LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2272, 14 July 1881, Page 4

LITERATURE.

ECHOES OF THE PAST. By Donald Cameron. WATTLE FARM. AN IDYLL OK LANfEFIELD. ( Continued .) When she recovered they sat together in the dim liabt, and be told her his story. How he had wandered over the continent, a vagabond on the face of the earth, the black ahadows of a crime, which he had not committed, haunting his soul —aimless, hopeless, abandoning himself to the demon d ink as a aolaoe for his sorrows —a Lathe as he thought, n Phlegethon ia reality ; how he had at last reached [Queensland, and lived in its wilds on a station ; how ho formed a friendship with a youth like himself, and how he saw the fiend aJoohol deprive his friend of reason, aad then of life. Then it was that, by the rude, bark bank whereon his dead friend was laid, ho first began to think seriously, to practice introspection. Ho then saw that to abandon himself to drink would aggravate, not lessen his sorrows, in the silence of the night, when sitting by the corpse,he had thoroughly examined his innermost self ; had laid bare adl that was evil, and sifted from it the little good that remained ; had seen every mistake he had made, and noted every last opportunity. Was it too late, he asked himself ? Could he rise from the slough into which he had fallen, and movonpward to the light? He thought of his mother, of Flora; and ho nerved himself to the great struggle. He saw clearly that his nature was of that description, so susceptible, that drink mnat over be its bane ; he must abstain from all that would excite a too excitable temperament. To that determination he had remained firm, and, by perseverance and industry, coupled with fair luck, good seasons and markets, he had acquired a competence, which would in time grow into a tortnne. And now he had come back, not to live here, but to take his mother to his place in Queensland, to reward Flora by marriage. He would have liked to have remained on the old homestead, for hii Queensland property did not require his presence, and the climate disagreed with him, but he could not remain in Lancefiald with the stain there was upon his name, albeit he was aware all would be forgiven for his wealth. He had heard in Melbourne of what M'Bean had done, and ho had paid the mortgage off, so that now his mother would have the old farm back, and could live on it if she so choose; bhe did not speak; she could only gaze with a mother’s fond enthusiasm upon the bronzed, handsome face of her son, the idol of her soul. Yet not even in the moment of her earthly tr'unpb, when the son of her heart was restored to her, did she forget her devotional instincts. When she had become e. little calm she knelt down, her son by her jilde, and offered up heartfelt thanks to the great and good God, ia whom she had put her trust, even in the darkest hour of her life. How touching and beautiful was the night 1 Surely never thanksgiving reached the Throne of Omnipotence more sincere, more devout, more acceptable. The door opened, aad a figure entered, that of a female, but stood still when she noticed what was taking place. It wag that of a woman of, perhaps, twenty five years of age. The face, though somewhat worn and fretted, was truly beautiful, beautiful in its honest, womanly expression, that spoke of a pure and heroic soul. It was a face that grew upon one, because the more was seen of it the higher became the opinion. A loveable face it was, too ; the face the wise man would choose to be that of his wife, and the mother of his children. * Amen!’

She heard that deep, musical voice, and though years bad passed since it had fallen upon her ears, love told her [whose it was. A deadly faintness came upon her, her cheek paled, and a short cry escaped her lips. She would have fallen but for the strong arm that soon supported her. Faintly, as in a dream, she surrendered herself to the passionate embrace of her lover, and drank life and hope from his fevered lips. He led her to the couch, and, encircling her with bis arm, told her all the past, and asked her to be his. Oh! happy hoar I

Mra Lament left the lovers to their talk, and, turning up the lamp, set about prepara tions for supper. Poor woman, there was little in the house, only a few scraps. But her son, seeing upon what she was intent, called to his servant, who brought in a profusion of the choicest viands, and helped Mra Lament to set the table. In a short time it was loaded with good things, the fire crackled cheerily in the chimney, the glass and plate sparkled and shone, and the room assumed a snngneas and cosiness it bad not done for many a day. And what a happy party sat at that board that night, happy even in their tears! Years had gone by, years of pain and sorrow, of darkness and despair, since these three had sat at that table ; dear ones had passed away never to return; friends had died or grown cold. But what mattered it to them now : the sun had risen, the clouds had rolled away, and there was to be light for aye ! Oh I happy night! The sounds of a buggy were heard just as the supper was over, and shortly afterwards the local doctor entered. He was a little surprised to see the stranger, whom he did not recognise, for Alick had been almost beardless when bo left Lanceheld.

* I have called, Mrs Lament,’ said the doctor, ‘ with a message from Sandy M‘Bean. He has been very ill for some time, and tonight I thought it my duty to tell him to prepare for death. He cannot recover ;In fact, his complaint is of that nature that he may die at any moment. There appears to bs something very heavy upon his mind, and when I told him there was no hope he seemed terribly taken abaok. I have seen many in his po ition, but none so terrified at death. “ I cannot die,” he cried, “ I cannot die! “I’ll give you a i thousand pounds if you save my life !’* I answered that, if he were to give me all he possessed, 1 oonld not save him. It was terrible to see his agony for some time, but at last he quietened down a little, and after thinking for a while, told me to drive here as fast as I could, and to take you back with me at all hazards. “ I cannot die without seeing her,” he cried- Will you come, Mrs Lament, and see the miserable sinner ; it may soothe his dying momenta ?’ * Come, ’said Mrs Lament,' to be sure I will. He has done me much evil, but, od is my witness, I forgive him, as I hope to be forgiven. I remember the years gone by,’ she added with a sigh, 1 and I may have had something to do with bis life being what it was; bnt I oonld not help it, I could not help it!’ And the old lady arrayed herself in a wellworn shawl that showed how povertystricken she was. Her son looked at this evidence of his mother’s privations with moistened eyes. ‘ Mother,’ ssid he, ‘we will all go, I feel so happy to night, so at peace with the world, that I would willingly do what I can for the wretched old man.’

They ware soon in the car iages—Mrs Lament with the doctor, the lovers by themselves. Flora nestling c l oso to the man of her heart. A delightful journey it was to them—an hour snatched from Paradise. Mrs Lament was not nnhappy, but the memories of the past thronged her mind, and me de her thoughtful. The moon had risen over the dark slopes of Mount William, irradiating wood and field, hill and valley with her silver light, creating a landscape of deep shadows and snbdned lights, so grateful to the artistic eye. The world slumbered in the Hood of moonbeams, peacefully, restfully; and a universal peace was upon Nature. Above, the pearly (stars, like angel eyes, looked ont of the sheeny, bine sky, as if watching the sleeping world. Surely the soul that would leave Its clay on such a night to soar to other worlds should not be laden with aln—should not be doomed to regions of despair I At last the party arrived at Farm, M ‘Bean’s homestead. Generous as the moonlight is, it revealed a scene of desolation and decay. Over twenty years ago Sandy M'Bean had bought this place. The «rigioal proprietor had built an humble vantage, made of slabs, and covered with rough shingles. In the march of progress the farmers had Improved their dwellings,

• A rich Sandhurst roofer, who was dying of cancer, offered a. medical man in Melbourne JSJB.OOO in gold If ho would save his life. The doctor was conscientious enough not to deceive Mm, hut a quack got JESOOO oat of the dying man.

brick had succeeded slabs, or lath and plaster, and ia some instances, rare, it i» true, slates had supplanted shingles. But as he found Argyle farm, so Sandy M‘Beau had lot it remain, save that he had altered tho name. He had exacted from the land all it could yield, but with the least expenditure possible. (To ho Continued ,)