AMONG THE MAGAZINES. AUTUMN LEAVES.-Do not forget our own magazine. Are you a subscriber to AUTUMN LEAVES? Then do not neglect to renew your subscription. We can not afford to lose one subscriber. If you are not a subscriber, can you not send in your subscription at once? Do a little missionary work for our magazine. Tell people how well you like it. Ask them to take it. Send all subscriptions to Herald Publishing House, Lamoni, Iowa. ST. NICHOLAS.-The very little folks are to have more pictures and stories all their own in St. Nicholas in 1909 than ever before. One series, of an originality and humor to charm the whole household, will be a set of "storiettes" called "Doctor Daddiman's Stories." They are to have illustrations by Fanny Y. Cory. A promising new feature of St. Nicholas the coming year will be a two-page department to be called "The Cozy Cooking Club," conducted by Charlotte Brewster Jordan. The recipes will be given in easy rhyme, with, of course, a brief prose list of ingredients; and will cover simple dainties specially appropriate to the season. Each month of the year will have its own menu. A jolly feature of St. Nicholas in 1909 will be a series of rhymes and pictures by W. W. Denslow, the illustrator of "The Wizard of Oz," "Father Goose," "The House that Jack Built," etc. "When I grow up" will be the title of the series, which will portray the "day dreams" of an American youngster. Besides the black and white pages each number will have two pages of "When I grow up" in color. THE CHRISTIAN HERALD (a weekly a visitor to many people) is this year giving free to every new and renewing subscriber a most attractive gift, which is very appropriately called "The Art Gallery De Luxe." It consists of six famous paintings, superbly reproduced in fourteen colors, aggregating one thousand square inches. The artist catches the glint of the sunbeams through orchard trees and makes them dance and gleam on canvas. But how can we paint in mere words the beauty of these six exquisite pictures? A handsomer premium was never offered by any magazine. Probably no comment is necessary concerning The Christian Herald, "The magazine that fully satisfies," as only the best in literature and art is presented and every one of its fifty-two issues, the whole year around, sparkles with gems from cover to cover. The Christian Herald contains twelve hundred large pages and one thousand illustrations yearly- as much as any four one-dollar magazines. The subscription price is $1.50 per year, but every new subscriber who sends $1.50 to The Christian Herald, 444 Bible House, New York, will receive The Christian Herald every week from date of order until January 1, 1910, and in addition the incomparable "Art Gallery De Luxe" free. You must act quickly, as this splendid offer expires December 10, 1908. YOUTH'S COMPANION.-The amount of good reading given to subscribers to The Youth's Companion during the year is indicated by the following summary of contents for 1909: 50 Star Articles contributed by Men and Women of Wide Distinction in Public Life, in Literature, in Science, in Business, in a Score of Professions. 250 Capital Stories including Six Serial Stories; Humorous Stories; Stories of Adventure, Character, Heroism. 1,000 Up to Date Notes on Current Events, Recent Discoveries in the World of Science and Nature, Important Matters in Politics and Government. 2,000 One-Minute Stories, Inimitable Domestic Sketches, Anecdotes, Bits of Humor, and Selected Miscellany. The Weakly Health Article, the Weekly Woman's Article, Timely Editorials, etc. A full Announcement of the new volume will be sent with sample copies of the paper to any address on request. The new subscriber for 1909 who at once sends $1.75 for the new volume (adding fifty cents for extra postage if he lives in Canada) will receive free all the remaining issues for 1908, including the Double Holiday Numbers; also The Companion's new calendar for 1909, "In Grandmother's Garden," lithographed in 13 colors.-The Youth's Companion, 144 Berkely Street, Boston, Massachusetts. Daughters of Zion Truer Parenthood, Better Children, Happier Homes, Purer Society. "A partnership with God is motherhood; ADVISORY BOARD.-Mrs. B. C. Smith, president, 214 South Spring Street, Independence, Missouri; Mrs. H. A. Stebbins, vice-president, Lamoni, Iowa; Mrs. F. M. Smith, secretary, 630 South Crysler Street, Independence, Missouri; Mrs. M. E. Hulmes, treasurer, 909 Maple Avenue, Independence, Missouri; Mrs. E. Etzenhouser, Independence, Missouri; Mrs. S. R. Burgess, 5920 Etzel Avenue, St. Louis, Missouri. A CHRISTMAS CHILD. She came to me at Christmas time and made me mother, and it seemed She trusted me, and I who ne'er had trusted, save in self, grew cold DO YOU APPRECIATE YOUR MOTHER? T THIS season, when joy and good will abound, any reminder of the sad lack in the world of love and the consideration it prompts seems almost out of place, but in the time when hearts are more than usually warm and tender, such a reminder may, perhaps, make a more lasting impression for good. It is an extreme case of heartlessness in a daughter in response to her mother's devotion which is presented to us in the quoted story that follows, but the regret which all must feel who read it may stir to greater tenderness and more grateful appreciation some who might not be so grossly selfish and unfeeling as this daughter, who yet inflict wounds where they should give happinesss. In the matter of dress, girls seem especially liable to come in conflict with their mothers, whose judgment, as a rule, is superior to theirs, but is not always approved by them. At times there comes before me a picture,-it is one I can never forget-in which a young girls stand before a mirror putting the finishing touches to her toilet before going out to join some young companions for an afternoon of pleasure. In dress of white, with long, soft-falling, wavy hair, she forms the center of a picture which would have been a pleasing one but for the expression upon her face and the feeling in her heart, which it reflected. I wish I could forget them. By the window at her side, her mother sits at her sewing; the dear, patient mother, who was always sewing for her girls. There had come a difference of opinion in regard to some article the daughter wished to wear, and now, in answer to some remark of the mother's, the look which the mirror caught and holds to her memory is one of impatience and of actual contempt. Her mother's face, lifted in time to catch the look, grows sad as she says in gentle tones, "Oh, my child, it grieves me to see you look like that." It is not because she could not do as she pleased that she carries regret. Oh, no. It is because she gave pain to the wise mother who merited and who usually received loving deference from her family. A mother's judgment may not always be beyond criticism; her work may not be done with the greatest skill, but the love she puts into it should be held precious; and there is something else that is precious, too-for the daughter who spares her mother's feelings, and gives only loving appreciation of her mother's efforts for her weaves into her character a beauty that will endure when unsightly garments are gone for ever; and, moreover, her memories of her daughterhood will be comforting ones. This story of an ungrateful daughter is from one of our daily papers: "I witnessed, the other day, an instance of the brutality of the ungrateful daughter toward the self-sacrificing mother, which impressed me so strongly that I am impelled to write on the subject. "I say I witnessed the inhumanity of this daughter. I mean I was made aware of it through a letter, and that in a most unusual way. "The letter was shown me by the mother herself—an entire stranger to me. It was one of those little tragedies that appear so trivial in the eyes of the world at large, yet are of such overwhelming significance to the individual heart. "The experience was a curious one. I was returning from an errand in the poorer section of the city, and was about to take a car, when an old woman with a shawl over her head and a basket in her arms hurried up to me calling, 'Please wait, lady. Please wait!' "She sat the basket down in the street. I saw it contained laundry -and began fumbling in her belt. Her hands were knotted and toil-worn and trembled with eagerness. "In a second she held forth a letter. "Please read, lady!' "I thought I could sense a petition for charity, and began to unfasten my purse. "No-oh no!' she cried, distressed. 'You not understand! This is my daughter's letter. I not read! I thought you might 66 'Why, of course!' I said. I took the missive at once and unfolded the sheets. "The old woman's face shone with such eagerness I forgot its wrinkles and unsightly lines. 'I make it all my "I give Christmas present,' she confided. self-all! Fine coat-all for my girl! I see if she got it!' "I understood now the keen anticipation in the watery blue eyes, the mother love that transfigured the furrowed face. The letter was written in a careless, unformed, girlish hand: "Dear mother,' I read, 'the package came all right—' "I paused to glance at the woman, nodding and smiling, her entire attitude intensely, pitifully expectant. Then I read on: "I tried on the coat, and I must say I don't see how you ever made such a cheap job of it. I am terribly disappointed. It fits awful about the waist, and the girls in the store say the sleeves ain't one bit stylish, and the collar bulges and wrinkles at the back "I could not read another line. How I had managed to proceed that far I don't know. Curiosity and a sort of desperation had urged me, in spite of the consciousness that the words I uttered were stabbing this poor woman to the heart. "I looked at her now. All the light had vanished from her face, as though an inner candle had been suddenly extinguished. I could see the wrinkles now, startlingly distinct. Every line stood out They sharply. The toil-hardened hands had ceased trembling. were curiously rigid-pressed hard one against the other. "She stood thus-stunned-her eyes fixed blankly upon me. Then she said, in a low, patient, resigned voice: 'Go on.' "I continued to read: 'Mother, why did you ever try to make a coat? Why didn't you get one ready made? It would have had at least a decent shape and style.' "I stopped abruptly. The old woman understood. She reached for the letter. "Never mind-that's all-you needn't read any more. Many thanks-many!' She tried to smile. "I'm very, very sorry,' I said, feeling somehow that I was responsible for her suffering. "She put the letter back in her belt and stooped for the basket. I could not trust myself to look at her face again. My car was coming. "Good-bye-I'm so sorry!' "The words seemed silly-futile. I felt them to be unutterably So. I was miserable when I boarded the car and saw the mother trudging on, the basket in her arms, her face sad and set-all the hope gone from it. "I can not forget that woman. I can not forget the letter of that selfish, cruel, ungrateful daughter. And yet, inhuman as this girl's attitude seems to us, we must admit it is not more so than that assumed by thousands of girls far better educated, whose superior advantages should certainly have taught them kindness and consideration for their mothers. "It is nothing less than brutality. I have seen it time and again. There is positively no excuse for such savagery among young women in this civilized age. "Girls, stop thinking of yourselves; of your own petty desires and dislikes and whims, and think of your mothers, working and planning and struggling always for you. "It takes so little to compensate a mother for her self-denial. A word, a smile, a kiss-these will be valued as gold by the mother who denies herself for her child. "Some day you will have children of your own, maybe. Perhaps they will be ungrateful. Then you will understand, if you do not understand now, what pain, what desolation a mother feels when her efforts go unrewarded, when no appreciation comes to gladden her days.-Angela Morgan. DO YOU REMEMBER? Do you remember? I have been remembering. I remember the cold, crisp, winter weather, the snow and ice; the sleigh-bells and dancing, prancing horses, drawing gayly painted sleighs, with loads of gay, laughing people. There were Christmas trees and spicy Christmas greens, and brilliant shops, and people laden with |