Our only chance of getting on was to make an early start, for fortunately a true "nor'-wester" is somewhat of a sluggard.

The skies wore their peculiar chrysoprase green tint, except towards the weather quarter, where heavy banks of lurid cloud showed that the enemy was collecting in force.

Even the hour of dawn, usually so crisp and cool, brought no sense of refreshment to our languid limbs, and we embarked with the direst forebodings.

A few miles further up the lake we reached an out-station hut, built by our host Mr.Johnson when he first "took up" his country and intended to push his boundary as far as this.

He soon drew in his lines however on account of the rough nature of the ground.