drinking and disturbing of your imagination.
Ain't Fisher agone to England? And if he
had a come back, do you think we shouldn't a
heard on it?"

"Ay, Betty! " said old Ben, "but he'd a
cruel gash in his forehead, and the blood was
all fresh like. Faith, it makes me shudder
to think on't. It were his ghost."

"How can you talk so foolish, Ben?" said
the old woman. "You must be drunk sure-ly
to get on about ghosteses."

"I tell thee I am not drunk," rejoined old
Ben, angrily. "There's been foul play, Betty;
I'm sure on't. There sat Fisher on the rail—
not more than a matter of two mile from
this. Egad, it were on his own fence that he
sat. There he was, in his shirt-sleeves, with
his arms a folded; just as he used to sit when
he was a waiting for anybody coming up the
road. Bless you, Betty, I seed 'im till I was
as close as I am to thee; when, all on a
sudden, he vanished, like smoke."

"Nonsense, Ben: don't talk of it," said old
Betty, "or the neighbours will only laugh at
you. Come to bed, and you'll forget all about
it before to-morrow morning."

Old Ben went to bed; but he did not next
morning forget all about what he had seen on
the previous night: on the contrary, he was
more positive than before. However, at the
earnest, and often repeated request of the old
woman, he promised not to mention having
seen Fisher's ghost, for fear that it might
expose him to ridicule.

On the following Thursday night, when old
Ben was returning from market—again in
his cart—he saw, seated upon the same rail,
the identical apparition. He had purposely
abstained from drinking that day, and was in
the full possession of all his senses. On this
occasion old Ben was too much alarmed to
stop. He urged the old mare on, and got home
as speedily as possible. As soon as he had
unharnessed and fed the mare, and taken his
purchases out of the cart, he entered his
cottage, lighted his pipe, sat over the fire
with his better half, and gave her an account
of how he had disposed of his produce, and
what he had brought back from Sydney in
return. After this he said to her, "Well,
Betty, I'm not drunk to-night, anyhow,
am I?"

"No," said Betty. "You are quite sober,
sensible like, to-night, Ben; and therefore you
have come home without any ghost in your
head. Ghosts! Don't believe there is such
things."

"Well, you are satisfied I am not drunk;
but perfectly sober," said the old man.

"Yes, Ben," said Betty.

"Well, then," said Ben, "I tell thee what,
Betty. I saw Fisher to-night agin!"

"Stuff!" cried old Betty.

"You may say stuff" said the old farmer;
"but I tell you what I saw him as plainly
as I did last Thursday night. Smith is a bad
'un! Do you think Fisher would ever have
left this country without coming to bid you
and me good bye!"

"It's all fancy!" said old Betty. "Now
drink your grog and smoke your pipe, and
think no more about the ghost. I won't hear
on't."

"I'm as fond of my grog and my pipe as
most men," said old Ben; "but I'm not going
to drink anything to-night. It may be all
fancy, as you call it, but I am now going to
tell Mr. Grafton all I saw, and what I think;"
and with these words he got up, and left the
house.

Mr. Grafton was a gentleman who lived
about a mile from old Weir's farm. He had
been formerly a lieutenant in the navy, but
was now on half pay, and was a settler in the
new colony; he was, moreover, in the
commission of the peace.

When old Ben arrived at Mr. Grafton's
house, Mr. Grafton was about to retire to
bed; but he requested old Ben might be
shown in. He desired the farmer to take
a seat by the fire, and then inquired what
was the latest news in Sydney.

"The news in Sydney, sir, is very small,"
said old Ben; " wheat is falling, but maize
still keeps its price—seven and sixpence a
bushel: but I want to tell you, sir, something
that will astonish you."

"What is it, Ben?" asked Mr. Grafton.

"Why, sir," resumed old Ben, "you know I
am not a weak-minded man, nor a fool,
exactly; for I was born and bred in
Yorkshire."

"No, Ben, I don't believe you to be weak-
minded, nor do I think you a fool," said Mr.
Grafton; "but what can you have to say that
you come at this late hour, and that you
require such a preface?"

"That I have seen the ghost of Fisher, sir,"
said the old man; and he detailed the
particulars of which the reader is already in
possession.

Mr. Grafton was at first disposed to think
with old Betty, that Ben had seen Fisher's
Ghost through an extra glass or two of rum
on the first night; and that on the second
night, when perfectly sober, he was unable to
divest himself of the idea previously
entertained. But after a little consideration the
words "How very singular!" involuntarily
escaped him.

"Go home, Ben," said Mr. Grafton,  and
let me see you to-morrow at sunrise. We
will go together to the place where you say
you saw the ghost."

Mr. Grafton used to encourage the aboriginal
natives of New South Wales (that race
which has been very aptly described ''the
last link in the human chain") to remain
about his premises. At the head of a little
tribe then encamped on Mr. Grafton's estate,
was a sharp young man named Johnny Crook.
The peculiar faculty of the aboriginal natives
of New South Wales, of tracking the human
foot not only over grass but over the hardest