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Id is like a ship on a breathless sea; withoud any means of brobulsion the ship lies motionless, or drifts at the mercy of the currends.

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The Log of the Flying Fish, by Harry Collingwood H a r r y C o l l i n g w o o d 1.

Its numerous members are essentially wanderers upon the face of the earththat is the one distinguishing characteristic wherein they most widely differ from their fellow-menthey are ceaseless travellers; mighty hunters in far-off lands; adventurous yachtsmen; eager explorers; with a small sprinkling of army and navy men.

Their visits to their club are infrequent in the extreme; but, during the brief and widely separated intervals when they have the opportunity to put in an appearance there, they like to be made thoroughly comfortable; and no pains are spared to secure their complete gratification in this respect.

The smoke-room of the Migrants presented an appearance of especial comfort and att ractiveness on a certain cold and stormy February evening a few years ago.

A large fire blazed in the polished steel grate and roared cheerfully up the chimney, in rivalry of the wind, which howled and scuffled and rumbled in the flue higher up.

An agreeable temperature pervaded the room, making the lashing of the fierce rain on the window-panes sound almost pleasant as one basked in the light and warmth of the apartment and contrasted it with the state of cold and wet and misery which reigned supreme outside.

A dozen opal-shaded gas-burners brilliantly lighted the room, and revealed the fact that it was handsomely and liberally furnished with luxurious divans, capacious easy-chairs, a piano, a table loaded with the papers and periodicals of the day, an enormous mirror over the black marble mantel-piece, a clock with a set of silvery chimes for the quarters, and a deep, mellow-toned gong for the hours, and so many pictures that the whole available surface of the walls was completely covered with them.

These picturesexecuted in both oil and water-colourrepresented out-of-the-way scenes visited, or incidents participated in by the members who had executed them, and all possessed a considerable amount of artistic merit; it being a rule of the club that every picture should be submitted to a hanging committee of distinctly artistic members before it could be allowed a place upon the smoke-room walls.

The occupants of the room on the evening in question were four in number.

From the ferocious manner in which he glared through his spectacles at the pages of the magazine, from the impatience with which he from time to time dashed his disengaged hand through the masses of his iron-grey hair, and from the frequent ejaculations of Pish Psha Ach and so on which escaped his lips, accompanied by vast volumes of smoke, it seemed evident that he was not altogether at one with the author whose article he was perusing.

Near the Herr Professor there reclined upon a divan the form of Sir Reginald Elphinstone, sometimes called by his friends the handsome baronet, said to be.

At the age of thirty-five, having freely exposed himself to all known sources of peril, except those involved in a trip to the Polar regions, in his eager pursuit of sport and adventure, Sir Reginald seemed, for the moment, to have no object left him in life but to shoot as many rings as possible of cigar-smoke through each other, as he lay there on the divan in an attitude more easy than elegant.

Square in front of the fire, dreamily puffing at his cigar and apparently studying the merits of a painting hanging behind him, and on the reflected image of which in the mirror before him his eyes lazily rested, sat Cyril Lethbridge, ex-colonel of the Royal Engineers, a successful gold-seeker, and almost everything else to which a spice of adventure could possibly attach itself.

The Log of the Flying Fish, by Harry Collingwood P r o f e s s o r V o n S c h a l c k e n b e r g m a k e s a s t a r t l i n g S u g g e s t i o n.

Presently he looked up and remarked to the colonel: I see that some Frenchmen have been making experiments in the navigation of balloons.

Ah, indeed responded the colonel, with his head thrown critically on one side, and his eyes still fixed on the reflection of the picture.

No, bardon me, colonel, id is not an imbossibilidy by any means.

Indeed Then how do you account for it, professor, that all attempts to navigate a balloon have hitherto failed asked the colonel.

The colonel accepted the challenge, and, rousing himself from his semi-recumbent posture, said: ldquo;That is quite possible; but what.

If a man wants to make a voyage agross the ocean he embargs in a ship, not on a life-buoy.

Now a balloon is nothing more than a life-buoy; id zusdains a man, but that is all.

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