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Kingsley, Henry, 1830-1876

"Recollections of Geoffrey Hamlyn"

We must push a long way
north, and make a depot somewhere westward. Then we can pick them up by
sixes and sevens at a time. When shall we go?"
"The sooner the better."
"I think I will come with you," said the Doctor. "I have not been a
journey for some time."
"Your conversation, sir," I said, "will shorten the journey by
one-half"--which was sincerely said.
Away we went northward, with the mountains on our left, leaving
snow-streaked Kosciusko nearly behind us, till a great pass, through the
granite walls, opened to the westward, up which we turned, Mount Murray
towering up the south. Soon we were on the Murrumbidgee, sweeping
from side to side of his mountain valley in broad curves, sometimes
rushing hoarse, swollen by the late rains, under belts of high timber,
and sometimes dividing broad meadows of rich grass, growing green once
more under the invigorating hand of autumn. All nature had awakened
from her deep summer sleep, the air was brisk and nimble, and seldom
did three happier men ride on their way than James, the Doctor, and I.
Good Doctor! How he beguiled the way with his learning!--in ecstasies
all the time, enjoying everything, animate or inanimate, as you or I
would enjoy a new play or a new opera.


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