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Show s i i i LETTER-WRITING PIRECTIONS. . j I write on one side of paper only. 1 Ix. not have letters too long. j Address nil letters to "Aunt Uusy," Ia- Uini'juiHain Catholic. AUNT BUSY HAS HER SAY. j I i I'Mi- Nicps and Nephews Aunt - ! i y intends to write a series of letters ) " i , ,iiuc of her stray children, who have l;. L-i' i t-d her for many months past, j : . . w hat has bfrorne of the Park ; i i-y iris and boys? Aunt Busy used f ;,. h-ai- very often from there. What v , i,h)- letters those Park City children l ,, iid write: They eould tell so much 1-, jit ilic'r grand mines, and what In-i In-i tt".viiTS news it would be for the j enst.-rn nieces and nephews! Then, ' Hi' iv are the Eureka girls and boys'. A h'-re. oil. where have they Rone? An i the Wyoming nieces and nephews! i Hhv- they entirely forgotten their jinor old auntie? She is afraid so. Now, 1 v.pii young people in Utah. Colorado, t Wyoming. Montana, Nevada. Ne- f li;iska. Missouri and everywhere, write ' t.i your old Aunt Busy at once. She is interested in all of you. and she I'l'Mtively refuses to be neglected. Your living AUNT BUSY. LETTERS AND ANSWERS. ; St. Joseph, Mo., Feb. -3. 1 Pear Aunt Busy It is so long since I -nioie to you that I guess you think I ! have forgotten all about you. but I j ' have not. What is the matter with ' the hoys in Ogden? I guess that they r;t- putting you. too. It will" he too bad i if they take Father Uushnahan away I I f'.xm Offden. We have a tine priest i : in our parish; his name is Father Har- t nmii. I will send you a story this time. V Your nephew, ROBERT DORSEY. i THK lOFFECT OF DISOBEDIENCE, r Mother was sick in bed. and John was sit ling beside her. His mother said: 'John, dear, is that some one ' calling you?' John went out, and in a few minutes returned and said: "Fred Jones and Tom Payne want me t.i so swimming with them: may I go?" ; No. you had better not. I don't like that Jonos boy; he has -a bad reputa- lion. Besides, you don't know how to swim." please let me go; 1 want to learn how to swim." ; No." his mother replied, "you can- ? Hot jfo."' ! John went to his room and slammed J i)w door behind him. He raised the . window and said to Tom: "Mother i will not let me go." n What do you care what she said. replied Tom. "Come and go anyway, j You are not afraid, are you?" I The boys kept taunting Tom until ; he said: "Wei!, I will go." .t So the three boys went down to the ' pond, undressed and jumped in. -oh. ain't it fine?" John said. "Watch out. it is deep tJiere." But ? just as they said it John slipped and i went under . He came up and was go- itig down the second time when Fred prahU'd him bv the hair and pulled him ! . r out. ! Tom ran for the doctor, and in a few i minutes returned with him. The doe- I lor turned John on his face and rubbed I his chest: then the water ran from his i mouth. Then they took him home, and wrapped him in warm blankets and v put him to bed. When he woke up in I the night he was coughing and choking ith t lie pneumonia. ROBERT DORSE i Aunt Busy was exceedingly glad to I h'-ar from you. Robert. She really did 'link ihat you had forgotten all about I e r. Aunt Busy heard at last from 4 her ,.;ir ( igden nephews. Can you ex-i ex-i in why your letter and story have he", n so lung reaching Aunt Busy? Are f yoi: sui.- the date was correct? Aunt Busy is pleased to know that I '( iike your good pastor. Your story I K e! v nirp, iniieed. The mora! is very ; 1. Sh devoutly hopes that none ' ' ,p.a r children will ever be dis- "i" ii.-m to their parents, for it always j h'-'hii;.- sorrow and remorse. Write soon ""'in. Uobert. Salt Lake City, Feb. 27. Aunt Busy I will be 8 years old ! "" Tuesday and my mamma is going '" sive me a party. I want you to ' "'ne, i;' yovi can. 1 am going to have !li little schoolmate? at my party. "ti r loving niece, 1 VENUS DOLLY ROMNEY. f A -Kt Busy extends her best wishes ' ymt. little nie-e, for all happiness to : "urs on your birthday and till , '-'y birthday of the future. Aunt j i-i:sy would dearly love to attend your 5 : ny. but she is a very busy woman '1 i annot lind the time, so she will I tt'ink of you and ycur little friends " i wish you all a most enjoyable Aunt Busy remembers having a par- op her 7th birt'hday. She had the f most beautiful cake, on which were S' vrn pretty candles. During the ex-' ex-' .'einent of cutting and eating the ouderfui cake, one of her guests eiivwed up a wax candle. Aunt Busy . ried and nearly spoiled the party. How ! Aunt Busy would love to be a little girl once more and have a birthday j Party. She never has a birt'hday cake now with candles, because she would lieej too many candles. ! Dear Aunt Busy I am a little boy' j ; years old and I have been reading your letters that you write to your tittle friends, so I thought I would -write you my first letter. I hope you will answer it soon. Your loving nephew. PATRICK MURIN. Aunt Busy gladly welcomes her dear p ti'-w nephew. Patrick. Indeed, she will gladly publish your letter. She onlv wishes that the Salt Lake children would write to her more than they do. Write soon again. k ' Salt Lake City, March 5. Dear Aunt Busy I am one of your nephews who has not written to "you for a long time. I am only 6 years old, but 1 hope to be older some day. With -y i.est love I v rite to you this time, and have good wishes for you and all the nieces and nephews. Your little nenhew. EDWARD JOHANSON. Dear nephew. Aunt Busy was indeed glad .to hear from you. She has often thought of you. Of course you are a year older than when you wrote her before, and she unites with you in hoping that you will grow stronger, and wiser, into a great, big, good man. 1 hanks for your good wishes. A CHILD'S CONFESSION. A former French bishop who died in Pome after having attained the dignity dig-nity of cardinal, once told to a class of children who were preparing for their first communion the following incident: in-cident: I knew a child, 9 years of age, who had grown in wisdom and in grace under un-der the eyes of a poor but deeply religious relig-ious mother. Clement that was his baptismal name hid nothing from his good mother, who read in his countenance, coun-tenance, beaming with candor, the angelic an-gelic purity of his soul. One day, however, how-ever, he came into her presence with a sad and constrained air. "Clement, what ails you?" she asked. "Oh. mamma," he replied, quickly, "I have been to my duty, that's all." "Clement." said his mother not with concern this time, but with severity "Clement, you know- it is not that that disquiets you; you have committed I some fault " "But, mamma," the boy protested. "Some grave fault. Go back again to your confessor." Clement went and her prayers followed fol-lowed him. He soon returned, but the shadow which darkened his pure brow Uas not dispelled, and his mother's eye was not deceived." "Clement," she said, sorrowfully, "you have not done as I bid." 'Yes, I have, mamma." "Oh!" exclaimed the mother, "I am a most unhappy woman! My son has not made his confession as he ought! He has commited a sacrilege!" And she fell to bitter weeping. Clement loved his mother very much; and when he heard her deep sobs he turned pale with fear, and hastily went forth again to seek his confessor. "Well, my child, what is the matter? Why do you return?" "Father. I have I have forgotten something." "What is it, my child? Tell me, and do not give yourself so much concern about it."' 'Vather, it's about JulttS you know-Jules. know-Jules. He sits beside me in school " "I know. Go on." "Well .Tnles is rich: and his mother has given him a new knife." "7nat of that, my child?" said the priest, beginning to think the case more grave. "He he showed it to me, and then put it back in his desk. And afterward, after-ward, when Jules was not there. I thought I would like to see the pretty knife again, and I opened the desk very softly " "There was not much harm in that," said the priest, breathing more freely. "Just too much curiosity, was it not?" "And I looked at the knife a long time; and it was so pretty so pretty' the child stammered confusedly. "That you stole it." concluded the priest, in a disconsolate and reproachful reproach-ful voice. "No, I did not steal it: I just took it." "That is what I mean; and. my dear child, it is all the same thing. Think of it! And, besides, perhaps that was not the worst. The temptation was a vio'ent one to you. who are poor; but what was worse was that you, who have been so carefully raised by a good mother, you have deceived her, and j you hid your fault from me, too or. rather, not from me, but from the good God whom I represent here." The sobs of the repentant child were the only answer to these reproaches, and they testified to his sorrow for his sin. "You weep!" exclaimed the priest. "Vnu fppi how much vou have sinned! ' Now go; God pardons you; but sin no I more, never more, in this manner.'' "Oh! no. no. father! Never, never more," cried Clement: and he kept his word. Not only did he steal no more; but. better still, never again did he conceal anything from his mother or from his confessor. "And see. children." added the good cardinal, "the importance of that act and the reparation which he made for it. Clement became a priest and later, a bishop, and you may well believe he j stole no more pretty little knives. He still lives: and that child was myself. Had it not been for my mother, w hat j might have become of me! Whither should I have drifted? Who knows? j Perhaps to the scafford, a fit ending i for one who robbed his friend and dared to deceive his confessor. So, my dear children, you must not steal, of j course, but, above all. never conceal j anything in confession." |