ir tea, and I was much struck to observe that though they looked like
men who had done a hard day's work, there was none of the exhaustion we
often see in England depicted on the labouring man's face. Instead of
a hot crowded room, these bushmen were going to sleep in their log hut,
where the fresh pure air could circulate through every nook and cranny.
They had each their pair of red blankets, one to spread over a heap of
freshly cut tussocks, which formed a delicious elastic mattrass, and the
other to serve as a coverlet. During the day these blankets were always
hung outside on a tree, out of the reach of the most investigating weka.
You may be sure I had not come empty-handed in the way of books and
papers, and my last glance as I rode away rested on Trew opening a
number of _Good Words_ [Note: _Evening Hours_ was not in existence at
that time, or else its pages are just what those simple God-fearing men
would have appreciated and enjoyed. _Good Words_ and the _Leisure Hour_
used to be their favourite periodicals, and the kindness of English
friends kept me also well supplied with copies of Miss Marsh's little
books, which were read with the deepest and most eager interest.] with
the pleased-expression of a child examining a packet of toys.

And so we rode slowly home through the delicious gloaming, with the
evening air cooled to freshness so soon as the sun had sunk below the
great mountains to the west, from behind which he shot up glorious rays
of gold and crimson against the blue ethereal sky, causing the snowy
peaks to look more exquisitely pure from the background of gorgeous
colour. During the flood of sunlight all day, we had not perceived a
single fleck of cloud; but now lovely pink wreaths, floating in mid-air,
betrayed that here and there a "nursling of the sky" lingered behind the
cloud-masses which we thought had all been blown away yesterday.

The short twilight hour was over, and the stars were filtering their
soft radiance on our heads by the time we heard the welcoming barks
of the homestead, and saw the glimmer of the lighted lamp in our
sitting-room, shining out of the distant gloom. And so ended, in supper
and a night of deep dreamless sleep, one of the many happy picnic days
of my New Zealand life.

Chapter II: Eel-fishing.

One of the greatest drawbacks in an English gentleman's eyes to living
in New Zealand is the want of sport. There is absolutely none. There
used to be a few quails,