Let her tease and tantalize, but remember that the best way to cure her is to treat her so like a lady who could never descend to such methods that she will soon be forced to stop in order to live up to the character you have given her. Mothers come first, therefore, over all the world, and sisters next. Treat them as carefully, with as much thoughtfulness, as you do anything else in your life, and with even more care, and then we can discuss the rest of womankind.
LINCOLN AND THE POOR WIDOW.
The 12th of February, Abraham Lincoln's birthday, brings to our thoughts stronger than ever reminiscences of this noble man's life. Hundreds of books have recorded and will perpetuate his good deeds for centuries to come; but it is a pleasure to read now and then of some little act of kindness that will stand alone illustrating the breadth of this man's sympathies and the nobility of his character. During all that dreadful period when the civil war was ravaging the country Lincoln held the reins of the government, and although worn out with unceasing toil, he never neglected an opportunity to help those who suffered.
One day a poor woman, whose tears had worn furrows down her cheeks, gained an audience with Lincoln, and in a few words related the sad tale of her husband, who had fought in the Union army only to lose his life, and of her three boys who were then fighting. She requested the discharge of her eldest boy, that she might have some one to support her. Lincoln's heart responded to the appeal, and he replied, "Certainly, if you have given us all, and your prop has been taken away, you are justly entitled to one of your boys."
The poor woman went away light of heart, only to return later, tearfully begging the release of her second son. The discharge of the first son had come too late. He was killed before it reached him. Sadly Lincoln sat down and wrote the requisite order for the release of the second son, and rising, handed the paper to the afflicted woman, saying, "Now you have one and I have one of the two boys left; that is no more than right." Weeping with joy, the poor mother blessed Lincoln, and hurried out to send her precious order.
WILFRID'S WISH.
The wild fantastic snow-drifts
Upon the orchard hill
Look like a lot of billows
Asleep and lying still.
I wish they'd take to rolling,
And then, wind-buffeted,
I'd be a jolly sailor
Upon my scarlet sled.
R. K. M.