‘I looked at him. “Yes,” he continued, “the old volcano is showing every indication of renewed activity. We came here to observe the transit of Venus, but shall have probably to pack up and form another station if those symptoms don’t subside. See there!” ‘Looking in the direction of his outstretched finger, I saw several tall puffs of what seemed like white smoke issuing from the depths of the crater. ‘The observers were loth to shift their quarters; but, when some red-hot cinders from below set one of the tents on fire, they accepted the hint. ‘Still in my hammock, I was presently carried down the mountain and on board H.M.S. _Hygeia_, where, with careful and skilled attention, I soon recovered.’ The Captain ceased speaking. For a time nothing was heard except the steady blast of the ‘Roaring Forties’ overhead. Asked a passenger presently,— ‘And did the volcano really explode after all?’ ‘It did, indeed,’ replied Captain Marion; ‘but not for a month afterwards, and then so fiercely as to scatter death and destruction throughout those narrow seas, grinding the island of Krakatoa itself into cosmic dust—visible, according to scientists, nearly all over the world.’ * * * * * Here ends the story proper as compiled from the notes taken by one of the passengers and jotted down in his cabin of a night as the Captain finished each section of his narrative. Lower down on the last pages of these notes is gummed, however, a printed paragraph, cut from a Sydney daily newspaper, which runs as follows:— MARION—HILLIER.—On the 29th ultimo, at St James’s Church of England, Sydney, by the Rev. R. Garnsey, George Wreford Marion, master in the British Mercantile Marine, to Amy Margaret, daughter of the late John Hillier, Esq., of Pevensey, Miller’s Point, Sydney, and Eurella and Whydah stations, Riverina, N.S.W. ‘DOT’S CLAIM.’ It was evening in the German Arms at Schwartzdorf. Great fires blazed in all the rooms of that old-fashioned hostelry, welcome enough on entering from the chill, wild weather ruling over the mountainland outside. Tired with a heavy day’s work at inspecting the mining claims, which were beginning to attract notice to this secluded spot, it was with a feeling of satisfaction that, after tea, I drew a chair up to the fire, lit my pipe, and made myself comfortable. Presently there was a knock at the door and, in response to my ‘Come in,’ there entered the man who told me this story. In his hand he carried a canvas bag, whose contents he emptied on the table with the remark, ‘I thought perhaps you might like to see these.’ Very beautiful they were, without doubt—quartz, ironstone and gold, mingled in the most fantastic manner; grotesque attempts by Nature’s untrained fingers at crosses, hearts, stars, and other shapes defying name.