Some years ago a picnic party, who had come over from Lymington, had assembled on that part of the downs, having come by different conveyances.  Among them was a boy, like one of us--a merry fellow, I dare say.  After the picnic the party separated in various directions. When the time to return had arrived, so many went off in one carriage, and so many in another.  In the same way they crossed to Lymington in different boats.  Not until their arrival at that place was their young companion missed, each party having supposed that he was with the other. What could have become of him?  They hoped against hope that he had wandered far off to the east, and had lost his way.  Then some of the party recollected having seen him going towards the edge of the cliff. He was a stranger, and was not aware how abruptly the downs terminated in a fearful precipice.  It was too late to send back that night.  They still hoped that he might have slipped down, and have lodged on some ledge.  At daybreak boats were despatched to the island.  At length his mangled remains were found at the foot of the highest part of the cliff, over which he must have fallen and been dashed to pieces.  Papa said he recollected seeing the party land, and all the circumstances of the case.