could we and the horses go on thus till morning. As these cheerful reflections pressed themselves upon me, we suddenly came to a break in the trees, and some wires across the sky arrested our attention. Surely it was the suspension bridge—the ford could only be a little further on—if we could but find it. The Blue River was tumbling in a fine cascade below the bridge (we guessed from the sound), and the horses found the ford and went in quite willingly. Now, it is not every night one rides into a strange river m the dark, quite ignorant as to where to get out, and not knowing if one’s horse is going to swim; so that it was a relief to me when we were safely over. The trees had been felled on a little rise above the landing-place, and we could just make out a square outline with another beyond—the hut and stable. I have no doubt on a fine evening this forest-pool, with trees and ferns reflected in the still water, may have been an enchanting spot. But that night it was dark; it was wet; we were both tired and hungry and longing for a decent resting-place, and when we pushed open the door of that hut what did we find? It was nothing but a corrugated-iron box, eight or nine feet square, with a rude bunk, covered with fern, at either side; between them was a dirty cupboard smeared with candle grease, which served as a table; a stool by the wide hearth and two old billies completed the furniture. An axe-head lay near, but the handle had been burnt for fire-wood, and the floor was
