As the days pass into months and the months into years, we pause and look, or rather try to look into the future. Every normal human being is gifted with a desire to conquer something.

That something may be very great or exceedingly small in its proportions. Sometimes the idea or formation of the distinct desire is long in coming to the surface. But when it does come it is there to stay.

Now, I ask, does it pay to strive and struggle to become one of immortal fame?

Or does it pay more to seek comfort and security in a secluded walk of life. Which now is the proper path to follow?

These questions make us think of Gray's "Elegy," in which the obscure class is called the "poor." But can it be that they are gifted with greater things than the so-called brilliant class?

There is so much unnecessary trouble in the world, so much that might b e avoided by giving more thought to our own problems and trying a little harder for happiness.

When my son, who was the light of my eyes, in his very early youth ran away and married a girl of whom I couldn't help but disapprove, my heart was broken. It was as he had died. But I soon, having a little sense and experience, awoke to the fact that if I was not to lose him altogether I must make the best of the girl he had married. Why shouldn't one?

Why must a woman criticise, advise and interfere when she knows, when she is old enough to know, that the advice will not be heeded, and that the criticism and interference will be resented, and when what she risks is—the love of her son! I made up my mind that I was the one who had the sense and experience; therefore I was the one to overtook and make allowances.

I won't say that it was easy to withhold advice when I saw them going wrong, but I never gave it unless I was asked. They had to learn wisdom of the only teacher—experience. When they made mistakes I sympathized instead of criticised.

Everything I disproved I ignored; and everything that could be praised I praised.

They have been married five years now, and though we have lived together most of the time, there was never once angry word passed between us.

The faults in her that I most deplored have been cured by association and example.

She is like an own daughter ot me, and I am proud of her wherever she goes. They are planning their own home now, and "mother's room" is part of the plan, and they have two lovely children, who seem to love "grandmother" quite as much as either parent.

Now, isn't this worth while? My fellow mothers-in-law, can't you remember how crude, how selfish, how immature you were at the age of this girl, who comes into your family hoping to find love and who finds only criticism?