The worst of it all was that we never knew when to leave off and come home. We would pause for half an hour and boil our little kettle, and have some tea and cake, and then go on again till quite late, getting well scolded when we reached home at last dead-tired and as black as little chimney-sweeps. One evening F—— was away on a visit of two nights to a distant friend, and Alice and I determined on having splendid burns in his absence; so we made our plans, and everything was favourable, wind and all. We enjoyed ourselves very much, but if Mr. U—— had not come out to look for us at ten o'clock at night, and traced us by our blazing track, we should have had to camp out, for we had no idea where we were, or that we had wandered so many miles from home; nor had we any intention of returning just yet. We were very much ashamed of ourselves upon that occasion, and took care to soften the story considerably before it reached F——'s ears the next day.

However much I may rejoice at nor'-westers in the early spring as aids to burning the run, I find them a great hindrance to my attempts at a lawn. Twice have we had the ground carefully dug up and prepared; twice has it been sown with the best English seed for the purpose, at some considerable expense; then has come much toil on the part of F—— and Mr. U—— with a heavy garden-roller; and the end of all the trouble has been that a strong nor'-wester has blown both seed and soil away, leaving only the hard un-dug (I wonder whether there is such a word) ground. I could scarcely believe that it really was all "clean gone," as children say, until a month or two after the first venture, when I had been straining my eyes and exercising my imagination all in vain to discover a blade where it ought to have been, but had remarked in one of my walks an irregular patch of nice English grass about half a mile from the house down the flat. I speculated for some time as to how it got there, and at last F—— was roused from his reverie, and said coolly, "Oh, that's your lawn!" When this happens twice, it really becomes very aggravating: there are the croquet things lying idle in the verandah year after year, and, as far as I can see, they are likely to remain unused for ever.

Before I close my letter I must tell you of an adventure I have had with a wild boar, which was really dangerous. F—— and another gentleman were riding with me one afternoon in a very lonely gully at the back of the run, when the dogs (who always accompany us) put up a large, fierce, black, boar out of some thick flax-bushes. Of course the hunting instinct, which all young Englishmen possess, was in full force instantly; and in default of any weapon these two jumped off their horses and picked up, out of the creek close by, the largest and heaviest stones they could lift. I disapproved of the chase under the circumstances, but my timid remonstrances were not even heard. The light riding-whips which each gentleman carried were hastily given to me to hold, and in addition F—— thrust an enormous boulder into my lap, saying, "Now, this is to be my second gun; so keep close to me." Imagine poor me, therefore, with all three whips tucked under my left arm, whilst with my right I tried to keep the big stone on my knee, Miss Helen all the time capering about, as she always does when there is any excitement; and I feeling very unequal to holding her back from joining in the chase too ardently, for she always likes to be first everywhere, which is not at all my "sentiments." The ground was as rough as possible; the creek winding about necessitated a good jump every few yards; and the grass was so long and thick that it was difficult to get through it, or to see any blind creeks or other pitfalls. Mem. to burn this next spring.

The pig first turned to bay against a palm-tree, and soon disabled the dogs. You cannot think what a formidable weapon a wild boar's tusk is—the least touch of it cuts like a razor; and they are so swift in their jerks of the head when at bay that in a second they will rip up both dogs and horses: nor are they the least afraid of attacking a man on foot in self-defence; but they seldom or ever strike the first blow. As soon as he had disposed of both the dogs, who lay howling piteously and bleeding on the ground, the boar made at full speed for the spur of a hill close by. The pace was too good to last, especially up-hill; so the gentlemen soon caught him up, and flung their stones at him, but they dared not bring their valuable horses too near for fear of a wound which probably would have lamed them for life; and a heavy, rock or stone is a very unmanageable weapon. I was not therefore at all surprised to see that both shots missed, or only very slightly grazed the pig; but what I confess to being perfectly unprepared for was the boar charging violently down-hill on poor unoffending me, with his head on one side ready for the fatal backward jerk, champing and foaming as he came, with what Mr. Weller would call his "vicked old eye" twinkling with rage. Helen could not realize the situation at all. I tried to turn her, and so get out of the infuriated brute's way; but no, she would press on to meet him and join the other horses at the top of the hill. I had very little control over her, for I was so laden with whips and stones that my hands were useless for the reins. I knew I was in great danger, but at the moment I could only think of my poor pretty mare lamed for life, or even perhaps killed on the spot. I heard one wild shout of warning from above, and I knew the others were galloping to my rescue; but in certainly less than half a minute from the time the boar turned, he had reached me. I slipped the reins over my left elbow, so as to leave my hands free, took my whip in my teeth (I had to drop the others), and lifting the heavy stone with both my hands waited a second till the boar was near enough, leaning well over on the right-hand side of the saddle so as to see what he did. He made for poor Helen's near fore-leg with his head well down, and I could hear his teeth gnashing. Just as he touched her with a prick from his tusk like a stiletto and before he could jerk his head back so as to rip the leg up, I flung my small rock with all the strength I possessed crash on his head: but I could not take a good aim; for the moment Helen felt the stab, she reared straight up on her hind-legs, and as we were going up-hill, I had some trouble to keep myself from slipping off over her tail. However, my rock took some effect, for the pig was so stunned that he dropped on his knees, and before he could recover himself Helen had turned round, still on her hind-legs, as on a pivot, and was plunging and jumping madly down the hill. I could not get back properly into my saddle, nor could I arrange the reins; so I had to stick on anyhow. It was not a case of fine riding at all; I merely clung like a monkey, and F——, who was coming as fast as he could to me, said he expected to see me on the ground every moment; but, however, I did not come off upon that occasion. Helen was nearly beside herself with terror. I tried to pat her neck and soothe her, but the moment she felt my hand she bounded as if I had struck her, and shivered so much that I thought she must be injured; so the moment F—— could get near her I begged him to look at her fetlock. He led her down to the creek, and washed the place, and examined it carefully, pronouncing, to my great joy, that the tusk had hardly gone in at all—in fact had merely pricked her—and that she was not in the least hurt. I could hardly get the gentlemen to go to the assistance of the poor dogs, one of which was very much hurt. Both F—— and Mr. B—— evidently thought I must have been "kilt intirely," for my situation looked so critical at one moment that they could scarcely be persuaded that neither Helen nor I were in the least hurt. I coaxed F—— that evening to write me a doggerel version of the story for the little boys, which I send you to show them:—

St. Anne and the pig. You've heard of St. George and the dragon, Or seen them; and what can be finer, In silver or gold on a flagon, With Garrard or Hancock designer?

Though we know very little about him (Saints mostly are shrouded in mystery), Britannia can't well do without him, He sets off her shillings and history.

And from truth let such tales be defended, Bards at least should bestow them their blessing, As a rich sort of jewel suspended On History when she's done dressing.

Some would have her downstairs to the present, In plain facts fresh from critical mangle; But let the nymph make herself pleasant, Here a bracelet, and there with a bangle

Such as Bold Robin Hood or Red Riding, Who peasant and prince have delighted, Despite of all social dividing, And the times of their childhood united.

Shall New Zealand have never a fable, A rhyme to be sung by the nurses, A romance of a famous Round Table, A "Death of Cock Robin" in verses?

Or shall not a scribe be found gracious With pen and with parchment, inditing And setting a-sail down the spacious Deep day stream some suitable writing;

Some action, some name so heroic That its sound shall be death to her foemen, And make her militia as stoic As St. George made the Cressy crossbowmen;

A royal device for her banners, A reverse for her coinage as splendid, An example of primitive manners When all their simplicity's ended?

Here it is, ye isles Antipodean! Leave Britain her great Cappadocian; I'll chant you a latter-day paean, And sing you a saint for devotion,

Who on horseback slew also a monster, Though armed with no sharp lance to stab it, Though no helmet or hauberk ensconced her, But only a hat and a habit.

This dame, for her bravery sainted, Set up for all times' adoration, With her picture in poetry painted, Was a lady who lived on a station.

Her days—to proceed with the story In duties domestic dividing, But, or else she had never won glory, She now and then went out a-riding. It chanced, with two knights at her stirrup, She swept o'er the grass of the valleys, Heard the brooks run; and heard the birds chirrup, When a boar from the flax-bushes sallies.

The cavaliers leaped from their horses; As for weapons, that day neither bore them; So they chose from the swift watercourses Heavy boulders, and held them before them.

They gave one as well to the lady: She took it, and placed it undaunted On the pommel, and balanced it steady, While they searched where the animal haunted.

A bowshot beyond her were riding The knights, each alert with his missile, But in doubt where the pig went a-hiding, For they had not kept sight of his bristle.

When—the tale needs but little enlarging One turned round by chance on his courser; To his horror, the monster was charging At the lady, as if to unhorse her.

But his fears for her safety were idle, No heart of a hero beat stouter: She poised the stone, gathered her bridle— A halo, 'tis said, shone about her.

With his jaws all extended and horrid, Fierce and foaming, the brute leapt to gore her, When she dropped the rock full on his forehead, And lo! he fell dying before her.

There he lay, bristling, tusky, and savage; Such a mouth, as was long ago written; Made Calydon lonely with ravage, By such teeth young Adonis was bitten.

Then praise to our new Atalanta, Of the chase and of song spoils be brought her, Whose skill and whose strength did not want a Meleager to finish the slaughter.

She is sung, and New Zealand shall take her, Thrice blest to possess such a matron, And give thanks to its first ballad-maker, Who found it a saint for a patron.



Letter XXIII: Concerning a great flood.

Broomielaw, February 1868. Since I last wrote to you we have been nearly washed away, by all the creeks and rivers in the country overflowing their banks! Christchurch particularly was in great danger from the chance of the Waimakiriri returning to its old channel, in which case it would sweep away the town. For several hours half the streets were under water, the people going about in boats, and the Avon was spread out like a lake over its banks for miles. The weather had been unusually sultry for some weeks, and during the last five days the heat had been far greater, even in the hills, than anyone could remember. It is often very hot indeed during the mid-day hours in summer, but a hot night is almost unknown; and, at the elevation we live, there are few evenings in the year when a wood-fire is not acceptable after sunset; as for a blanket at night, that is seldom left off even in the plains, and is certainly necessary in the hills. Every one was anxiously looking for rain, as the grass was getting very dry and the creeks low, and people were beginning to talk of an Australian summer and to prophesy dismal things of a drought. On a Sunday night about eleven o'clock we were all sauntering about out of doors, finding it too hot to remain in the verandah; it was useless to think of going to bed; and F—— and Mr. U—— agreed that some great change in the weather was near. There was a strange stillness and oppression in the air; the very animals had not gone to sleep, but all seemed as restless and wakeful as we were. I remember we discussed the probability of a severe earthquake, for the recent wave at St. Thomas's was in everybody's mind. F—— and I had spent a few days in Christchurch the week before. There was a regular low-fever epidemic there, and, he had returned to the station feeling very unwell; but in this country illness is so rare that one almost forgets that such a thing exists, and we both attributed his seediness to the extraordinary heat.

When we were out of doors that Sunday evening, we noticed immense banks and masses of clouds, but they were not in the quarter from whence our usual heavy rain comes; and besides, in New Zealand clouds are more frequently a sign of high wind than of rain. However, about midnight F—— felt so ill that he went in to bed, and we had scarcely got under shelter when, after a very few premonitory drops, the rain came down literally in sheets. Almost from the first F—— spoke of the peculiar and different sound on the roof, but as he had a great deal of fever that night, I was too anxious to notice anything but the welcome fact that the rain had come at last, and too glad to hear it to be critical about the sound it made in falling. I came out to breakfast alone, leaving F—— still ill, but the fever going off. The atmosphere was much lightened, but the rain seemed like a solid wall of water falling fast and furiously; the noise on the wooden roof was so great that we had to shout to each other to make ourselves heard; and when I looked out I was astonished to see the dimensions to which the ponds had. swollen. Down all the hill-sides new creeks and waterfalls had sprung into existence during the night. As soon as I had taken F—— his tea and settled down comfortably to breakfast, I noticed that instead of Mr. U—— looking the picture of bright good-humour, he wore a troubled and anxious countenance. I immediately inquired if he had been out of doors that morning? Yes, he had been to look at the horses in the stable. Well, I did not feel much interest in them, for they were big enough to take care of themselves: so I proceeded to ask if he had chanced to see anything of my fifty young ducks or my numerous broods of chickens. Upon this question Mr. U—— looked still more unhappy and tried to turn the conversation, but my suspicions were aroused and I persisted; so at last he broke to me, with much precaution, that I was absolutely without a duckling or a chicken in the world! They had been drowned in the night, and nothing was to be seen but countless draggled little corpses, what Mr. Mantilini called "moist unpleasant bodies," floating on the pond or whirling in the eddies of the creek. That was not even the worst. Every one of my sitting hens was drowned also, their nests washed away; so were the half-dozen beautiful ducks, with some twelve or fourteen eggs under each. I felt angry with the ducks, and thought they might have at any rate saved their own lives; but nothing could alter the melancholy returns of the missing and dead. My poultry-yard was, for all practical purposes, annihilated, just as it was at its greatest perfection and the pride and joy of my heart. All that day the rain descended steadily in torrents; there was not the slightest break or variation in the downpour: it was as heavy as that of the Jamaica seasons of May and October. F——'s fever left him at the end of twelve hours, and he got up and came into the drawing-room; his first glance out of the window, which commanded a view of the flat for two or three miles, showed him how much the waters had risen since midnight; and he said that in all the years he had known those particular creeks he had never seen them so high: still I thought nothing of it. There was no cessation in the rain for exactly twenty-four hours; but at midnight on Monday, just as poor F—— was getting another attack of fever, it changed into heavy, broken showers, with little pauses of fine drizzle between, and by morning it showed signs of clearing, but continued at intervals till midday. The effect was extraordinary, considering the comparatively short time the real downpour had lasted. The whole flat was under water, the creeks were flooded beyond their banks for half a mile or so on each side, and the river Selwyn, which ran under some hills, bounding our view, was spread out, forming an enormous lake. A very conspicuous object on these opposite hills, which are between three and four miles distant, was a bold cliff known by the name of the "White Rocks," and serving as a landmark to all the countryside: we could hardly believe our eyes when we missed the most prominent of these and could see only a great bare rent in the mountain. The house was quite surrounded by water and stood on a small island; it was impossible even to wade for more than a few yards beyond the dry ground, for the water became quite deep and the current was running fast. F——'s fever lasted its twelve hours; but I began to be fidgety at the state of prostration it left him in, and when Tuesday night brought a third and sharper attack, I determined to make him go to town and see a doctor during his next interval of freedom from it.

Wednesday morning was bright and sunny, but the waters had not much diminished: however, we knew every hour must lessen them, and I only waited for F——'s paroxysm of fever to subside about mid-day to send him off to Christchurch. I had exhausted my simple remedies, consisting of a spoonful of sweet spirits of nitre and a little weak brandy and water and did not think it right to let things go on in this way without advice: he was so weak he could hardly mount his horse; indeed he had to be fairly lifted on the old quiet station hack I have before mentioned with such deep affection, dear old Jack. It was impossible for him to go alone; so the ever-kind and considerate Mr. U—— offered to accompany him. This was the greatest comfort to me, though I and my two maids would be left all alone during their absence: however, that was much better than poor F—— going by himself in his weak state. Six hours of sunshine had greatly abated the floods, and as far as we could see the water was quite shallow now where it had overflowed. I saw them set off therefore with a good hope of their accomplishing the journey safely. Judge of my astonishment and horror when, on going to see what the dogs were barking at, about two hours later, I beheld F—— and Mr. U—— at the garden gate, dripping wet up to their shoulders, but laughing very much. Of course I immediately thought of F——'s fever, and made him come in and change; and have some hot tea directly; but he would not go to bed as I suggested, declaring that the shock of his unexpected cold bath, and the excitement of a swim for his life, had done him all the good in the world; and I may tell you at once; that it had completely cured him: he ate well that evening, slept well, and had no return of his fever, regaining his strength completely in a few days. So much for kill-or-cure remedies!

It seems that as soon as they neared the first creek, with very high banks, about a mile from the house, the water came up to the horses' fetlocks, then to their knees, but still it was impossible to tell exactly where the creek began, or rather, where its bank ended; they went very cautiously, steering as well as they could for where they imagined the cutting in the steep bank to be; but I suppose they did not hit it off exactly, for suddenly they went plump into deep water and found themselves whirling along like straws down a tremendous current. Jack was, however, quite equal to the occasion; he never allows himself to be flurried or put out by anything, and has, I imagine, been in nearly every difficulty incident to New Zealand travelling. Instead, therefore, of losing his head as Helen did (Mr. U—— was riding her), and striking out wildly with her forelegs to the great danger of the other horse, Jack took it all as a matter of course, and set himself to swim steadily down the stream, avoiding the eddies as much as possible: he knew every yard of the bank, and did not therefore waste his strength by trying to land in impossible places, but kept a watchful eye for the easiest spot. F—— knew the old horse so well that he let him have his head and guide himself, only trying to avoid Helen's forelegs, which were often unpleasantly near; his only fear was lest they should have to go so far before a landing was possible that poor old Jack's strength might not hold out, for there is nothing so fatiguing to a horse as swimming in a strong current with a rider on his back, especially a heavy man. They were swept down for a long distance, though it was impossible to guess exactly how far they had gone, and F—— was getting very uneasy about a certain wire fence which had been carried across the creek; they were rapidly approaching it, and the danger was that the horses might suddenly find themselves entangled in it, in which case the riders would very likely have been drowned. F—— called to Mr. U——to get his feet free from the stirrups and loosened his own; but he told me he was afraid lest Mr. U—— should not hear him above the roaring of the water, and so perhaps be dragged under water when the fence was reached. However, Jack, knew all about it, and was not going to be drowned ignominiously in a creek which would not have wet his hoofs to cross three days before. A few yards from the fence he made one rush and a bound towards what seemed only a clump of Tohi bushes, but they broke the force of the current and gave him the chance he wanted, and he struggled up the high crumbling bank more like a cat than a steady old screw. Helen would not be left behind, and, with a good spur from Mr. U——, she followed Jack's example, and they stood dripping and shivering in shallow water. Both the horses were so done that F—— and Mr. U—— had to jump off instantly and loose the girths, turning them with their nostrils to the wind. It was a very narrow escape, and the disagreeable part of it was that they had scrambled out on the wrong side of the creek and had to recross it to get home: however, they rode on to the next stream, which looked so much more swollen and angry, that they gave up the idea of going on to Christchurch that night, especially as they were wet through to their chins, for both horses swam very low in the water, with only their heads to be seen above it.

The next thing to be considered was how to get back to the house. It never would do to risk taking the horses into danger again when they were so exhausted; so they rode round by the homestead, crossed the creek higher up, where it was much wider but comparatively shallow (if anything could be called shallow just now), and came home over the hills. Good old Jack had an extra feed of oats that evening, a reward to which he is by no means insensible; and indeed it probably is the only one he cares for.

The Fates had determined, apparently, that I also should come in for my share of watery adventures, for we had an engagement of rather long standing to ride across the hills, and visit a friend's station about twelve miles distant, and the day we had promised to go was rather more than a week after F——'s attempted journey. In the meantime, the waters had of course gone down considerably, and there was quite an excitement in riding and walking about our own run, and seeing the changes the flood had made, and the mischief it had done to the fencing;—this was in process of being repaired. We lost very few sheep; they were all up at the tops of the high hills, their favourite summer pasture.

I think I have told you that between us and Christchurch there is but one river, a most peaceable and orderly stream, a perfect pattern to the eccentric New Zealand rivers, which are so changeable and restless. Upon this occasion, however, the Selwyn behaved quite as badly as any of its fellows; it was not only flooded for miles, carrying away quantities of fencing near its banks, and drowning confiding sheep suddenly, but at one spot about four miles from us, just under the White Rocks, it came down suddenly, like what Miss Ingelow calls "a mighty eygre," and deserted its old timeworn bed for two new ones: and the worst of the story is that it has taken a fancy to our road, swept away a good deal of it, breaking a course for itself in quite a different place; so now, instead of one nice, wide, generally shallow river to cross, about which there never has been an evil report, we have two horrid mountain torrents of which we know nothing: no one has been in yet to try their depth, or to find out the best place at which to ford them, and it unfortunately happened that F—— and I were the pioneers. When we came to the first new channel, F——with much care picked out what seemed the best place, and though it was a most disagreeable bit of water to go through, still we managed it all right; but when we came to the next curve, it was far worse. Here the river took a sharp turn, and came tearing round a corner, the colour and consistency of pea-soup, and making such a noise we could hardly hear ourselves speak standing close together on the bank; once in the stream, of course it would be hopeless to try to catch a word. I am ashamed to say that my fixed idea was to turn back, and this I proposed without hesitation; but F—— has the greatest dislike to retracing his steps, and is disagreeably like Excelsior in this respect; so he merely looked astonished at my want of spirit, and proceeded very calmly to give me my directions, and the more he impressed the necessity of coolness and caution upon me, the more I quaked. He was to go over first, alone; I was to follow, having first tucked my habit well up under my arm, and taken care that I was quite free so as not to be entangled in any way if Helen should be swept away, or if a boulder should come down with the stream, and knock her feet from under her: I was not to be at all frightened (!), and I was to keep my eyes fixed on him, and guide Helen's head exactly by the motion of his hand. He plunged into the water as soon as he had issued these encouraging directions; I saw him floundering in and out of several deep holes, and presently he got safe to land, dripping wet; then he dismounted, tied Leo to a flax bush, and took off his coat and big riding-boots,—I thought, very naturally to dry them, but I should have been still more alarmed, if possible, had I known that this was to prepare to be ready to swim to my help in case of danger. As it was, my only hope was that Helen might not like the look of the angry flood, and would refuse to go in;—how I should have blessed her for such obstinacy!—but no, she was eager to rejoin her stable companion, and plunged in without hesitation. I found it much worse even than I dreaded; the water felt so resistless, as if it must sweep me right out of the saddle; I should like to have clutched Helen's mane or anything to have kept me on, but both hands were wanted to hold the reins quite low down, one on each side of her withers, so as to guide her exactly according to F——'s pilot-hand on the opposite bank: steering implicitly by this I escaped the holes and rocks which he had come against, and got over safely, but trembling, and with chattering teeth. F——said, quite disdainfully, "You don't mean to say you're really frightened?" So then I scolded him, rather incoherently, and demanded to be praised for coming at all! I wrung my habit out as well as I could, F—— poured the water out of his boots, and we proceeded, first over a plain, and then to climb a high steep hill. I wonder if you have any idea how disagreeable and dangerous it is to go zigzag up the side of a mountain after such rain as we have had. The soil was just like soap, nothing for the horses' hoofs to take hold of, not a pebble or a tuft of grass; all had been washed away, and only the slippery clay remained. As usual, F—— went first and I followed, taking care not to keep below him, lest he and Leo should come "slithering" (that is the only word for it) down upon me; but, alas, it was Helen and I who slithered! Poor dear, all her legs seemed to fly from under her at once, and she came down on her side and on my legs. I felt the leaping-crutch snap, and found my left shoulder against the ground; I let go the reins, and thought we had better part company, but found I could not move for her weight; she struggled to get up, and we both slipped down, down—down: there was no reason why we should not have gone on to the bottom of the hill, when a friendly tussock afforded her an instant's resting-place for her hind hoofs, and she scrambled to her feet like a cat. I found myself still on her back; so I picked up my reins and tried to pretend that I had never thought of getting off. F—— dared not stir from his "bad eminence;" so Helen and I wended our slippery way up to him, and in answer to his horrified "Where is your habit?" I found I was torn to ribbons; in fact, my skirt was little more than a kilt, and a very short one too! What was to be done? We were only three or four miles from our destination, so we pushed on, and at the last I lingered behind, and made F—— go first and borrow a cloak or shawl. You would have laughed if you had heard my pathetic adjurations to him to be sure to bring it by himself. I was so afraid that some one else would politely insist on accompanying him. But it was all right, though even with this assistance it was very difficult to arrange matters so as to be tolerably respectable. My hostess was shocked at my tattered, wet plight, and dried me, and dressed me up till I was quite smart, and then we had a very pleasant day, and, best of all, came home by a different road, so as to avoid the slippery descent and the rivers in the dark; but I still mourn for my habit!-it was my last. Three have disappeared, owing to unfortunate accidents, this year, and now I am reduced to what can be contrived out of a linsey dress.



Letter XXIV: My only fall from horseback.

Broomielaw, June 1868. The autumn has passed away so quickly that I can hardly believe the winter has reached us so soon—the last winter we shall spend in New Zealand. I should like to have been able to boast, on my return to England, that in three years' constant riding, on all sorts of horses, good, bad, and indifferent, and over abominable roads, I had escaped a fall; but not only have I had a very severe one, but it was from my own favourite Helen, which is very trying to reflect upon. However, it was not in the least her fault, or mine either; so she and I are still perfectly good friends.

We had been spending two days up at Lake Coleridge, as a sort of farewell visit, and on our way down again to Rockwood, a distance of about twenty miles, we stopped to lunch, by invitation, at a station midway. There was so much to be seen at this place that we loitered much longer than was prudent in the short days, and by the time we had thoroughly inspected a beautiful new wool-shed with all the latest improvements (from which F—— could hardly tear himself away), the fish-ponds elaborately arranged for the reception of the young trout expected from Tasmania and the charming garden well sheltered by a grove of large wattle-trees, it was growing dusk, and we prepared to push on as fast as possible; for nothing is more disagreeable than being caught in the dark on a New Zealand track, with its creeks and swamps and wire fences: the last are the most dangerous obstacles, if you get off the track, or if the gate through the fence has been placed for convenience a few yards on one side of it; the horses cannot see the slender wires in the dark, and so fall over them, injuring themselves and their riders most seriously sometimes. Having still about eight miles to go, we were galloping gaily over a wide open plain, our only anxiety arising from the fast failing daylight; but the horses were still quite fresh, and, as the French idiom would have it, devoured the ground at a fine pace; when, in an instant, the ground appeared to rise up to meet me, and I found myself dragged along on the extreme point of my right shoulder, still grasping both reins and whip. I was almost under the feet of the other horse, and I saw Helen's heels describing frantic circles in the air. F—— shouted to me to let go, which it had never occurred to me to do previously. I did so, and jumped up instantly, feeling quite unhurt, and rather relieved to find that a fall was not so dreadful after all. I then saw the cause of the accident: the handle of a little travelling-bag which had been hung over the pommel of my saddle had slipped over the slight projection, and as it was still further secured by a strap through the girth, it was dangling under poor Helen, whose frantic bounds and leaps only increased the liveliness of her tormentor. I never saw such bucks and jumps high into the air as she performed receiving a severe blow from the bag at each; it was impossible to help laughing, though I did not see how it was all to end. She would not allow F—— to approach her, and was perfectly mad with terror. At last the girths gave way, and the saddle came off, with the bag still fastened to it; the moment she found herself free, she trotted up to me in the most engaging manner, and stood rubbing her nose against my arm, though she was still trembling all over, and covered with foam.

By this time I had made the discovery that I could not raise my right arm; but still a careful investigation did not tell me it was broken, for it gave me no pain to touch anywhere, except a very little just on the point of the shoulder. F—— now went to pick up the saddle and the reins; it was difficult to find these latter in the fast gathering darkness and I held his horse for him. To my horror I found after standing for a moment or two, that I was going to faint; I could not utter a word; I knew that if my fast-relaxing fingers let go their hold of the bridle the horse would set off towards home at a gallop, Helen would assuredly follow him, and we should be left eight miles from the nearest shelter to find our way to it, with a deep creek to cross. F—— was fifty yards off, with his back to me, searching for some indispensable buckle; so there was no help to be got from him at the moment. I exerted every atom of my remaining strength to slip the bridle over my left arm, which I pressed against my waist; then I sat down as quietly as I could, not to alarm the horse, bent forward so as to keep my left arm under me lest the bridle should slip off, and fainted away in great peace and comfort. The cold was becoming so intense that it soon revived me, and F——, suspecting something was wrong, came to relieve me of the care of the horse, and contrived to get the girths repaired with the ever-ready flax, and the bag secured in a very short time. But when it came to mounting again, that was not so easy: every time I tried to spring, something jarred horribly in the socket where the arm fits into the shoulder, and the pain was so great that I had to lie down on the ground. It was now nearly seven o'clock, quite dark, and freezing hard; we were most anxious to get on, and yet what was to be done? I could not mount, apparently, and there was no stone or bank to stand on and get up by for an immense way. At last F—— put me up by sheer strength. I found myself so deadly sick and faint when I was fairly in the saddle that it was some time before I could allow Helen to move; and never shall I forget the torture of her first step, for my shoulder was now stiffening in a most unpleasant way. F—— said it would be easier to canter; so we set off at full speed, and the cold air against my face kept me from fainting as we went along, though I fully expected to fall off every moment; if Helen had shied, or stumbled, or even capered a little, I should have been on the ground again. In my torture and despair, I proposed to be left behind, and for F—— to ride on and get help; but he would not hear of this, declaring that I should die of cold before he could get back with a cart, and that it was very doubtful if he should find me again on the vast plain, with nothing to guide him, and in the midnight darkness. Whenever we came to a little creek which we were obliged to jump, Helen's safe arrival on the opposite bank was announced by a loud yell from me, caused by agony hardly to be described. The cold appeared to get into the broken joint, and make it so much worse.

At last we reached Rockwood, and never was its friendly shelter more welcome. Everything that could be thought of was done to alleviate my sufferings; but I resembled Punch with his head on one side, for I had a well-defined and gigantic hump on my back, and my shoulder was swollen up to my ear. The habit-body was unpicked, as it was impossible to get it off any other way. Of course, the night was one of great agony; but I thought often, as I paced the room, how much better it was to have a blazing fire to cheer me up, and some delicious tea to put my lips to "when so dispoged" (like the immortal Mrs. Gamp), than to be lying on the open plain in a hard frost, wondering when F—— and his cart would arrive.

The next day we returned home, much against our host's wish; and I walked all the way, some six miles of mountain road, for I could not bear the idea of riding. F—— led the horses, and we arrived quite safely. His first idea was to take me down to a doctor, but the motion of driving was greater agony than riding, as the road was rough; so after the first mile, I entreated to be taken back, and we turned the horses' heads towards home again; and when we reached it, I got out all my little books on surgery, medicine, etc., and from them made out how to set my shoulder in some sort of fashion, with F——'s help. Of course it is still useless to me, but I think it is mending itself; and after a week I could do everything with my left hand, even to writing, after a fashion. The only thing I could not do was to arrange my hair, or even to brush it; and though F—— was "willing," he was so exceedingly awkward, that at last, after going through great anguish and having it pulled out by handfuls, I got him to cut it off, and it is now cropped like a small boy's. He cuts up my dinner, etc. for me; but it is a very trying process, and I don't wonder at children often leaving the nasty cold mess half eaten. I shall be very glad to be able to use my own knife again.



Letter XXV: How We lost our horses and had to walk home.

Broomielaw, November 1868. This will actually be my last letter from the Malvern Hills; and, in spite of the joy I feel at the hope of seeing all my beloved ones in England, I am so sorry to leave my dear little happy valley. We have done nothing but pay farewell visits lately; and I turn for a final look at each station or cottage as we ride away with a great tightness at my heart, and moisture in my eyes, to think I shall never see them again. You must not be jealous at the lingering regrets I feel, for unless you had been with me here you can never understand how kind and friendly all our neighbours, high and low, have been to us from the very first, or how dearly I have grown to love them. I don't at all know how I am to say good-bye to my dear Mrs. M——, the shepherd's wife I told you of. I believe she will miss me more than any one; and I cannot bear to think of her left to pass her days without the help of books and papers, which I was always so glad to lend her. I often walk down the valley to take tea with her of an afternoon and to say good-bye, but I have not said it yet. I wish you could see her parlour as I saw it yesterday afternoon—her books in a bookcase of her husband's manufacture, very nice and pretty; her spinning-wheel in the comer; the large "beau-pot" of flowers in the window; and such a tea on the table!—cream like clots of gold, scones, oat-cakes, all sorts of delicacies! She herself is quite charming—one of Nature's ladies. I have given her, as a parting gift, a couple of Scotch views framed; and they hang on the wall as a memento of places equally dear to both of us.

It is a sorrow to me to leave the horses and dogs and my pet calves and poultry; even the trees and creepers I go round to look at, with the melancholy feeling of other owners not loving them so much as I have done. However, I must not make my last letter too dismal, or you will feel that I am not glad enough to return to you all. My only apology is, I have been so very happy here.

Now for our latest adventure, as absurd as any, in its way. Have I ever told you that our post-office is ten miles off, with an atrocious road between us and it? I know you will throw down this letter and feel rather disgusted with me for being sorry to leave such a place, but we don't mind trifles here. Lately, since our own establishment has been broken up, we have been living in great discomfort; and among other things we generally, if not always, have to go for our own letters twice a week. Upon this occasion F—— and I had ridden together up the gorge of the Selwyn rather late in the afternoon, to avoid the extreme heat of the day. When we reached the shepherd's hut I have before mentioned, and which is now deserted, I proposed to F—— to go on over the hills alone and leave me there, as I was very hot and tired, and he could travel much quicker without me—for I am ashamed to say that I still object to riding fast up and down slippery hills. I cannot get rid of the idea that I shall break my neck if I attempt it, whereas F—— goes on over the worst road just as if it was perfectly level. Excuse this digression, for it is a relief to me to be a little spiteful about his pace whenever I have an opportunity, and it will probably be my last chance of expressing my entire disapproval of it.

Helen was tied up to a post, and F——, after helping me to dismount, set off at a canter over the adjoining swamp on his way to cross the chain of hills between the river and the flat where the great coach-road to the West Coast runs. I had brought the ingredients for my five o'clock tea (without which I am always a lost and miserable creature), and I amused myself, during my solitude, by picking up dry bits of scrub for my fire; but I had to go down the river-bank for some driftwood to make the old kettle, belonging to the hut, boil. I could not help wondering how any human being could endure such solitude for years, as the occupant of a hut like this is necessarily condemned to. In itself it was as snug and comfortable as possible, with a little paddock for the shepherd's horse, an acre or so of garden, now overgrown with self-sown potatoes, peas, strawberry, raspberry, and gooseberry plants, the little thatched fowl-house near, and the dog-kennels; all giving it a thoroughly home-like look. The hoarse roar of the river over its rocky bed was the only sound; now and then a flock of wild ducks would come flying down to their roosting-place or nests among the Tohi grass; and as the evening closed in the melancholy cry of the bittern and the weka's loud call broke the stillness, but only to make it appear more profound. On each side of the ravine in which the hut stands rise lofty hills so steeply from the water's edge that in places we can find no footing for our horses, and have to ride in the river. At this time of the year the sheep are all upon the hills; so you do not hear even a bleat: but in winter, they come down to the sunny, sheltered flats.

It appeared to me as if I was alone there for hours, though it really was less than one hour, when F—— returned with a large bundle of letters and papers tied to his saddle-bow. Tea was quite ready now; so he tied up his horse next Helen, and we had tea and looked at our letters. One of the first I opened told me that some friends from Christchurch, whom I expected to pay us a visit soon, were on their way up that very day, and in fact might be expected to arrive just about that hour. I was filled with blank dismay, for not only did the party consist of three grown-up people—nay, four—but three little children. I had made elaborate plans in my head as to how and where they should all be stowed away for a fortnight, but had naturally deferred till the last moment to carry out my arrangements, for they entailed giving up our own bedroom, and "camping" in the dining-room, besides wonderful substitutes of big packing-cases for cribs, etc. etc. But, alas! here we were eight miles from home and nothing done, not even any extra food ordered or prepared. The obvious thing was to mount our horses and return as fast as ever we could, and we hastened out of the hut to the spot where we had left them both securely tied to the only available post, through which unfortunately five wires ran, as it was one of the "standards" of a fence which extended for miles. Just as we came out of the hut in a great bustle, our evil destiny induced F——'s horse to rub its nose against the top wire of the fence; and in this process it caught the bar of its snaffle-bit, and immediately pulled back: this made all the wires jingle. Helen instantly took alarm, and pulled back too: fresh and increased vibration, extending up the hill-side and echoing back an appalling sound, was the result of this movement. In an instant there were both the horses pulling with all their force against the fence, terrified to death; and no wonder, for the more they pulled the more the wires jingled. F—— did all he could to soothe them with blandishments. I tried to coax Helen, but the nearer we drew the more frantically they backed and plunged, and the more the noise increased—till it was a case of "one struggle more and I am free;" and leaving their bridles still fastened to the fatal fence by the reins, we had the satisfaction of seeing both our horses careering wildly about—first celebrating their escape from danger by joyous and frantic bounds and kicks, and then setting off down the gorge of the river as hard as they could go. I fairly sat down and whimpered a little, not only at the thought of our eight miles' walk over shingle with a deep river to be crossed nine times, but at the idea of my poor little guests arriving to find no supper, no beds, "no nothing."

F—— tried to cheer me up, and said the only thing was to get home as quick as possible; but he did not expect to find that our friends had arrived, for it had been very hazy over the plains all day, and probably had rained hard in Christchurch; so he thought they would not have started on their journey at all. But I refused to accept any comfort from this idea, and bemoaned myself, entirely on their account, incessantly. When we came to the first crossing, F—— picked me up and carried me over dry-shod, and this he did at all the fords; but in one we very nearly came to grief, for I was tilted like a sack over his shoulder, and when we were quite in the middle, and the water was very deep, up to his waist, he kept hoisting my feet higher and higher, quite forgetting that there was plenty more of me on the other side of his shoulder; so it ended in my arms getting very wet, which he did not seem to think mattered at all so long as my feet were dry; whereas I rather preferred having my feet than my head plunged into a surging, deafening yellow current. At the entrance of the gorge is a large stockyard, and near to it, at least a mile or two off, a large mob of horses is generally to be found feeding. We heard great neighing and galloping about amongst them as we came out of the gorge; it was much too dark to distinguish anything, but we guessed that our horses had joined these, and the sounds we heard were probably those of welcome. But the whole mob set off the moment we came near, and crossed the river again, entailing a tenth wetting upon poor F——. I was posted at the entrance of the gorge, with instructions to shout and otherwise keep them from going up by the route we had just come; but it was more than an hour before F——could get round the wary brutes, so as to turn them with their heads towards the stockyard. Of course, he had to bring up the whole mob. My talents in the shouting line were not called out upon this occasion, for they all trotted into the stockyard of their own accord, and I had nothing to do but put up the slip-rail as fast as I could with only one available arm, for though it is better, I cannot use the other yet. When F—— came up we both went into the yard, and could soon make out the two horses which had their saddles on—that was the only way we could distinguish them in the dark. It was now nearly eleven o'clock, and though warm enough it was very cloudy, not a star to be seen. We fastened on the patched up bridles as well as we could by feeling, and mounted, and rode home, about three miles more, as fast as we could. When we entered the flat near our own house, we heard loud and prolonged "coo-ees" from all sides. The servants had made up their minds that some terrible misfortune had happened to us, and were setting out to look for us, "coo-eeing" as they came along. F—— pointed out to me, with a sort of "I-told-you-so" air, that there was no light in the drawing-room—so it was evident our friends had not arrived; and when we dismounted I found, to my great joy, that the house was empty. All our fatigue was forgotten in thankfulness that the poor travellers had not been exposed to such a cold, comfortless reception as would have awaited them if they had made their journey that day. I must tell you, they arrived quite safely the next evening, but very tired, especially the poor children; however, everything was ready, and the little boys were particularly pleased with their box beds, greatly preferring the difficulties of getting in and out of them to their own pretty little cribs at home. Such are boys all over the world!

Next month we leave this for ever, and go down to Christchurch to make our final arrangements for the long voyage of a hundred days before us. As the time draws near I realize how strong is the tie which has grown, even in these few short years, around my heart, connecting it with this lovely land, and the kind friends I have found in it. F—— feels the parting more deeply than I do, if possible, though for different reasons; he has lived so long among these beautiful hills, and is so accustomed to have before his eyes their grand outlines. He was telling me this the other day, and has put the same feelings into the following verses, which I now send you.

A farewell. The seamen shout once and together, The anchor breaks up from the ground, And the ship's head swings to the weather, To the wind and the sea swings round; With a clamour the great sail steadies, In extreme of a storm scarce furled; Already a short wake eddies, And a furrow is cleft and curled To the right and left.

Float out from the harbour and highland That hides all the region I know, Let me look a last time on the island Well seen from the sea to the snow. The lines of the ranges I follow, I travel the hills with my eyes, For I know where they make a deep hollow, A valley of grass and the rise Of streams clearer than glass.

That haunt is too far for me wingless, And the hills of it sink out of sight, Yet my thought were but broken and stringless, And the daylight of song were but night. If I could not at will a winged dream let Lift me and take me and set Me again by the trees and the streamlet; These leagues make a wide water, yet The whole world shall not hide.

Now my days leave the soft silent byway, And clothed in a various sort, In iron or gold, on life's highway New feet shall succeed, or stop short Shod hard these maybe, or made splendid, Fair and many, or evil and few, But the going of bare feet has ended, Of naked feet set in the new Meadow grass sweet and wet.

I will long for the ways of soft walking, Grown tired of the dust and the glare, And mute in the midst of much talking Will pine for the silences rare; Streets of peril and speech full of malice Will recall me the pastures and peace Which gardened and guarded those valleys With grasses as high as the knees, Calm as high as the sky:

While the island secure in my spirit At ease on its own ocean rides, And Memory, a ship sailing near it, Shall float in with favouring tides, Shall enter the harbours and land me To visit the gorges and heights Whose aspects seemed once to command me, As queens by their charms command knights To achievements of arms.

And as knights have caught sight of queens' faces Through the dust of the lists and the din, So, remembering these holiest places In the days when I lose or I win, I will yearn to them, all being over, Triumphant or trampled beneath, To this beautiful isle like a lover, To her evergreen brakes for a wreath, For a tear to her lakes.

The last of her now is a brightening Far fire in the forested hills, The breeze as the night nears is heightening, The cordage draws tighter and thrills, Like a horse that is spurred by the rider The great vessel quivers and quails, And passes the billows beside her, The fair wind is strong in her sails, She is lifted along.

THE END.