“Happiness,” says one writer, “is a mosaic, composed of many smaller stones.”  It is the little acts of kindness, the little courtesies, the disposition to be accommodating, to be helpful, to be sympathetic, to be unselfish, to be careful not to wound the feelings, not to expose the sore spots, to be charitable of the weaknesses of others, to be considerate,—­these are the little things which, added up at night, are found to be the secret of a happy day.  How much greater are all these than one great act of noteworthy goodness once a year!  Our lives are made up of trifles; emergencies rarely occur.  “Little things, unimportant events, experiences so small as to scarcely leave a trace behind, make up the sum-total of life.”  And the one great thing in life is to do a little good to every one we meet.  Ready sympathy, a quick eye, and a little tact, are all that are needed.

This point is happily illustrated by this report of an incident upon a train from Providence to Boston.  A lady was caring for her father, whose mental faculties were weakened by age.  He imagined that some imperative duty called on him to leave the swift-moving train, and his daughter could not quiet him.  Just then she noticed a large man watching them over the top of his paper.  As soon as he caught her eye, he rose and crossed quickly to her.

“I beg your pardon, you are in trouble.  May I help you?”

She explained the situation to him.

“What is your father’s name?” he asked.

She told him; and then with an encouraging smile, she spoke to her venerable father who was sitting immediately in front of her.  The next moment the large man turned over the seat, and leaning toward the troubled old man, he addressed him by name, shook hands with him cordially, and engaged him in a conversation so interesting and so cleverly arranged to keep his mind occupied that the old gentleman forgot his need to leave the train, and did not think of it again until they were in Boston.  There the stranger put the lady and her charge into a carriage, received her assurance that she felt perfectly safe, and was about to close the carriage door, when she remembered that she had felt so safe in the keeping of this noble-looking man that she had not even asked his name.  Hastily putting her hand against the door, she said:  “Pardon me, but you have rendered me such service, may I not know whom I am thanking?” The big man smiled as he turned away, and answered:—­

“PhillipsBrooks.”

“What a gift it is,” said Beecher, who was the great preacher of cheerfulness, “to make all men better and happier without knowing it!  We do not suppose that flowers know how sweet they are.  These roses and carnations have made me happy for a day.  Yet they stand huddled together in my pitcher, without seeming to know my thoughts of them, or the gracious work they are doing.  And how much more is it, to have a disposition that