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Show 0 I , ZZ turn j V iary f 3 . (i j'j I I Grandma's Angel.. TY ) J Mamma ui'3: "Little one, go and Fee , f 1 If pramimH'fi ready to come: to tea." ! I knew I mustn't disturb her, so ili f f st'Iio.1 as jrentJy along, tip-toe, day I And stood a moment to take a peep I And there was grandmother fast UN, j asleep! 'c!i. j 1 ih?," I 1 knew it was time for her to wake; Bor f j thought I'd give her a little shake, 'J'. r 1 (iv tap at her door, or softly call; 1 p.ui I hadn't the heart for that at all I She looked so sweet and so quiet there, j Lying Lack in her old arm-chair, J With her dear white hair and a little Eg 1 smile, f That means she is loving you all the M. I whi,e' f hiy I I didn't make a speck of noise i"d knew she was dreaming of little boys Ms And girls who lived with her long ago, And went to heaven she told me so. 'Vj I went up close and didn't speak h one word, but I gave her on the cheek y.-. The softest bit of a little kiss, 'er Just in a w hisper, and then said this: "Giandmother, dear, it's time for tea." m. ii, She opened her eyes and looked at me -it And said: "Why, Pet, I have just now !'R I dreamed hl Of a little angel who came and seemed hc To kiss me lovingly on my face." F. I never lold her 't was only me; is I took her hand and we went to tea. fd St. Nicholas. PS L Aunt Busey Has Her Say. iii Dear Nieces and Nephews: Aunt ' j Pusy has had two very pleasant sur- rj. 1 1 irises of late. The first was a very j j large box of beautiful flowers from her I dar nephew. Clark Doolittle, that were sent all the way from Redondo, Cal. Next week Aunt Busy will tell you more about them. Aunt Busy had the beautiful blos- f Foms placed on the altars for Easter i Funday, and she knows that the dear RiVn Savior dearly loves the dear,! '- j brieht lad who aided in his own. sim- l j pie. boyish way, to adorn God's taber- ,i j naf,l? on the Resurrection day. : The other . surprise is a very agree- :i ahle en, indeed. Old Aunt Busv - j j opt-ned her faded old eyes verv wide, I htr passes fell right off of her funny . I old nose, her teeth did not chatter be- fa use she has not got any; and all be- I fa use Aunt Busy heard from some ? flear children at Seattle. The dear, J dear little people have never before j "ritten a line to old Aunt Busy. She ; I p. ,ps to publish their very interesting I Vrs next week. She wishes to ex- I ! her thanks to dear Father Held I find dear Sister Michael for interesting j the children in Aunt Busy's depart- I mr-r.t. If the dear children only knew I how delighted Aunt Busy was to read I 'heir letters, they would surely regret they did not write to her sooner. But next week Aunt Busy will publish the I letters, and the Ogden boys, the dear, ! dp?-r Ogden lads, must "look to their Ii laurels." AUNT BUSY. .Letters and Answers. Omaha, Neb., April 15. i'far Aunt Busy: I have written anther an-ther story, two pages. If you think I that is not too long, I will send it to you. It is "A Story for Children." j jour loving niece, MAE MORE ARTY. f! "A REVERIE." h- would that I were a poet! Ah. I the scenes that I could describe as I j fit here on the window seat in the li- I I'i'ai y. and look out on 'the view which f firsts my hight. I T!l!' scene is Mke fairyland. The MiHv, which is at least a foot deep. ; I loons like a spotless white, velvet car- ? ponces are covered so thickly I v'ith snow that you cannot discern one j 1'i'k--t from another. A wire fence in t . 'he distance looks like a portiere stud- -! ui'h diamonds. The little snow- j hilJs are eagerly picking up the crumbs ; iv.in-h I scattered on the snow near the : ronh. j T'10 children are coming home from I F hool. and far and near you can see I snowballs flying through the air, and si"ds gliding down the hill. Hear the i !i-.y,y snoutf. and laughter of young j 'v-ol,J' 1 thinK of tnat beautiful fur (,r(. hour of youthful joy, (ive back my twentieth spring. Jo. rather laugh a bright-haired boy, ii '"n nign a gray-beard king." II . 4, ani disturbed from my reverie by if : mtrry prattle of my baby brother. 1 1 U! 1 soon relapse again as my eye ,fT'S n a house in the distance where l lh !lU,p baby, the same age 'as ours, and II was his little playmate, too. was 5 ,a,.rird away, never to re-turn, and was 1 1 Pntly to rt underneath many I , i':' - earth. The sun was shining nnchtly then, the air was warm and F i 'u iIny-. Kut now she is in a land where j i ! i!S no cold or suffering. I seem I .? bo Jn a dream again, as these f j ,..r"uehis go flitting through my mind: I ho Fnow had begun in the gloaming, I It i1'1 busi,y a'l the night, d.? bpen heaping fields and highway f Ullh silence deep and white. f u A Eeverie. i Lvrrv j,jn(1 and fir an(J nemjocjii ; frmine too dear for an earl, f , - the poorest twig on the elm tree, a;! 'idged inch deep with pearl. i 'V F,nr,d by the window and watched 'n noiseless work of the sky, J .,1nr sudden flurry of snowbirds, Uke brown leaves, go whirling by. I thought of a mound in Sweet Au-"urn. Au-"urn. , n hc,e a litle headstone stood, 'i aW e flakes vc're covering it gently. fc A did robins the babes in the jl w'oods." : hrtUn Bupy is always deiighted to 1 l)'-irri m you- Mae- You are a ver I 'hat your' irl and Aunt Busy hopes I W- Ju wil1 Persevere in your writing I yr.urt 0U Khow much taIent- Se,11 furJt, y' (3ear- Aunt Busy is very '! ,at it will be interesting. I comrn Pusy alwai'-s eiyc your Dmah s a-warm welcome, dear Dear A,maba' e0-April 14, 1903. ; let? AUnt Busy: This is niy first letter to you. I thought I would wri e ad guess how old you are I think tffwSSfT 60e"rs old 1 1 read Thl TmErade' 1 am 8 years old-; old-; I iffcf , lntermontain Catholic and name of weU- wni you tel1 he gueLfn7 1 thln,k il is nice to have nol rl??es llke that' 1 w51 dose now. Good-bye. Your loving niece. SUSIE MOREARTY. Delighted to hear from you, dear lit- vpU, Unt Busy hopes to hear eiy often from her dear, wee niece. She wishes to thank you for your kind opinion of the paper. Aunt Bus' will 1 ?'..u who guesses her correct age, providing no one guesses it. But, really real-ly and truly, dear, the poor old soul is not sixty. Write very often, Susie. Calder's Station, April 4, 1903. Dear Aunt Busy: Did you get the letters which Raymond and I wrote two weeks ago? I guess your age to be 02 years old. We have taken The In-termountairt In-termountairt Catholic for nearly a year. We live out in the country. I will close for this time. From your loving niece, MARGUERITE E. MULRYAN. . Aunt Busy received your interesting letters, dear, and they were published a few weeks ago. You see, Aunt Busy publishes the letters let-ters of her dear children in turn. This! is why you did not see yours very soon, for Aunt Busy has many, many nieces and nephews. Write often, Marguerite. Marguer-ite. A Fool's Lament. They laugh at me, those cruel boys, They do not think it pains me. But, I tell you, I've known few joys, Now, even my teacher disdains me. But they know not that father drinks,' Arid that I have tried, oh, so hard. To get my arithmetic lesson. No one thinks How I study in our back yard. They think that I am half-witted. Oh. why was! not blest with brains? "He's a fool," they today admitted; "Of sense he has not two grains." Oh. how unkind were these words! They stabbed me deep as a dart; My only friends are the birds; Each has at least a heart. Richard E. Murphy. Aunt Busy is pleased to again publish your well written verses. Richard. Don't you think you were a little morbid mor-bid when j'ou wrote this last article? Aunt Busy likes for the young people to have bright and happy thoughts, because be-cause the sad ones will come into their minds far too early. Think this over, Richard, and follow a bright, cheerful train of thought for the future when writing. A Pretty Game for Children. Fill a basket with clusters of as many different kinds of flowers as possible. Then arrange a list -of suitable quotations quota-tions from the poets, having a quotation quota-tion for each bunch of flowers. When all is in readiness the hostess selects a cluster of flowers from the basket which is placed on a table in the Center of the room, the guests seated seat-ed in a circle about it and a gentleman reads from the list of quotations the one referring to that special bunch. The one guessing the author receives !the flowers. No prize is offered for guessing the greatest number of quotations, the . flowers themselves being sufficient re-( re-( ward. I give a partial list of quotations which may be altered, or added to, to suit the variety of flowers: "A white rose delicate On a tall bough, and straight." Mrs. Browning. "Heighho, daisies and buttercups, Sweet nodding cowslips, they bend and they bow." Jean Ingelow. "It is too late for violets, I only bring their leaves." - Father Ryan. "The roses of love glad the garden of life. Till time crops the leaves with unmerciful unmer-ciful knife." Byron. "Not for the milk-white lilies That lean from the fragrant ledge" Alice Cary. "The daffodils were fair to see. They nodded lightly on the lea." Jean Ingelow. '- ' "Forget-me-not! the sad words sadly quiver On lips, like shadows falling on a river." Father Ryan. "His nivrtle an emblem of purest delight. de-light. His cypress, the garland of love s last adieu." Byron. "Nor the pinks, nor the pale sweet cowslip. It seemeth to me the best." Alice Cary. , "A wild rose roofs the ruined shed." . Coleridge. "To sorrow's own sweet crown With simple grace. The weeping willow bends her branches down." Father Ryan. ". . . And heard The low love language of the bird, In native hazels, tassel hung." Tennyson. Mary M. Redmond in New World. . The Luckey One. "Of course I shall be the one. I'm. oldest," said Edith. "Ko. I shall, because you went away last and I didn't," said Ruth "1 need a change for my health, said nna ' with a drawn down mouth that might truly be the sign of pain, but with rosy cheeks which could be the sign of a very healthy girl. "Whoever goes," said Mrs. Stone, "will have not only the visit, but the new clothes." "Then it will have to be me. because I .haven't a thing left over from last year, and must have new clothes anyway," any-way," said Edith. "1 think 1 might be the one," said Anna, "lor I have a new winter suit all ready." "Which fits me as well as you, and could be borrowed," added Ruth. "Children! " Children!" cried Mrs. Stone, in despair. ' "What would Aunt" Nell say if she were to hear you quarreling quar-reling so over her invitation? She. writes: 'I love all three of my nieces so much that I don't know which one I want to visit me next, so I will leave it for them to decide. Send along the girl who needs the change, and I promise her as nice a time as I know how to give.' " But instead of filling them with contrition, con-trition, this reading of the letter made their to go all the stronger. "Think of the sleigh rides behind the gray pair, all nestled down in those soft black furs!" said Anna, with a sigh, drawing the folds of an afghan about her and half closing her eyes. "I presume you hear the jingling of uie steign oens now,'' said Kulh. a person with such a vivid imagination as you've got doesn't need to go away to enjoy things." "Well, mother," said Edith, with a very grown-up air, "I think somebody ought to go who will do credit to the family, and, of course, I've been out more and know how to act in society better than these children." "These children!" screamed Ruth and Anna, in a derisive chorus; but Mrs. Stone held up her finger with a warning gesture, and then, to the surprise of all, she buried her face in her hands and sobbed yes, mother was crying! The three girls looked at each other in dismay. "Mother!" cried Edith, gently, "what have we done?" "I am so tired of it all," burst out the sobbing woman. "It has been so ever since your father died. Things no sooner get to running smoothly than there is a great fuss over who shall have a new dress, or whose boots are the shabbiest, or who shall go on the picnic. When there are three children there ought to be money enough to divide by three, not by one. I can't decide for you any more. You must choose some way yourselves." The slow tears ran down her cheek. Edith noticed how pale and w-rinkled it was. There used to be color there when the father was alive. And what a shabby dress! "Mother, I've decided who shall go, and it's not myself. Will you all consent? con-sent? And, mother dear, will you let me do all the contriving about clothes and packing, so that you needn't have a thing, to decide about it till the day comes to go?" Mrs. Stone wiped the tears. "I am very much ashamed," she said. "Of course I'll help get any one of you ready. It wras the disputing that troubled trou-bled me." "Just this once, let me, mother," said Edith. "It will do me good, truly." So Mrs. Stone consented, and the two younger sisters were borne away to Edith's room. "Which of us is it?" i asked Ruth. I "Neither." said Edith. "Why, Edith Stone!" said Anna. "You selfish old thing, to choose yourself." your-self." "I didn't," said Edith. "It's it's mother!" "Mother!" echoed Ruth. "Why, she wasn't even asked," said Anna. "No. but Aunt Nell would rather have her than all three of us put together, if she had any idea she'd come. Girls," and Edith's voice trembled, "the money has been divided into three parts when it ought to have been -four. Does mother ever have a new dress? Does she ever go to a picnic or trolley riding? Do we choose her to have the extra orange or the Christmas present that's not marked for anybody? No! We're selfish, that's what we are." "But will she go?" said Anna. "She'll have to," said Edith. "Ruth, you run straight down to Marcy's and say that we've decided to change the blue suit for a black one. Anna hasn't worn it, and there was a lovely plain black for the same price. You don't mind, do you, Anna?" "I'll wear my old one till it falls off," said that young girl, "and imagine it's stylish," with a wink at Ruth. "Her bonnet is all right, and how thankful I am my new silk waist is a plain black one, and too large. It will just fit mother." "And I'll get boots for her instead of skates for me," said Ruth, "and let her choose any of my stocks she likes, and and she may take my new belt buckle, if she'll be very careful of it." A note was dispatched to Aunt Nell, and the loving planning went on till the day for the visit came, and the I mother was still in ignorance. She had thought it wise to let Edith arrange ar-range things this time, and had not tried to solve the mystery. At 10 o'clock the three girls stood before her. "In one hour," began Edith, "the expressman stops at this house for the trunk of the one who is to visit Aunt Nell." ' "Which is no evidence, as the same trunk would go, whichever person went," put in Anna. "That trunk is now packed," said Edith. "And the contents not to be poked over or criticised by the traveler," said Ruth. "And lent articles are to be considered con-sidered the person's own." "The ticket is bought," said Anna. "The person's pocketbook. properly filled, with her name and address within in case of accident." said Ruth. "And the lucky girl is?" smiled the mother. "Mother!" cried three voices in chorus. i And in telling about it all to Aunt Nell, Mrs. Stone said that if those artful art-ful daughters o'f hers had given her longer than one hour to think of it, she would have decided not to come, and that she was glad they hadn't. Catholic News. : Duty's Path. ' Out from the harbor of youth's day There leads the path tf pleasure; With eager steps we walk that way To brim joy's largest measure. Btft when 'with morn's departing beam Goe's youth's last precious minute, We sigh, " 'Twas but a fatal dream There's nothing in it." I Then on our vision dawns afar The goal of glory, gleaming Like some great radiant solar star, And sets us longing, dreaming; Forgetting all things left behind, We strain each nerve to win it, But when 'tis ours alas! we find There's nothing in it. We turn our sad, reluctant gaze Upon the path of duty; Its barfen, uninviting ways Are void of bloom and beauty. Yet in that road, though dark and cold It seems as we begin it, As we press on lo! we behold There's heaven in it. 'Ella Wheeler Wilcox. |
