“Then you would allow children to _play_ on Sunday?”
“Certainly I should. Why make the day irksome to their restless natures?”
“I have a letter somewhere,” said Lady Muriel, “from an old friend, describing the way in which Sunday was kept in her younger days. I will fetch it for you.”
“I had a similar description, _vivâ voce_, years ago,” Arthur said when she had left us, “from a little girl. It was really touching to hear the melancholy tone in which she said ‘On Sunday I mustn’t play with my doll! On Sunday I mustn’t run on the sands! On Sunday I mustn’t dig in the garden!’ Poor child! She had indeed abundant cause for hating Sunday!”
“Here is the letter,” said Lady Muriel, returning. “Let me read you a piece of it.”
“_When, as a child, I first opened my eyes on a Sunday-morning, a feeling of dismal anticipation, which began at least on the Friday, culminated. I knew what was before me, and my wish, if not my word, was ‘Would God it were evening!’ It was no day of rest, but a day of texts, of catechisms (Watts’), of tracts about converted swearers, godly char-women, and edifying deaths of sinners saved._
“_Up with the lark, hymns and portions of Scripture had to be learned by heart till 8 o’clock, when there were family-prayers, then breakfast, which I was never able to enjoy, partly from the fast already undergone, and partly from the outlook I dreaded._
“_At 9 came Sunday-School; and it made me indignant to be put into the class with the village-children, as well as alarmed lest, by some mistake of mine, I should be put below them._
“_The Church-Service was a veritable Wilderness of Zin. I wandered in it, pitching the tabernacle of my thoughts on the lining of the square family-pew, the fidgets of my small brothers, and the horror of knowing that, on the Monday, I should have to write out, from memory, jottings of the rambling disconnected extempore sermon, which might have had any text but its own, and to stand or fall by the result._
“_This was followed by a cold dinner at 1_ (_servants to have_ no _work_), _Sunday-School again from 2 to 4, and Evening-Service at 6. The intervals were perhaps the greatest trial of all, from the efforts I had to make, to be less than usually sinful, by reading books and sermons as barren as the Dead Sea. There was but one rosy spot, in the distance, all that day: that was ‘bed-time,’ which never could come too early!_”