R Wmlnlnllnn
I was now on my way to keep the "apointment." I was still about twenty miles from Poondoo; and the next day would be "monday 10 prox." I intended to start again at about two o'clock; so I had still a couple of hours to spend in what civilians call rest, and soldiers, fatigue; whilst studying such problems as might present themselves for solution. Pup was safe by my side, and I had nothing to trouble myself about. A thought of the transitoriness and uncertainty of life did occur to me, as it has done to thinkers and non-thinkers of all ages; but I deftly applied the reflection to my superior officer, and so turned everything to commodity.
The unfortunate young fellow, I thought, is a confirmed invalid, sure enough. A trip round the colonies may liven him up a bit, or, on the other hand, it may not; and, if he returns, it is to be hoped that kind hands will soothe his pillow, and so forth; and when, with dirges due, in sad array, they have performed the last melancholy offices, I trust that some one will be found to dress, with simple hands, his rural tomb. I would do it myself, for, as the poet says, "Ah, surely nothing dies but something mourns." A sweet fancy, but not so filling as the cognate reflection——
"Ha-a-ay!"
Somebody calling from the other side of the river; probably some forlorn and shipwreck'd brother, looking for his mates—The cognate reflection, namely, that nothing withdraws but it leaves room for a successor. And this successor—thus favoured by a Providence which has kindly supervised the fall of the antecedent sparrow—will be entitled to live in a four-roomed weatherboard house, with the water laid-on, and a flower-garden up to the footpath, and a few silver-pencilled Hamburgs in the back yard, and everything comfortable. Ah, me! it is the thought of the dove——
"Ha-a-a-ay!"
Peace! peace! Orestes—like, I breathe this prayer. Thy comrades are sleeping; go sleep thou with them.——The thought of the dove that has suggested this fairy picture of the dovecote. And something tells me that Jim Quarterman is not likely to forget a certain cavalier who called one day about a dog. Doubtless her memory holds him enshrined as a person of scientific attainments and courtly address; offering a contrast, I trust, to the uninteresting hayseeds who have come under her purview. And will he not come again? Yea, Jim, mystery and revelation as thou art! he will come again, to lay at thy shapely and substantial feet the trophy of an——
"Ha-a-a-a-ay!"
Ay, lay thee down and roar—Of an Assistant-Sub-Inspectorship. Ah, Jim! tentatively beloved (so to speak) by this solitary, but by no means desolate, heart!—setting aside the rises I would take out of thy artlessness, and the way I would whip thy simplicity with my fine wit till thou wert as crestfallen as a dried pear—I confess a spontaneous thought associated with the mental carte-de-visite of thy wholesome avoirdupois. No less, indeed, than the psychological recognition of an angel-influence——
"Ha-a-a-a-a-ay!"