and we amused ourselves as best we could; I spent most of the morning in the swimming hole. Just as we were finishing dinner there came a sound of heavy boots and weary voices in the passage. It was Dr. Teichelmann and Mr. Linden, who had been driven back from their bivouac for the third time that week by bad weather. The doctor was unfortunate enough to have a toe slightly frostbitten, so retired to his room and was not visible that night. Their account of the days spent in the bivouac so diminished our desire to do the Graham's Saddle trip that we decided to return as we had come, endeavouring to piece in the missing bits of the view, and, weather permitting, spend a few hours on the Fox Glacier.
Monday, February 7th, saw us mounting on our horses once more for the return journey. It was hot but pleasant riding as we wound slowly up the seven miles of steep ascent to the top of the range, stopping now and then for Mr. Frind to photograph some particularly enticing peep of snow-clad mountains or viro"in forest. The bridge over the Waikukupa had just received its finishing timbers, and we dashed across with a great clatter of hoofs instead of fording the river. We had been speculating as to how we would fare at this stream, as the two days' rain had been enough to swell it considerably. The rise and fall of New Zealand rivers is very rapid, and as their courses are continually changing it is difficult to know what to expect or to evade the dangers in fording them. By the time we reached Williams's farm ominous clouds had gathered over the mountains, and we decided to give up all thought of riding the extra six miles to the glacier (Fox), and push on to Scott's. We were a day late as it was, and if we were delayed another, as seemed likely in the uncertain state of the weather, it would leave me with only just time to catch my boat. It was evidently ordained that we should not see the famous view from the Cook River; it had evaded us on the way over, and
