On the 10th we struck the Fraser River, sweeping round from the south-west through a narrow gorge, to expand some miles lower down into Moose Lake. Our route now lay along the north bank of the Fraser, and the travelling was exceedingly difficult and harassing. The river had overflowed its banks up to the almost perpendicular sides of the straitened valley in which it is confined. The track was completely under water up to the horses’ girths, and we spent the greater part of the day in wading and the rest in toiling through swamps beset with fallen timber. It was impossible to stop, for there was neither dry place in which to camp nor pasture for the horses, and we therefore travelled on until dark, very thankful to find a place of rest at last. All agreed that it was the hardest day we had yet gone through, and Mr. O’B. had two of his hair-breadth escapes, which formed a text for him to discourse about the perils and sufferings which he encountered “on this most extraordinary journey.” Since his successful crossing of the Myette, he had been somewhat more reconciled to horseback, and on this day mounted his steed rather than wade on foot. Soon after we set out, he dropped behind the rest of the cavalcade, and before long, Cheadle, who was driving some of the hindmost horses, was arrested by a most tremendous bawling for help from the rear. He ran back in haste, and found Mr. O’B., in rather muddy condition, and with very disconsolate air, leading his horse by the bridle. It appeared the horse had shied and pitched him off amongst the logs and _débris_ around, and he imagined himself severely hurt. But no important injury could be found, and, by dint of great persuasion, and some assistance, Cheadle induced him to re-mount, and exhorted him to keep close up to the rest. But he was too much afraid of his horse to urge him on by any but the most gentle, verbal persuasion, and tender pattings on the neck. He was soon left behind again, and the ears of the party saluted by another succession of piteous cries from the rear. Cheadle again went back to his assistance, in very unamiable mood, but was unable to resist a burst of laughter when he came upon the unfortunate Mr. O’B. He was driving his horse before him, with the saddle under its belly, and the bridle trailing on the ground. He was covered with mud, his long visage scratched and bleeding, and his clerical coat, split asunder to the neck, streamed from his shoulders in separate halves. “Very nearly killed, Doctor, this time. I thought it was all over. ‘_Semel est calcanda via lethi_,’ you know. My horse fell and rolled on to me, tearing my coat, as you see. I’ve had a most providential escape.” He could not be persuaded to mount again, and had a wearisome time with his horse, which, if he offered to lead it, hung back and refused to budge, and when he drove it before him, persisted in going the wrong way.