esire my young readers to understand that I am describing Ben as he
was, and not as he ought to be. There is no doubt that he carried his
love of fun too far. We will hope that as he grows older, he will grow
wiser.

Ben pursued the remainder of his way to the Post-office without any
further adventure.

Entering a small building appropriated to this purpose, he inquired for
letters.

"There's nothing for your father to-day," said the post-master.

"Perhaps there's something for me,--Benjamin Newcome, Esq.," said Ben.

"Let me see," said the post-master, putting on his spectacles; "yes, I
believe there is. Post-marked at New York, too. I didn't know you had
any correspondents there."

"It's probably from the Mayor of New York," said Ben, in a tone of
comical importance, "asking my advice about laying out Central Park."

"Probably it is," said the postmaster. "It's a pretty thick
letter,--looks like an official document."

By this time, Ben, who was really surprised by the reception of the
letter, had opened it. It proved to be from our hero, Paul Prescott, and
inclosed one for Aunt Lucy.

"Mr. Crosby," said Ben, suddenly, addressing the postmaster, "you
remember about Paul Prescott's running away from the Poorhouse?"

"Yes, I didn't blame the poor boy a bit. I never liked Mudge, and they
say his wife is worse than he."

"Well, suppose the town should find out where he is, could they get him
back again?"

"Bless you! no. They ain't so fond of supporting paupers. If he's able
to earn his own living, they won't want to interfere with him."

"Well, this letter is from him," said Ben. "He's found a pleasant family
in New York, who have adopted him."

"I'm glad of it," said Mr. Crosby, heartily. "I always liked him. He was
a fine fellow."

"That's just what I think. I'll read his letter to you, if you would
like to hear it."

"I should, very much. Come in behind here, and sit down."

Ben went inside the office, and sitting down on a stool, read Paul's
letter. As our reader may be interested in the contents, we will take
the liberty of looking over Ben's shoulder while he reads.

New York, Oct. 10, 18--.

DEAR BEN:--

I have been intending to write to you before, knowing the kind interest
which you take in me. I got safely to New York a few days after I left
Wrenville. I didn't have so hard a time as I expected, having fallen in
with a pedler, who was very kind to me, with whom I rode thirty or forty