issuing from the Lagoon, towards the sea. Dismounting, we tried to measure the depth of it with long sticks, and to estimate the force of the current by chucking logs of wood into it. The verdict was—no passage there. Then we cast about to explore the Lagoon, to see if we could make a safe circuit of it well above the stream. Again, a failure, the bottom was peat, so soft, no horse could get through it, and the distance to be forded more than a mile. "We will wait for high tide," said the Inspector, "we might be able to swim it if the water is still." Again, disappointment, and then our only resource was to camp where we were for the night, turn the animals loose, and, in early morning, leave them, with our packs and saddles under a bush, and ford the Lagoon on foot, and so walk on to the Bluff. The Inspector said that he would have to return, and would do so, taking our horses and leaving them for us to pick up, on our return, on the southern bank of the Mataura, where he had to go to a sheep station. It was then we made the discovery,—nothing to eat and nothing to drink, for the Lagoon was salt. We lit a big fire of driftwood and passed the night fairly well, and were up at dawn, decidedly hungry, and very dry. Stripping off everything, we bundled our clothes together and carried them on our necks, and making long bundles of flaxsticks, which float well, by way of life-buoys, and tucking them under our arms, in case of deep water, we entered the Lagoon in single file, the Inspector leading, myself last. Every now and then he turned his head and uttered some encouraging joke. "Pity there's no artist handy! three fellows stark naked, one of them a Bishop, up to their waists in water, clothes on their heads, plodding through mud and
