"But, Aunt Clara, I would not say one word behind her back, that I would not to her face; I've told her many a time that she was a simpleton." "Do you expect to go through this world, Maddy, telling everybody what you think of them?" "If I don't by my words, I must by my manners; for I cannot, for the life of me, be polite to people whom I do not like; that seems deceitful, Aunt Clara." "No, Maddy, you are mistaken; courtesy is due to all--you may form very erroneous opinions of people; and there could be no social intercourse if all the thoughts that pass through our minds, are to be obtruded at all times upon persons whom we may not choose to fancy." Next day, Lucy and Madeline called upon Lavinia. "What did you mean, Lavinia, by leaving your card the other day?" "Why, Madeline, that is the fashionable way of paying visits!" "Poh! Lavinia, we are nothing but little girls; and it is just ridiculous for us to be playing the woman." Lucy could not but smile at her homely bluntness, and thought that her mamma would have some trouble before she could tame the spirits, or discipline Madeline's voluble tongue. In a day or two, Aunt Clara invited a few choice little girls to take tea with our young friends. They were pleasant children, just such as Madeline liked, fond of play, and not too old to talk about dolls. Lavinia, who was one of the party, looked down upon the rest with supreme contempt, and when asked to join in their childish plays, could only answer, "No, I thank you; pray excuse me." Lucy Edmonds exerted herself to the utmost: joined in their plays, and when they wanted to dance, played several cotillons for their amusement. Aunt Clara brought out some childish games, and in her own sweet winning manner, made one of the company. Madeline passed a delightful evening. After the children had gone, she hung around her aunt, as if wanting to say something. "What is it, Maddy? Have you not something to tell me?" Seating herself on a little stool at her aunt's feet, she said, "How is it, Aunt Clara? I heard that you were so stern and cold, and that you thought it a sin even to smile. I thought that I should be so afraid of you; then you let us dance, and I always thought that good people did not dance. I am not at all afraid of you, Aunt Clara, and I love you so much more than I do Aunt Matilda." "You have made some common mistakes, Madeline; the world likes to cast reproach upon the children of God, and so they represent us as dull and gloomy; but the Bible does not, Maddy. The righteous there are always spoken of as the only happy people in the world--merriment belongs to the days of childhood, Madeline, and if the joy of the spirit leads the feet to a dancing motion, let it be so; only let it stop when childhood has passed away; more serious duties, cares, and joys then have claims upon us." "You let Lucy dance, then, Aunt Clara?"