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Title: The Pansy Magazine, January 1886
Author: Various
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Pansy Magazine, January 1886" ***
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[Illustration:
$1.00 a Year. JANUARY, 1886. 10 cts. a No.
THE PANSY
EDITED BY "PANSY" MRS. G. R. ALDEN.
D. LOTHROP, & Co.
BOSTON, MASS., U.S.A.
Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO., and entered at the
Boston P. O. as second-class matter.
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Address No. 291 Ruby St.
_Volume 13, Number 9._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & Co.
_Jan. 2, 1886._
THE PANSY.
[Illustration: NEW YEAR'S FUN!]
LIVES THAT TOUCHED.
PART II.
WHEN they reached their hotel, they had much to say about the brave
little girl with a kind voice, and a strong arm. Daniel the cook knew
at once by the description who they must be. "It will be Janet Burns,
the fisherman's girl, Miss Celia; and a nicer one never breathed. The
care she takes of them children; and the life they lead her!" The next
morning the Raymond children left the shore, and went back to their
city home. And they were sorry, for they wanted to see more of Janet.
Weeks passed, and the business of Christmas time came again to the
Raymonds. The box which the children were always allowed to send to
whom they would, was being planned.
"We would like to send it to the fisherman's children down the coast;
Janet, you know, and all her children; Daniel told us all about them."
This was the verdict of both Celia and Annie, and to it they clung,
in the face of all objections in the shape of not knowing what they
needed, or how they would receive a gift. "They need everything, mamma;
if you had seen them, you would know. And of course they will like it;
who wouldn't like to have a Christmas box?" So the box went its way.
It was delayed, as boxes are apt to be, so it was Christmas morning
when it reached the desolate little home where Janet lived. It was very
desolate that day; and Janet who did not often lose her courage, had
given up and cried. No work, and hungry mouths and worn-out clothes.
That was the whole sad story. Positively, Christmas day as it was,
there was not a mouthful in that house to eat! They had had some
breakfast, but where the dinner was to come from none of them knew. The
father, after sitting with his head leaning on his hands for awhile,
had risen up very slowly as though he had grown old in a few hours, and
said: "If worse comes to worst I can go to Daniel at the hotel and ask
him for some cold pieces; but I do hate to beg."
Then he went out, to take one more look through the dreary little
village in search of work. It was then the express wagon stopped at
the door, and a great box was carried in. "Janet Burns" was the name in
heavy black letters on the box. It was a work of time to get it open.
The hammer, axe, an old file and a big old knife each had to be tried
in turn. But at last it was open and the treasures began to come out.
Oh! the wonders of that box. Two plump fat chickens bearing in their
breasts a card on which was written: "We are cooked all ready to be
eaten; or, if you like us hot, just plump us into the oven a few
minutes, for it is a cold day and we have come fifty miles by train."
A beautiful ham which had another card: "I'm boiled, and am very good
eaten cold." A bag of potatoes which said: "We are not cooked, but if
you will wash our coats and put us in your oven you will see how fast
we will get ready for dinner." So, through the box. There were two
pies, and a cake full of raisins, and a bag of nuts and candies. And
there was a package over which Janet cried for joy; she had laughed
about all the rest; but this had warm flannels, and three dresses for
the baby; and two suits almost as good as new for the little girls;
and a woollen blanket for father's bed, and could it be! Yes, there
was a new dress for herself; besides this, there were stockings and
shoes, and two flannel sacks, and I really have not time to tell you
what else. But pinned into a corner of a pretty handkerchief which had
Janet's name on it, was a shining bit of gold worth five dollars! Can
you imagine Mr. Burns' face when he came back with a loaf of bread he
had earned, not begged, a bit of dried beef, and found the table set, a
chicken before his plate, flanked by a dish of potatoes in such a hurry
to be eaten every one burst through their coats? All the talk there was
during the next hour, would make a book in itself.
"And you ain't no notion where they came from?" he asked for the third
or fourth time.
"Not the least in the world. One card says: 'From Santa Claus, to the
little girl who takes good care of her brothers and sisters;' but who
knows whether I take good care of them or not?"
"I suspect the Lord does," said Joseph Burns reverently, "and He has
told some of his children to send you a Christmas box. We must thank
the Lord, and trust to Him to pay the others. He will do it." But I
cannot help thinking, what if Janet had been cross that windy day!
SIX O'CLOCK IN THE EVENING.
HE DID THAT WHICH WAS RIGHT IN THE SIGHT OF THE
LORD.
THE HARVEST IS PAST, THE SUMMER IS ENDED, AND WE
ARE NOT SAVED.
FOR UNTO THIS DAY THEY DRINK NONE, BUT OBEY THEIR
FATHER'S COMMANDMENT.
BY THE RIVERS OF BABYLON, THERE WE SAT DOWN, YEA,
WE WEPT WHEN WE REMEMBERED ZION.
"WHY, yes," said Grandma, with her finger on Rollo's verse, and her
eyes tender with old memories, "I remember a story about that verse;
and it is a story which I think likely I shall remember in Heaven."
"Let's hear it right away, if you please," Ralph said, and the others
settled into quiet as soon as possible.
"It wasn't so very many years ago, not more than fifty-five," began
Grandma, and then Rollo nudged Harold, and chuckled; and Marion looked
with grave astonished eyes at a woman who thought fifty-five years was
not a long, long time! But Grandma took no notice of them.
"Yes," she said, "it is just about fifty-five years ago. There was a
pretty little boy whom I knew; he had yellow hair, and the bluest eyes,
and he was a dear bright little fellow. One day he went visiting out
to a nice old lady's who lived near his father's old place. While he
was there, who should come along but two trim little girls who were
out getting signers to the Total Abstinence Pledge. We called it the
tetotal pledge in those days. There was quite an excitement about it in
town. A man lectured every evening, and had meetings for the children
afternoons, and gave them each pledge books, and the one who got the
greatest number of signers was to have a medal with his name on. It
wasn't a gold medal, but it shone, and had a nice blue ribbon to put
around your neck; and the children all liked it.
"Well, these two came to aunt Patty's door and asked for signers. Aunt
Patty invited them in and got out her quill pen which wasn't used very
often, and she and her oldest girl, Prudence, put down their names.
The little fellow stood looking on; he wasn't four years old yet, but
he lived where he saw a great deal of writing going on, and behold he
wanted to sign his name. Aunt Patty laughed, and tried to explain to
him that he was too young; but he said No, he "writed" his name once
when "favver" held his hand, and he wanted to do it again. That was
true enough. One day his father bought him a picture book, and guided
the pencil in his hand and let him put his name in it. After a good
deal of coaxing, aunt Patty sat down and took him in her lap, and held
that old quill, guiding it as well as she could, and he did get what
looked something like his name in the book. It was very queer writing,"
said Grandma, stopping to laugh at the thought of it, with that same
tender look in her eyes, "but the little fellow was just as proud of it
as could be. He told of it the first thing when he went home, but his
mother--oh! you don't know how badly she felt."
"Why?" interrupted Marion and Rollo. "Wasn't she a good mother?" asked
Marion. "Didn't she believe in temperance?" asked Rollo.
"O, yes, she believed in temperance; but she had some very strong
notions about promises. She wanted her little boy to understand all
about it whenever he made one, and then to keep it as he would the
eighth commandment; and she said he was too young to take a pledge,
that he could not understand what it meant, and he would think that
signing his name to a paper was a light thing, just for play. Why,
children, she felt so badly about it that she just sat down and cried."
"Ho!" said Rollo, "I think she was foolish. I dare say he understood."
"Go on, Grandma," said Marion.
"Well, while the mother was crying, the father came home, and wanted
to know all about it; and he thought as Rollo does, that the boy
understood, or could be made to. He took him on his knee and they had
a long talk all about drinking; what a dreadful thing it was, and
about pledges, and then what should he tell him but this old story of
the Rechabites; how they kept the promise made to their father, never
forgetting it once; and how God was pleased, and rewarded them. Then
he made the little fellow hold up his hand and say after him: 'Unto
this day they drink none, but obey their father's commandment.' Then
he explained that the paper the child had signed was a promise that
he would obey _his_ father's command and never touch liquor. 'I won't,
favver,' the boy said; 'I'll 'member.' And he looked very earnest. But
in two or three minutes he was playing with the cat; and his mother
couldn't feel that he really understood much about it.
[Illustration: THE LITTLE FELLOW LOOKED ON.]
"It was three years afterwards, and the little boy was seven years
old--a beautiful child. One winter his mother was very sick, every
one thought she would die; she was so low that she didn't know her
own little boy, and she couldn't bear the least noise; so her boy was
taken to his auntie's, and stayed there for weeks. One evening he
was in the parlor with his uncle, there were three or four gentlemen
there, and pretty soon cider was brought in. The little boy sat beside
a gentleman who offered him a drink of cider from his glass; the boy
refused politely; and the gentleman thinking he was timid, coaxed him.
Then his uncle spoke up: 'That young man has never tasted cider, he
tells me.' At this they all laughed; it was a very unusual thing in
those days to find a child seven years old who had never tasted cider;
it sounded almost as strange as it would to say now that one had never
tasted water.
"The gentleman said that accounted for his not wanting some; that he
did not know how good it was; so he urged him to just try a swallow,
and kept coaxing until at last his uncle said, 'Try it, my boy; if you
don't like it you need not take any more.' 'No, sir,' the boy said, 'I
don't want to try it!' Well, then his uncle thought he was rude and
disobedient and ought to be made to mind; so he said: 'I _command_ you
to take a swallow of it, my boy, and I am to be obeyed, you know.' What
did that little seven-year-old baby do but get up in the middle of the
floor, with his eyes flashing, and his cheeks glowing, and shout out in
a loud strong voice: '"Unto this day they drink none, but obey their
father's commandment," and I don't either. I promised, I did; and I
never will; not if you whip me to death.' Then he burst out crying, and
ran out of the room."
"Good for him!" said Rollo.
"Oh, hurrah!" said Harold.
"I am _so_ glad!" said Marion. "I wonder what his mother thought then,
if she ever heard of it. Did she get well, Grandma?"
"Yes, she got well; and was a proud and happy mother when she heard the
story. But that is only the beginning of it. I saw that boy when he was
a young man and came home from college as handsome as a picture, and I
heard his father say to him: 'Well, my boy, they tell me most of the
young men use liquor more or less; how do you get on with them?'
"And he looked around with his bright laughing eyes and said:
"'I'm all right, father; to this day I drink none, but obey my
father's commandment. That pledge of mine ought to be printed in gold
on my tombstone when I die, for it has held me in the midst of many
temptations.'
"And there his mother thought he was too young to understand!"
And Grandma Burton actually wiped the tears from her eyes, though she
was smiling yet.
"Grandma," said Marion, "what was that boy's name? You haven't spoken
his name once."
"I guess something," said Ralph eagerly. "Wasn't his name Mott,
Grandma?"
"Robert Mott Burton, that was his name, my darlings."
"Our own uncle Mott!" said astonished little Sarah.
"Then that's what makes him such a red-hot temperance man now, isn't
it?" said Rollo. "Didn't he begin early, though?"
A CHRISTMAS STORY.
[Illustration: THE LONELY LITTLE GIRL.]
IT was Christmas morning. Gracie Bennett had wakened early and
scrambled out of bed to take a look about her room to see if Santa
Claus had paid her a visit while she slept. Santa Claus had queer ways
of doing things in the Bennett household. He left packages scattered
about in the most unexpected places. He was always sure to leave one
for each member of the family in the dining-room, to be opened at the
breakfast table, but the children did not have to wait so long for
the beginning of the day's surprises. And Gracie found several of
these before she had taken half a dozen steps from her bed. Indeed
there was a large box on the foot of the bed. In it she found the
hat she had been longing for--just exactly like Maud Spencer's! And
there in a smaller box was the necklace--and O, how lovely! The bangle
bracelet--mamma did not fancy bangles and Gracie did not expect to get
that. But mamma knew that little girls' tastes have to be cultivated
considerably before they get beyond bangles, and after talking it over
with papa she concluded that Gracie's last whim should be indulged
since there was really no harm in it. On went the necklace, and on
went the bracelet. "One, two, three, four, five, six--six hooks. Let
me see--cousin Tom promised me a bangle and of course papa and mamma
will each give me one, and Maud's will make four--O, I'll soon have
enough to fill it. My! it is shivery here," and Gracie looked around
for something to put about her; the furnace fire had run low and it
was quite cold. A dressing-gown belonging to cousin Tom which Louise
had brought in to mend, hung over a chair, and Gracie was soon arrayed
in it. And finding herself quite comfortable she concluded not to go
back to bed, but busied herself with her new treasures, saying, "Just
as soon as the first bell rings I'll go and wish papa and mamma 'Merry
Christmas!'" Presently the bell pealed through the house, and Gracie,
arrayed in her new hat, made her first call. Then she pattered down the
hall to cousin Tom's room to be first with Christmas greetings. Tom was
up, and opening the door, drew her into his room.
"O, how nice! your grate burns lovely."
After the new hat, necklace and bangle bracelet had been duly admired,
Tom and Gracie, his little cousin, sat down in the great arm chair to
enjoy the bright fire and have one of their chats.
"Who are you going to make happy to-day?"
"Me? How can I make anybody happy?"
Tom smiled as he replied, "Do you not know that you make us all happy,
just by being here?"
"O, I thought you meant something different."
"So I did, little one. There are a great many people in this city who
have very little to make them happy, and you and I who have so much may
make at least one heart joyful on this glad Christmas day, do you not
think so?"
"If I knew how," said Gracie.
"We will try to find a way. I see you are quite dressed up this
morning," referring to the dressing-gown. "Do you see my new one?"
"Yes; you are the one that is dressed up."
"I know a poor invalid to whom I mean to give the old one, and there is
a little girl who has not a comfortable dress nor a pair of shoes."
"Nor any nice hat and bracelet?"
"No, I doubt if she has any hat or even a hood. I saw her out with an
old shawl over her head."
Just then the second bell rang and Gracie was obliged to go and get
ready for breakfast. Other surprises awaited her, but she was unusually
thoughtful, and at last Louise said, "Gracie, what makes you so sober?
Are you not satisfied?"
"O, yes; but I am thinking what I can give to a little girl who has
nothing to make her happy to-day."
"I don't believe there are any such people," said Louise; "everybody
manages to get about so much out of something, I guess. They may not
have just what we have, but there's something."
"Do you believe that?" asked cousin Tom.
"Maybe not exactly, but there's no use in making a child like Gracie
miserable over what she can't help," replied Louise, in a low tone.
"But she can help a little."
"I am going to help," said Gracie earnestly, having caught the drift of
Tom's question. "I have made up my mind what I shall send the little
girl cousin Tom told me about."
"Suppose I should take you to see her?"
"I should like that! If mamma will let me go."
"I think she will. Auntie, will you let me have Gracie for an hour this
morning? I will take good care of her."
"O, mamma!" expostulated Louise, "he is going to take her among his
poor people! She will be sure to get a fever or something!"
"I am going to take you, too," said Tom; "and I am not going to take
either of you into any dangerous places."
Louise arched her eyebrows as she replied, "Going to take me! We'll
see." But she went. She generally did whatever Tom suggested.
I am not certain whether it was the package of warm clothing, the
basket containing the Christmas dinner, the toys which Gracie had
packed, not forgetting a bead necklace, or the presence of the
beautiful child and lovely young lady in that home, that brought
the most of happiness upon that Christmas day to the sad heart of
Karl Ritter and his lonely little girl. But this I do know, that the
visitors carried away as much happiness as they brought, for Gracie
declared it was the nicest Christmas she had ever spent, and even
Louise confessed that there was a new joy in her heart that day, for
she had tested the truth, "It is more blessed to give than to receive."
FAYE HUNTINGTON.
GEORGIE AND JACK.
A SHIP lay becalmed on the ocean--
Of all beautiful, helpless things!
She lay like a wounded sea-bird
With motionless, snow-white wings.
Day after day had she lain there
With never a sail in sight;
A cloudless sky above her
Morning and noon and night.
Precious and rare was the cargo
Hidden deep in her hold,
To be borne to a Northern market
And changed into yellow gold.
But naught was that to the captain
Pacing the hot deck there,
To the little wife who was with him,
And the child with his sunny hair,
The child who under the awning
Lay moaning his life away,
The child who was going to leave him
Ere the close of that weary day.
There was another on that good ship
Whose race was nearly run,
A bronzed and grizzled sailor
Who would die ere the set of sun.
And they two had loved each other--
The sailor old and gray,
And dear little baby Georgie
Whose life was a summer day.
Was it only a childish fancy--
Or because he was worn and sad
That the sinful, weary pilgrim
Had been loved by the little lad?
A weak voice calls the captain:
"Papa, won't you please come here?"
"I am here--I am listening to you,
What is it, Georgie dear?"
"Papa, I want to see Jack,
And Jack wants to see me so--
Mamma says I am going to leave you,
I must see him before I go.
"Jack says that he has been wicked,
But _I_ have been wicked too;
I think if God forgives me
He'll forgive him too, don't you?
"I taught him the prayer our Saviour said
And my last best little hymn,
And _I_ think Jack is sorry,
So I sha'n't worry for him.
"But, papa, if they could bring him
And lay him down here by me,
And I might keep _fast_ hold of his hand,
I could take him to Heaven with me."
They brought the grim old sailor
Whose life was so sad and wild,
And laid him under the awning
By the side of the little child.
When the sun passed his meridian
Little Georgie went away;
The old man lived till round and red
He dipped at the close of day.
But ere he went his faltering tongue
This prayer sent up from the sea:
"For Georgie's sake--for the sake of Thy Son,
Be merciful to me!"
They treasured the small white body
With its quiet little feet,
But they gave to the brown old sailor
A sailor's winding-sheet.
There came at length a blessed breeze
That filled the limp white sail
And tightened the creaking halyards
With the strength of a fair fresh gale.
So it came to pass as all things do,
That one fair and sunny day,
Proud and staunch in the harbor
The ship at her anchor lay.
But the captain bent to the sad white face
That rested against his arm,
And said, "Dear wife, little Georgie
Is safe from all sin and harm;
"His life was bright and beautiful,
With nothing its joy to dim,
He gladdened the heart of a sinful man,
And--'took him to Heaven with him.'
"We will bury his dust, little mother,
Under the trees at home,
But Georgie beholds the face of Him
Who said: 'Let the children come.'"
EMILY BAKER SMALLE.
[Illustration: MERRY CHRISTMAS
HAPPY NEW YEAR
A CHRISTMAS GREETING.--_A Christmas Story._]
_Volume 13, Number 10._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
_Jan. 9, 1886._
THE PANSY.
[Illustration: MOTHER TOPKNOT AND HER FAMILY.]
REACHING OUT.
(_A Further Account of Nettie Decker and Her Friends._)
BY PANSY.
CHAPTER III.
"NEXT thing we want to do is to earn some money."
This, Jerry said, as he sat on the side step with Nettie, after sunset.
They had been having a long talk, planning the campaign against the
enemy, which they had made up their minds should be carried on with
vigor. At least, they had been trying to plan; but that obstacle which
seems to delight to step into the midst of so many plans and overturn
them, viz. money, met them at every point. So when Jerry made that
emphatic announcement, Nettie was prepared to agree with him fully; but
none the less did she turn anxious eyes on him as she said:
"How can we?"
"I don't know yet," Jerry said, whistling a few bars of
Oh, do not be discouraged,
and stopping in the middle of the line to answer, "But of course there
is a way. There was an old man who worked for my father, who used to
say so often: 'Where there's a will there's a way,' that after awhile
we boys got to calling him 'Will and Way' for short, you know; his name
was John," and here Jerry stopped to laugh a little over that method
of shortening a name; "but it was wonderful to see how true it proved;
he would make out to do the most surprising things that even my father
thought sometimes could not be done. We must _make_ a way to earn some
money."
Nettie laughed a little. "Well, I am sure," she said, "there is a will
in this case; in fact, there are two wills; for you seem to have a
large one, and I know if ever I was determined to do a thing I am now;
but for all that I can't think of a possible way to earn a cent."
Now Sarah Ann Smith was at this moment standing by the kitchen window,
looking out on the two schemers. Her sleeves were rolled above her
elbow, for she was about to set the sponge for bread; she had her
large neat work apron tied over her neat dress-up calico; and on her
head was perched the frame out of which, with Nettie's skilful help,
and some pieces of lace from her mother's old treasure bag, she meant
to make herself a bonnet every bit as pretty as the one worn by Miss
Sherrill the Sabbath before.
"Talk of keeping things seven years and they'll come good," said
Mrs. Smith, watching with satisfaction while Nettie tumbled over the
contents of the bag in eager haste and exclaimed over this and that
piece which would be "just lovely." "I've kept the rubbish in that bag
going on to twenty years, just because the pretty girls where I used
to do clear-starching, gave them to me. I had no kind of notion what
I should ever do with them; but they looked bright and pretty, and I
always was a master hand for bright colors, and so whenever they would
hand out a bit of ribbon or lace, and say, 'Cerinthy, do you want
that?' I was sure to say I did; and chuck it into this bag; and now to
think after keeping of them for more than twenty years, my girl should
be planning to make a bonnet out of them! Things is queer! I don't ever
mean to throw away _anything_. I never was much at throwing away; now
that's a fact."
Now the truth was that Sarah Ann, left to herself, would as soon
have thought of making a _house_ out of the contents of that bag, as
a bonnet; but Nettie Decker's deft fingers had a natural tact for
all cunning contrivances in lace and silk, and her skill in copying
what she saw, was something before which Sarah Ann stood in silent
admiration; when, therefore, she offered to construct for Sarah Ann,
out of the treasures of that bag, a bonnet which should be both
becoming and economical, Sarah Ann's gratitude knew no bounds. She went
that very afternoon to the milliner's to select her frame, and had it
perched at that moment as I said, on her head, while she listened to
the clear young voices under the window. She had a great desire to be
helpful; but money was far from plenty at Job Smith's.
What was it which made her at that moment think of a bit of news which
she had heard while at the milliner's? Why, nothing more remarkable
than that the color of Nettie Decker's hair in the fading light was
just the same as Mantie Horton's. But what made her suddenly speak her
bit of news, interrupting the young planners? Ah, that Sarah Ann does
not know; she only knows she felt just like saying it, so she said it.
"Mantie Horton's folks are all going to move to the city; they are
selling off lots of things; I saw her this afternoon when I was at the
milliner's, and she says about the only thing now that they don't know
what to do with is her old hen and chickens; a nice lot of chicks as
ever she saw, but of course they can't take them to the city. My! I
should think they would feel dreadful lonesome without chickens, nor
pigs, nor nothing! _We_ might have some chickens as well as not, if
we only had a place to keep 'em; enough scrapings come from the table
every day, to feed 'em, most."
Before this sentence was concluded, Jerry had turned and given Nettie
a sudden look as if to ask if she saw what he did; then he whistled a
low strain which had in it a note of triumph; and the moment Sarah Ann
paused for breath he asked: "Where do the Hortons live?"
"Why, out on the pike about a mile; that nice white house set back from
the road a piece; don't you know? It is just a pleasant walk out there."
Then Sarah Ann turned away to attend to her bread, and as she did so
her somewhat homely face was lighted by a smile; for an idea had just
dawned upon her, and she chuckled over it: "I shouldn't wonder if those
young things would go into business; he's got contrivance enough to
make a coop, any day, and mother would let them have the scrapings, and
welcome."
Sarah Ann was right; though Nettie, unused to country ways and plans,
did not think of such a thing, Jerry did. The next morning he was up,
even before the sun; in fact that luminary peeped at him just as he was
turning into the long carriage drive which led finally to the Horton
barnyard. There a beautiful sight met his eyes; a white and yellow
topknot mother, and eight or ten fluffy chickens scampering about her.
"They are nice and plump," said Jerry to himself; "I'm afraid I haven't
money enough to buy them; but then, there is a great deal of risk in
raising a brood of chickens like these; perhaps he will sell them
cheap."
Farmer Horton was an early riser, and was busy about his stables when
Jerry reached there. He was anxious to get rid of all his live stock,
and be away as soon as possible, and here was a customer anxious to
buy; so in much less time than Jerry had supposed it would take, the
hen and chickens changed owners and much whistling was done by the new
owner as he walked rapidly back to town to build a house for his family.
Mrs. Smith had been taken into confidence; so indeed had Job, before
the purchase was made; but the whole thing was to be a profound
surprise to Nettie. Therefore, she saw little of him that day, and I
will not deny was a trifle hurt because he kept himself so busy about
something which he did not share with her. But I want you to imagine,
if you can, her surprise the next morning when just as she was ready to
set the potatoes to frying, she heard Jerry's eager voice calling her
to come and see his house.
"See what?" asked Nettie, appearing in the doorway, coffee pot in hand.
"A new house. I built it yesterday, and rented it; the family moved in
last night. That is the reason I was so busy. I had to go out and help
move them; and I must say they were as ill-behaved a set as I ever had
anything to do with. The mother is the crossest party I ever saw; and
she has no government whatever; her children scurry around just where
they please."
"What are you talking about?" said astonished Nettie, her face growing
more and more bewildered as he continued his merry description.
"Come out and see. It is a new house, I tell you; I built it yesterday;
that is the reason I did not come to help you about the bonnet. Didn't
you miss me? Sarah Ann thinks it is actually nicer than the one Miss
Sherrill wore." And he broke into a merry laugh, checking himself to
urge Nettie once more to come out and see his treasures.
"Well," said Nettie, "wait until I cover the potatoes, and set the
teakettle off." This done she went in haste and eagerness to discover
what was taking place behind Job Smith's barn. A hen and chickens!
Beautiful little yellow darlings, racing about as though they were
crazy; and a speckled mother clucking after them in a dignified way,
pretending to have authority over them, when one could see at a glance
that they did exactly as they pleased.
Then came a storm of questions. "Where? and When? and Why?"
"It is a stock company concern," exclaimed Jerry, his merry eyes
dancing with pleasure. Nettie was fully as astonished and pleased as he
had hoped. "Don't you know I told you yesterday we must plan a way to
earn money? This is one way, planned for us. _We_ own Mrs. Biddy; every
feather on her knot, of which she is so proud, belongs to us, and she
must not only earn her own living and that of her children, but bring
us in a nice profit besides. Those are plump little fellows; I can
imagine them making lovely pot pies for some one who is willing to pay
a good price for them. Cannot you?"
"Poor little chickens," said Nettie in such a mournful tone that Jerry
went off into shouts of laughter. He was a humane boy, but he could not
help thinking it very funny that anybody should sigh over the thought
of a chicken pot pie.
[Illustration: "NANNIE FOUND THEM," SHE EXPLAINED.]
"Oh, I know they are to eat," Nettie said, smiling in answer to his
laughter, "and I know how to make nice crust for pot pie; but for all
that, I cannot help feeling sort of sorry for the pretty fluffy
chickens. Are you going to fat them all, to eat; or raise some of them
to lay eggs?"
"I don't know what _we_ are going to do, yet," Jerry said with pointed
emphasis on the we. "You see, we have not had time to consult; this is
a company concern, I told you. What do you think about it?"
Nettie's cheeks began to grow a deep pink; she looked down at the
hurrying chickens with a grave face for a moment, then said gently:
"You know, Jerry, I haven't any money to help buy the chickens, and I
cannot help own what I do not help buy; they are your chickens, but I
shall like to watch them and help you plan about them."
Jerry sat down on an old nail keg, crossed one foot over the other, and
clasped his hands over his knees, as Job Smith was fond of doing, and
prepared for argument:
"Now, see here, Nettie Decker, let us understand each other once for
all; I thought we had gone into partnership in this whole business;
that we were to fight that old fiend Rum, in every possible way we
could; and were to help each other plan, and work all the time, and in
all ways we possibly could. Now if you are tired of me and want to work
alone, why, I mustn't force myself upon you."
"O, Jerry!" came in a reproachful murmur from Nettie, whose cheeks were
now flaming.
"Well, what is a fellow to do? You see you hurt my feelings worse than
old Mother Topknot did this morning when she pecked me; I want to
belong, and I mean to; but all that kind of talk about helping to buy
these half-dozen little puff-balls is all nonsense, and a girl of your
sense ought to be ashamed of it."
Said Nettie, "O, Jerry, I smell the potatoes; they are scorching!" and
she ran away. Jerry looked after her a moment, as though astonished at
the sudden change of subject, then laughed, and rising slowly from the
nail-keg addressed himself to the hen.
"Now, Mother Topknot, I want you to understand that you belong to the
firm; that little woman who was just here is your mistress, and if you
peck her and scratch her as you did me, this morning, it will be the
worse for you. You are just like some people I have seen; haven't sense
enough to know who is your best friend; why, there is no end to the
nice little bits she will contrive for you and your children, if you
behave yourself; for that matter, I suspect she would do it whether you
behaved yourself or not; but that part it is quite as well you should
not understand. I want you to bring these children up to take care of
themselves, just as soon as you can; and then you are to give your
attention to laying a nice fresh egg every morning; and the sooner you
begin, the better we shall like it." Then he went in to breakfast.
There was no need to say anything more about the partnership. Nettie
seemed to come to the conclusion that she must be ashamed of herself
or her pride in the matter; and after a very short time grew
accustomed to hearing Jerry talk about "Our chicks," and dropped into
the fashion of caring for and planning about them. None the less was
she resolved to find some way of earning a little money for her share
of the stock company. Curiously enough it was Susie and little Sate
who helped again. They came in one morning, with their hands full of
the lovely field daisies. The moment Nettie looked at the two little
faces, she knew that a dispute of some sort was in progress. Susie's
lips were curved with that air of superior wisdom, not to say scorn,
which she knew how to assume; and little Sate's eyes were full of the
half-grieved but wholly positive look which they could wear on occasion.
[Illustration: SARAH ANN.]
"What is it?" Nettie asked, stopping on her way to the cellar with a
nice little pat of butter which she was saving for her father's supper.
Butter was a luxury which she had decided the children at least,
herself included, must not expect every day.
"Why," said Susie, her eyes flashing her contempt of the whole thing,
"she says these are folks; old women with caps, and eyes, and noses,
and everything; she says they look at her, and some of them are
pleasant, and some are cross. She is too silly for anything. They
don't look the least bit in the world like old women. I told her so,
fifty-eleven times, and she keeps saying it!"
Nettie held out her hand for the bunch of daisies and looked at them
carefully, and laughed.
"Can't you see them?" was little Sate's eager question. "They are just
as plain! Don't you see them a little bit of a speck, Nannie?"
"Of course she doesn't!" said scornful Susie. "Nobody but a silly baby
like you would think of such a thing."
"I don't know," said Nettie, still smiling, "I don't think I see them
as plain as Sate does, but maybe we can, after awhile; wait till I get
my butter put away, and I'll put on my spectacles and see what I can
find."
So the two waited, Susie incredulous and disgusted, Sate with a hopeful
light in her eyes, which made Nettie very anxious to find the old
ladies. On her way up stairs she felt in her pocket for the pencil
Jerry had sharpened with such care the evening before; yes, it was
there, and the point was safe. Jerry had made a neat little tube of
soft wood for it to slip into, and so protect itself.
"Now, let us look for the old lady," she said, taking a daisy in hand
and retiring to the closet window for inspection; it was the work of
a moment for her fingers which often ached for such work, to fashion
a pair of eyes, a nose, and a mouth; and then to turn down the white
petals for a cap border, leaving two under the chin for strings!
"Does your old lady look anything like that?" she questioned, as she
came out from her hiding place. Little Sate looked, and clasped her
hands in an ecstacy of delight: "Look, Susie, look, quick! there she
is, just as plain! O Nannie! I'm _so_ glad you found her."
"Humph!" said Susie, "she made her with a pencil; she wasn't there at
all; and there couldn't nobody have found her. So!"
And to this day, I suppose it would not be possible to make Susie
Decker believe that the spirits of beautiful old ladies hid in the
daisies! Some people cannot see things, you know, show them as much as
you may.
But Nettie was charmed with the little old woman. She left the potatoes
waiting to be washed, and sat down on the steps with eager little
Sate, and made old lady after old lady. Some with spectacles, and some
without. Some with smooth hair drawn quietly back from quiet foreheads,
some with the old-fashioned puffs and curls which she had seen in old,
old pictures of "truly" grandmothers. What fun they had! The potatoes
came near being forgotten entirely. It was the faithful old clock in
Mrs. Smith's kitchen which finally clanged out the hour and made Nettie
rise in haste, scattering old ladies right and left. But little Sate
gathered them, every one, holding them with as careful hand as though
she feared a rough touch would really hurt their feelings, and went out
to hunt Susie and soothe her ruffled dignity. She did not find Susie;
that young woman was helping Jerry nail laths on the chicken coop; but
she found her sweet-faced Sabbath-school teacher, who was sure to stop
and kiss the child, whenever she passed. To her, Sate at once showed
the sweet old women. "Nannie found them," she explained; "Susie could
not see them at all, and she kept saying they were not there; but
Nannie said she would make them look plainer so Susie could see, and
now Susie thinks she made them out of a pencil; but they were there,
before, I saw them."
"Oh, you quaint little darling!" said Miss Sherrill, kissing her again.
"And so your sister Nettie made them plainer for you. I must say she
has done it with a skilful hand. Sate dear, would you give one little
old woman to me? Just one; this dear old face with puffs, I want her
very much."
So Sate gazed at her with wistful, tender eyes, kissed her tenderly,
and let Miss Sherrill carry her away.
She carried her straight to the minister's study, and laid her on the
open page of a great black commentary which he was studying. "Did
you ever see anything so cunning? That little darling of a Sate says
Nannie 'found' her; she doesn't seem to think it was made, but simply
developed, you know, so that commoner eyes than hers could see it;
that child was born for a poet, or an artist, I don't know which.
Tremayne, I'm going to take this down to the flower committee, and get
them to invite Nettie to make some bouquets of dear old grandmothers,
and let little Sate come to the flower party and sell them. Won't that
be lovely? Every gentleman there will want a bouquet of the nice old
ladies in caps, and spectacles; we will make it the fashion; then they
will sell beautifully, and the little merchant shall go shares on the
proceeds, for the sake of her artist sister."
"It is a good idea," said the minister. "I infer from what that
handsome boy Jerry has told me, that they have some scheme on hand
which requires money. I am very much interested in those young people,
my dear. I wish you would keep a watch on them, and lend a helping hand
when you can."
NEVER GIVE UP.
WILLIAM J. was the son of a very poor man. He was born near sawmills
and shipyards. His home was humble, but piety and industry were seen
there. William made up his mind that he would have an education. His
motto was, "No such word as fail." He did not have the chances that you
have in these good days. No, indeed, to get an education meant to him
hard work, _hard work_! When working in the shipyard he often had a
book open before him, and thus every golden moment was improved. What
do you think he used at night, in the winter, for his lamp? Can you
guess? A _pine knot_! And in summer his lamp was the light of the moon.
Once he rode thirty miles to attend a spelling match.
When sixteen he opened a little school, and the next thing was to study
Latin and Greek. The boy had set his heart on college, and it almost
looks as though a boy can accomplish anything with such a motto as
poor William's. He borrowed some Latin and Greek books, and set hard
to work. Soon his dear parents died, and so the care of a brother
and sister fell upon him. On entering college he found that he had
worked too hard--for his eyes so failed that he had to leave off study
and wear a green shade, but still he would not give up. He got his
room-mate to _read to him_. He not only pushed through college himself,
but helped his brother through also. Amid all these difficulties he
graduated with high honors, became a professor in the same college, and
was ever found in the path of duty and rectitude. Remember William, my
little ones, and resolve on some plan of life, and pursue it with all
your heart and soul.
RINGWOOD.
RECITATION FOR JANUARY 1, 1886.
THE NEW YEAR.
IT tolls from the tower, a midnight strain,
Tolls the bell, telling us well
That "Eighty-five" has gone away;
That he ended his life this very day.
That he could with us no longer stay.
Ah, solemnly sounds the sad refrain,
As the tolling bell doth the sad news tell.
It tolls from the tower, and wakens the night;
Tolls the bell, telling us well
That "Eighty-five" we'll see no more;
The year which has yielded such precious store,
Brought us bounties unknown before.
Ah! never again shall we see its light;
With the toll of the bell, we must say farewell.
It _rings_ from the tower, a midnight peal!
Rings the bell, telling us well
That Eighty-six is born to-night.
Eighty-six! so young and bright;
A brand-new year all plumed for flight.
Ah! precious year, may it bring us weal;
And its moments tell that we spent them well.
REV. G. R. ALDEN.
[Illustration: A NEW YEAR'S BREAKFAST.]
_Volume 13, Number 11._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
_Jan. 16, 1886._
THE PANSY.
[Illustration: HAPPY NEW YEAR!]
ARTHUR IN THE MUSEUM.
MR. ESSEX and his son Arthur had spent an hour riding through the park.
For a change, they entered the museum to see the curiosities there.
Arthur preferred the great hall where the animals were confined in
their iron cages. He never tired of gazing at the glaring eyes of the
tiger, and watching his tread round and round his prison, as if to find
some way out. Now and then he would utter a terrible growl that would
make Arthur tremble. Near by lay asleep "the king of the forest," as
the lion is called. And a little farther yet was the monkey department.
[Illustration: THE STUFFED DONKEY.]
Once there, laughing at their funny pranks, Arthur cared not to go
a step further or see anything else. Suddenly looking around he
exclaimed, "Father, do see that queer chap up there, making faces and
shaking his head at some of us. I wonder what he would do if he could
get at us."
"Scratch your eyes out, maybe," said a strange voice.
Arthur started at the unaccustomed tones and searched anxiously the
many faces for his father's, but it was not among them. Where was he?
Was Arthur alone? Had his father left him in such a place?
He pressed his way out of the throng, hurried this way and that,
wondering what he should do, when to his great joy there sat his
father looking up at a donkey that stood in a high place calmly
contemplating the people below.
"Why, father," broke out Arthur, "I feared I or you was lost. But what
are you doing in this spot, looking at that stupid beast? Did you never
see a donkey before?"
"Not such a donkey," was the answer.
"Umph! what's a donkey pray, but--a donkey? Stubborn, ugly thing. Come
and see the monkeys and enjoy yourself. All the people are there. They
are cutting up enough to make you laugh yourself to pieces."
"And yet, my boy, there is more in that dead, stuffed donkey to
interest your father than all the rest of this museum and every monkey
in Africa to boot. You see the donkey has not a very beautiful face,
neither is his motion the most rapid or graceful, and sometimes he is
a bit stubborn, though that is because he is cruelly treated, yet the
world of business could get on quite well without tigers and monkeys;
not so well without donkeys. They are not for show, but for work, like
some plain folks whose hands are rough doing other people good."
"But what about this donkey? I never saw one in a museum before."
"And you may never again. This one wrote his own history, and he did it
in five minutes, and with his heels!"
"How in the world was that?" asked Arthur.
"That donkey, I am told, was at work in the park. A lion broke from
his cage. He was hungry. He saw the donkey as he went leaping through
the grounds and sprang upon him. A terrible fight followed. The donkey
had neither teeth nor claws like the lion to defend himself. He could
not get away. But God had given him great strength--so, with a mighty
effort, he shook off his enemy and quickly turning, dealt him rapid
and strong kicks, planting his blows between the eyes of the lion and
tumbling him into an abyss, where the stunned beast died from his
wounds. The brave donkey, however, was so dreadfully cut here and there
by the lion's teeth that he soon bled to death.
"The battle was witnessed by many amid great excitement. Their sympathy
was all with the donkey who was only doing what every one should do
when attacked by a bloodthirsty foe--defend themselves.
"Such was the admiration for this beast which you call ugly and
stubborn, that as soon as he died, a taxidermist who makes it his
business to preserve the skins of animals and give them a life-like
look, took this donkey in charge and there you see him.
"Here I've been sitting for one long hour looking at this stuffed
beast. And I've been wondering how many of all that crowd over there by
the monkeys would do and die if necessary for some noble cause. Would
you, my boy?" said Mr. Essex, giving Arthur a searching look.
"God helping me," he answered, "I'll try to be right and true
everywhere and every time. I should be ashamed to be outdone by a
donkey."
C. M. L.
MANUFACTURE OF SILVER SPOONS.
PROBABLY there is no article of table or of other household use in the
production of which so little of machine working is employed. Almost
all the work on solid silver spoons is hand work; the exceptions are
the rolling of the ingot into plates, and the production of spoons with
ornamentation in relief, which is produced by recessed patterns on the
rolls.
The material for spoons is coin silver obtained from the Government
mints in ingots, or from trade for old silver, or from the use of
current coin. This is melted over a charcoal fire in plumbago crucibles
to a certain heat, known to the adept by the appearance of the surface
of the molten metal; it is poured into castiron moulds, forming bars of
about seventy ounces each.
These bars are heated over a forge fire of charcoal and worked on the
anvil by hammer and sledge, precisely as iron or steel is worked, or
are rolled into plates or ribbons. Occasional annealings are necessary
to prevent cracking.
The ribbon for the ordinary teaspoon is four and a half inches long
by three eighths of an inch wide. When rolled, a blank of two and a
quarter inches is lengthened to four and a half inches, to thin it down
to spoon thickness. Before rolling or hammering, silver is very nearly
as soft as lead; but with these mechanical processes it can be made
hard and rigid. Good springs can be made of silver hammered or rolled.
To form the bowl of the teaspoon, the bar, of three eighths of an inch
wide and less than three thirty-seconds of an inch thick, is hammered
flat on an anvil with a crowning face until the workman has spread it
into an oval, which is much thinner in the middle than at the edges, as
the edges are to receive the bulk of the wear. The handles are formed
also by the hammer.
The curvature of the bowl is produced by repeated "coaxing" blows by
a steel punch and a die of cast composition of lead and tin. No file
dressing is employed on the faces of the spoon; only the edges are
file-dressed to form. From the anvil and the die the spoons come to
hand-smoothing with Scotch gray stones and polishing by stiff brushes,
generally revolving brushes charged with "grits" and oil. Burnishing is
the finish of spoons as of all bright silver goods.
A LITTLE STUDY IN ANATOMY.
HOW many bones in the human face?
Fourteen, when they're all in place.
How many bones in the human head?
Eight, my child, as I've often said.
How many bones in the human ear?
Four in each, and they help to hear.
How many bones in the human spine?
Twenty-four, like a climbing vine.
How many bones in the human chest?
Twenty-four ribs, and two of the rest.
How many bones the shoulders bind?
Two in each--one before, one behind.
How many bones in the human arm?
In each arm one; two in each forearm.
How many bones in the human wrist?
Eight in each, if none are missed.
How many bones in the palm of the hand?
Five in each, with many a band.
How many bones in the fingers ten?
Twenty-eight, and by joints they bend.
How many bones in the human hip?
One in each; like a dish they dip.
How many bones in the human thigh?
One in each, and deep they lie.
How many bones in the human knees?
One in each, the kneepan, please.
How many bones in the leg from the knee?
Two in each, we can plainly see.
How many bones in the ankle strong?
Seven in each, but none are long.
How many bones in the ball of the foot?
Five in each, as the palms are put.
How many bones in the toes, half a score?
Twenty-eight, and there are no more.
And now altogether these many bones wait,
And they count, in a body, two hundred and eight.
And then we have in the human mouth,
Of upper and under, thirty-two teeth.
And now and then have a bone, I should think,
That forms on a joint or to fill up a chink--
A Sesamoid bone or a Wormian, we call.
And now we may rest, for we've told them all.
--_Christian at Work._
[Illustration: MR. LINCOLN AND TAD.]
OUR ALPHABET OF GREAT MEN.
L.--LINCOLN, ABRAHAM.
OF course; who should it be if not our Lincoln? The name is a household
word in all our homes, and I doubt if I can tell you anything which you
do not already know about this great man; the story of his life and his
deeds are familiar to every schoolboy. His features are well known to
you all, for there is scarcely a home that has not his portrait upon
its walls.
In 1809 Abraham Lincoln was born in a lonely cabin on the banks of
a small river or creek in Kentucky; born to poverty, hardship and
obscurity, born to rise from obscurity, through poverty, hardship and
toil to the highest point of an American boy's ambition. He early
learned the meaning of privation and self-denial. The accounts of his
early life are somewhat meagre, but he has told us himself that he had
only about one year of school-life. Think of that, you boys who are
going steadily forward year after year, from the primary school through
all the intermediate grades up to the advanced, then to the academy,
thence to college, and afterwards to law and divinity schools, think of
Abraham Lincoln's school privileges and be thankful for your own. And
more, show your appreciation by your improvement of your advantages.
Like many of our great men, Lincoln was what we style a self-made
man, and yet it seems that he owed something of his making to his
stepmother. His own mother died when he was a small boy, and the new
mother who sometime after came into the family was very helpful to
the boy, encouraging him in his love of books, and under her guidance
he became a great reader, devouring every book he could lay his hands
upon. Did it ever occur to you that it might be an advantage to some
of us if we had fewer books? Driven back again and again to the few,
we should read them more carefully and make the thoughts our own, and
perhaps the stock of ideas gathered from books would even exceed that
which we gain from the multitude of books we have in these days of
bookmaking. Whether you read much or little, few books or many, boys,
read with careful thought. Take in and digest thoroughly the thoughts
presented to you.
Well, this young man had but few books, but he seems to have laid by
a number of ideas which should develop in time into acts which were
to startle the world and overthrow existing institutions. He worked
through his boyhood and early manhood with his hands, sometimes on a
farm, sometimes as a clerk in a country store. Now as a boatman, now at
clearing up and fencing a farm.
[Illustration: LINCOLN'S EARLY HOME IN KENTUCKY.]
It was while engaged in this last-mentioned employment that he earned
the title afterwards given him in derision by his political opponents,
"The rail splitter," but I suspect that he could have answered as did
the boy who in the days of prosperity was taunted with having been a
bootblack, "Didn't I do it well?"
At length the way opened--or, as I think, he by his exertions forced
a way to study law, and he began his practice of the profession in
Springfield, Ill.
I ought to have told you, however, that before his admission to the bar
he served in the Black Hawk War as captain of a company of volunteers.
He soon gained distinction as a lawyer, but presently became interested
in politics.
And from that time his history is closely identified with that of his
country. To tell you of the leading incidents even of his career would
be to give you in a nutshell the history of the United States for that
period. His noted contest with Stephen A. Douglas, his election to the
presidency, his re-election, his celebrated Emancipation Proclamation,
all these matters belong to the story of the stirring events of those
years of our history. Then came the sad ending of this noble life; the
cruel assassination of the beloved President, and the great man of the
time.
[Illustration: LINCOLN'S FIRST HOUSE IN ILLINOIS.]
Boys, you who have studied his character, will you tell me what made
Abraham Lincoln great?
FAYE HUNTINGTON.
[Illustration: FLATBOAT.]
- - - - - - -
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 grand, sweet song.
MY BRAINLESS ACQUAINTANCE.
III.--A STRANGE HISTORY.
BY PARANETE.
"[Illustration: I] WAS born, as you might say," began the pin, "in
two different places, which I suppose you must think is very queer,
but I assure you it is true. You see I am composed of two different
kinds of metal, and one kind came from the State of Minnesota, in
this country, and the other from the country of Wales, in the British
Isles. The first kind is copper, and the second is zinc. Also, if you
ask your mother what I am made of, she will say brass. I will tell
you about my early history. My first part was born deep down in the
earth, in Minnesota. One day the stone I was in heard a great pounding,
and soon it was brought to light. It was piled into a car, with many
other stones of its kind, and was taken a long way off where the car
dumped it into a hole; then great hammers came down and crushed it,
with others, into little bits of pieces. Then it was taken out, burned,
put in a lot of liquids about which I do not know, till it came out a
beautiful shining sheet of copper; that's all I know of my first part.
"As for my second part, that came from way down in the earth too, in
the form of a black stone. Then it was, like the copper ore, carried
off and dumped, and great rollers came and crushed it as small as those
nuts that you like so much--I don't know their name.
"From there, the little stones were all shoveled into big pots, and
roasted for a very long while until they turned into liquid and dropped
in little drops down into great pans. From there they were put into
other pots, where they were again melted and stirred and skimmed, just
as your mother treats her milk. Then the liquid was poured into great
holes that cooled it off, and it came out one great beautiful cake of
zinc. That is all that there is about my second part.
"The two large sheets were then both sent in a train to a large
manufactory, and the zinc was put in a furnace, where it was entirely
melted, and then the sheet of copper (twice as big as that of zinc) was
broken up and mixed in, where it also melted. After this was roasted
a good deal, it was poured into moulds which made it into good-sized
plates, and it was called brass. So my first and second parts were
united, and I was neither copper nor zinc, but brass.
"The sheet of brass out of which I came was packed with many others,
and sent to another large building, where it was unpacked, and by
means that I never understood, and never expect to, was drawn through
enormous rollers, which cut it into long, square rods. I will only tell
you of the one out of which I came.
"It was speedily made pointed, and a workman passed it through a small
hole, where a pair of pincers took right hold and pulled it along; then
it was put around a sort of wheel, which went round and round, drawing
the rod through the hole, and making it smaller and smaller all the
while, and winding it around itself. Then the point was put through a
smaller hole, and drawn through again, until it went through actually
twenty-five holes! I counted.
"Every little while the rod which had become wire then, was melted
red-hot, and then doused in cold water. I do not know what this was for.
"Soon the wire was quite small, of a bright yellow color, and was
coiled on wheels, and put in large dark boxes, to take a journey. The
journey seemed long to me, though I do not suppose it was. When we
reached our destination, several coils of wire were sent up in wagons,
to a large building in the city, where we were unloaded, and carried
in. My coil was taken off the wheel and wound round a little reel that
stood at the end of a queer-looking machine.
"My part of the wire was at the very end, and I felt myself suddenly
seized by a little steel thumb and finger, and drawn forward a little,
where an immense pair of shears suddenly cut me off to about the
length that you see me now. Going on a little further in my journey
through the machine, I was suddenly between a pair of rollers that
mashed me all down except where my head is, so that while I had had
no head before, I was possessed of one now. Going on still further,
I confronted a sort of a grindstone, which rubbed my point down so
speedily that while I was wondering what it was going to do, I found
I had a point. Then my journey suddenly ended, and I dropped into a
trough where there were many pins like myself; and now that I may give
you an idea of the amazing velocity with which I journeyed, I will tell
you what cannot but be true, I was not longer than ten seconds in going
from the coil of wire to the trough.
"You may think, my dear friend, that this must have been very
uncomfortable, and have hurt me a great deal, but Providence is good,
and has provided for me so greatly, that I, because I have to go
through adventures that would cost you mortals so much sufferings,
actually have no feelings at all! Therefore it was, that while it
was disagreeable, this being pounded and jammed so much, I cannot
truthfully say that it hurt me in the least. You must excuse that bit
of moralizing.
"Well, from the trough we were carried off, and put in kettles of
what they called nitric acid, with pieces of tin in it. Then we were
boiled again over a hot fire, much to my dismay, for I thought that
now I was a pin, I had got through being boiled and roasted. But there
I was boiling again, and the tin melted and stuck to me all over, so
that I looked like silver instead of the bright yellow that I had been
before. When we had dried sufficiently we were all buried in a barrel
of sawdust, and rolled and rolled. This, it seems, was to make us shine
more, and when I came out, I shone like crystal.
"From this place we were all carried off in barrels again, and thrown
ruthlessly down where there were some steel bars awaiting us, and we
started to drop through them, but were caught by our heads, and the
bars dropped down with us, and we again dropped--into the holes pricked
in the green paper. All of my companions had not been caught by the
steel bars, but had dropped below them, and I never saw them again.
"Now that I was a pin, all dressed up in my coat of tin, and having a
couple of holes to stick through, I was perfectly happy, especially as
I had so many pleasant companions.
"The paper that I had dropped in, had a row of black pins as well as
silver-colored ones. These informed me that when they had been carried
up to the pots to boil, Japan varnish--whatever that may be--had been
used, instead of tin, making them black.
"Soon we were packed, with many others, in a large box, taken to the
depot in a wagon, and sent off on the cars. It was very dark in the
box; but there were so many of us we had rather lively times, after
all. Still we by no means regretted it when at last the journey was
ended and our box was opened."
WATCH AND THE MINISTER.
THE minister's pew was a large square one near the pulpit and exposed
to a fire of eyes.
Mr. Tyler, the minister, owned a large dog named Watch, who was bent on
going to church with Mrs. Tyler. She was opposed, fearing that he might
excite the mirth of the children.
Every Sunday a series of manoeuvres took place between the two, in
which Watch often proved himself the keenest. Sometimes he slipped away
very early; and Mrs. Tyler, after having searched for him to shut him
up, would go to church and find Watch seated in the family pew, looking
very grave and decorous, but evidently aware that it was too late now
to turn him out. Sometimes he would hide himself until the family had
all started for church, and would then follow the footsteps of some
tardy worshiper who tiptoed in during prayers with creaking boots;
and then didn't Watch know that Mrs. Tyler would open the pew door in
haste, to prevent his whining for admission?
When Mr. Tyler became in earnest in his appeals, he often repeated the
same word with a ringing emphasis and a blow on the desk cushion that
startled the sleepers in the pews.
One day he thus shouted out, quoting the well-known text, "Watch!
watch! watch, I say!" when bounce, came the dog almost into his arms.
You may be sure that the boys all took occasion to relieve their
pent-up restlessness by one uproarious laugh, before their astonished
parents had time to frown them into silence.
Honest Watch had been sitting with his eye fixed, as usual, on the
minister. At the first mention of his name, he went, his ears and
his eyes kindled; at the second, he was still more deeply moved;
at the third, he obeyed, and flew completely over the pew rail and
pulpit door, with leaps that did equal honor to his muscular powers
and his desire to obey. After such a strict interpretation of the
letter rather than the spirit, Watch was effectually forbidden
church-going.--_Selected._
[Illustration: MY LITTLE PLAYMATE.]
_Volume 13, Number 12._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
_Jan. 23, 1886._
THE PANSY.
[Illustration: THE BABE IN THE MANGER.]
ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.
BY MARGARET SIDNEY.
III.
"IT was nothing," said George Edward carelessly, as the family
assembled around him in excited gratitude, and with fulsome praise,
drawn thither by queer little noises down stairs in the library, and
rattlings of window, suggestive of burglars, "I only pulled her in. She
was good, and helped. Do stop talking of it; let's have the stockings.
It's most morning."
"You are a brave boy," cried Hortense's father, uncle Gerald.
"You've saved her life," exclaimed Hortense's mother.
Hortense disengaged herself from her parents, and ran up to her cousin,
putting her arms around him.
"I wasn't good. I wouldn't go up stairs when he told me, and I climbed
up on the window-sill to lean out and see Santa Claus coming, and I
slipped, and the window came down on my fingers, and I rolled around on
the shed and most pulled him off."
"And you needn't try to hide your hand," said uncle Thomas, where they
were visiting, "because we all see that it is bleeding."
At that there was a second rush for the hero of the hour, and the
excited relatives each had to examine for himself and herself George
Edward's thumb torn by the catch of the blind as he pulled himself up.
To save him from further sympathy, his mother seconded his proposition
to have the Christmas stockings then and there.
"I know it is only quarter-past two," she said laughingly, "but these
young folks won't sleep a wink if we send them to bed, nor I fancy will
we elders do much better. Let us all go up to our rooms, give ourselves
just ten minutes to array ourselves in something more festive and
befitting the occasion than"--
"These bath wrappers, mackintoshes, and gossamer waterproofs," finished
somebody in the group for her.
"O, aunt Fannie, aunt Fannie, what a Christmas frolic," cried two of
the other mammas, not waiting for her to finish.
"O, aunt Fannie, aunt Fannie, what fun!" cried the young people.
George Edward swelled with pride at his mother's popularity. "Come on,"
he cried, "see who gets down first."
At that there was a regular stampede, old as well as young taking part,
uncle Thomas only remaining to light the Christmas candles on the
mantel and in the tall candlesticks on the piano underneath the holly
and pine branches.
When the company assembled again in the library it was hard to believe
that it was the same one so lately within those walls, and it was
marvelous how much in the way of adornment could be accomplished in ten
moments by one who gave "his whole mind to it." Some of the neckties
however were tied on the way down stairs, and even boots buttoned in
the same convenient resting-place, but these were only trifling matters
when the general dress-parade was so fine, and nobody noticed any
little discrepancy of attire in another.
The children planted themselves before the row of stockings hanging in
the candlelight, and before the fire on the hearth, now poked up to
its duty, and crackling away in all the proper Christmas jollity. They
pretended not to be excited, but it was pretty hard work.
At last Bamford said, "Hortense is in a dreadful hurry. It's too bad to
keep her waiting. Let's begin."
"So she should," said uncle Thomas, with a twinkle in his eye, "have
hers at once. Hurry up, Hortie, and pull it off the nail. Bamford is so
big I suppose he's going to wait till the last."
Bamford glared at him, and burst out: "Indeed I'm not. We are all
children tonight."
"That's right, my boy," said uncle Thomas approvingly, "only say what
you mean at first, and not get things over other people's shoulders.
Now, one, two, three, see who gets his Christmas stocking first."
It carried the older part of the company back to their young days to
see the scramble that followed, and they laughed until the tears came,
to witness the gale the children were in. It was a Christmas frolic
pure and simple, and pretty soon every soul in the room was engaged in
it; the end was a shower of comfits and bonbons scattered in approved
style after the stockings were declared really empty, yielding nothing
more from vigorous shakings.
"I never was so rich in my life," cried George Edward in a burst of
gratitude, patting his pile of presents. "It was just the jolliest
stocking my Santa Claus ever brought," and he marched up to put his arm
around his mother's neck.
"I don't think I got as much as I did last year when I staid at home,"
remarked Fisher slowly and examining once more his pile. It was an
awful speech to make, and it showed the soul of the boy. But it was
forgiven as a slip of the tongue due to Christmas hilarity.
What a gala day! Nobody thought of being tired till well on into the
night again, and then games and Christmas songs around aunt Ruth's
cottage piano, being over, they one and all began to think of bed, and
to speak even lovingly of the old routine to-morrow.
"I shall help you shovel the snow off, uncle Thomas, in front of the
house," declared Bamford.
"So will I," cried George Edward, coming out of a yawn; "oh dear, I
feel full of candy to my ears. I'd like a good pinch of salt."
"I'm al_most_ sick of caramels," acknowledged Effie, daintily laying
one by one in her bon-bon box to pick out a plain lemon drop. "Wouldn't
it be dreadful to have to eat them always?"
George Edward made a wry face. Then he twisted his mouth up into a
funny little pucker. "Let's make a candy bag and drop it at Tim Ryan's
door to-morrow," he cried.
Tim Ryan was the man who took care of uncle Thomas' furnace, and swept
out his store. He lived two blocks off in a dingy tenement house.
Effie closed her fingers involuntarily on her caramel with old-time
fondness.
"Candy isn't good for poor folks," said Bamford sententiously, and
cramming his mouth full of taffy.
"They get so little, it surprises their digestive apparatus," said
uncle Thomas dryly. "I don't believe our contributions however in that
line will harm them."
Hortense turned a stiff little back upon her precious candy pile, most
of it saved with provident forethought to eat in the following days
when amusements would run low. Could she?
She swallowed very hard an obstacle in her throat, said _no_ in big
letters to her own small mind, then ran over to George Edward, both
hands full of sweets, and said in an odd little way all her own:
"There, that's to make the poor people sick." A shout greeted her; but
her mother kissed her, and Hortense was satisfied.
The baby of the group must not shame them all. So it was quite a
respectable pile that at last lay in a good-sized paper bag tied with
a flaming red ribbon, all ready for the expedition to Tim Ryan's after
breakfast the next morning.
The candy did not injure the Ryans big and little, we will only say,
but they came out of the feast with blooming sticky faces, and hearts
full of gratitude toward the "Allen childer."
And then in two days they were all, that merry company, back once more
in their homes, happy in the memory of the good time they had had, and
full of pluck and enthusiasm for school and home life.
It was about this time that Jared Lewis, a rather dull boy in No. 9,
the room that held George Edward in school-hours, broke out one day
in the reading class with a new idea before them all. Jared was of a
somewhat dull turn of mind, I have said. Certainly not a brilliant boy.
But he held to a thought with wonderful pertinacity that once got into
his mind; nothing could shake it.
They happened in the reading upon an abridged version of the Eastern
legend of St. George and the Dragon, woven into a touching little
English tale. We all know the stirring legend of the patron saint of
England, Germany, and Venice, and of all chivalrous soldiers in the
army battling against cruelty and injustice. It makes the blood leap
in one's veins to read or to tell it, and one longs to grasp the good
sword and go out to fight in the great world with the noble army of
martyrs who enroll themselves on the side of the weak and suffering.
There was many a sober little face, and one or two who pretended the
light was bad for their eyes when Jared had stumbled through his
rendition of the closing part. But he was so full of his new idea that
his countenance was radiant and he cried in a loud assured tone, "Why,
he goes to our school--he's here to-day."
"Who?" cried the teacher, and the children thrilled too suddenly, began
to titter nervously.
"George Edward Allen," said Jared confidently. "He's Saint George, and
he's always fighting a Dragon. He knocked a boy down yesterday for
yanking a cat's tail."
The children stopped laughing, and, sharing his enthusiasm, nodded
"yes, yes," to Jared. George Edward on the back seat studying his
geography raised his head at the commotion. His face turned as red as
fire and he made as though he would shoot his book through the air at
the speaker's head. Jared went on in admiration more forcible than
elegant: "He's always for the littlest dog in the fight, against the
big fellows. I'd like to know if that isn't St. George."
[Illustration: TOMB OF FERDINAND AND ISABELLA.]
SOME REMARKABLE WOMEN.
I.--ISABELLA I.
[Illustration: FERDINAND AND ISABELLA.]
This remarkable woman, Isabella of Spain, lived four hundred years ago.
Her name is always associated with that of her husband, Ferdinand, King
of Castile and Aragon. Isabella was a woman of strong character and
great resolution, as well as of remarkable talent. She married the one
whom she wished to marry in spite of the opposition of her brother,
and his threats of imprisonment. Upon the death of her brother, Henry
the Fourth, Isabella was the heir to the throne. However, she met with
opposition, and it was only after warring with the partisans of her
rival that she gained her seat upon the throne. She reigned jointly
with her husband, and their reign is spoken of as that of Ferdinand
and Isabella. It was an eventful reign; many reforms were introduced,
justice was firmly administered and crimes punished. The nobility were
restrained from acts of oppression. Their reign is also conspicuous
for the conquest of Granada; it is said that the honors of the Moorish
war belonged by right to Isabella rather than her husband, for she
personally directed the campaigns, and during the ten years the war
lasted spent much of the time in camp. There are some dark spots which
mar the brilliancy of this woman's record; one is the establishment of
the Inquisition.
We find that when a certain cardinal of the Roman Church presented his
plan of the "Spanish Inquisition" to the King and Queen, that while
Ferdinand approved, Isabella hesitated for a time; it may be that her
woman's heart made her hesitate to condemn all who did not agree with
her in religious matters. Perhaps you do not know what is meant by the
Inquisition.
The Inquisition was a court established for the purpose of seeking out
and punishing, or in some cases banishing, heretics. This meant all who
were not Romanists. I cannot think that a woman so amiable, so kind and
so devout, had other than good intentions in even this matter. The King
and Queen doubtless had the best interests of their people at heart,
and they looked also to the advancement of their church. They wanted
too to gain the favor of the Pope. Doubtless there was a variety of
motives urging them on; one writer says--
"Fear, piety, patriotism, absolutism and ambition" all influenced them.
And when we are inclined to condemn our beautiful queen, we must
remember that she was educated by a bigoted mother, that she lived
in bigoted times and that her advisers were sustained by the highest
authority she recognized--the Papal court. Let us judge her leniently
and put the blame of this act and of that other edict, the expulsion of
the Jews, elsewhere.
Let us think of her interest in Columbus, for it was she who took an
interest in his project of seeking a new world beyond the seas, and who
offered even to part with her jewels in order to furnish means for the
carrying out of his grand scheme.
We all know how it ended, and surely we as Americans will ever cherish
her memory.
[Illustration: THE PRISON OF THE INQUISITION.]
She was a most gracious queen, beautiful in face, pleasing in manner,
and very loving as a wife and mother. And among the royal personages of
her beloved Spain the name of Isabella stands foremost.
FAYE HUNTINGTON.
- - - - - - -
GUNPOWDER, which is as you know a mixture of saltpetre,
sulphur, and charcoal separately pulverized, then granulated and dried,
and guns, were first invented by Swartz, a monk of Cologne, in 1340;
Edward the Third had four pieces of cannon, which contributed to gain
him the battle of Cressy, 1346; bombs and mortars were invented in the
same year.
[Illustration: ROUND THE FAMILY LAMP]
MUMMIES.--GAME FOR NEW YEAR'S NIGHT.
"DO you think you could pick out your papa, if you only saw his eyes?"
"Oh, what a question!" Ethel laughs in great amusement. "I guess I
couldn't help knowing my papa, if I only saw one eye!"
Well, now you try it, Ethel, and let all the others try it--this funny
and perplexing game of mummies.
Get the clothes-frame in from the kitchen, cover it nicely with
newspapers, first taking the precaution to see that sheets or
waterproofs conceal all the bottom of it, for of course if you saw your
papa's boots sticking out, Ethel; or you, Fred, saw just an inch of
mamma's blue gown that you think is just the prettiest gown in all the
world, why, then you could guess the eyes that were above the boots or
the gown!
If you have several pairs of eyes to guess at the same time, it is
necessary to paste the newspapers securely together so as to admit back
of them, a row of people. Now then, cut holes in your newspaper just
large enough for a pair of eyes to see through. This is a nice job to
do, as you will find out whoever does it for the first time. You will
be quite surprised to see that your pair of holes look as if one eye
was to be on the further side of the cheek, and, as the children say,
"a mile too big," showing all the shading of eyelashes and brows. You
must expect a shout at your expense as you triumphantly stand up to fit
them to the one who is waiting to have them tried on him. But you will
bear the fun nicely, and join in it, I hope, for let me tell you that
no one who is unable to bear a joke or a bit of nice fun at himself,
ought to play games. Why, the jolliest, loveliest companion in a frolic
is the girl or boy who is sweet-tempered, and is so intent on making
other people happy that he or she has no time to get suspicious in the
mind that "somebody is laughing at him." The member of a family party
who spoiled all the sweet fun of everybody, by resentment in this way
at every bit of amusement started, thinking it pointed at him, was
at last, all patience exhausted, dubbed "Old Porcupine," because his
quills were always out, angrily trying to defend himself from nothing!
Don't you begin the New Year in this way, will you, dear Pansies, but
play your games fairly, and in a kind, loving spirit.
Well, after you have your--not button-holes, but--eye-holes all ready,
and your frame completed, you are all prepared for the company. If you
want a row of people to exhibit their eyes, of course you must have a
row of the holes. Supposing you have only one. The frame is placed in
front of a door opening into another room or a hall, from which the
actors are to come, the audience sitting on chairs on the other side
of the frame. Now a boy or girl who is ready at speaking, and can say
funny little things nicely, must stand before the frame, and introduce
the strange beast or bird, or man or woman, or child, or mummy, just
what the showman chooses to call it, to the assembled company. He must
say, "Ladies and gentlemen, this creature is such a dangerous creature,
that we can show you nothing of it but its eyes, for it might scare
you. Walk up, ladies and gentlemen, and examine it at your leisure, and
tell the name of this 'What is it?'" etc.
The audience after the conclusion of the speech, are allowed to walk
in front of the paper frame, and give two guesses each, to whom the
eyes staring at them through the eye-holes belong. If you make as wrong
guesses as I do, you will distinguish yourselves!
Then after every one has guessed who the mummy is, and all wrongly, the
showman commands it to step out and show itself. Then what shouts!
When all the mummies in the outer room have been exhibited, the
audience can take their places, the former mummies taking the seats as
guessers. If you choose, there can be a change of showmen, and Ben,
who did so nicely and kept everybody laughing, will now, I am sure, be
willing to give his place to cousin Louise, and the game will roll on
fairly. May you have great sport in it.
MARGARET SIDNEY.
In future, when the game is a long one, involving
many words, there will be but one given. "Round the
Evening Lamp" must not crowd out the other good things
planned for the Pansies, and we must all respect the
printer. When you grow up and write for magazines, dear
children, you will understand this!
M. S.
HEAT.
THERE is no such thing as _cold_. When we call a thing cold we only
mean it has but little heat in it, for everything, even _ice_, has some
heat in it.
We can readily measure the amount of heat in different things, and we
know a great deal about how it acts, but we really do not know what it
is. Heat is never _by itself_, but always with something else. We may
have hot water, we may have hot iron, but no one has ever been able to
divide the heat from the water or iron, and keep it divided.
We can easily make heat pass from one thing into another, but when
things which have different amounts of heat are put together the heat
will spread itself around so as to make all of the same temperature. A
piece of iron put into fire becomes hot, because the warmth passes from
the fire into the iron until both have the game amount of heat.
Most of the heat in the world comes from the sun. We can set fire to
things by gathering the sun's rays and bringing them to a point with a
lens.
Ice, you well know, "is water in a solid state. It is formed under the
influence of extreme cold. It is a nearly solid, transparent, brittle
substance, of a crystalline structure. It melts into water at the
temperature of thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit."
In hot countries ice is made in a machine worked on philosophic
principles.--_Selected._
SKATING IN HOLLAND.
HOLLAND is the country for skating. People of all ages engage in it.
The rivers there are very numerous. It is a pretty sight to see a grand
plain of ice covered with persons thus amusing themselves. The most
skilful skater is at the head; each catches the coat of the one before
him--the weakest in the middle.
Some of the best-trained ones perform all manner of dexterous tricks,
much to the amusement of the great crowds. A good skater makes twelve
miles an hour. Some who do not like skating have a curious sledge,
resembling a ship, in which you may go twenty-four miles an hour. Is
not that very wonderful?
They fasten to the vessel a very strong piece of iron which cuts into
the ice. It has a sail larger than that of a real vessel of the same
size, so the wind propels it, and it is steered as though on water.
This, however, is quite a dangerous amusement. They are often dashed
against something and broken to pieces. Besides, some cannot endure
cutting the air at such a speed.
It is a grand sight to see all things like a fine panorama before you
whilst travelling at lightning speed, in one of those singular sledges.
In these they often go from Amsterdam to Saardam; this latter place is
one of the nicest in Holland. The houses are wooden, and all nicely
painted. The people are so neat that they will not permit a carriage to
pass through their streets. Wealthy Dutch merchants reside here. Here
Peter the Great once worked as a carpenter, to learn ship-building.
Near by are two thousand windmills, and one for grinding coffee, and
also sawmills, which saw thirty planks at a time.
There is a story told which I think will amuse you. An ambassador wrote
to the Emperor of Morocco, that during certain seasons all the rivers
of the Netherlands were covered with something resembling sugar-candy,
and which could bear horses and carriages, and that vast multitudes
glided over these cakes like ostriches, with smooth irons fastened to
their feet. The Emperor thought this so marvellous that he called him a
story-teller.
The people are very reckless; sometimes go gliding over the ice in
sledges when it is really bending under their weight.
RINGWOOD.
[Illustration: QUEEN EMMA OF HOLLAND, AND PRINCESS WILHELMINA.]
_Volume 13, Number 13._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
_Jan. 30, 1886._
THE PANSY.
[Illustration: THE CEDARS OF LEBANON.]
WHERE I WENT, AND WHAT I SAW.
[Illustration: I] STARTED from Walnut Hills. You may not find the name
in your geographies, so I will just hint to you that it is one of the
parlors of Cincinnati; _that_ you can find.
Down Gilbert Avenue in a car which made good progress, notwithstanding
its frequent stops to take on more people. "Who makes it go?" asked a
wee girlie who was evidently taking her first ride of the kind. Sure
enough! Who did? No horse or mule; no engine to be seen; no visible
means of making that car slip over the road as it did.
The child repeated her eager question: "Mamma, who makes it go? There
isn't any horsie."
"It is a cable car, my child," the mother answered, with a look of
profound wisdom in her eyes.
"What is a cable car, mamma?"
"It is a car that goes without horses."
"But what _makes_ it go?" was the third time repeated query. Then
the small questioner, and I, listened for words of wisdom from the
mother's lips. "I told you, Alice, it was a cable car; now be quiet;
you ask too many questions." I think Alice and I came to the same
conclusion; that the mother did not understand how to explain a cable
car, and did not want to own it.
Now you are asking _me_ what a cable car is. Oh, dear! I don't
understand how to tell you; and I will own it. I have questioned until
it is pretty clear to me, but as I said, I don't know how to tell it.
You see, the one who explained it to me, seated me in a chair at one
side, and said: "You are the engine." This astonishing statement held
me quiet, while he put into my hand a tiny cord which he said was a
very strong and heavy band. Being bound to believe him, I watched
the band placed around a great wheel, on the street in front of me.
Away down the street, about two miles, was another wheel, and a rope
which had neither beginning nor end was placed around both wheels; at
least that was what "he" said. To be sure, it looked to me like the
study table, and an inkstand, and a tin can with some twine around
them. But since _I_ was an engine, why could not they be two great
wheels connected by a rope? "Now," said the speaker, "you--being the
engine, you understand--are set in motion, and the band about you being
connected with this great wheel, when the band moves, the great wheels
do the same, and the iron rope responds, and moves round and round.
Now here comes along a car" (it wasn't, it was a spool of thread;
never mind!) "here comes along a car drawn by horses; but this a steep
ascent" (it was as level as the floor), "and they want to use engine
power, so they take off the horses, and a little contrivance underneath
grasps the chain, and away goes the car. Understand?"
Yes, I understand, after a fashion. The question is, Do you? Well, we
went down town on the cable car.
Arrived at the city, we went with speed to a music store, made our
way up stairs to the "parlors." We were late; every chair taken;
very little standing room left. We found some, however, to stand in,
and were glad even for this opportunity of hearing the sweet-voiced
speaker. Who who she? Her name is Layah Barrakat.
A strange-sounding name? Oh, yes, she is a foreigner. Her birthplace
is away among the mountains of Lebanon. Once she was a little heathen
girl; and the strange sad things she told would have made the tears
come to your eyes. If ever you hear or read that Layah Barrakat is to
speak on Foreign Missions in any building near where you live, I want
you to be sure to hear her.
Let me tell you the story of a pair of red shoes. Our missionaries had
a Sabbath-school near where Layah lived; but she had been taught that
it was a very wicked place, and she must have nothing to do with it.
One day a lady from the Mission met Layah and invited her to
Sabbath-school, telling her she would make her a present of a pair
of new shoes if she would come. Layah wanted the shoes; she told
her mother about it and begged to go, just once, to get the shoes,
promising she would not listen to, or remember a word that was said;
so the mother agreed, and she went. But there she heard such wonderful
things she could not help listening, and remembering; for the first
time she heard about Jesus; how he loved her very much, and had a
beautiful home waiting for her, and would show her the way to it if she
would follow him. In all her life Layah had never heard of anything
like this. She wanted to follow the kind friend who loved her. She
received her shoes, beautiful red ones, and she thought a good deal of
them, but when Sunday came again she wanted to go back to the school,
and hear more about Jesus. She did not dare tell her mother of her
wish, for she knew punishment would follow; but at last her desire to
go grew so strong that she ran away. Her brother found out where she
was, and came for her, scolding and whipping her all the way home.
But all the scolding could not take from her what she had learned. It
is a long story, the trials she went through, and the punishments she
received for wanting to be a Christian. She used to be cruelly whipped,
and shut up in a dark cellar without anything to eat. But it was all to
no purpose; she had heard enough of Jesus to make her hungry for _him_.
Nothing else would satisfy her; she was determined to follow him, cost
what it might.
By and by, good Doctor Nassau, a missionary, became interested in
her; he wrote to some friends in America, telling her story, and a
Sabbath-school in West Philadelphia determined to adopt and educate
her. So they gathered their pennies, and sent them out, and Layah went
to the mission school; but she had to run away from home in order to do
so.
The story of her life since then reads almost like a fairy tale; one
can hardly imagine it possible that all the strange experiences of
which she tells, could have come to her. How she grew up, and married,
and went to Egypt as a missionary; how her brother, the very one who
used to whip her through the streets, became a Christian, and a teacher
in the Mission; how her mother, soon after, learned to love Jesus;
how Layah saved many little girls in Egypt; how when the troubles
came there, she escaped with her husband and child, after suffering
dreadful things, and came to this country, and went wandering through
the streets of Philadelphia, in search of one man whom she had met in
Egypt--Dr. Dulles Chestnuts--this was his name, as she remembered it.
How the children of the streets chased them, calling them gypsies, how
the very dogs barked at them, how she sat down at last on a doorstep,
and cried to think that she had come to Christian America, and could
find no friend; all these things are deeply interesting. I wish you
could have heard her tell them.
Was it not wonderful that at last she should have found the very friend
whom she sought? a policeman spoke kindly to her, took her into a
store, looked in a directory for her, and found that her friend was
Doctor Dulles, on Chestnut street. After that, the way to rest and help
was smooth; she began to realize that she was indeed in a Christian
country.
For three years she has been living in Philadelphia. She goes over the
country to visit churches, and Mission Bands, wherever she is invited,
to tell her beautiful, and sorrowful, and joyful, and altogether
wonderful story.
PANSY.
- - - - - - -
Happiness is a perfume that one cannot shed over another without a few
drops falling on one's self.
AT NUMBER FIVE.
THE scholars at Number Five, or many of them, brought a noon-day
lunch instead of going home to dinner. And very pleasant times they
had, sitting under the trees in summer, picnic fashion, or gathering
in little groups in doors, in winter. Sometimes they had games after
lunch, and sometimes the teacher told stories. One day she told them
a story of a missionary hen, and straightway several of the scholars
determined to have missionary hens. Helen Lynch pondered the matter,
but saw no way of getting the hen. Her father might give her one, but
she was not sure; she had heard him say that missions were a humbug,
and she had little hope of his co-operation in the scheme. She was
walking slowly along the river path when she heard a fluttering on the
bank and a sound which seemed like that of a bird in distress. Putting
down her lunch basket and umbrella she went to see what was the matter
and found hid among the tall grass a young duck that seemed to be hurt
in some way.
"It must be Mr. Brown's," she said to herself, "for I do not know
of any one else who has young ducks," and she took the frightened
and suffering duck in her arms and carried it to Mr. Brown, but that
gentleman looking down upon the little girl smilingly said, "See here,
little one, what would you do with it if it were yours?"
"I'd try to make it well, and then I'd make a missionary duck of it."
"A missionary duck! What is that?"
Then Helen explained that a missionary hen was one the proceeds of
which in eggs and chickens were set apart by the owner for missionary
money and of course a missionary duck would be the same. Mr. Brown
laughed. "Well, that is a funny idea. Suppose I give you a pair--that
is, I will give you this one if you will cure it, and I will give
you a mate to it and we will see how much money you make out of the
investment."
[Illustration: HELEN'S FLOCK, AND HER MISCHIEVOUS BROTHERS.]
Helen's eyes danced with pleasure. The wounded duck soon recovered, and
before the end of summer she had quite a flock of young ducks which
afforded her no end of enjoyment. True she had to watch them closely
and look out for her mischievous brothers lest her flock come to harm,
but she did not mind the trouble. Meantime there was a great interest
growing up among the scholars in missionary enterprises. There were
missionary hens and turkeys; missionary cabbages and turnips, and even
missionary pigs. The months went by and Thanksgiving was near at hand.
After considerable thinking as to the feasibility of the scheme, Miss
Lee, the teacher in Number Five, proposed a plan by which some of the
chickens and turkeys might be disposed of to good advantage. Willie
Smith was the owner of a small printing press, and about two weeks
before Thanksgiving twenty tickets bearing the words, "Thanksgiving
dinner at two o'clock at the schoolhouse. Admit one," were put into
the hands of two of the most energetic boys to be sold at forty cents
each.
"There are a number of people in the neighborhood who will be glad to
get a nice dinner and save themselves the hard work of getting it up,"
reasoned Miss Lee. "Mrs. Graves told me the other day that she should
not try for anything extra this year on account of her lame wrist, and
Miss Smith is so lonely since her brother went away, I am sure she will
be glad to eat her dinner in good company."
Sure enough the twenty tickets were soon sold and more called for.
Twenty more were sent out. "That is positively all we can accommodate,"
said Miss Lee. The dinner was a success. Four large turkeys, three
ducks and a chicken pie or two were disposed of. Interested fathers
and mothers had lent some slight assistance, but for the most part the
work was done by Miss Lee and the scholars. The forty guests were well
pleased with their dinner. The tired mothers were grateful in their
hearts to Miss Lee for the thought which had given them a rest; surely
it was to them a day of Thanksgiving.
At the end of the feast Mr. Brown arose and moved a vote of thanks
to their entertainers, which being properly seconded and carried the
gentleman continued, "I suppose it is well understood that we have been
feasting upon missionary turkeys, and missionary hens, and missionary
ducks as well as other good things to which the same adjective belongs.
Now I trust that none of us suppose for one instant that _we_ have
given one cent to the mission cause by coming here to eat our dinner
and paying a small sum for it. That is purely a business transaction;
these young people have earned the money, and I congratulate them upon
their enterprise. Now I understand that they have several turkeys and
ducks as well as other things left over. And I wish to call out an
expression from the friends here who have enjoyed their hospitality
to-day. Shall we have our Christmas dinner prepared for us at the same
place and under the same auspices? All in favor say 'aye.'"
Then such a shout as went up seemed almost to raise the roof. A little
time was spent socially, during which Mr. Brown told the story of the
lame duck, and added as he finished, "Our little Helen here gave me
an idea and I do not know but I may as well tell you that I have a
missionary cow nowadays!" Presently the diners-out went to their homes,
leaving the young people to their dinner and their work of clearing up.
FAYE HUNTINGTON.
A WORD IN SEASON.
BERTIE and his mother were spending the summer at the Thousand Islands;
they had a pretty cottage that overlooked the river, and Bertie was
very fond of watching the never-ceasing ripple of the waters, and he
learned to look for the different boats that ply the waters of the
St. Lawrence during the season. One day an excursion boat touched the
pier and a company of gayly dressed soldiers stepped off. What boy's
heart does not beat quicker at the sight of a finely-uniformed military
company? Bertie was no exception to the rule, and gave his mother no
rest until she had promised to take him out into the park where he
could see the soldiers. And accordingly after dinner they strolled out
and Mrs. Grant and a friend found seats under the trees where they
could read or talk and keep an eye upon the restless boy.
Just before leaving home for the Islands Bertie had been taught a bit
of a poem which he had recited at a Sunday-school concert. One line ran:
I'm a little soldier fighting for the right.
The soldiers were strolling about in pairs and singly, and Bertie stood
near the fountain watching a fine-looking fellow who had stopped for
a cool drink of sparkling water. Suddenly the words of his recitation
came into his mind and without hesitation he stepped up to the
stranger and said:
"Man, are you a soldier fighting for the right?" and then stood still
looking at the soldier as if waiting for a reply.
"Who are you?" asked the stranger.
"Oh,
I'm a little soldier fighting for the right!"
and then, Bertie seized with a sudden spasm of timidity, ran away to
find his mother.
The soldier's name was John Lewis; he turned away and rejoined his
companions, but the words of the fair-faced, soft-voiced child still
sounded in his ear. He was _not_ fighting for the right; he was
perfectly well aware that he had enlisted upon the side of the leader
who is bound to oppose the right under all circumstances.
[Illustration: HELEN TOOK THE DUCK IN HER ARMS.]
He knew that the banner under which he was marching had sin written all
over it. It was Satan's banner, and he was doing work for that leader
that was telling upon his own life. It already, young as he was, began
to show in his face, in his unsteady step and foul breath. He knew
that so surely was he bound to the service of that master, that if he
could have found a glass of liquor upon the grounds he would not have
stopped to drink at the fountain, and would not have given Bertie the
opportunity for his childish questioning.
Some way, the voice would not be stilled. "Fighting for the right!" If
not, why not? Because I am a fool; he did not say this aloud, but in
his own heart he knew it was true. And there came to him the memory
of a quiet country village, of a little sitting-room, a round stand,
a Bible, a chair where he knew that mother often knelt and prayed for
him, asking that he might be led to enlist under that other banner,
even the banner of Jesus Christ.
"What is going on under that big tent?" asked one of his comrades.
"They are having some sort of a religious meeting, I reckon," replied
another.
"We may as well stroll over that way and look in for a while. It will
do no harm to mix in a little religion, I suppose."
And so the three "looked in" upon a religious service held in the great
tabernacle. Strangely enough the speaker who occupied the platform
uttered words which exactly matched John Lewis' mood. The others
thought them commonplace enough, but to John Lewis' newly-awakened
consciousness they seemed simply wonderful.
"That man is fighting for the right," he said to himself; "now if _I_
were! What if I _should_ turn right about and resign my commission in
Satan's army and enlist in the army of the Lord? What if I should now?
Wouldn't the boys stare?" and he chuckled inwardly over the thought of
their amazement at such a move on his part. "And what would mother say?
I don't know but she would die of joy. That would be a pity, but, after
all, it might be better than to die of grief, and I reckon she'll do
that if I keep on fighting under the old leader. I believe I will make
a swap."
"Next summer" had come. Again John Lewis joined his comrades on an
excursion to the Islands; again he drank from the fountain, and as he
turned away he said to a friend:
"It was right here that the little fellow asked me that question. I
would like to see him again and tell him I am fighting for the right
now."
But Bertie was not to know of the result of his interest in the
stranger. He has never seen his soldier friend since that day of his
first missionary effort, but we hope that both are still fighting for
the right.
FAYE HUNTINGTON.
GUZNE, TAURUS MOUNTAINS.
_September 16, 1885._
MY DEAR PANSIES:
I hope you will never see such a sad sight as our little children saw
this evening. A Turcoman who has his tent in our yard was beating his
poor wife, and the little children--his children, I mean--were running
away screaming. You would think their houses very curious were you
to see them. His wives build his house for him in a very short time
when the fleas become so plenty that they are compelled to move. The
materials consist of a ridgepole, some boards, and two wooden troughs,
one for each side. Crotched sticks are driven in to hold the ridgepole,
the pole laid across, and the boards set up against it with the ends
placed in the troughs which are for the purpose of carrying off the
rain. This man's mother lives in a tent of black cloth made of goat's
hair. Poor old woman! She has quite a number of grandchildren whom one
would think she might pet, but she sits nursing and fondling a little
kid. It is a pretty sight to see the great flock of goats go out in the
morning, and come home in the evening. There are black, white, gray and
mottled. Some are huge fellows, as large as a calf. A few nights ago
a wild beast of some kind caught a kid. The kid made an outcry, and
the dogs came and rescued it. We heard afterwards that the beast was
a leopard, which has its den about half a mile away from us. It has
carried off seven goats from one of our neighbors.
Now I must tell you a little about our schoolgirls. There are nine.
Two of these are Moslems and had heard nothing about the true religion
except what little they may have learned from their brother, who was
last year baptized into the Christian church. Since coming here in the
last of June they have committed to memory all of the Short Catechism
known in English as Brown's, and ten Psalms. The eldest a few days
ago when taking some gum arabic to her teacher, took a lump and hid
it away. Some of the girls saw her trying to hide something away,
and found out what it was. Her teacher then talked to her, and told
her how wrong she had done. Since then she asked if it was stealing
to taste the food as she was cooking it. It is so new to them to be
taught that it is wrong to break the Sabbath, to tell lies or to steal,
if the article stolen is of little value. The man of whom I told you
above says of us, "Ah, you have everything very nice here, and we have
nothing, but hereafter you will be tormented, and we will be happy in
the Paradise that Mohammed has prepared for us." Is it not sad to think
of such delusion? This very man cheats on all hands, and is even said
to be connected with a gang of thieves.
And now I will give you an instance of an Arab's self-respect. A day or
two ago a man brought three quails, and said such a man had sent them
as a present to the doctor. The doctor thanked him, and then the man
wanted a present for bringing them. "Give him the quails," said the
doctor, and off he went with them again.
I could fill pages with accounts of the dreadful effects of heathenism
on this people, but it is only what is seen in every place where the
Gospel has not yet gone. This is the hardest trial of the missionaries'
life--more than any physical deprivation--the being compelled to live
among such people. It always makes me think what a long martyrdom the
life of our blessed Saviour must have been on earth. It was not only
that he _saw_ and _heard_ such things, but he knew every _thought_ in
the wicked hearts of those about him. Dear little sisters, will you
not begin even in your childhood to work for Him? To _deny_ yourselves
that these benighted miserable people all over the world may have this
Gospel light? And you can always pray for those who are engaged in this
work. I hope some of you may grow up to go far away to the Gentiles
yourselves.
Lovingly, your friend,
MARY E. METHENY.
- - - - - - -
A little Moslem child accounted for her preference for the Christian
religion by saying, "I like your Jesus because he loves little girls.
Our Mohammed did not love little girls." With unerring instinct she
had seized upon at least one of the great differences between the two
religions.
GIVE GOD THE BEST.
THE following touching story is told of a poor Hindoo mother, a native
of Kedgeree in India:
This woman lived on the Ganges, near Sanger Island. She was the mother
of a pair of beautiful twin babies. But one of these children was a
girl, and the poor benighted mother on that account supposed herself to
be under "Gunga's" curse for some offence she had committed.
A missionary's wife found her lamenting, and heard the story of her
grief. The god must be appeased, the woman said. He was certainly
angry, or the children would have both been boys, and with good eyes.
She would have to make a sacrifice to soothe his wrath.
The Christian lady did what she could to impress her with better
teachings, but with little effect. She left her sadly, never for one
moment dreaming what the wretched mother meditated doing.
A day or two later the lady called again. As before, the mother sat
beside the little basket cradle weeping--for this time there was but
one baby in the cradle. It was the poor little blind girl. The other
had been drowned in the Ganges.
The Christian lady was horror-struck when she knew the truth.
"Unhappy woman!" she exclaimed; "if you were driven to do this, why did
you destroy the child you loved, and spare the one you hated?"
The woman sobbed and beat her breast piteously.
"O, it is that that breaks my heart," she said. "The god must have the
_best_. When I had a perfect one he would not take the other. Alas, my
boy, my boy!"
Why should not many who live in this land of light be shamed--not by
the deed, but by the devotion of this poor heathen? Under the gentle
law of Christ, we know that God's demand for the best we have only bids
us use it for him, and devote it to him.
If we serve him selfishly, may not even the poor dark-souled Hindoo
mother rise up and condemn us?--_Selected._
[Illustration: BEGINNING TO WORK.]
[Illustration: The P.S. CORNER]
HAPPY NEW YEAR! Only three little words, yet how much they mean! Isn't
it a wonderful thought that it rests with each one of you to decide
whether you will be happy this year or not? Now I see you open your
eyes! "How, can we tell what is going to happen to us?"
Ah, I did not say that; but don't you know, if you are soldiers of the
great King, he will take care of you; and whatever happens will give
you the sweetest, highest happiness there is in this world?
We talk about things "happening," but it is well for us to remember
that this King of ours manages all things, and is pledged to make "all
things work together for good," to those who belong to him.
How many of you are blooming for him?
How many of you who have not yet settled the question, will come over
to His side before this New Year's Day is done?
Oh, I hope you are all preparing for a Happy New Year.
Lovingly, PANSY.
_Fred_ from Rhode Island. I am sorry your "other letter" was not
answered, but glad that you did not wait for it. It is so pleasant
to hear that the badges help our young people. So you found THE
PANSY blooming where you did not expect it? The truth is, we
Pansies are a very large family, and are wonderfully scattered. I have
marked your letter to be copied, for the other Blossoms to enjoy.
_Mary_ and _John_ from Tarsus. Dear, far-away Blossoms, we welcome you.
How strange it is to think that in the very country where the great
Paul lived so many years ago, two little Pansy buds are growing for
Jesus. I hope you may be very fragrant flowers in that far-away land.
Will you give my love to little Robert Livingstone?
_Gertrude_ from New York. I am glad for you. "Whining" is a habit
very easy to form, and very hard to break. It requires a good, strong
resolution, such as you have made. As for "prompt obedience," I heard a
gentleman once say, that no one was fit to command, who had not learned
to obey.
_Grace_ from Pennsylvania. You have asked a hard question, my dear. How
can we interest people in things in which they have no interest? Let
us see. In the first place, we must be very much interested ourselves,
and must know just why we are interested, and just what we hope to do,
by securing others to join us. Many of the P. S. have weekly meetings
where they do some benevolent work, and have many an interesting book
read to them while they work. Others have a literary society. What have
you tried to do? Tell us the whole story, and we will try to help you.
_Susie_ from Pennsylvania. The "Whisper Motto" is: "_For Jesus' Sake_."
All the Pansies who choose it for their motto are expected to try to
live by it. To do nothing which they think Jesus would not like, and to
take him for their pattern. I am glad you like THE PANSY.
_Nettie_ from Ohio. Dear little Blossom, I was very much interested in
your letter. I read it to a friend who said she would send you THE
PANSY for one year, for a Christmas present. So you may expect it
to visit you as usual. I am glad you and your little sisters like it so
well. For a little girl who has never been to school, I think you write
an excellent letter.
_Harriet_ from Deddington. So a little American Blossom has gone to
bloom in England! That is good. May the fragrance of your life be
enough to give joy to all around you. Did you ever notice how easy it
is to find things to fret about, if one only tries?
_Edith_ from New York. Now, my dear, I hope you will this time
understand that you are the "Edith" meant. I would like to make it
"sound like you" if I could. Since you live in Chautauqua County,
perhaps you have been to the beautiful Chautauqua, where so many young
people go every summer.
_Richard_ from Virginia. We welcome you, my boy. If you succeed in
raising a P. S. company, an officer's badge will be sent you in place
of the one you now have. The habit of using "by-words" seems to be
growing among our young people, both girls and boys. I am glad for
every one who joins the ranks to fight against it.
_Myra_ from New York. My wee Blossom, I was glad to receive your
letter. So you want to write "nice stories"? Well, who can tell but you
may write beautiful stories, one of these days? I'll tell you what you
might begin to do now. _Live_ a story, a beautiful one, so that people
who know you will say one to another, "How gentle, and unselfish, and
truthful, and loving _Myra_ is!" How would that do? Yes, I know it is
much harder to _live_ stories than it is to write them; but then, they
are worth more.
_Bessie_ and _Gracie_ from Wisconsin. Two dear sisters who are going to
"help each other." I know all about that habit of impatience, Bessie;
ever so many people are troubled with it. As for "contradicting," I
have spent part of the day with a boy who contradicted his mother five
times in the course of half an hour. Think of it!
_Miriam_ from New Jersey. You have chosen a fault which is very common,
and very trying to one's friends. "Slow obedience is only _half_
obedience," a dear old friend of mine used to say. I have often thought
of it; and I believe it is quite true. Do not you? I think you must
have had a pleasant time at your celebration.
_Stella_ from Omaha. Your pledge reminds me of a day when I was looking
through a gentleman's autograph album, and came to a name which I could
not pronounce. This was it: Inaminute. "What is this name?" I asked, in
wonder. The young man laughed. "Oh, that was one of our boys who was
always keeping us waiting; he was sure to shout out: "In a minute!" no
matter how much haste we were in. So we took to calling him that; and
the name stuck, somehow, and fits to this day. Some one told me only
yesterday, that he never succeeded in anything he undertook, because
he was always behindhand."
_Harry_ from Pennsylvania. "A better boy in every way that I can." That
is a grand pledge, Harry. It has given me great comfort to write it out
in full on our pledge book, and to think while I am writing it, what a
grand man there will be in Pennsylvania, one of these days, if Harry
lives, and keeps his pledge. I pray God to help you every day to keep
it.
_May_ from New York. A May flower that shall help somebody every day,
will be sure to shed sweet perfume. I hope my little May will blossom
some day in our Father's garden, where flowers never fade.
_Bella_ from Canada. A Pansy Blossom in Canada! Yes, indeed, many of
them. This one we welcome with special joy because you are such a wee
bud; only six, and pledged to try to make sunshine for the people
around you, every day. God bless our little Canadian Bella!
_Cora_ from New York. Poor little "finger nails!" I am glad they are
not to suffer any more. A lady once told me that she was so in the
habit of biting her nails, that when she stood before a great audience
once, to speak on temperance, she found herself tugging at her glove to
get to her fingers so she could bite them! Would not that have been an
astonishing sight? Habit is a strange tyrant. Break away from this one,
while you are young.
_Henry_ from New York. Good for you, my boy! Half-learned lessons are
very common, and very disgraceful. Please don't wear your badge at all,
on any day when you fail in a lesson; I should hate to think of its
being treated in that way.
_Clyde_ from Virginia. Welcome to our Pansy Society. What kind word
have you said this month, I wonder, that has helped some one on his
way. A kind word a day, would make a lovely chain of kindness each
year. Then, if we could follow the words and see what they did for
others, what a story they would make!
_Mary_ from Indiana. So you have overcome that habit of saying "Wait a
minute." How glad mamma must be! I rejoice with you. What are you going
to take up next? I presume Satan keeps you busy fighting against his
wishes. He is very industrious, and when he fails in one direction, he
tries in another.
_Frankie_ from Michigan. I hope mamma was not only surprised but
pleased with the badge, and your reason for receiving it. Does she see
you growing patient? That is not an easy lesson to learn. In fact it
takes a great deal of patience to be patient!
_Ida_ from Kansas. Your pledge was rather indefinite, my dear. I have
not a very clear idea of what you mean to do. However, if _you_ have,
and are trying for it, the main point has been gained. Perhaps you will
write and make the matter plainer to me.
_George_ from Minnesota. I know a boy who has taught himself to be so
cross to his little sister that she actually cries sometimes, when she
sees him coming. Yet he loves her, and would shed bitter tears if God
where to take her away. Why do you suppose he wants to heap up sad
memories for himself, by yielding to such a foolish habit? I am glad
you have taken the pledge you send.
_Nellie_ from ---- If one only gets used to it, my dear, it is really
quite an easy thing to do a thing at once, as it is to linger awhile.
In fact it is easier; there is such a delightful feeling about having a
thing done that we did not want to do. A young girl told me once that
she remembered a certain summer day in which life was bright to her,
all day, because she succeeded in making her bed before her mother said
to her, "Come, dear, it is time your morning work was done."
A BOX-FULL OF HAPPINESS.
DO you know where it came from? Far down in Maine, four little girls,
Lottie, Sibbie, Minnie and May, looked into each other's eyes one day,
and with hearts full of love for the suffering little children who
could not run and play as they did, they resolved to give up some of
their time each day to preparing a box for a children's hospital.
The box was some happy weeks in growing. Dollies after being dressed
by patient little fingers, hopped into it gladly as if to say, "Just
think of me going to comfort a little sick child. I am _so glad_ to
go." Cunning little wooden barrels and boxes that were manufactured
in that Maine village, rolled and tumbled in too; toys that looked as
if then their whole mission in life were to amuse hospital children,
tucked themselves into all the nooks and corners until I can whisper to
you all, dear members of the Pansy Society, _there wasn't a bit of room
left_.
Oh, what a rich box! The dear little girls, those four members of the
Pansy Society who believed in making others happy _for Jesus' sake_,
put the precious box on the cars all nicely addressed to Boston. It
travelled and travelled till it came to my hands; and then it took a
wee journey to the hospital where it was opened by the good head nurse,
who is superintendent of the wards.
I can do no better than to give you her words in the letter she stopped
in her busy life to write me concerning its arrival. She speaks of the
reception of the box, "that your little friends from Maine so kindly
and lovingly put up for the sick children, and can I trouble you with
one message of 'thank you'? Our hands are full, and all playthings
are appreciated. One of the dolls has fallen to a little girl who has
recently been through a very serious operation. She clings to it night
and day, and as she is too sick to have the out-of-bed children play
with or about her bed, dollie is quite sure to be long-lived."
Only think of the blessed mission of that one doll! That the suffering
child away from its mother can "cling to it day and night." O,
children, is there any sacrifice too great to be made to have the
blessed privilege of comforting Christ's little ones, and helping them
bear their sufferings!
Dear Minnie, Lottie, Sibbie and May, your "box-full of happiness" will
never cease growing. It has made the little hospital children happy,
and your own hearts warm and tender with the love that is like unto
Christ's. May this New Year bring to you and to all the members of the
Pansy Society many sweet, loving thoughts and desires toward making
others happy. This is the best wish of my heart for you.
MARGARET SIDNEY.
P. S. Will the four little Maine girls please send me their address?
The old one has been lost, and I want to write them a letter.
THE PANSY SOCIETY
P. S.
THE motto of the Society is "Pansies for Thoughts." What kind of
thoughts? Oh, sweet, good, pure, unselfish, hopeful thoughts, such as
Pansies, beautiful Pansies ought to inspire.
Now "who may join?"
Every boy and girl who takes the PANSY, and is willing to
promise to try to overcome his or her faults, to encourage every good
impulse, to try to conquer some hard lesson at school, to do anything
that shows a disposition to help the cause of right in the world. Any
one who will say from the heart: "I promise to try each day to do some
kind act, or to say some kind word that shall help somebody;" honest
effort will be accepted as much as if success were gained.
This promise must be dated, and will be copied into the "P. S."
roll-book.
The most important of all to remember is our whisper motto: "I will do
it for Jesus' sake."
"FOR JESUS' SAKE."
Whatever He will own, the "P. S." will be proud and glad to copy on its
roll-book.
Then you must write a letter to Pansy (Mrs. G. R. Alden, Cincinnati,
O.), saying that you thus pledge yourself, and you will become a member
of the Pansy Society, and receive a badge.
Now, about the badges.
The officer's is of satin, trimmed with gilt fringe, and has a gilt pin
to fasten the badge to the dress or coat. In the centre is a pansy in
colors--above it the words, _Pansy Society_, and beneath it, _Pansies
for Thoughts_.
The badge for members will be the same as the officer's, with the
exception of having no fringe and a silver pin.
And the PANSY will help. As it has always been glad to
encourage those who are struggling up toward the light, so now it
reaches forth its helping hand to those little ones who will rally
bravely around it, to the work of putting down the evil, and the
support of all things good and beautiful.
So many of you have little brothers and sisters who want to join the P.
S., and who of course do not need an extra copy of the paper, that we
have concluded to receive all such, letting them pay ten cents each for
their badges, if they wish them. Understand! If you are a subscriber
to THE PANSY, and have a badge, and have a little sister who
would like a badge, write at her dictation a little letter to Pansy,
taking the pledge, telling of some habit which she means to try to
break, and enclosing twelve cents in two-cent stamps, ten to pay for
the badge, and two to pay the postage for sending it. Her name will be
enrolled as if she were a subscriber. The same advice applies of course
to little brothers. Send your letters to Mrs. G. R. ALDEN,
Chapel Street, Walnut Hills, Cincinnati, O.
It is also asked:--
What makes an officer of the Pansy Society?
You are to endeavor to organize a club of as many members as you can.
Each one forming such a Club or Society will receive the Officer's
badge, and become President of the same. The local Society may contain
as many members as can be secured.
Then, of course, you will plan for your Society; how often it shall be
called together, and what your rules shall be; whether you will sing,
or visit, or work, or have a literary society, or read a book. The only
thing you call on the members to positively promise is that each will
try to overcome some bad habit, and will take for the whisper motto the
words--
"FOR JESUS' SAKE."
Each member of the "P. S." is invited to write to the editor, Mrs.
G. R. Alden (Pansy), Cincinnati, O., how far the trial has proved a
success, how many temptations have been resisted, how much progress in
any direction has been made, etc., feeling sure of encouragement and
loving help.
THE PANSY has extra pages each month under the heading,
"The Pansy Corner," in which Pansy holds monthly talks with her
correspondents. There is ample space in the corner devoted to
interesting items connected with the Pansy Society; also letters from
its members.
Mrs. Alden would also be pleased to know how the members are getting
on--what they are reading, studying, talking about, etc., and whether
the badges are helping them to keep their pledges.
PROSPECTUS--BABYLAND--FOR 1886.
The Magazine for the Babies, this coming year, in
addition to its bright pictures, and gay little
jingles, and sweet stories, will have some especial
delights for both Mamma and Baby:
=THE MAGIC PEAR=
will provide Twelve Entertainments of dainty jugglery
and funny sleight-of-hand for the nursery pencils.
This novelty is by the artist-humorist, M. J. Sweeney
("Boz").
=ALL AROUND THE CLOCK=
will give Baby Twelve tiny Lessons in Counting, each
with wee verses for little lips to say, and pictures
for bright eyes to see, to help the little mind to
remember.
=LITTLE CRIB-CURTAINS=
will give Mamma Twelve Sleepy-time Stories to tell
when the Babies go to cribs and cradle. In short,
BABYLAND the whole year will be the happiest,
sweetest sort of a home kindergarten.
_Beautiful and novel New Cover. Only Fifty Cents a year._
PROSPECTUS--OUR LITTLE MEN AND WOMEN--FOR 1886.
This magazine, for youngest readers, has earned golden
gratitude from teachers and parents this past year.
While its short stories and beautiful pictures have
made it welcome everywhere as a general Magazine for
Little Folks, its series of instructive articles have
rendered it of unrivalled value to educators. For 1886
several specialties have been prepared in accordance
with the suggestions of teachers who wish to start
their "little primaries" in the lines on which older
brothers and sisters are being taught. As a beginning
in American History, there will be twelve charming
chapters about
=THE ADVENTURES OF COLUMBUS.=
This story of the Great Discoverer, while historically
correct and valuable, will be perfectly adapted to
young minds and fitted to take hold upon a child's
attention and memory; many pictures.
=LITTLE TALKS ABOUT INSECT LIFE=
will interest the children in one branch of Natural
History; with anecdotes and pictures.
=OUR COLORADO PETS=
will describe wild creatures little known to children
in general. These twelve stories all are true, and are
full of life and adventure; each will be illustrated.
="ME AND MY DOLLS"=
is a "cunning little serial story," written for
American children by the popular English author, Miss
L. T. Meade. It will have Twelve Full-page Pictures by
Margaret Johnson.
From time to time fresh "Stories about Favorite
Authors" will be given, so that teachers and friends
may have material for little literature lessons suited
to young children.
_Seventy-five Full-page Pictures. Only $1.00 a year._
PROSPECTUS--THE PANSY--FOR 1886.
For both week-day and Sunday reading, THE
PANSY, edited by "Pansy" herself, holds the
first place in the hearts of the children, and in the
approval of earnest-minded parents. Among the more
interesting features for 1886 will be Pansy's serial
story,
=REACHING OUT,=
being a further account of "Little Fishers: and their
Nets." The Golden Text Stories, under the title,
"Six O'clock in the Evening," will be told by a dear
old Grandma, who knows many interesting things about
what happened to herself when she was a little girl.
Margaret Sidney will furnish a charming story,
=ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON,=
to run through the year. Rev. C. M. Livingston will
tell stories of discoveries, inventions, books, people,
places. Faye Huntington will be a regular contributor
during the year. Pansy will take the readers with her
wherever she goes, in papers under the title of
=WHERE I WENT, AND WHAT I SAW.=
There will be, in each number, a selection from our
best standard poets suitable for recitation in school
or circle. From time to time colloquies for Mission
Bands, or for general school exercises, will appear.
There will be new and interesting books for the members
of the Pansy Society, and, as before, a generous space
will be devoted to answers to correspondents in the P.
S. Corner.
_Fully Illustrated. Only $1.00 a year._
Address all orders to
D. LOTHROP & CO., Publishers, Franklin and Hawley Streets,
Boston, Mass.
D. LOTHROP & COMPANY'S
CHOICE NEW BOOKS. 1885-86.
D. LOTHROP & CO. present a remarkably attractive list of new
publications possessing genuine value from every point of view, as will
be evident from the following notes. The literature offered, which
includes history, biography, general literature, romance, poetry, and
various scientific works, presents a sufficiently wide range to meet
the needs of all classes of readers.
=A Family Flight Around Home, and a Family Flight Through Mexico= are
the two latest volumes of the Family Flight Series, by Edward Everett
and Susan Hale, and deal largely with the picturesque side of history,
as well as of life and scenery in the countries treated. Illustrated,
extra cloth, $2.50.
=Art for Young Folks.= Contains a description of an art school for
children in New York; biographies and portraits of twenty-four of the
leading American artists, with engravings of paintings, studios, etc.,
etc. Quarto, boards, $2.00; cloth gilt, $3.00.
=Boys and Girls' Annual, 1885.= Contains original stories expressly
prepared by the best of living authors who are favorites with the young
folks. Extra cloth, gilt, $3.00.
=Our Little Men and Women.= Contains a miscellany more charming than
ever. Dainty short stories with seventy-five full-page attractive
illustrations, and countless smaller ones. It is especially suited for
use in homes and schools, having a variety of articles on plant-life,
natural history, and like subjects, written most attractively to please
the little ones. Among serial articles of permanent value are "Kings
and Queens at Home," "Stories of Favorite Authors," "Nests and Nest
Builders," and Margaret Sidney's "Polly." Quarto, illuminated cover,
$1.50: cloth, $1.00.
=We Young Folks.= All young people will be attracted by this book with
its stories of hunting and fishing, of life in the "good old times," of
famous men and women, etc. Lithograph covers, $1.50.
=The Pansy, 1885=, is distinguished among annuals, as formerly, by
articles which commend it especially to Christian homes. It abounds in
delightful stories, interesting descriptions of famous men and places,
and the brightest of pictures. Lithograph covers, $1.25; cloth, $1.75;
cloth, gilt, $2.00.
=Some Boys and Girls.= Edited by Pansy. These are stories of good
times--the delightful experiences of genuine merry-hearted boys and
girls in this and other lands, with much that is entertaining in
biography and history. Lithograph covers, $1.25.
=Storyland.= A land which all little people will delight to visit. Its
stories are illustrated by beautiful pictures and appear in handsome
type. Lithograph covers, $1.25.
=Chautauqua Young Folks' Annual, 1885.= This annual has been styled "a
young folks' cyclopædia." The present volume exceeds in richness all of
its predecessors, new editions of each of which have been made to meet
the demand for them. Lithograph cover, $1.00; cloth, $1.50.
=Young Folks' Cyclopædia of Stories of Famous Authors.= Favorite
stories by such authors as Mary Hartwell Catherwood, Ella Farman, C.
R. Talbot, Julia A. Eastman, Mrs. Hallowell, and others. Elegant cloth
binding, $3.00.
=Wide Awake Volume T.= Contains beside other notable features Charles
Egbert Craddock's brilliant Tennessee story "Down the Ravine," a
stirring historical serial, "In Leisler's Time," by Elbridge S.
Brooks, and Mrs. Champney's "Bubbling Teapot," with stories, poems and
papers by Mrs. A. T. D. Whitney, Edwin Arnold, Margaret Sidney, Susan
Coolidge, Edward Abbott, Rose Terry Cooke, etc. A frontispiece in
eighteen colors, "A Merry Christmas to you," is reproduced by L. Prang
& Co. in their choicest style, from drawings by L. H. Lungren. Quarto,
400 pages, boards, $1.75; cloth, gilt, $2.25.
=The Golden West=, as seen by the Ridgway Club, by Margaret Sidney.
The fascinating record of a journey embodying material collected in
personal travels by the author, and admirably adapted not only to the
instruction of the young, but of older readers. It presents authentic
information as to the people, natural scenery and customs of our newer
States and Territories. Lithograph cover, $1.75; cloth, $2.25.
=Wide Awake S.= (Popular edition). Contains tales, biography, history,
and poetry, with an intermingling of lighter matter, profusely
illustrated, and especially adapted to the taste of intelligent and
inquiring young folks. Handsome lithograph cover, $1.50.
=Little Folks' Art Book.= Such artists as Bodfish, Sweeney, Barnes,
and Francis, have furnished outline drawings calculated to entice the
little ones into attempts at copying, and thus lead them to a taste for
art.
=Babyland, 1885=, is, as usual, "radiant with pictures of bonny baby
life, and its rhymes and jingles ring with sweet glee and laughter."
Quarto, lithograph cover, 75 cents; cloth, $1.00.
=The Procession of the Zodiac.= Here are twelve ideal figures and
landscapes representative of the Zodiac signs, drawn by Jessie
McDermott, and effectively printed in brown. A pretty legend or story,
by Margaret Johnson, accompanies each picture. Quarto, lithograph
cover, 75 cents, cloth, tinted edges, $1.00.
=No Questions Asked.= In this volume we have a characteristic comedy by
Charles R. Talbot ("More than they bargained for"), with two sparkling
stories for children in the style of Howell's "The Elevator."
=Baby Barefoot.= By Mary Harris McQueen. The life and adventures of a
wonderful and lovable baby (as all babies are), including its journey
to Florida. Quarto, boards, 75 cents.
=In No-Man's Land=, by Elbridge S. Brooks. With seventy-five pen and
ink character drawings by Hassam. A book of wonder stories worthy of
comparison with "Alice in Wonderland," and calculated to fascinate all
young people. Quarto, boards, 75 cents.
=My Cat Pickwick.= By Mrs. F. A. Humphrey. The tale of a wonderful cat,
and other delightful stories for young readers. Quarto, illustrated,
boards, 75 cents.
=Five Little Chickens=, and other quaint songs for little ones.
Collected and arranged by Aunt Carrie. Illustrated, quarto, boards, 75
cents.
=Little Folks.= How children in other lands amuse themselves.
Illustrated, quarto, boards, 75 cents.
=Where was the Baby?= A question and how it was answered. Illustrated,
quarto, boards, 50 cents.
=Queen Victoria at Home.= By Mrs. Frances A. Humphrey. A delightful
biography of the "good queen," adapted for young folk's reading, with
portraits of the English royal family, and views of the English royal
palaces. Quarto, boards, 35 cents.
=Seashore Chats and Beach Stories.= By Mrs. Fannie A. Dean. Companion
volume to "Little Talks about Plants," affords much valuable and
interesting information relating to aquatic matters, with instructions
as to the construction and care of an aquarium. Quarto, boards, 35
cents.
=In the King's Garden, and Other Poems=, by James Berry Bensel, one of
the most pleasing and creditable of recent poetical volumes, introduces
to the public a young New England poet, whose stray verses, appearing
from time to time, have attracted, unwonted attention by their delicacy
of imagery, poetic insight, and purity of sentiment. Sold only by
subscription. Price $1.00.
D. LOTHROP & CO.'S holiday volumes now ready include =Heroines Of
the Poets=, a superb folio volume, the text of which consists of
twelve poems by the most famous poets, from Chaucer to Browning. The
heroines of these poems are presented in full page drawings specially
prepared by Lungren, each drawing printed by hand on india paper, and
no two in the same tint or color. The engravings are masterpieces of
photogravure, and the various delightful features of the volume unite
to produce a most artistic effect. Handsome cloth binding, gilt top,
rough edges with exquisite inset in color, and lettering in gold,
$12.00. Leather binding, $15.00. The same book, popular edition, octavo
size, illustrations printed from the finest wood engravings, 8vo,
cloth, gilt edges, $3.00. Alligator, $3.00, silk plush, $6.00.
=Wonderful Christmases Of Old.= Edition de Luxe, presents the story as
told by Hezekiah Butterworth, of ten of the famous events which have
occurred on Christmas day, from the time of the catacombs in Rome to
that of the "Mayflower." Each story is illustrated by dramatic pictures
drawn by F. H. Lungren, and printed on india paper in tints, no two
colors alike, as in "Heroines of the Poets." Large quarto, bound in
the same style as the "Heroines of the Poets," $8.00, leather binding,
$10.00. The same book, popular edition, small quarto with illustrations
printed from the finest wood engravings, bound in a unique antique
fashion, gilt edges $2.00; satin, $4.00.
=The Stabat Mater.= With historical and critical notes by Franklin
Johnson, contains, with photogravure illustrations from the old
masters, the famous Latin hymns Stabat Mater Specioso, and Stabat Mater
Doloroso, with English translations. 8vo. cloth, gilt edges, $3.00,
morocco, $6.00.
=The Old Arm Chair.= This old heart song, long enshrined in popular
favor, in the beautiful setting here given, will commend itself anew
to popular favor. The illustrations are admirable, especially the
frontispiece, by Miss L. B. Humphrey. Small quarto, style of "Old Oaken
Bucket," handsomely bound in cloth, $1.50; alligator, $1.50; silk
plush, $5.00.
=Artists' Gallery Series.= Six volumes. First, _Millais_, second _Alma
Tadema_, third _Rosa Bonheur_, fourth _Bouguereau_, fifth _Fortuny_,
sixth _Munkacsy_. Each of these volumes is a miniature gallery
devoted to a single modern artist, containing nine superb fac-simile
photogravures of the artist's most famous representative paintings,
with portraits and biography. Printed on finest plate paper in three
tones. Exquisite binding, new style, full gilt, per volume, $1.50,
satin, $2.00.
=Helps by the Way.= Compiled by S. W. W. and M. S. H. with an
introduction by Rev. Phillips Brooks, D.D., contains triple quotations
for each day in the year. Elegant cloth, 16mo, $1.00, gilt edges, $1.25.
=The Children of Westminster Abbey.= By Rose G. Kingsley, daughter
of Canon Kingsley. Reading Union Library. Profusely illustrated from
photographs and old prints, 16mo, cloth, $1.00. A graphic descriptive
narrative of all that relates to the old Abbey, with stories of
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=Boys' Heroes.= By Edward Everett Hale. Reading Union Library, 16mo,
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Dr Hale's characteristic style, of a dozen characters famed in history
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=The Temperance Teachings of Science.= By Prof. A. B. Palmer, M.D.
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=But Half a Heart.= Seventh volume of the famous V. I. F. Series. By
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=Pine Cones.= By Willis Boyd Allen. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, $1.00. A
story of adventure for girls and boys by an author who possesses the
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=What's Mine's Mine.= By Geo. MacDonald, author of "Annals of a
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the original manuscript in advance of its appearance in England. A
fascinating fairy tale.
=Echoes of Many Voices.= A collection of short sayings from various
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extra cloth, $1.00. As a compendium of wit and wisdom, sense and
sentiment, in their most terse and attractive expressions, this volume
is unrivalled.
=Tom Tits and Other Bits.= With other verses, by Amelia M.
Starkweather. Quarto, extra cloth, finely illustrated, $1.00. Pleasant
stories and sketches in verse, with illustrative pictures of unusual
merit.
=Life of General U. S. Grant= by E. E. Brown. 12mo. $1.50. Containing a
sketch of his political services, with portrait and illustrations. Has
been long in preparation and is the careful and successful work of a
popular writer.
=Up Hill and Down Dale.= By Laura D. Nichols. One of the valuable
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to "Overhead" and "Underfoot," which have proven so popular in home
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=How Success is Won.= (Little Biographies. Third Series.) By Sarah K.
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=Many Colored Threads.= Selections from the writings of Goethe,
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The book is a worthy companion to the six preceding volumes of the
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Gladstone; "True Manliness," Thos. Hughes; "Living Truths," Charles
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=The Gray Masque, and Other Poems.= By Mary Barker Dodge. This little
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styles them, has passed to second edition, which appears in a rich
dress of cardinal, red and gilt. 12mo, $1.25.
=Treasure Thoughts.= Notable utterances of the eloquent Canon
Farrar, compiled by Rose Porter. This volume, which appears in the
popular "Spare Minute Series," is one of the most attractive of its
kind ever published. It brims over with wise words, eloquently and
epigrammatically spoken. Its appearance, at the time of Canon Farrar's
visit to this country, is most opportune. 12mo, extra cloth, $1.00.
LOTHROP'S YOUNG FOLKS' LIBRARY
Nothing at once so good and cheap is anywhere to be found. Each volume
has 300 to 500 pages, clear type, and illustrated by popular American
authors. Price 25 cents. Postpaid.
=1. TIP LEWIS AND HIS LAMP, by Pansy.=
=2. MARGIE'S MISSION, by Marie Oliver.=
=3. KITTY KENT'S TROUBLES, by Julia A. Eastman.=
=4. MRS. HURD'S NIECE, by Ella Farman Pratt, Editor of
Wide Awake.=
=5. EVENING REST, by J. L. Pratt.=
=6. THE TRIPLE "E," by the author of Yensie Walton.=
=7. SHINING HOURS, by a brilliant author.=
=8. THE OLD STONE HOUSE, by Anne March (Constance
Fennimore Woolson.)=
=9. BATTLES LOST AND WON, by George E. Merrill. A story
of schoolboy life.=
=10. THE JUDGE'S SONS, by Mrs. E. D. Kendall.=
=11. SHELL COVE, by Rev. Z. A. Mudge. A story of the
seashore and of the sea.=
=12. LUTE FALCONER, by the author of "Andy Luttrell." A
story of rare interest.=
These twelve volumes constitute the first year's series.
The twelve volumes announced below constitute the second year's series.
=13. FABRICS, by the author of "Finished, or Not." It
inculcates a lesson of loving and living for others.=
=14. THE PRINCE AND THE PAGE, by Miss C. M. Yonge. A
story of the last Crusade.=
=15. MYRA SHERWOOD'S CROSS, AND HOW SHE BORE IT.=
=16. THIS ONE THING I DO, by Mrs. A. E. Porter.=
=17. SO AS BY FIRE, by Margaret Sidney.=
=18. OLD SCHOOLFELLOWS, AND WHAT BECAME OF THEM.=
=19. ROSE AND MILLIE, by the author of "Hester's Happy
Summer."=
=20. VEIL ON THE HEART (The), by Miss L. L. Phelps.
Issued Nov. 15th.=
=21. THE NEIGHBOR'S HOUSE, by the author of "The New
Commandment." Issued Dec. 15.=
=22. FROM NIGHT TO LIGHT, by E. E. Brown. A beautiful
and thrilling story of Bible times.=
=23. SURE; or, IT PAYS. It ministers naturally to what
is highest in social morals and vital in religion.=
=24. SISTER ELEANOR'S BROOD, by Mrs. S. B. Phelps.
It has a fascination in its purity of tone and moral
sentiment.=
THE HOUSEHOLD LIBRARY.
The Choicest Works of Popular Authors in a cheap and substantial Form.
D. Lothrop & Co. desire to call your attention to their new =HOUSEHOLD
LIBRARY= to be issued monthly at the low price of =fifty cents a
volume, $5.00 a year=. The works to be issued in this library will be
uniformly of a high standard and may well come under that class of
literature styled "home fiction," a literature, that, while free from
the flashy, sensational effect of much of the fiction of to-day, is,
nevertheless, brilliant in style, fresh and strong in action, and of
absorbing interest. It is a class that all the young folks, as well as
the fathers and mothers and older brothers and sisters, may read with
profit as well as great pleasure.
The first volume in the =HOUSEHOLD LIBRARY=, was issued Nov. 15th.
THE =PETTIBONE NAME, by Margaret Sidney=, author of _The Five Little
Peppers_, etc.
It is a delightful story of New England life and manners, sparkling in
style, bright and effective in incident, and of intense interest. There
has been no recent figure in American fiction more clearly or skilfully
drawn than Miss Judith Pettibone. Most of the characters of the book
are such as may be met with in any New England village.
The second volume of the =HOUSEHOLD LIBRARY= will be
=BUT HALF A HEART, by Marie Oliver=, to be issued Dec. 15th.
(_In Preparation._)
=MY GIRLS. By Lida A. Churchill.=
A story of four ambitious girls. Their struggles to realize their
ambitions and their trials and successes, make a story of intense
interest.
=FAR FROM HOME.= From the German of Johannes Van Derval. Translated by
=Kathrine Hamilton=.
A fascinating story of life and travel in foreign lands.
=GRANDMOTHER NORMANDY. By the author of Silent Tom.=
KENSINGTON OUTFIT WORTH $8.80
FOR ONLY $1.00
[Illustration]
As all the ladies are interested in Kensington and fancy work, we have
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contains an outfit for Kensington Stamping, Embroidery and Painting, as
follows:
100 Perforated Stamping Patterns, retail price =$6.50=
1 Box White Powder, retail price =.05=
1 Box Blue Powder, retail price =.05=
2 Patent reversible Ponsets, retail price =.10=
1 Manual of Kensington and Fancy Work, retail price =.25=
1 Red Satin Banner 9 x 18 inches, stamped, " =.75=
25 Assorted Fancy Work Needles, " =.25=
1 Kensington Pen for Painting, " =.05=
1 Camel's Hair Brush for Lustre Painting, " =.15=
4 Assorted Colors of Genuine Tube Paints, " =.40=
1 Pkg. Assorted Embroidery Silk, Chenille and Arasene, =.25=
-----
=$8.80=
All the above, neatly packed in an Alligator Shopping Bag and sent
Postpaid, for only =$1.00=. Among the 100 Perforated Stamping Patterns
are Golden Rod, 5 inches; Bunches of Fuschias, 4 in.; Pansies, 3-1/2
in.; Butter Cups, 3-1/2 in; Clusters of Forget-me-nots, 3-1/2 in.;
Love-lies-bleeding, 4-1/2 in.; Bachelor's Button, 2-1/2 in.; Barberry,
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to 6 in., also a Complete Alphabet, entirely new. These patterns are
all new, designed =expressly for this outfit=, on heavy parchment bond
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new book by the well-known authoress =Madame Worth=, and contains full
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Kensington, Lustre, Metallic Flitter and Irridescent Painting,
Colors of all the different Flowers, Ribbon Embroidery, Wax Work and
every description of Fancy Needle and Crochet Work. It contains over
200 Original Illustrations and is the most complete book ever
published. =THE SATIN BANNER= sent with outfit is 9x18 in., stamped
ready for embroidery or painting with a beautiful design of Golden Rod
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makes a lovely and striking effect. These with the other articles named
above, in the Alligator Shopping Bag, make the most complete outfit
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good as this. So confident are we that this outfit will give PERFECT
SATISFACTION that we will =cheerfully refund money= to any lady who is
dissatisfied on receiving it. This outfit sells ordinarily by single
piece at retail for $8.80. We will send it =post paid for only $1.00=,
and pack it in a nice shopping bag that you can use with or without
the outfit. For our responsibility we refer to any Bank or Commercial
Agency.
Conn. Manufacturing Co., Hartford, Conn.
SPECIAL COMBINATION OFFER.
The =WIDE AWAKE= one year, and the =Detroit Weekly Free Press= until
Dec. 31, 1886, will be mailed on receipt of $3.60 for the two.
=THE WEEKLY FREE PRESS ALONE IS $1.00 A YEAR.=
The _Detroit Free Press_ is one of the best, most interesting and
purest family papers published. It should be in thousands of homes
where it is not now taken. No family will regret having subscribed for
this choicest of papers for the household.
BABYLAND AND THE WEEKLY FREE PRESS,
One Year, $1.25.
WIDE AWAKE, BABYLAND AND FREE PRESS,
One Year, $4.00.
A combination that will afford instructive and entertaining reading to
a whole household for a year.
Address D. LOTHROP & CO., Boston.
LE PAGE'S LIQUID GLUE
[Illustration]
=UNEQUALLED FOR CEMENTING= WOOD, GLASS, CHINA, PAPER, LEATHER, &c.
Awarded GOLD MEDAL, LONDON, 1883. Used by Mason & Hamlin Organ and
Piano Co., Pullman Palace Car Co., &c. Mf'd only by the =RUSSIA CEMENT
CO.= GLOUCESTER, MASS. SOLD EVERYWHERE. [Illustration: Hand] Sample Tin
Can by Mail, 25c.
[Illustration: ROLLER and ICE SKATES
BARNEY & BERRY
SPRINGFIELD, MASS.
40 PAGE CATALOGUE MAILED
ON RECEIPT OF 2 CENTS]
[Illustration: IMPERIAL GRANUM IS THE SAFEST, MOST ACCEPTABLE AND
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IT IS CREAMY AND DELICIOUS. NOURISHING AND STRENGTHENING AND OF RARE
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JOHN CARLE & SONS. NEW YORK.]
BABY'S BIRTHDAY.
[Illustration]
A Beautiful Imported Birthday Card sent to any baby whose mother will
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=Wells,
Richardson & Co., Burlington, Vt.=
=Mentholette= the true Japanese Headache Cure instantly relieves and
cures Headache, Toothache, and other pains by simply rubbing. This
curious remedy used in Japan for ages can now be had in Drug Stores for
10c. a box, a larger size, called MENTHOLINE, is sold at 25c.
[Illustration]
The British Government awarded a Medal for this article October, 1885.
Dundas Dick & Co., 112 White Street, N. Y.--By Mail 10c.
BEWARE OF IMITATIONS, SOME OF WHICH ARE DANGEROUS.
=SHORTHAND= Writing _thoroughly taught_
=by mail= or personally.
=Situations procured= for pupils when competent.
Send for circular. =W. G. CHAFFEE=, Oswego, N.Y.
=SHORTHAND= Slocum's Stenographic School, Largest in U. S. Circulars.
Buffalo, N. Y.
FOR 10 CENTS.
The _St. Louis Magazine_, edited by Alexander N. de Menil, now in its
fifteenth year, is brilliantly illustrated, purely Western in make-up,
replete with stories, poems, timely reading and humor. Sample copy and
a set of gold-colored picture cards sent for ten cents. Address T. J.
GILMORE, 213 North Eighth Street, St. Louis. THE PANSY and
_St. Louis Magazine_ sent one year for $1.75.
A GREAT OFFER.
Recognizing the superior excellence of the _St. Louis Magazine_, we
have arranged to furnish it in connection with THE PANSY at
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Those wishing to see a sample copy of the _Magazine_ before subscribing
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[Illustration]
THOUGHTFUL SANTA CLAUS.
"I'VE traveled through the sleet and snow,
Across the country high and low,
To fill the stockings small and great
That here in line my coming wait.
In creeping baby's tiny hose
The india rubber rattle goes;
A handsome doll, with staring eyes,
Will much the little miss surprise;
And what will more delight the boys
Than musket, drum or bugle toys?
And now, before I climb the flue,
I'll bear in mind the mother true,
Who works so hard by day and night
To keep the clothing clean and white,
And in her stocking, long and wide,
Some cakes of IVORY SOAP I'll hide."
If your grocer does not keep the Ivory Soap, send six two-cent stamps,
to pay the postage, to Procter & Gamble, Cincinnati, and they will send
you _free_ a large cake of IVORY SOAP.
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Punctuation errors repaired.
Page 74, extraneous word "a" removed from text. Original read (We must
_make_ a way to a)
Page 78, "word" changed to "world" (bit in the world like old)
Page 87, "thoir" changed to "their" (relieve their pent-up)
Page 90, word "the" added to text (the mantel and in)
Page 94, "quils" changed to "quills" (his quills were always)
Page 98, "recieved" changed to "received" (received for wanting to)
Page 99, "Christain" changed to "Christian" (she had come to Christian)
Page 6, advertisements, "are" changed to "care" (care of an aquarium)
Page 8, advertisements, "choolboy" changed to "schoolboy" (of schoolboy
life)
Page 9, advertisements, "otherhouse" changed to "other house" (handled
by no other house)
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Pansy Magazine, January 1886" ***
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