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