ds, ranged side by side, and a large chest stained or painted
blue. In one corner stood a small square writing-table, of some
dark-coloured wood, with several drawers. In another corner, Max
discovered a rusty gridiron and sauce-pan, a small iron pot and a
toasting-fork, upon which he pounced with the eagerness of a miser
lighting upon hidden treasures. The chest was empty, but a small box,
or till, fixed in one end of it, contained a number of vials, a
cork-screw, a tin-canister, and a French Bible, upon the last of which
Arthur seized with as much avidity as Max had evinced in appropriating
the cooking utensils. Johnny pulled open the drawers of the little
writing-table, and found a bunch of quills, a spool of green ribbon, a
file of invoices and bills of lading, a bottle of ink, and about half a
ream of letter-paper, which he declared was just what was wanted for the
purpose of writing "our story."

The place had a gloomy and deserted air, and we unanimously agreed that
neither the dwelling nor its location was nearly as pleasant as our own
at Castle-hill.

There were several articles which we wished to carry away with us, but
we concluded to postpone this until a future visit. Max, however,
having once laid hold of the gridiron, seemed extremely loath to part
with it again, and, finally yielding to the irresistible fascination
which it evidently had for him, he threw it over his shoulder as we
started on our return, and brought it away with him. Having been
fastidiously purified by repeated scourings and ablutions, it proved
very useful in preparing our meals, of which fresh fish frequently
formed the principal part.

In the evening, as we sat at the terraced top of Castle-hill, Johnny
took seriously in hand the important business of finding appropriate
names for the discoveries of the day.

The valley beyond the grove of bread-fruit, he concluded to call "Echo
Vale." For the lake itself, quite a variety of names was suggested,
none of which, however, seemed to be entirely satisfactory. After
puzzling over the subject a long while without any result, and working
himself into quite a nervous and excited state, a happy thought seemed
all at once to suggest itself and turning to Arthur, he eagerly demanded
what was "the most beautiful lake in all the world?"

"Loch Katrine, to be sure!" said Browne; "some would say Loch Lomond,
but that is the second."

"Lake George!" cried Max, decisively.

"Lake Como