divided as if by a giant hand, lay a large _black_ sheet of ice. No
ray of sunshine ever struck it from autumn until spring, and it
seemed impossible to imagine our venturing to skate merrily in such
a sombre looking spot. But New-Zealand sheep farmers are not
sentimental I am afraid. Beyond a rapid thought of self-
congratulation that such "cold country" was not on _their_ run, they
did not feel affected by its eternal silence and gloom. The ice
would bear, and what more could skater's heart desire? At the end
of the dark tarn, nearest to the track by which we had approached
it, stood a neat little hut; and judge of my amazement when, as we
rode up to it, a young gentleman, looking as if he was just going
out for a day's deer-stalking, opened the low door and came out to
greet us. Yes, here was one of those strange anomalies peculiar to
the colonies. A young man, fresh from his University, of refined
tastes and cultivated intellect, was leading here the life of a
boor, without companionship or appreciation of any sort. His "mate"
seemed to be a rough West countryman, honest and well meaning
enough, but utterly unsuited to Mr. K---. It was the old story, of
wild unpractical ideas hastily carried out. Mr. K--- had arrived in
New Zealand a couple of years before, with all his worldly wealth,--
1,000 pounds. Finding this would not go very far in the purchase of
a good sheep-run, and hearing some calculations about the profit to
be derived from breeding cattle, based upon somebody's lucky
speculation, he eagerly caught at one of the many offers showered
upon unfortunate "new chums," and bought the worst and bleakest bit
of one of the worst and bleakest runs in the province. The
remainder of his money was laid out in purchasing stock; and now he
had sat down patiently to await, in his little hut, until such time
as his brilliant expectations would be realized. I may say here
they became fainter and fainter year by year, and at last faded away