night, before Mowbray and I parted, when we talked over the day, he assured me that he had said nothing that could make Mr. Montenero displeased with me or any living creature; that they had been discussing some point of English history, on which old Montenero had posed him. As to my fears, Mowbray rallied me out of them effectually. He maintained that Montenero had not been at all displeased, and that I was a most absurd modern self-tormentor. "Could not a man look grave for two minutes without my racking my fancy for two hours to find a cause for it? Perhaps the man had the toothache; possibly the headache; but why should I, therefore, insist upon having the heartache ?”

CHAPTER XI.

MOWBRAY'S indifference was often a happy relief to my anxiety of temper; and I had surely reason to be grateful to him for the sacrifices he continued daily to make of his own tastes and pleasures to forward my views.

One morning in particular he was going to a rehearsal at Drury-lane, where I knew his heart was ; but finding me very anxious to go to the Mint and the Bank with Mr. Montenero and Berenice, Mowbray, who had a relation a bank director, immediately offered to accompany us, and procured us the means of seeing every thing in the best possible manner.

Nothing could, as he confessed, be less to his taste; and he was surprised that miss Montenero chose to be of the party. A day spent in viewing the Mint and

the Bank, it may perhaps be thought, was a day lost to love-quite the contrary; I had an opportunity of feeling how the passion of love can throw its enchantment over scenes apparently least adapted to its nature. Before this time I had twice gone over every part of these magnificent establishments. I had seen at the Bank the spirit of order operating like predestination, compelling the will of man to act necessarily and continually with all the precision of mechanism. I had beheld human creatures, called clerks, turned nearly into arithmetical machines.

But how new did it all appear in looking at it with Berenice! How would she have been delighted if she had seen those machines, " instinct with spirit," which now perform the most delicate manœuvres with more than human dexterity-the self-moving balance which indefatigably weighs, accepts, rejects, disposes of the coin, which a mimic hand perpetually presents! What chiefly pleased me in miss Montenero was the composure, the sincerity of her attention. She was not anxious to display herself: I was the more delighted when I discovered her quickness of comprehension. I was charmed too by the unaffected pleasure she showed in acquiring new ideas, and surprised by the judicious proportion of the admiration she expressed for all that was in various degrees excellent in arrangement or ingenious in contrivance: in short

“In short, man,” as Mowbray would say, “in short, man, you were in love, and there's an end of the matter: if your Berenice had hopped forty paces in the public streets, it would have been the same with you.”

That I deny-but I will go on with my story. As we were going away, Mr. Montenero, after thanking lord Mowbray and his cousin, the bank di

rector, who had shown and explained every thing to us with polite and intelligent patience, observed that the Bank was to him a peculiarly interesting sight.

"You know," said he, "that we Jews were the first inventors of bills of exchange and bank-notes-we were originally the bankers and brokers of the world."

Then, as we walked to the carriage, he continued addressing himself to his daughter, in a lowered voice, "You see, Berenice, here, as in a thousand instances, how general and permanent good often results from partial and temporary evil. The persecutions even to which we Jews were exposed-the tyranny which drove us from place to place, and from country to country, at a moment's or without a moment's warning, compelled us, by necessity, to the invention of a happy expedient, by which we could convert all our property into a scrap of paper, that could be carried unseen in a pocket-book, or conveyed in a letter unsuspected."

Berenice thanked Heaven that the times of persecution were over; and added, that she hoped any prejudice which still existed would soon die away.

Mowbray exclaimed against the very idea of the existence of such prejudices at this time of day in England among the higher classes.

He did not recollect his own mother, I believe, when he said this; but I know I had a twinge of conscience about mine, and I did not dare to look at Mr. Montenero; nor did I know well which way to look, when his lordship, persisting in his assertion, asked miss Montenero if she could possibly imagine that any such vulgar prejudices existed among wellbred persons. Berenice mildly answered, that she had really as yet enjoyed so few opportunities of seeing the higher classes of society in London that she could

not form a judgment. She was willing to take upon trust his lordship's opinion, who must have means of knowing.

I imagined that Mr. Montenero's eye was upon me, and that he was thinking of my mother's never having made the slightest advance towards an acquaintance with his daughter. I recollected the speeches I had made on his first visit, pledging my mother to that which she had never performed. I felt upon the rack -and a pause that ensued afterwards increased my misery. I longed for somebody to say somethingany thing. I looked for assistance to Mowbray. He repeated, confidently, that miss Montenero might entirely rely upon what he said as to London and England-indeed he had been a good deal abroad too. He seemed to be glad to get to the continent again-I followed him as fast as I could, and inquired whether he did not think that the French and Germans were much improved in liberality, and a spirit of toleration.

"Give me leave," said Mr. Montenero, " to answer for the improvement of the Germans. Fifteen years ago, I remember, when I was travelling in Germany, I was stopped at a certain bridge over the Rhine, and, being a Jew, was compelled to pay rather an ignominious toll. The Jews were there classed among cloven-footed beasts, and as such paid toll. But, within these few years, sixteen German princes, enlightened and inspired by one great writer, and one good minister, have combined to abolish this disgraceful tax. You see, my dear Berenice, your hope is quickly fulfilling-prejudices are dying away fast. Hope humbly, but hope always."

The playful tone in which Mr. Montenero spoke put me quite at my ease.

The next day I was determined on an effort to make

my mother acquainted with miss Montenero. If I could but effect a meeting, a great point I thought would be gained. Mowbray undertook to manage it, and he, as usual, succeeded. He persuaded his mother to go to an auction of pictures, where he assured her she would be likely to meet with a Vandyke of one of her ancestors, of whose portrait she had long been in search. Lady de Brantefield engaged my mother to be of the party, without her having any suspicion that she would meet the Monteneros. We arrived in time to secure the best places, before the auction began. Neither Mr. nor miss Montenero was there; but, to my utter discomfiture, a few minutes after we were seated, vulgar Mrs. Coates and all her tribe appeared. She elbowed her difficult way onward towards us, and nodding to me familiarly, seated herself and her Vandals on a line with us. Then, stretching herself across the august lady de Brantefield, who drew back, far as space would permit, "Beg your pardon, maʼam, but I just want to say a word to this lady. A'n't you the lady-yes-that sat beside me at the play the other night-the Merchant of Venice and the Maid of the Oaks, was not it, Izzy? I hope you caught no cold, ma'am-you look but poorly, I am sorry to notice-but I what wanted to say, ma'am, here's an ivory fan miss Montenero was in a pucker and quandary about." Pucker and quandary!-Oh! how I groaned inwardly!

"I was in such a fuss about her, you know, sir, that I never found out till I got home I had pocketed a strange fan-here it is, ma'am, if it is yours-it's worth any body's owning, I am sure."

The fan was my mother's, and she was forced to be much obliged. Lady. de Brantefield, still pain