little school here Sunday afternoons, ten children, sometimes more, from father's families"

"Father's families!' what means the child?" "The families father takes care of, sees to, you know, that is, he visits them, knows all about their affairs, advises the parents, and instructs the children, and the parents too I guess sometimes, and now and then helps them, and so on.'

"And the instruction and advice," said Mrs. Barclay, "has much more effect on them than the temporal aid which Mary calls 'help, and so on.' A word goes a great way with them, from those that show an interest in their little pleasures, and who share them, as if they really felt that these poor creatures in their low condition, were their brethren and sisters, and children of the same father. It makes a great difference whether you do them a kindness to discharge your conscience of a duty that presses on it, or from an affectionate interest in them.

"This is a new view of the subject to me,' said Mrs. Hart, "but I'll think on 't. Well, Mary, how do the children manage the school? they are rather young for such a business."

"O, they don't do the managing part. Father and mother do that; and grandmamma or Martha sits in the room to see that all goes on smooth. Aunt Betsey tried it, but

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My dear Mary!"

Mother, I am sure Mrs. Hart knows Aunt. Betsey. Two of the children," continued Mary,

"teach, and one goes with father to see his families, and they take turns; and father and mother come in and talk to them."

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Mrs. Barclay helped out Mary's account with some explanations: "Some of the children," she said, are Catholics, and of course would not attend church in the afternoon. The Catholics are shy of sending their children to the public schools, but they have not manifested any reluctance to trust them to us, probably from our intimate knowledge of them at their homes, and from haying realized some advantage from our instruction there; for we have done what we could to improve their domestic economy. Home influences, even among the poor and ignorant, are all in all for good and for evil, for weal and for wo. have some tough subjects, as you may imagine; but patience; Patience and hope' is our motto, Besides, we really get attached to them; and love, you know, lightens all labor."

We

Yes, mother," said Mary; "that is just like what father read us out of Shakspeare last evening:

'I do it

With much more ease, for my good will is to it.

"The children," continued Mrs. Barclay, "are quite competent to hear the lessons of their classes. We spend our time in talking of whatever the occasion may suggest. Sometimes we elucidate or impress a passage of Scripture, sometimes we strive to deepen and fix a sentiment. As most of their parents are Irish, they

are quite ignorant of the history, government, and laws of their adopted country. Mr. Barclay endeavors to enlighten them on these subjects. He tries to make them feel their privileges and duties as American citizens, and to instruct them in the happy, exalted, and improving condition of man at the present time, and in our country, compared with what it has been heretofore, or is elsewhere. I take upon myself the more humble, womanly task of directing their domestic affections, and instructing them, as well as I am able, in their every-day, home duties. We wish to make them feel the immense power and worth of their faculties, and their responsibility to God for the proper use of them."

Truly," said Mrs. Hart, " your time is spent quite as profitably as it would be at church; but do you not get excessively wearied?"

The weariness soon passes off."

"And the compensation remains?"

Yes, it does; I say it not boastfully, but with thankfulness to Him who liberally rewards the humblest laborer in his field."

"And then, Mrs. Hart, our Sunday evenings are so pleasant," said Mary; "do, mother, let me tell about them."

Very well, my dear, but remember what I told you to-day about the Pharisees."

"O yes, ma'am, that there might be Pharisees now-a-days as well as in old times; but I am sure it is not Pharisaical to tell Mrs. Hart how happy we all are Sunday evenings."

"I am sure it is not, Mary. Go on; what is the order of Sunday evening?"

"O, ma'am, there is not any order at all, that is, I mean, we don't go by rules. I should hate that, for it would seem just like learning a lesson over, and over, and over again. We do just what we happen to fancy. Sometimes father reads to us, and sometimes mother, and sometimes we read ourselves. Sometimes we write off all that we can remember of the sermon, and sometimes we take a text and write a little sermon ourselves, father, and mother, and all, pretty short mine are. But the shortest of all was Willie's. You remember, mother, that which he asked you to write for him. What was it, Willie?" "My peoples, if you are good, you'll go to heaven; and if you an't, you won't.' You need not laugh, Mary; father said it was a very good

sermon.

"Go on, Mary. I want to know all about these Sunday evenings.'

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'Well, ma'am; sometimes we write down what we did last week, what we wish we had done and what we wish we had not, and what we mean to do next week. Sometimes we form a class, father, mother, and all, and we ask questions, in turn, from the Bible, 'what such a king did?' 'when such a prophet lived?'- .' where such a river runs?'-where such a city stood?' and so on; trying most of all to puzzle father and mother, and get them to the foot of the class. Sometimes father makes us all draw our own

1

characters, and then he draws them for us; andO dear! Mrs. Hart, when we come to put them together, as Wallace said, ours looked crooked enough, and out of joint. Once father gave us for a lesson, to write all we could remember of the history of our Saviour. We were not to look in the Bible. We thought it would be very easy, but it took us three Sunday nights. But the pleasantest of all, you know what the pleasantest of all is, mother, a story from father. O, 1 forgot about your lists, mother."

You have remembered quite enough, my child."

Enough," said Mrs. Hart, "to make me envy your pleasant Sunday evenings at home, and to inspire me with the desire, as far as I can, to go and do likewise."

CHAPTER VII.

A TRUE STORY.

"The ants are a people not strong,

Yet they prepare their meat in summer.'

AMONG "father's families," as Mary had called those who were the particular subjects of her father's bounty and supervisorship, was one by the name of Phealan. John Phealan was a laborious, honest Irishman, who, having lost his wife and being left with the care of three children,