We rode almost the whole time in a deep cold shade, for between us and the warm sun-rays were such lofty mountains that it was only for a few brief noontide moments he could peep over their steep sides.
After two hour's riding, at the best pace which we could keep up through these terrible gorges, a sharp turn of the track brought us full in view of our destination.

I can never forget that first glimpse of Lake Ida.
In the cleft of a huge, gaunt, bare hill, divided as if by a giant hand, lay a large _black_ sheet of ice.

No ray of sunshine ever struck it from autumn until spring, and it seemed impossible to imagine our venturing to skate merrily in such a sombre looking spot.

But New-Zealand sheep farmers are not sentimental I am afraid.

Beyond a rapid thought of self-congratulation that such "cold country" was not on _their_ run, they did not feel affected by its eternal silence and gloom.