"A question more easily asked than answered. Among my debts are about, four thousand dollars that must be paid whether or no." "Why?" "They are _debts of honour!_" "Ah, indeed! that is bad. You will have to settle them." "Of course!" Then, in a loud and emphatic whisper, he said-- "And I _have_ settled them!" "Indeed! Well, what next? How will you account to your wife for the deficiency?" "Account to my wife!" and as he said this, he ground his teeth together, while his lip curled. "Don't talk to me in that way, Perkins, and cause me to hate the woman I have deceived and injured!" "But what _are_ you going to do, Smith?" "I am going to clear out with the balance of the money in my pocket. I can't stay here, that's settled; and I'm not going away penniless, that's certain. Margaretta's old aunt has money enough, and can take care of her--so she's provided for. And I've no doubt but that she'll be happier without me than with me." "Where are you going?" "Somewhere down South." "When?" "At four o'clock this afternoon." "Well, success to you. There are some rich widows in the Southern country, you know." "I understand; but I'm rather sick of these operations. They are a little uncertain. But good-bye, and may you have better luck than your friend Smith." "Good-bye." And the two young men shook hands cordially and parted. At four o'clock Mr. Smith left for Baltimore--not the happiest man in the cars by a great deal. Since that day the confiding young creature who had thrown all into the scale for him has neither seen him nor heard from him. To her the light of life seems fled for ever. Her face is very pale, and wears an expression of heart-touching misery. She is rarely seen abroad. Poor creature! In her one sad error, what a lifetime of sorrow has been involved! Of all conditions in life, that of the young heiress, with her money in her own right, is peculiarly dangerous. The truly worthy shrink often from a tender of their affection, for fear their motives may be thought interested; while the mercenary push forward, and by well-directed flattery, that does not seem like flattery, win the prize they cannot appreciate. There are such base wretches in society. Let those who most need to fear them be on their guard. It is now but a few weeks since Thomas Fielding, who was despised and rejected by Margaretta, married a sweet girl in every way worthy of him. She is not rich in worldly goods, but she is rich in virtuous principles. The former Fielding does not need; but the latter he can cherish "as a holy prize." IS MARRIAGE A LOTTERY? "I AM afraid to marry," said a young lady, half jesting and half in earnest, replying to something a friend had said. "Why so, Ella?" asked one of the company, who had thus far chosen rather to listen than join in the conversation of half a dozen gay young girls. She was a quiet, matronly-looking individual, some few years past the prime of life.