FAMILY WORSHIP—AN INCIDENT.
TEN years ago I boarded in the family of a pious woman whose husband was not a Christian. There was a daughter of nineteen, another of fourteen, and a son of ten. Every morning I heard that humble woman gather her family in the kitchen, and read with them a chapter, verse about, in the Bible. Then, as I could not help listening, there was a peculiarity of service that mystified me. At last I asked one day if I might remain. She hesitated; her daughter blushed, but she said I could do so if I really desired it. So I sat down with the rest. They gave me a Testament, and we read a verse in turn. Then kneeling on the floor, that mother began her prayer audibly, for her dear ones there, her husband, and herself; and then pausing a moment, as if to gather energy or wing her faith, uttered a tender, affectionate supplication for me. She closed, and her daughter began to pray. Poor girl; she was afraid of me. I was from college; I was her teacher; but she tremulously asked for a blessing as usual. Then came the other daughter, and at last the son, the youngest of that circle, who only repeated the Lord's Prayer, with one petition of his own. His amen was said, but no one arose. I knew on the instant they were waiting for me. And I, poor prayerless I, had no word to say. It almost broke my heart. I hurried from the room, desolate and guilty. A few weeks only passed, when I asked their permission to come in once more; and then I prayed, too, and thanked my dear, patient Saviour for the hope in my heart and the new song on my lips.—Selected.