"I must confess, that voyage home did seem
rather a long one ; but it was over at last,
and Mr. Weeks and I, were walking along
the streets of Liverpool. So I put one hand
to my belt, where I had pistols— and he
knew it, and carried pistols himself,—and the
other I laid on his shoulder.

"'Now Captain Jones, of the Golden
Fleece,' says I, 'I've been after you this
four years, and I've got you safe home at
last.' Ma'am, if you'll believe it, that man
never said a word, but just fixed his
eyes on me and staggered against the wall.
Now, I didn't want to give him into custody
if I could help it; for I know that those who
employed me would a good deal rather let
him go free and they have their gold, than
see him transported, and carry with him the
secret of where it was hidden.

"So I told him that he might let me know
next morning whether I should hand him
over to a police-constable, or whether he'd
tell me where he'd got the gold.

"He never spoke a word. So I led him
to an inn, and locked myself in a room
with him till the next morning."

"Were you not afraid he'd shoot you, Mr.
Minchin ?"

"No, I wasn't afraid he'd shoot me, but I
was terribly afraid he'd shoot himself.
However, I kept a sharp eye on him, and as he
saw he'd no chance of getting off anyhow, he
just made a clean breast of it. So the end
was, that we got back nearly the whole of
the gold-dust, which he'd buried soon after
landing from the wreck. I knew all along
that he hadn't got it with him. And they
that employed me made me a present of a
thousand pounds over and above what had
been agreed on for that job."

"Well," said young Wilson, who looked
wide awake, "you 're a queer fish. May I
ask if you're after anybody, now?"

"May be I am, and may be I am not. But,
I suppose, you don't think I am after
you?"

"Why, no. I am pretty sure of that, any
how. But I wish you were after that one-
armed fellow?"

"Keep your mind easy, Mr. Wilson. He'll
put his own head into the halter, if there's
one made for him; and I do know that
there's friends a-waiting for him in
England, who 'll be very glad to see him home
again."

"There, now, I knew there was something!
Now, Minchin, do tell us what it is; there's
a good fellow."

"Not I, Mr. Wilson. No, ma'am, nor I
don't tell you neither: nor we don't have no
secret about the matter."

And Mr. Minchin kept his word. So,
who the one-armed captain was, or what he
had done, we could not find out until we
reached Plymouth. Every one avoided him
instinctively, our own captain setting the
example; and all the latter part of the
voyage young Wilson slept on deck, rather
than share the same cabin with him. But it
was only when, in answer to our signals, two
police officers came off to our vessel in the
river and arrested this man, that we heard
the story of the slow cruel torture, the barbarous
murder, committed by him on board
his ship in the river Bonny, twelve years
before.

The "Silent Man," after he had once
spoken, was no longer inaccessible. We used
to join him in his watch at the stern of the
vessel, and say:

"Well, sir, will she do it?"

His invariable answer, pointing backward
over the sea, was

"She'll do it; she's bound to do it, and
she'll do it."

As we entered Plymouth Harbour he once
more sought Miss Graham, put his hand on
her shoulder, and, pointing in the invariable
direction said,

"'She's done it. She was bound to do it,
and she's done it."

I have no clear idea to this day, who
"she" was, or what she was bound to do, or
what she did, or how or when or why she
did it, or what would have happened to her
or to you or to me if she had not done it.

FINNISH MYTHOLOGY.

IF any one, a hundred years ago had
uttered the famous nautical expression, "tip
us your Finn," with the intention of facetiously
extracting some knowledge as to the
nature or creed of that race of Finns that
once was largely spread over the globe, and
now nestles in the north-east of Europe, he
would have made a most unreasonable
request. It is true that Michael Agricola
(afterwards Bishop of Abo), who, in fifteen
hundred and fifty-one, published a Finnish
version of the Psalms of David, prefaced the
same with some indifferent verses, still
extant; in which while he bewailed the blindness
of his heathenish countrymen, he gave a list
of their false gods. But his lines are only
fifty-two in number, and not only is his
information necessarily scanty, but it is very
unsatisfactory as far as it goes. A collection of
the Runes, or ancient poems of the Finns,
made by Professor H. G. Porthan, of Abo,
who died in eighteen hundred and four, was
the first production showing anything like a
complete knowledge of Finnish mythology,
and was followed by two learned works on the
subject, written respectively by C. E. Lenqvist,
and C. Ganander. However, Rune-
gathering has progressed greatly since the
commencement of the present century: in
eighteen hundred and thirty-five, a collection
of the Epic poems of the ancient Finns was
published by Dr. Lönnrot, under the title of
the Kalewala; and, at present, the great
authority in this branch of learning, is
Matthias Alexander Castrèn, a native of