tiny stream till it filled up this hole, and then saw it duly into the
next, only a couple of hundred yards off. There was a long succession of
these holes before it, generally so precisely rounded and scooped out as
to give the idea of human intervention, only that the human beings were
nowhere visible there as yet. Then I came down upon the Wannon, in
continuous admiration of the rolling hills on either side, grass-covered
to the very tops. One part of the Wannon vale here is remarkable for the
deep, almost blood-redness of its rich soil, a hue which seemed to come
from the similarly coloured stone and rock all about. Here I suddenly
came upon a grand spectacle--the falls of the Wannon, which Chevalier's
highly artistic brush has immortalized, along with almost countless
other Australian beauty. The river plunges over a far-projecting floor
direct into a volcanic crater, which, although very much less in its
dimensions, was as unmistakable in its character as that of Mount Eeles.
The only thing I had to regret as absent from the scene, but a most
important factor, was water, for, as far as I recollect, not one drop
was visible over the edge. At flood seasons the spectacle must be grand
indeed.

As evening drew on, causing me to be on the alert for quarters, I espied
a rather pretentious homestead, cosily placed in a natural shelter
half-way up the hillside. This proved to be Mr. Edward Henty's. He was
not at home, but Mrs. Henty happily was. Young, ladylike, beautiful, she
received me with that high courtesy which sets one at once at ease by
the flattering impression that in these squatting solitudes it is rather
the visited than the visitors who are the obliged parties. Ten years
later I, with my wife, called upon her in Melbourne to renew this early
acquaintance. She was then, of course, ten years older, but hardly less
charming. Thirty-four more years have since elapsed, and yet I must
still hope to meet her once more in that country which has become so