"Mamma dear, I honor your intentions, but believe it is a mistake. No young man will ever be won to Christ by going with him to the theatre. He understands them too well. And while I never asked you or my sister to attend a place of amusement that was in itself objectionable, I knew in my soul that I insulted your religion by asking you at all. They all flourish under the rebel flag. "Mamma, when our Daisy here refused to compromise one inch of the way, I knew that my tower of defence was broken, and that I must own that Christ had been sufficient for one soul, and could be for another." By this time the tears were falling fast from his mother's eyes. "My boy," she said, "it is what your father believed; but I have let the mother in my heart come between me and Christ. I was so anxious for you, that I thought I must yield even his honor to save you." But Blanche, bewildered, and flushing red, declared this: "I must say I don't see why a boy should coax a girl to do what he is ashamed to have her do; and be all changed around because she refuses to do it." Yet there is many a boy who coaxes a girl to go where he wishes in his soul she may have Christian firmness enough to refuse. OUR CHURCH CHOIR. ——— CHAPTER I. THERE was a time when our church had no choir, but gloried in the fact that we had congregational singing. At least the conservative fathers gloried in it; but the aggressive young people grumbled much. And certainly the most gentle spirit might have found some occasion for grumbling. If the thing had been named "congregational drawling" instead of "singing," perhaps it would have been as correct. Our church was large, and the leader, a dear old man who had led the singing from time immemorial, until his ears had deafened and his voice cracked in the service, was unable to keep the scattered elements of his army in order. Sing as slow as he might, he always finished the line at least two syllables in advance of old Auntie Barber, who sat in the southwest corner back pew, and who had a chronic affection of the nose and throat which caused her to pronounce her words somewhat after this fashion: "Naow be the gospil banner I-n'every lan-d'unfurl'; An' be the shout hosanner Re-yeehoed raound the worl'." Auntie Barber was fond of singing, and sang loud. Then there was Uncle Charlie Bennett, who had a deep bass voice, and who always sang a note below the key, making a distinct heavy monotone of growl, all on one note, and who frequently paused in the middle of a line to clear his throat with an "Ahem-h-e-m," then quickened his growl to catch up, and come in triumphant on the last word. This is only a hint of the peculiarities of our music. The day came when our exasperated young people arose en masse and declared it was not in human nature to endure such tortures longer.