ly ten cents a month constituted
one a member of the society. She answered quite graciously that she
should be most happy to throw in her mite. If Mrs. Williams could
have had a peep into the collectors' books, and have seen that Mrs.
A. and Mrs. B. subscribed fifty cents a month, and that Mrs. C. and
D. subscribed one dollar a month, and others whom she copied and
followed were even benevolent to the amount of two or three dollars a
month, then Mrs. Williams would have compassed sea and land to
procure the money, before she would have allowed her name to be among
theirs with, that small amount set after it. She suggested that she
pay the whole sum at once. "What was the use of troubling them to
call every month;" and when they said they preferred to have it in
monthly payments, she thought within herself, "Now, that is just like
women; they have no business capacity, most of them, travelling up
and down, wasting their time, making twelve trips for what they might
accomplish in one;" which hasty censure upon her own sex was only
another proof that she had not "given herself up to thinking;"
certainly not on the philosophy of giving.

Having disposed of the collectors, Mrs. Williams sallied forth on a
shopping expedition, in high spirits at having come off so easily,
and yet a placid feeling in her conscience that now she had
contributed to "foreign missions." She spent the morning in weighing
the merits of this piece of silk and that, and finally purchased a
dress, rich and costly, and some soft filmy laces of marvellous
beauty at a marvellous price. If her poor weak conscience made a
protest it was silenced by "I must have it." Who shall say that the
heathen are all in Africa or China, or the islands of the sea?

And so the busy days went on, dressmaking, house-cleaning, calling,
canning, pickling, parties, pottery, and fancy work, time for it all.
How could one think much about such far-away interests as heathen
women when her hands and heart were so full?

Sometimes we call such "Marthas," and make light of the fact that we
have loaded ourselves down with such heavy burdens, and take comfort
in the thought that one of the women whom Jesus loved was in the same
condemnation; but we forget that her anxious housewifely cares were
for Jesus. Dare we say as much for ours?

One morning Mrs. Williams was not bustling about with her usual
activity. She sat in her own room with a grave, troubled face. She
was in deep tho