COUNT the mercies which have been quietly falling in your history. Down they come, every morning and evening, as the messengers from the Father of Heaven. Have you lived these years wasting mercies, renewing them every day, and never yet realized whence they came? If you have, Heaven pity you. You have murmured under afflictions; but who heard you rejoice over blessings? Ask the sunbeam, the raindrop, the star, or the queen of the night. What is life but mercy? What is health, strength, friendship, social life? Had each the power of speech, each would say, “I am a mercy.” Perhaps you have never regarded them as such. If not, you have been a poor student of nature and revelation. What is the propriety of stopping to play with a thorn-bush, when you may just as well pluck sweet flowers, and eat pleasant fruits?—Sel.