much good sense to be utterly cast down for the wrong-doing of another.  Whatever were Arthur’s feelings after he had taken this step, he spoke of them to no one.  I never again mentioned the subject to him, but, knowing him as I did, I could see that he was far from being satisfied with his own conduct, and he departed for the city some weeks sooner than he had at first intended.  Owing to the friendly feeling I had ever cherished for him, I could not help a feeling of anxiety after his departure, for I feared that all was not right with him.  He did not entirely cease from writing to me; but his letters were not frequent, and they were very brief and formal—­very unlike the former brotherly communications which used to pass between us.  A year passed away.  I obtained a situation nearly a hundred miles from home.  I had heard nothing from Arthur for a long time, and, amid my own cares, he recurred to my mind with less frequency than formerly; yet often after the business of the day was over, and my mind was at leisure, memory would recall Arthur Sinclair to my mind with a pained sort of interest.  About six months after I left home I was surprised by receiving from Mr. Sinclair a hastily written letter, requesting me, if possible, to lose no time in hastening to Littleton, stating also that he was obliged to take a journey to Boston on business which vitally concerned Arthur, and he wished me to accompany him.  He closed by requesting me to mention the letter I had received from him to no one, saying that he knew me and my regard for Arthur sufficiently well to trust me in the matter.  My fears were instantly alive for Arthur, and I feared that some misfortune to him was hidden behind this veil of secrecy:  and I soon found that my fears were well founded.  I set out at once for Littleton, and upon arriving there I proceeded directly to the residence of Mr. Sinclair.  When he met me at the door I was struck by the change in his countenance; he appeared as if ten years had been added to his age since I last saw him, six months ago.  He waited not for me to make any inquiries, but, motioning me into a private apartment, he closed the door, and seating himself by my side, said in a hoarse voice:  “I may as well tell you the worst at once:  my son, and also your once dear friend, Arthur, is a thief, and, but for the lenity and consideration of his employer, before this time would have been lodged within the walls of a prison.”  I made no reply, but gazed upon him in silent astonishment and horror.  When he became more composed, he informed me that he had lately received a letter from Mr. Worthing (Arthur’s employer) informing him that he had detected Arthur in the crime of stealing money from the safe, to quite a large amount.  In giving the particulars of the unfortunate circumstance, he further stated, for some time past he had missed different sums of money, but was unable to attach suspicion to any one; “and, although,” said he, “I have been for some time fearful that your son was associating