Demonstrative People

Household. Cousin Robert and I were talking over this subject one day, when he said oracularly : - 'There are three kinds of folks in the world. One kind say a good deal more than they mean, and are over-poweringly polite, are all gush and sentiment, and are always ready not only to thank you for any favor done them, hut seeiningly, for the privilege of living upon the footstool at the same timo with yourself. The second class express just about what they feel, are polite and appreciative when occasion requires, and impressyou with their sincerity and truthfulness. The third class shut themselves up like a clam shell. Whether they swing high or swing low is all one and the saine to them, as far as any expression of their feeling is concerned. They speak neither of their joys nor their sorrows, and you might as well Jook for expression in a barn door as to try to read their moods in their faces, for Ihey have schooled themselves so that their faces teil no tales. I suppose I am too rauch that way nayself. I can't, for the life of me, seem to expresa what I do feel. I suppose any quantity of people havo done me f avors, and have never had the least idea how gratef ui I really was, because I couldn't teil them,' and he added the last almost with the air of one who had not been fairly treated. 'Bless the absurd man,' I cried, 'how can people know how you feel iL you never teil them ? Nobody knows your own heart but yourself, and how are people to know you bave one at all, if you nèver show it ?' A slightly startled look crossed liis face which would be haudsome if he would allow his emotions to play over it, but which, from its fixeduess, is in danger of losing all beauty of expression. Now I have known cousin Kobert long and well, and know ihat he is highly emotional, so do all his best and nearest friends, but a stranger would think him totally indifferent. I have regretted this exceedingly, for I know he is not a ware how deep a hold this habit has upon him, and that he would be much happier if he would act his real self and be much more beloved and respected. Then I can plainly seo his icfluence on his young children, and I know his wife, Jane, keenly feels his manner, though she has such a bright, sunny, transparent nature, that it seems impossible that she could ever be made over into a cold, indifferent, reticent wonian. I suppose I showed something of my thoughts in my face, for Robert is keen at reading other people's feelings even if he does conceal his own. "The fact is," he broke fortb, "I wasn't brought up rjght. You know father was a hard, stern man. who didn't believe in sentiment or em otiori Mother was just the contrary. The smiles or the tears came very easy. I inherited all my mother's tenderness, with just enough of my father's hardness to make me think it unmanly to how my real feelings, e3pecially as faher always poohed at us when we manfeated any unusual emotion. It's bad or children to be brought up so!" 'Yes,' I answered, 'it is very bad. Tour boy Fred was in here Chriatmas ay, and I gave him a pair of bright wristera I had been knitting for him, and what do you think the little fellow id ? Af ter one short look of surprise md delight, which I had to watch harp to catch, he thrust them into his )ocket, cocked his head on one side, ixed his eyes on the farthest point in he ceiling, and nttered the simple word, 'Thanks.' After a little he said ndifferently, 'Guess 111 be going,' ambled slowly out, and walked down the street with his hands in his pockets, whistling. During the day Frank came in, and í produced a similar pair of wristers for him. His face lighted up as he put them on, and said: Thank you, they are just what I wantod. All the sehool boys have thora. But ain't they beauties, though? I must run home and show them to mother.' But he stooped in front of the windovv to hold up both wrists to mosignincantly, then threw me a kiss and ran away.' 'Yes,' said Kobert, with a little chuckle, 'Fred Í8 just like me. [t's his misfortune, and Frank ia just like his mother. You wouldn't think they vvere boru on he same continent, mueh less were brothers. I never thought so inuch about it as I have lately, bub I do think Jane's way is the best, though I have sometimes laughed at her. 'Twvs only 1 few days ago that Ed P'iuroy was in the yard talking to me. You know the Sboreys haven't an idea in common with Jane, as you may say, yet :he came to the door and asked him how his family was, sent her love to his wife, and a pocketf ul of apples to the children. 1 asked her afterwards if she was not the least bit hypqpritical. 'Why, no indeed!' she said, 'I am sure I feel kindly towards them, and I have got love enough lef t for all my friends. I haven't impoverished myself a bit. and tbose apples will do the children more good than a doaen lectures. Sometime, when I want to do them good and reach their hearts, I can do it twice as easy for my little ontering wedges. When I ask the children, next summer, to come into my Sabbath-scliool class, I shall get them.' ' 'Of course Jane's is the best way,' I replied, 'and since we are on the subject I may as well say my say. IL Fred's manner is his misfo-tune it is certainly your fauu. You are not to blame for what you inberited from your father, nor for your bringing up. You had no control over those things. But now that you are brought up and realize your deflciency, j'ou should set yourself at work to remedy these defects by the use of your common seuse. Neither could you help it that Fred should take on your nature, but you are to blame if you do not do your very best, by examplo and precept, to eradicate this miserable iuheritance in yourself and your boy.' 'Well, but, Cliarity, I am not so very bad as you make me. I feel as much a3 any one, and Fred is just a3 warmhearted and affectionate as Frank, only hedon't show it.' 'That may all be true, and more's the pity, to spoil a fine nature by an unfortunate manner. Most people take one for what he appears to be. It is like a person with a nandsome face wearing an ugiy mask continually. reople don t see beneath it. Beauty amounts to but little when it is concealcd. You have no right to cover every good quality of mind and heart under a false mask, and you do your boy a grievous wrong if you alJow him to go through the world doomed likewise. It is my belief that we should make of ourselves the best and most that we inay. Cultívate the good and uproot the bad. We o we it to ourselves, our race, and our God. All the little kindly courtesies in the family and elsewhere should be made much of. There should be sympathy for all with whom we meet, either in their joys or in their sorrows. We should have a healthy interest in the affairs of others, an unselfishness which seeks not every good for one's self, but which paya us back many fold for all our sacrifico in the soul growth which comes to us.' 'I know you are right, Charity, I must try to make a change. 111 go home and taik it over with Jane. Tbank you for your plain talk. 'Faithfnl are the wounds of a friend." So he went away. I feit greatly encouraged, for he had said much for him, and I knew him to be too conscientious and persistent to ever get back on the oíd ground again. Jane carne over the next day, jubilant, and I knew the moment I saw lier tell-tale face that she had good news for me. Aa soon as she was seated in her favorite chair before our open wood flre, I looked into her eyes and said, 'Well.' She looked back and began : 'After the children had gone to bed last night, Robert tokl me about your conversation yesterday, and we had a long talk about our different traits, and our duties in general, especially towards our children. I thought I kuew Robert before, but he revealed deptli3 of love, tenderness and appreciation which astonished even me, who know him better, perhapa, than any one else does. I think hehas taken a stride forward, and I shall have to uso my small feet pretty lively to keep up with him. I hate to acknowledge it even to myself, but it has been the one dark spot in my married life, Robert's reticence and repressiou. There are po many great thing3 and little things in every day life where I have so missed the hearty and frank appreciation which I have been accustomed to in my father's family. And while I have reason to know that Robert's brother3 and sisters esteem and love me, I have been chilled by their manners. They are all alike, except sister Lizzie, who is as open as the day. To illustrate: Last Christmas I gave her a Let of embroidery. I had made it myself, and wrought much love in with the stitches. The next time I saw her she put her arms round my neck and gave me a kiss, saying, '1 tnank you so much for my Christmas gift. It was just what I wanted. You were so good to make it for me.' I gave sister Laura a similar set. Her thanks came in this way. She had occasion to write me a business note, and at the close she added, 'Thanks for the embroidery.' Now I have a way of knowing that she was just ;is pleased as Lizzie was, and her 'thanks' probably meant as much 'to lier as Lizzie's tender acknowledgment did to her. Yet I can never take quite thepleasure in gifts to Laura that I can to Liz.ie. Is it a weakne3s inmy make-up? Don't we all crave the expression of 'ove and appreciation, and ought we not to have it 't Should not this heart-want of ours be met and fed ? Are the loving expressions wholly nature's gifts, or is it ono of the 'family rights' that children be taught the necessity of a better way, until it is theirs by hablt, if not by nature ? Write about it, Charity.' So I can do no better than totell you thia little story, and let you flnd and apply tho moral for yourselves, dear readers.