derly.

"My friend Eleanor Temple, and her brother Theodore, have been
spending the evening with me. You know how gay and witty they are.
In answer to a remark of mine, Theodore gravely quoted a passage of
Scripture, which applied to my observation in an irresistibly
ludicrous manner. I yielded to a hearty laugh which I could not
restrain; it came so suddenly I had no time for thought. But in a
moment after my conscience smote me, and I felt that my respect for
Theodore had lessened. I had no right to rebuke him, even if I had
the moral courage, for my laughter was encouragement. I turned away
from him and spoke to Eleanor; I was displeased with myself, and I
felt a sort of inward repugnance to him. But that was not the end;
several times afterwards Theodore did the same thing.

"'There are subjects which are not fit food for merriment;' I said
once in an embarrassed manner. 'If I do wrong, it is not
deliberately done.' Theodore was silent a moment, and he looked at
me as if he hardly knew how to understand me--then smiling, he
turned the conversation, and was as gay as ever. When they had taken
their leave, I entered the parlour again, and threw myself in a seat
by the open window. I turned the blind, and looked out after them.
Eleanor had caught the fringe of her mantilla in the railing of the
area. I was about to speak with her on the little accident, when
Theodore laughed, and said to his sister, 'Alice is as fond of
taking characters, as an actress. She attempted to reprove me, for
the very thing she had laughed at a little while before. Rather
inconsistent in our favourite, Nelly, don't you think so?' Eleanor
laughed, and said good-naturedly, 'Alice is impulsive, she don't
measure what she says, before it comes out.'

"I rose, and left the window. I felt sad, and peculiarly discomposed
and dissatisfied with myself. I knew that I had tried to do right in
some degree, and it grated on my feelings that my effort should be
called 'a taking of character.' Oh! if I could only live with good
people altogether, who would bear with me, and trust my motives! You
have my story, Aunt Mary, it amounts to nothing, but I am so sad."

"Life is made up of trifles," said Miss Clinton. "Few circumstances
are so trivial that we may not draw a lesson from them. Do not feel
sad, Alice, because you are misunderstood. Do not repine on account
of your position; no one could fill it but yourself, or you would
not be placed in it. Be r