most of my time. And when I come to pay even the more diligent,
who have worked all the week, when I reflect that even these have
done no more than it was their duty to do, I can not help saying to
myself, Night is come, Saturday night is come. No repentance, or
diligence on the part of these poor men can now make a bad week's
work good. This week has gone into eternity. To-morrow is the season
of rest; working-time is over. 'There is no knowledge nor device in
the grave.' My life also will soon be swallowed up in eternity; soon
the space allotted me for diligence, for labor, will be over. Soon
will the grand question be asked, 'What hast thou done? Give an
account of thy stewardship. Didst thou use thy working days to the
end for which they were given? With some such thoughts I commonly go
to bed, and they help to quicken me to a keener diligence for the
next week."

SOME ACCOUNT OF A SUNDAY IN MR. BRAGWELL'S FAMILY.

Mr. Worthy had been for so many years used to the sober ways of his
own well-ordered family, that he greatly disliked to pass a Sunday
in any house of which religion was not the governing principle.
Indeed, he commonly ordered his affairs, and regulated his journeys
with an eye to this object. "To pass a Sunday in an irreligious
family," said he, "is always unpleasant, often unsafe. I seldom find
I can do them any good, and they may perhaps do me some harm. At
least, I am giving a sanction to their manner of passing it, if I
pass it in the same manner. If I reprove them, I subject myself to
the charge of singularity, and of being righteous over-much; if I do
_not_ reprove them, I confirm and strengthen them in evil. And
whether I reprove them or not, I certainly partake of their guilt,
if I spend it as they do."

He had, however, so strong a desire to be useful to Mr. Bragwell,
that he at length determined to break through his common practice,
and pass the Sunday at his house. Mr. Worthy was surprised to find
that though the church bell was going, the breakfast was not ready,
and expressed his wonder how this could be the case in so
industrious a family. Bragwell made some awkward excuses. He said
his wife worked her servants so hard all the week, that even she, as
notable as she was, a little relaxed from the strictness of her
demands on Sunday mornings; and he owned that in a general way no
one was up early enough for church. He confessed that his wife
commonly spent the morning in making puddings