"I shall never get through this mountain of sewing, Amy, even with my sewing-machine. I am quite out of heart with the prospect. If I were not so down-spirited, I could accomplish much more; but somehow the world itself looks uncommonly dull this bright spring day." "I can furnish the key to your difficulty, and tell you how to remedy it." "Then please do, dear, and I shall be under lasting gratitude to you." "First, then, you have been busy in this room nearly all day—have you not?" "Yes, except about two hours this morning." "It is a north room, and, though warm and light, it has not seen a ray of sunshine this day. Your machine faces on that chill northern sky. The whole of this side of the house is in deep shadow. Now there is my beautiful room, with the sunshine pouring in at two windows, which have been wide open most of the day. It really glorifies the room, as Sydney Smith used to say. Let us call up Bridget, and she will help us move the machine across to my room. We'll bring the little sewing-chair, and Katy's box of playthings. All our spirits will improve in five minutes." "But it will muss up your tidy room so. I am used to having work all about mine." "That will do no harm. Rooms were made to use. I never wish to have anything so nice I am afraid to use it. But, Martha, you need a taste of fresh air before you set about your afternoon's work. No one has been for your mail to-day. It will not take you more than fifteen minutes, and will save you an hour in your quickened energies." After a little further persuasion, Martha consented to take this little walk in the sweet, pure sunshine, and came back with cheeks and eyes glowing. The afternoon passed cheerily in the little room so flooded with sunshine, and the nimble fingers of the lady and the sewing-machine accomplished wonders. "Susy's suit all finished," she said, as she shook out the soft folds. "Now it will be in perfect readiness for next Sabbath, as she so much wished. I am sure I never could have done it but for your kindness and perseverance, Amy. And how good our little pussy has been all day!" and the mother stopped to give little Katy a hug. "I wish you'd always live in Aunt Amy's house," said the little one, whose spirits had also been wonderfully improved by the change. "I do think, if I were you, sister, I would take this for my own room, and abandon that gloomy north room. It will answer very well for a state apartment. You can furnish it for guests, who stay but a short time, and will be very comfortable in it. But your nursery should be all sunshine. I will help you arrange109it before I leave, if you will consent. I do not doubt but it will add vastly to your own and your children's health, not to speak of the increase in happiness." Martha considered the plan, and at last decided to make the change, which proved all and more of an advantage than her friend predicted. I wish that every mother could be persuaded to take the room with the sunny windows for her own. There would be far less of distressing nervous difficulties among the little ones, and she would find her own neuralgias and nervous troubles lessened tenfold. No doubt it would add years to her own and her children's lives, and help her to spend those years in happiness and usefulness to others.—Arthur's Home Magazine.