but more frequently she went to the alms houses close by, to read for an hour or two to blind Goody Mills, the expected loss of whose society we found her regretting. In the evening they went to church again, and the day was closed with pleasant and useful conversation, or a little reading, and, finally, evening worship. To Margaret it was always a happy one, but she was now destined to spend her Sundays in a very different way.

In Mr. Craven's house breakfast was always late on Sunday morning; so late, that Mrs. Craven was often late at church, too, in consequence of it. Mr. Craven accompanied her there sometimes, but only sometimes. It was one of his opinions, that as people who went to church were often quite as wicked as those who stayed at home, there was very little use in attending church at all; and so, instead of going in the hope of growing better, he remained away, and grew, if not worse, at least, more careless and indifferent.

On the first Sunday morning of her

residence at home, Margaret noticed that new frocks and bonnets were laid out for her and Ada, much smarter than any she had ever yet worn. Ada was delighted, and spent much time in looking at herself in the glass; but Margaret, to say the truth, felt rather out of her element. When they joined their mamma at the hall door, where the carriage was waiting for them, she looked at them both with evident satisfaction, and said, "You do look a little fit to be seen now, Margaret; I can't think how your aunt could have dressed you in such dingy things; but make haste, and get into the carriage, or we shall be too late."

Margaret, however, did not like her new dress any the better for hearing her aunt's taste so disparagingly spoken of. When they came out of church, Ada made remarks on the people whom she had seen there.

"Did you see that lady that sat three pews before us," said she to Margaret, "in a blue bonnet and feathers? that was Lady F. Mamma knows her."

"No," replied Margaret, "I did not notice her."

"You saw those two young ladies in white, then, just across the aisle; they are the Clergyman's daughters; mamma says they look regular frights in those great bonnets."

"No, I do not think I saw them," said Margaret; "I did not look across that way."

"What did you do with your eyes then?" said Ada, "I do not think you saw anybody."

"Aunt Ellen always says it's not right to look about in church,” replied Margaret. "Well, but you need not mind now what she says," said Ada.

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Margaret was going to reply that she liked minding what her aunt said, when her mamma interrupted her by saying, “ Margaret is quite right, Ada; it is extremely vulgar to stare about in church in the way you do, you never see the Miss F- -s do so, and I must beg that you will correct this habit."

Ada pouted, and Margaret could not help thinking that the reason which her mamma

had assigned for its not being right to stare about in church was a very different one to that which her aunt Ellen would have given.

"There is to be company to dinner tonight," said Ada, as she and Margaret were taking off their things; "I heard mamma giving orders about the dessert; we shall have to go into the dining room after dinner."

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Company to-night?" repeated Margaret in a tone of astonishment, "why it is Sunday!"

"Well, what does that signify?" said Ada, "papa likes to have company on Sundays, it is so dull without, he says."

came in.

In the afternoon the two sisters were in the drawing-room together. Mr. Craven "Come, Margaret," said he, "I have not heard you play yet, and aunt Ellen gave me a flourishing account of your music; sit down sit down and play me a

tune."

Margaret immediately went to the piano, and commenced a hymn tune. "That is not a very pretty tune, I think," said her father,

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although you played it very nicely; do you not know something rather merrier, Margaret?'

"I do not think there are any merry hymn tunes, papa," said Margaret, looking round.

"No, I don't suppose there are,” said her father, "but I do not want hymn tunes; play me something else, something lively."

"But it is Sunday, papa," said Margaret timidly.

"Well, and may not people play lively tunes on Sunday?" said he; "come, sit down; I am sure you know some."

"I would rather not, papa, please," said Margaret, drawing back, as he attempted to place her again on the music stool.

"Ah! I see how it is," said her papa, "your aunt has made a regular little Methodist of you, in spite of all the directions I gave her to the contrary; has she not, Margaret?" he continued more kindly, and patting her shoulder as he spoke.

"I don't know, papa," she replied; "I don't know what a Methodist is."