No doubt this sounds very unintelligible to an English reader; but
every colonist who may chance to see my pages will shiver at the
recollection of those vegetable defenders of an unexplored region in
New Zealand. Imagine a gigantic artichoke with slender instead of
broad leaves, set round in dense compact order. They vary, of
course, in size, but in our part of the world four or six feet in
circumference and a couple of feet high was the usual growth to
which they attained, though at the back of the run they were much
larger. Spaniards grow in clusters, or patches, among the tussocks
on the plains, and constitute a most unpleasant feature of the
vegetation of the country. Their leaves are as firm as bayonets, and
taper at the point to the fineness of a needle, but are not nearly
so easily broken as a needle would be. No horse will face them,
preferring a jump at the cost of any exertion, to the risk of a stab
from the cruel points. The least touch of this green bayonet draws
blood, and a fall _into_ a Spaniard is a thing to be remembered all
one's life. Interspersed with the Spaniards are generally clumps of
"wild Irishman," a straggling sturdy bramble, ready to receive and
scratch you well if you attempt to avoid the Spaniard's weapons.
Especially detrimental to riding habits are wild Irishmen; and there
are fragments of mine, of all sorts of materials and colours,
fluttering now on their thorny branches in out-of-the-way places on
our run. It is not surprising, therefore, that we guarded our legs
as well as we could against these foes to flesh and blood.

"We are rather early," said the gentlemen, as I appeared, ready and
eager to start; "but perhaps it is all the better to enable you to
see the track." They each flung an empty sack over their shoulders,
felt in their pockets to ascertain whether the matches, hooks, boxes
of bait, etc., were all there, and then we set forth.