DON'T WORRY

We allow ourselves to be tormented by a thousand forms of fear. We are afraid of catching cold, afraid to eat this or that article of food, afraid that something unpleasant will happen to us. And what we so persistently expect, we are very apt to get. Like Job, we are obliged to say, "The thing which I greatly feared is come upon me, and that which I was afraid of is come unto me."

The strangest thing about this slavery is that we have come to think of it as unavoidable-an essential element of life, a stimulus that is needed to keep us up to the line of duty. A group of travelers were looking from an eminence upon a landscape in which an insane asylum was to be seen a little distance away. One of the party said, "I suppose a large proportion of the inmates were brought there by unnecessary worry." 'Is there any necessary worry?" asked another of the group, with significant emphasis. The first speaker seemed startled by the suggestion. He was a clergyman, yet he acknowledged that he had gone through life with the idea that worry is an essential quality of human nature.

Americans are, above all others, slaves of the worry habit. It may truly be called a national vice. An eminent Russian, Prince Wolkonsky, during a visit. to this country, expressed himself as follows at a public dinner:

"Business is the Alpha and Omega of American life. There is no pleasure, no joy, no satisfaction. There is no standard except that of profit. There is no other country where they speak of a man as worth so many dollars. In other countries they live to enjoy life; here they exist for business."

At this point the prince's feeling apparently overcame him, and he broke out with this apostrophe: "O Lord, if I have to die soon, let me know a few days beforehand. Take me to a place where they have no appointments. Take me where I can hear something besides business. Give me one day of rest before I die, where I can see the bright sunshine, and breathe the fresh air of heaven."

It is time to call a halt.-Theodore F. Seward.

ALADDIN

When I was a beggarly boy, and lived in a cellar damp,

I had not a friend nor a toy, but I had Aladdin's lamp;

When I could not sleep for cold, I had fire enough in my brain,
And builded, with roofs of gold, my beautiful castles in Spain.

Since then I have toiled day and night, I have money and power, good store,
But I'd give all my lamps of silver bright, for the one that is mine no more;
Take, Fortune, whatever you choose, you gave, and may snatch again;
I have nothing 't would pain me to lose, for I own no more castles in Spain!
-James Russell Lowell.

FAMILY PICNICS

Family picnics are not the least agreeable of the many varieties of this style of entertainment. When the means of transit are lacking, even a tea on the lawn or on the porch is very charming on a warm summer evening and has a flavor of lawlessness and of unusualness that imparts a zest to the most commonplace food. But if it is practicable to get off into the fields or woods, although it be only by means of a trolley car, the enjoyment is heightened. The matter was reduced to a science by one family condemned to pass a whole summer in town. There were charming drives in the vicinity and countless secluded and delightful spots where they could eat their open-air supper undisturbed. Every Saturday afternoon at four o'clock, two light, four-seated carriages, each drawn by a strong horse, were brought to the door, and into these the family bestowed themselves and their provisions. Sometimes a guest was invited to join them, but usually they were unaccompanied by outsiders.

A half hour's drive conveyed them to their picnic ground, and here the baskets were unpacked, the cloth spread and the meal eaten. There were pleasant rambles through the woods before supper, and a gay chat, interspersed with singing about a bonfire afterwards. Then, in the cool of the evening, they drove home by the longest way around, refreshed and brightened by the breath of the meadow and forest and by the welcome break in the ordinary routine of every-day life, for "the woods are an ever-new delight; they give us peace and they make us strong."-Christine Terhune Herrick

FEAR NOT

We asked one day of a group of women-What quality in yourselves has up to the present time been the most serious drawback to your happiness and success. One frank girl said that a quick temper had been the thing that hurt her most. Another said that an almost incurable habit of haste and disorder had been her great trial. She never could stop to put anything straight that she was done with. But, somewhat to our surprise, three out of five, declared that the greatest drawback to their happiness and success had been timidity. One said, "To this day I have never been able to overcome my unwillingness to meet a stranger." Another said, "Though I have learned to resist impulse, I have often been willing to walk around the block to avoid greeting an acquaintance. I find myself standing outside the door when we have company, and actually driving myself at last to go in."

"But if this timidity only affected your own feelings," broke in another voice, "it would not be of so much consequence: but in my case it interferes with work and pleasure. I know perfectly well that I could teach the class of little boys they wished me to take in the Sunday School, but I was afraid to attempt it. I knew that I could take part in the tableaux that our league was getting up to send the poor children away, but I was so sure that I would spoil the picture I was in by my awkwardness that I got out of it, while the others enjoyed every minute of the time. It is not only that I am afraid of people, but I am afraid of myself."

These little confessions were followed by a very frank talk that sent those young girls home asking themselves the following questions:

Is not much of this timidity the result of thinking of one's self? Should we be sorry to find guests in the house if we only cared to make them enjoy their visit? Is our reluctance to meet strangers born of our desire to have the stranger think well of us? And again, are we really so fearful that we cannot do things well, or that somebody else may think we have not done well. Down at the bottom of our timidity and bashfulness how much of real modesty is there and how much of real pride?'

A LITTLE FENCE

Make a little fence of trust
Around to-day;

Fill the space with loving words,
And therein stay.

Look not through the sheltering bars.
Upon to-morrow.

God will help thee bear what comes
Of joy or sorrow.

HOW A KING MADE A PAGE HAPPY

Frederick the Great, King of Prussia, one day rang his bell, and, nobody answering, he opened the door, and found his page fast asleep in an elbowchair. He advanced toward him, and was going to awaken him, when he perceived a letter hanging out of his pocket. His curiosity prompting him to know what it was, he took it out and read it. As he was a very loving and kind-hearted king, let us forgive his doing what even he had no right to do without leave. It was a letter from this young man's mother, in which she thanked him for having sent her a part of his wages to relieve her misery, and finished with telling him that God would reward him for his dutiful affection. The king, after reading it, went back softly into his chamber, took a bag full of ducats, and slipped it with the letter into the page's pocket. Returning to the chamber, he rang the bell so loudly that it awakened the page, who instantly made his appearance. "You have had a sound sleep," said the king.

The page was at a loss how to excuse himself, and putting his hand into his pocket, to his utter astonishment he there found a purse of ducats. He took it out, turned pale, and, looking at the king, burst into tears without being able to utter single word.

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I What is the matter?"

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Ah, sire," said the young man, throwing himself on his knees, somebody seeks my ruin; I know nothing of this money which I have just found in my pocket!"

"My young friend," said Frederick, "God often does great things for us. even in our sleep; send that to your mother, salute her. on my part, and assure her that I will take care of both her and you."

THE ART OF PLEASING

What is it that makes some women so charming-some men so pleasant? What quality that manifests itself in hands that receive us with graceful warmth, in eyes that beam with kindly pleasure, in smiles so genuine, so tender, in the general radiance of reception? Surely it is a natural sweetness, an inherent tenderness of sympathy-pervading rather than deep-acting upon a desire to please. There are some persons on whom society acts almost chemically, compelling them to be charming. It is part of themselves to meet advances, to labor in their graceful way, to create a favorable impression and to give pleasure; and yet, perhaps, our arrival was, after all, ill-timed our approach, at least, was not welcome-we interrupted, we necessitated an effort. If at night we could overhear our friend's summary of the day, we might find ourselves classed as one of its troubles and hindrances; and, as we have said, we might unjustly feel a twinge of ill-usage. But is it not something not to have been made uncomfortable at the time-to have spent a happy hour instead of sitting on thorns, as with certain of our acquaintance we should inevitably have been made to do?