LET HER POUT IT OUT.

I HOPE there is no coolness between you and Maria," said Mrs. Appleton

to her young friend, Louisa Graham, one evening at a social party. "I

have not seen you together once to-night; and just now she passed

without speaking, or even looking at you."

"Oh, as to that," replied Louisa, tossing her head with an air of

contempt and affected indifference, "she's got into a pet about

something; dear knows what, for I don't."

"I am really sorry to hear you say so," remarked Mrs. Appleton. "Maria

is a warm-hearted girl, and a sincere friend. Why do you not go to her,

and inquire the cause of this change in her manner?"

"Me! No, indeed. I never humour any one who gets into a pet and goes

pouting about in that manner."

"But is it right for you to act so? A word of inquiry or explanation

might restore all in a moment."

"Right or wrong, I never did and never will humour the whims of such

kind of people. No, no. Let her pout it out! That's the way to cure

such people."

"I don't think so, Louisa. She is unhappy from some real or imaginary

cause. That cause it is no doubt in your power to remove."

"But she has no right to imagine causes of offence; and I don't choose

to have people act as she is now acting towards me from mere imaginary

causes. No; let her pout it out, I say. It will teach her a good

lesson."

Louisa spoke with indignant warmth.

"Were you never mistaken?" asked Mrs. Appleton, in a grave tone.

"Of course, I've been mistaken many a time."

"Very well. Have you never been mistaken in reference to another's

action towards you?"

"I presume so."

"And have not such mistakes sometimes given you pain?"

"I cannot recall any instances just at this moment, but I have no doubt

they have."

"Very well. Just imagine yourself in Maria's position; would you not

think it kind in any one to step forward and disabuse you of an error

that was stealing away your peace of mind?"

"Yes; but, Mrs. Appleton, I don't know anything about the cause of

Maria's strange conduct. She may see that in my character or

disposition to which she is altogether uncongenial, and may have made

up her mind not to keep my company any longer. Or she may feel herself,

all at once, above me. And I'm not the one, I can tell you, to cringe

to any living mortal. I am as good as she is, or any one else!"

"Gently, gently, Louisa! Don't fall into the very fault you condemn in

Maria; that of imagining a sentiment to be entertained by another which

she does not hold, and then growing indignant over the idea and at the

person supposed to hold it."

"I can't see clearly the force of what you say, Mrs. Appleton; and

therefore I must come back to what I remarked a little while ago: She

must pout it out."

"You are wrong, Louisa," her friend replied, "and I cannot let you rest

in that wrong, if it is in my power to correct it. Perhaps, by relating

a circumstance that occurred with myself a few years ago, I may be able

to make an impression on your mind. I had, and still have, an esteemed

friend, amiable and sincere, but extremely sensitive. She is too apt to

make mistakes about other people's estimation of her, which, I often

told her, is a decided fault of character. That she has only to be

self-conscious of integrity, and then she will be truly estimated.

Well, this friend would sometimes imagine that _I_ treated her coolly,

or indifferently, or thrust at her feelings, when I felt towards her

all the while a very warm affection. The consequence would be, that she

would assume a cold or offended exterior. But I never said to myself,

'Let her pout it out.' I knew that she was mistaken, and that she was

really suffering under her mistake; and I would always go to her, and

kindly inquire the cause of her changed manner. The result was, of

course, an immediate restoration of good feeling, often accompanied by

a confession of regret at having injured me by imagining that I

entertained unkind sentiments when I did not. On one occasion I noticed

a kind of reserve in her manner; but thinking there might be some

circumstances known only to herself, that gave her trouble, I did not

seem to observe it. On the next morning I was exceedingly pained and

surprised to receive a note from her, in something like the following

language--

"The fact is, Mrs. Appleton, I cannot and will not bear any longer your

manner towards me. You seem to think that I have no feelings. And

besides, you assume an air of superiority and patronage that is

exceedingly annoying. Last night your manner was insufferable. As I

have just said, I cannot and will not bear such an assumption on your

part. And now let me say, that I wish, hereafter, to be considered by

you as a stranger. As such I shall treat you. Do not attempt to answer

this, do not attempt to see me, for I wish for no humiliating

explanations.'

"Now what would you have done in such a case, Louisa?"

"I would have taken her at her word, of course," was the prompt reply;

"did not you?"

"Oh, no; that would not have been right."

"I must confess, Mrs. Appleton, that your ideas of right, and mine, are

very different. This lady told you expressly that she did not wish to

hold any further intercourse with you."

"Exactly. But, then, she would not have said so, had she not been

deceived by an erroneous idea. Knowing this, it became my duty to

endeavour to remove the false impression."

"I must confess, Mrs. Appleton, that I cannot see it in the same light.

I don't believe that we are called upon to humour the whims of every

one. It does such people, as you speak of, good to be let alone, and

have their pout out. If you notice them, it makes them ten times as

bad."

"A broad assertion like that you have just made needs proof, Louisa. I,

for one, do not believe that it is true. If an individual, under a

false impression, be let alone to 'pout it out,' the mere pouting, as

you call it, does not bring a conviction that the cause of unpleasant

feeling is altogether imaginary. The ebullition will subside in time,

and the subject of it may seem to forget the cause; but to do so, is

next to impossible where the false impression is not removed. Now let

me tell you how _I_ did in reference to the friend I have just

mentioned."

"Well. How did you do?"

"After the acute pain of mind which was caused by her note had

subsided, I began to examine, as far as I could recollect them, all my

words and actions towards her on the previous evening. In one or two

things, I thought I could perceive that which to one of her sensitive

disposition might appear in a wrong light. I remembered, too, that in

her domestic relations there were some circumstances of a painful

character, and I knew that these weighed heavily upon her mind, often

depressing her spirits very much. One of these circumstances, though

perfectly beyond her control, was extremely humiliating to a

high-minded and somewhat proud-spirited woman. All these things I

turned over in my mind, and instead of suffering myself to feel

incensed against her for the unkind note she had written to me, I

endeavoured to find excuses for her, and to palliate her fault all that

I could. What troubled me most, was the almost insurmountable barrier

that she had thrown between us. 'Do not attempt to answer this; do not

attempt to see me;' were strong positions; and my pride rose up, and

forbade me to break through them. But pride could not stand before the

awakening of better feelings. 'I must see her. I will see her!' I said.

"This resolution taken, I determined that I would not call upon her

until towards evening, thus giving her time for reflection. The hour at

length came in which I had made up my mind to perform a most painful

duty, and I dressed myself for the trying visit. When I pulled the

bell, on pausing at her door, I was externally calm, but internally

agitated.

"'Tell Mrs. ---- that a friend wishes to speak to her,' said I to the

servant who showed me into the parlour. I did not feel at liberty to

ask her not to mention my name; but I emphasized the word 'friend,' in

hopes that she would understand my meaning. But she either did not or

would not, for in a few minutes she returned and said, in a confused

and hesitating voice,

"'Mrs.--says that she does not wish to see you.'"

"And you left the house on the instant?" Louisa said, in an indignant

tone.

"No, I did not," was Mrs. Appleton's calm reply.

"Not after such an insult! Pardon me--but I should call it a breach of

politeness for any one to remain in the house of another under such

circumstances."

"But, Louisa, you must remember that there are exceptions to every

general rule; and also, that the same act may be good or bad, according

to the end which the actor has in view. If I had proposed to myself any

mere sinister and selfish end in remaining in the house of my friend

after such an unkind and to me, at the time, cruel repulse, I should

have acted wrong; but my end was to benefit my friend--to disabuse her

of a most painful mistake, which I could only do by meeting her, and

letting her ears take in the tones of my voice, that she might thus

judge of my sincerity."