CHRISTCHURCH 69 



a dog-fight. In my exasperation I used to think that 

 if all dogdom were heaped together, I should like to 

 stand about half a mile off with the most destructive 

 of modern Gatling guns, and turn the crank until the 

 last of the race expired with a howl. 



I liked the country about Christchurch very much. 

 The city, about four miles from the seacoast, is in a 

 wide, fertile plain. There are many fine buildings about 

 the city, and some elegant residences a short distance 

 into the country. The Avon River, a clear, cool stream, 

 well stocked with English trout, flows through the 

 town. The museum, one of the best I ever visited, 

 was a great attraction to us. Much of our time was 

 passed there. 



Shelley and I were persuaded one evening to join 

 the Mutual Imps, a secret theatrical society, hold- 

 ing its meetings every Sunday evening. I had my 

 doubts as to its pretentious, but in sport concluded to 

 join it. 



On arriving at the rooms we, with several other fools, 

 were blindfolded, and marched about, a drum, an organ, 

 and a concertina, forming the band. After inhaling 

 more tobacco-smoke than I hope to during the remain- 

 der of my life, we were each presented with a pipe and 

 glass, the bandages were removed, and we opened our 

 eyes upon a scene of carousal. 



A few songs and speeches were the only redeeming 

 features to this midnight revel, and I left with the 



