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

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Title: The Pansy Magazine, February 1886

Author: Various

Editor: Pansy
        Mrs. G. R. (Isabella) Alden

Release Date: May 2, 2014 [EBook #45559]

Language: English

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THE PANSY

EDITED BY "PANSY" MRS. G. R. ALDEN

D.LOTHROP & Co. BOSTON, MASS., U.S.A.

Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO., and entered at the Boston P. O.
as second-class matter.


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    _Volume 13, Number 14._     Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
                      _Feb. 6, 1886._

THE PANSY.


[Illustration: MAY VINTON WAITING FOR HER PONY PHAETON.]


HELD BACK.

SHE made a pretty picture standing there on the veranda waiting for
the carriage to come around. It was the last time she would ever stand
there looking so fresh and fair in the morning light. This is a sad
story, yet it has its bright side, so I hope you will not turn away
from it without gathering up some of the sweetness that is shed as a
perfume from May Vinton's daily life.

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

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

How speedily God sometimes answers our prayers!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                               WILMOT CONDEE.


THE LAST OPPORTUNITY.

"FOR many years I have made it a rule never to spend a half-hour with
any person without finding out if that person was a Christian, and if
not, trying to preach Christ to him."

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

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

    Pull for the shore, sailor, pull for the shore.

Jerry listened and when she ended he said:

"That's a good one, Miss."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"How did it happen?" asked Edith.

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

[Illustration: OUT IN JERRY'S BOAT.]

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

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

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

    Light in the darkness, sailor, day is at hand,
    See o'er the foaming billows, fair haven's land,
    Drear was the voyage, sailor, now almost o'er,
    Safe within the life-boat, sailor, _pull for the shore_.

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

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

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

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

                                                 FAYE HUNTINGTON.


SIX O'CLOCK IN THE EVENING.

    OUR GOD WHOM WE SERVE IS ABLE TO DELIVER US FROM THE
    BURNING FIERY FURNACE.

    THOU ART WEIGHED IN THE BALANCES AND FOUND WANTING.

    THEY PRAISED THE LORD, BECAUSE THE FOUNDATION OF THE
    HOUSE OF THE LORD WAS LAID.

    GIVE US HELP FROM TROUBLE: FOR VAIN IS THE HELP OF MAN.

GRANDMA BURTON studied the verses in silence for a few minutes. "They
are all good," she said at last; "I know a story about each of them;
I've been trying to decide which to tell."

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

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

[Illustration: AUNT HARRIET PEABODY.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are they both dead?"

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

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

                                                     PANSY.


POEM FOR RECITATION.


THE TWO GREAT CITIES.

    SIDE by side the two great cities,
      Afar on the traveller's sight.
    One, black with the dust of labor,
      One, solemnly still and white.
    Apart, and yet together,
      They are reached in a dying breath;
    But a river flows between them,
      And the river's name is--Death.

    Apart, and yet together,
      Together, and yet apart,
    As the child may die at midnight,
      On the mother's living heart.
    So close come the two great cities,
      With only the river between;
    And the grass in the one is trampled,
      But the grass in the other is green.

    The hills with uncovered foreheads,
      Like the disciples meet,
    While ever the flowing water
      Is washing their hallowed feet.
    And out on the glassy ocean,
      The sails in the golden gloom
    Seem to me but the moving shadows
      Of the white enmarbled tomb.

    Anon from the hut and the palace,
      Anon, from early till late,
    They come, rich and poor, together,
      Asking alms at the beautiful gate.
    O silent city of refuge
      On the way to the city o'erhead!
    The gleam of thy marble milestones
      Tells the distance we are from the dead.

    Full of feet, but a city untrodden,
      Full of hands, but a city unbuilt,
    Full of strangers who know not even
      That their life-cup lies there, spilt.
    They know not the tomb from the palace,
      They dream not they ever have died;
    God be thanked, they _never will_ know it,
      Till they live, on the other side!
                    SAMUEL MILLER HAGEMAN.

[Illustration: A TROUBLESOME LITTLE HELPER.]




    _Volume 13, Number 15._    Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
                      _Feb. 13, 1886._

THE PANSY.


[Illustration: FRED, THINKING ABOUT IT.]


THE ENGINE'S PUNISHMENT.

    WE were driving along to town one day--
    Papa and I, behind "Old Gray,"
    And our little Fred was along beside,
    Looking out o'er the fields, enjoying the ride.

    I was sitting back reading, contented and calm,
    While Fred had the whip held tight in his palm,
    And was snapping it round at urchins and dogs,
    And sometimes at only some old rotten logs.

    We were crossing the track, when we heard such a shout
    That all of us jumped, and looked quickly about,
    When we saw the old flagman as frantic and wild
    As a pea on a shovel that's hot; and his child

    Screamed out "Stop, O, stop! here comes the train!"
    Papa looked quickly out, then drew in the rein.
    I shut my eyes tight, and held to the seat,
    And I knew I could hear my frightened heart beat!

    A rush and a roar, a sudden pull back,
    A "toot! toot! toot! toot!" and a terrible crack;
    And I heard papa say, "Cheer up, little maid,
    For here we are, safe, so don't be afraid!"

    "But what was that crack?" when I'd quite got my breath,
    And all things around us were silent as death
    (Except the low rumble of the distant train,
    Which, when we were safe, had steamed off again).

    "Why, Katy, 'twas me!" and Fred turned in his place,
    "I whipped the old engine right in the face!
    I guess he won't scare us again so, do you?
    For I gave him a cut that just made him boo, hoo!"

    Well, we laughed, and we laughed, till tears came in our eyes,
    At how little Fred did the engine chastise,
    Until over his face came a flush of bright red.
    "You are right; he won't scare us again," papa said.
                                    PARANETE.


REACHING OUT.

(_A further Account of Nettie Decker and her Friends._)

BY PANSY.


CHAPTER IV.

THAT was the way it came about that little Sate not only, but Susie and
Nettie, went to the flower party.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: THE TWO BEAUTIES THAT SATE SAW.]

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: THEIR NEW HOME.--_See Moving Day._]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Does He love flowers?"

"I think so, darling."

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

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

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

"What does he say?" asked Sate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


MOVING DAY.

IT was Kitty's moving day. This is how it happened: One Saturday
morning Mr. Blake came into the barn and said: "John, we will be ready
to draw in that hay by ten o'clock. We will fill up the bay first.
As soon as you feed the horses you may as well take a look for hens'
nests. We do not want to cover up any hens this year!"

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

                                                        LOU.

[Illustration: GOOD NIGHT!]




    _Volume 13, Number 16._   Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
                      _Feb. 20, 1886._

THE PANSY.


[Illustration: THE "SERVANT" THAT SHOWED SUCH ILL BREEDING.]


WHERE I WENT, AND WHAT I SAW.

I STARTED from Cincinnati. Only a short ride on the "Bee Line" and I
reached Dayton. A beautiful little city; looking, after the greatness
and the noise, and the smoke of Cincinnati, like a pretty little
village nestling in among trees. Yet when one forgets the large places,
Dayton is quite a city. However, it is not about the _city_ that I want
to tell you, but rather about a home there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                  PANSY.

      -       -       -       -       -       -       -

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

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


MY BRAINLESS ACQUAINTANCE.

BY PARANETE.


IV.--MY BRAINLESS ACQUAINTANCE SWALLOWED.


"WHEN the box was opened," the pin continued, "all the papers were
taken out, and carried to a large dry goods store in what seemed to
me a very large city. We were put just behind one of the large glass
windows, where everybody could see us, and we felt quite proud, and
much enjoyed looking at all the strange things, and at people who
passed.

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: THE BABY THAT SWALLOWED THE PIN.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: "THE BOUNDLESS OCEAN ALL AROUND US."]

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

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


OUR ALPHABET OF GREAT MEN.

M.--MORSE, SAMUEL FINLEY BREESE.

LONG before he reached the pinnacle of his fame, Samuel Finley Breese
Morse passed many quiet summer hours on the pleasant wooded borders of
the ravine overlooking the peaceful Sconondoah; and even to this day
if you wander through the beautiful Sconondoah wood and hunt out its
sequestered nooks, you will find here and there, cut deep in the rugged
bark of old forest trees, the initials S. F. B. M., carved by his hand
more than half a century ago.

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

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

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

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

                                                  FAYE HUNTINGTON.


HOW FATHER CURED HIS HORSE.

"WELL," exclaimed Reuben the story-teller, "father always wanted a
horse, because the folks in Greene lived scattered, and he had so far
to go to attend funerals, weddings and visit schools; but he never felt
as if he could afford to buy one. But one day he was coming afoot from
Hildreth, and a stranger asked him to ride.

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

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

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

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

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

"'Make an offer,' said he.

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

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

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

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

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

"'George,' said the man.

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

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

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

"Skeletons?" said Poppet, inquiringly.

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

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

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

"And what did Georgie do?"

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

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

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

[Illustration: MINDING THE BABY.]




    _Volume 13, Number 17._   Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
                      _Feb. 27, 1886._

THE PANSY.


[Illustration: "A LONG GRAND DAY BEFORE THEM."]


ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.

BY MARGARET SIDNEY.


IV.

AND "St. George" he was from that day. George Edward was powerless to
stop it, though he flew into innumerable small rages and offered to
whip any boy who uttered the obnoxious name. They became silent, for
he was good for his promises, they knew, but the girls took it up, and
as he could not very well whip them, his sainthood grew speedily and
beyond his control.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


TABLEAUX.

"WHAT is going on in the attic?" asked old Mr. Davidson one afternoon
as he wakened from his after-dinner nap and heard some unusual sounds
about the old mansion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The old people laughed, but grandpa said:

[Illustration: CARRYING OUT THE PROGRAMME.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                      THEODOCIA.


SIR JOHN AND THE EREBUS.

THIS is a real Johnny. He was born one hundred years ago in England.
When a very little fellow he was fond of the water. He would make
little ships like the one in our picture, and slip away back of the
barn and down through the bars, which he didn't always put up in his
hurry to the pond among the trees. Here with his ship he would spend
hours seeing the wind blow it from shore to shore. When there was no
wind to make it skip over the water, he would puff sharp blasts from
his cheeks against the sails.

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

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

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

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

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

[Illustration: "SIR JOHN AND THE EREBUS."]

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

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

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

                                                 C. M. L.


THE LITTLE SWEEP.

SEVERAL years ago, an effort was made to collect all the
chimney-sweepers in the city of Dublin, for the purpose of education.
Amongst others came a little fellow who was asked if he knew his
letters.

"O yes, sir," was the reply.

"Do you spell?"

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

"Do you read?"

"O yes, sir."

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

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

"And who was your schoolmaster?"

"O, I never was at school."

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


[Illustration: ROUND THE FAMILY LAMP]


A GAME FOR THE EVENING OF WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY.


DEAR PANSIES:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                           MARGARET SIDNEY.


SOME REMARKABLE WOMEN.

J.--JOAN OF ARC.

JOAN OF ARC, as we call her in English; Jeanne D'Arc, as she was
called in her native country; "The Maid of Orleans," as she is called
in history, was the daughter of a French peasant. In her childhood
and through her girlhood she was often employed in tending sheep,
and so lived much alone. She grew dreamy and imaginative; and her
young heart was much given to religious exercises. It is said that
she used to spend hours at her devotions, and when she was thirteen
years old her mind had dwelt so much upon the superstitious legends of
those days that it was not strange she should in one of those exalted
moods of religious fervor imagine that she had a vision, and heard
voices speaking to her of the wonderful exploits she was to achieve.
The people among whom she lived were ignorant and superstitious, and
could very easily be made to believe in anything which had a tinge
of the supernatural. Mythical stories of the saints, accounts of the
doings of fairies and demons were told around every fireside, and
the children eagerly drank in the strange tales. What you boys and
girls would turn away from with a decidedly skeptical shrug of your
shoulders, declaring, like a boy I know, "Ghost stories are no good!"
these children of a dreamy, visionary people drank in as truth, and
very solemn truth too. And so when Joan, walking in the shadow of
the chapel, fancied she heard a voice and saw a great light, or when
standing at the altar of the Catholic church she imagined the pictures
of the saints coming out of their frames speaking to her, it is not
surprising that the people of that neighborhood believed she really
saw and heard these things. And when she imagined that she heard St.
Michael speaking to her and telling her that she was sent to deliver
her country from the English, some of the people believed it--but it
appears her father with more practical sense than the others declared
it was only a delusion, and sought to convince her of the absurdity of
her wild idea. But she could not be persuaded out of it, and at length
when she was twenty years old the king hearing of her and of what she
considered her mission, sent for her and placed her at the head of
the French army. A number of curious things are said to have occurred
upon the occasion of her interview with the king. For one thing she
recognized him at once among his courtiers though she had never seen
him before. Then she told him of a certain sword hidden in an old
chapel which it was necessary to bring out for her use, though it is
said she never struck a blow; she only led the army, so I suppose an
old rusty sword would do as well as any.

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

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

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

                                                  FAYE HUNTINGTON.

[Illustration: ROUEN.--ENGLISH LOST POSSESSION OF, 1419, EIGHTEEN YEARS
AFTER THEIR SACRIFICE OF JOAN OF ARC.]


[Illustration: The P. S. CORNER]

DEAR PANSIES:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                               Good-by, my Blossoms!
                                                 PANSY.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Satan finds some mischief still
    For idle hands to do?

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


WONDER STORIES OF SCIENCE.

I HOPE that name pleases you, my dear Pansies, and I wish each one
of you had a copy of the book to which it belongs. Let me describe
the one which now lies on my desk. A lovely colored binding, I don't
know whether the artists call it "olive" or "old gold" or "crushed
strawberry" or what. It isn't exactly _any_ color, but reminds me of
sunshine and autumn leaves. There is a medallion in gold on the upper
half, and the monogram of the publishers on the lower right-hand
corner. There are three hundred and eighty-three pages of good clear
print, and some excellent pictures.

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

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

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


"TALKING BY SIGNALS."

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

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

[Illustration]

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

Thirty combinations of these positions can be made.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                  PANSY.


[Illustration: WIDE AWAKE ART PRINTS]

ARTISTIC FAC-SIMILE REPRODUCTIONS OF ORIGINAL PICTURES.


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

[Illustration: WIDE AWAKE ART PRINTS]

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._


=SPECIAL.=

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

    UNIFORM NET PRICE OF ONLY FIFTY CENTS EACH.

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.


=NOW READY=:

    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 Grandmother's 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.


  [Illustration: hand] _Other Subjects in rapid Preparation. See current
     numbers of_ WIDE AWAKE _for particulars._[Illustration: flipped hand]

    Address all orders to D. LOTHROP & CO., Publishers, Boston. Mass.,
                      U. S. A.




THE PANSY SOCIETY

P. S.


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."

    "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--

    "FOR JESUS' SAKE."

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 HOUSEHOLD LIBRARY.

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

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


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

=THE PETTIBONE NAME, by Margaret Sidney=, author of _The Five Little
Peppers_, etc.

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


The second volume of the =HOUSEHOLD LIBRARY= is

=MY GIRLS. By Lida A. Churchill.=

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


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

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


(_In Preparation._)

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

A fascinating story of life and travel in foreign lands.

=GRANDMOTHER NORMANDY. By the author of Silent Tom.=

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


LOTHROP'S YOUNG FOLKS' LIBRARY.

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

    =1. TIP LEWIS AND HIS LAMP, by Pansy.=

    =2. MARGIE'S MISSION, by Marie Oliver.=

    =3. KITTY KENT'S TROUBLES, by Julia A. Eastman.=

    =4. MRS. HURD'S NIECE, by Ella Farman Pratt, Editor of
    Wide Awake.=

    =5. EVENING REST, by J. L. Pratt.=

    =6. THE TRIPLE "E," by the author of Yensie Walton.=

    =7. SHINING HOURS, by a brilliant author.=

    =8. THE OLD STONE HOUSE, by Anne March (Constance
    Fennimore Woolson.)=

    =9. BATTLES LOST AND WON, by George E. Merrill. A story
    of schoolboy life.=

    =10. THE JUDGE'S SONS, by Mrs. E. D. Kendall.=

    =11. SHELL COVE, by Rev. Z. A. Mudge. A story of the
    seashore and of the sea.=

    =12. LUTE FALCONER, by the author of "Andy Luttrell." A
    story of rare interest.=

These twelve volumes constitute the first year's series.


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

    =13. FABRICS, by the author of "Finished, or Not." It
    inculcates a lesson of loving and living for others.=

    =14. THE PRINCE AND THE PAGE, by Miss C. M. Yonge. A
    story of the last Crusade.=

    =15. MYRA SHERWOOD'S CROSS, AND HOW SHE BORE IT.=

    =16. THIS ONE THING I DO, by Mrs. A. E. Porter.=

    =17. SO AS BY FIRE, by Margaret Sidney.=

    =18. OLD SCHOOLFELLOWS, AND WHAT BECAME OF THEM.=

    =19. ROSE AND MILLIE, by the author of "Hester's Happy
    Summer."=

    =20. VEIL ON THE HEART (The), by Miss L. L. Phelps.
    Issued Nov. 15th.=

    =21. THE NEIGHBOR'S HOUSE, by the author of "The New
    Commandment." Issued Dec. 15.=

    =22. FROM NIGHT TO LIGHT, by E. E. Brown. A beautiful
    and thrilling story of Bible times.=

    =23. SURE; or, IT PAYS. It ministers naturally to what
    is highest in social morals and vital in religion. To
    be issued Feb. 15.=

    =24. SISTER ELEANOR'S BROOD, by Mrs. S. B. Phelps.
    It has a fascination in its purity of tone and moral
    sentiment.=


WHAT THE PRESS SAY OF US.

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


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

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

    _Five Little Peppers and How They Grew_ is a good
    title, and no mistake, and Margaret Sidney has made a
    thoroughly readable and instructive story of which it
    is the name.--_Boston Congregationalist._

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

    A capital story for young readers.--_Eastern Argus._


    =Magna Charta Stories.= A real bright and healthy
    little volume, showing excellent taste and judgment on
    the part of the editor and compiler.--_Philadelphia
    Times._

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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


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

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


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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

    The book has a singularly beautiful moral influence
    which commends it to parents.--_Boston Globe._

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

    It is in every sense a timely as well as excellent
    contribution to biographical literature.--_Cleveland
    Leader._

    Mrs. Humphrey's book _Dean Stanley with the Children_,
    is a book so winsome that old and young readers cannot
    fail to find it fascinating.--_Boston Traveller._


    =The Pettibone Name.= (MARGARET SIDNEY.) If the
    publishers had offered a prize for the brightest,
    freshest and most entertaining picture of home that
    fiction could give, they could not have been more
    successful than in securing _The Pettibone Name_, for
    the story is one that deserves a wide and enthusiastic
    popularity.--_Hartford Courant._

    It is always a pleasure to read a well-written story
    of every-day life--one whose characters appear to be
    faithful types of humanity. Such is _The Pettibone
    Name_.--_Chicago Times._

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

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

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

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

    "One of the finest pieces of American fiction."

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


    =How They Went to Europe.= (MARGARET SIDNEY.)
    The story is illustrated and well told, and is
    suggestive.--_Herald and Presbyter._

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

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

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

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

    It is a delightful book, the story is told in a
    sprightly way, and is thoroughly wholesome.--_Chicago
    Advance._


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 Encyclopaedia. 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.


Japan and its Leading Men.

    =By Charles Lanman.=    NEW EDITION, ILLUSTRATED.    12mo, $1.50.

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


The Children of Westminster Abbey.

    =By Rose G. Kingsley.=   READING UNION LIBRARY.   16mo.  VERY FULLY
               ILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS AND OLD PRINTS.
                      PRICE, $1.00.

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


The Gray Masque and Other Poems.

    =By Mary B. Dodge.=    ILLUSTRATED, EXTRA CLOTH, $1.25.

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


One Commonplace Day.

    =By Pansy.=    12mo, CLOTH, $1.50.

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


The Temperance Teachings of Science.

    =By Professor A. B. Palmer, M.D., LL.D.=

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


Wonder Stories of Science.

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


"But Half a Heart."


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

Health.

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


Pine Cones.

    =By Willis Boyd Allen.=   12mo, CLOTH.   ILLUSTRATED. $1.00.

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


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,
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    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
$2.00.


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.


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.


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.


THE MAGIC PEAR

    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").


ALL AROUND THE CLOCK

    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.


LITTLE CRIB-CURTAINS

    will give Mamma Twelve Sleepy-time Stories to tell when
    the Babies go to cribs and cradles. 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


THE ADVENTURES OF COLUMBUS.

    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.


LITTLE TALKS ABOUT INSECT LIFE

    will interest the children in one branch of Natural
    History; with anecdotes and pictures.


OUR COLORADO PETS

    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.


"ME AND MY DOLLS"

    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,


REACHING OUT,

    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,


ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON,

    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


WHERE I WENT, AND WHAT I SAW.

    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 Sts.,
                      Boston, Mass.=


[Illustration: PROSPECTUS WIDE AWAKE 1886]

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._"


_SIX ILLUSTRATED SERIALS:_

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

Every boy who sailed in fancy the late exciting races of the _Puritan_
and the _Genesta_, and all lovers of sea stories, will enjoy these two
stories of Newport and Ocean Yachting, by CHARLES REMINGTON TALBOT.


    =III. A GIRL AND A JEWEL.=

MRS. HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD, in this delicious White Mountain
Romance, writes her first young folks' magazine serial.


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

MARGARET SIDNEY writes these two amusing Adventure Serials for Little
Folks. Thirty-six illustrations each.


=VI. A Six Months' Story= (title to be announced), by CHARLES EGBERT
CRADDOCK, author of _Down the Ravine_.


=ROYAL GIRLS AND ROYAL COURTS.=

By MRS. JOHN SHERWOOD. This series, brilliant and instructive, will
begin in the Christmas number and run through the year.


=A CYCLE OF CHILDREN.=

By ELBRIDGE S. BROOKS. Illustrations by Howard Pyle. Twelve historical
stories celebrating twelve popular holidays.

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


_STORIES OF AMERICAN WARS._

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

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


_IN PERIL._

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

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


=YOUTH IN TWELVE CENTURIES.=

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


_FIRE-PLACE STORIES._

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.


_SOME SPECIAL ARTICLES:_

  _L'ENFANT TERRIBLE TURK._ By HON. S. S. COX, U. S. Minister to Turkey.
  _THE PRINCESS POCAHONTAS IN ENGLAND._ By MRS. RAYMOND BLATHWAYTE.
        Illustrations include portrait from painting never before
        engraved.
  _AUTOGRAPHS AND AUTOGRAPH HUNTERS._ By NORA PERRY. Racy and amusing.
  _A GRAND PEACE-MEET._ By WILL P. HOOPER. An imposing Indian Ceremony;
        with many pictures by the author.
  _A SIXTEENTH CENTURY SCHOOLBOY._ By APPLETON MORGAN. The life of a lad
        in Shakespeare's time.   _MY FIRST BUFFALO HUNT._ By GEN. JOHN
        C. FREMONT.
  _THROUGH THE HEART OF PARIS._ by FRANK T. MERRILL. A pen and pencil
        record of a trip down the Seine.
  _THE DUMB-BETTY LAMP._ By HENRY BACON. Hitherto untold incidents in
        connection with "Floyd Ireson's Ride."


_TWELVE BALLADS._

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.


_THE C. Y. F. R. U. READINGS_

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.


[Illustration]


THE BARBER'S OPINION.


    "Some people think 'tis only made
    For cleansing goods of heavy grade,
    For washing down the walls or stairs,
    The bureau, tables and the chairs,
    Or keeping hands and faces free
    From chaps and pimples sad to see.
    But folks do well to change their mind;
    'Tis not to things like these confined,
    And not alone the kitchen-maid
    And laundress prize its friendly aid;
    I find it just the nicest thing
    For toilet use and barbering.
    The slightest touches will suffice
    To make a foamy lather rise,
    That holds the beard till smoothly laid,
    However dull may be the blade.
    In short, the tale is ever new
    That tells what IVORY SOAP will do."


If your grocer does not keep the Ivory Soap, send six two-cent stamps,
to pay the postage, to Procter & Gamble, Cincinnati, and they will send
you _free_ a large cake of IVORY SOAP.


       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Page 110, extraneous word "of" removed from text. Original read (made
him run of errands)

Page 111, "wortha" changed to "worth a" (was worth a dollar)

Page 122, "were" changed to "where" (been in places where the)

Page 4, advertisements, "hapyy" changed to "happy" (there is a happy
thought)

Page 9, advertisements, "choolboy" changed to "schoolboy" (of schoolboy
life)

Page 13, advertisements, "12m" changed to "12mo" (12mo, cloth, $1.50)

Page 17, advertisements, "Pepy's" changed to "Pepys'" (Mr. Pepys'
Valentine)

Page 17, advertisements, "Tunrcoat" changed to "Turncoat" (A
Revolutionary Turncoat)

Page 17, advertisements, "VI" changed to "IV." (IV. Some Italian
Authors)

Page 17, advertisements, "By" changed to "by" (by Anna Katherine
Greene)





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