pencil: "Those who undertake to give information to others, friend Humphrey, should, at least, be careful that their own information is correct. Cedar pencils are not made of the wood of the cedar of Lebanon, as you appear to suppose, but of the red cedar, a species of juniper or pine, which grows in North America and the West Indies.”

On examining the subject more narrowly, I find, as I have often found on such occasions, that he is right, and that I am wrong. The wood of the red cedar is commoner than that of the cedar of Lebanon; its softness, powerful odour, and property of resisting insects, render it very suitable for the purpose.

The plumbago, or black lead, used in cedar pencils, is found in Cumberland, and in several parts of the continent of America.

I could run on a long time on the subject of cedar pencils; but as it might not be so pleasant to you as to myself, we will now bring things to a close. Whatever may be our possessions and our powers, they are the gifts of God, and as such should be thankfully acknowledged. Be it little or much that we call our own, by and by it will signify but little. The ungodly possessor of a lead mine and a grove of cedars may be envied for his wealth; but give me, as a much more valuable heritage, a grateful heart and a cedar pencil.

ON THE VARYING MOODS OF

THE MIND.

PEOPLE who lead active lives, and whose cup of occupation is full, are seldom given to much musing. There are others, however, who from easy circumstances, want of energy, or ill-health, pass much of their time unoccupied; and these may be found musing away many an hour. When the mind is at ease, and the heart grateful and happy, musing is an excellent thing; but when, with a discontented and repining spirit, we look on the shadowy side of things, musing is one of the worst habits in the world.

Though few people are more fully employed than I am, yet am I no stranger to the varying moods of mind that exert their influence over humanity. Let us now allude to a few of them, for as they much affect our thoughts, our words, and our deeds, it becomes us, as far as we can, to give them a profitable direction. Our happy moods may be encouraged, and our unfavourable ones

repressed; for a man may be ill-tempered, without trying to provoke those around him; and he may be sad, without wilfully making others as unhappy as himself.

There is hardly a better way of understanding mankind, than that of narrowly examining our own hearts. Whatever we observe in others, we have the germ of it in ourselves. If, therefore, I speak of the varying moods of the mind with which I am familiar, it is most likely that I shall introduce to you some of your old acquaintance.

There is a careless mood-would that I could say, with truth, I have never known it; a mood in which we are neither melted by God's mercies, nor affected by his judgments. Friends are carried to the tomb, sabbaths pass over us, and time rolls on towards eternity, and still we are at ease. This is a sad state for many reasons, and for this among them, that such mood of mind calls for trouble. Pilgrims were never intended to walk through the world as smoothly as along a bowling green. Tremble, ye that are at ease.' "Be troubled, ye careless ones." We may put it down as a certainty, that so sure as we are careless and at ease, so sure will trouble come upon us. I had rather not sleep, than be unthankful for a good night's rest. I had rather sorrow for sin, than sin without sorrowing.

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There is a desponding mood; and I need not ask if you have ever known it, for the proudest spirit, the stoutest heart that is hooped with ribs, at times gives way to despondency. It is not only in the actual condition of his creatures, but, also, in the moods of their mind, that God puts down the mighty from their seat, and exalts the humble and meek. Before now I have been so shorn of my strength, and left so desolate, that the heavens have been as brass to me, and the earth as iron. I have felt myself to be such a poor, forlorn, good-for-nothing creature, as to think that I should never hold up my head again. In this weak-minded, God-dishonouring spirit, I have written bitter things against myself, magnifying my infirmities, diminishing my mercies, darkening my hopes, and heaping up, instead of clearing away, the brambles in my path. It is hard to fight against, and still harder to conquer this mood, for when it once lays firm hold of us, it drags us down to the very dust. My advice to you is, to wage war against it with all the powers of your mind; set about something that requires energy of action, something that will force your thoughts into another channel; and if, after trying your best to keep clear of the Slough of Despond, you do tumble into it at last, do as Christian of old did; he

endeavoured to struggle to that side of the slough that was farthest from his "own house, and next to the wicket gate." That is a precious prayer: "When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the rock that is higher than I," Psa. Ixi. 2.

There is an anxious mood of mind, in which some are too often found, and, now and then, I have had a touch of it myself. It leads many to overlook their mercies; to be dissatisfied with such things as they have, and to imagine that the very bits and drops which support them are in jeopardy. I have known some, blessed with riches, who have looked forward in this anxious mood to poverty; and some inhabiting goodly mansions, who have trembled lest the workhouse should await them. Is this a suitable return to the Giver of all good for his abundant bounty? Is it not enough to cause him to visit us with the very evil we fear? Like the disciples of old, we stand in need of the rebuke and the encouragement to "consider the ravens, for they neither sow nor reap; which neither have storehouse nor barn; and God feedeth them: how much more are ye better than the fowls!" Luke xii. 24.

There is a proud and ambitious mood, and a bad mood it is. Sometimes-but this is not often the case-I catch myself musing on earthly honours and advantages, forgetting the brief tenure