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DO I like pretty girls? Indeed I do. I've always had a perfect adoration for beauty, and for no sort so much as the human. Don't you remember in school, when any new arrival was heralded, the eagerness with which we used to watch for the appearance of the new-comer, and how anxiously the first question was asked: "Well, is she pretty?" If the verdict was favorable how we used to flock around her, and try by every means in our power to render the first dismal days pleasant and cheerful. I think that I must have been a monomaniac on the subject; a sweet face was sure to win me, and I was a devoted friend and admirer of all the pretty girls. What did I care that my dark skin looked still more Indian-like beside the marvelous fairness of Fanny or the bright brilliancy of Bess; what did it matter to me that my nez retroussé grew to a decided pug beside Julie's regular Grecian features, and I'm sure I never thought that my roly-poly looked, if possible, more than ever like a dumpling in contrast to Min's stylish grace. No; it never entered my head that my want of beauty was heightened by contrasting with my pretty friends, and if it had I doubt whether it would have made one bit of difference. Although I am no longer a school-girl the same characteristic remains with me still, and I never see a pretty face without involuntarily sending a "God bless you" after it. It comes like a glad, bright ray of sunshine across my path, and all the day is better and brighter for it.

"That girl is very pretty," I've heard people say; then add in such a deprecating tone, as though it was the greatest crime in the world, "but she knows it." Why, of course she does; her mirror tells her that every time she looks at it. She can't help but know it, and as it is a gift God has given her, she has a right to be

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glad and thankful for it. It is as much a gift to thank God for as any other that He bestows, and He meant it to do good when He gave it. Something is wrong about these people who don't like beauty; either they are envious on account of their own lack of it, or there is something wanting in their soul-culture, a want of appreciation of the beautiful.

But, oh! "my queen of the rose-bud garden of girls," it isn't, after all, the mere regularity of feature, and grace and roundness of figure, that constitutes true beauty. There's something deeper and better, an inward loveliness of soul, that adds new fairness to the fairest face, and invests even plainer faces with a rare sweetness and grace.

We all admire in a certain way the showy tulip and bright-colored dahlia-- they hold our eye for a moment, and we wonder at their marvelous brilliancy, but we do not love them; we soon weary of them; they do not appeal to our hearts. Anything to retain admiration or affection must attract us in more than one way; this our flaunting flowers never do. No sweet perfume exhales from them, lingering with us long after the bright coloring has faded from their petals, and so we leave them standing on their stalks, nodding boldly in the breeze, and demanding admiration from every passer-by. No one plucks them for the button-hole to wear, to make all day fragrant with rich perfume; no one sends them as love messengers, speaking through them the heart's dearest secret, that lips dare not-- though eyes may--reveal; they never go as sweet comforters to the sick room, making glad the weary, suffering hearts, nor are they ever laid as the last, best gift, on the graves of our dearly-loved dead.

But who ever passes by the sweet blush-rose, with its wonderful delicacy of coloring and its exquisite perfume,--a mute appeal to our love for the beautiful? Who bestows only a casual glance on the purple pansy, with its subtle fragrance and robes of velvet, or resists the dear little mignonette, quiet and unobstrusive, but filling every sense with its sweet shyness? Are these not the flowers that we love? Are they not the ones that we send with their sweet-breathed fragrance to tell of love and cheer and remembrance?

And, girls, it's just the same with us; a face may attract the eye, but unless there is something else to win the heart, it grows wearisome after a while. Only add to a lovely face the aroma of a pure, exalted life, and surely God can give no better gift to the world than one of these same pretty girls; for they brighten every home, and gladden every heart that is blessed by their sweet presence.

While speaking on the subject of beauty, let us not forget that beauty of the soul may show itself in outward adornment. Some people seem to be born into this world without an idea as to "the fitness of things;" they seem so utterly wanting in that sort of artistic taste that shows them what to wear and how to wear it. Arbitrary followers of that most capricious Dame Fashion,--wearing,

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without the slightest regard to their own style of face or figure, whatever her fiat pronounces shall be worn, and fluttering their gay plumage in the face of outraged taste.

Such women our streets are thronged with every day, and whom I am heartily tired of seeing, they are so like one another; and I dare say, girls, you and I resemble the rest. I'll tell you what the trouble is; we don't put enough of our own identity into our dress. Our dressmaker puts hers in instead, and the result is, she turns out a batch of walking advertisements of her establishment. When you see two people, in the making of whose dresses there is a shade of difference, you may be sure they only employ different modistes.

Going down Washington street a few days since, my friend suddenly exclaimed, "Look quick! There goes one of Madame---'s suits. I can tell anything that comes from her at once, it has such style;" and so on, ad infinitum.

No doubt the fair wearer would have been charmed had she heard the ecstatic praises that were lavished on her apparel, but I must confess I couldn't feel flattered at being known by my dressmaker. I think it would be a little humiliating. Now, girls, it isn't "sour grapes," I assure you, but I wouldn't wear one of Madame---'s dresses, unless she'd let me dictate a little as to the making of it, so that it might not be quite the twin of somebody else's attire. However, there's no danger of my being required to do so, as at present there is an obvious difficulty in the way--namely, want of funds; but, if I could afford to patronize the person in question, I should pay a little more to have something different from the rest.

I wonder, girls, if you remember the unpacking days at school; how we used to flock into one another's rooms to see what, that was new and pretty, each one had had during the vacation; how we used to compare notes, and when anything particularly new and striking was brought forth from its hiding-place in the depths of some trunk, what notes of admiration were heard on every side, and before a week was over, every girl was possesser of an article, like--or as nearly like--the object of our fancy as it was possible to get. Was there any new style of hair-dressing, all adopted it, no matter whether dark or fair, stout or thin; what did it matter to us whether it was becoming or suitable? It was the fashion, and that was reason enough for us why we should make ourselves frights--martyrs in a good cause--we could endure anything, knowing that.

And, girls, I fear we have not changed much in that respect in these years that have drifted us so surely and swiftly apart. We are slaves to that greatest tyrant, Fashion; and, for fear of being called "odd," we dare not rid ourselves of our bonds, but rivet them tighter every day.

I know one fresh-faced girl, who, in her simple work-a-day dress, with its neat little finish of spotless linen at neck and throat, and knot of bright ribbon

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confining the dainty little collar, is as charming a picture as one would ever wish to see, and a hundred times more attractive than those showy, dashing, inartistic girls with all their richness and vanity of unmeaning adornment.

That girl has the true artistic eye and touch. She cannot lay her hand on an article of dress but it assumes new grace and positiveness, and there is such a sweet simplicity about it all, and a real unconsciousness of the effect, that makes it twice as lovely and graceful. She follows the prevailing style enough not to look old-fashioned, but she modifies it to suit herself, and doesn't lose her identity in her dress as you and I sometimes do, I fear.

But this lack of originality is not the worst that this blind following of Fashion is leading us to. Were this all, although I should quarrel with it as much as I do now, yet I should not fear it. At best, it is but a want of taste which concerns ourselves chiefly, but the other is a crime--a wrong done to ourselves and others. It is generating habits of extravagance among us, there's no question of that. In republican America, where, according to the Constitution, "all men "--and I suppose, women too--" are born free and equal," where every one is as good as her neighbor, and where the poor girl of to-day may be the rich woman of to- morrow, too many have a foolish idea that the way to assert their equality is in the matter of dress. This is such a sad mistake--there is such a lack of independence, that is after all the best assertion--the assertion of a true womanliness that doesn't hesitate to say, "I will not because I cannot;" and so for that very want, the possession of which would give her self-respect and the respect of others, many a girl tries to rival some one, who, as an every-day affair, can wear what to her would be a most extravagant luxury; and she takes from father or brother the means which can illy be spared, careless, in her overweening selfishness, of what sacrifices they make to humor her in her foolish, and more than foolish, fancies.

Oh, girls! don't you see what wrong, what harm you are doing in your thoughtlessness? Do you not see that every fresh demand of yours brings a new care to those who gratify them? They love you, girls, those fathers and brothers of yours, so dearly, that, rather than disappoint you, or refuse your most unreasonable wishes, they put by plans of their own, plans in which a life's happiness may lie, make sacrifices such as you never dream of, and that they will never let you know. I know this, girls, for I have seen it done, and I wish you could see for yourselves, and know the care you bring to those whom I know you really love. I think thoughtlessness is at the bottom of it, but we've no business to be thoughtless. We have brains, every one of us, and reasoning powers, though in some cases they may be limited--and it's a sin not to use them.

The idea of going through life constantly doing acts of downright selfishness and injustice, then trying to excuse ourselves by saying, "We didn't think." The time may come when we shall think, and bitterly, too, of the suffering and

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care we brought, when we should have brought blessing and happiness. We can do that now, it is not too late yet. We have only to think before we act; to give up these silly, extravagant ways; become women instead of dressmakers' models, and faces will lighten with new happiness that now are careworn and anxious, and you will be the cause of the one as you are of the other now.

But you mustn't think, because I have said all this, that I don't like pretty things--for indeed I do; nobody better--or that I don't like to see you well dressed; but well dressed and "extravagantly rigged," are two different affairs. The one I like; the other I detest.

I think we should like these same pretty things to a certain extent, just as we like everything bright and pleasant. One higher than we has implanted this love in us, and given proof of His love for them in His own works. He did not disdain to clothe the earth with verdure, green and velvety, starred with flowers of every hue. The bare brown earth would have little to make it lovely, were it not for the clothing which God has given it. The trees, ungraceful and stiff in outline, with their denuded branches stretching and pointing like skeleton fingers, become masses of beauty with their wealth of foliage. The harsh cold rocks He pities for their grim desolation, and clothes them with delicate mosses, wonderful in their variety and exquisiteness, and the silvery lichens, that shine starlike from their dintless surfaces.

And when these beauties are laid aside, each lived out its appointed time, still there is beauty. Mark the changing of the foliage from the cool greenness of summer to the warm hues of autumn. For the maples hang out their scarlet flags in the face of Nature, the sumach burns like crimson flame in every wood, and the elms glow with golden light till every hill seems aflame with glory. Then, when this magnificence burns itself out, and the leaves, sere and brown, lie rustling mournfully in the cold winds of approaching winter, comes the snow, covering all decay with its mantle of pure whiteness, until, by and by, Nature bursts forth again into fresh newness of beauty.

So I think from His very care of inanimate things, and the beauty He bestows upon them, together with the innate love for these beauties, that there is a sort of religion in the care for self-adornment. That is, He gives us so much to begin with in the way of personal appearance, and we do the best with what we have, thankful for it, and make our best as attractive as possible, not for our own gratification merely, but in a spirit of gratitude that so much has been given us, and a wish to make others see and feel our gladness.

I have a distrust of people who look upon all these things as folly, who themselves go clad in sombre garments, with no vestige of anything bright or cheerful. It seems to me as though they must have put all the freshness and brightness out of their own lives, and see nothing but the hard, dark side of

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living. I have often wondered if Nature held anything, for them in her various forms of loveliness; if the blooming of the flowers, the shining of stars, or singing of birds, suggested anything glad to them.

I know its on the plea of serving God better, putting away worldly things and caring only for spiritual, and people are really conscientious about it; but it seems to me such a strange sort of religion, the sackcloth and ashes kind, I think it must be, always bewailing one's lowliness, eyes cast so low they see only the debris and filth of earth's slums, instead of looking up in thankful gladness, and catching the glory and shining of the vast beyond. Why to me there's more real religion in a knot of bright ribbon or a bunch of flowers worn by a glad-faced, happy-hearted girl, than in a score of the melancholy draperies, with there more melancholy wearers.

You may be sure something in the joyous world has gone wrong with them; for them there is some discord in the grand symphony of life; but how they are going to right the one, or restore harmony to the other by wearing ungraceful black dresses and unbecoming poke bonnets, I confess I don't see. I don't believe that God cares any more for them, or considers them more entitled to his special care than He does you and me, who love and reverence Him, but not with long faces and whining complaints. Irreverent? No, no; I am not that; but I cannot believe that He who gave us all this beauty and the capacity for loving it, would care less for us that we did worship Him through His own works.

So, girls, don your bright draperies gracefully and joyously. Deck your hair with rosebuds whose hues shall rival the bloom of your cheeks; wear ribbons whose sheen shall match the color of your eyes; make yourselves as sweet and attractive as you can; be living pictures if it please you, but in the outward adornment don't forget the more important robing. Wreathe your faces with loving happy smiles, clothe your hearts with charity and gentle thoughts, your souls with the robes of purity and heavenly love, and you shall indeed be clothed with garments that never will wear out, but grow stronger and brighter by each day's wearing.

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I WENT out of town with a friend for the day, just to get a little beyond the sight of city walls, and out of the reach of confused city sounds, and to get the first kiss of the bright, fresh spring, as she came over the sunny southern slopes to meet us. I was full of gladness; every nerve thrilled and quivered with delight. The bird-notes woke responsive chords in my heart, and it was filled with voiceless melody. Every budding leaf and flower spoke to me in the clearest, sweetest tones of the long, golden days that were coming to make us glad after the cold, dreary reign of winter.

It was with unwilling feet that I retraced my steps, and turned from field and flower back to bricks and mortar again; but it was then I saw this little thing I will now tell you, the memory of which lingers with me, still sweeter and rarer than the perfume of flower, fresher and clearer than song of bird.

The cars were very full--electric cars usually are, I believe--when we stopped to take in an Irish woman. She was evidently coming from a day's work somewhere, for her dress indicated it, and she looked very tired. A child was with her, scarcely more than a baby, tired and fretful too, and teasing incessantly to be taken up, clinging helplessly to its mother's skirts. There were plenty of gentlemen in the car, but they were suddenly too much engrossed in their papers or

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conversation to have eyes or ears for the tired woman before them; but there was some one there who put them all to shame.

In a corner of the car near the door sat a girl, fair-haired and fresh- lipped; a dainty little body, winsome and sweet. I had been looking at her for some time, admiring the bright exterior, and wondering what kind of a soul lay hidden underneath. She answered my mental questioning quite unwittingly, for, seeing the woman still standing, and no one offering her a seat, she sprang impulsively to her feet, and, with the bright color rippling over her sunny face, made her take her own place. The newspapers and conversations were not so engrossing now, and the men who had not manliness enough to offer a seat to a poor, weary working woman, were quick enough to offer a seat to the girl who had so quietly yet effectually rebuked their selfishness. But she would not accept it from them, and remained standing until we reached the city.

Sweet as the face had looked to me before, it was sweeter then, for there was a warm, generous, womanly heart pulsing underneath; and through the mists which gathered before my eyes I saw an aureole round her head, that was not the gleaming of her golden hair. She stood before me, glorified by her one little act, and I was touched and thrilled by this loving, throbbing humanity as I had not been by all the sights and sounds of waking Nature. It was the merest trifle, yet it gave me a key to a character. There was nothing grand in the act, as you and I count grandness; but it showed a heart full of love and kindness, ready to make a sacrifice for any one who needed, not impelled by any hope or thought of a thought, but because of her simple acts of thoughtfulness she could make some one happier. She had sanctified a commonplace kindness until it shone with brightness almost divine, and I know every one in the car felt the softening influence.

I have never seen her since, though I have watched eagerly the faces in our crowded city streets for the one face that I shall always love and honor, though I do not even know the owner's name, and may never see it again.

I have been thinking since then, girls, how easy it is for us to show some little kindness like this to our equals, but how rarely we considered what was due from us to those whom we consider our inferiors. Personal comfort, and a careless indifference as to the wants and needs of others, keep us from doing things that would make us really happier when they are done, because we should feel, that in proportion as we denied ourselves or made a personal sacrifice, we added to the comfort and happiness of some one else.

We read, with thrilling hearts and flashing eyes, the stories of martyrs and heroes of old, and think how grand it would be to do something like them, to suffer death even for the sake of a principle, to have our names handed down to future generations, with the reverence that their names have been handed down to

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us. And, while we are dreaming these impossible dreams, we let many opportunities for doing good slip by us unnoticed, and in our anxiety to gain a lasting remembrance in future generations, we forget to gain love and blessing in this.

[image: MISS CORNELIA T. CROSBY ("FLY ROD")]

After all, it is the trifles that make up the sum of existence, and every act of ours, however slight, has an influence, direct or indirect, over all our lives. We make ourselves by our deeds. Either we may blossom into the warmth and richness of a generous, loving nature, or we may become hard, cold and selfish, and the commonest acts of our every-day life do so much toward developing or crushing the sweet gentleness of our natures.

I have seen people who were kind and pleasant to those whom they met but seldom, anticipating their wishes and deferring to their opinions with the sweetest gracefulness, yet who, among their dearest friends, or in their immediate home-circle, were unutterably selfish, and who seemed to regard friendship as an excuse for venting ill temper, that must not be shown to outsiders, because--what would they think? Thus, those who are the most indifferent to them are treated to the smiles, while those to whom they should endear themselves by words and acts of love get the frowns.

All this seems to me unjust and ungenerous. All the brightness, all the sympathy we have, should not be lavished on strangers, but on those nearest and dearest to us. Our smiles ought not to be kept, like our best dresses, to be put

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on for state occasions, but should be worn like our work-a-day garments, seen by those whom we most truly should love.

I don't believe my girl of the street ever came down stairs to breakfast with scowling brow and unkind words. She never refused the good morning that "made all day good" with its sunshiny brightness. I have a fancy some one called her "sunbeam," and though I may never be called that by word of mouth I know, if we choose, we may be the sunshine of our homes, if we only let our hearts speak their love and sympathy in every action of our every-day lives. We may give every one kind words and pleasant smiles, but we should keep our best for our homes, and those who love us; nor should we permit our friendships to be an excuse for a rudeness which we dare not show to strangers.

I don't believe that the girl of a century or a half century ago was one bit pleasanter to meet or to live with than the girl of to-day. I don't believe her smile was more sunshiny, her heart larger or warmer, or her life broader or better than that of any true-hearted girl of to-day. The same faults of girlhood that we possess belonged at some time to our grandmothers and mothers; they outgrew them, perhaps, and I believe we may. We may not have the same educators, yet ours may not be the less valuable.

We may not as yet have had to learn the grand, heroic endurance which they learned; we may have less of the Spartan element aroused in us, but we are their daughters and their qualities must be ours; latent, perhaps, but only because they have not yet been needed. We showed a little what we could endure during the War of the Rebellion. There was not a girl in the land who had not an interest there. We felt what it cost to see the best and dearest going away to fight for a principle; not a mere chimera, as some would have us think, but a living, throbbing principle, Did we hold them back? Would we have held them if we could? Was not their honor and the honor of our country dearer than aught else? Ah, girls, there was a heroism there, and our mothers need not blush for the degeneracy of their daughters.

That is past now, but the work is not done yet, and we shall have opportunities without number to show the "stuff we are made of." Could I have chosen any time in which to live, I know of none that would have been my choice so quickly as the present. It is so full of promises for the future, a future which you and I are to help to make, in which our sex will play a prominent part, and the "Girl of the Period" is to be the great motive power toward accomplishing the inevitable end. What that will be I cannot tell, and if I told what I really do think and believe, perhaps you would not all agree with me, so I will leave the future to write its own history more eloquently than pen of mine can prophecy it. But while with the girl of that period I have nothing to do now, the girl of

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to-day I cannot patiently endure to see maligned. In pure self-defence I have taken up my slight weapon, and I wish it might be to some avail.

Arthur Helps, in his introduction to "The Friends in Council," says: "Our conversation is not a part of our lives, it is life itself." If this be true, in what a foolish way the majority of us must be living. Our whole lives must be made up of absurdities. Childhood must be the most free from them, for then we only repeat what we hear said, with but a half comprehension, if indeed we are at all aware what we are saying; so, really, we are not then accountable for language and opinions. But later the responsibility does come, and we are not always prepared to assume it.

To an uninterested listener I fancy the talk of school-girls must be the most unintelligible jargon. I have caught myself smiling in amused wonderment as I have heard a bevy of them discoursing much like a flock of animated magpies, but when I thought of the time when I used to "go on" in the same gushing style, my wonderment subsided, and I became a very sympathetic listener.

Their good-natured absurdity is free from all taint of malice, and, consequently, far less harmful in its results than the equally careless, but less important conversations of their elder, and should-be-wiser sisters.

There is a tolerance given to school-girls by every one, except a few persons of either sex, who have been so soured by the world's usage of them, or their usage of it--quite as likely to be one as the other, I imagine--that they have forgotten their own youth, and see everything, especially the shortcomings of the young, through their own distorted glasses. With these few exceptions, the school-girl pranks and weaknesses are more easily forgotten than the indiscretions and weaknesses of those beyond the pale of the protecting school-room.

And, in truth, you've no right to expect so much from them. Their experience has been very limited; of actual life they know comparatively nothing; the whole world seems to them one glad spot of sunshine, and they see only brightness shining down the vista of their lives.

A deprivation of some long-cherished pleasure, a harder task than usual, is their only idea of suffering, except what they get from books, and that is only a vague idea after all, and usually a very incorrect one. They worship their pet heroes, weep over their pet heroines, and follow both through seas of suffering, and leave them at last happily "settled." Possibly they sometimes fancy that in due course of time they may go through the same terribly fascinating experiences; and, in the meantime, they content themselves with rhapsodizing over the woes and blisses of the personages with whom their ideal realm is peopled, and building most gorgeous castles in Spain, which aerial structures are usually as correct prophecies of their future lives as their ideal people are truthful representatives of the every-day men and women of whom the world is made up.

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"Silly ?" Of course it is; no one pretends to deny that; but we've all been "silly" to a greater or less extent. I'm willing to own to my shortcomings, only I don't want to stop just at the point of confession, seeing I want to keep clear of the follies in future. I don't want to fall into any worse evils, and really it is a question with me whether there is an improvement since those days. Almost the only difference I can perceive is that, instead of being spiritedly silly, we are inanely so, and consequently the only virtue we could boast is lost.

No; I'm not upholding school-girl folly. I wish, as much as any one, that their tone could be changed, without checking the enthusiasm or crushing the joyousness of their natures; but if it cannot be done, I prefer them to remain as they are, innocent of all knowledge of future blight, for it is this very innocence that makes them the enthusiasts they are, and only actual grief or rough contact with the world suppresses their joyousness. This comes altogether too quickly; it gives no warning, but overtakes them one day, a swift, cruel surprise.

We wake one morning, and all the world has changed for us; the most familiar scenes look strange, the golden light that yesterday lay in its richness over all the hills, to-day hangs heavy like a pall, and the sun that shone so brightly and gladly, burns through us with its mocking glare, while from all glad Nature's sounds, the only one we hear is the melancholy, almost maddening, sighing and wailing of the wind through the tree tops. A sorrow has fallen on us, the cloud has overspread our sun, and now we learn what living may mean. Our actual life has commenced, and we must assume its responsibilities. Now our lives should broaden and deepen, our thoughts expand, and our tongues become their interpreters.

I do not mean we are never to jest. It would be the most stupid world imaginable if we were always to talk sober sense. But there is a kind of personal jesting that should always be avoided, and that, I fear, is the kind most indulged in. Thoughtlessness--the foundation of nearly all our faults--and a lack of delicate sensitiveness that intuitively tells the possessor what is right, are at the bottom of this. Do not be so culpably cruel for lack of thought, but hesitate not to employ your brains on small as well as great affairs. Be as merry as you will, let your wit be sharp as steel and sparkling as a diamond, but never let it hurt. Have your sarcasm like a weapon ready to defend, but never use it to offend.

Then there is another particular in which we err, another difficulty into which our unlucky tongues are likely to lead us--a love of gossip, which, I fear, is almost universal; a fancy for letting our minds dwell on our neighbors' affairs, and our tongues discuss them a little more than is positively necessary. We all deny it, yet we all do it. Now, when I say that we all fall into this habit, I don't mean that we do it maliciously, or that we make mischief intentionally, but it is a bad habit to form, and one that, like all bad habits, never grows less, and we

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cannot tell where it may lead us. "My child," my mother used to say to me when I went home from school with some long story of a schoolmate, "talk of things, not people; it is always safer and more satisfactory." That was the text she preached from, and she was always true to her precepts.

There is no reason why acquaintances and friends should form the chief topic of our conversation when the world is so full of other matters of deeper interest. Literature and science open their wide fields for us; the great questions of the day, political, social and moral, invite our attention. The coming age, unprecedented in all the pages of history for interest and reform, is to be our age, and how are we preparing ourselves for our positions as teachers and guiding powers? Not by sitting down and making a business of the business of others, but by striving by every means in our power to bring ourselves up to the standard by which we are to be measured; and whether we have in any degree approximated to it, our conversation will tell, for "out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh."

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THE Working Girls' Club has come to be a feature in almost every large city. They were started ten years ago in October, 1887. Miss Grace Dodge, of New York, and Miss Mabel Henshaw Ward, of Boston, were the first workers in this movement, and these clubs have developed into great factors for good. When Miss Ward first heard of the idea, she had but just come from a far western city and had settled in Boston, when she read in a newspaper an article referring to the lack of social life among working girls, and the wide scope for usefulness in that direction.

Here was a work for somebody to do. Why should she not start it and let other girls take a hand in carrying it out? How best to do it was the most perplexing question to decide. It must be delicately done lest sensitive girls should take alarm and find a charity hidden away somewhere; it must be simple, because formality and detail are such wet blankets. It must be for working girls, and yet the labor side must not be unduly emphasized. It seemed an easy thing to do, and yet it was one of the most difficult, as working girls are proverbially independent and do not wish to pose as an object of charity.

The first step was to ignore all class distinction, and to work for lonely women who were strangers in the city. Experience had taught Miss Ward something of what their needs were, as she had in her old home been instrumental in starting several girls' clubs. Her first step was to go to the Educational and Industrial

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Union and ask not only advice, but a room for meeting. Both were given, and she sent out invitations to all the young women she knew with instructions that they were to tell others. A few came the first night, more the second, and at every subsequent meeting new members were added. From this small beginning twenty-five active working girls' clubs in and near Boston have grown, and in New York the number is even larger. These clubs have brought the girls of all classes who are bread winners together, and have developed something far better than a spirit of sociability. In her club the working girl finds help and inspiration, sympathy and friendliness. As Mrs. Jennie C. Croly says in her admirable book "Thrown on Her Own Resources"

The "Song of the Shirt" is a song of the past. The pity it evoked the working girl of to-day does not want. Her need is justice. When justice is done, we shall all have pity to spare for those who need it.

In the meantime, the social need of the working girl has been better met by the evolution of the club idea for women, than by any other influence which has come into her life. It makes no claims, it presents no obstacles. It brings the members together on the broad basis of their womanhood and humanity. It teaches them method, it develops a many-sided interest. It widens their outlook, and promotes loving friendships, which are the solace of many heretofore lonely lives.

The club idea is the product of the last twenty-five years. It means the unity and fellowship of women, irrespective of class, opinion or race. The true club idea does not recognize the "working girls' club," or the "working women's club;" it knows only the "club," which brings women together on purely human grounds for purposes of improvement and helpfulness to themselves and others.

In the club all stand socially on a precisely equal footing. Out of it one may live surrounded by luxury on Fifth Avenue, another in a room of a tenement, but you will not know it. The woman from Madison Avenue brings her refinement (not always), but always something worth having. The woman of business, her knowledge of affairs; the professional woman, her specialized attainments and skill, and the working woman, if nothing else, appreciation.

This social unity in club life is as yet in embryo; but the enlargement, the satisfaction, which the working girl obtains from her club is a very real and important factor in her present condition and chances for future development. It was a wise thought of the States Charities Aid Association to use the club as a means to benefit the working girl, and Miss Grace H. Dodge was most happily chosen to carry out the plan. It was undoubtedly better that the first step should be taken under direction; but the second step has been already taken, and that is the formation of clubs and societies by working girls themselves.

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[image: UP AND DOING IN THE EARLY MORNING]

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The third step of which there are indications, and which indeed formed the basis of the first women's clubs in this country, constituting the "club idea" is the obliteration, as far and as fast as possible, of class lines and prejudices, and unity in organization without reference to material conditions.

The woes of the working girl have been traded upon in the past to the great detriment of the worker. Real needs have been lost sight of in the demands of agitators and professional philanthropists for that which the working girl is capable of obtaining for herself. Working girls who can work are not paupers. They not only take care of themselves, but often spare something for others.

The "Head, Heart, and Hand Club" of working girls provided the entire means for one of the Fresh Air Fund excursions during the past summer, and several working girls' clubs have beneficiary societies to which they contribute, and small charities which they support.

The intelligence of working girls and the drift of their thought are well exhibited in the following list of topics announced by the Shawmut Avenue (Boston) Working Girls' Club, to be discussed:

How can one promote general culture when free hours are few?

What is the best way to show outsiders what the club does for us?

Do riches bring happiness?

What are some of the advantages offered to working people in this country not obtained in others?

Is there any difference between an untruth and a lie?

How can a girl be charitable without money?

Do working girls' clubs reach those for whom they are intended?

Does a club tend to break up home life?

What is the best way to develop sociability in a club?

What should working girls' clubs do for the cause of temperance?

This shows how thought is stimulated by the club life, and how advantageous it is that girls should have clubs of their own in which to practice, and develop methods, acquire experience, and exercise intellectual faculty before being put to the test of competition with more experienced minds.

In addition to these exercises the girls' club usually has classes in embroidery, dressmaking and other useful arts. In Philadelphia a real practical training school has grown out of the classes of the Working Girls' Guild, connected with and founded by the New Century Woman's Club. This Guild had a "thinking" class, presided over by the Rev. Charles G. Ames, when he lived in Philadelphia, and a "history" class, attended regularly by upward of a hundred girls. The teacher of this class was a New York lady, a graduate of two universities, but married to a Philadelphian. It was with her a labor of real love, and the girls adored her.

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This preparation, this refined association, are exactly what the girls need, and what they most appreciate and enjoy. They do not wish to be precipitated into a perfunctory paradise of somebody else's making; but they are willing to be helped in the creation of one of their own. The club life is a guard and a protection as well as a stimulus. It develops the within of a working girl, arouses a worthy ambition, and gives her new interests and ideas. Her mind no longer dwells upon her little attempts at finery, or the small jealousies and complexities of her daily life. She is, in a measure, removed from them, and rises superior to them.

In her club the working girl has an opportunity to try her own wings. She finds co-operation in her efforts toward an independent life, and an entire absence of that pity which is so nearly allied to contempt.

Daily idleness is more to be dreaded than daily work. Reasonable hours, prompt pay, considerate treatment, sanitary surroundings secured to the working girl, and she can take care of the rest, with the aid of her club, and the friends it makes for her.

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ARE you not afraid, that in educating girls to the idea of personal independence, you will lessen their regard for marriage, and cause them to look lightly, if not slightingly, upon the thought of a family life, that life, which, after all, is the best for a woman and the one in which she finds her truest happiness?"

This is the attitude which many well-intentioned persons take towards any effort to train girls to become bread-winners, seemingly ignoring the fact, that the family life being the natural one, the girl will not find nature perverted simply because she becomes a working factor in the world, but will come to her kingdom the more royally, for the very reason that she comes voluntarily, and does not assume its duties as a means of support.

It will always remain true, that no matter how many women become self- supporting, the majority will marry. It is the most natural thing in the world for them to do, and it is the life for which both men and women are intended. But the bread-winning girl, the independent one, has it in her power to be sure that she is taking the right step, and can give more careful thought to the matter, than the one who is hurried into it from motives of convenience.

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And, my dear girls, marriage is worthy of more thought than is often given it. It is the most solemn of all the sacraments which the church has ordained, and it holds within itself the possibilities for the greatest happiness, or the most abject misery. It should never be entered upon lightly or carelessly, but reverentially. It should not be based, as it so often is, upon mere physical attraction, but upon the higher plane of mind and character.

Marriage is a partnership, in which each partner has equal duties and equal rights. When in the beginning God made man, and saw that His work was good, He made woman as a help-meet for him--not as a subordinate, but as a fellow-worker, a sharer of the blessings and the burdens, whose task in life was to supplement his; and together they were to work out the salvation of this new world into which they had been placed. They were to travel through the world hand in hand, not in a single file, the one striding on ahead, while the other pants and struggles in the effort to keep up in the forced march.

There has been so much nonsense talked and written about marriage that the common sense and the sacredness of it has been in danger of being overlooked entirely. Very young persons invest it with a halo of romance, that is as unreal as it is unhealthy, and if they marry before they have given sense time to moderate romance, they are apt to find the reality a painfully different affair. The hero of the girl's dream is no hero, after all, but a very human sort of a fellow. He may be a nice enough fellow, too, just one of the every-day sort, who make up the world of average men, but she had worshiped an ideal to whom she had given his face and figure, and he simply could not live up to her ideals. It was not his fault. He had done the best he could, and no one would have been more surprised than he could he have known what it was that she had worshiped and called by his name.

Girls are more to blame than they imagine for the attitude which young men hold towards them. When a young girl awakes one day to the knowledge that there is one face in the world which makes all the sunshine for her, one person whose presence makes her happiness complete, her first impulse is towards self-effacement. She desires only to echo his opinions, to model herself by his ideals. This may be all very touching and pretty in theory, but it is the greatest mistake in practice. It is putting a direct bid upon selfishness and conceit, and a man must have a remarkable degree of common sense that does not become a real tyrant.

He certainly has every temptation set in his way, and if he has not head enough to stand this degree of servile worship he can not be blamed if he develops a propensity for having his own way, and for insisting upon it. Certainly she, who has trained him in the habit, should be the last one to complain. She is reaping the harvest of her own sewing.

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[image: THE SUNSHINE OF A HAPPY HOME]

In making up your mind regarding the man whom you will marry, the one whom you will honor by trusting in his hands your life's happiness, look, first of all, my dear girls, at the character of him who asks the gracious gift from you. If there is anything which you fear may develop into some unpleasant trait which shall sadden your life and shadow your home, be firm and steadfast in your refusal. There is no more dangerous thing in the world than marrying a man who has the slightest indication of a depraved taste or the hint of a quality that may degenerate into unloveliness. You may think that you can hold him and keep him, but not once in a thousand times is such an experiment a successful one. You may think that it will be a hardship greater than you can endure to give him up, but what you will suffer in doing what is right and wise will be

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nothing to the intensity of suffering that will come later, if you act against judgment and advice, following inclination rather than reason. If girls would listen to the pleadings of their better sense, instead of blindly following their feelings, there would be fewer appeals for relief to the divorce courts.

Then when you have made up your mind, have a direct business understanding with the man whom you elected to accompany in the journey of life. Insist that he shall tell you all about his prospects for the future and his present position. As I have already said, marriage is a partnership in which both parties have an equal interest and take equal risks. It is hallowed beyond any other partnership, and is a sacred and a holy trust, not to be lightly regarded or easily relinquished, but to be jealously guarded and made a source of mutual happiness and beneficence. Hitches in household affairs arise oftener from misunderstanding than because there is any real reason. That is why all marriages should be founded upon a basis of absolute understanding, just as any other partnership is founded. It is a very serious business this, where the happiness of each lies in the hands of the other, and where it is a life-long partnership, and not a limited one that may be dissolved at the whim of either party, which has been formed, with obligations on both sides which are sacred.

In nothing does a jar so easily come as in the failure to understand the business details that underlie the home system. If a man is perfectly frank with his wife, these difficulties will not arise. It is a mistaken notion on his part to keep her in ignorance of the true state of his financial affairs. Many a woman has had to bear the odium of ruining her husband because of her extravagance, when the fault lay entirely with him for not being frank and truthful and letting her know just how he was situated. The girl trained in business methods will insist upon knowing just what she has to depend on, and the girl who has been brought up in the shelter of home should have been so educated by a wise mother that she will also think it right to know, and each will have an idea of how to manage on the income at her disposal. Pecuniary troubles comes the most often to families were the husband treats his wife like a child, and does not confide in her and trust to her judgment to help. Winning an income is by no means the easiest or most important part of family providing: making the income do the necessary buying for the family is quite as much of a brain problem, requiring thoughtful care and wise prudence. As a rule, women are good managers let--any one who doubts see the way the girls who work, and whose salaries are small, contrive to live and dress--they know how to make the most out of the least; and, with very few exceptions, when they marry they will enter fully into sympathy with their husbands' financial positions, and help royally in the work on keeping within the income, or, to use an old-country expression, "make the buckle meet the strap."

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In the natural division of labor in this divine partnership, the man is the bread-winner, the woman the care-taker. Each duty is sacred, and it is through this mutual interdependence that true happiness is gained for both. Any idea of family life which does not recognize this is a false one, and will, if followed, bring discord where there should be perfect harmony.

And for the guiding principle of your married life take this: "Each for the other, both for God."

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ETERNAL vigilance is the price of safety." Ay, verily! always and everywhere the price not that may, but that must, be paid.

It seems to be the prevailing belief that safety means only protection from great and evident danger; from invasion, from drowning, from different forms of accident, from sudden death, or serious maiming of the body. Surely a book like this, for women, about women, dealing as it does with her physical, moral and spiritual needs, has not fulfilled its whole mission until it has pointed out and re-emphasized the fact in business life, professional life, social life, love, and friendship, one small thing may nullify and stultify many large ones, safety be compromised or destroyed by that which seems as naught.

A woman who had opened a fruit store, and who was generally extremely honest and upright in all her dealings, was asked one day for a dozen of really fine peaches. Unwilling to acknowledge that she did not have the required fruit in stock, she added to the eight fine peaches which she had, four which looked perfect, but which were in reality spongy, and dry and tough. The customer was one whose family used a great deal of fruit, but from that time she never entered this woman's store.

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A young woman just beginning to make her way in literature received from a friend a letter of introduction to a prominent woman, the latter a reformer and philanthropist. The letter asked that the young writer be received, and some advice given her on a certain subject pertaining to her work. The letter was forwarded to the philanthropist, together with a polite note from the author, in which were enclosed a few newspaper clippings, which the philanthropist was requested to return with her answer. The reply to this letter began by chiding the author for using the wrong middle name on the envelope addressed to the philanthropist, who "always felt like throwing a letter not properly addressed into the waste basket unread," then went on to declare "one should never enclose anything which he wished returned in a letter, as it was sure to cause his correspondent much trouble, and ended with a not too courteous permission to call at a certain hour on a certain day.

It is hardly necessary to say that the author did not call.

Since the occurrence of this incident, which was probably long ago forgotten by the philanthropist, the unknown writer has become a well- known one. Many times has she heard the philanthropist speak, many of her written words have found their way within reach of her hands, many times have the two met in social circles. But the spoken or written words of the former either have no effect on the latter, or the effect of bringing a cynical smile to her face, and if in company the hand of the one is extended the latter apparently never sees it. All the influence this woman might have gained over a young and extremely malleable soul, all the respect, perhaps affection, for the writer was one quick to love loveable qualities, were made impossible forever by that one rude note, written in what was a most unusual mood with her who penned it.

This same young writer gave one day as a reason for the radiant shining in her face that she "had been refused a request by Louise Imogen Guiney," but "the refusal was made with so much graciousness and kindness that it was worth more than the granting of a favor by most people."

"Mamma," said a little girl, "where do good disagreeable folks go when they die?" We know where they go while they live. Unless they have already made a fortune, or are otherwise rendered independent, they go to partial or total ruin.

It is a strange and widespread opinion that seems to have fastened itself to the minds of most people, that the possession of certain virtues excuses the absence of certain other virtues.

"I confess I am very blunt, sometimes even rude," declares one, "but, thank heaven, I am always sincere!"

"Yes I have an exceedingly fiery temper," asserts a second, "but I never sulk, and I hope my friends know that my heart is in the right place."

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"I never caress any one," avows a third, but I take care that those dependent upon me are comfortable in all ways."

"To be sure So-and-so drinks hard," is declared of some one, "but there never was a kinder or more liberal man than he when he is sober."

I wonder if any of you girls were ever in a place which was burglarized? If so where did the burglar enter? By the bolted door, the safe-guarded entrance? or by some unfastened, or carelessly-fastened window, some unlocked cellar door, some neglected scuttle hole? And, being in, did he not do just as much damage, seize just as much plunder, as though there had been no bolts on certain doors, no safeguards on those entrances other than the one he utilized?

I know a young woman whose tongue is a veritable scourge, but who is always boasting of her truthfulness and sincerity. The two latter qualities are her well-guarded doors, her speech the open window. She is shunned and disliked by most people, and finds it hard to retain a position more than a short time. The devastation wrought by the absence of self-restraint is just as great as though she did not possess that of sincerity.

A certain girl of my acquaintance really has the warm, true heart of which she boasts, but every one who knows her is in such constant dread of arousing her terrible temper that she is let for the most part alone by those whose interest and friendship would be of financial and social benefit to her. Her one unguarded loophole is as disastrous with her generous heart as it would be without it.

I once lived in a home where there was food in abundance, and where furnishing and clothing were plentiful, whole, and tidy, but where caresses, cuddling, and confidences were tabooed. I have seen inmates of other homes where meals were scanty, furniture dilapidated, raiment limited, but which boasted outspoken love in abundance, whose inmates were far happier than in the former household.

So-and-so's family is not less neglected and shamed and tortured when he is intoxicated because he is a good man when he is sober.

What would you think of the merchant who urged as an excuse for his damaged table linen that he had some very good silk? People will shop where they can obtain both good table linen and silk.

There is no use in talking about the right and proper things or qualities which one has. These will take care of themselves. It is the poorly- fastened window, the unguarded scuttle hole which needs attention, which must have attention if you are to be more than partially successful in life. The whole world is, consciously or unconsciously, demanding holiness which is wholeness, and only perfect wholeness ensures perfect success. A defence is never complete till every point is guarded. All the gates of a besieged city may as well be open as one. One bad thought, one dishonest practice, one disagreeable trick of manner one hateful habit, has ruined a man and woman.

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To those who have been reared in New England, and probably to many who have not, the words "growing in grace" are doubtless more or less familiar--so familiar in many cases as to have lost all significance, and became a mere cant phrase. But these words really hold a beautiful meaning, one that is far too superficially understood, or hurriedly dismissed.

What is grace? When we speak of a thing as graceful we mean that it is perfectly proportioned, entirely symmetrical; that every part bears its legitimate relation to every other part; that it has wholeness, perfection. Growing in grace is simply growing towards wholeness, perfection. The demand for wholeness, symmetry, grace, is a good timing for nations and individuals. Perfection is far more likely to be attained when it is demanded. And since it is a command from God and the dictate of common-sense that every one shall be his best and do his best, we have a right to expect that every individual shall grow in grace, towards symmetry, right relations of parts, wholeness.

Does some one say that material success is not especially to be coveted? If, my dear girls, you declare that success in spiritual things, in one's efforts to be white-hearted, nobled-souled, is far more to be desired than success in material things, we shall surely agree; but it is to the white- hearted, clean-handed, noble souled that "all things" are to be "added." And what is more natural and right than that one with strong heart and clean brain, and a mind open to all the leadings of life, should be successful? There is nothing praiseworthy, nay, I believe there is something blameworthy, in being poor when one can worthily be rich, or have a comfortable income. The atmosphere in which we live is a great formative factor in our characters; and whatever ennobles and refines should be highly prized and duly appreciated. Good surroundings help to make good souls, and beautiful things give rise to beautiful thoughts. There is a gospel of things, and it is a most potent gospel. "Whatever makes us happier makes us better," says George Eliot; and whatever keeps the mind at ease, whatever helps one to make sad faces and gloomy places glad, must make him happier, and consequently better. A competence helps towards the symmetry, the gracefulness, the wholeness of life.

The point I want my girls to grasp is that nothing is well enough until it is as well as it can possibly be made; that one has not sufficiently grown in grace until all the parts of life and character, the habits of mind and body, the principles and purposes, the language and the dress, have attained perfect relation to each other, have grown into full symmetry, entire gracefulness, perfect wholeness; till everything which can contribute to the highest success of the spirit and the body is theirs.

Right here I want to say that a very little thing, so-called, will do away with perfect symmetry, entire wholeness.

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Some time ago a lady visited two other ladies. The visitor was amiable, intelligent, kind-hearted, and good-natured. Her well-fitting garments were of good material. Her gown, a glossy black silk, was well fitted to the age, position, and style of the wearer; but alas for the fitness of things! the white basting-threads had not been taken out of the sleeves. Somehow her friends could not avoid a mental protest against that which marred the symmetry, the right relations, the artistic wholeness of the attire. This protest was the outlook towards, the yearning for, grace, perfection.

I have in mind a young woman possessessed [sic of habits of industry and a heart of gold, but whose gowns are habitually unmended, her boot buttons missing or hanging by single threads, her hose undarned.

I am acquainted with another young woman who is upright, honest, faithful in all transactions, neat in dress, but who uses ungrammatical and improper language, thereby destroying the symmetry, the grace, the wholeness of her make-up.

I am sure that you girls will agree with me that the lady in the black silk should have made her gown symmetrical, graceful, whole, by pulling out the basting threads, that the first girl should have grown in grace by pulling out the basting threads of untidiness, the second by removing the basting threads of ungrammatical language.

Does some dear, charitable girl declare that these are little things and should be overlooked, since no essential of character is wanting? I should love the kindness of this sweet soul, but I should ask her to consider with me two things.

First, are there any little things? If we may not say every, we may say that nearly every, small thing has a potential greatness. The telegrapher manipulates the key with short, deft touches, and the message which is to make millionaires paupers and paupers millionaires, which is to carry grief too heavy to be borne, or joy too great to be believed, speeds out into the world. A tiny button is pressed with one finger, and the hitherto dark room becomes light as noonday. The engineer draws back a small lever, and the train is put in rapid motion. A thing is great or small according to the effect which it has in the world.

Secondly, I think my friend of the tender heart will agree with me that when one lacks anything, be it great or small, which contributes to his success in life he has not all the essentials. Unremoved basting threads, dangling shoe buttons, and untidy hose, mangled and barbarous language, may keep a girl from obtaining a position, or deprive her of one which she holds; may disgust a good but fastidious friend; and, lastly, and by far the most important, may have a deteriorating effect upon her own character.

Pull out your basting threads, girls, grow in grace, and with all your getting get wholeness.

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IN summing up the achievements of women in this latter part of the nineteenth century, we find that the work covers almost every kind of work that there is to be done in the world. To-day, thanks to the work of our noble advance agents, the "pioneer women," there is no field that may not be entered and occupied by the earnest determined woman: but we should also remember that every year demands that women who enter into competition with men must be properly equipped. The girls of America are strong and fearless, brainy and healthy. Only let them lay to heart the truth that the day is fast passing when the world will put up with poor work because it is work done by the "weaker sex." Girls, don't give any ground for your brothers to quote that miserable phrase; show them that women are in many respects the stronger sex--strong in purpose, strong in endurance, strong to resist temptations of all kinds, strong in serving the Lord by heart and deed.

How many young girls there are to-day who are for the first time feeling themselves a burden or a superfluous expense in their own homes, who are wearing shabby clothes or perhaps neglecting ailing teeth rather than ask for the money to remedy the evils. Most of these girls--yes, all of them-- are asking themselves what they can do to earn their own money and relieve the family of their support.

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What happy fancies the young girl has of being able to help pay the rent, to get "a girl" for her tired mother, to pay for little sister's music lessons! What countless magnificent visions of benevolence inspire her!

But what is she going to work at? some particular friend asks. She has had no particular training for any one pursuit, and like hosts of other girls thinks that because she is willing and bright she will "get something" without much trouble. She knows well enough that she has no one great talent or gift that singles her out from thousands of others, and she also knows that she has no money to spend on the acquirement of short-hand, a course in bookkeeping or on cooking lessons. She must do something by which she can earn money from the start. An older girl friend has been working a year or so with a dressmaker and is doing very well, and advises her to try it. She is perhaps a fairly good sewer, but still has no enthusiasm for dressmaking. She is moreover sure, after thinking the situation over hastily, that she would like to be a cashier, to handle money even though it be not her own. In the course of time she gets a position as cashier, and is as happy as can be for awhile, but her hours of work are long and her pay is small, and in three months of it her enthusiasm is all gone; but still she goes on, for it is all she can do.

Another girl is sure that it is beautiful and noble to be a nurse; she feels that she can be nothing else, and perhaps before the first year of her training is over she wishes that she had been something, anything, else. Yet she, too, goes on, realizing the value of "experience."

It does not follow that because one feels curiosity in regard to a certain pursuit and a fancy to follow it that one was therefore born for that and will find one's true and destined place in it. To be guided solely by one's fancies is the greatest folly. If you really have an idea that you would like to enter a certain calling and make it your life work, first find out all you can about it, the preparation and the time required to attain proficiency, the average and the highest pay to be won in it, the effect of such work upon the health, the hours of constant work involved. All these and many more details should be ascertained and considered, and then it is your duty to consider yourself in the light of your adaptability to the calling you incline to. Are you willing to give months to the acquirement of a trade on little or no wages, or years of mental drudgery in preparation for a profession? Are you strong enough bodily to sit and sew all day, week in and week out, or to stand behind a counter through weary years, or to bang a typewriter ad finem with never an aching back or a swimming head? Are you sufficiently well educated and disciplined to make a creditable record in clerical or journalistic lines? Are you endued with the physical constitution, the nervous energy, the patience, the capacity for unremitting toil, necessary for a professional career?

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Take the profession of medicine and the law. Many might follow almost any other calling with better success. Remember that ability is not the only requirement for a good doctor; a peculiar and rare organization is demanded; scientific brilliancy will not always take the place of tact and sincere and unfailing sympathy. How about our lawyers? Unquestionably there is not more than a bare existence for thousands of them, and many are forced to seek a living in other lines. What of the mechanic? Undoubtedly many a man would raise far better crops than he does joists; probably a quarter of those who are laying poor brick work or bungling with carpenter's tools would make enviable records if they had only found their proper places, Has every teacher, bookkeeper, clerk, found her

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true place? How few can be found to answer yes! Yet all these thought in the beginning that they were choosing aright. They had to select some calling and these appeared to them the most attractive their imagination could picture.

The reason why so many young people feel discontented and out of place after a short period of work, is that in the beginning they do not select the work that they are mentally and physically fitted for, but hastily conclude that because some one they know or have heard of has succeeded in a certain line, that that line is the very one for them. No mistake could be more disastrous.

In giving the advice to a young person "follow your bent" we do not therefore mean choose that calling which appears most attractive to you at a first consideration, but that to which your best mental abilities, manual aptness and educational attainments in conjunction lead. Probably we all know some who have been fortunate enough to fall into the niche they were made to fit. How happy they are in it! They never have to conjecture if they might be doing something better for a living. Occasional seasons of protracted hours of work do not seem irksome to them; in fact every day seems too short in which to work out the ideas they conceive.

But in truth the majority of girls find it very difficult to decide what work they can do best. There are hosts, for instance, who have been through a high school and no further. That does not fit them for teaching or anything distinctively intellectual or professional, yet they are intelligent, well read, and do a number of things equally well. But they have never shown any one particular ability, they did not belong among those exceptional, abnormal creatures who from the cradle evince a preference for large books, classical music or curious insects, rather than the ordinary delights of doll-dom, mud pastry, or running away. Another stumbling block in the pernicious idea prevailing among our girls-- girls who have their livings to earn--that it is much more desirable to be a clerk, bookkeeper, saleswoman, dressmaker or milliner than to engage in any sort of domestic work. Many young people hold a false and snobbish notion that manual work will injure their social standing and lower them in the eyes of their neighbors. It is shameful and pitiful to see a girl who is a born cook or housekeeper wrestling with phonographic characters or debits and credits. You remember what good old George Herbert said away back in the sixteenth century, wasn't it?

"Who sweeps a room as by God's law,
Makes that and the action fine."

There is only one way, after all. Find out what you are best fitted to do, and then bend all your energies to doing that thing. If you are so situated that you can not follow what you believe is your true career, do good-naturedly whatever your hand finds, and study how best to get where you feel is your place. For

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instance, if you feel that you must be a lawyer--that in the law only can you find your best development--and are so situated that you cannot go to a law school, after a college course, do just as so many noted men have done. Do what you must, and study law by yourself, bearing all your energies toward that one point. Remember how Abraham Lincoln began, how he worked against fearful odds through fearful hardships and against almost impossible barriers. And what man has done, girl can do.

Just so with other professions. If art beckons to you and you are obliged to wait on customers in a shop, for instance, study art in your room evenings, go to an evening school for drawing, read books on art, practice with your own pencil and brush. Somehow and sometime you will make a career, if you but persevere.

In an old nursery rhyme-book, which many of us women of to-day well remember, "Songs for the Little Ones at Home," were the following lines. When I was a little girl I scarcely saw the force of them; but they were easy reading and easy to remember, and I used to repeat them so much that they have stayed with me ever since. And in times of discouragement they still have a faculty of "staying by." I can do no better than to leave them as a last word with you, first saying, "Find your bent and then follow it." The lines are these:

"Go on, go on, go on, go on,
Go on, go on, go on,
Go on, go on, go on, go on,
Go on, go on, GO ON."

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Page 501

INDEX

Ackermann, Miss Jessie E., round-the-world missionary, W. C. T. U., 181
Albani, organist and pianist, 216
Aldrich, Miss Mildred, Boston Home Journal,293
Alexander, Miss Grace J., assistant cashier of bank,160
Alleyne, Miss Minnie, painter of anatomical charts ,448
Anderson, Mary, actress, 39, 302
Anthony, Susan B., advocate of woman's rights, 201,447
Baldwin, Miss Maria (colored), principal of Agassiz Grammar School, Boston, 378,
Baker, Lady, a noted traveler, 325
Barker, Mrs. E. A., care-taker of city pets, and cat kennels, 116
Barton, Clara, president of the Red Cross Society, 87, 201
Bates, Cynthia, inventor of healthful corset-waist, 81
Bates, Miss Charlotte, manufacturer of underwear, 357
Beach, Mrs. H. H. A., musical writer, 229
Beecher, Catherine, a pioneer in the education of women, 189
Bickerdyke, Mother, a famous nurse during the Civil War, 388
Blackwell, Alice Stone, editor Woman's Journal, #152, 298
Blackell, Dr. Elizabeth, first graduate from medical college, 189
Blackwell, Dr. Emily, second graduate from medical college, 189
Booth, Mary, first editor of Harper's Bazaar, 294
Bradwell, Mrs. Myra, editor of the Court Register, 373
Brackett, Anna C., principal of the St. Louis Normal School, 276
Bridgman, Laura, a noted blind woman, 313
Burnett, Mrs. Frances Hodgson, author and dramatist, 307
Cameron, Mrs. Julia, portrait painter, 243
Carey, Annie Louise, vocalist, 216
Challender, Miss Rena, in charge of a daily newspaper, #406
Chaminade, Mlle., writer of songs and piano music, 229
Churchill, Lida A., writer of books, 455
Churchill, Miss, owner and manager of a large dairy farm, 106
Cole, Catharine, a New Orleans newspaper woman , 291
Conway, Miss Katherine E., associate editor of the Pilot, 298
Costa, Mrs. Mary, bank cashier, #161
Crane, Rev. Caroline Bartlett, pastor of a church in Kalamazoo, 206
Croly, Mrs. J. C. (Jennie June), a pioneer newspaper woman, 126, 290
Crosby Fanny, a sweet blind singer, 311
Cushman, Charlotte, a celebrated actress, 301
Dascomb, Mrs. Marianna, principal of the ladies' department, Oberlin College, 271
Davis, Mrs. Elizabeth Preston, mathematician, 318
Davis, Grace Weiser, a Methodist preacher, #205
DeKroyft, Mrs. Helen Aldrich, blind organist and author, 312
Diaz, Mrs. Abby Morton, author and lecturer, 91
Dick, Mrs. Sarah Frances, bank cashier, 161

Page 502

Dickerman, Harriet, Corporation Department of Massachusetts, 364
Dickinson, Miss Anna, dramatist, 306
Dickinson, Mrs. Mary Lowe, president of the National Council of Women, 168
Dodge, Miss Grace, founder of working girls' clubs, 480
Dodge, Mrs. Mary Mapes, editor of St. Nicholas, 296
Durgin, Harriet Thayer, artist, 424
Durgin, Lyle, artist, 424
Eddy, Mrs. Ella H., manufacturer of overgaiters and leggings, 358
Edwards, Amelia B., Egyptologist, 322
Field, Kate, special writer, correspondent, paragraphist and editor, 297
Fletcher, Miss Alice, ethnologist, 319
Foster, Mrs. J. Ellen, Woman's National Republican Association of America, 196
Fountain, Miss Lillie, deputy sheriff, 363
Franklin, Gertrude, church and concert singer, 221
French-Sheldon, Mrs. May, African traveler and explorer, 327
Gannon, Mary N., successful architect, 366
Gifford, Mrs. Hattie M., insurance agent, 166
Goode, Mrs. Cora Dow, a prosperous druggist, 402
Gordon, Miss Anna A., assistant secretary W. C. T. U, 181, 429
Grant, Miss A. Florence, successful job printer, 408
Green, Miss Mary A., member of bar of Massachusetts, 371
Greene, Catherine Littlefield, assisted in the invention of the cotton gin, #350
Greenaway, Kate, painter of children's portraits, 83
Griswold, Miss Edith J., solicitor of patents, 453
Hamilton, Mrs. Emma Colman, drain pipe, fire brick, tile, etc., 357
Hand, Miss Alice J., a prosperous architect, 366
Hartt, Miss Irene, talks to girls, 131
Haskell, Mrs. Ella Knowles, Assistant Attorney-General of Montana, 375
Hasse, Miss Adelaide, librarian of the Interior Department, 319
Hemenway, Mrs. Mary, founder of first public cooking school, 340
Henrotin, Mrs. Ellen M., president General Federation of Women's Clubs, 168
Herschfeld. Fraulein Henriette, the first female dentist, 401
Hoffman, Mrs., famous for her doughnuts, 38
Howe, Julia Ward, one of the pioneers of the W. C. T. U ., 447
Hughes, Miss Alice, celebrated photographer, 244
Jenkins, Miss Josephine, a clever Boston newspaper woman, 55
Johnson, Miss Nettie, a young sculptor, 427
Johnston, Miss, photographer, 244
Jones, Miss Catherine Humes, collector for an illuminating company, 52
Kelly, Sarah D., scientific packer of household goods, 334
Kilgore, Mrs. Carrie Burnham, first woman lawyer in Philadelphia, 373
Kimball, Mrs. Nellie Russell, dealer in coal and wood, 357
Kirtley, Miss Carrie, manager of insurance company, 165
Klotz, Miss Florence, an Allegheny County, Pa., constable, 363
Klumpke, Miss Dorothea, scientist, 318
Knapp, Adeline E., a San Francisco newspaper woman, 291
Krafts, Mrs. Georgia, successful milliner, 391
Lachmund, Mrs. Ida Moore, operator of steamboats and saw-mills, 50
LaCoste, Mrs. Carrie, real estate agent, 157
Lang, Margaret Ruthven, writer of music, 230
Lease, Mary Elizabeth, an eloquent speaker, 201
Leavitt, Mrs. Mary Clement, round-the-world missionary, W. C. T. U., 181
Lesser, Mrs. Alice Parker, member of the bar of California, 281, 372
Lewis, Miss Lilian (colored), journalist, 381

Page 503

Lind, Jenny, a famous singer, 216
Livermore, Mary, an organizer of the American Woman Suffrage Association, 199, 444, 447
Lockwood, Mrs. Belva A., attorney and solicitor, 168, 373
Lougee, Miss Amanda M., head of large rubber "gossamer" manufactory, 356
Lozier, Mrs. Clemence S., one of the first women to study medicine, 194
Lytle, Miss Lutie, colored lawyer, 380
McDonald, Miss Margaret, designer of paper dolls, 453
McGregor, Mrs. Edith, insurance agent, 166
McLean, Miss Mary, of the faculty of Standard University, 274
Marbury, Miss Elizabeth, theatrical manager, 449
Meade, Miss Jane, lecturer on American history and literature, 281
Merrill, Estelle M. H., a Boston newspaper woman, 291
Metcalf, Miss Betsey, first manufacturer of straw bonnets, 351
Millard, Miss Clara, book hunter, 33
Miller, Mrs. Annie Jenness, on life insurance, etc., 81, 169
Miller, Mrs. Emily Huntington, dean of Woman's College, 169
Minot, Mrs. Harriet G., manufacturer of blankets, 356
Mitchell, Professor Maria, Vassar College faculty, 272, 317
Morton, Mrs. Martha, dramatist, 307
Mulligan, Mrs. Agnes Murphy, land appraiser and real estate agent, 156
Murray Maud, harpist, 233
Nichols, Caroline B., leader of Fadette Orchestra, 234
Nightingale, Florence, 87
Osgood, Marion, leader of the Marion Osgood Orchestra, 234
Palmer, Alice Freeman, professor of history, Wellesley College, 274
Parker, Miss Marian S., practical civil engineer, 368
Patti, Adelina, a famous cantatrice, 39, 216
Paul, Mrs. A. Emmagene, Chicago street-cleaning department, 360
Peabody, Miss Elizabeth, introduced the kindergarten into America, 346
Peavy, Mrs. A. J., Superintendent of Public Institutions for Colorado, 200
Pinault, Juliette, manicuring and hairdressing, 395
Pollock, Mrs., cobbler, 51
Pratt, Mrs. Ella Farman, editor of Wide Awake,#294
Randall, Dr. Lilian Craig, surgical hospital for women, 195
Ransom, Miss Emily A., editor of insurance paper, 167
Reel, Miss Estelle M., Superintendent of Public Instruction, Wyoming, 200
Revert, Miss Jennie, veterinarian, 449
Ristori, Madame, a famous actress, 21
Rorer, Mrs. Sara, lecturer and instructor in cooking, 344
Rose, Annie M., manager of advertising bureau, 150
Safford, Rev. Miss, president of Iowa Unitarian Association, 204
Sanborn, Kate, farmer, 105
Sanderson, Mrs. Mary E., treasurer W. C. T. U., 181
Sangster, Mrs. Margaret, editor Harper's Bazaar, 294
Shanivan, Mrs. Annie, engineer, 51
Shaw, Rev. Anna Howard, M. D., 169
Shaw, Miss Harriet A., harpist, 233
Shaw, Mrs. Quincy, established free kindergartens, 346
Shepard, Mrs. Martha Dana, music festival pianist, 225
Sherman, Marietta (Mrs. Raymond), musical director, 235
Slack, Miss Agnes E., secretary W. C. T. U., 181
Small, Miss Lilian, maritime signal service, 453
Smith, Mother, restaurant, 123
Smith, Sophia, founder of Smith College, 272
Somerset, Lady Henry, vice-president-at-large, W. C. T. U., 181

Page 504

Spofford, Mrs. Harriet Prescott, on insurance, 168
Starkweather, Mrs. Louisa, superintendent of women's insurance agencies, 166
Steininger, Miss Thora, authority on mammals, 319
Stimsen, Miss Clara M., manufacturer of lumber and shingles, 47
Stokes, Mrs. Emily, photographer, 244
Stone, Mrs. Lucy, advocate of women's rights, 142, 196
Stuart, Mrs. Ruth McEnery, on life insurance, 169
Sutherland, Mrs. Evelyn Greenleaf, dramatist, 307
Symonds, Miss Edith, on telegraph and telephone girls, 132
Taber, Mrs. Julia Marlowe, actress, 303
Taft, Sarah A., farming and poultry culture, 106
Temple, Mrs. Grace Lincoln, decorator, 252
Ticknor, Anna Elliot, literature, art and science, 435
Thompson, Martha A., publisher, 461
Thurber, Mrs. Jeannette M., National Conservatory of Music of America, 228
Trine, Alexandrine, explorer of the Nile and Africa, 325
Turner, Miss Cora L., invented and patented a boiler, 352
Vannah, Kate, successful song writer, 229
Vogl, Mrs. Susan, advertising agent, 152
Wait, Dr. Phebe J. B., A. M., dean of New York Medical College, 169
Ward, Mabel Henshaw, working girls' clubs, 480
Watson, Miss Laura S., principal Abbot Academy, 169
Wertheimer, Miss Jennie, inventor of safety paper for commercial uses, 163
West, Mrs. Percy, cat farm, 117
Whiting, Lilian, correspondent of Times-Democrat, 296
Whitney, Anne, Boston sculptor, 423
Whitney, Rev. Mary P., pastor of Unity Church, South Boston, 205
Whittier, Miss Helen A., president of cotton manufactories, 355
Wiggin, Kate Douglas, early San Francisco kindergartner, 347
Willard, Emma, principal of the Academy for Female Education, 270
Willard, Miss Frances E., president W. C. T. U., 181
Willett, Mrs. Taber, farmer, 107
Winslow, Miss Helen M., editor of the Beacon, Boston, 298
Woelper, Mrs. E. G., real estate agent, 157
Wood, Mrs. Louisa, insurance agent, 166
Wright, Marie Robinson, journalist and traveler, 331
Wyatt, Miss Julia, teacher of vocal music, 222