do not like to find themselves in the wrong, and are far from candid in acknowledging that fact, even when it is most apparent in the accuser’s eyes. He got out the little writing-case, of which he was proud, as soon as his grandfather had gone upstairs. He got out some paper, carefully inspecting it to see that there was no infinitesimal soil on its glossy purity; and then he began to write, taking a new pen, and every precaution against blotting. All these were signs and symbols of the importance of the act he was about to accomplish. He lingered over the preparations with a hope that they would inspire him. But when all was done he did not find it so easy to put down what he wanted to say. He did not go to bed at eleven that night. He sat up for two hours later, trying to shape an epistle which should be like that of a son to his mother, yet at the same time that of a young man coming into full possession of his reason to a woman who was not obeying the dictates of that fundamental principle. He did not want to be instructive or dictatorial, but yet he wanted to show her that he was aware she was failing in her duty; and withal it was his intention to be perfectly respectful and filial. To combine these things was to an unaccustomed letter-writer very difficult. His beautiful sheet of paper which he had chosen so carefully was all scored and interlined, and had become a mere scrawl long before he was done. And he himself grew hot and excited in the process: far more than if Mr. Cattley had cut to pieces his Latin poem, and he had been trying to do a new composition. As a matter of fact, he had made two or three compositions of this letter before he settled on one that would do. This was what he decided on sending at the last: ‘Dear Mother’--(He had always heretofore said Mamma, keeping the baby name, which was the only one under which he had any real knowledge of her. That, and Emily, he understood: but Mother seemed a new person, some one with whom he had no real acquaintance, whom he must learn to know). ‘Dear Mother,’--He did not add any more for half an hour, and then he began to write quickly for ten minutes, and put down the most of what is copied here, though with corrections and interlining past counting. This was nothing but the mere draft.