And to do justice to Reuben, whose wife was a southern lady, there was no obstacle thrown in the way of the children to prevent them from discharging their duties to their religion.  On the contrary, the fidelity of Paul, and his watchfulness over the faith and morals of his younger brothers Patrick and Eugene, commanded the highest approbation of Mrs. Reuben Prying.  And such was her horror of any thing like the domestic tyranny or intolerance of Amanda, that Mrs. Reuben always allowed the two young lads to say their own prayers in private, notwithstanding the advice of the ministers to the contrary.  The only times that Pat and Eugene were ever asked into the parlor to pray was on some rare occasions, when Mrs. Reuben, through a laudable curiosity, and to serve as an example to her own children, caused the orphans to say their prayers aloud before retiring to bed.  The two little fellows, one five and the other eight years of age, joining their hands before their breasts, repeated the Lord’s Prayer, Hail Mary, the Apostles’ Creed, the General Confession, the Acts of Faith, Hope, and Charity, the Litany of the Blessed Virgin, the Prayer of the Angel Guardian and Patron Saint, and Prayers for the Dead:  these they repeated aloud, and correctly, to the astonishment of the other children and the edification of the mistress.

“Ah, Reub, Ben, and Will,” she said, “when will you be such good boys as Patsy and Geny?  You can’t say the Lord’s Prayer yet.”

“I can tell,” said Reub, blushing, “more than Pat can.  I know how old Mathusalem was, who was the wife of Abraham, and who was the mother of Solomon, and the wife of Putiphar.”

“I don’t know how to say so many prayers,” said Ben, contemptuously; “but I can tell how many cents in ten dollars, how many states in the Union, and how large England is.”

“I can sing a hymn,” said Will, “which I heard in the choir in the Methodist meeting house when I went there with cousin.”

“Let us hear you, Will,” said his mother.

“Mother, I have only a little of it,” said Will.

“Say all you remember,” said she, “and sing it.”

“The ladies first said, ma,” said he, commencing,—­

    ‘O for a man—­O for a man—­O for a mansion in the skies.’

“The men answered,—­

    ’Send down sal—­send down sal—­
      Send down salvation to our souls.’”

At this specimen of ludicrous poetical composition the mother burst out a-laughing, in which she was joined by the two arch Irish lads; and Will, discouraged, blushed and stopped.

“I would rather not have any prayer than have that foolish hymn,” said Ben.  “O Will!  O, you goose!”

“Silence, boys!” said Mrs. Prying.  “Pat and Eugene, can you not sing?  Come, let us hear how you can sing.  Commence.  Don’t be ashamed.”

“Will we sing, ma’am, what the Christian brothers taught us?”

“Yes, Pat, any thing; don’t be shy,” said the lady.  The lads began thus, with joined hands and uplifted eyes:—­