My travelling companion was riding one horse and leading another, on which he had strapped a lot of tin boxes. The strappings were continually coming undone, and we had so many stoppages on the road that at last my patience was exhausted, and I rode on to Pambula, distant ten miles from Eden. Here we stayed for the night, and I discovered that my friend was a pedlar. After tea he informed me that he had just received advices which would prevent his going on for a few days. I saw at once that I had been “sold.” I made a start the next morning, mounted my noble steed, gave him a touch with the spur, which I thought was the correct thing. A squatter, who happened to be there, called out to me. I rode back. “Look here, young man,” said he, “when you start on a journey always take your horse steady. You will then find that he will be fresh at the finish.” I thanked him for his advice, which I followed too closely, as the sequel will show. The road I had to travel was a good one, and the day before me a long one, yet when I got to the end of my day’s journey, although travelling the whole time, I found I had made only twenty-four miles. I pulled up at H———’s station, rode up to the house at a canter, knocked at the door, and asked for Mr. H———. He was not at home, but on making my business known I was told to turn my horse into the paddock. I did so, then walked into the house. I was just entering the parlour door when I was accosted by a woman, with her head tied up in flannel, in the following strain:—“It’s all very well to say your horse is knocked up, that you can’t find your way to the next publichouse. It’s only twelve miles away. We kept a publichouse once, but have now retired into private life. It’s too bad to be pestered with strangers in this way.” I was completely dumbfounded. I had been flattering myself I was getting on so well, and then to be talked to in this way was rather too much of a good thing. However, I had just to grin and bear it. Tea was brought in a few minutes after. A bell rang, and about a dozen men and lads came in and took their seats. They all looked like farm labourers, which I believe they were. I was seated next to Mrs. H——— (who was at the head of the table), and made myself as attentive as possible, for I was determined to get into her good graces, which I succeeded in doing before I had been in the house a couple of hours. After tea the men and lads disappeared. I saw no more of them. Mrs. H———, a stout, good-tempered looking old woman, evidently companion to Mrs. H———, and I sat down to a comfortable chat. I asked Mrs. H——— what was the matter with her head. She said she was suffering from tic douloureux. I told her that I was the son of a doctor, and prescribed for her. The old lady’s conversation was particularly edifying; it was principally upon “Punch and Judy” shows. She did so enjoy them. I too had seen Punch and Judy shows. We
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