children to come unto me." Even at this distant time, when that poor boy has been a hundred years "where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest," the tears rise to our eyes when we think of his forlorn condition, deprived of his noble protector.

"I will take him," said the steward, however, who had now succeeded to the command, and that good man kept his word. The natives never gave them so much as a drink of water, though "now and then the women gave a draught of milk to the little boy," and the little party began to break down from sheer fatigue and privation. When this took place, from hard necessity there was no chance but for the rest to leave them.

"THEY CARRIED HIM BY TURNS."

Only they never dreamed of leaving the boy. "It was marvellous," we are told, how he supported the journey (and, alas! how much more marvellous, since he was fated not to survive it after all). "Where the path was even and good," says John Hynes, in his simple fashion, "the child walked, and was able to keep pace with the party; when they came to deep sand or long grass, the people carried him by turns." His only duty was to keep their fire alight while they explored the sand for food.

It will be remembered that, having no flint and steel, they always carried torches; and once, in rounding a bluff to shorten the way, the surf put them out; they came, however, upon the remains of a fire which some Caffre women had lighted, "and joyfully rekindled them." In crossing the rivers where there was a ford, they tied their rags in a bundle, fastened it round their heads, and in it they stuck their brands, and thus kept them dry. Sometimes great storms would come on, and the rain fall so heavily that the men had to hold their canvas frocks over their fire to prevent its being extinguished. Without fire, they would have been lost indeed.

Many times, from causes over which they had no control, the little party separated, but they never forgot one another. Those before used to write upon the sand whatever direction could be of benefit to those behind; such as, "Turn in here, and you will find wood and water." It makes the heart bleed to think that so much tenderness and good-fellowship, maintained under such trying circumstances, should have failed in the end, and have been shown, as it were, for nothing. And yet it was not for nothing. It is impossible to believe that those brave men have not gained their reward, and some great reward for their terrible sufferings. And as to "use," it should be of great and good use to us all to have such an example set before us.

Sometimes those left behind would turn up again, having proceeded, when a little refreshed, by some shorter way; but they had always the same tale of ill-usage and privation to tell. Hynes himself, having been wounded by the natives, was left for dead on one occasion, but recollecting the way his companions intended to pursue by great exertions he overtook them. "I shall bear the scar of that lance wound to my grave," he says.

One day the cooper died, and was buried in the sand. This happened in Hynes's absence, and as he had an affection for the man, he asked to be shown the spot; but on arriving at it, the body had already been dug up and carried away by some wild animal, as could be perceived by its foot-prints. The steward and his charge were now taken ill, and since the rest could not find it in their hearts to leave the child, they staid with him. "Having prepared early in the morning whatever could be obtained for breakfast, and willing to treat his tender frame with all the indulgence in their power, they meant to call him when everything was ready. He still rested near the fire, where all had slept during the night before; but on going to wake him, they found his soul had taken flight to another world." These are the words in which John Hynes describes the misfortune which he evidently considers the worst that had hitherto befallen them. As for the steward, "the loss," we are told, "of one who had been so long the object of his care nearly overcame him. It was with the utmost difficulty his companions got him along."

Presently Robert Fitzgerald asks for a shell of water; Hynes supplies him with one, which he drinks with great avidity. He then asks for another, which, "having received, he swallows with equal relish, and laying himself down, instantly expires." They all thought this a very happy death, and were envious of it. Then William Fruel sinks exhausted on the sand; his companions from necessity go on to seek wood and water, but promise to return to him. Turning their eyes back, they see him crawling after them; but on returning for him after a few hours, they find some wild beast has carried him away.

It would be painful to describe in detail what they now suffered; "former distresses were not to be compared to it." One after another drops from exhaustion; the rest "shake hands with him, and recommending him to Heaven for that assistance which they themselves can not afford, leave him to expire." The party of forty-three are at length reduced to three, John Hynes, Evans, and Wormington, and the senses of even these are so impaired that they can hardly hear or see. One morning the torments of thirst become so intolerable that Wormington begs the two others to cast lots with him as to who shall die for the rest, that by drinking his blood the other two may survive. To which Hynes replies that if he (Hynes) drops, they may do what they will with him, but as long as he can walk he will consent to no such thing. The idea is then abandoned by common consent, nor is it renewed when Wormington falls, and "with one feeble effort to rise, stretches himself on the shore, burying his right hand in the sand."

The next morning the two survivors perceive some objects which to their failing powers look like "large birds." They turn out to be four of their own party, who had been left behind, now nearly blind, and almost reduced to idiocy. It was a most ghastly meeting. Since they could no longer search narrowly for food, they would certainly have now starved to death but for watching the motions of certain sea-birds, which, after scratching in the sand, they perceived let something drop out of their beaks. On searching for themselves, the poor men found that the birds were catching shell-fish which had burrowed in the sand.

On the one hundred and seventeenth day of their journey, (though they knew nothing themselves of dates) these six unfortunates at last met with a European—a Dutch settler. "Their joy was such that, combined with their weak condition, it could only be expressed by convulsive movements." But "after gaining some composure," they learned they were within the limits of the settlements, and not above three hundred miles from the Cape of Good Hope.

They were received with the utmost hospitality, which it seemed was offered with some imprudence, since on being supplied with bread and milk, "their voracity was such as to have almost proved their destruction." After being carefully nursed, and in some degree recovered, they were forwarded in carts to the nearest town, which was two hundred miles distant. "During the whole way, wherever they passed the night, the farmers assembling to hear their sad story, and supplying them with all of which they stood in need."

Nay, notwithstanding that England and Holland were then at war, the Dutch Governor of the Cape of Good Hope dispatched a very strong expedition through the country in quest of the other castaways, should any still remain. They met William Hubberly, servant of the second mate, staggering on alone, "melancholy and forlorn." On other parts of the road they met seven Lascars and two of the black female servants. From these they learned that five days after the ship's company had separated another