Title: The Pansy Magazine, March 1886
Author: Various
Language: English
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$1.00 a Year. MARCH, 1886. 10 cts. a No.

THE PANSY

EDITED BY "PANSY"

MRS. G. R. ALDEN

"PANSIES FOR THOUGHTS"

D. LOTHROP & Co.

BOSTON, MASS., U.S.A.

Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO., and entered at the Boston P. O.
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    _Volume 13, Number 18._    Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
                      _March 6, 1886._

THE PANSY


[Illustration: THE HAMLIN NURSERY.]


THE HAMLIN NURSERY.

THE little Hamlins were all down with the scarlet fever; and when we
say the Little Hamlins, we mean Lucy, Cathie, Harry, Bertie, and the
baby; five of them! It was a hard time in the Hamlin nursery, both for
the children and the older people. Though Mrs. Hamlin had a nurse from
the training school, besides the children's regular attendant, she was
quite worn out with the care and anxiety.

"The very last Sabbath I was in church," said she to Doctor Wheeler,
"Mr. Lewis said in his sermon, that even our afflictions had a blessing
wrapped up in them. But I do not believe there is one inside this
trouble. I can't conceive of any good that can possibly come out of it
all!"

"Well, I don't know," replied Doctor Wheeler, "I should never have
conceived of anything like that statue, yet it was inside the marble
all the time, and plainly discerned by the eye of the sculptor. There
are things in the spiritual world which we cannot conceive until they
are revealed to us."

Poor Mrs. Hamlin shook her head doubtfully. She was very sure no good
could grow out of this trial. Doctor Wheeler was a sweet-voiced little
woman who looked upon the bright side of things and whom the children
loved; they were very sorry for their little friend across the street
who had the fever and whose father insisted upon sending for that gruff
old Doctor Smith, who never had a smile for children.

"Your children have good constitutions and you have good nurses, I see
no reason why they should not pull through easily," said Doctor Wheeler
when Mr. Hamlin asked her opinion as to the prospects of the recovery
of his little folks. "But what about that oldest boy of yours? Does he
not have an Easter vacation?"

"Yes; and I suppose he ought not to come home?"

"Most certainly not! It will not be safe for several weeks; he must
be kept away from this vicinity, though I hope the disease will not
spread. You should send word for him to remain at the school through
the vacation."

It was a very sober face indeed that presented itself at Doctor Brown's
study door, a day or two after this conversation took place.

Doctor Brown was the principal of Howland Hall School for boys, and was
the right man in the right place.

"What is it, Fred?" he asked kindly. "Come in and let me hear about it."

"It is this," replied Fred Hamlin, handing the Doctor his father's
letter.

"Ah! Well, my boy, it might be worse news. You understand, the little
folks at home are all on the high road to recovery, and it is on your
account that you are not to go home."

"I know; but it will be dreadful lonesome here with the boys all away."

"That is so; and what will make it worse is, that we have planned
a little trip which will take us all away excepting Mr. and Mrs.
Jennings. I am afraid it will be rather doleful for you alone in this
great house; but that will be better than the scarlet fever. Eh?"

Fred turned away in a very disconsolate frame of mind. The Easter
vacation to which he had been looking forward was likely to be anything
but pleasant. Now Fred Hamlin was by no means a model boy, and matters
did not always go smoothly with him at home. His own mother died when
he was a baby, and his grandmother had taken charge of him until Fred
was ten years old. Then she too died, and the boy was taken home by
his father. The second mother tried earnestly to win the boy's heart,
but seeds of suspicion and jealousy had been dropped into the young
mind, and he refused to be won. After three years of trial Mr. Hamlin
concluded to send Fred to school. Doctor Brown had the reputation of
being a strict disciplinarian, and Mr. Hamlin hoped much as a result
of school discipline. But Watt Vinton, Fred's room-mate, knew very
well that any such expectations were not likely to be realized. I
cannot tell you of all the ways in which Fred contrived to make himself
disagreeable to his quiet and gentlemanly companion. But so well did
he succeed, that Watt, sometimes, with his face buried in the pillow,
would whisper just to himself, "He is the hatefulest, meanest, crossest
fellow I ever saw! I don't believe he has a particle of respect or love
for anybody on earth!" Now perhaps you will almost doubt me when I
tell you that the pillow was Watt's only confident. He never breathed
a word of his troubles to a single person. There were several reasons
for this reticence. Watt was an orphan, and had learned to keep his
troubles to himself. He was too proud to complain; he had a notion that
it would be more manly to endure annoyances than to make a fuss over
them. It was only when he got out of patience that he took his troubles
to his friend the pillow. This will explain why Watt Vinton frowned a
little over a letter which he received a few days before the Easter
vacation, and why he carried it in his pocket a whole day before coming
to a decision in regard to one of its propositions. The letter was from
his cousin, May Vinton, and here is one sentence from it: "Now that it
is settled that you are to spend your vacation here, would you like to
bring a boy with you? If there is somebody who cannot go home, or who
needs a chance, whom you would like to bring, you may invite him to be
your guest for the week."

It took Watt a whole day to make up his mind that he could do it. But
at the end of the twenty-four hours he wrote to his cousin, "I am going
to bring my chum."

Well, what came of it all--the scarlet fever, Mrs. Hamlin's trouble,
Fred's disappointment, and Watt's sacrifice?

Do you suppose God knew that May Vinton could reach that wayward boy's
heart, and help him to a better life, and so planned all this to
bring about the meeting? Do you not suppose that he knew that Watt's
sacrifice would make him stronger and better? It was a day or two after
the boys reached the beautiful home of the Vintons that Fred sat in
May's lovely room, chatting confidentially with her. Watt had been
called to the library by his guardian, and the boy was left alone with
the loveliest young lady he had ever met. Just how it was I do not
know; Fred himself does not know, but it was not long before he was
telling this new and it seemed to him first friend he had ever known,
all his story; how nobody loved him, and how he hated everybody; how
dreadful it was to have a stepmother, and a great deal of nonsense
which to the mistaken and misunderstood boy seemed very solemn truth.

I have not space in which to tell you how May Vinton helped him to a
better understanding of himself, and of his position. But at the close
of one of the many conversations which they had during Fred's visit, he
said:

"I see how it is! I have been more to blame than anybody else. But the
boys have got so used to expecting hatefulness from me, they would
never understand if I tried to do differently."

"Never is a long time," said Miss Vinton.

One day Watt said to his cousin, "What have you done to Fred? He is so
different here!"

"Perhaps more will come of your sacrifice than you expected," replied
May quietly.

"What do you know about a sacrifice?" asked Watt quickly.

A smile was her only reply.

More did grow out of it all than anyone would have suspected. May
Vinton's seed-sowing was on good ground. By her love and sympathy she
had softened the soil, and the heart of the friendless boy opened to
the refining and elevating influences she threw around him, and a month
later Watt wrote, "Fred is just as different as you can think. The boys
all like him now."

                                             FAYE HUNTINGTON.


SIX O'CLOCK IN THE EVENING.

    SO THEY READ IN THE BOOK IN THE LAW OF GOD DISTINCTLY,
    AND GAVE THE SENSE, AND CAUSED THEM TO UNDERSTAND THE
    READING.

    SO WILL I GO IN UNTO THE KING, WHICH IS NOT ACCORDING
    TO THE LAW; AND IF I PERISH, I PERISH.

    BEHOLD, I WILL SEND MY MESSENGER, AND HE SHALL PREPARE
    THE WAY BEFORE ME.

    THY THRONE, O GOD, IS FOREVER AND EVER; THE SCEPTRE OF
    THY KINGDOM IS A RIGHT SCEPTRE.

GRANDMA BURTON looked steadily at the first verse, and laughed. "I
wish I could show you children the picture I see whenever I read this
verse," she said. "Though I don't know as you would think I ought to
feel much like laughing."

"Why, Grandma?" and, "O Grandma, tell us what you see!" and, "Grandma,
show us the picture, won't you?" this was the chorus which greeted her
laugh.

"Dear me! It isn't much of a story, but I remember it as well as though
it happened yesterday. I was a little thing, not much over four, I
should think. It was a warm Sunday, and first I see myself in church.
I was in my best dress, a lovely white slip with blue stars all over
it."

"Grandma, who ever heard of blue stars?" This from Marion.

"I did, child, many a time when I was of your age, and younger; it
used to be the favorite print. Mine was very pretty and was made in
the latest fashion--a yoke in the neck, and a long full skirt. I had
slippers, too, with straps which went around my ankle and buttoned at
the side; those slippers had just come in, and I felt very fine in
them. I had a shirred hat of white mull, with a puffing of pink ribbon
around the edge, and a pink bow exactly on the top. I went to church
with father and mother; the high, old-fashioned pew was rather an
uncomfortable seat; the only relief I had was to kick my heels softly
against the back. I remember it seemed to take the ache out of them
wonderfully. Generally I was a pretty good girl in church, but on this
day I don't know what was the matter with me--I had the fidgets. Mother
shook her head, and grandma gave me a caraway seed to suck, and father
looked at me over his spectacles, but it all did no good, I could not
seem to sit still. I plaited folds in my nicely-starched calico until
mother took my hand and held it for awhile; then I took off my hat and
tried to hang it on the button which fastened the door, until father
took it away; then I turned the leaves of the psalm book until it
scared me by dropping on the floor with a thud. Oh! I couldn't begin to
tell you all the naughty things I did; but the last and most dreadful
was to fumble in my brother Ralph's pocket until I found a little
wooden comb which he always carried, then I softly tore a fly leaf from
the psalm book, and before I knew it I went 'toot, toot, toot!' right
out there in the meeting.

"I tell you, that was a dreadful minute!" said Grandma, looking sober,
while her audience giggled. "I hadn't the least idea of making such a
noise. It had never gone very well for me before, and I was as much
astonished as any one could be to hear it sound out like that. The
minister stopped in the middle of his sentence and looked at me with
a solemn face. Father set me down hard on the seat, and mother's face
turned the color of the red roses which were looking in at the side
window. Of course they took the comb and the psalm leaf away, and it
frightened me to think they went in my father's pocket. I knew I should
hear more of it. After that I sat pretty still, but I did not dare to
raise my eyes to the minister's face.

"I always used to like Sunday afternoon, because mother told us a
story, and grandfather took us a walk through our own home fields and
had always something sweet and interesting to tell us. First, though,
we went to grandfather's room right after dinner, and each told all
we could remember about the church service. I generally had my little
story to tell, young as I was. Sometimes it was only a line of a hymn,
or a little piece of the text, or maybe one sentence in the prayer.
On this Sunday I had not a word to tell; try as I would, I could not
recall a line or word. The only thing I could seem to think of, was
that noise I made on the comb. Father asked the questions instead
of grandfather, and that frightened me, because I knew father was
displeased with me. 'What was the matter, Ruth?' he asked at last.
'Don't you think the minister spoke distinctly?' I thought a minute,
then I said I didn't believe he did; for if he had, I should have
remembered a little bit about it.

"'What do you think the sermon was about?' he asked. And I said, 'It
was about Ahab.' I don't know what made me say that; only I had heard a
story of Ahab only the Sabbath before, and he was in my mind. I thought
from father's face that I had guessed right, so when he asked me for
any words in the text, I thought I would guess again; and I said it was
about Ahab's doing worse than all the rest of the kings. Then father
turned to your uncle Ben, and said, 'Benjamin, you may repeat the text;
do it slowly, that Ruth may see what part she has left out.' Just think
how I felt when Ben repeated, 'So they read in the book in the law of
God distinctly, and gave the sense, and caused them to understand the
reading.' I cannot tell you how ashamed I felt!

"What do you suppose I did! I wanted to hide my face in mother's lap,
and tell her how sorry I was; if I had done so, it would have been
better for me. Instead, I slipped behind her chair and ran out of the
side door. There stood the old well with the bucket full of water and
the dipper hanging beside it. I felt very hot, and I thought I would
take a drink of water to cool me; then if father asked why I run away,
I could say I went for a drink of water. It was an unlucky day for me
all around; what ailed that dipper I never could understand. Perhaps
it was because I had my hat on; I was swinging that by its elastic
when father was questioning me, so finding I had it in my hand when I
slipped away, I put it on my head, and I think maybe the dipper hit
against its edge; anyway, what did that water do but stream down over
my starched Sunday dress, and my white dimity collar; and I never knew
it until I drank my fill!

[Illustration: "I THOUGHT I WOULD TAKE A DRINK OF WATER."]

"Ben came in search of me, and led me back into grandfather's room, wet
as I was, and struggling to get free. 'Put her to bed!' said father,
in a voice which I knew must be obeyed. So I was undressed and laid
in my trundle bed, and all that bright afternoon I had to lie there.
My father wasn't over severe, children."--Grandma paused to say this,
seeing disapproval in the eyes of her audience.--"You see I had been
told not to help myself to a drink from that bucket because it was
set too high for me; so, though I did not think of it at the time, of
course it was disobedience. Well, I lay there, and the only occupation
I had was to spell out the words of that text, to repeat to father the
next morning. He sent it up to me all printed out on a card; I was just
beginning to learn to read print, and I had to work hard, I tell you,
to get it learned. But the worst was the next day. There was to be
a ride on the lake in the afternoon, and I was to go. When I was all
dressed, in my blue and white, made fresh for the occasion, father came
in, took out of his pocket that dreadful comb, with the fly leaf of the
psalm book wrapped around it, and said: 'Ruth, your mother and I have
decided to give you a treat this afternoon while we are gone for our
ride. You are to sit in this chair by the window, and make music on
this comb; make it as loud and as much as you want to.'

"And if you'll believe it, they went away on their ride and left me
sitting there!"

The children exclaimed over this, and Marion ventured to say she had no
idea that Great-grandfather Wells could be so cruel; she was sure dear
Grandfather Burton would never do such a thing; and as for papa, he
_never_ could.

"Cruel!" said Grandma Burton, with a flash in her eyes which made them
look like Marion's. "Never you call him that; a better father never
lived in the world; only times are changed, that is all. Mind you this:
I never misbehaved in church again; and I could always repeat the real
text, after that, instead of stopping to make one up."

                                                      PANSY.


WALTER TAYLOR'S FAULT.

WALTER talked too much. He was simply irrepressible. He could never
keep anything to himself either of own affairs or of the affairs of
other people; either of his own opinions or what he might know or guess
of the opinions of others. No secret was safe with him. Even family
affairs took occasional airings through this propensity for talking
too much. This one fault was likely to bring Walter into no end of
trouble first and last, and, what was worse, to bring other people into
trouble. One does not like to be obliged to be always on guard lest
some private affair slip out in the presence of a boy or girl who will
set it flying through the town. Mr. Taylor sometimes found his business
sadly interfered within this way.

One instance will illustrate; a neighbor had a piece of land to sell.
It was not valuable land, but Mr. Taylor wanted it because if anyone
bought it for a building spot it would cut off the view of the lake
from the front piazza, and Mr. Taylor very indiscreetly remarked in
Walter's presence, "I shall buy that corner at any price, for it is
worth a great deal more to me than to anyone else."

On his way to school Walter stopped to look at what he already counted
a part of the home grounds. He was planning rows of trees, and gravel
walks, when the owner came along and entered into conversation. Walter
was ready to talk, and desirous of telling what he knew, and very early
in the conversation he said, "Father means to buy this corner."

"Indeed!"

"Yes; he says he will have it at any price, for it is worth a great
deal more to him than to anyone else; so he means to bid on it
to-morrow."

"Well, we shall give him a chance," said the owner, laughing. And as he
walked on he secretly thanked Walter for that bit of information. To
Mr. Taylor's surprise, he found another apparently anxious bidder the
next day, and he found himself forced either to pay an exorbitant price
or relinquish the idea of becoming the owner of the lot. Before he had
fully decided to do the latter, his rival stopped bidding and the lot
was struck off to him at three times its real value. The former owner
chuckled over what he called his "good luck," and though Mr. Taylor
wondered a little, he never knew that his boy's folly in repeating
a careless remark of his own, had cost him so dear in giving his
unscrupulous neighbor the opportunity of taking an unfair advantage.

Another time Walter spoiled a surprise which his father and mother
meant to give his sister.

"You'd better hurry home from school to-night," he said that morning as
they neared the academy.

"Why?" asked Ella.

"O, nothing! only it is my advice to get home as quick as you can, and
see what is going on."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll find out!"

"Are we going to have company?"

"Company? Well, yes--I don't know but it might be called company--a
sort of dumb companion--well, no--you couldn't call it dumb either."

"Walter Taylor! is it something father and mother do not want me to
know?"

"I don't know how they will help your knowing."

"I believe you are letting out a secret and I will not listen! I should
think folks would learn not to tell you any secrets."

"They didn't tell me. I heard a man tell father that it had come."

Ella Taylor failed in her recitations that morning for the first time
during the quarter. Her thoughts were at home, in the parlor; she knew
exactly where _it_ ought to stand and wondered if they would put it in
the right place. She tried to study, but Walter's hints which were too
plain to be misunderstood insisted upon crowding themselves into her
mind.

"Come in, Ella!" her mother called from the parlor as Ella was hanging
her hat and wraps in the hall. Ella obeyed the call with flushed
cheeks. She could not feign a surprise which she did not feel, and she
stood embarrassed and uncertain what to do for a moment, then burst
into tears.

"Poor child! the surprise is too much for her," said her father.

"It isn't that," said Ella; "I tried to be surprised and I couldn't,
that is why I cried."

"Did you know about it?" asked Mr. Taylor.

"Yes, sir; Walter told me this morning, and I was so glad, I could not
study at all."

Mr. Taylor turned towards Walter who began to excuse himself.

"I never said a word about a piano!"

"But you said enough for me to guess," said Ella. "I tried not to
know," she added, turning to her parents, "but I could not help it. But
don't blame Walter. He didn't think."

"I do blame him," said Mr. Taylor sternly. "Walter, will you never
have any regard for other people's property? You have no more right to
dispose of other's secrets than you have to dispose of their money!
If you took five dollars from my desk you would be a thief. But what
do you call yourself when you take my secrets and use them to gratify
your love of talking? I sometimes wonder if you will ever have a lesson
severe enough to cure you of this fault. Now you have spoiled this
little surprise which we had planned and given Ella an uneasy day."

"I am sure I did not mean to tell her; I only wanted to tease her a
little."

"You wanted to let her know that you possessed knowledge which she did
not, I suppose. Or rather I presume you simply wanted to talk. My boy,
if you would learn to regard the secrets of others and also to reserve
your own opinions now and then, you would save yourself and your
friends much mortification."

Meantime Ella had dried her tears and was now ready to try the new
piano, but Walter was too chagrined to enjoy music, and went up to his
own room saying within himself, "I wonder if I can never learn to hold
my tongue!"

"By thy words shalt thou be justified, and by thy words shalt thou be
condemned."

Just when he had read or learned those words Walter did not know, but
they came into his mind suddenly. He supposed they were in the Bible,
but he thought it queer that he should have remembered them just then.
And as he repeated them he thought, "I suppose that means that if one's
words are wrong or foolish, he is condemned--that makes solemn business
of talking!"

                                                WILMOT CONDEE.


HAPPINESS.

THE idea has been transmitted from generation to generation, that
happiness is one large and beautiful precious stone, a single gem so
rare that all search after it is vain, all effort for it hopeless. It
is not so. Happiness is a mosaic, composed of many smaller stones. Each
taken apart and viewed singly, may be of little value, but when all are
grouped together and judiciously combined and set, they form a pleasing
and graceful whole--a costly jewel. Trample not under foot, then, the
little pleasures which a gracious Providence scatters in the daily
path, and which, in eager search after some great and exciting joy, we
are apt to overlook. Why should we keep our eyes fixed on the distant
horizon, while there are so many lovely roses in the garden in which we
are permitted to walk? The very ardor of our chase after happiness may
be the reason she so often eludes our grasp. We pantingly strain after
her when she has been graciously brought nigh unto us.

[Illustration: DID YOU DO IT, KITTY?]



    _Volume 13, Number 19._    Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
                      _March 13, 1886._

THE PANSY.


[Illustration: NETTIE.]


REACHING OUT.

(_A further Account of Nettie Decker and her Friends._)

BY PANSY.


CHAPTER V.

I DARE say some of you think Nettie Decker was a very silly girl to
care so much because her dress was a blue and white gingham instead of
being all white.

You have told your friend Katie about the story and asked her if she
didn't think it was real silly to make such an ado over _clothes_; you
have said you were sure you would just as soon wear a blue gingham
as not if it was clean and neat. But now let me venture a hint. I
shouldn't be surprised if that was because you never do have to go to
places differently dressed from all the others. Because if you did, you
would know that it was something of a trial. Oh! I don't say it is the
hardest thing in the world; or that one is all ready to die as a martyr
who does it; but what I _do_ say is, that it takes a little moral
courage; and, for one, I am not surprised that Nettie looked very sober
about it when the afternoon came.

It took her a good while to dress; not that there was so much to be
done, but she stopped to think. With her hair in her neck, still
unbraided, she pinned a lovely pink rose at her breast just to see how
pretty it would look for a minute. Miss Sherrill had left it for her to
wear; but she did not intend to wear it, because she thought it would
not match well with her gingham dress. Just here, I don't mind owning
that I think her silly; because I believe that sweet flowers go with
sweet pure young faces, whether the dress is of gingham or silk.

But Nettie looked grave, as I said, and wished it was over; and tried
to plan for the hundredth time, how it would all be. The girls, Cecelia
Lester and Lorena Barstowe and the rest of them, would be out in their
elegant toilets, and would look at her so! That Ermina Farley would be
there; she had seen her but once, on the first Sunday, and liked her
face and her ways a little better than the others; but she had been
away since then. Jerry said she was back, however, and Mrs. Smith said
they were the richest folks in town; and of course Ermina would be
elegantly dressed at the flower party.

Well, she did not care. She was willing to have them all dressed
beautifully; she was not mean enough to want them to wear gingham
dresses, if only they would not make fun of hers. Oh! if she could
_only_ stay at home, and help iron, and get supper, and fry some
potatoes nicely for father, how happy she would be. Then she sighed
again, and set about braiding her hair. She meant to go, but she could
not help being sorry for herself to think it must be done; and she
spent a great deal of trouble in trying to plan just how hateful it
would all be; how the girls would look, and whisper, and giggle; and
how her cheeks would burn. Oh dear!

Then she found it was late, and had to make her fingers fly, and to
rush about the little wood-house chamber which was still her room, in a
way which made Sarah Ann say to her mother with a significant nod, "I
guess she's woke up and gone at it, poor thing!" Yes, she had; and was
down in fifteen minutes more.

Oh! but didn't the little girls look pretty! Nettie forgot her trouble
for a few minutes, in admiring them when she had put the last touches
to their toilet. Susie was to be in a tableau where she would need a
dolly, and Miss Sherrill had furnished one for the occasion. A lovely
dolly with real hair, and blue eyes, and a bright blue sash to match
them; and when Susie got it in her arms, there came such a sweet,
softened look over her face that Nettie hardly knew her. The sturdy
voice, too, which was so apt to be fierce, softened and took a motherly
tone; the dolly was certainly educating Susie. Little Sate looked
on, interested, pleased, but without the slightest shade of envy.
She wanted no dolly; or, if she did, there was a little black-faced,
worn, rag one reposing at this moment in the trundle bed where little
Sate's own head would rest at night; kissed, and caressed, and petted,
and told to be good until mamma came back; this dolly had all of
Sate's warm heart. For the rest, the grave little old women in caps
and spectacles, which wound about her dress, crept up in bunches on
her shoulders, lay in nestling heaps at her breast, filled all Sate's
thoughts. She seemed to have become a little old woman herself, so
serious and womanly was her face.

Nettie took a hand of each, and they went to the flower festival. There
was to be a five o'clock tea for all the elderly people of the church,
and the tables, some of them, were set in Mr. Eastman's grounds, which
adjoined the church. When Nettie entered these grounds she found
a company of girls several years younger than herself, helping to
decorate the tables with flowers; at least that was their work, but as
Nettie appeared at the south gate, a queer little object pushed in at
the west side. A child not more than six years old, with a clean face,
and carefully combed hair, but dressed in a plain dark calico; and her
pretty pink toes were without shoes or stockings.

I am not sure that if a little wolf had suddenly appeared before them,
it could not have caused more exclamations of astonishment and dismay.

"Only look at that child!" "The idea!" "Just to think of such a thing!"
are a few of the exclamations with which the air was thick. At last,
one bolder than the rest, stepped towards her: "Little girl, where did
you come from? What in the world do you want here?"

Startled by the many eyes and the sharp tones, the small new-comer hid
her face behind an immense bunch of glowing hollyhocks, which she held
in her hand, and said not a word. Then the chorus of voices became more
eager:

"Do look at her hollyhocks! Did ever anybody see such a queer little
fright! Girls, I do believe she has come to the party." Then the one
who had spoken before, tried again: "See here, child, whoever you are,
you must go right straight home; this is no place for you. I wonder
what your mother was about--if you have one--to let you run away
barefooted, and looking like a fright."

Now the barefooted maiden was thoroughly frightened, and sobbed
outright. It was precisely what Nettie Decker needed to give her
courage. When she came in at the gate, she had felt like shrinking away
from all eyes; now she darted an indignant glance at the speaker, and
moved quickly toward the crying child, Susie and Sate following close
behind.

"Don't cry, little girl," she said in the gentlest tones, stooping and
putting an arm tenderly around the trembling form; "you haven't done
anything wrong; Miss Sherrill will be here soon, and she will make it
all right."

Thus comforted, the tears ceased, and the small new-comer allowed
her hand to be taken; while Susie came around to her other side, and
scowled fiercely, as though to say: "I'll protect this girl myself;
let's see you touch her now!"

A burst of laughter greeted Nettie as soon as she had time to give heed
to it. Others had joined the groups, among them Lorena Barstow and
Irene Lewis. "What's all this?" asked Irene.

"O, nothing," said one; "only that Decker girl's sister, or cousin, or
something has just arrived from Cork, and come in search of her. Lorena
Barstow, did you ever see such a queer-looking fright?"

"I don't see but they look a good deal alike," said Lorena, tossing her
curls; "I'm sure their dresses correspond; is she a sister?"

"Why, no," answered one of the smaller girls; "those two cunning little
things in white are Nettie Decker's sisters; I think they are real
sweet."

"Oh!" said Lorena, giving them a disagreeable stare, "in white, are
they? The unselfish older sister has evidently cut up her nightgowns to
make them white dresses for this occasion."

"Lorena," said the younger girl, "if I were you I would be ashamed;
mother would not like you to talk in that way."

"Well, you see Miss Nanie, you are not me, therefore you cannot tell
what you would be, or do; and I want to inform you it is not your
business to tell me what mother would like."

Imagine Nettie Decker standing quietly, with the barefooted child's
small hand closely clasped in hers, listening to all this! There was a
pretense of lowered voices, yet every word was distinct to her ears.
Her heart beat fast and she began to feel as though she really was
paying quite a high price for the possibility of getting Norm into the
church parlor for a few minutes that evening.

At that moment, through the main gateway, came Ermina Farley, a colored
man with her, bearing a basket full of such wonderful roses, that for
a minute the group could only exclaim over them. Ermina was in white,
but her dress was simply made, and looked as though she might not be
afraid to tumble about on the grass in it; her shoes were thick, and
the blue sash she wore, though broad and handsome, had some way a quiet
air of fitness for the occasion, which did not seem to belong to most
of the others. She watched the disposal of her roses, then gave an
inquiring glance about the grounds as she said, "What are you all doing
here?"

"We are having a tableau," said Lorena Barstow. "Look behind you, and
you will see the Misses Bridget and Margaret Mulrooney, who have just
arrived from ould Ireland shure."

Most of the thoughtless girls laughed, mistaking this rudeness for wit,
but Ermina turned quickly and caught her first glimpse of Nettie's
burning face; then she hastened toward her.

[Illustration: "ONLY LOOK AT THAT CHILD!"]

"Why, here is little Prudy, after all," she said eagerly; "I coaxed her
mother to let her come, but I didn't think she would. Has Miss Sherrill
seen her? I think she will make such a cunning Roman flower-girl, in
that tableau, you know. Her face is precisely the shape and style of
the little girls we saw in Rome last winter. Poor little girlie, was
she frightened? How kind you were to take care of her. She is a real
bright little thing. I want to coax her into Sunday-school if I can.
Let us go and ask Miss Sherrill what she thinks about the flower-girl."

How fast Ermina Farley could talk! She did not wait for replies. The
truth was, Nettie's glowing cheeks, and Susie's fierce looks, told her
the story of trial for somebody else besides the Roman flower-girl; she
could guess at things which might have been said before she came. She
wound her arm familiarly about Nettie's waist as she spoke, and drew
her, almost against her will, across the lawn. "My!" said Irene Lewis.
"How good we are!"

"Birds of a feather flock together," quoted Lorena Barstow. "I think
that barefooted child and her protector look alike."

"Still," said Irene, "you must remember that Ermina Farley has joined
that flock; and her feathers are very different."

"Oh! that is only for effect," was the naughty reply, with another toss
of the rich curls.

Now what was the matter with all these disagreeable young people? Did
they really attach so much importance to the clothes they wore as to
think no one was respectable who was not dressed like them? Had they
really no hearts, so that it made no difference to them how deeply they
wounded poor Nettie Decker?

I do not think it was quite either of these things. They had been, so
far in their lives, unfortunate, in that they had heard a great deal
about dress, and style, until they had done what young people and a few
older ones are apt to do, attached too much importance to these things.
They were neither old enough, nor wise enough, to know that it is a
mark of a shallow nature to judge of people by the clothes they wear;
then, in regard to the ill-natured things said, I tell you truly, that
even Lorena Barstow was ashamed of herself. When her younger sister
reproved her, the flush which came on her cheek was not all anger,
much of it was shame. But she had taught her tongue to say so many
disagreeable words, and to pride itself on its independence in saying
what she pleased, that the habit asserted itself, and she could not
seem to control it. The contrast between her own conduct and Ermina
Farley's struck her so sharply and disagreeably it served only to make
her worse than before; precisely the effect which follows when people
of uncontrolled tempers find themselves rebuked.

Half-way down the lawn the party in search of Miss Sherrill met her
face to face. Her greeting was warm. "Oh! here is my dear little
grandmother. Thank you, Nettie, for coming; I look to you for a great
deal of help this afternoon. Why, Ermina, what wee mousie have you
here?"

"She is a little Roman flower-girl, Miss Sherrill; they live on
Parker street. Her mother is a nice woman; my mother has her to
run the machine. I coaxed her to let Trudie wear her red dress and
come barefoot, until you would see if she would do for the Roman
flower-girl. Papa says her face is very Roman in style, and she always
makes us think of the flower-girls we saw there. I brought my Roman
sash to dress her in, if you thought well of it; she is real bright,
and will do just as she is told."

"It is the very thing," said Miss Sherrill with a pleased face; "I am
so glad you thought of it. And the hollyhocks are just red enough to go
in the basket. Did you think of them too?"

"No, ma'am; mamma did. She said the more red flowers we could mass
about her, the better for a Roman peasant."

"It will be a lovely thing," said Miss Sherrill. Then she stooped and
kissed the small brown face, which was now smiling through its tears.
"You have found good friends, little one. She is very small to be here
alone. Ermina, will you and Nettie take care of her this afternoon, and
see that she is happy?"

"Yes'm," said Ermina promptly. "Nettie was taking care of her when I
came. She was afraid at first, I think."

"They were ugly to her," volunteered Susie, "they were just as ugly to
her as they could be; they made her cry. If they'd done it to Sate I
would have scratched them and bit them."

"Oh," said Miss Sherrill sorrowfully. "How sorry I am to hear it; then
Susie would have been naughty too, and it wouldn't have made the others
any better; in fact, it would have made them worse."

"I don't care," said Susie, but she did care. She said that, just
as you do sometimes, when you mean you care a great deal, and don't
want to let anybody know it. For the first time, Susie reflected
whether it was a good plan to scratch and bite people who did not, in
her judgment, behave well. It had not been a perfect success in her
experience, she was willing to admit that; and if it made Miss Sherrill
sorry, it was worth thinking about.

Well, that afternoon which began so dismally, blossomed out into a
better time than Nettie had imagined it possible for her to have. To be
sure those particular girls who had been the cause of her sorrow, would
have nothing to do with her; and whispered, and sent disdainful glances
her way when they had opportunity; but Nettie went in their direction
as little as possible, and when she did was in such a hurry that she
sometimes forgot all about them. Miss Sherrill, who was chairman of
the committee of entertainment, kept her as busy as a bee the entire
afternoon; running hither and thither, carrying messages to this one,
and pins to that one, setting this vase of flowers at one end, and
that lovely basket at another, and, a great deal of the time; standing
right beside Miss Sherrill herself, handing her, at call, just what she
needed when she dressed the girls with their special flowers. She could
hear the bright pleasant talk which passed between Miss Sherrill and
the other young ladies. She was often appealed to with a pleasant word.
Her own teacher smiled on her more than once, and said she was the
handiest little body who had ever helped them; and all the time that
lovely Ermina Farley with her beautiful hair, and her pretty ways, and
her sweet low voice, was near at hand, joining in everything which she
had to do. To be sure she heard, in one of her rapid scampers across
the lawn, this question asked in a loud tone by Lorena Barstow: "I
wonder how much they pay that girl for running errands? Maybe she will
earn enough to get herself a new white nightgown to wear to parties;"
but at that particular minute, Ermina Farley running from another
direction on an errand precisely like her own, bumped up against her
with such force that their noses ached; then both stopped to laugh
merrily, and some way, what with the bump, and the laughter, Nettie
forgot to cry, when she had a chance, over the unkind words. Then,
later in the afternoon, came Jerry; and in less than five minutes he
joined their group, and made himself so useful that when Mr. Sherrill
came presently for boys to go with him to the chapel to arrange the
tables, Miss Sherrill said in low tones, "Don't take Jerry please, we
need him here." Nettie heard it, and beamed her satisfaction. Also she
heard Irene Lewis say, "Now they've taken that Irish boy into their
crowd--shouldn't you think Ermina Farley would be ashamed!"

Then Nettie's face fairly paled. It is one thing to be insulted
yourself; it is another to stand quietly by and see your friends
insulted. She was almost ready to appeal to Miss Sherrill for
protection from tongues. But Jerry heard the same remark, and laughed;
not in a forced way, but actually as though it was very amusing to him.
And almost immediately he called out something to Ermina, using an
unmistakable Irish brogue. What was the use in trying to protect a boy
who was so indifferent as that?


SELECTION FOR RECITATION.

THE LAND OF THUS-AND-SO.

    HOW would Willie like to go
    To the land of Thus-and-So?
    Everything is proper there:
    All the children comb their hair
    Smoother than the fur of cats,
    Or the nap of high silk hats:
    Every face is clean and white
    As a lily washed in light;
    Never vaguest soil or speck
    Found on forehead, throat or neck;
    Every little crimpled ear,
    In and out, as pure and clear
    As the cherry blossom's blow
    In the land of Thus-and-So.

    "Little boys that never fall
    Down the stairs or cry at all,
    Doing nothing to repent,
    Watchful and obedient;
    Never hungry, nor in haste.
    Tidy shoestrings always laced;
    Never button rudely torn
    From its fellows all unworn;
    Knickerbockers always new,
    Ribbon tie, and collar, too;
    Little watches, worn like men,
    Only always half-past ten:
    Just precisely right, you know,
    For the land of Thus-and-So!

    "And the little babies there
    Give no one the slightest care;
    Nurse has not a thing to do
    But be happy and say 'Boo!'
    While mamma just nods, and knows
    Nothing but to doze and doze;
    Never litter round the grate;
    Never lunch or dinner late;
    Never any household din
    Peals without or rings within,
    Baby coos nor laughing calls,
    On the stairs, or through the halls:
    Just great Hushes to and fro
    Pace the land of Thus-and-So!

    "O the land of Thus-and-So!
    Isn't it delightful, though?"
    "Yes," lisped Willie, answering me
    Somewhat slow and doubtfully:
    "Must be awful nice, but I
    Rather wait till by and by
    'Fore I go there; may be when
    I be dead I'll go there then:
    But"--the troubled little face
    Closer pressed in my embrace:
    "Le's don't never ever go
    To the land of Thus-and-So!"
                         J. W. RILEY.


AT THE CLOCK TINKER'S.

AS we were clearing out the attic last spring we came across an old
clock; one of those old-fashioned high clocks that had been hidden away
in that dark corner of the attic many years. Not that we didn't know of
its existence; every annual housecleaning it had been remarked upon;
but last spring Tom said, "See here, Nell; don't you know these old
clocks are all the rage?"

"Yes, I know, but that old thing won't go."

"How do you know that?"

"I don't, only I should suppose if it hadn't been past its usefulness,
Grandfather Bradley would not have bought a new one in its place."

"O, people do not always use things until they are worn out; did I not
hear you tell aunt Mary that our centre-table looked so shabby and
old-fashioned that although it was strong and not broken at all you
intended to send it to the attic and have a new one? Now I suppose that
either aunt Mary or aunt Charlotte thought the same thing about the old
clock, and when some 'Yankee peddler' came along with a new-fashioned
Connecticut clock, they coaxed grandfather to buy one and sent this old
one to this dark corner. Now I am going to investigate." Indeed Tom was
soon ready to report. "See here, Nell! I believe that the old thing
only needs cleaning and oiling to put it in running order. Let's take
it down to Lampson and see what can be done."

By this time I was interested; to have that old clock down in the hall
would be to excite the wonder, admiration and envy of the neighborhood.
The old man laughed when he saw it.

"I remember that clock. I sold your grandfather the one which took
its place. I was a young fellow then, and I remember that your aunts
wanted a new clock while the old gentleman thought the old one was good
enough; but the girls always had their way with their father. I have
wondered about this old clock lately and meant to try to get hold of it
and make my fortune out of it;" and the old man laughed heartily; "but
you young ones have got the start of me. Yes, it is all right; I can
make it run about as well as ever. It will outlast half a dozen modern
clocks. Thirty years? Yes, more'n that. It's nigher fifty years since
I used to sell clocks, hereabouts. Well, changes have come about that
would astonish one to know, since then.

"Tom," said the old man suddenly, after a pause in which his thoughts
seemed busy with the past, "when I was a young fellow like you I did
not think that at seventy I should be just an old tinker; there's a
place over across the river that used to just suit my fancy and it was
my ambition to get rich enough to buy it and take a sweet girl I knew
in those days over there and live out my time, growing old, respected
and looked up to as your grandfather was. Do you know why I failed? My
boy, I threw away just thirty years of my life! That is why I failed.
Your father can tell you how he has seen me reeling through the streets
in those days. There were half a dozen of us fellows and I am the only
one left--the only one who has escaped a drunkard's grave. And I have
only just escaped. It was after I had squandered my money, broken my
wife's heart, made my children outcasts and ruined my health that I was
saved. All the rest went down, drinking to the last. I tell you, my
boy, never touch it! _Never tamper with temptation!_ Yes, I can fix the
old clock and make it run about as well as ever, but you can't mend up
an old drunkard and make him tell off the remaining hours of his life
with any certainty. Whiskey somehow uses up the inside works and it is
a poor sort of a service that a worn-out old rum drinker can render his
Master. And Tom, I say, let rum alone! And Nellie, don't have anything
to do with a young fellow that will not sign a pledge!"

The old clock adorns our lower hall, is much looked at and admired;
but to Tom and me, every stroke as it tells off the hours comes as a
warning voice, and we seem to hear the old man saying, "Never tamper
with temptation."

                                                         F. H.

[Illustration: "HIS THOUGHTS SEEMED BUSY WITH THE PAST."]



    _Volume 13, Number 20._    Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
                      _March 20, 1886._

THE PANSY.


[Illustration: "SHE THOUGHT IT OVER!"]


WHERE I WENT, AND WHAT I SAW.

NOT a long journey this time. It was a bright Sabbath afternoon, and
I walked own Gilbert avenue, then McMillan avenue, then Kibbe street,
until I came to a large new building into which all the world seemed to
be trying to crowd. We were late; the sound of many voices in song made
us try to hasten, but the crowd was so great that this was not easy to
do. On the way, Sabbath though it was, we had passed many crowds of a
different sort. Men and women pushing into street cars, talking loud
and laughing gayly, on their way to park, or garden, or theatre. On the
corners were crowds of boys, talking, spitting, swearing; we passed
saloons out of which reeled drunken men; in short, we passed places
and people which did not make us think of Sunday at all. But this was
different. The singing was very sweet; the room was large, and had many
windows; the walls were white, and everything was fresh and new. The
floor was carpeted, and seated with chairs, and every chair was filled;
so also were the aisles, and the doorways leading into the side rooms.
But the great evergreen letters on the space opposite the main door,
said--

                         WELCOME.

And the ushers came forward cordially and motioned us in, saying
cheerily, "Always room here for one more." So we elbowed and wedged our
way.

What was going on? Why, this was the dedication of Bethany Chapel, the
room for which the young men and the young women up on these Hills have
been working for years. Yesterday it was in order. On the wall hung a
motto at which everybody looked and smiled. It was a very pretty motto:

                          FAITH IN ACTION.

Those were the words; and looking about the pretty room, one could not
help feeling that there must have been a good deal of it in action to
have given us such results. But I noticed that people looked beyond
the motto at the nail from which it hung. A gold nail! Very large,
and entirely covered with gold. That was certainly a new kind of nail.
I wondered what it meant; presently the superintendent of the school
told us about it. It seems that, a long time before, the teachers had
explained to their scholars just what was to be done, and just how much
money, and time, and work, it would take, and how much help would be
needed. Among others, the primary teacher had explained very carefully
to her little bits, and had said: "Now we all want to help; every
little girl and every little boy must do something; I am sure you each
want a nail in the new building. Don't you?"

Then of course every one of them said "Yes, ma'am," in their eager
little voices; and then I suppose some of them went home and forgot all
about it. Not so little Faith whose story I am going to tell you. She
thought it over, fixing all the powers of her mind on it. She talked it
over with her particular friend Robbie, as he worked with the scissors
and a sheet of paper trying to cut a pattern for a new kind of cart
wheel which he intended to make.

"How should she get a nail to put in the new Sunday-school room? It
ought to be a _very_ big nail, Robbie," she explained. "Because, you
see, I should want it to help hold something; and I should want it to
hold real hard, or else I would be ashamed of it."

Robbie agreed, but was too busy with his wheel to say much. "And where
do you s'pose I could get one?" said Faith. "If I only had some money I
could buy a great big one; but I haven't a single cent."

It took days of thinking and planning, and hunting, but at last, oh,
joy! Faith found the object of her desire; a great big nail! Very
rusty and a trifle bent, but so large that it filled her heart with
delight. Never was a happier maiden than the one who carried the
precious nail to her teacher, all neatly wrapped in paper. Some of the
scholars laughed, and said it was not good for anything; but that was
because they did not know any better. That blessed superintendent did
not laugh. He received the gift with smiles and thanks, and he took
it down town and had it straightened, and covered with gold; so that
the unsightly rusty thing glowed with beauty, and then it was used to
hold the motto; and is to fill its place in Bethany Chapel so long as
the building stands. Will anybody say little Faith did not do what she
could?

But I want to tell you about the meeting. There were many speeches and
much singing. When Doctor Hays began to speak, all the little children
straightened themselves and made ready to listen; there was something
in his voice which made them think he was worth listening to.

"Children," he began, "how many know what I have in my hand?" Hundreds
of voices answered that he had a watch.

"Is there anything about it in the Bible?"

This they did not know; so he told them he wanted them to be sure to
remember his text, for it was that one word, "Watch," and they would
find it in Mark, thirteenth chapter and last verse. He had quite a
time getting them to remember where it was, and they laughed a little
at their mistakes; but at last I think every boy and girl there could
give it correctly. He had a good deal to say about a watch; how the
"little fellow" inside of it worked away all day and all night, and day
after day, never stopping to fret because it had so much to do; never
resolving that it would begin to-morrow morning and do great things,
and being content because of that resolve to do nothing, for awhile;
it just worked away, a tick at a time. Then he said there were three
things he wanted to tie to their memories by the help of that watch.
First, they were to watch for scholars for their Sabbath-school. Every
boy and girl there ought to be on the watch for those who went nowhere
else, and nab them.

Second, they were to be on the watch against sin. He knew a very little
boy who once prayed this prayer: "Dear Lord, make Satan look just like
Satan every time he comes after me, so I will know who he is, and
fight." That was a good prayer, said Doctor Hays. "You see to it that
you know who Satan is, every time, when he comes after you. When he
comes whining to you that it isn't a very bad thing to hang around the
street corners, and play, or to disobey your mother, or to tell what
isn't true, say to him '_You are Satan_: I know you; and I am not going
to have anything to do with you.'"

Thirdly, they were to be on the watch for opportunities to do good.
There was a very earnest little talk about that, which I have not room
for; and besides, I cannot tell it as Doctor Hays said it; I wish I
could. But the three heads to his sermon I remember, because of the
watch on which he hung them. What made him think of the watch? Because,
when the disciples of Jesus were talking with him, one day, he said
that word, not only for his disciples, but for you and me: "And what
I say unto you, I say unto _all, watch_." And after he was through
talking with them, he went to Bethany. So as the new school was named
Bethany, the doctor thought the scholars would remember his sermon and
text better if he told it in that way.

There were some little boys and girls who recited Bible verses about
the House of the Lord, each bringing an evergreen letter which
commenced their verse, and when the letters were hung on the wire
waiting for them, they spelled

                     OUR SABBATH-SCHOOL.

I began to copy the verses for you. Then I decided not to do any such
thing. I said: I will tell the Pansies about it, and ask them to hunt
out verses for themselves which will spell the same; verses that they
think would fit their Sabbath-school, or describe what their lives
ought to be, or that they like very much, for some reason. Then they
will have an acrostic of verses of their own. How many will do it? What
is the use of our going to so many places together, if we don't learn
some new nice things to do when we get home?

                                                    PANSY.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Two little pussy cats wrapped in fur
    Sit on the wall and they mew and purr
                        Mew! mew! mew!

    If you listen you'll hear the black one say
    "I like the night much better than day."
    If you listen you'll hear the white reply,
    "You're quite right, pussy, and so do I."
                        Mew! mew! mew!

    So they sit on the wall and mew and purr
    These two little pussy cats, wrapped in fur.
                         --_St. Nicholas._


"OLD SNOOKS."

THUS the boys built of the snow what they pleased. Sometimes it was
"Old Snooks." He was the village drunkard, with a big brandy nose and
ragged coat.

[Illustration: THE BOYS AT WORK.]

When it was done and declared to be a good
likeness, each fellow armed himself with snowballs, and, standing
a little way off, the command was given to fire, and "Old Snooks"
received a merciless pelting, one ball hitting him squarely in the eye,
another on the nose, another knocking off an ear, until the image was
completely demolished amid shouts of triumph.

Then somebody else was set up for a mark. But usually the most fun
was in building a fort and laying siege to it--or rather storming and
taking it.

Once the real "Old Snooks" himself came staggering by while the boys
were raising the breastworks. He stopped a moment to swear as he
usually did, when one of the little "rascals" took deliberate aim and
fired, and Snooks' old hat was lifted into the air and landed over the
fence into a big snowbank.

Now when the boys saw the rage of the old man, and that he was making
for them as fast as his poor legs would let him, away they ran. But
all that night and the next day they trembled and kept out of the way,
fearing the wrath of Old Snooks.

The wretched man found it easier to catch his hat than scampering boys.
So he gave up the chase and urged his way homeward.

But the track was drifted, and his limbs chilled. Soon he fell, but was
picked up by a passing neighbor and carried to his miserable home.

Not long after the village bell tolled for his funeral. Those boys were
thoroughly sobered when they remembered that their fun had something to
do with Old Snooks' death; so they resolved that, whatever they did,
they would never find pleasure again over the misery or sin of any one.

One day when their snow fortress was done and besiegers and besieged
were about to see which party was master of the situation, several of
General Gage's soldiers came along. This was more than one hundred
years ago, and the "village" was Boston; the playground Boston Common;
Gage, the British general in command. It was a time when almost every
American man, woman and child, was "mad" at England because of taxes or
the "Stamp Act."

The wise old men said with an ominous shake of the head that trouble
was coming. The boys heard it and began to talk war and "play soldier."
They were at it now. Those in the fort were "British;" those about to
storm it, "Americans."

The passing soldiers heard the words, "Drive the Britishers out;"
"shoot them;" "kill the tyrants." Though it was all in play, the words
stung them, and coming suddenly upon the boys, they handled them
roughly, calling them "young rebels," and demolishing the fort.

This did not make the boys less "rebel." They spread the news of their
bad treatment by General Gage's soldiers. Teachers, parents, everybody,
was angry.

The next day a procession of boys, headed by one of the "storming
party," marched through the Common and halted before General Gage's
headquarters. Three of the number were admitted to his presence and
asked what it all meant. Nothing frightened by being surrounded by
officers, glittering with armor, the young "captain," looking the great
general full in the face, recounted the affair about the destroying of
their fort by the soldiers.

General Gage patiently heard the statement and promised to reprove his
men and see their sport should not be spoiled again in that way.

So the procession departed in triumph. The boys were no more molested.

But the Revolution soon came on, and instead of snowballs and snow
forts and the sport of children, there were musket balls and roaring
cannon, there were stone forts and "banners rolled in blood."

Seven years of war followed, in which the sword, the bayonet, the
bullet, fire and famine, played their awful part, and--"the Britishers"
went home to England.

America was free!

How many of those boys who snowballed "Old Snooks" and visited General
Gage became Congressmen, I have never heard. Yet I dare say some of
them got into the high places of the new nation.

[Illustration: THEIR PLAYGROUND.]

But one of the best "resolutions" ever passed was theirs:

Never to have fun at the expense of such creatures as "Old Snooks."

                                             UNCLE C.


MY BRAINLESS ACQUAINTANCE.

BY PARANETE.

V.--THE SAD FATE OF AN ENGLISHMAN.


"I CONFESS," the pin went on, "that I was not sorry I had been brought
along. The beautiful, boundless sea was around me everywhere. It was
exhilarating. Most people talked about the refreshing odor, but the
sight and sound was enough for me. And the day that we had the tempest,
when everyone seemed so frightened, I thought it was delightful to
watch the giant waves as they raised and lowered the ship.

"Finally we reached the shore. I did not know where we were. We got in
a train, and after a few hours' ride, changed to a carriage, and drove
through the streets. The rest of the party seemed greatly interested
in the signs over the store doors, but as I had never learned to read,
I saw nothing strange about them. We reached a large building, and
were ushered into a fine 'suite of rooms.' That was what they called
them. As I was the only pin on the cushion, my mistress sent for some
more, and soon several were placed with me. From them I learned that we
were in Paris, in the country of France, though it was with difficulty
that they made me understand, and doubtless we could not have talked
together at all, only they had met an English pin, who had taught
them some of his language. They were Parisians, as they told me with
much haughtiness, but if they were, I did not like them for they were
very proud. My dear young friend, if you ever expect to be agreeable
company, you must not be proud.

"By some chance, a disconsolate-looking, and acting pin was put on the
cushion, after the Parisians had all gone. He told me he was English;
and gave me the story of his life, which was a very sad one. He said
he did not care what happened to him now, and that the first chance he
could get, he should make away with himself. I advised him not to do
so, and tried to console him a little. But it was useless. He said that
without friends, life was but a burden to him.

"When I told him how I was made into a pin, he seemed much amazed, and
said the wire that he had been made of had been softened by heating,
and then had been pounded and twisted like a horseshoe into the right
shape. He said that that was the way with all his former English
friends, and he sighed. Then I was proud (I confess it) of my country;
proud that I was an American, and did not have to go through all
English pins did! While my creation only lasted ten seconds, his took
many minutes.

"Just as we were discussing the different methods by which we were
made, my mistress (and his) came into the room, and he hurriedly said
good-by.

"'You will never see me again. She will take me, and not you. Mine has
been a sad life, and it will have a sad end. I hope that you will be
happy. You are the only one that has ever tried to comfort me since all
my friends were taken away from me; but you could not. Good-by!' And
with that, my mistress took him away.

"She went over to the marble basin with the silver faucets, and turned
some water in, while she held the pin, not very securely, I suppose,
for he tried with all his strength, and gave a leap into the basin. The
water carried him swiftly through the hole, and he was seen no more!

"O how I felt! To see one of my own race go to destruction before
my eyes was hard to bear! I would have wept, but you know that is
impossible to me, but whenever I think of the sad, sad fate of him with
whom I was acquainted, for so short time, my brassy heart aches, as it
were, and I feel as if I must go and comfort him, lie he in sewer or
sea!"

(Just here the pin seemed much moved, and trembled so violently that I
put my hand on the edge of the desk, to keep him from falling off.)

Presently he continued: "Let this be a lesson to you, my dear young
friend, never to be discouraged, whatever be your lot in life, or you
will meet with a sad fate, like my poor acquaintance, the English pin.

"It must have been for about a week then, that my life was rather dull.
I was sorry for this; I longed for something to divert my mind from the
sad scene I had witnessed. All I could do was to gaze disconsolately
at the shining marble basin in the corner of the room, feeling that it
was a sort of tombstone erected over the body of my friend, and make a
solemn resolve never to become so discouraged with that which it was my
duty to bear, as to desire to put an end to my existence, but always to
bear patiently the task set before me. And you, my boy, will find your
life much happier, if you make the same resolve.

"One day while my mistress' little girl was sitting reading by the
window, a gentleman came in who had made his appearance during the last
few days, and whom the children called uncle. He invited her to take a
walk. She hastily brushed her hair, and hunting around for a smaller
pin, evidently, took me reluctantly, to pin her sash with, and hurried
down to meet her uncle, who was waiting at the hotel door; for that I
had learned was the name of the building.

"They walked along down many streets, until finally they came to one
where stores were. Into one of these the little girl went, and bought
a paper of pins; as soon as they reached a quieter street, she took me
out, so as to fill my place with a smaller pin, and would have thrown
me into the gutter, but her uncle stopped her, saying:

"'Give it to me, if you don't want it. Never throw away even so small a
thing as a pin, my girl, or you may want one very much, some day.'

"She laughed, and handed me to him, and he put me on the inside of his
coat. When they reached home, or rather the hotel, he bade all the
family good-by, and that evening boarded a train, and travelled till we
reached another large city, where he took a steamer the next day, and I
learned from some of his remarks that he was going back to America. I
was very glad, I can assure you, for by this time I had grown homesick.
The ride back was just about the same as the ride away from home had
been, the only incident of any importance, that I remember, being
that my master once fell overboard while I was on his coat, which was
exceedingly disagreeable for both of us, until the sailors rescued
us, and though I suppose those same brave men did not even know of my
existence, I think I was really as thankful to them as was my master.

"When the steamer reached New York, the gentleman took a train, which,
after a few hours' ride, brought us to a small town, where we found at
the depot a carriage waiting for my master, with a gentleman in it, who
greeted him warmly.

"During the ride to the stranger's house, he suddenly exclaimed:

"'Will, my cuff has come unpinned, and the pin has mysteriously
disappeared. Have you another for me?'

"So my master put his hand to his coat, where I had been ever since we
left Paris, and gave me to the gentleman. He, of course, fastened his
cuff with me, and I remained in it till night, when, as he was taking
it off when making ready for bed, he (whom I had so faithfully served)
accidently dropped me from the open window, and I fell into a crack in
the sidewalk!"



DOES ALCOHOL WARM US?


A PATIENT was arguing with his doctor the necessity of his taking a
stimulant. He urged that he was weak and needed it. Said he:

"But, doctor, I _must_ have some kind of a stimulant. I am cold, and it
warms me."

"Precisely," came the doctor's crusty answer. "See here, this stick is
cold," taking up a stick of wood from the box beside the hearth and
tossing it into the fire, "now it is warm; but is the stick benefited?"

The sick man watched the wood first send out little puffs of smoke,
and then burst into flame, and replied: "Of course not: it is burning
itself!"

"And so are you when you warm yourself with alcohol; you are literally
burning up the delicate tissues of your stomach and brain."

Yes, alcohol will warm you, but who finds the _fuel_? When you take
food, that is fuel, and as it burns out, you keep warm. But when you
take alcohol to warm you, you are like a man who sets his house on fire
and warms his fingers by it as it burns.--_Temperance Banner._

[Illustration: A MOST UNWELCOME VISITOR.]



    _Volume 13, Number 21._    Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
                      _March 27, 1886._

THE PANSY.


[Illustration: PATIO OF A PRIVATE HOUSE, CORDOVA, SPAIN.]



ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.

BY MARGARET SIDNEY.


V.

IT seemed an age to the three frantic passengers before the train ran
into Brigham--but it was in reality five minutes ahead of time. St.
George and his faithful adherent bade good-by with a heavy heart to
Thomas, longing to stay and help him, but knowing that home they must
go. Thomas tumbled out on the snowy platform more dead than alive
from fear, and realizing that betrayal of a trust wasn't after all so
productive of ease as it might be thought to be, he gathered himself up
and walked uncertainly to the waiting-room door; a man standing within
eyed him narrowly.

"We don't allow drunken people in here," he said coldly, "you'll have
to stay outside."

"I ain't drunk," cried Thomas, roused to action; "I'm blest if I am;
I'm only unfortunate."

The man laughed loud and long, and called to another, "See here; here's
a chap got off his train--not half seas over, you know, oh no! only
he's unfortunate."

Thomas' face blazed in an instant. That he, Mr. Bang's man, who
had filled one place for a good dozen years, and was saving and
industrious, with no taste for the company of low-lived fellows and no
leaning toward their habits, should be brought face to face with one of
them in this unlucky moment of his life when courage was at its lowest
ebb, seemed to him the cruelest blow of Fate, and it deprived him of
what little remaining sense he had.

"If anyone says that to me again I'll pitch right into him," he shouted.

"Good--hurrah! he knows what's what!" cried the fellow, a stalwart
lounger whose only interest had been in seeing the train come in and
depart. When that was over, he had nothing else for his active mind to
work upon, and he hailed with delight this new excitement. "Come on,
fellows, this chap is _de_termined to fight. So we won't disappoint
him. You're a drunken, good-for-nothing sot," he cried in Thomas' face.

Thomas gave one plunge and struck the quarrelsome man squarely in the
face.

"Take that, and that, and that," he cried, beside himself in a passion.
Never in his life engaged in a quarrel involving blows, now that he was
in one, it was purely delicious to give free rein to his anger, and for
the first few moments he felt a man indeed.

The young fellow thus struck and two or three other men now closed
around him, and he was soon occupied in warding off as best he might
the shower of blows, kicks and cuffs that fell to his portion. The
noise brought speedily to the spot, the depot officials, one or two
farmers riding by, and all the boys in the vicinity.

"Stop--hold--I won't have any of that!" cried the ticket agent, puffing
up in authority.

"Oh! won't you?" cried one of the men whose blood was up, and pounding
away at Thomas, whom they had succeeded in getting to the ground.

"No, I won't," cried the ticket agent, "I'll have you all arrested."

"Who's going to do it, I'd like to know," asked another man derisively.

Meanwhile Thomas was shouting out his case, and succeeded in catching
the ear of a farmer who sitting on the bags of meal in his wagon had
paused to see what the trouble was about.

"It's my opinion," said the farmer deliberately, and stopping to clear
his throat now and then with a sharp _Hem!_ "that you want me to give
you three chaps a poundin' that man, a taste of my whip, and it's also
my opinion that I shall do it." With that he sprang from his wagon with
surprising alertness considering he looked so old, and, whip in hand,
he advanced upon the crowd.

They all fell back. He had "whip" in his eye, and beside, every one
knew Jacob Bassett, and that there was no reason to think he would fail
to do as he said.

Before all could desert Thomas, however, the last man had the benefit
of the leather lash, and he ran off rubbing his leg, and uttering
several ejaculations as if he had received enough.

"My man," said Farmer Bassett, tucking up his long whip under his arm
and helping Thomas to his feet, "now what's the matter with you?"

"I'm in trouble," said Thomas briefly.

"So I should think," said the old farmer with a wise nod.

"I don't care about myself," said Thomas not regarding certain flapping
portions of his once neat suit, nor mindful of the other signs of his
predicament, "but it's young master and those other boys who were left
to my care." At mention of them, he became helpless once more, and
began to bemoan his fate.

"Hah!" said the old farmer. He had boys of his own, not so very long
ago either, although he looked so old, and though they were all but one
out in the world and promising to be successful men, his heart went
back to the time when they were little chaps and running about the farm.

The one who was not out in the world was safe at rest from all
temptation and suffering. There was a tiny grave on the hill-top back
of the old homestead, and here the farmer often stole in an odd moment,
and Betsey his wife went of an afternoon when the work was done up, for
a quiet time with her darling--the little Richard, so early folded away
from her care, and Sundays they always went together to get peace and
resignation for the coming week.

"What's the trouble with the boys?" asked the farmer, quickly.

Thomas looked into his face and the first gleam of hope he had known,
now radiated his own countenance. Here was a man who evidently meant to
help, and that right speedily.

"Oh sir," he cried, "they're over at Sachem Hill, and locked out of
their house."

"Over at Sachem Hill and locked out of their house," repeated the
farmer. "How did that happen?"

"'Twas me," cried Thomas miserably, and then he laid bare his
confession.

Farmer Bassett said never a word, only as Thomas finished, "Come," he
commanded, and motioning him to the green wagon, he climbed in, and
seated himself again on his bags.

"I'm goin' to stop a minute an' tell Betsey to put us up a few things,
an' while she's doin' it, I'll hitch into the sleigh. I took the wagon
to mill, as 'twas poor draggin' along one piece o' bare ground--an'
then, says I, we'll be off for them youngsters of yours."

Thomas gave a long breath of relief--and the wagon rolled on in silence
till it came to a stop before a large red house.


OUR ALPHABET OF GREAT MEN.

N.--NEWTON, SIR ISAAC.

"EVERY body in nature attracts every other body with a force directly
as its mass and inversely as the square of its distance." This has
been called "The magnificent theory of universal gravitation which was
the crowning glory of Newton's life." I doubt not many of you have
struggled manfully with this law as laid down in your school-books,
and, having conquered it, and fixed the principle in your minds to
stay, you may like to know something about the philosopher himself. In
1642, a puny, sickly baby was supposed to be moaning away its young
life in Lincolnshire, England.

This child's name was Isaac Newton. He belonged to a country
gentleman's family. His father having died, his mother's second
marriage occasioned the giving of the child into the care of his
grandmother. As he grew older he gained in health and was sent to
school. Having inherited a small estate, as soon as he had acquired
an education which was considered sufficient to enable him to attend
to the duties of one in his position, he was removed from school and
entrusted with the management of his estate. However, this young Newton
developed a passion for mathematical studies which led him to neglect
the business connected with his estate. He busied himself in the
construction of toys illustrating the principles of mechanics. These
were not the clumsy work which might be expected from the hands of a
schoolboy, but were finished with exceeding care and delicacy. It is
said there is still in existence two at least of these toys; one is an
hour-glass kept in the rooms of the Royal Society in London.

Isaac Newton's mother was a wise woman in that she did not discourage
his desire for the pursuing of his studies and for investigation. She
did not say, "Now, my son, you must put away these notions and attend
to your business. You have a property here which it is your duty to
manage and enjoy. You should find satisfaction in your position as a
country squire and consider that you have no need of further study."
On the contrary, this mother allowed her son to continue his studies;
he was prepared for and entered the college at Cambridge when he was
eighteen. From that period until his death, at eighty-five, he devoted
himself unweariedly to mathematical and philosophical studies.

[Illustration: SIR ISAAC NEWTON.]

You all know the story of the falling apple. He had been driven by the
plague in London to spend some time at his country-seat in Woolstrop,
and while resting one day in his garden he saw an apple fall to the
ground. Suddenly the question occurred, Why should the apple fall to
the ground? Why, when detached from the branch, did it not fly off in
some other direction?

And where do you suppose he found the answer? Read the first sentence
of this article and see if _you_ find it there! The truth had been the
controlling power of all the falling apples since the creation, but it
had never before been understood or formulated; perhaps this discovery
of the law of universal gravitation gave him more renown than all his
other labors put together.

He met with a sad misfortune, later, when, by the accidental upsetting
of a lighted candle, the work of twenty years was destroyed. The story
as told by a biographer is, that Sir Isaac left his pet dog alone in
his study for a few moments, and during this brief absence the dog
overturned the candle amongst the papers on the study table. It is
further told as an evidence of the calmness and patience of the great
man, that he only said, "Ah! Fido, you little know of the mischief you
have done!"

But although he was so quiet under the great loss, the trial was almost
too much for him; for a time his health seemed to give way, and his
mental powers suffered from the effects of the shock. He died in 1725,
and was buried in Westminster Abbey.

                                                   FAYE HUNTINGTON.


SOME REMARKABLE WOMEN.

K.--KAUFFMAN, MARIA ANNA ANGELICA.

AMONG the women of history we find not a few artists; and of these Anna
Maria Angelica Kauffman gained no mean reputation. She lived and worked
and suffered during the latter half of the eighteenth century, dying in
1807. Her early life was spent in Switzerland, that land of romantic
scenery. She opened her eyes in this world first among the mountains
that rise above the beautiful and fertile valleys whose southern slopes
teem with vines, whose highlands afford pasturage for the flocks of
the farmers. Our artist's father was a travelling painter. Of his work
we have no account. He is known to us only as the father of a gifted
woman. Inheriting a love of art, she found in her father a ready
sympathizer and willing helper. He gave her such instruction as he was
able, and when he could carry her no farther in her studies, the family
removed to Milan that she might have the opportunity of studying under
more competent teachers. She had, however, before this--and she was
only thirteen years old when they went to Milan--painted a portrait of
the Bishop of Como, which gave her quite a reputation. At Milan she had
an opportunity of mingling with other artists, and also the privilege
of copying the finest pictures.

She excelled in portrait painting; when she went to London she was
engaged to paint the portraits of "the most distinguished and beautiful
ladies of the court." She everywhere received much attention, both
on account of her talents as an artist, and her beauty and charming
manner. Some of her pictures are in the Royal Gallery in Dresden;
others may be seen in the Louvre in Paris.

                                                FAYE HUNTINGTON.


SIR JOHN AND THE EREBUS.

II.

FORTY years ago last May, England fitted Sir John out with two fine
ships. They were the _Erebus_ and _Terror_.

Away they sailed from the wharf where many came to see them off, among
them Lady Franklin, Sir John's wife.

Away they pushed through the sea toward the North. On they went,
further and further from their home, to see if they could find the
North Pole or what was called the "Northwest Passage."

Soon they met icebergs, or great mountain castles, moving down from the
north. But the _Erebus_ and _Terror_ turned aside and sailed north,
north, north, hundreds of miles.

Then the winter came on. The two ships were soon hedged in by the ice.
They could neither go forward nor backward. The ice became thicker and
thicker; the nights longer and colder. The men were clothed in fur,
and there were stoves in the ships, but they shivered with the cold.
No word came to them from their friends. They, however, tried to be
cheerful, hoping for spring and the breaking up of the ice so they
could sail out of their prison and find the Northwest Passage.

They sang, told stories, read, celebrated each other's birthday; good
Sir John read sermons and prayers to his men as was his custom and
exhorted them to be of good cheer. It was a joyful thought to them of
making wonderful discoveries in that strange land and then coming back
some day with the news.

But the spring came and went, another and another, but no tidings of
Sir John. Then there was alarm. Meetings were called, speeches made,
great sums of money raised; brave captains and crews offered to go
in search of him. Vessel after vessel went and came, only to report
failure.

Five years passed; seven; nine; ten--Hope was dying--eleven. Lady
Franklin did not give up, but fitted out, at her own expense, a little
ship.

Captain and sailors bid good-by to wives and friends, not knowing they
would ever see them again, as they resolved not to come back till they
found out something as to the fate of Sir John.

So this little ship disappeared far away northward, and, like the
others, in a few weeks, was in the midst of majestic palaces of ice.

But it worked its way on, when, lo! one day as the captain was hunting
here and there, he came upon parts of a ship, and he knew it was Sir
John's. He also found Sir John's own handwriting and many other things
that told of great sufferings and death.

[Illustration: John Franklin]

It appeared that he had died June 11th, 1847; but he was not found till
1857. All had perished.

He was a noble Christian man, with a heart tender as a woman's.

When the little ship came back with the news, England mourned as did
this nation over the fate of Sir John Franklin.

                                                         C. M. L.



[Illustration: ROUND THE FAMILY LAMP]



FOLLOW MY LEADER.


HAVE each of the company put on a sheet, securing it around himself
like the pictures of a Roman toga. Put on his head a pillowslip, making
it assume any fanciful shape desired, and bringing it closely around
his face, concealing features as much as possible. All this must be
done _before_ assembling, as it is the object to have players disguised
as far as possible from each other. Have your Leader chosen. Then you
must follow him implicitly; whoever fails to, must be counted out of
the game. Those who do not wish to dress in sheet-and-pillow-case
costume must form audience. The Leader must wear high above his
pillow-case-enveloped head, a small United States flag, so that all can
recognize him as Leader.

(You will remember that the fourth of March is always the Inauguration
Day, when the President of the United States goes into the White House
as Leader for four years.)

Now let the Leader start to music from the piano--through the
parlors, halls, dining-room--perhaps if the cook is pleasant, to the
kitchen. These little games do a great deal to draw all the family
together with a happy feeling. If he stops a minute to examine
anything, the company following him in Indian file must stop too
and imitate his movements, as if examining something closely. If
he says in the course of his travels "ooh--ooh!" just like a pig,
each one of the pillow-slip-and-sheet brigade must say "ooh--ooh!"
also in the same tone _without smiling_, unless he laughs. If he
says "cock-a-doodle-_doo-o!_" each one must say it. Whoever fails to
follow his Leader imitating him in everything, and whoever smiles
or laughs, or says anything unless the Leader does, must be pointed
out by the audience, dropped out of ranks, set up in a corner, told
to stand there until the game is played out, and all take off sheets
and pillow-slips--to sit down and laugh over it all, before plates of
apples and cracked walnuts.

May you have a jolly time with your March game. I wish I could play one
with the Pansies.

                                                 MARGARET SIDNEY.


SIR EDWIN LANDSEER.

YEARS ago, a man now living in Cincinnati was sent by the President to
South America to look after the interests of our country there. The
people were very kind to him, and, among other gifts, presented him a
parrot on his return home.

I spent a day at his house and had many funny talks with Poll; parrots
can talk after a fashion.

She was a fine lady, not so large as some you may have seen at the New
Orleans Exposition. Some of them were from two to three feet long. One
was perfectly green; another, white; a third, nearly all bright colors.

The one I saw in Cincinnati was fond of her friends, but sulky and
cross to me, a stranger.

She had learned many wicked words from passers-by, swearing words even.
When she could not have her own way and, like other folks, was out of
humor, she would "let fly" her worst opinions of people and things in
her bad language.

At such times she did not seem so beautiful with all her gay plumage.
Few folks do appear well when out of sorts, no matter how rich and
fashionable their clothes. Remember that.

In the picture you see a parrot sitting upon a perch. It is another one
and there is a long story about it. But all stories can't be put into
THE PANSY without bursting its covers. However, you may hear a little
about this one and think out the rest when your thinkers get time.

This Pol came from a distant land. She had such rich feathers, and
could talk and sing so well, and, withal, her manners and behavior were
so correct that she made friends of everybody.

So in due time Pol was treated like one of the family and as one of the
first ladies in society--so far as a parrot could be. Her bread and
drink and bed were all any bird could wish. She had the freedom of the
house. Without asking, she could go up stairs or down, out door, into
the barn, to the top of the highest trees, sometimes to the neighbors.
She always came home at meal and bed time. Every one, nearly, knew
her and treated her politely. Thus she forgot her far-away relations
and became happy "as happy can be." She was now a maiden lady of
sixty years. Some parrots live to be one hundred. Pol's life had been
pleasant as a June morning. But June doesn't last forever. Trouble came.

One day she went out to call and was quietly walking home. A bad boy
met her and made some provoking remarks. Instead of paying no attention
to such creatures and going right on her way, she stopped, listened,
lost her temper and "sauced him back." Then what should the fellow do
but strike Pol and tear out some of her finest feathers and, leaving
her half-dead, went his way. Pol managed to drag herself home, and, as
best she could, tell what had happened.

How grieved they all were and wondered who could have treated her so
cruelly. They suspected who had done it; for that boy was given to such
things. Some seem to delight in giving pain to animals. I need not say
what was done to that hateful boy. He deserved punishment and received
it. But Poor Pol, what of her? She was tenderly washed and coaxed to
eat and tell more about it. Her appetite left her in spite of all that
could be done and she became sad and silent and wished to retire to bed.

It was hoped that she would feel better in the morning; but when
morning came, there she sat, her wings drooping and her eyes cast down
like one that is passing through great sorrow.

Near by lived a lad by the name of Eddie Landseer. He thought the world
of Pol. As soon as he heard of her misfortune he came running in with
a playmate, a bright little girl, to see what they could do for their
afflicted neighbor.

Eddie was a great lover of horses, dogs, birds and almost all animals.
Some say that when he went into the woods he would always carry
something good for animals to eat and he would somehow call the
squirrels and birds down around him from the trees. They would come
and eat from his hands and let him handle them as tame animals do. He
really seemed to know just how some animals feel and to cheer them
in trouble. He took pains to study them as you do your Sunday-school
lesson. So in he came with a most dainty dish for Pol.

He and his little friend were prettily dressed, not to show themselves,
but to please Pol, for Eddie believed that she had an eye for beautiful
clothes like her own. But when he saw Pol, how sad her countenance was
and how she mourned over her lost feathers, he and Bertha could hardly
keep back their tears.

However, they put on cheerful faces and sang so sweetly and begged so
hard Pol actually got out of bed, arranged her feathers neatly, talking
away as though nothing had happened.

Now, what if I should tell you that this Eddie became a great painter
of animals! When he was but five years old he could draw pretty good
pictures of cows and pigs; at eighteen he made that famous picture
"Dogs of St. Gothard rescuing Travellers." Queen Victoria was so
pleased with it she put honor upon his name and everywhere he was
called Sir Edwin Landseer.

Some day you may see his famous picture "Peace and War." Ten years ago
was seen in Philadelphia his wonderful painting "The Sick Monkey." Many
people would stop a long while looking at it; the mother monkey had the
sick one in her arms. The poor thing seemed ready to cry, while all the
other monkeys looked at the sick one with such sad eyes. It is said no
artist has done so much to teach us how to love animals.

Did you ever hear of Mr. Henry Bergh? He has spent many years writing,
speaking and pleading with law-makers to pass laws to protect animals
from cruelty. I suppose if the horses of New York City, where he lives,
could speak, they would all daily shout to him as they see him on
Broadway, "Thank you, dear friend Bergh. No living man has ever cared so
much for our race as you have."

If they knew how, they would surely shake hands with him, and when he
comes to die build a grand monument to his memory. It would seem as
though God's love is in his heart. Jesus came to save the worst people,
even those who nailed him to the cruel cross. Surely Jesus pitied the
poor helpless animals. Not one sparrow falls to the ground without his
notice. Try to be a friend to animals, won't you?

                                                          C. M. L.

[Illustration: "EDDIE AND BERTHA COULD HARDLY KEEP BACK THEIR TEARS."]


[Illustration: The P. S. Corner]

ARE you having a good time with the March winds, my Blossoms? But
then, you are so scattered that you can have all sorts of times. Some
of you may be blowing around the street corners in a way to make you
think of balloons, while others of you are picking wild-wood flowers
in the sunny South; and away down in Maine, the boys are snowballing,
while away on the southern slopes of California the girls are gathering
roses! What a wonderful world it is!

Oh! do you know, my dear Pansies, I am going West this summer? I can't
tell you much about it until the summer is over and I am settled down
again for winter work; but I mean to keep my eyes wide open on purpose
for you. I shall be in Utah, I think, and in Kansas, and Wisconsin, and
Nebraska, and I don't know just where, but you shall know all about it
after I have been, and returned. Wide-open eyes; that is our motto for
the summer. I know a great many of you are going away, to the seaside,
to the mountains, to Chautauqua, to Europe, where not? Will you be
selfish, dwarfed-up little Pansies, keeping all your delights of travel
to yourselves, or will you keep diaries of all the interesting things
you see, and hear, and learn, and write beautiful letters for the
stay-at-homes? Why not? Let us join hands and see how much we can use
our eyes and ears for others during the long bright summer.

                                          Lovingly,        PANSY.

_Louie_ from New York. My dear, I hope THE PANSY came in time for the
"little brother's birthday." We made all possible speed. Yes, Faye
Huntington is to continue her work for THE PANSY during another year.
I am glad you love her. So do I. Please give my kind regards to your
mamma, whom I remember very well.

_Mamie_ from Connecticut. You dear little Blossom! I am glad you have
not choked yourself with pins before you took your pledge! I presume
you think you never would have done so; but do you really suppose there
was ever a person who choked to death with a pin, _on purpose_? Yet
there have been deaths caused in just that way. Your mother will be
glad that you have resolved to give up so foolish and dangerous a habit.

_Emily_ from Maryland. Your pledge commences with the right sentence,
my friend. One who honestly trusts in His help, is sure to succeed. I
think you will find it helpful if you will study His life on earth, and
see how many proofs you can find of His perfect unselfishness.

_Maria_ and _Lucy_ from Missouri. Welcome, my little Missouri sisters.
May you blossom luxuriantly in that sunny land. I hope the "temper"
will grow as sweet as the Southern jessamine which I enjoyed so much in
your South land last winter, and that the little fingers tempted to be
"tardy" now, will quicken under the spell of the earnest pledge which
has been taken.

_Ward_ from Michigan. Glad to receive you, my boy. "I can't" is an
enemy who has stolen many a grand action from boys and girls as well as
from men and women. Did you ever notice also, that he generally speaks
what is false? Nearly always "I can't" means "I don't want to," or a
bold "I won't."

_Ina_ from Iowa. Dear friend, do you know of what your pledge reminds
me? Of a great many grown people who, though pledged to obey the Lord
Jesus, forget to "mind" him so often, now that he is away. While you
are carefully keeping your pledge to obey the dear mamma as well in her
absence as when her eye is on you, will you sometimes think of Jesus,
and his wish that we should remember always that his eye is on us?

_May_ from Iowa. You are not alone in that fault. I know many people
who can "remember" the faults of others, while seeming to be quite
forgetful about their own. It is a good rule to remember nothing
against any other person, unless we believe that Jesus Christ wants us
to remember it, and speak of it, in order to help somebody else.

_Otho_ from Iowa. Another little "high" temper. A temper is an
excellent thing if it is of the right sort. It wants to be even;
neither "high" nor "low." Try hard to make yours what in your honest
little heart you think it ought to be. Remember your greatest help will
be found in our Whisper Motto.

_Roy_ from Michigan. My boy, I liked your letter ever so much. Do
you know how much that is? Yes, I am sure you do. It is so full of
suggestions for the other Pansies that I am going to copy some of it
for them. It is a great thing to be able always to "speak pleasantly."
What a power for good you will be in this cross world, if you keep your
pledge. To be pleasant, when everything is going crooked, or at least
seems to be, is a virtue which very few people have.

_Arthur_ from Chicago. How is the "club" succeeding? I am more than
willing that you should have an officer's badge if you earn it. What
"kind acts" have you succeeded in doing since you took your pledge? Is
there not some story growing out of them that you can tell us, and so
help others?

_Kitty_ from Vermont. Yes indeed, we want all the "kittens" of your
sort that we can get hold of. Oh! I know all about the people who
do not hang up their clothes. Aren't they troublesome, though! What
a pleasant thing it will be to "mamma" to find all the dresses, and
sacks, and hats and hoods in their places, after this! I should not
wonder if the clothes-press did not know itself, and if the piano, and
the table in the back hall, and the hat-rack in the corner should feel
very lonesome, in the course of time. But a certain Pansy Badge will
blush for joy!

_Bertha_ from Connecticut. Glad you like the badge. And _so_ glad to
think the poor little fingers do not get "sucked" any more. Will you
give my dear love to "aunt Katie," and kiss her very softly and sweetly
for me? I know something about that precious "Shut in Band;" I used
to have a dear friend who was a member of it. But the Master one day
called her out, to do active work, and she has been in the field ever
since.

_Pearl_ from Indiana. Teeth are very important and much abused members
of society, my dear Pearl. I hope yours will reward you for good care,
by never aching a bit. By the way, little Pearl, I wonder if you know
the fourth commandment? See if you can tell me why I wonder it.

_Marion_ from Iowa. We welcome our new Western Blossom. It is
astonishing to me how many of my Blossoms hate to shut their eyes
when night comes! At least, they and "mamma" someway cannot agree as
to the best time to do it. Now in a "truly" pansy bed, I have noticed
that the Blossoms seem to be glad when night, and dew, and hush, tell
them that the resting time has come. Can it be, do you suppose, that
they, without souls, or brains, are more obedient to the Gardener's
voice than little human blossoms succeed in being? Some people who are
quick-witted are strongly tempted to "answer back," especially when
they think of something which would be "just the thing" to say. I knew
a wise man who said when he was a boy, he had to adopt the habit of
counting ten before he answered a person in argument, because if he
didn't, he was sure to say what he was sorry for afterwards. I have
often thought if some people I know would "count ten" oftener, they
would not say so many foolish and disagreeable things.

_Frank_ from Ohio. Impatient, are you? Well, there is a wonderful
promise for such as you in the Bible. See if you can find it. I haven't
the least doubt but that you want to grow up a great man; and here is
your opportunity.

_Lillie_ from Connecticut. My dear, I earnestly hope the patience with
which you waited has long before this been rewarded. They do seem to
be very slow people in Boston, sometimes, but when there are so many
"lilies," and roses, and pansies to be attended to all at once, how can
they help it? We are glad to get your full name for enrollment. Are you
also the secretary of your Band? If so, we shall hope for an account of
your meetings. The Pansies like to know how the different members of
their great army conduct their monthly meetings.

_Lester_ from Ohio. My boy, we are glad that you are not only a
subscriber, but a worker. "Teasing" is really a great nuisance. Between
you and me, don't you really think so yourself? I asked a boy who is
fond of doing disagreeable things "just for fun," whether he really
thought he should like to have them done to him, and he opened his eyes
wide, and said: "Why, of course not!" Yet it had not seemed to occur to
him what a mean spirit he confessed in that very sentence. I am very
glad to receive your pledge.

_Jennie_ from Connecticut. I shall want to hear all about the bed-quilt
when it is done. I am acquainted with a society of girls who made a
beautiful album quilt not long ago. The blocks were of silk, given by
the ladies of the church. The young girls did the work, very nicely,
and allowed their lady and gentleman friends to write their names in
the centre blocks, for ten cents each. The money thus secured they
sent toward the support of their little adopted girl in Alaska, and
the quilt they sent for a Christmas present to their minister's wife,
who was away from home, sick, and lonely. The names on the blocks
were those of her friends in whom she was much interested, and many
of the pieces of silk were well known to her, and gave her pleasant
thoughts of the original givers; so the work was a comfort and a help
all around. "Besides," said one of the girls, "we learned to sew
beautifully, that winter. Mrs. F. would accept nothing but the very
nicest stitches." A great many people "forget" what they ought to
remember. I am glad you have left their ranks.

_Ray_ from Colorado. What a rich boy you are to have so much company in
your own home! Also, what a good boy you must try to be, when you have
so many who will be sure to follow your example. It is a good thing you
have taken a pledge not to "speak cross" any more. If the twins should
learn such things from you, how sad it would be!

_Minnie_ and _Floy_ from Wisconsin. My dear little friends, it will be
a great victory when you learn not to be impatient over anything, and
to be pleasant when you feel cross! Oh yes, you can even do such hard
things as those. But let me remind you that you will need the help
of the Whisper Motto every hour of the day. I am glad the birthday
present was a Bible. I think you must both of you study it a little,
and try to follow it, else you would hardly have such good reports from
school. By the way, I must tell you a story about my Bible. It was
given me when I was eight years old. On Sunday, in church, the sermon
was long, and I grew very tired, so I thought I would put something
on the fly leaf of my new Bible which would be very appropriate, and
which would not be wrong to write on Sunday. I worked away at it, and
produced in my best style, these lines:

    Holy Bible book divine
    Preshus treshure thou art mine!

Actually, that was the way I put it! Don't you think my beautiful new
Bible might have blushed, if it could express its feelings in that way?

_Lizzie_ from Kansas. So they "bite their finger nails" in Kansas, as
well as everywhere else! Before our P. S. was organized I had not the
least idea that fingers were so cruelly treated. What a pleasure it
is to me to think that so many of them have peace now. We are glad to
welcome you to our roll.

_Susy_ from Elyria. There! I forgot to put the "a" in, after Susy.
Well, I suppose you are called "Susy Sunbeam." I think that is a lovely
name. It shows there must be a good deal of sunshine in your life. I
know a young lady whose face is always so bright and happy that her
home friends call her "Sunny," and I have often thought she might be
proud of the pet name. I am glad you like "Grandpa's Darlings." It is
a true book. The dear grandpa was my very own blessed father; and the
children, Minie and Grace, were my pet nieces. Grace is now a young
lady and lives in the same house with me, and works all day with her
pencils and her paints, learning to be an artist. As for Minie, I don't
know what she does all the long bright days. She was called years ago,
to her Father's palace; for she is the daughter of a great King. We
do not hear from her; but we know much about the beautiful home where
she lives, and we are all looking forward to going there, some day, to
be with her, for the King has promised to send for us--all. More than
that, he has invited any one to come who would like to do so. Will you
go?

_Ella_ from New York. I do wonder what there is about a piano which
should nearly always make young people impatient? Do you suppose the
fault is in the instrument? I have sometimes thought that if such is
the case, they ought to go out of fashion. But perhaps the little Pansy
Badge will be too much for yours. Let me hear how you succeed.

_Clara_ from Iowa. I hope you received the autograph safely, my dear,
and that you like the picture. "Cack" is certainly a very original nom
de plume. What do you write? I once had a little friend who called on
me to ask how she should finish her book! She said she knew how to
begin it, and how to make it _very long_, but it _would_ not end! I
think a great many people are troubled in that way. Don't you?


"BALLAD OF THE LOST HARE."

NOW all you Pansies who have grown too old to enjoy sweet cunning
things written on purpose for five and six and seven-year-old Blossoms,
may skip this article.

The gray-headed fathers and mothers, and the dear sweet grandmothers
who never grow old, will enjoy it as much as the darlings themselves;
but I am aware that there is an age somewhere between ten and sixteen
when almost everything that the babies can enjoy is "too young!" All
those are requested not to listen, while I tell about the "Ballad Of
The Lost Hare." A big book, with a bright cover, and with a great many
colored pictures large and bright, and with the cunningest little story
running all through the book, about a poor little, dear little, naughty
little hare.

Yes, I am going to copy just a bit of the introduction for you. Listen:

    Far from wild, far from wood,
    In a field rich and good;
    Near to hill and winding glade,
    Lived the naughtiest Hare, ever was made.

    Father scolded, mother whipped,
    But every day away he slipped.
    Brothers three, and sisters two,
    Cried and cried, as off he flew.

    Sore-sore-sore was the sobbing,
    Wild-wild-wild was his race;
    Only the woods to echo his footsteps,
    Only the winds his hiding place.

After the introduction, come the stories of his adventures; and the
pictures of them. Oh! but you would be so sorry for him if you could
see the cow, and the goat, and the pony that scared him nearly out of
his small wits!

And then the conclusion! Ah me, the sad ending of it all!

    Do you suppose he wishes his home to see,
    His sisters two, and his brothers three?
    Would he like to lie down in his own little bed?
    And does he recall what his father said?

[Illustration: OFF HE FLEW.]

There! I mustn't tell you any more, or the whole story will be out. Buy
it, my darlings, and read it for yourselves; it is in nice clear print.
Or, if you haven't quite managed that business of reading yet, let me
whisper a word in your ear: those wise old brothers and sisters of
yours, who have known how to read these five years, and are ciphering
in fractions, and writing essays on "Spring," will be willing to read
the story, just to please you, you know, not for their own amusement,
at all; oh no! Try them.

Now who do you think wrote it for you?

Who but Margaret Sidney herself! the author of "Five Little Peppers,"
which you liked so much; and the author of "Kensington Junior," and you
know how many more nice things. Of course you will want the book.

The price? Oh yes, surely, I had almost forgotten. Why, it has a
special price on purpose for the wee P. S. Blossoms. Only sixty cents.
Think of it!


[Illustration: PROSPECTUS WIDE AWAKE 1886]

A mother, whose five children have read WIDE AWAKE in her company from
its first number to its latest, writes: "_I like the magazine because
it is full of Impulses. Another thing--when I lay it down I feel as if
I had been walking on breezy hill-tops._"


_SIX ILLUSTRATED SERIALS:_

    =I. A MIDSHIPMAN AT LARGE.=
    =II. THE CRUISE OF THE CASABLANCA.=

Every boy who sailed in fancy the late exciting races of the _Puritan_
and the _Genesta_, and all lovers of sea stories, will enjoy these two
stories of Newport and Ocean Yachting, by CHARLES REMINGTON TALBOT.

    =III. A GIRL AND A JEWEL.=

MRS. HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD, in this delicious White Mountain
Romance, writes her first young folks' magazine serial.

    =IV. DILLY AND THE CAPTAIN.=
    =V. PEGGY, AND HER FAMILY.=

MARGARET SIDNEY writes these two amusing Adventure Serials for Little
Folks. Thirty-six illustrations each.


    =VI. A Six Months' Story= (title to be announced), by CHARLES
          EGBERT CRADDOCK, author of _Down the Ravine_.

=ROYAL GIRLS AND ROYAL COURTS.=

By MRS. JOHN SHERWOOD. This series, brilliant and instructive, will
begin in the Christmas number and run through the year.


=A CYCLE OF CHILDREN.=

By ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS. Illustrations by Howard Pyle. Twelve historical
stories celebrating twelve popular holidays.

    =Master Sandys' Christmas Snapdragon.= Dec., 1611.
    =Mistress Margery's New Year's Pin-Money.= Jan., 1500
    =Mr. Pepys' Valentine.= February, 1660.
    =The Last of the Geraldines.= March, 1535.
    =Diccon and the Wise Fools of Gotham.= April, 1215.
    =The Lady Octavia's Garland.= May, 184.
    =Etc., etc.=


_STORIES OF AMERICAN WARS._

Thrilling incidents in our various American warfares. Each story will
have a dramatic picture. The first six are:

    =The Light of Key Biscayne.=
    =Joel Jackson's Smack.=
    =A Revolutionary Turncoat.=
    =How Daniel Abbott Outwitted the Indians.=
    =In the Turtle Crawl.=
    =The Boy-Soldiers of Cherry Valley.=


_IN PERIL._

A romantic dozen of adventures, but all strictly true. Each story will
be illustrated. The first six are:

    =Saved by a Kite.=
    =Tax a Taz.=
    =In a Mica Mine.=
    =The Life Trail.=
    =The Varmint that Runs on the "Heigh-Ho!"=
    =A Strange Prison.=


=YOUTH IN TWELVE CENTURIES=.

A beautiful art feature. Twenty-four superb studies of race-types and
national costumes, by F. Childe Hassam, with text by M. E. B.


_FIRE-PLACE STORIES._

This article will be a notable feature of the Christmas number. The
rich illustrations include glimpses of Holland, Assyria, Persia,
Moorish Spain and New England, with two paintings in clay modelled
expressly for WIDE AWAKE, and reproduced in three tones.


_SOME SPECIAL ARTICLES:_


    _L'ENFANT TERRIBLE TURK._ By HON. S. S. COX, U. S.
    Minister to Turkey.

    _THE PRINCESS POCAHONTAS IN ENGLAND._ By MRS. RAYMOND
    BLATHWAYTE. Illustrations include portrait from
    painting never before engraved.

    _AUTOGRAPHS AND AUTOGRAPH HUNTERS._ By NORA PERRY. Racy
    and amusing.

    _A GRAND PEACE-MEET._ By WILL P. HOOPER. An imposing
    Indian Ceremony; with many pictures by the author.

    _A SIXTEENTH CENTURY SCHOOLBOY._ By APPLETON MORGAN.
    The life of a lad in Shakespeare's time.

    _MY FIRST BUFFALO HUNT._ By GEN. JOHN C. FREMONT.

    _THROUGH THE HEART OF PARIS._ By FRANK T. MERRILL. A
    pen and pencil record of a trip down the Seine.

    _THE DUMB-BETTY LAMP._ By HENRY BACON. Hitherto untold
    incidents in connection with "Floyd Ireson's Ride."


_TWELVE BALLADS._

These are by twelve of the foremost women poets of America. Each ballad
will fill five to seven pictorial pages. The first six are:

=The Deacon's Little Maid.= A ballad of early New England. By MRS.
A. D. T. WHITNEY. Illustrations by Miss L. B. Humphrey.

=The Story of the Chevalier.= A ballad of the wars of Maria
Theresa. By MRS. HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD. Illustrations by E. H.
Garrett.

=The Minute Man.= A ballad of the "Shot heard round the World." By
MARGARET SIDNEY. Illustrations by Hy. Sandham.

=The Hemlock Tree.= A ballad of a Maine settlement. By LUCY
LARCOM. Illustrations by Edmund H. Garrett.

=The Children's Cherry Feast.= A ballad of the Hussite War. By
NORA PERRY. Illustrations by George Foster Barnes.

=Little Alix.= A ballad of the Children's Crusade. By SUSAN
COOLIDGE. Illustrations by F. H. Lungren.

Many other enjoyments are in readiness; among them a Thanksgiving poem
by Helen Jackson (H. H.), the last poem we can ever give our readers
from her pen; "A Daughter of the Sea-Folks," a romantic story of
Ancient Holland by Susan Coolidge; "An Entertainment of Mysteries," by
Anna Katherine Greene, author of the celebrated "detective novels;"
foreign MSS. and drawings by Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Pennell; "Stoned by a
Mountain," by Rose G. Kingsley; a frontier-life story by Mrs. Custer,
author of _Boots and Saddles_; a long humorous poem by Christina
Rossetti; Arctic Articles by Lieut. Frederick Schwatka; "A Tiny Tale of
Travel," a prose story by Celia Thaxter; a "Trotty" story, by Elizabeth
Stuart Phelps; beautiful stories by Grace Denio Litchfield, Mary E.
Wilkins and Katherine B. Foote; a lively boys' story by John Preston
True; "Pamela's Fortune," by Mrs. Lucy C. Lillie; "'Little Captain' of
Buckskin Camp," by F. L. Stealey--in short, the magazine will brim over
with good things.


_THE C. Y. F. R. U. READINGS_

meet the growing demand for the _helpful_ in literature, history,
science, art and practical doing. The Course for 1885-86 includes

=I. Pleasant Authors for Young Folks.= (_American Series._) By
AMANDA B. HARRIS. =II. My Garden Pets.= By MARY TREAT, author of
_Home Studies in Nature_. =III. Souvenirs of My Time.= (_Foreign
Series._) By MRS. JESSIE BENTON FREMONT. =IV. Some Italian Authors
and Their Work.= By GEORGE E. VINCENT (son of Chancellor Vincent).
=V. Ways to Do Things.= By various authors. =VI. Strange Teas,
Weddings, Dinners and Fetes.= By their Guests and Givers. =VII.
Search-Questions in English Literature.= By OSCAR FAY ADAMS.

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=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 cradles. 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._


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[Illustration: WIDE AWAKE ART PRINTS]

ARTISTIC FAC-SIMILE REPRODUCTIONS OF ORIGINAL PICTURES.


DESIRING to bring within reach of all homes Pictures of real charm and
real art value, we began, October 1st, the publication of a series
of superb fac-simile reproductions of the finest original pictures
belonging to the WIDE AWAKE magazine.

This collection of water colors, oil paintings, and line drawings,
gathered during the past ten years, includes fine examples of eminent
American and foreign artists: Walter Shirlaw, Mary Hallock Foote, Wm.
T. Smedley, Howard Pyle, Henry Bacon, Jessie Curtis Shepherd, Harry
Fenn, F. S. Church, Chas. S. Reinhart, Miss L. B. Humphrey, F. Childe
Hassam, E. H. Garrett, F. H. Lungren, H. Bolton Jones, St. John Harper,
Miss Kate Greenaway, George Foster Barnes, Hy. Sandham, and others.

And while the skill of foremost engravers has enabled us to give in the
magazine many beautiful engravings from these originals, the mechanical
limitations of the graver, and of the steam press, render these
"counterfeit presentments," at their best, but disappointing attempts,
to those who have seen the originals with their greater delicacy and
richness and strength. The real touch of the artist's brush, the finer
subtler atmosphere, the full beauty and significance, and the technical
excellence, is missing--and it is these features that are retained in
these fac-similes.

The method of reproduction employed is the new photogravure process of
the Lewis Co., which in result is only equalled by the famous work of
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plate paper, size 12x15 inches. Only a limited number of hand proofs
will be made. Ordinary black inks are not employed, but special
pigments of various beautiful tones, the tone for each picture being
that best suited to emphasize its peculiar sentiment.

These beautiful fac-simile reproductions are equally adapted for
portfolios or for framing. They are issued under the name of


[Illustration: WIDE AWAKE ART PRINTS]

Along with the unfailing and refined pleasure a portfolio of
these beautiful pictures will give, attention is called to their
educational value to young art students, and to all young people, as
the photogravure process preserves each artist's peculiar technique,
showing how the drawing is really made, something that engraving
largely obliterates.

_The_ WIDE AWAKE ART PRINTS _are issued on the first and fifteenth of
each month, and are regularly announced in the magazine_.


SPECIAL.

Keeping in view the interests of our readers, we have decided not to
place the Art Prints in the hands of agents or the general trade. In
this way our patrons are saved the retailers' and jobbers' profits,
so that while these beautiful works of art, if placed in the picture
stores, would bear a retail price of $3.00 to $10.00, we are able to
furnish them to our readers and patrons at a


UNIFORM NET PRICE OF ONLY FIFTY CENTS EACH.

Orders for half-yearly sets of twelve will be received at $5.50 in
advance; and for yearly sets of twenty-four at $10.00 in advance. All
pictures are sent in pasteboard rolls, postpaid. Half-yearly and yearly
subscribers will receive each monthly pair in one roll. Portfolios,
suitable for holding twenty-four or less, will be supplied, postpaid,
for 75 cts.


NOW READY:

    OCT. 1. "=Little Brown Maiden.="      KATE GREENAWAY.

The sweetest and quaintest of Miss Greenaway's creations. The original
watercolor was purchased in her London studio by Mr. Lothrop, and is
perhaps the only original painting by Kate Greenaway in America.

    OCT. 15. "=On Nantucket Shore.="      F. CHILDE HASSAM.

A wood engraving from this sea-beach picture was the frontispiece to
the September WIDE AWAKE. In a boy's room it would be a delightful
reminder of vacation days.

    NOV. 1. "=In Grandmother's Garden.="      WM. T. SMEDLEY.

This is a picture of the time when mother was a little girl, and walked
with grandmother in the dear old lady's garden.

    NOV. 15. "=The Dream Pedler.="      EDMUND H. GARRETT.

Every nursery should have this picture of the captivating Dream
Peddler, standing on the crescent moon and with his bell crying his
dreams for sale.

    DEC. 1. "=Morning.="    F. H. LUNGREN.
    DEC. 15. "=Evening.="     F. H. LUNGREN.

These are companion pictures--the beautiful ideal figures set, the one
in the clear azure of a breezy morning, the other in the moonlight
mystery of evening.

[Illustration: hand]_Other Subjects in rapid Preparation. See current
numbers of_ WIDE AWAKE _for particulars_.[Illustration: inverted hand]


Address all orders to D. LOTHROP & CO., Publishers, Boston. Mass., U.
S. A.



D. LOTHROP & CO.'S

LATEST PUBLICATIONS.

=ENGLAND: As Seen by an American Banker.= The author of this book,
an unusually observant, wide awake business man, travelled from one end
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to notice. Price, $1.50.

=TREASURE THOUGHTS FROM CANON FARRAR.= (Spare Minute Series.)
Compiled by ROSE PORTER. In this book the compiler has arranged with
care a large number of extracts from the sermons and other writings of
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=DIVINE SOVEREIGNTY.= By REUEN THOMAS, D. D. A volume of sermons
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=JANUARY.= Edited by OSCAR FAY ADAMS. This book is the second in
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=IN TIME OF NEED.= Compiled by E. W. S. A fine poem by W. F.
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companion for daily needs. 18mo, cloth, 50 cents.

=LIFE OF GEN. GRANT.= By E. E. BROWN. A carefully written life of
the hero of Vicksburg, from his boyhood to his death at Mt. McGregor.
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=THE GOLDEN TREASURY.= This famous anthology, compiled by FRANCIS
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to-day as popular as at first, amid a host of competitors for public
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_PUBLISHED LATE IN DECEMBER._

=DECEMBER.= Edited by OSCAR FAY ADAMS. The first volume of the
series "Through the Year with the Poets." It contains over a hundred
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=THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.= By JOHN BUNYAN. A choice edition of this
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=BUT HALF A HEART.= By MARIE OLIVER. The seventh volume of the
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=CHILDREN OF WESTMINSTER ABBEY.= By ROSE G. KINGSLEY. In this
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=BOYS' HEROES.= By EDWARD EVERETT HALE. The characters of twelve
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[Illustration]

BABY'S BATH.

MUCH of the chafing of children under the joints where the skin lies
in folds is due to the use of Soap containing too much alkali. In the
IVORY SOAP there is no excess of alkali, so it can be used in the
nursery with the most satisfactory results. When applying it, rub a
wet cloth upon the Soap, then wash tenderly, but thoroughly, and rinse
perfectly, especially the folds of flesh, with clear water, and dry
with equal care.

Prof. Leeds, of the Stevens Institute of Technology, says: "The IVORY
SOAP, while strongly cleansing, leaves the skin soft and pleasant to
the touch."

    If your grocer does not keep the Ivory Soap, send six
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       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's Notes:

Punctuation errors repaired.

Front advertising section, "For 10 Cents", "Samples" changed to
"Sample" (Sampy copy and a set of)

Page 138, "bnried" changed to "buried" (his face buried in the)

Page 149, "disdianful" changed to "disdainful" (whispered, and sent
disdainful)

Page 150, "too" changed to "to" (appealed to with a pleasant)

Page 150, "partie" changed to "parities" (nightgown to wear to parties)

Page 159, "where" changed to "were" (where stores were)

Page 159, "foom" changed to "from" (wood from the box)

Page 162, "thoHght" changed to "thought" (might be thought to be)

Page 165, "niether" changed to "neither" (neither go forward nor)

Page 5, advertisements, "Pepy's" changed to "Pepys'" (Mr. Pepys'
Valentine)

Page 5, advertisements, "Tunrcoat" changed to "Turncoat" (A
Revolutionary Turncoat)

Page 5, advertisements, "VI" changed to "IV." (IV. Some Italian Authors)

Page 5, advertisements, "By" changed to "by" (by Anna Katherine Greene)





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