“Oh, woman, in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light and quivering aspen made, When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!” And after many more years than I care to recall—for fear of making me feel old—of camp life and sea life, I can testify that girls make the best of all gipsy folks. Amateur, of course, I mean. But even in the management of a picnic their abilities shine forth; and in camp or on board ship, if one only gives them credit for common sense, they can do wonders. The young lady who would not demean herself—there is really no demeanment about it—by doing cookery or kitchen work in her own house often comes out strong in wayside camp or caravan. She gets up to things as if guided by instinct, can light fires, cook plain nutritious meals, lay them out prettily, and clear up afterwards with most amiable and sweet-tempered dexterity, and, when all is over, will take guitar or mandoline and accompany your violin as if to the gipsy-manner born. However, I have no doubt that a good deal of a girl’s willingness to work in this way, depends upon the novelty and romance of her surroundings, and very much also on the fact that she is breathing the purest air that can blow through dell or den, or balmy forest of pine, or from the mountains themselves that God built long before he made the poor puny microbe man. THE VALUE OF HEALTH. The value of health to any of us, whether old or young, cannot well be over-estimated. It is not, mind you, mater, that a deviation from its paths may lead to death. Indeed, many times and oft it would be far better if it did so directly. Instead of that, however, it may be, in girlhood, but the prelude to a long life of untold misery and wretchedness. Indeed, an ailing girl can never be anything save an object of pity. It is spring-time with her, but alas! it is a sad one—a spring that brings not with it the promise of a gladsome happy summer. The sun may shine, but it shines not for her. She is unable thoroughly to enjoy anything. There are times when her very soul seems darkened, and when even spiritual comfort brings no season of relief or even forgetfulness. And at such moments is it any wonder that she finds herself envying her more happy sisters, and thinking that the world is not only dark but cruel? Her companions have health and happiness; they may go anywhere and enjoy anything, and perhaps they forget her entirely until their return. What comfort shall I pen in these papers for girls such as these? I think I can give a little hope, and, with our Editor’s kind permission, I shall continue this subject in my next paper, and have something to say about ailments and departures from the normal standard of health, and hints for regaining Heaven’s greatest blessing, that may prove invaluable to many. “THAT LUNCHEON!” A YOUNG HOUSEKEEPER’S DILEMMA.