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diff --git a/old/54067-0.txt b/old/54067-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index af7d6ff..0000000 --- a/old/54067-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8288 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Colonial Reformer, Vol. I (of 3), by Rolf -Boldrewood - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: A Colonial Reformer, Vol. I (of 3) - - -Author: Rolf Boldrewood - - - -Release Date: January 28, 2017 [eBook #54067] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A COLONIAL REFORMER, VOL. I (OF -3)*** - - -E-text prepared by MWS, Les Galloway, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made -available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) - - - -Note: Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/colonialreformer01bold - - Project Gutenberg has the other two volumes of this work. - Volume II: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55652 - Volume III: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54366 - - -Transcriber's note: - - Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - - - - - -A COLONIAL REFORMER - - -[Illustration: Decoration] - - -A COLONIAL REFORMER - -by - -ROLF BOLDREWOOD - -Author of ‘Robbery Under Arms,’ ‘The Squatter’S Dream,’ -‘The Miner’S Right,’ etc. - -In Three Volumes - -VOL. I - - - - - - -London -Macmillan and Co. -and New York -1890 - -All rights reserved - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -When Mr. Ernest Neuchamp, younger, of Neuchampstead, Bucks, quitted -the ancient roof-tree of his race, for a deliberate conflict with -fortune, in a far land, he carried with him a purpose which went far to -neutralise doubt and depression. - -A crusader rather than a colonist, his lofty aims embraced far -more than the ordinary sordid struggle with unkind nature, with -reluctant success. Such might be befitting aspirations for eager -and rude adventurers, half speculators, half buccaneers. They might -fitly strive and drive—bargain and save—gamble, overreach, overwork -themselves and one another, as he doubted not all colonists did in -their proverbially hurried, feverish lives. But for a Neuchamp, of -Neuchampstead, was reserved more chivalric exertion—a loftier destiny. -As his ancestors had devoted themselves (with more energy than -discretion, said tradition) to the refinement and elevation of the -Anglo-Saxons—when first the banner of Tancred of Neuchamp floated over -the Buckinghamshire meadows—so would his lineal descendant diffuse -‘sweetness and light’ among a vigorous but necessarily uncultured -community, emerging from his unselfish toil, after a few years, with a -modest competency, and the reputation of an Australian Manco Capac of -the south. - -Ernest Neuchamp fully endorsed the dictum that ‘colonisation was heroic -work.’ He superadded to this assent a conviction that he was among the -heroes destined to leave a glorious memory in the annals of the colony -which he intended to honour. - -For the somewhat exceptional though not obsolete character of -reformer, he was fitted by natural tendency, derived probably from -hereditary predisposition. The Neuchamps had always been leading and -staunch reformers, from a period whence ‘the memory of man goeth -not to the contrary.’ Of Merrie England they would have secured a -much larger slice had they not been, after Hastings, more deeply -concerned in inflicting reforms upon the stubborn or despondent -Saxons than in hunting after manorial privileges with a view to -extension of territory. Even in Normandy, old chroniclers averred that -Balder-Ragnaiök, nicknamed Wünsche (or the wisher), who married the -heiress of Neuchamp, and founded the family, converted a fair estate -into a facsimile of a Norse grazing farm, maddening the peasantry, -and strengthening his natural enemies by an everlasting tutelage as -exasperating towards others as fascinating to himself. - -Mr. Courtenay Neuchamp, who inherited, in happier times, the ancestral -hall, in Buckinghamshire, was an easy-going man of the world, -combining a shrewd outlook upon his own affairs with the most perfect -indifference as to how his neighbours managed theirs. He was a better -man of business than Ernest, though he had not a tittle of his energy -or fiery abstract zeal. So far from giving credit to his ancestors, -and their spirited efforts, he bewailed their misdirected energies. - -‘They were a lot of narrow-minded busybodies,’ he would often remark, -‘incapable of managing their own affairs with decent success, and what -little power they ever possessed they devoted to the annoyance of their -neighbours, people probably much wiser than themselves.’ - -‘They had noble aims, to which they gave their lives,’ Ernest -would reply; ‘I reverence their memories deeply, fervently, more—a -hundredfold—than if they had left us the largest manor in the county, -amassed by greed and selfishness.’ - -‘So don’t I; nothing can be more disgraceful than to see the -representatives of the oldest family in the shire (for these Tudors -are of yesterday) possessed only of an estate of less acreage than a -tenant-farmer tills, with an inconvenient old rookery, hardly good -enough for the said tenant-farmer to live in. I wish I had lived a few -centuries earlier.’ - -‘You would have enlarged our borders,’ said the younger son, ‘but at -what a cost! We boast a long roll of stainless ancestors, each of -whom was true to his God, to his king, to his plighted word, and who -called no man his master, save his anointed sovereign. You would have -been cursed with an unhappy posterity of spendthrifts, profligates, -oppressors of the poor or trucklers to the rich.’ - -‘Gra’ mercy! as we used to say, for thy prophecies and predictions. I -see no necessity for vice being necessarily allied to success in life. -I believe sometimes it is rather the other way. But you were always -headstrong; slave to imagination, that misleader of humanity. Go on -your own path, and you may convert all the Papuans, Australians, New -Zealanders, or whatever they are, that you are going to waste your life -among, if you have sufficient breathing time before you are roasted.’ - -‘I am going to New South Wales, in Australia, where they don’t roast -people any more than in Bucks. But you will never read up on any -subject.’ - -‘Why the deuce should I?’ demanded the senior. ‘What earthly benefit -can I derive from the manners and customs of foreign savages. We -have them of our own and to spare. If thereby I could persuade these -pig-headed tenants of ours to farm in a more enlightened way, and pay -interest on capital advanced for _their_ benefit, or learn how to get -old Sir Giles Windereach to sell us back that corner his father bought -of Slacklyne Neuchamp, I wouldn’t mind. Why else should I read beastly -dry books?’ - -‘Because you would learn to take an interest in your kind, and might -then propose to yourself the healthful task of trying to improve them.’ - -‘But,’ said Courtenay, rather disrespectfully, ‘why should I improve -those classes, from which as a land-owner and very minor capitalist, -I find it hard enough to defend my property as it is? Go and test a -grocer in arithmetic, you will find him the more accurate man, and the -readier. Try a labourer at his own cart, and see how he is at once your -superior. Depend upon it, all this upheaval of lower social strata -is bad. Some day we may find that we have freed internal fires and -exploded social volcanoes.’ - -‘I shall make the attempt where I am going, however,’ said Ernest with -decision. ‘It may be that there are peculiar advantages in a new land, -and a sparse population, without the crushing vested interests which -weigh one to the dust in the old world.’ - -‘Perhaps you may gather some of the dust of the new, which is gold, -they say, if they don’t lie, as most probably they do. Then you can -rear an Australian Neuchampstead, which will be the third, under such -conditions, built by our family, if old records are true. I wish you -were taking more capital with you, old fellow, though.’ - -Here the elder man slightly relaxed the cold undemonstrative regard -which his aquiline features usually wore, as he gazed for a few moments -upon the ardent expressive face of the cadet of his house. ‘It’s -another of the family faults that we can neither stay decently together -at home, nor fit out our knights-errant worthily for the crusade.’ - -‘My dear Courtenay,’ said the younger son, touched to the depth of a -delicate and sensitive nature by the rare concession of the head of the -house, ‘things are best as they are. You have enough which you require. -I have not enough, which is an equal necessity of my nature. I should -die here like a falcon in a corn-chandler’s shop, pining for the sweep -of her long wings against the sea-cliff, where with wave and tempest -she could scream in concert. Hope and adventure are my life, the breath -of my nostrils, and forth I must go.’ - -‘Well, my blessing go with you, Ernest; I neither mistrust your courage -nor capacity, and in any land you will probably hold your own. But I -should have more confidence in your success if you had less of that -infernal Neuchamp taste for managing other people’s affairs.’ - -‘But, my dear Courtenay, is it not the part of a true knight and a -Christian man to lead others into the right path? _We_ thankfully -accept it from others. I think of the many needs of a new land, and of -the rude dwellers therein.’ - -‘I hate to be put right—colonists may be of the same opinion. _You_ -never can be induced to do anything that is suggested by another, or -any Neuchamp, that I ever heard of.’ - -‘Because we take particular care to be identified with the latest, and -most successful practice in all respects.’ - -‘Because we are always right, I suppose. A comfortable theory, but of -which the public cannot always be convinced. I never try to convince -them—I merely wish to be left alone. That is where I differ from you.’ - -‘You will never gain, however, by your principles, Courtenay.’ - -‘You will lose your fortune by following out yours, Ernest.’ - -The conversation having ended, as had nearly all previous discussions -between the brothers, in each adhering steadfastly to his own opinion, -Ernest went his own way with the cheerful obstinacy of his character. -He selected a ship and a colony. He ordered a large, comprehensive, -and comparatively useless outfit. He purchased several books of fact -and fiction, bearing upon the land of his adoption, for reading upon -the voyage, and girding himself up, he finally completed all necessary -arrangements. He bade farewell to the old home—to the villagers, whom -he had known from boyhood—and to his friends and kinsfolk. He did then -actually set sail in the clipper-ship _St. Swithin_, comforting himself -with heroic parallels of all ages and all shades of maritime adventure. - -On the voyage out, he made acquaintance with several agreeable people. -Of these, many were, like himself, sailing to Australia for the first -time. Others were returning to the great south land, where they had -probably spent their early years, or indeed been born. Among these, -though he was not aware of the fact, since they did not advertise it, -was a family named Middleton, consisting of a father, mother, and two -daughters. These last were quiet and well-mannered, but decidedly -amusing. Alice Middleton was handsome and lively; Barbara was rather -staid, given to reading, and did not talk much, except with congenial -people. She, however, could speak very much to the point, should -such speaking be needed. With this family Mr. Neuchamp became on -sufficiently intimate terms to confide his views upon colonial life, -including his hopes of benefiting the citizens of his adopted country -by the inculcation of the newest English ideas in farming and other -important subjects. He did not find that readiness of response which he -had looked for. This puzzled and slightly annoyed him, as from their -intelligent sympathy in other matters he had confidently reckoned upon -their co-operation. Indeed he had discovered the second Miss Middleton -in the act of smiling, as if at his enthusiasm; while the matron, a -shrewd, observant person, went the length of inquiring whether he did -not think it would be better to see something of the country, before -settling the affairs of its inhabitants. - -‘My dear Mrs. Middleton,’ replied Mr. Neuchamp with grave dissent, -‘I regret that I cannot see the force of your position. My feeling is -that one is far more certain to criticise fairly and dispassionately -a new land and a new state of society, while one’s impressions are -sharply and freshly defined. Afterwards, the finer lines are effaced by -use, wont, and local prejudice. No! depend upon it, the newly-arrived -observer has many advantages.’ - -‘Then you do not think it possible,’ said Alice Middleton, ‘that the -new—arrival should make any mistakes in his inspection of the unlucky -colonists?’ - -‘If he has cultivated his power of observation, and his critical -faculty, so that he can trust himself to be just and impartial, I do -not see that it matters whether he may have lived one year or ten in -any given country.’ - -‘You will find that it _does_ matter,’ retorted his fair antagonist, -‘unless you are different from every other Englishman we have ever -seen.’ - -‘Why, have _you_ lived in Australia?’ inquired he with accents of -extreme surprise. ‘I had no idea of the fact.’ - -‘We have been there all our lives,’ said Barbara Middleton, ‘excepting -for the last three years. Why should you think we had not been there?’ - -‘I—really—don’t know,’ protested Mr. Neuchamp, now discovering suddenly -that he was on unsafe ground. ‘I thought you were English, and making -the voyage, like myself, for the first time.’ - -‘Don’t apologise,’ laughed Alice; ‘you may as well say at once that you -thought we were too much like ordinary English people to be colonists,’ -and she made him a slight bow. - -‘Well, so I did,’ confessed our hero, too honest to evade the -expression of his opinions. ‘But you know, you’re so—well—you do expect -a little difference in appearance, or manner——’ - -‘Or complexion?’ continued his fair tormentor. ‘Did you think -Australians were—just a little—dark?’ - -‘I recant, and apologise, and sue for pardon,’ said Ernest, now -completely dislodged from his pedestal, a horrid thought obtruding -itself that similar discoveries would narrow his mission to most -uninteresting dimensions. - -This ‘check to his queen’ sobered Mr. Neuchamp for several days. He -began to question the probability of influencing society in Australia -to any great extent, if the component parts were like the Middleton -family. However, he reflected that people of cultivated tastes and -unexceptionable manners were rare in any country. And when he thought -of the vast interior with its scattered untravelled population, hope -revived and he again saw himself the ‘guide, philosopher, and friend of -a guileless and grateful people.’ - -There were several landed proprietors who held great possessions in -Australia among the passengers, with whom he made a point of conversing -whenever such conversation was possible. But here again unexpected -hindrances and obstacles arose. - -Mr. Neuchamp found that these returning Australians were rather -reserved, and had very little to say about the land in which so large -a portion of their lives had been passed. They committed themselves -to the extent of stating in answer to his numerous inquiries, that it -was a ‘very fair sort of place—you could manage to live there.’ ‘As to -the people?’ ‘Well, they were much like people everywhere else—some -good, some bad.’ ‘Climate?‘ ‘Hot in some places, cold in others.’ -‘Manners?’‘Well, many of the inhabitants hadn’t any, but that was a -complaint almost universal at the present day.’ The oppressed colonist -generally wound up by stating that when he, Neuchamp, had been in -Australia for a year or two, he would know all about it. - -All this was very unsatisfactory. As far as these pieces of evidence -went, the _terra incognita_ to which, after such rending of ancient -associations and family ties, he was even now voyaging, was as prosaic -as Middlesex or Kent. These people either did not know anything -about their own country or their own people, or, with the absurd -indifferentism of Englishmen, did not care. He was partly reassured -by one of the more youthful passengers, who had not been very long -away from his Australian birthland. He considerately raised Ernest’s -spirits, and his estimate of Australia as a ‘wonderland,’ by certain -historiettes and tales of adventure by flood and field. But when he -introduced Indians, habitual scalping, and a serpent fifty feet long, -Mr. Neuchamp’s course of reading enabled him to detect the unprincipled -fabrication, and to withdraw with dignity. - -In due course of time, the vessel which carried Mr. Neuchamp and his -purpose arrived at her destination. The night was misty, so that -he had no opportunity of comparing the harbour of Sydney with the -numerous descriptions which he had read. He was met on the wharf by -the perfectly British inquiry of ‘Cab, sir, cab?’ upon replying to -which in the affirmative, he was rattled up to the Royal Hotel, and -charged double fare, with a completeness and despatch upon which even a -Shoreditch Station cabby could not have improved. - -Having renovated himself with a bath and breakfast, Mr. Neuchamp -proceeded to view the component parts of the busy street from the -balcony of the great caravanserai. On the whole, he did not see -any striking departure from the appearance of an ordinary London -thoroughfare. There were omnibuses raking the whole length of the -street, fore and aft, as it were, well horsed with upstanding powerful -animals; the drivers, too, had something of the misanthropical -air which the true ‘busman always acquires after a certain period. -Hansoms rattled about, with the express-train flavour peculiar to that -luxurious vehicle for the unencumbered. Well-appointed carriages, -from which descended fashionably attired dames and damsels, drew up -at imposing haberdashers for a little early and quiet shopping. The -foot passengers did not look as if they were likely to contribute -to any Arabian Nights entertainment either. They wore chiefly black -coats, I grieve to say black hats, and serious countenances, exactly -like the mercantile and legal sections of the city men in London. The -labourers wore the same shoddy suits, the sailors the same loose or -inexplicable tightened garments, the postmen the same red coat, the -shabby-genteel people the same threadbare ditto; even the blind man, -with a barrel-organ, had the same reflectoral expression that he had -often noticed. All the types were identical with those he had hoped to -have left ten thousand miles away. Certainly he did see occasionally a -sauntering squatter, bronzed, bearded, and _insouciant_; but he, again, -was so near akin to a country gentleman who had taken a run to town, -or a stray soldier on leave, that he was upon the point of exclaiming, -‘How disgustingly English!’ when a slight incident turned his thoughts -to the far and wondrous interior. Down the street, on a grand-looking -young horse, at a pace more suggestive of stretching out through -endless forest-parks than of riding with propriety through a narrow and -crowded thoroughfare, came a born bushman. He was a tall man, wearing -a wide-leaved felt hat and a careless rig generally, such as suggested -to Mr. Neuchamp the denizen of the waste, whom he had hungered and -thirsted to see. Here he was in the flesh evidently, and Ernest drank -in with greedy eyes his swarthy complexion, his erect yet easy seat -on his horse. However, just as he was passing the hotel, whether the -gallant nomad was looking another way, or whether he had considered the -hour, early as it was, not unsuitable for refreshment, the fact must -here be stated that the colt, observing some triumph of civilisation -for the first time (a human advertising sandwich), stopped with -deathlike suddenness; his rider was shot on to the crown of his head -with startling force. Mr. Neuchamp was preparing to rush downstairs to -the rescue, when a quietly attired passer-by stepped up to the snorting -colt and, with a gentle adroitness that told of use and wont, secured -and soothed him. The gallant bushman arose, looking half-stunned; then, -gazing ruefully at the crown of his sombrero, he felt the top of his -head somewhat distrustfully, and with a word of thanks to the stranger, -who held the rein in a peculiar manner till he was safe in the saddle, -mounted and pursued his way after a swift but guarded fashion. ‘My -word, sir,’ was his single remark, ‘I didn’t think he’d ha’ propped -like that—thank _you_ all the same.’ - -Inspirited by this incident as showing a possibility of lights and -shadows even upon this too English foreground, Mr. Neuchamp thought -that he would deliver one of his letters of introduction to a merchant, -whose advice he had been specially recommended to take in the purchase -of land, or of whatever property he should select for investment. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -When the past is reviewed, and the clear sad lamp of experience sheds -its soft gleam upon the devious track, then are all apparent the -scarce shunned precipices, the hidden pitfalls, the bones of long -dead victims. Then can we measure the tender patience with which our -guardian angel warned or wooed into safety. - -Here, where we loitered all heedless, flower-crowned, and wine-flushed, -languished the serpent syren, heavenly fair, but deadliest of all. -We had been surely sped. But an idle impulse, the tone of a passing -melody, led to change of purpose, of route, and we stood scatheless -anon, having tripped lightly among deaths as sudden and shattering as -the lighted explosive. - -At the diverging roads, where dumb and scornful sat the sphinx of our -destiny, while we lightly glanced at the path whence none return, save -in such guise that death were dearer, why did our heedless footsteps -cling all instinctively to the narrow, the thrice blessed way? - -And yet again, in the dark hour when we should have been watchful as -the mariner on an unknown shore, who casts the lead over every foot of -the passage through which his barque seems so easily gliding, how was -our careless pride brought low, how sudden was the sorrow, how dreary -the bondage, till we were ransomed from the dungeon of the pitiless -one. From what endless weeping would not, alas, a dim knowledge and -recognition of the _first false step_ have saved us! - -Such a false step Mr. Neuchamp was nigh upon adopting, with all its -train of evil consequences. At the mid-day _table d’hôte_ at the Royal -Hotel, sufficiently welcome to him after the weary main, sat a florid, -good-looking, smiling, middle-aged man, evidently a gentleman, and -not less surely connected with the country division. He happened, -apparently by chance, to be seated next to Ernest, who was immediately -attracted by his bonhomie, his humorous epigrammatic talk, joined to -the outward signs and tokens of the man of the world. - -‘You have not been very long in this part of the country?’ said the -agreeable stranger. - -Ernest slightly coloured as he replied, ‘I certainly have not; -but I confess I don’t see why I should be _affiché_ as a new and -inexperienced traveller. You and I are dressed much alike, after -all,’ added he, glancing at the other’s well-cut travelling suit of -rough tweed and the black hat which hung beside his own upon the pegs -provided for lunch-consuming visitors. - -‘True, quite true,’ agreed his new acquaintance; ‘and it is not, -perhaps, good manners to remark upon a gentleman as a species of -foreign novelty. I remember a few years since chafing at it myself. But -my heart warms to an Englishman of a certain sort. And we Australians -learn to know the Britisher by all manner of slight signs, including a -fresh complexion. I really believe, if you will pardon my rudeness in -guessing, that you come from near my own county?’ - -Ernest explained the locality of Neuchampstead, upon which the affable -stranger rose and shook him violently with both hands, exclaiming, ‘I -could have sworn it. Our people have been friends for ages. I come -from just over the border. You’ve heard of the Selmores, of Saleham?’ -mentioning county people well known by name to Ernest. - -‘Now this is very delightful,’ said his new friend, after all -explanations had been made, ‘and I shall take charge of you without any -scruple. You had better change your quarters to the New Holland Club. -I can have you admitted as an honorary member without a day’s delay. I -am a member; but I came here to-day to meet a friend, and have done so -most unexpectedly, eh, my dear Neuchamp?’ - -So irresistible was Mr. Selmore, that Ernest felt absolutely carried -away by the stream of his decided manner, his good stories, his -pleasant sarcasms, his foreign reminiscences, and his racy description -of Australian bush-life (he owned several stations, it would seem, -himself). So it was natural that after a bottle of hock, of a rare -vintage, ordered in honour of their auspicious meeting, that he should -confide to Mr. Selmore his plans of life, his leading ideas, and the -amount of capital which he was free to invest in some description of -landed property. - -After they had compressed more droll, confidential, and semi-practical -talk into a couple of hours than would have served for a week on -board ship, Mr. Selmore proposed a stroll down the street towards the -public gardens, which he thought his young friend would find novel and -interesting. - -As they lounged down the principal street Ernest was struck with -the change in the appearance of the crowd which thronged one side -of the footway, between the bisecting cross-streets. The hard and -anxious faces of the world’s workers which had filled the pavement in -the morning had vanished, and in their stead were the flowerets of -fashion, the gilded youth of the land, the butterflies of society, the -fair faces of daintily attired girls, the unworn features of those -ornamental human types which comprise no toilers, whatever may be the -proportion of spinsters. - -Mr. Neuchamp, whose sensitive organisation was still more highly -attuned by the voyage, gazed with much interest upon this novel -presentment. Again he could not help asking himself, ‘Have I really -left Britain? Is this a colony, or a magically sliced-off section of -London life? The swells are identical to the turn of a moustache, or -the set of a collar. That girl’s bonnet has not been two months from -Paris, for I saw the fellow of it, which had only that day arrived, on -Cousin Amy’s head the week I left home. Allah is great! Have I come to -reform these people? However, this is only the city. All cities are -alike, except, perhaps, Tangiers and Philadelphia. Wait till I get -fairly into the bush!’ - -Thus, looking with pleased eyes and wondering mind, Mr. Neuchamp hardly -noticed that his companion, as he swaggered easily along, seemed to -know and be known of every one. He, however, did not care to stop to -speak to his numerous friends. As they passed on, some of them, Ernest -commenced to observe, regarded Mr. Selmore and himself with an amused -expression. Keenly alive to colonial criticism, though proposing to -pour so many vials of the British article upon the heads of these -unsuspecting Arcadians, he noted more closely the manner and bearing -of the still undiminished number of the ‘friends of his friend’ whom -they encountered. It might have been fancy, but he thought that he saw -a keen glance, in some instances not altogether of mirth, bestowed upon -himself. - -They had reached a side street, along which they passed, when three -young men, irreproachably attired for the ante-prandial stroll, blocked -the way. - -‘Where are you off to in such a hurry, you old humbug?’ said a tall -handsome man imperiously. ‘You _can’t_ have any business at this time -of day.’ - -‘Not so sure of that,’ chimed in another of the party. ‘_I see you’ve -got your black hat with you_, Selmore.’ - -Mr. Selmore looked straight into the speaker’s eyes for a moment, and -then gravely taking off the upper covering referred to, stroked it, -looked at it, and replaced it upon his head. - -‘Yes!’ he said, ‘Evelyn, I have; I prefer them, even in this confounded -weather. They make a fellow look like a gentleman if it’s in him, and -not like a man going to a dog-fight, like that white abomination you -have on.’ - -The trio laughed more heartily and continuously at this rejoinder than -Ernest thought the wit justified, to the enjoyment of which Mr. Selmore -abandoned them without ceremony, merely remarking to Ernest, though -good fellows, they were awfully dissipated, and he could not recommend -them as friends. - -Before quitting the business part of the city, where the handsome -massive stone buildings gave an Italian air to the narrow streets, -Ernest’s roving eye happened to light on the name of ‘Frankston,’ -legended upon a conspicuously bright brass plate. - -‘Ha!’ said he, ‘I remember something about that name. Is he a -merchant—do you know him?’ - -‘Yes,’ said Mr. Selmore indifferently, ‘he is a merchant, and a -tolerably sharp man of business too. Takes station accounts; but I -forget, you don’t quite understand our phrases yet. He would be called -more a private banker where you and I hail from. Why do you ask?’ - -‘Merely because I happen to have a letter of introduction to him from a -man I met abroad once, and I shall deliver it to-morrow.’ - -Mr. Selmore did not look sympathetic at this announcement, but he said -little in contravention of his young friend’s resolve. - -‘You must keep your weather eye open, if he gets you out to that pretty -place of his, Neuchamp, or you will find yourself saddled with a big -station and a tight mortgage before you can look round you.’ - -Ernest had more than once thought himself extremely fortunate in -meeting with Mr. Selmore at so early a period of his colonial career. -Now he was confirmed in that opinion. - -‘My dear sir, I shall be more than cautious in any dealings with -him, I assure you,’ he said warmly. ‘Are these the public gardens? -How different from anything I have seen before, and how surpassingly -beautiful!’ - -They roamed long amid the glories of that semi-tropical park, rich with -the spoils of the Orient and many a fairy isle of the Great South Sea. -As the palms and strangely formed forest trees waved in the breeze -fresh from a thousand leagues of ocean foam, as the blue waters glanced -and sparkled through the clustering foliage, while they sat under giant -pines and looked over the sea-wall and at the white-winged sailing -boats flitting over the wavelets of the ocean-lake which men call the -harbour of Sydney, Mr. Neuchamp freely acknowledged his wonder and his -admiration. Stronger than ever was his faith in the destiny of a people -with whom he was fixed in determination henceforth to cast in his lot. - -Mr. Selmore had obtained his consent to dine with him at a well-known -_café_, and thither, after visiting the baths, as the short twilight -was deepening into night, they wended their way. - -Upon entering the room the appearance of an extremely well-arranged -dinner service was pleasant enough to view, after the somewhat less -ornamental garniture of the table of a clipper-ship. - -Ernest was introduced to two other friends of Mr. Selmore, also of -the pastoral persuasion, and who looked as if town visiting was the -exception in their rule of life. - -The dinner passed off very pleasantly. The _menu_ was well chosen, -the cooking more than respectable, the wines unimpeachable. Ernest -was sober from habit and principle. It would have been vain to have -made the attempt to induce him to exceed. Still, with all reasonable -moderation, it must be confessed that a man takes a more hopeful view -of life after a good dinner, more especially in the days of joyous -youth. - -Mr. Selmore’s friends were up-country dwellers, and it appeared that -they were, in some sort, neighbours of his when at home. Much of the -conversation insensibly took the direction of stock-farming, and Mr. -Neuchamp found himself listening to tales of crossing flooded rivers -with droves bound for a high market, or of tens of thousands of sheep -bought and sold in a day, or the wonderful price of wool, while -intermingled were descriptions of feats of horsemanship varied with an -occasional encounter with wild blacks. - -In the midst of all this, Mr. Neuchamp’s ardour kindled to such a pitch -that he could not forbear asking one of the last arrived strangers -whether there was not any station for sale in their district that would -be suitable for him. - -One of the pastorals looked at the other in astonishment, when they -both looked reproachfully at Mr. Selmore. - -‘You don’t mean to say,’ at length broke out the older man, whose -assiduity to the bottle had been unabated, ‘that you haven’t told our -young friend here that Gammon Downs is for sale, ’pon my soul it’s too -bad!’ - -‘Why, it’s the very place in the whole blessed colony,’ said the other, -‘for a new arrival—good water, good sheep, a nice handy little run, and -the best house in the district.’ - -Mr. Neuchamp was so struck with the expressive and interrogatory looks -of the two bush residents, that he bent a searching look upon Mr. -Selmore, as if he had in some mysterious way been ill-treated by the -withholding of confidence. - -‘Well,’ at length spoke out that gentleman, with an air of manly -frankness, ‘_you_ know me too well to think that I should propose to -sell one of my own runs to a friend, comparatively inexperienced, of -course, though well up in English farming, on the very first day I had -met him. There _are_ people, of course, who would do this, and more—but -Hartley Selmore is not one of that sort.’ - -‘But it does seem a shame,’ said the grizzled squatter, filling his -glass, ‘that if you have one of the best runs in the country, that -you should refuse to sell it to this gentleman merely because he is a -personal friend.’ - -‘Thank you,’ said Ernest warmly, ‘you have interpreted my sentiments -admirably. If this estate, or station, would be so suitable, why should -we not come to terms about it like any one else?’ - -‘So remarkably cheap too,’ said the other man; ‘but I suppose Selmore -wants a lot of cash down.’ - -‘I have only five thousand pounds,’ said Mr. Neuchamp, ‘and perhaps -your property is far above that limit.’ - -‘It _is_ less than I thought of taking,’ said Mr. Selmore thoughtfully; -‘but, yes; I don’t mind arranging for bills, at one and two years, -which, of course, if you bought, could be easily paid out of the -profits of the station. But pass the claret, we won’t talk any more -shop to-night. Just so far that my friends, who live near my place, are -going up the day after to-morrow. They will be glad of your company, -and will show you the wonders of the bush, including Gammon Downs. You -can then, my dear Neuchamp, judge for yourself.’ - -This plan appearing to Ernest to combine the utmost liberality on the -part of the vendor with special advantages to the purchaser, who could -have abundant time to examine and deliberate about his investment, was -promptly acceded to. - -He departed at the close of the evening to the hotel, at which place -he had decided to stay, notwithstanding the tempting offer of a club -bedroom. Ernest Neuchamp was not minded to give up his habits of -observation, and for the exercise of his pursuit he deemed the hostelry -of the period more favourable than any modern club. - -Human nature is so constituted that a project feasible, favourable, -and merely needing the very smallest propulsion into action over -night wears a changed aspect with the dawn. As Mr. Neuchamp regained -his suspended senses in a hot and mosquito-raided upper chamber in -the Royal, the idea of becoming at a plunge the proprietor of Gammon -Downs showed less alluring than over the joyous claret-illumined board -of yester eve. What if the name (given by the rude pioneers, it had -been explained to him from some nonsensical circumstance) should be -only too correct a designation for a delusive investment? What if Mr. -Selmore were a little _too_ obliging, confidential, and considerate -for a true and generous vendor? What if his companions, who certainly -appreciated the claret, were likely from friendship or interest to -be leagued against the stranger? It behoved him to be careful. The -slender resources of Neuchampstead had been strained to their utmost to -supplement his younger brother’s portion. Were this lost he could never -regain his position. And though with the recklessness of a sanguine -temperament, he would, without much regret, have addressed himself to -the task of carving out a fortune with his own right hand in this land -of promise, still he fully recognised the vast difference between a -capital even of moderate amount and none at all. - -Throwing on a few clothes hastily, he strolled off towards the baths, -and after a leisurely swim in the cool translucent wave, he found -his appetite for breakfast improved and his mental vision obviously -cleared. He arrived at divers and various wise resolutions; and one of -them was to call upon Mr. Frankston, the merchant. Two heads are better -than one, decided Mr. Neuchamp sapiently, and Granville said that this -old gentleman’s head was an exceedingly good one, nearly, but not -quite, as good as his heart. - -Discovering with some difficulty the precise street, almost a lane, -where he had suddenly descried the well-remembered name, he walked into -this office about half-past ten o’clock, and inquired for the head -of the house. The clerk civilly motioned him to a chair, telling him -that Mr. Frankston was engaged, but would not probably be long, as the -gentleman with him was Captain Carryall, in an awful hurry to put to -sea. - -In rather less than five minutes the door opened suddenly, emitting -a loud burst of laughter, and a tall sun-tanned man in a frock-coat, -whose bold bright eyes were dancing again with fun and covert enjoyment -of an apparently very keen jest. - -As more than one anxious-looking person had passed into the outer -office, Ernest walked in, and found himself in the presence of a -stoutish old gentleman, with a high-coloured, clean-shaved countenance, -who was chuckling with great relish, and subsiding from an exhausting -fit of merriment. His white waistcoat predominated much over his -clothing generally, giving that colour, with the aid of a spotless -domain of shirt-collar and shirt-front, an unfair advantage over his -sad-coloured suit of gray tweed. - -‘Good-morning to you, sir,—won’t you take a chair,’ said the old -gentleman with much civility. ‘Very rude to be laughing in the face of -a visitor. But that Captain Carryall told me the best story I’ve heard -for ages. Picked it up at the islands last cruise. Awful fellow! You’d -excuse me, I’m sure, if you knew him. How can I be of use to you, my -dear sir?’ - -This last query belonged evidently to another region than the one into -which the sea-captain, with his _cœur-de-lion_ face, had allured him. -So Ernest produced his card, and a note ‘from their mutual friend, Mr. -Granville, he believed.’ The old merchant glanced at the signature, and -without another look hurled himself out of his armchair, and seizing -Mr. Neuchamp’s hand, wrung it with affectionate earnestness. - -‘My dear sir—my dear fellow,’ gasped he; ‘I’d have given a hundred -pounds if our friend could have been here, and heard that yarn of -Charley Carryall’s. Now, attend to me while I tell you what you’ve got -to do. You’ll have enough to amuse yourself till five o’clock, and then -you’re to come here with your trunk. The carriage will call punctually -at that hour, and you’re to come out with me to my little place, on -the South Head Road, and confer upon me the very great obligation of -staying with me till you go up the country—if you do go. Now, isn’t -that settled?’ - -‘I am very sorry,’ stammered Ernest; ‘it is so extremely kind of you; -but I have more than half promised to go up the country to-morrow to -look at a station with a view to buying it.’ - -‘And get sold yourself,’ interjected Mr. Frankston. ‘Not just yet, if -you’ll be my boy for a year or two. Whose desirable property is it?’ - -‘It belongs to a Mr. Selmore, whom I met at the Royal Hotel,’ answered -Ernest, ‘who was very kind, and gave me some very good advice.’ - -‘Ha! ha! ha!’ shouted the old boy, becoming very purple in the face; -‘knew it was him—Gammon Downs, eh! Wonderful man, take in his own -father if he was hard up, and suffer his venerable grandsire and maiden -aunts to invest their last penny in a sour grass country, with fluky -sheep, Cumberland and scab given in. Hanged if he wouldn’t, and go to -church immediately afterwards. Most remarkable man, Hartley Selmore!’ - -Mr. Neuchamp wondered how Mr. Frankston knew the name of Mr. Selmore’s -valuable estate, and how he had ever made any money, if he did nothing -but laugh. Indeed, it seemed to be his chief occupation in life, -judging from his conduct since they had met. - -‘Then you would not advise me to invest just at present?’ inquired he. - -‘Not unless you wish to be in the possession of a small, _very_ small -amount of experience, and not one solitary copper at the end of twelve -months,’ said Mr. Frankston, with great decision. ‘This is a bad time -to buy, stock are falling. Don’t begin at all till you see your way. If -you meet Selmore tell him you’ve changed your mind for the present, and -will write and let him know when it is convenient for you to inspect -Gammon Downs. Five, sharp! old man;’ and with a paternal glance in his -quick twinkling eye, Mr. Frankston made an affirmative nod to his chief -clerk, who then and there entered, and a farewell one to Ernest, who -after he left the portals stood for a moment like a man in a dream. - -‘This is certainly a most remarkable country,’ he soliloquised; ‘with -their outward resemblance to Englishmen, there must be some strange -mental divergence not easily fathomed. I remember Granville telling me -that this old buffer was a better father to him than his own had ever -been, or some such strong expression; therefore I will at once decide -to act upon his advice; Selmore and his winning way, notwithstanding. -One must take up a position firmly or not at all. So I shall elect to -stand or fall by this apoplectic old white-waistcoated guardian angel, -as he proposes to be.’ - -‘My dear Neuchamp,’ said a cheery voice, while a cheery hand smote -him familiarly on the back, ‘you look absorbed in contemplation. -This is the wrong country for that. Action, sir, action is the word -in Australia. Now, do you know what I was doing when I ran against -you?—actually going down to Bliss’s livery stables to see if I could -pick you out a decent hack. Burstall and Scouter are going to start -early to-morrow, and of course you’ll want a hack that won’t frighten -you after coming from the old country. With luck you’ll be under the -verandah at Gammon Downs on the afternoon of the fourth day.’ - -Ernest braced himself together, and fixing his eyes upon the somewhat -shifting orbs of his agreeable friend, said with studied calmness— - -‘I shall be extremely sorry, my dear sir, to put you or your friends to -any inconvenience on my account, but I have changed my mind, and do not -think of leaving Sydney for a month or two.’ - -He was conscious of a stern, half-angry, searching gaze, which seemed -to drag out of his countenance every word of the conversation with Mr. -Frankston, before Mr. Selmore said grandly, ‘I am sorry to hear that -you have so suddenly altered your plans. I had written to the overseer -at Gammon Downs to have everything in readiness to receive you, and -Burstall and Scouter will, I know, be put out at losing the pleasure of -your company. But of course if you have made other arrangements—only I -am afraid that if you don’t feel disposed to name a day for visiting -Gammon Downs I may possibly dispose of it privately, and as the subject -has cropped up (not at my initiation, you are aware), I do honestly -think that no place in the country would have suited you half as well.’ - -Ernest felt sorely tempted to say that in a fortnight or three weeks he -would be able to go up, but he remembered Mr. Frankston’s suggestion, -and rather coldly answered that he would write and inform Mr. Selmore -when it would be convenient for him to inspect Gammon Downs. The -inevitable smile, which was worn in all weathers upon the face of -Hartley Selmore, had so little real sincerity about it after this -statement, that when he had received a warm parting grasp, Ernest felt -strongly convinced that he had fitted the right arrow to the string. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -In one respect at least it cannot be denied that the new country -differs widely from the old. Events of important and fateful nature -succeed each other with a rapidity so great as to affect the actor -with a sensation of unreality. He soon learns, however, that this -high-pressure transaction of life involves issues none the less -exacting of consequences. He recognises the necessity of watchfulness, -of prompt decision, and abandons himself to the accelerated rate of -speed with a degree of confidence which he cannot help suspecting to -be recklessness in disguise. It may be that ideas akin to this view of -the subject passed through Mr. Neuchamp’s reflective mind while waiting -for the appointed time at which he was to meet Mr. Frankston at his -office. But a few hours since he had been on the verge of a headlong -and what now appeared to him a dangerous investment, in which his whole -capital might have been swamped, and his plans for social and colonial -regeneration delayed for years, if not wholly frustrated. Now, with an -equally violent oscillation, he had abandoned one recent friend, and -adopted another equally unknown; to-morrow he might be embarked upon -another project with equal risk of proximity to a colonial whirlpool -capable of swallowing an argosy. What was he to do in this frightful -procession, where fortune and ruin followed each other upon the path of -life like express trains? - -Was there such a thing as prudence, hesitation, or delay in Australian -business matters? He would not be so credulous again. Was this cheerful -old merchant, whose speech was kindness, and whose eye was truth -apparently, to be unreservedly trusted? He would hear what his counsel -was like meanwhile; he knew his friend Granville to be clear-sighted -and direct. He fully trusted him, and had good reason to do so. Yes—he -would put his fortune on this die. _Vogue la galère!_ - -He had consulted his watch more than once before the hansom deposited -him with a portmanteau at the office of Paul Frankston and Co., at two -minutes past five o’clock. Just afterwards, a well-appointed carriage, -drawn by a well-matched pair of bays, drove rapidly up to the door. As -he was approvingly regarding the well-bred horses, he did not observe -that a young lady inside was essaying to open the door of the carriage. -Ernest, shocked at his unchivalrous conduct, rushed to the door, -wrenched it open, and with a slight but deferential bow assisted her to -alight. She walked at once into the office, followed by Mr. Neuchamp. - -‘I have been to Shaddock’s, papa, for some books, and I thought I -was late,’ she said, throwing her arms round the old man’s neck, -unconscious that Ernest was immediately behind. - -‘You’re generally punctual, puss, and so I won’t scold her, Mr. -Neuchamp,’ said the old boy with his customary chuckle, as the young -lady turned round and beheld with surprise the involuntary witness of -her tribute of affection. ‘Mr. Neuchamp, my daughter Antonia. My dear, -this gentleman is coming to stay with us for a few months—for a year or -two—all his life, perhaps, so the sooner you get acquainted the better.’ - -Then the young lady smiled, and hoped that Mr. Neuchamp would find -their house pleasant, and become accustomed in time to papa’s jokes. - -‘I can tell you it’s no joke at all, miss. You know very well that if -Mr. Granville would have had you, I should have ordered you to marry -him forthwith. Now, Mr. Neuchamp is a great friend of his, and all we -can do for him will be too little.’ - -‘Mr. Granville was the nicest man I ever met,’ affirmed the young lady. -‘As for marrying, that is another matter. I daresay Mr. Neuchamp is -coming to a proper understanding about your assertions, papa. How do -you like the view, Mr. Neuchamp?’ - -As she spoke she leaned partly out of the carriage and gazed seawards. -They were now driving upon a rather narrow and winding road, smoothly -gravelled and well kept, much like a country lane in England. On the -southern side the hill rose abruptly above them; on the lower side a -dwarf wall of sandstone blocks occasionally protected the traveller -from a too precipitous descent. Shrubs and flowers, as strange to Mr. -Neuchamp as the flora of the far-famed bay, but a mile or two from -them now, was to Sir Joseph Banks, bordered the road on either side in -rich profusion. But the eye roamed over the intervening valley, over -villas of trim beauty, clean-cut in the delicately pale sandstone, to -the wondrous beauty of the landlocked sea. Blue as the Ægean, it was -superior in its astonishing wealth of bays, mimic quays, and peerless -anchorage to any harbour in the world. Crafts of all kinds and sizes -floated upon its unruffled wave, from the majestic ocean steamer, -gliding proudly to her anchorage, to the white-winged, over-rigged -sailing boat, with her crew of lads seated desperately on her windward -gunnel, to squatter out like a brood of wild ducks and right their -crank craft, should fortune and the breeze desert them. Northward -rose the ‘sullen shape’ of the great sandstone promontory, the North -Head, towering over the surges that break endlessly at its base, and -with its twin sentinel of the south, guarding the narrow entrance to -the unrivalled haven. The fresh breeze swept through the girl’s hair -and tinged her cheek with a transient glow, as she said, ‘Is not that -lovely? I have seen it almost daily for years, but it never palls on -me.’ - -‘Beautiful as a dream landscape,’ said Ernest from his heart. ‘It makes -one recall dear old Sir Walter’s words— - - ‘“Where’s the coward that would not dare - To fight for such a land?”’ - -‘We are a peaceful people so far,’ said Mr. Frankston; ‘but I fancy -that we should take to war kindly enough in the event of invasion, -for instance, and hammer away as briskly and as doggedly as our -forefathers.’ - -‘How many years have you been in this colony, may I ask?’ said Ernest. -‘Not long enough to shake off British feelings and prejudices, I am -certain.’ - -‘About ten years,’ deposed Mr. Frankston confidently. - -‘Oh, papa!’ said Miss Antonia. - -‘Well!’ said the old gentleman, looking roguishly at her, ‘I may have -been here a _leetle_ longer; but I am within the strict limits of truth -in stating I have been here for ten years—there is no doubt about that.’ - -Thus chatting, they had arrived at a pair of iron gates, through which -entering, they turned into the smoothest of gravel roads, which was -obviously watered daily. - -The grounds through which the upstanding bay horses bore them over -the superb gravel, were extensive, but in perfect order. Many of the -trees, chiefly of semi-tropical habit, were of great age, and their -broad glossy leaves, faintly stirred by the sea-breeze, had a murmuring -sound, which told the heart of an imaginative listener tales of a calm -enchanted main of coral reefs, of palm-fringed, milk-white strands, and -all the wonders of the charmed Isles of the Great South Sea. - -They drew up at the door of a large old-fashioned mansion, built of -pale sandstone and surmounted by an extremely broad paved verandah, -looking like a section of an ice-house. - -‘Mr. Neuchamp!’ said the old gentleman, ‘this is your home as long as -you are in Australia. I hope you like the look of it. It’s exactly -twelve minutes to dinner-time; so I recommend both of you to waste no -time in dressing. James!’ - -A serious-looking man-servant advanced, and taking Ernest’s portmanteau -inducted him into a fascinating bedroom, with such a view of the sea -that he was nearly led into forgetting the old gentleman’s paternal -admonition, and being late for dinner. - -However, by putting on extra steam, after the important transaction -of the tie was completed, he managed to re-enter the hall just as Mr. -Frankston came skipping downstairs, and was immediately entrusted with -the care of Miss Frankston as far as the dining-room. - -The evening was warm, but the perfection of cookery, combined with -the quality and temperature of the wines to prevent any deep feeling -of inconvenience. Miss Frankston talked pleasantly and unaffectedly, -while the old gentleman neglected no opportunity of interjecting a joke -or telling some remarkably good story, for Mr. Neuchamp’s benefit, of -which his daughter did not always see the point. - -After dinner Miss Frankston retired, with an assurance from her father -that they did not intend to absent themselves for more than ten -minutes, after which the serious butler brought in tenderly another -bottle of claret, and departed. - -‘Fill your glass, Mr. Neuchamp,’ said the old man; ‘it won’t hurt your -head, nor your—any other part, I guarantee, for I imported it myself, -and let us talk a _very_ little business. What do you think of doing?’ - -‘My intention is fixed to purchase a landed property, an estate or -station, as you call them. Of course I can only begin in a small way, -and that was why Mr. Selmore’s place, Gammon Downs, seemed particularly -suited.’ - -‘Gammon Downs has ruined every man but Selmore, who has ever had -anything to do with it. It’s a sour, bad little place, in which you -would have lost all your money in about a year, and would have had to -sell, or give away, the stock.’ - -‘And did Mr. Selmore know that it was a bad investment, an undesirable -property, when he offered it to me?’ - -‘I am sorry to say,’ quoth the old gentleman, ‘that he _did_ know it, -perfectly well; he knew that it has ruined half a dozen men, whose -names I could give you.’ - -‘And is he considered to be a gentleman, and a man of honour, in this -part of the world?’ inquired Mr. Neuchamp in tones of great surprise. - -‘Well, he _is_ a gentleman—that is, if good birth, good manners, and -a good education go to make one. But he has always speculated to the -verge of his capital, and now, stock being rather low, he is decidedly -hard up. But he is a wonderfully sharp hand, and he generally contrives -to get hold of a “black hat” at least once a year, which has pulled him -through so far.’ - -‘A black hat?’ demanded Ernest; ‘and why not?—they seem common enough. -And why should a hat, black or white, help him in any way?’ - -‘You don’t quite understand,’ answered Mr. Frankston, with a twinkle -of his fun-loving gray eyes, ‘though it is more a bush expression than -a town one, and rather slangy. A “black hat” in Australian parlance -means a new arrival. And as people without colonial experience, like -yourself, for instance, cannot be expected to understand the relative -value of stock and stations, such a purchaser falls an easy prey to a -talented but unscrupulous man like your friend Selmore.’ - -A light suddenly illumined the understanding of Mr. Neuchamp, whose -faculties, like those of enthusiasts generally, were keen, if -occasionally misdirected. - -‘So _that_ was what his friend Evelyn laughingly alluded to when they -met us yesterday. “I see you have your black hat with you,” he said.’ - -‘By Jove! you don’t say so; did Evelyn say that?’ laughed the -commercial mentor; ‘just like him; for two pins he’d have warned you -not to believe a word he said. Fine fellow, Evelyn! And what did Mr. -Selmore say?’ - -‘He only smiled, took off his own hat—an ordinary “Lincoln and -Bennett”—stroked it, and put it on his head again.’ - -‘Capital, capital! O lord! that was Selmore all over. You can’t easily -match him. He has the devil’s own readiness. Deuced clever fellow -he always was! It’s a pity, too, really it is. If he were not so -desperately cornered, I believe he’s a kind-hearted fellow in the main. -But when he has bills to meet he’d take in his own father.’ - -‘Thou shalt want ere I want,’ as that famous freelance, Mr. Dugald -Dalgetty, formerly of Marischal College, remarked, thought Ernest; -but he said, ‘It seems then that my small capital was very nearly -appropriated to the retirement of Mr. Selmore’s bills payable, which -was _not_ my primary intention in choosing a colonial career. My dear -sir, I shall never be sufficiently thankful for your kind advice. What -would you advise me to do now, if I may trespass further on your great -kindness?’ - -‘My dear boy, as Granville’s friend, I look upon you as my son -temporarily; and if I had a son who had just completed his education -and wished to purchase station property, I should say to him, this is a -country and stock-farming is a profession not to be understood all at -once. Before investing your money spend a little time in learning the -ways of the people of the country and of the management of stock before -you invest a shilling.’ - -‘And how long do you think a man of reasonable intelligence ought to be -in gaining the requisite knowledge?’ asked Ernest, rather dismayed at -the prospect of a lengthened term of apprenticeship. - -‘Not a day less than two years,’ answered Mr. Frankston decisively. -‘My advice to you is to travel for a month or two through the interior, -and then to locate yourself on some station where you can acquire the -details of practical management.’ - -‘But will not that be expensive, and what could I do with my money in -the meantime?’ - -‘It will not be expensive; and as to your money, you can lodge it in -a bank, where you will receive interest at current rates. You can -select any of our Sydney banks, which are quite as safe as the Bank of -England. I shall then be happy to give you introductions which will -secure you a home and the means of acquiring the necessary knowledge.’ - -‘Thanks, a thousand thanks,’ quoth Ernest, much relieved; ‘at any rate -I shall feel safe. I shall gladly take your advice; and the sooner I am -off the better.’ - -‘Better stay a month with me,’ urged the kind-hearted old boy; ‘there -is plenty of time for you to learn all about stock, and how to -distinguish between Gammon Downs and a run that, if it doesn’t make a -fortune all at once, will not ruin you under five years at any rate.’ - -But the man to whom he spoke had not crossed ten thousand miles of -ocean, torn up old associations, and severed himself from the inherited -life of an English country gentleman, to linger by the wayside. So he -made answer— - -‘My dear sir, I feel that if I have left many good friends behind I -have found one as kind and more effectual in help and counsel. But my -purpose is fixed. I cannot rest without I feel that I am on my way to -its fulfilment. With your permission I must leave town next week at -farthest.’ - -‘Well, well—I am not sure but that you are wise. Sydney is an easy -place to spend money in, and there is nothing like buckling to when -there is work to be done. I must see and pick you up a horse.’ - -‘Do you know,’ said Mr. Neuchamp, with an air of slight diffidence, -‘that I much prefer to walk; I shall see more of the country and be -less hampered, I imagine, on foot.’ - -‘_Walk! walk!_’ repeated Mr. Frankston, rather taken aback; ‘don’t -think of it.’ - -‘Why not, may I ask?’ - -‘Because in this country no one walks. It is too hot for that sort of -thing, and it is not exactly the thing for a gentleman.’ - -‘But,’ pleaded Ernest, ‘I am a tolerable pedestrian; many a pleasant -walking tour I have had in England, and indeed on the Continent. Is -there any danger?’ - -‘None, that I am aware of—but I would certainly advise you to get a -horse, or a couple; they are cheap enough here.’ - -‘You won’t be offended if I say that I really prefer walking. It is -a capital thing in many ways; and I shall not get a chance of seeing -Australian life without conventional spectacles so easily again -perhaps.’ - -‘Please yourself, then,’ said Mr. Frankston; ‘I am very much in favour -of letting people alone, particularly in unimportant matters; you will -find out for yourself, I daresay, why I advised you to commence your -journey on the outside of a good horse. You won’t take any more wine? -Then we’ll go and get a cup of coffee from Antonia.’ - -They found that young lady ensconced in a large cane chair upon the -balcony in front of the drawing-room, gazing dreamily over the dark -glimmering waters. - -‘You will find coffee on that round table, Mr. Neuchamp; and you, papa, -will find your cigar-case on that ledge. Mr. Neuchamp, if you like to -smoke, pray do so; I have no dislike to it in the open air.’ - -Mr. Neuchamp did not smoke. He held it to be a waste of time, of money, -of brain-power; leading likewise to a false content with circumstances, -with which the true man should wage ceaseless warfare. So he brought -his chair near to that of Miss Frankston, and as the old gentleman -lighted his cigar and leaned back in much comfort at some distance, he -felt fully disposed for a little æsthetic talk. - -‘What a glorious night,’ he remarked, ‘with this faint fresh -sea-breeze! how grand the effect of the darkly bright water, the -burning stars, and this superb cloudless heaven!’ - -‘It is so indescribably glorious,’ made answer Miss Frankston, ‘that -I feel incensed with myself for not delighting in it more freshly and -intensely. But it is thus with all familiar marvels that one has seen -all one’s life.’ - -‘All one’s life?’ repeated he. - -‘I was born in this house,’ said she simply, ‘and have sat on a chair -like this, and gazed on the sea, as we are doing now, when I was a -small lonely child.’ - -‘Oh! dreamy and luxurious southerner,’ laughed he. ‘A life of -lotus-eating! Has it affected the tenor of your mind with any -indisposition to exertion or change?’ - -‘As far as I can pretend to know, it has had the reverse tendency in my -case. I have always had a passionate desire to travel. I am my father’s -own daughter in that respect, he says.’ - -‘And where has Mr. Frankston chiefly been?’ - -‘Where has he not been? When he was young he managed to get away -to sea, and roamed about the world splendidly; he has been to New -Zealand, of course; all over the South Sea Islands; besides having -travelled to England and the Continent, the East and West Indies, -Russia, America, China, and Japan.’ - -‘You quite take my breath away. Your papa is a perfect Marco Polo. But -why should he have gone to England?’ - -‘In order to see it, of course. Every Australian with sufficient brains -to comprehend that there are more streets in the world than George -Street would like to do that.’ - -‘And was Mr. Frankston born in Australia? I thought he told me that he -had been ten years here.’ - -‘So he has been, and fifty more. He did not say _only_ ten years. He -likes to joke about being taken for an Englishman, and says it is -because he has a red face and a white waistcoat.’ - -‘Well, I do not see the resemblance on those grounds,’ made answer Mr. -Neuchamp guardedly. ‘But really, your papa is so exactly like an old -gentleman of my acquaintance, who is a very Briton of Britons, that I -took it for granted that he must be English.’ - -‘So he is English, and so am I English; only we were not born in that -small great country. But you _must_ think that there ought to be some -distinguishing manner, or accent, about Australians, or you would not -exhibit surprise at the resemblance.’ - -‘If I ever had such an absurd idea, I am now entirely disabused of it,’ -said Mr. Neuchamp gallantly; ‘and I must hope that in a short time to -come I may be taken for an Australian, of which at present there is not -apparently the least prospect.’ - -‘Indeed, there is not,’ replied Miss Frankston; ‘pray excuse my -smiling at the idea.’ - -‘But why should I be so advertised, apparently by my whole personal -effect upon society, that the waiters at the hotel are as aware of the -fact, the cabmen, the persons whom I pass in the street, as if I had -“passenger’s luggage” marked on my shirt-front? It is not entirely my -complexion, for I see blonde people in every direction; nor my clothes, -nor my speech, I hope.’ - -‘I do not know, indeed. I cannot say. There must be some difference, -or people would not notice it. But you must not imagine that because -you are known to have just come from home that anything short of a -compliment is intended. Indeed,’ said the girl with some diffidence, -‘it’s quite the other way.’ - -‘I am delighted to hear you say so,’ returned Mr. Neuchamp, ‘and it -will comfort Wilhelm Meister during his “Wanderjähre.”’ - - ‘Kennst du das Land?’ - -sang she. ‘Are you fond of music, Mr. Neuchamp? for I think I shall go -in and give papa his nightly allowance of harmony. He refuses always to -go to bed until I have sung to him. You had better keep him company.’ - -Mr. Neuchamp did so, the air of the balcony and the sight of the -wondrous Southern Cross being as yet more attractive than the lady of -the castle and her song. - -‘That’s right,’ said the old gentleman, lighting another cigar and -composing himself to listen. ‘Pity you don’t smoke; it’s an added -pleasure, and one hasn’t too many in this world. It’s a luxury that -lasts—one of the few things you can do as well when you’re old as when -you are young.’ - -‘I must differ from you,’ returned Mr. Neuchamp. ‘I think it often -leads to the wasting of valuable time, but I bow to your greater -experience.’ - -‘And greater age; and you are right to be on the self-denying side -for the present. But ask yourself what an old buffer like myself can -do with his evenings more profitably. My eyes—not so good as they -were thirty years since—have generally had a fair day’s work before -dinner-time. Cards, talk, and a moderate smoke make up an old man’s -evening. When I look at the sea here—and she always was a good friend -to me—hear Antonia sing and play—bless her heart! and smoke a very good -cigar, it is rather a cunningly mixed enjoyment, you must own. Now -she’s off!’ - -The last statement was made simultaneously with the first notes of a -song which floated out through the opened French windows, and proved -to Mr. Neuchamp—a fair connoisseur—that his hostess had a fresh, true, -soprano voice, and rather unusual execution. As he sat listening to -song after song which Miss Frankston bestowed upon them with an utter -absence of apologetic affectation, as the stars burned more brightly -in the cloudless southern sky, as the wavelets kept their rhythmical -murmurous monotone, he involuntarily asked himself if he had left _all_ -the social luxuries in the other hemisphere. - -‘This is pleasant,’ said the merchant, after a long silence of words, -with something between a sigh and a shake; ‘but there are such things -as breakfast and business for to-morrow. We must end the concert. Make -for that small table in the corner.’ - -Upon the piece of furniture referred to there stood a silver-encrusted -inviting spirit-stand, with a bottle of iced Marco-brünner. - -‘You must allow me to thank you for your songs, Miss Frankston,’ said -Ernest; ‘whether the surroundings completed the witchery I cannot tell, -but I have rarely enjoyed music so much.’ - -‘I am glad you like my singing,’ said she simply; ‘we see so few people -that I am not always sure whether my old music-master and myself -extract the correct expression in much of our practice.’ - -‘I can assure you of the correctness of your rendering,’ promptly -assented the stranger-critic. ‘I heard the last song you were good -enough to favour us with sung the week before I left. It had just been -published. And I certainly prefer a slight emendation, which I think -you have made.’ - -‘Most satisfactory!’ said she, with a mock inclination of respect; -‘and now good-night. Papa and breakfast wait for no man.’ - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -Few things are pleasanter, in their way, than staying in an agreeable -house, while the welcome, the local recreations, the allotted leisure, -are alike in the fresh bloom of unexhausted enjoyment. Your justifiable -curiosity as to your friends’ intellects, experiences, and power of -amusing you is for a while unsatiated. All is new and delightful; to -be savoured with the full approval of conscience. The gardens are -enchanted, the ladye peerless fair, the stranger knights courteous, -the host an incarnation of appreciation and generosity. All this -glamour lasts undiminished for the first fleeting week or two, possibly -survives the month. Then the process of disenchantment commences. -Either you have business external to the castle, or you have not. In -the former case, you begin to feel darkly fearful of neglect, and -conscience, if you keep one, self-interest if you do not, commences to -be ‘faithful,’ even to inconvenience. If you own no care, or tie, or -duty, which may not be postponed to the ‘Cynthias of the minute,’ and -still prolong your stay, you cease to be a guest and fall into the more -prosaic _rôle_ of _habitué_, inmate, lodger, amenable to family rules -and to criticism. Then the fair ladye, if she be the sole cause of -detention, is at times sharply scanned, lest the proverbial chandelier -bear hard on the value of the entertainment. On the whole, a state of -perpetual arrival at the mansions of favourably prejudiced strangers, -combined with comparatively early departure,—unerringly anticipating -the first shade of social satiety,—would probably comprise most of the -pleasurable sensations permissible in this imperfect existence. - -Mr. Neuchamp had, from the first, no thought of trenching upon even -the border of this ‘debatable land’; for after a very short trial of -this pleasant life he told Miss Frankston that if he stayed for twelve -months, he should still find new objects of interest. He thereupon -completed the painful process known as ‘making up one’s mind,’ and -arranged to leave for the interior on the following day. Not that he -was peculiarly sensible to any state of uncertainty. His enthusiastic -temperament saved him from indecision. Having, with what he believed to -be sufficient care and circumspection, elaborated a plan, he was uneasy -and incapable of enjoyment until an advance in line was made. His, the -fervid temperament, which delights itself with intensifying the action -of all warfare, declared against circumstance, ever the foe of generous -youth and ardent manhood. - -So impatient was Mr. Neuchamp to hear the first shot of his campaign -fired, that he had the stern virtue to refuse to remain another week -for a certain picnic, at which all the notabilities of the metropolis -were to be present, and at which the purest form of social pleasure -might be anticipated. - -‘My dear Miss Frankston,’ replied he, when urged upon this subject by -Antonia, ‘I grieve that I cannot consistently comply with your kind -request. But I feel myself so rapidly turning into a mere town lounger, -that I am sure another week or two would complete the transformation, -and my moral ruin. For besides, unfortunately’—here he smiled at his -expressed regret—‘I fixed to-morrow for my departure from your most -pleasant and hospitable home, and I _never_ alter my plans.’ - -‘I should be very sorry to wish you to alter them for our sake,’ said -the girl, unable, however, to suppress a slight tone of pique. ‘No -doubt you will be much happier exploring the highway across the Blue -Mountains, which, of course, will be a great novelty to you. But I -should not have thought a few days would have made any difference. You -will find it dull enough at Garrandilla, where you are going.’ - -‘Dull!’ said he, ‘dull! in the heart of a new continent, a new world, -with untold stores of new plants, new companions, new experiences, the -outset of a new life. My dear Miss Antonia, how _can_ it be dull to any -person of ordinary intelligence?’ - -‘Well,’ answered she, smiling, ‘perhaps it is I who am dull for -thinking so. Most young men who have left our house for the interior -have been of that opinion. But I will not attempt to cloud your -anticipations. Only, I really _do_ think you ought not to walk.’ - -‘Why not? What possible difference can it make how I get over the -twenty or thirty miles a day before I reach the station, to which your -father has so kindly given me letters of introduction? Such jolly -walking tours as I have had in England and Wales, in Ireland, and one -lovely vacation tour in our old home, Normandy.’ - -‘What a charming thing to be able to see the place where one’s -ancestors lived a thousand years ago!’ said she eagerly. (Mr. Neuchamp, -having let slip the admission of the early settlement of his family -in that rather stirring Norse colony, had been cross-questioned upon -the subject.) ‘How you must have enjoyed it! That’s the worst of -Australia—there’s nothing a hundred years old in it, except a red-gum -tree. But seriously, you may find yourself exposed to inconveniences by -walking, like a labouring man. It is not the fashion in our country for -gentlemen to walk.’ - -Miss Antonia had entirely settled the matter by the last observation. -Fashion had been through life one of the deadliest enemies to the peace -of Ernest Neuchamp. In his own country he had alarmed his relatives -and scandalised his neighbours by his wild defiance of that successor -of Thor and Odin, as he profanely termed the social belief of decorous -Christians. Was he to bow the knee to this false god in a strange land, -which at least he hoped to be pure from the idolatries of the effete -civilisation from which he had fled? Not so, by St. Newbold! the patron -saint of his house. He smiled with great gentleness as he answered, -with half sad but most irrevocable decision— - -‘My dear Miss Frankston, I did not become a colonist with any idea of -being trammelled by usages or customs. You will pardon me, I am sure, -if I retain my first intention.’ - -‘Most certainly,’ said she. ‘I shouldn’t wonder if you had a friend or -two in England who called you obstinate. But you will tell me some day -how you got on, and whether there was _any_ small portion of reason in -the advice given you.’ - -‘I shall for ever feel grateful,’ he said warmly, ‘for the intention -of the advice, and for the great kindness which has accompanied it. -Whether or not I succeed in Australia, I shall always have one pleasant -remembrance to look back upon.’ - -‘My father, and I also, will be glad if you feel thus,’ she said, with -the ordinary calm kindness of her tone; ‘and now, I must go to town. -You leave to-morrow?’ - -‘Yes; I am sorry, in one way, to say so.’ - -‘Then papa will be able to give you his final counsels to-night. I know -he wishes to have some last words with you.’ - -Dinner over and the night being fine, as usual, an adjournment to the -sea-balcony was carried unanimously. When the first cigar was half -through, Mr. Frankston thus addressed his guest— - -‘So you are off to-morrow, Antonia tells me, and can’t be persuaded to -wait for the grand picnic. I don’t say you’re wrong. When the ship’s -ready and the wind’s fair, it’s better to wait for no repairs. You’re -going to walk, too. It’s a long way; but you’re young and strong, and -you’ll find out all I can tell you for yourself; if you don’t, all -the telling in the world won’t help you. Now, see here, we’ll arrange -everything for the first twelve months, or two years, if you don’t care -to change.’ - -‘You’re most kind and generous, my dear sir, and I don’t know what I -should have done without you,’ said Ernest. - -‘Thank you,’ said Mr. Frankston; ‘we’ll see about that in about five -or six years, if we all live so long—we can’t tell just yet. I may be -persuading you not to buy in with a rising market, which would double -your money in three years, or I may be saving you from losing all but -what you stand upright in in about the same time. I think it’s the -last, but we can’t tell. This is an uncertain country, particularly -about rain. And rain means fat stock, cheap money, and general -prosperity.’ - -‘But can’t one provide against the want of rain?’ inquired Mr. -Neuchamp, who was prone to array himself against Providence, holding -that all things might be met or conquered by energy and foresight. -‘Irrigation, for instance.’ - -‘There is _no_ provision that can be made,’ said the man of experience, -‘except on a small scale, and irrigation means labour; and paying for -labour in Australia, except to a very limited extent, means ruin. A -great drought is like a heavy gale at sea; you may be saved, or you -may go down with all hands. One visitation is as easy to stop or to -calculate about as the other.’ - -‘And is it a drought now?’ - -‘Yes; and one of the worst ever known.’ - -‘Then what will happen?’ - -‘Stock,’ said the old man, ‘will keep on falling in price. Many -stockholders will be ruined, including Selmore, if he does not clear -out Gammon Downs to a——’ - -‘A black hat,’ laughed Ernest. ‘I shall remember that joke. It came -near, as our American fellow-passenger would say, costing me five -thousand pounds.’ - -‘But they won’t be all ruined,’ continued Mr. Frankston; ‘and what -I strongly advise you to do is this—you’ve left your money, for a -year certain, in the Bank of New Holland, for which you’ll get tidy -interest, and it’s as safe as the Bank of England—you go, where I give -you this letter of introduction, to Forrester, who is a good fellow and -knows me, and it’s a good station, Garrandilla; that’s a great matter, -as you will find. There you will be treated like a gentleman. It will -cost you nothing but your clothes. There you’ll learn all that can -be learnt about stock. In a couple of years, say (here Mr. Neuchamp -winced), or perhaps eighteen months, you’ll be fit to look after a -station, and able to buy one for yourself.’ - -‘Don’t you think a year’s experience,’ pleaded Mr. Neuchamp, ‘might——’ - -‘No, I don’t,’ stoutly asserted the senior; ‘and in two years it’s my -belief that your five thousand pounds will buy as large a station as -ten thousand would now.’ - -The following morning saw Mr. Neuchamp, who had risen early and made -all his arrangements, fully prepared for the momentous plunge into -real life. He had attired himself in an old tourist’s suit of rough -serviceable tweed, and donned a pair of thick-soled lace-up boots -fitted for climbing mountain sides, and the roughest pedestrian work -that might occur. He had filled his knapsack with the requisites -that a gentleman cannot dispense with, even in the lightest marching -order, and had adopted a brown wide-awake hat, which he trusted would -relieve him henceforward from any injurious sobriquet. Thus armed at -all points, he awaited breakfast and the arrival of Antonia Frankston, -to whom he felt inclined to bid a more heartfelt farewell than he had -thought any young lady in the southern hemisphere would have earned the -right to receive. - -Let me not be understood to assume for a moment that Mr. Neuchamp was -wholly insensible to the tender passion. But he was fully possessed and -occupied for the present by the ‘enterprise of great pith and moment’ -which he contemplated. And the boy-god found the tenement of his heart -for the time so thoroughly filled by busy, unsympathetic ideas, that he -was fain to hover like a bird round a populous dovecote, vainly seeking -a single unoccupied pigeon-hole. - -‘Friendship, indeed,’ Mr. Neuchamp confessed to himself, ‘had sprung -up of an intellectual and truly fraternal nature between himself -and this girl, who had but few companions, and fewer intimates of -her own age.’ But he told himself that it was a prosaic alliance of -intelligence, natural, and almost inevitable between two people not -very different in age, whose temperaments were rather widely apart, but -whose tastes and feelings assimilated closely. Just the kind of feeling -he might have had for his lady cousins in England, but that they showed -no respect for his opinions and openly jeered at his aspirations. - -Now Antonia Frankston paid the compliment of respect to all the -principles and opinions which he enunciated, even while doing battle -unyieldingly against their practical application. - -‘It is a great matter to be thoroughly comprehended,’ he had said to -himself. ‘One may be right or one may be wrong. I am the last person -to deny free exercise of opinion, and the healthful effect of free -antagonism. But I must own to a preference of being understood by my -critics.’ - -Under this stimulus he had poured forth, in the leisure time which -he had abundantly enjoyed with Miss Frankston, his plans for the -regeneration of society, and of Australian life in particular. He had -foretold the reign of abstract justice, and the coming dethronement of -shams. He saw afar a general refinement in manners, pervading culture, -which was harmoniously to fuse classes, now so unhappily divided; the -co-operation of labour with capital, and the equal partition of the -public lands. In a word, all the fair visions of the higher life, the -splendid possibilities of the race which commend themselves to ardent -youth and generous manhood, in that springtime of the heart when -beautiful emanations are evolved in multiform glory, to be chilled and -withered by colder age and hard experience. - -To the record of these and similar aspirations, as they poured forth -from the enthusiastic soul of Ernest Neuchamp, tinged with poetic -thoughts and dignified by a pure ‘enthusiasm of humanity,’ had Antonia -listened, by no means without interest. It was new to her to hear -projects free from the taint of selfish gain or personal advantage. And -though she entered her protests, gently but firmly, against many of his -conclusions, there was to him a deep interest in dialogues in which he -secured so patient, so fair a listener, gifted with a high and cultured -intelligence. - -Thus Mr. Neuchamp made all necessary adieux, and having received his -credentials, in the shape of a letter of introduction to the owner of -Garrandilla, where he was to abide during his novitiate, and a letter -of credit in case he should have unexpected need of money, departed -from the hospitable gates of Morahmee. - -With his knapsack on his back he paced through the city. Being not -sufficiently philosophical, I must confess, to avail himself of the -George Street pavement, he crossed Hyde Park, and turning round to take -one last look at the blue waters and the grand headland, it may be -that his eyes rested lingeringly upon the nearest point which he could -recognise to Morahmee. - -Then he turned his back upon nature’s loveliness and fond regrets, and -strode resolutely onward towards the far untried Waste—to him the land -of hope and of endeavour. - -Taking a somewhat diagonal course adown and across the old-fashioned -dingy streets, where the aged, decrepit, but in some instances -picturesque dwellings tell a tale of the earliest colonial days, Mr. -Neuchamp presently debouched upon the great arterial thoroughfare -which, before the advent of the steam king, led to that somewhat -mysterious domain, vaguely designated as ‘the bush.’ - -Here he began to put on his tourist pace, and no longer trammelled by -fear of the fashionable world, exerted those powers of progression -which had won him fame in Scottish Highlands, by Killarney’s fair lake, -and on the cols and passes which, amid eternal snow, girdle the monarch -of the Alps. - -Mile after mile, at a rattling pace, went he, pleased to find himself -once more upon a highroad, though comparatively disused, as the Dover -and Calais route, where the great empty posting-houses tell of ‘ruin,’ -and the ‘ruthless king,’ which has driven coach and guard, ostler and -landlord, boots and barmaid, all off the road together. Such had been -the doom of this once inevitable and crowded highway; and Mr. Neuchamp -noted with interest the remains of a former state, long passed away. - -‘Really!’ soliloquised he, ‘I have come upon a locality adapted -for antiquarian research. I did not expect that in Australia. As I -perceive, those old buildings are massive and imposing, with walls -of solidity far from common. What fine trees are in the orchards! I -must see what o’clock it is. This venerable mansion seems inhabited; I -wonder if I could get a glass of beer?’ - -This latter outcome of the inner consciousness, not particularly -germane to antiquarian research, was the result of a discovery by -Mr. Neuchamp that he was uncommonly heated. The truth was that he -had, in the ardour of his feelings, been pelting along at the rate of -four miles and a half an hour, forgetting that the thermometer stood -at 85 in the shade; hence his complexion was much heightened; his -shirt-collar limp to a degree whence hope was fled for ever; ‘his -brow was wet with honest whatsyname,’ while a general and unpleasant -saturation of his whole clothing told the tale of a temperature -unknown to his European experiences. To his great contentment, the -hostelry was inhabited and still offered entertainment to man and that -fellow-creature, whose good example had the more highly organised -vertebrate followed what romances of crime had remained unwritten; what -occupations, literary and sensational, had been gone; what reputations, -even of Ouida, Miss Braddon, and that ‘bright particular star,’ of the -firmament of fiction, the great George Eliot herself, had been faint -and prosaically mediocre! The surviving of the past favourites of the -‘shouting multitude’ owed its spirituous existence to the fact of a -byroad from certain farms, here reaching the old highway. By dint of an -early start, and a little night-work, the farmers and dealers were able -to reach and return from the metropolis within the day, thus dispensing -with the swift and, to provincial ideas, somewhat costly train. But the -long hours and late and early travelling necessitated beer; hence this -relic of past bibulousness with ancient porch hard by a real milestone, -the twelfth, which our wayfarer hailed with joy, eagerly scanning the -deeply-graven numerals. - -He found the outer room presided over by an excessively clean old -woman, whose starched cap and general get-up reminded him of a -well-known Cambridge landlady. Espying a pewter, he demanded a pint of -ale, and sitting down upon a bench, disposed of the cool draught with -the deep enjoyment which the pedestrian or the worker alone knows. -This duty completed, he consulted his watch, and finding that mid-day -was passed, decided upon a slight refection of bread and cheese, and a -halt. - -‘So you still keep the house open?’ he observed to his hostess. ‘I see -a good many of those along the road are closed.’ - -‘So should we ’a been closed too,’ said the ancient dame, ‘but this -road, as the fruit-carts and firewood and small farming loads comes in -by, keeps a little trade up, and we’ve not a big family; there’s my -husband, as is out, and my son, as works in the garden, and does most -of the work about the place, and Carry.’ - -‘And you have lived here a long time, I suppose?’ - -‘Over forty years, since my husband, John Walton, got a grant of land, -and we came here just after we married. We built the house after we’d -made a bit of money, and planted the orchard, and did every mortal -thing as is done.’ - -‘And you lost all the traffic when the train commenced to run.’ - -‘All the paying business; everything but this small line as we used -to despise. Father, he was for clearing out, but I couldn’t bear to -leave the old place; we’d saved a bit o’ money, and says I: “Well, -father, suppose we live on here comfortable and steady, and don’t -change. There’s Jem and Carry fit to do all the work; we don’t need no -servants, you can potter about the garden, and the pigs and poultry, -and bee-hives, and they all makes a bit of money, or saves it, and -we’ll, maybe, do as well as those that goes up into the bush, and -goodness knows where.” But you’ll have some lunch, sir—please to walk -this way.’ - -Mr. Neuchamp was forthwith inducted into an old-fashioned room, the -size and pretensions of which showed the different style of the -entertainment once supplied. Leading from this were several bedrooms, -to the open door of one of which the old dame pointed. Here, with -the help of a sufficiency of cold water and the cleanest towels, he -restored himself to a condition favourable to the proper appreciation -of lunch. - -When he returned he found the table being laid by a neatly-dressed, -modest-looking young woman of five or six and twenty. - -‘I suppose you are Carry?’ he said, mentally comparing her with an -English country girl of the same rank and condition, and concluding -that the damsel before him did not show to any great disadvantage. - -‘Mother’s been telling you, sir, I suppose,’ said the girl, smiling; -‘she’s glad to talk about old times with any one, it’s nearly all she -has to do now.’ - -‘Well, we had a chat about the state of the roads,’ affably rejoined -Mr. Neuchamp; ‘you have a very nice old place here, and I think you -were very wise to stay.’ - -‘I don’t mind it,’ said the girl, ‘though it is awfully dull sometimes. -I’m used to a quiet life; but it’s rather hard upon Jem, my brother -that is, sir, for he might have bettered himself in many ways.’ - -‘How do you think he might?’ - -‘Why, ever so many times he’s had offers of employment, but he won’t -leave the old people; and then, he might go into the bush.’ - -‘The bush! and is every one who goes into the bush certain to do well?’ - -‘Oh no, sir; but every young man of spirit in the colony likes to have -a turn, and run his chance there some time or other. Excuse me, sir, -but you haven’t been very long out, have you?’ - -‘How the deuce does she know that?’ inquired Mr. Neuchamp of himself. -‘Is there anything written on this brow, and so on? However, I -have catechised her sufficiently, and cannot object to a little -cross-examination in return.’ - -‘Well, Carry, the truth is that I have _not_ been very long out from -home, as you very wisely have discovered; that’s the reason I am a -little inquisitive about your country. But how did you know?’ - -‘By lots of things,’ said Carry, rather mischievously; ‘by your having -such a fresh complexion, and so many mosquito-bites,—they don’t bite us -natives that way; and by your clothes, and your shirt-collar, and your -boots, and your pack, or whatever it is—and by your being on foot.’ - -‘What a long list, Carry! and the worst of it is, that if I was asked -how I should know whether you are a native, as you call yourself, and -not an English girl, I should not have half as many things to swear by.’ - -‘And what would they be, sir?’ - -‘Let me see. I think you are a little paler, for one thing—but that’s -the heat, I suppose—and rather taller—and a little, only a very little -slighter—and your hands are smaller; just let me look, for I can’t be -sure; and, on the whole, rather prettier than most English girls are.’ - -‘Oh, nonsense!’ interrupted Carry at this point, with a not wholly -displeased expression. ‘I don’t believe half of it. I’m sure everybody -says English girls have such lovely complexions and figures, and cut -out us poor “currency lasses” altogether.’ - -‘That’s not true, Carry, my dear,’ protested Mr. Neuchamp with warmth. -‘I can assure you that no one would think to look at you that you had -lived all your life in a climate something like a greenhouse, with the -door shut. It can’t be such a very had one after all, if it turns out -such very nice specimens of——’ - -Here Miss Carry pretended to hear her mother calling, and discreetly -departed. - -Ernest was too experienced a pedestrian to overwork himself, and -blister his feet the first day, thereby converting the remaining -portion of the journey into a penance; so finding himself in pleasant -quarters, he determined to wait till the cool of the evening, and go on -as far as the ancient and venerable town of Parramatta, which he was -led to believe reared its double spires about eight miles farther on. - -After enjoying the home-baked bread, the well-cured bacon, the fresh -butter, and another tankard, he occupied himself with observing the -pictures, which in rather grand gilt frames adorned the room. They -smacked of the good old days. There was ‘The Tally-ho Coach leaving -the Post-office, Sydney.’ A true English four-insider, with a team -of highly improbable grays, proceeding at an impossible pace, from -a pillared edifice with an enormous clock. The celebrated racehorse -‘Jorrocks,’ as he appeared winning his forty-fifth race, the majority -of the cheering crowd depicted as wearing cabbage-tree hats. There was -also the terrific finish at the Five Dock Steeplechase between Fergus -and Slasher, with a sketch of the astonishing struggle, when Traveller -beat Chester for the Sydney Cup after the fifth heat, on the old Sandy -Course. This turf triumph had occurred about forty-five years since. - -Much meditating upon the comparative antiquity and hoary age of -incidents, even in a colony, Mr. Neuchamp paid his modest bill, -shouldered his knapsack, and prepared to depart from this beer fountain -in the desert. Meeting the pleasant glance of Carry as he was passing -the door, he turned and said, ‘I must come down to Sydney next year, -and I’ll be sure to pay you a visit, Carry.’ - -‘Oh, do!’ she said; ‘mother will be so pleased. But you haven’t told me -your name; how shall we hear of you?’ - -‘If any one talks about Ernest Neuchamp to you, it will be of me.’ - -‘Ernest is a pretty name,’ said the girl, ‘but “Newchum!” that is not -your real name, is it? of course you are a new chum, though it would be -rude to say so.’ - -‘And what is “a new chum,” Carry? That is not my name, though the -pronunciation is not so far unlike.’ - -‘Why, a new chum is a new arrival—a gentleman that——’ - -‘A black hat?’ suggested he. - -‘Well, it’s all the same, I believe,’ she answered; ‘it means somebody -who has just come and doesn’t know anything about the country.’ - -‘And a most extraordinary country it is,’ muttered he; ‘it appears that -it is not to be known very readily, even after a short stay. Well, here -is my card, Carry; you can spell it at your leisure. Good-bye, my dear, -and take care of yourself till I come back next year.’ - -‘Good-bye, sir; be sure you stop at the “Red Cow,” at Parramatta.’ - -This badinage over, Mr. Neuchamp pursued his journey, much refreshed -in body, but exercised in mind by the similarity of his name to the -accusation of newness and cockneyism, so to speak, which the colonial -appellation conveyed. ‘Most vexatious!’ said he to himself; ‘I thought -I saw Antonia look warningly more than once at her father, when he -seemed disposed to dwell on the pronunciation of my name. That must -have been the _mot_ she forbade.’ - -The sun was low as he strolled into the quiet, old-fashioned, rather -hot town of Parramatta. Here he beheld, within a dozen miles of the -thronged and eager metropolis, a population for the most part more -incurious and unenterprising than if their habitation had been five -hundred miles inland. Every one walked or sauntered down the streets -with that thoroughly provincial absence of hurry which is so refreshing -to the wearied mental labourer. - -Among the lower classes, generation after generation had been born and -grown, and aged, since the first occupation of the wonderful land, -which has made such haste to become a nation. There seemed a large -population of well-to-do retired capitalists, something under the -millionaire class, who, having built cottages and planted orangeries -(the export of oranges is the great trade feature of the locality), -felt a calm confidence that here they could wear out life with less -than the usual friction. - -He was much surprised and pleased to observe the unusually large -number of oaks, elms, and ash trees which had by the pious founders -been planted in and around the town. Many of these were of great age, -speaking in an Australian sense, and had grown to be ornamental and -dignified of aspect, besides being useful in point of shade. - -As he walked slowly down the principal street he was pleased to see -wide stretches of grass, a river, gardens, and a considerable exemption -from the brick-and-mortar tyranny of latter days. The air was becoming -pleasantly cool; a certain amount of loitering and musing, dear to -Mr. Neuchamp’s artistic mind, was observable. A few schoolboys passed, -one pair with arms round one another’s neck, sworn friends and tellers -evidently of some mutually thrilling tale. The cabs were delightfully -old-fashioned. The very air had a Rip Van Winkle flavour about it, -so utterly foreign to the genius of a new country, that Mr. Neuchamp -lamented to himself, as he captured a barefooted urchin and ordered him -to show him to the Red Cow Inn, that he could not prolong his stay. - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -He commenced his next day’s journey at an early hour, in full vigour -of mind and body and in charity with all men. He had fed and rested -with keen relish, and all slight fatigue consequent on unaccustomed -exercise had disappeared. The morning air was fresh and cool. The -indescribable charm of the unworn day rested upon the rural landscape, -where farmhouses, maize fields, orangeries, and orchards alternated -with primeval woodlands and wide-stretching pastures. The houses were -often old, the farming indifferent, the fences decayed; but with -all faults it was the country—the blessed country—and the heart of -Ernest Neuchamp, a born and bred land worshipper, went out to the -dew-bespangled champaign. - -He halted no more until the great valley of the Hawkesbury lay before -him, with again comparatively ancient settlement, composed of massively -constructed houses, and even boasting—wonder of wonders—in this -strange new land, of—ruins! Yes; memorials of the past were there! of -an epoch when the easily acquired fortunes of the military, or other -notables of the day, had been devoted to the erection of mansions -more in accordance with their British recollections than with the -circumstances of the colony, or indeed with their regular incomes. -Studding the wide fertile meadows were farmhouses of all grades of -architecture and pretension. Enormous fields of maize, in spite of the -untoward rainless season, told of the unsurpassed richness of a region -which, after more than half a century’s ceaseless cropping, maintained -its fertility. - -It so happened that the first two or three individuals who encountered -Mr. Neuchamp as he pursued his way along the uniform high road, which -led through the flat, somewhat Flemish-looking district, were men of -unusual height, breadth, and solidity. Beyond the quick but observant -glance habitual to him, our traveller exhibited no surprise at what he -took to be exceptional individuals accidentally met. But after several -miles’ travelling and a repetition of inhabitants of the same vast -stature, he commenced to realise the fact that he had come upon a human -family of near relationship to the Anakim. - -He then remembered some jesting remarks of Mr. Frankston, in which, for -the purpose of pointing to some anecdote of entertaining, if not wholly -instructive tendency, he had said ‘as big and as slow as a Hawkesbury -man,’ or words to that effect. - -‘Here, then,’ mused Ernest, after finally possessing himself of the -fact, ‘you have the result of an agricultural population, located upon -rich level country, with ample means of subsistence and an absence of -anxiety about the morrow almost absolute. Nearly eighty years have -passed since the parent-farmers of this community were settled upon -these levels. In their descendants you have the true New Hollander, -like his prototype, large, phlegmatic, slow-moving, unenterprising, but -bearing within him the germs of valiant resistance to tyranny at need, -of steadfast labour, of mighty engineering, of deathless struggles for -political freedom!’ - -Having traversed this land of Goshen—evergreen and fertile oasis of -the eucalyptus wilderness, not excepting its Platt Deutsch habit of -periodical total immersion, Ernest halted upon an eminence which -bore traces of having been artificially cleared. He gazed upon the -broad winding river at his feet, the wide expanse of river, sharply -contrasted with the savage heights and rugged ravines of the great -mountain-chain which apparently barred all onward path. - -He moved a short distance forward, attracted by the appearance of the -remains of an edifice placed exactly upon the brow of the hill, and -found himself among the ruins of a mansion of far more than ordinary -pretensions. - -Fire had destroyed much of the main building, but neglect and -abandonment were visible in the dislodged pillars, broken steps, -grass-grown courtyard, and roofless hall. - -‘This has been no ordinary home-wreck,’ thought he; ‘it needs but -little imagination to picture to oneself the overflowing hospitality, -the wild revelry, the old-world courtesy, that these crumbling walls -have witnessed. Mark the great range of stabling! For no ordinary -carriage and pair, with couple of hacks only, were they needed, I trow. -There you can still trace the shape and sweep of the avenue leading -from the outer gate to the front entrance, and see where the broken -bridge spanned the little brook! A few glorious irregular orange-trees -mark the place “where once a garden smiled.” This was doubtless one of -the great houses in the period which corresponded with the palmy days -of the West Indian planters, with the old slave-holding times of the -Sunny South, when money was plentiful and (compulsory) labour cheap; -when the magnates of the land held high festival, not periodically but -as the rule of their daily life, and drank and danced and drove and -diced and fought and feasted, all heedless of the morrow, whether in -South Carolina, Jamaica, or in Sydney. The morrow _had_ come during -the lives of some proprietors. In other cases, not until their heirs -were fitted to realise the misery of a lost inheritance. And was this -the end, the moral, of that _bon vieux temps_? The broken arch, the -down-trodden shrubberies, the ghostly portals?’ - -By the time Mr. Neuchamp had brought his musings to a reluctant -conclusion, the sun lay goldenly in the clear autumn eve, athwart -the dark blue many-shadowed mountain-chain which rose with abrupt -sternness from the broad green fertile levels. A wondrous clearness of -atmosphere was manifest to the wayfarer from the misty mother-lands, -now irradiated with the glories of a southern sunset. Tints of all hues -and gradations of colour, clear unflecked amber, burning gold, purple, -and orange, cast themselves in softly blending masses upon the fast -darkening, solemn, unrelieved mountain-chain. - -He was aware, from guide-book lore, that at this point the early -progress of civilisation and prosperity of the struggling colony of -New South Wales had come to an abrupt conclusion. All things which he -saw around explained so much. Careful cultivation of land now disused -and restored to grazing. A multiplication of small well-improved -farms. Expensive and thorough clearing of timber from great tracts of -indifferent soil, only explicable on the hypothesis of cheap labour and -artificially heightened prices for all kinds of farm produce. - -Then the end had come. The pent-up flocks and herds, the fall of the -protection prices, dearth of employment for labour, the vigorous -manhood of the colony native to the soil clamouring for remuneration -and adventurous employment—all the causes, in fact, which lead to the -decay of a weak or the development of a strong race. - -One people, one ‘happy breed of men,’ in such straits and urgency, -has ever found chiefs of its own blood capable of guiding it to -death or victory. The time was come—the men were at hand—Wentworth, -Lawson, and Blaxland, hereditary leaders, as belonging to the military -aristocracy, and to the squirearchy of the land, stood forward and -fronted the supreme crisis. Taking with them a scant equipment, they -cast themselves into the interminable wilderness of barren rock and -mountain, frowning precipice and barren heath, endlessly alternating -with ‘horrible hopeless sultry dells’ for leagues, which no white man -had hitherto measured or traversed. - -The problem, upon the favourable solution of which hung the life of -the infant settlement, was, whether a region lay beyond this pathless -natural barrier, which in pasture alone should prove sufficiently -extensive to sustain the flocks and herds so rapidly increasing in -numbers and value. - -It was a task difficult and dangerous beyond what, in this day of -feather-bed travel, the imagination can easily reach. But the reward -was splendid; and they, with hunger-sharpened features, barefooted -and almost naked from contact with bush and brier, with the unshaken -courage and dogged obstinacy to the death, proper to their race, -reached forth the strong right hand, seized, and held it fast. - -For, after untold weary wanderings, with loss of burdened beasts, -famine, doubt, and every hardship but that of divided counsels, they -stood one day upon a mountain-top and saw stretched out before them -the glory of the great unknown, untrodden, Austral interior, fated to -be the pasture ground of millions of sheep and beeves and horses, the -home of millions of Anglo-Saxons. A portion of this they saw when they -sighted the first tract of richly grassed park-like forest, the first -rippling river, the first prairie-like meadow. - -The yet unfolded treasures of the boundless waste were doubtless seen -in the spirit by the poet soul, the statesmanlike intellect, the -patriotic heart of William Charles Wentworth. - -Thus far the guide-book narrative, which perhaps Mr. Neuchamp partially -recalled and revolved as he betook himself to the last of the older -country towns of the land, which lay amid gardens and church spires on -the nether side of the broad river, under the shadow of the ancient -mountain superstition, now with ‘hull riddled’ by broadsides of -steam, like other fallacies exploded by modern determination and the -remorseless logic of the age. - -On the morrow the pilgrim girded himself for the long ascent which -plainly lay before him when he should cross the bridge and leave the -cleared fertile vale. - -Rising at an earlier hour than usual, he quitted the village inn before -the sun had more than cleared the eastern horizon. - -Ernest enjoyed in silent ecstasy the calm fresh beauty of the morn, as -following the old road,—now winding round the spur of a mountain; now -scarped from the hillside with a sheer fall of a thousand feet ere the -tops of the trees could be beheld, which looked like brierbushes at -the bottom of the glen; now running with comparatively level measure -along the plateau from which an endless vision of mountain, valley, and -woodland was visible,—he gradually ascended to an elevation from which -he was able to take a last glance at the rich lowlands through which -the course of the river gleamed in long bright curves. - -Mr. Neuchamp was a tolerable botanist, a rather more advanced -geologist. He therefore possessed the unfading interest which he can -ever ensure who reads with heaven-cleared eyes the book of nature. -He was able to gratify both tastes without departing from the beaten -track. Around, before, above him he beheld shrubs, forest trees, -flowers, grasses, utterly unknown previously, but which from early -reading he was enabled to recognise and classify. Every step along the -sandstone slopes or heath-covered mountain-top was to him a joy, a -surprise, an overflowing feast of new and pleasurable sensations. - -Descending again from an elevation where the mountain wind blew keenly, -and the eagle soared from thunder-blasted giant eucalyptus adown the -stupendous glen, at the sunless base of which lay an ever-gurgling -rivulet of purest spring-fed water, he shouted aloud at the rare ferns -which grew in unnoticed tender beauty where ‘rivulets dance their -wayward round.’ He saw the deserted and rude appliances where the -wandering miner had essayed to ‘wash out’ a modest deposit of the great -conqueror, gold! - -Then would he happen upon some long-disused, half-forgotten ‘camp,’ a -half military station, where a subaltern had been stationed with some -hundred convicts, whose forced labour made the road upon which he now -so peaceably travelled. - -There were the huts, here the great blocks of stone which they had -hewn and raised from the quarry; there had been the triangles where, -pah! the contumacious or luckless convict had the flesh cut from his -back or much bemarked at least by that high official the government -flogger. How wondrous grand the view, at morn and eve, before the eye -of hopeless God-forsaken men, who in deliberate wrath and unendurable -misery, cursed therefrom the day and the night, the moon and stars, -the country, and every official from the gaoler to the governor. He -gazed at the glorious cataract where the lonely water gathers its -stray threads to fall like the lace tracery of a veil over the sullen -spur. He saw the rock battlements and pinnacles, bright in the morning -sun, against the rifted water-washed bases of which in long past -ages the billows of an ancient sea had rolled and dashed. He saw the -huge promontories which frowningly reared themselves on the verge of -measureless abysses or obtruded their vast proportions and dizzy height -into the boundless ocean of pale foliage which stretched, alternating -but with sandstone peaks and masses, to the farthest horizon. From time -to time he encountered men in charge of droves of horses and of cattle. -These of necessity pursued the old and rugged road, not caring to use -the swifter, costlier trainage. At first Mr. Neuchamp used to stand -in the middle of the road, until he was warned by the fierce eyes and -glancing horns of the cattle, and the extremely unreserved language -of the accompanying stockmen, that he was violating etiquette and -incurring danger. - -Ever and anon he would halt as the warning steam-whistle heralded the -approach of a locomotive, and marvel and muse as he saw the long train -wind swiftly and securely adown or up the graded mountain side. He saw -the half-advancing, half-receding series of approaches which at length -land the travellers and the merchandise of the coast upon the pinnacles -of the Australian Mont Cenis, and he thanked God, who had made him of -one kindred with the men who had conquered nature, both in the land of -his fathers which he had left and in the new land, a void and voiceless -primeval forest but yesterday. - -Much reflecting upon the overflowing _pabulum mentis_ which had been -spread before him on that day, Ernest was as grateful as a philosopher -could be when he saw at the rather chilly approach of eve the outline -of a building, faulty as a work of primitive art, as a specimen of any -known order of architecture beneath contempt. It was the humble abode -of one of the innkeepers of a former _régime_, who had retained his -lodgment upon the keen mountain plateau, and still smoked his pipe -beside the roaring log fire in frosty winter nights. He now gathered -russet pippins in his orchard, with an increasing sense of solvency, -long after the last of the coaches had rattled away from his door to -face the awful grades of the midnight mountain stage. - -When, therefore, after a glorious day of intellectual exercise and -frank bodily toil this most praiseworthy hostelry was reached, Mr. -Neuchamp felt that fate had but small chance of doing him an injury -on that particular night, had her intention been ever so unkind. He -walked briskly up to the house, and was then and there taken in charge -by a fresh-coloured, broad-shouldered, cheery individual, evidently -the landlord, or a gross personal forgery of that functionary. He was -promptly relieved of his knapsack, and lodged in the cleanest of -bedrooms, with spoken and definite assurance of dinner. - -‘I see you a-comin’ up the hill, with my glass, a good two miles -off,‘ said Boniface. ‘You see, sir, there ain’t no other place but -mine for twenty mile good. So I made the old woman have everything -handy for a spatchcock. _He_ always liked a spatchcock. Many a time -he’s been a furragin’ and a rummagin’ over every nook and cranny -of these here mountains till he must have walked them blessed iron -legs of his very near off. Ha, ha, ha! You’ll excuse me, sir; but -when I see the knapsack, I took you for the Rev. Mr. Marke, the -heminent-geehol-holler.’ - -‘Geologist, I suppose you mean,’ asserted Ernest. ‘Well, I hope you -are not deeply disappointed; I am glad to find that there’s a man in -Australia besides myself who is fond of using his legs.’ - -‘Bless your heart, sir, you’ll find when you’ve a been in the country -a few years more’ (here Ernest contracted his brow) ‘that there’s a -many gentlemen likes a goodish long walk when they can get a bit of a -holiday. There’s Counsellor Burley, he thinks nothing of a twenty-mile -walk out and in, nor his brother neither. They all comes up to me when -they want to stretch their legs a bit. But I must see to your tea, sir.’ - -Mr. Neuchamp was partly interested in this record of pedestrianism -other than his own. Nevertheless, he experienced a shade of -disappointment at finding that he was not in such a glorious monopoly -of tourist life as he had imagined. However, as he stretched his -slipper-encased feet on either side of the great fireplace, in which -burned a fire, which the keen, almost frosty mountain air made pleasant -and necessary, he came to the conclusion that ‘none but the brave,’ -etc.; or, in other words, that no man who has not done a fair day’s -journey, upon his own legs, if possible, can thoroughly, intensely, -comprehensively enjoy a well-cooked, well-served evening meal, like -unto the spatchcock which immediately followed, and put a period to -these reflections. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -It may be doubted whether a large proportion of what man is prone to -call happiness is secured by any mortal, in so compressed and complete -a form, as by the reasonably weary wayfarer during an evening spent in -a cheery old-fashioned inn. The conditions of enjoyment are superbly -complete. The body, healthily tired, craves utter repose, supplemented -by the creature-comforts so plentifully accorded to a solvent lodger. -The mind, ever a comparative reflex of the organic register of the -body, is so far dominated as to lie luxuriously and ruminatively -quiescent. The great ocean of the future, with possible armadas, -Columbus discoveries, whirlpools, and typhoons, lies mist-shrouded -and peaceful-murmurous. The mild lustre of fairly-purchased present -enjoyment is shed lamp-like over the whole being. The difficult past, -the uncertain future, are shut out from the mental view as completely -as are the dark streets and stranger groups of a city, by shrouding -curtains, when the interior life is alone visible. Care, save by -improbable hazard, is thrust out till the morn. Till then the joys of -unpalled appetite. Slumber, soft-touched, silent nurse, points with -warning finger to the couch. Reverie may be fondled, darling nymph, -without the rebuke of cold-eyed prudence. The wayfarer is a monarch -for that evening only. His subjects haste to do his bidding. His purse -contains a compressible coronet, investing him with regal dignity and -absolute power, while the talisman coin is potent. Burly Sam Johnson -loved ‘to take his ease at an inn.’ Was there an added luxury in the -uncounted cups of tea therein possible, dissevered from the fear of -accidents to Mrs. Thrale’s table-cloth? - -The supper had come and gone, and Mr. Neuchamp was sleepily watching -the glowing embers in the fireplace with a strong mental deflection -towards bed, when the pistol-crack of stock-whips, the lowing of -cattle, and a faint echo of the far pervading British oath prepared -him for a new and probably interesting arrival. His first impulse was -to rush wildly into the road, in order to see a drove of cattle by -moonlight, but having accidentally observed that the stockyard was -very near the house, he restrained himself and awaited the landlord’s -irrepressible report. - -In a quarter of an hour that sympathetic personage, evidently the -bearer of important news, entered the sitting-room. - -‘Hear the whip, sir? that was Ironbark Ike, with a couple o’ hundred -head of fat cattle of the () and Bar brand. Splendid lot. Bum -character, old Ike; been a stockman and drover this fifty year. Like to -see him, sir? he’s a-smoking his pipe in the kitchen.’ - -Like to see him? Of course Mr. Neuchamp would like to see him, though -he mildly assented, and did not betray the tremulous eagerness with -which he mentally grasped the chance of beholding a stockman of half -a century’s experience, in his eyes little less than a sheik of the -Bedaween. - -Following his trusty host to the large smoke-blackened, old-fashioned -kitchen, he saw a sinewy, grizzled old man, smoking an extremely black -pipe by the fire, who turned a pair of spectral gleaming eyes upon him, -and then resumed his position. - -‘Ike, this is a gentleman going up the country; he ain’t been out long’ -(Ike nodded expressively), ‘and he wants your advice about buying a -cattle station. He’d rather them nor sheep.’ - -‘Sheep be blanked,’ said the old man savagely. ‘I should think not. -Who the blank would walk at the tails of a lot of blank crawling -sheep, when he could ride a good horse after a mob of thousand-weight -bullocks, like I’ve got here to-night?’ - -‘Mr. Landlord,’ said Ernest, ‘I should like a glass of grog. Won’t -Mr.—a—Ike, here, and yourself join me?’ - -The refreshment was not declined, and having been produced, Ike -abandoned his pipe and proceeded to expound the law as regarded -cattle—wild, tame, fat, store, branded and unbranded, broken-in, or -‘all over the country’—in an oracular tone, suggestive of experiences -and adventure far beyond the reach of ordinary men. - -‘Travelled this line? ah! You remember me a fairish time, Joe; but I’ve -been along these ranges and gullies with stock long before the old road -was finished, when you were sure to meet more than _one_ bushranger, -and had to carry your grub and camp for weeks together. Many a queer -drive I’ve had on this very track. They had no steamers fizzin’ up and -down the rocks then, takin’ sheep and cattle behind ‘em, all mashed up -together in boxes like so many herrin’s. It took a _man_ to bring a mob -of fat bullocks from the Lower Castlereagh or the Macquarie, let alone -the Narran, in them days.’ - -‘I suppose you had some roughish trips them days,’ suggested the host. - -‘You may swear that, Joe,’ affirmed the war-worn stockman, with a grim -contortion of his facial muscles; ‘take the book in your right hand, -as they say, when you are in the “jump-up.” Here,‘ added he, as he -swallowed his brandy at a gulp, and made a sign to the landlord, ‘fetch -in another round, if this gentleman here ain’t too proud, and I’ll tell -you a yarn about drivin’ cattle—one you don’t hear every day.’ - -The replenished glasses reappeared, and the veteran of the ‘spur, the -bridle, and the well-worn _brand_,’ having filled his pipe and partly -emptied his glass, made a commencement. - -‘It was a matter of thirty years ago, or more; I was a young chap then -and pretty flash, knowed my work, and wasn’t afraid of man, beast, or -devil. Well, I’d got a biggish mob of fat stock for them days—there was -no ten thousand head on any man’s run then—and a rough time we’d had of -it. It had rained every day since we started. We’d had to swim every -river and every creek as we come to, and watch for the first fortnight, -all night long, with the horses’ bridles in our hands.’ - -‘I suppose they were rather wild cattle?’ inquired Mr. Neuchamp, -sipping his brandy and water distrustfully. - -Ironbark Ike bent a searching look upon his interrogator before he -answered. - -‘Wild? Well, I suppose you might call ’em that, and make no mistake. -They’d come off a very far outrun, where they’d been, as one might say, -neglected. Never see a yard for years, some on ’em. They was that wild, -that as we drove along, if they came to the fresh track of a “footman,” -they’d stop and smell it and paw the ground and roar for ever so long. -We’d hard work to get ‘em by it. As to seein’ people on foot, there -wasn’t much of that; and any travellers they kept clear enough of us, -if they’d ever heard of the DD cattle. - -‘Well, we’d dodged them along pretty fair, that is me and a Narran -black boy and a young Fish River native chap, that was pretty nigh as -unbroken as the black boy; he could ride the best, but the black boy -had twice as much savey.’ - -‘Some o’ them darkies is pretty smart,‘ interposed the host, gradually -becoming less respectful to his ancient guest, of whom he apparently -stood in considerable awe. - -‘Smartest chaps ever I had on the road was blackfellows when they’re -wild; as long as they can ride a bit, the wilder the better, and get -’em off their own ground, then they’re afraid to bolt.’ - -‘I should have supposed when they have had the benefit of education -they would have been more valuable assistants,’ mildly asserted Mr. -Neuchamp. - -‘Ruins ’em, bodily and teetotally,’ asserted Ike, with iron decision. -‘No educated blackfellow was ever worth a curse. But tame or wild -they’ve all one fault, and it drops ’em in the end.’ - -‘Indeed, how singular!’ said Ernest, ‘how strange that this sub-variety -of the human race should have one pronounced weakness! And what may it -be?’ - -‘Drink!’ shouted the veteran, draining his glass. ‘We can do another -round, Joe. Never knew one of ’em that didn’t take to drink, sooner or -later; and, in course, that cooked ’em,’ he added, with an impressive -moral air. - -‘Sure to do,’ echoed the landlord, appearing with fresh rummers. - -‘I have no doubt,’ assented Mr. Neuchamp blandly, but much in the dark -as to the real nature of the culinary process described. - -‘Well,’ proceeded Mr. Isaac, settling himself calmly down to his fourth -tumbler, ‘where was I? with those blank cattle, oh! at the top of the -road where it used to make in, at the top of Mount Victoria. By gum! it -makes me feel as if there was no rheumatism in these blessed old bones -of mine when I think how we rode all that blessed day. All the night -before we’d been on our horses, round and round the cattle, in a scrub -full of rocks; it rained in buckets and tubs, thundering and lightning, -and pitch dark; and I, knowing that if the cattle broke loose, we’d -never see half of ’em again.’ - -‘Why, bless my soul!’ ejaculated Mr. Neuchamp, completely dislodged -from his previous conviction that cattle were a more pleasing and -interesting description of stock than sheep, ‘how did you ever succeed -in keeping them?’ - -‘We did keep ’em, and that’s about all I know,’ responded the fierce -drover of other days. ‘_How_ we did it the devil only knows. I swore -enough that night for him to lend a hand, if he’s on for such fakes, -as some says. I rode slap into Tin Pot, the black boy, once, taking -him for an old cow, and Tommy Toke, the white lad, ran against a tree -and knocked one of his horse’s eyes clean out. Well, daylight came at -last, and we had the cattle at our own price, blast ’em. All day they -was very sulky and slinged along, and wouldn’t feed. Well, we was sulky -too, for we’d no time to stop and cook a bite, it was so thick.’ - -‘What started ’em so?’ inquired the landlord; ‘they’d had a deal of -camping before they came so far.’ - -‘God knows!—a kangaroo or a bear, or they saw a ghost or a -blackfellow—something we couldn’t see; and once they were fairly up, -the devil himself wouldn’t get them to settle again. Now I knew a -first-rate camp two or three miles from the bottom of this here hill, -almost as good as a yard, but with a bit of feed and water in, a -regular wall of rock all round; one man, with a fire, could keep ’em -first-rate. So my dart was to get to this place, and I was looking -forward to a bit of hot damper and a warm quart or two of tea, with a -quiet smoke. - -‘Just as I thinks of this we turned the corner, and there, in the -narrowest part of the road, was a road gang, as they call it, a goodish -crowd of chained convicts makin’ believe to mend the road, with a party -of soldiers to look after ‘em, and a young officer to look after the -soldiers, and a white-whiskered, hard-hearted old rascal of a corporal -to look after _him_. - -‘The corporal was a-walking up and down, on guard, backwards and -forwards, very stiff and solemn. There’d been a chap bolted (and shot -dead, too) the night afore, so he had on a bit of extra pipeclay. - -‘Our mob propped, dead—the cattle and Tin Pot and Tommy Toke—at what -they’d never seen afore. Now we couldn’t give the party the go-by -anyhow, unless they went into their huts.’ - -‘Why not?’ asked Mr. Neuchamp, deeply interested. - -‘Because the mountain was like the side of a house above the road, and -fell straight down below five hundred feet, like a sea-cliff. There was -just that chain or two of level track, and that was all. I goes up to -the corporal, “I say, mate,” says I, “can’t you get your canaries off -the track here for about a quarter of an hour, and let my mob of cattle -pass?” - -‘He looks at me, turning his eyes, but not his head, and keeps on -marching up and down like a blessed image; all he says was, “Make an -application to the officer in command,” says he. - -‘So I looks about, and presently I sees a slight-built young fellow, in -a shell jacket, lounging about a tent. - -‘“’Scuse me, captain,” says I, “will you order your men to leave off -their work (work, thinks I) and keep the road clear while I get my -cattle past? They’re awful wild, and won’t face the track with all -these chaps in yellow and black and leg-irons. They never see a road -gang before.” - -‘“What extraordinary cattle for New South Wales!” said the young -fellow; “I should say there was plenty of room between the men and the -hill. Can’t move her Majesty’s troops nor the industrious gang before -six o’clock.” - -‘By——, I _was_ mad. If we couldn’t get the cattle by with the light, we -ran the risk of their breaking before we got to camp and having another -night like last night over again. It _was_ hard! I ground my teeth -as I went back and passed the corporal, walking up and down with his -confounded musket. - -‘When I got past him I saw the cattle staring and looking hard, drawn -up a good deal closer. The two boys were very sulky at the notion of -another night watching and riding, with scarce anything to eat for -twenty-four hours. So was I, when I thought of the long cold hours if -we didn’t make our camp. - -‘Suddenly an idea came into my head; I see something as give me a -notion. “Tommy Toke,” says I, “you look out to back up and keep the -tail of the mob going, if they make a rush. Tin Pot, you keep on the -upper side, and look out they don’t break back. They’re a-going to make -a —— charge.” - -‘What started me on this plan all of a sudden, was this wise. We had -an old blue half-bred buffalo cow and her son, a four-year-old black -bullock, in the mob; he followed his mother, as they will do sometimes. -He was a regular pebble, and the old cow hadn’t been in a yard since -he was branded. She was the biggest tigress ever I see; that’s sayin’ -something. Well, I see the old Roosian paw the ground now and then, and -keep drawing towards the corporal, as was marchin’ up and down same as -he was in Buckingham Palace. - -‘I keep watching the old cow drawin’ and drawin’, and pawin’ and -pawin’. He thought she might be a milker. Suddenly she gives a short -bellow, makes for the corporal at the rate of forty miles an hour, -followed by the black bullock, and the mob behind him. - -‘The first thing I saw was the corporal a-flyin’ in the air one way, -his musket another, and the cow, the black bullock, and the whole of -the mob charging through the soldiers and the road gang. - -‘“Back up, boys,” I roared, “keep them going!” as we swept through the -party; soldiers running one way, the convicts, poor beggars, making -their chains rattle again in their hurry to get safe away. That was a -time! I saw the young soldier-officer capsized on to one of his men. -Such a smash I never see; it was all downhill luckily. Away we went at -the tail of the mob, galloping for our lives, and soon left red coats -and yellow trousers, muskets and leg-irons, far behind us. Luckily the -mob was too wild to break, and before sundown we were miles from the -bottom of the hill, and had the cattle safe inside of the rock-wall -camp, where we had a good feed and a night’s sleep, both of which we -wanted bad enough.’ - -‘I’ll be bound you did,’ assented the landlord; ‘it’s a hard life, is -a stockman’s—out in all weathers, and risking your life, as one might -say.’ - -‘Life?’ said the saturnine, grizzled old land-pirate, who had -apparently relapsed into a different train of thought; ‘what’s a man’s -life in this country; leastways used to be. Here!’ roared he, dashing -his hand upon the table, ‘bring in a bottle of brandy, Joe, and a -kettle of water, and I’ll tell you a yarn about old days as’ll make -your hair curl, unless this here gentleman’s ashamed to drink with old -Ike?’ - -Mr. Neuchamp had by this period of the evening made the discovery that -he had invoked a fiend that he was unable to lay; as the old stockman -glared at him with half-infuriate, half-imploring eyes, while putting -his last observation into the form of a question, he felt much inclined -to defy and refuse his uncomfortable boon companion. But having evaded -the implied obligation to drink so far he thought it expedient to -comply, partly from the novelty of the experience, partly from his -dislike to a possible quarrel. - -‘Ha!’ said the strange old man, as he half filled his tumbler with the -powerful spirit, and stirred the heavy red glowing logs in the stone -fireplace till they shot up a shower of sparks, and threw out a fierce -heat like the mouth of a furnace; ‘fine thing is a fire! that put me in -mind of it. Fill up, curse ye! Joe, ye old, half-baked Jimmy. It was -over on the Dervent side, afore I came here at all, that two chaps as -did a good deal on the cross, that’s how it was told me, was a-skinnin’ -a bullock in a gully, as had only one end to it.’ - -‘What do you mean by that?’ inquired Mr. Neuchamp. ‘Surely——’ - -‘I mean,’ impatiently broke in the narrator, ‘as you could run stock in -at one end, and if they got high up they found a wall of rock at the -far end, and they couldn’t well get back, it was so tarnation narrow. -Now do you savey? They were the only coves as knew the secret of it -in that part, and many a beast, and many a colt and filly—horses was -horses then—they branded or put away there. Well, as I was saying, -they wasn’t two very particular chaps, and they was a-skinnin’ of a -bullock, having previously killed him; there warn’t no doubt of that, -as the head was on the ground close by with a bullet hole not very -far off the curl. Similarly it was a “cross” beast. No mistake about -that either. The hide, three-parts off, showed the RX brand; one that -belonged to H., one of the largest stockholders in the island, and a -man who would prosecute any man as dared touch his property, to the -gallows, if he could get him there. No hope of mercy from _him_. They -had no right to take the bullock, of course it was felony, and now they -were caught red-handed by this chap—Pretty Jack; he was the ugliest -man in the island, and he was going to turn informer. He grinned when -he came up. “There’s my liberty,” says he, pointing to the beast; -“I’m sorry for you, boys,” says he, “but every man for himself.” The -men looks at one another, then at him; he had ’em in his hand; they -saw the courthouse crammed, and heard the judge pass the sentence, a -heavy one of course, for a second colonial conviction. They heard the -gaol door clang as they were shut in for the long infernal years which -would bring ’em nearly, if not quite, to the end of a man’s life. Some -of this sort these two chaps _had_ tasted before; they shuddered and -trembled when they thought of it, and the man who was to do all this -by his own willing informing was their own friend and fellow-prisoner; -an accomplice, too, in a goodish lot of undiscovered crimes. He sat -looking at the beast with a stupid grin on his ugly face. They looked -at each other. Then one man walked past him on the track, and stopped. -When he saw this man’s eyes, and the murder written there, he called -out, “For God’s sake, don’t kill me, mates; it was all in joke, I never -meant to inform on you.” But it was too late—they were too much afraid -of their own lives to trust them to him; besides their anger had been -kindled against the man who had been an accomplice, and was now an -informer. “All right, Jack,” called out one of the men, “help us to get -off this hide.” He did so nervously, and anxious to curry favour. The -hide was soon stripped, and as they turned to make some joking remark, -one of them struck him over the head with a heavy piece of wood. The -wretched fool fell on his knees, groaning bad enough. - -‘“O my God!—Charley,” said he, in his agony, “what’s this about?—you -won’t really hurt me? for the love of God, for the sake of my wife and -the young ones, pity me; I never meant it, God above knows.” - -‘“Nonsense, man,” said one of them, “we ain’t a-going to hurt ye; we’re -only a-goin’ to stitch ye up in this here hide a bit, to keep ye from -gabbin’ while we’re putting this bullock away. Now lie still, or by —— -I’ll pole-axe you.” - -‘He laid quiet, thinking he would soon be let go, and while the men -laced him up in the hide, making eyelet-holes, and running thongs of -hide through, which made it fit pretty close, he thought he might lie -for a few hours, and then the people from the next place would find -him, and let him go free. - -‘The men cut up the bullock. They lighted a large fire and put the -head, offal, and feet upon it; they packed part of it on a wheelbarrow. -Then they hung a strong green-hide rope between the two trees above the -fire; one said something to the other in a low growling tone; he shook -his head, but at last they came towards the bound-up wretch; he was not -able to stir, in course, but it _was_ pitiful—my God, so it was, to see -his eyes move like an animal’s in a trap, as the men went up to him. - -‘“For God’s sake, men, spare me,” he moaned out. - -‘“Spare you?” said the oldest of ’em; “spare a man who betrays his own -pals, and sells his fellow-men for a miserable ticket-of-leave? Damn -you!” he roared, “your time’s up, if you had a dozen lives. Here, Ike.” - - -‘Between them they raised him, lifted him in their arms, and hung him -up by the rope actually across the roaring fire. The wet hide protected -him for a bit, but when the fire began to take effect his shrieks (they -told me) was that horrid and unnatural that they had to stop their ears. - -‘There they stopped till the shrieks died away in death. How he writhed -and screamed, and prayed and cursed, and wept and struggled like a -maniac. But the tough hide held through everything, though he wrenched -it as if he could break an iron band. It was a long while to watch the -tongues of the flame dart up as inside the black sheet still writhed a -shuddering, howling form. It couldn’t have been much like a man’s at -last. Then all the noise died away, and the bag hung steady and still.’ - -‘And did the fiends who perpetrated this awful deed escape punishment?’ -asked Ernest. - -‘Well, I don’t know about ’scaping punishment,’ said the ancient -colonist, looking somewhat like one of Morgan’s buccaneers, questioned -as to the retribution, moral or otherwise, that followed the sack of -Panama, ‘but they got clear off, and it was years afterwards that a -half-burnt hide with a skeleton inside was found near the old camp.’ - -‘And did the principal criminal never suffer remorse?’ still inquired -Ernest, with horror in every tone; ‘are such men suffered by God to -live?’ - -At that moment the fire blazed up; a change, wonderful and dread, came -over the face of the old stockman. He started up; his eyeballs glared -like those of a maniac; every muscle, every feature was convulsed. -‘Who talks of murderers? They? He? _I_ did it. I, Bill Murdock, and -the devil. _He_ was there; I see him grinning by the fire now. Ha, ha! -I can hear _his_ screams, my God, my God! as I’ve heard ’em every day -since. I hear ’em now. I shall hear ’em in hell! Look!’ - -So speaking, with eyes protruding, with every facial nerve and muscle -quivering with horror and unspeakable dread, he pointed towards -the fireplace, as one who sees the approach of a form, horrible, -unavoidable, unearthly. Then, gasping and shuddering, he fell prone and -heavily to the floor, without an effort to save himself. - -The landlord approached and loosened his handkerchief. ‘It’s partly the -grog,’ he whispered to Ernest. ‘Nobody can say how much brandy and how -much truth’s mixed up in this here yarn; but he’s seen some rough work -in his day, has Ike—though I never see him like this before. Thank you, -sir; I can get him to bed now.’ - -Mr. Neuchamp promptly sought _his_ couch, deciding that he had come in -for a much larger dose of the sensational element than he had counted -upon, and doubting whether he should repeat the experiment. - -When he awoke, after a heavy but perturbed slumber, the sun was up, and -his first question was of the welfare of the strange old stockman. - -‘Gone, hours ago, sir. He just slept till nigh hand daylight, and then -he roused out his men, lets the cattle out of the yard, and off he -goes.’ - -‘And was he able to sit on his horse,’ was Mr. Neuchamp’s very natural -question, ‘after drinking a bottle of brandy and having a fit?’ - -‘A deal better nor we could, I expect, sir. He’s iron-bark right -through, that old Ike. Takes a deal to kill the likes of him.’ - -‘Apparently so,’ assented Ernest. ’What wonderful energy, what -indomitable resolution must he possess! Used in a better cause, what -results might such a man not have reached! “‘Tis pity of him,” as the -Douglas said of Marmion, who in this century, instead of that in which -Flodden was fought, might have adorned a colony too, if there had -been any one to lay the information, “for that he did feloniously and -unlawfully obtain the custody of one young lady,” etc. etc., anent that -forged letter. Heigh ho! I don’t feel quite as much in the humour for -walking to-day as I did yesterday. Still, it’s a case of Excelsior, -I suppose. _En avant_, Neuchamp! St. Newbold inspire thy son and -servant.’ - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -When Mr. Neuchamp looked around, after completing his toilette, the -scene strongly stirred his imaginative mind; it was unique, unfamiliar, -and majestic. At his feet, down the long incline of the mountain, lay -the vast foreign-foliaged, primeval forests, the silver-threaded, -winding rivulets, the hoary crag-ramparts of yesterday’s travel -shrouded in billowing, rolling mists, or rich in combination of light -and shade, colour and effect, and at the bidding of the morning -sunbeam. As far as vision extended, nought but these characteristic -features of the mountain wilderness was visible. Immediately around -him, however, were decisive though humble evidences of the domination -of art over nature. The inn orchard, with its autumn-blushing apples, -stables, barn-yard, the cheerful smoking chimneys in the ’eager -air’—all these told of the limited but absolute sway of civilised man. -Ernest’s ideas gradually shaped themselves into the concrete fact of -breakfast. - -After this luxurious meal Mr. Neuchamp felt his ardour for travel -and exploration rekindled. He inquired the road from the landlord -and boldly pushed on. Much the same fortune attended him, sometimes -traversing rugged and barren country, and at other times finding -cottages, farms, and orchards upon his route. When, however, he reached -the more open forest lands, he found that a portion of the carefully -graded highway was in process of being metalled. Here were many parties -of stonebreakers at work by contract, apparently preferring such labour -to the more monotonous daily wage. - -Asking for water at one small camp, he found in the cook a -well-mannered youngster, doubtless a gentleman. Ernest was pressed to -take more substantial refreshment, but he declined the offer. - -‘How far do you think of going to-day?’ inquired the affable -stone-compeller. - -‘About half a dozen miles,’ replied Mr. Neuchamp, who by this time had -completed the chief portion of a fair day’s trudge. - -‘My reason for asking,’ continued the basaltic one, ‘is, that we are -going to have a little dinner at an inn just so far distant. The party -consists of my mates—very decent fellows—and our superintendent, who is -a regular brick. We shall be glad if you will join us.’ - -‘Most happy indeed,’ answered Ernest, especially gratified to enter -upon a new phase of life utterly outside of his previous experiences, -and perhaps more typically Australian than anything he could have -stumbled upon except by the merest accident. He had dined in many queer -places and met with strange company in his day, being always ready -to extend his observations in the interest of philosophical inquiry, -but a dinner of persons who broke stones upon a highroad for their -subsistence, and who were presumably gentlemen, he had never yet been -so fortunate as to hear of, much less to partake of. - -‘If you don’t mind waiting half an hour,’ pursued the Amphitryon, -‘while I change my clothes, we can walk down comfortably together.’ - -‘Are you in the habit of having these little dinners to solace your -rather austere labours?’ inquired Ernest. - -‘Well, not exactly; though we have not been so very uncomfortable -here for the last six months. We are all gentlemen, in our party, -out of luck; and a man might do worse, who is young and strong, than -earn six shillings a day by fair downright labour, in a cool climate. -All we have to do is to pile up so many yards of metal for the road -superintendent to measure. When he “passes it” our money is safe, and -we are as independent as le Roi d’Yvelôt. We live comfortably, smoke -our pipes in the evening, sleep unusually well, and enjoy real rest -on Sundays. But “little dinners” are expensive, and there would be a -slight probability of some of the party going “on the burst,” after -three or four months’ teetotalism.’ - -‘On the burst? I do not quite follow.’ - -‘On the burst,’ explained the colonist, ‘vernacular signifying a -protracted and utterly reckless debauch. It’s an Australian malady. -Hope you’ll never be in the way of infection. But as good men as -either of us have got inoculated and never wholly recovered. Now, -the occasion of this entertainment, which is given by me,’ continued -the metallician, ’is, like Mr. Weller’s new suit of clothes, a “wery -partic’ler and uncommon ewent.” Fact is, I’ve been left a few thousand -pounds by a good-for-nothing old uncle of mine in England, who never -gave me so much as a shilling knife all his life, and is now gone to -glory, and with all his earthly goods me endowed, much against the -grain. And so I’m going to Sydney by the coach to-morrow, and home by -mail steamer on Monday after. What do you think of that for a lark?’ -inquired he, giving a leap, and shying his hat into the air with a -schoolboy joyousness much at variance with his previously imperturbable -demeanour. - -‘I think it’s a very pleasant story, with a capital ending,’ said -Ernest, ‘and that’s a great matter. I don’t suppose the stonebreaking -has done you any harm, except roughening your hands a little.’ - -‘Not a bit in the world—a good deal the other way. I was a lazy young -scamp while my money lasted. Now I can do a man’s work, know personally -what a day’s labour actually is, and shall respect (and be able -slightly to check) the task of the born labourer all my life after. -Here we are at the inn.’ - -Thus talking, they arrived at the inn, a roomy and respectable hotel, -where the up coach and the down daily met and deposited hungry -passengers, who were accommodated with hasty but highly-priced meals. -Here they were met by the landlord, a civil and capable personage, who -inducted them into bedrooms, and shortly after into a snug private -parlour, where, with considerable splendour of glass, flowers, and -table-linen, preparation for the dinner was partially made. - -Here Mr. Neuchamp found several gentlemen-like men, in tweed morning -costume. Before long the superintendent appeared. Ernest was introduced -by his new friend. The conversation became general, and within a -reasonable time dinner was announced. - -This repast was exceedingly well served, cooked, and, it may be added, -appreciated. The wines were fair, and so was the drinking, though -within the bounds of discretion. - -Subjects of general interest and of political bearing were discussed -in a manner which showed that the _pabulum mentis_ had not been lost -sight of, toils notwithstanding. The health of their friend, ‘who by -an unexpected but by no means unkind freak of Fortune—a divinity of -whom they all had previous experience—was about to be translated to a -happier hemisphere,’ was suitably proposed and responded to; as was -the health of their excellent superintendent, who, a father to them in -counsel and admonition, had always treated them as gentlemen, though -temporarily filling unpretending positions. - -Lastly was toasted the health of the gentleman who had done them the -honour to join the entertainment, at the invitation of their old friend -and comrade. The speaker trusted that ‘their honoured guest, not very -long since a resident in dear old Ireland, or England—sure it was -all one—would not immediately be reduced, he meant impelled, to make -choice of their healthy, manly, but somewhat monotonous occupation. -It was well enough in its way. He, Brian O’Loghlan, was not there to -find fault with an honourable means of subsistence. But he trusted -that his young friend would make trial of other colonial avocations, -before betaking himself to the geological experiments in which they -had been lately engaged. Of course he had it to fall back upon. And if -ever necessity compelled him, he spoke the sentiments, he felt sure, -of every man at the table when he said that they would be charmed to -welcome their esteemed though but lately acquainted friend to their -independent, industrious, and ancient order of free and accepted -stonebreakers.’ (Continued applause.) - -This toast, to which Ernest ‘briefly but feelingly’ responded, -expressing his ‘admiration of the institutions of a country which -permitted access to industrial occupations generally esteemed as -close guilds and corporations in Europe, to gentlemen of culture and -refinement, such as his host and his friends whom he saw around him -that day, without detriment to their social position and prospects,’ -closed the entertainment. - -The fortunate legatee and his comrades departed to seek their tent, -while Ernest and the superintendent remained and smoked a pipe -together (the latter gentleman, at least, indulging in the narcotic), -while they talked over the somewhat exceptional circumstances of the -entertainment, and the accidental stroke of luck which had occasioned -it. - -On the following morning they breakfasted together in much comfort, and -then separated, as so many pleasant chance comrades are compelled to do -in this life. The Government official drove off in his buggy to visit -another line of road, while Mr. Neuchamp, full of hope and rich with -the gathered spoils of his late adventure, paced cheerily along the -high road to fortune and the mystical desert interior. - -Halting at mid-day by a watercourse favourably situated for temporary -rest and refreshment, he heard the half-forgotten words of a favourite -operatic air trolled forth by a rich voice with unusual effect and -precision. Looking round for the performer, he descried, lying under -a noble casuarina tree, the roots of which spread halfway across the -little creek, a tall man, whose worn and somewhat shabby habiliments -were strongly at variance with the distinction of his air and the -aristocratic cast of his features. Beside him was a small black -camp kettle, from which he had been preparing the usual traveller’s -refreshment of ‘quartpot tea.’ He was smoking, of course, and as he -half raised himself and saluted Ernest, that observer of human nature -thought he had rarely seen a more striking countenance. - -‘In which direction are you travelling?’ inquired Mr. Neuchamp. - -‘Towards Nubba,’ said the unknown, ‘and a devilish dull track it is. Do -you happen, by any chance, to be going there?’ - -‘My route lies past that place, I believe. As we are both apparently -on a walking tour we may as well be fellow-travellers, if you have no -objection.’ - -‘Most happy, I am sure,’ assented the stranger, with the ease of a man -of the world; ‘one so rarely has the pleasure of having a gentleman for -a comrade in this part of the creation. May I offer you some tea? Sorry -to say my flask is empty.’ - -‘Many thanks—I prefer the tea. Perhaps, on the other hand, you will -make trial of part of my provender?’ - -Here Mr. Neuchamp exhibited an ample store of solids, which he had had -the foresight to bring with him, and the stranger, after observing that -the brisk air gave one a most surprising appetite, made so respectable -a meal that he would almost have fancied that tea and tobacco had alone -composed that repast which he had just finished. - -The mid-day halt over, the newly-made acquaintances took the road with -great cheerfulness, and, on Ernest’s part, a considerable accession of -spirits. - -‘Here,’ thought he, ‘is one of those happy contretemps that so rarely -occur—out of books—in an old country. There, if you did meet a man, -under these circumstances, you would be afraid to speak to him until -you had actually gauged his social position and standing. Here, now, -is a gentleman evidently of culture, travel, refinement, who, like me, -prefers from time to time to lead this half-gipsy, half-hunter life -entirely for the pleasure of unconventional sensations.’ - -For the first hour or two Mr. Neuchamp kept up a sustained cross-fire -of conversation with this fortunately found travelling companion. -Whether formerly in the army or not he did not definitely state, but -from certain of his reminiscences and stray sentences, such as ‘when -we took Acre,’ Mr. Neuchamp thought he was not far wrong in assigning -him a military rank. Certainly his experiences were extensive. Had been -everywhere, had seen everything, knew all the colonies from Northern -Queensland to South Australia, the gold-fields, the stations, the -cities, the law courts. How lightly and airily did he touch upon these -different localities and institutions! Knew London, Paris, Vienna, -Florence, Rome, St. Petersburg. The _haute volée_ of many cities knew -him well evidently. His whole tone and bearing denoted so much; and -with an air half of philosophical unconcern, half of humorous complaint -against fate, he confessed that he had not been lucky. - -‘No!’ he said, ‘they used to say in the old 108th I was too deuced -lucky in everything else to hold honours where the stakes were golden; -and so it has been with me ever since. The boy who ran up the whole -score of social success before his beard was grown, the man whom -princesses fought for, and world-famed diplomates, soldiers, and -savants flattered, has ended thus: to find himself growing old in a -colony where talent and social rank are mocked at if unassociated with -vulgar success; and here stands John Lulworth Broughton, without a -friend, a coin, or a home wherein to lay his head.’ - -‘You shall never need repeat that indictment against fate,’ cried -Ernest enthusiastically; ‘I, at least, can discriminate between the -talents and the qualities which should have controlled success and the -temporary obscurity which ill-fortune has accorded. Trust to me in -the future. Is there no enterprise which we could engage in jointly, -where, with my capital and your experience, we might work with mutual -advantage?’ - -The stranger’s haughty features assumed a different expression at the -mention of the word capital, and his melancholy dark eye brightened as -he said promptly— - -‘I know a splendid run, not very far from where we stand, large enough -and good enough to make any man’s fortune. I have been prevented from -occupying it hitherto by want of funds, but a hundred pounds would pay -all expenses at present. We could then take it up from Government, and -it would bring in, half-stocked, two or three thousand a year almost at -once.’ - -‘Not far from here—the very thing!’ exclaimed Mr. Neuchamp, who had had -nearly enough walking. ‘But I thought that all the good land was taken -up except what was a long way off.’ - -The stranger explained that by a lucky accident he had been trusted -with the secret of this magnificent country, which you entered by a -narrow and well-concealed gorge; that the old stockman was dead who -discovered it, and that a beautiful, open, park-like country, whenever -you got through the gorge, was waiting to reward the first fortunate -occupants who were liberal enough to meet the small but indispensable -preliminary disbursement. - -Mr. Neuchamp thought he could see here a splendid opportunity of at -once making a rapid fortune, of demonstrating a rare perception of -local opportunity and judicious speculation, and of proving to Mr. -Frankston and to Antonia his ability to control colonial circumstances -without a novitiate. - -He could imagine old Paul saying, ‘Well, Antonia, my pet, you see this -young friend of ours has shown us all the way. Here it is, in the -_Herald_: “Splendid discovery of new country, by E. Neuchamp, Esq. -Large area taken up by the explorer and partner. We must congratulate -Mr. Neuchamp, who has not been, we believe we are correct in stating, -many months in Australia, upon developing a masterly grasp of judicious -pastoral enterprise, which has left the majority of our older colonists -in the shade.”’ - -After this and other intoxicating presentiments, it was finally agreed -that they were to proceed to Nubba, where Ernest was to hand Mr. -Broughton his cheque for a hundred pounds for outfit and preliminary -expenses, upon which that gentleman would at once proceed to point out -and put him in possession of this long-concealed but none the less -virgin and glorious Eldorado. - -With head erect and flashing eye, in which sparkled the ideal lustre -of imminent wealth and distinction, Ernest walked on towards the small -village which Mr. Broughton had indicated as their probable destination -for the night. That accomplished individual indeed, pedestrian feats -in the Oberland, South America, Norway, and Novogorod notwithstanding, -found it difficult to keep up with his future partner—his boots, -possibly, which were neither new nor apparently calculated to withstand -the wear and tear of rough country work, prevented his attaining a -high rate of speed. But had Ernest been less preoccupied he might have -marked a sour expression upon the aristocratic features, heard a savage -oath, vernacularly vulgar, issue from under the silken moustache. - -Soon, however, in a break of his fairy tale, while he was deciding -whether he should send his brother Courtenay a cheque for ten thousand -pounds, or surprise him with a personal proffer of that amount as a -Christmas box, he became aware that he was outpacing his companion from -whom this golden tide of fortune was to date and issue. He stopped and -permitted him to come up. At the same instant a horseman, in the plain -but unmistakable uniform of a police trooper, rode at speed from the -angle of the forest track, and overtook them. - -Pulling up his well-bred horse rather suddenly, he fixed a keen and -searching glance upon the pair. His features gradually relaxed into a -familiar and disrespectful expression as he addressed Mr. Broughton. - -‘Why, Captain! what’s come to you? Here’s the whole force in a state -of mobilisation from Hartly to the Bogan about the last little plant -of yours—and now here you are, a-walking into our very arms, like a -blessed ‘possum into a blessed trap—-why, I’m ashamed of you; hold up -your hands.’ - -Mr. Neuchamp gazed upon the face of his illustrious friend as this -vulgar exordium was rattled off by the flippant but practical -man-at-arms, in wonder, consternation, sorrow, and expectancy. - -Could it be anything but the most annoying and inexplicable of -mistakes, and would not this noble-minded victim of blind fortune -repudiate the shameful accusation with scorn in every line of the stern -sad features? - -He gazed long and fixedly into that face; a deeply graven expression -_was_ there. But it was an alien, unsatisfactory expression. It -showed slight contempt, but habitual deference to that branch of the -civil power mingled with a sardonic, half-stoical, half despairing -resignation to ignoble circumstance. - -Puzzled, doubtful, but by no means dismayed, Mr. Neuchamp indignantly -asked the trooper what he meant by speaking insolently to his friend, -Mr. Broughton—in stopping him without a warrant upon the highway? - -‘Mr. Howard, alias Captain, alias the Knight of Malta, alias the -Aide-de-Camp, alias John Lulworth Broughton, is as much my friend as -yours; leastwise we know one another better; don’t we, Captain?’ - -Mr. Broughton, upon whose wrists the handcuffs were safely adjusted, -merely nodded, upon which the trooper requested Mr. Neuchamp to permit -his hands to be similarly fettered. - -‘What?’ said Ernest, flushing so suddenly, at the same time making a -stride forward, that the wary official backed his horse, and taking out -his revolver, presented it full at his head. - -‘What for?’ said the trooper; ‘why, on suspicion, of course, of being -concerned with the Captain here, in the Barrabri Bank robbery the other -night, that all the country is going mad about.’ - -Here the Captain found his tongue. - -‘You’re going mad yourself, Taylor; the reward and the mobilisation, as -you call it, have been too much for you. There’s no evidence against -me this time, nothing that you could call evidence worth a rap; and -don’t you see that this is a gentleman just out from home, and green as -grass; or he wouldn’t go on foot with a thundering big knapsack on his -back, picking up with—ahem—shady characters like me.’ - -‘That’s all very well, Captain,’ assented the trooper; ‘but the cove’s -hair and complexion, and height, and age, as was with you in the plant, -and _Police Gazette_, corresponds with the other prisoner’s.’ - -Ernest’s face, at this description of himself, was a study; so sharply -engraved were the lines which indicated wrath, disgust, and horror. - -‘Very sorry, my man, and all that,’ continued Senior-Constable Taylor, -who had not got the stripes for nothing, ‘in case your turn don’t -square, but you must come before the police magistrate of Boonamarran -and see what _he_ thinks about it. I won’t put the darbies on ye, if -you’ll promise to come quietly, but by —— if you leave the track for a -moment I’ll send a bullet through you before you can say knife.’ - -Under this proclamation of martial law, there was nothing to be done -by any sane man but to submit; so Ernest made answer that he had -no objection to walking as far as Boonamarran, where no doubt his -innocence would be made clear. - -In a kind of procession, therefore, was Ernest Neuchamp forced, as the -Captain would have said, ‘by circumstances’ to make his appearance -in the small but not wholly unimportant town of Boonamarran. As -they passed up the principal street, a very large proportion of the -available inhabitants must have assembled to mark their arrival at the -lock-up. - -Behind them rode the trooper with a mingled air of inflexible -determination and successful daring. The Captain marched in front with -his manacled hands almost disguised by his careless walk, remarking -calmly on the appearance of the town, which he criticised freely, -also the leading inhabitants. By his side, burning with rage and -mortification, walked Ernest, feeling very like a galley slave, and -wondering whether there was any possibility, in this strange land, of -being sentenced mistakenly to a term of imprisonment. Thus feeling -for the first time a keen sensation of distrust for his own obstinate -predilections, coupled with an awakening respect for the opinion of -others, the time passed in varieties of mental torture, till they -arrived at the lock-up, a strong wooden building, into a small room -of which they were unceremoniously bundled, while a heavy bolt closed -behind them. - -‘I really am extremely sorry, sir,’ quoth the Captain, after they were -left to themselves, ‘to have brought you into this highly unpleasant -position. But circumstances, my lifelong enemies, were too strong for -me; and for you, too,’ he added reflectively. - -Mr. Neuchamp was not a vain man, though proud; above everything he was -a philosophical experimentalist. Under any given position he could -soon have ceased to struggle and rage, and have commenced to analyse, -theorise, and deduce. - -‘I ought to be so justly enraged with you,’ he replied, ‘that any -apologies would only arouse contempt. You have deceived me, it appears, -with a view to rob me of my money, and you have been instrumental in -causing, for the first time in my life, the loss of my liberty. But -I will confine myself for the present to asking, in all seriousness, -why you, a man of culture and mental endowments, having enjoyed the -advantages of travel and refined society, should voluntarily have -lowered yourself to your present surroundings by a course of vulgar and -short-sighted criminality?’ - -‘Well, I’ll tell you the real naked truth, as far as I know it when -I see it,’ said the Captain, cutting off a solid piece of negrohead -tobacco and putting it into his mouth. ’I have had an immense quantity -of what the world calls advantages, there’s no denying, and yet they -would have been all well exchanged for one simple bit of luck, which -I did _not_ happen to possess—that of being born honest! That, I -distinctly state and affirm, I was not. Whatever the reason is, I was -always an infernal rogue from the time I could write myself man, and -long before. Whether the faculty of passionate and sensuous enjoyment -was intensified in my idiosyncracy, while at the same time my reasoning -powers were feeble and my conscientiousness absolutely nil—I can’t say. -The fact, _unde derivata_, remained (and a _fait générateur_, as the -French say, it was), when I wanted anything it always occurred to me -with restless force, that the shortest, most natural, and obvious way -to possession was to steal, take, and unlawfully carry away the same. -I should have made a famous king; in him annexation is a virtue of -the highest order. As a general, could I have overleaped the earlier -grades, I should have gone amid shouting thousands to an honoured -grave, for I am cool and cheerful in danger, and a demon when my slow -blood is fairly up. But as the son of an eminent clergyman, as a mere -unit in refined society, my sphere was wretchedly circumscribed. -Society became my foe, my fatal foe. Young man, if you hurl yourself -upon society, she laughs at the superincumbent hostile weight. If -she merely reclines upon you, moral asphyxia results. I have, mind, -cast away home, friends, love, honour, position. If I hadn’t such an -infernally good constitution, death would have long ago squared the -account. I am sorry when I think of it. But present troubles once -over—“_Libem, libem!_”’ - -Here he broke forth into the great drinking song, which he trolled out -until the massive timbers of the building echoed. - -‘And your intention, as far as I was concerned?’ asked Ernest, unable -to refrain a certain toleration for the ‘larcenous epicurean.’ - -‘Well, I couldn’t resist trying to appropriate your hundred pounds. You -threw it at a fellow’s head, as it were. It was partly your own fault.’ - -‘My own fault,’ echoed Ernest, in astonishment, ‘and why, may I ask?’ - -‘When people are very _very_ imprudent, they, as the Methodists phrase -it, “put temptation in the way” of other folks, not afflicted, let us -say, with severe morals. Now why don’t you ride a decent horse when -you’re travelling, like a gentleman?’ - -‘But surely a man may walk in a new country, if he likes?’ pleaded -Ernest, half amused at his arguing the question so seriously with a -swindler and convicted felon. - -‘Excuse me,’ answered the man of experience, with the readiness of -a practical advocate; ‘you might drive a tax-cart down Rotten Row, -or wear a wideawake and a tourist suit at a flower-show, as far as -the power to do so is concerned. But you wouldn’t do it, because it -would be unfashionable, therefore incorrect. It’s unfashionable for -a gentleman to walk in this country, therefore nobody does walk on a -journey, except labourers, drunkards, persons of bad character like me, -or inexperienced young gentlemen like you.’ - -‘Many thanks for your neat explanation and wholesome advice,’ said -Ernest. ‘I don’t know whether I shall not act upon it.’ - -‘And may you better rede the advice than ever did the adviser,’ quoted -the Captain gravely, sonorously, and in final conclusion. - -Next morning, after experiencing what fully justified Clarence’s -exclamation, Mr. Neuchamp and his fellow-traveller were ‘haled’ before -the stipendiary magistrate, who looked at Mr. Neuchamp in a manner so -unsympathising that it hurt his feelings. - -‘John Lulworth Broughton,’ said the trooper, in a loud matter-of-fact -voice, ‘alias Captain Spinks, alias the Knight of Malta, and Ernest -Neuchum appears before this court, in custody, your worship, charged -with robbery under arms. How do you plead?’ - -‘Not guilty, of course,’ replied the Captain, with a shocked expression. - -‘Not guilty,’ said Ernest, in an anxious and horrified tone; ‘I wish to -explain, I am travelling to the station of——’ - -‘Any statement that you or the other prisoner may wish to make, _after_ -the evidence is complete, I shall be happy to hear. Until then,’ said -the police magistrate, with mild but icy intonation, ‘I must request -you to keep silence, except when cross-examining the witnesses for the -Crown.’ - -Ernest felt outraged and choked. The evidence then being ‘gone into,’ -showed how a certain bank manager at a lonely branch had been awakened -at midnight by two men masked and armed; one tall, dark, spoke with a -fashionable drawl; the other middle-sized, active, fair-haired, with -blue eyes, about twenty-four, spoke rather slowly. Here the police -magistrate, the clerk of the bench, the spectators, and the other -police constable turned their heads towards Mr. Neuchamp. ‘Speaks like -a native. Ah! very strong point.’ - -Witness after witness being examined piled up the evidence that a tall -dark man and a middle-sized fair one had been seen at the scene of the -robbery, near the place, the day before, the day after. Every sort of -circumstantial evidence was forthcoming, except a link or two which the -jury might or might not consider necessary. The magistrate thought a -_primâ-facie_ case for committal had been made out. He was commencing -the impressive formula—‘Having heard the evidence, do you wish to make -any statement, etc. etc.,’ when a telegram was put into the hand of the -senior constable of police. - -Reading it rapidly, and handing it to the police magistrate, that -official said: ‘In consequence of the information just received from -my superior officer, by telegram, I beg to apply for the discharge of -the younger prisoner.’ The police magistrate acceded. Thereupon the -door or the gate of the dock was opened and Mr. Neuchamp, permitted -egress through the same, much like a rabbit from a hutch, was formally -discharged. - -‘It would appear,’ said the stipendiary magistrate, ‘from the latest -information in the hands of the police, that an instance of mistaken -identity has in your case occurred, leading to your—a—apprehension and -detention, which, under the circumstances, I regret. Senior-Constable -Taylor was fully justified in arresting you as the companion of a -notoriously bad and desperate character’ (here the Captain smiled -serenely, and stroked his moustache)—‘in arresting you on suspicion of -felony. It appears that the person described in the _Police Gazette_, -and whom you unfortunately appear to resemble, has been arrested, and -is now in custody at Warren. You are therefore discharged, and as you -are a young man of respectable appearance, I trust that it will be a -warning to you; a—that is to say, as to the choice of your associates. -John Lulworth Broughton, you stand committed to take your trial at the -next Quarter Sessions,’ etc. etc. - -The telegram which had so suddenly and effectually changed the current -of Ernest’s destiny ran as follows: ‘From Sub-Inspector Hawker, Warren, -to the officer in charge of police, Boonamarran. The right man, Captain -Spinks’s mate, arrested here, 4 A.M. Discharge fair prisoner forthwith.’ - -Ernest left the court certainly a sadder and a presumably wiser man, -and sought a private room in the chief inn, having some difficulty -in evading the invitations to liquor pressed upon him by the chief -inhabitants, who, having fully agreed that if ever a man looked guilty -he did, were anxious now, in reactionary regret, to make him amends for -their unfounded and evil thoughts. - -Among the persons firmly, perhaps unceremoniously, repelled, was a -pale young man with longish hair and an intelligent countenance. This -personage sat down and hastily wrote a report of the proceedings, in -the course of which he dilated upon the hardship of an untried man -suffering the degrading and mental torture to which, if innocent, he -is perforce subjected, in the present state of the law. This was at -once forwarded to a leading metropolitan journal. A telegram of a -sensational nature was also despatched for the evening paper: ‘Arrest -of a gentleman newly arrived, for robbery under arms. The case broke -down. He is now at liberty.’ - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -When a man has suffered the indignity of actual incarceration, a savour -of irrevocable dishonour is apt to cling to the sensation, however -innocent the victim may subsequently be proved. Some robes once soiled -cannot be washed white. The bloom cannot be replaced upon the blushing -fruit. And Ernest sorrowfully reflected that, for all future time, -if one of those ruthless vivisectors, a cross-examining barrister, -chose to ask him, as a witness before a crowded court, whether or not -he had ever been in gaol charged with highway robbery, he would be -compelled to answer ‘yes,’ with the privilege of explanation after -that categorical answer, of course. Much regretful and indignant -thought passed through his mind before lunch. The last Neuchamp that -had heard a prison door barred behind him was enclosed by a troop of -Ironside dragoons in the donjon at Neuchampstead, while they merrily -revelled above, and praised the malignant’s ale and serving-maids. -That was honourable captivity. But to be boxed up in ‘the logs’ of -a bush township, side by side with a confessed robber and swindler! -It was hard! The star of the Neuchamps was for a time under an evil -influence. However, after a remarkably good lunch and a bottle of Bass -(dear to England’s subalterns in every land of exile) a more cheerful -and philosophical frame of mind succeeded. After all, anybody might be -arrested by mistake. No one would ever hear of it, any more than of the -detention of Livingstone for a day by King Unilury on the Moombitonja. -His friends at Morahmee would _never_ discover it, that was as certain -as anything could be. - -He ‘had a great mind,’ as the phrase runs, to buy a horse, and so -relieve himself, for the future, from all risk of evil communications, -and other misfortune, which society seemed, with one accord, to trace -directly to his using his own proper legs for purposes of locomotion. -But he was a true reformer in this one particular. He was not less -obstinate than enthusiastic, and he told himself, as he had commenced -his journey on foot, that he would so end it, and complete the distance -to Garrandilla in spite of all the strange people in this very strange -country. He had his own secret doubts as to whether he would need much -persuasion to ride or drive whenever he returned to Sydney. But in the -meanwhile, and until he was fairly landed at Garrandilla—— - -Having plentifully refreshed himself, and even provided something -edible in case of accidents, he accordingly left town very early next -morning, shouldering his knapsack, as usual, and cleared off about ten -miles of his journey in the comparative coolness of early morn. - -Here he discovered a friendly creek, possessing shade and water, so -flinging himself on the sward, he addressed himself to some corned beef -with a vigour unabated by previous misfortunes. - -Preoccupied with these minute but necessary details, he did not observe -that another man had, like him, selected the spot as appropriate to -rest, if not to refreshment. The personage whom he so suddenly descried -was not pedestrianising, like him, as two serviceable roadsters -grazed within a few yards, their fore legs confined by the short chain -attached to two leather straps, which had more than once attracted his -attention in his travels. In one respect the new traveller differed -from any other wayfarer whom Mr. Neuchamp had as yet encountered; for, -in spite of the inconveniences to which his late incautious acceptance -of companionship had subjected him, he could not refrain from a close -examination of the stranger. The unknown was apparently not about to -make or to drink a pot of tea. Neither was he smoking, preparing to -smoke, nor obviously having just finished smoking. - -‘Good-morning,’ said this person, bending a pair of exceedingly keen -gray eyes upon Ernest. ‘Travelling early, like myself. Bound for Nubba?’ - -‘Yes!’ answered Ernest. - -‘Going any farther?’ - -‘As far as Garrandilla,’ he replied. - -‘Humph!’ said the new acquaintance. ‘I suppose you were at Boonamarran -last night. I left Boree station early, and am going on as soon as my -horses have had another half-hour’s picking at this patch of good feed.’ - -‘Have you breakfasted yet?’ inquired Ernest. - -‘Well, I’m not particular about a meal or two,’ cheerfully replied the -stranger. ‘I can always find a salad, and with a crust of bread I can -manage to get along.’ - -‘Salad in the bush?’ asked Ernest, with astonishment. ‘I never heard of -any before.’ - -‘There’s always plenty, if you know where to look for it,’ gravely -answered the stranger; ‘only men in this country are a deal more fond -of making for the nearest public-house than of studying the book of -nature, and learning what it teaches them. No man need fast in this -country if he knows anything about the herbage and the plants he’s -always riding and trampling over.’ - -‘You amaze me!’ said Ernest; ‘I always thought people ate nothing but -meat in this country.’ - -‘When you’ve been longer in Australia’ (Ernest groaned) ‘you’ll find -out, by degrees, that there’s a deal of difference in people here, much -as, I suppose, there is in other countries. See here,’ he continued, -taking up and cropping with great relish a succulent-looking bunch -of greens, ‘here’s a real good wholesome cabbage—warrigal cabbage, -the shepherds call it. Here’s another,’ uprooting a long dark-green -fibrous-looking wild endive. ‘As long as you’ve these two and -marshmallow sprout, you can’t starve. Many a pound it’s saved me, and -you may take my word for it there’s more money made in this country -by saving than by profits. I suppose you’re going to learn colonial -experience at Garrandilla.’ - -‘How can he know that?’ thought Mr. Neuchamp. ‘These people seem -to guess correctly about everything concerning _me_, while I am -continually deceived about them.’ - -‘I am just bound on that errand,’ he answered, ‘though I cannot tell -how you arrived at the fact.’ - -‘Well, I didn’t suppose you were going as a shepherd, or a stockman, -or a knock-about man,’ said the stranger carelessly, ‘so you must have -been going to learn the ways of the country.’ - -‘Do you know Mr. Jedwood?’ inquired Ernest. - -‘Yes; heard of him. That’s a good manager; sharp hand; teach you all -about stock; make you work while you’re there, I expect.’ - -‘I don’t mind that; I didn’t come up into the bush for anything else. -It’s not exactly the place one would pick for choice for lounging in, -is it?’ - -‘I don’t know about that. I’m never contented anywhere else,’ said the -unknown. - -‘And I suppose you’re looking out for an overseer’s situation,’ -inquired Ernest, exercising his right of cross-examination in turn. -He thought by the stranger’s economical ideas that he could only be -upon his promotion, and not yet arrived at the enviable and lucrative -position of ‘super,’ as he had heard the appointment called. - -The stranger smiled faintly in his own grave and reflective fashion, -and then, leaning on one elbow and pulling up a tuft of _Anthistiria -australis_, which he chewed meditatively, said, ‘Well, I have jobs of -overseeing now and then.’ - -‘And you expect to save enough money some day,’ demanded Ernest, rather -elated by the success of his hit, ‘I shouldn’t wonder, to go into a -small station, or leave off work altogether?’ - -‘Some of these days—some of these days,’ repeated the stranger, staring -absently before him, ‘I expect to have what I call enough. But you -can’t be sure of anything.’ - -‘In the meanwhile you save all you can,’ laughed Ernest. - -‘It’s no laughing matter,’ said the stranger; ‘if you don’t save you -waste your money, if you waste your money you get into debt, if you get -into debt you get so close to ruin that any day he may put his paw down -and crush you or lame you for life.’ - -‘That’s a solemn view to take of a little debt,’ said Ernest, ‘but you -are right on the whole; and when I come into a station of my own I will -be awfully saving.’ - -‘That’s right; you can’t go wrong if you act up to that. Now, see -here, we’re about fifteen miles from Nubba.’ - -Here the stranger raised himself from his recumbent position, -exhibiting to Ernest a tall, well-made, sinewy frame, with a keen -handsome visage half covered with a bushy brown beard. The eyes were -perhaps the most remarkable feature in the face; they were moderate in -size, but wonderfully clear and piercing. There was the rare look of -absolute unbroken health about the man’s whole figure which one sees -chiefly in children and very young persons. - -‘I’ve a second horse and saddle,’ continued the tall stranger; ‘I -generally take a couple when I’m travelling, they’re company for one -another, and for me too. So if you are going by Nubba, just you ride -this roan horse, and we’ll jog on together.’ - -Ernest considered for a moment. He had paid _de sa personne_ for -over-hasty acquaintanceship. But he could not for a moment distrust the -steady eye and truthful visage of the man who made this friendly offer. -He was interested, too, in his talk, and deeming him to be of a rank -and condition that he could in some way repay for the obligation, he -accepted it frankly. - -‘Very well,’ he said, ‘I shall be glad to go with you as far as -Nubba. I suppose your horse won’t be anything the worse for me and my -knapsack.’ - -‘Not he. We’ll saddle up. I have a good way to go before sundown.’ - -‘May I ask to whom I am indebted for the accommodation?’ inquired -Ernest. ‘My name is Ernest Neuchamp.’ - -‘Well, Mr.—a—Smith,’ said the stranger, with a slight appearance of -hesitation. ‘It don’t much matter about names, except you have to -write a cheque or pay a bill. Now then, here’s your horse; he’s quiet, -and an out-and-out ambler.’ - -After walking for several days, it was a pleasant sensation enough when -Ernest, a fair horseman and respectable performer in the hunting-field, -found himself on the back of a free easy-paced hackney again. The roan -horse paced along at a rate which he was obliged to moderate, to avoid -shaking his benefactor, whose horse did not walk very brilliantly, into -a jelly. - -‘This is my morning horse,’ said Mr. Smith, slightly out of -breath—though he sat his horse with a peculiar instinctive ease, not -alone as if he had been accustomed to a horse all his days, but as -if he had been born upon one. ‘When you are going a longish journey, -you generally have one clever hack and one not quite so good. Well, -what you ought to do is to ride the roughest one in the morning, while -_you’re_ fresh, and in the afternoon take the fast or easy one, and you -finish the day comfortably.’ - -‘Indeed,’ said Ernest, ‘that never struck me before; but in England we -don’t ride far, and never more than one horse at a time.’ - -‘Fine country, England,’ said Mr. Smith musingly. ‘I was reading in -Hallam’s _Middle Ages_ the other day about these Barons making war -upon one another. They must have been a good deal like the squatters -here, only they didn’t get fined for assaults at the courts of petty -sessions, and they had their own lock-ups, and could put a chap in the -logs or in their own cellar, and keep him there. I should like to see -England.’ - -‘Then you never have seen the old country?’ said Ernest. ‘How strange -it seems to see a grown Englishman like you, for you are one, and very -like a Yorkshireman too, who has never seen the chalk cliffs and green -meadows. When do you intend to go?’ - -‘Some day, when I can afford it,’ answered Mr. Smith. - -They were now going at a good journeying pace, not far from five miles -an hour, through an open, thinly-timbered, well-grassed country. The -grass was long, rather dry looking, and of a grayish green. The road -was perfectly smooth, without stone, rut, or inequality of any kind. -The day had become insensibly warmer, but the air was wonderfully -clear, pure, and dry. Mr. Neuchamp felt sensibly exhilarated by the -atmospheric tone. - -‘What a grand climate,’ he thought, as Mr. Smith had subsided into -rather an abstracted silence. ‘Here we have a combination of sufficient -warmth for comfort and high spirits, with that bracing cold of night -and early morning necessary to ensure appetite and energy. And there -are months upon months of this weather. Once bring a man or woman here, -with a sound and unworn constitution, and they might live for ever. -No wonder the general tendency of the features of the country-born -people is towards the Greek type. The vales and groves of Hellas had no -brighter sky than this deep azure, no purer air, no softer whispering -breeze.’ - -After this slight æsthetical reverie Mr. Neuchamp fell a wondering -as to the precise social status of his preoccupied but accommodating -companion. Rendered wary by previous mistakes, he bestowed great care -and caution upon his analysis, and after a most judicial summing-up, -decided in his own mind that Mr. Smith was a working overseer, -with aspirations superior to his present position, which, from his -economical habits and self-denying principles, he would at some -distant period realise. ‘Yes,’ said Mr. Neuchamp to himself, ‘I shall -see him some day with a nice little station of his own and four or five -thousand sheep. He will of course be able to work up from that. But how -pleasant it will be to visit him some day and behold his honest pride -at having successfully surmounted all his difficulties and triumphantly -landed himself upon his own property! How we shall laugh over to-day’s -salads and wise saws.’ Here Ernest woke up from his Alnaschar musings -by which the deserved greatness was to be bestowed upon Mr. Smith. That -individual, all unconscious apparently of his imminent and triumphant -pastoral profits, called out— - -‘Do you see that rise with the plain beyond? Well, Nubba’s about a mile -the other side. I’m going forty miles farther, so I must have something -to eat before we start. Come and have dinner, or whatever you call it, -with me.’ - -They rode into the bush town together. The usual wide street or two; -the straggling shops and cottages; at each corner a large pretentious -store or hotel, a bullock dray, a buggy, a horseman or two, a score of -foot-passengers, the incoming mail with four horses and five lamps, -made up the visible traffic and population. Forest land had been -monotonously prevalent before they reached the town; a vast, apparently -endless plain, the first Mr. Neuchamp had ever seen, stretched beyond -it to the horizon. As they rode up to a balconied and two-storied brick -hotel he noticed a new ecclesiastical building, the architecture of -which contrasted strangely with that of the majority. His educated eye -was attracted. - -‘What a nice church—Early English too; I never expected to see such a -building here.’ - -‘Yes,’ said Mr. Smith uninterestedly, ‘looks neat and strong; see -they’ve finished it since I passed this way last.’ - -‘It has a decidedly Anglican look, now one examines it. Quite a treat -to see such a building in the wilderness. Do you happen to belong to -the Church of England, Mr. Smith?’ - -‘Well, I may say—that is, I believe I’m a Protestant; I don’t know -about any denomination in particular. There’s good men in all of them. -I respect a man who does the work well that he believes in, and is paid -for doing. That’s my view of the matter.’ - -‘But the glorious tenets of the Reformation to which the English -Church has ever held firmly ought to commend its teachings to every -open-minded intelligent man,’ said Ernest, a little moved. - -‘I can’t say,’ said Mr. Smith slowly; ‘I don’t know if we should -believe in old Harry the Eighth much in the present day. He wouldn’t -quite do for us out here, though I reckon him a grand Englishman in -many ways. Here’s the inn, and I’m not above owning I’m ready for a -chop.’ - -The horses were put into the stable; Mr. Neuchamp conveyed his knapsack -into a bedroom, and in a comparatively short time joined Mr. Smith at -one of the most tempting meals he had lately encountered. - -It was past mid-day, and nothing in the way of disparagement could have -been fairly said against the appetite of either gentleman. ‘What will -you take, beer or wine?’ asked Mr. Smith, ringing the bell as they sat -down. - -Ernest thought pale ale not inappropriate, though he wondered at his -theoretically economical friend being so luxurious in practice. ‘Just -the way with all these bushmen,’ he thought. ‘This poor fellow will -have to go without something for this; but I won’t hurt his feelings by -refusing to join him.’ - -‘Bring in some bottled beer, then,’ said Mr. Smith. The waiter flew to -execute his command. - -‘Here,’ thought Ernest, ‘is another example of the superior sympathy of -colonial manners. Here is the poor overseer, working his way up in the -world, and he is treated with as much deference as if he were a wealthy -man. There is nothing like a colony for the repression of vulgar -servility to mere wealth.’ - -Here the waiter, bearing beer, reappeared. - -‘I don’t take anything but tea myself,’ said Mr. Smith, ‘but to those -who are used to it cool bitter beer goes well in any kind of weather. -Anything is better than the confounded hard stuff.’ - -Mr. Neuchamp did not comprehend whether the latter deleterious compound -was a solid or a liquid, but he was annoyed at drinking at the expense -of a man unable to bear the cost, and who did not keep him company in -the consumption of the liquor. - -‘I wouldn’t have had anything but tea if I had known that was your -tipple too,’ he said. ‘I’m not averse to Good Templarism in the desert, -and can live on coffee as well as a Bedouin Arab. You must come to my -place some day when I have one, and we’ll drink tea till all’s blue.’ - -‘Very well,’ said Smith. ‘I’m passing Garrandilla—shall I say you’re -coming along by degrees, and will be there some day?’ - -‘Just so,’ said Ernest; ‘there’s no necessity for hurry. Tell Mr. -Jedwood that, picking up colonial experience as I go along, I shall be -there within a month.’ - -‘Well, good-bye,’ said Mr. Smith; ‘I daresay we shall see each other -again. Don’t you go and waste your money, mind that, and you’ll be a -big squatter some day.’ - -‘I don’t know about that,’ said Ernest; ‘I don’t so much want to make -money, you know, as to do some good in the land.’ - -‘That’s quite right,’ said Mr. Smith, grasping his hand with the hearty -grip of the man of whole heart and strong will, ‘but you try and make -some money first. People won’t believe in your opinions unless you show -them that you can make money to begin with; after that you can say -anything, and teach and preach as much as you like; and if you want to -hold your own in any line you fancy, don’t you go and waste your money, -as I said before. Good-bye.’ - -The horses had been brought round; Mr. Smith, rather inconsistently, -gave the highly respectful groom half a crown after this economical -homily, and mounting the roan horse touched the other with the bridle -rein, and ambled off at the rate of six miles an hour. - -‘Good-hearted fellow, Smith,’ said Mr. Neuchamp expressively to the -landlord, who with a select part of the townspeople had paid Mr. Smith -the compliment of assembling to see him off; ‘hope he’ll get on in the -world; I feel sure he deserves it.’ - -‘Get on in the world, sir!’ echoed the landlord, in tones of wild -amaze; ‘who do you mean, sir?’ - -‘Why, Mr. Smith, of course, the gentleman who has just ridden away,’ -said Ernest, rather tartly. ‘He is a most economical but estimable and -intelligent person, and I feel convinced that he will get on, and have -a station of his own before many years.’ - -‘Mr. Smith! a station of his own!’ said the landlord in faint tones, -as of one preparing to swoon. ‘Do you know who you’re a-talkin’ of, -sir? why, that’s Habstinens Levison, Hesquire, the richest man in -Australia. Station of his own! Good lor—(‘scuse me, sir, you ain’t long -from ’ome, sir?); why, he’s got _thirty stations_, sir, with more than -a hundred thousand head of cattle, and half a million of sheep! So I’ve -heard tell, leastwise.’ - -Mr. Neuchamp thought it would not be inappropriate if _he_ fainted -after this astounding revelation. He had heard Mr. Frankston tell -a story or two of the wealthy and eccentric Abstinens Levison, and -here he had met him in the flesh, and had been rather proud of his -penetration in summing him up as an overseer on his promotion, who had -saved a few hundred pounds and would be a squatter before he died. - -‘Mr. Levison was here one day, sir,’ continued the landlord, ‘callin’ -hisself Smith, or Jones, or something; he don’t want to be worrited by -charity-agents and such; when the clergyman spotted him and asks him -for something towards the Church of Hengland there—‘andsome building, -ain’t it, sir?—what I call respectable and substantial—he writes him -out a cheque very quiet and crumples it up and gives it ’im; when he -looks at it outside, blest if it warn’t for five hundred pounds!’ - -‘I suppose the reverend gentleman was contented with that,’ said -Ernest, thinking of the stranger’s non-committal remarks as they passed -the same building. - -‘Not he—parsons ain’t never contented, ’specially those as has a turn -for begging for a good object—they say. Next time he passes through, -our reverend thought he’d touch him a bit more. “Mr. Levison,” says -he, “this here beauteous structure as you’ve so magnificently -contributed to, ain’t got no lightning-conductor, and it’s a pity such -a pooty building should be hinjured by the hangry helements,” says he. -“Look here,” says Levison, “I’ve helped you to build the church, and -given my share; if God Almighty chooses to knock it down again, He can -do so, it’s no business of mine any further,” he says.’ - -Ernest thought this very like one of Levison’s reflective, unprejudiced -speeches, and could imagine his saying it without any feeling of -irreverence. Five hundred pounds without a word, unobtrusively, hardly -caring to use his own well-known name for fear of the drawbacks -and disabilities of proverbial wealth. ’A most extraordinary man -truly,’ thought Ernest—‘simple, strong, manifestly of the true hunter -type; a man given to lone journeyings through the wilderness; fond -of preserving his incognito, and of the small, wellnigh incredible -economies which speak to him of his earlier life.’ Now, Mr. Neuchamp -saw the secret of the ultra-respectful bearing of the servants and -landlord of the inn to the owner of a couple of millions of acres, -leasehold, and of more sheep than Esterhazy, and more cattle than a -score of Mexican rancheros. ‘He certainly is a man of unpretentious -demeanour,’ thought Ernest. ’Whoever would have guessed that he was so -tremendous a proprietor! “Don’t you go for to waste your money.” Was -that the way he had made the nucleus of this colossal fortune? and did -the occasional saving of a meal, and the utilising of the edible plants -of the plain and forest dell, go to swell the rills which joined their -streams of profit into the great river of his prosperity?‘ Ernest -Neuchamp all but resolved to give up speculating upon the character -and professions of these provokingly unintelligible colonists, to -believe what he saw—even that, with deduction and reason—and to ’learn -and labour truly to get his own living,’ without constant reference -to the motives and practice of others engaged in the same necessary -pursuit. All this he for the time fully believed that he would in the -future carry out. But his nature, with its passionate proclivities for -intellectual research, continued to whisper of regions of territory -and character yet unexplored, and to beckon the ardent champion of -light and truth forward even yet, though clouds of distrust and -disappointment clustered round his path. - -Mr. Neuchamp decided to stay where he was that evening, and to take a -strictly impartial and prosaic survey of the town and environs. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -The town of Nubba was a fair specimen of Australian settlement that -gradually grows and bourgeons on a favourable spot, where highroads -pass and converge. Here there had been, primarily, a ford of the -occasionally flooded river. The teams, bound from or for the far -interior, camped upon the broad flat made by the semicircular sweep -of the river, and so established it as a stage and a resting-place. -Then a reflective mail-driver built a public-house, doubtful but -inevitable precursor in all colonial communities of civilisation, -even of the organised teaching of Christianity. Then a blacksmith’s -shop, a butcher’s, a baker’s, followed; in due course a second inn, -a pound, appeared; finally a bridge was built; and Nubba represented -an established fact, named, inhabited, and fairly started in the -competitive race with other Anglo-Saxon cities, walled and unwalled. - -Still further progress. Anon it boasted a full-blown municipality, with -a mayor, aldermen, a town clerk, ratepayers, all the ordinary British -machinery for self-government. The streets were aligned, metalled, and -culverted; the approaches to the town cleared and levelled; several -stores, two flour mills, three banks, four churches, ten hotels, -and scores of intermediate edifices, including a massive gaol, all -built of stone, arose. A resident police magistrate reigned, having -jurisdiction over three hundred square miles, assisted by neighbouring -country justices. Strict, not stern, they were a terror to evildoers, -and no particular laxity of legal obligation was permitted the lieges -on account of their distance from the metropolis. Let but so much as a -Chinaman or a blackfellow be slain by chance, medley, or otherwise, or -a calf stolen, at the extreme limit of this far-stretching territory, -and all actors and participators were tried, committed, or discharged, -as the case might be. The costly and august machinery of the law was -put in motion with the same impassive exactitude as if the offenders -resided in Middlesex or Devonshire. - -‘There,’ said Mr. Neuchamp, possessed of these facts, and indeed having -experienced in his own person the unrelaxing grip of the law, ‘is the -precise point of difference between the state of society in English -and other communities. In other lands, notably in America, the vast -distances and what are superficially called the rude circumstances -of early settlement, are permitted to condone infringements upon the -social rights. When these become too flagrant Judge Lynch interferes, -and rude justice, or injustice, is done. In the meantime, right has -often suffered irrevocably at the hands of might. But an Englishman, in -what far land soever under the flag of his country, suffers under no -such policy of expediency. He carries his law with him. He relies for -protection of life and property upon the Queen’s Government, to which -he has for his life long appealed in his hour of need, and never in -vain; and he generally receives justice, whether he be in the heart of -a continent or in a populous and accessible seaport.’ - -Southward of the future city, Mr. Neuchamp observed farms, orchards, -enclosed pasture-lands—all the signs of a thriving agricultural -district,—great stacks of grain and hay, fields of maize, pigs, and -poultry in profusion; while the steam flour mills, whose mechanical -whirr and throb ceased not, night or day, showed that the supply of -the staff of life was large and continuous. Every farm had been but -recently occupied, and yet on all sides fencing, building, girdling -trees, the manifold acts of agriculture combined with pasture, were -proceeding energetically. The land was richer, the timber more dense, -and possibly the climate more temperate and humid than the northerly -division following the downward course of the river exhibited. - -In this direction the metalled road after a couple of miles abruptly -terminated, the way thenceforth continuing by a broad Indian-like -trail, which led towards the fervid north. Few trees were seen after -this immediate vicinity of the town was quitted, and the immense plain -lost itself in a soft and silvery haze which enveloped the far distance -and spread to the horizon. - -‘Well,’ soliloquised Ernest, ’this is perhaps not exactly the place a -half-pay officer would come to or a reduced merchant’s family, anxious -to discover cheap living, good society, efficient teaching, musical -tuition, and an agreeable climate, in perfect combination. But even -they might do worse. The great secret of steady, inevitable prosperity -here is the wonderful cheapness of land combined with its abundance. - -‘What a rush would there be in Buckinghamshire, if “persons about to -marry,” or others, could “take up,” that is merely mark out and occupy, -as much land as they pleased up to a square mile in extent, previously -paying down “five shillings the acre”—save the mark! - -‘And the land is as good here, if you except the choicest meadow farms. -The climate is benign and healthful—say it is hot during the summer, -fewer clothes are wanted; the water is pure and plentiful; firewood -costs nothing. The forest is clear of underwood, and park-like; you do -not need to hew yourself an opening out of an impenetrable wood, as in -Canada. The climate and natural advantages of the land constitute an -income in themselves. When I think of the severely tasked lives, the -scanty, often dismal, outlook of our labouring classes, I am filled -with wonder that they do not emigrate in a body. “To the northward all -is” plain.’ - -Here therefore Mr. Neuchamp observed but faint signs of civilisation. -The pastoral age had returned. Great droves of cattle, vast flocks of -sheep, alone travelled this endless trail. The mail, of course, dusty -and of weather-beaten aspect, occasionally rattled in with sunburned -and desert-worn passengers from the inner deserts. But few stock were -visible on the plain, ’grassy and wild and bare’ within sight of the -town. Still, by all classes, Ernest heard this apparently wild and -trackless region spoken of as a rich pastoral district, equal in -profitable trade to the agricultural division, and indeed perhaps -superior in the average of returns for investment. - -‘I am a great believer in the plough myself,’ he thought, ‘but I -suppose these people know something about their own affairs.’ - -Mr. Neuchamp was beginning to derive practical benefit from his -experiences. This was a great concession for him. - -Next morning, having ascertained his line of route, and that -Garrandilla was about two hundred and fifty miles distant, Ernest -shouldered his knapsack and prepared to finish his little walk. - -‘It’s a lucky thing that there are no Red Indians or wild beasts on -this particular war-path,’ thought he, as he left the town behind him -and was conscious of becoming a speck upon the vast and lonely plain. -‘I feel horribly unprotected. Even an old shepherd might rob me, if -he had a rusty gun. I might as well have carried my revolver, but -the weight was a consideration. How grand this sandy turf is to walk -upon. I feel as if I could walk all day. Not a hill in sight either, -or, apparently, a stone. I can imagine some people thinking the scene -monotonous.’ - -Such a thought would have occurred to many minds; but there was no -likelihood of such a feeling possessing Ernest Neuchamp. To him -the strange salsolaceous plants, so succulent and nutritive, were -of constant interest and admiration. The new flowers of the waste -were freshly springing marvels. The salt lake, strewn with snowy -crystals and with a floor like an untrodden ice-field, was a magical -transformation. The crimson flags of the mesembryanthemum cast on the -sand, the gorgeous desert flower, the strutting bustard, the tiny -scampering kangaroo, were all dramatic novelties. As he strode on, -mile after mile, at a telling elastic pace, he thought that never in -his whole life had he traversed a land so interesting and delightful. -All the day across the unending plains, sometimes intersected by -small watercourses. Towards nightfall, however, this very unrelieved -landscape became questionable. Ernest began to speculate upon the -chance of finding a night’s lodging. Not that there was any great -hardship in sleeping out in the mild autumnal season, but the not -having even a tree to sleep under was a condition of things altogether -unaccustomed, unnatural, and weird in his eyes. - -Just as the sun was sinking behind the far, clear, delicately drawn -sky line, a deep fissure was visible in the plain, at the bottom of -which lay _planté la_, a rough but not uninviting hostelry. There -he succeeded in bestowing himself for the night. He was perhaps -more fatigued than at any previous time. He had been excited by the -prairie-like nature of the landscape, and had covered more ground than -on any day since he started. - -The food was coarse and not well cooked, but hunger and partial fatigue -are unrivalled condiments. Bread, meat, and the wherewithal to quench -thirst are amply sufficient for the real toiler, not overborne, like -the luxurious children of civilisation, by multifarious half-digested -meals. Mr. Neuchamp, therefore, on the following morning, having slept -magnificently and eaten a truly respectable breakfast, surveyed the -endless plain from the back of the ravine with undiminished courage. - -He amused himself by considering what sort of mental existence the -family who kept this wayside caravanserai could possibly lead. ‘They -must feel a good deal like Tartars,’ decided he. ‘Here they are -deposited, as if dropped from the sky upon this featureless waste. They -have no garden, not even a cabbage or a climbing rose; no cows, no -sheep; of course they have half a dozen horses. I saw no books. They -do not take a newspaper. The landlady and her two daughters occupy -themselves in doing the housework, certainly, in a very perfunctory -manner. The man of the house moves in and out of the bar, smokes -continually, and sleeps on the bench in the afternoons. When travellers -come, occupation, profit, society, and information are provided for -the whole household till the next invasion. What are their hopes—what -their social aims? Some day to sell out and live in Nubba, the landlord -informed me. How little of life suffices for the millions who possess -it in this curiously fashioned world of ours!’ - -Mr. Neuchamp took his departure from this uninteresting lodge in -the wilderness, and commenced another day’s travel, not altogether -dissatisfied with the idea that the end of another week would bring his -pilgrimage to a close. - -Mid-day found him still tramping onward over ground so accurately -resembling that he crossed during his previous day’s journey, that if -he had been carried back he could not have detected the difference. A -feeling of great loneliness came over him, and despite the doubtful -success of his chance acquaintanceship, he began to wish for another -travelling companion, of whatever character or condition in life. He -had not shaped this desire definitely for many minutes before, as if -the attendant friend was watchful, a man debouched from a shallow -watercourse, and walked towards him. - -The new-comer carried, like himself, a species of pack strapped to his -shoulders, but it was rolled up after the country fashion, in a form -commonly known as a ‘swag,’ containing apparently a pair of blankets -and a few articles of necessity. - -Ernest saw in the traveller a good-looking, powerful young man, -patently of the ordinary type of bush natives of the lower rank—a -stockman, station hand, horsebreaker or what not. Then his expression -of countenance was determined, almost stern. When Ernest accosted -him, and asked him if he were travelling ‘down the river,’ like -himself, his features relaxed and his soft low voice, a very general -characteristic of Australian youth, sounded respectful and friendly in -answer. - -He was therefore considerably astonished when the young man promptly -produced a revolver, and presenting it full at Mr. Neuchamp’s person, -called upon him in an altered voice, rounded off with a ruffianly oath, -to give up his watch and money. - -The watch was easily seen, as part of the chain was visible, but much -marvelled Ernest Neuchamp that the robber, or any other man, should -know that he had money with him. It was indeed a chance shot. The young -marauder, having judged him to be a gentleman not long in the country, -who was fool enough to travel on foot when he had plenty of money to -buy a good hack, also decided that he must have a five-pound note or -two wherewith to negotiate in time of need. - -Ernest Neuchamp was brave. The action of his heart was unaltered. His -pulse quickened not as he stood before an armed and lawless man. He -did not, of course, particularly care to lose a valuable family gold -watch, or ten pounds sterling. But far more deeply than by personal -loss or danger was he impressed by the melancholy fact that here was -a fine intelligent young fellow, physically speaking, one of the -grandest specimens of Caucasian type anywhere procurable, dooming -himself, merely by this silly act, with, perhaps, another, to long -years of lonely, degrading, maddening prison life. He did not look like -a hardened criminal. It may be that a single act of sullen despair, -derived from others’ guilt, had driven him to this course, which, once -entered upon, held no retreat. - -There were few cooler men than Ernest. He became so entirely possessed -with a new idea, that circumjacent circumstances, however material to -him personally, rarely affected him. - -‘My good fellow,’ he commenced, sitting down deliberately, ‘of course -you can have my watch and a tenner, that I happen to have about me. I -don’t say you are welcome to them, either. But what principally strikes -me is, that you are an awful fool to exchange your liberty, your youth, -your good name, your very life, for trifles like these. Did this ever -occur to you?’ asked Ernest with much gravity, handing out the watch -and one five-pound note, and feeling anxiously for the other, as if he -hoped he hadn’t lost it. ‘Why, hang it all, man, you put me in mind -of a savage, who sells himself for a few glass beads, a tomahawk, and -a Brummagem gun. Surely you _can’t_ have considered this view of the -subject, so deeply important to you?’ - -‘It’s devilish important to you too,’ said the bushranger grimly, -though he looked uneasy. ‘You’re a rum cove to go talking and preaching -to a chap with a revolver at your head.’ - -‘I don’t suppose that you would shoot a man in cold blood for giving -you good advice! A watch and a few pounds are no great loss to me, -but the taking of them means death and destruction to _you_—a living -death, worse a hundredfold than if you were lying there with a bullet -through your heart. That’s what I really feel at this moment. You are -taking _your own life with your own hand_! Think, do think, like a good -fellow, before it is too late!’ - -‘That you may go straight back to the Nubba police station as soon as I -slope,’ said the robber. ‘I could stop that, you know.’ - -‘I never intended it—not that your threat prevents me. But once entered -on the trade of bushranger, I am not the only man you will rob. Others, -of course, will inform, and in a week your description—age, height, -hair, scar on the forehead and all—will be at every police station in -the four colonies. You may have a month’s run, or two, and then you -are——’ - -‘Shot like a dog, or walled up for life, and driven about like brutes -that are called men.’ - -‘Perfectly right. I am glad you agree with my view,’ said Ernest -eagerly; ‘then _why_ don’t you retreat while you have time, and the -chance is open? Look at this blue sky; think of a good horse between -your legs on this broad plain, of a day’s shooting, of waking full of -life and vigour and going cheerfully to work on your own farm. Such a -deuced good-looking, upstanding fellow as you are—what devil put it -into your head to give every enemy you have in the world such a chance -to laugh at you?’ - -‘Perhaps the devil did. Anyhow, I have been hunted about and falsely -accused by the police, about horses and cattle that I never saw a head -of; so I turned out.’ - -‘Just to put them thoroughly in the right,’ said Ernest. ‘They will -thank you for that, and say they always knew it from the first. For -God’s sake, if you have a grain of sense in your composition, if you -have the least wish to live a man’s life and stand erect like a man -before your fellows, for the sake of the mother that bore you’ (here -the robber ground his teeth), ‘give up this stupid, stale trick of -highway robbery, and you will cheat Old Nick yet.’ - -‘Well, I begin to think I _was_ an infernal fool to turn out. It seems -a trifle now to be vexed at, but what can I do? I’ve gone too far to -turn back.’ - -‘Have you attempted to stop any one but me?’ asked Ernest. - -‘No! I was waiting for the coach, which ought to have been here by this -time, when I met you. Ha! there it comes.’ - -‘Take your resolution now,’ said Ernest solemnly, springing to his feet -and standing before him. ‘Your fate for life or death is in your own -hand: the life of a hunted, half-starved wolf, with perhaps a dog’s -death, on one side; life, health, youth, liberty, perhaps a happy home, -on the other. Are you mad, that you hesitate? or does God suffer the -enemy to deceive and destroy in the dark hour a lost soul?’ - -As Ernest spoke, he fixed his clear blue eyes upon the face of the -robber, now working as if torn by strong emotion. - -Suddenly the latter strode a pace forward, and casting the revolver -away as far as he could throw it in the dull green grass, said, ‘Damn -the —— squirt! I wish I had never seen it. Here’s your two fives, -sir, and my best thanks, for I ain’t much of a talker, but I feel it. -Good-bye.’ - -‘Stop!’ cried Ernest, ‘where are you going, and what do you intend to -do, and have you any money?’ - -‘I don’t know. I haven’t a copper; it was being chaffed about that by -a girl I was fond of that made me think of this. I suppose I’ll drop -across work before long. God knows! it’s never hard to get in the bush.’ - -‘The deeper shame on him who takes to evil courses in such a country,’ -said Ernest; ‘but I don’t intend to preach to you. You have acted like -a man, and I will stand to you as far as I can. I can perhaps get you -work on a station I am bound for. So come along with me, and we shall -be fellow-travellers after all.’ - -The coach passed just then, filled with passengers, who looked with -idle curiosity at the wayfarers. - -‘Those chaps would have had a different look in their eyes about this -time, only for you,’ said the ex-brigand grimly. ‘A little thing makes -all the difference. I might have shed blood or got hit before this. -However, all that’s past and gone, I hope. I can work, as you’ll see, -and I’ll keep square for the future if I haven’t a shirt to my back.’ - -The armistice completed, the two curiously-met comrades recommenced -their march. When Mr. Neuchamp, once more in possession of his -timekeeper and cash, had sufficient leisure to return to his usual -observing habit, he could not but be struck with the fine form and -splendid proportions of Mr. ‘First robber,’ who went singing and -whistling along the road with an elastic step, as if care and he had -parted company for ever and a day. He was a brown-haired, bright-eyed, -good-natured-looking fellow of five or six and twenty. His natural -expression seemed to be that of mischievous, unrestrained fun, though -the lower part of his face in moments of gravity showed firmness and -even obstinacy of purpose. He stood nearly six feet in height, with the -build of an athletic man of five feet eight. His broad shoulders, deep -chest, and muscular arms showed to considerable advantage in contrast -with his light, pliant, and unusually active lower limbs. - -‘A dangerous outlaw,’ thought Mr. Neuchamp; ’roused by resistance, -whetted with the taste of blood, and desperate from a foreknowledge of -heavy punishment, he would have ended his life on the scaffold, with -perhaps on his head the blood of better men; and it looks as if I, -Ernest Neuchamp, have this day been the instrument of turning this -man’s destiny, at the point of amendment or ruin. “So mote it be.”’ - -The day was spent, and Mr. Neuchamp had begun to entertain transient -thoughts of moderate roadside comforts and the like, when his companion -stopped and pointed to a cloud of dust almost at right angles to the -road. - -‘Travelling sheep,’ he said, ‘and coming this way—a big lot, too.’ - -‘Are they?’ inquired Mr. Neuchamp. ‘What are they doing out there?’ - -‘Travelling for grass, most likely; or for sale. Perhaps short of feed -or water, or both; they’re “out on the wallaby” until the rain comes.’ - -‘What is the meaning of “out on the wallaby”?‘ asked Ernest. - -‘Well, it’s bush slang, sir, for men just as you or I might be now, -looking for work or something to eat; if we can’t get work, living on -the country, till things turn round a little.’ - -‘Oh! that’s it—well, don’t be afraid, things are sure to turn round a -little, if we wait long enough. Who’s this, coming galloping at such a -rate?’ - -‘Looks like the overseer. He’s coming to see if there’s any water in -the creek. They’ll camp here most likely. He’s in a hurry.’ - -The individual thus criticised was a stout man, past middle age, who -bore himself with an air of great responsibility and anxiety. - -‘Hallo!’ he said, pointing to the creek, ‘is there any water there?’ - -‘Lots,’ said the pene-felonious traveller—‘good place to camp.’ - -‘How do you know?’ cautiously inquired the overseer. - -‘Because I’ve been this road often, and know every water-hole and -camping-place and feeding-ground from this to Wentworth.’ - -‘All right, you’re the very man I want; that is, I want two men for -one of the flocks. I’ve just sacked a couple of idle rascals, and run -short—will you and your mate come?’ - -‘He’s not used to droving work,’ pleaded the experienced one, doubtful -of Ernest’s wish for occupation of that sort. - -‘Oh, never mind; any fool can drive travelling sheep; you’re sharp -enough, at any rate. I’ll give you five-and-twenty shillings a week -each. You can join when they come into camp. What do you say?’ - -‘Very well,’ said Ernest, ‘I will engage for a month—not longer, as I -have to go to a station called Garrandilla then.’ - -‘All right,’ said the overseer, ‘we pass it; it will be something to -get hands so far;’ and away the man of many troubles galloped. - -‘What do you say now? Here we are provided with easy, honest, and -well-paid employment for as long as we please, with high wages, -unlimited food, and sleeping accommodation. I shall rather take them in -at Garrandilla.’ - -The army of sheep—about thirty thousand, in fifteen flocks—at length -reached the valley before dark, and the overseer, pointing to a flock -of two thousand more or less, said, ‘There’s your mob—if either of you -want to go, you must give me a week’s notice. If I sack either of you, -I shall pay him one week in advance.’ - -As the sheep approached, feeding in a leisurely manner, and gradually -converging towards the flat, the two men walked towards the leading -flock. - -‘Hallo!’ said the ex-brigand to one of the shepherds, ‘are you the two -chaps that the cove has sacked, because we are to take your flock?’ - -‘All right—you’re welcome, mates, to my share,’ said an elderly -colonist; ‘that super’s a growlin’, ignorant beggar as runs a feller -from daylight to dark for nothing at all. If all the other men was of -my mind we’d leave him to drive his —— sheep himself.’ - -‘That’s the talk!’ said the highwayman cautiously, ‘but we’re hard -up, and that makes the difference; we go on till we pick up something -better. What will you take for that dog of yours? I suppose he can hunt -’em along.’ - -‘Best dog from here to Bourke. I’ll take two pounds for him.’ - -‘No you won’t. I’ll chance a note for him, and that’s about our last -shilling, isn’t it?’ added he, looking at Ernest. - -‘Well, the dog’s worth a couple of notes, young feller,’ said the -shepherd reflectively, ‘but as you’re a-goin’ to take the sheep, and -down on your luck, why, you can have him.’ - -Ernest nodded assent as purse-bearer. - -‘Will you give us chain and collar in the camp to-night? I’ll pay -you there,’ said the negotiator. ‘I suppose you won’t clear out till -to-morrow?’ - -‘No fear—it’s a good way to Nubba, and Bill and I are going back to the -timber country; we’ve had enough of these blasted plains, ha’n’t we, -Bill? Enough to burn a blessed man’s blessed eyes out. Five-and-twenty -bob a week don’t pay a cove for that. I mean to stick to the green -grass country for a spell now.’ - -At nightfall the fifteen flocks of sheep were all brought in, and -‘boxed,’ or mixed together, to Ernest’s astonishment. ‘How in the world -do they ever get them into the same flocks again?’ he asked. - -‘They don’t try,’ it was explained. ‘They just cut them up into fifteen -equal lots in the morning, as near as they can, a hundred or two more -or less makes no great difference, and away they go along the road -stealing as much grass as the squatters are soft enough to let them.’ - -‘And will they stay quietly here all night?’ - -‘Safe as houses. Sheep ain’t like cattle; they don’t like skirmishing -about in the dark. So after tea a man can light his pipe, roll his -blanket round him, and make believe to watch till daylight. It’s a very -off chance if e’er a sheep stirs any more than himself.’ - -‘It doesn’t seem a hard life,’ said Ernest, as they sat on a log and -ate chops fried in a pan, using a large flat piece of damper partly -as plate, partly as _entrée_, while the pint of quart-pot tea tasted -better and was more refreshing than the highest priced Souchong in the -daintiest china. - -‘Well, it’s a long way from hard work, but six months of it at a time, -as I’ve had now and then, makes you feel you’ve had enough for a while; -besides, it’s Sunday and workday; not an hour’s change week in, week -out.’ - -‘I daresay that makes a difference,’ admitted Ernest, ‘but I wonder -what a Buckinghamshire field labourer would think if he were suddenly -offered twenty-five shillings a week, with all the bread and mutton he -could eat, and a small bag of tea.’ - -‘And half rations for the dawg,’ put in the Australian, throwing their -new purchase about half a pound of mutton. - -‘By the way,’ said Ernest, ‘what is his name? and yours too, for I -don’t know yet? I suppose he will be very useful. I’m glad you bought -him.’ - -‘My name’s Jack Windsor; his name’s Watch; he’s that useful that three -men with two pairs of legs each couldn’t do the work that he’ll do for -us with these crawling sheep. He’s a cheap pound’s worth, and that -you’ll find before we go far.’ - -When the evening meal was finished Mr. Neuchamp and his henchman went -over to one of four fires which had been lighted at opposite sides of -the woolly multitude. Jack Windsor lighted his pipe and lay down upon -his blanket, where he smoked luxuriously and dozed by turns. Ernest -reclined in the same fashion, and after a short struggle with his very -natural drowsiness fell fast asleep. - -At daylight next morning Mr. Neuchamp awoke without it being necessary -for any one to call him. The bosom of great mother Hertha was harder -than any resting-place which he had hitherto tried; but youth and an -adventurous disposition being on his side, he found when dressed that -the mental thermometer registered an altitude fully above the average. -The sheep were still lying down and appeared by no means to be anxious -to crop the dewy grass, or whatever somewhat wiry and infrequent -herbage did duty for that traditional description. - -‘Yonder’s the cook’s fire,’ explained Mr. Windsor, pointing to a rising -smoke; ‘we’d better get our breakfast to begin with.’ - -Round a blazing fire, the warmth of which, in the sharp autumn morning, -was decidedly pleasant, were grouped thirty or forty men engaged in -talking, warming themselves, and in a leisurely way partaking of -a substantial breakfast. From a pyramid of chops, replenished from -an immense frying-pan, with a handle like a marlin-spike, each man -abstracted whatever he chose. Wedges of damper (or bread baked in hot -ashes) were cut from time to time from great circular flat loaves of -that palatable and wholesome but somewhat compressed-looking bread, -while gallons of hot tea were procurable from buckets full of the -universal bush beverage. - -The overseer and some of the horse drivers were absent, as the hacks -and cart-horses had wandered during the night rather farther than -usual. Ernest and his companion applied themselves to the serious -business of the hour, the former conscious that he was being subjected -to a searching inspection from his fellow-employees. His rough tweed -suit was sufficiently different from the blue serge shirts and -peajackets of the others to mark his different social position, had -not his hands, fresh complexion, and general appearance denoted him to -be a ‘new arrival,’ and more or less a swell. Swells out of luck are -unfortunately by no means rare as ordinary bush hands in Australia, -and such a phenomenon would not ordinarily have excited curiosity or -hostile criticism. Still a little rough jesting is not to be avoided -sometimes when an obviously raw comrade joins a bush brigade. - -It was natural enough then that a tall, dissipated-looking fellow with -a whiskerless face and long hair, a leader and wit of the community, -should step forward and address Mr. Neuchamp. - -‘Well, Johnny, and what do you think of travelling with store sheep in -this blessed country? You didn’t do none o’ that in the blessed old -country as you’ve just come from, did ye now?’ - -‘My name is not Johnny,’ replied Ernest, arresting mastication and -looking calmly at his interlocutor. ‘As for driving sheep, it would be -pleasant enough if people didn’t ask impudent questions.’ - -There was a shout of laughter from the crowd at this retort, which was -held to have rather turned the tables upon the provincial humorist. - -‘Come, come, Johnny! don’t cut up rusty,’ he continued; ‘you may as -well tell us what sort of work you bolted from to turn knock-about-man; -counter-jumping, or something in the figs line, by the look of your -’ands, eh?’ - -Mr. Neuchamp had a reasonably good temper, but he had not as yet been -accustomed to aught but extreme civility from the lower classes. He had -not slipped on too recently the skin of a knock-about-man to realise -how it felt to be chaffed as an equal by a fellow-servant. - -‘You’re an insolent scoundrel,’ said he, dashing down the remainder of -his breakfast, ‘whom I will soon teach to mind his own business. Put up -your hands.’ - -Ernest, though not above the middle size, was strongly knit, and had -received the ordinary fisti-culture which enables the average English -gentleman to hold his own so creditably against all comers. He was -a hard hitter when roused, and doubtless would have come out of the -encounter with honour. But his antagonist was three inches taller, -longer in the reach, a couple of stones heavier, and being in top -wind and condition after six months’ road-work, and withal a sort of -second-rate bruiser, might have inconvenienced and would certainly have -marked Mr. Neuchamp in any case. - -Just as his late tormentor had lounged forward into a careless guard -and an insolent oath, Ernest felt himself quickly but firmly pushed -aside, while Jack Windsor stood like a lion in the path. - -‘Take it out of me, ye cursed infernal bully; what the devil is it to -you if a gentleman likes to have his colonial experience this way? -You’re a deal too fond of showin’ off and taking the change out of -men that isn’t your match. Now you’ve dropped in for it lucky. Mind -yourself.’ - -The crowd closed in with great though unspoken delight at this prospect -of a real good fight. They intended to interfere directly the new chum, -as they called him, and ’Bouncing Bob’ had had the first flutter. -But here was a ‘dark horse,’ evidently good for a close heat. What a -glorious relief from the monotony of their daily dodging along the road -with stubborn and impoverished sheep! - -‘Bouncing Bob,’ though a smart fellow enough with his hands, liked -a small allowance of weight, science, or pluck; he was better at a -winning than an uphill fight. He now distinctly felt that the chances -in the contest would be likely to be the other way. - -Mr. John Windsor did not leave him long in doubt. Quick as lightning -his left was in, and though by a rapid counter Bob managed to score -a smack that counted for first blood, it was apparent that he was no -match for the stranger, who was at once stronger, more active, and more -scientific. - -A couple of inches shorter, Jack Windsor was the heavier man. Bob’s -activity gave him the chance of escape from two falls, one of which -nearly finished the fray; but he failed to come so well away from a -right-handed feint, which occasioned his catching finally a terrific -left-hander, sending him down so decisively that he saw no particular -use in coming to time. - -‘I suppose I may as well give you best,’ he said, rising with some -difficulty and showing an apparently fatally ensanguined countenance; -‘I didn’t begin except for a bit of chaff. It’s making a darned fuss -about a —— new chum.’ - -With this Parthian shaft he departed, to be in readiness for the flock -when cut off; while Jack Windsor amused himself whistling softly. -Before he replaced his shirt he said, ‘Now, look here, boys; we don’t -want to interfere with anybody, but this gentleman here is my master -for the time, and any one who wants to take the change out of him will -have to come to me first.’ - -‘All right,’ said one of the crowd; ‘it won’t do Bouncing Bob any harm -to get a floorer or two, he’s only being paid for many a dab he’s given -himself.’ - -Just at this moment a great clatter of bells was heard, and the -overseer rode in at a gallop on a barebacked steed, with all the camp -horses before him. - -‘Now, look alive, men, and get your sheep out. Don’t be sticking in -this camp all day. Hallo! What’s the row about?’ - -‘Nothing much, sir,’ returned Windsor respectfully; ‘me and that long -chap they call Bob had a bit of an argument; he began it, and he’s got -a black eye or two. I don’t suppose there’ll be any more of it.’ - -‘Well, take care there is not, or I shall have to sack the pair of you. -Quite enough to do without fighting now. Get away with your sheep, like -good fellows. The carts can follow.’ - -A section of about the required number having been made at the time -by a line of men getting behind the leading sheep and driving them -forcibly forward, at the same time preventing them (if possible) from -running back to the still larger lot, Jack signed to Mr. Neuchamp, and -putting the dog Watch at their heels, who aided them vociferously, they -found themselves in possession of eighteen or nineteen hundred sheep, -which they drove for some distance at right angles to the road. - -‘Now what we’ve got to do, sir,’ said Jack, ‘is to keep quietly behind -these sheep all day. We must not go more than half a mile away from the -road, or we’ll be ‘pounded. We can’t follow the flock in front very -close or let the one behind get too near us, or we shall get boxed.’ - -‘What do you mean by boxed?’ demanded Ernest. - -‘Well, mixed up. You see, sir, sheep’s very fond of keeping all -together. It’s their nature. If they get any way close they begin to -run, the front to the back and the back to the front, and all the men -and dogs in the world wouldn’t keep ’em apart.’ - -‘And what harm would that be?’ - -‘Well, we should have four thousand sheep to manage instead of two, and -they wouldn’t drive so well or feed so well, and as these sheep are as -poor as crows already, that wouldn’t suit.’ - -‘I see,’ replied Ernest. ‘I think I understand the principle of the -thing.’ - -‘All right, sir,’ assented Jack. ‘Now, we’ve got the day before us, and -nothing to think about till dinner-time but the sheep. Did you bring -any grub with you?’ - -‘Not I—don’t we stop?’ - -‘Not a stop till sundown. You see, sir, the days are short now, and -it’s more fair and straightforward like to the sheep to let ’em go -nibbling and feeding all day, just keeping their right distance from -one another, till camping time, then they draw in together, and they -can camp till further orders.’ - -To keep slowly walking up and down, back and forward, behind a flock -of sheep, from 7 or 8 A.M. till 5 P.M., the rate of speed and progress -being considerably under a mile an hour, did not seem likely to turn -out a cheerful occupation for three weeks. Mr. Neuchamp’s heart sank -under the contemplation for a moment. But after all he considered -that he was doing a good deed in the conversion of a weak brother -(morally) from a criminal career to honesty and a good reputation. -This was a result which would have overpaid him for considerably more -inconvenience than he was liable to suffer now. Besides, he was picking -up colonial experience practically with greater speed and thoroughness -than he was likely to do at any station; therefore he stifled all -unworthy feelings of impatience, and trudged steadily behind his sheep, -at the opposite side from Windsor, as if he had been born and bred for -the task, like the dog Watch. - -That sagacious animal excited his astonishment and respectful -admiration. The livelong day he kept trotting backward and forward -behind the flock, always keeping at a certain distance, and merely -intimidating the lingerers and weakly ones without harshness or -violence. If a sufficiently lively crawl was not pursued, he -occasionally, by a gentle make-believe bite, gave a hint as to what he -could do if necessary. His half-human instinct had plainly convinced -him that loudness of bark and general assertion were amply sufficient -in the woolly as in the human world to produce the most gratifying -submission and acknowledgment of superiority. - -About noon the fresh air, the continuous though not violent exercise -and healthy appetite of youth, combined to produce a feeling of deep -regret that he had not been more provident about lunch. However, Mr. -Jack Windsor, drawing over, produced a large parcel containing corned -mutton and bread enough for an English labourer’s family for a week. - -‘I thought, sir, as you’d like a snack, so I muzzled enough grub for -two; I’ve got some cold tea in the billy.’ - -Ernest noticed that his retainer had commenced to carry a small camp -kettle containing probably two quarts, which he nothing doubted -held water. This repast was now complete. The friends munched away -at the very substantial luncheon as they strolled along behind the -ever-nibbling sheep, and after giving Watch a very ample supply, washed -it down with nectar in the shape of cold tea. - -‘Well,’ quoth Mr. Neuchamp, with a deep sigh of contentment, ’how -comparative are all things! I never remember to have enjoyed a mid-day -meal more in my life. This fresh day air must be a wonderful tonic; -or is it the early rising and Arcadian simplicity of life? I believe -that they insist upon a lot of virtuous behaviour at a cold-water -establishment such as the people would never stand in their ordinary -lives. But because it’s an “establishment” they let the doctor bully -them to bed at nine, get up at six, eat early dinners of mutton chops -and rice puddings (how I laughed at a guardsman’s face at Ben Rhydding -once when the bell rang at 1 P.M. and he was marshalled to such a -repast), and unexpectedly find themselves placed in possession of an -appetite and health again. - -‘It’s something of the same sort of thing here. If I had gone a trip -with a drover from Tillyfour to London with West Highland cattle, I -daresay I should have doubled my appetite and general vitality. There, -however, it is not “the thing” to do. Here it is not the best form -apparently—but you may carry it off without any accusation of insanity. -One thing is certain, I shall never respect good cooking so much -again. The cook to cultivate is _yourself_ unquestionably. Guard your -appetite, keep it in a state of nature, and the rudest materials, if -wholesome, provide us with a daily feast, and a measure of enjoyment -of which over-civilised, latter-day men are wholly ignorant and -incapable.’ - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -The days, after all, passed not so funereally by. The weather was -utterly lovely. The wide plain was fanned by delicious wandering -breezes. Mr. Neuchamp had ample time for philosophical contemplation, -as long as he ‘kept up his side’ of the flock. If he became temporarily -abstracted while musing upon the fact that the ancients travelled their -stock for change of feed, probably doing a little grass stealing, when -the season was dry— - - ‘Pecusve Calabris ante sidus fervidum - Lucana mutet pascua’— - -the dog, Watch, would be sent round by his alert comrade to sweep -in the spreading outsiders and warn him of his laches. Just before -sundown one day the flocks were converging towards a line of timber -suspiciously like a creek. The overseer rode up. He looked with -approval upon the well-filled flock, now quietly feeding, and thus -addressed Ernest— - -‘Well, youngster, and how do you like shepherding?’ - -‘Pretty well,’ he answered; ‘it’s better than I expected.’ - -‘You and your mate seem to get on very well; the sheep look -first-rate.’ - -‘Glad you think so. My mate is a person of experience, so is the -dog. It isn’t hard to drive a flock of sheep, I find, with two good -assistants.’ - -‘Well, I don’t suppose you’d have made much hand of them by yourself. -However, a man’s a man when you’re travelling with sheep on a road like -this. Don’t you listen to those other vagabonds, and you’ll make a -smart chap by and by.’ - -‘Thank you,’ said Ernest; ‘I’ll try and keep as innocent as I can under -the circumstances.’ - -The overseer rode off, puzzled as to whether the new hand was laughing -at him or was ‘a shingle short.’ Slightly damaged people, whether from -drink, disappointment, a lonely life, or the heat of the climate, were, -unfortunately, not particularly scarce in the locality. - -‘Whatever he is, he and that rowdy-looking card can keep their sheep -and feed them first-rate,’ he said to himself, ‘and that’s all I’ve got -to look out for. Perhaps the young one’s going jackerooing at Jedwood; -if so, he has more sense than he looks to have.’ The month wore on with -dreaminess and peace, so that Mr. Neuchamp began to think he would -not be so unreasonably delighted to get to Garrandilla. Each day, -soon after sunrise, they moved from camp at a pace extremely suitable -to the thick coming fancies which filled the mind of Ernest Neuchamp -during the first hours of the untarnished day. There was the glorious -undisturbed sun, with autumnal tempered beams. On such endless plains -Chaldean and Israelitish shepherds, in the world’s youth, had travelled -or held vigil. No vast awe-striking ruins lay on these great solitudes. -No temple eloquent of the elder races of the earth. But the stars -burned by night in the all-cloudless dark blue dome as they sat in -nominal watch, and Ernest mused of the silent kings of this mysterious -human life, changeless destiny, till the morning star seemed to -approach his solitary couch, as did that lonely orb which held converse -with Morven, the son of Ossian. - -In the daily round of guiding and pasturing he learned much of the -complex nature of the under-rated intelligence of the sheep. His -companion, Mr. Jack Windsor, had cultivated a habit of observation, -and knew, as gradually appeared, something, not always a little, of -everything rural. - -‘Rum things sheep, sir,’ he would remark, as he commanded Watch to -abstain from troubling and signalled Mr. Neuchamp to come on to his -side; ‘I always see a deal of likeness to the women about ’em. If they -don’t want to do a thing you can’t drive ’em to it. No, not all the men -and dogs in the country. If you want ’em to do anything particular, -pretend you don’t wish ’em to do nothin’ of the sort. Give ‘em lots of -fair play, that’s another good rule, same as women. When it comes to -anything out-and-out serious, act determined, and let them have it, -right down heeling, and all the fight you’re master of.’ - -As it was from time to time pointed out, when principles and -admonitions came into play, Ernest was enabled to comprehend the many -ways in which stock can be benefited when travelling by discreet and -careful feeding, halting, watering, and humouring. So that he actually -possessed himself of an amount of practical knowledge with which a -year’s ordinary station life might not have provided him. As for the -rest of the men, his easy, unassuming equality of manner had rendered -him personally a favourite with them. They held that a fair fight -settled everything, without appeal, and having come to the conclusion -that Mr. Neuchamp was a swell, presumably with money, travelling with -sheep for his amusement—incomprehensible as was that idea to them—they -felt that he was in a kind of way Jack Windsor’s property, who was -likely to be pecuniarily benefited during the stage of Mr. Neuchamp’s -softness and inexperience. Hence he was in his right to do battle for -him. They would have done the same had they similar golden hopes. And -now the matter being over, and ‘Bouncing Bob’ relegated to a ‘back -seat’ as wit and occasional bully of the camp, they held, after the -English fashion, that the discussion could not be reopened. So all was -peace and harmony. - -One day, as they were sleepily voyaging over the grass ocean, Jack -Windsor, who had gone out of his way to look at a man leading a -horse, returned with exciting news. The horse aforesaid was young, -and in his opinion a great beauty—‘a regular out-and-outer,’ was the -expression—and, by great chance, for sale. ‘Would Mr. Neuchamp like to -buy him? If he wanted a horse at Garrandilla, he could not do a better -thing.’ - -‘When you get there, sir, of course you’ll want a hack. There’ll be no -more walking, I’ll be bound. You’ll have messages to carry, boundary -riding to do, cattle-driving, getting in the horses—all sorts of fast -work. Well, either they’ll give you a stiff-legged old screw, that’ll -fall down and break your neck some day, or a green half-broken young -one that’ll half kill you another road. I know the sort of horses the -young gentlemen get at a station where a man like Mr. Jedwood’s the -boss.’ - -‘Very well, what does he want for the colt? Is he a very good one?’ - -‘I haven’t seen his equal for years; don’t know as I ever saw a better. -Why he’s fool enough to sell him I can’t tell. But it’s all square. I -know the man, and where his run is; you’d better go over and see him.’ - -‘So I will; but how can he be kept or broken in?’ - -‘I’ll break him; I can rough-ride a bit, and will put him among the -other horses and short-hobble him.’ - -Accordingly Ernest went over and saw a noble, good-tempered-looking -dark gray colt. He had a large full eye, black mane, legs, and tail, -with a shoulder noticeable even amid the rounded proportions of -colthood. - -‘So this young horse is for sale?’ he said inquiringly of a middle-aged -stout man, like enough to be a brother to their own overseer. - -‘Yes!’ said the man, pulling at the halter, which had galled the colt’s -under jaw. ‘I started to take him down to the lower station, and he’s -such a brute to lead that he has nearly pulled me off more than once. I -won’t lead him a step farther if we can deal.’ - -‘What will you take for him?’ asked Ernest. - -‘Well,’ said the stranger, ‘I believe he’s a real good ‘un, though he’s -never been backed yet. I don’t know or care much about horses myself; -they’re useless brutes, and eat more grass than they are worth. I’ll -take ten pounds for him.’ - -‘Very well,’ said Ernest, ‘he’s mine at that price, and I will send a -man over with the money, if you will deliver the horse to him.’ - -Jack Windsor was overjoyed to hear that the colt was actually bought. - -‘I can break him easy enough,’ he said, with all the eagerness of a -schoolboy. ‘He is half handled now, and it will be easy for me to back -him.’ - -‘But how shall we keep him till we get to Garrandilla?’ - -‘Oh! I’ll square it with the chap that looks after the spare horses; -there’s a mare with them as he’ll likely take to. He can’t get away far -in hobbles anyhow.’ - -So Jack being sent off with the whole of Mr. Neuchamp’s remaining -capital, in half an hour returned with the colt at the end of a long -halter, and a properly witnessed receipt from John Williams of Boro, -which he handed to Ernest. - -‘I made him draw out a receipt, all regular, and get the nearest man -I could cooey to, to sign it. There’s no knowing but somebody might -claim the colt without this—say you’d worked him on the cross. There’s -nothing like being safe with a good horse like this.’ - -Mr. Neuchamp was pleased with his purchase, which he immediately -christened ‘Osmund,’ after an old hunter with a favourite family name -at Neuchampstead. - -‘I’ll do nothing but handle him to-day,’ said Windsor; ‘to-morrow I’ll -get a spare saddle and bridle, and will tackle him.’ - -‘Good gracious!’ said Ernest, ‘is that the way you break horses in this -country? Have you no cavesson, or breaking-bit, or web surcingle?’ - -‘All them’s very well when you’ve got ’em,’ said Mr. Windsor; ‘but they -don’t have saddlers’ shops on the plains, and if a man can ride he can -do without ‘em, and do justice to his horse too.’ - -So next day Jack procured an old bridle and saddle, the bit belonging -to which he carefully wrapped round with rag, thinly increasing its -bulk and rendering it fit for ‘mouthing’ or slightly bruising, _without -cutting_, the corners of the lips of a young horse. This and the -saddle, by means of patience and persuasion, he managed to get fairly -placed and buckled upon Osmund, who objected a little, but finally -marched along not very much alarmed by his novel accoutrements. All -this time the sheep-driving was efficiently conducted by Mr. Neuchamp -and the dog Watch, who amply justified the anticipations indulged in by -Mr. Windsor at the time of his purchase. - -In about another week they expected to arrive at Garrandilla, when -the curtain would rise on the first act of the drama of Colonial -Experience, with Mr. E. Neuchamp in the _rôle_ of first gentleman. - -Two or three days only had passed when Jack Windsor announced to Mr. -Neuchamp that the colt was quite quiet enough to back, and that he -would perform the ceremony that very morning, as soon as the sheep were -steadied to their first feed. - -‘Back him, now!’ exclaimed Ernest in tones of horror, ‘why, he cannot -be nearly mouthed.’ - -‘Oh yes, he is,’ assented Mr. Windsor, playfully pressing against -the bit and causing Osmund to retrograde; ‘he’s got mouth enough for -anything, and between leading and hobbling he’s steady enough to make -a wheeler in a coach. When I have finished you won’t find fault with -him for not being steady, I’ll be bound. Just you stand close to his -shoulder, and hold him while I get up.’ - -Ernest, though much mistrusting the preliminary instruction of a -week’s leading, and the simple addition of a bridle and saddle as -being sufficient to take the place of all the two months’ lunging, -belting, cavessoning, driving, dressing, which had been the invariable -curriculum of the colts at Neuchampstead, deferred to his follower’s -opinion. - -‘I don’t think he’s got any bucking in him,’ he said; ‘he carries his -head too high for that, and his mouth’s that tight, I could pull him -on to his tail if he tried any tricks. He’s a bit frightened, and when -he’s got over that he’ll go like an old horse.’ - -‘I should say that buckjumping was produced in this country by bad -breaking,’ said Mr. Neuchamp oracularly. ‘It all depends upon how a -horse is treated.’ - -‘Don’t you believe it, sir. Bucking is like other vices. Runs in the -blood. I’ve seen horses that had twice and three times the time taken -over ’em that this colt has, and by good grooms too, in good stables, -and they’d buck, and buck too till they’d half kill themselves, or you. -And as for a stranger, they’d eat him.’ - -‘And how do you account for that?’ asked Mr. Neuchamp. ‘Why should one -horse be free from that particular vice, and another with the same -amount, or even more handling, be unmanageable from it?’ - -‘Why do boys at the same school turn out different? It depends upon the -families they come off. So it is with the horses. One strain will be -reg’lar cannibals, no matter how steady you are with ’em; the others -you can catch and ride away, and they’ll be as quiet as lambs, and yet -game all the time, as I believe this one of ours is.’ - -As he spoke he touched the colt’s side, and he moved off after the -sheep in a steady and confident manner, more like an old horse than a -young one. He occasionally stopped and sidled, or indulged in a playful -plunge or kick. Of course these little irregularities were only amusing -to Mr. Windsor, who was in truth a matchless rough-rider, and wellnigh -impossible to be thrown by horses of good family or bad. By the end of -the day Osmund was apparently as quiet as a trooper, and when unsaddled -and turned out seemed quite at home with the cart-horses. - -‘Now,’ said Mr. Windsor, as they sat at their evening meal, ‘you’ve -got, sir, what everybody is always a-talkin’ about and never seems -to get, an out-and-out good hack, fast and easy and well bred, and -a stunner to look at. I’ll forfeit my month’s wages if he ain’t a -sticker, as well. These quiet ones are just as game as the savages, and -indeed more so, in my opinion, because they can eat and rest themselves -better. And I wouldn’t sell him, if I was you, if I was offered double -what you gave for him.’ - -‘I don’t think I will,’ said Ernest; ‘but surely good horses are easily -picked up in this country, if one is a fair judge. There must be such -thousands upon thousands.’ - -‘So there are,’ replied the Australian, ‘but we might be gray before -you dropped on another nag like this, ‘specially for ten notes. Look at -his shoulder, how it goes back; see what loins he has; good ribs; with -out-and-out legs and feet. He’s more than three-parts bred; and if he -don’t gallop and jump a bit I’m much deceived. He’s a bottler, that’s -what he is; and if you ever go for to sell him, you’ll be sorry for it.’ - -‘Well, I don’t think I will, Jack,’ asserted Mr. Neuchamp. ‘I shall -always want a horse while I’m in the country, and I think I shall make -a pet of this one.’ - -For the remaining days, before the ‘reporter’ entered the Garrandilla -gate, to give legal notice of the invading army of fleece-bearing -locusts, Osmund was ridden daily, and became more docile and obedient -to the _manège_ day by day. - -As the long lines of sheep, flock after flock, fed up and finally -mingled at the Garrandilla gate, a big man, with a distinctly northern -face, rode up on a powerful horse and looked keenly at the array of -sheep, horses, men, and dogs. - -‘Where’s the person in charge?’ he asked of one of the shepherds. - -‘I believe he has gone to the township,’ said the man; ‘he’ll be here -to-night.’ - -‘Have you seen anything of a young gentleman coming up to my station? I -am Mr. Jedwood.’ - -‘Not that I know of. There’s two chaps with that last flock, one of -’em’s a “new chum.”’ - -Mr. Jedwood rode down to the flock indicated, and there discovered Mr. -Neuchamp in the act of eating a piece of boiled corned mutton, and -looking around in an unsatisfied manner, as if anxious for more. - -‘You are Mr. Neuchamp, I think, a gentleman introduced by letter to me -by my old friend Paul Frankston?’ - -‘The same,’ said Ernest, putting down his damper and mutton carefully -and standing up. ‘I intended to present myself to-morrow morning, after -being settled with.’ - -‘Settled with?’ said Jedwood, in a tone of astonishment. ‘You don’t -mean to say you’ve really hired yourself to drive travelling sheep! -Not but it’s a sensible thing enough to do; still you’re the first -“colonial experience” young fellow that it ever occurred to within my -knowledge.’ - -‘I had reasons for it, which can be better explained by and by,’ -answered Ernest. ‘In the meantime, there is a travelling companion of -mine whom I should feel obliged if you could employ at Garrandilla. -Jack, come here!’ - -Mr. Jedwood looked keenly at the ingenuous countenance of Mr. Jack -Windsor, and then, after suffering his eye to fall approvingly upon his -athletic frame, said— - -‘There’s always employment at Garrandilla for men that know how to -work, and are not afraid to put out their strength. What can you do, -young man?’ - -‘Well, most things,’ answered the Australian, with quiet confidence; -‘fence, split, milk, drive bullocks, stock-keep, plough, make dams, -build huts; I’m not particular, till August, then I’m a shearer.’ - -‘Can you break horses?’ asked the squatter, ‘for I have a lot of colts -I want badly to put to work, and I can’t get a decent man to handle -them.’ - -‘I can break horses with here and there one,’ responded this -accomplished new-world labourer. ‘Mr. Neuchamp and I finished one as we -come along, didn’t we, sir?’ - -‘_You_ did, and wonderfully well and quickly, too,’ assented Ernest. -‘I had nothing to do but to hold him. I think I can give my personal -guarantee, Mr. Jedwood, if you think it of any value, that Jack can -tame any horse in the land.’ - -‘Then you can come up to-morrow with Mr. Neuchamp,’ said the squatter, -‘and I’ll hire you till shearing. Shall I send a horse for you?’ he -added, addressing Ernest. - -‘No, thanks, I have my own here; I’ll ride him up.’ - -‘You seem to be pretty well provided for a new arrival,’ said the -proprietor good-humouredly. ‘What with your wages in hand, a horse, -a man, and a month’s character as a travelling drover, you have not -wasted your time much, though old Paul seemed quite anxious about you, -and wrote several letters.’ - -On the following morning Mr. Neuchamp had a short interview with his -master, the overseer, who was in high good humour, having secured two -hands in their place at the township aforesaid, one of them a shepherd, -most fortunately, at the right (_i.e._ the concluding) end of his -cheque. - -‘Well, you’re going to leave us, I suppose, just as you’re getting used -to the sheep; but I can’t complain, as you gave me fair notice. You’ve -been a month, that makes five pounds each. Here’s your money, lads,’ -with which he tendered a five-pound cheque to each of them. ‘Good-day -to you, and good luck.’ - -‘Good-morning. You have my best wishes,’ said Ernest, making a bow -which quite overwhelmed the overseer. - -‘Here you are, Jack,’ said Mr. Neuchamp, as soon as the man of sheep -had departed; ‘I always intended you to have my share of the profits of -this droving transaction.’ - -‘That be hanged for a yarn! I beg your pardon. I mean, I couldn’t think -of taking it, sir.’ And Jack’s face really assumed a most unwonted -expression—that of genuine diffidence and modesty. - -‘But you must,’ said Ernest imperatively; ‘you must take it, in payment -for the discovery and breaking of Osmund, besides you will want a -fit-out in clothing and other things.’ So he cast the cheque at his -feet. - -‘Well, if I must, I must,’ said Mr. Windsor reluctantly. ‘It’s a good -while since I was as rich as this, and all on the square, too; that’s -what gets me. Never mind, sir, if we both live you’ll get over-value -for this bit o’ paper some day.’ - -It was now time to make tracks for Garrandilla. Ernest did not see any -road, or know the precise line of country, but Mr. Windsor taking the -matter in hand, they soon found themselves in front of a very small -slab cottage, standing solemnly alone, at the rear of which, however, -were huts, sheds, farm buildings, and haystacks, in such number and -abundance that Ernest thought they must have fallen upon the township -by mistake. - -Mr. Jedwood, however, appeared at the door, and walking out to meet -them, told Windsor to betake himself to the stables, and to remain -there until he came out to see him, to feed the horse, and to inquire -of the groom, who would inform him where he could feed himself. He then -invited Ernest to follow him into the house. - -‘I am glad to find that you have turned up at last,’ said his host; -‘not that, of course, never having seen you, I should have grieved -overmuch myself if you hadn’t, but poor old Paul seemed so anxious -that, for his sake, I began to feel an interest in you. If you will -walk this way I will show you your room in the barracks—there is a pile -of letters for you.’ - -Ernest felt really pleased to be placed in possession once more of -any sort of bedroom, and proceeded to render himself presentable -to general society. After these necessary changes had been -accomplished, he commenced to look over his letters, of which there -were—_Americanicé_—‘quite a number.’ - -First of all he opened one in the bluff characters of Mr. Frankston, -bold, and easily read, as the true heart of the writer. It ran thus:— - - MY DEAR BOY—What, in the name of all the rocks and shoals between the - Sow and Pigs and Maafu Reef, are you cruising about so long before - turning up at Garrandilla? Is the reason masculine, feminine, or - neuter? By the bye, Charley Carryall was here the other day. Told me - some first-rate yarns—sorry you weren’t at Morahmee to hear ‘em. Well, - but why haven’t you fetched your whaling-ground—I mean your run—yet? - - Antonia was in a great way when she saw the telegram, in the _Evening - Times_, that you had been apprehended and locked up for keeping - company with ’another prisoner.’ Ha, ha, ha! Can’t help it, couldn’t - really! She kept picturing you in a dungeon, and all the rest of it. I - said that you would enjoy it for a day or two, during the hot weather. - What do you think about walking? Have you got a horse yet? We are all - very middling. Couldn’t you square it with Jedwood to come down at - Christmas? There’s not much work doing then anywhere. The verandah at - Morahmee won’t be half a bad place about that time, if it’s as hot as - it was last year. I saw Hartley Selmore the other day. He sold Gammon - Downs to a young fellow, just out. My head clerk is rather a queer old - character. - - ‘Ah! sir,’ he said, ‘don’t you think Mr. Selmore will go to hell for - selling such a place to that poor young gentleman?’ - - ‘Really I don’t know,’ I answered; ‘there always seems a sufficient - supply of young fellows with a little money and no brains. If they - were not gobbled up by the Selmores, some other big fish would be sure - to have them.’ - - However, Antonia said Hartley was a cold-blooded rascal, and I was - nearly as bad for making light of his villainy. So I did not take much - by my joke. - - Stock has fallen since you left town, and will fall more yet if the - war does not come to an end, and this very dry season. So your money - is all the safer in the bank. Don’t on any account invest without - consulting me. Work as hard as you like, but don’t get sunstroke. - Avoid brandy and water; and when you’re very tired of wool and - bullocks, see if you can’t find the road to Morahmee again. Remember - me to our Jedwood. He’ll keep you up to the mark, unless he’s - altered.—Your old friend, - - PAUL FRANKSTON. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -He who embarks upon an enterprise or commences a course of life -involving absolute departure from every early habit and association -will invariably be assailed at some stage or period by distrust, even -by despondency. It is not in man to complete all the multifarious acts -and volitions pertaining to any momentous change without experiencing -the strongest reactionary impulses to halt, to doubt, to waver, to -retreat. - -That Ernest Neuchamp possessed these, among other weaknesses of -our nature, we are by no means prepared to deny. But he had one -counterbalancing quality which oftentimes stood him in good stead, -when on the dangerous declivities of indecision. This compensating -element was a habit of reasoning out his proceedings logically before -the day of battle. He formed his opinions, arranged his movements, with -Prussian deliberation and purpose aforethought. Having decided upon his -order of action, he vowed mentally that no infringement upon his plan -should be suffered, whatever might be his own ephemeral impulses, even -convictions. - -Thus he often carried out programmes involving foregone conclusions, -with ruthless exactitude against every feeling, taste, and sentiment -then and there animating his rebellious mind. ‘No!’ he would repeat -to himself. ‘I made my calculations, carried out my reasoning to its -legitimate demonstration, when no disturbing element was present. Shall -I veer with every shift of wind, consult every sudden instinct or every -emotional sensation? No—onward by the true and proved course!’ - -Steadfastly adhering, therefore, to his sketch-map, on the following -morning Mr. Neuchamp accompanied his host on a tour of inspection, -and gathered some approximate notion of the character of the stock -and station, together with the duties which as an aspirant to the -comprehensive study of ‘colonial experience’ he might be expected to -perform. - -The somewhat extensive property known as Garrandilla was divided by -a river, on one side of which natural boundary the stock consisted -of sheep—on the other of cattle. The northern subdivision comprised -four ‘blocks,’ having each five miles’ frontage to the Wandabyne, a -permanent and occasionally turbulently flowing stream. As far back as -thirty miles, the lands were held upon the usual lease from the Crown. -Through all this great tract of country no man was legally entitled -to travel, save on the road which passed along the course of the -river, avoiding only the sinuosities of its course. North Garrandilla -consisted wholly of saltbush plains, diversified only by ‘belts’ of -myall and eucalyptus forest. It was therefore held to be appropriate -for sheep, to the highly successful production of which it had always -been devoted. - -On the south side, the ‘lay of the country,’ as Jack Windsor would have -called it, was different. Marshy flats, interspersed with lagoons and -reed-beds, extended along, and for several miles back from the river. -With this exception the greater part of the area was covered with more -or less open forest, while at ‘the back,’ or the extreme limit of the -unwatered region away from the river, were ranges of hills precipitous -and heavily timbered, among which the cattle roved at will during the -winter season, returning to the low grounds as the fierce sun of the -Australian waste commenced to dry the interior watercourses. - -At a short distance from ‘the house,’ Mr. Jedwood’s cottage, or hut, -as the residence of the proprietor was indifferently designated, stood -a roomy, roughly finished building known as the ‘barracks.’ Here lived -the overseer, a hard-working, hard-riding, weather-beaten personage, -who appeared to exist in a chronic state of toil, anxiety, and general -lack of repose. - -Three of the numerous bedrooms were tenanted by young men, upon -the same footing as Mr. Neuchamp, neophytes, who were gradually -assimilating the lore of Bushland, and hoping to emulate the successful -career of Allan Jedwood, or other pastoral magnates. One of these was -a far-off kinsman, Malcolm Grahame by name, a steady, persevering, -self-denying Scot; while another, Mr. Fitzgerald Barrington, erst of -Castle Barrington, County Clare, sufficiently expressed his nationality -and general tendencies by his patronymic and titular designation. -Lastly was a brown Australian boy, of eighteen or nineteen, very -sparing of his words, and prone to decry the general intelligence of -his comrades, from a comparison of their woodcraft with his own, in -which competition they were, for the present, let us say, manifestly -inferior. - -Into this society Mr. Neuchamp voluntarily and contentedly entered, -holding that his education would be the sooner completed if he -graduated, so to speak, before the mast, than from the captain’s -cabin. To the barracks also were relegated those just too exalted -for the men’s hut, while not eligible for the possibly distinguished -company occasionally entertained at ‘the cottage.’ Such were -cattle-dealers, sheep-buyers, overseers of neighbouring stations, and -generally unaccredited travellers whose manners or appearance rendered -classification hazardous. - -Ernest managed to have a preliminary conversation with Mr. Jedwood, in -which the latter gentleman, who was extremely plain, not to say blunt, -of speech, put his position fairly before him. - -‘You will understand, Neuchamp,’ said he, ‘that, though I feel bound, -on account of old Paul, who was a good friend to me in time past, -to do what I can for you, you must not look for any great amount of -consideration from the overseer, Mr. Doubletides, or from the other -youngsters. I hope you will all be treated like gentlemen as long as -you stay at Garrandilla, but you will be made useful, and set at all -sorts of work, in a way perhaps that may sometimes appear strange.’ - -‘Not at all,’ replied Ernest. ‘I am as anxious as any one can be to -master the details of bush life, and the sooner the better. I don’t -think you will find any false delicacy about me, whatever may be the -practical nature of my employment for the present.’ - -‘Well, that’s all right,’ said Mr. Jedwood heartily. ‘It’s the best -way, too. I had to work, and devilish hard, too, as a youngster, or I -should never have been here as master, I can tell you.’ - -After this conversation, Ernest was put under the immediate orders -of the overseer, Mr. Doubletides, who speedily made it apparent to -him that bush life at a large station did not entirely consist of -galloping about like Bedouin Arabs and reposing under palm or other -trees of grateful shade. Galloping about there was, doubtless; but -often the rides were long, weary, and unexciting, with absolutely no -shade to speak of, while so continuous was the routine of carrying -rations, driving sheep, bringing in working bullocks, carting water -to out-stations, and generally performing no inconsiderable amount of -hardish manual labour, that Mr. Neuchamp at times felt inclined to -adopt the same distrustful view of it all which Mr. Weller took of the -alphabet—‘Whether indeed it was worth going through so much to learn so -little.’ - -In any riding that might be ordered, Mr. Neuchamp fared sumptuously -compared with the other cadets, who, confined to the ordinary -station-hacks, were constantly complaining of their roughness, -insecurity, or generally unamiable qualities. Osmund, now quiet, well -fed, and tended in the Garrandilla stables, to use Jack Windsor’s -expression, ‘went like a bird,’ and daily demonstrated the soundness of -that gentleman’s choice and opinion. - -Charley Banks, the Australian youngster, admired Osmund in secret very -much, and at length offered Ernest five pounds to boot, if he would -‘swop,’ or exchange him for a chestnut mare which he, Charley, had -bought out of the neighbouring pound. - -‘She’s quite good enough for this work, Neuchamp,’ he remarked, ‘and -you might as well have the fiver in your pocket as be wearing out your -colt’s legs for old Doubletides here. Jedwood will see you far enough -before he gives you another one in his place, if you screw him doing -his work.’ - -‘And why would he sell or swop him at all, ye little horse-racing -divil, that wants to be making a blackleg of yourself at the township -races? He’s the only horse fit to carry a gentleman I’ve seen this year -past, and the very moral of a horse the whipper-in of the Barrington -hounds rode.’ - -‘You be blowed,’ retorted the son of the soil; ‘I don’t believe you -rode much to hounds in Ireland or anywhere else, or else you would -stick on better.’ - -‘Stick on!’ shouted the Milesian. ‘I can ride with any cornstalk that -ever sat in a thing with a pillow on each flap, that you call a saddle. -Sure ye’d be laughed out of any hunting-field in Britain if ye took one -of them things there.’ - -‘Well, we can stick to ’em when we are there,’ sarcastically observed -Mr. Banks; ‘I’ll bet you the fiver I was going to give Neuchamp, you -don’t sit for ten minutes on that chestnut colt Jack Windsor’s coming -up here with now, and he’s ridden him, now it’s the _third_ day.’ - -Charley Banks emphasised the last number of the colt’s daily -experiences of man, as if no one but an elderly capitalist, with gout -or asthma, could possibly decline so childishly safe a mount. - -‘Done with you!’ shouted the roused son of Erin. ‘One would think you -conceited cornstalks had discovered the horse, in this sandy wilderness -of a country of yours, and that no one had ever ridden or shot flying -before he came here.’ - -‘I don’t know about shooting,’ said the lad reflectively, ‘but I’m -dashed if ever I saw a new arrival that could sit a buck-jumper, even -if he only propped straightforward, and didn’t do any side-work. -Anyway, we’ll see in about five minutes.’ - -Here Mr. Windsor arrived upon a bright chestnut colt, with three white -legs, and a blaze down the face, and a considerable predominance of the -same colour into the corners of his eyes, thus giving an expression -more peculiar than engaging to those organs, when used for the purpose -of staring at the rider. In addition to these peculiarities, he -had an uneasy tail, always moving from side to side with a feline, -quietly-exasperated expression. - -‘Good-morning, sir,’ said Jack to Ernest. ‘Good-morning, gentlemen all; -fine growing weather.’ - -‘No finer,’ said Barrington; ‘how are you getting on with the colts?’ - -‘Not bad,’ answered the horse-tamer; ‘I’ve backed two a week since I -came, and have three in tackle, in the yard now. This one’s a fine colt -to go, but he’s rather unsettled when the fit takes him.’ - -‘Sorry for that, for I’ve a bet with Mr. Banks here that I’ll mount him -and stay on for ten minutes. Sure, ye knew, ye artful colonist, that he -was a divil; you won’t refuse me the mount, Jack, me boy, breaker to -his Highness the Grand Duke of Garrandilla?’ - -‘Not I, Mr. Barrington, if you’ve got a neck to spare, but you’ll bear -in mind yourself—he’s a sour devil when his blood’s up; and mayn’t like -a stranger. Though he’s pretty fair now.’ - -Here Jack slid quietly to the ground and patted the colt’s neck, who -snorted, but when soothed was apparently quiet. Barrington gained -courage, and taking out his watch, gave it to Ernest to hold. - -‘Ten minutes,’ he said; ‘and now I’ll bet you all a couple of pounds -each, that if I come off, not one of the lot of ye can ride him up to -the stockyard and back.’ - -The bet was taken all round. Mr. Barrington with a confident air -advanced, and getting Windsor to hold the colt closely and firmly, -mounted easily and rode off. The young horse apparently took no notice -of the change of riders for some time, but walked steadily off along a -bank which led to the sheep-drafting yard. Barrington was charmed with -himself, and with his mount, whom he immediately decided in his own -mind to be an animal of fine disposition, in danger of being spoiled, -as was usual in the colony, by rough breaking. As he turned back, after -about five minutes’ ride, he concluded to favour the company with a -trot. He therefore touched the colt with his heel and slacked the rein. - -Now, whether, as was very possible, though a fair and very bold -horseman, he did not sit with the glove-like adherence to the pigskin’s -surface which characterised Mr. Windsor’s every movement, we have no -means of knowing; of matters of fact, however, as eye-witnesses, we can -judge. The chestnut glanced nervously back with his Albino-tinged eyes, -made a rapid swerve, then a diving headlong plunge, instantaneously -arrested. This threw forward the incautious Barrington, while with -sudden frenzy the now fully-aroused animal bounded galvanically upward -with his back arched, and dropped with his mouth wrenched resistlessly -from the rider’s hold and almost touching the ground. - -The suddenness of the act, joined with the convulsive force of the -propelling power, first tended to place Mr. Barrington in a somewhat -leaning position. From this he was prevented from recovering his place -in the saddle by the lightning-like rapidity of the recurring headlong -plunges. Strong, fearless, and elastic with the glorious activity of -early manhood, he made a desperate struggle to retain his seat; but -the deerlike, sidelong bounds, instantaneously reversed, gave him no -chance. Failing to follow a terrific side leap, his equilibrium was -disturbed, the corresponding swerve sundered him and the saddle still -farther, while a concluding upward bound on all fours, ‘propping,’ so -as to progress backward rather than otherwise, shot him forward as from -a catapult, head first and clean delivered. - -‘Ugh! ugh! shall I ever—ugh, ugh—get my wind again? Ugh—you savage, -unnatural son of a—ugh—gun—what right have you to be called a horse at -all? Sure no one but a blackfellow, or Mexican, or a _native_, Banks, -me boy, could expect to sit on such a baste of prey. Here’s an order -for five pounds, Charley, ye villain; they’re good, _as yet_, and now -go ride him yourself, and let me enjoy myself looking on.’ - -Mr. Windsor, on another horse, was by this time in pursuit of the -excited animal, which kept snorting, kicking, and otherwise protesting -against any other interference with his natural rights. - -‘He _can_ buck a bit,’ said Charley Banks, coolly girding himself for -the fray by taking off his coat and tightening a leathern strap which -he wore round the waist, ‘but if you hadn’t come forward, Paddy, the -first time he propped, he mightn’t have gone to market at all. Here -goes.’ - -The chestnut was soon secured by the agile and deft Windsor, and held -by that horse-tamer, ready for Charley Banks to bestride. Having -divested himself of his coat, he advanced with perfectly unembarrassed -mien towards the alarming chestnut. Staring with homicidal glare out of -his white-rimmed eyes, the successful combatant was standing perfectly -still, but in a constrained and unnatural position. - -Before putting his foot in the stirrup, Mr. Banks examined with -long-practised eye the gear and accoutrements. - -‘Why don’t you have a surcingle, Windsor?’ he said. ‘What’s a pair -of girths to a colt like this? Call yourself a breaker? Where’s the -crupper?’ - -‘I left them at home, Mr. Banks,’ exclaimed the rough-rider. ‘Ben -Bolt (as I christened him) was getting on so nicely before you young -gentlemen came in the way that I never thought of wanting the regular -colts’ toggery. Besides, it don’t matter much.’ - -‘Doesn’t it?’ demanded the unappeased critic. ‘Suppose he sends the -saddle over his withers? How’s a fellow to sit him with one leg on each -side of his neck? However, here goes.’ - -Mr. Banks, having enunciated his sentiments, quickly slipped into the -saddle, and putting his feet well home in the stirrups, cocking up his -toes, squaring his shoulders, and leaning slightly back, with easy -nonchalance commanded Mr. Windsor to let him go. - -Freeing the tameless one on the instant, Mr. Windsor retired a few -steps, and awaited for the next act in the performance. The colt seemed -in no hurry to make use of his liberty. He stood in a cramped, awkward, -half-asleep position. Mr. Banks touched him quietly, but he made no -response. - -‘Oh! hang it,’ said that young gentleman, ‘I did not bargain to sit -here all day. I’ll move you.’ - -Suiting the action to the word, he ‘put the hooks on him,’ as a jock -would have said—in other words, gave him the spurs so unreservedly that -nothing less than the bronze horse of San Marco or the stone charger -of the Duke would have borne then unmoved. Ben Bolt did not. It was -the match to the powder-barrel. With one wild plunge and a desperate -rear which nearly overbalanced him, the nervous but determined animal -bounded into the air. After these feats, he appeared to settle down -to practical, business-like buck-jumping, impromptu, certainly, but -of the highest order of excellence. He certainly _did_ ‘go to work,’ -as Mr. Windsor afterwards expressed it. Every known and unknown device -which Sathanas could have devised for the benefit of a demon disguised -as a horse was tried—and tried in vain. Mr. Banks, swaying easily -front or rear of his saddle, never lost head or seat for an instant. -Brought up in a horse-loving, horse-breeding district, he was familiar -from childhood with every known form of practical or theoretical -contravention of equine illegality. He could ride as soon as he -could talk, and ere he wrote himself indifferently man, had backed -successfully scores of unbroken horses, and ridden for wagers the -cannibal Cruisers of more than one stud. - -His figure, slight, but very accurately proportioned, was just above -the middle height; his features were delicate and regular, with an -approximation in the hardly aquiline nose and short lip to the Greek -type, by no means uncommon among Australians of the second or third -generation. His strength was far greater than was apparent, arising -more from the toughness of his muscles than from any great breadth or -solidity; and he had astonished the Garrandilla population one day by -the ease with which he walked off with successive heavy bags of lour -upon his back, when all hands were unloading a dray from Orange. - -It was a pretty sight in its way, interesting enough to those who -love contests, far from unduly safe, between men and the inferior -animals, to see the ease with which the boy’s figure followed each -frantic movement of the infuriated animal, and with what perfect and -apparently instinctive ease he retained his perilous seat. In vain -the roused and desperate creature tried stopping, wheeling, sideway -and forward, and indeed backward. Nearly blown was Ben Bolt, evidently -relaxing the height and elasticity of his deerlike bounds. The victory -was decided in favour of the imperturbable horseman, in Mr. Windsor’s -characteristic speech. - -‘By the holy poker! Mr. Banks, you’ve “monkeyed” him enough for one -while. He won’t try it on with you again in a hurry.’ - -The victorious athlete was awaiting with a smile of triumph on his lips -for the colt to stop and recover his failing wind, when the frantic -animal made a last maddened rear, trembling on the balance of falling -backwards till the spectators held their breath; then dashing his head -violently to the earth as he inverted his position, he stood with -arched back and forelegs stretched out before him, as if he had been -petrified in that position. - -As he did so the saddle slid over his lowered shoulder, depressed, -as in a horse jumping down a precipice, and the girths passing the -’elbows’ or projecting joints of the upper leg underneath, moved, -loosened and flapping downward towards the hoofs. Mr. Banks, of course, -strictly associated with his saddle, could do nothing to arrest its -earthward progress. As saddle and bridle approached the animal’s ears, -he threw up his head with tremendous force, catching the legs of -Mr. Banks and casting him violently on to his back, with the saddle -spread out above him. That young gentleman, however, held on to the -bridle-rein with such tenacity that the throat-lash giving way, it was -jerked over the horse’s head, leaving the reins in the rider’s hands, -while Ben Bolt, with a wild snorting neigh, trotted off, free from all -encumbrance, or, as Jack Windsor expressed it, ‘as naked as he was -born.’ - -Every one looked extremely grave and sympathetic as the heroic Charley -sat up with the saddle in his lap, until he, in the mild monotone of -his ordinary speech, said— - -‘That’s the fruits of being too lazy to put on a crupper and surcingle, -as any man that calls himself a horsebreaker ought to do. Suppose I’d -hurt myself, it would have been all your fault, Windsor!’ - -Then he arose deliberately and shook himself, whereupon they all burst -into a great fit of laughter at his rueful and injured air, as if being -shot over a vicious colt’s head, after ten minutes’ buck-jumping, was a -trifling annoyance, that the least care might have prevented. - -Mr. Neuchamp walked over to the saddle, which he carefully examined. - -‘Why, the girths are still buckled on each side!’ he exclaimed with -astonishment. ‘How the deuce _could_ the brute have got the saddle over -his head as he did—as he certainly did?’ - -‘Bedad he did! eh, Charley, me boy? and that’s a trick of rapid -horsemanship _I_ never saw performed before with my own two eyes,’ said -Mr. Barrington. ‘There’s many a man, now, in my country, if I were to -tell this story, wouldn’t believe me on my oath. They’d say it was -unreasonable. You might stick them, and they’d never give in.’ - -‘I wish one of them was on that brute’s back,’ said Mr. Banks, rubbing -a portion of his frame. ‘I thought I was as right as ninepence, and -then to be slewed that way, and all for the want of a strap or two. I -hate carelessness.’ - -‘Never mind, Banks, you sat him magnificently,’ said Ernest -cheeringly. ‘I never saw such a bit of riding in my life. It will be -many a day before any of us can exhibit in the same way. I consider you -fairly won your bet. But still I remain unsatisfied about the saddle -coming off without breaking the girths. How _did_ it?’ - -‘Well, it’s this way,’ said Mr. Windsor, bracing himself for -explanation. ‘It’s not a common thing, though I’ve seen young ones do -it more than once or twice before. You see, first the horse sticks -down his head with his nose on the ground, as if he was jumping down a -well. Then he plants his feet right out before him, so as his hoofs and -his nose are almost touching; his legs and his neck are all of a line. -Young ones generally have a roundish, lumpy shoulder. If the saddle -slips over it, and the girths over the elbows, down it must go; and -when the horse draws his head backwards out of it, then you have the -saddle, like this one here, popped on the ground, with never a girth or -buckle broke.’ - -‘So that’s the way it’s done, Jack, is it?’ inquired Mr. Barrington. -‘Well, if I’m forgiven for riding that divil once, I’ll never tempt -Providence again by crossing him as long as I stay at Garrandilla. I’d -like to take him home and exhibit him. There’s many a bold rider in -Clare and County Roscommon, but the divil a one would stay on him for -five minutes, I’ll go bail.’ - -‘Every man to his trade,’ said Jack Windsor. ‘Mr. Banks and me have -been riding ever since we were born, and it isn’t easy to get from -under us, I’ll allow. But I daresay there’s some other games as we -shouldn’t be quite so smart at.’ - -‘I tell you what,’ said Malcolm Grahame, who just came on to the scene -of action, ‘there’s Jedwood and old Doubletides up at the drafting -yards, waiting for some of you to come up and help put through those -hoggets that got boxed. The old man is swearing just awfu’.’ - -Every one hasted at this intimation to the scene of action, where the -dust was ascending in a cloud, curiously reminding Ernest of a Biblical -passage. - -For the rest of the day, ‘Keep them up, wether, hogget, ewe, weaner, -slit-ear, near crop,’ were the principal terms and phrases interchanged. - -Ernest Neuchamp speedily discovered that he had reason to congratulate -himself heartily upon the fact that, from the never-ending work at -Garrandilla, he was much too tired and sleepy at night to care for -conversation, or to desire congenial companionship. Had he craved for -such ever so longingly, he would have found it impossible to obtain. - -Allan Jedwood, a man of singular energy and indomitable persuasion, -had devoted all his powers of mind and body with ceaseless, unrelaxing -obstinacy to what he was pleased to consider the main end of existence. - -In his case, the reaching and maintaining of an independent pastoral -position had been the goal which had stood forth before his eyes, -a celestial mount, but slightly obscured by mists of pleasure, -extravagance, or sympathy, from his youth up. - -In the pursuit of this somewhat restricted ideal, bounded by a good -station, a fine herd of cattle, forty thousand sheep, and a balance at -his bankers, he had spared not himself. He had strongly repressed the -ordinary temptations, _desipere in loco_, to harmless dillettanteism, -to amusement, or imaginative contemplation. Tendencies literary or -artistic he had none. Everything in his eyes that did not lead directly -to the increase or maintenance in good order and condition of his -stock, he had eschewed and forsworn as unprofitable, almost immoral. -Such was the rigid discipline which he had enforced over his own -spirit for long years. From the days that he had been a hard-worked -under-overseer, a toiling owner of a small station, a hampered -purchaser of a larger one, until now, that he was sole proprietor of a -magnificent unencumbered property, he had foregone nothing of this rule -and regimen, and the usual effects had followed the causes. Successful -labour and unwearied self-denial had created the position for which he -had so longed and thirsted all his early life through. - -And yet was there a side to this picture which did not call for so -much gratulation. In the stern repression, the pitiless starvation to -which the spiritual portion of the man had been subjected, the germs of -all intellectual and speculative tendencies had first dwindled, then -perished. - -Unsparing vigilance, untiring concentration upon the daily routine -of station work, was no longer necessary to the opulent possessor of -stock and station, freehold and leasehold, town and city property. -But the habits, inexorably welded into the being of the man, remained -fixed and unalterable, when the circumstances which called them forth -had long changed, long passed away. Still daily, as of old, Allan -Jedwood rode over ‘the run,’ among his flocks and herds, his men and -his ‘improvements,’ his dams, his wells, his fences, his buildings, his -fields, and his teams. At nightfall, returning to the humble unchanged -building which had sufficed for his wants for many a year, he spent -the short evening which followed the day of hard exercise in writing -business letters, or in posting up station accounts; or else, with -military exactitude, he arranged with Mr. Doubletides the ensuing -‘order of the day,’ in which drafting of sheep, shifting of shepherds, -mustering of cattle, and bargaining with dealers, took the place of -marching and countermarching, sorties and retreats, embassies and -diplomatic manœuvrings. - -Of the progress and potentialities of the outer world—literary, -artistic, social, or political—Allan Jedwood knew and cared as little -as any of his Highland shepherds, frequently arriving from the paternal -farm, who ‘had not the English.’ - -In Ernest Neuchamp’s zeal for mental growth, for the onward march of -humanity generally, and for the particular community with which he was -temporarily connected, this stage of arrested development was very -painful and grievous to the soul of an enthusiast and reformer. He -tried all the units of the Garrandilla world, but he found no rest, -æsthetically, for the sole of his foot. Malcolm Grahame, who exhausted -whatever mental vigour he possessed in trying to discover a cure for -foot-rot, and in improving a natural aptitude for wool-classing, bade -fair to become as complete and as prosperous a bucolic Philistine -as Jedwood himself. Fitzgerald Barrington was conversational and -discursive enough, in all conscience, but his mental exercise chiefly -took the direction of regret for the joyous days he had spent in his -father’s house and among his own people—whom, not observing any near -prospect of a fortune in Australia—he bitterly reproached himself for -having ever quitted. Besides, he held no particular views about the -destiny of the human race, or of the Australian nation, or of any other -race or people but his own. He did not see the use of wasting the life -that could be so much more pleasantly spent in hunting, shooting, -feasting, flirting, four-in-hand driving, drinking, and dicing, as -became a gentleman of long descent (if he only had the money), in -bothering and interfering with a lot of low people, not worth caring -about and who did not thank you the least bit. - -If Mr. Charley Banks had any intellectual proclivities, they had -not as yet passed a rudimentary limit. He smoked a good deal, read -hardly at all except the sporting compartments of the newspapers, -took more interest in the horses of the establishment than in the -cattle or sheep, and was always glad of an excuse to get down to the -public-house, or to gossip unprofitably in the men’s huts. - -As for Mr. David Doubletides, he had long since abandoned the idea that -reading and writing had any other connection of importance to humanity -than the accurate setting down and adding up of station accounts. He -was astir at or before dawn, on horseback all day and every day, from -daylight to dark, and was often sufficiently tired in the evening to -fall asleep with his pipe in his mouth. - -This purely objective existence, after the excitement of the first week -or two, commenced to afflict Mr. Neuchamp unpleasantly. - -‘Good heavens!’ said he to himself, ‘is all the universe to be -narrowed down to the number of serrations in a lock of merino wool? to -the weight and tallow of a drove of bullocks destined for the market? -This half wild life is pleasant enough with the open-air rambles on -horseback, and the rude occasional labour. But, strictly, as a means -to an end, which end is, or ought to be, the getting away from here, -and the leading a worthy life in a less uniformly scorching land of -monotony and privation,—fancy one doomed to linger on year after -year. I see now the natural law which in desert tribes prompts the -pilgrimage; without society, comfort, or companionship.’ - -At this period Ernest commenced to acquire, if they had been needed, -additional proofs of the melancholy tendency of all human efforts to -crystallise into the narrow unalterable shape of custom. - -Nothing, he admitted, could be more praiseworthy and admirable than the -energy, the concentrativeness, the unwearied labour which Jedwood had -bestowed upon the formation of his position in early life. And now the -summit had been scaled, the goal attained, the reward grasped, of what -commensurate value or benefit was it, now fully realised, to himself -or to others? The contracted field of labour had become a necessity -of life. The means, losing their original proportions, had become the -end. It was as if an animal, long compelled to a mill-horse round of -unrelieved labour for the purpose of grinding a fixed quantity of meal, -had, when the task was completed, voluntarily resumed the collar and -gone on ceaselessly accumulating an unneeded heap. - -It must be confessed that, occasionally, the unceremonious manner in -which Mr. Doubletides ordered Ernest and the other young men to perform -any minor task considered by him, Doubletides, necessary to be done, -rather jarred upon his feelings. It was— - -‘Mr. Barrington, take the old roan horse and a cart, and go out to the -fifteen-mile hut with a fortnight’s rations for Joe Watson.’ - -‘Mr. Grahame, see that you and Banks are up at daylight to-morrow -morning, or else you won’t have that weaner flock drafted before -breakfast.’ - -‘Mr. Neuchamp, you had better get away as soon as possible, and look -for those five hundred wethers that old Sails dropped at the Pine Scrub -yesterday; take some grub and a tether-rope with you, and don’t come -home till you find them.’ - -All this was doubtless good practice, and valuable as storing up useful -knowledge against the day when he should possess a station and a Mr. -Doubletides of his own. Still it occasionally chafed him to be ordered -and sent about without any explanation or apology for the extreme -personal inconvenience occasionally involved. - -As it happened, this particular sheep-hunting trip became an adventure -of much importance. Riding gaily upon the trusty Osmund, Mr. Neuchamp -was fortunate enough, after a few hours’ search, to come upon the -‘wing’ of the wether flock which had been lost by the ex-marine -circumnavigator—a blasphemous old man-of-war’s man, referred to by an -abbreviation denoting his former work. - -Full of triumph, Ernest commenced to drive them in the direction of the -out-station, to which the remaining portion of the flock had been sent. -For the first hour he sauntered on behind the browsing sheep, confident -of his direction and not doubting but that he should reach a spot which -he knew in good time. Sheep are not particularly easy animals to drive -after a few miles, and it soon appeared to Ernest that the double -effort of driving five hundred sheep and steering straight in a country -without a landmark, was likely to bear hard upon his woodcraft. - -As the sun hung low, flaunting a vast gold-red shield athwart the -endless pale green waste, a sense of powerless loneliness and confused -ignorance of all but the cardinal points of the compass took possession -of him. He cantered from side to side of the obstinate, and perhaps -puzzled, sheep, which probably had a distant impression in their woolly -noddles that the line of direction lay quite another way. At length -the red-gold blazonry faded out into darksome crimson, the pale green -shades became dim and dullest gray—‘the stars rush out, at one stride -comes the dark’—and it became fully apparent to Mr. Neuchamp that he -was lost. - -He was sufficiently learned in the lore of the dwellers in this ’land -of freedom and solitude’ to know that the chief duty of man when -once placed in possession of stock, sheep above all, is to ‘stick by -them’—to stick by them, as the captain lingers by the last plank of -the breaking-up deck, in spite of danger and death, hunger, thirst, -weariness, or despair. These last experiences were more likely to be -the portion of Ernest Neuchamp than the former. Still it needed a -slight exercise of determination to face the idea of the long lonely -night, and the uncertain chance of discovering his whereabouts next day. - -The night was long—unreasonably long—Ernest thought. Sufficiently -lonely as well. There were no wild beasts, or robbers, likely to be -’round’; still there was an ‘eerie’ feeling about the still, solemn, -soundless night. The rare cry of a night-bird, the occasional rustling -made by the smaller denizens of the forest, the soft murmuring of -the pine-tree nigh which he had elected to camp—these were all his -experiences until the stars paled and the dawn wind moaned fretfully, -like a dreaming infant. Having no culinary duties to delay him, Ernest -saddled up his good gray steed, roused the unwilling sheep, and started -forth, ready to do battle with fate in the coming day. Alas! he -struck no defined trail. He hit off no leading thoroughfare. At first -mid-day, and again the dewy eve, which might have been so described if -the autumn rain had come—which it had not—again found Mr. Neuchamp -a wanderer upon the face of the earth and no nearer home. As for the -sheep, they found sustenance without difficulty, as they ‘nibbled away -both night and day,’ all heedless of the morrow, or Mr. Neuchamp’s -anxious brain and empty stomach. They apparently had no objection to -camp at the deserted out-station, which had so bitterly disappointed -Ernest when he reached it at the close of the day. - -By this time, in addition to being unmistakably and importunately -hungry, Mr. Neuchamp was furiously thirsty. His satisfaction was great, -therefore, when he discovered, just outside the door of the empty hut, -two hogsheads filled with clean water. - -He was about to plunge his head into the nearer one, like an eager -horse, when a sudden thought passed through his brain, and he stopped -short, with desire and dread written in every line of his face. - -What was the potent thought, the word of power, that sufficed to -arrest the step as if a precipice had opened suddenly below his feet -to hold back the longing lips so parched and moistureless? One word, -lightning-like, flashed along the wondrous telegraph of the brain. -That word was ‘arsenic’! Ernest looked again at the casks. The water -was suspiciously clear. He could not trust it. He knew that somewhere -in that direction Mr. Doubletides had been dressing the feet of lame -sheep with a solution of arsenic. He had seen in the local paper an -account of a thirsty shepherd and his horse similarly placed. The horse -drank out of one cask, the man from the other. The horse died. Ernest -was not sufficiently tired of his life to take a philosophical view -of the chances. Sudden death, undignified convulsions, a visit from -the coroner—an unsympathetic individual, who declined minute shades of -discrimination in favour of ’three star’—‘Verdict, found dead, as much -arsenic internally placed as would have killed a horse.’ All this was -uninviting, non-heroic. Bordering on the heroic, however, was the stern -resolve to pass the night without tasting one drop of the doubtfully -limpid element. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -It occasionally occurs to our unresting, unreasonable minds, prone, as -we all are, to straining the mental vision and wearying our hearts with -efforts to descry the form, to catch the Sibylline words, of the veiled -future, that we are not so very wretched in the society of the present. -After some slight intervals of sighing for the (social) fleshpots of -Egypt, Mr. Neuchamp began to enjoy his life very thoroughly, and to -question whether he should be so much happier after he had become a -proprietor and carried out his plans of regeneration. The spring had -set in, and nothing could be more lovely than the fresh warm air, the -gloriously fresh mornings, the cool calm nights. - -‘How happily the days of Thalaba went by!’ His health, spirits, and -appetite were faultless. It was a time of hope and expectation for the -great event of the year. The shearing was coming on, and insensibly -the increase of station hands. The putting into order of the disused -shearers’ huts, wash-pens, machinery, and woolshed, spoke of impending -transactions of importance, and told that ‘the year had turned.’ He -had made up his mind, too, that ‘after shearing he would revisit the -metropolis.’ There the moon-lighted, sea-washed verandah of Morahmee, -with a slight and graceful form pacing thereon, musing ‘in maiden -meditation fancy free,’ showed softly yet bright, as an occasional -romance gleam through the somewhat prosaic mist of his ordinary -day-dreams. It might have been the influence of the pure dry air, of -the oxygenated atmosphere, which caused Ernest to become so very light -of heart after this heroic resolution. If it were so, nothing that has -ever been said by enthusiastic tourists in praise of the beauty and -salubrity of the Australian climate can be held to be in the slightest -degree exaggerated. - -Another effect was noticeable about this time. Ernest commenced to be -remarked, among his observing mess-mates, for a suspicious eagerness to -learn and acquire all the mysteries of stock farming, some of which he -might have previously overlooked. He delighted Mr. Doubletides by his -alacrity, and that grim veteran remarked that in a year or two more he -might be able to look after a small station himself, always provided -that he had a careful overseer. - -‘The deuce a bit you’ll see of him thin, me ould shepherd-driver, in a -year or two, or next year either,’ said Barrington. ‘I know the signs -of it. He’s going to cut Garrandilla after shearing, and he’s trying -to suck ye, like a marrow-bone, of all the fruits of all yer long hard -life and experience, me ould warrior. And why wouldn’t he? Sure I’d be -off myself and invest, if my uncle would only send out the ten thousand -that he promised me.’ - -‘_Neuchamp_ manage a station!’ said Malcolm Grahame. ‘He just knows -naething whatever about foot-rot, and he disna know first-combing from -pieces; it’s my deleeberate opinion he’ll just be insolvent within the -year.’ - -‘How do you know?’ quoth Charley Banks. ‘It’s half luck, seems to me. -I know an old cove that only branded his cattle once about every two -years, and he made more money than all the district put together. -Neuchamp’s a good sort of notion about a horse, and he don’t drink. -I’ll lay six to two he ain’t broke next year, nor the year after.’ - -Garrandilla was not a fenced run. It was in the pre-wire-bearing stage, -preceding that daring and wondrous economy of labour. At the period of -which this veracious chronicle treats, the older pastoral tenants were -wont to speak with distrust of the new-fangled idea of turning large -numbers of valuable sheep ‘loose—literally loose, by George—night and -day’ in securely fenced but unguarded enclosures. - -One thing was certain, they had made their money mainly by the -exercise of certain qualities, among which were numbered, beside -industry and energy, a talent for organisation scarcely inferior to -that required by a general of division. At Garrandilla the twenty or -thirty flocks, averaging two thousand each, were marshalled, counted, -gathered, dispersed, with the punctuality, exactness, and discipline -of a battalion on field duty. Were all these rare endowments, these -valuable habits, to be henceforth of no avail? Were the sheep to be -just turned loose and seen from time to time like a lot of store -cattle? Were experienced shepherds, skilled overseers, henceforth to -be unnecessary? And would any young inexperienced individual who had -brains enough to know a dingo from a collie, or to see a hole in a -fence when such hiatus was present, do equally as well to look after -five or ten thousand sheep in a paddock, as the oldest shepherd, under -the orders of the smartest manager in the land? These were serious -and important questions. Mr. Jedwood was not a man given to hurried -outlay. The process of building up his fortune had been hard, anxious, -and gradual. He had no idea of reversing the process in any possible -casting down of that edifice. Therefore, with the aforesaid twenty or -thirty shepherds, ration-carriers, etc., it did not admit of doubt -as to there being plenty of work at Garrandilla. Of a truth the work -was unceasing from daylight on Monday morning till dark, or later, on -Saturday night. Indeed Sunday was often spent by Mr. Doubletides in -weighing out rations, and making out a few of the men’s accounts, as a -species of rest from his labours not unbefitting the day. - -The process of general management was somewhat in this wise. Each of -the young men had certain flocks placed in his charge; these he was -expected to count at least once a week. He had a small sheep-book -or journal in which the name of every shepherd, with the number of -his flock, was entered upon a separate page, as thus: ‘John Hogan, -14th May; 4-tooth wethers; No. 2380; dead, 5; added, 14; taken out, -52—total, 2337.’ - -A similar account was kept of every flock upon the station, which was -expected to be verified by a count at any moment. This counting it was -_de rigueur_ to perform early in the morning. As the shepherd usually -left the yard or fold soon after sunrise, and many of the flocks were -ten or fifteen miles from the head station, it followed that the young -gentleman who counted a distant flock had to quit his couch at an -exceedingly early hour. - -Then the ration-carriers, who were always conveying provisions, water, -wood, all things necessary to the shepherds, required in their turn -supervision. - -Nothing but the hardest bodily labours and unsleeping apprehensive -vigilance kept this small army in good order and efficiency. If a -shepherd lost his flock, there was mounting hot haste and terrific -excitement till the sheep were found; Mr. Jedwood riding and aiding -personally in the quest as if ruin was awaiting the non-arrival of the -flock, to pounce down upon him and his. - -There was no denying that the management of Garrandilla was very -successful upon the whole. The fat sheep were eagerly competed for -by dealers and others directly it was known that they were in the -market. The wool brought a good though not extreme price in the home -or colonial markets. The station accounts were kept by the storekeeper -with the strict accuracy of those in a merchant’s office. There was -no waste, no untidiness, no delay, no dawdling of any kind. The men -were well though not extravagantly lodged and fed, after the manner -of the country. They received the ordinary wages, sometimes a shade -above them. Whatever they drew from the station-store was accurately -debited to them, and they received a cheque for the exact amount of the -balance upon the day of their departure. What they did with the said -cheque—whether they spent it in forty-eight hours at the nearest inn, -whether they kept their money for the purpose of buying land, whether -they put it into the savings bank, or gambled it away—was a thing -unknown to Mr. Jedwood, and concerning which he never troubled himself -to inquire. - -When Mr. Neuchamp, in the ardour of his unquenched philanthropy, -questioned him about these things, he declared that he had no great -opinion of station-hands as a class, that most of them were d——d -rascals, and that as long as they did his work and received the pay -agreed upon he really did not care two straws what became of them. - -Ernest felt this to be a very doubtful position, as between master and -men, and further required to know whether, if he, Mr. Jedwood, took -measures to locate a few of his best men with their families upon the -frontage to the river, he would not secure an attached tenantry, and be -always certain of a better and readily available class of labour. - -To this Mr. Jedwood made answer that he should consider himself to be -qualifying for admission to a lunatic asylum if he attempted to do any -such thing. ‘In the first place you would lose,’ he said, ‘a quantity -of your best land, and your best water. In the next place, as their -stock increased they would use and spoil double the quantity of land -they had any legal title to. Most probably they would _not_ work for -you, when you needed labour, except at their own price and terms; and -if you wished at any time to buy them out, they would ask and compel -you to give double the price they had paid. No, no; I’ve kept free -selectors out all these years, and, as long as I live here, I’ll do so -still.’ - -So Mr. Neuchamp had again to fall back upon his own thoughts and -excogitations. He was not convinced by Mr. Jedwood, who took a -narrowed, prejudiced view of the case, he contended. But he arrived at -the conclusion in his own mind, that the amount of bodily and mental -labour devoted to the sheep-pasturing division of Garrandilla was -exhaustingly large, and that any mode of simplifying it, and reducing -this great army of labourers, would be very desirable. - -More and more to him was it apparent daily that there was no cessation, -no leisure, no possible contemplative comfort in a life like this. It -was the same thing every day. Sheep, sheep, sheep—_usque ad nauseam_. - -Garrandilla was a highly unrelieved establishment. There were no -ordinary bush distractions. There was no garden. There were no -buildings except those positively necessary for the good guidance and -government of the place. Jedwood’s two rooms served him for every -conceivable want here below. They really were not so much bigger than -the captain’s cabin in the good ship which brought Ernest to Australia. -But they were large enough to eat, drink, and sleep in twenty years -since, and they were so now. - -At times a neighbour rode over and spent an hour or two, talking sheep, -of course. Occasionally a lady, from sheer weariness or ennui, would -accompany her husband or brother, and beat up the great Mr. Jedwood’s -quarters for a short visit. - -One day Ernest was standing near the cottage in a meditative position, -when a gentleman rode up, having a lady on either hand. Mr. Jedwood, -with old-fashioned gallantry, promptly assisted the fair visitors to -dismount, and then calling out loudly, said, ‘Neuchamp, take these -horses over to the stable.’ - -Ernest walked over, and taking the horses mechanically, was about to -make for the stable, when one of the ladies exclaimed in a tone of -great astonishment, ‘Mr. Neuchamp!’ He looked up, and to his very -considerable surprise recognised one of the young ladies of the -Middleton family, his fellow-voyagers. - -‘Why, what is the meaning of all this?’ inquired Miss Middleton. ’I -never thought to see you so generally useful; but I understand—you -are staying at Garrandilla, and performing the “colonial experience” -probation.’ - -‘You have guessed it exactly with your usual acuteness, Miss -Middleton,’ said Ernest, who, slightly confused at having to act as -amateur stable-boy, had now recovered his usual self-possession,—never -long absent, to do him justice. ‘I will come in as soon as I have -stabled the horses.’ - -When Ernest returned he found the ladies evidently concluding a short -narrative to Mr. Jedwood, in which he guessed himself to have figured. -Nothing could be warmer or more pleasurable, however, than their -recognition. - -‘And so, Mr. Neuchamp, here we meet, after all our arguments, and -passages-of-arms,’ said the younger sister. ‘We are on our native -heath, you know, so we shall take the offensive. How do you find all -the new theories and schemes for improvement stand the climate?’ - -‘Not so very badly,’ assented Ernest boldly. ‘I am biding my time, like -the Master of Ravenswood. I intend to cause a sensation by carrying -them out when I have a station of my own.’ - -‘Oh, you must get one in this district,’ affirmed the elder sister with -determination; ‘it would be so pleasant to have some one to talk to. -We are living in utter solitude, as far as rational conversation is -concerned.’ - -Mr. Jedwood at this juncture ‘trusted that, as they did him the honour -to pay him a visit now and then, they did not include Garrandilla in -the conversational solitude.’ - -‘Oh, you know, you’re such an old friend. We can recollect riding to -Garrandilla with papa ever since we could be trusted on horseback. It -is one of our chief pleasures and resources. But really, Mr. Jedwood, -you ought to build a new cottage. I used to think the old hut a -splendid place once, but it looks now, you must confess, rather small.’ - -‘Two rooms for one man, and that man an old bachelor, Miss Middleton, -are not so very bad. I’m used to the old place. I can sit there and -write my letters, and here, by the chimney side, I smoke my pipe and -watch the embers. But I think I must put up a new place, if it’s only -for my young lady friends. I’ll see about it after shearing, after -shearing.’ - -But this promise of a comparatively palatial edifice after shearing had -been made, to the young ladies’ knowledge, for several years past, and -they evidently did not place much faith in it; Miss Middleton asserting -that it was lucky Mr. Jedwood had not commenced life at Garrandilla in -a watch-box, as he most certainly would have continued the use of that -highly compressed apartment. - -They all laughed at this, and Mr. Middleton affected to reprove his -merry daughter for her sally, but the end of it was that Ernest -received a very cordial invitation to visit his old acquaintances at -their station, distant about twenty miles, and mentally resolved to -take an early opportunity of availing himself of it. The society of -young ladies had been entirely out of his line since he had parted -with Antonia Frankston, on the verandah at Morahmee. The effect was -agreeable in proportion to the period of compulsory withdrawal from -such pleasures and recreations. - -Truth to tell, he was commencing to weary somewhat of the eternal, -never-ending merino drill. He could understand a lad of seventeen or -eighteen, like Charley Banks, spending two or three years profitably -enough in the Garrandilla grind, and being better so employed than -anywhere else. But he, Ernest Neuchamp, was a man whose years and -months were of somewhat more value in the world than those of a raw -lad. He thought, too, that he knew about as much of the not very -abstruse and recondite lore necessary for the average management of a -station as he was likely to acquire in another year, or any greater -length of time. He resolved that, after shearing, he would state his -case fully to Mr. Frankston, and secure, if possible, that paternal -elder’s consent to his purchasing a station of his own with his own -money. - -From time to time at long intervals, whenever by no possibility could -any excuse be found for working among the sheep, would Mr. Doubletides -summon him, the other youngsters, and any unoccupied individuals that -were handy, and crossing the river, proceed to ‘regulate the cattle a -bit,’ as he expressed it. Jack Windsor being a first-class stockman, -and handy with the roping-pole, was always invited to join the party. -Then they would have a week’s mustering, branding, drafting, weaning, -fat cattle collecting, what not—and then every one would come back much -impressed with the heroism of the whole expedition, and the cattle -would be left to their own devices for three or four months longer. -These muster parties were extremely congenial to Mr. Neuchamp’s tastes -and tendencies. He found the country, which was wild and hilly in -places, more interesting than the uniform, monotonous, but profitable -campaign, where roamed the carefully-tended merino. There were Alpine -gorges, tiny streamlets, masses of foliage, botanical treasures, -and above all, a mode of life more irregular, more volitional, than -the daily mechanical regularity with which the machinery of the -‘merino-mill,’ as Barrington profanely called it, revolved diurnally at -Garrandilla proper. - -Moreover there was occasionally trials of speed, of bottom, of -horsemanship, in thus tracking the half wild cattle to their -fastnesses, in which Osmund distinguished himself, and which were more -akin to the noble sport of hunting than anything which Ernest had met -with in Australia. The driving of the great herd into the stockyard, -the drafting, the roping, the branding, the cutting out, all these were -novelties and excitements of a very high order, as they then appeared -to the ardent mind of Mr. Neuchamp. - -So keenly did he appreciate the general work among the cattle, that -upon a recommendation from Mr. Doubletides, who thought all time not -absolutely devoted to sheep and wool thoroughly wasted, he was promoted -to be a kind of cattle overseer. Then from time to time, in company -with Jack Windsor, for whose services he formally petitioned, he was -despatched on short but pleasant missions to the cattle station when -any particular duty of an outpost nature was required to be done. - -Then the friends were in their glory. Jack Windsor had been brought -up on a cattle station, and had a strong preference for them as stock -over sheep. He always took care to provide an ample commissariat -in case of accidents, while Mr. Neuchamp armed himself against the -perils of a long evening or two at the hut of the cattle manager by -bringing a book. Thus fully accoutred they would start off amid the -congratulations of Barrington and Charley Banks for a week’s perfect -happiness. - -Why Mr. Neuchamp esteemed himself to be favoured by fate in being -especially selected for this department, was chiefly on this -account—that it opened a prospect of change and comparative mental -leisure. I have described my hero carelessly and faintly, but the -judicious reader will ere this have discovered that Ernest was -essentially less disposed to action than contemplation. Not that he -disliked or avoided work, but he liked it in large quantities rather -than in small, with spaces for consideration and preparation duly -interspersed. - -For instance, at Garrandilla it was one constant succession of calls -and appointments and engagements. ‘Would Mr. Neuchamp get something out -of the store? Would he make out So-and-so’s account? Would he go down -and draft So-and-so’s flock? Would he be sure to be up before daylight -and count the sheep at the Rocky Springs? Mr. Jedwood was returning -from the farthest back station, and would he lead a fresh horse to meet -him at the fifteen-mile hut? Would he take out a fortnight’s rations -to old Bob, and be sure to bring in all the sheep-shears? Would he -calculate the number of cubic yards in the Yellow Dam, just completed, -and check the storekeeper’s account with the contractor?’ and so on. - -Now, all these things Ernest could do, and did do—as did his -fellow-cadets—still the endless small succession troubled him. Small -wonder, then, that a feeling of relief and satisfaction possessed him -when he got the route for Warbrok, and he and Jack packed up their -effects and necessaries for a week’s comfortable, steady, solitary work -among the cattle, where no complications existed, and where they saw no -one but a couple of stockmen and old Mr. Hasbene, the manager, from the -time they left Garrandilla till they returned. - -In the long days of tracking the outlying ‘mobs’ or small subdivisions -of the main herd, in the unrelieved wandering through ‘the merry -greenwood,’ with its store of nature’s wonders—hidden watercourses, -mimic waterfalls, rare ferns, plants, and flowers, strange birds and -stranger beasts—Ernest felt the new delight and enjoyment of a born -naturalist. Then the sharp gallops, ‘when they wheeled the wild scrub -cattle at the yard,’ were exciting and novel. - -The evening, too, spent in the rude but snug building that had served -the cattle overseer—a laconic but humorous old man who had once been a -prosperous squatter—for a habitation for many a year, story-telling, -reading, or dozing before a glowing fire, were pleasant enough in their -way. - -In the ordinary yard work—drafting, branding, roping, throwing, -etc.—Mr. Neuchamp felt a strong and increasing interest. When they -returned to the merino metropolis of Garrandilla, old Mr. Hasbene -expressed his regret emphatically, while Jack Windsor loudly lamented -the necessity of going back to school. - -‘Sheep’s all very well,’ that gentleman would observe, ‘but my heart -ain’t never been with them like the cattle. There’s too much of -the shopkeeping pen-and-ink racket about ’em for me. Look at our -storekeeper, he’s writin’ away all day, and sometimes half the night, -to keep all the station accounts square. There’s Mr. Doubletides, -he’s always away before daylight, and home at all hours of the night. -There’s some blessed flock for ever away or having to be counted, -or drafted, or shifted, or tar-branded, or sold, or delivered; and -it’s the same story all the year round. There’s no rest and no easy -time with sheep, work as hard as you will. Of course the wool’s a -fine thing, but give me a mob of a couple or three hundred head of -fat cattle on the road for market with a good horse under ye and a -fourteen-foot whip in your hand. That’s a job worth talking about—a -couple of thousand pounds on legs in front of ye—and precious hard -work in a dark night, sometimes, to keep it from cuttin’ right off and -leavin’ ye with your finger in your mouth.’ - -‘By George, Jack, you’re a regular bullocky boy,’ said old Mr. Hasbene; -‘you had better get Mr. Neuchamp here to put you on as stockman when he -buys a cattle station, as I expect he will when he leaves us. If I was -a young man I’d go with him myself, for I see he’s got a real turn for -the roans and reds, and there’s nothing like ’em.’ - -‘Well, we’ll see,’ said Ernest. ‘I have a great fancy for a cattle -run; and I must say, I think Jack is right about the sheep. They are -a great deal too much trouble, especially with shepherds. I came away -from England to lead a quiet life in the wilderness, to have a little -leisure and time to think, and not to be hurried from one engagement to -another like a Liverpool cotton broker or a stock exchange speculator.’ - -‘I don’t say there isn’t money made by sheep,’ remarked Mr. Hasbene, -’but cattle, to my mind, have always been the most gentlemanly stock. -A man does his work; it’s sharp sometimes; but then he has it over. -He knows what he’s about, and hasn’t to be always “hurried up” like a -Yankee dry goods clerk. I wouldn’t change lives with Jedwood for all -the world. I live like a gentleman in my small quiet way, but I’ll be -hanged if he does.’ - -‘Quite right, Mr. Hasbene,’ said Ernest. ’The characteristics of “the -gentle life,” in my estimation, are occasional strenuous, useful, and -dignified exertion, seconded by unquestioned leisure, more or less -embellished by letters with the aid of the arts and sciences. All this -keenness to amass money, land, flocks, and herds, is merely the trading -instinct pushed to excess, whether the owner lives in a street, in a -city, or a hut on a plain. However, we must be off. Good-bye.‘ Away -they went at the rapid pace so dear to unthinking youth, all heedless -of the capital of human as of equine bone and sinew, secure of a vast -endowment to their credit in the future, good for endless drafts and -extravagant cheques, while the grizzled senior rode back to his lonely -lodge to contest, as best might be, with three months’ loneliness, -three months’ absence of human face, of human speech, laughter, or -tears. It was not a gay life, certainly, but such as it was, he had -lived and outlived twenty odd years of it. In all human probability—he -was failing now—he would remain there until he died. So best—where -else should he go? Geoffrey Hasbene had once possessed money, friends, -a good station, a fair position. But indifferent luck, combined with -an easy, careless, liberal disposition, had caused his property to -drift away from him. For a time he had suffered some of the evils of -neglect and of poverty. Then this prospect of employment was offered -and thankfully accepted, and for many years he had been exercising for -another the qualities of vigilance and economy that, in the long past -years, would have gathered and secured a fortune for himself. - -The season wore on. The mild Australian winter, far different from the -stern season that Mr. Neuchamp had associated with that name, changed -almost imperceptibly into glowing spring—into burning summer. - -The ordinary work of the station advanced. Men came and went; were -hired, verbally; retained, paid off, and so on, with an undeviating -regularity that savoured of machinery. - -With spring came all the bustle of washing and shearing. Herds of men -arrived at Garrandilla, and were employed as sheepwashers, shearers, -extra shepherds, watchmen, engineers, fleece-rollers, and people to do -anything that may be required and nothing in particular. Much Ernest -marvelled at the apparently profuse and reckless manner in which men -were engaged at high wages, until it occurred to him one evening to -reckon up, with the assistance of Malcolm Grahame, the probable value -of the wool crop. Then he admitted that a few hands or a few pounds, -more or less, were not much to be considered in view of such a large -quantity of so high-priced and so promptly convertible a commodity. - -The general tone of the establishment was altered. Mr. Windsor had -completed his colt-breaking business, and having enrolled himself as a -shearer, was living in a state of luxurious freedom from any kind of -work, and waiting with twenty or thirty other gentlemen, apparently of -independent means, the important tocsin which tells of the commencement -of shearing. - -Barrington and Grahame were galloping about all day long, from the shed -to the wash-pen, looking important and mysterious, while Mr. Banks -was permanently located at the latter place, and evidently considered -himself as in a great degree responsible for the reputation of the -Garrandilla clip in the forthcoming wool sales. - -For Ernest, to his great satisfaction, employment had been found at -the cattle station, an unusual number of fat stock having been sold -and delivered at this particular season, so that he and Jack Windsor -had been mustering and drafting and partly delivering the said beeves, -until it was time for the latter gentleman to take his place among the -braves, who, when on the war-path, on the far plains of the north-west, -are, sometimes inaccurately enough, styled and designated shearers. - -Thus it came to pass that Ernest grew to consider himself more -immediately connected with the ‘cattle side of the run’ than the sheep -ditto, and insensibly began to imbibe those prejudices in favour -of one description of stock, which, though not capable of logical -justification, are often found to be sufficiently powerful to influence -a man’s whole life. - -At last, after many minor combats and skirmishes, a strike among the -sheepwashers, a demand for more pay from the shearers, a short supply -of carriers, a threatened superfluity of clover-burr and grass seed—the -great shearing campaign was completed. - -The men were paid off; the teams wool-laden departed; the shepherds -returned to their homes—save the mark; Mr. Jedwood departed for town; -and for a little space it really seemed as if the genius of bustle -would revisit Garrandilla—‘nevermore.’ - -Mr. Jedwood had told Ernest, before leaving, that if he particularly -wished to visit town before he returned he was fully at liberty to do -so, as Mr. Doubletides would be able to manage all there was to do for -the next three months, with the other youngsters, or even without them. - -Before he left town, Ernest would have scouted the idea of leaving -Garrandilla under a full twelvemonths. But circumstances, it is said, -constantly alter and affect cases. - -The circumstances were—extreme heat; waveless uniformity, not to say -monotony, of existence; the lack of fresh companionship; and finally, -a strong, impetuous, sudden desire for civilised life, coupled with an -undefined, unrecognised longing for the criticisms of Antonia Frankston -upon his new and thrilling experiences. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -In no way does the proof more plainly reach us of the sadly shortened -space of mortal life than by the distinct stages of experience and -mental growth. - -Looking back upon the ideal fruition of a few years, we are startled -to find how far we have progressed from a given starting point. The -store of ripened experience would almost overwhelm with its garnered -richness, did not fate, with a malicious pleasure, forbid our profiting -by it. - -A few lustra have rolled over, marked by fast whitening or receding -locks, and lo! we have attained to exact conclusions concerning many -things. No further fees are necessary. Cautious are we now who once -were so heedless. Regular and methodical in business, erst unpunctual -and dilatory, we preserve our acquittances. We are industrious without -spasmodic energy, cool with the discretion, not the madness, of valour! -But one bright-haired goddess has departed with our golden youth. Hope -lends no gladness to the summer breeze, gilds not the glowing eve, -smiles not on the flowers, beckons not from the cool shadows of the -murmurous glade. - -Mr. Neuchamp was far on the hither side of these autumnal effects, so -it chanced that on one fine day— there had been no rain for about two -months—he found himself mounted on Osmund with his face turned towards -the Sydney road, and with an unwonted feeling of exultation in or -about the cardiac region. He was accompanied by Jack Windsor, who had -invested a portion of his shearing cheque in the purchase of Ben Bolt, -on favourable terms, as that interesting animal had thrown every other -one who had ever ridden him, causing Mr. Jedwood to be honestly glad to -be rid of him. - -Mr. Windsor had completed what he called a very fair spell of work, -for him, and having secured a prominent cheque and a high character at -the settlement, after shearing, was in charity with all men, even the -police, and much minded to have a pleasure trip ‘down the country,’ -as he phrased the transmontane towns. Hence, when Ernest invited him -to accompany him to Sydney, having extracted a confession that he had -never seen that ‘kingdom by the sea,’ or indeed had been a stroller by -the ‘poluphloisboio thalasses’ at any time, he readily and gratefully -accepted the offer. - -‘Seems queer, sir, doesn’t it, that I’ve never seen our main city or -the big waterhole, as the blacks call it. Somehow I’ve always had the -luck to miss it. Not that I had any powerful great longing to go. I’ve -always had some pleasant place nigh home to spend my Christmas in, -after I’d made a bit of money; and somehow, when I was once comfortable -I didn’t care about stirring.’ - -‘But I wonder that an active, intelligent fellow like you, Jack, never -made up your mind to go all the way to Sydney, out of curiosity.’ - -‘Well, it _is_ a wonder, sir; only, somehow I’ve had no eddication, as -I told you before, and chaps like me, as don’t know much except about -bush things, haven’t as much curiosity, I think, as other people. -Sydney’s only a bigger town than Campbelltown, or Yass, or Goulburn, -and what’s there to see in them if fifty of ’em was rolled up together? -That’s the way I used to talk.’ - -‘But the sea, Jack, the sea! you haven’t the sea in Yass or Goulburn.’ - -‘Oh! I know that, sir. Bless you, now I am quite different, since you -took the trouble to learn me to read and write a bit.’ (Mr. Neuchamp -had so utilised the evenings at the cattle station and other quiet -places.) ‘I’m always thinking what a stupid beggar I’ve been to have -been contented with the life I used to lead. Just like an old working -bullock in a lucerne field, grubbing away and never raisin’ his head -till it was time to lay down. You’ve made a man of me, sir, that’s what -you have. I hope I’ll be able to make you think some day—“Well, he -wasn’t a bad fellow after all.”’ - -‘I think so now, Jack; I always have thought so from the first time I -saw you.’ - -Mr. Windsor here groaned out a curse upon some one of Eve’s daughters -unknown to this chronicler. - -‘What a regular more-pork I was to be sure, to go and run my neck agin’ -a roping-pole, and all for a—false jade, who’d have come to see me -hanged, I believe, and laughed at the sight—blank her.’ - -‘You are not the first man, Jack, and will not be the last,’ quoth -Ernest, ‘who has been started on the downward road by the same agency. -But I hope you will always perceive, when accusing another, that unless -you had been that particular sort of fool that bad luck is exciting one -to turn into a rogue, her influence would have been quite insufficient. -We may as well drop the subject, for ever; but it will do you no harm -to look sometimes, without witnesses, at the precipice you passed so -closely.’ - -Mr. John Windsor, naturally one of the cheeriest of mortals, for -which temperament he had to thank a Milesian ancestress, showed no -inclination to revert to this painful topic. On the contrary, as they -approached the more settled country which lay between Garrandilla -and the railway terminus, he entertained Ernest much by his _naïve_ -and acute observations. His companionship was always valuable in -other respects. He knew all the by-tracks and short cuts, by availing -themselves of which the road was materially shortened. - -At nightfall, wherever they happened to be, Jack took all charge and -responsibility as to the horses out of Ernest’s hands. He saw that -Osmund received full justice in the inn stables, if they happened to -stay at one of the village hostelries; or if compelled to turn out he -affixed the hobbles, and following the track (slotwise) at dawn of day, -regularly and efficiently produced the hackneys saddled and accoutred -at the proper after-breakfast hour. Full of anecdote, flavoured -with the purest Australian slang, all unconsciously used, he was a -never-failing mine of interest and amusement. - -They passed the railway terminus, as Ernest had decided to ride -down the whole distance, being not unwilling to exhibit Osmund, now -‘prompt in his paces, cool, and bold,’ and after the summer grasses of -Garrandilla, sleek and ‘on his top’ in point of condition. He pictured -himself cantering along the pleasant seaside ways around Sydney, and -if a vision occasionally mingled with his reveries of a fair girlish -shape, all the more graceful in the riding-habit of the period, not -far from his side, was it not the natural outcome of the double summer -time, the pleasant season of the land, and the fairy-time that comes -but once—the thrice golden spring of youth? With these ‘companions -of Sintram’ not ominous and threatening, but full of high hope, of -purpose, and of all mighty dreams, pleasantly he paced on over the -rocky, fast descending mountain tracks. - -‘Rum road this, sir, for coaching,’ said Mr. Windsor. ‘I’ve been up -and down here many a time, by night and day, good weather and bad, in -the old times, many years before the Zig Zag was chopped out of the -sidelings. I’ve been glad enough to see the bottom of the hill at Mount -Victoria, once or twice, with a queer team and the brake not over good.’ - -‘I should say if anything happened to _that_,’ said Ernest, looking -over the sheer drop of a couple of hundred feet which overhung the -rugged boulders below, ‘the insured passengers would have a chance of -realising on their policies, as a Yankee would say.’ - -‘Things went something in that line one night, when I was aboard,’ -answered Jack, a little thoughtfully. ‘I never want to see another -start like it. Once is enough of that kind of fun.’ - -‘What was that?’ - -‘Well, sir,’ commenced Jack, settling himself on the watchful, untamed -animal, who thereupon promptly assumed an attitude of armed vigilance, -which caused Mr. Windsor to dig the spurs into him and adjure him to do -his worst, ’it was this way— - -‘It was a dark, wet, stormy night, the roads fearful; we were that -heavy loaded that it took all Sacramento Ned could do (he was a -Californian, and the best whip _I_ ever saw that’s seen a few, and that -before King Cobb was heard of on the Sydney side) to keep from going -over in some of the waggon tracks. I was on the box with him, and we’d -made friends like, as he could see I was a bit in the horse line. - -‘He was a great tall, powerful chap, with a big fair beard, and the way -he could rattle five horses and a loaded coach in and out of the creeks -and winding bush tracks, was a sight to see. Well, he’d been very -downhearted all day about something, and at last he says to me, “Jack, -old man, I can’t tell what in thunder’s come over me this trip; it’s my -last one on this line, for I’ve saved up a fairish pile and I’m going -back to my people, to turn farmer in the old state for the rest of my -days; I suppose it’s the infernal weather. Well, here we are; look -alive there, you chaps. Hold the reins for a minute, Jack, while I look -at the brake.” - -‘Well, the fresh team was waiting by the door; they’re desperate -punctual those American chaps, and the time was none too much as they -had allowed them then. - -‘I could hear him sing out for the blacksmith, whose forge was nigh the -inn—he contracted for their work. When he came, he swore at him in a -way _that_ man hadn’t been used to; by George, he _could_ swear when he -tackled it, though he was a quiet chap as didn’t talk much generally. - -‘Well, he made him put in another bolt, and said he should report him -to the road manager; then he took hold of the reins the three leaders -was hitched to, and away we went.’ - -‘He wasn’t intoxicated, I suppose?’ inquired Ernest. - -‘As sober as we are now, sir. For when he got up, he says, “I’d have -been all the better for a nip, Jack, but just because of the place -being risky, and the night extra bad, I wouldn’t have one.” We had the -five lamps, of course—two on each side, two higher up, and one atop of -all. Ned lit a cigar, pulled on his gloves, and off we went. - -‘The team was in grand order, three leaders and a pair of great -upstanding half-bred horses at the wheel, all in top condition and fit -to pull any fellow’s arm off. However, they’d a _man_ behind ’em, and -when they jumped off he steadied ’em as easy as a pair of buggy horses. - -‘You know what the road’s like. We rattled along a fair pace, but well -in hand, though the horses pulled like devils, and I had my foot on the -brake, on the near side, just to help him. - -‘We were about half way down, and I was wondering what time we should -make Penrith, when I felt the near wheeler make a sudden rush, and Ned -said in a thick, changed voice— - -‘“By——, the brake’s gone!” - -‘“You don’t say so,” says I; “it can’t be.”—“You’ll darned soon find -out, Jack,” says he, gathering up the reins and bracing himself for the -struggle with death. “Blast that infernal blacksmith, he ought to be -along with us now.” - -‘By this time the team had broken into a wild gallop, and were racing -down the narrow, winding road, with a couple of feet, sometimes less, -between us and a five hundred feet drop among the rocks. There was no -breeching harness on the wheelers; Americans don’t use it, but trust -all to the brake. Ours was gone. And the pace we were going down that -road was enough to scare the boldest man that ever handled leather. - -‘Ned was as cool and determined as if it was a saltbush plain. He held -the mad team true and straight, and trusted, I could see, to pulling -them up on the long flat at the bottom of the hill. If we got there. -_If!_ Of course, the only little chance was to let them go best pace -and guide them. The slightest pull up would have sent us sideways over -the black rocks, half a mile below. - -‘It was a strange sight, I tell you, sir. Ned’s face was pale but set -hard, the muscles of his arms showed like cords, his eyes shining and -steady, looking forward through the dark; the great lamps swinging wide -with the rolling of the coach. As we turned one corner we hung nearly -over the cliff, just shaved it. The women inside kept up a dismal -screaming; the men looked out and said nothing. - -‘“We may do it yet, Jack,” he said, “if we can clear those cursed -guard-logs near the bottom.” - -‘“Right you are, Ned,” says I, to cheer him. I was afraid of them -myself. - -‘Now a’most at the bottom of the hill the road had been new metalled, -and as the track was broader and clear of the sideling, the road -contractor, damn him, had placed a whole lot of heavy logs on both -sides of the metal. I never could see the pull of it myself, except to -make accidents easy. - -‘Well, at the last corner, Ned had to keep as near as he dared to the -edge to turn the coach. The pace was frightful by this time, the coach -on the swing; and before he could get in from his turn she hit one of -these ugly butts and, balancing for a bit, fell over with a crash that -I can hear now, dragged for a second or two, then lay on her side with -the top wheels still going round and the team struggling and kicking in -a heap together. - -‘I don’t know how many rods I was pitched. But when I found I wasn’t -killed I picked myself up and went to help out the insides. It was an -ugly sight. Some were frightened to death, and wouldn’t stir. Some had -broken limbs. Two _were_ dead—one woman with her baby safe in her arms. -We got ’em all out of it with the help of those passengers who, like -me, were only shaken a bit. - -‘“There’s something wrong with Ned,” says I, “or he’d have been among -us by this time. There’s _one_ lamp alight, fetch it along.” So we -looked about and round, and after a bit we found him lying on his face -with his whip in his hand, stone dead. Poor Ned!’ - -‘A sad and terrible accident,’ said Ernest. ‘What did you all do?’ - -‘We straightened the horses after a bit—there was two dead and one with -a broken leg of _them_; and I rode horseback to the next stage and sent -a team back for ’em. They got in next day. But I shall always think -poor Ned had a kind of feeling beforehand.’ - -‘It was not his fault, poor fellow.’ - -‘Fault, sir? he was the carefullest chap I ever see. It all lay between -that idle rascal of a blacksmith and the wooden-headed road contractor -that put them guard-logs down.’ - -‘It is safer on horseback, as we are,’ remarked Mr. Neuchamp, ‘unless -we travelled as I did coming up. I rather prefer a horse, though, I -must say.’ - -‘Well, it seems more natural like,’ said Jack reflectively, giving Ben -Bolt a playful touch with the spurs, which caused that tameless steed -to jump on one side in a fashion that might have been dangerous to a -less resolute horseman. ‘Nothing like a good horse under a man; then -he’s ready for anything or anybody.’ - -Once more the great meadows and broad river, majestically winding, -which needs but the ruined castle on its scarped sandstone cliff to -render it in some aspects equal in picturesque beauty to the ‘castled -Rhine.’ Once more the semi-tropical warmth; the soft, luscious, -enervating breeze of the southern seas; the half-effaced traces of -ancient labour; the patient, plodding industry and general evidence of -village life. - -Ernest pressed on until they reached Walton’s inn, where he took it -into his head to stop for the night before they reached Sydney. Drawing -rein at the door, he left Osmund in charge of Mr. Windsor, and marched -into the clean taproom with a considerably altered air and general -expression from those of his first visit. - -The old woman was absent, but Carry, hearing some one in the room, came -hastily in and stared for a moment in astonishment. - -‘Well, I declare,’ said she at length, ‘if it isn’t Mr. Newchum! How -you have altered; got so sunburned too. I hardly should have known you. -Well, it’s very good of you to come and see us again. Mother will be -ever so pleased.’ - -‘I thank you for your welcome, Carry,’ said Ernest, smiling at the -honest pleasure so clearly shown in the girl’s face; ‘I have a servant -with me and two horses—can you put us up for the night?’ - -‘Oh yes. George will be round directly, if your man will take the -horses into the yard. So you’re not walking now?’ asked she, with -rather a mischievous look. - -‘No, Carry, it takes too much time, not that it isn’t pleasant enough; -but I suppose I shall get into all your lazy ways in time. Mind you -take care of my man; he’s a capital fellow and a favourite of mine.’ - -‘Is he a native?’ asked the girl. - -‘Yes, a countryman of yours,’ said Ernest. - -‘Then he can take care of himself,’ said the damsel decidedly. ‘I’ll -show you your room, sir, and see about your tea.’ - -It may be safely held that nothing is much more enjoyable in its way -than a snug roadside inn, where the host and attendants are cheerfully -willing to minister to the comfort of the wayfarer. The food may be -plain, the cooking homely, but the prompt and unchilled service atones -fully for want of artistic merit; and if the traveller carries with -him the inimitable condiments of appetite and reasonable fatigue, the -simple meal is a banquet for the gods, and sweet sleep arrives without -delay to lull the satisfied traveller into luxurious dreamless rest. - -Mr. Neuchamp thought that no club dinner had ever more thoroughly -satisfied his every sense than the broiled steak, the fresh butter, -the toast and eggs, all placed upon a snowy tablecloth, which the -neat-fingered Carry put before him. - -Before retiring, Ernest made a point of visiting his horse, as should -every horseman worthy of the name. He found that trusty steed and the -uncertain Ben Bolt up to their knees in straw, with their racks full of -well-saved oaten hay, than which no horse, from England’s meads to the -sand-strewn pastures where the desert courser roams, can desire better -provender. - -In returning from his excursion he chanced upon a _partie-carrée_ -composed of George Walton, his mother, sister, and Mr. John Windsor, -who was evidently the lion of the evening, to judge by the way he was -holding forth, and the respectful admiration with which his tales of -flood and field were received. Among these moving adventures Ernest -caught the sound of some reference to a sailing match, in which, as -usual, fortune had smiled on the brave. Knowing that the mighty ocean -was as yet a wonder unwitnessed by the bold Australian, this experience -struck him as improbable, to say the least of it. However, he always -permitted Master Jack to encounter his _monde_ after his own fashion, -not doubting but that his ready wit and fertility of resource would -bring him forth unharmed of reputation. - -On the following morning, therefore, after a breakfast worthy of the -glorious supper which he long afterwards recalled, horses and riders in -exuberant spirits, they set forth for the easy concluding stage. - -The household turned out to witness their departure. - -‘It puts me and my good man in mind of old times,’ said the aged -hostess, ‘to have a gentleman stay the night and see horses like them -in the stable again. Not as I like that chestnut willin.’ (Ben Bolt, by -the way, had nearly settled George Walton’s career in life, permanently -if not brilliantly, as he unguardedly approached the ‘irreconcilable.’) -’It’s done us all good, sir, and I hope you won’t forget to give us a -call when you’re leaving town.’ - -‘It has done _us_ good, I can vouch for,’ said Ernest heartily, as -he observed his follower’s bold eyes fixed upon Carry’s features -with unmistakable admiration. ‘I shall always think of you all as my -earliest friends in Australia. Good-bye, George; good-bye, Carry—we -must pay you another visit when we start back, after our holiday is up.’ - -‘That’s something like a place to stop at,’ observed Mr. Windsor, in -a tone of deep appreciation, as they passed cheerfully onward, after -a mile or two’s silence. ‘Real nice people, ain’t they, sir? What a -house they must have kept in the old coaching days! One thing, they -wouldn’t have had time to have waited much on us then, with the up -coach leaving and the down one just coming in, and the whole place full -of hungry passengers. How did you ever come to find the old place out, -sir?’ - -‘It was the first inn I saw in Australia that took my fancy, Jack. -I had had many a cruise on foot in England; gentlemen often take a -walking tour there for the fun of the thing; you know the distances -are not so great, the weather is cooler, and there is every inducement -for young strong men to ramble about the green hills and dales of -old England, where you may sit under the walls of a ruined castle a -thousand years old, or watch the same sort of trout in the brook by the -monastery that the monks loved on their fast days centuries ago.’ - -‘That must be jolly enough for a gentleman with his purse full of -money and his head chock-full of learning, knowing all the names of -the people as lived and died there before he was born. But for one of -us chaps, as can’t see nothing but a heap of old stones and a lot of -out-and-out green feed, why, there’s no particular pull in it.’ - -‘But there’s nothing to hinder a man like you from knowing as much as -other people in a general way, if you can read. Books are cheap, and -plentiful, Heaven knows.’ - -‘Well, sir, it does seem hard for a fellow like me to know very little -more than a black fellow, as one might say; that’s how lots of us takes -to drink, just for want of something to think about. Sometimes it’s -easy to do a chap good.’ - -‘But it always ruins a man in the long run, perhaps kills him right -out.’ - -‘That’s all very well, sir, only look at his part of it: a man comes -in from a long spell of bush work—splitting, fencing, dam-making, -cattle-droving, what not—into one of these bush townships. He’s tired -to death of sheep and cattle or gum-trees; or perhaps he’s been in some -place, all plains for a hundred miles with never a tree or a stone; all -he’s seen has been the overseer to measure his work, his mates that -he worked with, the regular tea, damper, and mutton, day after day; -perhaps flies and mosquitoes enough to eat him alive. Well, he’s had a -year of this sort of thing, perhaps two; say he’s never smelt grog all -the time.’ - -‘All the better for him too,’ said Ernest; ‘see what splendid hard -condition he’s in; fit to go for a man’s life.’ - -‘That’s all right, sir, but he’s so precious dull and hungry for a -change that he feels ready to go to h—l for a lark, as the saying is; -so he comes to the public-house bar, in some hole of a bush township, -and the first glass of grog he gets makes him _feel like a new man, in -a new world_.’ - -‘Well, why doesn’t he stop there?’ - -‘He can’t,’ continued Jack, ‘else he’d slip back, so of course he -takes another, and the stuff is ever so bad, rough, very like tobacco -in it, or some rascally drug, but it’s strong, and it’s the strength -he craves for, from the tips of his fingers to the very inside of the -marrow of his bones; when that glass is swallowed he has forgotten that -he is a poor, ignorant, working man; he _knows_ he’s a sort of king; -every good thing he’s thought of in his life is a-coming to him; he’s -to be rich, happy, clever, able to marry the girl he likes; if any man -looks at him he can knock his head off—ten men’s heads off! Drink? -Fifty glasses wouldn’t make _him_ drunk! Capital grog it is too; feels -more sober every glass he takes; landlord’s splendid fellow; must have -some more drink; and so on.’ - -‘But how do you know a man has all these grand ideas? I grant it’s -enticing.’ - -‘Because _I’ve passed through it all myself_,’ said the henchman -grimly, yet with a half air of shame and regret. ‘I’ve been on the -burst, as we call it, more than once or twice either, worse luck.’ - -‘I hope you never will again, Jack.’ - -‘I _think_ not, sir, if I know it. But a man shouldn’t be too sure. -It’s an awful craving, by——. It drags you by your very heart-strings, -once you get it right.’ - -‘But you don’t mean to say there’s any fun in a week’s drink at a -wretched pot-house, even if the first hour is as good as you say. Then -the waking up!’ - -‘But there _is_ fun in it,’ persisted the poor relation, ‘else why do -hundreds and thousands do it? All these chaps are not fools, much less -lazy; it’s the hardest workers and best hands among us working chaps -that’s the worst drinkers, by odds. As to the waking up, as you say, -it’s bad enough, but a strong man gets over it in a day or two, and -tackles his bread and meat, and his work, pretty much as usual till the -time of the next spree comes round.’ - -‘But what a fool a man must think himself,’ said Ernest, ‘at the end -of a week, when he finds that he has spent all the fruit of a year’s -labour, and is obliged to begin another solitary weary year.’ - -‘It _is_ bad, as you say, sir. You’re quite right; but right’s one -thing and human nature’s another, in the bush, anyhow. I remember -coming to myself in the _dead-house_ of a bush inn once, and I felt -like a dead man too; the parson had been preaching at our woolshed the -week before, and that text came into my head, and kept ringing through -it like a hundred bullock bells.’ - -‘And what was it, Jack?’ - -‘“In hell he lifted up his eyes.” I ain’t very likely to forget. He -gave us a great dressin’ down for drink and swearing, and bad ways, and -so on. We deserved it right enough, and his words struck.’ - -‘What did you do then?’ - -‘I just crawled into the bar, sir, and when the landlord gave me a nip -I put it on the counter and bent down to it; blessed if my hand wasn’t -too shaky to hold it.’ - -‘“How much is left of my cheque?” says I. “Forty-three twelve six, it -was.” - -‘“Not a blessed shilling,” says he; “you’ve been treating all round, -and having champagne like water; it ain’t likely a small cheque like -that would last long.” - -‘“Give me a loaf,” says I, “and we’ll cry quits.” A bushman never -disputes his grog score. If he’s been a fool, he’s willing to uphold -it. So off I went and walked straight along the road, and slept under -a tree that night. Next day I was better; and the third day I got a -billet, and was as well as ever I was in my life. I had one or two -sprees after that, but never such an out-and-out desperate one again.’ - -Ernest Neuchamp looked at the clear eyes and healthy bronzed skin of -the man as he spoke, noble in all the marvellous grace and strength of -godlike youth, and thought how deep the pity that such a spirit, such a -frame, should sink into the drunkard’s nerveless, hopeless, shapeless -life in death. - -He rode onward more than a mile in silence and deep thought, then he -spoke— - -‘I cannot say with truth, Jack, that I feel inclined to abuse and -condemn wholesale everybody and everything connected with intemperance, -casual or habitual. I see in it a habit—say a vice—to which the most -energetic, intelligent, and industrious of our race have been prone -since the dawn of history. Where circumstance is invariable there must -be an underlying law. I forget, you don’t understand this sort of talk. -But, you will admit that it’s a bad thing—a thing that grows upon a -man till it eats out his will, like a grub in the root of a plant, and -then, man or plant withers and dies. Now you’re a practical man of wide -experience, you know that I mean what I say chiefly, and I want to see -my way to do good in this matter. What’s the likeliest cure, in your -opinion?’ - -‘As to that, sir,’ said Mr. Windsor, settling himself so suspiciously -in the saddle that Ben Bolt arched his back and made ready for hostile -action, ‘I should be cock-sure that having an empty cobbra, as the -blacks say, was on the main track that led to the grog-camp, only that -the best eddicated chaps are the worst lushingtons when they give way -at all. Perhaps they remember old times too well, if they’ve come down -in the world. But I’ve noticed that a working man as likes reading, and -is always looking out for a new book, or thinks he knows something as -will alter the pull of money over labour—he’s a very unlikely card to -drink much. If he gets a paper with a long letter in it, or a working -man’s yarn in a book, he goes home as happy as a king, and reads away -to his wife, or sits up half the night spelling it out. _He_ don’t -drink. Even if he spouts a bit at the public, he talks a deal more than -he swipes.’ - -‘I am quite of your opinion, Jack; the more a man knows, the more he -wants to know. Then he must read; if he reads steadily all his spare -time, he finds his drinking companions low and dull, and thinks it a -great waste of time to be shouting out foolish songs or idle talk for -four or five hours that would put him half way through a new book. -Besides, he has become good company for himself, which your drinking -man is not.’ - -‘That’s the best reason of all, sir,’ heartily assented his follower. -‘It is hard lines on those chaps that can only talk about horses or -cattle, or crops, or bullock driving. When they’re by themselves they -can only sulk. It’s natural that they should want other men to talk to, -and then it’s hard work to make any fun without the grog.’ - -‘And there’s another very powerful beverage,’ continued Ernest, ‘that -has been known to preserve men from the snare of strong drink, when -nothing else would.’ - -‘What’s that, sir?’ - -‘The influence of a good woman, John. The hope to win her some day by -prudence and self-denial; the endeavour to be worthy of her; or the -determination to give the best part of one’s life to the comfort and -happiness of her and her children, after she is a wife.’ - -‘By the holy poker, sir,’ shouted Mr. Windsor, roused out of his usual -cool demeanour, ‘you’ve just hit it there; there’s no man worth calling -a man as wouldn’t work himself to skin and bone, and suffer thirst till -his tongue hung out, if he could make himself of some account in the -eyes of some women I’ve seen. There’s a girl that we saw no later than -last night, sir—you know who I mean; by George, if she’d only hold up -her finger I’d live on rice and pickles like a Chinaman to the end of -my days, and sniff at a glass of grog like old Watch does.’ - -‘Very good resolution, Jack; and Carry Walton is as nice a girl, and -as good, I’m sure, as ever tempted a man to make good resolutions. I -quite approve of your taste. Indeed, she’s a great friend of mine, and -if you like to show what stuff you are really made of, I’ll see what I -can do to give you a helping hand.’ - -John Windsor did not speak for some time. He looked before him for -a few seconds as if watching the far sky-line on the great primeval -wastes where his youth had been passed. Then he turned with a grave -and sobered expression, very different from the one habitual to his -somewhat reckless demeanour. ‘I don’t like to say much, sir—talking -isn’t my line, when I mean anything—but if you’re good enough to be -bothered with me for a year or two, and if I get that girl for a wife, -and keep her as she ought to be kept by my own industry, you’ll have a -man as will work for you, ride for you, or fight for you, as long as -you want any one on this side.’ - -‘I know that, Jack,’ said Mr. Neuchamp, looking feelingly at the -heightened colour and speaking expression of his follower; ‘and if I -have any claim beyond gratitude, you cannot repay it more effectually, -and more agreeably to my mind, than by acting in such a way as to make -people talk of you by and by as an industrious, steady, and I am sure -they will add, clever and successful man.’ - -Jack’s manly face glowed, and his brown eyes glistened at this -encouraging statement; but he refrained from further speech until they -reached the broad arterial thoroughfare which, from all the great -western and southern provinces, leads into the most beautiful city in -Australia. - -‘This looks something like a crowd, sir. What a mob of houses, people, -cabs, teams, men, women, and children! What in the name of fortune do -they all do, and where do they all go at night? Well, I never thought -the town was as big as this. Confound the horse’ (this to Ben Bolt, who -lashed out at a passing hansom), ‘he’ll kill some one yet before he’s -safe in the stable.’ - -Perhaps a city is never seen to such advantage as after a considerable -sojourn in the provinces, at sea, or in any such other distant or -isolated abode, where the dweller is necessarily debarred from the -required licenses of civilisation. At such a time the sensations, -keenly sharpened by abstinence, do more than justice to the real, even -to the apparent, advantages of that aggregation of human atoms known as -a city. - -The returning or arriving traveller revels in the real and -supposititious treasures of this newly-discovered fairyland. The -predominance and accessibility of wonders; the daily presence of -friends, acquaintances, strangers, and notables, dazzle and deceive -the eye long accustomed to the rare presentment of such personages; -the public buildings, the parks, the intellectual and artistic -treasure-houses, the higher standard of appearance, dress—all combine -to excite and animate the mind. - -Mr. Neuchamp had been familiar with divers capitals of considerably -greater pretensions, and of world-wide historic rank and reputation. -London had been his home, Paris his holiday retreat; Rome, Venice, -Vienna, his occasional residence. But he thought he had never before -felt so high and genuine a degree of exhilaration when returning to any -of those great cities after an absence, as he now acknowledged in every -vein and pulse, as he rode up the not particularly gorgeous avenue of -Brickfield Hill, and passing the railway station, decided to thread -George Street and, depositing the horses at a snug stable he knew of, -find his way once more to the office of Paul Frankston and Co. - -It would be unjust to Mr. Neuchamp to say that this name and its -concomitant associations had not been many times unquestioned and -sole possessors of his thoughts. Many a time and oft had he wondered -whether the household remained exactly _in statu quo_. Did the old man -return nightly to his dinner, his cigar, his seat in the verandah, and -his unfailing request to Antonia to play and sing? He could fancy her -pleasant smile as she sat down to the instrument, and her cheerful -performance of the somewhat old-fashioned tunes and melodies that her -father loved. - -And had she made any fresh acquaintances? Were any other newly-arrived -colonists kindly greeted and put upon terms of familiar hospitality -like himself? That sort of thing might be carried too far. Extremely -entertaining young fellows emigrated, and a few that he could name were -unmistakably ‘bad eggs.’ - -However, he would very soon see if anything of the kind, any shadow -of the falcon, was imminent. He had heard from time to time from old -Paul, who occasionally furnished a message from Antonia of a new book -she had been reading, a visit she had paid, a sailing excursion that -she and her father had enjoyed together; and lastly, something had -been said about an Austrian nobleman—Count or Baron, or of some such -objectionable rank—who was the acknowledged lion of Sydney just then, -and who had been several times at Morahmee. - -This piece of information did not cause any of the pleasure almost -visible on the letter relating it to be conveyed to Ernest Neuchamp. -‘Count be hanged!’ he was English enough to say. ’I hate these -foreign fellows. Ten to one there’s something not quite correct about -a foreigner on his travels. Not that there’s any logical necessity for -it. I trust I am not sufficiently insular to deny a foreign nobility -all the graces and virtues that add lustre to our own. But we can -always find out and trace our “heavy gunners.” But in the countless (I -mean no harm) multitude of Counts and Barons, Grafs and Vons, who can -possibly tell whether the bowing, broken-Englished, insinuating beggar -that you introduce to your wife and daughters is Von Adelberg himself, -or his valet or courier levanted with the cash and purloining the title -as well as the clothes of his master?’ - -Osmund and Ben Bolt were safely bestowed in a snug but unpretending -stable not a hundred miles from Bent Street, and Mr. Windsor, as a man -who ’knew his way about,’ even in a strange city, was left temporarily -to his own guidance, merely being requested to report himself at -Morahmee. - -Every Englishman knows what important step Ernest took next. His hair -reduced to the smallest visible quantity, and the luxuriance of his -beard, which he had lately permitted full liberty of growth, rationally -restricted, he betook himself to the well-known counting-house. - -The grave head clerk, who had acquired such solemn doubts as to Mr. -Hartley Selmore’s final destination, smiled, under protest, when he -announced ‘a gentleman on business,’ by Ernest’s request. Old Paul -looked up with his usual good-natured expression, then stared in -unrecognising blankness at the bronzed and bearded figure before him, -finally to burst into a perfect tempest of laughter and chuckling, -shaking Ernest’s hands violently with both of his, and making as if he -could throw himself on the neck of his safe returning _protégé_. - -‘Ha! ha! ha! so you’re back again, are you, Ernest, my boy? By Jove, -I’m glad to see you; burnt brown enough too—shows you’ve been working; -like to see it—none the worse looking for it, either, I know the girls -will say. But, I say—ha! ha! ha! known by the police, eh? Captain -Jinks, alias Gentleman Jack, and the _other prisoner_, eh, my boy? How -I roared at that till Antonia was quite savage—for _her_ you know. -Didn’t take your photo, did they? generally do, you know. Got an album, -for reference, at all the chief police stations. You’re coming out, of -course, to-night. Antonia will be awfully glad; don’t tell her I said -so. - -‘Look here, my dear boy, I was just bothering this old head of mine -about some business matters—hang them. You run away out to Morahmee, -and tell Antonia to have dinner ready to the minute, or I’ll murder the -whole household. Now off with you!’ - -Ernest departed, nothing loath, and as he whirled out, hansom-borne, -along the well-remembered road, and gazed once more upon the blue -waters, the frowning headland, the green villa-dotted shores of -the unequalled harbour, he mentally contrasted these with the gray -monotonous plains of Garrandilla, or the equally monotonous waterless -woodlands. - -‘By Jove!’ he said, ‘I feel like a schoolboy home for the holidays, or -a sailor back from a cruise; and all for the pleasure of returning to -Sydney, a place I had scarcely heard of a couple of years since. Am I -the same Ernest Neuchamp that knew Paris pretty well before he was of -age, and Vienna to boot? - -‘However, all this sort of thing is like your club dinners. The menu -goes for little except you have the appetite; if you have _that_, you -can renovate soul and body upon bread and cheese.’ Here he deserted the -region of philosophic parallels, and began to picture the expression -of satisfaction, perhaps of unrestrained pleasure, that would illumine -Antonia Frankston’s countenance upon his arrival. ‘What a charming -thing a perfect friendship between two persons of different sexes might -be made!’ he thought, ‘if people would not insist upon complicating the -highest, noblest, and most exalted sentiment of which our nature is -capable with that ridiculous, half instinctive, undignified, inferior -passion which men call love. Of course inferior. Why, friendship must -necessarily be based upon an equality of culture, of social aims, -principles, and sympathies, while the other violent, unreasoning, and -unreasonable monopoly may exist between persons of the most widely -differing ages, positions, standards of refinement, and intellectual -rank; between the dotard and the maiden, the duke and the dairymaid, -the peeress and the parvenu, the rustic and the courtier, the -spotlessly pure and the incorrigibly base.’ - -From this it may be gathered that Mr. Neuchamp was not a man addicted -to falling violently and promiscuously in love. In point of fact, he -had a stupendously high ideal, which, not expecting to realise it in -everyday life, seemed to keep the subject a good deal out of his mind. -Then he thought a man should do some work under the sun first, and -set about a quest for the ‘sangreal’ afterwards. He regarded Antonia -Frankston with a deep feeling of interest, as a dear and highly -sympathetic friend. He had given her the advantage of many criticisms -with respect to the course of reading, very unusual for a girl of her -age, that she was pursuing when they first met, and since then had -advised and directed her intellectual progress. - -Insensibly the natural sympathy between the master and a promising -pupil was quickened and intensified by the originality of mind which -Antonia evinced. When Ernest Neuchamp magnanimously departed for the -interior, he had commenced to notice the awakening of an unacknowledged -feeling that the hour’s talk and make-believe school at Morahmee was -the period of the day he was most eager to seize, most unwilling to -relinquish. - -And now how altered and strengthened as to her intellectual grasp must -she be—this unsophisticated, unwon child of the fair south—with the -brooding fancies and absolute simplicity of a child, the instinctive -dignity, the curious aplomb, of a woman. As he reached this not -unpleasing stage of his reverie the wheels of the hansom ground -viciously the matchless gravel of the drive at Morahmee, and grazed -perilously close the snowy sandstone steps in front of the portico. - -Ernest recalled the old delicious sense of stillness, the - - beautiful silence all around, - Save wood-bird to wood-bird calling, - -broken only by the calmly murmurous rhythmic plash of the wavelets on -the beach. - -It was not a house where people were always coming and going, and he -did not remember often to have found Antonia otherwise than alone, -on the occasion of his former visits. What was she doing now? Should -he find her reading in the library, that pleasant room with the bay -window, in which slumberous calms the smiles and storms of ocean were -pictures set as in a frame? in the drawing-room? in the shrubbery? in -the rose garden? in the morning-room, which she usually affected, and -which, having a davenport, her favourite authors, and a cottage piano, -was able to supply, indifferently well, the distinguishing features of -three more pretentious apartments? - -As he passed through the hall the notes of the piano, not of the -boudoir, but the grand Erard, with a bass of organ-like depth of -vibration, informed him that in the drawing-room he would probably find -the youthful _châtelaine_. - -Almost simultaneously he heard the rich, deep notes of a strange male -voice accompanying the instrument, and recognised the concluding words -of a duet which he himself had sung with Miss Frankston full many a -time and oft. - -As the second performer dwelt with perhaps unnecessarily tender -expression upon Heine’s thrilling ‘Bis in den tiefsten Traum,’ Mr. -Neuchamp became conscious of a distinct change of feeling—of a sudden -painful sense of disenchantment. - -There was no tangible cause for uneasiness. A young lady was merely -singing one of Mendelssohn’s loveliest duets with an accredited musical -acquaintance. By the merest accident, no doubt. Still, let but a single -cloud darken the summer sky, the chill breeze once sigh, how faintly -soever, and the heart, that sensitive plant, shrinks instinctively at -nature’s warning. So smote the melody, albeit effectively rendered, -upon Ernest’s highly-wrought mind with a savour of bode and of dread. -And as he entered the open door of the apartment he knew himself to be -deeply changed from the eager visitor who had but a few moments since -so joyously alighted at the portals of Morahmee. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -The attainment of pure and permanent happiness, by either of the -attached persons, has always been held to be a leading aim of true -friendship. Mild surprise at the nature of the implements chosen for -such attainment is, perhaps, admissible. But no selfish disapproval can -be justified for a moment, if only the appreciative partner elects to -adhere fixedly to the new plan or newer friend. - -Still, human nature is ever more philosophical in theory than in -practice; and the wayfaring Damon, _de retour_, rarely reaches that -pinnacle of sublime abnegation which glories in being superseded, or -expresses gratitude that Pythias has provided himself with another -Damon, ‘whose Christian name was John.’ Some natural distrust must ever -be felt, must be exhibited, let the fresher friend be in the highest -degree justifiable, heroic, adorable. - -All the essayists on friendship notwithstanding, Mr. Neuchamp felt -distinctly aggrieved. There was he, rushing back upon the wings -of—well—intelligent and sympathetic friendship, willing to resume -the delightful æsthetic intercourse which compulsory absence had -alone interrupted, and now, apparently, he needed not to have come at -all. Antonia was fully occupied, no doubt interested, by the first -frivolous foreigner that came in her way, and was singing duets and so -on, as if she had no higher aspiration than to listen for ever to a -German band. - -Entering the drawing-room, Ernest presented himself just as the Count -(of course it was the Count, confound him!) was singing the _dich der -folgen_ portion of the melody with, as Ernest thought, ridiculously -exaggerated emphasis. He made the most of his eyes—which were really -fine—rolled them in an excess of admiration, and throwing the fullest -expressive force into the concluding stanza, sighed and bowed low -with admiring respect to the fair pianist. She smiled not wholly with -displeasure, and as she turned she met the somewhat grave and fixed -regard of Ernest Neuchamp. - -‘Pray excuse me for disturbing your musical entertainment, Miss -Frankston,’ he said, with a coldness unlike anything she had ever -observed in his manner before. - -Antonia’s colourless face, which had flushed slightly at the suddenness -of the _contretemps_, regained its habitual serene delicacy of hue, as -she calmly observed— - -‘The Count von Schätterheims and I have been practising German duets -for a _matinée_ that Mrs. Folleton gives next week, and that all -Sydney is wild about. It is quite a treat to have the aid of one who -understands the genius of the poetry and music so thoroughly. Permit me -to introduce you to the Count, Mr. Neuchamp.’ - -The foreign nobleman, a tall, fair man, with a moustache like a -Pandour, bowed graciously, and resumed the musical subject. - -‘Ah! I did know Mendelssohn so well as mine fader. He lif at our house -when he come to Munich. He always say I was born for a _maestro_.’ - -‘And why did you not fulfil his prediction, Count?’ asked Antonia, much -interested. - -‘De sword,’ said Von Schätterheims with a grave, sad air. ‘You vill -comprehent, he vas too moosh for de lyre. I join de movement of -freedom. I haf commant, wit poor Körner. He die in dese arms.’ - -‘The lyre—ahem!’ said Ernest, smiling grimly at his utterly -unjustifiable _mot_, ‘has reasserted his right, I should say. Did not -Körner die in 18—?’ (Here he quoted the memorable ‘Sword Song’ in the -original.) - -‘Ha!’ said the Count, a new expression, not only of satisfaction, -pervading his features, ‘thou hast seen the Faderland. No Englander -ever learned a so _heimlich_ acsend who drank not in youth the beer at -_Studenten-Kneipe_—we must have _Brüderschaft_. Is it not so?’ - -‘Do you think we can manage “Die Schwalben,” Count?‘ asked Antonia. - -‘But I haf bromiss to be at the house of Madame Folleton, to hear -mademoiselle bractise dat leedle Folks-lied. Besites, we read Heine -togeder. She is aisthetig—yaas—to de tips of her finkers. Adieu!’ - -‘And now, Mr. Ernest Neuchamp, what have you to say for yourself?’ said -Antonia, in a tone between jest and earnest, ‘in that you have been in -my presence for half an hour and have only smiled twice, have called me -Miss Frankston, and have looked at that delightful creature, the Count, -with an air of stern disapproval? Where do you expect to go to?’ - -‘Really,’ said Ernest, ‘I am unconscious of having done or looked -anything peculiarly unsatisfactory. But I thought you were so -exceedingly well contented with the Count’s society that I doubted -whether I was not making an undesirable third. And who is this Count?’ - -‘Well, he had letters to papa and old Captain Blockstrop; and all -Sydney is wild about him. No party is worth going to where he does not -come. He is the most accomplished and charming person—plays, sings, -paints, has been a soldier and desperately wounded. All the young -ladies of Sydney are wild about him. He is enormously rich, and gives -such parties on board his yacht!’ - -‘And is Miss Frankston one of the young ladies whom this -broken-Englished invincible has conquered?’ asked Ernest. ‘May I be -permitted to congratulate her?’ - -‘You must judge for yourself,’ said the girl, with so merry a look -and such a genuinely amused expression that Mr. Neuchamp’s slight -experience of the ways of womankind assured him that no great damage -to his pupil’s heart had as yet taken place. ‘But there is just time -for a stroll on the beach before dinner, and a slight sketch of your -adventures since you left us. You look quite a bushman now. How -sunburned you have managed to get!’ - -Mr. Neuchamp was but mortal. The best of us, under certain conditions, -are weak. As Antonia shut down the piano and ran to get her straw -hat with girlish freedom of manner, he felt his justifiable wrath -evaporating. Long before they had finished that pleasant ramble in -the cool twilight, with the stars one by one appearing, the surge -voices whispering low and solemnly kind, the cool briny savour of the -ocean—a sea of enchantment to Ernest, but of yesterday from the inner -deserts—long before the somewhat emphasised dinner-bell rang, Ernest -repented of his pettishness. He knew that his friendship had suffered -neither wrong nor change. He felt that there were still feelings and -aspirations in that fresh, unspoiled, girlish heart to which he alone -had the password. He answered Mr. Frankston’s boisterous hail from the -verandah in a surprisingly nautical and cheery manner, and passed into -the enjoyment of dinner, and dinner talk, much relieved in mind. - -‘What’s become of the Count, Antonia?’ said the old gentleman. ‘Try -that Chablis, Ernest, my boy; imported it since you were down. Old -Jedwood didn’t give you anything like that; thundering old screw, isn’t -he? good man for all that; trust him with your life. I thought you were -going to make the Count stay to dinner, Antonia.’ - -‘Well, it would have been pleasanter for Mr. Neuchamp, perhaps,’ said -the young lady demurely. ‘But he said he had to go to Mrs. Folleton’s.’ - -‘Oh! that was the attraction then,’ said Mr. Frankston. ‘They say he -admires Harriet Folleton tremendously. She will have twenty thousand -down; but as he is so wealthy himself, of course the cash can’t matter.’ - -‘You all seem to take it for granted that he is so very rich, and a -wonderful fellow in all respects,’ said Ernest. ‘He’s good-looking -enough, I admit; but who is to know whether he is really the man he -represents himself to be?’ - -‘Why should he not be himself,’ said Antonia, ‘more than any one else?’ - -‘For this reason,’ replied Ernest, ‘that it is much more easy for a -foreigner to impose upon English people, in a community like this, than -for an Englishman to practise a similar deceit. He has but to bring -manufactured introductions, and the whole difficulty is over to a man -of ordinary address and qualifications for sustaining such a part.’ - -‘Well, I must say,’ said Mr. Frankston, ‘that the letters I received -might have been written by any corresponding clerk in a German -counting-house. I took him and his letters for granted, and so did old -Blockstrop, just as we should have taken his bills properly endorsed. -But let me ask you, Ernest, my boy, doesn’t he look and speak like the -real thing?’ - -‘You must not be offended with me,’ said Ernest, conscious of a certain -flash in Antonia’s eyes, ‘or think me ungenerous, if I say that I -should like to take a little more time and have some opportunities of -intercourse before giving my opinion. You must remember that habitudes -of ceremonious behaviour pervade _all classes_ in continental countries -to an extent unknown in British communities. By superficial observers -a count and a courier, for instance, will not be perceived to differ -in manner or language; and the courier is often the more picturesque -personage of the two.’ - -‘And why not?’ inquired Antonia; ‘is there no difference between the -manners and the conversation of people of upper and lower rank, except -in England and English places?’ - -‘I do not say that; the contrary is the case, but the discrepancies are -sufficiently minute to escape British people not thoroughly acquainted -with the language. For the same reason no foreigner would discover the -difference between a good-looking, decently-educated Britisher who -dropped his aitches, and the real article. Thackeray somewhere gives a -case in point.’ - -‘Well, I suppose we shall be all at the great ball next week,’ said -Antonia, ‘and you will then be able to analyse Count von Schätterheims -to your heart’s content. They say he admires Harriet Folleton -extremely.’ - -‘It’s nothing to me whom he admires,’ said Ernest, ‘as long as he -leaves a certain independent-minded young lady friend of mine alone. I -should not like to see her carried off by any privateer hoisting false -colours.’ - -‘You are all jealous; that’s the truth, if you would but own it,’ -laughed Antonia; ‘and indeed, if one thinks of the commotion the Count -has created among the Sydney young ladies, it seems reasonable enough. -If he had been a whole man-of-war compressed, he could not have been -more flattered and run after. And that is saying a great deal _here_, -you know.’ - -‘I am aware of that,’ said Ernest, with a slight bow; ‘short as has -been my experience, I have noticed so much.’ - -‘Well, I agree with Ernest to a certain extent,’ said old Paul -reflectively. ‘It’s as well to be cautious with these wonderful -strangers, especially foreigners. We haven’t quite forgotten Senor -Miranda yet, eh, Antonia?’ - -‘Yes, I did see him once, if that’s what you mean,’ said the girl, -looking at Ernest; ‘and I have always been very sorry that he should -have come to shame. He was a bad man, of course; but he was really so -very grand-looking, and when he spoke he had such a sweet, grave, deep -voice that you would have done whatever he asked you at once.’ - -‘What did he do, then?’ inquired Ernest. - -‘Do?’ said Mr. Frankston. ‘Why, with forged letters of introduction he -commenced a business transaction with one of the banks; he placed to -his credit a large balance, which he took care to draw out; and the end -of it was that he walked off with five-and-twenty thousand pounds in -exchange for bills not worth _that_, and has never been seen or heard -of since.’ - -‘How many Germans are there?’ asked Antonia innocently. - -‘Forty odd millions,’ answered Ernest. - -‘And there are twenty-two millions of Spaniards,’ continued she, ‘for -I saw it to-day. Well, that makes so many—sixty millions, or more, -altogether. And we are to suspect and distrust all these people just -because Senor Miranda was a swindler. I wonder if foreign nations are -equally just to Englishmen on their travels.’ - -‘Come along and let us have our cigars,’ said the old gentleman. -‘Antonia, we must get you made Austrian consul. What—you haven’t -learned to smoke in the bush, Ernest? Never mind; come along all the -same. Cigars have more flavour in company, and the music will sound -better too.’ - -It was a superb night—one of the units of that wondrous wealth and -prodigality of perfect weather by which we should set greater store -were we compelled to undergo a quarter of the austerity of northern -Europe. Not a cloud was visible. The large and lustrous stars glowed -all unheeded by an accustomed world. All the intricacies of the harbour -seemed stretched and illumined by the glowing lights from the various -vessels outward, homeward bound, or at anchor. And yet all invisible -as was the sea, the presence of the majesty of the deep was manifest -in the salt savour of the air, in the half-heard murmur of the tide -ripples, in the far indistinctly wondrous tones of the surge upon the -distant beach. - -As the old man lit his cigar and looked seaward, mechanically, the -first notes of a brilliant aria floated out upon the air from the -piano, and Ernest musingly realised the unostentatious luxury of the -household, the exquisite beauty of the scene and surroundings, and -contrasted them with the rude adjuncts of Garrandilla and its environs. - -Next morning Mr. Windsor made his appearance immediately after -breakfast at Morahmee, and awaited commands. - -‘What a pretty horse!’ said Antonia; ‘is that yours?’ - -‘That is Osmund, my first Australian hackney, and a great favourite,’ -said Mr. Neuchamp, with a certain pride. - -‘Well, you’ve done credit to your knowledge of horseflesh,’ said the -old gentleman; ‘he would fetch fifty pounds now in Sydney. And what -about my countryman who is on his back? I can tell his parish without -twice looking. He’s like the horse, a good-looking, upstanding young -one; but we can’t be so sure about _his_ value from appearance only.’ - -‘Jack Windsor is mine, too,’ said Ernest, ‘a good, clever fellow, I -think. It’s rather a long story how we first became acquainted. I’ll -tell it you some day. When I buy a run he will go with me as stockman -and right-hand man generally.’ - -‘So that’s the arrangement. I hope he will turn out a credit to you, -like the horse. He’s the cut of a good man, and I should have been very -glad to have shipped him in old days for a whaling cruise. You will -have to exercise your horse, now you have him stabled. Antonia would -like a canter, I daresay.’ - -‘I should, of all things,’ said that young lady. ‘My poor Waratah has -not been out for a week; she looks ready to fly over the moon with -nervousness. We might go this afternoon, if Mr. Neuchamp can spare the -time.’ - -Mr. Neuchamp declared that all his time was spare time now, and that -he should be charmed to be at Antonia’s disposal for any and every -afternoon as long as he remained in town. - -So Jack and the gray horse were sent back to their stable, with orders -to return at three o’clock punctually. - -‘And after the ball,’ said Mr. Frankston, ‘I shall take a holiday, so I -think we’ll have a sail and do a little fishing. At any rate we shall -see the harbour, and I can show you something choice in the way of -bays. How do you like the idea?’ - -Both of the young people protested that it was the exact thing they had -been longing for for months. And so, that arrangement being settled, -the old gentleman departed for town in his dogcart, and Ernest, having -a few things to do bordering upon business, accompanied him. - -One of the minor perplexities which assail the student of human nature -arises from the fact that all, or nearly all, of the persons who arrive -in a colony conduct themselves after the same fashion. For a season, -which includes the first few months, they are wildly capricious, and -even reckless, in the matter of raiment. The idea is always uppermost -that, in a new country, it is not of the slightest consequence how -anybody dresses. That to no one, the newly-landed in particular, can -it possibly matter whether his fellow-mortals array themselves in -broadcloth or sackcloth, tweed or canvas, spotless linen or red shirt. - -Another strongly implanted idea is, that the subdivisions of society, -set up by colonists among themselves, are vain, weak, and unnecessary. -These severely linear distinctions are adhered to in the old country, -and are _there_, doubtless, right and expedient. But, ye gods! in -this land, inhabited by the wandering savage but of yesterday, by -the confused crowd of hard and anxious colonists (all colonists -are necessarily rough and unceremonious), why revive these absurd, -exaggerated, old-world ceremonies? - -Thus, during his little day of nonage, the emigrant Briton -disports himself, rejoicing in his newly-found emancipation from -conventionalities. He goes to a dinner party in a morning suit, and -finds himself the sole person not in evening dress. He pays visits in a -pilot’s jacket, and feels a thrill of pride and defiance as he observes -the young ladies of the house look wonderingly at him. He bears himself -as he would not dream of doing in his own country town, perhaps a more -primitive and deplorably dull neighbourhood than he could easily find -in the older districts of Australia. And for all this refusal to pay -the simple compliment of conformity to the kindly people among whom -he is entertained and made welcome, he has no better reason to give -himself or others than that it is a colony, and that it would be absurd -to expect the same social observances as in an old country. - -Nothing could be more amiable than the general toleration which obtains -of this youthful eccentricity, were it not so thoroughly understood -that it is the ordinary early phase of griffinhood, and that it is -certain to wear out in time. It would be mortifying to the pride of the -contemner of social customs, could he but fully understand how every -one, from the mild uncritical senior to little miss in her teens, holds -these clothes-philosophical eccentricities in good-humoured contempt, -and relies upon the wearer becoming like everybody else, in a year or -two at farthest. - -We know that much of this spirit possessed the aspiring soul of Ernest -Neuchamp when first he stood upon the balcony of the Royal Hotel and -gazed upon the crowd that passed below. But though he had abated not -a jot of some points of his original charter, he yet could not but -acknowledge that he was a very different individual, in opinion and in -feeling, from the ardent emigrant of only a year ago. - -As one consequence of this altered tone of mind, he cheerfully accepted -Mr. Frankston’s offer of arranging his admission as honorary member -of one of the clubs. He began to feel a longing for the society of -his equals; and, as he could not be always lounging away the day at -Morahmee, and did not contemplate an immediate return to Garrandilla, -he saw the necessity of having some recognised place of temporary abode -wherein he might take his ease, in the society of gentlemen, and keep -himself _au courant_ with the progress of the world. - -This transaction having been formally carried out by the ever-zealous -and kindly Paul, he was placed in receipt of a missive, signed by the -secretary, and announcing that he had been elected to be an honorary -member of the New Holland Club. - -He was introduced next day by Mr. Frankston himself, and discovered -that he had the _entrée_ to a handsome commodious building, with a -larger extent of lawn and shrubbery than he had ever seen attached to -an institution of the nature before. The internal arrangements were -familiar, being precisely the same as those of the London Club, to -which he had been elected about five years after nomination. - -There were the same grave, decorous servants, the same silent -appreciation of the same style of highly respectable cookery, the -same comfortable sitting-room, with—oh, pleasant sight!—good store of -magazines, _Punches_, _Saturdays_, _Pall Malls_, and all the priceless -luxuries of refined, if ephemeral, journalism. There was the same -deserted library, the same populous smoking-room, with billiard-room -ditto. To a few members old Paul had introduced him, and for the rest -he was aware that he must take his chance. - -He found, after a day or two, that he had small reason to fear of -isolation. A gentlemanlike stranger needs but the evidence of this -quality to procure friendly acquaintances, if not intimates, at any -club. - -He was soon known as ‘a young fellow who had been sent out to old -Frankston, and was going to buy a station. A decent sort of fellow -belonging to swell people, and so on. Going to do wonders, and make -important changes. That will wear off—we’ve all passed through that -mill. He’ll settle down and take to wool and tallow kindly, like all -the rest of us, in good time.’ - -Mr. Neuchamp made the discovery that, if he had been less obstinately -bent upon separating himself from the presumably prejudiced society of -the new land, in the fervour of his philanthropy, he might possibly -have met with other colonists, who, like Paul Frankston, would have -shielded him from harm, and proffered him good and true advice. In -his new home he made the acquaintance of more than one silver-haired -pioneer, who, while gently parrying the thrusts of his eager and -somewhat communistic theories, quietly put forward the dictates of -long experience and successful practice. Every one was disposed to be -tolerant, agreeable, even friendly, to the frank youngster, who was, -in spite of his crotchets, evidently ‘good form.’ And Ernest realised -fully, and rather unexpectedly, that even in a colony it is possible -for a stranger to fall among friends, and that colonists are not -invariably all stamped out of one pattern, whatever anticipations may -be compounded in the fancy of the emigrating critic. - -In another respect Ernest found that his club privileges were valuable -as well as luxurious. Among the squatters, who composed the larger -proportion of the members, he had the advantage of hearing the question -of pastoral property discussed with fullest clearness and explanation, -in all its bearings. No one evaded giving a decided opinion upon the -chances of investment, though, according to temperament, and other -causes, the answers were various. All agreed, however, in one respect, -namely, that stock had touched a point of depression, below which it -seemed wellnigh impossible to fall. The great question, of course, was -whether such properties would ever rise, or whether such profits or -losses, as the case might be, must be accepted as permanently fixed. - -‘I believe that cattle and sheep never _will_ rise a penny higher -during our lifetime, particularly cattle,’ said a slight, elegant, -cynical squatter, with whom Ernest had made acquaintance. ‘It’s of -course nothing but what any one ought to have expected in this infernal -country. What is there to keep stock up, I ask? As for wool, South -America will grow three bales to our one directly; and cattle and -horses will be slaughtered for their hides, as they are there.’ - -‘What a grumbler you are, Croker!’ said a stout cheery-looking -youngster, with a long fair moustache and a smooth face; ‘you run down -the country like a rival agent-general. Why do you stay in it, if it’s -so bad?’ - -‘I’d leave to-morrow if I could get any one fool enough to buy my -runs; take my passage by the mail and never be heard of here again.’ - -‘Well, you wouldn’t make a bad immigration agent, if the Government -wanted to appoint a prepossessing advertiser for Europe.’ - -‘Agent! why, what do you see in me to make you think I should accept -any such office?’ - -‘Only, this strikes me, that if you went on talking there in your -dissatisfied strain, the acute common people would be certain that you -had some reason of your own for dissuading them from embarking, and, so -thinking, would pour in by crowds.’ - -‘Likely enough,’ sneered the _avocat pour le diable_. ‘There are only -two sets of people in this rascally country—rogues and fools.’ - -‘And to which division of society do I belong, may I ask?’ inquired -Ernest, rather amused at the uncompromising nature of the denunciation. - -‘Well, perhaps it’s not very polite, but, as you wish for the -information, I look upon you as a fool, for wishing to invest and waste -your life here; upon Compton as another, because he thinks well of the -place and people; and upon myself as the biggest one of the lot for -staying here, when I know so well what lies before the whole rotten -sham which calls itself a prosperous colony.’ - -‘Are matters then so bad?’ inquired Ernest, with some solicitude. ‘I -thought that the country was sound generally.’ - -Mr. Croker bestowed upon him a look of pity, mingled with contempt, and -in his most acid tones replied— - -‘If you knew half as much as I do about the banks and mercantile -transactions, if you were a little behind the scenes as I have, -perhaps unluckily, been, you would know that a crash must come—_must_ -come—within the next two or three years. I expect to see all the banks -in the hands of official assignees—they’ll be the only solvent people. -As for the merchants——’ - -‘Well, Mr. Jermyn Croker, “as for the merchants”?‘ said a jolly voice, -and Paul Frankston’s rubicund and reassuring countenance appeared in -the little group which had gathered to listen to the lamentations of -this latter-day seer—‘how about the merchants?’ - -‘Why,’ returned Mr. Croker, totally unabashed, ‘I expect to see you, -and Holder Brothers, and Deloraine and Company, and the rest, begging -in the streets.’ - -‘Ha! ha! ha! capital. Well done, Jermyn; put a half-crown or two in -your pocket against that day; I know you’d like to relieve honest -poverty. In the meantime come and dine with me on Thursday, will you, -and Compton, and Neuchamp? Better come soon, you know, while that -Roederer holds out. “Let us eat and drink,” you know, etc. I say, what -will you take for that cattle station of yours at Lake Wondah? No use -holding, you know, eh?’ - -‘Two pounds a head, for three thousand—calves given in.’ - -‘What dates?’ - -‘Cash down! Do you think I’d take any man’s bills now? No, not if -Levison himself were to endorse.’ - -‘Hem—ha—I learn the cattle are baddish, but the run is understocked. -How long will you leave it open?’ - -‘Oh! a month; three months if you like. Send me a cheque at any time -for six thousand and I will send you an order to take possession; that -is, as soon as I find the cheque all right.’ - -‘Ha! ha! not bad, Croker. It would be the first cheque of Paul -Frankston’s that ever was unpaid, so far. But you’ll not forget -Thursday, all of you, boys. We must try and shake Croker out of the -blues, or he’ll ruin the prospects of every squatter in New South -Wales.’ - -Mr. Neuchamp’s spirits were not so permanently affected by the -alarming vaticinations of Mr. Jermyn Croker as that he was prevented -from exhibiting Osmund’s figure and paces past the club verandah that -afternoon, followed by Mr. Windsor on Ben Bolt, on his way to keep -tryst with Antonia. - -There may be a pleasanter species of locomotion, on a fine day, than -that afforded by a good horse in top condition over a smooth road, -in the immediate vicinity of a valued lady friend; let us say there -may be, but we have yet to discover it. The yacht, sweeping like a -seamew over the rippling, gaily-breaking billow, with courses free -and a merry company aboard, holds high excitement and joyous freedom -from the world’s cankering cares; the mail-phaeton with a pair of -well-bred steppers, or, better still, a high drag behind a fresh team, -well matched and better-mouthed, has its own peculiar fascination as -one is whirled through the summer air, or borne fast and free through -the gathering twilight homewards and dinnerwards; even the smooth, -irresponsible rush of the express train yields not wholly disagreeable -sensation of a victory over time and space, as we whirl down the flying -grades and round the somewhat _risque_ curves. But the personal element -which the rider shares with the bonny brown, or gallant grey, that -strides with joyous elasticity beneath him, had a thrill, in the ‘brave -old days of pleasure and pain,’ that dwarfed all other recreation. If -anything can intensify the feeling of joyance, it is the presence, -similarly equipped, of the possible princess. Then the fairy glamour -is complete—in the forest glades are the leaflets hung with diamonds, -the half-heard music is full of unearthly cadences—and as the graceful -form sways with movement of her eager palfrey, the good knight’s head -must be harder than his casque if heart and sword and fame, past, -present, and to come, be not laid, then and there, at the feet of that -ladye-fayre. - -Miss Frankston rode, like most Australian girls, extremely well, and -with an unconscious grace and security of seat only to be attained by -those who, like her, had enjoyed the fullest opportunities of practice -from earliest childhood. Her dark bay mare was thoroughbred, having -been carried off by Mr. Frankston five minutes after she lost her first -race at Randwick. She had been indifferently brought out, and, as a -sporting friend said, was not fit to run for a saddle in a shearers’ -sweepstakes. - -Antonia had taken a strong fancy to her personal appearance, and Paul, -as usual, had then and there gratified his pet. Waratah, which was the -filly’s name, proving after trial high-couraged and temperate, had been -installed at Morahmee as the description of dumb favourite for which, -in the springtime of life, the heart of a woman is prone to crave. - -On this particular afternoon it was proposed by Antonia that they -should ride to Bondi. ‘One of our show places, you must know,’ she -said; ‘and as the wind is coming in strong from the south, we shall -have the surf-thunder in perfection.’ - -‘Don’t ride _into_ the breakers, that’s all, as you tried to do last -time we were there; if you and Waratah were carried off your feet, your -poor old father would never see his pet again.’ - -‘How do you know? You silly old papa. Can’t we both swim?’ said the -girl, laying her hand tenderly on his weather-beaten cheek; ‘you will -make Mr. Neuchamp think that I’m as wild as a hawk, instead of being -the sober-minded damsel that I really am. However, you need not be -afraid of my running any foolish risks to-day.’ - -The morning had been clear, with that suspicion of chill which told -that at no great distance from the coast there had been a strong change -of temperature. In and around Sydney the atmospheric tendency had been -softened into a composite of warmth, tempered with freshness wonderful -to experience and exhilarating past all description. - -The girl slacked the rein of her eager mare, and the excited horses -swept along the smooth, winding, dark-red road. Before them lay the -dark blue plain of ocean, fading into a misty, troubled haze which -met the far horizon. Gradually they increased their distance from the -gay gardens and villas of the more populous suburbs, the spires and -terraces of the city. - -‘This has always been a favourite excursion of mine,’ said Antonia. -‘From the moment we pass Waverley and front the ocean in all his -wondrous strength and beauty, I feel as if I could shout for joy. -Morahmee is very pretty, but the harbour has always a kind of lakelike -prettiness to me; like the beds in a flower garden, while here——’ - -‘And here?’ said Ernest, smiling, as the southern maiden fixed her -earnest gaze upon the wide glory of the unbounded sea, with a passion -and tenderness of regard which he had never observed before. - -‘Here,’ said she, ‘I feel lifted from my daily small pleasures and -_very_ minute cares into a world of thought and vision, exalted, -infinite in grandeur and richness of colouring. My mind travels -across that region of mystery and wonder which the sea has ever been -to adventurous and practical minds, and all my heroes stand visibly -presented before me.’ - -‘Please to introduce me,’ said Ernest. - -‘I see Walter Raleigh, courtier, poet, warrior, sailor, statesman, and -can mourn over him, as though I had seen that noblest of heads upon the -cruel block but yesterday. I see Francis Drake with his crisp curls -and dauntless spirit; I see Columbus ever calm, watchful, indomitable; -Ponce de Leon, pacing up and down his lonely beach at Hispaniola, and -can fancy him setting forth upon his half-melancholy, half-ludicrous -expedition to _la fontain de jouvences_; even Bimini—oh! the many, many -friends and companions that have ever been associated with the sea in -my mind since my earliest childhood.’ - -‘I am afraid,’ said Ernest, translating an unacknowledged thought, -‘that you must be something like a cocoa-palm, or your own Norfolk -Island pine, unable to exist out of hearing of the sound of the sea.’ - -‘I never thought about that,’ answered the girl with a half-curious -look, as if back from the unreal world. ‘I have always fancied that -I would do whatever other people would do. But we all have our pet -fancies, which we spoil like children, or which spoil us, and the -prosaic part of our life has to go on notwithstanding.’ - -‘Have you ever seen anything of the bush?’ inquired Ernest. - -‘Nothing more than a very hasty visit to one or two of the inland -towns. I have always wished to go to a real station and see something -of bush life, but papa never could spare me sufficiently long. What is -it like? All riding about, from morning to night, and being very sleepy -in the evening?’ - -‘There is a good deal of that,’ said he, ‘but not quite so much as -might be thought. There is a great want of books, and of the habit -of reading, in many places, though I know of course that it is not -universal. But I think when I have a place of my own that I can manage -to unite work and play, real exertion with an intellectual alternation, -and this should be the perfection of existence.’ - -‘I don’t see why it could not be managed,’ said Antonia. ‘Many of the -young squatters have told me that they could not get books, and that -they were becoming frightfully ignorant; but I always said it must be -their own fault. Any one who _must_ read will read, no matter what -their circumstances are.’ - -‘So I believe,’ answered Ernest, with most appreciative accents. ‘When -young people, or people of any age, say they have not time to read, -it sounds in my ears as if they said that they had not time to eat -their dinners, or to bathe, or say their prayers, or to talk to their -friends. For these duties and other distractions they generally find -leisure, and if the time be really fully occupied, a quarter of an hour -almost in converse with some authors would provide the mind with new -and instructive thoughts for the whole livelong day.’ - -‘Well, we must see how Mr. Neuchamp carries out his ideas when he has a -station of his own,’ said Antonia archly. ‘He must have everything very -nice, very superior to the ordinary ways of colonists, and must make -money also; _that_ is indispensable.’ - -‘I will answer for his trying to have things pleasantly and perhaps -artistically arranged,’ said Ernest, following out the sketch; ‘but -as for the making money, I have so little interest in it as one of the -fine arts, that I may fail in that.’ - -‘But that is the foundation of all the good deeds that you may do, so -at least papa says. If a man doesn’t make money, I heard him say once, -he shows all the world that there is some quality lacking in him, and -any little that he can say or do will not have its just weight; he is -regarded only as an unpractical, unsuccessful enthusiast.’ - -‘I hate the word enthusiast,’ said Mr. Neuchamp, ‘or rather the sense -of disparagement in which it is generally used. It has come to mean, -a man who is obstinately bent on a course of conduct which is wrong, -or who exaggerates the degree or importance of his practice in what is -right.’ - -‘I cannot say that I am particularly fond of the word or of the idea -myself, woman as I am; and you know that we are supposed to be full of -enthusiasm on every conceivable subject from parasols to politics.’ - -‘And why does Miss Frankston add her powerful influence to the world’s -Philistinism, already sufficient for its needs?’ asked Ernest, with a -slight tinge of satire. - -‘I don’t say that I deny or distrust enthusiasm in men; and I can -imagine a sincere respect and liking for the individual to go with a -distrust of the quality, and for this reason. We may have the greatest -admiration for this lofty feeling and generous self-denial which go -to compose the character of the enthusiast; but we may smile at the -likelihood of any of his great schemes issuing in glory and success.’ - -‘But, surely,’ pleaded Ernest, ‘many of the great deeds which -embellish history and which have ennobled our common natures have been -nurtured in the brains, wrought out by the hands of men whom the world -call enthusiasts.’ - -‘Of that fact I am not so sure,’ answered Antonia. ‘I should rather -say that the successful heroes were men of steadfast nature, not -particularly acted upon by joy or despondency, whom success did not -exhilarate, nor adversity bow down; through good and evil report, -failure, or the harder trial of success, they bore themselves calmly -and strongly.’ - -‘But how about the sea—and the mysterious intoxication communicated -by its very appearance?’ asked Ernest mischievously. ‘Is there no -enthusiasm about such a feeling?’ - -‘All those sensations,’ laughed the girl, ‘belong to the ideal Antonia -Frankston, of which only a glimpse is permitted to any one from time to -time. The real Miss Frankston——’ - -‘What does she do?’ - -‘Makes puddings, keeps the household accounts, orders dinner, and has -distinct ideas on the subject of the main chance; _very_ prosaic this -last. Is not that a lovely nook, and _such_ a pretty house?’ - -At this turn of the subject, and the turn of the road, they had -unexpectedly come upon a villa embosomed in an almost Alpine fir grove; -the trim lawns and delicately-coloured parterres, amid which it was -placed, giving the whole place the appearance of a Watteau, framed in -sombre green. - -‘It is a living picture,’ said Ernest; ‘how that wonderful -Bougainvillea has draped the whole height of the north wing of the -house; it is in full and splendid bloom, and mingled with it are -the snowy flowers of the delicate myosotis. How charmingly secluded -it is; they can look straight from their parlours across those -dwarf-walls—across the Pacific Ocean. But where is the shepherdess?’ - -‘There she is; do you not see that young girl sitting reading by -the fountain? Calm and untroubled she looks; she reclines upon the -low terrace facing the sea; by her side is a great vase filled with -flowers. A child with a wide sash runs out from the house towards her. -Can anything more closely realise a deep dream of peace?’ - -‘Nothing, indeed,’ assented Ernest admiringly. ‘I could live all -my days in such a nook, with one fair spirit to be my minister, -and perhaps defer finishing my own and other people’s education -indefinitely.’ - -‘Look!’ continued Antonia, ignoring the personal element, ‘with what -a bold, sweeping curve the coastline recedes; leaving the loveliest -little landlocked bay, with silver sands and a grand sandstone bluff -guarding and walling-in the farther point like a grim jealous giant. -But now we have such a piece of road, before we reach Bondi—smooth, -soft, and slightly ascending. We _must_ have a gentle breather.’ - -She took Waratah by the head, and slightly bending forward on her -saddle, the eager thoroughbred went away at once, causing the heart -of Mr. Neuchamp to palpitate with a nervous dread of accident. Of -course Osmund followed suit, though it gave him quite enough to do to -keep pace with the bounding, elastic stride of the well-bred flyer. -In a three-mile race he could have run Waratah hard. However, for -the half-mile spin it took a little hustling to prevent his being -distanced. At the steep ascent of the hill above the far-famed beach, -Antonia reined in her steed, which possessed the rare compromise, good -temper with high courage. - -‘I suppose that our stupid scientific men will never find out any -way for us to fly,’ said she, ‘but a good gallop must be as near the -sensation as we can hope for. What a glorious feeling it is! I envy men -their hunting, perhaps more than any of their exclusive pastimes.’ - -‘But ladies hunt, at any rate in England,’ said Ernest, ‘and very -straight they go too.’ - -‘So they do, I have been told; but in Australia there are hardly enough -of us to keep one another countenance; and besides, papa does not like -it; the fences are so very dangerous.’ - -‘All things considered, I agree with Mr. Frankston.’ - -‘But what a view of views!’ - -They had now reached the crest of the hill, the deep-toned ceaseless -roll of the surf-billows had long been in their ears. - -‘That is Bondi,’ said Antonia, pointing southward. ‘I have heard that -sound at intervals all my life. I used to dream of it when I was a -little child.’ - -Ernest looked southward over a rolling, rugged down, flecked with -patches of low underwood and heath, to where a broad, milk-white beach -received the vast rollers of a boundless ocean. No point or headland -broke the continuous distance of the immense dark blue plain which -stretched to the utmost boundary of vision. - -It was no day of gale or tempest, but there had been sufficient wind -on this and the previous day to set in motion the unresting surges -which failed not the year through to moan and thunder upon this broad -clear shining beach. Great crags lay to the westward, shutting off -this bay from the other portions of the coast, while a projection to -the eastward tended to isolate the bay of surges. Far out, from time -to time a shining sail came from the under-world and swept placidly -towards the city, or a stately ocean steamer, with throbbing screw or -mighty paddle, left a long line of smoke trailing behind her as she -drove haughtily against wind or tide on her appointed course. - -‘How one drinks in all this grandeur and loveliness of Dame Nature,’ -said Ernest. ‘An instinctive constitutional craving seems satiated only -by gazing at a scene like this.’ - -‘I fully comprehend the condition of mind,’ said Antonia. ‘You have -been shut up at Garrandilla, where in time, except from information, -you would begin to doubt the existence of the sea altogether.’ - -‘It is an astonishing contrast,’ assented Mr. Neuchamp. ‘How awfully -hot it must be there now. I daresay old Doubletides is just coming in, -half melted after his day’s work, looking for lost sheep—counting one -flock, and ordering another to come in to-morrow.’ - -‘Surely it must be a terrible life,’ said Antonia apprehensively. ‘Is -that why people in the bush go mad sometimes?’ - -‘It’s hard to say. I really don’t think he or Jedwood are even dull -or distrait, or unduly impressed with the nothingness of existence. I -think very energetic people have certain advantages. Their tuglike, -unremitting habit of doing something keeps the machine going, until -some fine day a cogwheel catches, or a rivet breaks, and one more human -unit mingles its dust with the forgotten millions.’ - -‘Contemplation is very nice,’ said Antonia, ‘but I think it tends to -lower the spirits, whereas work of any kind, with or without a purpose, -tends to raise them; and now we must ride for it, or we shall be late -for dinner, which I know from experience does not tend to raise papa’s -spirits.’ - -The roads were perfect, and the kindly twilight as they swept past -the line plantations of Randwick, and adown the noble avenue which -in the future will be one of the glories of Sydney, through the wide -half-redeemed expanse of Moore Park, and so home by Woollahra, gave -them every opportunity of lengthening their _tête-à-tête_, and yet -arriving at Morahmee in time for dinner. It necessitated a hasty toilet -on both sides, but at the last notes of the bell Antonia appeared, -looking very fresh and animated after the expedition, and Ernest, whose -appetite had not yet relapsed into metropolitan apathy, looked forward -to dinner with feelings of almost youthful anticipation. - -‘Well, what do you think of Bondi?’ asked the old gentleman. ‘I was -nearly drowned there when I was a youngster swimming in the surf. In -fact I _was_ drowned to all intents and purposes, except that I am here -now. I was sucked back by the undertow time after time, till I was -quite beaten. I had a few minutes’ awful struggle; then collapse and -half a minute’s choke; then lovely music in my ears; and I left the -world—as I thought—for good.’ - -‘You dear old naughty boy of a father,’ said Antonia, with tears half -gathering to her eye, ‘I am sure you were bathing unlawfully, like the -boys in the story-book. But what restored you to life?’ - -‘Well, a Maori, who happened to come up at the time in a fishing-boat. -He could _swim_.’ - -‘But I thought you said that you were swimming in the surf and did your -best to fight through it?’ inquired Ernest. - -‘Maoris and Kanakas can _swim_’, repeated the old man sarcastically. -’White men like you and me can only paddle. Anyhow, he dived and -brought me up, and ten minutes after I was suffering the frightful -torture, “coming to.” So, as perhaps you may have guessed, I did not -die that time.’ - - ‘Oft in danger, yet alive, - We are come to, fifty-five,’ - -quoted Ernest. ‘I daresay you have had all sorts of hairbreadth -escapes, if you would only tell them to us.’ - -‘Escapes! well, I have had a few,’ chuckled the old man. ‘Some day I -must make Antonia write them out, and we’ll publish the _Surprising -Adventures of Paul Frankston_. I wonder if I could put in some of my -stories? Ha! ha! ha! How they would laugh.’ - -‘I think your life would make a capital book,’ said Antonia, ‘and you -could afford to leave the stories out.’ - -‘Ha! well, I don’t know; some people might object; but I have seen some -queer places and people, and had some very narrow squeaks. I was a ship -boy in the _Lloyd_ when the Maoris took her at the Bay of Islands.’ - -‘What did they do?’ asked Ernest. - -‘Do? Only murdered every living soul except a little girl and myself! -Old Parson Ramsden came down months after and ransomed us. He could -go anywhere. That little girl is a grandmother now. I could show you -such a splendid bit of tattooing just—Antonia, my dear, you needn’t be -afraid.’ - -‘Don’t be foolish, papa,’ said Antonia, blushing. ‘Mr. Neuchamp, he is -only joking.’ - -‘Joking,’ said the old man; ‘if you’d only had those patterns printed -out slowly and indelibly, like me and Mrs. Lutton, poor thing, you’d -have known it was no joke.’ - -‘Well, they didn’t eat you that time, at any rate,’ said Ernest, coming -to the rescue; ‘a hero can’t be killed in the first volume; and what -was the next narrow escape?’ - -‘Years afterwards I was cast away in the south seas, and came ashore -on a spar at an island where they’d never heard of a white man. They -had sacrifices and prayers and made a kind of lottery about whether -they should eat me; when, as luck would have it, the chief had lost his -eldest son a year before, and the priests said I was him come back. So -I was turned into a Kanaka Prince of Wales.’ - -‘And was the rank properly kept up?’ - -‘Jolliest place I ever was in, before or since; I had been starved -and shipwrecked, and I tell you it was a pleasant change; I was the -second man in the island. I had a palace, partly leaves, but cool and -pleasant. I had thirty—well—hum—ha—more attendants than I knew what to -do with. I cried, I know, when a Yankee whaler took me off six months -after. But come, this won’t do, Master Ernest, you mustn’t keep me -spinning sea-yarns all night about myself. You haven’t half told us -about your doings. Was Captain Jinks really a pleasant sort of fellow? -And how about the lock-up?’ - -‘Come, papa,’ said Antonia, ‘it’s hardly fair to Mr. Neuchamp to -laugh at him about that little mistake—any one might be taken in by a -nice-looking, clever, plausible man.’ - -‘Well, I confess,’ said Ernest boldly, ‘I _was_ taken in, though I -ought to have known better. If I had seen a seedy aristocrat in my own -country, I should not have made a travelling companion of him. But -he was very clever and good-looking, and I thought there was nothing -wonderful in such a man being out of luck in a colony.’ - -‘Never mind; fault on the right side,’ said Mr. Frankston—‘anything’s -better than being suspicious; you’ll cut your wisdom teeth before -you’ve done with us.’ - - -END OF VOL. I - - -_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh_. - - - - - * * * * * - - - - -Transcriber's note: - -Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Other -variations in hyphenation, spelling and punctuation remain unchanged. - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A COLONIAL REFORMER, VOL. 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