had very few beautiful things in our house, and I always felt that a diamond was really "a thing of beauty, and a joy for ever," and had often longed to have one of my own.

I WELL remember how dismal and dirty London looked as I drove home from the station on my return from visiting Laura. I was feeling very sad at parting from her, for she and I had become greater friends than ever, and I had not been away long enough to make me feel anxious to be home again.

The air of London still felt oppressive and full of dust. The trees in the squares looked such a heavy dark green that I felt as though it would suffocate me to sit under them. Our street felt so close, and our house looked so dingy and shabby after uncle's bright well-kept place, that my spirits quite sank as I entered the gloomy hall. But Tom was waiting there to welcome me. I had been away a whole month, and he did seem very glad to have me back again; so I tried to hide my discontented looks and put on my best smile, and

ran in to kiss mamma. She was sitting there at needlework, with her everlasting basket of stockings beside her, just as though she had never moved all the while I was away. She kept a stocking on her hand, even while she kissed me; and then she went on with her work, and hardly looked up while she asked me a few questions about my visit.

There was no doubt about papa's being glad to have me home again. How brightly he did smile when I ran out into the hall to meet him! Then Herr Kaufmann came in in the evening, and we were all very happy and merry together. But when I went up to my attic all alone a weight fell upon my spirits. I so missed having Laura to talk over everything with, and I could not help having a good fit of crying, which gave me a bad headache and did not help to raise my spirits.

The next morning, when papa and Tom were gone for the day, I felt very dull, the house seemed so silent and oppressive. Mamma was talking to the cook. I went into the school-room and got down my books, but I could not fix my thoughts on anything; so I wrote a long letter to Laura, and then went into the garden to get a breath of air. What a mockery it was to call it a garden! A yard surrounded by two high brown walls -the house at one end, and the stable at the other.

It felt almost more stuffy than the house. I could not imagine how I had ever enjoyed the place so much.

I was walking listlessly up and down, feeling very depressed and discontented, when I happened to catch sight of my mother's face, bending over her work in one of the windows.

The face looked so pale and spiritless I was quite struck by it, and I felt reproached with my own selfish discontent. My mother had been going on with the same monotonous round, day after day, all the while I had been enjoying myself so much. It was all very well to say she was used to it and did not care for change: she wanted a holiday as much as any one else, and it was because she never had any change that she was often so dull. She never even had time to read, except on Sundays, and scarcely ever any one to talk to now Jennie was gone; for I was so absorbed in my own pursuits that it made little difference to her whether I were at home or not, she was generally alone. All these thoughts passed quickly through my mind, and I felt quite ashamed and ran into the house, and straight into the room where mother was sitting, and said, quite out of breath

"Oh, can't I help you to do that work, mamma—I am sure you must be tired of it?"

She looked up quite surprised, which was another reproach to me, and said, "Yes, Mabel, I wish you would. I don't know however I shall get through it all." Then she added, "Never mind, though you want to go to your studies."

"No, I don't," I said, "I would rather help you."

She gave me something, and for some time we both appeared absorbed in our work. I was thinking it was not much help to my mother only to do a little needlework: could not I try to make her life more bright and cheerful? So I determined to try to talk. It seems strange, but it was quite an effort to me to talk to my mother. I could always chatter away to my father or brother, but my mother never seemed interested in anything I had to say. However, to-day I felt I had a subject, and I began to tell her all about my visit, especially everything about aunt. She was quite pleased to listen, and asked me a great many questions, and then told me a good deal about herself and aunt when they were young.

I had no idea mamma could be so entertaining. We spent quite a pleasant morning; and I was rewarded for the little effort I had made, by mamma exclaiming, when the servant came in to lay the cloth

"Surely it can't be dinner-time yet! I never knew a morning pass so quickly."