this strain:--

"We were shocked to hear of your misconduct toward the
worthy Mr. Brummem. I could hardly believe it possible that
Master Reuben Johns had been guilty of such an indiscretion.
Your running away was, I think, uncalled for, and the
embarkment upon the sloop, under the circumstances, was
certainly very reprehensible. I trust that we shall hear
only good accounts of you from this period forth, and that
you will be duly grateful for your father's distinguished
kindness in allowing you to stay in New York. I shall be
happy to have you write to me an occasional epistle, and
hope to see manifest a considerable improvement in your
handwriting. Does Sister Mabel wear her ermine cape this
winter? I trust we shall hear of your constant attendance at
the Fulton-Street Church, and hear only commendation of you
in whatever, duties you may be called to engage. Adele
speaks of you often, and I think misses you very much
indeed."

Yet the spinster aunt was not used to flatter Reuben with any such
mention as this. "What can she mean," said he, musingly, "by talking
such stuff to me?"

Phil Elderkin, too, after a little, writes long letters that are full of
the daily boy-life at Ashfield:--how "the chestnutting has been
first-rate this year," and he has a bushel of prime ones seasoning in
the garret;--how Sam Throop, the stout son of the old postmaster, has
had a regular tussle with the master in school, "hot and heavy, over the
benches, and all about, and Sam was expelled, and old Crocker got a
black eye, and, darn him, he's got it yet";--and how "_somebody_ (name
unknown) tied a smallish tin kettle to old Hobson's sorrel mare's tail
last Saturday night, and the way she went down the street was a
caution!"--and how Nat Boody has got a new fighting-dog, and _such_ a
ratter!--and how Suke, "the divine Suke, is, they say, going to marry
the stage-driver. _Sic transit gloria mulie_--something,--for I'll be
hanged, if I know the proper case."

And there are some things this boisterous Phil writes in tenderer
mood:--how "Rose and Adele are as thick as ever, and Adele comes up
pretty often to pass an evening,--glad enough, I guess, to get away from
Aunt Eliza,--and I see her home, of course. She plays a stiff game of
backgammon; she never throws but she makes a point; she beats me."

And from such letters the joyous shouts and merry hallo