“On going home that evening, I could not help pausing and looking back.  Vividly, as it were but yesterday, came up before my mind my two young friends when, as maidens, their hands were sought in wedlock.  I remembered how one, with true wisdom, looked below the imposing exterior and sought for moral worth as the basis of character in him who asked her hand; while the other, looking no deeper than the surface, was dazzled by beauty, wealth, and talents.  The result you all have seen.”

Mrs. Harding paused in the narrative.  Half a dozen eager voices instantly inquired the ultimate fate of Mrs. Eaverson.  “A few years after her return home,” resumed the narrator, “she died.  Her husband during that period neither wrote to her nor visited her.  What has become of him I don’t know.  Mrs. Williamson is still living, surrounded by a lovely family of children.  Her oldest daughter has just been married, and, to all present appearances, has united her fate with one every way worthy of her hand.  Mr. Williamson, or rather Mr. Rierdon, as I should truly have called him, you all know.”

“Mr. Rierdon!” exclaimed Ella.  “It can’t be possible you mean him?”

“Not old Mr. Rierdon!” exclaimed another.  “Why he is respected and loved by every one!”

“I know he is,” returned Mrs. Harding, “and well deserves to be.  Yet, when a young man, he had nothing very imposing about him, and was thought of but little account by a set of young and foolish girls, just such as you are, whose heads were liable to be turned by any dashing young fellow with more impudence than brains, or more talent than principle, who happened to thrust himself forward and push better men aside.  I hope the lesson I have endeavoured to teach you may not be lost entirely; and that when any one of you has an offer of marriage, she will look rather at the heart than the head—­at the qualities instead of the accomplishments—­of him who makes it.  If she does not, she will be in great danger of committing the sad mistake made by my excellent but thoughtless young friend, Harriet Wieland, of whom I never can think without pain.”

Whether the narrative of Mrs. Harding had any good effect upon her hearers, we do not know; but we would fain believe that it had; and we hope our fair young readers will not forget the important lesson it teaches.  Let them be well assured that marriage is no lottery, except where it is made so.  Every one who will look at the moral qualities of the object of her regard, instead of at what is merely external, will see deep enough to enable her to come to a right decision in regard to him.  There is no necessity for mistakes in marriage.

THE UNLOVED ONE.

AN EXTRACT FROM “LOVE IN HIGH LIFE.”