LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1561, 19 February 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

UNCLE ANDREW'S STORY; OR THE GHOST AT WaSANGA. [By SALTIIfEL T.OLES ] Important business took Xmlrew Gill home to England, and when it wis all settled to liis satisfaction, ho went tospeud Lis Ch istmas at App'eby Hall, wher». a' our, a dozen of his nephews and nieces hid been convened for the same purp se. Andrew could tell stories, and thoy all knew it, for some of rhem lad reea printed; so one night all his nephawj a- d nieces drew around the fire, and inforned him that they want il to hear one of lis most wonderful stories that very evening.

■ I.ik •t e Arabian Nights,' 6(M one, 'ouly an Aut-tralian story, of course.' ' My dear,' relied Uncle Andrew, with gently irony, 'Nothing ever happens out there that could interest anybody.' 4 Now, ' Bay uncle,' an ther, 'we do want a ghost story a > badly ! •Alas; we have no ghf-sts in Australia, said the uncle ; 'as T tell you, life out there is so uninteresting th*t none but the most idiotic ghost would ever cotne bank and haunt. Besides, we'vo nothing to hauntno castles, or ruins, or anything like that.' ' And I suppose peo.de never fall in love in Queensland,'said the daughter of somebody who must have been very proud of her. .. .

'Well, T'm not so ture about that,' replied the uucie. 'I f mcy I have heard of an instance or two in Brisbane, where people are civilised, and feel pr-tty much as people feel in Knpland ; but in the bush ' ' Unnle Andrew,' sa.davery jovial looking nephew, ' you have b en so long in the bu-:h that it's no wonder you are a good hand at bea'ing about it. But we all want a story—a Christinas story.' ' With a ghost in it,' cried somebody. ' Yes, and s. horrible m - —,' said another. • And there really must be a love affair iD,' said a third.

'Nephews, nieces, and darlings generally,' said Andrew, waving down tho clamour, ' I'll tell you a Christmas story with everything in it!' Here nieces and darlings generally gave the complaisant uncle several kisses, which so invigorated him that he at onoe cleared his throat, and told them the following story : THE OH >ST AT WARANGA.

Some years ago a young man, whom we may call John Smith, after t-aveiling four hundred miles with sheep, delivered them at Waranea a station in tho Never never country, Queensland. After his long and tedious journey had been concluded with more than uswl success, and as he was a decent young fellow, he was asked to spend Christmas at Waranga. It only wanted about a fortnight to Christmas, so Smith consented to remain and rest.

Jacob Simpson, the manager and part owner of the station, was a dry old shell of a man, who could not possibly do a wrong thing, bat unfortunately he knew this so well tha 1 ; he hardly knew anything else. His wife was nearly as good as himself ; but she was a hypochondriac, and at least once a week imagined herself to bo dying. Now these good people had two 'grown-up ohildren, from whom they demmded every sacrifice, and who (according to the good peoph ) were destined to cover the name of Simpson with shame and disgrace. .Robert, the elder of these children, was a fine broad-chestod bright-eyed man, abont twenty five years old, a splendid rider, a glorious companion, and an honest man. His sister—his sister—let us call her Mary —his sister waa the sweetest creature that was ever born to make the desert of a man's heart bloom as a garden of roses. I could not tell you how beautiful she was, Eobert and Maiy were devoted to their father and mother; but they were all in all to each other, and a great deal to every living soul that knew them. Now when John Smith had been three days at Waranga he noticed that his appetite was not what it used to be, and that he was not as lively as he used to be, and he couldn't think what was the matter with him. At first he thought he had been nmoking much, so ha reduced himself to three pipes a day; but he ftill couldn't eat more than two large bunches f grapes before breakfast and he still noticed the same awful lowness of spirits every night after Mr and Mrs and Miss Simpson had retired. Even Kobert, with his best fun was unable to ch'ev him up the least bit. Then be thought that want of exercise had put his liver out of order, so he took a gun and went out to shoot; but this was a failure, for he used to get into the scrub and lie down iu the shade and think and think, and wonder what ailed him : and 'guanas and snakes would come and examine him and kangaroos would come and look sadly at him, and turkeys w.ould come and sound mysterious notes around him ; and after an hour or two ho would get up and go home, and s»y he hadn't seen anything to shoot. Thftn Mary would play the piano to him, and sing songs to cheer him up; but somehow or other he didn't enjoy himself at all, and he could not had out what was the matter with him.

One night, when everybody else was in bed, Smith and Robert sat on the verandah, and talked about ail sorts of things, till at last they got to ghosts. John didn'c believe in ghosts, and Robert did.

' Not half a mile from here,' said Robert, 'we have a desert- d hut and if you are there about twelve o'clock at night, you will hear what sounds like a great atone thrown on the roof.'

' Have you ever heard it ? ' asked John. ' I heard it once,' said Robert, ' the only time I was there at night.' ' Did other* hear it ?' asked Jonn.

' Two others heard it with me. We went on purpose to hear it. Do you think we could be mistaken ?' ' I think some person played a trick on you,' said John, ' Wei',' said Robert, 'What will you say when I tell you that a shepherd who resided there ten years ago was found lying dead in the hut, with his head crushed, and the stone with which the deed was done lying on the floor beside him ? ' ' I do not doubt that,' replied John ; * but I do not think that ghosts can throw stones —or, in a word, that ghosts evur haunt any place.' •I wish,' said Robert, ' that you had been with me that night ' ' I can be there t --night' said John. 'Done, said Robert, 'and may the old ghost break the roof in on you, you obstinate old Turk." Well, they went to their bedrooms, put on their b.ots, mustered up pipes and tobacco, and matches, and off they started for the Murdering Hut, as it was called, When they got there it was about eleven o'clock, so they had about an hour to wait, and after walking two or three times round the hut they went inside, made a roaring fire of dry wood in the huge fireplace, and, taking their seats on the bunks which were still there, they set themselvi-s to chat and smoke till the dread hour of twelve should arrive. ' It only wauts ten minutes to twelve by my watch,' said Robert. ' How do you feel about it ?' 'Perfectly easy,' said John, 'and so do you. You surely do not expect that what chanced to happen last time you were here will happen again to-night ? ' Honestly, then,'replied Robert,' 'I do not expect it ; but if nothing happens, you have still to a 'count for what did happen.' 'lf it was not a trick.' said John, 'lthink that the wind may have blown a bit of an old branch on the roof.' 'lt was as calm and still as to-night.' said Robert. ' I have known wild ducks fly against a roof.' said John. 'lt is twelve o'clock by my watch,' said Robert. And when he had said this, John get up and walked up and down the hut. • Three minutes past twelve,' said Robert in a whisper. ' The old ghost won't break the roof tonight,' said John. The words were scarcely cut of his mouth before they heard a thundering crash on the roof. Robert, pale as death, sat motionless, but John rushed out through the door, and by the time Robert got outaido nothing was to be Been or hea d of John, or of anything else, 'Ha,' thought Ttobert, 'he belioves in ghosts now, and was so frightened that he didn't da'e to stop a morne.;t in tk > hut.' v o Robert w diced home, and went straight to John's bedroom, but he was not there, and I can tell you Robert didn't like the looks of it. • Now to f How John's adventures. He had m»de up hi< mind froai tho lirst that if ho heard anything on the roof at or ab >ut t*elvo o'clock, he would try to have a 1 ok at it; and as lie burst out at the door, he distinctly saw a figure about twenty yards from the hut. What thin figure was, or what it was doing, ho did not at tho moment

know j but when ho bounded after it, h* s saw that it looked like a woman, and that, it waff running from him with wonderful fleetness. In what|d''rflcMori they sped, at what rate, or how for, John did not know < but after a long race, and when the flying woman had exhausted all her stratagems, and all her strength, she suddenly stopped, turned rounri, and sto d motionless. John ad vanced to within four or five paces, then gazed in awe on a face of wondrous beauty —aye, a face of unearthly beauty—pale, siul, defiant, proud, defeated. Hor deep eyes glowed in the moonlight, and her bosom heaved like the large waves after a storm. 'What—who are you? ' asV'd John, in a voice that trembled with emo'ion. for a second her lips moved »s though ah* wo ild sneak, then shesank to tie ground in a Bitting position, and covered her face with her hands. , John Smith was never po embarra°sed in his whole life He impl-red the myi'terims woman to s eak ; but she wuld not. He walked round her and away from her, and baok again. He sat near her 01 a log for a good half hour ; bnt she appeared not to notice him, and did not remove her hands from her face. At last he said, ' I do not know who you are _l on ly know that you are a woman—l cannot possibly leave you alone all night, unless you assure me that you can find your way to a house. For my part, I confess I have no idea in what direction the house lies; but I will watch beside you till daylight, and only leave you when I see that you can get to a house of some sort.' When John had concluded this speech, the woman rose from the ground, put back he* long hair, and said, 'No wonder you do not know me, Mr Smith, for I must seem like a lunatic' Mr Smith rushed forward as though he would clasp the lunatic in his arms ; but he only took her hand and held it between both of his while he said—- ' I see it all now I What a hot-headed fool lamto be sure. But I couldn't give in, you know, I had to see it out. Will you forgive me ? ' ' Forgive me first, said Mary, ' and then forgive Bob. He came round t > the window of my room, end he was awfully excited, and he begged me to help him to play a trick on you. He said he ooly wanted to try your meitle, and perhaps I myself was curious to s*e how you wi u'd behave, for Bob slid you had been talking so big.' Well, niecei and nephews, and the public generally, I'll try to work out all the mysteries of the story, and in as few words as possible. A shepherd had really been murdered in that hut Years afterwards another shepherd was awakened in the middle of the night by a crashing noise on the roof The hut now gained the repute of being haunted and no parson would sleep in it. Then Robert Simpson, and a couple of young fellows staying at W" aran g a , resolved to spend a night in the hut. They thought they had kept their intention secrst; but it came to the ears of the men, one of whom hurled a huge stone on the roof with such effect that the three young fellows were nearly frightened out of their lives. When this practical joker left, he had the pleasure of telling Mr Robert all about it, and Mr Robert at once conceived the idea of playing the same trick on anoth r.

The opportunity arrived ; Smith didn't believe in ghosts ; he should be convinced that there are such things, and his manly courage should be forced to quail before the supernatural. You remember that the two young fellows went to their rooms to put on their boots — it was then that Robert hurried to the window of his sister's room, and begged her to do this for him. Mary would do anything for her brother : but remembering how terrified he himself had been, she refused to bear any part in the trick. Robert then told her how confident Smith seemed, and she thought she would like to test his courage; but she let Robert start for the hut without a distinct promise that she would come and do her part; and it was the look of disappointment and di°gußt on Robert's face which made her fiualiy decide on helping him. (Tn hfi nontinufid.)