Mr. Bryarly also regarded the letter as a vile calumny, not worthy of notice. Confiding in the truth of her lover, Mary had ceased to think of its contents, when an insinuation to his discredit was again breathed in her ear; then came a report that he was a confirmed flirt—a gay deceiver; and as bold slander loses nothing in its busy progress, the rumor was magnified until the seeds of discontent were sown in Mary’s heart—and she was now absolutely jealous. That which she had once imagined so repulsive as to scoff at the mere possibility of her own actions ever being ordered by such a feeling, triumphed—and she was unable to conquer the “green-eyed monster.” One evening she was evidently very melancholy. In vain had she tried to elicit harmony from the keys of her piano, and becoming weary of the fruitless effort, she threw herself languidly on a sofa, and sighed deeply. “Mercy on us! that was a terribly long and sentimental heigh-o! I wonder which way it went! Ah! I see it now; it floats like a gossamer on that glorious sunbeam, and goes in the direction of New Orleans,” laughed Mr. Pluribusi. “You are growing poetical, uncle; it is really charming to listen to you—pray go on.” “Mary,” said her father, who had been also observing her, “any one would suppose all your perceptions were obscured by a thick, ugly, green cloud.” “Oh, father!” was all she could say. “You know,” he continued, “there is nothing on earth so disagreeable to me as a jealous woman—” “Except, indeed, a prudish one,” chimed in Mr. Pluribusi. “I have great cause, father, to be unhappy; for all the reports I have heard, have been confirmed by Mrs. Webster since her return home.” “My opinion is, that you are wasting an immense amount of sorrow, all for nothing,” answered her father; “for with the characters of the truest and most upright slander will sometimes be busy. Entertain not so mean an opinion of your betrothed husband, as to believe he is capable of change. The brightest part of love is its confidence. It is that perfect, that unhesitating reliance, that interchange of every idea and every feeling; and that perfect community binds two beings together as closely as the holiest of human ties. It is only that confidence, that community of all the heart’s secrets, and the mind’s thoughts, that can give us permanent happiness.” “Oh, father! could you but convince me that my doubts are unfounded.” “I think I can settle the matter to your entire satisfaction, Mary,” quietly observed her uncle. “How, uncle?” asked she, eagerly. “You must consent to use a little stratagem,” replied he. “If you think it right, and father sanctions it, I am willing to do any thing you propose,” she said, looking at her parent. “Do as you think proper,” answered Mr. Bryarly. “Have you answered Harry’s last letter?” inquired Mr. Pluribusi. “How could I?—I am three deep in his debt.”