Sketcher.

Southern Cross, Volume 7, Issue 26, 8 October 1898, Page 3

Sketcher.

TWEHTY MILES FROM THE BUSY THRONG, MORNING. From the terrace I watched the grey dawn breaking above the hills, over which the stars had not yet faded. In the sky were paths of palest green ; across them floated dove-coloured clouds tinged with lurid red. A rich crimson glow flamed down upon the earth, from where one faint white streak had been. Brown, fawny, weird shapes crept up towards the blue. Then, on a golden rippling wave, the sun, in dazzling splendour, rose, and day began. Instinctively, I bowed low before Him who said, ‘ Let there be light.’ All the while the joyful birds were singing. Years ago 1 heard a great man say that birds were the happiest creatures God had made. 1 had my doubts then, but I have none now. I turned round and let my eyes rest on the quiet grandeur of the snow - clad Takitimos. I tried to separate the Remarkables from the fleecy clouds up into which they went, but failed. Below me, in the paddocks, the cattle were peacefully grazing; sedate little lambs were following their mothers along by the bank of the river. From the stable four horses were being led to the waiting plough, around which a flock of seagulls were gathered, ready to pounce on the worms which would soon be turned up to the top of long brown furrows. In the distance Stewart Island appeared like a huge mountain. I was beginning to think of the sea out of which it rose, of the sea which lay between me and so much, when Fly, a pretty brindle greyhound, put her two paws on my arm. In her eloquent eyes I read the word ‘ Come,’ and I went. I, who would have screamed at the sight of a mouse, hurried after a dog on the scent of a rabbit, down through the tussock and flax. When I came to a fence, I crept under —I remember the day when I would have leapt it. On and on, swift but silent. I loosened my heavy fur cloak, and threw it among the silver tussocks. A startled creature rushed out, rushed to its death. Ah, that cry, I bad not anticipated that. In a few minutes, it seemed an hour, I felt, but dared not look just then, that some dead thing was laid at my feet. I moved a little away, and looked over a boundary gate at the piles of sleepers, an unmistakable sign of the coming ‘ steam monster.’ How the farmers •will welcome the noise of its shrill whistle in the midst of their beautiful solitude! May it arrive in time to take away this season’s wool from Hedgebope, and, when the first truck load of oats is taken on at the corner, may Ibe there to see. Across the railroad, out from the dense, dark bush came the bell bird’s notes, For the first time I heard the sweet tui sing, but the skylark, soaring high above my head, touched a chord itconld not touch. I lifted the splendid large animal, hitherto ignored ; only its slightly ruffled throat told of the struggle. ‘ Fly,’ I cried, ‘it is a beauty, and roast hare is delicious.’ Again her eyes spoke, ‘Yes,’ they said, ‘but lam hungry now.’ I laid down my brown burden and stroked the smooth head pressed close to my side. Then 1 put on my cloak, and tied ray hood demurely under my chin. My companion took up ‘ puss ’ in her mouth, and together we retraced our steps. As we approached the house, from one of the open windows was wafted the smell of fragrant coffee| and newly-baked scones. ‘ Fly,’ I said, ‘ breakfast is on the table, and we are both hungry.’ O.R.