At first it appeared as if we had stepped from the brightness of the
drawing-room into utter and pitchy blackness; but after we had
groped for a few steps down the familiar garden path, our eyes
became accustomed to the subdued light of the soft summer night.
Although heavy banks of cloud,--the general precursors of wind,--
were moving slowly between us and the heavens, the stars shone down
through their rifts, and on the western horizon a faint yellowish
tinge told us that daylight was in no hurry to leave our quiet
valley. The mountain streams or creeks, which water so well the
grassy plains among the Malvern Hills, are not affected to any
considerable extent by dry summer weather. They are snow-fed from
the high ranges, and each nor'-wester restores many a glacier or
avalanche to its original form, and sends it flowing down the steep
sides of yonder distant beautiful mountains to join the creeks,
which, like a tangled skein of silver threads, ensure a good water
supply to the New Zealand sheep-farmer. In the holes, under steep
overhanging banks, the eels love to lurk, hiding from the sun's rays
in cool depths, and coming out at night to feed. There are no fish
whatever in the rivers, and I fear that the labours of the
Acclimatization Society will be thrown away until they can persuade
the streams themselves to remain in their beds like more civilised
waters. At present not a month passes that one does not hear of
some eccentric proceeding on. the part of either rivers or creeks.
Unless the fish are prepared to shift their liquid quarters at a
moment's notice they will find themselves often left high and dry on
the deserted shingle-bed. But eels are proverbially accustomed to
adapt themselves to circumstances, and a fisherman may always count
on getting some if he be patient.