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Worth Womans While
Thoughtfulness But Unkindness.
F you hear of anything unkind said
about a neighbor, why tell her? Why
wound her? For -whatever the source,
and how little one may desrve it, and
know that she deserves it not, unkind
ness never fails to wound. And deep
er than the sting of the unfriendly
words is the consciousness of the little
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malice that prompts the repeating of
them. Perhaps the gossip is unaware of ma
licious intent—would be shocked, even, at the
thought that anything so cruel could find lodgment
in her neighborly bosom—but assuredly if the heart
be wholly kind nothing unkind can proceed out of
it. Deep down in its depths is the willingness if
not the desire to inflict pain, and what comes
out of the mouth is proof of what lies in the heart.
We forgive a great deal on the ground of thought
lessness, but if the habit of thought and feeling be
only just and generous, how can a little lapse result
in anything entirely opposite and foreign? A man
under the influence of drink will disclose his real
self, and traits that when sober he would never be
suspected of; and so with one in the passion of
temper. If you "would know what your neighbor
thinks of you, let her become angry with you;
then, you may depend upon it, the estimate she
gives voice to is the one in which she really holds
you. And so it is with this we call thoutless
ness, which might better, perhaps, be termed un
guardedness. It is simply thoughtless in that it
discloses in an unguarded moment what we have
kept deep hidden away.
Though, suppose it to be thoughtless—does a
thing hurt the less that the blow was inflicted by
a careless hand? And are we to be able to know
always just what weight it will carry? A knife
thrust is just as keen whether from the misguided
hand of a friend or the attack of a brutal ruffian.
To a sensitive soul, shrinking from unkindness from
whatever source, avoiding the thing itself whence
soever it may come, there is little difference whose
was the thoughtlessness or the intent that prompted
the wound.
A lovely little woman who yet has the habit of
making little pointed remarks about people, the oth
er day had dismissed her hired help, a white woman
of unusual and pronounced eccentricities, when a
neighbor bearing a tray of delicacies came in on
friendly kindness bent.
“And what had you done to her,” asked the
young mistress (meaning the discharged servant)
“that she should dislike you so?”
“What!’ exclaimed the lady, surprised and
aggrieved. 11 Disliked me ! Surely not; I was par
ticularly pleasant to her—she had no cause.”
“Oh, but she could not stand you! She was de
voted to your sister—but it was all I could do to
restrain her, she disliked you so much.”
The lady went away carrying her empty tray and
feeling, reason with herself as she would, uncomfort
able. Why mind the fancy or prejudice of a mere
servant? It was surprising, seeing that she had
never given cause for offense, nor been aware that
there was the least feeling against her. But it was
not that so much as the smiling “thoughtlessness”
of her little neighbor. Why had she done it? And
how could she?
Why, indeed? Why should she prick with ever
so small a thorn the bubble of her friend’s compla
cency, coming to her with only the friendliest solic
itude and sympathy for her shut-in condition? Per
haps had she thought it over beforehand she might
have seen that the little matter were better not re
ferred to, and in so far as she had not done so
was she “thoughtless.” But there was that little
habit back of it to say uncomfortable things—the
habit that is the one flaw in a very beautiful char
acter.
It is strange how we will let faults, insignificant
The Golden Age for November 22, 1906.
By FLORENCE L. TUCKER.
at first, get hold of us, and stranger still how we
never see their effects on others. This dear little
soul could not know that her neighbor went away
from her that day loving her none the les, perhaps,
but not quite so eager to be turning her steps that
way again—instinctively w’e avoid that which
wounds us.
It is thoughtless to repeat, but it is also unkind.
And the greatest unkindness, after all, is to our
selves; for besides placing ourselves in the most
unenviable light, we estrange our friends who would
prefer to keep rather apart from us than have
their feelings ruffled by what, if it is not unkind
ness, is the same in effect.
Don’t Set Your Heart on China.
If ever there lived a woman who did not love
fine China she was not wholly a woman—there was
something lacking in her make-up, and a very im
portant something, too. The table is the center of
home-life, and the wife or mother who has the best
interests of her family at heart will make it as
attractive as she can, -and to do this she must have
pretty and dainty ware. The simplest repast
will be partaken of with far more relish if the ac
cessories of the table be such as to please. As a
charming woman remarked last week, a delicate
person eats as much with the eyes as from appetite
—the appetite is coaxed through the eyes. The
morning cup of coffee, half cold and served in a
thick granite cup, may be turned away from with
indifference if not with positive loathing,
when the same, steaming and fragrant from dain
ty china, will tempt the appetite and lead to more
substantial things if they also be made attractive.
To fulfill life’s best the body must be nourished,
and the careful housewife realizes this, and that
she is the source of most of her family’s comfort—
and of its discomfort. If she serve a meal ordered
and prepared with disregard to nutritive qualities
or individual tastes, and carelessly dished on plain
ware purchased perhaps for its economy alone, and
the members of her household go about their res
pective duties unfed and unnourished—what then?
To whose fault shall it be charged if harmony and
cheer languish, and even health suffer, as it surely
must ?
The woman who is a real home-maker realizes
the importance of her province and instinctively
seeks to equip herself for her high calling. In
stinctive is her sense of the beautiful, which be
comes not a fault (as too saving husbands may
sometimes consider) but a duty. What appears an
indulgence of her own is, if she be -wise and com
prehending. investment for the general good; the
family happiness and health depend upon the feed
and service which she affords.
What wonder, then, that she covets proper equip
ment? That the sight of pretty plates and cups
and saucers in the shops is well-nigh irresistible,
and a bargain in china simply more than she can
pass by?
And—oh, agony of agonies!—what wonder that
her heart is fairly rent in twain when a choice
piece is broken?
A man perhaps does not understand; he considers
there are more plates and cups in the stores. There
may oi’ there may not be—for her. That may de
pend on the masculine point of view and depth of
pocket. And then, things cannot always be replac
ed. And if they could they are not the same dear
old ones. This piece, maybe, was bought in such
a year; that was the gift of a friend; another was
a trophy of happy travels, and still another,
dearest of treasures, was an heirloom,
priceless and impossible to be replaced.
These things to a woman are household gods,
vessels of honor from which she serves her choicest
viands to her most cherished ones. And to break
one were like breaking off a bit of home itself, I
have even known a woman to go mourning for
years for the chips in a set of favorite plates; tiny
bits broken from the edge that marred their whole
ness and rendered them liable to be broken at
any time—plates that were henceforth little used,
and only grieved over in secret. A crack in a dain
ty cup gave her such a wrench I verily believe her
health was seriously affected, and the worst of it
was, however long ago an accident might have oc
curred she never ceased to suffer whenever she re
membered. A case which leads to the refletion that
it were almost as bad to be over zealous as not
enough so, the difference lying only in the fact that
it were the one against the many—the connoisseur
herself suffered, but with her careless neighbor it
was the whole family that felt the effect of the
mother’s negligence.
Whereupon this is the conclusion arrived at—if
you have been indifferent to the accessories, it were
well to cultivate the taste and care for them.
China has its place in the domestic, which is the
scheme of all living; and to overlook itsi mportance
were to fail miserably. But don’t—whatever your
housewifely instinct, or aitistic sense, or your love
of household goods—don’t set your heart on china.
It is too perishable. Life will be to you too filled
with breaks and consequently aches the like of which
nobody can withstand if the heart can. This ad
vice is out of an experience fraught with tears and
anguish. Have all the china you can, and prize it
for all it can do, but when a crash announces its
destruction steel your nerves with all the will that
is in you, and from that moment give it never a
thought. After all, its first use is utilitarian, and
let us put it to the thing it was made for! There
are so many things to prize and enjoy in the home
(though we confess, few are rarer than the accum
ulation of fine ware) but don’t—don’t set your
heart on china !
“If I Rest, I Rust.”
The heights by great men reached and kept
Were not attained by sudden flight;
But they, while their companions slept,
Were toiling upward in the night.
The significant German inscription, found on an
old key—“lf I rest, I rust”—would be an excel
lent motto for those who are afflicted with the
slightest taint of idleness. Even the industrious
might adopt it with advantage to serve as a remind
er that, if one allows his faculties to rest, like the
iron in the unused key, they will soon show signs
of rust, and, ultimately, will not do the work re
quired of them.
Industry keeps bright the key that opens the
treasury of achievement to the ambitious. If Hugh
Miller, after toiling all day in a quarry, had devot
ed his evenings to rest and recreation, he would
never have become a famous geologist. The cele
brated mathematician, Edmund Stone, would never
have published a mathematical dictionary. He
never would have found the key to the science of
mathematics, if he had given his spare moments,
snatched from the duties of a gardener, to idleness.
Had the little Scottish lad, Ferguson, allowed the
busy brain to go to sleep while he tended sheep on
the hillside, instead of calculating the position of
the stars by the help of a string of beads, he would
never have become a famous astronomer.
“Labor vanquishes all,” not inconstant, spasmod
ic, or ill-directed labor, but faithful, unremitting
daily effort toward a well-directed purpose. Just
as truly as eternal vigilance is the price of liberty,
is eternal industry tne price of noble and enduring
success.
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Seize, then, the minutes as they pass; j
The woof of life is thought. yr ,i * * '
Warm up the colors; let them glow,
With fire of fancy fraught. i ’*'■