May I suggest some thoughts for self-examination on the matter?  One good question to put daily to yourself is, “How much of my talk to-day was for myself, and against others?  Perhaps I was too well-mannered to boast, but have I turned things to my own advantage, shown up my own strong points, instead of trying to help others to shine?  Have I tried to get cheap credit for wit, by sharp speeches, would-be clever criticism and pulling people to pieces?  Have I started, or handed on, spiteful remarks?” If you like, use another question, and ask yourself, “Was I like S. Theresa, ’An Advocate of the Absent’?” Or ask, “Have I, by my way of speaking or listening, lowered any one’s standard to-day?” Very often people say things or make jokes tentatively, to see how we shall take it, and through fear of being stiff or priggish we surprise them by seeming to enjoy what they were rather uncertain about.  It is quite curious how ashamed most people generally are of seeming as good as they really are; they “hide their best selves as if they had stolen them.”  If they would show their colours, they would find that many of the apparently careless people they meet do care about the real interests of life.  If they themselves do care and yet try to seem careless, are they not responsible for half the carelessness in those about them?

“The manner of our ordinary conversation,” says Bishop Wilson, “is that which either hardens people in wrong, or awakens them to the right.  We always do good or harm to others by the manner of our conversation.”

Aunt Rachel; or, Old Maids’ Children.

“What is the matter, my dear” said Aunt Rachel to her favourite niece, Urith Trevelyan, who was spending the Easter holidays with her.  “You look fit to be a sister in mind, though I hope not in manners, to the Persian poet, who described himself as ’scratching the head of Thought with the nails of Despair.’”

“I think life is very difficult,” remarked Urith, with a solemn sigh.

“There I partly agree with you,” said Aunt Rachel; “especially to people who insist on doing to-morrow’s duty with to-day’s strength.  I doubt very much if the holiday task, which I see in your hand, is the cause of this gloom.”

“Oh dear, no!  I was thinking what shall I do with myself when I leave school at Midsummer; it will be so very hard to read by myself.”

“My good child, do attend to what you are doing; you are just like the man in the ‘Snark,’ who had

          “’luncheon at five o’clock tea,
    And dined on the following day.’

“I wish you would dine off that unfortunate task to-day, and when you have finished it we will talk about your future work.”

The task did not take long when Urith fairly gave her mind to it, and the next day she and her aunt started for a distant cottage at the far end of the parish.  Urith seized the opportunity, and began as the door closed behind them—­