While men slept, his enemy came and sowed tares among the wheat.—MATT. xiii, 25.

THERE was a pensive gentleness about the manners and disposition of Selina Thornhill, which frequently excited her mother's hope that she would early set her "affections on things above," and embrace the service of Christ. She anxiously watched and exaggerated every sign which seemed to favor her impression, until she mistook a serious deportment for enlightened faith, and the devotion of a sentimentalist for the influence of the Spirit of God.

It was remarkable that Selina did not seek to repose confidence in either of the parents so ready and willing to assist and encourage her; but that might be accounted for by natural timidity, and the fear of being led to make a profession which practice might not always justify.

So Mrs. Thornhill contented herself with occasional general remarks which might have suited a sincere believer in any creed whatever, and the close heart-work which must be a portion of genuine trust in Jesus, was seldom or never urged upon her attention.

Selina frequently withdrew to read alone, but her mother did not seek to share her study, nor inquire into its subject. And finding theological works occasionally lying on the table, she felt satisfied that such was the lawful exercise of a discriminating mind.

She sometimes gently remonstrated with Laura on her exclusive delight in worldly things; but she did not bring God's truth to her assistance in a way the flippant girl could not controvert, nor impose restraint to which she must have submitted, lest she should disgust with religion, and increase enmity to Christ. Alas! enmity was triumphant enough already.

The sisters had sufficient art to avoid collision with their father's stronger views, by quietly assenting to everything he said, and winning the gratification of their wishes through the mediation and management of their mother. Wherever she yielded a little, they claimed more; and unhappily her representations to her husband were colored rather by her wishes than her genuine conviction of facts. Thus money for "simple dress" was appropriated for costly fashion. "A mere friendly party" proved to be a ball in disguise, until it spoke for itself.

O how the fine gold of the mother's Christianity dimmed under such a system as this! How her graces declined, and her conscience became blunted, until her children felt that she could no longer consistently oppose what she had contributed to foster and indulge, and at last secretly doubted the reality of religion in one who could yield so much in practice to the very worldliness she professed to disapprove.

Mrs. Thornhill thought she was in her children's confidence. But while tacitly aiding them to mislead or impose on their father, she had no right to expect perfect sincerity toward herself. During a temporary absence of Miss Belmont from home, letters arrived in quick succession to her friend, Selina Thornhill. The first letter was handed to mamma for perusal, and contained an account of the journey and the locality of her visit. And though no consent to the correspondence had been asked, Mrs. Thornhill thought there could be no harm in such communications as these, and did not interfere.

But after the arrival of several more at short intervals, she began to think that some other topics must afford matter for these frequent billets, and wondered whether Selina's pen were equally industrious in return.

"What do Miss Belmont and your sister find to write about so often, Laura?" she one day asked her elder daughter.

"Indeed, mamma, I cannot tell you," replied Laura; "Selina does not show me the letters."

"Does she not? I should have thought Miss Belmont's account of people and things would have been equally interesting to you both."

"O no, I am too giddy and worldly for them; they are such very good young ladies," replied Laura, ironically.

"You should not ridicule their goodness, Laura, but rather try to cultivate sympathy with it."

"O mamma, there is nothing worthy of the cloister about me; and that is to be the climax of Theresa's goodness some day."

"What makes you think so?" said Mrs. Thornhill, with some uneasiness.

"Only the enthusiastic way in which she talks, or at least did talk, until I offended her so deeply that now she gets Selina by herself to discuss their interesting subjects. I am very glad; for I cannot see any religion in cells and sackcloth."

"How did you give offense, Laura?"

"Why, one day, after Theresa had edified us with a long account of some ancient saints who flourished in the dark ages, I took the liberty of reading a pithy little description of them in Protestant language, just to tease her, for they looked rather shorn of their dignity according to reformed ideas. So she and Selina discovered that I am in a hopeless predicament, without veneration, humility, or faith."

"And do you not think that Selina has good sense enough to perceive that bodily mortification and seclusion from the world is not God's method for producing holiness of heart?"

"No indeed, mamma, I think she has a great fancy for things that make people 'seem' very self-denying and heroic. Then, she is very much attached to Theresa, and admires everything she says and does."

"But they have not met often enough to be so very intimate, Laura. How can anything worth calling an attachment subsist between them?"

Laura did not reply, and, conscious that the earnest gaze of her mother was fixed upon her countenance, she complained that the light was not sufficient, and moved her work toward the window, while the deepening color overspread her face.

"Laura," said Mrs. Thornhill, now thoroughly aroused, "I charge you to tell me if you know of any religious influence over your sister's mind, exercised by those whom I should not wish to be her teachers."

"I—I—have no right to say anything about it. Perhaps it is only my worldliness that is wrong."

"You have a right to reply my question, Laura. Your first duty is to me."

"Ask Selina herself, mamma, and you will soon find out," said Laura.

And in evident excitement and vexation, she hastened from the room.

Mrs. Thornhill was confounded at all this. What could have been going on? Was it possible that her child could be carrying on a clandestine intercourse upon the subject of religion?

"Ah!" whispered conscience. "And why not? If you have not faithfully, both by precept example, set 'truth' before her, why be surprised if error has gained a hearing?"

Perhaps it might not be too late to refute and overthrow it. And Mrs. Thornhill struggled through the remainder of that day in sorrowful perplexity concerning the best course to be pursued. Her daughters were now past the age of mere childhood, and could no longer be treated as void of capacity to understand and judge for themselves. And how had she dealt with these gradually unfolding powers, in the great subject now so painfully forced into prominence? Had she not allowed all things to combine with their fallen nature against God and his truth? Had she sought to check the natural impulse toward error, and distance from him?

Fearful of making further mistakes, or preventing by anger and haste the confidence she was now determined to obtain, she treated her daughters as usual, and locked within her own anxious heart the miserable suspicions that disturbed it. Long after sleep had closed the sisters' eyes, their restless mother stepped softly to their chamber. Sometimes one glance to see that they were well and safe sufficed, and she turned away. But now, oppressed by new anxieties, she lingered at their bedside, gazing earnestly on the calm young sleepers, and recalling Laura's alarming words,—

"Ask Selina herself, and you will soon find out."

Suddenly she observed a black ribbon round Selina's neck, which some slight movement disclosed, and her immediate impulse was to trace it to the unconscious hand, which clasped a small golden crucifix.

Had she found a viper there, the shock could scarcely have been greater, and she stood transfixed with surprise, indignation, and distress. But where was her chiefest, bitterest displeasure to fall? Not on the deceived child, who might have been anxious about her hope of heaven; not on the proselytizing zeal of her friend, whose Romeward tendencies would deem any means lawful that promoted the desired end, but surely on the mother who had not fulfilled her duty to the soul, who had forgotten the imperative command,—

"In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thine hand: for thou knowest not whether shall prosper, either this or that."

Sow always; the dew may descend when we think not. Sow always; there is life in the seed, and it is in the recess of the earth it must strike before any blade of promise can appear. She had acted as if she were wiser than God, and were afraid of the effect his own plan.

The meditations of the self-accusing parent were not to be envied that night; and how to proceed without risking the aspect of a persecutor to her child, was no trifling addition to her difficulty. But the mischief was not fathomed yet.

When the letters for the family were brought into the breakfast-room the next morning, one for Selina appeared among them, which Mrs. Thornhill instinctively took up.

"Give it to me, mamma!" exclaimed Selina, almost authoritatively, springing forward to seize it.

"Selina, my dear, you forget yourself," said her father with some surprise. "You have no correspondents, I presume, who write special secrets." And he smiled kindly upon her.

But her countenance, alternately flushed and pale, immediately warned him that something serious must be connected with that letter.

"Give me the letter, my dear," said he.

And it was then Mrs. Thornhill's turn to manifest signs of reluctance; she dreaded some revelation for which her husband's mind was less prepared than her own.

Selina made another effort to catch the letter from her mother's hand, and turned imploringly to her father.

"Indeed, papa, it is only some business of Theresa Belmont's; I beseech you not to open it."

"Then your mother must open it, my child, and assure me that there is nothing in it concerning yourself. You are too young to carry on any correspondence the nature of which can affect you as this seems to do."

"We will go to my room and open it together presently, my love," said Mrs. Thornhill, looking anxiously at Selina.

"I desire to have my letter," said Selina with quivering lip; "you have no right to open it when I have received so many without any notice being taken of them."

"We have neglected our duty, then, and must do so no longer," said Mr. Thornhill, increasingly convinced that it must be some grievous mischief which had power thus to excite his usually gentle child. "Open the letter at once," he added, as Mrs. Thornhill still hesitated.

She obeyed. The envelope inclosed two notes, and Selina, gasping for breath, made one more effort to obtain them, but her father firmly encircled her with his arm.

"Fear nothing, my dearest child," said he, suppressing his own feelings; "trust your parents, and bear with their advice. Where can you find friends so interested for your happiness?"

"Cannot you read it?" he continued, as Mrs. Thornhill, dropping the letters, covered her face with her hands, and uttered an exclamation of intense distress.

A few minutes and he saw through it all.

The smaller note was from a gentleman, once a professing Protestant, but now a member of the Church of Rome, advising the young convert how to act toward her heretic family, and wishing her to prepare for confession and baptism, as the appointed means of bringing peace and blessing upon her soul, so soon as the return of her friend should provide a suitable opportunity.

Miss Belmont's letter was an eloquent and sentimental effusion, descriptive of the enjoyment she experienced in her conventual retreat, in which she looked forward to be united in due time to the devoted sisterhood. She charged her beloved Selina to be steadfast, to obey the directions with which she was favored, and added blessings and prayers for her spiritual progress, through the mercy of the "queen of heaven."

This disclosure provoked no unseemly anger; for, be it remembered, the parents were Christians, sincere but inconsistent believers in Jesus, and they were wounded too deeply for any ebullition of natural indignation to relieve their sorrow.

But what was to be done? Finding that all was now discovered, Selina assumed a boldness unnatural to her, and declared her resolution to join the Church of Rome, which she believed to be the true Church, out of the pale of which there could be no salvation.

"You must wait, my dear deluded child," said Mr. Thornhill, "until the laws of our country give you authority over your own actions. And for the present, give a calm and deliberate examination to the subject on both sides."

"I have already done so, papa, and am quite satisfied."

"Your feelings may at present be satisfied, but feelings are variable and evanescent; your judgment should be convinced, through impartial evidence, if possible, before a step so solemn can be decided. Remember the consequences in this world, and they are not lightly to be despised, are small compared with those of your eternal condition. It is not 'he that is sincere in his profession or belief shall be saved,' but 'he that believeth in Jesus.'"

"I do believe in Jesus Christ," said Selina.

"Doubtless in some sense, but not in that which is the essence of his Gospel, while you accept other merits, other mediators, and imagine that anything can ever be added to his finished work. Dear child, you may know what fallible men have written, and what councils have decreed, but you have yet to weigh carefully what God has revealed, what Christ has done, and to learn that 'his glory he will not give to another.' We will study the only record of revealed truth together before we say more upon the subject."

"We cannot interpret it for ourselves, papa. You have not received any authority to do what only one succession of persons in the holy Church itself can presume to do."

"The apostle whom Jesus loved did not think so, Selina, when addressing believers who had never heard of anything but the blood and righteousness of the crucified One, as the means of salvation, he said,—

"'Ye have an unction from the Holy One, and ye know all things.'

"Paul did not think so when he commended those who searched to see if the things they heard were true. You see you have dwelt only on that side of the question which your love for your friend induced you to wish to find true. I could have wished that affection or duty to your parents had preserved a counterbalancing influence in favor of the creed in which you have been trained. But, thank God, it is not too late: we shall find the truth in God's word, without help from man on one side or the other, in language so plain, or silence so significant, that no genuine inquirer can fail to obtain at least an intellectual knowledge of it."

"Papa," said Selina, "I am very sorry to disappoint you, but I know it will be useless. Unless, indeed," she added with animation, "I could convince you that you are wrong, and have the merit and delight of winning my own father into the arms of the true Church."

Mr. Thornhill was somewhat confounded by this turn of the argument, and felt how thoroughly aggressive was the system which had won his daughter's heart.

"Surely it is a lesson," he thought. "Why should the children of God, with their pure and holy faith, linger behind the earnest professors of unholy error? Should they love their unsatisfying system, which will prove but a broken reed, more devotedly than we our satisfying Saviour, in whom dwells all our salvation, and all our desire? And shall they venture more for their Church than we for our Lord? O shame, that the children of this generation should act so much more zealously, than the children of light!"

"Has it never struck you, Selina," he asked, kindly, "that those who encouraged you in the secret study of this important subject, were causing you to break one of God's commandments? You have not learned at home to do evil that good may come; and such a proceeding should have warned you to beware of views that involved means, to say the least, so questionable."

"I thought the safety of my soul too important to be left undecided, papa; and when I had the means of learning something about it, I thought it was my duty to use them."

"The safety of your soul, my dear child? Were you not taught the way of safety at home?"

"Yes, sometimes, what you think the way, but not as if it were the one thing needful. I thought if mamma were quite sure that her more religion was true, she would have taught us more about it, and made us feel certain that she believed it herself. Now, Theresa is as sure hers is right as that she lives."

"I do not doubt her sincerity, and am too painfully conscious of her zeal. But you have been taught that the Spirit of God is the only effectual Teacher. It is his office to take of the things of Christ, and show them to us."

"Yes, but I had no right to expect a miracle to be worked for me. It is only the greatest saints and confessors who receive such signs of heavenly favor, and that only after long and devoted prayer and humiliation. But I do not despair of obtaining mercy and favor some time, if I prove a faithful daughter of the Church, and am adopted by the holy mother of God." Here a lowly reverential movement attested the sincerity of the declaration.

The grieved father saw how long and deep must have been the working of the influence of error, and how skillfully tares had been sown on the unoccupied soil. And he now sought in vain, on behalf of that word "which giveth light and understanding," a portion of the willing attention which had been accorded to the "traditions of men."