"Perhaps so; but still I would rather not tell the cause; it involves a subject upon which I do not wish to speak. Be satisfied, then, Louisa, that I am fully convinced that you did not mean to wound me. Let this (kissing her tenderly) a.s.sure you that my old feelings have all returned. But do not press me upon a point that I shrink from even thinking about."
There was something so serious, almost solemn in the manner of the young lady, that Louisa felt that it would be wrong to urge her upon the subject. But their reconciliation was complete.
So much interest did Mrs. Appleton feel in the matter, that she called in, during the afternoon of the same day, to see Louisa.
"Well, it"s all made up," was almost the first word uttered as Mrs.
Appleton came in.
"I am truly glad to hear it," replied that lady.
"And I am glad to be able to say so; but there is one thing that I do not like: I could not prevail upon her to tell me the cause of her coldness towards me."
"I am sorry for that, because, not knowing what has given offence, you are all the time liable again to trespa.s.s on feelings that you desire not to wound."
"So I feel about it; but the subject seemed so painful to her that I did not press it."
"When did you first notice a change in her manner?"
"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 pa.s.sed 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--
"No, no!"--pushing back my hand--"nonsense!"
"Yes; but I must insist upon meeting my share of the expense."
"Not a word more. The bill"s settled, and you needn"t trouble your head about it," was his reply; and he seemed half offended when I still urged upon him to take my portion of the cost.
"What a fine, generous fellow Peyton is!" said one of the party to me, as we met on the next day.
"Did he also refuse to let you share in the expense of our excursion?"
I asked.
"After what he said to you, I was afraid of offending him by proposing to do so."
"He certainly is generous--but, I think, to a fault, if I saw a fair specimen of his generosity yesterday."
"We should be just, as well as generous."
"I never heard that he was not just."
"Nor I. But I think he was not just to himself. And I believe it will be found to appear in the end, that, if we are not just to ourselves, we will, somewhere in life, prove unjust to others. I think that his salary is not over twelve dollars a week. If he bore the whole expense of our pleasure excursion, it cost him within a fraction of half his earnings for a week. Had we all shared alike, it would not have been a serious matter to either of us."
"Oh! as to that, it is no very serious matter to him. He will never think of it."
"But, if he does so very frequently, he may feel it sooner or later," I replied.
"I"m sure I don"t know any thing about that," was returned. "He is a generous fellow, and I cannot but like him. Indeed, every one likes him."
A few evenings afterwards I met Peyton again.
"Come, let us have some oysters," said he.
I did not object. We went to an oyster-house, and ate and drank as much as our appet.i.tes craved. He paid the bill!
Same days afterwards, I fell in with him again, and, in order to retaliate a little, invited him to go and get some refreshments with me. He consented. When I put my hand in my pocket to pay for them, his hand went into his. But I was too quick for him. He seemed uneasy about it. He could feel pleased while giving, but it evidently worried him to be the recipient.
From that time, for some years, I was intimate with the young man. I found that he set no true value upon money. He spent it freely with every one; and every one spoke well of him. "What a generous, whole-souled fellow he is!" or, "What a n.o.ble heart he has!" were the expressions constantly made in regard to him. While "Mean fellow!"
"Miserly dog!" and other such epithets, were unsparingly used in speaking of a quiet, thoughtful young man, named Merwin, who was clerk with him in the same store. Merwin appeared to set an undue value upon money. He rarely indulged himself in any way, and it was with difficulty that he could ever be induced to join in any pleasures that involved expense. But I always observed that when he did so, he was exact about paying his proportion.
About two years after my acquaintance with Peyton began, an incident let me deeper into the character and quality of his generosity. I called one day at the house of a poor widow woman who washed for me, to ask her to do up some clothes, extra to the usual weekly washing. I thought she looked as if she were in trouble about something, and said so to her.
"It"s very hard, at best," she replied, "for a poor woman, with three or four children to provide for, to get along--especially if, like me, she has to depend upon washing and ironing for a living. But when so many neglect to pay her regularly"--
"Neglect to pay their washerwoman!" I said, in a tone of surprise, interrupting her.
"Oh, yes. Many do that!"
"Who?"