Who does not know the peculiar _smell_ of tracing-paper, with its suggestions of ownership?
When these fresh and crackling drawings were opened before us they resembled nothing so much as a veritable paradise.

There shone the lake--a brilliant patch of cobalt blue, bordered by outlines of vivid green pasture and belts of timber.

Here and there, on the outskirts, we read the words, "proposed township," "building lots," "probable gold fields," "saw mills." F---- laid his hand down over a large wash of light green paint and asked," Now what sort of country is this; really and truly, you know ?" "First class sheep country, I give you my word," replied the owner eagerly, "only wants to be stocked for a year or two." Why need I go on?
It was the old, old story of misplaced confidence.
Neither F---- nor I could believe that our friends would wilfully over-reach us, so it was settled that the first thing next morning the money should be handed over and the Government lease transferred to us.
We decided that as we were so far on the way to our new property, we would go and look at it before returning to the Malvern Hills, and the next few days were very busy ones, as we had to arrange our small domestic affairs, send up the dray, etc., etc.

I felt rather anxious at the postponement of our return home, for I had left several "clutches" of eggs on the point of being hatched, and I had grave misgivings as to the care my expected ducklings and chickens would receive at the lands of my scatter-brained maid servants, to say nothing of the dangers besetting them from hawks and rats.

However, small interests must give way to great ones, and F---- and I were already tasting the cares of proprietorship.