The sweet-scented pink hyacinth which had been brought me was beautiful indeed. It had not yet reached maturity, nor as yet shown all its resources of vigour and of beauty, but we took great pleasure in watching its gradual unfolding. Some of its beautiful double bells did, in fact, come out, and gave forth their delicious perfume. But one day there came a stop to its development, which made us anxious. Some of the blossoms faded before they had fully displayed their lovely hues, and the buds remained stationary in their leaves. Water, sunshine, soft spring air, were not lacking to them. The earth in the flower-pot was good, and there was sufficient space for the roots to expand, but it was speedily evident that the plant was dying. "At all events," I said, "I'll save the bulb." So saying, I raised the plant out of the base, using great precaution, that I might not break the beautiful white-red threads, which I shook, in order to loosen them from the earth. They had become wound together, and formed a sort of nest, in which crawled, twisting themselves as they went along, as many as eight worms. It was certainly not to be wondered at that, with eight worms at the root, the poor flower should not have been able to thrive. I removed the enemy at once, and planted the hyacinth again under more favourable conditions; but it is to be feared that the sap had been too much impoverished for it ever to thrive again. I seemed to see a parable in the history of my plant, and I could not avoid sighing. Why did I sigh? Because I have known so many young men and women who have disappointed the hopes felt about them in their childhood. The careful culture these young people have had from tender and anxious parents has not succeeded. These promising plants have been blighted because some gnawing worm, which their friends had not remarked, was at the root. It was vanity--the desire to shine--it was deceit--untruthfulness--it was pride--rebellion of the will against all authority--it was covetousness--it was selfishness--it was----But why should I continue the melancholy enumeration? It is God who alone knows the secret enemies of our happiness. "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked," says the voice of Scripture; "who can know it?" "Out of the heart come evil thoughts," says Christ; therefore how needful for all of us is the prayer, "Create in me a clean heart, O God!" and how cheering the promise, "I will give you a new heart, and I will put a new spirit within you." J. Y. WORDS AND DEEDS.