Chapter II: Part 2

A lovely home. In the rooms are gathered all the beautiful things which go to make up a pretty house; carpets and curtains, and easy chairs and lovely plush-covered sofas, and pictures, and books, and flowers, and birds. I cannot think of anything that they lacked. Yet all these do not make lovely _homes_. I have been in places filled with all the beauties which money could buy, and arranged with all the care which refined taste could give, yet which were not homes at all, but great beautiful cold _rooms_! Haven't you been in places where the carpets were only ingrain, or perhaps rag, or where there was even no carpet at all, and the chairs were plain wooden ones, and the pictures on the walls were only a few cheap mottoes, yet which was all full of gentle words, and cheery smiles, and unselfishness in little things? Such places are sure to be homes. I have discovered that the furniture makes very little difference, after all. Well, the house at which I stopped was a _home_ in the truest sense of the word. I shall never think of the sweet Christian lady who is at its head, without feeling thankful to God for having made so good and true a woman, and given her so many beautiful things to use in making others happy.

After all that, I am afraid you will be astonished that I should only tell you the story of one member of the family. But you can't think how much she interested me. I reached the home late at night and went at once to my room. In the early morning I was awakened by a loud call from a voice downstairs. "Clara!" shouted the shrill voice, then waited, and seeming to get no reply, screamed again, "Clara!" with no better success than before. This was repeated I should think a dozen times; until from being only amused I became half-vexed. I thought it very strange that in so fine a house and with so many evidences of culture, the mistress should allow a servant to stand in the hall below and scream after any one in that way. Then I wondered who "Clara" was, and why in the world she did not answer the call; it did not seem possible that she could be asleep, after her name had been rung out so often. I buried my head in the pillows and tried to take another nap; but that was impossible; there that persistent servant stood, and shouted out at intervals that one name, dwelling on each letter until it seemed to me that the name was a half-hour long! At last I arose in despair, and began to make my toilet; only hoping that "Clara's" slumbers had been disturbed as well as my own.

When I made my way to the back parlor, none of the family was in sight, but in the middle of the floor looking at me with doubtful eyes, as though she would like to know where I came from, and what right I had there, was a great green parrot! I was not very well acquainted with parrots, so I stood at a respectful distance, but I thought it was proper to be courteous, and I said "Good-morning!"

To this I received no sort of reply; the creature put her head on one side and looked somewhat disdainful; then raising her voice to a loud shrill note, she called "C-l-a-r-a!" The mystery was explained! Here was the "servant" who had shown such ill breeding in the beautiful home.

Presently we went in to breakfast, and Polly parrot went along. She moved about the dining-room, wherever she chose, and was very quiet, until one of the young ladies whose name I discovered was "Clara," went away to attend to some household duty; then Miss Polly began her cry for "C-l-a-r-a" so loud we could hardly converse. "Polly," said her mistress, "you must be quiet; you disturb us; you cannot go to Clara, she is busy."

What did that parrot do but throw herself on her back, kick her clumsy feet into the air, and cry with all her might! I saw no tears, it is true; but if I had not been looking on, I would have been sure that a very spunky child was having a fit of crying. Imagine my astonishment! I had never heard a parrot cry; did not know that it was ever one of their accomplishments. Being a parrot, what would have been extremely disagreeable in a child, was really as funny as possible, and I laughed until I was in danger of shedding tears myself. Still the passionate whine went on. Suddenly the back parlor door was opened slightly, and a sweet voice said: "Mamma, you may let Polly come to me; I am not doing anything which she will disturb."

"Polly," said her mistress, "do you hear that? Get up. Clara says you may go where she is."

Instantly the parrot rolled over on her side, and burst into the most jubilant peal of laughter I ever heard--"Ha, ha, ha! ho, ho!" triumph in every note.

Then she straightened herself up, shook out her feathers, and waddled triumphantly out of the room.

"She is a curious creature," said the lady; "quite a study. We have not had her long, and it is very amusing to us; we know the habits and customs of the family from whom she came almost as well as though we had lived with them. You know parrots get all their knowledge by imitation. Isn't it remarkable, and rather startling when one stops to think of it, that even a parrot can produce your faults and foibles for others to laugh at? I often wonder what I am teaching her, unintentionally, which will astonish some one else."

"It is wonderful!" I said. And then I fell to wondering whether it was a girl or boy who had taught that parrot to lie on its back and cry because it couldn't have its own way. And what sort of a man or woman such a child would be likely to make.

I doubt whether the child, whoever he was, would have done it before me--a stranger--and here the parrot had told me all about it!

PANSY.

- - - - - - -

AUNT ESTHER was trying very hard to persuade little Eddy to retire at sunset, using as an argument that the little chickens always went to roost at that time.

"Yes," replied the wide awake little Eddy, "but the old hens always goes with them, auntie."

MY BRAINLESS ACQUAINTANCE.

BY PARANETE.

IV.--MY BRAINLESS ACQUAINTANCE SWALLOWED.

"WHEN the box was opened," the pin continued, "all the papers were taken out, and carried to a large dry goods store in what seemed to me a very large city. We were put just behind one of the large glass windows, where everybody could see us, and we felt quite proud, and much enjoyed looking at all the strange things, and at people who passed.

"One by one the papers were sold, until finally ours was the only one left, and we remained so long in the window that we began to think we should never get out. By that time we were tired of staring out at the street all the time, and wanted a change. One day a lady came into the store and asked the clerk for some pins.

"So he came over to the window and took us out. How delighted we were! The lady put us in her little satchel, and soon we felt ourselves rolling along the street in a carriage. Pretty soon we were taken out and laid in the bureau drawer of the lady's room, where we remained a long while. Then she laid us on the little shelf belonging to the bureau, where we could see everything that went on in the room.

"One evening I was put in the lady's collar, and went to a great room, brightly lighted, where my mistress danced with gentlemen all the evening. I enjoyed it very much, because it was so strange, and because I have no feelings; but my mistress grew very tired and sleepy as soon as the ball, for that is what she called it, was over.

"At night, or rather early in the morning, when we reached home, she put me on the pin-cushion, where I found many of my former acquaintances.

"Now our life grew rather dull. I think winter-time came, and my mistress removed to a warmer room. After a long, long while, during which we saw no one, when the birds returned, and the buds came on the trees, she moved back again, but now there was somebody with her--a little bit of a baby! How cute it was! We pins discussed it a great deal, and grew to loving it very much.

"One day its nurse took it out to ride in its little carriage, and took me (how delighted I was!) to pin its dress. We went a long way off, to a part of the city where the houses were smaller, and the yards larger, and there were more flowers and trees. The nurse stopped in front of one of the little white houses, and walked in, rolling the baby-carriage before her. She called the woman who came to the door 'mother,' so I supposed that this was her former home. Her mother took her to another room, and they were gone quite awhile. So the baby for something to do, and putting up its fat little hand, took hold of me, and tried to pull me out of its dress.

"Now I knew that the baby put everything in its mouth that it could, so I stuck on just as hard as I could; but it tugged away at me, finally got me out, and put me in its mouth, much to my dismay. Not only was it very disagreeable for me to be there, but I knew there was danger of the baby's swallowing me. Still, I could do nothing. The little one chewed me and poked me around with its tongue, until finally, by a mis-poke--as you might say--it sent me down its throat, and there I stuck. Then, O, what a commotion there was! The child screamed slightly, swallowed, and gurgled, and choked, and I--O, my dear friend, you cannot imagine my state of mind! To think I should be the cause of such suffering, and possibly the death of one I loved so much!

"Finally the noise that the child made brought the nurse and her mother to the room. 'Mercy on us!' exclaimed the former, 'the child is choking to death!'

"The mother took the baby on her lap, and pounded, actually pounded, on its back! But this treatment was effectual, though apparently cruel, for the pounding sent me on the floor, out of the baby's mouth! I cannot express my delight in the feeble words that our language possesses. I was in ecstasies. The nurse's mother picked me up, and seeing where I had come from, replaced me in the child's dress, cautioning her daughter to keep watch of me.

"Then we speedily returned home. The story was recounted with many apologies on the part of the nurse. I think the baby's mother would have discharged the poor girl, only, as she afterwards remarked to her husband, 'that was a very difficult season to get good nurses.'

"That night I was replaced on the cushion, and was not taken off for what seemed to me ages. I was in a part of the cushion where beads where, and I suppose my head looked so much like them, that I was not noticed. The other pins were gradually taken out of the paper, used, and either lost or replaced on the cushion, till finally they were all gone, and a new paper was bought. These, of course, were strangers to me, but I soon became acquainted with those on the cushion, and they were very pleasant. On the whole, I did not so much dislike my life then, though naturally enough, I wanted a change.

"The family was quite a large one; beside my mistress and her husband, there was the baby, the nurse, a dear old lady whom I loved very much, a little girl about twelve years old, and a middle-aged lady whom the children called auntie. Before I had been swallowed, I had had occasion to be used by all these people, and so felt acquainted with them.

"Well, one week there was a great commotion in the house. Trunks were being packed, things being folded up and put in packages, and from divers remarks that different members of the household made, I learned that they were all going to Europe, excepting the old lady, because, they said, her health was not good enough to go. This seemed rather strange, for they said they _were_ going for the health of the baby and its mother. I did not know whether I was to go with them or with the old lady, who was to remain with a friend of hers at a town not far distant. (All this I learned by using--not my ears, for I have none, but my sense of hearing.) I rather hoped my fate would be the latter, for although I was anxious to travel, I thought I would be lonely without the old lady, who, though I could neither talk to her, nor understand all of her talk, had become very dear to me.

"Well, my pin-cushion was put in a satchel, and I felt myself rolling along in a carriage. Then I knew no more of where I was going, or what was happening around me, until one morning the satchel was opened, the cushion taken out, I was discovered, and put in the cuff of my mistress. She was in a queer little closet, with two shelves with bedclothes on them against the wall, and a little bit of a window high up.

"Then she went out, and soon I found that we were on the deck of a great steamship, with the boundless ocean all around us."

OUR ALPHABET OF GREAT MEN.

M.--MORSE, SAMUEL FINLEY BREESE.

LONG before he reached the pinnacle of his fame, Samuel Finley Breese Morse passed many quiet summer hours on the pleasant wooded borders of the ravine overlooking the peaceful Sconondoah; and even to this day if you wander through the beautiful Sconondoah wood and hunt out its sequestered nooks, you will find here and there, cut deep in the rugged bark of old forest trees, the initials S. F. B. M., carved by his hand more than half a century ago.

Professor Morse was born at Charlestown, Mass., in 1791. He was the son of a Congregational clergyman, who was the author of a series of school geographies familiar to our fathers and mothers in their schooldays. He was educated at Yale College, and, intending to become a painter, went to London to study art under Benjamin West; but becoming interested in scientific studies he was for many years president of the National Academy of Design in New York. He resided abroad three or four years. On returning home in 1832 the conversation of some gentlemen on shipboard in regard to an experiment which had recently been tried in Paris with the electro-magnet, interested him and started a train of thought which gave him the conception of the idea of the telegraph. The question arose as to the length of time required for the fluid to pass through a wire one hundred feet long. Upon hearing the answer, that it was instantaneous, the thought suggested itself to Prof. Morse that it might be carried to any distance and be the means of transmitting intelligence. Acting upon the thought, he set to work, and before the ship entered New York harbor had conceived and made drawings of the telegraph. He plodded on through weary years endeavoring to bring his invention to perfection, meeting on every hand jeers and ridicule and undergoing many painful reverses in fortune; but for his indomitable will, he would have given up his project long before he succeeded in bringing it before the public, for all thought it a wild scheme which would amount to nothing.

In 1838 he applied to Congress for aid that he might form a line of communication between Washington and Baltimore. Congress was quite disposed to regard the scheme a humbug. But there was a wire stretched from the basement of the Capitol to the ante-room of the Senate Chamber, and after watching "the madman," as Prof. Morse was called, experiment, the committee to whom the matter was referred decided that it was not a humbug, and thirty thousand dollars was appropriated, enabling him to carry out his scheme. Over these wires on the 24th of May, 1844, he sent this message from the rooms of the U. S. Supreme Court to Baltimore: "What hath God wrought!" and connected with this message is quite a pretty little story. Having waited in the gallery of the Senate Chamber till late on the last night of the session to learn the fate of his bill, while a Senator talked against time, he at length became discouraged, and confident that the measure would not be reached that night went to his lodgings and made preparations to return to New York on the morrow. The next morning, at breakfast, a card was brought to him, and upon going to the parlor he found Miss Annie Ellsworth, the daughter of the Commissioner of Patents, who said she had come to congratulate him upon the passage of his bill. In his gladness he promised Miss Ellsworth that as she had been the one to bring him the tidings, she should be the first to send a message over the wires. And it was at her dictation that the words, "What hath God wrought?" were sent.

Success was now assured; honors and riches were his, and those who had been slow to believe in the utility of his invention were now proud of their countryman and delighted to do him homage. Upon going abroad again he was received more as a prince than as a plain American citizen, kings and their subjects giving him honor. It may be believed that even in his wildest flights of fancy Professor Morse did not dream of the rapid spread of the use of his invention, or look forward to the time within a few years, when the telegraph wires would weave together the ends of the world and form a network over the entire Continent.

Five years ago, the only telegraph wire in China was one about six miles in length, stretching from Shanghai to the sea, and used to inform the merchants of the arrival of vessels at the mouth of the river. A line from Pekin to Tientsin was opened a few months ago. The capital of Southern China is in communication with the metropolis of the North, and as Canton was connected by telegraph with the frontier of Tonquin at the outbreak of the late political troubles, the telegraph wires now stretch from Pekin to the most southern boundary of the Chinese Empire, and China, ever slow to adopt foreign ideas, is crossed and re-crossed by wires; we may say the thought which came to Prof. Morse upon that memorable voyage has reached out and taken in the whole world.

FAYE HUNTINGTON.

HOW FATHER CURED HIS HORSE.

"WELL," exclaimed Reuben the story-teller, "father always wanted a horse, because the folks in Greene lived scattered, and he had so far to go to attend funerals, weddings and visit schools; but he never felt as if he could afford to buy one. But one day he was coming afoot from Hildreth, and a stranger asked him to ride.

"Father said: 'That's a handsome horse you're driving. I should like to own him myself.'

"'What will you give for him?' said the man.

"'Do you want to sell?' says father.

"'Yes, I do; and I'll sell cheap, too,' says he.

"'Oh, well,' says father, 'it's no use talking; for I haven't the money to buy with.'

"'Make an offer,' said he.

"'Well, just to put an end to the talk,' father says, 'I'll give you seventy-five dollars.'

"'You may have him,' says the man; 'but you'll repent of your bargain in a week.'

"'Why, what ails the horse?' says father.

"'Ails him? If he has a will to go, he'll go; but, if he takes a notion to stop, you can't start him. I've stood and beat that horse till the sweat ran off of me in streams; I've fired a gun close to his ears; I've burned shavings under him. But he wouldn't budge an inch.'

"'I'll take him,' says father; 'what's his name?'

"'George,' said the man.

"'I shall call him Georgie,' said father.

"Well, father brought him home, and we boys fixed a place for him in the barn, and curried him down and fed him well, and father said, 'Talk to him, boys, and let him know you feel friendly.'

"So we coaxed and petted him, and the next morning father harnessed him and got into the wagon to go. But Georgie wouldn't stir a step. Father got out and patted him, and we brought him apples and clover-tops; and once in a while father would say, 'Get up, Georgie,' but he didn't strike the horse a blow. By and by he says: 'This is going to take time. We'll see which has the most patience, you or I.' So he sat in the wagon and took out his skeletons"--

"Skeletons?" said Poppet, inquiringly.

"Of sermons, you know. Ministers always carry around a little book to put things into they think of when they are out walking or riding or hoeing in the garden.

"Well, father sat two full hours before the horse was ready to start; but, when he did, there was no more trouble for that day. The next morning 'twas the same thing over again, only Georgie give in a little sooner. All the while it seemed as if father couldn't do enough for the horse. He was round the stable, feeding him and fussing over him, and talking to him in his pleasant, gentle way; and the third morning, when he had fed and curried him and harnessed him with his own hands, somehow there was a different look in the horse's eyes. But when father was ready to go, Georgie put his feet together and laid his ears back, and wouldn't stir. Well, Dove was playing about the yard; and she brought her stool and climbed up by the horse's head. Dove, tell what you said to Georgie?"

"I gave him a talking to," said the little girl. "I told him it was perfectly 'diculous for him to act so; that he'd come to a real good place to live, where everybody helped everybody; that he was a minister's horse, and God would not love him if he was not a good horse. That's what I told him; then I kissed him on the nose."

"And what did Georgie do?"

"Why, he heard every word I said; and when I got through, he felt so 'shamed of himself he couldn't hold up his head; so he just dropped it till it almost touched the ground, and he looked as sheepish as if he had been stealing a hundred sheeps."

"Yes," said Reuben; "and when father told him to go, he walked off like a shot. He has never made any trouble since. That's the way father cured a balky horse. And that night when he was unharnessing, he rubbed his head against his shoulder, and told him, as plain as a horse could speak, that he was sorry. He's tried to make it up with father ever since, for the trouble he made him. When he's loose in the pasture, father has only to stand at the bars and call his name, and he walks up as quiet as an old sheep. Why, I've seen him back himself between the shafts of the old wagon many a time to save father trouble. Father wouldn't take two hundred dollars for the horse to-day. He eats anything you give him. Sis very often brings out some of her dinner to him."

"He likes to eat out of a plate," said Dove; "it makes him think he's folks."--_Golden Censer._

_Volume 13, Number 17._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO.
_Feb. 27, 1886._

THE PANSY.

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.

BY MARGARET SIDNEY.

IV.

AND "St. George" he was from that day. George Edward was powerless to stop it, though he flew into innumerable small rages and offered to whip any boy who uttered the obnoxious name. They became silent, for he was good for his promises, they knew, but the girls took it up, and as he could not very well whip them, his sainthood grew speedily and beyond his control.

It was the day before Washington's Birthday. The snow was deep on the ground, piled high in drifts here and there, the air was clear, and the sun bright. Everything promised beautifully for the holiday to which the school looked forward on the morrow.

"St. George" ran home early from school, and flung down his bag of books on the sitting-room table.

"I'm to be off early in the morning, mother," he said. "Put me up a rousing good lunch, do."

"You are sure you can have steady fires in the house? Mr. Bangs' man can be relied on?" Mrs. Allen's voice was a bit anxious.

"Tiptop." "St. George" was busy extricating his foot from its protecting boot. "Now then, for my 'slips' and then the old books. I'll get these lessons inside my head and out of the way before night."

"Because if there is a little carelessness in this respect," continued his mother, "you might take a cold that would last you all winter. The only reason your father consented to your going, George, you know very well, was because the house is so near your playground that you could run in and get warmed whenever you felt chilly."

"Right on the playground, mother, you mean," corrected "St. George" with a laugh; "it's set on Sachem Hill itself--up in the clouds in a jolly fashion."

"There was one other reason," added Mrs. Allen after a pause, "and that was, he said 'I can trust George Edward.'"

The boy occupied with his other boot looked up quickly, said nothing, but a bright smile flashed over his face; and he jumped up, ran for his slippers, and settled down to work with a will.

The next morning was a fine one, and the nine o'clock train saw a gay party of twenty-five boys with knapsacks or bags containing lunch and skates assembled at the B. and A. Depot ready to board the train for Sachem Hill. Thomas, Mr. Bangs' man, had gone up the day before to open the country house left unoccupied since the family's return to town in the autumn. And he was already making fires, and getting things into comfortable shape for the boys' arrival for the grand frolic to which Wilfred Bangs had invited his very especial friends; the parents of the twenty-four boys only insisting that their sons should each carry his own lunch, to add to the hot coffee for which Thomas was famous.

So here they were. And a long grand day before them!

* * * * *

"Now see here, Old Saint"--one of the boys was thoroughly provoked and he meant to show it--"if you want to go around the world making yourself disagreeable, just keep on with that talk, 'we ought to stop' and so forth. Don't you suppose we know what we're about. There's plenty of time to catch that train. I for one shall have one more skate up the pond and back, and I'll bet you a new knife I'm at the depot as soon as you are."

"St. George doesn't preach," cried an impulsive champion. "And besides, he always _does_ first himself."

"Well, you hold your tongue," cried Wingate Morse, tightening his skate-strap; "I wasn't talking to you."

"Say that again, and I'll pitch into you," declared the champion with a very red face not altogether produced by the sharp air.

"Haven't any time," said Wingate, striking off. "Come on, all you fellow's who are able to take care of yourselves, and get one good glorious good-by skate."

All but two, the champion and St. George went, and their merry shouts came floating back as the pair left behind took off their skates, tossed them hurriedly into their waiting bags and set off on a hearty run for the depot.

"I wanted to go awfully," confessed the champion on the way, "but I'll stick by you, St. George."

"I'm unpopular," said the Saint, pulling up into a walk as they came into sight of the depot. "But I suppose that makes no odds so long as my mother isn't scared to death when I don't get home by the right time."

"They're lost, they're lost!" exclaimed the champion excitedly. "My goodness me! look at that smoke! She's coming in!"

Sure enough, "She" was. And having no time to lose other than the moment in which the champion wildly jumped up and down in a snow-drift screaming to the fellows, by this time at the head of the pond, to "Come on--she's in!" they soon found themselves in a comfortable seat, and the train pulling back to town at a smart rate.

"I lost my head," remarked the champion, "and that's a fact," as he stumbled along the aisle; "but then, I guess nobody saw me. Whew! but won't those chaps catch it, though, when they do get home."

Just then from the car ahead walked in Thomas, Mr. Bangs' man. He glanced anxiously along the car-length, peering right and left. When his eye fell upon "St. George" and the champion he brightened up, and hurried as fast as was possible with his rotundity down to them.

"Where are the rest of the boys?" he asked quickly.

"Left," said St. George concisely. "Skating up to the other end of the pond."

It was all told in a second. Thomas said something which it was well the boys could not hear in the noise of the bounding train, then rushed frantically back for the conductor, followed by St. George and the champion, on the way repeating--

"Master Wilfred told me he'd be sure to catch the train, so I came down the back way, and jumped on at the last minute. I didn't see the use of staying another night in that house."

By the time he reached the conductor, realizing the result of his unfaithfulness to collect all the boys and bring them safely back to town on the five o'clock train, the unhappy man was in such a state that the two boys had to take turns in explaining to that railroad official what the matter was.

"Do run the train back," cried St. George imploringly; "you'll be paid well."

"Are you wild?" cried the conductor sharply. "This train is bound for town with a lot of passengers who have something else to do than to turn back to hunt up foolish boys."

"But they will freeze to death," cried "St. George" and the champion together. "The house is shut, and there isn't a neighbor nearer than two miles." Thomas was too far gone to do anything but wring his hands and moan helplessly.

"Can't help that," exclaimed the conductor inexorably, "the world won't lose much. They should have obeyed orders then." He was terribly tired and half-frozen himself, and was getting very nervous at the predicament in which he saw himself placed. How to help these people in distress, and yet take care of his train, was more than he could tell.

"I'll stop at Highslope, though I don't usually on this night train; as it's the last into town, we run in pretty fast. There you can get a wagon or sleigh maybe and drive back ten miles and pick 'em up. That's the best I can do for you."

With that he broke away from them and began to take up the tickets.

TABLEAUX.

"WHAT is going on in the attic?" asked old Mr. Davidson one afternoon as he wakened from his after-dinner nap and heard some unusual sounds about the old mansion.

"Oh! did the children waken you? I am sorry," replied old Mrs. Davidson.

"Well, I reckon I have slept long enough," was the good-natured reply, and you will know by this that the old gentleman was good-natured, for it is well understood that to be wakened from an after-dinner nap is a test.

"I gave the young folks permission to look over the big chests in the attic," said Mrs. Davidson. "And I presume they will appear dressed in some of those old costumes."

Mr. Davidson was apparently satisfied with the explanation of the unusual noise, and settled himself over his newspaper. Presently a young girl fluttered down the staircase and entered the room where the elderly couple sat.

"Grandpa," said a fresh young voice, "we want to come and call upon you."

"Call upon me! Well, what is to hinder?"

"Well, we want to have it a sort of tableau; we want you and grandma to be the Emperor of Germany, and cousin John is to be the Crown Prince, and I am to be 'Vicky,' and we are to call upon you in state. Lannie is making your epaulettes. She will come and fix you and grandma, and tell you where to stand, then when we get dressed we will enter."

The old people laughed, but grandpa said:

"All right!" and when his wife would have demurred a little, he said, "We must make things lively for the young folks or they get homesick." The programme was carried out. The satin dress and mantle came out of the old chest, but those epaulettes and stars and badges! Let me tell you a secret, they were home-made, but you would never have guessed it. Cousin John upon inspecting the work, exclaimed, "Lannie, you are a genius; how did you know the way to do it?"

"Oh! there are ways of knowing things," returned Lannie, with a good-natured laugh.

After the formalities of the call had been carried out grandpa said:

"Now, will some one tell us who we are?"

"Not know yourself!" said one, laughing; "Lannie, tell grandpa who he is."

"Yes, Lannie, who am I, and what have I done to deserve the honor of this occasion?"

"Why, you are Emperor William the First, and this is a long time ago when you were younger and your grandchildren here were not grown up. And on the whole, I think this is before the war with France, at which time you gained great popularity. This is your son, the Crown Prince of Prussia, and this is his wife, the daughter of Queen Victoria. And these are your grandchildren."

"Thank you! I feel better acquainted with myself."

They all laughed at this and the callers withdrew. Mr. Davidson settled to his newspaper again, but presently he looked up to say:

"That was play. But we do belong to a royal house, eh, mother?" And the wife and mother smiled; she understood.

THEODOCIA.

SIR JOHN AND THE EREBUS.

THIS is a real Johnny. He was born one hundred years ago in England. When a very little fellow he was fond of the water. He would make little ships like the one in our picture, and slip away back of the barn and down through the bars, which he didn't always put up in his hurry to the pond among the trees. Here with his ship he would spend hours seeing the wind blow it from shore to shore. When there was no wind to make it skip over the water, he would puff sharp blasts from his cheeks against the sails.

He learned a great deal watching his ship. And he thought, may be, he would some day have a big one, be its captain, sail away off upon the ocean, visit distant lands and see strange people and strange things. And he did.

But he was going to school, learning fast and making many friends by his good conduct. His father told him one day when he came from school, right after tea, when they were sitting about the bright fire, that he wanted him to learn all he could and make haste and grow up a good man and be a minister of Christ.

But though our boy thought it would be a grand thing to spend his life telling about Jesus and his love, yet he thought also he could do it as well in a ship as in a pulpit. And when his father saw how much he loved the sea, how much he knew about ships, and how well he could sail his own little vessel, he consented. Soon after Johnny was taken on board the ship _Polyphemus_ as midshipman. He was a sort of servant, or a _cadet_, to carry the commands of the captain. Of course he was very happy. This was a first step to being captain himself.

But the _Polyphemus_ was a war ship. There was war at that time and many battles in which brave men suffered much and died.

He could not escape now if he had wished to. He did not wish to. One day the _Polyphemus_ met an enemy's ship and the cannon were soon sending shot into each other like leaden hail. Many dropped dead. Johnny did every thing he was told to, often going right in the midst of danger. He was brave. Not a shot, however, hit him. He was in many other dreadful battles on the sea where the shot were flying all about him; but he always came off unhurt.

Then, being now a man, he was put in command of a ship. He had sailors and soldiers under him. He said to one "go here or there," and he went; to another, "do this," and he did it. He was captain over a big ship, and at the call of his country, away he sailed over the great ocean to the North to find out what he could about things in that strange icy land. He was gone several years, and travelled many thousand miles. One day as his wife and some friends stood on the wharf where the ships land and looked out upon the ocean, they saw a little thing no bigger than your hand. Then as they kept looking and wondering what it might be, it grew larger and larger, and came nearer, and through their spy glass they saw masts, sails, and flags flying from the very tops, and then, behold! they read the name of the ship and they knew that it was the very ship on which, not Johnny, nor John, but Sir John--for that was his name now--had sailed more than three years before.

How the ship soon rode into the harbor and dropped her strong anchor into the water to hold her fast, and how the soldiers and sailors and Sir John came on land, and what he did and said and what his happy wife, Jane, did, and how handsome she looked I can't tell you.

But there's another part I will tell you next time.

C. M. L.

THE LITTLE SWEEP.

SEVERAL years ago, an effort was made to collect all the chimney-sweepers in the city of Dublin, for the purpose of education. Amongst others came a little fellow who was asked if he knew his letters.

"O yes, sir," was the reply.

"Do you spell?"

"O yes, sir," was again the answer.

"Do you read?"

"O yes, sir."

"And what book did you learn from?" continued his interrogator.

"O, I never had a book in my life, sir," said the manly little fellow.

"And who was your schoolmaster?"

"O, I never was at school."

Here was a singular case. A boy could read and spell without a book or master. But what was the fact? Why, another little sweep, a little older than himself, had taught him to read by showing him the letters over the shop doors which they passed as they went through the city. His teacher, then, was another little sweep like himself, and his book the sign-boards on the houses. What may not be done by trying?

A GAME FOR THE EVENING OF WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY.

DEAR PANSIES:

I want to propose a new game for to-night. Let us all see how much good our lessons on American History, and our knowledge of the life of George Washington, "first in the hearts of his countrymen," have done us.

You know that all our studying is for some good purpose; that it is to enable us to do grand service for God, and for others. You know every bit of knowledge upon any good subject is a powerful weapon to help us in the battle of life. God gives us our privileges, our schooldays, our fitting-time. Let us see to it that we make good use of them all--_every one_.

Now then, here is the game. Choose a bright boy or girl, one who loves history, and who has been careful to come to the class-room pretty well prepared the last year. You know who these nice scholars are. Now send Winthrop or Lucy as the case may be, out of the room, and all the rest of you get up as many questions concerning the early history of our country, before, during, and just after the War of the Revolution, being careful to let the interest centre in George Washington himself, his character, and services to America.

Now call Winthrop or Lucy in, and launch the questions, beginning at one end of your circle of players, and going in turn around the circuit, each player only asking one question, and the boy or girl who stands in the centre of the circle having three moments allowed in which to answer a question. If there is no clock in the room some one must give out the time--father or mother, or aunt Susan will doubtless be willing to do this. If the boy or girl cannot answer the question, he or she must be fined a forfeit. Then proceed with the next one in the circle asking a question--and so forth.

If it is answered correctly the one who asked it must go out, and the successful Winthrop or Lucy can hop into his place.

After this has been played as long as you like, save the questions (which some one in the room can write down, with the answers) and let every girl and boy look over them, and see if they could be answered better, in fewer words giving more information, and more correctly. In this way you will learn to make your knowledge available, and you will be quite astonished to find how much you do know about this subject.

Now for the forfeits, for you will probably have a fine pile to redeem. Let some one be blindfolded and seated in a chair in the centre of the room, while another player holds up each article, and dispensing with the other usual questions, asks, "What shall the owner do?"

He (or she) shall tell when George Washington's Birthday was first celebrated.

He (or she) shall tell some little anecdote of George Washington (not the cherry-tree episode). And so on, to end with a grand march two and two, through the parlors and hall, to the gayest tunes that a deft-fingered performer can give on the piano.

May you enjoy this "Washington-Birthday-Game" heartily.

MARGARET SIDNEY.

SOME REMARKABLE WOMEN.

J.--JOAN OF ARC.

JOAN OF ARC, as we call her in English; Jeanne D'Arc, as she was called in her native country; "The Maid of Orleans," as she is called in history, was the daughter of a French peasant. In her childhood and through her girlhood she was often employed in tending sheep, and so lived much alone. She grew dreamy and imaginative; and her young heart was much given to religious exercises. It is said that she used to spend hours at her devotions, and when she was thirteen years old her mind had dwelt so much upon the superstitious legends of those days that it was not strange she should in one of those exalted moods of religious fervor imagine that she had a vision, and heard voices speaking to her of the wonderful exploits she was to achieve. The people among whom she lived were ignorant and superstitious, and could very easily be made to believe in anything which had a tinge of the supernatural. Mythical stories of the saints, accounts of the doings of fairies and demons were told around every fireside, and the children eagerly drank in the strange tales. What you boys and girls would turn away from with a decidedly skeptical shrug of your shoulders, declaring, like a boy I know, "Ghost stories are no good!" these children of a dreamy, visionary people drank in as truth, and very solemn truth too. And so when Joan, walking in the shadow of the chapel, fancied she heard a voice and saw a great light, or when standing at the altar of the Catholic church she imagined the pictures of the saints coming out of their frames speaking to her, it is not surprising that the people of that neighborhood believed she really saw and heard these things. And when she imagined that she heard St. Michael speaking to her and telling her that she was sent to deliver her country from the English, some of the people believed it--but it appears her father with more practical sense than the others declared it was only a delusion, and sought to convince her of the absurdity of her wild idea. But she could not be persuaded out of it, and at length when she was twenty years old the king hearing of her and of what she considered her mission, sent for her and placed her at the head of the French army. A number of curious things are said to have occurred upon the occasion of her interview with the king. For one thing she recognized him at once among his courtiers though she had never seen him before. Then she told him of a certain sword hidden in an old chapel which it was necessary to bring out for her use, though it is said she never struck a blow; she only led the army, so I suppose an old rusty sword would do as well as any.

The city of Orleans was besieged by the English. This city was a stronghold of great importance to the French, but the starving inhabitants saw no hope of relief and would very soon have been forced to surrender. But Joan, the peasant girl, mounted upon a white horse, and wearing a suit of glittering armor, rode boldly forward until they reached the city. The French soldiers were so inspired by her courage that they fought their way bravely and the English on the contrary were frightened. Believing this young girl to be a witch, they were easily overcome, though their commander declared that her pretensions as to having had a revelation from heaven were all nonsense. But you see the English soldiers were superstitious as well as the French. And doubtless it was partly owing to their fright that the English gave way and the siege was at an end. Thus having delivered Orleans, the peasant girl was henceforth known as "the Maid of Orleans." She continued to lead the army on to victory, and finally the coronation of Charles the Seventh, took place in Rheims. Then Joan felt that her work was done and asked to be allowed to go home. But the king would not allow this and still kept her in the army. But she no longer heard voices. Her enthusiasm and courage were gone, and no longer successful, she was at length taken prisoner, tried and condemned to be burned as a sorceress. The sentence was carried out, the king whom she had helped to establish upon his throne never interfering to save her.

As a visionary enthusiast, we may not hold up Joan of Arc as a model; but as a noble, earnest-hearted girl, true to what she believed to be her heaven-given mission, facing difficulties and dangers in order to carry out what she deemed to be the plans of her Lord, we must admire her and do her honor. At one time she said, "I would far rather be spinning beside my poor mother; but I must do this work because my Lord wills it."

"Joan of Arc was no wilful impostor. She fully believed that she beheld the faces of departed saints, and heard the voices of beings from the unseen world. The result of her wonderful career was that Charles ultimately won back to the royal house of Valois the whole kingdom of France. An imposing mausoleum in the city of Orleans perpetuates her memory, but her name stands above mortality, independent of bronze."

FAYE HUNTINGTON.

DEAR PANSIES:

How I wish I could coax each one of you to read this Corner carefully, so you would not bother your little brains by asking me the same questions over and over again, which I answer here! Will you each try it?

To become a member of the P. S. one must subscribe for THE PANSY, at one dollar a year, send a letter to the editor (Mrs. G. R. Alden, Chapel street, Walnut Hills, Cincinnati, Ohio) mentioning some fault or faults which he will pledge himself to try to overcome; and promising to try each day to "do some kind act, or say some kind word which will help somebody," always making the Whisper Motto, "For Jesus' Sake," the strong motive of all words and acts, not only, but of thoughts as well.

If you would rather not mention the special fault which you mean to try to conquer, you have a right to be silent about it; but I can help you more understandingly if you let me know your temptations.

All such pledgers will be sent badges, and their names enrolled on the pledge book. Their letters will be answered in due time in the magazine; and the editor will be always glad to hear from them, and will try to keep her eyes open in search of that which will help them.

There is also a list of books, games, etc., which are offered at special prices to the members of the P. S.

Brothers and sisters of subscribers, or even young friends of theirs who have the reading of THE PANSY, but are not subscribers, may join the P. S. by writing to the editor, as described above, and enclosing ten cents for their badges. Only enrolled subscribers to the magazine have badges sent free of charge. Neither can these members get the P. S. books and games at special prices. Such privileges are reserved for those who take the magazine.

An officer's badge is somewhat prettier than the "private's," and has gold fringe. Any one who secures five or more subscribers to THE PANSY, and pledges from each, is entitled to an officer's badge.

Officers of a P. S. are expected to call the members together at stated times, and hold meetings, for work or reading, or to spend the time profitably in whatever way they may plan; always remembering their pledge, and their Whisper Motto; so, being sure to choose no occupation that the great Leader under whose banner they serve might not approve.

Such an organization is expected to have a secretary whose duty it shall be to report to the editor of THE PANSY, from time to time--say every three months, giving a brief account of their meetings, what they are trying to do, and how they succeed.

Now will you study this letter with great care, and see if you fully understand it?

Another thing, will you try to be as patient as possible about receiving answers to your letters? Please remember that while you have but one letter to write, the editor has at least five thousand to answer! Indeed, I think there must be more than that number waiting their turn. I look at the great and ever-increasing army, and shake my head, and tell them to lie still and be patient. Then I push into each PANSY as many as I possibly can!

Don't conclude from this that you must not write any more letters. I don't mean that, at all. I am only cautioning you to be as patient as meek little pansies should be, and await your turn. Meantime, of course, I want to get your letters; the more the merrier, so that you don't frown and scold because I do not answer you _all_ at once.

Good-by, my Blossoms!
PANSY.

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