Frank Melton's Luck's.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VIII, Issue 23, 6 June 1891, Page 26

Frank Melton's Luck's.

OR, OEE TO NEW AN ORIGINAL STORY. BY THOMAS COTTLE, REMUERA, AUCKLAND, N.Z.

CHAPTER XXIV. THE HAUHAUS—WAR AT PATEA—DEATH OF VON TEMPSKY

HORTLY after my safe return to Wanganui with the cattle, war broke out again, this time at Patea, a township to the north of us. Nearly all the young men about were joining the volunteers, so, not to be behindhand, I begged uncle to spare me for a time, and as he agreed, I was lucky enough to get enlisted in the company of Forest Rangers to which Harry belonged. They were engaged in trying to quell the disturbance at Patea. I have previously mentioned the Hauhaus, but it might not be out of place to give a short account of them here. About the year 1865 a Maori named Te Ua taught this new religion, if it could be termed such. There is little doubt but that he was a lunatic. It is, however, well known that no religious teacher can be so mad that he will not find any quantity of followers, even amongst the most civilized races. How much more, then, amongst a race as excitable as the Maori. The principal ceremony indulged in by these followers of the false prophet was a dance round a pole, on which was fixed the preserved head of one of their enemies, who happened to have fallen into their cruel hands, singing some meaningless words over and over again, and making a hideous noise resembling as much as possible the word Hauhau, or the barking of a dog, from which originated the name of their sect. They were taught that their god required them to kill missionaries, and burn all the Bibles they could get hold of. I must now return to the time of my joining the Rangers. My aunt and uncle appeared to be a model husband and wife. They had certainly both had previous experience, which must be a great advantage. Fanny had received a letter from Grosvenor, but to her astonishment, instead of having English stamps and postmarks on it, it had evidently been posted in New Zealand. The envelope had inscribed on it, • Per favour Mr Blake.’ The writer mentioned to explain this that he had been writing to Blake ■on business, and had enclosed Fanny’s note to save postage. Blake hail therefore posted it on. I could see at a glance, when someone alluded to this in my presence, that Fanny was awfully annoyed at it, although she only remarked that she was surprised that he thought of petty economies ; it was not like him. He requested also that she would send her answers to Blake, who was always posted up in his different addresses, and would forward letters straight to him. He was, in fact, his confidential agent in New Zealand.

My two fair cousins did not at all appreciate my determination to join the forces. Fanny in particular was very urgent in her entreaties that I should not go. The tears were in her beautiful eyes as I rode away, and 1 did not soon forget the warmth of her handclasp, or her kind, sisterly salute—only sisterly, though. ‘God bless you, I'" rank, and send you back safe to us,’ she said, in feeling tones. I confess I was much touched, and almost altered my determination at the last moment. It is more than probable that, but for Grosvenor’s assertion in his letterthat he did not hope to be with her till the end of the year, I should never have done iny little towards settling the Maori disturbances. He said that his father’s illness had caused business entanglements which imperatively required his presence to unravel. I therefore thought it would be quite safe to leave her for a month or so, by which time I hoped the war might be over. Major Von Tempsky had just arrived from Auckland, having been summoned to lead his men against the Hauhaus at I’atea. Harry informed him of my desire to join the Rangers, ami he replied that he would be only too happy to enrol any of Harry’s friends, especially if they were lads of his spirit. I was no sooner with them than we were off to Waihi, where several murders had recently been committed by the fanatics, who were acting under the order of their leader, Titokowaru. Just after our arrival, a redoubt, occupied by Captain Ross and twenty-five men, situated about three miles to the south of our camp, was attacked by the rebels at about four o’clock on a Sunday morning. We heard firing, and, mounting our horses, galloped to the redoubt at full speed. They had, however, seen us coming, and bolted into the bush. To pursue them in the dense underscrub, in the darkness of the early morning, would have been worse than useless, as they knew every hole and corner, and we did not. We therefore rode back to the redoubt. The sight that met our eyes there was one which, at this distance of time, makes my heart sick as I write. Judge, then, the effect it would have on a raw recruit, who had never before witnessed a fellow creature in the power of our universal foe —Heath—in any form. I felt a cold, creeping horror in all my limbs, and ( could not for weeks afterwards efface from my aching eyelids the horrible scene. Just inside the gateway, covered with gore, and fearfully mutilated with the cruel tomahawk, his heart literally torn out, lay the body of Captain Ross, while strewed around, and all more or less disfigured—some, indeed, almost chopped to pieces were tin* still reeking remains of nine or ten of his men. We could only find three of the enemy dead on the field, but doubtless they carried off all they could, fearful that we should follow their example by wreaking vengeance on the slain.

About a fortnight afterwards the escort of the commissariat cart was attacked by seventy or eighty Hauhaus, not far from one of our outposts. We were soon on the spot, and they again fled. We managed to give them a volley ere they reached the bush, which gave them additional burdens to carry in the way of corpses. Comparative inaction while our enemy were thusemployed was little to our taste, and we were delighted when the word was passed that Colonel McDonnell would proceed with two hundred men to try and capture the stronghold in which these incarnate fiends were ensconced, and from which they, every now and again, emerged on the excursions described above. It rejoiced in the euphonious name of ‘ Te Ngutu o te Manu,’ signifying in English the ‘ Beak of the Bird.’ It was pouring with rain as we marched in the early morning, and the Waingongoro River, which we had to cross, was flooded. We passed some rifle pits and earthworks, constructed by the enemy with the idea of serving for a cover to harass us when wa approached. Had we happened to use that road a day sooner, we should, undoubtedly, have received too warm a welcome, for there were recent footprints of gentlemen who did not generally wear boots, showing they had but lately left. The peaceful natives now rarely go barefoot, but these sable warriors found that they could glide about more swiftly and silently without these luxuries. We tramped on, wet and weary, till we came to the pa, which was surrounded by a strong palisading of stakes dtiven into the ground, and strongly bound together with vines and creepers. We halted while the colonel and a few men reconnoitred. The natives evidently had neither seen nor heard us. The order to advance was given, and with a mighty yell, rendered as diabolical as we knew how to make it, we rushed up to the pa. Finding a track in, we made use of it, and fired several volleys at the astonished natives. They returned our fire, but soon retreated to the bush which surrounded it. We found nine of them dead, and a goodly number of bullets, a few arms, and some cartridges of very primitive manufacture. Although the law was very stringent, forbidding the sale of firearms and ammunition to the native race, yet there were dishonest white men who made enough out of this trade to pay the fines had they been ten times as large, and secure a handsome profit besides. Our loss at this engagement was trifling. These were not times for dallying, and orders were soon again passed round to be in readiness to leave our outpost at three o’clock the next morning, to the number of about three hundred, one hundred of whom were friendly Wanganui natives, to attack another pa, in which the famous Hauhau leader, Titokowaru, was known to be at the time. The division in which Harry and I served was, as usual, commanded by our brave and gallant Major Von Tempsky. • Poor fellow, little he knew — yet none the less boldly would he have marched forth had he known—that that day would be his last on earth. Such was his utter disregard of—or I might more aptly say his ignorance of—the very sensation of fear, even were it thefear ot the. Grim Destroyer, himself. Captain McDonnell commanded the native contingent, and few men better understood how to manage, to the greatest advantage, this most serviceable body of men. Major Hunter had charge of the third division', while Colonel McDonnell had command of the whole force. The march was again a most wearisome one. We crossed the Waingongoro River, as usual, and when at last we had to traverse the bush, the track, while we were able to follow it, was execrable—knee deep in mud, with slippery roots sticking up every here and there like man-traps. But bad as this was, the difficulties were as nothing compared to those when we were ordered to take a detour through the trackless bush, forcing our way through the tangled underscrub as best w r e could, with due regard to the imperative necessity of moving as quietly as we possibly were able. At last we anoroached the pa, and we had no sooner halted at some little distance from it than we received a heavy fire. The very heavens appeared to be raining bullets, for, cunningly concealed ad mist the gnarled and twisted branches of the mighty rata trees, were doubtless some of the best shots amongst the rebels, who picked off all too many of our men with unerring aim. We endeavoured in vain to dislodge them by returning their fire wherever we saw the deadly flash and smoke of a shot dart from the dense foliage. They attributed our failure in hitting them to the fact that their god had rendered them invulnerable while engaged in such a conflict. They did not perceive in their blind devotion that, in this case, they did not pay the old gentleman a very great compliment in according to him the power of guarding them from harm, when they were safely hidden from it by the impervious nature of their ambush. Our fearless Von Tempsky pleaded to be permitted to rush the pa with his boys, but 1 candidly own, 1 for one, was not grieved to hear that Colonel McDonnell had refused his sanction. I felt, as doubtless he did, that it would be too reckless a wasting of life. I was not a coward, but I was hardly cut out for a volunteer in a forlorn hope. Here in this mighty forest, usually a scene of subhme and peaceful'grandeur, giving one a sensation of almost holy calm, the sight of men—nay, rather incarnate fiends (for are not men engaged in deadly strife better so described ?) doing their utmost to destroy one another, and the consciousness that I was one of them, jarred on me, and made me wish that I was far away, and regret that I had ever become a soldier. Harry, on the contrary, was mad to be at them, and swore roundly when we were orderer! to cover the retreat of the rest of the force. We were still exposed

to a very heavy fire, and it was now that our dearly-loved on Tempsky, in his strenuous efforts to keep his men, who were disorganized by this unexpected and disastrous repulse, as much as possible under cover, fell, struck by a bullet. Captain Buck and Lieutenant Hunter fell shortly after, the former while stooping down to try and remove poor Von Tempsky’s body. Colonel McDonnell was now beating a retreat with as many of the wounded as his men could carry, and he managed to get back to camp by about ten o’clock that night; but having to bring up the rear and harass the pursuing enemy, we did well to get off at all ourselves. Our officers were almost all either shot dead, or badly wounded. It was not the least of our troubles that we had to leave the bodies of some of our boldest comrades on the field to be abused by the fiendish foe. We were closely pursued, and the Hauhaus kept up a murderous fire. Sub-Inspector Roberts was now in charge, and his task of extricating us from the bush was no ordinary one. Lieutenant Hastings and seventeen men fell as we retreated. The screams of the wounded as the enemy reached them were heartrending- To. try to assist theni would mean simply going back into the jaws of a death of hePish torture ourselves. At dusk the foe ceased their pursuit, and we halted till the moon should rise, that we might see our way out of the murky bush. There were men among us whose tongues were far more apt at curses than at prayers, yet who prayed that night that God would mercifully grant speedy insensibrlity to the badly wounded who were in the power of the relentless Hauhaus. Not a few of them were hurled, screaming with agony from rough handling, on to slow fires. War is at all times cruel. It would be difficult, however, to imagine an attack fraught with more danger and destructionthan one on an enemy, whose numbers were not even known, in a bush as dense as I have described, and where each tree near the pa might contain amid its matted branches, as in this case, warriors who are no mean proficients in the art of sharp-shooting, and whose natural home is the bush. All honour, then, to those brave spirits who, even at the last, wished to charge and drive the devils from their den. I have admitted I was not of them, bntj envy them. I will not here enter into the wisdom or otherwise of the attack. lam only writing a history of our lives, therefore I only mention it as it affected us. Many of Von Tempsky’s men, feeling that they would never again have the chance of serving under such a leader, and thoroughly disgusted with their defeat, deserted. Titokowaru, emboldened by his success, advanced on Wanganui, burning houses and creating as much destruction as possible. However, he was at length driven off, and the war on the West Coast died out. The friendly natives deserved great praise. Knowing the country so well, and thoroughly understanding the mode of warfare, they rendered us great assistance. Indeed, if one-half the money expended in bringing out the Imperial troops, and sustaining them in New Zealand, had been expended in the better training and paying colonial volunteers, both English and Maori, the war would have been of much shorter duration. CHAPTER XXV. WELCOME HOME—OUR DOCTOR. I shall have little or no more to write on war-like topics. Indeed, some of my fair readers may have wished that 1 had omitted them altogether, but as I wished to make this a true chronicle of our daily lives, 1 could not well leave out the discordant elements. I was, I need hardly affirm, most heartily glad to get back to the old home again. I found uncle and the family had all returned to the run after having, in company with other scattered settlers, taken refuge in the town during these troublous times. They had been delighted to find, on returning, that no damage had been done to the old homestead, as it fortunately lay out of the track taken by the rebels. I rode up unexpectedly to the gate one evening, and, giving my horse to Tira, went quietly into the house. In the hall I surprised Fanny, who had heard a step on the verandah. The dear girl threw her shapely arms around me, and pressed her full, warm lips to mine in a clinging embrace, in her delight at seeing me safe at home. What though it was a thought too cousinly, it was none the less welcome to me who had just returned from scenes of war, hatred and strife. I clasped her to my breast, and she had no cause to find fault with the warmth of my responses. There was nothing amiss in them. Aunt and Alice hearing my voice, hurried out of the dining-room. The former grasped my hand, and declaring she must hug her brave soldier nephew, gave me a warm salute. It was by no means bad for an aunt, but I did not care for it as much as for Fanny’s. Alice also ventured a very mild one, while the tears of pleasure at my safe return stood in her gentle eyes. ‘ Now, fair ladies,’ I observed at last, ‘ allow me to retire to my room and exchange this ragged uniform for a more fitting dress. But what is that ?’ A noise such as I had never heard before in that house attracted my attention. It evidently originated in the dining-room, and entering, I beheld, reclining on a new and somewhat startling piece of furniture, a stranger. His features, although I was certain I had never before beheld them, bore a ridiculous resemblance to uncle’s. They were, however, much more minute, and less hirsute. ‘ What’s that, Frank? How can you ask such a stupid question ? Don’t you see it’s a baby ? and a lovely little fellow you are, arn’t you pet ? exclaimed Fanny, addressing the last query to the stranger, who crowed with pleasure at the soft impeachment. I paid my respects to the new cousin, and even kissed him. I particularly disliked babies in those days, as a rule, and am not going to admit that I made an exception of this one. No ; all they could get out of me was that ‘ I thought he might be a nice boy when he grew up.’ He certainly was not now, for whether it was through having arrived in the mids’t of war’s alarms and the disquietude of the times I cannot venture to affirm, but a more noisy and restless young reprobate never existed. By the time I had changed my clothes and returned to the dining-room uncle came in, vigorously grasped my hand, and showed how pleased he was at my return. He always proved the heartiness and geniality of his disposition by that firm handshake. Preserve me from the man who allows your hand to barely touch his cold clammy one, then drops it! The ladies inquired whether I had been wounded. I showed them what I regarded as a few slight scratches. They thought them severe. I allowed them to have their

own opinion. Sympathy from one’s lady friends is, to say the least, balmy. Altogether I spent a very happy evening. Charlie came in later on, and I found his thirst for information about the various skirmishes, in which I had taken part, difficult to satisfy. He had been very vexed that he was not allowed to join us. After talking myself hoarse, and fighting my battles over again by my uncle’s hearth - far the most pleasant place to tight them, by-the-bye —we heard a knock at the door, and on Charlie opening it, our doctor appeared. * Good evening, ladies and gents. Late visit this, but you know, Mrs Melton, I promised to see you once again, and as I had to pass your gate on my way back from visiting a sick man up the road, I thought I’d give you a call, especially as I heard Mr Forest Ranger had returned from the warpath. I thought my services might be required to patch up some holes in him.’ ‘ Thank you, doctor,’ I replied, ‘ but I do not think I shall require your services.’ * Well, I am sure you do,’ interposed aunt. * Show him that bullet mark on youi arm, Frank. In my opinion it looks very queer.’ ‘ Oh, that’s nothing, aunt. Not worth talking about, I’ni sure. ’ ‘ Well, don’t talk about it, but let’s have a look at it. It won’t do you any harm, and I never like to miss the chance of a job. Blood-poisoning, by Jove !’ as I showed it to him. ‘ I must see to this at once.’ The doctor was an oddity, about the medium height, with considerable corpulence. A professional or dressy appearance was not his strong point. His costume was generally a plain snuff-coloured suit with a black billy-cock hat. His worst fault was an excessive fondness for whiskey, a by no means uncommon failing in the profession in the old days up-country. The long journeys they had to perform, often in the roughest weather on execrable roads, at all hours of the day or night, together with the unpleasant tasks they had to undertake, and the invariable habit of shouting, which has been previously mentioned, when even the merest acquaintances met —the doctor was, of course, ‘ hail-fellow-well-met ’ with the whole country side—all these reasons combined were some little excuse for the failing. He had great faith in the virtues of many of the shrubs and trees common to New Zealand, and especially in those of the blue gum, originally imported here, but which we look on almost as a native, and he always held that an All-wise Providence had placed remedies at our doors if we only had the sense to make use of them, instead of wasting money by sending to other countries for drugs not half so beneficial. He therefore made for himself a variety of preparations of the eucalyptus, the koromiko, the kohekohe, and a host of others, and was remarkably successful in curing the patients who put themselves under his care. His peculiar hobby was match-making. It pleased him mightily when, by his efforts, a pair were brought together and ‘ hitched up,’ as he termed it. Nor did it trouble him how they suited one another afterwards. If it was pointed out to him that they were leading a‘cat-and-dog ’ life, he always affirmed that it was their own faults ; that they were admirably adapted for one another by constitution, family history, etc. ; that they ought to be happy, and if they were not, he couldn’t help it. A diffident young friend of ours, with a painfully slow enunciation, once sought his assistance in securing a partner. The doctor, after a little consideration, sent him to call on an old couple at Patea who possessed a pair of marriageable daughters, the elder very nice-looking, but the younger decidedly plain. The youth presented the doctor’s letter of introduction, and was asked to stay and take dinner with them. The old gentleman was absent, but the ladies were particularly gracious to the doctor’s young friend, though highly amused at his keen surreptitious glances at them, when he thought he was unobserved. If detected he blushed scarlet, and occupied himself with his plate The result of this scrutiny became plain on the young ladies leaving the room to clear the table. The doctor’s instructions were carried out to the letter, but far more abruptly than they should have been. With much stutteiing and stammering, which I need not inflict on the reader, he preferred his request. * Would you have any objection, dear madam, to my calling here occasionally to pay my addresses to your eldest daughter !’ * I am really very sorry, Mr Tombkins,’ exclaimed bis hostess, with a quiet, mischievous smile, for she heard, though lie did not, the subdued titter of the young ladies at the keyhole, ‘but my eldest daughter is engaged’ (which was the case). Then, after a pause, ‘ but the younger is not, and we shall be very proud to receive your visits.’ * But she isso horribly ugly,’ he exclaimed, the bare idea frightening him to such an extent that he expressed his thoughts in plain words. A convulsive shriek of laughter from the passage did not, I believe, decrease his haste in taking liis leave. His confusion at this frightful breach of good manners made him quite forget to bid the young ladies adieu. To return to our friend, the doctor, we did not, of course, allow him to go further that night. We all thoroughly enjoyed his company. His stories of his colonial experiences were delightfully varied and entertaining. A doctor who depended entirely on his profession in a scattered up country district for a livelihood, would soon have need of neither profession nor livelihood, for all hisskill would not save him from starving. Knowing this, the worthy doctor attempted to improve matters by farming, but the eccentric manner in which he carried out everything he undertook prevented him from amassing much wealth. He experimented recklessly on the vital powers of any members of his flocks and herds which happened to be sick, and they did not appear to thrive under the treatment. His liberality was also a considerable bar to the successful accumulation of property, for |t was as unbounded as the mode of exercising it was peculiar. One example will suflice. In going to pay a professional call on a working man with a large family, who-e continued ill-health and consequent inability'to work had rendered him almost penniless, our fiiend would put a sack

of Hour in the buggy, if it was a road he could drive on, and after roughly asking the man to settle his account, he would answer his entreaties for time by telling him to let his boys work it out by carrying the Hour bag into the house. When the recipient endeavoured to thank him for his kindness, he would exhibit much annoyance, and relapse into his usual rough manner of speaking. Benevolence was his motive, not the applause or thanks of men, and he would not endure them. The morning after his arrival it was pouring with rain, and he said as he was in such good quarters and had no urgent cases to visit he would remain where he was. We were not sorry to hear him arrive at this decision. I was especially' pleased, as my wound had been very painful all night—in revenge, I presume, for my having termed it a scratch—and I felt far from well when I came down to breakfast. The doctor immediately ordered me off to bed again. This proved to me that I was seriously ill, for he had a great scorn of any one w ho would lie in bed for a trifle. And, indeed, I was not far wrong, for the rough life I had lately led, exposure to wet and cold, often sleeping in clothes drenched with fording rivers, had, together with my wound, completely prostrated me. It was now that I fully appreciated Fanny's kindness of heart, for at my sick bed she threw off all reserve, all little differences and unkind words were forgotten, and she was again the tender-hearted woman to me—not the easy offended, imperious girl she had been previous to my military experiences. But although it was grand to feel her soothing presence, yet the distracting thought was ever present with me, that it was only as a cousin she treated me, that another might take my darling from me sooner or later, and that other One day she had been more than usually kind to me. I was getting much better and was sitting up. We were

alone together, and I thought I would again endfavour to persuade her to listen to my tale of love. ‘ What a happy couple aunt and uncle make, do they not Fanny ?’ I began. ‘ Yes, they seem particularly adapted for one another. It is a perfect marriage as far as we can judge,’ returned my cousin, and thinking I noticed a blush on her soft cheeks, I took it for encouragement. ‘ Fanny, my darling,’ I said, grasping her hand, which she did not withdraw, * I have just risen from a sick bed, and you have been excessively kind to me. I owe you a debt of gratitude, which it shall be my aim to repay.’ ‘ Repay it at once then by never alluding to it again, my boy,’ was her unsatisfactory answer. ‘ I cannot do it that Way. I must allude to it again, and endeavour to persuade you to allow me to save your life's happiness in return for your having probably saved my life by your careful nursing. I cannot, Fanny, no, I cannot bear to see you going on the way you are going, without stepping forward anti telling you that, loving you as passionately and devotedly as I do, it is killing me to see you made the sport of a fellow like Grosvenor. He is playing a double game with you and Julia Robinson. 1 know fora positive fact he is engaged to her as well as you.’ Had I watched her face, as in my emotion I failed to do, I should have seen that her colour was not a signal of encouragement but of danger. She was simply speechless from amazement at niy audacity in daring to make such statements, not as I fondly imagined, from a tender desire to hear me out. She petulantly withdrew her hand. I did not inter pret this movement rightly, but resumed my subject quite innocently. * And then to think of his not having written you forsuch a time. I have very good reason to believe he is not at home at silk Oh, Fanny ! pause while yon yet have time. I do not ask you to love me, but for God’s --ake do not marry

this man. Though I love you as a man only loves once in a life time, yet I only say, have nothing to do with him.’ The rich crimson hue which now suffused the usual roses in her cheeks, the quick upraising of her dewy eyelids as her glance met mine, showed that her dee|>er nature was touched—that it was not all displeasure which they manifested. There was a tenderness striving for possession with the wrath, but what would be the result! ‘ Frank, I really do lielieve now that you love me more than he does. You are capable of a deeper love, yet he ’ ‘A letter for you, Fanny, from your boy,’ interposed Charlie, bursting into the room, and darting off again with a significant look at me.

CHAPTER XXVI. THE DOCTOR GIVES ADVICE—FANNY NURSES ME—I Tin TO MAKE LOVE. The sight of a letter from her lover had the effect of shattering all the good which I flattered myself 1 had effected, and called back all her faith in him. Clasping it tightly in her hand, her wrath burst forth in no measured tones. ‘ Frank, I thought I had commanded you never to mention his name to me again ! And now, in return for my trying to be nice to you, you have aspersed him most cruelly tor your own ends ! If this love you boast so much about induces you to repeat lying reports about him, preserve me from it !' and she left the room like an offended princess. Yes, left the room—simple words describing a simple act. But what a tangled mass of unexplained trouble 1 What a load of unalleviated sorrow, often cruelly or carelessly, as the case may be, is also left behind when one party takes this means of ending a conversation ? ‘ Would to Heaven,’ I inwardly exclaimed, ‘ that I had never uttered a word on the subject !’ It seemed there was no help for me. I was continually making matters worse instead of better. From the contents of Grosvenor’s letter it would appear that he was getting very tired of his enforced absence from his lady love, and sincerely hoped he would soon be able to come and claim her ; that business of importance, as well as his father’s continued very feeble health, still chained him at home ; that he was glad to say the business was progressing favourably to his interests, and a lot more in the same strain. How Fanny could have credited these everlasting excuses I could never understand. She became, however, most capricious and changeable, at times as affable and pleasant as usual, at others irritable and depresssd. It added considerably to my trouble to see her o. I always felt that if I had but had a fair chance I could have won her love. Had she not been influenced by her womanly pride at having secured the affections of a gentleman who was all the rage, as Grosvenor appeared to be, in the circle in which she first met him, which pride she had mistaken for love, 1 am firmly convinced I should have been favoured with the true love of her heart. But what credit would there be in gaining an uncontested battle. No ; to meet the foe in a fair field and vanquish him, that was the true test. But was the field a fair one? The weapons my adversary used were deceit and lies to which I would not stoop. Truth shall prevail, it has been said, but Fanny would not listen to my truth. But if I could not use his weapons neither could he use mine. True love in its best sense, honourably and uprightly expressed, would be as foreign to him as his pretensions and falsehoods would to me. I must yet have patience and await my opportunity. The fact that I could not believe that my cousin really loved my rival gave me some comfort. I will do her the credit to allow that it was her firm impression that she did, that she was deceived as to her true feelings. She had inherited from her father an obstinacy in her likes ami dislikes, which Mould brook no opposition or dictation, ami which, in unreasoning stubbornness, outdid his. When she bad once made up her mind that she loved Grosvenor, every op] osing argument sei veil only to strengthen it, ami enlisted sympathy in its cause, and consequently the ideal love was increased, until in her imagination it became a very real one. The reader will naturally inquire why on earth I remained at home to suffer the misery I did from always having the obj< cl of my unrequited affections before my eyes. The reason was that I always hoped against hope that my rival’s misdeeds would be discovered, ami that 1 should then perhaps have a chance of making my life—what I fervently wished to make it some day—as near perfection as life can be marie, even in New Zealand, which is quite near enough to please me. The doctor who had been attending me quickly discovered my mental trouble, and being so intimate with us all, knew very well what was the reason of it. He volunteered a speedy cure if I would but follow his instructions. ‘You must know,’ he said, ‘ if you have any sense, that your cousin will marry Grosvenor. Go for another girl. Never waste your love, time, ami trouble on one already booked, unless you are certain yon can cut the other fellow out, which, from all I see, I doubt. Now, there is old Frost's eldest daughter. She’s a marriageable age, and on the lookout fora husband. Why don’t you go for her? She’d be the very thing for you. Grand girl to work, ami a first-rate housekeeper.’ This Miss Frost was the venerable damsel whose attempts at condolence had been so effectively silenced by Fanny on the day which was to have seen her wedding. •Well, doctor,’ I replied, ‘strange to say, I have made up my mind, when I do marry, to take a less antiquated ami more animated partner than Miss Frost will prove. 1 will have Fanny or none. I then informed him of my knowledge of Grosvenor’s engagement to Julia, and my great difliculty in convincing my cousin of the fact, on account of her always accusing me of making spiteful misalaternents when I uttered a word about her lover. ‘Well, Frank, this looks awkward for hint, but a good deal better for you. Certainly, f out what you tell me, the fellow must be a bad egg. I have never met him, ami of course it would not do for me to judge him by your account of him alone, for I don't think jou would like to be judged by his account of yon. Rivals cannot be expected to do one another justice, so I’ll wait till I have a chance of forming an impartial opinion about him. There seems to be no

hurry, a< fiom his letter, or what you say almut it, he won’t turn up yet awhile. Manage when he does come to arrange that he shall meet Julia in your house when Fanny is present; that’s your lay. I<l in’t suppose he knows that they have moved over here, and you’ll catch him properly.’ * Yes, that would be a good move. If I can fix it up so, I will. But won’t you speak to uncle about him yourself, doctor ’ He would listen to you.’ ‘ Certainly not till I know more of him. If Melton was to ask where I got the information from, I should have to say from Frank. •• I’shaw 1” he would answer. ** I have heard all that before,” or something to that effect.’ * But I have not told him. I would much rather you did. He’d pay much more attention to you ’ * I never repeat what I hear till I can prove the truth of it,’ returned the stubborn old man. ‘ Wait, as I say, and arrange the meeting properly, and there will be ructions. Mind you ask me to see the fun.’ * But doctor, you know the Robinsons, after remaining a week or so in their new place, left for a trip round the South Island. Goodness knows when they will be back. Mr Robinson left a man in charge, but he neither knows when they will return, nor their address. If I had known where to address a letter to him, I would have written myself, and pat him on his guard against the scoundrel.’ ‘ Oh, they will be back beford J Grosvenor. Yon may depend on that. ’ I did not relate to Aunt and Alice what I had heard in Auckland, for I found that Fanny and her father had so imbued them with the idea that I would either do or say anything to break off the match, and they had often desired me not to mention his name unless I could say something good about him. This I knew would signify silence about him for the rest of my natural life. 1 must wait till the Robinsons’ returned, and trust to Providence. I had regained my health, and started work again, doing whatever was required of me, but not with the old vigour or energy. While I was in this restless and depressed state, increased by Fanny’s fitful behaviour and evident unhappiness, 1 came to the conclusion that I could not bear to remain in the same house with her any longer. I found myself totally unable to carry out my previously expressed determination to stay and await patiently whatever might betide. I therefore sought an interview with uncle in his private room. ‘Uncle, lam come to have a little serious conversation with you.’ ‘ Oh, about Fanny, eh ? My dear boy it’s no good. What do you keep bothering about her for. She’s fixed her mind on Grosvenor. If she hadn’t it would be no good you bothering about her. You couldn’t keep a wife for years yet.’ ‘ Wait a bit, uncle. It is about Fanny, but I wasn’t going to urge my claim, for I have none, worse luck. I was only going to say that I cannot remain longer in the house to be constantly seeing her as miserable as that cursed wretch is making her by his infernal shilly shallying behaviour.’ ‘Miserable! Who says she’s miserable ? It’s only your lovesick imagination. The girl’s right enough.’ ‘ Indeed she is not. You never see the bright smiles on her face she used to wear so constantly.’ ‘ Bright smiles ! Rot ! She can’t be always smiling, especially at you. You go about looking as miserable as a bandicoot, and expect a girl to smile at you. Ha ! ha ! Frank, I didn’t think you were such a fool.’ ‘ Well, uncle, I feel 1 shall be better away for a time.’ ‘By Jove ! you are right, my lad. If you can t act like a man, by all means clear. Didn’t think you’d have turned out such a namby-pamby—like a great schoolgirl—with your love nonsense ! Pshaw ! Let’s talk about something else. I was just going to call you. Old Miller, the dealer, wants a score or so of prime fat beasts to make up an order for shipment. Think we can find him any? He says they’re hard to get just now. Those that have’em can’t get ’em out of the bush. He offers a i attling good price ; ut they must be good.’

‘ I can hardly say. The last draught cleared all the primest of the paddock cattle. If we could only get that tar back lot of wild ones out, that have been on the ranges s > long, thereM be safe to be some grand ones amongst them, but it would be a caution of a job.’ ‘lt would be a devil of a job. Just the thing, though, to knock the nonsense out of you. Tim and four or five Maoris went after them awhile ago. You were bunting the Hauhaus. I wanted to sell ’em to the commissariat. But I told ’em they’d managed badly; they didn’t get a hoof. Tim’s a grand hand to follow ’em, but he wants a head for planning a job like that. Tell you what I’ll do, give you and Charlie half of the price of all you get out. You can take Tim and one or two Maoris if yon want’em. What d’you say ?’ ‘ I’ll go if Charlie will, gladly, uncle, or if he won’t, I’ll undertake it myself, and get an extra Maori or two. But I’m certain he’ll go with me.’ I consulted with Charlie, and we agreed to have a thorough good trial at the bush-hunting, and to start as soon as we could possibly make the necessary preparations. Uncle’s offer was a most generous one, for if we succeeded we should have a nice little sum in our pockets On the other hand, it was a very arduous undertaking. It might mean weeks of weary tramping in the trackless Lush, with the result that the cattle were driven further back instead of getting them out. The work, of course, had to be done on foot on account of the density and tangled nature of the underscrub. It is surprising, however, to see the rate at which these wild bush cattle smash through it, turning theii heads from side to side to allow the tough supplejack canes to slide off them, if they do not break with the force applied to them. For men on foot to imagine that they could head or turn in the direction they wished a mob of these animals, would be absurd in the extreme. Our idea was to take provisions with us, and after we had found the cattle- which, by-the-bye, would be not unlike finding a needle in a bundle of hay—never to let them test a moment longer than we could help, but keep dogging them on till they began to consider open country preferable to a bush, haunted by such relentless tormentors as we and our dogs should prove. Our preparations were soon made. We each of us were supplied with a very light blanket. For pro-vision-,a few biscuits, some tea and sugar, billyand pannikins were distributed amongst us. Charlie carried a pig spear, and I had my double barrel, fortunately, a very light one. Foi clothing we wore moleskin trousers, and blue serge shirts stuffed into them, a leather strap, to which the inevitable sheath knife was attached, anil in the case of Tim and the Maori a tomahawk also. For meat we relied on

getting a wild pig now and then. Horses were to be tethered in a certain gully, where, from the nature of the country, we guessed it most likely that the cattle would break cover, so that we could immediately mount, and so gain complete command of our prey, and prevent them breaking again for the bush. Uncle and a boy we employed about the place would ride out every now and then on the open to be ready to give assistance if it was required, and to tether our horses on fresh feed, or pick up stray cattle which might have been hurried out, before we came up with a lot worth our following. This job I felt would be altogether the best thing that could happen to me, for it led my thoughts into a fresh channel, and would entail severe bodily exercise, which must-cause sleep, and prevent the wakeful or dream distorted restless nights I had lately so often spent. Annt, in mistaken kindness, endeavoured to persuade me not to go, and gave uncle a severe lecture tor thinking of sending a poor boy only just off a sick bed on such an expedition. However, I made her understand that I required something quite out of the common to stir me up, and this would answer the purpose. Fanny, who was in one of her fits of depression, gave me but a c >ld adieu, and I felt about as depressed as it was possible for a youth of my age, and in my state of unrequited affection to feel, as I left the homestead that morning with my three companions, whose high spirits and lively banter jarred on my nerves, and made me feel, if possible, even worse. (TO BE C3NTINUEII.)