which formed his only defence against the expected charge of his formidable antagonist. It was a moment of fearful interest; and the Doctor, who from his perch commanded a full view of the scene, felt the blood curdling in his veins. But Charles, although he felt a peculiar tingling of the nerves, and a slight palpitation of the heart, bore himself gallantly.

No sooner did the tiger perceive his intended victim, than his whole appearance was altered. His green eyes glared savagelyhis ears were laid back upon his neck-the hair upon his back stood erect and, crouching close to the ground, he crept swiftly towards the nets. Having got sufficiently near, he uttered a tremendous roar, and springing forward with a lashing bound, threw himself against the net with a force that threatened to carry every thing before it. But the tough cordage yielded to the shock without sustaining any injury-the upper rope became disengaged the net fell together in a heap-and the enraged monster was instantly enveloped in a complicated mass of network, from which, in spite of his frantic efforts, he found it impossible to disengage himself.

So furious was the onset of the tiger, and so apparently frail the defence opposed to it, that Charles had not sufficient command of nerve to stand his ground;-he made an involuntary spring backwards, stumbled and fell.

The Doctor, seeing the desperate rush of the tiger, accompanied by a roar that made his heart sink within him, and perceiving through a cloud of dust that the net was, apparently, demolished, and his young friend down, immediately jumped to the conclusion that he must be in the tiger's jaws. His first impulse was to shout to Mansfield for help, which he did right lustily; his next to slide from his perch, with a reckless haste that considerably injured the appearance of his nether garments: and snatching up his fusee, he hurried to the rescue, invoking maledictions on the man who first invented the desperate amusement of spearing tigers on foot.

But, ere he could reach the scene of action, Charles had recovered his footing, picked up his spear, and driven it deep into the chest of the tiger.

The previous struggles of the powerful animal were those of a cat, compared to the frantic efforts which he now made to reach his pigmy antagonist. His eyes glowed like live coals-foam, mingled with blood, flew in spray from his distended jaws—he roared-he gnashed his teeth-he tore up the earth-he twisted and turned with the agility of a wild cat. By dint of gnawing, he had so far succeeded in destroying the net, that his head protruded; but still the complicated folds entangled his limbs and paralysed his efforts. Charles, although tremendously knocked about, clung manfully to his weapon, and exerted his utmost strength to force it through the monster's body and pin him to the ground. At length the tiger succeeded in grasping the shaft with his powerful jaws, and, by one vigorous shake, snapped the tough ash pole as if it had been a reed. Charles, although partially disarmed, still retained sufficient courage and presence of mind to make the best use of what remained of his weapon, and so gain time till assistance arrived; he had never quitted his hold of the spear-shaft, and with this he showered such a volley of blows upon the tiger's head as partially to stupify him, and thereby impede his efforts to disengage himself.

The Doctor, whose courage had failed him the moment he perceived Charles on foot again, had all this time remained at a respectful distance, dancing about like a maniac, brandishing "Mons Meg," and shouting to Charles "to haud out o' the gate till he got a rattle at the brute wi' the grit-shot." But Charles, who expected no aid from any one but Mansfield, was too busily engaged in preventing the tiger from getting clear of the nets to pay any attention to his exclamations, and continued to thrash away with his heavy ash-pole like a young Hercules. The tiger's efforts, however, instead of diminishing, only seemed to increase. He gnawed, and tore, and plunged, with the fury of desperation.

Mesh after mesh of the strong network gradually gave way. He had already succeeded in liberating one fore-paw as well as his head, and it was but too evident that a few more vigorous struggles must set him free.

At this critical moment, Mansfield came bounding over the rocks, and, uttering a hearty cheer of encouragement, drove his spear into the body of the tiger. Instead of attempting to hold the animal down, as Charles had done, he instantly withdrew the weapon, and repeated his thrusts with such strength and rapidity, that in spite of a desperate resistance on the part of the tiger, he was speedily covered with wounds and bleeding at every pore. The rapid loss of blood had perceptibly diminished his strengthhis shrill roar was changed to a hoarse bubbling growl-the victory was all but gained-when, with one tremendous blow of his gigantic fore-paw, he snapped the shaft of the spear in two, leaving the iron head sticking in his own body, and bringing down the butt-end of the shaft with such violence upon Mansfield's head, that he fell backwards, stunned and insensible.

The case was now indeed a desperate one. Poor Charles, although his courage failed not, was so much exhausted by his previous exertions, that his blows fell harmless as those of a child, and it was evident that he could not much longer maintain the unequal contest. Most heartily did he now wish for his trusty rifle, and loudly did he call upon the Doctor for assistance.

The tiger, weakened though he was by loss of blood, had by this time so far succeeded in destroying the net, that his head and shoulders were at liberty. One struggle more, and he was free, to wreak a fearful vengeance on his foes-to quench his burning thirst in their blood. A hellish fire shot from his eyes, and his whiskered lips curled into a grin of ineffable malignity as he gathered himself together for a decisive spring. It was madness to oppose him longer. Charles upbraiding the Doctor for a cold-blooded poltroon, turned to fly; but in doing so, he stumbled over his prostrate companion, and fell heavily.

Doctor! Doctor! where is your manhood? Will you allow your gallant young companion to be miserably mangled before your eyes?

No!-The latent spark of fire which lurked in the blood of his Celtic ancestor is at length roused. He utters a war-cry-he rushes boldly between the infuriated tiger and his prostrate victims-"Mons Meg" pours forth her deadly contents-and the monster, in the very act of springing, rolls dead at his feet, with two ounces of "grit-shot" in his brain.-Hurrah!!

"What think ye o' the grit-shot now, Captain?" exclaimed the Doctor, pointing with an air of triumph to the dead tiger, as soon as Mansfield had sufficiently recovered from the stunning effects of the blow to understand how narrowly he had escaped destruction. "There are waur things than a fusee and grit-shot, at a pinch, I'm thinkin'. That plan o' yours, o' spearin' tigers, is a' very weel, for ance in a way; but, by my troth, lads, ye had better no make a practice o't."

This was a sentiment in which the two young sportsmen perfectly concurred. They had got a lesson which made them heartily repent of their folly. And, after returning thanks for their providential escape, and bestowing abundant praise on the Doctor for his timely aid, they both vowed, solemnly, never more to engage in so fool-hardy in so fool-hardy an adventure.

Great were the rejoicings that night in the Sacred Village, and many were the good jokes cracked by the worthy Doctor over a bottle of Glenlivat, which he insisted on draining in honour of his victory.

We have heard it hinted, that towards the "sma' hours," the Doctor was seen pursuing rather a tortuous course towards his bedroom, under the guidance of his friend Heels: but this we believe to be a calumny. At all events, it was the proudest day in the worthy Doctor's life; and, to this hour, his favourite story after dinner is, "The daft-like tiger-hunt, wi' thae twa wild birkies, at the falls of the Cauvary."

CHAPTER XVII.

THE HUNTERS' RETURN, AND A LITTLE LOVE-MAKING.

OVE-MAKING! Love-making! Ha!

ha! Fair Reader, does it not make thee laugh to see the weather-beaten sun-dried Old Forester thus deliberately announcing that he is about to attempt a love scene-to dash headlong into a description of that all-powerful passion which our quaint friend Burton, in his "Anatomy of Melancholy," describes as "a fire in a fire; the quintessence of fire; backing his assertion by the following fearful description of an unfortunate youth, who died for love, and was dissected in the presence of Empedocles the philosopher :

"His heart was combust, his liver smoakie, his lungs dried up, insomuch that he verily believed his soul was either sod or rosted, through the vehemency of love's fire?"

There Young Ladies !-there's a pretty fiery subject for an old fellow of three score and ten to handle !

"He'll burn his fingers," you will say.

This between you and ourselves, we think very probable. But, having followed our young friend Charles so far through the dangers of the wilderness, we are loth to desert him, now that