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But when the morning came, what was Phil Bloxam's surprise to find no Cobbler, no little mare, no watch, no Bill Peters, and no Jack's the Lad? The men's places were vacant in the dead-house-the little mare was gone from the stable.

"Blank them for a blanked lot of blanked thieves," roars Phil when he had satisfied himself they were gone, "to return no more again, no more.'

The only consolation Phil possessed was that £69 17s. 11d. would, with liberal deductions for mare, watch, and rum consumed, go a long way towards satisfying even his greed. Still he had been awfully sold; so he blanked the Cobbler heartily whenever he came into his thoughts, which he did continually.

But, alas for Phil, his consolation proved a "shicer." Horribile dictu! the cheque for £69 17s. 11d., bearing "Archie Gordon" as plain as could be, was returned to Mr. Phillip Bloxham by his bankers, marked "forgery!"

Then Phil felt down to his very marrow that he had been got at. For

hours the universe was to him 8 blanked blank.

The Cobbler never showed on Mosquito Downs after that year, nor did Bill Peters or Jack's the Lad ever again proffer to help Phil Bloxam to a good thing.

A PERSON OF VERY RECULAR HABITS.

SOME twenty-five years ago, or perhaps a little more, an aged and highly respected physician departed this life in one of the counties of Massachusetts. In fact, this worthy gentleman had reached at the time of his decease the extraordinary age of one hundred and five years. No little interest, as may be imagined, had hovered around his slowly declining days, and this was naturally awakened to fresher concern at the period of his long-de ferred death. He had always enjoyed the full esteem of his fellow-citizens and of the medical profession, which naturally looked up to him as its father and guide. The period of his death was one of great excitement with regard to the temperance question, and it was felt that most important lessons for the benefit of the cause could be derived from an investigation of the ordinary habits of a gentleman of education and scientific attainments, whose life had been protracted to such an advanced period. doubtless owing to the rigorous adherence to the laws of health, as promulgated and enforced by the total abstinence advocates of the day. Accordingly, after the lapse of a due season, a committee was deputed on the part of the temperance societies to wait upon some near relatives of the old gentleman deceased, in order to learn positively what had been the course of his life, and by what means he had so long preserved an existence, in the possession of mental and phy-ical vigour, until at length it yielded to the absolute decay of bodily powers, without the intervention of any acute disease. The deputation having pro

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ceeded to the ancient physician's late place of residence, waited upon a gentleman who was his grandson, to obtain from him all the particulars concerning his aged relative. After

due sentiments of condolence had been expressed, the suitable inquiries were propounded.

"Doubtless," said the chief interlocutor, "your grandfather, enjoying such a remarkable span of existence. was a strict observer of the rules of temperance, and we need not express our confidence that he indulged in no excess in the use of hurtful kinds of drink."

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"Oh no, sir," said the person inquired of;"" you may be quite sure of that. My grandfather was a person of very regular habits."

"But we should like to know, if you please," pursued the questioner, "something in particular regarding his mode of life; how, for instance, he began, and passed, and ended the day."

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"Well, sir, when he first rose in the morning he took about half a glass of pure Jamaica rum; my grandfather was a person of very regular habits; this was his uniform custom."

This, I suppose," said the inquirer, "was to give a sort of fillip to his system after the lethargy of lengthened repose, made requisite as an exceptional case by his very advanced period of life. Please tell us what his practice was during the rest of the day.'

“My grandfather, gentlemen, was a person of very regular habits, and took nothing else of this sort until eleven o'clock, and then only a glass of Jamaica rum."

"Indeed; did he drink anything with his meals?

“Not exactly with his meals; but about half-an-hour before dinner he drank a mixture to which he was partial, consisting of half-and-half of cider and rum," replied the man. "After drinking that it was his custom to go out for a short walk and return to dinner. When dinner was about half through he would then

drink, say, a glass of rum or whisky, as the case might be, and another when dinner was over. Dinner was always punctually on the table at one o'clock; he took no more until four o'clock, and after that a small quantity in his tea. His practice was not to drink anything else until near bedtime, which was always nine o'clock, when he had a glass or two of whisky or rum; unless, indeed, some neighbour or friend came in to join him. He was very hospitable always, and, as I have remarked, my grandfather was extremely regular in his habits."

The committee looked at one another and hesitated about pursuing the inquiry any further. It occurred to them, however, that it would be well to save themselves, if possible, in regard to the use of tobacco.

"Did the doctor ever smoke?" asked the chairman.

"That," said their host, "was one of his most regular habits. He was not often without a pipe in his mouth when not engaged professionally; but he did not smoke in his bed."

"Surely, then, he used tobacco in no other way?" suggested the interrogator.

"My grandfather every Saturday afternoon, gentlemen, purchased a certain quantity of pigtail tobacco, say from twenty-one to twenty-three inches in length; this he cut up into seven different portions, one of which per day, and no more, he used for chewing in the course of the seven days of the week. My grandfather's habits, as I have observed- ""

Thou knowest, O sister of deities, blazing With splendour ineffable-beauty amazing,

What life the gods gave me--what largess I tasted

The youth thrown away and the faculties wasted!

I might, as thou seest, have stood in high places

Instead of in pits where the brand of disgrace is:

A by-word for scoffers-a butt, and a caution,

With the grave of poor Burns and Maginn for my portion.

But the heart of the Father Supreme is offended,

And my life in the light of His favor is ended;

And, whipped by inflexible devils, I shiver With a hollow "too late" in my hearing for ever;

But thou, being sinless, exalted, supernal, The daughter of diademed gods-the eternal,

Shalt shine in thy waters when Time and Existence

Have dwindled like stars in unspeakable distance!

A Good Templar went one day to the races, and when he returned home his wife screamed and declared he was not her husband. "My Jim never had a nose like that," she cried; "and then your eyes." The neighbours came in, and the husband exclaimed, "Oh, yes, I am her husband, and I'll prove it. Her teeth are false; she has a bottle of brandy under her pillow: her hair is dyed." "That's sufficient," replied the wife, I believe you. Come in."

THE MYSTERY OF WISEMAN'S FERRY ROAD.

CHAPTER XI.

"I know, too, where the geni hid The jewelled cup of the King Jamschid With life's elixir sparkling high."

"Nothing in the world is single,
All things by a law divine
In one another's being mingle,
Why not I with thine ?"

As Caldecott wended his way back to camp his thoughts were full of his unexpected meeting with the bushranger, with the man who if his words were true, and they assuredly were, was the husband of his cousin Florence. Devereux evidently had complete faith in him. He had exacted no promise, had not so much as asked him not to reveal his whereabouts to living soul-so, consequently, for honour's sake, his secret must be scrupulously kept. Besides, was he not a relation by marriage hardly a desirable one, perchance-but still one of the family? This idea vexed George profoundly. He liked old Hart, bore him great respect, and not a little gratitude, but certainly had never contemplated him as a family connection. And then, too, by what a sorry link was the connection made? By a desperate outlaw, whose hands were stained with blood, and on whose head was a price set! Yet, for all that, there was a something in the fellow which Caldecott felt had had the effect of attracting him-something made up of rough bluntness, piquant, though rudely expressed, cynicism, and vague picturesqueness. Above all, Devereux knew his mother's secret and could help him materially in his efforts to solve it. What a pity it was Reynolds had not been thought of that night at Yarramundra when Devereux revealed to him he had read the letter which referred to Aldridge's escape! Yet there had scarcely been an opportunity on that occasion, as Devereux (with the police almost within arm's length of him) had been too hurried to do more than promise that he would do what he

could to aid him in solving the mystery. The contemplated visit of Reynolds, as just determined upon, might, however, lead to his finding the wished for clue. The question was, would Reynolds speak at Devereux's suggestion; might he not rather wrap himself up in his dignity as a respectable licensed victualler, and decline to go into particulars which would have the effect of lowering him in the estimation of a stranger? Caldecott remembered that when he had addressed himself to Reynolds on the subject of Devereux, that the sly old publican had professed to know the bushranger merely as a man to whom he had let some fencing, and who had taken him in to the tune of several hundred pounds.

On his return to his tent, George found that Mr. Kenny had just returned from Sydney, with news of an exciting character, to say the least of it. On the following day Mrs. Kenny, a young and charming matron of the correctly frisky order, was to arrive in camp with a posse of ladies and cavaliers, intent on a three days' sojourn under canvas. Mrs. Cosgrove was to be one of the party, and, in all likelihood, Miss Lucy Walton another. George's heart jumped at the prospect before him, and in imagination he rehearsed many a tete-a-tete ramble with the girl he loved.

There was, however, an immense amount of work before the survey party, in order to get things ready for the expected guests. Tents had to be pitched and stores sent for. Kenny, however, was a liberal employer, so his men went at it with a will, and in ample time had everything ready for the picnicers.

Caldecott and Kenny rode out to meet their guests, whose cavalcade they met near the junction of the Maroota road with the old northern causeway.

To the immense delight of the former, Lucy Walton, looking simply perfect in a close-fitting habit and

plumed riding-cap, was of the party. A tell-tale blush and happy smile revealed to George that she was glad to see him.

"There are other old friends to shake hands with, Mr. Caldecott," says Mrs. Cosgrove, who smilingly witnessed the meeting of the two she guessed to be lovers. "Have you quite forgotten Florence Cosgrove?"

"Is it likely? is it possible;" cries George, reining his horse to that lady's side? and how is Mrs. Cosgrove?"

"Oh! in splendid health, and fit for any amount of fun; but so are we all, ain't we, dear?" This question to Mrs. Kenny, who gave an affirmative nod, which was quite superfluous, as a glance at her face revealed the frolic disposition of its lovely owner.

The other ladies of the party, the two Misses Neville and a Miss Crawford, and the gentlemen, Mr. Crawford, Mr. Denne and Mr. Wilson were then introduced to George, or he to them. With Mr. Cosgrove he was already intimate, having, since the sticking-up of the mail-coach, stopped a few days at his house on the road to

town.

As they walked their horses slowly towards camp, Caldecott rode between Lucy and Mrs. Cosgrove.

"Don't you think I deserve great credit for planning this?" asked the latter.

"What, were you its deviser ?"

Yes, Mr. Caldecott; alone I did it! I even chose the party to save my indolent Blanche, that's Mrs. Kenny, the trouble of writing. Crawford and Kate Neville, Denne and Fan Neville, little Mr. Wilson and big Miss Crawford, Kenny for Blanche, my lord and master for Lucy, with you, Sir, for me; don't you think the selection does infinite credit to my heart and head?"

"You're a brick," he whispered.

"Don't call me names, Sir! I de believe that Locker is right after all, even in your case. Eh, Lucy?"

"Right? Oh, yes; I think Locker's always right," said Lucy, in warm support of one of her favourite authors.