leaves with edges notched like a saw. When we reached home she carefully washed these and dried them in the oven. There was evidently something mysterious about this preparation, and my curiosity at length prompted me to make an attempt to discover the secret.
“Are these leaves to form a substitute for tobacco?” said I; “do you so long for its refreshing smell?”
My wife smiled, for her dislike to tobacco was well known, and she answered in the same jocular tone,—
“Do you not think that a mattress stuffed with these leaves would be very cool in summer?”
The twinkle in her eyes showed me that my curiosity must still remain unsatisfied, but it nevertheless became greater than ever.
The boys and I had one day made a long and fatiguing expedition, and, tired out, we flung ourselves down in the verandah. As we lay there, resting, we heard the mother's voice.
“Could any of you enjoy a little jelly?”
She presently appeared, bearing a porcelain dish laden with most lovely transparent jelly. Cut with a spoon and laid before us it quivered and glittered in the light.
“Ambrosia!” exclaimed Fritz, tasting it. It was indeed delicious, and, still marvelling from whence the mother could have obtained a dish so rare, we disposed of all that she had set before us.
“Aha,” laughed the mother, “is not this an excellent substitute for tobacco, far more refreshing than the nasty weed itself. Behold the produce of my mysterious sea-weed.”
“My dear wife,” exclaimed I, “this dish is indeed a masterpiece of culinary art, but where had you met with it? What put it into your head?”
“While staying with my Dutch friends at the Cape,” replied she, “I often saw it, and at once recognized the leaves on Shark Island. Once knowing the secret, the preparation of the dish is
