“What o’clock is it?” I asked, rubbing my eyes, and trying to think where I was.

“Near four.  Come, get up, and help me entertain the women.  They have got their proper clothes on, and don’t look so bad as they might.  The young one still wails for her husband, although I tell her to keep up her spirits, and think of something else.”

“Advice which she is certain not to follow.  Did you ever know of a woman that would be advised under any circumstances?  No, I thought not.”

“You are always grumbling about the women,” I said, addressing Mr. Brown.  “If the truth was known, I suppose that it would show that you have been jilted some day by a female with a pretty face, and revenge yourself by abusing the whole sex.  That is ungallant.”

“I don’t care how ungallant it is, for I know it to be true,” replied Mr. Brown, with great candor; “ten years ago, I made love to the prettiest piece of flesh and blood that ever walked on two legs, or allowed her hair to curl in ringlets.  But I don’t like to talk on the subject.”

“A truce to your love affairs,” interrupted Mr. Wright; “come and take a gallop with me this afternoon, and have a look at my farm, and I’ll warrant that you will think no more of women or of marriage.  Will you come?”

We both readily assented, and a good cup of coffee, which Jackson had kept in readiness for us when we awoke, was swallowed with a relish, and then we found our horses standing at the door, looking in prime order, in spite of certain places on their coats which had been singed while riding through the fire the day before.

Mr. Wright had been very attentive to our comforts, for the saddles were repaired and made smooth where they were rough, and the bridles were oiled and cleaned, and looked like new ones.  We mounted, and turning our horses’ heads, trotted slowly towards the field of wheat, which we had passed the first day of our arrival.

CHAPTER LXXIX.

MR. WRIGHT’S FARM.—­DEATH OF KELLY.

A pleasant ride we had that afternoon, reviewing flocks and growing crops, and discoursing on the best mode of cultivation.  I found that our host preferred the heavy tools of English farmers, to the light, easily managed instruments of the Americans, and I took occasion to point out the superior advantages which the latter possessed; but Mr. Wright was incredulous, and suspicious of my innovations.  His land was level, and free from stones, and just suited for light American ploughs, and I pledged my word that a third more work could be done with one, drawn by a yoke of oxen, than could be performed by an English made plough, a huge, clumsy thing, drawn by two span of horses, and requiring three men to attend upon its wants.

I exacted a promise from Mr. Wright, that he would give an American plough a fair trial; and the next time he visited Melbourne he purchased one, and I had the satisfaction, before I left the country, of hearing him say that he was delighted with its performance, and that he had discarded many English farming tools, and substituted American, which were lighter, yet quite strong enough, and saved much labor.