What fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness? . . . Wherefore come out from among them, and be ye separate, saith the Lord.—2 COR. vi, 14, 17.

IN consequence of her unsettled views of Christian duty, Mrs. Thornhill found herself placed, or rather, it should be said, had placed herself, in an exceedingly uncomfortable position. She stood, as it were, between a Christian father and his unbelieving children. She had yielded so much to her conviction of inability to save her children's souls, that she had supplied them with a platform on which to assail every principle of consistency that should have opposed their worldly tastes and inclinations.

Instead of carrying out her husband's wishes by gentle and loving influences, where direct authority might have kept quietly in the background, she was perpetually excusing and meditating for relaxation of principle or practice in points on which she represented them as at present unable to appreciate his motives or understand his reasons. And too frequently Mr. Thornhill felt that his family neither looked nor acted like those whose head had chosen the service of the Lord, or sought to rule his household in the fear of God.

As they grew up, and presumed more and more upon their mother's indulgence, he was still less able to curb or regulate what had so long gone wrong, without assuming the aspect of a bigoted opposer of their "innocent pleasures." Mrs. Thornhill still sought to console him and herself also by reminding him that the salvation of the soul is the act of God's sovereign grace, and they could not wrest the blessing from his hand one moment earlier than he designed to bestow it. But she forgot, or only recollected with uneasy reluctance to ponder it, another truth, that he works by means, and that no means are more richly stored with promise than the consistent life and practice of believing parents. If power and influence and opportunity be talents intrusted by the Lord at all, they have tenfold responsibility in the hands of parents.

Mr. Thornhill found too late how his authority had been undermined and his influence destroyed, and shrank from the painful duty which he could not help seeing ought to be done without delay. But surely she whom he regarded as so excellent a wife, so kind a mother, and withal what some people called "so judicious," would after serious and affectionate remonstrance endeavor to retrace those steps which had placed her, in the maternal relationship at least, on a level with them that "fear not God nor think upon his name."

"Now, mamma," said Laura Thornhill, one day, "you can manage it all for us quite easily if you will. I am sure papa would wish us to return the attention we have received from so many friends; he cannot be so unkind as not to let us give a party in our turn."

"Your father is not unkind, Laura," said Mrs. Thornhill, in some displeasure. "He does not object to your having even a large party if you desire it, but he does object to the manner in which I fear you wish to entertain your friends."

"But he did not say positively what we may do, or may not do, did he, mamma?"

"Perhaps not exactly, but we know his wishes."

"O then we will say nothing about it, mamma. Only let us have things like other people's parties, you know, and we shall entertain ourselves well enough, never fear."

"Well, then, you may think about the young people you like to ask, and I will see that our hospitality equals your wishes."

"Thank you, mamma. Then, you know, we must ask all who have invited us, to begin with."

"No, dear, not all, I think. You were invited to Mr. Belmont's, but you did not go."

"Ah, but we were unfortunately engaged, mamma, that was the reason," said Selina, eagerly.

"I was glad it happened so, my love, for we do not wish you to cultivate any acquaintance with the family."

"O mamma, mamma, indeed we cannot help asking them to our house; you have no idea how delightful they are. Theresa Belmont will win your heart in half an hour, and Roland is a nice, gentlemanly boy; my brothers are quite fond of him at school. Indeed we are obliged to invite them, mamma, for I told Theresa we should have our party soon, and they must come."

"You did very imprudently then, Selina. How could you say so without knowing first what your papa and I should think of it?"

"We knew you would not refuse, my own kind mamma," said Laura; "we both know how good you are to us."

And the willful girl threw her arms round her mother, and looked coaxingly in her face.

"I am really very much vexed with you though," said her mother, kissing her fondly. "But if you have gone so far, you cannot be rude, and so we must make the best of it."

"Now, Selina," said Laura, as their mother left the room, and they sat down to write the notes of invitation, "take care you say nothing about dancing, and we shall be sure to manage it somehow. We can go into the school-room for a good game at play, and you can sit down to the piano, and we shall find ourselves dancing quite naturally to your pretty tune; there can't be any harm in that, you know."

"No, I should think not," returned Selina; "but I don't think Theresa cares much about dancing."

"Well, then, she can play for those who do. The others would think nothing of a party without it. I wish I might put in our notes that we request the pleasure of their company to a juvenile quadrille party, like Blanche Fielding's invitation."

"Ah, but that nearly prevented our going at all, you know; and if papa had seen the note—"

"But he did not see it. And mamma says we must learn for ourselves that worldly things are wrong, before we can disapprove of what seems so pleasant. Besides, Selina, what in the world did Mamma let us learn dancing for, if we are never to enjoy it as others do?"

"O, to make us walk and move without awkwardness, mamma says."

"What, just by ourselves, without any one to notice us? Surely we need not have practiced all those figures and steps, and cost papa so much money, for that."

"Laura," said Selina, thoughtfully, "what could mamma mean by saying she did not wish us to be intimate with the Belmonts?"

"I'm sure I don't know, unless it is something about their religion, which I heard somebody talking of once, and it seemed papa thought them quite wrong. But he must be mistaken, you know. What harm can they do us?"

"And if we meet them at Mrs. Fielding's on dancing days, that seems almost the same as having them here," continued Selina. "Theresa is a dear, nice girl; I don't believe she would do anything wrong."

"No, of course not, and she must do as her papa and mamma wish. She is not old enough yet to know much about religion."

"I am not sure about that, Laura; for in the 'History of England' which she lent to me, she told me to compare particularly what it said about the Reformation with what I had read before, and it certainly did make me doubt which could be true."

"You had better settle it my way, then," said Laura, laughing; "believe that both sides are a little right, and both a little wrong; and at this long time off, it doesn't matter which is which."

"But Theresa says it does matter very much," replied Selina, "and I should like to know. She says that all true Catholics wished for a reformation, and were grieved at the abuses that had crept into the Church."

"Well, really, Selina!" exclaimed her lively sister. "I did not know that you were interested in such a dry subject. Do get on to a platform with Theresa and argue it out. Depend upon it, you will have quite an audience to hear two such champions."

"Theresa never talks about it before any one. She says it is not becoming in young people to argue; we should receive what proper teachers tell us."

"Well, then, if you want to know about the Reformation, or anything of that sort, just introduce Theresa to papa, and he will tell you both all about it."

Selina was silent; she was not quite sure that Theresa would consider her papa a "proper teacher."

Laura's advice was, however, the best that could have been given to Selina at that moment. And had these children been in the habit of hearing the fundamental truths of Christ's Gospel spoken of with love and earnestness, and sometimes even urged upon their attention with Scripture reference and proof, probably Selina would have followed it. And then she would have learned from one deeply interested in her spiritual welfare the whole truth concerning the conflicting statements of historians of the Reformation, and the reason her father objected to intimacy with Mr. Belmont's family.

She would have learned that no true follower of the crucified Saviour, believing in him as the one sacrifice for sin, and the one Mediator between God and man, can consistently desire companionship with those who substitute or add any other medium of communion between the sinner and his God. She would have learned that Jehovah is a jealous God, and will not give his glory in the work of salvation to another; and that his true children are jealous too, and will not divide their trust and homage between Christ and any created person or element in heaven above or earth beneath.

But Selina was timid and reserved; and when she found that her father was greatly displeased at the acquaintance, she disguised the interest she felt, and sought neither reasons nor instruction. She little knew how thankfully that parent would have taken her to his heart, given her sweet counsel in the things that belonged to her peace, and how he was restrained by the fear that the subject was yet uncongenial and even irksome.

However, he kindly consented to the party, and promised to contribute to any amusement consistent with the proprieties of a Christian home.

What, then, was his chagrin to miss all the young people from the drawing-room, and on following to the school-room, which had been tastefully adorned for the occasion, to find them engaged in the mazes of the dance, and Mrs. Thornhill herself acting the part of musician. She had not intended it; she had never thought of it until she saw that some one must give up a pleasure to contribute to that of others, and then she offered her assistance, played their prettiest airs, received their warmest thanks, and hoped she had done right to make them all so happy.

She did not quite like the evident inclination she observed in Laura to forwardness and flirtation; nor was she better pleased on missing Selina and Miss Belmont, to find them walking arm-in-arm up and down another apartment.

Mr. Thornhill had looked in upon the gay and giddy assembly, and feeling that he could neither unite with them nor interrupt their chosen pastimes, he retired to his room displeased and unhappy.