For that dance-house child there seems to be no spiritual hope. The sacred and the profane are so intermingled in his childish understanding, that he will never be able to tell which is sacred and which is profane; and his nature being dogged and combative, he will grow up into the highest possible type of wickedness, if he grows up at all. Of the thousand of painful cases wherewith we have met in this city, that of little Chester Allen gives us about the keenest pang. After the infant phenomenon had been sent back to bed, his father asked our party if we wouldn't 'mix in' and have a dance with the girls. 'It'll do you good,' said he, 'to trip it a little on the light fantastic. Besides, I like to do the fair thing by distinguished visitors. I'm fond of literary people, and especially of clergymen. I've three brothers myself who adorn the sacred calling; and grit and grace run through our family, like the Tigris and the Jordan through the Holy Land. Go in, gentlemen; the girls shan't hurt you. I'll watch over you like a hen over her chickens, and you shall leave my premises as virtuous as--_you came in!_ Ha, ha! Come, what shall it be?' On being assured that we would not 'trip it on the light fantastic,' he asked us if _we_ (that is, our party) would not favor the girls with a song, whereupon Mr. Arnold suggested that we should all sing together, and asked the girls what they would like best. Several of them immediately responded in favor of 'There is Rest for the Weary.' 'Do _you_ know _that?_ one of the clergymen asked. 'Yes;' answered at least half-a-dozen of the girls. 'Where did you learn it?' asked another of the clergymen. "'At Sabbath-school," was the reply. We all looked at one another. Here was a revelation. These girls had been brought up to attend Sabbath-school! Perhaps they were the daughters of Christian parents! But we had not time to pursue this painful speculation, for the girls began to sing-- 'In the Christian's home in Glory There is a land of rest; And my Saviour's gone before me, To fulfil my soul's request. 'CHORUS: There is rest for the weary, There is rest for you, On the other side of Jordan, In the sweet fields of Eden, Where the Tree of Life is blooming, There is rest for you.' And oh, with what fervor and pathos they sang--especially the chorus-- which, at the end of each verse they sang three times over; some of them, at last, weeping as they sang. What girlish memories, those sweet, simple strains evoked! Memories, perhaps, of once happy homes, and affectionate Sabbath-school teachers, and beloved companions, so sweetly contrasting with their dance-house condition. And so, those soul-weary creatures lingered fondly upon, and repeated over and over again, the lines: 'On the other side of Jordan, In the sweet fields of Eden, Where the Tree of Life is blooming, There is rest for you.'