There is no society where smiles are not welcomed. WILLIAM MATTHEWS. A beautiful smile is to the female countenance what the sunbeam is to the landscape. LAVATER. Her smiles were like the glowing sunshine. BULLARD. If He has a place and work for me, and I think He has, I believe I am ready. A. LINCOLN. Clara Barton’s energy and humanity, with a “God bless you.” Boston (Mass.) _Journal_. A noble and attractive everyday bearing comes of goodness, of sincerity, of refinement. WILLIAM MATTHEWS. I have no higher ambition than to work obscurely, and singly, where I can see the greatest necessity. CLARA BARTON. CHEERING WORDS—ALWAYS READY—WEARS A SMILE No being other than the human knows how to wear a smile. A smile is as significant as are words—the smile oft proclaims the mind. Wearing apparel is the gift of man; the smile, the gift of nature. Wearing apparel wears out; the smile that is genuine never wears off. Of a woman it is said her face is her fortune. It also may be said, to rob the world of woman’s smile would leave the human race poor indeed. Of Clara Barton an author has said, “her heart made music and her face radiated sunshine.” Of Clara Barton a soldier said, “No discordant word ever escaped her lips; in camp or on the field she always wore a smile.” Her smile and her cheering words won the heart of the private soldier, the heart of royalty—won the heart of the world. A woman without effort may receive a “windfall,” in wealth; but success is achieved through personal qualities, by effort. Said a writer: “The life of Clara Barton should be familiarized to every child. Her history and work should be as well known to the young of the nation as those of the great Presidents. Her history should be taught in the public schools for the enlightenment of all pupils, boys and girls, that they may realize how great a task for humanity was undertaken and accomplished, by a weak woman.” It was at Fredericksburg. The rising sun was casting its rays aslant the eastern sky. The boys had just come off picket-duty. Their fingers were stiff with cold; their clothes, wet and frozen. Five or six of the comrades went to the rear; there they discharged their rifles. Then they went to a brick house one quarter mile distant—where they found Clara Barton. In anticipation of their proposed call, Clara Barton was ready. She had not forgotten, when a little girl, how she suffered from the cold, fell unconscious in a pew at Church and was taken home with frozen feet. She had for them a “blazing-hot” fire, and also had prepared for them plenty of hot ginger tea. In the gloom of war’s woes all must wear “sorrow’s crown of sorrows;” but, seeing them approaching the house, she met them at the door with a smile—with greetings as kindly as if they had been her long-ago friends, of happier days.