It is only in some corner of the brain which we leave empty that Vice can obtain a lodging.

When she knocks at your door, my son, be able to say, "No room for your ladyship; pass on." Your affectionate father, A.CAXTON.
2 .-- FROM Mrs.CAXTON.
My Dearest Sisty,--You are coming home! My heart is so full of that thought that it seems to me as if I could not write anything else.

Dear child, you are coming home; you have done with school, you have done with strangers,--you are our own, all our own son again! You are mine again, as you were in the cradle, the nursery, and the garden, Sisty, when we used to throw daisies at each other! You will laugh at me so when I tell you that as soon as I heard you were coming home for good, I crept away from the room, and went to my drawer where I keep, you know, all my treasures.

There was your little cap that I worked myself, and your poor little nankeen jacket that you were so proud to throw off--oh! and many other relies of you when you were little Sisty, and I was not the cold, formal "Mother" you call me now, but dear "Mamma." I kissed them, Sisty, and said, "My little child is coming back to me again!" So foolish was I, I forgot all the long years that have passed, and fancied I could carry you again in my arms, and that I should again coax you to say "God bless papa." Well, well! I write now between laughing and crying.

You cannot be what you were, but you are still my own dear son,--your father's son; dearer to me than all the world,--except that father.
I am so glad, too, that you will come so soon,--come while your father is really warm with his book, and while you can encourage and keep him to it.