of him who
makes it. If she does not, she will be in great danger of committing
the sad mistake made by my excellent but thoughtless young friend,
Harriet Wieland, of whom I never can think without pain."

Whether the narrative of Mrs. Harding had any good effect upon her
hearers, we do not know; but we would fain believe that it had; and
we hope our fair young readers will not forget the important lesson
it teaches. Let them be well assured that marriage is no lottery,
except where it is made so. Every one who will look at the moral
qualities of the object of her regard, instead of at what is merely
external, will see deep enough to enable her to come to a right
decision in regard to him. There is no necessity for mistakes in
marriage.

THE UNLOVED ONE.

AN EXTRACT FROM "LOVE IN HIGH LIFE."

......FIXED in his resolution to repel every manifestation of
tenderness on the part of his wife, Percy Edwards maintained towards
her the same cold formality, in spite of all her earnest efforts to
break the icy crust of his feelings. He did not love her, and was
not inclined to affect a passion; nay, she was absolutely repulsive
to him, and the least he could do, under the circumstances, was to
protect himself as he did without overt acts of unkindness.

And thus disjoined, instead of united, Mr. and Mrs. Edwards moved
along their way through life, envied by hundreds, who, in exchanging
with them, would have left an Eden of happiness for a dreary
wilderness.

A few months of such an existence completely broke down the spirits
of Kate. She had no pride to sustain her. Thousands, as unloved as
she, seek refuge in pride, pleasure, and a heartless worship at the
gilded shrine of fashion. They meet coldness with a sharp disdain;
and, finding nothing to love at home, turn to what the world has to
offer, and become mere bubbles on the surface of society--prominent,
brilliant, and useless. Nay, worse than useless; for they reflect
the light of heaven falsely, and create discontent in those who see
only their glittering exterior, and vainly imagine it to be the
correspondent of internal delight.

It was not so with Kate; for she was sincere, unselfish, and
true-hearted, and could not seek a false pleasure, when the sources
of real delight became dry. A naiad, at a fountain, the waters of
which had failed, she turned not to another, but bent weeping over
the spot, hoping, yet faint with a long desire to hear the murmur of