Chapter 25 - Page 2

be--?"

"First, as Theists, to keep it holy in some special way, and to make
it, so far as is reasonably possible, a day of rest. Secondly, as
Christians, to attend public worship."

"And what of amusements?"

"I would say of them, as of all kinds of work, whatever is innocent on
a week-day, is innocent on Sunday, provided it does not interfere with
the duties of the day."

"Then you would allow children to play on Sunday?"

"Certainly I should. Why make the day irksome to their restless natures?"

"I have a letter somewhere," said Lady Muriel, "from an old friend,
describing the way in which Sunday was kept in her younger days.
I will fetch it for you."

"I had a similar description, viva voce, years ago," Arthur said when
she had left us, "from a little girl. It was really touching to hear
the melancholy tone in which she said 'On Sunday I mustn't play with my
doll! On Sunday I mustn't run on the sands! On Sunday I mustn't dig
in the garden!' Poor child! She had indeed abundant cause for hating
Sunday!"

"Here is the letter," said Lady Muriel, returning.
"Let me read you a piece of it."

"When, as a child, I first opened my eyes on a Sunday-morning,
a feeling of dismal anticipation, which began at least on the Friday,
culminated. I knew what was before me, and my wish, if not my word,
was 'Would God it were evening!' It was no day of rest, but a day of
texts, of catechisms (Watts'), of tracts about converted swearers,
godly charwomen, and edifying deaths of sinners saved.

"Up with the lark, hymns and portions of Scripture had to be learned by
heart till 8 o'clock, when there were family-prayers, then breakfast,
which I was never able to enjoy, partly from the fast already undergone,
and partly from the outlook I dreaded.

"At 9 came Sunday-School; and it made me indignant to be put into the
class with the village-children, as well as alarmed lest, by some
mistake of mine, I should be put below them.

"The Church-Service was a veritable Wilderness of Zin. I wandered in
it, pitching the tabernacle of my thoughts on the lining of the square
family-pew, the fidgets of my small brothers, and the horror of knowing
that, on the Monday, I should have to write out, from memory, jottings
of the rambling disconnected extempore sermon, which might have had any
text but its own, and to stand or fall by the result.

"This was followed by a, cold dinner at 1 (servants to have no work),
Sunday-School again from 2 to 4, and Evening-Service at 6.
The intervals were perhaps the greatest trial of all, from the efforts I
had