as he was devoid of shame at a rebuff, replied.
"Here, Kellner, a bottle of English beer" (I
declare they charged me three-quarters of a
thaler for it, and I believe the tout went halves
with the waiter in the plunder); " with gratitude,
also, I accept your cigar, which I perceive is of
the real Havannah brand. I can sell you any
quantity at reasonable rates, warranted genuine,
and direct from Cabana's (who is my uncle), in
Havannah."

"In Hamburg, you mean?" I resumed.
"There, Herr Eselganz, never mind the cigars,
and the bear's-grease, and the Brussels lace, and
the real eau-de-Cologne which you've always had
to sell any time these ten years. Somebody else
may buy 'em. I won't. Tell me a story; never
mind if it's a true one or not, but tell it for old
acquaintance' sake."

"A story—a story! How curious you English
are, and how wise you think yourselves! By the
way, and under correction, you are lying even now
under a grievous mistake. You said that, save
yourself, there were no English on board."

"There were none, at least, at the table
d'hôte."

"Error, my dear sir, error," said the man in
the sky-blue trousers. " That lady who sat
opposite to you was English, and of the highest
nobility. Who but Lady Adelaide Mount Ephrom,
the noble Earl of Tunbridge's daughter?"
(Eselganz has his Peerage by heart, as might be
expected from one who before he went into boating
business was one of the most active couriers to
be heard of at the bar of the Leather Bag, in
Dover-street, Piccadilly.)

"Lady Adelaide Mount Ephrom! She's been
dead these five years."

"Not at all," persisted Herr Eselganz. " She
is alive, and married to the Swedish Count
Boomerangström. Behold her, the blonde
daughter of Albion, reading one of the good
little books she is so fond of."

I turned and followed the guiding finger of the
tout, and there sure enough, on a special camp-
stool, was a lady with very long flaxen ringlets,
and of a certain age, which means that her
appearance suggested not the slightest clue as to
whether she was an old fifteen, or a young fifty.
She was very fashionably dressed, and was busily
engaged in reading; and behind her was her
husband, the Swedish count, who, clad in a fawn-
coloured coat and white trousers, with a white
hat, a very pasty face, a bald head, long blonde
moustaches, and eyes inclining to the bloodshot,
looked very much as though he had passed
through an imperfect stage of metempsychosis,
and had not quite succeeded in obliterating the
outward traces of a white mouse.

"Count Boomerangström," whispered my
companion, " is, as you are aware, the proprietor of
the great iron mines of Bendigokoping, of which
all your so famous shilling razors are made. But
he is not so rich as his wife. Aha! it is on her
ladyship that the great Schweinsfleisch diamond
is settled."

"The Schweinsfleisch diamond!"

"The same. Kings and emperors have alike
rivalled each other, but in vain, in offers to
purchase it. The Hermitage at Petersburg, the
Treasury at Stamboul, your own Tower of London
Jewel House, are poverty-stricken without
it. Rothschild is not rich enough to buy it.
Behold it, even in the form of a large brooch, at
the throat of the so well born British origined
Gräfinn."

Again I looked at the Countess Boomerangström,
née Mount Ephrom; and sure enough
her chemisette was secured by a magnificent
brooch composed of a single brilliant— the largest
I had ever seen. In the very centre,
however, of the gem was the very unusual addition
of what appeared to be a small ruby, tear
shaped.

"What is the meaning of that ruby drop?"
I asked. "Does it not spoil the lustre of
the diamond when placed there right in its
midst?"

"Aha! a ruby, you call it!" chuckled Herr
Eselganz. " You wanted a story, and you shall
have one, precisely concerning that diamond and
its so-called ruby drop. Yet another bottle of
English beer, so. A light, thank you." And the
man in the sky-blue trousers thus addressed
himself to continuous narrative:

It was in the early part of the eighteenth
century (he began) that the Grand-Duchy of
Schweinhundhausen, a territory situated as you
are aware, geographically accomplished sir, to the
north-eastward of the territory of Weissnichtwo,
had for its Sovereign Ludwig Adolf the Seventy-
fourth, surnamed the Terrible. He was an awful
tyrant. The total number of his subjects amounted
to about ten thousand, all of whom, from the baby
in arms to the alms old woman of eighty, spinning
at the almshouse door, hated him with intense
cordiality. His family detested him with
remarkable unanimity. His eldest son, Prince
Ludwig, had been driven into banishment many
years before. Opinions were divided as to
whether his exile was due to his having knocked
down his father for kicking his mother, or to
his papa having been detected in sprinkling some
pretty white powder which glittered very much
over the Spartan ration of sauerkraut, which
formed the prince's daily and solitary meal. At
all events, he had been comfortably tried for high
treason in his absence, and executed in effigy;
while, to guard against all contingencies, the
whipping-post in the market-place of
Schweinhundhausen was garnished with a permanent
announcement from the grand-ducal and paternal
pen, offering a reward of one hundred florins
to whomsoever should capture the condemned
traitor, Ludwig von Porkstein (the family name
of the Princes of Schweinhundhausen), dead or
alive. Friedrich Adolf, the second son, and
usually known as Arme Fritz, or poor Fred, had
merely been turned out of doors at the age of
sixteen, and was supposed to be serving as a