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Title: The Pansy Magazine, June 1886
Author: Various
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Pansy Magazine, June 1886" ***
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$1.00 a Year. JUNE, 1886. 10 cts. a No.
THE
PANSY
EDITED
BY "PANSY"
MRS. G. R. ALDEN.
D. LOTHROP & CO.
BOSTON, MASS., U.S.A.
Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO., and entered at the Boston
P. O. as second-class matter.
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SUBSCRIPTIONS TO LOTHROP'S POPULAR MAGAZINES GIVEN AS PREMIUMS.
We will send WIDE AWAKE one year, free, for new subscriptions to any of
the four magazines (Wide Awake, The Pansy, Our Little Men and Women and
Babyland) amounting to $8.00.
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READY.
_Oct. 1._ LITTLE BROWN MAIDEN _Kate Greenaway._
_Oct. 15._ ON NANTUCKET SHORE _F. Childe Hassam._
_Nov. 1._ IN GRANDMOTHER'S GARDEN _W. T. Smedley._
_Nov. 15._ THE DREAM PEDLER _Edmund H. Garrett._
_Dec. 1._ MORNING _F. H. Lungren._
_Dec. 15._ EVENING _F. H. Lungren._
_Jan. 1._ WILD DUCKS _Charles Volkmar._
_Jan. 15._ IN HOLLAND _F. Childe Hassam._
_Feb. 1._ THE THREE FISHERS _Thomas Hovendon._
_Feb. 15._ UNDER THE ELECTRIC LIGHT _F. H. Lungren._
_Mar. 1._ TWO CONNOISSEURS _T. W. Wood, N. A._
_Mar. 15._ LOST _W. L. Taylor._
_Apr. 1._ THE PIPERS _Jessie Curtis Shepherd._
_Apr. 15._ ON EASTER DAY _W. L. Taylor._
_May 1._ THE YOUNG EMPEROR COMMODUS _Howard Pyle._
_May 15._ A VENETIAN AFTERNOON _Joseph Pennell._
=D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY, Publishers, Franklin and Hawley Sts., Boston.=
_Volume 13, Number 31._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
_June 5, 1886._
THE PANSY.
[Illustration: "THE LITTLE GIRL MOVING THE DASHER."]
SIX O'CLOCK IN THE EVENING.
LORD, EVERMORE GIVE US THIS BREAD.
THOU ART THE CHRIST, THE SON OF THE LIVING GOD.
YOUR FATHER ABRAHAM REJOICED TO SEE MY DAY: AND HE SAW
IT AND WAS GLAD.
"WHY, you've found another verse about bread!" said Grandma, then her
eyes grew thoughtful.
"Association is a queer thing, children; association of ideas, I
mean." (Some people might think that Grandma Burton used large words
in talking to her grandchildren; but the fact was, she did not try
very hard to make her words little. Not that she selected long ones;
her language was always simple; but words which they would be likely
to hear among cultured people, or to see in their books, she aimed to
use in talking with them. If they did not understand a word, they were
always at liberty to ask its meaning. The consequence was, they were
quite intelligent children, and the phrase, "association of ideas," did
not trouble the older ones in the least. As for little Sarah she did
not bother her brains about it, yet awhile.)
"Now you wouldn't suppose," continued Grandma, "that there was anything
in that verse to make me think of a large, old-fashioned farm-house
kitchen, with a wooden bowl on the table, and a wooden spoon hanging
over it, and old-fashioned dishes arranged on the shelf above it, and
a woman in a straight dress, and neck handkerchief, bending over the
bread-bowl, and a little girl with a high-necked apron on, standing
before an old-fashioned churn, moving the dasher up and down, yet I see
all those things as plainly as though it was yesterday morning, instead
of sixty odd years ago."
"What makes it, Grandma? What happened?" And Marion settled little
Sarah more comfortably on the hassock, and straightened herself, ready
to listen.
"Why, it is this association of ideas I was speaking of; my memory of
that verse about bread is mixed in with all those scenes. I was the
little girl moving the dasher. You see it was this way:
"Mother was very sick that spring, and father had to take her to the
city to be under the care of a great doctor, and he had to stay with
her; so we children were scattered. I went to spend a week with aunt
Pat Worcester."
"What a horrid name for a woman!" said Rollo.
"Oh! it was a nice name. _Patriot_, the whole name was, but almost
everybody called her aunt Pat. She was a splendid woman. People all
respected her. She was my father's aunt and he had lived with her
a good deal when he was a boy and loved her very much; he liked to
have me stay with her. That winter, or spring, it was, she had a
nephew living with her; a great red-headed boy named Jeremiah, only
we always said Jerry. I didn't like him very well. He was a smart,
bright boy, and might have been pleasant, only he was always teasing
children younger than himself, telling them things which were not true,
threatening to drown them, you know, or bury them alive, or something
of that sort; things that he had no more notion of doing than he had
of flying; but they were too young to know it, poor things, and he had
that kind of evil nature which seemed to be pleased with making others
uncomfortable. He didn't trouble me much, because I kept close to aunt
Pat; but once in awhile he would wink his great eyes at me, and tell me
he was going to swallow me, some day, when aunt Pat wasn't looking."
Grandma's children all laughed at this, and Marion questioned: "Why,
Grandma, you surely didn't believe _that_, did you?"
"No, child; not exactly, of course; and yet I couldn't help feeling
kind of creepy all over, when I was in danger of being left alone with
him, and I thought of his great mouth. It is my opinion that little
folks suffer from these things more than older ones have any idea. I
should despise a boy who would descend to so mean a trick as trying to
tease one younger than himself."
Harold looked out of the window, steadily, his cheeks a trifle red. The
question was, did Grandma know, or did she _not_ know, that he told
little Bobby White the other day he was going to tie him to the top of
the great big flag staff at the corner, and leave him swinging there
for a flag, because his dress was red, and his collar was white, and
his eyes were blue. But Grandma didn't look at Harold.
"Aunt Pat was moulding bread in the great wooden bowl, and I was
moving the dasher up and down very slowly, and watching her all the
while. I wanted to learn how to make bread, and I asked a great many
questions; but, after all, the thought most in my mind, and which I
said nothing about, after a fashion which children often have, was
this very story about Jesus feeding the five thousand people with five
loaves of bread. Only the day before, which had been Sunday, aunt Pat
had read this whole story to Jerry and me, and talked it over. She was
an excellent hand to tell Bible stories, she made them seem so real.
She explained the size of the loaves, and all about it. When I saw the
great big ones she was moulding, I thought they would have fed a great
many more than the little lad's; and from that I went on, thinking out
the story, and the way those people followed Jesus the next day, and
asked for the bread which would keep them from getting hungry again,
without understanding at all what they were asking for. Aunt Pat said
they prayed just as plenty of people did nowadays; asked great big
things without thinking of them, or wanting them very much. Just then
Jerry came in, blowing his fingers, and pretending to be very cold;
it _was_ a rather sharp spring morning, and he had been out at the
woodpile. He said he wasn't so cold, though, as he was hungry. Aunt
Pat laughed, and said she wondered if there was ever a boy made wasn't
hungry all the time; then she looked at the clock, and found it was
about the time when she always gave Jerry a lunch; for he had been up
and at work since five in the morning. Oh! he had his breakfast, of
course, a little after five, but aunt Pat always gave him a piece in
the middle of the forenoon. By this time she had her loaves all nicely
moulded, and she went to the closet and cut him a thick slice of the
most excellent bread, and spread it with butter that smelled like June
roses. Jerry took great bites of it with a satisfied air, smacking his
lips to show how good it was; it must have brought some thought of the
very story I was thinking about, for suddenly he spoke out: 'Evermore
give us this bread! I say so too!' Then aunt Pat's eyes flashed.
'Jeremiah,' she said, and her voice was very stern, 'you are named
after too good a man to be guilty of making fun of Scripture in any
such way. Repeating a prayer, too, and not meaning it any more than
the heathen do, when they mumble words to their little stone gods. I'm
ashamed of you!'
"Jerry looked a little abashed, and muttered that he didn't mean any
harm; but I remember to this day, just how wrought up aunt Patriot was
about it; she told Jerry that boys who commenced by turning sacred
words to fit their own notions, often ended by being profane, wicked
men. And that's just the way Jeremiah Carter ended. I haven't thought
of him for many a day. But he grew up to be a bad man."
"After all," said Rollo, after a few moments of silence, "you don't
think, Grandma, that quoting that Bible verse made a bad man of him?"
"N-o," said Grandma, speaking slowly, giving her head a little doubtful
shake the while, "I wouldn't like to say that. Boys do trifle with
serious words, sometimes, and get over it, and make good men. I should
be sorry _enough_ if I thought they didn't. But then, Jeremiah Carter
was exactly that kind of a boy. He had no reverence for the Bible, nor
for words of prayer; he was tempted to make fun of everything; and he
got so used to it, that after awhile, nothing of that kind shocked him;
he became one of these men who pretend not to believe the Bible; and
sometimes I have thought that if he had not learned to make light of
it when he was a boy, it would not have come so handy when he grew up.
Anyhow it always makes me think of Jeremiah Carter when I hear anybody
doing it; and he isn't a pleasant body to think of, I can tell you. He
died a good many years ago, and they said his last word was a profane
one."
The grandchildren made no other comments, and Rollo presently began to
whistle. He knew one thing; and that was, it was a great temptation to
him to quote a Bible verse now and then, for his own use. Not anything
so wicked as Jeremiah did, but in a way that his grandmother, he knew,
would call "light and trifling." He wasn't sure whether anybody else
had noticed this habit and he made up his mind while he whistled, that
they should never again have a chance to notice it in him.
PANSY.
THOMAS AND CLARA.
THAT boy and girl in the picture were real persons. They were Thomas
and Clara; were born in a certain town in Steuben County, N. Y., ten
years apart--though they seem to be almost of the same age--and always
knew each other.
[Illustration: THOMAS AND CLARA.]
Clara was a very thoughtful girl, and anxious to know all about
everything--often trying to do things beyond her power. She was also
fond of her needle, and at an early age could use it with remarkable
skill and rapidity.
You need not be surprised to learn that her father used tobacco. Most
men do. They begin in boyhood. Many boys think it fine to be men, and
that one of the quickest ways to be men is to smoke or chew. So they
become deathly sick learning to use tobacco. It is strange. It costs
a great sum of money in one's life--enough to buy a home. It makes
the breath offensive. It is a very filthy habit and selfish as it is
filthy, for though the tobacco user is a great nuisance to many people,
especially to ladies, yet he does not seem to care how much others
dislike his smoke or breath. He goes right on puffing his cigar or
nasty old pipe-fumes into the nostrils and eyes of all who come near.
Now Clara's father was no exception. Sometimes he would come into the
kitchen or dining-room--the parlor even--and fill the air with tobacco
odor.
Clara's mother would get out of patience at times and say it was a
nasty habit and that men had no more right to smoke and chew than women.
And she was right!
Clara loved her father. In her eyes no man was quite as grand as he
except the minister. But on this tobacco question she took strong
grounds with her mother, her pastor and Sabbath-school teacher, who all
thought the same way.
Hearing her mother express her mind so often against this "filthy weed"
she learned the many arguments against its use and resolved that she
would do everything in her power to prevent her friends from raising or
having anything to do with it.
One thing she knew--she never, no, _never_ would marry a man who used
tobacco.
Thomas was so much older than herself she was afraid to speak to him
as her heart often moved her, about certain habits she feared he was
learning.
So the years went by. The great war of the Rebellion came on. Young
boys were joining the army. Word came that Thomas had enlisted and with
many other young persons was on his way to the front where men of the
North and South were shooting each other down by the thousand.
Those were awful days. Not so much because many died on the battlefield
and suffered in loathsome prisons, but because of the bad habits many
of the young soldiers acquired by being among wicked associates.
Thomas passed through some dreadful experiences. He does not like to
speak of them now, telling them only when he is urged.
He was in battle after battle and saw many of his comrades shot down by
his side. He was also in prison.
But the war came to an end. He returned and brought with him many
things, among them a great love for tobacco.
You need not wonder. Nearly all the soldiers loved tobacco; the
majority, I fear, played cards and drank whiskey, and took God's name
in vain.
Thomas escaped everything except tobacco, although he had seen so much
of the other things.
As the soldiers were brave for their country, so many at home became
bold for Jesus. Clara came out on the Lord's side, though many of her
mates laughed at her for it.
But she stood firm and when she had a good chance she spoke true words
for her Master.
Between her home and another near by was a telephone. Her cousin and
Thomas would converse over it. Sometimes Clara would "try her hand" at
talking over the wire. This, however, Thomas did not know. He supposed
Clara's cousin, Halsey, was always at the other end of the telephone,
answering or asking questions.
One day as the conversation was going on, Thomas said:
"Well, I must stop now and take a smoke."
"Don't do it," came a quick response. It was from Clara, but Thomas did
not know it.
"Why not?" inquired Thomas.
"It is nasty," flashed back the quick answer.
"When may I smoke?" came another question.
"Not till I give you permission," Clara replied.
These were her last words through the telephone to Thomas. She never
gave him permission, as she died soon after.
Thomas never used tobacco after that. I heard him tell the story in the
meeting Clara used to attend.
L.
POEM FOR RECITATION.
ONLY A HEART'S-EASE.
Sought the king his garden
When the air was ringing
With the joyous music
That the birds were singing.
When the sun threw westward
Long bright beams of gold,
And the dew was sparkling
On the wold.
Found his plants all drooping
Sullenly and sadly;
Buds and blossoms hung their heads,
Born to bloom so gladly.
When the king demanded
Why in sorrow bent,
There was but one answer--
Discontent.
For the graceful willow
By the fountain weeping,
And the lovely jasmine,
All her perfume keeping,
Answered when he questioned--
Each with envy spoke--
"Ah, because I cannot
Be an oak."
E'en the elm-tree answered,
Sadly and complaining,
"Ah, because I am not
Bloom and fruitage gaining."
And the vine, down drooping,
Lamentation made
Just because it could not
Cast a shade.
Rose would be a dahlia,
Ferns the flowers would copy,
Daisy grow a sunflower,
Heliotrope, a poppy.
Only little Heart's-ease
Looked all glad and bright,
And the king said, wond'ring
At the sight,
"Wherefore, little Heart's-ease,
Art _thou_ not repining?"
And the Heart's-ease answered,
All her gold heart shining,
"Why, when me you planted
'Mong your garden store,
You wanted just a heart's-ease,
Nothing more."
Do you know the lesson
That the fable's giving?
'Tis the very secret
Of all happy living.
In whatever station
God for you deems best,
Yours to grow and brighten,
His the rest.
M. R. P.
"ONLY A CHILD'S PRATTLE."
IT was one of those summer mornings when the earth seems all aglow
with sunshine. The Granger House faced the east, and the doors and
windows were opened to let in the light and brightness of the morning.
It was a handsome house, somewhat old-fashioned, but handsome still
and elegantly furnished. It should have been a happy home, but there
was a shadow resting upon it; as yet it was not a deep, dark shadow,
indeed it was scarcely perceptible to any save to one troubled heart.
Mr. Granger did not see it, he did not know that a horrible fear was
sometimes clutching at the heart of his almost idolized wife. He did
not suspect his own peril and did not see as she did, the demon lurking
in those bottles and decanters on the sideboard.
That morning, little Alice, the one petted darling of the house, was
playing upon the lawn, with no other companion than her favorite doll,
almost as large as Alice herself.
She had wandered about the grounds, the mother watching the golden head
and thinking that sunshine itself was not brighter, until suddenly the
child's attention was attracted by what was to her an altogether new
sight. A young man was passing. Just in front of the house he staggered
and would have fallen had it not been for the assistance of a companion
a little less helpless than himself. I need not describe the scene.
Unfortunately, to the most of us it is not an unusual sight. We have
seen too often the unsteady and uncertain step of a drunkard, we have
too often heard the silly laughter and listened to the imbecile chatter
of those who have drowned their manhood in a glass of liquor.
But to Alice Granger, a child of five years, it was a new and strange
sight and one which she could not comprehend. Her doll lay unheeded
upon the ground while with an earnest, curious expression upon her face
she watched the two travellers out of sight. Then she ran to the house.
"Mamma," she said, "there were two funny-acting men went past just now.
They went on both sides of the street and did not act as if they knew
how to walk. They were just as silly as could be."
"Yes, dear; I saw them."
"Mamma, what made them act so?" inquired the child.
Mrs. Granger was inclined to evade the question. She was sorry that her
darling had witnessed the disgusting spectacle. She would have spared
her the knowledge of this form of sin awhile longer, but it could not
now be helped, and as Alice persisted she said at length,
"My dear child, those young men had been drinking too much wine."
"Too much wine! But, mamma, wine does not make folks act like that!"
"Yes, it does."
"But papa drinks wine," and the little round face wore a look of
perplexity.
As Mrs. Granger did not reply, Alice said again,
"Say, mamma, papa drinks wine. Does it make him walk like that and talk
so that nobody can understand him? Say, mamma!"
What could the mother say? How should she teach her darling to hate the
wine cup and at the same time preserve the child's respect and love for
her father?
"My darling," she said at length, "wine is a dangerous thing. I will
teach you all about it. And papa thinks that a little does not hurt
anybody; but perhaps when you know more about it, you and I can coax
him not to drink any."
That day at dinner Alice astonished her father by exclaiming suddenly,
"Papa, I wish you wouldn't drink any more wine!"
Mr. Granger looked up in surprise, but he laughed and asked,
"Why not?"
The little face was very sober and the voice very earnest as Alice
replied, "Because it makes men act so dis-gust-ing-ly!" The last word
was brought out slowly, as if it were too large for her.
"What do you know about it?" The question was addressed to Alice his
daughter, but Mr. Granger looked at his wife.
"Alice had her first temperance lesson to-day," replied Mrs. Granger,
"and it has made an impression."
"Seems to me you are beginning early to teach her your peculiar views,"
said the gentleman, half-laughing, half-sneering. At least, it was as
near a sneer as the gentleman in Mr. Granger would allow.
"It so happens that I was not the teacher," responded his wife; "it was
an object lesson. She saw young Morgan and his friend pass."
"And, papa, they acted just awful! I wouldn't have you act that way for
anything."
"Don't be afraid. Fred Morgan drinks a great deal and I only drink a
little. That's the difference."
Alice was still quite a time. Then, as her father drained his glass,
she asked suddenly,
"Papa, how much is a great deal of wine?"
"How much? O, I don't know," replied Mr. Granger carelessly.
"I wish you _did know_." And now the voice was very anxious.
"Why do you wish that?"
"Why, don't you see you might make a mistake and drink too much. But
if I can find out _I'll_ keep watch and tell you, so you need not be
afraid of being like Fred Morgan."
Mr. Granger rose from the table laughing, and betook himself to the
library; but the last words of his little golden-haired daughter had
struck home to his heart. He, Thomas Granger, like Fred Morgan! Why,
Fred was a reeling drunkard. He, Thomas Granger, needing to be watched
by his little daughter, lest he make a mistake and take too much wine!
Could there be truth in the suggestion? Was he in danger? Of course
not. It was a child's foolish prattle. But foolish or not, the thought
staid with him, and, sneer as he might, it would not be put down.
Was this the wise Heavenly Father's way of answering that sad-hearted
wife's prayer that her husband might be brought to see his danger?
There was no wine served at dinner the next day. The glittering
decanters, and the bottles with the age mark of which Mr. Granger had
been so proud, and the cutglass wine glasses had all disappeared. No
need now for Alice to watch!
Her father had left forever the dangerous path, and had resolved never
again to lift the wineglass to his lips.
FAYE HUNTINGTON.
[Illustration: LITTLE ALICE AND HER FAVORITE DOLL.]
_Volume 13, Number 32._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
_June 12, 1886._
THE PANSY.
[Illustration: LITTLE SATE IN THE CHOIR.]
REACHING OUT.
(_A further Account of Nettie Decker and her Friends._)
BY PANSY.
CHAPTER VIII.
IT was a beautiful Sabbath afternoon; just warm enough to make people
feel still and pleasant. The soft summer sunshine lay smiling on all
the world, and the soft summer breeze rustled the leaves of the trees,
and stole gently in at open windows. In the front room of the Deckers,
the family was gathered, all save Mr. Decker. He could be heard in his
bedroom stepping about occasionally, and great was his wife's fear
lest he was preparing to go down town and put himself in the place of
temptation at his old lounging place. Sunday could not be said to be a
day of rest to Mrs. Decker. It had been the day of her greatest trials,
so far. Norm was in his clean shirt and collar, which had been done up
again by Nettie's careful hands and which shone beautifully. He was
also in his shirt sleeves; that the mother was glad to see; _he_ was
not going out just yet, anyway. Mrs. Decker had honored the day with a
clean calico dress, and had shyly and with an almost shamefaced air,
pinned into it a little cambric ruffle which Nettie had presented her,
with the remark that it was just like the one Mrs. Burt wore, and that
Jerry said she looked like Mrs. Burt a little, only he thought she was
the best-looking of the two. Mrs. Decker had laughed, and then sighed;
and said it made dreadful little difference to her how she looked. But
the sigh meant that the days were not so very far distant when Mr.
Decker used to tell her she was a handsome woman; and she used to smile
over it, and call him a foolish man without any taste; but nevertheless
used to like it very much, and make herself look as well as she could
for his sake.
She hadn't done it lately, but whose fault was that, she should like to
know? However, she pinned the ruffle in, and whether Mr. Decker noticed
it or not, she certainly looked wonderfully better. Norm noticed it,
but of course he would not have said so for the world. Nettie in her
blue and white gingham which had been washed and ironed since the
flower party, and which had faded a little and shrunken a little, still
looked neat and trim, and had the little girls one on either side of
her, telling them a story in low tones; not so low but that the words
floated over to the window where Norm was pretending not to listen:
"And so," said the voice, "Daniel let himself be put into a den of
dreadful fierce lions, rather than give up praying."
"Did they frow him in?" this question from little Sate, horror in every
letter of the words.
"Yes, they did; and shut the door tight."
"I wouldn't have been," said fierce Susie; "I would have bitten, and
scratched and kicked just awful!"
"Why didn't Daniel shut up the window just as _tight_, and not let
anybody know it when he said his prayers?"
Oh little Sate! how many older and wiser ones than you have tried to
slip around conscience corners in some such way.
"I don't know all the reasons," said Nettie, after a thoughtful pause,
"but I suppose one was, because he wouldn't act in a way to make people
believe he had given up praying. He wanted to show them that he meant
to pray, whether they forbade it or not."
"Go on," said Susie, sharply, "I want to know how he felt when the
lions bit him."
"They didn't bite him; God wouldn't let them touch him. They crouched
down and kept as _still_, all night; and in the morning when the king
came to look, there was Daniel, safe!"
"Oh my!" said Sate, drawing a long, quivering sigh of relief; "wasn't
that just splendid!"
"How do you know it is true?" said skeptical Susie, looking as though
she was prepared not to believe anything.
"I know it because God said it, Susie; he put it in the Bible."
"I didn't ever hear Him say it," said Susie with a frown. A laugh
from Norm at that moment gave Nettie her first knowledge of him as a
listener. Her cheeks grew red, and she would have liked to slip away
into a more quiet corner but Sate was in haste to hear just what the
king said, and what Daniel said, and all about it, and the story went
on steadily, Daniel's character for true bravery shining out all the
more strongly, perhaps, because Nettie suspected herself of being
a coward, and not liking Norm to laugh at her Bible stories. As for
Norm, he knew he was a coward; he knew he had done in his life dozens
of things to make his mother cry; not because he was so anxious to do
them, nor because he feared a den of lions if he refused, but simply
because some of the fellows would laugh at him if he did.
That Sabbath day had been a memorable one to the Decker family in some
respects; at least to part of it. Nettie had taken the little girls
with her to Sabbath-school, and then to church. Mrs. Smith had given
her a cordial invitation to sit in their seat, but it was not a very
large seat, and when Job and his wife, and Sarah Ann and Jerry were all
there, as they were apt to be, there was just room for Nettie without
the little girls; so she went with them to the seat directly under the
choir gallery where very few sat. It was comfortable enough; she could
see the minister distinctly, and though she had to stretch out her neck
to see the choir, she could hear their sweet voices; and surely that
was enough. All went smoothly until the sermon was concluded. Sate sat
quite still, and if she did not listen to the sermon, listened to her
own thoughts and troubled no one.
But when the anthem began, Sate roused herself. That wonderful voice
which seemed to fill every corner of the church! She knew the voice; it
belonged to her dear teacher. She stretched out her little neck, and
could catch a glimpse of her, standing alone, the rest of the choir
sitting back, out of sight. And what was that she was saying, over and
over? "Come unto Me, unto Me, unto Me"--the words were repeated in the
softest of cadences--"all ye who are weary and heavy laden and I will
give you rest." Sate did not understand those words, certainly her
little feet were not weary, but there was a sweetness about the word
"rest" as it floated out on the still air, which made her seem to want
to go, she knew not whither. Then came the refrain: "Come unto Me, unto
Me," swelling and rolling until it filled all the aisles, and dying
away at last in the tenderest of pleading sounds. Sate's heart beat
fast, and the color came and went on her baby face in a way which would
have startled Nettie had she not been too intent on her own exquisite
delight in the music, to remember the motionless little girl at her
left.
"Take my yoke upon you, and learn of Me, learn of Me," called the sweet
voice, and Sate, understanding the last of it felt that she wanted
to learn, and of that One above all others. "For I am meek and lowly
of heart"--she did not know what the words meant, but she was drawn,
drawn. Then, listening, breathless, half resolved, came again that
wondrous pleading, "Come unto Me, unto Me, unto Me." Softly the little
feet slid down to the carpeted floor, softly they stepped on the green
and gray mosses which gave back no sound; softly they moved down the
aisle as though they carried a spirit with them, and when Nettie,
hearing no sound, yet turned suddenly as people will, to look after her
charge, little Sate was gone! Where? Nettie did not know, could not
conjecture. No sight of her in the aisle, not under the seat, not in
the great church anywhere. The door was open into the hall, and poor
little tired Sate must have slipped away into the sunshine outside.
Well, no harm could come to her there; she would surely wait for them,
or, failing in that, the road home was direct enough, and nothing to
trouble her; but how strange in little Sate to do it! If it had been
Susie, resolute, independent Susie always sufficient to herself and a
little more ready to do as she pleased than any other way! But Susie
sat up prim and dignified on Nettie's right; not very conscious of
the music, and willing enough to have the service over, but conscious
that she had on her new shoes, and a white dress, and a white bonnet,
and looked very well indeed. Meantime, little Sate was not out in the
sunshine. She had not thought of sunshine; she had been called; it was
not possible for her sweet little heart to get away from the feeling
that Some one was calling her, and that she wanted to go. What better
was there to do than follow the voice? So she followed it, out into the
hall, up the gallery stairs, still softly--the new shoes made no sound
on the carpet--through the door which stood ajar, quite to the singer's
side, there slipped this quiet little woman who had left her white
bonnet by Nettie, and stood with her golden head rippling with the
sunlight which fell upon it. There was a rustle in the choir gallery,
a soft stir over the church, the sort of sound which people make when
they are moved by some deep feeling which they hardly understand; there
was a smile on some faces, but it was the kind of smile which might
be given to a baby angel if it had strayed away from heaven to look
at something bright down here. The tenor singer would have drawn away
the small form from the soloist, but she put forth a protecting hand
and circled the child, and sang on, her voice taking sweeter tone, if
possible, and dying away in such tenderness as made the smiles on some
faces turn to tears, and made the echo linger with them of that last
tremulous "Come unto Me."
But little Sate, when she reached the choir gallery, saw something
which startled her out of her sweet resolute calm. Away on the side, up
there, where few people were, sat her own father; and rolling down his
cheeks were tears. Sate had never seen her father cry before. What was
the matter? Had she been naughty, and was it making him feel bad? She
stole a startled glance at the face of her teacher, whose arm was still
around her and had drawn her toward the seat into which she dropped,
when the song was over. No, _her_ face was quiet and sweet; not
grieved, as Sate was sure it would be, if she had been naughty. Neither
did the people look cross at her; many of them had bowed their heads in
prayer, but some were sitting erect, looking at her and smiling; surely
she had made no noise. Why should her father cry? She looked at him;
he had shaded his face with his hand. Was he crying still? Little Sate
thought it over, all in a moment of time, then suddenly she slipped
away from the encircling arm, moved softly across the intervening
space, into the side gallery, and was at her father's side, with her
small hand on his sleeve. He stooped and took her in his arms, and the
tears were still in his eyes; but he kissed her, and _kissed_ her, as
little Sate had never been kissed before; she nestled in his arms and
felt safe and comforted.
The prayer was over, the benediction given, and the worshipers moved
down the aisles. Sate rode comfortably in her father's arms, down
stairs, out into the hall, outside, in the sunshine, waiting for Nettie
and for her white sunbonnet. Presently Nettie came, hurried, flushed,
despite her judgment, anxious as to where the bonnet-less little
girl could have vanished. "Why, Sate," she began, but the rest of the
sentence died in astonished silence on her lips, for Sate held her
father's hand and looked content.
They walked home together, the father and his youngest baby, saying
nothing, for Sate was one of those wise-eyed little children who
have spells of sweet silence come over them, and Nettie, with Susie,
walked behind, the elder sister speculating: "Where did little Sate
find father? Did he pick her up on the street somewhere, and would he
be angry, and not let Nettie take her to church any more? Or did he,
passing, spy her in the churchyard and come in for her?"
Nettie did not know, and Sate did not tell; principally because she
did not understand that there was anything to tell. So while the
people in their homes talked and laughed about the small white waif
who had slipped into the choir, the people in this home were entirely
silent about it, and the mother did not know that anything strange
had happened. It is true, Susie began to inquire reprovingly, but was
hushed by Nettie's warning whisper; certainly Nettie was gaining a
wonderful control over the self-sufficient Susie. The child respected
her almost enough to follow her lead unquestioningly, which was a great
deal for Susie to do.
So they sat together that sweet Sabbath afternoon, Nettie telling her
Bible stories, and wondering how she should plan. What did Norm intend
to do a little later in the day? What was there she could do to keep
him from lounging down street? Why was her father staying so long in
the choked-up bedroom? What was the matter with her father these days,
and how long was anything going to last? Why did she feel, someway,
as though she stood on the very edge of something which startled and
almost frightened her? Was it because she was afraid her father would
not let her take Sate and Susie to church any more?
With all these thoughts floating through her mind, it was rather
hard to keep herself closely confined to Daniel and his experiences.
Suddenly the bedroom door opened and her father came out. Everybody
glanced up, though perhaps nobody could have told why. There was
a peculiar look on his face. Mrs. Decker noticed it and did not
understand it, and felt her heart beat in great thuds against the back
of her chair. Little Sate noticed it, and went over to him and slipped
her hand inside his. He sat down in the state chair which Nettie and
her mother had both contrived to have left vacant, and took Sate in his
arms. This, of itself, was unusual, but after that, there was silence,
Sate nestling safely in the protective arms and seeming satisfied with
all the world. Nettie felt her face flush, and her bosom heave as if
the tears were coming, but she could not have told why she wanted
to cry. Norm seemed oppressed with the stillness, and broke it by
whistling softly; also he had a small stick and was whittling; it was
the only thing lie could think of to do just now. It was too early to
go out; the boys would not be through with their boarding-house dinners
yet. Suddenly Mr. Decker broke in on the almost silence. "Hannah,"
he said, then he cleared his voice, and was still again, "and you
children," he added, after a moment, "I've got something to tell you
if I knew how. Something that I guess you will be glad to hear. I've
turned over a new leaf at last. I've turned it, off and on, in my mind
a good many times lately, though I don't know as any of you knew it.
I've been thinking about this thing, well, as soon as Nannie there came
home, at least; but I haven't understood it very well, and I s'pose
I don't now; but I understand it enough to have made up my mind; and
that's more than half the battle. The long and short of it is, I have
given myself to the Lord, or he has got hold of me, somehow; it isn't
much of a gift, that's a fact, but the queer thing about it is, he
seems to think it worth taking. I told him last night that if he would
show a poor stick like me how to do it, why, I'd do my part without
fail; and this morning he not only showed the way plain enough, but he
sent my little girl to help me along."
The father's voice broke then, and a tear trembled in his eye. Sate had
held her little head erect and looked steadily at him as soon as he
began to talk, wonder and interest, and some sort of still excitement
in her face as she listened. At his first pause she broke forth:
"Did He mean you, papa, when He said 'Come unto Me'? Was He calling
you, all the time? and did you tell Him you would?"
"Yes," he said, bending and kissing the earnest face, "He meant me, and
He's been calling me loud, this good while; but I never got started
till to-day. Now I'm going along with Him the rest of the way."
"I'm so glad," said little Sate, nestling contentedly back, "I'm so
glad, papa; I'm going too."
"BUT" AND "WILL."
FARMER SMITH was fond of birds. When he was young, married and settled
in his new house, he planted trees about his home for the birds to live
in. He made several pretty cages for the martins. Here and there he
put small boxes among the tree-tops to draw certain birds that love to
occupy houses that other folks have built.
When boxes failed he would take old oyster cans instead. One day he
picked up a leaky glue-pot and tied that on a young elm-tree.
[Illustration: THE HOME OF THE WREN FAMILY.]
The next day it was "rented" by a wren. There she continued year after
year, taking a vacation in the winter in Florida for her health's
sake. She had a way of paying her rent that quite satisfied Farmer
Smith, as he never ejected or annoyed her. He probably got his rent in
music.
As the years went by, the young elm grew and grew till its top branches
seemed almost to touch the sky. It spread, some said, over a half acre
nearly.
The glue-pot, or wren's nest, had gone up too, beyond the reach of bad
boys that are not happy in seeing birds happy.
One summer, when Mother Wren and Father Wren had gone away on a short
visit, the children looked down from the door of their cottage and saw
some strangers approaching. Among them was Farmer Smith. He was showing
them over the grounds and pointing out this thing and that.
They came under the elm and talked, and the young Wrens listened. And
when the old people returned they related the conversation of Farmer
Smith and the strangers.
They were greatly excited, as something was said about cutting the "old
elm" down.
But the parents quieted their troubled wrenlets with a good supper and,
putting them to sleep, they talked the matter over in a whisper with
their heads close together.
The next day, charging the children to listen carefully, they flew
away, returning soon with a good dinner.
As they sat eating, Miss Kittie Wren spoke up:
"They came again, and I heard Farmer Smith say that this tree was
indeed in the way. He could not raise anything about it, it shaded
everything so. 'But I can't bear,' he said--I couldn't hear the rest.
But I guess it was something awful, and we'll have to get right out of
our pretty house or be cut down. O dear, dear!"
And they all set up a cry, and were quieted only when told there was no
danger, because Farmer Smith said "But."
The next day, on their return, Master Fred related the talk.
"Farmer Smith said: 'I can't get through winter, as I see, without
cutting up "old elm" for wood. But, dear me, how can I? I set it out,
and have enjoyed its shade so long. Yet I suppose some day it must
come down for firewood.'"
"No danger yet," said Mr. Wren. "So long as that 'But' stands there he
can't strike 'old elm' one blow."
The next day Deb told how he came and measured it and figured up how
many cords of wood it might make, and then he guessed he might cut it
next week.
"Needn't be disturbed, darling, so long as Farmer Smith _guesses_ he'll
do it _next week_. That does not mean anything."
At supper on the following evening, Fred said: "Farmer Smith said
to-day, 'Boys, I want you to cut down the elm.' It's all up with us
now."
"Never fear a man who only _wants_ a thing done. Thousands of people
_want_ this and that, but don't _do_ it. You may rest another day,
children. Eat, drink and be merry till we get back."
Mother Wren had barely entered the door with a delicious dinner when
Kittie, Fred and Deb all put in at once:
"You had scarcely gone, when Farmer Smith came out alone and walked
around 'old elm' muttering something. Then he said, 'I will go now and
get my axe and cut it down this very day.' He is grinding his axe now;
don't you hear the grindstone?"
"He said, 'I _will_?' Are you sure it was not guess or _think_ I will?"
"We are positive," all said.
"Then pack up this very minute. We must move before he strikes the
first blow."
And away they went.
Did you ever hear of folks who say they _ought_ to sign the Temperance
Pledge; who _guess_ they will seek religion; who _think_ they will
begin to pray some day, _but_ not _now_? A few _will_, like the
Prodigal Son, and they are--saved!
Do you _but_ or _guess_ or _think_ or _will_?
REV. C. M. LIVINGSTON.
- - - - - - -
Do thy little; God has made
Million leaves for forest shade;
Smallest stars their glory bring,
God employeth everything.
WHY SOME ROSES ARE RED.
_A Flower Legend._
ALL roses were white, in the long ago,
According to flower lore;
But one day an angel passed by that way
As a message of love he bore
To a sorrowful soul bowed down by woe,
And weary with ceaseless pain,
And as he noticed the fragrant white flowers,
He poised on the wing amain,
And quickly approaching those roses sweet,
A beautiful bud to pick,
He whispered, "I'll take it with word of love
I bear to the lonely sick."
But as he plucked the beauteous flower,
Whose soft cheek was pale as death,
He said, "As my errand this time brings life--
I will warm it with my breath."
So he kissed the cheek of the fair white rose,
Which 'neath his thrilling touch blushed,
And with message of love, and pink rose of hope,
The sighs of the sick one he hushed.
And ever since then, when a rose is red,
Or blushes with delicate tint,
A kiss, from some angel of love and life,
On its cheek has left its imprint.
LYDIA HOYT FARMER.
A MOTHER'S LOVE.
IN December, 1821, a man with his wife and child were riding in a
sleigh over the mountains of Vermont. At last the horse refused to
proceed. The man set off to look for help, but soon he perished in
the cold. The mother set off to look for him, with her baby in her
arms, but she was found dead near the sleigh, next morning. The babe,
however, was living, for that mother had wrapped it in her shawl. There
is a sweet poem written about it. This proves to you the deep love that
wells up in the mother's heart. Any mother would have done the same for
her child.
How earnestly should every child strive to love and please his dear
parents.
RINGWOOD.
WANTED--THE MOON.
THE Moon rose early, and Baby Ned
Was rather late in going to bed.
Not two years old, this dear little fellow,
With head so round, and bright, and yellow,
With his eyes so brown, and mouth so sweet,
His fair little hands, and dainty feet--
Wee feet, that have barely learned to walk--
And his wise, quaint, broken, baby talk.
He was perched that night on grandma's knee,
The place where the small king loved to be.
Where the wise brown eyes saw something new
Through the window, up there in the blue.
Over the top of the tallest hill,
Round and silvery, fair, and still,
God's grand old moon! that for ages past
Has held its way in the night-sky vast.
And Neddie wanted that shining ball
To hold in his hands so soft and small,
And nobody went and took it down.
He wrinkled his face to a little frown;
Red lips quivered--he wanted it soon;
Then--_one more baby cried for the moon_!
But mamma brought him his milk and bread,
And patted his dear little curly head.
Then quickly he smiled and forgot the moon,
And laughed at his face in his silver spoon.
O happy Neddie! so easy to smile;
Your life will be glad, if all the while
As the years go on you can turn away
From all that you want when God says "Nay,"
And laugh, and thank Him for what He may give--
That is the way for His child to live.
O manly boys, and sweet little girls!
With all your colors of eyes and curls,
If you would have life like a summer day,
Be content with the things that are in your way.
Seek ever the things that are pure and high,
As planets that move in the evening sky,
But if you can't have the shining moon,
Be glad when God offers the silver spoon.
EMILY BAKER SMALLE.
[Illustration: PHYSICIANS IN COUNSEL.]
_Volume 13, Number 33._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
_June 19, 1886._
THE PANSY.
[Illustration: MAMMA HAS RETURNED.]
WHERE I WENT, AND WHAT I SAW.
IN the first place, I took a walk. It was a March day, but I wore a
sun hat and carried a sun umbrella. Crossing the road in front of my
cottage, I went through a little gate, ran down a hill under great
spreading pines, and walked along the shore of a lovely lake, stopping
now and then to pick white violets, and whortleberry blossoms with
which to adorn my hat. Then I sat me down in a rustic seat, and read
a letter from some friends in Ohio, telling about a snow storm, and
a wind storm, and a frost frolic, and I know not what not of sulky,
boisterous weather. Over my head, meanwhile, the mocking birds sang
merrily, now pretending that they were robins, now bobolinks, and now
nothing but common chirping birds!
Yes, I was in a different country; and you are guessing rightly, that
it was in sunny Florida.
But it was time to go on; the great tabernacle bell was ringing, and
I wanted to be in at the opening, for we were promised some curious
sights that day. After all, I was late; some friends who had been in
the woods stopped to show me some pitcher plants, and to divide great
sprays of sweet-scented Southern jessamine with me, and when I tiptoed
into the tabernacle, work had commenced.
Certainly the sight was curious enough. Men and women, some of them
gray-headed and spectacled, each of them with a bit of paper in hand
about four inches square; red, or yellow, or blue, or golden, as the
case might be; all the colors of the rainbow seemed to be there. Each
of these grave men and women were bent over their papers, carefully
folding, and creasing, and re-folding, according to the direction of
the leader, until they had each made what a small woman of six, sitting
near me, called "a little birdie with wings!" but what her gray-haired
aunt sitting beside her, pronounced to be a "strictly correct
geometrical figure." "Geometry," was that the subject? Well, that is
for grown people, surely. No, playing at boat and bird building. Was
that the subject? But that is for _children_.
Well, you are both right; it _was_ Geometry, and it was _play_. And
the name of it is Kindergarten.
Call it what you will, not a Blossom of you but would have liked to be
there, and help fold that paper; and your mothers would have enjoyed
it, at least, almost as well. Why? Well, principally because of the
little dots at home, which they saw they could delightfully entertain,
as well as teach, in this way; and because of the tall boy, who yet is
a trifle puzzled over fractions. It would be so easy with those nice
sticks, which followed the papers, to show him how to do it. Then the
blocks, cunning little squares, and triangles, and all sorts of shapes;
and what delightful things they would build, to be sure! Do you know, I
fancied I saw every Blossom of mine, who has a sister or brother, four,
five, six years old, who must be entertained very often by your puzzled
selves, sitting in that tabernacle, eager listeners and workers,
getting new and bright thoughts every minute as to how you could
combine pleasure with instruction; and while little sister thought she
was having a "perfectly splendid time" in your care, she would really
be learning lessons which would help her all her life.
Didn't I wish you were there! But since you were not, and I couldn't
reach to call you, why, I will tell you about it now, and fill your
hearts with vain regrets.
Listen, my Blossoms. Kindergarten; that is the name, remember. Is there
one in the city where you go, sometimes, to visit? By all means take a
morning or two, and visit it, and run away with some pretty ideas to
help you amuse the little sisters. Or perhaps it is in the very city
where you live, but too far away for the little sister or brother to
attend; still, by all means, go _you_, as a guest occasionally; and my
word for it, you will be richly repaid. Such wonders can be done with
bright paper, and blocks, and a strong needle with bright-colored silks.
Miss Ross was our teacher, in Florida, last winter; and much did
we enjoy the privilege of hearing her. She is going to hold Normal
Kindergarten Conventions through the States, next fall; look out for
her name, and hear her if you can.
Miss Matilda K. Ross of Chicago.
PANSY.
A LETTER FROM FATHER.
"I WONDER if we will get a letter from father to-night."
It was Essie Carter who spoke. Her mother sat by the window sewing,
while Gracie played with her dolls upon the doorstep. Essie was just
starting for the post-office.
"I think," she continued, "that I will go across the pasture lot, it is
more shady that way and it is very warm this afternoon."
At mention of the pasture lot Gracie sprang up and said in her lisping
tones, "Gracie go too!"
"Gracie may go as far as the fence and wait for Essie there," said
her mother. And clinging to her sister's hand, carrying her favorite
doll, the little one went down the lawn, across the meadow and there
cheerfully relinquished her hold and set about hunting violets while
Essie went on to the country post-office, where she secured the coveted
letter. On her return she found Gracie hanging upon the fence.
"Did you get a letter?" she asked.
"Yes; and now we will hurry home and mamma will read it to us."
"Did my papa write it?" asked the child.
"Yes, dear; papa wrote it to us, maybe there will be a little letter in
it for Gracie."
"With what did he write it?"
"With a pen, of course."
"What is a pen?" asked the little questioner.
"O Gracie Carter! you can ask the most questions of any child that ever
was born, I do believe!" exclaimed Essie.
"But what is a pen?" persisted Gracie.
"A pen is a thing to write with," replied Essie despairing of evading
the questions.
"Who made a pen?"
"I don't know," was Essie's frank reply.
And then she fell to thinking unheeding Grade's questions. After the
letter had been read and talked over Essie said:
"Mamma, Gracie wanted to know who made pens, and I couldn't tell her;
a thing we use so constantly too! I would like to know something about
them myself."
"Well, dear, can't you find out?"
"If we were at home I could study it up in the library, but we haven't
any books here excepting poems and Bibles and the dictionary."
"Is that the way you rank your books?" asked Mrs. Carter smiling.
"No; but it is such a matter of course to have the Bible that I was not
going to mention it, then I just happened to think of the dictionary."
"Well, go to the dictionary and see what you find there."
Essie turned over the pages and read, "An instrument used for writing,
formerly made of the quill of a goose or other bird, but now also of
other materials, as gold and steel."
"Why, mamma, is that true, pens can be made of a quill? I never heard
of such a thing."
"There _are_ a few things that my daughter has never yet heard of."
"Now, mamma, you are laughing at me! But truly I never heard of a pen
being made of a quill. Dear me, I wish I had a cyclopædia. The next
time we come out here I mean to bring a whole set!"
"Perhaps I could tell you something about pens," said Mrs. Carter
quietly.
"O mamma! I beg your pardon," exclaimed Essie coloring slightly. "I
ought to have known that you could! I have heard papa call you a
walking cyclopædia."
"Your uncle Horace was at one time employed in a gold pen manufactory
and I learned a great deal at that time, and we studied up the history
of pens. If I remember rightly the first pens used were made of iron or
steel and were not used with ink, but the letters were cut in stone, or
clay, and afterwards the same sort of an instrument was used to write
upon waxed tablets; then when parchment and paper began to be used pens
were made of reeds, and of course the people must have had ink of some
sort. Now about quill pens. It was probably more than a thousand years
ago that some one discovered that the quills of birds made better pens
for writing on paper than could be made of reeds, and people have used
quill pens more or less ever since."
"Why do we not use them? Did you ever use one?"
"Two questions at once! I'll answer the last one first. Yes, I remember
using quill pens when I first began to go to school. My father had
never used any other and he had a prejudice against steel pens, which
had already come into use, and as we kept a flock of geese we always
had a supply of quills. It was considered in my father's day one of the
necessary qualifications of a schoolteacher that he should be able to
make a good quill pen. Such steel pens as we use may be classed among
_modern inventions_. It is said that they were first introduced about
the beginning of the nineteenth century, but they were not a success
and very little progress was made in the manufacture for more than a
quarter of a century. One thing will surprise you, I think. The first
pens made, in an English factory about the time they were successfully
introduced, sold for nearly twenty-five cents apiece at wholesale
rates."
"At that rate it would cost papa a fortune to keep me in pens! Why, I
use up a box in a little while."
"Probably; you are apt to use up things."
"I wish papa would give me a gold pen; I believe I could keep one a
long time," said Essie.
[Illustration: "DID YOU GET A LETTER?" SHE ASKED.]
"Probably the best steel pens are made in England, but American gold
pens are the best. A great amount of labor is bestowed upon them. Every
one is carefully tested before it is put into the market. When a
person buys a gold pen he pays a good price for it and expects it to
last a long time, and this is the reason that they are so carefully
tested. If half the steel pens in your box prove to be worthless, the
remainder are still cheap."
"But, mamma, you have not told me why people do not use quill pens
nowadays."
"I suppose principally because metal pens are more durable. Quill pens
require to be mended often and one who writes much would find it quite
a task to make and mend his pens. I should not wonder if we would find
a bunch of quills hanging from the rafters in the attic of this old
house and I should like to make a quill pen for you that you may write
with a pen like the one your grandfather always used. And now, Essie,
if you will pay attention to your father's request you shall have a
gold pen when we go back home," said mamma, smiling kindly.
"You mean about taking pains with my writing?"
"Yes; I have sometimes thought that in nothing does culture or want of
culture show itself more than in a person's penmanship."
MRS. J. H. FOSTER.
THE FOX FAMILY.
IN 1840 there lived a man in Kinderhook, N. Y., who was a smart
politician and his party often put him up for office; somehow he had
a way often of being elected, as many popular men do nowadays. He was
nominated for the Presidency. Can you guess his name? There was great
excitement on both sides. The Whigs had put up General Harrison for
their candidate and were singing songs about Log Cabins and Hard Cider,
because General Harrison lived in one and drank the other. They said
many things against the Kinderhook man. Parties always do say hard
things against their opponents.
Among other hard names they called him a "Little Fox," and no doubt
some voted against him, thinking if he was anything like a fox he was
not fit to be President of the United States.
[Illustration: A FAMILY OF FOXES.]
People are prejudiced against this animal because he is so sly and
tricky.
Queer stories are told about his smartness.
He loves (to eat) fowl. He will swim toward a duck _e. g._ with turf in
the mouth, so as to be concealed, then, being near, the unsuspecting
duck is "nabbed" for Mr. Fox's dinner.
He goes limping with his head down, as if eating clover, till near
enough to seize a hare. When caught stealing hens, he will pretend to
be dead, though kicked roughly about, till he gets a chance to "up and
off." When traps are arranged around his hole, he will stay in for
days, hungry, or make a new outlet rather than expose himself to a
trap. He knows how to fire off a gun that has been set for him without
being hit.
In Northern climes he can pull up the fish-line that has been placed by
the fisherman over night through a hole in the ice. The man comes early
to get a morning fish breakfast but only to find an empty hook lying
near the hole and Mr. Fox galloping off in the distance with the game.
The above is what "They say." Many more strange things are said about
the Fox family.
Certain it is they are a shrewd set, smarter in providing delicious
repasts for their children than many of their neighbors, the farmers,
who treat them as thieves.
The Whigs did almost or quite call the Kinderhook man a sly thief.
They probably _now_ think he was as honest, perhaps more suited to the
Presidency than was Gen. Harrison. Very different from the "Fox" of
Kinderhook was Charles James Fox of England who died a hundred years
ago. Strangely enough he was a great Whig, though Whig in England was
not the same as Whig in the United States. He was a fine scholar and
high statesman; some say, "the greatest debater the world ever saw."
Different still was George Fox of England who died two hundred years
ago--one of the purest, best men that ever lived. The Quakers or
Friends started from him. He went everywhere preaching the simple
teaching of the Bible and against trusting to forms and ceremonies.
Enemies arose against him and had him put in loathsome dungeons. But he
came out of the prison (though not just as Saint Peter did, by the help
of an angel) but only to forgive his cruel persecutors and go right on
preaching God's free and simple grace.
John Foxe was another grand man. He wrote "Foxe's Book of Martyrs."
Have you ever read it? He died three hundred years ago. Thus you see
the Foxes are not all so sly and tricky as those in the picture "look
to be." See what queer eyes they have. Somewhat upside down.
C.
SOME REMARKABLE WOMEN.
N.--NEWELL, HARRIET ATWOOD.
UPON the platform in Tremont Temple, Boston, at the meeting of the
American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, last October,
there was placed a little mahogany table, old-fashioned in form and
dark with age. It was an object of great interest from the fact that
around that small table, three feet by two--or, when the leaves were
spread, three by five--there sat, seventy-five years ago, the five men
who formed the American Board at that date. The first meeting held in
the parlor of the little parsonage in Farmington, Ct., was a small
beginning, and who could have guessed that Tremont Temple, Music Hall,
and one or two churches would have been filled to overflowing by the
crowds that would come to the seventy-fifth anniversary! We who live
in this missionary age cannot realize the weight of that undertaking,
nor can we who are saying farewell to friends and acquaintances who go
out in fast-sailing steam ships with many a comfort and convenience
unknown in those days, and in comparative safety, realize what it meant
to those five young men and their wives who were the first sent out by
the newly-formed board, to bid adieu to home and friends with scarce a
hope of ever returning to their native land. Rev. Samuel J. Newell was
one of the five, and the subject of this sketch was his devoted young
wife. Harriet Newell was the first woman who went out to India as a
missionary. She was scarcely beyond girlhood, only eighteen years old
when she said good-by to her widowed mother and went out to tell the
people of India about the Friend who waited to receive them.
Mrs. Newell's early home was at Haverhill, Mass. She was educated at
Bradford Academy. It was while she was at school that she determined to
consecrate her life to the service of Christ, though I do not gather
from any account of her life that she had at that time any thoughts of
becoming a missionary. Her letters written at that early period evince
a rare thoughtfulness and uncommon maturity of mind. Indeed, it would
seem that she early put away childish things. Neither have we any
account of her having any of the good times of girlhood; yet I suppose
she was not altogether unlike other girls, but we have only the story
of her inner life. She has told us in her journal of her conflicts
with sin and of her victories; we can see the rapid development of her
Christian character, from the time she first engaged in the service
of God to the hour when she "consecrated herself to the establishment
of the kingdom of Christ in Pagan lands. To this great and glorious
object all her thoughts and studies, her desires and prayers tended.
It was only with a view to this that she considered her talents and
acquirements of any special importance."
Mrs. Newell exhibited in her short life great force and decision of
character. When, after earnest deliberation, mingled with prayer for
wisdom, the question of duty had been settled, she moved forward
without hesitation. Let me give you the words of one who knew her well:
"The character of Mrs. Newell had an excellence above the reach of
mere human nature; behold her, united to friends and country by a
thousand ties, a woman of refined education, with delightful prospects
in her own country, resigning all for a distant Pagan land; all these
sacrifices she made calmly, with a sober deliberation, with steady,
unyielding firmness, and this not for wealth, or fame, or any earthly
object, but to make known among the heathen the unsearchable riches of
Christ."
And now what will you say when I tell you that this remarkable woman,
remarkable for her talents, her personal gifts, remarkable for her
Christian development, was to meet with disappointment at the outset
and was to be denied the privilege of engaging in the work for which
she had left home and friends. They were ordered away from India by the
government and decided to attempt to establish a mission upon the Isle
of France. Nearly a year from the time of leaving America they reached
this place, having spent nearly all that time on ship-board. It would
seem that now their troubles might be at an end; and so Mrs. Newell's
were. For in about three weeks after they landed she was called to go
to her mansion above. At nineteen her work was finished--finished, as
it seemed, before it was fairly begun! Yet her example of devotion,
of fortitude, of love for the cause, her submission and patience
under trial may have accomplished far more than she living could have
done. When the news of her triumphant death came to America, other
noble-hearted, earnest women were found ready to take the place of this
first woman of our land who was ready to give her life to the people of
India. To-day, after seventy-five years, scores are in the field, more
waiting to be sent, and I know not how many among the PANSY readers
getting ready for the Master's work in foreign lands. God grant that
there may be many such!
F. H.
OUR ALPHABET OF GREAT MEN.
Q.--QUINCY, JOSIAH.
COUNTING back for five generations, we find in the Quincy family a
Josiah. The great-great-grandfather of the present Josiah Quincy
was a merchant, and we are told that he was a zealous patriot in
Revolutionary times, and you all know that meant a great deal.
His son, who was called Josiah Junior, became a celebrated lawyer, and
was prominent as an advocate of liberty. It was he who with Samuel
Adams addressed the people when the British ships anchored in Boston
Harbor with the cargo of tea. But notwithstanding his reputation for
patriotism, his action in defending the soldiers who fired upon the mob
in what is known as the Boston Massacre, brought him into unpopularity.
Yet I think that if you study the facts carefully, and weigh them well,
you will see that although the presence of the British soldiers was an
outrage, and justly obnoxious to the people, yet upon that occasion
there was some excuse for their action. And John Adams and Josiah
Quincy should not be condemned for undertaking their defence.
Afterwards both did good service in the interest of Colonial
Independence. Quincy went to England doing much to promote the good of
his country.
He died upon the homeward voyage in 1775, in sight of American shores.
His son Josiah, three years old at the time of his father's death, was
educated at Harvard University, became a lawyer, a member of Congress,
and having filled acceptably various other offices, was at length
elected President of Harvard, which position he held for fifteen years,
He had a son Josiah, also a graduate of Harvard, and again the fifth
Josiah in the line is a graduate of the same institution.
There are other Quincys of this family who have attained celebrity.
I might tell you of Edmund Quincy, who was prominent in anti-slavery
circles, but I think you will find plenty of occupation for this month
if you study up all these Josiahs.
FAYE HUNTINGTON.
[Illustration: A VERITABLE BOY BLUE.]
_Volume 13, Number 34._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
_June 26, 1886._
THE PANSY.
[Illustration: AN ENGLISH STILE.]
ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.
BY MARGARET SIDNEY.
VIII.
A BOY, breathless from long running, rushed into Mrs. Allen's arms as
she turned away from the sitting-room window with a sigh.
"Why, here you are!" she exclaimed in a joyous burst.
"The fellows are in some sort of a scrape," gasped the boy, careful of
his words; "can't get home--I'm going to tell their mothers--"
Mrs. Allen looked at her empty arms, turned and went out to the kitchen.
"Ann, you may put on the tea; we will not wait for George Edward."
"Land! he just raced in, red as a boiled lobster," cried Ann with the
privilege of a favored servant.
"I know; but he is off again, on an errand that had to be attended
to--put on the tea, and ring the bell."
It was some time before the son of the family made his appearance in
the Allen household again. When he did come, it was to bring a face
so utterly miserable, and a pair of feet so incapacitated for further
movement, that his mother began to seriously question if she had done
the wise thing to allow him to be the deliverer of the several messages.
The first thing to do now, however, was to get the boy to bed; so with
the aid of Ann's hot oatmeal gruel, George Edward was assisted by
father and mother on either side, up to his pretty room, where he was
rubbed down, pretty much as one would perform that same operation on a
tired horse, till each separate and distinct joint seemed supple and
elastic as was their ordinary condition, and the boy was tumbled into
bed, fast asleep before his head touched the pillow. Mr. and Mrs. Allen
looked at each other as they sat down in the library, and drew a long
breath.
"What shall we do with such a boy?" cried the mother. "He seems to
carry the burdens of other boys, old people, animals, and everything
that comes in his way."
"Let him alone," said Father Allen shortly.
"Oh! I wouldn't dare say anything," exclaimed Mother Allen, alarmed at
being misunderstood; "I was only mentioning the fact."
"You asked a question," said Father Allen, who was nothing if not
exact; "you asked 'What shall we do with him?'"
"And I ask it again," said Mrs. Allen, rubbing her forehead in a
perplexed way, "whatever in the world shall we do with him?"
"And I answer in the same words that the immortal Mr. Dick employed on
a similar occasion to Miss Betsey Trotwood's question, 'Wash him and
put him to bed.'"
"We have done that," said his wife with a laugh, "now, what next?"
"Oh! as to that," replied Father Allen with a yawn, "I must confess, I
don't see my way clear to furnishing you with an additional answer. The
only one I should suggest is, let _us_ go to bed."
So the matter was left precisely as it always remained, for George
Edward to follow out his own instincts, and grow up in his own way to
solve life's greatest problem, "How can I best serve mankind, and carry
out Christ's command 'To do unto others as I would that they should do
to me.'"
This narrative, more devoted to the interests of St. George and his
doings, than to records of any other boys, will simply state that the
morrow's morning train brought home the recreant crowd to the bosoms
of their waiting families. The boys of this crowd always mentioned the
old farmer who had passed the night with them, with an air, though not
of fondness, of great respect. What he did to them to thus inspire
them, I am in no position to know--I can only relate that he had great
satisfaction in his part of the evening's entertainment, and that he
simply remarked to Betsey on his return, "I don't think they'll do that
thing again right away," and that Thomas when recalling the event,
would often pause in his work to allow himself the brief respite of a
smile after careful observation that revealed no on-looker.
* * * * *
"I don't think it pays," some voice at my elbow might say, as a pair
of bright young eyes have traced thus far George Edward's career, "to
be always watching to help other people out of scrapes. 'Look out for
yourself' is going to be my motto."
Just wait, dear little friend. The "boy is father to the man" we are
told, and we recognize the fact from the first time we meet the phrase
in our readers and copy books. Isn't it better to be a good father, and
turn out a worthy representative of your family name, that no chance in
life will make one ashamed to meet in after life? What you call "fun"
and "a good time" and "looking out for yourself" now, will perhaps
carry a different name ten or twenty years later. It may possibly be
known among men as selfishness, indifference to public good; or uglier
still, sharp, shrewd handling of moneyed interests committed to your
care, to make them yield benefits to the one who manipulates them. It
may get even to be found deserving the name of a man who recognizes
only the Ego of human existence, than which, you will quite agree with
me, there is no more hateful being under the sun. Think well before you
give up the habit of doing the good you can now to those who are your
neighbors, whether at home or at school.
And this brings me to a second period of George Edward's life, which
was fraught with new responsibilities and pleasures, and which
brought him into a wider field of boyish activity. He was to go away
to boarding-school; the narrow educational advantages of his home
demanding it.
Before the important decision was reached--where to send their boy--Mr.
and Mrs. Allen allowed themselves a whole year to consideration of
the matter. There was not a school of prominence in the length and
breadth of the land, that in some way did not pass under the keen-eyed
watchfulness of the two parents. Not that they personally visited
them all--oh dear, no! how could they? But that in some way, reliable
information of the different school methods, and the principles and
standing of the instructors, was given into their keeping.
"We never shall find a school where we can say confidently we will
place our boy; never in all this world," cried Mrs. Allen one day,
when a letter from a friend upset an almost decided plan of accepting
the "Halloway School for Boys" as the arena for George Edward's
activity. The letter was from a good friend whom they could trust. It
said, "Don't you do it; the system of instruction is faulty, and the
knowledge obtained is shallow."
Father Allen only said, "Don't worry," buttoned up his coat and went
out to try other fields.
At last came the day when those interested could announce the thing
settled. "George Edward Allen is going to Doctor Bugbee's school
in Rockboro," and great grief and lamentation fell upon his old
friends--and who in that town in which his life was spent, was not glad
to claim that friendship?
THE CAMEO SET.
AGAIN the jewel-case was brought out. Lucy Ansted's brother had arrived
for a short visit, and taking advantage of this addition to her forces,
Annie Burton determined to have a tableau party. Grandma Burton, always
interested in whatever the "the children were up to," offered the
girls her old-fashioned jewels for the occasion. But no sooner was the
jewel-case opened than they forgot all about the tableaux and fell to
admiring and asking questions. "These the only cameos I ever saw that I
thought pretty," said Annie, holding up a handsome set.
"Those _are_ handsome!" said Lucy. "Mamma has cameos, but they are
common-looking things. Seems to me they cannot be the same kind; I
think there is a difference in the color."
"Very likely," replied Mrs. Burton. "I presume your mother's are
shell cameos. The most of the modern cameos are made from sea shells.
The shells have two layers of different colors. Usually the outside
is white and the inner layer brown or coffee-colored. I once had an
opportunity of visiting a cameo cutter's workshop. It was not easy
to get admission, but an artist friend of your grandfather's took me
there."
"Can you tell us about the process?"
"It was many years ago, and my impressions of what I saw have grown
somewhat dim, still I can tell you something about it. I remember that
he told me that the shell he was cutting came from the coast of Brazil.
Another which he showed me was from the Bahamas, and he said that some
of those used came from the Indies, both East and West, and also from
the African coast."
"Are the shells used of a peculiar sort?"
[Illustration: PREPARING FOR TABLEAUX.]
"They are the ordinary conch-shell. In each one there is material for
only a single cameo, large or small. The available part is sawed out by
persons employed for that work, who also shape the cameo by grinding
the piece upon a grindstone, making it square or oval as desired; then
it is ready to be handed over to the artist. The cutter fastens the
shell into a small block of wood, of a size convenient for grasping
firmly with the left hand. He then draws the outline of the figure he
wishes to put upon it with a pencil. When the work is outlined upon the
white surface, he begins to scratch the line with a fine steel needle,
following his pencil mark very carefully. The artist I saw at work
inspected his scratches with a magnifying glass at almost every scratch
of his needle. I call it a needle because that describes the fine steel
tool which he used. After he had finished the outline he began to work
with small, sharp chisels, cutting away the white layer of shell around
the figure he had outlined. He worked away carefully, chipping and
scraping until it was all removed, leaving the portrait of some old
Roman a raised white figure upon a dark ground. It seems simple enough
to hear about it, or to see it done, but it requires a skilful hand
and a practised eye. There is a finishing process of polishing with
putty powder. This is applied with a stiff brush and is said to be a
very delicate operation, though it seems as easy as the polishing of a
silver spoon."
Lucy had been turning over the articles in one of the compartments of
the jewel-case and now held up a small cameo pin.
"That is a shell cameo!" said Grandma; "I had quite forgotten it. Now
if you will observe, you will see that the edges of the raised white
part are left square-cut, not rounded or sloped."
"Why is that?" asked Lucy.
"If the white layer were cut thinner by the rounding or sloping of the
edges, the dark layer would show through, and the outline would be less
clearly defined."
"I see! A very simple explanation."
"A great many things are plain after you know the whys and wherefores."
"But, grandma," said Lucy, "this set of yours--is this a shell cameo?"
"No; I was going to tell you about that. It is very old, and somewhat
rare in design and workmanship. It belonged to your great-grandmother
Burton. It is an onyx. The art of cutting shell cameos is a modern one.
I think it is not a hundred years since shell cameos were introduced,
but the art of cutting precious stones like the onyx and agate, in
fact, any stone which has layers of different colors, is very ancient.
The Greeks and Romans understood the art, and even in Babylonish days
it was practised, and used for the ornamenting of vases, cups, urns."
"There are a few very fine specimens of antique cameos to be found in
Europe. One in Paris is twelve inches long by ten inches wide. And the
Gonzaga Cameo in St. Petersburg is one of the finest." It was Grandpa
Burton who said this, joining for the first time in the talk which
drifted to other topics, in which we have just now no special interest.
But Mrs. Burton noticed that Lucy laid aside the cameos for the tableau
party.
WILMOT CONDEE.
[Illustration: ROUND THE FAMILY LAMP]
THE ROSE-GAME.
I WANT to tell you, dear Pansies, of a lovely little game for the
most beautiful month in the year--the month of roses. It is played
out-of-doors, of course, in the long, beautiful sweet evening, when
father and mother, and the older members of the family circle who do
not care to participate actively, can sit on the porch, or by the open
window, and see the pretty fun go on.
Make a chain of roses, just as one makes a daisy chain, or a chain of
any other flowers. Use all kinds and colors of roses--being careful to
distribute shades nicely. String on strong enough cord or ribbon to
support the flowers.
Now choose your leader, either a boy or girl. Let all players assemble
under a tree, or on the porch. The leader holding chain, comes up to
them, and if addressing a girl, says, bowing low, "Pretty maid, wilt
join us?"
(If to a boy)
"Pretty sir, wilt join us?"
When you have as many as can comfortably take hold of chain, move off
to the smooth lawn. And here let me say, you better calculate before
making your chain, how many children will take part in the game. Do
not, I beg, crowd out any who would like to play. Always remember that
a slight like this, or a disappointment, would make you feel very
badly, and remembering this, make your games to bring pleasure to every
one, and only productive of happy memories.
Now then, you are on the lawn. The leader gives the word. All take
hold by both hands of rose-chain, and dance around, singing,
Ring around-a-rosy,
Jack must get a posy,
or,
Sue must get a posy,
or whatever the name of child who is first sent. As quick as lightning,
Jack or Sue must leave chain and dancers, rush off into the garden,
pick a flower, no matter what kind, and fly back, the others holding
chain, dancing and singing,
Ring around-a-rosy,
Jack will bring a posy.
When the posy is brought, Jack throws it into the centre of ring, on
the lawn. Do this until all players have brought a flower. If gone
longer than they ought to be, they forfeit their places. When all have
brought flowers, the ring dance around once more, singing,
Ring around-a-rosy,
Each has brought a posy.
Then the leader gives signal to stop. He picks up the heap of flowers,
and, leading the way, he conducts all players to the porch, where with
a low bow he presents to mother the posy heap, all singing,
Ring around-a-rosy,
Each brings you now a posy,
the leader throwing the rose chain around mamma's neck--which _entre
nous_, I think she will always preserve in her best rose jar.
May the sweetest, longest June evening be made very happy in playing
this Rose-Game.
MARGARET SIDNEY.
THE FLOWER CHORUS.
THIS may be arranged for twenty, or more, quite little girls, say in
groups of five; representing roses, lilies, daisies, and pansies. It
would be well to have the children decorated as much as possible with
the flowers they represent, and let each carry a bouquet of the same.
(_Concert Recitation; children arranged in a semicircle._)
We are Jesus' little Blossoms
Blooming in his bowers;
And He watches us and loves us,
His little human flowers.
Blooming, blooming everywhere,
Each of priceless worth,
And he bids us reach out
Over all the earth.
(_As the last line is given, let the children make a waving motion
outward, with the hand that holds the flowers._)
THE ROSES.
(_Let the five or more children who represent them, step slightly
forward, and hold their bouquets just before them, looking down at
them, and appearing to get their perfume as they speak._)
Our Heavenly Father's roses
Are very sweet and bright;
And we should bloom just like them,
From morning until night.
Blooming, blooming everywhere,
Each of priceless worth,
So he bids us blossom
Over all the earth.
If roses are plenty, it makes a very effective addition to this
recitation, for each of the children to toss out toward the audience,
roses, here and there, as they give the last two lines; not, however,
disturbing their bouquets.
THE LILIES.
Our Saviour's precious lilies
Grew, lovely, at His feet;
Oh would that we could blossom
As beautiful and sweet!
Blooming, blooming everywhere,
Each of priceless worth,
So He bids us scatter
Over all the earth.
(_As the last four lines are given, let the roses join with the lilies
in recitation, waving their flowers, and scattering them abroad, if
this is feasible._)
THE DAISIES.
And these are God's fair daisies
That bloom on plain and hill;
We too would blossom like them,
And do our Father's will.
Blooming, blooming everywhere,
Each of priceless worth,
So He bids us blossom
Over all the earth.
(_Let the roses and lilies join, and obey the directions given above._)
THE PANSIES.
Our Father's lovely pansies
Look up, with tender grace;
And we would blossom like them,
A joy in every place.
Blooming, blooming everywhere,
Each of priceless worth,
So he bids us blossom
Over all the earth.
(_All join in the last four lines, as before; then form in a circle,
holding up their bouquets in a compact mass, like a wreath, or crown,
and give the last verse in concert._)
We are all our Father's flowers,
Blooming in His bowers,
And we want to blossom
In valley, plain, or meadow,
In sunshine, storm, or shadow,
Just as sweetly still,
And do our Father's will.
(_Then let them quickly form a procession, and march around the
platform, or down the aisle, or in any direction in which they are to
make their exit, scattering roses, lilies, daisies and pansies from
their bouquets as they march, singing the refrain:_)
Blooming, blooming everywhere,
Each of priceless worth,
So He bids us blossom
Over all the earth.
(_The refrain can be repeated as many times as it is necessary, in
passing out; any simple tune which the children know, can be used in
singing it._)
MRS. C. E. FISHER.
BEN, DAN, AND JACK.
THEY lived in a long, low, rambling house; it might have been built a
century ago, so queer and old-fashioned was it. But little cared the
boys; they had good times. Mr. and Mrs. Prentice believed in boys;
and they believed in boys having good times, always provided the good
did not mean bad. For one thing, the Prentice boys were allowed to go
barefooted. Now every boy knows that it is fun to go barefoot. They
wore palm leaf hats in summer, which were not too good to play "pitch
and toss" with. They were allowed to despoil the squash vines for
leaf stalks to make "squawk pipes," and nice golden pumpkins from the
field were not too precious in the eyes of Farmer Prentice to be used
in making jack-o'-lanterns; they were allowed to go a-fishing; to go
a-berrying, and to make up nutting parties, and, best fun of all, when
all the neighborhood turned out to hunt the coons which were destroying
the corn crop, the boys were allowed to join in the hunt.
How good the green corn roasted by that midnight fire down in the old
pasture lot, just over the fence from the corn lot, tasted. And that
was the time they learned the secret of roasting eggs and potatoes in
the hot ashes. How carefully they rolled the eggs in many layers of
brown paper, and then wetting them thoroughly laid them in the bed
made ready, and covering with the heated ashes they listened for the
cracking of the shells which would tell that the eggs were done. But
these boys did not spend all their time in just having "good times."
Now and then as they gathered around the kitchen fire in winter or were
grouped in the yard, they would forget their popping corn or their
jack-o'-lantern and fall to talking over the last book they had read.
There was no lack of books in the Prentice home. For if Mr. and Mrs.
Prentice believed in boys, they also believed in books for boys.
"Any gunpowder under that?" asked Dan one morning, coming around the
corner of the house and seeing a great pile of kindling wood which Jack
was splitting.
"Not a keg!" was the reply.
"I thought you must be plotting some mischief or you would never have
stuck to the work long enough to split such a pile as that," continued
Dan.
"There is a plot, that's a fact," returned Jack; "but it is not a
Gunpowder Plot. I am going to ask father to let me go with Johnson
when he goes after those cattle, and we shall be gone three days, so I
thought it would advance my cause a little if the kindlings were all
ready beforehand."
"You are a sharp fellow," said Dan, laughing, "a very sharp fellow."
"But wasn't that Gunpowder Plot a scheme though!" said Jack.
"Well, I confess I don't know much about it," replied Ben, who had in
his lazy fashion thrown himself on the ground. "Just tell a fellow
about it and save him the trouble of reading it."
"That is what Jack is aching to do," said Dan, laughing. "Jack is the
orator of the family, you know."
"Go ahead, old fellow," and Ben shifted his weight from one elbow to
the other.
"It was in the reign of James the First; he was James the Sixth of
Scotland; he was the son of Mary Stuart, and as she was a Catholic,
the Catholics of England supposed her son would restore, or at least
tolerate, the Catholic faith in England. But they were bitterly
disappointed in this expectation; the old laws against it were put into
execution and others more severe passed by Parliament. And it was out
of this intolerance that the famous Gunpowder Plot grew. The scheme
was to blow up with gunpowder the Parliament House, while Parliament
was in session, and so destroy the king and members of Parliament.
There was a vault under the building which the conspirators hired as a
salesroom for wood and coal. They put in stealthily thirty-six barrels
of gunpowder and then covered these with the wood and prepared a train
so that the whole could be fired at once. They had a ship ready to take
Fawkes on board--"
"You've got ahead of your story! tell us who was Fawkes."
"He was one of the conspirators, a Spanish officer who superintended
the business and was to touch it off. Authorities do not quite agree
as to how the secret leaked out. It is supposed that one of the
conspirators wanted to save some of his friends and so warned them to
keep away from the Parliament House on the day set for the execution of
the plot, and suspicion was thus aroused, and Guy Fawkes was arrested
just as he was about to apply the match to the train. He was tried and
executed along with several others. The day set for the horrible deed
was the fifth of November, 1605, and it has ever since been observed as
a holiday in England."
"You've done well," said Dan. "But you left out a lot; you forgot to
tell how they first hired a house next to the place where Parliament
was held and tried to dig through the walls."
"I did not forget it, but it amounted to nothing and they abandoned
that plan, and I thought Ben could read that up for himself. I have
noticed that if you tell him a part of a story he will go and find
out the rest. The best way is, to tell him just enough to whet his
curiosity."
Dan was half-way to the barn before this remark was ended, but glancing
back he saw Ben and Jack down on the grass _having it out_ in a regular
"rough and tumble."
F. H.
[Illustration: BEN, DAN, AND JACK.]
[Illustration: THE P.S. Corner]
DEAR PANSIES:
Will every one of you put on your "thinking caps" and give careful
attention to what I am about to say? All summer I am to be away from
home; in Kansas, Wisconsin, Nebraska, and I hardly know where else;
flitting from one city to another, only a few days in a place. As a
consequence, unless you pay close attention, I shall not be able to
hear from you. Because letters will fail to reach me. But I shall have
a secretary who will stay all summer at Chautauqua, Chautauqua Co.,
N. Y. If you address me _at that place_, she will get the letters,
attend to the business part of them, and see that they are sent to me.
Will you remember, and send letters to me at Chautauqua, instead of
Cincinnati, or Carbondale, or any other place?
This direction holds good for the months of June, July, August and
September. After that, I will give you other information.
Another thing, _do not send subscription money for_ THE PANSY _to me;
but always to D. Lothrop & Co., Boston_.
When you want badges, send name and pledge to me; also ten cents in
postage stamps, unless you are a subscriber. Subscribers are entitled
to badges free of charge. All letters about THE PANSY, or about your
work or plans, all questions connected with the P. S. are to be sent to
my address; but _remember_, when you want to subscribe for THE PANSY,
send your dollar directly to Boston.
Years ago we used to have a department in THE PANSY which met with much
favor. This was a letter or article by the Editor, containing all the
words which had been misspelled or improperly used during the month,
by young correspondents; of course no names were mentioned.
We have determined to begin in July, a similar exercise, continuing
it so long as there shall be any call for it. If, during any month,
all letters received have been correct as to spelling, punctuation,
capitals, grammar, etc., you may know it by the absence of the
"queer-looking" article the following month.
Each member of the P. S. is expected to carefully read and correct the
article. If you choose to report to me your success, I shall be glad;
but this is not a rule.
A good plan would be to have an exercise in your local societies, the
president giving out the words from THE PANSY, and each member writing
them, as he or she thinks they ought to be; then let the papers be
exchanged and read, first appointing an umpire, dictionary in hand, to
decide as to correctness.
Look out for my first letter, next month.
Lovingly, PANSY.
DEAR PANSIES:
Through the bright summer months, while away at seashore, or mountains,
we know there will come many idle moments when it is too hot to play,
and when books do not engross. In these moments, may you hear the
voices of those patient little ones, who, too sick and suffering to
play out of doors, are lying on beds of suffering, only knowing of the
green fields, and cool brooks, and lovely summer-tide places, from
their memories, or from what others tell them. At such moments, oh,
dear Pansies, let your fingers be busy in making those things that
you know children like them would enjoy, and your tongues be active,
interesting the other children of the hotel or the boarding-house
in this ministry of love. It is now some four years since the Pansy
Society was formed. Its members are legion, from the Atlantic to the
Pacific, and it has done much noble work. But we aim for great results,
and we mean this summer to accomplish much good. We wonder which of our
workers will lead.
M. S.
_Walter_ from Virginia. Another sunshiny face will give light in the
home, if you keep your pledge, my boy, as I seem to feel sure you
will. It is easy to find something to look cross at; almost anybody
can do that; but the people are rather few who can look pleasant when
things do not go just right. The few who do this, are among the most
helpful people we have in the world.
_Clara_ from Nova Scotia. A five-year-old Pansy blooming in Nova
Scotia! Isn't that delightful? She is just like all the other little
Blossoms, too; troubled with weeds; doesn't like to obey promptly, and
"wants her own sweet little way, sometimes, instead of mamma's." But
like a brave Blossom she is going to try to get rid of these weeds and
grow beautifully for the great Gardener. We welcome you heartily to the
P. S., and hope you will train "Agnes" and "Margaret" so well, that
they will join us very soon.
_May_ from Virginia. Little seven-year-old May flower, I give you
greeting. It is such an easy thing for bright little tongues to "answer
back!" How glad I am that now, while you are so young, you are going to
overcome the bad habit! Why, here is brother Chester in your letter!
We are glad to welcome him. What a large pledge he has taken! Part of
it you are very glad to hear, I know. Chester, my boy, I hope you will
succeed. Write and let me know how you are getting on.
_Edith_ from California. "Selfishness" is a weed which seems to thrive
in a great many States. I am not surprised to hear that California has
its share. Glad you are going to root it from your grounds. I have
ordered the missing number of THE PANSY sent to you.
_Lowrie_ from Washington Territory. So you do not mean the rest of
us shall know what fault you are striving to overcome? Well, never
mind; so that you and Jesus know about it, that is all that is
really necessary. But if you honestly try, there are others who will
know about it. You may not hear them, but they will be saying among
themselves: "How much Lowrie is improving! Don't you know how often he
used to give way to that fault of his? Now he hardly ever does." When
your dear "chubby" fingers get so they can write, send me word how you
are prospering, and whether you find the badge a help.
_Calvert_ from Indiana. Here is a boy who is going to stop "putting
off things." Good! I wish you lived with a boy friend of mine long
enough for him to adopt your resolve. He troubles all his friends so
much with that very habit! Perhaps he will read this letter, and join
you. I am glad you try to increase the circulation of THE PANSY. If
every Blossom on our list should get one new subscriber a year, even,
what a _great_ new garden we should have!
_Nora_ from Minnesota. What sort of a "face" is it, my dear? I suspect,
a cross one; for I know several people who do not like to "practise."
Suppose you resolve to wear a smile, whenever you are told to do that
wearisome thing? In which case, you would be sure to keep your pledge.
Wouldn't you?
_Annie_ from Missouri. Five new subscribers in a week! What a bright
little worker it is! A "quick" temper is not a bad thing to have, when
it is a servant, and not a mistress. So long as you keep it under good
control, it will help you to move quickly, and work quickly, and think
quickly. Did you know that?
_Amy_ from New York. My dear Blossom, I want to preach a little sermon
to you, with one word for a text: PATIENCE. I know you have had to wait
long for the answer to your letter; but what would you do if you were
the editor of a magazine, which was published once a month, and had
room in it for replies to only a dozen or twenty letters each month,
and you received as many as twenty-five a day? You "would make shorter
answers," I think I hear you say. That is a good suggestion; I have
thought about it myself; but there is always so much to say! I am sorry
to hear that you have not kept your pledge very well, but the old motto
which my dear mother used to quote to me, when I was a very little
girl, is a good one for you: "If at first you don't succeed, try, try
again."
_Nellie_ from Maine. So I had the honor of receiving the first letter
you ever wrote! I am pleased with that. A good letter it was, too.
I have just been reading about a little girl in California who has
a habit of fretting; and now I find that they have the same disease
in Maine! Well, I am glad to know that there will be less of it from
this time. It is sometimes very hard work to obey promptly. You will
have to keep careful watch of yourself; but it will be a triumph worth
winning, when you form the habit.
_Winnie_ and _Helen_ from Minnesota. I am always glad to welcome
sisters; for I know how helpful they can be to each other. When we have
two, patient, lady-like, sweet Pansies who speak only gentle words,
how sweet the perfume will be! Perhaps the breath of such flowers will
creep all over the State of Minnesota! You don't think that possible?
Oh, yes indeed. I have known a sweet breath from a little human flower,
reach from New York to China. Try how far you can make your perfume
reach.
_Lucy_ from Massachusetts. Poor fingernails! I am always so sorry for
those faithful friends when they have to be bitten. I will hope for
better times with yours. It is astonishing how many warm friends Nettie
Decker has! She is a favorite of mine, so I am glad you like her. I
read your letter to the author of "My Brainless Acquaintance" and he
expressed much pleasure at the thought that you enjoyed it. I hope you
will give the "baby brother" a kiss for me.
_Margie_ from Massachusetts. That is the trouble, my dear little girl:
So many people are naughty "before they think."
I know of only one way to learn how to think, and that is, to ask Jesus
to keep your thoughts on what he wants you to remember. You must always
remember that it "takes two to make a quarrel;" so if you will not
quarrel with any person, no one can quarrel with you.
_Helen_ and _Frank_ from Maryland. Dear little brother and sister, we
are very glad to receive your names. There are a great many things to
"get mad" over. I heard a little boy say, yesterday, that when he was
in any trouble, he always got mad. I asked if that helped him any, and
he owned that he thought it made the matter worse. It is pleasant to
think that Frank will watch his temper, after this. And as for you,
Helen, I shall expect to hear that you make a great deal of sunshine
from this time.
_Mary_ from Minnesota. Dear little Blossom, with "ever so many bad
habits," what a work you have before you. But if you will hold your
ear close, and not tell anybody, I will whisper a secret to you. Every
little girl I know, has ever so many, also. The difference between
them is only, that some are trying to overcome, and some are not. Let
me tell you that is a _very great difference_; one that will reach all
through life. It is so good to think that our little Mary belongs to
those who are trying.
_Ned_ and _Willie_ from "Home." Well, my dear boys, that was what you
said; and glad am I that you can date your letters from home, but I
wish I knew in what State it was! I might have looked at the envelope,
it is true, but I "forgot" and threw it away. Never mind, _you_ know
where you live, and I hope will never forget that it is the best place
in the world. What a comfort to think of the hats and satchels, and all
the other school belongings carefully put away, instead of being tossed
on a chair, or under the table, or anywhere. Oh! I know all about it.
A boy of my acquaintance pitched his hat into the milk pitcher the
other day! Neither the hat nor the boy felt so well afterwards. As
for that habit of "exaggerating" it is astonishing as well as sad, to
think how it will grow. Not long ago I repeated a remark which a lady
made, who had called on me; I was at once asked where I heard it, and I
mentioned the lady's name. "Oh," said my friend, "that is probably not
true; I have not heard of it, and I think I certainly should have, if
it had been so. As for Miss ----, you cannot credit anything she says."
Then noticing my astonished look, she added earnestly: "I am sorry to
tell you so; but it is the truth. Not that I think she intends to be
false, but she has such a sad habit of exaggerating, that really no one
pretends to believe her stories." Think of it!
_Florence_ from Pennsylvania. A "grumbler" is a very uncomfortable
person, certainly. By all means let us uproot the weed from our Pansy
Beds. Thank your dear mamma for her kind words.
_Willie_ from Minnesota. Oh! I understand all about that habit; it
causes a great deal of annoyance in this world. Only a few minutes ago,
a boy rushed into the room where his mother was engaged with callers,
and shouted, "Mamma, may I go to the lake a little while?" The question
broke into the midst of this sentence which the caller was trying to
say: "What a gentlemanly boy you have, Mrs. ----. I admire his manners
very much!" Don't you think both she and the mother must have _admired_
him at that moment? I congratulate your mother on the pledge you have
taken.
_Mattie_ from New Hampshire. There are a great many faults to struggle
against, it is true; but those who overcome are always those who
earnestly wish to do so. Certainly our Pansies have a great many
ill-treated fingernails! We are glad to hear of improvements in that
direction.
_Belle_ from New York. You have a hard task before you, my dear; I know
by experience how easy it is to speak cross words. But when we remember
how they sting, and what harm they often do, which can never be undone,
we will surely try to give only "soft answers."
_Freddie_ from Connecticut. What a long word you chose to struggle
with--Impulsiveness. I ask a boy, near me, what it means, and he says:
"Oh, it means rushing off to do things, before a fellow knows whether
he ought to, or not." If his definition is good--do you accept it?--I
think you have made a wise pledge.
_Robbie_ from Maine. It is queer how many boys I know who are like my
Pansy Blossoms, scattered all over this big world of ours. A boy friend
of mine hates to go to the post-office at just the time when he ought;
and he so often says, "Won't it do by and by?" that he has earned the
name of "By and by."
_Mabel_ from Pennsylvania. If one only keeps one's eyes wide open, my
dear, it is very easy to see things with which to find fault; it is
wise to learn to shut one's eyes, on occasion, to the faults of others.
I am glad you have taken the pledge. Remember me to your dear mother,
and thank her for her kind words.
_Jessie_ from Missouri. People who are "patient about everything" are
very scarce, and very lovely. I am glad to think of Jessie as trying
for this. By all means "get out" of that habit of which you speak. You
will be a comfort to the teacher as well as a help to your classmates,
if you do. I am sorry you have been sick. Your letter was well written,
and gave me great pleasure.
_Florence_ from Iowa. Did you ever hear of the little girl whose father
gave her a birthday present of a necklace of little thorns, because
her tongue said so many sharp and spiteful words? He told her he had
intended to make the necklace of beautiful beads, but had decided that
thorns would match her style better. Such a necklace would not fit you,
now, would it? I rejoice over your pledge.
_Edwin_ and _Harold_ from Maine. Of course we will receive the little
brother. A boy five years old can keep a pledge as well as an older
person; sometimes better. I hope there will be fewer tears shed in your
home than ever before; also, that my boy Edwin will become noted for
the prompt manner in which he obeys all right calls.
_Maud_ from Pennsylvania. Impatient people are always "nervous;" did
you know it? I had an old aunt who used to say that "nervous" was a
new-fashioned word, which she did not believe in; that in her day, they
called it "cross." That is pretty hard on the nerves, isn't it? I don't
agree with her. Sometimes those nerves twinge in a very disagreeable
manner; but the strong will which they are trying to twist, gets the
better of them, and gentle patience is the result. I hope you will
succeed.
_Beverly_ from Maryland. My boy, you are growing rich, are you not?
So many dear friends already in Heaven, waiting and watching for you.
Would it not be sad if their boy should do anything to grieve them? I
hope your badge will be helpful. I see no sparrows about me, but while
I write, the mocking-birds are singing in the pine trees near by.
_Arthur_ from Pennsylvania. I like your verses very much. As soon as I
have time, I shall copy them for the magazine. I am afraid "Reaching
Out" must close with October, as I have another story waiting, which I
think you boys, particularly, will like quite as well as "Reaching Out."
_Ellen_ from Kansas. It is quite a common thing for people to see the
faults of others, and be blind to their own. Queer, isn't it? Do you
remember the old Scotch poem:
O wad some power the giftie gie us,
To see ourselves as ithers see us!
It wad from mony a blunder free us,
And foolish notion.
There is a wise old man who says that people are pretty sure to see in
others the very failings which they themselves possess. What do you
think of it? I am much interested in your "literary cat." What branch
of study does she appear to be taking up?
_Arthur_ from Tennessee. You had a chance to exercise patience in
waiting for your badge, did you not? I do not know why some of the
badges seem to think they must be so long on the road, unless it is to
help their owners to a little of that quality. Don't you think it is
generally a scarce article with boys?
_Birdie_ from Kentucky. O yes, Birdie, we have a great many Blossoms in
Kentucky, only we have not answered their letters yet. There are many
hundreds still waiting. My dear little girl, do you think one has to
"try" very hard to love such a Friend as Jesus? I suspect you mean that
you have not learned to love Him enough to obey Him perfectly. That is
a hard lesson; it gives me joy to think you are trying to learn it.
_Gertrude_ from Missouri. "Things" seem to be determined to lie around
in the way. All over the country I notice that the P. S. Blossoms have
the same trouble. They will certainly have to be willing to hang on
hooks, and nails, or lie quietly on clothespress shelves; for the P. S.
has gotten hold of them with determined wills. We are glad of a recruit
from Missouri.
_Sallie_ from Massachusetts. I like to hear of an interested reader of
my books, but, Sallie dear, do not let them lead you astray. I once
went to call on a woman who needed help. It was nearly twelve o'clock,
but her breakfast table still stood in the middle of the floor, black
with flies; the little mass of oil in which some of them were drowning,
had once been butter; her baby was playing with the coal hod, and his
face and clothes were the color of it; and everything about the room
was in disorder. The mother sat in the one rocking-chair, wiping her
eyes over a story which she was reading. "I ought to a done up my
work," she said, "but land, I do love to read. I always was literary!"
You will never be such a woman as that! I hear you say. No, I do not
think you will. Especially since you have taken your pledge.
_Helen_ from Missouri. Poor little Blossom! You have had a hard
experience. My heart aches for you; but I am hoping that before
this time you are well. I once knew of a boy who was sent to mend a
sidewalk, and did his work so poorly, that his mother tripped on the
place and broke her limb. I hope no careless boy was the cause of all
your suffering. There is a Bible verse for you; did you know it? Look
at the latter part of Matthew 8:17.
_Susie_ from Ohio. Welcome, little worker. I hope the new society
prospered; let us know how you conduct your meetings, for what are you
working, and all about it. With your dear father and mother waiting for
you in Heaven, you will want to be sure not to disappoint them. I hope
to meet you there.
_Kittie_ and _France_ from New York. To "obey promptly" and to avoid
all words and ways which come under the head of "contradicting" are
very important things to accomplish. May you and "little sister" be
great helps to each other. I am glad you like "Grandma Burton."
_Charlie_ from Missouri. There was no trouble in reading your letter,
Charlie. I wish all my correspondents would write as plainly. Oh poor
birds! Don't neglect them. If they could fly away in the free air, I
think they would feed themselves; but since they can't, help them. As
for the wood, perhaps it would come in of its own accord if it had
feet. Who knows? But since it hasn't, Charlie must be brisk feet for
it. "Do with your might what your hands find to do." Isn't that a good
motto?
_Millie_ from Pennsylvania. I am sorry you had such long waiting for
your badges. Your first letter must have gone a journey around the
world, for I have never seen it. However, I hope it has all been made
right at last. If I were not so far away, I would be tempted to accept
your kind invitation for Saturday afternoon, but I fear I could not get
back in time for Sabbath school, next day!
_Maud_ from Pennsylvania. So you "talk too loud!" Well, you have plenty
of company. I know a boy who has to be reminded several times a day,
that none of his friends are deaf. Are you ever just a trifle out of
patience when your voice is loud? It affects some people in that way.
_Lew_ from Pennsylvania. It is my opinion that a boy who has been
"good" for two or three days, can be good the rest of the time. Don't
you think so? Try it, my boy. Watch that tongue, for it is a good
friend, and a dangerous enemy.
DEAR PANSY:
Nearly two years ago I was visiting a friend in East St. Louis, and
she showed me THE PANSY, and mamma liked it so well she said I might
subscribe for it, and you cannot imagine how I have enjoyed it. I take
the _St. Nicholas_ also. Now, dear Pansy, I am going to confide to you
my great fault, which is not putting things in their places. It worries
mamma and it worries everybody around the house to see my cap in one
place, my cloak in another, my skates in another. I will promise to
keep the pledge and always keep the Whisper Motto in mind, for nothing
can be done without Jesus' help. I would like a badge. I have no little
brothers or sisters, and as none of my little friends take THE PANSY, I
cannot get up a society.
From a loving and constant reader,
CORA M. CASS.
DEAR PANSY:
I am a little girl nine years old. Sometimes I am very thoughtless,
and that is what I got my badge in August for. I think it has helped
me some. The Whisper Motto, "For Jesus' Sake," has helped me a heap. I
think THE PANSY is the best magazine I ever saw. "Little Fishers and
their Nets" is the nicest story I ever read. I have two little sisters,
Daisy, six years old, and Alice, three years old.
My father went to heaven last spring. He caught cold while preaching.
Excuse this writing with pencil, but the ink is frozen, for we had
_very_ cold weather. With much love,
One of your Little Southern Blossoms,
CORA STRONG.
DEAR PANSY:
I have been very much interested in reading the little letters from
different children, and I thought I would write too. May I tell you
something about myself? I have had spinal disease for years, and am
obliged to lie in bed all the time.
I am in a hospital where are many children; those who are able to be
up, go to school in the mornings, and in the afternoon the teacher
comes up stairs to give little lessons to those who are in bed.
The children have books, toys, games, and hobby horses. The girls like
to play "hospital," with their dollies, and have two or three boys for
doctors. The dolls are treated as though they really felt sick; and the
young doctors pretend to give them ether, before they perform their
surgical operations! It is quite funny to see how the very little boys
and girls will imitate doctors and nurses.
The children have a little society called the "Ready-To-Help." Sometime
I will tell you of some of the things which its members do to help.
Your loving BLOSSOM.
DEAR PANSY:
There is one Fault I want to over come and when i have any thing and
when i have anything to put it back where i got it from, and not to
laugh and talk i Sunday school and when i pull of my hat at night, i
cant find it next morning.
From your friend
ARCHER E. BANKS.
DEAR PANSY:
We have a beautiful Pansy bed. We have about twenty-five Blossoms. Some
are big, and some are little; some are golden color, and some are deep
purple. When the Pansies meet, the Vice-President takes the P. S. roll
book, goes to each Blossom and gets the record for the month. I have
promised to be patient, and to speak kindly. Willie's pledge was to try
to keep his temper; and his record was: "I forgot a few times, but it
helped; and I mean to try harder." One dark Pansy promised to brush her
teeth at least once a day, and not to be selfish.
The garden is growing very nicely; by and by we are going to plant new
seeds. The last time we met we played a nice game; we all stood around
the table, and fished with poles. The wee Blossoms were very much
delighted.
Good-by,
PRESIDENT HATTIE.
DEAR PANSY:
As you seem to have room in your heart for all little girls, I will be
one of the number. I enjoy your magazine very much. I am a cripple;
I was injured by falling through a sidewalk. I had to lie in bed for
thirteen months with a nine-pound weight attached to my limb, and it
bandaged to a board. I have tried to be patient. Words of sympathy
from my friends do me a great deal of good. I had a dream about you
last night; I thought you were talking about "Little Fishers and their
Nets." I do think Nettie Decker is the nicest and best Christian girl I
ever knew! I don't admire "Lorena Barstow," but mamma says she is sorry
to say there are many little girls like her. Dear Pansy, won't you come
and see me? I will meet you at the train and take you to my home.
Your little friend, HELEN.
_DEAR MRS ALDEN_
_I AM A LITTLE GIRL SIX YEARS OLD I AM GOING TO TRY NOT TO BE SO CROSS
MAY I HAVE A BADGE_
_ADA MAUD GUNNING_
[Illustration: KISS]
DEAR PANSY:
Mamma says I ought to tell you at the commencement that I am eleven
years old, but a poor penman, and she is afraid you cannot read my
letter, but I will try and do my best. I have taken THE PANSY for two
years, and enjoy it very much. I get so interested in "Reaching Out"
that I am almost impatient for the numbers to come. After reading them,
I send them away in our mission barrel to the children in Utah. I would
like to keep them; but mamma thinks we ought to let some one else enjoy
them. I have read nearly all your books. From reading "Pocket Measure"
I learned how nice it was to give. Mamma especially likes "Mrs. Solomon
Smith."
I would like to join the P. S. I have tried for a week to decide on
the fault that I needed most to overcome; but I do not know which one
it is, I have so many. (It seems to me as though every one else had
but one fault.) I know one of mine is not obeying quickly, when mamma
speaks. I would rather read your books and magazine than do my work. I
_do_ like to read very much. Another fault is a quick temper. I pray
over my faults and try to overcome them; I want to lead my dear friends
to the Saviour, but I have so many faults! I think I will wear my badge
for them all. I have a picture of you; papa is going to have it framed
for me to hang in my room. Lovingly, SALLIE.
"UP HILL AND DOWN DALE."
ANOTHER new book! It is astonishing how many beautiful books these
Pansies seem to think they need. Well, "Up Hill and Down Dale" is
delightful enough to make your eyes shine. Two hundred pages, and
numberless pictures, one of which I put before you.
The book is written by Laura D. Nichols; and those of the Pansies who
have read her "Overhead" and "Underfoot," need no further introduction
to this book. They know they will like it. For the rest of you, you
need to get acquainted with sweet, womanly little Nelly Marlow, and
her good brother Harry. You want to know how they went to the country,
leaving Harry behind to be brave and manly at his uncle's; how Nelly
cared for her mother's breakfast, and even, with "Miss Gage's" help,
went into the furniture business, and manufactured a lovely table for
the somewhat barely furnished room.
This is only a hint of her helpfulness, and her wise sweet ways. Plenty
of fun she had, too; and a most astonishing way of making friends with
everybody, and having unexpectedly good times because they liked to
have her with them. Just let me give you a taste of one of the days
which her good friend Dave planned for her:
"'Say, Nelly,' he began, 'do you want to go up to Hackmatack to-morrow?'
"'Of course I do!' cried she; 'who's going?'
"'Well, Abner is, an' I be, an' Sam, an' Sam's father. There's an ol'
house an' barn half-way up the mounting, where 'Siah Buckman's folks
used to live, an' they're all gone out West, an' Abner an' Sam's
father have bought the standin' grass on the halves, an' we're goin' up
to cut it. Miss Gage said she'd like to go, if you would, an' there's
a woman an' her boy boardin' at Sam's an' mebbe they'll go too. You
could take your dinner and have a kind of a picnic.'
[Illustration: IN SAP TIME.--_From "Up Hill and Down Dale."_]
"'O, that would be perfectly lovely!' cried Nelly. 'I'm so glad you
thought of it. I'll go and ask mother now. Good-night, aunty, I'll
come and tell you all about it, if we go.'
"Mrs. Marlow was well pleased that her daughter should have a whole day
out-of-doors, under such safe escort, and assured her that, although
she should miss her, she would be fully recompensed by hearing of her
adventures.
"The next day proved as perfect a hay-day as could be desired. Abner,
Mr. Burns and Sam had an early breakfast, and were off before six
o'clock, with their scythes and rakes in the Burns's single wagon,
leaving Dave to follow with a two-seated one, bringing the ladies
and dinner pails. The boarders from Sam's house proved to be a Mrs.
Symonds, a gayly dressed and lively young woman, and her little boy
Ambrose, a quiet child eight or nine years old.
"'You're sure you'll not be lonely, mamma?' whispered Nelly, giving her
mother a parting hug.
"'Not a bit lonely, dear; I'm going to write a long letter to cousin
Miranda, and take it to the office myself, for I slept better than
usual after my walk yesterday.'
"This sent Nelly off with a happy face; Wealthy pushed in the last
basket, and away they went, at as good speed as Dave could get from old
'Peach who had been a colt at the time of the great impeachment trial
in Washington.
"Their way lay first through the village, which Dave, half-proud and
half-ashamed of his load of ladies, was rather glad to leave behind.
Then came a cool, shady mile in the woods, the road slowly ascending
between noble maple-trees.
"'I don't believe there's a handsomer maple-orchard in the State,' said
Dave. 'You jest oughter be here in sap-time, Nelly! You could ride up
here on the sled an' help me an' Sam empty the buckets, an' there'll be
a big fire under the kettle in the sap-house over there'--pointing to a
rough shed with a chimney, near the roadside; 'an' you could drink all
the sap, an' eat all the sugar you wanted.'
"'Why! Is it here that maple-sugar comes from?' exclaimed Mrs. Symonds,
who did not know much about the country; and Dave willingly pointed out
the half-healed holes in the bark of the trees they were passing, and
explained how the little wooden conductors were fitted in, to lead the
sap into the pails and troughs placed below, and how it was afterwards
boiled down to sugar, or made into luscious syrup. She and Ambrose at
once declared that they would stay in Hickory Corners to see this
delightful work, and were much disappointed when Dave with a grin,
informed them that it was usually done in March, and that he had once
had his ears frozen, from staying too long in the woods.
"'But you told me that Sam's sister used to help,' said Nelly
reproachfully, as she and Dave here jumped out to walk up hill, leaving
the reins to Miss Gage; 'and you said you wished I could be here.'
"'Well, an' so I do, an' so Susy did,' retorted the boy; 'but _she_ has
sense enough to dress up for cold weather, an' so would you have, but
that woman hain't. Look at her now! What sort of shoes are them for
goin' up a mounting? an' where'll all them ruffles be, by night?'
"It was too true that Mrs. Symonds' flounced and lace-edged muslin was
most unfit for the excursion, and her French shoes ill-adapted for
walking, but Nelly did not think it polite to criticise her to Dave, so
she was glad to change the subject.
"'O, there is some Indian pipe!' she exclaimed, darting out of the road
to pick a cluster of the pure, sculptured-looking flowers, growing at
the foot of a giant hemlock. She ran to the wagon to show them to Miss
Gage and Mrs. Symonds.
"'O how exquisite!' cried the latter lady, 'how exactly like wax! Do
give me one!'
"But when Nelly did so, and she had put it to her nose, she exclaimed
in great disgust, and said she didn't believe it was a flower at all,
only a horrid toad-stool, and it had spoiled her gloves; she threw it
indignantly into the dusty road."
There is no use, I might as well stop at one point as another. The
interest does not stop, but extends all through the book. I hope you
will have the pleasure of reading it for yourselves. It is beautifully
bound in colors. The usual price is one dollar and twenty-five cents;
but the P. S. members are offered it for seventy-five cents. I am sure
you will agree with me that it is a very rare opportunity to secure
a book by such an author, and of such size, full of interesting and
instructive truth, for seventy-five cents. After you have read it
carefully, I should like to hear from you, as to what you have learned
that gave you special interest.
PANSY.
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=1. THE PETTIBONE NAME, by Margaret Sidney=, author
of _The Five Little Peppers_, etc. It is a delightful
story of New England life and manners, sparkling in
style, bright and effective in incident, and of intense
interest. There has been no recent figure in American
fiction more clearly or skilfully drawn than Miss
Judith Pettibone. Most of the characters of the book
are such as may be met with in any New England village.
=2. MY GIRLS. By Lida A. Churchill.= A story of four
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of intense interest.
=3. WITHIN THE SHADOW, by Dorothy Holroyd.= "The
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=4. FAR FROM HOME.= From the German of Johannes
Van Derval. Translated by =Kathrine Hamilton=. A
fascinating story of life and travel in foreign lands.
=5. GRANDMOTHER NORMANDY. By the author of Silent
Tom.= The story is fascinatingly told. The character
of Grandmother Normandy, stern, relentless and
unforgiving, almost to the last, is strongly drawn, and
the author has shown much skill in the construction of
the story.
=6. AROUND THE RANCH. By Belle Kellogg Towne.= It is
original, fresh, and written with great naturalness and
power; its pathos is exquisitely touching. The opening
scenes are laid in the Colorado mining regions.
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Price 25 cents. Postpaid.
1. TIP LEWIS AND HIS LAMP, by Pansy.
2. MARGIE'S MISSION, by Marie Oliver.
3. KITTY KENT'S TROUBLES, by Julia A. Eastman.
4. MRS. HURD'S NIECE, by Ella Farman Pratt, Editor of "Wide Awake."
5. EVENING REST, by J. L. Pratt.
6. THE TRIPLE "E," by the author of "Yensie Walton."
7. SHINING HOURS, by a brilliant author.
8. THE OLD STONE HOUSE, by Anne March (Constance Fennimore Woolson).
9. BATTLES LOST AND WON, by George E. Merrill. A story of schoolboy
life.
10. THE JUDGE'S SONS, by Mrs. E. D. Kendall.
11. SHELL COVE, by Rev. Z. A. Mudge.
12. LUTE FALCONER, by the author of "Andy Luttrell." A story of
rare interest.
These twelve volumes constitute the first year's series.
The twelve volumes announced below constitute the
second year's series.
13. FABRICS, by the author of "Finished, or Not."
14. THE PRINCE AND THE PAGE, by Miss C. M. Yonge. A story of the
last Crusade.
15. MYRA SHERWOOD'S CROSS, AND HOW SHE BORE IT.
16. THIS ONE THING I DO, by Mrs. A. E. Porter.
17. SO AS BY FIRE, by Margaret Sidney.
18. OLD SCHOOLFELLOWS, AND WHAT BECAME OF THEM.
19. ROSE AND MILLIE, by the author of "Hester's Happy Summer."
20. VEIL ON THE HEART (The), by Miss L. L. Phelps.
21. THE NEIGHBOR'S HOUSE, by the author of "The New Commandment."
22. FROM NIGHT TO LIGHT, by E. E. Brown.
23. SURE; or, IT PAYS.
24. SISTER ELEANOR'S BROOD, by Mrs. S. B. Phelps.
PROSPECTUS--BABYLAND--FOR 1886.
The Magazine for the Babies, this coming year, in
addition to its bright pictures, and gay little
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THE MAGIC PEAR
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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
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LITTLE CRIB-CURTAINS
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the whole year will be the happiest, sweetest sort of a
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PROSPECTUS--OUR LITTLE MEN AND WOMEN--FOR 1886.
This magazine, for youngest readers, has earned golden
gratitude from teachers and parents this past year.
While its short stories and beautiful pictures have
made it welcome everywhere as a general Magazine for
Little Folks, its series of instructive articles have
rendered it of unrivalled value to educators. For 1886
several specialties have been prepared in accordance
with the suggestions of teachers who wish to start
their "little primaries" in the lines on which older
brothers and sisters are being taught. As a beginning
in American History, there will be twelve charming
chapters about
THE ADVENTURES OF COLUMBUS.
This story of the Great Discoverer, while historically
correct and valuable, will be perfectly adapted to
young minds and fitted to take hold upon a child's
attention and memory; many pictures.
LITTLE TALKS ABOUT INSECT LIFE
will interest the children in one branch of Natural
History; with anecdotes and pictures.
OUR COLORADO PETS
will describe wild creatures little known to children
in general. These twelve stories all are true, and are
full of life and adventure; each will be illustrated.
"ME AND MY DOLLS"
is a "cunning little serial story," written for
American children by the popular English author, Miss
L. T. Meade. It will have Twelve Full-page Pictures by
Margaret Johnson.
From time to time fresh "Stories about Favorite
Authors" will be given, so that teachers and friends
may have material for little literature lessons suited
to young children.
_Seventy-five Full-page Pictures. Only $1.00 a year._
PROSPECTUS--THE PANSY--FOR 1886.
For both week-day and Sunday reading, THE PANSY, edited
by "Pansy" herself, holds the first place in the hearts
of the children, and in the approval of earnest-minded
parents. Among the more interesting features for 1886
will be Pansy's serial story,
REACHING OUT,
being a further account of "Little Fishers: and their
Nets." The Golden Text Stories, under the title,
"Six O'clock in the Evening," will be told by a dear
old Grandma, who knows many interesting things about
what happened to herself when she was a little girl.
Margaret Sidney will furnish a charming story,
ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON,
to run through the year. Rev. C. M. Livingston will
tell stories of discoveries, inventions, books, people,
places. Faye Huntington will be a regular contributor
during the year. Pansy will take the readers with her
wherever she goes, in papers under the title of
WHERE I WENT, AND WHAT I SAW.
There will be, in each number, a selection from our
best standard poets suitable for recitation in school
or circle. From time to time colloquies for Mission
Bands, or for general school exercises, will appear.
There will be new and interesting books for the members
of the Pansy Society, and, as before, a generous space
will be devoted to answers to correspondents in the P.
S. Corner.
_Fully Illustrated. Only $1.00 a year._
=Address all orders to
D. LOTHROP & CO., Publishers, Franklin and Hawley Sts., Boston,
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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_."
WIDE AWAKE was once said by a practical literary and business man, who
is at home in both England and America, to have "_more ideas to the
square inch_" than any other publication he knew. However this may be,
the Management of the magazine can promise that WIDE AWAKE for 1886
will certainly be full of New Departures.
Scenes and situations wholly fresh in stories for young folks will
render fascinating its
_SIX ILLUSTRATED SERIALS:_
I. A MIDSHIPMAN AT LARGE. II. THE CRUISE OF THE CASABIANCA.
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 REV. CHARLES R. TALBOT, author
of _Honor Bright_, _A Double Masquerade_, etc.
III. A GIRL AND A JEWEL.
MRS HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD, author of _The Amber
Gods_, etc., in this delicious White Mountain Romance,
contributes her first serial to a young folks' magazine.
IV. DILLY AND THE CAPTAIN. V. PEGGY, AND HER FAMILY.
MARGARET SIDNEY, author of the famous _Five Little
Peppers_, and the funny parrot story of _Polly_, 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_, _The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains_,
etc.
ROYAL GIRLS AND ROYAL COURTS.
By MRS JOHN SHERWOOD, author of _A Transplanted Rose_,
_Amenities of Home_, _Social Customs and Usages_, etc.
This series, especially valuable and instructive to
American girls, will begin in the Christmas number
and run through the year. Much of the romance woven
into the histories of reigning royal families, much
of the pageant attendant upon the girls "born in the
purple," will be described; but much more will be told
of that application to study, that strict obedience
to laws of hygiene, that mastery of complex and rigid
court etiquette, that severe control of personal
disposition and tastes, which underlies the culture
and graciousness of queens and princesses. From these
pages our girls who are to go abroad may incidentally
learn much of what they properly may or may not do in
European society. No lady is better equipped than Mrs.
Sherwood for preparing papers like these.
A CYCLE OF CHILDREN.
By ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS, author of _In Leisler's Times_,
etc. Illustrations by Howard Pyle. This set of twelve
historical stories celebrates twelve holidays dear to
young folks. The first six are:
=Master Sandy's Christmas Snapdragon.= _December_, 1550.
=Mistress Margery's New Year's Pin-Money.= _January_, 1500.
=Mr. Pepy's Valentine.= _February_, 1660.
=The Last of the Geraldines.= _March_, 1535.
=Diccon the Foot-boy and the Wise Fools of Gotham.= _April_, 1215.
=The Lady Octavia's Garland.= _May_, 184.
STORIES OF AMERICAN WARS.
Thrilling incidents which have occurred during our
various American warfares, the details of which have
never been in print, but have lived in family history,
old letters and records, will be brought to light in
these stories. The first six bear these titles:
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.
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offer.)
The above amount includes postage. If the watch is to
be registered (and we do not assume responsibility of
safe delivery otherwise), 10 cents should be added.
The Waterbury Watch will be found a marvel of accuracy
and cheapness.
[Illustration: "The Waterbury."]
[Illustration: NEW ENGRAVED CASE (BACK).]
Accurate, because it will run 24 hours, and =keep time
equal to the better grade of watches=.
Cheap, because it will wear for years, and is offered
at a price within the reach of everybody.
Every watch is perfect before leaving the factory and
is tested a few days in our office before being sent
away.
The price of the watch is $3.50.
Remember, the Waterbury Watch, =is not a toy, but a
real watch=, having less than one half the number of
parts to be found in any other going watch in the
world. It is a stem winder.
Remittances may be made by Money Order, Draft, Bank
Check or American Express Money Order, at our risk.
D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY, Publishers, Franklin and Hawley Streets, Boston.
LAWN TENNIS RACQUET, No. 2.
[Illustration]
Given for two new subscriptions to THE PANSY or OUR
LITTLE MEN AND WOMEN and 10 cts. cash additional Or,
Given for four new subscriptions to BABYLAND =and 10
cents cash additional=.
=TWO RACQUETS= will be given for one new subscription
to WIDE AWAKE =and 50 cts. cash additional=.
This is a good light Racquet, very suitable for the
boys and girls. It is well made, with maple or sweet
gum throat, and redwood handle. The handle is finished
with round corners.
Lawn tennis is fast becoming the most popular game in
this country, as it provides pleasant and healthful
outdoor exercise for both boys and girls. Price of the
Racquet, $1.75. Postage and packing 15 cents when sent
as a premium. More expensive Racquets will be furnished
at proportionate rates.
D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY, Publishers, Franklin and Hawley Streets,
Boston.
YOUNG PEOPLE ATTENTION! VACATION IS COMING!!
Read the following extraordinary Premium Offers, and learn how to
obtain, without expense, articles that will add greatly to your
vacation pleasures.
READ CAREFULLY THE FOLLOWING CONDITIONS:
1. The premiums are given only to subscribers to any of
our magazines, with this exception: =ANY= person may
work for the premiums by sending one more subscriber to
any of the magazines than the premium calls for.
2. The full subscription price must be paid for each
subscription, as follows: WIDE AWAKE, $3.00; THE PANSY,
$1.00; OUR LITTLE MEN AND WOMEN, $1.00; BABYLAND, 50
cents.
=No premiums will be given to any person sending his
own name as a new subscriber; nor can his name count as
one of a club sent for premiums.=
3. Send your subscriptions as you get them. Always send
the payment for each subscription with the name.
4. You can send for a premium when you send us the
names of new subscribers, or you can complete your list
and then select your premiums, as you may prefer.
5. Those working for this special list of premiums can
have until August 1st., in which to complete their list.
6. =The premiums we offer are given FOR new
subscribers, NOT TO new subscribers.=
7. Two new subscriptions for six months will count as
one yearly subscription.
8. The names and =full subscription price= must be
sent to D. Lothrop & Co., and not through any agent or
Subscription Agency.
9. The volumes of the magazines begin as follows: WIDE
AWAKE, with the December and June numbers; THE PANSY,
with the November number; OUR LITTLE MEN AND WOMEN,
with the January number; BABYLAND, with the January
number.
Always specify the date you wish the subscriptions to
begin with. Subscriptions may begin with any number.
GUNS FOR THE BOYS.
The Guns described below are all especially adapted
to "Fourth of July" sports, from the fact that with
them torpedos can be thrown with great accuracy and,
exploding as they strike, make a very loud report. What
is known as the small "American" torpedo is the best.
These Guns are especially suitable for drilling
purposes. Any boy will find it a very easy matter to
secure enough subscriptions to earn the guns that may
be needed for his company.
"DOCTOR CARVER" GUN.
[Illustration]
Given for one new subscription to THE PANSY or
OUR LITTLE MEN AND WOMEN; or, given for one new
subscription to BABYLAND and =20 cents cash additional=.
It has an adjustable tension that can be regulated to
suit the strength of any boy. This is a new gun, made
on a new principle, and is the best arrangement for
target shooting ever seen. It shoots with great force
and accuracy. Three arrows go with each gun. It will
also fire marbles, bullets, sticks or paper wads. The
gun is nicely finished in all parts and is painted a
bright red that will not fade, which makes it very
handsome. It is three feet long, strong and durable,
easy to adjust and load, and does not get out of order.
Price 50 cents. Sent postage paid in the United States.
THE "LITTLE GEM."
[Illustration]
Given for one new subscription to BABYLAND.
This is a new gun, well finished and very effective.
It possesses part of the patented features of the
celebrated "Doctor Carver" gun, but is not as powerful.
It is lighter and somewhat smaller than the "Doctor
Carver" gun. Price 25 cents. Postage paid in the United
States.
"WINCHESTER RIFLE."
[Illustration]
Given for one new subscription to THE PANSY, or
OUR LITTLE MEN AND WOMEN. Or, given for one new
subscription to BABYLAND and =25 cents cash additional=.
A new double-barrel gun. It has the patent "oscillating
yoke" or yielding stop, same as the celebrated "Doctor
Carver" gun and has a well-finished stock of proper
shape. Price 50 cents. Postage 10 cents additional when
purchased or sent as a premium.
THE WILCOX TARGET GUN, WITH BAYONET.
[Illustration]
Given for two new subscriptions to THE PANSY, or
OUR LITTLE MEN AND WOMEN. Or, given for one new
subscription to THE PANSY, or OUR LITTLE MEN AND
WOMEN, and =50 cents cash additional=. Two BABYLAND
subscriptions will be equivalent to one PANSY
subscription. =For One new subscriber to WIDE AWAKE=,
two of any of the guns will be given as a premium.
It shoots with precision, is simple in construction,
and finely finished. The bayonet is of wood, bronzed to
imitate steel. Each gun is provided in the breech with
a small pocket, in which will be found, 5 metal-head
arrows, and 2 paper targets. For drilling purposes,
it can be readily changed to the form of an ordinary
rifle. Price $1.00. Postage prepaid.
Read carefully the conditions on the preceding page.
UNION WEB HAMMOCKS GIVEN AS PREMIUMS FOR NEW SUBSCRIPTIONS.
[Illustration]
We are pleased to announce that we have made such arrangements as
will enable us to offer these superior hammocks for a smaller number
of subscriptions than ever before. Every hammock is warranted by the
manufacturers; and nothing but the best material and workmanship enter
into their construction. Each grade is tested at a given number of
pounds. They are warranted, when colored, not to soil the finest fabric.
THE HERCULES.
Given for one new subscription to THE PANSY or OUR LITTLE MEN AND
WOMEN, and =40 cents cash additional=.
This is the strongest hammock made, warranted to hold 1100 lbs. It is
made of very heavy cord. Length, 13 feet; length of bed, 6 feet. Price
$1.15. Postage and packing 30 cents additional.
CHILD'S HAMMOCK.
Given for one new subscription to THE PANSY or OUR LITTLE MEN AND WOMEN.
This is a nice hammock for the little ones. It has variegated colors
in ends and body. Has a miniature Horseshoe for the fastening at the
ends and safety cords at the sides. It is perfectly reliable and far
preferable to a crib or cradle. Length, 7 feet; length of body, 3 feet.
Price $.75. Postage and packing 15 cents additional.
B B HAMMOCK.
Given for one new subscription to THE PANSY or OUR LITTLE MEN AND
WOMEN, and 25 cents cash additional.
This hammock is made better than ever before. The web is of extra heavy
cord, and bright colors which are warranted fast. It is a splendid
hammock. Length 11 feet; length of bed, 6-1/3 feet. Price $1.00.
Postage and packing 20 cents additional.
THE BOSTON.
Given for one new subscription to WIDE AWAKE, or for two new
subscriptions to THE PANSY or OUR LITTLE MEN AND WOMEN and 40 cents
cash additional.
A double web hammock that is very popular. Length, 12-1/2 feet; length
of bed, 7 feet. Price $1.75. Postage and packing 20 cents additional.
[Illustration: Hand pointing right]_Two BABYLAND subscriptions will be
equivalent to one PANSY subscription._[Illustration: Upside-down and
pointing left]
BOY'S FISHING OUTFIT, WITH JOINTED ROD.
[Illustration]
Given for two new subscriptions to THE PANSY or OUR LITTLE MEN AND
WOMEN, or for one new subscription to THE PANSY or OUR LITTLE MEN AND
WOMEN and =50 cents cash additional=.
This outfit is put up especially for our use, and we can recommend
it to the boys who enjoy fishing as a very good outfit for the price
asked. It consists of a 12 foot jointed rod with brass tips and
ferules, 1 bob, 2 sinkers, 1 36 foot line, 1 dozen hooks assorted, 2
flies, 1 bait-box, 1 trolling hook for pickerel, and 2 hooks ganged (i.
e., with hair or gut snell.) Postage prepaid. Price $1.00.
Two BABYLAND subscriptions will be equivalent to one PANSY subscription.
THE AMERICAN FOOT BALL, NO. 2.
[Illustration]
Given for two new subscriptions to THE PANSY or OUR LITTLE MEN AND
WOMEN. Or for one new subscription to either magazine and =60 cents
cash additional=.
The American Foot Ball is made of heavy canvas, thoroughly saturated
with rubber, very strong, so as to be blown up with a key which goes
with each one. It is 22 inches in circumference. Price $1.50.
We also include in this offer the American College Rules of Foot Ball.
Price 15 cents.
Two BABYLAND subscriptions will be equivalent to one PANSY subscription.
A GOOD MICROSCOPE.
Given for one new subscription to THE PANSY or OUR LITTLE MEN AND
WOMEN; or for one new subscription to BABYLAND and =20 cents cash
additional=.
[Illustration]
No one need be without a microscope. We have made special arrangements
by which we can offer a Combination Microscope (or Floroscope), 2
inches in length. It has in addition to a powerful microscope lens,
a mineral glass for examining plants, minerals, etc. It is very
convenient. It can be put into a vest pocket, and yet is as serviceable
as many more expensive microscopes. Price 50 cents.
BOY'S COMPOUND MICROSCOPE, NO. 655.
Given for one new subscription to WIDE AWAKE or for four new
subscriptions to THE PANSY or OUR LITTLE MEN AND WOMEN.
Two BABYLAND subscriptions will be equivalent to one PANSY subscription.
[Illustration]
This instrument will show satisfactorily the larger animalcules in
pond water, the scales from a butterfly's wing, etc. The stand is
of polished brass, handsomely lacquered, with one eye-piece and one
object-glass, magnifying, when combined, about 40 diameters or 1600
times. One prepared object, two glass slips and a pair of brass
forceps, are furnished with it; the whole is packed in a neat polished
walnut-wood case. Price $2.50. Postage paid.
[Illustration: Dr. W. S. Baker, 250 Mulberry Street.
Messrs. PROCTER & GAMBLE, Cincinnati. Newark, N. J., Sept. 19, 1885.
Gentlemen: Although a stranger to you, and my testimonial entirely
unnecessary, as it certainly is unsolicited, yet I take great pleasure
in testifying to the excellence of your "IVORY" Soap and thanking
you for putting it on the market at so low a price. It has entirely
supplanted the use of Castile and other fine soaps in my household
for several years past, being in no way inferior, and from fifty to
seventy-five per cent. more economical. A good test I find for the
purity of soap is to try it with a brush for cleansing the teeth and
the taste of the "IVORY" Soap so used is perfectly sweet and clean.
Very respectfully yours, W. S. BAKER, M.D.]
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Punctuation errors repaired.
Page 242, "alway" changed to "always" (was always simple)
Page 242, "whan" changed to "when" (when I was in danger)
Page 253, "unusul" changed to "unusual" (itself, was unusual)
Page 253, "afrer" changed to "after" (after a moment)
Page 258, "women" changed to "woman" (woman of six)
Page 259, word "the" added twice to sentence (it into the centre of
ring, on the lawn)
Page 270, "feasable" changed to "feasible" (if this is feasible)
Page 270, "theses" changed to "these" (And these are God's)
Page
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Pansy Magazine, June 1886" ***
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