he will deal with us according to his good plea sure. As I turned the corner of a broad street, I well nigh stumbled against a little slender man, and was quite disposed to consider that the fault lay with him, as he did not give way an inch at my approach; but we are too often hasty in our judgments. A glance at his green shade set me right, for I then perceived it was his infirmity rather than his fault, for his sight was too imperfect to enable him to see distinctly the impediments in his path, or the people that were passing by him. His tread was uncertain, and he rather groped his way, by the aid of his stick, than pursued it directed by his eyes. How much do our infirmities bind us to our fellowpilgrims, who are afflicted in the same way as ourselves! Having weakened my own eyes, by reading small print in my youth, a sad fault, and by poring over books late at night in my age, a fault yet greater, I have need, in my studious hours, of all the assistance that spectacles and green shades can afford me. No wonder, then, that I regarded the little slender man with commiseration. Eyesight is a precious sense; the diamonds of the earth are as dust to it. Close your eyelids for an instant, and try to fancy that you are never to open them again, and you will gaze around you afterward with delight, and, I hope, with thankfulness, also. I was standing still, and watching the movements of the green-shaded passenger, when a short, thick-set man came waddling along, with slits cut along the sides of his shoes. How softly did he move, and how carefully did he put down his poor feet to the ground. It would manifest but little shrewdness on my part, were I to suspect that he had both corns and bunions; for the case was so plain, that to have doubted it would have been a libel on my powers of perception and understanding. If molehills did not literally become mountains to the tender-footed pedestrian, at least it may be asserted, with truth, that a very small stone was to him a source of very great annoyance. On he went, as I stood still, waddling, limping, and treading tenderly, according to the smoothness or roughness of his path. You must not suppose that these cases of bodily infirmity came before me one after another, treading, as it were, on each other's heels. No; it was in the course of a walk of some length, that I observed them among many others; and at this moment I feel more thankful for sound lungs, tolerably good sight, and the use of my limbs, than if I had not made these homely comments on my afflicted friends. How is it with you? Are you hale and upright, or ailing, infirm, and afflicted, in mind, body, or estate? We are sure to be tried at one time or another. Oh, let us take our infirmities, of whatever kind they are, to the great Physician: for he who cured Naaman of his leprosy, can assuredly make us whole, or cause patience to have "its perfect work," if suffering be continued. ON THE COMMON SAYING, "I QUITE FORGOT IT." A GOOD friend of mine, who has helped my pen to many a subject, is in the habit of adding to his communications the words, "Try what you can make of this, if the subject bites;" meaning that if the topic should lay hold of me, moving me to write energetically, I should at once enter upon it, and not otherwise. It may be that you have seen a bear dragged to a stake to be baited, a lively exhibition of unwillingness; and regarded a greyhound in the slips "straining for the start," an equally vivid illustration of eagerness; and if so, I need not bring forward any other figures whereby to set forth the striking difference between disinclination and desire. I like a subject to bite before I enter on it I love, when it is before me, to feel as "standing in the slips," and not as being dragged to the stake.” 66 : It is, then, for the reason just stated, and because I feel much interested in the subject, that I now make a few remarks on the common saying, "I quite forgot it." If my present emotions are stifled, I may never have any of the same kind equally energetic. I will at once commence my observations. A correspondent, who appears to be all alive to the importance of this subject, writes to me thus :-" I am a shopkeeper, with two shopmen and a son behind the counter; I have also a maid-servant and a housekeeper, besides a family of five children. I say to James, 'Have you done so and so?' 'No, sir, I quite forgot it,' is the reply. Charles, have you been on that errand?' 'No, sir, I quite forgot it.' William, have you taken that letter to the post?' 'No, sir, I quite forgot it.' 'Susan, have you sent to the shop for that article I wished you to get?' 'No, sir.' 'Why have you not?' 'Because, sir, I quite forgot it.' Ann, did you call at Mr. Thompson's, and tell him I should not be able to meet him to-day as I proposed?' 'No, sir, I quite forgot it.' Servants and children, as well as masters, are very forgetful; and the reply, 'Oh, I quite forgot it,' comes so readily, and so frequently, that I determined to drop a note to Old Humphrey to draw his attention to it, that |