ices, and much
better do we feel for the change. Only occasionally does some amusing
instance of the old humbug crop up. I may light upon some such example
before I lay down my pen.

It is now some years since our shanty was built--seven or eight, I
suppose. The edifice certainly looks older. Not to put too fine a point
on it, one might candidly call it ruinous, rather than otherwise. This
is singular and surprising; we cannot account for it. Frame-houses in
this country ought to require no repairs for twenty years at least. That
is the received opinion. We dogmatically assert that the house we built
ourselves, with such infinite labour and trouble, is as good as any
other of its size and kind. Consequently, it will not want repairing for
twenty years. _But it does._ It looks as old as the hills, and seems to
be coming to pieces about us, though only eight years old. Nevertheless,
we will not forswear ourselves, we will _not_ repair our shanty till
twenty years are gone!

As for allowing that there could be any fault in our workmanship, that
our inexperienced joinery can have been the cause of the shanty's
premature decay, that, even Old Colonial says, is ridiculous. No, the
wood was unseasoned; or, perhaps, it was over-seasoned. We admit so
much, but our handicraft was certainly not to blame.

The imperfections of the shanty are many and grievous. The door and
windows have quarrelled desperately with their settings. On windy nights
we get no sleep, as every one is engaged trying to fasten and wedge them
into noiseless security. The door developed a most obstreperous and
noxious habit of being blown into the middle of the house during the
night, with much hideous clatter and clamour. We stopped that at last by
nailing it up altogether, and making a new entrance through the side of
the chimney-place.

Then, each particular board in the sides of the shanty has somehow
warped itself out of place. We are thus enabled to view the lovely
scenery lying round the place from our bunks, without the trouble of
rising and going to the window. Old Colonial says that free ventilation
is one of the great blessings of life. He thinks that the chinks in our
walls are absolutely a provision of Nature, since, he says, we would
certainly be choked with smoke if there were none.

Sometimes the cattle, feeding on the clearings round the shanty, come
and thrust their noses through the gaps in the boards, or stand and eye
us as we are ta