WORRIES.

WHAT people call "worries," are very common. Often they come from mere trifles, but they are not the less " worries,' for that. Little things sometimes vex and trouble us more than great things.

"I am so worried with the children," says one who is the mother of a large family; "I cannot get a quiet moment." Something happened to worry me this morning, and I have felt upset all day," says another.

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"One thing or another is always coming to worry me," complains a third, taking a more general view, and setting himself down as more tried with worries than other people.

But, after all, worries depend very much on how we take them. What puts one person out for a whole day will hardly disturb another for a moment; and a lot in life that seems to one full of trouble and vexation, is found by another peaceful and happy.

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Ah, I know that very well," cries Mrs. Sharp; "but I can't take things so quietly. There is Mrs. Meek now, next door; come what may, nothing ever seems to put her out: but I'm not one of that sort.

Well, Mrs. Sharp, is not that just what I said? Worries depend very much on the way we take them. You agree with me, you see. Mrs. Meek takes them one way, and you take them another. And you grant they do not trouble her so much as they do you. Is not her way the best?

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Yes, but I can't take things as she does. I'm not one of those quiet folk; and when worries come I must be worried." Stop! not so fast. I am not so sure there is any must about it. Do you strive against being worried? When things turn out amiss, or the children are troublesome, or any one says something that vexes you, do you try not to be vexed, or worried, or put out? For that is what Mrs. Meek does.

Again, do you watch against worries? You know they are likely to come; do you prepare your mind for them, that you may meet them aright, and get the better of them? I am much mistaken, if your neighbour Meek does not do this too.

Once more, do you pray? I know your neighbour does that. Every day she begins with prayer, and every day she ends with prayer; and if anything comes to try her in the course of the day, then she prays too; if it be but a word or two, or a thought, just the lifting up of her heart to God.

Depend upon it, Mrs. Sharp, it is chiefly trying, and watching, and praying, that make your neighbour so much less worried by

things than you are. Perhaps she may be of a quieter disposition by nature; but she never would have been able to meet the troubles of life as she does without God's help, and that she gets by prayer. She strives, she watches, she prays, and God helps her. That is Mrs. Meek's way. Yet she is only a poor woman like you. And what she does you can do.

Now, perhaps you do not pray. I fear you do not for I think you would not be so much worried, if you did. Prayer is a wonderful help against worries. Try this plan. Begin to pray. Pray to God about this very thing. Don't be ashamed, don't be afraid. Open your heart to God, tell Him all that worries you. Make Him your friend. He is such a friend! so kind, so patient, so gentle ! always ready to listen, and to help! Not a trouble can come, but by His will. He can prevent troubles from coming at all, or soften them when they do come, or help you to bear them. He can do everything. Pray to Him regularly every day. And pray, besides, whenever you are tried. A spirit of prayer and a worried spirit can hardly be together. You have many other things to pray for pardon through the blood of Jesus, grace, peace, the gift of the Holy Spirit-you want them all. Perhaps when you pray in earnest about your worries, you may learn to pray about all your wants. How much happier will you be, when you become a person of prayer.

This is the main thing of all. But do not neglect the other two either. Strive and watch, as well as pray.

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Strive. Think, when a worry comes, Well, it is but a trifle. It is not worth while fretting about it, and it is not right." Set yourself, by God's help, to get the better of the worry. Do not let it beat you.

Watch. Be always on your guard against impatience and fretfulness. Try to be ready for the worry before it comes. Do not let it take you unawares.

I venture to say that, if you thus take your neighbour's way, you and she will be more alike about worries; and I am sure you will be happier than you are.

FERVENT PRAYER. -The vitality of the Church could be continued, though the man of talent and learning should be removed, as the body may live when the arm or the leg is amputated; but that vitality could not continue if the saint of humble and retiring piety, and of fervent prayerfulness, were removed, any more than the body can live when there is no heart and no lungs.

EXTRACT FROM THE "LIFE OF MRS. FLETCHER." "When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up."-Psalm xxvii. 10.

ONE day, my father said to me, "There is a particular promise which I require of you, that you will never on any occasion, either now or hereafter, attempt to make your brothers what you call a Christian." I answered (looking to the Lord), “I think, sir, I dare not consent to that." He replied, "Then you force me to put you out of my house." I answered, "Yes, sir, according to your views of things. I acknowledge it; and if I may but have your approval no situation will be disagreeable." He replied, "There are many things in your present situation which must be, I should think, very uncomfortable.' This I acknowledged, and added, that if he would but say he approved of my removal, I would take a lodging which I heard of at Mrs. Gold's, in Hoxton-square; but that no suffering could incline me to leave him, except by his free consent. He replied with some emotion, "I do not know that you have ever disobliged me wilfully in your life, but only in these fancies; and my children shall always have a home in my house." As I could not but foresee that a separation would take place (though I knew not how or when), I judged it most prudent to take the lodgings, that in case I should be suddenly removed, I might have a house to go to, which I preferred to the going into a friend's house as a visitor. I also hired a sober girl to be ready whensoever I might want her. I informed my mother, a short time after, of the steps I had taken. She gave me two beds, one for myself, and a little one for my maid; and appeared to converse on it in a way of approval. Something, however, seemed to hold us, on both sides, from bringing it to the point.

For the next two months I suffered much; my mind was exercised with many tender and painful feelings. One day my mother sent me word, that I must go home to my lodgings that night. I went down to dinner, but they said nothing on the subject; and I could not begin it. The next day, as I was sitting in my room, I received again the same message. During dinner, however, nothing was spoken on the subject. When it was over, I knew not what to do. I was much distressed. I thought, "If they go out without saying anything to me, I cannot go; and if they should not invite me to come and see them again, how shall I bear it ?" My mind was pressed down with sorrow by this suspense. Just as they were going out, my mother said, "If you will, the coach, when it has set us down,

may carry you home to your lodgings." My father added, "And we shall be glad to see you to dinner next Tuesday." This was some relief. I remained silent. When the coach returned, I ordered my trunk into it; and, struggling with myself, took a kind leave of each of the servants, as they stood in a row in tears, on my way out of the house. About eight o'clock I reached my lodgings.

It consisted of two rooms, as yet unfurnished. I had neither candle nor any convenience. The people of the house I had never seen before; only I knew them by character to be sober persons. I borrowed a table and a candlestick, and the windowseat served me as a chair. When bolting my door, I began to muse on my present situation.

"I am,' said I, "but young,-only entered into my

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twenty-second year. I am cast out of my father's house. know the heart of a stranger; but alas! how much more of it I may yet have to prove!" I cried unto the Lord, and found a sweet calm overspread my spirit. I could in a measure act with faith on these words: "When thy father and thy mother forsake thee, the Lord shall take thee up.' The following reflections also arose in my mind: "I am now exposed to the world, and know not what snares may be gathering around me. I have a weak understanding, and but little grace. Therefore, now, before any snare has entangled me, I will form a plan for my future conduct, and endeavour to walk thereby. First, I will not receive visits from single men; and, in order to evade the trial more easily, I will not get acquainted with any; I will as much as possible refrain from going into company where they Secondly, I will endeavour to lay out my time by rule, that I may know each hour what is to be done; nevertheless I will cheerfully submit to have these rules broken or overturned whenever the providence of God sees fit so to do. And thirdly, I will endeavour to fix my mind on the example of Jesus Christ, and to lead a mortified life, remembering 'He came not to be ministered unto but to minister.'

are.

The prejudices of education are strong, especially in those persons who have been brought up in rather high life. The being removed from a parent's habitation seemed very awful. I looked upon myself as being liable to a deep reproach, and trembled at the thought. But I remembered that word, "He that loveth father or mother more than me, is not worthy of me."

My maid being now come, and having lighted a fire in the other room and borrowed few things of the family, she begged me

to come into it, as the night was very cold. And now my captivity seemed turning every moment. That thought, “I am brought out from the world; I have nothing to do but to be holy, both in body and in spirit," filled me with consolation. Thankfulness overflowed my heart; and such a spirit of peace and content poured into my soul, that all about me seemed a little heaven.

Some bread, with rank salt-butter, and water to drink, made so comfortable a meal that I could truly say, "I eat my meat with gladness and singleness of heart.' As the bed was not put up, I lay that night almost on the ground, and the windows having no shutters, and it being a moonlight night, the sweet solemnity thereof well agreed with the tranquillity of my spirit. I had daily more and more cause for praise. I was acquainted with many of the excellent of the earth, and my delight was in them. Yet was I not without my cross; for every time I went to see my dear parents, what I felt when, towards night, I rose up to go away, cannot be well imagined. Not that I wished to abide there; but there was something in bidding farewell to those under whose roof I had always lived, that used to affect me much, though I saw the wise and gracious hand of God in all, who had by this means set me free for His own service. From my heart I thanked Him as the gracious author, and them as the profitable instrument, of doing me so great a good. My mother was frequently giving me little things; and every renewed mark of kindness made the wound to bleed afresh.

JOSIAH GREGORY.

ONE Week-night a person come from Frome went to the Methodist chapel in Kingswood. He was astonished to see it crowded, and asked who the preacher was to be. "Josiah Gregory," he was told. In a while he saw an old man, crippled and poor, go to the pulpit-stairs, and thought it was some deaf old Christian who was allowed to sit near the preacher. He was, however, surprised to hear him give out the hymn; more surprised when he heard him pray with marvellous ingenuity and power. His text was, "A Saviour." The sermon cannot be reproduced. Josiah very likely never had a manuscript. The first sentence only is recorded, "A Saviour-all that God could give and all that man did want." It was a season of interest and profit to the stranger. Very pointed, and withal personal, were some of his remarks, as once at Midsomer Norton. "Yo Norton folk put me in mind of a tree I zeed this morning. It