Whoever has day by day a reinforcement of strength straight from heaven, whoever walks through this world hand-in-hand with the Elder Brother, will have royal dominion over fear; will, in truth, learn to fear nothing, except sin.

Another potent source of nervousness is worry. It has been well said that we may easily overcome the tendency to worry about ourselves and our own affairs, but that it is very nearly impossible to escape worry over our loved ones. Suppose, for example, that a dear one is hovering between life and death; suppose that a son or brother is in the toils of the tempter, or is harassed by contending circumstances; suppose a friend is to undergo a critical surgical operation; suppose a neighbor who has met with reverses and calamity stalks before his door, and you, being fond of him and his children, are loath to see misfortune overtake them; suppose any number of things that in the ordinary current of human life occur to people with whom humanity has relations. How shall one of us do our share toward the help and consolation of those we love, and, at the same time, have no worry?

The answer to this is very simple. "Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee." Cast there thy burden of care for the neighbor. There is One infinitely wise and loving, infinitely compassionate and infinitely resourceful, who can care for his children and bring them through every perilous pass. Of one thing be sure: Nobody was ever yet assisted to good purpose through the efforts of a worrying friend or relative. Worry eats into the tissues of the soul and unfits one either for clear thinking or decisive action. It is, besides, a prolific cause of nervous disease.

Still another hill against which to guard is undue excitement. An eminent nerve specialist not long ago said that he forbade his daughters to play any games or engage in any contests to which prizes were attached. He added

that among his patients were a great number of society women who had been broken in health by the excitement of card-playing. Women who engage, they fancy innocently, in card playing for charity, should make a note of this doctor's opinion. Many of us long ago came to the conclusion that there was risk of another kind, not to be ignored, in card-playing at all. But there are Christian people, unfortunately, who play progressive euchre and other games of the same sort that they may obtain money for hospitals or Fresh Air funds, and to them this word of warning is given.

Cheerful company tides one over many a nervous attack, but woe be to her whose friendly visitors regale her with stories of disaster, accident and sudden death in the circle of their acquaintance. Almost as much to be avoided are the friends who have long stories to tell of the illnesses they have had and the cures that were satisfactory in their case. It is a good plan not to talk about illness at all if it can be helped, not to dwell on one's own peculiar symptoms, and not to hear anything about what others have undergone. To put oneself in the care of a skillful physician, adhere to his advice, and obey his directions, is the wisest course. Having done this, trust with all your might in God, who works through means.

I may whisper to husbands, sons and daughters that, on their part, much gentleness, patience and tact are required in their dealings with those who are nervous. In nine cases out of ten, a little journey, the gratification of a wish that has been cherished, an agreeable surprise and the demonstration of real affection, will work wonders.

There are women in this land who have every earthly good except affection. Those around them indeed may love them, but they have fallen into the habit of repressing expressions of love, and denying the famishing soul that on which it could feed. There are too many husbands who take for granted the fact that their love is known to their

wives, as there are too many wives who are chary in the same manner of telling their husbands their love. When the dear one dies there are flowers for the casket and flowers for the grave; but looking back, the family may remember that there have been very few flowers put in the living hand, and very little sentiment allowed to brighten the life of the home.

T

WHEN LOVE GROWS COLD

HE young fancy that they, and they only, know anything about love. They scorn the notion that old people, their fathers, mothers, and grandparents, may have as deep and yearning a need, as anxious a desire to be loved, as ever had youth or maid in the radiant twenties. Of course they understand that family affection is an enduring thing, and that their elders cherish it; but you can hardly convince them that a man or woman of middle age can care at all for love, in their meaning of the word.

Yet, no hearts ache as old hearts do when love grows cold. Forty years ago, two persons stood together at God's altar and pledged one another life's long fealty. Till death us do part, was the solemn refrain that made an undertone, like the tolling of the bell in the midst of the merry marriage peal. Following the wedding day fast come the bright and buoyant years. The two had their day of small things; they shared poverty together. After a while they grew prosperous. The home was paid for. They ranked high in the community. Children had played about their door, and had been educated and trained for usefulness. In due time the sons and daughters were grown up, and some of them had married. It would seem that so much in common of sacrifice, of enjoyment, of accomplishment, of development, might have bound the husband and wife so firmly that nothing could cause them to drift apart. But one or the other by degrees becomes cold and indifferent. The wife is bored by caresses that she once valued. The husband ceases to pay little graceful attentions. Both draw into a shell of reserve, that is not hostility, but is worse, for it is triply thickened by apathy, ennui, and tedium. Life

in that home has ceased to be sweet and sacred, and has grown tawdry, meretricious, and unhallowed. The outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace is strangely lacking in that marriage.

Being self-respecting people, these unhappy ones do not take the world into their confidence. The husband does not pose as a victim, nor the wife as a martyr. They appear side by side in the pew. They entertain friends as formerly. But the intimates of the family, those who have eyes to see, the children of the house who love both parents loyally, are aware of the creeping foe that has stealthily invaded the domicile. They know that there is deepest reason for regret when love has grown cold.

One such grieving daughter wrote the other day, "What can I do? My heart aches for them both. Neither is to blame, but my parents wound and misunderstand one another every day of their lives." Another, a son, said not long ago, "When life is so short, and death may so suddenly end it, how can two people who began as my father and mother did, be so repellent and unloving? It decides me never to marry. I want no bitter disillusionment years

hence."

Thank God, such homes are in the minority, homes where love has been frost-blighted. But there are some of them, and those who are responsible for the disaster should hasten to put self-esteem and vanity aside, and do what they can to coax love back to his throne.