Then, while the company were hanging over the fire or loitering through the room, previous to settling to their various morning avocations, he came and leant over the back of my chair, with his face in contact with my curls, and commencing with a quiet little kiss, poured forth the following complaints into my ear:-- 'Helen, you witch, do you know that you've entailed upon me the curses of all my friends?
I wrote to them the other day, to tell them of my happy prospects, and now, instead of a bundle of congratulations, I've got a pocketful of bitter execrations and reproaches.

There's not one kind wish for me, or one good word for you, among them all.

They say there'll be no more fun now, no more merry days and glorious nights--and all my fault--I am the first to break up the jovial band, and others, in pure despair, will follow my example.

I was the very life and prop of the community, they do me the honour to say, and I have shamefully betrayed my trust--' 'You may join them again, if you like,' said I, somewhat piqued at the sorrowful tone of his discourse.

'I should be sorry to stand between any man--or body of men, and so much happiness; and perhaps I can manage to do without you, as well as your poor deserted friends.' 'Bless you, no,' murmured he.