spondence, or directing the household, to give the over-wrought nerves and muscles a spell of blissful inaction, while we stretch out weary arms, and sigh: "Oh, dear, I must rest a minute!" But our employees must not, by any means. Where is our kindness, upon which He whom we call Master sets such store? There again are the little faults of the tongue. All good is derived from God. And though at first it may seem surprising, on second thoughts it is only natural that the fine things which are in a sense divorced from Him, by being regarded as apart, yet retain in large measure the power to elevate. It is thus, for instance (as Faber points out) with gentle manners. In many a household practically pagan, and not so in the best sense either, good form will scorn to raise the voice in anger, will keep under the ugly sneer, will choke back the cruel word that, once spoken, is eternally irreparable, whatsoever sorrow and love shall follow after. And ought not those of a lower social grade where graciousness is less thought of and morality more-ought not those blush for shame, since the children of darkness are thus proven to be wiser in their generation than the children of light? In this matter of gentleness of speech with the members of our family, with our fellow-workers, with our employees on the one side and our employers on the other, there is a wide field for the cultivation of habits of self-restraint. In the home, what is called “the company voice" has become proverbialwe have "welcome words for the stranger, and smiles for the sometime guest," as says that poem which ought to be embodied in every Child's First Catechism." But it would be fitter for us to keep our temper with the folk of our household. Even if the cup of tea be carelessly upset on the fresh table-cloth on its first spreading, do not say, "Good gracious, how awkward you are!" You would not say it to a guest, however distasteful to you, for you are well aware it is a vexatious thing to be called awkward. Forbear in like manner with the brother or sister on whose dead face, some day, your bitter tears may fall all the bitterer for the memory of such petty hurt. When Mary buys a pink hat for herself when you would have preferred a blue, it will not mend matters to chant the words of ancient pantomime, "Where 66 did you get that hat?" or "Such a monstrosity! I wouldn't be seen dead in it!" or some such unflattering remark. Your opinion on Mary's hat does not really matter a red cent, as the Yankees say; but it very much matters that you should not spoil Mary's temper by fault-finding. Another thing. We might avoid friction, and take a lesson from accidents. I once had the misfortune to present a married friend with a pair of small vases, dainty but unstable. They were habitually placed, full of flowers, on the dining-table. Certainly twice in the week, the master of the house, reaching out for bread or salt or such like, tilted over one or other of the vases, to the expressed chagrin of the mistress, and the great detriment of the flowers and damask, and then there were rubbings and scrubbings and soppings, and general dislocation of the procedure of dining. But the lady never thought of not putting the dangerous ornaments on the table. One Christmas I bought her a new and steady For reasons other than the convenience of the master, it took the place of the two frail vessels. "That's somethinglike," said the poor gentleman, relieved of the customary horror. And thenceforward we dined in peace. vase. Look at our morning and night prayers. How do we control our thoughts? We may most imperatively need such thought-control any day of our days, and if we have the habit -habit holds. But there is the "Our Father, Hail Mary, Confiteor"-what an unmeaning gabble in the mouth of most of us! Yet these prayers are the supremest in the Church of God. A girl once said to another: "I cannot be devotional at these set prayers, the Confiteor for one." And that other, whose bent of mind was to defend all belittled things (perhaps because she was Irish) began to make a case for the Confiteor. It is a grand prayer, she said. In it we cry upon the high, official saints and angels, so to speak; on "Great Mary" as the Gael ever called her; on the Archangel Michael, eldest of the Sons of Light, Warden of Heaven, Satan's Adversary, first and last; on John, than whom "greater was not born of woman," the Prophet of the Most High, the Voice that preached Penance, the Witness to the Lamb of God; on Peter, who sinned and loved, who was chosen Shepherd of the Fold, not because he sinned little but because he loved much-" more than these" that had not transgressed, who had the great heart of the man and the untameable impulse of the child, whom Satan desired to winnow as chaff, whereas he had eaten and been made one with the Heavenly Bread, confessing faith therein with "Lord, Thou hast the words of eternal life," when the other disciples found Christ's saying "hard." And there is Paul, the son of the Covenant, the proud, fierce Jew, persecuting Jesus of Nazareth, overcome by the Conqueror, and thenceforth His most loyal soldier. What a prayer for sinners confessing sin! If, in our daily petitions, we would think of the words and the whole histories implied in them, as did this girl I have spoken of, such prayers could hardly be the slipshod things they are. There is another aspect to the question. If, in the shelter of our Christian homes, the places wherein our lines have been set, the morning-lands enlightened by the Sun of Justice— we can attain to no better than a sadly spoiled goodness, how, in the name of truth, shall we demean ourselves if by chance or fate we find ourselves in the world's desert, and in the desert-night, with the wild beasts glaring from the darkness around us? It was said by Macaulay that Waterloo was won on the playing-fields of Eton. In another connection, John Ruskin, great moral teacher that he is, declares that from a people's amusements we may safely deduce the trend of a people's mind. That is to say, both these celebrated writers tell us that as men act in those matters wherein they are free, or at least less rigorously bound, so are they likeliest to act in matters that claim a strict obedience. It does not need long pondering nor deep to understand this. Nevertheless, here, if anywhere, it is true of us that we have eyes and see not. In all temptations there are (apart from the grace of God) two things to be considered the force of the temptation in itself, and the strength of our resistance to it. The first will vary with our natural character, for which we can hardly be held wholly responsible, inheritance of evil tendencies, and circumstances not ours to change or escape from, entering largely into the calculation. But the second, the power of resistance, will to a great degree depend on our acquired habits, for which we are entirely responsible. We can acquire the habit of resisting that of which our consciencedisapproves; but we must remember that any habit becomes so only by constant repetition of separate acts. Now it has been already said that this little lay-sermon is directed to those not to be already reckoned among the greatly-tempted. But no man knows the future, nor what lies hidden in the dark fold of the years. A few of us may get through life's campaign having only a few skirmishes with the enemy, but for most of us, soon or late, waits our Waterloo. Let us practise warfare on our playing-fields. A game of football is a little thing what does it matter how we play? I will remind you that a game of football, played with strict attention to the rules, is a fine exercise in discipline; you learn to be patient, to be watchful, to be diligent, to be bold, to keep your head cool, to take no unfair advantage of any man, to obtain the mastery without being brutal. And where is the battlefield of body or soul on which we can dispense with these things? THE PRAYER OF POPE PIUS X. (Our late Holy Father declared the aim of his pontificate to be, in St. Paul's words, "To restore all things in JesusChrist.") The starlit night lies o'er the Eternal City, And toil is done, and weary hearts are still. Lo, I by Thy immeasurable pity, And by Thy marvellous, unerring will, Have been made shepherd of the flock Thou keepest, I stand alone on Rome's high turret, seeing The wide, wide world stretched out beneath my gaze. Since Thou hast made me shepherd, all my being Has sought for nothing else except Thy ways. How shall I lead men's hearts to Thee the nearest? How make them feel Thee loveliest, best and dearest? For my own self, I lift my prayer appealing Out of the depths I cry with faith unfaltering, With white lips cry from deepest depths to Thee. This is Thy promise that shall know no altering: "I will draw all men-all men-unto Me." And I make this my aim, O Love unpriced: "All things shall be restored in Jesus Christ!" Stay Thou the evil that men's souls is blasting; Never, no, never, will I let Thee go, Until to them, with me, Thou giv'st Thy blessing; These souls, with mine, unto Thy great Heart pressing. Child in the manger, meek and lowly lying, Why didst Thou come to earth from heaven's bliss? Why leave Hosannas, for the bleak wind's sighing, The scorn, the cross, unless it were for this,That Love shall be the Lord of all, most glorious; O'er death and sin and suffering victorious? All things shall be restored in Christ for ever. That I Thy vicar o'er Thy Church might be, SUSAN L. EMERY. |