Meanwhile the baron and M. de Courcy reached Yarmouth safely, and learned the day and hour on which the Hirondelle arrived and also left Yarmouth, and that the cause of her remaining so long there was the absconding of an English sailor, named, or, at all events, calling himself, John Smith. The baron was more elated than ever at hearing this, for he knew the Englishman was to place the baby out to nurse, and if he were safe, the chances were that the child was too; but when, after having run two or three John Smiths to earth and discovered that they bore no resemblance to the original, it became evident that the real John Smith had made himself scarce, and was probably not John Smith at all, the baron's hopes of recovering the child again fell, though he could not abandon the idea that if he could only find the runaway sailor he should hear some news of the child. The wish was, perhaps, father to the thought, but he could not help thinking the child was not on board the Hirondelle when she went down, now that he found the English carpenter had left the yacht at Yarmouth. But the baron felt his inability to speak English a great drawback to prosecuting his inquiries as fully as he would have liked, although M. de Courcy was very kind and did all any friend could have been expected to do; still, it was not the same as speaking the language himself, as the baron felt, and he bitterly regretted he had never tried to master its difficulties. Many of the Yarmouth fishermen and boatmen remembered the Hirondelle and the handsome French gentleman to whom she belonged, but not one had ever seen the sign of a baby on board her, though this did not throw much light on the matter, as the baby might easily have been kept below or removed at night.
At last, after spending a week or ten days in fruitless inquiries, the baron and his friend returned to France, the baron convinced in his own mind that some hope of his child being safe still existed, a hope which he dared not communicate to the baroness, but which, nevertheless, lingered in his breast for many a long day.
(To be continued.)
THE ROMANCE OF THE BANK OF ENGLAND;
OR,
THE OLD LADY OF THREADNEEDLE STREET.
By EMMA BREWER.
INTRODUCTION.
A gentleman asked me the other day upon what subject I intended next to write, and on telling him that the Editor had kindly permitted me to deal with the Bank of England and the National Debt, he said, "Nonsense! what do girls want to know about the Bank of England and the National Debt? Let them be content to leave all such knowledge to men, and rest satisfied if they get their dividends all right and know how to spend them properly and keep out of debt."
He seemed to forget that to do even the little he permitted us would require knowledge and education of a liberal character, and that without these our desires might outrun our income, and getting into debt might prove our normal condition.
A thorough knowledge of our circumstances is better than partial blindness, and to see things all round and weigh them justly is better than sitting with hands folded while men see and judge for us.
The subjects of the Bank of England and the National Debt are well worth a study, and will not fail to afford us both varied and interesting information.