us defect of
character. The man, Cara, believe me, who has no higher standard of
estimation for other men, than the form, manner, and texture of
their garments, has not the capacity rightly to value a woman or to
know wherein her true merit lies. This is _one_ of the reasons why I
said that I would rather die than link my lot in life with that
young man."

"Well, as for me, Jane, I am sure that I would rather have a man
with some spirit in him, than to be tied to such a drone as Walter
Gray. Why, I should die in a week. I can't for my life, see how you
can enjoy his society for a moment!"

"I should think any woman ought to be able to enjoy the company of a
man of sense," Jane remarked, quietly.

"Surely, Jane, you don't pretend by that to set up Walter Gray as
the superior of Charles Wilton in regard to intelligence?"

"Certainly I do, Cara."

"Why, Jane! There is no comparison, in this respect, between them.
Every one knows that while Walter is dull, even to stupidity,
Charles has a brilliant, well-informed mind. It is only necessary to
hear each converse for an hour, to decide upon their respective
merits."

"In that last sentence you have uttered the truth, Cara, but the
result would depend much upon the character of the listeners. For a
time, no doubt, if Charles made an effort to show off, he would
eclipse the less brilliant and unobtrusive Walter. But a close and
discriminating observer would soon learn to judge between sound and
sense, between borrowed thoughts and truthful sentiments originating
in a philosophical and ever active mind. The shallow stream runs
sparkling and flashing in the sunlight, while the deeper waters lie
dark and unattractive."

Cara shook her head as her friend ceased speaking, and replied,
laughingly--

"You can beat me at talking, Jane--but all your philosophy and
poetry can't make me think Charles Wilton less brilliant and
sensible, or Walter Gray less dull and spiritless."

The two young men whose merits Jane Emory and Cara Linton had thus
been discussing, had been law students for some years in the same
office, and were now just admitted to practice at the bar in one of
our Atlantic cities. They were friends, though altogether unlike
each other. Walter Gray was modest and retiring, while Charles
Wilton was a dashing, off-hand kind of a fellow, with more
pretensions than merit. The mind of Walter was rather sluggish,
while that of his friend was quick, and what some were