The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Pansy Magazine, April 1886, by Various

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Title: The Pansy Magazine, April 1886

Author: Various

Editor: Pansy
        Isabella Alden

Release Date: April 16, 2014 [EBook #45406]

Language: English

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Volume 13, Number 22.        Copyright, 1886, by D. Lothrop & Co.        April 3, 1886.
Girl fishing



The Word was made flesh and dwelt among us.

The two disciples heard him speak, and they followed Jesus.

This beginning of miracles did Jesus in Cana of Galilee, and manifested forth his glory; and his disciples believed on him.

Ye must be born again.

GRANDMA BURTON'S face was very grave and sweet. "Yes," she said, "I remember that third verse about as well as anything that I ever learned; and it is queer how the second one fits in with it. That finishes the story; and I have had to wait more than sixty years to think of it."

Marion and Ralph exchanged happy smiles.

"Then we two will have the story, Grandma," said Marion, "those are Ralph's and mine. But I don't see how they fit."

"I do, child, they fit perfectly. It was the summer I was eleven years old; we were boarding in the country; I remember everything about that summer, because I had some of the nicest times, and some of the narrowest escapes of my life.

"One day I went a-fishing, all by myself; I wasn't what you might call a venturesome child, so I was trusted in many places where careless children could not have been." Grandma did not even glance Ralph's way while she spoke; so of course she could have meant no hint to him! "I had some sandwiches in my bag left of the lunch we had taken the day before. I forgot to empty the bag; so when I was half-way down the hill from our house I found them in the way. It was a neat little bag, lined with oilcloth; I could carry all sorts of things in it, then turn it inside out, and wash it, and it would come out as good as new. So I meant to fill the bag with little fishes, and here were these sandwiches in the way! Just as I turned the corner by Mr. Willard's place, I heard a low growl, and there stood Bose eying me in a way to make my heart beat fast. I was dreadfully afraid of Bose, and with good reason; he had the name of being a very fierce dog; they kept him chained all day. I saw the chain around his neck, then, but still I was afraid. I was hurrying by, when it occurred to me that here was a good chance for getting rid of my sandwiches; if I could only muster up courage to give them to Bose! I turned back, and going as near to the fence as I could, threw with all my strength, and landed a piece of bread and meat at his feet. He gave a low growl and eyed me so fiercely that all the blood in my body seemed to go to my head; but he smelled around the meat for a minute, then took it in at one mouthful, and I tried again, and again, until my bag was empty. He did not growl at me any more, but I thought he looked crosser than any dog ought to, who had been so kindly treated.

"Presently, however, I forgot all about him; some people would be surprised over what I was thinking; they imagine that little girls never think about sober things. But it was that very verse which was in my mind: 'This beginning of miracles did Jesus in Cana of Galilee, and manifested forth his glory; and his disciples believed on him.' Papa had read it at family worship that morning, and he and mamma and brother Mott had talked a little about it, and set me to thinking. It didn't seem at all strange to me that his disciples believed on him; I thought if I could have a miracle worked for me, I would find it easy, after that, to believe anything. I remember exactly how I felt as I sat on the bank with my feet hanging over, and held in my hand a little fish about five inches long; I was sorry for him and meant to throw him back into the water, after I had examined him; I thought he was too little to be caught; as I sat holding him, I thought, 'If this fish should turn into a beautiful little bird, just now, and speak to me, then I would know that God had done it, and I could believe in him, without any trouble. I don't see why he doesn't do such things now; it wouldn't be any stranger than making wine out of water; and if it helped people then, why shouldn't it now?' So I sat holding that poor wriggling fish, and wishing he would turn into a miracle before my eyes; but he didn't, and presently I threw him back with a sigh, and wound up my fish line, and went around to the other side of the lake, still so busy with my thoughts that I could not seem to settle to anything. I don't know to this day, how I came to do the next thing. I suppose I must have gone a great deal nearer the edge than I thought I was, and they said it was wet and[171] slippery there; anyway, I slipped and fell, and trying to regain my balance I stepped on my dress, and fell again, and rolled over into the lake in less time than it takes me to tell it.

"I don't wonder you shiver," said Grandma after a moment's pause, drawing Marion closer to her. "It was a skittish place; the lake was pretty deep in that part, and the banks were high and slippery. It was not a time of day when people were bathing, and there was nobody in sight. I lost all knowledge of what was going on after I sank the second time. When they found me, where do you think I was? Dragged high and dry from the lake, around to where the ocean began, and that great Bose stood beside me keeping guard and looking about him right and left for help! He kept up such a fierce barking that the boatmaster heard him at last, and came to see what was the matter.

"The very first sentence that I fully understood, of all the talk around me, was Mr. Willard saying in a low tone: 'I declare, this seems to me just like a miracle! I never knew Bose to break his chain before; and I did not know he would spring into the water for anybody; in fact, I should have been afraid to send him, for fear he would bite the child.'

"You can't imagine what a thrill it gave me! 'A miracle!' I said to myself; 'then He heard me wishing for one, and promising I would believe him fully, if He would only perform a miracle for me; and He did it! It seemed just like that to me then; and I'm not so sure but it seems so yet. If the dear Lord was a mind to humor your silly Grandma's unbelief and send her a sign to strengthen her, why couldn't he do it? Anyhow, nobody knows to this day, how Bose got loose from his chain. It was found to be not broken, only slipped in some way—and no one knows who told him to bound down to the lake and spring into the water just in time to save me. He wasn't what is commonly called a water dog; and he was very fierce to children generally. Some folks think such things just happen; but I've lived a great many years, and the longer I live the surer I am that there isn't much 'happening' of any kind about our lives. There wasn't any need for me having a miracle, children; the Lord had done enough for me long before, but he is sometimes real patient with silly people. I know I began that very day to try to serve him, and I've always been glad I did."

The listeners were very quiet for some minutes, then Ralph spoke: "I don't see my verse fitting in anywhere, Grandma?"

"But it did," said Grandma, nodding her head. "I was sick all that summer. The shock, they said, was too much for me; I couldn't walk a step for a long time. I used to sit in a big chair out of doors, with Bose by my side; he was the greatest friend I had. No more growls for me; and he wouldn't growl at anybody I told him not to.

"One day Rob Carleton and his sister stopped at the gate to visit with me; they were from the same city where we lived; but I didn't know them much at home. Rob began to tell me how queer he thought it was that that dog should have come after me, when he had always before acted as though he hated children; and something whispered to me to tell him about my little miracle. I didn't quite want to. I was afraid he might laugh at me; but at last I mustered up courage, and told him the whole story. He didn't laugh at all; but he didn't say much of anything, and by and by went away. They left the shore the next day; and I did not see that boy again for five years; and then, don't you think he told me that ever since I told him about my miracle, he couldn't get away from the thought of such things, and at last it led him to decide to belong to Jesus, and he led his little sister May in the same direction! Why, you children have often heard me speak of Doctor Carleton, the missionary in India? He's the very same! And May is a minister's wife in Kansas. Don't you see your verse, Ralph? 'The two disciples heard Him speak, and they followed Jesus.' Rob and May weren't disciples yet, but the dear Lord knew they were going to be; and he let me tell about my little miracle, and used it to help them decide to follow him."

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One day when Susie was visiting her great-aunt, she found in one of her old books an excellent rule. It was this: "Aim to make courtesies not an article of dress to put off and on, but a part of ourselves—something that is always with us."

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ONE summer they carried May Vinton to a quiet place by the sea. From the windows of her room she could watch the unceasing roll of the waves, she could mark the incoming and outgoing tide; she grew to love the sea and did not seem to miss the coming and going of friends which she enjoyed so much in her own home. But she missed opportunities for helping others. At least she did at first, but she was not long in finding some one who needed her. It was the boy from the fisherman's little cottage whose acquaintance she first made. He came every morning with fish for her breakfast, and May, calling to him as he passed her window with his basket, soon found out that he lived in the little low-roofed building which she could just see quite a long way down the shore; and she found out that there were several children in the family and that the father went out every day in a boat after fish. She gathered that while they were not suffering for food and clothes, they were still quite poor, and that the children had never been to school and were very ignorant of the knowledge gained from books. The boy could tell her all about the fishing business, about the ways of the old ocean, he knew where to look for the prettiest shells and the finest seaweed. He could tell what the winds and the shifting clouds portended as to the weather, but not a letter of the alphabet did he know.
fishermen, boat and many seagulls

"Would you like to learn to read?" asked May.

The little fellow was not sure, but he did want to hear a story, and so she began that way, interesting the boy in a story. He soon became a regular visitor. Leaning upon the window-sill he would listen to his new friend as she talked, telling him of things outside the little world which he knew. At length she said, "To-morrow will be Sunday; suppose you bring your sister and brother for a little while in the afternoon and we will have a little Sunday-school."

"Sunday-school! What's that?"

"Come and see."

"Can I bring Tommy Britt?"

"You may bring four besides yourself."

And so Miss Vinton began a little Sunday-school down there by the sea with five scholars. You who have so often heard the sweet old story of a Saviour's love cannot imagine what it was to these ignorant children to hear it for the first time. You to whom the words of the prayer which Christ taught us have been familiar from[173] your babyhood, cannot know how strange were the thoughts and words of that prayer, nor what a hold upon their imaginations the idea of asking anything of an unseen being took.

The summer months passed away. Miss Vinton took leave of her little class and went back to her own home. She said sadly, "They are so ignorant! It was so little that I could do for them; and I am afraid they will forget it all."

children and woman watching window

Did they forget? One November morning the fisherman went out in his boat as usual; later in the day the clouds gathered as for a storm, and the wife and children began to be anxious. As the afternoon hours waned the sky grew darker, and the wind howled about the little cottage. It was already past the hour when the father might have been expected, and poor Mrs. Byrnes soothed the fretful baby and turned her eyes anxiously towards the window which looked seaward. The children peered out into the gathering darkness, but no sail was in sight; indeed it soon became so dark that they could not see far from the house. Little Nell placed a lamp in the window and Bob replenished the fire. Then he slipped away. A bit of the conversation which the younger ones had carried on as they stood gazing out over the waters, had given him an idea.

"Don't you know," said Nell, "how Miss Vinton said 'the sea is His and He made it?'"

"Yes; and you know she told us the pretty story of how the people were afraid and Jesus said to the waves, 'be still.' I liked that story!" said the little brother.

"I wish He would say so to the waves now," returned Nell.

"Maybe He would if he were here," was the reply. "Maybe He would. I wish he was here."


Bob hearing this remembered more of the teachings of the young lady of whom they had all been so fond, and as soon as he could, he slipped away and went up into the loft where the children slept. There in the darkness and chill he knelt down and asked Jesus to make the winds and waves "be still." Repeating this, his first prayer, again and again, he at length arose with a calm in his heart. Going down stairs his mother said: "Seems to me the wind does not blow quite so hard."

Bob smiled and whispered, "I shouldn't wonder if He heard! I didn't know as he would hear me, but Miss Vinton said He would."

He piled on more fuel, saying aloud, "Father will be here soon, and we must have it warm and have supper ready. Mother, don't you think we ought to set the table?"

"O yes, I suppose so. But I thought if your father never comes home, we would not want any supper," said the poor woman, in a despairing tone.

"I know; but don't you think the wind has gone down considerably?"

It seemed ages to the waiting group, but it was not more than an hour when the voice of the fisherman was heard, and Bob throwing open the door welcomed the father.

"I tell you," said the dripping man, "I began to think I should never see the shore again! The storm was awful, but about an hour ago, it began to let up a little. The clouds broke away too, and then I saw Nell's light there, and I tell you we just steered for that!"

"About an hour ago," repeated Bob to himself. "That was when I was up there asking Jesus to say 'be still.' I guess he did hear!"

Faye Huntington.
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"THERE comes Prinkie!" and the girls in Miss Winthrop's class made room for the new-comer. This was a rosy-cheeked girl with sparkling black eyes and, what the girls noticed particularly, a new hat. Prinkie Brown, as they called her, reveled in new hats. She had a new one for Thanksgiving, another for Christmas, one when her mother came from New York, and now at Easter she was out in still another! Old Mrs. Brown was wont to say: "Prinkie is chock full of vanity and ought not to be indulged in her love of fine clothes;" but Mr. Brown was a rich man, and seldom refused to gratify any desire or whim of either wife or daughter, and so Prinkie had new hats and dresses to her heart's content. No, I am mistaken.

When did new hats or new dresses ever give any one a contented heart? True, to look into the young girl's face you might think she was very happy; but her happiness was short-lived. A whisper reached her ears.

"Did you ever see such a vain girl?" said Ella Clark to the girl next to her.

"No; Prinkie grows more like a peacock every day. I don't believe she ever thinks of anything beyond new clothes."

"Now you watch her. When Miss Winthrop asks her a question she simpers and looks down at her gloves and smooths her laces as if she thought those things were the most important."

"I suppose she does think just that!"

Now Prinkie did not hear all of this, but she caught enough of it to understand the drift of the talk, and she was angry and mortified. "Like a peacock," indeed! Was a girl to be called names because she had a new hat? When would one wear new clothes if not on Easter Sunday? Was not the church and Sunday-school room tastefully decorated? It was real mean of those girls to spoil her enjoyment of her new hat by such ill-natured remarks. True she had not been quite satisfied. Her gloves were not an exact match for the hat, and she had pouted a little that morning over the fact, and grandma had vexed her by saying "Mary"—her real name is Mary—"Mary, I am afraid that in dressing for the day you are thinking more of yourself and too little of the meaning of Easter."

Was it true, as they all seemed to think, that she thought of nothing else than her clothes? What was the superintendent saying: "Let us not lose sight of the event we celebrate to-day. We would be miserable indeed were it not for this most glorious truth that our Christ is not a dead Christ, but a living Saviour. And in our admiration and enjoyment of these decorations,[175] these floral offerings which you have brought, in these symbols let us not forget what we symbolize. The resurrection of Jesus Christ our Lord is our theme; let us sing with joyful voice:

Hail, all hail, victorious Lord and Saviour,
Thou hast burst the bonds of death!"

Prinkie sang with the rest, and only Miss Winthrop noticed the troubled expression which rested upon the young girl's face. Miss Winthrop was very much troubled about her class; they were girls from twelve to fifteen years old. Some of them were church members, but nearly all seemed given over to frivolity. During the winter just passed there had been some religious interest in other classes in the school, yet these girls, absorbed in school, children's parties, and dress, had frittered the time away, and, so far as their teacher could see, had made little progress in the divine life. She had come before them this Easter morning with a heavily burdened heart. She had prayed that they might awaken to a newness of life, that the Easter lessons might sink into their hearts, that the shackles of sin and frivolity which held them might be broken, that they might henceforth abound in the fruits of righteousness. And now as she listened to their chatter and noticed their enjoyment of their fluttering ribbons, and heard the light tinkle of their bangles, she sighed over the apparent failure of her hopes for them. She turned towards them at the beginning of the lesson-hour, saying:

"Girls, we ought to be very bright and happy this morning, else we should be very sad. If we have a part in this rejoicing, if it is our Saviour of whom we sing 'The Lord is risen indeed' then we have a right to be glad. If He who is risen is one whom we have rejected, then we have no call to rejoice; why should we care? Some of us have professed to be his friends, and the nearer we have been living to him, the more faithful to our vows we have been, the more precious He is to our hearts, the more we may rejoice in the truth of the resurrection. Whether we have hitherto been living for Christ or not, this is a good time to begin anew. 'Like as Christ was raised up from the dead, even so we also should walk in newness of life.' Let us put away old things that have been hindering us and serve in newness of spirit. Let this be a real true Easter to every one of us." There was more of that earnest talk and it seemed to sink into the hearts of those who heard it. I can only tell you how one acted upon the lessons of the day. The hardest lesson had been the whispered words which she overheard; but the tender pleading of Miss Winthrop had softened her and she walked homeward alone, having turned away from the fluttering group. She was thinking:

"The girls call me vain—and say I am like a peacock, and Miss Winthrop is sad over me, and all for the same reason. I don't like to have the girls talk about me, and I don't like to have Miss Winthrop sad; I wonder if I am such a giddy girl! I suppose it is true; I do think too much of dress. I suppose I might look nice without thinking so much about it and without showing that I do. Miss Winthrop talked about newness of life—I wish I could be made over all new. Then I wouldn't be Mary Brown. Yes, I might; I am Prinkie Brown now. I won't be called Prinkie any more. I'll be Mary, and I will live for something better than dress."

"Prinkie," called Mrs. Brown as the young girl came down stairs after putting away the new hat which had become less precious.

"Mamma, please do not call me that any more. And will you please not let any one else call me so? I hate the name and I am going to be Mary Brown after this."

Mary could not tell her mother that she had resolved to "walk in newness of life," for Mrs. Brown was not a religious woman, and the child felt that she would not understand her. But to her grandmother she said as she lingered in her room at evening:

"Grandmamma, this has been a true Easter to me!"

This was a year ago, and Mary Brown still wears new hats, from time to time, and still dresses as seems to befit the daughter of a man of wealth, but no one calls her "Prinkie." No one would think of comparing her to a peacock; for she walks in newness of life; every Sabbath is to her a glad Easter.

Faye Huntington.


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Volume 13, Number 23.        Copyright, 1886, by D. Lothrop & Co.        April 10, 1886.
many people gathered to hear a violinist



(A further Account of Nettie Decker and her Friends.)
By Pansy.


THE little old grandmothers with their queer caps were perhaps the feature of the evening. Everybody wanted a bouquet of them. In fact, long before eight o'clock, Jerry had been hurried away for a fresh supply, and Nettie had been established behind a curtain, in haste, to "make more grandmothers." In her excitement she made them even prettier than before; and sweet, grave little Sate had no trouble in selling every one. The pretty Roman flower girl was so much admired, that her father, a fine-looking young mechanic who came after her bringing red stockings and neat shoes, carried her off at last in triumph on his shoulder, saying he was afraid her head would be turned with so much praise, but thanking everybody with bright smiling eyes for giving his little girl such a pleasant afternoon.

"She isn't Irish, after all," said Irene Lewis, watching them. "And Mr. Sherrill shook hands with him as familiarly as though he was an old friend; I wish we hadn't made such simpletons of ourselves. Lorena Barstow, what did you want to go and say she was an Irish girl for?"

"I didn't say any such thing," said Lorena in a shrill voice; and then these two who had been friends in ill humor all the afternoon quarreled, and went home more unhappy than before. And still I tell you they were not the worst girls in the world; and were very much ashamed of themselves.

Before eight o'clock, Norm came. To be sure he stoutly refused, at first, to step beyond the doorway, and ordered Nettie in a somewhat surly tone to "bring that young one out," if she wanted her carried home. That, of course, was the little grandmother; but her eyes looked as though they had not thought of being sleepy, and the ladies were not ready to let her go. Then the minister, who seemed to understand things without having them explained, said, "Where is Decker? we'll make it all right; come, little grandmother, let us go and see about it." So he took Sate on his shoulder and made his way through the crowd; and Nettie who watched anxiously, presently saw Norm coming back with them, not looking surly at all; his clothes had been brushed, and he had on a clean collar, and his hair was combed, quite as though he had meant to come in, after all.

Soon after Norm's coming, something happened which gave Nettie a glimpse of her brother in a new light. Young Ernest Belmont was there with his violin. During the afternoon, Nettie had heard whispers of what a lovely player he was, and at last saw with delight that a space was being cleared for him to play. Crowds of people gathered about the platform to listen, but among them all Norm's face was marked; at least it was to Nettie. She had never seen him look like that. He seemed to forget the crowds, and the lights, and everything but the sounds which came from that violin. He stood perfectly still, his eyes never once turning from their earnest gaze of the fingers which were producing such wonderful tones. Nettie, looking, and wondering, almost forgot the music in her astonishment that her brother should be so absorbed. Jerry with some difficulty elbowed his way towards her, his face beaming, and said, "Isn't it splendid?"

For answer she said, "Look at Norm." And Jerry looked.

"That's so," he said at last, heartily, speaking as though he was answering a remark from somebody; "Norm is a musician. Did you know he liked it so much?"

"I didn't know anything about it," Nettie said, hardly able to keep back the tears, though she did not understand why her eyes should fill; but there was such a look of intense enjoyment in Norm's face, mingled with such a wistful longing for something, as made the tears start in spite of her. "I didn't know he liked anything so much as that."

"He likes that," said Jerry heartily, "and I am glad."

"I don't know. What makes you glad? I am almost sorry; because he may never have a chance to hear it again."

"He must make his chances; he is going to be[179] a man. I'm glad, because it gives us a hint as to what his tastes are; don't you see?"

"Why, yes," said Nettie, "I see he likes it; but what is the use in knowing people's tastes if you cannot possibly do anything for them?"

"There's no such thing as it not being possible to do most anything." Jerry said good humoredly. "Maybe we will some of us own a violin some day, and Norm will play it for us. Who knows? Stranger things than that have happened."

But this thing looked to Nettie so improbable that she merely laughed. The music suddenly ceased, and Norm came back from dreamland and looked about him, and blushed, and felt awkward. He saw the people now, and the lights, and the flowers; he remembered his hands and did not know what to do with them; and his feet felt too large for the space they must occupy.

Jerry plunged through the crowd and stood beside him.

"How did you like it?" he asked, and Norm cleared his voice before replying; he could not understand why his throat should feel so husky.

"I like a fiddle," he said. "There is a fellow comes into the corner grocery down there by Crossman's and plays, sometimes; I always go down there, when I hear of it."

If Jerry could have caught Nettie's eye just then he would have made a significant gesture; the store by Crossman's made tobacco and liquor its chief trade. So a fiddle was one of the things used to draw the boys into it!

"Is a fiddle the only kind of music you like?" Jerry had been accustomed to calling it a violin, but the instinct of true politeness which was marked in him, made him say fiddle just now as Norm had done.

"Oh! I like anything that whistles a tune!" said Norm. "I've gone a rod out of my way to hear a jew's-harp many a time; even an old hand-organ sounds nice to me. I don't know why, but I never hear one without stopping and listening as long as I can." He laughed a little, as though ashamed of the taste, and looked at Jerry suspiciously. But there was not the slightest hint of a smile on the boy's face, only hearty interest and approval.

"I like music, too, almost any sort; but I don't believe I like it as well as you. Your face looked while you were listening as though you could make some yourself if you tried."

The smile went out quickly from Norm's face, and Jerry thought he heard a little sigh with the reply:

"I never had a chance to try; and never expect to have."

"Well, now, I should like to know why not? I never could understand why a boy with brains, and hands, and feet, shouldn't have a try at almost anything which was worth trying, sometime in his life." It was not Jerry who said this, but the minister who had come up in time to hear the last words from both sides. He stopped before Norm, smiling as he spoke. "Try the music, my friend, by all means, if you like it. It is a noble taste, worth cultivating."

Norm looked sullen. "It's easy to talk," he said severely, "but when a fellow has to work like a dog to get enough to eat and wear, to keep him from starving or freezing, I'd like to see him get a chance to try at music, or anything else of that kind!"

"So should I. He is the very fellow who ought to have the chance; and more than that, in nine cases out of ten he is the fellow who gets it. A boy who is willing and able to work, is pretty sure, in this country, to have opportunity to gratify his tastes in the end. He may have to wait awhile, but that only sharpens the appetite of a genuine taste; if it is a worthy taste, as music certainly is, it will grow with his growth, and will help him to plan, and save, and contrive, until one of these days he will show you! By the way, you would like organ music, I fancy; the sort which is sometimes played on parlor organs. If you will come to the parsonage to-morrow night at eight o'clock, I think I can promise you something which you will enjoy. My sister is going to try some new music for a few friends, at that time; suppose you come and pick out your favorite?"

All Jerry's satisfaction and interest shone in his face; to-morrow night at eight o'clock! All day he had been trying to arrange something which would keep Norm at that hour away from the aforesaid corner grocery, where he happened to know some doubtful plans were to be arranged for future mischief, by the set who gathered there.[180] If only Norm would go to the parsonage it would be the very thing. But Norm flushed and hesitated. "Bring a friend with you," said the minister. "Bring Jerry, here; you like music, don't you, Jerry?"

"Yes, sir," said Jerry promptly; "I like music very much, and I would like to go if Norm is willing."

"Bring Jerry with you." That sentence had a pleasant sound. Up to this moment it was the younger boy who had patronized the elder. Norm called him the "little chap," but for all that looked up to him with a curious sort of respect such as he felt for none of the "fellows" who were his daily companions; the idea of bringing him to a place of entertainment had its charms.

"May I expect you?" asked the minister, reading his thoughts almost as plainly as though they had been printed on his face, and judging that this was the time to press an acceptance.

"Why, yes," said Norm, "I suppose so."

One of these days Norman Decker will not think of accepting an invitation with such words, but his intentions are good, now, and the minister thanks him as though he had received a favor, and departs well pleased.

two llittle chicks

And now it is really growing late and little Sate must be carried home. It was an evening to remember.

They talked it over by inches the next morning. Nettie finishing the breakfast dishes, and Jerry sitting on the doorstep fashioning a bracket for the kitchen lamp.

Nettie talked much about Ermina Farley. "She is just as lovely and sweet as she can be. It was beautiful in her to come over to me as she did when she came into that yard; part of it was for little Trudie's sake, and a great deal of it was for my sake. I saw that at the time; and I saw it plainer all the afternoon. She didn't give me a chance to feel alone once; and she didn't stay near me as though she felt she ought to, but didn't want to, either; she just took hold and helped do everything Miss Sherrill gave me to do, and was as bright and sweet as she could be. I shall never forget it of her. But for all that," she added as she wrung out her dishcloth with an energy which the small white rag hardly needed, "I know it was pretty hard for her to do it, and I shall not give her a chance to do it again."

"I want to know what there was hard about it?" said Jerry, looking up in astonishment. "I thought Ermina Farley seemed to be having as good a time as anybody there."[181]

"Oh, well now, I know, you are not a girl; boys are different from girls. They are not so kind-of-mean! At least, some of them are not," she added quickly, having at that moment a vivid recollection of some mean things which she had endured from boys. "Really I don't think they are," she said, after a moment's thoughtful pause, and replying to the quizzical look on his face. "They don't think about dresses, and hats, and gloves, and all those sorts of things as girls do, and they don't say such hateful things. Oh! I know there is a great difference; and I know just how Ermina Farley will be talked about because she went with me, and stood up for me so; and I think it will be very hard for her. I used to think so about you, but you—are real different from girls!"

"It amounts to about this," said Jerry, whittling gravely. "Good boys are different from bad girls, and bad boys are different from good girls."

Nettie laughed merrily. "No," she said, "I do know what I am talking about, though you don't think so; I know real splendid girls who couldn't have done as Ermina Farley did yesterday, and as you do all the time; and what I say is, I don't mean to put myself where she will have to do it, much. I don't want to go to their parties; I don't expect a chance to go, but if I had it, I wouldn't go; and just for her sake, I don't mean to be always around for her to have to take care of me as she did yesterday. I have something else to do."

Said Jerry, "Where do you think Norm is going to take me this evening?"

"Norm going to take you!" great wonderment in the tone. "Why, where could he take you? I don't know, I am sure."

"He is to take me to the parsonage at eight o'clock to hear some wonderful music on the organ. He has been invited, and has had permission to bring me with him if he wants to. Don't you talk about not putting yourself where other people will have to take care of you! I advise you to cultivate the acquaintance of your brother. It isn't everybody who gets invited to the parsonage to hear such music as Miss Sherrill can make."

The dishcloth was hung away now, and every bit of work was done. Nettie stood looking at the whittling boy in the doorway for a minute in blank astonishment, then she clasped her hands and said: "O Jerry! Did they do it? Aren't they the very splendidest people you ever knew in your life?"

"They are pretty good," said Jerry, "that's a fact; they are most as good as my father. I'll tell you what it is, Nettie, if you knew my father you would know a man who would be worth remembering. I had a letter from him last night, and he sent a message to my friend Nettie."

"What?" asked Nettie, her eyes very bright.

"It was that you were to take good care of his boy; for in his opinion the boy was worth taking care of. On the strength of that I want you to come out and look at Mother Speckle; she is in a very important frame of mind, and has been scolding her children all the morning. I don't know what is the trouble; there are two of her daughters who seem to have gone astray in some way; at least she is very much displeased with them. Twice she has boxed Fluffie's ears, and once she pulled a feather out of poor Buff. Look at her, how forlorn she seems!"

By this time they were making their way to the little house where the hen lived, Nettie agreeing to go for a very few minutes, declaring that if Norm was going out every evening there was work to do. He would need a clean collar and she must do it up; for mother had gone out to iron for the day. "Mother is so grateful to Mrs. Smith for getting her a chance to work," she said, as they paused before the two disgraced chickens; "she says she would never have thought of it if it had not been for her; you know she always used to sew. Why, how funny those chickens look! Only see, Jerry, they are studying that eggshell as though they thought they could make one. Now don't they look exactly as though they were planning something?"

"They are," said Jerry. "They are planning going to housekeeping, I believe; you see they have quarreled with their mother. They consider that they have been unjustly punished, and I am in sympathy with them; and they believe they could make a house to live in out of that eggshell if they could only think of a way to[182] stick it together again. I wish we could build a house out of eggshells; or even one room, and we'd have one before the month was over."

"Why?" said Nettie, stooping down to see why Buff kept her foot under her. "Do you want a room, Jerry?"

"Somewhat," said Jerry. "At least I see a number of things we could do if we had a room, that I don't know how to do without one. Come over here, Nettie, and sit down; leave those chickens to sulk it out, and let us talk a little. I have a plan so large that there is no place to put it."

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BIG men are not always just or generous, and many times the small boy is a sufferer at their hands. Sometimes the big man is cross because he has eaten too much dinner—the small boy will understand now how uncomfortable he feels—and as he is too big to cry he vents his ill humor, many times, on the first small boy who comes in his way. Now, you know that some people think that if you eat too much meat you will become savage, and, as this man who was unjust to the small boy was a butcher, perhaps he had eaten so much meat that he had become in part a savage. In one of the police-courts up-town, in New York, one morning, not long since, a very small boy in knickerbockers, appeared. He had a dilapidated cap in one hand and a green cotton bag in the other. Behind him came a big policeman with a grin on his face. When the boy found himself in the court-room he hesitated and looked as if he would like to retreat, but as he half-turned and saw the grin on his escort's face, he shut his lips tighter and meandered up to the desk.

"Please, sir, are you the judge?" he asked, in a voice that had a queer little quiver in it.

"I am, my boy; what can I do for you?" asked the Justice, as he looked wonderingly down at the mite before him.

"If you please, sir, I'm Johnny Moore. I'm seven years old, and I live in One Hundred and Twenty-third street, near the avenue, and the only good place to play miggles on is in front of a lot near our house, where the ground is smooth; but a butcher on the corner," and here his voice grew steady and his cheeks flushed, "that hasn't any more right to the place than we have, keeps his wagon standing there, and this morning we were playing miggles there, and he drove us away, and took six of mine, and threw them away off over the fence into the lot, and I went to the police station, and they laughed at me, and told me to come here and tell you about it."

The big policeman and the spectators began to laugh boisterously, and the complainant at the bar trembled so violently with mingled indignation and fright that the marbles in his little green bag rattled together.

The Justice, however, rapped sharply on the desk, and quickly brought everybody to dead silence. "You did perfectly right, my boy," said he gravely, "to come here and tell me about it. You have as much right to your six marbles as the richest man in this city has to his bank account. If every American citizen had as much regard for their rights as you show there would be far less crime. And you, sir," he added, turning to the big policeman, who now looked as solemn as a funeral, "you go with this little man to that butcher and make him pay for those marbles, or else arrest him and bring him here."

You see this boy knew that his rights had been interfered with, and he went to the one having authority to redress his wrongs. He did not throw stones or say naughty words, but in a manly, dignified way demanded his rights.—Selected.

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AN angel's thought flew down to earth,
Borne on a golden beam of light;
And pausing, rested in the heart
Of a sweet, blue-eyed violet bright.

And finding there a flower-soul
Free from all taint of earthly pride,
The angel's thought would fain remain,
And in the Pansy still doth hide.

And so these gold and purple flowers,
The soft-eyed Pansies which we love,
Sprang from the violet which received
An angel's thought from heaven above.
Lydia Hoyt Farmer.
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MY sweet little neighbor Bessie
I thought was busy with play,
When she turned, and brightly questioned,
"Say, what is the Easter day?"

"Has nobody told you, darling—
Do they 'Feed His Lambs' like this?"
I gathered her to my bosom,
And gave her a tender kiss.

Away went the cloak for dolly,
And away went dolly too,
As again she eagerly questioned,
With eyes so earnest and blue:

"Is it like birthdays or Christmas—
Or like Thanksgiving Day;
Do we just be good like Sunday,
Or run and frolic and play?

"I know there's flowers to it,
And that is most all I know;
I've got a lovely rosebush,
And a bud begins to grow."

Then in words most few and simple
I told to the gentle child
The story whose end is Easter—
The Life of the Undefiled.

Told of the manger of Bethlehem,
And about the glittering star
That guided the feet of the shepherds
Watching their flocks from afar,

Told of the lovely Mother,
And the Baby who was born
To live on the earth among us
Bearing its sorrows and scorn.

And then I told of the life He lived
Those wonderful thirty years,
Sad, weary, troubled, forsaken,
In this world of sin and tears,

Until I came to the shameful death
That the Lord of Glory died,
Then the tender little maiden
Uplifted her voice and cried.

I came at length to the garden
Where they laid His form away,
And then in the course of telling
I came to the Easter day—

The day when sorrowing women
Came there to the grave to moan,
And the lovely shining angels
Had rolled away the stone.

I think I made her understand
As well as childhood can,
About the glorified risen life
Of him who was God and Man.

This year the fair Easter lilies
Will gleam through a mist of tears,
For I shall not see sweet Bessie
In all of the coming years.

When the snow lay white and thickest
She quietly went away
To learn from the lips of angels
The meaning of Easter day.

We put on the little body
The garments worn in life,
And laid her deep in the frozen earth
Away from all noise and strife.

We took all the dainty playthings,
And the dollies new and old,
And placed them in a sacred spot
With a tress of shining gold.

Were it not for the star of Bethlehem,
And the dawn of Easter day,
It would be to us most bitter
To put our darling away.

But we know that as the hard brown earth
Holds lilies regal and white,
So the lifeless, empty, useless clay
Held once an angel of light.

And I hope on the Easter morning
To look from the grave away,
Thinking not of the child that was,
But the child that is to-day.
Emily Baker Smalle.




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Volume 13, Number 24.        Copyright, 1886, by D. Lothrop & Co.        April 17, 1886.
three pictures: bird sailing at sunrise; storm at sea; ships on calm water



FIRST, through some of the busiest, narrowest, noisiest, dirtiest streets of New York City; if you have never hurried down them, you have no idea how much that means. A ferry boat, a bit of a ride, and I was in New York no more, but in New Jersey. The Jersey Central train stood waiting.

"All aboard for Long Branch," shouted an official. I did not want to go to Long Branch, but I hurried along as fast as though I did; the truth was, I knew my stopping place was not far away from that famous spot. In a few minutes we were off; not long before the smell of old ocean began to steal in at the windows, and at last we caught glimpses of beach stretching away in the distance.

Not a long ride, only a matter of a couple of hours on an express train, despite the many stations called out: "Matawan," and "Red Bank," and "Little Silver," and I know not how many more. At last, "Long Branch" and "Elberon;" then, in a few minutes more, "Ocean Grove and Asbury Park." At this, a great company of us began to scurry around and find our shawl straps, and lunch baskets, and what not.

I'm not going to tell you about Asbury Park; at least not much. Some other time I may say a good deal about this pretty city by the sea, but just now I'm anxious to tell of what happened at night. The day had been pleasant enough; not summer, but late spring, bright and sunshiny; we rejoiced over the thought of getting sight of the beautiful beach; reminding each other how lovely the sea looked by moonlight.

Alas, there was no moon for us that night! At least she did not once show her silver face; instead, the sky was black with clouds, and the sea took on its sullen look, and roared as it lashed the shore constantly with great angry waves. We shivered and tugged at our wraps as the wind tried to whirl them away, and said, as we turned to go home, how glad we were that we had no friends at sea. "The ocean looks cruel," said Grace; "I don't like him to-night."

Then we went home to our bright room; drew the curtains, closed the shutters, stirred the fire to a cheery blaze, and chatted and laughed and were happy, quite shutting out the roar of the angry sea. But he did not calm; the waves ran high, and the sullen roar kept increasing, until, by midnight, we knew it was what seamen call a gale. Occasionally we heard the fog bell toll out, and once more we were glad that we had no dear ones at sea.

Somebody had, though; and while we slept quietly, knowing nothing of it, brave men were awake and at work. A danger signal was seen just off shore; what excitement there was! How did the men of the life-saving crew know that they were needed? They had been disbanded for the summer, the dangerous season being supposed to be over; and here was blowing one of the worst storms of the winter! I don't know how they heard the news. Their hearts waked and watched, perhaps; anyway, they came, great stalwart men, and in a twinkling opened their boathouse, and got out their apparatus which had been carefully put away, and before the third signal went up through the stormy water, were ready for action.

I don't know how they did it. At this time of which I write, they had no regular lifeboat such as is now in use; they were not regularly manned for work in any way. Never mind, they did it. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Oh, I do not know how many people rode, some way, over the stormy water, on a rope, and reached the shore. Drenched, powerless, almost breathless, yet alive! Who do you think was one of the first to arrive that night? Why, a little baby less than three months old! What! She did not cling to ropes! Oh, no. All she did was to lie in utmost quiet in the hands of a great strong man; he was lashed to the rope in such a way that the men on shore could pull him in, but the baby he held in his two strong hands, as high above the fury of the waves as the hands would reach. What if he had dropped her? Then the sea would have swallowed her in an instant? An awful journey, but the baby did not know it. She must have gasped a little for breath, and she may have cried, but no one heard her; the roaring ocean took care of that.

You don't see how she lived through it? They did not think she could; not even the mother, when she took a second to kiss her, before she gave her into the strong arms, thought that she should ever see her darling again. But[187] it was the only possible way of escape; they could but try. So the baby rode into shore, and I think as many as a hundred mothers stood waiting to receive her, with hot blankets enough to smother her, and warm milk enough to drown her in; for it had gotten abroad in some way that a baby was on board the sinking ship. If you could have heard the shout that went up when the baby was landed in the arms of one mother, who said, after a second of solemn hush: "Yes, she is living!" you would have felt as though you almost knew what a life was worth.

The next morning what a walk we had along the coast! How still the sea lay; the waves crept up softly one after another as if so ashamed of their last night's work that they would a little rather not be seen or heard at all. Bits of board, and old tarred rope, and barrel staves and seaweed lined the beach for miles, and coffee sacks by the hundred kept washing in to shore. The vessel had been laden with coffee. People were very busy putting the beach in order, planning how to reach the wreck, wondering whether she could be gotten off, or would have to lie half-buried in the sand and slowly fall to pieces. Here and there were groups of people, listening, while one man talked excitedly; he was a sailor and had his wonderful story to tell of danger and escape. But the happiest man on the beach that morning was one who rubbed his hands in actual glee, and smiling broadly on every one who came up to him, would say in a loud, glad voice, "Yes, I lost everything I had in the world, but my wife and children are all here; yes, baby and all!" and then he would wipe the great tears from his eyes, and laugh so loud and glad a laugh that all the people around would have to join it.

All his children safe! They clustered around him, several sturdy-looking boys, and I watched them with eager interest. Were they all safe? Could the father be sure? The ocean had not swallowed them, but suppose some awful rum saloon caught them in its clutches and drew them in and in until they went down in a storm of drunkenness to utter ruin! What was an ocean storm to that? Pitiless ocean, rave as it might, could not touch the soul; but the rum saloon has power to destroy both body and soul. What joy there was over the three-months-old baby! and yet she may live to be a drunkard's wife, and a drunkard's mother, and to cry out in bitterness of soul because the ocean did not swallow her that night. Isn't it strange and sad to think of? The father thought his children safe, and yet so many oceans of temptation lay ready to engulf them! none more bitter, more fierce, more wide-spread in its raging, than this ocean of alcohol. Dear boys and girls, what can we do to help save the children for their fathers? Will you all join the life-saving crew, and work with a will, to rescue victims from this ocean?

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MANY a picture of moving pathos appears in the dark gallery of drunkenness. We have seen but few more touching ones than this from the pen of Mrs. M. A. Kidder. She describes little Benny, the son of a drunken father, sitting in a room with his mother and little sister. By looking at this sad and thoughtful face one would have taken him to be ten years of age, yet he was but six. No wonder. For four years this almost baby had been used to seeing a drunken father go in and out of the cottage. He scarcely remembers anything from him but cruelty and abuse. But now he is dead! The green sod had lain on his grave a week or so, but the terrible effects of his conduct were not buried with him. The poor children would start with a shudder at every uncertain step on the walk outside, and at every hesitating hand upon the latch. On the day mentioned Benny's mother was getting dinner. "Will my little son go to the wood-shed, and get mother a few sticks to finish boiling the kettle?"

"I don't like to go to the wood-shed, mamma."

"Why, my son?"

"Because there is a pair of father's old boots out there, and I don't like to see them."

"Why do you mind the old boots, Benny, any more than the old coat and hat upstairs?"

"Because," said Benny, tears filling his blue eyes, "they look as if they wanted to kick me."

Oh the dreadful after-influence of a drunken father to innocent children! what an awful memory to bear through life!—Richmond Christian Advocate.

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By Paranete.


"WHEN morning came," continued my friend, "how disconsolate I was! In all my wanderings I had never had the misfortune to be cast out and trodden under foot of men before! The sun was shining beautifully, the dew was glittering on the blades of grass, the birds were singing, and the flowers were blooming sweetly, but I was unhappy.
two dogs

"Suddenly a little boy and girl turned the corner, and walked swiftly up towards that part of the walk where I was. The little girl uttered an exclamation:

"'Good luck, Fred! I've found a pin!' and she picked me up and put me in her belt. They walked along, talking merrily, when a butterfly flew along the walk. The little boy ran after it, and soon had it under his hat. 'Let me have that pin, Bess,' he said, and when she had given me to him he pinned his handkerchief over the hat, with me and another pin that he had, and walked home bareheaded.

"Reaching their house, he went up to his room, threw the other poor pin out of the window, and, much to my dismay, impaled the butterfly on me. How horrid I felt! I would have shuddered if I could, for how cruel was the boy to make me the innocent instrument of the death of a poor winged insect, that had been so bright and happy but a few moments before!

"But just then his sister came along, and seeing the butterfly fluttering on me, gradually losing its strength, she uttered an exclamation of horror, and let the poor thing go, placing me where she had before. Her brother Fred came in.

"'Now, Bess, that's mean! What possessed you to let my butterfly go?'

"'Because it was so cruel, Fred dear. I couldn't bear to see it struggling so!' and a tear came into her eye.

"Her brother muttered something about girls' tender feelings.

"That day as Bessie and her mother were sitting sewing on the piazza of their house, her mother wanted a pin, and so she speedily delivered me into the lady's hands. She used me for some sewing a little while, and then put me on a little pincushion in her work-box, where I remained for about a week.

"Then there was a commotion in the house. I learned from various talks that Fred with a good many other boys, was going camping into the woods, and they were busy getting ready for his departure. He was off at last. He had a gun, a satchel full of clothing, and an umbrella. Just as he was going out of the door, and his mother was kissing him good-by, she said:

"'Fred, wait a moment. I didn't give you any pins, and you may need some.'

"So saying, she took me and a few others from the cushion in her work-box, and putting them hastily on Fred's coat, bade him good-by again, and he started.

"I cannot tell you all the fun that the boys had in the woods; they seemed perfectly happy,[189] and fished, and shot poor animals, and climbed, all the time. Wherever Fred went, I went too.

"At night they would go into the tents, and lie down, sleeping soundly all night, and getting up early in the morning, to eat what they had caught latest the day before. All night I kept watch over Fred's pillow, in his coat that was hanging on a nail driven into one of the tent-poles.

"One day one of the dogs came to the place where the boys were taking dinner, sniffing around their legs, and showing as plainly as possible that he had discovered something. The boys hastily finished their dinner, and followed the noble animal into the woods. Soon the dog stopped, and looking ahead, they saw, by a pool, a splendid deer drinking, little suspecting what danger there was near.

butterfly in branches

"'Fire!' said the boys' leader; and a dozen shots went crashing into the poor deer's side. It fell down dying. One of the boys went over to examine it. When he reached it, it gave one faint struggle, and expired. But a boy that had remained thought it was yet alive, and fired another shot, taking care not to aim at the one who had gone forward. But he was just bending over to examine the horns of the animal, and the shot went crashing into his leg! Then there was an uproar! The boys all rushed forward, my master among them, and examined the poor boy's leg, which was bleeding very badly.

"'Where is a bandage?' said some one. So the leader took out of his pocket a very large handkerchief, and wound it tightly just above the wound. The blood stopped flowing. 'Where is a string to tie it with?' he said. No one had one, but Fred put his hand to his coat, and taking me from it, said, 'Here is a pin, Tom. Pin it quick!'

"So the handkerchief was pinned tightly around the leg, and the blood didn't ooze out any more. However, the wound pained the poor boy very much. The others fixed him pretty comfortably on the soft body of the deer, while two of them went for a doctor as fast as possible.

"It was two hours before he came.

"'Not very serious,' he said, at which every body drew a long breath of relief. 'But it would have been,' he continued, 'if you hadn't pinned this bandage on so securely. He would certainly have bled to death.'

"You may imagine that I felt proud then. I had saved a life! If it had not been for me the boy would have died! To be sure, another pin would have done, but then it was—me! I felt that I was doing wrong to be so proud, and like[190] everyone who sins, I got my punishment. When the doctor undid the bandage, he carelessly threw me on the ground, and paid no more attention to me, for when he replaced a better bandage on the limb, he used a wide strip of cloth to fasten it with.

"You can not imagine my feelings then! There I was, cast on the ground in the woods, where nobody would ever find me. I would rust, and fall to pieces! I would never be moved from that lonesome, dreary place. And it was my fault! I felt that it was my punishment for feeling so proud. To be sure, the doctor did not know that I was proud when he threw me on ground, but I felt 'in my bones,' as it were, that it was my punishment for feeling so lofty because I had been the humble means of saving a life. The agony of those few moments will be a lesson to me through life, and if I ever feel lofty and haughty again, I shall be surprised.

"I say 'those few moments,' for soon, some of the boys came to remove the body of the deer, and Fred, who was among them, happening to see me on the ground said:

"'Halloo! I guess I'll pick you up. I've learned how useful a pin may be.'

"So my stay on the ground in the woods was not long, for he returned me to the lining of his coat."

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GOD loves Pansies, with their child-like faces
Looking up, catching every ray of light,
Seeking to be fair in the Father's sight.
One who owneth all their charms and graces,
Lighting up, like them, earth's desert places,
Claims sweet sisterhood with these blossoms bright;
Hears God's voice saying to her, "Pansy, write!"
In letters purple with love, she traces
With golden pen the Saviour's message true;
Myriad voices in Heaven will repeat,
"Pansy, lessons of love they've learned from you;
And lay their crowns with you, at Jesus' feet."
From your sweet Pansy blooms of purest thought
My soul a glimpse of Heaven's joy hath caught.

Rockville, Mass. With the love of Arbutus.
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FROM 1797 until 1849, a period of fifty-two years, Mary Lyon lived upon this earth. Some lives seem too short. To us they appear to be broken off at the wrong place—in the midst of earnest successful work—and we wonder how the world can get along without them. And so I suppose it must have seemed to those interested in the grand work of education in which Mary Lyon was engaged when she at the command of the Master laid down the burden and slept the last sleep. For thirty-five years she had been using her talents and her energies in training up young girls for noble womanhood. Like others in our list of Remarkable Women, her early home was among the New England hills. As another has expressed it, "On the little mountain farm the child saw the flax grow to make her single summer dress, and herself petted and fed the lambs and sheep which gave the wool to keep her warm in winter. The fairy flax flowers, blue as heaven, delighted her eyes." And we may believe that later she watched the process of preparing the flax for the wheel and loom, and we are told that the little girl in her homespun dress which made her no oddity in the old-time country school, was earnest and diligent in her studies, standing at the head of her classes and steadily advancing in scholarship. Mary Lyon early realized that life was not meant for a play-day, and when at the age of seventeen she became a teacher, she took with her into the schoolroom a strong faith and earnest endeavor for the highest development of her pupils. She sought more than mental progress—even moral and spiritual growth. Though she taught, leaving her impress for good in other places, Mt. Holyoke Seminary, at South Hadley, stands as her monument. The founding of this school was her great work, and in thousands of homes her influence is still felt. Many of our mothers and grandmothers are living lives of usefulness, the inspiration of which was drawn from lessons learned of this most remarkable of teachers. Mary Lyon was one of the great teachers of this world. If there should be among the girls who read this article those who expect to become[191] teachers, let me urge you to study the life of Mary Lyon. See if you can find out the secret of her success; go over the record of her struggle with the difficulties encountered in those days when Mt. Holyoke Seminary was getting a foothold. One has said that "the story of Mary Lyon and her work should be read by every young girl who desires to know the meaning of a noble and consecrated life." I think you will find the secret of her successful life lies in the fact of its being a consecrated life; consecrated to the high and noble purpose for which she labored. Believing "that Christian women inspired with Christian zeal would be powerful promoters of the kingdom of Christ in this world," she sought to perfect a plan whereby young girls might be brought under the influences which would tend to inspire their hearts, awaken their powers, and prepare them for the positions of influence which they might be called to occupy. With a sublime faith in the leadership of Christ, a belief that she was called to do this thing, she fought out the battle, accomplished her mission and left behind her in many hearts a spirit akin to her own. Out from the sweet, sacred influences of this first collegiate school for girls established in this country, have gone thousands of noble women. Some have gone to carry the word of life into the dark places of earth, showing the beauty of a Christian home as contrasted with the heathen homes; some have gone out to establish other schools of like character; and on mission fields, in homes everywhere and in schools and in society, the spirit which so long ago found expression in that consecrated life is still influencing the world for good.
Faye Huntington.
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YOU naughty old dog
Just run right away!
For Annie and I
Are going to play.
And then Minnie struck
Old Rover's thick hide
With her dimpled hand
As he stood at her side.

"Why, Minnie! how can you?"
Said sweet Annie May.
"Have you never been told
Of that terrible day
When the waters went mad
With foaming and strife,
And Rover, good dog,
Saved your dear little life?

"All night the Delaware
Rose; and then
While papa was gone
For boats and for men,
Mamma, she cuddled you
Safe and warm,
And left you for Rover
To guard from harm

"While she tried to save
A few things more.
But when she returned
Through the water's roar,
Your cradle was gone!
And old Rover, too.
Poor mamma! she cried
'Oh what shall I do!'

"Papa came back and took us away,
Searching for you
The rest of the day.
At night, a fisherman
Sailed o'er the deep,
With you in your cradle
Fast asleep!

"He found old Rover
Towing you down
To a little island
Near the town.
All day careful vigil
Rover had kept,
While you, all unconscious,
Had smiled and slept."

Now Rover was hugged!
And blue eyes were wet,
As Minnie said, low,
"I shall never forget!
When I've anything good
He shall have a big part;
And a great big place
All his own, in my heart."
S. R. Sill.


Dog with a scarf over his head


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Volume 13, Number 25.        Copyright, 1886, by D. Lothrop & Co.        April 24, 1886.

Deep within the frozen earth,
Fairest seeds of bloom are sleeping.
Waiting May's re-echoing mirth—
April's days of tender weeping.

Palest blooms and richest dyes
In these close-shut cells are hidden
Fragrance rare, all breathless lies,
E'en its gentlest sigh forbidden.

Are there not lives sad and drear
Fairest seeds of heart bloom holding,
Waiting for kind words of cheer,
Waiting Love for their unfolding?

Linda M. Duvall.




By Margaret Sidney.


BETSEY, the farmer's wife, put up a lunch large enough to last a couple of voyagers for a two days' journey, and bustled around in her quickest style, so that she ran out to the barn with her big basket as Farmer Bassett drew a long breath and declared himself ready to start.

"Do hurry, John," she begged, setting her basket within the sleigh, "those poor creeters must be half-starved, let alone their crying theirselves eenamost to death."

Then her motherly heart that had taken up entirely the cause of the boys, allowed throbs of pity to be felt on Thomas' account as she saw the effect of her words upon him, and she hastened to add—"You'll make pretty quick time after you git on the road, and boys always know how to have a good time as long as daylight lasts, at any rate."

"You better believe, Betsey," declared Farmer Bassett, "that we will not let the grass, or the snow rather, accumulate under our feet, will we, Jack?" caressing his horse. "There, Mr. —— what'd you say your name was?" turning to the man beside him.

"Thomas, sir—Thomas Bradley. But I'm better known as Mr. Bangs' man, bad luck to the day I shirked a bit. But I'll catch it enough when I get home, though"—

"And serves you quite right, Thomas," observed Farmer Bassett; "well, get in, and we'll be off. Good-by, mother!" He didn't kiss her; it was not the New England way in which they had both been reared, but he did look at her round, comely face with such an expression in his gray eyes that a smile went back to him from the lips firmly folded together—"Take care of yourself now, an' the house, I'll be along in the mornin'."

Then he got into the sleigh, and tucking up the well-worn robes around his companion and himself, signified to Jack by a loud "g'lang!" that he was expected to start.

"I s'pose you're going to talk to me now," said Thomas awkwardly, after they had turned the corner from which the last view of the comfortable red farmhouse could be seen, "and give me a piece of your mind for leaving them chaps and disobeying master. You've a good right, I'm sure, being as you're getting me out o' the scrape."

"I ain't one to do preachin' to other folks," said the farmer shortly. "I have enough to do to take care o' my own sins."

Thomas stared in amazement into the tough, leathery face. That any one who could claim the least right, should let slip to "give it to" another man caught in a peccadillo, he could not understand, and he took the only way to find relief that came to his mind. When he finished scratching his head in a perplexed way, he relapsed into silence that was not broken till at least half the distance to Sachem Hill was traversed.

Then the old farmer began to converse, but on general topics, and in such a cheery way, that his travelling companion came a bit out of his shamefaced despondency feeling as if there might be a chance even for him in the world once more.

By the time that Jack jingled them into the vicinity of Mr. Bangs' summer cottage, the two were in such a good state of mind that any one meeting them would have said it was only a pleasure excursion that drew them out to enjoy the night.

And now Thomas sat erect and drew his breath fast, while his eyes, strained to their utmost, pierced the gathering darkness for the first glimpse of the house.

"Turn here up this lane, master," he begged suddenly, "it's a short cut," and the old farmer lashed Jack, all the time begging the astonished animal's pardon, while he hurried up the back way as directed.

"Good—oh!" groaned Thomas, pulling his arm, and pointing with a shaking hand. Farmer Bassett more intent on the feelings of the faithful horse, and on getting on, had not glanced up. At this cry of distress he did, and now saw with Thomas a bright light gleaming from one of the upper windows of the Bangs' cottage.

"It's FIRE!" said Thomas hoarsely, plucking[195] him by the arm again. "We must 'a' left somethin' smoulderin' in the fire-place"—

"Nonsense," said the farmer reassuringly. Nevertheless he gave Jack another cut that made him jounce at a fearful rate up to the back veranda.

Thomas leaped out and sped up the steps. Farmer Bassett tarried only long enough to fasten Jack to the hitching-post, throw his blanket over him, and give one pat on his head, then followed.

"Boys!" screamed Thomas, racing up and down the veranda, and shaking the doors, "are you in there?"

But only the branches of the trees creaked in the cold wind for answer. Thomas stamped in very fury.

"See here," said the old farmer, down on the ground and pointing up, "look at their heads. They're all safe an' sound, an' not half as cold as you an' I."

With that he sent out such a halloo that Thomas on the veranda clapped his hands to his ears. It had the effect desired, for at least two of the windows in the gable end of the cottage were thrown up, and as many boys' heads as could possibly be accommodated, were thrust out.

"Halloo, Thomas, halloo," called one voice in derision, "don't you wish you were here too?"

"You're a nice one," said Master Wingate, "and won't you catch it, though, when you get home. You'll be place-hunting as soon as you can say 'Jack Robinson'"—

"See here, you young scamp," shouted the old farmer, "it will be for your interest to end that sort of talk, now I tell you. You just step down lively an' open one of these doors. We've cooled our heels enough comin' to look for you an' don't propose to stand here any longer. Hurry up, now."

The boys stared in astonishment down into as much of his face as the darkness would permit them to see, and recognizing from the quality of his voice that a parley would not be acceptable, drew in their heads and proceeded to obey the order.

"Who is the old party?" cried one of the boys as they ran over the stairs.

"I don't know," returned Wingate, "I'm sure."

"Don't let us open the door then," urged another boy; "see here, Wingate," laying a detaining hand on his arm, "you are not obliged to—nobody has a right to order you to unlock your father's house. Don't do it; we'll lose all the fun of keeping Thomas out till we've had the fun of scaring him all we want to."

Master Wingate hesitated. But a vigorous rap on the dining-room door at the foot of the staircase, made him start, and a loud imperative—"Hurry up, there," caused him to redouble his speed.

"I guess we better let 'em in," he said, and slid back the bolt.

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I SUPPOSE you all have heard of the mirage, which is a delusion of the eye, and which often deceives the poor traveller across the weary, pathless desert. Sometimes, when the caravan is about to give up, and lie down to die of weariness and thirst, they will suddenly feel their courage revived by the sight, as they suppose, of a lovely oasis, with lofty palms and silvery fountains.

Not long since I was reading an account of a whole regiment who when the Egyptians first conquered Nubia were destroyed. The poor creatures saw this mirage, and ordered their guide to take them thither. He insisted that it was only the delusive mirage, and, in their anger, they fell upon and killed him. The regiment then rushed for the supposed lake. Faint and weary they hurried over the hot sands. Oh! how those sparkling silvery waters allured them on!

But soon the cooling lake turned into sand! And the whole regiment lay down on the burning sands, and when found by Arabs, sent to search for them, they were all dead.

Now, dear little friends, there are some so-called pleasures in life which allure us like the mirage—but let us not be deceived. Let us choose the better part, which can never be taken from us.

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THIS is something as Miss Agnes Hedenstrom looked when she was eight years old, and living among her wealthy relatives in Upsala. She was an orphan, petted by everybody and allowed to have her own way.

Thus she grew up, apparently a spoiled child.

She was not happy, however, though indulged with whatever she wished. She felt the need of something else.

Girl playing a lute

One day she heard a Swedish minister preach, and soon after Agnes gave her heart to Jesus. Strangely enough, she began herself to preach to her people, now in schoolhouses, now in great halls.

Often she would address on the streets of London great crowds of the worst sort of people.

For years she thus toiled on among the wretched and wicked and dangerous people who infested East London.

Once she was speaking alone in an awful place to twenty drunken sailors while they yelled and blasphemed. Still she continued as best she could to tell them the wondrous story of redeeming love. Think of the "spoiled Agnes" coming to be such a brave, true woman! She still shudders to remember those awful moments when she did not know but those wretches would tear her to pieces. They did not. They became quiet and subdued. The next evening they came, bringing some of their comrades with them.

Then came a lecture room by her efforts; then a larger one. A few years ago Miss Agnes went among the good people of London and told them about the wretched people among whom she was laboring, especially the wicked sailors.

They gave her money to build a Home for sailors, when they come on shore without friends and an army of saloons to tempt them to drink and waste all their earnings in "riotous living."

Well, after waiting some months for the builders to finish the work, she clapped her hands—not on her guitar as when she was a child—but together as she walked through this Home.

She is sole manager of the sailors' boarding-house. There she sees that the beds are clean and the meals good. She has books and papers, and best of all, her dear Master Jesus in this Home.

More than a thousand sailors are thought to have been saved from their awfully wicked ways through this wonderful Agnes Hedenstrom.

Some one has said that God can thresh a mountain with a worm. Would not you like to be the worm in his hand?

C. M. L.
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An English acre consists of 6,272,640 square inches; and an inch deep of rain on an acre yields 6,272,640 cubic inches of water, which at 277,274 cubic inches to the gallon makes 22,622.5 gallons; and as a gallon of distilled water weighs 10 lbs., the rainfall on an acre is 226,225 lbs. avoirdupois; counting 2,240 lbs, as a ton, an inch deep of rain weighs 100.993 tons, or nearly 101 tons per acre. For every hundredth of an inch a ton of water falls per acre.

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A FEW years ago I copied from a marble slab, imbedded in the earth upon a grave in a quiet country cemetery at Cornwall, Ct., the following inscription:
Henry Obookiah of Owhyee,
Died February 17, 1818, aged 26.

His arrival in this country gave rise to the Foreign Mission School of which he was a worthy member. He was once an idolator and designed for a Pagan priest; but by the grace of God, and by the prayers and instructions of pious friends, he became a Christian. He was eminent for piety and missionary zeal; was almost prepared to return to his native island to preach the Gospel when God called him. In his last moments he wept and prayed for his "Ow-hy-hee," but was submissive to the will of God and died without fear, with a heavenly smile on his face and glory in his soul.

This remarkable young man was early made an orphan by the cruel massacre of both father and mother during a fearful struggle of two parties for the control of his native island, Hawaii. His younger brother was also slain while the boy of our sketch was endeavoring to save him by carrying him upon his back in his flight. Obookiah was taken prisoner and made a member of the family of the man who had murdered his parents. After a year or two he was discovered by an uncle, and his release from the hands of his enemy secured. His uncle was a priest and he entered upon the work of preparing his young nephew for the same service. This preparation was very different from the preparation of young men in Christian lands for the work of the Gospel ministry. One part of his duty was to learn and to repeat long prayers; sometimes he was forced to spend the greater part of the night in repeating these prayers in the temple before the idols. But Henry was not happy; he had seen his parents and little brother cruelly murdered, and thoughts of the terrible scene and of his own lonely and orphaned condition preyed upon his mind continually. But he had passed through still another sad experience. Before peace was restored in the island he was again taken prisoner together with his father's sister. He succeeded in making his escape the very day which had been appointed for his death. His aunt was killed by the enemy, and this made him feel more sad and lonely than before, and he resolved to leave the island, hoping that if he should succeed in getting away from the place where everything reminded him of his loss he might find peace if not happiness; and this is how he was to be brought under Christian influences in Christian America. He sailed with Captain Britnall and landed in New York in the year 1809. He remained for some time in the family of his friend the captain, at New Haven. And here he became acquainted with several of the students in Yale College, who were at once interested in this young foreigner, and from one of these friends he learned to read and write.

His appearance was not prepossessing or promising. His clothes were those of a rough sailor and his countenance dull and expressionless. But he soon showed that he was neither dull nor lacking in mental power.

For some time, while Obookiah improved in the knowledge of English, making good progress in his studies, he was unwilling to hear any talk about the true God. He was amiable and quite willing to be taught, and drank in eagerly the instruction given on other subjects, but after some months he began to pray to the true God. He had a friend, also a Hawaiian and his first prayer in the presence of another was made in company with his friend. A copy of this prayer has been preserved and I copy it for you to show how even in the beginning of his own interest in Gospel truth, his thoughts turned towards his native country.

"Great and eternal God—make heaven—make earth—make everything—have mercy on me—make me understand the Bible—make me good—great God, have mercy on Thomas—make him good—make Thomas and me go back to Hawaii—tell folks in Hawaii no more pray to stone god—make some good man go with me to Hawaii, tell folks in Hawaii about heaven"—

From this time until he died his one longing was to go back to his early home and tell the[198] people about God. He used to talk with his friend Thomas about it and plan the work. In his diary he wrote at one time:

"We conversed about what we would do first at our return, how we should begin to teach our poor brethren about the religion of Jesus Christ. We thought we must first go to the king or else we must keep a school and educate the children and get them to have some knowledge of the Scriptures and give them some idea of God. The most thought that come into my mind was to leave all in the hand of Almighty God; as he seeth fit. The means may be easily done by us, but to make others believe, no one could do it but God only."

In April, 1817, a Foreign Mission School was opened at Cornwall. And Obookiah became a pupil in this school, intending to finish his preparation for work among his own people as soon as practicable. A description of this Sandwich Islander as given of him at that time may be of interest: "He was a little less than six feet in height, well-proportioned, erect, graceful and dignified. His countenance had lost every trace of dullness, and was in an unusual degree sprightly and intelligent. His features were strongly marked, expressive of a sound and penetrating mind; he had a piercing eye, a prominent Roman nose, and a chin considerably projected. His complexion was olive, differing equally from the blackness of the African and the redness of the Indian. His black hair was dressed after the manner of Americans."

As a scholar he was persevering and thorough. After he had gained some knowledge of English, he conceived the idea of reducing his native language to writing. As it was merely a spoken language, everything was to be done. He had succeeded in translating the Book of Genesis and made some progress in the work of making a grammar and dictionary. But the work he had planned was not to be finished by his own hand. Within a year from the time he entered the school at Cornwall he was called home. As recorded upon the marble slab, his last thoughts were for his native island; his last earthly longing was, that the Gospel might be preached to his own countrymen. One of our popular cyclopędias gives a brief mention of this remarkable young man and makes this statement: "He was the cause of the establishment of American Missions in the Sandwich Islands."

To have so lived, and by his earnestness and zeal so inspired others that upon his death they were ready to take up and carry forward the work he had planned, was to have accomplished even more than he could had he been permitted to enter upon the work for which he was preparing.

Faye Huntington.
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A HOLE in the pocket's a very bad thing,
And brings a boy trouble faster
Than anything under the sun, I think.
My mother, she calls it disaster.
For all in one day,
I lost, I may say,
Through a hole not as big as a dollar,
A number of things,
Including some rings
From a chain Fido wore as a collar,

My knife, a steel pen, a nice little note
That my dear cousin Annie had sent me.
The boy who found that, pinned it on to his hat,
And tries all the time to torment me.
I'd lost a new dime
That very same time,
But it lodged in the heel of my stocking;
And one thing beside,
Which to you I confide,
Though I fear you may think it quite shocking:

The doctor had made some nice little pills
For me to take home to the baby;
But, when I reached there, I was quite in despair,
They had slipped through my pocket, it may be.
Aunt Sallie, she,
As cool as can be,
Said, a hole in a boy's reputation,
Is harder to cure,
And worse to endure,
Than all pockets unsound in the nation.

Still a hole in the pocket's a very bad thing,
And I am sure a real cause of disaster.
But baby is well; so you must never tell;
Perhaps he got well all the faster.
Gwinnet Howard, in Independent.
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Round the Family Lamp
AND now we must begin to confess, very reluctantly it is true, that the long evenings we have had the past few months around the Family Lamp are slowly growing shorter and shorter. Before we can have time to realize it very deeply somebody will say, "Oh! don't light the lamp just yet, it is so much pleasanter to sit in the twilight," and then it won't seem but about ten minutes, and the children and young folks will be whisked off to bed, and the games will be crowded entirely off the programme, and the Family will feel as if it had no good-night frolic at all. So we must get all the fun we can, and to-night we propose as a grand bit of sport—


Choose all your players if you can beforehand, so as to have each one select his and her color. As far as possible, wear as much of that color, putting away all other colors, on dress, in button-hole of coat, or scarf around in Highland fashion on the boys' coats, and be sure to tie a bright bow of ribbon of same color on stem of pipe. A player can decorate himself or herself in any way he or she chooses. Variety makes the game all the more brilliant. A cap trimmed with one's color is always pretty for the girls, and toques or soldier caps for the boys.

Dissolve a quarter of an ounce of Castile or oil soap cut up in small pieces, in three quarters of a pint of water, and boil for two or three minutes; then add five ounces of glycerine. When cold, this fluid will produce the best and most lasting bubbles that can be blown.

Now make your soap-bubbles in a big bowl, and choose your sides, an equal number on each, and range them opposite each other, and begin. The side that can make and keep unbroken the largest number of bubbles, is the winner. To keep tally, one of the party must be chosen as judge. You will have plenty of sport. I wish some of you would write me all about your fun.

Margaret Sidney.
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ONE pleasant April Sabbath, the parish clerk of a church in Wiltshire, England, stood at his reading-desk turning to the morning "lesson" in the great Prayer-Book. The congregation waited to give the responses, but he did not begin as soon as usual. Something curious had caught his eye, partly hidden under the Bible-rack, a small, slanting ledge or platform, slightly raised above the main desk. He looked more closely, and there, directly beneath the great Bible, he saw a robin-redbreast's nest, with two pretty blue eggs in it. Mrs. Redbreast and her mate had found a hole left by a small missing pane in one of the quaint old leaden windows, and entered the sacred house to make their little home where the sparrow and the swallow did that the sons of Korah sing of in the eighty-fourth Psalm. The clerk could not resent so pretty an intrusion, and did not disturb the nest; and when one of the birds flew in before the close of service, neither he nor any one of the congregation thought of doing anything to frighten it. And there the nest remained through the rest of April and nearly the whole of May, the redbreasts becoming so tame that the gathering of the worshippers and the voices and music of the service on Sundays or other days did not alarm them away. The sitting bird would stay, quietly brooding her eggs, while the clerk was reading, almost directly over her head. After the young were hatched, the male robin would fly in with worms in his bill to feed them, and his coming never disturbed the people's litany or the rector's sermon. This pleasant sanctuary partnership lasted till the full-fledged young were able to leave the church and trust to their own wings. Everybody felt that the birds had brought a blessing with them, and were sorry when they went away.—Selected.
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cherubs sitting in tree playing instruments
Merry Jack Frost and his fairy elves
Came by for a raid one night
When the spring was young, and a rosebud fair,
In a sheltered nook, which the perfumed air
And the sunbeams, warm and bright,
Had wooed for a month, 'till its dainty brow
Was bright as the flush of dawn,
Shone fair 'neath the moon; "'Tis a goodly sight!
I'll cover it o'er with a veil of white,"
Quoth Jack; "ha! ha! and the morning light
Will shine on its glory, gone!"
He gathered his elves for the mischievous prank,
When lo! with a mournful sigh,
The south wind called to a pitying cloud,
"O look! they're weaving the rosebud's shroud."
She paused in the midnight sky,
And glanced at the rose. "Is her doom so near?
Poor bud!" and his tears fell fast.
Oh! the elves were caught in a mournful plight,
And the south wind laughed, and the frost-king's flight
Was a sight to see through the dusk of night,
For the cloud's soft tears overwhelmed him quite
As they fell on his vestments fine and white;
And the lovely Dawn, with her shafts of light,
Looked down on his glory, past!
May M. Anderson.
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MY Blossoms all, I wish you a sunshiny April. I know she is apt to shed many tears, but for that very reason we must try to keep our faces unusually bright, for contrast.

I have given you this month several letters from our Blossoms. This, in the future, will be a special feature for our P. S. Corner. I have been selfish in keeping all the sweet bright little letters to myself. There is room for only a very few out of the hundreds which come each month, but you may take them as specimens of the rest. I wish we had room to print them all, for your enjoyment. Meantime, send them on for me to read, that I may keep posted as to what you are doing, and discover in what ways I can best help you.

Lovingly,          Pansy.

Mary Louise from Florida. How glad it makes me to hear that the Whisper Motto helps you! It is sure to help every one who is faithful to it. That is a sweet thought of yours, to lend your Pansies to others. I wonder how many of our Blossoms think to do a little good in that way? It would be so easy, and might help somebody very much. Do you like the "land of flowers?" I spent a month there last winter, and had a very happy time. I go to de Funiak Springs, where the Sabbath-school Assembly holds its meetings. Perhaps you will go, and I shall meet you there. Would not that be pleasant? If you do, you must surely come to me and say: "I am Mary Louise," then I shall know you at once.

Lizzie from Connecticut. My dear, I pray for every name enrolled on our P. S. book. That God will make each Blossom fragrant for him, and take it some day to his heavenly garden, is my constant hope and prayer. Perhaps you need to use the prayer which I find very necessary for me every day: "Set a watch, O Lord, before my tongue. Keep the door of my lips."

Emma from Massachusetts. My dear, The Pansy is just twelve years old. Doesn't it travel over a large part of the world for one so young?

Lena from Massachusetts. We should be glad to hear about the entertainment. I hope you had a good time. Suppose you see how good a description you can write of it, and of your Sabbath-school?

Annie from Georgia. But I do not know that you are in Georgia now, my Blossom. Perhaps you have already moved to that "New home." If so, you will be able to write and tell me how you like it. I was glad to get your full name for enrollment.

Emma from Illinois. What success do you have with "impatience?" He is a very trying enemy; you certainly do well to rid yourself of him. But did you find it easy work? A little friend of mine said she could be just as patient as anybody when things went as she wanted them to; it was when nothing behaved right that she got impatient. I have known older people than she who might have said the same.

Alice from Vermont. My dear Blossom, I hope the badge reached you in safety and is helping you about taking care of those "things." Such little habits are great trials to "mamma," and I am sure our little Alice wants to be all the comfort she can to mother, especially now that God has taken the dear father and the sister home. I know how lonely you must be without them; but I hope you are trying every day to live so that when He calls you, it will be a joy for you to go and join your dear ones in their bright home.

Andrew from Dakota. Here comes another "impatient" boy! So they cannot be patient out in Dakota any better than they can farther East? Well, Satan seems to be busy bothering people all the world over. The Whisper Motto is just these three words: "For Jesus' Sake." We call it the Whisper Motto, not because we[2] want to hide it, but because we want to have it about with us all the time, speaking softly to our hearts when others cannot hear, perhaps when others are in the midst of talk which makes us feel cross, and we want to remember to give a "soft" answer because that is the only one which will please Jesus. There is no "charge" for membership in the P. S. There is a pledge to try to overcome some bad habit, and to adopt the Whisper Motto as one's own. We welcome you to our ranks, and have enrolled your name.

Helen from New Jersey. Oh, yes; we will try as hard as we can to help you. Whenever you see the meek little blossom on your badge, I hope it will put this verse into your mind: "For even Christ pleased not himself." If you think of this and try every time to do the thing you did not want to, so your life will be pleasing to Jesus, by and by it will grow so pleasant to you to think of what others want, that you will forget it was ever a trouble. I am glad you are going to try it.

Lanetta from New Hampshire. Not at all too late for good wishes, my friend; nine months of the year left to improve. Shall you and I try hard to make it the happiest year of our lives? What a quiet, pleasant Christmas you told me of! It rests me to think of your happy home.

Mildred from New York. Yes, I know, the little baby brother needs a great deal of patience. Sometimes it helps us to sit down in a corner by ourselves, and try to imagine how desolate the house would be without him. I know of a woman who sometimes sheds bitter tears, even now, because the last words she spoke to her little baby brother more than fifty years ago, were cross ones! Glad to receive your pledge.

Here is a lovely bouquet of Blossoms from Massachusetts: Cora, Ida, Bessie, Lizzie, Louise, Margaret. Just a sweet half-dozen. I hardly know a bouquet of which I think with so much pleasure as this one. Something whispers to me that some of them are trying hard to help the others. Perhaps all are trying. Like the rest of us, these Blossoms have work to do; weeds will grow in flower gardens, if not carefully watched. Here is the weed of "Carelessness" popping up its naughty head to trouble Louise; it is so much easier to leave the books or the playthings just where they happen to drop; at least it seems easier at the time. Try the other way, Louise, and see how much comfort you will get from it.

Margaret's sweet little tongue wants to speak, sometimes, when it would better keep silence; so many tongues attempt that! Margaret is going to teach hers that while "Speech is silver, silence is golden."

Cora's tongue, too, is sometimes tempted to speak naughty words; watch it, my child. Do you know the verse—

This one little tongue that God has given
Must always speak for him.
If we make our words always such as He will love to hear, we shall be safe.

Ida's tongue is tempted to whisper when it should be silent. Isn't it astonishing how many wrong things there are for tongues to do, and how sure they are to go wrong if they can! Ida, as well as the rest of us, needs this prayer: "Keep the door of my lips, that I sin not with my tongue."

Bessie is evidently tempted to move slowly, either with hands or feet, or both, when she should make all speed. I am glad indeed to hear that you are going to try to teach these members better.

And here is little Lizzie, the last of the group, who has a hard task indeed before her; she is going to try not to "do anything wrong." That sounds like a very large pledge; but after all, if we are soldiers of Jesus, it is no more than he asks: "Whether therefore ye eat or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God."

Dear Blossoms, I hope I shall hear often from you, that you are growing, and blooming, and spreading your fragrance for Jesus' sake.

George from Illinois. Welcome, my boy, to our roll. I am an excellent hand to read writing; just try me and see if I don't make yours out, without any trouble. Meantime, we, you and I, are very grateful to mamma for writing for you, and for all the kind words she speaks.

Anne from Washington. Your threefold pledge is very important; especially that one about "reading the Bible every day." If all the young people of this generation, or even if all[3] those who belong to the P. S., would make and keep that resolution through life, I am certain we should have a different world to live in, by the time they were old enough to help manage it. Dear me! What am I talking about? Not one of you but is old enough this minute to help manage the world, your little piece of it, and I haven't the least doubt but that you are doing it; the question is, How?

Ollie from Texas. Your first letter! Good! How glad I am you wrote the first one to me. But really I don't understand about the "squirrel." Didn't you find him on some other page? Think it up, my boy, and let us know. Meantime, I have enjoyed your letter.

Walter from Dakota. I acknowledge that it is very sad to think of one of my Blossoms as being "mad." But since it is only when you "get out of patience," and you have taken a pledge to keep yourself supplied with that article, we shall hope to hear better things of you very soon. We gladly welcome you.

Netta from Missouri. What a busy little woman you must be in school! Your studies are all important, and I hope I may think of you as one of the most faithful scholars in the room. Can I?

George from Illinois. I am sorry, my dear friend, that I have not a photograph for you. I have often thought what a pleasant thing it would be if I could afford to send a photograph of myself as a birthday gift to each of my Pansies! But alas, alas! my pocket book will not let me. No! I remember you did not ask me to give it; you were very polite. I will answer your question, however, as to where you can find it. L. E. Walker of Warsaw, New York, is authorized to furnish a good picture of me, and will reply promptly to your question as to price. I have forgotten what they cost; they are cabinet size. D. Lothrop & Co., Publishers of The Pansy, have also an engraving of me, which they will furnish for twenty-five cents on application.

Frank from Massachusetts. Dear little Blossom, I am glad to put your name on my roll. It isn't an easy matter to mind "just as quick!" It takes a boy with a good deal of strength of purpose to accomplish it. I am so glad you have decided to learn the lesson early. Did you ever hear of the great general who said no man was fit to command until he had learned to obey? It is true.

Paul from Maine. My boy, I like your rules very much; and your letter. I have just been writing to a dear little fellow who has the same fault to overcome; he will be glad to see you have joined his company. Are you acquainted with a namesake of yours, the grand old "Paul" of the Bible? He is a favorite character of mine. If you have not carefully studied his life, suppose you do it, and write out what you think of him, for me. Will you?

Marguerite from New York. Yes indeed, my little Daisy, you may join our society. We are glad for all the flowers we can get, and we hope they will bloom summer and winter, and be so sweet that all who come near them will feel their influence. I am glad you like "Reaching Out." It is to be continued through the year.

Harold from Boston. I hope the badge reached you safely. At first I was in great doubt, having received a nice letter from you, with no address, so the badge could be sent; but as soon as the second letter came, I attended to it. To "mind mother" is one of the very important duties in life. So important that God made a special command about it. I think you write an excellent letter for a boy of your age.

Lucy from Michigan. Thank you, my dear, for your interesting letter. I think your Band must be a very helpful one. One needs to do something of that sort, in order to realize how rapidly the pennies count up.

Jessie from Nebraska. So you are just a little inclined to "fret." Well, that is a very easy thing to do, and rather a hard thing to stop doing. I hope the badge will do its share in the work. I suspect the motto, however, will be more helpful than anything else. I enjoyed your letter very much.

Maud from Montana. Oh, yes, my dear, far-away Pansy, there are other Blossoms just as far; but if somebody should ask us what we were talking about—how far from where?—what should we tell them? This is such a big world, and the people who live in California think the people who live in Maine are very far away from them, but when I get a letter from a little missionary girl in China, she says, "I wish you did[4] not live so far away from us!" so how shall we count? The truth is, we are all away from home, on a journey; by and by, if we keep the right road, we shall all get home to our Father's house; then no one will be far away.

Horace from New Jersey. My boy, I know all about that habit of yours, what a temptation it is. I am rejoiced to think you are going to conquer it while you are young. One day I went to call on two ladies, sisters, who were both over fifty years old, and don't you think the younger one contradicted the elder in almost every statement she made! If we could have gotten hold of her when she was a little girl, and coaxed her to take a pledge to overcome the habit, she would not be such an ill-bred woman now.

Cora from New Hampshire. We welcome you and "sister Mabel" with great pleasure. There are a great many "hasty tempers" among our Blossoms. The world will certainly be the sweeter because of all the flowers that have decided to speak gentle words instead of hasty ones.

Rose from Pennsylvania. Did the badge help? I wonder what sort of things you "forgot" so much? Poor gold thimble! I wonder where it is hiding? I heard of a boy who forget to mail a letter for his father, and so was the means of his losing ten thousand dollars!

Rodney from Philadelphia. Another "quick" temper! All right, my boy; we have many to keep you company. We welcome "sister Clara" also. An "answer back" is almost certain not to be a "soft" answer; did you ever notice it?

My Dear Pansy:

Do you know I have read you for over three years, and I think you are just splendid! I want a badge to help me overcome the fault of fretting. When things don't go to suit me I am apt to fret. Near this town where I live there are prairie dog-towns, where prairie dogs, owls, and rattlesnakes all live together in one hole! I should think they would fight and kill each other, and I expect they do. I learned that piece from The Pansy, "The Little Quaker Sinner." I think it is real pretty. I like the story about the Deckers best of anything in The Pansy, but I like everything in it. I take the magazine to our school, and the teacher reads the story about Nettie and Jerry, aloud; the scholars all like it so much they can hardly wait until the next chapter comes. I have a brother named Paul. I would like to correspond with some Pansy Blossom; a little girl of about my own age.

Jessie Moxon.

Dear Pansy:

I want to tell you about our Pansy Band. It meets the first Saturday in every month; there are thirty-two members, boys and girls. We learn the missionary catechism, and each one repeats a verse from the Bible. Sometimes three or four are selected to write little papers on the subject for the month. We pay a penny apiece each Saturday; if any of us are absent, the next Saturday we bring two pennies; and then besides, we give our offering. Alice and I are trying to do right.

Your loving friend,
Lucy Taylor.

Dear Pansy:

I have a good many faults, but I want to overcome them. I think the worst one is not to mind promptly. I mean to take for my motto: "Do your duty promptly." I hope God will help me to keep it. Mamma found some rules in a paper, which she said if I would learn and obey, would please her very much. I am going to. I am nine years old; I love The Pansy very much. I want to be a Blossom in your garden. Please send me a badge.

Your loving friend,
Paul Thompson.
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Is there a Blossom among you who does not want to win success? I am sure I hope not. There is an old saying, into which is packed a deal of common sense. This is, "What has been done, can be done." Since there is truth in it, would it not be well for all who want to succeed, to study those who have succeeded? To this end, I want to introduce the Pansies to a book bearing the title which is at the head of this article. It is written by Mrs. Sarah K. Bolton of Cleveland, which name you will know, when you grow older, if you do not now, ensures it as delightfully written and worthy of all trust. A copy of the book lies on my desk at this moment. There is a sense in which it is not of much consequence how a book is dressed, and yet I do like to see one in a pretty dress, don't you?


This one is robed in a lovely gray tint, very like the color which used to be called "ashes of roses;" ask your mamma if she remembers that. It has an exquisite design in gold, representing the ocean, a ship riding its waves, a lighthouse streaming out its warning of rocks ahead, and a hint of harbor in the distance.

As to size, there are two hundred and forty-five pages clear type, with very good pictures of twelve grand men who were eminently successful in their various fields, and a brief sketch of each, given in Mrs. Bolton's inimitable style.

One of the faces is like the one I give you in this article—John H. Vincent. I would be glad to have all the Pansies acquainted with the man. Many hundreds of you have seen him at Chautauqua; I hope many thousands more of you will go there, and see and hear him. I believe he has more sympathy with, and heart for, and knowledge of young people, than any other great man whose name I know. These things being true, of course he can help young people, if they will let themselves be helped by him.

Who else is in the book? Oh, Whittier, the grand old poet, and Gough, the temperance orator, and Wanamaker, the Christian merchant and philanthropist, and Edison the great inventor, and Morton, whom so many of the sick and suffering have reason to bless, and half a dozen more whom you may not know quite so well by name, but will enjoy meeting.

I am anxious that the Pansies in their youth gather books about them which will not have to be cast aside as outgrown in a few months, but can be given honorable places on their library shelves when they are men and women.

This is why I am watching the books, and giving you their names, and a hint of their contents, and getting special rates for you. Now I have reached the remaining question of importance, viz., price. Regular price, one dollar; to members of the P. S., whose names are regularly enrolled on our list, sixty cents. Send to D. Lothrop & Co., Boston, if you are entitled to the book at that price.

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JAMES VICK, seedsman and florist (Rochester, N. Y.), sends out a "Portfolio of Rare and Beautiful Flowers." The choice of the subjects comprising the six large plates, painted from nature, is a most happy one; and the accompanying descriptions and history of these exquisite forms, in verse and prose, reflect great credit upon the editorial work. We predict for it a generous reception.

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THE motto of the Society is "Pansies for Thoughts." What kind of thoughts? Oh, sweet, good, pure, unselfish, hopeful thoughts, such as Pansies, beautiful Pansies ought to inspire.

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 April issues of the popular:

will be the following:

April 1. "The Pipers," by Jessie Curtis Shepherd. This charming picture is the very spirit of springtime—springtime of the greening earth, springtime of life, in the gay procession of children blowing on dandelion pipes.

April 15. "On Easter Day," by W. L. Taylor. This Easter picture is an exquisite idyl of the maid and the lily.

Already issued:

Oct. 1.  Little Brown Maiden.Kate Greenaway.
Oct. 15.  On Nantucket Shore.F. Childe Hassam.
Nov. 1.  In Grandmother's Garden.W. T. Smedley.
Nov. 15.  The Dream Pedler.E. H. Garrett.
Dec. 1.  Morning.F. H. Lungren.
Dec. 15.  Evening.F. H. Lungren.
Jan. 1.  Wild Ducks.Charles Volkmar.
Jan. 15.  In Holland.F. Childe Hassam.
Feb. 1.  The Three Fishers.Thomas Hovenden.
Feb. 15.  Under the Electric Light.     F. H. Lungren.
Mar. 1.  Two Connoisseurs.T. W. Wood, N. A.
Mar. 15.  Lost.W. L. Taylor.

The Wide Awake Art Prints are sent postpaid in pasteboard tubes for 50 cents each. Half yearly subscription, $5.50; yearly, $10.00.

of the beauty and art-educational value of the Art Prints:

"Will delight the artist, the art lover, and every friend of art-education."—Boston Beacon.

"Fine examples."—Art Union, N. Y.

"Deserve to be most popular."—Boston Sunday Times.

"Will give unfailing and refined pleasure."—Boston Transcript.

"We can very cordially praise the new Wide Awake Art Prints. They are wholly charming. We most unhesitatingly pronounce them admirable specimens of reproductive art, giving the character of the original work, and even the technical qualities of the artist's handling to a very remarkable degree. We wish that such charming gems of art could be in every home . . . for they will be a source of very great pleasure . . . and have a very important educational value."—Boston Post.

Price, 1.50.

To improve as well as to amuse young people is the object of these twenty-one sketches, and they fill this purpose wonderfully well. What boy can fail to be interested in reading an account of an excursion made in a balloon and a race with a thunder-storm? And is there a girl who would not enjoy an afternoon in the Christmas-card factory? It is a curious fact that only one hundred and thirty years ago the first umbrella was carried in London, much to the amusement of the ignorant, and now there are seven millions made every year in this country. And who would believe it possible that there was a large factory full of women who earned their living by making dolls' shoes. A bright girl or boy who insists to know something about the work done in the world, who does it, and how it is done, cannot fail to enjoy these stories. The writers are all well-known contributors to children's periodical literature, and the book will be a welcome addition to any child's library, and might be used with advantage as a reading book in schools.

Books particularly adapted for

History of the American People. By Arthur Gilman. 12mo, very fully illustrated. $1.50.

Young Folks' Histories. By Charlotte M. Yonge. Six volumes, cloth, illustrated. $1.50 each.

Popular Biographies, descriptive of such eminent men as Longfellow, Franklin and others. $1.50 each.

Our Business Boys. 60 cents.

Health and Strength Papers for Girls. 60 cts.

In Case Of Accident. The simplest methods of meeting the common accidents and emergencies. Illust. 60 cts.

Temperance Teachings of Science. 60 cents.

A Boy's Workshop. By a Boy. $1.00.

How Success is Won. By Sarah K. Bolton. $1.00.

Boys' Heroes. By Edward Everett Hale. $1.00.

Children of Westminster Abbey. By Rose G. Kingsley. $1.00.

Old Ocean. By Ernest Ingersoll. $1.00.

Dooryard Folks. By Amanda B. Harris. $1.00.

Great Composers. By Hezekiah Butterworth. $1.

Travelling Law School. By Benjamin Vaughan Abbott. $1.00.

Pleasant Authors. By Amanda B. Harris. $1.00.

Underfoot. By Laura D. Nichols. Geology in story. $1.25; cloth, $1.50.

Overhead. By Annie Moore and Laura D. Nichols. "Astronomy under the guise of a story." $1.25; cloth, $1.50.

Special rates will be made for introduction of our publications into schools. Correspondence solicited.

D. LOTHROP & CO., Franklin and Hawley Streets. Boston, Mass.


wide awake art prints


DESIRING to bring within reach of all homes Pictures of real charm and real art value, we began, October 1st, the publication of a series of superb fac-simile reproductions of the finest original pictures belonging to the Wide Awake magazine.

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 12x15 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.

Oct. 1. "Little Brown Maiden." Kate Greenaway.
   The sweetest and quaintest of Miss Greenaway's creations. The original watercolor was purchased in her London studio by Mr. Lothrop, and is perhaps the only original painting by Kate Greenaway in America.

Oct. 15. "On Nantucket Shore." F. Childe Hassam.
   A wood engraving from this sea-beach picture was the frontispiece to the September Wide Awake. In a boy's room it would be a delightful reminder of vacation days.

Nov. 1. "In Grandmothers Garden." Wm. T. Smedley.
   This is a picture of the time when mother was a little girl, and walked with grandmother in the dear old lady's garden.

Nov. 15. "The Dream Pedler." Edmund H. Garrett.
   Every nursery should have this picture of the captivating Dream Peddler, standing on the crescent moon and with his bell crying his dreams for sale.

Dec. 1. "Morning." F. H. Lungren.
Dec. 15. "Evening." F. H. Lungren.
   These are companion pictures—the beautiful ideal figures set, the one in the clear azure of a breezy morning, the other in the moonlight mystery of evening.
handOther Subjects in rapid Preparation. See current numbers of Wide Awake for particulars.hand upside down pointing left
Address all orders to D. LOTHROP & CO., Publishers, Boston. Mass., U. S. A.



Any subscriber to one of our magazines wishing to secure the beautiful Lithographic Portrait of Mrs. G. R. Alden (Pansy) may do so by sending us one new subscriber to The Pansy with $1.00 for the same.

We will send the portrait to any former subscriber who has not renewed his or her subscription to any of our magazines for the new year, on receipt of the full subscription price for the renewal and $1.00 for one new subscription to The Pansy.

No premiums can be selected under these special offers. The picture is on heavy plate paper size 8 inches by 10 inches, and very suitable for framing.

D. LOTHROP & CO., Publishers, Franklin and Hawley Streets, Boston.

wild looking cat's face
King Grimalkum and Pussyanita;
or, the Cats' Arabian Nights.

By MRS. A. M. DIAZ. Quarto, $1.25.
cat lying in bird cage with birds
(From "The Cats' Arabian Nights.")

For the little folks who like to laugh, for the papas and mammas who like to hear them and to laugh with them, this is the book to buy. As in the world-famous Eastern tales which give the book its name, the stories, with cats and kittens for heroes and heroines, instead of men and women, lead one to another, and run on and on in a long series of delights—simple and sweet, quaint, strange and pathetic, witty and rollicking, or bubbling over with genial humor and the queerest conceits.

The irresistible stories are accompanied by more beautiful and laughable cat-pictures than were ever before gathered between two covers, and the covers themselves are very quaint, in dainty colors and in silver.

No fathers and mothers should themselves miss, or let their little folks miss, the fun of this book. To give this pleasure to little folks everywhere, the Publishers make


To every subscriber who will send us new subscriptions to any of our magazines amounting to $2.00, we will send "The Cats' Arabian Nights," postpaid.

Any one not a subscriber may obtain this delightful book by sending new subscriptions amounting to $3.00.

This special offer will be good only to May 1st, 1886.

Three kittens stnaind on their hind legs
D. Lothrop & Co., Franklin and Hawley Sts., Boston.


prospectus——BABYLAND——for 1886.
The Magazine for the Babies, this coming year, in addition to its bright pictures, and gay little jingles, and sweet stories, will have some especial delights for both Mamma and Baby:
will provide Twelve Entertainments of dainty jugglery and funny sleight-of-hand for the nursery pencils. This novelty is by the artist-humorist, M. J. Sweeney ("Boz").
will give Baby Twelve tiny Lessons in Counting, each with wee verses for little lips to say, and pictures for bright eyes to see, to help the little mind to remember.
will give Mamma Twelve Sleepy-time Stories to tell when the Babies go to cribs and cradle. In short, Babyland the whole year will be the happiest, sweetest sort of a home kindergarten.
Beautiful and novel New Cover.         Only Fifty Cents a year.

prospectus—OUR LITTLE MEN AND WOMEN—for 1886.
This magazine, for youngest readers, has earned golden gratitude from teachers and parents this past year. While its short stories and beautiful pictures have made it welcome everywhere as a general Magazine for Little Folks, its series of instructive articles have rendered it of unrivalled value to educators. For 1886 several specialties have been prepared in accordance with the suggestions of teachers who wish to start their "little primaries" in the lines on which older brothers and sisters are being taught. As a beginning in American History, there will be twelve charming chapters about
This story of the Great Discoverer, while historically correct and valuable, will be perfectly adapted to young minds and fitted to take hold upon a child's attention and memory; many pictures.
will interest the children in one branch of Natural History; with anecdotes and pictures.
will describe wild creatures little known to children in general. These twelve stories all are true, and are full of life and adventure; each will be illustrated.
is a "cunning little serial story," written for American children by the popular English author, Miss L. T. Meade. It will have Twelve Full-page Pictures by Margaret Johnson.
From time to time fresh "Stories about Favorite Authors" will be given, so that teachers and friends may have material for little literature lessons suited to young children.
Seventy-five Full-page Pictures.          Only $1.00 a year.

prospectus—THE PANSY—for 1886.
For both week-day and Sunday reading, The Pansy, edited by "Pansy" herself, holds the first place in the hearts of the children, and in the approval of earnest-minded parents. Among the more interesting features for 1886 will be Pansy's serial story,
being a further account of "Little Fishers: and their Nets." The Golden Text Stories, under the title, "Six O'clock in the Evening," will be told by a dear old Grandma, who knows many interesting things about what happened to herself when she was a little girl. Margaret Sidney will furnish a charming story,
to run through the year. Rev. C. M. Livingston will tell stories of discoveries, inventions, books, people, places. Faye Huntington will be a regular contributor during the year. Pansy will take the readers with her wherever she goes, in papers under the title of
There will be, in each number, a selection from our best standard poets suitable for recitation in school or circle. From time to time colloquies for Mission Bands, or for general school exercises, will appear. There will be new and interesting books for the members of the Pansy Society, and, as before, a generous space will be devoted to answers to correspondents in the P. S. Corner.
Fully Illustrated.          Only $1.00 a year.

Address all orders to
D. LOTHROP & CO., Publishers, Franklin and Hawley Streets, Boston, Mass.



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."


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.

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

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.


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


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


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.



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.

meet the growing demand for the helpful in literature, history, science, art and practical doing. The Course for 1885-86 includes

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.

⁂ A good commission is paid for securing new subscribers, in cash or premiums. Send for Premium List.

WIDE AWAKE is only $3.00 a year.
D. LOTHROP & CO., Publishers, Franklin and Hawley Sts., Boston, Mass., U. S. A.


How we are Governed.
By Anna Laurens Dawes. 12mo, $1.50.

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.

Lilith: the Legend of the First Woman.
By Ada Langworthy Collier. 12mo, $1.00. Gilt edges, $1.25.

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.

Boy Life in the United States Navy.
By H. H. Clark. 12mo, ILLUSTRATED, $1.50.

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.

Memorial of Rev. Warren H. Cudworth.
By His Sister; WITH PORTRAIT, 380 PAGES, $1.50.

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.

Money in Politics.
By Hon. J. K. Upton. Late assistant secretary of the united states treasury. Extra cloth, top. 12mo, $1.25.

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.

Baccalaureate Sermons.
By Rev. A. P. Peabody, D. D. LL. D. 12mo, $1.25.

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.

What's Mine's Mine.
By George MacDonald, author of "Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood," "Donal Grant," etc. 12mo, CLOTH, $1.50.

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

Boys' Heroes.
By Edward Everett Hale. Reading Union Library. 16mo, Illustrated. Price, $1.00.

This handsome volume unites the charm of the Arabian Nights with the solid value of an Encyclopędia. 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.



D. Lothrop & Co. present a remarkably attractive list of new publications possessing genuine value from every point of view, as will be evident from the following notes. The literature offered, which includes history, biography, general literature, romance, poetry, and various scientific works, presents a sufficiently wide range to meet the needs of all classes of readers.

A Family Flight Around Home, and a Family Flight Through Mexico are the two latest volumes of the Family Flight Series, by Edward Everett and Susan Hale, and deal largely with the picturesque side of history, as well as of life and scenery in the countries treated. Illustrated, extra cloth, $2.50.

Art for Young Folks. Contains a description of an art school for children in New York; biographies and portraits of twenty-four of the leading American artists, with engravings of paintings, studios, etc., etc. Quarto, boards, $2.00; cloth gilt, $3.00.

Boys and Girls' Annual, 1885. Contains original stories expressly prepared by the best of living authors who are favorites with the young folks. Extra cloth, gilt, $3.00.

Our Little Men and Women. Contains a miscellany more charming than ever. Dainty short stories with seventy-five full-page attractive illustrations, and countless smaller ones. It is especially suited for use in homes and schools, having a variety of articles on plant-life, natural history, and like subjects, written most attractively to please the little ones. Among serial articles of permanent value are "Kings and Queens at Home," "Stories of Favorite Authors," "Nests and Nest Builders," and Margaret Sidney's "Polly." Quarto, illuminated cover, $1.50; cloth, $1.00.

We Young Folks. All young people will be attracted by this book with its stories of hunting and fishing, of life in the "good old times," of famous men and women, etc. Lithograph covers, $1.50.

The Pansy, 1885, is distinguished among annuals, as formerly, by articles which commend it especially to Christian homes. It abounds in delightful stories, interesting descriptions of famous men and places, and the brightest of pictures. Lithograph covers, $1.25; cloth, $1.75; cloth, gilt, $2.00.

Some Boys and Girls. Edited by Pansy. These are stories of good times—the delightful experiences of genuine merry-hearted boys and girls in this and other lands, with much that is entertaining in biography and history. Lithograph covers, $1.25.

Storyland. A land which all little people will delight to visit. Its stories are illustrated by beautiful pictures and appear in handsome type. Lithograph covers, $1.25.

Chautauqua Young Folks' Annual, 1885. This annual has been styled "a young folks' cyclopędia." The present volume exceeds in richness all of its predecessors, new editions of each of which have been made to meet the demand for them. Lithograph cover, $1.00; cloth, $1.50.

Young Folks' Cyclopędia of Stories of Famous Authors. Favorite stories by such authors as Mary Hartwell Catherwood, Ella Farman, C. R. Talbot, Julia A. Eastman, Mrs. Hallowell, and others. Elegant cloth binding, $3.00.

Wide Awake Volume T. Contains beside other notable features Charles Egbert Craddock's brilliant Tennessee story "Down the Ravine," a stirring historical serial, "In Leisler's Time," by Elbridge S. Brooks, and Mrs. Champney's "Bubbling Teapot," with stories, poems and papers by Mrs. A. T. D. Whitney, Edwin Arnold, Margaret Sidney, Susan Coolidge, Edward Abbott, Rose Terry Cooke, etc. A frontispiece in eighteen colors, "A Merry Christmas to you," is reproduced by L. Prang & Co. in their choicest style, from drawings by L. H. Lungren. Quarto, 400 pages, boards, $1.75; cloth, gilt, $2.25.

The Golden West, as seen by the Ridgway Club, by Margaret Sidney. The fascinating record of a journey embodying material collected in personal travels by the author, and admirably adapted not only to the instruction of the young, but of older readers. It presents authentic information as to the people, natural scenery and customs of our newer States and Territories. Lithograph cover, $1.75; cloth, $2.25.

Wide Awake S. (Popular edition). Contains tales, biography, history, and poetry, with an intermingling of lighter matter, profusely illustrated, and especially adapted to the taste of intelligent and inquiring young folks. Handsome lithograph cover, $1.50.

Little Folks' Art Book. Such artists as Bodfish, Sweeney, Barnes, and Francis, have furnished outline drawings, calculated to entice the little ones into attempts at copying, and thus lead them to a taste for art.

Babyland, 1885, is, as usual, "radiant with pictures of bonny baby life, and its rhymes and jingles ring with sweet glee and laughter." Quarto, lithograph cover, 75 cents; cloth, $1.00.

The Procession of the Zodiac. Here are twelve ideal figures and landscapes representative of the Zodiac signs, drawn by Jessie McDermott, and effectively printed in brown. A pretty legend or story, by Margaret Johnson, accompanies each picture. Quarto, lithograph cover, 75 cents, cloth, tinted edges, $1.00.

No Questions Asked. In this volume we have a characteristic comedy by Charles R. Talbot ("More than they bargained for"), with two sparkling stories for children in the style of Howell's "The Elevator."

Baby Barefoot. By Mary Harris McQueen. The life and adventures of a wonderful and lovable baby (as all babies are), including its journey to Florida. Quarto, boards, 75 cents.

In No-Man's Land, by Elbridge S. Brooks. With seventy-five pen and ink character drawings by Hassam. A book of wonder stories worthy of comparison with "Alice in Wonderland," and calculated to fascinate all young people. Quarto, boards, 75 cents.

My Cat Pickwick. By Mrs. F. A. Humphrey. The tale of a wonderful cat, and other delightful stories for young readers. Quarto, illustrated, boards, 75 cents.

Five Little Chickens, and other quaint songs for little ones. Collected and arranged by Aunt Carrie. Illustrated, quarto, boards, 75 cents.

Little Folks. How children in other lands amuse themselves. Illustrated, quarto, boards, 75 cents.

Where was the Baby? A question and how it was answered. Illustrated quarto, boards, 50 cents.

Queen Victoria at Home. By Mrs. Frances A. Humphrey. A delightful biography of the "good queen," adapted for young folk's reading, with portraits of the English royal family, and views of the English royal palaces. Quarto, boards, 35 cents.

Seashore Chats and Beach Stories. By Mrs. Fannie A. Dean. Companion volume to "Little Talks about Plants," affords much valuable and interesting information relating to aquatic matters, with instructions as to the construction and care of an aquarium. Quarto, boards, 35 cents.

In the King's Garden, and Other Poems, by James Berry Bensel, one of the most pleasing and creditable of recent poetical volumes, introduces to the public a young New England poet, whose stray verses, appearing from time to time, have attracted unwonted attention by their delicacy of imagery, poetic insight, and purity of sentiment. Sold only by subscription. Price $1.00.



England: As Seen By An American Banker.
16mo, elegant cloth binding, $1.50.

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.

Echoes of Many Voices.
By E. A. Thurston. SPARE MINUTE SERIES. 12mo, cloth, $1.00.

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.

Treasure Thoughts.
From Canon Farrar. SPARE MINUTE SERIES. 12mo, cloth, $1.00.

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.

Life of Ulysses Simpson Grant.
By E. E. Brown. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, $1.50.

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.

Concord: Historic, Literary and Picturesque.
By G. B. Bartlett. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, $1.00; paper, 50 cents.

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.

King's Handbook of Boston.
By Moses King. 12mo, CLOTH, ILLUSTRATED, $1.00.

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.

Words of Our Hero, U. S. Grant
By Jeremiah Chaplin. 12mo, paper, with portrait, 35 cents.

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.

Woman in Sacred Song.
Compiled by Eva Munson Smith, (Mrs. G. C. S.). quarto, illustrated, subscription price, cloth, $3.50; half morocco, $6.00; full morocco, $9.00.

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.


Tent V, Chautauqua.
By Mariana M. Bisbee. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, $1.25.

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.

Wood's Natural History.
By Rev. J. G. Wood, M. A. Very fully and finely illustrated by Wolf, Harrison Weir and others. 12mo, cloth, $1.25.

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

Success: or, Hints for Living.
By Rev. O. A. Kingsbury. New Edition, 12mo, $1.25.

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.

Health at Home Library.

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

I.The Secret of a Clear Head; chapters on temperature, habits, etc.
II.Sleep and Sleeplessness; on the nature of sleep, going to sleep, awakening, etc.
III.The Secret Of a Good Memory; what memory is, taking in, storing, etc.
IV.Common Mind Troubles; defects in memory, confusion of thought, etc.
V.How to Make the Best Of Life; on what constitutes health, breathing, drinking, eating, overwork, etc.
Roget's Thesaurus.

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

By Peter Mark Roget, M. A., F. R. S.

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 ..00.

When I was a Child.
By Ernest Warburton Shurtleff.

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

Tomtits and Other Bits.
By Miss A. M. Starkweather. extra cloth binding, quarto, $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.


The Weeden Upright Steam Engine.
The Engine is double the size of this cut.

This beautiful little engine is almost given away to our subscribers, for we send it as a premium to any subscriber who will send us Two New Subscriptions to THE PANSY (at $1.00 each) and 45 cents cash additional.

The new subscriptions must be sent to us before May 1st, 1886.


We make this special offer only to subscribers to our magazines who send us new subscriptions. One dollar must be paid for each subscription (no club rates being allowed) and the order must be sent to us direct, not through an agent. (Premium credits not taken up cannot be used for this special offer.)

The engine is 8½ inches high and 4½ inches in diameter. The Boiler, Fire-box and Smoke-stack are black. All the other parts are brass-plated.

It is impossible for the boiler to explode as the Engine has a perfect-working Safety valve.

The Power of the Engine is sufficient for running toy machinery. It is safe and easy to operate. It will run small Toys, and develop ingenuity.

The above amount includes postage. If the Engine is to be registered (and we do not assume responsibility of safe delivery otherwise) 10 cents should be added.

Every Engine is tested by running at the Factory. The price of the Engine is $1.35.

Address D. LOTHROP & CO., Publishers, Boston.



ENGLAND: As Seen by an American Banker. The author of this book, an unusually observant, wide awake business man, travelled from one end of England to the other, and saw much that other travellers have failed to notice. Price, $1.50.

TREASURE THOUGHTS FROM CANON FARRAR. (Spare Minute Series.) Compiled by Rose Porter. In this book the compiler has arranged with care a large number of extracts from the sermons and other writings of Canon Farrar, which have been selected with insight and discrimination. Price, $1.00.

DIVINE SOVEREIGNTY. By Reuen Thomas, D. D. A volume of sermons by the eloquent pastor of Harvard Church, at Brookline, Mass. The sterling worth of these sermons, as well as the wide popularity of their author, will secure for this book an extensive sale. Price, $1.50.

WHEN I WAS A CHILD. By Ernest W. Shurtleff. An exceedingly attractive poem by one of the youngest of New England poets. To a delicate imagination Mr. Shurtleff unites a keen sense of the melody of words. Price, $1.00.

JANUARY. Edited by Oscar Fay Adams. This book is the second in the series entitled "Through the Year with the Poets," and contains a carefully arranged selection of poems from English and American sources, relating to January and midwinter. Full indexes will be found in each volume of the series. Price, 75 cents.

CLOVER LEAVES. By Ella M. Baker. A complete collection of the poems, with a memoir of Miss Ella M. Baker. The poems are miscellaneous in subject, and the volume is one that will be much prized by the many admirers of this author. 12mo, vellum cloth, $1.25.

A new edition of Soldier and Servant, so widely popular, by Ella M. Baker, is now ready. Price, $1.25.

IN THE KING'S GARDEN. By James Berry Bensel. A volume of poems by an author whose graceful and musical verses have been winning their way with the public during the past ten years, and are now for the first time brought together in book form. Price, $1.00.

SOCIAL STUDIES IN ENGLAND. By Mrs. Sarah K. Bolton. The talented author of this volume, during her residence in England had unusual opportunities for observing social conditions at present existing there, and has ably succeeded in reproducing her impressions in this volume.

WIDE AWAKE. Vol. "U." This latest bound volume of the prince of young folks' magazines marks another step in its steady upward movement. No annual approaches this in the wide range of practical and entertaining literature, or in the beauty of original illustrations. Its authors, artists and engravers include many of the most notable here and abroad.

IN TIME OF NEED. Compiled by E. W. S. A fine poem by W. F. Sherwin forms the introduction to this volume of religious selections. The extracts are classified under such headings as "Actions," "Discouragement," "Peace," etc., and the whole forms a helpful companion for daily needs. 18mo, cloth, 50 cents.

LIFE OF GEN. GRANT. By E. E. Brown. A carefully written life of the hero of Vicksburg, from his boyhood to his death at Mt. McGregor. Its style as well as its subject entitles this volume to a place among the most popular biographies of the time. 12mo. Price, $1.50.

THE GOLDEN TREASURY. This famous anthology, compiled by Francis Turner Palgrave, stands well the test of years of use, and remains to-day as popular as at first, amid a host of competitors for public favor. Illustrated, 16mo, elegant edition. Laid paper, vellum cloth, 75 cents.


DECEMBER. Edited by Oscar Fay Adams. The first volume of the series "Through the Year with the Poets." It contains over a hundred poems by English and American writers which refer to December, the early winter, and the closing of the year. It includes in addition a table of contents, indexes of subjects and of first lines and a list of authors which contains much biographical data. Similar indexes will appear in each of the succeeding volumes of the series. Price, 75 cents.

THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. By John Bunyan. A choice edition of this great English classic, printed on the finest laid paper. Illustrated. Vellum cloth. 75 cents.

BUT HALF A HEART. By Marie Oliver. The seventh volume of the famous V. I. F. Series. A vigorous and original story, "interesting and admirably told." Price, $1.25.

TEMPERANCE TEACHINGS OF SCIENCE. By A. B. Palmer, M. D., LL. D., Dean of the Medical Faculty of the State University of Michigan. Showing the action of alcoholics upon the brain, heart, lungs, liver, nervous system, etc., in a simple and forcible manner, exceedingly interesting to younger, as well as to older readers. Price, 60 cents.

CHILDREN OF WESTMINSTER ABBEY. By Rose G. Kingsley. In this book the accomplished daughter of Charles Kingsley has given in a way admirably designed to interest young people, an account of the royal and noble children buried in the famous Abbey. Price, $1.00.

BOYS' HEROES. By Edward Everett Hale. The characters of twelve famous men, of all time are in this book ably and picturesquely sketched. The information given concerning each is accurate and trustworthy, and the volume is one that cannot be spared from a boy's library. Price, $1.00.



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Transcriber's Notes:

Punctuation errors repaired.

Page 191, "school" changed to "schools" (other schools of like character)

Page 196, "te" changed to "to" (to tempt them)

Page 7, advertisements, changed "andthe" to "and the" (literature, and the book)

Page 11, advertisements, "Pepy's" changed to "Pepys'" (Mr. Pepys' Valentine)

Page 11, advertisements, "Tunrcoat" changed to "Turncoat" (A Revolutionary Turncoat)

Page 11, advertisements, "By" changed to "by" (by Anna Katherine Greene)

Page 11, advertisements, "VI" changed to "IV." (IV. Some Italian Authors)

Page 12, advertisements, "Boys Heroes," "$100" changed to "$1.00" (Price, $1.00)

Page 13, advertisements, "are" changed to "care" (care of an aquarium)

End of Project Gutenberg's The Pansy Magazine, April 1886, by Various


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