Palms for Sale, Only 25 Cents Each!

This beautiful palm leaf advertizement is from 1908. Palms are on a sensational sale for only 25 cents each by Kramer.

The Easter Sermon of The Flowers

Easter Sermon of The Flowers

by Peter McArthur.

The Easter sermon of the flowers

Is best of all to know.

They hear the preaching of the showers

That speak the one word "Grow!"

They waited for that glad command

Through wintry storm and strife,

And now throughout the rousing 

land

They stir and wake to life.

I, too, have watched and waited

long,

for I was fain to learn

The word that wakes the birds to song

When life and joy return.

I, too, must grow and feel my heart

O'erflow with prayer and praise:

With birds and flowers must take my

part

And hymn the Easter days.

Weave a Pine Needle Basket for A Unique Easter Keepsake

      Below, I've included an article from 1898 describing two sisters that made their living from the meticulous crafting of pine needle baskets. These baskets were first crafted by indigenous peoples long ago but American women soon learned the art of weaving these little beauties during the late 1800s. Pine needle baskets are still highly sought after by collectors today; perhaps you may find  inspiration here to continue the art of weaving a few treasures for your friends and family this Easter? 

Basket Making for Profit, Two New York Girls Have Discovered a New Road to Fortune Which Other Women May Follow, St. Louis Globe-Democrat, 1898

      If you have ever bought a basket of candy in Mexico your attention has no doubt been attracted to the dainty basket as much as to the sweets. The Indians and Mexicans and the "cracker" women of the mountains of the South are expert basket makers, but it is only quite recently that a young woman of New York, trying to solve the difficult poroblem of how a woman may support herself, was attracted to this employment.

a pine needle basket

      While visiting at Aiken, S. C., Miss Mabel Compbell and her sister Stella observed the pretty baskets made of pine needles that were sold at the hotel by the country women. Miss Stella made a little basket after spending a day with the women who taught her, and before she left Aiken became quite expert. The following year Miss Mabel went out West, 'way out in the Indian country, as teacher in a family. The Indians in the neighborhood made many beautiful baskets. At Christmas she sent her sister Stella the prettiest basket to be found. Miss Stella was a typewriter, but disliked the work very much. She suggested to her sister that she learn all she possibly could concerning the making of the baskets, which she did, and also about the curing of the grasses, and in fact, invented many patterns of her own. She forwarded her sister a dozen of the baskets which she had made herself, and a lot of colored grass, in order that she might try her own hand at the art of weaving. Miss Stella combined the Indian and Southern material into a basket of an original design, which she sold to a florist for a good price. Afterward Miss Campbell went to Asheville, N. C., and pursued her quest for information concerning basket making. She returned to New York to find her sister had lost her position, her employer having gone to the war. Florists were consulted, and their orders were so large that it was decided to give all their time to the work.

      A month ago they were obligated to engage a young woman to assist them, and they regard the business as in quite a flourishing condition. They have many more orders on hand than they can fill at present. The baskets are in great demand in other cities than New York--in fact, the largest order they have had to fill came from Washington-and the baskets will be used wherever flowers or fancy candies are sold. They anticipate orders from Chicago and Boston. When the winter season begins it is probable that they will take several girls into their employ, and will be obliged to go into larger quarters. Their summer home is a cottage in the Adirondacks, and they work in an ideal way, out on the veranda, or even taking the work into the woods, sometimes staying for several days at a time.

      A party of young ladies visited them the other day, and, while it was impossible to fill the order they wished to leave, a bright suggestion of one of the girls was well received. She said she would like to take a course of lessons in the art of basket-weaving to add to her other accomplishments, embroidery and painting. Miss Campbell thinks it will be profitable to have classes in New York this winter.

      Miss Campbell, when asked if the work is hare, shrugging her shoulders, said that she had never seen anything worth while that was not hard. There is some drawback to everything, but this work is not so confining as other work taken up by women. It can be accomplished at home for one thing, it is clean, and it does not strain the back or muscles. It must be learned like everything else, the principal requirement being the ability to invent new shapes. Miss Campbell and her sister have found it pleasanter and much more remunerative than either teaching or typewriting, those occupations most affected by the women who are not so fortunately situated as to have homes of their own and a competency.

Resources:

• How to Make a Pine Needle Basket
• Pine Needle Basketry Books and Publications
• Instructions for Round-bottom Pine Needle Coil Baskets
• Prim Pines

"Watch as Susan Topham takes you through each 
step of a creative and relaxing DIY project."

"The Third Nest"

The Third Nest: A Easter Story

      It was a late Easter and an early spring. The combination had brought the festival of the resurrection into the heart of the bloom and blossom of the season, instead of the bluster and the blow. The shadows were already heavy beneath the trees, though the tints of the leaves were still delicate. Long blooms hung from the horse chestnuts.

Kirche St. Martin in Zillis,
Kanton Graubünden.

      Out at the water works grounds, beds of flaming tulips broke the level green' Persian lilacs flung out the sweetness of their pinkish sprays, and the snow ball bushes were masses of cream-white. From neighboring grounds came the heavy odor of myriads of apple and peach blossoms, the apple trees almost purple with the density of their branches and blooms, the peach trees slender spears of pink. And, as a background, the glitter of Lake St. Clair, through the branches, until far off it melted into the sky.

      A boy with a dark, foreign face, delicate and refined in spite of his evident neglect and the associations of the street which the violin under his arm suggested--picturesque in the contrast-sat on a seat near a tulip bed. He was looking dreamily at the flowers. He loved them, and it was their attraction that held him there when he ought to have been playing his violin and earning something.

      The flowers made him think of the old cemetery behind St. Martin's church in Zuchvill, in Switzerland. There were so many flowers there that the tourists came from afar to visit it. All the headstones in that cemetery were alike-that was the village law-except one, a plain granite shaft, beneath which was buried the heart of Kosciusko. How often his father had taken him there and told him the story of Kosciusko. He looked at the glimmering strip of lake which he could see and tried to imagine that it was the Aare river, the beautiful Aare which flows through the valley north of Zuchvill.

      But the illusion was not good. Down on the bank of the Aare the violets grew thickly, and he knew there were none on the lake shore, for he had just looked to see; beyond the gleaming river there was the Weissenstein jutting out from the Jura mountains, stretching along the north, blue almost as the sky itself. There was no stretch of pine forest to the left either, and behind him no village nor beechwood-the beechwood where he and Marie used to gather beechnuts. Around him it was beautiful, but it was not the Zuchvill meadow. Oh, that meadow--there was something about the day that him feel like crying, and he had a queer, dizzy sense in his head. It could not be that he was hungry. A boy who has a good breakfast ought to have enough until supper time. He put his hand in his pocket and took out some change, only $1.22. His lodging, together with breakfast and supper, was $1.50. and today was Saturday. It must be that it was only thirst, so he went and got another drink. Then he resolutely drew his bow across the strings. Perhaps the policeman would let him play here a little while. There were a few visitors, he might make a few cents without leaving the dear flowers. Under the spell of the violin the illusions he had sought became clearer, the surroundings became more and more like Zuchvill.

      He remembered one never-to-be-forgotten time, when his father took him out for a little walk, his father, who lived in his memory as a great, big man, with a very black beard, and a voice like no other, so kind and so caressing.

      As they walked along, his father told him stories of Poland, beautiful, suffering Poland, from which he was exiled. Some day it should be free-then he would take his little son up in his arms and kiss him, telling him to try to be a great and good man some day, so he could help to free it. And they two had walked along the Zuchvill meadow together--it was in the spring of the year, when the little flowers bloomed everywhere and he had let go his father's hand to gather flowers. When he came back his father was lying on the ground, he thought asleep, so he lay beside him and slept, too. But there was a difference in their sleep.

      He had not forgotten a detail, for over and over his baby lips had to tell to his mother the last words of his father, and she in turn had told him the reason of the tragedy.

      They were trying new guns at Solothurn, the city of which Zuchvill was really a suburb. His father, who had been away for a few weeks, had not heard of the proposed experiment, and did not notice the signs marking danger line. Daily his mother reproached herself for not warning him, and daily, also, she told her boy of his father until the memory of him became an ideal than which there could be none better.

      After his father's death his mother and he had gone to live at the inn, "Die Schnepfe." She was his teacher in all things and his companion. She loved the violin and she taught him to love it. The little Marie, the child of the innkeeper, was his playmate and fellow student. His mother left, just enough, by saving, to send him to school so that he might become a great man, as his father had wished.

      They lived there a long, long time, and it all was a long time ago. So it seemed to him, yet he was but twelve; and they might have lived on there forever, he and his good mamma, if it had not been for her brother. Here the boy gave his bow a vicious jerk. His mamma had been rich, but her brother had done something with her money, and even after that he would send her letters that made her cry. Here brother was in America, and one day she said they must go to him. When they came to New York her brother was in the hospital, his mother said, and cried. After a while he died. He knew now that it had been the prison hospital. When he wanted to go back his mother said she had no money. Then she had tried to get work to do, and they had lived in a little room in a big building, on a dirty street, nothing like the beautiful Zuchvill, yet it was good enough, so long as his mother lived.
       But she became ill and he sold papers and between times played his violin on the streets. His mother had said that it was begging, but when your mother is ill, what will you do? So he went on playing and did not tell her.
      When she was dying she had told him to remember his father's example and to be true to his faith and his country. She told him it would be better to leave the great wicked city, now that he was alone, and go to Detroit. She had heard that there were many Poles there. Besides, she wanted her boy to grown up where he could sometimes see trees and grass and sky.
      So he played his way to Detroit. It was only six weeks since his mother's death, but it seemed very long since then.
      He played on, Polish airs and Swiss melodies. He knew little American music. The Americans have no songs, he thought they do not need them. Only those who have no country and no father and no mother, who are hungry and homeless, can sing; or, if they have beautiful hills and mountains, as in Switzerland, to echo back the yodels, they might sing for joy.
      Out of the corner of his eyes he saw a little shadow edging steadily nearer. The shadow had curls, a broad hat and skirts, and then another smaller shadow in knickerbockers crept near it. The boy turned his head a little. It might have been Marie of 'Die Schnepfe," at whom he was looking, for just so he remembered her as she was when he and his mother came to America. He had been playing life into his memories, and the fancy seized him to make believe that this little girl was his old playmate. He smiled a little to reassure her for his sudden turn, and she, on her part, came a little nearer and leaned comfortably against a tree opposite him.
      Then he began playing a little song which he and Marie used to sing. It was in the Swiss dialect and composed by a friend of his mother's. It belonged to Zuchvill, and to no other place as much as did the meadow and the beechwood and the view of the Weissenstein.
      The girl's little brother toddled in between them, his brow in a puzzled pucker as he looked at the violin from different points. But Brunislav looked at her eyes across the little fellow's head and played and sang with all his soul. At the end of the stanza he broke out into a joyous yodel, and the girl yodelt too, high and clear. He was making believe that she was Marie and he feared to break the spell if he asked her questions, so he sang the next stanza--this time she sang it all with him.
      There was a bond between them now, and he laid down his violin and asked in the Swiss dialect:
      "Where did you learn that?"
      "From father," she answered.
      "Does he come from Zuchvill?"
      The little girl nodded.
      "Were you ever there?"
      She shook her head. Her mother's injunction against speaking to strangers was severe, and she was shy. It puzzled her to decide whether this boy who sang her father's song was a stranger or not. She hesitated, with the usually fatal results. The lonely and homesick Brunislav kept on talking and she answered less timidly each time.
      "Did your father ever tell you about Kosciusco's heart?"
      She shook her head.
      Brunislav looked incredulous. She seemed far less like Marie than a few minutes ago.
      "Did he ever tell you about the Weissenstein?"
      She nodded. That was better, he thought.
      "Did he ever tell you about the convent down by Solothurn, where the children used to find the Easter eggs in the nests on Easter Sunday morning, and where they used to give us Easter cakes baked like little lambs?"
      She shook her head. "But," she said, "Franzi," pointing to her brother, "and I build nests and mother bakes the Easter lamb cakes for us. Does your mother bake any for you?"
      "I have no mother?"
      "Oh," said the girl, and thought awile.
      Bruinslav started the conversation again by asking, "And do you go out early Easter morning to whistle for the hare that lays the Easter eggs?"
      "No, we wake up too late; father whistles instead."
      Brunislav smiled a superior smile. He was twelve and she was eight, and he had a better idea who put the Easter eggs into the nests than she had.
      She went on: "Franzi and I came over here to see if we could find some nice, green moss for our nests."
      "I'll help you," said Brunislav.
      "Do you build nests, too?"
      "No."
      "Why not?"
      Brunislav tried to think of an answer that would not reveal his lack of faith in the mythical hare.
      "I have no place," he said, at last.
      " I will let you make a nest in our yard," said the girl. "Maybe the hare will find it there, if you put your name in it."
      He did not know what to say, so he was silent.
      "Don't you want to?" she asked, aggrieved.
      "I will if you want me to," he answered, gallantly. By the time they had found the mosses and returned to their home Franzi was hungry, so the girl took him into the house for a lunch. A few minutes later she came back with him, a cookie in each of his hands. Brunislav was still telling himself that he was thirsty, but it was very hard to do so and watch Franzi eating. Women are quick, even in miniature. The little girl ran back into the house and returned with several cookies and divided with him.
      The extra number of cookies consumed made her scrupulous again as to what her mother would say if she knew, and she wanted to hurry her guest.
      "I'll build your nest," she said. From the depths of her pocket she produced a stubby pencil and a bit of druggist's blue wrapping paper. "Write your name on this, she said, as if conferring a special honor in the color, "and I'll put it in the nest for you. When you come tomorrow morning sing "Am Morga Frueh.' Father likes that," she added, with feminine finesse.
      "Is you name Marie?" he asked.
      "Yes," she said.
      Some latent instinct of chivalry made the boy take her little hand and kiss it. Then he went away.

*   *   *   *   *   *   *

      On Easter morning John Kulle, Marie's father, with a basket of bright-colored eggs on his arm, was looking for the nests constructed by Marie and Franzi.
      He found each with a label in Marie's very primitive handwriting. But close by there was a third. Strange, of what were the children thinking? He picked up the bit of blue paper, and the name on it gave him a creepy sensation.
      Brunislav Bernaski!"
      He had a European respect for the nobility, and Brunislav Bernascki, though that of a landless and exiled man, was a great name in Zuchvill fifteen years before. Moreover, he had heard of the accident and death.
      He went into the front yard and nervously investigated the lilac bushes, until such time when Marie should get up and he could watch developments.
      Presently there rang out, high and jubilant, "Am Morga Frueh," with its joyous yodel. Surely this was supernatural.
      Later, when Marie got up, she found her friend of yesterday talking earnestly to her father. He staid to breakfast and came back after mass, and staid to dinner and to supper, and the next day he went to work for her father, who owned a flourishing bakery, and stayed at their house for good, to Marie's delight.
      The teachings of his father and mother had been too stern to turn him only to music, and Brunislav is studying law. If he cannot free Poland, he can be the friend of his people in this country. Will he marry Marie? Probably. for The Saint Paul Daily Globe by Eugene Uhlrich, 1896

Traditional Egg Games for Easter Parties

       The giving of eggs at Easter, or the spring festival, is one of the most widely-known, as it is also one of the oldest, of the customs associated with spring. From the remotest times the egg has stood to the Eastern nations as the symbol of the universe, and its breaking at that time as represented the opening of the new life of the year. the usage of interchanging eggs during the spring season has been referred by some writers for its origin to the egg games of the Romans, which they celebrated at the time of our Easter, when they ran races in an egg-shaped ring and the victor received eggs as his prize. The Israelites used eggs in their feast of the Passover long before the coming of Christ. In Persia colored eggs are presented at the celebration of the solar new year, and extremely ancient custom with this people.

      But to Christians the egg stands as the universal symbol of the Resurrection. There is a tradition that in Christian countries many hundreds of years ago the Church prohibited the use of eggs during the forty days of Lent, but as the heretical hen did not cease to lay a large quantity of eggs were found to have accumulated at the end of the period of abstinence. These were usually given to the children and in order to render them more attractive they were dyed with bright colors or otherwise ornamented. 

      A favorite game was to knock two eggs together, and whichever broke became the property of him who held the other. Of course, this would not profit the winner much if the eggs were in a fluid state, and out of this dilemma arose the custom of boiling them hard. In English folk traditions, the game is known as "shackling", "jarping" or "dumping."  As with any other game, it has been a subject of cheating; eggs with cement core, alabaster, and even marble eggs have been reported. 

      Egg rolling, or an Easter egg roll is a traditional game played with eggs at Easter. Different nations have different versions of the game, usually played with hard-boiled, decorated eggs. The pre-Christian Saxons had a spring goddess eostre, whose feast was held on the Vernal Equinox, around 21 March. Her animal was the spring hare, and the rebirth of the land in spring was symbolized by the egg. Pope Gregory the Great ordered his missionaries to use old religious sites and festivals and absorb them into Christian rituals where possible. The Christian celebration of the Resurrection of Christ was ideally suited to be merged with the Pagan feast of eostre and many of the traditions were adopted into the Christian festivities. In England, Germany and other countries children traditionally rolled eggs down hillsides at Easter this may have become symbolic of the rolling away of the rock from Jesus Christ’s tomb before his resurrection. This tradition, along with others such as the Easter Bunny, were taken to the New World by European settlers. 

Eastern roll eggs in the White House South lawn in 1929.

Easter egg hunt in Wuxi, Jiangsu (1934)

 

       Egg hunt is a game during which decorated eggs, real hard-boiled ones or artificial, filled with or made of chocolate candies, of various sizes, are hidden in various places for children to find. The game may be both indoors and outdoors. When the hunt is over, prizes may be given out for various achievements, such as the largest number of eggs collected, for the largest or smallest egg, for the most eggs of a specific color, consolation prizes, booby prizes, etc. Eggs are placed with varying degree of concealment, to accommodate children of varying ages. In South German folk traditions it was customary to add extra obstacles to the game by placing them into hard-to reach places among nettles or thorns. 

      It is the custom in most German families on Easter-eve to place candies and eggs in a nest and then conceal it in their homes or in their gardens in order for the children, who often rise at the break of day on Easter morning to delight in seeking the sweet treasures. The older boys and girls join in a similar egg hunt game, which of course, has its superstitions for lovers. There is a rhyme that accompanies this "lovers" egg hunt:

Draw the egg of violet hue,

Means friends fond and true.

Pink will bring you luck,

A lover full of pluck.

Gladly take the egg of green,

Good fortune soon will be seen.

Wealth and happiness with the egg of gray, 

Keep it and hide it safely away.

The egg of blue

Means lovers few.

Do not touch the egg of red:

If you do you'll never wed.

A lover this very night,

If you draw the egg of white.

You'll marry in another town.

If you choose the egg of brown.

        There were a variety of egg dances. In one version eggs are laid on the ground or floor and the goal is to dance among them damaging as few as possible and in a second version the goal was to roll an egg out of a bowl while keeping within a circle drawn by chalk and then flip the bowl to cover the egg. This had to be done with the feet without touching the other objects placed on the floor.

Craft Basket Weave Rubbings for Easter Egg Pictures

      I made these Easter baskets from crayon rubbings and a simple basket stencil that I cut from cardboard.  Then I pasted a half dozen Easter eggs into my baskets after cutting egg shapes from decorative papers. This simple Easter egg, basket craft can be accomplished by students as young as six or seven, but I would recommend it for students in second through fourth grade.

Supply List:

• crayons
• construction paper
• decorative papers
• markers and pencils
• white glue
• Woven patterned surfaces on placemats, baskets and glass or plastic plates if you can find them
• scissors

Directions:

1. Cut and trace a basket stencil. Make this shape simple and with plenty of volume sot that a rubbed texture will be obvious once the project is complete. 
2. Trace and cut the basket shape from yellow or brown construction paper. 
3. Then place the cut basket shape on top of a woven textured surface and then rub the side of a darker crayon firmly across the surface. 
4. Draw additional details onto your paper basket's handle and paste it onto an additional sheet of paper for the background.
5. Then cut and trace egg pattern onto decorative papers for your Easter eggs. You could also use wrapping paper, wallpaper, etc... for these paper eggs. Use your imagination!
6. Paste these paper Easter eggs into your basket picture.

"The weave pattern on these Easter basket is created by rubbing crayons across the surface of paper laid on the top of a Depression glass plate." Depressionware is a marvelous surface for children to make rubbings with. Don't use anything too valuable however, they may break the surface accidentally.

More Art Projects Made From Textured Rubbings:

• If Kids Project: Textured Rubbing Plates
• Arts & Crafts Projects for Young Children-Texture Rubbing 
• Corrugated Cardboard Relief Prints
• Craft a Fall Landscape Using Leaf Rubbings

video about rubbing textures

A Pink Feather Tree Decorated For Easter

      Above I have posted a few photos of my "pink feather tree" decorated for Easter. Sometimes I display this Easter egg tree against a wall in a narrow spot, such as the one shown here. The tree stands upon a early American writing desk that once belonged to my mother-in-law and now sits in my dining room. There is little room to spare on top of it's narrow level desk top, so the adjustable branches of this tree suit the space perfectly! I've included mouth-blown glass eggs, doily butterflies and an additional variety of handcrafted Easter eggs on it's pink pastel branches.

• Large Topiary Feather Tree Decorated for Easter
• A lovely Easter egg twig tree displayed within a child's tin pail and here it is pictured in a different year's display these photos belong to Easter 2011 at Marsha's Vineyard
• Decorative Easter Egg Tree from Martha Stewart
• Make a pussy willow Easter Egg Tree
• Easter Feather Tree with Ornaments and Treeskirt
• Pink Saturday and Happy Easter To You All 

A few of the mouth-blown glass Easter eggs that hang on the pink feather tree.

Graphics of Easter Chicks With Hats

3 chicks, violets and a green hat graphic

Description of Illustration: old straw hats, violets, lavender scarfs, small yellow chicks, forget-me-nots and roses, green ribbons, rose colored scarf

two chicks, pink roses, blue ribbon and a hat graphic

three chicks, forget-me-nots, green ribbon, straw hat graphic

three chicks, pink roses, pink ribbon, white lawn hat graphic

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"Have a Joyful Easter"

A lovely vintage postcard of a choir boy.

Description of Illustration: choir boy, hymnal or Bible, choir robes, portrait, vintage photograph

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The Easter Choir

The Easter choir with white lilies.

Description of Illustration: boy's choir, choir robes, singing in church, lilies at the alter, rosy checks, vintage choir boy illustrations, interior of church, hymnals,

Sing praises to the Lord!

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Easter Chick and Tulips Gift Tag

Include this Easter gift tag in your
next basket of goodies.

Description of Illustration: trim an Easter basket or gift with this free decorative tag, chick, tulips, bulb plants, basket weave

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Bunnies In A Basket

Bunnies and Babies in A Red Easter Basket

Description of Illustration: large woven basket, bonnet, seven bunnies, baby sister, big sister, old postcard

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Vintage Butterfly Clip Art

brown butterflies, blue forget-me-nots

Description of Illustration: butterflies, moths, flowers, forget-me-nots in blue and pink, basket, text "Forget Me Not" 

blue and yellow butterflies, pink-forget-me-not

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Clip Art of The Crucifixion

"I thirst!" "It is finished!"

Description of Illustration: Good Friday, Christ's sacrifice, cross, mourning at, stained glass, text "I thirst!" and "It is finished!"

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Illustrated scripture for Easter

"I offered my back to those who beat me,
my cheeks to those who pulled out my beard;
I did not hide my face from mocking and spitting."
 Isaiah 50:6

Description of Illustration: Easter lilies, urns, vases, tall plants

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Easter lilies and the cross

Description of Illustration: vintage crosses, Easter crosses, lilies, silver and gold

 

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Angelic Easter Blessings

text reads "Easter Blessings Crown Thee"

Description of Illustration: angels illustrated, purple flowers, wings and lilies, old postcards, text paired with angels, white or parchment backgrounds

text reads "Easter Joys Be Yours"

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Illustrated Scripture from Isaiah

 "We all, like sheep, have gone astray,
 each of us has turned to his own way;
 and the LORD has laid on him
 the iniquity of us all." Isaiah 53:6.

Description of Illustrations: greyscale of angels with scripture from Isaiah, cherubim, curly hair, wings

"But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our

 iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him,

 and by his wounds we are healed." Isaiah 53: 5

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Easter daffodils

yellow daffodils, old church

Description of Illustration: daffodils, old Spanish mission, old postcard

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Egg Hunt at The Church Graphics

Description of Illustration: three versions, vintage Victorian scraps, text "Egg Hunt at The Church" and "Egg Hunt at The Church" including a bird, "New Life In Christ", all have violets and purple ribbon

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A basket of violets

Description of Illustration: Victorian die cut, scrap, basket, handle, violets

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Easter Cross With Angel Graphic

Description of Illustrations: The Easter angel above is posed in front of an Easter Cross along with rabbits and forget-me-nots. The Easter angel below is posed in front of a cross with lily-of-the-valley.

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A little Easter still life graphic

Craft a lovely little card or invitation with this simple Easter still life.

Description of Illustration: green vase, daisies, woven basket, dyed eggs: yellow, purple and pink

Have a question about the illustration? Just type it in the comment box and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. I only publish content that is closely related to the subject folks.

Easter Lilies In The Sanctuary

Both color and black and white illustrations
 of Easter lilies in the Sanctuary.

Description of Illustration: ladies in church, Easter lily displays, church windows, singing, worship, contemplation, cross

Have a question about the illustration? Just type it in the comment box and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. I only publish content that is closely related to the subject folks.

Jack & Jill Sheet Music

       I have restored an old sheet of music from the late 1800's. "Jack and Jill" is an old Mother Goose Rhyme. Above is a musical score created so that children of that time period could also sing the rhymes in school, at home or in a small performance.

The Faberge Imperial Eggs

Tsar Nicholas II presented this egg to his wife.

      A Fabergé egg (Russian: Яйца Фаберже́; yaytsa faberzhe) is a jeweled egg made by the House of Fabergé from 1885 to 1917. Most were miniature eggs that were popular gifts at Easter. They were worn on a neck chain either singly or in groups.

      The most famous eggs produced by the House were the larger ones made for Alexander III and Nicholas II of Russia; these are often referred to as the 'Imperial' Fabergé eggs. Approximately 50 eggs were made; 42 have survived. Another two eggs, the Constellation and Karelian Birch eggs, were planned for 1918 but not delivered, as Nicholas II and his family were executed that year, and Nicholas had abdicated the crown the year before.

      Seven large eggs were made for the Kelch family of Moscow. The eggs are made of precious metals or hard stones decorated with combinations of enamel and gem stones. The Fabergé egg has become a symbol of luxury, and the eggs are regarded as masterpieces of the jeweler's art.

      'Fabergé egg' typically refers to products made by the company before the 1917 Revolution, but use of the Fabergé name has occasionally been disputed, and the trademark has been sold several times since the Fabergé family left Russia after 1917 (see House of Fabergé), so several companies have subsequently retailed egg-related merchandise using the Fabergé name. The trademark is currently owned by Fabergé Limited, which also makes egg-themed jewellery.

Above Right, On April 22, 1907, Tsar Nicholas II presented this egg to his wife, Alexandra Fedorovna, to commemorate the birth of the tsarevich, Alexei Nicholaievich, three years earlier. Because of the Russo-Japanese War in 1904, no Imperial Easter eggs had been produced for two years. The egg contained as a surprise a diamond necklace and an ivory miniature portrait of the tsarevich framed in diamonds (now lost). Fabergé's invoice, dated April 21, 1907, listed the egg at 8,300 rubles.

Faberge Eggs, Part 1, Watch Part II here.

      The first Fabergé egg was crafted for Tsar Alexander III, who decided to give his wife, the Empress Maria Fedorovna, an Easter Egg in 1885, possibly to celebrate the 20th anniversary of their betrothal. It is believed that the Tsar’s inspiration for the piece was an egg owned by the Empress’s aunt, Princess Vilhelmine Marie of Denmark, which had captivated Maria’s imagination in her childhood. Known as the Hen Egg, it is crafted from gold. Its opaque white enameled ‘shell’ opens to reveal its first surprise, a matte yellow gold yolk. This in turn opens to reveal a multi-coloured gold hen that also opens. It contained a minute diamond replica of the Imperial Crown from which a small ruby pendant was suspended. Unfortunately, these last two surprises have been lost.

      Empress Maria was so delighted by this gift that Alexander appointed Fabergé a ‘goldsmith by special appointment to the Imperial Crown’. He commissioned another egg the following year. After that, Peter Carl Fabergé, who headed the House, was apparently given complete freedom for future Imperial Easter Eggs, as from this date their designs become more elaborate. According to the Fabergé family tradition, not even the Tsar knew what form they would take: the only requirement was that each one should contain a surprise. Following the death of Alexander III on November 1, 1894, his son presented a Fabergé egg to both his wife, the Empress Alexandra Fedorovna, and to his mother, the Dowager Empress Maria Fedorovna.

      No eggs were made for 1904 and 1905 because of the Russo-Japanese War. Once an initial design had been approved by Peter Carl Fabergé, the work was carried out by an entire team of craftsmen, among them Michael Perkhin, Henrik Wigström and Erik August Kollin.

      The Imperial eggs enjoyed great fame, and Fabergé made some other large eggs for a few select private clients, such as the Duchess of Marlborough, the Nobels, the Rothschilds and the Yusupovs. A series of seven eggs was made for the industrialist Alexander Kelch.

More Related Content:

• Mieks; website on pictures, history, whereabouts... of Fabergé eggs
• Fabergé Research Site by Christel Ludewig McCanless
• Details on each of the Fabergé Eggs
• BYU article on the eggs

God Has Made A Way

 

Transforming

power of the

Cross.

      The future will clear up many a mystery. A few months ago I went into the house of one of the leading merchants, whose beloved daughter had been brought home dead from being run down in the public street. The first word was, "Tell me now why God took away that girl." Said I, "My brother, I have not come here to interpret God's mysteries. I have come here to lead you closer to God's heart. Be still, and know that He who gave takes away. She already knoweth why she is yonder; wait till God clears away the cloud, and thou wait find that even this was right and well." Do you not remember how the prophet of old once had his eye touched at Dothan, and he beheld the mountains round about him filled with chariots and horsemen? When you and I work in some great cause of reform, and we have met with defiance and discouragement - why, if God were to open the eyes of our faith, and we could see the battle-field as He does we would find all round about us a great army of God's promises, assuring us of inevitable victory - nothing to do with chariots and horsemen, but simply to stand our ground and fight out the battle, and trust that he will finally clear away the cloud, and the light of His glory shall shine on the banners of truth borne over the field; for by and by shall come the last great day of revelation, when nothing that is right shall be found to have been vanquished, and nothing that is wrong shall be found to have triumphed. - Rev. Theo. L. Cuyler, D. D. 

Jesus, my only hope Thou art!
Strength of my failing flesh and heart;
Oh, could I catch a smile from Thee,
And drop into eternity.

Mr. Moody relates the following incident: During the late war a young man lay on a cot, and they heard him say, "Here, and some one went to his cot and wanted to know what he wanted, and he said, "Hark! hush! don't you hear them?" "Hear who?" was asked. "They are calling the roll of heaven," he said, and pretty soon he answered, "Here!" -and he was gone.

• The Burden In Heaven
• God Is Aware Of Every Tear You Cry
• When Your Burden Feels Too Much to Bear

gateway worship video "Cast Your Burden"

More Wearers of the Laurel

      A little while ago I made a row of little chaps (masculine chaps), the future "great," in all stages of wear and tear, lovable, and beloved I know, freckled and smooth and rough and clear (all good stuff, and to a woman's heart, cuddleable!) So come along a letter, a very dear letter, from a woman person, and says she: "Please, are there no little women-children who will one day be great also? You know better, so please don't leave them out."
      So here they are---woman's, woman! All in a row for you. And surely there are great among them. These little chaps (feminine). Little girls are dainty--so I cannot show you the grubby knees of them, the scratches and mars and bruises, the poverty, as I could on the little boys. But it's there most surely!
      Who could believe that crop-headed, boyish Sara, with the squint and the Teddy-bear, will discover more magic in the scientific world some day--something that will set the world by the two pricked ears! Barbara, with the steadfast gray eyes and the "er-plain face," who speaks at the Explorers club on the far places she has gypsied through, was once this little beauty with the pale brown curls, the blue baby-ribbon wound in them, and the frothy dress. Then she was a professional beauty! Julie, with the stockings that were knit to last, the old-fashioned apron, and the hair ribbon faded and glossed with the washings and ironings that have been its lof--Julia, with the gallent little smile--any one might dream here is a great comedienne! Cissy, with the boyish hair and socks, scuffed shoes and ravaged knees, all boy save her heart--becomes a great mother. And there are famous mothers--many.
      The mother of a great suffragette and orator, a woman with a silver tongue and voice of gold, brings out her baby picture. And lo! It's a bit of a girl with a blue slip, soft hands, soft face and demure, long soft, brown curls! Just a baby girl named Dorothy Jane!
      Here is Joan. Fat and smiling, dimpled and golden, clutching a flower with all her soul. A "snap"--the sun in her eyes and her hair ablow. The material in her slip is cheap and not new. But the light in her eyes is rich and alive to sound. And one day you will pay joyously your five or ten or twenty round dollars to hear her sing! And you will sit wrapped in a magic cloak, drowned in the diamond stream of her voice. And your eyes will ache with tears and your heart beat glad and sad. Just the same Joan wore blue-print and did it not cost very much!
      And Mary, the dreamer, with the slow, soft eyes and always the best love for her violet frock, the little girl with a lonely way with her, who saw the sunset in the heaven before she did the toy at her feet--a little chaser of hoops and obscure fancies--perhaps she'll paint and write and give great dreams to the world from the head under her thatch of fine dark hair. Who knows!
     Look into the eyes and heart of your little daughter--and wonder and reverence and be afraid. For something looks back at you of greatness and splendor! And if you will search and help--you may sense the dim glost-glow of Fame's halo 'bove her hair. by Nell Brinkley     

Music video by Jon McLaughlin performing Beautiful Disaster. (C) 2007 The Island Def Jam Music Group

Clownish Egg Heads

Faces flanking Bulf's are grade-A eggheads and cream of clowntown--each is the face of a real
clown. The wigs go on last as Bult finishes a head from a sketch on the far right. Never a clown
himself, Bult used to be a professional magician.

      The drollest collection of painted eggs in the world probably belongs to Stan Bult, curator of a London museum. Bult’s hobby is living part-time in the world of circus clowns—a habit he got into as a boy when a troupe of friendly clowns lived next door. The faces he paints on his eggs are authentic copies of those belonging to members of the International Circus Clown Club. As secretary of the European division of the club Bult keeps a file of faces so that clowns can avoid copying each other. Each clown’s make-up is his professional, jealously guarded property.

More Photos of Clown Eggs by Stan Bult:

• Clown Eggs
• The Clown Egg Register
• Clown Egg Registry

The Clown Face Registry of the United Kingdom...