rising fretfulness, have gradually attained to a state of enviable calm. And, in general, it will be found that just in proportion as we provide, by wise arrangements, against those interruptions which can be foreseen, and regard others as inevitable, and, therefore, not as presenting causes for irritation, but means of discipline, to be meekly borne and carefully improved-in that proportion shall we escape the irritability which so many display. Though obliged to encounter the whirl and the worry, we shall be effectually armed against them by a welldisciplined mind, the habits of self-control, and the merciful help and grace of God. Outward perplexities and annoyances we cannot always avoid; inward vexation and worry we usually may.

Perhaps it may stir us up to aim at quiet self-control, if we show that the evils of living in a state of continual worry are very great. Our Lord's words to the over-careful Martha, which we have placed at the head of our paper, seem to imply this: and yet hers was the most excusable-ay, almost laudable anxiety that could be displayed. The kindness of her heart, the exuberance of her generosity, the profound respect which she felt for her guests, made her desirous that nothing should be omitted which could possibly conduce to their comfort. She was a careful housewife, an open-hearted, open-handed hostess. She was cumbered about much serving, not for herself, but her friends. Yet our Lord's tone was almost that of reproof.

This perpetual worry prevents much enjoyment to ourselves and others. Here was Martha: she had under her roof the dearest friend, the grandest teacher that the world ever saw. Surely she will derive unspeakable profit, and enjoyment too, from His visit; she will endeavour to render highest honour to so noble a guest. But how can this be best effected? As a teacher, what our Lord most prized was, an attentive disciple; as a friend, what He delighted in was, loving communion. What she could gain from Him, as both teacher and friend, was the delight and advantage of listening to His words, drinking in His thoughts, pondering His sayings,-the delight and advantage of witnessing the manifestations of His loving favour, His tender interest and regard. This was what Mary and the rest of the company were enjoying; knowing, as they did, that Jesus would not be gratified, that He would rather be pained, by an elaborate meal, and would feel honoured by their thoughtful attention to His discourse. But when their enjoyment is at its highest, Martha enters the room, flushed with irritation, annoyed at her inability to complete some culinary plans, and breaks in upon the rapt assembly with the querulous inquiry, "Lord, dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone?" No doubt she was a noble, unselfish soul, to be willing to forego the privilege of His society, for the sake of ministering to His wants; but by her worrying, anxious temper, how much profit and pleasure did she needlessly lose! how much pain and annoyance did she

occasion to the party who could not but regret to see her overdone by her generous but ill-judged care for them; while, at the same time, they grudged the sudden interruption of a conversation that was far more delightful to them than the costliest repast. And thus it usually comes to pass, that well-meaning people, who allow themselves to be in a continual turmoil, not only fret their own spirits, and rob themselves of all the pleasures of life, but ruffle and discompose their home circle, and disturb their friends as much as they do themselves.

Moreover, this continual worry, in many ways, exerts a mischievous influence on general character. It gradually destroys that elasticity and spring, that buoyancy and cheerfulness, which are the bloom and flower of life; and leaves a worn and faded state of the spirit. It so excites the temper as to produce chronic irritability, and to make it difficult to speak kindly and gently, even to those who ought to be the most dearly loved. It causes discontent, a disposition to murmur and find fault; so that, at last, the heart all but rebels against God, and really complains of His appointments. It dulls the sensibilities to spiritual things, by encumbering the soul with earthly things. It gives rise to selfishness, by blunting the affections of the heart, and concentrating thought upon the means of extrication from personal perplexity and trouble. These are only some of the ways in which it injuriously affects character.

In addition to this, it leads even good people to offer Christ outward service, rather than the homage of the mind and heart. The service of Martha was well meant, and Christ would assuredly appreciate it; but how far less really acceptable than that mental reverence and love which Mary showed as she sat at His feet, and learned of Him. This was to pay homage to His character, His mind, His truth, Himself. It was to recognise and honour Him as the Great Prophet, Redeemer, Messiah; to show respect to His higher nature and purpose; to glorify Him as both Lord and Christ; to offer spiritual worship. Now, most of those who suffer their mind to be habitually worried and perplexed would acknowledge that, although they do not omit private reading and prayer, they too frequently find that the service has been chiefly one of the eye and the lip; and that their mind has all the time been in the same whirl as it was before they entered their closet. They would confess that, although able to contribute to charities, to serve on committees, and even to attend regularly on public worship, their thoughts stray back to the counting-house, or workshop, with all its confusion and unsolved difficulties; and that they have no real enjoyment of the Saviour's presence; receive no real instruction from Him; offer no real worship to Him. In a word, they would own with sorrow that they are so harassed by the cares and duties of life as to be able to do little more than keep up the forms of Christian service, whilst their mind is the slave of anxiety.

Worst of all, in the case of the undecided this worry prevents their giving undivided thought to the truth, and keeps their heart from Christ. They verify that part of the parable of the sower in which the seed falls among thorns, and the cares of this world, and the deceitfulness of riches, and the lust of other things, choke the Word, and it becometh unfruitful. Their mind is so completely pre-occupied, so overloaded with anxiety, so distracted by the whirl of life, that they do not take in the truths which they hear; or if they do, the impressions produced are soon effaced by a crowd of disturbing thoughts; the vortex draws them down again from Christ and His love. No calm, unperplexed meditation on His life,-no steady gazing on His sufferings,no quiet listening to His voice,-no profound, untroubled trust in His sacrifice and grace,-seem possible. That "secret silence of the mind," which is enjoyed, when "earth with all its scenes" is withdrawn, and in which spiritual things alone become real, is seldom or never experienced; and so the world keeps full possession of that heart which ought to be wholly given to the Saviour. Alas! that an evil which is often spoken of jestingly, as at most trying to the temper, should, in so many cases, be absolutely ruinous to the soul!

If such are the effects of worry, it must be a matter of no little moment to discover the means of counteracting it. But, on this point, we cannot do more than offer one or two brief remarks, which have already been hinted at in passing.

God himself, in a most effectual manner, not unfrequently puts an end to mere worry. He visits with some great and overwhelming calamity the man who was perplexing his mind with petty anxieties, and makes all those annoyances which once were regarded as so burdensome appear light as a feather-not worthy of serious thought. Sometimes the trial comes in the very quarter where the worry has been felt. The children whose wild spirits and restless activity forbade the mother a moment's quiet are cut down by the stroke of death; and, in the deep grief that follows, the previous care looks like tranquillity itself. The business that occasioned anxious wearing hours of work and thought, is, by unlooked-for circumstances, brought to a stand; and, in the terrible desolation of bankruptcy and ruin, old annoyances and vexations show almost as pleasures. Thus the minor troubles of life appear in their real proportions in the presence of great and stunning disasters, and make the fretful spirit ashamed of having been disturbed and worried by trifles small as the dust of the balance.

But we may ourselves greatly diminish the worry of life, by carefully providing against its causes. If we look back on any day of particular worry, and search into the reasons of our vexation and trouble, and then, with the knowledge thus acquired, arrange for the work of a coming day, how many sources of annoyance may be avoided; how many hindrances, disappointments, and interruptions may

be prevented; how smoothly may business be conducted! And if, besides these measures for prevention, spaces of time are left unappro priated for unexpected demands and duties, the causes of worry may be so much lessened that worry itself will be little more than a name.

And yet, it must not be forgotten that when we have made the wisest division of our time, and arrangement of our plans, the thread will sometimes become entangled, mortifying events will take place, a sudden accumulation of difficult duties will occur; and therefore it will be well to calculate on extraordinary as well as ordinary combinations of circumstances, and to await them with composure; for "to be forewarned, is to be forearmed;" and when we are on our guard, we can often meet, with perfect equanimity, what, if it had come upon us suddenly, would have thrown us off our balance.

Yet, after all, these outward arrangements do but touch the surface of the matter; what is really wanted is a calm and quiet spirit within ; and nothing promotes this like communion with the Saviour. One blest hour spent in holy, peaceful intercourse with Him, before the rush of the day begins, will do more than the wisest mechanical rules to tranquillize the mind, and render it proof against the worry of life. He ever greets His people with those soothing words, whose sound is music, "Let not your hearts be troubled; believe in God, believe also in me."-" Peace be with you." He was himself the Prince of Peace. Though His life on earth was one of profound sorrow, though He was beset by enemies who dogged His footsteps with subtle malignity, and were ever seeking to wrest His words,though He was surrounded by friends who but partially understood Him, and who by their weakness, their littleness, their petty jealousies, and their feebleness, were continually trying His patience, -and though He was pledged to a work which threw Him into scenes where meanness, selfishness, wickedness, were revealed in forms which were fitted to disturb the equanimity of the most placid, He never appeared worried. On the contrary, aggravating, annoying, perplexing circumstances only served to show out His imperturbable calm. And so it comes to pass, that "He who believeth in Him, doth not make haste." Communion with Him raises the soul above the agitations of this eager, hurrying, troubled world, and fills it with holy peace. Those who habitually walk with Him, at length acquire His immovable self-possession, His unchanging tranquillity, and look upon life's restless surges, its cares, disappointments, vexations, as only helping them the better to understand how sweet their home will be.

Finally, the more heavenly-minded we become, the less we feel the worry of the present life. When this world is our sole inheritance— its honours, its pleasures, its wealth our only possessions, then the changes, the failures, the success we experience here, are everything to us; and whatever affects our present prosperity is regarded with sen

sitive concern. But when we habitually look "not at the things which are seen and temporal, but the things which are unseen and eternal," troubles which once seemed oppressive are called "light afflictions, but for a moment;" and cares which would have driven us to desperation appear only like the insects which buzz around us on a summer's day, a slight drawback to our pleasures, but insufficient to disturb our equanimity, or rob us of the enjoyments which the prospect affords. The light of heaven alone enables us to form a just estimate of the things of earth; the calm of heaven-ours already through hopealone enables us to surmount the anxieties of earth; the God of heaven, to whom the spiritually-minded ever look, alone enables us to endure quietly the worry of earth. "Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on Thee; because he trusteth in Thee."

Vanity Fair.