hasty escape, and a servant announced Mr. | as to Mildred Beverley. I ventured to ask him if Whitfield, a name strange to the ears of Mil- he would not seek her out, and bestow on her dred. A single glance informed her that her visitor did not come on a wooing errand; he had green spectacles over his eyes, and a green bag over his arm. "He is evidently a lawyer," thought Mildred; and although a sudden visit from a lawyer is startling to the nerves of most people, Mildred, strong in the consciousness of poverty and inoffensiveness, felt herself quite equal to encounter it, and courteously informed Mr. Whitfield that it was a fine day, without being at all apprehensive that he would charge six-and-eightpence to her account for agreeing with her in opinion.

"I had the honour of waiting on you a week ago, Miss Beverley," said he; "but Mrs. Harrington informed me that you were on a visit in the country, and could not be spoken with till to-day."

Mildred could only bow her head: she knew the mendacious propensities of her patroness so well, that she was not at all surprised that she should have sent her on an ideal visit to the country, if it answered any purpose to herself to do so.

"You knew your first cousin, Mr. Farnford, Miss Beverley?" inquired Mr. Whitfield, in a solemn voice, laying his green bag on a chair by his side, taking out his snuff-box, and evidently settling himself for a long colloquy.

He left England when I was an infant," replied Mildred, " and I have never heard of him

since."

"It is my distressing office, Miss Beverley," said Mr. Whitfield, "to inform you that he has departed this life."

There was a cheerful expression, however, in the countenance of the little attorney which showed that he did not consider his office at all a distressing one; and as Mildred had heard her cousin spoken of for many years as most probably dead, she was not at all startled at the circumstance being announced as a fact, and merely replied-" Indeed, Sir?"

part of his riches during his life-time; but he appeared to be wrapped in a veil of misanthropy and reserve, through which it was not in my power to penetrate. He considered it, he said, his duty to provide for Mildred Beverley after his death, but he had not the slightest wish or inclination for her society in life, and that he intended immediately to return to Lisbon, where much of his property still remained. He left his will, which was duly executed and witnessed, in my hands, and took his leave of me.

"A few days ago a ship arrived from Portugal; an intimate friend of mine, who had visited Lisbon on business, was one of the passengers; he informed me that the day before his depar ture from Lisbon Mr. Farnford, whom he well knew, had been deprived of life by a melancholy accident. He had been swimming in company with another gentleman, and being it is supposed seized with sudden cramp or giddiness when at some distance from the shore, he sank to rise no more. I cannot for a moment question the authenticity of this account, for my friend, Mr. Denby, received it from the companion of poor Mr. Farnford on the fatal occasion, who had risked his life, but without success, to save him. It may be satisfactory to you to hear that Mr. Denby had dined in company with your cousin a few days before this sad catastrophe took place; the schemes of legacy-hunters were playfully alluded to after dinner, and Mr. Farnford, who had room to suspect that more than one of the company came under that denomination, remarked that

communication of the death of Mr. Farnford; but in the meantime I shall be happy to supply you on credit with any money you may require for present use."

Nobody need entertain designs on the money he possessed, for that he had bequeathed the whole of it to a first cousin.' It appeared to me that I should be failing in my duty did I not bring you immediate information of these circumstances; you are sole executrix and residuary legatee, and the investments in the English funds amount to more than fifty thousand pounds, besides property in Portugal, of the "Mr. Farnford," continued Mr. Whitfield, value of which I am ignorant. You cannot of "presented a remarkable instance of a thought-course duly prove the will till I receive official less and improvident boyhood merging into a steady and even somewhat misanthropic manhood. He was received, about five years after his departure from this country, into partnership with the merchant whom he accompanied to Lisbon, and on his death became the sole inheritor of his property. He visited England a year ago, and having had my name recommended to him by a mutual friend, he called on me to consult me about the investment in the English funds of part of his large property, having withdrawn from business on account of his declining state of health. He next gave me directions for preparing his will, and informed me that his sole relative was a first cousin, who he understood had just lost her father; that he owed much to the kindness of her mother when he was a boy; and that there was no one to whom he could feel so much satisfaction in bequeathing his wealth

rang

the

Mildred had time during this long narration to summon up her self-possession; she thanked Mr. Whitfield for his kindness with as much dignity as if she had been an heiresspresumptive from her cradle, and then bell and magnanimously desired the servant who attended to bring refreshments. A week ago Mildred would have shrunk from the idea of ordering even a glass of water for any visitor who could not plead a fainting-fit in excuse for the petition; but her timidity had received the benefit of a week's rubbing off, and she now knew to a certainty that her requests would henceforth be considered as commands in Bedford-square. The footman reappeared in an amazingly short time, bearing on a massive

silver salver the finest of wines and the richest | temptation of acting contrary to my sense of of cakes, and Mildred had a long conversation honour and feeling. I love Mildred, fervently, with Mr. Whitfield, whom she found, notwith- fondly love her; were I the master of millions, standing a little professional formality, to be an and were she lowly and unportioned, I would intelligent, clever, and agreeable man. instantly seek her for my own, but alas! AnaMildred did not feel the indignation against statia, I cannot disguise from the world, from the Harringtons which some of my readers may myself, and from Mildred, the fact that I was suppose natural. In the first place, she was too resident under the same roof with her for a happy to be angry with anybody; in the second, twelvemonth without loving or even admiring she considered the conduct of the family quite her. I can easily account, in my own mind, for in keeping with their general character, and this apparent inconsistency; for Mildred, so long therefore not to be resented; and thirdly, she silent, sad, and inanimate, suddenly brought to felt a decided presentiment that she should soon view the treasures of her fine mind, and the become nearly connected with them by her candour and ingenuousness of her sweet dismarriage with Charles, and therefore that it was position; others, however, may, and will judge desirable to assume in good time the manners me harshly-they will say that I love Mildred's of a sister and daughter towards them. Conse- wealth, and not herself, and that I never quently, as soon as Mr. Whitfield had departed, discerned her charming qualities till I heard of she joined the family circle, dispelled the lurk- her accumulated thousands. I will not subject ing apprehensions of Mrs. Harrington and myself to such suspicions; I will never offer my Anastasia by her good humoured vivacity, hand to Mildred!"" talked over the probabilities of the amount of the Portuguese property with Mr. Harrington, listened to the compliments of the Captain without a frown, and sat the greater part of the evening on a sofa with Charles, engaged in literary conversation.

Day after day time seemed to travel over flowers with Mildred; she was introduced into general society, every body liked her, and she liked every body; she only selected one intimate friend, however this was a widow lady of the name of Tyrawly, who had distinguished her when a humble companion by several kind attentions, and who now exchanged almost daily visits with her. Mildred had only two drawbacks to her felicity-Captain Harrington paid her too much homage, and Charles paid her too little; she determined to try to remedy both these evils by a single stroke, and accordingly took Anastasia into her confidence, and told her that she had never seen any one whom she liked so much as her younger brother.

Had Mildred been poor, she would sooner have died than have made this disclosure; perhaps some of my readers may blame her for making it when she was rich, but let them consider that she had every reason to believe that Charles was seriously and devotedly attached to her, and that nothing but the fear of exposing himself to the suspicion of being actuated by interested motives withheld him from avowing his preference.

Anastasia felt no difficulty in performing her mission; she was worldly-wise like her mother; she wished Mildred's large property to be kept in the family, but was quite indifferent whether it were to be secured through the agency of her elder or younger brother. She first spoke to Captain Harrington-he received her communication with extreme nonchalance; declared that "he was very glad of it, that the girl was excessively common-place and insipid, and that he had been thinking for some time of renewing his attentions to Miss Milsington."

Anastasia next addressed Charles-" Do not hold forth to me," said he," the dangerous

Anastasia laughed, told her brother that he would soon think better of his determination, and advised him to write a memoir of himself, and send it as an appendix to the next edition of the "Loves of the Poets." She then sought Mildred, told her what Charles had said, and expressed her own opinion on the subject with more good sense than was her usual habit. (To be continued.)

STANZAS.

Not mine the sigh for splendour,
With all her gilded toys;
Though wealth may purchase baubles,
These are but empty joys.
Yet there are kinds of pleasure

Which wealth alone can buy;
Its power can soothe the mourner,
And dry the tearful eye.

When penury, that darksome foe
To happiness and peace,
Invades where erst dwelt hope and love,
Too often love will cease.
I think if I were wealthy,

My riches I would share
With every child of sorrow
That breathes my native air.

Yet, how it is I know not,
The cases are not rare,
Where plenty most aboundeth
Those pronest are to spare.
It seems as if the fountain,

Whose spring is in the heart,
Had changed its native current,
Schooled by the rules of art.
Ambition's voice is heeded,

And rivalry is there;
And true it is that riches

Too often prove a snare.
Then I will not sigh for splendour,
Nor heed the syren's voice;
Whatever be my earthly lot,
That only be my choice.

HELENE B

Appeal from Man to Man in every heart-wrung sigh. What time at midnight gently fall the dews

"None need to beg, there's work for all!'"' they cry; Therefore thy people do thou well advise,

A PEEP INTO THE OFFICE OF A SAVINGS' BANK.

BY P. P. C.

"Take care of the pence: the pounds will take care of themselves."

shillings and shillings, till I had enough to get a little cart and a donkey for her, to bring her in without trouble."

The old gentleman nodded his head, and seemed to muse.

"Where do you work?"

"I works for the shops-runs errands-carries parcels, and that sort of things; and I can write, so then I can get receipts, and sign 'em, which some of the boys cannot do, and therefore I'm always busy.'

his tenth child-will wait no longer; he pushes aside, with a vigorous shove, the not-to-besatisfied widower: "Come, you've had your answer; go and get the stifficats, and make no more bones of the matter. I'm in a hurry; whose to listen to your growling? Here, you clerk, I want a fi-pun note for my good woman; and be quick, will you?"

Mark those two girls sitting, side by side, on the bench; they are no relations, they never met before this minute; and their situations are as The sequel of this little colloquy was that the different as rose-colour and sepia are in tints. old gentleman-who was a wealthy merchant-That tall, smart, lively damsel, with the large inquired about the lad, and finding satisfactory replies, resolved upon taking him into his counting-house, where, I have no doubt, he will succeed, and realize his vision of the washing cart and the donkey for his mother. Meantime the three clerks who stand at those three open places are calling, name by name, for the owners to come and sign various documents ere they are admitted to the cashier's corner, where they receive their money and are dismissed.

Poor old widow! how feeble she looks, and how sad! she comes on a painful errand. Her only and dear son, a bricklayer, has fallen from a scaffolding and been much injured; and, though sufficiently recovered to be dismissed from the hospital, he is disabled for work, and his mother must draw out all her little savings to support him and herself till he is again strong enough to work, as before, for the two.

After the widow comes a widower-a little grim, sour man, in rusty black; with a black, unshorn chin, that seems also in a dusky suit of mourning. He has just lost his wife, and has come here to procure the money she, good, industrious woman, had saved up during a course of ten years, amounting to about twenty pounds. But eagerly as the bereaved looks for that allpowerful consoler-gold, he finds unexpected obstacles between him and the object of his desires. He must first bring certificates from a magistrate or a clergyman, that he is the man who married that especial woman known to the bank as a depositor; and also he must prove that she left him the said money, and that he is thus empowered to claim it. To do this will cost him about half-a-crown, and delay his receiving the money for about ten days. The heart that bore a wife's death with fortitude cannot calmly resolve to pay away half-acrown out of the dearly-purchased legacy! The widower waxes very wroth, and ejaculates sundry disrespectful epithets towards the inexorable clerk that gentleman hears him quietly, and makes the same answer to all his petulant outbreaks "It must be done; must conform to the rules. It does not matter how small or large the sum is, the rules must be obeyed."

Meanwhile, the other expectants are growing impatient. The dispute between the widower and the clerk is likely to be interminable: the one utters, over and over again, the same complaint; the other makes the same freezing reply. The next on the roll—a burly drayman, come to draw out the necessary sum for the expenses of

white teeth and glossy ringlets, has come for her money, that she may expend it in a wedding outfit. Do you see her bridegroom, how proud he is of her, and of himself, too; conscious that his checked waistcoat is of the brightest, and his satin stock flowered with the gayest rosebuds? Pretty Harriet Lucas, his bride, is rather smart, we should say, for a nursemaid, as you hear her tell the clerk she is. Her silk flounced gown, lilac bonnet and flowers, pink and green shaded parasol, and imitation lace handkerchief, impress you, I see, in her disfavour; but you must not judge her too hardly. She has had her foible encouraged by her silly mistress, who dresses as much above her station as her servants do above theirs; and by giving them her castoff adornments, accustoms them to a sort of slatternly shabby finery, very far from being respectable. You see Harriet's shaded parasol is quite soiled, and the lilac bonnet is more than faded; but she got those from her mistress, who never thought what unsuitable articles of wear they must be for a young serving girl. No wonder Harriet likes to be smart, seeing Mrs. Burchell trailing through the streets in light satins, or flaunting feathers, out in the glass clarence, which she hires when she wishes to be stylish in her morning calls. Bad examples from mistresses make bad imitations in maids! Meanwhile, the money is paid-the receipt signed.

"Are you likely to pay any more into this bank?" asks the clerk.

"No," blushes Harriet, with a conscious glance towards her affianced; as if asking him whether it is really true that they two are to leave London, and set up their small home in the quiet, secluded village of Hungerford.

Now they set off, with full pockets, and happy hearts-first to the jeweller's, to buy the ringthen to a silk-mercer's, for the wedding-dressthen to the upholstery warehouse, for some smart London furniture to adorn their house. John fixes on a nice strong horse-hair sofa, very cheap; but his fair lady has discovered a charming couch, covered with pale blue moreen, on which she has set her heart.

"True, it is much dearer; but then it is so genteel. It is very like one Mrs. Burchell bought, such a bargain!"

But, my dear, it won't wear; it would be a bad bargain were it cheaper than the horse-hair, which would see out ten of those trasheries."

Harriet began to pout-"I declare it's very