dessert that was a disappointment. She would teach her children to accept rice and raisins as if they were nectar and ambrosia, and would insist that only bright looks should ever be brought to the meal, howsoever homely it might be.

A little more ceremony in our manners at home would be provocative of good temper. We are frequently too candid, and too brusque and too intent on having our own way.

In little things and great one's dependence must be on our Best Friend.

"Love's dearest bond is this,

Not like to like, but like in difference.
Yet in the long years liker must they grow;
The man be more of woman, she of man;
He gain in sweetness and in moral height,
Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world;
She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care,
Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind."

WIFE and mother would seem to
have her hands full, without trying
to earn money, particularly when
her good man belongs to the
ranks of the able-bodied and will-

ing-hearted toilers of the world. The management of the simplest household is no light task, and only those who are familiar with the neverending routine of home-making fully know the meaning of the old distich:

Man works from sun to sun,

But woman's work is never done.

Yet thousands of married women long for an opportunity to earn money for purposes that the husband's income does not cover-for pin-money, charity or a daughter's lessons in music or art. They look back with a pensive regret at days before marriage, when as self-supporting women they were comfortably assured of a definite weekly or monthly salary, and there is in them an undertone of dissatisfaction with present pecuniary conditions, that takes away something from the pleasure of life.

A glimpse of actual life as revealed in a letter that one day reached me from a stranger, in the morning mail, is a flashlight on the situation.

"I was married at twenty-four. Having been graduated from college at twenty-one, I had spent three delightful years in business. My employer left a branch of his dairy entirely in my hands. I kept the books, paid the men, attended to customers, and very largely increased the trade. My salary was raised three times in the three years. I dressed beautifully, bought a cart and pony, so that I could drive to and from the station in the suburban village where I lived, and I had a little money saved. Had I meant to marry I would have had more; but marriage was not in my thoughts until I met the one whose love and

urgent courting swept me off my feet. From the first evening when I saw him, standing on the veranda of the inn, where I had gone to spend a summer vacation, he attracted me. We met in August, and were married in November. My husband was a widower with three children-two sons and a little daughter. I am now thirty, and have two children of my own. We live in a thriving community, and my husband is comparatively prosperous; he is connected with a factory, has a responsible position and a large salary. But oh, it takes so much money to bring up five children! The older ones, the boys, are in college; their little sister will enter the high school next year, and my small tots are as yet in the nursery, but I see, stretching out before me a long, long road, over which they and I must walk, before they will be raised as I was. John is liberal in a way, but he keeps the pocketbook himself, buys the provisions, prefers to purchase the dry goods, the shoes, the gloves, everything, in fact, and does not see that I need any money when he gets whatever I want. Ada, the little daughter, has more actual cash than I, for she does not mind giving daddy a kiss and a hug and asking him for a dollar or two when she wants the money to spend. He can deny nothing to her blue eyes and golden

curls. But I loathe asking him for money. I could make the same amount go farther than John does if I had it in my own hands. But how can I beg for it? I have thought of this plan: My old employers wish to open a branch of their business here. They would willingly place me in charge, have already interviewed me on the subject, and would pay me well. I should greatly enjoy the work. If I took it I would engage a good, responsible woman to keep house in my absence, and look after my babies. John's comfort would not suffer, and my own temper would improve. I am growing cross and fretful. I am weary of the daily grind-the cooking, sewing and mending— and the money I could earn would enable me, still at the head of affairs, to keep more efficient help in my kitchen. The stepchildren would profit, I am sure John would, and as for me, a year or two more of my present struggle and irritation will make me a nervous invalid.

'Though I write all this to you, my mind is about made up. I mean to take up my business life again, and secure a measure of independence. It will hurt John's pride a bit, but he will get over that, and before many weeks he will see, being a reasonable man, that I am right."

Several problems are suggested in this frank