100 COLLECTOR'S RAMBLES 



The Frenchman, Barelli, in one of his talks about 

 Panton Hill, his home, had said it would be just the 

 spot for collecting ; so we started in the coach for his 

 place, with our guns, arid a large trunk loaded with a 

 three weeks' outfit of ammunition and other supplies. 

 It was a beautiful country through which we rode, 

 there had been plenty of rain, and the hedges and fields 

 were the brightest green. The contrast between New 

 Zealand and Australia is very striking. The New 

 Zealand forest is a tangled mass of trees, vines, and 

 ferns, while in Australia the trees are generally so far 

 apart that they give the country a very park-like 

 appearance. One could with ease and comfort drive 

 in a carriage miles through the unbroken woods. 



We reached Panton Hill after dark, and procured 

 through Barelli a good room at the little hotel. The 

 proprietors were French people, and we received such 

 kind treatment at their hands, that, on their account, I 

 have liked the French ever since. 



The village of Panton Hill was a collection of 

 about a dozen small houses, a store, a school-building, 

 a church, and perhaps a jail. It had at one time been 

 quite a mining town, but the gold had been washed out 

 of the creek beds, and nothing but heaps of stones and 

 gravel remained, while numerous pits and shafts marked 

 where the precious metal had been found. 



The following morning I was awakened at daylight 

 by the most uproarious laughter proceeding from across 



