part. She gave him to understand that there wasn't anyone proposing to her unless he had money enough."

"Yes; that was a great stroke. If they ever get marriedand I hope they will, for they seem suited to each other—and he kicks at the bills, she will bring it back to him. She'll say, on the first of the month, 'Now, dear, remember, even before you proposed, that I told you emphatically the man I married must have enough!"

"That's so. And then how she did bring him to time."

"Exactly. Look at him now. You can see them better than I. There's a good deal doing, isn't there?"

The armchair almost burst with the unusual excitement. "Well, I should say! He's holding her hand. He's-why, he has one arm around her waist! Why, he's—”

The sofa sighed.

"I know," it replied. "He's kissing her. I am afraid it's all over with me. I see my finish. Thus it is with all true greatness. We are but a means. My friend, prepare yourself."

There was a sudden rising, a slight bustle, a flutter, some sighs, and then, settling back with its new weight of enjoyment, prepared for the strain to come, the armchair gazed with a new pathetic interest on the now deserted sofa, and observed pleasantly:

"My dear sofa, I may be much newer than you are, but, after all, I seem to be modeled on a much older idea."

Only the past is immortal.

When a man falls in love with some girls he begins to ascend.

THE RIGHT KIND OF A NURSERY.

THIS is the most important room in the house, and though a great many writers have tried to do justice to it they have all failed. The following suggestions will be hailed with delight by all mothers:

The nursery should be on the first floor, and as near the front entrance as possible. This will not only enable all visitors to see the children, but the children to see and rub up against all visitors. A knowledge of the world is a great thing for children, and this will give them many opportunities. The room should be about twenty feet square, and lighted day and night by electric lights, as eminent scientists have discovered that electric light is a big improvement on the sun, being of human invention. The bulbs. of the lights should be placed low enough so as to be easily reached by a child of one year old.

The decorations of the room should be rich, not gaudy. A light silk paper, in sky-blue or cream, can be obtained for about two dollars a roll.

For lace curtains to go in the windows it is foolish to pay more than twenty-five dollars a pair. They are not appreciated by children, who do not always consider them ornamental.

Four or

Now for the floor. A hardwood floor, of course, is best. It should be waxed and covered with Turkish rugs. five nice rugs for this purpose can be obtained for about one hundred dollars each.

The most important feature is the play part. The children will want to play, of course, and there is nothing better for this purpose than a natatorium. This natatorium can be sunk in the middle of the room. It should be about six feet square, and, when filled with water, should be just deep enough to cover the head of the oldest child. A suitable collection of boats and tin fish

should go with the natatorium, which, constantly filled with pure, sterilized water, will be a source of endless amusement.

The equipment of the nursery should be as complete as possible. A full set of carpenters' tools is indispensable, together with a grindstone to keep them sharp. The walls should be lined with book shelves containing the latest books of reference. All fairy books and other injurious literature which deals with imaginary subjects should, of course, be strictly tabooed.

Your nursery is now complete. All that is necessary is to put over the entrance the following text:

"All Who Enter Here Leave Hope Behind."

THE ART OF HOSPITALITY.

THERE are some guests who act upon their hosts like sponges, sapping their vitality steadily and surely and then leaving them exhausted, wrecks upon their own native sands, to recover as best they can. There are hosts who serve their guests in much the same manner, keeping them constantly keyed up to a certain pitch, lavishing efforts upon them with indefatigable persistence, until the guests are glad to escape, crawling home to their own comfortable carelessness, with weary bodies and wearier minds.

Why is it, we wonder, that certain households are not a good fit? The host is waiting for us at the door with outstretched hands. Indeed, even as we approach we fancy we can detect a fine fog of anxiety for our comfort evaporating from the windows that envelops him like a cloud. He takes our hat and coat ; he inquires solicitously after our health; remarks with ostentatious gladness that we are looking better; hurries us up to our room, and while we are rehabilitating ourselves we can feel him floating around in the hall, ready to spring forward at the slightest intimation. His good wife also is ready to aid and abet him in

every suggestion for our comfort. There can be no doubt that she is glad to see us. Her smile of welcome is genuine. The very nervousness of her manner as she watches the servants out of the corners of her eyes is in itself evidence of a fine solicitude for our happiness. She endeavors to find out our likes and dislikes with an assumption of playful indifference, but which we know to be a deep earnestness; and we begin to get worried at once for fear that we have, after all, no desires suitable to be gratified. It is painfully evident that our host and hostess are not going to be happy unless they can find something to do for us. And so, with a sort of hopeless initiative, being thus driven to it, we search around for some wish that we can express, in order that the pleasure of gratifying it may put them at their ease.

The whole affair is tragic. We cannot help but love these good people. The sincerity of their desire for our comfort, even if it does keep us on the qui vive all the time, is in itself a fine flattery. We are as anxious for them as they are for us. We must make them believe that they are giving us the best time we ever had. To keep up the illusion is, to be sure, a strain, but we owe it to them to do this. At times there come to us flashes of longing to get away-to go home where we can whoop and be free-and then we hate ourselves for these outbursts, for somehow they seem to argue a certain disloyalty to those who really love us. So we go on acting our part, until the hour comes to leave, and we protest with tears in our eyes that we never have had such a good time, and that we are already looking forward. to the next visit with fiery impatience. Surely, could a lie be more justifiable than this one?

On the other hand, how different is the manner of another host, to whom the word hospitable never seems to have occurred. He, too, meets us at the door; he, too, shakes us by the hand. And yet, even as he does this, in some subtle and unconscious manner, he makes us feel that his house and everything in it

by right are ours. He does for us what is necessary, but no more; and leaves us ungrudgingly at our own resources, for which we bless him every moment of the time. We roam at will, and, having tried his cigars, do not hesitate to smoke one of our own in the blissful certainty that we cannot offend him. His wife appears at the psychological moment; and disappears in the same. happy manner. The cook may be drunk in the kitchen; the waitress may have given notice to quit; the ice may have given out, or any one of a number of domestic infelicities have occurred. But she is unconcerned. There is no concealment. The situation is discussed as if we were merely spectators and had no vital interest in it. It thus happens that because there has been no effort to entertain us we are entertained; that because no one has been solicitous about us we have not become objects of solicitude; and when necessity at last compels us to depart, it is with a kind of furtive resolve that we will come again as soon as we can; and somehow this resolve occasions no hesitancy, for we do not seem to have put our host and hostess to any trouble, which makes it easy for us to feel that they are always glad to see us.

The less hospitality we display the more we have. A guest should be a guest in name only. In general it is a delicate and hopeless task to foist upon him your own ideas of how he should enjoy himself. Let him loose in your little province, to wander as he will.

And if there is in your surroundings some imperfection, do not conceal it from him. To know about it naturally will put him at his ease.

To the plodder belong the spoils.

Washing dishes is hard on wedding rings.