A DECLARATION. Harriet Wesden had settled down like the rest of the world, that is, this little world wherein live and breathe--at least we hope so--these characters of ours. She had settled down! Life had taken its sombre side with her; the force of circumstances had set her apart from those for whom her heart yearned; she became bound more to this dull home; disappointment had wondrously sobered her; when her heart had been at its truest and best, it had seemed as though the whole world had turned against her, and misjudged her. There was no romance in her after that; her romance had begun early and died early--for her share in it, she was heartily ashamed. To look back upon that past, note her weakness, and whither it had led her, was to make her cheeks flush, and her bosom heave; in those sober after-days that had come to her, she could scarcely comprehend the past. Women change occasionally like this--more especially women whose hearts are sound, but whose judgments have not always been correct. She had met deceit face to face; her own presence of mind had only saved her perhaps from betrayal; she had passed through a vortex--and, escaping it, the shock had sobered her for life. Harriet Wesden turned "serious"--a very good turn for her, and for all of us, if we could only think so. Still, serious people--more especially serious young people--are inclined to dash headlong at religion, and even neglect home duties, duties to friends, and neighbours, and themselves, for religious ones. They verge on the extremes even in sanctity, and extremes verge on the ridiculous. Harriet Wesden gave up life's frivolities, and became a trifle austere in her manner; she had found a church to her taste, and a minister to her taste--a minister who verged on extremes, too, and yet was one of the best-meaning, purest-minded men in the world. Harriet Wesden became his model member of the flock, as he became her model shepherd. She lived for him, and his services, and the bran span new church he had built for himself in the square at the back. She missed never a service, week-days or Sundays; early prayers, at uncomfortable hours, when the curates were sleeping, and the pew-opener audibly snored--daily sermons, evening services, special services for special out-of-the-way saints, and Sunday services innumerable.