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Show i j ' k ' j . : 1 A SAD ACCIDENT. It I ? .-ph. i. r. cuch an accident harpened to- I AVhil'- F"i"i and Molly and I were at play! I J yvc .arn-!!sod my kitty to Molly's red f'f 'cart f J :y, il in the dollies all ready to start; s I . jj'v kit tic behaved just as well as coulu I J j,lti j,i el every minute, she liked It ycu '' f j 7i,fn i'ntii ur yard trotted Molly's dog. J! i lie misse.l h'-r. I s'pose, and so followed ; I lv-r over: "j vv kisti.- just Hew with that cart at her ft " he.. Is 'i f And tore 'round the corner, when oft j' came the wheels. j Then Pora's rag baby bounced into the 1 I. M ! t J! i n1 Mcllv's Amanda cracked both china I I ' feet j I And fcn't it scd? My wax Ethelind Rose : Lu.-t off the wee tip of her dear little nose:" : Elizabeth 'Leigh. AUNT BUSY HAS HER SAY. Pear Nieces and Nephews A few days ago Aunt Busy suggested that the ; j 3f-ar nieces and nephews guess her age. Fo far she has only received one ;ruess 1 find she will not publish this until she ; receives one more, anyhow, because the ! I dtar niece suggests that poor, old, gray-J gray-J t j fcnired. lame, toothless Aunt Busy is, ' r oh: dear! oh' dear! eighteen years old. Pr-or old auntie! She only, gasped when she read that guess, so she will wait J f for a few days, hoping that dear wise niece or nephew will guess somewhere near right. Aunt Busy will send a pretty picture card to the one who guesses nearest. This offer will only i; te for the next two weeks. Aunt Busy. 0- lj LETTERS AND ANSWERS. e. Dear Aunt Busy It was very kind of you to say my letter was interesting. t.e 1 wou.d i ke to tell you more of what s- hut 1 am afraid my letter would ly be too long. I went to a place the J -lay veiled lisnerman s camp. It I is about five miles away. I saw three I' email octopuses. They are the rumest' ie I looking things. When I poked one with it I a Ftick it caught hold of my stick and j -taily pulled me in a pool of water. 3 I was standing on a sharp rock after I a while and saw two more. I saw a 9, r lot : f crabs, fish and snails of all kind? I talking around with their shells "on I their backs. I saw a piece of a whale's I Fj'ine; it was about a foot thick. Since ( ' I have been here I have seen so many I things that have come out of the sea: ; some ug'.y things and some pretty i things. The star fish are pretty when I here as well as in Salt Lake, but I am I trying to study hard so as to be pro- ' I moted in the fall. My teacher's name S is Miss J. A. Smith. I Father Fortier is the only priest here, I I hut the church is small. I like him , I very much; he teaches Sunday school, s too. Yours truly, your loving friend. I CLARK DOOLITTLE. Another interesting letter from Aun; !- Busy's "loving friends," Clark Doo- I little Aunt Busy is sure that the nieces I an1 nephews also think your letters fi" interesting. You are seeing many wonderful won-derful things, Clark, that other children chil-dren only read about. Be careful of ! I ycurself, though. Aunt Busy does not ' j - . -. r i. v:-.? frjd t h -u led into a pool of water by any dreadful crawl- j ! ii'g thing. By the way, dear nephew, . ! v il you please tell Aunt Busy what is i I th- meaning of "rumest?" The poor i I !d woman really wants to know. Aunt j Busy paw your good papa the other j dav- He was looking very wtll and is f always talking about his dear ones in f California, so continue to study hard, t -ar. so your good parents will be ; rleased and proud. Be sure to write f 5 Al:r-t Busy frequently, your letters are ; i'ai'tning. ;1 Aunt Busy has a very talented Ii'hew- in Pocatello, as all the dear iris nnd boys will know when they 'ad the following pretty verses. His S;jn;-is Richard E. Murphy. Aunt Busy to hear from him often. ! j THE GUARDIAN ANGEL tweet spirit, how canst thou leave thy i , home To guard me, such a sinful cnild? -; E"st thou find it more pleasure here to ": L roam ? " To watch and keep me undefined? ; Ah. yes. thy love for Him is strong. I Ar-1 thou wilt teach me how to love, I And turn me from the path of wrong j To that great white city above. i ! Pwert Ppirit, i pray thee, guide me ()' turn not from my side, j ; w hen the storm is raging, hide me tj " 1 !'o:ri lne angry, angry tide, f Y Richard E. Murphy. J'tello. Ida. Iiik City, Utah, March 22. 1903. ! : T,,'-ar Aunt Busy Probably you .vould ' ',k" t claim another niece in Park ' -'y. so i win write to you and tell "yj about my home and school. I have a httl.- sister. Ilr name is Eunice; she as thifk golden curis and large blue . yrs .md longs each day for me to come j -rr'tn seh,,(,i and play with her. I go 'he sisters' school and after school t-ns I u,ve to skate and coast. Dear a tun Busy. my letter is getting quite 0: t-:. s. l nill close until another time. "ou.r loving niece, MARY' CROSSMAN. A Plad welcome, dear little niece! Aunt l.usy is so happy to know that , " Parl City children are taking some n,,r st in her. Aunt Busy would love ? see swept, golden-haired Eunice with tne lovely blue eyes. Give the dear wee 'fl a good big kiss for Aunt Busy. one1 IUFy members hearing a story t rp. a,,r,ut a fairy that was appointed t:n 1PIt a'' the babies in a certain por-' por-' " of the country and kiss them every Aunt Busy thinks that must be a j ty agreeable duty. What you think? i , j? "uJd you like that fairy's work? Aunt ; Man- wou'd pure. Write soon again, Park City. Utah. March 22, 1903. Mn,'ar Aunt Rusy We take the Inter--untain Catholic and I love to read tjo y's and Pirl's page. I have a lit-haeaog lit-haeaog named Watch. He is black and j - a long curly tail. He is nor.rrufl, e some doKS( for he can p:aj with y "Ule kittie without hurting her at Anrii S? t0 the sisters' school. Sister J? miT teacher' 1 am 11 years ?Ad-l? the fourth reader- Hoping that I Will be able to write to you often am Your little niece, DORA FAIIEY. Aunt Busy is liighly pleased to welcome wel-come another dear Park City niece. l hank you kindly, little Dora, for your nice opinion of the paper. Aunt Busy ,.as ,lhe dearest and best children in the i w hole country around writing to her t and she gladly includes you in the number. Aunt Busy would like to seo your dog, "Watch." Aunt Busy 'oves aogs and pussy cats. They are never j cross if they are treated kinu.y. Well goodbye, little Dora. Write soon again. J GRANDMA. Out there by the window in easiest chair Our grandma sits quietlv knitting. inn sunli-;ht reflected on soft waves Ot hair The gray with the golden is flitting. Time was when our grandma, a frolicsome frolic-some girl. Had ringlets jet black, I'm a getting; But now well, 'tis only on each thinning curl The frosts of life's winter are setting. And glasses? Why yes, 'tis a fashion she has To make all us young folks respect her! She is SO years old. so our dear papa says, Though no one would ever suspect her Of being but one of the merriest girls There's always a kiss when we greet her; And her teeth that are gone why, I'll bet they were pearls-Only pearls-Only make her dear lips seem the sweeter. My grandma's r.ot old, though of course when she walks She trembles a tritle. and totters, Tis a way that sh i has, some old person she mocks-She's mocks-She's stiryer than some of her daughters! daugh-ters! And wrinkles? Why, yes, that Is one of the wiles Upon her dear grandchildren squandered. squan-dered. For wrinkles, you know, are but ripples of smiles That away from their moorings have wandered. Of course she remembers a great many things Succeeding the great Revolution, When colonics threw off the yoke of a king And hastened old Time's evolution. : It's a way that she has to bring quiet, forsooth. When the youngsters are thronging the hallways. Our grandma's not old, for the sweetness sweet-ness of youth Shall endure with her ever and always. Roy Farrell Greene in Ladies' World. A Day of Surprises. When Pauline awoke that morning, her first thought was what a long, long day it would be without mamma. Pauline and her mother had been boarding at a farmhouse when Pauline had been taken sick, and she and mamma had had a lonj three weeks in their two rooms. Polly was almost well now, but she was not allowed to go out or to have any callers. And now mamma had to go in the city to see papa and the boys and would be gone all day. She had planned to start by an early train before Polly was awake, and she would not get back until after 6 o'clock at night. But Polly had promised prom-ised to be brave and cheerful, because she knew mamma really must go. Mamma had said that Polly should have some surprises during the day to make it pleasant. Polly dearly loved surprises when they were . pleasant ones. The first one came when Betsy brought in the breakfast tray. As the cover was lifted from the plat of hot toast Tolly gave a gasp and then a laugh. The toast had been cut in one big circle, and eyes, nose and mouth were marked on "it in bright currant jelly. A card in front of the plate had these lines in mamma's writing: "The man in the moon Came down quite soon To inquire the way to Polly. His picture is here, In jelly so clear. So eat ,it all and be jolly." When Polly began to drink her cocoa, co-coa, she found another card under the cuo with thess lines: "When you've drunk your cocoa up . Lock in the box beneath the cup." j Polly finished every crumb of the nice breakfast in a pleasant reeling of excitement. The surprises were beginning be-ginning already, and there promised to be more of them. j There was a thin, flat box under the cup and saucer. It was wrapped in white paper- and tied with ribbon. When Betsy had gone out with the tray Pollv opened the box. In it was a puzzle "made from a bright colored picture on a stiff card that had been cut in many odd shapes. Polly had to spend' Eome time in getting- all the pieces together properly so as to make the picture complete. A note in the box read; - - - "How is my little daughter? I hope she will have a pleasant day. Perhaps she will like to finish Miranda Janes white apron. When she gets it all done and dolly is dressed in it. then read the note in Miranda's dress pocket. pock-et. Mamma loves her Polly very much." . Pollv finished the sewing and then dressed Miranda and played with her awhile. She had, forgotten to look for the note in dolly's rocket, but when she remembered about it she read it "Betsy is coming at 10 o'clock with 'Vour glass of milk, and then she will bring you another surprise. Guess what it will be." ' Polly had not long to wait until 10 o'clock came. She drank the milk and ate the new cookies that Betsy had just baked. Betsy had laughed when Polly asked if the cookies were the surprise and had said, "No, indeed. She came in again in a very few minutes min-utes with the surprise in her apron It was kittens, two of them, borrow'ed from a neighbor. They were Just big enough to toddle about, and how Polly did enjoy .them! . Through the afternoon there- were more surprises. One was a new story book that a note on her dinner tray told her she-would find in mammas lower bureau drawer. " . Another note, brought in by Betsy later said there were four little pres- ents hidden in the room, every one marked "Polly," and she might have a game of hunt the slipper for them. One present was a tiny box of big, fat raisins. That was on the floor under un-der the sofa. Another was a new pink hair ribbon. That was in a white envelope en-velope that was fastened to the back of the looking glass. It was really very strange that Folly found it. There was a lace trimmed handkerchief, so small that it could only be meant for Miranda. There was a little purse with three bright pennies in it. Then Betsy came in to say: "Your mamma said I might tell you there would be one more surprise at half past 5 o'clock." When Betsy had gone, Polly lay down for awhile, because she was rather tired. It was lonesome now. and, although she had had a pleasant day, oh. she did want mamma now! But before she had time to be very lonesome she fell asleep. "Wake up, little daughter! Supper is nearly ready. How does Polly like me for a surprise?" ! Mamma had come home an hour earlier than she had told Polly to expect ex-pect her. That was the very nicest surprise at half past 5 o'clock. Ida Kenniston in Y'outh's Companion. . Grandma's Prayer. I pray that, risen from the dead, I may in glory stand A crown, perhaps, upon my head, But a needle in my hand. , I've never learned to sing or play, So let no harp be mine; From birth unto my dying day Plain sewing's been my line.- Therefore, accustomed to the end To plying useful stitches, I'll be content If aslrpd tr mnr1 The little angels' breeches. Eugene Field. True Story of an Old Maid. At the previous meeting of the Woman's Wo-man's Aid and Charity society, one of the speakers, a young woman newly married, had made some jeering and flippant remarks about old maids. Mrs. Eustace, a venerable lady, had given notice that she intended to take the matter up at the next meeting. And a full meeting it was. Mrs. j Eustace had a reputation. At the proper prop-er moment she arose, and proceeded without introduction of any kind to read the following from a manuscript: "It was a cold, dismal, chilly, windy day in early November. The rain was beating savagely against the panes of Miss Gregory's sitting room. Miss Gregory herself, judging by her looks, had taken the complevion of the day z&ti of the month. Her eyes were wet with tears, and her poor, pinched features fea-tures were quivering. She had just returned re-turned to her room. Her umbrella, opened by the fireplace to dry, her rubbers rub-bers laid in the corner, her draggled skirts and her high collar bore testi-i mony to the fact that she had faced the rain and the wind. She had left early in the morning, bent on works of kindness and of love, and she had met with coldness, indifference and re-buff. re-buff. She could have borne with the slights of strangers, she could have endured even the indifferences of acquaintances, ac-quaintances, but she had not been prepared pre-pared for the deep unklndness of a life long friend. Another friend gone! In 1 her mind she was silent, in an unseen cemetery. There wre many white headstones there, some erected ah, me! twenty-five years ago all bearing the sad legend: " 'Sacred to the Memory Of a Former Friend.' "She was looking at them now, that lone- line of tninhsfnnpq. Shp pnnntpi' she named, one by one, the sleepers beneath. " 'Oh, death in life, the days that are no more.' "And here was a new grave, a new tombstone, a new friendship buried. "Then, leaving this cemetery of the mind, her thoughts by a natural association, asso-ciation, went forth to St. Joseph's graveyard. Her mother lay there, and her father. Beside them a dear sister and a lovely brother, a mere boy, whose glad smile and jolly laugh still haunted her. There, too, were dear friends who had died thank God with friendship unbroken. "From the dead to the living! Alas, could she be the last leaf of the tree? Were there none left upon whom she could lean? Her life had been a life of love. She had reached the downward slope, and the dear ones were all on the side' she had passed. The world, at that moment, was a loveless world, a world without a sun, a world with out a cheei, a world vocal with sighs, a world dark, gloomy, November. " 'Oh, my God, my God, why am I here? Why do you not call, me to yourself?' your-self?' she cried, sinking upon her knees. "The day was dark, the future darker. dark-er. " 'Lord, for tomorrow and its needs, I do not pray; Give me but thy love and grace Just for today.' "Just for today. Ah! even the thought of that day's few remaining hours was agonizing. In, her mind was the sound of clods of earth falling upon up-on a coffin. That coffin enclosed hopes, smiles, loves and happy laughter. In it was buried her youth. And today what was she, the once beautiful, winning win-ning girl? An old maid! Yes, an old maid! She had begun her round of duties that morning by attending mass, and had heard a missioner, apropos of nothing, announce that while there was such a thing as a vocation to the married mar-ried state a vocation ot religion, there was no such thing as a vocation to be an old maid. She flushed deeply as she listened, more deeply still when she perceived that the eyes of several acquaintances ac-quaintances were turned toward her. Was the missioner right? "It would seem so. Here was she, high and dry, beyond middle life, with mourned loves and dead hopes in the wake of her years, and nothing to look for in the years to come. And yet it had been the aim of her life to help others. She had carried entire families on her hands, and at the present moment mo-ment she could recall those only who had revisited her goodness with blank ingratitude. There had been a time, the world was young then and the woods green when she felt and enjoyed en-joyed a sense of power. She could work all day with never a touch of weariness, and rise on the morrow to fresh labor. Then she was in request. re-quest. Then she could succeed where others failed.. She had been very popular. "But all that had passed away. Others Oth-ers had taken her place. Her sprightli-ness sprightli-ness was gone, and people, without knowing it, told her, in a thousand little lit-tle ways, that she was uninteresting. "As she knelt at her prl-dieu, the tears coursed down her thin cheeks. Indeed, her. heart was very sore and bruised. "An angel entered the room an angel all beautiful because he had seen God and knew him. Miss Gregory was not frightened. She felt 'hat sunshine was at hand. " 'My child,' said the angel, be of good heart. You have served God in joy, fear not to serve him in sorrow. Fear not to give him the dark days of your declining life. Justvnow you were looking into the past. 'You saw the graves of buried "friendships. The good God can raise the dead to life he can and he will. In another life your soul will find countless friends whose lives have been the lovelier for your good deeds. Tonight your heart is torn and bleeding. Have you not a million times implored the Savior to make your heart like unto his? Your heart was like to his when you prayed and labored; la-bored; like to his when you went about doing good; like to his when you taught and consoled others; but most like to his when you bore reproaches and contempt. " 'And do you complain because your heart is sad and lonely? Never a heart so sad, never a heart so lonely as the heart of Christ when it beat upon earth. " 'And do you complain because your heart is wounded? Never a heart so sensitive as was the heart of Jesus. " 'The soul that loves is the soul that suffers. A life of love is a life of pain. The great saints of God were sensitive, and they suffered much because they loved much. Thank God that1-you are able ot suffer; if you could not suffer, you could npt love. " 'You have been called an old maid: that is the world's epithet. In heaven you are called a virgin; in heaven, if you but persevere, you shall be one of those white-robed ones who follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth, singing a new canticle. The vow of chastity which you took in early life, and which i you renewed year after year, has added ! an exquisite beauty to your soul. In the world there may be no place for old maids; the fields of light are theirs, moreover. " 'No vocation to be an old maid? Ah, could you see your mother now! From heaven she gazes in love and prayer upon her child, who gave up all the glad prospects of life that a mother's moth-er's illness might be lightened, a mother's moth-er's declining years might be -gladdened by a daughter's tender, hand and loving words. And when she left you alone, instead of flying to the convent, con-vent, as was your heart's desire, you stayed in the world to bring up your brother and sister. You did your mother's work as she would have done it; today your brother is a missioner in Africa and your sister a Sister of Charity, . because you spent your life for them, and now, my child, that you have given your energy and your success suc-cess to God, do you wish to stop? Do you grudge him your lassitude, your pains, your crosses? " 'Very beautiful is It to be like to Christ in doing good more beautiful to be like him in bearing coldness,' ingratitude in-gratitude and contempt. Very noble is it to fight for God; nobler still Is it to stand under fire, to watch and wait in obscurity.' "'Ah!' cried Miss Gregory. 'Thank God, thank God, for all the crosses "he has ever sent me; they were tokens of i his love. And in advance I thank him for every cross that is to come. Now I begin to understand the full meaning of devotion to the Most Sacred Heart.' " Miss Eustace stopped as abruptly as she had begun. There was no applause not even a whisper. "What a pity the story isn't true," said a friend to Mrs. Eustace an hour later. "But it is true," she insisted. ,"What! Angel and all?" "My dear, every messenger of God is an angel. Miss Gregory, as I called her, is a cousin of mine, dead these many years and the angel in this case was her confessor." New World, i ' A CANDY LION". A candy lion's very good, Because he cannot bite. Nor wander glaring 'round for food, Nor eat up folks at night. But tho' it's very nice for me, ' It's not so nice for him. For every day he seems to be More shapeless and more slim. And then there is no tail any more, ' And then there is no head. And then he's just a candy roar And might as well be dead. ' i;- -7:Abble Farwell Brown.- BUNNY COTTONTAIL Little Bunny Cottontail Live upon the prairie. ' Every day his mother says: "Bunny, boy, be wary! The hunter always has In view Such tender animals as rou. The hunter's dog I fear him ,too; Oh, Bunny, boy, be wary! Little Bunny Cottontail Sits upon his haunches, Points his ears and listens when, Going to their ranches. He sees the hunters hurry by; He knows they're fond of rabbit pie. He knows they'd shoot him should they spy Him there upon his haunches. Back go Bunhie's ears, away Zigzag see him bounding! Even swallows are surprised At such haste astounding. Within the bunch grass soon he hides. While quickly by each hunter rides; And then he laughs to split his sides, The hunters all confounding. Happy Mother Cottontail, When she sees her Bunny Hidden in the bunch grass tall; Hears his laugh so funny: "Bless my clever little son' Says she, "He's safe from aog and gun; I wouldn't give my darling Bun For lands or golden money!" Mary Grant O'Sheridan, in Chicago Record-Herald. |