Station Life in New Zealand | Page 4

very few of
the varieties of birds, as it is early in the spring, and the young ones
have not yet been brought in: they appear to sell as fast as they can be
procured. But before I end my letter I must tell you about the cockatoo
belonging to this hotel. It is a famous bird in its way, having had its
portrait taken several times, descriptions written for newspapers of its
talents, and its owner boasts of enormous sums offered and refused for
it. Knowing my fondness for pets, F--- took me downstairs to see it
very soon after our arrival. I thought it hideous: it belongs to a kind not
very well known in England, of a dirtyish white colour, a very
ugly-shaped head and bill, and large bluish rings round the eyes; the
beak is huge and curved. If it knew of this last objection on my part, it
would probably answer, like the wolf in Red Riding Hood's story, "the
better to talk with, my dear"--for it is a weird and knowing bird. At first
it flatly refused to show off any of its accomplishments, but one of the

hotel servants good-naturedly came forward, and Cocky condescended
to go through his performances. I cannot possibly-tell you of all its
antics: it pretended to have a violent toothache, and nursed its beak in
its claw, rocking itself backwards and forwards as if in the greatest
agony, and in answer to all the remedies which were proposed,
croaking out, "Oh, it ain't a bit of good," and finally sidling up, to the
edge of its perch, and saying in hoarse but confidential whisper, "Give
us a drop of whisky, do." Its voice was extraordinarily distinct, and
when it sang several snatches of songs the words were capitally given,
with the most absurdly comic intonation, all the roulades being
executed in perfect tune. I liked its sewing performance so much--to
see it hold a little piece of stuff underneath the claw which rested on the
perch, and pretend to sew with the other, getting into difficulties with
its thread, and finally setting up a loud song in praise of
sewing-machines just as if it were an advertisement.
By the next time I write I shall have seen more of Melbourne; there will,
however, be no time for another letter by this mail; but I will leave one
to be posted after we sail for New Zealand.

Letter II: Sight-seeing in Melbourne.
Melbourne, October 1st, 1865. I have left my letter to the last moment
before starting for Lyttleton; everything is re-packed and ready, and we
sail to-morrow morning in the Albion. She is a mail-steamer--very
small after our large vessel, but she looks clean and tidy; at all events,
we hope to be only on board her for ten days. In England one fancies
that New Zealand is quite close to Australia, so I was rather disgusted
to find we had another thousand miles of steaming to do before we
could reach our new home; and one of the many Job's comforters who
are scattered up and down the world assures me that the navigation is
the most dangerous and difficult of the whole voyage.
We have seen a good deal of Melbourne this week; and not only of the
town, for we have had many drives in the exceedingly pretty suburbs,
owing to the kindness of the D---s, who have been most hospitable and

made our visit here delightful. We drove out to their house at Toorak
three or four times; and spent a long afternoon with them; and there I
began to make acquaintance with the Antipodean trees and flowers. I
hope you will not think it a very sweeping assertion if I say that all the
leaves look as if they were made of leather, but it really is so; the hot
winds appear to parch up everything, at all events. round Melbourne,
till the greatest charm of foliage is more or less lost; the flowers also
look withered and burnt up, as yours do at the end of a long, dry
summer, only they assume this appearance after the first hot wind in
spring. The suburb called Heidelberg is the prettiest, to my taste--an
undulating country with vineyards, and a park-like appearance which,
is very charming. All round Melbourne there are nice, comfortable,
English-looking villas. At one of these we called to return a visit and
found a very handsome house, luxuriously furnished, with beautiful
garden and grounds. One afternoon we went by rail to St. Kilda's, a
flourishing bathing-place on the sea-coast, about six miles from
Melbourne. Everywhere building is going on with great rapidity, and
you do not see any poor people in the streets. If I wanted to be critical
and find