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Show I I : Aunt Bu b . . i . 0 I J LEITEE-WEITING DIRECTIONS. . I ; ' ; ! rite on one side of paper only, t, I 1 3 o not have letters too long. J 1 .Address all letters to "Aunt Busy," In- j tersnouiitain Catholic 5 Patience With the Living. ? I t-'v. t friend, when thou and 1 are gone J ivvimd earth's wearly labor, I a i,.-n shall be our need of grace N K;ni comrade or from neighbor; I I iM'-d all the strife, the toil, the care, 15 .-.u dune with all the sighing; i Whit tender truth , shall, we have gained, I Ali-I t sinnb'. dying! : I j ti n livs too chary of their praise I j will tell our merits over: ' j ,n l --yes too swift our faults to see '' ' .Siuiii no defect discover; ) T! n hands that would not lift a stone f where atones were thick to cumber I I Our steep hill path, will scatter flowers ' I Above our pillowed slumber. . " . f ) gweet friend, perchance, both thou and I, ; ...re love is past forgiving, fheuld take the earnest lesson home ' ; )!' patient with the living. ! Today's repressed rebuke may save ) f Our blinding tears tomorrow; i Then, patience, e'en when keenest edge j May whet a nameless sorrow! i 'Tis iiisv to be gentle when ) j I leath's silence shames our clamor, I And easy to discern the best ) J Through memory's mystic glamor: f . Km wise it were for thee and me, , ; i Kre love is past forgiving, ' , j t take the tender lesson home j Jlnve patience with the living. ) I t I i The Old Mission Bells. I 1 Vp on the grand Sierras the shadows i j come and go, i j . ,nd ihe bells of old San Gabriel are ring- I ' ing here below, I In the footsteps of the padres we pause, and faintly trace i f Their footprints in the valley, as they j went from place to place. ! We see the suintly Serra, tired and worn f ! and pale, . - . 1 ? Tie;i ling the narrow pathway, on the old i Mission trail. I'nmindful of the shadows, or of the lioondav heat. - ! ir plods along the valley, oft wounding i weary feet. And hf mystic night comes stealing as ; the rtadre wends his way, A warm dusk hides the valley, the moun, I tain jieaks are gray, i We jiause to gaze for a little space over ' this hallowed, sacred place; f And the bells ring ut, as the sun goes t down, over the foothills, bare and i brown. Tlie erimson flush has faded from Sierra's massive brow, . - I And the sweet tones of the Angelus are softly ringing now. ; AVe recall the days of romance, of Spanish j song and tale. I As the bells of old San Gabriel ring out i acros-s the vale. I "We see the gav senora and Spanish I maiden fair. I And the haughty senorita, with blossoms in her hair.. 1 1 And sweeping down the hillside comes a i stately cavalcade, . Hie air is filled with perfume, as the I orange blossoms fade. I And the bills' sweet, mystic music floats ? in from the silent past. ! And in the twilight shadows blends soft- t iv with the blast. I The radiant light has vanished over the I mountains grav; . I And the bells of old San Gabriel toll out tlu- parting day. I f Kathryn AVallace. t . I, Aunt Busy Has Her Say. I Dear Nieces and Nephews: Aunt I Busy extends to all of her dear nieces j I and nephews best wishes for a Merry ? Christmas and a happy New Year. May all the blessings of the Yule-tide season 1 attend Aunt Busj-'s dear girls and boys is the wish of their loving j AUNT BUSY. Euth's "Thank You" Letter. i Ruth skipped to the door to see what : ! 'lie mail carrier was bringing. Then ' i e,)nie a delightful squeal,, and she danced back, her eyes shining as she ' ' tore the envelope, and something "fat and soft" fell out. 3 "(,h: oh! Look, mother! A lace handkerchief for me, and I never had . i . 'n before. And here's a note, and it I ': 'For my dear niece Ruth, from i l 'r Aunt Mary, -vvtih her love in every : i ciih of the stitches.' " : "It's a beatty." said mother. "You v'id want to write and thank aunty f f"r i:. and you surely ought to send a : v '!' i.ice letter for such a pretty pres- a ''pt. s.'e if you can make every letter I i'i:ht. just as aunty did every stitch." I j Ilinh was sewn, and had learned to I i so well that her father, who was a t:i ding man, was very proud of f t'ers his little girl sent him. He I i!'-ys kept them, and carried them f I tr,ui,u in his vest pocket. She knew I ah..e; npjtais and periods and com- ' 'V,';s "I"' could spell the words in the ; 1';"?; i ader, and some in the Second f : Ke. lf,o. When she wrote, every 1 : J"',?"!' '''as round like chubby Ruth her- s 1 1 as plain as print. "Verdiggle s ' explained Rtuh. 1 "-dy 'thank you' letter's all done," S u'iceri ituth, with a tired sigh. j ',;! rr''i it to you, mother, and you j I i J"1' : if it's nice enough to send to j i " ."r max near, toveiy, oeauuiui ! I '':-:k..tvhief." Then Ruth read this j ai'.n-i : f f . r Aunty: The map you sent I t m'' f th. sweetest one I ever had in all I iny It is too pretty to use. so I ; fim c.,in? l0 n jn the front of my ! ' "'''7- :h" way mother does hers. I I i ''" my love and a big, big thank I J(;;- Y..nr loving niece, RUTH." : . ! I hear you read 'map'?" ex- t ,vu'!"'' Mrs- ymour; and she lifted ! I ; u"'' f'T a look. . . . .,-.. I 1 , .' V ' 'I. course it was a handker- ; .!,,,"''' Sili,J Rulh' f'herfully, "but I f ,n;:!' on purpose, 'cause you said j s r,',s. 1;' : 10 -be a nice letter, and Ii ! t every word right. And I I a; ! kiiow how to spell handkerchief, I 1 1 'i"! know how to siell 'map.' vo 1 " J I'"! map. But map'll be all right," I I dfe-" ri UuUl- vvith confidence, Vaus 1 ' ..,iH,'",l Ruth, with confidence, "!-,. aumy knows what she sent course- she does." "ent PlU,h s "thank you" letter "was ! vh.1 ws il was- an(5 aunty knew and th mpant of course she did vo-ln Vits d'-ihted to see that her 1 ixarn "Iece na,i spelled every vo:d d,lii' right Youth's Companion. ; , ti Stones or CandyP PoinV"'1!' my Iittle fellovv.' what are you Mr c do with those?'!. -asked '.old i boy -r?ssley. after watching a small Pick up three or four of the largest stones that he could find on the road. "I'm going to . throw them at Bill Keilly when h comes back this way," answered the boy, readily. "He threw a whole lot at me." "But don't you think it would be j better to throw him some of the candy which you have in your hand?" -was' the old man's next .quest ion. "That i would do him more good, and you too, 1 my son." . , . Then Mr. Crossley passed on, leaving leav-ing Ned to ponder over the question, "Which should he ithrow stones or candy?" The little fellow looked wistfully wist-fully at both. At. the stones, because he longed to show his skill in striking strik-ing the enemy; -and at the candy, because be-cause he longed to eat it all himself. He cared not to use even one bit for makinp- --hv, o .r,r n-v, v,Qi wronged him.. But Ned was a reasonable lad, and, after thinking, over the matter carefully, care-fully, he could not help seeing that Mr. Crossley was right. But it was very hard fop him to Igt go of the stones and make a determination to share his candy with rough Bill Reil-ly. Reil-ly. But he did this very thing, and thereby gained a greate victory than he who conquers a vast army. By and by Bill Reilly came skulking around the corner, looking in this way and that to discover what had become of V-O dAA1,r f 1 I cealment, out popped the little fellow. "Have some candy. Bill?" he asked. ! But Bill appeared incredulous, and, after assuring himself that Ned's other hand contained no stones, he walked up closer to him and said, "Jokin', ain't yer?" "No, indeed; I .want you to have some." And Ned put half of the precious "candy- into his companion's dirty hand ' j 1 ... For a moment both were silent. Then, as great tears streamed down Bill's face, he said: 1 " 'Scuse me, Ned, but poor Bill Reilly ain't used ter sech. Why didn't yer chuck stuns back at me? Never mind, I'll never do it agin,-and agin,-and I'll pity him as does that is, if Bill Reilly knows it." Selected. Ten Poor Boys. William McKinley's early home, was plain and comfortable and his father was able to keen him at school. Millard Fillmore was a son of a New York farmer and his home was . a humble one. He learned the business" of a, clothier. Andrew Jackson was born in a log hut in North Carolina and was reared in the pine woods for ; which his state is famous. . -- ; . ... John Adams, second president, was the son of a grocer of very moderate means. The only start he had was a good education. - . Grover Cleveland's father was- a Presbyterian minister with a small salary sal-ary and a large family. The boys had to earn their: living. Ulysses S. Grant- lived the life of a village boy, in a plain house on the banks of the Ohio river, until he was 17 vears of age. Abraham Lincoln was the son of a wretchedly poor farmer in Kentucky ! and lived in a log cabin until he was 21 years old. James K. Polk spent the earlier years of his life helping to dig a living liv-ing out of a farm in North Carolina. He was afterward clerk in a country store. Andrew Johnson was appreuucu w a tailor at the age of 10 years by his widowed mother. He was never able to attend school and picked up, all tha education he ever had. - James A. Garfield was born in a log cabin. He worked on a farm until he was strong enough to use a carpenter's carpen-ter's tools, when he learned the trade. He afterward worked on a canal. Detroit De-troit Free Press. Lullaby Land. j ship is sailing for Lullaby Land; And what may the cargo be? A tvooly dog and a china Xaw "hat V trumpet of tin and an old torn hat, " Are ready to go to sea. For Lullaby Land her sails are set O prav ve the winds be true! She will gently glide over the, sea of Dreams.. ..... , . 'Mid the moonbeams bright and the starlight star-light gleams, 'Neath the skies of sapphire hue. Now "All aboard for Lullaby Land!" One tiny traveler to go The wooly dog and the trumpet of tin Two chubbv hands have folded within, While a golden head drops low. Far Lullabv Land is reached at last; The captain's duty is done By her sweet low voice and her face so She has saaed the " ship the rocking chair . ' To the Land of the Setting Sun. Lena S. Thompson, in Good Housekeeping. Housekeep-ing. . " - ' ': ' .' . |