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.

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.

Jessie P. Davis. Whenever your Pansies fail to come, write to D. Lothrop Co., 32 Franklin Street, Boston, Mass. Do not think that any Pansy can be so small as not to be missed. The baby is the smallest body in the house. Don’t you think it would be missed?

H. C. Withey. The monkey game you send must be very funny, but its length and the difficulty of “doing” it here will explain why it does not appear in the Pansy. Perhaps you will try again, and send something very short and easily played. The Pansies will be interested in anything of that sort from Africa.

Lolo Keeling. Don’t despair whatever may come. Carry your failures to Jesus. Try again. Triumph will come.

M. Nellie Lindsey. Thank you for remembering to write to me many times, even if you did “forget to send them off.” And what in the August magazine pleased you so much besides that letter?

Fannie W. Ambler. Let me commend you for plain writing. The Queer Story is well done, though with some mistakes. Try again, my dear.

M. Lillie Read. Your Queer Story is much like Fannie’s, almost, but not quite, right. Never mind; there’s another for you. Don’t be afraid of it. Don’t be cast down over any failure, but up and at it again. Train the baby to be a true Pansy. I’m so glad you make any progress.

Nellie Wright. “Nine years old.” Said and done a thousand things or more in that time. Now, suppose you live to be ninety,—my dear uncle has just died at ninety-two,—and you keep on saying and doing, then how many thousand will it be? But all the better if it be all for Jesus’ sake. I like Florida, and you must like Kansas, which gives you “lots of corn and fruit.”

BIBLE READING FOR DECEMBER.
(Christ.)