about them. Married women should have no
secrets." While Aunt Barbara spoke, Colonel
and Mrs. Chutney examined the davenport with
exclamations of delight. Captain Peake looked
on with quiet attention; meanwhile the page
entered, unperceived by all save the last-named
personage, and delivered a letter to Miss Holden,
which she looked at with much attention and
curiosity, but still without opening it.

"My dear aunt," exclaimed the colonel, " I
am touched; by Jove! I am a good deal affected
by your kindness and generosity in making my
wife so very handsome a present. I know she
shares my sentiments." Shakes hands with
Miss Bousfleld.

"I am sure, Aunt Barbara, I am greatly
obliged," chorused Mrs. Chutney; " and I
shall try and keep it very nice and tidy."

"I hope so," said the colonel, more emphatically
than hopefully. And, glasses in hand,
he proceeded to point out the beauties and
usefulness of their acquisition to his wife.

"It looks more like a man's affair, colonel,
doesn't it?" said Mary, carelessly.

"What do you mean?" asked Aunt Barbara,
fiercely.

"Why, the sort of solid heavy thing that
seems to suit a man's chambers."

"I am not offering it to you," said Aunt
Barbara, striking her umbrella on the floor.
"What business have you with opinions? Wait
till you are in a position to uphold them."

"As an intelligent being——- " began Miss
Mary. "Don't make faces at me, Loo," she
continued, in reply to some signals from her
cousin. " As an intelligent being, I cannot help
forming opinions; and, being blessed with the
faculty of speech, I can't resist uttering them.
A beneficent Providence may in time lend them
weight in the shape of a rich husband, and then,
aunty dear, they will be better worth your
attention."

Chuckles of delight from Captain Peake.

"I tell you what," returned Miss Bousfield
with suppressed anger, " you will come to no such
good end. You are too conceited and shallow;
but I wash my hands of you. You value neither
opinions nor appearances."

While these sentences were exchanged, Mary
opened and glanced at her letter, which seemed
of no common interest; for she changed colour,
put it back in its envelope, and thrust it into
the folds of her dress.

"And conceal your letters when you get them
—- a very suspicious circumstance," continued
the aunt, maliciously.

"I have a right to my own letters, free from
your interference," replied Mary, with some
serious displeasure.

The moment poor Mary got home and found
herself alone, she hastily drew forth her letter,
and read as follows:

"'Dear little Coz. You have so much courage
and judgment, that I am determined to confide a
difficult task to your management. I dare not write
to Louisa, the tiger would infallibly bone my epistle.
and then the d——- to pay, with the usual scarcity of
combustibles, so I want you to read this to her, and
soon, mind, for I am in an awful fix. About six
weeks ago I had an awful run of bad luck so bad
and so long, there was no reasonable probability of
its lasting; but being in immediate want of funds,
and Louisa very selfishly refusing to apply to
Chutney, I was imprudent enough to put Samperton's
name to a bill, fully intending, on my honour,
to chalk up before it became due.'

"Ah!" groaned Mary half aloud, "he has
forged Sir Frederic Samperton's name; what
shall we do—- what shall we do!"

" ' Luck has, however, been inexorable,' continued
the elegant letter, ' and I could as soon pay the
national debt as the fifty pounds I drew for. I have
reason to believe that Samperton has the bill. Now
Loo must find me the money; I'll repay her, on my
word! Let her tell Chutney she has a milliner's
bill, or something, to pay. Then she must see
Samperton and give him the money—- women can
do these things so well! Above all, do not let
proceedings be undertaken against me, which would he
utter ruin. I swear, if you both help me now, I'll
reform; if not, I'll cut my throat, and you'll all be
disgraced by a coroner's inquest. Your affectionate
cousin, " ' TOM BOUSFIELD.

"' P.S.—- Look sharp! No time to be lost! Write
to Y. Z., Post-office, Radclifie-highway.'

"No time to be lost," thought Mary, sinking
down on the sofa in bewildered despair, and
striving to think. " What shall I do? Torment
my poor dear Loo? No! she shall not know a
word of it. She has stood by me many a time
many a weary hour she has comforted me
and I am the strongest, too. Where, where
shall I turn? Aunt Barbara is out of the question.
Perhaps Sir Frederic Samperton would
give him time. But who will ask him? I
might go myself and entreat him. Why should
I fear? Sir Frederic has some humanity about
him. Fifty pounds! what a deal of money!
Oh, what an odious, selfish, weak creature a 'gay
young man is'—- 'a good fellow,' as his
companions call him."

Just published, bound in cloth, price 5s. 6d.,
THE THIRTEENTH VOLUME.

NEW W0RK bY MR. DICKENS.
In Monthly Parts, uniform with the Original Editions of
"Pickwick," "Copperfield," &c.
Now publishing, PART XVII., price 1s., of
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND.
BY CHARLES DICKENS.
IN TWENTY MONTHLY PARTS.
With Illustrations by MARCUS STONE.
London: CHAPMAN and HALL, 193, Piccadilly.

A new Serial Novel, by CHARLES COLLINS, entitled
AT THE BAR,
Will be commenced in the next number. HALF A
MILLION OF MONEY,  by AMELIA B. EDWARDS, will be
continued from week to week until completed.