Since something must be crowded out, the first and great point is to determine what this something must be.  Certain duties are of prime importance, others only secondary.  One writer says of a woman who had cultivated the sense of proportion with regard to her work:  “We felt all the while the cheer and gladness and brightness of her presence, just because she had learned to make this great distinction,—­to put some things first and others second.  She had mastered the great secret of life.”

This talk of mine reminds me of a prosy preacher who chose one Sunday as the text of his sermon, “It is good to be here,” and began his discourse with the announcement, “I shall employ all the time this morning in telling of the places in which it is not good to be.  If you come to hear me to-night I will tell you where it is good to be.”

So we will consider the things which must not be put aside.  Some duties are plain, self-evident, and heaven-appointed.  Such is the care of children.  To the young mother this is, or should be, the first and great object in life.  Her baby must have enough clothes, and these clothes must be kept clean, fresh and dainty, for his pure, sweet babyship.  His many little wants must be attended to, even if calls are not returned and correspondence is neglected.  But it is not absolutely necessary to load down the tiny frocks with laces and embroidery that are time consumers from the moment they are stitched on till the article they serve to adorn is ready for the rag-bag.  The starching, the fluting, the ironing, all take precious hours that might be employed upon some of the must-haves.

Home duties take the precedence of social engagements.  A busy mother cannot serve John, babies and society with all her heart, soul and strength.  Either she will neglect the one and cleave unto the other, or neither will receive proper attention.  Even a wealthy woman who can make work easy (?) by having a nurse for each child in the household, cannot afford to leave the tender oversight of the clothes, food, and general health of one of her babies to those hired to do the “nursing.”  There is no genuine nurse but the mother; and although others may do well under her eye and directed by her, she can never shift the mother-responsibility to other shoulders; and if she be worthy of the dignity of motherhood, she will never wish to have it otherwise.

A few days ago 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