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6 Worth Woman 9 s While “Ye Who Serve.” oye who serve! And spend life’s days In homeliest round of little things, Whose - sun refuses oft to shine, And vesper’s calm faint gladness brings— Thon who hast passed within the gate That shut thee from thyself, and bound Upon thy willing- feet the chains That Duty’s love for thee had found— And left behind thee every wish, And told thyself ’twas thine no more— Then stood aghast that buried Hope Did rise to hunt with dreams of yore— And fought the battle o’er again, And prayed for patience when was none, And wisdom sought when blind, dumb sense Had left thee spent and prone—undone! And ye who know the bitter pang Os careless mien in those for whom Was bartered much that heart holds dear, Even day mourned not in night of gloom! Poor, weary ones! Yet know ye not There stand bereft without the gate Sad souls with none whom love may serve? Than you, oh, far more desolate! —F. L. T. The Trick of Being Happy. Why not be happy? There are very many more things to make us happy than to,grieve us. The trouble is we lose the sense of proportion—a little cloud in our sky obscure not only the sun, but the very light, so that we are surrounded with a gloom not even hope can penetrate. With all the glory of the heavens shining’ over us, and nature blooming, and birds singing, and the great heart of the world pulsing warm and true, we can yet so yield ourselves to a disordered imagination that for us no sun shines, no flowers bloom, the birds are tuneless, and no heart is faithful but our own. We look in, not out. and our crooked vision dwindles every other object until we are ourselves uncon sciously the very biggest thing in the universe. It isn’t a thought we like to face, that thinking so much of ourselves is what makes our troubles so large, but—if we are fortunate—there comes a time when we can look back and see that it was so. self-centredness is so easy, it creeps on us so almost like a thief in the night; we are unaware of its presence until it has stolen our treasure, our peace of mind, and the something which makes us pleasant to ourselves and to others. Nothing can be realer than the troubles and sor rows which come to all alike, but with them are still so many good things—the things we have in com mon with all the world, “the rain that falls on the just and the unjust,” the sunshine that is as much for the humblest insect that crawls as for the high est of earth’s great ones, and the universal love which takes in the whole system of worlds nor leaves out one tiniest creature. And there is the Kingdom of Heaven within us if we so will—the peace that comes with resignation under whatever lot is ours, the joy in all the beauty spread around us, the hope that, born of simple faith and trust, leaves naught to fear. “All earth-born cares,” says the poet, “are wrong,” and when we come to analyze, they are most of them, earth-born; little worries so sordid that with a wider vision we would marvel they could so have thrown us. It is not so much the great things that prevent happiness as the little ones that are permitted to rankle, and to grow until out of all proportion to the seed that gave them birth. So much grows out of jealousy, and fancied effront. In a house where, in company with others, we were a guest, was one whose sense of The Golden Age for September 20, 1906. By FLORENCE TUCKER her own importance was such that when the maid passed the dessert to others before herself she was mortally offended, and showed it in such unmistaka ble manner that not only the hostess, but all at table were made uncomfortable. This woman’s presence is a bane wherever she goes,, simply be cause she has no thought but of herself. She has cultivated being unhappy until she has succeeded thoroughly, and for her there is nothing but herself and the attention she exacts and the slights she fan cies she gets. In contrast to her is a younger wo man who practices the habit of being happy. “It is a trick,” she says—she just makes up her mind to be happy, whether or no, for only so can she be so lovable to other people, and add to their happiness. Not always did she do so, but coming to see the philosophy of it she goes about it as something to be done, and having acquired it she calls it a trick—and a very good trick it is for any one to play. One, too, that all may learn, fortu nately. And why don’t we? Why, when the world is made so beautiful for us and life intended to be so pleasant, do we choose to look in instead of out, to look down instead of up? It is more largely a matter of choice than we even realize; or perhaps we were better to say habit. Most children left to themselves are happy enough; it is only as people grow older that they take on the ways of melancholy and gloom, that they fall into the habit of looking on the world as a dreary place and life a disappointing experience. Let us just be happy anyway—like our young friend, let us learn the trick. Philosophy of the Simple Mind. The simple mind is often more philosophical than one trained to do too much thinking on its own account. As said of Paul, much learning makes us mad, but for some of us a very little suffices; where as, the simple minded person, taking little thought at all, arrives, perhaps, as often and as correctly at the solution of things as those who Would go deep and ever deeper into questions obscure and hidden. A lady living in Mississippi had a little waif of a negro she had gotten from the “po’-’ouse” (poor house) as the child called it, whose duty it was every evening to carry water to the different cham bers. One evening her mistress said to her, “Eliza Ann, if you knew that the world would come to an end to-night, what would you do?-” “Jes’ gerlong, ” said Eliza Ann, “totin’ up my night waters!” Could there be more philosophy than that? Things small nor great disturbed the tenor of her way; the very world might come to an end, but Eliza Ann would not be thrown from her place, destined for her from the beginning; faithful to the little groove in which she fitted, nothing could dislodge her; even though she should know all things were about to topple about her foolish head in chaos ami ruin, she would just “gerlong, totin’ up her night waters.” How ridiculous it sounds! But was not all wisdom in it? If we would all go quietly on about our du ties, not bothering about what may be going to happen, would it not be the better thing to do— when you come to think of it, the only thing to do? Then let come what would, let the worlds and systems go, if we be found at our post we need be no more concerned than was Eliza Ann. The Two Roots of 11l Health. All ill-health, says a writer, has its origin in two roots: anger and worry. If we accept this as true, how unnecessary it appears that we should ever experience anything but physical harmony and soundness of body. Anger is so foolish a thing, so unreasonable, so like to insanity; it is intemper ance of its sort, the wildest intoxication. And how unbecoming! Self-respect alone, the unwillingness to appear a spectacle, prevents most of us from indulging in this, so that the other root, worry, may be considered the .cause almost entirely of our undoing. The other day, in reading, we came on the ex pression “grandly trusting,” and it left us think ing. “Simply trusting’’ is the way it is generally put, but how much more this other means! To trust simply were to be as a little child without thought or responsibility and without comprehen sion of what lies ahead or even around us. But to trust in full realization of the obstacles that beset life’s pathway, to look up with confi dence and with perfect repose of faith under or deals and deprivations and sufferings that would lead to questioning; to suffer and yet be true, to be resigned under whatever affliction and yet with out ever a doubt of divine love and care—this were to trust grandly. To trust so were never to worry. Accepting’ all things as in the plan for us there were no need to worry. We would not change what is for our good, for the working out of what is best for us; then, if we are satisfied that we are in divine love and care, we go resignedly, cheerfully, even happily, on, contented in mind and healthy in body, for it is mental harassment that undoubtedly is responsible for fully nine-tenths of the physical unhealth that afflicts the world. We do not realize it. From the way that most of us apply ourselves to folly, to the cultivation and indulgence of the most hurt ful habits, it would appear we are totally uncon scious of the inevitable result, that we have never thought it out. And that is just about it. if we had once thought properly about the matter we would never fall into a thing so difficult to over come and so fatal in effect. Indigestion, the bane of the American people, the undoing of us as a na tion, may be traced, perhaps, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, to worry. Anger is a mighty consumer—like a fearful whirlwind or a raging tire. We knew a woman who, in a blind passion, thrust one of her maids so vio lently against the mantel that the girl’s eye, strik ing against the sharp corner, was put out. And strange to say, the daughter of this passionate mis tress afterward lost the sight of one of her eyes, which went out, and shrivelled just as had the poor servant ’s—a cruel judgment, some were ready to think, on the mother. However that may have been, it was anger on the part of the mistress, certainly, that deprived the unfortunate maid of her eye, and left her for the rest of her life half blind and disfigured. And the tempests many allow themselves would result just as seriously if only accident turned out that way. Anger is responsi ble lor most of the murders committed, and no man can compute how many of the lesser deeds of wick edness. But for all that, it is only second in its effects to worry, tor it comes but now and then, and is soon over; while anxiety and perturbation may, from constant indulgence, become settled habit ami an incurable, ever-destroying malady. If only we could “grandly trust”! I here are no times in life when opportunity, the chance to be and to do, gathers more richly about the soul than when it has to suffer,” says Phillips Brooks, let, is it not by triumphing over small things, the petty anxieties, “the cares that intest the day,” that one becomes poised, acquires strength, and increases his capacity for enduring with fortitude the greater trials and sorrows which enter into all lives?—Ex.