Chapter XLV.

Making Ready.

All was now excitement in Edgecombe. The little place was crowded beyond accommodation, as nearly all the settlers had sought the shelter of its citadel. Huru was camped about seven miles away with all his mob, and had built a strong pah. It now rested with the authorities when the troops should attack him, for, in Maori fashion, he was waiting for battle. He was not strong enough to take to the open yet awhile, but, if he could only hold his own a sufficient time, he reckoned upon being joined by plenty of other malcontents. He would fight us in the pah he now held, and if we beat him out, he would take to another in the bush, where he had accumulated provisions. By such tactics he hoped to prolong the struggle until the whole Island was in a blaze of war.

All the good citizens of Edgecombe were under arms, and being drilled. A gazette had been issued calling out the militia and volunteers, both in town and country, and Charley and Henry had been duly enrolled as full privates in the latter force. Ammunition had been served out, and everyone was eager to close with the disturbers of the district. The friendly natives under their separate chiefs looked on in silence. They knew what work lay before them, better than our men, and were not so eager for the fray. Besides they had plenty to eat and drink, and Huru was safe in his pah. Time enough for fighting when the actual day of battle arrived.

Everyone regarded Colonel Whitmore's advance into the bush as a mistake, but the end proved that the Colonel was right, and he returned to the town in triumph. The spirits of our amateur soldiery rose, and all clamoured to be led against Huru. But the Colonel watched the face of Ihaka, the principal chief of the friendly natives, and waited. Time enough to give battle when our allies were ready. The Maori is a strange creature. Sometimes he is ready to fight, sometimes he is not. When he is ready, take him at his word; but if he is not, if the dream has not been favorable, or some riduculous omen propitious, don't hurry him. When once his mind is fairly made up, no braver ally steps the ground than the dusky New Zealand native.

One morning the steamer from the South brought the Hamilton letters, and one from Mary Easthorpe to her cousins, telling them that Mrs. Easthorpe had been taken ill. "The doctors say it is typhoid fever," wrote Mary, in trouble, "and I don't know what to do. Try and come down, Charley, if you can, as Mamma is very ill. Dr. Manning has offered his services to the Government, and intends going to Edgecombe at once. He and Dr. Harvey have been attending her, but I hope he will not leave us yet." By which it will be seen that Philip considered it his duty, in spite of his lady-love and Mrs. Easthorpe's illness, to be near his two friends.

"Aunt, ill," cried Henry. "You had better go at once, Charley."

But Charley took the matter more quietly than his brother, and said he must consult Major Gordon, as he could not leave without the permission of his commanding officer. Besides, it would not look well to leave his fellow settlers, just on the eve of battle.

Major Gordon read Mary's letter, and gave Charley permission to go down by the next steamer. At the same time, the worthy Major stated "that every man was wanted in the place," but advised Charley to take his own course. Mr. Easthorpe being absent in England was a sufficient excuse for Charley to leave, and the Major promised to explain the reason of Charley's departure.

Here was a predicament. What would the people say to his going? It would look bad, but what what was to de done? Every hour was precious; but then at any moment Colonel Whitmore might order the attack. Charley determined not to leave. He sent a telegram to Philip, begging him to stay where he was for a few days, until he could get down to relieve him. There would be plenty of time for him to come up after Huru had been attacked. The war had only just began. "Do stay where you are," the message said, "I will come down immediately." page 16 Charley also wrote to Mrs, Goring, asking her assistance, and that good lady complied by sending her daughter Kate to help Mary. Katey Goring very gladly complied, only too anxious to assist any of Charley's friends.

The next day—Thursday—Colonel Whitmore resolved to attack the pah, and Charley and Henry fell into the ranks with beating hearts, glad that the matter was so soon to be brought to an issue. A couple of days' provisions were served out. The men, women, and children remaining in the town silently saw the column off, and about eleven o'clock that night our small force marched out of the place, accompanied by a detachment of naval volunteers from the men-of-war lying in the harbour. Our friendly native allies, and a strong company of the armed constabulary, had been sent off a little earlier to take up a proper position, so that Huru might not give us the slip unawares. The navy men mustered a hundred strong. Companies No. 1 and 2 of the militia consisted of about eighty men each. The two companies of country settlers mustered about 50 men each, and as it had become known that Huru had about twelve or fourteen large canoes hidden in the swamp, at the rear of his pah, the second company of armed constabulary had been started off just after the first detachment, to endeavour to get the canoes, and cut off the enemies' retreat, in case of the attack being successful. These canoes were large tiwais, and would hold from twenty to sixty men each. They were duly secured, and an attempt was made to bring them into Edgecombe, but it failed, and they were cast adrift. Some went over the bar of the little river into the sea; the rest were stranded on the mud flats.

The men-of-war sent a party ashore to guard the town, and Major Gordon was left in charge of the place. Charley's last remembrance was the tearful face of Major Gordon's daughter, Lizzy, bidding him adieu. Poor Miss Lizzy never had such a sinking at her heart before in all her remembrance of Maori troubles, and Charley Easthorpe is to be excused if he needlessly pressed her hand when saying good-bye. When Lizzy Gordon sought her bed that night, what a heart-felt prayer did she send to heaven for the safety of the man who could never be anything to her but a name.

Chapter XLVI.

The Attack.

It was a calm starlight summer night, and our men marched silently along the road, and then struck across the country to where Huru had erected his pah. Colonel Whitmore rode ahead with a couple of native chiefs. The gallant little Colonel had briefly addressed the men on the parade ground, but little necessity was there to ask them to do their duty. Most of the volunteer settlers were enraged at Huru for being the cause of their having to leave their homesteads, and besides they had many a grudge to wipe off against Maori bounce. Very long had they borne with native audacity and impudence—restrained by the Government from obtaining satisfaction. Now had the time arrived when old scores were to be paid off, and if the enemy could then have been met with, it would have been made very short work of. Unfortunately, the enemy never is met with just at the right moment, and the courage of our irregulars gradually cooled down. By daylight on Friday, the whole of the forces were opposite the Hauhau encampment, the friendly natives on the hills, the militia, armed constabulary and volunteers on the flats.

A small river ran at the base of the little hill on which Huru had erected his stockade, which looked gay and pretty in the morning light; for a Maori pah, with its bizarre palisading, is rather attractive to the eye; the posts standing upright like a long line of spears of irregular height, with here and there a rude carving, or a little paint, or a few feathers. The corner posts of Huru's pah had been most grotesquely carved into heads, and, moreover, had long "stove-pipe" hats on. The entrance to the stockade was a very narrow one, and inside the palisade was the ordinary serpentine sort of earthwork, which we have found so difficult to deal with. Should the palisade be captured we would still have the enemy in their earthworks; and as these works communicated with each other and, moreover, commanded each other, our men would have a difficult task to oust the enemy. One side of the pah was flush with a precipice of about sixty feet in height dipping into the river. An extensive impassable swamp lay at the other side, leaving only page 17 two sides for attack. A long fern-covered slope led up to these two sides, off which every bit of cover had been carefully removed. A couple of lines of rifle pits had been constructed in front of the pah along this slope, but the rocket-tubes of our navy-men quickly dislodged the hardy occupants of these little nests, and caused them to return into the pah. As it was estimated that Huru had fully two hundred people with him, and as the women fight just as well as the men, and quite as bravely, our little force had all its work cut out.

Charley and Henry Easthorpe had fallen in and marched together. They did not say much to each other. Both felt that the affair was more serious than they anticipated, and, if the truth must be told, both felt frightened. Charley afterwards said that they confessed this much to each other, at which poor Henry Easthorpe laughed, and told Charley, jokingly, to take a lock of his hair home if anything did happen to him. Whereupon Charley told him not to laugh, as it was too serious a matter, and requested him to keep as close as they could together the whole day.

A flag of truce was sent by Colonel Whitmore with a demand for an unconditional surrender, but it was laughed at by the Hauhaus. Huru was heard to call to his people "not to give in, for his God had promised him the plunder of Edgecombe." The Hauhaus could be plainly seen dancing round their pole, and shouting at the top of their voices. At half-past seven another and a final flag of truce was sent. The answer of the natives was "that they were quite ready for the fight and awaiting the attack." The order was given to cross the river and attack, and the little force advanced.

Here a fact, showing the bad generalship, or intense infatuation of the Hauhaus, became apparent. Not a single shot was fired as our men crossed the river. The water was very cold, and the current strong, and our men had to wade thigh deep, yet not a shot was fired. Had they fired or attacked our raw volunteers then, instead of waiting to be attacked, the advance would have been quickly thrown into confusion. As it was there were a good many white faces among the militia, but still they steadily crossed, and mounted the steep bank of the river on the other side. The blue jackets, however, behaved splendidly and took the water in gallant style, and were up the bank like cats, waiting for the word to advance, and rush the pah.

Colonel Whitmore, however, restrained the courage of his men, and took advantage of the slight shelter of the river-bank until a good landing had been effected, and then ordered the advance. No. 2 Company of country settlers came under fire first. Charley and Henry belonged to No. 1 Company, and soon they heard the whiz of the bullets, fired in enmity, for the first time in their lives. They saw a man or two fall in No. 2 Company, but at the same time heard the cheers of the blue jackets. It was curious to see the look of astonishment that some of the men put on at the commencement of the firing One of the officers nearly cut off his nose with his own sword, so agitated did he become; while another, I am sorry to relate, hid himself in a bed of thistles, and never showed out till all was over. The firing continued for nearly two hours, when the rockets were evidently beginning to tell. Wherever there was danger, there Colonel Whitmore could be seen, encouraging his men, and quietly noting the progress of the attack. Just as he had given orders to charge the pah, a Hauhau ran out with a white flag and surrendered. At this time the volunteers charged like mad, headed by an infuriated captain; but, unfortunately for their glory, they were too late, the blue jackets having captured the place. The dead and wounded were seen in all directions. Some women were wounded, and one child shot in the arm. Huru was shot dead, and Colonel Whitmore had scored a victory.

But where was Charley Easthorpe? Away down the slope, resting upon the ground, with his brother Henry's pale and livid face in his lap, wiping the clammy lips, and gazing into the glassy eyes, sat Charley, with a terrible cold sinking at the heart, and crying to his brother to look up and speak to him.

Henry! Henry! cried he in anguish. But poor Henry only smiled and nestled a little closer to him; closer, then closer, as if seeking a resting-place, and then died; shot near the heart in the middle of the fight. May God have mercy upon him, for a sadder fate ne'er was his.

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Chapter XLVII.

A Retrospect.

A Year has passed away. Charley Easthorpe is back again at Terua, and Philip Manning is staying for a few days with him. Huru's death had settled the war. The Maoris had been taught a lesson, the only true lesson too that we can teach them. Nothing satisfies the savage mind like a good thrashing, and nothing renders it more obedient and amenable to the laws for many a year afterwards.

But at any rate Colonel Whitmore had given them a lesson this time, fifty having been taken prisoners in the pah, sixty killed, forty-five wounded, and about sixty managed to escape through the swamp, while our list of casualties happened to be exceedingly small. Peace was immediately restored throughout the island, and after attending poor Henry's funeral, Charley hurried down to Hamilton. The news of Henry's death had preceded him, and he found, when he arrived, truly a house of grief and mourning, Mrs. Easthorpe not being expected, to live, and Mary in great trouble. The roadway strewn with tan and straw, to deaden the noise of passing vehicles, he noticed as he walked up to the house, and wondered to himself whether his aunt too was dead.

His cousin Mary met him at the door, but would not allow him to enter the house, in consequence of the dreaded typhoid fever.

"Oh, Charley, Charley! how could I have been so cruel to poor Henry," cried Mary, holding his hand in both of hers, and sobbing quietly, for she had not long been told the sad news, and was reproaching herself for many an unkind word uttered in former days. It is not until death deprives us of some friend or relation that we really see what erring creatures we are.

"Never mind, Mary," replied Charley, consoling her, "you didn't mean it all."

"Oh! but I did, Charley," sobbed Mary, "and now he is gone, and I can never ask him to forgive me."

"But he did forgive you, Mary, and sent you his dying love," replied her cousin, at which Mary only sobbed afresh. What would she not have given to have recalled those unkind words? But Charley had to be told about Mrs. Easthorpe, and the two sat down on the verandah, and he learnt how near death's door his aunt was also.

It is a curious thing to find in a new country how virulently typhoid fever attacks the colonists. One would have thought that humanity would be more free from the diseases that afflict people in the older lands, yet it is not so. Some one unaccountably is suddenly stricken down with the dreaded fever, and we marvel at our ignorance of its cause or origin. Truly the faculty of medicine is an occult science. In some towns it is said to be more unhealthy to live upon the hill sides than upon the level land. In others vice versa, the contrary is found to be the case. Some ascribe the spread of the disease to one thing, some to another, but as to its origin, that remains a mystery.

"Yes," said Mary sadly, "we do not yet know whether mamma will recover, but if she does, it will be entirely owing to Dr. Manning. He will be here presently, and then you can see Katey." Hereupon poor Mary stifled another sob, and looked as if it was a foregone conclusion that Charley was at once to interview Miss Goring.

"What, is Katey here?" exclaimed Charley.

"Yes," replied Mary; "she has been staying here ever since mamma has been ill. "Mrs. Douglas came and stayed for a short time, but the danger of contagion became too great, and now she only comes to see how mamma is getting on. Oh! Charley," said Mary, with a little sob, "you would'nt believe how people avoid coming to the house. I meet every one here where we sit."

What need is there to continue this recital of grief. Suffice it to say that Philip Manning stuck to his post, even when the other doctors had given Mrs. Easthorpe up, and pulled her through the fever safely, by which he made a great name in Hamilton, and assured himself a good practice. What need to tell of the heroism of little Katey Goring, who so nobly assisted Mary; or of Charley's utter recklessness in pushing his way into the fever-stricken house, and for a few days trying his best to cheer up the two girls. There was, however, little harm done by this, as he had to stay with Philip while he remained in town, and ran just as much chance of the danger of contagion from him as from Mary or Kate Goring. page 19 By which it will be seen that we have a very poor opinion of Philip, or of any of the doctors for that matter, being proof from the spread of disease, and that, so far as we are concerned, we would neither stay with nor have anything to do with a medical man who would be likely to bring us into danger. The gentle reader will please to note the utter unselfishness of these remarks; yet is not the world unselfish, and by the world we mean our cousins and other relations in this matter of sickness.

As soon as Mrs. Easthorpe was out of danger, Charley had to return to Terua, where he found the rams all over the country, the cattle in all the paddocks, and the sheep pretty well mixed up again. Olson had stuck to his post manfully, and done his best to keep the gates shut and slip-pannels closed; but in the summer time, when water runs short, where will not stock go to? Fences certainly will not hold them. We have in our mind as we write a cow, a poley cow, who, with her calf (a poley calf, too, by the way), carefully took the country as she found it, and wandered about at her own sweet will. Nothing would hold her. She was what is termed and known among dairy people as a "poker," and truly she was an inveterate one. There was nothing wild or vicious about the beast. On the contrary, both she and her calf looked meek and mild; but place them where you would, out on the run, back they would come, for the especial purpose of getting into the orchard. Wherever the mother went the calf followed, and the knowing, yet sleepy look of that calf's eye, when at the mother's heel, was a sight to make the stockman dance with agony. He poor man had knocked up one of his horses, and broken a whip or two after and over that cow and calf. If then he swore a little, let us hope that it will not be scored up against him too severely. Special reference is made to this matter, for the purpose of calling the attention of the world to the fact that poley cattle are the worst sort of "pokers," and the determined enemies of peaceful and contented minds amongst stockmen. Therefore, those who intend breeding the "Black Angus" had better look to their fences.

Charley Easthorpe, however, soon had things placed in order again, and from that day to this, nothing has disturbed the even tenor of his way. Terua is now almost capable of carrying the forty thousand sheep poor Henry spoke about. The fossil, Olson, still remains upon his beloved boundary, having well earned such a pension, by sticking to his post during the brief war. At present Charley has found it necessary to set about the erection of a neat substantial homestead; a matter of time, as the timber would have to be sawn, and bricks made upon the ground. For what purpose Charley was building a house we cannot yet exactly say. Perhaps Beeton's little cottage was really too small. Perhaps Master Charley had other ideas.

Mr. Easthorpe had returned from England, shortly after Mrs. Easthorpe's recovery, and that gentleman was very thankful to Philip for his attention to his wife.

"It was Philip who saved her papa," said Mary, one winter's evening, when the two happened to be alone together, sitting by the fire; Mr. Easthorpe in his great easy chair, and Mary in one of her old attitudes by his side.

"Philip!" said Mr. Easthorpe, surprised. Philip, Mary! Dr. Manning you mean.

"No, no, papa," replied Mary, burying her face in her hands. "He will always be Philip to me." And then her father told her to hush, and so the two sat for a long time. What passed through Mr. Easthorpe's mind we cannot say, but when he bid his daughter good-night, he tenderly kissed her. We only know that as he went down to his office the next day, he called in at the Hospital, and told Philip that he should be glad to see him the first evening he had to spare, whereat our friend Philip became extremely red in the face, and then turned pale, and altogether looked extremely confused. Nevertheless, he did not fail to comply with Mr. Easthorpe's request, and before he left the house that night Mr. Easthorpe had consented to the engagement. We only further know that as Philip left Mr. Easthorpe's study, after the said important conversation, he met Mary Easthorpe, who was suddenly surprised to find herself caught round the waist and passionately caressed. Whereupon Mary made no particular protestation, that we can remember, but simply put her arms round Philip's neck, and hid her face from his. And herein the reader will perceive that there is a good deal of fudge and nonsense touching the ordinary declaration of love, and that the said declaration is oftentimes but a dream of the poets. In this case we know, upon the very best authority, page 20 that there was no formal declaration. Instances have been known, we suppose, in which some Deucalion has bent the knee to a relentless Pyrrha, but whoever adopts that course of proceeding, now-a-days, deserves very properly to be scorned. The stage is about the only receptacle of the old practice; young men and young women of the present day taking some such sensible course as Philip pursued. If that course cannot be adopted, then we have nothing whatever to say, but are quite content to allow Deucalion to go upon his knees as often as he pleases, as we hold the thought that young people should first of all love each other sufficiently to dispense with any such form or ceremony.

Mrs. Easthorpe had told her husband, too, of Katey Goring's unselfish conduct, and of Charley's love for her, when they were discussing Mary's frank confession about Philip, and Mr. Easthorpe watched Kate's graceful winning ways, until unconsciously he grew to like to have her in the house. For Kate Goring remained with Mary for some little time after his return, until indeed he took his wife and Mary for a trip through the wondrously beautiful lake scenery of the South Island. Katey returned to the Willows with a swelling heart, happy in the knowledge of Mrs. Easthorpe's affection. Mrs. Goring was surprised to find how wonderfully well Kate looked, and how contented she appeared to be. Upon remarking this to Dr. Goring, that gentleman replied "that he thought a little nursing did most girls good," and instanced the case of Flora Nightingale, which showed that the worthy doctor was as usual wide of the mark. He expressed, however, some little surprise at the number of letters Katey now received from Mary Easthorpe, and others, bearing the Edgecombe post mark, but ended by con-cluding, in his own mind, that things were going favorably for his daughter's happiness. Kate resumed her old habits, and accompanied her sister Nelly in many a long ride across country, or visited Mount Ida with her, or rode down to the Douglas's, at the Glen. She noticed, too, what a wonderfully good understanding appeared to exist between Mr. George Tempest and Nelly, and what an unconscionable time it took that young gentleman to help her sister into the saddle. First he had to see that the martingale was all right, then the two could' nt exactly agree as to the "now," and after Nelly was up in her seat, it appeared to take them a long time to find the stirrup. Not that we for a moment suppose that there was anything peculiar in this, for riding dresses are a nuisance, and really do sometimes have a strange habit of being remarkably in the way, and difficult to arrange.

There was nothing now to prevent our friend Philip from fencing in and stocking his Maori leasehold, and further arranging about obtaining some of the country lying immediately to the back of it. For this purpose he had got down one of his old shepherds, whom he had when he used to live at Apanui, and had sent him up to get the place into shape. But it is too late for us to trouble the reader with all that Philip did in this direction, as the stocking of a new run, and reclaiming such a piece of land from the wilds, is a short history in itself. We may have already grown wearisome in the recital of what has been done at Terua, which, as the reader knows, was partly improved when Beeton sold the place. Suffice it to say, that Philip having managed to get a brother practicioner to look after his practice and the hospital, for a week or two, in Hamilton, was up at Terua himself, seeing how matters were progressing. Let us return to that homestead for the last time, and see the two friends together.

Chapter XLVIII.

Looking Ahead.

It was a lovely day in spring, and the air felt warm and balmy on the hills. One of those glorious New Zealand days which rouse the body and elate the spirits and tend "to drive dull care away." A day when all one asks is a swinging canter for half-a-dozen miles oves some breezy down, or a stiff, sharp, springing walk over the hills. A day that makes one feel better and more at peace with the world, and thankful to the Great Creator for all His mercies. A sort of day the full significance of which rarely strikes the thousands of dwellers and toilers in the townships; but which comes with all the sweet force of nature to the country settler. For has he not passed through the tempestuous weather of winter—the rain and hail and storm and wind? Has he not been out on the hills or plain, when some bitterly bleak south-easter was blowing, piercing his page 21 clothes and chilling him to the bone, yet compelled to face it in order to give a look to the stock? Or has he not been caught in some sudden storm, when the downpour of rain, in a few moments, has drenched him to the skin, and caused his poor horse to turn its back for a time its fury? To such as he, a day like the present one is truly enjoyable; and both Charley and Philip were again in the saddle, thoroughly enjoying it.

"I tell you what it is, Manning," Charley was saying as they passed the Maori pah, "that piece of ground of yours will carry any amount of stock when you get it in trim, and if I were you I would take up the whole of those hills as far as the black spur."

Here Charley swung his whip in a careless sort of manner, embracing in the sweep some five or six thousand acres of ground.

"Too much bush," replied Philip, looking carefully at the hills. "I don't think it would pay to clear and sow down."

"You will excuse my saying, Manning," said Charley, "that you don't know anything about it. I find that the best feed on Terua is in the gullies, which I have cleared of bush and sown down. People have made a great mistake by being too frightened of the bush. You try and pass those hills through the Land Court, and tackle them. I intend to have eight or nine parties of bush contractors at work this year at Terua."

"No doubt you will, Charley," replied Philip thinkingly, still looking at the hills, and wondering in his own mind how he was to find the necessary means to get his thousand acres in order. With his limited income, even that would have to be a work of time, and if he took to himself a wife, he would have very little money to spare for station improvements.

[We may at once tell the reader, that the hills were never taken up, but remain to this day, in exactly the same state as when Philip and Charley last rode beneath them. The two occasionally look at them even now, but they have quite enough to do to look after Terua itself; by which statement we make the further confession that, in consequence of his marriage with Mary Easthope, our friend Philip acquired an interest in that run, much to his own good fortune, and the happiness of a certain young lady at Ashton, who, in course of time, went to reside at Terua, and who was pleased to have her old friends paying somewhat lengthy visits to the homestead].

"No, Charley," continued Philip, "I think it will be best for me to keep to the reserve. I shall have quite enough to do to get that into grass and stock it. You must give a look to my shepherd occasionally, like a good fellow."

"I don't think he requires much looking after," answered Charley," although, I suppose, if poor Henry had been here, he would have condemned many of his proceedings. You are lucky in not having a fellow like Olson."

"Is Olson as stupid as ever?" asked Philip.

"Quite," replied Charley, "you should go out and see him. He is laid up with rheumatism."

"Still in his hut?"

"Yes," replied Charley, "he doesn't intend to leave there until we carry him out feet foremost. What is more, I intend to let him have his way; only I have built another whare at the other end of his boundary, and sent Alex, out to it."

"Are you getting the wild sheep down?" asked Philip.

"Pretty well," replied Charley, "but there are still a few in the bush. I believe that there are wild sheep all through these hills, and that it will take years to get them in."

Then the two rode slowly home, along the river bank, past the ferry, and the little public-house, which still flourished in its dingy way, and which still sent its victims to destruction; along the road (where Beeton had formerly stopped to take his last look at Terua; through the entrance gates (the pines had shot up into big trees now), across the paddocks, and then home. The little homestead looked more cheerful than when Charley took possession of it. The garden had been attended to, and looked neat and orderly. No litter encumbered the verandah, and inside, the rooms bore the unmistakeable air of being occupied by people of refinement.

Charley had pointed out to Philip the lines of the new house which was to be built close to the homestead, and, indeed, would form an addition to it, but an addition that would throw the original building quite into the shade.

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"The sawyers are only just cutting the timber," Charley had said.

"Does Mr. Easthorpe know?" Philip had asked.

"The letter you brought with you contained his consent," replied Charley, looking a bit shy and awkward. And Charley had replied in the affirmative, whereby Philip knew that that gentleman had given his consent to Charley's marriage with Kate Goring. Whereupon Philip placed one hand upon Charley's shoulder, and the two young men had looked into each other's eyes, and had quietly shaken hands, and each knew that their paths in life would be close together during the rest of their days.

Chapter XLIX.

Wedding Bells.

Joy bells are ringing in the rising town of Hamilton, sending their music through the streets, and causing the busy citizens to ask each other what could be the matter. Carriages were dashing to and fro, and coachmen, in white gloves and marriage favors pinned to their coats, were carrying the invited guests, first to the Church to see the marriage, and afterwards to the Easthorpes; for to-day, Charley Easthorpe and Kate Goring, Philip Manning and Mary Easthorpe, were to be married.

Crowded was the little edifice as Charley and Philip led their brides up to the altar, followed by a long train of bridesmaids and groomsmen. Hushed was the congregation as the worthy Bishop read the marriage service, and insolubly tied the knot, that made Mary and Kate wedded wives. Gravely looked on Mrs. Easthorpe and Mrs. Goring, while as quietly grave stood by the Doctor and Mr. Easthorpe. Trembled some of the bridesmaids at the thought of their approaching fate, and one imploring look did Eleanor Goring cast at George Tempest, who happened to be standing near her.

They all looked very pretty. Little May Douglas even felt awed, and was glad when the thing was over, and was able to run up to Mary, and throw her arms round her neck, and crush her veil and flowers, which particular diversion Mary accepted as a relief and a change, in spite of her bridal attire, which of course became crushed and put out of shape.

High swelled the organ as the people left the church, and Charley and Philip handed their brides into their respective carriages. Does not the music still linger in their ears even now, and do they not often think over those few moments, when they waited at the church doors until the carriages slowly took them up? Was it not a relief to get out of the people's sight, and find themselves seated by each other, and on the way home to breakfast?

"Oh! please let me go with Mary." May Douglas had asked, but the young lady was firmly conducted into one of the vehicles set apart for the bridesmaids.

Need we relate what occurred at the all-important breakfast, and how the doctor (by this we mean Doctor Goring) shone and beamed in a most benign way on all around, and told amusing anecdotes, and cracked jokes, and smiled, and looked a most happy elderly gentleman, as he was, and publicly called his wife's attention to the day when thay were married "some half-century ago," at which his wife blushed slightly, and denied the date. Nor need we say how quiet Mr. Easthope, and Charley, and Philip were, and how slightly excited Mary and Kate became. Nor of the speeches, and good wishes, and cutting of the great cake, which towered aloft, and had been an object of envy to half the girls in Hamilton for a fortnight previously. All these things are best known to those who were most interested, and who often think of them.

Then, when the breakfast was all over, and Mary and Kate had exchanged their wedding array, and the carriages had driven up the gravelled pathway to the house, did not all the guests crowd the porch and broad verandah; and what further smiles, and nods, and becks occurred, as the wedded couples drove away, followed by a shower of orthodox slippers, ragged, yet withal happiness—wishing. Nor need we say anything of the slight aching pain in Mrs. Easthorpe's heart, as she stood by her husband's side, and saw her daughter depart from her old home, leaving her, indeed, lone and solitary in her declining years. It is enough for you and I, gentle page 23 reader, to look on, and to witness these proceedings, and wish Mary and Kate, Philip and Charley, God speed and a fair sum of happiness in their new journey in life. As they drive away from Mary's old home, so they pass from our sight. We may see them again in the course of time, in their new homes (that pleasure is open to any person enquiring for them in Hamilton), and if you are sorry to lose them for the present, so too are we. Perhaps you are not sorry. Mayhap the record of this short tale has already wearied you. If so, farewell. Slightly altering Pope's splendid pastoral let us say :—

"Adieu, ye vales, ye mountains, streams, and groves,
Adieu, ye shepherd's rural lays and loves;
Adieu, my flocks, farewell ye sylvan crew,
Terua farewell, and all the world adieu."

The End.

Jason Smith, of Cairo, called a fellow-townsman "old beeswax," and in a suit for slander he was honey-combed to the tune of $1,200. There is such a thing as being too sweet on a man.

At a State dinner given by an African King last year, some boxes of American sugar-coated pills furnished the dessert. That was when the King was a little green, but he can't be fooled again.

Smoking tobacco is said to colour the bones. We do not know why people should want their bones coloured, but if they do, smoking is probably the cheapest and easiest way to do it.

An American revision of the New Testament is talked of. The next thing we know people will clamor for a State revision, and pretty soon each man and woman will revise the Scriptures to suit him or herself. Then we'll have a temperance revision and an anti-temperance revision; a Democratic revision, a Republican revision and a Greenback-Labor revision that permits fishing on Sunday and a revision that prohibits angling on that day. And so forth.

An Ohio man who pumps the bellows of the organ in his own native town says he can pump any tune into an organ which any musician can play.

Madame Menter is a new expounder, on the piano, of Liszt and Rubenstein's music, and she reminds the London Truth of Wellington's remark to his soldiers at Waterloo :—"Hard pounding this, my lads, hard pounding."

Husbands are not as exact in their statements as they should be. One of them said that he suffered from cold feet, then, looking at his wife, he added, "but they are not mine," leaving the company to suppose that they were his wife's. Again, a Rhode Island husband advertises that his wife has run away and left him, and adds, "caused by rum," but he doesn't say whether it was he or she who drank the rum.

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