Chapter III: Part II (1)

I have no more pieces of naughtiness to relate, for at the time this story begins ten years had passed, and I had returned to Jamaica a tall young lady of sixteen. Jessie was, as you may remember, nearly two years younger; she had certainly grown taller, but was still only a little creature, with large dark eyes, which had a most beseeching look in them, as if she was asking everybody to take care of her. I have never seen anyone with such beautiful hair: it was dark brown, and in such quantity, that when she was sitting on an ordinary chair to have it brushed, it touched the ground. She was always singing, just like a bird; and it used to be a great puzzle to me how she could possibly remember the words of all her songs. Jessie and I had one very decided taste in common, and that was our great love of pets of all kinds, especially of birds. Whilst we lived in England we never could sufficiently indulge this hobby, for the schoolroom maid rebelled against taking care of more than one cage of canaries, so we were obliged to be satisfied with that; but when we returned to our beautiful summer home in the mountains of Jamaica, we collected a little zoological garden around us in a few months, and it is about these pets I am now going to tell you.

I am sure you will like me to begin, as always, at the very beginning, so I shall first mention that, as soon as we were all settled in our mountain cottage, Jessie and I begged Mamma to allow our rooms to be changed to the only two which were downstairs. In hot countries the sleeping rooms are always upstairs, partly to be cooler, and partly to avoid the risk of venomous insects; but there was no danger of heat where our little summer home was built, for the nights were always cold enough to allow us to use a blanket; and as for the scorpions, centipedes, ants, &c., we thought we could protect ourselves against them. We had discovered two charming little rooms side by side, downstairs, opening with French windows on a verandah, the pillars of which were covered with beautiful creepers: from this verandah you stepped on a lawn sheltered from the sun by a grove of orange and mango trees, towards the south-east, and beyond that lay the garden, which sloped down to a long valley, divided into paddocks of the tall, bright green Guinea grass (so called because the seed was brought from Guinea, on the coast of Africa), of which the cows and horses were so fond.

The chief reason Jessie and I begged for these rooms was, that the verandah and the adjoining trees would be so nice for all our pets, and after some hesitation and a great many warnings, against snakes, scorpions, and other insects, Mamma at last consented to allow us to change; so for a few days we were happy, and busy moving all our absurd little possessions down to their new quarters, which had hitherto only been used by gentlemen visitors, and were generally called the ‘Bachelor rooms.’ It took us some time to arrange our pictures, books, and ornaments to our own satisfaction; and dear Mamma was often called upon to give her opinion on our devices.

But the very first thing to be attended to was the comfort of the pets, and they certainly must have approved of the change. The parrots at once established themselves in a large tree, and we watched them with great delight clambering about its branches, nibbling at the fruit, and chattering incessantly. They were nine in number, and had been brought to us at different times in the nest some months before, when their beaks were quite soft, and we had to feed them on boiled rice and sugar. Nothing could be tamer than these birds were; when we sat down in our rocking chairs in the verandah, they used to scramble and flutter out of their tree, and come waddling towards us in a great hurry with their toes turned in, clambering up the arms of the chairs in the hope of getting a piece of sugar cane. I am sorry to say, however, that not one of our parrots could speak at all well; they whistled and chattered incessantly in their own way, but it was very difficult to teach them even a word or two, and their voices were thick and husky. It required a great many lessons before the cleverest of them could learn so much as a bar of one of Jessie’s songs; and when he began to practise, all the other birds had a most insulting way of stopping their own chatter to listen to his ‘tra-la-la,’ and going off into peals of laughter, mingled with the negro exclamations of ‘Hi hi,’ or ‘My king!’ This conduct affronted Master Bully—that was his name, bestowed on account of his tyrannical and greedy nature—very much, and he always ceased the song directly the laughter began, and sat sulkily ruffling up his feathers. They were all of the same kind, these parrots; rather small, of a blight emerald-green colour, with a few red and blue wing feathers, and a gay yellow top-knot; their beaks were quite black, and so were their tongues. Their wings were cut to keep them from joining the flocks of wild parrots which constantly flew overhead. Their greatest enemies were the owls, who used to swoop upon the poor sleeping Polly and carry it off at night; we lost two in this way before we discovered the cause, but then we taught them to go to roost every evening in a large wooden cage under shelter of the verandah, the door of which was securely fastened, and our noisy pets lived to a good old age. It is the custom in Jamaica to have a cup of coffee brought to your bedside every morning at six o’clock, and as soon as our black maid ‘Rosetta’ had awakened us, she used to open the French windows into the verandah, unfasten the door of the parrots’ cage, and place a saucer of bread and milk on the threshold where we could see it. In a moment all the parrots were round it chattering and gobbling it up; Bully had a bad habit of getting _into_ the saucer and trampling the food into a mess, so Jessie and I were obliged to take it by turns to get up and drive him away and see fair play. As soon as they had finished their breakfast, they set off as fast as they could waddle to an enormous shallow pan of water, which was sunk to the level of the ground and filled twice a day with fresh water. It was such fun to watch them splashing and dashing the water over each other, enjoying their bath thoroughly; then they betook themselves to the shelter of the trees, and there dried and pruned their feathers, spending the remainder of their time in eating fruit and clambering about. In the middle of the day they generally took a nap, and the quiet which reigned during that time was most remarkable.

We had also a cage full of love-birds, a sort of paroquet which comes from Carthagena in South America; but though these pretty little things were very affectionate to each other and to us, I must confess they were rather stupid pets. They sat close together in pairs all day long, occasionally uttering a little chirrup and caressing each other with their tiny bills; but they either had very delicate constitutions, or else they were very greedy, for they all died one after another from fits caused by over-eating themselves and swallowing their food in a hurry. One love-bird of a stronger digestion than the rest survived some months, but he also had a daily fit in the middle of his dinner. I was so accustomed at last to this performance, that it was quite a surprise to me one day to observe him lying by the side of his little saucer longer than usual, and to find on a closer examination that he had shared the fate of his brothers and sisters.

Jessie’s especial favourites among our birds were her own white doves, and certainly they were lovely creatures, so soft and snowy, perfectly tame, and never so happy as when nestling close to their beloved little mistress. I have often thought since what a pretty picture might have been made of Jessie, in her white dress, seated on the marble step of the verandah, its arch festooned with creepers forming a frame for her figure, her dark hair twisted into a thick coronet round her head, with generally a wild flower stuck into it, her guitar with its broad riband lying on her knee, and these white doves on her shoulder, listening apparently with great attention to her sweet voice _crooning_ some quaint old ballad for the delight of the younger children who were seated on the grass at her feet. These doves met, however, with a most tragical fate, and I must tell you all about it.

Jessie always took their bamboo cage into her own room at dusk for greater security; and one night, just after we had all separated to go to bed, I was very much frightened at my poor little sister suddenly bursting into my room as pale as a ghost, and perfectly speechless with terror; she looked so horrified that my alarm was quite as great as hers, though I did not know what was the matter. She really could not speak, though she tried to do so, but seized my arm and dragged me towards her room, which, as I have told you, was next to mine, but with no door between. At first I thought Jessie must have gone suddenly mad, for everything there looked just as usual, and I could not see any cause for all this agitation. She did not, however, let my arm go, but pulled me towards a recess where the doves’ cage stood on a low table. There, indeed, I saw a horrible sight; a huge yellow snake, with loathsome black spots all over it, had forced its way in through the slender, elastic bamboo bars of the cage, and lay coiled up at the bottom, with its flat head raised, its forked tongue sticking out, and its small cruel eyes fixed on the only surviving dove. It had already swallowed one, and the end of the survivor was very near. Poor little ‘Selim’ was on the lowest perch swaying backwards and forwards, gazing at the snake; at last he sank slowly down, just as if he had fainted, and in an instant had almost disappeared among the coils of the horrid snake’s body. I never saw anything so rapid as the way the reptile crushed the dear little helpless dove the moment it dropped within its reach. Jessie gave such a shriek that I feared the snake would be roused and perhaps escape, but he was too intent on his supper to mind us, so I took courage, and proposed to go for our old Portuguese butler, who I thought would know what to do. Jessie still clung to me, sobbing, and we found the old man’s room, roused him up, and whilst he was dressing we remembered our schoolboy brother, who would be certain to enjoy a scrimmage at any hour of the day or night, and, in answer to our knocks at his door, he soon appeared, as quickly dressed as if he had gone to bed with half his clothes on!

When we returned with this reinforcement to Jessie’s room, the dove was dead, but the snake had not yet quite swallowed it; and here I must tell you how curiously it had prepared the poor little plump bird to go down its narrow throat. Those dreadful squeezes among its coils had broken all the dove’s bones, and the snake had carefully licked its feathers the reverse way, so that instead of being a fat snowy ball, it was of a great length, and so drawn out that it was quite thin; the snake was leisurely proceeding to swallow it, and we could see by the bulges exactly where the other dove was in its horrid body. The old butler first cut off the bamboos which formed a sort of dome to the cage, and then he and Harry prepared to kill the half-gorged snake, but, before they struck the first blow, Jessie and I went into my room, as we could not bear to see it.

In a few moments Harry triumphantly announced that it was all over, but he seemed rather disappointed at the snake not showing any fight. It was not venomous: none of the large snakes in Jamaica are so, being only dangerous to the poultry-yard, and particularly fond of newly-hatched ducks and chickens or even a baby-turkey. There is a very small snake, only two feet long, called the ‘whip snake,’ from its resemblance to the lash of a driving whip, which is said to give a poisonous bite, and is apt to make its way into cellars, as it is fond of a cold, damp place. I never heard, however, of any one being bitten even by this reptile.

I killed a very large snake once all by myself; and, though it was quite by accident, I felt as proud as if I had performed a great feat of strength or valour. I was dressed for riding, and had my whip in my hand, but being very thirsty I went into the bath-room to see if the water in the great earthenware Spanish jars was any cooler than that in my bedroom. The walls of this bath-room were made of jalousies, which could be left open all night, so as to allow the cool air from the mountains to get in and make the water in the big cedar tubs fresh and nice for our morning bath. Whilst I was drinking some deliciously cold water very slowly and with great enjoyment, a large snake suddenly thrust its head through the open jalousies, and began greedily drinking out of the very jar from which I had just taken a tumblerful of water. It was so thirsty it did not perceive me at first, but in a moment it raised its head and hissed at me. I thought this so impertinent that, without thinking I should hurt it in the least, I gave it a smart tap with my little riding whip. The snake shrank back, and I heard a heavy fall on the grass outside. Of course I immediately looked out of the window to see where it was going, but to my surprise it lay quite still, so I called Harry to back me up in case of danger, and we went to examine it nearer. It was actually quite dead. Harry was as much astonished as I was at my little blow having had such an effect, and he immediately proceeded to measure my victim, triumphantly proclaiming it to be over six feet long.

We used often to find the skins of these snakes in old stone walls, for they shed them every year, and the roughness of the stones helps the snake to pull its skin neatly off its head, turning it inside out like a glove. We generally found them quite perfect and unbroken: in this state they were very pretty, pure white, the little scales glistening in the light with all the colours of the rainbow, just as if they were made of the thinnest fibre of mother-of-pearl, and even the places where the snake’s eyes had been were perfect little circles.

But now I must come back to the pets. The tortoises were very quiet, but not very amusing _protégés_; they lived in a little pond with some rock work in the middle for shelter from the sun. They were no bigger than half-crowns when we first got them, and they grew very slowly. We used to feed them twice a day with raw meat cut up into very fine pieces; at our whistle the tortoises would leave the shelter of their rocks and come paddling slowly towards us, looking out carefully for danger. If anything alarmed them they would draw in their queer little heads, tuck up their fins, or rather feet, and sink down to the bottom of the pond; but we generally took care not to frighten them, and they would eat their dinners very leisurely off the point of a pin. They all disappeared in time; and as we never could find any trace of their bodies, we fancied they must have contrived to escape and make their way to some of the very large reservoirs which were in the paddocks for the cows and horses to drink from, as there was no river near.

Then we had owls and hawks, and once we had a beautiful pair of Egrets given to us. We did not know what these birds were at first, as no one had ever seen any like them, and it was only by hunting through the picture-books about birds that we discovered their likeness under that name. They were flying overhead when some tiresome person, who happened to have a gun in his hand, shot at them, wounding the female, who fluttered to the ground, and her mate would not desert her, and was easily captured. They were exquisitely beautiful, though with fierce wild natures. Their legs were bright red and rather long, but their plumage was very peculiar—milk-white, and the feathers which composed their tails and their large crests or topknots were fluffy, like marabout, or the down of the eider duck. We fed them on raw meat at the risk of having our eyes pecked out, and our fingers were soon covered with wounds, but we bravely persevered, and tried all the surgical art we possessed to heal the poor broken wing of the female but she only lingered a few days, and then died in great pain, I fear. Her mate became still more fierce and untameable, and we were afraid to let him out of his large cage lest he should share his wife’s fate. He ate well and seemed healthy, but very restless and miserable, and we could only keep him alive for three or four months.

I must tell you how we came by our most favorite owl. One of the spare rooms had a large open hearth in it which was generally covered up by a board, and against this was placed a chest of drawers, as the fireplace was neither ornamental nor useful, for it was never cold enough to make a fire really necessary, even on the high table-land in the middle of Jamaica, where we spent our summers. However, after a week of heavy rain, Jessie and I took it into our heads that we should like to have a fire in this particular room. I really believe our only reason was a wish to see a blaze again, it was so long since we had enjoyed one; and as some visitors were coming in a few days, we pretended to be very anxious lest the room might have got damp during the late rains. Nothing was easier than to have some sweet-scented chips brought and some great dry logs of cedar, which made a delicious perfume; and Jessie and I rejoiced in a splendid fire, though we were obliged to have all the windows open on account of the heat, and the fire was never replenished. We soon left the room, and one of the housemaids, who looked in on passing, thought the fire was quite out, as she could only see a heap of white feathery ashes, so she carefully replaced the board and moved the chest of drawers back again to its place against it. In a short time the house was filled with the most unpleasant odour; we all began hunting about for the cause; and although we tracked the smell to this spare room, it never occurred to us to have the board removed again until Mamma appeared on the scene and immediately had it taken away. I don’t know which was the worst, the sight or the smell. The great draught caused by putting up the board must have carried some of the light ashes which were not quite extinguished up to the top of the chimney, where a whole colony of owls had built their nests for years past. The twigs and straw were soon ablaze, and as the bottom of the nests gave way, the young owls came tumbling down the chimney to meet a lingering death on the hot bricks of the hearth. There were owls in every stage of roasting; some quite dead, and others struggling among the hot ashes. They were more hideous to look at than you can imagine, for, at its best, a young owl is a frightful looking object, with its awkward unwieldy body, quite bare of feathers, with patches of down on it; and then its wide face and great goggle eyes blinking and staring at you. Whilst we were in our first moment of horror and disgust, another victim fluttered and fell down the wide chimney, but before it could reach the hot hearth Harry had rushed forward and seized it, so it was quite uninjured, and Jessie and I immediately took possession of the ugly little creature, making a great pet of it, and rearing it most successfully. As soon as it came to years, or rather weeks, of discretion we gave it its liberty, but ‘Moses’ always retained a grateful recollection of our care; and if we called him at night when we saw other owls flitting about, he was sure to come to us and allow himself to be stroked and petted as of old. I used to like to bury my face in the soft feathers at the top of his head, and ‘Moses’ would perch quietly on my finger whilst I did this, only his claws became very long and sharp, and as he held on very tight by them to my hand whilst I was petting him, I soon got tired of having wounds all over my fingers.

We had also a cage full of ‘Cardinals,’ most beautiful birds with bright scarlet feathers. In fact, they were scarlet all over, their legs and even their eyes included. They were very healthy and apparently very happy in a sort of hut at one end of the verandah, with plenty of room to fly about, and, above all, a constant supply of water for their incessant baths; whenever they wanted something to do they took a bath! These birds do not belong to Jamaica, but are brought from South America, and so were our beautiful ‘Tropioles.’ Never have I heard such a clear sweet note as these last-named beauties possessed; it had all the gladness of the skylark’s, as well as the sweetness of the blackbird’s. They were our only musical pets, and their song awakened us at daylight. They seemed very happy, and were quite tame, eating fruit out of our hands. Their plumage was magnificent, rich glossy black, and the most brilliant orange-coloured markings. Such bright fearless birds they were, about as large as a thrush, but of a much more graceful shape.

The last pet birds of which I am going to tell you were not at all successful. Outside our window grew a tree called the ‘sandbox;’ its foliage is something like a horse-chestnut, and it bears a pod of a round shape, made up of the most symmetrical divisions like the quarters of an orange; when this pod is ripe it goes off like a small pistol, and scatters the seeds all about. In spite of this disagreeable habit of exploding suddenly, the tree is very popular on account of its deep shade, and on one of its lowest boughs Jessie and I watched a beautiful pair of ruby humming-birds build their tiny nest. They made it of tufts of cotton and an occasional horsehair to keep it all together, lining it with down from their own shining breasts. Presently, during the morning absence of the hen, we discerned two eggs, exactly like little white sugar-plums, and for some weeks we never wearied of seeing the cock flitting backwards and forwards with a drop of honey in his long slender beak, for his mate’s refreshment. He did not alight whilst he fed her, but would flit like a winged jewel towards the nest, and just hover over her for a second; we could see the dear patient little hen raise her bill, which he touched; then with a little cry he would dart off again into the brilliant sunshine. I cannot find words to tell you how beautiful the sight was; one felt as if it was fairy land, for such exquisite and tiny creatures did not seem to belong to this great big rough world of ours. Presently, after nearly three weeks of watching, we saw the hen also very busy carrying honey, and then by gently moving a sheltering leaf we peeped in to see two little birds, each no bigger than a bee. Can you fancy a bee with a beak? for that was exactly what they were like. We asked the opinion of several people as to whether it would be cruel to take the nest as soon as the young ones grew a little bigger, and at last we very carefully cut the twig it rested on, and transferred the branch to a cage, which we hung outside our window, under an awning. The parent birds saw it directly, and flew in and out of the open door, feeding their young ones just as regularly, till their feathers came and they looked quite full grown. The papa and mamma now deserted them, and Jessie and I shut the cage door and tried to induce them to feed themselves with honey out of the same flowers from which we had seen their parents bring them their incessant meals; but no, they were either too lazy, or too stupid. We then endeavoured to feed them ourselves with honey, or with sugar and water, but we saw in a very few days that it would only end in their death. They drooped and lost the burnished look of their plumage, so we very reluctantly opened the cage door, and after a few preliminary flutters our lovely little captives darted away into the free air. We watched them hovering over a bough of honey-bearing blossoms, and feeding themselves quite cleverly, and then they were off like a glancing sunbeam, and we never saw them again!

_AUNT ANNIE’S STORIES ABOUT HORSES._

No doubt some of my young readers have ponies of their own; but I am sure that even those who have not, like to hear stories about horses. Nearly all boys and girls in town or country have noticed in how many ways these strong and beautiful animals do good service to man; most of us, even grown-up people, take pleasure in watching a carriage go by with its well-groomed pair trotting proudly together, and have often admired the enormous creatures which drag with equal pride heavy carts and waggons. But you need not fear from this beginning that I am going to write you an essay upon the uses and habits of the horse, for you will learn all this in good time from natural-history books, or, what is much better, from your own observation; besides, ladies are not supposed to know much about horses, and I might make sad mistakes if I were to write of them in this fashion. But though my horse-talk may not be quite as accurate as a groom’s, still in my time I have seen so many horses of all sorts and sizes that I may perhaps be able to amuse you by some stories of those I have ridden or known; and I will begin with an account of our first steed ‘Grenadier.’

He was a shaggy little Shetland, no higher than the table, and more like a broad-backed Newfoundland dog than a pony. It was most absurd to see this tiny creature in its stall on a line with those of the big horses, and to read its name printed in large black letters on a white China tablet hung over its little toy manger; the name was so big, and ‘Granny’ (for we children soon shortened his name to that) was so small. He was an old pony when he was given to us, and so we could not expect to alter or improve any of his ways or manners. His chief peculiarity was his love of children: we must have teased him a great deal, yet he was always perfectly gentle and patient to us, allowing us to pull his tail, lift up his legs one after the other, creep under him, though we very soon grew too big for this; in fact, he would let us children do anything we liked with him. But the moment a grown-up person approached, Granny’s whole nature seemed to change; his eyes gleamed with rage under his shaggy forelock, he snorted with indignation, and the groom used to declare he was always in terror of his life whilst he was feeding or cleaning the pony. I remember well how delighted my sister and I were at some one saying, after listening to the stable-helper’s eloquent account of what he endured at Granny’s legs, ‘Why, my man, don’t you lift him up and put him in the manger, out of your way, whilst you clean his stall?’ It seemed quite possible.

One of my earliest recollections takes me back to a summer afternoon in the country; on the hall-door steps my father was standing with some other gentlemen, and they were talking about horses which were dangerous or difficult to ride. Grenadier’s name very soon came up in this discussion, and my father sent for him. I think I see the little creature now; a groom held the halter quite close to his muzzle, and he approached the group on the steps with many bounds and kicks, behaving in fact more like a lion than a discreet old pony, warranted ‘very quiet with children.’ He was so perfect of his kind that he excited a great deal of admiration; but all the gentlemen agreed that he seemed anything but amiable. However, at last the groom was induced by the promise of half-a-crown to mount Master Granny, but I don’t think he kept his seat for more than two minutes; then one of the gentlemen tried; and, lastly, my father, who was an excellent rider: but they all shared the fate of the groom, and were speedily deposited on the grass. By this time Granny had worked himself up into a fury, and would hardly let any one approach him: we were called to pacify him, and the moment we came near with our little hands outstretched, and our childish voices scolding him, Granny changed as if by magic, and first one and then the other little girl was lifted up and seated on the broad pad which was the only saddle on which we learned to ride. I can remember quite well the look of alarm on the gentlemen’s faces, and their entreaties to my father not to be so rash. I believe they expected to see us both—fearless little creatures that we were—killed before their eyes; but nothing was further from dear old Granny’s mind than hurting us in any way. With Jessie and I clinging to each other, and to his shaggy mane, he ambled gently and carefully about the lawn, taking the greatest care not to turn round sharply, or in any way peril the very slight amount of balance by which we kept ourselves on his back. As soon as he thought we had ridden long enough, he deliberately walked to where our nurse was, and stood perfectly still while she helped us down; indeed, I am ashamed to say that my favourite mode of alighting was to scramble to my feet _on_ the pad, and then with a whoop of defiance at my unfortunate nurse, to jump off, tearing or soiling my frock in this exploit. Dear eccentric old Grenadier! he died long ago at an advanced age, petted and tended to the last by his little child-friends; one of his tiny hoofs was mounted as an inkstand, with his name and age engraved underneath it, and for many years Jessie and I used to cherish the China tablet painted with his name as a precious relic.

The pony to which I was next promoted was called ‘Vic.’ He was much larger, but so very good and well-behaved, that I cannot find anything amusing to tell you about him; and we must pass on to ‘Alarm,’ a most beautiful bright bay pony with black points, the sole property of our schoolboy brother. Harry was very proud of this animal, but it really was a most dangerous beast to ride. My father’s theory about ‘Alarm’ was, that in his youth he must have been cruelly beaten or knocked about; for although he was treated with the utmost gentleness whilst in our possession, his temper never improved, and up to the last he could not be saddled without first having his eyes bandaged, as the sight of the saddle always seemed to drive him nearly wild with rage or terror.

When once Harry had scrambled on Alarm’s back, he contrived to stick on by the same wonderful power of adhesion which keeps sailors as well as schoolboys on horse and pony back, when, according to all the laws of gravitation, they ought to fall off.

I only saw Harry once pitched off Alarm, and then it was in so absurd a way, I must tell you about it. Jessie, Harry, and I were returning quietly home from a long ride, and at the turn of a lane we suddenly came upon a load of cut green grass by the roadside: there was no cart or anything near it—nothing but the soft green heap. Alarm shied violently at this, and absolutely refused to pass it; so Harry begged Jessie and me to go on first; we did so, and then turned round to watch our brother’s efforts to get the refractory pony up to the grassy heap. The groom entreated Harry to get off, and allow Alarm to be led past; but of course he would not listen to this suggestion, and, by dint of sundry coaxings and pattings, Alarm was induced to approach the object of his dread. But Harry would not be content until he had made the pony go quite close up to it, informing us, with an air of superior wisdom, that ‘that was the only way to prevent his being so foolish again;’ and at last he actually got Alarm’s nose near enough to smell the grass. But it seemed as if the pony did not approve of its perfume, for with a loud snort he flung up his heels so suddenly and so high, that poor Harry turned a somersault in the air, and was nearly buried in the heap of grass; whilst Alarm trotted off with his tail standing straight out, and arching his lovely glossy neck, as if he were very proud of having won the victory.

Alarm’s fate is unknown: he was sold, when Harry grew too big to ride him, to a gentleman who was very anxious to give him to his little boy; but, about three weeks later, his new owner returned to his home on foot, having started on Alarm’s back, and announced that the pony had thrown him and then got away. For some days after this, fragments of the saddle and bridle were brought in; but poor Alarm was never more seen or heard of, in spite of search and inquiry. It was a very hilly part of the country, and we can only suppose that he fell down some precipice and was killed. Harry mourned long and bitterly for his favourite, and never ceased regretting having consented to part with him.

Before Alarm passed out of our possession he was concerned in a wholesale massacre, of which I must tell you. I was extremely fond of taking care of the poultry, and had just persuaded Mamma to depose an old woman, who used to look after them, and I reigned in her stead. But, alas! my subjects died in the most terrible way, as soon as I assumed the reins of government, and I had an uneasy consciousness that, unless things improved very soon, the old woman would be triumphantly restored to her post. It was in the spring, when the turkeys were bringing out their broods, and the books on poultry-keeping, which I studied attentively, desired me to turn the young turkeys out every morning into a grass paddock, and to feed and shut them up again at night. Now there was exactly the paddock I wanted close to my poultry-yard, and into it I turned my turkey-hens, each with twelve or fourteen dear little chicks, crying ‘twee-twee-twee’ around her. When the time for shutting them up arrived, the turkey-mothers all answered my call, but they returned with only one or two chicks each, and looked disconsolately about them for the remainder. This was very dreadful, and in the course of two days I had lost about fifty baby-turkeys. I searched the paddock carefully, and found several flattened little bodies, but with no mark of a bite on them. There was nothing in the paddock except Alarm, and he, I thought, was perfectly quiet and harmless. I was in despair, and next morning prepared to spend the whole day sitting under a tree to watch what befell my last batch of young turkeys. Presently my attention was attracted by seeing a hen turkey, with outstretched wings and loud cries, flying at Alarm’s legs; it seemed very odd that she should assault the pony in this way without any provocation, so I came softly up behind him, and arrived just in time to see his uplifted foreleg descend on a youthful turkey, crushing it quite flat and dead with one pat. Yes! this was the way in which Alarm had amused himself for some days past, the result being, that out of at least a hundred fine healthy young turkeys, I had only about ten left. The worst of it was, that no one pitied me. Harry evidently thought it very clever of Alarm to devise this amusement; the old woman told Mamma I ought to have had the coops placed in the paddock, so as to keep the chicks within bounds; and the end of it was that I had to resign my place!

After I grew up, my wandering destiny led me into many countries, and it so happened that, in the course of my travels, I had to ride a great deal, and became acquainted with horses of various tempers and tricks; yet, with all this practice, I could not ride at all well. I was always frightened, never feeling quite at home on horseback. I do not like riding: perhaps for the reason that I have had too much of it all my life. Riding for pleasure, as you do in England, is very different from being obliged to take a long ride every day, and having no other means of getting about than on horseback; and then, in these foreign countries, the horses are generally only half-broken, and would not here be considered fit for a lady to ride.

One horse I was obliged to ride used to lie down in water, whenever we came to a river or brook, which was every day in the course of a long journey of several hundred miles. ‘Claude’ used to double up his legs at what he considered was a suitable place in the stream, and lie down deliberately for two or three minutes. It was so impossible to prevent him from doing this, that at last I looked upon it quite as a matter of course, and jumped off as soon as he showed the first symptom of a wish for a bath. By this means I seldom got wet much above my ankles; whereas, if I remained on whilst he lay down, he always tried to roll, and I got my saddle spoilt into the bargain. If Claude had done this only with me, I should of course have thought it was my bad riding; but he went through the same performance with excellent riders on his back, and quite regardless of all the chastisement they gave him. I must say I was delighted to find he was just as tiresome with other people.

During this long journey I rode several horses at different times: sometimes, if the stage was a very long one, and had to be accomplished quickly, we changed horses in the middle of it; and upon one occasion, just as I had mounted my second horse, and before I had gathered up the reins, or got my knee over the pommel of the saddle, he jerked his head free in some mysterious way, leaving his bridle in the hands of the groom who was holding him, and bolted home as hard as he could gallop! I held tight on with one hand to the front and with the other to the back of the saddle, and on we flew for seven or eight miles. We were not long about it, I can assure you, and we went so fast that everything appeared to be racing past us. My hat came off, my hair tumbled down my back, and I must have looked like a lunatic, sitting or rather clinging in this extraordinary way, with a very pale, scared face and bare head. At last we reached the place from which we had started; it was quite deserted, so I slipped off ‘Rajah’s’ back, went into the verandah and sat down, feeling most dreadfully shaken and frightened. There was no one there to look after the horse; but I was so disgusted at having all the way to go back again, that I did not care what became of him, and left him to his own devices. Presently I heard a great noise on the floor of the verandah, and there was Rajah coming to look for me, poking his pretty grey nose into my hand for his accustomed lump of sugar! Did you ever hear of such impertinence?

There never was his equal for bolting; once he bolted with me at an inspection of cavalry, taking offence at the sudden flashing of the soldiers’ sabres as they drew them to salute their inspecting officer. I must acknowledge it was rather startling; but the worst of it was that the horse upon which was mounted one of the high officials assisting at the ceremonial, bolted too, and the faster Rajah flew with the bit between his teeth and his tail standing straight out, the more the other horse tried to overtake him. It was a regular race for four miles, and I had no breath left at the end of it, for the pace was tremendous; nothing but a thoroughbred Arab in good condition could have kept it up so long: but I did not feel afraid of tumbling off upon that occasion, for I was fairly in the saddle, and had nothing to do except—as a dear little boy once said to me—‘stick on like a plaster.’ The ride back was very disagreeable, for my fellow-runaway was dreadfully sulky, and evidently thought the misadventure my fault, whereas I considered that if he could have pulled up his own horse, Rajah would have stopped much sooner.

But running away is nothing to kicking. I had once to ride a horse who never saw a pony without wanting to fight him; he used to paw at them with his forelegs and try to bite them; or, if he could not do that, he would make a grab at the poor rider’s leg, and often give it a nip. Whilst riding him, I did not dare to take my eyes off his ears; for when he laid them back, and I could see him trying to find out if I was watching, I knew what was coming. He would stop dead short in the middle of a canter, and begin to kick or suddenly dart across the road to bully another horse; fortunately, ‘Afreet’ had a tender mouth, so if I was on the watch, and could get his head well up in time, I had some chance of stopping his little game.

But as a contrast to all these horses I have been telling you about, who were the reverse of the proverb about ‘Handsome is, &c.,’ I must give you a short memoir of ‘Jack,’ who was not at all handsome, but who was the most clever and sensible animal I ever knew, as well as the most hard-working. I made dear old Jack’s acquaintance out in New Zealand three or four years ago, and I am happy to say he is still alive and well, gradually sinking into a green old age, beloved and respected by all who know him. Jack did not belong to any one person in particular: on the station where I lived he was called a ‘station screw,’ and was used by all who wanted him. Now I don’t exactly know what a ‘screw’ means. I believe it is something unkind when applied to a horse; but I know that whereas the more valuable horses used occasionally to meet with accidents, or have some ailment, Jack was _never_ ill or unable to do what was required of him. I am afraid Jack’s exterior was clumsy and rather of the plough-horse kind; but then he could go like ‘Eclipse’ on an emergency; you could ride him all day; he would carry you a long weary journey, and when grander horses would be too tired to eat, Jack would calmly munch his oats as if he had not been a mile away from home, and look as fresh as a daisy next morning. If ever I have to ride in a circus, I will send for Jack! Any one could stand up on his back and jump through hoops or perform feats of agility, and Jack would canter or walk steadily round and round all the time. I have often ridden for miles on Jack with the reins knotted on his neck, and my hands in the pockets of my jacket to keep them warm. When my own showy mare was laid up, I rode Jack. If any one wanted to look for a stray horse or cow, they rode Jack. If a horse was wanted on a pinch to draw a cart or even a dog-cart, Jack was ‘all there.’ If mutton was wanted from the home station, ‘Where is Jack?’ was the first question. Other horses were very difficult to catch, but Jack walked confidingly up to you when he saw the halter in your hand. One defect he had, and only one; he certainly was very greedy. Jack would do anything for a feed of oats. He has been known to eat his own feed and that of two other horses also; and as for a haystack, Jack scented it miles away, and no fence could keep him out; at least no New Zealand fence, for they are only wire railings about three feet six inches high, and Jack quietly and cautiously steps over them, one leg at a time. I saw him caught in a fence once, as he was getting over it into a paddock of beautiful clover, and instead of struggling, he stood perfectly still; and when he saw me in the verandah, he whinnied to attract my attention, knowing I would come and help him at once.

Jack preferred a steady, sober pace, but upon occasion he could go very fast, as I will tell you. The horses in New Zealand are seldom or never kept in stables or even in paddocks, but roam all over the ‘run,’ in what are called ‘mobs;’ that is, several of them together. If a horse is wanted out of the mob, the only way to get it is to drive all the others, as well as the one you require, into a stock-yard, or enclosure made of strong, high posts and rails. On these occasions I generally begged to be allowed to help, for the sake of the pleasant ride on a lovely afternoon among the hills, and the excitement of finding the mob and driving them into the stock-yard. The horses were often very difficult to catch. If one saw us coming, perhaps he would give the alarm, and the whole mob would set off up the gorge of a river, or over a steep hill-pass, and we would have to go round a long way to turn and drive them back. The gentlemen of the party carried stock-whips, which they cracked from time to time, the report echoing among the quiet lonely valleys like that of a pistol. Sometimes I rode my own mare, Helen, but the galloping and shouting used to excite her very much, and it was all I could do to take care of myself when I was on her back; so I preferred dear, quiet, old Jack, whenever he was not wanted for the real business of the expedition; generally, however, he was in great request, as he was one of the best ‘stock-horses’ in all the country-side. Upon this occasion we had found the mob without much trouble, driven them into the stock-yard, caught the chestnut pony which was wanted, and were all returning quietly home in the gloaming, enjoying the beautiful sunset, and the fresh, sweet air which steals down the glens after a hot summer day. I was on Jack’s back, ambling gently along, when suddenly a wild cat started up under our feet and bolted into a large, thick bed of fern close by. In a moment the gentlemen were off their horses and, with many shouts and yells, were trying to help the dogs to get poor pussy out of her cover. I offered to hold the chestnut’s flax bridle, but my assistance was declined, and the sort of leading rein (also made of flax) was securely fastened to the stump of a Ti-ti palm close by. Jack evidently distrusted this arrangement, or else he knew more of the chestnut’s sly tricks than we did. At all events, he edged up to where the horse was hitched, and stood quite close to him, watching every movement attentively. And it was well he was so careful, for in the most exciting moment of the cat-hunt, when everybody’s attention was engaged, the pony threw up his head, gave a violent plunge and a pull back at the same time; a badly tied knot in the flax halter gave way, and off he flew like the wind to join the other horses, which were feeding in a large mob just in sight, at the entrance of the gorge of a river.