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Show I LETTER-WRITING DIRECTIONS. ; Write on one side of paper only. ii to not have letters too lonp. Address all letters to "Aunt Uusy." In-termountain In-termountain Cuiliollc. I THE SEVEN DAYS' CALENDAR, f S.iiulay i.hirch iloor enter in, jj Strive a heavenly rest to win. ; Monday lo your calling gro; Servo t lie Lord, love friend and foe; To the tempter, answer So'. i ( Tuesd;iy do what good you ran; J 1,1 ve In peace with every man I Ilememler, life is but a span. I M'ednekdav give away and earn, I Teach nie truth, some good tninss t learn. ; Joyful, pood for ill return. I Thnrsdav build you house upon i Christ, the mighty corner-stone: Uhom God helns, his work is done. Fridav for the truth be strong. Own your faults if in the wrong; Tut a bridle on your tongue. ; Saturday thank God and sine: i Tribute to Heaven's treasure bring, Be prepared for Terror's King. AUNT BUSY HAS HER SAY. i ; Dear Nieces and Nephews: I How are all Aunt Busy's dear ehil- i dren? Aunt Busy does think that she k Fhould receive more letters from them. "Where, oh where, are the Ogden lads? "Where are you staying so long? If Aunt Busy finds an Ogden postmark next week she will cry with joy. Aunt Busy certainly does miss the bright 'h letters she used to receive. Is Robert Dorsey still alive? Is Raymond Ryan in the land of the living? Is Robert Morrissey still in existence? Aunt Busy begs you, with tears in her eyes', RaV10rW and Robert, to bring back her other Ogden nephews to her, and she has some Ogden nieces up there, too. Well, dear girls and boys, good-bye ' and please, please do write to your loving AUNT BUSY. LETTERS AND ANSWERS. Crested Butte, Oct. 10, 1901. My Dear Aunt Busy: I am going to write you a little letter about my school. School started the 1st of September and my teacher's name Is Miss Clouse. She is a very v pood teacher and she is loved by all )( her pupils. It is snowing here this morning. Good-bye, Aunt Busy. 1 MAY LEWIS. You are very welcome, little May. Write soon again and often. Aunt y Busy loves to hear from the dear little nieces who study hard in school. She does not want any lazy nieces to call her their Aunt Busy. Pueblo. Colo.. Oct. 10, 1901. Dear Aunt Busy: I tnoueht I would write you a few lines. Willie has a little baby sister, and he is very proud of her. I think you are a very kind auntie. Of course you know I go to the Sisters' school. 1 have a kind tea.cher. Her name is Sil?r Rosina.- I gur-ss I will close for this time. Answer soon because I like to hear from you. From vour loving Piece. AGNES F. Dear little niece Agnes. Aunt Busy was very pleased to hear from you ngain. It would take me a long time , to tell you how much I appreciate your kind words for your old auntie. But. dear little girl, why did you not ign all of your name? Of course Aunt l'.usj" kows your name, but she thinks , that perhaps you did not wish to sign v, your last name, so she has published . it just as you wrote. Give her very, very best love to Willie's dear baby ister. Aunt Busy would like to hear from Wiilie. Much love from Aunt Busj Write soon again. Denver. Colo., Oct. 12, 1901. My Dear Aunt Busy: Such a long time has elapsed since I wrote to you that I guess you have finite forgotten me. I have not seen . many letters from here lately. I guess the boys and girls have been careless, like myself. Aunt Busy. Since I wrote to you lan I have had a little sister. She is so sweet. Aunt Busy, and she lias blue eyes and a dear little mouth. You love blue-eyed babies the best, don't you. Aunt Busy? Well. I will not write any more now. I know I am slow about writing, but I will do bet-ter bet-ter for the future. Your loving niece, fc, FLORENCE M CARTHY. "Better late than never." little Flor ence. Aunt Busy has not forgotten you. dear. Aunt Busy is afraid that Jier Denver nieces and nephews are a r- little neglectful. Aunt Buy thinks that all babies are the loveliesT darlings in this world. Not only the blue-eyed babies, but ail babies, even if they did not have any eyes at all. Give Baby Aunt Busy's dear love and write soon again. School Notes. T.a i.ip., that a little delay here o" there, a few minutes lost at recitation recita-tion time, at the dinner hour, or at a public service, will not matter much, is one that, when rooted and vvell-grown, vvell-grown, is pretty sure to make a young person a nuisance to others, and to bring misery on himself. It is one that a good school ought to weed out by strictness of rule in its daily programme. pro-gramme. The disorderly children's habit of keeping possesions clothing, books, toys where it is easy to leave them. ;md where no one would ever find them but for fond mother's pains, in constantly following up and arranging them, is also a home fault, not to be tolerated in a school of many pupils. Courtesy in children is a trainirr neat importance in school training, because it is too often neglected in the home. Saucy ways and words may seem bright to the amused family, but I are much less brilliant to the looker- on. or the voyager who happens to be , i raveling along the same route. A careful supervision of the child's manners man-ners and of its language, and a demand for respectful treatment of its elders, are things to he highly commended Id i school. j i . u, I .ii... I mi.. .Hi. . i.i IF I WERE YOU. (Independent.) If I were you and had a friend Who called a pleasant hour to spend, I'd be polite enough to say: "Ned, you may choose what games we'll play." That's what I'd do, If I were you. If I were you and went to school. I'd never break the smallest rule; And it should be my teacher's joy To say she had no better boy. And 'twould be true. If I were you. If I were you I'd always tell The truth, no matter what befell; For two things only I despise A coward heart and telling lies; And you would, too, If I were you. If I were you. I'd try my best To do the things I here suggest; Though, since I am no one but me I cannot very well you see. Know what I'd do If I were you. The Discontented Geese. Once upon a time a flock of wild geese started out to see "the sights." They were lead by an old goose who, no doubt, thought she was very wise. As if anybody ever did see a vse goose I "I'm going out," said she, "to see more of the world. We really know-nothing know-nothing of what is going on outside of this pend. Don't you find it very dull? Only last week a swallow, pausing paus-ing in his flight to have a bit of conversation con-versation with me, told of the wonderful wonder-ful things to be seen. If you care to come along," she added, "I shall take you with me." Now, to tell the truth, the young geese, one and all. were perfectly delighted de-lighted at the proposition (beca.use that dangerous little seed of discontent discon-tent had already taken root). Such a cackle as they set up. Cackle! cackle: cackle! cackle! So they flew away over brown marshes and green meadows, over rivulets and streams, until they canTe to such a lovely place where there were beautiful flowers and trees. There were rustic bridges spanning span-ning limpid streams, and last, but not least, a beautiful pond. "How lovely!" they exclaimed in one breath. "I wonder where we are," said one little goose. "This," replied their leader, with an air of importance, "is Central Park. My friend, the swallow, told me all about it." And sure enough, it was Central park down by the dupk pond, where, no doubt, you have walked many and many a time. "The ducks and geese you see swimming swim-ming about," said the old goose, "are tame. How beautifully they behave. It all depends," quoth she, "on one's bringing up. Hush! my dears," as the young geese, one and all, began to cackle. "Don't be rude! Let me, I keg of you, speak to our friends." The tame geese, however, were not in the least inclined to be sociable. They glided about majestically, quite ignoring the presence of the intruders. "See that pretty little house over there?" said the little goose. "Can it be possible that it has been built for our accommodation?" How absurd this was. Of course, ycur majnma has a room set apart as a guest chamber, and these ridiculous little geese thought the duck house had been especially built for them, just like invited guests, you know. "To be sure," said the old goose, shaking the water from her back, "my friend, Mr. Swallow, must have told thc-m we were coming." She waddled over, fololwed by the entire flock. Hardly had they entered the duck house, when they heard a "click." The spring door closed with a snap and, lo! they .were prisoners. Just then the keeper came out. "Heigh-ho!" exclaimed ex-claimed he; "what's this? A flock cf wild geese, on my life. Come here. Bill (to a great sturdy fellow near by). Here is work for you to do. Clip the wings of these geese at once." The man went to work and did as he was told, clipping all their wings, while a big park policeman looked on and laughed. The geese were then let out on the r"nd to swim about majestically like their neighbors. Oh! how they longed to fly home. Never before did f reedc seem so dear to them. "Why didn't you tell us." said the little goose in a tone of reproach to one of her new-found friends, "that we were going to have our wings clipped?" "Because," replied her companion, "you wouldn't have believed us; and after all, my dear, experience is the very best teacher." Katherine Clements Clem-ents in Woman's Magazine. |