doctor's too; who, it turned out, had been over
the mountains to a new settlement, at a most
urgent call to a sick man, and a proportionate
fee.

"A case of life and death," said he, "and
really almost of the same to the doctor.
May the settlement flourish and set up
its own surgeon; for I never wish to go there
again. Fifty miles through these terrible
ranges, on the edge of winter, is no trifle;
one ought to make one's will before attempting
it."

Here the doctor seeing his horse had
finished his oats, jumped up, and little Fritz,
with a flaming brand, took the animal to be
company for the naturalist's horse, in the little
sheltered glen, just by. Returned to the blazing
fire, they once more blessed their stars for so
opportune a shelter, drank pannikin after
pannikin of tea, digested many a good slice of
ham, and baked in luxurious content in the
glow of the ample fire.

"This has been some robber's den, take
my word for it," said the doctor. "Some
desperate convict skulked here till he
found means to get over to the other side,
and the goldfields. But what times these are
to those of our fathers in the island? The
Musquito came down upon them with the
enraged natives, and Michael Howe and his
gang spread terror from the Tamar to the
Derwent. There is a story—a wonderful
one—told of those times, which few who
hear it will believe; yet, it is quite true, and
has been mentioned by West in his history of
the colony.

"At the time when a heavy sum was offered
for the capture of Howe, alive or dead, and
when the desperate fellow was so hunted and
laid wait for, that he was irritated to a state of
deadly ferocity,—a convict happened to make
his escape. He bolted to the woods in
nothing but the bright yellow suit which the
so-called canary-birds, the convicts, wear. He
had made his way up the country, by venturing
to approach shepherds and solitary stockmen,
who were often of the class, and
actuated by the fellow-feeling which makes
'wondrous kind.' From them he had procured
damper enough to carry him on, and at length,
arriving in the mountains, he encountered the
celebrated bandit, at the head of a gang of his
desperate followers.

"'Eh, mate!' said Howe, 'whither away?'

"'To join the bushrangers,' said the man;
'I have made my escape.'

"'That won't pass, my friend,' said Howe,
pouncing savagely on the man. 'This is a
stale dodge;—won't do here; it has been
tried too often. Rather tempting, eh?—that
price on my head? But we've settled all
that. The man that comes here, dies; and so
all's safe. Mate, here's a choice for you;—
we don't wish to be too arbitrary. The
cutlass, the pistol, or the contents of this
little vial;' producing one from his waistcoat-
pocket.

"The poor fellow, thunderstruck with
astonishment and terror, begged piteously for
his life, protested over and over his innocence
of any treason, and his desire to join them. In
vain. The savage outlaw bade him cease his
whining, and make his choice, or they would
at once choose for him. The poor wretch
selected the poison as the least appalling.
They saw him swallow it off, wished him a
comfortable doze, and disappeared in the
wood. The potion began to take instantaneous
effect. The man sank down, overcome with
drowsiness, on a stump, and felt himself
falling into an overpowering stupor. But
the dose was too strong; it produced violent
sickness, and the man, relieved, arose in a
while, and marched on.

"After travelling some hours, taking, as
well as he knew, a direction widely different
from that of the bushrangers, to his own and
their astonishment, he found himself once
more crossing their path.

"'What!' exclaimed they, 'are you not
dead?'

"The man fell on his knees, and prayed
vehemently for his life. It was useless. The
choice of sword or pistol was again offered him,
and as he continued to implore for mercy, crack
went Howe's pistol, and the victim fell
motionless on the ground.

"But he was not yet killed. After a time
he recovered consciousness, felt the top of his
head smarting and burning terrifically, and
his eyes blinded by blood. But his bodily
strength and feeling of soundness was wholly
undiminished. He rose, wiped the blood
from his eyes, washed his head at a pool, and
found that the ball had merely grazed his
skull. Binding up his head with his hand-
kerchief, he once more set forward, trusting
this time to steer clear of the merciless crew
of bushrangers. But no such good fortune
attended him. After marching some miles
through a most laborious mountain-track in
a deep inlet valley, he again saw to his horror
the robber troop approaching. It was too
late to conceal himself; they already saw
him; and he heard distinctly the shout of
wonder that they raised on perceiving him.

"'What!' exclaimed the terrible Howe,
'still alive? Will neither poison nor bullet
destroy thee? Why, thou art a cat-o'-
mountain, with not nine, but any number of
lives at the devil's need. Art thou man, or
ghost, or fiend?'

"The poor wretch once more, and still more
movingly, pleaded for his life.

"'What had he done?' he asked. 'He
wanted only to join them, and he would be
their slave, their fag, their pack-horse, their
forlorn hope in any desperate cases—
anything, so that they only let him live.'

"'Live!' exclaimed the barbarous leader;
'live! Why, thou livest in spite of me!
Neither fire nor physic harm thee! Nay, I
would kill thee, if it were only to see what it
takes to do it. I have a curiosity to know