LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1831, 5 January 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

CHRISTMAS EVE LONG AGO, AT BRAID WOOD. By Wa’f Wander (W.W.) ‘Well, I suppose we pait soon, Mr Woolston. This is your land we’re on now, I think ?’ •It is and it is not, friend,’ the young gentleman addressed replied. * See, there is the homestead,’ and ho pulled up his horse and pointed to a gabled dwelling among some trees at a little distance up on the hill, '‘ I am proud of Braidwood, I came to it ten years ago when it was a wilderness, and today I have sold it for fifteen hundred pounds.’ * Sold it!’ ‘Yes, I have just been depositing the money in the bank ; so I don’t mind telling you, as I’m not worth robbing.’ He laughed gaily as he spoke, bet a suspicious scowl came over his companion's face like a dark cloud. ’ ‘ Robbing ? Do you go about tho country taking every man you meet for a robber ?’ ’ Oh, dear ! no, tut you know wo are in the days of bushranging. I was only j oking, and, you see, I am in such go* d spiiits that I can’t help joking. This is the very last Christmas i shall pass in Australia, and I mean to make it a merry one. If you were stopping anywhere in the neighborhood I should ask you to drop in and smoke a cigar toward evening. ’ ‘Thanks ; well, I shall be coming back this way towards evening. I don’t mind dropping in. ‘You won’s have any strangers with you ?’ ‘No, not tonight. To-morrow we expect a few to bid good-bye to Brridwocd. Well, 1 shall expect you. So long.’ ‘So long and Mr Woodston turned aside to open the gate admitting him te hia own paddock. When he was closing it he fancied he heard a long laugh from the road, and paused, bnt the noise was not repeated and hia curiosity died as quickly as it had arisen, Edward Woo’ston was a fine, bandeeme, fair haired young mau of under thirty, dre-sod in the simple, easy attire of a well-to-do country gentleman. The man he had just parted from was his opposite in every respect. He was tall and musra’ar, and black-haired ; whiskers and moustache were dark also, and hands and feet were large and coarse looking. He was dressed in tight lilting cord breeches and ling ridingfa ots ; and over a crimson plaid Crimean shirt ho had a coarse tweed coat. A bright handkerchief was tied loosely round his neck, and a Panama hat, with a black ribbon around it finished bis at fire. He was quite a stranger to Mr Wool-ton, who had fallen in with him at the table d' bote of the Braidwood Arms’ and discovered in the coarse of conversation that their roads lay in the same d taction. ‘ Well, Soo, dear, its all arranged,’ be said to his young wife, who hastened to meet him as he dismounted. Braidwood is sold and paid for and the money in the bank. One more Christmas day under the old roof, and then hurrah for old England and the dear old mother •’

v* Ha was light-he-:rted as a boy. Ho could have tossed hia bat up in the air as he had done in the “ breaking tip of school ’ before the Christmas vacation in the dear old home. He almost felt as if ueither time or ocean intervened, bnt that on the very morrow he should look into hia widowed mother’s eyes once more and read there the undying love he knew she felt for her boy. Alas! the shadow of death lay between him and home that night, though he knew it not. * And who is the gentleman you expected, Ned ?’ asked Soo, as they sat an hour or two after in the pretty sitting-room, whose long French window was open and faced the road ; ‘ What is his name ? ’ ‘ I’m blest if I know, darling. That’s just like me. i-n’t it ? We were neighbours at table, and the landlord called him Mason, I think ; but I’m not sure. At all events, he’s a fine looking chap, though not exactly what you would call gentlemanly. ‘ I am afraid that 1 half offended him by an allusion I made to my deposit in the bank, and the fact that I was not worth robbing. By the by, I might as well have left my revolver at home, Soo. I met no bushrangers.’ H e was sitting or rather lounging a little distance from the window as he spoke, and drew the revolver from an inside pocket of his coat; but just at that instant he caught sight of an approaching horseman up through the paddock and he dropped the revolver and the hand with it into the outside righthand pocket as he hurriedly got up. * Here ho is, Sco. Isn’t he a fine-looking chap, and did yon ever see a finer bit of blood than he rides ? I mast go oat and send Jim round for his horse,’ Mrs Woolaton stood at the window—a perfect picture herself —and watched the approaching stranger. She was tall and slender, with dark, lovely hair, and a sweet, earnest face, with a shade of deep thought in it She had not been many months married to the man whose name she bore, and she loved him with a love all the deeper that it was not frittered away in words. She was of humble birth and humble fortune, and he had chosen her as the dearest of women to walk by his side through life, so so that in her earnest, grateful heart, gratitude and love went hand in baud. When Edward introduced the stranger to her as Mr Mason, she met his dark eyes with a long, inquiring gaze, and there was for an instant in his look a doubt or suspicion, though unnoticed by her. The decanters were on the table, and rich came provided for the season by the careful hands of the young wife herself. As Ned filled the glasses aud passed hia to 'Mr Mason, ’ who still stood near the window, he laughingly alluded to their morning rido and his fear of the bushrangers. * Here is many happy returns of the season to yon, sir. This day twelvemonths, if I am alive, I shall drink to your health in dear old England. Just fancy, Soo, dear, I had very nearly taken our friend for a bushranger. Why, who are these ?’ The glass was lowered to the table before Mr Woolston’s lips had touched it Standing at the open window, nay, crowding through it, were three men in riding breeches and boots and flannel shirts, and with each a revolver at hia belt and in his right hand. They were fierce and determined looking, though all young and by no means badlooking men. Mrs Woolston fell back from them with a face white as death, and went close to her husband, whose right hand dropped between her and himself Into his pocket. «These, Mr Woolaton, are a few of my friends come to join us,’ said Mason, coolly, as he filled some glasses oh the table. * They wi ; l take a glass with ns, and then we will talk a httle about business. I see you guess the truth. We are come to relievo you of that bit of money yon backed to day,’ «You shall never have it! ’ cried Woolston, all his strong nature aroused by the el'seness of the danger ‘ Never, while I live I Stand back villains ! If you lay a huger within a yard of my wife, take the consequences! ’ « and pray what are the consequences, Mr Woolston?’ Mason asked with a sneer. • Qibert, seize that fool. Stand back, missus, or maybe you will come in for s me of the consequences yonr husband is so glib about;’ but as the man stepped forwaid, as if to push Mrs Woolston from her husband’s side, there was a loud report, a shout of pain mi> glad with frightful curses, and when the smoke cl-arel away Mason was seen leaning on the table with his right hand hanging helplessly by his aide and the blood pouring from it in a rap'd stream. ’ Tie. icoundrel has maimed me for life ! ’ he shouted, while hia face was transformed with p.-ssion. •Seize him! rope him! Drag him outside and shoot him like a dog ! By , I’ll have his heart out for this ! ’ Before he had. half finished, two of his comrades had disarmed Edward Woolston, and dragged him Tom the room, while the third had torn tho clinging wife from hrr hold. Meanwhile with a f ce like a and a thunder of awful curses between his lips, the wounded bns’or ngcr was tying uo his arm, through, tho fleshy part of which Woolston’a hu let had paused, with his handkerchief. This roughly accomplished, ire strode to tho window and called out to tho men, heedleja of Soo’s prayers behind him—--1 Stop ! Bring hack that crawling wretch. Let him go. Hero, I brought this cheque for the purpose ; you want to draw that fif: en hundred, do you ace? S’gn this before more is said > £ won’t,’ said Edward Woolston, who aaw himself faoo to face with death, and was , do.-pe ate. Oh! Edward, do! Oh my darling

husband, what is money in comparison t;• your life ? Sign it. for the love of the living God 1’ She clasped her hands, and with her sweet lips rigid with agony she gazed into his face. ‘Never, my love ; I will net leave you a beggar. The double-eyed villains will kill me whether or not, but I defy them to rob my widow.’ ‘l’ll give yon while I count three.’ cried Mason, ‘ and by , if yon don’t do it then, I’ll shoot yon whore you stand !’ ‘ You needn’t count one, man of blocd. I’ll never sign it.’ ‘Stand ont of the way Gilbert! No, drag him out. Keep back the woman. Here 1 out in the open ground, by tha living God above me, I’ll make s target of him ! If I don’t shoot fair, let him blame himself that my right hand is gone. One, two, ’ Here he pansed. Thera was a death-like and terrible stillness, and Edward, who had been thrown upon his knees, closed his eyes and whispered to himself one great cry to God for hope end mercy. Then it. seemed to him that he felt his mother's hand on his forehead, cool and sleep-inducing, snd his wife’s farewell whisper in his ear. He was going to sleep; should he awaken in heaven ? Mrs Woolstrn’s eyes glared with horror upon the wretched man’s lips as he w/.s ab ut to utter the fatal ‘ Three !’ and an inspiration from the God her poor husband was praying to came to h-r from heaven. Her face lighted up. and, darting from tha man who vainly tried to bar her way, ehe confronted Mason and his rising weapon, ‘ John Corrigan !’ she gasped, ‘do y~n remember where yon were this Christmas eve five years ?’ ‘ Five yea’s ?’ The muzzle of the pistol dropped, and he stared into the woman’s face strangely. ‘This night five years I stood by your mothtr’s death bed ? £-he was alone, and yon were far away for many long months foil iwing the courses that have led yon to this. Who walked for miles day aft* r day to take her food ? Who sat up night after night in the lonely bush hut with her when she was ill ? Who prepared her for her coffin and laid her in it ? Who followed her to the grave, ay, and wept there when yiur own eyes were dry ? May God forgive yon, John Corrigan 1 Is it the way you repay ms, to murder my husband ?’ Are’you Louisa Mayfield ?’ he said in a changed voice, and with a face that had paled as she spoke. * Yes, I am Louisa Mayfield. I am the girl that your mother blessed with her iart breath, and told you to remember in your dying prayers. If yon do this thing, John Corrigan, what will you say to her before the judgment seat of God, where she will accuse yen of blood ? ’ He fell back and turned away his face One of his mates laid a hand on his shoulder and said, ‘ Let ns go. Jack ; a curse wou’d follow such work as this ; ’ and as Corr'gin waved his unwounded hand toward the man who had covered Woolston with his weapon to let him go, his wife’s arms were around him, and be fainted in them. It is some sixteen or seventeen years since these events happened, and this is a true record of them, though, for obvious reasons, the names are altered. Many who read these lines will remember the occurrence, which was but too well known in the colonies. It was this very man, whom I have named Corrigan, that some months after fell, in an encounter with the police, with thirty ballets through him. And as in his happy English home, the following Christmas eve, Edward Woolston drank many happy returns of the season of himself and dear ones, he told the story of his dreadful escape, sod remembered sadly his promise to the bushranger who was dead.