am sure, have done so, but at that moment I saw Harry slowly raise himself on one elbow, and point his revolver at the side of the tent where I was lying. I felt I was safe, for Harry was a certain shot, and as soon as any one tried to get in would fire; so I lay perfectly still. Presently I heard a grating sound, and guessed at once that whoever was outside was cutting the ropes of the tent, so as to let it down on the top of us, and so render us helpless. This, however, I knew they could not do; for, we had put up a sort of frame inside to strengthen and keep it stiff, and this, being covered inside again with canvas, could not be seen from the interior of the tent. The only ways by which any one could get into the tent were by the door or by cutting holes in the canvas. I thought once I saw a fate peering in at the half-closed slit which formed the door, but if so it was gone again in an instant. From the little noise I heard, I was certain now that some one was trying to slit open the canvas; but doing it very cautiously, and using a very sharp knife. Suddenly, the tent was lighted up by the flash of a pistol, followed by the sharp report, and then two more shots were fired. The flashes showed me, in a confused sort of manner, four men rushing out of the tent; but whether my brothers and their mates or not, I could not be certain. Then a few more shots, shouts, and the sounds of a regular hand to hand fight going on just outside. I was not long in cutting a hole in the tent large enough to let me creep out. It was not very dark, and I could see men struggling with each other close by, and now and then heard my brothers' voices. My first thought was to go for the police, and I had actually started to do so; but I remembered that long before I could get to the camp the affair would be settled one way or the other. Coming back, I had to pass near our shaft; and as I got close I saw the figure of a man standing at the mouth of the hole, and working the windlass we had for getting the stuff out with. The truth at once flashed on me that he was either lowering or raising his mate, and no doubt knew where our gold was hidden. No time was to be lost. Back I went to the tent-where the fight still went on with undiminished ardour-as fast as I could for my gun, one barrel of which was loaded with ball. No one noticed me, and I got it and returned as close to the shaft's mouth as I dared. There was the man, now

standing still, and no doubt listening to the row which was going on close to him. I got to within about fifteen or twenty yards, and then, taking a good deliberate aim, fired. He gave a sudden start, and turning round, caught sight of me. Uttering a loud oath, he was springing towards me, when his foot catching on something or other-most likely the rope or the frame of the windlass-he tripped and fell head first down the shaft, giving a shriek I won't forget in a hurry. To run up and cut the rope was the work of a moment. I heard a crash, a loud cry, and then fainter but piteous cries for help from the bottom of the hole; but, as you may imagine, I did not stay to

listen to them.

By this time the diggings round about us were alarmed, and lights were seen in all directions, and men were running to our aid from all quarters.

When I got to the tent I found my brother Jim trying to tie up his arm, from which the blood was freely streaming. I bound it up, as best I could, with my shirt torn into strips; and, whilst doing so, got the particulars of the fight-as much, at least, as he knew.

It seems that as soon as Harry saw a man's head at the door of the tent he fired, and then two of the others did the same. They all four then rushed out, and saw four men, who, on seeing them, turned to run for it. They fired again at them, which had the effect of making them turn and face them. They closed, and Jim could tell me little more than that the fellow he grappled with stabbed him in the arm, and that, after struggling with him for a long time, he got hold of his knife, and, wrenching it from him, gave him a dig with it somewhere or other, which had the effect of making him let go his hold. Whether he was killed or not, Jim did not wait to inquire; for, finding himself free, he came back to the tent and tried to stop the bleeding from his arm, as I found him. Jim did not know what had become of the others, and was too weak from loss of blood to say much. By this time there were plenty of diggers round us, and we soon got Jim made all right, and as comfortable as the circumstances allowed.

In a short time, Harry and the other two came back. They knew very little of what had happened, except that each had grappled a man whose face was blackened,

who, when the noise of the diggers coming to help us was heard, had broken away from them; and although they followed them some distance, they could not gain on them. Harry said he was certain, from his voice, that his antagonist was Clifford; whereupon some of the diggers ran over to his tent, and there, sure enough, they found it quite deserted.

I then told them my part of the night's work; and it was decided that a night at the bottom of the hole would do the fellow or fellows, if the one I fired at was alive after his fall, no harm. No one seemed to like the idea of being lowered down to meet a desperate man, who no doubt was armed, at the bottom of a deep shaft-in the dark, too. So two or three agreed to watch the hole for the remainder of the night instead, in case of a rescue being attempted.

I got great praise for what I had done; but I do not think I deserved it, as any one else would have done exactly the same. However, as I was the indirect means of saving the gold, no doubt every one thought more of what I had done than they would otherwise.

Next morning the police came, and induced one of the fellows in the hole to come up the other was too much injured to move. He proved to be Angus. The other-the injured one-was a stranger to us. Angus confessed that he had, by listening at nights to our conversation, learnt where our gold was hidden; and that the attack on the tent was only made to attract our attention, and prevent our knowing that he was taking the gold out of its resting place. He said that Clifford had taken a fancy to us, and had insisted that none of us should be hurt; vowing, if one of us were killed, he would shoot whoever did so himself. This accounted for their not firing in return, and for their closing and wrestling with us instead. All they wanted was to give Angus time to clear off with the gold. I expect the way Jim came to be stabbed was that the fellow he collared was the one who had cut the ropes of the tent, and who still had the knife in his hand.

None of the others were caught. Angus got seven years. The other fellow got over his hurts, much to every one's surprise, and went to keep Angus company. It was found I had missed him when I fired, owing, no doubt, to my nervousness; and, to tell

you the truth, I was rather annoyed when I was told so.

What was so nearly being such a loss to us, turned out a great gain in the end.

About two days after this affair, I was hunting for some stray cattle in the valley where the hut stood, near which I first met Angus, when a man suddenly rode out of the scrub, and called me by name. I recognized Clifford, and, I must say, felt in a pretty considerable stew. However, he came up to me, and after asking about Angus and the other man, he gave me a long explanation of, and almost, it seemed to me, an apology for, his conduct. He said he was the head of a gang of bushrangers, and had planned the robbery of my brothers' party; but that after having seen them he had taken a great fancy for Harry, and wished his mates to give up the job. To this, however, they would not agree; and urged on by Angus, who was the most determined of the lot, told him that he might give it up if he liked, but that they would not, Angus adding that he "meant to have all the swag, even if he shot every one of the vile lot." Seeing that it was no use trying to persuade them to give it up, he agreed to join them, in the hope of preventing Angus from carrying out his threat. He, however, stipulated that not one of the party was to be injured; and swore he would shoot with his own hand the first who disobeyed him in this respect. He then told me that the claim he had been working was really a good one, and advised me to go at once to MacIvor, and tell Harry to work it. I did so, and it turned out first-rate. I got a share of it, which gave me such a good start that I was able, some years ago, to buy the station I now have; and this is the reason I changed its name to Clifford Station.

"I suppose you never heard more of Clifford, did you?" I asked.

"Yes, I did. I met him about two years afterwards in an hotel in Bendigo, and passed a very pleasant evening with him,” said Charlie. "He seemed quite pleased when I told him of our luck; and he told me the story of his life, too, which certainly was a queer one."

"Suppose you retail it to us some night," said Bill. "I never heard a real bushranger's story, and would like to do so very much."

"But I wonder you did not hand him over to the police," added Walker, "when you had him so snug."

"What good would that have done me?" replied Stevens. "He had done me no harm-in fact, had done me a great deal of good; and, besides, I liked the fellow, and so would you if had known him. As to you telling you his story, I may do so when it comes to my turn to spin a yarn again."

THERE

LITTLE JOHNNY.

HERE was a crowd. It was not the removal of an organ-man, whose interminable grind had driven some old lady into hysterics in the large house where the blinds were drawn. There was no servant at the door protesting that mistress paid the man twice to move away; but, to levy another sixpence, he merely paused to twist the screw in the corner of his organ and commence his set of tunes afresh. Near the gin-palace, it was more likely a rowinebriates deciding their dispute outside.

No, it was not a row. The laughter would be louder if it were a gutter preacher with improvised platform of an inverted rumcask, and a pocketful of greasy teetotal tracts; and, surely, the club-footed vendor of bunion plaisters and razor strops was no curiosity.

"Make way there! coming!" shouted a

woman.

Here's the stretcher clamorous orange

"Stand back, will yer, and give the man air?" bellowed a tyke with a donkey cart. "Well, it's little air a dead man wants!" sneered the woman.

"Who told you he was dead?" returned the man. "Did you not see his mouth moving a minute ago?"

"Moving! No more moving than the Monument there below; for I never took my eyes out of him this half-hour.”

"Well, for all the good they're to you, you might leave them in him; but if I was you, I'd have them on my oranges."

Dropping the brick she had brought forward as a pillow, and examining her basket, the woman exclaimed that but three mouldy ones were left; whereupon several dirtyfaced urchins in her vicinage evinced a slight impatience to retire, and directly slunk away.

"Leave him alone-he's coming to," said a shrewd-looking cobbler, dashing cold water from a jug-which incident suggested a variety of observations from the bystanders as to the cobbler's lasting charity and love

for saving soles; when general attention was directed to something from which proceeded a moan.

It was a prostrate man, whose haggard and distorted face bespoke more the ravages of poverty and vice than years-a page deeply seared with the brand of misery and despair, which, in the writhing and groaning of his returning life showed, with dreadful clearness, the depths to which degraded humanity may sink.

The rent and dingy tights, and faded spangles, declared him an itinerant acrobat ; and a wretched-looking boy, dressed after the same fashion, in head-band and darned hose, had gathered up a piece of worn carpet, and was crying beside an old drum.

Evening closing in gloomily, the group had dwindled to a few; and now, at length, two policemen approached, and after having placed a canvas machine on the ground, they proceeded to raise into it the half-conscious and resisting vagrant.

"I say, my young thimblerig," said the taller constable, briskly, "has this here old boy got anything to do with you?"

"He has got to be my father, that's all," was the reply.

"And that's quite enough, I should think." "Then, if you're his kid," said the other, "you can tell us if he's in a fit, or what; for I'm blowed if I know whether it's a case of obstruction, drunk and disorderly, or loitering with malicious intent. It don't matter which, you know; so stop wriggling, old chap. Quiet, will you? Hold down his other hand there."

The efforts of both policemen were now exerted in tying the man down, while the little fellow piteously implored

Oh, mister, loosen the strap across his throat-do, for mercy's sake! Father, be quiet, for me. Don't you know little Johnny? Oh, sir, he's choking-I know he is!"

"You'd best pack your traps and come along-you'll both be lodged to-night."

"We'll go anywhere, sir; but don't tie him so tight. He's getting black in the face! Oh, is there no one to save him—no one at all, at all?”

The poor boy burst into a heart-piercing wail as his unhappy parent and himself were hurried onwards to the station-house.

Some days had passed, the man had grown worse, and malignant symptoms had developed themselves. The prison physician had him removed to the gaol infirmary, where

the last scene in the drama of his life was rapidly closing. His keeper, with a cunning begot of experience, interpreting some incoherent words uttered in a lucid moment, elicited from him something so grave that a magistrate was sent for to receive the dying man's statement.

The hoarse tongue of the prison bell tolled eight, and a faint gleam of morning pierced the gloom of the sick ward. Through the night, in his delirium, he fought, drank, laughed, yelled, in anger and glee; now climbing walls to elude pursuers, now tumbling in the streets with little Johnny. Exhaustion succeeding, he had just been awakened from that portentous coma wherein the clammy forehead, sunken eye, and laboured breath herald approaching dissolution.

"He is better now, Mr. Flood," said the keeper to a gentleman who had just entered with the governor of the prison.

"How do you feel, my poor man?” inquired this visitor.

"You must speak louder, sir, or he won't hear you," urged the attendant.

The magistrate repeated the question, to which the response was a deep-drawn sigh.

Accustomed as the worthy man had been to tales of horror, he seemed to recoil from the startling disclosures his interrogatories called forth. At length, bending low over the couch, he scanned the features before him, and asked, with an anxious, timid expression, the name by which the man was known before he had joined a party of strolling players.

The man did not remember any other than Tumbling Tim, that by which he was then known.

"Had he any friends?"

"No-he never had a friend."
"No relatives?"

"None, except his wife and little Johnny. He did not know where they were; but if he got out, he'd soon find them."

After a pause, he murmured, while a ray of returning memory flitted across his pallid face, that he had a brother once-long ago; but they had never met since childhood. He remembered they wandered about, when very small, selling cigar lights. They used to seek shelter on doorsteps at night, and in summer under the trees. One wet day, while they stood dripping under a cart-shed -he remembered it well, for he never got better of his rheumatics—a gentleman came up, took his brother Charlie, and caged him

in an industrial school. He escaped himself by biting the gentleman's legs. He should like to see old Charlie; but he knew, twenty years ago, he could not live long in an industrial school.

The magistrate had turned aside; and, shading his face at the iron-grated window, appeared overcome with emotion; while the man, plunging into a wild strain, wandered on unchecked.

"He is getting the jigs again!" said the attendant, as a sepulchral laugh came from the pallet, followed by a faint call on the audience to stand aside, and witness the double somersault.

Their efforts to abate the violence of the paroxysm were vain; and after an interval of agony--an agony spared to neither tribune nor tumbler-the magistrate turned and saw before him, with feelings easy to be conceived, the corpse of his own brother.

Outside the gaol gate had been standing all the morning a squalid woman and a boy, both in the last stage of destitution. They had fruitlessly implored to be admitted; and having been threatened that further craving would entail their removal, they were waiting for any passing official to notice them, and obtain an entrance for them.

During that weary waiting, but three individuals stayed to observe them: the first, a warder, ordered them off the steps, and, to secure their immediate compliance, came forward and gave them a push; the second, a clergyman, approached with a countenance of beaming benignity, and, protected by his umbrella, gave them a brief exhortation; the third, a labourer, attracted by the coughing of the woman and famished look of the child, gave them all his greasy pocket contained-two coppers and a crust.

The noise of a lock was heard; the rusty hinge creaked; and, on a gentleman walking forth, the iron-plated wicket of the gaol gate closed with a resounding bang.

"Oh, sir," said the woman, curtseying till her rags, already soaked with the wet, trailed in the mud-" Oh, sir, for Heaven's love, get me in to see my husband!"

Mr. Flood-for it was he-walked on abstractedly.

"I was told here last night he was better; but yesterday I heard he was dying. And I know," she continued, "he must be dead, or I would have been allowed to see him before this."

"Your husband, did you say?" inquired the magistrate, stopping and glancing from the woman to the boy. "Who is your husband?"

"A man out of work, sir,” replied the woman, hesitatingly.

"Has he ever been in prison before?" "Never, your honour, in these parts," answered the poor woman, evasively. "What is your husband's name?" "Tim, sir."

"Tim what?"

"Tim Flood, your honour; but ever since the show, he always went by the name of "Tumbling Tim.""

The party had now returned to the prison gate, which opened in answer to a knock. "Now," said the magistrate, after having delivered in an undertone certain directions to a warder-" now, my poor woman, I fear you are not prepared for what awaits you; although, from what you have just told me, it cannot be altogether unexpected by you." “Oh," said she, bursting into tears "I knew it I knew it; and surely they might have let me speak one last word to him!"

Mr. Flood sighed; and even the warders showed a faint glimpse of feeling.

"I would not wound you," he resumed, "by saying a harsh word of the deceased; and I can understand how death awakens grief for even so bad a husband and father as he has been. It is, however, a relief that he has passed beyond the reach of laws against which he had sinned so grievously." Little Johnny sobbed aloud, and the mother wrung her hands, as the magistrate concluded

"In your presence, I desire to have it known that this vagrant tumbler was my own brother. Commencing life together on the streets, I owe my position to-day to an advantage which had he had the fortune to enjoy, his fate would have been different; or had it been denied me, my life and its end might have been as his. This blessing, my little Johnny, shall be extended to you. It is the dual benefit to society and to yourself of being trained in an Industrial School."

SOME FRIENDS OF MINE.-I.

THE REV. MR. WADHAM AND MRS. WADHAM.

THE Rev. Mr. Wadham often went in

the parish by the title of "poor Mr. Wadham," not because he was in need of

£ s. d.—for he had a good amount of that important article-but because there was something soft and simple in his character which made people pity him. If he had not been so good he would have been despised, and this prefix of "poor" to his name was a sort of well-deserved contempt.

Perhaps it was because he was so very thin, and wore knee breeches, that the people called him "poor Mr. Wadham," but the other reason is more likely to be the true

one.

He would, probably, not have liked to have heard himself called poor, though pride was far from his nature; for it falls on the ear as something rather different to pity. I think he would not have minded being pitied.

There was, however, some sort of pride in him. He was proud of belonging to the Evangelical party in the Church, and of being spoken of as a pillar thereof. He read the reports of the Church Missionary Society with as much reverence as if they were divinely inspired, and regarded the collecting box on the chimneypiece as something very sacred. It was as interesting to him as the coffin of Mohammed is to a Mohammedan. a Mohammedan. Perhaps, when it gets so old and worn as to be unfit for active service, he will bury it in consecrated ground.

The contents of the box were counted about Easter time, and the fourpenny and threepenny pieces in it were very numerous; for it was by small coin that Mr. Wadham realized the value of money. He never paid his bills by cheque, which would not have given him the consciousness that he was paying anything at all; but he handed the money over, fingering each shilling with a brisk look, as some men have when they put their thumb and finger into a friend's snuff-box.

He did not regret having to pay, but he liked to feel that he was paying. It was a stimulant to him, like chewing tobacco is to some old men in the poorhouse; and it must be admitted that it was a more cleanly and wholesome one.

This missionary money in the mantelpiece box was chiefly the result of fines which he imposed on himself whenever he did anything which he ought not to have. done, or when he left undone what he ought to have done.

He was extreme to mark what he did amiss, counting up his errors as Roman