"Here he is," said Mrs. Bright; "that is
Mr. Jolliffe."

The stranger lifted his hat very politely,
made a very low bow to Mrs. Jolliffe, and
then, looking a good deal moved, said to
George, "My name is Anckersvœrd." "Oh,"
said George; all that rushing into his mind
which the stranger immediately proceeded to
inform him.

"I am," said he, "the son of the gentleman
who, in the wreck of the 'Danemand,'
experienced your kind care. I would have a
little conversation with you."

George stood for a moment as if confused,
but Mrs. Jolliffe hastened to open the door
with the key, and bade Mr. Anckersvœrd
walk in. "You are an Englishman?" said
George, as the stranger seated himself.
"No." he replied, "I am a Dane, but I was
educated to business in Hull, and I look on
England as my second country. Such men
as you, Mr. Jolliffe, would make one proud of
such a country, if we had no other interest
in it." George Jolliffe blushed, Mrs. Jolliffe's
eyes sparkled with a pleasure and pride that
she took no pains to conceal. A little
conversation made the stranger aware that
misfortune had fallen heavily on this little family
since George had so nobly secured the
property and remains of his father.

"Providence," said Mr. Anckersvœrd,
"evidently means to give full effect to our
gratitude. I was fast bound by the winter at
Archangel, when the sad news reached me, or
I should have been here sooner. But here I
am, and in the name of my mother, my sister,
my wife, my brother, and our partners, I beg,
Mr. Jolliffe, to present you with the best
fishing-smack that can be found for sale in
the port of Hull—and if no first-rate one can
be found, one shall be built. Also, I ask
your acceptance of one hundred pounds, as
a little fund against those disasters that
so often beset your hazardous profession.
Should such a day come—let not this
testimony of our regard and gratitude make
you think we have done all that we would.
Send at once to us, and you shall not send
in vain."

We need not describe the happiness which
Mr. Anckersvœrd left in that little house that
day, nor that which he carried away in his
own heart. How rapidly Mrs. Jolliffe
recovered her health and strength, and how
proudly George Jolliffe saw a new "Fair
Susan" spread her sails very soon for the
deep-sea fishing. We had the curiosity the
other day to enquire whether a "Fair Susan"
was still amongst the fishing vessels of the
port of Scarborough. We could not discover
her, but learnt that a Captain Jolliffe, a fine,
hearty fellow of fifty is master of that noble
merchantman, the "Holger-Danske," which
makes its regular voyages between
Copenhagen and Hull, and that his son, a promising
young man, is an esteemed and confidential
clerk in the house of Davidsen, Anckersvœrd
and Co., to whom the "Holger-Danske" belongs.
That was enough; we understood it all, and
felt a genuine satisfaction in the thought that
the seed of a worthy action had fallen into
worthy soil, to the benefit and contentment of
all parties. May the "Holger-Danske" sail
ever!

THE YOUTH AND THE SAGE.

YOUTH.

OH, Sage, the parentage of Wisdom tell!
She seems not of the earth—but from above?

SAGE.

Good Youth, she's part of earth, men know too well;
Pain is her father—but her mother, Love.

THE DEVONSHIRE DORADO.

A DISCOVERY is not thought much of, which
has been made not less than ten thousand
miles or so from home. Even California
would have taxed our credulity for a much
longer time than it did before conviction
arrived in huge lumps and scales of gold, had
it been within an easy sail of John o'Groat's
or Land's End. Hence it has happened that
the resources of our own English wilds and
wastes are wholly overlooked—so busy are
we straining our eyes afar, to magnify and
exaggerate the treasures of the antipodes.
Who, for instance, ever thinks of that great
granite back-bone of the County of Devon—
Dartmoor—except as a run for sheep, or as a
grand show-place for the lovers of the
picturesque? No very deep researches below the
surface of this celebrated moor enable us,
however, to perceive wealth-producing
materials, if not so readily marketable, quite as
valuable as the same number of square acres
in California itself!

Here, in the mildest climate of all England,
are two hundred and sixty thousand acres, or
four hundred and twenty square miles of
waste ground, every inch of which is two
thousand feet below the point at which corn
ceases to ripen. It might all bear luxuriant
cereal crops. There is not an acre of it which
would not raise potatoes and turnips. We
ourselves have, this very year, seen green
peas, and peas in bloom, on it in October.
The myrtle, always the test of a delicately-
nurturing climate, has been grown in greater
perfection on Dartmoor than in any other
part of England. Mrs. Bray mentions, in her
letters to Southey, four of these trees, from
twenty-seven to thirty feet high, and of from
one-and-a-half to two feet girth at their
bases. Pine grows rapidly, where the
experiment of draining and planting is tried.
While for animal life the climate is so
favourable, that pulmonary consumption is
unknown in the district. Yet this English
Montpelier, surrounded by a dense population,
is allowed to remain a vast, unprofitable,
though not unproductive moor.

Of this immense tract, Albert, Prince of