Uncle Max held his own views with remarkable tenacity; he had old-fashioned notions with respect to women, rather singular in so young a man,--for he was only thirty; he preferred to believe in their goodness, in spite of any amount of demonstration to the contrary; it vexed him to be reminded of the shortcomings of his friends; by nature he was an optimist, and had a large amount of faith in people's good intentions.

'He meant well, poor fellow, in spite of his failures,' was a speech I have heard more than once from his lips.

He was always ready to condone a fault or heal a breach; indeed, his sweet nature found it difficult to bear a grudge against any one; he was only hard to himself, and on no one else did he strive to impose so heavy a yoke.

I was only silent for a minute, and then I turned the conversation into another channel.
'But my letter, Uncle Max!' 'Ah, true, your letter; but I have not forgotten it.

How old are you, Ursula?
I always forget.' 'Five-and-twenty this month.' 'To be sure; I ought to have remembered.