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IN throwing out ballast or any small article from a balloon, a certain degree of caution is requisite, as a bottle or any similar object falls with such velocity that were it to strike the roof of a cottage, it would go right through it. We are told that Gray-Lussac, in an ascent in 1804, threw out a common deal chair from a height of twenty-three thousand feet. It fell beside a country girl, who was tending some sheep in a field, and, as the balloon was invisible, she concluded, and so did wiser heads than hers, that the chair must have fallen straight down from heaven.
No one was skeptical enough to deny it, for there was the chair, or rather its remains. The most the incredulous could venture to do was to criticise the coarse workmanship of the miraculous seat, and they were busy carping and fault-finding with the celestial upholstery, when an account of M. Gray-Lussac's voyage was published, and extinguished at once the discussion and the miracle.—Chambers' Journal.
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camels in the distance
"I never would have made a camel, that's certain," remarked a wise (?) lad, after taking a slight look at the ungainly beast.
"Probably not," answered his wiser father. "You would have put the same material into pop-guns or ponies."
"But see what an ugly thing he is; not a handsome feature about him," still urged the boy.
"Handsome is that handsome does," came back to him.
"Look at those abominable humps on his back. Why must he be disfigured in that way?"
"Does a trunk disfigure a traveller?" quietly asked the father.
"But what has that ill-looking hump to do with a trunk, I'd like to know?" continued his questioner.
camel with saddle onGENERAL GORDON'S CAMEL.
GENERAL GORDON'S CAMEL.
"There are many more things you ought to 'like to know.' That ill-looking hump is his trunk, which his master sees is well packed with—fat—before he starts on the long journey over the deserts where he can't be sure of any grass or shrubs for days and days. But there is that trunk full on his back from which the camel picnics on the weary way."
"Oh! you don't say he carries water there too!"
"No; but near by, in another trunk or bottle. He has an extra supply in his stomach. Those 'clumsy' feet arebeautifullyformed for travelling the desert. Scientific folks might have studied for ages without discovering and patenting such a marvel of a desert foot.
"You see no beauty in his eyelashes and queer nose, but you would, after a day in the burning sun or flying sand of the desert. Why, my boy, there's no beast like him for use in his own land.
"Just see him, knelt there for his load of one thousand or fifteen hundred pounds, and objecting as plainly as a camel can, when a little too much is put upon him. Then rising up and moving on his way in such dignified patience, on and on, hour after hour, seventy-five or one hundred miles a day. Know of a horse that could do that, my boy?
"He is justly called the 'Ship of the Desert.'"
"'Ugly beast,' indeed!" repeated his father. "Think you Gordon called him so?"
"Gordon? Who did you say?"
"General Gordon. That brave, grand man who went to Khartoom to save the garrison and people there from falling into the hands of the false prophet?
"It almost seems as if the noble camel that carried him hundreds of miles on the way, knewwhat General Gordon was going for; he just hurried right on without a word of complaint, till he could not move a step further; then another gladly took his place and pushed on day and night till Charles James Gordon passed through the gates and the city shouted for joy.
"Now can't you see some beauty in this beast?"
C. M. L.
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O
"OUR village!" Do you suppose you could write a book about your village? Could you find enough matters of interest to make one book? And yet Miss Mitford wrote five with that title. She wrote about the houses and the people, the shops, the children, about life in an English country village, and delightful reading her sketches are. She wrote as no one had ever before written, and perhaps I might say that no one since has ever written such charming bits of description of rural life.
ladyMISS MITFORD.
MISS MITFORD.
She wrote other books,Atherton, and Other Tales,Country Stories, and then she wrote such delightful letters to her friends. You will find some of these in herLife and Correspondence. She was the daughter of wealthy parents, who later in life became poor. So that from a life of luxury our gifted author was reduced to poverty.
The latter part of her life must have contrasted painfully with the days of her childhood, yet she kept through all her trials her sweet serenity of mind, her habit of making the best of everything. She is described as a short, stout woman, with a face shining with quiet happiness and unselfishness. The appreciation with which her sketches were received gave her much pleasure, and the fact that her writings were re-printed in America afforded her the greatest gratification, while it was a surprise to her.
She was a delightful person to meet socially, having charming ways and a soft, sweet voice. She died in a wee bit of a house, in 1855, at the age of sixty-eight.
Do you ask why I have chosen to place Miss Mitford in our list of Remarkable Women? To begin with, she was the first to discover and set before us in prose writing the beauty in every-day things. She had written poems and tried her hand at writing tragedy, but with indifferent success, and at length when poverty stared her in the face she took up the then new line of writing and tried with grand success to show to the world the beauty there is in common things. Then all through her long life with its sad changes she kept that wonderful serenity of mind, and that happy faculty of living above the vexations of life. Many a woman when forced by growing poverty to move from place to place, each time going to a poorer home, would have grown faint and weary of life, and given up in despair.
If we cultivate the habit of making the best of everything, we shall be the better prepared to meet the vicissitudes of life.
Faye Huntington.
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ROUND THE FAMILY LAMP
I SHOULD suggest, dear Pansies, for this lovely month of May, a little evening festival. Winter is over with its long, delightfully cosey evenings. Spring is nearly done, with its shorter evenings, and now we are fairly launched into the flower months—when all life seems an holiday, and every moment that is possible is to be passed out of doors.
To get ready for my little proposed festival, everybody must go a-Maying. With baskets, and fern cases, let the children, papa and mamma, nursey, aunt Grace, uncle Fred, and indeed every one who will drop books and work, and go off to the woods for the wild treasures that are playing hide-and-seek there. We do not want on this lovely May festival, any flowers but wild ones that have grown silently all winter under the snow, waiting for us. Their reign is short indeed. We will give them one evening all to themselves before we turn to June with her wealth of roses, and all other sweet and glowing blossoms.
Let us gather them all—the hepaticas, the anemones, darling little forget-me-nots, violets, Solomon's seal, and—but the name is legion—and the varieties multiply as we dig and prowl in the damp moss, and explore behind rocks and in crannies. Put them all in the baskets and cases, surrounded by their own moss to keep them green, not forgetting to bring as many roots as possible, cover all with lovely vines, and come home, flowers in the baskets, and flowers in your cheeks.
Amy and Ruth have been very busy. No one exactly knew why they got up so early in the morning. No one but the cook, and she promised not to tell. But in the cake-box is a toothsome collection of sugar wafers, ready to be put on the flower-crowned table, and the two little girls have every little while that pleasant "woodsy morning," as Ruth called it, flown at each other in the secret places, when resting from their flower-digging, and something like this might have been heard, if there had been ears to hear. But there were none, only those of the squirrels, and they looked wise, and determined not to tell. "Oh, Ihopethey will be good."
"Our new receipt. Just think, if they shouldn't like them!"
Bob has a secret too. Why can't boys as well as girls have one, pray tell. That is, no one but papa knows it, but then papa has a fashion without ever asking, of being informed of his boy's movements.
Bob's twenty-five cents hoarded for two weeks, went into the grocer's till only yesterday, and Bob has twelve bright yellow lemons instead, waiting as patiently as lemons will, to be sacrificed to a thirsty group who stand around the same flower-crowned table. Bob's papa is to give the sugar, and moreover he has promised to tie on another apron and help the boy make the loveliest lemonade on that very same night. So Bob and his papa must of necessity go off together on this "woodsy morning" to hunt for flowers, for there is danger if they staid with the large group that they would let the whole thing out. Oh, what fun, to have papa to one's self and a secret!
Now then, after your invitations to two or three neighbors, and a little friend or two who hasn't many pleasures of her own, are given out for this evening, and your wood-treasures are ready, and you have had a good lunch and are all bathed and rested, you have nothing to do but to arrange your table with banks of moss, flowers and vines, get uncle Fred who is to give the little talk on "Plants and their Habits," to settle his microscope and specimens just where he wants them in the evening, Mary puts out the music on the piano-rack that she has promised to play, the two secrets are out, because there are the trays laden with sugar wafers, and two bright-faced, white-capped young girls, one with blue ribbons and the other with pink, to passthem around, and there's the lemonade table in the corner, with a big pail covered with green moss, a little well sweep to which is fastened the Baby's tiny pail for a bucket, and Bob stands back of it all with a beaming face ready to serve you to glassesfull from the "old oaken bucket."
Oh, it is rare fun, this dainty May festival—the best part after all being the "Plant talk," and the wonders to which the company, young and old, are brought to see through the microscope. Each small spear of green has its delicate meaning—each blossom its tender message. Nothing has been lost there so long under the snow, and the good Giver tells anew to these awakened minds, his story of creative love. Dear children, I hope you will have in each family a "May festival," and my most loving wish is that it may be a happy, bright, and joyous one.
Margaret Sidney.
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YOU want a story, another story,One you have never heard before?Stories don't come when you call them, always;I do not know any more."Jack and the Bean-Stalk," "Goldilocks,""Bright Prince Charming," "Reynard the Fox,"And now you ask for a "spandy-new" one,About your Jack-In-The-Box!Poor little Jack-In-The-Box, who neverCan open his door himself;Whose house is so small that it almost pinches,With neither cupboard nor shelf.Dark, beside, with a varnishy smell,Enough to keep him from feeling well,And a crick in his back that must surely hurt him,If he could only tell!Now, let's pretend; when he first was finished,This rosy-cheeked little Jack,He stood up straight, with his hands beside him,And never a crick in his back.Oh, what a beautiful world of toys!Little doll-girls and little doll-boys;Drums and trumpets, and everything lovelyFor making a splendid noise!Ah, but wait—he is not quite finished;Poor little rosy Jack!A knife, some glue, some muslin, some paper—Nowthere's a crick in his back!Oh, but the hot glue made him smart;How near the sharp knife went to his heart;And for five dreadful, dreadful minutes,His head and feet were apart!Now for the box—it is very pretty,Painted a charming red.In he goes, his feet are fastened;Down comes the lid on his head!Oh, he knew he was going to smother!He'd have called mamma if he'd owned a mother,But he'd nobody nearer than distant cousins,Neither sister nor brother.Frantic his struggles for fifteen minutes,But it seemed, the more he tried,The tighter his house grew; then his courageFailed; and he cried and cried.Then he heard laughter, soft and low;His door flew up, and he heard an "Oh!"And a dear little face was bent above him—Your little face, you know.Over and over the darkness caught him,The lid came down on him tight;But he soon found out that after the darknessAlways would come the light.He was a hero! Up he wentWhenever the lid rose; not contentWith merely rising, he came up smiling,Though all of his strength was spent.That was the story. Grave and silentSat my small Goldilocks,Looking down with a tender pity,At brave Jack-In-The-Box."Thank you, auntie," was all she said.But I found that night, when she'd gone to bed,Jack's box in the grate, and Jack on her pillow,Close to the golden head.M. Vandergrift,in Youth's Companion.
YOU want a story, another story,One you have never heard before?Stories don't come when you call them, always;I do not know any more."Jack and the Bean-Stalk," "Goldilocks,""Bright Prince Charming," "Reynard the Fox,"And now you ask for a "spandy-new" one,About your Jack-In-The-Box!Poor little Jack-In-The-Box, who neverCan open his door himself;Whose house is so small that it almost pinches,With neither cupboard nor shelf.Dark, beside, with a varnishy smell,Enough to keep him from feeling well,And a crick in his back that must surely hurt him,If he could only tell!Now, let's pretend; when he first was finished,This rosy-cheeked little Jack,He stood up straight, with his hands beside him,And never a crick in his back.Oh, what a beautiful world of toys!Little doll-girls and little doll-boys;Drums and trumpets, and everything lovelyFor making a splendid noise!Ah, but wait—he is not quite finished;Poor little rosy Jack!A knife, some glue, some muslin, some paper—Nowthere's a crick in his back!Oh, but the hot glue made him smart;How near the sharp knife went to his heart;And for five dreadful, dreadful minutes,His head and feet were apart!Now for the box—it is very pretty,Painted a charming red.In he goes, his feet are fastened;Down comes the lid on his head!Oh, he knew he was going to smother!He'd have called mamma if he'd owned a mother,But he'd nobody nearer than distant cousins,Neither sister nor brother.Frantic his struggles for fifteen minutes,But it seemed, the more he tried,The tighter his house grew; then his courageFailed; and he cried and cried.Then he heard laughter, soft and low;His door flew up, and he heard an "Oh!"And a dear little face was bent above him—Your little face, you know.Over and over the darkness caught him,The lid came down on him tight;But he soon found out that after the darknessAlways would come the light.He was a hero! Up he wentWhenever the lid rose; not contentWith merely rising, he came up smiling,Though all of his strength was spent.That was the story. Grave and silentSat my small Goldilocks,Looking down with a tender pity,At brave Jack-In-The-Box."Thank you, auntie," was all she said.But I found that night, when she'd gone to bed,Jack's box in the grate, and Jack on her pillow,Close to the golden head.M. Vandergrift,in Youth's Companion.
beautiful forestCYPRESS GROVES OF CHAPULTEPEC (MEXICO) TIME OF MAXIMILIAN.
CYPRESS GROVES OF CHAPULTEPEC (MEXICO) TIME OF MAXIMILIAN.
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Volume 13, Number 30.Copyright, 1886, byD. Lothrop& Co.May 29, 1886.
THE PANSY.
THE PANSY.
Little girl and dolly"I CAN'T GIVE LULU JANE TO GRANDMA," SAID PATTY.
Little girl and dolly"I CAN'T GIVE LULU JANE TO GRANDMA," SAID PATTY.
"I CAN'T GIVE LULU JANE TO GRANDMA," SAID PATTY.
P
PATTY PLUMMER awoke one lovely August morning with a delightful feeling that something nice was going to happen that day. The sun was shining in on the rough board walls of her little chamber, and she could see the bits of broken china and glass glitter in her playhouse—a corner of the room outside. Then she thought of her dream! Patty laughed aloud as she dressed herself, at the thought of her old broken dolly Lulu Jane chasing her round the house, and squeezing through a tiny crack when she tried to shut her in the sitting-room!
"Aha! I just know why I dreamed that! I know what makes me so happy!" and she danced round in her stocking feet, singing her gayest song, quite forgetful of the old saying,
Sing before eatingAnd you'll cry before sleeping!
"Oh! I do hope she'll bring it to-day," Patty cried as she put on her slippers and ran out to her play-house, where in a parlor gorgeous with yellow paper carpet and green pasteboard chairs, stood an old accordion as a doll's piano, with a gayly-dressed rag lady sitting before it on a velvet-covered spool, and a fine gentleman by her side in blue paper trousers and black silk jacket.
Now the "she" of Patty's remarks was her clever cousin Charlotte who had taken home the "it"—no other than broken-headed, torn-to-pieces old Lulu Jane herself—to make therefrom, as she declared to Patty the day before, "the finest rag doll she ever saw!"
"I do b'leeve she'll bring it home this very afternoon," happy Patty kept saying to herself, as she flew out of doors after breakfast and worship was over. Everything seemed lovelier than ever this one fair morning. The little rock-basin filled by water trickling down from a higher one, which Charlotte had named "the fountain," seemed the most wonderful thing that ever was; the hollyhocks and lady-delights fairly smiled as she bent over the flower mound to admire them—all was cheerful and gay.
How Patty loved to go over by herself the events of a pleasant play-day with Charlotte! There was the little stone oven place with a mock fire of sticks, where they had played at boiling a pudding made of mud and tied in a rag, while the pot was a hollow ribbon block from old Miss Simpkins' store! there hung the swing her father had made between two ash-trees for her and her cousin. She climbed on the notched board and swayed to and fro, every now and then looking up the pasture hill to see if Charlotte was coming down the path from uncle Nathan's.
By and by she gave a joyful shout. An old-fashioned, two-seated carriage was coming up the long grassy lane from the big gate opening into the street. Mother Plummer ran to the door with flowery hands to see Patty's Grandmother Pratt getting out of the carriage. Such goodies as grandma always brought from Mill Village when she came to see the Plummers! This time the driver, uncle Dave, lifted out a huge basket of big fresh blackberries and a large newly caught salmon. Patty was not forgotten; grandma never came without something for her little namesake. The last time she brought Patty a pretty plaid gingham; this time the gift was a gay Indian basket full of tiny pats of yellow butter, covered with cool, broad rhubarb leaves.
"O, this is the goodest day that ever I did see!" warbled Patty to the tune of The Battle Hymn of the Republic, as she followed the dear plump old lady into the house. The summer day was as perfect as a day could be. Inside the house everything was sunshiny and cheerful too; and Patty opened her glad heart to take in the pleasure of all things to the uttermost. Grandmother sat in the arm-chair swaying the huge palm-leaf fan as she loosened the ribbon cap strings at her fat white throat, and Patty sat on a cricket beside her in perfect content. They were going to have such a lovely dinner! Tempting pink salmon, mealy new potatoes, blackberries with cream and sugar, and a dainty pie which Patty's eyes spied through the half-open pantry door. A dainty turnover beside it too, on purpose for Patty! Never thought of clouds or showers came into her heart as she sat there softly stroking grandma's gown of silver gray.
"Tinkle, inkle," came the sound of old Daisy's bell from the pasture; and the sound started a new train of glad thoughts. If Charlotte would only come with Lulu Jane, what fun she would have showing the doll to grandma! Grandma always took an interest in her doll babies—evenin Augustus with his blue paper trousers!
They were all seated around the dining-table, Patty beside grandma, with the turnover in her hand to keep it from uncle Dave who pretended he was going to eat it, when the back door opened. Patty's heart went pit-a-pat, and she ran out with mother's leave, turnover and all, to meet cousin Charlotte in the dim little entry.
"Here it is," said Charlotte. "I hope you'll be pleased with it; and I must go right back, 'cause I've got to do a big stent o' patchwork 'n help aunt Betsy get supper for comp'ny." Patty took the bundle to the out-door light, and when she opened it, danced and screamed with delight.
"You dear, darling old thing!" she cried, hugging Charlotte so hard she fairly hurt her. "How did you fix her up so nice?" she sat on the doorstep admiring Lulu Jane between bites of turnover while Charlotte flew home like a bird.
The doll had a new smooth white linen face, the head nicely joined at the top instead of being sewn with big black stitches as Patty sewed hers. The face had beet-juice cheeks and black bead eyes, the feet were neatly shod with velvet, and the old gown had been replaced by a pink ruffled one of calico, edged at the neck with a frill of lace. But the crowning glory was a little pink bonnet trimmed with a downy chicken's feather and a tiny spray of snakeberry vine from which hung wee scarlet berries! Patty hugged her treasure closely, and ran to the swing to enjoy it by herself. Uncle Dave was coming, and he might run off with it just to tease her. By and by she ran in to show it to grandma.
"Deary, deary!" said grandma, as she took the dolly from Patty and examined it through her spectacles. "Nice piece o' work, quite a neat little gownd, 'n a bunnit too! Charlotte must be quite tasty."
Grandma held it in her fat hand a minute and then after fumbling in her big pocket she brought out a shining new quarter-dollar.
"Patty," said she, looking down into the wondering eyes of her little granddaughter, "I'd like to buy this pretty doll to take home to your little cousin Bessie Alice. She's coming to spend to-morrow with me and she'll think so much of a doll that came 'way from Mapleton." The cloud had come down over the sun; the gladness of the perfect day was completely darkened by the trial which suddenly loomed up before the child.
"Why, gra'ma!" cried she, the tears flowing fast, "you don't want me to let you have my darling sweety Lulu Jane, when she just got all fixed up new! I never could let her go! Please give her to me, grandma." Grandma placed the precious doll in Patty's arms and said quietly:
"I won't take your doll away if you aren't willing; but I was thinkin' how pleased Bessie Alice would be; you know she's no ma now 'n no Charlotte to make dolls for her like you have. Then you'd have the quarter to help buy you a winter hat, and Charlotte would make you another dolly, I'm sure. But if you aren't willing I'll say no more about it," and she put the bright quarter away in her big pocket again.
"Can I have a little while to think it over?" asked Patty timidly. Her good mother had taught her to think matters over before she decided, and the sight of the money had brought something to her mind. The Sunday-school superintendent had told the children only last Sunday about two good women who had left their homes to teach the poor Labrador children about Jesus. They needed books and papers. Miss Bridgman, Patty's teacher, had asked her class if they could not bring some money next Sunday even if they had to deny themselves of something to get it. Patty thought it all over upstairs. She looked at the beautiful bonnet, the velvet shoes and the pink ruffles, and gave the doll a hard hug as she cried amid falling tears:
"I can't give her to gra'ma, I can't sell her! I wish gra'ma 'd never come! I wish Bessie Alice 'd never been born! That hateful thing! She's got red hair, 'n she did just pinch me awful, once! Oh, dear,dear,DEAR! this is the nastiest day I ever did see!" and she threw herself on the trundle bed in a spasm of grief.
Then better thoughts came.
"Why, ain't I a goose! What am I cryin' for? I needn't sell her 'f I don't wan't to! Poor Bessie Alice, I'm awful sorry she's got no mother to tuck her in bed 'n' kiss her! I s'pose Jesus 'd be pleased if I let her have it. I'd rather have Lulu Jane than twenty quarters; but I'd have all that money to take to Miss Bridgman Sunday, 'n that would please Jesus too. And I do want to please Him, I'm sure! Of course Charlotte would make me another!She's such a 'geniusgirl, mother says. I'll go right away 'n give dolly to gra'ma. I'm goin' to sell it to you," handing the fine lady to Grandmother Pratt. "I want the money for the missionaries, 'n I do pity Bessie Alice. Put her away quick, so I won't want her again," said Patty, dancing away with the quarter in her hand.
"You are a darlin' child, cert'in," said grandma, looking fondly after her.
"Well, this has been the queerest day!" said little Patty as she sat on the doorstep that night watching the old carriage roll away toward Mill Village. "I'd like to have Lulu Jane to play with, 'n' I don't know what Charlotte'll say; but I b'leeve I feel happier now than I did this mornin', 'n I was happy then 's I could be!"
Gussie M. Waterman.
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S
"SELL Jack! No, indeed, not for any money!"
Harry Danvers responded to Colonel Bates' offer almost indignantly.
"It is a good offer for the dog," continued the colonel, "more than he is really worth, but Frank has taken a fancy to him, and to gratify him I am willing to give a good price."
dogJACK.
JACK.
"No, sir; I shall want money worse than I ever have yet when I part with Jack. Thank you for the offer, but I cannot sell my dog."
"That is a foolish boy," said the colonel, turning to a friend as Harry went off down the street whistling to his dog; "I made him a good offer. You know my boy Frank is an invalid, and it was to gratify a whim of his that I offered the boy twice the worth of the dog."
"I heard your offer, and I confess I thought it very liberal," replied the friend; "has the boy rich parents, that he can afford to reject such offers?"
"No; Danvers is only a day laborer, and I do not suppose the boy ever had five dollars pocket money in his life."
"Humph!" was the expressive rejoinder of the friend; then the subject was dropped.
There was a missionary convention in progress in the town where Harry Danvers lived. Harry was not specially interested in missions, though he was a Sunday-school scholar and a member of a Mission Band; but someway he did not get interested in the Band. And I suspect that boys generally fail to become interested in the Mission Bands.Can you tell why it is that our missionary societies are so largely made up of girls?
Harry had no thought of going to any of the meetings in progress, but at tea time his sister Alice said:
"Harry, they say that the teacher from the school where our Band supports a pupil is going to speak to-night at the First Church; let's go down."
"I don't want to hear any missionary women speak," said Harry.
"But, my son, if your sister wants to go, you will not refuse to go with her?" said Mr. Danvers.
"I suppose I can go," replied Harry, not ungraciously, but somewhat indifferently.
"I do want to go; and, Harry, you know you said you were to write an essay on the Indian question for next Wednesday; maybe you'll get some ideas; you know Miss R—— is from the Indian Territory."
"All right! Count me in. I'll be ready in a jiffy."
Harry Danvers was never the same boy after that evening. You might not have noticed the difference, but it was there. He could never again be indifferent towards Missions. He gained, as Alice had suggested, some ideas, but not altogether in the line of his school essay. He for the first time in his life realized that he, Harry Danvers, had a part in the great work given to the church of Christ; that the responsibility of sending the Gospel to the heathen nations rested upon him in proportion to his ability, and the question, What canIgive? was pressed home upon his heart. The duty and privilege of sacrifice were set before him, and he asked himself, What can I sacrifice? The questions were unanswered when he went to bed that night. Harry was a Christian boy, and he carried his questioning to his Heavenly Father, and waited for the answer. The next morning as he went down stairs, with Jack's customary greeting there came to him the answer he had sought. Here was an opportunity to prove his sincerity! Was he equal to the sacrifice?
"What is the matter, Harry?" asked his mother; "are you sick?"
"The missionary meeting was too much for him, I guess," said Alice.
"Didn't you like the speaker?" asked Mr. Danvers.
"Yes, sir;Iliked it all very much. Mother, you ought to go this morning; they say there is a perfectly wonderful speaker to be on the platform—a woman from Syria; areyougoing, Harry?"
"I don't know," replied Harry indifferently.
"Dear me," said Alice; "boys are so queer. Now I thought it was just splendid last evening, but Harry won't even say he liked it. I was all stirred up and ready to give all my jewelry—only I haven't any to give," and Alice chattered on until breakfast was over, and the family went their several ways. All the time Harry was thinking, and, as you will see, thinking to some purpose. He had an errand down town for his mother, and as he went out of the gate he said with energy, "I'll do it!"
Now Mrs. Danvers was a timid woman, and very much afraid of dogs. True, she tried to hide her fear and aversion for Harry's sake, but she had a nervous dread of some member of the family being bitten by the dog, and only a few days before, Harry's father said: "My boy, I sometimes wish you could make up your mind to give that dog away; your mother dislikes dogs so much."
Remembering this, Harry did not consider it necessary to say anything to his father about what he intended to do. His way down the street led him past Colonel Bates' residence. He stopped at the door and rang the bell, asking to see Colonel Bates. When that gentleman appeared he said, though his voice trembled,
"Have you bought a dog for Frank yet?"
"No; have you made up your mind to part with yours?"
"Yes, sir; if your offer holds good for to-day."
"Certainly; walk in and we will settle the business. I am very glad; we are going to a rather lonely place for the summer, and the dog will be both a comfort and protection to Frank."
The transfer of property was made in the course of the morning, and, strangely enough, Colonel Bates sat beside Harry that evening in the meeting and caught the glitter of the gold piece which the boy dropped into the basket as the collection was taken for the Indian Mission.And this is what he thought: "Here's a boy who has made a sacrifice; he has given that which cost him something, and I gave what I can spare as well as not! for onceIwill give something that I shall feel."
"Father, why didn't you buy those horses you were talking about?" asked Frank Bates a few days later.
"Because I bought a dog for you instead!"
"But my Jack did not cost a thousand dollars!" said Frank, puzzled.
"That is just what it cost me," replied Colonel Bates, smiling at his boy's bewildered looks. And then he told him the story of the gold piece and his own sacrifice, and the boy, after a little silence had fallen between them, said:
"Father, you need not buy the dog cart; the old pony phaeton will do. Give me the money it would cost in gold pieces, please, and I will go to the next missionary meeting and offermysacrifice."
Faye Huntington.
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T
THE president of our Band appointed, at the beginning of the year, twelve girls and boys to take charge of the Band Meetings, one for each month. When Lucia Lawrence read the little slip of paper upon which was written her subject, and the month for which she was assigned, she said brightly,
"I don't know a single thing about Persia, but I can find out." And I am going to tell you just a few of the things she found out about Persia. She found that in July last the semi-centennial of the beginning of the missionary work among the Nestorians at Oroomia was celebrated. More than fifteen hundred Nestorians came to the jubilee on the college grounds.
"College grounds!" exclaimed Lucia's brother Tom as the two sat together working up the programme, for this brother and sister were accustomed to study and work together, "do you mean to say that they have a college over there?"
"Yes; there are schools of all grades in Persia," replied Lucia. "The first school was opened in a cellar with only seven small children; but now there are village schools, high schools, seminaries for boys and girls, a college and theological seminary."
"Are there many who attend these schools?" asked Tom.
"I do not know what you would call many; I should think it was a large number, all things considered, when they can count the day-school pupils by thousands and the boarding-school students by hundreds. But the population of Persia is between seven and eight million, and there are only seven Mission stations in the whole country. Five of these are under the management of the Presbyterian Board of America, and two are under the care of the English Church Missionary Society."
"It seems like putting little bits of wedges into a narrow crack in a big rock and thinking to split it by pounding with a hammer. The wedges go all to pieces and the rock stays just as it was."
"But, Tom, if your wedges are of iron, with power enough in the arm that strikes the blows, the rock is bound to yield."
"Yes; but sometimes people use up a lot of wedges and mallets too."
"Well, these missionaries who had given their lives as wedges to make an opening for the Gospel, were only too glad to be used in the service of Christ. That is what wedges are made for, I suppose, to be hammered and go to pieces at last."
"But what did they do at this jubilee? That is what I want to find out," said Tom.
"Just what we do in this country when we celebrate. They sold tickets which entitled the holders to the privilege of spending the night on the grounds, and also to their meals. The women were made comfortable in the college building, but many of the men had to sleep out of doors. A large booth had been built for the meeting, and men and women told the story of the last fifty years. They had 'papers' prepared. Some of them, on female education, were written by native women who had been educated in the schools. They told about the native churches, about the medical work of the Missions, and about the hospital; you know the only hospital in Persia was built by the missionaries. The history of the work of Miss Fidelia Fiske, and ofMrs. Grant and Miss Rice were given. There was one old woman who came a long distance, part of the way on foot, and that over a rough mountainous road, to attend the celebration; she was one of Miss Fiske's first girls. Seems to me she might have told a story worth hearing. The history of the Hamadan Mission is interesting. Miss Montgomery says, 'What hath God wrought? Come and see his work in Hamadan.' Nine years only since the first missionary was stationed there, and now a church of seventy-five members. A weekly prayer meeting and a woman's prayer meeting; a Sunday-school and several day schools. But this work is done under the most trying circumstances, without either church or school buildings. The schools are gathered in private houses, and in summer the preaching and other church services are held in the yard of Miss Montgomery's house and in winter in the house. It just seemed to me when I read about the work in Hamadan that I wanted to be rich. I should think some wealthy man would want to build a church there."
"It seems as though there is such a wide crack there a big wedge would go in and do good work."
"There is another thing which is encouraging," said Lucia, "and that is the fact that the people have the Bible in their own language; that is a big wedge, because you see if they once get the Bible into their homes the work will go on faster. The women too are being educated. There was a strong prejudice against the education of women, but that is wearing away and of course the influence of educated Christian mothers will be a great help. Now, Tom, I am going to give you the station at Hamadan for your topic at the meeting, and I shall give Ella the fire worshipers, and Dick will tell us about the Mussulmans. Then I must find somebody who will give an account of the work at Oroomiah. O, dear! there is so much about Persia that the hour will not begin to hold it all."
"Well, you may leave something to piece out my hour with. I don't believe I can ever find enough to fill up."
"What is your topic?" asked Lucia.
"Mexico; and I don't know a thing about it."
Lucia expressed her sympathy by laughing at him, and saying, "Just wait until you study it up!"
Faye Huntington.
double line decoration
[An aged Hindoo woman, while first hearing the Gospel, said, "Why did you not come before? My hair has grown gray waiting for the good news."]
[An aged Hindoo woman, while first hearing the Gospel, said, "Why did you not come before? My hair has grown gray waiting for the good news."]
AN aged woman, poor and weak,She heard the mission teacher speak;The slowly-rolling tears came downUpon her withered features brown."What blessed news from yon far shore—Would I had heard it long before."O, I have bowed at many a shrine,When youth and health and strength were mine;How earnestly my soul has strivenTo find some gleam of light from heaven;But all my toil has been in vain—These gods of stone but mocked my pain."A weary pilgrimage I've trod,To win some favor from my god;And all my jewelled wealth I've laidBeneath the dark Pagoda's shade;But still, the burden on my breastBowed head and heart with sore unrest."Now, I have waited many a day,My form is bent, my hair is gray;But still the blessed words you bearHave charmed away my long despair;O sisters, from your happy shore,Would you had sent to me before!"O, precious is the message sweetI hear your kindly lips repeat;It bids me weep for joy again;My stony eyes were dry with pain;My weary heart with joy runs o'er—Ah, had you come to me before!"How welcome is the glorious nameOf Jesus, who to save me came.And shall I live when death is past?And may I all my burdens castOn Him? And is His mercy free?Not bought with gifts? Such news for me!"Yes, please forgive me when I say,I've needed this so many a day.In your glad homes, did ye not knowHow India's tears of sorrow flow?If you had known on that bright shore,Surely you would have come before!"—Miss P. J. Owens,Methodist Protestant.
AN aged woman, poor and weak,She heard the mission teacher speak;The slowly-rolling tears came downUpon her withered features brown."What blessed news from yon far shore—Would I had heard it long before."O, I have bowed at many a shrine,When youth and health and strength were mine;How earnestly my soul has strivenTo find some gleam of light from heaven;But all my toil has been in vain—These gods of stone but mocked my pain."A weary pilgrimage I've trod,To win some favor from my god;And all my jewelled wealth I've laidBeneath the dark Pagoda's shade;But still, the burden on my breastBowed head and heart with sore unrest."Now, I have waited many a day,My form is bent, my hair is gray;But still the blessed words you bearHave charmed away my long despair;O sisters, from your happy shore,Would you had sent to me before!"O, precious is the message sweetI hear your kindly lips repeat;It bids me weep for joy again;My stony eyes were dry with pain;My weary heart with joy runs o'er—Ah, had you come to me before!"How welcome is the glorious nameOf Jesus, who to save me came.And shall I live when death is past?And may I all my burdens castOn Him? And is His mercy free?Not bought with gifts? Such news for me!"Yes, please forgive me when I say,I've needed this so many a day.In your glad homes, did ye not knowHow India's tears of sorrow flow?If you had known on that bright shore,Surely you would have come before!"—Miss P. J. Owens,Methodist Protestant.
children on floor looking up at their motherLITTLE MISSION WORKERS AT MOTHER'S KNEE.
LITTLE MISSION WORKERS AT MOTHER'S KNEE.
The P.S. CORNER
Maudfrom Minnesota. Yes, I wrote the book which was your Christmas present. I am glad you like it. I think you will like the closing of the story about "Nettie and Jerry," but I must not tell you how it ends, for that would lessen the interest. "In a minute" is a very troublesome creature; I rejoice that you are going to get rid of his company.
Winniefrom Pennsylvania. A "temper" is a very good servant, but makes a bad master. If you succeed in keeping rule over yours, as I know you will if you try, remembering the "Whisper Motto," you will be much happier and more useful than you could possibly be if it ruled you.
DeckandWilderfrom Minnesota. Yes, indeed, your letter shall be published, and I hope "papa" will enjoy it as much as I did. I am also much obliged to "sister" for writing for you. Still, I hope you will write me a letter all yourselves, as soon as you can, and let me know how you succeed. I am truly glad you have resolved not to "contradict each other." Do you know I believe Satan likes to hear people contradict better than he likes almost any other fault which well brought up, truthful people have.
Newtonfrom Pennsylvania. My boy, we welcome you with pleasure. To squarely own a fault is sometimes half the battle. You cannot be too careful of the words you speak to "mother." Cross words sometimes sting and burn after the mothers are gone. Watch carefully, and resolve to be a joy and comfort to your mother so long as you have one.
Rachelfrom Kentucky. These "hasty tempers!" You have only to read the answers to the Pansies from month to month to discover how many are troubled with them. It is a wise thing to begin very early in life to keep them under control. About the habit of "forgetfulness," it sometimes grows on people so rapidly that they injure all their prospects in life by it. You do well to watch it.
Emmafrom Massachusetts. It would be very pleasant to the Pansies to hear the story of some one whom you succeed in "Helping." Will you tell it for us? I hope the badge has reached you long ago, and is a comfort.
Nedfrom Massachusetts. Good for you, my brave young soldier! A pledge against all that can intoxicate, and against tobacco, is a grand thing. I hope every Pansy in the garden will follow your example. So you are tempted to say "I don't want to?" Sometimes that isn't a bad thing to say. If anybody coaxes you to do wrong, I hope you will always say boldly, "I don't want to." But if it is something you know you ought to do, suppose you rush right off and set about it so quickly that your tongue will not have time to speak the words. How will that do?
BessieandHelenform North Carolina. Bless your dear hearts, of course you will not fail! Don't think of such a thing. When a pledge is right to take, and therefore right to keep, just shut your lips firmly and say, "We shall succeed, because we ought to, and what we ought to do, we can." Glad to enroll you.
Iyafrom Minnesota. I wonder if I have the name right? I am not sure. I hope your badge gave you help and pleasure. Oh, no, it costs nothing to belong to the P. S. but a good strong tussle with one's faults.
Arthurfrom Massachusetts. My boy, if I should put our roll of honor inThe Pansy, there would be room for nothing else. There are thousands and thousands of names! Hurrah for the temperance pledge! I feel like giving a hearty cheer for every boy who signs it. I wonder how many Pansies we have who have done so? Wouldn't it be nice to know? Dear me, I hope you are not a lazy boy! Because they are almost certain to make lazy men. Don't be a lazy Pansy, please.
Corafrom South Carolina. So glad to hear the badge is helping you. Give my love toDaisy and little Alice; you will have to be a very careful older sister in order to help them, will you not? So your dear father has gone to Heaven? Poor little Blossom! I know how you miss him. You must be a special flower for your dear mamma now, shedding all the perfume you can around her.
Marthafrom Massachusetts. Yes, I know all about how easy it is to "answer back," and I know just what a trial it is to the mothers. You do well to make a great effort to break the power of the habit. Getting up in the morning isn't the easiest work in the world for a great many people. I knew a lady who said she was obliged to spring out of bed as soon as her eyes were opened, because if she waited five minutes it seemed to her that it was not possible to get up! I suspect, my dear Blossom, that you have a good mother. There is nothing which needs more careful guarding than what we read. Make a rule to read nothing that mother does not approve.
Lenafrom New York. Glad to hear from Lena. These dear mothers are worth minding the very minute they speak. I almost know you will keep your pledge.
Corafrom Indian Territory. Welcome, dear Cora, to our Pansy bed. I am sorry you have to bloom all alone in your far-away home. Cannot you find some more Pansies who would bloom if they had a chance? Try. I know all about what a nuisance it is to have people around who do not put away their "things." At this moment there lies a cap in the very centre of my study table among the papers. It belongs to a boy who is shouting at somebody in the kitchen to know if they have the least idea where his cap is! He spends an immense amount of time looking for things that ought to be hanging on their hooks, or lying properly on their shelves, and would be, I believe, if they could only walk.
Nettiefrom Ohio. I hope yourPansyreaches you regularly, my dear little girl, and that it gives you a great deal of comfort. You see your "prayer" was answered in just the way you most wanted. Our Father in Heaven always answers all prayer, but sometimes he has to say "No" because He can tell whether what we have asked is the best thing.
Edwinfrom New York. My boy, if you have done a "kind act" each day since you took your pledge, you must have some pleasant stories to tell which the Pansies would like to hear. Cannot you write out one of them for us?
Andrewfrom Illinois. O the teeth! I am very glad you have pledged to take care of them. I know a boy who says he "cannot" remember to brush his, only on Sundays, and I am very much afraid the consequence will be, they will not be worth brushing by the time he is a man. Thank you for being a worker forThe Pansy. I know of no better way to show that you like the magazine than to try to get others to take it.
Ethelwynfrom Pennsylvania. How many people have you helped, my dear? And how many ways have you discovered in which you can help others? Can we be helpful without speaking a word? One of the most helpful little people I know is a deaf and dumb girl. How do you suppose she manages it?
Minniefrom Ohio. Dear little friend, it is very easy to be "impatient." There is a little girl of my acquaintance who became so impatient with a door which would not open that she knocked it with her knee. Now it happened that in her pocket was a small cushion with needles on it, and the knock sent a fine needle into her knee, which caused her dreadful pain and kept her from taking a step for many weeks. She used to say, "Oh, dear, if I onlyhadn't!"
Williefrom Ohio. I like your pledge. When a boy has a good father and mother, and pledges himself always to obey them in everything, he is about as safe as he can be in this world; especially if they are Christian people, who say to him, "My boy, your first duty is to give yourself to the Lord Jesus to obey him in all things."
Jessiefrom Colorado. I wish you had sent me a copy of the "Exercise," "Jesus Our Star." It must have been very beautiful, and perhaps the Pansies would like to use it in their Sabbath-schools. Perhaps you can send us a copy for next Christmas? How many presents you received! What did you do for those who had none?
Frankfrom Michigan. So, my seven-year-old Blossom, you sometimes get angry, do you? That is bad; the perfume of angry flowers is very disagreeable. It is well you have taken the pledge to overcome.
Inezfrom Indiana. You are not alone in your fault, my darling. It is as natural for people to want their own way, as it is to breathe. The important thing is, to be very pleasant about giving it up, when for any reason you cannot, or ought not to have it. This is a thing well worth trying for.
Annefrom Washington. I was very deeply interested in your letter, and have great sympathy for you in your great affliction. What a wonderful and blessed thing it will be if all the members of your large family meet in Heaven! Are you doing all you can to make sure of that happy meeting?
Florencefrom New York. A letter "all to yourself" is something I cannot give, my Blossom, much as I would like to. Don't you see it would not be fair to the others? I think you have the best possible sort of "pet." Finger nails are very useful things, and have a way of looking very badly if they are forgotten. I am glad you are going to care for yours.
EdithandLilianfrom Massachusetts. I am always glad to welcome two sisters; I think they can be such helps to each other. We are delighted to accept "Grandma" as an "honorary member." We have a special and tender love for all the dear grandmas. I have not the least doubt but she will keep her beautiful pledge to try to make somebody happy every day; and I can imagine how happy you two can make her if she sees you trying.
Robertfrom Massachusetts. So you "don't like to mind quickly?" Well, never mind whether you like it or not, if you succeed in doing it. I think myself it requires a good deal of decision to accomplish it, and I don't know of any habit more important to acquire, so I welcome you with pleasure.
Paulinefrom Massachusetts. My little "wilful" Blossom! A will is a very good thing if you make a servant of it, and oblige it to do just the right thing; but when one gets to be its slave, oh, dear! I am glad you have begun early to train it aright.
Daisyfrom New York. Poor finger nails! How would you like to be bitten every time you plucked up courage and grew a little. Don't treat your faithful little servants so badly. "Clayton" is very nearly right. We can do almost anything we try hard to do, that is if it is right that we should do it. For, back of this idea lies a great truth: God never gives us any command which is too hard for us to obey. It is very easy to get angry, and sometimes hard to break the habit; but it can be done.
Lulufrom Virginia. Here is another little Southern Blossom who wants to overcome "all" her faults. Brave little girl! I am sure you will succeed much better than those who never think about their faults at all.
Emmafrom Connecticut. Did she have so many faults that she couldn't count them? Poor little robin! Still I suspect that is the honest truth about every one of us. We are great bundles of faults. If you try with wide-open eyes to overcome each as it appears to you, you will keep a very important pledge.
Arthur Fredfrom Rhode Island. My boy, I can sympathize with "mamma." I am not sure that I know a more troublesome small habit than the one of moving slowly. Especially when one is waiting for you. Did you ever hear of the boy who lost his life because he waited to say "What for?" when told to bend his head? I could tell you of a little girl who lost a long delightful journey because she moved so slowly across a railroad depot that the train went off and left her behind.
Berthafrom Maine. "Getting mad!" Oh, dear! what a sorrowful fault for a little Bertha. The "Whisper Motto," my dear, is "For Jesus' Sake." It is called so because though we may be often in places where we could not whisper to our father or mother or any earthly friends, it is not possible to go where we could not speak to Jesus, and get his help. If you control your temper for Jesus' sake, you will surely succeed.
Lenafrom Massachusetts. "Little sister" will have a much happier life because of your pledge. And she will probably make a better woman if she lives, because of it. If sisters only knew how much they could help each other, by watching their words, I think they would take your pledge.
Helenfrom Connecticut. You are right, my friend, everybody has "need of patience." I don't suppose you will find a day in your life but you will need a large stock of it to draw from. You do well to begin early to gather it.
Jessiefrom Connecticut. We are glad to enroll you among our number. There is no doubt but that you and your friend can be great helps to each other. Patient people, those who can be patient with little trials or annoyances, are sadly needed in this world. I heard a gentleman say of a quiet little lady once, that she had a remarkable mind. "How do you know?" I asked, for I was aware that he had not talked much with her. "Because," he said, "I saw her keep a perfectly quiet face and gentle manner under a series of annoying circumstances; and only people with very cultured minds or hearts can do that."
Laurafrom New Jersey. Your plan for getting up a P. S. is an excellent one. I hope you will write and tell us how you succeed. We are very glad to welcome Andrew. I wish all the boys in the country would take his pledge to keep their arms off the table. Wouldn't the mothers rejoice!
Anita HarrietandAda Maud. Welcome, dear little sisters, who write such nice letters. Does the old giant Impatience trouble you so much, Anita? I suspect about the time he comes along, Giant Cross gets hold of Maud. Am I right? Those two are very fond of working together. You are wise to join hands in fighting them.
HarveyandLilliefrom New York. A brother and sister starting out together; that is good. Harvey, my boy, I don't often get a letter which gives me more pleasure than did yours. It is not easy work that you have undertaken, it is true, but you have a great Helper on your side. As soon as I can manage it, we must get up a mammoth temperance organization from the members of the P. S. As for the little sister, her sweet and thoughtful pledge will be helpful to you, as well as to herself.