mist which suddenly gathered in
Alice Baldwin’s blue eyes she saw below the
pledge a name in a handwriting that she knew:

“John Westfield Baldwin.”

“God rolled the stone away before I got
there,” said Alice Baldwin reverently to her-
self, that happy night. Pansy.

Farrn is the door to soul rest. Thou wilt
keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed
on Thee. For we which believe de enter into
rest.
ARCHIE’S CHRISTMAS GIFT.





ARCHIE’S CHRISTMAS GIFT.

WENTY-ONE, two, three, four and five!
Just a quarter, sure’s I’m alive!

And that will buy the funniest doll,

Rubber and worsted, for Baby Moll.

That takes all of my ready cash,
And breaks my bank all into smash ;







coor tra

ARCHIE,

You little tin bank, you’re never full;
I can’t work much nights after school.

These days are so short the light don’t last,
And Christmas is coming so fast, so fast!

I won’t ask father to give me a cent;

He works too hard for bread and rent,

OO

But mother must have a Christmas gift ;

O dear! who’ll give a fellow a lift?

Dear mamma! her hair is pretty and brown,
And her smile so sweet, with never a frown.

T’ll get her something, I will! I will!

But how’ll I get it’s the question still.

I know! —I’ve got such a splendid plan ;
Tis good enough for a grown-up man.

I think my present will be just grand ;
Tis this: I’ll write, in my nicest hand,
A pledge that liquor I’ll never drink ;
That I’ll never swear— and then I think

T’'ll write that tobacco I'll never use,
In tobacco pipes or tobacco chews.
T’ll get an envelope, clean and white,
And on it mamma’s name I'll write.

And I'll copy it out so nice and fair,

And sign my name at the bottom there:
“ Archibald Spinner!” O what a name!
But Grandpa wears it, and ’tis no shame.

« Archibald!” Mamma will like it so.
“ Archie!” she says when I’m good, I know,

- But I think ’twill please her —I know it will!

Her dear brown eyes with tears will fill,

But behind the tears there will be for me

The happy twinkle I love to see.

So, “ Archibald Spinner,” the road is long,

You must make your mind up good and strong

Before you put down in black and white,

The pledge that the angels in Heaven will write.

Yes, I’m going to do it! I’ve counted the
cost :

There is all to gain, and nothing lost.

Now Christmas may come —come slow, or come
fast —
I’m ready to meet it, ready at last;
Who in this town has a finer show
Than “ Archibald IT.,” I’d like to know!
Emity Baker SMALLE.






























































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































‘LYING FLAT ON THE SAND.”
HAPPENINGS.

ee a eee

HAPPENINGS.

aS





VHY-EE!” said Nettie Houston, which
was her way of expressing intense sur-
prise; “ I didn’t know it told, so many
hundred years ago, just exactly what
would happen. Why, it tells how those soldiers
would cast lots for His clothes, and how they
would give Him vinegar to drink, and how they
would crucify Him with bad men, and every-
thing. If that isn’t strange! I don’t believe
Uncle Robert knows these things. I just mean
to tell him.”

By this time the boys and girls who study
their Sunday-
school lessons,
know quite
well that Net-
tie Houston









NETTIE’S OFFERING.

was thinking about the Bible account of the
crucifixion, and all the very small particulars
which were given so many years before the
event.

Nettie had never studied prophecy; she did
not know that the. Old Testament had many
very careful descriptions of things which have
come to pass, in just the way they were fore-
told. She thought her Uncle Robert could not

Nettie.

know it either, for Uncle Robert had a strange
way of talking about the Bible.

That very afternoon was Nettie’s opportunity.
She brought her Bible and turned to the proph-
ecies about Christ, then to the New Testament
account of the facts, and then looked up in
triumph.

“There, Uncle Robert! How could they
have known that a great many hundred years
afterwards, some One would be killed in just
that way, and have His clothes divided among
the soldiers, and be offered something to drink,
unless God had told them all about it?”

Uncle Robert was quite a young man, who
knew very little about the Bible, and thought
it was a mark of smartness not to believe in it
fully ; also he thought it was great fun to tease
his niece.

“Poh!” he said, with a contemptuous toss
of his head. “That’s nothing. Any man could
have risked a few guesses, and happened to
guess right about some of them.”

“Things don’t happen so now,” said

“Yes, they do. I’ve been a prophet my-
self. Once I said to a lot of fellows, ‘Next
Thursday it will rain all day, mark my
words.’ I hadn’t the least reason in the
world for saying it; I just said so for fun.
Well, don’t you think the next Thursday
the rain poured down all day! Just hap-
pened so, you see; but it made me a
prophet.”

“Thats different,” Nettie said positively.
She felt the folly of her uncle’s pretended
argument, but did not know how to put her
thoughts into words.

The next morning while working among
her flowers, Nettie heard her uncle scold-
ing Ben, the office boy, for throwing away
a small piece of a map, which had been
torn from one that hung on the wall.

“Tt was lying on the floor, sir,” said Ben.
“You told me to put all the papers that were
on the floor into the waste-basket, and that lay
with the rest. I didn’t know it was of any use.”

Ben’s tone said “I am sorry,” as plainly as
words could have done, but the map was one
which he was copying, and it was very annoy-
ing to have his work made harder in this way.
GOING HOME.



ts,





He laid the crumpled wad on the table and
carefully smoothed it out, but did not smooth
the wrinkles from his forehead.

“Stupid fellow!” he said crossly. “Any one
with eyes could have seen that the piece fitted
right into the wall map. Didn’t you see it was
torn, and that just such a shaped piece as the
one on the floor belonged on it? Why don’t
you learn to observe and think? You might
as well have a cabbage-head on your shoulders.”

Ben went away looking crest-fallen, but little
Nettie’s eyes were dancing with a thought
which had come to her. She gathered a mass
of lovely blossoms in both hands, and with her
gmall nose buried in the bloom, went to give
them to her uncle.

“Don’t you think, Uncle Robert,” she said,
after he had accepted and duly admired the
flowers, “ you ought to forgive Ben for not know-
ing the torn piece belonged there? It might
just have happened to fit the map, you know.”

“What are you talking about?” said Uncle
Robert, still a little crossly.

“Why, the torn map. Those great notches
that fit into the torn places exactly, might just
have happened that way, I s’pose. That’s what
you said yesterday.”

Uncle Robert understood. What was the
use in being cross with Nettie? He had often
said she was as bright as a new pin.

“Yow re acute one!” he said, and laughed.
But his cheeks were red, and he knew very
well that he had said some silly things to Nettie
the day before, and that she thought so, too.

Myra Sparrorp.

GOING HOME.

MET but yesterday,
An aged pilgrim on his way; .
His form was bent, his step was slow,
For eighty winters with their snow
Had burdened him with pain and care,
With blossoms in his hair.

And he was going home ;

No more o’er these green hills to roam
’ Where he had sported when a boy,

Till they had echoed with the joy;

”



And where his comrades young and gay
Had lived and passed away.

This land was growing strange.

His boyhood land, what change, what
change!

His long day’s work was done, and he

Was simply waiting, wearily,

For he was going home, sweet home,

Beyond the dark sea foam.

I thought that land must be

More like a native land to see;
More real than these hills of green,
Or vales that nestling lie between ;
Or like a childhood memory fond
Would seem that land beyond.

We cannot yet behold

Except by faith the hills of gold;

But oh! methinks when we shall stand
Upon the borders of that land,

The soul’s instinctive sense shall be,

If but a mother’s tone

Shall break the silence all alone,

Will not the joy of heaven be felt

As when at her dear side we knelt,
Or when she hushed our childish fears
And blest our tender years?

Or, if a sister’s hand

Shall clasp us welcome to that land,
Will not the rapture we may know
Exceed the joy of long ago,

When in our childish ways we went
With home, sweet home, content?

But oh! if He should come,

Who left His Father and His home

To seek us on the mountain cold,

Far strayed from shepherd and from fold,
Oh! would it not be home to hear

That voice than all more dear?

And where our Father is,

Ob! will not that be home and bliss?
The angels wait beside the gate,

And for the weary pilgrims wait ;
We're going home, they smiling say,
Home, home not far away, — Selected.
THE TWO LITTLE PIGS.—DECORATION DAY.





THE TWO LITTLE PIGS.

NE bright summer morning as I was strol-
ling toward the beach, on the island of
Mackinac, I saw a short distance ahead of me,
two little pigs, one. perfectly white and the other
perfectly black, both the same size, trudging
along side by side in the same direction as my-
self, seemingly engaged in earnest conversation.
They seemed so out of place, and I was so
curious to know whither they were bound, that
I followed them unobserved.

They did not walk aimlessly, but as if they
had some special object in view, and some defi-
nite destination. I wondered what they would
do when they reached the water. Iwas not long
in being answered. Without a moment’s hesi-
tation, they plunged into the waves, side by side,
and swam out and away toward another island,
six miles distant. I stood and watched them
until their two little heads looked like balls
bobbing up and down, side by side all the time.

When I related the incident to the landlord,
a little later, he looked astonished and annoyed.

“Those pigs,” he said, “ were to have been
served up for dinner to-day. They were brought
here this morning in a boat from that island, six
miles away, and we thought we might allow
them their freedom for the short time they had
to live, never thinking of their making an at-
tempt to returnhome. And did you notice,” he
continued, “ they chose the point of land nearest
the island where they came from, to enter the
water? Singular, the little animals should have
beenso bright? And, furthermore, they weren’t
landed there; that makes it more strange.”

I, too, left the island that day, and I have
never heard whether those brave little pigs ever
reached. their destination or not.— Harper’s
Young People.

DECORATION DAY.

KS, little daughter, we go again,

One glad bright hour in May,
‘To cover with bloom the quiet graves
Where sleep the “ Blue and Gray.”

I think I have told you many times
The sacred reason why,

But mamma often likes to speak
Of the sad, sad days gone by.

T have told you how your grandpa
Fell in the ranks of the Blue,
When I was a wee maid, Barbara,

Not nearly as large as you.

Fell "neath the dear old banner
At the battle of “Cedar Creek,”

In the days when uncle Charley
Was a baby small and weak.

I well remember hin, darling,
So true, and noble, and bold,

Though I was such a small, small girlie,
Not quite turned eight years old.

He told me we of the Northland
Were forced to enter the fight,
How we, not our Southern brother,

Were battling for God and right,

How they of the fiery Southland
Were striving to tear apart

The States cemented by life-blood,
From many a loyal heart.

And I ever was staunchly loyal,
For when my baby came,

I called her the name our Quaker bard
Has given to deathless fame.

Of her who so bravely held the flag,
Out in the morning air

Baring to rebel bullets
The crown of her grand white hair.

But grandpa dwells where he knows to-day
The truth between Gray and Blue
Better than they of that far-off time
Who thought they alone were true,

And mamma has learned that noble men
Were there on the conquered side,

As any that ever suffered,
Suffered and bravely died.

So, little maiden Barbara,
On that sunny time in May,
Let us seek to honor the lonely graves
Of the men who wore the Gray.
Eniry Baker SMALLER.






















CHILDHOOD.

PROGRESSIVE


THE THREE STORIES.

THE THREE STORIES.

OE, Fred and Millie were left at home
one long rainy afternoon. It had
stormed so hard all of Monday and
Tuesday they could not go out to run

or play; and now it was Wednesday and papa
and mamma and Aunt Maggie had all to go
down town, and so the question was, What
should these restless little mortals do to make
the day seem endurable? :

If it had not been vacation time, Joe would
have been in school, and he would have been
provided for; but now he and his younger
brother and his little sister must help one
another. If all had been boys of the same age,
and all as old as Joe, or if all had been girls of
that size, there would have been a good many
things which might have whiled away the time.
But they were not all boys, nor all girls, nor all
of an age, so how could they plan to have a
good time?

In the garret were picture-books, and these
had stories in them, so at the suggestion of
Freddy or Milly, I don’t remember which, they
all started for the “ Rain-room,” as Milly called
it. (She gave the attic this name because she
could hear the rain so plainly as it pattered
upon the shingles.)

After a while they began to tire of looking
at pictures and reading fairy stories.

I suppose the fact was, one did not like the
story that another did. This difference of
opinion caused them to talk a little, and so the
difference began to be seen.

Then they began to criticise the illustrations,
and sometimes one would suggest that the pict-
ure and story did not match. Finally Milly
found a picture, and after examining it a few
minutes said, holding up the engraving, “I'll
tell you how to stop finding fault with others;
just try it yourself. Here’s a picture; we won’t
read the story, but we will each write one to
suit himself.”

You see she was young and inexperienced,
and so had not yet learned how much easier it
is to find fault than it is to do.

Not having this fear before their eyes, it was
agreed that each should have a good look at
the engraving, and then take his paper and

pencil and write just what it should properly
illustrate.

Now before you read any farther, that you
may judge these three little authors kindly, let
me suggest that you take pencil, or pen, and
write the story as you think it should read.
Then get Grandma, or Auntie, or some one, to
read the four together,

No, of course I don’t mean all at once; but
one right after the other.

(The first story.)

“Once upon a time there was an old, old
man, and he was just as good as he could be.
And once there was a little girl. The old man
and the little girl lived at the same time, but
the man was a great deal older than the girl.

“The little girl’s name was Araminta Ara-
bella Steventine, and her hair was a beautiful
yellow, and her eyes were as blue as the star
spangled banner (the part which isn’t red, nor
white, nor stars),

“ She was oh! go pretty; but she was poor, so
very awfully poor that she had no Christmas-
tree, and no Sunday-school teacher to give her
anything. She lived in a hovel, and ate off of
a great wooden table. But she always kept
her hair combed and her face clean, so she
looked as sweet and pretty as if she had been
rich. Her father, he was dead, and her mother,
she was dead too.

“ Now this little girl, she lived all alone with
this good old man, and he was her Grandpa.
She was not big enough to cook, but she could
sweep and keep the one little room all clean.
So when the grandpa came home and saw
everything slick and clean, and ‘Minta Bell”
(as he called her for short) looking so sweet,
he would almost forget how tired he was.

“Well, as he went around he heard people
talking so much about Christmas presents, and
saw 80 many carrying things home for their
boys and girls, that he did so much wish to get
something for his dear little Minta Bell. So
he began to plan to see how he could get a nice
dollie for her. How could he do it, when he
could hardly get bread for her to eat?

“It was the day before Christmas, so he asked
Jesus to show him how and where he could find -
a doll for his little motherless granddaughter.
: THE THREE STORIES.





“Then he started. out to see what he could
get to do. As-he passed the church he saw a
pile of evergreens by the door, and a tree, and
ever 80 many young folks at work getting ready
for the evening, when they were to have a
great time.

“¢Couldn’t you help us to-day?’ said the
superintendent; ‘we need some one very much,
and will pay you well for it.” So he went to
work, and by and by the presents began to
come in, and he was wanted to help put them
in their places. _

“The dolls looked so pretty that he couldn’t

“ONCE UPON A TIME.”’

keep his little girl out of his mind. They were
all set around the foot of the tree on the green
moss — all but one little thing which had lost a
hand. That was left in the basket, and when
he saw it set away, his heart began to throb
with hope that he might get it for Minta Bell.

“<¢Tf you please, ma’am,’ said he to one of
the kind ladies, ‘would you sell that doll in
the basket cheap ?’

“¢Why, who would want that broken doll, I
should like to know?’

“¢Well, ma’am, I know a little girl that



never had one, and I'd like to get this for her.
“Then there was lots of talk, and there were
a great many questions about the little girl,
and answers too, and then the good old man
carried the dollie off in triumph for Araminta
Arabella, and there is where he is just going to
give it to her. But he took an invitation for
both to come to the Christmas festival, and
then the good old man and the sweet little girl
got lots of nice things which are not in thi
picture.” JoE.

Tf Joe did not plan a very good story was it

a

‘ Re

(The picture the three wrote about.)

his fault, when it had all, or mostly, been acted
in a place where he was visiting his cousins
only the Christmas before?

(The second story.)

“There was an old man, and he went to the fair—
Just like the woman we read of somewhere.

He looked and he looked, at the things great and small,
Then bought for his darling a beautiful doll.

.““ What will you pay, little lassie, to me, iy
If I will now-give this dollie to thee ?’

‘Oh! Pll give you kisses sweet — one, two, three —
If only you'll give that dear dollie to me.’ ;
WHO STOLE

THE CHICKENS?





“So the bargain was made,
And the price it was paid, :
And both were as happy as happy could be,
For she had the doll,
So sweet and so small,
And he had the kisses — one, two, three.’’
FRED.

(The third story.)

“There was once an ugly old man —a very
ugly old man. And ’cause he was ugly he
liked to plague little girls.

“And there was a nice little girl, and one
day when her dear. mamma had gone away,
this little girlie (her name was Sunshine), she
was all alone. So she put her little dollie in a
chair and said, ‘Now, darling, you must be
good and not cry a bit while your mamma
sweeps all up the dust and makes
the room just as clean.’

“So the dollie sat just as still,
and never spoke one word nor cried
a bit when that ugly old man came
in, though she saw him all the time
with her eyes, but Sunshine didn’t
see him a bit at all.

“Then pretty soon she turned
around to speak a word to Dollie;
and, don’t you think! there sat that
ugly old man in the chair, holding
the dollie behind him. Then he told
Sunshine she shouldn’t have it any

“more, ever, for he was going to carry
it off for another little girl he knew,
away off in the woods!

“But what do you think? Just
then Sunshine’s own dear papa came
in and made the naughty old man
give up her doll and go way off!

“Then Sunshine was so glad, and put her
arms around her papa’s neck and kissed him,
and kissed him, and kissed him, and said ‘No
naughty man should ever carry her dear dollie
off in the woods, no, never! But I do hope
some one will give the little girl off in the
woods a pretty dollie, and I wish she had a
good papa like mine.’” Minty.

Now which story do you think fits the picture
the best: Joe’s, or Fred’s, or Milly’s or yours?
G. Rossenpurea.

‘chievous.

WHO STOLE -THE CHICKENS?



K) NOTHER of my Bantams is gone,”
X. said Spencer Dean, as he sat down at
GI¥° the breakfast table. “I am going to
ee watch to-night, and if Tony Brent
eomes he’ll catch it, I can tell you!”

“T cannot think Tony would do such a thing,”
replied Spencer’s sister Sadie, ‘‘if he is mis-
I cannot believe such things as that
of him! It is too bad the way some use him,
just because his clothes are patched, and his
mother takes in washing.”

“Well, what does it look like? Ilere one
after another of my chickens go off, without
leaving so much as a feather. Now if it was
an owl, there would be both bones and feathers.





OPOSSUM AND FaMILY,.

Then, too, Tony said he wished he had set
Banty’s eggs, too.”

“J cannot see that that proves anything defi-
nite,” replied Sadie. <

“T shall watch, anyway, and if Tony comes
he will have to cry quarters, at least,” replied
Spencer, still unconvinced.

Spencer’s mother had given him a fine brood
of chickens in the spring (twelve white Ban-
tams), and he had taken the best of care of
them while they were cooped up. Afterward,
when left to roam at large, they had sought as
DIMPLE’S DINNER COMPANY.





a roosting-place some timbers projecting from
underneath the corn-crib, instead of going — as
well-brought-up chickens should —to the hen-
house.

As the chickens grew larger they became
the pride of the poultry-yard, until Spencer
had grown quite vain over the compliments
paid his Bantams.

But as time went on the Bantams had one
after another mysteriously disappeared until
there were only seven left.

Spencer had tried sleeping with one eye
open, yet this, for a hard-working country boy,
was difficult. One night he even tried sitting
in his chair, to awake in the gray of the early
dawn to find himself with a sore throat, and
the damp, chilly wind coming in at the open
window with a rush.

The night after the conversation just men-
tioned, Spencer finished his “ chores,” ate his
supper, and, armed with a stout hickory pole
which he confidently intended should cause
Tony Brent to cry “quarters,” he climbed
on to the low, flat roof, and lay there, while
the southerly breeze rumpled his brown curls
as he ate scek-no-farther apples. He had just
tossed aside the seventh core, and was won-
dering how many he had the capacity of get-
ting outside of, when he heard a rustle among
the dry leaves, and a “quack! quack!” from
the Bantams.

“Why, of all things! If there isn’t one of
the pigs father bought this morning got out of
the pen!” he said to himself, as he leaned over
the side of the corn-crib to see more distinctly
amid the uncertain light which the clouds made
in chasing each other over the half-moon.

He was about to call his father, when he sud-
denly pinched himself to see if he was awake
or dreaming, for there was that pig crawling
up one of the posts on which the corn-crib
rested, and when it seized a chick and jumped
to the ground, he was too much surprised to
apply the hickory pole intended for Tony’s
back.

Calling “ Father!” he sprang down and com-
menced belaboring the strange pig, until it
. dropped the chicken. Soon after, amid the
cackle of fowls, he heard his father say, —

“What have you here? Oh! it’s an opos-

sum, and never Tony at all.. Well, my boy, I
hope this will teach you not to distrust your
companions too readily.” The opossum by this
time lay still, and Spencer ran in to get a lan-
tern, and Mrs. Dean and Sadie went out too.

“ Why, how much it does resemble a pig, to
be sure! I do not wonder you thought it one,”
said Sadie. “O, papa! is this the animal I
heard making that frightful noise out in the
forest one night when I was coming home so
late from uncle’s?” she continued.

“ Yes, dear. I think of all animals I ever
heard, the opossum’s cry is the most mournful.
Although it does look very much like a pig in
the night, it does not so much in the daytime.”

They returned to the house, and a short
time after, as Mr. Dean was going to the barn
to sce if the horses were well cared for, he
found that the opossum was crawling into the
orchard. Again it was frightened away, with
the remark, “I guess you will stay where you
belong this time!”

After chatting for awhile Spencer went out
to look after the opossum. While defending
his chickens he feared he had dealt him a
death-blow. Once more getting near he heard
heavy breathing, and lo! Mr. Opossum was
not dead, after all. He spoke in a sympathiz-
ing voice :

“Now, Mr. Opossum, if you will get up
and walk-off you can save your life. If not,
I shall have to resort to desperate measures.”
When he went in he said to his father, —

“J think I understand now why people ask

‘at times, ‘Is he playing ’possum ?’?”

Mrs. S. Rosati Sr.





DIMPLE’S DINNER COMPANY.

JTIE class in Familiar Science was on the
5 recitation bench at Miss Purviance’s
4 school, and it was Dimple Duer’s ques-
tion :

é “Explain the formation of dew on
the outside of a pitcher of ice-water.”

Where had Dimple’s thoughts been while
she read over those four pages of Familiar
Science last night? Not much on her book, I
am afraid, or else she had slept away the mem-


DIMPLE’S DINNER COMPANY.





ery of her lesson; for, to save her life, she
didn’t know what made the. pretty frost-work
on her glass of ice-water at dinner.

Fortunately for her, there was a sudden
knock at the schoolroom door, a loud rat-tat, as
of some one in a hurry.

“Come in,” said Miss Purviance, and the
Aoor was thrown open with a bang that jarred
a whole benchful of little girls. It was Dave
Finley, a great, strong, rough-voiced, kindly-
tempered fellow, who hauled wood to the little
town for sale.

“See here, Miss ’Viance,” he said, drawing
forward a little girl in a red calico dress and
sunbonnet, “I’ve brung you Molly Smoot’s gal
to get some learnin’. Molly is a powerful hand
at books herself, Molly is; and spite of Bill
Smoot’s goin’ and dyin’ last spring, and spite
of there being four younger than Fan here,
Moll’s sot on givin’ her children learnin’, too.
‘Well, Moll,’ says I, ‘I kin furder you thar, for
I kin take that little Jenny Wren of yours to

town every day on my wagon ’longside of me,’

and glad of her company, too. ‘Land, Mr.
Miller,’ says Moll, ‘how kind you are!’ ‘Well,’
says I, ‘we poor folks ain’t got nuthin’ but
kindness to give one another, and we must be
hard up if we can’t give that.’”

The half-hour for Familiar Science was fast
slipping away, while Dave stood with the door-
knob in his hand, holding the child in the other,
talking in an even stream, with no sign of any
purpose to stop. Miss Purviance at last inter-
rupted him.

“Come in, Fanny,” said she. “Did you say
her name was Fanny? Thank you, Mr. imley
iwe will see about her lessons now.”

“All right, mum; I'll be long this way some-
qhere ener of four o’clock to pick her up
again.”

And the little mranger was given a seat
while Miss Purviance hurried through the in-
terrupted recitation.

The new scholar was poorly clad. Her little
brown feet were innocent of shoes and stock-
ings, and the calico dress came but a stingy
way down the plump legs.

The little face, when the red calico sunbonnet
ame off, was seen to be round and rosy. It
seemed that poverty (and the Smoots were of

the poorest) agreed with Fan’s health, and
spirits, too; for she was a gay little witch, and
soon became a favorite at Miss Purviance’s
school. Her seat was by Dimple Duer, and
impulsive little Dimple was heels over head in
love with her at once. The difference between
her dainty laced and frilled ruffles, her silk
stockings and kid slippers, and Fan’s clean but
somewhat faded calico, seemed not to strike
either of the girls, who became devoted friends.

‘‘ Mother,” said Dimple, one Friday morning,
stopping in the midst of her breakfast of waffles
and honey, “can’t I have a dinner-party ?”

- “Perhaps so,” said her mother, smiling at
her little girl’s serious face. “Whom will you
invite?”

“How many could I have, mother?”

“Oh! four or five, I suppose,” answered Mrs.
Duer.

“Now, mother,” Dimple said, with great ear-
nestness, “wouldn’t you as lief I should have
one little girl five times as five little girls to
dinner at one time?”

There was a laugh all around the table at
this conundrum, but Dimple waited eagerly for
an answer. “Dimple,” said papa, “what little
girl do you want to invite to dinner five times?”

“Why, papa,” she said gravely, “Fanny
Smoot brings her dinner to school every day,
and it’s hardly ever anything but a piece of
corn-bread and a potato. She says sometimes
her mother can give her two potatoes, and
sometimes a little piece of fat bacon.” [

Dimple’s voice was trembling a little, and
nobody at the table laughed now.

“You shall have your company, darling,”
said the mother; and_her voice e wasn’t very
steady, either.

So Dimple had her way, and went off to
school happy, with a little invitation written on
one of her mother’s gilt-edged cards: “ Miss
Dimple Duer requests the pleasure of your
company on Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday,
Thursday and Friday of next week.”

Of course the invitation was accepted, and
the next Friday at recess the two girls were in
great glee over a card found in Dimple’s pocket
directed to Fan, in a gentleman’s bold hand:
“Mr. Sidney Duer” (that was papa) “requests
the pleasure of your company to dinner on
DIMPLE’S

DINNER COMPANY. -





Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and
Friday of next week.”

And every week a different meres of the
family sent Fan a like invitation, until she had
been invited by each one, and then Dimple’s
turn came again.

Do you think the four little Smoots envied
Fan? No; and I'll tell you why. There was
a brown woven basket on Mrs. Duer’s wardrobe
shelf which had once belonged to her little
Fanny, now in heaven. It had been her lunch-

basket, and the sight of it made the mother’s
heart ache with thinking of the bright face that
used to look back at her from the gate as the
jittle daughter tripped off to school. â„¢

\

But the first week of Dimple’s dinner com-
pany this basket was taken down and filled
from the table for Fan to carry home to the
little ones there. She never forgot to bring it
back the next morning, and it never failed to
travel home with her again the same day after
school.

“ Mother,” said observant little Dimple one
night, from her cot in the corner, “what makes
you look so teary, sometithes, when you are
filling the brown basket for the little Smoots?”

The mother came over and kissed the rosy
face on the pillow. “Dimple,” she said softly,
“T count es your little angel sister's dinner
company.” — Selected.


GRANDMA’S PATCHWORK.





POEM FOR RECITATION.
GRANDMA’S PATCHWORK.

HALL I ever be old as Grandma?
I looked in the glass to-day,

and tried to think how I shall look

When my hair has all turned gray;
For when the old people come here,

With hands on my hair they say,
“ Jessie looks like her grandma

In the times so far away.”

We have an old portrait of Grandma
In a queer old gilded frame,
Odd, and sweet, and pretty,
It was made before mamma came,
And I am her youngest grandchild,
They say she loves. me best,
I don’t know how that is,
I’m sure she loves all the rest.

But her room is full of treasures,
Old things — she loves them well,

Rainy days she shows them to me,
And will often a story tell.

She has just the queerest bedquilt—
It isn’t pretty at all,

But I think that Grandma loves it
Even the best of all.

Mamma says that “old people
Have much of their lives in the past,”
And that I “ must honor her wishes,
And be gentle to the last.”
So when she showed the patchwork
I thought I could understand
How the past is mixed with the future
And her home in the other land.

There were some squares all faded,
Dull, and brown, and gray,
If they ever have been pretty,
They surely are not to-day.
“Those,” said Grandma softly,
“ Were part of my mother’s gown,
‘Well do I remember the day
She wore it first to town.”

And then there were others, pretty
Green, with blossoms over them spread.

“Those,” and my dear old Grandma
Sighed and shook her head,

“Those were my sister Mary’s,
She died at twenty-five —

So many years she has been in Heaven,
And I—{I am still alive.”

Then there were many white ones,
With tiny flecks of blue,

They must have been so pretty
In the days when they were new.

“ Those little squares,” said Grandma,
“ Belonged to my baby Rose.

It is thirty years since we laid her
Under the winter snows.”

“But tell me, Grandma,” I eagerly cry,
“Whose were these deauties, here ?

_ Covered with apple-blossoms,

They look like the spring of the year.”
“Those,” and Grandma’s mouth grew sweet
As the mouth in the picture seems, .
“JT wore that gown when I was young,
And life was the sweetest of dreams.”

“I wore it the night your grandpa
Told me his heart was mine,
Under the trees near the arbor,
Where the roses used to twine —
Ah! there never was any like him,
And now —he has gone home,
And I am going to join him,
I wait till my summons come.”

And then the kitten wakened
From a long and quiet nap,
And Grandma folded the patchwork
And laid it in her lap,
And said: “’T will be yours, little Jessie,
When my body is under the sod,
And my free soul dwells in that other hone
Whose builder and maker is God.”
Esity Baker Smaruz.

“ Be good, dear child, and let who will.be clever
Do noble things, not dream them all day long ;
And so make life, death, and that vast forever,

One glad, sweet song.”
or













































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































IN OTHER LANDS,


































PRECIOUS OINTMENT.—THE

“TEMPLE” IN CIRCLEVILLE.





PRECIOUS OINTMENT.

O not keep your box of ointment,
Break it o’er your friends to-day ;
Do not keep it in the darkness,
Half-forgotten laid away.

4 Little deeds of love and kindness,
Don’t forget to give them now;
Don’t forget to smooth the pillow,
Don’t forget to bathe the brow.

All along life’s rugged pathway
Stretch your hand and lift your voice,
Bringing all your love and kindness,
Making every heart rejoice.

Keep your ointment ever ready,
Use it freely — there is room;
It will bring you richest blessings,
Smooth your passage to the tomb.
— Selected.

PAPER.

ies New York Telegram tells of a curious
sheet of paper which has been sent to a
gentleman in New York from a friend in Hong
Kong, China.

It is made from the web of the white spider,
which, you know, is considered sacred by the
Chinese.

The sheet is said to be very beautiful.
It is light and transparent, is eleven inches
wide and fourteen long, and is beautifully
printed, containing about two columns of read-
jie matter.

Have you not often wished, of a summer
morning, when you looked on the grass and

saw the beautiful lace-work of the spiders
spread here and there, that something could be
done to preserve them, that we might use them
for trimming? If the white spider’s work can
be made useful, why not that of our common
black spider?



WI. Grarran Guinness has secured thirty
eolored missionariee for Afriea.

THE “TEMPLE” IN CIRCLEVILLE.
T was growing dark in the church; the

committee said that they did not “see,”

for their parts, where the afternoon

“had gone to!” and Joe Westwood
muttered that he didn’t “see where his hat
had gone to, to say nothing of the afternoon.”
Heaps of cast-off finery of different sorts were
‘scattered about the church. On the communion
table lay a pile of red and white cambric used
for decoration, and the Bible had the eee for
an angel’s wing resting on it.

“Some of you boys come and help clear
away here,” said Miss Helen Hurst irritably ;
she had been at work all day, and was very
tired. “Don’t go to running away and leaving
all this confusion to us to look after. I must
rehearse this tableau before I go home, if the
bell rings for prayer meeting while I am about
it. I don’t see why they couldn’t have omitted
the prayer meeting for one evening. How did
they expect us to get ready?”

She did not mean for the prayer meeting,
but for the entertainment which was to take
place in the church on the following evening.
Miss Hurst was a teacher in the Sunday-school,
and was very fond of her seven boys, though
she did speak so sharply to them just now and
bid them help. Miss Hurst was not often so
tired as she felt this evening.

“It is very hard work to get up tableaux
with children,” she explained to a young lady
who stood looking on; “I’m almost sorry I un-
dertook it. There’s one scene I don’t believe
I shall ever get ready; I have had all sorts ‘of
worries with it. I must rehearse it to-night, if
I do have to keep Trudie West out later than
her mother wishes. She will have to be out
to-morrow night; I don’t see why it will hurt
her any more to stay after dark to-night. Boys,
haven’t you that cave ready yet? It is growing
dark very rapidly.”

“Yes’m,” said Robert Burke, “we are all
ready, and the boys have their torches lighted,
but Trudie won’t go in; she’s afraid.”

“Trudie, what a little goose! It is nothing
but a pasteboard screen with a hole in it. See!
there is a cushion to sit on when you get in
there, and the walls are hung with your own
THE

“TEMPLE” IN CIRCLEVILLE.—FREELY GIVING.



mamma’s black shawl; don’t be a goosie, child,
go in and see how pretty it is. What if it is
dark? you are not afraid of the dark. Take
hold of her hand, Stevie, and coax her.”

So Stevie took the chubby little hand in his,
and coaxed, and pulled, and tried to drag the
reluctant little hermit into her cave. All in
vain. She was “’fraid,” the baby declared,
and with her free hand brushed away great
tears which were slowly trickling down her
nose.

“ Did ever anybody see such a little dunce?”
said Miss Hurst, in despair. “I’m afraid I shall
have to give it up, and it is one of the prettiest
tableaux in the list. Why,” in answer to a
question from the lady looking on, “it is a
scene from Mother Goose. This is the cave,
you know, and Stevie and Joe are the two
‘bears; they do their part nicely. Joe’s eyes
look really frightful when the cave is lighted
up just behind them, and everywhere else it is
dark. Come, Trudie, don’t keep us waiting;
you are not such a baby as to be afraid of
Stevie and Joe; they are all the bears there
are. Step in, that’s a nice little girl; you will
make a lovely picture, and everybody will clap
their hands and praise you, and they will give
a good deal of money just to look at you.
Trudie wants to help raise money for the mis-
sionaries, I know she does.”

No, apparently Trudie didn’t, at least- not to
the extent of being willing to sacrifice herself
to that dark cave and those two bears. She
held back sturdily, and cried outright, and the

~ bell for evening service struck on the quiet air.
_ “I shall have to give it up,” said Miss Hurst,
in despair. “ Provoking little thing! if she was
my child, I would give her a whipping. There’s
the first bell, and this church in utter confusion.
Joe and Stevie, run and take down that pile of
dresses from the pulpit, and push those drums
and boxes and things under the sofa; they will
not show there to-night, I guess. I’m too tired
to take them away. Well, Trudie West, run
home, do, and tell your mother you are a
naughty girl. Alice, I wish we had tried your
little sister for the cave; she is rather large, but
she would have taken the expression beautifully.
‘Couldn’t you get into that cave, don’t you think,
Laura?”



But Laura, the visitor’s little sister, who had
kept fast hold of her hand all this time, had
not even heard what Miss Hurst said; sbe was
gazing about her with a grave, almost a startled
look on her sweet child-face, and at that mo-
ment she spoke, in slow, clear tones:

“Sister, this is God’s house, isn’t it?”

“Certainly, dear; all churches are God’s
houses.”

“Well, don’t you know that story we had
this morning in Grandma’s room? How he
went to his house in Jerusalem — Jesus did,
you know —and sent out things that did not
belong, and made them put it all in nice order
again. Don’t you suppose if he should come
in here now maybe he would say ‘Take these
things hence ?’”

The visitor and her friend, Miss Helen Hurst,
looked at each other. For a moment neither
said a word, then Miss Helen, with a slight
laugh, “What a queer little thing she is!
Where does she get such old-fashioned ideas?
I don’t believe she will do for the cave, do
you?”

“No,” said her sister, “I don’t think she will.
Come, Laura, sister- will be late for prayer
meeting if we stand here any longer.”

Myra Sparrorp.

FREELY GIVING.

Ne VERY suggestive story is told of a little
boy whose uncle gave him a gold coin.

' “Now you must keep that,” said the gentle-

man. : ;

“T will halve it first,” said the child.
be I, will keep my half.”

“Why, it is all yours, my boy,” said his
uncle, greatly astonished.

“No,” replied the little fellow, with a de-
termined shake of the head, “it is not all mine;
I always go halves with God.”

“But God owns the world; the gold and
silver are all his.”

The little boy was silent and puzzled for a
moment, then he said:

« Any way, God goes halves with us; he lets
us share with him. Don’t you think we ought
to give him back a part’?”” — Selected.

“ May-
SACRIFICE AND ITS REWARD.—THE

SACRIFICE AND ITS REWARD.



NE day the teacher went to visit an
old Indian woman who wassick. Being
able now to go out, she was asked if
she would not come to church.

“IT have nothing to wear,” was the reply.

“Tf I should give you this bonnet?” ques-
tioned the teacher. But the bonnet alone
would not do; she could not go. The teacher
went home to search her own slender wardrobe.
Her sister in the work followed her to her
room, and found her on her knees before her
little trunk, an old shawl on her lap on which
her tears were falling, as she softly smoothed
the faded folds. It had been her mother’s,
worn through weary days of invalidism. It
seemed almost a part of the loved one’s self,
linked with the dear pale face in the grave.

How this daughter prized it, all that was left
her of the old home and “mother,” how she
had carried it with her in all her journeyings,
you, who have laid away the garments of your
beloved with tears and kisses—you know.

“Oh! not that,” said the sister who knew
its history. The teacher shook her head;
there was nothing else. The dear mother was
safe in heaven, while the poor Indian was here
and suffering. It was right the shawl should
go. And she took it to the Indian woman,
holding it close in her arms with caressing
touch as she went.

“Her reward?” Why, some months after,
when a band of Christians were received into
the church —that old woman was among
them !_

Go ye into all the world and preach the
gospel to every creature.

HERE is this? What does it mean?
What have you to do with it?

How many of you will write out the an-
swers to these three questions — especially to
the last — and hand your answers to your pas-
tors or Sunday-school teachers ?

Ii just one—ah! if one hundred would do
it and try to do it well and prayerfully, the
angels and Jesus would rejoice. Do you care
for such rejoicing ?

HARD TEXT.

THE HARD TEXT.
“Rejoice and be exceeding glad.”— Matt. v. 12.

Sees we should not rejoice to have
folks persecute us and say all manner of
false things about us. They are wicked to do
such things. That is what the scribes and
priests did to Jesus. How very, very hateful
it was. We ought to be glad when wicked
people stop saying and doing cruel things
against Christians and become gentle, loving
children of God themselves.

Nor must we think that every one who is
spoken against.is good and ought to be happy.
Whiskey-sellers are much spoken against.
They deserve to be. God has spoken an awful
woe against them. He does not tell them to
rejoice.

Our text means that we need not mourn
when we serve the Lord faithfully and the bad
treat us cruelly for it, but rather be glad to be
anything or suffer anything for hissake. When
it costs us something to be on his side, this is a
sign of being on his side, and what joy so great
as that?

Which side are you on?



A LAD’S PENNY.

Ne a missionary meeting a speaker men-

tioned how a little child heard that for
every penny given a verse of Scripture could
be translated into a foreign language, and went
home and begged that he might subscribe a
penny and be the means of translating a verse;
and he said, “Let the verse be, ‘For God so
loved the world that he gave his only begotten
son, that whosoever believeth in him should not
perish, but have everlasting life.’”

At the same mecting another speaker stated
that Rev. D. Corrie, a missionary, was one day
sent to visit a dying Brahmin. He expected
to find a very heathen. To his surprise the
Brahmin was a true Christian. The dying man
said, —

“You once gave me the verse ‘For God
so loved,’ etc. That was the means of my
conversion.”


















































































































































































A DOWNHILL ROAD.
TOMMY AND TABBY.





TOMMY AND TABBY.

DID not know but I would write

“Tabby and Tommy,” in order of

merit, for reasons which you will see.

But, on the whole, I decided to give
Tommy the first place.

The story is this: Tommy Lawrence and
Fred Smythe were friends. They had made mud-
pies together, built shanties together, played
marbles together, and had seldom quarreled with:
one another since they were little more than
babies. Nothing in the heaven above, or in the
earth beneath, or in the water under the earth
could dissolve theirfriendship. So they thought,
at least. But you shall see how it was some-
thing in the heaven above, or very near it, I sup-
pose, that did come near severing the bonds of
friendship that so closely encircled their hearts,

Tommy and Fred each had a kite. These
kites had both been bought of the same man,

who had made them. They were quite new, -

and were so exactly alike that even the owners
could not tell them apart. The said owners
went out one afternoon to fly the said kites, and’
selected Fred’s father’s pasture for the purpose.
All went well until Tommy’s kite caught in a
tree, and Fred came to help him. . In so doing
he allowed his own kite to become entangled
in the same tree. Alas! what a pretty plight.

“ Well,” remarked Tommy, after they had
both been pulling awhile at the strings, “the
only thing to do is to climb up and get them
down that way.”

So they mounted the tree, and with much
pulling and maneuvering got the kites disen-
tangled. But, dear me! while one was quite
whole, the other was so badly torn that it was
obvious to both the boys that it could never be
used again.

“It’s too bad!” said Fred. “Never mind,
though, Tommy; I'll let you use mine some-
times.”

“Indeed!” said our hero, “T’ll let you use
mine sometimes, you mean. I’msure that’s my
kite.”

“Tm sure it isn’t,” said Fred.

Then followed a heated discussion, the details
of which you can better imagine than I can
describe. In the midst thereof both boys

trampled on the object of the dispute, and the
result was it made little difference who was the
owner. But that didn’t alter the fact that
each boy was right, and the other was wrong.
Tommy went to his house by the back gate, and
Fred went to his by climbing over the fence, to
keep as far from his former friend as possible,
as both families used the same gate.

It was noticed among the Smythes and the
Lawrences that the boys didn’t play together
till bedtime out in the alley, nor did they go
for the cows together, as usual. Tommy was,
therefore, questioned by Aunt Abbie: “ What
is the matter between you and Fred, Tommy?”

“ Nothing.”

“T thought you were angry with each other.”

“ Well, we are.”

Then the whole story had to come out. But
neither of the boys could be convinced that it
was his duty to forgive the enemy so long as
he showed no signs of repentance.

One morning shortly after the beginning of
my story, Tommy was lying lazily on the back
porch. On the steps below him Mrs. Tabitha
Mousecatcher was preparing to enjoy a plate of
meat and saucer of milk. But just as she got
her nose in the former, Muff, her feline friend,
owned by Fred Smythe, jumped over the fence,
and greedily shoved it away. So Tabby re-
sorted to the saucer. But Muff, by that time,
was thirsty, and again insinuated her nose in
it. Alas for Tabby! It really appeared that
her visitor was not going to even share with
her, and had not Aunt Abbie appeared, and
driven Muff away, she would have gone hungry
till dinner-time, I fear.

“Naughty cat!” said Aunt Abbie, as she
flourished the broom, “you have had your
breakfast and Tabby has had none, yet you
come and try to eat all of hers.”

By that time the school-bell was ringing, and
Tommy left and saw no more of the cats. Mrs.
Mousecatcher went to the barn to see her kitten,
but it had been around the house, and imme-
diately asked her why she didn’t fight Muff, for
eating up half her breakfast.

“ My child,” said Mrs. Mousecatcher, ‘“¢ when
you are older you will learn better than that.

Muff and I are good friends, and I hope will

continue to be. Never quarrel with people,
MAMMA OWL AND HER BABIES. ,



ee
- my dear, no matter how much harm they do
you.”

So it came to pass that evening, when Tommy
was out on the porch again, Tabby and Muff
were frisking around the yard in a very delight-
ful manner, with never a speck of ill-humor.
And when Tabby came in for the evening, Muff
. walked by her side.

“ See there, Tommy,” said Aunt Abbie, “do
you remember how Muff treated Tabby this
morning? And see how forgiving she is. She
didn’t refuse to play with her this evening. I
think it is too bad to be more unforgiving than
a cat.”

That was all. She went right into the par-
lor, but Tommy began thinking. Pretty soon





he went in to say good-night to all of them, ané
added to Aunt Abbie, “I declare, Aunt Abbie,
I won’t be meaner than a cat.”

“JT am very glad,” said Aunt Abbie, and she
kissed him.

So the next morning, as Fred was going out
of the gate, Tommy came up.

“Say,” he began, — it is convenient to have
an introductory word like that, you know, no
matter how little sense there is in it, — “say,
maybe that wasn’t my kite.”

Fred looked up in astonishment.

“Maybe it wasn’t mine,” he said. “It isn’t

‘worth the fuss now, anyhow.”

“ All right,” said Tommy, “ then we’ll make

up.” PaRANETE.





MAMMA OWL AND HER BABIF:.
SINGING CHRISTMAS CAROLS.


IN THE TYPE CASES.—ROBERT BROWNING.



IN THE TYPE CASES.

PRINTER-MAN, say,
What are hidden away
In these boxes, s0 many and queer?
To send us you're able
Song, story and fable:
O, say! do you keep them in here?

These black little sticks.
Shaped like broken toothpicks
Have a queer little face on one end;
Are they fairies or witches ?
And oh! tell me which is
Which, and which isn’t, my friend.

There are wonderful books
lid away in these nooks,

- Long waiting for-some one to find ;
There are thoughts the most grand,
There are smiles the most bland,

If the sticks be but rightly combined.

When a wizard his wand
Waves over the band,
They start into line and they tell
Things lively and sad,
Good, indifferent and bad —
Songs, stories and sermons as well.

Would mine were the skill
To weave magic at will,
And strike song from each silent key;
To pick from the cases
The little imp faces
That would best spell my poem for me.
Inpe.





ROBERT BROWNING.

HE readers of Tar Pansy have no doubt
heard of Robert Browning, the poet, but

did you ever hear how at one time he preached
a sermon? He was not a public speaker; in-
deed he very rarely said anything in public,
but it is said that he was one day crossing
Hyde Park in London, and stopped to listen to
a street speaker who had a crowd of men about
him and was lecturing on the folly of believing



in God or the Bible, and was ridiculing churches
and Christians. The very instant the man was
through Robert Browning sprang on to the
vacant bench and shouted, “ My friends, you
have heard what that man has to say, will you
listen to me for a few minutes?” Then he
spoke for ten minutes, such strong and eloquent
words for God and the truth as that audience
had never heard before.

So interested were the people, and so moved
by what he said, that they turned suddenly
upon the man who had been blaspheming, and
to whom they had listened quietly but a few
minutes before, and actually chased him out of
their neighborhood.

Robert Browning has written many beautiful
poems, and some which are certainly hard to
understand, but perhaps he never did better
work for the world than on that afternoon
when he stopped on his way home, and preached
a little sermon out of his heart, to save the
people from falling into the errors which they
had just heard presented.

A MODERN PHARISEE.

HEY were all three out in the yard
waiting. Little Nell occupied the
seat of honor in the old apple-tree,
/} while Etta stayed close beside her,
€ with one protécting arm about her.
Etta, being small for her age, did not ~
really look so very much older than little Nell
herself, but her pet names were “ Little mother,”
and “Little woman,” she was such a sweet,
motherly, thoughtful child. Harry was roving
about restlessly. Nell had asked him to swing
her, and he had declared that he could do no
such thing; the day was much too warm for
that. Etta had asked if he didn’t want to
bring his arithmetic out to that nice cool spot
and get his examples ready for the next morn-
ing, but he had asked her scornfully if she sup-
posed he could work out examples in a stupid
old arithmetic, when maybe father was coming
on the very next boat. What he wanted to do
was to rush off to the boat and meet his father,
but this Mrs. Burns had objected to, so Harry
had to content himself with tramping restlessly



A MODERN PHARISEE.

—A STRANGE. PLANT.









about the yard, overturning the rose pot, break-
ing one of the branches of the large geranium,
and wondering why folks wanted to have a lot
of ill-smelling leaves growing in pots, in other
folks’ way. On the whole, Harry Burns was
not an addition to the company in the garden
that afternoon. Several times Etta wished,
with a sigh, that mamma could have trusted
him to go to the wharf after papa, but Harry
was such a reckless little fellow that the wharf
was ohe of the forbidden places unless some
one older than himself was along.

Suddenly he gave a shout of glee and made
a rush for the gate. “There’s papa,” he yelled,
waving his cap, and making a cloud of dust as
he ran; “papa’s coming around the corner.
Pll be the first to get.to him, hurrah!”

He certainly would, though little Nell made
what haste she could. “Help me down, O,
help me down quick!” she said, her voice
trembling with eagerness. “larry, wait! Oh!
why didn’t he wait and help me down from
here?” and her lip quivered.

“Never mind, darling,” was Etta’s soothing
word, “ Harry was in such a hurry he did not
think; sister will help you.” She tugged
bravely, and presently landed the dear little
weight safely on the ground, when it rolled off
as fast as its fat little limbs could carry it.

Etta followed much more slowly, her eyes
downeast, a deep pink flush on her cheeks, and
something very much like the dimness of tears
about her eyes. What was the matter with
Etta? Was not she too in haste to meet papa?

Ile was in haste, at least; he walked very
fast, with Harry’s hand in his; he had been
gone for nearly a month. As they turned the
curve in the avenue where the big trees had
hid him from plain view, Etta could hear
Harry’s voice, all but shouting, as he was dis-
posed to do when much excited. “ And, papa,
I took the smallest peach in the dish when they
were passed —the very smallest. And in Sun-
day-school last Sunday, and the Sunday before,
I gave more money than any other boy in our
class; what do you think of that? And T be-
haved better in church than Etta did; she whis-
pered to mamma twice; I didn’t whisper at ali,
I copied down some of the sermon, too.”

“Here is papa’s little woman!” Mr. Burns

said, bending low to Etta, and changing little:
Nell to the other shoulder to get a chance to-
kiss his second daughter. “What is the mat-
ter, little girlie? You are not almost crying’
for joy because papa has come, are you?”

“No, sir,” said Etta, though two tears were
really rolling down her cheeks now; “but,
papa, I have broken your big round glass that
you look at pictures with, and I em so sorry.”

Mr. Burns’ free arm came around his daugh-
ter very lovingly then, and his voice was pleas--

ant to hear. “I know all about that, little ~

woman,” he said. ‘You did not mean to break
it; you were taking it away from Baby Nell’s-
chubby fingers in such nervous haste that it
slipped from you. Mamma was in the next:
room, dear, and saw it all, and wrote me the
story. If my boy Harry had not left it out of
its case after using it, the accident would not:
have happened. How is that, Harry? You
forgot to tell me anything about it. By the
way, how came you to take that smallest peach ?
Was it because you had eaten just as many as
you could manage before you came to the
table, while the others had had none as yet?”
Then Harry’s cheeks grew red, and he won-
dered how his father, five hundred miles away,
could know all about every little thing.
Myra Sparrorp.

A STRANGE PLANT. __

A GENTLEMAN by the name of Dunstan,

from New Orleans, has been traveling
in Central America, and tells a strange story of
a plant which he found there. It grows in the
swamps around Lake Nicaragua, and is called
a “blood-sucking plant.”

Mr. Dunstan says his dog was caught in its
interlacing branches, which are bare of leaves,
and have a sort of gum exuding from them.
It was with great difficulty that he succeeded
in cutting his dog loose from their grasp, and
his body was covered with drops of blood,
which seemed as though they had been sucked
from him. Mr. Dunstan says when he cut the
branches their ends curled about his fingers,
and he had some trouble in getting them off.
They left his hand red and blistered.
































IN ETIQUETTE.

A LESSON



ANA tesa Si
LOST THEIR WAY.—A MISSIONARY IN SODOM.







LOST THEIR WAY.

OU see in the picture on the reverse side

that they have lost their way. People

-often do in the winter or in the woods. Often

there is no one on the road—not a house for
miles and miles — to give information.

But there stands a guide-board. What does
it say? Nothing, till the snow is brushed from
its face or—mouth. So papa lifts up his boy,
and his boy lifts up the whip, and the whip
brushes off the snow, and then the guide-board
points the way to Grandpa’s.

See the picture. It is a picture of thou-
‘sands and thousands in heathen lands who

have lost their way—to heaven. They grope
in the dark.
There is a guide-board for them. It is Jesus

who died upon the cross; Jesus who said, ‘I am
the way’; ‘Look unto me all the ends of the
-earth and be ye saved.’

But they do not see Him; they do not hear
his voice. %

Where is the parent who will give his boy or
girl to get ready to go and, with the Bible in
his hand, brush away —not the snow — but the
‘darkness of their minds? What Pansy will get
ready to tell them the way to heaven—the way
‘to be saved? C. M. L.

UP AND BE DOING.

P, and be doing,” is the word that comes
from God to each of us. Leave some
‘good work behind you that shall not be wholly
lost when you have passed away. Do some-
thing worth living for, worth dying for; do
something to show that you have a mind and a
soul within you. Is there no want, no
suffering, no sorrow, that you can relieve? Is
there no act of tardy justice, no deed of cheer-
ful kindness, no long-forgotten duty that you
-ean perform?

Is there no recollection of some ancient
quarrel, no payment of some long out-standing
‘debt, no courtesy, or love, or honor to those to
whom it has long been due? If there
be any such, I beseech you, in God’s name, go
-and do it.— Dean Staniey.

A MISSIONARY IN SODOM.

MA

OME years ago ‘a young minister was
preaching in a certain place when — but
let him tell the story himself:

“On the third Sabbath an aged man
came to me as I was entering my pulpit and
asked me to preach in his neighborhood, three
miles distant, where there were never any ser-
vices. I appointed the next day. At the ap-
pointed hour the schoolhouse was full; I could
get a standing place only near the open door.
ITreaa ahymn. The people pretended to sing;
it amounted to about this: each one bawled in
his own way. The horrible discord distressed
me so much I thought I must go out. I finally
put my hands upon both ears and held them
with my full strength and stood it through;
then I threw myself upon my knees and began
to pray. The Lord opened the windows of
Heaven, the spirit was poured out. Arising
from my knees I said:

““ will destroy this city.’ I told them about Abra-
ham and Lot and their separation, and how Lot
settled in Sodom, and how exceedingly wicked
Sodom became, and that the Lord decided to
destroy Sodom, and about Abraham’s plea for
Sodom, and how the angels came to hurry Lot
and his family out of the city.

“ While I related these things I observed the
people looking as if they were angry. Many
of the men were in their shirt sleeves; they
looked at each other and at me as if they would
chastise me on the spot. Their anger seemed
to rise higher and higher as I continued the
narrative. .

“Finishing the narrative, I turned upon them
and said that I heard they had never had any
religious meeting in the place, and that so I
must think they were an ungodly people. I
pressed it home upon them, my heart full almost
to bursting. I had not spoken thus to them but
a little, when all at once an awful solemnity
settled upon them. They began to fall from
their seats and cry for mercy. Every one
prayed for himself who was able to speak. I
was obliged to stop preaching. There was no
attention. I saw the old man who had invited |
me to preach, sitting in the middle of the house
A MISSIONARY'S JOURNEY.







and looking around in utter amazement. I
raised my voice almost to a scream to make
him hear: ‘Can’t you pray?’ He fell upon his
knees and poured himself out to God; but he
did not get the attention of the people. I then
spoke as loud as I could and tried to make them
attend to me. I said, ‘ You are not in hell yet,
and now let me direct you to Christ.’ For a few
minutes I tried to hold forth the Gospel to them ;
but scarcely any paid attention. My heart
overflowed with joy at such a scene. I could
hardly contain myself. With difficulty I te-
frained from shouting and giving God the glory.

“T turned to a young man who was praying
for himself near me. Laying my hand upon his
shoulder to get his attention, I preached in his
ear Jesus. As soon as I got his attention to
the cross of Christ, he believed, was calm and
quiet for a moment, then broke into prayer for
others. I then turned to another and another
with the same result. But the time arriving for
me to meet an appointment elsewhere, I asked
this old man to stay and care for the meeting
in my absence.

‘He did so, But there were too much inter-
est and too many wounded souls to dismiss the
mecting. It was held all night. In the morn-
ing some could not get away. They were
carried to a private house to make room for
the school. In the afternoon they sent for me
to come down, as they could not break up the
meeting. When I went down the second time,
I got.an explanation of the anger shown during
the introduction of my sermon the day before.
T learned that the place was called Sodom, but I
knew it not, and that there was but one pious
man in the place and him they called Lot.
This was the old man who invited me to preach
there. The people supposed I had chosen my
subject and preached to them in this manner
because they were so wicked as to be called
Sodom. This was a striking coincidence; but
so far as I was concerned, it was altogether
accidental.

“As nearly as I can learn, although that
revival came upon them so suddenly and was
of such a powerful type, the converts were
sound, and the work permanent.”

That missionary afterward became President
of Oberlin (O.) College. Who was he?

A MISSIONARY’S JOURNEY.

EAR PANSY:

We started February first to attend
the Karen Association. Arrived at our rest-
ing place, it was very dark. There was no
moon, but we had lanterns. The next morning
at five we started and came to a Burman vil-
lage near a river. Crossing it, we spent the
hottest part of the day. Further on is Chouk
Gyee, or Great Rocks. You must ascend
stairs to see them. One rock, looking as if
it would fall, held a pagoda. The fourth day
we reached a stream where we bathed, then.
slept at a Karen Christian village. We spent
the following Sunday at a similar village. Mon-
day we went as far as we could in carts, toward
the hill upon which the Association was to be
held, sleeping at the foot of it. The next morn-
ing was mamma’s birthday. She had her first
ride on an elephant for her birthday. It took
us half a day to go up the hill. The meetings
were to be held in a big bamboo booth. We
slept in the chapel with curtains to make a
room for our beds. Seven or eight hundred
Christians and heathen attended the Association.
Traders also came to sell their wares. The
tenth we went down the hill on elephants on
our way back. Once we passed through
swamps, around hills, and through a jungle of
bamboos. It was so dark there torches were
lighted. We got to the village at midnight,
just as the torches died out. The next morn-
ing at six, papa, Johnnie, Willie and I, started
with rice and chicken for the hill where we go
in the hot season, to see if our house was all
right. We went up, ate our breakfast, and
came back. The last day of the Association a
sword was given to the pastor of the village by
the Government, for following after dakoits.
Tt had a beautiful ivory handle and sheath.
We spent the next Sunday at Toungoo.

It was a journey of three weeks, preaching
on the way, of course. This time when we
went up on the hill we all had fever.

Ena N. Hate.

Tue whole system of life is full of divine and
memorable compensation.
*

HELEN THE HISTORIAN.

SS ees

HELEN THE HISTORIAN.
By Pansy.

Tue Lorp 1s IN HIs HOLY TEMPLE; LET ALL THE EARTH
‘KEEP SILENCE BEFORE Him.

SHE CAME FROM THE UTTERMOST PARTS OF THE EARTH
TO HEAR THE WISDOM OF SOLOMON; AND BEHOLD, A
GREATER THAN SOLOMON IS HERE.

WHEREFORE LET HIM THAT THINKETH HE STANDETH,
TAKE HEED LEST HE FALL.

LET US HEAR THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER:
FEAR Gop AND KEEP HIS COMMANDMENTS: FOR THIS IS
THE WHOLE DUTY OF MAN.

NCE there was a young man—I think he
was young; I don’t know just how old
he was, but it seems to me he was young. He
was good and brave and strong; he lived in a
country where there was a great, rich king, the
richest king that ever lived. This king liked
the young man, and put a great many work-
men under him. He was to tell them just
what to do and how to do it, and to watch that
they did it right. One day this young man
was all alone in a field, and there camé along a
prophet. Do you know what a prophet is?
Why, years and years ago, when there was
just a little bit of the Bible written, people
did not know what to do, sometimes, because
they couldn’t look in the Bible and see; so
God made some men into prophets, and told
them what was going to happen ever so long
before it happened, and told them how to
explain things to people. Sometimes they
explained in the strangest way! This prophet
did. He had on a cloak—not like what any-
body wears now. This was ever so long ago,
and men used to wear long cloaks, made of
bright colors, some of them. I guess that was
the kind the prophet had on.

“He took it off—and it was a new cloak,
too—and tore it in twelve square pieces! I
think they were like this: suppose this piece
of yellow paper was a cloak, or a shawl, and I
should fold it in folds like this until I had
twelve folds, and then tear them apart. That
is the way the prophet did; then he said to
the man, ‘Ten of these pieces you may take
for yourself ; they are to teach you something.
God told me to do this, so you would under-
stand. You know our country has twelve
tribes of people belonging to it.’ Don’t you

know what tribes are? Why, suppose Katie’s
family, her father and mother, and brothers
and sisters, and her grandma and the cousins,
and all of them, were called one tribe. And
Jennie’s father and mother, and all. her folks,

-were called another tribe, and my folks another

tribe; that would be something like it, only
each tribe was very large—ever and ever so
much larger than families—that is the name
they used to call them by.

“Well, the prophet said, ‘You are to be
king over ten of the tribes. Our king thinks
that when he dies his son will be king over all
the tribes, but it isn’t so. He will have just
two tribes to rule over, the others will be yours;
God says so. What do you suppose he has
planned this for? It is because our king hasn’t
been good; he has forgotten the promise he
made to God, to love Him and obey Him; he
has done the very things God told him to be
sure never to do,. and this is his punishment.
Now God told me to tell you that if you would
be good and obey Him, try all the time to do
just what was right, he would take care of you,
and of your family.’

“What do you suppose this foolish young
man did, after the prophet had taken so much
trouble to teach him, and had promised him
such wonderful things, and told him that God
said every word of it, so of course it was true?
Instead of going on with his work and waiting
till God was ready to give him the ten tribes,
he made up his mind he would get them him-
self. So he became the king’s enemy and got
some men to help him, and planned to get the
king’s country away from him. But the king
found it out and was very angry, and said that
the young man should be killed. So instead
of being made king over the ten tribes he had
to run away from home. He went away off to
a country where none of his people lived,
where there was another king, and there he
stayed until his own king was dead.

“Now I’m tired; but there’s éver 80 much
more about him in the Bible. Oh! I -didn’t
tell you the name of the young man, did I?
It’s a hard name, and has eight letters in it;
the first one is J. I’ll spell it for you, real
slow, and you see if you can pronounce it:
J-e-r-0-b-0-a-m.”










PotG
PAG one ‘7 in

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A
AY Ay

wy






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nt




HP ss ee 4
Ale ~

ea.

IR









SST

ne
PO Aye, HY
RUN Gnome
SS x1











ee








“PpooR LITTLE FELLOW!"?


THE TERRA DEL FUEGANS.—PRAYERS FOR ALL MEN.

THE TERRA DEL FUEGANS.

HEY are savages, going almost naked
) even in the coldest weather. They are
very mild, almost timid. They hunt,
fish, talk. Gteat talkers are they,
making up long stories about meeting
an imaginary wild man of the woods, etc.
When one has talked an hour, another goes on
with the story. They have no idea of
God and no name for him. They believe that
when they die their spirits wander in the tops
of mountains. So they fear death and solitude
and the tops of mountains lest the wandering
spirits may attack them. They take no thought
for the season till it is upon them. In cold

=

weather they live in their boats most of the_
time, where they build a fire on a heap of sand ~

in the center. They wear skins, but when they
go waist-deep into the snow for wood, they
leave off their covering. In summer they are
very sociable; in winter each family stays in
its own boat. Their color is naturally white,
but being covered with red earth and grease
to keep them warm, their true color is not
seen. When the missionaries visit them, they
wash themselves, but put the paint on again
when they are gone. The missionaries travel
among the islands in the schooner, Allan Gar-
diner, urging the people to send their boys to
school.

When the natives first saw the schooner
coming the women and children ran to the
woods, the men guarding their village. They
counted ships their enemies, since sailors and
passengers used to fire on them from the pass-
ing vessels as though they were animals. But
they learned that the Allan Gardiner was
triendly, and they gladly came from their hid-
ing places to learn of God and Jesus. — From
Mrs. Boomers Jottings.

R. LIVINGSTONE’S faithful servant,
Susi, who, with Chuma, brought the
body of their trusted leader half-way acrecs
Africa, that it might rest in his native land, has
been baptized by a member of the Universities’
mission. Susi received the name of David in
baptism, in memory of the noble man who first
- taught him what it was to be a Christian.

PRAYERS FOR ALL MEN.
(Timothy ii. 1.)

HRISTIAN, let thy prayers arise
Morn and eve as sacrifice ;

For the impotent and weak,
They who need yet dare not speak.

For the blind, who far astray ;
Fail to find the heavenly way ;

For the rich, with barns well filled,
Giving naught to him who tilled.

For the prisoner in his cell
Battling with the fiends of hell.

For the soul that sold for naught
All his birthright, and distraught —

Seeks in vain with cries and tears
To reclaim his past lost years !

These, O, Christian! these should share
In thy morn and evening prayer.
M. V. Batu, in Home Guardian.

' POOR heathen mother in Siam a few
months ago brought her little girl nine
years old to the mission,.and sold her to the
teacher for one cent! She told the teacher she
must sell her, for she had made a vow that she
would. A few days afterwards she brought
back the cent, and wanted her little girl. She
said she had redeemed the vow she had made,
and could now have her child again.’ But the
little girl did not want to go, and the mother
was finally coaxed to let her stay in school.

A little beggar girl who was sold to pay a
debt of three dollars and sixty cents was also-
redeemed and has entered the same school.

Suppose you lived in a country where men
could come and carry you away as a slave,
because your father owed money that he could
not pay! It is because our country is governed
by the laws which are found in the Bible, that
makes it so different from heathen lands.
J

THREE PRINCESSES.



e THREE PRINCESSES.
(A story in two parts.)
PART I.

HEY were three frolicsome little girls,
with long waving hair, who ran to and
fro and played in the garden on the
streets of Jugenheiin. Everybody in
the good free city of Frankfort knew
them. At that time (twenty-five years ago),
many things were still altogether different in
this part of the new bank of the Main — things
-which have disappeared since then. A free
city, a confederation, and diplomatists of all
nationalities, and when the wise men passed by
the three little girls, which often occurred, they
saluted them even very stiffly, and murmured
mysterious words, as: “ Heirs to the throne—
1853 — Schleswig — question of ducal succes-
sion — complications — German Diet,” and more
of the same sort. |

But the little girls took no notice of all this;
they had other, far more weighty affairs. They
must learn diligently to make their own cloth-
ing. Dagmar had even learned to cut out — they

could all sew, and so they clothed themselves,
each receiving for that purpose four thalers
each month, with which they must dress them-
selves from head to foot, shoes and all. They
were really charming, too, in their simple little
jaconet dresses—for jaconet was worn in those
days, and was not only much cheaper, but also
much more durable than muslin, tarlatan and
lace. But the shoes wore out too soon, which
was a great trouble for the little ones, who
ran and danced quite too much. How often
_ must they be warned not to run so much over
the sharp gravel in the garden, because they
tore so many shoes? It did no good, for they
always forgot again and hopped and ran, for
they all had light and careless hearts. Perhaps
if they had known that some day they would
be empress, queen and duchess, they would
have carried themselves more sedately; but
who thought of that then? Certainly not the
three little girls, for they were only the daugh-
ters of the Duke of Schleswig-Holstein, who,



in expectation of the crown of Denmark, some-.



times gave drawing lessons to better his mod-
est income. One day the crown really came,
and the little girls were seen no more on the
streets. No more was heard the call at eventide,
“ Alexandra, Dagmar, Thyra, come quickly to
supper, papa has come home.” The children
were princesses of Denmark; but yet this was
only the beginning of their dazzling career.

Alexandra became Princess of Wales, and
some day will be “Queen of the United King-
dom of England, Scotland, Ireland, and their
dependencies ‘in Europe, Asia, Africa, America
and Australia, Enpress of India, Defender of
the Faithful.” So says the “Gotaische Kal-
endar,” which never deviates from the truth.

With politics the Princess does not trouble
herself. In the palace of Sandringham she
receives her husband’s friends, to whom alone
it is known that it has become necessary to
speak very loud, if the word is addressed to
the Princess.. In Buckingham Palace she holds:
audience with the Americans who wish to be:
presented to her mother-in-law, the Queen,
whom she dearly loves. She erects and visits
hospitals, sustains all sorts of worthy undertak-
ings, interests herself officially in arts and cul
ture in England, invents costumes, makes peo-
ple and things “the mode,” and directs with
smiling grace the boundless realm of vanities,
fickleness, games, even the ridiculousness of
the capricious goddess of the day.

This is thus far her réle in the world, and
she plays it, as the said world believes, with
pleasure. But her friends — for she is so fortu-
nate as to have friends — say that sometimes,
in the great hall at Sandringham, she sits still
before the high chimney-piece and stares into
the fire, seeing and hearing no more what goes
on around her, “Her Royal Highness sleeps,”
the courtiers say. But they are mistaken. Her
Royal Highness thinks of the little Alexandra
who stitched her jaconet dresses in J ugenheim,
and fully believed she should marry a small
German prince, who would make her very
happy. And when her Royal Highness thinks
of the little Alexandra, she is always sad. But
of this the courtiers know nothing, and an hour
later the Princess herself knows nothing more
of it, but smiles and is happy.— Adapted from
the German, by Julia A. Darley.
A MORMON BOY’S QUESTION.—THE WATER OF LIFE.

A MORMON BOY’S QUESTION.
A POOR little Mormon boy interrupted
-\ his teacher, who was telling the class
something about the great God, to ask: “ Which

God do you mean, teacher? Not the one that

\s down in the United States, do you?”

The teacher says she had been in that part of
the country but a short time when the question
was asked her, and did not know that the Mor-
mon children were taught that Brigham Young,
Joseph Smith, and other Mormon leaders who
had died, had all become gods.

Her very next lesson was about there being
but one God, the Father Almighty.

It was four months afterwards that the same
little boy brought her a lovely feather he had
found, dropped from some gay plumaged bird.

“Isn’t it pretty, teacher?” he said. “God
made it, didn’t he?”

Said the teacher, “Nelson, you know about
the true God, now, don’t you?”

“Yes,” said Nelson, “and I think about Him
most all the time.”

A FORTUNE.

xe: enterprising man lately tried a new
way of getting a fortune. He wrote a
letter to a New York daily, calling on every-
body who read it or heard of it, to send him
one cent; by which means, he said he would
have in a short time a fortune of half a million
dollars, and nobody would be the poorer. While
we have only a pitiful smile for the man who
could think of no other way to make a living
than by begging it inch by inch, isn’t there a
/thought worth studying in his plan? Suppose,

for instance, every boy and girl in this world, .

who has heard the story of Jesus, would give
just one cent to some great home or foreign
mission station, to help others to hear it; how
much money would that station have to report
next month? There is a problem for you, see
if you can work it out.



Nornrine in life has any meaning, except as
it draws us further into God, and presses us
more closely in him. — (aber.

THE WATER OF LIFE.

iN LITTLE girl in one of the mission schools

of Persia, where water is so scarce that
it is bought as one would buy vegetables, on
hearing that agriculture in America usually has
plenty of rainfall, remarked, —

“Oh! then those people ought to give to
the Lord what they would have to pay for
water.”

Well, my dear Pansies of America, with
your Sunday-schools and Bible, and preachers,
so many you do not know what to do with
them, the boys and girls of Persia have as little
of the “ Water of Life” as they have of the
other kind.

Is this nothing to you?

Think if, m some way, you could not cause
a spring to burst forth among them. Your
prayer or your penny might help to send them
the “ Water of Life.”



“WHO IS WANTED?”

igen wanted. The ripening grain
Waits to welcome the reaper’s cry,
The Lord of the harvest calls again ;
Who among us shall first reply ?
“ Who is wanted, Lord? Is it I?”

The Master calls, but the servants wait:
Fields gleam white "neath a cloudless sky:
Will none seize sickle before too late,
Winds of Winter come sweeping by ?
“Who is delaying? Is it 1?”
— Selected.

NE of the members of the Mt. Vernon
Chinese Sunday-school, says: ‘When it
is announced that there will be a collection taken
on the following Sabbath for missionary work,
we are sure to have alarge attendance; scholars
who have not perhaps been able to come for
several Sabbaths, will make a special effort on
that day, in order to give; and the collections
are very large.”
Do you suppose the Chinese learned that
lesson from us?

THREE PRINCESSES.





THREE PRINCESSES.
(A story in two parts.)

PART Il.
he

AGMAR, the second sister, became
yi’ Empress of all the Russians. Her
‘realm extends from one end of the
2S world to the other. The simple Mus-
chick, the wild Tartar, recognize in
her the mighty sovereign who rules every one
who comes near her, without seeming to do so,
the Czar of all the Russians not excepted.
And yet she is as mild, good and charming as
when she measured herself and her sisters for
their clothes twenty-five years’ ago. In the
Russian court, where hardly anything is re-
spected, where the assassin dogs the footsteps
of the Czar, no voice is raised against the Em-
press, for people know that she is good to the
poor, sorrowful with the sorrowing, and pititul
toward the down-trodden. Therefore over all
Russia, Dagmar —now called Maria Feodo-
rowna— is beloved, and she knows she will be

beloved. .

She is the good spirit of her husband, who
trusts no one but her; of her children, to
whom she is at once a firm and tender
mother; of Russia, which she protects, of Den-
mark which she maintains. For she under-
stands how to become a Russian yet remain a
Dane, as she knows how to combine the old
Russian head-dress with the newest grande
toilette of Worth. She is elegant and cheerful,
like her sister Alexandra, but she, too, has-her
hours of thoughtful reminiscences. When she
listens patiently for hours in the great park at
Peterhoff, while her husband, the all-command-
ing Czar, blows with all the strength of his
mighty lungs upon the trumpet, she thinks of
another Romanoff, who, in a hospital room at
Nizza, played melancholy airs upon the piano,
and who died blessing her, and with his last
breath commended her to his brother. Then the
serene, happy Empress weeps; but no one who
sees her dancing in the family circle or at the
court festivals believes that she could shed
such tears. The Czarina is a passionate dancer.
She dances, dances, till she is out of breath ;

dances for joy over a new emerald ornament,
dances with her children hand in hand, and
thinks of the wild little Dagmar in J ugenheiim,
who was told not to dance and run so much,
lest.she spoil her shoes. But that was twenty-
five years ago; now she may do as she will, for
she is Czarina.

Thyra, the third and youngest of the sisters,
became Duchess of Cumberland. She would
have been Queen of Hanover to-day, if the
year 1866 had not overthrown the throne.

In Jugenheim she was. called the little one,
and such she has remained for the family. Both
her tall sisters fondle and pet her, and carry
her upon their hands. It is as though they
would thus make it up to her — that no queen’s
crown can be given her. Ah! what would the
aching head of the little duchess do with the
weight of a crown? That which she carries {s
much worse than the heavy crowns of Russia
and of England. If one sees the princess,
pale, thin, with feverish, glittering eyes, red

from weeping, surrounded by her children, how

respectfully and deeply she is ee
Duchess Thyra of Cumberland.

When, a few years ago, during’ her severe
illness, it became necessary to separate her
from her family in order to give her tired spirit
rest, and her restless soul peace, who did not
find that the unhappiness of the sorely-tried
wife lent her a higher majesty than the heraldry
of her magnificent sisters? Who cannot. un-
derstand that the little Duchess pined for the
days of Jugenheim, when no heavy velvet robes
weighed down the weak shoulders, when the
heart beat so light and joyous under the tiny
jaconet dress— when she was a poor princess,
but a happy child.

While we write the three sisters wander
arm in arm, as they did formerly by the shore
of the Beatie) Grunnden Lake. They leave
the crowns at home, lay politics aside — leave
the retinue in the capital. They are alone; not
Empress, Crown-Princess and Duchess, but only
three women — three sisters who find each other
once more; who love each other, and who open
their hearts freely to each other as in the old
days at Jugenheim. — Adapted from the Ger-
man, by Julia A. Dawley.
BOSE AND HIS MASTER.



THE LITTLE MASTER,


HAPPENINGS.



HAPPENINGS.

Ve

¢ AKE care!” Howe said, in good-natured
warning, as little Elsie planted one
foot on the ice, and looked at him with
a triumphant air. “Ice is very slip-
pery stuff if one hasn’t skates on.”

“Don’t do that, Elsie,” urged her careful
sister; “if you should fall and hurt yourself,
all the fun of trying skates would be over.”

“Ts she going to have a pair of skates?”
Howe asked, looking first at Emmeline, then at
the small foot of her sister, trying to imagine a
skate small enough to fit it.

“Yes; we are both going to have some.
Papa sent to Boston for them, and he says
they will be almost certain to be here to-night;
then we can try them for Thanksgiving. Is it
very hard work to learn to skate, Howe?”

“Not so very, after you once get the hang
ef. it; that is, it won’t be for you; but I should
think Elsie rather small.”

“She is little,” said Emmeline, surveying
her thoughtfully, “but she wants to do just
what I do, always, and papa thought she could
learn on the meadow back of our grounds.
Oh! we shall neither of us go on the pond this
winter, I suppose. Mamma would be too much
afraid. Isn’t it nice that they are to come for
Thanksgiving? I like to have things happen
on holidays, don’t you?”

“Depends on what the things are,” said
Howe, rising as he spoke. His clumsy, very
much worn skates were strapped at last, but
his face had gloomed over so suddenly that
Emmeline said sympathetically, “Of course I
meant nice things. I think it is horrid to have
ugly things happen on Thanksgiving days,
don’t you? A real horrid thing has happened
to us; papa can’t get away from his business
to go to Grandma’s, and mamma won’t go with-
out him; and we children can’t go without
either of them, so we are going to be at home
alone, and all the rest of our large family will
be at Grandma’s. Isn’t that horrid?”

“T suppose it is,” said Howe, but the bright
look his face generally wore had not come back,
and Emmeline could not help thinking that he
must know of “happenings” that he considered
a great deal worse than hers.





“What are you going to do for a Thanks-
giving?” she asked, as Howe caught little Elsie
just in time to save her from_a fall on the ice,
and set her safely on the bank beside her sister,
Emmeline uttering, meanwhile, an exclamation
of dismay, and seizing fast hold of Elsie’s arm
as if to keep her from further attempts.

“Do?” repeated Howe, still gloomily. “The
best I can, under the circumstances. If I had
a chance to stay at home with my father and
mother all day, I know I shouldn’t think it very
horrid.”

“O, I remember! you are not at home. And
you can’t go for Thanksgiving? Why not?”

“Couldn’t afford it,” said Howe briefly.
“ Besides,” he added, after a thoughtful pause,
“there’s a sense in which I haven’t any home.

‘My father is away out West, trying to get a

home started for us, and having bad luck all
the time. Mother goes out to take care of
sick people. But I could have gone to the
town where she is and had an hour or two with
her, if I could have raised the money. It is
only forty miles away, but that would have
cost eighty cents there and eighty cents back,
and was not to be thought of.”

Another expression of dismay from Emme-
line, barely checked-in time not to hurt Howe’s
feelings. It seemed such an extraordinary
thing to this daughter of a rich man, that any-
body could be so poor as not to have a dollar
and sixty cents to spend on a journey.

“T’m so sorry,” she said, great sympathy in
voice and manner. “I hope they will do some-
thing very nice at Mr. Jones’ to make up for
your disappointment.”

“They mean to do what they think is very
nice indeed, I imagine,” said Howe, taking a!
graceful curve on the ice, then coming near
the shore to make a more lengthy answer.
“They start for Medford at daylight to-morrow
morning, and expect to be back by midnight of
the day after, if they have good luck. It isa
twenty-miles ride, but the sleighing is prime,
and they expect to make it in time to have a
late breakfast after they get there.”

“ And what are you to do?” Emmeline asked,
with such evident interest that Howe was
moved to describe his loneliness more fully
than he had meant to do, :
HAPPENINGS.





“T’m to stay home and take care of the cows’

and the hens and old Rover, and see that no
tramp gets in, and that the coal fire doesn’t go
out.”

“ All alone?”

“Yes; every bit alone. Even old Silas is
‘going somewhere for Thanksgiving — every-
body but me.”

“ Who will cook your turkey?”

It was Elsie’s earnest, pitiful voice which
asked this question. Perhaps it was well she
did, for it struck Howe as very funny, and he
laughed heartily.

“That's the question,” he said, when he
could speak. “I’m afraid, Elsie, Pll have to
eat it raw, feathers and all, for it is stalking
around the barnyard this minute, and I don’t
know how to cook it.”

Then both he and Emmeline had to laugh at
Elsie’s utterly dismayed face.

“But what will you do about the eating?”
Emmeline said.

“Oh! they have left me some cold potatoes
and some cold pudding, and one thing and
another. I sha’n’t starve. There’s plenty of
bread and milk, and things, too.”

“Yes, but for Thanksgiving!” said Emme-
line, in a voice at once scornful and sorrowful.
“It does seem”— Then she stopped, not
knowing how to express her feelings. Then,
after a little, in a more cheery tone, “ Perhaps
something will happen.”

“Too late!” answered Howe, with a good-
natured laugh. “My Thanksgiving is planned
as certainly as though it had come to pass. I
can’t even skate, for I’m under orders not to
leave the house, or at least the yard, until they
get back. One would think they were afraid
somebody would pack up the old house and
run away with it, they are so anyious to have
it guarded all the time!”

He skated away on these last words, and
before he had gone a rod something happened
which changed not only his Thanksgiving, but
the entire course of his life.

What happened? Why, nothing but what
is common enough; a hole in the ice into which
Howe’s foot slipped, and then the ice cracked
more, and the more the boy struggled the worse
the situation grew, until at last it would have



seemed to more than the two frightened girls
that Howe’s Thanksgivings on earth were all
over. It seemed very strange, thinking of it

_afterwards, that the father and mother of

Emmeline and Elsie should at that particular
moment happen to scramble down the cliff,
having left the sleigh and the coachman to go
in search of red berries with which to adorn
the Thanksgiving table.

Tt took My. Willard but a second of time to
understand the screams and motions of his
children; it took him but another second to
shout to his coachman, and to two men who
were passing in a sleigh on the road above, and
to dash with all this help to the rescue of Howe.

Of course, having fished him out of the

water, the most natural thing in the svorld was
to place him in the sleigh and carry him to the
first available house, which was Mr. Willard’s
own. ; :
Having told so much I am sure your imagi-
nation can finish the story. He did not spend
his Thanksgiving all alone in Mr. Jones’ farm-
house dining on cold. potatoes and bread and
milk, neither did he eat any turkey and chicken
pie, because he was quite too feverish for the
latter. On the whole he had, I am inclined to
think, a more miserable day than he would
have passed had he been at Farmer Jones’; for
his head ached, and every bone in his body
ached, and he declared afterwards that it
seemed to him some of the fishes or something,
must have come and bitten him all over while
he was under the ice.

«A just horrid Thanksgiving!” Emmeline
said it was, and the general verdict was that it
ought to be made up to him, somehow. By
the time the three weeks were over which
passed before the boy was able to leave his
room, the Willards had one and all become so
much attached to Howe that it seemed to them
they could not get along without him. Neither
did they try. They did not adopt him as their
own and dress him in broadcloth and send him
to college immediately — the fact is Howe had
a good father and mother of his own, and did
not want to be adopted —but Mr. Willard set
him at work on something which pleased him
better than farming, gave him a chance to go
to school in the winter, and earn his living in
HAPPENINGS.



OE —————————————————————————————

the summer; and before the next Thanksgiving
Day came, he had money in the bank waiting
to take him home on a visit. Only a visit; he
was coming back to Mr. Willard’s, where I
shouldn’t wonder if he spent his time until he
is ready for college. If anybody had told
Howe Burleson that November day when he
strapped his skates and talked to Elsie and
Emmeline about his dreary Thanksgiving, that



in a year from that time he would be talking
about going to college, he would have thought
them insane. As it is he is planning, and

expects to go.

“JTsn’t it queer,” he says sometimes, “that
things happened just as they did?”

By which you will perceive that he has
not yet learned not to call Providences
“happenings.” Myra Sparrorb.





Is SHE GOING TO HAVE A PAIR ?

we




































































































































































































A QUEEN OF THE MAY,


GERTRUDE’S PROBLEM.

GERTRUDE’S PROBLEM.
PART I.

T was not a May party, but a first of
April party. Gertrude lived in a coun-
try where by the first day of April,
even, it was sometimes so warm that
one hardly felt energy enough for a party.
But on this particular day, because the aunties
from the North were going home very soon,
though it was too warm for comfort — at least
from noon until three o’clock — Gertrude’s
mother said they really must exert themselves
and give the children a last frolic together.

In the “First of April” parties in this corner
of the world, there was always one victim to
what they called a practical joke. I am not a
strong believer in practical, jokes, though I
must say this family circle had a charming way
of managing them. Dick Torrance, the cousin
from the North, was the one chosen for this
day’s frolic, because it happened to be his
birthday, and he was fifteen years old.

The picnic supper had been prepared with
great care, and Gertrude knew that her mother
had*prepared a delicious little chicken-pie baked
in a saucer for each of her guests, and that
Dick’s was the queerest pie ever made. Only
an hour before supper time, Dick came bound-

.,

ing over the lawn to where his mother sat.

fanning herself. “Mamma,” he said, “I’m
going with the men to see them set their nets
for fish. It is great fun.”

“Very well,” said Mrs. Torrance; “only,
Dick, be sure and get back by supper time;
you know it is your birthday feast.”

“Trust me for that,” said Dick, laughing as
he bounded away. Gertrude rushed after him.

“Dick, O, Dick! please wait, I want to speak
to you.” Dick halted, and the little girl was
almost out of breath when she reached him.
“O, Dick!” she said eagerly, “don’t go, please
don’t. I heard them say they were going out
in the boat, and auntie wouldn’t like it, you
know; and there’s such a lovely supper; we
wouldn’t have you away for anything.”

“Don’t you be a little nuisance,” said Dick,
who, though a handsome, gentlemanly fellow,
could speak roughly on occasion; “I’m not

going to be late for supper, and we are just

going out a little way. Mamma wouldn’t care

at all after it was all over, and she discovered

I wasn’t drowned; that’s the reason I don’t
tell her. How came you to hear anything

about “it? You always hear everything, I

believe.”

“T didn’t mean to hear, Dick, but I was.
right on the bank behind you and couldn’t help
it; and auntie said only a little while ago she
would be perfectly miserable if she thought
you went on the water.”

“Just so. I don’t want her to think any
such thing; see that you don’t enlighten her.
Pll be back before she has thought of worrying.
Just you keep still, and we'll be all right. You
will, won’t you?” he asked, turning back, after
he had started to rush down the path. Some-
thing in her great truthful eyes made him ask
the question.

“Why, if they ask me where you are, I shall
have to tell, you know.”

“No, you won’t; you can get around it in
some way; you are a sharp enough little girl
for that. See here, you mustn’t tell, you know,
or you'll be breaking that golden verse we
talked about Sunday, and you said you were
going to keep all the week.”

Gertrude’s eyes opened wider.

“T don’t see how,” she said.
you mean?”

“ Why, it is as plain as daylight. Didn’t it
say that what you wanted people to do for you
you must do for them? Now you wouldn’t
want me to tell your mother something that
would worry and frighten her and not do a bit
of good to anybody, would you?”

“N-o,” said Gertrude slowly; “but that is
different.”

“No, it isn’t, a bit different, and you see you
must keep still about me, or you'll break that
rule all to pieces. Dll be back before supper .
time — no danger.” Myra Sparrorp.

“What do

“Ours is the seed-time: God alone
Beholds the end of what is sown:
Beyond our vision, weak and dim,
The harvest time is hid with Him.”

J. G. Warrier.
THE TYPICAL BEGGAR GIRL.





















i)
i ii

a































































































































































































THE TYPICAL BEGGAR GIRL.
KATIE’S

PRAYER.





KATIH’S PRAYER.




Cc HE was a fair-faced, blue-eyed little girl,
a with a sweet, low voice and a pleasant
smile for everybody, and was a general
favorite in the school.

A tender-hearted little girl she was,
too, and one who was noted for the number of
pets she always had. Especially was there a
great deal of interest roused by Katie’s kittens.
Four of them, a black one, two white and black,
and one, the cunningest of the four, was snowy
white, save for a few gray spots about her
delicate ears.

Three of these treasures were to be given to
Katie’s cousins, who were coming from Eng-
land, and great care was being given to their
training. But the small gray one was to be
Katie’s, and of all her treasures I think she
loved Tudie the best. 4

It certainly was a very cunning kitten;
smaller.than the others and quicker motioned,
and as full of mischief as a kitten could be.

Katie had a beautiful ebony box which had
come to her from Paris; it was made in the
shape of a slipper. This box was the special
home of the kittens. When they arranged
themselves, some inside and some outside, with
their pretty velvet paws on the slipper’s toe,
the children all declared that they were “too
cunning for anything.”

It was when the four were at their cunning-
est that the London cousins arrived, made their
visit, and bore off three of the kittens in tri-
umph to their home in the South, leaving Katie
and Tudie very lonely.

As you may suppose, Tudie received more
attention than ever, and had the ribbon on her
white neck changed very often; sometimes it
was blue, sometimes pink, then there were days
when Katie was sure she liked her better in a
lovely: gold-colored one.

“TJ don’t know what Katie would do without
Tudie,” Mrs. Eliott said, watching ber have a
good-night frolic with the kitten ; “poor child,
she is very lonely without her cousins.”

But the very next day Katie had to do with-
eit her playmate. There was no denying the
* ct that Tudie was gone. When, after hours
vt searching, the night began to fall, and the

cows came home and were milked, and the large
china saucer which Tudie always had filled to
the brim for her supper was set out for her,
and still she did not come, Katie gave up
utterly and cried outright. In vain mamma
tried to comfort her with the assurance that
Tudie would be there in the morning, and papa
declared that’ he vould himself go in search of
her as soon as it was light, if she had not -
arrived before.

Katie went to bed with swollen nose and
eyes red with weeping, and sobbed often in her
sleep.

Vigorous search was made next day, by Mr.
Eliott not only, but by Dennis the gardener, all
to no purpose; not a trace of Tudie could be
found.” Yes, there was one trace —a horrible
one — Dennis brought home the yellow riboon
which Tudie had worn the day before. This
brought a fresh burst of tears from Itatic, and
made Mr. Eliott look sober and thoughtful.

I am almost afraid to tell you the sorrowful
story. How little by little it came to light that
Joe Weeks, the most troublesome boy in school,
had carried Tudie away-to help him in catch-
ing a certain mouse, and because the mouse
escaped, he plunged her into the lake for pun-
ishment, and held her under water to see how
queer she looked kicking her feet about; he
didn’t suppose she would drown. He declared
he had always heard that cais were “awful ~
hard to drown, but she went and drowned her-
self right before his eyes,” or else she choked
herself with the yellow ribbon, he didn’t know
which. He took the ribbon off afterwards,
and tried to make her come to life, but she
wouldn’t.

This was Joe’s story, gotten out of him partly
by stern threats on the part of the boys, who
declared he should suffer for this cruelty.

As for Katie, I cannot describe to you how
the poor little girl suffered. She cried so much
that at last her father promised her a five-dollar
gold piece if she would not shed another tear
for Tudie ; but in less than an hour afterwards
she came to him with the tears rolling down
her cheeks, and said :

“TPve lost it, papa; I found Tudie’s ball that
she used to play. with, and it made me cry; I
couldn’t help it.”


ae KATIE’S PRAYER.
——— — — Elly _ eee. OOO ll™l™l=_ESLS@LSI&SIMNLQLQLQMOQ“™”YS“O“Q“COM™CSxSO rH ————————

But the part of the story I started to tell
you was about Katie’s prayer: “ Forgive us our
debts, as we forgive our debtors.”

Katie had been in the habit of repeating the
Lord’s Prayer every evening, but for days after
Tudie’s loss it was omitted. She did not even
join with her father and mother when they
repeated it at morning prayers.

At last her mother asked why they missed
her voice in the morning.

“Mamma, I can’t say the words,” she said
earnestly. “I try and try, but they are not

true; I have not forgiven Joe Weeks for.

drowning my Tudie, and there is no use in

“Mamma, I don’t know what to do,” she
said, “it is in all the prayers. There is no use
in praying any of them, so long as I feel like
this. Look, mamma, what it says,” and she
pointed to the words in her Bible: “If ye for-
give not men their trespasses, neither will your
Heavenly Father forgive you.”

Nobody could comfort Katie now; she went
about with so sad a face that Dennis said, in a
rage, that he would like to “thrash that boy,
Joe Weeks, within an inch of his life for spoil-
ing Miss Katie’s smiles.”

But it was something of more importance
that was spoiling her smiles. How could a



FOUR OF THEM.

my trying any more; I shall just have to stop
using that prayer.”

Mrs. Eliott thought it best not to talk with,

her about it,.believing that she would after a
while recover from the first bitterness of her
grief.

But a few days after this Katie came to her
mother with a very troubled face.

little girl who had been brought up as she had,
live without prayer? Yet how could a little
girl pray with that verse in her mind, and hard
thoughts of Joe Weeks in her heart?

“T don’t know how to help that poor child,”
Mrs. Eliott said to her husband.

“What shape has the trouble taken now?”
he asked.
GERTRUDE’S PROBLEM.







When he heard the story he laughed a little,
then looked grave and thoughtful.

However, they need not have worried about
Katie; she found help.

One morning her voice was heard, sweet and
distinct, repeating the familiar words, “ Forgive
us our trespasses as we forgive those who tres-
pass against us.” On her face was a quietly
peaceful look, such as it had not worn in a long
time. ;

“How is it that you are able to join in the
prayer again, my darling?” Mrs. Eliott asked,
when they were alone.

“Jesus helped me, mamma,” Katie said ~

quietly. “I told him that I couldn’t mean the
words, and that I knew that it wouldn’t be
right to say them without meaning them, and
that there wasn’t any prayer I could pray only
that —to ask him what to do. In a little while
it came to me what to do. I began to pray to
be made able to forgive Joe Weeks. Of course
that was the thing to do, mamma; it seems
strange that I didn’t know before, but I didn’t.
Almost as soon as I began to pray that prayer
I felt sorry for Joe; you know, mamma, I
had not felt sorry for any one but myself be-
fore, but I remembered that he had no mamma,
and that he had never been taught right ways
—and it began to seem as though a boy who
could do such a cruel thing as he did ought
to have somebody feel sorry for him, and be-
fore I knew it I was willing to forgive him.
That is all, mamma. I don’t know how it

happened exactly, only I think Jesus did it,

don’t you?”

“T feel quite sure of it, my dear,

Her voice sounded almost as though she was
erying, and Katie looked at her wonderingly,
but asked no questions.

The next afternoon’s mail carried in it a
letter to a lady who used to be Mrs. Eliott’s
friend, but to whom she had not written a line
in two years. She had said that she would
never write her another letter. i

“Jesus helped me,” she said, smiling, as she
finished the story to Mr. Eliott. “I am like
Katie: I don’t quite know the process, only I
know the beginning; my little daughter led me
to be ashamed of my unforgiving spirit.”

Myra SPaFrrorD.

?



GERTRUDE’S PROBLEM.
PART Il.

ry UT he wasn’t, and great was the dis-
appointment. The picnic party waited

ger of darkness coming before the sup-
per was eaten, and finally sat down
to the feast, the fun of which was spoiled
by Dick’s absence. His mother kept. saying
every few minutes, “ What can keep Dick so?”
and his father had twice walked down to the
shore to ask the fishermen, who were busy with
their nets, whether they had seen his boy.

They said they hadn’t, for they did not know
that he had gone in the fishing-boat with the
other men before they came to the shore. The
supper was eaten, as I say, and the chicken-pie
was delicious; but Dick’s, which looked par-
ticularly “bulgy ” and tempting, was set by his
plate and exclaimed over by aunts and cousins
in dismay, that its owner was not present.
Gertrude could not eat even chicken-pie. Her
heart was heavy, and her conscience troubled
her. Why did not Dick come back? Ought
she to tell what she knew about him? Would
it be breaking the Golden Rule if she did?
Gertrude was only nine, and sometimes ques-
tions of this kind troubled her a great deal.
She wandered away by herself while the
remains of the picnic supper were being cared
for, and tried to think it out. Aunt Alice
looked after her, and wondered what was the
matter with Gertrude.

Presently Uncle Edward Torrance, who had
been to the shore again, came and took a seat
beside her.

“ What is my little girl puzzling over now?”
he asked, and Gertrude, her cheek flushing,



e

as long as possible, until there was dan-
GERTRUDE’S PROBLEM.



wished she could tell him without telling of
Dick, and yet wished he knew about Dick, for
she was growing very anxious. Yet what
harm could have come to him? The boys con-
stantly went out with the fishermen, and her
own mother said that Aunt Emmeline was
very foolish to be so timid about the water.

“Uncle Edward,” she said anxiously, “sup-
“pose you had something that.you thought may
be you ought to tell, and yet you wasn’t sure
whether you ought or not, because the rule,
you know, is to do to others as ye would that
they should do to you?”

“That would depend in large measure, Ger-
trude, on whether you ought to wish they would
do so to you. Understand?” Then, after a
moment’s careful survey of the flushed face and
anxious eyes of the little girl, he asked, “For
instance, do you think that perhaps you ought
to tell me that my Dick went out with the
fishermen, without permission, and yet are not
sure about the ‘ought’ ?”

Gertrude started, and her face flushed a
deeper red.

“T didn’t tell you, Uncle Edward,” she said.

“No, my dear, you didn’t, but it would have
been quite right for you to have done so. Talk
with your mother about it and see if she does
not agree.”

He had risen now, and turned to meet his
son Dick, who came bounding eagerly along
the road.

“Good evening,” said his father gravely,
adding, “did you have a pleasant trip on the
water ?”

Dick looked angrily toward his cousin, and
muttered “Tell-tale!”

“No,” said his father, “Gertrude had evi-
dently been wrongly taught as to the meaning
of the Golden Rule. Perhaps you were the
teacher? I am indebted to Fisherman Bates
for my knowledge of your whereabouts; you
forgot to caution him. Where is Reuben ?”

“He is coming with the horses,” Dick an-
swered sullenly. Reuben was a boy of about
Dick’s age who had been hired to care for
the horses, look after the camp chairs, as well
as todo errands generally. He was the son
of a neighbor, and was a good, bright, hard-
working boy. ,



Mr. Torrance walked slowly toward the
grounds where the others were waiting, Gertie
at his side, and Dick striding along behind.
He had a few minutes’ conversation, first with
his wife, then with Gertie’s mother and Aunt
Alice, then called the two boys to supper.

“ Make all possible haste,” he said, “and we
will wait for you, though it is growing dark.
The birthday supper prepared in your honor,
my son, has been largely a failure, thanks to
you. There was a special chicken-pie prepared
for you on account of its being the first of
April, but I am inclined to think that you have
already had enough April ‘fooling,’ and I have
therefore asked your aunts to give the special
pie to Reuben, with my regards, and thanks
for honest service. Reuben, I advise you to
take the pie home uncut, to eat at your leisure,
as I know the contents are peculiar.”

What do you think they were? The pie,
instead of being filled with chicken, was bulged
up with cotton, in the folds of which lay hidden
a handsome silver watch with a burnished chain,
such as Dick admired very much.

It had been his aunties’ birthday present,
but Mr. Torrance, who was in the secret, had
insisted that he could not have his son rewarded ©
on that day, birthday though it was, because
this was not the first time he had disobeyed
direct commands and tried to hide it on the
plea of being careful of his mother. He in-
sisted on paying the price which the watch and
chain had cost, and presenting them to Reuben,
whom he wanted to reward for his two months
of faithfulness.

So Dick Torrance had his “ April fool” in
an unexpected way, and Gertie had a lesson on
the real meaning of the Golden Rule which she
never forgot.

Myra SPaFForp.

On, ye who taste that love is sweet,
Set way-marks for all doubtful feet
That stumble on in search of it.

Lead life of love; that others who

Behold your life may kindle too

With love, and cast their lot with you.
Curistina G. Rossetti.
EASTER.

POEM FOR RECITATION.

“EASTER.

Y sweet little neighbor Bessie
I thought was busy with play,
When she turned, and brightly questioned,
“Say, what is the Easter day?”

“ Has nobody told you, darling —

Do they ‘Feed His Lambs’ like this?”
I gathered her to my bosom,

And gave her a tender kiss.

Away went the cloak for dolly,
And away went dolly too,

As again she eagerly questioned,
With eyes so earnest and blue:

“Ts it like birthdays or Christmas —
Or like Thanksgiving Day ;

Do we just be good like Sunday,
Or run and frolic and play?

“I know there’s flowers to it,
And that is most all I know;

Pve got a lovely rosebush,
And a bud begins to grow.”

Then in words most few and simple
I told to the gentle child -

The story whose end is Easter —
The Life of the Undefiled.

Told of the manger of Bethlehem,
And about the glittering star

That guided the feet of the shepherds
Watching their flocks from afar,

Told of the lovely Mother,
And the Baby who was born
To live on the earth among us
Bearing its sorrows and scorn.

And then I told of the life He lived
Those wonderful thirty years,
Sad, weary, troubled, forsaken,
In this world of sin and tears,

Until I came to the shameful death
That the Lord of Glory died,

Then the tender little maiden
Uplifted her voice and cried.



I came at length to the garden
Where they laid His form away,
_ And then in the course of telling
I came to the Easter day —

The day when sorrowing women
Came there to the grave to moan,
And the lovely shining angels
Had rolled away the stone.

I think I made her understand
As well as childhood can,
About the glorified risen life
Of him who was God and Man.

This year the fair Easter lilies

Will gleam through a mist of tears,
For I shall not see sweet Bessie
In all of the coming years.

When the snow lay white and thickest.
She quietly went away :

To learn from the lips of angels a
The meaning of Easter day.

We put on the little body

The garments worn in life,
And laid her deep in the frozen earth
- Away from all noise and strife.

We took all the dainty playthings,
And the dollies new and old,
And placed them in a sacred spot
With a tress of shining gold.

Were it not for the star of Bethlehem,.
And the dawn of Easter day,

It weuld be to us most bitter
To put our darling away.

7

But we know that as the hard brown eartt»
Holds lilies regal and white, %
So the lifeless, empty, useless clay 7
Held once an angel of light.

And I hope on the Easter morning
To look from the grave away,
Thinking not of the child that was,
But the child that ¢s to-day.
Enm.ty Baxer Smarin.






DWELLERS IN -CAVES.



a er SR PP er

oe per eee ont

he
WHY ?—NESTULE.





WHY?

HY do we call a piece of cloth nailed to
a stick a flag ?.

“That is, how did we happen to choose that
name? Why wouldn’t it be just as well to have
named it a spread, or a string, or anything?”

There are generally reasons for things, my
friend.

Did you ever see the plant named flag?
Did you notice how its leaves droop gracefully
downward, inst2ad of standing erect? It is
true there are some species of the plant whose
leaves stand erect, having power to support
their own weigh‘, but it was not this kind
which gave the plant its name.

Think, now, of all the national flags you
have seen. Did any of them stand out straight
and firm, like boards? Don’t you know how
gracefully the folds droop, and sway back and
forth in the wind? What word better than
the old Latin one, meaning “to droop,” “to
hang down,” could better describe its character?



HARD TEXT.
(Matt. v: 46.)

OU may say this teaches that we must
not love our friends. Then you will
think: My mother and my father and ali the
dear ones at home love me; they are my friends.
Must I not love them and many more beautiful
and good people? Must not I love Christians ?
They love me. Jesus loves me and died for
me. Must not I love Jesus?

Your trouble will easily vanish if you will
read it thus: If ye love them only who love
you. Ifye let your love stop with your friends,
what reward have you?

Wuar good to-day? Have kindly thoughts
been cherished ?
Have words been spoken full of gentle grace?
Some one been helped, who but for thee had
perished ?
Some sad heart seen the sunlight of thy face?
— Selected.

NESTLE,



iB
T may seem to you a strange name for a
cat, but this one had such a cunning
little habit of nestling in Nettie’s arms
and hiding her head, that by common
consent Nestle was chosen as her name.

She had all the bright and pretty little ways
common to pet kittens, and, if Nettie’s judg-
ment is at all to be trusted, a great many more.
For instance, when a large book was spread
open before her, and Grandma’s spectacles were
borrowed to place on her little white nose, she-
had a way of clasping her paws over the open
page and looking so wise, that one could hardly
wonder at Nettie for asking, with an air which
was almost awe-stricken, “Don’t you really
believe she is thinking about something? Can’t
you see the think in her eyes?”

One day great trouble fell upon the house-
hold in general, and Nettie in particular. Nes-
tle was to blame for it, so perhaps it was right
that she should be the chief sufferer.

Any cat who had been warned as often as _

she had, not to seat herself on the side piazza
when the boys were coming from school, should
have known better; but she didn’t. There she
sat, at ten minutes of four, when Mary Ann
looked out on her way to the milk-room, and
said “Scat!” There, at ten minutes after four,
she did not sit, nor could she be found in house
or barn, though there was an eager search for
her, joined in even by Grandpa, who had no
great love for cats.

It was after the search. had been in vain that
Mary Ann reluctantly admitted that while she
was at the milk-room she heard an awful squeai-
ing, and when she had hurried out as soon as
she could, had seen “them Smith boys disap-
pearing around the corner.” She thought they
must have been up to some mischief, and had
meant to go and see about it, but just.then she
had smelled the apple sauce burning, and that
had put everything else “clean out of her
head.”

As soon as Nettie heard the name of the
Smith boys she cried. A poor reputation had
the Smith boys. They were not only very
mischievous, and generally in disgrace both at
school and in the neighborhood, but it was
NESTLE.





said that they delighted in tormenting dogs
and cats and bugs, and indeed any poor creat-
ures whose weakness put them in their“power.
- What a prospect for Nestle! And papa was
not at home, nor would he be until some time
the next day; chance enough for poor Nestle
to be killed. Even Joe the chore boy was
away, keeping Thanksgiving week with his
mother in the country. There seemed to be
nothing to ‘do but wait for papa, leaving Nestle
to her fate. Do you wonder that Nettie cried ?
Yet help was coming to her from a quarter
where she least expected it. —

Just around the corner from her home lived
Dean Warfield with his mother, who was a



VERY WISE.

widow. Dean’s birthday present a month be-
fore this time of which I write, had been a sol-
dier’s cap and gun, and his mother had made
him a regular military coat, with buttons and
bands complete. Over this birthday present
Dean and Nettie had held some sharp talks.
“TJ don’t like guns,” Nettie had said, with em-
phasis, “nor soldiers, nor military caps, nor
‘buttons, nor any of those things. I don’t care
if they are bright, and look big. Soldiers are
not good; they kill people, and make lots of
trouble.”

“They don’t kill people unless they have to,”
would’ Dean reply, with great gravity. “My
father was a soldier, and he was good and
brave. My mother says J must be a brave sol-

dier, too—not father’s kind, you know, but
doing brave, kind things for people.”

“Humph!” said Nettie, with a little toss of
her brown head, “you could do good brave
things without having an ugly snapping gun
that makes a noise. I hate that noise; it scares
people, and that isn’t being brave.”

“Oh! the gun is only to help me remember,”
said Dean, but he turned away looking hurt
and vexed. He thought his military dress
was very becoming, and it was a great disap-
pointment to have his friend Nettie look down
on it and him.

“TI won’t trouble you with my gun,” he said,
and Nettie, who felt cross just then, answered,
“T hope you won’t; and I don’t want you to
do brave things for me with it, either. Girls
don’t need guns to help them remember, I
don’t see why boys should.”

Since that time Nettie and Dean had not
been such excellent friends as they were'before ;
perhaps it was because Dean wore his military
suit a great deal, and was fond of the snapping
of his gun, and organized a military company
of all the boys in his grade, and they carried
guns, as many of them as could prevail on
their fathers to furnish them, the others carried
sticks shaped like guns. They were named
“Company Try of the Warfield Volunteers.”
Nettie had continued to toss her head and look
disapproval whenever she saw them, and Dean
had privately told his mother that he did not
suppose Nettie was such a “goose,” and in
short there bade fair to be an actual break in
the friendship which had been strong for the
nine years of both their lives.

What has all this to do with Nestle? A
great deal.

Among those who heard very early in the
evening of her sad fate, was Captain Dean.
No sooner had he listened in silence to the sor-
rowful story told by the sobbing Nettie, helped
by Mary Ann, then he sped away over the
lawn in silence. Nettie dried her eyes to look
after him, murmured that he “might have said
he was sorry,” then went into the house to find
a more sympathetic listener. But Dean with
all speed got himself into his military suit,
having first ‘given one long blast on his silver
whistle, followed by three short sharp ones,
NESTLE.









By the time he came downstairs in cap and
gun, every boy of the Warfield Volunteers,
Company Try, was in the yard in full military
dress.

A short address from the captain followed,
then the orders “Form ranks, mark time,
march!” were given in quick succession,
and the company filed out in good order past
the window where Nettie sat weeping, down
the street, around the corner, down another
street, never halting until they came to the

little tumble-down house where the Smith boys |

lived.

Dick, the younger, came grinning to the
door to see what was wanted. The captain
with commendable brevity stated the case, and
demanded the cat Nestle to be delivered to

them immediately. Of course they were re- -

fused. Then Captain Dean grew stern. “If
you will not give her up peaceably,” he said, in
war-like tones, “we shall have to make search
and take her by force. We know she is about
this place somewhere, and my men will obey
orders.” And every gun was held firmly in
line, and every soldier looked fierce and reso-
lute. More parleying, a threat at last on
Dick’s part to “find the blamed old scratch-cat
if they could” —no one had taught the Smith

boys to use proper language; it was the old .

sad story, their mother was dead, and their
father was a drunkard. Just what would have
happened next, had not that same father inter-
fered, of course I do not know, but at that
particular moment he drew his slouching form
to the door. .

“What's all this about?” he asked. “Have
my boys been at some piece of rascality ?”

Captain Dean lifted his hat, and every sol-
dier of them immediately gave drunken Tim
Smith the military salute, then their captain
explained briefly.

“Jess so,” said old Tim. “And be you Cap-
tain Dean Warfield’s boy? I thought so; you
look like a chip of the old block, and there
wvn’t a finer block in all this country ’round,
Tve got reason to know. Id ’a’ been some-
body if —wall, there’s no use in talkin’ about
that. Dick, you rascal, do you go and git that
ere cat quicker than lightnin’ and give it to this
captain here; and if you ever touch any cat or



dog or anythin’ else belongin’ to this company,
or that this company is interested in, then if
you ain’t sorry for it my name isn’t Tim Smith.
maybe, but I kind o” think it is.”

There were times when poor old Tim had to
be obeyed, and his boy Dick knew that this —
was one of them.

Nestle went back in the captain’s arms, and
the entire company drew up in front of the
side piazza where Nettie sat, and lifted their

“hats while the captain presented her.

What do you think Nettie said? After the:

CAPTAIN DEAN,

first little squeal of joy, and a few rapturous:
kisses given to Nestle, she said, ““O, Captain
Dean, how can I ever thank you? I'll make a.
blue satin epaulette for you to wear, and blue:
ribbon favors for each of your men, see if I
don’t.”

If you will believe it, this is the first time: —
she had ever called him “Captain Dean!”

Pansy.
A CHRISTMAS FROLIC.









A CHRISTMAS FROLIO,


THE HARD TEXT.—TWO WORKERS.





THE HARD TEXT.
(Matt. vi. 19-21.)

eee not your chief concern be to become

rich in this world. And you need not
fear, if you are a true follower of Christ, but
that you will be well cared for. “Godliness
has the promise of the life that now is.” But
aim first and always to be rich toward God;
rich in a heavenly character. He who grows
in grace, who adds to his faith virtue, and to
his virtue knowledge, and to that temperance,
and then patience and godliness and brotherly
kindness, and finally charity (love), such a per-
son is laying up treasures in heaven.

Meanwhile he must be industrious and _pru-
dent and make the best use of his opportuni-
ties; and every dollar the blessed Master lets
him get in this way, is ngt to be laid up for
mere show or ease, but for daily use in the Mas-
ter’s good cause, and for His name’s sake. In
this way He has let many of His sons and
daughters get much money; but never for them
to think it was theirs, but only put into their
hands to be paid out at His call.

“Seek ye first the kingdom of heaven, and
all these things shall be added unto you.”
Luke xii. 31.

Is Jesus your great treasure in heaven ?

Some have millions here, but not a penny
there! Some people’s here may end to-morr ow,
while their there will end never, never, never!

Have you laid up a very little treasure. in
heaven to-day?

TWO WORKERS.



T was a very handsome carriage, and as
it rolled over the smooth country road,
the children, who were just loitering
home from the red schoolhouse, which
stood a little at one side, stopped and looked
after the carriage with eager — some of them
with envious— eyes. Children in the car riage
younger than themselves, elegantly dressed,
feathers and flowers and silk and velvet unit-
ing to make them beautiful.

“ How fine it must be to be rich and ride in
a carriage, and wear grand clothes every day,



and do just as one likes all day long.” That was
as much as these luokers-on knew about life.

“They are going to the circus,” Smith Jen-
kins said to Eunice. She was an odd-looking
girl, was Eunice. No one knew it better than
herself; she cried about it occasionally, and
told herself that if she could ever, by any
chance, have a waist and a skirt that matched
and fitted her, people would see that it was
clothes, and not Eunice, that looked so queer.

But they were poor, very~poor, and there
were days when Eunice succeeded in being
thankful that she had any clothes at all, instead
of grieving over their shape and color.

“T wish you could go to the circus, Eunice,”
Smith said dolefully. “If I only had two
tickets you should have the other one in a
twinkling. I’d give you mine, only for what
Jim Potter said, you know.” _

“T know,” said Eunice, with -a wise nod of
her head, “and don’t you put too much faith
in it either.”

“Oh! he promised up and down, there’s no
way of getting out of it. Says he, ‘Smith
Jenkins, if you’ll get me a chance to go to that
circus next week, as sure as my name is Jim
Potter I'll go to Bunday school with you every
single Sunday in the year.” And you know
Pve been trying to get him for months and
months, so when I got that chance to earn two
tickets I had to. Now didn’t 1?”

“You think you did, Smith,” said Eunice
kindly, “and I’m not blaming you a bit, be-
cause I don’t suppose I should go to that
circus, not if I had twenty tickets.”

“Why not?” with wide-open eyes, and even
mouth, so great was his astonishment.

“Because my mother doesn’t think much of
circuses; she says they aren’t good places for
respectable folks,”

“Oh!” said Smith, with an air that might
mean several different things, “respectable
folks do go to them though, lots of them.
Think of that carriage full; they were going,
I'm most as sure as though 7 saw them there,
and I mean to look out for them this afternoon,
and see if I wasn’t right.”

He didn’t have to wait long for another
look at them; just then the carriage, which
had turned a corner and gone up another road
TWO WORKERS.

a short distance, came_whirling back. ‘There
they come,” said Smith; “they’ve been up to
that house on the hill and got another one
in. My! ain’t he cunning, all in kilts? Yes,
sir! they are going to the circus.”

At that instant the prancing horses came to
a halt, close to the side of the road, where
Eunice stood looking at them.

“Little girl,” said the soft voice of the boy in
kilts, “come here, I’ve got something for you.”

Hardly knowing what she did, so great was
her surprise, Eunice moved forward and held
out her hand. Into it dropped two yellow
tickets, and before she could recover from her
amazement the horses had bounded forward
again at a word from the driver, and a cloud
of dust was hiding the carriage from sight.

“Tf I don’t call that strange,” said Smith,
“and lucky and everything. Two tickets to the
circus! Now, Eunice, you'll have to go; who
will you take with you? That’s the question.”

“Janie Potter said the very same thing to
me that Jim did to you,” said Eunice, exam-
ining the yellow tickets with thoughtful eyes.

“Did she, though? Jim said she wanted to
go dreadfully to see the girl who is going to
ride the ponies without any saddle or any-
thing, and jump through the rings, you know,
and everything. I'll tell you what, Eunice,
you've got to go now; it wouldn’t be right not
to. See how we’ve been coaxing those Potter
folks to get started to Sunday-school ever since
they moved here, and now is our chance to get
them. My mother doesn’t think much of cir-
cuses, either. I don’t care to go every day,”

- and Smith drew himself up proudly, “but for

once, you know, when I can do so much good
by going, I shouldn’t think it was right not to.
Why, Jim wouldn’t think I was in earnest at
all, neither will Janie. Of course you'll go?”

But Eunice shook her head. “I don’t be-
lieve I will,” she said; “I don’t believe that
will make any difference with mother, in fact I
know it won’t. I told her this very morning
about Janie, and asked her if it didn’t seem a
pity that I couldn’t get her a circus ticket
somehow, and mother laughed, and said no,
she couldn’t say that she thought it did, that
it made her think of something else which
happened a long time ago. She said once





somebody took somebody up on a high mount-
ain, and showed him beautiful cities, and
places, and everything, and said, ‘All these
things will I give you, if you will fall down
and worship me.’ And you know who that.
was, Smith, and so do I.”

“Just as if going to the circus once, to get a
boy to Sunday-school, was just the same as
that!” said Smith, with.a scornful air.

“She didn’t say it was the same, and I’m
not saying it is; but it is doing something you
think is wrong, to coax somebody else to do
what would be.right, now isn’t it? Mother
says she doesn’t think that kind of coaxing
ever does any good.”

“JT don’t think it is wrong,” said Smith.

“Oh! don’t you? Well, before you got.
your tickets, you said you did. You said your
mother said they were bad men, who swore,
and drank whiskey, and didn’t care anything
for Sundays, and all that, and that she thought
boys ought to stay away from such places, and
you said you thought so too.”

“T do, as a rule,” said Smith, “but I tell
you I can do good by going this time, and Pm
going, and yow’re a goose not to. When you
see Jim Potter in Sunday-school with me next
Sunday, you’ll wish you hadn’t been such a
silly.” ;

It is queer how things turn out sometimes.
Smith took his friend to the circus, and Eunice
took her tickets home and talked matters over
with her mother, and left the tickets on the
shelf until the next morning, when they helped
to light the fire. On Sunday morning, when
Jim Potter was called for to fulfil his part of
the contract, he doubled himself up with laugh-
ter, to think that Smith should be so green as
to think he was going to Sunday-school.

“But you promised,” said Smith, who was
used to people who kept their word. “You
said you’d go every Sunday this year.”

“No, I didn’t,” said Jim, with a cunning
leer, “I said I’'d go every Sunday in a year;
and I meant the year two thousand ninety-
nine. I’m not going to any Sunday-school;
your circus wasn’t worth it. You didn’t take
me into any of the side shows.”

Smith went to Sunday-school alone. Eunice
was there in a neat calico, the waist and skirt of
TWO WORKERS.



which matched, and beside her sat Janie Potter.
“TI don’t know how it happened,” Eunice
said afterwards, when she and Smith compared

notes, “I didn’t coax her another bit, because.

I had said everything I could think of. But
of course I prayed about it night and morning

—

=I

*
@ We

6B * ne
ma *



just as I have been doing this long while, and
Sunday morning she walked in all dressed up
neatly, and says she, ‘I’m going with you to
that Sunday-school, for all I said I wouldn't.
Wasn’t it strange ?”

“Very,” said Smi a, PaNs¥e

EUNICE HELD OUT HER HAND.




AN INDUSTRIOUS FAMILY.
MR. BROWN, OUR MISSIONARY.









MR. BROWN, OUR MISSIONARY.

EAR PANSY: ;

An event occurred lately which may
interest you: October seventeenth, just eleven
years after Miss Ida Phillips started as a mis-
sionary for India, Mr. F. W. Brown started for
the same place. He is the twenty-fifth mission-
ary from Hillsdale College. Some of his young
friends met at the station. He spoke to us on
missions. There was prayer. The train soon
came. Sixteen young people, sad yet happy,
encircled their departing missionary, singing,
“Blest be the tie that binds,” out there, beside
the train in the moonlight, beneath the stars,
bidding farewell to our friend, classmate, com-
panion, perhaps never again to meet in this
world ; though he said he hoped to meet us in
India. But the train cut short our song and
bore away our friend amid the floating of hand-
kerchiefs and soulful cheer’ of those left stand-
ing on the platform, ten of whom are making
ready to be missionaries if their Father will.
And dare we question that when He has said:
“ Ask of me and I will give thee heathen for
thine inheritance ? ”

Then we turned homeward, while our friend
was so far away from us; but he is “Safe in
the arms of Jesus.” Outve J. Ranney,

Hilisdale, Mich.

LAYA’S WORK.

AYA is a Bible woman, who reads the

Bible and labors for Christ among the

women in the Koordish mountains of Persia.
The following is from her pen:

“There is a girl here whom Misky had
taught. She can read well in Syriac and has
studied arithmetic and geography. She came
three times begging me to take her to the
Oroomiah Seminary. Her friends are deter-
mined to marry her. She wept bitterly and
begged me to help her escape. I could but
weep with her. I talked with her brother; he
promised to send her. She is fourteen, very
pretty, and seems to be a true Christian. She
would gladly walk barefoot to Oroomiah, if
she could only get from home, so anxious is she
to get to school.”

EAR PANSY: A few months ago one
of the girls in the school at Pareli,
about which place mamma sent you a leaflet,
asked mamma to come to her home, a little
village three and one half miles distant, called
Worli, to start a girl’s school and a Sunday-
school. Mamma went; then a room was en-
gaged and one of our Christian women went to-
teach. . Papa, too, started a Sunday-school
there for boys. All these schools have steadily
increased. I teach a class of boys there. We-
give them tracts every time. They like to
come. Papa teaches a class’ of young men in:
another place. Last Monday one of them:
died. We had to close the day school.
E. H. Hume..

Dear Pansy:

My papa is a missionary of the A. B.C. F..
M. here in Mardin, Turkey, in Asia. He has-
been here since I was a baby. I am ten years:
old. The native girls here in the school are-
going to be “ King’s Daughters.” My mamma

has a white donkey which I ride. I have a.
lamb, some rabbits and canary birds, brought :

from America. Mardin is on the south side of a
mountain and we can see far away on the plain.
Our houses are of stone, the walls sometimes:

three feet thick. The winter rains have begun.

I study my lessons with mamma. |
Diantua L. Dewey.

THERE is, in New York City, ameeting know
as the “ Woman’s Conference.” On the second
Friday of every month they meet together to
discuss matters of importance and see what.
they can do to help along the good work which
is being done in this world. A few weeks ago:
they took for their subject, the “Street Chil--

dren’s Sunday,” their object being to see what.

they can do to help these miserable neglected
almost forgotten children to something better
than their sorrowful lives have yet known. It.
seems that only very few of them have been
gathered into any Sunday-school. Watch for
news, in your weekly religious papers, and see
if these good women succeed in accomplish-
ing anything in this direction. Surely all the
Christian boys and girls of this country are
interested here.

a






NEW YEAR’S MORNING AT BOPEEP’S HOUSE.






«TWO LITTLE KITTIES.”

“TWO LITTLE KITTIES.”
HERE was once a little kitten,
Whose fur was brown and gray ;
She would drive the other kitties
From the bread and milk away.

There was plenty in the saucer,
There was more upon the shelf;
But this naughty, greedy kitten :

Wanted all of it herself.



-. There was another kitten,
A little downy ball,
Who would sit and wait for breakfast
‘Till Miss Greedy ate it ail.

She would wipe her dainty whiskers
With her pretty velvet fect,

And wait in meek submission
For something she could eat.

She would not drive the kittens
From the bread and milk away ;



“GREEDY”? AND ‘DOWNY BALL.”

She had been coaxed and petted,
She had been punished too,

But Kittie still would snarl and bite
Whatever we would do.

And when the meal was over,
If there remained a bit,
She did not want the others

To have a taste of it.

Now like which of these two kitties
Will our darling be to-day?
C. E. FisHer.

Tue rest of Christ is not that of torpor, but
that of harmony; it is not refusing the strug.
gle, but conquering in it; not resting from
duty, but finding rest in it.— 2. W. Robertson.
WHEN THEY PULL



THE GOSPEL SHIP.



WHEN THEY PULL THE GOSPEL
SHIP.

OR many, many years good _people
have been trying to stop the slave-
trade in Africa, as they are struggling

) to stop the wicked whiskey trade in

all lands.
Among these were Sir Samuel and his good
wife, Lady Baker. They set sail with sixty ships

and a thousand soldiers for the White Nile -

a
The story of their trials is long and terrible.
Some day may be you will read “Ismalia,”
written by Sir Samuel. Then you will under-
stand about those thrilling four years in the
wilds of Africa among savages. You must.
read all you can now written about that re-
markable African traveler, Henry M. Stanley, .
and his friend Emin. No doubt America will
soon see them and hear them. But dark, dark
Africa! After all that has been done for it,
the money and lives given, still so heathenish.













































































































































Se ——































































































































































































































































































































































































































































WORKING WITH A WILL.

River country. Here in places they must needs
cut the great reed grass away and dig canals,
and then hundreds must pull the ships along.

Besides this trouble, enemies —those who
made money out of the cruel slave-trade as
men make money out of the whiskey business
— opposed Sir Samuel at every step, often firing
upon his camp from the tall grass, where they
would conceal themselves. :

Then too these enemies tried to starve Sir
Samuel and his army to death, by refusing to
sell them food.

Well, you see those black men tugging away
to. haul that ship along. So, soon, we hope,
many of them will be converted, and then will
harness themselves to the ship Salvation. Ah?
then how she will sail over Afric’s land as well
ag on the Nile and Lake Nyanza. Cc.

“ Every man shall bear his own burden ” —
this is the law of necessity. “Bear ye one
another’s burdens ” — this is the law of Christ.
Let.a man lighten his own load by sharing’ his
neighbor’s. — Z. 7. Lynch.
BLUE BELLS.
[A Flower Legend.]

fie cherubs were playing near Heaven’s
gate,
Which an angel had left ajar;
' They were toying each with small silver bells,
Whose soft chimes could be heard afar.

As they tossed in play these musical toys,
Some rolled through the half-open gate;

And down from the high heavens blue they came
Through the clouds at a quickening rate.

And when at last they fell down to ‘this earth,
And rested in green fairy dell,

Where each one had fallen there sprang a flower,
The beautiful, graceful Blue Bell.

For as they came down through the azure skies,
They caught its deep beautiful blue ;

And still in the earthly flower is seen
The very same heavenly hue.

And the fairies can hear the low sweet chimes
As they gently sway to and fro;
Perhaps it’s an echo of those soft tones
Which the cherubs heard long ago.
Lypia Hoyt Farmer.



POEM FOR RECITATION,
TOMMY’S FOURTH OF JULY.

ESTERDAY, mother, she said to me,
“Now, Tommy, my man, it soon will be
The Fourth of July, and I dread the noise —
I dread the freedom of reckless boys,

“The ringing of bells, the firing gun,
Torpedoes and crackers, from sun to sun ;
I wonder if when those grand old men
Declared for Freedom, it could have been

“That they ever thought the boys of to-day
Would celebrate in this lawless way.

On other days boys seem nice and bright,

I know that some of them try to do right,

‘ But fired with the ‘spirit of °76,

There seems to be never an end to their tricks,
Now, Tommy my lad, just think it over
And see if the reason you can’t discover.”.

BLUE BELLS.—TOMMY’S FOURTH OF JULY.

So [ll pull my “thinking cap” over my hair
And sit out here in this sunny air
And try to remember last Fourth of July—
Somehow it seems to be long gone by.

At night, I remember, we rang the bell,
And nobody liked it very well,

And all day long I was far from bright
For getting up in the dead of night.

And then, we followed the “ Horrible” train
And yelled and shouted, and yelled again;
We chased it up the street and then down,
Chased it all over and out of the town.

It must have been awful, but none of us cared
How the rest of the decent. people fared.

Then somebody frightened old uncle Bill

Just as he was walking down the hill,

Threw a torpedo, only for fun;

He fell and hurt him, that’s all that was done.

Then a horse got frightened, and ran away —

That was one of the things that happened that
day —

Broke his leg, and broke the carriage too,

And the orackers were thrown by Charley Drew;
Charley’s father must pay the bill,

So I guess this year Ae’ keep pretty still.

And Jimmy blew three of his fingers to bits —
The way a toy pistol always hits ;

I ate so much I was nearly dead,

And had a most awful pain in my head,

And was just as tired as I could be —
That-was the way it finished with me.
I think ’'ve remembered bout enough ;
If that is fun, it is pretty “rough.”

I might go tell mother this very minute

I don’t see a bit of “reason” in it —

I, Thomas, was named for the hero of all —
That gentleman wouldn’t own me at all.

But I know I’ll try to do better this year,
If all the fellows do call me queer.
This year, I, “ Thomas Jefferson” Gray,
Will celebrate in a rational way.
Eanty Baker SMALE.
CYPRESS WALK IN THE GENERALIFE.

CYPRESS WALK IN THE GENERALIFE,


?

IN JERUSALEM.—HIS FOLD.





IN JERUSALEM.

HERE are Jews, Mohammedans

and so-called Christians in the
city, who divide the honor as to dirt
and filth. If I had to depend upon
the Christians here for my ideas of
Christianity, I fear I should become a
Pagan. A religion which won’t make a man
tidy, to my mind is not worth two cents a bushel.
But not all the so-called Christians are this way.
I visited the wailing-place of the Jews, just
outside the Temple walls, or the inclosure in
which the Mosque of Omar now stands.
Many of the stones are twenty-five. feet long,
being a part of the original Temple of Solomon.
‘About two hundred Jews were here last
Friday. Some pressed their lips against the
cold stones, uttering loud cries of anguish;
others read the lamentations with their cheeks
bathed in tears. I could but weep with those
who wept; my thoughts went back eighteen
hundred years to the self-invoked curse: His
blood be on usand on our children, A.B. M.

%

AN INDIAN SCENE.

NE evening we came to a quiet street,
and thinking it led to a mosque we
wished to see, we turned into it. Soon we
heard much talking; there was a crowd of
people ahead at a busy bazaar. Men were
sitting around large koondas or pots. Here
and there were little groups sitting or stand-
ing. “Sari” and “toddy” were for sale. The
English soldiers call it “killy stink,” so offen-
give is it to the smell. Here all, even children,
were regaling themselves with the filthy stuff.

“Why do you drink this stuff?” I asked.
“It is against your religion (Hindoo and Mo-
hammedan); you can neither think nor work
properly when you drink it.”

“But,” said one, “it is good in this hot
season, and the English drink wine and brandy
and we drink this.”

I told them that thousands of English ladies
and gentlemen never drink any liquor, but they
could hardly believe it. — From Miss Drake's
letter in the Union Signal.

HIS FOLD.
(St. John viii. 27.)

NE Shepherd leads and guides the flock
aright,
Keeping it ever tenderly in sight ;
His voice is true, and in all places heard,
So follow on the sheep at His dear word.

“I know my sheep!” the gracious Shepherd:
saith ;

“ Naught in the world their hearing hindereth,

For when I call they gather far and near,

Nor know, with my protection,any fear.”

One fold, one Shepherd, happy is the way
That leads to life, nor will the loved ones.
stray
While ever onward in His steps they tread,
Glad to be owned and guided, as is said.
. Hazet Wrups, in the Home Guardian.

“A TON OF BIBLES.”

De CUYLER wrote an article not long ago
about missions. He was telling why
people ought.now to do so much more and better:
work than they did many years ago; he said
that nowadays a “ton of Bibles could be carried
from London to Syria or Egypt in less time and.
with-less trouble than Phebe had to carry the —
letter to the Romans from Corinth to Rome.”
Do you know'what Dr. Cuyler means? What.
“Phebe” is he talking about, and why did she:
carry a letter to the people in Corinth? _ For
that matter, where is Corinth? :



One of God’s ways of training us for his. ~
service is by setting us at distasteful tasks for
others.
est’ effort, in behalf of those who themselves:
receive no benefit from our endeavors. In con-
sidering the question whether our more toil-
some work at the present time is a profitable
work, we must know that its chiefest gain may -
be to us in its doing, rather than to those im
behalf of whom it is done. — Hachange.

We may ourselves be gainers by hon- -