Heathstock, Canterbury, November 13th, 1865. I have just had the
happiness of receiving my first budget of English letters; and no one
can imagine how a satisfactory home letter satisfies the hunger of
the heart after its loved and left ones. Your letter was particularly
pleasant, because I could perceive, as I held the paper in my hands,
that you were writing as you really felt, and that you were indeed
happy. May you long continue so, dearest.
F---- says that this beautiful place will give me a very erroneous
impression of station life, and that I shall probably expect to find its
comforts and luxuries the rule, whereas they are the exception; in the
mean time, however, I am enjoying them thoroughly. The house is only
sixty-five miles from Christchurch, nearly due north (which you must not
forget answers to your south in point of warmth). Our kind friends and
hosts, the L----s, called for us in their comfortable and large break,
with four horses. Mr. L---- drove, F---- sat on the box, and inside were
the ladies, children, and a nurse. Our first stage was to Kaiapoi, a
little town on the river Waimakiriri, where we had a good luncheon of
whitebait, and rested and fed the horses. From the window of the hotel I
saw a few groups of Maories; they looked very ugly and peaceable, with
a rude sort of basket made of flax fibres, or buckets filled with
whitebait, which they wanted us to buy. There are some reserved lands
near Kaiapoi where they have a very thriving settlement, living in
perfect peace and good-will with their white neighbours. When we set
off again on our journey, we passed a little school-house for their
children.
We reached Leathfield that evening, only twenty-five miles from
Christchurch; found a nice inn, or accommodation-house, as roadside inns
are called here; had a capital supper and comfortable beds, and were
up and off again at daylight the next morning. As far as the Weka Pass,
where we stopped for dinner, the roads were very good, but after that
we got more among the hills and off the usual track, and there were many
sharp turns and steep pinches; but Mr. L---- is an excellent whip, and
took great care of us. We all got very weary towards the end of this
second day's journey, and the last two hours of it were in heavy rain;
it was growing very dark when we reached the gate, and heard the welcome
sound of gravel under the wheels. I could just perceive that we had
entered a plantation, the first trees since we left Christchurch.
Nothing seems so wonderful to me as the utter treelessness of the vast
Canterbury plains; occasionally you pass a few Ti-ti palms (ordinarily
called cabbage-trees), or a large prickly bush which goes by the name of
"wild Irishman," but for miles and miles you see nothing but flat ground
or slightly undulating downs of yellow tussocks, the tall native grass.
It has the colour and appearance of hay, but serves as shelter for a
delicious undergrowth of short sweet herbage, upon which the sheep live,
and horses also do very well on it, keeping in good working condition,
quite unlike their puffy, fat state on English pasture.
We drove through the plantation and another gate, and drew up at the
door of a very large, handsome, brick house, with projecting gables and
a verandah. The older I grow the more convinced I am that contrast is
everything in this world; and nothing I can write can give you any
idea of the delightful change from the bleak country we had been slowly
travelling through in pouring rain, to the warmth and brightness of this
charming house. There were blazing fires ready to welcome us, and I feel
sure you will sufficiently appreciate this fact when I tell you that
by the time the coal reaches this, it costs nine pounds per ton. It is
possible to get Australian coal at about half the price, but it is not
nearly as good.
We were so tired that we were only fit for the lowest phase of human
enjoyment--warmth, food, and sleep; but the next morning was bright and
lovely, and I was up and out in the verandah as early as possible. I
found myself saying constantly, in a sort of ecstasy, "How I wish they
could see this in England!" and not only see but feel it, for the very
breath one draws on such a morning is a happiness; the air is so light
and yet balmy, it seems to heal the lungs as you inhale it. The verandah
is covered with honeysuckles and other creepers, and the gable end of
the house where the bow-window of the drawing-room projects, is one
mass of yellow Banksia roses in full blossom. A stream runs through
the grounds, fringed with weeping willows, which are in their greatest
beauty at this time of year, with their soft, feathery foliage of
the tenderest green. The flower beds are dotted about the lawn, which
surrounds the house and slopes away from it, and they are brilliant
patches of colour, gay with verbenas, geraniums, and petunias. Here and
there clumps of tall trees rise above the shrubs, and as a background
there is a thick plantation of red and blue gums, to shelter the garden
from the strong N.W. winds. Then, in front, the country stretches away
in undulating downs to a chain of high hills in the distance: every now
and then there is a deep gap in these, through which you see magnificent
snow-covered mountains.
The inside of the house is as charming as the outside, and the
perfection of comfort; but I am perpetually wondering how all the
furniture--especially the fragile part of it--got here. When I remember
the jolts, and ruts, and roughnesses of the road, I find myself looking
at the pier-glass and glass shades, picture-frames, etc., with a sort of
respect, due to them for having survived so many dangers.
The first two or three days we enjoyed ourselves in a thoroughly lazy
manner; the garden was a never-ending source of delight, and there
were all the animals to make friends with, "mobs" of horses to look at,
rabbits, poultry, and pets of all sorts. About a week after our arrival,
some more gentlemen came, and then we had a series of picnics. As these
are quite unlike your highly civilized entertainments which go by the
same name, I must describe one to you.
The first thing after breakfast was to collect all the provisions,
and pack them in a sort of washing-basket, and then we started in an
American waggon drawn by a pair of stout cobs. We drove for some miles
till we came to the edge of one of the high terraces common to New
Zealand scenery: here we all got out; the gentlemen unharnessed and
tethered the horses, so that they could feed about comfortably, and
then we scrambled down the deep slope, at the bottom of which ran a
wide shallow creek. It was no easy matter to get the basket down here, I
assure you; we ladies were only permitted to load ourselves, one with a
little kettle, and the other with a tea-pot, but this was quite enough,
as crossing the creek by a series of jumps from one wet stone to another
is not easy for a beginner.
Mr. L---- brought a large dog with him, a kangaroo-hound (not unlike
a lurcher in appearance), to hunt the wekas. I had heard at night the
peculiar cry or call of these birds, but had not seen one until to-day.
"Fly" put up several, one after another, and soon ran them down. At
first I thought it very cruel to destroy such a tame and apparently
harmless creature, but I am assured that they are most mischievous, and
that it would be useless to turn out the pheasants and partridges which
Mr. L---- has brought from England, until the numbers of the wekas are
considerably reduced. They are very like a hen pheasant without the long
tail feathers, and until you examine them you cannot tell they have no
wings, though there is a sort of small pinion among the feathers, with
a claw at the end of it. They run very swiftly, availing themselves
cleverly of the least bit of cover; but when you hear a short sharp cry,
it is a sign that the poor weka is nearly done, and the next thing you
see is Fly shaking a bundle of brown feathers vehemently. All the dogs
are trained to hunt these birds, as they are a great torment, sucking
eggs and killing chickens; but still I could not help feeling sorry when
Fly, having disposed of the mother, returned to the flax-bush out of
which he had started her, and killed several baby-wekas by successive
taps of his paw.
I have wandered away from my account of the picnic in the most
unjustifiable manner. The gentlemen were toiling up the hill, after we
had crossed the creek, carrying the big basket by turns between them;
it was really hard work, and I must tell you in confidence, that I don't
believe they liked it--at least I can answer for one. I laughed at them
for not enjoying their task, and assured them that I was looking forward
with pleasure to washing up the plates and dishes after our luncheon;
but I found that they had all been obliged, in the early days of the
colony, to work at domestic drudgery in grim and grimy earnest, so it
had lost the charm of novelty which it still possessed for me.
As soon as we reached a pretty sheltered spot half-way up the hill among
some trees and ferns, and by the side of the creek, we unpacked the
basket, and began collecting dry wood for a fire: we soon had a splendid
blaze under the lee of a fine rock, and there we boiled our kettle and
our potatoes. The next thing was to find a deep hole in the creek, so
over-shadowed by rocks and trees that the water would be icy cold: in
this we put the champagne to cool. The result of all our preparations
was a capital luncheon, eaten in a most romantic spot, with a lovely
view before us, and the creek just like a Scotch burn, hurrying and
tumbling down the hill-side to join the broader stream in the valley.
After luncheon, the gentlemen considered themselves entitled to rest,
lying lazily back among the fern and smoking, whilst we ladies sat a
little apart and chatted: I was busy learning to knit. Then, about five,
we had the most delicious cup of tea I ever tasted, and we repacked the
basket (it was very light now, I assure you), and made our way back to
the top of the terrace, put the horses in again, and so home. It was
a long, bright, summer holiday, and we enjoyed it thoroughly. After a
voyage, such an expedition as this is full of delight; every tree and
bird is a source of pleasure.
Letter V: A pastoral letter.
Heathstock, December 1st, 1865. All I can find to tell you this month is
that I have seen one of the finest and best wool-sheds in the country
in full work. Anything about sheep is as new to you as it is to me, so I
shall begin my story at the very beginning.
I am afraid you will think us a very greedy set of people in this part
of the world, for eating seems to enter so largely into my letters; but
the fact is--and I may as well confess it at once--I am in a chronic
state of hunger; it is the fault of the fine air and the outdoor life:
and then how one sleeps at night! I don't believe you really know
in England what it is to be sleepy as we feel sleepy here; and it
is delightful to wake up in the morning with the sort of joyous
light-heartedness which only young children have. The expedition I
am going to relate may fairly be said to have begun with eating,
for although we started for our twelve miles' drive over the downs
immediately after an excellent and somewhat late breakfast, yet by the
time we reached the Home Station we were quite ready for luncheon. All
the work connected with the sheep is carried on here. The manager has
a nice house; and the wool-shed, men's huts, dip, etc., are near each
other. It is the busiest season of the year, and no time could be
spared to prepare for us; we therefore contented ourselves with what was
described to me as ordinary station fare, and I must tell you what they
gave us: first, a tureen of real mutton-broth, not hot water and chopped
parsley, but excel-lent thick soup, with plenty of barley and meat in
it; this had much the same effect on our appetites as the famous treacle
and brimstone before breakfast in "Nicholas Nickleby," so that we were
only able to manage a few little sheeps' tongues, slightly pickled; and
very nice _they_ were; then we finished with a Devonshire junket, with
clotted cream _a discretion_. Do you think we were much to be pitied?
After this repast we were obliged to rest a little before we set out
for the wool-shed, which has only been lately finished, and has all the
newest improvements. At first I am "free to confess" that I did not like
either its sounds or sights; the other two ladies turned very pale, but
I was determined to make myself bear it, and after a moment or two I
found it quite possible to proceed with Mr. L----round the "floor."
There were about twenty-five shearers at work, and everything seemed to
be very systematically and well arranged. Each shearer has a trap-door
close to him, out of which he pushes his sheep as soon as the fleece is
off, and there are little pens outside, so that the manager can notice
whether the poor animal has been too much cut with the shears, or badly
shorn in any other respect, and can tell exactly which shearer is to
blame. Before this plan was adopted it was hopeless to try to find out
who was the delinquent, for no one would acknowledge to the least snip.
A good shearer can take off 120 fleeces in a day, but the average is
about 80 to each man. They get one pound per hundred, and are found in
everything, having as much tea and sugar, bread and mutton, as they can
consume, and a cook entirely to themselves; they work at least fourteen
hours out of the twenty-four, and with such a large flock as this--about
50,000--must make a good deal.
We next inspected the wool tables, to which two boys were incessantly
bringing armfuls of rolled-up fleeces; these were laid on the tables
before the wool-sorters, who opened them out, and pronounced in a moment
to which _bin_ they belonged; two or three men standing behind rolled
them up again rapidly, and put them on a sort of shelf divided into
compartments, which were each labelled, so that the quality and kind of
wool could be told at a glance. There was a constant emptying of these
bins into trucks to be carried off to the press, where we followed
to see the bales packed. The fleeces are tumbled in, and a heavy
screw-press forces them down till the bale--which is kept open in a
large square frame--is as full as it can hold. The top of canvas is then
put on, tightly sewn, four iron pins are removed and the sides of the
frame fall away, disclosing a most symmetrical bale ready to be hoisted
by a crane into the loft above, where it has the brand of the sheep
painted on it, its weight, and to what class the wool belongs. Of course
everything has to be done with great speed and system.
I was much impressed by the silence in the shed; not a sound was to be
heard except the click of the shears, and the wool-sorter's decision as
he flings the fleece behind him, given in one, or at most two words. I
was reminded how touchingly true is that phrase, "Like as a sheep before
her shearers is dumb." All the noise is _outside_; there the hubbub, and
dust, and apparent confusion are great,--a constant succession of woolly
sheep being brought up to fill the "skillions" (from whence the shearers
take them as they want them), and the newly-shorn ones, white, clean,
and bewildered-looking, being turned out after they have passed through
a narrow passage, called a "race," where each sheep is branded, and has
its mouth examined in order to tell its age, which is marked in a book.
It was a comfort to think all their troubles were over, for a year. You
can hear nothing but barking and bleating, and this goes on from early
morning till dark. We peeped in at the men's huts--a long, low wooden
building, with two rows of "bunks" (berths, I should call their) in one
compartment, and a table with forms round it in the other, and piles of
tin plates and pannikins all about. The kitchen was near, and we were
just in time to see an enormous batch of bread withdrawn from a huge
brick oven: the other commissariat arrangements were on the same scale.
Cold tea is supplied all day long to the shearers, and they appear to
consume great quantities of it.
Our last visit was to the Dip, and it was only a short one, for it
seemed a cruel process; unfortunately, this fine station is in technical
parlance "scabby," and although of course great precautions are taken,
still some 10,000 sheep had an ominous large S on them. These poor
sufferers are dragged down a plank into a great pit filled with hot
water, tobacco, and sulphur, and soused over head and ears two or three
times. This torture is repeated more than once.
I was very glad to get away from the Dip, and back to the manager's
house, where we refreshed ourselves by a delicious cup of tea, and soon
after started for a nice long drive home in the cool, clear evening
air. The days are very hot, but never oppressive; and the mornings and
evenings are deliciously fresh and invigorating. You can remain out late
without the least danger. Malaria is unknown, and, in spite of the heavy
rains, there is no such thing as damp. Our way lay through very pretty
country--a series of terraces, with a range of mountains before us, with
beautiful changing and softening evening tints creeping over the whole.
I am sorry to say, we leave this next week. I should like to explore a
great deal more.
Letter VI: Society.--houses and servants.
Christchurch, January 1866. I am beginning to get tired of Christchurch
already: but the truth is, I am not in a fair position to judge of it
as a place of residence; for, living temporarily, as we do, in a sort of
boarding-house, I miss the usual duties and occupations of home, and the
town itself has no place of public amusement except a little theatre, to
which it is much too hot to go. The last two weeks have been _the_ gay
ones of the whole year; the races have been going on for three days, and
there have been a few balls; but as a general rule, the society may
be said to be extremely stagnant. No dinner-parties are ever given--I
imagine, on account of the smallness of the houses and the inefficiency
of the servants; but every now and then there is an assembly ball
arranged, in the same way, I believe, as at watering-places in England
only, of course, on a much smaller scale. I have been at two or three
of these, and noticed at each a most undue preponderance of black coats.
Nearly all the ladies were married, there were very few young girls; and
it would be a great improvement to the Christchurch parties if some of
the pretty and partnerless groups of a London ball-room, in all their
freshness of toilette, could be transferred to them. What a sensation
they would make, and what terrible heart-aches among the young gentlemen
would be the result of such an importation! There were the same knots of
men standing together as at a London party, but I must say that, except
so far as their tailor is concerned, I think we have the advantage of
you, for the gentlemen lead such healthy lives that they all look more
or less bronzed and stalwart--in splendid condition, not like your pale
dwellers in cities; and then they come to a ball to dance, arriving
early so as to secure good partners, and their great ambition appears to
be to dance every dance from the first to the last. This makes it hard
work for the few ladies, who are not allowed to sit down for a moment,
and I have often seen a young and pretty partner obliged to divide her
dances between two gentlemen.
Although it tells only against myself, I must make you laugh at an
account of a snub I received at one of these balls. Early in the evening
I had danced with a young gentleman whose station was a long way "up
country," and who worked so hard on it that he very seldom found time
for even the mild dissipations of Christchurch; he was good-looking
and gentlemanly, and seemed clever and sensible, a little _brusque_,
perhaps, but one soon gets used to that here. During our quadrille he
confided to me that he hardly knew any ladies in the room, and that his
prospects of getting any dancing were in consequence very blank. I did
all I could to find partners for him, introducing him to every lady whom
I knew, but it was in vain; they would have been delighted to dance with
him, but their cards were filled. At the end of the evening, when I was
feeling thoroughly done up, and could hardly stand up for fatigue, my
poor friend came up and begged for another dance. I assured him I could
scarcely stand, but when he said in a _larmoyante_ voice, "I have only
danced once this evening, that quadrille with you," my heart softened,
and I thought I would make a great effort and try to get through one
more set of Lancers; my partner seemed so grateful, that the demon of
vanity, or coquetry, or whatever it is that prompts one to say absurd
things induced me to fish for a compliment, and to observe, "It was not
worth while taking all the trouble of riding such a distance to dance
only with me, was it?" Whereupon my poor, doleful friend answered, with
a deep sigh, and an accent of profound conviction, "No, indeed it was
_not_!" I leave you to imagine my discomfiture; but luckily he never
observed it, and I felt all the time that I richly deserved what I got,
for asking such a stupid question.
The music at these balls is very bad, and though the principal room in
which they are given, at the Town Hall, is large and handsome, it is
poorly lighted, and the decorations are desolate in the extreme. I am
afraid this is not a very inviting picture of what is almost our only
opportunity of meeting together, but it is tolerably correct. Visiting
appears to be the business of some people's lives, but the acquaintance
does not seem to progress beyond incessant afternoon calls; we are
never asked inside a house, nor, as far as I can make out, is there any
private society whatever, and the public society consists, as I have
said, of a ball every now and then.
My greatest interest and occupation consist in going to look at my
house, which is being cut out in Christchurch, and will be drayed to our
station next month, a journey of fifty miles. It is, of course, only of
wood, and seems about as solid as a band-box; but I am assured by the
builder that it will be a "most superior article" when it is all put
together. F---- and I made the little plan of it ourselves, regulating
the size of the drawing-room by the dimensions of the carpet we brought
out, and I petitioned for a little bay-window, which is to be added; so
on my last visit to his timber-yard, the builder said, with an air of
great dignity, "Would you wish to see the _h_oriel, mum?" The doors all
come ready-made from America, and most of the wood used in building is
the Kauri pine from the North Island. One advantage, at all events, in
having wooden houses is the extreme rapidity with which they are run up,
and there are no plastered walls to need drying. For a long time we were
very uncertain where, and what, we should build on our station; but only
six weeks after we made up our minds, a house is almost ready for us.
The boards are sawn into the requisite lengths by machinery; and all the
carpentering done down here; the frame will only require to be fitted
together when it reaches its destination, and it is a very good time of
year for building, as the wool drays are all going back empty, and we
can get them to take the loads at reduced prices; but even with this
help, it is enormously expensive to move a small house fifty miles, the
last fifteen over bad roads; it is collar-work for the poor horses all
the way, Christchurch being only nine feet above the sea-level, while
our future home in the Malvern Hills is twelve hundred.
You know we brought all our furniture out with us, and even papers for
the rooms, just because we happened to have everything; but I should not
recommend any one to do so, for the expense of carriage, though moderate
enough by sea (in a wool ship), is enormous as soon as it reaches
Lyttleton, and goods have to be dragged up country by horses or
bullocks. There are very good shops where you can buy everything, and
besides these there are constant sales by auction where, I am told,
furniture fetches a price sometimes under its English value. House rent
about Christchurch is very high. We looked at some small houses in and
about the suburbs of the town, when we were undecided about our plans,
and were offered the most inconvenient little dwellings, with rooms
which were scarcely bigger than cupboards, for 200 pounds a year; we
saw nothing at a lower price than this, and any house of a better class,
standing in a nicely arranged shrubbery, is at least 300 pounds per
annum. Cab-hire is another thing which seems to me disproportionately
dear, as horses are very cheap; there are no small fares, half-a-crown
being the lowest "legal tender" to a cabman; and I soon gave up
returning visits when I found that to make a call in a Hansom three
or four miles out of the little town cost one pound or one pound ten
shillings, even remaining only a few minutes at the house.
All food (except mutton) appears to be as nearly as possible at London
prices; but yet every one looks perfectly well-fed, and actual want is
unknown. Wages of all sorts are high, and employment, a certainty. The
look and bearing of the immigrants appear to alter soon after they reach
the colony. Some people object to the independence of their manner, but
I do not; on the contrary, I like to see the upright gait, the well-fed,
healthy look, the decent clothes (even if no one touches his hat to
you), instead of the half-starved, depressed appearance, and too often
cringing servility of the mass of our English population. Scotchmen do
particularly well out here; frugal and thrifty, hard-working and sober,
it is easy to predict the future of a man of this type in a new country.
Naturally, the whole tone of thought and feeling is almost exclusively
practical; even in a morning visit there is no small-talk. I find no
difficulty in obtaining the useful information upon domestic subjects
which I so much need; for it is sad to discover, after all my
house-keeping experience, that I am still perfectly ignorant. Here it is
necessary to know _how_ everything should be done; it is not sufficient
to give an order, you must also be in a position to explain how it is to
be carried out I felt quite guilty when I saw the picture in _Punch_ the
other day, of a young and inexperienced matron requesting her cook "not
to put any lumps into the melted butter," and reflected that I did
not know how lumps should be kept out; so, as I am fortunate enough to
number among my new friends a lady who is as clever in these culinary
details as she is bright and charming in society, I immediately went
to her for a lesson in the art of making melted butter without putting
lumps into it.
The great complaint, the never-ending subject of comparison and
lamentation among ladies, is the utter ignorance and inefficiency of
their female servants. As soon as a ship comes in it is besieged with
people who want servants, but it is very rare to get one who knows how
to do anything as it ought to be done. Their lack of all knowledge of
the commonest domestic duties is most surprising, and makes one wonder
who in England did the necessary things of daily cottage life for them,
for they appear to have done nothing for themselves hitherto. As for a
woman knowing how to cook, that seems the very last accomplishment they
acquire; a girl will come to you as a housemaid at 25 pounds per annum,
and you will find that she literally does not know how to hold her
broom, and has never handled a duster. When you ask a nurse her
qualifications for the care of perhaps two or three young children, you
may find, on close cross-examination, that she can recollect having
once or twice "held mother's baby," and that she is very firm in
her determination that "you'll keep baby yourself o' nights; mem!" A
perfectly inexperienced girl of this sort will ask, and get, 30 pounds
or 35 pounds per annum, a cook from 35 pounds to 40 pounds; and when
they go "up country," they hint plainly they shall not stay long with
you, and ask higher wages, stipulating with great exactness how they are
to be conveyed free of all expense to and from their place.
Then, on the other hand, I must say they work desperately hard, and very
cheerfully: I am amazed how few servants are kept even in the large and
better class of houses. As a general rule, they, appear willing enough
to learn, and I hear no complaints of dishonesty or immorality, though
many moans are made of the rapidity with which a nice tidy young woman
is snapped up as a wife; but that is a complaint no one can sympathise
with. On most stations a married couple is kept; the man either to act
as shepherd, or to work in the garden and look after the cows, and
the woman is supposed to attend to the indoor comforts of the wretched
bachelor-master: but she generally requires to be taught how to bake a
loaf of bread, and boil a potato, as well as how to cook mutton in the
simplest form. In her own cottage at home, who did all these things for
her? These incapables are generally perfectly helpless and awkward at
the wash-tub; no one seems to expect servants to know their business,
and it is very fortunate if they show any capability of learning.
I must end my long letter by telling you a little story of my own
personal experience in the odd ways of these girls. The housemaid at the
boarding-house where we have stayed since we left Heathstock is a fat,
sonsy, good-natured girl, perfectly ignorant and stupid, but she has not
been long in the colony, and seems willing to learn. She came to me the
other day, and, without the least circumlocution or hesitation, asked
me if I would lend her my riding-habit as a pattern to give the tailor;
adding that she wanted my best and newest. As soon as I could speak
for amazement, I naturally asked why; she said she had been given a
riding-horse, that she had loaned a saddle, and bought a hat, so now she
had nothing on her mind except the habit; and further added, that she
intended to leave her situation the day before the races, and that it
was "her fixed intent" to appear on horseback each day, and all day
long, at these said races. I inquired if she knew how to ride? No;
she had never mounted any animal in her life. I suggested that she had
better take some lessons before her appearance in public; but she said
her mistress did not like to spare her to "practise," and she stuck
steadily to her point of wanting my habit as a pattern. I could not lend
it to her, fortunately, for it had been sent up to the station with my
saddle, etc.; so had she been killed, as I thought not at all unlikely,
at least my conscience would not have reproached me for aiding and
abetting her equestrian freak. I inquired from every one who went to the
races if they saw or heard of any accident to a woman on horseback, and
I most anxiously watched the newspapers to see if they contained any
notice of the sort, but as there has been no mention of any catastrophe,
I suppose she has escaped safely. Her horse must have been quieter and
better broken than they generally are. F---- says that probably it was a
very old "station screw." I trust so, for her sake!
Letter VII: A young colonist.--the town and its neighbourhood.
Christchurch, March 1866. I must begin my letter this mail with a piece
of domestic news, and tell you of the appearance of your small nephew,
now three weeks old. The youth seems inclined to adapt himself to
circumstances, and to be as sturdy and independent as colonial children
generally are. All my new friends and neighbours proved most kind and
friendly, and were full of good offices. Once I happened to say that I
did not like the food as it was cooked at the boarding-house; and the
next day, and for many days after, all sorts of dainties were sent to
me, prepared by hands which were as skilful on the piano, or with a
pencil, as they were in handling a saucepan. New books were lent to me,
and I was never allowed to be without a beautiful bouquet. One young
lady used constantly to walk in to town, some two or three miles along a
hot and dusty road, laden with flowers for me, just because she saw how
thoroughly I enjoyed her roses and carnations. Was it not good of her?
Christchurch has relapsed into the quietude, to call it by no harsher
name. The shearing is finished all over the country, and the "squatters"
(as owners of sheep-stations are called) have returned to their stations
to vegetate, or work, as their tastes and circumstances may dictate.
Very few people live in the town except the tradespeople; the
professional men prefer little villas two or three miles off. These
houses stand in grounds of their own, and form a very pretty approach to
Christchurch, extending a few miles on all sides: There are large trees
bordering most of the streets, which give a very necessary shade in
summer; they are nearly all English sorts, and have only been planted
within a few years. Poplars, willows, and the blue gum grow quickest,
are least affected by the high winds, and are therefore the most
popular. The banks of the pretty little river Avon, upon which
Christchurch is built, are thickly fringed with weeping willows,
interspersed with a few other trees, and with clumps of tohi, which is
exactly like the Pampas grass you know so well in English shrubberies.
I don't think I have ever told you that it has been found necessary here
to legislate against water-cress. It was introduced a few years since,
and has spread so rapidly as to become a perfect nuisance, choking every
ditch in the neighbourhood of Christchurch, blocking up mill-streams,
causing meadows to be flooded, and doing all kinds of mischief.
Towards Riccarton, about four miles out of town, the Avon shows like a
slender stream a few inches wide, moving sluggishly between thick beds
of water-cress, which at this time of year are a mass of white blossom.
It looks so perfectly solid that whenever I am at Ilam, an insane desire
to step on it comes over me, much to F----'s alarm, who says he is
afraid to let me out of his sight, lest I should attempt to do so.
I have only seen one native "bush" or forest yet, and that is at
Riccarton. This patch of tall, gaunt pines serves as a landmark for
miles. Riccarton is one of the oldest farms in the colony, and I am told
it possesses a beautiful garden. I can only see the gable-end of a house
peeping out from among the trees as I pass. This bush is most carefully
preserved, but I believe that every high wind injures it.
Christchurch is very prettily situated; for although it stands on a
perfectly flat plain, towards the sea there are the Port Hills, and the
town itself is picturesque, owing to the quantities of trees and the
irregular form of the wooden houses; and as a background we have
the most magnificent chain of mountains--the back-bone of the
island--running from north to south, the highest peaks nearly always
covered with snow, even after such a hot summer as this has been. The
climate is now delicious, answering in time of year to your September;
but we have far more enjoyable weather than your autumns can boast of.
If the atmosphere were no older than the date of the settlement of the
colony, it could not feel more _youthful_, it is so light and bright,
and exhilarating! The one drawback, and the only one, is the north-west
wind; and the worst of it is, that it blows very often from this
point. However, I am assured that I have not yet seen either a "howling
nor'-wester," nor its exact antithesis, "a sutherly buster."
We have lately been deprived of the amusement of going to see our house
during the process of cutting it out, as it has passed that stage, and
has been packed on drays and sent to the station, with two or three
men to put it up. It was preceded by two dray-loads of small rough-hewn
stone piles, which are first let into the ground six or eight feet
apart: the foundation joists rest on these, so as just to keep the
flooring from touching the earth. I did not like this plan (which is the
usual one) at all, as it seemed to me so insecure for the house to
rest only on these stones. I told the builder that I feared a strong
"nor'-wester" (and I hear they are particularly strong in the Malvern
Hills) would blow the whole affair away. He did not scout the idea as
much as I could have wished, but held out hopes to me that the roof
would "kep it down." I shall never dare to trust the baby out of my
sight, lest he should be blown away; and I have a plan for securing his
cradle, by putting large heavy stones in it, somewhere out of his way,
so that he need not be hurt by them. Some of the houses are built of
"cob," especially those erected in the very early days, when sawn timber
was rare and valuable: this material is simply wet clay with chopped
tussocks stamped in. It makes very thick walls, and they possess the
great advantage of being cool in summer and warm in winter. Whilst the
house is new nothing can be nicer; but, in a few years, the hot winds
dry up the clay so much, that it becomes quite pulverized; and a lady
who lives in one of these houses told me, that during a high wind she
had often seen the dust from the walls blowing in clouds about the
rooms, despite of the canvas and paper, and with all the windows
carefully closed.
Next week F---- is going up to the station, to unpack and arrange a
little, and baby and I are going to be taken care of at Ilam, the most
charming place I have yet seen. I am looking forward to my visit there
with great pleasure.
Letter VIII: Pleasant days at Ilam.
Ilam, April 1866. We leave this to-morrow for the station in the most
extraordinary conveyance you ever saw. Imagine a flat tray with two low
seats in it, perched on four very high wheels, quite innocent of any
step or means of clambering in and out, and drawn, tandem-fashion,
by two stout mares; one of which has a little foal by her side. The
advantage of this vehicle is that it is very light, and holds a good
deal of luggage. We hope to accomplish the distance--fifty miles--in a
day, easily.
Although this is not my first visit to Ilam, I don't think I have ever
described it to you. The house is of wood, two storeys high, and came
out from England! It is built on a brick foundation, which is quite
unusual here. Inside, it is exactly like a most charming English house,
and when I first stood in the drawing-room it was difficult to believe:
that I was at the other end of the world. All the newest books, papers,
and periodicals covered the tables, the newest music lay on the piano,
whilst a profusion of English greenhouse flowers in Minton's loveliest
vases added to the illusion. The Avon winds through the grounds, which
are very pretty, and are laid out in the English fashion; but in spite
of the lawn with its croquet-hoops and sticks, and the beds of flowers
in all their late summer beauty, there is a certain absence of the
stiffness and trimness of English pleasure-grounds, which shows that
you have escaped from the region of conventionalities. There are thick
clumps of plantations, which have grown luxuriantly, and look as if they
had always been there. A curve of the opposite bank is a dense mass of
native flax bushes, with their tall spikes of red blossom filling
the air with a scent of honey, and attracting all the bees in the
neighbourhood. Ti-ti palms are dotted here and there, and give a foreign
and tropical appearance to the whole. There is a large kitchen garden
and orchard, with none of the restrictions of high walls and locked
gates which fence your English peaches and apricots.
The following is our receipt for killing time at Ilam:--After breakfast,
take the last _Cornhill_ or _Macmillan_, put on a shady hat, and sit or
saunter by the river-side under the trees, gathering any very tempting
peach or apricot or plum or pear, until luncheon; same thing until five
o'clock tea; then cross the river by a rustic bridge, ascend some turf
steps to a large terrace-like meadow, sheltered from the north-west
winds by a thick belt of firs, blue gums, and poplars, and play croquet
on turf as level as a billiard-table until dinner. At these games the
cockatoo always assists, making himself very busy, waddling after his
mistress all over the field, and climbing up her mallet whenever he
has an opportunity. "Dr. Lindley"--so called from his taste for pulling
flowers to pieces--apparently for botanical purposes--is the tamest and
most affectionate of birds, and I do not believe he ever bit any one in
his life; he will allow himself to be pulled about, turned upside down,
scratched under his wings, all with the greatest indifference, or rather
with the most positive enjoyment. One evening I could not play croquet
for laughing at his antics. He took a sudden dislike to a little rough
terrier, and hunted him fairly off the ground at last, chasing him all
about, barking at him, and digging his beak into the poor dog's paw. But
the "Doctor's" best performance is when he imitates a hawk. He reserves
this fine piece of acting until his mistress is feeding her poultry;
then, when all the hens and chickens, turkeys, and pigeons are in the
quiet enjoyment of their breakfast or supper, the peculiar shrill cry
of a hawk is heard overhead, and the Doctor is seen circling in the air,
uttering a scream occasionally. The fowls never find out that it is a
hoax, but run to shelter, cackling in the greatest alarm--hens clucking
loudly for their chicks, turkeys crouching under the bushes, the pigeons
taking refuge in their house; as soon as the ground is quite clear,
Cocky changes his wild note for peals of laughter from a high tree,
and finally alighting on the top of a hen-coop filled with trembling
chickens, remarks in a suffocated voice, "You'll be the death of me."
I must reverse the proverb about the ridiculous and the sublime, and
finish my letter by telling you of Ilam's chief outdoor charm: from
all parts of the garden and grounds I can feast my eyes on the glorious
chain of mountains which I have before told you of, and my bedroom
window has a perfect panoramic view of them. I watch them under all
their changes of tint, and find each new phase the most beautiful. In
the very early morning I have often stood shivering at my window to see
the noble outline gradually assuming shape, and finally standing out
sharp and clear against a dazzling sky; then, as the sun rises, the
softest rose-coloured and golden tints touch the highest peaks, the
shadows deepening by the contrast. Before a "nor'-wester" the colours
over these mountains and in the sky are quite indescribable; no one but
Turner could venture upon such a mixture of pale sea-green with deep
turquoise blue, purple with crimson and orange. One morning an arch-like
appearance in the clouds over the furthest ranges was pointed out to me
as the sure forerunner of a violent gale from the north-west, and the
prognostic was fulfilled. It was formed of clouds of the deepest and
richest colours; within its curve lay a bare expanse of a wonderful
green tint, crossed by the snowy _silhouette_ of the Southern Alps.
A few hours afterwards the mountains were quite hidden by mist, and a
furious gale of hot wind was shaking the house as if it must carry it
off into the sky; it blew so continuously that the trees and shrubs
never seemed to rise for a moment against it.
These hot winds affect infants and children a good deal, and my baby is
not at all well. However, his doctor thinks the change to the station
will set him all right again, so we are hurrying off much sooner than
our kind friends here wish, and long before the little house in the
hills can possibly be made comfortable, though F---- is working very
hard to get things settled for us.
Letter IX: Death in our new home--New Zealand children.
Broomielaw, Malvern Hills, May 1866. I do not like to allow the first
Panama steamer to go without a line from me: this is the only letter I
shall attempt, and it will be but a short and sad one, for we are still
in the first bitterness of grief for the loss of our dear little baby.
After I last wrote to you he became very ill, but we hoped that his
malady was only caused by the unhealthiness of Christchurch during the
autumn, and that he would soon revive and get on well in this pure,
beautiful mountain air. We consequently hurried here as soon as ever we
could get into the house, and whilst the carpenters were still in it.
Indeed, there was only one bedroom ready for us when I arrived. The
poor little man rallied at first amazingly; the weather was exquisitely
bright and sunny, and yet bracing. Baby was to be kept in the open air
as much as possible, so F---- and I spent our days out on the downs near
the house, carrying our little treasure by turns: but all our care was
fruitless: he got another and more violent attack about a fortnight ago,
and after a few hours of suffering he was taken to the land where pain
is unknown. During the last twelve hours of his life, as I sat before
the fire with him on my lap, poor F----kneeling in a perfect agony of
grief by my side, my greatest comfort was in looking at that exquisite
photograph from Kehren's picture of the "Good Shepherd," which hangs
over my bedroom mantelpiece, and thinking that our sweet little lamb
would soon be folded in those Divine, all-embracing Arms. It is not
a common picture; and the expression of the Saviour's face is most
beautiful, full of such immense feminine compassion and tenderness that
it makes me feel more vividly, "In all our sorrows He is afflicted." In
such a grief as this I find the conviction of the reality and depth of
the Divine sympathy is my only true comfort; the tenderest human love
falls short of the feeling that, without any words to express our
sorrow, God knows all about it; that He would not willingly afflict or
grieve us, and that therefore the anguish which wrings our hearts is
absolutely necessary in some mysterious way for our highest good. I fear
I have often thought lightly of others' trouble in the loss of so young
a child; but now I know what it is. Does it not seem strange and sad,
that this little house in a distant, lonely spot, no sooner becomes a
home than it is baptized, as it were, with tears? No doubt there are
bright and happy days in store for us yet, but these first ones here
have been sadly darkened by this shadow of death. Inanimate things have
such a terrible power to wound one: though everything which would remind
me of Baby has been carefully removed and hidden away by F----'s orders,
still now and then I come across some trifle belonging to him, and, as
Miss Ingelow says--
"My old sorrow wakes and cries."
Our loss is one too common out here, I am told: infants born in
Christchurch during the autumn very often die. Owing to the flatness of
the site of the town, it is almost impossible to get a proper system of
drainage; and the arrangements seem very bad, if you are to judge from
the evil smells which are abroad in the evening. Children who are born
on a station, or taken there as soon as possible, almost invariably
thrive, but babies are very difficult to rear in the towns. If they get
over the first year, they do well; and I cannot really call to mind a
single sickly, or even delicate-looking child among the swarms which one
sees everywhere.
I cannot say that I think colonial children prepossessing in either
manners or appearance, in spite of their ruddy cheeks and sturdy limbs.
Even quite little things are pert and independent, and give me the idea
of being very much spoiled. When you reflect on the utter absence of any
one who can really be called a nurse, this is not to be wondered at. The
mothers are thoroughly domestic and devoted to their home duties, far
more so than the generality of the same class at home. An English lady,
with even an extremely moderate income, would look upon her colonial
sister as very hard-worked indeed. The children cannot be entrusted
entirely to the care of an ignorant girl, and the poor mother has
them with her all day long; if she goes out to pay visits (the only
recognized social duty here), she has to take the elder children with
her, but this early introduction into society does not appear to polish
the young visitors' manners in the least. There is not much rest at
night for the mater-familias with the inevitable baby, and it is of
course very difficult for her to be correcting small delinquents all day
long; so they grow up with what manners nature gives them. There seems
to me, however, to be a greater amount of real domestic happiness out
here than at home: perhaps the want of places of public amusement may
have something to do with this desirable state of affairs, but the homes
seem to be thoroughly happy ones. A married man is an object of envy
to his less fortunate brethren, and he appears anxious to show that
he appreciates his good fortune. As for scandal, in the ordinary
acceptation of the word, it is unknown; gossip there is in plenty, but
it generally refers to each other's pecuniary arrangements or trifling
peculiarities, and is all harmless enough. I really believe that the
life most people lead here is as simple and innocent as can well be
imagined. Each family is occupied in providing for its own little daily
wants and cares, which supplies the mind and body with healthy and
legitimate employment, and yet, as my experience tells me, they have
plenty of leisure to do a kind turn for a neighbour. This is the bright
side of colonial life, and there is more to be said in its praise; but
the counterbalancing drawback is, that the people seem gradually to lose
the sense of larger and wider interests; they have little time to keep
pace with the general questions of the day, and anything like sympathy
or intellectual appreciation is very rare. I meet accomplished people,
but seldom well-read ones; there is also too much talk about money:
"where the treasure is, there will the heart be also;" and the incessant
financial discussions are wearisome, at least to me.
Letter X: Our station home.
Broomielaw, July 1866. We are now in mid-winter, and a more delicious
season cannot well be imagined; the early mornings and evenings and
the nights are very cold, but the hours from 10 A.M. till 5 P.M. are
exquisitely bright, and quite warm. We are glad of a fire at breakfast,
which is tolerably early, but we let it out and never think of
relighting it until dark. Above all, it is calm: I congratulate myself
daily on the stillness of the atmosphere, but F---- laughs and says,
"Wait until the spring." I bask all day in the verandah, carrying my
books and work there soon after breakfast; as soon as the sun goes down,
however, it becomes very cold. In an English house you would hardly feel
it, but with only one plank an inch thick, a lining-board and canvas and
paper, between you and a hard frost, a good fire is wanted. We burn coal
found twelve miles from this; it is not very good, being only what
is called "lignite." I don't know if that conveys to you a distinct
impression of what it really is. I should say it was a better sort
of turf: it smoulders just in the same way, and if not disturbed will
remain many hours alight; it requires a log of dry wood with it to
make a really good blaze. Fuel is most difficult to get here, and very
expensive, as we have no available "bush" on the Run; so we have first
to take out a licence for cutting wood in the Government bush, then
to employ men to cut it, and hire a drayman who possesses a team of
bullocks and a dray of his own, to fetch it to us: he can only take two
journeys a day, as he has four miles to travel each way, so that by the
time the wood is stacked it costs us at least thirty shillings a cord,
and then there is the labour of sawing and cutting it up. The coal costs
us one pound a ton at the mouth of the pit, and the carriage exactly
doubles its price; besides which it is impossible to get more, than a
small quantity at a time, on account of the effect of the atmosphere on
it. Exposure to the air causes it to crumble into dust, and although we
keep our supply in a little shed for the purpose, it is wasted to the
extent of at least a quarter of each load. We are unusually unfortunate
in the matter of firing; most stations have a bush near to the
homestead, or greater facilities for draying than we possess.
You tell me to describe my little house to you, so I must try to make
you see it, only prefacing my attempt by warning you not to be disgusted
or disappointed at any shortcomings. The house has not been built in
a pretty situation, as many other things had to be considered before
a picturesque site: first it was necessary to build on a flat (as the
valleys here are called), not too far off the main track, on account of
having to make the road to it ourselves; the next thing to be thought
of was shelter from the north-west wind; then the soil must be fit for
a garden, and a good creek, or brook, which would not go dry in the
summer, close at hand. At present, everything out of doors is so
unfinished that the place looks rather desolate, and it will be some
years before our plantations can attain a respectable size, even
allowing for the rapid growth in this climate. The first step is to
obtain shelter from our enemy the "nor'-wester," and for this purpose we
have planted quantities of broom in all directions; even the large beds
for vegetables in the garden have a hedge of Cape broom on the exposed
side; fortunately, the broom grows very quickly in spite of the wind,
and attains to a luxuriant beauty rarely seen in England. We have put in
many other trees, such as oaks, maples, etc., but not one is higher than
this table, except a few poplars; the ground immediately outside the
house has been dug up, and is awaiting the spring to be sown with
English grass; we have no attempt at a flower-garden yet, but have
devoted our energies to the vegetable one,--putting in fruit trees,
preparing strawberry and asparagus beds, and other useful things. Out
of doors matters would not even be as far advanced towards a garden and
plantation as they are if we had commenced operations ourselves, but
the ground has been worked since last year. I am glad we have chosen to
build our house here instead of at the homestead two miles off; for I
like to be removed from the immediate neighbourhood of all the work of
the station, especially from that of the "gallows,"--a high wooden frame
from which the carcases of the butchered sheep dangle; under the present
arrangement the shepherd brings us over our mutton as we want it.
Inside the house everything is comfortable and pretty, and, above all
things, looks thoroughly home-like. Out of the verandah you pass through
a little hall hung with whips and sticks, spurs and hats, and with a
bookcase full of novels at one end of it, into a dining-room, large
enough for us, with more books in every available corner, the prints
you know so well on the walls, and a trophy of Indian swords and
hunting-spears over the fireplace: this leads into the drawing-room, a
bright, cheery little room--more books and pictures, and a writing-table
in the "_h_oriel." In that tall, white, classical-shaped vase of
Minton's which you helped me to choose is the most beautiful bouquet,
made entirely of ferns; it is a constant object for my walks up the
gullies, exploring little patches of bush to search for the ferns, which
grow abundantly under their shelter by the creek. I have a small but
comfortable bedroom, and there is a little dressing-room for F---- and
the tiniest spare room you ever saw; it really is not bigger than the
cabin of a ship. I think the kitchen is the chief glory of the house,
boasting a "Leamington range" a luxury quite unknown in these parts,
where all the cooking is done on an American stove,--a very good thing
in its way, but requiring to be constantly attended to. There is a
good-sized storeroom, in which F---- has just finished putting me up
some cupboards, and a servants' room. It is not a palace is it? But it
is quite large enough to hold a great deal of happiness. Outside, the
premises are still more diminutive; a little wash-house stands near the
kitchen door, and further up the enclosure is a stable, and a small room
next it for saddles, and a fowl-house and pig-stye, and a coal-shed. Now
you know everything about my surroundings; but--there is always a
_but_ in everything--I have one great grievance, and I hope you will
appreciate its magnitude.
It was impossible for F---- to come up here when the house was first
commenced, and the wretch of a builder deliberately put the drawing-and
dining-room fireplaces in the corner, right up against the partition
wall, of course utterly destroying the comfort as well as the symmetry
of the rooms. I am convinced some economy of bricks is at the bottom of
this arrangement, especially as the house was built by contract; but the
builder pretends to be surprised that I don't admire it, and says, "Why,
it's so oncommon, mum!" I assure you, when I first saw the ridiculous
appearance of the drawing-room pier-glass in the corner, I should
liked to have screamed out at the builder (like the Queen in "Alice in
Wonderland"), "Cut off his head!"
When we were packing up the things to come here, our friends expressed
their astonishment at our taking so many of the little elegancies of
life, such as drawing-room ornaments, pictures, etc. Now it is a great
mistake not to bring such things, at all events a few of them, for they
are not to be bought here, and they give the new home a certain likeness
to the old one which is always delightful. I do not advise people to
make large purchases of elegancies for a colonial life, but a few pretty
little trifles will greatly improve the look of even a New Zealand
up-country drawing-room.
You have asked me also about our wardrobes. Gentlemen wear just what
they would on a Scotch or English farm; in summer they require perhaps
a lighter hat, and long rides are always taken in boots and breeches.
A lady wears exactly what would be suitable in the country in England,
except that I should advise her to eschew muslin; the country outside
the home paddock is too rough for thin material; she also wants thick
boots if she is a good walker, and I find nails or little screws in the
soles a great help for hill-walking. A hat is my only difficulty: you
really want a shady hat for a protection against the sun, but there are
very few days in the year on which you can ride in anything but a
close, small hat, with hardly any brim at all, and even this must have
capabilities of being firmly fastened on the head. My nice, wide-brimmed
Leghorn hangs idly in the hall: there is hardly a morning still enough
to induce me to put it on even to go and feed my chickens or potter
about the garden. This being winter, I live in a short linsey dress,
which is just right as to warmth, and not heavy. It is a mistake to
bring too much: a year's supply will be quite enough; fresh material can
easily be procured in Christchurch or any of the large towns, or sent
out by friends. I find my sewing-machine the greatest possible comfort,
and as time passes on and my clothes need remodelling it will be still
more use ful. Hitherto I have used it chiefly for my friends' benefit;
whilst I was in town I constantly had little frocks brought to me to
tuck, and here I employ it in making quilted cloth hats for my gentlemen
neighbours.
Letter XI: Housekeeping, and other matters.
Broomielaw, September 1866. I am writing to you at the end of a
fortnight of very hard work, for I have just gone through my first
experience in changing servants; those I brought up with me four
months ago were nice, tidy girls and as a natural consequence of these
attractive qualities they have both left me to be married. I sent them
down to Christchurch in the dray, and made arrangements for two more
servants to return in the same conveyance at the end of a week. In the
meantime we had to do everything for ourselves, and on the whole we
found this picnic life great fun. The household consists, besides F----
and me, of a cadet, as they are called--he is a clergyman's son learning
sheep-farming under our auspices--and a boy who milks the cows and
does odd jobs out of doors. We were all equally ignorant of practical
cookery, so the chief responsibility rested on my shoulders, and cost me
some very anxious moments, I assure you, for a cookery-book is after all
but a broken reed to lean on in a real emergency; it starts by assuming
that its unhappy student possesses a knowledge of at least the rudiments
of the art, whereas it ought not to disdain to tell you whether the
water in which potatoes are to be boiled should be hot or cold. I must
confess that some of my earliest efforts were both curious and nasty,
but E ate my numerous failures with the greatest good-humour; the only
thing at which he made a wry face was some soup into which a large lump
of washing-soda had mysteriously conveyed itself; and I also had to
undergo a good deal of "chaff" about my first omelette, which was of the
size and consistency of a roly-poly pudding. Next to these failures
I think the bread was my greatest misfortune; it went wrong from the
first. One night I had prepared the tin dish full of flour, made a hole
in the midst of the soft white heap, and was about to pour in a cupful
of yeast to be mixed with warm water (you see I know all about it in
theory), when a sudden panic seized me, and I was afraid to draw the
cork of the large champagne bottle full of yeast, which appeared to be
very much "up." In this dilemma I went for F----. You must know that he
possesses such extraordinary and revolutionary theories on the subject
of cooking, that I am obliged to banish him from the kitchen altogether,
but on this occasion I thought I should be glad of his assistance. He
came with the greatest alacrity; assured me he knew all about it, seized
the big bottle, shook it violently, and twitched out the cork: there was
a report like a pistol-shot, and all my beautiful yeast flew up to the
ceiling of the kitchen, descending in a shower on my head; and F----
turned the bottle upside down over the flour, emptying the dregs of the
hops and potatoes into my unfortunate bread. However, I did not despair,
but mixed it up according to the directions given, and placed it on the
stove; but, as it turned out, in too warm a situation, for when I went
early the next morning to look at it, I found a very dry and crusty
mass. Still, nothing daunted, I persevered in the attempt, added more
flour and water, and finally made it up into loaves, which I deposited
in the oven. That bread _never_ baked! I tried it with a knife in
the orthodox manner, always to find that it was raw inside. The crust
gradually became several inches thick, but the inside remained damp, and
turned quite black at last; I baked it until midnight, and then I gave
it up and retired to bed in deep disgust. I had no more yeast and
could not try again, so we lived on biscuits and potatoes till the dray
returned at the end of the week, bringing, however, only one servant.
Owing to some confusion in the drayman's arrangements, the cook had been
left behind, and "Meary," the new arrival, professed her willingness to
supply her place; but on trial being made of her abilities, she proved
to be quite as inexperienced as I was; and to each dish I proposed she
should attempt, the unvarying answer was, "The missis did all that where
I come from." During the first few days after her arrival her
chief employment was examining the various knick-knacks about the
drawing-room; in her own department she was greatly taken with the
little cottage mangle. She mangled her own apron about twenty times a
day, and after each attempt I found her contemplating it with her head
on one side, and saying to herself, "'Deed, thin, it's as smooth as
smooth; how iver does it do it?" A few days later the cook arrived.
She is not all I could wish, being also Irish, and having the most
extraordinary notions of the use, or rather the abuse, of the various
kitchen implements: for instance, she will poke the fire with the
toasting fork, and disregards my gentle hints about the poker; but at
all events she can both roast mutton and bake bread. "Meary" has been
induced to wash her face and braid up her beautiful hair, and now shines
forth as a very pretty good-humoured girl. She is as clever and quick as
possible, and will in time be a capital housemaid. She has taken it into
her head that she would like to be a "first-rater," as she calls it, and
works desperately hard in the prosecution of her new fancy.
I have never told you of the Sunday services we established here from
the first week of our arrival. There is no church nearer than those
in Christchurch, nor--I may mention parenthetically--is there a doctor
within the same distance. As soon as our chairs and tables were in their
proper places, we invited our shepherds and those neighbours immediately
around us to attend service on Sunday afternoon at three o'clock. F----
officiates as clergyman; _my_ duties resemble those of a beadle, as I
have to arrange the congregation in their places, see that they have
Prayer-books, etc. Whenever we go out for a ride, we turn our horses'
heads up some beautiful valley, or deep gorge of a river, in search of
the huts of our neighbours' shepherds, that we may tell the men of
these services and invite them to attend. As yet, we have met with
no refusals, but it will give you an idea of the scantiness of
our population when I tell you that, after all our exertions, the
"outsiders" only amount to fourteen, and of these at least half are
gentlemen from neighbouring stations. With this number, in addition
to our own small group, we consider that we form quite a respectable
gathering. The congregation all arrive on horseback, each attended by at
least two big colley dogs; the horses are turned into the paddock, the
saddles deposited in the back verandah, and the dogs lie quietly down
by their respective masters' equipments until they are ready to start
homewards. There is something very wild and touching in these Sunday
services. If the weather is quite clear and warm, they are held in the
verandah; but unless it is a very sunny afternoon, it is too early in
the year yet for this.
The shepherds are a very fine class of men as a rule, and I find them
most intelligent; they lead solitary lives, and are fond of reading; and
as I am anxious to substitute a better sort of literature in their
huts than the tattered yellow volumes which generally form their scanty
library, I lend them books from my own small collection. But, as I
foresee that this supply will soon be exhausted, we have started a Book
Club, and sent to London for twenty pounds' worth of books as a first
instalment. We shall get them second-hand from a large library, so I
hope to receive a good boxful. The club consists of twenty-eight members
now, and will probably amount to thirty-two, which is wonderful for
this district. At the close of a year from the first distribution of the
books they are to be divided into lots as near as possible in value to
a pound each, the parcels to be numbered, and corresponding figures
written on slips of paper, which are to be shaken up in a hat and drawn
at random, each member claiming the parcel of which the number answers
to that on his ticket. This is the fairest way I can think of for the
distribution, and every one seems satisfied with the scheme. The most
popular books are those of travel or adventure; unless a novel is really
very good indeed, they do not care about it.