district. Even the Morawhanna planted years ago by an old township has nothing better than narrow mud-dams, which serve as footpaths. It was exhilarating after days spent cooped up in boats to feel the elastic paces of good horses beneath us. Moreover, for many months we had lived on the coast-lands, where any deviation from a roadway dam is bound to lead you almost instantly into a swamp, so that it was a rare and refreshing treat to ride over charming hill country with exquisite views opening in all directions. The ironstone of the hills gives a beautiful red colour to the road, and as it wound between the deep green shade of the forest or contrasted with the marvellous sapphire of distant vistas, eye and mind were invigorated until even the midday tropical heat was scarcely felt. We first visited the plateau to which the Government wishes By remove the Agency, the police station, and hospital now at Morawhanna, where their very existence is threatened by the inroads of the Barima river. This plateau also offers a splendid site for a township. Dame Nature's especial grace it is bounded on one side by a narrow valley in which the white water of the Villaruel stream flows, one would say, on purpose to provide a settlement with a pure water supply in a natural reservoir. The water is delicious to drink, and the ground near it was littered by the golden fruit of lime-trees Spaniard, whose name still clings to the stream. We rode down the northern slope of the Mabaruma Hills to within three miles of Morawhanna, where the land becomes swamp once more. The road is continued through this swamp, which it is intended to empolder for rice, to the bank of the Barima opposite the Morawhanna township. It has been necessary to revert to an earthdam to carry the road along these three miles, and this section, being as yet incomplete, had been deemed too much of a quagmire for the horses, hence our journey by water to Kumaka. The Mabaruma and Hosororo Hills are composed of red ironstone, which makes an excellent road surface, and as soon as the foundation has consolidated it will be surfaced by material brought by trolley down the hill. Turning southward again, we retraced our steps, putting in a lovely gallop over the plateau, and then after a short rest at the hospitable Mr Pierre's house with its wonderful view, we rode on down the southern slope and along two miles of causeway across the low land which lies between the hill ranges. After this the road ascends the Hosororo Hills, the gradient being eased by a cutting where a pink vein of bauxite ore shows in the red ironstone soil. As soon as the top of the first spur is gained, one finds oneself at the Government experimental station, a where there is a comfortable struction ends, and an immense rest house, commanding sweep of country is revealed, charming view to the east over but except for a small coffee forest, river, and hill. The plantation bordering the Aruka, ground in front drops away there is no sign of man's sharply, and on the steep hill- tenancy of the land. Blue side were beautiful lemon- waterways alone break the endloaded trees, also coffee and less forest, encircled by range limes in profusion. Close by, beyond range of hills, some of but with northerly aspect, Mr which were black in the shadow Morris has built himself a of coming rain, others shining rough troolie-house, from the in sunlit mist. Far, far to the verandah of which we could east we saw the long dark ridge see the line of the Mabaruma above the Cuyuni valley. One Hills along which we had come, day that ridge must bear the and far beyond the dim blue line of communication joining line of the ocean whence blows the North-West District with the vital north-east breeze. the rest of the world, and will Truly a pleasant spot, and one form the link between Georgeworthy of habitation. town and the Venezuelan trunkroad which already connects El Dorado on the upper Cuyuni with Ciudad Bolivar on the Orinoco. Hosororo means "falling water," and the name is given by a a beautiful white-water stream tumbling in musical cascades down to the Aruka at the foot of the hill. The Morawhanna township is entirely without a potable water supply, save what is obtained by catchment from the troolie roofs, as the Barima is brackish from the Mora passage, and in dry weather the people are obliged to fetch their drinking water by boat from Hosororo, a distance of ten miles. After a welcome meal in the rest-house, we sallied forth to see the remaining four miles of road, all as yet accomplished. It runs fairly level along the Hosororo ridge, with a forest of splendid trees on both sides. Then suddenly a view of surprising beauty burst upon us. A big clearing has been made where the present road con It was a fine and inspiring sight. We unanimously agreed that the place should be named "Pisgah "; and Mr Morris told us how a black shovelman, recently taken on for road work, had been brought up here, and in amazed and awestruck tones exclaimed, "Eheh-den. How de worl' so big." Born and bred on a coastal mud-flat, he had never before seen a view from rising ground. No wonder the sight astonished him. I said to myself, "How de worl' so beautiful," and it has been my good fortune to see many lovely sights. Alas, without the hand of man to dress it and to keep it," the fairest country must remain a wilderness, and beyond this thirteen miles of a road in the making we could go no farther, but must needs return to our waterways. The next day we met the Lady Bruce at the foot of the hill below the rest-house, and pursued our course up the Aruka for another thirteen miles, after which we turned off into its tributary the Aruau. These two rivers are very similar; their calm deep streams have few windings, and from time to time the blue hills glance down on them. The vegetation is mostly low bush, with few palms save manicole, and they are in no profusion. We saw many beautiful orchids lighting up the banks, and the big red and white tuft of wild cocoa blossom flourishing in company with the long, dark, wild bean. we Then ten miles from the Aruka, the Aruau unexpectedly loses itself suddenly in a swamp, and we had to use a tent-boat to carry us on half a mile to the Yarakita portage, a trail three-quarters of a mile in length which spans the divide between the Barima and Amakura watersheds. Here walked beneath huge and stately trees, and the large peacockblue butterflies were like living light. When at the end of the path we embarked in a little tent-boat on the Yarakita Creek, we seemed to have stepped into fairyland itself. The narrow winding stream, still and clear as glass, shone beneath a roof of dense foliage among which the broad-leaved troolies stood like gigantic spreading flowers. It was intensely still, and the least detail showed perfect in the water-mirror. Orchidsshone double by the brink; butterflies gleamed from the creek's heart in yet more brilliant hue ; every flower-petal, twig and tiniest leaf, was painted in the motionless water. I begged that the paddlers might be stopped a few minutes in order to realise fully the magical stillness. It was as though we were in a fairy hall, with floor of glass and emerald dome; save for the flitting butterflies, all things were crystallised into an enchanted trance. Then suddenly a tiny delicious squirrel peeped at us and scuttled from branch to branch, doubtless just one of an invisible army of creatures around us, but the only one who had let his curiosity get the better of his caution and betrayed his whereabouts. As the Yarakita widened, we emerged once more into the light of common day, day, but though we left the fairy glamour behind us, the scene was very striking, steep hills rising on each side of us crowned with mist. The current was strewn with floating islands of blanket grass, and the serried, spadelike leaves of water-hyacinths with their blue flowers-cruel enemies of navigation they; but as there had been recent cleaning work done in the channel, we pursued our way unhindered down to the Yarakita's junction with the Amakura, where with a fourteenth river our Odyssey was com plete, and the frontier with humankind, but in reality the Venezuela touched once more. Perched on a hill-spur about two hundred feet above the watersmeet is a police station looking out over Venezuela, with a tiny rest-house beside it. A range of hills on the British side revealed itself to us, patchwise, between torn clouds of mist and rain, while Venezuela appeared as an ocean of dripping forest. Later a glorious orange and crimson sunset flush conquered the entire sky, and with nightfall the stars made a dome of glory over a mysterious world. We felt, after all our wanderings on the lonely winding waterways, as though we had come an immense distance and were cut off from the rest of Yarakita station is only seven miles along the surveyed line from "Pisgah," and therefore only twenty miles from Morawhanna, although twice as far by water. When next I spin twenty miles along a first-class English highway, I shall think of far-away days when England too was a forest-smothered country, studded with swamps; and when I reflect how wearisome those same twenty miles must have seemed to the men who tramped ahead of Rome's legions to prepare her way, I shall rejoice that, having seen a beginning of things, I am thereby enabled with keener joy to appreciate the finished product of our own dear land. PREDESTINATION. VICTOR STAYSON, the eminent criminal counsel, was walking down that dullest of London thoroughfares, Harley Street, early one bright April morning. Subconsciously he was comparing his present position with that of a prisoner brought back from the cells to hear the jury's verdict. Hundreds of times had he witnessed that scene, but never until now had he realised to the full what a nerve-racking ordeal the prisoner had to go through. Some weeks ago, on leaving Court after a particularly hard day's work, he had been attacked by a severe spasm of coughing. It can have lasted at the most two or three minutes, but it seemed an eternity, and left him weak and exhausted. Next day a similar attack took place, and, feeling anxious, he had sent for the local practitioner. The doctor had promptly referred the matter to a specialist. That distinguished gentleman had called to his aid a surgeon, and lastly, an X-ray expert, who, working in the modern counterpart to the wizard's cave, took photographs of his chest and those shadows that lay therein. They had all sent in their reports, and at ten o'clock, by appointment, on this beautiful spring morning, his lordship, specialist, would deliver judgment. the He walked rapidly in that maze of streets which lies between the Marylebone Road and Oxford Street, not heeding where he was going. He felt half-stunned. So that was going to be the end of him: he could pass his whole life in review now. It was nearly finished. And what a parody it had been! Twenty-five years of training-fifteen of struggle, and ten of cheap success,—and then extinction. He saw no reason to believe there was anything afterwards. He wished he could, but his mind, used to a thorough scrutiny of evidence, trained to a merciless analysis of motive, and exercised continually in suppressing wayward imagination, gave him no help. him no help. Moreover, he told himself that if he did jettison all his confirmed materialistic views now, it would be nothing but fear that made him do so-a natural but unworthy animal fear. No, the views he had formed in a life |