t surely to make a _good_ match one's husband should be the
possessor of something more than money. He should be cultured, refined,
intelligent, and therefore the girl who wishes to mate with him, should
take care to be cultured and refined herself. Half the bad matches in
the world are caused either by the educated women marrying the man
thoroughly beneath her in all moral qualities, or the man who has spent
his life cultivating his mind, falling a slave to the petty fascination
of a pretty woman who has only beauty to give him--nothing more!

What girls should never forget is to be _neat!_ Not primly so, but
daintily so. The girl well got up, with irreproachable gloves, and
shoes that fit, though her gown be only cotton, yet if it be well
turned out, may compete with the richest, while the slovenly dresser,
who scorns or forgets to give attention to details, is passed over by
the discontented eye, though her gown may be a masterpiece of Worth.

A girl should learn to put her gown on properly. No creature living
takes more heed of externals than your orthodox man. He may not know
the price, color, or material of your clothes, but he will know to a
nicety whether you are well or badly gowned.

One special point I would impress upon the girl who desires, (as all
girls do) to range themselves well, to make a good marriage--is to be
_gentle_. The craze for vivacity, for the free and easy style that
border so closely on the manners of the _demi monde_ that distinguished
the society of ten years ago has providentially died a natural death.
Now-a-days, men are sensible enough to look for _comfort_ in their
married lives. And surely the knowledge that one's future wife has a
heart as tender as it is sympathetic should, and does, go far to
arrange a man's decision of who shall be the partner of his daily life.

I was much struck by a little incident that occurred last year, and
helped to prove the truth of this argument. I, amongst others,
belonging to a large party who were waiting at a railway station for
the train that was to carry us down to a garden party at one of the
many lovely places on the Thames, saw an old man, a decrepit creature,
bowed and palsied, making his way to where the third-class compartment
would be. His arms were full of bundles of various sizes. Coming near a
truck, the old man, who was half blind, marched against the edge of it,
and all his little bundles fell helplessly to the ground. Most of the
y