about a mile from Netley, the walkers passed
a reservoir, which supplies the hospital with
water. The night being hot and close, Mr.
Striedinger wished to give his dog a swim. He
whistled again and again, but no Worry came; so
he made up his mind that the dog had been hunting
for his own private amusement, and had lost
the track, as there was very little scent on the
ground. Worry's master did not trouble
himself about his whereabout, as he had been for
years a very independent dog, quite up to
taking care of himself, and would doubtless find
his way home later. Mr. Striedinger's arrived
at the hospital, and was preparing to go to bed,
when he remembered that he had to answer two
letters, which he had received by that afternoon's
post, just as he was starting with his
friends for Westend. These letters were of
great importance, and when Mr. Striedinger
had looked for them without success he felt
extremely uncomfortable. He instituted a search
all over his rooms, turned his writing-case
topsy-turvy, looked through his desk; but all
in vain. He then took a light, and had a hunt
in every nook and corner of his office; but came
back empty-handed. Thoroughly tired and
discomposed, he went to bed. Unable to sleep,
he got up in the middle of the night to
make another and an equally fruitless search.
At last the morning sun began to light up the
rooms, which was a signal for fresh investigation,
with the same result. Then, and not
before, the idea struck him that, the letters having
been delivered just as he was starting for the
croquet party, he must have read them on the
way thither, and must have then put them
in his coat-pocket; but when he thrust his hand
into the pocket, and drew it back empty, he felt
convinced that his letters were lost beyond all
chance of recovery. Hoping against hope,
however, he resolved to make one more effort.

He rushed off, unshaven and unkempt,
to retrace his steps of the previous day,
looking right and left, turning over every
scrap of paper he saw lying on the road,
stopping wherever he recollected that he and
his companions had stopped the day before,
mistaking every object that was conspicuously
light in the distance for the papers, and
growing more despairing every minute.
After walking on for about three miles, he
espied a black object lying close to the
footpath. It was Worry's black head. Reproaching
himself for having in his great uneasiness
forgotten his favourite, he whistled to Worry,
who, however, instead of showing his usual
alacrity, remained lying motionless on the
ground. His owner supposed him to be caught
in one of the snares with which he knew the
common to be thickly studded; but, on his
approaching Worry, up jumped the dog, leaving
exposed to Mr. Striedinger's delighted view, the
missing letters, together with a number of
other loose papers. There had been a very
heavy dew that night, and Worry's curly coat
was as wet as if he had had an hour's swim in
the neighbouring reservoir; but the papers were
as dry, hot, and crisp, as a breakfast roll out of
a baker's oven. There were marks of teeth
on one or two of them, showing, either that
before having had recourse to his subsequent
and successful expedient for preserving his
master's property Worry had endeavoured to
collect and carry the scattered manuscripts, or,
which is more probable, that he had—finding
them too numerous to allow of his acting on his
retrieving instincts—brought all the outlying
letters within reach of the shelter of his
outstretched body. It was now eight o'clock.
This devoted dog had been on guard over
these papers for sixteen hours, ever since the
friends went to Westend at about four o'clock
on Wednesday afternoon. It must have been
then, and not on the return to Netley, that
Mr. Striedinger dropped his letteis. For they
fell out of a breast-pocket of the coat, which
he hung over his arm when walking in the
sultry heat of the afternoon, but which he
wore on his way home at night, when it would
be impossible for the contents of the pocket so
to escape. The gentlemen in returning must
have made some slight deviation from the
path by which they had gone, and in this manner
must have missed the sentinel, Worry.

THE MURDERED ORDERLY.

THERE was an Hungarian in my staff, a man
closely bordering on middle age, and of
extraordinary intelligence and information. He spoke
five languages: his native tongue, English,
French, German, and Spanish: and possessed
an extensive knowledge of the history of many
lands. My first encounter with him in
Australia was rather curious, and shows what
singular coincidences will occur in life.

I had camped one evening, after many miles
of travel, near a welcome water-hole, and
was sitting on a log wearily waiting for the
"billy" to boil, when a man rode up driving
three horses before him. He saluted me in a
slightly foreign accent, and was proceeding
further on, when I told him that as tea was
nearly ready he had better halt there. This is
customary. God bless the gallant, the generous
pioneer squatters of Queensland! I say it, not so
much on account of their kindness to me, for
they might be supposed to bestow it on account
of the office I fill; but the weary traveller, high
or low, is sure of a shelter and a hearty welcome
to every comfort the station can bestow.

After he had unsaddled and let his horses go
loose, our dialogue commenced.

"You look ill. Have you fever and ague ?"
I asked.

"Very bad, sir; I am on my way to town for
advice and change of air."

Here he commenced shivering violently, and
I gave him a strong dose of quinine, which, with
a hot cup of tea, gave him speedy relief. I sat
up till a late hour that night, hearing passages
of a life full of adventure and of struggle.

He had been an officer of cavalry, and