Robert. Because it is not true; you know, sir, there has not been any fire at Cambridge.
Mr. R. Then suppose we alter it to "Last night our tabby had three kittens." That's true, you know, because you told me so just now.
Robert. (Hesitatingly.) Y-e-s, sir, it is true, but I should not like to write that.
Mr. R. But as you know it to be true, why should you not like to write it?
Robert. Because I do not think it worth putting into a letter, sir.
Mr. R. Oh, oh! Then, if I properly understand you, friend Robert, you think that when we write to our friends, we should, in the first place, never be rude; secondly, we must never say what is not true; and, thirdly, we must never tell them what is not worth their knowing. Am I right?
Robert. Yes, sir; if I were to write a letter, I should try to think of all that.
Mr. R. Then, my dear boy, you must never again tell me you don't know how to write a letter; for I assure you that you have a much better notion of letter writing than many people have who are five times your age.
The narrative we are about to relate is contained in a series of letters; and though, perhaps, this is not the most interesting form of story-telling, the events described are of so amusing a character that we feel sure our young readers will feel pleasure in their perusal. They are very simply written, affording a fine illustration of the recipe for letter writing—civility, truth, and interest.
