`Your little friend Milicent is likely, before long, to follow your example, and take upon her the yoke of matrimony in con junction with a friend of mine. Hattersley, you know, has not yet fulfilled his direful threat of throwing his precious person away on the first old maid that chose to evince a tenderness for him; but he still preserves a resolute determination to see himself a married man before the year is out: "Only," said he to me, "I must have somebody that will let me have my own way in everything--not like your wife, Huntingdon; she is a charming creature, but she looks as if she had a will of her own, and could play the vixen upon occasion." (I thought, "You're right there, man," but I didn't say so.) "I must have some good, quiet soul that will let me just do what I like and go where I like, keep at home or stay away, with out a word of reproach or complaint; for I can't do with being bothered." "Well," said I, "I know somebody that will suit you to a tee, if you don't care for money, and that's Hargrave's sister, Milicent," He desired to be introduced to her forthwith, for he said he had plenty of the needful himself--or should have, when his old governor chose to quit the stage. So you see, Helen, I have managed pretty well, both for your friend and mine.'

Poor Milicent! But I cannot imagine she will ever be led to accept such a suitor--one so repugnant to all her ideas of a man to be honoured and loved.

5th.--Alas! I was mistaken, I have got a long letter from her this mornIng, telling me she is already engaged, and expects to be married before the close of the month.

`I hardly know what to say about it,' she writes, `or what to think. To tell you the truth, Helen, I don't like the thought of it at all. If I am to be Mr Hattersley's wife, I must try to love him; and I do try with all my might; but I have made very little progress yet; and the worst symptom of the case is, that the further he is from me the better like him: he frightens me with his abrupt manners and strange hectoring ways, and I dread the thought of marrying him. "Then why have you accepted him?" you will ask; and I didn't know I had accepted him; but mamma tells me I have, and he seems to think so too. I certainly didn't mean to do so; but I did not like to give him a flat refusal for fear mamma should be grieved and angry (for I knew she wished me to marry him), and I wanted to talk to her first about it, so I gave him what I thought was an evasive, half negative answer; but she says it was as good as an acceptance, and he would think me very capricious if I were to attempt to draw back--and indeed, I was so confused and frightened at the moment, I can hardly tell what I said. And next time I saw him, he accosted me in all confidence as his aced bride, and immediately began to settle matters with mamma. I had not courage to contradict them then, and how can I do it now? I cannot: they would think me mad, Besides, mamma is so delighted with the idea of the match; she thinks she has managed so well for me; and I cannot bear to disappoint her. I do object sometimes, and tell her what I feel, but you don't know how she talks. Mr Hattersley, you know, is the son of a rich banker, and as Esther and I have no fortunes and Walter very little, our dear mamma is very anxious to see us all well married, that is, united to rich partners--it is not my idea of being well married, but she means it all for the best. She says when I am safe off her hands it will be such a relief to her mind; and she assures me it will be a good thing for the family as well as for me. Even Walter is pleased at the prospect, and when I confessed my reluctance to him, he said it was all childish nonsense. Do you think it nonsense, Helen? I should not care if I could see any prospect of being able to love and admire him, but I can't. There is nothing about him to hang one's ester and affection upon: he is do diametrically opposite to what I imagined-my husband should be. Do write to me, and say all you can to encourage me. Don't attempt to dissuade me, for my fate is fixed: preparations for the important event are already going on around me; and don't say a word against Mr Hattersley, for I want to think well of him; and though I have spoken against him my self, it is for the last time: hereafter, I shall never permit myself to utter a word in his dispraise, however he may seem to deserve it; and whoever ventures to speak slightingly of the man I have promised to love, to honour, and obey must expect my serious displeasure. After all, I think he is quite as good as Mr Huntingdon, if not better: and yet, you love him, and seem to be happy and contented; and perhaps I may manage as well. You must tell me, if you can, that Mr Hattersley is better than he seems--that he is upright, honourable, and open-hearted--in fact, a perfect diamond in the rough. He may be all this, but I don't know him--I know only the exterior and what I trust is the worst part of him.'