Bolax, Imp or Angel—Which?

by Josephine Culpeper

Bolax Deserves a Whipping.

"Another unsatisfactory report," exclaimed Papa Allen, as he held an open letter in his hand. "This is the fourth since the opening of school in September, and now it is only the first Week of October. Spelling, 30; Arithmetic, 20. Professor too, sends complaints of your music lesson; then you have neglected your rabbits."

At this Bo jumped up and ran out to the rabbit-hutch. Yelling with all his might for Hetty: "Oh, my rabbits; my rabbits are gone."

"When did you feed them last," asked his father, who was looking out of a window. Bo thought a moment, then remembered he had not seen them for several days.

"But where have they gone, Hetty dear?"

"Done turned into air; what you spect dey gwan do when dey has nothing to eat but air."

Then Hetty laughed, and Bo went back to the dining room.

"Excuse me for leaving you, Papa, I am so worried. Indeed, indeed, I didn't mean to forget my pets."

"My son, we allow you to have pets to teach you the lesson of responsibility, which means to keep in mind any duty you have to perform. You do not mean to be cruel, but you are. I have saved many of your pets from hunger and thirst; now I shall do so no longer, neither shall the servants. Your rabbits have been given to Flossy Day, who will always attend to them, because she is a thoughtful, kind little girl.

"On all points you are at fault—lessons, music and pets; all alike forgotten, if there is no improvement, you will be punished for your delinquencies."

Unfortunately at the end of the next week, the report was worse than ever, and Papa was shocked and expressed himself in very severe language. Bolax showed an unusual spirit of insubordination and temper on being reproved, and his father whipped him. The boy was heart-broken; it was the first time a stroke had been laid upon him in his life. His mother did not approve of corporal punishment, but, of course, would not interfere in what her husband thought to be his duty.

Poor Bo felt degraded and went to hide. His mother knocked at his bedroom door, but he would not open it.

"No one loves me any more!" sobbed the poor child. "If Aunt Lucy had been home I would not have been whipped."

Amy went into the room and putting her arms around her brother's neck, told him she would give him her pony "Ben Bolt," for his very own. "Oh, Sister, I thank you, but nothing can take the pain out of my heart."

"I know darling, but Papa is just as pained as you. He said just now, he had rather cut off his hand than hurt you, but you know you would not listen to anything and kept going wild. I tell you what I will do the next time you deserve a whipping; I will stand and take it for you." "I wouldn't let you, dear, sweet Sister; no indeed, but I'll never deserve one again."

"Good night and here's Ma dear, to kiss you."

In the morning Hetty went up to Bo's room to call him for breakfast; his mother had let him sleep late because she was attending to her husband, who had to take an early train for New York.

"Come down here honey," Hetty called again, "Come see the nice fish I'se got for you." Bo went into the dining room and begged the kind creature to sit with him. "You're my best friend, Hetty, dear." "Indeed, I'se your friend. Eat up de fish; it's good, and don't bother lookin' at it."

"Oh, I'm just dissecting it." "What's dat?" "Seeing what's inside of it. Hetty, dear, do you know fishes have spinal cords?" "Cords! land sakes! where dey done keep dem?"

"Oh, up their backs, of course. Here, see this bone, I break it and here is a string that makes the fish move." "Oh, Massa Bo, where you done learn all dis?"

"I heard the A class saying their physiology, and I asked Mamma, and she said we had just such a cord in our backbone." Here Mamma came into the room. "Law bless us, Miss Allen dat chile ought never be whipped for learnin'. He knows lots more now than some men."

Mrs. Allen sat down and explained to the children the different parts of the fish.

This led to an interesting talk. Amy asked if shellfish were stupid, because people often say: "As dumb as a clam."

"Not all dear, there is the beautiful Nautilus; the little mariner and really our first navigator."

Then the mother told of the sea nettle, the razorfish, the cuttlefish, that throws a black fluid out of its body, which darkens the water, and when pursued by an enemy escapes by this means. It is a very useful fish; long ago the Romans used that black fluid for ink.

Bo was so interested, he forgot his trouble, and no one noticed it was past school time.

"I'se just glad," said Hetty; "you children come play dat funny song about de Hoo Doo man, and say dat piece what tells what de school bell talks when it rings."

"Really my son, I am sorry you missed school this morning. It will put another bad point on your next report." "Ma, dear, I'm tired of that old school; it's a girls' school, anyhow. I'm the only Catholic there, and every now and then some one says something ugly about my religion. Of course, I have to fight boys that do it, but I must bear it when girls tell me I adore idols. If you send me to St. Thomas' I'll study hard."

WHAT THE SCHOOL BELL SAYS.

It is wonderful what unlike things
The school bell says to boys when it rings.
For instance the sluggard who drags along
On his way to school, hears this sort of song:

Oh, suz hum!
Why did I come?
Study 'till four—
Books are a bore!
Oh, how I wish
I could run off and fish!
See! there's the brook
Here's line and hook.
Hurry up—eh?
What's that you say?
Oh—hum—ho!
Suppose I must go,
Study 'till four,
Books are a bore.

Then the boy who loves to be faithful and true,
Who does what his parents think best he should do,
Comes bravely along with satchel and book,
The wind in his whistle, the sun in his look.
And these are the thoughts that well up like a song,
As he hears the old bell with its faithful ding dong:

Cling, clang, cling—
I'm so glad I could sing!
Heaven so blue,
Duty to do!
Birds in the air,
Everything fair,
Even a boy
Finds study a joy!
When my work is done
I'm ready for fun,
Keener my play
For tasks of the day,
Cling clang, cling.
I' so glad I can sing.

These are the songs which the two boys heard,
When the school bell was singing word for word.
Which do you think was the truer song?
Which do you hear as you're trudging along?
Don't be a laggard—far better I say!
To work while you work, and play when you play.

—By J. Bucham.

"Why so serious Amy," said her mother; "you look as if you were deeply reflecting."

I have just been thinking of those "wonders of the sea" you tell about.

"Ma, dear, how much you do know; you can tell something of every bird and beast and insect. I wonder if I ever shall know as much?"

"My child, you know much more of this delightful kind of study than I did at your age. Until you were four years old my information on such subjects was very limited."

"And why did you study, mother, dear?"

"I had a strong incentive; I studied because I loved you."

Bolax pressed close to his mother's side. "Oh, Ma, dear! I will study too because I love you."

When Mr. Allen returned in the evening, Bo went to the gate to meet him, and threw his arms around his father's neck, asking to be forgiven and promising to be a good boy in the future. Mr. Allen clasped the dear child to his heart wondering if he had made a mistake in his manner of chastising a boy with such a loving disposition.

That night the good mother told of Bo's desire to change schools.

"That's just what I intended proposing; I had a conversation with old Mathews, who has brought up seven sons. He thinks from what I told him of our son, a change would be just what he requires at present."

A few days after this, Mrs. Allen took Bo up to the College and begged the President to admit him.

"He is entirely below the age, Madame," remarked the President, "we have no pupils under twelve years of age;" however, he allowed himself to be persuaded and acceded to the lady's request on condition that the boy should have a special tutor, which would cost an extra fee.

To this Mrs. Allen gladly agreed, as the child wanted three months of being ten years old and a private teacher was just what he needed.

Bo was delighted to go up to St. Thomas', especially as it meant daily rides on the train.

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[CHAPTER VIII.]

The Coal Man.

Whistling and with a roll of music under his arm, Bolax turned out of his way to go the woods. "It's Saturday," thought he, "and Professor was pleased with my lesson, so I'll just take a holiday." As he was turning off the bridge he heard some one say: "Well, young man, where are you bound for?" Looking up he saw Mr. O'Donnel, the coal man. "Where are you taking such a big load?" said Bolax. "Oh, about three miles out on the White Road." "That's the most beautiful road in the country; please let me go with you."

"You seem to know a great deal about roads." "Oh, yes; I often take long rambles with Papa when he is at home; he is so fond of wild flowers. So is Mamma; she calls the woods 'God's own garden,' and while there is a wild flower to be had, from the arbutus and hepatica in early Spring to the golden rod in the autumn, we gather them for our little Chapel. My Papa knows the name of every flower and shrub and tree that grows in the United States, and never tires telling me about them."

"Well," said Mr. O'Donnel, "I'll let you come along with me if you can climb up; you're a mighty knowing sort of little chap, and I like to hear you talk."

The day was an ideal one. A clear sky, a bright October sun and a pleasant breeze all combined to make Bolax enjoy his drive, although one would suppose he felt anything but comfortable perched on the hard seat of a coal cart.

The road stretched out for nearly a mile, white as its name indicated, and as well cared for as if it were the driveway into a gentleman's private demesne. On each side, it was bordered by immense sycamore trees; their beautiful branches meeting overhead, and their smooth shining trunk resembling pillars in the aisle of some grand Cathedral.

"This," said Mr. O'Donnel, "reminds me of roads I saw in the North of France, only there you would be sure to see an altar or a cross erected by the pious people, many a time I saw men, women and children kneeling before these shrines." "Are you a Catholic?" asked Bolax. "Indeed, and I am, thank God. Are you?" said Mr. O'Donnel. "Of course, I am," answered Bolax, with a rising inflection as though he felt injured at anyone questioning his religious belief. "Can't you see in my face I'm a Catholic; you ought to hear me stand up for my religion. I knocked the stuffing out of Reddy Smith last week for saying the priest walked pigeon-toed." "Ha! Ha!" laughed Mr. O'Donnel, "more power to you, my little man, always stand up for your faith and respect the priests; there's nothing like keeping faithful to your religion; it will be a great comfort to you all through life. I remember what a comfort it was to me when I came near dying on the battlefield in South Africa." "Oh!" exclaimed Bolax "you don't mean to say you were in Africa?"

"Did you fight the Boers? I've heard so much about them, and Mamma and Papa took sides with them, and we all felt so sorry for the poor people."

"And so did I and every Irish soldier; in fact, I deserted the English ranks, and with many others tried to help the brave Boers. They are good people. I could tell you stories that would fill a book about them, and they are religious according to what they know of religion. After the disaster at Colesburg, the Boers helped to bury the British dead; they prayed and sang hymns over the graves, and some of the leaders made impressive speeches, expressing their horror of the war, regretting the losses on both sides, and making supplication to the Heavenly Father that the war would soon end. Oh, it is fine Catholics they would make, but strange to say, I never heard of a Catholic missionary being among them."

"When I'm a man," said Bolax, striking his knees to emphasize his words, "I'll be a priest and go among those good people and teach them the true faith." "God bless your innocent heart. I wonder if you'll remember your ride with the coal man when you are a priest; your Ma may scold when she knows of it."

"My mother teaches me to respect all respectable people, and I am sure you are very respectable, because you are a good Catholic."

"Thank you for an out and out little gentleman," said Mr. O'Donnel, "and God prosper you and your good mother. Here we are at our journey's end; suppose you get down at the gate, my little man, and run up to the house and ask to have the cellar window opened for me; it will save time. Here is the ticket; you might get it signed. This is Carpenter Mansion."

Bolax ran off glad to oblige his friend and show his appreciation of the ride.

It happened that Miss Devine had called for Amy, after Bolax left the house that morning and they were just now paying a visit to this family. Amy had never seen the beautiful place, and was delighted to become acquainted with the young ladies, and one little girl of her own age. While they were entertaining their company the maid called Mrs. Carpenter to say the key of the coal cellar was not to be found. Going into the kitchen, the lady saw a handsome little boy with frowsy golden curls encircling his head like a wreath and a very smutty face, who, hat in hand presented the ticket to be signed and asked to have the cellar window opened; after saying this the boy bowed. Mrs. Carpenter was quite astonished at such gentlemanly manners, and smiling and patting the boy on the head she asked his name. "Bolax," said he, with another bow. "What an odd name," said Mrs. Carpenter, and going to the door, she saw that the coal-man was of respectable appearance, and apparently above his present occupation. Thinking to please him, she complimented him on the good manners of his little boy. "Yes, ma'am," said Mr. O'Donnel, "he is a good sort of little chap, every one likes him." Miss Nellie, one of the young ladies, came into the kitchen to look after the caramels, which were cooling on the window sill. Bolax stood at the door; Miss Nellie offered him some candy, but he excused himself, saying: "Thank you; I like caramels, but my hands are not fit to eat with." "Oh, indeed; well since you are such a polite little boy, I want you to have some candy."

Ellen gave him a towel and soap and water. Bolax gladly made himself clean so as to enjoy the caramels. Miss Nellie went back to the parlor and gave a description of the coal-man's son, with such extraordinary good manners; Sam and Charlie, her brothers rushed out to get a look at the little chap and have some fun with him.

As soon as they sighted Bolax with his face half washed, his mouth all sticky; they laughed and made his acquaintance immediately. "Fine candy? isn't it," said Sam. "You bet," said Bo, "haven't had any for a good while, 'cause I wouldn't practice." Miss Devine heard Bo's voice, and listening for a moment said, "Let me see that boy." On going to the kitchen door she made an exclamation which brought all the ladies on the scene. Then she laughed heartily, all caught the infection of her mirth, although they did not exactly understand why she was so amused. Amy, however, soon enlightened them, when, with a severe frown, she reproached Bolax for his appearance.

"Why, who is he?" asked Mrs. Carpenter. "Oh," said Miss Devine still laughing, "he is my little friend Bolax, Amy's brother. Don't be angry, Amy." "I can't help being angry! It is too disgraceful; just look at his clothes, and the smear on his face."

Bolax looked crest-fallen and took out his pocket handkerchief to wipe off the smear, but only succeeded in adding two more black streaks, for, without his perceiving it, the handkerchief was filled with coal dust.

Sam and Charley while bursting with laughter tried to console the boy, inviting him to look at their Pony. Bo forgot his sister's displeasure while with the boys, and began to talk about his pets, his school, etc.

"Where do you to go school?" asked Charlie. "I have just been up at St. Thomas' for two weeks; they didn't want to take me because I'm not old enough, but Mamma begged the President, so he admitted me."

"Do you like the fellows up there?" said Sam.

"Yes, pretty well, but my Mamma was mistaken when she said they were all gentlemen; they don't bow and take off their hats when a priest speaks to them. And yesterday Father Clement was playing marbles 'for keeps' with some boys, and he picked up an agate, and what do you think, one of the boys snatched it and caught hold of Father Clement's arm, and he wasn't struck dead!" "Struck dead!" exclaimed Sam. "What do you mean?" "Why my Mamma told me a priest was more holy than the 'Ark of the Covenant,' and once long ago, two men were struck dead just for putting their hands on the Ark. So I thought for sure, a boy that snatched a marble from a holy priest ought to be struck dead, but he wasn't." Sam and Charlie were inclined to laugh at this story, but restrained themselves, on seeing the awed expression on the little boy's face, showing that he innocently believed disrespect towards a priest should be punished with death.

"Well," said Sam, assuming a serious air, "perhaps our Lord forgave the boy this time, that in future he may learn to be more respectful."

"The lawn of the College," continued Bolax "is kept so smooth and green; they have signs all around, 'Keep off the Grass,' but the boys pay no attention and actually walk on the nice lawn, when the poor Brothers have such work to keep it nice. I went behind a big fellow that was on the grass and I pushed him off, and asked him if he didn't see the sign." "What did he say to you?" laughed the boys. "Oh, he called me a fusty kid, and said, 'I'd get my eye teeth cut after awhile, if I stayed long enough at College.' But, Ma says I cut my eye teeth when I was two years old." "Is that so? Let me see," said Sam, opening Bo's mouth. "Yes, I really believe you have."

"Are the priests kind to you?"

"You bet they are. Why there's one, oh, he is so beautiful, but the poor dear is lame. He stays in his room most of the time. Day before yesterday he asked me to come up to see him, and he showed me pictures, and told me a story of a soldier—and, oh, I just know he is an angel, because he has a closet full of guns."

Such a reason for being considered an angel struck the boys as so funny, that they laughed outright. Sam patted the little fellow on the head, and gave him a boy's greatest compliment: "You certainly are a jolly good fellow, Bolax."

By this time the coal had been deposited in the cellar, so Bolax wanted to go away. "Oh, come in," said Sam, "and say Good-bye, but first let me wipe your face; there is just a speck of black on the end of your nose." Bo was very thankful to be made somewhat presentable and entered the parlor, taking leave of the ladies in a most dignified manner, which ill-assorted with his begrimed appearance.

"You're not going to ride home on the coal cart?" said Miss Devine.

"I'm not fit to get into your carriage," said Bo.

"Never mind, come with me; we'll excuse you this time."

"But I must say 'good-bye' to Mr. O'Donnel, and get my roll of music; it is on the seat of the cart and might get lost." Amy was ready to cry at Bo's escapade, but the young ladies and their brothers enjoyed the joke immensely. As the carriage drove away the boys called out: "Come again little coal-man; you're a regular brick."

Bolax was delighted to hear this and turning to Amy, said: "Now, Miss Stuck-Up, the Carpenters like me even if I do ride with the coal man, and I know Mamma will say it don't matter if my clothes are dirty, so I keep my soul clean." "My darling little brother," said Amy, throwing her arms around Bo's neck, "forgive me if I have hurt your feelings. Your family knows how clean your soul is, but strangers only judge by outward appearances." "Dear Amy," said Miss Devine, "don't take things so to heart." Then in a lower voice, "for my part, I would not give our little flutterbudget, with his innocent mischief, for all the daintily-dressed boys in the country."

When the carriage stopped at their gate, the children bid "au revoir" to Miss Devine; then she recommended Amy not to say much about Bo's adventure.

Aunt Lucy was standing on the porch. Bo did not wait to be questioned, but began immediately to give an account of his day, for he had been away since luncheon. "Oh, Aunt Lucy, Mr. O'Donnel is such a kind man! he has a mouth like a frog, and I always observe that men with mouths like frogs are kind to children."

"Indeed," said Aunt Lucy laughing, "I never noticed that. I have no doubt your friend, Mr. O'Donnel meant kindly in allowing you to ride with him, but he did not think of the danger there was for a stumpy little fellow, with short legs, perched so high. If the cart had lurched you might have fallen under the horses' feet and been killed. So dear child, never try that again."

"Well, Aunty, I won't, but may I talk to Mr. O'Donnel? his heart would be hurt if I passed him without speaking." "Of course, dear; you may speak to the good man. Never willfully hurt the feelings of anyone."

January 15, winter began in "dead earnest," as the boys say, although no one expected a blizzard, but by 2 P.M. the roads were impassable.

The wind blew a terrible gale—no one could venture out, and the four day scholars were obliged to stay at the College all night.

The President telephoned to Mrs. Allen, not to worry; that Bo should be well cared for, and could remain with him until the roads were cleared, if it took a week. Mrs. Allen thanked the good priest and hoped her boy would give no trouble.

The novelty of going to bed in a dormitory pleased Bolax, and the Prefect in charge gave him a night robe; then tucked him in bed as deftly as if he had been a woman, for the good man had a tender spot in his heart for all children.

Everything being quiet—the gas was lowered and the Prefect retired for the night. Suddenly Bolax gave a scream, "two rats! Two rats, two rats!" cried he. In a second of time the whole dormitory was astir.

The Prefect hearing the commotion rushed upstairs and was greeted with: "Rats! Mr. Royal, Rats!" There were sixteen boys in the room; so you can imagine how such an unusual chorus sounded.

"Rats!" said Mr. Royal; "where did they come from?"

"There were two in a large trap in the lavatory," said Harry Dunn, "but how did they escape?" "Did any of you touch that trap?" asked the Prefect.

"Yes, sir;" answered Bo, "I did. I felt sorry for the poor things; I was just looking at them when the door of the trap opened somehow, and out they jumped, one struck my face as I leaned over."

"My dear boy," said Mr. Royal, "you ought not to have gone near the trap, suppose that rat had bitten you."

"Well now, all that is to be done is to catch them." A dozen voices expressed their owners' willingness to go on the hunt, but Mr. Royal preferred calling up one of the men.

In a few minutes, Alex, the gardener, came into the dormitory with "Happy Hooligan" and "Vixen," two Scotch terriers. All the doors were shut, and the hunt began; the rats did not keep together, but ran in different directions. As Alex would plunge under a bed, broom in hand, some one would scream out: "Oh, here he is, up at this end."

The boys calling to the dogs, set them wild, so they did not know which way to run. Such laughter! It appeared to be great fun for the youngsters, just because it was silence hour.

At last the beasts were killed, and order was once more restored. Mr. Royal requested strict silence.

"I won't stay to watch you; I know you will all obey, so I trust to your honor." And all did obey, for they loved and respected Mr. Royal, who always appealed to their honor.

The next morning the whole college heard of Bo's rats, and had a good laugh at the description of the hunt.

Bolax made great strides in his studies under the kind care of his tutor, Father Anthony, and his reports delighted his father and mother. At Easter he received a beautiful picture of the Sacred Heart, as a prize for Catechism.

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[CHAPTER IX.]

Amy's Trip to the Seashore.

For seven long weeks Amy had been under the doctor's care, suffering from Chorea; she had grown thin and pale, and her mother was beginning to worry over her condition.

"What do you think, Lucy, of sending Amy to Atlantic City?" she asked one day when they were consulting what had best be done for the child.

"Dear sister, I feel sure the salt air is the best tonic for nervous trouble. I will take Amy down, but you know it is impossible for me to stay away for any length of time, as I have an important engagement for the summer."

"Well, I shall write to the Convent of the Sacred Heart, begging them to receive our invalid for a few weeks."

Mother Evans, who was Mrs. Allen's particular friend, answered the letter, saying she would gladly care for the little girl, and that she could be sent down as soon as convenient.

When Amy heard of the proposed trip, she was delighted, then upon reflection, expressed herself as being afraid to meet so many strange girls, but when she saw a nice little trunk packed with every article of clothing, suitable for a sojourn by the sea, she was anxious to begin the journey.

When all was ready, Mr. Allen decided that they should take a very early train, so as to arrive in a strange town in full time to be at their destination before dark.

Bo heard the sound of wheels, and looking out saw the pony chaise at the door, Amy gave her mother a fervent good-bye kiss, then all got into the chaise. Bo sprang on the seat, seized the reins, and was soon driving quickly down the road. They were not long in reaching the station. Amy was interested in watching the important business of procuring tickets and seeing her pretty trunk labeled; she wondered if she would be as well equipped as the other girls in the convent, but she need not have wondered, as there are so many little girls and boys, whose treasures bear ample evidence of Mother's loving hands. Those little touches of motherhood, hardly noticed by those whom they are so tenderly lavished upon, seldom, if ever valued until after those dear hands have been removed to another sphere, whence, perhaps, they may be sometimes allowed to come, unseen by mortal eye to bear the loved ones up, whilst these may be longing wearily for that sweet "Touch of a vanished hand, and the sound of a voice that is still."

It was a delightful place to visit, that convent by the sea, and many a pleasant hour Amy spent watching the waves come in on the white sands and break over her bare feet. Sometimes she donned her bathing suit, and paddled in the water with the other children, one of the Nuns always watching over them.

It seemed nothing short of a miracle how quickly the child recuperated. At the end of six weeks she had so far recovered that her mother, who had come to visit her, thought to take her home, but Mother Evans recommended a stay of sometime longer, so it ended in a visit of twelve happy, joyful weeks.

The kind Nuns became very much attached to Amy, and she to them, and dear Mother Evans began her preparation for First Holy Communion.

August was nearing its end when Mrs. Allen paid another visit to Atlantic City, this time, to bring her little girl home. She took board in a cottage near the convent, wishing to enjoy a few days of sea air.

One day when seated on the beach, both mother and daughter silently watched the waves as they came in gentle ripples almost to their feet. Amy awoke from her reverie, exclaiming: "Oh, it is so beautiful!" She had been reading of the early explorers of our country, the self-sacrificing missionaries who crossed this same boundless ocean, which now lay so calm before them. Amy went on musingly, as if talking to herself, such a softness had come into her voice—her eyes took a dreamy far-off look, as though it were fresh in her mind—the story of the gallant De Soto and his brave company of six hundred men, the flower of Spanish chivalry, leaving the sunny slopes of his native Estramadura, sailing across these unknown seas, and landing upon these western shores; day after day pressing on through pathless wilds, on towards the sunset, in pursuit of that fabled El Dorado in which they thoroughly believed. And then that sad death upon the banks of the river which his eyes first of all Europeans had beheld—the sorrowing band who resolved to hide his body in the waters—the little skiff, in the gloom of the soft summer night, pushing silently out from the shadowy shore, with oars muffled and voices hushed, for fear of the savage arrows hidden among the dark vines—the dull sound as they dropped the body in mid-river, and the sweet, sad music as the priest sang low the requiem of the departed chief—the first requiem that had ever sounded upon those solitary shores, where the waves have for four hundred years chanted their long dirge over the man whose prowess first gave them to the world.

There was, too, the grand old Ponce de Leon, who saw one Easter morning, a land rise out of the Western Sea—a land lovely in all its luxuriant vegetation of a Southern spring, with breath and beauty of flowers. What better name could the romantic hidalgo devise than "Florida," and where more fitly than here could he search for that wonderous fountain of perpetual youth?

Ah, brave old Spanish Cavalier. Did no soft wind wafted gently from afar over the flowery sunset land, whisper to you that, instead of youth and life perennial you should find, under the magnolia shade—a grave?

A hundred wordless dreams went flitting through Amy's mind. I say wordless; for who shall say how we think; by what subtile art a thousand pictures pass swiftly on before one's fancy, all so lovely and beyond the power of language—I mean our language to describe.

For this reason it is, I suppose, that when a great poet speaks, all the dumb world recognizes what he unfolds. It is for us to feel, for him to paint.

Amy was a very serious girl for her twelve years, constant association with her mother and aunt had given her a taste for books which some might think dull for one so young, but she was always a dreamy child, from the time she used to lie in her baby crib and watch the round moon plowing through the feathery clouds, to this moment when she looks up at the blue sky spanning the boundless ocean.

When Amy and her mother returned to the convent they found that dear Mother Evans had been called to New York. Mrs. Allen made a hasty preparation so as to return home on the same train, happy in being able to avail herself of her dear friend's company on the journey. Amy bade good-bye to all the household, thanking the Nuns for their kindness during her sojourn amongst them.