To tell the whole truth, the young gentleman, in honor of whom the invitation was given, did not get to himself much credit by his conduct on the occasion. He upset everything within his reach, and was only appeased when his obliging friend at his side allowed him the free use of his curly head for a plaything, when he soon had his little fingers so tangled in the wool as to allow the rest of the company an opportunity to enjoy themselves in peace. If all the truth must be told, the grave Doctor, from whom we should least have expected trouble, did not certainly distinguish himself by sobriety. Indeed I was obliged to request his mother to dismiss him from the table, unless he could control his risibles. Never was matron more perplexed and annoyed by the conduct of guests than was our hostess. Flushed with excitement, her brow knit with anxiety lest some one should be overlooked, she flew around, and then remembering that this was not mamma's manner, she returned to her seat and there tried to do the honors in the most approved style. _Friday, May 12th._ Lucy has received a letter from Joseph in reply to one from her, urging him to come home. In it he manifests the most horrible disregard of his own state, just arising from what appeared to be his death-bed, and also of the gradually dying condition of his father, and refuses ever to go beneath "the accursed roof while the old man lives." The deeply afflicted sister is horrified beyond measure, but of course will conceal the letter from her father. Squire Lee has often asked, if Joseph is not coming home, and feels grieved that his son left him in anger. He confessed to the Doctor, a few days ago, that the sins of Joseph lay heavily upon his conscience, at the same time repeating a quotation from the morning reading in which the woe was pronounced upon Eli and his house "because his sons made themselves vile, and he restrained them not." _Saturday, May 13th._ I called at Squire Lee's to-day, and happening to have Pauline with me, I took her up into the old gentleman's room. He appeared extremely feeble, and after I had said a few words to him, and was turning to take a seat, Lucy led Pauline toward the bed. With a look of horror upon his countenance, he screamed, "Who is she? _Who is she?_ I don't want her here. Oh, let her go away!" The poor child began to cry, and I hastily led her from the room, wondering why the sight of her should cause such unusual agitation. Lucy sent a servant to beg me to go into the parlor, where she would soon meet me. I took Pauline in my lap, but it was some time before I could succeed in soothing her. She said, "the sick man makes dreadful faces at me."