IN

THE INVISIBLE QUEEN.

In the year 1587 Sir Walter Raleigh fitted out three vessels for an expedition to reinforce a colony which two years before had settled on the island of Roanoke, on the coast of what was then known as Virginia. When these ships arrived, they found the colony deserted, the bones of the settlers scattered on the beach, and wild creatures crouching in the ruins of their habitations. Having repaired the houses as well as they could, the new colony remained in the island. On the 18th of August in the same year, Eleanor, wife of Councilman Dare, and daughter of Governor White, gave birth to a daughter. This was the first white child born in America, and she was named Virginia. Nine days after her birth, Governor White sailed for England to procure supplies, leaving on the

island eighty-nine men, seventeen women, and eleven children. He directed the settlers that if they should abandon Roanoke, they were to carve upon some conspicuous object the name of the place to which they migrated, and if they went away in distress, a cross should be carved above the name.

When White reached England, he found the country in wild excitement about the threatened invasion of the Spanish Armada, and it was nearly three years before he could procure the supplies and sail with any safety for Virginia. When at length he landed at Roanoke, not one of the colonists he had left there could be found. The houses were in ruins, their goods were found scattered or buried. A fort had been erected, and within this was found marked on a postthough without any cross, which indeed was not needed the single word CROATOAN.

From that day to the present no tidings have ever come from any member of that colony.

Speculations have been rife, and a number of Indians once found in that region, of somewhat lighter complexion than other tribes, gave rise to a tradition that the Roanoke settlers had been absorbed. In the course of two centuries it even became a sign of family antiquity among the Virginians if any tint of the Indian complexion appeared in their line. The following story, however, which has lately reached me, suggests that the lost colony had issues even happier than the charms of Southern brunettes or the chivalry of their brothers.

About the time when a happy girl was suddenly summoned to the throne of England, where she still reigns as Victoria, seven young Englishmen found themselves together in Cuba. One was a poet fresh from Oxford; two were youthful noblemen in search of adventure; two were artists; the two others were students of science, who had been examining the coral reefs of that region. These agreed together to pass a

month or more in excursions along the eastern coast of America. So they purchased a pretty yacht, "The Fancy," and first sailed to Florida. They penetrated far inland, and when after some days they returned to their yacht, the savants had rare flowers and minerals, the artists their sketches, and the poet a romance showing that he had come nearer finding El Dorado and its enchanted fountain than either De Leon or De Soto who had so long sought the same in that region. They then sailed northward. After some days, they hardly noted how many, a strong westward wind struck the sail of the "Fancy," and, though the sky was cloudless, their hands found it hard as any storm to struggle against. "Well,” said the English youths, "do not struggle against it; let us go westward, fancy-free." The prow turned, the “Fancy" sped like an arrow to Ocracock Inlet, and when she had got behind the long bar that fringes the Carolina coast, became as docile as a child ought to be while reading this story. They passed on

northwards, until they came to a beautiful wooded island. As they approached this they beheld a charming scene. On the yellow sands of a long beach, graceful Indian women and children were gathering shells; some were sporting amid the bright waves, and from the merry groups peals of laughter came out to them over the water. "Let us land!" cried six voices of the "Fancy" in chorus; but the seventh, the poet, said, “Beware! it is the island of Circe!" This was the poet— who was the first to land.

The islanders came running from their beach— there were only maidens and children—and with smiling kindly faces they formed a circle round our voyagers, hand clasped in hand. They then began to urge them towards the interior of the island. This reminded the poet of Circe again, but his suggestion was less formidable than that of another of the party who had read that the Sinhalese savages used to decoy used to decoy mariners to destruction by means of such nymphs. The