of the world endows men with more caution, or accuses them of more
greed than they really possess. But in other respects everything is
taken for granted. Let the woman, if possible, be pretty;--or if
not pretty, let her have style. Let the man, if possible, not be a
fool; or if a fool, let him not show his folly too plainly. As for
knowledge of character, none is possessed, and none is wanted. The
young people meet each other in their holiday dresses, on holiday
occasions, amidst holiday pleasures,--and the thing is arranged. Such
matches may be said to be heaven-made.

It is a fair question whether they do not answer better than those
which have less of chance,--or less of heaven,--in their manufacture.
If it be needful that a man and woman take five years to learn
whether they will suit each other as husband and wife, and that then,
at the end of the five years, they find that they will not suit, the
freshness of the flower would be gone before it could be worn in the
button-hole. There are some leaps which you must take in the dark, if
you mean to jump at all. We can all understand well that a wise man
should stand on the brink and hesitate; but we can understand also
that a very wise man should declare to himself that with no possible
amount of hesitation could certainty be achieved. Let him take the
jump or not take it,--but let him not presume to think that he can
so jump as to land himself in certain bliss. It is clearly God's
intention that men and women should live together, and therefore let
the leap in the dark be made.

No doubt there had been very much of heaven in Ralph Newton's last
choice. It may be acknowledged that in lieu of choosing at all, he
had left the matter altogether to heaven. Some attempt he had made at
choosing,--in reference to Mary Bonner; but he had found the attempt
simply to be troublesome and futile. He had spoken soft, loving words
to Clarissa, because she herself had been soft and lovable. Nature
had spoken,--as she does when the birds sing to each other. Then,
again, while suffering under pecuniary distress he had endeavoured
to make himself believe that Polly Neefit was just the wife for him.
Then, amidst the glories of his emancipation from thraldom, he had
seen Mary Bonner,--and had actually, after a fashion, made a choice
for himself. His choice had brought upon him nothing but disgrace
and trouble. Now he had succumbed at the bidding of heaven and Lady
Eardham, and he was a