necessary measures" would " be adopted for his
being paid the same from the 11th of September
inclusive, through the staff officer of pensioners
for the district in which he resides."

In the mean time, subscriptions had been
coming gradually in, in answer to the appeal in
the Times of the 18th of August; thus the
writer of that appeal was able to announce in
the Times of October the 17th that the subscriptions
would suffice to double the pension, if
necessary, and would yet leave a small margin
for investment in the savings-bank against sickness
or other emergency.

The old ex-pauper Waterloo-man completed
his seventy-fourth year on the eighteenth of
October. He had heard of the full extent of his
good fortune three days before; and, on the day
after his birthday, the writer of these lines went
to see him settled in his new lodgings: lodgings
far more comfortable than he had hitherto been
able to occupy.

"Well, Oliver," said the writer, "I hope you
are quite happy and comfortable now?"

"Yes, sir, indeed I be. I haves my liberty.
I can do as I like. I can take my walk when I
like, and go where I like. I can go in and see my
brother and sister when I've a mind. I'm a
great favourite with the children— I allys was. I
haves the respect of all the respectable people in
and about the place — and them as bain't respectable,
I don't care about."

BESET BY BUSHRANGERS.

SURVEYING and exploring a new district in
Queensland, is a matter of some hardship
and peril. In the evenings, after the day's
work is over, when we have finished our
"damper," salt beef, and tea, and are smoking
our pipes round a blazing log fire, many a
strange story is told. My men are old Bushmen,
and are up to a thing or two: especially
My Chainman.

He is a harum-scarum, reckless, handsome,
genuine Irishman of very respectable family,
induced to emigrate many years ago as a
hopeless scapegrace. He has knocked about
New South Wales and Queensland in all sorts
of capacities. I fell in with him by chance.
I was fortunate enough to save his life,
engaged him, and believe him to be as devoted and
fine a fellow as there is in the world.

A few years ago, My Chainman was
journeying in the direction of Sydney, from a place
in the interior called, I think, Jinballah.
Having stopped at several public-houses on the
way, he found himself still on his journey
with a ten-pound note, half a sovereign, and a
half-crown, in his pocket. About a hundred
miles from Sydney, he found some confusion
in a public-house which he had entered to
obtain refreshment. The landlady was crying
bitterly, and the servants were in a great fright.

When he entered, the hostess eagerly
exclaimed:

"You are not one of thim, are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Och, it's the Bushrangers I mane. You
aren't one of thim?"

"No. Have they been here, then?"

"Yes, half an hour ago, and cleared my house
of all I had. Musha! The widdy's curse be
upon thim!"

"Have they gone down the road, or struck
right into the bush P"

"Gone down the road to stick up all they
meet wid."

"How many?"

"Three; sorrow less."

Now, My Chainman must go down to Sydney.
He could not take the bush for it, as
he did not know the country well enough.
He might evade the Bushrangers by some
lucky chance, either by the aid of night or
other means. He was dressed, of course, in
the gear of a thorough Bushman, and they
might spare him on the old Scotch principle,
" Hawks pyke not oot hawks' een." Besides,
he might conceal his ten-pound note, and it
would not break his heart to lose his half-
sovereign and half-crown. On the whole, then, he saw
nothing for it but to resume his journey. He
chose his short sock as the best place for the
bank-note, and thrust the note into it, without
folding it up.

Forth he went, and rode rapidly on for
about an hour without seeing the rangers;
however, he distinctly saw the fresh tracks of
four horses in advance. At an abrupt turn
of the road, he was covered by three revolvers,
and addressed by three voices:

"Dismount!"

No help for it. He got off his horse, and
took a survey of the " glorious three." One
was a very good-natured-looking fellow; the
other seemed rather backward; the third was
an unmistakable ruffian.

"Where have you been? You're a digger."

"I'm just coming from the Wanoorah
Diggin's."

These gold-fields were noted for their
poverty.

"How much money have you got?"

"One half-sovereign and one half-crown."

"Is that all?"

"That's all."

It was the good-natured man who spoke in
this dialogue.

"I think, Jim, we may let him off. The
poor devil must be hard up, coming from those
wretched diggings."

"We'll have something to say to him first,"
replied Number Three, whose accent was
Irish; and this gave My Chainman some hope.

"Well, at all events, he must have a glass
of grog." My Chainman accordingly drank
a bumper that took his breath away.

"Walk before me into the bush," then said
Number Three.

"Not a bit of it, Jim; let the poor devil
go. Why, he's a countryman of your own.
What do you say, Jack?"