feelings as you and Adeline are beginning to entertain. You wish to
go to London, because you don't want to go to Saratoga, or to any
other of our watering places; and you don't want to go there,
because certain others, whom you esteem below you in rank, can
afford to enjoy themselves, and recruit their health at the same
places of public resort. All this I, do not approve, and cannot
encourage."

"You certainly cannot wish us to associate with every one," said
Emily, in a tone less arrogant.

"Of course not, Emily," replied Mr. Ludlow; "but I do most decidedly
condemn the spirit from which you are now acting. It would exclude
others, many of whom, in moral character, are far superior to
yourself from enjoying the pleasant, health-imparting recreation of
a visit to the Springs, because it hurts your self-importance to be
brought into brief contact with them."

"I can't understand what you mean by speaking of these kind of
people as superior in moral character to us," Mrs. Ludlow remarked.

"I said some of them. And, in this, I mean what I say. Wealth and
station in society do not give moral tone. They are altogether
extraneous, and too frequently exercise a deteriorating influence
upon the character. There is Thomas, the porter in my store--a
plain, poor man, of limited education; yet possessing high moral
qualities, that I would give much to call my own. This man's
character I esteem far above that of many in society to whom no one
thinks of objecting. There are hundreds and thousands of humble and
unassuming persons like him, far superior in the high moral
qualities of mind to the mass of self-esteeming exclusives, who
think the very air around them tainted by their breath. Do you
suppose that I would enjoy less the pleasures of a few weeks at
Saratoga, because Thomas was there? I would, rather, be gratified to
see him enjoying a brief relaxation, if his duties at the store
could be remitted in my absence."

There was so much of the appearance of truth in what Mr. Ludlow
said, combined with a decided tone and manner, that neither his wife
or daughters ventured a reply. But they had no affection for the
truth he uttered, and of course it made no salutary impression on
their minds.

"What shall we do, Ma?" asked Adeline, as they sat with their
mother, on the next afternoon. "We must go somewhere this summer,
and Pa seems in earnest about not letting us visit London."

"I don't know, I am sure, child," was the