JAN. 16, 1837.-Yesterday was my birthday, and to-day is my wedding-day. We meant to celebrate the one with the other, but Sunday would come this year on the fifteenth. I am dressed, and have turned everybody out of this room, where I have suffered so much mortification, and experienced so much joy, that before I give myself to Ernest, and before I leave home forever, I may once more give myself away to God. I have been too much absorbed in my earthly love, and am shocked to find how it fills my thoughts. But I will belong to God. I will begin my married life in His fear, depending on Him to make me an unselfish, devoted wife. JAN. 25.-We had a delightful trip after the wedding was over. Ernest proposed to take me to his own home that I might see his mother and sister. He never has said that he wanted them to see me. But his mother is not well. I am heartily glad of it. I mean I was glad to escape going there to be examined and criticised. Every one of them would pick at me, I am sure, and I don't like to be picked at. We have a home of our own, and I am trying to take kindly to housekeeping. Ernest is away a great deal more than I expected he would be. I am fearfully lonely. Aunty comes to see me as often as she can, and I go there almost every day, but that doesn't amount to much. As soon as I can venture to it, I shall ask Ernest to let me invite mother to come and live with us. It is not right for her to be left all alone so I hoped he would do that himself. But men are not like women. We think of everything. FEB. 15.-Our honeymoon ends to-day. There hasn't been quite as much honey in it as I expected. I supposed that Ernest would be at home every evening, at least, and that he would read aloud, and have me play and sing, and that we should have delightful times together. But now he has got me he seems satisfied, and goes about his business as if he had been married a hundred years. In the morning he goes off to see his list of patients; he is going in and out all day; after dinner we sit down to have a nice talk together; the door-bell invariably rings, and he is called away. Then in the evening he goes and sits in his office and studies; I don't mean every minute, but he certainly spends hours there. To-day he brought me such a precious letter from dear mother! I could not help crying when I read it, it was so kind and so loving. Ernest looked amazed; he threw down his paper, came and took me in his arms and asked, "What is the matter, darling?" Then it all came out. I said I was lonely, and hadn't been used to spending my evenings all by myself. "You must get some of your friends to come and see you, poor child," he said. "I don't want friends," I sobbed out. "I want you." "Yes, darling; why didn't you tell me so sooner? Of course I will stay with you if you wish it." "If that is your only reason, I am sure I don't want you," I pouted. He looked puzzled.