farmer thought he would be liberal and give the man a ham from his smoke-house. On his way to get it, the tempter whispered to him:

"Give him the smallest one you have."

He had a struggle whether he would give a large or a small ham, but finally he took down the largest he could find. "You are a fool," the devil said.

"If you don't keep still," the farmer replied, "I will give him every ham I have in the smoke-house."

Selected.

TAKEN AT THE FLOOD.

There is a tide in the affairs of men

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;
Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Is bound in shallows, and in miseries.
On such a full sea are we now afloat;

And we must take the current when it serves,
Or lose our ventures.

William Shakespeare, in "Julius Caesar."

THEY TWO.

They are left alone in the dear old home,

After so many years,

When the house was full of frolic and fun,
Of childish laughter and tears.

They are left alone, they two-once more
Beginning life over again,

Just as they did in the days of yore,

Before they were nine or ten.

And the table is set for two these days;
The children went one by one

Away from home on their separate ways
When the childhood days were done.
How healthily hungry they used to be!
What romping they used to do!
And mother-for weeping-can hardly see
To set the table for two.

They used to gather around the fire
While some one would read aloud,
But whether at study or work or play
"Twas a loving and merry crowd.
And now they are two that gather there
At evening to read or sew,

And it seems almost too much to bear
When they think of the long ago.

Ah, well-ah, well, 'tis the way of the world!
Children stay but a little while

And then into other scenes are whirled,
Where other homes beguile;

But it matters not how far they roam

Their hearts are fond and true,

And there's never a home like the dear old home

Where the table is set for two.

A. E. K.

LOVE IN THE HOME.

There is abundant reason for urging upon the home circle, rich or poor, the culture of love, without which no true homeculture can exist. How can it be done? First, be willing to show

the love that already exists. It is like a plant with shriveled, drooping leaves. Bring it Bring it out into the light; show it; put it in the warmth of the sun. Is the husband and father silent, gloomy, withdrawn into into himself, brooding, perhaps over the fact that, no matter how hard he tries, he never can meet the family demands? Show him that you know he is tired, that you love him for his constant effort, that you love him the same even if he has failed to do all he had hoped. Show him how well and cheerfully you can get on with a little for this time, sure that the next time he will succeed. If you are his daughter, and have acquired the habit of thinking of him chiefly as the man from whom the money comes for the things you need, get out of that relation by planning to do something for him. Has your mother been in the habit of reminding him that your birthday was at hand? Find out his birthday, and begin to plan, for that, a little gift from every child, a song sung for father, a little speech from his little son; a little fun in which you coax him to shareit may mean a new life to him because it means a new sense of how truly you love and believe in him. When it comes to showing the dear mother how you love her, be sure you get father to help in planning the good time for her.

Mary Lowe Dickinson, in "Success."

THE SIN OF OMISSION.

It isn't the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone
That gives you a bit of a heartache
At the setting of the sun.
The tender word forgotten;
The letter you did not write;
The flowers you did not send, dear,
Are your haunting ghosts at night.

The stone you might have lifted
Out of a brother's way;

The bit of heartsome counsel

You were hurried too much to say;
The loving touch of the hand, dear,
The gentle, winning tone

Which you had no time nor thought for
With troubles enough of your own.

Those little acts of kindness

So easily out of mind,
Those chances to be angels
Which we poor mortals find-
They come in night and silence,
Each sad, reproachful wraith,
When hope is faint and flagging
And a chill has fallen on faith.

For life is all too short, dear,
And sorrow is all too great,
To suffer our slow compassion
That tarries until too late;
And it isn't the thing you do, dear,
It's the thing you leave undone

Which gives you a bit of a heartache

At the setting of the sun.

Mrs. Margaret E. Sangster.

LINCOLN AND THE BIRDS.

One of the most interesting and pathetic incidents of which I have ever read or heard is connected with the memory of one of the greatest and noblest men of all times-Abraham Lincoln. In

company with some other candidates who were out on a political campaign over a half a century ago in the wild West, he saw, in the woods near the close of the day, some baby birds that had been blown out of their nest. Asking to be allowed to get down from the carriage, which passed on ahead, Mr. Lincoln picked up the tiny creatures and restored them to their little home. On reaching the inn he was asked the cause of his delay-and astonished his hearers by telling them of his humane act, declaring that, had he not returned the birdies to their mother's care, he could not sleep at night. What a tender, loving heart!

H. P. S. Perry, Oklahoma.

SPEAK GENTLY.

Speak gently; it is better far
To rule by love than fear;
Speak gently; let no harsh word mar
The good we may do here.
Speak gently to the little child;

Its love is sure to gain;
Teach it in accents soft and mild;
It may not long remain.

Speak gently to the young, for they

Will have enough to bear;

Pass through this life as best they may,

"Tis full of anxious care,

Speak gently to the aged one,

Grieve not the care-worn heart,

Whose sands of life are nearly run:

Let such in peace depart.