her master yet to do. But Simon still refused thus to protect himself. It was like tearing his soul from his body, the thought of signing away with his own hand his long-worshipped money-bags and wasted

acres.

As for Tibbie, why she so wished to see that will made might well have been a puzzle to any one. Con was as happy as a fool could be, roaming about the country, fostered by everybody, and always pleased with the variety and freedom of his life; always coming back from each fresh expedition to sit at the feet of blooming Nan Kearney, watching her blissfully as she wove her baskets, and crowing for joy if she stopped to pat him on the head. But this was not the way of life that Tibbie had marked out for him. She was willing enough that he should be fed about the country, and that strangers should give him clothing out of pity, but she desired that he should keep close by the miser of Tobereevil, that he should sing for him, dance for him; so that, while she carried on her persecution, the fool might be as a refuge to the wretched old man, who should turn to him for relief, and perhaps do out of gratitude that which he refused to do from fear. Con hated Tobereevil, and had no use for money. Were he owner of all the miser's wealth it would be hard to make him comprehend that such was the case; still harder to make him assume the rights of mastership, and Tibbie would certainly have all the power in her own hands. What use would she make of her power, and how enjoy her good fortune? A miserable creature clothed in rags, with her arms folded grimly, and a dreary, dreamy look in her half-shut eyes, she prowled about the old mouldering mansion, listening to the groaning of the trees, and thinking about that huge iron safe which was built up in the wall somewhere, and of which she was determined one day to have the key. When Tibbie came to Tobereevil long ago she was a respectable poor woman, seeking for help for her little nephew, and had travelled a long way to bring him under the notice of his kinsman. When she presented herself at Tobereevil her utmost ambition had been a cottage, rent free, and a small pension or dole of clothing for little Con. These denied, she accepted the permission to shelter herself in the kitchen of the mansion, and to pick up scanty food as remuneration for her services in the house. But it seemed that greed was in

the air of Tobereevil. Tibbie would now have failed to remember when aspiration after the miser's money-bags had first struck root within her; but it was rank and strong, and could not now be torn away, and it had crushed every other passion of her nature.

Whilst Tibbie was in the midst of her active operations, she was shocked by hearing a rumour that Paul Finiston was in the country, and that very evening fell to stitching together the stuff which she had bought so cheap from the pedlar. Never before had she had the heart to bring it out, and now, as she hurried to her treasury and drew forth the stuff which was sufficient at least to cover her respectably, she cursed her ill fortune which furnished her with only a web of cloth, at the moment when she needed clothing ready made. However, she hacked it with blunt scissors, and sewed it with a rusty needle; and though she lost a whole day over it, she was in the end well bedight, and felt magnificent enough in her appearance to awe the whole mountain world. She washed her face in a somewhat superficial manner, and further arraying herself in a motheaten cloak, little worn, but of ancient date, departed on her search for news of Paul; having first looked in at the door of Simon's den, and advised him to look sharp after his keys, for she was just stepping out at the risk of her life to watch some ill-looking characters whom she had seen prowling about the place. Having thus provided for her master's comfort during her absence, she took her way to the mountains. The Kearneys would give her news, if any news were to be had. Their young gossoons were for ever upon the foot. And as Con would very likely be found hovering about their place, so Con should be Tibbie's excuse for coming panting up the hills.

Much amazed were the young Kearneys to see Tibbie on the mountain; even more so than they had been to see Con arriving amongst them upon the shoulders of a gentleman. Very few in the country knew a great deal about Tibbie. The mother of the Kearneys had never seen her before, so that the gossoons had to whisper her:

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'Mother, mother! it is the miser's Black Cat!"

"I don't see no cat wid the good woman,' said Mrs. Kearney. "Only our own poor pussy goin' to meet her on the brae."

The gossoons laughed in chorus, and plucked at their mother's skirts.

They

cried that the world was coming to an end, for the Black Cat had got a gown!

Whist, will ye!" said Nan. "It's Tibbie from Tobereevil."

Then the house-mother crossed herself and went out to meet the guest, expecting some new message of cruelty from the landlord. But Tibbie had been busy manufacturing a smile, as she climbed up the mountain all the way from her own door. And she now hung out her smile, which, though a little pinched and darkling, was the best she could produce.

"Och, och! I'm tired wid yer mountains," said Tibbie. "An' I ax parding, Mrs. Kearney, for lookin' the faviour of a sate to dhraw my breath. I'm sarchin' wid anxiety for that poor foolish boy o' mine, an' I thought I knowed where to look for him whin I took the road to yer house."

"Oh, ay!" said the house-mother, ready to laugh with relief, finding that only Con was demanded of her instead of an extra pound of rent. "Deed it's little out o' this he's been since the night he hurt his foot, an' young Misther Finiston hissel' carried him here to us on his shouldhers." "Anan!" said Tibbie. "An' who is young Misther Finiston ?"

"Yer masther's nephew, Misther Paul, an' no other," said Mrs. Kearney, who was not very sorry to see the old woman's chagrin. "An' a gran', an' a kind, an' a beautiful young gintleman he is; and the fine man to be over us some day, plase the Lord! But come in an' take a rest to yersel' an' an air o' the fire; an' if ye'll ate a couple o' pratees, I'll have them roasted in a crack!"

Tibbie smothered her wrath and went into the Kearneys' cabin, and did not go down the mountain again till she was assured that her enemy was indeed in the country as she had heard, and that he had been recognised among the people as the miser's heir.

till her fury amounted to madness, but beyond the reach of her own voice this creature could make no sign. All Tibbie's hope was this: that the wind might blow a great storm, and tear up many trees by the roots, so that Simon should have to write to his agent to come and look to the timber. If the Wicked Woods refused to help her, then was she surely lost indeed. But just at this time the winds were lighter than usual, and the trees stood safe.

Tibbie desisted a little from railing at her master, and unable to stay within doors from impatience, went out into the woods and mumbled her threats and desires to the grim oaks. She puffed her puny breath into the face of the grey heavens, and waved her lean arms, and called on the winds to get up and bestir themselves. Con, who had unwillingly, and through fear, accompanied her from the mountain, sat in the branches above her, and grinned at her wrath, and pelted her with acorns. At last the storm answered her challenge, and came down with fury.

Simon had heard many a storm, but he shuddered at this one. The old house shook and groaned, pieces of its roof fell in, and some of its walls were broken. Down came scores of the trees, crashing and creaking, and making a thunder of their own amidst the noise that was abroad. Tibbie croaked for joy when she saw the fallen giants lying prone in the thickets, and she purred over Con as he set off for the nearest posting village with Simon's letter to the agent. The agent grumbled to himself as he obeyed the summons, for Tobereevil was not a pleasant place on a winter's day.

Arriving there, however, he got such a welcome as he had never got before. Tibbie, to propitiate him, had prepared a room for him in the under-ground story, in a part of the house which was quite out of the way of old Simon's tottering steps. Here she had built a roaring fire to keep out the cold, and served up a fine roasted pullet, which she had procured with some difficulty from a neighbouring farm. Here, too, she laid her plan before the lawyer: which was to draw up a will as he and she should please, and procure Simon's signature to it on pretence that it was a writ of ejectment for one of his tenants, for whose holding the lawyer had found a better tenant. Simon must be got to sign the paper without reading its contents. The plan was a daring one, but was pronounced worth the trial.

So the agent made out the will. At one time Tibbie wrangled with him over the share which was to be the price of the lawyer's service, but her greediness was soon silenced, and she was forced to listen to reason. Next morning the agent strolled out to look at the fallen trees, and to pick up some simple peasants who should act as witnesses to the will.

Now it chanced that Mrs. Kearney's "soft gossoons" were hanging about the woods in hope of a job at the agent's hands. They had not gone up to the door and asked to be hired to help with the timber, for they knew, had they made so bold, that their suit must have been denied. So they lingered about the wood, and when the agent chanced to meet them he found them useful. They were set to work all day at getting the timber carried to carts upon the road; their wages to be the faggots which they could pick up when all was done. And even those wicked faggots were precious in the winter time; though people would say that they brought no good to a hearth; though evil sparks did fly out of them while they burned, and strange visions loomed forth out of the white clouds of their smoke as it curled in sinister wreaths up the chimney. Towards evening pretty Nan came down the mountain, with her yellow locks blowing on the wind, carrying a little can of buttermilk and two tin mugs, and attended by Con, who danced on before her, bearing a large wooden dish of cooked potatoes. And while the gossoons made a merry supper on the stump of a tree, the lawyer mused at some distance and made perfect his little plans.

This lawyer was a man who at the outset of life had declared to himself that he would make money without scruple. In his profession he had cheerfully accepted all disreputable business, and taken care to make his spoils of any prey that fell to his share. And yet somehow he had been unlucky until now. Dishonesty had not rewarded him as he had had a right to expect. At times he had even had stings of harrowing doubt, as to whether integrity might not, after all, have paid him better in the end. He lived in a country town where people's deeds are casily made known, and he knew an attorney of thorough honesty who had made a good thing of his fair name. Our agent was now past success in his own peculiar line of life, and found it too late to start afresh on any other. Thus it was with him when Tibbie's little plot

found favour in his eyes. With a slice of the Tobereevil property, together with a goodly sum of money as a reward for his faithful service of many years, this hitherto luckless rogue thought he might live to call himself thrifty after all.

Who should arrive into the midst of the supper-party but Bid, the "thraveller," she having stepped down the mountain to help the gossoons to carry the faggots home. So the agent, looking about him, saw a group of persons from whom to choose the witnesses to Simon's signature of the will. He chose Bid and Nan, and accosted them very civilly, explaining that Mr. Finiston was making new arrangements for some of his tenantry; a piece of news which made them turn pale; and that he wanted two honest persons to witness the signing of some deeds.

"I won' go!" whispered Nan, plucking Bid by the corner of the cloak. "How do I know bud it's to put my mother out of her hole undher the hill ?"

"Aisy, aisy, asthore!" said Bid. "It's not for the likes o' you that they'll be signin' papers at Tobereevil. When they want yer mother out o' her hole they'll put her out by the shouldher, widout the splash o' a pen an' ink. Bud they're brewin' some quare dhrink for the owld man to swally down-that's Tibbie an' the lawyer-or my name's not Bid. I seen them cosherin' wid their heads together this mornin' as I skirted through the threes here, an' they too greedy wid their talkin to see my shadow on the gravel."

make

"Well, my good woman, can you up your mind to spare us ten minutes of your valuable time ?" asked the lawyer, intending to be witty.

"Ay, ay!" said Bid, carelessly, “we won't disoblige a gentleman." But when his eyes were turned away she glanced at him swiftly and keenly from under the white silk fringing of her knowing, knitted brows. And she followed him to the house, holding by Nan's unwilling hand.

It was getting dusk, and quite dark in the miser's chamber, where the light was so scantily admitted. Tibbie brought in an armful of faggots, and made a brilliant blaze on the hearth, so that the whole of the gloomy room was filled with a dancing, uncertain light. Simon remonstrated, wringing his hands at the waste.

you

"Stop, woman! will drive me mad with you extravagance!" he said, snatching at the half-burnt sticks.

Anan," said Tibbie, "is it wax candles

parchment, and slipped out of reach of the lawyer's arm on his knees before the hearth. A shriek and a curse told that the keen eyes and keen wits had mastered its contents in less than a minute. The lawyer suddenly disappeared from the room, and was soon driving along the high road, cursing his own folly, which in grasping too much had deprived him of the little advantages which he had enjoyed at Tobereevil. He at least could never show his face to the miser again.

As for Tibbie, she simply put her arms akimbo and faced her angry master.

"Hag!" he shrieked, "I'll have you hanged for this!"

"No you won't," said Tibbie. "It would cost too much money. An' besides, nobody would hurt me for sthrivin' to get the rights for my poor boy. If ye weren't so ill-hearted I wouldn't have had to take the law into my own hands. Judges an' lawyers could see that quick enough."

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Begone out of the house!" cried the miser, foaming with rage. "Never let me see your face again!"

"I'll go when I'm ready," said Tibbie. "An' that's my thanks for my long sarvice. An' there's Paul Finiston come home, pryin' about the counthry an' watchin' to come down on ye. It's little pace ye'll have when he gits next or near you, an' nobody here to purtect ye.

This was Tibbie's last hope, that dread of Paul would cow the old man's anger, and make him loth to be left alone. She had made a great mistake, however, and she quickly found it out.

"Paul Finiston," said the miser, suddenly calm. "Is Paul Finiston in the country ?"

"That he is, yer honor," said Bid, stepping forward and dropping a curtsy. An' as purty-lookin' a gintleman as ye'd meet in a day's walkin'."

Simon's wrath had subsided strangely, and he looked timorous and eager. "You know where he is to be found ?" he asked, quickly.

"I think I could find him out, yer honor," said Bid.

"Then go to him," said Simon, "and give him a message from me. I will have him here and he shall work for me. He never tried to trick me, nor to worry me, nor to rob me!"

He seized the pen beside him, and scribbled some words on a scrap of paper. The paper he to Bid. "Send the first person you meet for the

gave

police," he said, with a scowl at Tibbie. The gossoons who were listening in the hall set up a cheer at these words, and set off as volunteers on this mission. Then, and only then, did Tibbie lift up her voice and howl as one baffled and undone. She hurried away to hide herself, and the messengers departed. And Simon doublelocked his door and barricaded his windows, and sat all night long on the watch with his pistols by his side.

LOST EXPLORERS.

THE LOST SOON FOUND.

THE expedition so properly, and, as some think, so tardily sent out in search of Doctor Livingstone, reminds us how many of our best travellers have lost their lives under circumstances which long remained unknown. Not that many amongst us believe in such a fate for the heroic Livingstone; most of us assert that he is, must be, shall be, still living; the indomitable faith on this point entertained by the late Sir Roderick Impey Murchison is widely felt. True, Livingstone has been away from us just six years, in an almost unknown part of Africa; and we know that more than five years ago he described himself as being, through hunger and fatigue, “a mere ruckle of bones;" but still we have heard from him, or rather of him, occasionally, since; and experienced geographers can name a spot where they believe him to be at this moment. A few brief sketches will show how many explorers, on the other hand, have sunk under their privations; their fate being ascertained very soon, or after a long interval, or not at all.

The boys' favourite-everybody's favourite-Captain Cook, rendered a famous amount of good service before his lamentable death. Beginning with the year 1768. he made three distinct and very lengthened voyages of discovery to the vast Pacific Ocean. His first voyage lasted till 1771, and the narrative describing it was drawn up by Doctor Hawkesworth. In 1772, he started off on his second voyage in the Resolution, his former ship having been the Endeavour; in about two years he circumnavigated the globe in a higher southern latitude than had ever before been attempted, and made vast additions to the knowledge before possessed of the South Pacific Ocean. He himself wrote an account of this voyage, the unpretending and manly style of which rendered the book generally acceptable. No previous commander of a ship