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Show jC "")' . ' i for 1 LETTER-W SITING DIRECTIONS. write on one Fide of paper only. tarv lf r."L h.ive letters too long. H1 - "i Adc:rp:-s .all letters to "Aunt JLUsy," In- , n" Mrniou..iain Catholic l"riT ' Pn- L Her Name. lurv n, '..tcj! Could you find rne, all(j I i little frightened baby, toy f T!i" i'"i has tossed her golden fleece, of 1 Th.- stftv hiis scratched her dimnled Ji;. J kn-es: i 2 s' ""i anr' 5 i f ted her up with ease, for Aii i softly whisperedv "Maybe." day ex- "T'. li me your name, my little maid, Jen- I caii't lind you without it." 'Fed "My name is Shiny-eyes," she paid; "Vts, but your last?" She shood her head: 'er- "l"p t' my house y never said by a sinirle fing- about it." i "Hut, dar." I said, "what is your iianit1'.'" -Why. -didn't you hear me told you? nr- L'tist Shiny-eyes." A bright thought m' came: r,i" "Yes. when you're pood; but when they es" blame ! You. little one is't just the same Whn mamma has to scold you?" an tn "My mamma never scolds, she moans, j A little bluph ensuing, j " pt when I've been a frowing i l'' stons. And then she says," the culprit owns, . . 'Mehetabel Sapphira Jones, rnr What has you been a-doing?" o'" Aunt Eusy Has Her Say. Pear Nieces and Nephews: Aunt Busy has not heard from any of the ; children in Eureka. Utah, for ever su in j 1'iriK. Now, what is the matter? For a long time she had a number of dear ! ni-rff and nephews there, but very ' ' suddenly their letters disappeared from rl1 Ann; Busy's department. c' .l Perhaps the Eureka boys are like a f'v of Aunt Busy's Ogden nephews. "Ir ; Perhaps they have taken to . wearing I irK k ooate, high collars, and "pro- ,1 J ii.iuneed" neckties. v, Should this be the case then Aunt s. ; -Uisy need never expect to hear from r" "I the nephews, but she ?annot imagine j wh-U the Eureka nieces are wearing to ,g nvike them forget her. h I What has become of the dear lads, I ml what has become of the dear las- ' I; '-: Aunt Busy sits patiently at her (,j ; ?'"Hk day after day waiting for letters, v If U'itc it not for a few dear faithful ;'u II children who never neglect her. Aunt j Busy would indeed be a very "much-to- 1 II '-pitied" old woman. 4 If AUNT BUSY. t Letters and Answers. t II Rawlins, Wyo., Feb. 9, 1903. ; f I peSr Aunt Busy: I am a little girl R i rs .id, and I am a sister to Frank Is M-TEan, who is writing you a letter i fj -so. I think I will join the "Rosebud J i 'larden" and become one of your j .Tieces. as so few of the Rawlins girls fi and hoys write to you. Well, I will j fci tiose for this time. Your little niece, f j MARGUERITE MORGAN! f t Ton ar" a very welcome little "Rose- ' hud." little Marguerite. Aunt Busy I , 1'rends to call the Rawlins nieces her j. ' rosebuds." But what can she call the ?; T.av. iins nephews? Perhaps the nieces : 'R'1 help her out. You write an excel - I if -nt hand for a wee 8-year-old, Mar- EUTite. Write often to Aunt Busy, and r!fase try to induce more nieces "ni nephews to write, also. I Rawlins. Wyo.. Feb. 9. 1903. ; l"ar Aunt Busy: As I paw by last I ek's pajM-r that you wished the Raw-si Raw-si ''!.- I' -ys to become your nephews, I j th;i,k 1 will write you a few lines. ' I i fin "1 years old. and I am in the fourth l f-- po to the Sisters' school. Well, If 1 thir.k this is nough for the first 1 1 ' n:e The next time I will be able to jf v "i'e more. Your loving nephew. If FRANK MORGAN. f Avt-t Busy feels very happy over f, :V.:'1,n:r 'ar new nieces and nephews. h hright girls and boys of Rawlins ; ' ' r deed welcome. Aunt Busy would "I "r' '' have more Wyoming nieces and il r; . s Perhaps now. from your p " 1 1 example, a few other nephews will '' Aunt Bufv's best correspond- '" 's "' she boys. Of course she does; ! v-3nt the nieces to know she says i; ' c- but ft is the truth. has very dear nieces, but they ' ' ' write as regularly as the dear I..';:,''A Your penmanship is good, ' Write soon again. Smallest People in the World. ;t'.e. inhabitants of the Andaman isl-'!. isl-'!. ar".1h smallest race of people in ' The .average height of a full ' ' An'Ja'an is 4 feet 5 inches, and ',A '"'h nver seventy-six pounds.) a-j 'Vi ma'velously swift of foot and :rv., 'V S!nPar themselves over with a' vi 7 : ' "f "'' and red ocher present a ' Mr;inSf appearance. Few travel- . e. ' encounter any of these bel- ' f r','.'s' u,p Peorio, for their skill in I! 1,,',', 'V,!s spear and in using the if ,,r!lv equaled by their readiness ' '' strangers. "you Can Never Unsay the Words." Pi W1 'ur lightsome spirit, . l Ari' Ila f'J beaming face. ' '"u"Ur Riaf3- -vounr life surrounded I The,',, '''"r love and grace, '", '1T ,,ars in the eyes of your r 'noitur, I Ar."VU 'h"m dr,,PPinR slow i fi "u ,flli never unsav the words r r -Vr'ti said lj "'" lUxf hour ago. U 1 Thr S S hX for you- darlin&. r,u, ' ,a'h s,'"eiches wide and fair, ' vu forget the dear home 'f rhnt'i 171r,t,KJrs Patient care?' careless words, the impatient n'', Yet1'..1 mis-sion.is cruel. as a blow. 'u an never unsay the words , J'" f-aid "lp "'tie hour ago. 1 oJftKay whcn ,he fingers of silence vn those grieving lips are laid. . i And ereetirlr1" neithr we,come nor YoruhwiMhny-n"r h,earl is Eore 'lmayed. her woun1s 'u eave While in vain your sad tears flow. or you can never unsay the words ou said One little hour ago. Charlotte E. Fisher. Story of a Poor Boy. -Very FZor boy was Iittle Martin, On! 7Ineu hlS bread by doinS errands. ne fJay he was returning from a vil-ifnmJV vil-ifnmJV I1 waa quite distant from his f' aVd' feling t5red- h sat down under a large tree, near an inn. to rest, w bile he sat there, eating a piece of bread which he had taken for his din- C1 nv saw a nandsome carriage driv-vluJV driv-vluJV in w.hich sat a young gentleman and his teacher. Martin looked at them attentively and then looked at his crust of bread and his ragged clothes and bid cap-and cap-and he could not help sighing as he said, half aloud: "Oh. dear! If I were but that young gentleman, instead of being poor Martin, the errand boy! iiow I wish I could change places with him!" The teacher chanced to overhear what Martin said, and told it to his pupil, who, leaning out of the coach window, beckoned Martin to come near. "So, little boy." said he. "you would like to change places with me, would you?" "I beg your pardon, sir," replied Martin; l meant no harm by what I said." "I am not angry vith you." said the young gentleman; "on the contrary, I am quite willing to change places with you." "Oh. now you are joking!" cried Martin; "no one would wish to change places with me, and. least of all, a gentleman gen-tleman like yourself. I am obliged to walk man miles every day, and seldom have anything but dry bread or potatoes pota-toes to tat. while you may ride in your nice carriage, and have whatever vou desire." "Well," said the young gentleman, "if you will give me all you have that I have not, I will in turn give you everything that belongs to me.", Martin started, for he did not know what to say, but the teacher desired him to answer. 'Do you agree to change?" said he. "Oh. yes," said Martin. "I do indeed, if you are in earnest. How the people in the village will wonder to see me coming back in this grand coach!" And Martin laughed at the' idea. The young gentleman then called his servants, and they opened the coacb door and helped him to get out. But what was. Martin's surprise on seeing that both his legs were quite crooked, and of no use to him! He was obliged to lean upon crutches for support and, on looking at him more closely, Martin saw that his face was pale and thin, like that of a person who is often ill. The young gentleman smiled kindly on Martin, and said. "Well, my lad, do you still wish to change situations with me? Would j you.- if you could,, give up your rosy I cheeks for the sake of driving in a carriage and wearing a handsome coat?" "Oh. no not for the world!" said Martin. "And I." said the young gentleman, "would gladly be poor, if I only had the use of my limbs: but as it is God's will I should be lame and sickly, I try to be patient and cheerful, and to be thankful for the blessings He has left me. "And you. my young friend, must do the same. And remember that if you have poor clothes and hard fare, you have health and strength, which are far better than a coach and horses, and what money can buy. Pittsburg Observer. An Untidy Girl. She ccmes tripping home from school, rushes into the house, throws her hat on a chair, her cloak on another, an-other, and rubbers in the middle of the floor, gives her mamma a kiss, and then hurries upstairs to change her dress. Her room is all topsy-turvy, nothing in its place, and mamma has to be summoned to try and find the necessary change of wearing apparel. Such a girl is laying a good foundation for an untidy, slovenly life. These habits will stick to her, and should she marry a man who is neat, tidy and orderly, she will be a domestic thorn in his side continually. Somebody must "straighten up" after such a girl, and usually it is the tired mother who must make the weary steps. Home training has much to do in remedying such habits. Girls and boys, too, should be taught the value of system, of putting things In the proper place. Such training train-ing will be of infinite value in after years. Let all the girls who read this resolve to "have a place for everything, every-thing, and everything in its place." and be sure and carry the resolution into everyday life. Pittsburg Observer. I How the Telescope Was Discovered, j In the year 1590 two children were playing in the garden of the queer old town of Middleburg, Zealand. They J were the children of Jansen, the spectacle spec-tacle maker of the town, and had i taken, while their father's back was turned, some little pieces of crystal ! from his table to play with in the garden. gar-den. Tired of playing they sat under one of the trees to rest. One of the little ones placed a piece of the spectacle spec-tacle maker's glass before his eye and thn held another piece some distance from him, looking through both at the same time. Suddenly he called to his brother: "Come, look here. I have brought tho mountains nearer." Sure enough, as his brother looked through the glasses the mountains seemed to be much larger than without. Ke cculd even see the trees on the side. Quickly running to his father, the old spectacle maker, h'e called him to come to see the magic glasses they had found that made things look bigger. The father quickly saw the importance impor-tance of the discovery, and began to experiment with them. He found that if the glasses were covered with a tube and then arranged so that they could , be. slid together and opened to some distance apart, he could plainly distinguish distin-guish objects a great distance off. He immediately set to work to make an instrument. in-strument. He made a telescope twelve incnes long and sent it to Prince Mau-aih Mau-aih and a!so sent another to Duke Albert, both great warriors of that time. Duke Albert, however, feared that it would not be well for the world L Pu,f'n things came into it, and commanded com-manded him to make no more telescopes. tele-scopes. He did, however, and the great instrument in-strument which today shows us the movements of the stars and is of the greatest benefit to sailors and in fact I 'u in men. was steadily improved. Sir Isaac Newton invented, many years ier, the reflecting telescope, which makes it possible to look at the sun tnrough the instrument, and many great scientists have brought the instrument in-strument to its present almost perfect state. But the first telescope was discovered discov-ered and all the great discoveries that nave come from ft were made possible by two little children playing in a gar- ! aen with pieces of glass. The Kind Little Girl. Mary and her aunt were walking along a. busy street one afternoon. As they passed a confectioner's shop auntie said: "Mary, would you not like a cup of tea. and a cake?" "Oh, yes." Mary answered. And they turned back to go into the shop. Just as they did so Mary noticed a boy with white face and poor clothes staring with hungry eyes into the window, win-dow, in which many nice things were Auntie." she said, "I think that I should like to give that poor boy my cake. He seems terribly hungry." "All right, dear," said auntie, "but you know you cannot both have it. If you like to spend the monev for him. nere it is." Then Mary quickly went into the shop and came out with a cake in one hand and a paper bag of buns in the other, both of which she gave to the boy, and, joining het aunt, !hey walked away. Auntie could easily have found another anoth-er coin for the tea, but she rightly felt that her little niece would be happier if she had given up something of her own that she might do her little deed of kindness, so she only said: "I hope that the boy has a little sister with whom to share his bag of buns." Catholic Mirror. THE OLD CLOWN'S WIFE. The lily that God gave the old clown, John Denier, died Monday withered and died just like the garden lilies after the first kiss of winter. But his sons will be sweet and his jest merry when he whirls on the stage in a night or so for the last time, and you are not going to know that his old heart is broken. It was his wife that died. It was she who waited in the old nights after thousands laughed at his jests and applauded his songs and ditties, and kissed him because he was home with her again. The world did not know her. The clown was all they cried for, and now that she is dead, old John, who held her beautiful beauti-ful head in his thin and wasted arms not long ago, just before the end, says that the world need not known that the death of the lily has broken his heart. There is Viola, the rose that came from the lily, and then there is old Mrs. Fostick and himself, and their tears will fall on the earth of the new grave and give life to the flowers that will grow over the mound. Perhaps that grave will be out on the Ridge, close to where the old home was before the storm which beat it down to a waste, and perhaps some day, after old John has hung up his clown's suit forever, and there is just enough money to build the old home up again, in the evenings when many are telling the little ones how John Denier made them laugh in the long ago. the clown of yesterday will be looking out across the Ridge to where the mound is. The little woman who was the old clown's wife was sweet and kind, and after John grev wrinkled and his voice cracked and there was a hollow ring in his laugh, she would hold his hand just as tightly as she did in the time when the circus men were calling for John, because they wanted the world to laugh for an hour or so every night. That wealth of love drew the man out of the clown, and John began training young men, hardening their muscles and developing their chest expansion, and with each triumph the little woman wo-man and sweet Viola would smile, and that was better to old John than the money and the praise of trie scholars. They made the old clown a professor of athletics in an uptown gymnasium, and. aside from working hard with the young men. he would get up entertainments enter-tainments and he would go back into his old clown suit and sing and jest I for all just to help the affair along, j as he would saw But the club lost favor. The doors were closed and the red flag of the auctioneer was nailed before the place. It sent the old clown out into the world a poor man. but there were his wife and Viola and his sweet mother-in-law, . Mrs. Fostick, and they were willing to go out on the Ridge with him, and he was ready to work all over again and build them a home. So he talked and toiled, and when the city park commissioners gave him a grant on the Ridge for his home, on the promise that he was going to devote his time to strengthening the youths of the bayou, the old clown started building. It was a labor of love, and John nver worried about the sun or the raw cold: he just went on building, build-ing, and when the doors were opened he led his wife and Viola and Mrs. Fos tick into the new home. There were not many who knew that the Deniers were living in the house on the Ridge until the morning of Dec. 2 last, when the storm came up and beat the boards down. Pretty Viola heard the wild song of the wind, and managed to half drag and half carry Mrs. Fostick out of the place and into the open, but before be-fore "the old clown and his wife could get out the wind cracked the house, and it tumbled down, the boards falling fall-ing upon the sleepers. Viola had had her arms built up by her father, and she used her strength, and was pulling the boards away when some men came up and began helping her, and they took the elder Deniers out of the wreck In an unconscious condition. They brought them to the hospital. Some thought that the old clown was going to die. but he heard that his wife and child and Mrs. Fostick were alive and he prayed that he would live, too. and be with them again. Where well. John did not known just where, but he wanted to be with them. He began mending, and not long ago he left the hospital. I But the dear, good woman lingered ! until, three days before the New Year, the end came. The song of the rain against the window panes in the ward of the hospital was over, and the sun fame out and stole through the glass. It found her asleep, and only touched the silver of her hair with the caress of eternity's promise. - , And now the clay of the good little woman Is waiting in the. parlors of Undertaken Schoen, on Elysian Fields avenue,' while Denier, now more .than ever, is waiting the cue that means home beside her. . ' .. . |