This was a great blow to the housekeeper, for she was much attached to her old master, who had allowed her to keep her little grandson beside her under his roof. The sister survived her brother about five years. After her death the housekeeper returned to her old hut, where she has ever since lived on the interest of a small legacy left her by her old master. Little Willie, or wee Wullie, as she used to call him, was the light of old Moggy's eyes, and the joy of her heart. She idolized and would have spoiled him, had that been possible, but the child was of a naturally sweet disposition, and would not spoil. He was extremely amiable and gentle, yet bold as a young lion, and full of fun. I do not wonder that poor old Moggy was both proud and fond of him in an extraordinary degree. The blow of his removal well-nigh withered her up, body and soul.

“He died?" said Lucy, looking up at Flora with tearful eyes.

"No, he did not, perhaps it would have been better if the poor child had died; you shall hear. When Willie was six years old a gang of gipsies passed through this hamlet, and, taking up their abode on the common, remained for some time. They were a wild, dangerous set, and became such a nuisance that the inhabitants at last took the law into their own hands, and drove them away. Just before this occurred little Willie disappeared. Search was made for him everywhere, but in vain. The gipsies were suspected and their huts examined. Suspicion fell chiefly on one man, a stout ill-favoured fellow, with an ugly squint and a broken nose; but nothing could be proved either against him or the others, except that at the time of the child's disappearance this man was absent from the camp. From that day to this, dear little Willie

has never been heard of.

"At first, the poor old grandmother went about almost mad with despair and anxiety, but, as years passed by, she settled down into the moping old creature you have seen her. It is five years since that event. Willie will be eleven years old now, if alive; but, alas! I fear he must be dead."

"What a sad, sad tale!" said Lucy. "I suppose it must be because our Jacky is about the age that Willie was when he was stolen, that the poor woman has evinced such a fondness for him."

“Possibly; and, now I think of it, there is a good deal of resemblance between the two, especially about the hair and eyes, though Willie was much more beautiful. You have noticed, no doubt, that Moggy wears a clean plaid—”

"Oh, yes," interrupted Lucy, "I have observed that.”

"That was the plaid that Willie used to wear in winter. His grand

mother spends much of her time in washing it; she takes great pains to keep it clean. The only mystery about the old woman is the old chest in one corner of her hut. She keeps it jealously locked, and no one has ever found out what is in it, although the inquisitive folk of the place are very anxious to know. But it does not require a wizard to tell that. Doubtless it contains the clothing and toys of her grandson. Poor old Moggy!"

"I can enlighten you on that point," said Lucy, eagerly opening the lid of a small basket which hung on her arm, and displaying the small suit of Highland clothing in which Jacky had been conveyed home on the night when the Sudberrys were lost on the hills. "This suit came out of the large chest, and, as I knew you meant to visit Moggy to-day, I brought it with me."

The two friends reached the door of a small cottage as Lucy said this, and tapped. "Come in!" gruffly said a man's voice. This was one of Flora's difficult cases. The man was bed-ridden, and was nursed by a granddaughter. He was quite willing to accept comfort from Flora, especially when it took the shape of food and medicine; but he would not listen to the Bible. Flora knew that he liked her visits, however; so, with prayers in her heart and the Bible in her hand, she persevered hopefully, yet with such delicacy that the gruff old man became gruffer daily, as his conscience began to reprove him for his gruffness.

Thus, from hut to hut she went, with love to mankind in her heart and the name of Jesus on her lip; sometimes received with smiles and sent away with blessings, occasionally greeted with a cold look, and allowed to depart with a frigid "good-day!" Lucy had often wished for some such work as this at home, but had not yet found courage to begin. She was deeply sympathetic and observant. Old Moggy was the last they visited that day. Flora was the only female she would tolerate.

"I've been tryin' to say't a' night an' I canna do't!" she said, stoutly, as the ladies entered.

"You forget the words, perhaps, dear Moggy-'The Lord gave, and the Lord hath——” ” "Na, na, I dinna forget them, but I canna say them." So Flora sat down on a stool, and gently sought, by means of the Bible, to teach the old woman one of the most difficult lessons that poor human nature has got to learn in this world of mingled happiness and woe.

(To be continued.)

MY FIRST COMMAND, AND HOW IT ENDED.

THE OLD ADMIRAL'S YARN.

BY WILLIAM H. G. KINGSTON.

I

HAD been at sea about five years, and had seen some pretty hard service, when I was appointed to a dashing frigate, the Tiger, on the West India station. Our captain had never been accustomed to let the grass grow on his ship's bottom, and he took good care to keep that of the Tiger pretty clean. Those were stirring times. England was engaged in a fierce war, both by sea and by land, with the larger proportion of the civilized nations in the world, and it was more easy to find an enemy than a friend wherever we sailed. I cannot say that we had any complaint to make with that state of things, as we came off generally the victors, and made lots of prize money. The more of the latter we got the more we wanted, and we spent it as lavishly as if there would be no end of it. We had taken several prizes, when we received notice that a large French privateer was in those seas, committing a good deal of havoc among our merchantmen. It is said that everything is fair in love and war-in war, it may be the case; in love, nothing is fair that is not straightforward and honourable. Our captain considered that stratagem in war was, at all events, allowable, and he used to disguise the frigate in so wonderful a way, that even we ourselves, at a little distance, should not have known her. By this means many an unwary craft fell into our clutches. One day, we lay becalmed, with our seemingly black and worn sails hanging against the masts, our ports concealed by canvas, painted to represent the weather-beaten sides of a big merchantman, our yards untrimmed and all our rigging slack. At length a breeze was seen coming towards us, bringing up a large ship. When the stranger was within a couple of miles the wind fell. We were soon convinced that our trap was well baited, for we saw the stranger lower three boats, which came rapidly towards us. We, in the meantime, lowered three others, well armed and ready at a moment's notice to pull off in chase, when the enemy should discover his mistake. Not, how

ever, till the Frenchmen were close up to us, did they find out that we were not what we appeared. We saw by their gestures of astonishment that they suspected all was not right. Before, however, they had time to pull round, our boats were after them. I was in one of them. We were alongside in two minutes-they attempted to defend themselves— they had better have been quiet-a few were knocked overboard and hauled in by our fellows, and all three boats were taken. We found that we had got the captain and second and third officers of the stranger among our prisoners, and that she was the privateer of which we were in search. The Frenchmen frantically tore their hair, and swore terribly at us for the trick we had played them. "Ah! you perfides Anglais, had we been on board our ship, you would not have taken us so easily,” exclaimed the French captain. Then, sir, you are welcome to go back and fight it out!" answered our captain. “Ah, morbleu non!" cried the Frenchman, with a shrug of his shoulders, "I know what sort of fellows you are in this frigate, and I would rather stay where I am with a whole skin than return to be riddled by your shot. If my ship escapes, though, do not blame me." Certainly not; but I have no intention that she shall escape!" said our captain, with a bow, directly afterwards ordering all the boats ahead to tow us towards the enemy. They pulled on till we got her well within range of our guns, when the painted canvas being cleared away, we opened fire. In five minutes she hauled down her colours. We found on board the crew of a large English West Indiaman, captured that morning and supposed not to be far off, though not in sight. Depend on it we whistled with right good will for a breeze. It came at length, and disguising ourselves as before, and having the French ensign over the English, we and our big prize made sail in chase. Greatly to our delight, the merchantman was seen standing boldly towards us, attracted by the firing. It was amusing to watch the countenances of the French prisoners-they would have done their best to warn her off had they dared, but they could only make grimaces at each other, and hurl low muttered curses on our heads, while their richlyladen prize was recovered by us. She was a West Indiaman-the Diana. I cannot say much for the beauty of the goddess of the night, for she was a huge wall-sided ship, capable of stowing away a vast quantity of sugar and molasses, articles much in request at the time in Europe. The French prize crew were being removed when the captain sent for me. My heart fluttered unusually. "Mr. Brine, you have behaved very well, very well indeed, since you joined this ship, and I have much confidence in you!" he began. I bowed at the compliment--I had an idea that it was deserved, though I did not say so-I had done two or

come.

three things to be proud of, and I knew that I stood well in the captain's opinion, although I was not yet a passed midshipman; "I accordingly place you in command of the Diana, more willingly than I should any other midshipman. You are to take her to Bristol or Plymouth, and remember that she is of no small value to us." I thanked the captain for his good opinion of me, but begged to have a mate capable of navigating the ship, should I fall sick or lose my life; and I named Tony Fenwick, another midshipman, my junior, and a great chum of mine. I had an old follower, Paul Gott, who had been to sea with my father. His name was short, but he was a tall man. I asked if he also might The captain granted both my requests, and allowed me to pick out six other men for my crew. I felt wonderfully proud as I walked the deck of my first command, and certainly no two happier or better satisfied midshipmen could be found than Tony Fenwick and I, as we navigated the sugar-laden Diana across the Atlantic. We only wished that we could meet a letter of marque of our own size, which might attempt to interfere with us. What thought we of tempests or foes, the possibility of wreck or recapture? We both of us hoped soon to obtain our promotion, for those were the days when a post-captain of nineteen commanded one of the finest frigates in the navy, and had dared and done deeds as gallant as any which naval history can record, and requiring knowledge, judgment, and discretion, as well as bravery. Old heads. were often worn on young shoulders, though there were plenty of harumscarum fellows, as now, who did no good to themselves and much harm to others, whenever they chanced to be placed in command. We had a fine passage across the Atlantic -Cape Clear was sighted, and we expected, in a few days at most, to carry the Diana safe into port. Fenwick had the first watch on deck one morning-daylight had just broke when the look-out at the mast-head shouted, "A sail on the weatherbow-a large ship!" I heard Fenwick's reply, and jumped on deck, for I always slept in my clothes, ready for work. The stranger, we concluded, was probably an English cruiser. The Diana was kept accordingly on her course-still, not free from suspicion, we narrowly watched the stranger's movements. I was looking in another direction, when I heard Tony utter a loud exclamation, not complimentary to the French, and looking round, when it was now too late to escape from her power, what was my annoyance to see the hated tricolour flying from the stranger's peak! Still neither Tony nor I had any thought of yielding up our charge without a struggle. "She's a big one to tackle, and we shall have a squeak for it at best!" observed Tony, eyeing the Frenchman with no loving glance. All sail was made, but nothing but a miracle could have