The commandment of “Honour thy father and thy mother” had been deeply imprinted on her mind, and few possessed higher notions of filial reverence; but there was another precept which also came to her recollection.  “Whosoever loveth father and mother more than me cannot be my disciple.”  “But I may honour and obey my parent without loving her more than my Saviour,” argued she with herself, in hopes of lulling her conscience by this reflection.  “But again,” thought she, “the Scripture saith, ‘He that keepeth my commandments, he it is that loveth me.’” Then she felt the necessity of owning that if she obeyed the commands of her mother, when in opposition to the will of her God, she gave one of the Scripture proofs of either loving or fearing her parent upon earth more than her Father which is in heaven.  But Mary, eager to reconcile impossibilities—­viz. the will of an ungodly parent with the holy commands of her Maker—­thought now of another argument to calm her conscience.  “The Scripture,” said she, “says nothing positive about attending public worship; and, as Lady Emily says, I may say my prayers just as well at home.”  But the passages of Scripture were too deeply imprinted on her mind to admit of this subterfuge.  “Forsake not the assembling of yourselves together.”  “Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there will I be in the midst of them,” etc. etc.  But alas! two or three never were gathered together at Beech Park, except upon parties of pleasure, games of hazard, or purposes of conviviality.

The result of Mary’s deliberations was a firm determination to do what she deemed her duty, however painful.  And she went in search of Lady Emily, hoping to prevail upon her to use her influence with Lady Juliana to grant the desired permission; or, should she fail in obtaining it, she trusted her resolution would continue strong enough to enable her have her mother’s displeasure in this act of conscientious disobedience.  She met her cousin, with her bonnet on, prepared to go out.

“Dear Lady Emily,” said she, “let me entreat of you to use your influence with my mother to persuade her to allow me to go to church.”

“In the first place,” answered her cousin, “you may know that I have no influence;—­in the second, that Lady Juliana is never to be persuaded into any thing;—­in the third, I really can’t suppose you are serious in thinking it a matter of such vast moment whether or not you go to church.”

“Indeed I do,” answered Mary earnestly.  “I have been taught to consider it as such; and——­”

“Pshaw! nonsense! these are some of your stiff-necked Presbyterian notions.  I shall really begin to suspect you are a Methodist and yet you are not at all like one.”

“Pray, tell me,” said Mary, with a smile, “what are your ideas of a Methodist?”