are wearing out many people before their time. And what are they worrying about? What is the burden of their care? Various. With some it is the burden of ill health, bodily indisposition. That's an extremely heavy burden, one that takes the color out of the sky and the sweetness out of life, to spend most or a great deal of our time in bed or on a sofa,--no taste for food, a throbbing head, a laboring heart, constant and gnawing agony, nights often filled with sleeplessness and days with weariness. This is trying, indeed. With others it is business burdens. Rivalry is keen, competition acute, thousands are the things to harass and perplex and annoy the man of industry. The Lord, in the Gospel, mentions a whole array of burdens that rise from the question: "What shall we eat, what shall we drink, or wherewithal shall we be clothed?" Worldly sustenance, the apprehension of poverty, of future years, of loss of property, of health, of coming deaths and sorrow in the family, the changes and disasters that might come, the miscarrying of our plans, the possible ill success of our labors,--these things are the burdens that make men full of worrying cares. And what can you do to rid yourself of this? There are those who would drown their worry. They take to the intoxicating cup. It's a miserable expedient, a ruin to body and soul; and oh! for the shame and remorse added to the load of ills. Others turn to the gay and glittering world, to some place and company where men and women are apparently happy. For a time the thing may work well. As the child of care goes up and down within the great dance-hall and through the illuminated gardens, where the merry voices of laughter and song ring out, and instruments are discoursing sweet music, it may seem wise to have disposed of the burden that way. But--what when the entertainment is over, and your wraps carefully labeled with your name are handed back to you? Then back come the old sorrows, perhaps with new ones added.--And one other expedient might we think of: Have some one bear the burden with you. There is good reason and sound sense in this. Men in trouble instinctively seek human sympathy; a sorrow shared is a sorrow lessened. Fortunate the person that has an ear and a heart to which he can apply for comfort and strength. But there also is danger. Friendship is an uncertain thing; it is often too delicate to bear much handling, it evaporates under pressure. Few are the friends that care, or are able to bear, the burdens of others; and again, there are friends who are not really such, who will betray your confidence, secretly rejoice over your ill fortune, and even use it to harm you. Beware of a man whose breath is in his nostrils.