There Is One Beast Of
A Plant They Call Spear-Grass, Or Spaniard, Which I Will Tell You More
About At Another Time.
You would have laughed to have seen me on that
day; it was the first on which I had the slightest occasion for any
horsemanship.
You know how bad a horseman I am, and can imagine that I
let my companion go first in all the little swampy places and small
creeks which we came across. These were numerous, and as Doctor always
jumped them, with what appeared to me a jump about three times greater
than was necessary, I assure you I heartily wished them somewhere else.
However, I did my best to conceal my deficiency, and before night had
become comparatively expert without having betrayed myself to my
companion. I dare say he knew what was going on, well enough, but was
too good and kind to notice it.
At night, and by a lovely clear, cold moonlight, we arrived at our
destination, heartily glad to hear the dogs barking and to know that we
were at our journey's end. Here we were bona fide beyond the pale of
civilisation; no boarded floors, no chairs, nor any similar luxuries;
everything was of the very simplest description. Four men inhabited the
hut, and their life appears a kind of mixture of that of a dog and that
of an emperor, with a considerable predominance of the latter. They
have no cook, and take it turn and turn to cook and wash up, two one
week, and two the next. They have a good garden, and gave us a capital
feed of potatoes and peas, both fried together, an excellent
combination. Their culinary apparatus and plates, cups, knives, and
forks, are very limited in number. The men are all gentlemen and sons
of gentlemen, and one of them is a Cambridge man, who took a high
second-class a year or two before my time. Every now and then he leaves
his up-country avocations, and becomes a great gun at the college in
Christ Church, examining the boys; he then returns to his shepherding,
cooking, bullock-driving, etc. etc., as the case may be. I am informed
that the having faithfully learned the ingenuous arts, has so far
mollified his morals that he is an exceedingly humane and judicious
bullock-driver. He regarded me as a somewhat despicable new-comer (at
least so I imagined), and when next morning I asked where I should wash,
he gave rather a French shrug of the shoulders, and said, "The lake." I
felt the rebuke to be well merited, and that with the lake in front of
the house, I should have been at no loss for the means of performing my
ablutions. So I retired abashed and cleansed myself therein. Under his
bed I found Tennyson's Idylls of the King. So you will see that even in
these out-of-the-world places people do care a little for something
besides sheep.
Enter page number
PreviousNext
Page 27 of 87
Words from 13515 to 14018
of 45285
