Pleasant and merry times your dear mother had at home, with her young friends, and long to be remembered. But more cherished still to her are the recollections of our religious hours. The same sweet hymns of praise that she loved to sing, while away at school, that would bring tears trickling down her sunny face, and with them that relief which her home-sick heart required, ascended in former times at our morning and evening orison. A few friends dropping in to tea were no excuse to evade the worship of our God. Regularly the Bible and hymn books were placed, before retiring from table, in front of your grandfather, and without an apology, excepting occasionally he might say, "it is our habit," as he turned the leaves of the Blessed Book. There were a few restrictions with regard to how often your mother, when a young lady, should accept invitations to spend the evening out, or have invited company at home, but none was so strictly regarded as the one concerning Saturday night: for, as in early childhood she had been taught to put away her toys and irreligious books before the dawn of the Sabbath, she now found it easy and natural, if not to prepare her mind for the sacred day, at least to engage in nothing which might physically unfit her for its enjoyments. And the Sabbath was esteemed "the day of all the week the best." Often felt so by her, who, in the midst of this fascinating and beautiful world, never forgot that it was the burden of her father's prayers that like "Mary of old, she might choose that good part which should never be taken from her, and learn like her, to sit humbly at the feet of Jesus." And this quiet day of rest, so still, so sweet, so unlike the bustle of the world without, is well calculated to arrest the current of worldly thought, and cause the mind to revert to the impressions of happy childhood, and often to incite a desire for joys more pure and stable than Earth can afford.