is out of the world when the lilacs woo the bees at her door. A Welsh woman, who had come in her girlhood to America, she exemplified, to my mind, the worth of homely contentment, the importance of real values. Was there a concert or a lecture given in the little inland town where she lived, and was there near by some factory girl or struggling clerk who ought to have this pleasure and could not quite afford it, Mrs. V resolved herself into a quiet committee of ways and means to make the outing possible.

Was the pastor a little disheartened, his path hedged about with difficulties, her cheery voice and greeting, her capable hand, brightened and relieved the situation. She loved to potter about her garden, and always had beds of little fragrant things, geraniums, mignonette, pansies, blooming lavishly on purpose that they might be given away, long before "flower missions" had been thought of and named. Her life flowed tranquilly on for threescore years and ten, doing good wherever it touched other lives, setting in motion influences which are blessing a thousand lives to-day, yet it was always uneventful, obscure, retiring; it was the homely life of a home-keeping, home-loving woman, around whose door were the invisible angels of peace and love. With the Shunammite, she might have said, "I dwell among mine own." The bloom of May in field and garden bed brings her back to my thought.

Look for the Main Spring.

One should not be too introspective, yet it does no harm occasionally to interrogate one's inner consciousness and scrutinize closely one's motives. The kind action gains immensely in value if it be prompted by the right motive, and the most generous gift is the fine gold tarnished if the intrusion of a low motive has spoiled it. Our Saviour emphasized this in His frequent injunction to secrecy and quietude, so far as prayers and almsgiving were concerned. The devout petitioner must enter the closet and shut the door. The right hand must not know what the left hand did, nor the left hand have cognizance of the deeds of the right. High motives-motives far above worldly ambitions or the praise of men-were enjoined by our Lord.

Should the conscientious Christian disciple look into this matter, he or she would occasionally be shocked to discover a low motive creeping meanly around the roots of an apparently justifiable action. Self-will furnishes the low motive which prompts the offended Christian to take no active part in a church organization, for example, where unfortunately his wishes were not duly considered. thing about the church music does not please him, so he stays away from church, excusing the act to himself as a dignified protest, while all the time it is merely an exhibition of temper. He is not altogether in touch with his pastor, therefore,

though a fluent and acceptable speaker, his voice is seldom heard in the prayer meeting. Wounded self-love or hurt vanity is the low motive which often masquerades in the robes of humility.

It is, however, in the giving of gifts that one oftenest waylays the base motive. To have one's name conspicuous on a subscription list will sometimes cause a man to double or treble the amount he is willing to contribute even to a good cause. The cause gains by this, but the man suffers, for all giving in the direction of benevolence, whether of money or personal sympathy, should be on a high plane, on a plane in which the low motive has no share.

A very charming book has recently been occupying all my spare moments, and readers of that classic, "Memorials of a Quiet Life," may like to hear about this later work of Augustus Hare, "The Story of Two Noble Lives." Briefly stated, the book is the memoir, largely given in letters, of two beautiful sisters, the Ladies Charlotte and Louisa Stuart, one of whom became Viscountess Canning and the other Marchioness of Waterford. The character of the latter, Louisa Stuart, is impressive from beginning to end, from its lofty sincerity, its abhorrence of anything mean or small. A touching incident near the end of her life came to light after she had gone.

When her things were being distributed the distributers were surprised to hear that the old man' most earnestly begged for something; it was for her old sealskin jacket. It was thought a singular request at first, but he urged it very much; he should treasure the jacket as long as ever he lived. He had been walking by her donkey-chair in the road when they found a female tramp lying in the ditch very ill indeed. Lady Waterford got out of her chair and made the man help her to lift the poor woman into it. Then she took off her own jacket and put it on the sick woman and walked home by the side of the chair, tending and comforting her all the way." But it was not my lady's putting her jacket on

the woman that I cared about,' said the man, "but that she did not consider her jacket the least polluted by having been worn by the tramp. She wore it herself afterward, as if nothing had happened." A beautiful illustration this of doing good from the most uncalculative and unselfish motive.

In the training of children the greatest care should be exercised to keep the motives noble. "You must behave well, for Aunt Jane is coming and she always notices little girls. If you are rude Aunt Jane will not invite you to visit her next summer and children have splendid times at Aunt Jane's." Here the little

one is incited to gentleness of deportment from a low motive-the hope of being asked to visit her relative. The same thing might be put in a different way, thus: "Aunt Jane will be here this afternoon. We want her to enjoy herself very much, and it will help her to do this if you will be very thoughtful and kind. is so nice to give people pleasure when they come to see us."

It

Instances will occur to the reader but, as a rule, in child training one should aim at elemental principles and not at superficial results. In ourselves and in others, so far as in us lies, let us keep the motives of our action high. "Look up and not down; look forward and not back; look out and not in; and lend a hand."

The Amenities of Daily Life.

I think one of the most common forms of incivility as seen in daily life is the failure to show interest in what people are saying to you. This lack of interest,

excused on the score of preoccupation, or absence of mind, or inattention, throws an effectual chill on family or social intercourse, and acts as a wet blanket wherever it is found. The fact is that when people are together, they should be interested in each other's talk, and each other's concerns. Letters, the morning paper, one's own thoughts and plans, should be put aside in the family, and whether in the sitting-room or at the table, a common life shared should make possible common conversation and polite intercourse.

I was a very little girl when my father gave me a rule for conduct which has never ceased to have with me the force of an obligation. "Always look at the person who is speaking to you. Always look straight at the person to whom you

are speaking." The practice of this rule makes one a good listener, and a good listener is as essential to pleasure in conversation as a good raconteur.

The whole secret, or nearly the whole secret of personal magnetism and popularity is in this habit of giving deferential attention to what is going on about you. Next to this comes, and it has a high place in family amenities, the keeping in the background your grievances.

Where people are sensitive, and the greater the scale of refinement the greater is apt to be the sensitiveness to the moods of others and to praise or blame, it is inevitable that feelings will be hurt.

But my grievance, even if it be positive and well-grounded, is my personal affair, and must not be permitted to intrude upon the peace of the household. It is mine, and therefore it is my privilege to put it with other unpleasant things quite out of sight. No personal slight, no personal sorrow, no individual infirmity, should be allowed to cloud the general happiness.

Among the neglected amenities of life, one finds often the scarcely veiled indifference of the young to the old. Younger people are so full of vitality, so occupied, so rushed in these busy days with their engagements and their pleasures that they too frequently have scant consideration for their seniors. But age has its rights as well as its privileges, and it has a claim on the courtesy, the patience, and the respect of those who, however young they may be now, will, if they live long enough, in time be old themselves.

Among the needless brutalities of daily life is a habit of brusque and indiscreet candor. "What a hideous bonnet you have; pray, where did you get it? You look like a fright !" I heard one sister say to another, and I felt most indignant. The bonnet may or may not have deserved the comment; that was a matter of preference, but the young woman capable of so rude a remark should have been made to wear a penitential sheet with holes for her eyes until she had learned better manners. "You are looking very ill," if repeated often enough, will make even a well person a temporary invalid, and, where disagreeable truths will do no good, and no principle is involved in their expression, it is better not to utter them. Silence is sometimes, not always, but often, golden.

The Young Teacher.

One morning a tall young man was seen riding at break-neck pace toward the school-house. Flinging himself off his horse, he opened the door and walked in, without so much as a knock, apology or doffing of his hat. A cowboy with spurs, schapps, sombrero and lariat was a new sight to Miss Selby, but with ready tact she concealed her surprise and quietly asked, "Would you like to become a member of this school?"