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Show S v u ..Our Boys ana eiri$., ,lthJ ' Edited by Aunt Busy. :oo, ALWAYS TELL MOTHER, Always toll mother. Shes Willing to liear, Willing to listen to tales of despair, I(?rl- ; Toll her when trials and troubles assail; "'av ock her for comfort when sorrows prevail. I by I Take mother's hand when temptations entice; lh" .?k for her counsel, seek mother's advice. - ,au Always toll mother. In mother confide; i Foster no secrets from mother to hide. ' " T- I Train your thoughts nobly, nor let your lips speak r AVords that would kindle a blush on her cheek w . I Mother stands ready her aid to impart- a, I Open to mother the door of your heart! "or ' i Always tell mother. Your joys let her share- J Lift from her shoulders their burdens of carer Mr.. Frighten her pathway, be gentle and kind - imc ' Strengthen the ties of affection that bind Mic f T(,n hpr 3'ou love her; look lip in her face ' m- Tp" hcr no othcf wii take mother's place ' di- I I AHvays tell mother. When danger betide", Mother, if need be. will die by your Fide. ; Though you may be sunken in sin and disgrace rv I Mother will never turn from you her facf ! others may shun you, but mother, vour friend . pv i stands ever ready to shield and defend, he Mother's devotion fe always the same; ' II. ; ''Tliy. with reverence, breathe mother's name.. . h ho ' AUNT BUSY TALKS ON MAY DEVOTION. in Tar Jres and Xrphcwar Auiit Buiv Ws r" I ,irar rom tlm dear children about the plauho a l proposed last -work for Ma v. 4 j Is . y !U,C l'h,oi.r "f't. Mary's Cathedral i . IIh ths""rfoiiv: Ihoir thaw by attending Mav t devotions each TODimr in turn,- no a hymn will hr. .i Minp every n.pl.t. Lat May one dour lilllc jrirl to ! vUo has Jo11 ')P a choir mombrr; jievcr missed r- J 1lf n,,lt durinpr May, ami she hopes to make the d I Hiiw record this year. Ktha Collins is her name. N ,; nixl a very clear child she is. too Aunt Busy would l0 like to hoar of more, dear g-irls; like her. The last of May witnesses a. very pretty ccre- 5 mony at St. Mary's Cathedral. It is called the 0 "Coronation," and over fifty children take part, : raiifriiifr from woe babies of three up to young girls ; j of sixteen The children -wear white dresses, white 5 i voik al wreaths. The young ladies' choir sing i many beautiful hymns, and one tiny tot. diaabs a t flower-draped ladder and places a wreath on the t Blessed Mother's statue. 1 ; This year those in charge of the ceremony hope to have 100 dear little girls in the procession, r Aunt Busy wishes that she could be a little girl : again, just long enough for ihe Coronation. She intends to give a beautiful holy picture to the girl or boy who will send in the best description of the ceremony, which will occur May 29. AITNT BUSY; LETTERS AND ANSWERS. - ' j ' ... Salt Lake City, .May 3. le'ar; Aunt Busy; Of course you know- that' the vacation-. time is nearly here. I am going to f Ihe mountains this urnmcr and will thinlc.of you j wish you were along, too. My brother says I that . Aunt Busy is a fine old lady,- becatiso she I praises the boys. Do you really- 'mean all you say about 1 hem, Aunt, Busy? j I- w ill write to you before I go away so good bye for this time. Your loving neice, XKLL1K GRIFF1X. leS, Aunt Busy knows that the holiday time is fast approaching. She hope that you will have a vrry happy tihie, dear, and that you will think of her soinotinlf-s. Aunt Busy intends . to ' f-tay at lic-r desk ".all this coming summer. Ye?,' Aunt Busy really does mean what she says about k v '1C 'ear !,c's- Ti you brother to write some 7 I time. i -. , .r. : . - - - . . . .; , . . - -!- - Spokane,' Wash., April 25. ; Dear Auntie: I have been thinking; of 'Vou for many days past and will 'write you a short note now. I have always Ihought you the dearest old : lady in the world, except my "grandma. I guess you ; fli-e just about alike, too. You. have-not very many Sjvnkane; nieces, have you, Aunt Busy? Hoping to hoar from you, I remain your loving' friend, " MARGARET RYAX. 1 Aunt Busy appreciates being remembered, dear, but she wonld also appreciate hearing, fronj you more frequently. Aunt, ;Busy fears you arc a f-ed little flatterer; she only wishes that, she were as lovable as your dear' old grandma must be. AViite soon again, Margaret. ' - i " " . Denver, Colo., April 30. Dear Aunt Busy: I am sure that you are very I wi?c and very old; so I am going to ask some ad- ' j vice. Jf you knew some one who was very dear H to you, who was making many bad friends by act ing dUagrocablc and ugly what would. you tell her? r I have a school mate of whom I am very fond, and she is truly lovable, but does not act so with many pc-ple, and so very few like her. I am very much older than the nieces who write to you really being -a young lady but I would like to hear the .opinion of the-very dear old lady the children call "Aunt Busy." Your grown-up neice, ANXA MAY' BYRXE. Aunt Bursy. really wishes that she were wise enough to write you n "-conai . letter dear, girl; J but. she hardly has the courage. The question you! i ask is a hard one to answer, and Aunt Busy will ttir you briefly her opinion. To tell yourriend j her faults is a very delicate matter, indeed. If she eares for you as much as you do for her, she will take a little admonition frorii you in the kind-- est spirit, knowing that you cafe very -much for hcr I interests. Annt Busy knows how she would feel, ; if some friend told her about her failings.' If she ' loved her frirud she would" be grateful, providing I she knew the friend loved her. But if Aunt Busy ; did not like the adviser well, that would be quite different. So in this matter, Anna, you had bct-k bct-k X 1cr use careful judgment, remembering also that 1 i ' nun (,f thp very best virtues a mortal being can possess is 'to mind his or her own affairs. Theli i ihere is no danger of broken friendship, and some- times broken heads. ' DOUBTFUL CONSOLATION. Father Dueey of New York is laughingly relating re-lating a recent .experience of his, Hr whs -walking abnig Fourth avenue whei he saw a little boy cry-j cry-j ing bitterly. A he stopjed to inquire the cause of the tears he was forestaUcd by a' little girl, who 1 asked sympa-'' ''"ally: - . ' - . . "What a,'- vy... boy? Why arc 'y'otf "crying so I'ardT ' . . ' MV: ! -"Because .';othfr's gone to heaveii," sobbdd the fj child. ".-. ' ' '. ,' j ''Oh, dont.f. t -;o," rcjdicd the girl consulmgly: "mayl.C the htisuV;" . v, : ., ..'.' . I IS IT KINDP I , "Come here a minute,, Lou; I want to tell you something." . , . Susie and Lou whisper busily for a few moments, mo-ments, casting sidelong glances' a f Ella, who -.kv, uncomfortable at the thought that perhaps .they are talking about her ihcy look so, anyway. "Well, poofl-by, Ella," calls Lou at length. "I'm going with Susie now.' And away she skips, Laving Lav-ing Ella in thv' middle of a game they weiO-ctijoy-ing.so mneh till Susie came and interrupted if- Are such thiligs kind? Is it doing as one would be done by? -: - (MAGNANIMOUS BOYS. Horace Mann says: "You are -made tab kind, -boyg; generous, magnanimous. If there is'isi boy in school who has a clubfoot, don't let hiiir? know Xou crcrsaTT it. If there a bcy -'wit- ragged -j" " " " 111 ' - - -- ff ere '01- Valk aboUt W' m hi, hearing, dinner Tf ?1 T, S'1Ve "llinl a Pt of vom' e sons If ttrrre & get hia. tt Prond,of his talent, and an- other is envir.us of them, there are tv.V great wrongs and no more talent than before. If a larger larg-er or a stronger boy has injured you ind is sorry lor it, forgive hmu" A DOG'S GRATITUDSJ. V Th0"J6 ?Iillcr tells of" a Jo which be- onged to a colomal family, and was "partu-ularly no ed for his antipathy to Indians,-who he delighted de-lighted to track. On, one campaign agaiuit the drench this dog insisted On accompanvmg his mas-' ter, although his feet were in a terrible condition from having been frozen during the previous winter. win-ter. During thc fipht which ended in fam-irs Lra.ldocks defeat, lie became sepVrJd torn his master, and thc latter, supposing him killed, went Home without, him. Some weeks later, however, the dog appeared in his ohl home,1 which wa many miles from the battlefield, lie was tired .'.id worii, hut over his sore feet soft moccasin wcr fasu-ued, ..showing that he had been among the Indians and that they had taken especial pains to be .kind to him. Thereafter, 1 hough he showed', great joy at boiug. among his own. people, neither liircat.V nor bribes could ever induce him to'track-an Indian. THE WOODPECKER'S HOME. The woodpecker's home is very, like the kingfishers, king-fishers, but it is dug in rotten wood instead of being borel in a bank of earth. From the great ivory billed species down to ihe little downy i'el-' i'el-' lows. of our orchards, the woodpeckers build" their nests, or, rather, excavate them, on the same general, gen-eral, plan. The hole at first goes straight into the wood, then turns downward.' widening iis it descends, de-scends, unii it gives room for the homo. If you. will go into any bit. of unshorn woodland during rarly-spritig and will keep your eyeS open, you: vi!l sec a bright red head thrust out of a roun.f window in 5bmc decaying trunk or bough; ami the woodpecker wood-pecker will sing out. "Peer, peer!" which always seems to mean that his or her home is u most comfortable com-fortable and enjoyable place. HOW MARJORIE FOUND FAIR YI AND. " Vi "I i know. it's just stories," said Marjorio to herself her-self firmly, as she closed her book, "but I wish things like that did happen. I' wish a funny fairy godmother would take me'away to a beautiful palace, pal-ace, or a mysterious white bird would lly before me to an enchanted forest, or something." Marjorie had been reading in the meadow and leaning back against the oak tree to think about it. " Just then the saucy east wind snatched up her hat and sent it careening through the air at a great, rate. At first she did not move, .but as the hat sailed on and on a sudden hope took nossession, Of her. Suppose the wind was carrying htv hat to fairyland? hi that case, all that was necessary was to follow it." It really did seem as if the. hat was bewitched. It would settle to. the ground aid die' until. Marjorie Mar-jorie almost reached it, and then; it, was lip and . away-again. Across the field, across the road, and down the lane it went, and at last it-whisked, suddenly sud-denly over thc high fence that shut in the. little cottage that she had often seen. With a beating heart, she climbed up and looked over. Titer i was no one in sight but a little lame girl sitting in her chair under thc big elm tree. "Fieaso, said Marjorie, "may I come and get my hat?" : . "Oh, yes," said ihe lame girl, smiling brightly. "T would get it for you if I could." But Marjorie did 'not sqc the bright smile or the wistful look 'that followed her. She got, her hat quickly and went out. She felt cross and dis appointed because no adventure had been foand by following the runaway hat. She went straight iiomc1 and told her mother about it. : "Of course. I didn't expect t6 get to fairyland," Marjorie concluded; "but I thought; that something might happen besides just common, . everyday things." . . "Stilh you might have gotten to fairyland ;f you had known. how," said MarjOrie's. m5llier, "arid, better bet-ter yet. you might have taken someone with you' "What do you mean?" cried Marjorie. "That little lamo girl her name is Laura Randall Ran-dall she has just moved he re,-. replied Marjorics mother. "She doesii't know anyone; hci parents are poor, and she has few books and games. If a girl of her own age would visit her, think how per- feetly happy she'might be made by a little attention atten-tion and sharing of treasures." - , '1 see, mamma," said Marjorie; and half an hour "later she w.as ready to start on a visit to Laura.. Xow, Marjorie never did things by" lialvrs. and she had her brother's little 'wagon piled 'full of things 'out of which to construct her fairyland. She. went down the lane to the cottage, looked over the fence again and said : "May I come in. please Again the little girl smiled and Marjorio drew her little wagon in (through the gate. "I've come totay with you this afternoon, if I may," said Marjorie. uVe will read my ttory books and have some fun, and after a while we wilt havo a-. little pienje. My brother Harold, is coming to help us cat. He's good at Vat ing, up everydritig that's left; and, besides, .he's a jolly Jjoy just a? much fun as a girl." - - ' With this introduction .Marjorie begaiv unpacking unpack-ing her wares. - -i- ' "v - - ; . : "We'll ;play I'm a peddler,, and you're a kdy," Marjorio said. "Please," madam may ;I eome in and show "you my goods?" ' ' ' ' -' '" fYcs. sa'id Laura, ''if you're a nice, polite peddler, ped-dler, and take off your hat and scrape your shoes at thc door." ' -l : ' ' - - ; .'" '' .Laura bought, .all the books at fabulous prices, and .cemcd so eager to read them that Marjoriei . declared that she would leave -them there until every one had boon read through. Then, they. made a comical scrapbook" cutting out all the pictures of people and animals and fitting new heads and bod-" ics together, and what funnyaffects were produced !. liar old Was on hand to take, his share in- the picnic', and as the sun was setting he and Marjorie; said "Good-by" with many "promises' to come again. . "I had a "beautiful time today,", said Marjorio to her mother after returning home, . . . , "Yes," said her mother,' "the. way to fairyland is very easy; you just enter the little gate of kindness kind-ness and go straight on." Zelia -Margaret Waters in Sunday School Times. - - - -': -' ; LITTLE MR. BRAGG. - . "Been out in the woods yet ?" Xcd Gray asked Johnny Lee. . - "Xo-o-o," said Johnny, looking doubtfully' at thc timber clad hill opposite. He had lived all his life on the bright, breezy open prairies where he Could see for miles and miles around, and he was half afraid of . the dusky whispering woods'.' ITe was just getting acquainted with .Xed Gray,. and liked him. but he was not at all sure he wanted to get. acquainted with the trees,: or would like them. "I have." said Xed. "I've been out there alone . many a time.' - The trees come. right Up to-thc back of our house. You come with me and I'll show you the way. Y'cu go between our house and W'ilson's. There's Rosy-Wilson flt the gate. "Rosy, do, you want to go to the wToods ?" . . ' fjohnny ' slowly followed Xed to ,losy's gate. "I don't know,' said Rosy. "They say there's a mad dog "round." 5 " "Ho, I'm not afraid of mad dogs. " Tf T saw a: mad dog coming I'd'takca big stiek-and whack him over the nose. ; XV dog can (ftaiid that; and .'specially a mad dog. I'm not afraid of mad dogs, are you. '.JohiHjy- YroU come along, Rosy, and I'll ' keep Vm f-fv." ; !"''. .'".t.-.:,. . ,'v j.. Johnny did not eay anything. He bad-n?ver met a mad dog, and he had a strong suspicion that he would be. very, much frightened if he should . meet one. His knees shook at the very thought. Rosy came, and Xed strutted along beside her with a very important air, while Johnny meekly-walked meekly-walked behind, and looked admiringly at 'them. He - Ihought Xed the bravest boy he had ever seen, and Rose the. prettiest girl. At 'the edge of the wood they stopped to cut some sticks. Xcd knew exactly how and he cut two long, stout sticks, with a little knob at the end where the spreading branches Were trimmed off. "I'm pretty brave, 1 guess," said Xed as they walked on. "I'm not afraid of anything. Why, if a runaway team should come tearing down the road; I'd as lief run out in front of 'cm as not; and if a bear should come growling out of those bushes Ed hit him over thc head, and he'd drop dead, 'I spoof." Johnny looked tearfully at the bushes and a prickly feeling crept from the top of his head down his back. Xow it happened that Mr. Green, who lived just . over the hilLdiad gone to town that day, and had left poor old Bosc shut up in thc woodshed.. Bose howled and growled and flung himself against thc door, until the latch gave way; then the big dog darted out the door and joyfully fJcw townward not round by the rortd. bin straight through the woods straight toward two little boys and a little girl,; who wore gathering acorn" vijps under a big burr oak. Down thojull he tore, with' his tongue hanging out and 'his eves fixed, ii fearful thing to see. He scarcely not iced the children. He was thinking only of overtaking the wagon as quickly as possible; but they, saw him. Johnny was 80 scared that he never knew how it, happened, but when It- came to himself he found that, he "was standing in front of Rosy with his stick raised, and Bose was gone and Xed. too. Xed -crawled out of. the bushes presently, looking look-ing very white and shamefaced. "YoU sec, I didn't know whether he was m-mad or not," he stammered. "If I'd been sure he was mad. I'd have I'd have" ' They strolled on again, with their faces toward homei but Rosy walked by Johnny this . time, and Xed walked alone,a little a head and strutting more , than ever. Just to show that he was not afraid, oh, not afraid of anything not he he ran up and ihrust his stick into a clump of bushes. With a thump and a bump and a snort a dreadful creature sprang out. For a moment Rosy and Johnny clung together with their eyes shut, tco frightened to speak or move. . "M-a-a-a!" said the dreadful creature. Then Rosy and "Johnny opened their eyes and saw the dearest little red and white wobbly-legged calf that ever was. On the way home Rosy and Johnny met Xcd just at the edge of the woods, coining slowly and fearfully back. "W-what was it?" he gasped. . "A teenty, tinety calfie," cried Rosy, rather severely. se-verely. 1 . - They walked On, Xed a little behind the others, with his hand thrust very deep in his pockets and his head drooping. After a while he said, in a small Voice: "I guesa I'm not very brave, after all," But surely that was a brave thing to say. for it was always hardfor Xcd to admit that he was m the wrong. Johnny smiled brightly. "Pshaw!" he said, "you're as brave as I am". I was awf id scared. I s'pect Fd have run; too, but my feet wouldn't go," It was a kind thing to say, but we doubt it. We doubt if Johnny would ever run away and leave a smaller, weaker thing than himself in" danger.. 'Xed doubted if, too.' ' ' "After this I'm going to try not to run when I am scared." he said, very slowby and humbly-Selected. humbly-Selected. , , . . -t ' .. - - "' |