do our Father's will. It seems nearly time for us to go in. They will be waiting in doors for us to read with them. And your mother thought her head would bear a little reading, and she should sleep the better for it. Do not forget what we have been saying, my dear Ann; I think your mind is full of it now; do not let it slip away from you. Think over what was done for us in our baptism, how the Holy Spirit was given us to dwell in us, to make our souls and bodies temples of God; how we should fear to offend the in-dwelling Spirit, to drive Him away from us. Do not forget that baptism unites us to all that is holy; to the angels in heaven; to good men departed; to Christians on earth. We have a share in the communion of saints now. By unholiness, if not repented of in time, we should lose our part in this; and how fearful it is to think, that at the great day of separation we should be cast out for ever!

Rachel. Ellen, you have been crying. Do not turn away from me. Tell me what is the matter.

Ellen. Why, I was obliged to stay away from school, because mother is washing, and wanted Ann to help her. So I had to do Ann's work; and I shall lose my place at school-at least the others will get before me.

R. But that is hardly a thing to cry about, at your age. And you were cross besides. At dinner-time I saw that you looked sulky, besides your eyes being red.

E. Because mother scolded me, and complained that I did not like to help her. She said I was fit for nothing but to sit still over a book. Then Ann looked proud and pleased with herself for doing better; and John [half crying], John called me a fine lady.

R. I think what they all said was true enough; I do not give you any credit for regretting your school to-day, for you like school, and you do not like work;-work goes against you, I am sorry to say; and you do not take much pains to conquer your laziness.

E. I am sure I tried to do the best I could. R. I doubt that; I doubt your going about your work willingly and cheerfully. I suspect you began the day crossly, because you had to work at what you did not like; and that you shewed this to your mother and Ann; that you did your work slowly and carelessly and all the while you were thinking, perhaps, that it was rather good in you to wish to be at school, and you thought your working ill did not signify, because you liked your learning better.

E. [who had been leaning her face on her hands, looking up.] Oh, cousin, how did you

know all that?

R. Because I watch you. This wrong temper brought on the scolding you deserved. Now, let us see what first brought

you into a wrong temper. Did you begin the day with a resolution to do your duty, whatever it might be, not to choose your duty?

E. I cannot say I thought much about it-I had not time,-I had hardly time to say my prayers: it was washing-day, and they were all stirring so early.

in

R. Or, rather, you were so late. Ellen, I know how your laziness about getting up troubles your mother; and I only wonder she does not reprove you more strongly about it. I call it a sin in you. It hurries you your prayers; and you see the consequence to-day, and how one sin leads to another. You are like a person who has made a mistake at the beginning of a sum in arithmetic, and so all the rest goes wrong.

E. But I did say my prayers, cousin; I hope you do not think I should ever leave that out?

R. No; I do not think you could; but how did you say them?-Hurrying through them, without giving yourself time to think.

E. John kept calling to me all the time; and Ann was coming in and out of the room -how could I think much?

R. I knew how it was: if you had thought as you have been taught about your duty to your mother and family, and how whatever your hand found to do, you should do it with all your might, and had prayed for

grace to help you through this very day, to do so

E. [considering.] Why, I suppose it would have been different.

R. After such solemn resolutions, and such a prayer, you would have driven away temptation, I think. Now, do not you see that it was the first step that set all wrong? Somebody calls you in the morning, I suppose?

E. Oh, there is calling enough: father comes under our window as soon as he is up, and mother opens our door-I can hear her voice, saying, "Come, girls," at this

moment.

R. And then Ann jumps out of bed, before her eyes are well open, I suppose? E. That she does, and gives me a shake besides.

R. And then, I suppose, you give a grunt and a groan, and put your head under the bed-clothes, and are off to sleep again?

E. I am sure I was this morning quite sound asleep, when John came and rattled the door to rouse me again.

R. Ay, that unlucky turning round again to sleep did the mischief. If you had followed Ann's example, you would have had undisturbed time for your prayers. You would have come down stairs pleased with having got the better of your laziness. Your mother would have been pleased, and I dare