ABOUT NEW YORK.BY THE PANSIES.

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little girls outdoors in sun hats and summer dressesAN OLD-TIME MAY-DAY.

AN OLD-TIME MAY-DAY.

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buildingTHE CUSTOM HOUSE, NEW YORK.

THE CUSTOM HOUSE, NEW YORK.

Another buildingCOOPER INSTITUTE.

COOPER INSTITUTE.

I READ about it when it was called New Amsterdam. A thousand people, and it was just a straggling little town. Pearl Street they called “De Perel Straat.” The folks were very proud of this street; there were forty-three houses on it! One man thought his fortune was made because he had bought a lot two years before for fifty dollars, and was offered two hundred and fifty for it. And the lot was thirty feet wide and over a hundred feet deep! Think of a New York man to-day buying a lot of that size for two hundred and fifty dollars! My father says it would take a fortune to buy such a lot.

Henry Stuart.

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Mycousin and I had great fun reading about a family who took a long journey from New York to Albany. They went on a river steamer; started at daylight and reached Albany at sunset, and thought they had done a big thing. There were no railroads to ride on; not a single train going out of New York City! That was in 1827. It seems strange that such wonderful things can take place in one century. I think this is the grandest century we ever had.

Robert Campbell.

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I spenta week in New York, and boarded very near Madison Square. I was on Twenty-third Street, pretty near to Fifth Avenue, and Broadway streaks across the city right there, so I had a chance to see almost everything; because those who know anything about New York City know that if you see what is on those streets, why, you have seen a good deal. It is Broadway and Fifth Avenue going criss-cross that make Madison Square. There are lots of hotels around there. The park is just magnificent; I like it better than Central Park, because it is right there, you know. There is a splendid fountain in the middle, and a drinking fountain somewhere else, and statues of Seward and Farragut. Seward is sitting down, and looks as though he didn’t care.

If I had room I could tell you lots of things about Madison Square; but since you only let us have a few lines, what will a fellow do? I’m going to the Christian Endeavor meeting in July, and that will give a good chance to study up that part of the city, because the meeting is to be in Madison Square.

David G. Dunlap.

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Mymother used to be a pupil in Cooper Institute, and when I went to New York a few months ago father took me to see it. It is very large; it cost more than six hundred thousand dollars. Peter Cooper built it about thirty-five years ago; and then he gave three hundred thousand dollars to keep the free library going which belongs to it. They have all sorts of schools in the building. You can learn how to telegraph, and to write on the type-writer, and how to draw and paint. My mother was in the painting school, and she paints beautifully. We went up to the reading-room; it is on the third floor; there are rows and rows and rows of books! It makes me dizzy to think of so many. The books are all covered, so they don’t look very pretty. There are long tables and lots of chairs; you are given a check made of brass, or tin, or something, when you go into the room; then if you want a book or magazine you go to the desk and ask for it, and give that check in return; you cannot get out of the room without that check, so you are apt to carry your book back when you are done with it, and get your check again. After all there are only about twenty thousand books on the shelves. I was disappointed; I thought there were millions.

Emmeline Andrews.

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Dick Waltersis in our “General Information” class, and when Trinity Church was talked about Dick declared he had been in the old building which was put there in 1697. I knew better, because my great-grandfather told about its being burned in the fire of 1776. But we couldn’t make Dick Walters give up the notion that he was in the very identical church built two hundred years ago. At last Professor Townley explained that it was the old site, but a new church built in 1846. Since we had our fuss about it I have been there myself. It is a splendid building, I think, if it isn’t two hundred years old. The steeple is two hundred and eighty-four feet high, and the chimes are lovely. It is an old brown church, and looks solemn and still; it is right on Broadway, but when you step inside it seems just as still! You can hear the birds chirp on the trees in the churchyard, though there is a terrible roar of noise outside. Alexander Hamilton is buried in Trinity churchyard.

Robert Paxton.

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obeliskTHE OBELISK.

THE OBELISK.

I supposeeverybody will write about Central Park; but I can’t help it, I want to tell some things about it myself. I was there in June. We went up to Fifty-ninth Street and Fifth Avenue and took a carriage. We drove through the Scholars’ Gate; this took us straight to the menagerie, and we saw the bear-pits and everything, though they say they don’t have the menagerie there any more. We took a row on the lake, and we saw the Bethesda Fountain with its real angel—well, I mean a carved one, of course—bending over the water. Then we walked through The Ramble, which I think is the loveliest part of the park, only they won’t let you break off the least little speck of a flower or leaf. There are lots of birds, and they seemed busier and happier than any birds I ever saw. We saw a sign directing us to the “Dairy,” so we went there and got some splendid milk and some bread and butter. We children wanted to go to “The Carousal”; that is a sign which points out the way to the children’s playground, where there are swings and everything; but father said we hadn’t time, and that we could have “carousals” enough at home.

Laura J. Westover.

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Laurahas written a letter about Central Park, and hasn’t mentioned the obelisk. Ho, ho! if that isn’t just like a girl. I have studied up about it since I was there. They had an awful time bringing it over here from Egypt. They had to cut a hole in the bow of the boat that brought it to get it in; and then mend the hole, of course, before they could start. And when the steamer reached New York it took thirty-two horses to draw just the pedestal down to Central Park!

drawing of park surrounded by buildingsVIEW OF MADISON SQUARE.

VIEW OF MADISON SQUARE.

The carvings on the obelisk are called hieroglyphics, and used to mean writing; but scholars have had a great time trying to find out what the writing says. They don’t agree about it, but they think it is a lot of stuff about some heathen gods. There are carved hawks on the top of the column, and these are said to be the birds that belonged to one of the gods, because they could fly the highest and could look at the sun. The obelisk is sixty-nine feet high, and it weighs three hundred and twenty tons. I don’t exactly see what we wanted of it; but it is rather nice to look at it and think it came all the way from Egypt and was presented to us by Ismail Pasha.

Reuben T. Westover.

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Thenicest ride I had while in New York was along Fifth Avenue. We started at Washington Square and went up to Central Park. It is almost three miles, and all the way there were such beautiful houses and churches to look at, and the road was as smooth as the floor. We passed the white marble house built by A. T. Stewart; it cost three million dollars, and the people who now rent it pay thirty-seven thousand dollars a year for it. Only think! and we get three hundred a year for our house, and call it a good rent; but then, it didn’t cost three millions. Then we passed the elegant Vanderbilt houses, and the magnificent Lenox Library building, and O, dear! I can’t think what others. I thought I knew a great deal about them when I began, but they are all mixed up in my mind. But what I wanted to say was, that the drive from Washington Square away up to Eighty-first Street must certainly be the very splendidest in the world. I know I never saw so many beautiful buildings before; and I do like grand houses and grand churches and everything.

Kate W. Glover.

photo of streetFIFTH AVENUE.

FIFTH AVENUE.

[It has been very difficult to select items for this paper, because of the wealth of objects to choose from. We could make the article twice as long just as well as not, out of the material we have, if there were only room for it in the magazine. Also, some of the best and brightest items have been omitted, and others perhaps not quite so interesting chosen in their place, because they spoke of some building which we could show you in picture. The Pansies will understand, I hope, that we fully appreciate their efforts to help us, and that we enjoy the many items which we do not use quite as much as those we select. But do please be more prompt with your letters.—Editors.]

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OF all the tender guards which Jesus drewAbout our frail humanity, to stayThe pressure and the jostle that alwayAre ready to disturb, whate’er we do,And mar the work our hands would carry through,None more than this environs us each dayWith kindly wardenship—“Therefore, I say,Take no thought for the morrow.” Yet we payThe wisdom scanty heed, and impotentTo bear the burden of the imperious Now,Assume the future’s exigence unsent.God grants no overplus of power; ’tis shedLike morning manna. Yet we dare to bowAnd ask, “Give us to-day our morrow’s bread!”—Selected.

OF all the tender guards which Jesus drew

About our frail humanity, to stay

The pressure and the jostle that alway

Are ready to disturb, whate’er we do,

And mar the work our hands would carry through,

None more than this environs us each day

With kindly wardenship—“Therefore, I say,

Take no thought for the morrow.” Yet we pay

The wisdom scanty heed, and impotent

To bear the burden of the imperious Now,

Assume the future’s exigence unsent.

God grants no overplus of power; ’tis shed

Like morning manna. Yet we dare to bow

And ask, “Give us to-day our morrow’s bread!”

—Selected.

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IT is a nice light night, and if you youngsters have stared long enough at the moon, since neighbor Sport has come to call we will try to be a little more social.

Pet and Spot and Curley may play on the lawn if they choose, and have as good a time as they like.

You have come to ask my advice, have you, Sport?

Well, it doesn’t cost much to give advice, but it isn’t always so easy to take it.

What is the question in mind?

Have been slighted and abused, have you? Tell us about it.

Scolded you after you hunted birds all day for him, and then forgot to give you any supper. That was pretty hard; pretty mean treatment, I should say.

Had your master been drinking?

No? How came it about?

“Why, just before time to start for home I found a big flock of quail, and showed him just where they were; and he crept up, gun in hand, and tried to fire, but for some reason the gun did not go off.

“That put him out of humor, and he scolded the gun, and by that frightened the birds so they flew away.

“Then he sent me to find them, and I could get no snuff of them, hunt as hard as I could. Then he spoke to me as he never did before, and throwing the gun upon his shoulder started for the house, never noticing me by any word, whistle or sign.

“Well, I dropped my tail between my legs, and followed at a good distance.

“He didn’t forget the cow, or the pig, or the pony, but took no notice of me, and I don’t believe I could eat now if I had a chance.”

Poor fellow! come here and lie down by me. Never mind, never mind; these men seem sometimes to have no heart for us, no matter how faithful we have been.

I am so thankful we have a master of another kind.

One of you run and bring some of that supper that was left.

We had a very nice supply this evening, and there is enough for two hungry fellows yet.

You just say no more till you have had the meat from that bone, and see if you don’t feel better. Things hurt worse when one is tired and hungry.

There, now rest a while, and I will tell you a story about a great-uncle of mine, who lived in Groton.

He was pretty well educated, and did a great many things that some of his four-footed friends would not be trusted to do, even if they knew enough.

Well, Diamond—that was his name—was pretty good-natured, but a little sensitive. Being very affectionate, it was easy for those whom he loved to hurt his feelings.

His master was a mechanic, and had to go to his shop every day. The distance was so great that he did not come home to dinner; so his wife would prepare his dinner, put it in a pail, or in a basket, as it might happen, lay in the bottom a nice bone for Diamond, and give it all to him to take to his master. That he would do as faithfully as any one.

When the master had finished eating what had been brought, or as much as he wanted, he would take the bone, and any scraps left, and give them to his faithful carrier, who had been, the while, lying under the bench, patiently waiting.

But one day there was a break. The mistress said she was going shopping that day, and would take the dinner to her husband herself.

That rather hurt Diamond’s feelings, though he said nothing, but followed on, and lay down in his usual place to wait for his bone. The master sat down to his dinner with no word for his faithful servant who was not permitted to bring the basket, finished his meal, closed the basket, and handed it to his wife.

No bone was there, nothing for the one who had been waiting, hungry, but patient. The only notice taken of him was a call to follow the lady and carry the empty basket. With a heavy heart and drooping tail he obeyed. When the purchases were made and put into the basket, Diamond was ordered to go ahead of his mistress and take the burden home.

On he trudged until he neared a bridge which they must cross, when a thought came suddenly into Diamond’s mind, and quickly darting forward to the middle of the bridge he went to one side of it, and deliberately let the basket and its contents fall into the stream; then ran for home as fast as his four legs could carry him.

I am not telling you this because I think he did right, but that you may see that others are treated as badly as you have been.

I suppose I am sorry that a relative of mine ever resorted to revenge; but it does sometimes seem very strange to me that more dogs do not revenge themselves in some way for the hard treatment they so often receive.

You would not like to be guilty of such an act as that?

Well, I am glad of it. Indeed, I think my kinsman was soon sorry for what he had done.

Let me tell you how he proved it. His master had been out nearly all day with Diamond hunting. The next morning he discovered that he had somewhere lost a key. So he showed Diamond another, and told him his trouble, and ordered him to go and hunt for it.

Off he went, and at three o’clock that afternoon returned, bringing the lost key.

He was tired and hungry, but a good dinner was ready for him, and kind words soon made him forget his fatigue.

In fact, I believe both master and dog were ashamed and sorry for the past, and inwardly determined to do right in the future.

Now after these true stories of my great-uncle, I hope you feel better, and will go home, not to plan how you can be revenged, but how you can be true and faithful, and, if possible, win better treatment in future.

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Ofthe four hundred and thirteen species of trees in the United States sixteen will sink in water. The heaviest is the black-iron wood of Southern California.

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SOMEBODY in one of our exchanges tells an amusing story of his attempt at studying human nature in the barnyard. He placed a large piece of looking-glass against the trunk of a tree, and scattered corn in front of it, then took a convenient position and watched. Some of the hens came up with cautious tread, to meet what they supposed were new acquaintances, and were simply astonished and bewildered by the result. Others pecked at the glass, and were anxious to get up a fight with the supposed intruders.

The high-stepping rooster was bent on a victory. He advanced with skillful side steps, according to rooster fashion, and was amazed to lose sight of his enemy. Of course he had stepped too far to the left or right, and so gotten out of range of the glass, but this he did not understand. He gave an astonished crow, looked about him fiercely, saw no one, finally gave up and went back for a kernel of corn; behold, just in front of it was that other rooster, looking fierce. He made another attempt for a fight, with exactly the same result as before; but the second surrender to mystery brought him quite near to the mirror and his enemy. He ruffled his feathers, so did the other rooster. He made a dash forward, so did the other, and—the rooster was astonished; but you are prepared to hear that the mirror was broken into bits. The question which seemed to puzzle that rooster for hours afterwards was, What became of his enemy, that he could not find even a feather of him lying about the yard?

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A GOOD man in France is said to have invented an instrument with a very fine tube to be inserted into the ear, by means of which sounds can be heard by the deaf.

Professor Dussouchet saw the experiment tried upon many deaf mutes, and in every case with success. Sounds are sent into a large bell-shaped contrivance; thence they pass down the fine tube and strike the tympanum (ear drum).

bird singingA SONG FROM THE HEART.

A SONG FROM THE HEART.

Girl looking out window at bear; in next picture bear is carrying fish to other bears in denI NEED A CHRISTMAS DINNER.

I NEED A CHRISTMAS DINNER.

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Pœta nascitur, non fit.

THERE, that is not Greek or German, but Latin, and some day your Pansy tongue will talk it off as readily, no doubt, as it now casts English to your cat. Won’t it be just splendid for you to be in the High School—and not at the foot of your class, either—reading Cæsar or Cicero or Horace?

Boy looking at flowers in handSTUDYING ITS CHARACTER.

STUDYING ITS CHARACTER.

“But what does that Latin mean?”

It means, “A poet is born, not made.”

“So is every one ‘born.’”

No, not born a poet, neither can be made into a poet by study; that is, a real true poet. Almost everybody can read poetry, and love it and make rhymes; but that is not being a poet.

You might just as well now learn that bit of Latin and surprise your mamma some day at the dinner-table by saying: “Pœta nascitur, non fit.” The next time you can say: “Orator nascitur, non fit,” for that is true too. It is true of an artist, and many, many others. We all have different gifts at birth. (See Rom. xii. 6.) Johnny Brown can sing and play upon almost any instrument. He is a born musician. His brother can’t play even upon a jew’s-harp, but he can make one. He can make a watch. His fingers can do all sorts of wonderful things such as Johnny’s cannot. Boys differ; girls differ. They can’t be made alike. One has one gift, one another.

Titian was born an artist.

What do you suppose he is doing there, one hand upon the limb of that tree?

“Going up for chestnuts.”

No; try again.

“Going to climb for a crow’s nest.”

Not he. See that bit of a branch in his right hand. He is looking at it to see its shape, the form and color of the leaves, and all about it. He will paint that whole tree in a little while—no, no; paint one on canvas just like it. When he is a few years older he will paint portraits, then great elegant pictures.

He was an Italian boy, born in 1477.

Columbus was then about thirty-five years old. He had just made his great voyage to Iceland and got back when Titian was a baby. I guess Titian saw the born voyager and discoverer, and as likely as not painted his portrait or ships. But one of his masterpieces, or greatest works, is St. Peter, Martyr; another, The Presentation of the Virgin.

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MANY hundred years ago there were two magnificent cities on opposite sides of the Mediterranean Sea. One was Carthage and the other was Rome. But they were jealous of each other, and shook their fists at each other and went to war, each trying to do the other all the harm it was possible.

In Carthage was a man by the name of Hannibal. He hated Rome bitterly.

A little before his death he took his son out to the altar, where they burned sacrifice to the gods, and made him lift up his hands in a vow or promise to always hate and harm the Romans.

It was an awful thing for any one to do, but how dreadful for a dying man. So young Hannibal swore by the gods, Jupiter, Juno, Apollo, Hercules, Mars, Triton and Neptune, and all the other Dæmons.

The old man died. When young Hannibal was now twenty-four he was made commander of the troops, and, dressed in a coat of armor, he started from Carthage with a mighty army. Away he marched toward Spain, conquering and slaying his enemies on the way. On and on he went, over rivers and highest mountains. The Romans, when they heard that he was in Spain, laughed at the thought of his coming to Rome; they said none but gods could do such a thing. But they had not long to laugh. He and his conquering host clambered over the Pyrenees, then over the high steep Alps, then “down upon the soft and smiling plains of Italy.” Then all was excitement in great Rome. Every one became a soldier of some sort. “To arms! to arms!” was the cry. The city was turned into a fort. Mighty armies went out to meet Hannibal, but one after another was slaughtered or put to flight. In one of the great battles forty thousand Romans were slain!

The Roman general, Fabius, was a great man, but he was compelled to retreat before Hannibal. But just then, when the people in the great city were trembling lest Hannibal would be upon them to burn the whole city and put the inhabitants to death, word came from Carthage that he must hurry home with his army and save Carthage from a Roman army coming upon it, led by a wonderful general, Scipio. Soon these two conquering hosts met at Zama, not far from Carthage, and here for the first time poor Hannibal was defeated, and in the course of time proud Carthage was utterly destroyed.

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FIVE hundred years ago began very troublous times in England, and it went on many bloody years. You see, there were two great parties, as in this country, each struggling to rule. In this country they fight it out at the ballot box, with bits of paper upon which names are printed. The man or party which gets the greater number of ballots rules. In England years ago they fought it out with blows. The party which could strike the harder blows ruled.

The names of these two great parties were York and Lancaster. The Yorkers wore the white rose, the Lancastrians the red rose, so it was called the War of the Roses. Oh! the fierce battles, the groans of the dying and the banners rolled in blood; neighbors, sometimes brothers, killing each other.

And their homes, the mothers and children, what happened to them during all those hundred years? You must not know. But what must the Lord Jesus have thought of it all?

If it had been for some great good—to put an end to stealing, cruelty, drunkenness or some such dreadful thing—it would not seem so bad; but it was just to get upon a throne and then to be cruel to the defeated party. The great trouble was that this man or that wanted to be king just as in America a man wants to be president. Richard the Third wanted it so much that he caused his two little nephews to be smothered to death while asleep, lest they would grow up and trouble him! This was four hundred years ago.

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ONE pleasant summer day Jamie’s mamma said they would have tea out under the trees, because it was papa’s birthday.

Looks like ahen but caption says its a roosterTHE NAUGHTY ROOSTER.

THE NAUGHTY ROOSTER.

She spread a pink cloth on the table, and brought out some pretty dishes. Jamie thought it was fine fun.

He helped to carry out the biscuits and strawberries, and he put the knives and spoons by the side of the plates.

They had to hurry, because pretty soon the five o’clock train would come in, and papa would be on it.

When mamma went into the house to make the tea she gave Jamie a piece of cake and told him to sit down on the grass and rest his tired little feet.

Jamie liked to sit in that pretty spot. There were green grass and daisies and buttercups all about him, and oh! how good the cake tasted.

Pretty soon the old rooster saw that Jamie was alone, and that he had something good to eat.

So he called to his family: “Come quick! come to supper.”

Then the gray hen and the yellow hen and the speckled hen and the white banties came running as fast as they could run to get some of Jamie’s cake.

Old Speckle got the first bite, a great big one, and carried it off to eat it. Then Old Yellow came up one side and the rooster came the other side, and one took a bite, and the other took a bite.

Jamie began to cry. Mamma heard him. She came out, and said: “Shoo! shoo!”

boy cryingJAMIE BEGAN TO CRY.

JAMIE BEGAN TO CRY.

And away went the chickabiddies as fast as they could fly, and no more supper for them that night.

Mrs. C. M. Livingston.

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OUT in the garden, wee ElsieWas gathering flowers for me;“O, mamma!” she cried, “hurry, hurry,Here’s something I want you to see.”I went to the window; before herA velvet-winged butterfly flew,And the pansies themselves were not brighterThan the beautiful creature in hue.“Oh! isn’t it pretty?” cried Elsie,With eager and wondering eyes,As she watched it soar lazily upwardAgainst the soft blue of the skies.“I know what it is, don’t you, mamma?”Oh! the wisdom of these little thingsWhen the soul of a poet is in them.“It’s a pansy—a pansy with wings.”—Selected.

OUT in the garden, wee Elsie

Was gathering flowers for me;

“O, mamma!” she cried, “hurry, hurry,

Here’s something I want you to see.”

I went to the window; before her

A velvet-winged butterfly flew,

And the pansies themselves were not brighter

Than the beautiful creature in hue.

“Oh! isn’t it pretty?” cried Elsie,

With eager and wondering eyes,

As she watched it soar lazily upward

Against the soft blue of the skies.

“I know what it is, don’t you, mamma?”

Oh! the wisdom of these little things

When the soul of a poet is in them.

“It’s a pansy—a pansy with wings.”

—Selected.

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NO, it does not seem fair at all to give to him that has something, and to refuse it to one that hasn’t anything scarcely, and even to take away what little that one has! Just think of giving a rich Pansy five hundred dollars more, and then snatching away the last penny from a poor Pansy!

Surely you don’t suppose the loving, gentle, merciful Lord Jesus meant any such thing? Of course he didn’t.

“What did He mean?” Why, simply this, my dear; that one who makes good use of his gifts will have more gifts. He will grow wiser and better, and go up higher all the time, just like a tree that uses well the good ground and good air and good dew around it. And the tree, that for some reason won’t send its roots down and this way and that and set every one of its leaves to breathing, such a lazy tree will lose all its life and die, the first wide-awake tree sucking up that very life.

It may be just so with two Pansies. One is good, true, active, the other one isn’t; how one will go up and the other down; how one will increase and the other decrease until one seems to have all the good, even the little the other started out with.

You borrow from a bank one hundred dollars and pay it back with interest when your note is due, and quite likely the bank will loan you two hundred dollars then, if you want it, and so on, increasing it just as you are faithful. But if you don’t pay as you promised, because you were lazy, your one hundred dollars will be taken from you and loaned to one who may have ten thousand dollars, because he makes good use of it. We are all on trial. How happy we should be to be trusted by the Lord! It’s a fearful thing when he will not loan us any more.

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Goodtemper, like a sunny day, sheds brightness over everything. It is the sweetener of toil and the soother of disquietude.

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“IF I had dwelt”—so mused a tender woman,All fine emotions stirredThrough pondering o’er that Life, divine yet human,Told in the sacred Word—“If I had dwelt of old, a Jewish maiden,In some Judean street,Where Jesus walked, and heard his word so ladenWith comfort strangely sweet,“And seen the face where utmost pity blended,With each rebuke of wrong;I would have left my lattice and descended,And followed with the throng.“If I had been the daughter, jewel-girdled,Of some rich rabbi there;Seeing the sick, blind, halt, my blood had curdledAt the sight of such despair.“And I had wrenched the sapphires from my fillet,Nor let one spark remain;Snatched up my gold, amid the crowd to spill it,For pity of their pain.“I would have let the palsied fingers hold me;I would have walked betweenThe Marys and Salome, while they told meAbout the Magdalene.“‘Foxes have holes’—I think my heart had brokenTo hear the words so said,While Christ had not—were sadder ever spoken?—‘A place to lay his head.’“I would have flung abroad my doors before Him,And in my joy have beenFirst on the threshold, eager to adore Him,And crave his entrance in!”Ah, would you so? Without a recognitionYou passed Him yesterday;Jostled aside, unhelped his mute petition,And calmly went your way.With warmth and comfort garmented and girdled,Before your window-sillSweep heart-sick crowds; and if your blood is curdledYou wear your jewels still.You catch aside your robes, lest want should clutch themIn its imploring wild;Or else some woful penitent might touch them,And you be thus defiled.O, dreamers! dreaming that your faith is keepingAll service free from blot,Christ daily walks your streets, sick, suffering, weeping,And ye perceive him not!M. J. Preston,in The Independent.

“IF I had dwelt”—so mused a tender woman,All fine emotions stirredThrough pondering o’er that Life, divine yet human,Told in the sacred Word—

“IF I had dwelt”—so mused a tender woman,

All fine emotions stirred

Through pondering o’er that Life, divine yet human,

Told in the sacred Word—

“If I had dwelt of old, a Jewish maiden,In some Judean street,Where Jesus walked, and heard his word so ladenWith comfort strangely sweet,

“If I had dwelt of old, a Jewish maiden,

In some Judean street,

Where Jesus walked, and heard his word so laden

With comfort strangely sweet,

“And seen the face where utmost pity blended,With each rebuke of wrong;I would have left my lattice and descended,And followed with the throng.

“And seen the face where utmost pity blended,

With each rebuke of wrong;

I would have left my lattice and descended,

And followed with the throng.

“If I had been the daughter, jewel-girdled,Of some rich rabbi there;Seeing the sick, blind, halt, my blood had curdledAt the sight of such despair.

“If I had been the daughter, jewel-girdled,

Of some rich rabbi there;

Seeing the sick, blind, halt, my blood had curdled

At the sight of such despair.

“And I had wrenched the sapphires from my fillet,Nor let one spark remain;Snatched up my gold, amid the crowd to spill it,For pity of their pain.

“And I had wrenched the sapphires from my fillet,

Nor let one spark remain;

Snatched up my gold, amid the crowd to spill it,

For pity of their pain.

“I would have let the palsied fingers hold me;I would have walked betweenThe Marys and Salome, while they told meAbout the Magdalene.

“I would have let the palsied fingers hold me;

I would have walked between

The Marys and Salome, while they told me

About the Magdalene.

“‘Foxes have holes’—I think my heart had brokenTo hear the words so said,While Christ had not—were sadder ever spoken?—‘A place to lay his head.’

“‘Foxes have holes’—I think my heart had broken

To hear the words so said,

While Christ had not—were sadder ever spoken?—

‘A place to lay his head.’

“I would have flung abroad my doors before Him,And in my joy have beenFirst on the threshold, eager to adore Him,And crave his entrance in!”

“I would have flung abroad my doors before Him,

And in my joy have been

First on the threshold, eager to adore Him,

And crave his entrance in!”

Ah, would you so? Without a recognitionYou passed Him yesterday;Jostled aside, unhelped his mute petition,And calmly went your way.

Ah, would you so? Without a recognition

You passed Him yesterday;

Jostled aside, unhelped his mute petition,

And calmly went your way.

With warmth and comfort garmented and girdled,Before your window-sillSweep heart-sick crowds; and if your blood is curdledYou wear your jewels still.

With warmth and comfort garmented and girdled,

Before your window-sill

Sweep heart-sick crowds; and if your blood is curdled

You wear your jewels still.

You catch aside your robes, lest want should clutch themIn its imploring wild;Or else some woful penitent might touch them,And you be thus defiled.

You catch aside your robes, lest want should clutch them

In its imploring wild;

Or else some woful penitent might touch them,

And you be thus defiled.

O, dreamers! dreaming that your faith is keepingAll service free from blot,Christ daily walks your streets, sick, suffering, weeping,And ye perceive him not!M. J. Preston,in The Independent.

O, dreamers! dreaming that your faith is keeping

All service free from blot,

Christ daily walks your streets, sick, suffering, weeping,

And ye perceive him not!

M. J. Preston,in The Independent.

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I READ of a boy who had a remarkable dream. He thought that the richest man in town came to him and said: “I am tired of my house and grounds; come and take care of them and I will give them to you.” Then came an honored judge and said: “I want you to take my place; I am weary of being in court day after day; I will give you my seat on the bench if you will do my work.”

Then the doctor proposed that he take his extensive practice and let him rest, and so on. At last up shambled old Tommy, and said: “I’m wanted to fill a drunkard’s grave; I have come to see if you will take my place in these saloons and on these streets?”

Harold laughed about his dream, but somebody who knew how Harold was being brought up, said: “Do you know, I shouldn’t be surprised if of all the offers he accepted the last? He has talent enough to become a judge, or a physician, or to make his fortune, but I am afraid he will grow up to take old Tommy’s place.”

Who is willing to help fill “Old Tommy’s” place?

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bird in meadow

IF we only knew how to understand bird language, I fancy we might be made acquainted with a great many pretty secrets which now they keep to themselves.

I have been reading lately about a gentleman in New York who has a collection of birds, and who makes a study of those who flit about his home in summer. At one time he had a blind sparrow among his collection, and a little bird named Dick seemed to have adopted it. He waited at the door of its house for it to come out, calling it with tender little chirps, and when the blind one finally appeared he would lead the way to the seeds and water.

When his friend was ready to return home to rest Dick would shove him gently along the perch until he was opposite his own door, then give a chirp which seemed to say: “There you are, jump in,” and in would spring the little sparrow, safe at home. Surely Dick ought to be elected as at least an honorary member of the “Helping Hand Society.” What if he hasn’t any hands? He succeeds in being a very efficient helper.

Efil Srednow.

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THERE are a few who make their life “a song,”A silvery call to urge tired souls along,A clear bell o’er the copeOf the steep mountain they have had to climbWith such a patience, they have made sublimeThe soul’s forlornest hope.And when these dear ones hidden pass adown“The other side,” beyond the mountain’s crown,The silvery tinkling veinOf gladness comes aback to touch us so—New courage in our sinking heart doth grow,We urge us on again.—Selected.

THERE are a few who make their life “a song,”

A silvery call to urge tired souls along,

A clear bell o’er the cope

Of the steep mountain they have had to climb

With such a patience, they have made sublime

The soul’s forlornest hope.

And when these dear ones hidden pass adown

“The other side,” beyond the mountain’s crown,

The silvery tinkling vein

Of gladness comes aback to touch us so—

New courage in our sinking heart doth grow,

We urge us on again.

—Selected.

duck and ducklingsAN OLD QUACK.

AN OLD QUACK.

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EVERYBODY said Angie Conran had a “perfectly lovely voice,” extremely well cultivated for one so young. Her music teacher was in the habit of patting her hand in a patronizing way, at the close of almost every lesson, and saying, in broken French: “Mees Angie, you will make what you Americans call a mark in the world; remember I tell you.”

Angie was a member of the choir, and a very faithful one; a member of the “Choral Club,” and practiced early and late to help make it a success. On the particular evening of which I wish to tell you she was seated at the piano, giving a last half-hour of practice to the anthem before she went to rehearsal. Her mother and I sat in the back parlor, where we could have the full benefit of the music. How the exquisite melody filled the room, and how distinctly was every word spoken.

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