than might be supposed. It has been estimated, from a careful calculation, that the total value of the diamonds discovered during eighty years, from 1740 to 1820, was about £3,475,537. This amount, in only eighteen months, is exported from the Brazils in sugar and coffee only. One-fifth of the total value of the diamonds found belongs to the crown. From the mines, the diamonds are conveyed to the capital on mules, and escorted by a strong guard of soldiers.

The hardness of the diamond is proverbial, and to this quality it owes its chief, if not its sole utility. By no other substance than a diamond can one of these gems be scratched or ground. To do this is the business of the lapidary, and great patience, skill, and taste, are required in grinding down the natural rough and irregular surface of the stone, into such a regular, geometrical shape, as shall least diminish the weight and size of the gem, and at the same time shall best display its lustre when polished, and reflect the varied light from its brilliant facets.

In some directions, of which none but a skilful and experienced lapidary can judge, the diamond may be split in layers, or laminæ, and by the judicious use of this means, the tedious process of grinding is partly avoided.

Great expense is sometimes incurred in thus preparing these gems for the goldsmith, whose business it is to fix them, or "set" them, as it is termed, in appropriate mountings-such as rings for the finger; the locket for the wrist; the crown and sceptre of royalty; or the swordhilt of the fortunate soldier.

The diamond once in the possession of Napoleon, and which was purchased for £30,000, cost £3,000 additional for grinding and polishing.

LONDON, PAST AND PRESENT.

How can we give an idea of London to one who has never visited it, when some even of those who have spent their lives in wandering amid its wilderness of houses have never seen one half of its extent, and have still less knowledge of its wealth, its commerce, and its population? An intelligent Frenchman said very truly, "It is not a town; it is a province covered with houses."

Before the era of railways, it used to grow by degrees upon the country visitor as he approached its more concentrated masses of streets and houses, and his notions of the great city had time to accommodate themselves gradually to the real state of things. As he rolled along the turnpike-road outside some well-appointed "four-horse coach," he saw before him for half a day before he had reached his destination, a long, low, dingy cloud in the distant horizon, which the coachman's whip would point out as "London smoke." There it hung; visible, while yet he was among breezy commons of heath and furze, or under