man, with a sick brother, had emigrated to Swan River, and, after burying there his relative, had determined upon removing to New South Wales. No opportunity offering, however, for a passage to Sydney direct, he sailed for Launceston, a town on the north coast of Van Diemen's Land, in a small trading schooner,with all his property. Becalmed in the straits, the little craft was in the grey of the morning attacked, boarded, and carried by the piratical band above noted, who, after landing the passengers on an uninhabited part of the coast, and pillaging and scuttling the schooner, made off in the boats-no one knew whither.

"Redpath, I conclude, must have gathered as much of Mr. Clare's history as served his purpose, from the latter's papers,— must have helped himself, as chief of the banditti, to a good share of his personal property, and have hit upon the ingenious experiment of appropriating also that gentleman's name. I have only to add that there is a reward of 100l. offered by Government to any free person, and pardon to any prisoner of the Crown, who will give such information as may lead to the capture of Robert Redpath-alias 'Gentleman Jack' alias 'Captain Chaff'— alias "The Chelsea Swell,' and alias (I am pretty sure) 'Black Bob' the bush-ranger.

"I had heard of the latter fellow and his exploits on the highroad, and had always imagined him an Aboriginal black-an humble imitator of the well-known Australian robber, 'Mosquito,' who distinguished himself some time back both in this colony and in Van Diemen's Land, and who received the collar of the order of merit at last. And now, Sir," concluded the officer, "I have given you the clue. It remains with you to get out of the maze."

My next measure was to wait on the Governor, who warmly took up the matter in hand-giving me great credit for public spirit and energy of character, and expressing, moreover, his opinion that if other provincial gentlemen would devote themselves less exclusively to money-making, and would spare some of their time and trouble for the general good-as I had so meritoriously done, bush-ranging, the curse of the colony, would be at once and for ever suppressed!

Bowing low to this handsome compliment from the head of the executive, the glow of self-approval diffused itself through my frame, as I recognised those genial feelings which-hem! hem!-inspire the bosoms of the statesman, the warrior, the patriot, and the philanthropist, when they receive the-hem! hem!-the richest reward of duty well performed, of public service untarnished by -hem!-by private considerations and selfish interests encomiums of their grateful fellow countrymen!

the

His Excellency having delivered himself of his eulogy, referred me to the Chief of the Police department for further proceedings, and, forgetting to ask me to dinner, bowed me out of the presence chamber.

The chief of Police organised in a few minutes a plan for the capture of the supposed banditti, and informed me that an active

subaltern of the mounted police, with half a dozen men of that force, would find themselves at Mr. Fellowes's head-station nearly as soon as I could return there; or, if I pleased, I might accompany them.

For reasons of my own I chose to precede the party;-andnot to loiter over this part of my narrative just as the brief southern twilight of a wild and tempestuous evening, darkened by thunder clouds, had set in, I reached by a cross road a spot, whence, had there been more light, the house of Norambla might have been seen, at the distance of some two hundred paces. I had halted, indeed, to indulge for a moment in this my favourite view, when, casting my eyes round, I perceived a light vehicle, with a pair of horses harnessed in the out-rigger fashion, standing unattended and half hidden in a shady hollow hard by. A second glance showed me that one of the horses was Mr. Clare's famous chestnut thoroughbred.

Having fastened my own steed to a tree, I advanced towards the dwelling, coming upon it at an extremity of the veranda where the little boudoir of Mary Fellowes opened upon the garden by a French window. Cautiously approaching I heard voices speaking in a suppressed tone,--and, with a spasmodic contraction of the heart which well-nigh deprived me of my senses, I recognised those of Mary and of Clare. He was appealing to her in persua sive and passionate terms, and covering her fair hand with kisses as, kneeling by the window step, he clasped it in his own. "No, Mr. Clare," exclaimed the agitated girl. "Cease to urge me-it cannot be.-Why this haste?-why this secrecy ?-Has not my good father

Abruptly cutting short the lady's discourse, the audacious intruder now sprung to his feet, and with a hurried and resolute gesture had wound his arm round her slender waist;-when, in an instant, my firm gripe was on his shoulder, and I held him as in

a vice.

"Frank, Frank! what are you doing? Oh Heavens, what is all this?" shrieked the terrified girl as she scanned our fierce

countenances.

"I am saving you, Mary, from the designs of a villain-of a branded felon !-and you, Sir," pursued I, 66 cease your fruitless struggles-this is not the first time you have felt the vigour of my grasp! if you would preserve your life, step aside and hear me." And I whispered in his ear-" Robert Redpath, the police are close on your track-fly while you may. We have all here been indebted to you for our lives-I will not take yours,-although in preserving that of so doubly-dyed a malefactor I commit a heinous sin against society."

Trembling in every joint with conflicting emotions, in which rage and fear struggled for mastery, the robber hesitated, and his eye shot fire while his hand moved irresolutely towards his pistols.

"On the honour of a gentleman and the faith of a Christian, it is as I have said. A strong party of mounted police are at this moment approaching the house. Fly or you are lost-fly,

wretched man, ere it is too late-and escape the death of the gallows."

I released him as I saw his eye quail-and the robber fled,fled without turning one look on the innocent maiden whom he had beguiled into a belief in his honour and virtue. Nor had he a moment to spare; for scarcely had he disappeared in the shade of the trees when the tramp of horses was heard, and the Lieutenant and his myrmidons, arriving by the main road, trotted up to the door.

Whilst accommodation was being prepared for the officer and his party, I stole to the spot where I had seen the carriage waiting. It was still there-but the horses were gone, and their master, doubtless, with them. In order to avoid suspicion, I drew the little vehicle into the back yard so that it might pass for one of our own. Mary had hidden herself in her chamber; but I found an opportunity of relating the whole of my late proceedings to the father, and of requesting him to break to his child the strange intelligence of which I was the bearer.

While overwhelming me with expressions of gratitude for the inappreciable services I had rendered to them both, Mr. Fellowes joined me unreservedly in the feeling that a moral debt lay on us to promote the safety, in this one contingency at least, of the man whose gallantry had saved us from a frightful death at the hands of the savages; and, having eased our conscience on this point, we hoped that time would blunt its prickings on the score of having shielded from offended justice so notorious and dangerous a delinquent.

My mind, indeed, did misgive me, that this compounding between private feelings and the general interests of society was a slight backsliding from the pinnacle of public virtue, to which I had lately climbed. Nevertheless, by some reasoning or other, I persuaded myself that, in preserving my benefactor and his daughter from misery and disgrace, I had done enough; and as they both coincided with me in this opinion, I did not sink very deeply in my own estimation.

As for Mary-her half beguiled fancy had, I rejoice to say, stopped short of absolute infatuation for the unmasked reprobate; and in a short time her ruffled peace of mind was again entirely tranquillized.

I have now only to add that the police, commanded as they were by an officer who had made many a previous gallant capture, succeeded the next evening in surprising Messrs. Jones and Randall at a weak moment which usually followed their supper, and in identifying these gentlemen with the well-known rangers of His Majesty's Australian Forests-Long Tom and Billy the Kid. If I throw a veil over the eventual destinies of this pair of worthies, it is because I am unwilling to cloud the conclusion or this veracious history, with a last dying confession and a hempen catastrophe.

As for that romantic and insinuating cut-purse, Mr. Robert Redpath, we never heard of him again;-and, for my part, I con

fess, that having punctiliously repaid the debt I owed him, I ceased to feel any particular solicitude as to his subsequent history and ultimate fate.

It would, however, be a glaring injustice to his numerous and peculiar merits, to doubt that, sooner or later, they met their reward-that he attained, in short, that elevated position above the common crowd, which the nature and amount of his achievements in both hemispheres had given him an unquestionable right both to aspire to and to expect, and which society at large were unanimous in their desire to confer.*

Looking back through the vista of years upon the events above narrated-with the fair and faithful partner of my joys and sorrows at the opposite extremity of my hearth-rug-a smile and a shudder would at once brighten and blanch her cheek, as we recalled to our memories some of the more stirring particulars of this passage of our lives. And she would rather repress than encourage the never-satiated curiosity of our two fine boys when they urged upon me the oft-repeated petition "Do, dear father, do, once more, tell us the story of Black Bob, the Bush-Ranger of the Blue Mountains."

Who this fair partner was, I must leave to the penetration of my indulgent reader-to whom, likewise, I bequeath the task to reconcile, if he may, the past platonics and the present paternity of the now truly happy historian.

* Amongst the annals of Australian bushranging, the writer of this little tale has met with very many curious and terrible facts,-none more so than those contained in a paper entitled " Memoranda of the career and fate of two gangs of Bushrangers," which has been placed at his disposal by a friend who was resident in New South Wales at the time of the occurrences, and to which the Editor of the Miscellany may, if he pleases, afford a place in a future number.

621

MARGUERITE DEVEREUX.

A TRUE STORY.

BY VAUGHAN DAYRELL.

In the year 1779, in a beautiful village in Gascony, lived as good and as happy a family as Heaven in its kindness ever blessed with health, competence and contentment. A cottage, with all the rustic innocence and virtue with which poets are wont to adorn it, has seldom been tenanted by two more simple and affectionate hearts than those of Richard Devereux and his daughter, Marguerite.

Marguerite was a universal favourite. Who could look on that bright and sunny smile without feeling something of the innocent gaiety that it bespoke? And who could gaze but with fervent admiration on that natural grace and ease which flow from true modesty and simplicity, and which, often denied to the beauty of the gilded saloon, is Nature's free dower to the pride of the village? But her deep tender blue eyes and soft light hair were only the lesser and more perishable charms of Marguerite. If we dared believe in human innocence we should indulge that heresy here. What guile or sin could lurk in the heart of that loved and loving girl? Did not smiles and kind words greet her wheresoever she went? Can any distrust, or fear, ay, or envy that bright ingenuous face? And must not her coming days be as happy as they deserve to be? Can there be any gloomy cloud on the horizon of her life? Away with the fanciful foreboding. Look again—it has vanished there is not a stain on the vaulted

heaven.

Marguerite was in the blushing dawn of womanhood. According to the custom of the neighbourhood, she had been betrothed while quite a child to Guillaume Beranger, a young and brave soldier, with the troops in Germany. She remembered his kind face and manly carriage. She had often seen him at her father's cottage; but then she was too young to have loved him. She was told that she was destined to be his wife, and she heard and obeyed the injunction with all that pleasure which she always experienced in the readiest and most cheerful compliance with the wishes of her father. Beyond that she entertained no feeling or opinion on the subject, save something like dread at the thought of leaving her father's cottage and her brother and sisters. Now and then there came to her tidings of her future husband, and a blush of pride mantled on her cheek as the village gossips stopped her as she bounded by their cottage doors, to talk of the victory that the troops of the Republic had lately won, and in which Guillaume had distinguished himself. And once there came a small medal, which her father hung round her neck with a riband, and bade her, with his blessing, wear it until her brave lover came to take her from him.