our available fuel amounted to a deal board or
two, and so small a fire would, probably, have
attracted no observation. We passed a nervous
miserable night, and the poor women and
children especially. As the iceberg grated
backwards and forwards on the top of the bank, we
feared she was going to pieces: but her timbers
(to speak metaphorically) were well put
together, and she held out bravely until morning.

Never in my life did I feel so glad to see
the day dawn. We were unspeakably
delighted at about sunrise to observe several boats
putting out from the settlement. The people
in them had put off (it seemed when they came
alongside) from motives of curiosity to visit the
iceberg, but were perfectly astonished at finding
her freighted with passengers.

The official in charge of the boats said,
"We must observe some discipline in getting
the people on board, or we shall have the boats
swamped. Where is the captain?"

"I am the captain," quoth Tom White.
boldly.

"Then, sir, perhaps you will have the kindness
to arrange your people in detachments."

Tom bustled about with great pomp, looking
fully two inches taller after having been called
"Sir," and having been addressed so politely by
the government officer.

By this time more boats had arrived from
shore, and the scanty population of the port
were to be seen running to and fro like ants
whose nest had been disturbed.

"Are these all your crew and passengers,
captain?" asked the governor of the island, as
he stepped aboard the iceberg.

"Hall, your worship," answered Tom,
apparently with some indistinct impressions of
veneration, derived from the Thames Police Court;
"the others," he continued solemnly, "has met
a watery grave."

"Beg your pardon, sir," said a boatman, touching
his cap to Tom White, "but there's a lot
more people, t'other side the berg."

A rush of boats immediately gave way with a
will to the spot indicated, and presently
returned, bringing off the captain, chief mate,
second mate, third mate, boatswain, doctor,
steersman, and midshipmen. Being in the after-
part of the ship when the catastrophe occurred,
they had all leapt on board the iceberg together.
And it seemed that we had searched six valleys,
but had omitted to examine the seventh.

Poor Tom White! I believe he was a kind-
hearted fellow, and well pleased to find that
not a single life had been sacrificed on board
the Golden Dream; and yet I am sure he
was sorry to see the captain again. He spoke
not a word on his way to the shore, but hung
down his head, and looked much depressed. In
the evening, however, under the influence of a
liberal libation of grog from His Excellency the
Governor, he recovered his spirits, and described
his manner of navigating the iceberg into port, in
terms which I think no Falkland Islander will
ever forget. As for the iceberg, I understand
that she remained for many months grounded on
the sand-bank; at length, under the influence
of numerous storms of rain, the ceaseless dashing
of the waters, and the warmth of the chilly
southern summer, she crumbled to pieces, and
disappeared.

We were all placed on board a Californian
trader bound for New York. Here, I parted
from Schlafenwohl, who had determined to
settle in the United States. There was some
slight coolness between us. I had positively
declined to share the same cabin with him, on
account of his snoring, and the worthy German
was offended. Consequently, I proceeded to
Liverpool by the Cunard steamer from Boston,
alone. On reaching London, I at once
forwarded a written statement of our extraordinary
escape to the Committee at Lloyd's. It was
authenticated by Tom White's mark; as he, like
many other great men, was unable to read or
write. A few days afterwards, I received a
requisition to attend before the Committee of
Lloyd's, which I at once obeyed, when the
following conversation ensued between myself and
the Chairman:

"Pray, Mr. Monkhouse, is your family of
German origin?"

"No, sir; we have been settled for centuries
in East Kent."

"Oh, I beg your pardon; I thought the
name of Monkhouse might have been a corruption
of the name of a certain Baron, whose
extraordinary adventures have long been known
to the public."

HIS BROWN-PAPER PARCEL.

MY works are well known. I am a young
man in the Art line. You have seen my works
many a time, though it's fifty thousand to one if
you have seen me. You say you don't want to
see me? You say your interest is in my works
and not in me? Don't be too sure about that.
Stop a bit.

Let us have it down in black and white at the
first go off, so that there may be no unpleasantness
or wrangling afterwards. And this is looked
over by a friend of mine, a ticket-writer, that is
up to literature. I am a young man in the Art
line—in the Fine Art line. You have seen my
works over and over again, and you have been
curious about me, and you think you have seen
me. Now, as a safe rule, you never have seen
me, and you never do see me, and you never will
see me. I think that's plainly put—and it's
what knocks me over.

If there's a blighted public character going,
I am the party.

It has been remarked by a certain (or an
uncertain) philosopher, that the world knows
nothing of its greatest men. He might have put
it plainer if he had thrown his eye in my
direction. He might have put it, that while the
world knows something of them that apparently
go in and win, it knows nothing of them that
really go in and don't win. There it is again in
another form—and that's what knocks me over.

Not that it's only myself that suffers from