was his real name, but, on account of his vast
wealth, he was usually distinguished by an
appellation synonymous with the term
"Millionaire." One day this merchant was visited
by an Affghan chief, who offered to sell him
some costly jewels. Among them was the lost
"Moon of the Mountain." The price demanded
for it, though great, was far below its value.
Nevertheless the cautious Shafrat was
unwilling to disburse so large a sum without
due consideration. He requested to be
allowed time to think the matter over. At
this proposition the Affghan appeared uneasy
and suspicious; but after some hesitation he
acceded to the delay. The merchant having
maturely weighed the expediency of the
purchase, came to the determination of possessing
himself of the diamond, and he went in quest
of the stranger. Great was his astonishment
on learning that the Affghan chief had left
Bassora, and that no one knew, with any
certainty, whither he had gone. Mortified at
his disappointment, Shafrat made diligent
search for the holder of the diamond, and,
after very great difficulty, he traced him to
Bagdad. The bargain was now struck, without
further delay, and the diamond became
the property of the wealthy merchant of
Bassora.

There arose a new difficulty. How was
Shafrat to dispose of this jewel? He
prudently resolved to conceal it for a time,
or to keep his transaction with the Affghan
chief a profound secret. He continued to
live quietly in Bassora; being afraid to stir
out of the city, for ever so short a time, lest
his absence should create suspicion.

At length, after the lapse of twelve years,
Shafrat ventured on a journey into Europe.
He visited Amsterdam, and there offered his
jewel for sale. An agent from the Court of
England had nearly concluded an arrangement
for the purchase, when an offer made
by Count Gregory Orloff, on the part of the
Crown of Russia, was too tempting to be
resisted. Four hundred thousand rubles,
together with letters of nobility, were the
price paid for the jewel. The merchant, well
satisfied with his augmented wealth, removed
from Bassora, and settled in Bagdad, where
his descendants yet live; and "Moon of the
Mountain," after its many adventurous journeys,
was conveyed to St. Petersburgh, and
found a resting-place in the sceptre of the
Empress Elizabeth.

MALVERN WATER.

TO spend two days out of the smoke, after
having lived for five years in it, is a
memorable event. It does not follow that there
was no holiday in all those five years. There
might have been visits to London, and visits
to Manchester, and to Newcastle; but such
trips were merely from one density of smoke
to another. What a sensation it is now—on
a brilliant September day—to look back on
the even, brownish cloud which occupies,
below a straight line, the sky, on the side
where Birmingham lies! What a sensation
it is to perceive, from the noisy railroad, the
lanes stealing away under the trees, hiding
here, and peeping out there, behind the
villages, and among the corn-fields! And to see
the gleaners in the upland wheat-grounds;
and the geese waddling in the stubbles; and
the partridges, in their aristocratic "family
compact," perking up their heads here and
there, or skirring together over the yellow
field! There is still one band of reapers at
work—a numerous band on the highest arable
ground—whence they look down upon our
train, all stopping at once, and all turning
at once to their work, as we are swallowed
up by the tunnel. And then comes quiet
Worcester, with the lights and shadows of
its cathedral architecture, cut sharp by the
strong sunlight. Even the central streets
are quiet, in comparison with Birmingham;
—much more so the clean, old-fashioned,
red-brick houses within the precincts, where
the very pavement seems to be never soiled
by the tread of less dainty feet than those
of clergy and ladies. In the cloisters, how
the shady side contrasts with that which
is sun-flecked; and how brilliant is the
square carpet of green in the middle! And
when Worcester is left behind, and we are
wondering at the sensation of coach-travelling,
after years of railroads, how beautiful is
the first hop-ground, with its tossing clusters,
and waving streamers of the freshest green;
and little avenues opening between the poles,
to quench the thirst of the eye and mind,
long parched in the town-desert! Then,
there are pear trees, where the pears cluster,
and head the topmost boughs of trees fifty feet
high. Those are the pears of which the
famous Barlam perry is made. As for the
apples, the imagination aches with the
question—What is to become of so many?
Behind these, however, there is something much
better than them—the clear outline of the
Malvern Hills. First, the blue mass, growing
browner and greener with every mile;
then, the black surface of rich woods, rising
from the skirts; then, the long, straight row
of dwellings, with their white walls shining
in the sun. By this time the brown smoke-cloud
is almost out of sight; and here is the
play-ground of our three-days' holiday.

And what a holiday air there is about the
place! We meet invalids among the pleasure-seekers;
but even they look merrier than
most people elsewhere. The paralytic gentleman,
pursuing his infirm walk between his
wife's arm and his stick, looks anything but
sad;—so does the ashy-pale lady coming
briskly down from St. Ann's Well;—so does
the emaciated girl who is resting, with her
cheerful mother, under the tree in the churchyard.
In fact, it is notorious that the patients
at Malvern are generally given to intoxication