REUBEN AS AN ERRAND BOY.(Character Studies.)

THE way it came to be called St. Augustine was this: it used to be named Seloy on the river Dolphins. That was when it belonged to the Indians. The French people named the river, and they gave it that name because they saw a great many dolphins playing in the mouth of the river. After awhile the Spaniards came and took the town on the day which was sacred to their saint, Augustine, so they named both town and river San Augustin.

Rufus Hunter.

double line

Inthe American Revolution Florida was the only colony which was loyal to the king. When they heard the news of the Declaration of Independence they burned John Hancock and Samuel Adams in effigy, calling them rebels. After that some of the “Liberty Boys,” as our soldiers were called, stole powder from the British brigBetsey, which lay at anchor at San Augustin and slipped away with it, to be used at Bunker Hill.

Harvey Dennison.

double line

I readabout the services which they used to hold in St. Augustine on Palm Sunday. They marched from the church to the platform of the convent, where was a beautiful altar trimmed with flowers and fruits. The congregation knelt on the ground while the priest said mass, then the nuns took baskets of rose petals which were brought by many little children in the procession, and strewed them before the altar in honor of the Virgin.

Laura Eastman.

double line

I liketo read about St. Augustine when it was a walled town with earthworks and batteries; when you had to enter the town through the great gate or by the drawbridge. At sunset a gun was fired, which meant that the bridge was raised, the gate barred, and both were guarded by soldiers. I can imagine them pacing back and forth challenging people who passed. “Centinela alerta,” they said, and “Alerta esta,” answered the outsider if he knew enough. I think it must have been great fun. I should like to understand the Spanish language, the words have such a musical sound. But the outsider might say “Alerta esta” as much as he liked, after the gates were closed he could not get into the town until next morning, no matter if his home was just the other side of the gate. Once in a long time came a messenger with news for the governor so important that for him they would open the gate; but this was very unusual.

John L. Parker.

double line

Theyhad one fashion in St. Augustine in the early days when the town was ruled by Spaniards which might work pretty well nowadays in some places. When a fellow became a great nuisance, would not work, and disturbed people by making noises in the streets, and things of that kind, they used to make him dress himself in some ridiculous fashion, put him at the head of a procession made up of anybody who wanted to join it and help make fun of him; then the drum and fife started up and he was marched out of the town, and he could not come back again.

Helen Dunning.

double line

I wentwith my father and mother to St. Augustine only last winter. We went through the Ponce de Leon, which I think must be the finest hotel in the world. It is built of some kind of stuff that glitters in the sun, and looks in the shade as if it were blue, and the trimmings are of terra cotta. The floors of the halls are inlaid with little bits of marble, and the marble columns everywhere make you think for a minute that you are stepping into an art gallery instead of a hotel. The rotunda is just lovely! It has eight oak pillars to support it, each beautifully carved. The rotunda is four stories high, and has corridors on each story with more columns and lovely arches. The dome has wonderful paintings and carved figures, giving in pictures the history of Spain and France. You can look straight up through an opening to the great copper columns which form the lantern at the top. The large parlor is perfectly splendid. It is a hundred and four feet long, and fifty-three feet wide; but there are arches and portières, so that it can be divided into five rooms whenever the people wish. It is magnificently furnished. I think, however, that the great dining-room is really more beautiful than the parlor. More than eight hundred people can take dinner there at one time, and you can look out of the windows at lovely orange groves, and hear the mockingbirds singing, and there is a band of music which always plays while the dinner is being served.

Anna Wheeler Austin.

double line

A bandof singers used to go about the streets of old St. Augustine on Easter eve, playing on their violins and guitars, and stopping under the windows to sing:

“Disciarem lu doi,Cantarem anb alagria,Y n’arem a daLas pascuas a Maria.”

“Disciarem lu doi,

Cantarem anb alagria,

Y n’arem a da

Las pascuas a Maria.”

It seems almost impossible to sing such queer-sounding words, but translated they mean:

“Ended the days of sadness,Grief gives place to singing;We come with joy and gladness,Our gifts to Mary bringing.”Mary Geddis.

“Ended the days of sadness,

Grief gives place to singing;

We come with joy and gladness,

Our gifts to Mary bringing.”

Mary Geddis.

double line

Inthe year 1821 Spain gave Florida to the United States, the old yellow flag of Spain was taken down forever, and in its place our own beautiful stars and stripes floated over the old town. I wonder if the people living there knew enough to shout for joy?

Henry Stuart.

double line

Itis all very well for my brother to talk about the people shouting for joy when the stars and stripes floated over their town; but I guess he forgets what an awful time they had only about fifteen years later, when the Seminole War broke out. That was because the new people who had come in wanted the lands which had always belonged to the Indians, and wanted them driven further West. For the next seven years I think the people had reason to be sorry that they had ever seen the stars and stripes. Not but that I love the old flag as well as my brother does, but I think the Indians were ill-treated. It makes me very sad to read how they were at last cheated into a surrender, and carried away by force from the land they loved so well.

Charles Morton Stuart.

double line

Mysister Anna thought the hotel was the nicest part of St. Augustine, but I liked the old fort the best. It used to be Fort San Marco, but when the United States got hold of it they named it Fort Marion, after General Francis Marion. I would like to describe it, but I don’t understand just how. It is in shape what is called a polygon, and has a moat all around it. The stone or shell of which it is built is used a great deal in St. Augustine, or used to be; it is called coquina. I think the narrow streets and queer-looking old houses are much more interesting than the new streets, which are just like any other city. At least I liked them better; but girls always like elegant hotels and splendid furniture and all such things.

George Wheeler Austin.

double line

Mymother used to live in St. Augustine years ago. She has told me a good deal about the streets, and the sea wall, and the little old houses. She has described St. George Street and Tolomato Street until it seems to me I could find my way up and down them almost as well as she could. But mother says things are very much changed since she was there; she reads in the papers about the beautiful new hotels, and says it does not seem possible they are in old St. Augustine. The old streets were very narrow; I suppose they are still. Next winter I am going there to see things for myself.

Sarah Castleton.

[The Pansies have seemed chiefly interested this month in the history of old St. Augustine, rather than in a description of the city. But I think our readers will agree with me that they have managed to crowd a good deal of information into a small space. Sorry we have not room for all they said.—Editors.]

double line

REUBEN MINOR was in his own room in his shirt sleeves, and the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His paste pot was on the table, sheets of paper and scraps of pasteboard were on the floor, and Reuben, with a queer-shaped box before him, was in what Maria called “a brown study.”

boy holding up head at desk“IN A BROWN STUDY.”

“IN A BROWN STUDY.”

The stair door opened, and his Aunt Mary’s voice called, “Reuben!”

“Yes’m.”

“Don’t you forget those errands that you’ve got to do in town. Have you got ’em all in your mind?”

“Yes’m.”

“There’s only the eggs and the kerosene and the vinegar, you know, so you won’t need to have ’em written down—just three things.”

“All right.”

Silence for a few minutes, during which Reuben turned the box endwise and squinted at it. “Let’s see,” he said, leaning his elbow on the table and his head on his hand, “I wonder how that would do?” Then he started for his row of shelves, seized upon a good-sized book in the corner, and dived into its pages. Something was not clear. The stair door opened again, and his aunt’s voice sounded: “Reuben!”

“Yes’m.”

“You must take that next car, you know, because there isn’t another for an hour, and I’m in a hurry for the eggs; if I don’t have them by noon there’ll be no pumpkin pie for Sunday. Are you all ready for the car?”

“I will be in a minute, Aunt Mary.”

“Well, you better get ready right straight off, then there won’t be any mistake; it will be along now in a little while.”

There was no reply to this, and the door closed again, Reuben, meantime, deep in his book. Ten minutes, fifteen minutes, then a sudden, sharp call from below: “Reuben, there’s the car coming. Hurry, now! don’t you miss it for anything.”

Reuben hurried. He made a frantic dash for his coat, ran his fingers through his hair by way of combing, concluded to go without a necktie, and tore down the stairs and out of the kitchen door and across the lawn, to the tune of his aunt’s words: “I believe in my heart you’ll lose that car, after all!”

No, he didn’t. He hailed it, panting and breathless, some minutes after it had passed the corner, and at last was seated in it, mopping his wet forehead, for the morning was warm. But he had not forgotten the big book. Four miles in a street car, with not many passengers at that hour, gave him a good chance to study up that puzzling portion which he could not get through his mind. So he studied and puzzled, and the car rumbled on, and stopped, and went on again many times, and people came in and went out, and Reuben knew nothing about them. At last he looked up; he believed he could make that box now, partitions and all, if he were only at home. Halloo! they were in town already, and were passing Porter’s. Why! then they must have passed the corner grocery where Aunt Mary always traded. What a nuisance! Now perhaps he could not get this car on its return trip. He must try for it. So he pulled the check, and made what speed he could back, three, four, five blocks, to the corner grocery. As he left the car he wondered how they managed the flap that made the fastening of the inner box, and still puzzling over it, presented himself at the counter of the city grocery.

“Well, sir,” said the clerk, after waiting a minute for orders, “what can I do for you?”

What indeed? Reuben stared at him, grew red in the face, stammered, mopped his face with his handkerchief, gazed up and down the rows and rows of crowded shelves, gazed about him everywhere. What had he come for? That was the awful question. What had Aunt Mary said? She had said several things, he remembered. He tried to recall the all-important one. Butter? No, of course not; they made their own butter. Flour, perhaps, or starch—women were always wanting flour and starch—or it might have been tea. He was sure he did not know, and the longer he thought the more confused he seemed to get. And there was the return car! Unless he took that he would have to wait a solid hour, and for what? Was there any likelihood that he would remember? Reuben asked himself that question in a most searching manner, then sorrowfully shook his head as he owned to himself that he did not believe he ever knew; he had not paid any attention to that part of the business.

Aunt Mary was watching for the return car. “Reuben has come,” she called out to Maria in the kitchen, as she caught a glimpse of him. “I must say I am relieved; I don’t know how we could have managed without those eggs. If I ever get hold of any hens that lay again, I’ll venture to say I won’t sell all my eggs to my neighbors and have to depend on store ones for myself. Why, what in the world has the boy done with them? He seems to be empty-handed! Hurry up, Reuben, we are waiting for the eggs. Where are your things?”

Poor red-faced, shamefaced Reuben! It was hard work, but there was nothing for it but to own that the first he had heard of eggs was at that moment; and as for the “things,” he had no more idea than the man in the moon what they were.

“I believe that boy is half-witted,” the clerk at the corner grocery had said, after watching him for a few minutes, and seeing him make a dash for the return car, not having bought a thing. But bless your heart, he wasn’t. He had wits enough. “Too many of ’em,” his Aunt Mary said. The trouble with Reuben was that he had never learned to withdraw his thoughts from the thing which wanted to absorb them, and fix them for the time being, instead, on the thing which ought to claim his attention.

Myra Spafford.

double line

IT was a beautiful summer day when the Westwoods arrived at their country home, most of them very glad indeed to see the dear old place. They had staid in town very late that season, Mr. Westwood’s business being such that there was a time when he feared he could not get away at all. Now here they were turning the corner which brought the house into view; the great wagon following close behind, piled high with baggage, and every one was glad, save Herbert. He was eleven years old, and fond of his city home, and of the school which he attended, and of the boys in his class, and felt very lonely and desolate. He “did not know a single boy out here,” he confided to his mother, “that he ever cared to see again.” “And when a fellow hasn’t any friends,” he said dolefully, “it is very lonesome.”

“Poor boy!” said Mrs. Westwood, when he was out of hearing, “I am sorry for him; I wish he liked the country as I used to; the long bright summer days were just crowded with happiness for me; but then I had sister Fanny to play with, and brother Will. Perhaps it would have been different if I had been all alone.”

“Children must learn to make friends of the birds, and the squirrels, and all sorts of living things,” answered his father. “When I was Herbert’s age, I used to know the note of every bird in the woods, and I don’t believe he can tell even a robin when he sees it.”

“No,” said his mother; “he has but little chance for that sort of education; and moreover he has no taste for anything of the kind; I wish he had.”

The carriage which had been winding up the drive, stopped in front of the old-fashioned, wide piazzaed country home. It did seem a pity that anybody should feel doleful coming to such a pleasant place as that; but Herbert felt doleful; as he stood with his hand in his pockets, and stared down the country road, he winked hard to keep back the tears, when he thought of the boys in town having their military drill at this hour. Meanwhile his father and mother, and Peter and Hannah, bustled about, opening doors and windows, and planning where the luggage should be set down. Presently Herbert heard an exclamation from his mother. “For pity’s sake!” she said—and in the next breath—

“Herbert, come here and see what I have found!”

So Herbert swallowed hard, and brushed away a tear or two, and went round to the side piazza from where his mother’s voice had sounded, and saw a sight which made him go on tiptoe and gaze in delight.

Pushed back, well under shelter from the summer storms, in the southeast corner of the piazza, was an old, somewhat dilapidated willow chair, large and very comfortable in its time, but which had long since been assigned to the piazza, and not considered worth bringing in out of the dews or the rain. In the fall when the family closed the house, the old chair had been forgotten. It had stood there all winter, deserted and lonely. But in the spring it had evidently been mistaken by a certain family as a house which was for rent, and they had rented it and moved in and set up housekeeping on a splendid scale; the consequences were, that fastened ingeniously to the back of the chair was a luxurious nest, most carefully woven, and within it at this moment were three of the prettiest speckled eggs that Herbert had ever seen. In fact his knowledge of birds’ eggs was limited; he had seen but very few.

“O, mother!” he said softly, “how pretty it is. There is one of the birds on the branches near by—a splendid fellow. Where is his mate, do you suppose?”

“Not far away, you may depend,” said his mother. “What a cunning place it is in which to build a house. How fortunate that the chair is so near that door instead of the other one. We can get along for awhile without opening that door at all, and they can raise their family without having trouble. If I were you, Herbert, I would adopt them and look after their interests and help to bring up their young ones; wouldn’t that be fun?”

“Well,” said Herbert, with more glee than he had shown since he had left his city home, “I believe I will. I will call that fellow up there on the bush Denny, and he and I will be companions this summer.”

“That will be splendid,” said Mrs. Westwood, very much pleased, for Denny was the short for “Denison,” her boy’s best friend in town. It was certainly a delicate compliment to name the bird after him, and showed to the mother the degree of friendship which Herbert meant to cultivate.

“We shall get along comfortably now,” she said to her husband laughingly; “he has adopted the birds in the old chair, and named the singer ‘Denny,’ so he will not lack for companionship.”

Ah! I wish I could tell you about the lovely summer. Never was a brighter, more congenial companion than Denny. He sang his sweetest songs for the lonesome boy, and accepted his overtures of friendship in the most genial manner possible. Before the season was over not only he but his wife would allow Herbert to come close enough to the old chair to drop special dainties into the nest for the children, and were voluble in their thanks. More than that, Denny actually learned to come and perch himself on Herbert’s finger and eat sugar out of his hand. And one of the children grew so fond of Herbert that she took many a walk perched on his shoulder, chirping occasionally to let him know that she was there, and was happy.

“I never knew that birds could be so pleasant,” Herbert said to his mother; “they are better than boys and girls in some respects; they never get vexed at a fellow, you know, and refuse to speak to him for days together. Even Denny got mad at me once, and wouldn’t speak for a whole day. Now this Denny never forgets to say ‘How do you do?’ even if I haven’t been out of his sight longer than five minutes.”

On the whole the birds did a good thing for Herbert Westwood that summer; they turned what they thought would be a weariness into a season of great delight, and of daily increasing interest. More than that, he did a good thing for the birds. Before the season was over he had made the acquaintance of dozens of boys in the neighborhood and formed a society, the pledge of which was protection to the birds. No stones were to be thrown, no snares to be set by these boys or any whom they recognized as friends; neither were any nests to be molested, and not a few of the boys became so interested in Denny and his family that they determined for another season to adopt a family of their own, and study birds.

“They are wonderful creatures,” said Herbert thoughtfully, as he was reporting to his mother some of the bird stories which had been told in the society that afternoon, “just wonderful creatures! I don’t know how I ever came to pass them by without thinking anything about them. I tell you what, mother, God must have thought about them a great deal.”

Efil Srednow.

double line

God’spromises are fulfilled a hundred cents on a dollar.

double line

THE materials needed for this gift are a smooth thin board about two feet long and six inches wide, some bright-colored plush, some pretty cretonne, a dozen or more brass hooks of varying sizes, none of them very large, a couple of “cock eyes” such as are used for hanging small picture frames, and a yard or two of ribbon, color to match the plush, or contrast nicely with it.

The smooth board is to be covered on one side with the plush, on the other with the cretonne, the edges neatly sewed; then the hooks are to be screwed in at regular intervals on the plush side, the ribbon drawn through the rings or “cock eyes,” and tied in a bow ready for hanging, and your work is done.

When it comes into mamma’s possession she will select a convenient spot on her wall, and hang it as though it were a picture. Then on the little hooks she will hang her glove buttoner, her small scissors which are forever slipping out of sight, her shoe buttoner, her watch, perhaps, when it is not in use, and it may be her favorite ring which she removes when she washes her hands. I am sure I could not enumerate the little bits of useful articles which she will be only too glad to hang on such convenient hooks, that she will find not a disfigurement but an ornament to her room.

Now having told you just what and how, let me go carefully over the story again and remind you of its possibilities. For I can well imagine a little girl who wants to make her mother a neat and convenient present, but who has no plush nor ribbon, and does not even know how to get the right kind of a board.

My dear, you are just the one I want to help. About the board; it need not be exactly two feet long and six inches wide; it may be of the length and width which you find convenient, and which you decide will look well in the space where it is to hang. There are light boards used by wholesale merchants in packing certain goods which are just the thing, and they can often be had for the asking at the store where your mother does most of her shopping. Neither is plush a necessity. I have a friend who made a pretty “Wall Toilet” such as I have described, out of a bit of soft silk a friend had given her to dress her dollie. The silk was old, but she smoothed it neatly, padded it with a sheet of white cotton padding, and it looked very nice; but you may not happen to have the silk? Never mind, don’t you remember those pieces of turkey red calico in your auntie’s piece bag? They are just the thing, and your little friend who wants to make one, and has no turkey red calico, has some bright blue cambric which will be very pretty. All thin material will look better if the board is first padded with the cotton I spoke of. The brass hooks are quite cheap, and so useful that I think we must have them; but a red cord, or a neat band of cretonne, or some tidy cotton twisted into a cord, finished with tassels made out of it, will take the place of the ribbon very nicely indeed. In short, the old motto, “Where there is a will there is a way,” will serve you well in making this gift, as indeed it will in almost any emergency in life.

I know by experience how useful the little contrivances are, and I earnestly hope that many a mother will have her birthday enriched this season by one of them, made by her own little daughter’s thoughtful hand.

Pansy.

two young ladies in large hats, one with a large peacock fanAS WE USED TO DRESS.

AS WE USED TO DRESS.

double line

Deer familyA DEER CHILD.

A DEER CHILD.

double line

TRUTH to tell she does make up faces, very different and queer ones, and no one Pansy sees exactly the same one at the same time, and since there are ten thousand Pansies, more or less, you see Miss Nancy Moon is smarter in “making faces” than some of you.

Another “truth to tell” is that the “moon’s phases” means appearances, or looks, and so why is it not quite the same as Nancy Moon’s faces? We’ll think it is.

Every Pansy knows some astronomy or—ought to. Come, then, and from this time on till you are a hundred years old know that astronomy means star-law, or all about the bright worlds in the sky. Now you know some astronomy. The moon is one of these worlds, and is very near our world—only two hundred and forty thousand miles away—and is one of the lamps to light it up. You must begin to learn about it. That you may call moonology. One of the first things to learn in moonology is how she makes so many faces; once a month a long, narrow bent face, then a little fatter, and so on till it is full as a—beer keg. Of course you mustn’t think she really drinks that stuff. I guess there is no license in Moontown.

If you will study the picture with all your might and main a half-hour to-day, another to-morrow, and so on, and then get grandpapa to put on his specs and help—you’ll surely answer the riddle, how the faces (or phases) are made.

Then some day you may become a great astronomer—like Tycho Brahe or John Kepler.

moon chartTHE MOON’S PHASES.

THE MOON’S PHASES.

double line

WHEN you’ve got a thing to say,Say it! Don’t take half a day.When your tale’s got little in it,Crowd the whole thing in a minute!Life is short—a fleeting vapor—Don’t fill up a ream of paperWith a tale, which, at a pinch,Could be cornered in an inch!Boil it down until it simmers;Polish it until it glimmers.When you’ve got a thing to say,Say it! Don’t take half a day.—Selected.

WHEN you’ve got a thing to say,

Say it! Don’t take half a day.

When your tale’s got little in it,

Crowd the whole thing in a minute!

Life is short—a fleeting vapor—

Don’t fill up a ream of paper

With a tale, which, at a pinch,

Could be cornered in an inch!

Boil it down until it simmers;

Polish it until it glimmers.

When you’ve got a thing to say,

Say it! Don’t take half a day.

—Selected.

very large telescopeAT THE PARIS OBSERVATORY.

AT THE PARIS OBSERVATORY.

double line

animals

ONE day Johnny was taking a walk in the orchard with Nurse.

He was hunting for berries, and what do you think he found?

He found some big white eggs hidden in the tall grass!

Johnny wanted to put the pretty eggs in his basket and take them home to mamma.

But Nurse said:

“No, no, come away, dear. That is a nest. Hush! there comes the old goose. She will sit on the eggs and keep them warm, and by and by she will have some pretty goslings.”

After that Johnny went with Nurse every day to take a peep at the gray goose sitting on her eggs.

She sat and sat a good many days, and then one morning when Johnny went to look, sure enough, the goslings had come!

They had no feathers on, and they had long, ugly necks and big feet.

“I don’t like ’em,” said Johnny.

The little goslings grew fast. They had a nice farmyard to live in, and a little brook to paddle in.

At night the farmer shut them up in the barn, so that the cats and dogs could not eat them up.

In a few days they were all covered with pretty feathers.

Then Johnny liked them.

By and by the little goslings were old enough to go with their father and mother and aunts and uncles to swim in a big lake. That made them very, very happy.

Then they grew to be big geese, and wore a lot of feathers, and Johnny had a pillow, which he enjoyed very much, made from the soft down that grew on their white breasts.

Mrs. C. M. Livingston.

double line

“NOW you see, Emeline Frances,” said Celia, pushing herself up among the pillows and speaking in slow, stern tones to the dollie lying on her arm, “it is really your fault, and no other person’s; if you hadn’t been bound and determined to go out this afternoon, why, we shouldn’t have gone, that’s all. It had been raining, of course it had, and the walks were all damp, and you had no rubbers to wear over these shoes. Besides all that, you had been told that you must not go out this afternoon; but you were so vain of your new dress and hat, and so anxious to show them to Lulu Parks, that you would insist on going, and making me get my feet wet. Now here we are! A whole hour yet before it will be dark, and just a lovely time to play, and company downstairs in the parlor, and just the kind of cake for tea that I like the best, and we have to come upstairs and go to bed! I hope you are satisfied, Emeline Frances, with your afternoon’s work. I shouldn’t have thought of going out if you hadn’t have been so crazy to show your new hat. It is just a pity that you think so much of fine clothes. The dampness took the curl all out of your new feather, and it will never be so pretty again; but you had your own way, and will have to take the consequences. The worst of it is that you make me suffer with you. If this were the first time you had disobeyed perhaps I shouldn’t feel so badly, but as it is, I am almost discouraged. I do not see how you can be so naughty and forgetful.”

The lecture closed with one of Celia’s longest sighs. The door which led from her room to her brother Stuart’s was ajar, and he, sitting at his desk supposed to be studying his Latin for the next day, listened with the most unqualified amusement to the whole of it. He repeated the story downstairs at the tea-table, amid bursts of laughter from the entire family, his mother excepted.

“Mamma looks as grave as a judge over it,” Stuart said at last, when the laugh had subsided. “What’s the matter, mamma? Don’t you think the poor baby’s version of her troubles is funny?”

girl in bed talking to dollyCELIA TALKS TO EMELINE FRANCES.

CELIA TALKS TO EMELINE FRANCES.

“It has its funny side,” said Mrs. Campbell, with a grave smile upon her face, “but really, it has its sad side too. You are a very good mimic, my son, and gave Celia’s voice and manner to perfection, in doing which you have reminded me of her besetting sin. Have you never noticed that the child, in her own estimation, is always led into trouble through the fault of others? If she cannot blame Nora, or Josie, or some of her playmates, why then poor Emeline Frances has to bear it. I am really very much troubled by this habit of hers. To judge from Celia’s statement of the case, she is forever led astray by the evil propensities of other people. If it were true, it would be sad enough, to have a child so easily led in the wrong way; but sometimes there is as much foundation for her theory as there is in this case, when the vanity of poor Emeline Frances is supposed to have caused all the trouble. I have tried to reason the child out of such excuses, but when she reaches the folly of actually blaming the doll for leading her astray, I hardly know what to think of her.”

“It is a curious development,” said Celia’s father, “but I have known older and wiser people than she to indulge in it; I knew a young man once, who charged a moonlight night of unusual beauty with all the folly of which he was guilty that evening.”

After this sentence Stuart Campbell finished his supper in silence, with his eyes on his plate; but perhaps no one but his father knew that his cheeks were redder than usual.

Pansy.

double line

A LADY of San Francisco is said to have occupied a year in hunting up and fitting together the following thirty-eight lines from thirty-eight English-speaking poets. The names of the authors are given below:

1, Young; 2, Dr. Johnson; 3, Pope; 4, Prior; 5, Sewell; 6, Spenser; 7, Daniel; 8, Sir Walter Raleigh; 9, Longfellow; 10, Southwell; 11, Congreve; 12, Churchill; 13, Rochester; 14, Armstrong; 15, Milton; 16, Baily; 17, Trench; 18, Somerville; 19, Thompson; 20, Byron; 21, Smollett; 22, Crabbe; 23, Massinger; 24, Crowley; 25, Beattie; 26, Cowper; 27, Sir Walter Davenant; 28, Gray; 29, Willis; 30, Addison; 31, Dryden; 32, Francis Quarles; 33, Watkins; 34, Herrick; 35, William Mason; 36, Hill; 37, Dana; 38, Shakespeare.

double line

DID the Pansies read in the papers about Lena Haupt?

She was only five years old when her mother died, and three months afterwards her father, who had kept her with him by the kind help of a neighbor, fell from a building where he had been working, and was so badly injured that in a short time he died. He had his little girl with him a few hours before his death, and explained to her as well as he could that he was going where her mamma had gone, but could not take her with him yet. She must be a good little girl; she had an uncle and aunt and little cousins in Chicago, and they would take care of her and love her if she was good.

Only a few days after that Lena started alone on her long journey. Her uncle had telegraphed to “send her on,” and he would meet her at the Chicago depot. There was a card tied around her neck by a ribbon, and on the card was written: “Please take care of me.” There was a letter, also, fastened to the same ribbon, which told Lena’s sad little story, and asked the passengers to be kind to her, but to please not give her any candy. She had a wee purse fastened to the buckle of her belt which had nearly two dollars in it.

As for her ticket, it had been bought and paid for, and the conductor had it in charge. Before night of that long day almost every passenger on the crowded train had called on Lena, and her wee purse was filled to its utmost capacity with shining quarters and half-dollars. She herself made a great many journeys in the porter’s arms to the parlor car, to visit with some ladies. And at last, as night was coming on, and Lena’s eyes were beginning to droop, and the conductor was considering how he could make her comfortable for the night, came a lady and gentleman and begged to have her transferred to their sleeper, where they bought a berth for her and put her to bed.

mice around nestN THE MIDST OF HARVEST.

N THE MIDST OF HARVEST.

And all along the line little Lena found loving friends. I think her father and mother in Heaven must have been glad to see how warm were the hearts of even strangers toward their darling.

double line

I WANT to call the attention of all Pansies to a statement made by Benjamin Franklin in his story of his life. He says he tried to form the habit of expressing himself always with great modesty. He was careful not to use the word “certainly” or “undoubtedly,” or any of those words which give an air of positiveness, when the subject was one which might be disputed. He tried always to say, “It appears to me,” or “If I am not mistaken,” or “I should think that,” etc. He declared this habit to be of great use to him in persuading others to think as he did, and that moreover it gave him a chance to learn a great deal more than he would otherwise have had; for he said he had noticed that people did not care to give information to those who acted as though they already knew all that it was possible to learn.

In many respects Benjamin Franklin was a wise man, and perhaps in no small way could he have shown his knowledge of human nature better than by adopting such rules. But I really do not think he has many followers. Just watch the conversation of even quite young people for awhile, with this thought in mind, and see how many of them seem to be absolutely sure of their position, even in regard to subjects where wise men differ. If we could have more doubt about things which have not yet been decided, and more certainty about things which God and the Bible have decided for us, we should have a much better, as well as a much pleasanter world.

Hannah Hearall.

double line

Back to Index Next