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CHAPTER XII.
THE HOPKINS.
"Ignota videre
Flumina gaudebat,"— Ovid.
Westward ho! Further away from the haunts of men to where, undisturbed by anything but the sweet sounds of Nature, with lovely wild plants around us, giving odour as we press them, we may ruralise at will. We have long had a friendship for this River, for years have wandered, day by day, on its margin, have seen it in all weathers and in all moods,—now gliding along with scarcely a ripple but that caused by the wing of the swallow as it skimmed its surface, or the masses of Jelly fishes which at some seasons abound here, at other times disturbed by winds and floods; which was its grander aspect we never could decide, since each had its peculiar charms to enchant us, but glancing now round our study walls and recalling from the representations thereon, the companions of our rambles there, how pleasingly we are reminded of the happiness we enjoyed—red letter days indeed!
This pretty stream rises in the Pyrenees and flows near Mount Ararat, but passing somewhat away from the Gold Fields, does not prove of service for washing the precious metal,—on it flows through high banks and low, with here and there a steep rock on one side, and rich arable land on the other, the former densely covered with festoons of the bright pink Mesembryan-
