A MOUNTAIN SHEPHERD.

Press, Volume XLVIII, Issue 7949, 25 August 1891, Page 2

A MOUNTAIN SHEPHERD.

By the "Warrigal.

[WeeJdy Prtss.] I'm a mountain shepherd in the South Island of Ne«v Zaaland and I'd like to meet somebody who leads a drearier life titan I do. Fellows away In the back, blocks of Australia don't, for I've shepherded there myself and I know what it is. I know the log hut with its iron roof, the day after, day of calm blazing hot weather, the month after month with nothing but bread and mutton to eat. I have strained my eyes looking across the terrible plain for something that might come, some change no matter what Iα the dead level landscape. Men go mad with each-a life I know, but then they are fools; they have only to shut their brain and every day is alike, work, food, earth, sky» and they live ia a dull dreamless sleep; but here In the mountains of New Zealand it is different; everything changes except my work and my food. One must look »ud feel here, and the change around one makes the labour and the place seem awful.

I live on the crest of a mountain saddle that connects a ridge of limestone hills with an offshoot of theereat Southern Alps. The sides of the saddle Are so steep and rugged that even a wild merino sheep could not climb them, and the crest is so storm-beaten that not a twig of vegetation —not even a small etone—can be found on it. Sut it is a natural pathway froaj the foot-hills to the mountain range, and stock crossing the saddle enter a country where they could never be mustered. My duty is to prevent them crossing it, and to look after a fence thab runs along the liineatone ridge. Not a heavy duty, perhaps, iv the eyes of some people, but they don't know irhat life is here. Just look at my whare there, in the shelter of that great liipeatone rock. It is four thousand feet above sea level, and the only human habitation within flfteeu mile*. The wall" of that whare are thick and strong; I built them myself of earth and rocka. The roof is thatched with raupo, which I cut in the swamp far below .there ana brought up the Devil's Spur on the back of my old horse. It is a comfortable whare, warm" and enug. That bipr rock shields it from the strongest; winds, front the fierce blasts of the hot nor'-wester, from the furious squalls of the eou'-weeter. The rain aod sno\v Jrqin the edubh-weet drive far over my rool, and no drifeever lies abo»t my door. I get firewood from the head of a gully about 500 yards away, and one of my pleasurea.ia jbo before.the blazing log* arid smoke, thinking and thinking of all sorts of things. The 'packman bring* my provisions, to the foot of the Devil's Spur and leave* them In- a small cavo there. Sonietitne» % paeet him and la|k, sometimes he leavesmea Weekly FbMss. This k my onto cominuftisation with the Ou u otthe w 4-»i.3ldL. aod ,tla.fe -wox-Id Is so J-*Sgr the we9P course are mo«ntalna: crra.-it Silfl Ilk 114..K1M uu iiidSiUStilil ItlllE cjnot peaks, vest, nameless, lifelcns. They hold nothing. They are raoro emptY and dreor than the cloudless eky abore tno. and I can feel their etuptineaa like a pain. North and soath ttiey stretch bevaad ray flight ftna bevonrt npin, a worlfl'jn, jjjgjn, selves where nature 13 terrible aud. jnao "cannotllve,"To'nic east are bills, "ateep, spurred $»f roefc-erownua; they shut off nay View, aud beyond their crests* I can only see •*&>■ ; buc 1 knovr ttiat tbelr mm descend to the Slain where men live iv cities and villages. tuna, »nd workebopa, -whore there are churches and schools, and people meet each other and talk ; where people Rather ia one apother'a houses ut night t|ii;e in bright warm roorne, and girls ulug and play to tUcm. or taik, aud lau«h, aud dance. I see pictures of auch rooms Io the embere of my lop, and hear the laughter and song in the whirl of the btorm overhead* A two days' Tide would take mc amongst the?e people; but the only house I ctjuld vlslt'tvould be an hotel. The only companions I could have would be thine I could buy with miserable pittance of money. 1 have no . Xriends down oa the plain, no acq[uaiatanoe*Aven, When Iro <Jowa there and f«el. my

"One%hQ drives jwcfchoraca or muica out* <noint*to station-

isolation, I hate roywl! and my UfeTt , live up hero; bat each a life. I h£,A**§ that men living amiam; mountain 22* glootny cad euperefcitious; perhaiv.?.* mountains have affected mc; bufi B* always gloomy I believe. PeoDle 4» ?* nevep laugh and talk with mc ac the* ?$? with others. Even at school I hii ** churns, and every boy seemed my eto»? ' Uo here at least I can forget that 11^ no friends on earth. Sometimes If^ that I have only to wait a little whiU and then be able to go and a * amongst people, to feel the •Jγ* of metis hands, the soft cars* ' of women. Sometimes I even fane* h?* such people will visit my whare, and i* * I than once have 1 started at the eoumT* footsteps, and found that it w** <* the patter of icy rain on «a S ly or a piece of stone rolling J^ from the rock. I em not in I* world, I am simply poised- on. r» pinnacle, and all the earth lies far .*" from mc. lam not tunidut the njo^^ buried deep in some sheltered gullyi ß, on the crest of a rußßed spur, aad mit^ 8 shelter ia that gaaut bare roc£ lify chanßt around mc. Storms of raKO.' , snow prevail; sometimes I am bf^ deep in cloud* of mist, eo&tuJH aU the air Is clear and BtUL Sd* , world seems deadly calm ; butl "titn v* , ;e water thuuderiug in the ravioea a' crash of stones rolling down themtoi??. sides, and I know that nature U with tho giant hills and that dee*^? goliiß on ail around mc. The worlJg seeiuH uumeaaurably vaat, nalctt^Sl* awful, and I seem nothiug but aaat«^ iife.l have no being. b tta T><« There is somethiuK sublime yatreML In the scenes from my high eyrlo ! times all the world around us i» JSi with snow; pure, white, smooth, vcH less and cold. Ureat white 3t domes, white slopes, white holloWilßi tancaud untouchable. Thceky iswhSiS* , the day passes and the sua aink»«SS; the westward ranges, when sui-id^f^ my world is lit up with glorious 001^.7 litinds of goldon clouds stream acrera «T sky. Between tlio bands are noMu surfaces of iiei*y opu'i/of m other-oE.^S[^ anything that is vieh and glorious. Oμ mountain peak giows warm with cttn^ hues. A spur is f riuged with gle^X gold, the valleys till with jmJffS& The deep ruvlnes are black as Xt Everything is elorious, gorgeott^nS^ ful. The auu sinks lower aud shootajW, raye over the mountain parapet. Xb«skr grows lurid near the euowy r««fr/ the air Iβ filled with the broke* eoK The rim of the sun slnku out; of gfohT The sky becomes au arch of golden b^mm' Slowly the colours fade; Mq raountaiw are cold white, the sky steel srey f and tS sharp frost comes on, which awes %Z luv whare for warmth. •■ m

One thiug at least excites mc, and tWu tbo coming of a sou-west storm: wual I time have I climbed to the hlUtt rock ou the soddlo to see ono break jK my world. The storm generally ■asaS after weeks of dry, hot, north-isejj& trimu Those parchiug bhista from the mow! taina, alter pouring over i for weeks, gradually blow themwlveeoli, I and there comes over my world VftNu 1 calm. Thou far away to the aoutfj Vb I dense black clouds friugod ttft&; I streamers. These black clouds grow asi I swell and mass themaeUee together utilii I they seem solid as an army of traiatd I Zulus. Suddenly they rise higher etill § and dash at my mountain world. I see ' the white mist streamers far Iα advajjM « scaling slope after elope pouring OTO | spurs, flooding valley ana copoiog q wilt &s If the wind towards mc, followed b? tin i cloud army that grown in Blue and density ? every moment. I overthellmeetonecauecs,atbu&dero£wln4 I iv the vast gorges. Then the Bou'-w»te? ? reaches mc strikes fresh in rtiy face wlti I a eolduess borne from tho regions of lio I and anowia the far Antarctic. Thecloulj i encircle mc, the rain drlvo* agsiwl to; face, there is a mad rush *ixd roaria ; the « air, and all the world to hidden beneatb [ driving mists. More often than rnia comes enow. It may rain down. In {he valley, but it snows With mc. IcanßlfiaS the door of mywhare, and .watch the Mb tlakea whirling nnd driving pverbesJ, bat the tierce wind docs not touch tof whare, tho smoko Roes almost .str&Mi 50ft above the clilmney, and then it toucna I the lower rutth ofsaovv, and aoes streatafe I with the white cloud until lost to vleirj notice these things and think that uo m '- notices them but myatilt. I think can imagine the vuetnoss of the sustains as lean,or ace thebcautleaof d(B> ing that I see. Yet it only od<Utd®? loneliness to feel this. It cuU mkm sharply off from my fellow-create? ta any a time as X sib by the fire to SlsW '{, time X think about myself, 3Perh«u% %SJ I day I have Celt myself simply ea atom $ j life in a lifeless world. Tfaoa «t r,ljs\ time by the fire I have felt rrnf&slf groe | into » human being: IknoittS&& : *.nsY« : lived a bitter, hard life, yot I know not i why. I know that my pregect Ule b | dreary aud my future a terrible S9fstMJ. t I havo no hope; no hopq» Abo I \sw i gnawing paiu is in my heart wtOflVm i ■ think, and I caqnyt help thinking. 'Wflf | do I go on living euch a life ? I