|No Copyright - United States (NoC-US)
|Digitized by J. Willard Marriott Library, University of Utah
|Our Boys and Girls
i . ..Gur Boys ana irl$ V 1 Edited by Aunt Busy. This department is conducted solely in the inter- I ests of our girl and boy readers. I Aunt Busy is glad to hear any time from the I r.icees and nephews who read this page, and to give I ihem all the advice and help in her power. I Write on one side or the paper only. I Do not have letters too long. j Original stories and verses will be gladly received and carefully edited. T The manuscrips of contributions not accepted will he returned. i Address .all letters to Aunt Busy. Intermountain I l Catholic. Salt Lake City. ; I CHILDREN. f What 1hc loaves arc to the forest, With light and air and food, I Lie their s-woet and tender juices If ave bon hardened into wood I Tliat 1o the world are children; Through them it feels the plow i Of a brighter and sunnier climate j That reaches the trunks below. I -j Come to me, O ye children! And whisper in my ear j What the birds and winds are singin0-j singin0-j hi your sunny atmosphere. ; For what arc all our conceivings I And the wisdom of the books j When compared with your caresses And the gladness of your looks I I Ye are better than all the ballads j That ever were sung or said; , For yc are living peoms, I And all the rest are dead. I Longfellow. j AUNT BUSY HAS HER SAY. j j Pear Nieces and Nephews: Aunt Busy neg- j lected you last week and she was sorry, too, par- 5 ticularly because she wished to thank all the dear j children for the many pretty valentines she received, i' Jler desk looked like a counter in a valentine store, i I and Aunt Busy is sure that not another old lady in the city received as many. Aunt Busy thought the verses were so good, too. The loving, kindly wishes from her dear little friends were doubly welcome because Aunt Busy had. what a dear little child once said a dear little I child who has long since gone to heaven-r-shc had "an awful sorry feeling"' last week, and while the pretty valentines, with the kindly inscriptions, did mt lift the sorry feeling," still Aunt Busy found a little sunshine peering through the clouds. One dear lad from Colorado wrote a personal note to Aunt Busy, which read this way: "I do not want to send you a valentine because j I am too old for such things now, but I am not too eld to tell you that I like your department and I j . like you, Aunt Busy. This is the first time since I first wrote you six years ago that I have not sent a valentine, but I always mean to write you a note on Feb. 14. I am your loving nephew," etc. Aunt Busy wants to tell the dear lad that she has every one of his valentines and has added the kindly written note to her , collection. She only hopes that he will not forget his promise to write 1 to her at least once a year, and she will always re member liiin as one of her particularly, dear f nephews, even if he is too big to send valentines, j Aunt Busy thinks that no valentine could ever j equal the kind note so frankly written. With love j to the dear Colorado boy, and love' to all the dear ; nieces and nephews, she remains, loving ever, 1 AUNT BUSY.' I " LETTERS AND ANSWERS. j Salt Lake City, Utah, Feb. 9, 1905. ! Dear Aunt Busy: I write to tell you of more 1 success in my school work. I received my regular promotion last week, and another special this week. ! Ycu know I get $1 for every promotion, and 5 cents for every excellent. I have had twelve promotions S and 14G exeellents. 1 am 11 years old and have at- tended school thirty-six school months. I have I been to a party every week this yciu. 1 still have ' .Manunv Kitty, Pussv Boots and the birds. Loving- ; ly yt,urs, 1IULDAROSE BKOWN. Aunt Busy is always pleased to hear of your success, little Iluldarose, and she is also pleased for i yu tn remember to write her of your success. You will have quite a bank account by the time you leave the eighth grade. The rewards you receive re-ceive .ire encouraging, but the fact of your doing V- your duty is the best reward, dear. Only think ' how happy you make your dear mamma and papa! Aunt Busy wishes to express her appreciation of ihe pretty little valentine, , I Lulda rose. Accept love for yourself, Kitty-oat, Puss in Boots, the binlies and best wishes for continued -success in fcchool. 4 Cherry Creek, Nov., Feb. 17, 190.1. Dear Aunt Busy: I am in the fourth grade. 31y little sister says she is going to white to you when she gets big. Sister has two little lambs. Well, 1 will close. Your loving niece, MAUDIE. PHALAN. Aunt Busy feared that the little niece in Cherry Creek had quite forgotten her. She is pleased to hear of your promotion into the fourth grade. Give Aunt Busy's love to the sweet baby sister, and write f-ooii again, dear. V Elko, Nov., Jan. 2, 1905. Dear Aunt Busy: I will write a few lines to yen. I have pot a little baby sister. ' I am in the third reader. !My teacher is named Miss Allen. How do vou feel? I am going to write to grandpa ! pretty soon. Cood-byo, EDNA MURPHY. Aunt Busy is very interested in her Nevada liieees and nephews, and she would like to hear from tiieni more frequently. What is the baby sister's name, Edna i Give her a big kiss for Aunt Busy. HIS DAY IN BED. "Come, Tommy, wake up now. It is time for you to have your breakfast and get ready, for school," called mamma. Tommv squeezed his eyes so tight together that they almost hurt and puckered his face all up in the attempt to look unconscious and make no answer. an-swer. The babv was crying lustily for her milk, and mamma, was so btisy getting it ready that she did not notice for a few minutes that Tommy did not answer. Then she went to the bedroom door again, and when Tommy heard her coming he be-gau be-gau to breathe in a strenuous and labored manner to show that he was very sound asleep indeed. i -Mamma stood still, looking down lovingly at the l sturdy little form and towseled yellow hair. Tommy Tom-my continued to breathe loudly and kept his face screwed up tight in order to convince mamma that' he was sleeping soundly, but soon the silence became be-came more than he could bear ancThe opened hi3 eyes a tinv bit to see what mamma was doing, and caught her looking full in his face. She laughed then and called him a rogue and a fraud, and told him he must hurry now or he would be late for school. . . . "Oh, mamma, Fm sick. I can't get up. and go to that horrid old school' whined Tommy, sticking stick-ing his fists into his eyes. "Well, for a sick child you seem to be sleeping; very peacefully," said mamma. ( 'That was 'cause I was awake all night and. never bhut my eyes once, and, course, I have to , sleep once in a while," said Tommy, unblushingly. -How perfectly dreadiul! In that case 1 thmk the best thing for you to do is to lie quiet and sleep all day, and I will send a note to your teacher." teach-er." Tommy's heart bounded with joy. Did she really mean it 2 He glanced slyly at her out ot one corner of his eye, and when he saw that she looked perfectly calm he was sure that she was iu earnest. In order to s,hov how happy he was he began to writhe and groan, but stopped suddenly when mamma said: "If you arc in such pain, we had better send for Dr. Pillsbury at once and have him give you some medicine." "Oh, no, mamma," began Tommy, in alarm. '"Fm sure I'll feel all right cr,;no not all right, of course, but lots betted if you will bring me a cup of coffee with lots of cream and sugar in it and a piece of toast, aud some jelly, mid a poached egg, and a cookie, and two pieces of fruit cake." "Why, Thomas Algernon Whitley!" said mamma, mam-ma, achast. " Abreakfast like that would kill a horse." "1 just s'pose a bushel of oats and a big pail of water'd kill me, but if you want me to starve I will, only when papa was- siek, you cried 'cause he couldn't cat, and said he'd never get well if he didn't, so I thought Fd force somethin' down just to please you," said Tommy, in an abused voice. Mamma went out of the room and presently returns! with a bowl of oatmeal, plentifully covered cov-ered with cream and sugar. "I think this will be better for a sick boy," she said. After Tommy had eaten it all and scraped the bowl with his spoon mamma pulled down the shades and went out.closing the door softly, and Tommy cuddled down under the covers, with a long sigh of perfect content. "I guess I'll be sick a whole week, maybe a month," he thought to himself. He closed his eyes, but for some reason he could not go to sleep again. It. seemed strange, for other mornings he knew he could have slept, all day. He imaniged the other boys studying in school and. thought how they would envy him if they only knew. He heard baby's little pattering feet come to the door and she tried to open it, but mamma hurried hur-ried after her. "No, darling, you musn't go in there. Your brother is sick and we must let him rest." ''She won't 'sturb me, mamma. Let her come in while you wash the dishes," said Tommy, gmei-ously. gmei-ously. "Oh, no, dear. You must lie still and rest." So' she 'shut the door and all was quiet again. After hours and hours Tommy was sure it must be almost night, so he went to the door and said, "Has papa come home yet, mamma ?" "Whatever put that idea into your head? It is only 10 o'clock. Go back to bed and try to sleep." Tommy crept back and tossed restlessly from one side of the bed to the other. Then lie began to see faces and animals in the figures on the wall paper, and pretty soon they all rushed toward to-ward the bed, and he fought them and drove them back. Then, after a long while, he rubbed his eyes aud knew he had been asleep and dreaming. "Mamma, I think the bed is getting tired of me. Shall I. sit up a while and let it rest?' But mamma laughed aud told him ue.is couldn't get tired, and sent him back again, for he thc.v.gi.t the bed really did get tired of him. 'and it g;;e a bound and threw him right out on the floor. His head struck against the chair and he began to cry, and mamma came in and helped him back and w .-t a cloth in cold water and laid it on his head. When mamma was rocking the baby to sleep she heard a deep. sigh, and, looking around, she saw a forlorn little figure in pink pajamas at her side, and he said, trying to smile hopefully: ''Don't you think it would make me stronger if I went out doors and took some exercise, mamma f ' It cost mamma an effort to say firmly: "No, indeed. in-deed. A boy who is too sick to go to school is too sick to play." It turned out to be the longest day Tommy had ever known, longer than all the other days of his life put together, but people say that the very longest days end some time, and this one finally did. The next morning one little boy reached the schoolhouse ahead of the others. His. face was very bright and shining from a copious application applica-tion of soap and water, and his hair was brushed until it could never get mussed again. When the roll was called he answered to the name of Thomas Thom-as Algernon Whitley. Catholic Sun. ONLY A YELLOW DOG. A very little girl and a yellow dog wandered into one of the big department stores recently. As they reached the notion counter, where the little girl asked for two spools of white cotton, a kick from one of the floor walkers just missed the yellow yel-low dog. ''If you bring that dog in here again I'll " here the big man looked down at the little girl and, his voice softened 'T'll cut his tail off." Tiny arms clasped the yellow dog lighter, a pair of blue eyes filled with tears, and baby lips trembled. ''Oh, please, mister," said the little girl, "please don't cut off my little dog's tail. 'Cause if you do I never, never could tell when he's happy." f A GENTLEMAN. Let no boy think he can be made a gentleman ' by the clothes he wears, the horse he rides, the dog that trots after him, the house that he lives in or the money he spends. Not one or all of these things do it, and yet every boy may be a gentleman. gentle-man. He may, wear an old hat, cheap clothes, live in a poor house and spend but little money. But how; By being true, manly and honorable. By being civil and courteous. By respecting himself him-self and others, by doing the best he knows, and, finally and above all,vby fearing God and keeping His commandments. FOR ROUND SHOULDERS. The exercise of keeping the elbows straight and throwing the arms back until the back of the hands just touch below the waist line is good to straighten round shoulders. A LITTLE HERO. In the Woman's Home Companion, Commander Command-er Booth-Tucker of the Salvation Army relates the following pathetic incident, which happened at one of their Christmas dinners: "The pathos of such gatherings can easily be imagined. At the Grand Central Palace, New York City, last Christmas day, a bright-faced little lit-tle lad attracted our attention. He had come to receive a basket for his family. He seemed a manly little fellow and waited without "a murmur, holding fast to his precious ticket. There were five other children in the family, he said, all younger than he, and he was 12. Father had liad his foot injured six weeks before by molten lead being" spilled on it. Work was none too plentiful, anvway, but now he was unable to do it if it was to be had. Mother? No, mother 4 couldn't work, either. She'd been laid up for some time with rheumatism. " , , . , ; 'Dear me, that is bad,' sympathized somebody. , iberv looks ipfe; the family?' -"'I takes cares of the family, ma'am,' he au- swered brightly. 'I does the housework, washes the children and looks after things.' "'Your a brick" declared the one addressed. 'But,' as a sudden thought struck her, 'who will cok the dinner for you today ;' "And he answered with a smile, but seriously, 'I will, ma'am.' "God bless him .and the others like him." ' RISKED LIFE TO SAVE KITTEN. Pittsburg, Pa. The "meow" of a kitten which had wandered away from the parental roof and reached a point from which it could not descend developed a hero the other .evening Like many others in whose veins heroic blood flows, the man refused to tell anything about himself. It was about 5 o'clock. Half a dozen persons were passing the corner of Mulford and Brushton avenues, when there came a "m-e-o-w.' It was not the sound which generally awakens the sleeper at dead of night and invites a bootjack or a brick, but a wail of distress. Again it came "m-e-o-w" still more plaintive and a little louder than the first. It came from somewhere in the air. and those who heard it stopped aud looked about. Half a dozen men were returning from a . football game dressed in the armor of the gridiron, ami behind them came a robust, swarthy fellow with a dinner basket on his arm ami a payday look on his face. The attention of all was attracted by the second cry, and as they gazed upward one of the football, players remarked: "Why, it's that kitten. She's been up there since early this morning." Then he pointed toward the cornice which tops the belfry of the Brushton public school. He of the muscular form and contented look gazed aloft, and there outlined against the gray stones of the cornice was a blacy speck. "Is it a cat ?" he asked iu a tongue which showed his Celtic origin. "Sure," was the reply. "She's been up there all day." . "Well, it's evident she can't get down, and if she stays there she will die from hunger or freeze," was the response of the workingman. He walked to the front tloor and rattled it until the building echoed, but only the vibrations of the door answered an-swered his efforts. Then he stepped back in the yard and again gazed upward. The little group outside had stopped, and one advanced into the yard. "Hold me bucket," remarked the man to the one who stood beside him. Walking to the side of the building the fellow pulled himself to the edge of the lower window. He felt around for a moment and started upward. To his trained hands and feet each jutting piece and crevice in the rough stone afforded him hand and foothold, aud in a few seconds he was scaling the front of the building build-ing as if it was a ladder. The little groupoutside increased, and as he went higher they held their breath, expecting every moment to see the climber lost his hold and fall. Five minutes passed and he reached the cornice of the roof. A steep slate roof still separated. him from the belfry, on the roof of which the cat was 'lying. Carefully he made his way over this and reached the coping at the bottom of "the belfry. Then he reached upward. Although he had grown about nine feet in the estimation of the crowd which watched him, he was hot tall enough to reach the cornice of the belfry, and. going to the post which was nearest to the point at which the cat was lying, ly-ing, he scrambled up it. Then he put his, hand out and grasped the feline. There was another "meow," tin's time solf and purring. Then the kitten was placed in the pocket of its rescuer' and the descent was begun. It was made in safety, and when the young man reached the ground he took the ouadruped out, and. brushing its fur, remarked, "Now run home." From the National Humane Educator. How many of our boys and girls know the names of the vestments the priest wears at mass, and that each one has a special significance !1 ' Paste this in your scrap book, or better still, fix it in your memory: . The vestments 'worn, by the priest celebrating mass are six. , . 1. The Amice is a white linen veil, which the priest puts on over his bead aud shoulders. It represents rep-resents the veil with which the Jews covered the face of Jesus when they struck him. . 2. The Alb is a long white linen garment which reaches to the feet of the priest. It represents the white robe that Herod in mockery put upon bur Lord. y. The Cincture, or Girdle, is the cord tied around the waist to hold up the Alb. It represents the cords with which Christ was bound. 4. The Maniple, worn on the left arm, represents repre-sents the chains put upon our Lord, and also the handkerchief with which Veronica wiped his face, 5. The Stole is a narrow band which hangs down from the neck and is crossed on the priest's breast. It represents the cords with which our Lord's neck was bound after his condemnation. It is also the distinct sign of the priestly office and is used in many other ceremonies and blessings. 0. The Chasuble, or outer vestment, covers the body of the celebrant and represents the garment with which Christ was clothed in Pilate's court. The large cross upon the Chasuble reminds us of the cross placed upon Christ's shoulders. At solemn mass, the deacon and sub-deacon wear vestments, vest-ments, called Dalmatics, which resemble the Chasuble Chasu-ble worn by the celebrant of the mass. Michigan Catholic. THE DROPPED STITCH. "T ought to sit down this very minute and go to work on my tray cloth," said Gertrude one bright Saturday morning. "Mamma wants to do it up this afternoon and send it in the 8 o'clock mail, so that Cousin Grace will get it Monday. There's not very much more to do on it, I'm glad to say." But just as Gertrude took up her embroidery materials she happened to see Mable Clark passing by. "I must speak to her." Gertrude said; and hurriedly throwing a wrap about her, sho rushed out. There was quite a conference at the gaio and then Gertrude went along with her friend, for Mable had something at home which she "really must sec." . 1 It was more than an hour before Gertrudo came back to her embroidery. Then the moments seemed fairly to fly, and she began to grow nervous and cross. Faster and faster she worked, and did not notice that her work was not as smooth and even as it had been at first. At last, the tray cloth was finished, and she gave it into her mother's charge to be pressed and made ready to scjid away. "Part of this embroidery isn't nice as you usually do, Gertrude," her mother said, pointing to two or three flowers on which the work was rough and uneven, "And Gertrude, sec this;" and sho showed a place where the silk thread had not been drawn in tightly enough, so that it formed an unsightly loop. ."I'm sorry, -mamma," Gertrude said,- rather impatiently; im-patiently; "but I had to hurry so to finish it. If I'd had another hour, it would have been all right." "There doesn't see to be any way. to fix it," Mrs. Bennett said regretfully; and Grandma Bennett, who had been watching and listening, added :-, "It's almost as bad as finding a dropped stitch when you've finished your knitting. It makes a bad place, the best you can do. Dropped stitches make lots of trouble wherever you find them." "Wtiy you hover find them anywhere except . .in knitting, crocheting or weaving, do you?" Gertrude asked wonderingly. Grandma smiled serenely. "You'll find them all through life, my dear." she said. "And if you don't i mind my saying so, I think this embroidery which you finished up so hastily that you did not do it well, shows a dropped stitched iu your own life." "Why, how, grandma t'J "When you acknowledge to yourself that you ought to sit right down and go to work at it, and then went over to Mablu's and spent an hour, you dropped a stitc hot' duty. And you know yourself, dear. that, it has made a bad place, for the hurry ; that was necessary afterward maK you nervous and. cross, and made it impossible to do tin; work j ad well as you would have liked." "I gut ss that's true, grandma." Gertrude answered an-swered slowly. "A dropped stitch, is more serious than I thought. I'll try not to drop any more.' GENIUS AND THE IIAT-BRFSII. "Don't think, because you are learning ('reek you should forget to brush your Sunday bonnet," , writes an American paragrapher. and the advice I holds a truth which is wefT worth ingrafting on , many a busy life. It is not uncommon, .for young women especially, especial-ly, to fancy that some lofty pursuit or great work absolves one from the small duties and trivial requirements re-quirements that are binding upon ordinary mortals. Carelessness in appearance, brusqueness of manner, neglect of common courtesies, should be condoned, j we are told, in those "who are busy about more im-. im-. portant matter-, and have no time to think of such j little things." But such excuse, however charitably we may J offer it for others, is one we should never begin to ' make for ourselves. Nothing is trivial which af-! af-! foots the feelings and comfort of those about us. or the power of our influence over them. No eloquent advocacy of a noble cause can atone for needless untidiness in the dress of the advocate. No-amount of genius can excuse one from being, first of all, a Christian gentleman or lady. Selected.