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Show v i5woby Aunt Busy,) DIRECTIONS FOR UETTEB "WRITING. "WRIT-ING. Write on one side of paper only. Do not have letters too long. Address all letters to "Aunt Busy," lntermountain Catholic. SaltLake City, May 1. Dear Aunt Busy: I go to St. Mary's Academy. I like it very much. My teacher is very good. Bast Sunday was my birthday. I was 8 years old. I am in the eecond reader. 1 go to Sunday school every Sunday. Goodby; I wilt write more next time, j Your loving niece, : WINNIE M DONOUGH. . Aunt Busy is delig-hted to hear from a j little pupil of St. Mary's. The little girls tere have never yet written to her. Won't you write soon again. Win- ; nic? -4- I Pueblo, Colo., May 1- Dear Aunt Busy: I This will be the first time I have i written to you. I am 12 years old. I go to school every day. I have a very love- j ly teacher. Her name is Sister Kostka. My mother was rick with rheumatism frr two weeks, but is better now. I have helped her with the work. I love my papa and mamma and brothers. Thia is the first day of May, and all the flowers will be blooming. I think I better close, so as not to make my letter too long. So goodby. Your loving niece, ELLA NORRIS. ! Aunt Busy welcomes her tittle, niece i Eila gladly. She hopes your dear j mamma is well now. Always try to j help mamma, if she be well or ill, and j God will bless you. 1 Spokane, Wash., April 29, 1900. I Dear Aunt Busy: As I have not seen any letters from Spokane, Wa.4h.. I thought I would write one. I am a little girl, 9 years I old. and go to the Convent of the Holy Name. 1 am In the third reader. Our Pastor is Rev. Father Hauten. Well, as k my letter i getting too long. 1 will say goodbv. From your new niere. MARY E. DEMPSEY. ! Th dear little niece from Spokane ii , in very welcome. Aunt Busy had no v ' idea the had a little niece away up : there. Won't you writs soon again? Salt Lake City, May 3, 1900. My Dear Aunt Busy: J I read your letter about what you wanted us to do during May, and I am S doing what you raid about tihe llowers y for the Blessed Virgin. We have a nice ! lecture of :he Blessed Mother, and j j-very day my little sister and I put I fme flowers in front of It. We had lots ?,; of lilacs la-t week. Goodby, Aunt Bu;3 j I hope you will be glad to know I did t what v?u said. Your loving niece. ; i ' MARY M'INTOSH. Dear faithful little niece. Aunt Busy is ; ' very glad to hear that you did what j. phc suggested. Surely our Blessed Mother loves the little girl who honois I her so mucin. Aunt Busy hopes to hear j from many more of her boys and girla ! :is to what they have been doing. She is ure that others besides you read her ; letter and are following her sugges- lion. 1 Pueblo, Colo., April 50, 1900. i j Dear Aunt Busy: . ' As 1 have heard of my aunty, but ' have never seen hf-r, I thought I would i i write a few lines tonight. I was 11 years ! ! old the 7th of April. Iam in the fifth ; i tade. anJ nave a very lovely teacher. ' i . Mv papa is sick with pneumonia, but is ' ' filing better now, eo goodby, hoping" ' i ve my letter in print. Your loving ! nieoc. HAZEL HUGHES. : : Aunt Busy -feels so happy over every ' inter she receives from her dear boys and girls in Colorado. She hopes to hear from you soon, that your good papa is quite well again. A good pupil always t'hiaks her teacher lovely. rite soon aain. -4 Colorado Springs, Colo., April 29, 1S00. Dar Aunt Kusv: I promised to tell you of my pet?, end I will now do so. I have a pug g that is so fat he can hardly walk. We put the old cat upstairs to hunt mice, but instead she looked for a bed for her three babies. She climbed out of the window and down the ladder. . 1 and carried them up from the cellar, one by one. I also have two pet pigeons. Tney fcad two eggs, but to-day the nest fell to t.he ground and broke them. Now 1 will say goodby. hoping you are in good health; 1 remain, your loving WILLIAM CUNNINGHAM. Aunt Busy has been expecting to hear from vou again. All the nephews end nieces will think your letter very intT. sting. Aunt Busy wishes more of her bovs and girls would write about hoir pets- You write a very nice letter, and Aunt Busy would love to see old fat pussy and the mother of those kittens. Write soon again. OUR SAVIOR'S LOVE FOR CHILDREN. CHIL-DREN. Did vou ever give a thought to the t. nd.-r'love of Christ, Our Blessed Savior, Sa-vior, for little children? asks a contemporary. contem-porary. Once when He lived upon th -aria' a poor, s-ad mother, with a sick child in her arms, followed Him as He walked along the road to JwaJen Without even ta much as tui n mg around Jtsuw knew that she w a6.b,e!l Him, and that she was sorrowful, ana t ha t she was doping even against hope rk.-it He would feel her presence and t :,ke companion on her and cure ner lutle child. And so. when- they inched a very narrow street-so narrow, in dnoj i hat th re was scarcely room m fo,t h H blef.ied hand, the h J was destine.! to be profoundly r-1 afveiwarda, and laid it eo ac upon the burning forehead of the sick child, and even ae the beseeching tj of the desolate woman reacted His o n the babe was cured and the grateful mother laid the child upon the grouna end c lung to Hi knees, weeping- One of the greatest artists of the world 'hns given us a most 5 ; portrayal of this same tKmns Bne in a picture called "Christ Heals a Sick Child." Perhaps some of you may have wn it. and-have gone away witij a dep appreciaj f how beaut ful a thin,? is tenderjhs-and How n ! thing it is to coft-eal it and probe one e j hfokrt to uproot it. Truly the most noticeable thing about Christ. Our Lord, was His tenderness. He did. indeed, remember the day of His childhood, and in His heart He was always young. He loved little children chil-dren because they knew how to love better than anyone else. As He watch-ed watch-ed them playing about Him, sinning and frolicking with each other. He would say: "They are of My Father's house; they are of the Kingdom of Heaven, because they know what pure Joy is." Whenever there were anv children about He would call them to Him and they would fly to hia loving arms, and the mothers would bring their babies for Him to touch and kiss, for He felt that they loved Him even more than they, for He knew so well how to love. What did He see when He looked into in-to the sweet face of a child? He saw back of the eyes, deep down in the heart, the pure child of God which dwells in each one of us, and He told all the people that they must become be-come again as this beautiful child before be-fore they would know what the Kingdom King-dom of Heaven was; and when they kept their hearts) pure as a little child they would know God and dwell with Him. He taught everyone of us to look into I each other's eyes and seek the pure child of God there. Think if we did this always! We would find all our j friends in the heaven within, and then ! we would have the Kingdom of Heaven j without and all about us. He told us we must do this when He taught ua to pray, "Thy Kingdom come on earth." Each one of us must do his share to help it to come. ANOTHER VOCATION". "There's no use trying, sister; I can't get on at home." "I'm sorry to hear you say that, Mary dear," said Sister Rose; "but before you tell me all about it. let us go out for a walk through the grounds; for this) Indian summer day is too beautiful to be spent indoors." While they are getting on, their cloaks the first part of Mary's story may be told. Mr. and Mrs. Brent owned a farm in Ohio. They worked early and late and stinted themselves to pay for it; and after fifteen years of toil they succeeded. suc-ceeded. in clearing it from debt. That was six years ago. Then they determined deter-mined to give their five children, of whom Mary was the eldest, the gentle education they themselves had never had. and the lack of which they had often lamented. Their plan was to J send Mary to a convent academy until : she should be graduated, and then ! bring her home to teach Joe and Ray-! Ray-! mond, Nellie and Grace, j Accordingly, when Mary was 12 years old she was snt to the Sisters, and I with them she remained until last June, when, with diploma and medal, I she returned to her father's house. It had required extra frugality on the part of the other members cf the family fam-ily to meet the bills for her tuition, clothing, and incidental expenses; but the burden had been cheerfully borne, with the expectation that Mary would repay all their sacrifices. The month of July was spent by-Mary by-Mary in rest. She did not seem to care to help in the work of milking of cows, churning the butter, feeding the chickens, tending the lambs, or picking the berries, for market; and, while she was useful in sweeping and dusting, she was. not of much help to her mother in the kitchen. And that poor mother Is far from well. Hard work has made her old before be-fore her time. Yet sTie found no fault with Mary in the early summer, saying say-ing to the father that "the girl must have a chance to get used to home before be-fore she can be expected to do her share of the work"; but when. August and September brought no change, even gentle Mrs. Brent uttered some reproaches. re-proaches. The homo school, from which so much had been expected, was begun on the Feast of our Lady Assumption. As-sumption. It was closed on the Feast of the Blessed Virgin's Nativity. "What is" the trouble with you, jlarv'" asked Sister Rose, as the two strolled through the Maple Lane, along the borders of which the purple and yellow and scarlet leaves lay in fragrant heaps. "Everything goes wrong- at home, answered Mary. "The boys tease me and the girl:? won't study. Joe made fun of me till father told him to quit; then he refused to learn his lessons: and I'm blamed for it all. Raymond is so slow I couldn't get him to understand under-stand anything; and Nelly and Grace never had their tasks, and were constantly con-stantly in disgrace. Mother said she could not bear to see them punished so often, so we gave up." "And what have you been doing cince''" incuired Sifter Rose. " "Well I just hate household drudgery drudg-ery and I don't do much of it. Mother said she'd sooner do it hen.lt than have me worry over it, and I let her have her own way." "How. then, do you spend your t ime7" "Oh I read a little. I crochet some. T im sroing to write a novel you know, Sirter yoS said I showed some aptitude apti-tude ae a story-teller-and I practice my music regularly. We have only a narlor organ, which father said when E bought it. was good enough for the riri?to learn on; He promised me in June that he would get me a piano, hut now I don't know whether he wi or not I shall not need it, though." "Whv''" . "necause I am going to leave home. "Arc i you? And where are you go- in-Tm coming to-that is, I'd like to bA smneSmaed over the placid face of the religieuse at this announce- m"o" you think, dear, that you'd es--r trouble by becoming a Sister? vou hive failed so far to achieve a VictoS in the line of duty at home. Smy SeS 25 but noftheir disposition?' You're iliaken my dear, if you fancy that : hab"t acts like a magic armor to the nami .i vay, it brings its oobUgStS- to'U ho wear it; -a those obligations are as hard to SSfr a. any that you are likely to en-rf!? en-rf!? fn the world. We have more PIIWHWI.. I '"' . " 1 n 1 Everyone has hia cross, and even the most . peaceful cloistered nun has her burden to bear, fitted to her strength. No, Mary; your place is at home. There you have a work to do. You must not avoid it, or do it partly. It in a temptation to think that you are called away from your plain duty in order to become holy here. Sanctify yourself in your father's house. Mortify Mor-tify your will. Be patient. Do your duty. Your father needs you. Your ailing mother needs.. Your brothers and sisters need you. Your course is clear. Go back, with the resolution to fulfill the hopes that were formed for you. Make a new beginning. Start your school again. Do the work that is at j-our hand, and do it with all your might; and some day, six years or so from now, if you then still believe that you have a vocation to be a Sister, I may agree with you. "Now, dearie, don't grieve at my chiding," continued the Sister, drawing draw-ing Mary to her, for tears) were falling from the eyes of the girl, and her form was convulsed with sobs. "Take my words kindly, for they are well meant. I love you, Mary, and I want to help you; and the best service I can do you is to show you your duty, and encourage encour-age you to perform it. And now let us- return to the house and get some lunch." And so, with hospitable thoughts intent, in-tent, Sirter Rose led her guest to the refectory. That was two weeks; ago. Yesterday Farmer Brent said to his wife: "Mother, "Moth-er, there's a great change for the better bet-ter come over Mary since she paid that visit to Sister Rose. She and the children chil-dren are getting on nicely together, I notice. She's the best girl in Ohio." "Yes," said Mrs. Brent, with the usual exaggeration of mother-love; 1 "she's the best girl in the world." j L. W. RE1LLY, in Ave Maria. HOW THE STORM! WENT ROUND. The big school room clock said ten j minutes to 9 one Monday morning. It was a dark day; a heavy gray fog blotted all the window panes and really seemed to have crept indoors and settled set-tled down on the spirits of the scholars, schol-ars, who were gathering thick and fast. Two small girls, standing below the row of pegs where hats! and "wraps were hung, were arguing with growing temper over the possession of one particular par-ticular knob. Finally, one of them snatched the other's jacket and flung it fiercely down on the floor. "I was here first!" she stormed, "so you can just take your coat away. You shan't have my place!" ! "Very well. Miss Katie Brown," answered an-swered the second little maid, marching march-ing off with her chin in the air. "When you get ready you may hang my coat up to suit yourself; I'm' not going to touch it. I don't suppose Miss Wright will want it lying there all day, and you know what she always says about flinging things around." Meantime, at the other end of the room, Herbert Decker, after rummaging rummag-ing two or three times through his desk and book-bag in a vain search, broke out fretfully: "Just my luck! I've gone and forgot that old pencil again. I do believe a lead pencil is the sneakingest thing on this earth: it's forever getting away from a fellow.'" x "I guess your luck won't turn," said his brother Charley, "till you shorten your last morning nap a little and quit rushing everything through at the end at about ten times the proper speed." "I didn't ask your opinion, thank you." said Herbert. "When I wish to engage a private chaplain I'll let you know. Say, Al Jones, will you lend me a pencil?" "Can't do it," said Al. "I don't keep. supplies for the wohle school." . "Not eVen of manners, do you?" retorted re-torted Herbert, snappishly. Half way toward the door two smaller small-er boys were scuffling over an atlas, and across the aisle u little lame lad had just shaken his first in the face of a neighbor whom h suspected of laughing at his deformity. Miss Wright, the young teacher, had been trying hard to shut her eyes to the brewing storm about her. She felt dull and out of sorts herself, and now, as she looked at the overoasit faces in her schoolroom and remembered the lnog hours that stretched ahead, she heaved a long, deep, discouraged sigh. Midway in the sigh the door once more opened and shut to, letting in a little rosy-cheeked girl wearing a plaid shawl over a much-darned frock. This was MIntv Morris. None of the other girls was a shawl, and none of them had quite so many patches as she; but I doubt whether anybody had ever thought about that certainly nobody minded. i Minty was smiling and breathless. "I ran all the way," she said, cheerfully. cheer-fully. "Our clock never is ju.t exactly right. It's horrid hurrying so, but then it makes a nice relief for vou when you find out you're in time, after all." Here she stumbled over the jacket that Katie Brown had thrown on the floor. J I "Somebody's coat will get mussed, she said, hanging it up in place and J straightening two or three hats on their pegs as she passed. Then she began be-gan to fumble in her dinner pail and presently drew out a splendid crimson apple. She looked at it admiringly while she polished it off on the end of her shawl until its smooth, surface siione again. When she was fully satisfied sat-isfied that she had done her best to heighten its perfections, she started acros.1 to the corner where Larry Miles, the crippled, boy, was still frowning tremendously over his grievance, ' Since Minty came in there had been a lull in the angry talking and the shuffling of feet on the schoolroom floor had stopped, so that now when sne spoke, quiet as her voice was, everybody every-body heard. "Larry," she said, smiling and dimpling dim-pling in irresistible friendliness, "here's a present for you. Grandpa brought ua some of these on Saturday, and I saved a nice one just for you. Don't you lik this kind?" As if Larry didn't like all kinds! And as if Grandpa Morris had brought . many apples that "one," more or leas, did not count. I think that every mind in the listening listen-ing schoolroom traveled to the little tin pail on Minty's dask and remembered how seldom it was that anything like a luxury was brought to light from under un-der its cover. Suddenly one of the small boys took his hand away from the disputed atlas. "You can have it," he said. "I don't care." And Al Jones took out his knofe, and cutting his pencil in two, offered half to Herbert. "I guess this was too long for comfort; com-fort; and. anyhow, it's a pity if there isn't some way to get the best of circumstances.1 cir-cumstances.1 The boy who had roused Larry's) wrath leaned over a seat or two to speak to him. "What are you mad at me about, old man?" he. demanded. "I was just laughing at the face Katie Brown was making. If you want to fight me for that, all right. But I think we'd better bet-ter snake hands and be friends." Katie Brown squirmed uneasily for a time, then she peped over her shoulder shoul-der at the neighbor whose coat she had maltreated, and finally she turned around and said, ahyly: "My Aunt Mary is going to Europe; did you know it?" And so it seemed as though the fog and gloom at had threatened crept off under the door and through the cracks of the windows to Join the gray March storm outside. "Dear little Minty!" said Miss Wright, looking over at the desttc where Minty, with her tongue thrust into her cheek, and a studious frown on her face, was "doing examples" with all her mightl "Dear little girl! She does not know how much sJie has helped us all; and just by being sweet and kind and contented." St. Nicholas. A GENTLE MAN. Let no boy think he can make a gentleman gen-tleman by the clothes he wears, by the horse he rides, the stick he carries, the dog that trots after him, the house he lives in, or the money he spends. Not one or all these d it and yet every boy may be a gentleman. He may wear an old hat, cheap clothes, live in a poor house, and spend but little money. But how? . By being true, manly, and honorable. By keeping himself neat and respectable. By being be-ing civil and courteous. By respecting himself and others. By doing the best he knows how, and, finally, and above all, by fearing God and keeping his commandments. |