trios and glees went very well indeed. The only thing which spoilt
my enjoyment was the constantly recurring remembrance of that
terrible road. F--- tried to comfort me by assurances that the snow
would have filled up the worst places so much that I should not see
them, but, strange to say, I failed to derive any consolation from
that idea; however, we accomplished the journey back safely, but
with many slips and slides. As soon as we came on our own run, F---
began to look out for dead lambs, but fortunately there were not
many for him to mourn over; they must have taken shelter under the
low hills, to leeward of the storm.

The second ride was much longer, and if possible a more disagreeable
one. It began just in the same way; we were again decoyed out by
sunshine and soft air for a ride round the run, starting about
half-past ten. The scenery was beautiful, and we enjoyed ourselves
immensely. The track lay along our own boundary fence most of the
way, and we had ridden about ten miles, when we stopped at one of
our shepherds' huts, technically called an out station, and accepted
his offer of luncheon. He gave us capital tea, with an egg beaten
up in it as a substitute for milk, cold mutton, bread, and a cake;
the reason of these unwonted luxuries was that he kept fowls, and I
was very jealous at seeing two broods of chickens out, whilst mine
are still in the shell. This man is quite an artist, and the walls
of his but were covered with bold pen-and-ink sketches, chiefly
reminiscences of the hunting-field in England, or his own adventures
"getting out" wild cattle on the Black Hills in the north of the
province: he leads an extremely-solitary existence, his dogs being
his only companions; his duties consist in riding daily a boundary
down the gorge of the river, which he has to cross and re-cross many
times: and he has to supply the home station and our house with