but most pressing inquiries from, among other | wheeler. This time she did not haggle with West-end tradesmen, Messrs. Tulle and Tab- the cabman; for she had purposely left her binet of Regent Street, Messrs. Goer, Gauffer, house on foot, and hastened back to Gallipoli and Gigot of Mount Street, Grosvenor Square, Villa. She rushed upstairs to her bedroom, and Madame Coraline of the Burlington Arcade keeping the cab at the door; and an hour -as to whether Mrs. Surbiton P. Mellor would afterwards Madame Schumakers, alias Van at once forward them cheques for the amounts Tromp, alias De Ruyter, alias Co., was in as per margin, or whether they should instruct possession of MRS. MELLOR'S DIAMONDS. their solicitors to make application to Mr. Surbiton P. Mellor. The poor woman was in despair. She had spent her last quarter's pinmoney to the last farthing weeks before. Only five days previously her husband had presented her with a cheque for fifty pounds, "for the missionaries," as he jocosely said. Alas! she had paid five-and-forty pounds at once to the cannibals, and they were still hungering for her flesh and her blood.

"Yes, surely. De peautiful tiamonds Mr. Mellor (de gind shentlemans!) he puy you only last year, an' gif you on your boffday when you vash dwenty-doo."

"But Mr. Mellor likes me to wear those diamonds. He was looking at them in my jewel-case only this morning, and admiring them; and I am to wear them this very night at the French plays."

"Bah, I say agen. Fat a tear liddle stoopid lof of a laty you are! Dere is tiamonds and tiamonds. Bring me de britty liddle dings, and I vill ged dem match by vour o'glock dis fery avternoon; and I vill lent you vivdy bounds more, and geep them in bledge, and lent you de oders vich is baste, and your hovspond he not know nefer one tam ding aboud de drick ve blay. Ah, ah! Ha!" And Madame Schumakers took snuff like an ogress-if ogresses ever took snuff, which I believe they did.

Now these diamonds, the birth-day present of Surbiton P. Mellor, Esq., and which had cost at Messrs. Hancock's no less a sum than seven hundred and fifty pounds, consisted of a necklace, two bracelets, a locket, a spray for the hair, and a pair of ear-rings, all in brilliants of the purest water. They were to be held in pledge by Madame Schumakers for the sum of four hundred pounds, which she alleged to be due to her, and were to be restored to Mrs. Mellor on the payment of four hundred and fifty pounds; the balance being advanced to that demented woman in cash, and Madame Schumakers very generously charging nothing at all for interest. Meanwhile Mrs. Mellor took home a morocco-case, containing a suite of diamonds, which certainly appeared to be the exact counterpart of her real gems; and in this suite she attended, as previously arranged, the performance of the French plays with her attached husband, and was infinitely admired for the splendour of her parure.

A few evenings afterwards-they were to dine at home and alone-Mr. Mellor was, contrary to his established habits, fully threequarters of an hour late. When he did come, it was in a state of great disorder, and with a pale and disturbed countenance. For a long time he remained silent, and the dinner was sent down untasted. Then he hastily swallowed a glass of sherry; and after pacing the room for some time, thus addressed himself to speech:

"Mall"-this was her petit nom-"I have some terrible news to tell you."

She turned pale, and felt ready to swoon; she thought for a moment that the bank had broken. It was not that, however, but, so far as her husband was concerned, even a worse calamity. He explained that he had recently What was the wretched Maude Matilda embarked in very hazardous speculations, and Wilhelmina to do? What but bow down be- that those speculations had proved unlucky. fore the demon and obey her? This interview, He was, he said, on the very verge and brink I may observe, took place about noon in the of ruin. He had embezzled a large amount of upper room of a house in Newman Street, the funds of the bank, and an investigation— Oxford Street, where Madame Schumakers, which might take place at any moment would trading under the name of Van Tromp, De inevitably lead to his arrest on a criminal Ruyter, and Co., announced herself, with her charge. He had raised money, he said, on all partner and the company, to be dealers in his available property. There was a bill of articles of vertu. Her victim took a four-sale on the fine furniture in Gallipoli Villa,

the lease of the house was mortgaged; but he ' paid over the amount at once in crisp bankstill lacked four hundred pounds to complete the deficiency in his accounts.

notes, and a bond for the loan, at a rate of interest agreed upon, was made out. This document Mr. Mellor handed to his wife, tell

redeem her finery if she would only practise a little economy for a time. He seemed to have become a very different personage from the Surbiton P. Mellor of the day before yesterday, and of the four happy years of their married life. At the pawnbroker's door he handed her into her brougham, and saying that he had an engagement in the city, left her.

"Four hundred pounds," he concluded, would save me, or at least give me time to turn my-ing her sardonically, that she might very soon self round. There are those diamonds of yours, Mall. I gave seven hundred and fifty pounds for them, and surely they ought to be good for four hundred. Mall, my own dear true wife, you must let me have those diamonds, and we must pawn them. It grieves me to the heart to do so, for you looked superb in them last night." She blushed, turned pale, stammered, equivocated, asked what the world would say, and whether there were no other means of tiding over the difficulty. She was told that there were none; and as for the world, her husband cried out passionately that it might say what it liked, and go hang. She offered him all her other trinkets; he told her disdainfully that, altogether, they would not fetch a hundred pounds, and that he must have the diamonds. She said faintly that she could not let him have them. He stared at her for some moments in blank amazement; and then, passing from entreaty to command, insisted on having the jewels forthwith; adding that, if she did not instantly obey him, he would take them from her by force. Sick with terror and apprehension of discovery, the wretched woman went upstairs and returning, brought the morocco-case, and laid it tremblingly on the dining-room table. He opened the étui, and sarcastically admired the sheen and sparkle of the gems. Then he told her that early the next morning they must be taken to the pawnbrokers; but that she should go with him, and assure herself that he had been telling the truth. She remembered the falsity of the stones, and the marrow in her spine turned cold.

After a night spent in infinite and sleepless wretchedness, the cheerless morning came; and Mr. and Mrs. Mellor drove in their elegant brougham down to Beaufort Buildings, Strand, at the corner of which, at the time of which I speak, was the well-known pawnbroking establishment of Mr. Amos Scantleberry. They entered the "private office," in which loans of too much importance to be discussed in the vulgar boxes where the poor pawned their clothes were negotiated, and the diamonds were submitted to Mr. Amos Scantleberry, who was reputed to be one of the best judges of precious stones in Europe. That gentleman examined Mrs. Mellor's "diamonds" minutely, weighed and tested them, and did not hesitate for the moment in advancing on them the sum required four hundred pounds sterling.

He

She went home half-distracted. In the course of a few hours she was certain the spurious nature of the gems must be discovered, and her husband would be prosecuted for fraud. What was she to do? Why had she not told him the truth in the first instance? He would not have killed her, had she confessed that her real diamonds were in the custody of Madame Schumakers. But then those embezzled funds belonging to the bank, and the awful peril he was in? It was too late, and something must be done. She sat for hours revolving in her mind scheme after scheme, but none seemed practicable. At length, with shame and horror and ghastly loathing, she hit upon one which appeared feasible. She could borrow eight hundred pounds; somebody had told her so over and over again. Why had she not gone to him when the hag Schumakers pressed her? Because she was afraid and ashamed. But the worst was come now, and she must brave it.

Somebody lived in very grand style in the Albany-and in very grand style too-and was highly curled, oiled, ringed, chained, pinned, and locketed. Somebody's name was Mossby-Mr. Algernon Mossby; and somebody else-by whom may be meant everybody or anybody-declared that the name of Algernon Mossby was only an elegant paraphrase of the less aristocratic appellation of Abraham Moses. Mr. Mossby was a frequent visitor at Gallipoli Villa; Mr. Mossby had horses and carriages and a yacht; Mr. Mossby was a gay man, a fashionable man; and Mr. Mossby admired Mrs. Surbiton P. Mellor to distraction, and had frequently insinuated that not only was his heart laid at her feet, but that his purse was at her command.

She had been a good and true wife to her husband, and had never given the oily, impudent, much bejewelled Jew any undue encouragement. She was determined to give him none now, dire as was her extremity. She went nevertheless to his chambers in the

Albany within an hour after leaving Mr. Scantleberry's establishment; and she fell on her knees before Mr. Algernon Mossby, and besought him to save her from utter ruin and destruction. Mr. Mossby behaved with thorough gallantry. He admitted that eight hundred pounds was a very large sum, but he thought, he said, that he could at once oblige her with a cheque for the amount. For all security he merely required her note of hand, payable on demand for the sum of eight hundred pounds and for "value received."

"That is enough, my dear Mrs. Mellor," said Mr. Algernon Mossby, as he handed her the cheque and locked up the promissory note in his cash-box. "I will make my demand all in good time. That little scrap of writing is quite sufficient to ruin your reputation if produced; and I have no doubt, that ere I produce it we shall have arrived at a very satisfactory understanding. Allow me to conduct you to the door; the staircase is rather dark."

"At all events," Mrs. Mellor faltered out, "they are my own jewels, and fully worth the sum I ask upon them."

"I only know," replied Mr. Scantleberry, very slowly and deliberately, and handing her back her "diamonds," "that the stones you brought me yesterday were genuine, and of great value-and that these are FALSE." "False!"

"False, madam; you may take them to any lapidary—to any judge of precious stones in London, and he will tell you that they are not worth ten pounds. There has been some very. ugly mistake here." And with a low bow Mr. Scantleberry retired into his back office. She found herself, she knew not how, in the street. She was now utterly, entirely ruined. She had no diamonds at all, either in pledge or in her own possession; and the accursed Mr. Algernon Mossby of the Albany held her note of hand for eight hundred pounds "for value received." She would go home, she thought, and kill herself.

"No, my darling," said Surbiton P. Mellor that night, when she had thrown herself at his feet, and with passionate tears and outcries confessed all; "you are not ruined; no harm has come to you at all, or to me either, for the matter of that. I have merely been reading you a little lesson, to cure you of your one fault-extravagance. The diamonds I gave

Half-distraught she hastened to Mr. Scantleberry's, stopping on her way at the bank to get the cheque cashed. She had still the fifty pounds which the Dutchwoman had advanced to her on the previous day; and with the eight hundred lent to her by Mr. Algernon Mossby, she felt that one great peril was at least surmounted. Mr. Scantleberry seemed somewhat surprised to see her; but on her producing the loan-bond and the requisite money, handed you on your birthday were false. I knew that, her over the diamonds. She hurried then to sooner or later, they would come into the posMadame Schumakers in Foley Street, who was session of that Dutch beldame Schumakers; I delighted to see her; the more so, she said, as found the hag out, and took her into my pay; she was starting for Rotterdam that very even- I intrusted to her the real diamonds, which she ing. To her Mrs. Mellor handed the sum of gave you as imitation ones. They were the four hundred and fifty pounds, and received real stones we pawned, and the sham ones her jewel-case and her own diamonds. Now which you afterwards vainly endeavoured to she felt relieved. She would hasten back to pledge. As to Mr. Algernon Mossby, he is Mr. Scantleberry's, re-pawn her diamonds, and my very good friend and agent to command. then give Mossby back half his money. He Here is your note of hand; and it may relieve would surely wait for the rest. It was four in your mind to know, that I was concealed in the afternoon ere she reached Beaufort Build- the next room throughout your interview with ings, and in a few half-incoherent words ex- that obliging gentleman in the Albany. He plained that, through unforeseen events, she will come no more to this house, and he has was compelled to renew the transaction of the five hundred good reasons for holding his previous day. The pawnbroker bowed, observed tongue. Now, then, come and give me a kiss, that such things frequently happened in the and to-morrow morning I'll give you your real way of business, and proceeded to examine the diamonds and your sham ones too. Only, jewels-merely, he observed, as a matter of under any circumstances, don't take either the form. Mrs. Mellor felt perfectly at ease as he genuine or the spurious ones to Foley Street, weighed and tested them; in this, at least, to Beaufort Buildings, or to the Albany." there was no fraud, she thought.

The cure was efficacious and complete. Mrs.

Suddenly the pawnbroker fixed upon her Surbiton P. Mellor has since made considerable a searching glance.

"These are not the stones you brought me yesterday, madam," he said.

additions to her jewel-case; but she has ceased to raise money either on the hypothecation of her personal effects or on notes of hand.

Yet He was patient-slow to wrath,

Though every day provoked
By selfish, pining discontent,
Acceptance cold or negligent,
And promises revoked.

And still the same rich feast was spread
For my insensate heart.-
Not always so-I woke again,
To join Creation's rapturous strain,
"O Lord, how good Thou art!"

The clouds drew up, the shadows fled,
The glorious sun broke out,
And love, and hope, and gratitude
Dispell'd that miserable mood

Of darkness and of doubt.

CAROLINE BOWLES SOUTHEY.

THE RUSTIC WREATH.

little distance, whilst a young girl, resting from the labour of reaping, was twisting a rustic wreath-enamelled corn-flowers, brilliant poppies, snow-white lily-bines, and light fragile harebells, mingled with tufts of the richest wheat-ears-around its hat.

66

There was something in the tender youthfulness of these two innocent creatures, in the pretty, though somewhat fantastic, occupation of the girl, the fresh wild flowers, the ripe and swelling corn, that harmonized with the season and the hour, and conjured up memories of Dis and Proserpine," and of all that is gorgeous and graceful in old mythology-of the lovely Lavinia of our own poet, and of that finest pastoral in the world, the far lovelier Ruth. But these fanciful associations soon vanished before the real sympathy excited by the actors of the scene, both of whom were known to me, and both objects of a sincere and lively interest.

The young girl, Dora Creswell, was the [Mary Russell Mitford, born at Alresford, Hamp-orphan niece of one of the wealthiest yeomen shire, 16th December, 1786; died at Swallowfield, near Reading, 10th January, 1855. The extravagance of her father, Dr. Mitford, dissipated a considerable fortune which her mother had possessed, and also made away with £20,000 which Miss Mitford, at the age of ten, had obtained as a prize in a lottery. It was the pecuniary difficulties of her family which suggested to her the idea of authorship as a profession, and in 1806 she began her literary career with a volume of Miscellaneous Verse, which was favourably received everywhere except in the Quarterly. In the succeeding year she made a more ambitious venture, and issued Christina, or the Maid of the South Seas, a narrative poem founded on the romantic incidents which followed the mutiny of the Bunty. Her genius and persevering energy achieved the greatest success in poetry, drama, and fiction. Of her plays the most notable are, Julian, a Tragedy, first performed in 1823 with Macready in the part of hero; Th Foscari, a Tragedy, 18:6; Rienzi, 1828; and Charles But of all her works the most widely appreciated is Our Village: Sketches of Rural Character and Scenery. The first of these sketches appeared in the

the First.

Lady's Magazine, 1819; they were subsequently collected,

and with the additions made to them from year to year formed five volumes--the first having been published in 1824, the last in 1832. In the Noctes, Christopher North speaks of Miss Mitford as "that charming painter of rural life;" and the Shepherd says, "Oh, sir, but that leddy has a fine and bauld hand, either at a sketch or finished picture." Her Recollections of a Literary Life (1852) form a work full of useful memoranda about books, places, and people. Bentley and Son have recently published in three volumes a life of Miss Mitford, "told by herself in letters to her friends." It is edited by the Rev. A. G. L'Estrange, and has an introductory memoir by the late Rev. William Harness,

her literary executor.]

I had taken refuge in a harvest-field belonging to my good neighbour, Farmer Creswell: a beautiful child lay on the ground, at some

in our part of the world, the only child of his
only brother; and, having lost both her parents
whilst still an infant, had been reared by her
widowed uncle as fondly and carefully as his
own son Walter. He said that he loved her
quite as well, perhaps he loved her better;
for, although it were impossible for a father
not to be proud of the bold, handsome youth,
who at eighteen had a man's strength and a
man's stature, was the best ringer, the best
cricketer, and the best shot in the county, yet
the fair Dora, who, nearly ten years younger,
was at once his handmaid, his housekeeper,
his plaything, and his companion, was evi-
dently the very apple of his eye.
Our good
farmer vaunted her accomplishments, as men
of his class are wont to boast of a high-bred
horse or a favourite grayhound. She could
make a shirt and a pudding, darn stockings,
rear poultry, keep accounts, and read the news-
paper: was as famous for gooseberry wine as
Mrs. Primrose, and could compound a syllabub
with any dairy-woman in the county. There
was not such a handy little creature anywhere;
so thoughtful and trusty about the house, and
yet, out of doors, as gay as a lark, and as wild
as the wind-nobody was like his Dora. So
said and so thought Farmer Creswell; and,
before Dora was ten years old, he had resolved
that, in due time, she should marry his son
Walter, and had informed both parties of his
intention.

Now, Farmer Creswell's intentions were well known to be as unchangeable as the laws of the Medes and Persians. He was a fair speci