At Last, Patagonia ! \ 7 



slowly dragged on, a mounted man appeared driv- 

 ing a small troop of horses towards the river. "We 

 hailed him, and he rode up to us, and informed us 

 that we were only about a mile from the river, and 

 after hearing our story he proceeded to catch 

 horses for us to ride. Springing on to their bare 

 backs we followed him at a swinging gallop over 

 that last happy mile of our long journey. 



We came very suddenly to the end, for on 

 emerging from the thickets of dwarf thorn trees 

 through which we had ridden in single file the 

 magnificent Rio Negro lay before us. Never river 

 seemed fairer to look upon : broader than the 

 Thames at Westminster, and extending away on 

 either hand until it melted and was lost in the blue 

 horizon, its low shores clothed in all the glory of 

 groves and fruit orchards and vineyards and fields 

 of ripening maize. Far out in the middle of the swift 

 blue current floated flocks of black-necked swans, 

 their white plumage shining like foam in the sun- 

 light ; while just beneath us, scarcely a stone's 

 throw off, stood the thatched farmhouse of our 

 conductor, the smoke curling up peacefully from the 

 kitchen chimney. A grove of large old cherry trees, 

 in which the house was embowered, add' 1 to the 

 charm of the picture ; and as we rode " .1 to- the 

 gate we noticed the fully ripe cherrie ,ving like 

 live coals amid the deep green foliage. 



