CHAPTER I.

Observer, Volume 3, Issue 68, 31 December 1881, Page 248

CHAPTER I.

Ring out the narrowing lust of gold. , Shoddy ville, the mansion of the wealthy and powerful Shoddygrass family, stands in the midst of a magnificent fertile plain in Waikato. It is surrounded by well-cultivated paddocks, fruitful orchards, ornamental shrubberies, and tastefully designed flower gardens. Round about it are the comfortable cottages of the workmen and their families. In the distance are herds of fat cattle and flocks of sheep. From the trees and the grass come the song of birds, and the carol of the lark. The whole aspect of the place is one of wealth, abundance, and enterprise, not without a certain degree of refinement, but not that kind of highlycultured taste which one sees about an English mansion. In spite of the evidences of great wealth there is that which proclaims this as the home of one of the new lords of the soil, the founder of a new colonial aristocracy. Shoddygrass has not yet been able to entirely divest himself and his environment of that shoddy which is part and parcel of himself. It will take more than one generation to accomplish that. Not far from Shoddyville are the graves of soldiers who fell in wresting from the Maori the soil of which Shoddygrass is now the proud and undisputed lord. The fence of the cemetery has fallen into decay, the rude head-boards which were hastily erected by the survivors of these dead warriors are mouldering into dust like the bones that repose beneath ; rank weeds and acacia have made the place a wilderness, trodden only by the hoofs of stray pigs. For Shoddygrass would scornfully repudiate the suggestion that in inheriting that field of blood he undertook any responsibility for the care of those whose blood originally paid for it. There is no stipulation of that kind in his Crown Grant. True, there was once a vote for the restoration of that little burial ground, but the money was spent in making a road through the Shoddyville property, and Shoddygrass thinks it was wisely spent. One point of his creed is that a live man — or a live bullock for the matter of that— is worth ten dead soldiers. In the old days, when he waxed rich in supplying beef to the troops, he sometimes thought that a dead bullock was worth to him as much as ten living men. If Shoddygrass places any value upon bones, they must be in the form of bonedust. But this is New Year's Eve, 1880, and Shoddygrass is rejoicing in the midst of his wealth. He sits in an easy chair looking out from his verandah upon the prospect beyond, listening to the song of the birds, the splash of the two rustic fountains on the lawn-tennis ground, admiring the sunlight and shadows on the distant hills that bound his vast estate, puffing meditatively a short black pipe, and sipping whisky selected from the best brands on the table beside him. Shoddygrass is a powerfully-built man of some fifty -five years of age. His hair and whiskers are tinged with grey. Hi 3 features bear traces of exposure, care, hardness, and strong passion. His attire, his massive watch-chain, the whole exterior of the man is in -keeping with his nature. Near Shoddygrass sits his wife, a woman about ten years his junior, and a complete contrast to her lord. Her features, albeit matronly, retain much of the beauty of youth, her dress is plain but neat and tasteful, her air elegant and refined. She is evidently still a lady in spite of her mate. She breaks the silence, and disturbs his reverie. c Dear me ! this is the last of the year, and tomorrow we shall have been married 25 years.' ' It's a long time, ole woman,' remarks Shoddygrass between the whiffs of his pipe, ' but we ain't done so bad.' 1 1 wonder how your poor relations are doing in England?' ' Blow relations !' says Shoddygrass, ' who said anything abont relations ? I left all mine belnnd when I got away from the dirt an* the slav'ry an' starvation. Only to think that in 30 year I should come for to be a bloated haristocrat with all this 'ere property an' a score o' hands lookin' up to me, an' all this without a blessed bit o' help from any relations !' ' It is a long time, a long time, John^ without hearing from those relatives.' 1 Them relations never done anythin' for me,' replied John, surlily, ' I wasn't born like you with a silver spoon in my mouth. 1 • But perhaps some of them are suffering from tlidt very poverty you spoke of, while we enjoy all this wealth and comfo rt.'

INo fear ! the work-us '11 take care on 'em.' < I think, John, dear, you told me you had a sister whom you loved,' said his wife, m a deprecatory tone. . 1 Now, look 'ere, missus, don't you bo a gom an' rakin' up old ghosts. Mary's dead, I tell you,' he growled, ' don't be a spiling my holiday. Didn't I write to her five year ago and wasn't the letter returned by the Dead Letter Office. She s as dead as them sodjers over there,' and John Shoddygrass, Esq., puffed furiously at his pipe which 'had nearly gone out. ' Perhaps she married and had children. ' Then her husband 'd have to keep the young uns.' ' The children may be in want. ' Let 'em fight fight their way as I did. 'They may not have the good fortune you 'Then ain't there the work-us; besides, they ain't no relations o' mine,' lie replied, snappishly. ' They would be our nieces and nephews, she rejoined mildly, after a pause. • We've got nieces and novveys enough out ere, ain't we ? an' all on 'cm a wanting Chris'mas boxes an' weddin' presents. Bah ! that's enough o' thai,' said Shoddygrass, letting his pipe go quite out. 'That reminds me,' again broke m Mrs b., as her now angry husband rose from his chair, " that wo ought to send a New Year's gift to our Augustus Albert Edward. He must have a deal of expense at college. 'Now you talk sensible,' said Mr S., in a mollified Voice, resuming his seat and speaking fast. ' That's comin' to the pint. I'll send G-us another draft for five hunderd pound, blow'd if I don't. Why, ole Nobbleland writes an' scz as the young 'un keeps a 'untcr an' does it grand with'markisscs an' lords, spendin' his tin an' goin' it like one o'clock. He's a chip o' the ole block, Griis is,' and Mr S. paused almost out oi! breath to relight his pipe. ' I wish he were at home,' said Mrs S., somewhat sadly. 'Wait a year or two, missus, till he gots the ways o' the nobs, an' then we'll marry him to ole Stuckup's gal. She'll have a tidy lump o' land, an' plenty o' sugar.' ' She'd' make an excellent match for him, but I hear she and that young cadet, Flashleigh, arc very much attached to each other.' 'Young Flashleigh,' exclaimed Shoddygrass in tones of °the deepest contempt, ' why lie aint got a rap. Damn him, I'll get him sacked off the station.'