shutting it up within the walls of a home of her own. And "Sister Dora,"
who wrought with such brave spirit in English perl-houses, "whose
story is as a helpful evangel, was the bride of the world's sorrow
only." Every community has its own examples of those whose hands have
not felt the pressure of the wedding-ring because home loved ones seemed
to need their affection and their service. We ought to honor these
unmarried women. Many of them are the true heroines, the real sisters
of mercy, of the communities where they live. Those who sometimes speak
lightly of them might better bow down before them in reverence and kiss
the hands, wrinkled now and faded, which never have been clasped in
marriage. Some one, by the coffin of one of these unwedded queens,
writes of the folded hands:

"Roughened and worn with ceaseless toil and care,
No perfumed grace, no dainty skill, had these!
They earned for whiter hands a jewelled case,
And kept the scars unlovely for their share.
Patient and slow, they had the will to bear
The whole world's burdens, but no power to seize
The flying joys of life, the gifts that please,
The gold and gems that others find so fair.
Dear hands, where bridal jewel never shone,
Whereon no lover's kiss was ever pressed,
Crossed in unwonted quiet on the breast,
I see through tears your glory, newly won,
The golden circlet of life's work well done,
Set with the shining pearl of perfect rest."

Every writer speaks of _Christlikeness_ as the real crown and
completeness of all womanly character. I have not space to quote the