Answer to the Foregoing.

ST. LOUIS, Mo., Jan. 1, 18-. MESSRS. MARTIN FULLER, WM. B. KING AND CHAS. II. SNOW. Gentlemen:

Your very kind and courteous letter, accompanied by your valuable testimonial, is received, for which please accept my grateful acknowledgments. The gift itself, however, is not more valued than the golden words of sympathy and encouragement that accompany its presentation. Trusting that, through God's blessing, I may be able to serve the generous donors as acceptably in the future as your testimonial leads me to suppose I have in the past, 1 am, Your very Obedient Servant, WASHINGTON SMITH.

Accompanying a Gift to a Superintendent upon Retirement.

CHICAGO, ILL., Feb. 2, 18-.

MR. ARTHUR P. STEVENS, Dear Sir: The undersigned, employees of the Northwestern Sheet Lead and Zinc Works, deeply regretting your departure from among us, desire your acceptance of the accompanying memorial, in testimony of our affection and respect for you as a gentleman and a mechanic, and as a faint expression of our appreciation of vour kindly efforts to render our connection with this manufactory, not only pleasant and agreeable to ourselves, but profitable to the company. Deeply regretting that our connection must be severed, we shall gratefully remember our association in the past, and hope always to be held in pleasurable remembrance by you.

(SIGNED BY THE EMPLOYEES.)

JOSEPH BARLOW.

Answer to the Foregoing.

MY FRIEND JOSEPH:

FREEPORT, ILL., Dec. 10, 18—. Your very valuable and welcome gift came to-day. I lean on it, and look back. The noonday of our life has passed. Gradually we are descending the slope towards the going down of our life's sun. It is appointed for all to reach life's meridian, stand there for a little while, and go down on the other side. Youth may not be recovered here, but I doubt not that we may be young again in that bourne towards which we are fast passing. During my remaining years I will cherish your gift. Accept my warmest thanks, and remem ber me as

Your Constant Friend, DAVID BINNINGER.

Answer to the Foregoing.

CHICAGO, ILL., Feb. 3, 18—, TO THE EMPLOYEES OF THE NORHWESTERN SHEET LEAD AND ZINC WORKS.

Gentlemen:

I am in receipt of your kind letter and testimonial. Wherever fortune may cast my lot, I shall never cease to remember the pleasant associations of the past few years, and the many kind attentions I have received at your hands. If our relations and labors have been pleasant, I do not forget that they were largely made so by your always generous efforts and willing co-operation.

I will ever cherish your beautiful gift as a memorial of our pleasant years together, and can only wish that each of you, when occupying positions of trust, may be as warmly supported and as ably assisted by those in your charge, as I have been since my connection with yourselves. Thanking you for this testimonial and your generous words of approval, I remain,

Your Friend,

ARTHUR P. STEVENS.

will drop away into happy homes, which, if they do not make them, they will at least adorn.

And so you are married. Well. I had some intimation, months ago, that such an event might sometime take place, but really I did not think you would change your name so soon. Mrs. Charles Blackwell!—well, that does sound a little odd, I confess, but then it is a pretty name, nevertheless. I assure you I am impatient to meet you, and witness how you dignify the name.

Accept my most sincere good wishes for your future happiness, and tell your husband that he must be prepared to feel an interest in the welfare of all your old friends, especially Your Friend,

CALLIE BROWN.

From a Husband, Absent on Business, to

his Wife.

DETROIT, MICH., Feb. 1, 18-.

MY DEAR HENRIETTA:

I have been to the end of my journey, and am now homeward bound. Another week, and I hope to kiss my wife and babies, and tell them that this is my last journey of the winter. One or two journeys next spring, and then I am done traveling away from home. What better news can I write you than this? Yes, perhaps I have better news yet, which is, that I have completed such arrangements, during my absence from you this time, as will greatly increase my income without it being necessary for me to travel.

Isn't that pleasant? How I long to get home and tell you all about it. At present, when not closely engaged in business, I am busy thinking of many improvements that we will make around our home next summer, being the very changes that you have so long desired, but which our means hitherto have not permitted us to make.

Kiss Sammie and Tillie for me, and accept many kisses for yourself. I will write you from Cleve land, if not before. Good night.

Your ever Loving Husband,

109

MY DEAR CHILD:

Answer of the Mother.

NEW YORK, Oct. 3, 18—

I am sorry that you should urge me to grant you such an unreasonable request. Of course, nothing could please me better than to have my darling little Ella sitting on my lap at this very moment, but think how scriously the absence from your school, now, would derange all your recitations for this term. You must not think of it; recollect that all your brothers and sisters have been away at school, and always remained until the vacations. It is true that you, being the youngest, have been petted more than the rest, but it would be very unfortunate to have my indulgence interfere with your studies. You know that you are the idol of our hearts; for that very reason you should endeavor to become proficient in those branches of study that will render you an accomplished lady.

Believe me, my dear child, you will find school more pleasant every day, as you get better acquainted with your schoolmates; and, through improvement in your studies, you will steadily grow in favor with your teachers.

I will write Mrs. Mayhew to render your tasks as light as possible at first, and I have no doubt she will do all in her power to aid you.

Only a few weeks remember, and you will be home for a long vacation, which will be all the more delightful for the privation you are at present undergoing. Your father, brothers and sisters all unite with me in sending you their love.

I am at last safely under uncle's roof, having arrived here last evening, baby and myself both well, but really very tired. We had no delay, except about two hours at Buffalo. Uncle met me at the depot with his carriage, and in fifteen minutes from the time of my arrival, I was cosily seated in my room, which was all in readiness for me.

Uncle and aunt seem greatly pleased with my coming, and both are loud in their praise of the baby. They very much regret that you could not have come with me, and say they intend to prevail on you to make them a visit when I am ready to go home.

Baby looks into my eyes once in a while and says, solemnly, "Papa, papa!" I do actually believe he is thinking about home, and wants to keep up a talk about you. Everybody thinks he looks like his papa. By day after to-morrow I will write a long letter. I want you to get this by the first mail, so I make it short. With dearest love I am Your Wife,

I was indeed rejoiced to hear of your safe arrival, having had no little anxiety for you, which is relieved by the receipt of your letter.

I miss you very much, the house looks so dreary without your loved presence; but I am, nevertheless, glad that you are making your visit, as the journey, I trust, will be beneficial to your health.

Kiss baby for me. Only by his absence do I know how much I have enjoyed my play with our little Charlie.

Don't take any concern about me. Enjoy your visit to the utmost extent. In one of my next letters I will write whether I can go East and return with you.

Remember me to uncle and aunt.
Your ever Faithful Husband,

ARCHIBALD.

I take the first opportunity, since I arrived in the city, to write to you. It was a sore trial, I assure you, to leave home, but since coming here I have been quite contented, and I am getting so well accustomed to my work, that I begin to like my place very much.

Mr. and Mrs. Benedict, are both very kind to me. The family consists of father, mother and three children, the youngest being a little boy three years old; a beautiful little fellow, that always reminds me of brother James. Eliza, the oldest girl is thirteen, and Martha is eleven. They are both very kind to me, and do so much about the house that it helps me very considerably.

Mr. Benedict is a clothing merchant in the city, and I judge, is in very good circumstances. The girls are attending school at present. All the family are very regular in their attendance at church.

For the first few days here, everything seemed very strange. I hardly knew what to make of so much noise and so many people on the streets. I have now, however, become accustomed to the multitudes, and would, I presume, consider my native village very dull indeed, compared with the bustle and activity of the city.

I realize every day, dear parents, the worth of your good advice to me, which I never knew the value of so much before; thanking you for the same I will always endeavor to follow it.

Give my love to Johnny, Mary, Jimmy and all enquiring friends. I shall anxiously look for a letter from you. Write me in the care of Solon Benedict, No.-, Thirteenth Street.

Your dutiful and Affectionate Daughter,

Your letter which has been received, affords great pleasure and satisfaction to your father and myself. Nothing could give our hearts greater happiness than to know of your enjoyment and firm purpose to do right. Now that you are removed from all parental restraint, it is of the most vital importance that you implicitly rely upon the religious precepts which have been instilled into your mind, and that you daily pray to God for guidance and mercy.

We are greatly pleased that you are well situated with Mr. and Mrs, Benedict; in return for their kindness you must be honest, industrious. kind and obliging; doing your duty always faithfully, which will be a real satisfaction to yourself as well as to your employers.

Several of the neighbors, who have called, have wished to be remembered to you; Mary and Jimmy unite with your father and myself in sending you love.

We shall constantly pray for your continued protection and prosperity. I remain, dear Betsey, Your Affectionate Mother,

HARRIET FAIRBANKS.

Letter from a Father Remonstrating with his Son.
DANBURY, CONN., July 7, 18-.

MY DEAR SON: I am sorry to learn that you are not inclined to be as strict in your line of duty as you should be. Remember my son, that a down-hill road is before you, unless you rouse yourself and shake off immediately the habits of dissipation that are fastening themselves upon you. Be sure, dear boy, that nothing but sorrow and shame can come of bad company, late hours, neglect of duty, and inattention to the obligations of morality. I am willing to think that you have not given this matter sufficient thought heretofore; that your actions are the result of thoughtlessness rather than a disposition to do wrong.

I realize that I need the good advice contained in your letter. I am aware, as I stop and think of my conduct, that I have given you reason for anxiety, but I intend, by attention to my business hereafter, and a complete reformation of my habits, to give you no occasion for concern about me in the future. Believe me, I love and respect you too much to intentionally wound your feelings, or to bring down your gray hairs with sorrow.

Excuse me, dear father, for having given you this uneasiness, and trust me as

Your Affectionate and Repentant Son,
CHARLES MATHEWS.

From a Married Man to a Friend about to Marry.

FRIEND BATCHELDER:

ATLANTA, GA., Aug. 20, 18—.

Can it be possible? Am I right, or am I dreaming? Has it come to this at last? You, Batchelder Button, you cynic, railer against women, the unalterable, unchangeable bachelor - is it possible that you have at last been captured, and have surrendered all your ordnance, heavy guns, and small arms to the enemy? What a defeat! That large strong heart of yours all crumbling to pieces, and surrendering to Cupid's battery!

Well, now seriously, my friend, from my point of view, I think you have done a very sensible thing. The man who goes the journey alone through life, lives but half a life. If you have found the woman fitted by temperament and accomplishments to render your pathway through life the joyous one that the married state should be, you are certainly to be congratulated for awakening to the true sense of your condition, though rather late in the day.

Though but slightly acquainted with Miss Howell, I have formed a very favorable idea of her intelligence and worth, which opinion, I believe, is generally shared by those who know her best. I doubt not, with her your married life will be a continually happy one.

Your Friend,

HERBERT TRACEY.

From a Young Man who has Recently Entered College. HARVARD COLLEGE, MASS., May 18, 18-.

DEAR FATHER:

I am happy to inform you that I passed my examination with credit, if I am to believe the commendation bestowed upon me by Dr. H——.

I was very agreeably surprised, soon after my arrival, to meet my former schoolmate, Hartley Montague, who is one of the most respected and influential in his class, with whom I am, as formerly, on quite intimate terms. Many things are quite new to me here. The society is very much mixed, and I cannot tell just where my level is, but I trust I shall be able to follow the good advice of my parents, and always do credit to myself and my relatives, who have labored so assiduously to advance me to this position.

I thank you for the check you so kindly sent me, which was fully adequate to cover all expenses of entrance, and leave me a surplus sufficient for the rest of the term.

Love to dear mother and sisters. Hoping to meet you all at our forthcoming commencement, I am,

Your Affectionate Son, DARFORD D. CLAY.

Descriptive Letter.

From a Young Man at the "Old Home," to his Parents in the West.

DEAR PARENTS:

CAMBRIDGE, N. Y., June 10, 1873.

Agreeable to your request, I take the first opportunity after my visit to the "old home," and a hurried call upon our relatives, to write you how I found the people and scenes that you knew so well, in the days lang syne, and that I remember as a boy.

I arrived at Cambridge in a ninety minutes' ride from Troy. What a great change in traveling! When last I was here, it was a day's journey from Troy, by stage coach. To-day, New York, in time, is nearer to our old home than Troy was then; and Troy, after traveling among the thriving, driving cities of the great West, seems like a way. side village, instead of the great metropolis that it once seemed to be; though it is a beautiful, growing, wealthy manufacturing city to-day, nevertheless. It is not that the villages and cities that we once knew grow less, but by observation and comparison we class them where they belong.

At Cambridge I secured a livery team for a three days' sojourn among the scenes of my boyhood. Up the Battenkill. Could it be that this was the great river in which my parents were in such constant fear of their boy being drowned? Was this the Mississippi of my childhood? Alas! that I had floated down the Ohio river to the real Mississippi, that I had been up the Missouri, two thousand miles from its mouth, and that I had navigated the Father of Waters, from its fountain-head to its outlet, in the Gulf of Mexico.

Had the Battenkill been drying up? Not at all. Though a brook, comparatively, there are the same mill-dams, the same trout-holes, and the same bending willows by its side; and the first to meet me among our old neighbors was uncle Nat, the same old jolly fisherman, returning from his daily piscatorial excursion, with a small string of trout. Uncle Nat complains bitterly of the scarcity of fish at present in the river, caused, he says, by "them city chaps" from Troy, New York and Albany, who are in the habit of sojourning during the summer months, in the hotels among the mountains hereabouts.

Stopping first at uncle Henry's, I visited the old homestead towards evening on the day of my arrival. Whatever may be said about the village and rivers growing smaller, it must certainly be admitted that the mountains, hills, and rocks hold their own. Up there, on the hillside, was "the old house at home," which I had not seen for fifteen years. I went up the walk. There were the maples that I assisted father in planting, twenty years ago-great spreading trecs now. There was the same rosebush that mother and I cared for sixteen years ago. No other evidence of the flowers and shrubbery that mother so much delighted in remained about the premises.

I had learned that the place had passed into the hands of an Irishman named Sweeny, so I rapped at the front door, and was met by Mrs. S., from whom I obtained permission to stroll around the place. "Oh, yes," said the kind-hearted woman, "go all about, and when Mr. Swainy comes, he'll go wid ye."

So I strolled in the quiet evening hour, alone, among the scenes of my childhood, where we boys picked stones, and played ball in the summer; and slid down hill, and chopped firewood in the winter. The barn was the same old barn. I clambered to its old girt beam, and sat looking down on the haymow where I had jumped, hundreds of times, into the hay below. I climbed to the box, close under the rafters, where we boys used to keep doves. The same box is there yet. I went down into the stables, where we hunted hens' eggs. Apparently, the same speckled hens are there now. And down around the barn are the same old maples, and willows beside the brook.

I went out to the fields. What immense tracts of land I thought these ten-acre fields, when I was a boy! The same orchards are there. The old Jones sweet-apple tree is dead, however, and none of the trees are looking thrifty. I took a drink from the upper spring, in the Barnes lot, which tasted just as cool as ever, and getting down on my hands and knees to drink seemed like old times. I saw a woodchuck and several squirrels, in my walk, and heard the same old caw, caw, of the crows, which brought back the past the most vividly of any. thing I had heard.