THE NEW MONTHLY BELLE ASSEMBLÉE. AUGUST, 1847. SOME ADVENTURES OF A PURSE. BY M. A. Y. "What can we do for you, Ma'am?" said one of those exquisites who are to be seen pacing up and down in every fashionable mercer's or linen-draper's establishment, addressing a young female who had hastily entered, and was looking anxiously about her. "I wanted to see the young man who served me just now. I have lost-I believe I left a purse upon the counter," was her flurried and almost inarticulate reply. The "walker" drew up his form from the attitude of graceful obsequiousness it assumed towards customers, and said, "If you purchased any article, Ma'am, I can tell you by the bill who it was that served you. Not that it makes any difference, for all things found here are immediately taken to the desk, to await their claimants." The young girl felt in the pocket of her dress, and finding the paper, drew it out, and with trembling hands offered it to the "walker;" who, having opened it, called, in a voice of command, for "Parsons." In another moment a young man had sprung over the counter, and stood before him. "Yes! you served me. I left my purse on the counter-have you seen it?" "No, Miss, I assure you: if I had, you would have received it at once from the desk." "What will become of me?" gasped the poor girl, clasping her hands. Parsons, having answered her query, had returned to his duties; he had not found the purse; the "walker" was escorting some ladies, who required satin, to the top of the shop, finding them chairs, and summoning a person to serve them. The poor girl stood alone in the middle of that little epitome of the world: all around her were concerned about their own affairs-the choice of a ribbon, or flower, the fit of a pair of gloves, the suitableness of the hue of a dress, and the gain of a farthing's profit, were matters of far more individual importance than the misery, or perhaps ruin, of a fellowcreature. She passed out into the crowded streets bitter tears flowed from her eyes; but none heeded-few saw them. There is no place so lonely for an aching heart as the busy throng of a metropolis. In the midst of nature's solitude there is ever something that seems akin to us-something with which our souls hold converse; but in the crowded city the human face looks scarcely less impassable than the brick walls of the interminable rows of dwellings. Isabella Dillon was the daughter of a tradesman, in good circumstances. The childhood of herself and her sister Charlotte had been passed amid all the comforts, and many of the luxuries of life. They had been well educated, under the superintendence of a judicious and affectionate mother, and had grown up all that a parent's heart could desire. But time brought troubles. Mr. Dillon was tempted to speculate in railway-shares; some successful ventures lured him on beyond the bounds of prudence; he embarked a large sum in one scheme-the bubble burst, and he was a ruined man! It was the history of hundreds on that day! But he felt as if the blow had fallen on him alone: his own ruin, the ruin of his beloved ones, was all that he saw; and he wanted courage to look this steadily in the face-to bear the misery he had drawn down. He fled from it to that bourne whence no traveller ever returns-unbidden he rushed into eternity, and in the cold shroud of death sought refuge from poverty, F dishonour, and the pain of witnessing the misery he had caused. Mrs. Dillon bent, at first, beneath the weight of this double shock; but her well-regulated mind, and deep, earnest piety, soon gave her strength to bear meekly up against her trials; and her example guided and encouraged her children, and Isabella and Charlotte were too young, and too full of the hopeful elasticity of youth, to remain long crushed by the pressure of misfortune. The widow took a small school; and with this, and needlework, herself and children were for some years respectably maintained. But Charlotte injured her back in falling down stairs; and hence arose one of those sad, lingering spinal diseases which cast the sufferer, helpless and dependant as an infant, on the care and affection of friends and relatives. Mrs. Dillon had a severe attack of rheumatic fever; the school fell off; and for a whole winter the scanty earnings of Isabella were all they had to depend upon. With the summer, however, Mrs. Dillon regained her health, and was once more enabled to struggle against poverty; and the mistress of the ready-made-linen warehouse, whence they had had work, having taken a fancy to Isabella, had offered to take her into the house, and give her a good salary; so the mother and her invalid child alone tenanted the poor rooms to which circumstances had reduced them. Ah, Madam, I know not how to tell you," sobbed the girl. 66 Come, don't be silly. Is your sister worse? Well, poor thing, it would be a happy release for her if it should please God to take her. Where is the receipt, and the bill?" "Forgive me, Madam, I have lost it. I know not how, or where; but it is gone." "Lost! lost what, child? Do, for goodness' sake, speak out at once, and not stand stammering there." "I went to Mr. Lowman's, and paid the bill; and then instead of going straight into the city, as I ought to have done, I went to mother's; for poor Charlotte is dying, Madam." 66 Well, go on: there's nothing so very wicked in going to see your sister, although you ought to have attended to your duty first." "Charlotte was so cold, and mother had nothing in the house to give her to warm her, so I ran round to a linen-draper's just by and bought a blanket, and then into a grocer's for some tea and sugar, and left them at the door for mother, and hastened on to the city. But when I got there--" "Well: am I never to know the end of this tale?" "I had lost the purse, Madam." Mrs. Marston was an active, industrious, wellmeaning woman; not a bad mistress; strictly just in her dealings with her "young people," but exacting from them their whole duty. She had been pleased by Isabella's work; by her filial piety, and sisterly affection her unwearied industry-her punctuality and neatness; and "Lost it! when-where? How infamously thought that while doing an act of kindness to careless! What, with all that money in it? the girl, she should also be consulting her own And here it is nearly four o'clock, and that bill interests by taking her into the house. And not yet taken up my credit will be ruined!" never had she, for a moment, had cause to repent "Forgive me, Madam," sobbed the girl; doing so; for "Bella" (as she was called) proved"I can never forgive myself. I have sought a zealous and indefatigable assistant. The period everywhere for it." passed at Mrs. Marston's had, too, been one of increasing happiness to Isabella; she was comfortably situated; her salary had enabled her to assist her mother and sister, her leisure she was allowed to devote to those studies she had formerly loved so dearly, and she was assisted There were not wanting those who either did, and encouraged in them by a nephew of her or pretended to, smile at the story of the loss of mistress, who was at once clerk, friend, and the purse, and hint at "some people" being son to his aunt. But all this favour was re-"good actresses," and whisper various inuendos garded with jealous eyes by the other girls; some of whom had been with Mrs. Marston longer than "the favourite," as they spitefully designated poor Bella. And we question whether they would not have granted her the favour of the aunt, so that she had not won that of the nephew too; but that was unpardonable. Henry Nellor was absent on business, and Isabella was dispatched by her mistress into the city, to take up a bill which had become due, and pay another account. Just before she left came a note from her mother, informing her that Charlotte was very much worse. Now she was returned; and with faltering steps and a trembling hand turned the latch of the "Isabella Dillon, I could not have believed that you would have been so careless-you in whom I had such trust. But there is no time to be lost: that bill must be first arranged, and then I'll talk to you." in tones sufficiently loud to reach the mistress' ears; who, vexed as she had been at the serious loss, and still more at finding one, on whom she relied so firmly, guilty of such carelessness, had not once thought but that the purse was really lost. But doubt and suspicion will glide, snakelike, into the most confiding hearts; and turning suddenly on Bella, Mrs. Marston said-" Pray may I inquire where you got the money to buy blankets and groceries, and play the lady bountiful to your mother and sister so grandly?" "Mrs. Lowman gave me a half-sovereign, Madam, when she brought down the receipt. "Yes, that may be, or may not; but half a sovereign would not have sent in the supply of things Sally saw at your mother's, when she went over there to take some broth this after noon." "Supply, Madam: I assure you that I only left some tea and sugar at the door." "Possibly not: I do not wish to hear any equivocations. You know, Miss Dillon, that had you asked me, you could have had your salary in advance; I never refused to accommodate you." "You have ever been most kind, Madam," exclaimed Bella; "and believe me I am very grateful, and would give all I have in the world that this misfortune had not happened." Mrs. Marston's natural regard for the girl, and her innate goodness of heart were beginning to triumph over the faint glimmerings of suspicion which had been created rather than arisen in her mind; but at the instant she looked up to speak kindly to the sorrowing girl, she detected the malevolent glances and incredulous whispers which were circulating among the girls; and again her opinions wavered. How strange it is that the human heart is so often more prone to think ill of a fellow-creature than to judge favourably; that a breath-the merest trifle-will weigh down the scale in the one case, while a life of probity and rectitude is scarcely considered as sufficient evidence in the other. We do not even suffer those on whom we sit in judgment to have "the benefit of a doubt;" but, on the contrary, if one arises we view it as an evidence of evil-as a proof that our suspicions are well founded: true Christian charity-that charity which "thinketh no evil"-is, alas! very rare in this sublunary world. Poor Bella was suspected of falsehood or robbery; her mistress fooked coldly on her, her companions shunned her, and, overwhelmed with anxiety about her sister, with sorrow for her misfortune, with vague fears of what Henry Nellor would think and say, she laid her weary head on the pillow, and wept herself asleep. Return we now to the linen-draper's shop in which our tale commenced. All were busy "arranging" for the night; one young girl stood apart from her companions, in an attitude of thought, her finger on her rosy lip, her dark eyes bent on the ground. She was one of those espiègle grisette beauties so much admired by some persons, and meditation evidently formed no part of her character, for the shade of thought sat strangely on her bright face. One might easily perceive that she had not been long subject to the vitiated air of a large "establishment;" the skin yet retained its freshness and was not jaundiced by the gas, the rose bloomed vividly on her cheeks, and no furrows were ploughed by fatigue or disease in that clear brow. "Miss Allan, I'll trouble you to attend to your duties," pronounced the foreman; but not so peremptorily as he would have done had the idler been any other person. She started, and began mechanically to smoothe a box of silk handkerchiefs. "Yes, it was left by some one who could well afford to lose it, or there would have been in quiries made after it," ran her thoughts. "I must have heard of it, if anybody had been inquiring for it. There must be a large sum in it: more than a whole year's salary. How lucky to think that I should find it! I wonder how long it had lain there. If it had not been for that tiresome old woman, who gave me so much trouble and bought nothing after all, I should never have gone near the heap of shawls; but she would look at some of them. I wonder whether I should give as much useless trouble if I were a lady. Ah! those fine folks, who even have servants to help them get in and out of their carriages, little think how it wearies one to tramp to and fro, and lift the heavy boxes and rolls and bundles, and talk away to try and persuade them into making some little purchase. Well now, if to-morrow were not Sunday, would not I have a smart bonnet and scarf to exhibit in the park with." The supper-bell rang, and all went down. Elizabeth Allan listened attentively to hear if any one spoke of a purse having been lost; for she would not have retained it for a moment had it been inquired for. "But if no owner is forthcoming, why should it not be mine when I found it ?" she reasoned. An incident so trivial had escaped the memory of both Parsons and the "walker," who alone knew of it. If they gave it a second thought, it was to conclude that the girl had found it. So Elizabeth went to bed, with her head full of schemes for spending her treasure to the best advantage. A week had elapsed. In the widow's garret lay the corpse of her youngest child; while the eldest sat, pale and spiritless, by the small window, making a black cotton gown. The light was fading fast, her eyes were too dimmed with tears to admit of her seeing to work, and she arose and walked to the side of her sister's coffin. "Dear Charlotte," she murmured, as she bent over it, and her tears fell fast upon that marble brow; "how calm, how happy, do you look! Those sweet features are no longer distorted by pain--or haggard with long suffering; but placid as those of a sleeping child. Who could wish to recall thee to this world of sorrows?" There was no fear in the heart of that young girl as she gazed on the face of death-as she dwelt in its presence-slept by its side. "The living are not envied by the dead;" but how many a weary spirit, how many a crushed heart, has envied the peaceful rest of the dead! Surely that smoothing down of each furrow traced by age, by suffering, or by care-t e-that repose of features-that almost smile round lips that had long been strangers to it—must speak of a happiness this world knows not of. It cannot be that in death, as in life, the countenance masks the feelings of the soul. "Bella-my child-my only one!" said the widow, as the deep sobs of her daughter caught her ear. Mother, forgive me that I prayed to die! What has the world left for me? All believe me a thief: Mrs. Marston, the girls, even Henry-they'll teach him to scorn me too! But, God knows, that dearly as I loved you and our poor Lotty, I would sooner have starved with you than wronged any one of a single farthing." "Fear not, my child! in God's own time your innocence will be made manifest. Appearances are unfortunately against you now, but in time we shall discover who was the unknown benefactor to whom I owe the unexpected supply of | both necessaries and luxuries, and the return of Mr. and Mrs. Lowman will testify that they gave you the half-sovereign. Open your prayerbook, my love, and let us kneel down and implore the protection of the Almighty. He is never far from those who call upon him in sincerity,' but will hear their cry, and will save them.' The pale beams of the moon, as they stole into that narrow chamber, fell upon the coffin of the dead, and upon the upturned faces of the living, over which the peace of religion had shed its soothing influence; and they lingered there, and seemed to amuse themselves by twining a kind of halo around the heads of that mother and daughter, and causing the tears which lingered on the long lashes of the latter to glisten like drops of burnished silver. Elizabeth Allan, too, was in her chamber; the gay bonnet and scarf lay carelessly tossed on the bed, and a moisture very like tears glistened in those flashing eyes. "How dared he be jealous, and inquire where I got such smart attire!" she muttered, while her little foot beat the ground-" and never to come to the church door to wait for me after service, but leave me to walk home by myself! I am glad I told him that where these came from more were to be had; it will be something for him to think upon, and worry himself with, all the week; for I know he loves me-aye, and I love him, dearly too! but that is no reason why I should suffer his jealous whims to spoil the pleasure of my only day in the whole seven. And those spiteful girls, too! with their insinuations. But there, they are envious, and yet not one of them could look as well as I do in this bonnet; it certainly is very becoming!" And the little coquette placed it on her head, and surveyed herself admiringly in the glass. "I'll put it away, however, before the rest of them come up, for I am in no humour to be tormented any more about it to-day. I wonder what made our foreman eye me so when I came in this morning. I did not half like his look. He has not forgiven me yet for declining his attentions, and, methinks, is rather vindictive. But if I do my duty, I need not care for him. Heigho! my heart feels strangely heavy—is it because Edward and I parted so coldly?'tis the first time we ever had one word of difference, and it shall be the last too; I'll tell him all about the purse next Sunday. Why not write at once and tell him? I was to blame-alone to blame-for teasing him so. I'll write at once." The next morning, before breakfast all the members of the establishment were summoned together, and the master, addressing them, said, that latterly many things had been missing, as well as a considerable sum of money; but as his wish was simply to save himself from being robbed, he warned all whom it might concern, that he had taken such measures as would ensure the detection of the thief, should the depredations be continued. Elizabeth, who had been playing with the ribbon from which her scissors hung during this address, chancing to look up as was concluded, met the eye of the foreman fixed upon her with an expression which she could not misunderstand, and which called up the indignant blood to her cheeks, and even to her brow. Her eyes shot back a look of defiance; but as she turned away, she encountered very similar glances from several of the girls, who moved aside as she approached her heart almost stood still, and a suffocating sensation in her throat seemed threatening to choke her as she mentally exclaimed, "Good God! can it be possible they imagine that I am the thief!" 66 All that day she felt that her every action was watched, her proud spirit was galled beyond all endurance; she longed to defy them, to force them to speak their thoughts, and give her an opportunity of refuting them; but how could she betray that she believed it possible that any one could entertain such an opinion of her. She was giving her letter to the errand-boy, when the foreman came up. "I must see the address of that letter, Miss Allan." "Sir!" she exclaimed, snatching it back. She could not bear that he, the would-be rival, should read her Edward's name and address. "Oh, very well! just as you please. But take notice, no letters are to be sent which do not pass through the hands of Mr. Bethinde or myself; we are determined to detect the perpetrators of the late peculations." "Detect them and welcome! But as you cannot suspect me, that can have nothing to do with my letter." "It may or may not-but when young people dress beyond their station, they must expect to excite some suspicion as to the way in which they obtain the means of doing so." He turned upon his heel and walked away. Elizabeth dashed a tear of mortification from her eyes. "That unlucky bonnet!" she muttered. "Oh, if I had it here I'd trample it beneath my feet. Never again will I wear anything but a straw. Beauty unadorned' Edward loves. Her attention was now drawn by a customer; and while serving her, she involuntarily heard the following conversation between Parsons and a shabby-looking woman, whom he was serving with calico: 66 There, we've not a better bit of cloth in the shop at the money than that! Feel it-wash and wear for ever-I'm sure you'll like it. Are you in mourning, Mrs. Watkins? Not lost any relative, I hope?" 66 No; only as I happened to have a bit of black by me, I just put it on out of respect poor Charlotte Dillon. Ah! hers was a blessed release-what that poor young thing has suffered no tongue can tell. Well, I think this is a nicish calico, so you may cut me off six yards. Them Dillons have lodged with me three years come next Michaelmas." "Indeed! Six yards did you say? better take the remnant-nine and half-shall have it for nine." "I really don't want so much: never mind, calico always comes in useful, so put it up. As I was saying, I put a few black bows on my cap, and this old gown, on the day of the poor girl's funeral; for nicer and honester people never lived than them Dillons, though that stupid Mrs. Marston and her set are breaking Bella Dillon's heart by accusing her of being a thief-she a thief, indeed, poor lamb! and all because she lost a purse one morning." "Lost a purse!" observed Parsons reflectively, looking up from the bill he was making out: "let me see; I remember a very pretty little blue-eyed girl coming here one morning crying, and inquiring for a purse; I wonder whether it could be her." "She thought she might have left it in a linendraper's shop in which she had been to buy a blanket for her poor sister," said Mrs. Watkins. "Bless me! then it must have been the same!" exclaimed Parsons, " for I remember was a blanket I served her with, and she paid for it with a half-sovereign which she took from her glove." it "Was there much money in the purse?" inquired Elizabeth, who had latterly become so engrossed that the person she was serving in vain repeated her wants. "Some twenty pounds or more, in a crimson purse, with steel slides and tassels-young woman, have you found such a one?" said Mrs. Watkins; but she received no answer, for Elizabeth was diligently measuring pink-satin ribbon; and having made her purchase, and gossiped a bit more, the old woman departed. "Is that a sweetheart of yours?" inquired Elizabeth of Parsons. "No, Miss Allan, I'm afraid the old dame would not have me. I have lodged at her house while out of place, and so she patronizes the shop in which I serve when I am in." 66 She seems a good-hearted old soul; you may as well give me her address, there's no knowing how soon I may be out of place."" "You, Miss Allan! what nonsense." "Then you don't believe that I am concerned in the late peculations? Thank you, Parsons!" "You-no, no! I could give a better guess But there's the address. I like to than that. recommend Mrs. W." Yes, very likely!" Street; she keeps several During the rest of that day Elizabeth was not herself; she was absent-made mistakes-her cheek was flushed-her eyes impatiently watched the clock, which seemed to stand still. Scarcely had the hour of closing arrived than, stealing away, she got her bonnet and shawl, and securing the good offices of the servant respecting her return, slipped out unobserved. Mrs. Marston was seated in her parlour opposite to her nephew, who was speaking earnestly. "I tell you, aunt, it is impossible-a better or more virtuous girl than Bella Dillon does not live." "To be sure, she is an angel, and I am a perfect heathen for being vexed at the loss of such a sum." 66 No, dear aunt, it is natural to be vexed about it, but not to accuse and ruin the poor girl. Does it look as if she had stolen it? Would they be in their present distress if they had money?" "They would not dare use it now, under my very eyes." "But they might remove! Besides, I tell you that the jellies and delicacies were sent by our excellent vicar, to whom I recommended the widow and child; he is one who ever does good by stealth-and-" If you please, ma'am, a young woman wants to speak to you very particularly," said one of the girls, popping her head into the room. As Mrs. Marston desired that she might be shewn in ; and a pretty dark-eyed girl entered. She had evidently expected to find Mrs. Marston quite alone, and stopped and hesitated as her eyes fell upon the young man, who, seeing her embarrassment, got up to leave the room. he passed close by her, she glanced at his face: Mr. Nellor!" she exclaimed, "Oh do not go! you will hear all, and-and you can tell Edward," she added, in lower tones. Advancing to the table, she produced the purse, told the whole story of her finding it-of the use to which she had put some of the money; and here she asked pardon, offering to give up the bonnet and scarf most willingly-spoke of the vexations and suspicions which the possession of the money had drawn upon her, and begged permission to fetch Bella Dillon. But there was one who had anticipated her. Henry Nellor had but seen the purse, when with one bound he was at the door, and sprang into a cab, and returned, "in almost no time," as Elizabeth observed, with the widow and her daughter. Not long afterwards, the names of Marston and Nellor appeared over the door of the warehouse; and a fair young girl was pointed out as Mrs. Nellor, the second partner, whose obliging manners, skill, and taste, not a little contributed to the prosperity which attended the place. We are much mistaken, too, if we have not recognized Elizabeth under another name, as the buxom mistress of a smart haberdasher's |