equently there is no one to play the instrument, and
the hymns are started several times, until something resembling the
right pitch is struck. Sometimes a six-line hymn will be started to a
common metre tune, and all goes swimmingly until the inevitable crash
at the end of the fourth line. But nothing daunted, we try and try
again. I have supplied our smiling-faced cherubs with hymn books in
order that

"Their voices may in tune be found
Like David's harp of solemn sound"

--excuse the adaptation. This morning the service was particularly
dreary. Hymn after hymn started to end in conspicuous failure,
followed by an interminable discourse on the sufferings of the damned.
But we ended cheerfully by warbling forth the joys of heaven--

"Where congregations ne'er break up
And Sabbaths never end!"

Last week we had a thrilling event; one of the girls formerly in this
Home was married, and we all went to the wedding, even the little tots
who are too young for regular services. They afterwards told me they
would like to go on Sundays, so I imagine they think the marriage
ceremony a regular item of Divine worship. Alas! I almost disgraced
myself when the clergyman solemnly announced to the intending bride
and bridegroom that the holy estate of matrimony had been "ordained of
God for the persecution of children"!

* * * * *

How you would have laughed to see me the other night. The steamer
arrived at midnight, and as we were expecting some children I went
down to meet them. There were three little boys, Esau, Joseph, and
Nathan, eight, six, and four years of age. I bore them in triumph to
the bathroom, feeling that even at that late hour cleanliness should
be compulsory. But I soon desisted from my purpose and as quickly as
possible bundled the dirty children into my neat, snowy beds! They
kicked, they fought, they bit, they yelled and they swore! All my
sleeping innocents awoke at the noise and added their voices to the
confusion. I momentarily expected an in-rush of neighbours, and a
summons the following day for cruelty to children.

Uriah has come to inform me that he cannot "cleave the splits," as his
"stomach has capsized." I felt it incumbent to administer a dose of
castor oil, thinking that might be sufficient punishment for what I
had reason to believe was only a dodge to escape work. It was hard for
me to give the oil, but harder still to have the boy look up a