way off; and these same offers must have been made a long time
ago."

"I could marry yet, if I pleased!" screamed the indignant spinster.

"Doubtful. And pray who is the happy man?"

"I have too much delicacy to reveal secrets, or to subject myself or him
to your vulgar ridicule."

"I wish him luck!" said the Captain, turning over the leaves of Juliet's
portfolio. "What the deuce does the girl mean? She has scribbled over
all the paper. I hope she don't amuse herself by writing love-letters?"

"Do you think that I would suffer my niece to spend her time in such an
improper manner? But, indeed, brother, I wish you would speak to Juliet
(for she does not mind me) on this subject."

"On what subject--writing love-letters?"

"No, sir: something almost as bad."

"Well--out with it."

"She has the folly to write verses."

"Is that all?"

"All! Only consider the scandal that it will bring upon me. I shall be
called a blue-stocking."

"You! I thought it was the author to whom persons gave that
appellation."

"True, Captain Whitmore; but, as I help to instruct the young lady,
ill-natured people will say that I taught her to write."

"Don't fret yourself on that score, Dolly; it will not spoil your
fortune, if they do. But Juliet--I am sorry that the child has taken
such whimsies into her head; it may hinder her from getting a good
husband."

"Fie, Captain Whitmore! Is that your only objection?"

"Be quiet, Dolly, there's a good woman, and let me examine these papers.
If there is anything wrong about them, I will burn them, and forbid my
pretty Julee to write such nonsense again. I know that the dear girl
loves her old dad, and will mind what I say. How!--what's this? God
bless the darling!"

'_Lines addressed to my father during his absence at sea._'

The old man put on his spectacles, and read these outpourings of an
affectionate heart with the tears in his eyes. They possessed very
little merit, as a poem; but the Captain thought them the sweetest lines
he had ever read.

"Well, now, Dolly, is not that a pretty poem? Who could have the heart
to find fault with that, or criticise the dear child for her dutiful
love to me? I'll not burn that." And the old tar slipped the precious
document into his pocket, to be hoarded next his heart, and to be worn
until death bade them part, within the enamelled case which contained
the miniature of his Julee's very pretty mother.

"It's well enough," said Miss Doro