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 weigh them, and to every pound of berries clarify two pounds of sugar, make the syrup with half a pint of water to a pound of sugar, put your barberries into the syrup when it it is scalding hot, let them boil a little, and set them by with a paper close to them; the next day make them scalding hot, repeat this two days, but do not boil it after the first time, and when they are cold lay them on earthen plates, strew sugar well over them, the next day turn them on a sieve, and sift them again with sugar; turn them daily till they are dry, taking care your stove is not too hot.

Take your fruit when it is fit to pot, and strew some sugar at the bottom of the pot, then fruit, and then sugar; so on till the pot is full; cover them with sugar, tie a bladder over the pot, then leather, and keep it in a dry place.

To keep Grapes, Gooseberries, Apricots, Peaches, Nectarins, Cherries, Currants, and Plumbs, the whole Year.

Take fine dry sand, that has little or no saltness in it, and make it as dry as possible with often turning it in the sun; gather your fruits when they are just ripening, or coming near ripe, and dip the ends of the stalks in melted pitch or bees-wax; and having a large box with a close lid, dry your fruit a little in the sun to take away the superfluous moisture and lightly spread a layer of sand at the bottom of the box, and a layer of fruit on it, but not too near each other; then


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 then scatter sand very even about an inch thick over them, and so another layer till the box is full; then shut the lid down close, that the air may not penetrate; and whenever you take out any thing, be sure to mind the placing them even again, so you will have them fit for tarts, or other uses, till the next season; if they are a little wrinkled, wash them in warm water and they will plump again: you may use millet instead of sand, if you think it more convenient.

Take a large earthen pot, put the fruit into it, a layer of their own leaves being between them; then boil water and honey, scumming it till no more will rise, make it not too thick of the honey, and pour it warm on them; stop up the vessel close, and when you take them out for use, put them two hours in warm water, and they will have in a great measure their natural taste.

When they are come to their full growth, before they are quite ripe, make, for every bunch of grapes, a bag of white paper, well oiled, close the top, that no rain can get into the bag, and they will keep good till after Christmas; or if you pull them when just ripe, and dip their stalks in melted pitch or wax, and hang them in strings across a room, so that they do not touch one another. Pears will keep the same way all the year.

To

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 To Keep Walnuts or Filberts, all the Year.

Gather them when they are ripe, with the green husks on, bury them in dry sand, and mix the filberts with them.

How to keep all sort of Flowers,

Gather them on a very fine clear day, at twelve o'clock; have ready a box and, a little writing-sand, place a layer of sand, then a layer of flowers, and so on alternately, till the box is full; close the box, that no air can get in.

To dry Artichoaks red.

Boil your artichoaks in water till you see they are soft; then take them out, and pound some cochineal very fine, and mix in fresh water, and boil them again a quarter of an hour; then dry them in bags for a quarter of an hour.

To keep Walnuts all the Year.

Take your walnuts full ripe, and peel them; then dry them well in the sun for a week or more, rub them often with a cloth till you see no mould on them; then keep them in a bag, in a dry place, and when you want any for a dessert, crack and peel them quite clean, but take care that you keep the nut whole, or in quarters; then put them in some spring water, as warm as you may bear your finger in; let them stand three or four hours, then put them in cold spring water, and let them stand all night; the next day, when you go to set your dessert, put them in glasses, and they will be crisp and fine as when fresh gathered.

To


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Rh To keep Kidney Beans.

Gather them on a dry day, dry them in the sun, and keep them in papers, in a dry place, and before you use them, lay them in warm water.

To make Angelica Paste.

Take the youngest and most pithy angelica you can get, boil it very tender, and drain and press out all the water you possibly can; then beat it in a mortar to as fine a paste as may be, and rub it through a sieve; next day dry it over a fire, and, to every pound of this paste, take one pound of fine sugar in fine powder; when your paste is hot, put in the sugar, stirring it over a gentle fire till it is well incorporated; when so done, drop it on plates, long or round, as you think proper; dust it a little, and put it into the stove to dry.

To make Apricot Paste.

Take any quantity of apricots very ripe, peel, stone, and cut them small, put them in a deep earthen pan, then take a large and deep kettle, fill it with water, and place in it the earthen pan in which the apricots are; boil them thus, what it called balneo maria; when they have well boiled, thus, and thrown off their juice, take them off and


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 and pour them in a sieve to drain; when they are well drained, take a horse-hair sieve very open, strain them well, after which put them in a preserving-pan on the fire to dry them a little; when you see they begin to make a thick paste, take them off, having a pair of scales, and weigh a pound and a half of very fine sifted sugar, pound and a half of very fine sifted sugar, pounded in powder, to every pound of fruit; put the whole again into a preserving-pan, set it on the fire, keeping continually stirring, it with a spoon, till you see the sugar is well mixed with the apricots; take notice they must not boil, for then the sugar would melt too much; when that is done, put this paste in your tin moulds, and place them upon tin plates in the stove; when they have got a good crust on the top, turn them to make them take one also at bottom; then after your paste is very firm, take a little knife and pass it all round the moulds, to make them quit the paste, which then put on a sieve in the stove, to make it crust by the sides; when the crust is well formed, take them off and put them in boxes, or any thing you may think proper to keep them in for use.

Another Way.

Boil some apricots that are full ripe to a pulp, and rub the fine of it through a sieve; to every pound of pulp, take one pound two ounces of fine sugar, beaten to a very fine powder; heat well your paste, and by degrees put in your sugar; when all is in, give it a thorough heat over the fire, taking care not to let it boil; then take it off, and scrape it all to one side of the pan, let


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Rh let it cool a little, then lay it out on plates in what form you please; then dust them, and put them into the stove to dry.

To make Paste of green Apricots.

Take the down off, which is done by making a lye, with five or six handfuls of green wood ashes, sifted and boiled, till the water is quite sleek, and smooth to the fingers; put in the apricots; let them soak till the down comes off easily; stir the ashes pretty often, to keep it from settling at bottom; take the pot off the fire to clean the fruit, and throw in fresh water as they are doing; then boil them in the fresh water as they are tender enough to sift, and boil the juice till it comes to a good consistence, stirring it continually for fear it should burn; weigh an equal quantity of fruit and sugar; and mix them well together off the fire; put them in moulds directly, and dry them as before.

To make Cherry Paste.

Take two pounds of Morello cherries stone them, press out the juice, dry them in a pan, and mash them over a fire; then weigh them, and take their weigh in sugar beaten very fine, heat them over a fire till the sugar is well mixed, then dress them on plates or glasses; dust them when cold, and put them into a stove to dry.

To make Gooseberry Paste.

Take the gooseberries when full grown, wash and put them into your preserving pan, with as much spring water as will cover them; boil them all


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 all to a mummy, and strew them on a hair sieve over an earthen pot or pan; then press out all the juice; to every pound of paste, take one pound two ounces of sugar, boil it till it cracks, take it from the fire, put in the paste, and mix it well over a slow fire till the sugar is incorporated with the paste, then scum it and fill your paste-pots; give them another scum, and when cold, put them into the stove; when crusted on the top, turn them and set them in the stove again; when a little dry, cut them in long pieces, set them to be quite dry, and, when so crusted that they will bear touching, turn them on sieves, dry the other side, and then put them into your box.
 * Note.—You may make them red or green, by putting in the colour when the sugar and paste is well mixed, giving it a warm altogether.

To make Currant Paste.

Wash your currants well, put them into your preserving-pan, bruise them, and with a little water boil them to a pulp; then press out the juice, and to every pound take twenty ounces of loaf sugar, boil it to crack, take it from the fire, and put in the paste; then heat it over the fire, take off the scum, put it into your paste-pots, or glasses, then dry and manage them as other pastes.

To make Orange Flower Paste.

Boil one pound of the leaves of orange flowers very tender; then take two pounds and two ounces


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Vivekachudamani (Swami Madhavananda)/1

ViVekAchudAmani.

Sloka #1
सर्ववेदान्तसिद्धान्तगोचरं तमगोचरम् | गोविन्दं परमानन्दं सद्गुरुं प्रणतोऽस्म्यहम् || १ ||

Translation (of Sloka)
I bow to Govinda, whose nature is Bliss Supreme, who is the Sadguru, who can be known only from the import of all Vedanta, and who is beyond the reach of speech and mind.

Meaning (of Title)
'Viveka' means discrimination, 'Chuda' is crest, and 'Mani' is jewel. Hence the title means 'Crest-jewel of discrimination.' Just as the jewel on the crest of a diadem is the most conspicuous ornament on a person's body, so the present treatise is a masterpiece among works treating of discrimination between the Real and the Unreal.

Meaning of Sloka
In this opening stanza salutation is made to God (Govinda), or to the Guru, in his absolute aspect. It may be interesting to note that the name of Sankara's Guru was Govindapada, and the Sloka is ingeniously composed so as to admit of both interpretations.

Glossary
Sadguru — lit. the highly qualified preceptor, and may refer either to Sankara's own Guru or to God Himself, who is the Guru of Gurus.

Sloka #2
जन्तूनां नरजन्म दुर्लभमतः पुंस्त्वं ततो विप्रता तस्माद्वैदिकधर्ममार्गपरता विद्वत्त्वमस्मात्परम् | आत्मानात्मविवेचनं स्वनुभवो ब्रह्मात्मना संस्थितिः मुक्तिर्नो शतजन्मकोटिसुकृतैः पुण्यैर्विना लभ्यते || २ ||

Translation
For all beings a human birth is difficult to obtain, more so is a male body, rarer that that is Brahmimhood, rarer still is the attachment to the path of Vedic religion; higher than this is erudition in the Scriptures; discrimination between the Self and not- Self, Realisation, and continuing in a state of identity with Brahman, —these come next in order. (This kind of) Mukti (Liberation) is not to be attained except through the well-earned merits of a hundred crore of births.

Translation
There are three things which are rare indeed and are due to the grace of God — namely, a human birth, the longing for Liberation, and the protecting care of a perfected sage.

Translation
The man who having by some means obtained a human birth, with a male body and mastery of the Vedas to boot, is foolish enough not to exert for self-liberation, verily commits suicide, for he kills himself by clinging to things unreal.

Translation
What greater fool is there than the man who having obtained a rare human body, and a masculine body too, neglects to achieve the real end of this life.

Glossary
The real end: vis. Liberation, mankind's real destiny is Liberation

Translation
Let people quote scriptures and sacrifice to the gods, let them perform rituals and worship the deities, there is no Liberation for anyone without the realisation of one's identity with the Atman, no, not even in the lifetime of a hundred Brahmas put together.

Glossary
Lifetime of a hundred Brahmas put together: an indefinite length of time. One day of Brahma (the Creator) is equivalent to 8.64 billion years of human computation, which is supposed to be the duration of the world. see Hindu units of time

Translation
There is no hope of Immortality by means of riches — such indeed is the declara- tion of the Vedas. Hence it is clear that works cannot be the cause of Liberation.

Glossary
The reference is to Yajnavalkya's words to his wife Maitreyi, Brihadaranyaka Il.iv. 2. Cf. —the Vedic dictum, : 'Neither by rituals, nor progeny, nor by riches, but by renunciation alone some attained immortality. see Yajnavalkya

Translation
Therefore the man of learning should strive his best for Liberation, having renounced his desire for pleasures from external objects, duly approaching a good and generous preceptor, and fixing his mind on the truth inculcated by him.

Glossary
[ duly approaching agood and generous preceptor — i. e. according to the prescribed mode. (Vide Mundaka I. ii. 12). The characteristics of a qualified Guru are given later on in sloka 33. ]

Translation
Having attained the Yogarudha state, one should recover oneself, immersed in the sea of birth and death, by means of devotion to right discrimination.

Yogarudha state — Described in Gita VI. 4. — "When one is attached neither to sense-objects nor to actions, and has given up all desires, then he is said to be Yogdrudha or to have ascended the Yoga-path."

Translation
Let the wise and erudite man, having commenced the practice of the realisation of the Atman, give up all works (not done for God) and try to cut loose the bonds of birth and death.

All works — only "Sakama Karma" or works performed to gain more sense-enjoyment are meant. "All works" here excludes "selfless work" or work without any motives.

title: Vivekachudamani (Swami Madhavananda)/1


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Rh ounces of double-refined sugar in fine powder, and when you have bruised the flowers to a pulp, stir in the sugar by degrees, over a slow fire, till all is in and well melted; then make little drops and dry them.

To make Quince Paste.

Let your quinces be full ripe, boil them till they are quite tender, drain and sift them as usual, reduce the marmalade, on the fire, to a paste consistence, stirring it continually; according to the quantity of quince marmalade, refine a pound of sugar to three quarters of quinces; mix them together on a very slow fire, without any boiling, put it into what form you please directly, and dry as usual.

To make red Quince Paste

To make the paste of a fine red, bake the quinces in the oven a long while, then peel and sift them in a strong hair sieve; dry the marmalade over a slow fire a little while, to about half the consistency of a paste; then to redden it the more, keep it a good while on a slow ashes-fire, stirring it some time; and to add further to its redness, put a little steeped cochineal, and reduce it on a slow fire to a thick paste; that is, when it loosens from the pan; put as much sugar as marmalade, or paste, soak it a little while on the fire, and let it cool, just enough to work it well with the hands.

To make Plumb Paste.

Take any sort of plumbs you please, put a pan of water on the fire; when it boils put your plumbs


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 plumbs in, let them soak till you see they loosen their skin; then take them off, strain them through a sieve, and put them into a pan over the fire, to make them throw off their water, keeping stirring them till you see you paste is a little thick; take them off, and proceed as directed for apricots.

To make Peach Paste

Take any quantity of peaches, cut them small in an earthen pot, and do precisely as before.

To make Lemon and Citron Paste.

Cut off the hard knobs at both ends, core them through and through, boil them in water till they are tender; take them off and put them into cold water a moment, drain them, by pressing them in a linen cloth, to get the water out, then pound and sift them; upon a quarter o a pound of marmalade, put half a pound of clarified sugar, simmer it a while together to mix, stirring it continually, add proceed as with the other.

To make Apple Paste.

Take what quantity of golden pippins you think proper, which boil whole in a pan of water, without paring them; when you see they are well done, take them off, and put them in a draining sieve; then take a horse-hair sieve, very open, and strain them through; when that is done, put them in the preserving-pan,, and proceed as directed for apricots.

To


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 To make fine Puff Paste

To every pound of flour put one pound of butter, and the yolk of an egg. First take a quarter of a pound of the butter, and rub it in finely with the flour, then make a hollow in the middle of your flour, and beat the yolk of an egg very fine, or it will spot the crust, then put in as much cold water as will make it into a light paste, work it up light and roll it out, then divide the rest of the butter into five parts, take one and stick it into little bits all over, then shake a little flour all over, and lay on the middle of the roll, and roll it out again; do this four or five times, and it will make very fine puff paste.

To make fine Paste for Tarts.

Take a pound of flour, a pound of loaf sugar, beat fine, and a pound of butter, work it up all together, do not roll it, but beat it well with the rolling plan for half an hour, folding it up, and beating it out again, then roll little pieces, as you want for your tarts.

To make paste for Pattipans

Take a pound of fine flour, a spoonful of sugar, three quarters of a pound of good butter, rub it all into your flour, then take the yolks of two eggs, the white of one, as much water as will wet it, beat them and pour it into the flour, and work it all together; then roll it out thin, and it will rise in baking.

To


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Page:Completeconfectioner Glasse 1800.djvu/93

 To make Paste for a Pasty.

Lay down a peck of flour; work it up with six pound of butter and four eggs, and make it into a stiff paste with cold water.

To make Spun Paste.

Take either apples, peaches, apricots, or plumbs; put them in a pan of water on the fire; and do them as before directed; then after you have strained them through a sieve, take a high clarified sugar, when done, take it off from the fire, and put your fruit in, which boil as it were for a jelly; when you see your paste thickens,, take if off, and spread it upon tin plates with a knife, as thin as you can; put those tin plates in the stove for five or six days, with a slow fire; after than time your paste will be firm, then take a knife and cut your paste as thin as you please; have little round sticks, cover them with that paste which you have cut, replace them again in the stove till the next day, then your paste will have taken the form of the sticks; take these off and keep them for use.

To make Royal Paste.

Boil half a pint of water a moment, with a little sugar, a quarter of a pound of butter, a little fine rasped or grated lemon peel, a little salt; put flour to it, by little and little, to mix it well, and pretty thick; turn and stir it continually on the fire, until it quits the pan; take it off, and while it is warm put eggs to it, one by one; mix it well, and put eggs, until it is come to the consistency of paste, and sticks to the fingers.

To


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Philo, Herennius


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1535.] superiors, which were written by the King and by Cromwell, show plainly that the first object was to reform and not to destroy; and it was only when reformation was found to be conclusively hopeless, that the harder alternative was resolved upon. The report itself is no longer extant. Bonner was directed by Mary to destroy all discoverable copies of it, and his work was fatally well executed. We are able, however, to replace its contents to some extent, out of the despatches of the commissioners.

Their discretionary powers were unusually large, as appears from the first act with which the visitors commenced operations. On their own responsibility, they issued an inhibition against the bishops, forbidding them to exercise any portion of their jurisdiction while the visitation was in progress. The sees themselves were to be inspected; and they desired to make the ground clear before they moved. When the amazed bishops exclaimed against so unheard-of an innovation, Doctor Legh justified the order by saying, that it was well to compel the prelates to know and feel their new position; and in the fact of their suspension by a royal commission, to 'agnize' the King as the source of episcopal authority.

Truly it was an altered world since the bishops sent in their answer to the complaints of the House of Commons. The visitors, in this haughty


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312 style, having established their powers, began work with the University of Oxford. Their time was short, for Parliament was to meet early in the spring, when their report was to be submitted to it; and their business meanwhile was not only to observe and inquire, but any reforms which were plainly useful and good, they were themselves to execute. They had no time for hesitation, therefore; and they laid their hands to the task before them with a promptitude at which we can only wonder. The heads of houses, as may be supposed, saw little around them which was in need of reform. A few students of high genius and high purposes had been introduced into the University, as we have seen, by Wolsey; and these had been assiduously exiled or imprisoned. All suspected books had been hunted out. There had been fagot processions in High-street, and bonfires of New Testaments at Carfax. The daily chapels, we suppose, had gone forward as usual, and the drowsy lectures on the Schoolmen; while 'towardly young men' who were venturing stealthily into the perilous heresy of Greek, were eyed askance by the authorities, and taught to tremble at their temerity. All this we might have looked for; and among the authorities themselves, also, the world went forward in a very natural manner. There was comfortable living in the colleges; so comfortable, that many of the country clergy preferred Oxford and Cambridge to the monotony of their parishes, and took advantage of a clause in a late Act of Parliament, which recognized a residence at either of the Universities as an excuse for absence from


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1535.] tedious duties. 'Divers and many persons,' it was found, 'beneficed with cure of souls, and being not apt to study by reason of their age or otherwise, ne never intending before the making of the said Act to travel in study, but rather minding their own ease and pleasure, colourably to defraud the same good statute, did daily and commonly resort to the said Universities, where, under pretence of study, they continued and abode, living dissolutely; nothing profiting themselves in learning, but consumed the time in idleness and pastimes and insolent pleasures, giving occasion and evil example thereby to the young men and students within the Universities, and occupying such rooms and commodities as were instituted for the maintenance and relief of poor scholars.' These persons were not driven away by the heads of houses as the Christian Brothers had been; they were welcomed rather as pleasant companions. In comfortable conservatism they had no tendencies to heresy, but only to a reasonable indulgence of their five bodily senses. Doubtless, therefore, the visitors found Oxford a pleasant place, and cruelly they marred the enjoyments of it. Like a sudden storm of rain, they dropt down into its quiet precincts. Heedless of rights of fellows and founders' bequests, of sleepy dignities and established indolences, they re-established long-dormant leisures in the colleges. In a few little days (for so long only they remained) they poured new life into education. They founded fresh


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Rh To make Queen Paste.

Is made after the same manner as the last, except you are to use cream instead of water; it will have a richer taste, but will not be so light.

To make Paste Spanish fashion.

Make a hole in the middle of the flour; put salt to it, and an equal quantity of butter and fresh hog's lard; mix it with warm water, make it pretty firm and let it rest; cut it in several pieces, and roll each as thin as possible, and rub each leaf with melted hog's lard; put all the pieces one upon another; roll them together; let it cool; cut it with a knife, and put it to what use you please.

To make Rice paste

Work some flour with a couple of eggs, and a little water; let it rest; have some rice boiled very tender, in good rich broth; when it is cold, pound it in a mortar with the ready prepared paste, and a little butter, until it is properly mixed: it will serve for any sort of cakes, as ll other paste.

To make Paste for a standing Crust.

To a peck of flour put six pounds of butter, lay your flour in a large dish, make a hollow in the middle, put your butter in a saucepan of water on the fire, and when the butter is all melted take it off, and put it into the flour hot, and with a wooden spoon or stick work it all together, then with your hands work your paste quick, and pull it all into little pieces, till it is quite


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314 of Polite Latin, Professorships of Philosophy, Divinity, Canon Law, Natural Sciences—above all of the dreaded Greek; confiscating funds to support them. For the old threadbare text-books, some real teaching was swiftly substituted. The idle residents were noted down, soon to be sent home by Parliament to their benefices, under pain of being compelled, like all other students, to attend lectures, and, in their proper persons 'keep sophisms, problems, disputations, and all other exercises of learning.'

The discipline was not neglected: 'We have enjoined the religious students,' Leyton wrote to Cromwell, 'that none of them, for no manner of cause, shall come within any tavern, inn, or alehouse, or any other house, whatsoever it be, within the town and suburbs; [each offender] once so taken, to be sent home to his cloyster. Without doubt, this act is greatly lamented of all honest women of the town; and especially of their laundresses, that may not now once enter within the gates, much less within the chambers, whereunto they were right well accustomed. I doubt not, but for this thing, only the honest matrons will sue to you for redress.' These were sharp measures; we lose our breath at their rapidity and violence. The saddest vicissitude was that which befell the famous Duns—Duns Scotus, the greatest of the Schoolmen, the constructor of the memoria


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1535.] technica of ignorance, the ancient text-book of à priori knowledge, established for centuries the supreme despot in the Oxford lecture-rooms. 'We have set Duns in Bocardo,' says Leyton. He was thrown down from his high estate, and from being lord of the Oxford intellect, was ' made the common servant of all men;' condemned by official sentence to the lowest degradation to which book can be submitted. Some copies escaped this worst fate; but for changed uses thenceforward. The second occasion on which the visitors came to New College, they 'found the great Quadrant Court full of the leaves of Duns, the wind blowing them into every corner; and one Mr Greenfield, a gentleman of Buckinghamshire, gathering up part of the same book leaves, as he said, to make him sewers of blawnsheres, to keep the deer within his wood, thereby to have the better cry with his hounds.'

To such base uses all things return at last; dust unto dust, when the life has died out of them, and the living world needs their companionship no longer.

On leaving Oxford, the visitors spread over England, north, south, east, and west. We trace Legh in rapid progress through Bedfordshire, Cambridgeshire, Lincoln, Yorkshire, and Northumberland; Leyton through Middlesex, Kent, Sussex, Hants, Somersetshire, and Devon. They appeared at monastery after monastery, with prompt, decisive questions; and if the truth was concealed, with expedients for discovering it, in which


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316 practice soon made them skilful. All but everywhere the result was the same. At intervals a light breaks through, and symptoms appear of some efforts after decency; but in the vast majority of the smaller houses, the previous results were repeated, the popular suspicions were more than confirmed. Wolsey, when writing to the Pope of his intended reformation, had spoken of the animus improbus, and the frightful symptoms which existed of it. He was accused, in his attempted impeachment, of having defamed the character of the English clergy. Yet Wolsey had written no more than the truth, as was too plainly discovered. I do not knowwhat to say on this matter, or what to leave unsaid. If I am to relate the suppression of the monasteries, I should relate also why they were suppressed. If I wereto tell the truth, I should have first to warn all modest eyes to close the book, and read no further. It will perhaps be sufficient if I introduce a few superficial stories, suggestive rather than illustrative of the dark matter which remains in the shade.

I have spoken more than once of the monastery of Sion. It was the scene of the Nun of Kent's intrigues. It furnished more than one martyr for the Catholic cause; and the order was Carthusian—one of the strictest in England. There were two houses attached to the same establishment—one of monks, another of nuns. The confessors of the women were chosen from the friars, and they were found to have abused their opportunities in the most infamous manner. With a hateful mixture of sensuality and superstition, the offence and the


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 quite cold, then work it up into a stiff paste, and form it into what shape you please, and build your walls for a standing pye.

BOMBOONS, PASTILS, &c. &c.

To make Nut Bomboons.

Take pound of Spanish nuts, and boil them in an iron pan; when they are well boiled, rub off their skin with a napkin; if some stick too hard, pare it off with a knife; take a tin grater and grate your nuts very fine on a sheet of paper; then take a pound of powdered sugar to a pound of nuts, put it in a pan over a slow fire; when your sugar is all melted in stirring it perpetually with a wooden spoon, put your nuts in and work them well till all is well mixed, and pour it upon a tin plate; take a wooden rolling pin to spread it, which you must be very quick in doing, for it cools very fast; and when it is cold cut it into what form you please; you must take care the sugar should not be too much melted, for it is very apt to soften when the nuts are joined to it.

Lemon or Orange Bomboons

Take a piece of loaf sugar, rasp the oranges or lemons with it, brush off what sticks to the sugar upon a paper; then pound in a mortar the same piece of sugar, and put it in a pan with that which is upon the paper, and which tastes of


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1535.] went hand-in-hand. One of these confessors, so zealous for the Pope that he professed himself ready to die for the Roman cause, was in the habit of using language so filthy to his penitents, that it was necessary to 'sequester him from hearing ladies' confessions.' The nuns petitioned the visitors, on the exposure of the seduction of a sister, that he and his companion might come to them no more; and the friar was told that his abominable conduct might be the occasion that 'shrift should be laid down in England.'

This is one instance of an evil found fatally prevalent.

Again, the clergy were suspected of obtaining dispensations from their superiors indulging them in a breach of their vows. The laxity of the Church courts in dealing with clerical delinquents had perhaps given rise to this belief; but the accusation was confirmed by a discovery at Maiden Bradley, in Wiltshire. The prior of this house had a family of illegitimate children, whom he brought up and provided for in a very comfortable manner; and the visitor wrote that 'the Pope, considering his fragility,' had granted him a license in this little matter; that he had, in fact, 'a good writing sub plumbo, to discharge his conscience.' I do not easily


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318 believe that authentic dispensations of such a kind were obtained from Rome, or were obtainable from it; but of forged dispensations, invented by reverend offenders or fraudulently issued by the local ecclesiastical authorities, to keep appearances smooth, there were probably enough, and too many.

The more ordinary experiences of the commissioners may be described by Leyton himself, in an account which he wrote of his visit to Langden Abbey, near Dover. The style is graphic, and the picture of the scene one of the most complete which remains. The letter is to Cromwell.

'Please it your goodness to understand that on Friday, the 22nd of October, I rode back with speed to take an inventory of Folkstone, and from thence I went to Langden. Whereat immediately descending from my horse, I sent Bartlett, your servant, with all my servants, to circumspect the abbey, and surely to keep all back-doors and starting-holes. I myself went alone to the abbot's lodging, joining upon the fields and wood, even like a cony clapper, full of starting-holes. [I was] a good space knocking at the abbot's door; nec vox nec sensus apparuit, saving the abbot's little dog that within his door fast locked bayed and barked. I found a short poleaxe standing behind the door, and with it I dashed the abbot's door in pieces, ictu oculi,


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1535.] and set one of my men to keep that door; and about the house I go, with that poleaxe in my hand, ne forte, for the abbot is a dangerous desperate knave, and a hardy. But for a conclusion, his gentlewoman bestirred her stumps towards her starting-holes; and then Bartlett, watching the pursuit, took the tender damoisel; and, after I had examined her, [brought her] to Dover to the Mayor, to set her in some cage or prison for eight days; and I brought holy father abbot to Canterbury, and here in Christchurch I will leave him in prison. In this sudden doing ex tempore, to circumspect the house, and to search, your servant John Antony's men marvelled what fellow I was, and so did the rest of the abbey, for I was unknown there of all men. I found her apparel in the abbot's coffer. To tell you all this comedy (but for the abbot a tragedy), it were too long. Now it shall appear to gentlemen of this country, and other the commons, that ye shall not deprive or visit, but upon substantial grounds. The rest of all this knavery I shall defer till my coming unto you, which shall be with as much speed as I can possible.'

Towards the close of the year, Leyton went north to join Legh; and together they visited a nunnery at Lichfield. The religious orders were bound by oaths similar to those which have recently created difficulty in Oxford. They were sworn to divulge nothing which might prejudice the interests of the houses. The superior at Lichfield availed herself of this plea. When


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Rh of the lemon or orange; set it upon a gentle fire to melt it slowly; after which pour it upon a tin plate, which must be rubbed before with a little butter, or it will stick to the plate; then spread it with the rolling-pin as you did for the nuts (observe the rolling-pin must likewise be rubbed with butter, for fear it should stick) when this is done, and it is perfectly cold, cut it in what shape you please and send it up.

To make Bitter Almond Bomboons.

Take bitter almonds, boil them in water to take off their skin; after which place them in a stove to dry them; when they are well dried, take a grater and do as directed for the nuts; you must put the same weight of sugar as almonds.

To make Coffee-Cream Bomboons.

Take about a pint of coffee made with water, put in it a pound of loaf sugar, set it on the fire, and boil it to a high degree, then add a full pint of double cream, and let it boil again, keeping continually stirring till it comes to caramel height; to know when it is come to that point, you must have a bason of water by you, dip your finger in it, and put it quickly in your sugar, then in the water again to remove the sugar, which will have stuck to it; take a bit of it in your teeth, if it is hard in its crackling take it off, it is to the height required; pour it upon a tin plate, and proceed as directed for the lemon bomboons: when it is warm you may cut it in little squares, lozenges, or any other shaped pastiles, and draw a few strokes over them with a knife.

To


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320 questioned as to the state of the convent, she and the sisterhood refused to allow that there was any disorder, or any irregularity, which could give occasion for inquiry. Her assertions were not implicitly credited; the inspection proceeded, and at length two of the sisters were discovered to be 'not barren;' a priest in one instance having been the occasion of the misfortune, and a serving-man in the other. No confession could be obtained either from the offenders themselves, or from the society. The secret was betrayed by an 'old beldame;' 'and when,' says Leyton, 'I objected against the prioresses, that if they could not show me a cause reasonable of their concealment, I must needs, and would, punish them for their manifest perjury,—their answer was, that they were bound by their religion never to confess the secret faults done amongst them, but only to a visitor of their own religion, and to that they were sworn, every one of them, on their first admission.'

A little later the commissioners were at Fountains Abbey; and tourists, who in their day-dreams amongst those fair ruins are inclined to complain of the sacrilege which wasted the houses of prayer, may study with advantage the following account of that house in the year which preceded its dissolution. The outward beautiful ruin was but the symbol and consequence of a moral ruin not so beautiful. 'The Abbot of Fountains,' we read in a joint letter of Legh and Leyton, had


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 CHAPTER II.

is of course the lion of Auckland, after the harbour, but next to these, the most conspicuous features in the suburbs, to the stranger at all events, are the wooden houses, the hawthorn hedges, and the stone walls made of the scoriæ blocks, which bestrew the ground so thickly. These stone walls remind one of an upland Scottish or Irish parish, and the resemblance is strengthened in places by the appearance of a sod wall surmounted by a prickly furze hedging. The ascent up Mount Eden is very steep. A few clumps of pines have been planted here and there, and relieve the nakedness of the hill. When near the summit, you get a view of the deep circular crater, with its débris of loose boulders in the centre. Cows graze peacefully now in the still basin; and nursemaids, babies, mashers, and maidens, and all the modern medley of tourists munch their apples, display their fashions, or sweep

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 the horizon with field-glasses, from the terraces erstwhile occupied by cannibals. Here and there a heap of glistening white pipi shells marks the spot where the tattooed warriors, when "long pig" was scarce, regaled themselves on the shell-fish, laboriously carried up the mount, from the adjacent shores by the comely dark-skinned women, in the brief intervals of peace between the tribes.

The scene from Mount Eden is surely unique in its diverse beauty and grandeur. Here may be seen at one glance, the tide at its flow on the eastern shore—laving the rugged fringe of Rangitoto, the bold bluffs of the north shore, and the terraced sweep of the mainland—and lapping lazily the massive timbers of the wharves, where the big ships and steamers are busy discharging their multifarious cargo. On the western side the tide is at the same identical moment receding through the tortuous channels of Manukau harbour, leaving the broad mud flats, with their rocky environment, reeking and steaming—bare, black, and ugly—under the rays of the afternoon sun. The suburbs glow with beauty, as the light gleams on bright roofs, snug gardens, young plantations, and dark green masses of pine and cedar. The domain below, with its wild entanglement of natural bush, fern-trees and dark undergrowth, looks cosy, cool, and refreshing; everywhere is the glint of water, relieving the tumbled masses of scoriæ, the circling outlines of extinct volcanoes, and fortuitous jumble of buildings. The background is filled in by bold outlines of ragged peak

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 and crested hill, amid the recesses of which, masses of bush and forest show as great black patches; and the cloudlets trail, like the shreds of a great veil, which the merry western breeze has torn and riven to tatters.

As one withdraws the eye from the marvellously diversified panorama of loveliness, and looks into the yawning barren ugliness of the burnt-up focus of bygone fire at his feet, the abrupt transition is one of those rare experiences which form a landmark in memory, and the scene is imprinted with photographic fidelity on the recollection, never again to be effaced.

Cab fares are absurdly high in Auckland. Five shillings an hour is rather too much to pay for the luxury of being jostled about in a vehicle, which, whatever the horse may be, is decidedly inferior in comfort and cleanliness to an average Sydney cab.

"The nimble sixpence" is thought more of here than in Sydney. Children will even accept a penny with an approach to gratitude, and not spurn it with the supercilious scorn of a Sydney gamin. Street porters, each with his hand lorry, wait at the corners of the streets to transport parcels or baggage, and I found them a decided convenience—civil in their conversation, and reasonable in their charges. If you want your luggage taken to the steamer, samples taken round to a customer, or any little carrying job done, one of these porters will save you the expense of a cab or van, and this class might well be introduced into

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 Sydney. Street commissionaires would be well patronized, and the municipality might take the hint and issue licences. The horse trams are much patronized, and are, in my humble opinion, infinitely more suited to the busy streets of a city, than the snorting, noisy, smoking, gritty abominations which monopolize the right of way in the busiest streets of the New South Wales capital. But enough of Auckland.

Taking advantage of the Easter holidays, we took out our excursion tickets for the hot lakes, and started on the Wednesday—a merry party of six.

The railway runs on the narrow gauge, but the carriages are comfortable and clean, and are of local manufacture. The employés were not remarkable for either smartness or civility—at least such was my experience. Doubtless travellers are often exacting and inconsiderate; but tact, temper, and urbanity are as essential to a railway porter as to a policeman; and it is after all just as easy to be courteous to a stranger, as rude. The appearance and behaviour of the railway officials here, struck me as being slovenly and boorish. They seemed to deem it incumbent on them, with luggage especially, to completely outvie the ordinary coasting steamboat sailor in the vigour of their haulage and the destructiveness of their handling. The guards I do not include in this adverse criticism, as we found them polite, active, and neat.

The railway stations do not strike one as being

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 To make Orange-Flower Bomboons.

Take dried, burnt, or what we shall call pralined orange flower, which pound in a mortar, and pass through a sieve; then take half a pound of pounded loaf sugar, which mix with your orange flower, and put into a pan over a slow fire, to melt it gently in, stirring continually with a spoon; when it is all well melted, pour it on a tin plate, and do as directed for the lemon bomboons.

To make pralined Almonds.

Take a pound of almonds, clean them well of their dust with a cloth, put them in a pan, with a pound of sugar and a little water, let them boil till they begin to sparkle; then take them off the fire, and stir them well with a wooden spoon, till you see the sugar will turn gravelly; then set them again over a slow fire, to dissolve the sugar, keeping still stirring, that the sugar may stick to the almonds; when you see your almonds become reddish, and are well covered with sugar, take them off, pour them in a sieve, cover them with a clean cloth, and put them in a stove; this makes them preserve their gloss.

To make pralined Nuts.

Take a pound of Spanish nuts without their shells, which put in a pan with as much sugar, and proceed as directed for almonds; you may boil the nuts a little if you chuse, to take off them


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 elaborately ornate. In fact they err too much on the other side, and are painfully bare and devoid of comfort. The platforms, for instance, need not be all sand and dust and grit, however much from the draper's and cobbler's point of view these may be desirable concomitants. Surely, too, a few benches for tired intending passengers, and a decent awning or some shelter from the elements, might be provided. The line is not fenced, and so the engines are all provided with ponderous cowcatchers. Some attempts have been made, here and there, to plant shade-trees along the track; but no attempt at gardening has as yet seemingly been attempted by station-masters. Judging from the published time-tables I should think they had plenty of time on their hands to devote a little attention in this direction.

Around Auckland, the country seems pretty populous. Farm-houses are frequent, villas numerous, cultivation common, and every now and then a modest little spire marks the site of a snug little village. The strata we note in the cuttings is ridgy, wavy, and streaked like a ribbon, showing the volcanic influences that have been at work.

Nearing the Waikato Hills, whose broken outlines loom out dark on the horizon; we pass great rich flats, with a black, peaty soil; and here, draining and trenching is being extensively carried on. Where the land lies higher, nothing is to be seen but league upon league of bracken and manouka, or ti-tree scrub. This is as characteristic of

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 all northern New Zealand scenery as gum-trees are of Australia, or heather of the Scottish Highlands. The perpetual unbroken stretch of dun brown or green fern soon grows very monotonous. In all the swamps, flax and green sedge (the raupo of the natives) form an agreeable contrast to the eternal ferns.

In places, black tracts show where the fern has been burned down, and in many a distant valley and on the flanks of all the hills we see the smoke of fires, where the annual autumn burning is even now being proceeded with. The cattle are fat and sleek. The sheep, compared with the ordinary Australian "muttons," look gigantic. At one village we see a rustic mill, with its water-wheel busily revolving, and the water splashing from its glistening blades. It is the first water-mill we have seen for years. Clear water and foaming rivulets, plashing over black rocks; still brooks, gleaming from a sedgy margin; or small still lakes, glistening like jewels in some emerald setting, all testify to the fact that here Nature is kinder than with us in drought-haunted Australia.

At Mercer, which is a tidy compact village with wide streets, we stop for lunch, and see our first batch of Maoris, dressed in gaudy prints and blankets. Every woman has a child a-straddle on her back, and a short black pipe in her mouth. The men look awkward, shambling, and out of place in their ill-fitting European garments.

Here, the strong Waikato flows with a peaceful, sluggish-looking current. Deceptive enough this,

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 as it is in reality swift and full of eddies and undertows, which make it dangerous to bathers. This most beautiful river we keep with us now all the way up to Cambridge, getting an occasional glimpse of its pure free current as the banks here and there open, while we pursue our onward course.

At Huntley there are two coal-mines, with great beds of burning refuse; lines of rail and staiths on the river for the trucks. A small river steamer is here loading. The scene suggests what Newcastle must have been in its very early days.

An irate Irishwoman now affords amusement to the passengers by opening out on the colliery doctor, for some real or imaginary dereliction of duty. She stormed in orthodox virago fashion, and the poor disciple of Galen meekly had to bow before the storm of Celtic wrath. If I might interpret the glitter in his eye, and the flush on his wrinkled cheek, however, I would say that if ever that Irishwoman chances to be in need of his medical services, she may have to undergo about the very liveliest time that all the occult resources of the pharmacopœia are capable of producing.

Note this young, nice-looking Maori girl. What a "get up!" Man's hat, with feathers of sorts, Scotch shawl of the "dambrod" pattern, and the colours such as we see in early prints of Joseph when dressed in his historical coat. A vivid green scarf, pinchbeck brooch as big as a highland targe, flaming red petticoat, and high-heeled boots, complete the bizarre costume. And yet the colours, loud and outré as they are, seem to

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 suit the soft, warm complexion, the black hair, gleaming teeth, and lustrous eyes of the dusky maiden.

At a small village, with an unpronounceable native name, where the Waipa mingles its pellucid stream with the blue Waikato, we see the remains of an ancient Maori burying-place. It is market-day here. Crowds of stalwart lads career madly up and down on horseback, chasing unruly mobs of bellowing cattle to and fro. Substantial-looking farmers and dealers are congregated round the chief hotel. A busy hum and general bustle bespeak active business; and the neat cottages peeping from clumps of ash, elm, plane, and oak, surrounded with gardens; and the bright, clear river sparkling beside us, all carry our thoughts back to the mother country; and we could easily fancy we were again at a village fair in dear old England.

Now we are entering on the famous Waikato pastures. The cattle would delight the eye of a farmer. Cheese-making is here a flourishing industry. The people all seem healthy, happy, and well-to-do. The air is exhilarating; our spirits rise, our chests expand; and as the train rolls into Cambridge, our halting-place for the night, we feel hungry enough to eat a tailor stuffed with needles.

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Rh their skin, but then the sugar does not stick on them so well. You may also make all sorts of pralines with clarified sugar, which must be proportioned in equal quantity to the weight of sugar you want to praline; your work will be certainly much the finer, for generally they use loaf sugar.

To make pralined Pistachio Nuts.

Take a pound of pistachio nuts ready shelled, have a pound of water on the fire, when it boils put your nuts in it, let them boil thus a little, then take them off and rub off their skin; put them again in another pan with an equal quantity of sugar, and continue exactly as directed for the almonds.

To make pralined Orange Peel.

Take any quantity of oranges, part them into four quarters, take their rind off, and take away very carefully all the white which is inwardly attached to it, so that there remains nothing but the very superficy of the yellow rind,which cut in strings as narrow as you please; when that is done, have a pan, in which you put some clarified sugar, and let it boil a little, then put your orange rind in, let the whole boil together to a high degree; take it off and stir it with a wooden spoon, till you see your sugar is well mixed together: you may set it again on the fire if you chuse, keeping stirring till you see the sugar begins to dissolve, then take it off immediately; this will make your orange rind firm and crackling in the mouth. As


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 As there are people who do not like the bitterness of the orange rind, you may, in such a case, give a little boiling to your rinds before you put them in sugar.

To make fresh Orange Flower pralined.

Take any quantity of orange flowers, pick them carefully leaf by leaf; when that is done, have a pan with what quantity of clarified sugar that is necessary, boil it as before, then put your orange flower in; you will see that it will spoil all your sugar by the water it will throw off; let it boil thus till your sugar recovers as far as the first degree, then take it from the fire, and stir it till your sugar turn sand or gravel-like: should it not dry so well as you would have it, set it again on the fire, and keep stirring it perpetually, till you see your sugar begins to melt; take it off immediately, and continue by stirring to reduce it into a sand: better to have a little more trouble in working your sugar to reduce in sand, because then the orange flower does not take so much sugar, and has a better flavour; after it is dried throw it in a sieve to drain the sugar from it, and keep nothing but the flower; then place it in that sieve, in the stove, to finish drying it quite, stirring now and then for fear it should stick together; when it is well dried, put it in your boxes and keep it for use.

To make Lemon Pastils.

Take half a pound of pounded loaf sugar, sifted as fine as possible, put it in a plate, take three or four lemons, which squeeze over your sugar; mix it well with a spoon, till you see it


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Rh it makes what is called a royal paste, a little thickish, that you may take it upon a knife: then take half a sheet of paper and cover it with little, round, and flat drops, which we call pastils, of the size of a farthing; place it in the stove with a slow, fire till it is quite dry, and take if off from the paper; you may add to it, if you chuse, some of the skin of the lemon rasped or grated, but not chipped; for as it is a melting pastil, some of the bits would remain in the mouth, which is not quite so well.

To make Chocolate Pastils.

Take a little chocolate, which put in a pan over the fire to melt it; stir it with a spoon, when it is well melted, take half a pounded in a mortar and sifted, which dissolved in a little clear water. When that is done, put in your chocolate; if you find the paste too thick, add a little water, enough to bring it to that degree of liquidity specified for the lemons; then dress it on half sheets of paper as we then directed, but do not put it in the stove, for the heat softens chocolate; let it dry naturally in a cupboard, and when dry, take them off from the paper and put them in boxes for such purpose.

To make Raspberry Pastils.

Take half a pound of pounded loaf sugar on a plate, then a quantity of raspberries, which squeeze through a sieve; when that is done, add the juice to the sugar till it makes a paste of that consistency specified in speaking of the lemons; dress


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 was difficult to find. We drove hard for hours, doubting much whether we had not lost our way. My comrade was sure of it. And

as a somewhat irreverent poetaster hath it, when we disputed in the gathering gloom as to whether or not we were miles distant from Dunmore—our port of refuge—or had really hit off the right track. My friend, in hoarse boding tones, commenced to speculate as to how we should pass the night under a steady rainfall, and how many miles off, in different directions, the cattle would be by morning. My answer was simple but effective—"There's the horse-paddock!" It was even so. Straining my eyes, I had caught sight through the timber of a two-railed sapling fence. It was enough. Paddocks were not then five miles square, and as likely to be twenty miles from the homestead as one. Dear labour and limited credit militated against reckless outlay in posts and rails. A 100-acre enclosure for horses and working bullocks was all that was then deemed necessary. To see the paddock was to see the house.

A considerable "revulsion of feeling" took place with both of us as we slogged the tired cattle round the fence and came in view of the old Dunmore homestead, then considered one of the best improved in the district. To be sure, it would not make much show now beside Burrabogie or Groongal, let alone Ercildoune or Trawalla, and a few others in the west. But then some of the shepherd kings thought

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 it no dishonour to sleep in a watch-box for a month at a time, and a slab gunyah with a fold of hurdles was held to be sufficient improvement for a medium sheep station. At Dunmore there were three substantial slab huts with huge stone chimneys, a pisé-work dairy, a loose-box for Traveller, the son of Camerton, as well as a large milking-yard and cowshed. A great dam across the River Shaw provided an ornamental sheet of water.

The season was, as I have stated, verging on midwinter. The day was wet. The drove of milkers passing and repassing had converted the ground outside of the huts, which were protected by the paddock fence, into a sea of mud, depth from one foot to two feet. Through this we approached the yard. If I live to be a hundred I shall never forget the sight which now met my astonished eyes. A gentleman emerged from the principal building in conspicuously clean raiment, having apparently just arrayed himself for the evening meal. He proceeded calmly to wade through the mud-ocean until he reached the yard, where he took down the clay-beplastered rails, leaving the gate open for our cattle. I declare I nearly fainted with grateful emotion at this combination of self-sacrifice with the loftiest ideal of hospitality. We had never met before either; but long years of after-friendship with James Irvine only enabled me to perceive that it was the natural outcome of a generous nature and a heart loyal to every impulse of gentle blood.

Another night's mud for the poor cattle. But I reflected that the next day would see them enfranchised, and on their own "run." So, dismissing the

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 subject from my mind, I followed my chivalrous host to the guests' hut—a snug, separate building, where we made our simple toilettes with great comfort and satisfaction. After some cautious walking on a raised pathway we gained the "house," where I was introduced to Messrs. Campbell and Macknight—for the firm was a triumvirate.

Dwelling in a drought-afflicted district across the border, where for months the milk question had been in abeyance, or feebly propped up by the imported Swiss product, and where butter is not, how it refreshes one to recall the great jug of cream which graced that comfortable board, the pats of fresh butter, the alluring short-cake, the baronial sirloin. How we feasted first. How we talked round the glowing log-piled fire afterwards. How we slept under piles of blankets till sunrise.

Mrs. Teviot, the housekeeper, peerless old Scottish dame that she was (has not Henry Kingsley immortalised her?); for how many a year did she provide for the comforts of host and guest unapproachably, unimpeachably. How indelibly is that evening imprinted on my memory. Marked with a white stone in life's not all-cheerful record. On that evening was commenced a friendship that only closed with life, and which knew for the whole of its duration neither cloud nor misgiving. If a man's future is ever determined by the character of his associates and surroundings at a critical period of life, my vicinity to Dunmore must have powerfully influenced mine. In close, almost daily, association with men of high principle, great energy, early culture, and refined habits, I could not fail to gain

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 signal benefit, to imbibe elevated ideas, to share broad and ennobling ideas of colonisation.

As soon as we could see next morning the cattle were let out and "tailed" on the thick, rich pasturage, which surrounded every homestead in those good old days. After breakfast I set out to find my station; that is, the exact spot where it had pleased my retainers to camp. I found them about seven miles westward of Dunmore, on a cape of lightly-timbered land which ran into the great Eumeralla marsh; a corresponding point of the lava country, popularly known as The Rocks, jutted out to meet it. On this was a circular pond-like depression, where old Tom, my venerable guide and explorer, had in a time of drought once seen a dingo drinking. He had christened it the Native Dog Hole—a name which it bears to this day. And at the Doghole-point had my man Joe Burge commenced to fell timber for a brush-yard, put up the walls of a sod hut, unpacked such articles as would not suffer from weather, and generally commenced the first act of homestead occupation. I was greeted with enthusiasm. And as Old Tom the stock-rider was at once despatched to Dunmore to bring over the cattle, with Mr. Cunningham, my friend and travelling companion, I hobbled out my charger and proceeded to inspect my newly-acquired territory.

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 SQUATTLESEA MERE

and successful ambition swelled my breast on that first morning as I looked round on my run. My run! my own station! How fine a sound it had, and how fine a thing it was that I should have the sole occupancy—almost ownership—of about 50,000 acres of “wood and wold,” mere and marshland, hill and dale. It was all my own—after a fashion—that is, I had but to receive my squatting license, under the hand of the Governor of the Australias, for which I paid ten pounds, and no white man could in any way disturb, harass, or dispossess me. I have that first license yet, signed by Sir Charles Fitzroy, the Governor-General. It was a valuable document in good earnest, and many latter-day pastoralists with a “Thursday to Thursday” tenure would be truly glad to have such another. There were no free-selectors in those days. No one could buy land except at auction when once the special surveys had been abrogated. There were no travelling reserves, or water reserves, or gold-fields, or mineral licenses, or miners’ rights, or

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 dress it on the paper and put it in the stove till dry.

Another Way to make Raspberry Pastils.

Mash the raspberries, put in a little water, boil and strain them, then half a pound of fine sugar, sifted through an hair sieve; just wet the sugar to make it as thick as a paste; put to it twenty drops of spirits of vitriol, set it over the fire, making it scalding hot, but not to boil: drop it on paper, it will soon be dry; if it will not come off easily, wet the paper. Let them lie a day or two on the same paper.

To make Currant Pastils.

Do exactly as directed for the raspberries; you have no occasion to put any water to these two sorts, because the juice of the fruit is enough of itself to dissolve the sugar, and make your paste as thick and as clear as you would have it.

To make Coffee Pastils.

Take half a pound of pounded loaf sugar, have about the quantity of two dishes of coffee made with water, which put in your sugar, and mix well till you see it makes a royal paste a little thick, and proceed as before directed for the lemon drops.

You may make them another way, viz. with ground coffee, which you sift very fine through a sieve, then adding a little water, as directed for the chocolate drops.

To make Orange Pastils.

Take about a dozen oranges, squeeze out the juice, boil the rind very tender, cut out most of the


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Rh the white, and beat the yellow rind very fine; rub it through an hair sieve, and to a pound of the pulp put a pound and a half of fine sugar, put in the juice till you make it thin enough to drop from a tea-spoon: drop it on glasses, and set it by the fire; let it stand there about two hours, and then put it in a stove; the next day turn it: it will be dry in twenty-four hours.

To make Barberry Pastils.

Take a good quantity of barberries, strip them off the stalks; put to them a little water, to keep them from burning; boil them, and mash them as they boil, till they are very dry; then rub them through an hair sieve, and afterwards strain them through a strainer, that there may be none of the black noses in it; make it scalding hot, and half a pint of the pulp a pound of the sifted sugar; let it scald, and drop it on boards or glasses; then put it in a stove, and turn it when it is candied.

To make Ratafia Pastils, either of Apricot Kernels, or half bitter, and half sweet Almonds.

Take a pound of kernels or almonds, beat very fine with rose-water, take a pound of sifted sugar and the whites of five eggs beat to a froth, mix them well together, and set them on a slow fire; keep them stirring till they begin to be stiff: when they are quite cold, make them in little round drops; bake them on paper and thin plates. CONSERVES.


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 To make Violet Conserve.

Take any quantity of violets, which pick carefully leaf by leaf from their stalk, put them in a little mortar and pound them well, take them out with a card and put them in a saucer; then take a little clarified sugar, boil it to a high degree, take it off from the fire, add your violets to it, and stir it well with a spoon, but not to dissolve it; grating of it very fine will answer the same purpose.

To make Lemon and Orange Conserve.

Take a lemon or an orange, grate the rind with a tin grater, put the powder in a saucer, squeeze the juice of the fruit over it, mix it well together with a spoon, then boil some sugar very high, because what you put in it is a liquor, since it is the juice and the grating of the fruit mixt together lowers the sugar, which requires the sugar to be boiled a little higher for this sort of conserve than for the others: when your sugar is boiled to the proper height mix it in your composition, and proceed on just the same as directed for the other conserves.

To make White Lemon Conserve.

Boil a pound of the finest sugar, but no so high as before; take it off the fire, and squeeze the juice of a lemon in it, at different times, stirring continually; it will make the sugar as white as milk, if properly done; take care not to drop any


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Rh any of the seeds in it; work it well together, and pour it in the moulds, when it is mixed of an equal substance, which prove by pouring some with a spoon, as any other jelly.

To make Pomegranate Conserve.

Take a good large ripe pomegranate of a fine colour, seed it one after another; then squeeze it in a linen cloth, to get the juice, which boil, and reduce a half; put it to a pound of sugar, refined as for violet conserve; when it is half cold, work it well together and dress it in the moulds as usual.

To make Conserve of Hips.

Gather your hips before they grow soft, cut off the heads and stalks, split them in half, and take out all the seeds and white; put them in an earthen pan, stir them every day lest grow mouldy, and let them stand till they are soft enough to rub through a coarse hair sieve; they are a dry berry and rub through with some difficulty; add to them their weight in sugar, and mix them well together without boiling, keeping it in gallypots for use.

To make Conserve of Red Roses.

Take red rose buds, bruise them in a marble mortar, adding by degrees fine powder sugar sifted, to the quantity of three pounds; beat them till no particles arise, and till the whole becomes a firm and solid mixture.

To make Conserve of Oranges Peel.

Take the clear rind of oranges, steep them in water of a moderate heat till they are tender; then


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 then strain the water from them, pound them in a marble-mortar, and strain them through sieve; then bring the pulp to a proper consistence over a gentle fire, and add to it thrice its quantity of sugar, and let it be reduced into a conserve by beating it in a mortar.

To make Conserve of Quinces.

Pare the quinces, take out the cores and seeds, then cut them into small pieces, boil them till they are soft; to eight pounds of quinces put in six pounds of sugar, boil them to a consistence.

To make Conserve of Red Roses, or any other Flowers.

Take rose buds, or any other flowers, and pick them; cut off the white part from the red, and take the red flowers and sift them through a sieve, to get out the seeds; then weigh them, and to every pound of flowers take two pounds and a half of loaf sugar; beat the flowers pretty fine in a stone mortar, then by degrees put the sugar to them, and beat it till it is well incorporated together; then put it into gallipots, tie it over with paper, an over that a leather, and it will keep seven years.

To make Conserve of Cherries.

Stone your cherries, and boil them a moment, sift them, and reduce the juice on a slow fire till it comes to a pretty thick marmalade; add the proportion of a pound to a pound of sugar. COMPOTES.


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 any of the new-fangled contrivances for letting the same land to half a dozen people at one and the same time.

There was nothing which some people would consider to be romantic or picturesque in the scenery on which I gazed. But the “light which never was on sea or shore” was there, to shed a celestial glory over the untilled, unfenced, half-unknown waste. Westward stretched the great marshes, through which the Eumeralla flowed, if, indeed, that partially subterranean stream could be said to run or flow anywhere. Northward lay the lava-bestrewn country known as the Mount Eeles rocks, a mass of cooled and cracked lava now matted with a high thick sward of kangaroo grass, but so rough and sharp were the piles and plateaux of scoria that it was dangerous to ride a horse over it. For years after we preferred to work it on foot with the aid of dogs.

On the south lay open slopes and low hills, with flats between. On these last grew the beautiful umbrageous blackwood, or native hickory, one of the handsomest trees in Australia. At the back were again large marshes, with heathy flats and more thickly-timbered forests. Over all was a wonderful sward of grass, luxuriant and green at the time I speak of, and quite sufficient, as I thought, for the sustenance of two or three thousand head of mixed cattle.

There were no great elevations to be seen. It was one of the “low countries” in a literal sense. The only hill in view was that of Mount Eeles, which we could see rising amid the lava levels a few miles to the north-west. The marshes were for the most

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 part free from timber. But a curious formation of “islands,” as the stock-rider called them, prevailed, which tended much to the variety and beauty of the landscape.

These were isolated areas, of from ten to one hundred acres, raised slightly above the ordinary winter level of the marshes. The soil on these “islands” was exceptionally good, and, from the fact of their being timbered like the ordinary mainland, they afforded an effective contrast to the miles of water or waving reeds of which the marshes consisted. They served admirably also for cattle camps. To them the cattle always retired at noonday in summer, and at night in winter and spring-time. One “island,” not very far from our settlement, was known as “Kennedy’s island,” the gallant ill-fated explorer who had surveyed a road to the town of Portland some years before my arrival having made his camp there. How far he was to wander from the pleasant green west country, only to die by the spear of a crouching savage, within sight of the ship that had been sent to bring him safely home after his weary desert trail!

We didn’t know anything of the nature of dry country in those days. All the land I looked upon was deep-swarded, thickly-verdured as an English meadow. Wild duck swam about in the pools and meres of the wide misty fen, with its brakes of tall reeds and “marish-marigolds”—“the sword-grass and the oat-grass and the bulrush by the pool.” Overhead long strings of wild swan clanged and swayed. There were wild beasts (kangaroo and dingoes), Indians (blacks, whose fires in “The Rocks” we

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Vivekachudamani (Swami Madhavananda)/2

Translation
Work is for the purification of the mind, not for the perception of the reality. The realisation of Truth is brought about by discrimination and not in the least by ten millions of acts.

Translation
12. By adequate reasoning the conviction of the reality about the rope is gained, which puts an end to the great fear and misery caused by the snake worked up in the deluded mind.

[ Reality of the rope — realisation that it is a rope and not a snake, for which it was mistaken. ]

Translation
13. The conviction of the Truth is seen to proceed from reasoning upon the salutary counsel of the wise, and not by bathing in the sacred waters, nor by Daan, nor by hundreds of Pranayamas,

Glossary

 * The wise — men of realisation
 * Daan — Gift, Donation
 * Pranayam — Breathing exercises

Translation
Success depends essentially on a qualified aspirant, and time, place and such other means are but auxiliaries in this regard.

[The qualifications will be enumerated in stanzas 1 6 and 17.]

Translation
Hence the seeker after the Reality of the Atman should take to reasoning, after duly approaching the Guru — who should be the best of the knowers of Brahman, aod an ocean of mercy„

16. The intelligent and learned man skilled in arguing in favour of the Scriptures and refuting counter-arguments against them, — one who has got the above characteristics is the fit recipient of the knowledge of the Atman.

17. The man of discrimination between the Real and the unreal, whose mind is turned away from the unreal, who possesses calmness and the allied virtues, and Is longing for Liberation, is alone considered qualified to inquire after Brahman.

18. Regarding this, sages have spoken of four means of attainment, which alone being present, the devotion to Brahman succeeds, and in the absence of which, it fails.

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 could see), a pathless waste, and absolute freedom and independence. These last were the most precious possessions of all. No engagements, no office work, no fixed hours, no sums or lessons of any kind or sort. I felt as if this splendid Robinson Crusoe kind of life was too good to be true. Who was I that I should have had this grand inheritance of happiness immeasurable made over to me? What a splendid world it was, to be sure! Why did people ever repine or complain? I should have made short work of Mr. Mallock, and have settled the argument "Is life worth living?" had it then arisen between us, with more haste than logic. Action, however, must in colonisation never fail to accompany contemplation. To which end I returned to our camp, just in time to partake of the simple, but appetising, meal which Mrs. Burge had prepared for us.

Cold corned beef, hot tea, and a famous fresh damper, the crust of which I still hold to be better than any other species of bread whatever, when accompanied, as in the case referred to, with good, sweet, fresh butter. How splendid one's appetite was after hours spent in the fresh morning air. How complete the satisfaction when it all came to an end.

Then commenced a council of war, in which Joe Burge was a leading spokesman. "Old Tom can look after the cattle. Mr. Cunningham and I will go and fell a tree. I know one handy that'll run out nigh on a hundred slabs, and if you'll bring up the bullocks and dray to the stump, sir, to-night, we'll have a load of slabs ready to take home."

What was the next thing that was necessary to be done?

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 To build a house.

At present we were living under a dray. Now, a dray is not so bad a covering at night, when extremely sleepy and tired, but in daylight it is valueless. And if it rains—and in the west it often did, and I am informed does still, though not so hard as it did then—the want of a permanent shelter makes itself felt.

The walls of a sod hut were indeed already up. Clean-cut black cubes, rather larger than bricks, when new and moist, make a neat, solid wall. In little more than a day we had a thatched roof completed, so that we were able to have our evening meal in comfort, and even luxury. A couple of fixed bedsteads were placed at opposite corners, in which Mr. Cunningham and I arranged our bedding. Joe Burge and his wife still slept under the "body" of the dray, while Old Tom had a separate section allotted to him under the pole.

But the "hut," of split slabs, with wall-plate top and bottom, and all the refinements of bush carpentry, was to be the real mansion. And at this we soon made a commencement. I say we, because I drove the bullocks and carted the slabs to the site we had pitched on, besides doing a bit of squaring and adzing now and then.

Joe Burge and Mr. Cunningham (who was an experienced bushman, and half a dozen other things to boot) soon "ran out" slabs enough, and fitted the round stuff, most of which I carted in, preferring that section of industry to the all-day, every-day work of splitting. Old Tom looked after the cattle. They needed all his attention for a while, displaying, as

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 they did, a strong desire to march incontinently back to the banks of the Merai.

In two or three weeks the hut was up. How I admired it! The door, the table, the bedsteads, the chairs (three-legged stools), the washstand, were all manufactured by Joe Burge out of the all-sufficing "slab" of the period. A wooden chimney with an inner coating of stone-work worked well without smoking. The roof was neatly thatched with the tall, strong tussock-grass, then so abundant.

Our dwelling transcended that of the lowland Scot, who described his as "a lairge hoose wi' twa rooms intil't," inasmuch as it boasted of three. One was the atrium—being also used as a refectory—and chief general apartment. The rest of the building was bisected by a wooden partition, affording thus two bedrooms. One of these was devoted to Joe Burge and family, the other I appropriated. Mr. Cunningham and Old Tom slept in the large room, where—firewood being plentiful—they kept up a roaring fire, and had rather the best of it in the cold nights which then commenced to visit us.

Excepting a stock-yard, there now remained next to nothing to do, and being rather overmanned for so small a station, Mr. Cunningham, with my free consent, elected to take service with the Dunmore firm, with whom he remained for some years after. I had now attained the acme of worldly felicity. I had always longed to have a station of my own. Now I had one. I had daily work of the kind that exactly suited me. I went over to Dunmore and spent a pleasant evening every now and then, rubbing up my classics and having a little "good talk." I

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 had a few books which I had brought up with me in the dray—Byron, Scott, Shakespeare (there was no Macaulay in those days), with half a score of other authors, in whom there was pabulum mentis for a year or two. I had, besides, the run of the Dunmore library—no mean collection.

So I had work, recreation, companionship, and intellectual occupation provided for me in abundant and wholesome proportion. What else could cast a shadow over my prosperous present and promising future? Well, there was one factor in the sum which I had not reckoned with. "The Amalekite was then in the land," and with the untamed, untutored pre-Adamite it appeared that I was fated to have trouble.

The aboriginal blacks on and near the western coast of Victoria—near Belfast, Warrnambool, and Portland—had always been noted as a breed of savages by no means to be despised. They had been for untold generations accustomed to a dietary scale of exceptional liberality. The climate was temperate; the forests abounded in game; wildfowl at certain seasons were plentiful; while the sea supplied them with fish of all sorts and sizes, from a whale (stranded) to a whitebait. No wonder that they were a fine race, physically and otherwise—the men tall and muscular, the women well-shaped and fairly good-looking. To some even higher commendation might with truth be applied.

One is often tempted to smile at hearing some under-sized Anglo-Saxon, with no brain power to spare, assert gravely the blacks of Australia were the lowest race of savages known to exist, the

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 link between man and the brute creation, etc. On the contrary, many of the leading members of tribes known to the pioneer squatters were grandly-formed specimens of humanity, dignified in manner, and possessing an intelligence by no means to be despised, comprehending a quick sense of humour, as well as a keenness of perception, not always found in the superior race.

Unfortunately, before I arrived and took up my abode on the border of the great Eumeralla mere, there had been divers quarrels between the old race and the new. Whether the stockmen and shepherds were to blame—as is always said—or whether it was simply the ordinary savage desire for the tempting goods and chattels of the white man, cannot be accurately stated. Anyhow, cattle and sheep had been lifted and speared; blacks had been shot, as a matter of course; then, equally so, hut-keepers, shepherds, and stockmen had been done to death.

Just about that time there was a scare as to the disappearance of a New South Wales semi-civilised aboriginal named Bradbury. He was a daring fellow, a bold rider, and a good shot. As he occasionally stayed at the native camp, and had now not been seen for a month, it began to be rumoured that he had agreed to accept the leadership of the outlawed tribes against the whites. In such a case the prospects of the winter, with thinly-manned homesteads eight or ten miles apart, looked decidedly bad.

However, the discovery of poor Bradbury's bones a short time afterwards set that matter at rest. He always took his gun with him, distrusting—and with

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 good reason—his trans-Murray kin. On this occasion they "laid for him," it seems, and by means of a sable Delilah, who playfully ran off with his double-barrel, took him at a disadvantage. He fought desperately, we were told, even with a spear through his body, but was finally overpowered. Just before they had killed and chopped up a hut-keeper, and at Mount Rouse they had surprised and killed one of Mr. Cox's men, the overseer—Mr. Brock—only saving himself by superior speed of foot, for which he was noted.

I was recommended by my good friends of Dunmore and others of experience to keep the blacks at a distance, and not to give them permission to come about the station.

Being young and foolish—or, let me say, unsuspicious—I chose to disregard this warning and to take my own way. I thought the poor fellows had been hardly treated. It was their country, after all. A policy of conciliation would doubtless show them that some of the white men had their good at heart. To the westward of our camp lay the great tract of lava country before mentioned. This had been doubtless an outflow in old central-fire days from the crater of Mount Eeles. Now, cooled, hardened, cracked, and decomposed, it annually produced a rich crop of grass. It was full of ravines, boulders, masses of scoria, and had, besides, a lakelet in the centre. It was many miles across, and extended from Mount Eeles nearly to the sea.

It was not particularly easy to walk in. And, as for riding, one day generally saw the end of the most high-couraged, sure-footed horse. As a natural covert for savages it could not be surpassed.

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 In this peculiar region our "Modocs lay hid." We could see the smoke of their camp fires in tolerable number, but had no means of seeing or having speech of them. One day, however, having probably sent out a scout previously who had made careful examination of us while we were totally unconscious of any such supervision, they debouched from the rocks and came up to camp. They sent a herald in advance, who held up a green bough. Then, "walking delicately," they came up, in number nearly fifty. I was at home, as it happened, as also was the old stockman. How well I remember the day and the scene!

We all carried guns in those days, as might the border settlers in "Injun" territory.

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 THE EUMERALLA WAR

had been informed that the Eumeralla people, when that station was first taken up by Mr. Hunter for Hughes and Hoskins, of Sydney, always took their guns into the milking-yard with them, for fear of a surprise. The story went that one day a sudden attack "was" made. While the main body was engaged, a wing of the invading force made a flank movement, and bore down upon the apparently undefended homestead. There, however, they were confronted by Mr. William Carmichael, a neighbour of Falstaffian proportions, who stood in the doorway brandishing a rusty cutlass which he had discovered. Whether the blacks were demoralised by the appearance of the fattest man they had ever seen, or awe-stricken at the fierceness of his bearing, is not known, but they wheeled and fled just as their main army had concluded to fall back on Mount Eeles.

Of Messrs. Gorrie and M'Gregor (uncle and nephew), who were chief among the Eumeralla pioneers, having come down with the original herd of ITH cattle, with which the run was first occupied,

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 many tales are told. The former, a stalwart, iron-nerved, elderly Scot, was the envied possessor of a rifle of great length of barrel and the deadliest performance. The coolness of its owner under fire (of spears) was a matter of legendary lore.

In a raid upon the heathen, shortly after an unprovoked murder on their part, two aboriginals bolted out of their cover immediately in front of Mr. Gorrie. Running their best, and leaping from side to side as they went, the nearer one made frantic signs to the effect that the other man was the real culprit.

"Bide a wee," quoth the calm veteran, as the barrel of the old rifle settled to its aim. "Bide a wee, laddie, and I'll sort ye baith." Which the legend goes on to say he actually did, disposing of the appellant at sight, and knocking over the other before he got out of range of la longue carabine.

One day Mr. M'Gregor was returning through disturbed country. While discovering "Injun sign" to be tolerably plain and recent, his horse at speed fell under him, and rolled over, a tremendous cropper. He picked himself up, and, going over to the motionless steed, found that he was stone dead—he had broken both forelegs and his neck. A moment's thought, and he picked up the saddle and bridle, and, thus loaded, ran the seven or eight miles home at a pace which Dcerfoot would have respected.

Things went on prosperously for some months. "The hut," a substantial and commodious structure, arose in all its grandeur. It boasted loopholes on either side of the huge, solid chimney, built out of the cube-shaped basaltic blocks which lay around in

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 profusion. So we were prepared for a siege. A stock-yard was the next necessity; to split and put up this important adjunct, without which we had no real title to call ourselves a cattle station, was imperative. "Four rails and a cap," as the description ran, of the heavy substantial fence then thought necessary for the business, were to be procured. The white-gum timber, though good enough in a splitting sense for slabs, was not the thing for stockyard work. So, as we knew by report from the "Eumeralla people" that there was a tract of stringybark forest about eight miles south of us towards the coast, we determined to get our timber there. The bushman who had put up the Eumeralla huts—one Tinker Woods, an expatriated gipsy, it was said, whom therefore I regarded with great interest—had marked some trees which would serve to guide us. Joe Burge thought he could manage the rest.

The "round stuff" we could cut close about. But the heavy rails, nine feet in length, from three to five inches thick, and as straight as a board paling, we had to get from the forest. As Mr. Cunningham had gone, and the old stockman, Tom, had quite enough to do minding the cattle, the work fell on Joe Burge and myself.

This is how it was managed. At daylight we started one Monday morning, taking the dray and team, with maul and wedges, crosscut saw and axes, bedding, blankets, and a week's rations, not forgetting the guns. When we got to the forest, after finding the Tinker's Tree (it bore the name years after)—an immense stringy bark, with a section of the outside wood split down to see if the grain was free—we

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 soon pitched upon a "good straight barrel," and set to work. Joe cut a good-sized "calf" in it first, and then we introduced the crosscut. I had got through a reasonable amount of manual exercise, and had more than one spell, when the tall tree began to sway, and, as we drew back to the right side of the stump, came crashing down, flattening all the lighter timber in its way.

"Now, sir," quoth Joe, "you give me a hand to crosscut the first length. There'll be two more after that. Them I'll do myself, and now we'll have a pot of tea. You can take the team home, and come back the day after to-morrow. I'll have a load of rails ready for you."

We had our meal in great comfort and contentment. Then I started off to drive the team back. At sunset I saw the thatched roof of our hut. I had walked sixteen miles there and back, besides helping to fell our tree, and unyoking the team afterwards.

I slept soundly that night. I drove the team back to the forest on the day named, and found Joe perfectly well and contented, having split up the whole of the tree into fine, straight, substantial rails, thirty of which were put upon the dray. After helping to cut down another tree, I departed on my homeward journey.

On Saturday the same proceedings took place, and da capo until all the rails were split and drawn in. Joe must have felt pretty lonely at night, camped in a bark gunyah, with the black pillars of the stringy-bark trees around him, and not a soul within reach or ken. But he was not of a nervous temperament—by wood or wold, land or sea, on foot

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 or horseback, hand-to-hand fight, sword or pistol, it was all one to Joe. He was afraid of nothing and nobody. And when, years after, his son returned from India with the Queen's Commission and the Victoria Cross, I knew where the bold blood had come from. Towards the end of our wood-ranging, a rumour got abroad that the blacks had "broken out" and commenced to spear cattle. They had, moreover, "intromitted with the Queen's lieges," as Dugald Dalgetty would have said. Mr. Cunningham, riding through the greenwood at Dunmore, had had three spears thrown at him by blacks, one of which went through his hat. They then (he averred) disappeared into an " impenetrable scrub." Neighbours talked of arming and going out in force to expostulate, if this kind of thing was to go on.

I told Joe of this, and brought a message from Mrs. Burge to say that Old Tom, who knew the blacks well, was getting anxious, that he must not stay away any longer, but had better come home with me.

Joe agreed generally, but said there was one lovely, straight tree that he must run out, and if I would help him fell this, he would come directly it was finished. I tried to persuade him, but it was useless. So we "threw" the tree, and loaded up. I started home again alone.

Now the tree was a large tree; the load heavier than usual. My departure was late in consequence, and the moon rose before I had half finished my homeward journey. To add to my trouble I got into a soft spot in the marsh road, and in the altercation one of my leaders, a hot-tempered animal, slued

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 round and "turned his yoke." Gentlemen who have driven teams will understand the situation. The bows were by this manoeuvre placed on the tops of the bullocks' necks, the yoke underneath, and the off-side bullock became the near-side one. I was nearly in despair. I dared not unyoke them, because they, being fresh, would have bolted and left me helpless. So I compromised, and started the team, finding that by keeping pretty wide of my leaders and behaving with patience they would keep the track. The road was moderately open, and they knew they were going home.

At one part of the road I had to pass between two walls of ti-tree, a tall kind of scrub through which I could not see, and which looked in the moonlight very dark and eerie. I began to think about the blacks, and whether or no they might attack us in force. At that very moment I heard a wild shrill cry, which considerably accelerated the circulatory system.

I sprang to the gun, which lay alongside of the rail, just within the side-board of the dray. "I will sell my life dearly," I said to myself; "but oh! if it must be—shall I never see home again?" As I pulled back the hammer another cry, hardly so shrill—much more melodious, indeed, to my ears—sounded, and a flock of low-flying dark birds passed over my head. It was the cry of the wild swan! I was not sorry when I saw the hut fire, and drew up with my load near the yard. I had some trouble with my leader, the off-side bullock not caring to let me approach him, as is the manner of his kind. But I got over the difficulty, and dealt out retributive

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Page:Old Melbourne Memories.djvu/73

 justice by letting him and his mate go in their yoke, and postponing further operations to daylight.

Mrs. Burge was most anxious about her husband, and inveighed against his foolishly putting his life in jeopardy for a few rails. Old Tom laughed, and said as long as Joe had a good gun he was a match for all the blacks in the country, if they did not take him by surprise.

"We're going to have a bit of trouble with these black varment now," he said, filling his pipe in a leisurely way. "Once they've started killing cattle they won't leave off in a hurry. More by token, they might take a fancy to tackle the hut some day when we're out."

"You leave me a gun, then," said Mrs. Burge, "and I'll be able to frighten 'em a bit if I'm left by myself. But sure, I hardly think they'd touch me after all the flour and bits of things I've given the lubras."

"They're quare people," said the old stockman, meditatively; "there's good and bad among 'em, but the divil resave the blackfellow I'd trust nearer than I could pull the trigger on him, if he looked crooked."

I said little, being vexed that my policy of conciliation had been of no avail. I roused myself, however, out of a reverie on the curious problem afforded by original races of mankind, foredoomed to perish at the approach of higher law.

"They have not touched any of our cattle yet," I said; "that shows they have some feeling of gratitude."

"I wouldn't say that," answered the old man.

title: Page:Old Melbourne Memories.djvu/73