Y FATHER A SCRIPTURAL LESSON. MY FATHER'S
GRIEF AT PARTING WITH AN OLD FRIEND--HE EXPOSTULATES WITH MY MOTHER AND
QUITS THE HOUSE.

I woke early the next morning; for the whole night I had been restless,
and dreaming of the unusual occurrences of the day before. It was just
daylight, and I was recalling what had passed, and wondering what had
become of my father, when I heard a noise in my mother's room. I
listened--the door opened, and she went downstairs.

This surprised me; and being conscious, even at my age, of the
vindictive temper shown by my mother upon every occasion, and, anxious
to know where my father was, I could not remain in bed; I put on my
trousers, and crept softly downstairs without my shoes. The door of the
front room was ajar, and I looked in. The light was dimly peering
through the window which pointed to the alley; the table was covered
with the empty pipes, tobacco, and large pools of beer and liquor which
had been spilt on it; the sofa was empty, and my father, who evidently
had become deeply intoxicated the night before, was lying on the sanded
floor with his face downwards; my mother, in her short dressing-gown and
flannel petticoat, was standing over him, her teeth set, her fists
clenched, and arms raised, with a dire expression of revenge in her
countenance. I thought at the time that I never saw her look so ugly--I
may say, so horrid; even now her expression at that moment is not
effaced from my memory. After a few minutes she knelt down and put her
ear close to his head, as if to ascertain whether he was in a sound
sleep; she then took a knife from off the table, felt the edge, looked
at my prostrate father, and raised it. I would have screamed, but my
tongue was glued to my lips with horror. She appeared to reflect, and,
after a time, laid the knife down on the table, put the palm of her hand
up to her forehead, and then a smile gleamed over her moody features.
"Yes, if he murders me; but they will be better," muttered she at last.
She went to the cupboard, took out a large pair of scissors, and,
kneeling down by my father, commenced severing his long pigtail from his
head. My father was too sound asleep to be roused: in a minute the tail
was off, and my mother rose up, holding it, with an expression of the
utmost contempt, between her finger and thumb. She then very softly
laid it down by his side, and replaced the scissors in the cupboard; as
I expected that she would go ups