Everybody who has any artistic sense recognizes this instinctively when they see through the open doors of humble houses the father and mother and children gathered around their simple supper.  Its mention has already passed into triteness in verse, so inevitably have poets felt the sacred charm of the hour.

Perhaps there is something deeper than on first thoughts would appear in the instant sense of pleasure one has in this sight; also, in the universal feeling that the evening gathering of the family is the most sacred one.  Perhaps there is unconscious recognition that dangers are near at hand when night falls, and that in this hour lies, or should lie, the spell to drive them all away.

There is something almost terrible in the mingling of danger and protection, of harm and help, of good and bad, in that one thing, darkness.  God “giveth his beloved sleep” in it; and in it the devil sets his worst lures, by help of it gaining many a soul which he could never get possession of in sunlight.

Mothers, fathers! cultivate “after-supper talk;” play “after-supper games;” keep “after-supper books;” take all the good newspapers and magazines you can afford, and read them aloud “after supper.”  Let boys and girls bring their friends home with them at twilight, sure of a pleasant and hospitable welcome and of a good time “after supper,” and parents may laugh to scorn all the temptations which town or village can set before them to draw them away from home for their evenings.

These are but hasty hints, bare suggestions.  But if they rouse one heart to a new realization of what evenings at home ought to be, and what evenings at home too often are, they have not been spoken in vain nor out of season.

Hysteria In Literature.

Physicians tell us that there is no known disease, no known symptom of disease, which hysteria cannot and does not counterfeit.  Most skilful surgeons are misled by its cunning into believing and pronouncing able-bodied young women to be victims of spinal disease, “stricture of the oesophagus,” “gastrodynia,” “paraplegia,” “hemiplegia,” and hundreds of other affections, with longer or shorter names.  Families are thrown into disorder and distress; friends suffer untold pains of anxiety and sympathy; doctors are summoned from far and near; and all this while the vertebra, or the membrane, or the muscle, as it may be, which is so honestly believed to be diseased, and which shows every symptom of diseased action or inaction, is sound and strong, and as well able as ever it was to perform its function.