I am there now, as I write; I fancy that I can see the downs, the huts,
the plain, and the river-bed--that torrent pathway of desolation, with
its distant roar of waters. Oh, wonderful! wonderful! so lonely and so
solemn, with the sad grey clouds above, and no sound save a lost lamb
bleating upon the mountain side, as though its little heart were
breaking. Then there comes some lean and withered old ewe, with deep
gruff voice and unlovely aspect, trotting back from the seductive
pasture; now she examines this gully, and now that, and now she stands
listening with uplifted head, that she may hear the distant wailing and
obey it. Aha! they see, and rush towards each other. Alas! they are
both mistaken; the ewe is not the lamb's ewe, they are neither kin nor
kind to one another, and part in coldness. Each must cry louder, and
wander farther yet; may luck be with them both that they may find their
own at nightfall. But this is mere dreaming, and I must proceed.
I could not help speculating upon what might lie farther up the river and
behind the second range. I had no money, but if I could only find
workable country, I might stock it with borrowed capital, and consider
myself a made man.
Pages:
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30