An she shall walk in silken tire And siller hae to spare. _Scottish Song._ “No, no, Lowndes,” answered Mr. Gilmer, in reply to some question which the former had made his friend touching the accomplishments of his bride elect. “No, no: you will find Miss Vivian very different probably from what you expect. Men at my age, who know the world, know that talents and accomplishments are not the first qualities to seek in a wife. Freshness of heart and mind, _naïveté_ and disinterestedness are the charms that we prize as we grow older, for they alone, springing from the heart, can insure us happiness. No, you will not find Miss Vivian accomplished to any high degree. Her extreme youth precludes that. But what music or language can equal the melody and eloquence that speak in a young voice fresh from a warm heart! Of disinterested affection, one can feel sure in a creature so young; and the pleasure of cultivating a heart and mind all your own, of feeling that every flower that springs there is of your own planting, is worth more to my taste than the utmost perfection of acquirements ready made to the hand.” Mr. Lowndes, who was also mature in the world’s ways, was somewhat amused at his friend’s warmth, while he smiled as he thought of the _disinterestedness_ that leads sixteen to wed with forty-two, and he said, “The lady is beautiful, no doubt. For with all your philosophic knowledge of the world, Gilmer, I doubt whether you would appreciate so highly the charms of a youthful mind were they not united to the loveliness of a youthful person.” Gilmer replied with a smile, “I think you will find she does credit to my taste. You must let me introduce you;” and the friends having agreed to call at Mrs. Vivian’s for that purpose in the evening, separated; Gilmer pitying Lowndes’ forlorn state as an old bachelor, while Lowndes could not but be amused to see his friend so enthusiastic in a folly he had often ridiculed in others. Mr. Gilmer, at forty-two, knew the world as he said; and what is more, the world knew him; and having run a gay career, to settle in a grave and polished middle age, he would now renew life, and start afresh for the goal of happiness; deeming himself, old worldling that he was, a fit match for bright sixteen, and a natural recipient for the first warm affections of that happy age. But is time to be so cheated? Let us see. “Look!” cried the little bride elect, “is not this beautiful?” showing her mother an exquisite _cadeau_ from her lover. “Oh, mamma,” added she, clasping her little hands in an ecstasy, “how he will dress one!” “Yes, my love,” said her mother tenderly, “it is beautiful, indeed. How very attentive and kind in Mr. Gilmer to remember that passing wish of yours.”