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Show I I DIRECTIONS TOR LETTEB WRITING, WRIT-ING, "tt'ihe on one side of paper only. Do not have letters too long. Address all letters to "Aunt Busy," Intermoun'tain Catholic. I Salt Lake City, Jan. 19, 1900. Dear Aunt Busy: j - I hope you spent a Merry Christmas ' and I wish you a Happy New Year. I spent a very , pleasant Christmas. I j g .it a hie: doll and a go-cart, table and wt of dishes, a sideboard and a little tea pet, a. little parlor set, a little doll and hair ribbon, and if I tell any more I my letter will be too bie;. I will write again toon. Your loving: niece, LAURA A. FAIIRELL. St. Patrick' School, Butte, Mont., Jan. 2C, 1900. !Dear Aunt Busv: I will write you a little letter to tell you we are all well and hoping- you the I fame. 1 study reading, spelling, writ- I ing, drawing, number work. I like j spelling best. I am in the B eecond I grade. Well, I will close my letter for ft this time. Good-by all. From, your .. - little niece. 1 RENIA GRANDPRE. St. Patrick's School, Butte, Mont., I; . Jan. 2.-., 1900. f! Dear Aunt Busy: J hope you are wewll. I am verywell I, - end working hard. 1 am going to school every day. We have a large elase f room. It ia very pleasant. I am in the B second grade. We have not a 1 minute to spare. I like catechism and I, il rawing- the beet of all my studies. I think I will close my letter. From i your loving niece. t SIAliJiL SH1.N ISlU.lv. St. Patrick's School, Butte, Mont., 'j Jan. 26, 1900. Dear Aunt Busy: j . 1 g-ot the prize which I told you I was ! working for, and am trying to get an- I other. Dear Aunt, I hope yew are . feeling well. We are all well at home. I We go to school every day, my brother i'I end I. I will write to you eoon again, r. Your loving niece, - j il MARY KENNEDY. lA J THE SACRED HEART. j Bweet Heart of Jesus! Oiaven Where the, i weary . . Repose in peace from toll and misery: 1. x've wandered long o'er regions dark ana ' drtJirv, ! But now'l come to find a home in, Thee! ! O loving Savior, let merest (i ' My head upon Thy Sacred Breast! j Bweet Heart of Jesus! as the stag at ! evening ; Desires to reach the distant woodland I lake, Disgusted wifh this fleeting -worlds en- ! Joy mewls, I i wish in Thee my burning thirst to ' slake. : Bweet Heart of Jesus! like the dove that I slumbers 1 Within her nest and quails not at the ) blast; Becluded from this life's relentless tem- i JHSt I I rest in Thee! on Thee my fears I cast. ! Sweet Heart of Jesus! when like droop- i ing flower JIv bodv dies to moulder in the tomb, Send forth a ray of Thy celestial beauty i And chase away the deep encircling I gloom. Sweet Heart of Jesus! like the captive I . eagle That bursts his bonds and seeks the mountain-crest, ' Jdv soul set free from every mortal fetter, Snail wing 'her flight in Thee alone to i rest. O loving Savior, let me rest i My head upon Thy Sacred Breast! I T. T. 1 MY MOTHER. She pave the best years of her life, With joy, for me. And robbed herself, with loving heart, j Unstintingly. j For me, with willing hands, she toiled, i From day to day. For me sue prayed, when headstrong youth Would have its way. ller gentle arms, my cradle once, ' Are wearv now; ! And Time has set the seal of care ' Upon (her brow 1 And, though no other eyes than mine , Their meaning trace, ' I read my hrst'ry in the lines Of her dear face. ' And 'mid His gems, who showers gifts As shining sands. i X oount her days as pearls that fall ' From His kind hands. , Miiton L. Murdock. WHEN MAMMY'S CROSS. Honev, when yo' mammy's cross, Don' yo' think her lub is col'; Don' yo' go and git so sulky, Fo' Vilie knows yo's good as gol'. ! Sometimes tho' yo's dterespec'ful. Answers yo' o' mammy back; Den 1 licks yo' cos 1 has to ( Well-bred chillun don' do dat, ! Yo' should alius be respec'ful. I Be perllte to ole and young; ! Even tho' dey treats yo' roughly, '. Don' talk back jes' min' yo' tongue, Yo' know what de good Lord teaches, Him we mus' respec' and fear; Dose what do will go to heaben; Libes ob odders will be drear. ' So, den. honey, when I licks yo Jt is shortly out ob lub; I wants to teach yo' to be better. So's when yo' die you'll go above. ; When yo'er ol'er yo' will thank me, What I tells yo' will come true; I Yo'll se de wisdom ob ma teachin', j - An' say I made a man ob yo'. i "WHISTLE THEM AWAY, BOYS. t Have you any petty cares, boys? Whistle them away. There's nothing cheers the spirits Like a merry roundelay: j No matter for the heartaches, I 'Neath slik or hodden-gray. For the sake of those who love you Just whistle them away. Tis strange how soon friends gather About a cheerful face; i That smiling eyes and ISps count more Than beauty, wealth or grace. But I have seen It tried, boys; i ' When trouble come to st'av, The brave heart leaps to work and strives To whistle them away. SPEAK KINDLY. In life not death-Hearts death-Hearts need fond words to help them on their way; Need tender thoughts and gentle svra-pathy, svra-pathy, Caresses, pleasant looks to cheer each passing day. Than hoard them not until they useless he. In life not death-Speak death-Speak kindly. Living hearts need sympathy. sym-pathy. Sophie L. Schenck. BOYS IN GERMANY. Every boy in Germany, from the crown prince to the meanest subject, is obliged to learn some useful trade. The present emperor mastered the art of book-binding, though this is only one of his accomplishments, ac-complishments, for he could probably earn 'his living as a musician if tujtbing happened to his throne. TWO SOLDIERS O'F FORTUNE "By Jove, that came unpleasantly near, Mr. Payne," exclaimed the senior major of the cavalry battalion, dodging dodg-ing in a calm and dignified manner the unexpected rain of Sioux bullets. "Yes, sir," answered little Mr. Payne, familiarly known as "Tommy." "They're getting in a few bulls' eyes," he said, straightening his youthful West Point figure in an uncompromising uncompromis-ing attitude of military exactness. It is all very well for an old Indian fighter like Major Baker to dodge, but the junior "sub" would never hear the last of it if he attempted such tactics. Ping! pang! came the singing bullets, cutting clean long furrows in the short, crisp buffalo grass. Young Kerry, the Txiy bugler of K troop, stopped one of the wicked leaden missiles: it struck against the boy's body with such a loud, sickening thud that Tommy vaguely wondered why everycn.3 did not stop firing long enough to see what that terrible noise was. "Dodge, Tommy, dodge," commanded command-ed Major Baker, suddenly and sharply, and almost unconsciously the youngster young-ster followed his senior's example, dropping swiftly on one knee and coming com-ing rapidly to the conclusion that there was no particular sense or courage in making one's self a target for an unseen un-seen foe. "The red devils!" muttered, the major, savagely, as he glanced at the young j bugler's silent form. And so the brief, fierce, unequal struggle went on. It was the same old story; the injustice injus-tice and rapacity of the lawless wfrite, settlers had started the Indians on the warpath. The small force of regulars had been sent to bring back the Indians In-dians to their reservation and restore order and had about succeeded, when, with a queer, latent, savage love of fighting, the Indians had opened a treacherous, sudden fire from their rifles, which they had concealed beneath be-neath their blankets, upon the unsuspecting- soldiers sent to protect and defend de-fend their interests. "Major, there are two men who aren't doing any dodging," murmured young Payne, reproachfully, as a slight lull in the firing gave him a chance to look around and take a good, long breath. The major's eye followed young Payne's significant gesture, as he glanced over the curious little battlefield. battle-field. At the foot of the divide, where the Indian tepees were huddled together, the tall, slight figure of a Catholic priest moved calmly to and fro, evidently evi-dently ministering as far as possible to the wounded on both sides. Orderly after orderly had been sent to command him to retire, but with a courteous "thank you," the priest had remained on the scene. Away down the divide stood the other, manwho wasn't doing any dodging, dodg-ing, as Tommy expressed it. He was a tall, fair-haired, blue-eyed corporal, a mere boy in looks, in charge of the Gatling gun and a small firing party. The small, shining-, wicked-looking run did deadly fwork among the tepees; the "devil's gun," the Indians had named it. With cries of fierce, sullen rage, every Sioux rifle was turned upon the young- corporal; with deadly effect the bullets pourred in; two of his men fell; the othera, as they had been instructed, in-structed, sought refuge behind the surrounding sur-rounding rooks. For an instant he stood there motionless, then, as if the two silent, blue-coated figures lying beside him inspired him with a wild desire for revenge, he loaded and Fired hit gun agrain and asrain. "Is the man mad?' -groaned Major Barker as he hurriedly commanded the buglers to jrund the "retreat." The corporal turned and waved his hand ar. a f.ign ho t-etd heard. 'and went on calmly firing. 'Disobedience of orders!" fumed the major. "I will" put him under arrest." Suddenly, like veritable demons, rid-irj-g from the surrounding rocks and ridges, from the half-ruined tepees, swarmed a host of yci'.ling Sioux; firing and yelling, they made straight for th6 tall, conspicuous figure cf the corporal; the rain of their bullets was like the patter of hailstones on the hard, baked prairie. For an instant he stood unharmed, un-harmed, then suddenly he reeled and put his hand to his heart. ' A shout of maligant triumph burst from those save throats. Almost instantly in-stantly it was caught up and merged into a mighty shout of admiration and encouragement as a detachment of cavalry swept into view and came tearing tear-ing down the slope of the opposite divide di-vide Yelling like mad they rode to the rescue of their comrade; the range wa,i too close for their carbines, but their long cavalry pistols did deadly work. The fight was over, the Indians know it and instantly scattered to sek shelter on the wide prairie where only an Indian could hide. The priest stood gazing with sad, in-errutable in-errutable eyes on the ruin way had wroug-ht in one short hour; the walling of a baby from beneath a silent, blanketed figure of a Sioux equaw caught his ear; the squaw had fought even more savagely than the men. "Pauvre petite," murmured . the priest, softly, and stooping over the mother's silent form, 'as about to lift the naked, brown baby, wheat, with a fierce, sudden strength, born of an un-quenchablo un-quenchablo hate of the "white man," the dying squaw thrust her keen knife straight at the heart of her benefactor; then without moan or cry sha sank back dead. "God have mercy on her,,; whispered whis-pered the prietit gently. A touch on his shoulder, he turned to find a boyish corporal standing at "attention." With grave soldiery aalute the young soldier spoke; "Father, I report for absolution; I am mortally wounded." "I hope not, my son," replied the priest, and he threw his arm gently around the slight, trim, blue-coated figure. "I must ' make my confession, Father," whispered the boy faintly, the crisp golden curls, damp with tha dew of death, sinking slowly on the priest's shoulder.' Then with faltering accents and many a halt the boy's last confession was made. The firing had ceased entirely now, but scattered far and near lay many a silent form in army blue and Indian blanket, while in the dim distance the victorious squaurun oi cavairy couia be seen, still in pursuit of the flying foe, determined to. avenge as far as possible the treacherous murder of their comrades. "Ego te absolvo ab omnibus censuris et peccatis, in nomine Patris, at Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen," murmured "the priest, almost audibly. The blue eyes closed softly the boy. ish form trembled slightly and all was over. V "Father, I am -afraid you are hurt," cried Mr. Payne. "I see it is all over with poor Welner, the smartest corporal cor-poral in our troop, for all he looks a mere boy; the fellow has a history, no doubt; he is a gentleman and a foreignersome for-eignersome mother's heart will ache today. "But, Father, can't I do something for you? You look awfully done up, and no wonder, such pluck as you have shown today, sir," rattled on Tommy, trying to hide his emotion by chattering, chatter-ing, for his kindly heart was full to overflowing. "Je suis, je suis," whispered the priest, brokenly, and his tall, gaunt form swayed slightly. "My God!" cried the young officer, "he is dying, too, while I stand chattering chat-tering here," and Tommy beckoned wildly for help. Tearing off his blouse, he rolled it up into a pillow, then with loving care 'laid the once powerful frame of the priest gently down, upon the bare earth. Before the field - surgeon reached them the priest's trembling lips . had pronounced faintly the familiar wordsv "Miserere mei, Deus," the careworn hand was raised in benediction, and, with a smile of Heavenly joy and peace, the Soldier of the Cross went forth to meet his Master. "Stabbed to the heart, as clean a cut as I have ever seen," remarked the doctor, briefly. "Wonderful men, these Jesuits; clean grit all through!" The newspapers devoted a scant paragraph or two to the sad day's work and that was the end of it. But the cable bore these two messages mes-sages upon its swiff current: "Killed in Indian fight, your son; Ernest von Houptman. Letter, follows." It was addressed to an eminent member mem-ber of the Austrian court, a statesman of world-wide fame. The other message, which bore the address of a French marquise, was not quite so curt. A mother and a marquise must not be told too abruptly. It read: "Your son, Jesuit priest, mortally wounded and died on the field of duty. Accept sympathy. sym-pathy. Details - follow. Both were signed, "Baker, Major U. S. Army." "It cost a lot," reflected the major, "but, then, it isn't every day I ami cabling the death of an Austrian count and a French marquis." LADIES GIRLS WHO SUCCEED. To look at her you would never have taken her for. a heroine, but s'he was. She came from the Pacific coast to study music. Her mother, a musician, had scrimped and saved until she had accumulated a little fund. But when my heroine had passed her examinations examina-tions at the conservatory, she had but $200 for her two years' expenses. This clear-eyed young woman of 20 knew that at the rate of $5 a lesson, she must supplement her little hoard by earning more, but how? She must have the use of a piano and time to practice, so ehe could not expect to earni much more than board and car fare. Then the heart-wearving search for work began, which she finally final-ly found. Now she was a governess for unruly children,, now a comrjanion for a capricious weman of wealth, now giving- piano leesons- for little or nothing. noth-ing. And, oh, so homesickk for her TntViDT otirl clatorsl Whpn matters looked as dark as possible she was offered of-fered a position in .a kindergarten, which s-olved every difficulty. To make a long 6tory tihort, at the end of two years she not only secured her diploma, but had made such a valuable usf-. ot her time that now she Is one .of the ' most popular teachers in San Francisco. : and is charging $5 a lasson herself. She has a large number of DUDiis. and is as prosperous as she .deserves to be, for every dollar represents hard work, unilaggging courage, and persistent ambition. Another western ffirl, still In New-York, New-York, commands admiration.' She vas doing very well jn her native city, giving giv-ing lesions in painting and executing all the orders- -that -she :ould secure. But she wanted to study and improve j in her art. New York, with vits" galleries gal-leries and art whoola, was uo alluring to resist, so, in ppite of warning?. sh? packed un her belongings' and started, confident that her savings would keep j her until s.he could find a market for j her work. Her ambition was to paint j landk-apes. At first she revelled in the art treasures and work .was play.' But clothea soon grow shabby And car fare eats terribly into a small income. Working until late -at night, -of ton with unsuitable food, the strain became too great, and disiaster followed. For weeks her family never .received a letter, and it was Ions afterward that they "knew that those weeks of pilence had - been spent in the free ward of a city hospital. hos-pital. But the whei'l of for tun? turned at last, and in time eh- began to sell small eanvatises' to the dealers, and she is now well known. t?o she can command a comfortable living. So it is with eo many "brave women. Every dav in this .big. city batttles agairet starvation and despair are fought by girls Vhcse friends at home never dream of the sufferings they undergo. But not all succeed. I know of one woman who came to New York intent uoon a" literary career. She brought letter? of Introduction to editors edi-tors from friends, at home, and imagined imagin-ed the way would be open before her. The editors read' the letters, ' received her nolitely, gave the same answer; "Write something. If it is suitable for our publication, I ehall be only too glad to use it." Then befrari the struggle that -every new writer experiences. She wasted paper, pos'tage, car fare, shoe leather, strength, used up her-capital until at the end of six months she had to confess con-fess failure, for. not a single article had been published. ' 'Undoubtedly she confounded con-founded her desire with ability. She was sure that she could do wha: she wanted to do. Of course any one of us would prtfer to sit in a well-lighted situdio or a comfortable com-fortable library and evolve paintings or novels to astonish the world, but the plain prosaic fact remains- that success is only for t"he woman whose talents and incessant striving force her ahead of the other stragglers, and thus command com-mand recognition. : If a -woman can't write and can cook, let her choose what she can, do. - ,m . And that renoiadg me of a girl brought up in a New England town, well educated and well bred, whose wealthy and fashionable acquaintances did not deter her from choosing a practical prac-tical career. She took a course in domestic do-mestic science. She learned to cook, to analyze foods,' studiedeanitary conditions, condi-tions, etc. She has entered into the subject so thoroughly that some of her friends 'have became interested, and outside of her regularwork che has private classes. So, girls who read this, if you long to come to New York, don't come f iless you are sure you have ability in your chosen line, and are willing to "toil and moil," and starve a little, if ieed be, until your work may be recognized. It Is only the woman brave in spirit and strong ir., health wlio has a show to Buecess. Heaven help the brave girls. AGNES OLCOTT.. |