s, all mixed up together, into a kind of
hodge-podge. It used to be a fashionable place of resort--but people
that think any thing of themselves, don't go there now."

"Bless me, child!" ejaculated old Uncle Joseph, in surprise. "This
is all new to me. But you were there last year."

"I know. And that cured us all. There was not a day in which we were
not crowded down to the table among the most vulgar kind of people."

"How, vulgar, Emily?"

"Why, there was Mr. Jones, the watchmaker, with his wife and two
daughters. I need not explain what I mean by vulgar, when I give you
that information."

"I cannot say that I have any clearer idea of what you mean, Emily."

"You talk strangely, uncle! You do not suppose that we are going to
associate with the Joneses?"

"I did not say that I did. Still, I am in the dark as to what you
mean by the most vulgar kind of people."

"Why, common people, brother," said Mrs. Ludlow, coming up to the
aid of her daughter. "Mr. Jones is only a watchmaker, and therefore
has no business to push himself and family into the company of
genteel people."

"Saratoga is a place of public resort," was the quiet reply.

"Well, genteel people will have to stay away, then, that's all. I,
at least, for one, am not going to be annoyed as I have been for the
last two or three seasons at Saratoga, by being thrown amongst all
sorts of people."

"They never troubled me any," spoke up Florence Ludlow, the youngest
of the three sisters. "For my part, I liked Mary Jones very much.
She was----"

"You are too much of a child to be able to judge in matters of this
kind," said the mother, interrupting Florence.

Florence was fifteen; light-hearted and innocent. She had never been
able, thus far in life, to appreciate the exclusive principles upon
which her mother and sisters acted, and had, in consequence,
frequently fallen under their censure. Purity of heart, and the
genuine graces flowing from a truly feminine spirit, always
attracted her, no matter what the station of the individual in whose
society she happened to be thrown. The remark of her mother silenced
her, for the time, for experience had taught her that no good ever
resulted from a repetition of her opinions on a subject of this
kind.

"And I trust she will ever remain the child she is, in these
matters," said Uncle Joseph, with emphasis. "It is the duty of every
one, sister, to do all that he can to set aside the false ideas of
distinc