The Mountains Wanted Outlines; They Were Not
Broken Up Into Fine Forms Like The Carnarvonshire Mountains, But Were
Rather A Long, Blue, Lofty, Even Line, Like The Jura From Geneva Or The
Berwyn From Shrewsbury.
The plains, too, were lovely in colouring, but
would have been wonderfully improved by an object or two a little nearer
than the mountains.
I must confess that the view, though undoubtedly
fine, rather disappointed me. The one in the direction of the harbour
was infinitely superior.
At the bottom of the hill we met the car to Christ Church; it halted
some time at a little wooden public-house, and by and by at another,
where was a Methodist preacher, who had just been reaping corn for two
pounds an acre. He showed me some half-dozen stalks of gigantic size,
but most of that along the roadside was thin and poor. Then we reached
Christ Church on the little river Avon; it is larger than Lyttelton and
more scattered, but not so pretty. Here, too, the men are shaggy,
clear-complexioned, brown, and healthy-looking, and wear exceedingly
rowdy hats. I put up at Mr. Rowland Davis's; and as no one during the
evening seemed much inclined to talk to me, I listened to the
conversation.
The all-engrossing topics seemed to be sheep, horses, dogs, cattle,
English grasses, paddocks, bush, and so forth. From about seven o'clock
in the evening till about twelve at night I cannot say that I heard much
else.
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