worshipful Simon, to do him only justice, fully answered Mrs. Bridget's purpose, and even added much to her emoluments; still he was no mere derivative scion, but an independent plant, and entertained views of his own. He had his own designs, and laid himself out to entrap his aunt's affections; or rather, for I cannot say he greatly valued these, to secure her good graces, and worm himself within the gilded clauses of her will; she was an old woman, rolling in gold, no doubt had a will, and as for himself, he was younger by five and thirty years, so he could afford to wait a little, before trying on her shoes. The petty schemes of thievery and cheating, which he in his Quotem capacities had practised, were to his eyes but as driblets of wealth, in comparison with the mighty stream of his old aunt's savings. Not that he had done amiss, trust him; but then he knew the amount of his own hoard to a farthing, whilst of her's he was entirely ignorant; so, on the principle of 'omne ignotum pro mirifico,' he pondered on its vastness with indefinite amazement, although probably it might not reach the quarter of his own. For it should in common charity be stated, that, with all her hiding and hiving propensities,

Mrs. Quarles, however usually a screw, was by fits and starts an extravagant woman, and besides spendings on herself, had occasionally helped her own kith and kin; poor niece Scott, in particular, had unconsciously come in for many pleasant pilferings, and had to thank her good aunt for innumerable filched groceries, and hosieries, and other largesses, which (the latter in especial) really had contributed, with sundry other more self-indulgent expenses, to make no small havoc of the store.

Still, this store was Simon's one main chance, chief prize in his hope's lottery; and it was with a pang, indeed, that he found all his endeavours to compass its possession had been vain. Was that endless cribbage nothing, and the weary bible-lessons on a Sunday, and the constant fetchings and carryings, and the forced smiles, sham congratulations, and other hypocritical affections, fearing for his dear aunt's dropsy, and inquiring so much about her bunions,—was all this dull servitude to meet with no reward? With none? worse than none ! Fool that he was, had he schemed, and plotted, and flattered, and cozened, ay, and given away many pretty little presents, lost decoys, that had cost hard money, all for nothing, less than nothing, to be

laughed at and postponed to his methodist sister Scott? The impudence of deliberately telling him he "didn't want it, and was rich enough!" as if" enough" could ever be good grammar after such a monosyllable as "rich;" and "want it" indeed! of course he wanted it ; if not, why had he slaved so many years ? want it, indeed! if to hope by day, and to dream by night, if to leave no means untried of delicately shewing how he longed for it, if to grow sick with care, and thin with coveting, -if this were to want the gold, good sooth, he wanted it. Don't tell him of starving brats, his own very bowels pined for it; don't thrust in his face the necessities of others, the necessity is his; he must have it, he will have it; -talk of necessity!

Wait a bit is there no way of managing some better end to all this? no mode of giving the right turn to that wheel of fortune round which his cares and calculations have been hovering so long? Is there no conceivable method of possessing that vast hoard ?

Bless me how huge it must be! and Simon turned whiter at the thought only add up Mother Quarles's income for fifty-five years she is seventy-five at least, and came

here a girl of twenty. Simon's hair stood on end, and his heart went like a mill-clapper, as he mentally figured out the sum.

Is there no possibility of contriving matters so, that I may be the architect of my own good luck, and no thanks at all to the old witch there? Dear, what a glorious fancy,-let me Cannot I get at the huge

think a little.

hoard somehow?

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE DEVIL'S COUNSEL.

"STEAL it," said the Devil.

Simon was all of a twitter; for though he fancied his own heart said it, still his ear-drum rattled, as if somebody had spoken.

Simon, that ear-drum was to put you off your guard the deaf can hear the devil: he needs no tympanum to commune with the spirit listen again, Simon; your own thoughts echo every word.

"Steal it: hide in her room, you know she has a shower-bath there, which nobody has used for years, standing in a corner; two or three cloaks in it, nothing else: it locks inside, how lucky ensconce yourself there, watch the old woman to sleep,—what a fat heavy sleeper she is quietly take her keys, and steal the store remember, it is a honey-pot. Nothing's easier, or safer. Who'd suspect you?"

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Splendid! and as good as done," triumph