"O, do not talk of it, dear Augusta," said Miss Eustace, taking her hand. "Forget it all, as we do or remember it only to strive after more self command for the future. You remember how much we admired the sentiment we read yesterday—

'Qui sait se posséder, peut commander au monde." " "O, yes—but all my efforts at self-possession are useless,” said Miss Leigh, almost sobbing-"I can never remember till it is too late; and then mortification and self-upbraiding are my just reward. I would give the world, Abby," she added, as she parted the hair from her friend's placid brow" I would give the world, had I your equanimity of temper!"

"Well, let us talk no more of it," said Mr. Atkins. "To-morrow I will look after the truant, and learn the cause of his absence."

"You need no new invitation to favor us with frequent visits, Mr. Chauncey," said Mrs. Atkins, as he was taking leave; "those you formerly received were for life."

been so that game of chess had sealed her fate! | collected as usual, his embarrassment soon wore Such was the train of thought that accompanied away, and his visit, instead of being one of a few her tumultuous and compunctious feelings. Her minutes, was lengthened to a couple of hours. peace, her happiness, her self-respect were gone; and the most bitter drop in her cup of sorrow, was the full consciousness that she had brought on her own misery-that she deserved her wretchedness! From this period, all enjoyment of her visit to Mrs. Atkins was at an end. She dragged out a week or two, every solitary moment of which was spent in bitter self-upbraiding, and then took an abrupt departure for home. Miss Eustace would have accompanied her, but to this Mrs. Atkins would not listen for a moment. "No, no, Abby," said she; "it must not be! I cannot part with you both at once; and one day must not be taken from the time that your mother allotted for your visit, unless by providential appointment.

"Whom suppose you I saw alighting from the stage-coach just now?" said Mr. Atkins with much animation, as he came in to tea one evening, about a fortnight after Miss Leigh's departure.

"Horace Chauncey," said Mrs. Atkins. "Horace Chauncey!" repeated Mr. Atkins"How came you to think of him?”

"Because there is no one likely to arrive here, whom I should be so glad to see," Mrs. Atkins replied.

Well, you are correct in your conjecture," said Mr. Atkins. "It was Horace, and he has promised to look in upon us for a few minutes in the course of the evening. But you need not look so much moved, Abby; for I dare say nothing will happen to drive him away to-night."

"There is nothing pleasant in the recollection of the last time I saw him," said Miss Eustace. She blushed as she was speaking at the disingenuousness which led her to permit Mr. Atkins to ascribe her emotion to a wrong cause. as if

She felt

Notwithstanding the kindness and delicacy of this remark, Mr. Chauncey for awhile was less frequently to be seen at his friend's than formerly. He was not a pining lover; but he had received a shock from which he could not at once recover. His was not a heart that could long continue to love, after the beloved object had ceased to command his respect. To marry Miss Leigh, to look to her to make his home the abode of peace, serenity, and joy, was impossible; and after this full conviction of his judgment, to spend his time in sighing for her loss would be puerile. Yet apart from every selfish consideration, he did mourn, that a woman possessing such qualities as she possessed, and who might be all that the heart or the judgment could require, should be spoiled by the indulgence of one baneful passion.

Even at the time when he yielded himself most completely to Miss Leigh's attractions, the contrast between her temper and that of Miss Eustace would force itself upon him. At the moment of the destruction of the pyramid, the feather screen came fully before his memory; and the different expressions of the two young ladies' faces, when Mr. Atkins ventured to propose some improvement in the mode of wearing their ridingcaps, were vividly painted to his imagination. He strove, however, to persuade himself, that it was unreasonable to expect in one person a combination of all the excellent and lovely qualities that are divided among the sex ; and he endeavored to believe, that that candor which was so ready to acknowledge a fault, was even more desirable than uniform sweetness of temper. But the veil had been rudely torn from his eyes; his sophistry had all been overthrown-and after one struggle, he was himself again-restored to the full conviction, that one great defect will spoil a character.

"L'art le plus innocent, tient de la perfidie." But it was not art-it was nature. The love in a woman's heart likes not to be looked upon, at least not until it may with propriety be expressed. It is a little treasure which she feels to be all her It was not long, however, before Mr. Chaunown-a treasure she has a right to conceal from cey's visits at his friend's house were as frequent all eyes. Timidity, delicacy, natural female re-as ever, though the character of his enjoyment was serve, are the causes of this concealment, rather changed. He was no longer engrossed by one exthan want of ingenuousness. In the most perfect solitude she would blush to clothe in sound the words "I love," though she might constantly be conscious of the fact-constantly have her eye fixed on the image of the beloved object engraven on her heart. The woman who can, to a third person, speak freely of her love, loves not as woman is capable of loving!

As expected, Mr. Chauncey came in before the evening was far advanced, and though on his first appearance, his manner was not quite as calm and

citing object, and there was a new quietness breathing about his friend's fire-side, that rendered their rich moral and intellectual pleasures truly delightful. Formerly his visits had had all the excitement of pleasure; on returning home he had needed repose; now they had the soothing effect of happiness, and if he went weary, he returned home refreshed.

During several of his earlier visits, Miss Eustace was as silent as she had formerly been; but gradually her friends were drawing her out by

soul.

addressing themselves to her, or asking her opin- to read!" She raised her face towards him while ion; and Mr. Chauncey himself was becoming speaking, beaming with the inspiration of the interested in eliciting her remarks. She did not awaken his admiration, like Miss Leigh; but he soon became sensible, that if what she said was less shining, it was generally better digested; and if she had less wit herself, she more heartily enjoyed the wit of others. If he did not leave her society dazzled by her brilliancy, he found that what she said called forth thought and reflection; and if her observations had less force and fire than her friend's, they would better bear examination. Her lustre was mild, not overpowering; and her influence upon the heart and mind, like the dews of a summer's evening descending on the flowers— noiseless, gentle, insensible—but invigorating and refreshing.

"Who is it! what is it! that you are perpetually bringing athwart my imagination-my memory?" said Mr. Chauncey, abruptly. "I seem to have had a pre-existence, in which you were known to me!"

That dreamy recollection, too—that strange association of certain expressions of her countenance with some bygone pleasure, which he had experienced on their first acquaintance, but which had been lost sight of while he was engrossed by Miss Leigh, was returning with increased force upon him, and awakened a peculiar interest. It was something undefinable, untangible; but still something that gave a throb to the heart whenever it crossed him. Yet so quiet was Miss Eustace's influence; so different the feelings she awakened from those excited by Miss Leigh, that his heart was a captive while he yet suspected not his loss of freedom.

One evening on entering his friend's parlor, he found Miss Eustace alone, Mr. and Mrs. Atkins having gone out for an hour. She was standing at a window, partially screened from view by the heavy folds of the window-curtain. She took no notice of his entrance, supposing it one of the family who came in; but he immediately joined her, remarking

"You seem lost in thought, Miss Eustace. Will you permit me to participate in your reflec

tions?"

"I was looking forth on the beauties of the evening," said Miss Eustace.

Miss Eustace made no reply. The suddenness of the question made her heart beat tumultuously— painfully; and the intensity of her feeling produced a sensation of faintness; but she supported herself against the window-frame, and her agitation was unnoticed.

"I have it-that must be it!" exclaimed Mr Chauncey, after a moment's abstraction—“ Gen. Gardner!-Years ago, when quite a boy, I spent a week at his house. He had a lovely little daughter-her name, too, was Abby-I have neither seen nor heard from her since; but she strongly resembled you! The same lovely expression animated her features! Am I not right?"

Scarcely able to command voice enough to speak, Miss Eustace replied "I believe Gen. Gardner never had a daughter."

O, you must be mistaken!" said Mr. Chauncey. "It has all come as fresh to my memory as the events of yesterday. My father went a long journey, took me with him as far as the General's, and left me until his return. I was with his lovely little daughter, daily, for a week; and remember asking her before I came away, if she would not be my wife when she became a woman!”

"Most true!" thought Miss Eustace, trembling from head to foot, "and you followed the question by a kiss."

"You are acquainted with the General's family," continued Mr. Chauncey, "and yet you say he never had a daughter! But you must be mistaken! He certainly had one then, if he has one no longer!"

"I cannot be mistaken, sir," said Miss Eustace, in tones that were scarcely audible, as I have passed much of my time there from infancy.” It was a glorious night. The moon, clear as a "Then it was yourself," cried Mr. Chauncey, pearl, was riding high in the heavens, and looking" your own self that I saw there! Am I not right? down on the earth, which seemed hushed to perfect Do you not remember it?" peace and every star that could make itself visible in the presence of the queen of night, was sparkling like a diamond.

"It is indeed a night to awaken admiration, and inspire poetry," said Mr. Chauncey. "Has not the muse visited you?”

"I believe not," said Miss Eustace. "The influence of such a night on my heart is like that of music; I think it is feeling, not thought, that it inspires. O, could one communicate feelings without the intervention of words-could they throw them on paper without the mechanical drudgery of expressing them, what a volume would there be

"I do," Miss Eustace had just voice enough to utter.

And did you remember me when we first met here?" inquired Mr. Chauncey, with eagerness. "I did," said Miss Eustace.

"And why," he cried, "why did you never speak of our former acquaintance? Why could you not kindly recall my early enjoyment of your society?"

Miss Eustace could make no answer. She felt as if about to betray her heart's most hidden secret; as if Mr. Chauncey would read her whole soul, should she attempt to utter another syllable.

Her trembling limbs could no longer support her, | a woman combine in her own character all the and with an unsteady motion she crossed the room, valuable qualities in the world, she could not and seated herself on the sofa. secure happiness to her husband, were they allied to a temper like hers."

"Is not that going too far, Horace?" asked Mr. Atkins-" Is it not laying too much stress on temper?"

The attachment of Miss Eustace to Mr. Chauncey was rather an instinct than a passion. She was but eight years old when she met him at Gen. Gardner's, and she had never seen him since, until they met at Mr. Atkins'; yet the little attentions "I think not," answered Mr. Chauncey. he then paid her, which were the very first she "Early in life my mother often spoke to me of had received from one of the other sex, and which the importance of good temper. Her remarks, had a peculiar delicacy for the attentions of a youth which made a deep impression, led me to careful of sixteen, made an indelible impression on her observation-and I am convinced, that could we feelings. The strange question he asked her was accurately learn the detailed history of any one, ever awake in her heart-the kiss he imprinted from the cradle of his infancy, to the grave in ever warm on her cheek! She would have felt it which he was laid at threescore years and ten, we profanation to have had it displaced by one from should find that temper, his own, or that of others, any other lips. But though she had never since had occasioned three-fourths of the unhappiness he seen, she had very frequently heard of him; and the had endured. Neither poverty nor toil, pain nor sound of his name, a name she herself never utter-sickness, disappointment nor the loss of friends,— ed, was ever music to her ear; and for the ten long years during which they had been separated, his image had filled her whole soul. For Abby Eustace to have loved another would have been impossible! Her love for Horace Chauncey was a part of her very being!

Mr. Chauncey did not instantly follow Miss Eustace to the sofa. He wished to look at his heart to still its emotions ere he went further. But one look showed him that he loved her wholly, entirely, undividedly; the sight of her agitation encouraged his hope-and advancing to the back of the sofa, and leaning over it, he said, in the softest tone

"Now that you are a woman, may I repeat the request of my boyhood?-Will you be my wife?" Miss Eustace spoke not a word, but her eyes met those of her lover;-language on either side was unnecessary—both felt that they loved and were beloved-that they were one forever!

Something more than a year after this eventful moment, Mr. and Mrs. Chauncey were spending a social evening with their friends, in the same pleasant parlor in which their hearts had first been opened to each other. In the course of conversation, Mrs. Atkins made known the fact, that her cousin, Miss Leigh, was on the verge of matrimony.

"I pity her husband," said Mr. Chauncey.

Pity him!" exclaimed Mr. Atkins; "for what? I dare say he considers himself one of the most fortunate fellows alive!"

"Undoubtedly he does," said Mr. Chauncey; "but it will be a miracle if he ever enjoys domestic happiness."

"Why?" demanded Mrs. Atkins. "Surely Augusta has many valuable and attractive qualities."

"I grant it," said Mr. Chauncey, "and acknowledge that I once felt their force. But should

neither, nor all of these together, have caused so many hours of bitterness in this sorrowing world, as ill-temper. It is the scorpion among the passions-its stings the deepest, the most envenomed wounds that are inflicted on human happiness!"

"I rather think you are right, Horace," said Mr. Atkins, after sitting for a few minutes în silent abstraction-" I rather think you are right; and if so," he playfully added, "I really sympathize with you on account of Abby's unhappy temper!"

"Abby's unhappy temper!" repeated Mr. Chauncey, while his eyes beamed with unutterable complacency and love as they rested upon her. "Look at her, Charles. Picture to yourself that face inflamed and distorted by passion! Imagine your own wife so disfigured! Is not the picture horrible? Who ever imagined a woman as she should be, without investing her with meekness, gentleness, patience, forbearance, as the genuine characteristics of her sex? When destitute of these, she denies her nature-counteracts the very design of her creation!"

"But you will grant," said Mr. Atkins, "that some women are born with much stronger passions than others: will you make no allowance for these?"

"Not the least," said Mr. Chauncey. "I have no belief in ungovernable passions. I would as soon excuse a thief for his stealing, or a drunkard for his intemperance, as a sensible woman for indulging a bad temper, on the score of natural infirmity. At the point of danger, a double guard must be placed. Every woman owes this, not only to herself, but to her friends. She was made to lighten care; to soothe corroded feelings; to console the afflicted; to sympathize with the suffering; and, by her gentle influence, to allay the stormy and conflicting elements that agitate the more rugged nature of man! Instead of this, shall she permit her own angry passions to be the whirl

wind that shall raise the storm? The woman who | And wilt thou marvel if, thus left alone, does this, should be disowned of her sex, like those I early learned to make thy heart my own? who abandon themselves to any other vicious incli- With thee a robe of grief or joy to wear, nation. An ill-tempered man is a tyrant ;-but And with a brother's blend a father's care? an ill-tempered woman is a monster!" Thy every step my earnest eye has view'd, From girlish glee to thoughtful womanhood; Well pleased, as thus intently it survey'd, To see thy Maker by his work displayed. And now, as memory folds her placid wing, The sweets all shower'd which it was charged to bring, And to hope's vision yields thee as thou art,