a systematic plan of religious discipline and instruction
at home; for, after all, God gives a power to the efforts of a _parent_
that can never be transferred to other hands."

"But do you suppose," said I, "that the _common_ class of minds, with
ordinary advantages, can do what you have done?"

"I think in most cases they could, _if they begin_ right. But when both
parents and children have formed _habits_, it is more difficult to
change than to begin right at first. However, I think _all_ might
accomplish a great deal if they would give time, money, and effort
towards it. It is because the object is regarded of so little value,
compared with other things of a worldly nature, that so little is done."

My friend was here interrupted by the entrance of Mrs. Fletcher with the
children. Mrs. Fletcher sat down to the piano, and the Sabbath was
closed with the happy songs of the little ones; nor could I notice a
single anxious eye turning to the window to see if the sun was not
almost down. The tender and softened expression of each countenance bore
witness to the subduing power of those instructions which had hallowed
the last hour, and their sweet, bird-like voices harmonized well with
the beautiful words,--

"How sweet the light of Sabbath eve!
How soft the sunbeam lingering there!
Those holy hours this, low earth leave,
And rise on wings of faith and prayer."

LET EVERY MAN MIND HIS OWN BUSINESS.

"And so you will not sign this paper?" said Alfred Melton to his cousin,
a fine-looking young man, who was lounging by the centre table.

"Not I, indeed. What in life have I to do with these decidedly vulgar
temperance pledges? Pshaw! they have a relish of whiskey in their very
essence!"

"Come, come, Cousin Melton," said a brilliant, dark-eyed girl, who had
been lolling on the sofa during the conference, "I beg of you to give
over attempting to evangelize Edward. You see, as Falstaff has it, 'he
is little better than one of the wicked.' You must not waste such
valuable temperance documents on him."

"But, seriously, Melton, my good fellow," resumed Edward, "this signing,
and sealing, and pledging is altogether an unnecessary affair for me. My
past and present habits, my situation in life,--in short, every thing
that can be mentioned with regard to me,--goes against the supposition
of my ever becoming the slave of a vice so debasing; and this pledging
myself to avoid it is something altogeth