I heard a clever woman say that a friend of hers had
chosen as her epitaph--not, "She hath done what she could," but "She
tried to do what she couldn't," and that her motto in life seemed to
be, "What's worth doing at all is worth doing _swell_." This speech
applies to too many American women, and so general is the habit of
overcrowding, that she who would really determine what is worth doing
at all must hold herself calmly and quietly in hand, and stand still
with closed eyes for one minute, until her senses, dazed by the wild
rush about her, have become sufficiently clear, and her hand steady
enough, to pick out the diamonds of duty from the glass chips which
pass with the superficial observer for first-water gems. It is well
for our housewife to have some test-stone duty by which she may rate
the importance of other tasks. Such a test-stone may be John's or
baby's needs or requirements. Of course she must not expect to make as
much show to the outside world by keeping the children well and happy,
entertaining her husband each evening until he forgets the trials and
vexations of his business-day, preparing toothsome and wholesome
dainties for the loved ones, and making home sweet and attractive, as
does the society woman who attends twenty teas a week, gives large
lunches and dinners, and "takes in" every play and opera.

"The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves,
And lets his illumined being o'errun
With the deluge of summer it receives.
His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings,
And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings;
He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest;
In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best?"

If my reader is a mother it will not take very long for her to justly
determine the values.

Recently I heard a busy woman and an excellent housewife say: "If I am
pressed with important work, and my parlors are not very dusty, I
unblushingly wipe off the polished furniture, on which every speck
shows, and leave the upholstered articles until another time."

This was not untidiness. It was only putting time and work to the best
advantage, that there might be enough to go around.

I read the other day in the woman's department of a prominent paper a
letter from a subscriber who said that she was so driven with work
that it was all she could do to get her washing done, much less her
ironing. So she had determined to use her bed-line