People should “think before they speak,” that if their friends or acquaintances are ill, for that very reason they are generally discouraged enough, and need all the gladsome aid and comfort those about them can possibly give; and it is their simple duty to give it.

Said a mother to me once, when urging me to call upon her invalid daughter, “And when you come, do not tell her she looks badly; tell her she looks better, and you hope soon to see her well.  Every one who comes in exclaims about her terrible aspect, and it drives me almost distracted to note its ill effect on her.”

“Why, how can people be so heedless?” cried I.  “Do they not know that even truth is not to be spoken at all times?  When I come I’ll give her joy, you may be sure;” and I did, though my heart ached the while, for I feared, all too truly, her days on earth were numbered; but I had my reward in her changed, happy countenance and the gratitude of her sorrowing mother.

Therefore, if you are not the enviable possessor of one of those “merry hearts that doeth good like a medicine,” both to yourself and to those with whom you come in contact, at least avoid wounding these by dwelling upon their infirmities.  Even should you see your friends in the last stages of a long illness; though their cheeks are terrifying in their hollowness, and their eyes resemble dark caverns with faint lights at the far ends, and all their other features prove them soon to be embraced by the king of terrors, not only in sweet mercy’s name do not speak of it, but, unless compelled to do so, except by your softened tones, make no sign that you notice it; remember you can not smooth their way to the tomb by descanting upon their poor emaciated bodies, and there is just a chance that they may recollect you a trifle more kindly when they have cast them off, like worn-out garments, if you now talk on pleasanter themes—­themes with which they are not already so grievously familiar.—­GALE FOREST, in The Christian Union.

    COURTESY.

    The savor of our household talk,
      Which earneth silent thanks;
    The glory of our daily walk
      Among the busy ranks.

    Life’s cleanly, lubricating oil,
      In which a help is found
    To make the wheels of common toil
      Go lightly, swiftly round.

    Benevolence and grace of heart
      That gives no needless pain,
    And pours a balm on every smart
      Till smiles appear again.

* * * * *

XLVIII.

IDA LEWIS WILSON.

THE GRACE DARLING OF AMERICA.