"Oh, man; poor old beggar, he's still alive; but over eighty. Living with so-and-so."
"And old Jack, the bullock-driver?"
"Oh, he went to the diggings. I lost sight of him."
"And George A?"
"Went to Australia. I hear from him occasionally."
"What became of Harry?"
"Man; he went all to the bad. Broke his neck one night coming home from a spree."
And so we called the roll. Some were drowned. Some lost sight of. Very, very few had been prosperous. Many were dead. Some had left the country. How strange it all seemed to recall the past, and for the moment feel as if all the busy years had not been, and that we were shapely, active youngsters once again.
Alas! I saw that poor Jim was a cripple on one leg from a fall, and he surveyed the uncompromising rotundity of my substantial middle age, and we felt that
Limbs grow auld, and hair grows grey,
However young the heart may be.
There is good hunting round about Timaru. Three packs of beagles are kept. The hares are enormous in size, and the jumping is good. There are a fine set of hearty fellows in the Timaru district; and, for a change from the sweltering heat of New South Wales in summer time, a month or two's residence in Timaru would be delightful.
