CHAPTER VII.

Waikato Times, Volume XXX, Issue 174, 19 June 1873, Page 2

CHAPTER VII.

For ancient monuments can not be known, Since euting Tune devours great walls of stone. Wliy tthnuld we grieve at tin's our lives' short date, When cities bo examples of like fate. To young Robertson, toiling along the mountain track. th«j deceptive brightness of tho night was obscured ; snow was. again falling, the wind was rising. A tingle-handed struggle with tho powers of Nature w.is a new and awful experience. To be dropped suddenly from the life of a teeming town — ■ where the only hardship is want of money, where the struggle is one for outward position only — into tho middle of a desolate waste, encompassed by storms, without companion or hope of aid, is a contrast so violent, a test so crucial, that it is not to be wondered at that his heart sank under it for a moment; for Nature seemed so cruel, her powers so inexorable, his own powers so feeble, his will so weak. His very form was. but a speck 111 this wilderness, his voice a whisper m tho roaring of tho winds! For all voices of friends, for all the pleasant prattle of maidens, now only the roar of tho torreut, the shrill trumpet of the storm ! For all the possibilities of life, the pleasant forecasting of yonth, onow nly the stern alternatne of Natura — Deliver thyself, or die ! lie was then high up among the hills, whither the deceitful track had led him : he still clung to that stony track. It was a little raised here and there, and traceable even iathe blinding snow storm ; it ran. so straight and truu : it was Jus one hope; it i.iust lead to the habitations of men. Here and there, along the side of a steep dope, the road had broken away, and fullon into the torrent below, and then he had to scramble, blindly and desperately, o\er loose and sliding settle; and a»mn the rond traversed a shaking, treacherous bog, ami he hnd to frel his way by hu feet. Thus he toiled on for hours, piajing ior the light ol dpy, which was yet far off. But the track was still underneath hm, the stones still gaTe him n firm fooling; hope was jet within his- heait, fur tuieh the path vi 113 led to the plea-ant habitation? of men. 0 fur 'he gleam of a cundle in a n ttaj;e window, brighter than all the spaikle of jewels ' Of r the whilfof a bit of icek fiom api at fire ! G for tho low of c<nv, or bleat of co-lf, or nin other sound, or sight, or smell denoting men's habitations ! J3ut there was no succour in ar. Presently, he felt thnt the track was beginning to descend, and then hu pushed ou hopefully for a while ; lor he had befoie been flufjjjmj;, almost hopelens in his weariness and lassitude; now, )'e must be rearing Abcrhirnant j now mutt he soon «cc lh'« liglits of the town; hear the dash of tho waves of the =en Tie rcr.<\ widened heie, and the track joined it. Ah 1 all hi* troubles were ovc* now; rest and. refreshment were at hand ! He had struggled gamely, had run a tern bin rifk ; but sifety h.ul come at last ! Jiist then tho «iu>w ceased; the clouds rolled away, themomi phone out brightly. He was standing nt the foot of osp inlaid emu, >iL iheoj lumgof an upland ba.sm, eunounded on all su 7 es hy white, mow} mounta<ns, looming ghostly in the moonlight. Below h.in v as a town indeed — a town of streets nml lune-, t< myiV- and mnket places — but a town ©nly pi the dead • '-Ihv utreele wcr*; lines gf grumbling *§!!»

the temples, snow-covered Btone hoaps ; the market-place, a ewamp. He had reached a city among the hQ]s, but it was a city of the dead ! a low cry of disappointment aud anguish broke from him, and he threw himself on the ground despair_^fcg- Ho could do no more. f^y The moon still coursed among the flying clonj^ ; tho wind flow led over his head: he was dying, lie felt, nnd Nature — »tern and frttel stepmother — cared not. He had heard people say, that, in such moments, the whole life is recalled, that all the deeds of the past rise up in remembrance ; but « was not so with him . I lie present was enough for him; o weird and ghastly hand of Death the only tlrng lie could grasp. He thought;, indeed of Ins mother bv the fire, working some trifle in beads or lace — of the comfortable lamp-lit room, the table covered w ith books, the piano open as she left it — he rather saw this than thought of it When would she hear? How long would she wait for tho poatman ? How often turn disappointed away? It was a cruel thing to die so young ; and jet, and yet, sleep was a pleasant thing— 3lecp and rest. The vague agony of death was past: the Inevitable looked calmly in the face, his terrors disappear, his countenance becomes benign — gentle assuager of all the ills of life. All of a sudden, life came surging back ' to his pulses . there was a light flitting among the ruinous valid Ho started t« his feet and shouted ; stumbled blindly along m the direction of the light ; felt the ground sink beneath him ; felt himself falling into immeasurable abysses, ' clutched the air with hw hands. A shock, ns though his j body was nil wires, and each wire had been rudely torn asunder, an 1 then — he felt no more.