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Show yjc DIRECTIONS FOR LETTER WRITING. WRIT-ING. Write on one side of paper only. Do not have letters too Ions. Address all lotterp tr 'Aunt Busy," Intermouirtain Catholic. Golden, Colo.. Feb. 4, 1W0. Dear Aunt Busy. I like to read the letters in the Inter-mountain Inter-mountain Catholic, so I am poin.cr to write you a letter, too. I had a happy I Christmas. 1 pot a wheel. I hope you ETOt one, too. We are going: to have a' new church. We have no sifters here o I attend the public school. I am in the fifth grade. I aliso take music lessons. les-sons. have two titters and two brothers. broth-ers. We have a big St. Bernard dog. From your lovinsr niece. MAMIE DUFFY. Ogden, Utah, Feb. 5th, 1900. Dear Aunt Busy. ! I hope you are well. I did not intend j to write so soon, but I saw a letter in The Intermountain Catholic from Robert Rob-ert Dorscy. and he said he would like to see a letter from Ogden. I go to i St. Joseph's school and we boys have j lots of fun. but we have to study hard. ! I hope I will be good enough to make j my first Holy Communion this year. I have six brothers and no sisters. Mam- ! ma ia kept very busy. The new church is almost finished. The weather is very fine for the time of year it i's. I am tired of writing eo 1 will close, from your new nephew, CORNE1LUS DEAN". Ogden, Utah, Feb. 5, 1900. Dear Aunt Busy. At? a numbsr of my little friends have written letter: to you, I will write you one. 1 go to the Academy and I am . ' in the Third reader. Sister Eileen is j my teacher. I like drawing, catechism i and arithmetic the best. Well. Aunt Busy. I will close hoping you are well, I remain your loving nephew, HAKKY CALLAHAN. ' Ogden, Utah. Feb. 5. 1900. Dear Aunt Busy. t .o,t- iii tln- Intevmmmtaiti Calh.-il a letter from Hobby Donsey. formerly of St. Joseph's, Ogden. Utah, but now of St. Joseph's. Mii-souri. I remember i Bobby well. He and I were-class mates ! and used to have loti of fun. He had , a Jovely siFter named Nellie. She wa? the b't girl in our school. I was not i a' Catholic then, but I am now. and bc.t of all. an altar boy at St. Joseph's and preparing- for my first Holy Com- ' munion. When the new church is built I hope to be Father Cushnahan's best altar boy. 1 hope Robby Dorsey will come to Ogden and play rugby w'th us bovp. Love from all your Ogden neph- tws. HOBBY ADAMS. ! r TWO LITTLE FACES. ! T ; ' Two litllo faces of two little girls. i One with straight hair and the other ! with curls. line faro as calm and us grave as a mm, j One with a smilo like the rays of the sun. i j ' Two little sisters in loving embrace. I Innocent souls in the garment of grace: Kyes that can sparkle like stars in the ! night. Hearts that hate evil and love to do right. ! Ah! the wealth of the home is not jewels ! nor pearls: ; - 'Tis the light from the eyes of its dear ' little girls, ; Both the ons with straight hair And the ones with the curls. ! II. Two little faces of two little boys. . tine that keeps st ill while the other makes noise; Oife liki's his book and the other his bat. One hates a quarrel, and one loves a spat. Two little brothers in loving embrace. One with the seal of a saint on his face; One bubbling over with frolic and fun. Brimful of mischief that's hurtful to none. Ah: the life of the home in its sorrows and 1 iovs. ! Is the lisht from the eyes of its clear lit tle boys. Both the ones that keep still And the ones that make noise. THE POP CORN MAN, Thlre' a queer little man- lives down the street i Where two of the broadest highways j meet. In a queer little house that's half of it j glass. With windows open to all who pass. nd a low little roof that's nearly fiat. ' And a chimney as black as papa's best hat. Oh the house is built on this funny plan Because it's the homo of the pop-corn man: How does he sleep, if lie sleeps at all? He must roll on like a rubber ball. r like a squirrel, and store himself Ml huddlv-cuddly under the shelf, if he wanted to stretch he'd scarce have ; . space Jn his bare little, spare little, square little lit-tle space. I He seems like a rat ooooped up in a can This brisk little, frisk little pop-corn man: I know he's wise by the way he looks. For he's just like the men I've seen in books. With his hair worn off. and Ins sqtunty j i i..' '-t.L-1. nn nh T knnn' lie's iini ii'-- '""' - wise! a,nd then just think of the way he makes The corn ail jump into snowy Hakes, Vith a "pop: pop: pop:" in his covered pan. This queer, little, dear little pop-ocrn man: Make Others Happy. Bach one of us is hound to mak the little circle in which ho lives better ;nd' happier. Each one of us Is bound to see ihat out of that small circle the widest pood may flow. Each one of us must liave lixed in his mind the thought that out -of a single household may flow the in- fluences that shall stimulate the whole commonwealth and the civilized world. The Father's house is surely thine. Therefore why wait? His lights of love through darkness shine, The hour prows late. I'ush hack the curtain of thy doubt. And enter none will cast thee out: SNOW-BIRDS. White-breasted snow-birds, Whirling around. Bike . flurry of snow-flakes, Down to the srrminrL Bright, chirping snowlrds Seeking a meal. For the fields above lh snow. In the slubblefield. ! Twiite'it:g snow-birds. Are you not cold, I f Fluttering over snow-drifts, When winds sweep bold? , Brave little snow-birds, God cares for you. Through the dark, wintrv davs j Or when skies are blue. " A Tale of the Polish Persecution, j A great pine forest, a band of forty i armed soldiers, their leader, the center ; of the group, a heavily bearded, dark-! dark-! browed man, gazing fiercely at a little girl standing quietly before him. She did not tremble at all,, nor look about : for help, nor seem to be in the least afraid. There was a bright spot, the : result of excitement, in either cheek 1 and her eyes shone with an expression ; that was like joy, and her lips were ! parted with a bright smile. "Speak!" the leader thundered. "Will you tell me where the priest has flown?" "Never, sir." "Or where the Sacrament is hidden?" "No, sir." v'i me aiitti esseis. I "No. sir." "I will give you one more chance to j obey me." he cried. "If you do not tell i me. this shall be your fate: We will I bind your eyes and leave you here in ! the forest, and then the wolves shall come by night and the wild birds by ! day, and none shall be here to defend you." She made no reply. The soldiers gazed at her wonder-ingly. wonder-ingly. Would she falter? How small and frail she looked under those giant trees and how fast the night was coming"! com-ing"! Some of these men had little daughters at home who were just Marie's age, and they remembered them and felt sorry for her in their inmost souls; but then they were soldiers, sol-diers, wild with the war excitement and the license of the camp. They were too wild to let pity plead for her at all. They had come upon the quiet little Polish village in the morning, for they had heard that the church was a very lovely one, with rich adornings and vestments and only one priest, and he an aged man, to guard it. "No one knows his hiding place, un-, un-, ; less it be Marie." So said a rough and , j evil man. buying for himself an exemption ex-emption from pillage by turning in-i in-i former against a little girl. "She is t : always in the church." he said, "always i praying, dusting or sweeping. My word I of it. she knows all about the treasure." j Marie did not deny this statement, ! but to entreaties, threats and promises she would not make any reply except constant refusal to betray the trust imposed in her. So they bore her off with them into the gloomy forest and put her to the final test, thinking she must surely yield. "It is the last time," the leader said. "Not often, child, do I ask a thing twice, and I have waited long for you. Will you tell me what I ask of you?" More than those rough men waited for Marie's answer. Angels waited for her lips to open waited to see the fight between good and evil fought out to its bitter end that, by God's grace, might prove most sweet. In the gathering twilight the soldiers could not see any sign of pallor on the I face before them, and they heard no I faltering word in the voice that sound-j sound-j ed clearly over the evening breeze I sighing through the pine trees: "I cannot tell you. sir." No more parleying and no more threats; actions now. They bound the bare arms tightly and tied the small feet together with a stout, knotted cord. She looked straight forward at the setting sun. which was visible just at the horizon through the vista, of forest trees. Would she ever see that sun again? She looked up at the blue sky, the verdant glade and the swaying sway-ing branches: one little squirrel she noted lovingly darting up a gnarled and mossy trunk, and yet she felt no heartache. At the rude soldiers she did not glance at all. They let her look as she pleased for one brief minute, then blinded her brave eyes closely, and suddenly she felt herself lifted and borne onward by stalwart arms "We will not leave her where she I last saw the light," the leader said. I ' Onward, my men. onward:" I Where they went Marie could only guess, but the sound of twigs crackling beneath their feet and of the boughs pushed aside or broken made her think that they were leaving the beaten track and going deeper into the wood. By and by she was let roughly down. "A good spot." she heard one say. "It looks like the wolf's den and no other. Well, she might have earned a better fate had she chosen." Did they dream that their words could make her fear or waver? If they did. their dream was in vain, and although one and another turned to look at her as they marched away into the gathering night, they only saw the face as calm and sweet and still as the evening star that hung in the darkening skies above the trees that were growing grim and ghostly in the twiiight. There were men who woke with a start and scream in the lawless camn that night woke from dreaming of a child in sore distress through sins of theirs. Years afterwards there were men who dreamed that dream sleeping and waking, and called on OJod to forget for-get and forgive them the sin which they could not forget. But that night of fear and remorse for them was Dright with joy and peace for Marie, the beginning of many pights of joy and peace. Sometimes she hr.d heard the good priest tell that when the martyrs suffered for our Blessed 'Lord it was not always suffering; suffer-ing; that there had been cases where the fierce fire had lost its sting, the rword had pierced and hurt not and the rack had been as the bed of softest down. So it was with God s martyr child on that night. If the fall in? dews were cold and damp, she did not feel them. If the boughs against which she lay were gnarled and rough, she did not heed It. If the wild, bird screamed in the tree ab(,ve her, and the snake hissed through the long grass at her feet, and the wolf howled in his haunt hard by, she heard them not at all. For this is what Marie saw, and it charmed all else away: A cavern underground, a gray-haired priest, an altar formed out of rude stones and clay: on that altar a holy shrine, where safe in reverent keeping. the Sacred Heart was beating all that night awake with hers. But it was more than this that Marie saw. Forms radiant with a brightness and a beauty far beyond the glory of the setting sun her eyes had looked on last; angel faces, harps of gold that rang with the sweetest music, in that music a chant of heuvenly glory mingling, ming-ling, raising grand hosannas to the King of Kings. And the door of the holy shrine s-tood open, and within she saw a child more fair, more sweet, more radiant to behold than any angel there. He looked at her, he smiled at her, toward her he held his hands, where j plainly she beiield the sacred wounds. That smile! that look! no pen can tell them, no pencil paint them. Watching them, all time was nothing: no one could think of time, or dream of fear or know aught of pain and trouble while such bliss was present. "Marie! Marie! Marie!" She had not heard the step that came through the forest, crushing the twigs and boughs beneath it; she did not know that the night had passed away and the morning sun was shining in her face. If beast or bird or creeping thing had touched her once in all that cold, drear night, she could never tell, for the face of the Lord of all created things had been before her, and the sight had charmed all else away. But Stanislaus, her only brother and the only relative that Marie had, coming com-ing home from college for a brief holiday holi-day with his little sister and choosing the shortest way through the tangled copse and thicket wood rather than the beaten track, in ordev that he might reach her the sooner choosing it by his good angel's guidance saw a sight that made him doubt at first that what he had seen could net be the truth. He had reached his little Marie even sooner soon-er than he had planned. He had started long before the sun was up so that he 'might find her in church at early mass and kneel with her once more before the Lord they loved. Could this be she? this lonely, tightly-bound, deathlike creature that lay there stirring not. nor sobbing nor showing any sign of life whatever. "Marie! Marie! Marie!" He tore away the bandage from the dear eyes; slowly she opened them as me dazzled by some great light which she could not see. Her face turned toward him stopped his eager questioning; question-ing; suddenly they were indeed at church hearing mass, even as he had hoped and planned. She showed no surprise, no suffering, no joy on account of earthly pains that were pas't or earthly joys that were present. He knelt down beside her, holding his breath in awe, not daring to speak again and break that holy silence. si-lence. Presently she sighed, as if with mingled happiness and sorrow. "I have watched all night with the Sacred Heart." she said. "Is5 it time ; for morning?" - I In an ancient convent dwelt for many years, from her very childhood to ad-! ad-! vanced old age, a nun who bore the name of Sister Marie of the Blessed Sacrament. No one ever saw her smile, but always upon that placid face there was a look that spoke of joys more deep than smiles could tell a look that her sister nuns affirmed was sweeter than any smile they ever saw. A Chance For Plain. Girls. "This is the era of the plain girl in business," said a leading milliner, "and the girl whose beauty is so insistent that none may deny it . has to stand aside for her plainer sisters. You will find that is the case in nearly every business establishment in the big towns. Not that there is any aversion to modes-ate beauty in the employee? that is often to be desired; but pronounced loveliness is entirely too attractive, both to its possessor and contcmplator, to facilitate the interests' of employers. Go into any large milliner's and you will see scores of girls behind the counter coun-ter who are quite plain, although not positively ugly. You will seldom find one whose charm of face or grace of form is so near to perfection as to hold you spellbound." |