likes yer meat 'igh?" I was annoyed at his stupendous stupidity, and
said, "One of them! Who are you talking about? Who are THEY I'd like
to know? When we boil this meat, if we put a piece of charcoal in the
pot, it will come out as sweet as a nut." He merely replied, with a
dubious expression of face, "Oh!" but he ate his share of it as
readily as anybody else. The next day, Christmas eve, I sent Mr.
Tietkens and Gibson on two of the horses we had lately brought back,
to find the mob, which they brought home late, and said the tracks of
the natives showed that they had driven the horses away for several
miles, and they had found them near a small creek, along the south
face of the range, where there was water. While they were away some
ducks visited the camp, but the tea-tree was too thick to allow us to
shoot any of them. The day was cool, although there is a great
oppression in the atmosphere, and it is impossible to tell by one's
feelings what might be the range of the thermometer, as I have often
felt it hotter on some days with the thermometer at 96 or 98 degrees
than when it ranged up to 108 or 110 degrees. The afternoons are
excessively relaxing, for although the mercury falls a little after
three o'clock, still the morning's heat appears to remain until the
sun has actually set. It is more than probable that the horses having
been hunted by the natives, and having found more water, will not come
back here of their own accord to water any more; so I shall keep one
tied up at the camp, to fetch the others up with every morning.

And now comes Thursday, 25th December, Christmas Day, 1873. Ah, how
the time flies! Years following years, steal something every day; at
last they steal us from ourselves away. What Horace says is, Eheu
fugaces, anni labuntur postume, postume:--Years glide away, and are
lost to me, lost to me.