further from his thoughts than to play the spy; in fact he had scarcely been conscious of what he was doing. Nor, indeed, even when the uplifted lid revealed the contents of the box, which consisted of a number of documents neatly docketed, did he experience the least sensation of curiosity. But, unluckily, just as he was closing the lid again, after releasing that fatal slip of paper, his eye was caught by a prominent inscription: WILLIAM WILL O F BARKER, ESQ., Q.C. Without making excuses for the young man's next action, it should at least be recorded that it was entirely unpremeditated. There, to his hand, lay the solution of all his doubts and difficulties. If he was his uncle's heir, well and good; his present negligent mode of life need trouble him no more. But if he had only been left an insignificant legacy, and his cousin-or some other person-was destined to inherit the fortune, then it behoved him at once to set about making up for lost time, by applying himself assiduously to his profession. This reflection passed like a flash through Gascoigne's mind, and made the opportunity for enlightenment so irresistible, that he seemed to rush upon temptation rather than yield to it. One second of anxious listening, during which the only sound he heard was the tumultuous beating of his heart, and then he had seized the momentous document and was eagerly scanning its contents. Though brief, it was, unluckily, in his uncle's crabbed handwriting, and Gascoigne was compelled to carry it away from the box a little nearer to the light. A hasty glance was sufficient to convey to his trained mind its full purport. A paltry legacy to the long suffering valet, a picture or two to himself, all the rest of the contents of the testator's chambers, with the cash at the bank, to the niece, Mrs. Marsden; and the residue "to my nephew, Charles Grant Gascoigne, whom I appoint sole executor to my will." Gascoigne gasped as h end of it, eh?" cluding words, which mely recovering was absolutely heir to his wealth. He was glad on hipigne half account too, for the art treas queathed to her were of considobliged value. But to know that he hitharsh was the possessor-practically the p sessor-of the remainder of the of," man's fortune, was a revelation which caused his pulses to thrill with excitement, and made the sunlight dazzling. Perhaps because he was momentarily carried away by the pleasurable excitement of the discovery, the young man's vigilance was relaxed; or perhaps, old Barker intentionally burst in upon him unawares. At all events, without a moment's warning, while he still held the will in his hand, the door of the room was opened, and Gascoigne had barely time to thrust the document into the side pocket of his coat before his uncle, with his hat on, and muffled up for going out, suddenly stood before him. "Hullo!" growled the old man, blinking in the sunlight, "so you are here?" "Yes, uncle," replied Gascoigne tremulously; "didn't Rogers tell you?" "He never tells me anything, the lazy scoundrel," grumbled old Barker, shuffling in, and giving his nephew a distorted forefinger to shake. "What do you want?" "I called to inquire-I was sorry to hear you have been so unwell," said Gascoigne, thanking his stars that he had not left the lid of the tin box open. "So I have; but you are disappointed, you see. I'm nearly right again. I was just going out," snarled his uncle, advancing to the tin box as he spoke. Gascoigne's heart stood still, as the old man lifted the lid of the box. He apparently remembered that he had left it unlocked, and the action was evidently designed to assure himself of the fact. Had he laid a trap for his nephew, and entered the room abruptly with the idea that he would find him prying? Such a project would not have been foreign to the old gentleman's disposition, and Gascoigne trembled lest his uncle might open the box. But apparently this suspicion was groundless, or else Gascoigne's position at the window had been suggestive of innocence. At all events, old Barker proceeded to lug out his keys from his breeches pocket, and locked up the box with a shaky hand. "Can I do that for you, uncle?" inquired Gascoigne, prompted by a wild hope of being able to slip in the will unobserved. "No; you stay where you are!" said his uncle over his shoulder. "This is where I keep my will. You would like to see it, I dare say?" "No, indeed, sir," said Gascoigne hastily, dreading that his uncle might be disposed to gratify him. "Not curious enough, eh?" snarled old Barker. "Well, that's a good thing. You would be disappointed, I can tell you. Don't expect anything from me." "Very well, sir," said Gascoigne, too much overwhelmed by the consciousness of having the will in his pocket to appreciate the humor of the situation. "Quite disinterested, eh? Mark my words, young man; not one farthing will you get from me till you are making five hundred pounds a year by your profession. Do you hear?" cried the old gentleman, cocking his eye at him. "Yes, sir," answered Gascoigne, with tolerable composure. "Then you had better set about it. Not but what you have plenty of time," he added hastily. "I'm good for twenty years yet-the doctor says so." "I'm glad to hear it," said Gascoigne dutifully. "No, you're not. All the same, it is as well for you that you should have a few years to work up a practice in, for if I were to die to-morrow, you would get nothing." "Ar you going out, sir?" inquired Gascoigne, puzzled what to say to this enigmatical utterance. "Yes; I'm going to take that box to my bank. You can come with me, and pay half the cab fare,” replied his uncle, chuckling at this characteristic joke. He rang the bell, and sent his man for a cab, to which, in due course, Gascoigne escorted his amiable relative, while the porter carried the tin box. If his uncle had been in an observant mood, he would have remarked that the young man submitted, with much better grace than usual, to his jokes and sarcasms. This was hardly surprising, for it is not difficult to be long-suffering with an elderly relation when one knows he has manifested his benevolence in the most effectual manner. On the other hand, the awkward fact that he was carrying off, clandestinely, the old man's will was sufficiently disconcerting to render Gascoigne a trifle absent. When he had deposited his uncle and his tin box at the bank-after duly paying his moiety of the cab fare-Gascoigne had leisure to reflect upon the predicament he had placed himself in. Needless to say that he bitterly repented of his unpardonable curiosity; it would be more just to dwell upon his honest shame at what he had done. It seemed to him that only two courses were open to him; one, the more honorable, was to return the document frankly to his uncle; the other, to keep it carefully and say nothing. The latter plan was the one which he finally adopted, not so much from self-interested motives, as because he could not bring himself to face the old man's wrath. The more he thought about the matter, the more bitterly ashamed and humiliated he felt. As for the fortune, he regarded that as absolutely and forever forfeited, whichever course he took. If he confessed his fault, he knew that his uncle would ruthlessly strike out his name. The same thing would happen if he kept his own counsel, for it was inevitable that the old man must, sooner or later, miss his will, and it would be quite natural and easy to conjecture how it had disappeared. In Gascoigne's view, he had only a choice of evils and he simply elected to spare himself the scourge of his uncle's tongue. There are natures which need the stimulus of some unforeseen event or misfortune to awake their slumbering energies. This was the case with Gascoigne, for being firmly convinced that the result of what he had done would be to deprive him of his looked-for inheritance, he applied himself from that day forward to the drudgery of earning his livelihood. He had many friends and some influential connections, but, more important still, he possessed talent to which he had never hitherto attempted to do justice. A lucky chance, the absence of a learned leader in a notorious case, afforded him an opportunity of making a name, and almost without effort-so great a lottery is success at the bar!-he found himself in a position which was envied by his contemporaries. The process occupied nearly three years, and during this period he avoided the society of his uncle as much as possible. He was haunted by a constant dread of the discovery of his secret, and was more than indifferent about offending him. Old Barker, on his part, grudgingly acknowledged his success, and was disposed to be more gracious; until, at length, having invited his nephew to dinner one evening, and entertained him royally, he said, quite good-humoredly: "And that is to be the end of it, eh?" sneered the old man, slowly recovering from his amazement. "I expect not," said Gascoigne half defiantly. "Your cousin ought to be much obliged to you," said old Barker, with a harsh laugh. "She needs the money more than I," said Gascoigne. "By Jove! sir, she shall have it too. What is more, it shall come to her from your own hand," roared the old man, purple in the face. "I don't understand," said Gascoigne quietly. "I'll make a fresh will on the spot." "Very well, sir." "You shall take it down from my dictation." "As you please. It is rather like signin; my own death-warrant," said Gascoigne, with a nervous laugh. "So it is; so much the better; serves you right. There's a sheet of paper and a pen over yonder. Sit you down," said the old man excitedly. Poor Gascoigne obeyed silently, and "I suppose you are making five hun- not without an uncomfortable pang. dred pounds a year now?" "Yes," replied Gascoigne. "Then I shall have to alter my will. You would like to know what is in it, I expect?" It was, as he had said, uncommonly like signing his own death-warrant; but after all, it was only what he had anticipated, and he felt a certain sense of relief at having unburdened his con "I do know, sir," said Gascoigne im- science. pulsively. "What!" exclaimed the old man. "Your will is at my chambers, sir. Do you recollect that day when you left your tin box unlocked upon the table here? In your absence I opened it, saw your will, and was unable to resist the temptation of reading it. You returned suddenly, before I was able to replace it, so I have kept it ever since," exclaimed Gascoigne, very pale and shamefaced. There was a painful silence for full a minute; the old man's evil eye seemed positively to glare upon the offender, who looked precisely as he felt; and then Gascoigne said: "It was a mean trick, but I'm heartily ashamed of myself, and I beg your pardon." "I suppose you had better have the pictures and the things here," said the old man grudgingly. "She wouldn't appreciate 'em." "Thank you, sir," said Gascoigne meekly. "There may be a few pounds at my bank-not worth speaking of. In fact, this will may as well be in similar terms as the last, with your name and Margaret's reversed," said old Barker, with his malevolent old eye glistening. "Margaret is to be residuary legatee, in fact," said Gascoigne, with a sinking heart. "Yes. How much do people say I'm worth." "£100,000 at least," aLswered Gascoigne, with assumed indifference. "Ah! a good round sum to lose for a little curiosity, isn't it?" sneered old away. His will was nowhere to be Barker. found, but in searching for it, Gas "It can't be helped," said Gascoigne coigne came across a note addressed to philosophically. him by the deceased, stating that the "Indeed it can't. Now are you document was in the custody of his ready?" solicitor, and requesting Gascoigne to "Yes," said Gascoigne, grasping his see this gentleman at once, before compen firmly. The old man dictated, and the sight of his nephew's ill-concealed discomfiture was evidently so amusing to him, that he paused at frequent intervals to chuckle and laugh. At length, however, Gascoigne's penance was ended; witnesses were procured; and the will was duly signed. Old Barker took possession of it, and when his nephew de parted-for naturally the evening soon flagged after this exciting episode-the old man said: "Good-night. What a fool you have been! Those pictures and things are not worth a quarter of what I gave for them. Still I suppose you will get a couple of thousand clear." "More than I had any right to expect," said Gascoigne, as heartily as he could. "More than you deserve, you mean. Shake hands!" "You've forgiven me?" "Yes, but you'll never forgive your self! You were a fool to look at the will, but you were a worse fool to tell. If you hadn't, I should very likely never have missed it," said the old man, leering at him. This was not exactly consolatory to Gascoigne, who, though he realized the satisfaction of having relieved his conscience, experienced the natural disappointment of a man who has wantonly thrown away a vast fortune. It is true that he had always expected this, and at least he had saved something out of the fire. But it was a bitter pill, and it was fortunate that his professional engagements prevented him from brooding over his disappointment. He was also spared any further discussion on the subject with his uncle, for within a week the old man had an apoplectic seizure, from which he never rallied. Gascoigne was of course summoned to his uncle's bedside, but the patient was unconscious, and in that state he passed municating with his cousin. The young man naturally lost no time in calling upon Mr. Bush, of Lincoln's Inn, an old friend and client of his uncle's, and he was perhaps, a trifle disappointed when the lawyer placed in his hands the identical document which he had himself assisted to prepare. "I thought, perhaps, my uncle might have made a subsequent will,” he observed half involuntarily. "He could not have made a will more favorable to you," said old Mr. Bush. "His pictures and things must be worth £10,000 at the very lowest estimate, and his bank balance-which he leaves you also-amounts to rather more, as I happen to know. I should think you will take altogether £30,000 when the effects are realized." "It is an agreeable surprise." murmured Gascoigne. "Still, my cousin is residuary legatee, which means, I suppose, £150,000." "Nothing of the kind, my dear sir," exclaimed Mr. Bush. "The lady will only get the proportion of his annuity due at the date of his death-perhaps £1,000 or so." "What!" gasped Gascoigne. annuity!" "His "It will surprise many people," replied the lawyer. "He was supposed to be very wealthy, and so he was, in a sense. But he sunk his fortune many years ago in the purchase of an annuity of £5,000 a year, and a precious good bargain he made of it. It is a good thing for you that you are not his residuary legatee." "I was once," exclaimed Gascoigne, marvelling at his narrow escape, and at his uncle's peculiar method of show. ing resentment. "Yes; that was before your success at the bar, on which I congratulate you," replied Mr. Bush. "The fact is, that our departed friend was fond of a joke. Fortunately, as your cousin expects nothing, she won't be disappointed at | shell-fish. There was the small, lank getting only £1,000. If his old will had sand-shark, of no more dignity than a stood and you had found yourself in her dog-fish, whom I noticed too little to be position" able to describe him after so many years. "That would have been a sell certainly," said Gascoigne, who felt that he could now afford to laugh. From Badminton Magazine. THE WOBBEGONG OF BOTANY BAY. The shark fishing which I really enjoyed the tiger-hunt, as it were, of the sea-was systematically pursued, always with a fair measure of success, and occasionally with grand results after an exciting campaign. My theatre for these performances was Botany Bay, no longer then a place of detention for the unruly patriots who "left their country for their country's good," but teeming with those greedy seamonsters whom I easily persuaded myself that I did the public a service by pursuing and destroying. Why this carnivorous population swarmed so in that bay I could only conjecture, for swarm they certainly did, not here and there, but everywhere, from the Heads all round the sandy sweep of the shore. It was probably due to the abundance of food; the flathead alone, to say nothing of larger fish, mustering in prodigious numbers; perhaps also to the gradual shoaling of the water, which made it a secure anchorage for the tendrilled egg cases of sharks and a nursery for their young. Whatever the cause, they seemed to have made that bay their headquarters. And though the shark fishing which I shall attempt to describe was directed against one only, and that the largest and fiercest kind, yet there were sundry other species which deserve a passing mention. There was found, though rarely, its proper habitat being Port Jackson, that curious survival, oldest of existing vertebrate forms, the "Cestracion Phillipsii," its mouth armed, not with teeth, but with beautifully adjusted rollers, ridged and knobbed with the most finished regularity for the crushing of I have also taken casually several of the hammer-headed species, though not enough to be able to speak, with any certainty, of the size which they may attain. I should not, however, from all I could see or hear, credit them even at their full growth with very large dimensions. Lastly in the deep water about the rocky heads lurked a large and formidable sort of ground-shark, called by the Aborigines (vulgo “Blackfellows") a wobbegong. This ugly wretch in many respects diverges altogether from the ordinary shark type. Instead of the conical snout with the cruel mouth far overlapped by the projecting nose-an arrangement which somewhat hinders the fish's onset by forcing him to turn on his side-he has a square-cut head, the upper and under jaws level, and displaying rows of strong teeth accurately interlocked. He can thus secure his prey without leaving the ground, and, in order to "take them in" more easily, his lips are garnished with a fringe of wattles closely resembling filaments of seaweed, the wavy vibration of which doubtless lures inquisitive little fishes to their own undoing. This species is happily rare. I caught one over ten feet long outside Botany Head, and had a horror of his tribe ever after. When I had hooked him, I thought for some time that I was foul of the rock, and when he stirred at last in answer to resolute tugging, it seemed as if I had moved some heavy inanimate object. He showed no fight-sedentary habits not being conducive to activity-and was soon floating helpless alongside. Two or three well-aimed thrusts of the lance seemed to finish him, and as the boat was a large and strong one we actually contrived to heave him aboard, though the slightest resistance on his part might have rendered this impossible. But when I had placed a stout mop-stick between his jaws he stuck to it with such desperate tenacity that |