there are children in the house,
she should be cordial and affectionate with them, without gushing
insincerity or indiscreet petting, and she should not betray any
annoyance if they are noisy and occasionally troublesome--as the best
of children will be at times. She should aim to feel and act as though
the interests and pleasures of the family were her own, and not make
remarks that are tacit comparisons to their disadvantage. If there are
glaring faults in the domestic management, it is not her province to
correct them, except so far as a quiet example may be subtly
influential, as it will be, if at heart she makes herself a part of the
circle of sympathy. After her return to her own home, she should write
a letter to her hostess, expressing the pleasure which the memory of
her visit gives her, and gracefully thanking her friend for all that
made the sojourn so restful and happy.

There is something singularly inspiring in the idea of "making one's
self at home," in the sense of finding the _value_ in every environment
which fate, or chance, or Providence may place us in. And when, as
welcome guests, we listen to this hearty greeting, we resolve that in
all ways consistent with our duty to our entertainers, and with all
grateful appreciation of their kindness to us, we will "make ourselves
at home."

"AS THE TWIG IS BENT"

Every one theoretically admits the importance of early training. It is
demonstrated in the animal and the vegetable kingdoms, wherever organic
life unfolds and grows; and that the human child is no exception is
promptly recognized in theory, however fatally practice ignores it.

Not that parents mean to ignore it; but there is a "happy-go-lucky"
impression that somehow "he will come out all right;" that "as he gets
older, his own good sense will assert itself," and so on. Happily,
this is partly true. A native good disposition and good sense saves
many a child from the ruin which an unwise course of training has done
its best to precipitate. The wonder is that they "turn out" as well as
they do. Perhaps Providence, in visiting its judgments, is lenient to
the young and inexperienced parents, themselves undisciplined; to the
helpless child, at the mercy of his blind guides.

There is too much negative, too little positive, in child-training; too
much querulous reiteration of "don't," too little intelligent teaching
how to _do_. Little children like to be "shown how;" they are
f