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Show fi . I LETTER-WBITING DIRECTIONS. I Write on one side of paper only. I Io not have letters too long. Address all letters to "Aunt Busy." IO lermountain Catholic !" I AUNT BUSY HAS HER SAY. lar Nieces and Nephews: Aunt Jt T-usy is patiently waiting to hear some answers from her last question. Po you all know what the question is? Aunt Husy will tell you again. What trait of character do you like beBt in your friends? Aunt Busy will tell you what t fhe likes best as soon as she hears from a few more of her children. Aunt Fusy will have a story for you next week, a "really truly" story, about something that happened in a very large city in America only a few days ago. She is going to call the story "A Wee Japanese Angel," and she hopes that you will all like it. Now, do please, dears, write to Aunt Busy. She is always very "busy" and at present more "busy" than ever before, but, she dues love to receive and answer the litters from her own dear girls and boys. Your loving, AUNT BUSY. I GOD'S army. God's army marches at the dawn, While you, his idlers, slumber on. Or, waking, Fink to reft more sweet. Lulled by the tramping of their feet. His army numbers old and young; And children march its ranks among Whose fairy-tales are all unread, f And lullabies unsung! God's tireless army tills your fields. And then to you the harvest yields; They rear your palaces, and raise , To lesser heroes shafts of praise. " The fragrant scent of your kerchief j throws Distilled beneath the hands of those I Who never saw a lilac bloom. Or plucked a growing rase! God's weary army builds your roads; God's patient horses drag your loads; God's children weave the lustrous, fair, Embroidered texture that you wear. Ah, hands that guide the brilliant thread The gay tints on their looms "out-. "out-. spread Are all the colors woven in Lives gray and dull as lead. God's throne beyond his azure wall Is set; and still he watches all; And when a crisis sharp demands j A steady brain and heart and hands t He passes by his idlers dumb, I And always calls his heroes from I The weary toilers of the world! ' I And from the ranks they come! I Florence May Alt. v I? LETTERS AND ANSWERS. My Dear Aunt Busy: I have not written to you for a very long time. I see that you have another question for us all to answer. I like my friends to be "spunky." I think this is the very best kind of character. I hope you will agree with me Aunt Busy. Good-bye. Your loving nephew, PATRICK HOGAN. Glad to hear from you. dear boy, but yes, indeed, but Aunt Busy has to give you a little lecture. Now, you dear fellow, do you really mean that you like for your friends to be "spunky?" Now, to old Aunt Busy this word "spunky" means having a most wretched temper, a temper that would f- be to a person like a bunch of fire crackers held in the hand, with one cracker on fire, and the rest ready to catch fire. Temper is an awful curse in the life of any one. Of course, one should always have "spirit," but, dear . y boy, it is better to have too little spirit than too much. Take this little lecture, dear, in the best spirit from one who knows the world very well, indeed; from one who has learned by sad and bitter experience experi-ence the folly of being "spunky." Remember Re-member that the "Great Master" was ever, "meek and humble of heart." Helena, Mont., July 8, 1902. Dear Auntie Busy: I have not written writ-ten you for so long I suppose you have forgotten me. I am going to answer an-swer your question. The trait of character char-acter I like best is a sweet temper. I will be 10 years old on the 22d of July. I am going to have a big party. I would invite you, but you live so far away. I won the gold medal at St. Vincent's academy for attendance. Iupa gave me some money and auntie f j gave me lots of money for winning the gold medal. Good-bye. Your niece. MARGARET MCCARTHY. Dear little niece. Aunt Busy has not forgotten you, and she is very glad to hear that you have not forgotten her. Aunt Busy is pleased tc know that your favorite trait is to have a "sweet temper." Ishe thinks that you are indeed in-deed beginning to form your character in the best way. A child who has a nice, even disposition, is "almost an angel," according to Aunt Busy. Accept Ac-cept her love and best wishes on your bii iuday, little girl. May every blessing bless-ing attend you on every birthday of your life. Eat a big piece of cake for Aunt Busy. TRY IT. I You can't stand for five minutes without moving, if you are blindfolded. You can't crush an egg when placed lengthwise between 5'our hands; that is, if the egg is sound and has the ordinary or-dinary shell of a hen's egg. You can't get out of a chair without bending your body forward or putting your feet under it; that is, if you are sitting squarely on the edge of it. y l You can't break a match if the ' . match is laid across the nail of the middle finger of either hand and pressed upon by the first and third fingers fin-gers of that hand, despite its seeming U Bo easy at first sight. Health. DOLLY'S NATURAL HISTORY. When Dolly's papa asked her one day hat was worse than a giraffe with a tore throat, after several moments' i serious thought the youngster replied ! that she did not "kerzactly know." "Why," explained her father, "a centipede cen-tipede with chilblains!" That the humor sank deep into the child's mind was amusingly evidenced a week later. Taken to the Natural History museum. Dolly stood in awed wonder before the ostrich exhibit while her elder read aloud the description appended. Upon hearing that an ostrich possessed pos-sessed six stomachs, quick as a flash Dolly interrupted excitedly: "Now I can tell papa what's worse than a giraffe with a sore throat or a centipede with chilblains it's an ostrich os-trich with a stomach ache!" WHEN THE BOY'S ASLEEP. You would'nt think to look at him a-layin' thar so meek. With his chubby hands both folded underneath un-derneath his sun-burnt cheek; You wouldn't think to see the peace his sleepin' features take Jest what a holly terror he kin be when he's awake! I bet if you could get a peep beneath those lashes now You'd find a spark o' mischief lurkin in his eyes somehow; An' those curved lips that's molded like a cherub's, soft and sweet. They're yearnin' jest to give a whoop that would lift you off your feet. Look at his ragged little coat a-hangin on that chair Thar ain't a thing belongs to him that don't show signs of wear. Jest see them rusty little shoes, with both the toes stumped out; . They give a sort o' idea of the way he gits about! Somehow it dm't feel natural for the house to be so still; It's full of empty spaces that it takes his voice to fill: An' I kinder mis the racket an' the pat-! ter of his fee An' the litter that I growl about things look a heap too neat. It's curious how a little scamp like that can take a part In all your thoughts an fancies till he fills a feller's heart AVith the rattle an' the prattle that you learn to love somehow, Till you're lonesome when you miss it Sh! Great Scott! he's wak'ng now. Ida Goldsmith Morris. "My Dearest of Mothers!" "My dearest of ' mothers." I heard the words repeated in soft tones by my next door neighbor at an inland farm house where we were sojourning, "My dearest of mothers." My friend was a widow, and her son, an affectionate, talented fellow, was an engineer in Idaho. In one of his late letters he had said at the close: "And now, my dearest of mothers, good-bye." Did he guess, I wonder, how the little petting phrase would please the heart that loved him so? Did he think that she would say it over softly to herself as she sat alone in her room? The home days were over. The babies, with their sweet ways, their joy giving and their trouble making had grown to noisy boys, then to self-asserting men; they were out in the world making their way; brains busy, thoughts absorbed, hearts full; yet here was one who remembered the mother, still in middle life, loving and needing love the same as when her boys were her very own in the dear child's home. He wrote her long letters describing his adventurous, changeable life; the strange companions by whom he was surrounded; the wondrous scenery of, the wild western world. It was all in tensely enjoyed; but better than all were the love, phrases that showed the son's affectionate heart. I wonder if the boys know hov dear they are to their mothers, and how a little attention, atten-tion, little gifts, tender words, flying visits cheer and warm the hearts that have borne the test of years and sorrows? sor-rows? Life is a little chilly to the mothers whose homes are things of the past. Even if they remain in the old home, the rooms seem very bare and silent after the children are gone. It is as if summer had flown, with' its nests and bird songs, and autumn winds were blowing. Then the love of the sons and daughters is like sunshine or warm I fires to the hearts that sadly miss I them. Let us hope there are many sons who write, "My dearest of moth ers." Selected. "OLD ABE" THE WAR EAGLE. Old Abe was an eagle who went with a regiment of soldiers for three years. When he was a downy little eagle he and his brothers were stolen from their nest by a Chippewa Indian. Old Abe was a bald-headed eagle, the kind that has a snowy white head and neck, and from a distance looks as if it had no feathers on its head. The nest in which he was found was high up in a pine tree, near the rapids of a river in upper Wisconsin. It was made of long sticks and branches bound together to-gether with strong vines. It was lined with soft hair and mogs. Each year an eagle's nest is made stronger and larger. Large pieces of sod are added; the linings are so closely woven together togeth-er that the eaglets, funny looking cotton cot-ton balls, do not feel the wind and cold. We are not surprised that it was the red man of the forest who found this lonely nest, cut down the tree and secured se-cured Old Abe. A soldier bought the eagle for a bushel of corn and gave him to the Wisconsin regiment in 1861. Now his life as a war eagle began, and the bird, like some men, seemed cut out for a soldier. When Old Abe was mustered in it was understood that at the close of the war he should be presented to Abraham Lincoln. The soldiers called the bird "the new recruit from Chippewa," tied red, white and b'ue ribbons around his neck, and placed a rosette of colors on his breast. The tallest man in the regiment reg-iment was chosen to carry and take care of the bird, who sat on a perch at the top of a long staff. The staff rested in a socket in the belt worn by the color-bearer, so that the bird always al-ways appeared to the left and a little above the flag. He was fastened to his perch by a cord twenty-feet long. Some of the stories we read about the almost human actions of Old Abe in battle are very interesting. He was in twenty-two battles and thirty skirmishes. skirm-ishes. When there was an order to form for battle, he and the colors were first upon the line. Until they were all in line he would be uneasy, looking from side to side. But when all was m readiness to march, he sat perfectly quiet, in a most satisfied manner. Once in a battle the soldiers were ordered to lie down on the ground. Old Abe instantly flew from his perch and flattened himself on the ground, too, You see, he was going to be protected, also. Then, when the men arose, he flew back to his perch and stayed there during all the heat of the battle, In the battle of Corinth the cord w hich field him was cut by a ball. The bird soared far above the smoke of powder, but he discovered his flag and his regiment, and flew down upon his perch again. At the close of the war every one wanted to see Old Abe, just as'they did General Grant and other heroes. He made tours through the country, drawing draw-ing crowds wherever he went. A veteran vet-eran soldier was paid to take care of him, and a strong friendship grew between be-tween the two. Money certainly could not buy him, for we are told that a western man offered $10,000 for him, and P. T. Barnum offered J20,000. . Some of his feathers sold for $10 apiece when made into pens, and were used for signing important documents. Pictures of him were sold by the thousand, thou-sand, and the money was used for soldiers' sol-diers' relief funds. He died in 1S81. If you should ever visit the war museum at Madison, Wis., you would see his body, stuffed and well preserved. Louis W. Mears. in New York World. .HOW TO IMPROVE. Do you wish that each oi your communions com-munions should make you a little better, bet-ter, a little more like Jesus Christ, a little more in love - with heavenly things, less fond of the things of this world? Think then that Jesus Christ, whom you receive, is God's living hatred of sin. Think again that Jesus whom you receive is God's living goodness to all men. Therefore, if you ask him each new communion you will certainly do this in your heart; it will give you more hatred of sin, more goodness to all men. He has promised it for he has said: "He that eateth me the same also shall live by me." Father Dignam, S. J. |