to whom the latter tipped" his hat"What do you think of that girl?" "What girl?" "The one to whom you just bowed," returned the elder, 66 Mary Jane Jones-eh?" "She is bold, forward, vain, frivolous," said the young man, striving to hide his bitterness of feeling in carelessness of tone. "Ah! is it so?" pursued the old gentleman, turning his mild and merry grey eye significantly upon the other's face;" Why love her, then?" The young gentleman flinched"-barely perceptibly-yet enough to show that his companion had made a " palpable hit." "What I have already mentioned," answered Bell; her boldness, her unrestrained language, and unreserved actions. She lacks delicacy and refinement of feeling-and you know I am a little fastidious upon points of female propriety." Umph!" said the old man; "a little too fastidious, I think." "Not a whit-and see! there is confirmation of what I have said," continued Bell, directing his companion's attention to the opposite side of the street- there is Mary Jane returning with a stranger, to whom I know she was introduced only last evening. She has met him upon the street, and doubtless, with her usual indiscretion, invited him to a promenade." The subject of their remarks, a lively, graceful creature of nineteen or twenty, passed on with her new beau," laughing and chatting with as much heedlessness and familiarity as if the stranger had been an acquaintance of "I do n't," he retorted, warmly; "what put years' standing, and the thronged and fashionable such an idea into your head?" Mr. Stiles (the elderly gentleman) laughed provokingly, and offered to lay any wager the other could propose, that, in less than a year, Miss Mary Jane Jones would be the affianced bride of Mr. Theophilus Bell. "How absurdly you talk," answered Bell. 66 Think you I do not know my own mind. Why, sir, I tell you candidly, in the whole thoroughfare her own privileged drawing-room "What say you, now?" resumed Bell, "will your benevolent disposition throw the mantle of charity' over this impropriety, and term it innocent sportiveness?" "No," replied Mr. Stiles; "I agree with you, that there is impropriety in the lady's conduct-but I know she is not aware of it. She is an orphan, and has been reared by a vain, weak-minded, indulgent aunt, who either does not see, or is too fond to show her her errors. Her disposition is cheerful, social, unsuspecting and free, and there are few young men whom chance throws into her society, but will take advantage of her confiding nature. At heart, she is pure, and her inclinations all tend naturally to whatever is good. Gain her love, and you can easily re-mould her disposition to suit your own ideas of propriety. Try it, nephew; she will make you a good wife." The nephew-for such was the relationship in which Theophilus Bell stood to Mr. Stileswas silent. He knew that it was useless to attempt further to deceive his uncle with regard to his feelings. He had loved Mary Jane devotedly; but displeased with what he conceived to be frivolity and immodesty in her manners, he had striven to erase the feeling from his breast; and had so far succeeded, he flattered himself, that no circumstances would ever induce him to think of her again, as an object worthy of his affections. The event proved, however, that he did not know his own heart. Accustomed to place implicit reliance in the judgment of his uncle, whom he knew to be a close and penetrating observer of human character, the positive tone in which the old man had excused the young lady's seeming errors, produced in his mind something like a conviction of having wronged her by unjust suspicions. This conviction strengthened with reflection, and by the end of the ensuing week, his stifled passion was resuscitated, and burned in his breast with all its original fervor. He concluded to propose, and, accordingly, did propose, to the no little surprise of the lady, to whom his hitherto distant demeanor had intimated any thing but serious intentions." Her reply was not, at first, decisive. She had esteemed him, certainly, she said, but had never dreamed of him in the relation he now proposed-she must have time for consideration. hitherto entertained such sentiments toward him as a lady ought, who should answer favorably; yet she thought she could-in short, Miss Jones consented to become Mrs. Bell, and Theophilus was now at that crisis of his mortal career, which is expressed by the term "a happy man.” It was a crisis, however, which with him was soon passed; for the expiration of forty-eight hours left him as absolutely unhappy as it is possible to conceive a man. The cause of this sudden revolution in the state of his feelings we must here endeavour to account for. No sooner was a formal betrothal completed, than, feeling his prize to be perfectly secure, and imagining, as men in the vanity of youth are apt to do, that he had more deeply engaged her affections than she chose to allow, he set about the task of correcting those errors in her conduct which had heretofore excited his indig nation, or, as Mr. Stiles had expressed it, of "re-moulding her disposition to suit his own ideas of propriety." Upon the evening ensuing that of his sudden proposal and acceptation, as he was seated by her side, toying with her delicate hand, he commenced his reforming and refining process in the following unequivocal and very abrupt manner: "Will you allow me, Mary Jane, to reprove you for one or two slight foibles, which I have observed in your conduct, and which, I think, spring more from a want of reflectiveness, than a disposition to err?" Mary Jane's smiling features settled immediately into an expression of serious perplexity; the bright eye, that had been beaming upon her lover with awakening tenderness, was hid by the falling of the graceful lash; the hand that had just returned the warm pressure of his, shrank in his grasp to cold passiveness, and a moment of silent embarrassment, painful, at least to her, ensued. Perhaps, in that moment, there was passing in her mind something like a struggle between doubt and duty. She had evidently been disposed to some interchange of tender thoughts-to listen to the murmured passion of a heart that yearned for unison with her's to receive and return those sweet blandishments which make up the blissfulness of early love. Words so foreign to those she anticipated, chilled the warm feeling that was beginning to glow in her bosom, and it seemed almost in an instant that an altered heart was Bell's impatient disposition could not brook delay; and he pressed his suit with all the arguments which ardent love could dictate. And what woman is there, whose heart is not preengaged, who can withstand the warm, earnest, eloquent pleadings of an impetuous lover. What woman of ordinary feeling, even though her affections may not have been previously enlisted by the suitor, can say, determinedly, "No," to an unexpected, passionate, but sincere and respectful proposal. Mary Jane, whose mindfully, and repliedwas easily impressed, and who had not been reared in habits of cautious reflectiveness, was not likely to prove more immovable than most of her sex. She repeated that she had not throbbing there. She raised her eyes reproach I suppose it There was . Certainly, you may reprove. is now your prerogative to do so." a bitterness in the tone with which she said this, which the next instant she repented, and hastily added, “my wish is to do right, and I will gladly hear your counsel, and try to profit by it." So she spoke, and so for the moment she felt. But reproof is like a nauseous medicine. We may be fully conscious that it is for our own good, and may affect to swallow it complacently-yet we cannot overcome our distaste for it, and the hand that administers it must be a skilful one, indeed, if we do not loathe it afterward. If Bell had sufficiently reflected upon this, he would have been more cautious; but he relied upon the susceptibility of her heart, and the purity of his own motives, and proceeded, with little reserve, to point out those faults in her conduct which justly merited censure. The actions with which Bell charged her, Mary Jane admitted, but averred she could not conceive wherein their impropriety consisted. He endeavored to explain, and apparently succeeded in convincing her, for she expressed sorrow, and promised in future to be more circumspect. During the rest of that evening's interview, she was dejected and reserved; and Bell took his leave with the satisfactory belief { that the wished-for revolution in her character would be the result of the convictions he had forced upon her. When he was gone, the young lady gave way to a fit of weeping. She felt mortified at what she had heard, and dissatisfied with herself nor was she altogether satisfied with her lover. In fact, she was miserable, and he had been the cause of it. The voice of conscience has but little music in it for us of "frail humanity ;" and when it assails us, in its still, small way, about something we have done wrong, we are but too prone to silence its unpleasant admonitions, by imputing blame to others. Such was the case with Mary Jane. Her penitence soon turned to indignation. "I have, perhaps, thoughtlessly done wrong," she said, but for him so soon to presume upon the privilege which our betrothal may give him to control my actions and take me to task for fancied indiscretions, is ungenerous—is unfeeling { -is arbitrary." { future conduct, and she had promised compliance. Nothing could seem more favorable, and he fully expected to find Mrs. Bell, that was to be, as perfectly comformable to his avowed and peculiar notions, as if she were the identical Mrs. Bell who had long existed in his imagination, the embodiment of modesty, refinement, sensibility, and, in short, the whole catalogue of female virtues and accomplishments. The He reached the mansion which contained his bride elect, and paused at the door, just a moment, to catch the tone of that thrilling voice, as it rang out a peal of joyous laughter. His spirit caught the glad tone, and he entered, eager to participate in the gaiety which seemed to reign within. Mary Jane was chatting in a jocund strain with her indulgent aunt. latter, after having exchanged civilities with the young man, benevolently left the lovers to themselves. Bell seated himself by her side, and made some remark about twilight. He did not intend it to be thought either very witty or very humorous—yet if there had been one chord in her bosom that answered to the feelings of his, she would have smiled, at least. But no; her answer was brief and spiritless, with her eyes demurely downcast. A change, that, from the light-of-heart demeanor, she had been indulging in, the previous moment, and Bell felt it. He made an effort, however, to engage her in animated converse-but to no purpose; she appeared to have grown maliciously monosyllabic. Bell's unreciprocated feelings at length began to grow constrained, and embarrassing pauses intervened, in the course of his remarks, which grew longer and more frequent, until, as a facetious friend of ours would express it, there were two pauses to one word. Finally, Bell could endure it no longer : Mary Jane," said he, "you act strangely. There is not that sympathy between us that there should be, under the circumstances; and you seem distant, reserved, and unhappy." "I feel so," she replied. "You cannot doubt "And why?" he asked. the sincerity of my affection. I love, I adore you." "I do not doubt that," she returned; "but I doubt whether I can love you as I should. I fear I have acted too hasty in this affair; I should have taken time for reflection." Poor Bell! little did he suspect what would be the result of his first well-meant lecture on female propriety; and when he started the next evening to pay his devoirs, it was with a mind { perfectly at case in the comfortable reflection Why do you doubt that you can love me as that the task of "re-moulding" the lady's dispo- you should?" asked Bell, in a tone of painful sition was accomplished. He had defined his solicitude; "what has occurred, since the evenposition; he had defined her position. He had ing before last, to change your mind? Then pointed out what he had disapproved in her you thought, you will remember, that it would former conduct, and she had promised amend- not be difficult to do so." ment; he had stated what he wished to be her "I will be frank with you," she replied. Stiles, with his usual quiet smile, and not at all disconcerted by his nephew's indignant charge. "I will tell you now why you failed!" "It is easy enough to govern one's own actions-but not so easy to govern one's own feelings. I might be, to outward appearances, what you wish me to be; yet the very restraint which you thus impose upon my conduct, is produing a revulsion in my feelings, which, though I know it to be wrong, I cannot arrest. I wish to be free to do, or think, or say, what-signified he entertained some doubts as to ever my weak mind dictates." "But, dear Mary! I have attempted no compulsion-I have merely suggested what I think would be the most prudent course of conduct { for you." "I know it," she replied, "but in my present position I do not feel at liberty to disregard your suggestions, or to do any thing contrary to your expressed wish-especially," she added, significantly, when it is so plainly expressed as to assume the form of an injunction." "And your desire, then, is," quickly rejoined Bell, whose feelings were fast becoming too much excited to admit of his speaking calmly, "to be released from your engagement ?" "No-that is I hardly know," faltered Mary Jane. "It is so-you shall be free!" exclaimed Bell, half in sorrow, half in anger. "Let what has passed between us be forgotten. I would not that my affection should prove a source of unhappiness to you, and will no more annoy you with it." "I do not wish to be understood as rejecting the offer of your hand and heart-but-" "You are strangely undecided;" interrupted the youth; but take the time you desire for consideration. When we meet again, perhaps, you may be more favorably disposed." A rather equivocal pressure of the hand was Mary Jane's only reply, and her agitated lover left her. "She is either false, or very fickle," was his mental exclamation, as he hurried along Chestnut street to his home, "I will cease to think of her." But he did not cease to think of her, however; for all that night long, he thought of her, and the incidents of the last two evenings, kept sleep from his eyes. The next day he communicated his grief and perplexity to his uncle, whom he reproached for having misled him. "I relied upon your judgment," said he, "and have been cruelly deceived." "Not so!" was Mr. Stiles' calm, but positive answer. She is all I represented her, and if you fail to win her, you lose a treasure of such value as is rarely to be found." Did you not tell me, that I could easily re-mould her disposition to suit myself?" "And I tell you correctly," replied Mr. "And advise me to try again?" asked the young man, in a slightly sarcastic tone. "Just so," returned the uncle. Theophilus shook his head, with an air that whether he should follow such advice. "In any other matter, uncle," said he, "my faith in the infallibility of your counsels, will be unshaken-in this, excuse me if I, for once, dissent from your judgment. I shall be pleased to hear, however, to what you attribute my illsuccess." "A metaphor is the easiest way of explaining it to you, and here is an admirable one to hand." Taking Bell's arm, Mr. Stiles led him from the door, where they were standing, to where, a few yards down the street, a ragged newsboy sat upon the curbstone, with his budget of papers thrown carelessly at his side, while in his hands he held a pair of bullet moulds, in the concavity of which he was vigorously pinching an angular lump of lead. "What are you trying to do, my lad?" Mr. Stiles addressed him. } "To be sure, I am right. Your impetuosity, be near him and listen to his voice. By degrees sir, is to blame for your difficulties. Go back this partiality increased, until at length she was to Mary Jane, and by unwearying kindness and happy only when he was with her. The hours gentleness, win her love and esteem. That done, crept dully and sadly in his absence; evening she will seek to conform to your wishes ere found her watching for his coming; and the first they are expressed-she will infer them from a sound of his footsteps lightened her heart and look or a tone. Even though you tried to con- chased the cloud from her brow. She began to ceal your sentiments with regard to her actions adopt, too, imperceptibly to herself, his sentiand conduct, she will study them out with the ments, and to imbibe his feelings, and to regulate dilligence of a woman's eager feelings, and her actions by them. She grew more serious adopt them for her guide. I repeat, that she is and more reflective, and while her manners at heart an excellent girl. Go! try once more, became more modest and retiring, her disposiand if you are not able to boast, a year hence, tion lost none of its natural amiability. The of one of the best wives in Philadelphia, you forward and boisterous vivacity which had beare not the man I hoped to make of my ne- fore given to her demeanor the appearance of phew." vanity and frivolity, were, in fact, only the unchecked impulses of a lively heart and giddy fancy; but now, that these impulses were softened by closer thought and deeper feelings, they stood forth in their true light, the natural sweetness of a pure and buoyant spirit. "You almost," said Bell, "tempt me to-" "To what, sir?" asked Mr. Stiles, observing that the other hesitated to finish the sentence. To make a fool of myself, again, good uncle." "No, sir; I will have you make a fool of yourself no more. Curb your impetuosity, and set calmly and kindly about winning the girl's affections, and, my word for it, you will neither make a fool of yourself nor her again." Well, I will reflect upon what you say," returned the nephew, and with an affectionate shake of the old man's hand, withdrew to his own home. This change was so gradual that Bell, himself, was scarcely aware of it. Yet of one thing he was conscious own feelings. that there was a change in his What had before been the mere enthusiasm of passion, was now a stronger, purer, and more absorbing feeling. At first, he had sought in her a companion, who by proper training, might contribute to his happiness in life. In his present feelings self was forgotten, and his only thought was to make her happy, and to guard her from aught that could cast a pain. As to foibles, he not only now saw none in her to censure, but ceased to remember that he ever had seen them. In the process of melting her heart, his own had become melted and both were moulded into one. As Bell and Mary Jane moved in the same circle, it was not long ere they met. She at first betrayed some uneasiness and restraint when-shade upon her clear brow, or give a moment's ever he was near; but, by preserving an affable and respectful manner, and refraining from allusion, either by a glance or a tone, to the past, he soon overcame this, and she became as free and cheerful in his presence as ever. He continued his attentions, always expressing by his When Bell again proposed, Mary Jane enteractions that affectionate regard which his lips{tained no doubts that she could love him as she had before avowed, but never manifesting any sign of irritability at the little indiscretions which thoughtlessness and the exuberance of her youthful gaiety might lead her into. In the course of a few months, she began to display a decided partiality for his society, and would often leave the amusements of a gay circle to ought, and in less than the time which Mr. Stiles had given him to win her, he clasped her to his breast a devoted wife, and his kind uncle delighted in after years to point her out to his particular friends as an illustration of his maxim, "that if one will only take the pains to melt a woman's heart, he may mould it as he pleases." MY AIN FIRESIDE. OH, I hae seen great anes, and sat in great ha's, Oh, sweet is the blink o' ane's ain fireside. Ance mair, Heaven be praised, round my ain heart. some ingle, Wi' the friends o' my youth I cordially mingle, I may laugh when I'm merry, and sigh when I'm Nae falsehood to dread, nae malice to fear, |