Jesus, tender Seperd,
    Has’ thou died faw me,
    Make me vewy fwankful
    In my heart to thee.

Then the Deacon took down the family bible and opened it to the story of Joseph.  He asked the children how far he had got.  They answered him very sagely, and their responses to a few questions which he put to them showed that they understood what had gone before.  Then he read part of one chapter, that which describes the beginning of the famine, and, asking Joe to bring him the full volume of Stanley’s Jewish Church, he read the admirable description of an Egyptian famine which it contains.  By this time Bob was fast asleep in his mother’s arms.  But all the rest of us kneeled down and repeated the Lord’s prayer with the Deacon—­another of his queer notions.  The neighbors think he is inclined to be an Episcopalian, because he wants it introduced into the church service, but he says he does not really think that the Lord was an Episcopalian, and if he was it would not be any good reason for not using his prayer.  Then the children kissed good-night, all round, and went to bed.  Mrs. Goodsole took Bob off to his crib, and the Deacon and I were left alone.  It was long past time for church service to begin, so I abandoned all idea of going to church, and opened to the Deacon at once the object of my errand.  I told him very frankly that we not only missed him from the church, but that the pastor felt that his example was an unfortunate one, and that the church generally were afraid he was growing luke-warm in the Master’s service, and I gently reminded him of the apostle’s direction not to forget the assembling of ourselves together.

“Well,” said he—­though in trying to give his answer in his own language, I am obliged to condense the conversation of half-an-hour into a single paragraph—­“Well, I will tell you how it is.  You know I used to be pretty regular in attendance on church, and in fact a pretty busy man on Sundays.  We had breakfast early.  Right after breakfast I sat down to look over my Sunday-school lesson for the last time.  At nine o’clock I went to Sunday-school, where I had a Bible-class.  At half-past ten came church.  After service I had barely time to get a lunch, and then had to hurry away to our Mission.  We almost always had some sort of a teachers’ meeting after the regular session, so that it was generally tea-time before I got home.  After tea I was off to church again.  I almost always woke up Monday morning tired, and a little cross.  My children are pretty good ones, I think, but they had a queer distaste for Sunday, which I put down to total depravity.  And, strangest of all, my wife, who only went to church Sunday morning, and would not even sing in the choir, seemed to be as tired Monday morning as I was, only as it was washing-day she could not sleep as late.  About two months ago I was laid up with a boil, and could not go to church.  Of course I did not have my Sunday-school