days of the past this was no subject of uneasiness to a squatter.
His credit was almost unlimited, and he could always raise as much
money as he liked on an hypothecation of next year's wool. But we
had not come to that yet. The weather was delightful; the customary
week of heavy rain just after our midsummer Christmas, had cooled
the air and laid the dust, besides bringing out a fresh spring-like
green tint over the willows and poplars, and causing even the leaves
of the gums to lose their leather-like look for a few days.

After much consultation we decided to go by coach as far as Timaru,
and then trust to circumstances to decide our future means of
transport. Not only were we obliged to pay a large sum for our
places but our luggage was charged for by the pound, so we found it
necessary to reduce our kit to the most modest dimensions, and only
to take what was absolutely necessary. The journey was a long and
weary one, the only variety being caused by a strong spice of danger
at each river. At some streams we were transferred bodily to a
large raft-like ferry boat, and so taken across. At others the
passengers and luggage only were put into the boat, the lumbering
coach with its leathern springs left behind, whilst the horses swam
in our wake across the wide and rushing river, to be re-harnessed to
another coach on the opposite shore. The Rakaia, Ashburton, and
Rangitata had been crossed in this way, and we had reached the
Otaio, a smaller river, when we found a new mode of transport
awaiting us. A large dray with a couple of powerful horses was in
readiness, and into this springless vehicle we were unceremoniously
bundled. The empty coach and horses was driven over at another part
of the stream. I shall never forget the jolting: the river must
have been at least a quarter of a mile wide at that reach, and over
its bed of boulders and rocks we bumped In the middle stretched a