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410 r P Jib Jllk JU -W/ All communications for “ Boys and Girls ” should be sent to Ray Richmond, 157 Prairie street, Dubuque, lowa. Sub scriptions and all business letters, should be sent only to the publisher at Athens, Georgia. I THE ANGRY ALPHABET. Lazy Mary Ann Dees Never dotted her i’s nor crossed her t’s, So the letters resolved to give her no e’s, And they fed her on pods without any p’s, And frightened her well with a swarm of b’s, And at last they banished her over the e’s To the kingdom of fogs that is known as Queen V’s. GAMES AT CLOVER LODGE. 11. We had worn out all our games—blind man’s bluff, tag, thumbs up, go lang, and in fact almost everything. As spring came around again, our pent-up spirits found no games in which to vent themselves. True, papa put up a large swing in the back yard, but it made Dot sick, and any way, only one could swing in it at a time. Then a nice trapcse was arranged for the boys, which was great fun, but the bumps occa sioned by awkward tumbling on it, or off of it, should I say, were not so funny. And as Joy said, it was lots of fun to see the men at the circus do it; but he just tum bled right down and couldn’t see himself do it even. So, even that was abandoned. We were in despair for new games. One day, while “ way up-stairs,” as Dot calls the third story, I came across a stand of shelves and some wooden dishes. How eager the children were to keep store, and now here was a chance. Next day you could have seen papa mak ing a light frame-work for a summer house, and as soon as ’twas done, Angel and I planted vines all around it. But it was slow work waiting for the vines to cover our “ store,’’ as the boys called it, and in the meanwhile we laid in stock. Angel used his tools manufacturing all sorts of cun ning wooden things; Joy cut out pictures of presidents, statesmen and authors for picture books; Dot drew marvellous ani mals and queer people, for decoration, and I dressed five cent dolls. In May our shop was well covered with vines and our shelves laden with wares. Joy was the head of the firm; Angel the silent partner, and Dot a clerk. Across the front entrance was a banner bearing “J. Clover & Co.” in big letters, the pride of young Joy’s heart. Traffic soon began. Pins and odd pen nies poured in fast from our little neigh bors. Mamma offered to buy the pins, and before all the articles were sold, the boys jingled many a bright penny in their pockets. After school was over, the shop degenerated into a play-house, where the twins and Little Love frolicked and set table on the shelves, Little Love calling out now and then, dinna’s weady.” Birdie Clover. SHORT SERMONS FOR BOYS. Most boys and girls do not like sermons; they say they are too long for their high nesses. Perhaps they may like these short sermons. They will give food to think over, and must not be read too hastily: A Swedish boy fell out of the window and was badly hurt, but, with clenched lips, he kept back the cry of pain. The life® king, Gustavus Adolphus, who saw him fall, prophesied that the boy would make a man for an emergency. And so he did, for he became the famous Gen. Bauer. A boy used to crush the flowers to get their color, and painted the white side of his father’s Sottage in Tyrol with all sorts of pictures, which the mountaineers gazed at as wonderful. He was the great artist Titian. An old painter watched a little fellow who amused himself making drawings of his pot and brushes, easel and stool, and said: “ That boy will beat me one day.” So he did, for he was Michael Angelo. A German boy was reading a blood and thunder novel. Right in the midst of it he said to himself: “ Now, this will never do. I get too much excited over it. I can’t study so well after it. So here goes!” and he flung the book out into the river He was Fichte, the great German philoso pher. Do you know what these little sermons mean? Why, simply this: That in boy hood and girlhood are shown the traits for good or evil that make the man or woman good or not. — Jewish Messenger. SOMETHING ABOUT FLIES. BY GENIE L. BOYCE, WAITSFIELD, VT. Now my dear children, if you will lay aside your play for a little while, and listen very attentively, I will describe to you some of the peculiarities of the fly. You have all become acquainted with these troublesome insects, during the sum mer months, no doubt, and have pronounced them anything but agreeable; but still, even the little fly has its mission. You perhaps, have sometime noticed it, . after flying around the room for a while, alight on the wall, and scrape its legs with its feet, then draw them across its mouth, thus clearing the air from poison, or, the in visible animalculaj. The fly is a little creature, yet he under stands a cunning art. He alights on the ceiling of the room, and does’nt fall down. Isn’t this strange? Can you imagine the reason ? Just think! you could’nt imitate him, even if you tried. Well, let us solve the mystery. Our first question will be, how many legs has it? Your answer is six. Yes, that is correct, and the child has only two; but it does’nt depend on the number of legs, for there are many insects that have several hundred, and yet fall to the ground. If you had a magnifying-glass to look through, you could readily understand the way a fly stands; for fear, some of you will fail to try the experiment, I will tell you. In front, at the end of each leg, the fly has tw o tiny sheltered hooks or claws; and with these he can help himself along over rough things, such as cloth, newspapers and other not very smooth surfaces. Under these two hooks lie two oval-shaped little skin flaps, or suckers, which look almost as if they were made out of gum elastic. With these little flaps the fly holds himself firmly to the ceiling, and even sleeps there without falling off. With these it creeps on the smooth mirror, and up the polished bureau or sideboard, without slipping. But how does it do it? If you place an empty bottle at your mouth, then suck the air from it, it will hang fast, as though it were glued to your lips; so fast that you will feel your lips smart from the suction. As soon as the air inside the bottle is lacking, the air outside presses strongly upon it, so that it sticks fast. A distinguished man had two half-balls of copper made, three or four feet in diam eter, which, being placed together, and the air inside exhausted, held so firmly to gether by the outside air pressing against them that several horses were required to pull them apart. Boys sometimes make a plaything out of a piece of leather, which, in its use, is very much like these little suckers on the fly’s feet. They fasten a thread in the middle of a round piece of leather, wet it and press it firmly against a smooth stone. Then they draw ’gently upon the thread, so that the middle part of the leather lifts a little from the stone, and now it resembles the empty bottle. The leather holds fast, ‘and, if it be not too heavy, the boy can lift the stone before it loosens itself. Just such a little sucker the fly has, two to each leg, making twelve in all. So he can hold fast or let go, just as he likes. These flaps still hold firmly, even when the fly is dead; and when the fly is sluggish, as in cold weather, he can walk only very slowly. How wonderful are the works of our Creator! Even the smallest insect affords us a grand study; and I trust that the children who are interested in these works will not become vexed and thoughtlessly destroy even the little despised fly without wonder and admiration. A fly is such a tiny thing, Dancing, glancing through the air; Poising now on silver wing, Buzzing, humming, everywhere. Washington is excited over the report that Mrs. E. E. Briggs, a newspaper cor respondent who writes under the name of “Olivia,” has donated about seventy thous and square feet of land known as “ Maple Square,” situated between South Carolina avenue and Sixth, Seventh and D streets, as a site for a Woman’s University, to be patterned after Girard College. Philadel phia. The property is worth about $200,- 000. The proposed institution is to be wholly under the control of women. The instruction given will be in the form of lectures, so as to give the women a chance to talk. A LIVE HERO. Sylvia, I am pleased to state that my health has so much improved that my M. D. has given me permission to write a very little. As this M. D. has been mentioned two or three times, I am going to tell the “Woman’s Work” family something of his romantic history. In addition to his fame as a physician, he enjoys the distinction of being the hero of several novels. His name is Dr. G. B. McClelland, and he is a cousin of Gen. G. B. McClelland. When a child, I believe the story runs, he was stolen by the In dians, and was with them until—well, I don’t know how long he did remain with them, but he learned their methods of healing, and their wonderful secrets with regard to healing diseased bodies by means of nature’s remedies. And at fourteen he began the practice of medicine, being the youngest practitioner in America. In fact, it seems to be a gift, and he appears to have been born for his chosen work. Here an uncle discovered his where abouts, and, delighted with his wonderful talent for medicine, took him East, and placed him in a medical college where he graduated with honor. Tall and majestic, in form, with striking ly handsome features, long curling blonde hair, with which the winds sport beneath his wide Mexican sombrero, and always clad in faultless taste, he is sure to attract the attention of all who see him. From the first, his success was unbound ed, and he soon displayed such a penchant for rare diamonds he received the appella tion of “Diamond Dick.” According to his own story of his life, he also grew some what reckless about that time, a fact which he now earnestly deplores. It was then, too, that his daring exploits and lavish expenditure of money brought him before the minds of novelists as a de sirable hero for a thrilling romance. He is also a wonderful marksman, and without taking the least aim, at several exhibitions of his skill, in this city, has shot an apple, or potatoe from the heads of different ladies who were daring enough to stand as a target. He has six rooms in Leavenworth, ele gantly furnished, where he receives his patients, and a laboratory where he com pounds his medicines. In this department a number of skilled assistants are employ ed. I have always had a deep rooted prejudice toward 'doctors of this kind, and when I suddenly grew dangerously worse this winter, and my supply of oxygen had given out, and no time to send for more, and besides, I needed personal attention from a skilled physician, so, when my hus band proposed that I would place my case in Dr. McClelland’s care, I would not listen to him at first. But as something must be done at once, I gave in, and will always be thankful I did so. And so, Silvia, if you get sick again, just write a letter to this M. D. who commanded me: “Thou shalt not write,” and be cured. I am thin yet, but am gaining a pound a week. So may have to consult an anti fat remedy. I suppose, though, I will only need to stop taking my medicine when I get rosy and plump once more. Os course, this wonderful doctor has fully reformed, else I’d not have gone to him, and much of the money he.receives from patients here and through the mail goes to provide luxuries for his mother and sister (in an eastern State), by whom he is idolized. Dainty baskets of flower;, and pretty knicknacks for his rooms come to him from these far-off loved ones, who are his highest and fondest care in life. Well, I’ve waxed eloquent, and all because I love to see and know that genius will assert its self in spite of hindrances. And this recalls an article I read this afternoon, which, relying upon the forbear ance of the editor of our dear “ Woman’s Work,” I will quote entire. To my mind its significance is full of praise for women literary workers. The writer of the arti cle, quoted below, admits that a man can not do creditable work amid the usual hin drances that a great number of our women I workers must accept as inevitable. I think I can see about how a man would write, or article with and quentlj- And I too, how he would shortly crush the paper in a wad, fire it anywhere, and shut the desk with a bang. And yet, they wonder why Women are so nervous. Now I wonder who was nerv ous in the article here quoted ? Every man who has tried it, will appre ciate what “Taverner,” of the Boston Post, says about doing literary work at home: “ I met on the street yesterday a literary friend of mine who was in high glee at having just secured a new study at the top of a building on State street, I believe— somewhere, at any rate, in the business part of the city. As he lives in a charming house in a very quiet neighborhood on Beacon Hill, I wondered why he should go outside of his own door for a working place. But when he explained his motive, I could not but acknowledge its sufficiency. ‘At home,’ he explained, ‘if the children cry I wonder what is the matter, and if they cry very hard I stop to find out. Then my wife, dear, good, gentle, unselfish crea ture that she is, knocks at the door to know if I would rather have apple fritters or mince pie for desert. When a carriage or cart rattles up to my door, or the neigh bors, I usually find myself waiting for the ring, then for the bell to be answered and finally for the door to be slammed, when the errand or the call is concluded. If nothing happens, and not a sound is heard, I wonder why ths deuce it is so, and I sit in nervous expectation of some domestic thunder clap. What makes ministers so nervous, he cried, and why do they go abroad for their health so soon? ‘I tell you, Taverner, it is because they do their work at home.’ There is some truth in this, I have no doubt.” Instead of’some one asking us what we will have for dinner, we keep a remnant of our thoughts with the dinner, that it may not burn while we write, and instead of wondering what ails the child, we rush pell mell away to see, and if ’tis a cut fin ger, or a bumped head, we must stop long enough to take it through a course of treat ment peculiar to mothers, not the least of which are kisses “to make it well ; ” and when we settle down to our sublime poem, perhaps, about how many thoughts do you think we have left in connection with that manuscript ? And yet, if God, in His in visible way, has said to us, “ Thou shalt write,” we will write, no matter what hap pens; and in the writing forget all care and bodily pain, immerging from this temporary feast of the soul, to love and appreciate our dear ones more. Monnik Moob».