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“You certainly cannot wish us to associate with every one,” said Emily, in a tone less arrogant.

“Of course not, Emily,” replied Mr. Ludlow; “but I do most decidedly condemn the spirit from which you are now acting. It would exclude others, many of whom, in moral character, are far superior to yourself from enjoying the pleasant, health-imparting recreation of a visit to the Springs, because it hurts your self-importance to be brought into brief contact with them.”

“I can’t understand what you mean by speaking of these kind of people as superior in moral character to us,” Mrs. Ludlow remarked.

“I said some of them. And, in this, I mean what I say. Wealth and station in society do not give moral tone. They are altogether extraneous, and too frequently exercise a deteriorating influence upon the character. There is Thomas, the porter in my store–a plain, poor man, of limited education; yet possessing high moral qualities, that I would give much to call my own. This man’s character I esteem far above that of many in society to whom no one thinks of objecting. There are hundreds and thousands of humble and unassuming persons like him, far superior in the high moral qualities of mind to the mass of self-esteeming exclusives, who think the very air around them tainted by their breath. Do you suppose that I would enjoy less the pleasures of a few weeks at Saratoga, because Thomas was there? I would, rather, be gratified to see him enjoying a brief relaxation, if his duties at the store could be remitted in my absence.”

There was so much of the appearance of truth in what Mr. Ludlow said, combined with a decided tone and manner, that neither his wife or daughters ventured a reply. But they had no affection for the truth he uttered, and of course it made no salutary impression on their minds.

“What shall we do, Ma?” asked Adeline, as they sat with their mother, on the next afternoon. “We must go somewhere this summer, and Pa seems in earnest about not letting us visit London.”

“I don’t know, I am sure, child,” was the reply.

“I can’t think of going to Saratoga,” said Emily, in a positive tone.

“The Emmersons are going,” Adeline remarked.

“How do you know?” asked Emily, in a tone of surprise.

“Victorine told me so this morning.”

“She did!”

“Yes. I met her at Mrs. Lemmington’s and she said that they were all going next week.”

“I don’t understand that,” said Emily, musingly.

“It was only last week that Victorine told me that they were done going to Saratoga; that the place had become too common. It had been settled, she said, that they were to go out in the next steamer.”

“Mr. Emmerson, I believe, would not consent, and so, rather than not go anywhere, they concluded to visit Saratoga, especially as the Lesters, and Milfords, and Luptons are going.”

“Are they all going?” asked Emily, in renewed surprise.

“So Victorine said.”

“Well, I declare! there is no kind of dependence to be placed in people now-a-days. They all told me that they could not think of going to such a vulgar place as Saratoga again.”

Then, after a pause, Emily resumed,

“As it will never do to stay at home, we will have to go somewhere. What do you think of the Virginia Springs, Ma?”

“I think that I am not going there, to be jolted half to death in a stage coach by the way.”

“Where, then, shall we go?”

“I don’t know, unless to Saratoga.”

“Victorine said,” remarked Adeline, “that a large number of distinguished visiters were to be there, and that it was thought the season would be the gayest spent for some time.”

“I suppose we will have to go, then,” said Emily.

“I am ready,” responded Adeline.”

“And so am I,” said Florence.

That evening Mr. Ludlow was graver and more silent than usual. After tea, as he felt no inclination to join in the general conversation about the sayings and doings of distinguished and fashionable individuals, he took a newspaper, and endeavored to become interested in its contents. But he tried in vain. There was something upon his mind that absorbed his attention at the same time that it oppressed his feelings. From a deep reverie he was at length roused by Emily, who said–