The Pansy, February 1886

May was an only, a much-petted, and some people said, a spoiled child. However, this last was a mistake. What might have been, had not her Heavenly Father interfered, we cannot tell. A friend of Mr. Vinton who was spending a few days with the family was interested in the management of a theatre, and this gentleman had been studying this fair young daughter of his host and had discovered what others among her friends already knew, that she was a girl of unusual talent, and he fancied that if she were educated for the stage she would, as he expressed it, "create a sensation." He had proposed to Mr. Vinton to take May home with him and educate her for his favorite profession. He had pictured to the young girl the pleasures of such a life, dwelling upon the sweetness of the world's praises which she was sure to win. It would have been no wonder if May's head had been turned by all the flattery and promises of a brilliant future. Mr. Vinton had given his consent to the proposal of his friend, but May hesitated.

May Vinton was the only Christian in that household; while at boarding-school she had been led to give her heart to the Saviour, and now that she was at home again she had found it not quite easy to keep herself unspotted from the world. Mr. Vinton had not openly opposed her in what he termed her "fanaticism," but now that her religion was in the way of what was becoming his ambition for her, there was likely to be trouble. And the perplexity into which May was thrown showed itself in her face that morning. There was just a slight shadow in her brown eyes as she waited for her pony phaeton to come around to the steps. She had come from her room with this prayer on her lips: "Dear Father, help me to decide rightly. I am so ignorant and so foolish that I cannot tell what is right. Canst thou not settle this question for me? Shut up every path but the right one, I pray thee."

How speedily God sometimes answers our prayers!

It was the common story of a runaway horse, a carriage thrown over a steep embankment. And May Vinton, helpless and limp, was carried home, not dead, but to hear the verdict of the physicians who were hastily summoned, "She may live for years, but she will never walk again."

The father groaned when he heard it, but to May even in that first hour of the terrible knowledge there came a swift flashing thought "The question is settled!"

This was twenty years ago. During those first months of suffering, May Vinton's faith sometimes grew faint and she prayed that she might die; her life seemed useless; all its joy and brightness gone out. Her faith looked forward to the mansion prepared for her, but it did not light up the present, at least not for a long time. There came at length out of the suffering a sweet peace that almost glorified the face, which was a little thinner and paler than of old, but now clothed with a new beauty. There came too a tender patience that won and held the hearts of all with a firmer grasp than ever before.

Gradually the hearts of her father and mother were won from the world and centred upon Christ, and as one and another of those who came in daily contact with the patient invalid were led into a knowledge of the truth, May began to realize that her life need not be a useless one, and she began to interest herself in matters outside her own home. I cannot tell you of all the schemes for work which she has on foot. The Mission Band meet in her room once a month. I ought to tell you about that room. When it became evident that she would spend the greater part of her life in a reclining chair, only varying the monotony by being lifted from chair to couch or bed, Mr. Vinton fitted up what had been the front parlor with a smaller room once used as a library, for her use. "We can use a back room for a parlor," he said, "but May must have as good an outlook as we can give her." Excepting the invalid herself in her chair there is no sign of invalidism in that large room, but as a young girl said the other day, "It is just as pretty as it can be!" There are long mirrors on every side, there is a piano, softest of carpets and easiest of chairs—a few; in that little storeroom at one side are dozens of folding chairs which can be brought out when the visitors are many, and this is very frequently. Once a month the Mission Band, every week the Children's meeting, every Sabbath afternoon a class of young men. Then there is a young ladies' meeting—I think I must take another time to tell you of some of these gatherings. Sometimes Miss Vinton is too ill to meet with the young people, but the room is always ready for them and a bright young girl who is her companion takes the place of hostess.

"It must be very hard for you to be shut in so much with an invalid," said an acquaintance to this girl.

"O, I am not shut in! Miss Vinton has so many errands to be attended to that I go out a great deal."

"Yes; but after all, an invalid is poor company for a young girl."

"Not such an invalid as ours! Why, Miss Vinton is the cheeriest person in the house. She keeps us all in good spirits and she has company almost constantly. I assure you we are not moping at our house."

Once when some one spoke of her wrecked life May said, "O, no, my life is not wrecked! I came near making a failure of it, but my Father in heaven reached out and held me back."

This in substance is what the minister said in the little church at the quiet summer resort by the river side, where Edith Manton was staying. "For," continued the speaker, "it may be my last opportunity to speak for Christ, or it may be some one's last chance of hearing the truth."

Edith was thinking of these words that morning when she went out in Jerry's boat after lilies. Jerry knew where the flowers were thickest and fairest, and too he was counted as the best oarsman on the river. Edith often went out with Jerry, and that morning she was thinking, "I have had more than one opportunity to present Christ to Jerry. But I do not even know whether or not he belongs to Christ. If I had only spoken to him before! I don't know how to begin now." Presently she began singing,

Jerry listened and when she ended he said:

"That's a good one, Miss."

"Yes; but, Jerry, are you pulling for the other shore?"

"Well, I don't know much about them things," replied Jerry. "Reckon as how when one has no oars to pull with he must just drift. And maybe he will drift to the shore, and maybe he won't."

"But why shouldn't you have the oars?" asked Edith.

"Well, I s'pose it's like this; sometimes a boat gets loose and starts off without oars, and then at other times the oars gets broken or lost in the middle of the river. I never lost nor broke an oar in my life, so I s'pose I must have started without any."

"And so you mean to keep on drifting?" asked Edith, growing interested.

"What can a fellow do? Out in the middle of the river without any oars? He hasn't much chance of getting back to the wharf after them."

"But if the oars have been lying in the bottom of his boat all the time? Wouldn't a man be foolish if he didn't pick them up and use them when he found he was drifting down stream and making no progress toward the other shore?"

"Humph! it ain't much likely that a fellow would let them oars lie right afore his eyes and never touch them, is it, now?"

"That is what puzzles me," replied Edith. "You have only just to put out the hand of faith and take hold of the oars of prayer and the word of God and pull for the shore."

"My! Miss, I never thought of that! I've got a Bible that my old mother gave me when I started out; and she taught me a prayer too. And I've been letting them oars lie idle in the bottom of the old boat all these years. D'ye s'pose they are as good and stout as ever? And would they pull an old fellow like me into port?"

OUT IN JERRY'S BOAT.

"I am sure they would. O, Jerry, I wish you would take hold of them and pull!"

"I believe I will! I'll get out the old Bible to-night and I'll say that little prayer; or if I can't remember that I'll whittle out a new one. I promise you, Miss, I'll do it!"

The next morning, Edith was just starting out to walk down to the river when a messenger came in haste: "O, Miss Manton! There's been an accident, and Old Jerry is most killed! He wants you. You'll have to come quickly, for they say he can't last long. He is out of his head and keeps saying something about pulling for the shore. Folks say he thinks he is out in a boat." This the boy said as they were hastening to the wharf.

"How did it happen?" asked Edith.

"I don't rightly know. They were unloading a vessel at the wharf and some way Jerry slipped and a heavy cask rolled over him. The doctor says he can't live."

When they reached the place where Jerry was slowly breathing his life away, some one said—"Jerry, Jerry, here is Miss Manton!"

Jerry opened his eyes and said faintly, "Sing that!"

And there, surrounded by a group of rough, though kindly men, Edith sang:

As she paused Jerry's lips moved, and bending low to hear, Edith caught the whisper:

"I did it! I took the oars; I pulled for the shore. I guess I'll make the harbor!"

A few more labored breaths and Jerry had, as we trust, "made the harbor."

"What if I had not used that last opportunity?" said Edith to herself as she walked back to her cottage.

Our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace.

Thou art weighed in the balances and found wanting.

They praised the Lord, because the foundation of the house of the Lord was laid.

Give us help from trouble: for vain is the help of man.

"It's the little chick's turn," Rollo said, good-naturedly, so the "little chick" had it, and the first verse on the paper was taken.

"Yes," said Grandma, "I knew the boy very well indeed who believed that, and lived by it; and he got his help too in the way that he least expected; just as help is apt to come. He was a little fellow when I was quite a young woman. We visited, my brother and I, at a house which was only across the street from a famous boarding-school for boys. There was one little fellow in that school whom I used to watch, because he looked like my little brother at home; he seemed very small to be in boarding-school. I wondered if he was homesick, and sometimes cried himself to sleep as my brother did the first time he went to uncle Daniel's alone on a visit.

AUNT HARRIET PEABODY.

"Miss Harriet Peabody was the mistress of this house where I visited; she was a maiden lady, the aunt of the boy and girl who were our friends; a good kind woman, but a little prim in her ways. I remember she never dressed quite in the fashion; her clothes were very nice, and beautifully made, and cost a trifle more, if anything, than those of her neighbors, but they were always made a little behind the styles, as though she thought things which were a little out of fashion were less wicked, some way, than others.

"The young folks of the neighborhood, and especially the boys of the boarding-school, were inclined to make sport of her; this always made me indignant, for I loved Miss Harriet. One evening we were seated in the library, having the cosiest time; the boys had popped some corn, and cracked nuts, and we had apples and cider; in those days an evening wasn't really finished without a pitcher of cider; Miss Harriet sat by the window, and said suddenly: 'Hark! what is that? didn't you hear a child crying?'

"We listened, and said no, we heard nothing. Her nephew suggested dogs, and doves, and owls, but Miss Harriet insisted that she heard a child.

"We were soon in the very merriest of our fun, and forgot all about the noise; but it seems Miss Harriet didn't. I don't know just when she slipped out, but just as Tom Peabody was flinging an apple paring over his left shoulder, to see if he couldn't make the first letter of my name, in walked Miss Harriet, dripping with rain and holding by the hand a little frightened boy; and he was the very boy I had watched from the window so often! He was wet to the skin, and shivering as though he had an ague fit. We all jumped up, and gathered about asking questions, but Miss Harriet waved us off. 'Not yet,' she said. 'The poor fellow is wet and cold; Tom, take him up to the bath-room, and get him some of Robbie's clothes and help him dress; then bring him down to get some nuts and apples.'

"Tom went off to do her bidding, and the rest of us questioned her. 'I don't know much about it, yet,' she said, 'but I mean to; there's been some mean business going on, or I'm mistaken. I knew I heard a child crying; when I couldn't stand it any longer, I lighted the lantern and went out to look around; I found the sobs came from our old coal shed which hasn't been used in six months. I listened at the end door, and I heard the little fellow sob out: "I know you are able to do it, O, Lord, and if you only would!" Then I walked around to the other door, and found it was fastened on the outside by a good-sized rope slipped through the latch, and wound around the big nail. Of course I unfastened it and walked in; and here was this little morsel crouched in a corner, dripping with rain, as it pelted down on him from the roof. He seemed dreadfully scared at seeing me, and began to protest that he had done nothing wrong, and did not want to be hiding there; but I told him to come in and get warm, and then we would talk about it.'

"When the boy came down with dry clothes on, he looked less frightened than before; and we established him in a big chair and gave him plenty of nuts, and a glass of cider; I poured it out with my own hands; you needn't look so shocked at Grandmother, Harold, I didn't know any better in those days. He had a real pleasant evening, and Miss Harriet invited him to stay all night, because it rained so hard, and sent her black Toby over to the school to ask permission for him, and told him she would make it all right in the morning. He seemed to be so glad to think he had not to go back to the school, that we knew something must be wrong; but it was not until he went up to bed with Robbie, that Tom told us about it.

"'Those scamps over there,' said Tom, his eyes flashing, 'they deserve a whipping, and I will help get it for them. There are half a dozen great boys always in mischief of one sort or other. It seems they have made a kind of slave of this little fellow; his mother is dead, and he is the youngest boy in school; they have made him run errands, and do all sorts of things for them; to-night they planned that he was to go down to Jordon's and get them some nuts, and raisins, and cider, and cake, and smuggle it into their rooms after hours, for them to have what they call a 'spread.' And it seems the little chap had the pluck to refuse to do it, because it was against the rules. They had a stormy time, and finally they threatened to lock him up in a hole where he would have to spend the night, and how much longer they could not tell. It seems he is timid in the dark, and they knew it. He was awfully afraid, he told me, "but then I couldn't do wrong, you know," he said, and his eyes were as blue as the sky, when he looked up in my face. Well, the rascals blindfolded him, and led him around and around the grounds, I presume, for he thought he walked a mile or more; then thrust him into a dark hole, and fastened the door and left him. When he pushed off the bandage from his eyes, no light was to be seen; he had not the least idea where he was, but thought it was somewhere in the woods, and he was dreadfully afraid, and cried aloud, he says, but he was sure no one could hear him. Then he remembered about the fiery furnace, and what the men said about God being able to deliver, and he got down in the dark and prayed for deliverance; but he says he didn't feel sure it would come; he was only sure that God was able to do it if he thought best. He hadn't an idea, when he saw aunt Harriet, that she had come to answer his prayer. He knew her, and for some reason the little chap was afraid of her. He thought that she had been told that he had done something wrong.'

"'What horrid, awful boys!' I said. 'Do you suppose they were going to leave him there all night?'

"'No,' Tom said, he didn't suppose they were; probably they were only going to leave him long enough to get him thoroughly scared; but if he was not much mistaken they were the scared ones this time. Toby, when he went over to the boarding-house, saw two or three fellows skulking around the coal house, and he walked boldly up to them and said: 'If you are looking for Master Andrews, he is in Miss Peabody's library eating nuts and apples;' Toby's a sharp fellow; he said the way they scampered was worth a dollar.

"I suppose that evening's work was about the best thing that ever happened to 'Master Andrews.' Miss Harriet all but adopted him; she had him with her on Sundays, and holidays, and to spend the evening as often as she could get up an excuse for his coming. He told me once, with the great tears in his eyes, that she was the best friend a fellow ever had in the world. 'And to think,' he said, 'that very morning of the day she found me in her coal shed, I had joined in the laugh the boys had over her because she walked so straight and looked like a soldier! I tell you I never laughed at her again.'"

"What became of the boys who treated him so meanly? Were they expelled?"

"No; little Andrews plead for them, and got them forgiven; he said they didn't mean to be ugly, only darkness and rain were nothing but fun to them and they could not understand his dreadful fright. No, they really grew to be better boys under his influence; and one Thanksgiving Day Miss Harriet had them all to dinner, to please Andrews. One of them, the tallest and handsomest, actually cried when he was telling me about how frightened little Andrews was, and how sorry he felt for him afterwards. He slipped out, unknown to the others, to let him out of the coal shed; but it was too late; fortunately, Miss Harriet had found him. Oh! he wasn't a very bad boy, only a thoughtless one; he grew to be a splendid man; and young Andrews and he were friends as long as he lived."

"Are they both dead?"

"Oh, no; Andrews died when he was a young man; he was a good noble man, and died bravely because he wasn't afraid to run into danger to help save a life; but the other one is down in the library reading his paper, and I ought to go this minute and read it for him." Grandma fumbled for her spectacles, and went off smiling.

"There!" said Rollo, "I had a feeling it was Grandpa, all the time. Just think of Grandma calling him 'a horrid, awful boy!'"

They had not expected to do any such thing. The little girls, who were not used to going anywhere, had paid no attention to the announcements on Sunday, and Nettie had heard as one with whom such things had nothing in common. Her treatment in the Sabbath-school was not such as to make her long for the companionship of the girls of her age, and by this time she knew that her dress at the flower party would be sure to command more attention than was pleasant; so she had planned as a matter of course to stay away.

But the little old ladies in their caps and spectacles springing into active life, put a new face on the matter. Certainly no more astonished young person can be imagined than Nettie Decker was, the morning Miss Sherrill called on her, the one daisy she had begged still carefully preserved, and proposed her plan of partnership in the flower party.

"It will add ever so much to the fun," she explained, "besides bringing you a nice little sum for your spending money."

Did Miss Sherrill have any idea how far that argument would reach just now, Nettie wondered.

"We can dress the little girls in daisies," continued their teacher. "Little Sate will look like a flower herself, with daisies wreathed about her dress and hair."

"Little Sate will be afraid, I think," Nettie objected. "She is very timid, and not used to seeing many people."

"But with Susie she will not mind, will she? Susie has assurance enough to take her through anything. Oh, I wonder if little Sate would not recite a verse about the daisy grandmothers? I have such a cunning one for her. May I teach her, Mrs. Decker, and see if I can get her to learn it?"

Mrs. Decker's consent was very easy to gain; indeed it had been freely given in Mrs. Decker's heart before it was asked. For Miss Sherrill had not been in the room five minutes before she had said: "Your son, Norman, I believe his name is, has promised to help my brother with the church flowers this evening. My brother says he is an excellent helper; his eye is so true; they had quite a laugh together, last week. It seems one of the wreaths was not hung plumb; your son and my brother had an argument about it, and it was finally left as my brother had placed it, but was out of line several inches. He was obliged to admit that if he had followed Norman's direction it would have looked much better." After that, it would have been hard for Miss Sherrill to have asked a favor which Mrs. Decker would not grant if she could. She saw through it all; these people were in league with Nettie, to try to save her boy. What wasn't she ready to do at their bidding!

There was but one thing about which she was positive. The little girls could not go without Nettie; they talked it over in the evening, after Miss Sherrill was gone. Nettie looked distressed. She liked to please Miss Sherrill; she was willing to make many grandmothers; she would help to put the little girls in as dainty attire as possible, but she did not want to go to the flower festival. She planned various ways; Jerry would take them down, or Norm; perhaps even he would go with them; surely mother would be willing to have them go with Norm. Miss Sherrill would look after them carefully, and they would come home at eight o'clock; before they began to grow very sleepy.

But no, Mrs. Decker was resolved; she could not let them go unless Nettie would go with them and bring them home. "I let one child run the streets," she said with a heavy sigh, "and I have lived to most wish he had died when he was a baby, before I did it; and I said then I would never let another one go out of my sight as long as I had control; I can't go; but I would just as soon they would be with you as with me; and unless you go, they can't stir a step, and that's the whole of it." Mrs. Decker was a very determined woman when she set out to be; and Nettie looked the picture of dismay. It did not seem possible to her to go to a flower party; and on the other hand it seemed really dreadful to thwart Miss Sherrill. Jerry sat listening, saying little, but the word he put in now and then, was on Mrs. Decker's side; he owned to himself that he never so entirely approved of her as at that moment. He wanted Nettie to go to the flower party.

"But I have nothing to wear?" said Nettie, blushing, and almost weeping.

"Nothing to wear!" repeated Mrs. Decker in honest astonishment. "Why, what do you wear on Sundays, I should like to know? I'm sure you look as neat and nice as any girl I ever saw, in your gingham. I was watching you last Sunday and thinking how pretty it was."

"Yes; but, mother, they all wear white at such places; and I cut up my white dress, you know, for the little girls; it was rather short for me anyway; but I should feel queer in any other color."

"O, well," said Mrs. Decker in some irritation, "if they go to such places to show their clothes, why, I suppose you must stay at home, if you have none that you want to show. I thought, being it was a church, it didn't matter, so you were neat and clean; but churches are like everything else, it seems, places for show."

Jerry looked grave disapproval at Nettie, but she felt injured and could have cried. Was it fair to accuse her of going to church to show her clothes, or of being over-particular, when she went every Sunday in a blue and white gingham such as no other girl in her class would wear even to school? This was not church, it was a party. It was hard that she must be blamed for pride, when she was only too glad to stay at home from it.

"I can't go in my blue dress, and that is the whole of it," she said at last, a good deal of decision in her voice.

"Very well," said Mrs Decker. "Then we'll say no more about it; as for the little girls going without you, they sha'n't do it. When I set my foot down, it's down."

Jerry instinctively looked down at her foot as she spoke. It was a good-sized one, and looked as though it could set firmly on any question on which it was put. His heart began to fail him; the flower party and certain things which he hoped to accomplish thereby, were fading. He took refuge with Mrs. Smith to hide his disappointment, and also to learn wisdom about this matter of dress.

"Do clothes make such a very great difference to girls?" was his first question.

"Difference?" said Mrs. Smith inquiringly, rubbing a little more flour on her hands, and plunging them again into the sticky mass she was kneading.

THE TWO BEAUTIES THAT SATE SAW.

"Yes'm. They seem to think of clothes the first thing, when there is any place to go to; boys aren't that way. I don't believe a boy knows whether his coat ought to be brown or green. What makes the difference?"

Mrs. Smith laughed a little. "Well," she said reflectively, "there is a difference, now that's a fact. I noticed it time and again when I was living with Mrs. Jennison. Dick would go off with whatever he happened to have on; and Florence was always in a flutter as to whether she looked as well as the rest. I've heard folks say that it is the fault of the mothers, because they make such a fuss over the girls' clothes, and keep rigging them up in something bright, just to make 'em look pretty, till they succeed in making them think there isn't anything quite so important in life as what they wear on their backs. It's all wrong, I believe. But then, Nettie ain't one of that kind. She hasn't had any mother to perk her up and make her vain. I shouldn't think she would be one to care about clothes much."

"She doesn't," said Jerry firmly. "I don't think she would care if other folks didn't. The girls in her class act hatefully to her; they don't speak, if they can help it. I suppose it's clothes; I don't know what else; they are always rigged out like hollyhocks or tulips; they make fun of her, I guess; and that isn't very pleasant."

"Is that the reason she won't go to the flower show next week?"

"Yes'm, that's the reason. All the girls are going to dress in white; I suppose she thinks she will look queerly, and be talked about. But I don't understand it. Seems to me if all the boys were going to wear blue coats, and I knew it, I'd just as soon wear my gray one if gray was respectable."

THEIR NEW HOME.—See Moving Day.

"She ought to have a white dress, now that's a fact," said Mrs. Smith with energy, patting her brown loaf, and tucking it down into the tin in a skilful way. "It isn't much for a girl like her to want; if her father was the kind of man he ought to be, she might have a white dress for best, as well as not; I've no patience with him."

"Her father hasn't drank a drop this week," said Jerry.

"Hasn't; well, I'm glad of it; but I'm thinking of what he has done, and what he will go and do, as likely as not, next week; they might be as forehanded as any folks I know of, if he was what he ought to be; there isn't a better workman in the town. Well, you don't care much about the flower party, I suppose?"

"I don't now," said Jerry, wearily. "When I thought the little girls were going, I had a plan. Sate is such a little thing, she would be sure to be half-asleep by eight o'clock; and I was going to coax Norm to come for her, and we carry her home between us. Norm won't go to a flower party, out and out; but he is good-natured, and was beginning to think a great deal of Sate; then I thought Mr. Sherrill would speak to him. The more we can get Norm to feeling he belongs in such places, the less he will feel like belonging to the corner groceries, and the streets."

"I see," said Mrs. Smith admiringly. "Well, I do say I didn't think Nettie was the kind of girl to put a white dress between her chances of helping folks. Sarah Ann thinks she's a real true Christian; but Satan does seem to be into the clothes business from beginning to end."

"I don't suppose it is any easier for a Christian to be laughed at and slighted, than it is for other people," said Jerry, inclined to resent the idea that Nettie was not showing the right spirit; although in his heart he was disappointed in her for caring so much about the color of her dress.

"Well, I don't know about that," said Mrs. Smith, stopping in the act of tucking her bread under the blankets, to look full at Jerry, "why, they even made fun of the Lord Jesus Christ; dressed him up in purple, like a king, and mocked at him! When it comes to remembering that, it would seem as if any common Christian might be almost glad of a chance to be made fun of, just to stand in the same lot with him."

This was a new thought to Jerry. He studied it for awhile in silence. Now it so happened that neither Mrs. Smith nor Jerry remembered certain facts; one was that Mrs. Smith's kitchen window was in a line with Mrs. Decker's bedroom window, where Nettie had gone to sit while she mended Norm's shirt; the other was that a gentle breeze was blowing, which brought their words distinctly to Nettie's ears. At first she had not noticed the talk, busy with her own thoughts; then she heard her name, and paused needle in hand, to wonder what was being said about her. Then, coming to her senses, she determined to leave the room; but her mother, for convenience, had pushed her ironing table against the bedroom door, and then had gone to the yard in search of chips; Nettie was a prisoner; she tried to push the table by pushing against the door, but the floor was uneven, and the table would not move; meantime the conversation going on across the alleyway, came distinctly to her. No use to cough, they were too much interested to hear her. By and by she grew so interested as to forget that the words were not intended for her to hear. There were more questions involved in this matter of dress than she had thought about. Her cheeks began to burn a little with the thought that her neighbor had been planning help for Norm, which she was blocking because she had no white dress! This was an astonishment! She had not known she was proud. In fact, she had thought herself very humble, and worthy of commendation because she went Sabbath after Sabbath to the school in the same blue and white dress, not so fresh now by a great deal as when she first came home. When Mrs. Smith reached the sentence which told of the Lord Jesus being robed in purple, and crowned with thorns, and mocked, two great tears fell on Norm's shirt sleeve.

It was a very gentle little girl who moved about the kitchen getting early tea; Mrs. Decker glanced at her from time to time in a bewildered way. The sort of girl with whom she was best acquainted would have slammed things about a little; both because she had not clothes to wear like other children, and because she had been blamed for not wanting to do what was expected of her. But Nettie's face had no trace of anger, her movements were gentleness itself; her voice when she spoke was low and sweet: "Mother, I will take the little girls, if you will let them go."

Mrs. Decker drew a relieved sigh. "I'd like them to go because she asked to have them; and I can see plain enough she is trying to get hold of Norm; so is he; that's what helping with the flowers means; and there ain't anything I ain't willing to do to help, only I couldn't let the little girls go without you; they'd be scared to death, and it wouldn't look right. I'm sorry enough you ain't got suitable clothes; if I could help it, you should have as good as the best of them."

"Never mind," said Nettie, "I don't think I care anything about the dress now." She was thinking of that crown of thorns. So when Miss Sherrill called the way was plain and little Sate ready to be taught anything she would teach her.

They went away down to the pond under the clump of trees which formed such a pretty shade; and there Sate's slow sweet voice said over the lines as they were told to her, putting in many questions which the words suggested. "He makes the flowers blow," she repeated with thoughtful face, then: "What did He make them for?"

"I think it was because He loved them; and He likes to give you and me sweet and pleasant things to look at."

"Does He love flowers?"

"I think so, darling."

"And birds? See the birds!" For at that moment two beauties standing on the edge of their nest, looked down into the clear water, and seeing themselves reflected in its smoothness began to talk in low sweet chirps to their shadows.

"Oh, yes, He loves the birds, I am sure; think how many different kinds He has made, and how beautiful they are. Then He has given them sweet voices, and they are thanking Him as well as they know how, for all his goodness. Listen."

Sure enough, one of the birds hopped back a trifle, balanced himself well on the nest, and putting up his little throat trilled a lovely song.

"What does he say?" asked Sate.

"Oh, I don't know," said Miss Sherrill, with a little laugh. Sate was taxing her powers rather too much. "But God understands, you know; and I'm sure the words are sweet to him."

Sate reflected over this for a minute, then went back to the flowers: "What made Him put the colors on them? Does He like to see pretty colors, do you sink? Which color does He like just the very bestest of all?"

"O you darling! I don't know that, either. Perhaps, crimson; or, no, I think He must like pure white ones a little the best. But He likes little human flowers the best of all. Little white flowers with souls. Do you know what I mean, darling? White hearts are given to the little children who try all the time to do right, because they love Jesus, and want to please him."

"Sate wants to," said the little girl. "Sate loves Jesus; she would like to kiss him."

"I do not know but you shall, some day. Now shall we take another line of the hymn?"

"I tried to teach her," explained Miss Sherrill to her brother. "But I think, after all, she taught me the most. She is the dearest little thing, and asks the strangest questions! When I look at her grave sweet face, and hear her slow, sweet voice making wise answers, and asking wise questions, a sort of baby wisdom, you know, I can only repeat over and over the words: 'Of such is the kingdom of heaven.' To-day I told her the story of Jesus taking the little children up in his arms and blessing them. She listened with that thoughtful look in her eyes which is so wonderful, then suddenly she held up her pretty arms and said in the most coaxing tones: 'Take little Sate to Him, and let Him bless her, yight away.' Tremaine, I could hardly keep back the tears. Do you think He can be going to call her soon?"

"Not necessarily at all. There is no reason why a little child should not live very close to Him on earth. I hope that little girl has a great work to do for Christ in this world. She has a very sweet face."

Now I do not suppose that Kitty really understood what they were saying; probably the sound of their voices alarmed her and she concluded to move. First she set out to hunt up a home. There was the empty clothes basket; Bridget had been late with her ironing and had set the basket emptied of the clean clothes down in a hurry, and a blanket had been thrown into it. Walking into the deserted laundry on her round of house hunting Kitty spied this and decided that it was just the place. And so she set about moving her family. By ten o'clock it was accomplished and a happier group it would be hard to find than Kitty and her little kitties were when Bridget going after the basket found them having a grand frolic. It seemed such a pity to disturb them! But kind-hearted Bridget brought an unused basket and very tenderly moved the family once more. Mother Kitty seemed quite satisfied, though rather shy of visitors aside from Bridget, whom she seems to look upon as a friend.

GOOD NIGHT!

THE "SERVANT" THAT SHOWED SUCH ILL BREEDING.

A lovely home. In the rooms are gathered all the beautiful things which go to make up a pretty house; carpets and curtains, and easy chairs and lovely plush-covered sofas, and pictures, and books, and flowers, and birds. I cannot think of anything that they lacked. Yet all these do not make lovely homes. I have been in places filled with all the beauties which money could buy, and arranged with all the care which refined taste could give, yet which were not homes at all, but great beautiful cold rooms! Haven't you been in places where the carpets were only ingrain, or perhaps rag, or where there was even no carpet at all, and the chairs were plain wooden ones, and the pictures on the walls were only a few cheap mottoes, yet which was all full of gentle words, and cheery smiles, and unselfishness in little things? Such places are sure to be homes. I have discovered that the furniture makes very little difference, after all. Well, the house at which I stopped was a home in the truest sense of the word. I shall never think of the sweet Christian lady who is at its head, without feeling thankful to God for having made so good and true a woman, and given her so many beautiful things to use in making others happy.

After all that, I am afraid you will be astonished that I should only tell you the story of one member of the family. But you can't think how much she interested me. I reached the home late at night and went at once to my room. In the early morning I was awakened by a loud call from a voice downstairs. "Clara!" shouted the shrill voice, then waited, and seeming to get no reply, screamed again, "Clara!" with no better success than before. This was repeated I should think a dozen times; until from being only amused I became half-vexed. I thought it very strange that in so fine a house and with so many evidences of culture, the mistress should allow a servant to stand in the hall below and scream after any one in that way. Then I wondered who "Clara" was, and why in the world she did not answer the call; it did not seem possible that she could be asleep, after her name had been rung out so often. I buried my head in the pillows and tried to take another nap; but that was impossible; there that persistent servant stood, and shouted out at intervals that one name, dwelling on each letter until it seemed to me that the name was a half-hour long! At last I arose in despair, and began to make my toilet; only hoping that "Clara's" slumbers had been disturbed as well as my own.

When I made my way to the back parlor, none of the family was in sight, but in the middle of the floor looking at me with doubtful eyes, as though she would like to know where I came from, and what right I had there, was a great green parrot! I was not very well acquainted with parrots, so I stood at a respectful distance, but I thought it was proper to be courteous, and I said "Good-morning!"

To this I received no sort of reply; the creature put her head on one side and looked somewhat disdainful; then raising her voice to a loud shrill note, she called "C-l-a-r-a!" The mystery was explained! Here was the "servant" who had shown such ill breeding in the beautiful home.

Presently we went in to breakfast, and Polly parrot went along. She moved about the dining-room, wherever she chose, and was very quiet, until one of the young ladies whose name I discovered was "Clara," went away to attend to some household duty; then Miss Polly began her cry for "C-l-a-r-a" so loud we could hardly converse. "Polly," said her mistress, "you must be quiet; you disturb us; you cannot go to Clara, she is busy."

What did that parrot do but throw herself on her back, kick her clumsy feet into the air, and cry with all her might! I saw no tears, it is true; but if I had not been looking on, I would have been sure that a very spunky child was having a fit of crying. Imagine my astonishment! I had never heard a parrot cry; did not know that it was ever one of their accomplishments. Being a parrot, what would have been extremely disagreeable in a child, was really as funny as possible, and I laughed until I was in danger of shedding tears myself. Still the passionate whine went on. Suddenly the back parlor door was opened slightly, and a sweet voice said: "Mamma, you may let Polly come to me; I am not doing anything which she will disturb."

"Polly," said her mistress, "do you hear that? Get up. Clara says you may go where she is."

Instantly the parrot rolled over on her side, and burst into the most jubilant peal of laughter I ever heard—"Ha, ha, ha! ho, ho!" triumph in every note.

Then she straightened herself up, shook out her feathers, and waddled triumphantly out of the room.

"She is a curious creature," said the lady; "quite a study. We have not had her long, and it is very amusing to us; we know the habits and customs of the family from whom she came almost as well as though we had lived with them. You know parrots get all their knowledge by imitation. Isn't it remarkable, and rather startling when one stops to think of it, that even a parrot can produce your faults and foibles for others to laugh at? I often wonder what I am teaching her, unintentionally, which will astonish some one else."

"It is wonderful!" I said. And then I fell to wondering whether it was a girl or boy who had taught that parrot to lie on its back and cry because it couldn't have its own way. And what sort of a man or woman such a child would be likely to make.

I doubt whether the child, whoever he was, would have done it before me—a stranger—and here the parrot had told me all about it!

Aunt Esther was trying very hard to persuade little Eddy to retire at sunset, using as an argument that the little chickens always went to roost at that time.

"Yes," replied the wide awake little Eddy, "but the old hens always goes with them, auntie."

"One by one the papers were sold, until finally ours was the only one left, and we remained so long in the window that we began to think we should never get out. By that time we were tired of staring out at the street all the time, and wanted a change. One day a lady came into the store and asked the clerk for some pins.

"So he came over to the window and took us out. How delighted we were! The lady put us in her little satchel, and soon we felt ourselves rolling along the street in a carriage. Pretty soon we were taken out and laid in the bureau drawer of the lady's room, where we remained a long while. Then she laid us on the little shelf belonging to the bureau, where we could see everything that went on in the room.

THE BABY THAT SWALLOWED THE PIN.

"One evening I was put in the lady's collar, and went to a great room, brightly lighted, where my mistress danced with gentlemen all the evening. I enjoyed it very much, because it was so strange, and because I have no feelings; but my mistress grew very tired and sleepy as soon as the ball, for that is what she called it, was over.

"At night, or rather early in the morning, when we reached home, she put me on the pin-cushion, where I found many of my former acquaintances.

"Now our life grew rather dull. I think winter-time came, and my mistress removed to a warmer room. After a long, long while, during which we saw no one, when the birds returned, and the buds came on the trees, she moved back again, but now there was somebody with her—a little bit of a baby! How cute it was! We pins discussed it a great deal, and grew to loving it very much.

"One day its nurse took it out to ride in its little carriage, and took me (how delighted I was!) to pin its dress. We went a long way off, to a part of the city where the houses were smaller, and the yards larger, and there were more flowers and trees. The nurse stopped in front of one of the little white houses, and walked in, rolling the baby-carriage before her. She called the woman who came to the door 'mother,' so I supposed that this was her former home. Her mother took her to another room, and they were gone quite awhile. So the baby for something to do, and putting up its fat little hand, took hold of me, and tried to pull me out of its dress.

"Now I knew that the baby put everything in its mouth that it could, so I stuck on just as hard as I could; but it tugged away at me, finally got me out, and put me in its mouth, much to my dismay. Not only was it very disagreeable for me to be there, but I knew there was danger of the baby's swallowing me. Still, I could do nothing. The little one chewed me and poked me around with its tongue, until finally, by a mis-poke—as you might say—it sent me down its throat, and there I stuck. Then, O, what a commotion there was! The child screamed slightly, swallowed, and gurgled, and choked, and I—O, my dear friend, you cannot imagine my state of mind! To think I should be the cause of such suffering, and possibly the death of one I loved so much!

"Finally the noise that the child made brought the nurse and her mother to the room. 'Mercy on us!' exclaimed the former, 'the child is choking to death!'

"The mother took the baby on her lap, and pounded, actually pounded, on its back! But this treatment was effectual, though apparently cruel, for the pounding sent me on the floor, out of the baby's mouth! I cannot express my delight in the feeble words that our language possesses. I was in ecstasies. The nurse's mother picked me up, and seeing where I had come from, replaced me in the child's dress, cautioning her daughter to keep watch of me.

"Then we speedily returned home. The story was recounted with many apologies on the part of the nurse. I think the baby's mother would have discharged the poor girl, only, as she afterwards remarked to her husband, 'that was a very difficult season to get good nurses.'

"That night I was replaced on the cushion, and was not taken off for what seemed to me ages. I was in a part of the cushion where beads where, and I suppose my head looked so much like them, that I was not noticed. The other pins were gradually taken out of the paper, used, and either lost or replaced on the cushion, till finally they were all gone, and a new paper was bought. These, of course, were strangers to me, but I soon became acquainted with those on the cushion, and they were very pleasant. On the whole, I did not so much dislike my life then, though naturally enough, I wanted a change.

"The family was quite a large one; beside my mistress and her husband, there was the baby, the nurse, a dear old lady whom I loved very much, a little girl about twelve years old, and a middle-aged lady whom the children called auntie. Before I had been swallowed, I had had occasion to be used by all these people, and so felt acquainted with them.

"Well, one week there was a great commotion in the house. Trunks were being packed, things being folded up and put in packages, and from divers remarks that different members of the household made, I learned that they were all going to Europe, excepting the old lady, because, they said, her health was not good enough to go. This seemed rather strange, for they said they were going for the health of the baby and its mother. I did not know whether I was to go with them or with the old lady, who was to remain with a friend of hers at a town not far distant. (All this I learned by using—not my ears, for I have none, but my sense of hearing.) I rather hoped my fate would be the latter, for although I was anxious to travel, I thought I would be lonely without the old lady, who, though I could neither talk to her, nor understand all of her talk, had become very dear to me.

"THE BOUNDLESS OCEAN ALL AROUND US."

"Well, my pin-cushion was put in a satchel, and I felt myself rolling along in a carriage. Then I knew no more of where I was going, or what was happening around me, until one morning the satchel was opened, the cushion taken out, I was discovered, and put in the cuff of my mistress. She was in a queer little closet, with two shelves with bedclothes on them against the wall, and a little bit of a window high up.

"Then she went out, and soon I found that we were on the deck of a great steamship, with the boundless ocean all around us."

Professor Morse was born at Charlestown, Mass., in 1791. He was the son of a Congregational clergyman, who was the author of a series of school geographies familiar to our fathers and mothers in their schooldays. He was educated at Yale College, and, intending to become a painter, went to London to study art under Benjamin West; but becoming interested in scientific studies he was for many years president of the National Academy of Design in New York. He resided abroad three or four years. On returning home in 1832 the conversation of some gentlemen on shipboard in regard to an experiment which had recently been tried in Paris with the electro-magnet, interested him and started a train of thought which gave him the conception of the idea of the telegraph. The question arose as to the length of time required for the fluid to pass through a wire one hundred feet long. Upon hearing the answer, that it was instantaneous, the thought suggested itself to Prof. Morse that it might be carried to any distance and be the means of transmitting intelligence. Acting upon the thought, he set to work, and before the ship entered New York harbor had conceived and made drawings of the telegraph. He plodded on through weary years endeavoring to bring his invention to perfection, meeting on every hand jeers and ridicule and undergoing many painful reverses in fortune; but for his indomitable will, he would have given up his project long before he succeeded in bringing it before the public, for all thought it a wild scheme which would amount to nothing.

In 1838 he applied to Congress for aid that he might form a line of communication between Washington and Baltimore. Congress was quite disposed to regard the scheme a humbug. But there was a wire stretched from the basement of the Capitol to the ante-room of the Senate Chamber, and after watching "the madman," as Prof. Morse was called, experiment, the committee to whom the matter was referred decided that it was not a humbug, and thirty thousand dollars was appropriated, enabling him to carry out his scheme. Over these wires on the 24th of May, 1844, he sent this message from the rooms of the U. S. Supreme Court to Baltimore: "What hath God wrought!" and connected with this message is quite a pretty little story. Having waited in the gallery of the Senate Chamber till late on the last night of the session to learn the fate of his bill, while a Senator talked against time, he at length became discouraged, and confident that the measure would not be reached that night went to his lodgings and made preparations to return to New York on the morrow. The next morning, at breakfast, a card was brought to him, and upon going to the parlor he found Miss Annie Ellsworth, the daughter of the Commissioner of Patents, who said she had come to congratulate him upon the passage of his bill. In his gladness he promised Miss Ellsworth that as she had been the one to bring him the tidings, she should be the first to send a message over the wires. And it was at her dictation that the words, "What hath God wrought?" were sent.

Success was now assured; honors and riches were his, and those who had been slow to believe in the utility of his invention were now proud of their countryman and delighted to do him homage. Upon going abroad again he was received more as a prince than as a plain American citizen, kings and their subjects giving him honor. It may be believed that even in his wildest flights of fancy Professor Morse did not dream of the rapid spread of the use of his invention, or look forward to the time within a few years, when the telegraph wires would weave together the ends of the world and form a network over the entire Continent.

Five years ago, the only telegraph wire in China was one about six miles in length, stretching from Shanghai to the sea, and used to inform the merchants of the arrival of vessels at the mouth of the river. A line from Pekin to Tientsin was opened a few months ago. The capital of Southern China is in communication with the metropolis of the North, and as Canton was connected by telegraph with the frontier of Tonquin at the outbreak of the late political troubles, the telegraph wires now stretch from Pekin to the most southern boundary of the Chinese Empire, and China, ever slow to adopt foreign ideas, is crossed and re-crossed by wires; we may say the thought which came to Prof. Morse upon that memorable voyage has reached out and taken in the whole world.

"Father said: 'That's a handsome horse you're driving. I should like to own him myself.'

"'What will you give for him?' said the man.

"'Do you want to sell?' says father.

"'Yes, I do; and I'll sell cheap, too,' says he.

"'Oh, well,' says father, 'it's no use talking; for I haven't the money to buy with.'

"'Make an offer,' said he.

"'Well, just to put an end to the talk,' father says, 'I'll give you seventy-five dollars.'

"'You may have him,' says the man; 'but you'll repent of your bargain in a week.'

"'Why, what ails the horse?' says father.

"'Ails him? If he has a will to go, he'll go; but, if he takes a notion to stop, you can't start him. I've stood and beat that horse till the sweat ran off of me in streams; I've fired a gun close to his ears; I've burned shavings under him. But he wouldn't budge an inch.'

"'I'll take him,' says father; 'what's his name?'

"'George,' said the man.

"'I shall call him Georgie,' said father.

"Well, father brought him home, and we boys fixed a place for him in the barn, and curried him down and fed him well, and father said, 'Talk to him, boys, and let him know you feel friendly.'

"So we coaxed and petted him, and the next morning father harnessed him and got into the wagon to go. But Georgie wouldn't stir a step. Father got out and patted him, and we brought him apples and clover-tops; and once in a while father would say, 'Get up, Georgie,' but he didn't strike the horse a blow. By and by he says: 'This is going to take time. We'll see which has the most patience, you or I.' So he sat in the wagon and took out his skeletons"—

"Skeletons?" said Poppet, inquiringly.

"Of sermons, you know. Ministers always carry around a little book to put things into they think of when they are out walking or riding or hoeing in the garden.

"Well, father sat two full hours before the horse was ready to start; but, when he did, there was no more trouble for that day. The next morning 'twas the same thing over again, only Georgie give in a little sooner. All the while it seemed as if father couldn't do enough for the horse. He was round the stable, feeding him and fussing over him, and talking to him in his pleasant, gentle way; and the third morning, when he had fed and curried him and harnessed him with his own hands, somehow there was a different look in the horse's eyes. But when father was ready to go, Georgie put his feet together and laid his ears back, and wouldn't stir. Well, Dove was playing about the yard; and she brought her stool and climbed up by the horse's head. Dove, tell what you said to Georgie?"

"I gave him a talking to," said the little girl. "I told him it was perfectly 'diculous for him to act so; that he'd come to a real good place to live, where everybody helped everybody; that he was a minister's horse, and God would not love him if he was not a good horse. That's what I told him; then I kissed him on the nose."

"And what did Georgie do?"

"Why, he heard every word I said; and when I got through, he felt so 'shamed of himself he couldn't hold up his head; so he just dropped it till it almost touched the ground, and he looked as sheepish as if he had been stealing a hundred sheeps."

"Yes," said Reuben; "and when father told him to go, he walked off like a shot. He has never made any trouble since. That's the way father cured a balky horse. And that night when he was unharnessing, he rubbed his head against his shoulder, and told him, as plain as a horse could speak, that he was sorry. He's tried to make it up with father ever since, for the trouble he made him. When he's loose in the pasture, father has only to stand at the bars and call his name, and he walks up as quiet as an old sheep. Why, I've seen him back himself between the shafts of the old wagon many a time to save father trouble. Father wouldn't take two hundred dollars for the horse to-day. He eats anything you give him. Sis very often brings out some of her dinner to him."

"He likes to eat out of a plate," said Dove; "it makes him think he's folks."—Golden Censer.

MINDING THE BABY.

"A LONG GRAND DAY BEFORE THEM."

It was the day before Washington's Birthday. The snow was deep on the ground, piled high in drifts here and there, the air was clear, and the sun bright. Everything promised beautifully for the holiday to which the school looked forward on the morrow.

"St. George" ran home early from school, and flung down his bag of books on the sitting-room table.

"I'm to be off early in the morning, mother," he said. "Put me up a rousing good lunch, do."

"You are sure you can have steady fires in the house? Mr. Bangs' man can be relied on?" Mrs. Allen's voice was a bit anxious.

"Tiptop." "St. George" was busy extricating his foot from its protecting boot. "Now then, for my 'slips' and then the old books. I'll get these lessons inside my head and out of the way before night."

"Because if there is a little carelessness in this respect," continued his mother, "you might take a cold that would last you all winter. The only reason your father consented to your going, George, you know very well, was because the house is so near your playground that you could run in and get warmed whenever you felt chilly."

"Right on the playground, mother, you mean," corrected "St. George" with a laugh; "it's set on Sachem Hill itself—up in the clouds in a jolly fashion."

"There was one other reason," added Mrs. Allen after a pause, "and that was, he said 'I can trust George Edward.'"

The boy occupied with his other boot looked up quickly, said nothing, but a bright smile flashed over his face; and he jumped up, ran for his slippers, and settled down to work with a will.

The next morning was a fine one, and the nine o'clock train saw a gay party of twenty-five boys with knapsacks or bags containing lunch and skates assembled at the B. and A. Depot ready to board the train for Sachem Hill. Thomas, Mr. Bangs' man, had gone up the day before to open the country house left unoccupied since the family's return to town in the autumn. And he was already making fires, and getting things into comfortable shape for the boys' arrival for the grand frolic to which Wilfred Bangs had invited his very especial friends; the parents of the twenty-four boys only insisting that their sons should each carry his own lunch, to add to the hot coffee for which Thomas was famous.

So here they were. And a long grand day before them!

"Now see here, Old Saint"—one of the boys was thoroughly provoked and he meant to show it—"if you want to go around the world making yourself disagreeable, just keep on with that talk, 'we ought to stop' and so forth. Don't you suppose we know what we're about. There's plenty of time to catch that train. I for one shall have one more skate up the pond and back, and I'll bet you a new knife I'm at the depot as soon as you are."

"St. George doesn't preach," cried an impulsive champion. "And besides, he always does first himself."

"Well, you hold your tongue," cried Wingate Morse, tightening his skate-strap; "I wasn't talking to you."

"Say that again, and I'll pitch into you," declared the champion with a very red face not altogether produced by the sharp air.

"Haven't any time," said Wingate, striking off. "Come on, all you fellow's who are able to take care of yourselves, and get one good glorious good-by skate."

All but two, the champion and St. George went, and their merry shouts came floating back as the pair left behind took off their skates, tossed them hurriedly into their waiting bags and set off on a hearty run for the depot.

"I wanted to go awfully," confessed the champion on the way, "but I'll stick by you, St. George."

"I'm unpopular," said the Saint, pulling up into a walk as they came into sight of the depot. "But I suppose that makes no odds so long as my mother isn't scared to death when I don't get home by the right time."

"They're lost, they're lost!" exclaimed the champion excitedly. "My goodness me! look at that smoke! She's coming in!"

Sure enough, "She" was. And having no time to lose other than the moment in which the champion wildly jumped up and down in a snow-drift screaming to the fellows, by this time at the head of the pond, to "Come on—she's in!" they soon found themselves in a comfortable seat, and the train pulling back to town at a smart rate.

"I lost my head," remarked the champion, "and that's a fact," as he stumbled along the aisle; "but then, I guess nobody saw me. Whew! but won't those chaps catch it, though, when they do get home."

Just then from the car ahead walked in Thomas, Mr. Bangs' man. He glanced anxiously along the car-length, peering right and left. When his eye fell upon "St. George" and the champion he brightened up, and hurried as fast as was possible with his rotundity down to them.

"Where are the rest of the boys?" he asked quickly.

"Left," said St. George concisely. "Skating up to the other end of the pond."

It was all told in a second. Thomas said something which it was well the boys could not hear in the noise of the bounding train, then rushed frantically back for the conductor, followed by St. George and the champion, on the way repeating—

"Master Wilfred told me he'd be sure to catch the train, so I came down the back way, and jumped on at the last minute. I didn't see the use of staying another night in that house."

By the time he reached the conductor, realizing the result of his unfaithfulness to collect all the boys and bring them safely back to town on the five o'clock train, the unhappy man was in such a state that the two boys had to take turns in explaining to that railroad official what the matter was.

"Do run the train back," cried St. George imploringly; "you'll be paid well."

"Are you wild?" cried the conductor sharply. "This train is bound for town with a lot of passengers who have something else to do than to turn back to hunt up foolish boys."

"But they will freeze to death," cried "St. George" and the champion together. "The house is shut, and there isn't a neighbor nearer than two miles." Thomas was too far gone to do anything but wring his hands and moan helplessly.

"Can't help that," exclaimed the conductor inexorably, "the world won't lose much. They should have obeyed orders then." He was terribly tired and half-frozen himself, and was getting very nervous at the predicament in which he saw himself placed. How to help these people in distress, and yet take care of his train, was more than he could tell.

"I'll stop at Highslope, though I don't usually on this night train; as it's the last into town, we run in pretty fast. There you can get a wagon or sleigh maybe and drive back ten miles and pick 'em up. That's the best I can do for you."

With that he broke away from them and began to take up the tickets.

"Oh! did the children waken you? I am sorry," replied old Mrs. Davidson.

"Well, I reckon I have slept long enough," was the good-natured reply, and you will know by this that the old gentleman was good-natured, for it is well understood that to be wakened from an after-dinner nap is a test.

"I gave the young folks permission to look over the big chests in the attic," said Mrs. Davidson. "And I presume they will appear dressed in some of those old costumes."

Mr. Davidson was apparently satisfied with the explanation of the unusual noise, and settled himself over his newspaper. Presently a young girl fluttered down the staircase and entered the room where the elderly couple sat.

"Grandpa," said a fresh young voice, "we want to come and call upon you."

"Call upon me! Well, what is to hinder?"

"Well, we want to have it a sort of tableau; we want you and grandma to be the Emperor of Germany, and cousin John is to be the Crown Prince, and I am to be 'Vicky,' and we are to call upon you in state. Lannie is making your epaulettes. She will come and fix you and grandma, and tell you where to stand, then when we get dressed we will enter."

The old people laughed, but grandpa said:

CARRYING OUT THE PROGRAMME.

"All right!" and when his wife would have demurred a little, he said, "We must make things lively for the young folks or they get homesick." The programme was carried out. The satin dress and mantle came out of the old chest, but those epaulettes and stars and badges! Let me tell you a secret, they were home-made, but you would never have guessed it. Cousin John upon inspecting the work, exclaimed, "Lannie, you are a genius; how did you know the way to do it?"

"Oh! there are ways of knowing things," returned Lannie, with a good-natured laugh.

After the formalities of the call had been carried out grandpa said:

"Now, will some one tell us who we are?"

"Not know yourself!" said one, laughing; "Lannie, tell grandpa who he is."

"Yes, Lannie, who am I, and what have I done to deserve the honor of this occasion?"

"Why, you are Emperor William the First, and this is a long time ago when you were younger and your grandchildren here were not grown up. And on the whole, I think this is before the war with France, at which time you gained great popularity. This is your son, the Crown Prince of Prussia, and this is his wife, the daughter of Queen Victoria. And these are your grandchildren."

"Thank you! I feel better acquainted with myself."

They all laughed at this and the callers withdrew. Mr. Davidson settled to his newspaper again, but presently he looked up to say:

"That was play. But we do belong to a royal house, eh, mother?" And the wife and mother smiled; she understood.

He learned a great deal watching his ship. And he thought, may be, he would some day have a big one, be its captain, sail away off upon the ocean, visit distant lands and see strange people and strange things. And he did.

But he was going to school, learning fast and making many friends by his good conduct. His father told him one day when he came from school, right after tea, when they were sitting about the bright fire, that he wanted him to learn all he could and make haste and grow up a good man and be a minister of Christ.

But though our boy thought it would be a grand thing to spend his life telling about Jesus and his love, yet he thought also he could do it as well in a ship as in a pulpit. And when his father saw how much he loved the sea, how much he knew about ships, and how well he could sail his own little vessel, he consented. Soon after Johnny was taken on board the ship Polyphemus as midshipman. He was a sort of servant, or a cadet, to carry the commands of the captain. Of course he was very happy. This was a first step to being captain himself.

But the Polyphemus was a war ship. There was war at that time and many battles in which brave men suffered much and died.

He could not escape now if he had wished to. He did not wish to. One day the Polyphemus met an enemy's ship and the cannon were soon sending shot into each other like leaden hail. Many dropped dead. Johnny did every thing he was told to, often going right in the midst of danger. He was brave. Not a shot, however, hit him. He was in many other dreadful battles on the sea where the shot were flying all about him; but he always came off unhurt.

"SIR JOHN AND THE EREBUS."

Then, being now a man, he was put in command of a ship. He had sailors and soldiers under him. He said to one "go here or there," and he went; to another, "do this," and he did it. He was captain over a big ship, and at the call of his country, away he sailed over the great ocean to the North to find out what he could about things in that strange icy land. He was gone several years, and travelled many thousand miles. One day as his wife and some friends stood on the wharf where the ships land and looked out upon the ocean, they saw a little thing no bigger than your hand. Then as they kept looking and wondering what it might be, it grew larger and larger, and came nearer, and through their spy glass they saw masts, sails, and flags flying from the very tops, and then, behold! they read the name of the ship and they knew that it was the very ship on which, not Johnny, nor John, but Sir John—for that was his name now—had sailed more than three years before.

How the ship soon rode into the harbor and dropped her strong anchor into the water to hold her fast, and how the soldiers and sailors and Sir John came on land, and what he did and said and what his happy wife, Jane, did, and how handsome she looked I can't tell you.

But there's another part I will tell you next time.

"O yes, sir," was the reply.

"Do you spell?"

"O yes, sir," was again the answer.

"Do you read?"

"O yes, sir."

"And what book did you learn from?" continued his interrogator.

"O, I never had a book in my life, sir," said the manly little fellow.

"And who was your schoolmaster?"

"O, I never was at school."

Here was a singular case. A boy could read and spell without a book or master. But what was the fact? Why, another little sweep, a little older than himself, had taught him to read by showing him the letters over the shop doors which they passed as they went through the city. His teacher, then, was another little sweep like himself, and his book the sign-boards on the houses. What may not be done by trying?

I want to propose a new game for to-night. Let us all see how much good our lessons on American History, and our knowledge of the life of George Washington, "first in the hearts of his countrymen," have done us.

You know that all our studying is for some good purpose; that it is to enable us to do grand service for God, and for others. You know every bit of knowledge upon any good subject is a powerful weapon to help us in the battle of life. God gives us our privileges, our schooldays, our fitting-time. Let us see to it that we make good use of them all—every one.

Now then, here is the game. Choose a bright boy or girl, one who loves history, and who has been careful to come to the class-room pretty well prepared the last year. You know who these nice scholars are. Now send Winthrop or Lucy as the case may be, out of the room, and all the rest of you get up as many questions concerning the early history of our country, before, during, and just after the War of the Revolution, being careful to let the interest centre in George Washington himself, his character, and services to America.

Now call Winthrop or Lucy in, and launch the questions, beginning at one end of your circle of players, and going in turn around the circuit, each player only asking one question, and the boy or girl who stands in the centre of the circle having three moments allowed in which to answer a question. If there is no clock in the room some one must give out the time—father or mother, or aunt Susan will doubtless be willing to do this. If the boy or girl cannot answer the question, he or she must be fined a forfeit. Then proceed with the next one in the circle asking a question—and so forth.

If it is answered correctly the one who asked it must go out, and the successful Winthrop or Lucy can hop into his place.

After this has been played as long as you like, save the questions (which some one in the room can write down, with the answers) and let every girl and boy look over them, and see if they could be answered better, in fewer words giving more information, and more correctly. In this way you will learn to make your knowledge available, and you will be quite astonished to find how much you do know about this subject.

Now for the forfeits, for you will probably have a fine pile to redeem. Let some one be blindfolded and seated in a chair in the centre of the room, while another player holds up each article, and dispensing with the other usual questions, asks, "What shall the owner do?"

He (or she) shall tell when George Washington's Birthday was first celebrated.

He (or she) shall tell some little anecdote of George Washington (not the cherry-tree episode). And so on, to end with a grand march two and two, through the parlors and hall, to the gayest tunes that a deft-fingered performer can give on the piano.

May you enjoy this "Washington-Birthday-Game" heartily.

The city of Orleans was besieged by the English. This city was a stronghold of great importance to the French, but the starving inhabitants saw no hope of relief and would very soon have been forced to surrender. But Joan, the peasant girl, mounted upon a white horse, and wearing a suit of glittering armor, rode boldly forward until they reached the city. The French soldiers were so inspired by her courage that they fought their way bravely and the English on the contrary were frightened. Believing this young girl to be a witch, they were easily overcome, though their commander declared that her pretensions as to having had a revelation from heaven were all nonsense. But you see the English soldiers were superstitious as well as the French. And doubtless it was partly owing to their fright that the English gave way and the siege was at an end. Thus having delivered Orleans, the peasant girl was henceforth known as "the Maid of Orleans." She continued to lead the army on to victory, and finally the coronation of Charles the Seventh, took place in Rheims. Then Joan felt that her work was done and asked to be allowed to go home. But the king would not allow this and still kept her in the army. But she no longer heard voices. Her enthusiasm and courage were gone, and no longer successful, she was at length taken prisoner, tried and condemned to be burned as a sorceress. The sentence was carried out, the king whom she had helped to establish upon his throne never interfering to save her.

As a visionary enthusiast, we may not hold up Joan of Arc as a model; but as a noble, earnest-hearted girl, true to what she believed to be her heaven-given mission, facing difficulties and dangers in order to carry out what she deemed to be the plans of her Lord, we must admire her and do her honor. At one time she said, "I would far rather be spinning beside my poor mother; but I must do this work because my Lord wills it."

"Joan of Arc was no wilful impostor. She fully believed that she beheld the faces of departed saints, and heard the voices of beings from the unseen world. The result of her wonderful career was that Charles ultimately won back to the royal house of Valois the whole kingdom of France. An imposing mausoleum in the city of Orleans perpetuates her memory, but her name stands above mortality, independent of bronze."

ROUEN.—ENGLISH LOST POSSESSION OF, 1419, EIGHTEEN YEARS AFTER THEIR SACRIFICE OF JOAN OF ARC.

How I wish I could coax each one of you to read this Corner carefully, so you would not bother your little brains by asking me the same questions over and over again, which I answer here! Will you each try it?

To become a member of the P. S. one must subscribe for The Pansy, at one dollar a year, send a letter to the editor (Mrs. G. R. Alden, Chapel street, Walnut Hills, Cincinnati, Ohio) mentioning some fault or faults which he will pledge himself to try to overcome; and promising to try each day to "do some kind act, or say some kind word which will help somebody," always making the Whisper Motto, "For Jesus' Sake," the strong motive of all words and acts, not only, but of thoughts as well.

If you would rather not mention the special fault which you mean to try to conquer, you have a right to be silent about it; but I can help you more understandingly if you let me know your temptations.

All such pledgers will be sent badges, and their names enrolled on the pledge book. Their letters will be answered in due time in the magazine; and the editor will be always glad to hear from them, and will try to keep her eyes open in search of that which will help them.

There is also a list of books, games, etc., which are offered at special prices to the members of the P. S.

Brothers and sisters of subscribers, or even young friends of theirs who have the reading of The Pansy, but are not subscribers, may join the P. S. by writing to the editor, as described above, and enclosing ten cents for their badges. Only enrolled subscribers to the magazine have badges sent free of charge. Neither can these members get the P. S. books and games at special prices. Such privileges are reserved for those who take the magazine.

An officer's badge is somewhat prettier than the "private's," and has gold fringe. Any one who secures five or more subscribers to The Pansy, and pledges from each, is entitled to an officer's badge.

Officers of a P. S. are expected to call the members together at stated times, and hold meetings, for work or reading, or to spend the time profitably in whatever way they may plan; always remembering their pledge, and their Whisper Motto; so, being sure to choose no occupation that the great Leader under whose banner they serve might not approve.

Such an organization is expected to have a secretary whose duty it shall be to report to the editor of The Pansy, from time to time—say every three months, giving a brief account of their meetings, what they are trying to do, and how they succeed.

Now will you study this letter with great care, and see if you fully understand it?

Another thing, will you try to be as patient as possible about receiving answers to your letters? Please remember that while you have but one letter to write, the editor has at least five thousand to answer! Indeed, I think there must be more than that number waiting their turn. I look at the great and ever-increasing army, and shake my head, and tell them to lie still and be patient. Then I push into each Pansy as many as I possibly can!

Don't conclude from this that you must not write any more letters. I don't mean that, at all. I am only cautioning you to be as patient as meek little pansies should be, and await your turn. Meantime, of course, I want to get your letters; the more the merrier, so that you don't frown and scold because I do not answer you all at once.

Lucile from Missouri. I do hope, dear little girlie, that we have rescued those poor fingernails from any further bad treatment. I made all haste I could, as soon as I heard of your needs. It is really wonderful how many naughty teeth there are in our P. S. biting what they ought not to touch!

Menton from Massachusetts. That is right. A well "governed" tongue is a most useful member of society. I know a great many tongues that were sadly neglected when they were young, and now are engaged in making all the people around them uncomfortable. I am glad yours will never be in that list.

Anna from Georgia. Yes, my dear, all members of the P. S. are subscribers to The Pansy; except the little brothers and sisters of subscribers, who have the use of the magazine in their homes; those we receive as members, and they can have badges by sending in their pledges and ten cents each to pay for the badges. Subscribers receive the badges free of charge. I was much pleased with your letter. As a rule, I know, letters should be written with pen and ink; but yours was very plain. I hope you are a faithful scholar in your school.

Joanna from Michigan. Thank you for the card. It was very pretty. I was much interested in your letter. Yes, I am glad to hear anything interesting about birds and animals of every kind. I will copy your letter for the Pansies to enjoy. It gave me a great deal of pleasure to notice the resolve you made. If you keep it, you will have a good and happy life.

Anna from Iowa. Here is another Blossom who "wants her own way." Shall I tell you how to always have it? Just decide that your way shall be the one that the Saviour of the world wants you to have, and then it will be the right way, and you will always get what you want. There is a beautiful secret hidden in that thought; I hope you will hunt for it until you find it.

Anna from Wisconsin. Dear little friend, I am afraid you expect too much of the P. S., if you hope that joining it will keep you from being "selfish" and "spunky." It will help, but you must do your part, you know. You would make poor work of mending the hole in your apron without a needle and thread, but just imagine what a mess the needle and thread would make of it without your hands to help!

Maud from Pennsylvania. "Dreaming" is really very pleasant, but you are right, it does not help work along very well. The best time to dream is at night when your eyes are tightly closed. I know a little girl who sat dreaming she was a fairy, and when she wanted anything had only to wave her wand and it would come to her; and she let the water boil from the potatoes, and they burned to the kettle and were spoiled; so because of this naughty fairy, the family had to eat their dinner without potatoes.

Auburn from Pennsylvania. My boy, that is a splendid pledge to take. As I watch the boys at play, I am constantly wondering what pleasure they can find in being so "rough" that lookers-on will be sure to say: "What a disagreeable boy that is! I should think his mother would teach him how to behave better than that." I wonder if the boys know how constantly mothers are blamed when they do wrong? I think it would make some boys who love their mothers more careful. Don't you?

Minnie from Minnesota. Were you named for the State, my dear, or was the State named for you? What a question! We receive your name with pleasure. I wish I knew about some of the "kind acts." Tell us their story.

Walter and Laura from New Jersey. We are very happy to welcome this brother and sister to our ranks. I wonder if I met you last summer? I saw a great many boys and girls when I was at the seaside where you live. Perhaps you were among them. I remember a sweet-faced little girl who was trying to speak gentle words to two older ones who were in ill humor about something. They called her Laura. Perhaps it was you, little Blossom. Be sure that you both shed fragrance about you for Jesus.

Fannie from Illinois. Your pledge reminds me of two boys who were under my window not long ago. They were very angry; they called each other hard names, and threw mud at each other, and at last they took off their little jackets and began to fight with their strong little fists. When they were separated, and peace was declared, it was discovered that they had been disputing as to whether a small brown bug which they had found, had four legs or six! But as the bug had crawled away, I am afraid it will never be known which was right.

Maxwell from Ohio. Yes, indeed, I sent you a badge, with pleasure. The more boys we can get to pledge each day to do a "kind act" the better are we pleased. I believe a boy who honestly tries to do one good kind act each day, will grow into the habit of it, so that, some day, he will do a great many. Don't you think so?

Clara from New York. I do not know that I have ever received a pledge which gave me more pleasure than yours. To help to lead others to give themselves to the Lord Jesus, is the greatest work we can do in this world. God bless you in your efforts!

Cora from New Hampshire. Thank you for your very high opinion of The Pansy. I believe all the Pansies are fond of it. I like to think of their bright faces when I am writing anything that I think will please them. I do everything I can think of, to make it a good and helpful magazine for them.

Stella from Ohio. Oh! not at all too old. We have many who are older than you. What an astonishing age your "chicken" reached! I have never heard of such a thing before. I should think it would have forgotten how to be a chicken! Orderly people are very pleasant to live with. I really do not know much about it by experience, but I know all about what it is to travel after a disorderly young person, and put away hat, and coat, and books, and blocks. I send my congratulations to your mother.

Carrie from Minnesota. Bless her heart! You certainly do have need of patience. Five little people to copy all you say and do. If you chance to slam a door, or bang a book down hard, or say, "Oh, dear!" in a sharp sort of way, just as likely as not five doors will slam! and five "oh dears!" will be singing around the room. Yet, my Blossom, there is a very sweet side to it; what a chance you have to help the little lives to grow up pure, and sweet, and patient. May the dear Saviour give you a fresh blessing every day!

Marion from —— You do not give me the State, so I have to "guess" at it. It always gives me pleasure to hear of a Missionary Blossom. I wish you had told us the subject of your Bible reading. Did you select the verses yourself? Suppose you send me a copy for the Pansies? Thank you for the sweet bit of good news which you gave me at the close of your letter. Nothing better could have been told.

Fred from Massachusetts. Your letter gave me great joy. When I can write down one of the P. S. members as a servant of the Lord Jesus, I always feel so safe and glad. May you be a brave soldier as long as you live.

Lizzie from Nebraska. Welcome. May the "kind words" you are pledged to speak echo so far that we shall catch their music and send them on until they reach around the earth. Nay, they will reach further than that; every one of them echoes around God's throne.

Agnes from Massachusetts. Do you know I think it is a very good hint as to a girl's character, when she says she always likes her teacher? It is apt to prove that she behaves herself in such a manner that her teacher can be kind and gentle to her. Is that it? Remember the "kind words" you are pledged to speak.

Alice from New York. It is a great trial to a teacher to have whispering girls in her school. I know how your teacher will rejoice that you have chosen to break yourself of that habit. I suspect you will find it hard to do. Don't get discouraged.

Chauncy from Massachusetts. Another boy with a temper! As soon as I get time, I am going to count the number of boys in the P. S. who have already taken that pledge. Then I shall know the number who are sure to be better men than they would have been without that resolve.

Mary from Nebraska. I wish you had given me the name of the fault, my dear Blossom. I could so much better understand what your temptations are, and perhaps be able to help you. Still, you are welcome to all the privileges of the P. S. Will you let us hear how you succeed?

Oscar from Pennsylvania. That is right, my boy. "By-words," beside being senseless things, are very apt as you say, to lead one at last into using profane by-words. I heard an old man who was trying hard to break himself of that dreadful habit, say that he began by constantly using the by-word, "My goodness!" until the time came when it did not seem to be strong enough to express his feelings, and he took a worse form of the same sin.

Minnie from Pennsylvania. Another "dreamer." "I dreamed I was a great merchant," said a boy to his father, one morning. "Well, you will never be one," said his father, "for you will spend your time sitting and dreaming how nice it would be if you were somebody, instead of setting to work with a will, and being somebody."

This habit of talking about others is one very easily formed. If we would always say good and sweet things of them, I suppose it would do no harm. Did you ever hear of the dear old lady who was in the habit of always saying something good about every one who was mentioned in her hearing? One day, a daughter said of her, "I believe mother would find something good to say about Satan himself, if we should try it." So they agreed to try the experiment, and when their mother entered the room they were talking about how he tempted people constantly to do wrong. "Yes," said the dear mother, "I have often thought we might learn a lesson from his perseverance. He doesn't waste any time!" As to wearing the badge, you must be your own judge of when. Some of the Pansies only wear them at their weekly meetings; others wear them when they think there is a reason that they will be specially tempted to break the pledge. Others wear them all the time, and when they are soiled, send ten cents to have them renewed.

Mary from Kentucky. How sorry I am for your disappointment! I do not know how it happened. We always attend to the badges as soon as the letters come. But about answers to letters, sometimes the poor little Blossoms have to wait until I am afraid they will almost wilt in their impatience! You see there are so many thousands of them, that, try as hard as I can, it is impossible to keep "caught up." We must each take a pledge of patience, and try to live up to it.

Annie from Massachusetts. That is good news. It is a great joy to me to hear from my Pansies that their badges are really helping them. A great many forget to tell me anything about it. I hope you will have a very pleasant visit. When you lie in your hammock under the trees, looking up into the blue sky, I hope you will have sweet and helpful thoughts.

Nellie from Pennsylvania. My dear, your pretty things that you make for those who have none, are to be sent wherever you please. Some of the Pansies send them to the great cities, in all of which there are hospitals for the sick poor children who have no parents to take care of them. Some select homes in their own town where they think their gifts would do good, and send them there. If you have anything to send, you might select the city nearest you, and address the package to the matron of the Children's Hospital, sending a letter of explanation with it.

Julia from Virginia. We are glad that you find so much pleasure in The Pansy. Hope you will succeed with your "club." It is those who try who are always the successful ones. I congratulate the "teeth." I know they are shining over their good fortune at this moment.

Ettie from California. You have a "giant" to fight, it is true; but there is a happy thought—you are sure of success if you wear the armor which the great Captain has provided. Have you read a careful description of the armor? And are you clothed in it from head to foot? We should like to hear something about the country you live in; the birds, the flowers, the fruits, anything which interests you.

H. A. M. W. from Wisconsin. Dear friend, what an honor you have bestowed on the P. S. A "Blossom" which has been cultivated for threescore years must have a wonderful record of perfume shed for the glory of the Master! I regret that your young friends should have had to wait so long for their badges. There is some misunderstanding or it would not have occurred. We try to be very careful, but in a family of sixty thousand some mistakes will happen.

Carroll from Vermont. You have plenty of company. The people who "start right off" to do things are few and delightful. They are the people who will, one of these days, do things that the world will be proud of. In other words, in this busy world, one must be "diligent in business" if he wants to accomplish much. As to the "hectoring," if you decide to attend promptly to all your duties, you will find that you have not so much time for that occupation, and I shouldn't wonder if it would also lose its interest to you. Do you know a little couplet—

Clara from Michigan. So you don't mean to tell us what that "worst fault" is? Well, tell it to Jesus, and ask his hourly help; then you will overcome it. I hope the badge will remind you of your Helper.

It is a book which retails for one dollar and fifty cents; and now comes my special bit of news which ought to rejoice your hearts. Every subscriber to The Pansy who is also a member of the P. S. can secure it for eighty-five cents, by sending that amount to D. Lothrop & Co. with their order!

As for the things which it talks about, of course you know that in so many pages many interesting topics can be handled; for instance, "Christmas Cards," and "Newspapers," and "Camphor," and "Umbrellas," and "Combs," and "Thunderstorms," (!) and "Brooms," and "Lace," and a dozen other things. The fact is, if you take one article, no matter how simple, and seat yourself in a corner to think about it, you can get up twenty questions, right away, which you wish somebody would answer for you. Well, this book answers those very questions.

Now I am going to copy for you a bit right out of the heart of a story in it, which I know will delight the boys; the name of the story is:

When boys live some distance apart, it is pleasant to be able to communicate with each other by means of signals. Many and ingenious have been the methods devised by enthusiastic boys for this purpose. But it can be brought much nearer perfection than has yet been done, by means of a very simple system.

At the age of fourteen, I had an intimate friend who lived more than a mile away, but whose home was in plain sight from mine. As we could not always be together when we wished, we invented a system of signalling requiring a number of different colored flags; but we were not quite satisfied with it, for we could send but few communications by its use. Then, when we came to test it, we found the distance was too great to allow of the different colors being distinguished. The white one was plainly visible. It seemed necessary, therefore, that only white flags should be used. We studied over the problem long and hard, with the following result. We each made five flags by tacking a small stick, eighteen inches long, to both ends of a strip of white cloth, two feet long, by ten inches wide. Then we nailed loops of leather to the side of our fathers' barns, so that, when the sticks were inserted in them, the flags would be in the following positions:

The upper left-hand position was numbered 1, upper right 2, lower right 3, lower left 4, centre, 5. Notice, there was no difference in the flags; the positions they occupied, determined the communication.

Thirty combinations of these positions can be made.

These combinations were written down, and opposite each, was written the question or answer for which it stood. The answers likely to be used most, we placed opposite the shortest combinations, to save time in signalling. My old "Code" lies before me, from which I copy the following examples:

(Then follows a list, and an interesting account of a flag conversation which you can read for yourselves when you get the book.)

We usually spent our noon hour conversing in this manner; and, when it became necessary for either to leave his station, all the flags, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, were put out, signifying "gone."

One combination, 1, 2, 3, 4, was, by mutual consent, reserved for a communication of vital importance, "Come Over!" It was never to be used except in time of trouble, when the case would warrant leaving everything to obey the call. We had little expectation of its ever being used. It was simply a whim; although, like many other things, it served a serious purpose in the end.

Not far from my father's house stood a valuable timber lot, in which he took an especial pride. Adjoining this was an old apple orchard, where the limbs of several trees that had been cut down, and the prunings of the remainder, had been heaped together in two large piles to be burned at a favorable opportunity. One afternoon, when there was not the slightest breath of wind, we armed ourselves, father and I, with green pine boughs and set the brush-heaps a-fire. We had made the heap in as moist a spot as possible, that there might be less danger of the fire spreading through the grass. While the flame was getting under way, I busied myself in gathering stray bits of limbs and twigs—some of them from the edge of the woods—and throwing them on the fire.

"Be careful not to put on any hemlock branches!" shouted my father from his heap. "The sparks may snap out into the grass!"

Almost as he spoke, a live coal popped out with a loud snap, and fell at my feet, and the little tongues of flame began to spread through the dead grass. A few blows from my pine bough had smothered them, when snap, snap, snap! went three more in different directions. As I rushed to the nearest, I remembered throwing on several dead hemlock branches, entirely forgetting their snapping propensity.

Bestowing a few hasty strokes on the first spot of spreading flame, I hastened to the next, and was vigorously beating that, when, glancing behind me, I saw to my dismay that the first was blazing again. Ahead of me was another, rapidly increasing; while the roaring, towering flame at the heap was sputtering ominously, as if preparing to send out a shower of sparks. And, to make matters worse, I felt a puff of wind on my face. Terror-stricken I shouted: "Father! The fire is running! Come quick!"

In a moment he was beside me, and for a short time we fought the flame desperately.

"It'll reach the woods in spite of us!" he gasped, as we came together after a short struggle. "There isn't a neighbor within half a mile, and before you could get help it would be too late! Besides, one alone couldn't do anything against it!"

A sudden inspiration seized me. "I'm going to signal to Harry!" I cried. "If he sees it, he'll come, and perhaps bring help with him."

"Hurry!" he shouted back, and I started for the barn. The distance was short. As I reached it, I glanced over to Harry's. There were some white spots on his barn. He was signalling, and of course could see my signal. Excitedly I placed the flags in 1, 2, 3, 4, and without waiting for an answer, tore back across the fields to the fire. It was gaining rapidly. In a large circle, a dozen rods across, it advanced toward the buildings on one hand, and swept toward the woods on the other. We could only hope to hinder its progress until help should arrive.

Fifteen minutes of desperate struggle, and then, with a ringing cheer, Harry and his father dashed upon the scene. Their arrival infused me with new courage; and four pairs of hands and four willing hearts at length conquered the flame, two rods from the woods!

My father sank down upon a rock, and as he wiped the perspiration from his smutty face, he said:

"There, boys, your signalling has saved the prettiest timber lot in the town of Hardwick! I shall not forget it!"

For the way in which the father proved his gratitude, and what resulted, and a great deal more which is delightful reading, I must refer you to the book; for I have already taken too much space.

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

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

The method of reproduction employed is the new photogravure process of the Lewis Co., which in result is only equalled by the famous work of Goupil & Cie of Paris. Each impression is on the finest India paper, imported expressly for this purpose, and backed by the best American plate paper, size 12×15 inches. Only a limited number of hand proofs will be made. Ordinary black inks are not employed, but special pigments of various beautiful tones, the tone for each picture being that best suited to emphasize its peculiar sentiment.

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

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

The Wide Awake Art Prints are issued on the first and fifteenth of each month, and are regularly announced in the magazine.

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

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

Other Subjects in rapid Preparation. See current numbers of Wide Awake for particulars.
Address all orders to D. LOTHROP & CO., Publishers, Boston. Mass., U. S. A.

Now "who may join?"

Every boy and girl who takes the Pansy, and is willing to promise to try to overcome his or her faults, to encourage every good impulse, to try to conquer some hard lesson at school, to do anything that shows a disposition to help the cause of right in the world. Any one who will say from the heart: "I promise to try each day to do some kind act, or to say some kind word that shall help somebody;" honest effort will be accepted as much as if success were gained.

This promise must be dated, and will be copied into the "P. S." roll-book.

The most important of all to remember is our whisper motto: "I will do it for Jesus' sake."

Whatever He will own, the "P. S." will be proud and glad to copy on its roll-book.

Then you must write a letter to Pansy (Mrs. G. R. Alden, Cincinnati, O.), saying that you thus pledge yourself, and you will become a member of the Pansy Society, and receive a badge.

Now, about the badges.

The officer's is of satin, trimmed with gilt fringe, and has a gilt pin to fasten the badge to the dress or coat. In the centre is a pansy in colors—above it the words, Pansy Society, and beneath it, Pansies for Thoughts.

The badge for members will be the same as the officer's, with the exception of having no fringe and a silver pin.

And the Pansy will help. As it has always been glad to encourage those who are struggling up toward the light, so now it reaches forth its helping hand to those little ones who will rally bravely around it, to the work, of putting down the evil, and the support of all things good and beautiful.

So many of you have little brothers and sisters who want to join the P. S., and who of course do not need an extra copy of the paper, that we have concluded to receive all such, letting them pay ten cents each for their badges, if they wish them. Understand! If you are a subscriber to The Pansy, and have a badge, and have a little sister who would like a badge, write at her dictation a little letter to Pansy, taking the pledge, telling of some habit which she means to try to break, and enclosing twelve cents in two-cent stamps, ten to pay for the badge, and two to pay the postage for sending it. Her name will be enrolled as if she were a subscriber. The same advice applies of course to little brothers. Send your letters to Mrs. G. R. Alden, Chapel Street, Walnut Hills, Cincinnati, O.

It is also asked:—

What makes an officer of the Pansy Society?

You are to endeavor to organize a club of as many members as you can. Each one forming such a Club or Society will receive the Officer's badge, and become President of the same. The local Society may contain as many members as can be secured.

Then, of course, you will plan for your Society; how often it shall be called together, and what your rules shall be; whether you will sing, or visit, or work, or have a literary society, or read a book. The only thing you call on the members to positively promise is that each will try to overcome some bad habit, and will take for the whisper motto the words—

Each member of the "P. S." is invited to write to the editor, Mrs. G. R. Alden (Pansy), Cincinnati, O., how far the trial has proved a success, how many temptations have been resisted, how much progress in any direction has been made, etc., feeling sure of encouragement and loving help.

The Pansy has extra pages each month under the heading, "The Pansy Corner," in which Pansy holds monthly talks with her correspondents. There is ample space in the corner devoted to interesting items connected with the Pansy Society; also letters from its members.

Mrs. Alden would also be pleased to know how the members are getting on—what they are reading, studying, talking about, etc., and whether the badges are helping them to keep their pledges.

The Choicest Works of Popular Authors in a cheap and substantial Form.

D. Lothrop & Co. desire to call your attention to their new HOUSEHOLD LIBRARY to be issued monthly at the low price of fifty cents a volume, $5.00 a year. The works to be issued in this library will be uniformly of a high standard and may well come under that class of literature styled "home fiction," a literature, that, while free from the flashy, sensational effect of much of the fiction of to-day, is, nevertheless, brilliant in style, fresh and strong in action, and of absorbing interest. It is a class that all the young folks, as well as the fathers and mothers and older brothers and sisters, may read with profit as well as great pleasure.

The first volume in the HOUSEHOLD LIBRARY, was issued Nov. 15th.

THE PETTIBONE NAME, by Margaret Sidney, author of The Five Little Peppers, etc.

It is a delightful story of New England life and manners, sparkling in style, bright and effective in incident, and of intense interest. There has been no recent figure in American fiction more clearly or skilfully drawn than Miss Judith Pettibone. Most of the characters of the book are such as may be met with in any New England village.

The second volume of the HOUSEHOLD LIBRARY is

MY GIRLS. By Lida A. Churchill.

A story of four ambitious girls. Their struggles to realize their ambitions and their trials and successes, make a story of intense interest.

The third volume will be WITHIN THE SHADOW, by Dorothy Holroyd.

"The most successful book of the year." "The plot is ingenious, yet not improbable, the character drawing strong and vigorous, the story throughout one of brilliancy and power." "The book cannot help making a sensation."—Boston Transcript.

FAR FROM HOME. From the German of Johannes Van Derval. Translated by Kathrine Hamilton.

A fascinating story of life and travel in foreign lands.

GRANDMOTHER NORMANDY. By the author of Silent Tom.

The story is fascinatingly told. The character of Grandmother Normandy, stern, relentless and unforgiving, almost to the last, is strongly drawn, and the author has shown much skill in the construction of the story.

Nothing at once so good and cheap is anywhere to be found. Each volume has 300 to 500 pages, clear type, and illustrated by popular American authors. Price 25 cents. Postpaid.

These twelve volumes constitute the first year's series.

The twelve volumes announced below constitute the second year's series.

It would require much more space than we have at command to quote all the kind and flattering things the press has said of the publications of D. Lothrop & Co. And it is matter of just pride to the publishers to feel that every word of it is deserved. Below are appended some of these opinions from standard critical sources:

Five Little Peppers and How They Grew. (Margaret Sidney.) A charming little story of the home life of a poor but happy family, whose members, from the mother to the youngest child, are full of the spirit of helpfulness and of love for each other.—New England Farmer.

The affection, happiness and goodwill prevailing among the members of the humble family living in the "little brown house," as narrated by the author of this charming volume, cannot but have a beneficial influence on the disposition of every little reader.—Chicago Evening Journal.

Five Little Peppers and How They Grew is a good title, and no mistake, and Margaret Sidney has made a thoroughly readable and instructive story of which it is the name.—Boston Congregationalist.

Of all books for juvenile readers which crowd the counters of dealers this season, not one possesses more of these peculiar qualities which go to make up a perfect story. It ought for the lesson it teaches, to be in the hands of every boy and girl in the country. It is finely illustrated and bound in handsome form, and it will find prominent place among the higher class of juvenile presentation books the coming holiday season.—Boston Transcript.

A capital story for young readers.—Eastern Argus.

Magna Charta Stories. A real bright and healthy little volume, showing excellent taste and judgment on the part of the editor and compiler.—Philadelphia Times.

These stories will, we doubt not, be found stimulative of a love of history, which is the chief design of the author. It contains a great deal in a small compass.—Cincinnati Farmer.

The style of each narrative is picturesque and easy, and all may read these pages with pleasure and profit.—Christian Advocate.

Boy Life in the United States Navy. This is a right wholesome story of a Maine boy who enlisted for service on the United States training ships. The book gives a clear and full account of the rules, usages, and course of study and discipline in this department of the naval service. It depicts in a lively way life on a man-of-war and contains much information regarding other lands. Boys are sure to read such a book as this, and to read this book can have no influence but for good.—Maine Sunday-School Reporter.

The entire account is a very interesting one, but we are especially pleased with the information imparted as to the character of instruction given the boys entering the United States naval training service. In this book that is so fully explained that every reader need have no question to ask in relation thereto. It tells just how far one can receive promotion in this line of the service. It is a very interesting book and one with which boys will be especially delighted.—Boston Sports and Pastimes.

Very graphically told, and the boy who reads it gets a clear and actual idea what a boy must go through on board a man-of-war before he can graduate as an "able-bodied seaman." The writer shows a thorough acquaintance with everything on board ship, even to the minutest details.—Cape Ann Advertiser.

Told in a manner to enlist the sympathy and admiration of all boys, who, however, learn from the book that the life of a sailor is not all sunshine.—Brattleboro' Household.

How We are Governed. (Anna Laurens Dawes.) Although this book is written in a simple and explicit manner intended for the comprehension of young people, many who are not young would be greatly benefited by studying it. In short it is a political history, thorough and complete in its way, and one which should be read by every voter who is not already acquainted with the details of government.—Cleveland Leader.

It would be an excellent text-book for our high schools and academies, as well as a very useful and attractive addition to the family library. It will refresh the mind of any reader, however experienced he may be, and add to the clearness of his comprehension of the present processes of government, to read this comprehensive and admirable treatise.—Zion's Herald.

The specific merits of the book are the clear way in which the underlying principles upon which our government is founded are kept in view in explaining its form and laws, and the simplicity and familiar phraseology in which this information is conveyed. Young people—and old ones, too—can learn from Miss Dawes' book what it means to be an American.—St. Paul Pioneer and Press.

The whole style of the author is simple and helpful, and the book ought to be welcome everywhere and preserved for frequent reconsideration. It is especially commended to young people and such as have not read the professional writers on the same subject.—Boston Beacon.

Wild Flowers and Where They Grow. (Amanda B. Harris.) Just the book that every young person, or old person, too, for that matter, who is interested in wild flowers, should have in hand. It is not a text-book, neither is it an essay about flowers, but it is a bouquet itself, with bits of description, and the very information that one wants. Miss Harris's style is fascinating, and there is a freshness in this book of the dew and the wind of springtime.—Chicago Advance.

It is a real pleasure to accompany Miss Harris in her rambles through fields and woods, where wild flowers grow, and the pleasure is heightened by the faithful illustrations contributed by Miss Humphrey.—Chicago Journal.

China. (R. H. Douglas.) A good book, which cannot fail to do much good, as it is eminently suitable for popular circulation. The work is particularly well written, amply illustrated, and remarkably accurate. It ought to dispel forever the idle illusion that China is a barbarous country.—Boston Beacon.

Like every book that comes from the press of D. Lothrop & Co. it is of a high order, paper and print superior, and a neat as well as useful addition to the library.—Elmira (N. Y.) Husbandman.

Alaska. (Miss R. Scidmore.) A well written and exceedingly interesting volume. Miss Scidmore's descriptions of the various places she visited and the curious things she saw are vivid and picturesque, and one can learn more of both from her pages than from all the official reports that have been published. It is a book that ought to have a wide popularity. It is well illustrated and contains a map reduced from the last general chart of Alaska published by the Coast Survey.—Lancaster (Ohio) Gazette.

The author has a bright and pleasant style, and has the advantage of describing regions which are little known and ill understood. There are numerous illustrations.—Boston Journal.

A pleasant book, well suited for popular circulation and a people's library; thoroughly entertaining as well as instructive.—Boston Beacon.

Dean Stanley with the Children. The beautiful book now in hand will make a good many children and young people familiar with the name and work of the good Dean of Westminster.—Chicago Standard.

The sermons here given are full of exquisite tenderness, and form admirable models for discourses of like character. Canon Farrar says that there was not one sermon ever preached by Dean Stanley which did not contain at least some one bright, and fresh, and rememberable thing. Mrs. Humphrey's sketch not only gives us an excellent idea of the man himself, but also tells us many interesting things about the great English public schools.—Zion's Herald.

In this charming book the author makes us feel the presence of that character so dear to all who know him—Arthur Stanley, Dean of Westminster. Even from his gentle childhood his life was devoted to Christian truth and Christian history, and this volume with its information concerning the illustrious dead, who lies in Westminster, and its sermons to children is one that every Christian mother will delight to read with her boys.—Springfield (Ill.) Register.

An admirable gift book for young people is Mrs. Humphrey's volume entitled Dean Stanley with the Children.—Boston Advertiser.

The book has a singularly beautiful moral influence which commends it to parents.—Boston Globe.

Every mother will be glad to add this little book to the children's library, for the record it contains of the life of a strong and noble character.—New Bedford Standard.

It is in every sense a timely as well as excellent contribution to biographical literature.—Cleveland Leader.

Mrs. Humphrey's book Dean Stanley with the Children, is a book so winsome that old and young readers cannot fail to find it fascinating.—Boston Traveller.

The Pettibone Name. (Margaret Sidney.) If the publishers had offered a prize for the brightest, freshest and most entertaining picture of home that fiction could give, they could not have been more successful than in securing The Pettibone Name, for the story is one that deserves a wide and enthusiastic popularity.—Hartford Courant.

It is always a pleasure to read a well-written story of every-day life—one whose characters appear to be faithful types of humanity. Such is The Pettibone Name.—Chicago Times.

The story is written with great simplicity, but with many touches of pathos, and it is not often that Calvinism is made as touching and attractive as it is in some of the religious passages.—Boston Budget.

Unless our judgment be at fault, The Pettibone Name will create a decided sensation in the world of fiction. It is so thoroughly free from weak and sickly sentiment, the characters are so finely and sharply drawn, and the whole impression so good, that its success is beyond all question.—Lutheran Observer.

The story is not only entertaining, but incidents of New England life and manners are wrought in, that will give the book more than a transient interest.—Advance.

"The Pettibone Name," by Margaret Sidney, as a realistic picture of New England rural society, has the details of a photograph. Its pages are often mirth provoking, and yet under them all runs a current of sober meaning that is impressive. Samantha Scarritt and Dr. Pilcher are equal to Mrs. Stowe's best New England delineations; and Bobby Jane is as thoroughly alive as they. Indeed, the whole characterization has crispiness and individuality, and is strong with the flavor of humanity.—Rural Home, Rochester, N. Y.

"One of the finest pieces of American fiction."

Its two ministers are well drawn. Its village gossips are "racy of the soil," and in Judith Pettibone, the Puritan woman with intense family pride and stern reticence of life, finds a fitting representative.—Sun.

How They Went to Europe. (Margaret Sidney.) The story is illustrated and well told, and is suggestive.—Herald and Presbyter.

This is a charming fresh story of young girl-life, presented in Margaret Sidney's most attractive style.—New Bedford Standard.

Margaret Sidney is one of the best and brightest story writers we have. Her books are just such as we would place in the hands of every story-loving boy or girl; pure, bright, fresh and interesting. How They Went to Europe is no exception to the standard maintained by her other works. In it a new and entirely practicable plan for interesting the young in profitable and stimulating mental culture is developed. The book is full of valuable and suggestive ideas, and, withal, is a very good story.—Presbyterian.

If any author knows how to write for children, Margaret Sidney does. She can feel and sympathize with them; all that she writes about is natural and real, and pervaded by such a spirit as should eminently recommend it to Christian homes.—Southern Sun.

This admirable little volume has all the sprightliness and attractiveness of Mrs. Sidney's other books, and this is saying a good deal in the way of praise. Although written primarily for the younger class of readers, it will have an equal charm for the older folks.—Christian Advocate.

It is a delightful book, the story is told in a sprightly way, and is thoroughly wholesome.—Chicago Advance.

The task undertaken in this work by the accomplished daughter of Senator Dawes, has been to present an explanation of the constitution and government of the United States, both national, State, and local, in so simple and clear a way as to offer to the masses everywhere such an opportunity for their study as is not afforded by the numerous volumes in which such information is chiefly to be sought. She has accomplished her aim with remarkable success, and her book will have a hearty welcome from the thousands who appreciate the need of it.

In this book, which is characterized by rare brilliancy of expression, beauty of thought, and tenderness and pathos in sentiment, and which is withal as intensely interesting as any recent work of prose fiction, the accomplished author presents a poem based upon the Rabbinic legends that Eve was not Adam's first wife, but that she had a predecessor in the world's first Eden, who bore the name of "Lilith." The poem, based upon these legends, cannot fail to establish the writer's reputation as an exceptionally able writer of verse, a reputation which she has already gained as a writer of prose.

If there is anything in the way of human attire which more than any other commands the admiration and stirs the enthusiasm of the average boy of whatever nation, it is the trim uniform and shining buttons that distinguish the jolly lads of the "Navy." In this graphically written and wonderfully entertaining volume, boy life in the Navy of the United States is described by a navy officer, in a manner which cannot fail to satisfy the boys.

Simply told and remarkably interesting is this story of the life of one of the most saintly of Christian men. It will be welcomed and read with satisfaction by all who knew him. Those who never saw him, cannot fail to be stimulated by its suggestive thought.

This volume presents a complete history of money, or the circulating medium, in the United States, from the colonial days to the present time. Mr. Edward Atkinson, in his introduction, pronounces it the most valuable work of the kind yet published.

These sermons, delivered before the graduating classes of Harvard University, it is safe to say, are not excelled by any production of their kind. They are not only rarely appropriate, as discourses addressed to educated young men upon the threshold of active life, but are models of logical thought and graceful rhetoric worthy the study of all ministers.

From original MSS. It will be published by D. Lothrop & Co., in advance of the publication in England.

This handsome volume unites the charm of the Arabian Nights with the solid value of an Encyclopædia. In its twelve chapters, Dr. Hale gives careful and definite account of a dozen famous characters the boys of all ages have agreed to regard as heroes, but about whom their information is often neither full nor accurate.

This volume gives full information of the Empire and also a highly interesting account of the origin of the American expedition to Japan. One of the most charming sketches of the "Leading Men" is that of Yoshida Kiyonari, who was for years our minister in Washington, and who with his agreeable wife entertained with fine hospitality President Grant and his lady while sojourning in Japan. Mr. Lanman has given in his book information and the result of scholarly research in most graphic language, which will do much to bring before us the elevated, progressive and gifted Japanese nation. The volume presents to the student of Japanese political progress, an invaluable work of reference.

What Dean Stanley's famous annals of Westminster Abbey have been to the learned traveller, this volume by the daughter of Canon Kingsley will prove to the popular tourist and to readers of history at home. Taking as starting-points the monuments to royal or historic children, the author leads the reader now through the romantic and stormy paths of secret statecraft, and now among gorgeous pageants of weddings, christenings and coronations, but always returning into the beautiful silence of the great Abbey itself.

The name of this author, whose reputation is already established, will be at once recognized in connection with some of the choicest bits of poetry contributed to recent periodical literature, such as "Indian Summer," "My Baby," "Frozen Crew," etc., all of which, with many new and equally excellent poems, are offered to the public in this unusually attractive volume.

Pansy has brought out in this her latest book, a vivid, lifelike story, full of strong incentives to right thinking and living.

Uniform with the previous issues in this series, "Our Business Boys," "In Case of Accident," "Health and Strength for Girls." Each cloth 60 cts.

Uniform with "Plucky Boys," "How to Learn and Earn." Each 12mo, cloth, $1.50.

Seventh Volume of the famous V. I. F. series, 12mo, $1.25, is by Marie Oliver, that charming writer who by the vigor and originality of her pen is making a sensation in this particular branch of literature. Rev. Heman Lincoln, D. D., says, "It is interesting and admirably told; I commend it very cordially."

The physical life of men and women. Their structure and functions. How to supply their wants, direct their powers, avoid their afflictions and sustain their lives.—By Franklin D. Clum, M. D. New Edition 12mo, cloth, $1.50.

The adventures of several wide-awake Boston boys and girls in Maine during their Christmas vacation. In the opening chapter a wagon is overturned, and the whole party obliged to camp out in the woods over night, in the midst of a driving snowstorm. The book is profusely illustrated, and brimful of incident, adventure and fun.

A bright, breezy story, well written and brimful of life. There is a good undertone of religion in it, and the life at Chautauqua is given at its fullest and best, in a way that will be altogether delightful to those familiar with it, and will inspire those who are not with the desire to read and learn its wonderful charm. It is fascinating simply as a story, and will be popular with all classes.

A new edition of this ever-popular book, giving the matter of the larger work in condensed form, but equally reliable and interesting.

Practical, entertaining and instructive. Just the book for the family. Elegant cloth binding stamped with an emblematic die "St. George and the Dragon," in colors and gold.

Works on Mental and Physical Hygiene. By J. Mortimer Granville, M. D. 5 Vols. 16mo, cloth, 60 cts. each, set $3.00.

A Treasury of English Words and Phrases, classified and arranged so as to facilitate the expression of ideas and assist in literary composition.

New edition enlarged and improved, partly from the author's notes, and with a full index by John Lewis Roget. Over 200 pages and 30,000 additions to the original work. Crown 8vo., nearly 800 pages. Price $2.00.

With Illustrations by F. Childe Hassam. Unique binding, design embossed in gold. Price $1.00.

This fresh and delightful book is made up of poems and stories, profusely and beautifully illustrated. Each one has a moral, which by well chosen language is strongly impressed upon the reader. And like the bird whose name it bears, the whole book is bright, glad, and full of life. It is sure to please children, for whom it was written.

This book of fresh impressions might well be called "Sight Drafts on England." It is certainly a mine of accurate detail The author is enthusiastic in his devotion to the facts which escape the ordinary eye, and brings his materials from the most unfamiliar sources. His description of the Bank of England, for instance, is as interesting as it is valuable, and contains a large amount of information of unusual freshness.

A carefully arranged collection of wise, witty, and sentimental excerpts from more than two hundred sources in all lands and ages, from Confucius to Cable.

These are vital thoughts that have been gathered by Rose Porter from Canon Farrar's writings and sermons. The utterances of the present Archdeacon of Westminster have been greatly considered by people of all classes, creeds, and tastes, and this volume is likely to gain a permanent place in the people's literature. His sympathetic appreciation of American institutions, together with his eloquent eulogy of the life and character of General Grant, recently delivered in Westminster, have greatly quickened American interest in all his expressions of opinion, belief and counsel. This pithy volume is well-named.

In this biography the author of the popular Life of Garfield has combined insight, painstaking, a nice sense of humor and literary skill in the use of varied and fresh materials, turning to good account, as illustrating the noble and tender nature of our great President and General, the anecdotes and other reminiscences brought to light during the recent memorial occasions at home and abroad.

This is the third edition of the Concord Guide Book which has been enlarged and improved to comprehend the most recent changes in that historic town of world-wide renown. Besides fresh text and anecdote a number of fine illustrations have been added to enhance its value to the traveller and sight-seer, both as guide and souvenir.

This, the sixth edition, has undergone a careful revision, bringing down to date the modifications necessary to a complete manual. It is indispensable to the transient visitor and valuable to the resident and business man of Boston.

Here the hero tells in simple language his own eventful story. By citations from military dispatches, Presidential messages, private letters, and after-dinner speeches, the reader gets many a vivid picture of life from a master-hand, in terse, narrative English. The whole impression is that of strength, candor, and integrity.

A collection of rare songs written by the great lyric women of all lands and times. The first hymn of each of these "Miriams" is prefaced by a terse biography. Composers among women are also represented in the music of anthems, chants, and many hymn-tunes. This collection is practically valuable in that it is suited to the needs of temperance, missionary, and other organizations, and will prove serviceable at church and society concerts and at religious anniversaries. 880 large quarto pages.

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

• I. A MIDSHIPMAN AT LARGE.
• II. THE CRUISE OF THE CASABIANCA.

Every boy who sailed in fancy the late exciting races of the Puritan and the Genesta, and all lovers of sea stories, will enjoy these two stories of Newport and Ocean Yachting, by Charles Remington Talbot.

• III. A GIRL AND A JEWEL.

Mrs. Harriet Prescott Spofford, in this delicious White Mountain Romance, writes her first young folks' magazine serial.

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

Margaret Sidney writes these two amusing Adventure Serials for Little Folks. Thirty-six illustrations each.

VI. A Six Months' Story (title to be announced), by Charles Egbert Craddock, author of Down the Ravine.

By Mrs. John Sherwood. This series, brilliant and instructive, will begin in the Christmas number and run through the year.

By Elbridge S. Brooks. Illustrations by Howard Pyle. Twelve historical stories celebrating twelve popular holidays.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

• L'ENFANT TERRIBLE TURK. By Hon. S. S. Cox, U. S. Minister to Turkey.
• THE PRINCESS POCAHONTAS IN ENGLAND. By Mrs. Raymond Blathwayte. Illustrations include portrait from painting never before engraved.
• AUTOGRAPHS AND AUTOGRAPH HUNTERS. By Nora Perry. Racy and amusing.
• A GRAND PEACE-MEET. By Will P. Hooper. An imposing Indian Ceremony; with many pictures by the author.
• A SIXTEENTH CENTURY SCHOOLBOY. By Appleton Morgan. The life of a lad in Shakespeare's time.
• MY FIRST BUFFALO HUNT. By Gen. John C. Fremont.
• THROUGH THE HEART OF PARIS. by Frank T. Merrill. A pen and pencil record of a trip down the Seine.
• THE DUMB-BETTY LAMP. By Henry Bacon. Hitherto untold incidents in connection with "Floyd Ireson's Ride."

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

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

The Story of the Chevalier. A ballad of the wars of Maria Theresa. By Mrs. Harriet Prescott Spofford. Illustrations by E. H. Garrett.

The Minute Man. A ballad of the "Shot heard round the World." By Margaret Sidney. Illustrations by Hy. Sandham.

The Hemlock Tree. A ballad of a Maine settlement. By Lucy Larcom. Illustrations by Edmund H. Garrett.

The Children's Cherry Feast. A ballad of the Hussite War. By Nora Perry. Illustrations by George Foster Barnes.

Little Alix. A ballad of the Children's Crusade. By Susan Coolidge. Illustrations by F. H. Lungren.

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

I. Pleasant Authors for Young Folks. (American Series.) By Amanda B. Harris. II. My Garden Pets. By Mary Treat, author of Home Studies in Nature. III. Souvenirs of My Time. (Foreign Series.) By Mrs. Jessie Benton Fremont. IV. Some Italian Authors and Their Work. By George E. Vincent (son of Chancellor Vincent). V. Ways to Do Things. By various authors. VI. Strange Teas, Weddings, Dinners and Fetes. By their Guests and Givers. VII. Search-Questions in English Literature. By Oscar Fay Adams.

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