BAD CAMPING-GROUND. 33 



of a favourite, still to-day I welcomed its appearance 

 with most pleasurable feelings, the mutability of my 

 own sensations recalling the often inexplicable change- 

 ability of many of my race. Thus, the snob who 

 would be passed by in Piccadilly as almost unworthy 

 of a nod of recognition, if met in distant lands, parti- 

 cularly where travel is dangerous, would be accorded 

 a thorough shake of the hand. ' No, he 's not a bad 

 fellow, but d n it, I must give him the cold shoulder 

 before I get home. What would the Honourable Tom, 

 or my Lord say, if they saw me in such society?' 



There was a period when I did as others, particu- 

 larly youngsters, do. Time, I hope, has taught me 

 sense. Although these birds had incurred my dislike, 

 they are wondrously useful, for they devour quanti- 

 ties of putrid animal matter that otherwise would 

 impregnate a whole neighbourhood with its noxious 

 exhalations. In the Southern States of the Union, 

 where they are numerous, they are protected by law, 

 for their utility has long been known by their prac- 

 tical inhabitants. Few creatures are made perfect ; 

 cowardice and gluttony are their besetting faults 

 another cause for my dislike. A human being that 

 possessed such characteristics I would despise. 



This night I had to put up with a bad camping- 

 ground, little fuel, no shelter, and scarcely any food 

 for the ponies. Poor things ! their lot was a hard one. 

 Just compare it for a moment with the pampered life 

 of an English thoroughbred. The contrast is as 

 great as that between the existence of an habitue of 



D 



