to claim their own. For years and years their accounts were never closed. But the French Revolution is a modern date. The English Revolution belongs to ancient history. But I can explain everything to you. The Godson Company stopped in Rotterdam for a long time. They would have gone back; but your Queen Anne came to the throne, and that revived the hopes of the Pretenders. When things seemed firmly established under the House of Hanover, they went back. But after a time there was a failure of any direct representative of the family, and the last member of the family transferred the business to the well-known house of the Stukeleys. They are now London agents and correspondents; and I will, if you like, give you a letter of introduction to them. They will at least be able to assure you that your casket has been eaten all up.'

I had rather a good time of it in Holland. I went through their galleries, wondering greatly at their conceit in having hardly any pictures but their own, ignoring the schools of other countries. I went through their cleanly villages, wondering very much, however, why they did not clean their faces as well as their windows. I partook of the high-Dutch cookery, but confess that some of it was so high that it did not altogether agree with me. But the thorough change -the change of air, of people and places, of all the surroundings kept me in a constant state of high spirits; and the amusing conviction into which I had gradually nursed myself, that I was engaged in the elucidation of a great historical mystery, gave me a reserve of selfimportance on which I fell back with much complacency.

I was rather 'divided in my swift mind' as to whether I would call on the head of the firm of

Stukeley at the bank or at his private residence at Highgate. It seemed to me, however, that he might take it as more friendly and sociable if I did the latter. I considered that I might safely call between eight and nine of a summer evening, when a man is supposed to have had his dinner and to be ready for a chat. The banker's place at Highgate was one of the loveliest of English homes. A servant pointed him out to me as he was walking alone in his splendid garden, some children playing not far off from him. It was not without some wondering at my own temerity that I approached the famous banker. In my line of life we naturally regarded him. as being one of the greatest people in the world. But he read his correspondent's letter with an expression of amused interest, and was very courteous. He gave me some of his fine strawberries in the summerhouse, with sherry-andselzter. When we parted, which was before very long-for I knew that the time of such a man, whether in work or in the rest that prepares for work, is worth banknotes he put his hand on my shoulder and said,

'Of course, you know, Mr. Leslie, that even if we find the casket, of which I do not think there is the slightest chance after this lapse of time, the representatives of the owner have not the smallest legal claim upon me. Still, that is nothing at all. We are not likely to plead the Statute. It is a very curious history certainly; but such a history only gets a prosperous dénouement in fiction. However, if you like to give me a call in the City in about a week's time, I shall probably be able to find some trace of the transaction. I confess that I should like to verify that extraordinary letter of which you have been speaking.'

It was rather annoying, that mention of a week's delay. My holiday was over, and I should have to ask for a prolongation of the holiday, which, for very satisfactory reasons to my own mind, I was unwilling to do. But still there seemed no alternative. I may mention that in a few days' time I had a singularly disagreeable letter from my office-people, saying that as I had not come back at the time arranged I need not trouble myself to come back at all. I had expected an official wigging, but not to get discharged in this way, and it made me mad.

In a week's time I went back to the banker. I was shown into the bank-parlour, an innermost shrine, which I had hitherto only contemplated from afar with feelings of the deepest reverence.

Well, Mr. Leslie,' exclaimed the banker, with his cheery voice, 'I am quite ready for you. Our Mr. Watkins has spent most of three days in going through the books. There certainly were transactions between the firm of the Godsons and Mr. Delorme. But ages ago-literally speaking, ages ago-the business was concluded.'

I muttered the old saying, but hardly so old as the casket: 'Blessed is he who expecteth nothing, for he shall not be disappointed.' But Swift's apothegm did not really apply to me, for I had taught myself to expect something; and under the circumstances of my recent misfortune the hope had been vivified.

'Here is the final entry: "Account closed. All papers destroyed." However, by other books, I find that there really was a trifling balance due to Mr. Henry Delorme, some fifteen pounds; and if the family think it worth their while to claim it, on their giving the proper proofs, we shall be happy to pay it over to them.'

I was very much struck with the old banker's way of looking at things. If I may be excused something that sounds philosophical, I would say that he brought very vividly before me the continuity of the ages.

He looked at his business in its historic unity. Anything that affected the credit of his house was as dear to him if it happened two hundred years ago as if it had happened only two days ago. Then his statement afforded a remarkable corroboration to Henry Delorme's letter. It will be remembered that his letter inferred that his balance was very low, and that he was going to put money in and not draw any out.

Mr. Stukeley showed me a very old, very worn volume where the words he had quoted were still legible in faded red letters.

'And so I am afraid there is no hope for you,' said the banker. 'You see there is no mention of any such casket as that to which you refer.'

'You mean to say that in your opinion no such casket was ever deposited at Godsons' bank.'

such entry, and no knowledge of any such casket.'

But a ray of hope was breaking upon me, and, like a drowning man, I was clinging to this new straw that was thrown in my way.

I suppose that you have cellars where you stow away things that are left here by your customers?

'Certainly we have. Would you like to take a look at them? They are really curious. And it singularly happens that we have a regular turn out to-day. The Board of Works require a portion of our present premises, and we have nearly finished constructing new ones.'

He called a clerk and a servant, and proceeded to descend a dark narrow staircase into the bank-cellar. The cellar lay under the main street. A subdued mur. mur of the heavier traffic overhead came to us. So in the Botallack mine, where the ramifications of the mine extend beyond the shore, beneath the sea, you hear the plunge of the surge upon the shore just over your Kead. So the human tide came and went incessantly above the dark quiet cellar, so completely cut off from all communication with London town.

In

In part the cellar was like a lawyer's office. It had boxes of deeds with names on them. this kind of matter lawyers and bankers have frequently to go shares. Then there were various heavy cases of plate. Some chests had been left because lawsuits were pending respecting the ownership; in other instances families had broken up their home and had gone abroad; in some cases property had been taken to the bank for fear of burglars. There were various other articles which I thought would more fitly have found their place in some repository, objects of art and vertù. The banker told me that one poor man

had left a manuscript poem there, which the author firmly believed to be the greatest treasure in all the edifice. Altogether there appeared to be a considerable amount of valuables stored away, although my eye detected nothing of that imaginary picture which I had so often depicted in it. Neither were there any of those bars and ingots of the precious metals which I imagined would be found in a banker's cellar.

'I had intended to make a clearance to-day,' said the banker.

The clerk remained, but the man went for another, as further help would be necessary.

Then the different articles were overhauled and checked off. Some were as fresh as paint, but others had any amount of rust and antiquity upon them. For about a couple of hours the process of sorting and registering still went on. Mr. Stukeley left us to attend to the work of the day, saying that he would return before lunch. I obtained permission to remain whilst the three bank servants continued their work. By and by, as a corner became slightly exposed, I noticed at the end of the cellar a kind of depression, which might have been a broad gutter or channel to remove any waste from casks, the original occupants of the cellar. This contained various empties,' and was covered up to the level of the cellar by sand. At my request these cases were removed, as, indeed, would have to be done sooner or later in the course of the necessary alterations. We all eagerly scrutinised the spot. Several cases had been removed, and there now appeared to be only a deposit of sand below. I poked the bottom very deliberately with my stick, going over every three inches. Then the stick struck against a hard substance. In a moment I swooped down on the prey, and with infinite astonish