fter, he left the township; but, three
months after, he one day made his appearance at our bank. I asked him
where he had been, and why he had come back to Majorca? "Oh!" said
he, holding up his hand, "me come look after my finger." "Where is
it?" I asked.

"Oh! me put 'em in the ground in bush--me know." And I have no doubt
he recovered his member, and went away happy.

My greatest pleasure, while at Majorca, was in riding or walking
through the bush--that is, the country as Nature made it and left
it--still uncleared and unoccupied, except by occasional flocks of
sheep, the property of the neighbouring squatters. North of Majorca
lies a fine tract of country which we call the high plains, for we
have to cross a creek and climb a high hill before we get on to them.
Then for an invigorating gallop over the green turf, the breeze
freshening as we pace along. These plains are really wonderful. They
look like a large natural amphitheatre, being level for about fifteen
miles in every direction and encircled all round by high hills. There
is very little timber on the plains.

The bush covers the ranges of hills between Majorca and these plains
or lower grounds, amidst which the creeks run. Here, in some places,
the trees grow pretty thickly; in others, the country is open and
naturally clear. There is, however, always enough timber about to
confuse the traveller unless he knows the track.

Shortly after my settling in Majorca, having heard that one of my
fellow-passengers by the 'Yorkshire' was staying with a squatter about
fourteen miles off, I determined to pay him a visit. I thought I knew
the track tolerably well; but on my way through the bush I got
confused, and came to the conclusion that I had lost my way. When
travellers get lost, they usually "_coo-ee_" at the top of their
voice, and the prolonged note, rising at the end, is heard at a great
distance in the silence of the bush. I _coo-ied_ as loud as I could,
and listened; but there was no response. I rode on again, and at
length I thought I heard a sort of hammering noise in the distance. I
proceeded towards it, and found the noise occasioned by a man chopping
wood. Glad to find I was not yet lost, I went up to him to ask my way.
To my surprise, he could not speak a word of English. I tried him in
German, I tried him in French. No! What was he, then? I found, by his
_patois_, a few words of which I contrived to make out, that he was a
Savoyard, who had only v