CHAPTER XXIV. 
SEEN AND LOST. 
WE can imagine what the feelings of a lapidary 
would be—an enthusiast whose life is given to the 
study of precious stones, and whose sole delight is 
in the contemplation of their manifold beauty—if a 
stranger should come in to him, and, opening his 
hand, exhibit a new unknown gem, splendid as ruby 
or as sapphire, yet manifestly no mere variety of 
any familiar stone, but differing as widely from all 
others as diamond from opal or cat’s-eye; and then, 
just when he is beginning to rejoice in that strange 
exquisite loveliness, the hand should close and the 
stranger, with a mocking smile on his lips, go forth 
and disappear from sight in the crowd. A feeling 
such as that would be is not unfrequently experi- 
enced by the field naturalist whose favoured lot it 
is to live in a country not yet ‘‘ thoroughly worked 
out,’ with its every wild inhabitant scientifically 
named, accurately described, and skilfully figured in 
some colossal monograph. One swift glance of the 
practised eye, ever eagerly searching for some new 
thing, and he knows that here at length is a form 
never previously seen by him; but his joy is per- 
haps only for a few moments, and the prize is 
snatched from sight for ever. The lapidary might 
