"Reunion."
There is a village reserve at this spot also, and the proprietor of the inn, Mr. Stitt, has purchased a large quantity of land in the vicinity. In this neighbourhood there are many signs of the ground on either side the road having been prospected; this, in fact, is the case all the way up from the Peel. So far as this spot is concerned, I was informed that in every instance gold was procured, not only along the road, but in several creeks, gullies, and ranges near at hand that have been tried. Wishing to see all I could, and knowing that the mail line was easier found coming down than going up, seeing that all the station roads diverge from it the one way, whilst they come into it the other, I determined to take a right-hand road that was pointed out to me as shorter and better than the mail track, leaving the latter for my return journey. In consequence of this, then, instead of going through the slip pannel into the mail horse paddocks, adjoining Stitt's station, I turned off to the right across the sandy bed of Carlisle's Creek, then up a stiff granite range, when the road becomes gently undulating; crossing along the bases of low granite ridges, and beautifully gravelled by Nature's own hand with the debris of the vast blocks on the hills above. Loading down a long gully, the road suddenly comes upon a broad swampy flat, diverging to the right and left, the latter leading to Kentucky -- not that Kentucky of Brother Jonathan's delight, which glories in the production of men of semi-amphibious breed, being half-horse, half-alligator -- but a quiet pleasing New England homestead, such as the said Jonathan's aunt Ruth would have delighted to dwell in -- the former, just skirting the flat for a short distance, crosses a short range, then winds down a gully for about half a mile, strikes through a sombre stringy-bark forest, and then comes out upon a piece of swampy land. When this is passed, I come upon some beautifully grassed low ridges, with feed up to the horses' knees, evidently showing that this is not a much used route. About three miles from the divergence of the roads, another road leads away to the right again, passing through Mr. Taylor's station. This road, however, I did not go, considering that I had kept to the right quite sufficiently to satisfy the requirements of even the most exacting short-cut taker. Hardly a mile beyond this the way leaves this fine grassy country, and lies over a flat swampy soil, into which my poor beast sank up to her fetlock at every step. To improve my position also, the skies became overcast, and I could see heavy rain falling amongst the ranges to my left. A nasty flat of black toil, so tenacious as to render it difficult to withdraw the foot once set in it, leads to the banks of a narrow but deep creek, one of those that are the most dangerous of any in the country to cross, from the impossibility of knowing, when they are running bank high, as this was at the time, where the deep water-holes are, and from their being at most seasons nothing more than a chain of ponds. I looked and looked, but did not half fancy it. I saw the tracks of carts that had crossed, but I did not know when. A strong current was running -- right in the centre of the stream, and so I resolved to leave the matter entirely to the decision of my mare. Giving her two or three of those peculiar sounds which are supposed to give encouragement to horses, and which I frankly confess my inability to spell with any hope of being understood, I turned, her head to the water, and in she walked. She had taken but a dozen steps, when down she went -- as a bush friend of mine observed, lumpus -- over the saddle; but as it was only in mud, she soon regained her feet, and got to the other side. I was mentioning this matter in Armidale, and was observing upon the dangerous nature of this creek, when I was informed that it had been there, that only a very short time previously a gentleman connected with the Rocky River branch of the Bank of New South Wales had been drowned whilst endeavouring to cross. Had I known that when on the other side of the creek, I certainly should not have left the question of passing over to the decision of my horse. On the rise of the slope that gradually leads down to this dangerous creek, is the head station of Mr. Marsh, forming with its paddocks, huts, stables, woolshed, stock and stack-yards, and elegant dwelling house and garden, one of the handsomest squatting homesteads in New England. The road passes directly through this station, and then over some gently undulating ridges covered with a scrub of dwarf gums and peppermint, until it comes out upon a small plain of rather remarkable appearance. Entirely denuded of trees, the ground rises generally from the bed of the creek to the belt of low gums that surround it, but this rise is again broken by other undulations which swell up in the shape of easy sloping cones, the apex crowned with granite stones, none of very large size, suggesting to the city mind that they are heaps of stone thrown down to be broken into road metal. The plain is beautifully grassed, but the ground is sloppy, particularly in the vicinity of the granite heaps, where it becomes absolutely boggy. Two or three of these plains alternate with belts of low forest in the space of four miles which intervenes between Marsh's station, and that of Mr. H. Dangar, the next point reached. This has evidently been a very extensive homestead, but appears to be now much neglected, everything except only the beautiful cottage and garden which face down upon the creek, being apparently suffered to go to decay. Leaving here, the light flying showers that had occasionally fallen during the last hour now began to change to a steady falling rain. All hope of proceeding at anything but a walk was hopeless in the soft spongy ground, which seemed to suck in all the water that fell without allowing a drop of it to run off, and I had the prospect of a ten miles ride into Armidale. As the sun sank lower in the heavens, the rain began to fall faster, causing the darkness to come on prematurely. I then began to dread that it would become too dark for me to descry my road. Already I could see nothing, only knowing by the movements of the beast I bestrode that I was now going up, and now down hill. I had nothing for it but to put a childlike trust in Providence; so, throwing the reins on my mare's neck, I rolled my coat round me as comfortably as I could, and left it to the instinct of the animal to take me on my road. On, on we slopped and splashed until a light sparkled in the distance, and a rough voice singing one of the rude ditties of the bush struck on my ear. Almost, the same time I became aware, by having my knee somewhat rudely knocked against a post, that I was near a fence. This put me on the alert, and a short distance farther assured me that I was not far from Armidale, as the lights became more frequent, and the sound of voices were occasionally heard coming out of the darkness from invisible huts. Still we went on, and still the same interminable fence seemed to me to intervene between the town and the poor traveller. What seemed to me worse than my day's journey was now gone through in endeavouring to find an opening in this fencework, until at last I begin to fancy that the whole town had been fenced in by some freak of those in authority, and that I should be found by the daylight wandering round and round this magic network like some ill-fated knight errant endeavouring to gain admittance into the enchanted castle in which the beautiful princess is hanging by the hair. But, at last, Eureka! -- here's a street! and then -- there is a light -- such a light as could come from nothing else but an inn -- a dull, wheezing, farthing rushlight sort of a light, -- that seemed ashamed of itself for being seen outside on such a night, when it ought to have been cheering the room of some traveller, instead of spitting and hissing at the rain drops that blew in upon it now and again through the cracked panes of the lantern, -- such a light as only a man who was compelled to put a light in front of his house, and didn't care about doing so, would venture to present to the public for its use. Making to this light as the nearest attainable spot, I found my conjectures correct. It was an inn, and, despite the fences, I was in Armidale. I asked no more questions, but seizing a bedroom candle, very much to the admiration of the landlady, her two daughters, a cook, a chambermaid, and three or four brandy enjoying gentlemen, I rushed off to bed, and was soon fairly beneath the blankets and fast asleep.