## The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Pansy Magazine, March 1886

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Title: The Pansy Magazine, March 1886

Author: Various

Editor: Pansy

Release date: March 31, 2014 [eBook #45267]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PANSY MAGAZINE, MARCH 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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BICYCLES Repaired and Nickel Plated.
A GREAT OFFER.

Recognizing the superior excellence of the St. Louis Magazine, we have arranged to furnish it in connection with The Pansy at the low price of $1.75 a year for both publications, the Magazine, under its enlarged and improved condition, being $1.50 a year alone. Those wishing to see a sample copy of the Magazine before subscribing should send 10 cents to St. Louis Magazine, 213 North Eighth street, St. Louis, Mo., or send $1.75 net either to The Pansy or Magazine, and receive both for one year. Sample copy and a beautiful set of gold-colored Picture Cards sent for Ten Cents.

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The WIDE AWAKE one year, and the Detroit Weekly Free Press until Dec. 31, 1886, will be mailed on receipt of $3.60 for the two.

THE WEEKLY FREE PRESS ALONE IS $1.00 A YEAR.

The Detroit Free Press is one of the best, most interesting and purest family papers published. It should be in thousands of homes where it is not now taken. No family will regret having subscribed for this choicest of papers for the household.

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EVERY PANSY SUBSCRIBER
Should possess the beautiful picture of "Pansy" which we have recently issued.

It is a very fine lithographic portrait, size 8 inches by 10 inches. We will send two of the pictures to any subscriber sending us one new subscriber before May 1st, with $1.00 for the same. Address all the subscriptions to

D. LOTHROP & CO., Boston.

[137]

Volume 13, Number 18. Copyright, 1886, by D. Lothrop & Co. March 6, 1886.
THE PANSY.
THE HAMLIN NURSERY.

[138]

## THE HAMLIN NURSERY.

THE little Hamlins were all down with the scarlet fever; and when we say the Little Hamlins, we mean Lucy, Cathie, Harry, Bertie, and the baby; five of them! It was a hard time in the Hamlin nursery, both for the children and the older people. Though Mrs. Hamlin had a nurse from the training school, besides the children's regular attendant, she was quite worn out with the care and anxiety.

"The very last Sabbath I was in church," said she to Doctor Wheeler, "Mr. Lewis said in his sermon, that even our afflictions had a blessing wrapped up in them. But I do not believe there is one inside this trouble. I can't conceive of any good that can possibly come out of it all!"

"Well, I don't know," replied Doctor Wheeler, "I should never have conceived of anything like that statue, yet it was inside the marble all the time, and plainly discerned by the eye of the sculptor. There are things in the spiritual world which we cannot conceive until they are revealed to us."

Poor Mrs. Hamlin shook her head doubtfully. She was very sure no good could grow out of this trial. Doctor Wheeler was a sweet-voiced little woman who looked upon the bright side of things and whom the children loved; they were very sorry for their little friend across the street who had the fever and whose father insisted upon sending for that gruff old Doctor Smith, who never had a smile for children.

"Your children have good constitutions and you have good nurses, I see no reason why they should not pull through easily," said Doctor Wheeler when Mr. Hamlin asked her opinion as to the prospects of the recovery of his little folks. "But what about that oldest boy of yours? Does he not have an Easter vacation?"

"Yes; and I suppose he ought not to come home?"

"Most certainly not! It will not be safe for several weeks; he must be kept away from this vicinity, though I hope the disease will not spread. You should send word for him to remain at the school through the vacation."

It was a very sober face indeed that presented itself at Doctor Brown's study door, a day or two after this conversation took place.

Doctor Brown was the principal of Howland Hall School for boys, and was the right man in the right place.

"What is it, Fred?" he asked kindly. "Come in and let me hear about it."

"It is this," replied Fred Hamlin, handing the Doctor his father's letter.

"Ah! Well, my boy, it might be worse news. You understand, the little folks at home are all on the high road to recovery, and it is on your account that you are not to go home."

"I know; but it will be dreadful lonesome here with the boys all away."

"That is so; and what will make it worse is, that we have planned a little trip which will take us all away excepting Mr. and Mrs. Jennings. I am afraid it will be rather doleful for you alone in this great house; but that will be better than the scarlet fever. Eh?"

Fred turned away in a very disconsolate frame of mind. The Easter vacation to which he had been looking forward was likely to be anything but pleasant. Now Fred Hamlin was by no means a model boy, and matters did not always go smoothly with him at home. His own mother died when he was a baby, and his grandmother had taken charge of him until Fred was ten years old. Then she too died, and the boy was taken home by his father. The second mother tried earnestly to win the boy's heart, but seeds of suspicion and jealousy had been dropped into the young mind, and he refused to be won. After three years of trial Mr. Hamlin concluded to send Fred to school. Doctor Brown had the reputation of being a strict disciplinarian, and Mr. Hamlin hoped much as a result of school discipline. But Watt Vinton, Fred's room-mate, knew very well that any such expectations were not likely to be realized. I cannot tell you of all the ways in which Fred contrived to make himself disagreeable to his quiet and gentlemanly companion. But so well did he succeed, that Watt, sometimes, with his face buried in the pillow, would whisper just to himself, "He is the hatefulest, meanest, crossest fellow I ever saw! I don't believe he has a particle of respect or love for anybody on earth!" Now perhaps you will almost doubt me when I tell you that the pillow was Watt's only confident. He never[139] breathed a word of his troubles to a single person. There were several reasons for this reticence. Watt was an orphan, and had learned to keep his troubles to himself. He was too proud to complain; he had a notion that it would be more manly to endure annoyances than to make a fuss over them. It was only when he got out of patience that he took his troubles to his friend the pillow. This will explain why Watt Vinton frowned a little over a letter which he received a few days before the Easter vacation, and why he carried it in his pocket a whole day before coming to a decision in regard to one of its propositions. The letter was from his cousin, May Vinton, and here is one sentence from it: "Now that it is settled that you are to spend your vacation here, would you like to bring a boy with you? If there is somebody who cannot go home, or who needs a chance, whom you would like to bring, you may invite him to be your guest for the week."

It took Watt a whole day to make up his mind that he could do it. But at the end of the twenty-four hours he wrote to his cousin, "I am going to bring my chum."

Well, what came of it all—the scarlet fever, Mrs. Hamlin's trouble, Fred's disappointment, and Watt's sacrifice?

Do you suppose God knew that May Vinton could reach that wayward boy's heart, and help him to a better life, and so planned all this to bring about the meeting? Do you not suppose that he knew that Watt's sacrifice would make him stronger and better? It was a day or two after the boys reached the beautiful home of the Vintons that Fred sat in May's lovely room, chatting confidentially with her. Watt had been called to the library by his guardian, and the boy was left alone with the loveliest young lady he had ever met. Just how it was I do not know; Fred himself does not know, but it was not long before he was telling this new and it seemed to him first friend he had ever known, all his story; how nobody loved him, and how he hated everybody; how dreadful it was to have a stepmother, and a great deal of nonsense which to the mistaken and misunderstood boy seemed very solemn truth.

I have not space in which to tell you how May Vinton helped him to a better understanding of himself, and of his position. But at the close of one of the many conversations which they had during Fred's visit, he said:

"I see how it is! I have been more to blame than anybody else. But the boys have got so used to expecting hatefulness from me, they would never understand if I tried to do differently."

"Never is a long time," said Miss Vinton.

One day Watt said to his cousin, "What have you done to Fred? He is so different here!"

"Perhaps more will come of your sacrifice than you expected," replied May quietly.

"What do you know about a sacrifice?" asked Watt quickly.

A smile was her only reply.

More did grow out of it all than anyone would have suspected. May Vinton's seed-sowing was on good ground. By her love and sympathy she had softened the soil, and the heart of the friendless boy opened to the refining and elevating influences she threw around him, and a month later Watt wrote, "Fred is just as different as you can think. The boys all like him now."

Faye Huntington.

## SIX O'CLOCK IN THE EVENING.

> So they read in the book in the law of God distinctly, and gave the sense, and caused them to understand the reading.

> So will I go in unto the king, which is not according to the law; and if I perish, I perish.

> Behold, I will send my messenger, and he shall prepare the way before me.

> Thy throne, O God, is forever and ever; the sceptre of thy kingdom is a right sceptre.

GRANDMA BURTON looked steadily at the first verse, and laughed. "I wish I could show you children the picture I see whenever I read this verse," she said. "Though I don't know as you would think I ought to feel much like laughing."

"Why, Grandma?" and, "O Grandma, tell us what you see!" and, "Grandma, show us the picture, won't you?" this was the chorus which greeted her laugh.

"Dear me! It isn't much of a story, but I remember it as well as though it happened yesterday. I was a little thing, not much over four, I should think. It was a warm Sunday, and first[140] I see myself in church. I was in my best dress, a lovely white slip with blue stars all over it."

"Grandma, who ever heard of blue stars?" This from Marion.

"I did, child, many a time when I was of your age, and younger; it used to be the favorite print. Mine was very pretty and was made in the latest fashion—a yoke in the neck, and a long full skirt. I had slippers, too, with straps which went around my ankle and buttoned at the side; those slippers had just come in, and I felt very fine in them. I had a shirred hat of white mull, with a puffing of pink ribbon around the edge, and a pink bow exactly on the top. I went to church with father and mother; the high, old-fashioned pew was rather an uncomfortable seat; the only relief I had was to kick my heels softly against the back. I remember it seemed to take the ache out of them wonderfully. Generally I was a pretty good girl in church, but on this day I don't know what was the matter with me—I had the fidgets. Mother shook her head, and grandma gave me a caraway seed to suck, and father looked at me over his spectacles, but it all did no good, I could not seem to sit still. I plaited folds in my nicely-starched calico until mother took my hand and held it for awhile; then I took off my hat and tried to hang it on the button which fastened the door, until father took it away; then I turned the leaves of the psalm book until it scared me by dropping on the floor with a thud. Oh! I couldn't begin to tell you all the naughty things I did; but the last and most dreadful was to fumble in my brother Ralph's pocket until I found a little wooden comb which he always carried, then I softly tore a fly leaf from the psalm book, and before I knew it I went 'toot, toot, toot!' right out there in the meeting.

"I tell you, that was a dreadful minute!" said Grandma, looking sober, while her audience giggled. "I hadn't the least idea of making such a noise. It had never gone very well for me before, and I was as much astonished as any one could be to hear it sound out like that. The minister stopped in the middle of his sentence and looked at me with a solemn face. Father set me down hard on the seat, and mother's face turned the color of the red roses which were looking in at the side window. Of course they took the comb and the psalm leaf away, and it frightened me to think they went in my father's pocket. I knew I should hear more of it. After that I sat pretty still, but I did not dare to raise my eyes to the minister's face.

"I always used to like Sunday afternoon, because mother told us a story, and grandfather took us a walk through our own home fields and had always something sweet and interesting to tell us. First, though, we went to grandfather's room right after dinner, and each told all we could remember about the church service. I generally had my little story to tell, young as I was. Sometimes it was only a line of a hymn, or a little piece of the text, or maybe one sentence in the prayer. On this Sunday I had not a word to tell; try as I would, I could not recall a line or word. The only thing I could seem to think of, was that noise I made on the comb. Father asked the questions instead of grandfather, and that frightened me, because I knew father was displeased with me. 'What was the matter, Ruth?' he asked at last. 'Don't you think the minister spoke distinctly?' I thought a minute, then I said I didn't believe he did; for if he had, I should have remembered a little bit about it.

"'What do you think the sermon was about?' he asked. And I said, 'It was about Ahab.' I don't know what made me say that; only I had heard a story of Ahab only the Sabbath before, and he was in my mind. I thought from father's face that I had guessed right, so when he asked me for any words in the text, I thought I would guess again; and I said it was about Ahab's doing worse than all the rest of the kings. Then father turned to your uncle Ben, and said, 'Benjamin, you may repeat the text; do it slowly, that Ruth may see what part she has left out.' Just think how I felt when Ben repeated, 'So they read in the book in the law of God distinctly, and gave the sense, and caused them to understand the reading.' I cannot tell you how ashamed I felt!

"What do you suppose I did! I wanted to hide my face in mother's lap, and tell her how sorry I was; if I had done so, it would have been better for me. Instead, I slipped behind her chair and ran out of the side door. There stood the old well with the bucket full of water[141] and the dipper hanging beside it. I felt very hot, and I thought I would take a drink of water to cool me; then if father asked why I run away, I could say I went for a drink of water. It was an unlucky day for me all around; what ailed that dipper I never could understand. Perhaps it was because I had my hat on; I was swinging that by its elastic when father was questioning me, so finding I had it in my hand when I slipped away, I put it on my head, and I think maybe the dipper hit against its edge; anyway, what did that water do but stream down over my starched Sunday dress, and my white dimity collar; and I never knew it until I drank my fill!

"Ben came in search of me, and led me back into grandfather's room, wet as I was, and struggling to get free. 'Put her to bed!' said father, in a voice which I knew must be obeyed. So I was undressed and laid in my trundle bed, and all that bright afternoon I had to lie there. My father wasn't over severe, children."—Grandma paused to say this, seeing disapproval in the eyes of her audience.—"You see I had been told not to help myself to a drink from that bucket because it was set too high for me; so, though I did not think of it at the time, of course it was disobedience. Well, I lay there, and the only occupation I had was to spell out the words of that text, to repeat to father the next morning. He sent it up to me all printed out on a card; I was just beginning to learn to read print, and I had to work hard, I tell you, to get it learned. But the worst was the next day. There was to[142] be a ride on the lake in the afternoon, and I was to go. When I was all dressed, in my blue and white, made fresh for the occasion, father came in, took out of his pocket that dreadful comb, with the fly leaf of the psalm book wrapped around it, and said: 'Ruth, your mother and I have decided to give you a treat this afternoon while we are gone for our ride. You are to sit in this chair by the window, and make music on this comb; make it as loud and as much as you want to.'

"And if you'll believe it, they went away on their ride and left me sitting there!"

The children exclaimed over this, and Marion ventured to say she had no idea that Great-grandfather Wells could be so cruel; she was sure dear Grandfather Burton would never do such a thing; and as for papa, he never could.

"Cruel!" said Grandma Burton, with a flash in her eyes which made them look like Marion's. "Never you call him that; a better father never lived in the world; only times are changed, that is all. Mind you this: I never misbehaved in church again; and I could always repeat the real text, after that, instead of stopping to make one up."

Pansy.

## WALTER TAYLOR'S FAULT.

WALTER talked too much. He was simply irrepressible. He could never keep anything to himself either of own affairs or of the affairs of other people; either of his own opinions or what he might know or guess of the opinions of others. No secret was safe with him. Even family affairs took occasional airings through this propensity for talking too much. This one fault was likely to bring Walter into no end of trouble first and last, and, what was worse, to bring other people into trouble. One does not like to be obliged to be always on guard lest some private affair slip out in the presence of a boy or girl who will set it flying through the town. Mr. Taylor sometimes found his business sadly interfered within this way.

One instance will illustrate; a neighbor had a piece of land to sell. It was not valuable land, but Mr. Taylor wanted it because if anyone bought it for a building spot it would cut off the view of the lake from the front piazza, and Mr. Taylor very indiscreetly remarked in Walter's presence, "I shall buy that corner at any price, for it is worth a great deal more to me than to anyone else."

On his way to school Walter stopped to look at what he already counted a part of the home grounds. He was planning rows of trees, and gravel walks, when the owner came along and entered into conversation. Walter was ready to talk, and desirous of telling what he knew, and very early in the conversation he said, "Father means to buy this corner."

"Indeed!"

"Yes; he says he will have it at any price, for it is worth a great deal more to him than to anyone else; so he means to bid on it to-morrow."

"Well, we shall give him a chance," said the owner, laughing. And as he walked on he secretly thanked Walter for that bit of information. To Mr. Taylor's surprise, he found another apparently anxious bidder the next day, and he found himself forced either to pay an exorbitant price or relinquish the idea of becoming the owner of the lot. Before he had fully decided to do the latter, his rival stopped bidding and the lot was struck off to him at three times its real value. The former owner chuckled over what he called his "good luck," and though Mr. Taylor wondered a little, he never knew that his boy's folly in repeating a careless remark of his own, had cost him so dear in giving his unscrupulous neighbor the opportunity of taking an unfair advantage.

Another time Walter spoiled a surprise which his father and mother meant to give his sister.

"You'd better hurry home from school to-night," he said that morning as they neared the academy.

"Why?" asked Ella.

"O, nothing! only it is my advice to get home as quick as you can, and see what is going on."

"What do you mean?"

"You'll find out!"

"Are we going to have company?"

"Company? Well, yes—I don't know but it might be called company—a sort of dumb companion—well,[143] no—you couldn't call it dumb either."

"Walter Taylor! is it something father and mother do not want me to know?"

"I don't know how they will help your knowing."

"I believe you are letting out a secret and I will not listen! I should think folks would learn not to tell you any secrets."

"They didn't tell me. I heard a man tell father that it had come."

Ella Taylor failed in her recitations that morning for the first time during the quarter. Her thoughts were at home, in the parlor; she knew exactly where it ought to stand and wondered if they would put it in the right place. She tried to study, but Walter's hints which were too plain to be misunderstood insisted upon crowding themselves into her mind.

"Come in, Ella!" her mother called from the parlor as Ella was hanging her hat and wraps in the hall. Ella obeyed the call with flushed cheeks. She could not feign a surprise which she did not feel, and she stood embarrassed and uncertain what to do for a moment, then burst into tears.

"Poor child! the surprise is too much for her," said her father.

"It isn't that," said Ella; "I tried to be surprised and I couldn't, that is why I cried."

"Did you know about it?" asked Mr. Taylor.

"Yes, sir; Walter told me this morning, and I was so glad, I could not study at all."

Mr. Taylor turned towards Walter who began to excuse himself.

"I never said a word about a piano!"

"But you said enough for me to guess," said Ella. "I tried not to know," she added, turning to her parents, "but I could not help it. But don't blame Walter. He didn't think."

"I do blame him," said Mr. Taylor sternly. "Walter, will you never have any regard for other people's property? You have no more right to dispose of other's secrets than you have to dispose of their money! If you took five dollars from my desk you would be a thief. But what do you call yourself when you take my secrets and use them to gratify your love of talking? I sometimes wonder if you will ever have a lesson severe enough to cure you of this fault. Now you have spoiled this little surprise which we had planned and given Ella an uneasy day."

"I am sure I did not mean to tell her; I only wanted to tease her a little."

"You wanted to let her know that you possessed knowledge which she did not, I suppose. Or rather I presume you simply wanted to talk. My boy, if you would learn to regard the secrets of others and also to reserve your own opinions now and then, you would save yourself and your friends much mortification."

Meantime Ella had dried her tears and was now ready to try the new piano, but Walter was too chagrined to enjoy music, and went up to his own room saying within himself, "I wonder if I can never learn to hold my tongue!"

"By thy words shalt thou be justified, and by thy words shalt thou be condemned."

Just when he had read or learned those words Walter did not know, but they came into his mind suddenly. He supposed they were in the Bible, but he thought it queer that he should have remembered them just then. And as he repeated them he thought, "I suppose that means that if one's words are wrong or foolish, he is condemned—that makes solemn business of talking!"

Wilmot Condee.

## HAPPINESS.

THE idea has been transmitted from generation to generation, that happiness is one large and beautiful precious stone, a single gem so rare that all search after it is vain, all effort for it hopeless. It is not so. Happiness is a mosaic, composed of many smaller stones. Each taken apart and viewed singly, may be of little value, but when all are grouped together and judiciously combined and set, they form a pleasing and graceful whole—a costly jewel. Trample not under foot, then, the little pleasures which a gracious Providence scatters in the daily path, and which, in eager search after some great and exciting joy, we are apt to overlook. Why should we keep our eyes fixed on the distant horizon, while there are so many lovely roses in the garden in which we are permitted to walk? The very ardor of our chase after happiness may be the reason she so often eludes our grasp. We pantingly strain after her when she has been graciously brought nigh unto us.

[144]

DID YOU DO IT, KITTY?

[145]

Volume 13, Number 19. Copyright, 1886, by D. Lothrop & Co. March 13, 1886.
THE PANSY.
NETTIE.

[146]

## REACHING OUT.

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

### CHAPTER V.

I DARE say some of you think Nettie Decker was a very silly girl to care so much because her dress was a blue and white gingham instead of being all white.

You have told your friend Katie about the story and asked her if she didn't think it was real silly to make such an ado over clothes; you have said you were sure you would just as soon wear a blue gingham as not if it was clean and neat. But now let me venture a hint. I shouldn't be surprised if that was because you never do have to go to places differently dressed from all the others. Because if you did, you would know that it was something of a trial. Oh! I don't say it is the hardest thing in the world; or that one is all ready to die as a martyr who does it; but what I do say is, that it takes a little moral courage; and, for one, I am not surprised that Nettie looked very sober about it when the afternoon came.

It took her a good while to dress; not that there was so much to be done, but she stopped to think. With her hair in her neck, still unbraided, she pinned a lovely pink rose at her breast just to see how pretty it would look for a minute. Miss Sherrill had left it for her to wear; but she did not intend to wear it, because she thought it would not match well with her gingham dress. Just here, I don't mind owning that I think her silly; because I believe that sweet flowers go with sweet pure young faces, whether the dress is of gingham or silk.

But Nettie looked grave, as I said, and wished it was over; and tried to plan for the hundredth time, how it would all be. The girls, Cecelia Lester and Lorena Barstowe and the rest of them, would be out in their elegant toilets, and would look at her so! That Ermina Farley would be there; she had seen her but once, on the first Sunday, and liked her face and her ways a little better than the others; but she had been away since then. Jerry said she was back, however, and Mrs. Smith said they were the richest folks in town; and of course Ermina would be elegantly dressed at the flower party.

Well, she did not care. She was willing to have them all dressed beautifully; she was not mean enough to want them to wear gingham dresses, if only they would not make fun of hers. Oh! if she could only stay at home, and help iron, and get supper, and fry some potatoes nicely for father, how happy she would be. Then she sighed again, and set about braiding her hair. She meant to go, but she could not help being sorry for herself to think it must be done; and she spent a great deal of trouble in trying to plan just how hateful it would all be; how the girls would look, and whisper, and giggle; and how her cheeks would burn. Oh dear!

Then she found it was late, and had to make her fingers fly, and to rush about the little wood-house chamber which was still her room, in a way which made Sarah Ann say to her mother with a significant nod, "I guess she's woke up and gone at it, poor thing!" Yes, she had; and was down in fifteen minutes more.

Oh! but didn't the little girls look pretty! Nettie forgot her trouble for a few minutes, in admiring them when she had put the last touches to their toilet. Susie was to be in a tableau where she would need a dolly, and Miss Sherrill had furnished one for the occasion. A lovely dolly with real hair, and blue eyes, and a bright blue sash to match them; and when Susie got it in her arms, there came such a sweet, softened look over her face that Nettie hardly knew her. The sturdy voice, too, which was so apt to be fierce, softened and took a motherly tone; the dolly was certainly educating Susie. Little Sate looked on, interested, pleased, but without the slightest shade of envy. She wanted no dolly; or, if she did, there was a little black-faced, worn, rag one reposing at this moment in the trundle bed where little Sate's own head would rest at night; kissed, and caressed, and petted, and told to be good until mamma came back; this dolly had all of Sate's warm heart. For the rest, the grave little old women in caps and spectacles, which wound about her dress, crept up in bunches on her shoulders, lay in nestling heaps at her breast, filled all Sate's thoughts.[147] She seemed to have become a little old woman herself, so serious and womanly was her face.

Nettie took a hand of each, and they went to the flower festival. There was to be a five o'clock tea for all the elderly people of the church, and the tables, some of them, were set in Mr. Eastman's grounds, which adjoined the church. When Nettie entered these grounds she found a company of girls several years younger than herself, helping to decorate the tables with flowers; at least that was their work, but as Nettie appeared at the south gate, a queer little object pushed in at the west side. A child not more than six years old, with a clean face, and carefully combed hair, but dressed in a plain dark calico; and her pretty pink toes were without shoes or stockings.

I am not sure that if a little wolf had suddenly appeared before them, it could not have caused more exclamations of astonishment and dismay.

"Only look at that child!" "The idea!" "Just to think of such a thing!" are a few of the exclamations with which the air was thick. At last, one bolder than the rest, stepped towards her: "Little girl, where did you come from? What in the world do you want here?"

Startled by the many eyes and the sharp tones, the small new-comer hid her face behind an immense bunch of glowing hollyhocks, which she held in her hand, and said not a word. Then the chorus of voices became more eager:

"Do look at her hollyhocks! Did ever anybody see such a queer little fright! Girls, I do believe she has come to the party." Then the one who had spoken before, tried again: "See here, child, whoever you are, you must go right straight home; this is no place for you. I wonder what your mother was about—if you have one—to let you run away barefooted, and looking like a fright."

Now the barefooted maiden was thoroughly frightened, and sobbed outright. It was precisely what Nettie Decker needed to give her courage. When she came in at the gate, she had felt like shrinking away from all eyes; now she darted an indignant glance at the speaker, and moved quickly toward the crying child, Susie and Sate following close behind.

"Don't cry, little girl," she said in the gentlest tones, stooping and putting an arm tenderly around the trembling form; "you haven't done anything wrong; Miss Sherrill will be here soon, and she will make it all right."

Thus comforted, the tears ceased, and the small new-comer allowed her hand to be taken; while Susie came around to her other side, and scowled fiercely, as though to say: "I'll protect this girl myself; let's see you touch her now!"

A burst of laughter greeted Nettie as soon as she had time to give heed to it. Others had joined the groups, among them Lorena Barstow and Irene Lewis. "What's all this?" asked Irene.

"O, nothing," said one; "only that Decker girl's sister, or cousin, or something has just arrived from Cork, and come in search of her. Lorena Barstow, did you ever see such a queer-looking fright?"

"I don't see but they look a good deal alike," said Lorena, tossing her curls; "I'm sure their dresses correspond; is she a sister?"

"Why, no," answered one of the smaller girls; "those two cunning little things in white are Nettie Decker's sisters; I think they are real sweet."

"Oh!" said Lorena, giving them a disagreeable stare, "in white, are they? The unselfish older sister has evidently cut up her nightgowns to make them white dresses for this occasion."

"Lorena," said the younger girl, "if I were you I would be ashamed; mother would not like you to talk in that way."

"Well, you see Miss Nanie, you are not me, therefore you cannot tell what you would be, or do; and I want to inform you it is not your business to tell me what mother would like."

Imagine Nettie Decker standing quietly, with the barefooted child's small hand closely clasped in hers, listening to all this! There was a pretense of lowered voices, yet every word was distinct to her ears. Her heart beat fast and she began to feel as though she really was paying quite a high price for the possibility of getting Norm into the church parlor for a few minutes that evening.

At that moment, through the main gateway, came Ermina Farley, a colored man with her, bearing a basket full of such wonderful roses, that for a minute the group could only exclaim over them. Ermina was in white, but her dress[148] was simply made, and looked as though she might not be afraid to tumble about on the grass in it; her shoes were thick, and the blue sash she wore, though broad and handsome, had some way a quiet air of fitness for the occasion, which did not seem to belong to most of the others. She watched the disposal of her roses, then gave an inquiring glance about the grounds as she said, "What are you all doing here?"

"We are having a tableau," said Lorena Barstow. "Look behind you, and you will see the Misses Bridget and Margaret Mulrooney, who have just arrived from ould Ireland shure."

Most of the thoughtless girls laughed, mistaking this rudeness for wit, but Ermina turned quickly and caught her first glimpse of Nettie's burning face; then she hastened toward her.

"ONLY LOOK AT THAT CHILD!"

"Why, here is little Prudy, after all," she said eagerly; "I coaxed her mother to let her come, but I didn't think she would. Has Miss Sherrill seen her? I think she will make such a cunning Roman flower-girl, in that tableau, you know. Her face is precisely the shape and style of the little girls we saw in Rome last winter. Poor little girlie, was she frightened? How kind you were to take care of her. She is a real bright little thing. I want to coax her into Sunday-school if I can. Let us go and ask Miss Sherrill what she thinks about the flower-girl."

How fast Ermina Farley could talk! She did not wait for replies. The truth was, Nettie's glowing cheeks, and Susie's fierce looks, told her the story of trial for somebody else besides the Roman flower-girl; she could guess at things which might have been said before she came. She wound her arm familiarly about Nettie's waist as she spoke, and drew her, almost against her will, across the lawn. "My!" said Irene Lewis. "How good we are!"

"Birds of a feather flock together," quoted Lorena Barstow. "I think that barefooted child and her protector look alike."

"Still," said Irene, "you must remember that Ermina Farley has joined that flock; and her feathers are very different."

"Oh! that is only for effect," was the naughty reply, with another toss of the rich curls.

[149]

Now what was the matter with all these disagreeable young people? Did they really attach so much importance to the clothes they wore as to think no one was respectable who was not dressed like them? Had they really no hearts, so that it made no difference to them how deeply they wounded poor Nettie Decker?

I do not think it was quite either of these things. They had been, so far in their lives, unfortunate, in that they had heard a great deal about dress, and style, until they had done what young people and a few older ones are apt to do, attached too much importance to these things. They were neither old enough, nor wise enough, to know that it is a mark of a shallow nature to judge of people by the clothes they wear; then, in regard to the ill-natured things said, I tell you truly, that even Lorena Barstow was ashamed of herself. When her younger sister reproved her, the flush which came on her cheek was not all anger, much of it was shame. But she had taught her tongue to say so many disagreeable words, and to pride itself on its independence in saying what she pleased, that the habit asserted itself, and she could not seem to control it. The contrast between her own conduct and Ermina Farley's struck her so sharply and disagreeably it served only to make her worse than before; precisely the effect which follows when people of uncontrolled tempers find themselves rebuked.

Half-way down the lawn the party in search of Miss Sherrill met her face to face. Her greeting was warm. "Oh! here is my dear little grandmother. Thank you, Nettie, for coming; I look to you for a great deal of help this afternoon. Why, Ermina, what wee mousie have you here?"

"She is a little Roman flower-girl, Miss Sherrill; they live on Parker street. Her mother is a nice woman; my mother has her to run the machine. I coaxed her to let Trudie wear her red dress and come barefoot, until you would see if she would do for the Roman flower-girl. Papa says her face is very Roman in style, and she always makes us think of the flower-girls we saw there. I brought my Roman sash to dress her in, if you thought well of it; she is real bright, and will do just as she is told."

"It is the very thing," said Miss Sherrill with a pleased face; "I am so glad you thought of it. And the hollyhocks are just red enough to go in the basket. Did you think of them too?"

"No, ma'am; mamma did. She said the more red flowers we could mass about her, the better for a Roman peasant."

"It will be a lovely thing," said Miss Sherrill. Then she stooped and kissed the small brown face, which was now smiling through its tears. "You have found good friends, little one. She is very small to be here alone. Ermina, will you and Nettie take care of her this afternoon, and see that she is happy?"

"Yes'm," said Ermina promptly. "Nettie was taking care of her when I came. She was afraid at first, I think."

"They were ugly to her," volunteered Susie, "they were just as ugly to her as they could be; they made her cry. If they'd done it to Sate I would have scratched them and bit them."

"Oh," said Miss Sherrill sorrowfully. "How sorry I am to hear it; then Susie would have been naughty too, and it wouldn't have made the others any better; in fact, it would have made them worse."

"I don't care," said Susie, but she did care. She said that, just as you do sometimes, when you mean you care a great deal, and don't want to let anybody know it. For the first time, Susie reflected whether it was a good plan to scratch and bite people who did not, in her judgment, behave well. It had not been a perfect success in her experience, she was willing to admit that; and if it made Miss Sherrill sorry, it was worth thinking about.

Well, that afternoon which began so dismally, blossomed out into a better time than Nettie had imagined it possible for her to have. To be sure those particular girls who had been the cause of her sorrow, would have nothing to do with her; and whispered, and sent disdainful glances her way when they had opportunity; but Nettie went in their direction as little as possible, and when she did was in such a hurry that she sometimes forgot all about them. Miss Sherrill, who was chairman of the committee of entertainment, kept her as busy as a bee the entire afternoon; running hither and thither, carrying messages to this one, and pins to that one, setting this vase of flowers at one end, and[150] that lovely basket at another, and, a great deal of the time; standing right beside Miss Sherrill herself, handing her, at call, just what she needed when she dressed the girls with their special flowers. She could hear the bright pleasant talk which passed between Miss Sherrill and the other young ladies. She was often appealed to with a pleasant word. Her own teacher smiled on her more than once, and said she was the handiest little body who had ever helped them; and all the time that lovely Ermina Farley with her beautiful hair, and her pretty ways, and her sweet low voice, was near at hand, joining in everything which she had to do. To be sure she heard, in one of her rapid scampers across the lawn, this question asked in a loud tone by Lorena Barstow: "I wonder how much they pay that girl for running errands? Maybe she will earn enough to get herself a new white nightgown to wear to parties;" but at that particular minute, Ermina Farley running from another direction on an errand precisely like her own, bumped up against her with such force that their noses ached; then both stopped to laugh merrily, and some way, what with the bump, and the laughter, Nettie forgot to cry, when she had a chance, over the unkind words. Then, later in the afternoon, came Jerry; and in less than five minutes he joined their group, and made himself so useful that when Mr. Sherrill came presently for boys to go with him to the chapel to arrange the tables, Miss Sherrill said in low tones, "Don't take Jerry please, we need him here." Nettie heard it, and beamed her satisfaction. Also she heard Irene Lewis say, "Now they've taken that Irish boy into their crowd—shouldn't you think Ermina Farley would be ashamed!"

Then Nettie's face fairly paled. It is one thing to be insulted yourself; it is another to stand quietly by and see your friends insulted. She was almost ready to appeal to Miss Sherrill for protection from tongues. But Jerry heard the same remark, and laughed; not in a forced way, but actually as though it was very amusing to him. And almost immediately he called out something to Ermina, using an unmistakable Irish brogue. What was the use in trying to protect a boy who was so indifferent as that?

## SELECTION FOR RECITATION.

### THE LAND OF THUS-AND-SO.

HOW would Willie like to go
To the land of Thus-and-So?
Everything is proper there:
All the children comb their hair
Smoother than the fur of cats,
Or the nap of high silk hats:
Every face is clean and white
As a lily washed in light;
Never vaguest soil or speck
Found on forehead, throat or neck;
Every little crimpled ear,
In and out, as pure and clear
As the cherry blossom's blow
In the land of Thus-and-So.
"Little boys that never fall
Down the stairs or cry at all,
Doing nothing to repent,
Watchful and obedient;
Never hungry, nor in haste.
Tidy shoestrings always laced;
Never button rudely torn
From its fellows all unworn;
Knickerbockers always new,
Ribbon tie, and collar, too;
Little watches, worn like men,
Only always half-past ten:
Just precisely right, you know,
For the land of Thus-and-So!
"And the little babies there
Give no one the slightest care;
Nurse has not a thing to do
But be happy and say 'Boo!'
While mamma just nods, and knows
Nothing but to doze and doze;
Never litter round the grate;
Never lunch or dinner late;
Never any household din
Peals without or rings within,
Baby coos nor laughing calls,
On the stairs, or through the halls:
Just great Hushes to and fro
Pace the land of Thus-and-So!
"O the land of Thus-and-So!
[151]Isn't it delightful, though?"
"Yes," lisped Willie, answering me
Somewhat slow and doubtfully:
"Must be awful nice, but I
Rather wait till by and by
'Fore I go there; may be when
I be dead I'll go there then:
But"—the troubled little face
Closer pressed in my embrace:
"Le's don't never ever go
To the land of Thus-and-So!"
J. W. Riley.

## AT THE CLOCK TINKER'S.

AS we were clearing out the attic last spring we came across an old clock; one of those old-fashioned high clocks that had been hidden away in that dark corner of the attic many years. Not that we didn't know of its existence; every annual housecleaning it had been remarked upon; but last spring Tom said, "See here, Nell; don't you know these old clocks are all the rage?"

"Yes, I know, but that old thing won't go."

"How do you know that?"

"I don't, only I should suppose if it hadn't been past its usefulness, Grandfather Bradley would not have bought a new one in its place."

"O, people do not always use things until they are worn out; did I not hear you tell aunt Mary that our centre-table looked so shabby and old-fashioned that although it was strong and not broken at all you intended to send it to the attic and have a new one? Now I suppose that either aunt Mary or aunt Charlotte thought the same thing about the old clock, and when some 'Yankee peddler' came along with a new-fashioned Connecticut clock, they coaxed grandfather to buy one and sent this old one to this dark corner. Now I am going to investigate." Indeed Tom was soon ready to report. "See here, Nell! I believe that the old thing only needs cleaning and oiling to put it in running order. Let's take it down to Lampson and see what can be done."

By this time I was interested; to have that old clock down in the hall would be to excite the wonder, admiration and envy of the neighborhood. The old man laughed when he saw it.

"I remember that clock. I sold your grandfather the one which took its place. I was a young fellow then, and I remember that your aunts wanted a new clock while the old gentleman thought the old one was good enough; but the girls always had their way with their father. I have wondered about this old clock lately and meant to try to get hold of it and make my fortune out of it;" and the old man laughed heartily; "but you young ones have got the start of me. Yes, it is all right; I can make it run about as well as ever. It will outlast half a dozen modern clocks. Thirty years? Yes, more'n that. It's nigher fifty years since I used to sell clocks, hereabouts. Well, changes have come about that would astonish one to know, since then.

"Tom," said the old man suddenly, after a pause in which his thoughts seemed busy with the past, "when I was a young fellow like you I did not think that at seventy I should be just an old tinker; there's a place over across the river that used to just suit my fancy and it was my ambition to get rich enough to buy it and take a sweet girl I knew in those days over there and live out my time, growing old, respected and looked up to as your grandfather was. Do you know why I failed? My boy, I threw away just thirty years of my life! That is why I failed. Your father can tell you how he has seen me reeling through the streets in those days. There were half a dozen of us fellows and I am the only one left—the only one who has escaped a drunkard's grave. And I have only just escaped. It was after I had squandered my money, broken my wife's heart, made my children outcasts and ruined my health that I was saved. All the rest went down, drinking to the last. I tell you, my boy, never touch it! Never tamper with temptation! Yes, I can fix the old clock and make it run about as well as ever, but you can't mend up an old drunkard and make him tell off the remaining hours of his life with any certainty. Whiskey somehow uses up the inside works and it is a poor sort of a service that a worn-out old rum drinker can render his Master. And Tom, I say, let rum alone! And Nellie, don't have anything to do with a young fellow that will not sign a pledge!"

The old clock adorns our lower hall, is much looked at and admired; but to Tom and me, every stroke as it tells off the hours comes as a warning voice, and we seem to hear the old man saying, "Never tamper with temptation."

F. H.

[152]

"HIS THOUGHTS SEEMED BUSY WITH THE PAST."

[153]

Volume 13, Number 20. Copyright, 1886, by D. Lothrop & Co. March 20, 1886.
THE PANSY.
"SHE THOUGHT IT OVER!"

[154]

## WHERE I WENT, AND WHAT I SAW.

NOT a long journey this time. It was a bright Sabbath afternoon, and I walked own Gilbert avenue, then McMillan avenue, then Kibbe street, until I came to a large new building into which all the world seemed to be trying to crowd. We were late; the sound of many voices in song made us try to hasten, but the crowd was so great that this was not easy to do. On the way, Sabbath though it was, we had passed many crowds of a different sort. Men and women pushing into street cars, talking loud and laughing gayly, on their way to park, or garden, or theatre. On the corners were crowds of boys, talking, spitting, swearing; we passed saloons out of which reeled drunken men; in short, we passed places and people which did not make us think of Sunday at all. But this was different. The singing was very sweet; the room was large, and had many windows; the walls were white, and everything was fresh and new. The floor was carpeted, and seated with chairs, and every chair was filled; so also were the aisles, and the doorways leading into the side rooms. But the great evergreen letters on the space opposite the main door, said—
WELCOME.
And the ushers came forward cordially and motioned us in, saying cheerily, "Always room here for one more." So we elbowed and wedged our way.

What was going on? Why, this was the dedication of Bethany Chapel, the room for which the young men and the young women up on these Hills have been working for years. Yesterday it was in order. On the wall hung a motto at which everybody looked and smiled. It was a very pretty motto:

FAITH IN ACTION.
Those were the words; and looking about the pretty room, one could not help feeling that there must have been a good deal of it in action to have given us such results. But I noticed that people looked beyond the motto at the nail from which it hung. A gold nail! Very large, and entirely covered with gold. That was certainly a new kind of nail. I wondered what it meant; presently the superintendent of the school told us about it. It seems that, a long time before, the teachers had explained to their scholars just what was to be done, and just how much money, and time, and work, it would take, and how much help would be needed. Among others, the primary teacher had explained very carefully to her little bits, and had said: "Now we all want to help; every little girl and every little boy must do something; I am sure you each want a nail in the new building. Don't you?"

Then of course every one of them said "Yes, ma'am," in their eager little voices; and then I suppose some of them went home and forgot all about it. Not so little Faith whose story I am going to tell you. She thought it over, fixing all the powers of her mind on it. She talked it over with her particular friend Robbie, as he worked with the scissors and a sheet of paper trying to cut a pattern for a new kind of cart wheel which he intended to make.

How should she get a nail to put in the new Sunday-school room? It ought to be a very big nail, Robbie," she explained. "Because, you see, I should want it to help hold something; and I should want it to hold real hard, or else I would be ashamed of it."

Robbie agreed, but was too busy with his wheel to say much. "And where do you s'pose I could get one?" said Faith. "If I only had some money I could buy a great big one; but I haven't a single cent."

It took days of thinking and planning, and hunting, but at last, oh, joy! Faith found the object of her desire; a great big nail! Very rusty and a trifle bent, but so large that it filled her heart with delight. Never was a happier maiden than the one who carried the precious nail to her teacher, all neatly wrapped in paper. Some of the scholars laughed, and said it was not good for anything; but that was because they did not know any better. That blessed superintendent did not laugh. He received the gift with smiles and thanks, and he took it down town and had it straightened, and covered with gold; so that the unsightly rusty thing glowed with beauty, and then it was used to hold the[155] motto; and is to fill its place in Bethany Chapel so long as the building stands. Will anybody say little Faith did not do what she could?

But I want to tell you about the meeting. There were many speeches and much singing. When Doctor Hays began to speak, all the little children straightened themselves and made ready to listen; there was something in his voice which made them think he was worth listening to.

"Children," he began, "how many know what I have in my hand?" Hundreds of voices answered that he had a watch.

"Is there anything about it in the Bible?"

This they did not know; so he told them he wanted them to be sure to remember his text, for it was that one word, "Watch," and they would find it in Mark, thirteenth chapter and last verse. He had quite a time getting them to remember where it was, and they laughed a little at their mistakes; but at last I think every boy and girl there could give it correctly. He had a good deal to say about a watch; how the "little fellow" inside of it worked away all day and all night, and day after day, never stopping to fret because it had so much to do; never resolving that it would begin to-morrow morning and do great things, and being content because of that resolve to do nothing, for awhile; it just worked away, a tick at a time. Then he said there were three things he wanted to tie to their memories by the help of that watch. First, they were to watch for scholars for their Sabbath-school. Every boy and girl there ought to be on the watch for those who went nowhere else, and nab them.

Second, they were to be on the watch against sin. He knew a very little boy who once prayed this prayer: "Dear Lord, make Satan look just like Satan every time he comes after me, so I will know who he is, and fight." That was a good prayer, said Doctor Hays. "You see to it that you know who Satan is, every time, when he comes after you. When he comes whining to you that it isn't a very bad thing to hang around the street corners, and play, or to disobey your mother, or to tell what isn't true, say to him 'You are Satan: I know you; and I am not going to have anything to do with you.'"

Thirdly, they were to be on the watch for opportunities to do good. There was a very earnest little talk about that, which I have not room for; and besides, I cannot tell it as Doctor Hays said it; I wish I could. But the three heads to his sermon I remember, because of the watch on which he hung them. What made him think of the watch? Because, when the disciples of Jesus were talking with him, one day, he said that word, not only for his disciples, but for you and me: "And what I say unto you, I say unto all, watch." And after he was through talking with them, he went to Bethany. So as the new school was named Bethany, the doctor thought the scholars would remember his sermon and text better if he told it in that way.

There were some little boys and girls who recited Bible verses about the House of the Lord, each bringing an evergreen letter which commenced their verse, and when the letters were hung on the wire waiting for them, they spelled

OUR SABBATH-SCHOOL.

I began to copy the verses for you. Then I decided not to do any such thing. I said: I will tell the Pansies about it, and ask them to hunt out verses for themselves which will spell the same; verses that they think would fit their Sabbath-school, or describe what their lives ought to be, or that they like very much, for some reason. Then they will have an acrostic of verses of their own. How many will do it? What is the use of our going to so many places together, if we don't learn some new nice things to do when we get home?

Pansy.
Two little pussy cats wrapped in fur
Sit on the wall and they mew and purr
Mew! mew! mew!
If you listen you'll hear the black one say
"I like the night much better than day."
If you listen you'll hear the white reply,
"You're quite right, pussy, and so do I."
Mew! mew! mew!
So they sit on the wall and mew and purr
These two little pussy cats, wrapped in fur.
—St. Nicholas.

[156]

## "OLD SNOOKS."

THUS the boys built of the snow what they pleased. Sometimes it was "Old Snooks." He was the village drunkard, with a big brandy nose and ragged coat.
THE BOYS AT WORK.

When it was done and declared to be a good likeness, each fellow armed himself with snowballs, and, standing a little way off, the command was given to fire, and "Old Snooks" received a merciless pelting, one ball hitting him squarely in the eye, another on the nose, another knocking off an ear, until the image was completely demolished amid shouts of triumph.

Then somebody else was set up for a mark. But usually the most fun was in building a fort and laying siege to it—or rather storming and taking it.

Once the real "Old Snooks" himself came staggering by while the boys were raising the breastworks. He stopped a moment to swear as he usually did, when one of the little "rascals" took deliberate aim and fired, and Snooks' old hat was lifted into the air and landed over the fence into a big snowbank.

Now when the boys saw the rage of the old man, and that he was making for them as fast as his poor legs would let him, away they ran. But all that night and the next day they trembled and kept out of the way, fearing the wrath of Old Snooks.

The wretched man found it easier to catch his hat than scampering boys. So he gave up the chase and urged his way homeward.

But the track was drifted, and his limbs chilled. Soon he fell, but was picked up by a passing neighbor and carried to his miserable home.

Not long after the village bell tolled for his funeral. Those boys were thoroughly sobered when they remembered that their fun had something to do with Old Snooks' death; so they resolved that, whatever they did, they would never find pleasure again over the misery or sin of any one.

One day when their snow fortress was done and besiegers and besieged were about to see which party was master of the situation, several of General Gage's soldiers came along. This was more than one hundred years ago, and the "village" was Boston; the playground Boston Common; Gage, the British general in command. It was a time when almost every American man, woman and child, was "mad" at England because of taxes or the "Stamp Act."

The wise old men said with an ominous shake of the head that trouble was coming. The boys heard it and began to talk war and "play soldier." They were at it now. Those in the fort were "British;" those about to storm it, "Americans."

THEIR PLAYGROUND.

The passing soldiers heard the words, "Drive the Britishers out;" "shoot them;" "kill the tyrants." Though it was all in play, the words stung them, and coming suddenly upon the[157] boys, they handled them roughly, calling them "young rebels," and demolishing the fort.

This did not make the boys less "rebel." They spread the news of their bad treatment by General Gage's soldiers. Teachers, parents, everybody, was angry.

The next day a procession of boys, headed by one of the "storming party," marched through the Common and halted before General Gage's headquarters. Three of the number were admitted to his presence and asked what it all meant. Nothing frightened by being surrounded by officers, glittering with armor, the young "captain," looking the great general full in the face, recounted the affair about the destroying of their fort by the soldiers.

General Gage patiently heard the statement and promised to reprove his men and see their sport should not be spoiled again in that way.

So the procession departed in triumph. The boys were no more molested.

But the Revolution soon came on, and instead of snowballs and snow forts and the sport of children, there were musket balls and roaring cannon, there were stone forts and "banners rolled in blood."

Seven years of war followed, in which the sword, the bayonet, the bullet, fire and famine, played their awful part, and—"the Britishers" went home to England.

America was free!

How many of those boys who snowballed "Old Snooks" and visited General Gage became Congressmen, I have never heard. Yet I dare say some of them got into the high places of the new nation.

But one of the best "resolutions" ever passed was theirs:

Never to have fun at the expense of such creatures as "Old Snooks."

Uncle C.

[158]

## MY BRAINLESS ACQUAINTANCE.

By Paranete.

### V.—THE SAD FATE OF AN ENGLISHMAN.

"I CONFESS," the pin went on, "that I was not sorry I had been brought along. The beautiful, boundless sea was around me everywhere. It was exhilarating. Most people talked about the refreshing odor, but the sight and sound was enough for me. And the day that we had the tempest, when everyone seemed so frightened, I thought it was delightful to watch the giant waves as they raised and lowered the ship.

"Finally we reached the shore. I did not know where we were. We got in a train, and after a few hours' ride, changed to a carriage, and drove through the streets. The rest of the party seemed greatly interested in the signs over the store doors, but as I had never learned to read, I saw nothing strange about them. We reached a large building, and were ushered into a fine 'suite of rooms.' That was what they called them. As I was the only pin on the cushion, my mistress sent for some more, and soon several were placed with me. From them I learned that we were in Paris, in the country of France, though it was with difficulty that they made me understand, and doubtless we could not have talked together at all, only they had met an English pin, who had taught them some of his language. They were Parisians, as they told me with much haughtiness, but if they were, I did not like them for they were very proud. My dear young friend, if you ever expect to be agreeable company, you must not be proud.

"By some chance, a disconsolate-looking, and acting pin was put on the cushion, after the Parisians had all gone. He told me he was English; and gave me the story of his life, which was a very sad one. He said he did not care what happened to him now, and that the first chance he could get, he should make away with himself. I advised him not to do so, and tried to console him a little. But it was useless. He said that without friends, life was but a burden to him.

"When I told him how I was made into a pin, he seemed much amazed, and said the wire that he had been made of had been softened by heating, and then had been pounded and twisted like a horseshoe into the right shape. He said that that was the way with all his former English friends, and he sighed. Then I was proud (I confess it) of my country; proud that I was an American, and did not have to go through all English pins did! While my creation only lasted ten seconds, his took many minutes.

"Just as we were discussing the different methods by which we were made, my mistress (and his) came into the room, and he hurriedly said good-by.

"'You will never see me again. She will take me, and not you. Mine has been a sad life, and it will have a sad end. I hope that you will be happy. You are the only one that has ever tried to comfort me since all my friends were taken away from me; but you could not. Good-by!' And with that, my mistress took him away.

"She went over to the marble basin with the silver faucets, and turned some water in, while she held the pin, not very securely, I suppose, for he tried with all his strength, and gave a leap into the basin. The water carried him swiftly through the hole, and he was seen no more!

"O how I felt! To see one of my own race go to destruction before my eyes was hard to bear! I would have wept, but you know that is impossible to me, but whenever I think of the sad, sad fate of him with whom I was acquainted, for so short time, my brassy heart aches, as it were, and I feel as if I must go and comfort him, lie he in sewer or sea!"

(Just here the pin seemed much moved, and trembled so violently that I put my hand on the edge of the desk, to keep him from falling off.)

Presently he continued: "Let this be a lesson to you, my dear young friend, never to be discouraged, whatever be your lot in life, or you will meet with a sad fate, like my poor acquaintance, the English pin.

"It must have been for about a week then, that my life was rather dull. I was sorry for this; I longed for something to divert my mind from the sad scene I had witnessed. All I could[159] do was to gaze disconsolately at the shining marble basin in the corner of the room, feeling that it was a sort of tombstone erected over the body of my friend, and make a solemn resolve never to become so discouraged with that which it was my duty to bear, as to desire to put an end to my existence, but always to bear patiently the task set before me. And you, my boy, will find your life much happier, if you make the same resolve.

"One day while my mistress' little girl was sitting reading by the window, a gentleman came in who had made his appearance during the last few days, and whom the children called uncle. He invited her to take a walk. She hastily brushed her hair, and hunting around for a smaller pin, evidently, took me reluctantly, to pin her sash with, and hurried down to meet her uncle, who was waiting at the hotel door; for that I had learned was the name of the building.

"They walked along down many streets, until finally they came to one where stores were. Into one of these the little girl went, and bought a paper of pins; as soon as they reached a quieter street, she took me out, so as to fill my place with a smaller pin, and would have thrown me into the gutter, but her uncle stopped her, saying:

"'Give it to me, if you don't want it. Never throw away even so small a thing as a pin, my girl, or you may want one very much, some day.'

"She laughed, and handed me to him, and he put me on the inside of his coat. When they reached home, or rather the hotel, he bade all the family good-by, and that evening boarded a train, and travelled till we reached another large city, where he took a steamer the next day, and I learned from some of his remarks that he was going back to America. I was very glad, I can assure you, for by this time I had grown homesick. The ride back was just about the same as the ride away from home had been, the only incident of any importance, that I remember, being that my master once fell overboard while I was on his coat, which was exceedingly disagreeable for both of us, until the sailors rescued us, and though I suppose those same brave men did not even know of my existence, I think I was really as thankful to them as was my master.

"When the steamer reached New York, the gentleman took a train, which, after a few hours' ride, brought us to a small town, where we found at the depot a carriage waiting for my master, with a gentleman in it, who greeted him warmly.

"During the ride to the stranger's house, he suddenly exclaimed:

"'Will, my cuff has come unpinned, and the pin has mysteriously disappeared. Have you another for me?'

"So my master put his hand to his coat, where I had been ever since we left Paris, and gave me to the gentleman. He, of course, fastened his cuff with me, and I remained in it till night, when, as he was taking it off when making ready for bed, he (whom I had so faithfully served) accidently dropped me from the open window, and I fell into a crack in the sidewalk!"

## DOES ALCOHOL WARM US?

A PATIENT was arguing with his doctor the necessity of his taking a stimulant. He urged that he was weak and needed it. Said he:

"But, doctor, I must have some kind of a stimulant. I am cold, and it warms me."

"Precisely," came the doctor's crusty answer. "See here, this stick is cold," taking up a stick of wood from the box beside the hearth and tossing it into the fire, "now it is warm; but is the stick benefited?"

The sick man watched the wood first send out little puffs of smoke, and then burst into flame, and replied: "Of course not: it is burning itself!"

"And so are you when you warm yourself with alcohol; you are literally burning up the delicate tissues of your stomach and brain."

Yes, alcohol will warm you, but who finds the fuel? When you take food, that is fuel, and as it burns out, you keep warm. But when you take alcohol to warm you, you are like a man who sets his house on fire and warms his fingers by it as it burns.—Temperance Banner.

[160]

A MOST UNWELCOME VISITOR.

[161]

Volume 13, Number 21. Copyright, 1886, by D. Lothrop & Co. March 27, 1886.
THE PANSY.
PATIO OF A PRIVATE HOUSE, CORDOVA, SPAIN.

[162]

## ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.

By Margaret Sidney.

### V.

IT seemed an age to the three frantic passengers before the train ran into Brigham—but it was in reality five minutes ahead of time. St. George and his faithful adherent bade good-by with a heavy heart to Thomas, longing to stay and help him, but knowing that home they must go. Thomas tumbled out on the snowy platform more dead than alive from fear, and realizing that betrayal of a trust wasn't after all so productive of ease as it might be thought to be, he gathered himself up and walked uncertainly to the waiting-room door; a man standing within eyed him narrowly.

"We don't allow drunken people in here," he said coldly, "you'll have to stay outside."

"I ain't drunk," cried Thomas, roused to action; "I'm blest if I am; I'm only unfortunate."

The man laughed loud and long, and called to another, "See here; here's a chap got off his train—not half seas over, you know, oh no! only he's unfortunate."

Thomas' face blazed in an instant. That he, Mr. Bang's man, who had filled one place for a good dozen years, and was saving and industrious, with no taste for the company of low-lived fellows and no leaning toward their habits, should be brought face to face with one of them in this unlucky moment of his life when courage was at its lowest ebb, seemed to him the cruelest blow of Fate, and it deprived him of what little remaining sense he had.

"If anyone says that to me again I'll pitch right into him," he shouted.

"Good—hurrah! he knows what's what!" cried the fellow, a stalwart lounger whose only interest had been in seeing the train come in and depart. When that was over, he had nothing else for his active mind to work upon, and he hailed with delight this new excitement. "Come on, fellows, this chap is determined to fight. So we won't disappoint him. You're a drunken, good-for-nothing sot," he cried in Thomas' face.

Thomas gave one plunge and struck the quarrelsome man squarely in the face.

"Take that, and that, and that," he cried, beside himself in a passion. Never in his life engaged in a quarrel involving blows, now that he was in one, it was purely delicious to give free rein to his anger, and for the first few moments he felt a man indeed.

The young fellow thus struck and two or three other men now closed around him, and he was soon occupied in warding off as best he might the shower of blows, kicks and cuffs that fell to his portion. The noise brought speedily to the spot, the depot officials, one or two farmers riding by, and all the boys in the vicinity.

"Stop—hold—I won't have any of that!" cried the ticket agent, puffing up in authority.

"Oh! won't you?" cried one of the men whose blood was up, and pounding away at Thomas, whom they had succeeded in getting to the ground.

"No, I won't," cried the ticket agent, "I'll have you all arrested."

"Who's going to do it, I'd like to know," asked another man derisively.

Meanwhile Thomas was shouting out his case, and succeeded in catching the ear of a farmer who sitting on the bags of meal in his wagon had paused to see what the trouble was about.

"It's my opinion," said the farmer deliberately, and stopping to clear his throat now and then with a sharp Hem! "that you want me to give you three chaps a poundin' that man, a taste of my whip, and it's also my opinion that I shall do it." With that he sprang from his wagon with surprising alertness considering he looked so old, and, whip in hand, he advanced upon the crowd.

They all fell back. He had "whip" in his eye, and beside, every one knew Jacob Bassett, and that there was no reason to think he would fail to do as he said.

Before all could desert Thomas, however, the last man had the benefit of the leather lash, and he ran off rubbing his leg, and uttering several ejaculations as if he had received enough.

"My man," said Farmer Bassett, tucking up his long whip under his arm and helping Thomas to his feet, "now what's the matter with you?"

"I'm in trouble," said Thomas briefly.

"So I should think," said the old farmer with a wise nod.[163]

"I don't care about myself," said Thomas not regarding certain flapping portions of his once neat suit, nor mindful of the other signs of his predicament, "but it's young master and those other boys who were left to my care." At mention of them, he became helpless once more, and began to bemoan his fate.

"Hah!" said the old farmer. He had boys of his own, not so very long ago either, although he looked so old, and though they were all but one out in the world and promising to be successful men, his heart went back to the time when they were little chaps and running about the farm.

The one who was not out in the world was safe at rest from all temptation and suffering. There was a tiny grave on the hill-top back of the old homestead, and here the farmer often stole in an odd moment, and Betsey his wife went of an afternoon when the work was done up, for a quiet time with her darling—the little Richard, so early folded away from her care, and Sundays they always went together to get peace and resignation for the coming week.

"What's the trouble with the boys?" asked the farmer, quickly.

Thomas looked into his face and the first gleam of hope he had known, now radiated his own countenance. Here was a man who evidently meant to help, and that right speedily.

"Oh sir," he cried, "they're over at Sachem Hill, and locked out of their house."

"Over at Sachem Hill and locked out of their house," repeated the farmer. "How did that happen?"

"'Twas me," cried Thomas miserably, and then he laid bare his confession.

Farmer Bassett said never a word, only as Thomas finished, "Come," he commanded, and motioning him to the green wagon, he climbed in, and seated himself again on his bags.

"I'm goin' to stop a minute an' tell Betsey to put us up a few things, an' while she's doin' it, I'll hitch into the sleigh. I took the wagon to mill, as 'twas poor draggin' along one piece o' bare ground—an' then, says I, we'll be off for them youngsters of yours."

Thomas gave a long breath of relief—and the wagon rolled on in silence till it came to a stop before a large red house.

## OUR ALPHABET OF GREAT MEN.

### N.—NEWTON, SIR ISAAC.

"EVERY body in nature attracts every other body with a force directly as its mass and inversely as the square of its distance." This has been called "The magnificent theory of universal gravitation which was the crowning glory of Newton's life." I doubt not many of you have struggled manfully with this law as laid down in your school-books, and, having conquered it, and fixed the principle in your minds to stay, you may like to know something about the philosopher himself. In 1642, a puny, sickly baby was supposed to be moaning away its young life in Lincolnshire, England.

This child's name was Isaac Newton. He belonged to a country gentleman's family. His father having died, his mother's second marriage occasioned the giving of the child into the care of his grandmother. As he grew older he gained in health and was sent to school. Having inherited a small estate, as soon as he had acquired an education which was considered sufficient to enable him to attend to the duties of one in his position, he was removed from school and entrusted with the management of his estate. However, this young Newton developed a passion for mathematical studies which led him to neglect the business connected with his estate. He busied himself in the construction of toys illustrating the principles of mechanics. These were not the clumsy work which might be expected from the hands of a schoolboy, but were finished with exceeding care and delicacy. It is said there is still in existence two at least of these toys; one is an hour-glass kept in the rooms of the Royal Society in London.

Isaac Newton's mother was a wise woman in that she did not discourage his desire for the pursuing of his studies and for investigation. She did not say, "Now, my son, you must put away these notions and attend to your business. You have a property here which it is your duty to manage and enjoy. You should find satisfaction in your position as a country squire and consider that you have no need of further study." On the contrary, this mother allowed her son to continue his studies; he was prepared for[164] and entered the college at Cambridge when he was eighteen. From that period until his death, at eighty-five, he devoted himself unweariedly to mathematical and philosophical studies.

SIR ISAAC NEWTON.

You all know the story of the falling apple. He had been driven by the plague in London to spend some time at his country-seat in Woolstrop, and while resting one day in his garden he saw an apple fall to the ground. Suddenly the question occurred, Why should the apple fall to the ground? Why, when detached from the branch, did it not fly off in some other direction?

And where do you suppose he found the answer? Read the first sentence of this article and see if you find it there! The truth had been the controlling power of all the falling apples since the creation, but it had never before been understood or formulated; perhaps this discovery of the law of universal gravitation gave him more renown than all his other labors put together.

He met with a sad misfortune, later, when, by the accidental upsetting of a lighted candle, the work of twenty years was destroyed. The story as told by a biographer is, that Sir Isaac left his pet dog alone in his study for a few moments, and during this brief absence the dog overturned the candle amongst the papers on the study table. It is further told as an evidence of the calmness and patience of the great man, that he only said, "Ah! Fido, you little know of the mischief you have done!"

But although he was so quiet under the great loss, the trial was almost too much for him; for a time his health seemed to give way, and his mental powers suffered from the effects of the shock. He died in 1725, and was buried in Westminster Abbey.

Faye Huntington.

## SOME REMARKABLE WOMEN.

### K.—KAUFFMAN, MARIA ANNA ANGELICA.

AMONG the women of history we find not a few artists; and of these Anna Maria Angelica Kauffman gained no mean reputation. She lived and worked and suffered during the latter half of the eighteenth century, dying in 1807. Her early life was spent in Switzerland, that land of romantic scenery. She opened her eyes in this world first among the mountains that rise above the beautiful and fertile valleys whose southern slopes teem with vines, whose highlands afford pasturage for the flocks of the farmers. Our artist's father was a travelling painter. Of his work we have no account. He is known to us only as the father of a gifted woman. Inheriting a love of art, she found in her father a ready sympathizer and willing helper. He gave her such instruction as he was able, and when he could carry her no farther in her studies, the family removed to Milan that she might have the opportunity of studying under more competent teachers. She had, however, before this—and she was only thirteen years old when they went to Milan—painted a portrait of the Bishop of Como, which gave her quite a reputation. At Milan she had an opportunity of mingling with other artists, and also the privilege of copying the finest pictures.

She excelled in portrait painting; when she went to London she was engaged to paint the portraits of "the most distinguished and beautiful ladies of the court." She everywhere received much attention, both on account of her[165] talents as an artist, and her beauty and charming manner. Some of her pictures are in the Royal Gallery in Dresden; others may be seen in the Louvre in Paris.

Faye Huntington.

## SIR JOHN AND THE EREBUS.

### II.

FORTY years ago last May, England fitted Sir John out with two fine ships. They were the Erebus and Terror.

Away they sailed from the wharf where many came to see them off, among them Lady Franklin, Sir John's wife.

Away they pushed through the sea toward the North. On they went, further and further from their home, to see if they could find the North Pole or what was called the "Northwest Passage."

Soon they met icebergs, or great mountain castles, moving down from the north. But the Erebus and Terror turned aside and sailed north, north, north, hundreds of miles.

Then the winter came on. The two ships were soon hedged in by the ice. They could neither go forward nor backward. The ice became thicker and thicker; the nights longer and colder. The men were clothed in fur, and there were stoves in the ships, but they shivered with the cold. No word came to them from their friends. They, however, tried to be cheerful, hoping for spring and the breaking up of the ice so they could sail out of their prison and find the Northwest Passage.

They sang, told stories, read, celebrated each other's birthday; good Sir John read sermons and prayers to his men as was his custom and exhorted them to be of good cheer. It was a joyful thought to them of making wonderful discoveries in that strange land and then coming back some day with the news.

John Franklin

But the spring came and went, another and another, but no tidings of Sir John. Then there was alarm. Meetings were called, speeches made, great sums of money raised; brave captains and crews offered to go in search of him. Vessel after vessel went and came, only to report failure.

Five years passed; seven; nine; ten—Hope was dying—eleven. Lady Franklin did not give up, but fitted out, at her own expense, a little ship.

Captain and sailors bid good-by to wives and friends, not knowing they would ever see them again, as they resolved not to come back till they found out something as to the fate of Sir John.

So this little ship disappeared far away northward, and, like the others, in a few weeks, was in the midst of majestic palaces of ice.

But it worked its way on, when, lo! one day as the captain was hunting here and there, he came upon parts of a ship, and he knew it was Sir John's. He also found Sir John's own handwriting and many other things that told of great sufferings and death.

It appeared that he had died June 11th, 1847; but he was not found till 1857. All had perished.

He was a noble Christian man, with a heart tender as a woman's.

When the little ship came back with the news, England mourned as did this nation over the fate of Sir John Franklin.

C. M. L.

[166]

## FOLLOW MY LEADER.

HAVE each of the company put on a sheet, securing it around himself like the pictures of a Roman toga. Put on his head a pillowslip, making it assume any fanciful shape desired, and bringing it closely around his face, concealing features as much as possible. All this must be done before assembling, as it is the object to have players disguised as far as possible from each other. Have your Leader chosen. Then you must follow him implicitly; whoever fails to, must be counted out of the game. Those who do not wish to dress in sheet-and-pillow-case costume must form audience. The Leader must wear high above his pillow-case-enveloped head, a small United States flag, so that all can recognize him as Leader.

(You will remember that the fourth of March is always the Inauguration Day, when the President of the United States goes into the White House as Leader for four years.)

Now let the Leader start to music from the piano—through the parlors, halls, dining-room—perhaps if the cook is pleasant, to the kitchen. These little games do a great deal to draw all the family together with a happy feeling. If he stops a minute to examine anything, the company following him in Indian file must stop too and imitate his movements, as if examining something closely. If he says in the course of his travels "ooh—ooh!" just like a pig, each one of the pillow-slip-and-sheet brigade must say "ooh—ooh!" also in the same tone without smiling, unless he laughs. If he says "cock-a-doodle-doo-o!" each one must say it. Whoever fails to follow his Leader imitating him in everything, and whoever smiles or laughs, or says anything unless the Leader does, must be pointed out by the audience, dropped out of ranks, set up in a corner, told to stand there until the game is played out, and all take off sheets and pillow-slips—to sit down and laugh over it all, before plates of apples and cracked walnuts.

May you have a jolly time with your March game. I wish I could play one with the Pansies.

Margaret Sidney.

## SIR EDWIN LANDSEER.

YEARS ago, a man now living in Cincinnati was sent by the President to South America to look after the interests of our country there. The people were very kind to him, and, among other gifts, presented him a parrot on his return home.

I spent a day at his house and had many funny talks with Poll; parrots can talk after a fashion.

She was a fine lady, not so large as some you may have seen at the New Orleans Exposition. Some of them were from two to three feet long. One was perfectly green; another, white; a third, nearly all bright colors.

The one I saw in Cincinnati was fond of her friends, but sulky and cross to me, a stranger.

She had learned many wicked words from passers-by, swearing words even. When she could not have her own way and, like other folks, was out of humor, she would "let fly" her worst opinions of people and things in her bad language.

At such times she did not seem so beautiful with all her gay plumage. Few folks do appear well when out of sorts, no matter how rich and fashionable their clothes. Remember that.

In the picture you see a parrot sitting upon a perch. It is another one and there is a long story about it. But all stories can't be put into The Pansy without bursting its covers. However, you may hear a little about this one and think out the rest when your thinkers get time.

This Pol came from a distant land. She had such rich feathers, and could talk and sing so well, and, withal, her manners and behavior were so correct that she made friends of everybody.

So in due time Pol was treated like one of the family and as one of the first ladies in society—so far as a parrot could be. Her bread and drink[167] and bed were all any bird could wish. She had the freedom of the house. Without asking, she could go up stairs or down, out door, into the barn, to the top of the highest trees, sometimes to the neighbors. She always came home at meal and bed time. Every one, nearly, knew her and treated her politely. Thus she forgot her far-away relations and became happy "as happy can be." She was now a maiden lady of sixty years. Some parrots live to be one hundred. Pol's life had been pleasant as a June morning. But June doesn't last forever. Trouble came.

One day she went out to call and was quietly walking home. A bad boy met her and made some provoking remarks. Instead of paying no attention to such creatures and going right on her way, she stopped, listened, lost her temper and "sauced him back." Then what should the fellow do but strike Pol and tear out some of her finest feathers and, leaving her half-dead, went his way. Pol managed to drag herself home, and, as best she could, tell what had happened.

How grieved they all were and wondered who could have treated her so cruelly. They suspected who had done it; for that boy was given to such things. Some seem to delight in giving pain to animals. I need not say what was done to that hateful boy. He deserved punishment and received it. But Poor Pol, what of her? She was tenderly washed and coaxed to eat and tell more about it. Her appetite left her in spite of all that could be done and she became sad and silent and wished to retire to bed.

It was hoped that she would feel better in the morning; but when morning came, there she sat, her wings drooping and her eyes cast down like one that is passing through great sorrow.

Near by lived a lad by the name of Eddie Landseer. He thought the world of Pol. As soon as he heard of her misfortune he came running in with a playmate, a bright little girl, to see what they could do for their afflicted neighbor.

Eddie was a great lover of horses, dogs, birds and almost all animals. Some say that when he went into the woods he would always carry something good for animals to eat and he would somehow call the squirrels and birds down around him from the trees. They would come and eat from his hands and let him handle them as tame animals do. He really seemed to know just how some animals feel and to cheer them in trouble. He took pains to study them as you do your Sunday-school lesson. So in he came with a most dainty dish for Pol.

He and his little friend were prettily dressed, not to show themselves, but to please Pol, for Eddie believed that she had an eye for beautiful clothes like her own. But when he saw Pol, how sad her countenance was and how she mourned over her lost feathers, he and Bertha could hardly keep back their tears.

However, they put on cheerful faces and sang so sweetly and begged so hard Pol actually got out of bed, arranged her feathers neatly, talking away as though nothing had happened.

Now, what if I should tell you that this Eddie became a great painter of animals! When he was but five years old he could draw pretty good pictures of cows and pigs; at eighteen he made that famous picture "Dogs of St. Gothard rescuing Travellers." Queen Victoria was so pleased with it she put honor upon his name and everywhere he was called Sir Edwin Landseer.

Some day you may see his famous picture "Peace and War." Ten years ago was seen in Philadelphia his wonderful painting "The Sick Monkey." Many people would stop a long while looking at it; the mother monkey had the sick one in her arms. The poor thing seemed ready to cry, while all the other monkeys looked at the sick one with such sad eyes. It is said no artist has done so much to teach us how to love animals.

Did you ever hear of Mr. Henry Bergh? He has spent many years writing, speaking and pleading with law-makers to pass laws to protect animals from cruelty. I suppose if the horses of New York City, where he lives, could speak, they would all daily shout to him as they see him on Broadway, Thank you, dear friend Bergh. No living man has ever cared so much for our race as you have."

If they knew how, they would surely shake hands with him, and when he comes to die build a grand monument to his memory. It would seem as though God's love is in his heart. Jesus came to save the worst people, even those who nailed him to the cruel cross. Surely Jesus pitied the poor helpless animals. Not one sparrow falls to the ground without his notice. Try to be a friend to animals, won't you?

C. M. L.

[168]

"EDDIE AND BERTHA COULD HARDLY KEEP BACK THEIR TEARS."

[1]

ARE you having a good time with the March winds, my Blossoms? But then, you are so scattered that you can have all sorts of times. Some of you may be blowing around the street corners in a way to make you think of balloons, while others of you are picking wild-wood flowers in the sunny South; and away down in Maine, the boys are snowballing, while away on the southern slopes of California the girls are gathering roses! What a wonderful world it is!

Oh! do you know, my dear Pansies, I am going West this summer? I can't tell you much about it until the summer is over and I am settled down again for winter work; but I mean to keep my eyes wide open on purpose for you. I shall be in Utah, I think, and in Kansas, and Wisconsin, and Nebraska, and I don't know just where, but you shall know all about it after I have been, and returned. Wide-open eyes; that is our motto for the summer. I know a great many of you are going away, to the seaside, to the mountains, to Chautauqua, to Europe, where not? Will you be selfish, dwarfed-up little Pansies, keeping all your delights of travel to yourselves, or will you keep diaries of all the interesting things you see, and hear, and learn, and write beautiful letters for the stay-at-homes? Why not? Let us join hands and see how much we can use our eyes and ears for others during the long bright summer.

Lovingly, Pansy.

Louie from New York. My dear, I hope The Pansy came in time for the "little brother's birthday." We made all possible speed. Yes, Faye Huntington is to continue her work for The Pansy during another year. I am glad you love her. So do I. Please give my kind regards to your mamma, whom I remember very well.

Mamie from Connecticut. You dear little Blossom! I am glad you have not choked yourself with pins before you took your pledge! I presume you think you never would have done so; but do you really suppose there was ever a person who choked to death with a pin, on purpose? Yet there have been deaths caused in just that way. Your mother will be glad that you have resolved to give up so foolish and dangerous a habit.

Emily from Maryland. Your pledge commences with the right sentence, my friend. One who honestly trusts in His help, is sure to succeed. I think you will find it helpful if you will study His life on earth, and see how many proofs you can find of His perfect unselfishness.

Maria and Lucy from Missouri. Welcome, my little Missouri sisters. May you blossom luxuriantly in that sunny land. I hope the "temper" will grow as sweet as the Southern jessamine which I enjoyed so much in your South land last winter, and that the little fingers tempted to be "tardy" now, will quicken under the spell of the earnest pledge which has been taken.

Ward from Michigan. Glad to receive you, my boy. "I can't" is an enemy who has stolen many a grand action from boys and girls as well as from men and women. Did you ever notice also, that he generally speaks what is false? Nearly always "I can't" means "I don't want to," or a bold "I won't."

Ina from Iowa. Dear friend, do you know of what your pledge reminds me? Of a great many grown people who, though pledged to obey the Lord Jesus, forget to "mind" him so often, now that he is away. While you are carefully keeping your pledge to obey the dear mamma as well in her absence as when her eye is on you, will you sometimes think of Jesus, and his wish that we should remember always that his eye is on us?

May from Iowa. You are not alone in that fault. I know many people who can "remember" the faults of others, while seeming to be quite forgetful about their own. It is a good[2] rule to remember nothing against any other person, unless we believe that Jesus Christ wants us to remember it, and speak of it, in order to help somebody else.

Otho from Iowa. Another little "high" temper. A temper is an excellent thing if it is of the right sort. It wants to be even; neither "high" nor "low." Try hard to make yours what in your honest little heart you think it ought to be. Remember your greatest help will be found in our Whisper Motto.

Roy from Michigan. My boy, I liked your letter ever so much. Do you know how much that is? Yes, I am sure you do. It is so full of suggestions for the other Pansies that I am going to copy some of it for them. It is a great thing to be able always to "speak pleasantly." What a power for good you will be in this cross world, if you keep your pledge. To be pleasant, when everything is going crooked, or at least seems to be, is a virtue which very few people have.

Arthur from Chicago. How is the "club" succeeding? I am more than willing that you should have an officer's badge if you earn it. What "kind acts" have you succeeded in doing since you took your pledge? Is there not some story growing out of them that you can tell us, and so help others?

Kitty from Vermont. Yes indeed, we want all the "kittens" of your sort that we can get hold of. Oh! I know all about the people who do not hang up their clothes. Aren't they troublesome, though! What a pleasant thing it will be to "mamma" to find all the dresses, and sacks, and hats and hoods in their places, after this! I should not wonder if the clothes-press did not know itself, and if the piano, and the table in the back hall, and the hat-rack in the corner should feel very lonesome, in the course of time. But a certain Pansy Badge will blush for joy!

Bertha from Connecticut. Glad you like the badge. And so glad to think the poor little fingers do not get "sucked" any more. Will you give my dear love to "aunt Katie," and kiss her very softly and sweetly for me? I know something about that precious "Shut in Band;" I used to have a dear friend who was a member of it. But the Master one day called her out, to do active work, and she has been in the field ever since.

Pearl from Indiana. Teeth are very important and much abused members of society, my dear Pearl. I hope yours will reward you for good care, by never aching a bit. By the way, little Pearl, I wonder if you know the fourth commandment? See if you can tell me why I wonder it.

Marion from Iowa. We welcome our new Western Blossom. It is astonishing to me how many of my Blossoms hate to shut their eyes when night comes! At least, they and "mamma" someway cannot agree as to the best time to do it. Now in a "truly" pansy bed, I have noticed that the Blossoms seem to be glad when night, and dew, and hush, tell them that the resting time has come. Can it be, do you suppose, that they, without souls, or brains, are more obedient to the Gardener's voice than little human blossoms succeed in being? Some people who are quick-witted are strongly tempted to "answer back," especially when they think of something which would be "just the thing" to say. I knew a wise man who said when he was a boy, he had to adopt the habit of counting ten before he answered a person in argument, because if he didn't, he was sure to say what he was sorry for afterwards. I have often thought if some people I know would "count ten" oftener, they would not say so many foolish and disagreeable things.

Frank from Ohio. Impatient, are you? Well, there is a wonderful promise for such as you in the Bible. See if you can find it. I haven't the least doubt but that you want to grow up a great man; and here is your opportunity.

Lillie from Connecticut. My dear, I earnestly hope the patience with which you waited has long before this been rewarded. They do seem to be very slow people in Boston, sometimes, but when there are so many "lilies," and roses, and pansies to be attended to all at once, how can they help it? We are glad to get your full name for enrollment. Are you also the secretary of your Band? If so, we shall hope for an account of your meetings. The Pansies like to know how the different members of their great army conduct their monthly meetings.

[3]

Lester from Ohio. My boy, we are glad that you are not only a subscriber, but a worker. "Teasing" is really a great nuisance. Between you and me, don't you really think so yourself? I asked a boy who is fond of doing disagreeable things "just for fun," whether he really thought he should like to have them done to him, and he opened his eyes wide, and said: "Why, of course not!" Yet it had not seemed to occur to him what a mean spirit he confessed in that very sentence. I am very glad to receive your pledge.

Jennie from Connecticut. I shall want to hear all about the bed-quilt when it is done. I am acquainted with a society of girls who made a beautiful album quilt not long ago. The blocks were of silk, given by the ladies of the church. The young girls did the work, very nicely, and allowed their lady and gentleman friends to write their names in the centre blocks, for ten cents each. The money thus secured they sent toward the support of their little adopted girl in Alaska, and the quilt they sent for a Christmas present to their minister's wife, who was away from home, sick, and lonely. The names on the blocks were those of her friends in whom she was much interested, and many of the pieces of silk were well known to her, and gave her pleasant thoughts of the original givers; so the work was a comfort and a help all around. "Besides," said one of the girls, "we learned to sew beautifully, that winter. Mrs. F. would accept nothing but the very nicest stitches." A great many people "forget" what they ought to remember. I am glad you have left their ranks.

Ray from Colorado. What a rich boy you are to have so much company in your own home! Also, what a good boy you must try to be, when you have so many who will be sure to follow your example. It is a good thing you have taken a pledge not to "speak cross" any more. If the twins should learn such things from you, how sad it would be!

Minnie and Floy from Wisconsin. My dear little friends, it will be a great victory when you learn not to be impatient over anything, and to be pleasant when you feel cross! Oh yes, you can even do such hard things as those. But let me remind you that you will need the help of the Whisper Motto every hour of the day. I am glad the birthday present was a Bible. I think you must both of you study it a little, and try to follow it, else you would hardly have such good reports from school. By the way, I must tell you a story about my Bible. It was given me when I was eight years old. On Sunday, in church, the sermon was long, and I grew very tired, so I thought I would put something on the fly leaf of my new Bible which would be very appropriate, and which would not be wrong to write on Sunday. I worked away at it, and produced in my best style, these lines:

Holy Bible book divine
Preshus treshure thou art mine!
Actually, that was the way I put it! Don't you think my beautiful new Bible might have blushed, if it could express its feelings in that way?

Lizzie from Kansas. So they "bite their finger nails" in Kansas, as well as everywhere else! Before our P. S. was organized I had not the least idea that fingers were so cruelly treated. What a pleasure it is to me to think that so many of them have peace now. We are glad to welcome you to our roll.

Susy from Elyria. There! I forgot to put the "a" in, after Susy. Well, I suppose you are called "Susy Sunbeam." I think that is a lovely name. It shows there must be a good deal of sunshine in your life. I know a young lady whose face is always so bright and happy that her home friends call her "Sunny," and I have often thought she might be proud of the pet name. I am glad you like "Grandpa's Darlings." It is a true book. The dear grandpa was my very own blessed father; and the children, Minie and Grace, were my pet nieces. Grace is now a young lady and lives in the same house with me, and works all day with her pencils and her paints, learning to be an artist. As for Minie, I don't know what she does all the long bright days. She was called years ago, to her Father's palace; for she is the daughter of a great King. We do not hear from her; but we know much about the beautiful home where she lives, and we are all looking forward to going there, some day, to be with her, for the King has promised to send for us—all. More than that, he has invited any one to come who would like to do so. Will you go?[4]

Ella from New York. I do wonder what there is about a piano which should nearly always make young people impatient? Do you suppose the fault is in the instrument? I have sometimes thought that if such is the case, they ought to go out of fashion. But perhaps the little Pansy Badge will be too much for yours. Let me hear how you succeed.

Clara from Iowa. I hope you received the autograph safely, my dear, and that you like the picture. "Cack" is certainly a very original nom de plume. What do you write? I once had a little friend who called on me to ask how she should finish her book! She said she knew how to begin it, and how to make it very long, but it would not end! I think a great many people are troubled in that way. Don't you?

## "BALLAD OF THE LOST HARE."

NOW all you Pansies who have grown too old to enjoy sweet cunning things written on purpose for five and six and seven-year-old Blossoms, may skip this article.

The gray-headed fathers and mothers, and the dear sweet grandmothers who never grow old, will enjoy it as much as the darlings themselves; but I am aware that there is an age somewhere between ten and sixteen when almost everything that the babies can enjoy is "too young!" All those are requested not to listen, while I tell about the "Ballad Of The Lost Hare." A big book, with a bright cover, and with a great many colored pictures large and bright, and with the cunningest little story running all through the book, about a poor little, dear little, naughty little hare.

Yes, I am going to copy just a bit of the introduction for you. Listen:

Far from wild, far from wood,
In a field rich and good;
Near to hill and winding glade,
Lived the naughtiest Hare, ever was made.
Father scolded, mother whipped,
But every day away he slipped.
Brothers three, and sisters two,
Cried and cried, as off he flew.
Sore-sore-sore was the sobbing,
Wild-wild-wild was his race;
Only the woods to echo his footsteps,
Only the winds his hiding place.

After the introduction, come the stories of his adventures; and the pictures of them. Oh! but you would be so sorry for him if you could see the cow, and the goat, and the pony that scared him nearly out of his small wits!

And then the conclusion! Ah me, the sad ending of it all!

Do you suppose he wishes his home to see,
His sisters two, and his brothers three?
Would he like to lie down in his own little bed?
And does he recall what his father said?
OFF HE FLEW.

There! I mustn't tell you any more, or the whole story will be out. Buy it, my darlings, and read it for yourselves; it is in nice clear print. Or, if you haven't quite managed that business of reading yet, let me whisper a word in your ear: those wise old brothers and sisters of yours, who have known how to read these five years, and are ciphering in fractions, and writing essays on "Spring," will be willing to read the story, just to please you, you know, not for their own amusement, at all; oh no! Try them.

Now who do you think wrote it for you?

Who but Margaret Sidney herself! the author of "Five Little Peppers," which you liked so much; and the author of "Kensington Junior," and you know how many more nice things. Of course you will want the book.

The price? Oh yes, surely, I had almost forgotten. Why, it has a special price on purpose for the wee P. S. Blossoms. Only sixty cents. Think of it!

[5]

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

SIX ILLUSTRATED SERIALS:

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

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

- III. A GIRL AND A JEWEL.

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

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

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

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

ROYAL GIRLS AND ROYAL COURTS.

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

A CYCLE OF CHILDREN.

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

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

STORIES OF AMERICAN WARS.

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

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

IN PERIL.

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

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

YOUTH IN TWELVE CENTURIES.

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

FIRE-PLACE STORIES.

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

SOME SPECIAL ARTICLES:

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

TWELVE BALLADS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE C. Y. F. R. U. READINGS
meet the growing demand for the helpful in literature, history, science, art and practical doing. The Course for 1885-86 includes

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

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

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

[6]

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.

[7]

### ARTISTIC FAC-SIMILE REPRODUCTIONS OF ORIGINAL PICTURES.

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

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

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

The method of reproduction employed is the new photogravure process of the Lewis Co., which in result is only equalled by the famous work of Goupil & Cie of Paris. Each impression is on the finest India paper, imported expressly for this purpose, and backed by the best American plate paper, size 12x15 inches. Only a limited number of hand proofs will be made. Ordinary black inks are not employed, but special pigments of various beautiful tones, the tone for each picture being that best suited to emphasize its peculiar sentiment.

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

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

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

SPECIAL.

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

UNIFORM NET PRICE OF ONLY FIFTY CENTS EACH.

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

NOW READY:

Oct. 1. "Little Brown Maiden." | Kate Greenaway.
The sweetest and quaintest of Miss Greenaway's creations. The original watercolor was purchased in her London studio by Mr. Lothrop, and is perhaps the only original painting by Kate Greenaway in America.
Oct. 15. "On Nantucket Shore." | F. Childe Hassam.
A wood engraving from this sea-beach picture was the frontispiece to the September Wide Awake. In a boy's room it would be a delightful reminder of vacation days.
Nov. 1. "In Grandmothers Garden." | Wm. T. Smedley.
This is a picture of the time when mother was a little girl, and walked with grandmother in the dear old lady's garden.
Nov. 15. "The Dream Pedler." | Edmund H. Garrett.
Every nursery should have this picture of the captivating Dream Peddler, standing on the crescent moon and with his bell crying his dreams for sale.
Dec. 1. "Morning." | F. H. Lungren.
Dec. 15. "Evening." | F. H. Lungren.
These are companion pictures—the beautiful ideal figures set, the one in the clear azure of a breezy morning, the other in the moonlight mystery of evening.

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

[8]

D. LOTHROP & CO.'S
LATEST PUBLICATIONS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PUBLISHED LATE IN DECEMBER.

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

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

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

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

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

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

D. LOTHROP AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS, BOSTON.

[9]

EVERY BOY AND EVERY GIRL
CAN EARN A GOOD WATCH AND CHAIN.

The Waterbury Watch given for Three New Subscriptions to The Pansy and 75 cents cash additional, if sent before March 25, 1886.

NEW ENGRAVED CASE (BACK).

We make this special offer only to subscribers to The Pansy who send us new subscriptions. One dollar must be paid for each subscription (no club rates being allowed) and the order must be sent to us direct, not through an agent. The subscriptions must be secured between Feb. 25th, 1886, and March 25th, 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.

SPECIAL PREMIUM OFFERS OF YOUNG FOLKS' LIBRARY.

Any subscriber to one of our magazines sending us one new subscription to THE PANSY, with $1.00 for the same, may select any three volumes of the Young Folks' Library as a premium.

Any subscriber sending us two new subscriptions to The Pansy, with $2.00 for the same, may select any four volumes of the Young Folks' Library and one volume from the Household Library as premiums.

See the advertising pages of our magazines for description and titles of the volumes. The subscription money must be sent direct to us. These special offers are good only to April 1st.

No previous Premium Credits can be used for these offers.

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

[10]

## BABY'S BATH.

Much of the chafing of children under the joints where the skin lies in folds is due to the use of Soap containing too much alkali. In the Ivory Soap there is no excess of alkali, so it can be used in the nursery with the most satisfactory results. When applying it, rub a wet cloth upon the Soap, then wash tenderly, but thoroughly, and rinse perfectly, especially the folds of flesh, with clear water, and dry with equal care.

Prof. Leeds, of the Stevens Institute of Technology, says: "The Ivory Soap, while strongly cleansing, leaves the skin soft and pleasant to the touch."

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

Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious punctuation errors repaired.

Punctuation errors repaired.

Front advertising section, "For 10 Cents", "Samples" changed to "Sample" (Sampy copy and a set of)

Page 138, "bnried" changed to "buried" (his face buried in the)

Page 149, "disdianful" changed to "disdainful" (whispered, and sent disdainful)

Page 150, "too" changed to "to" (appealed to with a pleasant)

Page 150, "partie" changed to "parities" (nightgown to wear to parties)

Page 159, "where" changed to "were" (where stores were)

Page 159, "foom" changed to "from" (wood from the box)

Page 162, "thoHght" changed to "thought" (might be thought to be)

Page 165, "niether" changed to "neither" (neither go forward nor)

Page 5, advertisements, "Pepy's" changed to "Pepys'" (Mr. Pepys' Valentine)

Page 5, advertisements, "Tunrcoat" changed to "Turncoat" (A Revolutionary Turncoat)

Page 5, advertisements, "VI" changed to "IV." (IV. Some Italian Authors)

Page 5, advertisements, "By" changed to "by" (by Anna Katherine Greene)

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