And what became of every body--the every body of this simple record of six months' household history, such as might have happened in any life? For it includes no extraordinary events, and is the history of mere ordinary people, neither better nor worse than their neighbors, making mistakes, suffering for them, retrieving them, and then struggling on, perhaps to err again. Is not this the chronicle of all existence? For we are none of us either bad or good, all perfect or wholly depraved, and our merits go as often unrewarded as our sins. Whether the future career of Sir Edwin Uniacke be fair or foul, time alone can prove. At present the chances seem in favor of the former, especially as he has done the best thing a man of fortune, or any man who earns an honest livelihood, can do--he has married early, and report says, married well. She is an earl's daughter, not beautiful, and rather poor, but gentle, simple-minded, and good, as many a nobleman's daughter is, more so than girls of lesser degree and greater presumption. Except sending marriage-cards, Sir Edwin has attempted no communication with Dr. and Mrs. Grey. Nor do they wish it. The difference between themselves and him, in wealth, rank, habits, tastes, would always make such association undesirable, even had they expected it renewed. But they did not. In their complete and contented life they had--until the marriage-cards came--almost forgotten the young man's existence. The aunts still live at Avonside Cottage, one cultivating flowers and the other society with equal assiduity. It is to be hoped both find an equal reward. As Aunt Henrietta grows to be no longer a middle-aged, but an elderly lady, less active, less clever, and more dependent upon other people's kindness and especially upon that of the Lodge--which never fails her--she sometimes is thought to be growing a little gentler in her manner and ways, a little less suspicious, less ill-natured, less ready to see always the black and hard side of things instead of the sunny and sweet.