VELLA VERNELL; OR, AN AMAZING MARRIAGE.

By Mrs Somsbk Haydek,

iitiwr ot "Little Goldle." "Tin Mldnlghi M*iri*ro." "Qeraldine." etc, eio.

CHAPTER LV.-(Costinukd.)

AfM Verhell was very particular about her axtr» pota of Rowers. No, laid on the wide window- 8"* would not do. She must have wedees of wood whereon to stand them, so that their leafy screen would extend just so high. For over an hour she kept Hilaria Bn d Roberts busy with her ordors and counter-orders. Wken at length the gas was lighted, and the latter would have removod tho tool-box, sha put out hor hand dotainingly. The movement was purely involuntary. Tho next instant she recollected herself. "I \viw about io tell you I was not through with those things. The Spanish Hover is not trained Iml! way: but you had hotter tako down t!ie bo:; a:id bring it up in tho morning.'' Ho did as bidden. Dinner was rather a gloomy repast, owing to tho depressed spirits of tho master of tho mansion. ' Mrs Vornell, in a long-sleeved, high throated, trailing prineesse gown of purplish silk, was all thnt was devoted to hor hus band, cordial to his sister. The Colonel drank ;v good doal of wine at dinner, which did not, however, eeom to flush him at all. If anything, he grew more pallid. As he rose from the table he staggered slightly. In an instant his wife was beside him. "You are not well, .Tames. Don't let such a trivial thing as mere money trouble ei»ite you so." He thrust her almost angrily away. Much brooding was numbing, every sensation save that of dread.

"A mere money trouble!" he repeated. " What greater trouble can come to a man ? To loss at a stroke that for which one has striven a life-time ! It is enough to drive one mad!"

But she would not be repulsed. "Comeupstairs and lie'down, dear !"she pleaded, conscious how powerfully wore her forbearance and tenderness impressing Miss Dorothy. "I believe 1 will," he assented. And then, playing right into her hand, "I'll take a strong sedatire first. I'll be hanged if I'll spend another night lying awake and thinking!" As she followed him up the strand stair way, her rich purplish draperies trailing behind her, she glanoed back over her shoulder and noddea a regretful but smiling f ood-night to Miss Dorothy. The maid was busying herself about their room as they entered. "You may go, Hilaria," Mn Vemell said tn a low voice. '' I shall ring when I require you. The Colonel is quite ill." And then, as Hilaria hung up a few scattered garments in the cedarwood closet and prepared to go, she heard Mrs Vernell •ay to her husband : " Where is that sedative you spoke of, dear? Shall I got it for you ?" Heard, too, his reply : "Yes, please, You will find it in my valise." Then she left the room. Mrs Vernell searched, found the vial designated, procured a littla medicine-glass, and Drought both to her husband. "Hadn't you better goto bed, James ?" He measured out his usual dose, and re turned her the bottle. " No," swallowing it. " I'm afraid Grimes may call again. If he does, I want to see him. I shall just He down here for «n hour or two. You may rouse me if he cornea." In the bay-window was a wide lounge heaped with cushions. A little perplexed look came into his bride's black eyes as he flung himself down thereon. Bight in the window embrasure ! There ono could sco distinctly from the street with tho gas lighted within. Draw*doivn tlia blind, close tho shutters .' Ko, no ; that would never do. Thoro muat bo no evidence of concealment, nothing to arouse tho very faintest suspicion. A!! must be open and clear aa day. The tragedy to bo mii>i he simply a case of the visitation of God. The groat, evil-minded world mustliavono reason to suspoctit otherthun this. But why need the gas remain lighted ? The thought wna an inspiration. "I shall put out the gaa !" she murmured. "You will sleep bettor, dear, without tho glare in your eyes I" As she spoke she turned it out. And now the room was, save for the fire-; Bght, in complete darkness. She crossed over to the lounge, and sank down beside it. "James!" sho whispered. Was he asleep already t Her heart beat fcigh. i Silence. "James!" a tone louder. There must be no blundering—no awk ward precipitation. She must be sure. ' This time he muttered a few words and rtirred restlessly. She began moving her velvety perfumed fingers over his forehead, over and down wards, drawing them lightly across his closed eyes, all with the science, subtle! ;•. and skill of a mesmerist. j "James, dear!" And this time quite loud. But there was bo reply. He slept soundly. She drew a long, hard broath. Now ! And there must be no outcry, no stuir'glo—none ! Had he not said there would uot be if she were only the woman|he took her for T Yes, yes ! she knew what that meant — cautious, resolute, steel ■erred.

But could anyone see from the opposite house or pavement ? No. The flickering fireshine was too dull to betray the interior of the apartment. Here especially was shadow. How still he was ! He lay with Mb face half buried in the cushions aa she crouched on the floor beside him.

How utterly he was at her mercy 1 For jaat a moment she wished—Pshaw ! what madness to pause now! All had been pre jared, made clear for her. A favourite line of hers recurred to her: " Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good wo oft might win by fearing to attempt." Should Bhe harbour traitor ? Just n little courage, rtrength, and after that Paris—Dennis love! She thrust her hand in her pocket. Stealthily therefrom Bhe drew something Which glittered as a ray of the firoahine touched it—a nail—long, slender, tapering. Still kneeling, she leaned toward the win. UOw-Bill, took therefrom one of the billets of wood used in raising and steadying her flower-pots-a wedge about three inches broad at the base, about ten long. Hark ! , la that a step on the stairs ? Bhe holds her breath. But no. Profoundsilenco. She had been

mistaken. '• Now ! Now for love ! now for freedom !

now for Dennis I , , She raises her body upright. She bends over the sleeping man. Her left hand is directly over his ear - close to it. The iirm *hite fingers clutch an objert which glints dully. Cioser it is thrust—closer yet! And now it is within $c orifice of the ear —held unflinchingly at a certain angle. And now the right arm sv.'int;? up. Peer- Ing through/he shadows, a keen, glittery a Reye measures accurately the distance. Antl ■nowthe muscles of the upflung awn stiffen, around the billet of wood tho long, nervous fingera tijhton ; an I w<>»- tho blow comes down heavy, nerved, unfaltering, unerring. • Tho maria inert figure leaps, sways, writhes, shudders convulsively, falls bacit ■ Hies still! CQAPTEH LVI. ■.„ , „ "he is sleeping at last.' . "I -will be found moat cunning in my patience, But-dost thou hoar J—most bloody ! KEBPEBB-

I VgßTstUl. Not a word-cry. Not a moan. ,: She hadshrunk back at that fierce upward :- ttroe-flung out her hand, slid downward till she lay almost flat upon the floor. Was ha—was it or?)-? Silence. Horrible, intense, sickening 1 rilonce. -9 ~ . . She lifted herself — leaned over him. I ,; "What if he should bound up again 1 No fear. , : Her shaking hands—(shaking now for tne fitrt time-crept up Mb sleeve, up his collar : -ear. Was it in far enough * Was there '. ' anything to arouse suspicion ? Oh, the fare ■ thine was " redding down," so she could oof Wffiffl') Bat she could feel. Yes—ah, yes, it ": *w just as he had said. It had gone ro- I ia. She would be sure, though. One

finger aftor another she thrust In his ear. lifted herself erect, leaned on it with all her strength. Safo—safe !

She teas tho woman Dennis had taken her to be.

She replacod tho wood from noar the pot of heliotrope whence she had taken it. She would like to be positive, though, that thero was no bruise—dr»p of blood. Wall, she would—a littlo lator. In feverish haste she composed the limbs. What a curious woightiness thoy had al roady. As she drew one arm into an easy attitude of slumber she touched his hand. For the first time there came to her an inclination to cry out, so oddly stiff it felt, so chilly. She stumbled to hor feet. It waß over. It wai all over. Now she

wns free—wealthy and free—for Dennis. But how she was trembling ! It was not cowardice, nor any " lily-Uyered " scruple. She had not altered, "wavered, in that moment. Ah, she must; hare something to make her herself again—to steady her nerves. She knew where to lay her hand on her deadly friond. She crossed the room. In a corner stood a high narrow bookcase. She reached up to the third shelf, took down a bottlo of absintho there secreted, applied tho liery poison to her lips, took a fow great gulps, roplaced the exhilarating, insidious cordial, and wont down stairs. Slio found Miss Verncll in tho morning room. By her Hide was a hugo basket, of house-linen which required repairing. Slio u:v mending away for dear lifo. Siia looked up a? her sister-in-law entered and greeted hor with a busy little nod and smite.

"]s ho resting';'1 Miss Vornell .^aiik wearily into a chair,

" Yes ;he is sleeping tit last. Ho was so ■ostloss. I have just been sitting bosido

him and trying to sootlio him out of his morbid fancies."

Misfl Dorothy darned a rent with sym pathetic lack of ha3te.

"You must bo worn out. Except at moals, I don't believe you'vo sat down to day."

The bride laughed. Then she sighed and shook her dark head.

"Dorothy—l may call yon Dorothy mayn't I ?—l'm dreadfully uneasy about James."

Quito startled, Miss Dorothy dropped her Kensington "splasher." "How? Is he ill?"

Perplexedly Mrs Vemoll flung herself back in hor low chair and clasped her sparkling hands above her hood. " I don't know if it ie exactly illness, but

this Golon—what is tho name of it—this Golondrinas affair Beems to be preying awfully upon him. Ho didn't sleep half on hour lost night, and you saw yourself how he acted to-day." Rcliovedly Miss Dorothy took up her splasher. •' Oh, if that's all! He's been worried about business matters before now."

" But, Dorothy !" "Well?" She hesitated. " la there heart disease in your family?" sho broke out at last.

" Bless my heart!" criod Miss Dorothy. Her fat littlo hands fell helpless in her Then as soon as sho could get breath, " Now what undor the morning star do you ask such a question as that for V' Mrs Vernell's flashing eyes were strangely troubled. Mrs Vernell's diamonded fingors wero knitted nervously above her raven head. "Oh, just because James complained so much last night of palpitation. I laid my hand upon his heart. It was going like a trip-hammer. You could almost heir it beat. Once he said, ' Letitia, this thump, thump is smothering !' And then to-night again ho clutched his left side suddenly. The action alarmed mo. I questioned him. • Oh, only a brief pain!' was his answer, j You can't wonder though that I am : nervous. , . "I don't!" said Miss Dorothy, her com placent little countenance, too, taking on a troubled look.

Nine ! Ten ! Half past! They had talked rovingly on many sub jects, the proposed trip in January to Florida, the way their friondß had received the news of the wedding, tho prospects for a gay social winter. Now Miss Dorothy laid by her work and took off hor glasses. " Come," sho declared, " you must go to bed. Letitia. Between all tho flying-roand you've done today and your anxiety abont James I'm sure you're used up. Though indeed I can't say you look so !" Not very easily could ahe. Mrs Vornell s sloe-black eyes were ai bright as stars. Mrs Vernell's cheeks burned brilliantly under their .Jacqueminot Glow. She ro.so with a languid smile of assent. Th-.'y went upstairs together. Mrs Vor nell's wifely solicitude had mado a most favourable impression on hor eistcr-in-

law. , , As they reached the apartments or the former, both paused. " lie may bo awake now," whispered Miss Dorothy. " I'll wait and hear if he is feel ing better," The brido held the door of the sitting room ajar. " Oh, como in I He is horo. There was a wavering glimmer from the dying fire, otherwise the room waß pitch- Mrs Vernell lighted the gas, turned it on quite high. , Sho then went over to tba lounge and bent above the still figure thereon. With eyes of flame she scanned ear and ° No no ! not tho faintest sign of a blow. Not a drop of blood. Not the tiniest blue bruise. ~ , ~ Sho laid her hand on his shoulder.

"Jamea!" softly,. Miss Dorothy a few feet back of her heard the gentle word.

Silence. . , ~.. "If ho is sleeping," murmured she, it is better not to diiturb him, Letitia. Letitia turned reluctantly away. "If he were to awaken he might mm it difficult to go to Bleep again," whisperod on the little old maid. " Though wait I! He may get cold lying here. I'll get something to throw over him." She went into the adjoining room, from the drawer under the cedar wardrobe drew a ereat soft crimson comforter of eider down. With this in her arms she ap proached the sofa. She flung it.lightly over him. Hifl head was a little bent, ao B ho could not see hie face. '•There now I" still in that hushed voice. '•Ho will sleep just as comfortably there I'm sure he'll be in better health andspiritTin the morning. Will you turn down the gas. dear ? See what it is to be a W Mm Vernelldid asrequeated, and followed Miss Dorothy as Bhe tiptoed into the other r°There that energetic little body closed the door and turned to her with a mild asumption of authority. MUI " Now, I'm not going to stir a step till I see you safe in bed, and then I'm going to brine yeu up a glass of wine negus.' And this kindly threat she acted up to, staying till Mrs Vernell's immobility and regular breathing bespoke peaceful .lum ber Then she crept away. And at that very moment, Roberts going down the dimly-URhted basement sUircase almost ran into a dark figure stealthily and noiselessly ascending. vLions of burglary, murder, flared up in his brain. Should he shout, give an alarm? Lightning-like were his doubts decided

A strong hand was on hisjthroat, a young, supple hand, a familiar voice in his ear. "Keep still, Roberts! Don't be a big fool Can't you see it's only I ? My aunt |a expecting mo. No one else must know I'm here." . . \vd ho opened his hand. •«uh Winter Voyle I" the footman gasped. •■ You did 7o scare me, sir. I was juat a- Boing to yell! v didn't grab mo a second You must excuse roach treatment. You'd havo roused the ™i,nlr> house in a minute.' "That's all right. Did you know your "^S^ltTbfthe paper to-night Here, Roberts !" fumbling in hia pocket, drawing ont some money, and pressing it in the out son'" ~fr, h j_ { or a emoke! And

fel. l.°That I will. Mister Voyle !" :;Yes insir d?"Gue BB Miss VernoU's up, ..Good-nigW. Mister Voyle.' . IricraUtS-d within the light burned low. .... , The K aa was not Was anyone within . ■""> g l-XWn^^thesentaeweep

ing glance around the room. Ifc was deserted. But no! wa» not some one lying on the broad 'lounge in the window alcovo ! And waß it not—yea, by George, it ens his uncle.

Where was his wife? .Probably in tho next room, and he had flung himsolf down hero to think and smoke as had been his custom for years before retiring. That comforter thrown over him though ! When ho was not even partially undresßed, he must have had a chill.

As the boy stood looking into the dim room a sudden solf-scorn stirred him, an irresistible impulse. Here he was sneaking through the house like a thief dreading detection, half afraid lost a sonnd should betray him, asking silence of servants. _It was contemptible, unbearable t the time for such work was over. He wouid have it out with his uncle now ! He could not injure his case. All the proofs he could muster on the subject were in Judge Duron's honds.and only to-day had he told him that he need have no fear of the isßue. If that was bo ho would fire the first shot now—tax Colonel James Vornoll to his face with rob bery and trust betrayed. With impetuous youth to think is to act. He wheeled around and went straight into the lion's don. CHAPTER LVIL A WARNING. "Whence come tliohr shrieks, so loud, and shrilli Thut cut like blades of 61 eel I ho nir.'" " I'oi.ien Boy.'1 " Uncle !"

Iso reply. " Unclo James '." Still silenco. He half closed the door (13 he camo for ward. "Oh, if you aro going to bo discourtoo«s, very well !" went on the atom young voice. " 1 must say I thought you would try ignor ing me. I rather fancied that that was the tack you would go on. Welli you can pre tend all of that sort of thing you choose, but you will hear mo all the Bamo 1" Never a sound. In tho twilight of the room Voyln stood leaning agaiast a chair. Ho went on speak ing atill in a low tone, but it was tonbo with repressed passion. " According to the old Italian code of re tribution one is bound to give warning be fore accomplishing tho vendetta. Though this blow of which I givo you warning now is no act of vengoauce. It is—or will be— only a tardy and enforced act of justice. Do you hear ?" Never in a vault reigned silence more pro found. On it the lad's now tremulous voice broke strangely. "I beg your pardon. I had forgot ton your curious conception of politeness. Well, there is little more to be said. You sold my siate*, you falsely imprisoned and branded me, you robbed us both from the hour you took us with perjured heart from our father's death-bed to the bour which saw us go forth from your house—paupors I That is the score. It domands a reckoning. And I have sworn, James Vornell, it shall be a bitter one for you. " He stood a few moments in excited silence. Then he turned and swung out of tho room. No sooner had he vanished than the door leading into the adjoining room opened. Tho woman who had sprung from her bed from her feignod slumber at tho first word spoken, who had crouched down at the koyholo, shaking, listening, camo creep ing in now. She gast a glance at tho door. It was closed. She wont gliding across tho floor to tho loungo in her embroidered rohe-de nuit like a lithe and snowy snake. Sho dragged down tho crimson comforter. Thrust one hoad above the grey head. Jerked tho other limbs into distorted positions. Then she stole back again—half walked, half crawled into her room, into bed. Now sho was absolutely safo—absolutely! He had died in a spasm—a case of heart affection. But if troublesome questions, suspicions, should arise, and aught was discovered (it was not st all probablo, of course—but if\), even then sho would bo secure. For had not his nephew been last with hire, threatsnine him—an avowed enemy ? Miss Dorothy, sitting by herdrossing-case spectacles on noeo, dovoutly reading a chapter of her Itttlo brown Bible, started up with palpitating heart as there came a low knock at her door. Instantly the personality of her lato vieitor occurred to her. It must be Voylo ! Was not this the nfeht he had paid ho would come ': llow stupid of her.to have forgotten ? How had ho suc ceeded in onteriiifr unobserved ? Sho went hnstily to tho door—opened it. He came -lowly into the bright, comfort able apartment. As sho greeted him fondly she noticed how palo he was—moro so than sho could ro member having ever scon him Ilia late passion, the more intense for its repression, hud thrilled him by its own force. " Why, Voyio, how white you look, dear ! Are you ill '!" He took off his soft felt hat and sat down. "Oh.no. Just a trifle'broke up,'though. I was passing Uncle James's room, and noticed he was still up, f=o I went in and gavo him a piece of my mind. Why, what's tho matter?'" " I'm so sorry you did, dear—to-night of all nights. He's been feeling and looking wrotchtd all doy. Letitia had quite a time this ovoning to get him to sloop." "Did ho go adleep thero, on tho lounge?" " Vos." "Jupiter!" "What did :ie say?" sho asked, anx-

iously. Ho burst out laughing. " Never a woH, Aunt Dolly. I did not think of tho probability of his being asloop. You know it was; not cis habit to sleep thoro —just lie, and sr-ioke, and think. I'm be ginning to believe I've wasted my eloquence ondeafears." ' Sho nodded, with a satisfied smile. "If he didn't answer you, you may be sure ho was asloep. James is as inflammable oa you are, and that is saying a good deal." " You didn't expect them last ovening?" " No, indeed. I had no idea they would make such a shoit trip. But, by the way, I wasn't expecting you this ovening eithor." "Why, I told you I'd come for those flannels and clothes, Atmt Dolly." " I know you did, my dear ; but in the flurry of their coming homo so suddenly, everything olso was knocked out of my head." . ,„ "Have you heard from vclla sinco ? looking up. "No." " What will you give for a letter ?" " Ob, Voyle I Havo you got one?' " Don't foel too glad over it, or you'll be proportionally cast down. 'Blessed are hey who expect nothing, for they shall not be disappointed,' you know. This la only an old letter, which should have reached us long ago. Vella sent it in care of Mrs Mayne, your old protegee. She happened to bo in Donvor with a family, one of whose members she was nursing, when it arrived. The tenant of her former house held it for her till her return, which was only this morning. She immediatly act out to bring it to you, but meeting me, intrusted it to me for you. She know it was the same thing." * Miss Dorothy took it eagerly, broke the seal, and read the trembling lines penned while at Starr's, then passed it to v oyle, who gravely perused it. He handed it back. ... " Poor little thing ! Well, she is safe with her friend now." A few minutes later he asked Miss Dor othy what ailed the colonel. " You mentioned his not feeling well— what is the matter ?" Just business trouble ; but it seems to affect him physically aa well as mentally." "What is wrong?" _ " I don't just understand it, laddio, liis lawyer was up last evening to see him about it, and apain to-day, -lames has a good deal of Go'lon—what is tho name of it?' " Golondrinas stock ?" ho suggested. " That's it; and it seems that it is going down, or something " "Nonsense!" he broke in, sharply. i bee your pardon, Aunt Dolly; but my unclo, his lawyer, or both, are labouring under an enormous delusion. Golondrinas stock was never in such a flourishing con dition. It is fairly blooming. I've a chance of knowing a good deal about how such things are going on, on account of being in Costello's establishment." "I hope you are right," breathed Miss Dorothy. " I don't think I 'ever saw James so moved and worried by anything." " Very likely not," was the dry reply. "And how are those dear children ? she asked, after a pause. "Oh, tho Costellos? They are all well. I told them I would possibly see you to night, and they commissioned me with ever so much love and kind messages." Into Miss Dorothy's face came a glad little flush of pleasure. " Did they, really ? How good of them to remember me! I don't see how they could help being nice, though. They had a moat lovable—grandmother. "Oh, Aunt Dolly?" , Eight up to her guilty blue dyes she now coloured.

■Well?"

"Won't you giro their father any credit!" " Oh, he is a thorough gentleman, of couree," carelessly, nnd earnostly regardful of a tiny stain on her sleeves; " but Ido think children derive thoir good qualities principally from their grandmothers." Voylo laughed.

But in this bold and singular assertion, as unwarrantable as novel, and born of embarrassment, he could not acquiesce. Ho rose.

"I must go now, Aunt Dolly. It's gotting late. I'll just get that heavy suit and a few other things. Then good-bye to the old room for good and for all. No, don't worry about me. I'll get out all right. Roberta is going to leave the door unlocked for me. The girls want to know when you'll go over again. What shall 1 tell them ?"

"Do they now?" quite flattered. "Oh, I'll be over the beginning of the week— Monday or Tuesday. Keally off? Well, good-bye, my boy ! God bloss you !" When sho had closed the door behind him Bhe mado short work of retiring, and soon was wrappod in the slumber which moralists ascribo to unincumbered con sciences, but which, 1 think, waits more un failingly on unimpaired digostion. Twelve ! '■■ Throughout the great house many clocks proclaimed tho midnight hour, pealed, tinkled, jangled, lisped it. Then again silence. Tho lioms crept by. Tho chill winter dawn was reddening in the cast whon through tho utter stillness rung n cry—a shrill, piercing, terrified, wail ing shriek, which echoed and reechoed through the house in bleak and discordant repetition. In an instant every soul was aroused, out of bod, horror-struck, dazed, bowildored, {To he Continued.)

EXPERIENCES OF A DETECTIVE.

BY JAMES McGOVAN, Autuor ok " Bkodoht to Bay ;" " Hunted Down ;" axu "Stranok Clues."

McSWEENY AND THE MAGIC JEWELS.

A kiok from & brute having iron toe plates on his boots had placed mo on the sick, or rather the lame list, and so the scientific gentleman, with his strange story of rob bery, was roferred to McSweony. The gentleman, who waß well known as an author and student, and whom I may hero namo Mr How Stafford, insisted that none but the very cleverest and most acute detective on tho staff could properly know and understand the almost supernatural events connoctod with the robbery of the jewels, and -is my chum's opinion has always been that ho answors to that descrip tion, and everyone else was busy, ho was allowed to take the case in hand.

" I'm Detoctlvo McSwoeny, at your eorrice, sur," he said, bowing atiflly as tho old gontloman blinked at him through hi* spectacle*. "I dare «ay you'll have read my experiences? Thoy are published in books, and that/s how somo call mo the Groat McSweeny." "No, I have not had that pleasure," politely responded Mr Stafford. "I never heard the namo kofore."

"Ah, I know how that is," roturnod MoSweony with alacrity. "It's becaueo a kind of assistant of raino puts his namo to the books. Ye soo, sur, I'm troubled wld a Kind of stillness in my light hand, and writing bothorsomo to mo, so I let him do it. Hiß name's McGoran, and he gets all the praiso and all the money for tho bookn, which I wouldn't mind at all at all, if he didn't try to make mo look aB email ob possible. If ye believe mo, I can't do a dacent job without him. For a story-tellor I'll back him agin all tho world." "Yes, I think I have hoard his namo. but I nover look at that kind of literatnro," wearily answered Mr Stafford. "An' good for you, pur; for tho lies that's in it—espocially abot mo—no wan knows better thnn mesolf; but it's no uoo mo Haying anything, for paplo boliovo overy word ho writes. He drives his owncarriago while I've to walk on fut. Never moind. I've tho pull on him in clovorncss. Givo me your dilKcult job, and ceo if I don't run down the thafo hotter than a dozen McGovans rolled into wan." •' [ understand—you mean that ho is but alamo detective." "lie is that," said McSwoony, with a twinkle in hi* eye a- lie thought of tho kick which had laid "mo up. "If there's a lmno detective anywhere in the world this minit, it's him." '•'flicn I'm delighted to have mot you instoad," exclaimed tho innocent Mr Staf ford, "for of all tho mystoiies that ever were brought horo to unravel none could be moro incomprehensible than tho robbery which has brought mo hero. You can understand how valuables might go whoro thoro aro hands to tako them— servants or professional thiovos—but for jowels to vanish before one's cyo in a locked room, with windows fastened, and not v living j creaturo near, seems aa nearly impossible as anything I can imagine ; yot that is exactly tho caso which 1 havo brought to you." " Nothing at all—nothing at all to us," aaid McSweony, with tho most unboundod confidence in himself, ".lust go ovor the wholo story, and I'll soon put it all to rights." • " Well, I am, as you probably know, a bachelor, and live out at Nowington in a «olf-contoined house of my own. My servants aro a housekeeper, a kitchon-nmid, and good-for-nothing pagp—a boy of thir teen, who oats his own woight in food overy day, and tormente tho life out of mo genorally. I must toll you at onco, howovor, that it is quite impossible that any of these threo eorvants can bo tho thiof."

McSwoeny emiled knowingly to himself, but made no romark. Uo had already decided that tho good-for-nothing page boy was the thief.

"You will understand how it is impossible that tho servants could be involved whon you loam tho circumstances," pursued Mr Stafford. "A young rolative of mine is getting married, and, as I am not exactly a poor man, I docided upon giving her a handsome present. I said nothing about my intention to anyone, but went to the bank and drow £200."

" £200," Baid McSweeny, gravely noting down the facts, with a sovoro oflicial frown on his brow, in imitation of somo peculiarity of his own.

" With that money in my pockot I went over to Princes-street and bought, in a first-class jeweller's, a necklace, brooch, and earrings. They wore set with diamonds and pearls, and I boliove full valuo for the money Ipaidforthom, which waaonlyapound or two lesß than I had drawn at tbo bank. They were very pretty trinkets, and, though no admirer of such things gonorally, I could not help looking more than onco at these. I mention these facts just to let you under stand that they woro bona-fde jewels, paid for a* the highest price, and bought from a man above suspicion, and no trick affairs made up in some maeric way to deceive the eyes or fingers, and to vanish into gas or air before one's eyes. After I had paid for the jewels they were put into a small casket cnvored with morocco and lined with velvet, and this casket, wrapped in paper, waa placed in my own hands, and carried by me to my own home. I still said nothing of my purchase to anyone. The page-boy was in the hall as I entered, but the casket was at that momont in my coat pocket, and he could not possibly have guessed that I carried anything uncommon. I left my hat and umbrolla and boots in thp hall, and went straight to my study. This room is always closed with a check-lock, and no ono can enter it during my absence. There ia no furniture in the room which could screen any person from sight. When you enter the room you sec at a glance all that is in it—my bookcase, my writing table, a sofa, and four chairs. There is a (ire and fireplace, of course, but no one could conceal himself there, as the grate is a small register one, and tho firo was blazing up when the magical disappearance took place. I always light the fire and trim it myself, and the page never gets further than the outside of the door when ho fills and brings up the coal scuttle. The floor is covered with one piece of waxcloth, so there are no crevices or holes into which any small trinket could drop or roll. "You are following me clearly, I hope?" " Yes, sur—as clear as day, " answered McSweeny, with rather less confidence in his tones.

" Well, on entering the room I knocked up the fire, put on fresh coals, and then seated myself before my writing table, directly in front of the fire. I took out the casket of jewels and placed it on the table before me. The door, you will remember, was chut, and cannot be opened from the outside except by me, as I carry the only key. I could fee all the rosm, and both door and window, and am certain no human being but myself was in that room. I thought I should like to have another look at the trinkets, and opened the casket and

laid thorn out, one by one, on tho writing table before me. I felt them—touched them— over, and in every possible manner was convinced that they were exactly as I had received thorn from the maker. Now listen. Aftor I had admired them for some

little time I replaced them in the case, which was fitted wtih groovesto hold them, I did not close the case, but began to reflect on the possible weal or woe which might await this young girl who was to receive them. Whila thus reflecting, my eyes left the table for a few minutes, and rested on tho window and the distant green hills and clear sky. I was in what is called a brown study for perhaps five minutes. When I awoke from that reverie and brought my eyes back to tho. table the jewels were gone 1" "Gone!" echoed McSweeny, incredu lously.

" Yes, gone—casket, and necklace, and brooch, and earrings had vanished bodily, leaving not a trace of their existence before me on the mahogany table." " You'd dropped them on the flure, mebbe ?" suggested McSweeny, whose hair was be ginning to rise on end.

"Not at all, though like you, I thought at first that that was possible," calmly continued Mr Stafford. "I looked at my feet, over the table, under tho table, and into every drawor and cranny about the table. I did not find them. I tried tho door :it was firmly closed. Tho window tho same I felt ovory pockot. All in vain, Tho jowcls and tho case wore gone." "Ay, but how? Tbero must havo bin somo greedy fingers to tako them," said McSwoony, who eeemed to instinctly guoss tho suggestion that was coming.

" Perhaps not," said the old gentleman as cnltnly; " a spirit hath not flesh or bones. Did you never hear of evil spirits ?" McSweony almost jumpod to hia feet,and felt apprehensively at his rod scalp.

" Faith have I," he answered with a shudder. "If it's a good healthy ghost of the owld-fashioned kind you're going to, bring on, it's all right, but your table-rap ping ones I'll have nothing to do with."

" I don't profess to say what kind of spirit took them," solemnly replied Mr Stafford, "but it must have been a covetous spirit. I've told you all I know of the affair. The jewels are gone, and that's exactly how they vanished. I could not ask the ser vants about them, for they never saw thorn, and wore not near me at tho time. I don't feel inclined to lose them, yet I am certain that no human hand took them."

"Rats, mobbe?" hopefully suggested McSweony.

" No ; there is not a hole in the room." " A jackdaw then—it might have come i down the chimney." "Impossible. I must have heard it, and seen It. No; the jewels disappeared right under my nose, without a sound. I leave you to golvo the mystery and recover the property." McSweony had asked for a difficult case, and now that he had got one he was bound to express himself highly elated at the apparently unsolvable mystory. He volubly promised the robbed gentleman not only that he would speedily lay the thief by the heels, but that, spirit) or no spirit, he would recover the property as well. His inward resolve, of course, was that if he found himself making no progress with tho case, ho would shove the finishing of it on mo, while, if by somo rare stroke of good luck he did succeed, the greater renown would attach to his efforts on account of his emphatic declarations. Full of those assurances, ho accompanied Mr Stafford out to that gentlemen's houso at tho South Sido, and was taken up to the room in which tho jewels had so magically disap peared. He got Mr Stafford to sit doVn in tho exact spot and attitude he had occupied whon the robbery took place. When this had been done, and every part of the room examined, McSwoeny was mere puzzled than ever. His reason told him most em phatically that the valuables could not havo gone without hands, and yet he could not suggest oven to himself how fingers could have got at them. There was not a crevico in the room—the houße was a mod ern one, and therefore could not have any invisible stairs, doors, or passages in the walls; and eren if these had existed, he could not conceive it possible for anyone to enter tho room and remove tho jowols bo foro tho ownor's eyos, and ho sitting thoro wide awake looking straight bofore him. Howover, ho had promised groat things, and by his confident looks, and winks, and noda hinted at greater, co nil he could now do was to tako refuge in a littlo boldnesß. In entering the houso ho had got his oyo on tho pago boy, who was in the act of stuffing something out of eight into ono of his pockets. As McSweeny rouchod the boy's eido a whiff of the pipe's breath ascondod to hie nostrils, ami .seumed to point to the caves of tho liurriod act of concenlmont.

"Tobacco, tho young spalpeen!" was McSwcony's ment.il exclamation. "Tho boy that can pmoke is lit for anything. Just watt a minit, my jewel, and I'll frighten tho very sowl out ot ye."

Having inspected Mr Stafford's study, and mado nothing of tho work, McSweony had no difficulty in working himsolf into a fie of rago against the pigo. " Just ring tho boll, pleaso, for that boy in tho tight jacket and buttons," ho said to Mr Stafford whon they had returned to the sitting-room. Tho boll was rung and the pago appeared, whon McSwoony grandly requested to bo loft alone with tho quaking boy. Mr. Stafford accordingly withdrew, whon McSweony olaboratoly took from his pockot first a note-book and pencil, and then a pair of handcuffs, which ho clanked noisily down on tho tablo boforo the boy's eyes. " Now, you boy—your name?" ho sternly began.

" William Listor, sir," said the page, visibly alarmed. " Woll, William, I'm tho groat dotoctive McSwoony, and I've come hero on a great oase. You know what I can do to you, I eupposo ?'' " Yo—ye—yes," stammorod tho pago, noarly crying and shaking on his legs. " Now look me in the face, sur," and McSwoony grabbed the boy suddenly by tho arm and forced him down on his knoes —no very difficult task—while he chained him with his fierce eyes. " Now, sur ! you've been robbing your master !" "No—no —no—sir !" cried the boy,clasp ing his hands in an agony of terror and beginning to howl. "Youtuck them ; I can soe it in your eyes," sternly returned McSweony. " Now, whore have you hid thorn ? Out vith it, or off to gaol yo go !"

More abject howling and protesting, and then the boy blubbered out—

" It was for my mother I took them."

'" Your mother, 3-o villin, She's fond o' them things, I s'pose ?" dorisivoly returned McSweony.

"Yo—ye—yes, sir." " And she's got them now, eh ?" ■' Yes—oo 1 hoo ! hoo !"

" And where does she live t"

" Bu—bu—bu—ecleuch street, sir." " Then wo'll go there now," sternly ob served McSwoeny, highly elated with tho success of his bold measures; "and luck here now, if ye try to escape I'll shoot you— shoot you ! with a double-barrelled poker." The terror-stricken culprit rose and got his cap ; and they were moving out of the lobby when Mr Stafford appeared. " It's all right.surj" whispered McSweony with i significant wink; '• you'll have them hero for identification in an hour."

" But how was it done ?" cried the gentle man in amazement.

"Done? What trick is there that's too difficnlt or dirty for an idle vagabon of a boy ?" responded McSweeny with a wise look. "I knew what a scamp he was the minit I smelt tobacco on him," and Mc- Sweony got out his own pipo ready for light ing when ho should be outside the door. • Tho boy all the way to his home was tremulously asking what would be dono to him, but the captor smoked away in dignified silence, more terrible to tho prisoner than the most valuable of threats. At length tho great oracle Bpoke, and gave tho boy to understand that the nature and duration of his punish ment would depend very much upon him self—if he agreed to tell how tho rob bery had beon accomplished, and all other particulars, his punishment would probably be extremely light. This gracious con cession gave great comfort to fhe boy, who iii3tantly promised to keep back nothing. They had then arrived at the house in Buc cleuch street.

It was a poor hovel of a room, both damp and dark, being on the ground floor. A woman who opened the door was promptly introduced to McSweeny as the boy's mother. The boy whispered to her for a moment, and then led McSweeny to the fire-place. A small fire burned :n the grate, and on that fire was a pot of broth. The boy lifted down the pot on the hearth, and, handing an old ladle to McSweeny, told him to "take thorn out."

" What ahiding-place I" was McSweeny's inward comment. " The young scoundrel's an clever as if he had been wan of my bairns all his life. To think of him making broth of jewels!—begorra, he deserves a prize for fine cookery."

As he made these comments McSweeny began to rake up the contents of the pot, but found no trace of the magic jewels.

" What do yo mane, ye young spalpeen ?" he cried at last, in terrible totieo, to the boy and hie quaking mother. " Didn't you say they were here, in the pot ?" " Yes— that's them," said the boy, stop ping his whimpering to point to a heap of beei bones with some shreds of moat still adhering to them, which McSweeny had re moved one by one from the pot. " What ?" Tho thought was too humi liating—too horrifying; and McSweeny could find voice for only the one word, " That's them," repeated the boy, touch ing the steaming bones, "and I'd never have taken them, only the servant said they were no use." ' 'It's jewels I'm after, "shouted McSweeny in a great rage. "Jewels ! £200 worth of jewels!" "Jewels? I never saw them, cried the boy, drying up bis tears with marvellous alacrity. "You said bones, I thought— at least it was the only thing I ever took, and thought you meant them,"

All this was droadful to McSweeny, and yet it was so simply and naturally spoken that ho could not for a moment doubt tho truthfulness of either. With a great show of bluster and official activity ho searched tho whole of tho little hovel, but of course found no trace of jewellery of any kind ; in deed, the page-boy protested loudly that ho had never seen his master with jewellery in his possession, and co could not possibly have stolen it.

Tbo return to Mr Stafford's house was not quite such a triumphal procession as McSweeny had expected, and when there he had nothing but utter failuro to recount. Ho wont over tho whole house and ques tioned the other sorvants with a like result. He waa not a step nearer the solution than when ho began. There remained then but one slender hope—that the thiof might attempt to dispose of the jewels, so McSweony finished his work by taking a minute description of these valuables, and having it inserted in our printed lists sent round all dealers and pawnbrokers. A tour round the most of these produced no better result ;no one had offered such articles either for sale or pledge. At the end of a week, when I was boginning to " hirple " about again, we wero in one of these dealers' places, when I suggested that tho descrip tion of thejewels was rather vague forajewel ler to gohy, and that we might go along to the man who had Bold them to Mr Stafford and have it made fuller and more complete. A reference to the scribbleswhich McSweony called notes revealed the fact that no such name waß recorded, I sent McSweeny out to the South Side to have the omission rect ified, not being able to walk as far myaelf, and on his return learned that Mr Stafford had had some difficulty in rememboring tho namo himself. However, on McSweony naming two or three of the principal ones in Princes stroet, ho at length spotted ono aa the right one. In the evening I chanced to be in Princoe-Btreet, and went into the shop to got tho description. To my surprise the jeweller and all his assistants doclared that no auch purchase had been made in tho shop. Back I sent McSweeny to Mr Stafford, when that gentleman at once smiled out knowingly, and said — " I think I understand that statement of the jeweller. It is all a plot betwoon him and my servants—ho is to swear that they never took them. The jeweller will just get them back, and they will divide tho spoil." McSweeny scratched his red pow, looked up at the ceiling and then down at the carpet, and finally confessed that he did not oxactly catch tho drift of the gentle man's reasoning. " I will explain—l will confide in you as a friend," said Mr Stafford, waxing warm. " I am a lonely man, without wife or children to look aftor my interests and protect me from designing persons. Tho consequence is that I am continually being persecuted, robbed, and cheated. One of ray acquain tances, whom I nevor injurod by thought or deed carried this torture to such an extent that I was forced to leave tho city," Could you not have got the protection of the police?" suggosted McSweony. " Useless. How could I prove the pereo cution ? I flod to London ; the wretch fol lowed me there ; I took tho first train from tho p1a..0 ; it landed me at ono of their pleasure gardens—tho grounds of the Crystal Palaco, I think. I enjoyed myself thoro ; when all at once my fiend—my tormentor—an I must call him—appeared beforo mo. I ran from tho spot; a balloon was just starting; I leaped in, cut the rope, and shot up in tho air, laughing in triumph at tho chagrin of my prsecutor." " That was a neat escape," observed Mc- Sweony ; "but how did yo get down again ?" "Tho moat awful part of the adventure was to como," pursued Mr Stafford. "When I had got up a certain distanco I got freezing cold and thought to warm my eolf with a smoke. In striking a light some of tho gas escaping from tho balloon must have touched andoxplodod, for tho next moment the wlio'o thing was in shrods and llamcs, and was bearing towards earth with tho spcod of a cannon ball. "And yo wa« kilt? Smashed to atoms?" exclaimed McSweony in oarnest horror, with his hands raised, and his eyes almost starting from thoir sockets. "No ; fortunate!v I fell into tho water, and boing an excellent swimmer, I managod to save myself. I returned to Edinburgh, but my tormentor was soon upon my track again, and even yet he continues hia per secutions upon every occasion when there is no chance of being seen. Possibly he is at tho bottom of this mysterious robbery." M- Sweeny asked tho name of this per secutor, and aftor a good deal of demur on tho part of Mr Stafford the name was given, when it proved to be that of an eminent professor, as renowned for his loarning as For his goodness. McSweony was a good deal staggered, but took loave, saying he would make inquiry into the- mattor and sco that Mr Stafford was annoyed no longer. Whon ho came to me with his report I laughod outright, and said— " Why, tho man's mad ! I wonder you did not pee it in him before." "Whatman? tho Professor?" inquired McSweeny, with groat simplicity. " No, this Mr Stafford." McSweeny would not believe it, and I suggested that we should ascertain if he had really drawn £200 from the bank on tho day of the alleged purchase of the jewels. I did not believe tbat he had, but was surprised at the bank ts find that ho had really drawn tho sum. We then wont over every jewel ler's in Princes-stteet, but could not discover one who had sold to anyone on that day the jowols doscribed as stolen so magically. After thinking over these discoveries for a little, I formed in my mind a thoory, which proved protty sound in tho end, and which 1 proceeded to test by going to Mr Stafford's house,in company with McSweony, and hav ing a talk with that gentleman upon genoral topics. When done I felt slightly disap pointed. I could find no trace of insanity ibout the man, but then I ought to have remembered that my profession is pot to detect lunacy, but thieves. Still acting on my theory, I requested permission, and Mr Stafford's assistance, to search the whole house. This was given with the greatest alacrity. We went over evory room and closet, but Mr Stafford's study, without discovering anything. Then we came to that room, and I promptly asked for his keys. The request appeared to stagger him, but was granted, and I turned out all the drawers in his writing table. At the bottom of one of them was an envelope or thick packet, which I took up, but which he as hastily tried to take from me, saying— "That's pnly some bank note*—some money of mine." . Very impolitely as it may seem, 1 retained the envelope, turned out the contents, and found, on counting the notes, that they amounted to £200 exactly. I then handed them to the owner without a comment, and searched no more. With a shrewd sus picion of what I might expect, I went to the Professor whom Mr Stafford had namec ns the persecutor, and from him learned Mr Stafford had on a former occasion been unfortunate enough to injure his brain by over study, and was by the Professors advioe removed to an asylum for the insane. That gentleman, who evinced the liveliest friendship for Mr Stafford, agreed to see his friend at once and report on his mental con dition. The result was that Mr Stafford was proved to be not exactly insane, but in a condition of mental derangement which threatened to become more pronounced, and it was decided that he had better have an experienced attendant from one of the asy lums. This was arranged quiotly, and with very little demur on the part of the patient, but his condition became more grave, and eventually hehad toberemoved to anasylum, in which, witli one brief interval, he has remained ever since. His mind, however, has taken firm hold of the story of the magic jewels, and the development which that in cident has now assumed is that I, the writer of these sketches, was the robber of the jewels, and that, in fear of detection, I smug gled the money I had received for them into his drawer. He also asserts that I declared him insane only to protect myself from the consequences of the crime, and that if I could be removed from power his liberation would at once follow. Poor, suffering humanity! who shall minister to a mind diseased?

NEW PRODUCTS.

A land of corn, and wine, and oil; .1 land flowing with milk and honey."

Such was the description of the Land of Promise of old. In these Australian Colonies, and notably in New Zealand, tho old promise is all but fulfilled. Corn and wine are abundant in Australia, Milk and honey are synonymous with the rural conditions of most of our country dis tricts, but what of oil? In compliance with your request, Mr Editor, I give you these few hastily thrown-together notes on oil crops et alia.

Let me premise by saying that there ia no royal road to wealth, and, least of all, in farming. Success must be the result of patient, persevering experiment and hard work. The " sweat of the brow" 19 still, as in the old days of the first gardener in Eden, an indispensable accompaniment to tillage of any sort. To get the greatest result with the loast expenditure of " sweat " is, how ever, what the practical farmer aims at. By " sweat " I mean trouble, time, monoy, effort. How many farmers are deterred from experimenting by lack of faith ! So many quacks exist nowadays in all profes sions, that nostrums are just as common regarding the operations of tho farm as they are in regard to the ailments of the body. Any notes I may give you, therefore, I may at once state aro the outcome of my own actual experience, and 1 will certainly try not to err on the sido of being over sanguine or too confident. Dogmatic asser tion will not go down with farmers. They want proof, "They demand a sign." Lot my remarks, therefore, bo accepted more as suggestive. They may rouse reflection hero and thero, and reflection may load to action.

One thing farmers lack hero.and naturally so. As yet, communications with markets are incomplete; carriage is expensive, pre carious, and infrequent; freights are ex cessive ; storage is costly ; so they often are at the mercy of the dealers and buyers and cannot hold grain, for instance, till markets stiffen. In such a predicament they shoald remember the homely old adage that "there are more ways of killing a dog than choking him with butter." The practical 'cute Yankee farmer, for instance, when maize is low and freights high, never thinks of tran sporting his crop in bulk. What does he do ? Well, he lets it walk itseH to market. But how? He transforms it into pork. Feeds pigs with it, and these literally, inpropria persona, on their own fat little legs, walk the product of tho American farmer's acres to markot, thus saving all freight charges, and undoubtedly pork pays better than corn. So, too, with any crop that can be manu factured in sititt that is where grown. The saving and other advantages are obvious. As to keeping farm prodi ice, I have experi mented in New South Wales with signal ! success, and have had. testimony from various sources of a like success, with the seeds of the Melia Indiea, or Indian neem tree. It is not unlike the' white cedar in general appearance, but tho leaves have tho valuable property of keeping weevil from grain or seeds, in In dia the natives line their rice-granaries witl i leafy branches of the neem and their rice et ijoys immunity from insect attack. Your B( itanieal Garden authorities hero might get st ieds down, and your farmers should grow tlu i neem-tree on all their farm?. It is ornamental, and the leaves, if used freely, would keep weevil from maize, wheat, peas, or, in fact, any seeds. The leaves, moreover, if macerated, make a splendid healing pouli .ice for cuts, bruises, and all Harts of hurts to farm stock. From the seeds and berries is expressed an evil smelling but most -valuable heal ing oil, which has been uswd. for ages in India with most remedial leffect in all tho ills that cattle-flesh is heir to. PLANT TREES, This is only one of hundreds of valuable trees suitablo for experiment, and farmers should never forget the auld Sc< itch laird's advice to his son Jock, anent tree planting: "Be aye plantin a tree, Jock. It's growing when yore sleepin." Thero ie, for in stance, the box, the cork, tbo tamarind, cedar, bamboos, teak, citronß, lemons, olive, and hosts of others which wou Id grow well here, and, apartfrom their beau ty, a few score planted, say, on the birth a.t a son, would, when he attains his majority, be a handsome marriage gift for him, and go far to settle him comfortably in life. If a daughter, you might plant a double por tion. The termittalia chcbula which produces the myrabolains of commerce, is a troo of this sort. Ono hundred treoa would prqduco yearly probably ton tons of tho fruit or nut used by tanners, and the prico is £12 to £15 per ton. It's no use, pooh-poohing this. I" havo proved it by; actual sales, and Baron Yon Mueller, . the best authority probably living, says j they will grow abundantly a.nd luxuriantly. \ Well, there is the Wattle or Acacias of sorts, and many others. Lc it farmers' clubs and agricultural societies, pay a little more attention to this much-neglected department of farming, and, believe me, there's money in rife. You must have shade-trees and break-winds, and some ornament about your homestead suroly ? Well, a useful tree taken up no more room than the cumberers that so frequently are more of a nuisance than anything else. Boundarua, head lands, rocky and stony ridges, the fringes of meres, pools, and water-course? generally, and, above all, along road sides, all these " waste places" might bei utilised in the way I suggest, and a jmost handsome revenue might, in a very short time, be derived from them.

In dye plants and condiments there are many worthy of a trial. Children should be trained to experiment themselves, and a share given them in the success of their venture. For instance, Safflt >wer, Saffron, Turmeric, Madder, Capsicums, Coriander, Ginger, Arrowroot, Tobacco, F. oppy, and so on, ad infinitum almost, are all well adapted for growth here. Children cottld garner the produce of patches of them, a nd the pro ducts are in every instance merchantable. To give some idea of the yah ie of the oil industry, I believe that the import of oils— linseed and other vegetable oils—into New South Wales, is not far short of iialf a million sterling in annual value. A local oil mills company has lately been started inSydney to import seed and make their onm oil. But why not import it from Kow Zealand as woll as from India ? Why not grow it here at home? It does not requirea very extraor dinary amount of care. It is very prolific. On good land 40 bushels to the acre is not at all an uncommon crop. It will grow well on oven the poorest land, It -will stand extremes of heat; and hard frost ib has been known also successfully to withstand. It can be sown broadcast or by drills.^ You can get for it 5s to 6s per bushel in any British port, or, if you chose to manufacture it yourself on your own farm, as the Yankee farmer would do, an oil mill could be procured easily enough to cost not more than £8 to £10, and an old bullock could work it, and while you would send your oil to market you would reserve the oil-cake for your cattle or pigs, thus forming a most valuable adjunct both to your food supply and manure material. I cannot do better than here let the Editor copy from my latest published volume,* in which I record the result of experiments actually made by me in Sydney, and of much practical cultivation in India:—

" My agricultural friends in the, colony will clearly understand that I am -writing mainly to promote a spirit of inqufcy, and a desiro for intelligent experimunt. It would be very easy to find out whati a given weight of green indigo will yield. The question, first of all, is to find out what weight will the land bring fon;h; how many cuttings are procurable; ;and then the proportion the cost of production will boar to tha value and amount of th« article produced. By all means let us be. sure of our ground first, and not rush blindly into foolish visionary schemes. But to sum up what I have said on indigo, we ha.vo hero a plant that is of immense cdmmercaal value, which is most profitably grown in India, which is hardy, quick of growth, and does not require immoderate care, or the best soil. It is strong to resist long drought and oxtreme heat. Quick to recover scorch ing, blight, or caterpillars which sometimes attack it in its early stages. Ifc will not uccumb to slight frosts. It is unpalatable nought to enjoy immunity^from even the greedy kangaroo or omnivoioua .goat. It is said to be a wonderful agent in destroy ing miasma, and lastly it needs mot to be transported in bulk, but can bo r aanufac tured where it is grown, and alwa ,ys com mands a sale, whilst it retains it 3 ' pride of place' as the only ' fast' vegetable blue the world contains, and wool-dyeing , calico printing, potteries, and other arts and in dustries demand its aid. So much for indigo. I have pn )ved by actual experiment that it can be success fully grown in New South Walef), and I am collecting tha seed which is -ripening in the garden as I write, and will continue the experiment yet another year.

* " Our Australian Cousins." Mu. cmillans London, 1880.1

OIL PL4STS —MUSTARD AXD RAPE,

Wo come now to a class of crop which ie a very common one in India, one that yield" a good return, does not require a very extraordinary amount of care in its cultiva tion, is hardy and prolific, and which I think would be admirably suited to the climate and soil of Australia. I have, in deed, proved that it is so. I refer to the oil Beeds.

Perhaps the most productive of tha group is tho sarsoto or mustard, with its kindred rival tho toree or blaoli rape. The mustard is the beautiful golden yel low variety, from which the mustard oil is expressed, while the brown rape yields the valuable rape oil of commerce. In India these are usually sown broadcast at the beginning of the cold weather. They could very readily be sown hero, after the indigo had yielded its third cutting. A field of rape or mustard in full bloom i» a very lovely sight indeed. It reminds one at a distance of tho golden furze or broom of the old country. For leagues upon loagues in Bengal, Behar, Oudh, and tho north-west during the cold weather, this golden carpet is spread over the land. In January and February the richly-tinted expanse suggests poetic fancies, and reminds one- of a vast ' field of tho cloth of gold.' When it is littlo more than an inch or two inches in height, the rape begins to put forth its blossoms. As tho stalk emerges further and further from the ground fresh successions of beautiful golden blossoms open their tiny petals, and tho pods take their places on the stalk below. Innumerable tiny branchleta shoot off, each bearing its crowns of bloom and wealth of pods beneath, until at length tho last little yellow petals palo and drop off, as the pod asserts itself; and then, as the stalk begins to get dry and withered, tho pods swell, and the seed inside begins to rattle—tho weighted stalk droops its head and bends. Tho natives pluck tho stalks up by the roots, and gather the crop ero it be per fectly ripe. This is to let it ripen on the threshing floor. When perfectly ripe the pods open, and were it allowed to ripen in the field much of the seed would be lost. Tho stalks are not good for much beyond fuel, but the beautiful seed forms a valuable freight to Europe, and the mustard oil is used by every native in Hindustan as a relish to curry and rice, as a medicament, an unguent, and in other different ways. It possesses valuable medicinal properties, is a firs f-rate article of diet, for those who can get over the rather assertive smell, and is of courts most valuable in all the uses and pur poses to which vegetable oils can be applied. There is always a ready sale for the seed. The refuse makes grand feed for cattle, and every village in Bengal possesses its two or three rude oil-mills, and tho taelees or oil merchants are generally among the most in telligent and thriving class of the com- , munity. , . Rape and mustard seem to thrive on any soil. Among the newly cleared tracts of tho forest country, on the high bare uplands and sandy undulations of Goruckpore and North Bhaugulporo, it thrives luxuriantly. Its golden sheen covers the arid slopes of Shahabad, and drapes the flat fertile reaches of Patna with its magnificent mantle of yel low. It is, indeed, a beautiful sight to see leagues of this gorgeous blossom. There are three kinds: the sarsow, or large yellow rape; the toree, a smaller brown seed, not unlike turnip seed, but a little larger ; and the rye, or true mustard. When in full bloom the plant is not unlike a ' shot' turnip, that is, a turnip gono to seed. The seed pods form much in tho same way as turnip or radish pods form, It is very productive, and as it ripens early, the natives often sow it sparsely with their barley or wheat, and pluck it just as these crops are about coming into ear. It does not require weeding, and would, I believe, make a most suitable crop for rough ground here, or newly reclaimed land, where it i might not pay to grow wheat, barley, or : oats. , LINSEED. The linseed which tho natives call teosee is another favourite cold-weather crop. It is frequently Bown along with the toree or barley, but mont commonly is scattered over the early rice stubble, which has_ pre viously had a perfunctory Bcrape with a wooden plough. The linseed has an ex ceedingly pretty pale-blue blossom. This contrasts beautifully with the golden yellow of tbo toree ; and at such a time, when the weather is cool and bracing, the rich crop garnered, and there are prospects of good moisture for the indigo, cane, tobacco, or maize, the Indian farmer's life is not at all an unenviable one.

There exists a large and a small kind of linseed. Its uses are too familiar to my readers to require elucidation here, but I , am certain that if experiments were made on the scale I have suggested with all these oil-socds, that on such places as the Bellin- , ger, tho Tweed, the .Richmond, Hunter, , and Clarence, and the finest riverine dis tricts of New South Wales, the oilmill * would become as necessary and common an adjunct to the selector's farm as the barn and threshing-mill are to tho Scotch ? and English farms at homo. , The til or sesmum is another crop, culti- * vated in high sandy uplands, in many_places ° near the Nepaulese boundary. It yields a delicious aromatic oil, which could be used in a thousand ways in the arts, but it is more of a specialty than the rape or lin seed, and I daresay would not be so valu able as a farming crop. [N.B. —The til or sesamumoil forms one of the chief adultera tions of olive oil, and is delicious as an article of food.] YIELD TER ACRE. I can scarcely estimate the yield that might be expected from these oil seeds, as all my calculations are based on the Indian figures, but from one ' beegah' in Chum parun, I have raised thirty-four ' maunds' ,of mustard seed, and this was sown amongst a field of sugar-cane which I had planted as feed for my plough bullocks, Now a ' beegah' is some 1240 square yards. An acre is 4S4o— ergo, a ' beegah' is somewhat more than a quarter of an acre. It will be practically near enough, allowing for batter farming and a richer- soil, if we say a quar ter of an acre. A ' maund' is eighty lbs, avoirdupois, this would make the yield of an acre, roughly, 10,880 lbs., or say ninety-six cwt. The average price in Cal cutta for the seed is two rupeesieight annas to three rupees, or say five shillings to cix shillings. This would make about £24 an cere. I must say that thirty-four 'maunds' to a ' beegah' is an exceptionally good crop; still I am sanguine that such would be no uncommon yield in the Australian colonies, and were the oil expressed, it would fetch more than the seed. The residue forms a splendid fattening feed for stock, and the product is not bulky, but readily transport able;. Linseed fetches a higher price, but for both products there is a constant and steady demand.- Linseed is generally credited by tho Indian farmer with being an exhaustive crop ; indeed, all oil seeds seem to "be more or less exhaustive, but I have nerver yet seen land so utterly poor as not to be able to produce a pretty fair growth of rape. It seems to grow readily anywhere in India. Onthisaccountthe natives generally sow it in their worst lands, but whero it gets a rich soil, the vigour of its growth is amazing. In rich factory lands I have often seen it 'laid' in the same way as rank wheat—lying in tangled masses on the humid soil, quite unable to support its wealthy weight of well-filled seed pods. THE CASTOK OIL TLANT. Of the castor-oil plant what shall I say ? Nearly all my readers are acquainted with the peculiar properties of the oil itself, I have little doubt. The plant grows like a weed, fcwt with proper treatment it is cap able of forming a most valuable crop. In India it is generally planted on the head ridges of tho fields, or on the banks and along the sides of ditches. The women pluck the berries, or bunches of prickly looking- nuts, or pods, or whatever they aro called. These are dried, husked! in a mortar by a wooden pestle, and then p«ut through the oil mill. When the bushes are freely nipped and pruned, and the plant kept down like a shrub, and not allowed to straggle, its producing power is much augmented. Ido not know, however, what amount per 'beegah' it would pro duce, as. I only grew enough along thp banks to yield oil for tho press-house, screws, and machinery about the factory. HEMP. Sunn, sunnai, or hemp, is another common, crop with the Indian farmers. It is sown very thickly, has a large beautiful bell-shaped yellow flower, grows to a height of from six to eight feet, and each farmer grows just enough to afford him material to make his cordage for tho year, and yield enough tow to put round tho axle 3 of his old patched-up bullock cart. It could, I daresay, bo easily grown in Australia, and is certainly worthy of ex perimental trial- THE SUNFLOWER. Let me say a few words now of the gatliower. I have already seen some very fine samples grown from the seed which . have imported from India. In India it is generally planted in rows round the edges of the poppy fields. The seeds are put in at I about a foot apart. The plant is hardy,

and of quick growth. Tho produce is con tained in tho lower. Tho aafflower is nob unlike a thistle-hoad in bloom, or perhaps an artichoke ia a bettor illustration. When the pretty yellow flower.has fully ' opened, the women and children, with tucked up clothes, go into the field, and pick tho floweM, much as cotton is picked, and theso are then spread out on bamboo mats, and put on tho roof of the hut to dry. As it dries, it assumes a deep orange hue : a deep, intonsoly vivid orange. This ia quite a feature in Indian villages. The lovely touches of colour give quite an air of beauty, which lights up the. otherwise rather unlovely surroundings of theordinary Indian hut or village, with quite anartistic and charming effect. On every thatched roof in tho early mornings of Fobruary, one may see the crimson of the capsicums, con trasting beautifully with the brilliant orange of the newly washed puggree or sareo spread along the lowly eave9 to dry; or maybe fluttering gaily in the wind, a parti-coloured flag of quaiat device erected on a high bamboo, and sacred to one or other of tho multitudinous array of tho Hi» doo mythological creations. The dried fiowor is valuable. In tha Indian bazaars it is sold by tho ounce—and at times a rupee will only buy its owm weight of tho precious dye. It ia used also as a drug, and I havo proved it might bo cultivated successfully here in patches. It would form a valuable cottage industry, but perhaps is scarcely suitable for a farming crop on a large scale. [N. B.—lt is used chiefly in silk dying, nnd carmine is made from it.] . BDsides these there are Jowar, ISajra, Murrowah Gonnara, and a host of other kiuda of grain, which form valuable food staples, and which arc perfectly adapted, I am sure, for this country, i.e., New South Wales. Those 1 liavo juat named belong to tho millet family ; and, apart from their grain-producing qualifications, they are most valuable as being all of them excellent fodder p'.ants. Indeed, tho Indian gennara is, next to su«ar-cano, tho great stand-by of the Indigo planter for fodder to bi3 laiga staff of draught cattle, which he has to keep well fed if he wants his indigo lands kept at tho proper standard of cultivation. Then, again, there are the valuable leg umes, such as tho dall, nyjssoorco, muttur, channa, lombeea, and a host of others. The channa is the well-known gram, than which there is probably no bettor horse-feed in the world. Surely they arc all worthy of a trial ! But how is tho struggling farmer to try them ? which brings mo back to my former complaint once more. That agriculture has not roceived the attention its vast importance merits is un deniable. Perhaps these few short, hurried notes may lead some of my farming Aus tralian readers to think. If thinking will but lead to action, and a fair trial be given to such of our Indian seeds as may seom most promising, certain I am that tho available crops of the Australian farmer can be increased many-fold. Certain am I, too, j that more suitable products for his soil and | climate than those he nowjsultivates, with such an oftentimes precarious return, can 'be readily obtained;, and that it behoveß our fanners and our Government to mutually aid each other to make the fecund earth yield her best and fittest increase, and make this magnificent country indeed a land of corn, and wine, and oil."

James Inglis,

What the Naval Engagement of the Future May Be.

The role of the torpedo boat is terrible, and those who direct its movements are ex posed to the greatest dangers. A single heavy shot may shatter it to atoms, and when it approaches the enemy a hail of balls from the mitrailleuses and rifles will do terrible execution on board. Therefore the mere fact of embarking on a torpedo boat is a guarantee ef bravery. Figure to yourßelf the situation of the officer in com mand of such a torpedo boat, who is ordered to sink a ship of the enemy's squadron. All his surroundings constitute one vast danger. The very sea that hides and protects him daring the first part of this expedition may in another moment toes his corpse hither and thither upon its waves. His adversary will seek to riddle the boat with a rain of steel, cast iron, and lead. The torpedo itself, which carries such terror witli it, might be touched with a missile and explode, bursting the torpedo boat into atoms.

The combat commences. The vessels of the fleet have opened fire. Shells raiu in all directions. One of our cruisers, cannon aded heavily on the starboard side by a fort mounting twelve Krupp cannon, is simultaneously attacked on the larboard side by one of the enemy's ironclads. •• She ft has already suffered severely, and her posi tion becomes critical. A mast-signal from the admiral's ship is given, and a torpedo boat starts. The watchful onemy has ob served the signal. He knows the danger, and at once concentrates all fire upon the little grey speck which is shooting rapidly towards him. Three miles separate them, and the torpedo boat must make the throe miles in ten minutes. If itis not sunk before it has traversed that distance, the ironclad is lost. Therefore the cannoniors point their guns with the most scrupulous care. The first shells pass wido of the mark; but the aim is rectified, and soon the shells fall so near the torpedo-boat that they throw water over it. Now one has fallen right "at its prow. A geyser of water thirty-seven feat high conceals the torpedo-boat; tho enemy believes it has been sunk, and utter a , tremendous cheer. But the projectile has I only ricochetted and passed over it. The j water falls baok in rain, and the brave little vessel reappears all streaming with biine, as though it bad emerged from the sea depths, and rushes on at full steam in the ! face of death. J There are only nin6 men on board, and j they are going to attack a sort of leviathan j carrying an -immense crew. It is not the ' fight of one against ten, but of one against; a hundred. Not a single word is uttered beyond the necessary orders. Those men whom death [ already touches with his finger are silent < and grave. And do not'suppose for a mo ment that they do not think of the danger. On the contrary, they think of nothing else. But it is not of their own danger they are thinking, but of the danger of failure. It is essential that the torpedo-boat shall roach the enemy's flank and rescue our cruiser. After that, if the torpedo-boat sinks,, so much the worse!

Every nerve is strained, every eye is directed toward the object in view. Now the boat is only five hundred yards away; from the ironclad. The fire of the mitrail leuses mingles with the shower of sholls and swoops the deck ; everything wooden is splintered to atoms with grapeshot. An incessant fire of repeating rifles from the mast tops of the ironclad plays over the torpedo boat; and the balls, entering through the few openings in the decks, havai already disabled three men. They lie in a corner to which they were able to drag themselves, for there is no time now to attend to them. They may be thought of in! two minutes more—after the fate of all shall; have been decided.

The torpedo-boat has almost reached itel enemy. Tho success of the expedition id now assured, for the shell batteries arc* powerless to harm her at such ehort range. Th 6 rifle fire, terrible as it is, cannot sinlsj her. It can only kill some of her crew—|! but that is of no great consequence I Now] is tho time when the captain needs all hup surety of eye and coolness of will; now Mi the time that his men must execute orders' with the rapidity of lightning, for iftbjji torpedo be fired a second too soon, it will! fail to do its terrible duty, and yet if there! be a delay of a moment the torpedo-boal must dash itself to pieces against tho eidei of its mighty adversary. Now the boat seems almost ready to toucl the enemy's vessel. Hand-grenades flund upon her deck rebound and burst; one mat is killed ; the captain has received a terrible wound in the faco ; but summoning all hi! strength, be supports himself erect ogams' tho iron wall by a sublime effort of will1 Livid, drenched with blond, but terriblj in his calm resolve and bravery, lie keep! his eye still upon tho encmyT" "Ready! Lot her go !" The awful missile is launched. A heav ing surge appears in the water, and I frightfnl crackling noise is heard, followef by a terrible cry of distress. Tho pigm'j has conquered the giant. , J " Hard a starboard I" And the little vessel, suddenly wheelinj aronnd, steams away at full speed, whili the enemy's ironclad sinks to the bottomj Ten minutes afterwards tho torpedo-bol has returned to its post beside the admiral vessel, the admiral sends for the captain ii congratulate him. He is carried to him 4 a bier. Meanwhile tho fight goes on. I now expedition may prove neccesary! I provisory captain is at once appointed, wifl four men to complete the decimated ere* and the torpedo-boat is ready to fulfil ar other mission ; it has another band of horof to direct it.

DECLINE OF MAN.-Nerrooi TOitaM,, jwJ

THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, MAY 16, 1885.