San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1890-03-08

let mother hear it." Aud Joyce, folding
her hands in her quaint, old-fashioned
way, began very readily: 4
81 love TO hear the story I
Which angel voices tell,
How once the King of Glory
Came down on earth to dwell.
am both weak and sinful,
But this surely know,
The Lord came down to save me, d
Because he loved me So"
VERY pretty, indeed, Joyce" observed
Mrs. Morton, rather absently, when the
child had finished. But Joyce looked up
in her face wistfully
'"Do you ever say hymns, mother dear?"
81 sing them in church, my pet"
"But you never teached them to me,
mother; they are all nurses hymns, the
little one and the long one, and the little
wee hymn l say with my prayers. Would
you like to hear my little wee hymn
mother dear?'
81 will hear all you know, my darling"
But there were tears in the beautiful eyes
as she listened.
How nicely she says them! am glad
you teach her such pretty hymns, Merle"
as the child ran off to fetch Snap, who
was whining for admittance. Somehow
it seems more like the Sunday of old times
up here-so quiet, so peaceful. We must
do as the world does, l suppose; but these
secular, bustling Sundays are not to my
taste"
Her words Jared on me, and l replied
rather too quickly, considering my posi-
ton, Are we obliged to follow bad fash
ion' That is indeed going with the crowd
to do evil"
She looked up in some surprise. Unjust
have been = new thing to the petted mis-
tress OF the household to hear herself so
sharply rebuked..
"Oh, beg your pardon" I exclaimed,
psnitently; 81 had no right to say that; 1
forgot to whom | was speaking"
DO not distress yourself, Merle" she
returned, in her sweet way; ''it is good for
all of us to hear the truth sometimes. 1t
WAS foolish of me to say that. l only mean
that in our house it is very difficult not to
follow the worlds custom"
Very difficult, indeed" I acquiesced;
but she continued to look at me thought
fully.
do not be afraid of saying what is in
your mind; you may speak to me plainly,
if you will. You are my children's nurse,
but cannot forget that in many ways we
are equals. You never intrude this fact
on my notice, but it is none the less APP
parent. know our Sundays are terribly
secular" as l continued silent; some
times | wish it were not so, for my chill
dren's sake"
Not for your own sake Mrs. Morton"
A distressed look came over her face.
II seem to have no time to wish for any
thing"
81 could we'll believe that; but, Mrs.
Morton, it seems to me as though we owe
some duty to ourselves If we neglect the
highest part of ourselves we are commit
ting q sort of mental suicide. How often
has Aunt Agatha told me thatr
How do you mean'" she asked, anx-
iously.
I'VE all need a quiet time for thought
It always seems to me that on Sunday one
lays down ones burdens for time. 1t is
such a rest to shut out the world for one
day in the week, to forget the harass of
ones work. to take up higher duties, to
lift ones standard afresh, and prove ones
armor. 1t is just like abiding in the
tents for shelter and rest in the heat of
battle"
| had forgotten the difference in our
station, and was talking to my mistress
just as though she were Aunt Agatha
Something seemed to compel me to speak.
felt a strange sort of trouble depressing
me, as thought l saw a beautiful soul
wandering out Of the way. She seemed
moved ut my words, and it was several
minutes before she spoke again.
Your words recall the old Sundays at
my own dear home" she observed, pres
emily DO you not love Sundays in the
country, Merle' The very birds seem to
sing more sweetly, and the stiffness of
which you speak seems in the very air.
My Sundays were very different then. We
lived near the church, and we could hear
the Ginning of the bells as we walked
through the village. l taught in the Sun
ay-school; recollect some of the chill
dren's names now. Father always liked
us to go to the evening service. / remem-
Der, too, we invariably sung Bishop Ken's
evening hymn. One evening little robin
found its way into the church. l remem-
Der Mr. Andrews, our vicar. was just
reading that verse, Yea, the sparrow
hath found her house, and the swallow
a nest for herself, where she may lay her
young" when we looked up and saw the
little creature 6uttering round the chan
eel Oh, those sweet old Sundaysp And
here she broke off and sighed
| thought it best to say no more, and
leave her to those tender memories. A
word in season may do much, but l was
young, and had no right to teach with au-
thority. l suppose she understood my re-
tiCenCe, for she looked at me very kindly