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Show ...our Boys ana- Girls... I EDITED DY AUNT SUSY. ! I ffcl Cepartment Is eor.fiuetea solely in th iatr I I cf cor 8T1(J boy I f i.3flt Busy is ld to hear any l! mo trom Lh I I tiecf nPw" uho thJs pag-e. anS to rtrt I I tfcun &n tf1 8iv!e and he'.p In htr power. I Writ on one i2 of th paper only. I not hare letters too Ion. I Original stories and verses will t a-ladly receive i ! .ad caifn"y edited. J Iht manuscript of contribution not accepted wt'J I (, returned. , I Ad8" "n tte Aunt Bust. Intermountais I catholic. SaIt Lake C,ty' j THE KERRY COWARD. I ilike Carney sat loosely on a heap of slag dur- j f ing lie last two minutes of the noon hour, the ' emrtt (Jimi0r l,ail wllicn hun from his looked fin- -gpr? swinging backward nad forward rhythmically ) ! fretweni his knees. His bine eyes, looking straight I j fLer.d. held lhat blending of guilelespness and mys- i ticism which is the birthright of a religious people. I I Dovni to the end of his short nose Aiike's face ! juiplit b.'tve boon a fit study of a fifteenth century ; jnemk. b'-it his mouth belied all that, apparently j J.avir.g been formed for no other rcrson on earth I ,ut to whistle an Irish jig, and ihe sight of it thus f (HFiipfd vfl- sufficient to cure one forever of the j idea tliflt life wh dull. : At present his lips puckered more lhan once. ' ' but only a lone note, which seemed to have gone sftray from the re-t of the tune. Something be- pan to prow in his eyes, burning away their mysti- ci'Hi and revealing a subtraluin of quicksilver. . "Tisn'i fair, be gob!" i , He st up aud faced ihe brick wall opposite, t flli iIiourIi il va the president of the wire works l.iuwlf. ' "'lis clmtu-e enough ihe vorkiii'mnu has to j tk'. Jinyb""' " Hit roi.-e slopped as if broken. Cringed into liimsf-lf. b- sank b;n-k on ihe slag, torn between ihr conviction that "'twasift fair" and the Irish- ' nuin'x inherent ;ilborrcnce of "informing."' s "An', si::.', wliei'c'd be the use?" he soliloquized, ' liis mental attitude seeming to descend despondent- i y wiih lii- body. "Don't they know 'tis done, an l j fYCI.t U.M. IV.-'. Mm an hour later, when the foreman ordered lii;n io l''h'-i-c a large belt from a shafting to a i roiiiitersliaft wl:ih? the machinery was. in motion, i Carnev looke.1 birn quietly in the eyes and refused, j Hi- glonee had measured ihe danger first. Tt ' v- n jiarticiilarly ugly job. crnnmied near ihe ceiling, ceil-ing, .ninpared 1o whi.-h the lelt lie had replaced i iIki' ni'fiiing was as c-hild's play, j "Vcii'Il not do it C "Not wliile -lie's runnin I'll mt do it." ' The foreinaii's strong young hands closed and i un-b'se'l at bi- sides. He was ten years the Irish- '. man's junior, with his record still to make. The i eve- which answered Mike's narrowed to points of i sjcel. For a moment the two men regarded each oihtx with a peculiarly still, flat look. "You Kerry coward!" ' The measured words were like tlie hiss of es- i raping steam scalding the Irishman's face. All the j i fighting blood of his race showed in the one tin- I lorw shaft of blue that leaped from his eyes. ) Liko a felled log the foreman went down. 1 Very quietly "Mike picked up his belongings and . left the shop. Xot even the certainty that he had ! lost his job and the beating thought of five small 1 mouths at home to be fed could quell the fierce ! satisfaction in what he had done. For an ho.ir he vfilked. hugging it savagely to his breast. Then, as lip ascended the steps of his tenement, it seemed I suddenly to ooze out at his finger's tips. Xora's ? ryes, while she stood on the small piazza hanging out clothes, were as mirrors from which all the I grim, bare facts attendant on being ''out of a job'' I looked back at him with cruel distinctiveness. I Margaret Tlartman leaned her arms on the 1 able nnd looked across the silver and cut glass at her I liuMiand. Her white face and wide open eyes still 1 hdd the tremulousness of one who had recently j l'".i in the darkness of a great far. I "But the man." Hartman said, fingering his J glass "I wish you had found out his name, Con- stance." f "I know. dear. But. Henry" her hand went t to her heart. Ilrrtman felt reproached as he I Tatehd the added pallor of her face "oh, it -was I fill o sudden, so awful. thoe mad horses with the I trailing harness and wrecked carriage, the fearful j reoklo-sness of it. as they came down the street! f And then, when baby left Anna and came toddling unf(.n.ciously across to where I sat on the piazza " I "There, dear, don't go over it any more." nart- in on came around the table and put his hand on l'is wife's shoulder. ''The man." she went on, after a pause, ''has I bom hanging around here lately. I have fancied i fmetirne ihal he wished to speak to you or me. had babv safelv in my arms I looked at him I I lip had the kindliest blue eyes and ssw that he wa? I vtry whin . But when I nsked him if he had been I hnrt he tai.3 no, only a 'bit of a bruise' where the 1 shaft grazed his shoulder. It was the quickness nd coolness with which he did it, Henry, that I siunred nie. And no sooner had he grabbed baby I Than his mouth puckered in the funniest way, and I h' sauntered up to me whistling an Irish pig.' I Hartman's brows drew together. I "Tt couldn't be of course, not '' I "vVho, dear!"' I "Carney, my little jig whistler. And that re- I minds me lhat I haven't seen him around since I I got home." The superintendent of the Leffiugton wire works went quickly into the library. A moment later hi? ife heard him calling up his assistant by telephone. Mike stood in the Ilartman library two hours later. Hie sensitive face worked as he turned a shabby hat round and round by the brim. "Oh, sure, 'twas nothing, ma'am. I've got five " 'him meself at home," he said deprocatingly. "How does it happen that you're not working, Carney The superintendent looked at him keenly. "Well. sir. you see, 'twas this way: Meself an' arringion had a bit of a disagreement about a belt, and a" WW ilartman'e eyes held his, compelling the truth. "Mr. Hartman, sir" the words rushed from the Wry coward in a choking blurt "I once seen u 'nan tore to bits doing what Harrington bid me do. I " not deny that it's hungry the childer ve necn 5oniet itnes since I've not had ft steady job. but 'tis "utijrrier they'd be if I wasn't here at all. an' I couldn't take the chance." j "Vou don't have to take the chance."' Ilartman ! ??s pacing the floor with hands thrust deep into pockets, the veins on his forehead knotted. "Xo man who works under me will be asked to tafce '".''"noes that I would .not take myself. Did Har-"""ipton Har-"""ipton discharge vou for that" He wheeled sud-nV. sud-nV. facing Hike. sir; no. Mr. Hartman, kit. "We had a few words first, an' Harrington he called me a Kerry coward, an' I hit him a lick." "Did you, though V There was relish in the superintendent's voice. "Oh, sure, 'tisu't harm I'd want to be doin' him," Mike put in quickly. "The lad is a dacent lad enough, an' knowledgable, too; only a bit young, an', sure, that'll mend." Hartman followed him to the door.- "Come down to the works in the morning, Carney, Car-ney, and we'll see if we can't find something for you that'll keep the 'childer' from be!ng nungry m future," he said, genially.' "As to what you did for me this afternoon I can't speak of that yet." Margaret Hartman pushed her husband aside and, taking Mike's hand, raised it to her lips. "He called you a Kerry coward," she said, with heaving breast, while Mike stood transfixed by the beauty of her tear-filled eyes, "but I call you the" bravest man the bravest man that ever lived!" When Mike reached the street he stood and looked at his hand in the moonlight. "Wisha, now, to think of that," he said reverently. rever-ently. "Faith. T dunno but I'm glad he called mo a Kerry coward." M. Louise Cummins iu The Catholic Messenger. If There Were No Santa Claus. Long before it's Christmas time, we children always al-ways get So nervous-like and anxious that we tease around and fret. Till mother gets distracted and a little mad, I fear. And says she almost wishes Santa wouldn't stop this year. But I know she doesn't mean it. and I told her so one day, When she sort o' flew to pieces and got talking jes that way; 1 know she doesn't meant it, though she says it, all because 'Twould be mighty lonesome Christmas if there were no Santa Claus. Take it on these winter evenings, when we toddle off to bed; When the good-night kiss is given and the owning own-ing prayer is said: When the moon shines through the window and they've left us all alone. Then we kind o' get to talking in. a solemn undertone. under-tone. 1 Why, we always speak of Santa and we wonder what he'll bring. " I We know he'll guess our wishes and will not forget a thing. ! So. we keep on at our chatter till the dream-man j calls a pause "Twould be mighty lonesome Christmas if there were no Santa Claus. So. when mother gets excited 'cause we children fret around. And chides us for our nonsense and scolds us good and sound; When she says she's dreading Christmas and heaves a heavy sigh As she says she hopes old Santa will whip up and jes' drive by; I know, perhaps, we're naughty and our actions may offend, But Santa Claus can really count on mother as a friend. She wouldn't have him skip us on a Christmas Eve because 'Twould be mighty lonesome Christmas if there were no Santa Claus. The Lesson of Christmas. Let us enjoy Christmas to the utmost, with hearty good will and thankfulness. Let us, one and all, give full scope to all our best impulses of affection af-fection for family, kindred and the brotherhood of humanity. Christmas comes but once a year, and it should come not only to warrant a day or a week of feasting and the exchange of gifts, but as a recurring re-curring lesson, teaching us a broader spirit of charity and benevolence to those whom fortune has forgotten to favor, and of compassion for ihe erring and weak, as well as love for the institutions largely founded on the principles of justice and right taught by Him whose birth is this day commemoratedunder com-memoratedunder which we are free, prosperous and happy. The Chistmas Goose. When comes the Yuletide season, The Christmas goose we sing! All laden down with juices brown, A toothsome offering. A Christmas goose some argue Is every trusting child, Who Santa Claus adores because His socks with gifts are piled. A Christmas goose they'll tell you Well known to all is he I Poor patient dad, whose purse must add V' To every charity. ' A Christmas goose not really Is mother, anxiously At work with zest, so fearful lest Forgotten some may be. The Christmas goose why, he's The biggest goose, I fear, Who naught will spend upon a friend Nor love nor sympathy will lend On the best day of the year. ' May Kelly, in Woman's Home Companion for December. What You Should Practice. Keep your own secrets, if you have any. When you 6peak to a person look him or her in the face. Drink no kind of intoxicating liquors. Ever live (misfortunes excepted) within your income. Avoid temptation, through fear you may not withstand it. Xevcr borrow if you can possibly avoid it. Keep yourself innocent if you would be happy. AYhen you retire to bed think over what you have done during the day. Head over the above maxims at least once a week. The Christmas Masses. In missionary countries priests are granted the very special privilege of celebrtaing two masses on Sundays and holidays of obligation when a number of the faithful would otherwise be deprived of assisting at mass. On Christmas day every priest enjoys the privilege of celebrating three masses, even though the same congregation may assist as-sist at all of them. Catholic Ceremonies thus explains the privilege: "The Catholic faith recognizes three substances in Jesus Christ." says Innocent III. (Senri. LTI. in Xat. Domini), "tlie divinity, the flesh and the pouI. The Scriptures tpeftk of the three birthi of the Sou of God; His divine birth in the bosom of His Father; His birth according to the flesh of the Virgin Mary; His spiritual life in our souls. The mystery of these three births is represented to us by the three masses celebrated by the Church on : this day." . j A Belgian Christmas Legend. The children of Belgium have a charming Christmas legend about Santa Claus' pony. They always place their wooden sabots on the window ledge, stuffed full of oats, hay and fodder for the "Dear Christmas Pony." In the early morning they run on tiptoe to look; and behold! the hay is all gone, and the shoes are brimming over with toys and sweetmeats. Then the children clap their hands with glee and wish they could only1 have waked in time to see the pony munching his oats. That would have been such fun ! Conundrums. When was a piece of wood like George V? When it was made into a ruler. What is that which no man wishes to have, yet never wishes to lose? A bald head. What is the difference between a French pastry cook and a billposter? One puffs up pastcand the other pastes up puffs. What is the first thing a man sets in his garden? gar-den? His foot. Why are some men like pipes? Because they are mere sham. If a man bumped his head against the top of the room, what stationery article would he get? Ceiling whacks (sealing wax). What is a good thing to part with? A camb. Why is the Bank of England like a thrush? Because Be-cause it often changes its notes. Spoke to the Class. Pauline, who had been attending school for almost al-most two weeks, was telling of the misbehavior of some of her little classmates. At her mother's question as to whether it had ever been necessary for the teacher to speak to her. Pauline answered quickly: "Oh, no. mamma." Then, "She had to speak to all the class but me this afternoon." "Why, what did she say?" "Oh, she said, 'Xow, children, we'll Avait until Pauline is in order.' " His First Words. "I guess," remarked simple old Farmer Hoe. "that we'd better have Andrew stop studyin' so hard. 'Tain't good for his mind." "I haven't noticed anything unusual," answered his wife. "Xo? But I have. When he comes home from school for his holidays, after travel in' scores and scores of miles, what do ye think his fust words was ?" "IdW "He says, 'Well, father, I'm half-back now.' "I looked at 'im, and I says, 'What do ye mean?' "'Just what I say. I'm halfback.' "I says: 'Andrew, don't ye realize whare ye are? Ye ain't half back. Ye're all the way back and I'm glad to see ye, too.' And all he done was to jes' laugh and say he'd tell me all about it some time." First English Piano Made by Monk. The idea of the piano was conceived independently indepen-dently about the same time by three persons in different dif-ferent parts of Europe Schroter, German organist; organ-ist; Marius, French harpsichord maker, and Bar-tolomeo Bar-tolomeo Christofali, harpsichord maker of Padua. Priority of invention (1714) is due to the Italian maker. Schroter 's discovery was followed up iu Germany Ger-many by Silbermann of Strasburg, Spat of Iiatis-bon. Iiatis-bon. Stein of Augsburg, and others. The first piano seen in England Avas made at Rome by Father Wood, an English monk there. Origin of Some Words. The lemon, it is said, takes its name from the city of Lima. Loadstone is a corrupt translation of Lydius lapus, the stone of Lydia. The Avord money reminds us that the coinage of the Romans was struck at the temple of Juno Mo-nieta, Mo-nieta, the goddess of counsel. "Dollar" is from the German thaler, which is derived from Thai, the valley of Joachim, in Bohemia, Bohe-mia, where the silver Avorks were situated that made this coin. ' The word "panic" has a curious origin. According Ac-cording to Herodotus, the god Pan was supposed, to haAe assisted the Greeks at the battle of Marathon, Mara-thon, 490 B. C, striking such a terror into the Persian Per-sian host that they fled to their ships in perfect dismay. From that time the Greek word panikon was used to describe Unreasonable or sudden and overpowering fear. Good Resolutions. Good resolutions are neA'er a short cut to good works. Carefully thought out plans and earnestly made resolves are valuable only as they bring into plain sight the duties that we ought to be doing. They are AA-orse than useless Avhen we let them take the place of duty doing, as we so often do. ! A man will, on his way from his house to his office at the beginning of the day, make such good plans and resolves for that clay by the time he reaches his office he has unconsciously let himself think that the hardest part of the work is already done, and then the real doing of it evaporates in the glow of the plan making. It is better for most people to spend more of their time on Avhat needs to be done than on planning plan-ning when and how they will do it. An unplanned duty done is better than a duty that always remains planned for. A Christmas Prayer. 0 Blessed Child, keep me child-like, but give me of Thy strength, liet me hold to Thee, and not to any of my fellow-creatures. Let me not demand of my fellows that they fill the needs which Thou alone canst fill. Let me not put my trust in millionaires, mil-lionaires, or middlemen, or politicians. Be Avith me 'in light on my own affairs, temporal and spiritual. Be with me in strength to bear my own responsibilities responsi-bilities and to stand on my own feet. Seven Kinds of Christmas Givers. First Those who give spontaneously and generously, gen-erously, hut only to themselves auto-giA-ers, they might be called. Second Those who give thoughtlessly, without any real or high motive givers of the occasion, as it wete. Third Those Avho give as a sop to conscience and self-esteem; in a species of atonement for the evil they do penitential givers. Fourth Those who give as a matter of display, to win public applause for. their generosity theatrical theat-rical givers. - . Fifth Those who give because others give, because be-cause they are expected to give and are ashamed not to give, and therefore give grudgingly1 conventional conven-tional givers. i SixthThose "who give because titey fel they ought to give; who give through a sense of duty, and not through love moral givers. Seventh Those who give in the spirit of Jesus: who give because they love their neighbor as themselves, them-selves, and above all things desire to help him spiritual givers. To which kind do you belong'? The New Freeman. Free-man. The Telewriter. An ingenious instrument called the telewriter has been installed in London and promises to revolutionize revo-lutionize present-day telegraph and telephone methods. meth-ods. By means of a telewriter one may send a message mes-sage which will he permanently recorded by the in-stiument in-stiument of the person to whom the message is sent. The telewriter provides a transmitter and receiver, re-ceiver, each provided with a'peucil controlled by jointed arms, on the "pantograph" principle; and what a man writes or draws on the transmitter ap-" ap-" pears simultaneously in fac simile on the receiver. There is no noise, no room for misunderstanding, no delay, no telegraph messenger; all that is necessary neces-sary is to hang up the telephone receiver and so bring the telewriter into play. The Italians have a proverl) "Hear, see and say nothing, if you wish to live in peace.'' |