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6 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 I 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. I 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 ’*'■