I ONCE knew a little girl whom I admired very much. 

I hear you ask, “Was she beautiful?" 

Yes, she was very beautiful. 

If I had told you this, and you had been watching for her as the pretty-faced children went along the street, she might have passed, and you not have recognized her as "the very beautiful little girl" I had told you about. 

She had gray eyes and hair to match, "A little girl! Gray eyes and gray hair! Very beautiful?" 

I hear you say. 

Yes, every one who is acquainted with her thought her beautiful, and her eyes were gray, and her hair corresponded very well with them, but it was never "frizzed " or "banged," but simply combed straight and smooth. 

Her cheeks were painted neither by art nor nature. Her parents were not considered wealthy, but I remember some people thought they had priceless treasures. 

Her clothes were always neat, but never gay, and she sometimes wore print dresses and thick boots. 

I see you can't seem to understand how any one could have called her beautiful, but there is more than one kind of beauty. 

She was always gentle and obedient. 

She was very kind to her little brothers and sisters, was always ready to kiss the jammed fingers, untie knots, and answer questions. 

She never quarreled with them or with her school-mates, and was never so happy as when doing something for others. 

Her teachers were anxious for her presence, because they said she had "such an influence for good in the school." 

Her mother's health was sometimes poor, and the little girl remained at home to assist about the work. 

Even then she studied in the odd moments. 

By-and-by she graduated, and received a diploma. 

She is now a teacher, still loving and true, and possessing more external beauty than when a little girl,—the eager longing look has given place to one of victory; for she has risen superior to circumstances and conquered them. 

Do you wonder that I, with others, admired her? 

And would you know the secret of her success? From my earliest remembrance of the child, she felt she must have divine assistance, and asked her Heavenly Father to help her for his dear Son's sake, and then she tried to do the best she knew how.' 

"Beautiful faces are those that wear— 

It matters little if dark or fair— 

Whole-souled honesty printed there. 

"Beautiful hands are those that do 

Work that is earnest, brave, and true, 

Moment by moment, the long day through. 

"Beautiful lives are those that bless,—

Silent rivers of happiness, 

Whose hidden fountains but few may guess. 

"Beautiful twilight, at set of sun, 

Beautiful goal with race well won, 

Beautiful rest with work well done."