hich we do sow, and that the emptiness or the richness of the harvest
is not so much for us as for them, one of the first among the many things
which we shall reform will be "children's parties."

After-Supper Talk.

"After-dinner talk" has been thought of great importance. The expression
has passed into literature, with many records of the good sayings it
included. Kings and ministers condescend to make efforts at it; poets and
philosophers--greater than kings and ministers--do not disdain to attempt
to shine in it.

But nobody has yet shown what "after-supper talk" ought to be. We are not
speaking now of the formal entertainment known as "a supper;" we mean the
every-day evening meal in the every-day home,--the meal known heartily and
commonly as "supper," among people who are neither so fashionable nor so
foolish as to take still a fourth meal at hours when they ought to be
asleep in bed.

This ought to be the sweetest and most precious hour of the day. It is too
often neglected and lost in families. It ought to be the mother's hour;
the mother's opportunity to undo any mischief the day may have done, to
forestall any mischief the morrow may threaten. There is an instinctive
disposition in most families to linger about the supper-table, quite
unlike the eager haste which is seen at breakfast and at dinner. Work is
over for the day; everybody is tired, even the little ones who have done
nothing but play. The father is ready for slippers and a comfortable
chair; the children are ready and eager to recount the incidents of the
day. This is the time when all should be cheered, rested, and also
stimulated by just the right sort of conversation, just the right sort of
amusement.

The wife and mother must supply this need, must create this atmosphere. We
do not mean that the father does not share the responsibility of this, as
of every other hour. But this particular duty is one requiring qualities
which are more essentially feminine than masculine. It wants a light touch
and an _undertone_ to bring out the full harmony of the ideal home
evening. It must not be a bore. It must not be empty; it must not be too
much like preaching; it must not be wholly like play; more than all
things, it must not be always--no, not if it could be helped, not even
twice--the same! It must be that most indefinable, most recognizable
thing, "a good time." Bless the children for inventing the phrase! It has,
like all their phrases,