somewhat picturesque cookery of Mrs. Becker; there was her famous peccary pie, with ravansara sauce, followed by her delicious preserved mango and seaweed jelly.  Nor did she hesitate to draw upon the raw material of the colony now and then for a new hash or soup, taking care, however, to keep in view the maxim that prudence is the mother of safety—­an adage that was rather roughly handled by the renowned French linguist, Madame Dacier, who, on one occasion nearly poisoned her husband with a Lacedemonian stew, the receipt for which she had found in Xenophon.

Luckily Becker’s wife did not know Greek, consequently he ran no risk of being entertained with a classic dinner; but he was often reminded by his thoughtful partner of Meg Dod’s celebrated receipt:  before you cook your hare, first—­catch it.

Sophia desired earnestly to have a share in the culinary government; but having shown on her first trial, too decided a leaning towards puddings and pancakes, her second essay was put off till she became more thoroughly penetrated with the value of the eternal precept utile dulci, which signifies that, before dessert it is requisite to have something substantial.

As soon as they had finished their afternoon meal, Willis departed on one of his customary mysterious excursions; and Jack, who, like the birds that no sooner hop upon one branch than they leap upon another, had also disappeared.  It was not long, however, before he made his appearance again; he came running in almost out of breath, and cried at the top of his voice,

“I have discovered him!”

“Whom?” exclaimed half a dozen voices.

“The inhabitant of the moon?” inquired Ernest.

“No.”

“I know,” said Sophia playfully, “your go-cart and my doll.”

“No, I have discovered Willis’ secret.”

“If you have been watching him, it is very wrong.”

“No, father; seeing some thin columns of smoke rising out of a thicket, I thought a bush was on fire; but on going nearer, I saw that it was only a tobacco-pipe.”

“Was the pipe alone, brother?”

“No, not exactly, it was in Willis’ mouth; and there he sat, so completely immersed in ideas and smoke, that he neither heard nor saw me.”

“That he does not smoke here,” remarked Becker, “I can easily understand; but why conceal it?”

“Ah,” replied Mrs. Wolston, “you do not know Willis yet;—­beneath that rough exterior there are feelings that would grace a coronet:  he is, no doubt, afraid of leading your sons into the habit.”

“That is very thoughtful and considerate on his part.”

“He was always smoking on board ship, and it must have been a great sacrifice for him to leave it off to the extent he has done lately.”

“Then we shall not allow him to punish himself any longer; and as for the danger of contagion from his smoking here, that evil may perhaps be avoided.”