Station Amusements | Page 9

of red blankets, one to spread over a

heap of freshly cut tussocks, which formed a delicious elastic mattrass,
and the other to serve as a coverlet. During the day these blankets were
always hung outside on a tree, out of the reach of the most investigating
weka. You may be sure I had not come empty-handed in the way of
books and papers, and my last glance as I rode away rested on Trew
opening a number of Good Words [Note: Evening Hours was not in
existence at that time, or else its pages are just what those simple
God-fearing men would have appreciated and enjoyed. Good Words
and the Leisure Hour used to be their favourite periodicals, and the
kindness of English friends kept me also well supplied with copies of
Miss Marsh's little books, which were read with the deepest and most
eager interest.] with the pleased-expression of a child examining a
packet of toys.
And so we rode slowly home through the delicious gloaming, with the
evening air cooled to freshness so soon as the sun had sunk below the
great mountains to the west, from behind which he shot up glorious
rays of gold and crimson against the blue ethereal sky, causing the
snowy peaks to look more exquisitely pure from the background of
gorgeous colour. During the flood of sunlight all day, we had not
perceived a single fleck of cloud; but now lovely pink wreaths, floating
in mid-air, betrayed that here and there a "nursling of the sky" lingered
behind the cloud-masses which we thought had all been blown away
yesterday.
The short twilight hour was over, and the stars were filtering their soft
radiance on our heads by the time we heard the welcoming barks of the
homestead, and saw the glimmer of the lighted lamp in our sitting-room,
shining out of the distant gloom. And so ended, in supper and a night of
deep dreamless sleep, one of the many happy picnic days of my New
Zealand life.

Chapter II
: Eel-fishing.
One of the greatest drawbacks in an English gentleman's eyes to living
in New Zealand is the want of sport. There is absolutely none. There
used to be a few quails, but they are almost extinct now; and during
four years' residence in very sequestered regions I only saw one. Wild

ducks abound on some of the rivers, but they are becoming fewer and
shyer every year. The beautiful Paradise duck is gradually retreating to
those inland lakes lying at the foot of the Southern Alps, amid glaciers
and boulders which serve as a barrier to keep back his ruthless foe.
Even the heron, once so plentiful on the lowland rivers, is now seldom
seen. As I write these lines a remorseful recollection comes back upon
me of overhanging cliffs, and of a bend in a swirling river, on whose
rapid current a beautiful wounded heron--its right wing shattered--drifts
helplessly round and round with the eddying water, each circle bringing
it nearer in-shore to our feet. I can see now its bright fearless eye, full
of suffering, but yet unconquered: its slender neck proudly arched, and
bearing up the small graceful head with its coronal or top-knot raised in
defiance, as if to protest to the last against the cruel shot which had just
been fired. I was but a spectator, having merely wandered that far to
look at my eel-lines, yet I felt as guilty as though my hand had pulled
the trigger. Just as the noble bird drifted to our feet,--for I could not
help going down to the river's edge, where Pepper (our head shepherd)
stood, looking very contrite,--it reared itself half out of the water, with
a hissing noise and threatening bill, resolved to sell its liberty as dearly
as it could; but the effort only spread a brighter shade of crimson on the
waters surface for a brief moment, and then, with glazing eye and
drooping crest, the dying creature turned over on its side and was borne
helpless to our feet. By the time Pepper extended his arm and drew it in,
with the quaint apology, "I'm sorry I shot yer, old feller! I, am, indeed,"
the heron was dead; and that happened to be the only one I ever came
across during my mountain life. Once I saw some beautiful red-shanks
flying down the gorge of the Selwyn, and F--- nearly broke his neck in
climbing the crag from whence one of them rose in alarm at the noise
of our horses' feet on the shingle. There were three eggs in the
inaccessible cliff-nest, and he brought me one, which I tried in vain to
hatch under a sitting duck. Betty would not admit the intruder among
her own eggs, but resolutely pushed