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Show fip ti&D'T BV Aunt Bu 1 DIRECTIONS FOR LETTER WRITING. WRIT-ING. "Write on one side of paper only. Do not have letters too long. Address all letters to "Aunt Busy," Intermountain Catholic Ereckenridg-e, Colo., May 10. 1900. Dear Aunt Busy: I thought I would write you a little letter as I have never peen any from Breckenridg-e, Colo. I am nine years old and in the third prade. I belong1 to Saint Mary's Catholic Catho-lic church. The priest Ave have here is Just lovely. His name is Father Bob-ertson Bob-ertson and we all dearly love him. . . "Well, as my letter is getting- long, I will close. Good bye. Your loving niece. CJEXEVKVE BEBEY. Aunt Busy thinks she has the dearest nephews and nieces in Colorado that any old Aunty could possibly own. She Is pleased to read how nicely you write ; Of Father Bobertson. "Write soon again. - Salt Lake City, May IS, 1900. J Dear Aunt Busy: How do you do? Are you tired of ell of us yet? I know lots of boys and pirls who are going to write 'to you soon. Our school closed last week. I belong to St. Mary's choir. I am a pretty good girl, my mamma says. Good-bye. Your loving niece. LAUKA HADDOCK. Dear little Laura, Aunt Busy is quite well, and she is far from being tired of any of you. She only feels tired when her dear boys and gills neglect to write to her. Aunt Busy is sure you are a good girl. I Fort Collins, Colo., April SO, 1900. Dear Aunt Busy: We take the Intermountain Colorado Cotholie and I like to read the letters. I have not seen any of the letters from Fort Collins. I am 11 years old. I made by first holy communion the 25th of last month. I hope to see my letter in print. From your loving niece, MA BY BICIIABD. Dear little niece, Aunt Busy is niost pleased to hear from you. "Write a longer letter next time and write soon. Aunt Busy is glad to print your letters. A young man asked: "How can I i get on in the world?" 1. Get at some work for which you are suited. Stick to it. Learn it from top to bottom. Excel in it. Know more about it than any other man, be more skillful in it than any of your com-. com-. petitors. 2. Save money. Begin to hoard the cents if you cannot afford to lay by a ! dollar a "week. Acquire the habit of lhrift- . , t. 3. Get a good reputation for honesty, truthfulness, regularity and trust-. trust-. . worthiness. It is business capital. De serve it. Don't try to deceive the world. You are sure to be found out. 4 Treasure your health. Avoid excesses ex-cesses of all kinds. Keep from drunkenness. drunk-enness. Arise early. Sleep enough. With a business experience. frugal-Sty, frugal-Sty, a good reputation and health, opportunities op-portunities for advancement is prosperity pros-perity arc- sure to come. Nothing is more deplorable than the habit some girls have of changing the vpfijing of their names. Whatever happens, .stick to your baptismal name. The Ethel who calls herself "Ethyl, the Blanche who becomes "Blanca. the Caroline who writes herself "Car-r-lvn" are the victims of a foolish fancy. When such a girl arrives at the age of discretion she trims off the T furbelows which have adorned her name and returns to the simpler spell ing which her parents intended. ,' NEW TARCICIOUS. ; jTjs name was Jack Kent, and a j year ago he had been the fiercest of the twenty fierce young savages in Sister Raphael's class. But twelve months of that gentle teacher's influence had done wondrous work, and Jack's face had lost its pristine coat of grime, his language much of its "gamin" vigor, t and he had been persuaded to don a ragged jacket with pockets, in which lie could bury his fists for safe keeping keep-ing when he passed that corner of Wat- j rr street held by his former associates, ; tho'' Point Bats, who regarded his de- I feet ion from their ranks as an insult not to be condoned. And, indeed, the whole affair, from he erection by a pious benefactor of the little mission chapel in the very aeart of the slums, to the white-bonneted Sisters passing three times a week from their own convent to the mission instruction class, was resented by the Bats and their progenitors, as an intrusion upon their dominion, and a high-handed infringement of their personal rights. "The Methodys and 'Biscopals.is baa nuff," growled Xick Denver, who kept ' i iii w r ..nil i i the flourishing corner saloon, "bad nuff pushing and a prying into folks' business, busi-ness, but when these 'ere Romanists begin to shove, there ain't nothing kin stand agin 'em. Why, there's that young devil. Jack Kent, as seemed nachally born for the gallus! I'll be everlastingly blowed if he didn't bring me back twenty cents yesterday, that j he said he stole from my till last year I actually brought it back," and Mr. j Denver took his pipe out of his mouth and noded his big, bloated head impressively. im-pressively. "When boys begins to m unnatural things like that there must be somthin' wrong, we all know." Nevertheless, in spite of popular prejudice pre-judice the little mission chapel held its iron. Every Saturday evening Father Lawrence heard confessions; every Sunday there was Mass; three times a week Sister Baph gathered her little band around her, and taught them, prayed with them, read to them, sang to them, with an grebe patience and gentleness gen-tleness worthy of her name. And now ! there seemed to be a reward of her j labors near, for ten of her 1 lass of ' twenty were preparing for first communion. com-munion. "I don't know about Jack Kent," Falher Lawrence had said, doubtfully. "He is only twelve, and might Avait a year longer. You know he bears a very bad name." "O, Father!" had pleaded Sister Raph her sweet face flushing earnestly, "he needs Our Lord's help so sorely, for he has no one else; don't put off poor Jack." And so, in spite of a late encounter with the Rats, in which Nick Denver, jr., had been sent staggering home with a black eye. Jack remained, to sit in the little chapel, and listen with breathless interest to "Fabiola," with which beautiful story Sister Raph enlivened en-livened and illustrated her instructions. She had introduced her restless little hearers to the wonderful Church of the Catacombs. They had become familiar with Syra and Agnes, Sebastin and Pancratius, and now the gentle teacher was reading them the story of Tarcisus, the little acolyte who had died in defense de-fense of the Blessed Sacrament, which he was bearing through the streets of Rome as Viaticum to the imprisoned martyrs. "That's fine," was the clamorous verdict ver-dict when she finished. "Read that story agin, Sister, read it agin." Sister Raph read it "agin," adding, as usual, a little practical lesson adapted to her hearers' needs. "Of course, dear boys, nothing like this could happen in these, our days, but very soon you will have the same privilege as the little Tarcisius, for on your communion day you will bear the same hidden Lord in your breast. Remember, Re-member, dear children, like the little Roman martyr, to guard Him from all insult; let no wicked thought or word or deed, above all, no blows or fights or quarrels, profane that holy day, when God Himself wil be present within with-in you." And the speaker's soft eye fell, perhaps unconsciously, upon the curly-headed young sinner at the foot of her class. "Remember that each one of you must be a little Tarcisius on your first communion day." Jt came at last, that beautiful morn, and there were white lilies on the little lit-tle mission altar, and the good Sisters sent their choicest linen and most beautiful ornaments, and sweet-voiced pupils from the convent sang the first communion hymns. And Jack, who had been taken in hand for the occasion occa-sion by old Granny Mulligan and scrubbed and combed with Celtic vigor, vig-or, appeared in a whole jacket, spick and span shoes, and his first linen collar, col-lar, with a strange, sweet look of reverence rev-erence on his bright, boyish face that made Sister Raph's heart glad. And what Jack felt or thought or learned that beautiful morning none can say. "Who was that smallest chap this morning, he with the brown eyes and curly hair?" asked Judge Wythe, the founder of the chapel, as he and Father Fath-er Lawrence sat at breakfast. "That was Jack Kent," answered the priest, with a smile. "One of Sister Sis-ter Raph's small prodigals. Has made' a bad record so far, but she. has great faith in him." i "He has a fine head." The Judge sighed as he thought of just such another an-other curly head, that lay under a marble mausoleum in the cemetery. "I have been thinking of what you once said to me, Father, that there are memorials me-morials to the dead better than wood or stone. "Since my own boy has been taken from me, I feel that I would like to give some poor young chap the world has no place for my boy's chance this little fellow you speak of, for instance." in-stance." "Jack Kent!" exclaimed Father Lawrence, Law-rence, in dismay. "My dear friend, your resolve is a noble one, but I beg of you to be judicially slow in the matter. mat-ter. And Jack Kent! My dear Judge, Jack Kent would not suit you at all. He is a regular firebrand, snatched from the burning I hope and trust, but most uncertain still." And yet, though the good priest spoke sincerely, he was conscious of a vague remorse for his words as he saw the . young "firebrand's" head bowed before him at Benediction, and the "baptismal vows" that evening. "Been good all day, Jack?" asked Sister Raph, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder as in the gathering twilight twi-light they met at the chapel door. "You bet!" answered Jack, with the cheer of a good conscience. "Been up to the park looking at the swans. I ain't forgetting Tareissy." And as if to round out his good day, Jack lingered lin-gered after Sister Raph's departure to help Mose, Father Lawrence's sable sexton and caretaker, to lock up doors and windows, and make everything fast for the night. "Dar now!" exclaimed Mose, pausing with sudden dismay in the midst of his labors. "Done clean forgot Sister Raph's basket wif all de fine linens and lace altar cloths she brought from de convent. An she said pintedly she must hev 'em back tonight." "I'll take 'em," said Jack, willingly. "Dunno." Mose scratched his head in evident perturbation. "You see. chile, dem tings ain't ter be handled. Sister Raph packed 'em herself, and said it were agin church rules fer anybody any-body else to tech 'em, and I'd hev to kerry the basket mos' keerful. But deys called a meeting of Blessed Peter Claver society tonight, and dar's to be a nomenashun for officers, and ef I ain't dar to look arter dem, some no count niggahs will be pushing der-selves der-selves in. So if you take dat basket keerful, I'll gib you a quarter." "Don't want your quarter," said Jack, bluntly. "I'd carry baskets all j day and al night, too, for Sister Raph." And taking up his burden, he started off through the deepening dusk, proud of his mission, happy to win another approving smile from the sweet friend who .-had so blessed and brightened his life. He had been good all day, as he had promised her, nay, as he had promised Him. who this morning had made the lonely, loveless child's heart His throne. And Jack felt he could never be bad again; the old life seemed to have dropped away from him like a dead thing, with which he had no more to do. The foul, narrow streets throueh which he had to pass began to glimmer with lights. At the corner Nick Denver's Den-ver's saloon blazed like a devil's beacon, bea-con, but tonight Jack's eyes were lifted above the wretched house-tops to the stars shining softly in the quiet skies, and his thoughts flew back to a pale worn face that seemed part of a dimly remembered dream. His mother! Sister Raph said that dead mothers looked down upon boys on their first communion day. "Hi, hallo! here he is, boys, here he is!" It was an exultant war-whoop that broke in upon his reveries as a band of Point Rats burst around the corner. Nick Denver, his black eye still very much in evidence, heading their ranks. "Here's Kiddy Kent, come for his mashing. Give it to him, Nick, you've got your chance. Shut up his peepers." And with hoots and jeers and ribald words, they gathered around our little Jack. "Stand back, fair play; it's Nick's first go." Jack's heart gave a wild leap, as all the fierce young street savage in him rose to the fray. Then, then, like a flash, came the thoughts: his promise this morning little Tarcisius "Get out," he said, in a choking voice. "Get out of my way, boys; I'm I'm on an errand, I ain't ain't fight-in' fight-in' tonight." "You ain't, eh," snarled Nick Denver; Den-ver; "look out for yourself, then, for I am." And he struck out at the white-faced boy fiercely, while with wild yells of delight the others gathered gath-ered around, for young as Jack was, his record was a notorious one. But to the onlookers' amazement, there came no responsive blow. Bracing himself against the wall of a house behind him, Jack stood, white, desperately panting, warding off as well as he could his assailants' blows with one hand, while with the other he clutched his basket. "Fight, you dummy, fight, or we'll pound you to a jelly," shrieked the Rats in chorus. "I won't," gasped this new Tarcicius. "I won't, you cowards! Kill me if you want. I won't fight tonight." Mose, hurrying along the street, to be in time for the nomination, was stopped by a wild hubbub at the corner, where Policeman Brady's baton was scattering the Rats right and left. "Ye bloody young divils, to be murthering loike this on my bate!" "De Lawd!" gasped Mose, as though the broken crowd he caught light of the white, blood-stained, death-like boy, supported in the policeman's hold. "It's Jack Kent, done killed!" "No, not killed, but pretty nigh it Here, if you know the boy, look to him, .my man, while I catch some of those young villyans and give them a taste of the law they won't forgit." "De Lawd," murmured Mose, as he took the senseless boy in his arms. "Nigh dead, shuah nuff, and a cotchin' on to Sister Raph's basket, Jest as he promised. Hi dar, mister," and the negro appealed to a man standing at one of the doors near by. "Let me in, for God's sake, wif dis boy, 'fore he dies on my hands, an' somebody run for Father Lawrence and the doctor, quick." "Jack, my, poor Jack,- do you know me?" asked ' Father Lawrence, when a few moments later he and the physician phy-sician bent anxiously over the little prostrate form. The voice faintly stirred some lingering linger-ing chord of consciousness. "Didn't fight," came slowly from Jack's Dale lips. "Been Tareissy straight through " But our new Tarcisius was far too tough a young American to be killed by the Point Rats. Jack got well, though the slums around Nick Denver's Den-ver's knew him no more. Judge Wythe's first fancy for the curly-headed boy was cordially supported by Father Lawrence, and in a certain great college there is a handsome, bright-faced lad, who heads both his classes and his football team with equal energy. And his monthly letters to Sister Raphael are signed always by the name he took in Confirmation John "Tarcisius" Kent. . ' |