“About a week ago, when we were spending an evening at Mrs. Trueman’s.”

“Cannot you remember something which you then said that might have wounded her?”

“No, I believe not.  I have tried several times to recall what I then said, but I can think of nothing but a light jest which I passed upon her about her certainly coming of a crazy family.”

“Surely you did not say that, Louisa!”

“Yes, I did.  And I am sure that I thought no harm of it.  We were conversing gayly, and she was uttering some of her peculiar, and often strange sentiments, when I made the thoughtless and innocent remark I have alluded to.  No one replied, and there was a momentary silence that seemed to me strange.  From that time her manner changed.  But I have never believed that my playful remark was the cause.  I think her a girl of too much good sense for that.”

“Have you never heard that her father was for many years in the hospital, and at last died there a raving maniac?” asked Mrs. Appleton with a serious countenance.

“Never,” was the positive answer.

“It is true that such was his miserable end, Louisa.”

“Then it is all explained.  Oh, how deeply I must have wounded her!”

“Deeply, no doubt.  But it cannot be helped.  The wound, I trust, is now nearly healed.”  Then, after a pause, Mrs. Appleton resumed: 

“Let this lesson never be forgotten, my young friend.  Suppose you had followed your own impulses, and let Maria ‘pout it out,’ as you said; how much would both she and yourself have suffered—­she, under the feeling that you had wantonly insulted and wounded her; and you, in estranged friendship, and under the imputation, unknown to yourself, of having most grossly violated the very first principles of humanity.  Let the lesson, then, sink deeply into your heart.  Never again permit any one to grow cold towards you suddenly, without inquiring the cause.  It is due to yourself and your friends.”

“I shall never forget the lesson, Mrs. Appleton,” was Louisa’s emphatic response.

“A FINE, GENEROUS FELLOW.”

MY friend Peyton was what is called a “fine, generous fellow.”  He valued money only as a means of obtaining what he desired, and was always ready to spend it with an acquaintance for mutual gratification.  Of course, he was a general favourite.  Every one spoke well of him, and few hesitated to give his ears the benefit of their good opinion.  I was first introduced to him when he was in the neighbourhood of twenty-two years of age.  Peyton was then a clerk in the receipt of six hundred dollars a year.  He grasped my hand with an air of frankness and sincerity, that at once installed him in my good opinion.  A little pleasure excursion was upon the tapis, and he insisted upon my joining it.  I readily consented.  There were five of us, and the expense to each, if borne mutually, would have been something like one dollar.  Peyton managed every thing, even to paying the bills; and when I offered to repay him my proportion, he said—­