The Land Where The Cardoon Grows So Abundantly Is Not Good For Sheep,
And At Casa Antigua All The Land Was Of This Character.
The tenant was
an Englishman, a Mr. George Royd, and it was thought by his neighbours
that he had made a serious mistake which would perhaps lead to
disastrous consequences, when investing his capital in the expensive
fine-wool breeds to put them on such land.
All this I heard years
afterwards. At that time I only knew that he was our nearest English
neighbour, and more to us on that account than any other. We certainly
had other English neighbours - those who lived half a day's journey on
horseback from us were our neighbours there - English, Welsh, Irish,
Scotch, but they were not like Mr. Royd. These others, however
prosperous (and some were the owners of large estates), came mostly
from the working or lower middle class in their own country and were
interested solely in their own affairs. Mr. Royd was of a different
order. He was about forty-five when my years were seven, a handsome
clean-shaved man with bright blue humorous eyes and brown hair. He was
an educated man, and loved to meet with others of like mind with
himself, with whom he could converse in his own language. There was no
English in his house. He had a bright genial disposition, a love of
fun, and a hearty ringing laugh it was a pleasure to hear. He was an
enthusiast about his sheep-farming, always full of fine projects,
always dreaming of the things he intended doing and of the great
results which would follow.
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