Chapter XVIII. A Christmas Party.—Horsebreaking.

Christmas soon arrived. But what a contrast to the hoary old gentleman to whom I had been accustomed in the old country, is the bright genial individual who periodically visits us in this new land of our adoption on the memorable twenty-fifth of December. Instead of the elderly patriarch with holly-crowned brow, and the sleet and snow of centuries on his beard and robe, his gray hairs have vanished, his youth returned, and he appears crowned with the gayest flowers, bearing ripe, fuscious fruits, and glowing with the bright sunshine of summer. Will it be considered much out of place if I remind my readers that the first occasion on which the gospel of the religion, which looks on this day as one to be kept throughout all ages, was first preached to a few of the native inhabitants of these islands on December the twenty-fifth of the year 1814 by the Rev. Samuel Marsden. It is a matter of little consideration to most of us, truly, but I regard it as a happy coincidene, and worthy of mention in describing a New Zealand Christmas.

We had received invitations confirming those previously received, and requesting us to make an appearance at the Sylvester's in time for dinner. Uncle had much wished to have the party at his own house on this occasion. Since the death of his wife, however, his friends had always made a point of the family partaking of their Christmas cheer at their domicile, and Mrs Sylvester would take no refusal this time, but promised next year to give up her party, and come and see how the then Mrs Melton would grace the festive board as hostess, for it was generally understood that by that time she would have acquired the right to fill such a position. Uncle had therefore given in, and we met, with few exceptions, exactly the same party as on the previous occasion. One of these exceptions happened to be, that Grosvenor, to the utter astonishment of every one, had not arrived, though he had particularly promised to be present. My first Christmas dinner in New Zealand remains vividly impressed on my page 75 memory. The table was decorated with huge vases of tastefully arranged flowers, and loaded with viands of the most tempting nature. A plump roast turkey at one end, and a grand sirloin of home-fed beef, killed on the station, at the other. After due attention had been paid to these edibles, their places were taken repectively by the orthodox plum pudding, of no ordinary dimensions or richness, all ablaze and surmounted with a bunch of ripe strawberries in place of the usual holly berries, and by no means a bad substitute; and at the other end of the table appeared a fine plum tart, the contents of which had just been gathered from our friend's well-stocked orchard. The dessert consisted of all sorts of fruits then in season. Bottles of home-made peach wine were circulated freely up and down the board. No drink, I imagine, varies so much according to the way it is made as this. In the early days nearly every experienced housewife attempted to manufacture this article. A friend of mine of later days, who had been regaled by some ladies of his acquaintance with the result of their experiments in this line, was wont ever after to shudderingly and sarcastically allude to peach wine as a colonial luxury. Connoisseur in such matters though he might be, had he tasted Mrs Sylvester's, his soul would have been above sarcasm.

The conversation befitted the occasion. I had the happiness of a seat by Fanny's side, and the fact that she had been commiserated by her lady friends on account of Grosvenor's absence, made her determined to show them that she could enjoy herself just as well without his presence. This, and a feeling of anger that he had not heeded her strict injunctions not to miss spending Christmas with her, caused her to be particularly pleasant to me. I gave way to the happiness thus occasioned, even managing for a time to forget the very existence of my detested rival. For a time, I say, because he was most abruptly brought back to my remembrance by an elderly lady, to whom I had not been introduced, on the occasion of my leading Fanny back to the seat after my fifth dance with her.

‘Mr Grosvenor, I'm certain! You need not introduce him, Fanny. Nay, spare your blushes; I have eyes. Allow me to congratulate you, sir. You have certainly plucked the rose of our district. And I think you are in luck, my dear. I do, indeed,’ she continued, turning to Fanny.

‘But, Mrs Buller, you are labouring under a wrong impression. This is my cousin, Mr Melton,’ exclaimed the fair one, interrupting with difficulty the garrulous old lady, on which her apologies were, if anything, more embarrassing than her error.

Uncle surpassed himself in assisting his host to make every one happy. He danced a goodly proportion of dances with Mrs Fortescue, but also found time to have a few with the most neglected of the young girls, or the plainest of the elderly ones. I should rather perhaps say with those possessed of only a limited amount of youth or beauty. Although his exterior was rough, and he had little of the manners of a polished English gentleman, yet his heart was in the right place, and I found that my opinion formed on witnessing his behaviour at the first dance was an entirely erroneous one; that his behaviour on that occasion had been not only exceptional, but I deemed it excusable under the circumstances. This time the fun was fast and furious in his vicinity.

Of course, the mistletoe had not been forgotten, and it was uncle page 76 who first sported under its shade, and equally, of course, the fair widow was the victim—if I may use the term—with whom he sported—the victim, she affirmed, of misplaced confidence. She had seen the bough amongst the other decorations, but was confident it was not English mistletoe, the only sort of which she had ever heard, and she was equally confident that she was safe from assault, when her companion was a gentleman of uncle's staid demeanour. The result proved how over-confident she had been in each surmise.

‘It is not English mistletoe,’ explained the staid one. ‘It's as near it as we poor colonials can get though.’

‘Indeed! then I'll take good care I do not get near it again, Mr Melton, especially when any of you poor colonials are about. I wonder you are not ashamed of yourself taking in a poor new chum like that.’

‘Ashamed! Don't see where the shame comes in. It's only giving a lesson in botany. Teaching a lady about New Zealand plants and trees.’

‘I must say, if I must study botany, that it is pleasantest to learn it from your lips, sir. You seem to understand it so thoroughly, or, perhaps I should say, stand under it.’

This, it must be understood was said sotto voce; in fact, they were neither of them aware that anyone either overheard their conversation or beheld their encounter. They were certainly an engaged couple, but at their age surely they should have known better. It was excusable if some of the rest of us misbehaved ourselves in a similar manner, for we were young, and could not be expected to behave with the decorum which cometh of years and experience. I am willing to admit that not the least pleasant memory, connected with that evening in my mind, was the short space of time when I held my lovely cousin in my embrace under the mystic bough, and pressed on her ripe, dewy lips, not unwillingly presented, a rapturous salute.

‘There, Frank,’ she exclaimed, ‘let that be the friendly kiss of peace between us! I know I have been rather hard on you of late.’

She might call it friendly, or what she liked, I cared not. I had tasted the sweet nectar, and the divine draught coursed through my veins with a thrill which I shall never forget. It is true I had kissed her on my arrival, but how different is the effect of a kiss taken by force or in fun, to one which is welcomed and returned with fervour by the fair recipient. To further describe this dance might prove wearisome; it will suffice to remark that, without a dissentient voice, it was proclaimed the most enjoyable affair of the sort ever held in the district. We danced till daylight, then had a few hours' sleep, followed by breakfast, after which we were compelled to catch our horses for the return journey; for notwithstanding our friends earnestly entreating us to remain a few days, we had to refuse. A paddock of hay, which had been cut several days, was waiting to be carried and stacked. Delay would prove its ruin, so bidding farewell to our host and hostess, we cantered off in the bright sunshine of that pleasant morning, turned our horses out, and exchanging our holiday clothes for the flannel shirts and white ducks, which formed our working costume, set to work with a will at the hay.

Shortly after our return Fanny received a note from Grosvenor apologizing for his absence on Christmas day, stating that nothing but the most important business engagements would have kept him from her side on that festive occasion. He wrote that he had been page 77 in Wellington lately. About a fortnight after the letter was received he paid us a visit. He was very devoted to his fair fiancée, but I noticed a look of worry and anxiety on his face, which should hardly have been there supposing his own account of the state of his finances was correct. And if he really idolized Fanny as much as he professed, what could he then have to trouble him? His inquiries about the value of my uncle's property, whether he had made a will, etc., were too pointed and frequent, and argued ill for for a man of his pretensions. Although I noted all this, I kept my observations to myself, as I was aware that my motives would be again misconstrued, if I threw any doubts on his integrity. He often observed that he would like to purchase a property in our neighbourhood if a suitable one could be procured, and uncle informed him of two really good farms near us. He went to look at them with Fanny and her father. She was extremely vexed when, for some frivolous reason, he refused to have anything to do with either of them, for she was delighted with the prospect of her new home being so near her old one. But Grosvenor took little heed of her wishes, or uncle's opinion that he would not meet with such bargains again in a hurry. The owners had been frightened by the threatening attitude of the Maoris just then, and had made up their minds to sell at a sacrifice, and move to the South Island. Uncle impressed on his future son-in-law the necessity of making a home for his bride, but he always had a ready excuse, and expressed his intention of travelling for a time before finally settling down. He represented to Fanny and her father that a trip to the old country would form a delightful bridal tour, and they agreed with him. After their return he would purchase a farm. This idea completely appeased Fanny, and removed her vexation. These sudden changes of plans did not increase uncle's favourable opinion of Grosvenor, but influenced it less than I should have expected. The visit soon drew to a close, and the lover departed for Wellington.

The next few months passed quickly by. Work was the order of the day, sometimes of one nature, sometimes of another. The larger proportion was accomplished in the saddle. This I found more preferable to the manual department, but took my share at anything that was going. Uncle bred cattle and horses to the exclusion of sheep, the country being better suited for the former. The run was not all fenced, and we had constantly to be riding round and turning back cattle that were straying too near the boundaries; mobs had occasionally to be mustered, drafted, and driven to the port for shipment to some of the large centres of population; besides which, we often bought and sold amongst our neighbours, and those purchased had to be driven home, so that we were rarely a day without spending some hours in the saddle. There were also young horses to be broken, and nothing pleased me better, after I became proficient enough in the saddle to gain uncle's good opinion, than schooling these young ones. The usual colonial style of horse-breaking we did not believe in. When the young horses are driven into the yard, the one required is caught by a noosed rope flung round his neck with a roping pole, and hauled up trembling, snorting, and half-choked to a post, a saddle and bridle forced on to him, and then generally the most reckless and brutal stock-rider jumps on his back, and by dint of whip and spur, and a cruel use of the bit, after a few spasmodic efforts to unseat his rider, the poor brute is literally fought page 78 into a state of temporary subjection; but the prevailing ideas implanted in him is that his rider is his enemy, to be respected, indeed, when he is on the alert to administer punishment, but to be taken advantage of in any way possible, if by chance he should, through carelessness, slacken his stern rule, or if his place is taken by a more timid horseman. The more spirited the horse is by nature, the worse tempered and more treacherous will he become by this mode. The less spirited ones become regular cows (as we called them), and only go because they are obliged to. Under our method no horse was ever mounted until he had been thoroughly handled every day for at least a week, then Tim, the stockman, would sit on a quiet horse and hold the youngsters head across his horse's withers, causing it to stand at right angles to his nag, while I firmly and quietly mounted. With the exception of a few bounds when they first felt my weight, they rarely evinced any displeasure, and became most tractable in a very short time. We always got top prices for our young horses, as they were well known in the market as being thoroughly reliable and well broken. When my uncle heard a man recommended as a good breaker because he could sit any buckjumper, he used to reply, ‘That's all very well for spoilt horses perhaps. Give me the man that never allows a young ‘un to buck. What's he want to sit a buckjumper for? If he lets ‘em buck he shows he's no good. He doesn't handle them as they should be handled.’ This will appear contradictory to my remarks about Playboy and Bucking Billy, but it must be understood that they were purchased horses, and had not been broken at home.