Verty looked at Miss Sallianna, and sighed more deeply than he had ever sighed before. The lady's face was full of the tenderest interest; it seemed to say, that with its possessor all secrets were sacred, and that nothing but the purest friendship, and a desire to serve unhappy personages, influenced her.

Who wonders, therefore, that Verty began to think that it would be a vast relief to him to have a confidant—that his inexperience needed advice and counsel—that the lady who now offered to guide him through the maze in which he was confounded and lost, knew all about the labyrinths, and from the close association with the object of his love, could adapt her counsel to the peculiar circumstances, better than any one else in the wide world? Besides, Verty was a lover, and when did lover yet fail to experience the most vehement desire to pour into the bosom of some sympathizing friend—of either sex—the story of his feelings and his hopes? It is no answer to this, that, in the present instance, the lover was almost ignorant of the fact, that he loved, and had no well-defined hopes of any description. That is nothing to your true Corydon. Not in the least. Will he not discourse with rising and kindling eloquence upon everything connected with his Phillis? Will not the ribbons on her bodice, and the lace around her neck, become the most important and delightful objects of discursive commentary?—the very fluttering rosettes which burn upon her little instep, and the pearls which glitter in her powdered hair, be of more interest than the fall of thrones? So Corydon, the lover, dreams, and dreams—and if you approach him in the forest-glade, he sighs and talks to you, till evening reddens in the west, about Phillis, only Phillis. And as the old Arcady lives still, and did at the time of our history, so Corydons were ready to illustrate it, and our young friend Verty felt the old pastoral desire to talk about his shepherdess, and embrace Miss Sallianna's invitation to confide his sorrows to her respective bosom.

"Come now, my dear Mr. Verty," repeated that lady, "tell me what all this means—are you in love, can it be—not with Reddy?"

"Yes, ma'am, I believe I am," said Verty, yielding to his love. "Oh, I know I am. I would die for her whenever she wanted me to—indeed I would."

"Hum!" said Miss Sallianna.

"You know she is so beautiful and good—she's the best and dearest girl that ever lived, and I was so happy before she treated me coldly this morning! I'll never be happy any more!"

"Cannot you banish her false image?"

"False! she's as true as the stars! Oh, Redbud is not false! she is too good and kind!"

Miss Sallianna shook her head.

"You have too high an opinion of the sex at large, I fear, Mr. Verty," she said; "some of them are very inconstant; you had better not trust Redbud."

"Not trust her!"

"Be careful, I mean."

"How can I!" cried Verty.

"Easily."

"Be careful? I don't know what you mean, Miss Sallianna; but I suppose what you say is for my good."

"Oh yes, indeed."

"But I can't keep still, and watch and listen, and spy out about anybody I love so much as Redbud—for I'm certain now that I love her. Oh, no! I must trust her—trust her in everything! Why should I not? I have known her, Miss Sallianna, for years, and years—we were brought up together, and we have gone hand in hand through the woods, gathering flowers, and down by the run to play, and she has showed me how to read and write, and she gave me a Bible; and everything which I recollect has something in it about Redbud—only Redbud—so beautiful, and kind, and good. Oh, Miss Sallianna, how could I be careful, and watch, and think Redbud's smiles were not here! I could not—I would rather die!"

And Verty's head sank upon his hands which covered the ingenuous blushes of boyhood and first love. In this advanced age of the world, we can pity and laugh at this romantic nonsense—let us be thankful.

Miss Sallianna listened with great equanimity to this outburst, and smiling, and gently fanning Verty, said, when he had ceased speaking:

"Don't agitate yourself, my dear friend. I suspected this. You misunderstand my paternal counsel in suggesting to you a suspicionative exemplification of dear little Reddy. Darling child! she is very good; but remember that we cannot always control our feelings."

Verty raised his head, inquiringly.

"You do not understand?"

"No, ma'am," he said; "I mean, Miss—"

"No matter—you'll get into the habit," said the lady, with a languishing smile; "I meant to observe, my dear friend, that Reddy might be very good, and I suppose she is—and she might have had a great and instructive affection for you at one period; but you know we cannot control our sentiments, and Reddy has probably fancied herself in love with somebody else."

Verty started, and half rose.

"In love with somebody else?" he cried.

"Yes," said the lady, smiling.

"Oh, no, no!" murmured the young man, falling again into his seat.

Miss Sallianna nodded.

"Mind now—I do not assert it," she said; "I only say that these children—I mean young girls at Reddy's age—are very apt to take fancies; and then they get tired of the youths they have known well, and will hardly speak to them. Human nature is of derisive and touching interest, Mr. Verty," sighed the lady, "you must not expect to find Reddy an exception. She is not perfect."

"Oh yes, she is!" murmured poor Verty, thinking of Redbud's dreadful change, and yet battling for her to the last with the loyal extravagance of a true lover; "she would not—she could not—deceive me."

"I do not say she would."

"But—"

"I know what you are about to observe, sir; but, remember that the heart is not in our power entirely"—here Miss Sallianna sighed, and threw a languishing glance upon Verty. "No doubt Reddy loved you; indeed, at the risk of deeming to flatter you, Mr. Verty—though I never flatter—I must say, that it would have been very extraordinary if Reddy had not fallen in love with you, as you are so smart and handsome. Recollect this is not flattery. I was going on to say, that Reddy must have loved you, but that does not show that she loves you now. We cannot compress our sentiments; and Diana, Mr. Verty, the god of love, throws his darts when we are not looking—ah!"

Which last word of Miss Sallianna's speech represents a sigh she uttered, as, after the manner of Diana, she darted a fatal arrow from her eyes, at Verty. It did not slay him, however, and he only murmured wofully,

"Do you mean Reddy has changed, then, ma'am? Oh, what will become of me—what shall I do!"

Miss Sallianna threw a glance, so much more languishing than the former, upon her companion, that had his heart not been wrapped in Redbud, it certainly would have been pierced.

"Follow her example," simpered Miss Sallianna, looking down with blushing cheeks, and picking at her fan with an air of girlish innocence. "Could you not do as she has done—and—choose—another object yourself?"

And Miss Sallianna raised her eyes, bashfully, to Verty's face, then cast them with maidenly modesty upon the carpet.

"No, ma'am," said Verty, thoughtfully, and quite ignorant of the deadly attack designed by the fair lady upon his heart—"I don't think I could change."

In these simple words the honest Verty answered all.

"Why not?" simpered the lady.

"Because I don't think Redbud is in love with anybody else," he said;
"I know she is not!"

"Why, then, has she treated you so badly?" said Miss Sallianna, gradually forgetting her bashfulness, and reassuming her languishing air and manner—"there must be some laborious circumstance, Mr. Verty."

Verty pressed his head with his hand, and was silent. All at once a brighter light illumined the fair lady's face, and she addressed herself to speak, first uttering a modest cough—

"Suppose I suggest a plan of finding out, sir," she said; "we might find easily."

"Oh, ma'am! how?"

"Will you follow my advice?"

"Yes, ma'am—of course. I mean if it's right. Excuse me, I did not mean—what was your advice, ma'am?" stammered Verty.

The lady smiled, and did not seem at all offended at Verty's qualification.

"It may appear singular to you at first," Miss Sallianna said; "but my advice is, that you appear to make love—to pay attentions to—somebody else for a short time."

"Attentions, ma'am?"

"Seem to like some other lady better than Redbud."

"Oh, but that would not be right."

"Why?"

"Because I don't."

Miss Sallianna smiled.

"I don't want you to change at all, Mr. Verty," she said; "only to take this modus addendi, which is the Greek for way,—to take this way to find out. I would not advise it, of course, if it was wrong, and it is the best thing you could do, indeed."

Verty strongly combated this plan, but was met at every turn, by Miss Sallianna, with ready logic; and the result, as is almost always the case when men have the temerity to argue with ladies, was a total defeat. Verty was convinced, or talked obtuse upon the subject, and with many misgivings, acquiesced in Miss Sallianna's plan.

That lady then went on in a sly and careful manner—possibly diplomatic would be the polite word—to suggest herself as the most proper object of Verty's experiment. He might make love to her if he wished—she would not be offended. He might even kiss her hand, and kneel to her, and perform any other gallant ceremony he fancied—she would make allowances, and not become angry if he even proceeded so far as to write her billet-doux, and ask her hand in a matrimonial point of view. Miss Sallianna wound up by saying, that it would be an affair of rare and opprobrious interest; and, as a comedy, would be positively deleterious, which was probably a lapsus linguae for "delicious."

So when Verty rose to take his departure, he was a captive to Miss Sallianna's bow and spear; or more accurately, to her fan and tongue: and had promised to come on the very next day, after school hours, and commence the amusing trial of Reddy's affections. The lady tapped him with her fan, smiled languidly, and rolled up her eyes—Verty bowed, and took his leave of her.

He mounted Cloud, and calling Longears, took his way sadly toward town. Could he not look back and see those tender eyes following him from the lattice of Redbud's room—and blessing him?