relieved of his own say. He will bring others out, and so far from being like Rogers, who made ill-natured speeches to attract attention, he can be a listener even on subjects on which he is competent to speak. But when he does speak, he is calm and courteous in argument, self-restrained, patient, and open to conviction, and does not after dinner avail himself of the absence of the ladies to run into coarseness. Again, he is always truthful and sincere, and therefore will not agree from mere complaisance, and will condemn a fault without, however, being blunt and rude. He is never a humbug, yet when he truthfully can, he prefers to say pleasant things. Nor is he curious. If something of confusion reveal that a slip has been made, rather than pry into the secret that the unguarded word has partially uncovered, he will turn the conversation. He is consequently above gossip, and not the man to whom you would safely bring a petty tale.

The gentleman does not drop any of those attentions and courtesies to wife, sister, father, and mother, which he is in the habit of paying to other ladies and gentlemen in society. He is not brusque to any lady because she has the misfortune to be his wife or his sister.

A MOTHER'S LOVE

Like a cradle rocking, rocking,
Silent, peaceful, to and fro;

Like a mother's sweet looks dropping
On the little face below,

Hangs the green earth, swinging, turning,
Jarless, noiseless, safe and slow;
Falls the light of God's face bending

Down and watching us below.

And as feeble babes that suffer,

Toss and cry, and will not rest,
Are the ones the tender mother

Holds the closest, loves the best:
So, when we are weak and wretched,

By our sins weighed down, distressed,
Then it is that God's great patience

Holds us closest, loves us best.
O, great heart of God, whose loving
Cannot hindered be-nor crossed,
Will not weary, will not even

In our death itself be lost.
Heart of God of such great loving,
Only mothers know the cost,
Cost of Love that all love sharing
Gave itself to save the lost.

-Saxe Holm.

THE OLD FOLKS

If you would make the aged happy, lead them to feel that there is still a place for them where they can be useful. When you see their powers failing, do not notice it. It is enough for them to feel it, without a reminder. Do not humiliate them by doing things after them. Accept their offered services, and do not let them see you taking off the dust their poor eyesight has left undisturbed, or wiping up the liquid their trembling hands have spilled; rather let the dust remain, and the liquid stain the carpet, than rob them of their selfrespect by seeing you cover their deficiencies. You may give them the best room in your house, you may garnish it with pictures, and flowers, you may yield them the best seat in your church-pew, the easiest chair in your parlor, the highest seat of honor at your table; but if you lead, or leave, them to feel that they have passed their usefulness, you plant a thorn in their bosom that will rankle there while life lasts. If they are capable of doing nothing but preparing your kindlings, or darning your stockings, indulge them in those things, but never let them feel that is is because they can do nothing else, rather that they do this so well.

Do not ignore their taste and judgment. It may be that in their early days, and in the circle where they moved, they were as much sought and honored as you are now; and until you arrive at that place, you can ill imagine how it would be if your feelings should be considered entirely void of these qualities, be regarded as essential to no one, and your opinions be unsought, or discarded if given.

AN EMPTY NEST

Never a sign in this empty nest

Of the love that mated, the love that sung;

The birds are flown to the East and West,

And the husk of their homestead has no tongue

To tell of the sweet, still, Summer eves,

Of the sweeter, merrier, Summer days;

Only a nest in the falling leaves,

And silence here in the wood's dark maze.

But I hold in my hand the dainty thing,
Woven of feather and fluff and reed.
Once 'twas the haven of breast and wing,
And the shelter of callow and helpless need.
It tells of a passionate gladness gone;

It dumbly whispers that love is best;
That never a night but has had a dawn-
And I drop a kiss in the empty nest.

Margaret E. Sangster.

A WOMAN'S QUESTION

Do you know you have asked for the costliest thing
Ever made by the hand above-

A woman's heart and a woman's life,

And a woman's wonderful love?

Do you know you have asked for this priceless thing
As a child might ask for a toy?

Demanding what others have died to win,
With the reckless dash of a boy.

You have written my lesson of duty out,
Man-like you have questioned me-
Now stand at the bar of my woman's soul,
Until I shall question thee.

You require your mutton shall always be hot,
Your socks and your shirts shall be whole;
I require your heart to be true as God's stars,
And pure as heaven your soul.

You require a cook for your mutton and beef;

I require a far better thing;

A seamstress you're wanting for stockings and shirts-
I look for a man and a king.

I am fair and young, but the rose will fade
From my soft, young cheek one day-
Will you love me then, 'mid the falling leaves,
As you did 'mid the bloom of May?

Is your heart an ocean so strong and deep
I may launch my all on its tide?

A loving woman finds heaven or hell
On the day she is made a bride.

I require all things that are grand and true,
All things that a man should be;

If you give this all I would stake my life
To be all you demand of me.

If you cannot do this-a laundress and cook
You can hire with little to pay;

But a woman's heart and a woman's life

Are not be won that way.-Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

THE GUEST CHAMBER

A guest chamber, which fortunate people like to have always ready for the occupation of friends, should be, in the first place, entirely comfortable. Let me say in passing, that comfort is the prime requisite in sleeping rooms, and that ornament follows

a long way after. One may have a guest chamber which is a marvel of beauty in the freshness of the toilet table, in the ribbons and lace and beautiful pincushions and pretty knickknacks scattered about, but in which the facilities for bathing are few and not satisfactory, and in which the bed is hard and lumpy. See that the accommodations which are essential are attended to first, and let the decorations follow.

Towels in plenty, not new and slippery, but soft and pleasant to the touch, rougher ones for bathing purposes, also a wash-cloth and delicate toilet soap, should be part of the appointments of the guest chamber. A few sheets of paper and envelopes, and a pen and ink, with a postal card or two, should be at the guest's disposal, and if you are very thoughtful you may add a few postage stamps, so that her letters may never have to wait for this convenience. Every bedroom should be furnished with a good strong lock and key, or a bolt, as many persons feel better for locking themselves in at night.

If the loving, closed heart of a good woman should open before a man, how much controlled tenderness, how many veiled sacrifices and dumb virtues would he see reposing there!-Richter.