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the one which introduced her to Philip Wentworth a few months before.

"Carlo!" she said, and the fine fellow wagged his tail as intelligibly as a dog could, and laid his head against her hand. Could it be her old acquaintance?

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Carlo!" she said again, and bowed her head over him, till the flowers fell from her head in showers on his broad back. Where is thy master?" But this question was in her heart only, when she raised her head and he stood before her.

To describe the blushes that ensued, would require an imagi nation as vivid as that of Ole Bull's friend, the painter, who heard scarlet in certain tones of the violin. The tones of Philip Wentworth's voice produced a deep red color on Mary Austin's cheeks, but we do not attempt to philosophize upon the fact. Our readers must make what they can of it.

"How did you come here!" was Mary's first coherent question.

"I came, like little Red Riding Hood, to see my grandmother," said Philip laughing; "but I find you have been beforehand with me, with your pot of butter, or custard, or something which has stolen away her heart, while I was away." And they went home together arm in arm, after a fashion which would have made Mrs. Austin groan indeed, if she had been perched in one of the great oaks, looking on.

That evening Mary never thought of writing to her mother, to tell of this unforeseen accident; but with morning came cool reflection, and she sat down and wrote a long, dutiful letter, mentioning, just before the close, that Mr. Wentworth had arrived on a visit to his grandmother, Mrs. Ellery. This she knew would bring her parents, post-haste; and when she had

thus discharged her conscience, she was not very sorry when Mrs. Ellery informed her that as there was only a weekly mail, her letter could not reach Detroit in several days.

We do not pretend to have been present at all the conversations which may have passed between the two friends, thus reunited, when they thought themselves far asunder. We dare say they had many adventures to relate, with descriptions of people they had met in their travels and such like topics. We have reason to believe they learned to understand each other very well; although we will answer for it that Wentworth was too much of a man of honor to entrap the guileless Mary into an engagement without the sanction of her parents. He had been educated by old-fashioned people.

"There!" said Mrs. Austin to her husband, "you see, my dear, what your plan of trusting Mary to her own guidance has come to, at last! I told you so! I knew this would be the consequence! After all my care and anxiety, she is gone!" and the good lady dropt some natural tears.

"Gone! what are you thinking of, my dear! instead of losing a daughter we have gained a son, and a capital fellow he is, too; honorable, considerate, and as fond of Mary as you can desire. All your care has met with its reward, and Philip will bear witness to the fact a dozen years hence. Education has done its part admirably thus far, but now that nature has asserted her rights, it will go on more profitably than ever. Mary will be quite a woman by the time she is ready to be married !"

And this was all the comfort Mrs. Austin had from her husband, so unreasonable is the stronger sex.

MAKING LOVE SCIENTIFICALLY.

"A monstrous spectacle upon the earth,

Beneath the pleasant sun, among the trees,

-A being knowing not what LOVE is!

A man that dares affect

To spend his life in service to his kind

For no reward of theirs, nor bound to them
By any tle.

There are strange punishments for such."

BROWNING'S Paracelsus.

AMONG the Fabliaux of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries is a laughable story of the philosopher Aristotle, who is represented as saddled and bridled for the amusement of a malicious beauty, and cantering about a garden under the weight of her slender form, while Alexander, afterwards the Great, the pupil of Aristotle, enjoys the joke from a window. It seems that the sage, having discovered the devotion of his august disciple to the lady in question, had reproved him very sharply for his weak subjection to the tender passion; representing love as incompatible with the study of philosophy, and ridiculing the idea of a man of sense placing himself in the power of a woman, naturally his inferior in the scale of creation. The pupil was a good deal nettled by the severe remarks of his master, but he concealed his vexation, and humbly promised that the fascina

tions of beauty should no longer seduce his thoughts from the contemplation of wisdom.

But he had devised a subtle, we had almost said a savage method of revenge upon his master, and very soon found an opportunity of putting it in practice. In cold blood and with malice aforethought, he managed to place the stern preacher of prudence and self-command within point-blank range of the lady's eyes, and won her over to use, in the service of his revenge, all the powers of fascination which had proved effectual in enslaving himself. The philosopher was of course very soon charmed into forgetfulness of his grand dogmas, for your philosopher is proverbially weak at all weapons but his own. Beauty, wit, grace, were put in requisition with the fullest success; coquetry added her freaks; and, in a word, in a marvellously short time, the wise man became a fool, as so many wise men have done before him under the same circumstances. And thus we arrive at the explanation of the scene with a sketch of which we began. Among the incredible follies which the malicious beauty devised for the humiliation of her awkward captive, was a requisition on her part that he should suffer himself to be saddled and bridled, and accept, for the reward of his obedience, the honor and delight of carrying his goddess about her garden. He only stipulated for a scene closely shielded from vulgar eyes, lest, by some accidental betrayal, his reputation as a teacher of wisdom should suffer, and above all in the estimation of his royal pupil. An inner court of the palace was therefore chosen, and among its flowery alleys did the delighted sage prance with his fair burden. But, in the very midst of his happiness a dread sound-a sound as of unhallowed laughter-struck his ear, and looking upward, he beheld in a window the face of the future

conqueror of the world, relaxed to its last capability in keen relish of the joke.

History wisely stops here, nor strives to express the inexpressible, in describing the abasement of the great teacher and example of philosophy, thus forced to be his own refuter. But we can easily conjecture that from this time forth the pupil was not troubled with any very severe remarks on the absurdity of being in love; unless, indeed, the teacher drew new unction for his homilies from the bitterness of his own experience.

We see, then, that philosophy began very early to be considered as the enemy or antidote of love. What foundation in fact there may be for this notion, it is difficult to say, so few successful experiments are on record. That it ought to be so has always rather been taken for granted than proved.

Sir Isaac Newton, however, was a man of realities, and of him it may truly be said that science was his mistress. She upheld his spirits, consoled his solitude, brought him recreation, and absorbed his affections. He evidently thought with Mil

ton

How charming is divine Philosophy!

Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose,

But musical as is Apollo's lute.

Is it not strange, by the way, that Shakspeare uses the very same comparison in speaking of Love, the antagonist of Philosophy?

For valor, is not Love a Hercules?

Subtle as Sphinx; as sweet and musical
As bright Apollo's lute, strung with his hair.

But so extremes meet.

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