MRS. HAZELDEAN to Miss Jemima.--"Is that the note you were to write for me?" MISS JEMIMA.--"Yes, I supposed you did not care about seeing it, so I have sealed it and given it to George." MRS. HAZELDEAN.--"But Frank will pass close by the Casino on his way to the Leslies'. It may be more civil if he leaves the note himself." MISS JEMIMA, hesitatingly.--"Do you think so?" MRS. HAZELDEAN.--"Yes, certainly. Frank--Frank--as you pass by the Casino, call on Mr. Riccabocca, give this note, and say we shall be heartily glad if he will come." Frank nods. "Stop a bit," cried the Squire. "If Rickeybockey's at home, 'tis ten to one if he don't ask you to take a glass of wine! If he does, mind, 'tis worse than asking you to take a turn on the rack. Faugh! you remember, Harry?--I thought it was all up with me." "Yes," cried Mrs. Hazeldean, "for Heaven's sake, not a drop! Wine indeed!" "Don't talk of it," cried the Squire, making a wry face. "I'll take care, sir!" said Frank, laughing as he disappeared within the stable, followed by Miss Jemima, who now coaxingly makes it up with him, and does not leave off her admonitions to be extremely polite to the poor foreign gentleman, till Frank gets his foot into the stirrup; and the pony, who knows who he has got to deal with, gives a preparatory plunge or two and then darts out of the yard. _To be continued._ [From Chambers's Edinburgh Journal.] THE EVERY-DAY MARRIED LADY. It might be supposed that the every-day married lady was formerly the every-day young lady, and has now merely changed her condition. But this is not the case, for nothing is more common than to see the most holiday spinsters settle down into the most working-day matrons. The married lady, in fact, of the species we would describe, has no descent in particular. If you can imagine a pupa coming into the world of itself without any connection with the larva, or an imago unconscious of the pupa, that is the every-day married lady. She is born at the altar, conjured into life by the ceremonial, and having utterly lost her individual existence, becomes from that moment a noun of multitude. People may say, "Oh, this is our old acquaintance, Miss Smith!" but that is only calling names, for the identity is gone. If she is any thing at all but what appertains to the present, she is the late Miss Smith, who has survived herself, and changed into a family.