LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XX, Issue 1562, 20 February 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

UNCLE ANDREW’S STORY; OR THE GHOST AT WARANGA. [By Salth'el Doles.] ( Conelnded.) Robert had agreed to give her the signal by telling Smith the time, but when he had given the signal without any result, he concluded that Mary had not come, his surprise and fear, therefore, on hearing the crash on the roof were genuine. Things did not turn out as calculated. Mary thought that she would have plenty of time to get out of sight after throwing the stone, for a quantity of new scrub had shot up all round the deserted hat, and, moreover, she thought that Smith would take a minute or two to recover from the shock during which time she, fleet of foot and agile, would be speeding homewards through a maze of trees and bushes. But, alas, John was tco quick for them, and he caught the beautiful ghost! Aye, nephews and nieces, he caught that dear, beautiful ghost, and the beautiful ghost, as you will hear, caught him and held him in her heart for ever.

John Smith and Mary Simpson were lost iu the bush together. Mary was lost through her horror at finding herself so mddenly pursued, and John was lost because he followed Mary. What was to be done ? John wanted to cooey —a cooey is a long shrill call; but Mary begged him not to do so, as it would assuredly rouse people at the station, and she felt that she would rather lose her life than let her father and mother know what she had done. So they agreed to wait till daylight, when John would climb a tree and take a survey of the country. It would be daylight at half-past four, so they had not long to wait, and they were sure that before the father and mother were stirring Mary would be safe in her own room.

By degrees they forgot everything but themselves. Majy took John’s arm, and they paced slowly up and down a beautiful glade in the forest. The air was still, and laden with subtle perfumes, John looked in some amazement at the very handsome girl beside him, who but an hour ago had been so transformed by shame and anger that he did not know her. She was again transformed, exalted by the indwelling love, so that he again did not know her-. She was not Mary Simpncn, and this was not Waranga ; he was not John Smith, and they were not lost in the bush. No, they were two angels pacing the flowery meeds of heaven But they spoke not a word of love, JohnJ was too honorable and chivalrous to utter his love under such circumstances. But each felt what neither put into words, and both felt sad when daylight appeared. Well, John climbed a tree, and at once discovered the zinc roof of the head station, about three miles away. Then the two young spirits bent the’r way towards the house, and the sun had not risen when John brought hia precious charge to the garden gat«. Before Mary left her protector she turned toward him, and their eyes met jin a long deep look of mingled joy and sadness, Then came the first kiss of love-sudden, swift, and sweet.

Then followed three days of happiness—of perfect, nnalloyed happiness ; and Christmas Day was the last of those days. It was about eight o’clock, and a lovely night; .Robert and John had finished their smoke on the back verandah, and were now in the parlor singing sweet songs to Mary’s accompaniment on the piano ; Mrs Simpson sat in an easy chair, and appeared to notice nothing ; old Simpson was supposed to be in his office. John was singing Juanita ; yes, and he was just putting all his soul into it, when in burst Simpson, rushed to the piano, dashed his fist down on the key-board, and shouted ‘ Stop I ’ Mary clasped her hands, and turned pale ; Robert hurried over to hla father; Mrs Simpson started to her feet, and gasped for breath ; John felt a pain like a stab, and knew that Christmas was over.

One of the servants had seen John escorting Mary through the bush, and had given Mr Simpson the news—as a Christmas present. Hot and fierce raged the battle round poor Mary. Mrs Simpson fell early in the fray, and was supported to the sofa to die. At last Mary gave way, poor girl; one cruel wound from the father’s tongue, made her beseech his mercy. John was put out of the combat by being ordered not to interfere between a father and a daughter. Again and again did Robert return to the charge, and tell the honest truth about the whole matter. In vain did he declare that ho had done his best to find hia sister, and that he had walked about looking for her the whole night. Everybody was wrong in everything; no excuse, no palliation was to be found; and John was told that the groom would get his horse first thing in the morning. ‘Thank you. sir,’ said John; ‘but I should prefer starting to-night, and I can catch my horse myself.’ Poor John then bade good-bye to everyone in the room, and hurried out, followed by Robert.

Bobert led John away from the house, and then told him why hia father had been in such an ungovernable rage. Simpson was in partnership with a man whom everybody in Australia knows—Quail, of Sydney. Quail had all the money, and Simpson had none, or very little. Owing to bad management and marsupials, Waranga did not pay, or was nos then paying. To sell Waranga was to ruin Simpson, whose little all was invested in ;t. Stephen Quail — Quail’s eldest son, anc as vile a young oub as ever stepped—was sent up to inspect and report. He saw Mary and reported that it would be unwise to sell the station yet awhile. He came agaii to inspect, and this time he left Waranga is the affianced husband of poor Mary, vvho honestly believed she had fallen in love "with him. The continued prosperity of the Simpsons was now assured.

It was sufficiently gallng that the servants at Waranga had it in ffieir power to say that Miss Simpson had become so familiar with Mr Smith as to take walks in the bnsh with him before others were out of bed ; and this was the extent o! his grievance, for ho never imagined it possible that the affianced bride of Stephen Quail could be so moved as to forget him, aid to bestow her true love on a penniless shiep drover, Robert told John all file story as they walked through the patdock after the horses ; and the cold waten of despair closed round the heart of poor Join. At last they found the horses, yarded thprn, and saddled up, Robot declaring that he would set him a few rules. After they had ridden half a mile or so, John pulled up, and said, *Do not he hard on me ; you see how it is, do you not ? ’ ‘ I do,’ said Robert, ‘but t cannot be.’ ‘ Whether it can or canuo he,’ said John, ‘ I cannot leave this way. Robort-'-Rt bert —I must see her before I go.j

‘ You shall see hfir,’ (laid Robert. Then they turned back, and rode on without ever a word, for Robert loved his sister, and knew that she loved John. And now two ardent souls are tasting the bitterness after the sweetness. * Tell me then that I must not see yon again,’said John, ‘I can’t,’said Mary,in a tone that was fall of love and despair, ‘ Then tell me I may hope,’ urged he. * I can’t—l daro not’ —said she, . ‘Then what is to bo done?’ asked John. * Hope—trust—wait,’ said Mary. , ‘ Till we forget each other ? ’ said John. _ But he was sorry ho said it, and he will never forget the reproachful look of those honest eyes. The parting moment came at last, and she wbisoered, ‘I will never forget you,’ John said the same, and a great deal more, and when he found himself alone on the dreary plain, ho felt that the gentle woman from whom he had parted had filled him with hope and trust, and strength to wait patiently. But John had to learn more of the power of love, for ia a month or two his hope was gone, his trust wavered, and his strength nearly failed hirii. One day he saw in the newspaper Stephen Quail’s name as a passenger in the steamer from Sydney to Brisbane, Thbn the ji’ower of love made him leave his business and either see Mary or die. And as it was, he nearly died on the road, for he worked himae 1 f into a fever. It was six months since he had been at Waranga, and he could endure the separation no longer. He was resolved to see Mary, however he might accomplish it; but fortunately he was able to compass his ends with but little sacrifice of his honor, for he waited in the paddock till he saw Robert, and then he went straight to him and told him all. Robert was very angry at first, but he knew what his sister suffered, and John’s sad face told the same story; so they were allowed to meet. But to what end ? They were in the same position as before. John felt It impossible to root out his love, and Mary still it her duty to keep her promise to Stephen Quail, and by so doing to fulfil what she felt to be her duty to her parents ; for she well knew upon what their welfare depended. go John and Mary went on loving each other, without ill the least knowing what the future might have in Store for them; and Robert was their medium of communication, for he had been nnable to resist John’s earnest entreaty that he Would write and let him know how things were at Waranga.

Another month’s absence, however, drove poor John frantic, and rendered his life almost insupportable. Gent'e woman endures without murmuring those long cruel pains which, felt by men, break the spirit of the cowardly, and drive the resolute into mad revolt. John revolted. In the black midnight of his life, when no star shone in the heavens, he cast love out of his heart, and went forth into a new life, a new man, and a worse one. The solitude of the bush appalled him, so he abandoned the weary work of sheep droving. Qympie gold diggings were not a month old. and thither he went, fierce, reckless, and unhappy. But, strange to say, from the moment he abandoned the treasuresof his heart, Fortune insisted upon loading him with others. He became known by the name of ‘ Lucky Smith.’ Go where he would, he always got gold. One man abandoned a claim in disgust, John took it, and at the very first blow of his pick stuck upon one of the biggest nuggets of gold ever found on that field. Then he took to reefing and male hia fortune ; but not content with that, he strolled out one Sunday morning, and discovered a new diggings for himself, I can’t stop to W 1 you about the diggings— I must get on withmyabory.andlet youkmw how things went on at Waranga which I can best do by telling you about the letters John received while he was busy piling up stacks of gold-bearing quartz. First letter—Mary very well and happy Mr Simpson very well and happy. Mrs Simpson doesn’t die so much now, and is as happy as can be expseted from one who is “ quite resigned.” All their imported rams drowned; but there will be plenty ef grass after the rains. Kobert very well and hippy too, and hopes John is. Second letter—Old Quail sent a hundred guinea piano as a present to his daughter-in-law —that is to be in another three months.

Third letter—Mary is very ill and unhappy. Mrs Simpson has angina pectoris , and may perhaps not live to require any sacrifice from her daughter ; but she is quite resigned. The marriage is postponed—at Many’s earnest request. Fourth letter—Stephen Quail has heard the story of the ghost at Waranga ; Robert horse-whipped the man who told it, and was heady to do the same to the man who heard it. Fifth letter —Stephen Quail wrote a grossly insulting letter to Jacob Simpson, and kindly released Mary from her engagement to him. Sixth letter—Waranga is to be sold. Now, you could never guess who bought it. No, not if you were to guess all night. What! You think John Smith bought it ? Didn’t I tell you that he had cast all the love out of his—his—what’s his-narae —and became a very bad man ? Well my darling nephews and nieces, you are quite right—he loved her all the time; he only pretended he didn’t. As the poet says— I ove never left the palace of his heart, But only moved Into an inner room. Well, John Smith bought Waranga, and he told old Quail to telegraph to old Simpson to be so good as to remain at the station till the new owner came up ; and he strictly charged old Quail not to say a word about who the new owner was. It is just two years since unhappy penniless John ;-mith left Waranga, and here he is coming back to it—the owner 1 And it is Christmas time, too, again! Of course things like this can only happen in the Arabian Nights, or in Queensland, where a man sometimes leaps to fortune before he has time to look round him a bit. When John caught sight of the zinc roof of Waranga, gloaming afar off in the setting sun, his heart gave a great bound, and the tears rushed to his eyes, for he remembered that morn in Paradise when his Mary was with him in the bush, But when he reached Waranga in the dusk, his courage failed him, for the house was dark and still, and he saw Robert come out of a room on tiptoe. Then John trembled, and when he tried to say the word ‘Robert’ no sound came from his lips. But Robert saw him and came straight to him. John uttered the word ‘Mary,’ and looked yearningly up in his face.

Robert started as if shot, and, seizing John by the arm, hurried him down to the bottom of the garden. No wonder Robert was astonished. Hear his story : Mary had sank into a decline ; she had, in fact, wearied of life without love, and, though no murmer escaped her lips, anyone could see that she was a prey to secret grief, At last the doctor gave her up, and no one expected that she would ever leave her bed. But one day she called her father to her bedtide, and told him never again to say anything cruel, for that he who had brought all the unhappiness would come again and bring hsppines to them. Her father then told her that it was rather too late for that, becanse Waranga had been sold, and he himself had been cheated and wronged. Mary paid no attention to this ; and every day she said to them that John Smith, and no other, would put all things right, And strange to say she began to recover, to smile, and to eat. On the morning of the day that John Smith arrived she was particularly happy, as though she possessed some secret information ; and at last she could contain herself no longer, but told her father, mother and Robert, that John Smith would be there that very day. Everybody thought that her mind was wandering ; but as she was fast recovering strength through the pleasantness of her delusions, no one thought right to disturb them. Her faith never wavered all day, and when her mother ventured to ask her how she knew that John Smith was coming, she said ‘An augol told me in a dream.

1 On hearing this wonderful story, John told | hia in return, and Robert was more as* ' tonished than ever. Then old Mr Simpson. ' hearing voices, came down the garden to see what was the matter, and he was at once introduced to the new owrur or Waranga. Even crusty old Simpson had to soften under these circumstances, and he softened so much that he told one of the greatest stories hn cotdd think of, which was that ho had always regretted having been so hasty with John, and that he knew all along that John was the pure merino. After telling this story as gracefully as he ; could, he said ho would run up to the house and tell his wife and Mary. * Don’t you tell Mary,’ said Robert. ‘ I left her sleeping*- and Bhe hasn t slept all day, See mother first, and ask her what we should do ; for I fear the shock would be too much for Mary. In fact, I don’t think Smith should let his voice be heard at all. i Well, my darling boys and girls, lam coming to a very interesting part of the story, so be prepared ; you know that this is a ghost story, so you will not be much surprised when I tell you' that while the three men were talking, and looking up at the house, they suddenly saw a ghost oh the verandah. The ghost was leaning on Mrs Simpson’s arm, and Mrs Simpson had one arm round its waist. Then Mrs Simpson j(hd the ghost came down the stairs, and began’ to walk straight down the garden to the place Whefe the men stood. Seeing this, old Simpson ran to meet them, and John and Robert heard Mrs Sifnpson say, ‘ Don’t bs angry Jacob ; but Mary would get up—she declares that John Smith is down the garden. Don’t be angry with her Jacob; a little fresh air may do her good.’ Jacob Said,,*Now Martha, if you wont scream, I’ll tell you that Mr Smith is really there.’ In another moment the two lovers were in each other’s arms, enjoying the sweet after the bitter. Then old Jacob clasped his arms round Martha, and they kissed each other. But poor Robert hadn’t anybody to kies —hobody just handy, that is to say ; so he jumped up’ and down, and kept saying, * Golly ! did you ever see the likes of it! ’ which shows how much Robert must have been affected, for he was in reality a very good young man, who wouldn’t say J golly’ unless he had some serious reason for it. Of course Mary soon got well now, and as soon as she was quite well and strong they sent for a clergyman from town, and there was a marriage at Waranga ; and then John said he didn’t want Waranga any more, so ho gave it, sheep and all, to old Mr Simpson and to his son Robert. After that he took his beautiful wife to England to see all her new relations there ; and then he brought her back to Queensland, and bought a lovely home for her on the Darling Downs, and there she is now looking after a lot of little darlings of her own. And that is the end of the ghost at Yaranga.