"How admirably they are fitted for each other!" I remarked to my husband, on the night of their wedding. "Their tastes are similar, and their habits so much alike, that no violence will be done to the feelings of either in the more intimate associations that marriage brings. Both are neat in person and orderly by instinct, and both have good principles." "From all present appearances, the match will be a good one," replied my husband. There was, I thought, something like reservation in his tone. "Do you really think so?" I said, a little ironically, for Mr. Smith's approval of the marriage was hardly warm enough to suit my fancy. "Oh, certainly! Why not?" he replied. I felt a little fretted at my husband's mode of speaking, but made no further remark on the subject. He is never very enthusiastic nor sanguine, and did not mean, in this instance, to doubt the fitness of the parties for happiness in the marriage state--as I half imagined. For myself, I warmly approved of my friend's choice, and called her husband a lucky man to secure, for his companion through life, a woman so admirably fitted to make one like him happy. But a visit which I paid to Cora one day about six weeks after the honeymoon had expired, lessened my enthusiasm on the subject, and awoke some unpleasant doubts. It happened that I called soon after breakfast. Cora met me in the parlour, looking like a very fright. She wore a soiled and rumpled morning wrapper; her hair was in papers; and she had on dirty stockings, and a pair of old slippers down at the heels. "Bless me, Cora!" said I. "What is the matter? Have you been sick?" "No. Why do you ask? Is my dishabille rather on the extreme?" "Candidly, I think it is, Cora," was my frank answer. "Oh, well! No matter," she carelessly replied, "my fortune's made." "I don't clearly understand you," said I. "I'm married, you know." "Yes; I am aware of that fact." "No need of being so particular in dress now." "Why not?" "Didn't I just say?" replied Cora. "My fortune's made. I've got a husband." Beneath an air of jesting, was apparent the real earnestness of my friend. "You dressed with a careful regard to taste and neatness, in order to win Edward's love?" said I. "Certainly I did." "And should you not do the same in order to retain it?" "Why, Mrs. Smith! Do you think my husband's affection goes no deeper than my dress? I should be very sorry indeed to think that. He loves me for myself."