iscriminating few lingered near the retiring Mary. The one was
admired for what she appeared to be, the other was loved for what she
was.

Two young men, entirely dissimilar in character, yet thrown together
as friends, by circumstances, met one evening, when one of them, whose
name was Ashton, said to the other,

"Erskine! I met a glorious creature last night--a perfect Hebe!"

"Ah! Who is she?"

"Her name is Edith Maurice."

"She's a showy girl, certainly."

[Illustration: W. Drummond
J. Addison
EDITH MAURICE.
Engraved Expressly for Graham's Magazine.]

"Showy! She's a magnificent woman, Erskine. And so you've met her?"

"A few times."

"Were you not enchanted?"

"No. Your glorious creatures never turn my brain."

"You're an anchorite."

"Far from it. I delight in all things lovely; and, above all, in the
presence of a lovely woman."

"A lovelier woman than Edith Maurice _I_ have not seen for a
twelvemonth."

"Though I have."

"You have, indeed!"

"I think so. She has a friend, named Mary Graham, whom _I_ think far
more interesting."

"Pray introduce me."

"I will, when opportunity offers."

Not long afterward an introduction took place, and Ashton spent a
short time in the company of Mary Graham.

"That's your lovely woman," said the young man to his friend, in a
tone of contempt, when they next met.

"To me she is exceedingly interesting," returned Erskine.

"Interesting! A duller piece of human ware it has not been my fortune
to meet for these dozen years. I should say she has no soul."

"There you are mistaken. She is all soul."

"All soul! If you want to see a woman all soul, look at Edith
Maurice."

"All body, you mean," replied Erskine, smiling.

"What do you mean by that?" inquired Ashton.

"All external. It is rather the beauty of person than the beauty of
soul that you see in Edith; but, in Mary, every tone and motion but
expresses some modification of the true beauty that lies within. Edith
bursts upon you like a meteor; but Mary comes forth as Hesperus,
scarcely seen at first, but shining with a purer and brighter light
the more intently you gaze upon her."

"Not a meteor, my dear fellow," replied Ashton. "I repudiate that
comparison. Edith is another Sirius, flashing on the eyes with an
ever-varying, yet strong and beautiful light. As for your evening
stars, with their unimpassioned way of shining--their steady,
planet-like, orderly fashion of sending forth th