me that the young man has absconded, if indeed he is really missing. A dozen things may have interrupted his purpose of bring ing those flowers to yon, my dear. What annoys me is that it is likely to get into the papers; and to have your name mixed.up with it would be insufferable. For, after all, let what will have happened, what can it be to you, and what indeed is he to Helena Yerrington ?"

"What?" asked the girl, fiercely lifting her eyes to his, flashing bright with generous indignation at his careless, indifferent tone. " Conway Searle is the man I love, sir—the man to whom I hive given my solemn plight this day. He or no one else in the world will be my husband." And having said this, she burst into a low fit of sobbing. A heavy frown knit the black brows of the colonel. A raging, furious tempest was in his heart, but he had self-command enough to say, soothingly, in a tender

" Poor child. I do not wonder you talk so wildly. This excitement has been too much for you. Clara must give yen one of her soothing powders, and you must try your best to be calm. Rest assured that every thing within the limits of human power will be done to obtain an explanation of this mystery. Indeed by this time, I doubt not, the young gentleman has been found all right."

And as he helped her up the great stone steps of the handsome residence of Mrs Marchmont, and half carried her into the house, he hushed his volatile sister.- c.; cited inquiries by a single commanding look and gesture.

" Help her to bed, Clara, and give her a powder at once. I will explain everything afterward. Our dear girl has been tried by a severe ordeal for such delicate nerves."

"You are not angry, guardy, you pity mc—you care a little for me ?" she moaned, as she obediently swallowed the contents of the wine-glass brought to her. "Heaven knows how much I care, Helena. I am going out again at once. Promise me to lie down and try to sleep, and I promise to come back to you with the first intelligence," was his tremulous

She gave him a grateful glance and com plied. Four hours and more afterward she woke rfrom the heavy sleep the narcotic had induced, hearing a newspaper-boy crying the evening edition in the street below. A dreamy, bewildered look was on her face until she caught a few intelligible words ; then, with a look oi anguish, she sprang from the couch, and hurrying to the window, leaned out, breathless with the horror that chilled her as she listened.

" Greut excitement in the city:1' shouted the boy. " Mysterious disajipatrance of a promising young laici/cr iv broad daylight in a public park ! IJeauli/ul young lady's anguish! Probable murder. Great ex citement, licit detectives at work. Last edition for the night .'"

The fair white arms that had been flung over the window casement slipped from their support, the graceful figure sank' to the floor, and hiding her white anguished face, grovelling there in her utter wretched ness, the girl sobbed :

" Conway—Con way Searle. if you are loft to me my whole life is wretched I There is no light in my sky, no joy in my world Oh, it cannot be—it shall not be ! I my self will search for you I I will search till I find you !"

(_To be Continued).

STARTLING EXPLOSION ON A STEAMER.

Serious Loss of Life.

It is fortunate indeed for the travelling public that it seldom falls to the lot of the journalist to record so singular, and, in all respects, so suggestive a disaster as that which recently befel the passenger steamer Empress. This vessel left the Humber one Friday morning in October, bound to Ham burg with about 50 passengers on board. She was an iron screw steamer of 10S0 tons gross, and was owned or managed by Messrs Bailey and Leethnm, of Hull. Very shortly after she had left the river a small leak was discovered, to which, apparently, at the out set but little attention was paid. In pro-, portion, however, as she advanced on her course, the rougher the sea became, and her rolling and tossing caused the leak to increase. The captain consulted with the engineer, and decided upon heading for the Humber again. The vessel was accordingly put round, and her engines started at full speed. It seems that amongst the top portion of this steamer's cargo, which was stowed in the forward part, wag a quantity of sulphate of ammonia. High as the sulphate was placed, the water penetrated the vessel at a point above it, and, conse quently, drained through the stuff on its way to the bottom of the hold. The vessel continued to steam at full speed all through the night, and by working the pumps con stantly the water was kept under. It was within a couple of hours of daylight when the Empress entered the Humber, the Spurn lighthouse being at that time distant about one mile. The order was passed to open the fore hatch that the hold below it might be examined. No sooner was the hatch cover raised than one of the crew of the vessel lowered a lighted lantern. It had scarcely sunk a few feet when a fearful explosion happened: the sound, it is stated, was like a furious burst of thunder ; the adjacent deck was rentand torn into shreds, and four men who were near the hatchway at the moment were blown to pieces, " none of them," says the account, "being seen again." A fifth man was tossed to a great height, and fell on a portion of the deck cargo, but by a miracle escaped with his life. Immediately after' the explosion the steamer took fire, and in a very short time the whole of her forward interior was full of flames. To save life there was nothing that her commander, Captain Barron, could do but run the Empress ashore. Providentially the land was close, and • the vessel was easily beached at a spot about ;half a mile off from the.Spurn Lighthouse. The boats .jßrere lowered and the passengers safely, put ashore on Spurn Point. The survivors o the crew stuck to the burning ship and strove to extinguish the flames, but the fire mastered them, and before 'ong all the plates of the vessel above the water became red hot. Later on a shift of the wind drove the stifling fumes of the sulphate of ammonia aft, and the seamen abandoned the hopeless task of saving the steamer. She blazed fiercely, lighting up the scene for milesi and all that now remains of her is her iron shell.

" What is the national fishery question ?',' pompously exclaimed an orator; and a squeaking voice in the audience said, "It is, " Have you got a bite V"

Little girl—"Oh! pa, dear, I've dreamt such a nice dream, that you gave me a piece of cake. Give it me, and it won't make me ill," Papa—"Go back to feed, dear, and dream you have eaten it. It will save the cake, and a powder, too." ■ _.

THE MYSTERIOTS BOTTLE; OR, NEWS FROM THE MISSING.

It was the end of September, 1573, with a wild, equinoctial gale blowing on the coast of Jersey. Night was coming on, and the people of the little hamlet of St. Brelade were closing and barring their shutters, and making all snug against the bad weather.

On the outskirts of the'place, and in the last of the* humbler dwellings that struggle close down to the shore, a woman poorly dressed, but with an unmistakable stamp of good breeding upon her, had just shut and bolted the door, after having looked out with an anxious, pain-stricken face upon the stormy fast-fading twilight. Returning from the door and sitting down with a heavy sigh before her writing desk, she reads for the fiftieth time some faded lines, say ing in her mind as she does so ;—

"To think that his good fortune should mtv e_u auruptly ended; or, if it has not, that I can get no tidings. No news since December last, and all inquiries fruitless ! I can but fear the worst. Has Jabez. Grote, by some mischance, crossed hie path again ? Oh, let me not think of it I The horrible possibility freezes my blood. Let me rather see now if I can arrange his letters in their proper sequence, linking them together with such words of explanation as may make them into a coherent narrative, so that when our boy is old enough to care to know about his father, he.may be able to read the written story of his uncertain fate. If, when grown a man, he should be ever stirred to clear it up, he will at least have a track and clue to go upon. Yes, for little Lionel's sake I will set it plainly out as far as it is known to mc. It will be well that our darling should know hereafter what pains and penalties the search for wealth entails, and how his mother suffered for his father's ambition to be rich."

Inclining tothe task, the more she thought of it, she resolved to preface it with a brief account of her early married life, in order that what followed might be the easier understood ; and thus she began :—'". - FOR MY SON, TO HELP HIM TO CNDKESTANI. HIS father's STORY. When your father married me he was a clerk in the custom house at Harwich, and in that town we lived happily, if humbly, for more than two years. Though''his pay was small, with it and some £40 a year which I inherited at my father's death, we had enough, to my thinking, ;for all our wants. But he was ambitious, and fretted at the narrow and monotonous round of his daily life. Impatient by nature, too, he was resenting vehemently at times the plea which I was for ever urging on him, that when he got a step in the service he would be released, and in due course of promotion he would become collector, and his own master.

" Mastel of what ?" he would say, " two or three hundred a year, and still at best a drudge. Mart, you have no enterprise. If you had but half my ambition you would urge me to seek a wider outlet for my energy instead of trying to check it. What career is this in which I find myself! Full of life and health and youth, I feel cribbed, cabined, and confined in this miserable ser vice."

Perhaps I was wrong not to try and feel more with him, but I was so happy and content with our quiet and loving life that I had no wish beyond it.

At the end of two years ho happened to receive a letter from an old schoolfellow, who, having gone out to the Cape of Good Hope, wrote a glowing account of some of the fortunes that were then being made in the newly-discovered diamond fields of the colony.

"See there," he cried,—l can hear his hopeful tone as I write—"what strongmen may do with pluck and enterprise ! Mart, if you love me, and care to make a little sacrifice for a great result, listen to my pro position. Let me throw up this wretched office, let me go to the Cape, and as sure as my name is Richard Farvell, in less than three years I will return with enough money to keep us like gentlefolks for the rest of oar days. I have some.£7o saved in the bank ; thirty of this, with your own forty annually, will keep you' and the boy going for the short while lam away. You could live in Jersey for a song, as it is called. I know exactly the cottage for you, for when I was in the Custom-house at St. Helier's I thought of taking it myself.' All efforts to dissuade him from this rash act were vain, the end being that he carried out his purpose, leaving me alone in this place well-nigh brokendiearted. Well, the first few letters tell little worth recording here. Beyond certain hardships inseparable from the voyage and the journey up country, made with the utmost economy, nothing of importance happened. The real starting point is from his unex pected meeting with Jabez Grote. This, man once professed to be in love with me, asked me to marry him, and pressed his suit with an obstinacy amount ing to persecution. He would write me a dozen letters in a week, but he was a scampish ne'er-do-weel, whom I never could have loved, to say nothing of the attach ment I had for your father at that time, Grote, finding that there was a rival in the field, cdnceived an intense hatred for him, and I believe uttered some impotent threats of vengeance., ..But we heard no more of him after we .were settled at Harwich—had forgotten his existence in fact. Hence it may be imagined that a great terror seized me when a letter from yonr father (that marked Nine) spoke of "his having come across this; man Grote up at the diamond fieWs. „.' i " Though I was startled at meeting him, you will see," your father writes, "therewas nothing extraordinary in such a fellow as Grote Deing up here. Yet J;,,could have wished the fates had; not. thrown us to gether again, especially under, these ciri cumstances, for you will he glad to hear, dearest Mart, that 1 :have had great luck again lately, and have managed to add largely to the store of the unpromising-look ing bits of carbon, and Jabez Grote evinced a disagreeable curiosity as to my success. Its extent, nevertheless^ I did not confide to him, for though he spoke to me fair enough, and desired, he said, to let bygones be by gones, I would not trust him> an inch further than 1 could see him, and I do all I can to keep out of his way." • ■ • That your father was right in his mis trust ;is shown in the succeeding letter marked Ten, and written a month later. " There is no need to go into details, and as the danger is for the present past, make your mind easy, dearest Mart; but I must tell you I have just had a narrow escape for my life. I have always thought JabezGrote a scamp, but I had no idea he was the utter scoundrel he has just proved himself.

Our tents arc on the opposite extremities of the camp, but he has lately made fre quent visits to mine of an evening, and seems, in spite of caution, to have got scent of my luck. Two nights ago he came in half drunk, and after beating about the bush a bit and trying to worm out of me the extent of my treasure and where I kept it, he suddenly drew out a revolver, and holding it at my head, vowed with many an oath that if J did not give it up to him he would blow my brains out. With the sudden effort I mado to force the pistol aside, one chamber went off, fortunately missing me, and the next instant I closed with him, but in the struggle a second and third chamber ex ploded, and then somehow I got the wea pon from his grasp, and most certainly in my anger should have turned upon him but before. I could do so he slipped through an opening in the tent and dis appeared in the darkness. Some time elapsed before the sound of the pistol and my cries for help brought any assistance, and by that time he had got clean off. Such rough police organisation as we have here took the matter up the next day, but Mr Jabez had made himself scarce, know ing very well that though such deeds as this are not uncommon, they are met by the sternest and promptest justice, and so I have seen no more of him ; but it only shows how necessary it will be for me to give him. a wide berth. During the few moments of our struggle, and just as he escaped, he said something about old scores, and that he would keep his eye upon me and be even with me yet. However, I can keep as sharp a look-out as he, and if my luck continues only a little longer I shall be able to turn my face homewards."

By the receipt of this letter much addi tional anxiety naturally was caused, and tho pangs of our cruel separation increased a thousandfold.

Hope was again revived, however, some weeks later by the contents of Number Eleven letter, but only to be once more despairingly dispelled, for this is the last I ever received from your dear father ; and it it should really prove to be the last he ever wrote, it will need no word of mine to make you treasure it above them all. These are his words, and'for the present make the final link in the chain I am here welding together : —

" You have sometimes twitted me, dearest Mart, for being so sanguine and cutting and drying plans for the future ; but if I were not given to looking far ahead, and if hope did not spring eternal in my very human breast, I should still be grind ing on under old Knox, at Darwich, instead of being in possession at the present moment ot enough of those hidden treasures of the earth fully to realise all my fondest wishes. Yes, give me joy, and trust and look ahead yourself a little hopefully now, for now I hope that within a year or less I shall be back in dear old England a rich man. I give myself another six months, and by next spring I shall be on my way to Capetown, where, after spending a time with old Tim, I shall try to catch the regular mail steamer leaving there on the 20th of August, so that you may fairly look for me by the end of September; but I shall write again, of course, many—many times. " '

This was on the 15th of October, 1572 (nearly a year ago), and reached me early iast December, since which no sign or line have I had from him. When, after weeks of weary waiting, no news came, I wrote to his friend, Tim Brown, and to certain agents at emigration offices in the colony, and, after much correspondence, was able to trace your father as far as a place called Beaufort West, thus showing he had carried his intention out of turning his face home wards ; but at this place all trace of him was lost.

The agents replied to my earnest in quiries that they could do no more ; they had evidence that he reached Beaufort in April, but beyond this point and date they could obtain no clue. They did not even know if he ever teft the place again ; they only knew for certain that he reached it.

The equinox has done its work, and the whole wilderness of waters for miles around the treacherous region of the Channel Isles is strewn with terrible evidence of the havoc made on many a gallant ship. Several have been lost, and one especially large homewarl-bound steamer is known to have foundered just off the Caskets with, it is said, nearly all hands. Quickly flies the news of tho bare broad fact, but the details reach the quieter corners of the coast more slowly, and it is not before some ten days have passed, and the shore and sea are smooth and calm agaui, that St. Brelade's hears that the big steamer driven from her course, and sunk with the Capo mail, was bound for Southampton, and named the Triton.

Martha Farvell ".ears the story with tho rest, and is set painfully wondering whether there was, by some sad perversity of f ite, among the freight »f the luckless vessel any news, or any persDn with whom or with which she is (Concerned. Could there have been a letter fot her in that mail ? or—and as the thought strikes her, her heart sinks —could her hush* -id himself by any fatal chance have been --n board '.

No sooner has her speculation developed to this point than she searches through and through all obtainable records. These only increase the intensity of her anxiety, for they.oeveal the fact that the Triton was the regular ship which left the Cape on the 20th of August, the date and identical mail by which he had originally proposed to sail. Knowing how he would always strive to carry out to tho letter any long-projected plan, and not giving due weight to the un certainty existing for many months as to his movements, she abandons herself, as it were, to the conclusion that he may have been on board, and found a watery grave at the very threshold of his home. But no ; further accounts of the ship wreck coming to hand, with a complete list of the passengers and crew, and her eager eyes seeking in vain for his name, she, with a revulsion of feeling and an indescribable sense of relief, clings once more to the hope that he may yet be living ; but again the dread figure of Jabez Grote passes before her mind, for it is strangely suggested by the name of " J. , Goote " which she notices amongst the list of second-class passengers, and this leaves her plunged as before ih deep despair. • And in this she remains for the next three months, without a single rift of light to help her through the darkness of her weary, weary waiting—nay, with what little hope she has yet to cling to growing smaller and smaller, until by Christmas time it is quite gone, and with her worst fears seemingly confirmed, she resigns her self to the life-long widowhood before her. A, A'j ■ A * • •",...'■ A

■ Soon after the tide has begun to ebb on Christmas morning, leaving exposed to view/some of the'rocky points and ridges of brown bladder vrack which stud the lower stretches of the shore, the good folk are returning from the morning service in the quaint old church, and among them are the lonely mother and her little son. Reaching the humble cottage on the sands, andjjeginning to occupy herself with the Bilpj._e preparations of the mid-day meal in company witkthe old dame, Jeanne Dace, who looks ulpfrom time to time to help,

Martha Farvell bids the boy go and play in the sunshine till dinner is ready. He, nothing loth, rushes off with a shout, and is soon busily engaged in hunting crabs, and diving with his hand after all moving objects among the seaweed and the pools left by the tide upon the little low reef of rocks which runs out seaward near the cottage. Jumping from one point to another, he follows the retiring sea as it slowly recedes, until, impatient at tho tardy pace at which the tide falls, he wades, ankle deep, some two or three yards out to the flat-topped rock, higher and dryer than tho rest, and having on one side a deep wedge-shaped fissure.

Standing here for awhile watching the ripples circling round its base, his eyes suddenly light on something which creates the most intense curiosity. Stooping down, he looks eagerly into the fissure aforesaid, and their in' a moment plunges his arms, elbow deep, into the pool of water left there. His tiny strength at first does not seem enough to drag up the object he has seized, which is jammed tightly in the cleft, and in putting out the < utmost Jfoiee jof which he is capable,' he loses his balance and topples over with a splash, wetting himself pretty, thoroughly. But he is in stantly on his feet again, and now holds in his hands a curious little bottle or keg, very similar to the water bottles carried by French soldiers on the march, and having, like these, a ring on either side for the cord to pass through, by "which it is slung across the shoulder.

When he has turned this prize over once or twice and shaken it, and listened to hear if there is anything inside, and has made one futile effort to break it open by ham mering it on the rock, the boy scuttles off at full speed, with many a floundering splash and plunge, up to his mother's cot tage.

"It was very naughty of you," she says, "to make yourself in such a mess, spoiling your clothes in that way for the sake of a stupid old bottle."

He explains that something inside rattles, and that he would like to know what it is, for he has refused to part with it for more than a moment at a time, and is still cuddling it affectionately. "Well, then," she says, "give it to me, and let me see if I can get the cork out."

He avers that it is not a cork, but a kind of bung fastened with wire, and that it will not come out; and this, on examination, she finds to be true. At length, after much hammering and scooping, the tough though sodden little case, for it has evidently been in the water for a long while, is split ojien with chisel and hammer.

Thrusting his little list into the opening before it is -.vide enough, Lionel brings out some of the contents-in the shape of°a few rough, pale, but semi-sparkling stones of various sizes, but none much bigger than peas. Then some more of the same sort are shaken out upon the table.

And is this all ? No ; there is something more. The little list dives in again and brings out a piece of paper. It is a large torn envelope, in which the stones seem ingly have been wrapped, as there are two much bigger ones still screwed up in a part of it. Ihe mother has taken it from her boy's hand, and regarding it carelessly, is about to throw it aside, when a strange look comes into her face—the strangest look and expression, perhaps, that ever played over those comely features. " Can I believe my eyes," she exclaimed, "or am I in a dream ."

His handwriting, surely ! Yes, and in an envelope directed to Jabez Grote I What strange fatality and coincidence is this? She drops the hand holding the paper and presses the other for an instant over her eyes, and then resumes her examination.

" Yes, yes, to be sure," she goes on ; " let me see now, let me see now what is written."

But she has no patience, and as she un folds and smoothes out the envelope to its full extent, she takes from within it the piece of smoother paper in which the stones were screwed up, and a projecting piece of which it was that had first caught her eye.

At last, sternly controlling herself, and with as much deliberation as she can assume, she begins perusing the writing on the inner sheet. It proves to be a roughly torn-out leaf of a diary for the end of November, 1572, with the usual printed form of dates and lines dividing the days.

Between them some abbreviated memo randa have been written. Thus:—

Under Tuesday, ISth :—"Last week the best ever had. After such tremendous luck it's time to be off; no reason for wait ing till spring. Sold share of tent to ad vantage ; pick, tools, and sieves not so well —too much used."

Wednesday, 10th:—"First move home wards. Started for Hopetown." On Thursday and Friday .there is no entry, but on Saturday, 22nd:—"Reached Hopetown much done up." Turning over the leaves the other side shows Monday, 24th:—"Off to Victoria ; very seedy, but must get there somehow."

Again no entries until the end of the page.

Saturday, 29th:—"More dead than alive : have reached Victoria, but treasure safe. The Dutchman's water-bottle a first rate idea,"

Martha Farvell sinks into tho chair Dean Dace has brought her as she reads these last words.

"My husband's writing," she said, in a faint low voice ; "a page of his diary with out a doubt."

After a moment the stricken woman now closely examines the envelope. It is directed simply : —"For Jabez Grote, Esq., Post Office, 'Wellington, Cape of Good Hope—To be left till called for." In one corner it bears the London post mark, and evidently only the old cover of a letter from England to this man directed in a hand unknown to her. It was partly torn open, and upon the fair inside surface thus exposed she observed some more writing and figures. These are in pencil, and form a rough sort of statement of account, as though to aid a mental calculation. An indescribable pang is added to - her over burdened heart as she recognises in the characters the hand of Jabez Grote himself, while a sort of idly scribbled memorandum underneath, signed with his initials, confirms the fact. Thus :—"By my partnership with R. F. the bulk of capital .will be increased to nearly ten thousand pounds, sufficient to end this job. Partnership is a good word, for when one's partner dies the capital devolves on him who is left to carry on the business with, or to realise and retire upon. lam going to retire.—J. G."

Having pieced together the bits of evi dence which, this strange discovery of the bottle reveals, she can but come to one conclusion. By some unhappy fatality Grote and her husband havo met again, probably at Victoria. The R.F. referred to by the former is clearly Richard Farvell. Partnership forsooth IHe has been robbed and in all probability murdered, for the death is plainly spoken of by the villain. This bottle. undoubtedly belonged to the missing man; his diary all but indicates that he darried his treasure in it, and the treasure I there it is—now lying in a col lected little heap upon the table ; the diamonds, the result of his hard toil and peril; and they with the bottle must have fallen into the hands of Grote, who still adopted it for their hiding-place. But then by what providential agency has it been drifted there to her very door ? How can

so startling and unlookcd for. a link in the sad story have been put so mysteriously within her grasp ? Her clear, common sense is not long, however, in arriving at the only probable solution of this .enigma. Jabez Grote was on board the Triton, and perished probably with the ship. The "J. (ioote" among the passengers was he, tho name merely misspelt, and the little bottle was among his effects. lv"the wreck and scattering of all that went down in the good ship this one little flotsam and jet«am, so painfully valuable, was drifted by the all seeing hand of Providence to her, for her boy to find and bear to her as the fittest messenger with " News from the missing." This thought for a moment revives her hopes. She refuses to believe that so mar vellous a coincidence can be without its purpose. But, alas, it is only for amoment; the hope dies again out of her heart almost as rapidly as it has risen. The conclusions she draws have been too circumstantially reached, and more sad and sorrow-clouded promises to be the remainder of this Christ mas Day for her than was its dawn. The mocking sun has set in a perfect glory of colour, and as the early night falls, Martha Far-veil's grief is heavier than she has ever known. A knock at her cottage door soon after she has fastened it, and is alone with her boy at her knee, brings her to her feet with a start. Demanding " Who is there ?" a hoarse and hollow voice bids her open it. She does not recognise the tones, a_:u :,esi tates ; but when, after a moment, she com plies with the renewed request, and there stands on tho threshold tb= figiirp of a !>-,,. she hesitates no longer. Despite the faint ness of the light which falls on him, despite the hollow cheeks and the battered, travel worn dress, she knows him ; and with one loud gasp Martha Farvell falls into her hus band's arms.

Useless would it be to enter on the sur prise, the joy, the overwhelming rapture,of that, meeting.

The story-teller has but to complete his task with such explanations as will show how the end fell out as it did. This may best be done by reducing to plain narrative the substance of what Richard Farvell told.

Reaching Victoria on the 29th Nov., 1572, as the stray leaf of his diary recorded, he had intended writing home, but was there struck down by fever, and lay at death's door in delirium for weeks. He was oblivions of much that happened, but had a dim. memory of once seeing Grote's face bend ing over him, and of soon afterwards miss ing the bottle, which he, through all his sufferings, used to keep under his pillow. When sufficiently recovered to move, he found that his ready money, pocket-book, and many small effects had disappeared with the bottle, and with little chance, in that roufrii community, of discovering the thief. Though shrewdly suspecting who it was, so long a time had elapsed before he was well enough to take any steps in the matter, that all trace of Grote had disappeared.

Robbed of his hard-earned treasure, crippled in health and means, his indomi table spirit nevertheless was not broken, and he determined on returning to the diamond-fields and renewing his search for wealth. But the fickle goddess Fortune no longer smiled upon him. He was attacked again by the fever in an out-of-the-way spot before he reached the diggings, and though he wrote to his wife many times, making light of his mischance, he had to trust his letters to strangers to post.

Sunk at length in absolute penury and weakness, he was forced to abandon his second expedition, and only through the kindness of a Dutch farmer was he enabled finally to get down as far as Beaufort West by the end of April, 1573. Traced, as we have seen, to this place, he was loth to distress his wife with an account of his misfortunes, and postponed writing for a week or two, in hopes that some turn in the wheel would allow him to paint his prospects more brightly. This not com ing, and filled with false shame at his breakdown, he changed his name, and continued silent for an undue period. In fact, for a while he was so weakened by all he had gone through that he half lost his wits, and could not accurately describe how he worked his way, after more sore travail and privation, down to Capetown; but there somehow he found himself ma hospital about July. Hereafter a while his health was much restored, and some of his former pluck returning, he disclosed his position to his old friend Tim, as wo know, was settled at Capetown, but -with whom he 'had never communicated since he passed through the place onhiswayupcountrythree years before. Then letters were despatched acquainting the anxious wife with at least the safety of her husband, ruined though he was ; but the letters were sent by the luck less Triton, on the 20th of August ! Far veil, unwilling to trespass on his friend's bounty, which at best could ho slight, and having become desperately homesick, de termined, as soon as he was strong enough, to ship himself as a common seaman on board a merchantman bound for England, and work his way home. More of fortune's bullets, however, were yet in store for him ; his vessel was wrecked, and he was picked up at sea by a steamer outward bound for the Mauritius, and landed there. Hence more time passed, until he again, shipping himself before tho mast, had finally arrived in London five days back, with only just enough money in his pocket to pay his way to Jersey—there to findhis luck and fortune all restored.

"Of course, dear Mart," ho cries, when in due time the wife began to recount he, share of marvels ; " of course this is my ol-1 bottle or keg. 1 bought it of a Dutchman at Conradin's Outspaun as I was going u^, country. That scoundrel Grote stole it, as he stole nearly everything belonging to me that was portable, and being told that I was dying, he thought ho was safe from consequences, though I suspect he had no idea of what it contained when he took it; no ono had. He only found out its worth when he ex amined my pocket-book and diary. My unlucky entry, ' Treasure safe, and Dutch man's water-bottle a first rate idea,' gave him the clue, and no doubt he put two and two together. Or it may be he found tho contents in the due course of examining his plunder, but how he came to wrap up the stones again in a sheet of the diary beats me. It can only have been an accident—one of those oversights which always happen '_ to thieves or mur derers, and by which they are so often dis covered. I daresay he tore the pages out of my diary and destroyed most of them, biit not all, and then just by accident, and in drunken haste, perhaps, wanting a piece of paper to wrap the stones in, before put ting them into his own old envelope, he takes the identical one of all others which had writing enough on it almost to have hanged him if he had not been drowned. There is no other way of accounting for its mysterious presence in my bottle. Truly a magic bottle, for it has brought our fortune to us after all ; a fortune which, when all is told, will not be much under twenty thousand pounds. These two largo diamonds, which, as you tell me, were the last our little Lionel picked out of the paper, are worth nearly five thousand pounds a piece. They were the last I found, and determined mo on starting homewards six months earlier than I had intended." J

UARY 12, 1884.

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT, J A

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