e coldly and drearily
upon her, felt so sad at heart that she wept, and, weeping, wished
that she could die. There had been full time for reflection since,
by her own acts, she had repulsed one in whom her heart felt a deep
interest, and repulsed him with such imprudent force that he never
returned to her again. Suffering had chastened her spirit, although
it could not still the throbbings of pain. As the time approached
when she must stand beside her friend and listen to vows of
perpetual love that she would have given all the world, were it in
her possession, to hear as her own, she felt that she was about
entering upon a trial for which her strength would be little more
than adequate.

But there was no retreat now. The ordeal had to be passed through.
At last the time of trial came, and she descended with her friend,
and stood up with her before the minister of God, who was to say the
fitting words and receive the solemn vows required in the marriage
covenant. From the time Margaret took her place on the floor, she
felt her power over herself failing. Most earnestly did she struggle
for calmness and self-control, but the very fear that inspired this
struggle made it ineffectual. When the minister in a deeply
impressive voice, said, "I pronounce you husband and wife," her eyes
grew dim, and her limbs trembled and failed; she sunk forward, and
was only kept from falling by the arm of the minister, which was
extended in time to save her.

Twenty years have passed since that unhappy evening, and Margaret
Hubert is yet unmarried. It was long before she could quench the
fire that had burned so fiercely in her heart. When it did go out,
the desolate hearth it left remained ever after cold and dark.

FOLLOWING THE FASHIONS.

"WHAT is this?" asked Henry Grove of his sister Mary, lifting, as he
spoke, a print from the centre-table.

"A fashion plate," was the quiet reply.

"A fashion plate? What in the name of wonder, are you doing with a
fashion plate?"

"To see what the fashions are."

"And what then?"

"To follow them, of course."

"Mary, is it possible you are so weak? I thought better of my
sister."

"Explain yourself, Mr. Censor," replied Mary with an arch look, and
a manner perfectly self-possessed.

"There is nothing I despise so much as a heartless woman of
fashion."

"Such an individual is certainly, not much to be admired, Henry. But
there is a vast difference you must recollect, between