ry well, then you shall leave at the end of a month." And so
she did, having bullied everybody out of their lives during that time.

Whilst we are on the subject of manners, it may not be out of place to
relate a little episode of my early days "up country." I think I have
alluded [in "Station Life in New Zealand"] to our book club; but I
don't know that it has been explained that I used to change the books on
Sunday afternoon, after our little evening service. It would have been
impossible to induce the men to come from an immense distance twice a
week, and it was therefore necessary that they should be able to get
a fresh book after service. Nothing could have been better than the
behaviour of my little congregation: they made it a point of giving no
trouble whatever with their horses or dogs, and they were so afraid
of being supposed to come for what they could get, that I had some
difficulty in inducing those who travelled from a distance to have a
cup of tea in the kitchen before they mounted, to set off on their
long solitary ride homewards. They were also exceedingly quiet and
well-behaved; for if even a dozen men or more were standing outside in
fine weather, or waiting within the kitchen if it were wet or windy,
not a sound could be heard. If they spoke to each other, it was in the
lowest whisper, and they would no more have thought of lighting their
pipes anywhere near the house than they would of flying.

This innate tact and true gentlemanly feeling which struck me so much in
the labouring man as he appears in New Zealand, made the lapse of good
manners, to which I am coming, all the more remarkable. Of course they
never touched their hats to me: they would make me a bow or take their
hats _off_, but they never touched them. I have often seen a hand raised
involuntarily to the soft felt hat, which every one wears there, but
the mechanical action would be arrested by the recollection of the first
article of the old colonial creed, "Jack is as good as his master." I
never minded this in the least, and got so completely out of the habit
of expecting any salutations, that it seemed quite odd to me to receive
them again on my return. No, what I objected to was, that when I used to
go into my kitchen, about ten minutes or so after the service had been
concluded, with the list of club books in my hand, not a single man rose
from his seat. They seemed to make it a point to sit down somewhere;
on a table or window se