and it was this-that God was waiting in the depths of my being to talk to me if I would only get still enough to hear His voice.

I thought this would be a very easy matter, and so I began to get still. But I had no sooner commenced than a perfect pandemonium of voices reached my ears, a thousand clamoring notes from without and within, until I could hear nothing but their noise and din. Some of them were my own voice, some of them were my own questions, some of them were my own cares, some of them were my very prayers. Others were the suggestions of the tempter from the voices from the world's turmoil. Never before did there seem so many things to be done, to be said, to be thought; and in every direction I was pushed and pulled, and greeted with noisy acclamations and unspeakable unrest. It seemed nesessary for me to listen to some of them, and to answer some of them; but God said, "Be Still, and know that I am God." Then came the conflict of thoughts for the morrow, and its duties and cares, but God said, "Be Still." And as I listened and slowly learned to obey, and shut my ears to every sound, I found after awhile that when the other voices ceased, or I ceased to hear them, there was a still, small voice in the depths of my being that began to speak with an inexpressible tenderness, power and comfort. As I listened it became to me the voice of prayer, and the voice of wisdom, and the voice of duty, and I did not need to think so hard, or pray so hard, or trust so hard, but that "still small voice" of the Holy Spirit in my heart was God's prayer in my secret soul, was God's answer to all my questions, was God's life and strength for soul and body, and became the substance of all knowledge, and all prayer, and all blessing; for it was the living God himself as my life and my all.

Beloved! this is our spirit's deepest need. thus that we learn to know God; it is thus that we receive spiritual refreshment and nutriment; it is thus that our heart is nourished and fed; it is thus that

we receive the Living Bread; it is thus that our very bodies are healed, and our spirit drinks in the life of our risen Lord, and we go forth to life's conflicts and duties like the flower that has drunk in, through the shades of night, the cool and crystal drops of dew. But as the dew never falls on a stormy night, so the dews of His grace never come to the restless soul.

We cannot go though life strong and fresh on constant express trains, with ten minutes for lunch; but we must have quiet hours, secret places of the Most High, times of waiting upon the Lord, when we renew our strength, and learn to mount up on wings as eagles, and then come back to run and not be weary, and to walk and not faint.

The best thing about this stillness is, that it gives God a chance to work. "He that is entered into His rest hath ceased from his own works, even as God did from His;" and when we cease from our works, God works in us; and when we cease from our thoughts, God's thoughts come into us; when we get STILL from our restless activity, "God worketh in us both to will and to do of His good pleasure," and we have but to work it out.

Beloved! let us take His Stillness, let us dwell in "the secret place of the Most High," let us enter into God and His eternal rest, let us silence the other sounds, and then we can hear "the still, small voice."

Then there is another kind of stillness, the stillness that lets God work for us, and holds our peace; the stillness that ceases from its contriving, and its self-vindication, and its expedients of wisdom and forethought, and lets God provide, and answer the unkind word, and the cruel blow, in His own unfailing, faithful love. How often we lose God's interposition by taking up our own cause, and striking for our own defense.

There is no spectacle in all the Bible so sublime as the silent Savior answering not a word to the mer

.

that were maligning him, and whom he could have laid prostrate at his feet by one look of divine power, or one word of fiery rebuke. But he let them say and do their worst, and he stood in THE POWER OF STILLNESS - God's holy, silent Lamb.

God give to us this silent power, this mighty selfsurrender, this conquering spirit, which will make us "more than conquerors through Him that loved us." Let our voice and our life speak like "the still, small voice" of Horeb, and as the "sound of a gentle stillness." And after the heat and strife of earth are over, men will remember us as we remember the morning dew, the gentle light and sunshine, the evening breeze, the Lamb of Calvary, and the gentle, Holy, Heavenly Dove.

-From an English Tract.

WHY HAVE ENEMIES?

The new thought has freed me from all my personal enemies. They have disappeared. I no longer have any. I have found that no one may be my enemy without my consent, and that hate can only flourish in its own atmosphere. No unkind thought can reach me unless I generate within myself a corresponding vibration, and I am no longer conscious of a single thought of ill-will.

Why should I deem any one my enemy? All is mind. No one can harm me except through my mentality, and that is completely subject to my own. control. If I accept what is in my power to refuse, why should I blame another? Would it be wise to do so? It can do me no possible good to injure another. Nor is it a pleasure to hate or harm. does not bring peace or happiness or contentment. It does not produce a single sensation of delight. On the contrary, it means contraction, disease and dissolution.

It

The vibrations of hate that I generate for the purpose of injuring another must, in their nature,

first exert their full influence on me.

They will injure me exactly as would similar vibrations transmitted from another and received by me.

out

On

In order to intentionally harm another I must first set in motion the thought of hate. I must generate poisonous thought vibrations, and put myself under their direction. When I send thoughts of hate I do not rid myself of them. the contrary, I make of myself a hate magnet, and the more I send out, the more intense do my vibrations of hate become. Their exercise simply strengthens the vibratory muscles of hate. Nor can I send to another as much hate as I generate, or do as much harm to another as to myself.

As I send out the poisonous exhalations of hate, I clothe myself with a venomous thought atmosphere, put myself in accord with other similar vibrations, and create for them a centre of attraction. And irrespective of the harm my thought may inflict on others, it must of necessity return to me, freighted with vibrations that will intensify the self-destructive conditions I have created.

The new thought has taught me my power and strength. I know that I cannot be harmed by others, so I have no reason to fear or hate them. I have learned that I can command my own life, and that my first duty is to myself; and as I cannot evade the responsibility of living my own life, I may not permit others to dominate it.

The thought of hate deprives me of power, contracts my sympathies and sphere of influence, attracts to me similar thought-currents of hate, and puts my life under the control of others. Self-preservation and self-esteem, therefore, do not permit me to think unkindly of others, or live on the plane of thought that will bring to me their unkind thought. When I hate I take my own life in my hands, and when I make another my enemy, I, of necessity, make of myself a greater enemy.

While I turn on the current of hate I am cut off

from the circuit of love, and the destructive vibrations of the one thwart the creative powers of the

other. I have the ability to call up whatever thought vibrations I desire. I make my may life a joy and pleasure. Why, then, grasp at pain and sorrow?

Why immolate myself?

EUGENE DEL MAR, in Feeedom,

SYMPATHY AS A VICE,

CHARLES B. NEWCOMB,

We come to them who weep foolishly, and sit down and cry for company, instead of imparting to them truth and health in rough electric shocks, putting them once more in communication with the soul.-EMERSON,

It is a curious idea of friendship that demands attention to personal ills for the mere sake of indulgence in their recitation. How many there are who fill their conversation and their letters with the details of their weaknesses and troubles. It would be just as kind to pump the contents of their cesspools into their neighbors' gardens. The very thought of illness and suffering is a depressing influence from which we should wish to deliver our friends rather than oppress them with it. It is no kindness to permit one to turn such a thought upon us, only to provide him with the morbid satisfaction of rehearsing his difficulties, It does not stimulate to better things. It weakens the narrator, and etches his troubles more deeply into his own consciousness, Such sympathy is vicious and not helpful. We do not jump into a bog or quicksand to save one who is struggling there. We know that in order to help him out, we must keep our own feet on firm ground and on the confident thought of rescue.

We believe the greatest kindness in the sick-room is to disinfect the atmosphere. Sympathy, as generally understood and practiced, feeds infection. Love demands the disinfectant of true thought, as well as kindly service. Sympathy is a poor tuning