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Show KIKmM Aunt Busy) f THE TWO LITTLE STOCKTNS. Two little stocklng-g hung side by side, j 'lose to the fireplace broad and wide. I -Two?" thought Saint Kick as down he camp, I m Loaded with toys and many a game. ! "Ho, ho'" said he with a laugh of fun, "I'll have no cheating-, my pretty one; i I know who dwells in this house, my dear." So ho crept up close to the chimney-place chimney-place And measured a sock with a sober face, Just then a wee little note fell out And tiutiered low like a bird about. "Aba! What's this?" said 'he in surprise. As he pushed liis specs up close to his eyes. And read the address in a child's rough plan. "Dear St. Nicholas" so it began "The other stocking you see on the wall I have liunn for a child named Clara Hall. She's a poor little pirl. but very good. So 1 thought perhaps you kindly would Fill up her stocking, too. tonight. And help to make her Christmas bright. If you've not enough for both stocking's there. Please put all In Clara's, I shall not care." Saint Nicholas brushed a tear from hia eye. And "God bless you, darling," he said with a sisrh. Then softly he blew through the chimney-high. chimney-high. "When down came two of the. funniest mortals That ever were seen this side of earth's portals. "Hurry up." said Saint Nick, "and nicely prepare All a little girl wants where money is rare." Then. oh. what a scene there was in that room! Away went the ejves, but down the gloom Of the sooty old chimney came tumbling' low A child's whole wardrobe, from head to toe. How Santa Claus laughed as he gathered them in pin. Kight to the toe he hung a blue dress; "She'll think it came from the sky, I I guess." Said St. Nicholas, smoothing the fold of blue And tvinr the hood to the stocking, too. V lien' all the warm clothes were fastened on. And both little socks were filled and done. Then Santa Claus tucked a toy here and there And hurrif d away to- the frosty air. Saying: "God rity the poor, and bless the dear child v Who pities them, too, on this night so wild." The wind caught the words and bore them on hlzh Till th-v uied away on the midnight sky; While St. Nicholas sped through the icy - air. Bringing peace and good will with him everywhere. CORRECT AND INCORRECT. it is the correct thing To stand while being incensed at Solemn High Mass. To remember that the vestibule of the church is not a reception room for the interchange of friendly greetings and current gossip. It is not the correct thing To march up the aisle to a front pew if one enters the church after Mass has berun. especially during the sermon. For men and "boys to loiter around the church entrance staring at passers-by. passers-by. To .leave the church as if exhausted and glad to get out. k - It is the correct thing To remember that for each day of the . week there is a special devotion. Sunday The Holy Trinity. Monday The Sours in Purgatory. Tuesday The Guardian Angels. Wednesday St. Joseph. Thursday The Blessed Sacrament. j Friday The Sacred Heart and the . Passion. Saturday The Blessed Virgin. It is the correct thing For ladies occupying end seats to move up when others enter the pew. For gentlemen occupying the end scat to move up or rise and let ladies pass in before them. It is not the correct thing To he late for Mass. To stalk hurriedly and noisily up the aisle. To give a little Tmbbing curtsy instead of the proper genuflection before entering the pew. THE DREAM OF THE TOY.' The Sandman lost a dream one night A dream meant for a boy; It fl.i;:t-d round awhile, and then itetiied on a Toy. t The Toy dreamed that it stood In class With quite a row of boys; The teacher tapped upon the desk And cried, "Le;s noise! Less noise!" Th.-n. looking at the Toy, he scowled And said, "Next boy foretell" "''h. please, sir," cried the little Toy, i uon t know to spell. "Indeed. I don't know how it is; I'm sure I am a toy. Although I seem to be in class, And dressed up like a boy." "Wh.-.t's that? What's that?" the teacher cried in awful tones he spoke; He cm mo with strides across the floor, . And then the Toy awoke. Th'-re lay the nursery very still, I'-'ie sh-jf above its head: ," ':re burned dimly on the hearth, J he c hildren were in bed. Thr-re lay the dolls and Noah's Ark, " h dar me!" said the Toy. 1 .lust had such a dreadful dream! I dreamed I was a boy." I WISH I WAS. There was a Little Hoy, with two little eyes. -And he had a little head that was just 'the proper size. Ana two little arms, and two little hands; "n two little legs this Little Boy he stands, "ow this Little Boy would now and then be cross, because that he could only be the very thing he was: He wanted 10 be this, and then he wanted to be that; His head was full of wishes underneath his little hat. 1 wish Iwas a drummer to beat a keule-drum. v"1:in I was a riant to say Feo-fo-fi-faw-fum, I wish 1 was a captain to go sailing in a . ship; i wish I was a huntsman to crack a nice whip. 1 wish T was a horse to go sixty miles an hour; i wish 1 was the man that lives up in the hghthouse tower; 1 wish I was a seagull -with two1 long wtngs; . I wi h I was a traveler to see all sorts of things. I wish I was a carpenter; I wish -I was a lord; I wish I was a soldier, with a pistol and a sword; I wish l was the man that goes ut high in a balloon; I wish, I wish I could be something else, and soon." But all the wishing in the world is not e bit of use; That Little Boy this very day he stands in his own shoes; That Little Boy is still but little Master vY hat-do-you-call; As much as if that Little Boy had never wished at all! He eats his bread and butter, and he i likes, it very much; He grubs about, and bumps his head, and bowls his hoop and such; And his father and his mother, they say, "Thank the gracious powers, Those wishes cannot wish away that Little Boy of ours!" Salt Lake City, Dec. 26, 1899. Dear Aunt Busy: I hope you had a Merry Christmas. I got a doll, a game, some candy and a new dress. I went mass at 9 o'clock on. Christmas. I like to read the letters and stories in the paper. I will write to you again. Good Bye this time. Your loving niece, MOLLIE BREWER. Salt Lake City, Dec. 24, 1899. Dear Aunt Busy: Are you vary busy? My mamma is because tomorrow is Christmas and she is making- mince-meat. I have three little brothers. I am 12 years old. Two of my brothers believe in Santa Claus. Did you ever believe in him? I hope I get a nice prayer book from my mamma. mam-ma. I hope you will have a merry Christmas. Your loving neice. MADGE CRADDOCK. LTJCILE. (From the Weekly Bouquet.) BY MARY M. REDMOND. Miss Staley, the new "school ma'am," j took in at a glance the stuffy little parlor, te dingy carpet and straight-, backed chairs set primly against the wall; the marDle-topped center table with the red plush protograpli album resting serenely upon its smooth surface; sur-face; the solitary rocking chair sitting in state in the middle of the floor, and a wave of pity stole over her as she pictured the narrow, cramped lives of the people who could dignify this room, by the name of parlor. She turned away with a little shiver, only to meet the bare, blank walls staring star-ing rigidly down at her. "Yes," Mrs. Gray was saying, in a peculiar,' drawling tone, "Lucious, he allowed that you wouldn't came this morr.in' bein's It's so damp an' foergy, an' seein' you was kinder aifin Tike; but I told him I thought you'd come. Lucious, he were over tu Mrs. Simpson's Simp-son's yesterday, an Mr. Simpson he were a sayin' thet school'd hev ter begin be-gin this mornin' at 9 sharp, an' ef you wa'n't here on time they'd jist hire Sally Ann Sharp ter take your place. She'd been a-wantin' it for some time, anywajv Mr. Simpson he ain't what you'd call o bad man, but he's kinder queer an' se't in his way." 'Is the school far from here?" Miss Staley asked, rather anxiously, when Mrs. Gray paused to take her breath. "Law, no; it's jest 'round the corner. You needn't leave here afore half after 8 nohow. It's just 8 now. Es I .wus sayin'," she continued, drawing a long breath, and shifting the heavy baby from her left to her right arm, "Mr. Simpson, he ain't what you'd call a bad man. but he kinder reckoned on ! hevin' the teacher board tu his house they generally do, an' when Lucious allowed, bein' it's so near, an' es you ' was kinder peaked lik that you'd bet- j ter board tu our house, it made him. feel kinder edge-ways lik'." "It was very kind of Mr. Gray to take such, an interest in a stranger," Miss Staley said warmly, touched by their rough, but kindly throughtful-ness. throughtful-ness. "Have you any children to attend at-tend school?" "Yes, I reckon we'll hev three tu send this summer," Mrs. Gray replied, drawing forward a chair she had been standing all this time and settling the big, good-natured baby into a comfortable comfort-able position in her lap. ' "We did cal-klate tu only send two, May and Charlie," she went on in a more confidential tone, "but Lucile, she were so bent on goin that her paw allowed al-lowed that mabbe we'd better let her go this term yit, though it do seem's tnougn a girl the size of her age she's nigh 16 orter be adoin' somethin' asides goin' ter school in summer time. But Lucile, she don't jest keer to work. Tain't that she's 'xaetly lazy, but she hajn't got no taste fer housework, dish washin' an' seen like. Now there's May, she hain't 12 yit, but la she kin do more work in a day than -Lueile'd do in a hull week. I reckon she takes thet from me, fer I alius wus a great hand tu Work. But Lucile, she's just like her maw I'm only her stepmaw " she explained, in reply to Miss Staley's look of surprise. "Her own maw died when she were born, an' she were jest 2 years old when I married her paw She weren't jest what you'd call a puny child, but she never laughed, er cried er played like other children. She were alius still an' quiet, jest like she is now I've seen her sit fer a hull hour tu a time a-starin' out at them hjlls, jest's' though she didn't see 'em at all, but were a-lookin' at somethin' on t'other side of 'em. An' she's ferever a-scrib-blin' on bits of parer, an' a tearin' of "em up again. In course it do look kinder kin-der foolish like tu see a girl the size of her age actin so silly like, an you can't jest blame people fer sayin' that she hain't jest's bright es she might be an' thet she were struck with the pump handle, whatever thet means. Hut la, she wouldn't hurt a fly, she's thet tender-hearted. Andy, here, thinks a sig'ht of her. He'll go from y.e tu her anytime." "A child's, instiact is true. It will find a loving heart beneath the roughest rough-est exterior." Miss Stanle:-- said, when Mrs. Gray paused, more for lack of breath than lack of words. She was a tall, angular woman, with : black eyes and hair, and a wide, prominent prom-inent mouth. She loved to talk, in- 1 deed she talked incessantly whenever ' and wherever she wound a listener. "It i alius makes me mad," she went on, i taking a long breath, "when I hear 'em 1 a-callin' her the 'simpleton,' an' 'crazv j Luce,' an' seen names, for I alius think of how kind an' sens'ble she were when Andy had the dip-thery, an' .we thought he was goin' tu die. He were took down on Saturday, an' " Here a piercing scream followed by a voice calling frantically "Ma! ma! Charlie's fast in the apple tree! Hurry, hurry, he'll be killed!" interrupted the interesting details of Andy's illness, and that young gentlemen found him-suddennees him-suddennees that somewhat surprised him to say the. least The orchard was just back of the house, and Mrs Gray, closely followed by Miss Stanley, was not long in reaching reach-ing the tree where Charlie hung, clinging cling-ing frantically with his fingers to a small limb half way to the top, his legs dangling helplessly in the air. There ' was no bough strong enough to sustain sus-tain his weight within reach. it was evident that he could not hold on much longer. Mrs. Gray ran back and forth, wringing wring-ing her hands, and crying frantically i for help; May. screaming at the top of her voice:, jumped straight up and down in a frezy of fright. After one glance Miss Stanley sank w-alrlv trfc Vl n- trnd nrf.:e! i- . ...wy ...... H'OIIig UOin hands over her eyes to shut out the horrible sisht. Suddenly a clear voice called out: "There ma, don't take on so! I'll save him!" and looking up Miss1 Staley Sta-ley saw a slight girl with dark eyes and hair coming toward them, throwing off her bonnet as she ran. In an instant sihe was scaling the tree with the rapidity rap-idity and agility of a monkey. She walked out on a thick, gnarled bough below where the boy hung, with as much coolness and self possession as if she were walking on the level ground Reaching up her arms, she clasped his legs firmly, saying cheerily: "Steady yoursalf by the branches, Charlie, as you let yourself down. I'll hold you Do not be afraid. There! now you're all right, though pretty white and nervous. ner-vous. Hold fast to my hand until we ret dovn." Mrs. Gray caught him to her breast, sobbing and crying over him as though he had been restored to her from the srra.vo. Lucile, without having noticed the presence of Miss Staley, was walking quietly awav, when a white hand was laid u;)on her shoulder, and a low, musical voice exclaimed warmly: "You are a brave . girl! Any man might be r-roud of the feat you have just accomplished !" The girl started painfully, turning a flushed, frightened face toward the speaker. "I am your new teacher," Miss Staley exclaimed, smiling kindly into the big, wistful brown eyen. "Oh, I'm so glad!" Lucile exclaimed, impulsively; then, as if frightened at her boldness, froze faito her usual awkward awk-ward reserve. But that was the beginning of a new life for Lucile Gray. She was of a timid, shrinking-, spnsftivp natnro wJfh . fined thoughts and taste as unlike her voluble, good-natured stepmother as possible. She was an, ardent lover of nature in all hier moods. When some unusual coarseness in her stepmother jarred upon her more refined feelings, and the narrow, petty life became almost unendurable, un-endurable, she had only to turn her face to the hills, the beautiful blue veiled hills and sunny meadows, to find rest and peace. She began writing little nature sketches, crude and unpolished, but containing beautiful thoughts and fancies. One day, when Miss Staley had been there about a month, Lucile, in a sudden- burst of confidence, showed her some of these little sketches. She had been gradually thawing out crawling out of her shell, as it were and Miss Staley watched the process with inter-eat, inter-eat, feeling that there was more in the girl than she had thought. She began reading the sketches carelessly, care-lessly, but soon with growing wonder and delight.. "Why, child, you have a real talent!" she exclaimed, warmly. "They are a little crude, perhaps, but with a little polishing Mr. Arnold, the editor of the Magazine, would be glad to publish them. I know." "Oh, Miss Staley, you don't mean it? You are only joking!" Lucile cried, chamging to white and red by turns. "But I do mean it," Miss Staley said, putting her arm around the srirl's vaii3t. and drawine- th small M nned face close to her own. ".We will go to work now this very minute on two of the best ones, and I'll send them to Mr. Arnold this very day. He is a friend of mine." "Oh, how good you are!" wasi all Lucile could say. But a few weeks' later, whetv she received re-ceived a letter from Mr. Arnold containing con-taining a small check, and a request for more of the "prettv sketches," her joy and gratitude knew no bounds. She came out of her shell, a glad, eager child. "Well, now! who'd a thunk it!" Mrs. Gray said when she heard the wonderful won-derful news. She was washing dishes, and she stood with the dishcloth suspended sus-pended in the air, her eyes and mouth wide ojjen. "An' tu think they called her 'crazy Luce,' when all the time ehe were a thinkin' out things that were fittin to go in a paper! I alius knowed that she weren't jest what you'd call a common child; but I never thought she'd turn out tu be a author. I reckon we kin hold up our heads now with the beet of 'em," she adced, her black eyes snapping. "'Tain't ev'rybody that kin hev a author in the ifam'lv." Tiffin, O f "No Mother." Tli -.(Vic Antr nVien a Rtprn and die- nified judge ordered a prisoner to stand up and offer objections to being sentenced sen-tenced to prison for a long term of years, the prisoner arose and said: "I never had a mother to shed tears I over me.'.' His words entered every heart in the great court room. He was a rough, bad man, in the middle age of life, and he had been convicted of burglary, but every heart was softened towards him as he utttered the words. He felt what he said, and tears rolled down his cheeJts as he continued: "If I had a mother's love and a mother's tears some one to nlead for me and rrav for me I should not be what I-am!v "Ah, that's it! There is power In a mother's love and her tears and pleadings plead-ings and prayers, whose influence is hardly to be realized. God pity the lad who has no home to go to no mother to whom he can tell his troubles and hie neck and whisper to heaven to keep him in the right path. There is no heart like a mother's heart. Her child may wound it again and again, and pierce it with a sword, and yet it has only love and affection, for him. It fa first to excuse his faults the last to condemn. con-demn. There is no love like a mother's love ao enduring, eo tender, so far reaching. It is lavished upon the child in the cradle, and it follows the boy over the oct'an. It calls upon the wanderer the first thing in the morning, and it stays with him until sleep closes tlnex eres. When a mother's love for her offspring dies outv he may be called ! wicked and wretched to live among men. . , There are no tears like a mother's tears, nothing to restrain a mind n-ancVring into the evil paths. The man who looks back upon his childhood rgereta mothinc much as that he brought tears of sorrow and sadness to i fond mothers eyes. Every tear a mother shed over a wayward child is recorded in the great book. . and he shall answer for.it. The Three Masses. From the most ancient times it was customary to celebrate the Sacred Mysteries Mys-teries twice, even thrice on the greater feast. Thus two Masses were said by tho Pope on SS. Peter and Paul's Day, one in the Vatican, the other in the Basilica of St. Paul; on Easter Day also two were said, one in the night of the Resurrection (our present Mass of Holy Saturday), the other at the usual lay hour; on Holy Thursday there were three celebrated: ere for the reconciling rec-onciling of penitents, one for the consecration con-secration of oils, the third in the day for the feast. On, Christmas Day, doubtless there are two celebrated, one at night, the hour of Christ's birth, the other in the day as usual, after Tierce. Perhaps one honored Jesus as Man, the other aa God. The Gospels of the Swo Masses lend themselves to this idea. Thus, in Gaul, the Bishops celebrated cele-brated two Masses on Christmas Day until tho Roman rite, and with it three Masses were introduced under Charle-mange. Charle-mange. Under St. Gregory the Great (590-604) the practice held at Rome, and therefore is older than the sixth century. His words, still read at the night office of Christmas, are familiar ! to prieats. They are thusi admirably rendered by the Marquis of Bute: "By God's Mercy, we are to say three Masses today so that there is not much time left for preaching." The first Mass (the second in point of order) originat-i originat-i ed doubtless at Rome, for a local reason rea-son probably in the fourth century. Thus: at Rome, after the Diocletian persecution, the noble lady, Apollonia, built at church for the precious body of her friend, St. Anastasia, who had been martyred under Diocletian. This was the Statio ad S. Anastasiam, and her anniversary being the twenty-fifth of December, the difficulty of keeping her station without robbing the greater feast of its two Masses, was solved by interposing a Mass at the church between! be-tween! the two for the Lord's birth, i. e., about the dawn in aurora. - - |