so thought of. returning quietly by water as he had departed. At Echuca, as he voyaged, he experienced a shock that stunned him.
Strolling into an hotel, he took up, to while away the time, one of those society papers that—
Like the flies of later spring,
Lay their eggs and sting and sing,
And weave their petty cells and die."
His eye fell on a column headed in large characters—
"A VILLAGE ROMANCE."
The writer recalled the fact of a Dr. Courtenay having sought to establish a Village Community on a tributary of the Silverbourne. How a year ago the founder had lost his life, leaving the estate in question to his manager and friend—one John Elms, Esq. This gentleman was now candidate for a seat in the Upper House.
His friends accused him of exchanging Radical principles for Conservative. A man with property and position such as his, was wise to modify his opinions. He had experienced difficulty, however, with respect to the people so strangely left at his mercy. Matters had come to a crisis. There was prospect of the entire community being summarily evicted unless they could see their way to sinking their individuality and falling in with their despotic master's peculiar ideas.
Love, of a romantic character, had, however, as is often the case, promised to cut the Gordian knot. The disconsolate widow was, so rumour had it, likely to yield to the blandishments of the lucky man who had stepped into her husband's shoes. Mr. Elms, it appeared, was willing to concede favourable terms to the distressed settlers if their advocate, the fair widow, would accept
