There could be no doubt of it; above their
present level, I could trace on the walls a
higher water-mark. Then, we knew that we
had been mercifully preserved, and our
feelings found expression in fervent prayer and
thanksgiving to Him who holdeth the winds
and the waves in the hollow of his hand.

Soon the sun was shining in a clear bright
sky. The waters receded more rapidly than
they had risen, and scarcely covered the floor;
but when I looked through the hole in the
roof, all around was still a wild waste of
waters. Many houses lower down the valley
were yet invisible; some which should have
appeared had been destroyed; of others
nothing but a few fragments remained. Upon
the slopes at the rear of the township
cowered numbers of the wretched fugitives,
amongst whom I fondly hoped to find my
darling Rose.

Another hour and I could walk in my
verandah; another, and the garden was
accessible. Garden, did I say? It was a
scene of thorough desolation. The flower-
beds were covered with heaps of drift-soil and
gravel, and the beautiful plants which Esther
had so tenderly reared, were torn from the
earth, and washed hither and thither in
unsightly masses.

It was some time before I could venture to
pass the minor valley which intervened
between our cottage and the hills. When at
length I succeeded, I went with scarce a doubt
of my child's easy recovery. I failed to obtain
any tidings of her. In vain I went from group
to group eagerly inquiring for my lost treasure.
No one could give me information. What
could we suppose, save that our child and the
girl Martha had been whelmed in the flood?
I spent the day vainly seeking to discover
some trace of them.

Several lives had been lost, the sorrowing
survivors were many of them homeless, and
more than half the township was in ruins.

On the following morning I was about to
set off on foot—for my horse was drowned in
the stable—when a dray halted at the door,
and the driver inquired if that was the
residence of Mr. Frank, naming myself.

"Did you wish to see me?" I asked.

' Why, yes, sir; " replied the man. " I
hear that you have lost a child."

"Yes, yes, I have. Do you know anything
of her?"

"Just step this way, sir, for a moment?"

I followed in eager haste. He went straight
to the cart, and, lifting a coarse rug,
disclosed my darling.

She was fast asleep, but startled by my
exclamations, her blue eyes opened wide, and
soon her tiny arms were clasped around my
neck, and her laughing voice, which I never
thought to hear again, Saluted my well-
pleased ears.

As I avoided dwelling on our sorrow, so
shall I leave our joy to the imagination of the
reader.

Rose's preserver was a small settler
residing about six miles off on the Sydney
road. It appeared that early in the morning
which succeeded the storm, he was surprised
by hearing the cries of a child; opening his
door he found a young woman lying near the
garden-fence in a state, of insensibility. In
her arms was a baby, so securely wrapped in
blankets that the rain which had drenched
her bearer, had failed to penetrate the thick
folds of her own covering. He carried the
helpless couple into the house, and
administered to their necessities as he best could.

The kind soul fed the child, and placing
the girl in his own bed, set off to a station
near at hand for womanly assistance. This
was promptly rendered, and these Samaritans
of the bush had the satisfaction of seeing
their older patient restored to consciousness,
whilst little Rose, herself unharmed; loudly
crowed her approbation.

I said to consciousness, but the terrors of
the night had shaken the nerves of the poor
girl, and for some hours she raved wildly.
Towards night, however, she sank into a
sweet sleep, and awoke in the full possession
of her faculties. Then she told who she was,
and whence she came.

Aroused, she said, by the violence of the
tempest, she had wrapped her infant charge
in the bedding, and had escaped from the
house. Affrighted by the combined terrors
of flood and storm, she failed to strike the
rising ground, on which the inhabitants were
already taking refuge; and pursued the main
road, until she perceived a house near by. She
remembered reaching the fence, and seeking
for an entrance.

Martha was long ill. It was at one time
even feared that she would become a hopeless
idiot. But, spring saw her perfectly
convalescent, and in the summer she took up her
abode for life in the home of her preserver.

Successive floods subsequently visited the
township; and the colonial government were
at last compelled to remove the settlement to
a higher and drier site than the frequently
inundated valley of Gundagai.

MR. CHARLES DICKENS
WILL READ AT ST. MARTIN'S HALL:
His "CHIMES," on THURSDAY EVENING, June 3rd, at
8 o'clock.
His " CHRISTMAS CAROL," on WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON,
June 9th, at 3 o'clock.
And "LITTLE DOMBEY," on THURSDAY EVENING, June
10th, at S o'clock.
Each Reading will last Two Hours.
Places: Stalls (numbered and reserved), Five
Shillings; Area and Galleries, Half-a-crown; Unreserved
Seats, One Shilling. Tickets to be had at Messrs. Chapman
and Hall's, Publishers, 193, Piccadilly; and at
St. Martin's Hall, Long Acre.