beautiful ones. But the complaint at present
is, that composers and song-writers have no
harmony in their work. The songs circulated
among the people are inferior to the tone of
the country's thought and the English mind
and attract chiefly by the jingle to which they
are set.

A FASHIONABLE FORGER.

I AM an attorney and a bill discounter. As it
is my vocation to lend money at high interest
to extravagant people; my connexion principally
lies among "fools," sometimes among
rogues, "of quality." Mine is a pursuit
which a prejudiced world either holds in
sovereign contempt, or visits with envy,
hatred, and all uncharitableness; but to my
mind, there are many callings, with finer
names, that are no better. It gives me two
things which I love—money and power; but
I cannot deny that it brings with it a bad
name. The case lies between character and
money, and involves a matter of taste. Some
people like character; I prefer money.

If I am hated and despised, I chuckle over
the "per contra." I find it pleasant for
members of a proud aristocracy to condescend
from their high estate to fawn, feign,
flatter; to affect even mirthful familiarity in
order to gain my good-will. I am no Shylock.
No client can accuse me of desiring either
his flesh or his blood. Sentimental vengeance
is no item in my stock in trade. Gold and
bank-notes satisfy my "rage;" or, if need be,
a good mortgage. Far from seeking revenge,
the worst defaulter I ever had dealings with
cannot deny that I am always willing to
accept a good post-obit.

I say again, I am daily brought in contact
with all ranks of society, from the poverty-
stricken patentee to the peer; and I am no
more surprised at receiving an application
from a duchess than from a pet opera-dancer.
In my ante-room wait, at this moment, a
crowd of borrowers. Among the men, beardless
folly and moustachioed, craft are most
prominent: there is a handsome young fellow,
with an elaborate cane and wonderfully
vacant countenance, who is anticipating, in
feeble follies, an estate that has been in the
possession of his ancestors since the reign of
Henry the Eighth. There is a hairy, high-
nosed, broken-down non-descript, in appearance
something between a horse-dealer and
a pugilist. He is an old Etonian. Five
years ago he drove his four-in-hand; he is
now waiting to beg a sovereign having been
just discharged from the Insolvent Court,
for the second time. Among the women, a
pretty actress, who, a few years since, looked
forward to a supper of steak and onions, with
bottled stout, on a Saturday night, as a great
treat, now finds one hundred pounds a month
insufficient to pay her wine-merchant and her
confectioner. I am obliged to deal with each
case according to its peculiarities. Genuine
undeserved Ruin seldom knocks at my door.
Mine is a perpetual battle with people who
imbibe trickery at the same rate as they
dissolve their fortunes. I am a hard man, of
course. I should not be fit for my pursuit if
I were not; but when, by a remote chance,
honest misfortune pays me a visit, as Rothschild
amused himself at times by giving a
beggar a guinea, so I occasionally treat myself
to the luxury of doing a kind action.

My favourite subjects for this unnatural
generosity, are the very young, or the poor,
innocent, helpless people, who are unfit for the
war of life. Many among my clients (especially
those tempered in the "ice-brook" of fashion
and high life- polished and passionless) would
be too much for me, if I had not made the face,
the eye, the accent, as much my study as the
mere legal and financial points of discount.
To show what I mean, I will relate what
happened to me not long since:—

One day, a middle-aged man, in the usual
costume of a West-end shopman, who had sent
in his name as Mr. Axminster, was shown into
my private room. After a little hesitation, he
said, "Although you do not know me, living
at this end of the town, I know you very well
by reputation, and that you discount bills.
I have a bill here which I want to get
discounted. I am in the employ of Messrs.
Russle and Smooth. The bill is drawn by one
of our best customers, the Hon. Miss Snape,
niece of Lord Blimley, and accepted by Major
Munge; whom, no doubt, you know by name.
She has dealt with us for some years, is very,
very extravagant; but always pays." He put
the acceptance—which was for two hundred
pounds—into my hands.

I looked at it as scrutinisingly as I usually
do at such paper. The Major's signature was
familiar to me; but having succeeded to a
great estate, he has long ceased to be a
customer. I instantly detected a forgery; by
whom? was the question. Could it be the man
before me?- experience told me it was not.

Perhaps there was something in the expression
of my countenance which Mr. Axminster
did not like, for he said, "It is good for the
amount, I presume?"

I replied. "Pray, sir, from whom did you
get this bill?"

"From Miss Snape herself."

"Have you circulated any other bills made
by the same drawer?"

"O yes!" said the draper, without hesitation;
"I have paid away a bill for one hundred
pounds to Mr. Sparkle, the jeweller, to whom
Miss Snape owed twenty pounds. They gave
me the difference."

"And how long has that bill to run now?"

"About a fortnight."

"Did you endorse it?"

"I did," continued the shopman. "Mr.
Sparkle required me to do so, to show that
the bill came properly into his possession."

"This second bill, you say, is urgently
required to enable Miss Snape to leave town?"