ity better than impurity. The
breath of innocence is sweeter than the fumes of poisoned wine. The
interests of a man at whose table he sits, whose children are his
companions, whose wife is his friend and confidant, will be far nearer
to him than those of one whom he rarely sees and little knows. Something
of the atmosphere of home will cling to office-walls, and soften the
sharp outlines and sweeten the unfragrant air of perpetual traffic and
self-seeking. The society of pure and sprightly girls will be a constant
inducement to keep himself sprightly and pure. Reading, studying,
riding, singing, driving, boating, with well-bred and high-hearted young
friends, will give plentiful outlet to his animal spirits, plentiful
gratification to his social wants, plentiful food for his mental hunger;
and while he is thus enjoying the pleasures which are but the lawful
dues of his spring-time, he will be all the while becoming more and more
worthy of love and respect, more and more fitted to bear, in his turn,
the burdens of Church and State. And if, in spite of it all, his feet
are still swift to do evil, it will be a satisfaction to those who have
thus striven for his welfare to know that his blood is not on them nor
on their children.

There are other things to be taken into account. The leisure of Saturday
afternoon must, it would seem, conduce greatly to quiet Sundays. When
young men are confined six long days behind the counter, it is but
natural that on the seventh they should give themselves to merry-making.
For, let it be remembered, sport is natural, yes, and as necessary, to
youth as worship; and in order of human development, it comes first. It
is very hard to say to a boy, "You have been writing, and weighing, and
measuring all the week. Now the sun is shining, the birds are singing,
the flowers blooming, the river sparkling, and boat and horse await your
hand, but you must turn away from them all and go to church. You have
been boxed up for six days, and now you must be boxed up again. There
are no fresh airs, no summer sounds for you; but only noise and dust and
pavements all the days of your life." It happens, at any rate, that
there is no use in saying this; for young blood overleaps it all, and
city suburbs resound on Sunday with the clatter of hoofs and the rattle
of wheels; and no one need be surprised, who has any acquaintance with
human nature one the one side, or any conception of the irksomeness of
continue