treat him civilly. What shall I do, my dear Mrs. Whately? He comes every Thursday night, when mother has gone to the sewing-circle, and father has just received the Weekly Advertiser. Medad goes to wait upon some of the girls home, and I have my suspicions that Azariah goes a courting.

"Dr. Weasenby says, 'Miss Morris,' (for he seems to take me for a young lady, instead of a little girl only fourteen,) Miss Morris, did you ever read the Life of Benjamin Franklin?' 'Yes, Sir, I have read a Life of Dr. Franklin.' 'Well, it's a fine book, now, is n't it? Did you ever read Lord Byron?' 'Never.' 'Well, now, it's a pity;- Lord Byron's a pretty book; there's some nice females in it that I should like to talk to you about. In the Corsair and the Bride of 'Bydos, them must have been uncommon handsome females.

“Then comes a long pause, — Father keeps on reading his paper, - the Doctor smooths up his hair in front and down behind,-I am very much engaged with my knitting. And thus he comes, week after week. The only change in his conversation of any consequence is, 'Did you ever read the Life of Washington?" or, "Did you ever read

Josephus? It would be a grand book if it wasn't so dreadful long that no man alive ever did get through it.'

"How shall I treat him? How can I be polite to such an awkward, stupid man? Please tell me, my dear friend, and much oblige your grateful and attached

"BEULAH."

The following reply was soon received.

"MY DEAR YOUNG FRIEND:

"I fear in your last letter you indulged yourself a little in drawing a caricature. The poor, awkward young man seems quite harmless and inoffensive. Be kindly considerate towards him, if he is only homely and awkward. Think how much better this is, than if he were immoral or vicious. To be sure, it is sometimes difficult to refrain from laughter when things are really ridiculous, but as long as they are only ludicrous, in the manner you have mentioned, arising doubtless from the want of education and association with well-bred people, we ought to endure them with perfect good-nature.

"Be civil to the young man, Beulah, because your own self-respect demands it; be civil to

every one, even to the lowest person whom you meet. Besides, you might yourself fall into the society of people accustomed to elegant manners, who would see some things in you, that, if so disposed, they might ridicule. I have often seen clusters of young ladies in a party, making sport of every body. No person, however good or dignified, could escape. Any little peculiarity of dress, gait, or expression, they would seize upon, and show it up in the most ludicrous manner. I have sometimes said, in passing such a lively group, Well, girls, who now are you dissecting? I fear I shall be your next victim.'

"I know, my dear Beulah, the kindness of your heart, and do not believe you would ever thus amuse yourself in society. Those who are guilty would say it is only thoughtlessness, but I think there is some maliciousness in it, too,

"Another habit that girls fall into is that of giggling continually. They cannot speak without a titter or a giggle. This not only looks very silly, but it destroys the quiet self-possession that becomes a young lady.

"Some girls, too, bite their handkerchiefs or gloves, or worse yet, their nails; this last is an odious habit. They ought to learn to keep

their hands laid gently and easily together when they are sitting; in this way they will in time acquire a lady-like repose, essential to female dignity.

"Do not grow weary, my Beulah, with your friend, because she thus tells you freely how to cultivate good manners. I know that you have the requisite foundation, and all in good time the superstructure will be reared. You will, in short, become all that my most sanguine wishes could desire. God bless you, dearest.

"Your true friend,

"LAURA WHATELY."

17

CHAPTER XI.

AN UNEXPECTED INVITATION.

BEULAH had grown in beauty and in gracefulness from year to year. The native sweetness of her disposition had not been embittered by unkindness; neither had her self-respect been decreased by comparing herself with those above her in rank and fortune. Was not Squire Morris a justice of the peace, a substantial farmer, a man of consequence in the town of Baxter ? She had never experienced an emotion of selfdegradation, nor wished to degrade others. Why should she?

At fourteen, her slender figure alarmed her mother, lest she should have a feeble constitution, yet the fine air of the country and active exercise gave her complexion a rosy hue, without injuring its delicacy, and the vigor and elasticity