Max now got up, and after stretching himself, and giving three or four great yawns, came towards the spot where the rest of us were sitting; but after taking a few steps, he suddenly stopped, uttering an exclamation of surprise, and looking down at something in the grass at his feet. He then kicked a dark object out of a tall bunch of fern, towards us. It was an old beaver hat crushed flat, and covered with mildew and dirt. Robinson Crusoe was not more startled by the footprint in the sand, than were we at the sight of this unequivocal trace of civilised man. Arthur picked it up, and restoring it partially to its proper shape, examined the inside. On the lining of the crown appeared in gilt letters-- PIERRE BAUDIN, CHAPELIER, RUE RICHELIEU, NUMERO 20. A PARIS. "Here, then," said Max, "is an end of the notion that we are the first inhabitants of this island; it is clear that others have been, if they are not now upon it. Perhaps, Johnny, this is the hat of the man you heard talking French in the woods this morning." "At any rate," said, Arthur, after a moment of thoughtful silence, "this must be the place where the Frenchman who perished in the water-spout and his companions, were cast away, and from which they afterwards reached Eiulo's island in a small boat. The well yonder is probably their work, and we may perhaps find other evidences of their stay here, when we come to explore the island more thoroughly." CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. ABOUT TEWA. A DULL CHAPTER, BUT NECESSARY--WAKATTA AND ATOLLO--A GENTLE HINT--MAX AS AN ARCHITECT. "In the forest hollow roaring, Hark! I hear a deepening sound, Clouds rise thick with heavy lowering, See! the horizon blackens round." It must not be inferred from the occasional bursts of holiday humour, in which we indulged, that we had become reconciled to our exile, and were now ready to subside into a state of indolent contentment satisfied with security from present danger, and the abundant means of subsistence which we had discovered. Not even a tropical paradise, with its warm, glowing sky and balmy atmosphere, its "ambrosial fruits and amaranthine flowers," could charm us into oblivion of home, and those who made it dear; or diminish the bitterness of the thought of being cut off for ever from human intercourse, and of having all our plans of life deranged and frustrated. Though we did not brood continually over our unfortunate situation, we were far from being insensible to it. The loveliest island that ever reposed in undiscovered beauty, upon the bosom of the "blue summer ocean," though rich in all things necessary to supply every material want, must still have seemed to us but as a gilded and luxurious prison, from which we should never cease to sigh for an escape.