The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Pansy Magazine, June 1886

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Title: The Pansy Magazine, June 1886

Author: Various

Editor: Pansy

Release date: April 16, 2014 [eBook #45408]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PANSY MAGAZINE, JUNE 1886 ***

THE
PANSY

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

Transcriber's Note: Many of the advertising images are linked to larger copies to enable the reading of the fine print and details.

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SUBSCRIPTIONS TO LOTHROP'S
POPULAR MAGAZINES GIVEN
AS PREMIUMS.

We will send Wide Awake one year, free, for new subscriptions to any of the four magazines (Wide Awake, The Pansy, Our Little Men and Women and Babyland) amounting to $8.00.

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are beautiful fac-simile reproductions of original water-colors, oil paintings, and line drawings, for portfolios or for framing. Only 50 cents each. Postpaid. Circulars, giving particulars and list of subjects ready, sent free.

READY.

Oct. 1. |   Little Brown Maiden | Kate Greenaway.
Oct. 15. |   On Nantucket Shore | F. Childe Hassam.
Nov. 1. |   In Grandmother's Garden | W. T. Smedley.
Nov. 15. |   The Dream Pedler | Edmund H. Garrett.
Dec. 1. |   Morning | F. H. Lungren.
Dec. 15. |   Evening | F. H. Lungren.
Jan. 1. |   Wild Ducks | Charles Volkmar.
Jan. 15. |   In Holland | F. Childe Hassam.
Feb. 1. |   The Three Fishers | Thomas Hovendon.
Feb. 15. |   Under the Electric Light | F. H. Lungren.
Mar. 1. |   Two Connoisseurs | T. W. Wood, N. A.
Mar. 15. |   Lost | W. L. Taylor.
Apr 1. |   The Pipers | Jessie Curtis Shepherd.
Apr. 15. |   On Easter Day | W. L. Taylor.
May 1. |   The Young Emperor Commodus | Howard Pyle.
May 15. |   A Venetian Afternoon | Joseph Pennell.

D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY, Publishers, Franklin and Hawley Sts., Boston.

Volume 13, Number 31.        Copyright, 1886, by D. Lothrop & Co.        June 5, 1886.

THE PANSY.

"THE LITTLE GIRL MOVING THE DASHER."

SIX O'CLOCK IN THE EVENING.

Lord, evermore give us this bread.

Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.

Your father Abraham rejoiced to see my day: and he saw it and was glad.

"WHY, you've found another verse about bread!" said Grandma, then her eyes grew thoughtful.

"Association is a queer thing, children; association of ideas, I mean." (Some people might think that Grandma Burton used large words in talking to her grandchildren; but the fact was, she did not try very hard to make her words little. Not that she selected long ones; her language was always simple; but words which they would be likely to hear among cultured people, or to see in their books, she aimed to use in talking with them. If they did not understand a word, they were always at liberty to ask its meaning. The consequence was, they were quite intelligent children, and the phrase, "association of ideas," did not trouble the older ones in the least. As for little Sarah she did not bother her brains about it, yet awhile.)

"Now you wouldn't suppose," continued Grandma, "that there was anything in that verse to make me think of a large, old-fashioned farm-house kitchen, with a wooden bowl on the table, and a wooden spoon hanging over it, and old-fashioned dishes arranged on the shelf above it, and a woman in a straight dress, and neck handkerchief, bending over the bread-bowl, and a little girl with a high-necked apron on, standing before an old-fashioned churn, moving the dasher up and down, yet I see all those things as plainly as though it was yesterday morning, instead of sixty odd years ago."

"What makes it, Grandma? What happened?" And Marion settled little Sarah more comfortably on the hassock, and straightened herself, ready to listen.

"Why, it is this association of ideas I was speaking of; my memory of that verse about bread is mixed in with all those scenes. I was the little girl moving the dasher. You see it was this way:

"Mother was very sick that spring, and father had to take her to the city to be under the care of a great doctor, and he had to stay with her; so we children were scattered. I went to spend a week with aunt Pat Worcester."

"What a horrid name for a woman!" said Rollo.

"Oh! it was a nice name. Patriot, the whole name was, but almost everybody called her aunt Pat. She was a splendid woman. People all respected her. She was my father's aunt and he had lived with her a good deal when he was a boy and loved her very much; he liked to have me stay with her. That winter, or spring, it was, she had a nephew living with her; a great red-headed boy named Jeremiah, only we always said Jerry. I didn't like him very well. He was a smart, bright boy, and might have been pleasant, only he was always teasing children younger than himself, telling them things which were not true, threatening to drown them, you know, or bury them alive, or something of that sort; things that he had no more notion of doing than he had of flying; but they were too young to know it, poor things, and he had that kind of evil nature which seemed to be pleased with making others uncomfortable. He didn't trouble me much, because I kept close to aunt Pat; but once in awhile he would wink his great eyes at me, and tell me he was going to swallow me, some day, when aunt Pat wasn't looking."

Grandma's children all laughed at this, and Marion questioned: "Why, Grandma, you surely didn't believe that, did you?"

"No, child; not exactly, of course; and yet I couldn't help feeling kind of creepy all over, when I was in danger of being left alone with him, and I thought of his great mouth. It is my opinion that little folks suffer from these things more than older ones have any idea. I should despise a boy who would descend to so mean a trick as trying to tease one younger than himself."

Harold looked out of the window, steadily, his cheeks a trifle red. The question was, did Grandma know, or did she not know, that he told little Bobby White the other day he was going to tie him to the top of the great big flag staff at the corner, and leave him swinging there for a flag, because his dress was red, and his collar was white, and his eyes were blue. But Grandma didn't look at Harold.

"Aunt Pat was moulding bread in the great wooden bowl, and I was moving the dasher up and down very slowly, and watching her all the while. I wanted to learn how to make bread, and I asked a great many questions; but, after all, the thought most in my mind, and which I said nothing about, after a fashion which children often have, was this very story about Jesus feeding the five thousand people with five loaves of bread. Only the day before, which had been Sunday, aunt Pat had read this whole story to Jerry and me, and talked it over. She was an excellent hand to tell Bible stories, she made them seem so real. She explained the size of the loaves, and all about it. When I saw the great big ones she was moulding, I thought they would have fed a great many more than the little lad's; and from that I went on, thinking out the story, and the way those people followed Jesus the next day, and asked for the bread which would keep them from getting hungry again, without understanding at all what they were asking for. Aunt Pat said they prayed just as plenty of people did nowadays; asked great big things without thinking of them, or wanting them very much. Just then Jerry came in, blowing his fingers, and pretending to be very cold; it was a rather sharp spring morning, and he had been out at the woodpile. He said he wasn't so cold, though, as he was hungry. Aunt Pat laughed, and said she wondered if there was ever a boy made wasn't hungry all the time; then she looked at the clock, and found it was about the time when she always gave Jerry a lunch; for he had been up and at work since five in the morning. Oh! he had his breakfast, of course, a little after five, but aunt Pat always gave him a piece in the middle of the forenoon. By this time she had her loaves all nicely moulded, and she went to the closet and cut him a thick slice of the most excellent bread, and spread it with butter that smelled like June roses. Jerry took great bites of it with a satisfied air, smacking his lips to show how good it was; it must have brought some thought of the very story I was thinking about, for suddenly he spoke out: 'Evermore give us this bread! I say so too!' Then aunt Pat's eyes flashed. 'Jeremiah,' she said, and her voice was very stern, 'you are named after too good a man to be guilty of making fun of Scripture in any such way. Repeating a prayer, too, and not meaning it any more than the heathen do, when they mumble words to their little stone gods. I'm ashamed of you!'

"Jerry looked a little abashed, and muttered that he didn't mean any harm; but I remember to this day, just how wrought up aunt Patriot was about it; she told Jerry that boys who commenced by turning sacred words to fit their own notions, often ended by being profane, wicked men. And that's just the way Jeremiah Carter ended. I haven't thought of him for many a day. But he grew up to be a bad man."

"After all," said Rollo, after a few moments of silence, "you don't think, Grandma, that quoting that Bible verse made a bad man of him?"

"N-o," said Grandma, speaking slowly, giving her head a little doubtful shake the while, "I wouldn't like to say that. Boys do trifle with serious words, sometimes, and get over it, and make good men. I should be sorry enough if I thought they didn't. But then, Jeremiah Carter was exactly that kind of a boy. He had no reverence for the Bible, nor for words of prayer; he was tempted to make fun of everything; and he got so used to it, that after awhile, nothing of that kind shocked him; he became one of these men who pretend not to believe the Bible; and sometimes I have thought that if he had not learned to make light of it when he was a boy, it would not have come so handy when he grew up. Anyhow it always makes me think of Jeremiah Carter when I hear anybody doing it; and he isn't a pleasant body to think of, I can tell you. He died a good many years ago, and they said his last word was a profane one."

The grandchildren made no other comments, and Rollo presently began to whistle. He knew one thing; and that was, it was a great temptation to him to quote a Bible verse now and then, for his own use. Not anything so wicked as Jeremiah did, but in a way that his grandmother, he knew, would call "light and trifling." He wasn't sure whether anybody else had noticed this habit and he made up his mind while he whistled, that they should never again have a chance to notice it in him.

Pansy.

THOMAS AND CLARA.

THAT boy and girl in the picture were real persons. They were Thomas and Clara; were born in a certain town in Steuben County, N. Y., ten years apart—though they seem to be almost of the same age—and always knew each other.

THOMAS AND CLARA.

Clara was a very thoughtful girl, and anxious to know all about everything—often trying to do things beyond her power. She was also fond of her needle, and at an early age could use it with remarkable skill and rapidity.

You need not be surprised to learn that her father used tobacco. Most men do. They begin in boyhood. Many boys think it fine to be men, and that one of the quickest ways to be men is to smoke or chew. So they become deathly sick learning to use tobacco. It is strange. It costs a great sum of money in one's life—enough to buy a home. It makes the breath offensive. It is a very filthy habit and selfish as it is filthy, for though the tobacco user is a great nuisance to many people, especially to ladies, yet he does not seem to care how much others dislike his smoke or breath. He goes right on puffing his cigar or nasty old pipe-fumes into the nostrils and eyes of all who come near.

Now Clara's father was no exception. Sometimes he would come into the kitchen or dining-room—the parlor even—and fill the air with tobacco odor.

Clara's mother would get out of patience at times and say it was a nasty habit and that men had no more right to smoke and chew than women.

And she was right!

Clara loved her father. In her eyes no man was quite as grand as he except the minister. But on this tobacco question she took strong grounds with her mother, her pastor and Sabbath-school teacher, who all thought the same way.

Hearing her mother express her mind so often against this "filthy weed" she learned the many arguments against its use and resolved that she would do everything in her power to prevent her friends from raising or having anything to do with it.

One thing she knew—she never, no, never would marry a man who used tobacco.

Thomas was so much older than herself she was afraid to speak to him as her heart often moved her, about certain habits she feared he was learning.

So the years went by. The great war of the Rebellion came on. Young boys were joining the army. Word came that Thomas had enlisted and with many other young persons was on his way to the front where men of the North and South were shooting each other down by the thousand.

Those were awful days. Not so much because many died on the battlefield and suffered in loathsome prisons, but because of the bad habits many of the young soldiers acquired by being among wicked associates.

Thomas passed through some dreadful experiences. He does not like to speak of them now, telling them only when he is urged.

He was in battle after battle and saw many of his comrades shot down by his side. He was also in prison.

But the war came to an end. He returned and brought with him many things, among them a great love for tobacco.

You need not wonder. Nearly all the soldiers loved tobacco; the majority, I fear, played cards and drank whiskey, and took God's name in vain.

Thomas escaped everything except tobacco, although he had seen so much of the other things.

As the soldiers were brave for their country, so many at home became bold for Jesus. Clara came out on the Lord's side, though many of her mates laughed at her for it.

But she stood firm and when she had a good chance she spoke true words for her Master.

Between her home and another near by was a telephone. Her cousin and Thomas would converse over it. Sometimes Clara would "try her hand" at talking over the wire. This, however, Thomas did not know. He supposed Clara's cousin, Halsey, was always at the other end of the telephone, answering or asking questions.

One day as the conversation was going on, Thomas said:

"Well, I must stop now and take a smoke."

"Don't do it," came a quick response. It was from Clara, but Thomas did not know it.

"Why not?" inquired Thomas.

"It is nasty," flashed back the quick answer.

"When may I smoke?" came another question.

"Not till I give you permission," Clara replied.

These were her last words through the telephone to Thomas. She never gave him permission, as she died soon after.

Thomas never used tobacco after that. I heard him tell the story in the meeting Clara used to attend.

L.

POEM FOR RECITATION.

ONLY A HEART'S-EASE.

Sought the king his garden
When the air was ringing
With the joyous music
That the birds were singing.
When the sun threw westward
Long bright beams of gold,
And the dew was sparkling
On the wold.

Found his plants all drooping
Sullenly and sadly;
Buds and blossoms hung their heads,
Born to bloom so gladly.
When the king demanded
Why in sorrow bent,
There was but one answer—
Discontent.

For the graceful willow
By the fountain weeping,
And the lovely jasmine,
All her perfume keeping,
Answered when he questioned—
Each with envy spoke—
"Ah, because I cannot
Be an oak."

E'en the elm-tree answered,
Sadly and complaining,
"Ah, because I am not
Bloom and fruitage gaining."
And the vine, down drooping,
Lamentation made
Just because it could not
Cast a shade.

Rose would be a dahlia,
Ferns the flowers would copy,
Daisy grow a sunflower,
Heliotrope, a poppy.
Only little Heart's-ease
Looked all glad and bright,
And the king said, wond'ring
At the sight,

"Wherefore, little Heart's-ease,
Art thou not repining?"
And the Heart's-ease answered,
All her gold heart shining,
"Why, when me you planted
'Mong your garden store,
You wanted just a heart's-ease,
Nothing more."

Do you know the lesson
That the fable's giving?
'Tis the very secret
Of all happy living.
In whatever station
God for you deems best,
Yours to grow and brighten,
His the rest.
M. R. P.

"ONLY A CHILD'S PRATTLE."

IT was one of those summer mornings when the earth seems all aglow with sunshine. The Granger House faced the east, and the doors and windows were opened to let in the light and brightness of the morning. It was a handsome house, somewhat old-fashioned, but handsome still and elegantly furnished. It should have been a happy home, but there was a shadow resting upon it; as yet it was not a deep, dark shadow, indeed it was scarcely perceptible to any save to one troubled heart. Mr. Granger did not see it, he did not know that a horrible fear was sometimes clutching at the heart of his almost idolized wife. He did not suspect his own peril and did not see as she did, the demon lurking in those bottles and decanters on the sideboard.

That morning, little Alice, the one petted darling of the house, was playing upon the lawn, with no other companion than her favorite doll, almost as large as Alice herself.

She had wandered about the grounds, the mother watching the golden head and thinking that sunshine itself was not brighter, until suddenly the child's attention was attracted by what was to her an altogether new sight. A young man was passing. Just in front of the house he staggered and would have fallen had it not been for the assistance of a companion a little less helpless than himself. I need not describe the scene. Unfortunately, to the most of us it is not an unusual sight. We have seen too often the unsteady and uncertain step of a drunkard, we have too often heard the silly laughter and listened to the imbecile chatter of those who have drowned their manhood in a glass of liquor.

But to Alice Granger, a child of five years, it was a new and strange sight and one which she could not comprehend. Her doll lay unheeded upon the ground while with an earnest, curious expression upon her face she watched the two travellers out of sight. Then she ran to the house.

"Mamma," she said, "there were two funny-acting men went past just now. They went on both sides of the street and did not act as if they knew how to walk. They were just as silly as could be."

"Yes, dear; I saw them."

"Mamma, what made them act so?" inquired the child.

Mrs. Granger was inclined to evade the question. She was sorry that her darling had witnessed the disgusting spectacle. She would have spared her the knowledge of this form of sin awhile longer, but it could not now be helped, and as Alice persisted she said at length,

"My dear child, those young men had been drinking too much wine."

"Too much wine! But, mamma, wine does not make folks act like that!"

"Yes, it does."

"But papa drinks wine," and the little round face wore a look of perplexity.

As Mrs. Granger did not reply, Alice said again,

"Say, mamma, papa drinks wine. Does it make him walk like that and talk so that nobody can understand him? Say, mamma!"

What could the mother say? How should she teach her darling to hate the wine cup and at the same time preserve the child's respect and love for her father?

"My darling," she said at length, "wine is a dangerous thing. I will teach you all about it. And papa thinks that a little does not hurt anybody; but perhaps when you know more about it, you and I can coax him not to drink any."

That day at dinner Alice astonished her father by exclaiming suddenly,

"Papa, I wish you wouldn't drink any more wine!"

Mr. Granger looked up in surprise, but he laughed and asked,

"Why not?"

The little face was very sober and the voice very earnest as Alice replied, "Because it makes men act so dis-gust-ing-ly!" The last word was brought out slowly, as if it were too large for her.

"What do you know about it?" The question was addressed to Alice his daughter, but Mr. Granger looked at his wife.

"Alice had her first temperance lesson to-day," replied Mrs. Granger, "and it has made an impression."

"Seems to me you are beginning early to teach her your peculiar views," said the gentleman, half-laughing, half-sneering. At least, it was as near a sneer as the gentleman in Mr. Granger would allow.

"It so happens that I was not the teacher," responded his wife; "it was an object lesson. She saw young Morgan and his friend pass."

"And, papa, they acted just awful! I wouldn't have you act that way for anything."

"Don't be afraid. Fred Morgan drinks a great deal and I only drink a little. That's the difference."

Alice was still quite a time. Then, as her father drained his glass, she asked suddenly,

"Papa, how much is a great deal of wine?"

"How much? O, I don't know," replied Mr. Granger carelessly.

"I wish you did know." And now the voice was very anxious.

"Why do you wish that?"

"Why, don't you see you might make a mistake and drink too much. But if I can find out I'll keep watch and tell you, so you need not be afraid of being like Fred Morgan."

Mr. Granger rose from the table laughing, and betook himself to the library; but the last words of his little golden-haired daughter had struck home to his heart. He, Thomas Granger, like Fred Morgan! Why, Fred was a reeling drunkard. He, Thomas Granger, needing to be watched by his little daughter, lest he make a mistake and take too much wine! Could there be truth in the suggestion? Was he in danger? Of course not. It was a child's foolish prattle. But foolish or not, the thought staid with him, and, sneer as he might, it would not be put down.

Was this the wise Heavenly Father's way of answering that sad-hearted wife's prayer that her husband might be brought to see his danger?

There was no wine served at dinner the next day. The glittering decanters, and the bottles with the age mark of which Mr. Granger had been so proud, and the cutglass wine glasses had all disappeared. No need now for Alice to watch!

Her father had left forever the dangerous path, and had resolved never again to lift the wineglass to his lips.

Faye Huntington.

LITTLE ALICE AND HER FAVORITE DOLL.

Volume 13, Number 32.        Copyright, 1886, by D. Lothrop & Co.        June 12, 1886.

THE PANSY.

LITTLE SATE IN THE CHOIR.

REACHING OUT.

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

CHAPTER VIII.

IT was a beautiful Sabbath afternoon; just warm enough to make people feel still and pleasant. The soft summer sunshine lay smiling on all the world, and the soft summer breeze rustled the leaves of the trees, and stole gently in at open windows. In the front room of the Deckers, the family was gathered, all save Mr. Decker. He could be heard in his bedroom stepping about occasionally, and great was his wife's fear lest he was preparing to go down town and put himself in the place of temptation at his old lounging place. Sunday could not be said to be a day of rest to Mrs. Decker. It had been the day of her greatest trials, so far. Norm was in his clean shirt and collar, which had been done up again by Nettie's careful hands and which shone beautifully. He was also in his shirt sleeves; that the mother was glad to see; he was not going out just yet, anyway. Mrs. Decker had honored the day with a clean calico dress, and had shyly and with an almost shamefaced air, pinned into it a little cambric ruffle which Nettie had presented her, with the remark that it was just like the one Mrs. Burt wore, and that Jerry said she looked like Mrs. Burt a little, only he thought she was the best-looking of the two. Mrs. Decker had laughed, and then sighed; and said it made dreadful little difference to her how she looked. But the sigh meant that the days were not so very far distant when Mr. Decker used to tell her she was a handsome woman; and she used to smile over it, and call him a foolish man without any taste; but nevertheless used to like it very much, and make herself look as well as she could for his sake.

She hadn't done it lately, but whose fault was that, she should like to know? However, she pinned the ruffle in, and whether Mr. Decker noticed it or not, she certainly looked wonderfully better. Norm noticed it, but of course he would not have said so for the world. Nettie in her blue and white gingham which had been washed and ironed since the flower party, and which had faded a little and shrunken a little, still looked neat and trim, and had the little girls one on either side of her, telling them a story in low tones; not so low but that the words floated over to the window where Norm was pretending not to listen: "And so," said the voice, "Daniel let himself be put into a den of dreadful fierce lions, rather than give up praying."

"Did they frow him in?" this question from little Sate, horror in every letter of the words.

"Yes, they did; and shut the door tight."

"I wouldn't have been," said fierce Susie; "I would have bitten, and scratched and kicked just awful!"

"Why didn't Daniel shut up the window just as tight, and not let anybody know it when he said his prayers?"

Oh little Sate! how many older and wiser ones than you have tried to slip around conscience corners in some such way.

"I don't know all the reasons," said Nettie, after a thoughtful pause, "but I suppose one was, because he wouldn't act in a way to make people believe he had given up praying. He wanted to show them that he meant to pray, whether they forbade it or not."

"Go on," said Susie, sharply, "I want to know how he felt when the lions bit him."

"They didn't bite him; God wouldn't let them touch him. They crouched down and kept as still, all night; and in the morning when the king came to look, there was Daniel, safe!"

"Oh my!" said Sate, drawing a long, quivering sigh of relief; "wasn't that just splendid!"

"How do you know it is true?" said skeptical Susie, looking as though she was prepared not to believe anything.

"I know it because God said it, Susie; he put it in the Bible."

"I didn't ever hear Him say it," said Susie with a frown. A laugh from Norm at that moment gave Nettie her first knowledge of him as a listener. Her cheeks grew red, and she would have liked to slip away into a more quiet corner but Sate was in haste to hear just what the king said, and what Daniel said, and all about it, and the story went on steadily, Daniel's character for true bravery shining out all the more strongly, perhaps, because Nettie suspected herself of being a coward, and not liking Norm to laugh at her Bible stories. As for Norm, he knew he was a coward; he knew he had done in his life dozens of things to make his mother cry; not because he was so anxious to do them, nor because he feared a den of lions if he refused, but simply because some of the fellows would laugh at him if he did.

That Sabbath day had been a memorable one to the Decker family in some respects; at least to part of it. Nettie had taken the little girls with her to Sabbath-school, and then to church. Mrs. Smith had given her a cordial invitation to sit in their seat, but it was not a very large seat, and when Job and his wife, and Sarah Ann and Jerry were all there, as they were apt to be, there was just room for Nettie without the little girls; so she went with them to the seat directly under the choir gallery where very few sat. It was comfortable enough; she could see the minister distinctly, and though she had to stretch out her neck to see the choir, she could hear their sweet voices; and surely that was enough. All went smoothly until the sermon was concluded. Sate sat quite still, and if she did not listen to the sermon, listened to her own thoughts and troubled no one.

But when the anthem began, Sate roused herself. That wonderful voice which seemed to fill every corner of the church! She knew the voice; it belonged to her dear teacher. She stretched out her little neck, and could catch a glimpse of her, standing alone, the rest of the choir sitting back, out of sight. And what was that she was saying, over and over? "Come unto Me, unto Me, unto Me"—the words were repeated in the softest of cadences—"all ye who are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest." Sate did not understand those words, certainly her little feet were not weary, but there was a sweetness about the word "rest" as it floated out on the still air, which made her seem to want to go, she knew not whither. Then came the refrain: "Come unto Me, unto Me," swelling and rolling until it filled all the aisles, and dying away at last in the tenderest of pleading sounds. Sate's heart beat fast, and the color came and went on her baby face in a way which would have startled Nettie had she not been too intent on her own exquisite delight in the music, to remember the motionless little girl at her left.

"Take my yoke upon you, and learn of Me, learn of Me," called the sweet voice, and Sate, understanding the last of it felt that she wanted to learn, and of that One above all others. "For I am meek and lowly of heart"—she did not know what the words meant, but she was drawn, drawn. Then, listening, breathless, half resolved, came again that wondrous pleading, "Come unto Me, unto Me, unto Me." Softly the little feet slid down to the carpeted floor, softly they stepped on the green and gray mosses which gave back no sound; softly they moved down the aisle as though they carried a spirit with them, and when Nettie, hearing no sound, yet turned suddenly as people will, to look after her charge, little Sate was gone! Where? Nettie did not know, could not conjecture. No sight of her in the aisle, not under the seat, not in the great church anywhere. The door was open into the hall, and poor little tired Sate must have slipped away into the sunshine outside. Well, no harm could come to her there; she would surely wait for them, or, failing in that, the road home was direct enough, and nothing to trouble her; but how strange in little Sate to do it! If it had been Susie, resolute, independent Susie always sufficient to herself and a little more ready to do as she pleased than any other way! But Susie sat up prim and dignified on Nettie's right; not very conscious of the music, and willing enough to have the service over, but conscious that she had on her new shoes, and a white dress, and a white bonnet, and looked very well indeed. Meantime, little Sate was not out in the sunshine. She had not thought of sunshine; she had been called; it was not possible for her sweet little heart to get away from the feeling that Some one was calling her, and that she wanted to go. What better was there to do than follow the voice? So she followed it, out into the hall, up the gallery stairs, still softly—the new shoes made no sound on the carpet—through the door which stood ajar, quite to the singer's side, there slipped this quiet little woman who had left her white bonnet by Nettie, and stood with her golden head rippling with the sunlight which fell upon it. There was a rustle in the choir gallery, a soft stir over the church, the sort of sound which people make when they are moved by some deep feeling which they hardly understand; there was a smile on some faces, but it was the kind of smile which might be given to a baby angel if it had strayed away from heaven to look at something bright down here. The tenor singer would have drawn away the small form from the soloist, but she put forth a protecting hand and circled the child, and sang on, her voice taking sweeter tone, if possible, and dying away in such tenderness as made the smiles on some faces turn to tears, and made the echo linger with them of that last tremulous "Come unto Me."

But little Sate, when she reached the choir gallery, saw something which startled her out of her sweet resolute calm. Away on the side, up there, where few people were, sat her own father; and rolling down his cheeks were tears. Sate had never seen her father cry before. What was the matter? Had she been naughty, and was it making him feel bad? She stole a startled glance at the face of her teacher, whose arm was still around her and had drawn her toward the seat into which she dropped, when the song was over. No, her face was quiet and sweet; not grieved, as Sate was sure it would be, if she had been naughty. Neither did the people look cross at her; many of them had bowed their heads in prayer, but some were sitting erect, looking at her and smiling; surely she had made no noise. Why should her father cry? She looked at him; he had shaded his face with his hand. Was he crying still? Little Sate thought it over, all in a moment of time, then suddenly she slipped away from the encircling arm, moved softly across the intervening space, into the side gallery, and was at her father's side, with her small hand on his sleeve. He stooped and took her in his arms, and the tears were still in his eyes; but he kissed her, and kissed her, as little Sate had never been kissed before; she nestled in his arms and felt safe and comforted.

The prayer was over, the benediction given, and the worshipers moved down the aisles. Sate rode comfortably in her father's arms, down stairs, out into the hall, outside, in the sunshine, waiting for Nettie and for her white sunbonnet. Presently Nettie came, hurried, flushed, despite her judgment, anxious as to where the bonnet-less little girl could have vanished. "Why, Sate," she began, but the rest of the sentence died in astonished silence on her lips, for Sate held her father's hand and looked content.

They walked home together, the father and his youngest baby, saying nothing, for Sate was one of those wise-eyed little children who have spells of sweet silence come over them, and Nettie, with Susie, walked behind, the elder sister speculating: "Where did little Sate find father? Did he pick her up on the street somewhere, and would he be angry, and not let Nettie take her to church any more? Or did he, passing, spy her in the churchyard and come in for her?"

Nettie did not know, and Sate did not tell; principally because she did not understand that there was anything to tell. So while the people in their homes talked and laughed about the small white waif who had slipped into the choir, the people in this home were entirely silent about it, and the mother did not know that anything strange had happened. It is true, Susie began to inquire reprovingly, but was hushed by Nettie's warning whisper; certainly Nettie was gaining a wonderful control over the self-sufficient Susie. The child respected her almost enough to follow her lead unquestioningly, which was a great deal for Susie to do.

So they sat together that sweet Sabbath afternoon, Nettie telling her Bible stories, and wondering how she should plan. What did Norm intend to do a little later in the day? What was there she could do to keep him from lounging down street? Why was her father staying so long in the choked-up bedroom? What was the matter with her father these days, and how long was anything going to last? Why did she feel, someway, as though she stood on the very edge of something which startled and almost frightened her? Was it because she was afraid her father would not let her take Sate and Susie to church any more?

With all these thoughts floating through her mind, it was rather hard to keep herself closely confined to Daniel and his experiences. Suddenly the bedroom door opened and her father came out. Everybody glanced up, though perhaps nobody could have told why. There was a peculiar look on his face. Mrs. Decker noticed it and did not understand it, and felt her heart beat in great thuds against the back of her chair. Little Sate noticed it, and went over to him and slipped her hand inside his. He sat down in the state chair which Nettie and her mother had both contrived to have left vacant, and took Sate in his arms. This, of itself, was unusual, but after that, there was silence, Sate nestling safely in the protective arms and seeming satisfied with all the world. Nettie felt her face flush, and her bosom heave as if the tears were coming, but she could not have told why she wanted to cry. Norm seemed oppressed with the stillness, and broke it by whistling softly; also he had a small stick and was whittling; it was the only thing lie could think of to do just now. It was too early to go out; the boys would not be through with their boarding-house dinners yet. Suddenly Mr. Decker broke in on the almost silence. "Hannah," he said, then he cleared his voice, and was still again, "and you children," he added, after a moment, "I've got something to tell you if I knew how. Something that I guess you will be glad to hear. I've turned over a new leaf at last. I've turned it, off and on, in my mind a good many times lately, though I don't know as any of you knew it. I've been thinking about this thing, well, as soon as Nannie there came home, at least; but I haven't understood it very well, and I s'pose I don't now; but I understand it enough to have made up my mind; and that's more than half the battle. The long and short of it is, I have given myself to the Lord, or he has got hold of me, somehow; it isn't much of a gift, that's a fact, but the queer thing about it is, he seems to think it worth taking. I told him last night that if he would show a poor stick like me how to do it, why, I'd do my part without fail; and this morning he not only showed the way plain enough, but he sent my little girl to help me along."

The father's voice broke then, and a tear trembled in his eye. Sate had held her little head erect and looked steadily at him as soon as he began to talk, wonder and interest, and some sort of still excitement in her face as she listened. At his first pause she broke forth:

"Did He mean you, papa, when He said 'Come unto Me'? Was He calling you, all the time? and did you tell Him you would?"

"Yes," he said, bending and kissing the earnest face, "He meant me, and He's been calling me loud, this good while; but I never got started till to-day. Now I'm going along with Him the rest of the way."

"I'm so glad," said little Sate, nestling contentedly back, "I'm so glad, papa; I'm going too."

"BUT" AND "WILL."

FARMER SMITH was fond of birds. When he was young, married and settled in his new house, he planted trees about his home for the birds to live in. He made several pretty cages for the martins. Here and there he put small boxes among the tree-tops to draw certain birds that love to occupy houses that other folks have built.

When boxes failed he would take old oyster cans instead. One day he picked up a leaky glue-pot and tied that on a young elm-tree.

THE HOME OF THE WREN FAMILY.

The next day it was "rented" by a wren. There she continued year after year, taking a vacation in the winter in Florida for her health's sake. She had a way of paying her rent that quite satisfied Farmer Smith, as he never ejected or annoyed her. He probably got his rent in music.

As the years went by, the young elm grew and grew till its top branches seemed almost to touch the sky. It spread, some said, over a half acre nearly.

The glue-pot, or wren's nest, had gone up too, beyond the reach of bad boys that are not happy in seeing birds happy.

One summer, when Mother Wren and Father Wren had gone away on a short visit, the children looked down from the door of their cottage and saw some strangers approaching. Among them was Farmer Smith. He was showing them over the grounds and pointing out this thing and that.

They came under the elm and talked, and the young Wrens listened. And when the old people returned they related the conversation of Farmer Smith and the strangers.

They were greatly excited, as something was said about cutting the "old elm" down.

But the parents quieted their troubled wrenlets with a good supper and, putting them to sleep, they talked the matter over in a whisper with their heads close together.

The next day, charging the children to listen carefully, they flew away, returning soon with a good dinner.

As they sat eating, Miss Kittie Wren spoke up:

"They came again, and I heard Farmer Smith say that this tree was indeed in the way. He could not raise anything about it, it shaded everything so. 'But I can't bear,' he said—I couldn't hear the rest. But I guess it was something awful, and we'll have to get right out of our pretty house or be cut down. O dear, dear!"

And they all set up a cry, and were quieted only when told there was no danger, because Farmer Smith said "But."

The next day, on their return, Master Fred related the talk.

"Farmer Smith said: 'I can't get through winter, as I see, without cutting up "old elm" for wood. But, dear me, how can I? I set it out, and have enjoyed its shade so long. Yet I suppose some day it must come down for firewood.'"

"No danger yet," said Mr. Wren. "So long as that 'But' stands there he can't strike 'old elm' one blow."

The next day Deb told how he came and measured it and figured up how many cords of wood it might make, and then he guessed he might cut it next week.

"Needn't be disturbed, darling, so long as Farmer Smith guesses he'll do it next week. That does not mean anything."

At supper on the following evening, Fred said: "Farmer Smith said to-day, 'Boys, I want you to cut down the elm.' It's all up with us now."

"Never fear a man who only wants a thing done. Thousands of people want this and that, but don't do it. You may rest another day, children. Eat, drink and be merry till we get back."

Mother Wren had barely entered the door with a delicious dinner when Kittie, Fred and Deb all put in at once:

"You had scarcely gone, when Farmer Smith came out alone and walked around 'old elm' muttering something. Then he said, 'I will go now and get my axe and cut it down this very day.' He is grinding his axe now; don't you hear the grindstone?"

"He said, 'I will?' Are you sure it was not guess or think I will?"

"We are positive," all said.

"Then pack up this very minute. We must move before he strikes the first blow."

And away they went.

Did you ever hear of folks who say they ought to sign the Temperance Pledge; who guess they will seek religion; who think they will begin to pray some day, but not now? A few will, like the Prodigal Son, and they are—saved!

Do you but or guess or think or will?

Rev. C. M. Livingston.

Do thy little; God has made
Million leaves for forest shade;
Smallest stars their glory bring,
God employeth everything.

WHY SOME ROSES ARE RED.

A Flower Legend.

ALL roses were white, in the long ago,
According to flower lore;
But one day an angel passed by that way
As a message of love he bore

To a sorrowful soul bowed down by woe,
And weary with ceaseless pain,
And as he noticed the fragrant white flowers,
He poised on the wing amain,

And quickly approaching those roses sweet,
A beautiful bud to pick,
He whispered, "I'll take it with word of love
I bear to the lonely sick."

But as he plucked the beauteous flower,
Whose soft cheek was pale as death,
He said, "As my errand this time brings life—
I will warm it with my breath."

So he kissed the cheek of the fair white rose,
Which 'neath his thrilling touch blushed,
And with message of love, and pink rose of hope,
The sighs of the sick one he hushed.

And ever since then, when a rose is red,
Or blushes with delicate tint,
A kiss, from some angel of love and life,
On its cheek has left its imprint.
Lydia Hoyt Farmer.

A MOTHER'S LOVE.

IN December, 1821, a man with his wife and child were riding in a sleigh over the mountains of Vermont. At last the horse refused to proceed. The man set off to look for help, but soon he perished in the cold. The mother set off to look for him, with her baby in her arms, but she was found dead near the sleigh, next morning. The babe, however, was living, for that mother had wrapped it in her shawl. There is a sweet poem written about it. This proves to you the deep love that wells up in the mother's heart. Any mother would have done the same for her child.

How earnestly should every child strive to love and please his dear parents.

Ringwood.

WANTED—THE MOON.

THE Moon rose early, and Baby Ned
Was rather late in going to bed.
Not two years old, this dear little fellow,
With head so round, and bright, and yellow,

With his eyes so brown, and mouth so sweet,
His fair little hands, and dainty feet—
Wee feet, that have barely learned to walk—
And his wise, quaint, broken, baby talk.

He was perched that night on grandma's knee,
The place where the small king loved to be.
Where the wise brown eyes saw something new
Through the window, up there in the blue.

Over the top of the tallest hill,
Round and silvery, fair, and still,
God's grand old moon! that for ages past
Has held its way in the night-sky vast.

And Neddie wanted that shining ball
To hold in his hands so soft and small,
And nobody went and took it down.
He wrinkled his face to a little frown;

Red lips quivered—he wanted it soon;
Then—one more baby cried for the moon!
But mamma brought him his milk and bread,
And patted his dear little curly head.

Then quickly he smiled and forgot the moon,
And laughed at his face in his silver spoon.
O happy Neddie! so easy to smile;
Your life will be glad, if all the while

As the years go on you can turn away
From all that you want when God says "Nay,"
And laugh, and thank Him for what He may give—
That is the way for His child to live.

O manly boys, and sweet little girls!
With all your colors of eyes and curls,
If you would have life like a summer day,
Be content with the things that are in your way.

Seek ever the things that are pure and high,
As planets that move in the evening sky,
But if you can't have the shining moon,
Be glad when God offers the silver spoon.
Emily Baker Smalle.

PHYSICIANS IN COUNSEL.

Volume 13, Number 33.        Copyright, 1886, by D. Lothrop & Co.        June 19, 1886.

THE PANSY.

MAMMA HAS RETURNED.

WHERE I WENT, AND WHAT I SAW.

IN the first place, I took a walk. It was a March day, but I wore a sun hat and carried a sun umbrella. Crossing the road in front of my cottage, I went through a little gate, ran down a hill under great spreading pines, and walked along the shore of a lovely lake, stopping now and then to pick white violets, and whortleberry blossoms with which to adorn my hat. Then I sat me down in a rustic seat, and read a letter from some friends in Ohio, telling about a snow storm, and a wind storm, and a frost frolic, and I know not what not of sulky, boisterous weather. Over my head, meanwhile, the mocking birds sang merrily, now pretending that they were robins, now bobolinks, and now nothing but common chirping birds!

Yes, I was in a different country; and you are guessing rightly, that it was in sunny Florida.

But it was time to go on; the great tabernacle bell was ringing, and I wanted to be in at the opening, for we were promised some curious sights that day. After all, I was late; some friends who had been in the woods stopped to show me some pitcher plants, and to divide great sprays of sweet-scented Southern jessamine with me, and when I tiptoed into the tabernacle, work had commenced.

Certainly the sight was curious enough. Men and women, some of them gray-headed and spectacled, each of them with a bit of paper in hand about four inches square; red, or yellow, or blue, or golden, as the case might be; all the colors of the rainbow seemed to be there. Each of these grave men and women were bent over their papers, carefully folding, and creasing, and re-folding, according to the direction of the leader, until they had each made what a small woman of six, sitting near me, called "a little birdie with wings!" but what her gray-haired aunt sitting beside her, pronounced to be a "strictly correct geometrical figure." "Geometry," was that the subject? Well, that is for grown people, surely. No, playing at boat and bird building. Was that the subject? But that is for children.

Well, you are both right; it was Geometry, and it was play. And the name of it is Kindergarten.

Call it what you will, not a Blossom of you but would have liked to be there, and help fold that paper; and your mothers would have enjoyed it, at least, almost as well. Why? Well, principally because of the little dots at home, which they saw they could delightfully entertain, as well as teach, in this way; and because of the tall boy, who yet is a trifle puzzled over fractions. It would be so easy with those nice sticks, which followed the papers, to show him how to do it. Then the blocks, cunning little squares, and triangles, and all sorts of shapes; and what delightful things they would build, to be sure! Do you know, I fancied I saw every Blossom of mine, who has a sister or brother, four, five, six years old, who must be entertained very often by your puzzled selves, sitting in that tabernacle, eager listeners and workers, getting new and bright thoughts every minute as to how you could combine pleasure with instruction; and while little sister thought she was having a "perfectly splendid time" in your care, she would really be learning lessons which would help her all her life.

Didn't I wish you were there! But since you were not, and I couldn't reach to call you, why, I will tell you about it now, and fill your hearts with vain regrets.

Listen, my Blossoms. Kindergarten; that is the name, remember. Is there one in the city where you go, sometimes, to visit? By all means take a morning or two, and visit it, and run away with some pretty ideas to help you amuse the little sisters. Or perhaps it is in the very city where you live, but too far away for the little sister or brother to attend; still, by all means, go you, as a guest occasionally; and my word for it, you will be richly repaid. Such wonders can be done with bright paper, and blocks, and a strong needle with bright-colored silks.

Miss Ross was our teacher, in Florida, last winter; and much did we enjoy the privilege of hearing her. She is going to hold Normal Kindergarten Conventions through the States, next fall; look out for her name, and hear her if you can.

Miss Matilda K. Ross of Chicago.

Pansy.

A LETTER FROM FATHER.

"I WONDER if we will get a letter from father to-night."

It was Essie Carter who spoke. Her mother sat by the window sewing, while Gracie played with her dolls upon the doorstep. Essie was just starting for the post-office.

"I think," she continued, "that I will go across the pasture lot, it is more shady that way and it is very warm this afternoon."

At mention of the pasture lot Gracie sprang up and said in her lisping tones, "Gracie go too!"

"Gracie may go as far as the fence and wait for Essie there," said her mother. And clinging to her sister's hand, carrying her favorite doll, the little one went down the lawn, across the meadow and there cheerfully relinquished her hold and set about hunting violets while Essie went on to the country post-office, where she secured the coveted letter. On her return she found Gracie hanging upon the fence.

"Did you get a letter?" she asked.

"Yes; and now we will hurry home and mamma will read it to us."

"Did my papa write it?" asked the child.

"Yes, dear; papa wrote it to us, maybe there will be a little letter in it for Gracie."

"With what did he write it?"

"With a pen, of course."

"What is a pen?" asked the little questioner.

"O Gracie Carter! you can ask the most questions of any child that ever was born, I do believe!" exclaimed Essie.

"But what is a pen?" persisted Gracie.

"A pen is a thing to write with," replied Essie despairing of evading the questions.

"Who made a pen?"

"I don't know," was Essie's frank reply.

And then she fell to thinking unheeding Grade's questions. After the letter had been read and talked over Essie said:

"Mamma, Gracie wanted to know who made pens, and I couldn't tell her; a thing we use so constantly too! I would like to know something about them myself."

"Well, dear, can't you find out?"

"If we were at home I could study it up in the library, but we haven't any books here excepting poems and Bibles and the dictionary."

"Is that the way you rank your books?" asked Mrs. Carter smiling.

"No; but it is such a matter of course to have the Bible that I was not going to mention it, then I just happened to think of the dictionary."

"Well, go to the dictionary and see what you find there."

Essie turned over the pages and read, "An instrument used for writing, formerly made of the quill of a goose or other bird, but now also of other materials, as gold and steel."

"Why, mamma, is that true, pens can be made of a quill? I never heard of such a thing."

"There are a few things that my daughter has never yet heard of."

"Now, mamma, you are laughing at me! But truly I never heard of a pen being made of a quill. Dear me, I wish I had a cyclopædia. The next time we come out here I mean to bring a whole set!"

"Perhaps I could tell you something about pens," said Mrs. Carter quietly.

"O mamma! I beg your pardon," exclaimed Essie coloring slightly. "I ought to have known that you could! I have heard papa call you a walking cyclopædia."

"Your uncle Horace was at one time employed in a gold pen manufactory and I learned a great deal at that time, and we studied up the history of pens. If I remember rightly the first pens used were made of iron or steel and were not used with ink, but the letters were cut in stone, or clay, and afterwards the same sort of an instrument was used to write upon waxed tablets; then when parchment and paper began to be used pens were made of reeds, and of course the people must have had ink of some sort. Now about quill pens. It was probably more than a thousand years ago that some one discovered that the quills of birds made better pens for writing on paper than could be made of reeds, and people have used quill pens more or less ever since."

"Why do we not use them? Did you ever use one?"

"Two questions at once! I'll answer the last one first. Yes, I remember using quill pens when I first began to go to school. My father had never used any other and he had a prejudice against steel pens, which had already come into use, and as we kept a flock of geese we always had a supply of quills. It was considered in my father's day one of the necessary qualifications of a schoolteacher that he should be able to make a good quill pen. Such steel pens as we use may be classed among modern inventions. It is said that they were first introduced about the beginning of the nineteenth century, but they were not a success and very little progress was made in the manufacture for more than a quarter of a century. One thing will surprise you, I think. The first pens made, in an English factory about the time they were successfully introduced, sold for nearly twenty-five cents apiece at wholesale rates."

"At that rate it would cost papa a fortune to keep me in pens! Why, I use up a box in a little while."

"Probably; you are apt to use up things."

"I wish papa would give me a gold pen; I believe I could keep one a long time," said Essie.

"DID YOU GET A LETTER?" SHE ASKED.

"Probably the best steel pens are made in England, but American gold pens are the best. A great amount of labor is bestowed upon them. Every one is carefully tested before it is put into the market. When a person buys a gold pen he pays a good price for it and expects it to last a long time, and this is the reason that they are so carefully tested. If half the steel pens in your box prove to be worthless, the remainder are still cheap."

"But, mamma, you have not told me why people do not use quill pens nowadays."

"I suppose principally because metal pens are more durable. Quill pens require to be mended often and one who writes much would find it quite a task to make and mend his pens. I should not wonder if we would find a bunch of quills hanging from the rafters in the attic of this old house and I should like to make a quill pen for you that you may write with a pen like the one your grandfather always used. And now, Essie, if you will pay attention to your father's request you shall have a gold pen when we go back home," said mamma, smiling kindly.

"You mean about taking pains with my writing?"

"Yes; I have sometimes thought that in nothing does culture or want of culture show itself more than in a person's penmanship."

Mrs. J. H. Foster.

THE FOX FAMILY.

IN 1840 there lived a man in Kinderhook, N. Y., who was a smart politician and his party often put him up for office; somehow he had a way often of being elected, as many popular men do nowadays. He was nominated for the Presidency. Can you guess his name? There was great excitement on both sides. The Whigs had put up General Harrison for their candidate and were singing songs about Log Cabins and Hard Cider, because General Harrison lived in one and drank the other. They said many things against the Kinderhook man. Parties always do say hard things against their opponents.

Among other hard names they called him a "Little Fox," and no doubt some voted against him, thinking if he was anything like a fox he was not fit to be President of the United States.

A FAMILY OF FOXES.

People are prejudiced against this animal because he is so sly and tricky.

Queer stories are told about his smartness.

He loves (to eat) fowl. He will swim toward a duck e. g. with turf in the mouth, so as to be concealed, then, being near, the unsuspecting duck is "nabbed" for Mr. Fox's dinner.

He goes limping with his head down, as if eating clover, till near enough to seize a hare. When caught stealing hens, he will pretend to be dead, though kicked roughly about, till he gets a chance to "up and off." When traps are arranged around his hole, he will stay in for days, hungry, or make a new outlet rather than expose himself to a trap. He knows how to fire off a gun that has been set for him without being hit.

In Northern climes he can pull up the fish-line that has been placed by the fisherman over night through a hole in the ice. The man comes early to get a morning fish breakfast but only to find an empty hook lying near the hole and Mr. Fox galloping off in the distance with the game.

The above is what "They say." Many more strange things are said about the Fox family.

Certain it is they are a shrewd set, smarter in providing delicious repasts for their children than many of their neighbors, the farmers, who treat them as thieves.

The Whigs did almost or quite call the Kinderhook man a sly thief. They probably now think he was as honest, perhaps more suited to the Presidency than was Gen. Harrison. Very different from the "Fox" of Kinderhook was Charles James Fox of England who died a hundred years ago. Strangely enough he was a great Whig, though Whig in England was not the same as Whig in the United States. He was a fine scholar and high statesman; some say, "the greatest debater the world ever saw."

Different still was George Fox of England who died two hundred years ago—one of the purest, best men that ever lived. The Quakers or Friends started from him. He went everywhere preaching the simple teaching of the Bible and against trusting to forms and ceremonies. Enemies arose against him and had him put in loathsome dungeons. But he came out of the prison (though not just as Saint Peter did, by the help of an angel) but only to forgive his cruel persecutors and go right on preaching God's free and simple grace.

John Foxe was another grand man. He wrote "Foxe's Book of Martyrs." Have you ever read it? He died three hundred years ago. Thus you see the Foxes are not all so sly and tricky as those in the picture "look to be." See what queer eyes they have. Somewhat upside down.

C.

SOME REMARKABLE WOMEN.

N.—NEWELL, HARRIET ATWOOD.

UPON the platform in Tremont Temple, Boston, at the meeting of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, last October, there was placed a little mahogany table, old-fashioned in form and dark with age. It was an object of great interest from the fact that around that small table, three feet by two—or, when the leaves were spread, three by five—there sat, seventy-five years ago, the five men who formed the American Board at that date. The first meeting held in the parlor of the little parsonage in Farmington, Ct., was a small beginning, and who could have guessed that Tremont Temple, Music Hall, and one or two churches would have been filled to overflowing by the crowds that would come to the seventy-fifth anniversary! We who live in this missionary age cannot realize the weight of that undertaking, nor can we who are saying farewell to friends and acquaintances who go out in fast-sailing steam ships with many a comfort and convenience unknown in those days, and in comparative safety, realize what it meant to those five young men and their wives who were the first sent out by the newly-formed board, to bid adieu to home and friends with scarce a hope of ever returning to their native land. Rev. Samuel J. Newell was one of the five, and the subject of this sketch was his devoted young wife. Harriet Newell was the first woman who went out to India as a missionary. She was scarcely beyond girlhood, only eighteen years old when she said good-by to her widowed mother and went out to tell the people of India about the Friend who waited to receive them.

Mrs. Newell's early home was at Haverhill, Mass. She was educated at Bradford Academy. It was while she was at school that she determined to consecrate her life to the service of Christ, though I do not gather from any account of her life that she had at that time any thoughts of becoming a missionary. Her letters written at that early period evince a rare thoughtfulness and uncommon maturity of mind. Indeed, it would seem that she early put away childish things. Neither have we any account of her having any of the good times of girlhood; yet I suppose she was not altogether unlike other girls, but we have only the story of her inner life. She has told us in her journal of her conflicts with sin and of her victories; we can see the rapid development of her Christian character, from the time she first engaged in the service of God to the hour when she "consecrated herself to the establishment of the kingdom of Christ in Pagan lands. To this great and glorious object all her thoughts and studies, her desires and prayers tended. It was only with a view to this that she considered her talents and acquirements of any special importance."

Mrs. Newell exhibited in her short life great force and decision of character. When, after earnest deliberation, mingled with prayer for wisdom, the question of duty had been settled, she moved forward without hesitation. Let me give you the words of one who knew her well:

"The character of Mrs. Newell had an excellence above the reach of mere human nature; behold her, united to friends and country by a thousand ties, a woman of refined education, with delightful prospects in her own country, resigning all for a distant Pagan land; all these sacrifices she made calmly, with a sober deliberation, with steady, unyielding firmness, and this not for wealth, or fame, or any earthly object, but to make known among the heathen the unsearchable riches of Christ."

And now what will you say when I tell you that this remarkable woman, remarkable for her talents, her personal gifts, remarkable for her Christian development, was to meet with disappointment at the outset and was to be denied the privilege of engaging in the work for which she had left home and friends. They were ordered away from India by the government and decided to attempt to establish a mission upon the Isle of France. Nearly a year from the time of leaving America they reached this place, having spent nearly all that time on ship-board. It would seem that now their troubles might be at an end; and so Mrs. Newell's were. For in about three weeks after they landed she was called to go to her mansion above. At nineteen her work was finished—finished, as it seemed, before it was fairly begun! Yet her example of devotion, of fortitude, of love for the cause, her submission and patience under trial may have accomplished far more than she living could have done. When the news of her triumphant death came to America, other noble-hearted, earnest women were found ready to take the place of this first woman of our land who was ready to give her life to the people of India. To-day, after seventy-five years, scores are in the field, more waiting to be sent, and I know not how many among the Pansy readers getting ready for the Master's work in foreign lands. God grant that there may be many such!

F. H.

OUR ALPHABET OF GREAT MEN.

Q.—QUINCY, JOSIAH.

COUNTING back for five generations, we find in the Quincy family a Josiah. The great-great-grandfather of the present Josiah Quincy was a merchant, and we are told that he was a zealous patriot in Revolutionary times, and you all know that meant a great deal.

His son, who was called Josiah Junior, became a celebrated lawyer, and was prominent as an advocate of liberty. It was he who with Samuel Adams addressed the people when the British ships anchored in Boston Harbor with the cargo of tea. But notwithstanding his reputation for patriotism, his action in defending the soldiers who fired upon the mob in what is known as the Boston Massacre, brought him into unpopularity.

Yet I think that if you study the facts carefully, and weigh them well, you will see that although the presence of the British soldiers was an outrage, and justly obnoxious to the people, yet upon that occasion there was some excuse for their action. And John Adams and Josiah Quincy should not be condemned for undertaking their defence.

Afterwards both did good service in the interest of Colonial Independence. Quincy went to England doing much to promote the good of his country.

He died upon the homeward voyage in 1775, in sight of American shores. His son Josiah, three years old at the time of his father's death, was educated at Harvard University, became a lawyer, a member of Congress, and having filled acceptably various other offices, was at length elected President of Harvard, which position he held for fifteen years, He had a son Josiah, also a graduate of Harvard, and again the fifth Josiah in the line is a graduate of the same institution.

There are other Quincys of this family who have attained celebrity. I might tell you of Edmund Quincy, who was prominent in anti-slavery circles, but I think you will find plenty of occupation for this month if you study up all these Josiahs.

Faye Huntington.

A VERITABLE BOY BLUE.

Volume 13, Number 34.        Copyright, 1886, by D. Lothrop & Co.        June 26, 1886.

THE PANSY.

AN ENGLISH STILE.

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.

By Margaret Sidney.

VIII.

A BOY, breathless from long running, rushed into Mrs. Allen's arms as she turned away from the sitting-room window with a sigh.

"Why, here you are!" she exclaimed in a joyous burst.

"The fellows are in some sort of a scrape," gasped the boy, careful of his words; "can't get home—I'm going to tell their mothers—"

Mrs. Allen looked at her empty arms, turned and went out to the kitchen.

"Ann, you may put on the tea; we will not wait for George Edward."

"Land! he just raced in, red as a boiled lobster," cried Ann with the privilege of a favored servant.

"I know; but he is off again, on an errand that had to be attended to—put on the tea, and ring the bell."

It was some time before the son of the family made his appearance in the Allen household again. When he did come, it was to bring a face so utterly miserable, and a pair of feet so incapacitated for further movement, that his mother began to seriously question if she had done the wise thing to allow him to be the deliverer of the several messages.

The first thing to do now, however, was to get the boy to bed; so with the aid of Ann's hot oatmeal gruel, George Edward was assisted by father and mother on either side, up to his pretty room, where he was rubbed down, pretty much as one would perform that same operation on a tired horse, till each separate and distinct joint seemed supple and elastic as was their ordinary condition, and the boy was tumbled into bed, fast asleep before his head touched the pillow. Mr. and Mrs. Allen looked at each other as they sat down in the library, and drew a long breath.

"What shall we do with such a boy?" cried the mother. "He seems to carry the burdens of other boys, old people, animals, and everything that comes in his way."

"Let him alone," said Father Allen shortly.

"Oh! I wouldn't dare say anything," exclaimed Mother Allen, alarmed at being misunderstood; "I was only mentioning the fact."

"You asked a question," said Father Allen, who was nothing if not exact; "you asked 'What shall we do with him?'"

"And I ask it again," said Mrs. Allen, rubbing her forehead in a perplexed way, "whatever in the world shall we do with him?"

"And I answer in the same words that the immortal Mr. Dick employed on a similar occasion to Miss Betsey Trotwood's question, 'Wash him and put him to bed.'"

"We have done that," said his wife with a laugh, "now, what next?"

"Oh! as to that," replied Father Allen with a yawn, "I must confess, I don't see my way clear to furnishing you with an additional answer. The only one I should suggest is, let us go to bed."

So the matter was left precisely as it always remained, for George Edward to follow out his own instincts, and grow up in his own way to solve life's greatest problem, "How can I best serve mankind, and carry out Christ's command 'To do unto others as I would that they should do to me.'"

This narrative, more devoted to the interests of St. George and his doings, than to records of any other boys, will simply state that the morrow's morning train brought home the recreant crowd to the bosoms of their waiting families. The boys of this crowd always mentioned the old farmer who had passed the night with them, with an air, though not of fondness, of great respect. What he did to them to thus inspire them, I am in no position to know—I can only relate that he had great satisfaction in his part of the evening's entertainment, and that he simply remarked to Betsey on his return, "I don't think they'll do that thing again right away," and that Thomas when recalling the event, would often pause in his work to allow himself the brief respite of a smile after careful observation that revealed no on-looker.

"I don't think it pays," some voice at my elbow might say, as a pair of bright young eyes have traced thus far George Edward's career, "to be always watching to help other people out of scrapes. 'Look out for yourself' is going to be my motto."

Just wait, dear little friend. The "boy is father to the man" we are told, and we recognize the fact from the first time we meet the phrase in our readers and copy books. Isn't it better to be a good father, and turn out a worthy representative of your family name, that no chance in life will make one ashamed to meet in after life? What you call "fun" and "a good time" and "looking out for yourself" now, will perhaps carry a different name ten or twenty years later. It may possibly be known among men as selfishness, indifference to public good; or uglier still, sharp, shrewd handling of moneyed interests committed to your care, to make them yield benefits to the one who manipulates them. It may get even to be found deserving the name of a man who recognizes only the Ego of human existence, than which, you will quite agree with me, there is no more hateful being under the sun. Think well before you give up the habit of doing the good you can now to those who are your neighbors, whether at home or at school.

And this brings me to a second period of George Edward's life, which was fraught with new responsibilities and pleasures, and which brought him into a wider field of boyish activity. He was to go away to boarding-school; the narrow educational advantages of his home demanding it.

Before the important decision was reached—where to send their boy—Mr. and Mrs. Allen allowed themselves a whole year to consideration of the matter. There was not a school of prominence in the length and breadth of the land, that in some way did not pass under the keen-eyed watchfulness of the two parents. Not that they personally visited them all—oh dear, no! how could they? But that in some way, reliable information of the different school methods, and the principles and standing of the instructors, was given into their keeping.

"We never shall find a school where we can say confidently we will place our boy; never in all this world," cried Mrs. Allen one day, when a letter from a friend upset an almost decided plan of accepting the "Halloway School for Boys" as the arena for George Edward's activity. The letter was from a good friend whom they could trust. It said, "Don't you do it; the system of instruction is faulty, and the knowledge obtained is shallow."

Father Allen only said, "Don't worry," buttoned up his coat and went out to try other fields.

At last came the day when those interested could announce the thing settled. "George Edward Allen is going to Doctor Bugbee's school in Rockboro," and great grief and lamentation fell upon his old friends—and who in that town in which his life was spent, was not glad to claim that friendship?

THE CAMEO SET.

AGAIN the jewel-case was brought out. Lucy Ansted's brother had arrived for a short visit, and taking advantage of this addition to her forces, Annie Burton determined to have a tableau party. Grandma Burton, always interested in whatever the "the children were up to," offered the girls her old-fashioned jewels for the occasion. But no sooner was the jewel-case opened than they forgot all about the tableaux and fell to admiring and asking questions. "These the only cameos I ever saw that I thought pretty," said Annie, holding up a handsome set.

"Those are handsome!" said Lucy. "Mamma has cameos, but they are common-looking things. Seems to me they cannot be the same kind; I think there is a difference in the color."

"Very likely," replied Mrs. Burton. "I presume your mother's are shell cameos. The most of the modern cameos are made from sea shells. The shells have two layers of different colors. Usually the outside is white and the inner layer brown or coffee-colored. I once had an opportunity of visiting a cameo cutter's workshop. It was not easy to get admission, but an artist friend of your grandfather's took me there."

"Can you tell us about the process?"

"It was many years ago, and my impressions of what I saw have grown somewhat dim, still I can tell you something about it. I remember that he told me that the shell he was cutting came from the coast of Brazil. Another which he showed me was from the Bahamas, and he said that some of those used came from the Indies, both East and West, and also from the African coast."

"Are the shells used of a peculiar sort?"

PREPARING FOR TABLEAUX.

"They are the ordinary conch-shell. In each one there is material for only a single cameo, large or small. The available part is sawed out by persons employed for that work, who also shape the cameo by grinding the piece upon a grindstone, making it square or oval as desired; then it is ready to be handed over to the artist. The cutter fastens the shell into a small block of wood, of a size convenient for grasping firmly with the left hand. He then draws the outline of the figure he wishes to put upon it with a pencil. When the work is outlined upon the white surface, he begins to scratch the line with a fine steel needle, following his pencil mark very carefully. The artist I saw at work inspected his scratches with a magnifying glass at almost every scratch of his needle. I call it a needle because that describes the fine steel tool which he used. After he had finished the outline he began to work with small, sharp chisels, cutting away the white layer of shell around the figure he had outlined. He worked away carefully, chipping and scraping until it was all removed, leaving the portrait of some old Roman a raised white figure upon a dark ground. It seems simple enough to hear about it, or to see it done, but it requires a skilful hand and a practised eye. There is a finishing process of polishing with putty powder. This is applied with a stiff brush and is said to be a very delicate operation, though it seems as easy as the polishing of a silver spoon."

Lucy had been turning over the articles in one of the compartments of the jewel-case and now held up a small cameo pin.

"That is a shell cameo!" said Grandma; "I had quite forgotten it. Now if you will observe, you will see that the edges of the raised white part are left square-cut, not rounded or sloped."

"Why is that?" asked Lucy.

"If the white layer were cut thinner by the rounding or sloping of the edges, the dark layer would show through, and the outline would be less clearly defined."

"I see! A very simple explanation."

"A great many things are plain after you know the whys and wherefores."

"But, grandma," said Lucy, "this set of yours—is this a shell cameo?"

"No; I was going to tell you about that. It is very old, and somewhat rare in design and workmanship. It belonged to your great-grandmother Burton. It is an onyx. The art of cutting shell cameos is a modern one. I think it is not a hundred years since shell cameos were introduced, but the art of cutting precious stones like the onyx and agate, in fact, any stone which has layers of different colors, is very ancient. The Greeks and Romans understood the art, and even in Babylonish days it was practised, and used for the ornamenting of vases, cups, urns."

"There are a few very fine specimens of antique cameos to be found in Europe. One in Paris is twelve inches long by ten inches wide. And the Gonzaga Cameo in St. Petersburg is one of the finest." It was Grandpa Burton who said this, joining for the first time in the talk which drifted to other topics, in which we have just now no special interest. But Mrs. Burton noticed that Lucy laid aside the cameos for the tableau party.

Wilmot Condee.

THE ROSE-GAME.

I WANT to tell you, dear Pansies, of a lovely little game for the most beautiful month in the year—the month of roses. It is played out-of-doors, of course, in the long, beautiful sweet evening, when father and mother, and the older members of the family circle who do not care to participate actively, can sit on the porch, or by the open window, and see the pretty fun go on.

Make a chain of roses, just as one makes a daisy chain, or a chain of any other flowers. Use all kinds and colors of roses—being careful to distribute shades nicely. String on strong enough cord or ribbon to support the flowers.

Now choose your leader, either a boy or girl. Let all players assemble under a tree, or on the porch. The leader holding chain, comes up to them, and if addressing a girl, says, bowing low, "Pretty maid, wilt join us?"

(If to a boy)

"Pretty sir, wilt join us?"

When you have as many as can comfortably take hold of chain, move off to the smooth lawn. And here let me say, you better calculate before making your chain, how many children will take part in the game. Do not, I beg, crowd out any who would like to play. Always remember that a slight like this, or a disappointment, would make you feel very badly, and remembering this, make your games to bring pleasure to every one, and only productive of happy memories.

Now then, you are on the lawn. The leader gives the word. All take hold by both hands of rose-chain, and dance around, singing,

Ring around-a-rosy,
Jack must get a posy,

or,

Sue must get a posy,

or whatever the name of child who is first sent. As quick as lightning, Jack or Sue must leave chain and dancers, rush off into the garden, pick a flower, no matter what kind, and fly back, the others holding chain, dancing and singing,

Ring around-a-rosy,
Jack will bring a posy.

When the posy is brought, Jack throws it into the centre of ring, on the lawn. Do this until all players have brought a flower. If gone longer than they ought to be, they forfeit their places. When all have brought flowers, the ring dance around once more, singing,

Ring around-a-rosy,
Each has brought a posy.

Then the leader gives signal to stop. He picks up the heap of flowers, and, leading the way, he conducts all players to the porch, where with a low bow he presents to mother the posy heap, all singing,

Ring around-a-rosy,
Each brings you now a posy,

the leader throwing the rose chain around mamma's neck—which entre nous, I think she will always preserve in her best rose jar.

May the sweetest, longest June evening be made very happy in playing this Rose-Game.

Margaret Sidney.

THE FLOWER CHORUS.

THIS may be arranged for twenty, or more, quite little girls, say in groups of five; representing roses, lilies, daisies, and pansies. It would be well to have the children decorated as much as possible with the flowers they represent, and let each carry a bouquet of the same.

(Concert Recitation; children arranged in a semicircle.)

We are Jesus' little Blossoms
Blooming in his bowers;
And He watches us and loves us,
His little human flowers.
Blooming, blooming everywhere,
Each of priceless worth,
And he bids us reach out
Over all the earth.

(As the last line is given, let the children make a waving motion outward, with the hand that holds the flowers.)

THE ROSES.

(Let the five or more children who represent them, step slightly forward, and hold their bouquets just before them, looking down at them, and appearing to get their perfume as they speak.)

Our Heavenly Father's roses
Are very sweet and bright;
And we should bloom just like them,
From morning until night.
Blooming, blooming everywhere,
Each of priceless worth,
So he bids us blossom
Over all the earth.

If roses are plenty, it makes a very effective addition to this recitation, for each of the children to toss out toward the audience, roses, here and there, as they give the last two lines; not, however, disturbing their bouquets.

THE LILIES.

Our Saviour's precious lilies
Grew, lovely, at His feet;
Oh would that we could blossom
As beautiful and sweet!
Blooming, blooming everywhere,
Each of priceless worth,
So He bids us scatter
Over all the earth.

(As the last four lines are given, let the roses join with the lilies in recitation, waving their flowers, and scattering them abroad, if this is feasible.)

THE DAISIES.

And these are God's fair daisies
That bloom on plain and hill;
We too would blossom like them,
And do our Father's will.
Blooming, blooming everywhere,
Each of priceless worth,
So He bids us blossom
Over all the earth.

(Let the roses and lilies join, and obey the directions given above.)

THE PANSIES.

Our Father's lovely pansies
Look up, with tender grace;
And we would blossom like them,
A joy in every place.
Blooming, blooming everywhere,
Each of priceless worth,
So he bids us blossom
Over all the earth.

(All join in the last four lines, as before; then form in a circle, holding up their bouquets in a compact mass, like a wreath, or crown, and give the last verse in concert.)

We are all our Father's flowers,
Blooming in His bowers,
And we want to blossom
In valley, plain, or meadow,
In sunshine, storm, or shadow,
Just as sweetly still,
And do our Father's will.

(Then let them quickly form a procession, and march around the platform, or down the aisle, or in any direction in which they are to make their exit, scattering roses, lilies, daisies and pansies from their bouquets as they march, singing the refrain:)

Blooming, blooming everywhere,
Each of priceless worth,
So He bids us blossom
Over all the earth.

(The refrain can be repeated as many times as it is necessary, in passing out; any simple tune which the children know, can be used in singing it.)

Mrs. C. E. Fisher.

BEN, DAN, AND JACK.

THEY lived in a long, low, rambling house; it might have been built a century ago, so queer and old-fashioned was it. But little cared the boys; they had good times. Mr. and Mrs. Prentice believed in boys; and they believed in boys having good times, always provided the good did not mean bad. For one thing, the Prentice boys were allowed to go barefooted. Now every boy knows that it is fun to go barefoot. They wore palm leaf hats in summer, which were not too good to play "pitch and toss" with. They were allowed to despoil the squash vines for leaf stalks to make "squawk pipes," and nice golden pumpkins from the field were not too precious in the eyes of Farmer Prentice to be used in making jack-o'-lanterns; they were allowed to go a-fishing; to go a-berrying, and to make up nutting parties, and, best fun of all, when all the neighborhood turned out to hunt the coons which were destroying the corn crop, the boys were allowed to join in the hunt.

How good the green corn roasted by that midnight fire down in the old pasture lot, just over the fence from the corn lot, tasted. And that was the time they learned the secret of roasting eggs and potatoes in the hot ashes. How carefully they rolled the eggs in many layers of brown paper, and then wetting them thoroughly laid them in the bed made ready, and covering with the heated ashes they listened for the cracking of the shells which would tell that the eggs were done. But these boys did not spend all their time in just having "good times." Now and then as they gathered around the kitchen fire in winter or were grouped in the yard, they would forget their popping corn or their jack-o'-lantern and fall to talking over the last book they had read.

There was no lack of books in the Prentice home. For if Mr. and Mrs. Prentice believed in boys, they also believed in books for boys.

"Any gunpowder under that?" asked Dan one morning, coming around the corner of the house and seeing a great pile of kindling wood which Jack was splitting.

"Not a keg!" was the reply.

"I thought you must be plotting some mischief or you would never have stuck to the work long enough to split such a pile as that," continued Dan.

"There is a plot, that's a fact," returned Jack; "but it is not a Gunpowder Plot. I am going to ask father to let me go with Johnson when he goes after those cattle, and we shall be gone three days, so I thought it would advance my cause a little if the kindlings were all ready beforehand."

"You are a sharp fellow," said Dan, laughing, "a very sharp fellow."

"But wasn't that Gunpowder Plot a scheme though!" said Jack.

"Well, I confess I don't know much about it," replied Ben, who had in his lazy fashion thrown himself on the ground. "Just tell a fellow about it and save him the trouble of reading it."

"That is what Jack is aching to do," said Dan, laughing. "Jack is the orator of the family, you know."

"Go ahead, old fellow," and Ben shifted his weight from one elbow to the other.

"It was in the reign of James the First; he was James the Sixth of Scotland; he was the son of Mary Stuart, and as she was a Catholic, the Catholics of England supposed her son would restore, or at least tolerate, the Catholic faith in England. But they were bitterly disappointed in this expectation; the old laws against it were put into execution and others more severe passed by Parliament. And it was out of this intolerance that the famous Gunpowder Plot grew. The scheme was to blow up with gunpowder the Parliament House, while Parliament was in session, and so destroy the king and members of Parliament. There was a vault under the building which the conspirators hired as a salesroom for wood and coal. They put in stealthily thirty-six barrels of gunpowder and then covered these with the wood and prepared a train so that the whole could be fired at once. They had a ship ready to take Fawkes on board—"

"You've got ahead of your story! tell us who was Fawkes."

"He was one of the conspirators, a Spanish officer who superintended the business and was to touch it off. Authorities do not quite agree as to how the secret leaked out. It is supposed that one of the conspirators wanted to save some of his friends and so warned them to keep away from the Parliament House on the day set for the execution of the plot, and suspicion was thus aroused, and Guy Fawkes was arrested just as he was about to apply the match to the train. He was tried and executed along with several others. The day set for the horrible deed was the fifth of November, 1605, and it has ever since been observed as a holiday in England."

"You've done well," said Dan. "But you left out a lot; you forgot to tell how they first hired a house next to the place where Parliament was held and tried to dig through the walls."

"I did not forget it, but it amounted to nothing and they abandoned that plan, and I thought Ben could read that up for himself. I have noticed that if you tell him a part of a story he will go and find out the rest. The best way is, to tell him just enough to whet his curiosity."

Dan was half-way to the barn before this remark was ended, but glancing back he saw Ben and Jack down on the grass having it out in a regular "rough and tumble."

F. H.

BEN, DAN, AND JACK.

THE P.S. Corner

Dear Pansies:

Will every one of you put on your "thinking caps" and give careful attention to what I am about to say? All summer I am to be away from home; in Kansas, Wisconsin, Nebraska, and I hardly know where else; flitting from one city to another, only a few days in a place. As a consequence, unless you pay close attention, I shall not be able to hear from you. Because letters will fail to reach me. But I shall have a secretary who will stay all summer at Chautauqua, Chautauqua Co., N. Y. If you address me at that place, she will get the letters, attend to the business part of them, and see that they are sent to me. Will you remember, and send letters to me at Chautauqua, instead of Cincinnati, or Carbondale, or any other place?

This direction holds good for the months of June, July, August and September. After that, I will give you other information.

Another thing, do not send subscription money for The Pansy to me; but always to D. Lothrop & Co., Boston.

When you want badges, send name and pledge to me; also ten cents in postage stamps, unless you are a subscriber. Subscribers are entitled to badges free of charge. All letters about The Pansy, or about your work or plans, all questions connected with the P. S. are to be sent to my address; but remember, when you want to subscribe for The Pansy, send your dollar directly to Boston.

Years ago we used to have a department in The Pansy which met with much favor. This was a letter or article by the Editor, containing all the words which had been misspelled or improperly used during the month, by young correspondents; of course no names were mentioned.

We have determined to begin in July, a similar exercise, continuing it so long as there shall be any call for it. If, during any month, all letters received have been correct as to spelling, punctuation, capitals, grammar, etc., you may know it by the absence of the "queer-looking" article the following month.

Each member of the P. S. is expected to carefully read and correct the article. If you choose to report to me your success, I shall be glad; but this is not a rule.

A good plan would be to have an exercise in your local societies, the president giving out the words from The Pansy, and each member writing them, as he or she thinks they ought to be; then let the papers be exchanged and read, first appointing an umpire, dictionary in hand, to decide as to correctness.

Look out for my first letter, next month.

Lovingly,            Pansy.

Dear Pansies:

Through the bright summer months, while away at seashore, or mountains, we know there will come many idle moments when it is too hot to play, and when books do not engross. In these moments, may you hear the voices of those patient little ones, who, too sick and suffering to play out of doors, are lying on beds of suffering, only knowing of the green fields, and cool brooks, and lovely summer-tide places, from their memories, or from what others tell them. At such moments, oh, dear Pansies, let your fingers be busy in making those things that you know children like them would enjoy, and your tongues be active, interesting the other children of the hotel or the boarding-house in this ministry of love. It is now some four years since the Pansy Society was formed. Its members are legion, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and it has done much noble work. But we aim for great results, and we mean this summer to accomplish much good. We wonder which of our workers will lead.

M. S.

Walter from Virginia. Another sunshiny face will give light in the home, if you keep your pledge, my boy, as I seem to feel sure you will. It is easy to find something to look cross at; almost anybody can do that; but the people are rather few who can look pleasant when things do not go just right. The few who do this, are among the most helpful people we have in the world.

Clara from Nova Scotia. A five-year-old Pansy blooming in Nova Scotia! Isn't that delightful? She is just like all the other little Blossoms, too; troubled with weeds; doesn't like to obey promptly, and "wants her own sweet little way, sometimes, instead of mamma's." But like a brave Blossom she is going to try to get rid of these weeds and grow beautifully for the great Gardener. We welcome you heartily to the P. S., and hope you will train "Agnes" and "Margaret" so well, that they will join us very soon.

May from Virginia. Little seven-year-old May flower, I give you greeting. It is such an easy thing for bright little tongues to "answer back!" How glad I am that now, while you are so young, you are going to overcome the bad habit! Why, here is brother Chester in your letter! We are glad to welcome him. What a large pledge he has taken! Part of it you are very glad to hear, I know. Chester, my boy, I hope you will succeed. Write and let me know how you are getting on.

Edith from California. "Selfishness" is a weed which seems to thrive in a great many States. I am not surprised to hear that California has its share. Glad you are going to root it from your grounds. I have ordered the missing number of The Pansy sent to you.

Lowrie from Washington Territory. So you do not mean the rest of us shall know what fault you are striving to overcome? Well, never mind; so that you and Jesus know about it, that is all that is really necessary. But if you honestly try, there are others who will know about it. You may not hear them, but they will be saying among themselves: "How much Lowrie is improving! Don't you know how often he used to give way to that fault of his? Now he hardly ever does." When your dear "chubby" fingers get so they can write, send me word how you are prospering, and whether you find the badge a help.

Calvert from Indiana. Here is a boy who is going to stop "putting off things." Good! I wish you lived with a boy friend of mine long enough for him to adopt your resolve. He troubles all his friends so much with that very habit! Perhaps he will read this letter, and join you. I am glad you try to increase the circulation of The Pansy. If every Blossom on our list should get one new subscriber a year, even, what a great new garden we should have!

Nora from Minnesota. What sort of a "face" is it, my dear? I suspect, a cross one; for I know several people who do not like to "practise." Suppose you resolve to wear a smile, whenever you are told to do that wearisome thing? In which case, you would be sure to keep your pledge. Wouldn't you?

Annie from Missouri. Five new subscribers in a week! What a bright little worker it is! A "quick" temper is not a bad thing to have, when it is a servant, and not a mistress. So long as you keep it under good control, it will help you to move quickly, and work quickly, and think quickly. Did you know that?

Amy from New York. My dear Blossom, I want to preach a little sermon to you, with one word for a text: PATIENCE. I know you have had to wait long for the answer to your letter; but what would you do if you were the editor of a magazine, which was published once a month, and had room in it for replies to only a dozen or twenty letters each month, and you received as many as twenty-five a day? You "would make shorter answers," I think I hear you say. That is a good suggestion; I have thought about it myself; but there is always so much to say! I am sorry to hear that you have not kept your pledge very well, but the old motto which my dear mother used to quote to me, when I was a very little girl, is a good one for you: "If at first you don't succeed, try, try again."

Nellie from Maine. So I had the honor of receiving the first letter you ever wrote! I am pleased with that. A good letter it was, too. I have just been reading about a little girl in California who has a habit of fretting; and now I find that they have the same disease in Maine! Well, I am glad to know that there will be less of it from this time. It is sometimes very hard work to obey promptly. You will have to keep careful watch of yourself; but it will be a triumph worth winning, when you form the habit.

Winnie and Helen from Minnesota. I am always glad to welcome sisters; for I know how helpful they can be to each other. When we have two, patient, lady-like, sweet Pansies who speak only gentle words, how sweet the perfume will be! Perhaps the breath of such flowers will creep all over the State of Minnesota! You don't think that possible? Oh, yes indeed. I have known a sweet breath from a little human flower, reach from New York to China. Try how far you can make your perfume reach.

Lucy from Massachusetts. Poor fingernails! I am always so sorry for those faithful friends when they have to be bitten. I will hope for better times with yours. It is astonishing how many warm friends Nettie Decker has! She is a favorite of mine, so I am glad you like her. I read your letter to the author of "My Brainless Acquaintance" and he expressed much pleasure at the thought that you enjoyed it. I hope you will give the "baby brother" a kiss for me.

Margie from Massachusetts. That is the trouble, my dear little girl: So many people are naughty "before they think."

I know of only one way to learn how to think, and that is, to ask Jesus to keep your thoughts on what he wants you to remember. You must always remember that it "takes two to make a quarrel;" so if you will not quarrel with any person, no one can quarrel with you.

Helen and Frank from Maryland. Dear little brother and sister, we are very glad to receive your names. There are a great many things to "get mad" over. I heard a little boy say, yesterday, that when he was in any trouble, he always got mad. I asked if that helped him any, and he owned that he thought it made the matter worse. It is pleasant to think that Frank will watch his temper, after this. And as for you, Helen, I shall expect to hear that you make a great deal of sunshine from this time.

Mary from Minnesota. Dear little Blossom, with "ever so many bad habits," what a work you have before you. But if you will hold your ear close, and not tell anybody, I will whisper a secret to you. Every little girl I know, has ever so many, also. The difference between them is only, that some are trying to overcome, and some are not. Let me tell you that is a very great difference; one that will reach all through life. It is so good to think that our little Mary belongs to those who are trying.

Ned and Willie from "Home." Well, my dear boys, that was what you said; and glad am I that you can date your letters from home, but I wish I knew in what State it was! I might have looked at the envelope, it is true, but I "forgot" and threw it away. Never mind, you know where you live, and I hope will never forget that it is the best place in the world. What a comfort to think of the hats and satchels, and all the other school belongings carefully put away, instead of being tossed on a chair, or under the table, or anywhere. Oh! I know all about it. A boy of my acquaintance pitched his hat into the milk pitcher the other day! Neither the hat nor the boy felt so well afterwards. As for that habit of "exaggerating" it is astonishing as well as sad, to think how it will grow. Not long ago I repeated a remark which a lady made, who had called on me; I was at once asked where I heard it, and I mentioned the lady's name. "Oh," said my friend, "that is probably not true; I have not heard of it, and I think I certainly should have, if it had been so. As for Miss ——, you cannot credit anything she says." Then noticing my astonished look, she added earnestly: "I am sorry to tell you so; but it is the truth. Not that I think she intends to be false, but she has such a sad habit of exaggerating, that really no one pretends to believe her stories." Think of it!

Florence from Pennsylvania. A "grumbler" is a very uncomfortable person, certainly. By all means let us uproot the weed from our Pansy Beds. Thank your dear mamma for her kind words.

Willie from Minnesota. Oh! I understand all about that habit; it causes a great deal of annoyance in this world. Only a few minutes ago, a boy rushed into the room where his mother was engaged with callers, and shouted, "Mamma, may I go to the lake a little while?" The question broke into the midst of this sentence which the caller was trying to say: "What a gentlemanly boy you have, Mrs. ——. I admire his manners very much!" Don't you think both she and the mother must have admired him at that moment? I congratulate your mother on the pledge you have taken.

Mattie from New Hampshire. There are a great many faults to struggle against, it is true; but those who overcome are always those who earnestly wish to do so. Certainly our Pansies have a great many ill-treated fingernails! We are glad to hear of improvements in that direction.

Belle from New York. You have a hard task before you, my dear; I know by experience how easy it is to speak cross words. But when we remember how they sting, and what harm they often do, which can never be undone, we will surely try to give only "soft answers."

Freddie from Connecticut. What a long word you chose to struggle with—Impulsiveness. I ask a boy, near me, what it means, and he says: "Oh, it means rushing off to do things, before a fellow knows whether he ought to, or not." If his definition is good—do you accept it?—I think you have made a wise pledge.

Robbie from Maine. It is queer how many boys I know who are like my Pansy Blossoms, scattered all over this big world of ours. A boy friend of mine hates to go to the post-office at just the time when he ought; and he so often says, "Won't it do by and by?" that he has earned the name of "By and by."

Mabel from Pennsylvania. If one only keeps one's eyes wide open, my dear, it is very easy to see things with which to find fault; it is wise to learn to shut one's eyes, on occasion, to the faults of others. I am glad you have taken the pledge. Remember me to your dear mother, and thank her for her kind words.

Jessie from Missouri. People who are "patient about everything" are very scarce, and very lovely. I am glad to think of Jessie as trying for this. By all means "get out" of that habit of which you speak. You will be a comfort to the teacher as well as a help to your classmates, if you do. I am sorry you have been sick. Your letter was well written, and gave me great pleasure.

Florence from Iowa. Did you ever hear of the little girl whose father gave her a birthday present of a necklace of little thorns, because her tongue said so many sharp and spiteful words? He told her he had intended to make the necklace of beautiful beads, but had decided that thorns would match her style better. Such a necklace would not fit you, now, would it? I rejoice over your pledge.

Edwin and Harold from Maine. Of course we will receive the little brother. A boy five years old can keep a pledge as well as an older person; sometimes better. I hope there will be fewer tears shed in your home than ever before; also, that my boy Edwin will become noted for the prompt manner in which he obeys all right calls.

Maud from Pennsylvania. Impatient people are always "nervous;" did you know it? I had an old aunt who used to say that "nervous" was a new-fashioned word, which she did not believe in; that in her day, they called it "cross." That is pretty hard on the nerves, isn't it? I don't agree with her. Sometimes those nerves twinge in a very disagreeable manner; but the strong will which they are trying to twist, gets the better of them, and gentle patience is the result. I hope you will succeed.

Beverly from Maryland. My boy, you are growing rich, are you not? So many dear friends already in Heaven, waiting and watching for you. Would it not be sad if their boy should do anything to grieve them? I hope your badge will be helpful. I see no sparrows about me, but while I write, the mocking-birds are singing in the pine trees near by.

Arthur from Pennsylvania. I like your verses very much. As soon as I have time, I shall copy them for the magazine. I am afraid "Reaching Out" must close with October, as I have another story waiting, which I think you boys, particularly, will like quite as well as "Reaching Out."

Ellen from Kansas. It is quite a common thing for people to see the faults of others, and be blind to their own. Queer, isn't it? Do you remember the old Scotch poem:

O wad some power the giftie gie us,
To see ourselves as ithers see us!
It wad from mony a blunder free us,
And foolish notion.

There is a wise old man who says that people are pretty sure to see in others the very failings which they themselves possess. What do you think of it? I am much interested in your "literary cat." What branch of study does she appear to be taking up?

Arthur from Tennessee. You had a chance to exercise patience in waiting for your badge, did you not? I do not know why some of the badges seem to think they must be so long on the road, unless it is to help their owners to a little of that quality. Don't you think it is generally a scarce article with boys?

Birdie from Kentucky. O yes, Birdie, we have a great many Blossoms in Kentucky, only we have not answered their letters yet. There are many hundreds still waiting. My dear little girl, do you think one has to "try" very hard to love such a Friend as Jesus? I suspect you mean that you have not learned to love Him enough to obey Him perfectly. That is a hard lesson; it gives me joy to think you are trying to learn it.

Gertrude from Missouri. "Things" seem to be determined to lie around in the way. All over the country I notice that the P. S. Blossoms have the same trouble. They will certainly have to be willing to hang on hooks, and nails, or lie quietly on clothespress shelves; for the P. S. has gotten hold of them with determined wills. We are glad of a recruit from Missouri.

Sallie from Massachusetts. I like to hear of an interested reader of my books, but, Sallie dear, do not let them lead you astray. I once went to call on a woman who needed help. It was nearly twelve o'clock, but her breakfast table still stood in the middle of the floor, black with flies; the little mass of oil in which some of them were drowning, had once been butter; her baby was playing with the coal hod, and his face and clothes were the color of it; and everything about the room was in disorder. The mother sat in the one rocking-chair, wiping her eyes over a story which she was reading. "I ought to a done up my work," she said, "but land, I do love to read. I always was literary!" You will never be such a woman as that! I hear you say. No, I do not think you will. Especially since you have taken your pledge.

Helen from Missouri. Poor little Blossom! You have had a hard experience. My heart aches for you; but I am hoping that before this time you are well. I once knew of a boy who was sent to mend a sidewalk, and did his work so poorly, that his mother tripped on the place and broke her limb. I hope no careless boy was the cause of all your suffering. There is a Bible verse for you; did you know it? Look at the latter part of Matthew 8:17.

Susie from Ohio. Welcome, little worker. I hope the new society prospered; let us know how you conduct your meetings, for what are you working, and all about it. With your dear father and mother waiting for you in Heaven, you will want to be sure not to disappoint them. I hope to meet you there.

Kittie and France from New York. To "obey promptly" and to avoid all words and ways which come under the head of "contradicting" are very important things to accomplish. May you and "little sister" be great helps to each other. I am glad you like "Grandma Burton."

Charlie from Missouri. There was no trouble in reading your letter, Charlie. I wish all my correspondents would write as plainly. Oh poor birds! Don't neglect them. If they could fly away in the free air, I think they would feed themselves; but since they can't, help them. As for the wood, perhaps it would come in of its own accord if it had feet. Who knows? But since it hasn't, Charlie must be brisk feet for it. "Do with your might what your hands find to do." Isn't that a good motto?

Millie from Pennsylvania. I am sorry you had such long waiting for your badges. Your first letter must have gone a journey around the world, for I have never seen it. However, I hope it has all been made right at last. If I were not so far away, I would be tempted to accept your kind invitation for Saturday afternoon, but I fear I could not get back in time for Sabbath school, next day!

Maud from Pennsylvania. So you "talk too loud!" Well, you have plenty of company. I know a boy who has to be reminded several times a day, that none of his friends are deaf. Are you ever just a trifle out of patience when your voice is loud? It affects some people in that way.

Lew from Pennsylvania. It is my opinion that a boy who has been "good" for two or three days, can be good the rest of the time. Don't you think so? Try it, my boy. Watch that tongue, for it is a good friend, and a dangerous enemy.

Dear Pansy:

Nearly two years ago I was visiting a friend in East St. Louis, and she showed me The Pansy, and mamma liked it so well she said I might subscribe for it, and you cannot imagine how I have enjoyed it. I take the St. Nicholas also. Now, dear Pansy, I am going to confide to you my great fault, which is not putting things in their places. It worries mamma and it worries everybody around the house to see my cap in one place, my cloak in another, my skates in another. I will promise to keep the pledge and always keep the Whisper Motto in mind, for nothing can be done without Jesus' help. I would like a badge. I have no little brothers or sisters, and as none of my little friends take The Pansy, I cannot get up a society.

From a loving and constant reader,
Cora M. Cass.

Dear Pansy:

I am a little girl nine years old. Sometimes I am very thoughtless, and that is what I got my badge in August for. I think it has helped me some. The Whisper Motto, "For Jesus' Sake," has helped me a heap. I think The Pansy is the best magazine I ever saw. "Little Fishers and their Nets" is the nicest story I ever read. I have two little sisters, Daisy, six years old, and Alice, three years old.

My father went to heaven last spring. He caught cold while preaching. Excuse this writing with pencil, but the ink is frozen, for we had very cold weather. With much love,

One of your Little Southern Blossoms,
Cora Strong.

Dear Pansy:

I have been very much interested in reading the little letters from different children, and I thought I would write too. May I tell you something about myself? I have had spinal disease for years, and am obliged to lie in bed all the time.

I am in a hospital where are many children; those who are able to be up, go to school in the mornings, and in the afternoon the teacher comes up stairs to give little lessons to those who are in bed.

The children have books, toys, games, and hobby horses. The girls like to play "hospital," with their dollies, and have two or three boys for doctors. The dolls are treated as though they really felt sick; and the young doctors pretend to give them ether, before they perform their surgical operations! It is quite funny to see how the very little boys and girls will imitate doctors and nurses.

The children have a little society called the "Ready-To-Help." Sometime I will tell you of some of the things which its members do to help.

Your loving               Blossom.

Dear Pansy:

There is one Fault I want to over come and when i have any thing and when i have anything to put it back where i got it from, and not to laugh and talk i Sunday school and when i pull of my hat at night, i cant find it next morning.

From your friend
Archer E. Banks.

Dear Pansy:

We have a beautiful Pansy bed. We have about twenty-five Blossoms. Some are big, and some are little; some are golden color, and some are deep purple. When the Pansies meet, the Vice-President takes the P. S. roll book, goes to each Blossom and gets the record for the month. I have promised to be patient, and to speak kindly. Willie's pledge was to try to keep his temper; and his record was: "I forgot a few times, but it helped; and I mean to try harder." One dark Pansy promised to brush her teeth at least once a day, and not to be selfish.

The garden is growing very nicely; by and by we are going to plant new seeds. The last time we met we played a nice game; we all stood around the table, and fished with poles. The wee Blossoms were very much delighted.

Good-by,
President Hattie.

Dear Pansy:

As you seem to have room in your heart for all little girls, I will be one of the number. I enjoy your magazine very much. I am a cripple; I was injured by falling through a sidewalk. I had to lie in bed for thirteen months with a nine-pound weight attached to my limb, and it bandaged to a board. I have tried to be patient. Words of sympathy from my friends do me a great deal of good. I had a dream about you last night; I thought you were talking about "Little Fishers and their Nets." I do think Nettie Decker is the nicest and best Christian girl I ever knew! I don't admire "Lorena Barstow," but mamma says she is sorry to say there are many little girls like her. Dear Pansy, won't you come and see me? I will meet you at the train and take you to my home.

Your little friend,        Helen.

DEAR MRS ALDEN

I AM A LITTLE GIRL SIX YEARS OLD I AM GOING TO TRY NOT TO BE SO CROSS MAY I HAVE A BADGE

ADA MAUD GUNNING

Dear Pansy:

Mamma says I ought to tell you at the commencement that I am eleven years old, but a poor penman, and she is afraid you cannot read my letter, but I will try and do my best. I have taken The Pansy for two years, and enjoy it very much. I get so interested in "Reaching Out" that I am almost impatient for the numbers to come. After reading them, I send them away in our mission barrel to the children in Utah. I would like to keep them; but mamma thinks we ought to let some one else enjoy them. I have read nearly all your books. From reading "Pocket Measure" I learned how nice it was to give. Mamma especially likes "Mrs. Solomon Smith."

I would like to join the P. S. I have tried for a week to decide on the fault that I needed most to overcome; but I do not know which one it is, I have so many. (It seems to me as though every one else had but one fault.) I know one of mine is not obeying quickly, when mamma speaks. I would rather read your books and magazine than do my work. I do like to read very much. Another fault is a quick temper. I pray over my faults and try to overcome them; I want to lead my dear friends to the Saviour, but I have so many faults! I think I will wear my badge for them all. I have a picture of you; papa is going to have it framed for me to hang in my room. Lovingly, Sallie.

"UP HILL AND DOWN DALE."

ANOTHER new book! It is astonishing how many beautiful books these Pansies seem to think they need. Well, "Up Hill and Down Dale" is delightful enough to make your eyes shine. Two hundred pages, and numberless pictures, one of which I put before you.

The book is written by Laura D. Nichols; and those of the Pansies who have read her "Overhead" and "Underfoot," need no further introduction to this book. They know they will like it. For the rest of you, you need to get acquainted with sweet, womanly little Nelly Marlow, and her good brother Harry. You want to know how they went to the country, leaving Harry behind to be brave and manly at his uncle's; how Nelly cared for her mother's breakfast, and even, with "Miss Gage's" help, went into the furniture business, and manufactured a lovely table for the somewhat barely furnished room.

This is only a hint of her helpfulness, and her wise sweet ways. Plenty of fun she had, too; and a most astonishing way of making friends with everybody, and having unexpectedly good times because they liked to have her with them. Just let me give you a taste of one of the days which her good friend Dave planned for her:

"'Say, Nelly,' he began, 'do you want to go up to Hackmatack to-morrow?'

"'Of course I do!' cried she; 'who's going?'

"'Well, Abner is, an' I be, an' Sam, an' Sam's father. There's an ol' house an' barn half-way up the mounting, where 'Siah Buckman's folks used to live, an' they're all gone out West, an' Abner an' Sam's father have bought the standin' grass on the halves, an' we're goin' up to cut it. Miss Gage said she'd like to go, if you would, an' there's a woman an' her boy boardin' at Sam's an' mebbe they'll go too. You could take your dinner and have a kind of a picnic.'

in sap time.—From "Up Hill and Down Dale."

"'O, that would be perfectly lovely!' cried Nelly. 'I'm so glad you thought of it. I'll go and ask mother now. Good-night, aunty, I'll come and tell you all about it, if we go.'

"Mrs. Marlow was well pleased that her daughter should have a whole day out-of-doors, under such safe escort, and assured her that, although she should miss her, she would be fully recompensed by hearing of her adventures.

"The next day proved as perfect a hay-day as could be desired. Abner, Mr. Burns and Sam had an early breakfast, and were off before six o'clock, with their scythes and rakes in the Burns's single wagon, leaving Dave to follow with a two-seated one, bringing the ladies and dinner pails. The boarders from Sam's house proved to be a Mrs. Symonds, a gayly dressed and lively young woman, and her little boy Ambrose, a quiet child eight or nine years old.

"'You're sure you'll not be lonely, mamma?' whispered Nelly, giving her mother a parting hug.

"'Not a bit lonely, dear; I'm going to write a long letter to cousin Miranda, and take it to the office myself, for I slept better than usual after my walk yesterday.'

"This sent Nelly off with a happy face; Wealthy pushed in the last basket, and away they went, at as good speed as Dave could get from old 'Peach who had been a colt at the time of the great impeachment trial in Washington.

"Their way lay first through the village, which Dave, half-proud and half-ashamed of his load of ladies, was rather glad to leave behind. Then came a cool, shady mile in the woods, the road slowly ascending between noble maple-trees.

"'I don't believe there's a handsomer maple-orchard in the State,' said Dave. 'You jest oughter be here in sap-time, Nelly! You could ride up here on the sled an' help me an' Sam empty the buckets, an' there'll be a big fire under the kettle in the sap-house over there'—pointing to a rough shed with a chimney, near the roadside; 'an' you could drink all the sap, an' eat all the sugar you wanted.'

"'Why! Is it here that maple-sugar comes from?' exclaimed Mrs. Symonds, who did not know much about the country; and Dave willingly pointed out the half-healed holes in the bark of the trees they were passing, and explained how the little wooden conductors were fitted in, to lead the sap into the pails and troughs placed below, and how it was afterwards boiled down to sugar, or made into luscious syrup. She and Ambrose at once declared that they would stay in Hickory Corners to see this delightful work, and were much disappointed when Dave with a grin, informed them that it was usually done in March, and that he had once had his ears frozen, from staying too long in the woods.

"'But you told me that Sam's sister used to help,' said Nelly reproachfully, as she and Dave here jumped out to walk up hill, leaving the reins to Miss Gage; 'and you said you wished I could be here.'

"'Well, an' so I do, an' so Susy did,' retorted the boy; 'but she has sense enough to dress up for cold weather, an' so would you have, but that woman hain't. Look at her now! What sort of shoes are them for goin' up a mounting? an' where'll all them ruffles be, by night?'

"It was too true that Mrs. Symonds' flounced and lace-edged muslin was most unfit for the excursion, and her French shoes ill-adapted for walking, but Nelly did not think it polite to criticise her to Dave, so she was glad to change the subject.

"'O, there is some Indian pipe!' she exclaimed, darting out of the road to pick a cluster of the pure, sculptured-looking flowers, growing at the foot of a giant hemlock. She ran to the wagon to show them to Miss Gage and Mrs. Symonds.

"'O how exquisite!' cried the latter lady, 'how exactly like wax! Do give me one!'

"But when Nelly did so, and she had put it to her nose, she exclaimed in great disgust, and said she didn't believe it was a flower at all, only a horrid toad-stool, and it had spoiled her gloves; she threw it indignantly into the dusty road."

There is no use, I might as well stop at one point as another. The interest does not stop, but extends all through the book. I hope you will have the pleasure of reading it for yourselves. It is beautifully bound in colors. The usual price is one dollar and twenty-five cents; but the P. S. members are offered it for seventy-five cents. I am sure you will agree with me that it is a very rare opportunity to secure a book by such an author, and of such size, full of interesting and instructive truth, for seventy-five cents. After you have read it carefully, I should like to hear from you, as to what you have learned that gave you special interest.

Pansy.

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$1.50 will pay for Our Little Men and Women one year from any date, and the year 1885 in numbers, thereby saving 50 cents.

$1.00 will pay for Babyland one year from any date, and the year 1885 bound in handsome chromo covers, thereby saving 25 cents.

Subscribers availing themselves of the above offers must send their orders with remittance direct to D. Lothrop & Co. The offers hold good only for subscriptions received prior to August 1st, 1886, and the full amount must be sent at one time. No premiums can be claimed in connection with any of these offers.

D. LOTHROP & COMPANY, Publishers, Franklin and Hawley Sts., Boston.

The Household Library.
$5.00 a Year,   -   -   -   -   50 cts. a Number.

The Choicest Works of Popular Authors, issued monthly.

A Special Inducement to all whose subscriptions are received before June 15th. A handsome three-shelf Bookshelf will be presented to each one whose yearly subscription is received before the above date. Any subscriber sending us one NEW yearly subscriber will receive the bookshelf as a premium. Express charges on the bookshelf to be paid by the receiver.

The works issued in this library are 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.

1. 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.

2. 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.

3. 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.

4. FAR FROM HOME. From the German of Johannes Van Derval. Translated by Kathrine Hamilton. A fascinating story of life and travel in foreign lands.

5. 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.

6. AROUND THE RANCH. By Belle Kellogg Towne. It is original, fresh, and written with great naturalness and power; its pathos is exquisitely touching. The opening scenes are laid in the Colorado mining regions.

LOTHROP'S YOUNG FOLKS' LIBRARY.

Twelve numbers mailed on receipt of $2.75, if ordered before July 15th. The twenty-four volumes mailed on receipt of $5.00 if ordered before July 15th.

Nothing so good and cheap is anywhere to be found. Each volume has 300 to 500 pages, clear type, illustrated. 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.

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."

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.

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

22. FROM NIGHT TO LIGHT, by E. E. Brown.

23. SURE; or, IT PAYS.

24. SISTER ELEANOR'S BROOD, by Mrs. S. B. Phelps.

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 cradle. In short, Babyland the whole year will be the happiest, sweetest sort of a home kindergarten.

Beautiful and novel New Cover.         Only Fifty Cents a year.

prospectus—OUR LITTLE MEN AND WOMEN—for 1886.

This magazine, for youngest readers, has earned golden gratitude from teachers and parents this past year. While its short stories and beautiful pictures have made it welcome everywhere as a general Magazine for Little Folks, its series of instructive articles have rendered it of unrivalled value to educators. For 1886 several specialties have been prepared in accordance with the suggestions of teachers who wish to start their "little primaries" in the lines on which older brothers and sisters are being taught. As a beginning in American History, there will be twelve charming chapters about

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 Streets, Boston, Mass.

ALL THE BOYS AND GIRLS
WANT A ROGERS' SCROLL SAW.

Our latest Special Premium given to any subscriber sending us SIX NEW subscriptions to Our Little Men and Women or The Pansy (at $1.00 each); or for FOUR NEW subscriptions to Our Little Men and Women or The Pansy (at $1.00 each) and $1.00 cash additional; or for TWO NEW subscriptions to above magazines (at $1.00 each) and $2.00 cash additional.

(Limited to July 1st, 1886.)

Two Babyland subscriptions equivalent to one Pansy.

The entire framework is made from Iron, painted and Japanned black, and ornamented with red and gilt stripes.

All parts made to interchange.

1. The Bearings to the Arms are carefully sized to bring them in perfect line. (This is a vital point in the construction of any Jig Saw.)

2. Each machine is provided with a Dust Blower, which is a very great advantage.

3. Our machine has a jointed Stretcher Rod, which allows the operator to throw the upper arm out of the way when adjusting his work or saw. This joint also permits the machine to work much more freely than with a straight iron rod.

4. Our clamps have a hinged jaw which overcomes the disagreeable raking overthrow of the blade, which is unavoidable when the saws are secured rigidly to the arms. Saw blades are not nearly so liable to break when clamps have this joint. Thus a large percentage of the expense of running the saw is saved. Besides this the saw runs much easier, the swing coming at the hinge instead of bending the blade with each stroke of the saw.

5. The Balance wheel is 4¹/₄ inches in diameter, with a handsome spoke centre and Rim of Solid Emery.

6. The attachment for Drilling is on the Right Hand Side of the machine, which, for convenience, is an obvious advantage.

7. No Pins are used in the construction of this machine, as we prefer the durability of nicely fitted screws and bolts in securing each part.

While the New Rogers' Saw is very rich, though not gaudy in appearance, it has been more especially our object to make, for the least possible money, a saw characterized for its Compactness, Strength, and durability, ease of action, and firmness when in operation.

With each machine we give six Saw Blades, Wrench, Sheet of Designs and three Drill Points. The Saw alone weighs 25 lbs.; Saw and Box together, 36 lbs.

Price of No. 2 Rogers' Saw, $4.00. This Saw is provided with a polished Tilting Table, heavily nickel-plated. Receiver to pay express or freight charges.

D. LOTHROP & CO., Franklin and Hawley Sts., Boston.

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."

Wide Awake was once said by a practical literary and business man, who is at home in both England and America, to have "more ideas to the square inch" than any other publication he knew. However this may be, the Management of the magazine can promise that Wide Awake for 1886 will certainly be full of New Departures.

Scenes and situations wholly fresh in stories for young folks will render fascinating its

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 Rev. Charles R. Talbot, author of Honor Bright, A Double Masquerade, etc.

III. A GIRL AND A JEWEL.

Mrs. Harriet Prescott Spofford, author of The Amber Gods, etc., in this delicious White Mountain Romance, contributes her first serial to a young folks' magazine.

IV. DILLY AND THE CAPTAIN.

V. PEGGY, AND HER FAMILY.

Margaret Sidney, author of the famous Five Little Peppers, and the funny parrot story of Polly, 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, The Prophet of the Great Smoky Mountains, etc.

ROYAL GIRLS AND ROYAL COURTS.

By Mrs John Sherwood, author of A Transplanted Rose, Amenities of Home, Social Customs and Usages, etc. This series, especially valuable and instructive to American girls, will begin in the Christmas number and run through the year. Much of the romance woven into the histories of reigning royal families, much of the pageant attendant upon the girls "born in the purple," will be described; but much more will be told of that application to study, that strict obedience to laws of hygiene, that mastery of complex and rigid court etiquette, that severe control of personal disposition and tastes, which underlies the culture and graciousness of queens and princesses. From these pages our girls who are to go abroad may incidentally learn much of what they properly may or may not do in European society. No lady is better equipped than Mrs. Sherwood for preparing papers like these.

A CYCLE OF CHILDREN.

By Elbridge S. Brooks, author of In Leisler's Times, etc. Illustrations by Howard Pyle. This set of twelve historical stories celebrates twelve holidays dear to young folks. The first six are:

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.

STORIES OF AMERICAN WARS.

Thrilling incidents which have occurred during our various American warfares, the details of which have never been in print, but have lived in family history, old letters and records, will be brought to light in these stories. The first six bear these titles:

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.

EVERY BOY AND EVERY GIRL

CAN EARN A GOOD WATCH AND CHAIN.

The Waterbury Watch (and Chain) given for Four New Subscriptions to either The Pansy or Our Little Men and Women; or for Two New Subscriptions and $1.30 cash additional; or, given for one new subscriber to Wide Awake, and 65 cts. cash additional ($3.65 in all), if sent before August 1st, 1886. Two Babyland subscriptions will be equivalent to one Pansy subscription.

We make this special offer only to present subscribers who send us new subscriptions. Full rates must be paid for each subscription (no club rates being allowed) and the order must be sent to us direct, not through an agent. The subscriptions must be secured between April 10th, 1886, and Aug. 1st, 1886. (Premium credits not taken up cannot be used for this special offer.)

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

The Waterbury Watch will be found a marvel of accuracy and cheapness.

Accurate, because it will run 24 hours, and keep time equal to the better grade of watches.

Cheap, because it will wear for years, and is offered at a price within the reach of everybody.

Every watch is perfect before leaving the factory and is tested a few days in our office before being sent away.

The price of the watch is $3.50.

Remember, the Waterbury Watch, is not a toy, but a real watch, having less than one half the number of parts to be found in any other going watch in the world. It is a stem winder.

Remittances may be made by Money Order, Draft, Bank Check or American Express Money Order, at our risk.

D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY, Publishers, Franklin and Hawley Streets, Boston.

LAWN TENNIS RACQUET, No. 2.

Given for two new subscriptions to The Pansy or Our Little Men and Women and 10 cts. cash additional Or,

Given for four new subscriptions to Babyland and 10 cents cash additional.

TWO RACQUETS will be given for one new subscription to Wide Awake and 50 cts. cash additional.

This is a good light Racquet, very suitable for the boys and girls. It is well made, with maple or sweet gum throat, and redwood handle. The handle is finished with round corners.

Lawn tennis is fast becoming the most popular game in this country, as it provides pleasant and healthful outdoor exercise for both boys and girls. Price of the Racquet, $1.75. Postage and packing 15 cents when sent as a premium. More expensive Racquets will be furnished at proportionate rates.

D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY, Publishers, Franklin and Hawley Streets, Boston.

YOUNG PEOPLE ATTENTION! VACATION IS COMING!!

Read the following extraordinary Premium Offers, and learn how to obtain, without expense, articles that will add greatly to your vacation pleasures.

READ CAREFULLY THE FOLLOWING CONDITIONS:

1. The premiums are given only to subscribers to any of our magazines, with this exception: ANY person may work for the premiums by sending one more subscriber to any of the magazines than the premium calls for.

2. The full subscription price must be paid for each subscription, as follows: Wide Awake, $3.00; The Pansy, $1.00; Our Little Men and Women, $1.00; Babyland, 50 cents.

No premiums will be given to any person sending his own name as a new subscriber; nor can his name count as one of a club sent for premiums.

3. Send your subscriptions as you get them. Always send the payment for each subscription with the name.

4. You can send for a premium when you send us the names of new subscribers, or you can complete your list and then select your premiums, as you may prefer.

5. Those working for this special list of premiums can have until August 1st., in which to complete their list.

6. The premiums we offer are given FOR new subscribers, NOT TO new subscribers.

7. Two new subscriptions for six months will count as one yearly subscription.

8. The names and full subscription price must be sent to D. Lothrop & Co., and not through any agent or Subscription Agency.

9. The volumes of the magazines begin as follows: Wide Awake, with the December and June numbers; The Pansy, with the November number; Our Little Men and Women, with the January number; Babyland, with the January number.

Always specify the date you wish the subscriptions to begin with. Subscriptions may begin with any number.

GUNS FOR THE BOYS.

The Guns described below are all especially adapted to "Fourth of July" sports, from the fact that with them torpedos can be thrown with great accuracy and, exploding as they strike, make a very loud report. What is known as the small "American" torpedo is the best.

These Guns are especially suitable for drilling purposes. Any boy will find it a very easy matter to secure enough subscriptions to earn the guns that may be needed for his company.

"DOCTOR CARVER" GUN.

Given for one new subscription to The Pansy or Our Little Men and Women; or, given for one new subscription to Babyland and 20 cents cash additional.

It has an adjustable tension that can be regulated to suit the strength of any boy. This is a new gun, made on a new principle, and is the best arrangement for target shooting ever seen. It shoots with great force and accuracy. Three arrows go with each gun. It will also fire marbles, bullets, sticks or paper wads. The gun is nicely finished in all parts and is painted a bright red that will not fade, which makes it very handsome. It is three feet long, strong and durable, easy to adjust and load, and does not get out of order. Price 50 cents. Sent postage paid in the United States.

THE "LITTLE GEM."

Given for one new subscription to Babyland.

This is a new gun, well finished and very effective. It possesses part of the patented features of the celebrated "Doctor Carver" gun, but is not as powerful. It is lighter and somewhat smaller than the "Doctor Carver" gun. Price 25 cents. Postage paid in the United States.

"WINCHESTER RIFLE."

Given for one new subscription to The Pansy, or Our Little Men and Women. Or, given for one new subscription to Babyland and 25 cents cash additional.

A new double-barrel gun. It has the patent "oscillating yoke" or yielding stop, same as the celebrated "Doctor Carver" gun and has a well-finished stock of proper shape. Price 50 cents. Postage 10 cents additional when purchased or sent as a premium.

THE WILCOX TARGET GUN, WITH BAYONET.

Given for two new subscriptions to The Pansy, or Our Little Men and Women. Or, given for one new subscription to The Pansy, or Our Little Men and Women, and 50 cents cash additional. Two Babyland subscriptions will be equivalent to one Pansy subscription. For One new subscriber to WIDE AWAKE, two of any of the guns will be given as a premium.

It shoots with precision, is simple in construction, and finely finished. The bayonet is of wood, bronzed to imitate steel. Each gun is provided in the breech with a small pocket, in which will be found, 5 metal-head arrows, and 2 paper targets. For drilling purposes, it can be readily changed to the form of an ordinary rifle. Price $1.00. Postage prepaid.

      Read carefully the conditions on the preceding page.      

UNION WEB HAMMOCKS GIVEN AS PREMIUMS FOR NEW SUBSCRIPTIONS.

We are pleased to announce that we have made such arrangements as will enable us to offer these superior hammocks for a smaller number of subscriptions than ever before. Every hammock is warranted by the manufacturers; and nothing but the best material and workmanship enter into their construction. Each grade is tested at a given number of pounds. They are warranted, when colored, not to soil the finest fabric.

THE HERCULES.

Given for one new subscription to The Pansy or Our Little Men and Women, and 40 cents cash additional.

This is the strongest hammock made, warranted to hold 1100 lbs. It is made of very heavy cord. Length, 13 feet; length of bed, 6 feet. Price $1.15. Postage and packing 30 cents additional.

CHILD'S HAMMOCK.

Given for one new subscription to The Pansy or Our Little Men and Women.

This is a nice hammock for the little ones. It has variegated colors in ends and body. Has a miniature Horseshoe for the fastening at the ends and safety cords at the sides. It is perfectly reliable and far preferable to a crib or cradle. Length, 7 feet; length of body, 3 feet. Price $.75. Postage and packing 15 cents additional.

B B HAMMOCK.

Given for one new subscription to The Pansy or Our Little Men and Women, and 25 cents cash additional.

This hammock is made better than ever before. The web is of extra heavy cord, and bright colors which are warranted fast. It is a splendid hammock. Length 11 feet; length of bed, 6¹/₃ feet. Price $1.00. Postage and packing 20 cents additional.

THE BOSTON.

Given for one new subscription to Wide Awake, or for two new subscriptions to The Pansy or Our Little Men and Women and 40 cents cash additional.

A double web hammock that is very popular. Length, 12¹/₂ feet; length of bed, 7 feet. Price $1.75. Postage and packing 20 cents additional.

pointing hand Two BABYLAND subscriptions will be equivalent to one PANSY subscription. upside down hand

BOY'S FISHING OUTFIT, WITH JOINTED ROD.

Given for two new subscriptions to The Pansy or Our Little Men and Women, or for one new subscription to The Pansy or Our Little Men and Women and 50 cents cash additional.

This outfit is put up especially for our use, and we can recommend it to the boys who enjoy fishing as a very good outfit for the price asked. It consists of a 12 foot jointed rod with brass tips and ferules, 1 bob, 2 sinkers, 1 36 foot line, 1 dozen hooks assorted, 2 flies, 1 bait-box, 1 trolling hook for pickerel, and 2 hooks ganged (i. e., with hair or gut snell.) Postage prepaid. Price $1.00.

Two Babyland subscriptions will be equivalent to one Pansy subscription.

THE AMERICAN FOOT BALL, NO. 2.

Given for two new subscriptions to The Pansy or Our Little Men and Women. Or for one new subscription to either magazine and 60 cents cash additional.

The American Foot Ball is made of heavy canvas, thoroughly saturated with rubber, very strong, so as to be blown up with a key which goes with each one. It is 22 inches in circumference. Price $1.50.

We also include in this offer the American College Rules of Foot Ball. Price 15 cents.

Two Babyland subscriptions will be equivalent to one Pansy subscription.

A GOOD MICROSCOPE.

Given for one new subscription to The Pansy or Our Little Men and Women; or for one new subscription to Babyland and 20 cents cash additional.

No one need be without a microscope. We have made special arrangements by which we can offer a Combination Microscope (or Floroscope), 2 inches in length. It has in addition to a powerful microscope lens, a mineral glass for examining plants, minerals, etc. It is very convenient. It can be put into a vest pocket, and yet is as serviceable as many more expensive microscopes. Price 50 cents.

BOY'S COMPOUND MICROSCOPE, NO. 655.

Given for one new subscription to Wide Awake or for four new subscriptions to The Pansy or Our Little Men and Women.

Two Babyland subscriptions will be equivalent to one Pansy subscription.

This instrument will show satisfactorily the larger animalcules in pond water, the scales from a butterfly's wing, etc. The stand is of polished brass, handsomely lacquered, with one eye-piece and one object-glass, magnifying, when combined, about 40 diameters or 1600 times. One prepared object, two glass slips and a pair of brass forceps, are furnished with it; the whole is packed in a neat polished walnut-wood case. Price $2.50. Postage paid.

Dr. W. S. Baker, 250 Mulberry Street.
Messrs. Procter & Gamble, Cincinnati.                   Newark, N. J., Sept. 19, 1885.

Gentlemen: Although a stranger to you, and my testimonial entirely unnecessary, as it certainly is unsolicited, yet I take great pleasure in testifying to the excellence of your "Ivory" Soap and thanking you for putting it on the market at so low a price. It has entirely supplanted the use of Castile and other fine soaps in my household for several years past, being in no way inferior, and from fifty to seventy-five per cent. more economical. A good test I find for the purity of soap is to try it with a brush for cleansing the teeth and the taste of the "Ivory" Soap so used is perfectly sweet and clean. Very respectfully yours, W. S. Baker, M.D.

Transcriber's Notes:

Punctuation errors repaired.

Page 242, "alway" changed to "always" (was always simple)

Page 242, "whan" changed to "when" (when I was in danger)

Page 253, "unusul" changed to "unusual" (itself, was unusual)

Page 253, "afrer" changed to "after" (after a moment)

Page 258, "women" changed to "woman" (woman of six)

Page 259, word "the" added twice to sentence (it into the centre of ring, on the lawn)

Page 270, "feasable" changed to "feasible" (if this is feasible)

Page 270, "theses" changed to "these" (And these are God's)

Page 12, advertisements, "Pepy's" changed to "Pepys'" (Mr. Pepys' Valentine)

*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PANSY MAGAZINE, JUNE 1886 ***

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