The Mary Ira

James Koie Moillet

First published by T. Cautley Newby in 1867

Digitised and made available online by the University of Auckland Libraries and Learning Services.

Epub © 2013 Early New Zealand Books Collection

ISBN 978-1-927288-79-5

[TITLE PAGES]

JOHN McLEODS FARM, AT SETTLEMENT.

THE MARY IRA.

BEING
THE NARRATIVE JOURNAL OF A YACHTING
EXPEDITION FROM AUCKLAND TO THE
SOUTH SEA ISLANDS,
AND
A PEDESTRIAN TOUR IN A NEW DISTRICT OF NEW ZEALAND BUSH.
Illustrated with Sketches taken on the spot.

BY
J. K. M.

LONDON:
T. CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER,
30, WELBECK STREET, CAVENDISH SQUARE.
1867.
[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.]

[Page ii is blank]

[CONTENTS]

CONTENTS.

I. The Ship and her Crew............... 3

II. Up the Coast .................. 27

III. Waikari..................... 45

IV. Norfolk Island.................. 73

V. The Hurricane.................. 98

VI. The Fair-weather Scene............... 123

VII. The Arrival .................. 136

VIII. The Taboo..................... 156

IX. The Korroraw .................. 173

X. Trepang .................... 192

XI. A Disgraceful Scene .............. 209

XII. An Incipient Meeting............... 223

XIII. All Alone..................... 231

XIV. "Mary" ..................... 215

XV. "Jasus" ..................... 261

XVI. Aneiteum..................... 273

XVII. Conclusion..................... 291

[PREFACE]

PREFACE.

THE following pages place before you a true account of a little voyage in the South Pacific, with the exception of a few unimportant alterations in respect to place and time.

A narrative form has been adopted, in preference to that of a concise journal, and the monotonous recurrence of the first pronoun has been avoided.

The reader will find something about New Zealand and the South Sea Islands; something about emigrants, and the ways of colonial life; something about colonial politics; something about missionary work; and something which it is hoped may, at the same time, afford a little amusement,

[Page 2 is blank]

CHAPTER I. THE SHIP AND HER CREW.

THE MARY IRA.

CHAPTER I.

THE SHIP AND HER CREW.

IN these days of rapid travel, a journey which used to be looked upon as a great event is passed lightly over as a very ordinary occurrence. Indeed, the ease and comfort which now surround the traveller are such as to deprive him of that which formerly gave so much zest to his undertakings. But though the hardships to be endured, and the difficulties to be overcome by ingenious make-shifts, have been considerably reduced, yet

the life of a traveller on board ship, passing down the length of the Atlantic, rounding the African Cape, tossed about and driven by the brave west winds of the south, till, narrowing his latitudes, he reaches the weird-looking shores of the Antipodes, is not one which would exactly suit the fair inhabitants of a London drawing-room, or the portly gentleman of affluence at home.

Without undergoing any such inconveniences, our readers are at liberty to sit quietly by their snug fire-sides, and look through our spectacles at the largest town in New Zealand.

The city of Auckland has been so frequently described by others, that we shall only venture upon a few remarks. Its site is hilly, and it is built irregularly on very broken ground; but the absence of fine timber is felt to interfere greatly with our English ideas of the picturesque. The eastern suburb has the most pretension to beauty, for here may be seen some pretty bays, while several clumps of trees conceal, with their evergreen foliage, numerous little villas – the very

pictures of comfort and repose. The principal street – Queen's Street – terminates in a long wooden pier, which runs, for half-a-mile or more, into the harbour.

On the 10th of April, 1866, a bustling crowd had assembled on this pier, or wharf. Several boats, from one of the many stately merchant ships riding at anchor in the harbour, were discharging passengers. Alas! poor people! victims of misplaced confidence! they go forth, in their best clothes, and brightest faces, to the land of promise, which has formed the subject of their golden dreams throughout a long voyage. They go forth to explore the town, and to glean every information about their new homes. Their bright faces will soon bear the expression of blank disappointment, and they will curse the fate that brought them to the shores of New Zealand. We noticed an ominous group of regular hard and dry-cut colonials on the pier, with evidently no other intention in life than that of singling out the "new chums," and marking them down as

fair game, to be bagged at a convenient season. As box after box was swung up from the lighter boats below, a careful note was made of each, and of its owner. Two boxes attracted especial attention. There was a constant buzz going on around them. The colonials seemed struck with a strong feeling of curiosity; perplexity was on their countenances as they peered first upon the boxes, and then into the passengers' faces, looking for some tokens of ownership. Clearly, the name on the boxes was not the cause of all this excitement, for on them was painted, in large plain letters, merely "Mr. A. Spence, passenger to Auckland." No; it was because the one box happened to be one of those useless multum in parvo tool chest affairs, made for gentlemen to amuse themselves with amateur carpentering; while the other was a highly got up patent leather trunk. Both were precisely of that description which a colonial would immediately set down as the belongings of an unmistakable green-horn from the old country. But Mr. Spence, a meek and intelligent youth,

having done nothing to prove his identity, stuck his hands into his pockets, and sauntered down the pier, and up Queen's Street. The magniloquent and grandiose names with which the smallest shops were embellished often awoke a curl of contempt on his unfledged lips. The "New Zealand House of General Refreshment" was a low eating house, just the place for stale buns, bad cheese, and oysters. The "City of London Haberdashery Establishment" displayed an incongruous assortment of goods, from a needle to an anchor, all spoiled by a wet sea voyage, and "selling off," as the placards announced, cheaper than at any other shop in the world. The amusement which this bombast naturally excited in him was rudely checked by an old, seedy-looking seaman, who bawled out to his comrade, in a stentorian voice –

"By G – d, Bill, here's a new chum! Dash me, if he ain't a giggling at us!"

Mr. Spence, who was a "new chum," walked on without paying any attention to this remark.

He suppressed, indeed, all symptoms of mirth; but, alas! his face became suffused with a very uncolonial glow. Had he been an old colonist he would have replied with some withering sarcasm, duly interpolated with a few of those coarse expressions with which seamen delight to warm up the cockles of each other's hearts. To his prejudice, the blushing youth did not follow this expedient line of conduct; consequently, the sailor, and his mate Bill, immediately put their helms hard down, and steered away in the wake of the new chum. Mr. Spence was not left long in ignorance of this circumstance. As he passed the "Original Universal Shoe Mart," which assured the gullible public of many remarkable facts, he felt a strong inclination to examine these announcements more fully. On turning round, what was his horror at perceiving the eyes of the two sardonic seamen glaring at him, a few paces behind! Being a young man of great natural resources, he immediately took in the whole position, and determined, too late, upon assuming the airs

of a cool fish, thoroughly up to colonial snuff. He quietly crossed the street, with a jaunty swing, whistling an unknown air, and entered a small wooden house, where there was a sort of a bar, behind which stood a corpulent and gaudily-dressed old woman.

"A glass of beer, if you please, my good woman."

"'Arf-a-pint of hale is it yer mean?"

The young man placed a sixpence on the bar, and received in return a glass of thick, saltish mess, called colonial ale.

"Yer don't want change, do yer, now?" said the old woman.

"Oh! dear, no; not at all. I like that. Ha! I'll take one of these threepenny cigars to make it square."

"Oh! Lord! bless us; how sharp yer is," replied the old hag; "but, eh! what! be them two outsiders yer friends? Have'm in, young man, and shout (treat) for'm. That's the custom of the

place. I may as well tell yer, for I sees yer a stranger to these parts."

Before the astonished Mr. Spence could get out a word in reply the two sailors walked in, and the old woman handed to each of them a glass of the mixture. The elder, a man about sixty, whose name was Harry, having – apparently, by means of some powerful hydraulic apparatus, which he seemed to keep for that purpose, somewhere handy in the region of his stomach – pumped up into his eyes and nose tears glistening with benevolence, smacked his lips, and began a long address to the following effect: –

"No, missus, ye ain't that gentleman's friends 'zactly, an' yet ve're friendly dispoged towards 'im, werry; vich that gentleman nose, 'cause me and my mate's been a vatching over 'im for Lord nose how long, an' a cruising after him, an' a taking his bearings for him, 'cause me and my mate seed as 'ow 'e didn't 'no vot he vos a doing, a giggling at every mortal thing, vich is punish-

able here; and now I guess I've lost my situation just all along of him – Look out. Bill; don't let him get out; shove yer big carkase in the doorway. Vot imperance them small things 'as, ain't they, missus? Ven I, old enough to be his feyther is a speaking to him affectionate like, for him for to go for to try it on so. Shove'm back'ards, Bill; that's you. I vouldn't purposeli obstruct your door-vay, mum; but he aint yet paid you for our hale, and he shan't make 'is hexit till I'se done with 'im. If you'd 'noed how delicate-like I spoke to him in the street just now, all in a hindirect sort of a way, through my mate Bill, you'd say he varn't hardly ceevil."

"I won't pay for your ale, my man. I'm not the fool you take me to be. I never ordered it. The old woman herself made you a present of it. Perhaps she'll give you some more, if you ask her. No, well, don't be sulky about it. Come, we'll have glasses round, and part friends. Three more glasses, do you hear I'll pay for them."

"Oh! Lord bless us! How sharp you is," muttered the old woman, a second time, as she poured out the ale.

"Dash my vorsted vig, an' vot's your name, sir?" said old Harry.

"Me! My name is Anthony Spence."

"Then Mr. Tony, 'ere's to yer werry good 'elth, sir. Shake flippers, an' hexcuse my leetle jokes."

"No gammon, you know. What are you driving at now, eh?" said Tony.

"No gammon it is. Here Bill, take in yer ballast, man."

"Here's luck," said Bill, gulping down his ale.

Harry and Bill paid for the two glasses which they had previously had, and then offered to conduct Tony to an excellent lodging house, where they strongly recommended him to stay.

Mrs. Elliot, who kept these lodgings, was a most respectable woman. She was a loud talker, and a decided enemy to all drunkenness and

disorderly conduct. What was particularly praiseworthy in her, was the clever way in which she managed the business affairs, and money matters of her lodgers; inducing the careless ones to save, introducing the unfortunate to the more fortunate, and skilfully working all things together, so that in a short time her lodgers became a happy family.

On the twenty-fourth of April, it was our lot to fall in with poor Tony, in a much more colonial shape, at Mrs. Elliot's, in company with a man who, in the following pages, will bear the name of Charlie, and with another, called Sam. It was tea time, and several other persons were assembled at the table; but the conversation was chiefly carried on by Mrs. Elliot, and these three, two of whom, together with the aforementioned Harry and Bill, formed the crew of the "Mary Ira," a schooner whose voyage to the South Sea Islands, we propose to narrate. The third, Sam, a man of much higher quality than would be supposed from his appearance and conversation, had taken a

passage in her, for a district further to the north of New Zealand, called Waikari, where he intended to settle, and where the Captain had agreed to set him down.

"Well," said Mrs. Elliot, addressing a light complexioned, stoutly made young man, who sat at the other end of the table, dressed in a somewhat too stylish attire, "Well, you've been quick back again, Charlie! What have you brought in the schooner this time? You've got me some more Kumara (sweet potatoes), I hope, eh?"

"N-n-no mum, I ain't," replied Charlie, who had an awkward habit of stuttering over his initial letters, and of repeating in an odd, angry, sort of way, the last few words of his sentences. "N-n-no mum, I ain't; the skipper h-he only t-took h-her up as f-far as Emlee's m-mills, f-for a load of s-sawn t-timber. Mr Emlee s-seems n-now, very w-well off indeed – very w-well off, indeed."

"Ah! I daresay he does," said Mrs. Elliot.

"Well, to be sure; and I, as knew him when he was as poor as a rat, and now, let me tell you, he's as rich as a Jew, every bit; and a fine Jew he is, if he's been a going on as he began; and I, as remembers all about it, as if it had took place yesterday, just the same, for he came to me a few days after and told me all about it, as he was a sipping of his shandy-gaff, in this here very room. Oh! he was a sad rascal, was Emlee; for you see, though he had some money, he didn't scarcely know what to be up to with it, till, at last, he takes up with a chum, and buys a small bit of a boat as could sail, and then he goes creeping along, up the coast, and into the creeks, and the rivers, and all sorts of places, and buys from the natives, fish, and kumara and fruit; and sometimes, he gets hold of some kauri gum or some pigs. Well, he comes to a piece of land as would suit him first-rate, and the chief, as owned it, comes down to see whatever he was after a doing with his boat. Emlee takes him aside, and asks him, very grave-like,

if he owned any land. The chief, he circles his hand round his head like this, and says, all the land which he sees is his, and he makes a great fool of himself, a trying to look very big and grand. Emlee is wondrously purlite, and lights the chiefs pipe for him, and then says, 'Lors! now! ye looks like a great chief. You've got a lot of gold, I daresay.' 'No,' says he, 'I arn't got none.' 'No gold! – oh! then you ain't nothing of a chief.' And he bursts out a laughing in his face, and pats his head, and pulls him by the beard, and then sits down, and turns his back upon him, just as if he warn't nobody at all. The chief, he looks precious angry, and walks very deliberate-like away, and Emlee, he gets his things into the boat and comes back to Auckland. Well, he comes here, and he draws out forty pounds of his money, and he goes about a changing the sovereigns into half sovereigns. I couldn't think whatever he was after, a plaguing me, and everybody else, for his half-sovereigns. At last, he gets his eighty pieces of

gold, and he puts them into a nice bag of scarlet cloth, and he goes back to the chief. The chief doesn't come down to visit him, so he sends him a present of tobacco, and a message to come on very partikler business. He lays a blanket on the ground, and he sits down with his bag of gold under his arm. At last, the chief comes down, a smoking the tobacco, and, after some time, without either of them saying a blessed word, Emlee takes the scarlet bag from under his arm, and he opens it wide, and takes up handfuls of gold, and pours it backwards and forwards into the bag. The chief looks at the gold, and his sparkling eyes begin to glitter again. He stretches out his hand towards it, at last; but Emlee puts it all up again in the bag, though he keeps a chinking of it inside the bag now and again. After he had played with him some time, the chief must have the gold, and asks 'What he'd take for it?' Emlee says the land round about must be given to him. Well, would you believe it? he got all that land, the

chief a thinking he had eighty pounds for it, instead of only forty pounds, in half sovereigns – and very much vexed he was to find out his mistake."

"Ah! well, Mrs. Elliot," said the stout, determined-looking little man, who went by the name of Sam, "that was all very well in those days; but them things can't be done now. All the native lands have to be bought in by the Government, before they can pass into the hands of individuals; and the more's the pity, say I, for these Maories don't know what to do with the land they've got."

"Y-you s-speaks quite f-feelingly, S-sam, on that there s-subject. Y-you'd better s-sleep a-board her t-to-night, f-for we're off the f-fust thing t-to-morrow, at sunrise, ain't we, Tony? or, m-may be, y-you won't get any d-darned bit of l-land at all, either good or b-bad – either good or b-bad."

"Well, to be sure!" said Mrs. Elliot; "then you're off to-morrow, are you, Sam? Well, I'm

sure, I hope you'll get a good piece of land up at Waikari. Mind you give me a lock of your hair, Charlie; it's all that'll remain of you, you may be sure. I can't think whatever your skipper's up to, a going to those islands. He's sure to be took by the natives. The schooner's too small for that distance, now, mark my words. I'll tell you what, Sam, while you're aboard of her, just persuade him to leave it all alone, and come back here. What are you up to along with my scissars, Tony?"

"Only obeying you, mum; here's a lock of Charlie's seaweed," replied Tony, who, it seems, had operated on his friend's head with such sleight-of-hand as to have already secured a good handful of hair. Tony made an immediate bolt through the doorway, and was quickly followed by Charlie, who, as he made his exit, muttered,

"D-dash y-your y-young eyes, y-you bloated young thief; I guess I'll make you stop

them cussed tricks of yours – stop them cussed tricks of yours."

"Charlie's off, Mrs. Elliot; and as the schooner starts to-morrow morning, at sunrise, I shall sleep on board her. Good night," said Sam, who repaired for the night to the "Mary Ira," that lay at anchor in the beautiful, but insecure, harbour of Auckland.

She was rather a curious little vessel, 16 tons register, built of Kauri pine, justly celebrated for its great lightness and strength. Her spars were cut from some of the more supple species of the New Zealand timber. Her masts were somewhat rakish; but her bows were too bluff, her waist too short, and her build altogether too clumsy to be at all compatible with good sailing qualities. A practised eye would have discovered, at the first glance, that she had been built by an amateur, or, at all events, by some one who had not at hand all the various appliances necessary to the art of ship-building. Though not, ap-

parently, a good sailor, she seemed, nevertheless, to have been built with an eye to sea-going qualities, for she showed a comparatively bold side, strong and high bulwarks, and a bow which, as being the broadest part of her, seemed sufficiently massive to divide and force down the most angry of seas. She had been built by an old whaler, who had married a converted Maori girl, and she bore her name, the "Mary Ira." The only thing at all remarkable about her rig was her square sail yard, which seemed a great deal too long for her. A sea-faring man would have, however, explained this, by the supposition that she was about to make a deep sea voyage, and that her captain had probably provided himself with this spar, in order to "carry on" through the regions of the trade-winds. He had only lately purchased her. The ostensible object of the present voyage was to supply a firm at Newcastle (N. S. W.) with sulphur, from the volcano on the Island of Tana; but since he was far from being sure of the quality of the

sulphur, or of being able to obtain it from the natives – a fierce and difficult race to deal with – he proposed also to visit some of the neighbouring islands at the same time. As might be expected, he found it difficult to procure a crew willing to go with him in so small a craft, to such a distance, who were, at the same time, possessed of the needful qualifications. However, after some searching, he succeeded in picking up four men.

Harry was a spare, meagre, old man, over sixty years of age, with a few grey hairs tumbled over his bald pate. As a whaler, he had visited many of the islands of the South Pacific, and knew the coast of Australia well, having also served in an Australian vessel. He professed to understand the process of curing trepang; but, in this matter, he turned out to be, like the whale he had so often assisted to kill, a terribly hard "blower." But, notwithstanding his blowing – and we are sorry to have to add, his drinking and growling – he was a glorious old sea-dog,

active and wiry, and with a heart of oak, full of pertinacious courage, and of a cool impertinence, when surrounded with dangers, which seemed to bid almost a blasphemous defiance to the raging powers of nature. He was simple in his self-conceit, amusingly transparent, and, we might say, strangely reverential to religious subjects, except when abominably blasphemous, for he was regretful, if not repentant, at odd moments, and would half whimper, like a foolish child, too weak for the reformation of his own bad propensities. Strange anomaly! – that one, who so coolly asserted dominion over the elements of God, should exhibit so great an inferiority to the animal kingdom in self-government. He had a long tongue, and was ever attempting to keep the other men in subjection, by right of his post as mate, though, without much effect, as he could not control himself. But, if he did not do much for the crew, he was eminently successful as regards the vessel. Like all old seamen, he took a pride in her at once, and the captain himself

seemed somewhat astonished, to the no small inward satisfaction of the old man, at the clever little makeshifts he constantly put into practice while clearing away and putting the ship in seagoing order.

Bill was a man-of-war's man, who swore through thick and thin that he had served under Captain Semmes, in the "Alabama," which he had left for some unfathomable reason; but nothing – not even drink – could ever so far prevail over his discretion, as to induce him to reveal the great secret. He had, moreover, been cast away for some years on Bank's Island, one of the Solomon group; and he asserted that he understood thoroughly well half-a-dozen, at the least, of the various Malay dialects. He had stipulated to remain behind at any promising island, provided the natives appeared friendly, for the purpose of organising a trading station.

Charlie was a strong, stout seaman, apparently self-opinionated, but, in reality, only self-reliant. He had been a ship's rigger originally, then a

boatswain on board a Bombay ship, and had also been in several Yankee coasters, so that he was, on the whole, a great acquisition, not only from his thorough knowledge of ship-rigging, but also from his experience in sailing small crafts. Of this experience he was so proud, that he was perpetually trying to prove that he could do everything to the ship, and make the ship do everything he required of her, better than anybody else. Hence resulted innumerable arguments sufficiently ridiculous to form a source of perpetual amusement to those not immediately engaged in the controversy.

Tony was a short, active, little Welchman. Since his arrival in New Zealand, and acquaintance with old Harry, he had, like many others, made several unsuccessful attempts to obtain suitable employment, but having quickly spent all the little money he had brought out with him (in which expenditure he was materially assisted by Harry and his mate Bill), he had eventually shipped in the Mary Ira as cook and ordinary

seaman. Having gained his colonial experience, he was now let alone by the old hands, and thus had recovered his spirits and energy, which occasionally found vent in practical jokes, not always conducive to the harmony of the others.

Sam was a short, brown man. He called himself a "Rock Scorpion," having somehow tumbled into existence on the rock of Gibraltar. He was not quite clear himself, as to his parentage. He was probably a cross between a Portuguese and some other race, but it would be difficult to say whether Italian, French, or English. He had lived for many years knocking about Australia. Fortune had smiled upon him at last, and he had gained a small sum of money, with which he proposed to purchase land in New Zealand and settle. Having been unable hitherto to meet with a suitable allotment, he was now about visiting a fresh block of land which had been purchased by the Provincial Government from a Maorie Chief, named "John the Baptist," and thrown open to public competition.

[Inserted unpaginated illustration]

JUDGE'S BAY ON EASTERN SUBURB OF AUCKLAND.

CHAPTER II. UP THE COAST.

CHAPTER II.

UP THE COAST.

THE sun had scarcely streaked with light the eastern sky, on the morning of the twenty-fifth of April, 1866, when the noise of the catch passing over the palls of a wooden windlass, might have been heard on board the "Mary Ira." She was evidently making preparations for an immediate start, for one man was heaving up the anchor, another was setting the mainsail, a third nailed the handle firmly on the tiller, while the other two members of the crew were hauling

over her side a small dingy (boat). Sam, who was the only passenger onboard, sat on the cabin hatch, smoking and listening to the crew who were so actively engaged in getting her under weigh.

"Come, Sam, you ain't hardly avake," said Harry.

"That's why I smokes, old chap."

"Come, give us a 'and, vill you?"

"You've got a heavy crew, Captain," said Sam, evasively, "for so small a craft. Why me and a boy could manage her!"

"Jist give a pull on the boat's painter, sir, vill you, her 'ed vants slewing round a leetle. There – that'll do it."

"Yes, Sam, she's handy enough. Hallo! She's off, isn't she Harry?"

"The anchor's up, me bwoise; vind 'er in sharp. She's away!" shouted Harry as he jumped to the tiller.

"Who the juice are y-you sh-shouting at," retorted Charlie, " d-do you think I d-don't know

she's away. If so I guess y-yer t-tarnation m-mistaken – t-tarnation m-mistaken."

"That'll do now; none of that growling. Haul aft that jib-sheet, Charlie, and steer between the 'Curacoa' and the 'Eclipse' (two men of war). We'll 'bout ship when we get them well on our quarter. Keep her head as close to the wind as she'll go, Harry."

"Right you is, Cap'n. Vy the 'Siller Eaglet's' got her salt-horse flag up, sir. She's in a hurry, she is, to get away. The Skipper seeminli doesn't take kindly to the drubbin vich them boatmen gave 'im. My heyes it vos a joke, that was. After the ball, sir, he vos having a bit of a halterkation-like, vith von on 'em as vanted to take all the wissitors ashore in his own boat. The Skipper didn't see it, an' gives him just a leetle push on von side; so they all sets on him at vonce, an' gives him a reg'lar good malling, a svearing all the time as 'ow he vas the haggressor."

"Ready there, 'bout ship, helm's a lee."

"She comes roun', sir, werry pruttee, don't she, in smooth vorter. Like a leetle top, she do?"

The vessel, having gone about, rapidly approached the Island of Rangitoto, which is the Maori for "Mountain of blood." It forms the most characteristic feature of Auckland Harbour, which it completely shuts in. It is about three miles in diameter, and rises gradually to a height of a thousand feet, with a crater-like summit, on which are clearly to be distinguished three nipples. It has, moreover, this peculiarity, that, if visible at all, it always presents the same appearance, from every point of view. There is but little vegetation on it. It's upper part being composed of huge masses of red scoria. Several rocky ledges extend off its western side.

"Now, Tony, we're ready for breakfast. Is that water boiling?"

"Yes. Will you have it on deck?"

"To be sure. Who'd think of going below, such a morning as this?"

"You ain't going to ballast her at Drunken Bay, are you, Captain?"

"No, man; it would be too long a job. It would take all day with this dingy; she's uncommonly cranky, though. I shall take in more ballast at Munro's farm, where I shall put you ashore."

"You'd better come with me, Captain; and leave Harry to get her in order for her deep sea voyage. The country about Waikari, they say, is worth seeing. You'd enjoy it; and you may just as well fill up the time with a bit of a walk in the interior."

"Well, I don't mind if I do. How long shall you be about it?"

"Two or three days, sir."

"And what will you take with you?"

"A tent and a blanket, rolled up together."

"How about food?"

"Some ground coffee, a saucepan-coffee-pot, half-a-dozen biscuits, and a sausage."

"Is that all?"

"A couple of biscuits and a mouthful of sausage a day is enough; besides, there's plenty of wild fruit, such as peaches and grapes, to be had in the bush, sir."

"You don't say so? Just clear away those things, will you, Tony?" said the Captain, as he went below to light his pipe.

There was a fine breeze, and the schooner soon after passed out from between Rodney Point and the Little Barrier Island into the open sea. Rodney Point forms one side of the truly magnificent entrance into the Pacific from the Huraki Gulf. It is the western portal, so to speak, of this broad road of green waters, by which vessels run out from the port of Auckland. It is bold and cliffy in the extreme, and is backed by Mount Hamilton, a remarkable hill, which looks like some double-headed monster, raising itself thirteen hundred feet aloft. On the opposite side of the Gulf, which is twelve miles wide, stands the other portal – the Little Barrier Island; it is four miles in diameter, and thickly

wooded. Steep, and apparently inaccessible, it rises up almost perpendicularly into a multitude of lofty peaks, of from two to three thousand feet in height, whence it is often called "Mount many peaks."

"Hallo! there's a fore-and-aft schooner ahead of us," suddenly exclaimed Tony.

"It's only a rock, my lad; they calls it' Sail Rock,' on the chart, 'acause of it's zemblance to a sail," said Harry. "I suppose," continued he, addressing Sam, "you're up to all sorts of dodges for travelling up an' down the bush; but this 'ere place ain't zimilar to Horsetrailly. The land here is svompt vith vorter."

"I've travelled in the bush near as much as I have on sea, especially about Queensland."

"Queensland! Then you nose Brisbane?"

"Just a few, Harry; why, man, I've lived about Brisbane fer the last ten years."

"D'ye recomember a party as vos called the Songster."

"Yes, I do; I was there when he discovered about the sapless pine."

"What!" said Tony, opening his eyes, "have the pine trees got no sap?"

"I'll tell you the story, me lad. There's a curious little insect at Brisbane as lives in the brackish water at the mouth of the river. It settles on the timbers of the small craft, what do the lightering business up and down the river, between the town and Moreton Bay, where the merchant ships anchor. This insect ain't no bigger than a pin's head at first; but as it slowly eats its way into the wood, it increases in size, and becomes as big as a marble. It completely honeycombs the bottoms of ships, though they looks all the time as sound as a bell."

"I've heared on't," said Harry, "they calls it the 'cobra; ' and I recomember as how they was a sheathing the lighter boats and wharfs with copper or zinc, to presarve'm."

"Yes, that's it," said Sam. "Well, Songster

was once a sailing in his cutter; there was a nasty lop of a sea a running in from the nor'-east, and every indication of a breeze. He saw a vessel outside the bay, as was a trying to get to windward of Morton Island; he hadn't got more than a couple of miles or so past the lighthouse, when he heard her a firing guns of distress, and so he determined to run back to her assistance. As he tacked round a buoy, his cutter missed stays in the heavy seas, and was precious near driving on to a sand bank. Seeing his danger, he suddenly seized hold of a light kedge anchor, and flung it right on the top of the buoy; it fortunately held, and swung the cutter's head round on to the other tack. As soon as she got 'weigh on,' the kedge broke loose from the buoy, and as he hauled it in on board, he found a great piece of the buoy sticking to its flukes. The cutter soon reached the vessel, which was stuck hard and fast on a mud bank; he flung a rope to her, and the crew and passengers all got away just before she went to pieces. Having left them at

the Bay, Songster began to examine the piece of the buoy, which, as I told you, was stuck to the kedge; a part of it had been made of cedar, and was now eaten away by the cobra; but the rest of it had been cut out of a block of sapless pine, and was perfectly uninjured. This wood smells some'ut like resin, and these insects can't abide its taste; so it has ever since been used as sheathing for the lighter boats and wharfage on the river, instead of them plates of copper and zinc, which are expensive. But where's your skipper, Harry? I guess he ought to alter her course a few points now."

The Captain had been packing up a small knapsack for his walking tour with Sam; having filled up all his spare room with onions and biscuits, he came on deck with Harry. They had made a very fair run of it, and were now within sight of the entrance to Whangari. At sundown, they anchored in a little bay on the north shore of the mouth of the harbour, close to Munro's farm. While furling the sails, Harry called

attention to a rumbling noise in the direction of the town.

"Be silent, can't yer, me bwoise? Vot's that noise?"

"It's a steamer, but she's a long way off; what a death-like silence."

"Not so far off as you think, Captain; there's a bend in the river, which shuts in the sound," said Sam. "It's the 'Tasmanian Maid; ' she runs to Auckland and back, and stops here for letters, eggs, and butter."

"Tony, just light that bull's eye lantern; look alive, she's forging ahead fast."

"K-k-quick, yer y-young thief; what are you f-fumbling at. Sh-she'll be on the t-top on us as sure as s-snakes is snakes."

"All right, Charlie; here you are," said Tony, handing up the lantern, which was at once hung up in a conspicuous part of the fore-rigging.

"The steamer's stopt short, sir, and has dropped it's boat astarn; aye, and there's some

one in it. Shouldn't wonder if it warn't old Munro."

"Your right. Well! we'll be off, too; lower away the boat."

"I'll row you ashore, sir," said Harry.

"You'll take your dog with you, won't you, sir?" said Sam, caressing the Captain's dog, a black Scotch colly, called Lupus. "He'll be useful in the bush."

"He'll eat more than he's worth, I guess."

The boat was now lowered over the schooner's side, and the Captain and Sam, with the dog, were landed on the beach by Harry.

"Well, Harry, good night to you; you must act as stevedore, and see to her ballasting. She wants trimming down well aft; fill up the water casks, and if you have time before we return, get in a good supply of fire wood."

"Aye, aye, sir; and her rigging wants overhauling. Good night."

The Captain and Sam walked along the beach,

passing several little farmsteads, store-houses, and even a post office, on their way to Munro's farm, where they intended to beg for lodgings for the night. Mr. Munro, who had just that instant arrived at his house by the "Tasmanian Maid," received them at once, with that cordial hospitality which it is the pride of a New Zealand settler to bestow. He was a kind-hearted, fine looking old man – a hardened specimen of the Gaelic race – assuming almost a patriarchal influence and position over those who formed this charming settlement of Highlanders. He had lived here surrounded by his clan for many years His house was a simple, but commodious one, built of wood, and facing one of the most picturesque bays in the harbour; on one side of it stood several of those strangely shaped mountains, the sharp escarpments of which, with their comically jagged outlines, seem peculiar to New Zealand scenery. Behind, some good pasture land rose up into high fern ranges, overlooked by an old native "pah," or sugar-loaf hill, which had

once been strongly fortified with Maori earth works. They were invited to partake of an excellent supper, and while it was being prepared, two or three neighbouring settlers dropped in.

"Sae dow yer sit doon," said Mr. Munro, "an' tak soom damperr an' chaze, till beterr meat's mad r'dy."

Fried fish, cold peach pie, and cream, cheese and damper (a sort of doughy bread), were washed down with some capital whiskey. There had just taken place a great cricket match and the Whangari eleven had returned from the Bay of Islands where they had been victorious for the first time.

"Aweel, I ken little aboot it, but a body tould ma y'r w'r na' sotisfied wi' bating 'em at cricket, but maun gar, quotha, an' insurlt 'em at th'r oon dinner boord."

"All chaff, sir; all chaff. One of us gave 'em a comic song. Thought it too personal. Got up, left table. Thin skinned chaps."

"Ah!" said Sam," there are some good folks

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POST OFFICE &c NEAR MUNRO'S FARM.

as can't stand chaff. There was Elisha, now."

"Don't know him. Live up in town?"

"No. Him that turned the bears loose on the children. Ain't you read your – "

"Tak soom moorr speerits, mon, an' drop that," said Munro.

"Thank you, sir. So you beat them at the election last month, I'm glad to hear it."

"Aye, mon, I w'ss trysted wi the m'fortun' o' being clink'd uppermaist, sae that I'm the mimb'r f'r Whangarie noo."

This gave rise to a discussion on colonial politics. It was suggested that all the native lands should be assumed to belong to the government, unless under actual cultivation, and that this land should be sold by auction, at a reserve of four shillings an acre only, instead of ten shillings as it is now; and that the settlers should be left to maintain possession of it (if they could), by military combinations among themselves, against the Maories. This gave general

satisfaction, and, as the whiskey disappeared, the new member pledged himself to carry this suggestion, and several others, through the house. Sam discovered that the settler who sat next him was the very man who had been employed by government to survey the new district; he there fore laid himself out to him, as much as possible, in order to obtain from him information about the positions of the best patches of land. In the meantime the others were discussing the subject of Titaniferous Iron Ore, whether or not the probabilities were in favour of its ever becoming an article of export to Great Britain.

"It's a black sand, sir, granulated like gunpowder, found on the shores at New Plymouth, Taranaki, Mount Egmont, and perhaps some other places, and it produces a tough iron of first rate quality."

"Aye, I heard a story of an Irishman who sold a bag of it to a Maori Chief, pretending as it was gun-powder. The Maori had been at him a long while, teasing him to sell him some

powder, though it was illegal for him to sell any. The Irishman was so much in their hands that he could not afford to offend their chief, he also suspected foul play, so he filled a bag with this sand, and sold it to him at a tremendous high price, as though it was gunpowder. The chief immediately took it to the authorities, hoping to gain a large reward, for informing upon the Irishman. Well, sir, the Irishman was summoned. The evidence was as clear as noonday. The Commissioners had summed up, and the verdict was about to be pronounced, when to the astonishment of everybody, sir, the prisoner bursts into regular shouts of laughter, calling them all 'a parcel of miserable old women as didn't know gun-powther from block sond.'"

At length the settlers departed for the night, and Mr. Munro, addressing the Captain and Sam, said –

"Weel, weel. Coom, awa, wi you; I'll jist shoo ye y'r beds f'r the noight, an' nixt mornnen, may be, I'll be f'r gieing ye a notion o' the

noo deestrict o' Waikari, an' o' the surest gate to-words it. Gude night."

"Thank you, for your kindness," said they, in return, as they closed the crazy old door of a queer looking garret, in which were two still more crazy looking bedsteads. Here they lay down ostensibly to sleep, but in reality to listen to the awful howlings of poor Lupus outside, and to be devoured by crowds of mosquitoes all night.

CHAPTER III. WAIKARI.

CHAPTER III.

WAIKARI.

"Sir! are you awake yet?" inquired Sam despondingly, on the morning of the twenty-sixth of April.

"Awake yet! Yes, Sam; I am yet awake, if that's what you mean, and I wish to goodness I wasn't. But after all, what's the good of lying down, when one can't sleep. Just dance the Highland fling, will you, Sam, to waken up the house, and then p'raps we shall get something in the shape of a breakfast, before we start."

"Oh! no, sir, I shouldn't exactly like to disturb them after their civility to us last night."

"Ah! you're not half a colonial, Sam. Well! we must start on an empty stomach, and without Mr. Munro's 'notion.'"

"That don't matter, sir. I think I know as much about the land as Munro does; for one of the chaps, that was here to supper last night, was the Surveyor himself. So I pumped him about it as well as I could,"

"Considering you were half drunk."

"Oh! no, sir. It takes a sight of grog to make my face flush even."

"I dare say it does, Sam. You've got a dark complexion. But are you sure, you know the position of the new district?"

"Yes, sir. We can't miss it."

"Why so?"

"You see, sir, it's on a piece of land that's shaped like my nose."

"Like your nose, man! What do you mean?"

"Well, sir! It points out into the sea, and it hangs on to the mainland, just as this feature," and Sam pointed to his proboscis, "hangs on to my face. The lower side of this piece of land is bounded by the wide mouthed entrance of Whangari harbour, and it's upper side is limited by the line of the sea coast."

"And where abouts is Waikari situated?"

"Just about the bridge of the nose, sir."

"And we shall have to start from the nostril I suppose? Well! have you got a pocket compass with you?"

"No, sir. I haven't, but there's a biggish wart on the tip of the nose, as 'ill serve tor a land mark to steer by. I means the Great Bream Head."

"Well! Are you ready? Let's make a start of it. Come."

They slung their "swags" on their backs, and walked off with Lupus. The country was of the most varied description. They passed over hill and vale, down abrupt cliffs, through deep

gullies, up to their middles in muddy water. Sometimes wandering over vast tracts of open fern laud, and at other times traversing patches of thick and heavy bush, where the lofty totarra, and gigantic Kauri, spread high overhead their impenetrable foliage, casting into the deepest gloom the confused undergrowth of tree ferns and cabbage trees. The strange looking supple-jacks, like long black snakes, hung suspended from the trees, and clung about, and twisted and twirled themselves fantastically around in every possible direction. One huge Kauri tree, the girth of which was more than twelve yards, rose up to a height that could neither be measured nor even guessed at, from the astonishing assemblage of various kinds of inextricable foliage, which completely concealed its upper parts. There is something particularly gloomy and threatening in the dark foliage of the Kauri, supported, as it is, by heavy, twisted, and gnarled branches. This tree is a species of pine, but its general appearance reminds one of a straggling ilex.

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CREEK OF THE PATAW.

Sometimes it grows to an enormous size. Mr. Terry, in his work on New Zealand, alludes to one, near Mercury Bay, called "The Father of the Kouri," by the natives, "Although almost incredible, it measures seventy-five feet in circumference at its base..... There is an arm, some distance from the trunk, which measures six feet in diameter at its juncture with the main stem."

"Well, Sam, if it's all the same to you, we'll sit down, and have breakfast, or rather dinner, for it's past noon," said the Captain, seating himself on the edge of a deep cattle track. "I feel considerably done up."

"That's the creek of the Pataw, sir, in front of us, I'm well nigh sure. Hadn't we better push on? There's no water here, and biscuit is dry eating by itself."

"Hang the water! I've got a few mouthfuls of brandy in a flask. Come, sit down. We must make the best of it."

After a light meal, they continued onwards

in the same direction, through the same tangled scenery, indented with ravines. They intended to track down to the coast a little river, which they could occasionally catch sight of, from the higher land, and which they surmised must run into the Pataw, where some of the best lots of land in the district were said to lie. They had a long walk over a high fern range of excellent land for cattle. The ferns grew to a height of seven feet, and were mixed in places with ti trees, sufficiently tall to afford shade and shelter from the midday heat.

At length they gained a commanding view of the windings of the river, and towards evening our travellers had the satisfaction, after wading across a marsh full of tall rushes and mangroves, to arrive at a singularly picturesque spot. The marsh drained itself into the little deep river, which wound along amid some high flax plants and cabbage trees, into the creek of the Pataw. There was aflat, rocky, corner jutting out into the river, and shelving down to it. Behind was a

bank covered with fine timber. On this flat, rocky, corner stood two trees, between which they determined to fix their tent. They had barely sufficient time, before the sun set, to do so, and to light a good fire. While the fire was burning up Sam walked down to the river side to fill a saucepan coffee pot with water. The dog was lapping up the water with great eagerness, so Sam followed his example by taking a good pull at the coffee pot. He stopped short, however, after the first gulp, and began groaning dismally.

"Faugh – ugh – pah! Sir, the water's as slimy and brackish as lobster sauce."

The Captain was in despair. It is by no means pleasant, after a long, wearying walk in a hot climate, to find, when your encampment has began to assume an air of comfort, that a long and perhaps unsuccessful search for water awaits you.

"Nonsense," said he, running to the stream; "it's impossible."

"I'll tell you what, sir, I'll just go into the middle of the stream. It may be better there."

Not a bit of it. The tide was running in from the sea, and consequently, though the water had not quite such a fishy flavour, yet it was much more salt.

"Well, sir, I don't know what to do now. I haven't got my Bibles with me, else I might hit upon some remedy."

"Your Bibles, man; what do you mean?"

"Don't you know what my Bibles are?"

"No."

"Why first, there's the Bible, sir, which is my guide to heaven. Second, there's Nory's 'Epitome,' which is my guide at sea. Thirdly, there's Galton's 'Art of Travel,' which is my guide in the bush. Those are the only three books worth reading, sir."

"Well, Sam, this marsh extends apparently a long way, and its water is sure to be all putrid. The only thing for us to do is to start off again with our baggage; that is, if you can't do without water. I'm not so very thirsty myself."

"And I'm not so hard up for water, as that comes to, either," said Sam.

"Suppose we make some onion broth with this sea water. It'll do instead of salt."

They made some very tolerable broth, which, however, did not have the effect of abating their thirst. This fact, together with the many millions of mosquitoes and sand flies swarming and buzzing around them, effectually drove away all inclination to sleep. They sat, however, very comfortably in their tent, with the fire in front of them, so arranged that the wind blew the smoke through its canvas opening, right in their faces, and filled the tent; but this not being quite sufficient to clear off these insects, it was found necessary to add to it the smoke of tobacco. They, therefore, resolved upon lighting their pipes having a bit of chat, and then smoking and sleeping by turn, till daylight.

"Well, Sam, what do you think about Mr. Munro? If he could have his way, he would give you your land at four shillings an acre, instead of at ten shillings. That would suit you, eh?"

"He's a public spirited man, at all events, and that's not what is often seen in the colonies."

"What! You, an old colonist, say that?"

"And he seems a quiet man, too, and how he's got to be elected puzzles me."

"Why so?"

"Well, I'll tell you what it is, Captain; I've been to most of the places about here and in Australia, and I always thinks the people out here don't understand the meaning of 'holding a stake in the country.' People come out here not, generally, to live, but 'to go the rounds,' to pick up all they can get, and if they have luck, just to go back home again; so, in course, they don't hold a stake in the country, though they pretends they do."

"I see, you think 'the stake' becomes not so much a symbol of responsibility as an authoritative weapon to knock about the ears of the people, and to clear a passage through them for oneself in the universal scrimmage after the almighty."

"It's just that, sir, and I thinks that if it hadn't been for that, the people wouldn't have been such fools as to have instituted their suffrage dodge."

"Well, but it's the people that did it."

"And the more fools they, for they've opened the doors of the parliament to all them as shouldn't have been allowed to enter it at no price. They've opened it to all the roystering blackguards that infest the country."

"Why, you're a bloated aristocrat, Sam."

"The same to you, and wuss, sir, whatever that may be. But, sir, a country ain't a ship, to be governed from its starn."

"Well, but tell me why you think it all so bad?"

"That'll take a long time, sir; and where to begin I don't know."

"Oh! I'll steer you through the subject. Just imagine the constitution to be a big tree; now begin with the roots. What sort of people do they elect to be their members of parliament? Are they clever men? In what do they principally excel?"

"I've observed, sir, that they generally excels in one of two things, sir. First, in that of liquoring-up well the highly independent constituency."

"Independent you mean, I suppose, of all such foolish and impracticable notions as true patriotism, love of genuine reform, &c."

"Yes, sir; and secondly they excels in ignorance and conceit in themselves, for having discovered something which everyone else knew long ago, they gets so conceited over themselves for having discovered it, as they thinks, that they makes quite a fuss about it."

"You mean the fanatical ignorance of the demagogue whose ignorance having been en-enlightened on a particular truth, fanatically converts it into a general one, and thrusts it into novel spheres with an audacity that astonishes and electrifies the howling mob." 1

"Some'ut of that sort is what I mean, sir."

"Well, Sam, now that you've proved some of the roots to be vitiated, let's see what we may expect from the trunk of the tree, from that main support of the country – the parliament."

"Perhaps, sir, the Sydney Parliament, being the oldest, would give a chap the most correct view of what it all comes to, and it's awful there, sir; the sensible ones can't say or do a thing."

"You think, then, that the shallow, impudent, and noisy demagogue, being in the majority, utterly overwhelms the quiet, prudent, and patriotic."

"The things that go on there are so disgraceful and ridiculous, that the visitor who looked on would laugh it all to scorn, sir, unless he wept at the folly of it."

"Well, but what sort of things go on there?"

"They drinks themselves up, and blackguards each other like fun, sir."

"Can it be habitual with these dishonourable

members to drink themselves into a state of fuddled talkativeness, in order to wind themselves up to the requisite pitch for the display of effective personal abuse? I cannot believe you, Sam."

"Well, sir, the Sydney Punch, and everyone else, always calls it 'the great parliamentary pig-stye.' But, sir, it would take half-a-dozen Punches, a blazing away at them in every column, to do them any good. Why, sir, talking of the Melbourne Parliament, there was one big member began a bullying and blackguarding one of the quieter ones; but the quiet one wouldn't stand it, and so he gets up, and says, since they are canvassing the private character of himself, he'll just do the same for the tother party, and then he tells them that this big bully had once been the Captain of a slave ship, which happened to be becalmed, and so couldn't escape from an English man-of-war, and that he tied all the slaves, by one arm, to a long rope, and dangled them over the side of the ship, with just their

noses above water, and with a heavy weight at their feet, hoping that the officer of the man-of-war wouldn't see them; 'but,' says he, 'the officer happening to put his head over the ship's side, he hears a bit of a splash – and what do you think the splash was?' says he, – 'why, it was the slaves; for, as soon as ever the Captain saw the officer a craning his head over the side, he give a whistle, and the mate for'ard cuts the rope with his axe, and down goes all the slaves, so sudden, that they had no time to screech out.' That story, sir, silenced the big bully for a time, I should think."

"You've not got the story quite right, Sam; but never mind. Well, we now come to the foliage of the tree. What sort of society have you, in a general way, among the middle and lower classes in Australia? Is it as bad as it is here?"

"It's much worse, sir. It greatly resembles the foliage of the Australian trees generally,

which is narrow, drooping, and anything but verdant."

"Colonial society, you would say, then, is unutterably dry, and has to be perpetually moistened with beer, wine, and spirits, otherwise it would completely fade away?"

"In fact, sir, the society is all pot-house, and that's the truth of it."

"Well, as regards the fruit of such a tree as that you've been describing, there can't be a doubt about it – that if, to the upper classes, the whole becomes a ludicrous burlesque upon England, to the lower classes it must be a sad and fearful tragedy; for, of course, there can be no relief for them – none of those organisations, wheel within wheel, which provide for and sustain them in England. They are, I suppose, entirely dependant upon the philanthropy of others, and it takes only a little knocking about in the world to find that there is not much of that in reality, though they get shamed into it a little in Eng-

land; but that does not hold good in the colonies, I suppose?"

"If the poor man, sir, once loses heart out here, it is all over with him; he may as well do what many of them does – go into a bush, and die like a dog – decently, sir, under a tree, not in the pathway, or the passer-by will probably d – n him for leaving his carcase in the road."

"Well, Sam, this tree that you have been describing to me is quite a curiosity in the vegetable kingdom, for it's grown just contrary to all the laws of nature, and it reverses the natural order of things. The great classes, or ranks of man, are natural divisions, Sam. A linen-draper wouldn't make a good bush man, nor a bush man a linen-draper. And, Sam, history shews us that all men and nations naturally fall into these classes. Each class may have a right to be represented, in proportion to the elevation of its rank; but that any one class has the right to outvote another, so that it shall have no representative at all, is wrong, even though it favours.

the aristocracy of merit; but, Sam, what shall we say, when it favours the creme de la creme of demerit – 'the right of all men to have an equal vote in the government of a country?' What a statement is this! but what an egregious error is it, for the lower classes, of all people in the world, to make! It is the same as though they voluntarily gave up the right they undoubtedly have to call upon their wealthier brethren for help and assistance, in time of difficulty."

Sam slept.

The next morning (the twenty-seventh) while Sam was engaged in lighting a fire, the Captain managed to fill the saucepan coffee pot with tolerable water, by tilting into it the long, sword-shaped leaves of the flax plants, on which the dew had collected, in large drops, during the night. After a cup of coffee, they were in better condition for marching across the various lots of land.

Sam had a large map of the survey, on thin tracing paper, upon which he wrote a few remarks, in pencil, as he came to each lot.

At one time, as they walked towards the creek of the Pataw, they lost all view of it, and seemed to be completely locked in by steep hills, covered with bush and impenetrable thickets. Here they came to a stand-still, and had to retrace their footsteps for some miles, which was most aggravating; when, just as they despaired of getting down to the place they had marked out as the extreme point worth visiting in that direction, they found a steep ravine, down which they rolled and tumbled, leading straight to the very place they wanted to examine. The beautiful Pataw, divided into two branches, lay right in front, forming a delta of very fair native grass. As they approached the creek, they heard sounds as of people throwing heavy stones in the water, and found it to be caused by large numbers of silvery-backed fish, which leaped out of the water to a great height, and then came down with a loud smack on the surface, at a distance of some yards from where they had risen.

They had sat down to smoke and to rest them-

selves, and were taking notes of the land, when their attention was drawn, by the measured sound of oars close upon them, to a solitary Maori, in a canoe. On seeing them, the Maori paddled quickly to the other bank of the river, where he cautiously deposited some strung fish.

Sam shouted out "Tanaki, tanaki" (glad to see you), at the top of his voice.

This re-assured him, for he paddled towards them; and, on being given some tobacco, he carried them across the creek in his canoe, and subsequently pointed out the best way to get to the Tai Aruru, another river, at the mouth of which some of the best land was, according to Mr. Munro, situated.

After some hours' walking, they came upon what appeared to be a Maori burial-place. It was a flat, high mound, with a couple of stakes on either side driven into the ground, and a cross bar. There was no name to identify the dead; but an old pair of coarse blue trousers, the sign of its being "tapu" (or sacred) was

hung up to float in the breeze. It was thickly over-grown with fern, on a rapid slope, just above a fresh water gully, filled with tall trees and ti-tree scrub – a delicious place for dinner, – so they sat down and refreshed themselves with another cup of coffee and some biscuits and moat.

A long walk, in the afternoon, brought them to a mountain marked on the plan as Kauri Mountain, and which rewarded them for all their fatigues. A forest concealed its southern flank, giving it a black, savage appearance, when viewed from the side. It is a forest of Kauri timber, once so extensive as to have given the name to the mountain. The genuine Kauri forests are not so thick in that wonderfully rich undergrowth peculiar to New Zealand, as are those of mixed timber; but, perhaps, this may be said to be an advantage, in some respects, even as regards beauty, for the tree ferns, &c, grow more gracefully, and are certainly more visible. Arriving by circuitous cattle tracks, at

the top of the mountain, the travellers had the gratification of finding that it commanded a view of the sea.

There was the blue ocean, on their right, studded over with a group of softly-tinted islands, breaking through the line of the horizon with their delicate outlines. A long, wavy, coast line, cast into numerous bays and creeks, was elevated, as a rocky barrier against the unquiet waters, whose hoarse roar, mellowed by the distance, they distinctly heard. To the front, full before them, stretched long roaches of undulating fern, sweeping inland from the high-lifted coast, covered with large patches of the hara-keke, or flowering flax, and intersected with the windings of the river, the Tai Aruru, which meandered downwards to the sea, through rich, green flats of grass. Behind them, the whole country rose up, with one accord, into a very tumult of hills, of every shape, piled at the base of distant mountains, which, in their turn, were over-topped by the Great Bream Head, with

its wild-looking double peaks, jagged and naked on either side.

They now passed down the mountain and crossed some low flats, where the ti tree and ferns grew so luxuriantly, as to threaten to impede further progress, till ascending the high ridge which girt the shores – a ridge which sloped inwards, clothed with grass; but which, outwards, beetled down upon the sea, with stern and rocky cliffs – they arrived at a wide-opened chasm, or gully, and thence at a charming little bay, with cavernous rocks on its sides, and with a shelving, pebbly, and sandy beach in front, whilst a streamlet from the gully flowed down it, partially dammed up by a bank of sand, so as to form a small pool of fresh water, within a few yards only of the sea. Here they pitched their tent, lit a lire, collected a stack of fire-wood, and cut down a supply of springy ferns, on which to make their beds for the night.

This was the piece of land which Sam intended more thoroughly to inspect. From all accounts,

it seemed to be the one best suited to his purposes, so they devoted the next morning (namely the twenty-eighth), after enjoying a bathe in the sea, to walking carefully round the boundaries of the lots, as pegged down by the surveyor, and identifying them with the lines and figures marked upon the plan. First, they walked along the marginal ridge, which, as we have said, confronted the sea with precipitous escarpments, and inclined gently inland, towards the low flats of the Tai Aruru. They found it to consist of splendid land, capable of supporting thousands of cattle – full of native grasses, ferns, flax, and ti tree, intermingled with flowers, which were covered with singing locusts. Moreover, as the land sloped downwards to the river, it became marshy and full of those tender, bright green rushes in which the New Zealand cattle seem to revel. Following up the surveyor's tracks to a spur of the Kauri Mountain, where it united with the ridge, they found it heavily wooded from top to bottom, with abundance of kauri, totarra, red

pine, and other valuable timber, while the fresh water streamlet, which flowed into the bay, had its origin somewhere here, and circled around the base, on its way to the sea. Proceeding along its well-shaded banks, they returned to their encampment, and prepared an early dinner, which, by the way, was chiefly composed of a sauce made out of a moderately-sized crab, which they had found on the rocks, while bathing, in the morning.

"A pity we've got no butter, nor a frying pan, sir. These locusts are first-rate roasted in grease. It's best to pull off their legs and wings, though."

"Sam, my friend, you disgust me."

"Well, sir, John the Baptist ate 'em."

"And if he did, what then? He had thirty wives, was tattoed, and covered with vermin; you'd better imitate him in those matters, too, Sam."

"Oh! Lord, sir! don't be sacrilegious."

"And he went about stark naked, and smoked

an iron pipe. Rather hot in the mouth that, Sam; eh?"

"Yes, sir; very much so, indeed. Not the pipe, I mean; but what you're a saying."

"What do you mean, man?"

"I mean the Jew, sir; the John the Baptist of the Bible."

"Oh! I thought you meant the Maori Chief, who sold this land to the government, and whose name they said was John the Baptist. But if he was a Jew he wouldn't eat a locust."

"Yes, sir; and wild honey, too."

"Well! red currant jelly goes well with hare, it's true; but still, Sam, the mixture would taste funny. Fancy honey, roasted flys, and melted butter, beat up together. Pah! it would be an apothecary's ointment, Sam; and the dead flies would make it stink, cooked or raw. No, old chap; it was the fruit of the locust tree he ate, not the fly. But what do you think about the land, Sam? Have you made up your mind about getting it?"

"It's a great pity they've divided the piece we've been over into two lots. If I can bid for the two together, I'll do so; for then it would be a very complete piece, and one as would suit me well. For first, I should have a very good bay, where a schooner, in fine weather, could very well anchor; and in bad weather, she could always run into the Nongodo river, which isn't only a few miles higher up the coast. Secondly, sir, there's this stream, which, without any trouble, would turn a water wheel for a saw mill, and there's plenty of timber close by it. Next, sir, there's quite enough of a cattle run for me; and then, lastly, the fencing it all in wouldn't come to much, for it's rather triangularly shaped, and there would only be one side of the triangle to fence across, from the river to the sea. But I won't bid for one lot unless I'm sure of getting the other. "

"Well, I think you are right, Sam. If I had a wife and children, I shouldn't mind settling, too."

We must here take leave altogether of Sam, who, as soon as he had regained Munro's farm, returned by steamer to Auckland; while the Captain proceeded to his schooner, which, being in perfect readiness for her voyage, got immediately under weigh.

At sun-down she rounded the promontory, and sailed up the coast, between that curious group of islands called the "Hen and Chickens," and the "Great Bream Head," whose summit resembled the head of a stag, having two branching knobs, surmounted with a grotesquely grown tree or two.

As the twilight advanced, this resemblance grew stronger and stronger, and the hills behind raised their heads in the shades of the semi-darkness for a moment, like a herd of wild cattle round some an tiered monarch, all madly galloping across a huge American prairie far away, retreating from the schooner into the distance of the fast falling night.

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TAI ARURU ENCAMPMENT.

1 See "Salmagundi," by Washington Irving: – "This empire is governed by a grand and most puissant bashaw, whom they dignify with the title of President. He is chosen by persons who are chosen by an assembly elected by the people – hence the mob is called 'the sovereign' people, and the country 'free.' The body politic doubtless resembling a vessel, which is best governed by its tail. " * * * * * "Preposterous! How is it possible that such men can be capable of distinguishing between an honest man and a knave, or even if they were, will it not always happen that they will be led by the nose by some intriguing demagogue and made the mere tool of ambitious political jugglers? Surely it would be better to trust to Providence, or even to chance, for governors than resort to the discriminating powers of an ignorant mob."

CHAPTER IV. NORFOLK ISLAND.

CHAPTER IV.

NORFOLK ISLAND.

ANTICIPATING bad weather, the Captain had run into a small harbour on the coast, where he had anchored for the remainder of the night. It was a pretty place, though groaning under the inelegant name of Tutucaca. At its entrance were three enormous gables of solid rock. The passage in was only a cable's length in width, but inside, it opened out to about twice that extent. There was a pretty wooded islet in the middle, close to which the

schooner had dropped anchor. It was well protected to sea-ward by rocks, and there was a small Maori village on the little strip of shelving beach which formed the southern shore.

On the morning of the 29th of April, some Maories came, in their beautifully-carved canoes, alongside the schooner, bringing with them water-melons, mash-melons, and pumpkin-melons, also kumara (a native sweet potato), and some common pumpkins, in return for which they begged for some "pipes and 'bacco," which were readily given them.

Tony commenced catching fish, and was so successful, that in ten minutes a score of large "snapper" were flopping about on deck. While he was preparing them for breakfast, Bill and Charlie went ashore with the natives, returning shortly afterwards with a couple of canoe-fulls of fire-wood, with which the vessel had been rather scantily provided.

The breakfast was extremely amusing. Four or five of the Maories had clambered up on deck,

and their olfactory nerves were tickled by the odour of the roasting "snapper," which provoked a strong sensation of hunger. They considered they had earned a breakfast, by the assistance they had afforded in collecting firewood.

"Well," said the Captain, who had gathered enough from their strange broken English to perceive what they wanted; "let them have breakfast with us."

"Look 'ere now, yer niggers. Sit down, vill yer?" said Harry; "an' put on yer best manners, like Pakehas (Europeans), or I'll not sit down vith yer."

"Y-you d-do like m-me," said Charlie, drawing himself out with intense dignity, and then sitting down, as if he had swallowed a poker.

"Yah! ar, ar, me Pakeha, we all Pakehas," said the natives, who gravely and exactly imitated him, sitting down like so many pairs of tongs, bent rigidly into sitting attitudes.

Tony having served up breakfast, thought it

was his turn to initiate them into the manners of fashionable life.

"You do like me," said he to one of them, "and not like him," pointing to Charlie

The native he had addressed carelessly flung one leg over the other, and threw the whole crew into convulsions of laughter, by cleverly assuming the exaggerated airs of a dandified coxcomb. He bowed to the Captain with frigid politeness, as he sipped his coffee. He gracefully flourished his arms about as he took a biscuit, which Tony handed him, and smiled blandly on himself, and washed his hands in the air, with the self-complacent look that so well suits a small tea party at home. A short, black pipe, held against his brow by a piece; of twine tied round his head, gave him an irresistibly comical appearance. His mimicry of European conversation was, moreover, capital. Addressing the other Maories in, it is true, a somewhat unintelligible language, he seemed to be pluming himself prodigiously upon his knowledge of Europeans generally. Perhaps he had

visited Auckland, and like the monkey who stept out of his cage, thought that he also had seen the world. At all events, he looked upon himself as being infinitely superior to his brown brothers, who were but a parcel of ignorant blacks. Having indulged himself with various sarcasms on their colour, ugliness, and such-like personalities, he finished up by requesting to be allowed the singular honour of "smoking that gentleman's health," pointing to Tony, "in a pipeful of 'bacco."

"The vether's been taking up all the blessed morning, sir, an' the vind seems coming round a few points, vot leetle there is on it. Hadn't ye better move on."

"The tide is s-still g-getting in strong – g-get-ting in strong."

"Yes, but we can't afford to lose time. Perhaps the natives will tow us out with their canoes."

"Give 'em a taste of rum, Captain. Them

chaps vould drown 'emselves for a toothful of grog."

The anchor up, and mainsail set, a small hawser was handed down to the natives, who rowed away vigorously in their canoes, between the rocks, to the sea, towing the schooner out with them. The jib, stay, and foresail, were then run up, and soon she went dancing away, with the wind on her port quarter along the wild and rugged coast, past Cape Brett, which is twelve hundred feet high, rising abruptly on its eastern side, but sloping off gradually to the north; past a small bare rock which lies off it, a little way out to sea, perforated by a strange looking natural archway. This rock forms one side of the eastern approach to that lovely harbour, studded with innumerable islands, where stands the town of Korarika, formerly one of the chief places of resort of the many whalers that, a few years back, used to frequent these seas. Subsequently it was, for a short time, the capital of New Zealand; Auckland

superseded it, and Wellington has now superseded Auckland.

The schooner did not enter the "Bay of Islands," but kept on her course to the north. At sundown, the Captain passed the "North Cape," and took his departure from that singularly bold group of Island rocks, called the "Three Kings."

On the thirtieth of April he fell in with the strong south-east trade winds which bore him rapidly onwards towards Norfolk Island. On the night of the first of May it blew rather fresh, so the Captain hauled on a wind from the south, fearing lest he should pass it.

At sunrise on the second, he sighted Philip Island and flew down to it, at a great rate, before the boisterous breeze, under double reefed canvas. Philip Island is a curious red rock, situated close to Norfolk Island, and opposite its principal harbour, which has been named after Sydney, the capital of New South Wales.

And now all were looking anxiously at the

flag-staff in Sydney Harbour to see whether the flag of danger, or the union jack, was hoisted by the inhabitants; for this place is so exposed to the wind, that it is only in very moderate weather that it affords a safe anchorage.

Yes, there it was, plain enough; the Captain had caught sight of the union jack with his glass, and congratulating himself that all was right, he boldly ran on for the anchorage, as marked in the chart, intending to provide himself with additional firewood and to await more moderate weather.

Bill and Tony went for'ard to be ready to let go the anchor stop, when the proper moment for doing so should have arrived, Harry stood by the lead-line, and Charlie steered. It was a moment of considerable excitement for them all, as the little craft rose and fell on the seas that, in the now shoaling water, stood mountains high, and neared the reefs which apparently extended entirely round the open bay, into which they had sailed, with the wind right aft.

In vain the Captain examined this barrier of

water, dashed high in the air, by unseen rocks, into cataracts of foam, hoping to find some opening through which they might pass into the smooth water beyond; but no, there was nothing of the sort, and the bay itself was far too unprotected for any one to dream for a moment of anchoring in it. Philip Island, which is nothing but a bare rock, was too small and too distant to afford them the shelter of a lee shore. In fact it soon became so evident that Sydney harbour, Norfolk Island, was, in the usual acceptation of the word, no harbour at all, that the Captain suddenly exclaimed –

"If we're not already jam'd, we must get out of this, at all risks, or we're lost. Jibe ship there. Down with the helm, hard to port. Haul in the main sheet."

The schooner answered her helm only too easily, for, as her head came round, a sea caught her a buffet on the port quarter which set her spinning, long before the main sheet could be gathered in, and consequently the boom of the

main sail (which was taken aback), swung across the taffrail with a heavy surge, nearly knocking Charlie overboard, and being brought up, on the other side, by the main sheet, suddenly, and with a violent jerk, it broke loose from the mast altogether, and fell quivering on the deck like a live thing.

"Jaws of the boom are gone. Handspikes there, Tony. Some spare rope, some one. Look alive, now!"

The handspikes were brought in an instant, and one on either side of the boom projecting a little from its end, so as to form jaws, were firmly lashed. It required the united strength of the whole crew to ship it on the shoulders against the mast. The excitement of emergency gives strength. In another minute they would have been too late. It would have been utterly impossible for them to have got out of the reef-surrounded bay, by which they were nearly shut in. As it was, they had to keep her feathers shaking in the wind, and it was rather owing to

an eddy of the current, which carried them round than to the sailing qualities of the craft, that she escaped utter destruction from the reefs on her lee bow.

The crew, on looking back, like Lot's wife, saw that the flagstaff had, apparently, at length awoke to a sense of their danger, and had lowered its flag half mast. This signal, if it did not exactly turn them into pillars of salt produced in them that savory zest or gratification, which is said to be the salt of life; for it was clear, that the islanders intended to signify by that demonstration that they had narrowly escaped "instant death."

Tony being well assured of this fact, commenced immediate preparations for dinner, while the Captain steered the vessel round to the lee side of the Island.

At a little distance, Norfolk Island looks like a huge mountain of rock, driven up from the very depths of the sea, for its sides are so perpendicular (except indeed at Sydney Harbour, and Cascade

Bay, where they are a little shelving), that one might call it table-land, were it not that in lieu of being flat at the top, it rises up into many rounded hills, flowing one over the other in picturesque irregularity. On coming nearer, it is found to be clothed with the magnificent Araucaria Excelsa, clean, tall pine trees, with branches feathering down to the grassy slopes beneath, upon which a good sprinkling of cattle may be seen grazing tranquilly. From the slightly stiff symmetry of the Norfolk pine, the whole bore a faint resemblance to a piece of English park scenery, natural, but well taken care of.

This island as every body knows, used in former days to be one of the principal penal settlements, and judging from the difficulty experienced by the little schooner to get there, we should be inclined to consider it as having been extremely well adapted for that purpose. The chances for escape would at least be very small as regards the unfortunate convict, but our own English trans-

portation thither has come to an end, and it is no longer viewed as a mere rocky prison. The mutineers of "The Bounty," who, it may be remembered, retired into private life on Pitcairn's Island, having, in the course of years, become so numerous as to be unable to find means of support from an island of only four miles and a half in circumference, have been lately transported to Norfolk Island.

Captain Fenton Aylmer tells us that in the year 1831 an unsuccessful attempt had previously been made to get them to settle on the Island Otaheiti. He says: –

"As might be supposed, these primitive and religious people did not understand the morals of their new home. At first they kept aloof, then some giving way, the others grew alarmed, and (having, we may add, lost twelve of their number through sickness), they determined to quit the scene of temptation. They petitioned government to be taken back to Pitcairn's, and greatly to their joy, the petition was granted.

"Again they were on the salt ocean, and soon upon their native soil. Nothing could exceed their joy and triumph; they ran about the hills like children; weeping tears of joy, and congratulating each other upon their escape from 'the land of hell!' Alas! their joy was of short continuance; one of the worst vices of civilization followed them, and in a short time after their return home, some of them began distilling rum! In vain did the older and wiser men remonstrate; they persisted in their design. It was at this moment that an extraordinary adventurer, calling himself Lord Hill, arrived. He professed to bring government authority to adjust the affairs of the island, and believing him, the islanders obeyed him scrupulously. During some time he remained in full possession, until the arrival of a ship of war, commanded by the son of the very man to whom he represented himself as a near relation. The denouement came, but having no authority, Lord Russell very properly represented the case to his admiral, who

sent authority to bring off Mr. Hill, and thus free the islanders from a cruel and unjust persecution."

It is these interesting people who now inhabit Norfolk Island. They have been there for some five years, and with the best results, for they have not only put the buildings into excellent repair, cleared large portions of land, and commenced regular farming, but they have also started several whaling stations, which appear to pay well.

The Pitcairners paid a visit to the little schooner while she was toilfully beating round to the lee of the island. They came in a large whale boat, when the weather had begun to moderate. There were ten of them; fine, tall, athletic young men, very brown, and speaking rather a curious dialect of the English language. They enquired after the object of the Captain's visit, and obligingly offered their services, if needed, and gave every information about the

anchorage in Cascade Bay, as that little cove is pretentiously called.

The Captain asked them all on board, and – yes, we blush to have to record it – so far forgot himself as to offer them the very low beverage of rum, thinking to warm their chilled bodies and quench their thirst withal, after their laborious row in a drenching surf; but being politely informed that, though they were descendants from mutineers, yet they were to a man teetotallers, he immediately asked them to have tea with him, and eventually prevailed upon them to do so.

While they ate their biscuits and drank their coffee, the Captain mentioned that he was in want of fire-wood, and asked permission (since he was necessarily detained by the loss sustained through the breaking loose of the main boom) to land on their hospitable shores and collect a little fire-wood, whilst Charlie was employed in carpentering up and fixing on a new pair of jaws.

"Certainly," replied the chief of this decemvirate; "but your boat won't carry you through the surf, which beats heavily on the shore here."

"Dash my vorsted vig," replied old Harry; "if the boat von't carry us through, vhy me an' my mates vill just bare a hand and carry the boat through, old chap."

"Do you prefer this place to Pitcairn's Island?" asked the Captain.

"Our young men do, they are proud of it, and think it possesses many more resources than their former home; but the old people want to return to the home of their childhood, and see once more the friends and relations they have left behind them."

"Have any of you yet returned?"

"Yes, a few; and amongst others one old woman, who, they say, has made quite a disturbance at Pitcairn Island."

"'Winds, weapons, flame, make not such hurly-burly,
As raving woman turns all topsy turvy.'"

"But what has this woman in particular done?"

"Why, when she and her husband and all of us left Pitcairn Island to come here, it was supposed by the authorities that we had, of course, abandoned all claim to such portions of it as then belonged to us, and so a re-distribution of the land took place amongst all those who remained. But this old woman was not satisfied with Norfolk Island; so that before her husband died, she got him to write a correctly drawn up will, bequeathing to her all his land in Pitcairn Island, in case she returned there."

"And how will the Pitcairners act? Will they give her the land?"

"No; they think no former claim holds good after the abandonment of the whole."

"Yes, I see; but they won't leave the poor old thing to starve, I suppose?"

"No; many of the islanders take the side of the widow."

"And so there's a regular row about it. Who will decide the affair?"

"I can't say exactly; but they say Moses Young, the governing magistrate, in order to stop all quarrelling among the islanders, has got them to consent to a settlement by arbitration, and that the Governor of New South Wales will probably be asked to decide upon it."

"What sort of a place is Pitcairn Island? Don't you find it somewhat cold here?"

"Yes, we feel the cold much, and the boisterous wind more. Pitcairn Island is surrounded with reefs and rocks; Bounty Bay is the only place for a vessel to anchor in. The coast is steep and rugged; but the inside of the island is very beautiful, and very fertile, what little there is of it. for it's mostly volcanic There is a great want of water there, which is its chief drawback; there is a high hill fronting Bounty Bay, called St. Paul's. But we must wish you good night, Ho! Solomon, haul up the boat alongside."

And with that they departed.

It was some time before the vessel dropped anchor in Cascade Bay. As she still lingered

along the coast, baffled both by the wind and strong current during that night and the following day, four of the islanders paid her a second visit in the whale boat, which this time was full of fire-wood.

"We've brought you some fire-wood," said one of them, catching hold of a rope which Harry had flung out to them.

"Thank you; I'm sure I'm much obliged to you. And yet I'm sorry you should have had so much trouble," replied the Captain.

"It's werry kind of you chaps to make us so 'ansome a present," added Harry.

"It's very cheap," said the Pitcairner.

"Yees," replied Harry, "it is werry cheap, considerin' as 'ow it's a lying all about the beach. I should say it vos dirt cheap, I should."

"We'll sell it you for thirty shillings," said the Pitcairner.

"Vill yer now, really? Vell, now I calls that werry remarkably ceevil of you chaps, I must say."

"Will you have it?"

"Does yer take me for a jintleman as vonts to hease 'imself of his extra cash? No."

"My eye!" said Tony, "that's good; the idea of his taking you for a gentleman!"

"It's taken you four men, I should think," said the Captain, "about an hour's work to pitch that wood in the boat and to sail out here; so I'll offer you a couple of shillings apiece, but I couldn't give you more. Two shillings an hour's good pay, you know; that's eight shillings for the lot. Will you sell it for eight shillings?"

"No, thirty shillings; then you don't want any fire-wood at all, really?"

"The juice I don't," said Harry, angrily. "Yees, but I do vont any fire-wood really, an' 'ill give yer eight bob for it, or I'll get it myself."

"Bob?"

"Hold your tongue, Harry; don't be so hot with them."

"Aye, sir," said Bill; "what do they know

about the value of money? There's no use talking angrily to them."

"We don't want to buy your fire wood, my man, unless we can have it for eight shillings; so you may go, if that doesn't suit you," said the Captain.

But the Pitcairners would not go, pretending not to understand. After waiting patiently for some little time, Harry's face brightened up, and he continued,

"It's actions, an' not vords, vich these chaps understand; an' I'll shew 'em your vishes without hany more hargifying. Here, you chaps! Vere's your fire-wood? 'and it hup, vill yer? I'll 'av the 'ole kit of it; d'yer 'ear me?"

The Pitcairners evidently understood this perfectly well, for they at once, with hearty good will, commenced lifting up the logs of wood to Harry, who leant over the vessel's side to receive them. Somehow or other, the logs of wood managed to slip through his fingers, just as he was placing them on deck. At first the islanders

did not appear to notice this curious accident; but when the logs began to fall overboard, nearer and nearer to the bows of their boat, so as to put it in considerable danger, they stopped short in their occupation, and stared at Harry with rather a disagreeable expression about the eyes. They ultimately withdrew, flinging the wood into the sea as they rowed slowly back to Cascade Day; into which little cove the Captain soon after followed them, anchoring there for the night.

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MOUNT EDEN NEAR AUCKLAND.

CHAPTER XVII. CONCLUSION..

CHAPTER XVII.

CONCLUSION..

HOW great are the changes of public opinion in a few years! Take a trip round the world for change of air, and on your return home you will find how public opinion has been jogging on in the realm of thought as fast as you can have gone your journey.

There is nothing like keeping our eyes open, not only to the little circumstances immediately around us, but also to those of the widest sphere. Most things gain by the enlargement of the

plain of vision; and the satisfaction of a traveller consists not merely in the enjoyment of variety, but in picking up fresh objects for the almost imperceptible process of mental generalisation; but a reader is not so much impressed by little circumstances. He passes them lightly over, or what is more, his imagination only supplies him with what he meets with in his own highly artificial state of life; and herein, perhaps, lies the cause of that difficulty of realising things as they are elsewhere, and of learning that lesson from books of travel and voyage, which actual travel so effectually teaches, viz. – the mistake of narrow mindedness and of bigotry of opinion. Should this be admitted, we trust we may be allowed, by way of a concluding chapter – which either may or may not be read – to ramble on into a few of these generalities.

We started from Auckland, thither we will return. Queen Street is a fine, broad street, though we cannot say it is kept in first-rate order, for evidently the expenses connected with its re-

pairs have been reduced to within very narrow limits. Many of its houses and shops would be considered extremely good in an English town, while the awnings, stretching their coloured stripes above the broad pavements, give it a decidedly foreign look. A new arrival would be reminded of an English watering place, which had been fostered into a dangerously precocious growth by a committee of speculative geniuses, who had come to a stand still for want of the needful; but after some time he would see other indications which would lead him to surmise that the committee were not so much in want of funds as that they were in that extremely embarrassing condition which arises from a factious and unaccommodating spirit among themselves; for not only do the internal arrangements of the town, bat even the houses themselves, appear to be the result, either of a partial success acquired by the one party over the other, or else of a forced compromise between them. While all workmanship is hurried and incomplete, all "conception"

is of a decidedly eclectic character. There are, however, many exceptions. Some of the banks, government offices, &c, are fine buildings, and the extensive grounds round the "Demesne" are well laid out with gardens, which are opened to the public.

There are two principal roads leading from the town. The one runs to the east, through the village of New Market, and then branches off, on the one side to Onehunga, and on the other to Drury and the South. There is an omnibus which runs some thirteen miles along it, and though towards the further end the driver usually finds the navigation difficult, and the passengers have occasionally to walk by the side of the conveyance for considerable distances, yet, on the whole, the road is a good one, and it is certainly very beautiful, traversing not only patches of fine land, but also, in many parts, wild and bush-like scenery.

Mount Eden, which is only a short distance out of the town, is composed of rocky scoria, and

prisoners are kept constantly employed by the authorities at the stone quarries there, with men keeping guard over them, armed with guns. The other road, the Great Northern Humbug, as it is called, leads out of Auckland, and sweeps along by the head of the harbour over a tract of cold, white, clayey land, covered with small fern and ti-tree. It is made of large fragments of tufa. It is hedged on each side with gorse, and some times in the gorse large geraniums may be seen growing wild and full of blossom. Elsewhere it is closed on either side with stone walls, or lofty kauri-wood palings, or simply a ditch. It crosses over many rivulets, with picturesque wooden bridges, and in low spots are to be seen the cabbage tree, and the phormium tenax, while lofty flowering grasses wave their white silky heads in the breeze. Here and there, near Auckland, are tolerably good, wooden houses, with willows and large laurel trees. About four miles from the town is the largest – if not the finest – building in the province, a huge lunatic asylum. About

twelve miles further out, the whole country rises into wild, melancholy looking hills, covered with forests of richly coloured foliage, and the road itself becomes almost impassable.

Unless we acknowledge to a leaning towards the principles of Malthus, we must admit that there is something wrong in the present system of promoting emigration from England. It is common enough to hear from new arrivals sudden outbursts of indignation against the treacherous eloquence of some gentlemanly old colonist or other who, it may be, had induced them to emigrate. Now, this old colonist, who probably had been sent to England at the cost of the colony, for the sole purpose of promoting emigration, may have been perfectly sincere in all lie said. He may have simply made the mistake (which, by the way, is a very common one), of ascribing worldly success, not to "indomitable energy," but to the circumstances of life. Others again are often heard to express their indignation against the writers of certain persuasive little

pamphlets circulated in England, and which, it seems, act the part of the old colonist in attracting vast numbers to our antipodes. Now, these pamphlets have probably been written by well-meaning men, and certainly they are written in a style affecting the greatest moderation and candour. They magnify, quite unintentionally, perhaps, the resources of the country, and quote the high rates of wages, but they do not at the same time give the whole truth; for though the rate of wages may have been such as they represent it, no mention is made of the want of stability in all such things, in the colonies; and also of the fact that, in bad times, the new arrival can get no employment at all, the older hands monopolising everything. It is unfortunate that the persons to whom these books are professedly addressed, are they who would never, we feel sure, entertain, even for a moment, the thought of quitting their own homes. Indeed, we can scarcely expect a well-to-do farmer, with plenty of capital and with a large family, to take so important a

step; and, unless driven to it by necessity, he would be a fool, indeed, to break through all the pleasing associations of a lifetime, and to give up his whole circle of friends, who have grown up with him and around him from childhood. Hence, among the people whom these agents and books really affect, the majority are those who ought never to have left their own homes, and who probably never would have done so had they not been completely befooled by them.

But to look at the bright side of things, there can be no doubt that the life of one wealthy settler on the confines of the bush one which possesses very many attractions. It is a growing pleasure to live, among all that is rough, wild, and inclement, in an "oasis" of comfort, with a good, but unpretending house, delicious gardens, and sweet pastures, all made by yourself. There are cows, sheep, pigs, and poultry, every vegetable that can be imagined, plenty of wild fruit, such as peaches and grapes, while an abundance of fish can always be had. No want

of the "kai kai" (or food). Sometimes, indeed, it becomes almost a difficulty to know what to do with it. The house, though simply a low cottage of sawn timber, with an irregular growth of supplementary rooms, spreading out around to suit the wants of the increasing members of the family, is yet a perfect home; the centre of every dear thought, associated with the gratification of all simple, pure desires. There they take their rest, there they expect their meals, there they find shade from the mid-day heat, while the smile of welcome greets them on their return from work. Great attention is usually given to make one room in the house more civilised and delightful than one would expect to find in such a place It is surprising sometimes to see the things that are gradually got together. A library of books, really erudite works, simple and good ornaments, and furniture arranged in good taste proclaim the inmates people of higher cultivation than would be supposed from first appearances.

Domestic happiness, too, of the truest and

firmest kind is well nigh insured to the settler's family. There are no evil attractions outside, drawing the husband to debauchery, the wife to extravagance, and the children to riot. They are all thrown upon one another as their only resource for that social converse so needful for man. Thus bickerings, jealousies, and bad tempers are seldom seen. However, it must not be supposed that they are denied all intercourse with the rest of the world. Visits of friendship and business are constantly made, and strangers are often stopping at the house, asking for hospitality, and a bed for the night.

The settler's life is seldom one of much excitement, or of energetic money-making. He is his own master, in comfortable circumstances, after the first few years of his settling, and only cares to save enough, year by year, for his wife and children, so that in case he leaves this world for a better, they can still manage to get on without him. His cattle increase, and he must thin them, by sending a hundred or two every few

years to market, to be sold by auction. However, there are exceptions to all this. Some employ themselves very briskly in the all important occupation of money-making; it quite depends upon the circumstances of the locality. If the land possess good stiff clay, brickworks may be made to pay; if an abundance of timber near a river, or a creek, saw mills may be set up. If in a district pretty thickly settled over, a store-house for provisions and other necessaries would often answer. If with simply a good water frontage, a cutter may be a means of making a good sum.

About three, or at latest four years ago, there were only two brick-yards in the neighbourhood of Auckland, and bricks were selling at seven pounds a thousand; now, there are upwards of twenty near the town, and bricks are selling at only thirty-five shillings. The clay is peculiar in its property of shrinking. A brick made ten inches, when burnt becomes reduced to eight inches and a half.

A few years ago, carting was a thing that paid

exceedingly well; a man could get one pound a day and more, with the greatest ease. Immediately every one started a cart and horse, so that now it is one of the worst businesses in the town.

Some people, however, manage to make money by getting a light covered cart, filling it with goods, and hawking them about the settled districts.

As regards the phormium tenax, it may, perhaps, in time become a marketable article. It contains none of the spinning properties of the European plant, having no fibres that run into equal threads, and therefore it ought not to be called a flax. It is but a mass of small fibres, gummed together by a resinous matter, and containing an oil which has to be extracted. There is, however, a process in use by which this is done, and after paying one pound a ton for the raw material, it can be manufactured by the New Zealand Flax Company, ready baled for shipment in Auckland, under ten pounds. Its value in England, as a good, sound hemp, is, we believe,

superior to the Bombay, yet cheap enough to undersell that which comes from Manilla, Russia, France, and Italy. Should this method be in reality as great a success as it is represented to be, it is hoped that the government will stimulate it as far as possible.

Another resource for the settler, though, of course, entirely depending upon local circumstances, is found in the kouri gum. This gum, which is a transparent, amber-coloured substance, slightly resinous, is found at various depths in the earth in large lumps. It is usually dug for in the high pipe-clayish lands, which are covered with low scrubby ti-tree and ferns. It is supposed to have exuded from the kauri pines, which in former years must have flourished in these places. Its value is much less now than it used to be. It is, however, purchased by the Auckland merchants for about twenty-three pounds per ton. The supply is chiefly furnished by the natives, who collect it in large quantities and carry it in their canoes down the river to the stations.

There is, however, one great drawback in the settler's happiness. There are seldom any places of worship within his reach. Moreover, in the colonies the Church of England is a "missionary" church, rather than an "establishment," as it is with us. It is a misfortune that the voluntary system, as regards the worship of God, is the only one at present in operation, for it certainly appears to work far from satisfactorily.

When a party of settlers agree together to build a church, desiring to have some "means of grace" within their reach – should they be so united as to be able to decide at once upon belonging to any one denomination – they apply to the head-quarters of their sect, and arrange to offer certain voluntary subscriptions annually, provided a good man is sent to them, and some little additional, or supplementary, aid furnished. Sometimes no minister can be sent, but every effort is made to procure one, and perhaps, after waiting some years, they attain the object of their wishes. But should their minister offend the

principal settler by his faithfulness and plain speaking, an influential enemy is made, who endeavours to bring him into trouble with the others, so as to necessitate his removal. It must be said that this does not often occur, for the very obvious reason that the minister very soon learns not to look too severely upon the sins of his more influential patrons, lest he should be thus dislodged. But is this a satisfactory state of things? We give the following fact by way of illustration: –

A district that was rather populous had come to the conclusion to erect a place of worship, but a great difficulty arose from the fact that they were all of different persuasions. Some wero Church of England, some Baptists, some Presbyterians, and some Wesleyans. Alas! for divided Christendom! However, after some time a bright idea was struck out by one of them, who suggested that each of these denominations should apply to head-quarters for a minister; that thcse ministers should take their turns every Sunday

in rotation; but that on the first occasion that a minister failed to appear the religious body whom he represented should forfeit its right in the chapel. This plan was actually, it seems, carried out, and was for a short time in full working order. In a year's time, however, all had forfeited their right to hold service there, except the Church of England and one of the sects. But what followed? The gradual extinction of the other sects had raised hopes in the survivor of finally obtaining exclusive possession of the chapel. A growing feeling of antipathy arose between it and the Church of England. At length it resolved to effect by stratagem the object in view. Various attempts were made to unseat the priest as he rode to perform the services on alternate Sundays. These, however, not succeeding, more open measures were resorted to. One Sunday he arrived at the chapel, and found a notice put up that no service would he performed that day; moreover, the doors were locked. With considerable astonishment he made his

way to the house where the keys were usually kept, but found they had been surreptitiously withdrawn. He sent a message to the principal members of his congregation, and held a short service in front of the chapel door. On the next occasion of his ministration, having taken counsel from others, and finding the key had not been restored, and that the chapel was still locked up, he collected his people as before, and providing himself with an axe, smite the door and cut his way into the church. Thus was it saved to the Church of England.

Now does not all this very materially tend to weaken the independance and authority of the minister's position? and to place those who are learners on a par with, or even above their teachers? It is certainly extremely damaging to the whole theory of the Church of England, and converts its duly ordained clergy into mere lay-preachers, holding their position on sufferance, so that as apart, if you will, of the

KINGDOM of heaven, it becomes reduced, as it were into an American REPUBLIC. Perhaps the settler, from his manner of life, becomes more narrow and republican than the rest of us. Still, we are all impatient of moral control, and St. Paul was exceedingly wise when he refused to be at any man's charge, and preferred to labour with his hands rather than to be in any way dependant upon those to whom he ministered.

A few words, in conclusion, on the subject of missionary labours. We have frequently heard it said that it is on the introduction of Christianity and European manners that the seeds of decimation among the native races are sown. Now this we cannot for a moment allow. We believe their numbers would have decreased nearly as fast, even though they had never heard of Christianity, nor been corrupted by the vices of civilisation; and this for the very obvious reason that their customs amongst themselves have become so fearful and their practices so abominable, that it, in fact,

seems a matter of surprise to us that they have not, as a race, become long before this utterly extinct.

But, notwithstanding, we very much question whether Christianity has done as much for them as it might, had a more judicious application of its principles been resorted to. Captain Erskine, alluding to Laury's visits to the Friendly and Feegee Islands, says – "that some of the works lately published are so full of exaggerated accounts of the ordinary dangers and privations of a sea voyage, unfounded insinuations of a want of sympathy and protection on the part of the small naval force in these seas, and aggravations of the difficulties under which the business of the mission is carried on, as to repel the reader who desires information on subjects of more interest and higher importance; whilst tedious accounts of love feasts, and of miraculous interferences in favour of the Christians against their spiritual enemies, might almost induce one to suppose that

the effect of missionary success would only be the supplanting of the old superstitions of the natives by almost equally gross superstitions of their own."

We of the Church of England do not look for miracles in these days of enlightenment. Yet, to the uncivilised Jew, we read that signs and wonders were vouchsafed; and hence we may suppose them to have been necessary in order to produce on that barbarous people a sufficiently powerful impression.

The question arises: If miracles were necessary in those days, are they less so now, as regards the uncivilised savage?

The spiritualists do not hesitate to reply in the affirmative.

Thus Mr. Howett, a fair representative of that school, says, "Where is now the favorite boast of the Anglican church, that Christianity once proved by miracles, that proof is sufficient for all time? Here we have the answer from Bishop Colenso. He has found that it is not sufficient

for sharp witted Kaffirs. They refuse to accept Christianity, except on the same conditions that the ancient world accepted it, accompanied by those supernatural evidences which pronounced its divinity. They are right and protestantism is wrong, and must go to school to the spiritualists, if it is not to go to utter ruin."

But is it not a simple fact that the Deity does not, so far as we know, work miracles in these days through the instrumentality of men, and may we not therefore rightly conclude that they are unnecessary; and this is in truth the fact, for the white man is so great a miracle to the poor savage that if he acted up to his whole nature, there would be no need of miraculous interference. The savage has naturally so great a respect for the white man, provided the latter is a sincere Christian, that he unhesitatingly accepts whatever he is told whether intelligible to him or not. His superior knowledge, his arts and sciences and more especially his musical talents, all tell in his favour, so that he ranks as a standing miracle,

and almost in loco dei. It is from this and from the absence of miraculous interposition, that we are led in a special manner to regard the christianising and the civilising of the savage as a duty incumbent upon ourselves.

But how is this imposed obligation to bo performed by us in the most judicious manner?

We are scarcely justified in forming notions on this important question solely in accordance with our own conceits; especially when we have in the Holy Scriptures a clear and inspired record of the method which the Author of all Wisdom has Himself employed under similar circumstances. Yet, in our opinion, the course pursued by missionaries is not that which a consideration of God's dealings with mankind, preparatory to his reception of Christianity, should lead us to adopt. We submit, it is scarcely based upon the wide principles by which the Wisdom of God constructed gradually out of the "base material of a barbarous age the great edifice of the Catholic Church." Theologians tell us that the Christian

dispensation could not have been intelligibly embraced by man without the preparation which the elder dispensation afforded – the Mosaic dispensation being purely theocratic, with a wide though impassable boundary, based upon severe ceremonials and details, which subsequently became, step by step, as the educational progress permitted, less theocratic in its nature with more circumscribed boundaries; till conscience takes the place of legal punishment and till love takes the place of conscience, so that eventually thought and feeling have become identified with action – in Christianity.

That such was the mode of procedure we cannot but believe is generally admitted; and history tells us that this same mode was wisely re-instituted by the Roman Catholic Church; for when the overthrow of the Roman Empire occurred by the irruptions of the northern hordes of barbarians, Christianity became legally powerful, exacting, and ceremonious, and the Pope acquired temporal authority. Surely we may

argue from this that in these days Christianity should, amongst savage races, assume to some extent a like objective form, as being better suited to their low condition.

In the absence of miracles, where Christianity is left to the support afforded, not by the purity of its truths which cannot be appreciated, but by the power of a higher civilisation which can, it should not only have special laws, theocratic and inflexible, aimed against immorality and impurity and other details, but the very sphere itself should be extended to such limits as shall be both practicable in respect to the present condition of the natives, and yet be so powerful a check to such excesses as pass beyond that sphere as to put an effectual stop to the rapid decadence of the race. These exoteric limits, of course, are always capable of being narrowed, as occasion serves, to an exoteric circle, and individuals, whenever ripe for the reception of the higher teachings of Christianity, can pass from the one to the other.

We know nothing more deplorable than witnessing the effects of the higher and more sacred truths of Christianity when forced into the minds of natives who cannot, even in numbers, rise to the conception of the abstract. The same mistake appears to us to be often made in England by well meaning, but injudicious parents, who expect from their children obedience to the law of Christ, from the motive of love alone, without the wholesome admixture of a little nursery discipline.

Without mentioning the many laws on minor points, and little details of conduct, &c, which should be all inflexibly maintained among the natives, under the severest penalties, we will allude to those which should regulate their excessive immorality.

We firmly believe that the very strict morality which the missionaries attempt to impose upon the natives is too great a strain on their nature, and is the cause of still greater impurity, resulting

in that acceleration of their extinction which we have mentioned. Consideration should be had of their eastern origin, and of the consequent natural predominence of the females over the males, and of the fact that polygamy is in strict harmony with the Old Testament dispensation. The law, we are told, was a schoolmaster, whose discipline was tempered to suit uncivilised man, and whose introduction previous to Christianity seems as necessary now as it was then, not only to his happiness, but also, as it would appear, to his very existence.

It may, perhaps, be objected to this that we are not at liberty thus to set ourselves up as Gods, but, it should be borne in mind, we are speaking of the larger boundary, and that our Saviour tells us that this is exactly what Moses did to the Children of Israel in the matter of divorcement. It was "suffered," though "from the beginning it was not so." It is only by adapting Christianity to the skliro kardia [Greek] of our weak, coloured

brethren, that we can fulfil our obligations to them, and put an end to that which is committing such fearful havoc in their numbers. 2

We had expected to find some important information on this subject in the work of Bishop Williams, which has just issued from the Press, entitled "Christianity among the New Zealanders." However valuable the book may be in other respects, we confess to our disappointment in this. There is, however, remarkable testimony in favour of the views we here propound, which will be immediately perceived when we recollect that the subjects of the Bishop's remarks are the Maories of New Zealand, and that his views are, therefore, based on the fact that the proportion of sexes among this race is four men to three women, and that, as regards their customs, polygamy is never practised, ex-

cept by a few of their principal chiefs. He says, "While, however, there was some hesitation as to what course should be followed in the case of converts to Christianity, the difficulty was disposed of by the natives themselves. The majority of those concerned were under the influence of higher principles, and without hesitation they put away all their wives but one." We may regard this as admitting in some measure the principle that the narrow sphere of Christianity may be extended on occasions: for he not merely speaks of it as a matter not to be dealt with without "some hesitation," but also as "a difficulty" which was decided by the natives themselves, Why not, then, let them always decide it? Surely those who can be brought under the influence of higher principles sufficient to provoke them into compliance with this Christian precept, would belong to the esoteric circle of which we have been speaking. But our own experience teaches that of principle any sort is quite beyond a savage who has not received instruction from his earliest

childhood, and that even is necessary for two generations except in very rare instances. Dr. Temple has well shown that it is these first principles, learnt so readily by a child, which are so impossible to inculcate in those who have attained maturity. "In reality," says he, "elementary truths are the hardest of all to learn, unless we pass our childhood in an atmosphere thoroughly impregnated with them; and then we imbibe them unconsciously, and find it difficult to perceive their difficulty." * * * * "He needs to see virtue in the concrete before he can recognise her aspect as a divine idea."

Though we have no direct sympathy with the Roman Catholic body, yet Christianity is Christianity, whether preached by St. Paul or Apollos, and we were curious to learn what course they would pursue in like circumstances, and the following passage from the Bishop's work may have its interest as bearing on the subject.

"The natives believed that a change might be to their advantage, and they gladly availed themselves of the more easy discipline of the Papists, which allowed them to retain much that the missionaries had told them was to be given up. These new teachers gave their sanction to polygamy, and to the practise of tattooing, and they allowed their followers to do various kinds of work on the Sabbath day, and to continue also their old heathenish dances. The consequence was that numbers rallied to their standard, and their praises were loud in the mouths of all the more worthless part of the community * * * The novelty (!!) soon wore off, and the majority of those who had taken up with the new superstition (!!) not from any principle (!) but because they wished for a change, joined the Protestant (!) community." The notes of admiration are our own, which we have inserted in order to show how, even in mission-work, the dis-union of Christendom is made the devil's engine for hindering the

Work of Christ. When we consider the utter incompetence of the natives to acquire the simplest idea of the fact of the Incarnation, still less to form a conception of the most holy groundwork of all Catholic truth, the doctrine of the Trinity, how evident does it become that the Bishop's words are mere vapourings for the sake of catching the sympathy of those who, happily for missionaries, retain the fanciful pictures of our charming black brothers as drawn by Mr. Pickwick's, Shepherd and Co.!

Should not any missionary, truly zealous in his work, on observing that a Christian teacher was able to attract by his style a large number of natives let the preaching of Christian truth, infer that his style was based on a wiser principle than his own? and the more worthless the part of the community thus attracted the better, one would think. There cannot be a shadow of doubt that, in all mission work, the system pursued by the Roman Catholics is infinitely more successful

than that of our own church, – even though we expend such enormous sums of money, and have all the advantage of position and government support. The only way of accounting for this is, that their system leaves no stone unturned by which to attract them; and their teachings and restrictions are within the scope of practicability, as founded on a knowledge of their simple nature. The mantle of old Samuel Marsden, that Elijah of missionary work, has been caught up, not by our church, to whom it was left, but by a few earnest, unmarried young men, sent out, with scarcely more than scrip or staff, by the Church of Rome, and unless our church seizes hold also of that mantle she will irretrievably be beaten from the ground.

It is impossible to lay too much stress upon the facts known to every traveller, and upon which the opinions here advocated are based. Ail travellers who view mission work from the outside, making a rough estimate of the proportion of the

work done with the expenses and size of the establishments, can be but of one opinion as to their complete inadequacy.

The principles on which, we are assured, from the pressure of public opinion, mission work will have to be conducted in future, may be gathered under two heads, viz.: –

Firstly – That a powerful discipline should be maintained among such natives as are baptised into the church; that this discipline be on the widest possible basis, extending not only to their religious duties and general conduct, but to their particular mode of life, place of residence, and industrial pursuits; and that the power of enforcing this discipline, either by a strict, religious rule, of his own appointing, or by a magisterial or other influence conferred on him, whether by the European or native authorities, be the first object of every missionary.

Secondly – That the ceremonies and appliances of external religion should be made to occupy

such a place in the savage mind that his attention should be fixed on deeds and on the objective sides of religion, rather than on thoughts, or feelings or motives.

THE END.

T. C. NEWBY, 30, Welbeck Street, Cavendish Square, London.

2 It is too evident that the prohibition of polygamy necessarily results in the promiscuous intercourse of the sexes. The missionaries, while powerful enough to break down polygamy, cannot enforce that which they hoped would replace it. We need scarcely say that promiscuous intercourse is the only sensible way of accounting for the decadence of these races.

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