themselves; comparing their sentiments respecting the inmates of the house at the time, the uninjured state of the drawer, which had been found locked, and all the strange, confounding circumstances of the case. All this discussed in placid conversation, as it had been in thought a thousand and a thousand times before, they both agreed that their useless wonder was now to express itself in words for the last time; and that with wonder, regret and anguish were also to be banished. They possessed a truer image of the lost one than art could render, and they blessed God.

An hour after, that father sat down in perfect composure to his writing-desk. It was an old friend, and had seen brighter days. At the side of it was a drawer of some depth, which he frequently opened to take out a particular seal that he required; but it opened easily only a little way, just sufficient to admit the hand. This, however, was enough, and as it had stuck fast apparently with age, no effort had ever been made to draw it out. But it so happened on this occasion that the seal had fallen, as it had never done before, into a cavity at the back of the desk, and it was now necessary to pull the drawer further out. In working it backward and forward to effect this, a short black ribbon presently became visible, and then more of it; and, now, the drawer being by a stronger effort forced completely out

Powers of wonder! of delight and awe! what words shall give expression to the instantaneous and irresistible force with which ye seized upon the awakened and ravished soul of the gazer! The picture was there! the lost treasure was found!

That very drawer he had opened times out of number; his hand had been within it almost daily for years; yes, close to the now-recovered prize! the tangled

ribbon of which, set fast between the drawer's edge and the desk, at once prevented a further opening and held the miniature at the back. How flashed now upon the father's recollection that he had taken it, eleven years before, in his wretchedness and agony, from the old cabinet to his own desk, and thrust it hastily into that drawer, as some intruder came to witness the tears that were streaming over it. How wonderful was all this!

Where now was the mother's composure, when, entering, she beheld her husband's delighted, yet misbelieving looks! When she thought how often the light was actually penetrating the drawer, while its precious contents were still buried in darkness! When she remembered how very near the blind hand been to it hundreds of times! When she recollected above all, that this loss, which two hearts had so lamented, had never been the subject of one whisper between them for eleven years, until that very morn, just an hour before! The allusion to it, so sudden, strange, and final; the discovery so unexpected and momentary!

But how was all this forgotten by both, as they gazed together on the unfaded and expressive colours before them, picturing features almost as radiant and noble as the angel-face, which, with the gifted eyes of faith, they never failed to see, when they searched the heavens for it.

STOPPING, the other day, to admire, and also to moralise upon, that splendid Gothic edifice, with all its extensive and beautiful appurtenances, St. George's Catholic Church, which has lately risen, a striking monument of catholic spirit, on the Surrey side of the broken-backed bridge at Westminster, on a spot ingloriously known as St. George's-fields, the eye naturally wandered to the several other objects of interest congregated around it. Charity, it would appear, had made that once bare and melancholy district her head-quarters, her favourite home, her best cultivated domain.

In that region, acre after acre of ground is covered with buildings, some magnificent, others simple but befitting their object, erected for purposes of benevolence, dedicated to the noblest uses, maintained with unsparing liberality. Distinguished above all is Bethlehem Hospital, with its additional wings and well-kept grounds. At a distance, about equal to the space which the splendid hospital occupies, stands the Asylum for Female Orphans. Adjoining the grounds of Bethlehem, is the Refuge for the Houseless; opposite, stands the excellent Philanthropic Institution; at the corner, stretching from one road to another, along a frontage of considerable extent, is the beautiful new school for the indigent Blind; facing one wing of that elegant

structure, is an unassuming but useful Dispensary; at a small distance from the other wing, rises the noble pile of buildings recently completed by the British and Foreign School Society; and close by, humbler in their pretension, are St. George's School, and the Southwark Literary Institution. Within a stone's-throw, we reach the Magdalen Hospital; and the same space, not more, separates us from another benevolent establishment, the Freemason's Orphan Institution.

"St. George's-fields" may not, at first, sound very auspiciously. And yet, if desirous of impressing a foreigner with a sense of the pre-eminent dignity and grandeur of London,-though the Tower, and the Abbey, and the other sights are marvellous fine things, perhaps it might not be so injudicious to carry him into the uncelebrated vicinity of the new Catholic Church.

The reflection then ensued, "There is no ground in England of equal extent that yields such a harvest of benevolence. There is enough virtue around me to atone for half the vice of this iniquitous capital. Yet how often will the base and worthless, incapable even of a generous thought, affect to deride this angel-work as ostentation, and to stigmatise such charity as mere fashion, or the pride of purse. Virtue is never re

warded!"

Thus musing, as I stood by the rails of Bethlehem, perhaps it was that some power in the air, some subtle influence from the interior of that institution stole over my brain, it is impossible to say,—but I began to perceive a change gathering around me; the scene ceased to retain its first forms and colours; London, in the space of a few seconds, was wholly lost to me, like a town in a dissolving view; and I was transported in secrecy and silence to the furthest possible point of the universe, to a place called "The City of the Virtues."

The first impression upon my mind, after looking around for a few moments in mute amazement, was, I must confess, not at all favourable. There was a visible propriety everywhere, that created a doubt whether I ought not at once to turn out my toes and get my hat brushed; and there was a general air of dullness, there's no denying it, that rather made me wish myself back again in villanous London. But this presently wore off; there was so much to see, to inquire and think about, that there was no leisure to be dull; and as for my own observance of the proprieties, I quite forgot all about myself in the novelty of the objects around.

It

In this city, vices, follies, misfortunes, miseries, had place as they have elsewhere; but it was easy to see that there were fewer of them, and that the virtues so greatly predominated as to be extremely common. was apparent, too, that there was considerable emulation, competition it was called, pervading all ranks of society; and it required great exertion in goodness, and a constant pressure upon the very loftiest sentiments of the mind, to keep pace with the growing desire on all sides. to excel. Almost everybody was very good; but the amiable determination of each to be, by hook or by crook, better than his neighbour, was the first characteristic.

Delightful was it to look from street to street, and see the spacious city thickly studded with charitable institutions, all conducted upon the handsome principle of a total disregard to expense. At the various asylums for the destitute, the inmates were all clothed and fed according to usages prevalent in the station of life from which they had fallen. I noticed an example in the case of a very poor distressed fellow, who, having once been lord mayor, was allowed a tureen of turtle soup