I have described the "foreign residences" elsewhere. Here is one of
another type, in which a wealthy sheep-owner's son, married to a
very pretty native woman, leads for some months in the year from
choice, a life so rough, that most people would think it a hardship
to lead it from necessity. There are two apartments, a loft and a
"lean-to." The hospitable owners gave me their sleeping-room, which
was divided from the "living-room" by a canvass partition. This
last has a rude stone chimney split by an earthquake, holding fire
enough to roast an ox. Round it the floor is paved with great rough
stones. A fire of logs, fully three feet high, was burning, but
there was a faulty draught, and it emitted a stinging smoke. I
looked for something to sit upon, but there was nothing but a high
bench, or chopping-block, and a fixed seat in the corner of the
wall. The rest of the furniture consisted of a small table, some
pots, a frying-pan, a tin dish and plates, a dipper, and some tin
pannikins. Four or five rifles and "shot-guns," and a piece of raw
meat, were hanging against the wall. A tin bowl was brought to me
for washing, which served the same purpose for every one. The oil
was exhausted, so recourse was had to the native expedient of a jar
of beef fat with a wick in it.
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