ork. And that does not leave much room for other things."

But for her determined and heroic observance of the laws of health, her
life must have been a wreck. Her strong good sense not only saved her
from being a burden to others, but enabled her to do a really valuable
work for her scholars, which I have seldom known any one capable of
doing so well. And all her friends were strengthened by the spectacle of
her cheerful courage. The few years she won for herself by her steadfast
struggle would have been well worth living, even if she had had no
alleviations of her lot. But she gladly took such little pleasures as
were in her pathway. She chose a pleasant room in the hotel with a wide
outlook over the sea. She spent some happy hours with her favorite
German books, and in a quiet, friendly way she made the acquaintance of
any congenial people who came to the hotel. All this was not very much,
perhaps, but yet it seems fine to me. So many of us would have spent our
strength in mourning our hard fate! I am sure that all of us who had the
privilege of knowing her must always think of her with reverence.

I know a woman whose deafness shuts her out from ordinary conversation,
and who is nevertheless such an interesting talker and such an
appreciative listener that her friends do not find it a task to spend
hours in talking through her ear-trumpet. Of course each friend brings
only his best to her ears. The very circumstance which would have
narrowed her life if her nature had been narrow, has simply shut off
much that is low from her and left full room for the expansion of all
that is high.

I knew two women on whom blindness fell in middle life. One with morbid
grief stayed always in her own room. She became totally dependent on
others and wore away her years in sorrow. The other gave up the
luxurious rooms she occupied in a hotel, took a lodging-house, which
she was able largely to manage herself, made it a delightful home for
every inmate, and kept herself usefully busy and happy. Each of these
women had an only sister entirely devoted to her. One of them narrowed
and the other broadened her sister's life.

I am almost tempted to say there are no narrow lives except for narrow
natures. But there are many timid and loving women who are forced to
lead restricted lives by domestic tyrants,--a despotic father or
husband, or even sometimes an imperious mother or sister,--and who yet
under other circumstances might expand