Macmillan's Magazine

prosperity was wool. To grow wool with success enormous tracts must be under the control of one single man. A wool-grower must have 30,000 acres at least under his sole command, and then on the best of country he could not safely venture on more than 9,000 sheep; for he might have his run swept by a fire any January night, and be forced to hurry his sheep down to the boiling-house. Now the small farmers, contemptuously called "cockatoos," were the fathers of fire, the inventors of scab, the seducers of bush-hands for hay-making and harvesting, the interlopers on the wool-growers' grass with their cattle and horses. James Oxton, a "squatter," a wool-grower among wool-growers, had argued thus, and had unworthily blinded himself so far as to legislate for his own class.

In order to prevent the acquisition of land by the labouring classes, he had rigorously resisted every attempt to alter the old land laws. The upset price was one pound an acre, payable at once. Any one could demand and get a special survey of not less than 5,000 acres at that price without competition, by which mischievous regulation large tracts of the very best land were in the hands of great capitalists. His own estate, "The Bend," was one of these special surveys, and had increased in value from 5,000l. to 30,000l. And lastly, the quantity of land thrown into the market was exceedingly limited. In this way, using the money raised by the land sales to assist emigrants, he was creating a lower class, and depressing the price of labour by denying them

land.

The Radicals had brought in a bill demanding the right of selection of lots as small as eighty acres, and three years' credit in paying for it. This was too liberal, and, in spite of the furious warwhoops of Mr. O'Callaghan, was rejected, Government having a majority of three.

Had James Oxton, even after the loss of eight votes by the dissolution, brought in a moderate measure of his own, all

to move in the matter at all, and there being undoubtedly a strong necessity to attend to the cry of "unlock the lands," the Radicals brought in their bill, a more moderate one than the last. The House accepted it by a majority of eleven against the Government, and James Oxton, the moment after the division, announced his resignation amidst the most profound silence.

Though the Mohawk said next morning that the brazen head of James Oxton had been found, like that of Lord Bacon, to have feet of clay, and that when it had done rolling in the dust the oppression of seventeen years was revenged at last; yet still, now it was done, every one was a little bit frightened. The Secretary was so good, and big, and so calm, and had governed the colony so well. And Mr. O'Ryan had formerly made no secret of his intentions. People remembered the programme which he had offered the country five years before, when power had been beyond his grasp; he had concealed his wicked principles lately, but that was his artfulness. remembered manhood suffrage and separation from the mother-country. Moderate people began to think they had got into a scrape; but there was Mr. O'Ryan at Government House, and the list would be out that evening.

They

And, when the list did come out, things did not look much better. There was not an English or a Scotch name in it. The Radical party was officered almost entirely by Irishmen, and the Irishmen had taken care of themselves to the exclusion of the other two nations. Ministers in the House-O'Ryan, secretary; Murphy, education; Moriarty, trade; and so on. And where was Dempsey? Not in the list at all, but concocting some malignant conspiracy in the background; which was even more dreadful to imaginative people than if the destinies of the community had been handed over altogether to the tender mercies of that red-handed rebel. And the inferior appointments too! Rory O'More, Barney Brallagan, and so

such a measure as appointing old Lesbia Burke post-master general?

"O'Ryan must suddenly have gone mad, my dear Mr. Burton," said the pretty and clever little widow, Mrs. North, to our old friend Joe, as they sat on a sofa, side by side, reading the lists together, with their heads very nearly touching.

Joe, now the prosperous and wealthy Mr. Burton, had been elected for North Palmerston at the last election, and the night before had spoken for the first time. He had spoken so wisely and so well as to command the greatest attention and respect. He had counselled moderation on both sides, and the style of his speech pointed him out at once as a man of the very highest class.

The place where they were sitting was Mrs. Oxton's drawing-room; the time twilight. Emma and Mrs. Oxton had gone to the opera, and the Secretary was shouting at play with his boy at the other end of the garden. They were alone.

"O'Ryan must suddenly have gone mad, my dear Mr. Burton."

"Not the least, my dear madam. He only wanted to avoid the fate of Acteon. He would have been torn to pieces by his following, if he hadn't placed every one possible. You see Dempsey has refused office, to leave one more place vacant and satisfy one more claimant; and, as it is, there must be two or three dozen unsatisfied. done the best he can."

He has

"He is a man of great ability," said the widow.

"A first-rate man, if he had some one to keep him quiet, to let him talk and prevent his going too far in action; the second man in the colony."

"I know who promises to be the third," said the widow, very quietly.

Joe blushed and laughed. "What a really beautiful face he has," said the widow to herself. "What a pity it is about his poor dear back."

"You spoke so splendidly last night," she went on. "If you could only have heard what Mr. Oxton said!"

"It was so noble of you to acknowledge that you had modified your opinions, and that there were many things on which you differed from the Secretary, and then to make that résumé of his services to the colony; such a glorious panegyric. I clasped my hands together with excitement as you went on."

"I live with one object," said Joe; "and you are worthy to know of it; you are worthy to share my secret. I dread the effects of faction on this colony. This colony must be governed by a great coalition between James Oxton and Phelim of Ryan, and I am the man to bring that about."

The widow thought, "Well, you have a tolerable amount of assurance, if that is any recommendation. Is there anything else you would like?" But she said rapturously, "What a magnificent and statesmanlike idea. Oh, the day you bring about that result, I will retire to my boudoir and weep for joy!"

"Do you wish me success?" exclaimed Joe, seizing her hand in his absence of mind. "Oh! if"

"Hullo! you people," exclaimed the Secretary, who came up at this moment, "is that the Sentinel? Is the list out? Let us look."

Both the widow and Joe got excessively red, but perhaps the Secretary didn't notice it. At all events he did not say anything.

Only three tolerable people among the lot. Old Lesbia Burke is the best man among them, when all is said and done."

"But what an absurd thing to do; to appoint a woman," bridled the widow. It is so-so improper."

"It's rather a cool precedent, certainly; but, as for Lesbia, the dear old girl would command a frigate, or take a regiment into action, if you gave her a month's training."

"Well, she is a kind body, and I wish her well," said the good-natured little widow. Every one had a kind word for Miss Burke.

"Shall you think me a brute," said

with Burton, and step into town to the club and hear the news? I ought to show to day, or they will think I am crying." "Oh, do go, my dear creature. Don't, for heaven's sake, let them think you feel it. Mr. Burton and I will sit here and play eucre, and abuse the new ministers. We are getting very fond of one another." And so the Secretary went.

CHAPTER LXI.

TOO LATE! TOO LATE !

THE widow and Joe had some half-hour's flirtation before the Secretary returned. He had been much less time than they expected, and looked very grave. "Burton," he said, "I want to speak to you."

Joe went into another room with him. "I have heard grave news, I am sorry to say," continued he, "which affects a mutual friend of ours, and, as I have long suspected, a very dear one of your sister's. The Melbourne papers have just come in; read this."

Joe with dismay read the following:

"The unfortunate Omeo business is "assuming very tragical proportions, and "Government will have to take imme"diate measures to see if any of the poor fellows are still, by any possi

bility, alive. We said, last week, that "provisions were at famine prices, and utterly deficient in quantity; since "then, the miserable diggers have taken "the only measure left open to them. "They have fled, most of them towards "the Ovens, 160 miles through a "nearly unknown and quite uninhabited "country, without provisions. Such "troopers as have been sent out to seek "for them have come back with the "most terrible stories. Trooper O'Reilly "found no less than eight dead together

on the Milta Milta in once place. One "thing is perfectly certain; two hundred "famine-stricken wretches have left the "Omeo, and only nine have reached "Beechworth by Snake Valley, while

"Mile Creek on the Sydney Road. In "this most lamentable and unhappy "business, we can blame no one. There "was gold there, for Trooper O'Reilly "took 130 ounces from the bodies of "the unfortunates-which bodies, after "securing such papers as would lead to "their identification, he had to leave to "the tender mercies of the eagle-hawks "and wild dogs, and all the other name"less horrors of which it appalls us to "think. To the relatives of those men "who are known to have left the lake westwardly, and whose names we give "here, we would say, 'If those you love are not among the twenty men who "have come back, give up hope. We are kind, while we seem cruel. Give up hope. Those you love are at rest by "now.""

Joe looked up with a scared face, for neither Erne's name nor Tom Williams's name was in the list. He read them through once more in the wild hope that they were there, and he had missed them; once more to feel to the full the realization of the agony he felt at their absence. We must have a fruition of pain as of pleasure, or we gain no relief. When your child died, sir, why did you go and look into the coffin?

"I am guilty of this man's blood," he said. "I stand here before you, as the murderer of Erne Hillyar, in the sight of God."

My good fellow," said the Secretary, "don't be rhetorical. Don't use that inflated style of speech, which may be useful enough in the House; in common life, it's a bad habit. What on earth do you mean?"

"I mean every word I say. I wish your taunt was true, but it is not. I know now that my sister Emma loved him, and would have married him, but that she refused to leave me, because my hideous infirmity would render domestic life-I mean married domestic life-an impossibility. She devoted herself to me, and refused him. And he, caring nothing for life, has gone to that miserable God-forgotten desert, and has died there. I saw her doing all

her do it, and said not one word. Call me coward, knave, selfish villain, what you will, but don't taunt me with rhetorical flourishes. I am Erne Hillyar's murderer."

The Secretary looked exeeedingly grave. Seventeen years, passed partly in money-making, and partly in official life, had not deadened the sentimental part of him one bit; he still hated to inflict pain; but he had learned to say a hard word, when he thought that word was deserved, and when it did not interfere with any political combination. The sentimental third of his soul was enlisted on Emma's side most entirely since Joe's explanation; he bore very hard on Joe, and was angry with him.

"You have been much to blame," he said, and would have gone on, but there was a crackling of wheels on the gravel, and he paused. "Keep it from her," he said hurriedly. "This may not be true. Keep the papers from her. They are coming. If it is true, let her hear it from my wife."

They went quickly into the next room to join Mrs. North, and immediately after Mrs. Oxton and Emma came in. Both were changed since we made their acquaintance a few years ago.

Mrs.

Oxton had faded rapidly, like most Australian beauties, and there was nothing left of the once splendid ensemble but the eyes and the teeth; they were as brilliant as ever; but her complexion was faded into a sickly yellow, and her beauty had to take its chance without any assistance from colour, which was a hard trial for it, to which it had somewhat succumbed. Still, she had gained a weary and altogether loveable expression, which was, perhaps, more charming than her old splendid beauty. Emma also was very much changed.

She had always been what some call "young of her age." She had been a long while in developing, but now she had developed into a most magnificent woman. The old, soft, and childish roundness of her face was gone, and out of it there had come, as it were, the ideal of the soul within-gentle, patient

endure. Her look was one of continual and perfect repose; and yet, now that the face was more defined, those who knew her best could see how clearly and decisively the mouth and chin were cut; one could see now how it was that she could not only endure, but act.

She was tall, but not so tall as her mother. Her carriage was very easy and graceful, though very deliberate.

During her residence in Palmerston she had taken care to watch the best people, and was quite clever enough to copy their manners without caricaturing them, which is being very clever indeed. This evening she was dressed in white crape, with a scarlet opera-cloak; her wreath was of dark red Kennedya, and she had a considerable number of diamonds on her bosom, though no other jewels whatever. Altogether she was a most imperial-looking person, and deserved certainly what she had had that night-the attention of the whole theatre.

"I am so sorry you did not go with us, Mrs. North," she said in her quiet old voice, not altered one bit. "Catherine Hayes has been singing more divinely than ever. My dear brother, you have lost something. Will you come home now?"

"I cannot let you go till you have had supper, my love," put in Mrs. Oxton; and Emma willingly assented, and talked pleasantly about the opera, until they came into the light of the diningroom. After she had seen Joe's face she was quite silent.

They drove home, and the instant they were alone in their house she spoke. "My own brother, I have not spelt at your face for so many years without being able to read it; but there is a look in it to-night which I have never seen there before. Something terrible has happened."

Joe remained silent. "Is Erne dead?"

Joe tried to speak, but only burst into tears.

"I ean bear it, dear, if you tell me quickly—at least, I think I can bear it, or I will try, God help me! Only tell

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Joe went into another room with him. "I have heard grave news, I am sorry to say," continued he, "which affects a mutual friend of ours, and, as I have long suspected, a very dear one of sister's. The Melbourne papers your have just come in; read this."

Joe with dismay read the following:

"The unfortunate Omeo business is "assuming very tragical proportions, and "Government will have to take imme"diate measures to see if any of the poor fellows are still, by any possibility, alive. We said, last week, that "provisions were at famine prices, and "utterly deficient in quantity; since "then, the miserable diggers have taken "the only measure left open to them. "They have fled, most of them towards "the Ovens, 160 miles through a nearly unknown and quite uninhabited "country, without provisions. Such troopers as have been sent out to seek "for them have come back with the "most terrible stories. Trooper O'Reilly "found no less than eight dead together

on the Milta Milta in once place. One "thing is perfectly certain; two hundred "famine-stricken wretches have left the

Omeo, and only nine have reached "Beechworth by Snake Valley, while "eleven have turned up at the Nine

securing such papers as would lead to "their identification, he had to leave to "the tender mercies of the eagle-hawks "and wild dogs, and all the other name"less horrors of which it appalls us to "think. To the relatives of those men who are known to have left the lake "westwardly, and whose names we give "here, we would say, 'If those you love are not among the twenty men who "have come back, give up hope. We are "kind, while we seem cruel. Give up hope. Those you love are at rest by

66 now.'

Joe looked up with a scared face, for neither Erne's name nor Tom Williams's name was in the list. He read them through once more in the wild hope that they were there, and he had missed them; once more to feel to the full the realization of the agony he felt at their absence. We must have a fruition of relief. When your child died, sir, why pain as of pleasure, or we gain no did you go and look into the coffin?

"I am guilty of this man's blood," he said. "I stand here before you, as the murderer of Erne Hillyar, in the sight of God."

'My good fellow," said the Secretary, "don't be rhetorical. Don't use that inflated style of speech, which may be useful enough in the House; in common life, it's a bad habit. What on earth do you mean?"

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