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Show ! by Aunt Busy, A y Salt Lake City, May 20, 1900. Dear Aunt Busy: This is my second letter to you. I am going to make my First Holy Communion Com-munion on Trinity Punday. The 20th of next month is my birthday. I will be 12 years old. Did you read story books, Aunt Busv, w hen you were a little girl? 1 am reading "Five Little Peppers' now. Goodbve. Your loving- niece. MARGARET HOWARD. Aunt Busy feels sure that you will remember re-member Trinity Sunday as being the happiest day of your whole life. Yes, Aunt Busy read many stories when she was a little girl. Did you ever read "Little Women"."' Write soon ajrain. Salt Lake City, May 12, 1900. Dear Aunt Busy: It is? with great pleasure that I am writing my lirst letter to you, I am a pretty good girl, but sometimes I pet bad. We are having vacation now. 1 am 10 years old. Dear Aunt Busy, you write lovely stories for us. I love to read the paper. Good-bye. Your loving niece. KATHERINE GRIFFIN. Aunt Busy is glad to know you like the bovs' and girls' department. Phe Is sure vou are a good girl always. Dear little girl, not one of us is good all the time. That is the worst part of living, the knowledge that we are not always good, but we should always try to be good. Denver, May 19, 1900. Dear Aunt Busy: It is a long time since I wrote to vou I guess you will think I am laz but I have been very busy trying to pass the examinations. I expect to make mv first Holy Communion next mnnth. How old were you. Aunt Busy, when vou made yours. I guess my letter is getting lorrg. Good-bye. Your loving niece, . GLADYS BRADY. Aunt Busv knows that j-ou did the bet vou could about answering her and that is all that is expected from anvbodv. You are right to attend to vour studies first. Aunt Busy was "t years old when she made her first Communion, and it was the only perfectly per-fectly happy day she ever remembers in her life. She hopes yours will be happy. ' BICYCLES VEESUS MOTHERS. Mother had six children, "all at home, vet evening after evening she sat on the front porch all alone. It was very pleasant there. There were comfortable comfort-able chairs, and the honeysuckles nodded drowsily in the perfumed and dewev twilight, but to mother it grevt. to be'a very desolate place. Father had been dead two years, and now that his strong and cherry presence was removed re-moved from her, mother turned to her children for companionship and comfort com-fort But the bicycle craze had taken possession of the family, and in a measure meas-ure thev forgot the solitude of the Fv.eet-faced little mother who never ppoke of herself. Cycle paths and cyclometers cy-clometers and tires and saddles proved the chief topics -f conversation, and in th- hall a row of glittering wheels Flood, a menace to mothers' peace and happin.-ss, inasmuch as they robed her of her children. Bhvllis, the lS-j-oar-old daughter, usuailv her hight-hand and helper, took to wearing short skirts morning, noon and night, neglecting all the domestic do-mestic duties that had hitherto been so pleasant. Dust lay thick upon her books and piano, flowers withered in the vases, and in her pretty room, where order hnd been wont to reign, chaos ruled. Every evening. a soon as tea was fairly over. Frank, mother s first born and greatest pride, a handsome hand-some voung fellow of twenty-one, would sav to Phyllis. "Now for a wheel ride Phvllis." and Phyllis would put on her hat. and away they would go, merrily spinning down the street. No sooner were they off. than the next vounger children, Sylvester and Antoinette, An-toinette, would mount their wheels and follow them. Sylvester was seventeen nnd Antoinette a year and a half vounger. Paul and Percy, the twins, . ram" next, aged fourteen, and never apart. Their bicycles would not be long behind the others, and soon mother was left at home all by herself. . Sh" was not feeling like herself this Fummer, and the loneliness and silence of the evenings oppressed her. But she would not ask her children to stay with her Ah, no! She was far too unselfish for that, o night after night she sat rn the porch alone, until one evening Ihe roses had it all to themselves. 'Where's mother?" asked Frank, sur-nrisedly, sur-nrisedly, one evening as he came home to supper, looking about in vain for the sweet, tired motherly face. Phyllis looked worried and a trifle ronscious-stricken. She had seen so litle of mother this summer that sud-denlv sud-denlv a whole host of neglected opportunities oppor-tunities and duties arose and re- t proached her. "She's sick," she answered, an-swered, in a subdued voice. "She says she's only tired and weak, but we'd better have the doctor, Frank; I can't help but feel anxious about her." "So do we," echoed Sylvester and Antoinette, An-toinette, disconsolately. "So do we," repeated Paul and Percy, the twins. They did not go wheel riding that evening, but sat in thoughtful silence on the old porch. Phyllis sat in mother's moth-er's chair. She was a pretty girl with pink cheeks, ruddy hair and clear blue eyes. All at once she sat up suddenly, facing fac-ing the anxious little group. "Do you know what I think?" she began, in a decided voice. "I think-we're think-we're the most selfish, thoughtless, ungrateful un-grateful set of children that were ever blessed with a good and loving mother. Here we've been going out on those abominably long wheel rides evening after evening, leaving mother with no company but her own sad thoughts. Every one of us has seen how she's grieved for father, and yet how little we've helped her bear it. . It would serve us right if she 'never spoke to us j again." Frank looked suddenly grave. "It's too true, Phyllis," returned he, thoughtfully. thought-fully. "We have been neglecting moth er seriously. ' I wonder what dear father fath-er would say if he knew. She was always al-ways his first thought, and she ought to have been ours." Warm-hearted Antoinette whisked away a quick tear. "So she ought," she cried, regretfully; "but somehow I never thought, but I see now." "So do we." cried Paul and Percy together. to-gether. (Somehow the twins always thought of the same things.) "We saw it as soon as we looked at her empty chair tonight." "Dear litle mother," echoed Sylvester, Sylves-ter, softly; "wouldn't it be awful if she should die, Phyllis?" "Oh., hush," cried his sister, in a scared voice. "How can you say such a thing, Sylvester? Poor mother, we'll tell her how sorry we are tomorrow when she comes downstairs, won't we?" "Yes, indeed," assented the remorseful remorse-ful little group 5 unison, and then, before be-fore long, the house was wrapped in summer silence. But mother did not come downstairs the next day. nor the next, nor yet the next. "A low fever," the family doctor had announced with a ioher face. ."It may develop into typhoid." And sure enough it did. Six frightened, repentant repent-ant young people hounted the house those long, warm, exhausting summer davs. Wheels were quite forgotten, and cycle paths had lost their early charm. Every waking thought was centered in the room above, where mother lay. It looked for a time as if she were going to follow father; then one blessed, never-to-be-forgotten day, she rallied a little. After that, recovery was slow but certain, until one evening, after six long, weary weeks of pain, she came feebly down the stairs, leaning on Frank, who had hot tears in his eves as he felt against him the slight and fragile presence of his little mother. Phyllis had put about her shoulders a soft white shawl,. and together they led her tenderly out upon the front porch. The June roses were gone now, i and it was August, but the old porch j had never looked so pleasant, the old house had never seemed so blessed. Mother's chair was piled with cushions, cush-ions, and Frank placed her gently, reverently rev-erently in it, then he stooped and kissed her. They all kissed her after that, with tears of joy and thankfulness, then they took seats about her. "Isn't "it good to have mammy with us again?" cried Sylvester, choking back a sob. "I feel as if I never wanted want-ed to leave her again." Every one reached for his handkerchief, handker-chief, and mother looked at the little group with shining eyes. "My darlings," dar-lings," she said, fondly, "and how glad I an, to be with you! But (.her eyes wandering to the hall where the bicycles bi-cycles mutely stood) I must not be selfish. There are your wheels. Are you not going to ride them? Don't det me interfere with your pleasure, ehil- j dren." There was a moment's silence. Phyllis Phyl-lis Hushed up to the roots of her ruddy hair; then she took her mother's frail, I little hand between both her youn?, J firm ones. Don't, mother," she cried, j brokenly, "don't remind us of our past blind selfishness so soon. Oh, mother!" dropping her pretty head upon her mother's lap, "what if we had lost you? Do you know, I can hardly bear the sight of my wheel again. Every time I look at the cyclometer I think of the miles and miles I have ridden straight away from my dear mother's side." Mother's tears were falling. "Don't say that, dear child," she answered, softly. "You're young, and you didn't think." "But we ought to have thought." interrupted in-terrupted Frank, quickly. "What would father have thought- of us had he j known? We want to tell you right now, mammy dear, the first night, how sorry we are to have left you so much j alone how sorry and ashamed. We ; won't do it again, you know that, don't you? Bicycles. are all right in their place, but moderation in all things; I think we have learned that pretty thoroughly. And now," his honest vince shook as he went on, "now that we've got our little mother back again, we mean to treat her better, please God." And then mother knew that the prayer uttered in her loneliness had been answered, and that the absolute reign of the shining wheel had been broken. BAD MANNERS. Bad manners is often a great hindrance hin-drance to a young man starting in life." We see some men who seem to work their hands off, and yet don't seem to get along. The question naturally arises: Why? It is because they are too cross-grained and unapproachable by their ungentlemanly conduct. They repel patronage and business goes to others who are really less deserving of it, but more companionable. "Why did our friend never succeed in business?" asked a man returning to New York after years of absence, "he had sufficient capital, a thorough knowledge of his business, and exceptional excep-tional shrewdness and sagacity." "He was sour anl morose," was the reply; "he always suspected his employees of cheating him, and was discourteous to his customers. Hence, no man ever put good will or energy into work done for him, and his patrons went to shops where they were sure of civility." Bad manners often neutralize even honesty, industry and greatest energy; while agreeable manners win even in spite of other defects. PRACTICE IT AT HOME. Daily politeness to the folks at home shows more true refinement than any amount of company manners, bfnxnflfffn zfiflffffi zfiflff flftnffiffiffiffifii PRAYER AFTER HOLY COMMUNION. COMMUN-ION. My Jesus, Thou hast found a place Within my heart today, And with the treasures of Thy grace Dost drive all fear away. O grant that 1 may ne'er destroy-By destroy-By grievous mortal stain The blessings of that holy joy That with my Saviour came. But wilt Thou grant, O dearest Lord, My every thought to bless, That I may not by cruel word Cause any heart distress. Teaching me words of charity To soothe each troubled mind, That I, for very love of Thee, May be to others kind. O guard me that no idle jest Escape my lips today. All proud,- vain tho Jghts, great Heavenly Guest, Drive from my heart away. So may I think of Thee alone And speak to praise Thy name, Till look and act and gentle tone Thy presence may proclaim. SALVE, REGINA! (R. H. Armstrong, in Catholic World.) Thou little maid among the olive-trees That trembled when the angel bade thee hail, Whose wondering brow paled with the winging breeze. Whose heart, before his lips had told the tale, Had all its blessedness quite fblded up Like golden treasure in a lily cup! Salve Regina! Ah, mothef with the Infant at thy breast, So wrapt about in love given and giving; giv-ing; The little God-child with. His wet lips pressed And tightening fingers clasped, and through thee living Thy God and yet thy babe, thy very own Ah, sweet and full the joy that thou hast known! . Salve Regina! 0 woman at the Cross, and all alone, That anguish singled thee as did thy bliss, Blest among women. No other moan So full of bitterness as thine. 'Tis this That doth make Love, remembering thee, ' more sweet, And Sorrow, gentler grown, weeps at thy feet. Salve, Salve, Regina! SPEECH. (Ella Wheeler Wilcox.) Talk happiness. The world is sad enough Without your woes. No path is wholly rough. Look for the places that are smooth and clear, . And speak of those to rest your weary ear Of earth so hurt by one continuous strain, Of mortal discontent and grief and pain. Talk faith. The world is better off Without your ignorance and wicked doubt If you have faith in God or man or self, Say so; if not, push back upon the shelf Of silence all your thought till faith shall come; No one will grieve because your lips are dumb Talk health. The dreary, never changing tale Of mortal maladies is worn and stale. You cannot charm, or interest, or please By harping on that minor chord, disease. Say you are well, or all is well with yu. ' ' And God- shajl hear . your words and mak$ thrn .trueif ' THE LITTLE SEAMSTRESS. (Mary E. Wilkins.) She sat in her little rocking-chair, a- sighlng and twirling her thumbs; "Oh, everything for my doll is done, and never, never to mending comes! '. 1 haven't a. morsel of sewing. Dear mother, in all the town. Can't you find me one doll, no matter 1 how small, who will wear out her j gown? . j |