distant thunder of a falling torrent could, with little effort, be
interpreted as a dull voice of warning from the mountain. The fitful glare
of the fire, now sinking, now rising as a fresh brand was added, threw a
ruddy glare over the actors in this strange scene; showing the hopeless
face of the poor patient, the undemonstrative countenances of his sable
companions, and the anxious air apparent in the white men, more
particularly in Dunmore, as he knelt over his follower, and tried to
inspirit a little hope by dwelling on the chances of recovery. The
fantastic dresses, and the wildness of the spot, all combined to add a
weird aspect to the group; and recalled forcibly to the mind those scenes
of Pyrenean robber-life, so faithfully portrayed by the magic pencil of
Salvator Rosa.

But drowsiness was fast closing the eyes of poor Cato, and, as the last
chance, we compelled him to walk about, despite his piteous prayers for
repose. It soon became evident that our labour was thrown away, for he
dropped heavily down from between the two men who were supporting him, and
no power could induce him to rise. A heavy stertorous sleep overwhelmed
him, his breath came gradually slower and slower, and about two hours from
the time of the accident, poor Cato passed away, peacefully and without
pain.

Can no antidote be discovered for this virulent poison? Empirics are
common who profess to cure snake-bites, but I doubt if they ever really
succeed. It is beyond all question that in the early days of Australia,
and whilst this beautiful continent was held by Great Britain as nothing
more than a useful place for the safe custody of her criminal classes, a
convict named Underwood discovered a remedy for snake-bite, and in many
cases treated it successfully. The story has by no means died out in the
colonies, of the good old laws of brutal terrorism, under which, when a