_Hannah More_. More than one "sunbeam" and "life of the party" in society is the "cross patch" and "fuss budget" of the home. His gracious smiles and quips abroad are matched at home by darkened brows and moody silence, only broken by conversation of the italicized variety: "_Will_ it ever stop raining?" "_Can't_ you see that I am busy?" "What _are_ you doing?" and the like. Whatever banner is exhibited to the outside world, the motto at home seems to be "Whatever is, is wrong." Defects in the ménage, carefully overlooked when dining out, are called with peculiar unction to the attention of the housekeeper of the home, whose worry to please is only matched by the "sunbeam's" fear that she shall think him satisfied with what is placed before him. "There's something kind of pitiful about a man that growls Because the sun beats down too hot, because the wild wind howls, Who never eats a meal but that the cream ain't thick enough, The coffee ain't been settled right, or else the meat's too tough-- Poor chap! He's just the victim of Fate's oldest, meanest trick, You'll see by watching mules and men, they don't need brains to kick." _Chicago Interocean_. Add to the "kicking habit" the insistence that each member of the family must be reminded at frequent intervals of his peculiar weaknesses, and that the discussion of uncomfortable topics, long since worn threadbare, must be reopened at every available opportunity, and the adage is justified, "be it ever so humble, there's no place like home." Try the following suggestion on approaching the house after a hard day's work. Say to yourself, "Why tired and cross? Why not tired and good-natured?" The result may startle the family and cause inquiries for your health, but "Don't Worry," if it does; console yourself with the thought they will like you none the less for giving them a glimpse of that sunny nature of which they have often heard. As a further preparation for the evening meal, and the evening, by way of alleviating the mental and physical discomfort following a trying day, one is surprised by the effectiveness of taking a bath and changing all the clothing. This treatment, in fact, almost offers a sure cure, but the person who would be most benefited thereby, is the person so obsessed to pursue the miserable tenor of his way that he scouts the suggestion that he thus bestir himself, instead of sinking into the easy chair. He may, however, accept the suggestion that simply changing the shoes and stockings is extremely restful, when reminded that if he had worn kid gloves all day he would be relieved to free his hands from the incubus, and, if gloves must still be worn, to put on a cool pair.