of the big lake, when thirty-two of them slipped
on some rocks at a place called the Devil's
Staircase, and fell into a gully, and were killed.
The man could not get at them to bleed them,
so the meat will be entirely lost, Rees had
given forty-six pounds for one of them total
loss over 1400/. Fine country!

It is said that Victoria only wants fencing in.
This island wants hammering out flat.

We have been overrun with rats and mice
lately; these plagues swarm, I believe, in all
parts of New Zealand. I caught a great many
m traps of my own invention. I also got some
strychnine from Dunedin, where it sells for a
guinea an ounce. It put a stop to their mischief
pretty quickly. Before I had the poison and
my traps, I could not keep meat, flour, candles,
soap, or anything at all eatable. My head, as
I lay in bed, was a favourite springing-place for
the rats who wished to get upon the table.
They gnawed a large hole in the bottom of a
bullock-hide boat which we have on the lake.
I have since bought a kitten for seven and
sixpence, of a man who was going away; he had
carried it about a hundred and eighty miles
on the top of his swag. The general price
here for cats, is now from thirty to fifty
shillings. It was still more. A man passed
through this place with a horse-load of them in
boxes, which he brought from Duuedin a few
weeks ago.

A RENT IN A CLOUD.

IN TWENTY-FOUR CHAPTERS.
CHAPTER I. THE WHITE HORSE AT COBLENTZ.

OUT of a window of the Weissen Ross, at
Coblentz, looking upon the rapid Rhine, over
whose circling eddies a rich sunset shed a golden
tint, two young Englishmen lounged and smoked
their cigars; rarely speaking, and, to all seeming,
wearing that air of boredom which, strangely
enough, would appear peculiar to a very enjoyable
time of life. They were acquaintances of
only a few days. They had met on an Antwerp
steamer—rejoined each other in a picture-gallery
—chanced to be side by side at a table d'hôte at
Brussels, and, at last, drifted into one of those
intimacies which, to very young men, represents
friendship. They agreed they would travel
together, all the more readily that neither cared
very much in what direction. " As for me,"
said Calvert, "it doesn't much signify where I
pass the interval; but, in October, I must
return to India and join my regiment."

"And I," said Loyd, "about the same time
must be in England. I have just been called
to the bar."

"Slow work that must be, I take it."

"Do you like soldiering?" asked Loyd, in a
low quiet voice.

"Hate it! abhor it! It's all very well when
you join first. You are so glad to be free of
Woolwich or Sandhurst, or wherever it is.
You are eager to be treated like a man, and so
full of Cox and Greenwood, and the army tailor,
and your camp furniture, and then comes the
depot and the mess. One's first three months
at mess seemed to be the cream of existence."

"Is it really so jolly? Are the fellows good
talkers?"

About the worst in the universe; but, to a
young hand, they are enchantment. All their
disourse is of something to be enjoyed. It is that
foot-race, that game of billiards' that match at
cricket, that stunning fine girl to ride out with,
those excellent cigars Watkins is sending us;
and so on. All is action, and very pleasant
action too. Then duty, though it's the habit to
revile and curse it, duty is associated with a
sense of manhood; a sort of goose-step chivalry
to be sure, but still chivalry. One likes to see
the sergeant with his orderly book, and to read,
'Ensign Calvert for the main guard.'"

"And how long does all this last?"

"I gave it three months; some have been able
to prolong it to six. Much depends upon where
the depot is, and what sort of corps you're
in."

"Now for the reaction! Tell me of that."

"I cannot; it's too dreadful. It's a general
detestation of all things military, from the
Horse Guards to the mess waiter. You hate drill
—parade—inspection — the adjutant — the wine
committee—the paymaster—the field-officer of
the day — and the major's wife. Yon are chafed
about everything—you want leave, you want to
exchange, you want to be with the depôt, you
want to go to Corfu, and you are sent to Canada.
Your brother officers are the slowest iellows
in the service; you are quizzed about them at
the mess of the Nine Hundred and Ninth—
' Yours' neither give balls nor private theatricals.
You wish you were in the Cape Coast
Fencibles—in fact, you feel that Destiny has
placed you in the exact position you are least
fitted for."

"So far as I can see, however, all the faults
are in yourself."

"Not altogether. If you have plenty of
money, your soldier life is simply a barrier to
the enjoyment of it. You are chained to one
spot, to one set of associates, and to one mode
of existence. If you're poor, it's fifty times
worse, and all your time is spent in making five-
and-sixpence a day equal to a guinea.

Loyd made no answer, but smoked on.

"I know," resumed the other, "that this is
not what many will tell you, or what, perhaps,
would suggest itself to your own mind from a
chance intercourse with us. To the civilian the
mess is not without a certain attraction, and
there is, I own, something very taking in the
aspect of that little democracy where the fair-
cheeked boy is on an equality with the old
bronzed soldier, and the freshness of Rugby or
Eton is confronted with the stern experiences of
the veteran campaigner; but this wears off very
soon and it is a day to be marked with white
chalk when one can escape his mess dinner,
with all its good cookery, good wine, and good
attendance, and eat a mutton-chop at the Green
Man with Simpkins, just because Simpkins wears
a black coat, lives down in the country, aud never