Chapter II: ES, dear.” (1)

Mother Brimmer smiled and nodded, and Rosy ran off for a basket.

“What are you going to do?” cried Cornelius, seeing her turn over the turkey drumsticks in the platter, when the basket, lined neatly with brown paper, was all ready and waiting on a chair. So Mother Brimmer began to explain.

“Oh! now, I say that’s too bad,” cried Cornelius, “to give away a lot of things to those fellows who pitched into us in our shop, and egged me most to death, besides making me sprain my ankle. Don’t let her do it, ma,” he begged.

“But Mr. Plumtree made them sorry about fighting in the shop,” said Rosy, continuing her selection of pieces, “and they had to work awfully hard at the farmer’s where he bound them out; and now they’re all so poor, I don’t suppose they’ve had the least bit of a Thanksgiving dinner.”

“They don’t deserve any,” said Cornelius stoutly. Even Jack looked as if he thought Company’s sentiment wasted.

“I told her she might,” said Mrs. Brimmer quietly, the guests looking on with no words to offer.

“Look at her,—she’s putting in an awful lot,” shouted Cornelius, hanging over the turkey platter. “Rosy, don’t give ’em _that_.”

“That” was half of an apple tart, rich and red, and juicy.

“Probably the first they’ve ever tasted,” said the minister softly.

Jack rubbed the toe of his boot back and forth over the polished wooden floor, Miss Clorinda gave a mild sniff of disapproval of the way things were going on, but by pinching herself, she managed to keep still; Corny alone, keeping up the other side of the argument.

“It’s a perfect shame, when it’s the first time we’ve ever had a Thanksgiving,” he cried, with a red face and indignant eyes, “to pack off all those nice things to a lot of dirty, mean old Corner boys.”

Mother Brimmer still kept silent.

“Jack thinks so.” Corny whirled around and pointed to the senior partner triumphantly. “He knows; and you ought to do as he says, Rosy.”

Company’s little right hand dropped to the side of the basket, while her round face took on a pained expression as she looked at Jack.

The big boy flushed up to his dark hair, and he dropped his eyes to the floor to follow the working of his uneasy boot. He longed to say “I think it’s ridiculous, when we are all working so hard, to give away such things to those idle, good-for-nothing Corner boys,” but a verse from the Bible came ringing through his ears. For a moment, he thought the parson must be repeating it, and he glanced up quickly. No; there he sat in the high-backed chair looking at him silently. Then Jack remembered it was in church that very morning that he had heard the words “Do good to them that hate you.”

Here was the direct command from the Master. Jack in the past year of work and responsibility, had drawn very near to his Heavenly Father; at the last, glad to enroll himself as a member of the Church of Christ. And, yet, on this blessed day of thankfulness for the wealth of mercies that had been showered upon him, he was avariciously shutting his heart to the good impulse that would help some of God’s poor, needy ones, up into the range of human sympathy and love. They might be wicked; all the more reason that he should do what he could to bring them to love the good. Mean, contemptible fellow that he was to even look his disapproval to what Rosy was doing!

Jack threw back his head, and Cornelius gave a long breath of delight.

“Go on, Rose,” said the big boy of the family, “and I’ll help you.” Thereupon Jack sprang forward, and seized an orange and laid it in the basket, and followed with two or three handfuls of butternuts.

“Ow—ow!” cried Corny in despair.

“Come on, Corny,” cried Jack, his color deepening into a bloom to match that in Wild Rose’s cheeks, and his dark eyes dancing with delight, “if you want any hand in this basket; see, it’s almost full.”

And the next thing that Corny knew, he was tucking in the drumsticks of the chickens, that he had fondly hoped to pick clean on the morrow; and Jack had saved himself from being the one to pull down the sweet impulses of his younger brother and his little sister, into the mire where all was hateful and of evil growth.

“I suppose,” said the parson, when all the packing was done, even to the tying of the string across the cover, “that you don’t want my company on your walk over to the Corners—eh, Jack?”

“Don’t we, though,” cried the boy, never the least bit afraid of the minister; now, warmed up to self-forgetfulness, in a mood light-hearted enough for anything.

“Yes, sir, we do!” echoed Corny, whipping out his knife to cut off the string-end. “That’ll be just gay, if you’ll come.”

“Suppose we all accompany the basket party,” proposed Miss Peaseley slowly, and taking her feet away from the cheerful blaze of the snapping hickory; “that is, those who care to,” she added, with a thought in time for the widow and her daughter, and lame Joey Clark.

Joey looked wistfully across at his sister; but she shook her head, and he sat back obediently in the depths of his chair.

“Want to go, Joey?” asked Mr. Higginson.

“Yes, sir,” Joey’s thin cheek glowed at once, and his eyes sparkled.

“Now, I feel just like a ride on this cold afternoon,” declared Parson Higginson, jumping up, and swinging his arms. “I’m going over cross lots to ask Farmer Hooker to lend me his green wagon and Betty the mare. Want to go, Jack and Corny, and help harness?” Both boys signified without any hesitancy, that they did.

“Joey, you have the first invitation,” said the parson, nodding over at the lame boy; “get all bundled up in fine style,—and all you others,” waving his ministerial hands merrily toward the group; “follow suit, and we’ll pick you up in about ten minutes—oh! here’s my coat; thank you, Jack, and Rosy, for my hat. Come on, boys!”

And so, what was supposed to be rather a hard and unwelcome duty of trudging down to the Corners with a heavy basket containing some of the Thanksgiving goodies, turned out to be, under the minister’s management, the most royal frolic of the season, and one well suited to wind up a Thanksgiving party with.

And then came Christmas.

There was no party at the old Brimmer place, of course. Mother Brimmer would have held up her hands in amazement at such an idea. One festive occasion was quite enough to indulge in for a year, and the memory of it would follow each day of the twelvemonth, with inspiration to heartier work than ever.

“It’s Thanksgiving all the year,” said Corny one day, well along in December. “Didn’t we have a good time? I haven’t got the taste of those pies out of my mouth yet,” and he smacked his lips.

“Those were the most economical pies I ever made,” said Mrs. Brimmer, laughing, “they last so long.”

“I’m going to pretend,” said Corny, nailing away vigorously on his mother’s washboard, which a rainy day had allowed him to mend, “that we’re going to have some more on Christmas.”

“Better not,” said Mother Brimmer wisely, “for you’re not going to, and when the time comes you’ll be disappointed.”

“No, I sha’n’t, Mamsie,” said Cornelius decidedly, “’cause I know you aren’t going to make any. But I remember just how they tasted, and when I’m pretending we can have ’em all over again, it’s ’most as good as eating any.”

“It’s a very cheap way of getting a nice dish,” said Mrs. Brimmer, cutting up her meat for the stew, “but I don’t think sham pies are as good as the plain boiled dinner we’re going to have Christmas.”

Cornelius pounded away a few moments in silence; then he said, “I suppose we ought to do something for Christmas; that don’t take money, I mean,” with an anxious glance at his mother.

“Well, now, children,” said Mrs. Brimmer, neatly dividing an obdurate joint, “there, that’s done. I’ve been thinking about Christmas, and a plan has come to me.”

“Don’t tell till Jack comes,” cried Rosalie, over in the corner busy with her ironing holders. “O, Mamsie, do wait!” she begged in alarm.

“Jack knows about it,” said Mrs. Brimmer; “he and I talked it all over the night you two went to singing-school. And he wanted me to tell you both as soon as I could get a good chance. Now’s the time, I think, seeing Roly Poly is having her nap, and we three are all quiet together.”

“O, Mamsie! what is it?” cried Rosy breathlessly; and, dropping her sewing, she ran up to her mother’s side, Cornelius also deserting his washboard.

“Go right straight back,” said Mother Brimmer, clapping the potatoes into the kettle, “and pick up your work—dear me! can’t you hear just as well when your fingers are busy, pray tell?”

Thus reproved, they hurried back again. “Now tell, do, Mamsie,” they begged, once more in their places.

“Well,” said Mrs. Brimmer slowly, “it’s just this; Roly Poly must hang up her stocking the same as usual, of course.”

“But do let it be a better one this year,” cried Corny, “old turnip dolls, and such make-believe stuff as it was last Christmas!” he added contemptuously.

“Roly Poly had a beautiful time,” said Rosy, “she’s been talking of it most every day since. Don’t you remember what fun it was seeing her pull out the things?”

“And the doll, I’m sure, was a wonderful affair,” said Mother Brimmer, “and lasted much better than a store one would have done.”

“And when it wrinkled it looked just like an old woman,” said Corny, with a shout at the remembrance; “and how funny it was to hear Roly Poly call it her baby.”

“And wasn’t the molasses candy with the butternuts meats good,” observed Rosalie reflectively, “and the furniture you and Jack made for the dolly—oh! I think that was so pretty.”

“And the mittens Mamsie knit her; I forgot them,” said Corny. “Yes; it was pretty good, after all. But we’re richer now, and we ought to give her a better stocking this Christmas,” he added decidedly, with quite an air.

“I don’t know about being richer,” said Mother Brimmer cautiously, and giving a final stir to the several ingredients in the kettle, she put on the cover, took down her pans and set about moulding her bread; “our expenses increase every year as you children grow older; and it isn’t right to plan taking anything that isn’t actually necessary, out of the nest-egg. Roly Poly will need every bit we can give her toward her education by and by.”

“We aren’t being educated,” said Corny deliberately.

Mother Brimmer turned away from her bread-board, looked at him keenly, then sent a swift glance over to her one girl.

“And that’s just what I want to talk about this morning. You’re going to have a chance at it, if you both agree to the plan.”

It was impossible for the children to work now; and the needle and the hammer dropped, while Mother Brimmer went on.

“Mr. Thomas will come here every evening for an hour, for a dollar a week, and teach Jack and both of you; and I’m to have the chance of listening and asking questions, so you might as well call me a scholar, too.”

Neither of her auditors said a word, but stared into the strong face, out of whose mouth was issuing such wonderful words.

“There will have to be hard work on your part to make every minute tell,” said Mother Brimmer, “as you’ve got to keep your books by you and study when you get a chance. But the most important of all, is to keep saying the things you learn, over and over to yourself, so that you can’t forget them; I wouldn’t give a cent that any child of mine should get anything into his or her head, that can’t stay by them,” she added, with a scorn to match that of Cornelius’ own.

“We never’ll forget what we once learn,” cried both Corny and Rosalie in one breath. “But how are we going to pay for it, Mamsie?”

“Well, now to pay for the lessons, we shall all have to sacrifice something,” said Mrs. Brimmer, drawing herself up to her full height, and looking resolutely at them.

“We can give up our play—afternoons,” said Corny slowly, his black eye steadily on her.

“Never!” exclaimed Mrs. Brimmer, bringing her hand down on the table with emphasis, “those mustn’t be touched, whatever we do; that’s decided.”

“What can we give up?” cried Rosy, in astonishment.

“We’re saving everything as close as can be, now,” said Cornelius, with a decided nod. “Jack turns every penny twice over before he’ll begin to think of spending it, and then he claps it into the bank. What in the world can we save more, ma?”

“I said ‘sacrifice,’” replied Mrs. Brimmer, very distinctly. “We shall have to draw out some of the nest-egg. This will come hard, because all of us have been working diligently to put the little fund there, and every cent taken away from it reduces the interest.”

Cornelius began to look grave at once. Rail as he might at Jack’s regard for every penny, the accumulation of the deposit in the bank was is dear to the heart of the younger boy, who had no delight so great as an errand that took him past the large, red building, over whose door was the magical word—Bank. To stand here a moment and reflect that nearly one hundred dollars was recorded on the books to the credit of Brimmer Brothers and Company, repaid for many hours of toil and self-denial. Now, if they had a teacher, some of that slowly-accumulated money must be used.

It was to be a sacrifice, as the mother had said.

“But,” Mrs. Brimmer’s tone changed to a ringing one of hopefulness and courage, “the money thus taken out and used, will be the best investment possible; better than a ten per cent interest for all of us. Think of it, children; an education for you and for me!” and for one little moment, the barriers of a pent-up longing, that had possessed her heart for years, were dropped.

“Mother,” they cried, “let us have Mr. Thomas come just as soon as he can!”

“He can’t come till Christmas Eve,” said Mrs. Brimmer. “But he’ll begin then, and be glad to, for he’s too poor to go home for a vacation. So he told me yesterday, when I stopped into the District school.”

“Is that where you went, Mamsie, in the afternoon, when you put on your Sunday shawl and bonnet?” asked Rosy, who hadn’t recovered from the astonishment produced by seeing such preparations made for a visit about which there was no attending conversation.

“Yes, child; I asked Jack about it, first; and then he wanted, if Mr. Thomas could do it, to have me tell you and see if you would like to fall into the plan. If Mr. Thomas couldn’t do it, why, then, you two wouldn’t have any disappointment to bear. But he can. O, what a Christmas we will have!”

THE RAILROAD ON MT. PILATUS

IF the Rigi Railroad is worthy of being considered an extraordinary and wonderful piece of work, the latest undertaking of this kind—the building of the railroad on Mt. Pilatus—certainly ought to attract the attention of engineers and of the travelling public. This new road differs essentially from its older rivals in the construction of its roadbed, as well as of the rolling stock. The ruggedness and steepness of the mountain, together with its great height (sixty-eight hundred and eighty-two feet, against fifty-nine hundred and five, in the case of Rigi), offered much greater obstacles than the roads previously built, and required an entirely different system. The restless spirit of man is always glad to set for itself some new task, and consequently men were found who, equipped with the necessary capital, were willing and able to carry out this tremendous undertaking. When a portion of the road had been completed, all fear in regard to strength and safety were removed, for it was thoroughly tested every day, the locomotives going as often as it was necessary to that part of the road on which they were at work, carrying materials of all kinds, weighing from twenty thousand to twenty-two thousand pounds. The southeastern side of the mountain was chosen for the road, which begins at Alpnach-Stad, between the Hotel Pilatus and the Eagle Hotel (one thousand four hundred and forty-eight feet above the level of the sea). From there it climbs in a northerly direction to the Aemsigenalp, then westward to the Mattalp (fifty-three hundred and fifteen feet above the sea), and after much winding reaches the plateau of the Hotel Bellevue on Mount Pilatus (sixty-eight hundred and eleven feet above the sea). The road is about two and three quarters miles long, and the total height climbed from the shore of Alpnacht Bay to the Hotel Bellevue is fifty-three hundred and sixty feet. The grade is from eighteen to forty-eight per cent., which is scarcely exceeded by any rope road. In the middle of the line, at Alp Aemsigen, there is a switch. Seventy-two hundred and sixty-seven feet of the entire road consists of straight stretches, curves with radii of from two hundred and sixty-two feet to three hundred and twenty-eight feet, constituting the remainder. The road includes a viaduct, three short tunnels and one long one. The width of the track is two feet seven inches. The foundation consists of a wall covered with plates of granite and loose material, and on this the superstructure is firmly anchored. The tooth-bar—which is placed midway between the rails and is somewhat higher than the latter—consists of soft steel, and is provided with a double row of vertical teeth, which are milled out of the bar. The cogged wheels on the cars, which engage the toothed bar, are arranged in pairs at the right and left of the same. The axles of these cogwheels are not horizontal with the level of the road, as in the Rigi system, but perpendicular to the same, this arrangement making it impossible for the cogwheels to become displaced. The locomotives and cars form a train with two running axles and four cogwheels engaging the toothed bar. The boiler and engine are behind or below the cars, which latter accommodate thirty-two passengers. Brakes can be applied to all of the cogwheels, and besides this there are two clamps at the upper running-axle, which clutch the head of the rail, thus preventing the upsetting of the cars by the wind. The weight of the loaded cars is about twenty-one thousand pounds, and one trip up or down can be made in about eighty minutes. The idea of the Pilatus road originated with Edward Locher, under whose supervision and control the road has been built. The engine was invented by Mechanical Engineer Haas.—_Illustrirte Zeitung._

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RECENT discoveries have settled the vexed question of the former existence of lions in Australia. Bones from the Wellington Caves, New South Wales, are regarded by Professor Owen of the British Museum, as being those of a marsupial or pouch-bearing lion, fully equal in size to the existing African species. These remains were found in connection with those of the Tasmanian Tiger and Tasmanian Devil. Quite curiously, Professor Owen many years ago expressed the conviction that certain ancient herbivorous animals of Australia must have been kept in check by a co-existent race of lions.—_Selected._

VALUE OF ARABIC NUMERALS.

FEW people, probably, have any adequate idea of the great difficulties in which arithmetic would be involved were it not for the happy invention of the Arabic numerals. Here is a very simple little sum in addition put Roman fashion.

The reader will find it “a nice amusement,” as the model papa always tells his daughters, to work it out as it stands without having recourse to Arabic notation:

MDCXLVIII
MCCXLV
DCCXXXIX
MDCCCLXXXIV

None of these figures reach two thousand, and yet what a hopeless task to sum them up without an abacus! But that is, indeed, a small matter. Here are two better tests of the impossibility of arithmetic without Arabic notation:

Multiply (all in Roman figures) MDCCXLIV by DCLXXXIV, and divide MCCXLIII by XLV. Nothing could be simpler than these two sums, and yet it requires considerable intellect and very close attention to work them out on paper with the Roman symbols.—_Cornhill Magazine._

BABY’S CORNER.

OEY and Jamie are two little bits of boys.

They live in a nice house and play under a big tree.

One little boy is just as old as the other little boy.

When they stand up to see how high they are, Joey is no bigger than Jamie. They are twins.

They look as much alike as peas in a pod. Only Joey has big black eyes and Jamie has blue ones.

They have good times playing when they are good. Sometimes they are naughty. Joey is naughty most.

One day last summer they were playing by the little brook where the flowers grow. The water said “tinkle, tinkle, tinkle,” as it ran over the stones.

They were happy for a little while. They picked flowers and put their fat hands in the cool water.

But at last Joey began to pick up stones and throw them. One little white stone hit Jamie’s blue eye. It hurt him. He cried. Mamma came and took him on her lap and kissed his eye.

Then it felt better.

Joey sat in mamma’s lap a long time and ate some big red cherries. They were sweet and good.

Mamma was sorry that she had to punish poor naughty Joey. He had to be tied up in his little chair. He had no cherries. He cried very hard.

Joey will throw no more stones at his little brother.

MRS. C. M. LIVINGSTON.

_Volume 15, Number 9._ Copyright, 1887, by D. LOTHROP COMPANY.
_December 31, 1887._

THE PANSY.

A BOY FROM THYATIRA.

WELVE years ago a little boy, only thirteen years old, stood bidding his mother good-by.

He was going a long journey with strangers across the ocean, to stay a good many years. He didn’t know how long it would be before he should see his dear father and mother again.

He had very black eyes and hair, and beautiful white teeth, and his skin was somewhat darker than yours when you’ve been playing bareheaded in the sun. For the rest, he was a little Armenian boy, born and reared in Turkey, and speaking the Armenian language. His father was a native preacher in Thyatira.

And now this boy was to take a long, long journey to America to be educated, so that he might come back to work for the Jesus whom he loved so much.

It was very hard to say good-by for so long a time, but at last it was over, and the boy went down to the great ship that was to carry him over the ocean, trying to choke back the tears that would rise when he thought of his home and father and mother and playmates, and the missionaries whom he loved so much. So he knelt down by his little bed in the ship, and begged the dear Heavenly Father to go with him. Then there came a sweet verse to him to cheer him: “Fear thou not, neither be thou dismayed, for the Lord thy God is with thee, whithersoever thou goest.”

He was very much bewildered when he landed in this country, at all the bustle and hurry, and the strange language.

He was put immediately into school, and went to work at the English language.

“Did you find it hard?” I asked him, not long since.

“Hard! I should think I did,” he answered. “Your language is so queer! See that horse tied to a tree. It is ‘fast.’ And yet if he is running at full speed you call him ‘fast.’ That window is locked. You say it is ‘fast,’ but so is the young man that smokes and drinks, and wears flashy neckties and carries a cane. It was a great puzzle to me at first. It has taken me all these twelve years to learn it.”

The boy has worked hard, and is a fine scholar.

Five years ago he went back to his own country and spent a year in Smyrna among the Greeks, and now if you chance to have the pleasure of spending an evening in his company, he may take his guitar and sing to you the wild, sweet melodies of the Greeks, with their soft, musical syllables, and I’m sure you’ll be delighted with them.

Perhaps, too, he may give you the Turkish call to go to Jerusalem, and describe the caravan of Armenians as they start on their pilgrimage to the Holy City, with a young man ahead on a beautifully-adorned camel, his head thrown back, his hands clasped at the back of his neck, and singing out the weird call which means something like this:

“Come all ye people! Let us go up to visit Jerusalem! It will please all the saints! I have sold all my vast estates to fit me out for the journey. I have given up everything! Be not behind your leader! Come, let us go up and we shall be saved!”

He will tell you, too, of his little brother, who has just started to this country to be educated. How often he will jump upon some barrel or box in the street and imitate the Mohammedan call to prayer, with such exactness that his mother is obliged to pull him down quickly and take him into the house lest some angry Mohammedan should seize him and punish him for his fun.

The young man is now studying medicine and expects to return to his own country soon, to begin work for his Master.

Shall we not all pray that his work may be blest, and that many may be brought to Jesus through him?

GRACE LIVINGSTON.

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THERE is a little fable which says that one digging in the earth found a lump of fragrant clay, and asked, “Whence thy fragrance?” “One laid me on a rose,” was the answer. So he who lies on the bosom of Christ and abides in Him will be struck with His fragrance, His spirit of love and holiness, and wherever He goes will shed rich spiritual influence.—_Presbyterian._

NOT LOST ON THE AIR.

A VERY interesting incident occurred in the early ministerial life of Mr. Spurgeon, and which he verified to the person who made it public. Thirty years ago or more, he was invited to preach in the vast Crystal Palace at Sydenham. Would his voice fill the immense area? Resolving to test it, he went in the morning to the Palace, and thinking for a passage of Scripture to repeat, this, as he reached the stage, came to mind: “It is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.” Pronouncing the words, he felt sure that he would be heard, and then repeated the verse in a softer tone. More than a quarter of a century later Mr. Spurgeon’s brother, who is also a pastor, was called to the bedside of a man, an artisan, who was near his end.

“Are you ready?” asked the pastor.

“O, yes!” answered the dying man, with assurance.

“Can you tell me how you obtained the salvation of your soul?”

“It is very simple,” said the artisan, his face radiant with joy. “I am a plumber by trade. Some years ago I was working under the dome of the Crystal Palace, and thought myself entirely alone. I was without God and without hope.

“All at once I heard a voice coming from Heaven which said “It is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners.” By the meaning of these words I was convinced of sin; Jesus Christ appeared to me as my Saviour. I accepted Him in my heart as such at the same moment, and I have served Him ever since.”

God honors his Word. Suppose Mr. Spurgeon had used a secular sentence to try his voice? What surprises await the faithful when results are known.—_The Watchword._

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“NEW MEXICO is peopled largely by a superstitious, ignorant race, intensely bigoted, and under the almost absolute sway of a degraded priesthood, who have a deadly hatred of the spelling-book as well as of Christian instruction.

“For centuries the people have dwelt in isolation, separated from civilization by vast reaches of barren, waterless, cactus-bearing plains. During these centuries they have made no advance either mentally or morally, but have sunk deeper and deeper into the sloughs of ignorance. The mission schools established among the Mexicans are centres of light from whence radiate many cheering rays. The people are awakening to a sense of their degradation, and give evidence of their desire for improvement. Many are anxious to learn English and to have their children educated. A little plain furniture, such as chairs, tables and bedsteads, is finding its way into their houses, and more attention is paid to dress and cleanliness.”

New Mexico is about as large as all the New England States together, with New York and New Jersey.

LOTUS LILIES.

HE lotus lily is spoken of as “the peer-less flower of Farther India.” From an article, which is too long to give you entire, I shall cull some interesting items about this flower for your benefit.

It is a kind of water lily, and is considered a wonderful flower by the people of the countries in which it is found. In Egypt it was once considered sacred to their gods, and in India the Hindoo gods are often represented as seated upon the expanded flower. In China and Japan it is closely connected with Buddha, and has a large place in the worship of that god. In China the lotus lily symbolizes womanly beauty, the small feet of women being called _kin leen_, or golden lilies.

The petals of the lotus lily are rose-pink, growing brighter and redder toward the tips, where one can almost imagine the life-blood of the flower is oozing out, and will soon drop upon the white mat of the table. Opening the rosy lips, the golden heart of the flower is disclosed surrounded by a silky fringe of the stamens of the same bright hue, edged with pure white pollen. The leaves of the plant are dark-green, almost round, and lie or float upon the bosom of the lake. The stems are like long green serpents, rearing their spiral forms from the black ooze beneath the water, and holding aloft their banners of green and blossoms of beauty and fragrance.

But notwithstanding the fact that the plant is held sacred, many of the Chinese cultivate it for sale. The fragrant blossoms reach a diameter of ten inches, and find ready purchasers. The seeds are used as an article of food; sometimes eaten raw, sometimes ground and made into cakes.

The fleshy stems are used as a vegetable, while the fibres of the leaf-stalks serve for lamp-wicks.

The ancient Egyptians used to inclose the seeds in balls of clay or mud and cast them into the Nile, and in due season the plant appeared, followed by buds, flowers and seeds. Does that make you think of a Bible verse?

In Siam the lotus lilies grow in great profusion, and one may sail for miles along the rivers through flooded fields covered with the lotus blossoms, which the natives are gathering for market.

Then there are the royal lotus gardens of Bangkok. These are several miles from the king’s palace. There is a carriage road leading out from the city, and these gardens are a famous place for picnics. At the grand funeral ceremonies of the Queen of Siam, one of the companies which walked in the procession carried tridents, the triple tips of which were each crowned with the white lotus. Every year thousands of real and artificial lilies are floated on the rivers and sea as offerings of the water spirits.

They are launched at night, with little wax tapers burning, and they are loaded with offerings to the gods.

Many beautiful fancies cluster about the lotus, and many songs have been written, which you may appreciate the more if you happen upon them, for knowing something about the beautiful fragrant flower “trembling on the crystal tide.”

THE YEAR OF OUR LORD.

THE following incident which occurred, as will be seen, many years ago, has lately been published, and is from the experience of Mr. Duncan, a well-known missionary to the Indians of British Columbia. He says:—

“I was teaching the Indians to write letters, and, as a matter of course, began at the name of the place at which the letter was supposed to be written. About that step there was nothing to call forth any remark from the Indians. Next came the name of the month. That elicited some smiles, but no questions. Then was added the day of the month, which also caused some interest, but no surprise. When, however, I added 1860 for the year, immediately the Indians inquired what did those figures mean, and why was the year so named? For a moment I was stunned at the answer which the question called for. Never before had I realized the startling meaning of those figures in connection with the Gospel, and how severely they witnessed against the Christian Church.

“The Indians seemed at once to seize with awe the information I offered on the subject, and their looks but too plainly indicated both reproach and astonishment that the message of God should have been withheld from them so long.

“I felt both ashamed and humiliated for my race, and wondered how so many generations of Christians since the apostolic age, could have dared, as they have done, to so willfully and fatally neglect, or, at best, but trifle with their Lord’s commission.”

“THE EVENING STAR.”

IN the large playground of a Christian school in Beirut is an arbor where several girls of the school were accustomed to meet just at sunset for a prayer meeting. They had organized this meeting by themselves, and one day the teacher asked, “What do you call your meeting?”

“Oh! we call it the ‘Evening Star,’ because when the sun sets the evening star comes out, and so, when the sun sets our little meeting is held, and we have named it the Evening Star.”

“And what do you pray for at the ‘Evening Star’?” asked the teacher.

“Oh! we pray for our teachers; but especially we pray for a new heart.”

GOWAHATIS.

N the western part of the State of New York there is a territory known as the “Cattaraugas Reservation.” This is the home of the Senecas, one of the tribes of the Iroquois, or Six Nations of Indians of Western New York. There were six tribes that in the early history of our country formed a confederacy or union, and were sometimes called the Huron-Iroquois; one tribe was called by the Dutch “Sinnekaas,” which at length became “Senecas.” A secretary of the board of missions connected with one of the leading religious denominations visited the Reservation a year or so ago, and he tells us many interesting facts connected with these Indians and concerning the work of the missionaries among them. Fifty years ago most of these people were benighted Pagans worshiping false gods, but to-day there is probably not a dozen persons among the four thousand who have any veneration for heathen worship. This does not mean that all love and serve the Lord Jesus Christ. When you say that you live in a Christian land or in a Christian community, you do not mean that all the people in the land or in the community are real Christians, but you mean that all or at least the most of the people believe in Christianity.

Now how did it come about that these ignorant worshipers of false gods have become a Christian nation? You are not surprised to learn that it has been brought about through the efforts of a few earnest and faithful missionaries who have given their lives to the work of lifting up this people. But it is the story of Gowahatis that I started to tell you. She was the step-daughter of Red Jacket, a noted Seneca chief, who received his name from wearing a scarlet coat given him, during the Revolutionary War, by a British officer. Red Jacket was bitterly opposed to the Christian religion, to missionaries, schools and teachers. This step-daughter, Gowahatis, was called “Aunt Ruth” by the missionaries.

Her Indian name was significant of her position as leader of a certain dance performed by women alone. It was very honorable, and constituted her a sort of “chief” woman. Both mother and daughter strongly sympathized with Red Jacket in his opposition to the introduction of the religion of the pale faces, until, having been induced to listen for once to the preaching of the missionaries, they perceived its superiority to their faith and desired to know more of the wonderful salvation which the Son of God had wrought out for all men—Indians as well as white men. They went again, but this coming to the ears of the old chief, he positively forbade them, threatening that if they disobeyed he would leave his family at once. The mother was very much alarmed, and for a time she ceased her visits to the mission house. But after a time she and her daughter took their blankets out into the woods one Saturday evening and hid them. The next morning they walked away from the house slowly, as if going out to the woods, and when they came to the blankets they threw them hastily over their heads, and by a circuitous path made their way to the meeting.

There they heard the words, “God so loved the world that He gave His only begotton Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” This brought them to decide, once for all, to take the Gospel and risk the loss of all things. This was a great step; Red Jacket would do what he had said: he would leave the family; this they knew. He was a very distinguished man; as his wife and daughter they had been much noticed and had received many presents, but they would renounce all for Christ and everlasting life.

They joined the mission church, were very earnest Christian women, they remained faithful unto death, and exerted a powerful influence in bringing others to Christ. A year or two after Red Jacket returned to his wife, and acknowledged that he had done wrong in leaving, adding that he did not think that she was any the worse for being a Christian.

Dear Pansies, this thought came to me as I heard the story of these Indian women: they heard the truth once and were interested, twice and accepted.

How many times have you heard it? Have you accepted Christ?

FAYE HUNTINGTON.

THE PERSECUTED BANNERMAN.

[In one of the missionary magazines I read this
note: “There is one story in the foreign missionary
department of this number which none of our young
readers should overlook.... It is a first-rate story to
read and talk about in the family.” Turning over the
pages I found, as I had expected, that the editor’s
suggestion was a good one, and then I immediately
became desirous that all you young people of the Pansy
should have a chance at the story, and here it is,
clipped for your benefit.—FAYE HUNTINGTON.]

NG-HIN-KI a young man of more than usual ability and energy joined the Third Presbyterian Church in Canton in September, 1881. His foster mother was bitterly enraged at him for so doing, and all his brothers were greatly displeased. They made strenuous efforts to prevent him from attending church and from performing his religious duties, but without success.

Their persecution, especially that of his foster mother, became so bitter that in the spring of 1882, he was given the place of door-keeper in one of our chapels, one hundred and thirty miles from Canton, receiving for his services two dollars and fifty cents per month. In the autumn of the same year he received a letter from an elder in the Third Church, advising him not to return to Canton, as his foster-mother and brothers had brought a charge against him of being _unfilial_, which in China is a very serious crime. Their object was to get him discharged from his position as bannerman. Instead, however, of remaining away from Canton, he at once returned, saying he would go at once and meet the charge. He found on arriving that all his property, one shop and three dwelling-houses, had been sold for fourteen hundred dollars. He was brought before a military officer and ordered to light three sticks of incense and place them before an idol. He was told that if he obeyed, the draft for fourteen hundred dollars lying upon the table would be restored to him, but if he refused he would lose not only that and his monthly allowance, but his betrothal, which had cost him three hundred dollars, would be made null and void, altogether that which he would forfeit would be what is for a Chinaman a comfortable and permanent livelihood. Sign and save, refuse and lose. He refused and was cast out penniless. He entered the training school, and after three years of faithful study was appointed to preach. He is now doing a useful and encouraging work three hundred miles from Canton, at Sam Kong, near Lien Chow. Until near the close of last year this man’s relatives refused to have anything to do with him, when, much to his delight, a great change took place. They became not only willing to welcome him home, but to hear him make known the Gospel. It came about in this way: one of his brothers at a tea-shop had seen a member of the Third Church, also a bannerman, telling the people about Jesus.

One of the company in anger struck him a blow in the face, telling him he need not come there to preach to them. He smiled and went on with his discourse. Ng-hin-ki’s brother was much surprised. He knew the speaker was naturally high-tempered, was physically strong, and was no coward. In fact he knew perfectly well that what prevented the bannerman from striking back was not fear, but principle. This won his admiration for the man and respect at least for his message and was the occasion of bringing about in his family the changed feeling mentioned above.

A PRODIGAL SON.

I HAVE opened one more school, a mile from the road. I had to walk that distance. Those burning days it was pretty severe, as the road lay over sand hills and plowed fields. The school was so nice, the children so happy, one could not remember the discomfort.

An old Mohammedan priest tried to break it up, and did compel some to withdraw their children, but the school is secure.

Several women came in to see Miss Sohiba and watch the school. The Bible lesson began from a picture of the Prodigal Son, hung on the wall. An old lady listened; her face sobered, tears filled her eyes; finally, amid broken sobs, she declared—

“O, Miss Sohiba, that is my boy! That is my boy!”

Most touchingly she told how he had gone, how she had watched and waited for him, but he never came back.—_Extract from Miss Pratt’s letter from India._

SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT.

The address of Mrs. G. R. Alden (Pansy), is Winter Park, Orange Co., Florida. All contributions for THE PANSY magazine should be sent to that P. O., and _not_ to the Publishers, D. Lothrop Company.

ALL ALONG THE LINE.

_Conducted by_

R. M. ALDEN.

We have to thank many of our readers, this month, for
helping us in this Department. Let others follow their
example, and begin this part of the winter’s work.
Address everything for us to R. M. Alden, Box 17,
Winter Park, Orange County, Florida.

WE hear from the Secretary of a Band in India of how they are educating two Mexican girls, whom a missionary has taken to educate for teachers. Who knows what great food this seed may start?

A MISSION BAND in Brighton, Massachusetts, made over one hundred dollars in a fair held last May. There were fancy articles and refreshments sold. Twenty dollars were voted to the “Fresh Air Fund,” and twenty more to some home missionaries in the West. [We are indebted to Miss Bessie Cotton for the report.]

HAVE the readers of THE PANSY heard of the natives of the Charlotte Islands, ignorant and benighted, who gave, one Sabbath, one hundred of their blankets, valued at one dollar and twenty-five cents each, toward the erection of a new church? If we consider the resources and ideas of this people, it was truly a great gift, and a good example for any Americans. [We have to thank Adella F. Coy for calling our attention to this most interesting item.]

AT Nolo, Iowa, there is a very busy mission band, of nine members, which is making up a box for a hospital in Council Bluffs. They are earning money in various ways. Some gather eggs and have one out of every dozen, some have raised chickens, one little pigs. One boy’s father offered him ten cents apiece for all the squirrels he would catch on the farm. But so many poor nut-crackers became prisoners that the price came down to two and one half cents. The Band held a Lawn Festival, at which they sold various refreshments, and made thirteen dollars. They are knitting stockings, hoods, and mittens, dressing a doll and piecing a comforter. Success to all who “are not weary in well-doing.”

IN the streets of large mission stations of Japan, there are rooms open all day, in charge of the missionaries, where the heathen may learn of the true religion. A countryman entered one of these stations and had a long talk with one of the missionaries,—whom it was our pleasure to meet this summer. When he went home he was a Christian. Some weeks afterward the missionaries received a letter from him. He wrote: “We have here a church, Sabbath-school, prayer-meeting, etc., all composed of one member. I get along nicely, except for the Communion Service. And if you could send me by mail a bit of the bread you use could I not have a service all by myself?” The bread was sent, and some time later the convert wrote back how much he enjoyed the Communion Service, all alone, with Jesus.

THE young people of a certain church in the West, had a chance not long since to give an object lesson and did it well. One of their number who had been long absent from home, soon after her return, made an entertainment for her friends; delightful music was to be expected, and some other enjoyments of a special character. The invitations were sent out for Friday evening; to the lady’s disappointment, one, and another and another, of those whom she specially wanted, politely declined the invitation; they were sorry not to be with her; under other circumstances nothing would give them greater pleasure, but for that evening they had a previous engagement. On being pressed as to what it was, they explained that it was the evening for their regular young people’s prayer meeting! Their friend was so astonished at this reply, that she took some trouble to learn whether the young ladies had known of one another’s intentions in declining her invitation, and found that each had acted without knowing what the other meant to do. Don’t you think she must have decided that in the minds of some people the prayer meeting was an important place, and the engagement to attend it was not to be lightly broken?

MERRY CHRISTMAS to all my Blossoms! Glad am I to be able to give you this happy greeting once more. And to the many new faces which I greet for the first time, the wish is just as hearty; may each of you have this month, not only the merriest, but, in the truest sense of the word, the best Christmas you ever enjoyed in your lives.

Shall I tell you how to make sure of this? I dare say you know, but I will just repeat the thought to keep it before your minds. In the first place, let each of you make a Christmas gift, very costly and very precious, to the best friend you have. Now I see many sorrowful faces, and hear low, regretful voices: “You would like to, but you have no money to spend, or at best but very little, and cannot afford anything costly.” Is that what I hear you say? Mistaken, every one of you. The most costly and precious thing in the world, is the strong true heart which has its home in your body, my boy—or my girl. I want you, this Christmas month, to give it away to the Lord Jesus Christ.

No matter if you have done it before. I am glad to know that many of you have. Just renew the gift. Choose some quiet hour, and go alone, and, on your knees, say: “Lord Jesus, I give myself anew to Thee, in return for Thy great Christmas gift to me. I give Thee my time, and my strength and my will. I ask Thee to direct me all day, and every day, in the way in which Thou wouldst have me go. And I promise to use my tongue to speak for Thee, and my hands to work for Thee, and my feet to do errands for Thee, and my heart to love Thee.”

I wonder how many will use this prayer, and mean each word in their hearts? Just so many will be sure to have a happy Christmas, and a happy year.

One other thing: Some of our Blossoms have been transplanted during the year that is past. God has sent his angels and gathered them to bloom in His upper garden, where flowers never wither. Now, while we are glad for them, shall we not remember the homes from which they have gone? The dear fathers and mothers and brothers and sisters, who cannot, sometimes, keep the tears from coming, because they miss their darlings so? Will not every Pansy Blossom ask the dear Lord to help and comfort these sorrowing hearts?

Now, just one thing more: What can you do on Christmas Day which will make somebody else happier than he or she could possibly have been if you had not done it?

Think it out, my Blossoms, “something for each of you now to do.” Then, set to work and do it; then write and tell me all about it, and I’ll weave all your letters into a story for next year’s PANSY.

Lovingly,
PANSY.

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_Annie and Florence._ No doubt your game, “Jack Throws,” is a good one but as it has a diagram, and as our printer cannot always prepare such, it may fail to appear. Sorry.

_Alice L. Snow._ Send a copy of your Queer Story for examination. You did capitally on the geographical puzzle. “A Christian since eleven years of age.” So glad I am of this. I trust the Saviour is glad, too. Is it your constant aim to make Him glad?

MYRTIE A. B. Your Queer Story almost, not quite, correct. Don’t be discouraged. The effort has done you great good, making you a better speller. And you don’t have to go “three miles” to the Queer Story school. You must teach your puss better manners when you are working at your lessons.

_Mamie Fuller._ You must keep some of the writing you do now while you are six years old, and put it by the side of what you do when you are sixty. I guess you will see great progress. And I hope you will come very near the Lord Jesus in that time.

_C. R. Richmond._ A picnic in a beautiful grove; five hundred present; a brass band; oranges, ice-cream, lemonade; talks by Revs. King and Adams; a bountiful dinner following, etc., etc. It seems as though Master Colin and his companions must have gone home with sunny hearts and faces, and in love with the S. S. Did you?

_Minnie Locket._ When a dear little Pansy writes as well as ever he or she can, they need not ask me to excuse their penmanship or anything else about the writing. All I care to know is that they do their very best. No one can do more, and so there is no room for an excuse. Do your best, Minnie, every time, and you will not be ashamed.