thousand pounds into your name in the funds. The business is already completed, and here are the vouchers."

Charles was very far from guessing at the nature or extent of the benefit which the generous Clara thus conferred upon him; but the having to return to Maplebury with his fortune in statu quo, and with no secret concerning it upon his mind, was a degree of happiness that seemed sufficient to drive him almost wild with joy and gratitude. Clara witnessed this joy with lively pleasure, and blessed Heaven that she had saved one victim from the ruin that seemed closing round him. It was necessary, however, or at any rate exceedingly desirable, that Chesterfield should leave London immediately. At an early hour on the following morning it would be necessary for her to inform her father of the transaction which had put it out of her power to afford him any further help and though it was evident that Charles had suffered too much to render it likely he should fall into the same scrape anew (ignorant though he was of its real nature), she greatly desired to avoid the possibility of his being again attacked by Sir George; an event which she doubted not would happen, were they to meet after her father knew that the money had been restored to him.

It was this part of her task which she felt to be the most difficult, inasmuch as she could by no means assign her real motives for urging his immediate departure. Aware, however, that she must at this moment have great influence with him, she determined to use it, whether he thought her reasonable or not; and therefore addressed him with something like the authority of an elder sister.

"The pleasure you express at this arrangement delights me, Mr' Chesterfield, for it proves that I was right in thinking that the imprudence you had committed would make your return home very painful to you. I know that you feel grateful to me for having set it all right for you, and I am quite certain that you will comply with my wish that you should leave town either by to-night's mail or the early coach to-morrow. I should be sorry for you to see my father after he knows what I have done, which he will do when we meet at breakfast tomorrow morning, for I have business to transact with him which will then render the disclosure of it inevitable. You will dine with us to-day, and may then mention having already taken your place. I hope you have no serious objection to this hasty departure?"

"None in the world, Miss Meddows," he replied, in a voice of such gladness that a smile of pleasure once more lit up the lovely but sad features of poor Clara. "I will go this very moment," he said, “ and secure a place for to-night-and then run to Baker-street to pay a parting visit to the Gibsons; less, perhaps, from gratitude," he added, with a smile," than from a wish to let Mrs Sherbourne know, as I am sure she will through them, that I am peaceably departed without having any fear of her before my eyes."

Having thus testified his ready obedience, he set off, leaving Clara perfectly satisfied with what she had done, but knowing herself to be utterly destitute; certain of having her race and name disgraced for ever, and for ever, in the eyes of Arthur Dalrymple; and anticipating with no very agreeable feelings the interview which awaited her with her father on the morrow. Still she was satisfied, and felt no shadow of regret for the sacrifice she had made.

Charles proceeded with the active step of youth and joy to execute the business before him, and smiled musingly at his own delight when he had succeeded in securing a place for Gloucester by that night's coach.

"How strange it is," thought he, "that eight short months should make so complete a change in me. I have been disappointed in all my hopes, yet I feel the happiest fellow in the world. And I am going to leave London, probably for ever, with even greater joy than I felt when I came into it! Dear, dear, Miss Meddows! All the misery I have endured I have owed to myself! but for all my happiness I must thank Heaven and her."

From the coach-office he repaired to Baker-street, where he found the Gibson family already returned from their hated dwelling in the country. It was evident that his day of favour there had passed, a discovery which he bore with great fortitude; but the assiduous reading of the four young ladies, (Marianna had very quietly married her cousin about a month before), and the uninterrupted industry of their mamma, who hardly raised her eyes from the mass of appropriate engravings which Mr. Marchmont had kindly collected for her Milton during her absence, rendered it difficult for him to sustain any conversation whatever, and he felt himself obliged to abandon his scheme of naming Mrs. Sherbourne, and sending by them such a message as she must, though they might not, understand.

Fortunately, however, he met Mr. Gibson on the landing-place, and as the disgrace of Charles with Mr. Marchmont was one of the many bits of gossip discussed only en petit comité, he had never heard of it. Remembering, therefore, his former favour with his lady, and still better the friendship expressed for him by Mr. Dalrymple, the unsuspecting father and husband received him with all his former zealous hospitality, and immediately asked him to dinner.

"I cannot dine with you, Mr. Gibson," he replied, "but I should be glad to have five minutes chat with you in the front drawing-rocm, if you please?"

"Certainly, my dear sir, certainly," replied the master of the house, throwing open the door of the cold and deserted apartment, and suddenly taking it into his head that it was very likely the young man was come to propose for one of his daughters. "I am afraid you will find it very cold; however, it shall be just as you please either here or in the next room with the fire and the ladies-just as you please, Mr. Chesterfield, I am delighted to see you in any way."

"You are very obliging, sir, and I shall not detain you in the cold for a moment. But I wished to shake hands with you, Mr. Gibson, before I leave London, and to thank you for your kindness to me; and I also wished to request you would have the goodness, when you see Mrs. Sherbourne, to tell her that I am returned to my family in Gloucestershire-here is my address, Mr. Gibson,-and that if she has any further communications to make to me, I can receive them there."

"Going-are you really?" returned the disappointed father; "then there is no more to be said-and I wish you very well, sir, in your health till we meet again. And I am to give this to Mrs. Sherbourne, am I? I won't fail, you may depend upon it. My best regards to

Mr. Dalrymple, when you see him. Good morning, sir, good morning."

Rather before Charles was fairly out of the house, Mr. Gibson had ventured to enter the sacred conclave of the back drawing-room for the purpose of discussing with his charming womankind the departure of Mr. Dalrymple's young friend, Charles Chesterfield, and also of showing the address he had left for Mrs. Sherbourne.

"Funny, isn't it, my love, his leaving his address for her?"

"It is extremely absurd." returned Mrs. Gibson, "and just like such a country oaf as he has shown himself. Give it to me, Gibson; I will take care it shall get to her ;-I am certain of seeing, or sending to her."

The evening, as usual, brought Mr. Marchmont, who, faithful as the needle to the pole, rarely passed a day without pouring a portion of his noble thoughts, and little anxieties, his magnificent imaginings, and his small realities, into the gently-tender, but exemplarily-discreet bosom of his devoted friend.

The mention of the rebellious young man's farewell visit, and the exhibition of the address left for Mrs. Sherbourne, seemed by no means devoid of interest in the eyes of the Regenerator, and he even condescended to say,-" Give me the bit of paper, dear friend, and I will take it to her. I shall see her on a matter of business to-morrow, so I may save you any further trouble about it."

It is to be hoped that Mrs. Sherbourne's literary engagement with Mr. Marchmont has not been forgotten by the courteous reader. This engagement, indeed, though not laying claim to novelty, inasmuch as something exceedingly similar to it recently occurred in Paris, was of a nature sufficiently remarkable to deserve some little attention; and therefore, while our hero winds his rumbling way to his native shades, the termination of it shall be briefly recorded.

Not quite comprehending how a lady, in the peculiar state of mind of Mrs. Sherbourne, could have any interest in the whereabouts of such a personage as Charles Chesterfield, Mr. Marchmont's first care on the following morning was to make a visit to the cell of the Self-Condemned in Mount-street.

Mrs. Sherbourne, notwithstanding her mortuary state of mind, was little changed in dress or manner since we last parted from her. The entire collection of her various charms was as much at her command as ever; nevertheless, when Mr. Marchmont entered, the only one of all the enchanting throng permitted to appear was gentle, desponding languor. The delicate left-hand hung listlessly by her side, while the delicate right-hand held a pen suspended over a sheet of half-covered paper, as if waiting for the inspiration that should set it in motion. Her large eyes were raised to greet him, but then fell again as if the very lids sought repose; while her very ringlets seemed to droop in sorrow, and her drapery, too, carelessly arranged, evidently shared the same species of desponding listlessness which pervaded her whole appearance. She intended to look like a lily on a broken stalk,—and perhaps she did.

"I hope you are better to-day in health and spirits, Mrs. Sher

bourne?" said the Regenerator, who, having determined immediately to print her Memoirs in weekly numbers, began to fear that the promised catastrophe would be delayed longer than might be convenient, and that it was high time to inquire about it.

"Better?—Yes, much better, Mr. Marchmont. that I have drawn nearer to my longed-for end!"

Better by the hours

"You still go on writing, I see. If you really persevere in your shocking intention, my dear Mrs. Sherbourne, it is extraordinary that you should have strength and spirits for it," said the purchaser of her Memoirs, looking at her with rather a suspicious glance.

"I have yet an object for which to live a few weeks longer," she replied. "In preparing for the event which is about to come upon me, and dividing papers which I wish to destroy, from others that may perhaps prove of some interest when I am no more, I chanced to light upon a correspondence between myself and one of the chief actors in that peculiarly interesting transaction which took place some years ago between a certain lord and lady whose adventures I think never will be forgotten while the language lasts. Every letter of the whole series is preserved. They are full of piquant anecdotes, and my object is to incorporate the whole into the narrative of my own eventful life.-You know these names, Mr. Marchmont?"

Mrs. Sherbourne languidly, and as if by a strong effort, turned towards him the unfinished page, and pointed to the words he was to read, though her delicate fingers trembled as she did so.

"Know them? Egad, their names, at least, are no great mystery. You are quite right, Mrs. Sherbourne, if you can bring out any thing new on that subject, not to omit it. It will be a great addition."

"It is agony to me now, to labour at any thing. But there is a poor old woman who nursed my sickly infancy, for whom I am determined to make up a small sum before my lips open to receive what fools call poison, but which I call peace. If you will pay me for these pages, you shall have them, Marchmont. I have no earthly tribunal to fear, and therefore I have written boldly. The pages on this subject I know are worth their weight in gold. What will you give me for them?"

"We will talk of that presently, Mrs. Sherbourne," replied the Regenerator." But I want you to explain to me why you, in your very peculiar and melancholy situation, should think it worth while to enter into correspondence with a young fellow like Charles Chesterfield. What can be your motive for it?"

"He has made you his confidant, has he?" exclaimed the lady with sudden energy, and losing in an instant every trace of languor. "A pretty puppy, isn't he? But if you are his friend and adviser, Mr. Marchmont, be pleased to tell him that I have not done with him yet, and that if he is a wise man, he will come to me immediately. His doing so may save him from the most fatal exposure and dishonour."

"What am I to think, Mrs. Sherbourne, of this sudden change of manner? Of this explicit avowal of your interest in one so very little fitted to be in your confidence at this awful period? Gracious Heaven!" he exclaimed, looking earnestly in her face, "have I been fooled out of my money? are you suddenly loosing your senses, madam? or do you really sit there to laugh at me?"

The lady burst forth at these words into a vehement, but well arranged paroxysm of laughter; and she had not looked more enchanting for years, for this was one of the prettiest things she did, displaying her fine teeth, and permitting sundry capricious involutions of person; all of which displayed advantageously some favourite grace.

The Regenerator was perfectly overpowered by his indignation, and it was some time before he could recover himself sufficiently to speak; but at length he said, "Madam! this is swindling. Are you aware of it? Are you aware of the pains and penalties attached by the law to the act of raising money under false pretences? Are you aware of it ?"

"My dear sir," replied the lady in the sweetest accents possible, and retaining no more of her offensive merriment than was expressed in a most charming smile-" My dear Mr. Marchmont, do you intend to go to law with me, in case I should happen to decline killing myself?"

The Regenerator rose from his chair, snatched his hat, gave her one look of extraordinary eloquence, and rushed out of the house without even pausing to close the door behind him.

WANTED A NEIGHBOUR.

BY LAMAN BLANCHARD, ESQ.

I NEVER catch a glimpse of the Monument from that distant part of the metropolis where I reside, without sympathizing most deeply with the man who, from early dawn to set of sun, is stationed at the top to prevent people of a lively turn of mind from jumping off. He must be so sadly in want of neighbours.

There are glorious views among the Alps, and magnificent sites for villas on the Himalayan Mountains; but I should not like to take a house there for any lengthened term of years—the neighbourhood. or rather the want of a neighbourhood, would be highly objectionable. There may be snug living enough upon Salisbury Plain; but I always prefer having somebody residing within gun-shot. And there is very snug living no doubt (if without presumption the allusion may be hazarded) in Buckingham Palace; yet is there in the position of its Illustrious Inhabitant, one peculiarity from which most of her subjects are happiest when they are exempt. It may be thus described : Thousands of people live around and about the Palace, but the Queen has no neighbours.

Man's duty towards his neighbour has many branches, but mine has one branch extra. In fact, the leading point of my duty towards my neighbour, is to find him. When a boy, the adventures of Robinson Crusoe exercised over my mind an irresistible fascination, and for three years I dreamed of nothing, day or night, but the charms of shipwreck