University of Virginia Library

“My dear Abel,—You have now nearly reached the age
at which, by your grandfather's direction, you were to leave
school and enter upon active life. Your grandfather, who
had known and respected Mr. Gray in former years, left you,
as you know, a sum sufficient for your education, upon condition
of your being placed at Mr. Gray's until your nineteenth
birthday. That time is approaching. Upon your nineteenth
birthday you will leave school. Mr. Gray gives me the best
accounts of you. My plans for you are not quite settled.
What are your own wishes? It is late for you to think of
college; and as you will undoubtedly be a business man, I see

no need of your learning Greek or writing Latin poetry. At
your age I was earning my own living. Your mother and
the family are well. Your affectionate father,

“Dear Abel,—I am very glad to hear from Mr. Gray of
your fine progress in study, and your general good character
and deportment. I trust you give some of your leisure to
solid reading. It is very necessary to improve the mind.
I hope you attend to religion. It will help you if you keep a
record of Dr. Peewee's texts, and write abstracts of his sermons.
Grammar, too, and general manners. I hear that you
are very self-possessed, which is really good news. My friend
Mrs. Beacon was here last week, and she says you bow beautifully!
That is a great deal for her to admit, for her son
Bowdoin is one of the most elegant and presentable young men
I have ever seen. He is very gentlemanly indeed. He and
Alfred Dinks have been here for some time. My dear son,
could you not learn to waltz before you come home? It is
considered very bad by some people, because you have to put
your arm round the lady's waist. But I think it is very foolish
for any body to set themselves up against the customs of
society. I think if it is permitted in Paris and London, we
needn't be so very particular about it in New York. Mr.
Dinks and Mr. Beacon both waltz, and I assure you it is very
distingué indeed. But be careful in learning. Your sister
Fanny says the Boston young men stick out their elbows
dreadfully when they waltz, and look like owls spinning on invisible
teetotums. She declares, too, that all the Boston girls
are dowdy. But she is obliged to confess that Mr. Beacon
and Mr. Dinks are as well dressed and gentlemanly and dance
as well as our young men here. And as for the Boston ladies,
Mr. Dinks tells Fanny that he has a cousin, a Miss Wayne,
who lives in Delafield, who might alter her opinion of the
dowdiness of Boston girls. It seems she is a great heiress,

and very beautiful; and it is said here (but you know how
idle such gossip is) that she is going to marry her cousin, Alfred
Dinks. He does not deny it. He merely laughs and
shakes his head—the truth is, he hasn't much to say for himself.
Bless me! I've got to take another sheet.

“Now, Abel, my dear, do you know Miss Wayne? I have
never heard you speak of her, and yet, if she lives in Delafield,
you must know something about her. Your father is working
hard at his business, but it is shocking how much money
we have to spend to keep up our place in society properly. I
know that he spends all his income every year; and if any
thing should happen— I cry my eyes out to think of it.
Miss Wayne, I hear, is very beautiful, and about your age. Is
it true about her being an heiress?

“What is the news—let me see. Oh! your cousin, Laura
Magot, is engaged, and she has made a capital match. She
will be eighteen on her next birthday; and the happy man is
Mellish Whitloe. It is the fine old Knickerbocker family.
Fanny says she knows all about them—that she has the
Whitloes all at her fingers' ends. You see she is as bright as
ever. It is a capital match. Mr. Whitloe has at least five
thousand dollars a year from his business now; and his aunt,
Patience Doolittle, widow of the old merchant, who has no
children, is understood to prefer him to all her relations.
Laura will have a little something; so there could be nothing
better. We are naturally delighted. But what a pity Laura
is not a little taller—about Fanny's height; and as I was looking
at Fanny the other day, I thought how sorry I was for
Mr. Whitloe that Laura was not just a little prettier. She
has such a nose; and then her complexion! However, my
dear Abel of course cares nothing about such things, and, I
have no doubt, is wickedly laughing at his mamma at this
very moment for scribbling him such a long, rambling letter.
What is Miss Wayne's first name? Is she fair or brunette?
Don't forget to write me all you know. I am going to Saratoga
in a few days—I think Fanny ought to drink the waters.

I told Dr. Lush I was perfectly sure of it; so he told your father,
and he has consented.

“Do you remember Mrs. Plumer, the large, handsome woman
from New Orleans, whom you saw when we dined at
your Uncle Magot's last summer? She has come on, and will
be at the Springs this year. I am told Mr. Plumer is a very
large planter—the largest, some people say, in the country.
Their oldest daughter, Grace, is at school in town. She is
only fourteen, I believe. What an heiress she will be! The
Moultries, from South Carolina, will be there too, I suppose.
By-the-by, how old is Sligo Moultrie? Then there are some
of those rich Havana people coming. What diamonds they
wear! It will be very pleasant at the Springs; and I hope
the little visit will do Fanny good. Dr. Maundy is giving us
a series of sermons upon the different kinds of wood used in
building Solomon's Temple. They are very interesting; and
he has such a flow of beautiful words and such wavy gestures,
and he looks so gentlemanly in the pulpit, that I have no
doubt he does a great deal of good. The church is always
full. Your Uncle Lawrence has been to hear a preacher from
Boston, by the name of Channing, and is very much pleased.
Have you ever heard him? It seems he is very famous in his
own sect, who are infidels, or deists, or pollywogs, or atheists
—I don't know which it is. I believe they preach mere morality,
and read essays instead of sermons. I hope you go regularly
to church; and from what I have heard of Dr. Peewee,
I respect him very highly. Perhaps you had better make abstracts
of his sermons, and I can look over them some time
when you come home.

“Speaking of religion, I must tell you a little story which
Fanny told me the other day. She was coming home from
church with Mr. Dinks, and he said to her, `Miss Newt, what
do you do when you go into church and put your head down?'
Fanny did not understand him, and asked him what he meant.
`Why,' said he, `when we go into church, you know, we all
put our heads down in front of the pew, or in our hands, for

a little while, and Dr. Maundy spreads his handkerchief on
the desk and puts his face into it for quite a long time. What
do you do?' he asked, in a really perplexed way, Fanny says.
`Why,' said she, gravely, `Mr. Dinks, it is to say a short
prayer.' `Bless my soul!' said he; `I never thought of that.'
`Why, what do you do, then?' asked Fanny, curiously.
`Well,' answered Dinks, `you know I think it's a capital
thing to do; it's proper, and so forth; but I never knew
what people were really at when they did it; so I always put
my head into my hat and count ten. I find it comes to about
the same thing—I get through at the same time with other
people.' He isn't very bright, but he is a good-hearted fellow,
and very gentlemanly, and I am told he is very rich. Fanny
laughs at him; but I think she likes him very well. I wish
you would find out whether Miss Wayne really is engaged to
him. Here I am at the very end of my paper. Take care of
yourself, my dear Abel, and remember the religion and the
solid reading.