ocean, lathery with froth; but no effects. At
last I ask a group of fishermen smoking
stolidly, in a sort of glum parliament, under
the black side of a small lugger, drawn up on
the beach.

"Have you, my good men, seen anything of
this large Indiaman that they say is likely to
be driven on shore?"

The men look at me with horny eyes. They
make no reply. One ruffian thrusts his tongue
into his hideous cheek. The rascals shake their
heads, and, as I move on, a disgustingly
impertinent boy feeding a donkey by a cabstand
couches his forehead with assumed idiocy, and,
looking steadily out at sea, dances a double
shuffle on the shingle, thrusts his hands in his
pockets, and sings something about "Not for
Joe." Who's Joe? Then all the other smugglers
and villains laugh boisterously, and one
lubberly villain, lying flat on the shingle,
pretends to swim violently on shore.

I walk away disgusted at the degradation of
our lower orders, and sneer mentally at
universal or any other sort of suffrage. As I enter
the town by Jones-street, I meet the deceiver
of the morning in high spirits. He is sold out—
nothing left in his baskets, but a smear of red,
and half a dozen silver spangles. I stop him and
interrogate him bluntly.

"Well, sir," he says, "I confess it was a bit
of a stretcher; but there was a Green's Indiaman
me and my mates spoke in the night, and,
Lor' bless you, the Lonnon gents here do like
them yarns about the dangers of the seas, and
so we fatten them up with 'em—we make a
point of it—and besides (here he winked slowly
at me with his blind and leaden eye), don't ye
see, it helps to sell the fish."

So passed away my morning's dream at
Herringtown; so, too, have passed away many
dreams that have lasted men their whole lives.

FATAL ZERO.
A DIARY KEPT AT HOMBURG: A SHORT SERIAL STORY.
CHAPTER XVII.

Here are some of this fry who do not
scruple to inhale the scent of the
gambling flowers, to walk on the gambling
walks, to sit down, as I see they do now,
on the gambling seats. A benevolent
father, according to the stage phrase,
portly, puffed, and placid, enjoying these
scandalous blessings, as he sits between
his two children, he is, no doubt, quite
satisfied with himself and them. "It is
really very pleasant, all this sort of thing,
and the people here do it very nicely, very
nicely indeed—so much good seems to be
done." How I remember them—those nice
girls, for one of whom I put down her
money. It gave me a thrill to see her, for
no doubt, good as she was, she had led me
into this fatal fit. I turned back to avoid
them, but they rose and followed me.

"Come here, Mr. Austen, we want to
speak to you," said the portly father.

The young girl, Constance, was beside me.

"O, we have been looking for you everywhere,
and, indeed, we were so sorry to
hear that you have been unfortunate."

This was free and easy. She would
have called the mislaying of her gloves a
misfortune.

"Has it been so talked about?" I answered,
bitterly; " I thought that losing
was the ordinary condition of things here.
It is no nine days' wonder, I presume?"

"No, indeed," she said gently; "but we
were looking on, and then we heard from
Mr. D'Eyncourt——"

"O, he talks of me, does he? What right
has he to concern himself with my affairs?
He is not my friend—as it is, he has
meddled too much already, and I am not
going to put up with it, even in this place,
where so much can be put up with."

"Then it is true?" she said, looking at
me with alarm; "and I reproach myself
bitterly, as it was my foolish eagerness that
led you on to it."

I did not know what answer to make
to her. But her father came up and said,

"Come, Mr. Austen, we are English in
a foreign land, and that should draw us
together and make us excuse each other.
I may be as free surely to you as I would
wish you to be to me. Go, dear, and walk
a little, I want to ask our friend something."

"I have no secrets. I should not care if
the whole collection in this——" I was
beginning excitedly when he stopped me.

"Now, let us talk sensibly; first of all,
don't imagine any offence is meant to you;
and, secondly, don't fancy that I am to
be offended. I am a plain, straightforward,
English gentleman, and like my own way
when I have anything in my head. We
have a lord whom all our country bench is
in terror of, but I don't care a button on
that frock coat for him."

"And how do these private matters of
yours concern me?" I asked.

"Just listen; I don't know what you
may have lost, whether little or much, that
is no affair of ours, nor of the mob gathered
here; but really there is something so
strange in your appearance, something so
full of despair, that every good person must
be distressed by it."

"They have surely no business with me,
or with my looks——"

"I am really afraid, even as a mere
stranger, lest your health, or worse, your