rd about the eels, for they were excellent.

Chapter III: Pig-stalking.

It was much too hot in summer to go after wild pigs. That was our
winter's amusement, and very good sport it afforded us, besides the
pleasure of knowing that we were really doing good service to the
pastoral interest, by ridding the hills around us of almost the only
enemies which the sheep have. If the squatter goes to look after his mob
of ewes and lambs in the sheltered slopes at the back of his run, he is
pretty nearly certain to find them attended by an old sow with a dozen
babies at her heels. She will follow the sheep patiently from one
camping ground to another, watching for a new-born and weakly lamb to
linger behind the rest, and then she will seize and devour it. Besides
this danger, the presence of pigs on the run keeps the sheep in an
excited state. They have an uneasy consciousness that their foes are
looking after them, and they move restlessly up and down the hills, not
stopping to feed sufficiently to get fat. If a sheep-farmer thinks his
sheep are not in good condition, one of the first questions he asks
his shepherd is, "Are there any pigs about?" Our run had a good many of
these troublesome visitors on it, especially in the winter, when they
would travel down from the back country to grub up acres on acres of
splendid sheep pasture in search of roots. The only good they do is to
dig up the Spaniards for the sake of their delicious white fibres, and
the fact of their being able to do this will give a better idea of the
toughness of a wild pig's snout than anything else I can say.

It may be strange to English ears to hear a woman of tolerably peaceful
disposition, and as the advertisements in the _Times_ so often state,
"thoroughly domesticated," aver that she found great pleasure in going
after wild pigs; but the circumstances of the ease must be taken into
consideration before I am condemned. First of all, it seemed terribly
lonely at home if F---- was out with his rifle all day. Next, there was
the temptation to spend those delicious hours of a New Zealand winter's
day, between ten and four, out of doors, wandering over hills and
exploring new gullies. And lastly, I had a firm idea that I was taking
care of F----. And so I was in a certain sense, for if his rifle had
burst, or any accident had happened to him, and he had been unable to
reach the homestead, we should never have known where to find him, and
days would p