Station Amusements | Page 3

of intense pleasure on a fine day, which
is peculiar to New Zealand, is really a very low form of animal
enjoyment. It may be so, but I only know that I never stood in the
verandah early in the morning of such a day as I am trying to sketch in
pen and ink now, without feeling the highest spiritual joy, the deepest
thankfulness to the loving Father who had made His beautiful world so
fair, and who would fain lead us through its paths of pleasantness to a
still more glorious, home, which will be free from the shadows
brooding from beneath sin's out-stretched wings over this one. As I
stood in the porch I have often fancied I could seethe animals and even
the poultry expressing in dumb brute fashion, their joy and gratitude to
the God from whom all blessings flow.
But to return to the verandah, although we have never left it. Presently
F--- came out, and I said with a sigh, born of deep content and
happiness, "What a day!" "Yes," answered F---: "a heavenly day indeed:
well worth waiting for. I want to go and see how the men are getting on
in the bush. Will you like to come too?" "Of course I will. What can be
more enchanting than the prospect of spending such sunny hours in that

glorious bush?" So after breakfast I give my few simple orders to the
cook, and prepare, to pack a "Maori kit," or flat basket made of flax,
which could be fastened to my side-saddle, with the preparations for
our luncheon. First some mutton chops had to be trimmed and prepared,
all ready to be cooked when we got there. These were neatly folded up
in clean paper; and a little packet of tea, a few lumps of white sugar, a
tiny wooden contrivance for holding salt and pepper, and a couple of
knives and forks, were added to the parcel.
So much for the contents of the basket. They needed to be carefully
packed so as not to rattle in any way, or Helen, my pretty bay mare,
would soon have got rid of the luncheon--and me. I wrapped up three
or four large raw potatoes in separate bits of paper, and slipped them
into F---'s pockets when he was looking another way, and then began
the real difficulty of my picnic: how was the little tin tea-pot and an
odd delf cup to be carried? F--- objected to put them also in his pocket,
assuring me that I could make very good tea by putting my packet of
the fragrant leaves into the bushmen's kettle, and drinking it afterwards
out of one of their pannikins. He tried to bribe me to this latter piece of
simplicity by promising to wash the tin pannikin out for me first. Now I
was not dainty or over particular; I could not have enjoyed my New
Zealand life so thoroughly if I had been either; but I did not like the
idea of using the bushmen's tea equipage. In the first place, the tea
never tastes the same when made in their way, and allowed to boil for a
moment or two after the leaves have been thrown in, before the kettle is
taken off the fire; and in the next place, it is very difficult to drink tea
out of a pannikin; for it becomes so hot directly we put the scalding
liquid into it, that long after the tea is cool enough to drink, the
pannikin still continues too hot to touch. But I said so pathetically,
"You know how wretched I am without my tea," that F---'s heart
relented, and he managed to stow away the little teapot and the cup.
That cup bore a charmed life. It accompanied me on all my excursions,
escaping unbroken; and is, I believe, in existence now, spending its
honoured old age in the recesses of a cupboard.
After the luncheon, the next question to be decided is, which of the
dogs are to join the expedition. Hector, of course; he is the master's
colley, and would no more look at a sheep, except in the way of
business, than he would fly. Rose, a little short-haired terrier, was the

most fascinating of dog companions, and I pleaded hard for her, as she
was an especial pet; though there were too many lambs belonging to a
summer lambing (in New Zealand the winter is the usual lambing
season) in the sheltered paddocks beneath the bush, to make it quite
safe for her to be one of the party. She would not kill or hurt a lamb on
any account, but she always appeared anxious to play with the little
creatures; and as her own spotless coat was as white