It is difficilt for us all to realize that "one man's meat is another man's poison." A dear old lady, whose parents belonged to the Society of Friends, ii accustoined to teil a whimsical story of her own childish grief over her lack of finery, and the effort she afterward made to save her little daughter from like privations. "When I was a child," she says, "it was niy great cross that I could not wear bright colore. I longed for blue ribbons and red roses, and one summer, when I was to have a new hat, bought from the milliner in town, it seemed to me my heart would break if it were not Jike those worn by 'the other girls.' Would not some kind angel interfere, and persuade my mother to order a pink flower or a glowing ribbon? "Nothing of the sort happened. In spite of my protests a white chip hat was selected, and trimmed with a modest white ribbon. I wore itall summer with f ebellion in my heart. "I grew up in due time, and married the minister of a religious body which did not enjoin plain clothing or sober colors, and v-hen my little girl was born I resolved that she should have all the childish delights which I had been denied. "Her little hats were trimmed with warm, soft colors, and when I thought her old enough to choose one for herself I took her with me to the milliner's. Perhaps I hM an idea that I was atoning to my own childhood for its joys denied. . " 'Now, dear,' I said, 'you shall have any hat you like if it is suitable for a little girl. Look round and see what you prefer.' "The dear little thing was highly delighted, and went gravely about the store, with the important air of a middle aged shopper. Finally, after examining the entire display several times over, she stopped before a stand in one of the windows. " 'I will have this,' said she decisively. 'I like it best of all.' "It was a white chip hat, trimmed with white ribbon, and it was alirost exactly like the one I had detested oO manv vears before."