`To do as he does.'

`Does he know better?'

`Perhaps he does; but that is nothing to you.'

`If he doesn't, you ought to tell him, mamma.'

`I have told him.'

The litHe moralist paused and pondered. I tried in vain to divert his mind from the subject.

`I'm sorry papa's wicked,' said he mournfully, at length, `for I don't want him to go to hell.' And so saying he burst into tears.

I consoled him with the hope that perhaps his papa would alter and become good before he died--but is it not time to deliver him from such a parent?