The gentlemen who may be credentialed by you will be my guests upon their arrival in San Diego—if they will so honor me—and I beg to be informed at your early convenience, by cable, of the names of those who may be expected. I take the liberty of inclosing exchange on London for twenty thousand pounds, to defray such expenses as your government may incur in complying with my request. I have the honor to be, very respectfully, your obedient servant, DAVID MORNING. The fame of Morning, as the greatest wealth owner in the world, was now coextensive with civilization, and his invitation had been promptly and generally accepted. The Emperor Wilhelm II. chose for the German delegation, five of his most distinguished field marshals, five high officials of the German navy, five great civil engineers, and five members of the diplomatic corps. Among the latter was the Baron Von Eulaw, who was indebted for his appointment—although he did not know it-to an urgent unofficial representation made by the American envoy to the German Chancellor, to the effect that, for certain personal reasons, Mr. David Morning greatly desired the attendance of the Baron and Baroness Von Eulaw. Such a request from such a source was favorably considered, and the baron—greatly to his astonishment, for he had not been in favor at court since the affair at the Chateau d’Or—received the appointment. Professor Thornton and Doctor Eustace had received invitations to attend, and the baron, finding it convenient to leave Berlin in advance of the other members of the German delegation, sailed from Hamburg late in January, and, after a brief visit with his wife’s parents at Roxbury, the party journeyed to the Pacific Coast, to enjoy its climate and scenery for a month or more in advance of the “dynamic exposition.” “I feel,” said the baroness, as the train rolled out of Benson, “as if I had a renewed lease of life; these delicious airs stir the blood like wine, and, entranced with the perfume of almond and oleander and jasmine bloom, I forget that it is still midwinter in the East.” “You are drugged, madame,” said the doctor, slowly passing his finger scrutinizingly over the soft flesh upon his hand. “You could be lured to your death in a few hours by—I wonder what ails my hand?” he broke off meditatively, still feeling for the insidious and evasive little hair. “Cactus, sir,” put in an “old-timer” across the car, “and you ain’t got no use to look for it, if it does feel like an oxgad. I could hev tole you when I see you foolin’ around them fine flowers at the station, but you fellers hev all got to try it once; another time you’ll know better.”