Part 4

At length his soul was stirred within him as he witnessed the increasing evils of intemperance, and he wrote and published his celebrated essay upon "The Effects of ardent Spirits upon the Human Body and Mind, with an account of the means of preventing them, and of the remedies for curing them." This is said to have been the first temperance treatise ever published--the beginning of a temperance literature. One hundred years ago, just one pamphlet of less than fifty pages; now, whole libraries of bound books, besides scores upon scores of pamphlets, leaflets and many periodicals devoted exclusively to the cause of temperance! and nearly three quarters of a century after this good man had gone to his rest, men and women from all over the land thronged the city of his birth "To recount the victories won in the war--and to strike glad hands of fellowship."

And now what made Doctor Rush great? What is the best thing said of him?

FAYE HUNTINGTON.

SOME REMARKABLE WOMEN.

O.--OSSOLI. (MARGARET FULLER.)

IF the young readers of THE PANSY had lived forty years ago, and had been readers of the _New York Tribune_, they would, without doubt, have been interested in certain letters upon art and literature written by Margaret Fuller; or, if you are so fortunate as to belong to a grandfather who stored away his files of the _Tribune_ in some now long-forgotten chest in the attic, you may find in the old, yellow and musty papers these same letters, and may read them now. I do not like musty old papers very much! What's the use, when we have fresh ones in such numbers that we cannot begin to read all that are taken by the different members of the family?

Sarah Margaret Fuller was a native of Cambridgeport, Mass. Very early in life she gave promise of the brilliant literary career which she afterwards ran. She was a fine scholar even in childhood, especially in the languages, and in general literature. Her education was carried on in private. After she entered her teens, she became a teacher of the languages in classes in Boston, and in Mr. Alcott's school, and was at one time the principal of a school in Providence. While she was a contributor to the _Tribune_, she was a member of the family of Horace Greeley. Her views of life were modelled after the philosophy of Ralph Waldo Emerson, and about the year 1839, or 1840, she gave a series of lectures, or talks, though I believe they were called _conversazioni_, especially for ladies, the object being the propagation of then somewhat novel ideas. She also became the editor of a paper. She wrote much, and with considerable brilliancy. Her "Summer on the Lakes" gives pictures of the Lake Superior region. Her "Woman in the Nineteenth Century" has to do with some phases of the "Woman's Rights Question." In 1846 she went abroad, and married, in Rome, a nobleman, Giovanni Angelo Ossoli. But she bore the name and the title attached to it only a few years. For when she was returning to America, accompanied by her husband, both lost their lives in a shipwreck. She was a woman of strong passions, indeed it has been said of her that "She was noted for her eccentricities and her ungovernable passions." Not just what I would wish to be written of any of my young friends of THE PANSY. It is a sad thing when a great and gifted woman misses the happiness of a quiet spirit.

FAYE HUNTINGTON.

_Volume 13, Number 38._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO. _July 24, 1886._

THE PANSY.

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.

BY MARGARET SIDNEY.

IX.

"YOU'RE in luck!"

Wilfred's voice was harsh and unpleasant, and he looked at St. George in a way decidedly disagreeable.

George Edward went on whittling.

"Allen, it's no use to pretend that I'm not in an awful scrape by that little affair over at Sachem Hill. Goodness! why don't you speak to a chap?"

"I've nothing to say," observed St. George, proceeding with his work.

"Your tongue is ready enough generally," retorted Wilfred in a temper. "Now, if it suits you to be an oyster, it don't me. I'd rather you'd preach, infinitely."

"I don't do that," cried St. George, throwing down knife and stick, and turning a countenance by no means saintly upon his visitor. "You sha'n't stand there and throw that at me," he declared in a heat.

"I didn't say you did," said Wilfred coolly, "I only said I'd rather you would. So go on."

"It's none of my business what you do," cried St. George, "I'm not going to say a word about it."

"Confound you!" cried Wilfred irritably, flinging his long figure on the bench amongst the shavings, and pushing aside the tools that lay in the way. "Well, hear me, then--I'm in for it, and no mistake. Father is so angry just because I didn't report in time that night, that he threatens to pack me off to boarding-school. In fact, it's as good as decided, and I go next week. Now, you've got the whole."

He threw himself down to the floor as abruptly, plunged his hands in his pockets, and walked to the window.

St. George stood aghast, looking after him.

"Did your mother say so?" he asked at length, hoping, from his knowledge of the Bangs family, that a reprieve might yet arrive from the true head of affairs there.

"Yes," said Wilfred gloomily, "she's worse than father about it, and determined that he sha'n't give in." St. George looked pityingly at him.

"Well, it can't be helped," he said, longing to bestow something better.

"Of course it can't," cried Wilfred, whirling around; "a plague upon you for saying that."

"You wanted me to say something," contributed St. George.

"I know it. But why don't you say 'I told you so,' or, 'If you hadn't been a first-class idiot you'd have dropped that last confounded skate!' Then I could fight you. As it is now, there isn't anything to strike against."

"I'm as sorry as you are," said St. George dubiously, overlooking his ill-success in the matter of conversationally pleasing his friend; "whatever shall I do without you?" There was such genuine regret in his voice and manner, that Wilfred forgot his irritation, and began to look mollified.

"We've had awful good times," he said, coming up to the work-bench again.

"I should think we had," declared St. George in that hearty way of his that made all the boys willing to call him "capital."

"And it's perfectly horrid to begin again with new boys, I tell you. I'd rather run away to sea!" Wilfred's courage failing him once more, he looked the picture of despair.

St. George seeing it, left his own part of the trouble, and turned comforter:

"We're in for it, so all that is left is to face the music."

"Only half-yearly vacations," threw in Wilfred.

St. George's face fell.

"And no boxes from home allowed."

St. George had no words of comfort.

"And no extra 'outs' ever given for good behavior. If there were, I'd set up for a saint," added the victim savagely.

St. George was still silent.

"And all letters must pass through preceptor's hands. Oh! I've seen the bill," said Wilfred in the depths, "besides hearing father and mother read it a good half dozen times. It's just as bad as it can be--a regular old hole of a prison, is Doctor Gowan's Select School for Boys," throwing into his voice as much animosity as he was capable of.

St. George indulged in one or two uneasy turns about the room--his workshop, made out of a part of the generous garret that crowned the old house.

Was not this a terrible punishment indeed for a boy's misdemeanor? Too terrible, it seemed to him, and he felt a growing bitterness in his heart toward the parents who could plan and carry it out, and thus mar, not only the happiness of their own son, but that of a large circle of boys who were to lose a jolly companion.

But at last conscience spoke: "You are wrong. You _know_ that Wilfred has done many things of late that have tried the patience of his father, his mother, and his teachers. You _know_ that they have borne with his increasing unfaithfulness--that they have labored with the boy, hoping and praying for better things. You _know_ they take this course feeling it best for him, and while it is hard for him and for you, it must be borne, realizing it to be the result of the boy's own course. You _know_ all this, now give the case the justice in your own mind that is its due."

St. George turned around and frankly put out his hand.

"It's right you go," he said quite simply, "we'll all try to get along till vacation, old boy."

Wilfred, finding no pity forthcoming, put his hand within the brown palm, waiting for it.

"Keep the rest of the chums together," he begged.

"I'll do my best."

"And remember, we're to go to the same college."

"All right."

"And chum it there."

"All right."

"And I wish," Wilfred looked steadily into the blue eyes gazing into his, "I hadn't done it--dallied over those old skates--but minded father."

St. George bit his lip, but yet he would _not_ preach.

"I'll give you my word it's the last time I'll ever get caught that way."

The blue eyes leaped into sudden fire, and Wilfred's hand was wrung hard.

"All _right_, old fellow."

A GAME OF ENGLISH HISTORY.

THEY sat around a small table, half a dozen bright boys and girls. Questions and answers flew back and forth, literally, for were they not printed upon slips of pasteboard which were handed about with exceeding rapidity? Upon listening carefully, it was discoverable that they were playing a game of English history.

Mr. Dalton, the father of the boy who was the host of the evening, stood behind his son's chair looking on and smiling at their eagerness. Presently he said, during a pause in the game;

"Well, boys, you do well; you certainly have a number of interesting facts and dates fastened in your memories, but it occurs to me to wonder if you know anything more than the mere fact. For instance, take this question which is the first that comes to mind, 'What two remarkable events in the reign of Charles the Second?' and the answer, 'The Great Plague and Fire in London.' Now what more do you know of those events?"

Fred Dalton looked up quickly. "I know a little about the Fire, but I do not know about the Plague. I suppose that there was a sort of epidemic raged in London at that time."

"And it must have raged extensively or it would not have been called the Great Plague, and have got into history," said Will Ely.

"You are both very good at supposing," said Mr. Dalton, laughing, "but it is sometimes better to _know_ about a thing than to guess at it."

"I have read an account of the Plague," said Fred Smith. "It raged several months, all one summer, and one third of the people of the city died. Great numbers fled from the city, and so many died that they could not have any burial service, but just buried them in a great pit in the night. They built great bonfires in the streets hoping that the fire and smoke would prevent the spread of the disease, but heavy rains put out the fires. It was a dreadful time!"

"Indeed it was," said Mr. Dalton; "the accounts of it are harrowing. And now what do you know of the Great Fire, Fred?"

"I know that it started in a baker's shop near London Bridge, and that it burned over about five sixths of the city. It burned three days and nights. It was in September, after a very hot and dry summer, so that the houses built of wood were in a well-seasoned state, and made first-rate kindling wood. And then there was a wind that fanned the fire and carried sparks and cinders a long distance, so that new fires kept breaking out in different parts of the city. It is said that there were two hundred thousand people who lost their homes, and that the streets leading out of the city were barricaded with broken-down wagons which the people flying from the fire had overloaded with their goods."

"It was a terrible calamity," said Mr. Dalton; "but like many another it proved a blessing, for the new London was much better built."

"Was the fire set by bad men, or was it an accident?" asked one of the boys.

"Without doubt it was set accidentally, though many people thought otherwise. A monument was erected near the place where the fire started in memory of those who lost their lives in that terrible time, and there was an inscription upon the monument charging the Papists with the crime, but this unjust accusation was afterwards removed by the order of the public authorities. But I will not hinder your game any longer."

"We like this sort of hindering," said one of the boys. "It makes it more interesting."

Mr. Dalton soon returned to say, "Boys, there is a 'Great Fire' in the kitchen, and a pan of corn waiting to be popped, and a Bridget there who does not think boys a 'Great Plague.'"

In less than half a minute there were no boys sitting around that table!

F. H.

BABY HARRY.

BABY HARRY, three years old; Eyes of blue and hair of gold; Rosy cheeks which dimples grace; Loving, trustful little face Of my boy.

"Mamma, please me wants a drink, Can 'oo get it, does 'oo fink?" Questioned thus my baby boy, As he dropped his book and toy Carelessly.

"Mamma's busy, she must sew; Can't my darling baby go And ask Bridget for a cup? Tell her, 'Please to fill it up Full of milk.'"

Twilight shadows crept apace, Slowly lengthened on his face As he whispered: "I'se afraid," And the curly head was laid On my knee.

"But," I whispered, "God, you know, Leads you everywhere you go, In the darkness or the light, And He'll make the way all bright For my boy."

Straight he went through room and hall, And I heard his sweet voice call: "Don't let nothin' hurt me, Dod, Don't let nothin' hurt me, Dod," Rev'rently.

And my heart prayed, "Father, teach My boy to bring to Thee each Trouble, be it great or small; Be to him his 'All in All,' Throughout life."

Oh! for childlike faith, so bright, That through sorrow's darkest night We can journey toward that land, Holding to our Father's hand Trustingly. "ERVANIE."

NAPOLEON BONAPARTE.

I HAVE seldom known a boy who was not interested in the history of Napoleon. To me his story is like a novel, and no character ever charmed me more than that of his wife, the Empress Josephine. But I cannot find it in my heart to admire a man who so ruthlessly shed human blood. He stopped at nothing for his own personal advancement. Never has any conqueror fought more battles perhaps than he.

All Europe seemed draped in the weeds of mourning during the years of his power and greatness. I have often thought his reflections must have been sad indeed, when, during the last five years of his life, he was a weary exile on the little gum-tree island of St. Helena, with only a few friends around him, and subjected to great unkindness from the governor of the island.

St. Helena is an island in the South Atlantic Ocean, belonging to the British. It acquired celebrity from being the place of Napoleon's banishment. From the ocean it has the appearance of a lofty pyramidal mass of a dark-gray color, rising abruptly from out its depths.

But on approaching, a number of openings are discovered, forming the mouths of narrow valleys or ravines, leading gradually up to a central plateau. On these, at all openings where a landing might be effected, military works have been erected for the purpose of making it secure.

What a contrast does his life there present, to the time when great continents trembled before the power of his triumphant armies.

Napoleon Bonaparte was born in Corsica, 1769, and died at St. Helena, 1821, where he was buried beneath a weeping willow, for nineteen years, when France demanded his remains, and gave such a funeral as few perhaps have ever witnessed.

R.

FOR the lovely midsummer evenings I should propose two games, one for July and one for August. The July one is

THE CARNIVAL OF THE BOATS.

If any of the Pansies live near a river or lake, and are accustomed to row over the clear, shining surface, they can enter heartily into this most delightful of games. I should first seriously recommend that father or big brother John be invited to take charge of the boat, or if there are not enough big brothers to go around so that every boat can be under trusty guidance, there always is a big cousin or an uncle, or perchance a paid boatman who is competent to assume such a responsibility.

This being all arranged, the fun of trimming the small craft begins. Let each boatload keep all matters secret, so that the grand surprises that come out when the Carnival takes place, may form one of the pleasantest features of the occasion.

Get Chinese lanterns, fasten a pole at either end of row-boat, low enough so that the boats can pass safely under bridges if necessary. Two poles at either end are pretty when decorated with gay lanterns. Pass strings from one pole to another, and across from bow to stern. Hang on these bright bits of tinsel, silver, or any other trifle that will sparkle in the moonlight. Put tinsel or silver bands around top of oars above the hands--and a band around the rower's arms, and around caps. Let the girls wear white, with bright colors, and fancy hats or jaunty caps, carrying garlands.

When all is ready, the forward boat must carry one who rings a bell as the signal to start, also if possible some boys who can play on flutes or horns. There should be sweet voices on all the boats that can sing by a preconcerted plan, something in unison. As the boat sweeps around curves, and dips into bays, and shallows, one could never witness a prettier sight than the carnival presents. It is a regular game of "Follow my Leader" on the water. There must be complete obedience to the one who is leading, great good-nature, and a positive determination on the part of every child who enters into the sport to try his or her best to make all the others enjoy it.

After sailing around and around, singing and playing until tired, the Carnival ends with tying the boats fast, and "following the Leader" over the fields home, dropping the flowers at the doors of those who were not able to take part in the sport.

May you enjoy this Carnival of the Boats, dear Pansies, making it a bright spot in the lives of many, and a memory to gladden the heart.

MARGARET SIDNEY.

NAMES OF THE MONTHS.

JANUARY was so called from Janus, an old Italian king, and comes from a Latin word Januarius. February comes from februe, meaning to purify, because in that month the Romans offered sacrifices for purifying the people. March comes from Mars, the God of War. April comes from the word Aprilus, which means opening, because then the world buds and blossoms forth. May, from Majores, so called by Romulus, in respect to the Senators. June, from the Latin, Junius, or the younger sort of the people. July, from Julius Cæsar. August, called from Augustus. September, from the Latin, septem, meaning seven, being the seventh month from March. October, from Latin, octo, eight; November, from novem, nine, the ninth month from March. December, from the Latin, decem, ten, being the tenth month from March, which was formerly the manner of beginning the year.

R.

KINGS AND QUEENS.

OH where are kings and queens of earth? The monarchs born to rule? They are here, and there, and everywhere-- At home, at church, at school.

The kings and queens in glad array A conquering army stand; Bright, glad-hearted boys, Full of frolic and noise, Laughing-eyed girls With their sun-kissed curls, An army born to command.

Why are they kings and queens, you say? Bend low, then, while I tell; They are the kings whose hearts are true; Who love their parents, and honor them too; Who haste at the sound of father's voice; Whose truthful words make mother rejoice; Who not only _mean_ to do the right, But are doing it _now_, with all their might, Soldiers who love to do well.

And why are the fair-faced girls the queens? My friend, they are royal born. They are loving to mother, To sister and brother, To father a shining light. They feel above doing wrong, And with smiling and song Make the dear home nest bright.

O dear little kings and queens of earth, March on to conquer and win. Lift up the fallen, comfort the sad, Shine in the lives of the weary and bad, Help raise the sorrowing, pitiful earth Nearer the land where love had its birth, Till as saintly kings and queens at last, The burdens all borne, the trials past, You joyfully wait, at the palace gate, For King Jesus to let you in. MRS. CHARLOTTE E. FISHER.

- - - - - -

PAPER made of cotton rags was in use, 1000; that of linen rags, in 1170; the manufactory, introduced into England, at Dartford, 1588.

THE DOG AND CHILD.

MR. ELIHU BURRITT gives in his book called "A Walk from London to Land's End and Back," the touching illustration of the affection of a dog in Truro: "I was sitting at the breakfast table of a friend, who was a druggist, when he was called into the shop by a neighbor, who had come for medical aid in a very remarkable and affecting case.

"He described it briefly and simply, but it would fill a volume of beautiful meaning.

"His family dog had made the acquaintance of a neighbor's child on the other side of the street.

"While lying on the door-stone, he had noticed this little thing sometimes at the chamber window, and sometimes on the pavement, in a little carriage.

"During one of his walks on that side of the street, he met the baby, and looked over the rim of the carriage, as a loving dog can look, straight into a pair of baby eyes, and said, 'Good morning!' as well as he could.

"Little by little, day by day and week by week, this companionship went on growing with the growth and strengthening with the strength of the little one. The dog, doubtless because his master had no young child of his own, came at last to transfer frequently his watch and ward to the door-stone on the other side of the street, and to follow as a guard of honor to the baby's carriage on its daily airings. He gave himself up to all the peltings, and little rude rompings, and rough and tumblings of those baby hands.

"One day, as the dog lay in watch by the door-stone, the child, peeping out of the window above, lost its balance, and fell on the stone pavement below. It was taken up quite dead! The red drops of the young life had bespattered the feet and face of the dog as he sprang to the rescue. His heart died out within him in one long, whining howl of grief. From that moment he refused to eat. He refused to be comforted by his master's voice and by his master's home. Day by day and night by night he lay upon the spot where the child fell.

"This was the neighbor's errand. He told it in a few simple words. He had come to my friend, the druggist, for a prescription for his dog--something to bring back his appetite."

_Volume 13, Number 39._ Copyright, 1886, by D. LOTHROP & CO. _July 31, 1886._

THE PANSY.

HOW SOME MISSIONARIES TRAVEL.

(_Extract from a letter written by Pauline Root, M. D., Medical missionary in Madura, India._)

MY DEAR FRIEND: