at his writing-table, and we work together at books and writing till
dinner; after that meal, F--- like Mr. Tootes, "resumes his
studies," but I go and feed my fowls again, and if I am very idly
disposed I sit on a hencoop in the shade and watch the various
tempers of my chickens and ducklings. A little later F--- and I go
out for some hours: if it is not too hot, he takes his rifle and we
go over the hills pig-stalking, but this is really only suitable
exercise for a fine winter's day; at this time of year we either go
for a walk or a ride, generally the latter--not a little shabby
canter, but a long stretching gallop for miles and miles; perhaps
stopping to have a cup of tea with a neighbour twelve or fifteen
miles off, and then coming slowly home in the delicious gloaming,
with the peculiar fresh crisp feeling which the atmosphere always
has here the moment the sun sets, no matter how hot the day has
been. I can hardly hope to make you understand how enjoyable our
twilight hours are, with no fear of damp or malaria to spoil them;
every turn of the track as we slowly wind up the valley showing us
some beautiful glimpse of distant mountain peaks, and, above all,
such sunset splendours, gradually fading away into the deep, pure
beauty of a summer night.

In one of our rides the other day, after crossing a low range of
hills, we suddenly dropped down on what would be called in England a
hamlet, but here it is designated by the extraordinary name of a
"nest of cockatoos." This expression puzzled me so much when I
first heard it, that I must give you as minute an explanation as I
myself found necessary to the comprehension of the subject.

When a shepherd has saved a hundred pounds, or the better class of
immigrant arrives with a little capital, the favourite investment is