TH RETURN TICKET.

Hawke's Bay Herald, Volume 14, Issue 1164, 24 June 1870, Page 3

TH RETURN TICKET.

' (Froin Tirisley's Magazjrie.) : ' ' V' ! . "' " What station, sir?X '■ ',: ' . • '■'. . ':■ ..-"!. " Great Western," I replied to cabby,' i through the trap-door of the hansom. • . i The horse described a half-circle, and away we rattled through the •. crowded ••, :' streets of the metropolis. I looked at the, . whirling panorama of life with the ctt- . riosity and. interest natural to a man who; , . returns to his own country after an abV r sence of ten years in the colonies. = -._=. " Any more going?" shouted the guard, in the tone of. a last appeal. - "O yes, my sister and I, and our lug- ; : gage ! " screamed a frantic old lady, with . a dog under her arm, pushing resolutely into the carriage where I was sitting. "Dog must go in the box, ma'am," said the inexorable guai'd, calling to ah'. ■'• assistant to remove -. the half-strangled beast of a cur. . . ...,." " What a brute I" said the old lady, , referring to the railway. official. ..•.-.-.. ; There are certain people, who, : if you : -. meet them in a second-class carriage, take the earliest opportunity of intimating that their, position m.that class is exceptional, • ; and that they are really first-class people.. The two elderly sisters, discoursed together with this object for the public benefit, and were satisfied that I at least . understood them. They were inclined to • patronise me, until they found that I talked with the fat farmer on the other side. He was a good kind of man, and I was glad to converse with both him and . his intelligent companion, who appeared to be a tradesman.. The remaining occu-.; pant of the compartment was a silent man in the corner, about whom I should not . have ti'oubled myself had not his proceedings been somewhat eccentric. For at least two hours he did not address a single word to his fellow-travellers, but diligently read , the newspaper. When he, had exhausted the contents of the journal, he pulled a carpet bag from under the seat, unlocked it; and took from its recesses a small bottle carefully, wrapped in. a red silk hankerchief. The bottle, I should say, held about: eight ounces of what was apparently clear water. The silent man replaced the carpet bag,; and then, leaning back in his seat, held" ; the bottle horizontally before Mm, at the distance of six inches from his eyes. . If a man is reduced to read the advertisement sheet of The Times, is absorbed in the trashiest yellow-backed novel, or even proceeds to eat his sandwiches like a bear, you don't scrutinise his movements.. But when, a person, observed to be peculiai'ly taciturn in .manner, continues for. half-an-hour gazing fixedly through a bottle placed at a particular angle, and never moves a muscle of his face, you begin to speculate on his mentalstate — think, what next ? and then remember the ap- ; proaching Box tunnel. . . The old ladies looked at the silent man with unfeigned astonishment, made dumb motions at each other, and got very uneasy. I noticed that the man of the bottle had contracted a most sinister squint in the course of his singular act of investigation. Unable any longer to restrain my curiosity, I said, leaning towards him. " Excuse me, sir, but do you see anything remarkable in that bottle that you look at it so attentively ?" No answer came from the silent man, and everyone looked up and cleared their throats. Every moment the squint became more frightful, and the mystery more incomprehensible. " Do 'ee nudge him, sir," said the farmer to me. "It misgives me he isn't i' his right mind somehow. " Sister," cried the elder of the two ladies, " what shall we do ? I can't stand this any longer. There is no saying what he may do next." " What 'ave ye got in that eer bottle, • sir ? " said the farmer, emboldened by increasing curiosity. "Us in our parts would consider it a bit queer to go glowering at a bottle in that fashion." . . . No answer. This was not to be endured ; so I tapped the shoulder of the silent man, and repeated the question about the bottle in sufficiently loud tones.. " You have interrupted me most unfortunately," said the owner of the bottle. ■■ . " There was something just coming over the field of vision, I really believe. Would you like to try ? " and so saying, lie handed me the mysterious bottle. The two old ladies gave little faint cries of horror. I turned the phial round and round, feeling more than ever puzzled as to its use and purpose. Again I enquired about the mystery ; the silent man beggedme to speak louder, for he was very deaf. He then good-naturedly explained to me that the bottle contained mesmerised water, and added that it was given to him by a friend who. was a great believer; who told him that if ho would look at the bottle steadily for a certain time, keeping his mind entirely abstracted, that he would be able to see past events which, had occurred to himself and others. " Do you believe it ?" "JSTot exactly; but just as you spoke there was a sort of mist before my eyes ; perhaps the picture would have come out." The subject of spiritualism and second sight once started, everyone had a story to tell. Even tho fat farmer had known a " Thornaby waaste" in his own neighbourhood, where the " boggle" was " eer'd aboot an' aboot." And, morever, he told a wonderful story of a ghost at Broomhill Towers, which could not be " raved or remblod oot," even though the old family were gone, and the house had been altered by the new people who had bought the property. While he was talking of theso places an odd idea came into my mind, and holding up the bottle, I exclaimed, " Suppose I try if I can make out something in your past life, for instance, from this wonderful apparatus ?" " I'll give ye leave, sir," replied the farmer, winking at his friend. I gazed at the bottle ia the prescribed manuer for five minutes or more, thciF I exclaimed, " I see au old man lying in a bed, and two or three people pressing round him ; they give him a pen, and holding his hand, make him sign what I suppose is his will. JYow the scene changes, and I see a court of law ; the picture is rather confused, but I fancy I see a man like yourself, only a great deal younger ; tho court breaks up, and a number of peoplo come forward and shake you by the hand, as if congratulating you." "Let I look at thai) bottle," cried the farmer. " Why, that comes out wonderful ; that's the trial about my great uncle's will." . " Wait a little," said I ; " there are other pictures passing before me. I see a farmhouse on fire ; people are rushing . . about. A woman with a child in her arms . appears at one of the windows ; a ladder is placed for her escape, but it is too short. She drops the child into the arms . of the people below. There is groat ex- . , citement; the fire rages; another ladder.. is brought, and she begins to descend ; , but misses her footing half way down and, fulls." " Good morning, sir," said the farmer to a clergyman who got in at Weston Junction. "I hope I see you well, sirP" Without waiting for an answer, he began immediately to give an account of tjae wonderful revelations, of the. bpttle t

"Whjrf sir, 3o jrdu know," he continued, " it tjeajfcs the patent ghost all to nothing, bottle lias ttie power of making tqlear all as ever happened* to one. I've just ftgtn&d' the story, of the fire at the old farm, which tooki place when father: and znothW-'-was *4irst~:inamecL • • Lor>' : how ,bften^Vevheered ; father ;tell» the; story ! It waril thdt'iwar thrpwrt Aut of the window, -and never' a bruise nor a scratch did I get j'fbut! mother^ poursoul, was hurted, and was l&meyto the ; day of her death.' But Lor', sir, how they do work up this scienc ! e4v' I've just been to Lunnon now, and have seen a deal of it. Do'ee try the bottle ; . ; E(£ain, sir," he added, addressing me., '•i'fr' -~C-: A •••■•■•-■- --. I placed the phial at the correct angle, and alter some minutes of steady observation, I v'esolaimed, Ml see a young boy climbing ja. :tree> bufcl-nestihg I suppose. He seemsa daring young fellow, and springs from bough to bough almost like a squirrel. ;! -I see a branch catches 1 his watch chain, and, unknown to him, his watch <is_ pulled-out of his pocket and falls into a r £creyice: in the'* tree. The scene changes ito a'farm-baton ; they are hauling in timber for the saw-pit; A gentleman stands there talking to the men ; he is something like the boy I saw just now. He looks over the timber as if calculating the measurement; &nd suddenly he finds a watoli embedded in a hole in the wood ; he draws it iforth, showing it to everyone." visi^ ii'-^ ;; *' ■'■:■'■ •' '=• - '" ' ' " You have made a.good hit there, -sir," said Ithe clergyman, looking up from the pagesof the, Qutxriei'ly. " That circum- ; stance 1 of -finding- My watch in the hollow of aitree-after many years is perfectly true ;*' and; so saying, he looked very hard at mel>i;','^; ;.:.• ;■.•";•..• The train at this moment stopping at my destination,' I returned the bottle to its owner, and, jumping out of the carriage; -was about to make my exit from the station,- when some one tapped me on the shoulder. •> '!'■!■ think I have made a discoveryv and -found out that the mysterious conjurer- is » no other than iny old schoolfellow Frank (Farrar." • "The same; and you are Charlie Grave," said I, to the clergyman who had travelled with me ! for -the last half hour. ; W« ! shodkhands heartily, and he placed his arm -within mine as if we had only parted yesterday.; ' ' Tell me all about yourself,' ' said he, as we walk'ed-along the road in the town of I landed from Australia four days ago, when a yearning desire to see my old home coming over me, -I 'took a return ticket frorn'SatUrdaytill Monday, that I might run down and ispend my first Sunday in England atniy birthplace. - 1 did not intend"to'see anyone, or make myself known ; and 15 years' roughing it in the bush had' {jrettyi-well disguised :mew farmer Selick, who had been my father's tenant for years,M]ever suspected me, though my old love of mischief; might have betrayed me. I turned the' mesmerised bottle to good account, did I not, Charley, astonishing j the farmers, and frightening the two old ladiesi??' nl ; : „ : "Unchanged, I see," replied Graves. " The ifirst I ever heard of you you were the delinquent of a practical joke at schoely. -.The = doctor forgave you oftener than; any>boy in the class, and liked you better too. But tell me, have you made your ; fortune ?" > ■ ■ " Nbt'exactly, my dear friend ;" but I've got a nest-egg, and I mean to do better things-yet before-' I die." " Sanguine as ever ; just like your family before youj" said Graves, in the tone of a man not: given to hope much. " Farrar, you must come and stay with me ;< I have- a perpetual curacy at K — '—, and cross country you can get to Broomhill in an hour ; you will remember the old road." "Wellvmy dear fellow, if you will have me, I. will come in to-morrow, and stay the night. ~1 must be back on Monday. We now. parted, for Graves was going home with one of his parishioners, and the gig and it's owner were standing in the yard of the Red Lion, waiting for him. On : Sunday morning "Marlin Bells " rang out the chimes. What a tide of recollections: were invoked by those familiar sounds 1 The trim town looked as it did of yore,aud.passing' through the quiet streets, I took the well-known road' to my old homeut thad-'a walk of seven miles before me— an uphill walk, too ; but it was like a dream 1 . > 1 could fancy myself a schoolboy again, impatient for a fond mother's greeting; and I thought of those touching words, :;:.:.' "How long since I saw that fair pale face ! Oh, mother dear, might I only place Jay head on thy breast, a moment to rest, Wnije thy hand on my tearful cheek were prest !" All are gone ; and my beloved home in the hands of strangers. l The history may be brleiy told. : My family had been squires 'of the parish since the beginning ot the 17th century ; but my grandfather had been "an extravagant man, and my father inherited his tastes and his mortgages. Affairs were . not flourishing in the boyhood of myself and my brothers ; but we were Vastly ' happy, and though somehow not 'as rich as we might be, we believed that the world could not go on withotifc the Farrars of Bloomhill. But the world did manage fo do without us ; and at .my father's death my only remaining brother and myself took the small remnant Of our fortune to Australia, where we tried sheep-farming. He, poor fellow, died three years after we went out, and I was left without. a near relation in the world.' " , ' . ; Mtisingin melancholy fashion upon the past, !l ; came upon the village green. Every turn in the road — every pollard tree — was dear to me. I leant upon the wellknown gate, and gazed upon the winding valley, the glancing trout stream which fringes Churchman's Corpse, and thought of my 'careless childhood. I turned to the village green, and, sat down on a fallen tree, for the half-hour, bell had only just begun its summons for divine service. How'ilbwly material things change, while one little life spins round so fast ! There was the qld f ash . tree . just as I had left it ; its* Withered white boughs pointing up'Wards to' the .-blue sky. The dilapidated ; Cottages ■were 1 as picturesque as ever • the fowls and the pigs as intfusjre.; The railing and tho low wall of the Home park had never been repaired since I saw it last. I confess I was father glad to recognise a certain slovenly air; of unthrifty it was so like old times; ''While" thinking what might be done to improve the place, the people were gathering together. "The halt and the lame "folk" ? 'ca!me first; rthen the stout farmers'knd their comely wives and daughters; joining in with the stream of people I stood' once. more under the shadow of the porch. . i. ■ - ■. ■, ■ "The'squirebaiiit^t'house; will you sit inhispe^; o, fbryou'do seem astranger?" said the clerk.' '. ; I f6lio^e^hiiii, though T required no one icr^ady me'^t&itie', well-known corner, where-^^wn initials were cut deep in ; the old'Bak' in a blozeri places ; it had been a fav^^ite ''occupation; with my brother and my'sfelf during' the- sermon. [ A mist; came, over , my eyes when I : looked". aVoutid 'at the Vacant seats. That had -WUL'mf' fnother's : place; there my iiad; gat-^l thinklsee his high-bred but c|fßwOrn:face 4 , : qnd -close beside him /used tdfbe'i;hats>rfgtit young boy, whose half.Stip^resseainirth often called fortli a

reprimand from my gentle mother. I fell intoa half-unconscious reverie, and caught myself at my old trick of counting the on the carved seat ends. Tho lights and shadows fell just as they did of yore. There had been no "restoration fund" to mend or mav the interior of the old church. I missed the cheery voico of our old vicar — the present man had a peculiarly sad manner. I heard afterwards that he was very unhappy in his family. The text of his sermon was, "I would not live alway." It seemed as if he was speaking to me individually, and the deep melancholy of his tone and words often haunt me now. I don't think the sermon was at all suited to his rustic congregation, judging by the profound slumber of some of my neighbours ; but he had one attentive listener, for he had struck a chord of sympathy in my heart which was singularly suited to my over-wrought feelings. The scuffle of many feet roused mo from my reverie; and while the clergyman was occupied in dispensing " the 12 loaves and 12 shillings" left by my grandfather's will "to the poor of the parish for ever," I walked round the churchyard. While I was looking at the memorials of the dead, farmer Sellick came up. He looked hard at me, then exclaimed — " Why, if this bain't the gentleman wi' that there magic bottle ! Good morning, sir; didn't expect to see you in these parts.; you be a stranger, sir ?" " Why, Sellick, don't you remember Master Frank, who drove the pigs into the hole in the Westwood mead ?" " Lor', sir, and you be Master Frank all this time, with a beard as thick as a furze bush! Only think, and I didn't know you, nor your tricks ! I'm right glad to see you, sir;" and with this he gave me a hearty hand shake. . "A wonderful bottle, that, was it not, Sellick ?" I observed laughingly. " There now, I might have known ; but I told my missus about it, quite serious, along with all the rest of the science I had seen in Lunnon. But I'm main glad to find that it is a trick ; I should bo sorry to think that God Almighty allowed of anybody to look backwards and forwards into other people's private matters, without as much as by you leave or with your leave ; business wouldn't hold together at that rate." Farmer Sellick insisted that I should return to the Hill Farm, and take a bit of dinner with them. As we walked over the common, I heard all the parish news. It was somewhat hard to hear my birthplace spoken of as the property of a stranger ; but when I reflected, I could only say, "Better, fur better, to begin life unshackled in a new county, than to play the miserable role of a poor gentleman at home — clinging to the vain shadow of past prosperity." " I haven't asked you, Master Frank, if you be married." " I am not married, Sellick. Ladies are scarce in Australia." " I thought as you were a young man by your looks," he replied. " I am afraid I must not say much for that, Sellick, when I remember how long it is since I went nutting in these woods. " I did not mean that your honour looked young," said the too-candid farmer ; " but down here we do call everybody a young man as isn't married. Now, when I said I know'd by your looks, I mean you had a free, don't-care manner — very different from those who must care, and who have wives at homo to niako 'cm care." " So you think I am better without a wife ? " said I, laughing. "I don't say that," returned the farmer, because that would be saying that an empty waggon is better than a loaded one. Yet for all that, an empty waggon is easier draught ; and a load is a load to them as has to draw it." " So the new squire is not much liked?" said I, changing the subject. " He's not at all liked ; he don't care for the place as if he'd been born here. I fancy he'd sell it again at a profit ; in fact he'd do most things for a profit. Ido seem — I wish the old place could have been kept in the family." " Well, Sellick, who knows, some day I may come back a rich man from Australia, and buy the old place again." "You do mind me of your father, sir, ' when you do speak in that fashion. He was always a-hoping and believing in this thing or the other. Now it was a slate quarry, and now it was an iron mine as was going to make matters square again ; but I do find that if you waste and muddle at this end and that end, that things won't come square any more. I beg your pardon, sir, but there was a deal of muddle up at the hall in your father's time." With this he rambled on about dishonest agents, unlucky tenants, and the other thousand-and-one bedevilmeuts that beset a country gentleman. After the farmer's excellent dinner had been duly discussed, I rose to take my leave, for I had some miles to walk before I should reach K , the place where my friend the curate was domiciled. When at length I reached the village I captured a small boy, who took me to the clergyman's house. It was a pretty cottage, with a garden before it sheltered from the road by a laurel hedge. A few steps along the gravel walk brought me to the door. I was about to knock with my walking stick, when it was opened by a young lady, who had evidently seen my approach. She offered me her hand cordially, saying, "You are Frank Farrar, my brother's friend, lam sure. Como in ; we have been expecting you all this afternoon." This was a surprise. I had forgotten all about Graves's brothers' and sisters, who were very infantine in my day. " Charlie has been called away to see a poor man who is ill at the other end of the parish, but he begged mo to offer you his excuses. He will soon be back — at least in about an hour. In the meantime, what will 3 oil have — a cup of tea or a glass of wine ? Something you must have after your walk. Supper is a serious meal with us on Sundays; but that will not come off till half-past nine." Idon'tknowthatEllen Graves struck me at once as being particularly pretty ; but her earnest eyes looked truthfully into mine, and her voice was like the sweetest music ; there was something in her movements, her manner, or it may have been her smile, that reminded me of my mother. " I see you don't remember me," she said, with a slight blush, when I tried to identify her as one of the children I had known. '' You are thinking of poor Marion, who is dead. lam Ellen — a little, fat, fair-haired thing in those days, I remember your frightening me horribly with anelectrical machine, which gave us dreadful shocks." "You must have been very young then f " " I was eight when you were 18." "Is it possible that there is only 10 years' difference between us now ?" I said, looking at her youthful face and figure. " I expect the difference is much, the same as it used to be," she replied, laughing ; " unless you think I am like Lord i Dundreary, who in two years became as ; old as his elder brother." Ellen made tea for me at a table near j the open window, where, as she said, I i could smell the flowers and see the sun ' ' set. How pretty and refined everything : was in this little parsonage ! The narrow

room looked really elegant ; its humble proportions disguised by the hand of taste — a earved-wood bracket, a > vase, a. few bright books, a bit of colour — all and each trifles in their way, but happily disposed. We talked together of the past— of the days of my boyhood— of the traditional friendship of our families— and of many other subjects of mutual interest. It is curious how tho ready sympathy of.a woman calls out one's innermost thoughts and feelings ; for years I had not spoken so unreservedly as I did that evening to the girl whose very existence I had forgotten. My feelings had been battened down below decks during the rough and stormy voyage of my life ; but this was a moment of calm weather, and Ellen's voice had a thrilling pathos which reminded me more and more of iny mother, the being I had loved best on earth. We then talked of poetry— not discussing it in a critical spirit, but speaking of its influence as of a friend, whom we mutually found had been tho solace of our several lives. The glow of sunset had now departed ; but it was succeeded by that exquisite green track of light in the sky, which always seems typical of something purer and better than " tho common light of day." I had taken up a partly cut copy of Tennyson which had been lying on the table ; opening it, I read a favourite passage to my now silent compauion. I was standing by the window ; I had turned from the outer world, and was looking at that fair, earnest, uplifted face, forgetful of self. She was wrapped in the music of the poet's words ; in a voice almost inaudible she said — " How true, how beautiful ! Read on." An uncut page arrested my progress, and, mechanically, I took the reiurn railway ticket from my waistcoat pocket and cut the leaf. At that moment a step sounded on the gravel. Ellen pushed, back her chair behind the shadow of the curtain ; I put down the book and stretched out my hand to return the hearty greeting of my schoolfellow. He was profuse in his apologies for his absence ; hoped I had had some refreshment ; and, coming into the house, he threw himself into a chair, exclaiming, " I am tired ! But where is Ellen ? Surely she has not left you to entertain yourself?" " She was here a moment since," I replied, seating myself opposite my hot friend, who was wiping his brow with his handkerchief. "My dear fellow, lam sorry you should have hurried yourself so very much ; I am indeed." (I never spoke more truthfully.) Supper was announced, and we found Ellen in tho next room with a bottle of Hhenish wiue in her hand, which she had just brought from the cool cellar. What a delicious little supper we had ? A nice chicken mayonnaise that I know my hostess must have made herself, and a tart and custard that would have rejoiced the heart of the poet Shelley. The curate carved a piece of cold roast beef, filled my plate with substantial slices, at the same time telling me to give only a secondary attention to his sister's kickshaws. I don't think lights had ever been seen in the cottage windows so late as on that Sunday night. We were a very merry little party ; Graves declared that tho promise of a living could hardly make him feel happier than the sight of his old schoolfellow. But at length the lamp grew dim, and the mooulight streamed through the casement. I looked at my watch, and with a thousand apologies rose to depart to my natural rest. " We do not keep our little maid up on Sunday night ; she has had a long walk twice to church. Lot me give you your candle." So siting Ellen put the light in my hand, and then said, " Good-night, I hope you will sleep well," in so sweet a voice that I repeated the words afterwards to myself, as though they had been the refrain of a favourite song. The next day came, with its Monday morning air. I was to go at 12 o'clock, for I had a return ticket, and declined, in consequence, my friend's hospitable request that I should prolong my visit. My preparations were made, and I had only to say good-bye to my old friends, and then I felt that I should be a sort of vagabond again, destined to wander over the earth without human tics. While so thinking, and in no very pleasant mood, I put my hand in my waistcoat pocket to see that my ticket was there ; but 10, it was gone. I was really annoyed, and searched for it high and low, but without success. For many years of my life I had been obliged to be so strictly economical, that I wns vexed, merely from the habit of carefulness. " Now," said Graves, " there's no excuse ; you must stay a couple of days longer." " Yes, do stay," chimed in his sister ; " I want to show you the restorations in the church, and we will visit some ot'your old haunts. Farmer Brown will lend us a pony gig ; I'll promise to drive you very safely." Under one pretence and another, I contrived to stay on the cottage, day after day, till the end of the week ; and before it came to an end, I had asked Ellen Graves to be my wife. She did not answer in that sweet voice of hers, but placed both her hands in mine ; and I felt as I had never felt since my boyhood — that I had some one to love me. That same evening I took up the volume of Tennyson that we had read together, when, behold, my return-ticket fell out of the book. I had used it to cut the leaf. Fortunate loss.

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