1951- Godley, C. Letters from Early New Zealand, 1850-1853 - 4. The First Year January--December 1850, p 167-279

       
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  1951- Godley, C. Letters from Early New Zealand, 1850-1853 - 4. The First Year January--December 1850, p 167-279
 
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4. The First Year January--December 1850

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4

The First Year

January--December 1850


LYTTELTON 1
February 5th, 1851

MY DEAR MOTHER,

I begin a new epistle in honour of Tom's birthday, and with a thousand good wishes to him and his, all which must be repeated for to-morrow! We sent off letters, a few days ago, to Wellington, in hopes of meeting the Lord W. Bentinck, to sail from there for England direct on the 7th; with a box of oddments directed to Sara in Hereford Street. It is so tiresome never to know whether anything will arrive in a tolerably short time, even when you know it has had a fair start; and also to remember how often letters arrive quite out of their order. The last, I must tell you, had been in hand ever since the 26th November, and was so ponderous that I was very glad to think that it was to go in a box! I also wrote, about a week ago, by the overland mail, to Sara; as an opportunity offered by the Cressy, when she had at last discharged her cargo, and caught some of her runaway sailors. We are afraid that Captains will quite

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object to come to these parts; it is impossible to keep the men from running off, and no vessel has yet come in here without some trouble about it.

Last night (the 4th) came off the grand ball, with great effect. We had one of the barrack buildings for it, composed of four rooms, each about 30 feet long, and 14 wide; of which the two dancing rooms communicated by a door between, and to the others we proceeded outside by the verandah. One was a cloak-room, ornamented with pink and muslin dressing tables, and forms to put the cloaks on, and in this room Mrs. W. Russell's maid 'took charge'; while Powles, in severe grandeur, presided in the other, over our table with a very large amount of tea, coffee, and cakes; and William (each with assistants) over another, with some huge joints of meat, ham, chicken, pie, etc., and sherry; and it was only a few people besides ourselves who knew that it was only by the most unremitted and extensive exertion in washing of cups and spoons, that the requisite number of clean ones could be obtained. For tea, here, is a very serious consideration; everyone (except Mr. and Mrs. Russell) dining early; and with dancing, and sitting up, they were all hungry, and a good many spent all the time between each dance in the tea-room. Powles' account of them was very funny. One lady got quite tipsy, and called on me, two or three days afterwards, to tell me how dancing, after so long a pause in gaieties, had made her have hysterics, for the first time in her life. Her husband is a very young Mr. Walker, with very good connections, and a widowed Mother; who engaged a very good cabin for him on board the Sir George Seymour, and then would do nothing more, on finding that he had married very badly; a barmaid or dressmaker. So they got out here so poor that she has had to take to the latter profession. But after many consultations as to whether they must be asked it was decided, yes, because he ought to be, and she is a very smart sort of dark 'Becky Sharp'. She was, I think, our only lady 'in that style'; but it was very difficult settling what gentlemen were to be asked, so two or three of them met, and

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wrote all the invitations at the office; I only got the answers, which were some of them very funny.

Mr. Gale terrified me, the day before it took place. I am supposing you have received my last letter, and to know that Mr. Gale is the Manager of the Union Bank of Australia, as established at Lyttelton; who went mad soon after they sailed, and has been gradually recovering here, and is now, on most points, quite sane always. But they are afraid of his losing the appointment, on the strength of which only he was able to marry; and they (Mr. and Mrs. Gale) insist on everyone else thinking him as well as they do themselves. She went with him to the Bank at last, and demanded that the trustees, who to their great inconvenience have had to do all the work, should forthwith give him up the keys and entire charge; and on their refusal, she proceeded to cry, and accuse them of bad motives, in a very unseemly way. So we said we would not send them an invitation to our festivities, lest he should come; but I wrote her a note begging her, for one night, to make an exception, and leave Mr. Gale for an hour or two, and come. Upon which, as I had half dreaded, she came herself, to tell me that he was quite well, if people would only think so, and that he would be glad to come too, or 'words to that effect'. It was so disagreeable, but at last I slipped out, and got my husband to go in to her; and he, who has no idea of being bullied into anything of the kind, just told her very civilly, no; for indeed, it would not have been fair on the other visitors. Was it not wonderfully bad taste, instead of keeping him quiet till people could see that he was quite safe?

All the six Miss Townsends came except Sara's friend the eldest, and were in fact, except three or four, all our stock of young ladies. We had also two magnificent ladies of a certain age,--Miss Bishops, and dressed accordingly. It was impossible to help fancying that some jeu de mots was intended. For their stately figures were robed in black satin to the very throat; but, as lawn sleeves might have been too strong a measure, they had only very short white ones,

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looped up with black ribbon, so as to look slashed, and covering only a few inches below the shoulder. It will shew you how far behindhand I am now in fashions when I tell you that I thought this dress very funny; but another lady appeared in a blue ditto, and I was told that it is quite the fashion, but not perhaps the most prevalent one for evening parties. Mrs. Macfarlane and Mrs. Russell were both beautifully dressed, and altogether I assure you we looked very well. I am going to send you the account of it, in our paper, and in it you will see a rather questionable compliment to the effect that although this statement is quite true here, at home our beauty would have passed unregarded. I can't find out who wrote it. All went on very successfully until about three, when the wind rose suddenly, and in half-an-hour it was a violent gale, and the rooms, which are of single weather-board, unlined, became so full of dust that we could hardly open our eyes or draw a long breath, and all the remaining parties beat a quick retreat.

We too went home, but not to sleep; at least as far as I was concerned. The wind was really terrific, making the house shake and creak, almost like a ship at sea. It was quite hot too, and I don't know how to describe to you the discomfort of it. I was sorry to reflect on our being in an upper storey, and tried to convince John that we had better move down with Arthur; but though he owned to the uncompromising violence of the wind, still sleepiness was stronger, and at seven I got up again, in such a room! The floor was more dusty than I ever saw the Holyhead road, and the gown I had worn the night before was hung up, with every crease and fold filled with spoonfuls of dust. Everything in the house was dirty. One cupboard at the top of the stairs, against the outside wall, we had carefully lined with paper, along the cracks of the wooden lining, and this paper was literally blown off in some places, and thick dust lying over all the things inside. The skylight close by, which was closed, but not bolted, was blown bodily away, hinges and all; but except a tent or two nearly blown down, and frightening their inmates, pretty tired with their

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dancing, we heard of no mischief. Mr. W. Deans, the elder brother, who came to tea with us a night or two afterwards, says they have such a wind about twice or three times in a summer, and I leave you to imagine the dirt and discomfort it causes in a house.

I am sorry to own that about five days in seven are dusty, but not so bad as that. It is a great nuisance, and disturbs the newcomers very much, and cannot be got rid of until English grass seeds have been sown in some abundance. The grass on the hills about Lyttelton and indeed over the greater part of the plains is not a bit like our 'velvet sward', but grows in large tufts, perhaps two feet high, looking just like hay, and leaving between the tufts a space of bare ground; not, indeed, visible, from the length of the stems hanging over; but very sensibly felt from its becoming, in such dry weather as there is here, as dry as the road and almost as dusty. The Bishop tells us that they were almost equally tormented with dust about Auckland, until he tried planting English grass extensively; which, with cultivations of other kinds, has now removed it entirely.

I must now enter on the melancholy subject of our Bishop, 2 or rather, as I much prefer calling him, Mr. Jackson. (He says he is not Dr.) The Castle Eden, which had been some time due, according to advertisements for her sailing, arrived on Friday, February 7th, and on shore came instantly, in spite of a good blow, Mr. and Mrs. Jackson and two boys, twelve and nine. I had heard enough of him to alarm me beforehand, and when I saw and heard him, not even the idea, the hope, of letters on board his ship could make me tolerably happy to see him. So much of the tone and feeling of this colony must depend on the

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Bishop; being, as he will be, so completely the first person here in every way, besides his own peculiar vocation, that anyone who feels a real interest in it, must look to him as a sort of key to the whole affair. And then judge of our mortification and sorrow on seeing Mr. Jackson, a little fussy upstanding man, whose very bow and style of greeting, tone, manner, words, all have on them the very stamp of humbug (if I may make free with this gentlemanlike expression) and forbid the idea of considering him what I have been used to call a gentleman. An outside of easygoing good-nature, not for an instant concealing a most careful watch over his own interest; and selfishness, even about armchairs, and the things he likes to eat; and a complete want of reverence in his use of sacred words and expressions. I asked him which of our four clergymen was to be incumbent of Lyttelton, and his answer was that I might choose. 'If you have a fancy (incumbent) for either of them, I'll put him here.'

Mr. and Mrs. Jackson were forthwith established in my husband's dressing-room, 'the spare room' of Lyttelton, and though we could not hold the boys, one of them lived with us. We tried with all our might to be very civil, for we knew it to be so necessary, and so difficult and I do hope and think we succeeded; only, at the same time, I quite believe that Mr. Jackson knows that my husband does not love him, or agree with him as he would have him, and thoroughly reciprocates the dislike; although I, who know him, could appreciate his almost superhuman control over his words and looks, during a fortnight of such close contact. John really cannot bear him, and finds him as unsatisfactory as possible to do business with; always selfseeking and inaccurate. It is a deep disappointment to him, having such a man come out as Bishop, though he owns, and appreciates, his great cleverness and excellence as a landsale commissioner and the remarkable eloquence of his sermons. His manners are most unpleasant; for instance, with his wife, he sometimes is so short and unfeeling to her that she has the tears in her eyes; and then it is 'Libby', 'Toto', 'love', and

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'precious wife'; and Charles will appreciate the delight with which John stood by, the first night, to see him go up and kiss his wife, and in affected tones, say that she was 'welcome to his little diocese'. We like Mrs. Jackson very much, she is I think thoroughly good-natured and straightforward. Not very refined certainly, she calls people 'Wortley', 'Montagu', is a little playful about her h's, and has a mouth rather like Miss le Loup; but we have quite got over this, in favour of all her good qualities, and she is in some ways very good-looking. Better than her husband, and with, I should think, at a more favourable moment, a very good figure, and beautiful hands and arms; so that she looks and moves like a lady in spite of herself. The boy, too, though rather what other boys call priggish, is very nice and good.

I don't think Mr. Jackson much admires the present state of the colony, as to accommodation, etc., and Mrs. Jackson is of course dying to get back to the four little girls she left in England; so that they were very anxious to have their business here done, (which consisted chiefly in an interview with the Bishop; besides settling the Clergy and schoolmasters, etc., that he has brought out, and choosing his own and the College land, which is to be done on the 1st of March) and to be off home by the first opportunity, and have more begging sermons and meetings, and be consecrated, if the terms of the arrangement can be agreed upon between all parties.

The Undine sailed in at night, just eight days after the Castle Eden, and next morning the Bishop was on shore for the early Service, and home with us to breakfast at eight, and then there was a grand talk all morning in our sitting-room which lasted till dinner time; and then another, allowing only a walk, for which my husband joined them, before tea, and so we went on for many days. I was ready to cry with shame at having to show Dr. Selwyn such a man as the Bishop whom we are desiring in his stead; and he could not, and did not, conceal his contempt and even dislike. It was almost unpleasant to have them so

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much brought into contact; our 'intended' did get so much and so deservedly snubbed. There he was, talking about the house he is going to build, which is to be a small Alhambra, with a fountain, a French cook, and innumerable pictures and works of art, to the 'sea Bishop' (as they call him) whose home for about four months of the year, is the Undine's cabin, about six feet square, and always shared with some of his college boys; and when he is really at home he is not much better off, in, I think he said, a four roomed house, two stories high, the largest room twelve feet square, to contain himself, Mrs. Selwyn, a boy of six, and a baby (girl) of a few months, and three other married couples; besides their servants, who are nearly all Maori, and require so constant supervision that Mrs. S., he says, declares that life in New Zealand is to be described by the words 'dumb drudgery'. I suppose you know that he lives at the College near Auckland and takes the lead in all its concerns down to the smallest matters, and what is more, persuades Mrs. Selwyn to do the same, and to live, as it were, in public (Oh! how I should dislike it) and, what is still more, to say (he told us) that she never wishes, and wishes never, to go back to England. I think his disposition is to take a certain kind of pride in 'roughing it' and 'doing without' things, so that he took great pleasure in assuring Mrs. Jackson that she would find realities very different from these charming dreams, and Mr. Jackson was almost angered, at last, at the contemptuous way in which the Bishop received his little affected jokes and notions about the people and ways of going on here.

He stayed just a week; living, of course, with us, but sleeping on board, and has arranged matters with Dr. Jackson. You will hear of it in more official ways, but the pith of it is that he will not give his consent to a division of the diocese if the Government persist in making the new one consist of the whole Middle Island; the Northern part of it, including Nelson, should be joined with Wellington and the country about it, and have a Bishop of its own. A College is now about to be built at Porirua, twenty miles

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from Wellington, with this view, if possible; if not, he will spend his time between there and Auckland, I suppose.

March 1st. Near Riccarton. I have often thought that our letters from New Zealand described life in very different forms from the imaginings of our friends at home; no roughing, you will say, but balls, band-playings, morning visits, and tea-parties!! But I think you would say that we were tolerably Colonial if you could see us all now, as I write; for the present located on the plains, close to Mr. Deans'. The writing, by the by, has gone on very irregularly of late, as you may imagine; with company in so small a house, evenings always devoted to society, and moreover, I am sorry to say, Arthur ill; he has had the complaint that is going about amongst everyone here, a regular influenza, turning in some cases to dysentery. He had not had such a cold since he was at Stokesley when he was seven months old. There is a maternal reminiscence for you. However, he has been very unwell, and is not quite recovered yet, though much better, and even fatter, since he came out here, already. So that I have not yet told you of our move, which was brought about by a combination of circumstances.

Lyttelton, as you know, is not quite the most agreeable place of residence; owing to which fact, added to the natural perversity of man (it being a complete hole and very difficult to get out of) everyone is always very anxious to go. I am personally already a little fond of it and always hate moving; but my husband began to feel imprisoned, and to long for change, as he always does, everywhere, and was besides getting a little tired of having people at him all day, and it is so dry and dusty, etc. At last we had got to say, 'Well, before the bad weather begins, we must try to get on to the plains for a short time'. But the idea had neither form nor shape till Mr. and Mrs. Jackson arrived; the first instant that I saw my husband alone, after that, he had decided that we must be off immediately, and leave them in the house if necessary; but go we must, directly. However, business, and the Bishop's arrival, detained us; and

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indeed Arthur could hardly have moved (in our way of moving) till he did, and it was on the 22nd February that our flitting was made. Mrs. Jackson left in possession of the lower part of the house, with Elisabeth to look after our interests, and the chickens; and all the rest of the establishment, bedding, a chair or two, pots and pans, groceries, cups and saucers, pieces of carpet, by degrees surmounted all obstacles, and were found here.

The accommodation consisted of an old raupo (all thatch) house, of one room, that was built for Mr. Cass (the chief surveyor here, now that Mr. Thomas is gone, rather under a cloud), and was standing empty, and put at our disposal; and two V huts, one with a chimney and window, meant for our state apartment, and about twenty feet long, and another smaller, and without these luxuries, for Powles and Arthur; but as they are built merely of planks laid one over the other, you can imagine that, for air at least, a window is not required (ours doesn't open), and of light, too, for ordinary purposes, there is abundance. I am going to enclose an attempt I made at them, for it is very correct, my husband says, just like them, and you must imagine yourself seeing them from the bush, out of which we gather our firewood, which is our background, and which, having been partly burnt lately, by an unfortunate accident, has an autumnal look that is very unnatural here.

We are close to the fence of Mr. Deans' paddock, and within a stone's throw of his house; and close to that most beautiful of rivers, almost as cold as ice, and clearer than crystal; the water is one of our great luxuries here, it is so good and so soft. At Lyttelton, though we began well, it is often very bad, and quite thick; being disturbed all day long by the emigrants from the barracks, who come in numbers to our well; and so hard, that washing is much more of a duty than pleasure, and the clothes never look clean. We had two pack-horses started off first, for our flitting, and then one of the riding-horses, laden with a few supplementary goods, to his very great disgust; he tried all ways, kicking, etc., to get them off, whenever

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we went down hill, and delayed us a good deal; and then the other, with my noble self, and Arthur on my knee. Powles walked, and got on so much faster than we did, that instead of dividing the distance, and letting me walk for two or three miles, she had half the things unpacked before we arrived. The day was beautiful, a blow of course we had, in crossing the hill, but it was very pleasant afterwards, and Arthur delighted to come and live in the bush, in a little V hut.

The first evening was very cold, when it came to sitting up with wind blowing between every board, but we managed to make the beds pretty warm and comfortable; and the next day, Sunday, was quite warm, and we went off to church at Christchurch. The service is performed in the unfinished rooms of the Survey Office, the largest in the place, at present; but a real church of stone is to be begun forthwith, and a parsonage house for Mr. Kingdon, who is, like everyone else, living just now in a V hut, but his has two rooms in it. It was very curious to me to see the plains actually dotted over with small houses, all round the site for the town. It is almost like Rosllan, only not, of course, so extensive, or such good houses; and when I was there two months and a half ago, there was just one built by Mr. Pollard, about a month before! Such funny buildings, or rather screens, some people have put up; just large enough to contain them at night, and all household operations, cooking, etc., are carried on outside, to the great edification of passers-by. It is two miles and a half at least to the office, and so I was to ride, and we were to bring home the potatoes for our dinner from a shop close by it, in a basket which we hung over the crutch. We unsaddled the horse, and left him tied to a paling near the door, but he managed to slip the bridle over his head and had disappeared, when we came out, and we had to walk, and to carry the potatoes too.

The next day we spent in making ourselves comfortable, while my husband was from nine till five in his office at Lyttelton, which he has to be three days a week. We got

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a handy carpenter, and some boards, and he soon put together two tables and a bench, and put up some shelves, and by nailing our pieces of carpet some three or four feet high inside, against the boards, we managed to get a place for our beds upon which the wind did not blow; and with some bits of old chintz from the cabin furniture we made ourselves quite comfortable and tidy. Then we had some days of very pleasant weather, and visits, and invitations to tea, politely refused, from our friends about, and enjoyed our life exceedingly till this 1st of March. The raupo house was warm and weather-tight, but dusty and so full of fleas! --so William and Jack slept in a corner of it, and it was our kitchen, and dining-room, and breakfast-room, which saved carrying the things about (and we forgot a tray) and then the hut could be put tidy while we breakfasted.

St. David's Day rose with a heavy mist, as I discovered by a drop which fell on my nose just as I woke; but the dust was not even laid, and it became beautiful, though not much sun, and rather windy. My husband was off early to Christchurch, as it was the day for the selection of land for the second lot of purchasers. William was sent to Lyttelton with a message, Jack for eatables to Christchurch, and I was sitting quietly in our V hut (it ought to be an A hut, oughtn't it?) thinking of former St. David's days (up to the first that I can remember, when I have a distinct vision of old Mrs. Taylor at Voelas, helping you to pin an artificial leek on to the left shoulder of each of us, with which we were to go and wish our papa good morning), and looking on and making dots, as he calls it, for Arthur's drawing; when just about noon, I heard a great scream from Powles, and when I ran out she showed me a little bit, on fire, in the wall, as it seemed, of the kitchen chimney, but so close to the raupo walls that my hair was all set on ends in an instant. Powles ran off for water, about twenty yards, and I burned my hands in trying to get the spout of the kettle into the fiery hole, which was between the outer and the inner thatching, and must have caught fire from some spark lodging in a hole of the sod chimney, and gradually getting

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through that to the very inflammable stuff about, when it made quick work. As Powles came back, the flames burst out outside, most fortunately beginning to leeward, and then we began to carry the things out, knowing that anything else was hopeless. Most fortunately again, someone at Deans' saw our first puff of smoke, and in a minute we had Mr. William Deans himself, and six or seven men, handing out things; by which means everything was saved that was of any consequence. It was frightful to see the blaze, and hear the roar, as it spread along the roof; in five minutes it was all down, and only bare poles left standing, which burnt for some time, and then left us nothing but a heap of black ashes.

The next thing was to get some shelter up in its stead, and we sent for some Maoris to build us another raupo house; in which, however, we had quite determined to have no chimney; but as they are much warmer than our huts, it is to be Arthur's sleeping-place, and the fireplace for cooking to be put to his wooden house, as being several shades less inflammable. The chimney was begun, but although it was Saturday, it could not be finished before dark, and ditto the raupo house. Unluckily, as it became dark, the mist that had been gathering became rain, and the rain a storm of wind, and we found ourselves without any water-tight house. We put our clothes and valuables under our tables and tubs, to keep them dry, and carefully erected an umbrella over the head of the bed. Powles' hut, having a higher pitch, kept out the rain much better than ours, and had besides an inner covering of shawls, etc., that kept at least their beds dry, and free from drops; but our umbrella was a sad failure, and the bed was positively soaked. It was not a regular mattress, only an old cover of one which we brought out here to save carrying such a big thing as ours was, and we slept on fern the first two nights, and then got this filled with the wiry grass that grows about; and though it is rather hard, and smells a little like a hay stack, still that doesn't matter much for people who sleep as well as we do, after so much

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open air. No more did the rain, for though I woke once in the night, and found a great deal of wet, it was hopeless to do anything in the dark; so I just went to sleep again, and it was not till after six that we discovered how completely soaked we had been.

The getting up was wretched enough, especially for a Sunday morning, and it went on pouring all day. But we went over and begged for shelter at Mr. Deans', where we were as usual most hospitably received, and had breakfast, dinner and tea, and sat all day in his room, where we also found an Australian stock-keeper, come to Lyttelton with a cargo of stock, and spending Sunday out of town with Deans, as you would go to Brighton; and one of the surveyors who had been washed out of his hut. It was not a pleasant way of spending the day, but we were obliged, in pity, to let the servants take possession of our hut with a fire to cook their dinner; and now Monday, March 3rd, it is quite fine, though we had a very 'juicy' morning, and all our things are out in the air to dry, and we are getting quite jolly again; and the houses are beginning to dry, too. We got on much better last night, by spreading our carpet over the boards outside, and so nearly covering the windward sides of both huts, which kept out actual drops, though everything was as damp as possible. Our fire, too, smokes; but the door is so close by, that the smoke is nearly all drawn out again, and it answers very well, except for cooking, when it all comes in your face.

I have just got a message from Christchurch to tell me that my husband will not be back to-night, as the Isabella Hercus is come in. I always prefer having him at home, but here more than ever for a dire vrai, I am a little afraid of being alone. There are a number of somewhat disreputable people among our neighbours in the bush, some thirty or forty men, I should think, living in it, for the present, to cut timber, and whose songs and jollifications, at their evening tea-parties, we can hear till late at night; and there have been a few thefts lately of eatables and clothes from the houses about Christchurch, and William and Jack sleep

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very sound. Oh! how glad I shall be when he comes out to-morrow, perhaps with letters. I was still more than ever pleased with my Castle Eden news (the October ship), and such a good account of you, and a very jolly letter from Sara, and from Louisa, and from Frances; and such a good journal from Laura, with an account of their stay at Voelas, that made me quite see it all and in such good colours too! I saw Mr. Hanmer too, which was as good as a letter from you, better than one written at bed-time, only I can't understand how he saw 'no one but Mrs. Wynne' when he called at Voelas. The only letter I had from you was one that Sara very kindly forwarded, addressed to Charles, and giving the account of your most fortunate escape at the Eistedfodd (I forget the spelling, and the letter is left in Lyttelton). Oh! how I do pity the poor Lloyds. They had much better come out to N.Z., only that they are so very unlucky about everything that they try; but one or two ought really to come, with Eliza.

There is an absence of care here that is I think the great charm of the place, in which I include of course the absence of anything like poverty, or rather 'want'. Not but what I am just as anxious as ever to get home. I wonder so much when it will be, if indeed it is not too pleasant to be possible without some great and sad drawback; but it is not my way to croak. I believe you will get this letter by the Robert Sayers, direct from Wellington to England, and by it will, I hope, also arrive the box with letters that was to have gone by the Ld. William Bentinck. I must explain over again, that we had a box partly packed before we left Wellington, and to go home by that opportunity, and we were to send up the rest of the contents, and letters written up to the last moment, by her, added and despatched under Mr. Fox's care, who went home in her. Unluckily, the Captain of the ship that was going up there to meet her, fell ill at Lyttelton, and at last died; so that she was detained a long time, and the next chance got a foul wind, and made so long a passage that it did not get into Wellington for ten days, three days after the Ld. W. sailed, which was February 10th. So our

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box was left behind, but it will, I hope, go now, and may be, like the Cornelia last year, first in the race; but you may suppose how much vexed I was to find that we had missed what seemed to be such a good opportunity.

There was no word of explanation about a most acceptable parcel of books which we received by Mr. Hanmer, and which is, I hope, in answer to my husband's commission to Charles, begging him to send out any new books worth having, regardless of expense; they are worth twice as much out here. Pendennis is quite an acquisition in the Colony, and the other, R. Gordon Cumming's, is a particularly fortunate selection, as my husband cares so much for the subject, and knew the writer a little. The other books will be very valuable, I expect, and I shall dole them to those whom I think worthy, after trying some of the directions, 'cheap dishes,' etc., on myself. They must be a little modified here, where a cabbage, for instance, costs a good deal more than a pound of the best beef or mutton; sixpence or even ninepence. The gardening directions will be most useful. If we could only have our house and garden where we are now living, we could very soon make it lovely. It is quite tantalizing to see how everything grows here; and then, on a sunny or windy day, you have only to penetrate a few yards into the bush, and you find complete shelter, and birds singing, and robins (black and white ones) hopping about within reach of your hand, and coming nearer if you chirp in answer to them, and then a fire out of doors for our cooking; on fine days it is like the most convenient and charming of picnics. It was so lovely this morning (March 4th; I wish you both many many happy returns) and so calm, that Arthur and I had breakfast outside, under the shade of our V hut, and Powles and the men under the other. Our new raupo house is all but finished, and is a most solid little affair, and I think (D. V.) I shall remain here during a threatened visit of my husband's to Wellington, to see the Governor on business, which is a great bore to look forward to. It is true, the distance is short, but it sometimes entails, ten days or more in

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a wretched little coaster, each way besides sea-sickness.

Will you give the two scribbles to Frances from me?--with a great many thanks for her letter and for the black likenesses which I was very glad to get, though I don't think them either very like, or very flattering; and for her sketch at Old Voelas, which is very like, and nice too, and Louisa the same. That bit of ending to her letter at Bryn Asaph was worth all the rest, and nurse's message too. I could imagine so well all about it, but I am going to write to her, and now good-bye and God bless you all, for my letter must go. Best love to everyone, and to Stokesley. Arthur's message is a petition that I will tell you all about what has happened to us, especially how the horse broke away from Jack. He is so much better and fatter.

Yours always,
CHARLOTTE.


LYTTELTON
March 21, 1851

MY DEAR MOTHER,

My last letter to you went on the 4th, and was written from Riccarton. I described, in my letter to Sara, the latter part of our sejour there, which was rather unsuccessful from rain, rats, etc. We are now re-established in a, for us, tolerably civilized house; myself in somewhat solitary grandeur (for you know everything goes by comparison) as my husband started two days ago for Wellington, to get some matters of business arranged with the Governor, (Sir G. G.), who is now there (as we believe). He has tried writing already, but the answers were so long in coming, and unsatisfactory, that he at last determined, much as he disliked it, to go himself. There was a very good opportunity, too, for him; the Isabella Hercus, which had just discharged her passengers and cargo here, and is a good deal better than any of the coasters about. I hope he is safe on shore by this time, as we have had a strong fair wind for most of the time since she sailed. He

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took with him my letters to Sara, enclosing one to Louisa, which I believe Mr. Jackson will convey to their hands, as he was expected to be at Wellington; pausing there, as most ships do, on their way to Sydney.

You cannot think how glad I was to hear of the Woodstock letter arriving at last. We get letters for the present, so much quicker, oftener, and more regularly than you do, which indeed seems only fair, as we have so many more people that we want to hear about; though I am ready to embrace you all for writing so well, and am always afraid of your getting tired of it. I wonder now what you did at Xmas, and what came after, and where you would spend this coming Easter. It seems so strange here preparing for it with getting out winter clothes! but it is, and has been, very cold for a few days, and the bad weather is beginning very early. Thanks to the rain, however, we made a beautiful green lawn of English grass, which is the admiration of the whole settlement. The place too has become much cleaner and pleasanter from there being so little dust, and the coolness agrees with me, for one, infinitely better than such weather, for instance, as when Mr. and Mrs. Jackson arrived. The next day the thermometer was ninety-six, outside the shady window of the office; indeed, there was no sun shining at all, and dust blowing in at every crack, almost faster than we could wipe it away; such weather for having the house very full and the servants very busy. We have now taken courage, and mean to make the house a little tidy, and set the rooms to right, in various ways. It was not worth trying before to have anything at all nice. The dust made the white things brown, and the red, dark things white and threadbare-looking in a few days, and as for pantry and kitchen affairs Sermons would have died of them in a week.

Our new kitchen is finished now too, but lets in rain, and has a refractory chimney, and somewhat wilful stove, that has just come from Sydney for us, but is not (of course) half so good as many that the Colonials, rich and poor, have brought out with them. If anyone wants a good grate for a

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room, I should recommend the Sussex grate, which will burn either wood or coal, and in which you can make as small a fire as you please, and it always burns brightly. The FitzGeralds have one, and they are beginning to make their house look quite comfortable, but I am afraid for my life in going up there to call, for they have such a horribly ferocious bulldog, chained in a barrel at the door. It bites you as you pass and, if you take a stick, flies at you at once. You are obliged to wait at a distance till your voice, and his barking, can bring out one of the inmates, who sits against the mouth of the barrel while you pass. It will bite anyone but Mr. FitzGerald, and I think ought to be shot. I know I would rather lose a good many little things than have such a pest about the house.

We are ourselves pestered with rats here, too. Elisabeth (who, by the by was delighted with your message about little Margaret) left the kitchen door open, the other day, for a few minutes, and as she returned, met three, coming together into the house, but we are going to try poisoning, with some wonderful stuff that Mr. FitzGerald told me of. He has grown more wonderful than ever, in dress and appearance. His hair is all brushed and shaved away from his face, except a very long moustache, and on hot days he used to wear the most frightful long brown holland blouse, left very open, with a belt and turn-down collars, and on wet or cold days he sallied forth in the celebrated green plush shooting jacket.

Ld. F. Montagu, who came out in the Castle Eden, is quite a nuisance here, drinking, swearing, cheating at cards, and so on, and amongst the lowest public-house set, for no one else now I believe will notice him. The gentlemen gave him a trial, especially Mr. Cholmondeley, who had been at school with him; but I believe that is quite at an end. My husband had some letters about him, because his Grandmother, Lady Olivia Sparrow, knew Mr. Godley 3 so very well, but in their first interview he told him that hearing the language he used, with oaths between every word, it was

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out of the question his asking him to come to his house, or into the society of ladies. Ld. F. assured him he should never do it before ladies, and he took it in very good part, and 'spoke uncommon fair', but has behaved disgracefully.

I was told, the other day, that he is now living on board the Camilla, one of the ships in harbour, and meant to go off to Sydney, which I hope may be true. (He did go.) His name and title, out here, make him far too conspicuous, and I think some of the very young gentlemen here would have been better if they had never seen him. Mrs. Jackson told me that he was unbearable in the ship, and used such language, the first day she was at dinner, that she and Dr. J., and their boys, always afterwards dined in their own cabin.

I was not here when the last ship arrived, and I see a good many new faces about, and I have not my husband to tell me who they are. He of course knows everyone. I expect to lose all my patience, if I live here very long, seeing always new people, with always (no, but almost always) the same complaints of the past voyage, and of the future prospects; the same wonderments at novelties, and bad houses, and the same assurances of how different it all is from what they were used to at home; and (when a little cross) how none of them would ever have thought of coming if they had had the least idea of all they would have to go through. How Mr. Jackson had distinctly promised them this, and how Mr. Felix Wakefield had assured them they would find the other, and then I have to look sympathetic, and to tell them how very comfortable they will feel, after the rough beginning, when they get only a little settled in places of their own, and so on. For my own pleasure, too, I dislike very much seeing so many new people; I always feel very shy, and look just the other thing, only composed and stupid; but after all, as I said before, we have been very lucky in the set of people who have come out.

There is an old Woodcot schoolfellow of William's here, Mr. Harold de Boubel; he was sent out with Mr. Jackson, and remains here now, boarding at Mr. Jacobs, where he

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also receives Collegiate instruction from Mr. J., who took very high honours at Oxford, and who is to be professor in the College, as soon as it is established. He seems a nice boy with a very handsome face, but I fancy he must find it rather dull. Mrs. J. is something like Miss Bourlier's sister, but not at all clever, and very languishing and sickly, and good natured. Her husband is an excellent little man, but I feel convinced not precisely congenial society for him either, and with a very undecided manner, which I should think would nullify a great many of his other good qualities in teaching; but I am ungrateful in recording anything but praise of Mr. Jacobs to-day, for he is just returned from Akaroa, where he took last Sunday's duty, and brought me a bouquet which is worth far more here than in London (if scarceness is the true test of value) and a bunch of grapes. You cannot think what a treat the sweet room is. We have seen very little, though, of Mr. de B. yet, for when the Jacksons were here we were pretty full, and when we did ask him to tea we were obliged (almost) to ask Mr. Calvert, a most disagreeable, cringing secretary of Mr. Jackson, with whom he was then living. You may imagine that the toady of 'Mr. J.' is not a very nice person. However, the Russells see him (Mr. de B.) very often, now, and they are just the people for him.

They, too, are going to the plains for a short time, not for change of air, exactly, as we did, but to look after their people at work there, and preparations for getting the land into cultivation, and so on. I suspect their agent is not quite so effective or satisfactory as could be wished; at all events he will be a very expensive item in their proceedings, and I suspect it will end in Mr. Russell doing, and looking after, almost everything for himself; or else that nothing will be done.

We have had a man-of-war in the harbour for three or four days, the Havannah, but she lays so far down that she was not visible unless we walked all round the point to look at her, and as my husband was away, I saw nothing of anyone in her; excepting the boat, which often came on

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shore, with little middies steering, and ten oars going so well together that Arthur was always fixed in admiration. Some of the officers went over to the plains, and, I heard afterwards, called here very early to know if it was the hotel. I believe the Commander, Captain Erskine, is very much liked. The Havannah's tender (a small ship, or rather, in more correct phrase, a large schooner, 160 tons, to wait on her) came in to-day, having been long on the passage from Wellington, which she left a week ago, exactly, and she brings news of the Isabella Hercus, with, as I hope, my husband on board, just dropping her anchor as they came away; having been only forty-eight hours out, which is pretty well. The officer commanding the tender is brother to one of our settlers, a Mr. Pollard, who once brought me a note about Sara, from Tom, and so they came up here to-night to call, and to bring me a book I had lent Lady Grey, which she sent by this opportunity, and letters to John. I was quite disappointed, for I knew a vessel had come in from Wellington, and thought I should have got a letter from him to myself, when they came in.

March 30th. Sunday. I suppose my letters may be a little dull, and bare of events, but I did not expect that Arthur would suggest the idea to me. When I went to kiss him in bed to-night, he said, as he often does, 'Are you going to write to-night?'; so I said 'Yes': 'Well, I'd rather you did not, we haven't been doing anything now for you to tell your friends'. By the by, Powles and I are full of lamentations that we cannot bring you his first trowsers, as you wish, for they were a very funny little pair, with pieces put in behind, and cut just like the sailors', meant to be worn without braces; but when we had just finished a much smarter pair of very white ones, these, which were of a bit of the Captain's duck, not quite bleached, and much the worse for wear, looked so bad that she begged for them to cut up and mend something with, and I gave them. I have got the blue shirt, indeed, being elastic; he can still wear it, though it is rather short. He fills out his clothes very well just now, and you would be amused to

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hear his intense pity of himself when he 'was sick', as he calls it; that means the influenza before we went to the plains. 'I was so ill, oh! I was in such a state,' as he told Mrs. Russell the other day. She is quite a friend of his, being very fond of children. It was all quite in character, was it not, that he should accomplish the art of sawing while we were at the plains. He sawed several bits of wood for the fire, and then we got ambitious, and tried a log that was quite six inches in diameter, and after working at it for a day and a half, it was accomplished; all by himself as far as actual sawing went, and also greasing the saw, which Powles recommended, and was supposed to assist very much; but we stood by him to encourage him, for he got very impatient at having nothing to show for so long. I am afraid I have made you fancy him much too pretty, though quite without meaning it. I am sure he is not half so good looking as Heneage must have been, only just his old little round face, grown better-looking, and his hair better and more curly. It has still never been cut, but still curls up so as not to hang anywhere lower than his ear, and is of a rather bright tinge of very light hair.

April 7th. I have not written in this letter for a week and now we have the Travancore in and such a number of letters and presents to thank you all for, and for all the good wishes for my birthday. I have seen Mr. Evans too, and had a long talk with him about everybody. You must be left to imagine my delight with all my parcels and presents. First came your hand-writing, a parcel from Mr. Evans, the night that the ship anchored, with my book from Louisa for Arthur; and my new collar, for Easter Sunday, it came most luckily, and my gardening gloves, with a little note from Mr. Evans promising to call; then, the next morning but one, my beautiful, perfect clock! --and long before I had done admiring that, my other parcels, presents for Arthur, and the Ladies' Companion from Sara, but not the gown she sent me; for we have such an advanced and superior custom house, that the gown had to be kept two days to be valued, and every other parcel

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opened thoroughly in search for letters. However, at last I did get it and everything else, and don't know where to begin my thanks. I am specially glad that there was a holiday on my birthday, only I am sorry you had such a small party. I can fancy I see you just at dessert, too, the dining-room door finally shut, and my Father pouring out wine for everyone, and you just pulling up your scarf, and giving your after dinner shiver; Louisa and Frances, both, I guess, on the warm side of the table (such a shiny table, too, as we don't see in N.Z.), for your 14th November would not do very well for our festivity of tea out in the garden! It seems too happy to hope ever to see it again.

I am now plotting deeply to get my husband sent home in disgrace. The general line for the people here is to look very blank at the mention of our going, and then he says of course he would not go home while he could do good by staying, which words, though very right and all that, rather grate upon my ears, for I am such a fool as to think that, if he lives, it will be a long time before they get all the available good out of him. At all events, it is some comfort to me to know that he is quite as anxious to get back to England as I can be, for he cares nearly as much as I do about seeing his people and friends again, and besides cares a great deal about the politics, 'public events' and so on, which I don't in the least, now I am accustomed to be quite out of it.

I am afraid all this about the R. C. Bishoprics will disgust you so much with the whole concern that you will hardly have liked our friend Mr. Weld at all, and yet he is so very nice when you know him well; and besides, you know he is not a convert, but one of an old R. C. family. I shall be so glad to hear that you have seen him, and heard all about us from him. If he was not overcome with shyness, I am sure you must have liked him, and he promised to call.

His little vessel, the Henry, has just been here for some days, with his cousin, and partner in stock-farming concerns, Mr. Clifford, who is not nearly so agreeable. He knows a good deal of N. Zealand, however, having been out here

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eight years, in different parts of the country, and he is in great admiration of this settlement, and particularly of our climate, which has indeed been lovely since we came back from the plains, more than a month ago; only a few showers, and one whole day of rain; but that was a tremendous one, with such a gale from the south as sent the wet streaming down our drawing-room paper in five or six places, and deluged the ceiling from a pool that ran in under my bed upstairs. But the fine days are quite lovely, when there is little or no wind. Yesterday, for instance, was quite perfection; warm enough for the greatest invalid to sit out by the sea, and cool enough for any amount of exercise; and the mountains looking as beautiful as on our good days at Voelas. We went, with a horse, up the bridle path to the top of the hill, and had a lovely view of the plains, and snowy mountains, just before sunset. Easter Sunday was just such another day, and so were many more. To-day it is cold, with a strong south wind that shakes the house, though it is very fine. It is very good weather for the invalids, too, and we have a good many cases of bilious fever that seems in the air; it sometimes turns to typhus, and some of the patients have died. The houses are all so small, and so full, that it is wretched work when any serious illness comes.

I think that I have never mentioned that my husband got back from Wellington on April 4th (we are now at the 26th, William's birthday having been duly remembered on Easter Tuesday). He saw the Governor (who is a sad deceiver) and did all his business, and met there, too, Mr. Jackson, and the Bishop, and stayed with Mr. Eyre at Government House for the time he was there. Fancy Sir G. Grey having sent to Mr. Eyre, just shortly, to say he must give up possession of his house at Wellington, on which he had spent a good deal of money, to him, in a month, just when Mrs. Eyre is expecting to be confined! I believe they will go to Nelson. Sir G. Grey cannot bear him, and never loses an opportunity of snubbing and annoying him, and this even was done in such a way. The Greys had been in Wellington for three or four months, and then General

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Pitt, who was left in charge at Auckland, died, and Sir George had to go up there, a few days after my husband left. When he went, he left a short letter to this effect, for Mr. Eyre! As soon as he arrived in Wellington he ordered that every single paper, and matter of business, should be brought before him; and the Lieut.-Governor was to hear and see nothing, but sit with his hands before him. Yet he dared not give himself a holiday, and leave the place, knowing that a policeman would soon be sent after him, to bring him back, as happened before!

Who would be a Lieut.-Governor? I cannot think why Mr. Eyre does not resign, except that being just married he cannot afford it; and besides, Sir George is daily expecting to be removed. When Lady Grey was here, she told me they had heard for certain that he was appointed to Canada! and that she was much afraid the climate would not suit his constitution. He is very delicate, something about the heart and circulation. He is going to hold a 'Council' at Wellington and has summoned Mr. Deans and Mr. Tancred from here to attend, but neither of them will go. When he was here, it seems Deans consulted him about a claim which has only more lately been announced to the settlers. This claim, I think, is to a space of two miles, all round Riccarton, on the old story of having purchased it from the natives, which would, of course, annihilate Christchurch and turn all the settlers about there off their land. Deans has lately put this forward, not apparently expecting, or hoping, to get the land itself, but hoping to get, as compensation, some particular 'run' for cattle about fifty miles off. My husband consulted Sir G. Grey at Wellington about this claim, and he said at first he thought it was a good one, as he had told Deans, and likely to give a good deal of trouble; but when my husband explained to him that if so it would be a claim on Crown lands, as the Association has no possession of the land here, and can only recommend purchasers to the Crown, he quite changed his note, and said, at the next interview, that the claim was worth nothing at all!



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LYTTELTON AS THE PILGRIMS FIRST SAW IT
The gabled house in the centre of the picture was the one occupied by J. R. Godley and his family.
The long low buildings near it are the Immigration Barracks.
Water-colour by W. Fox, 10 January 1851.
Hocken Library, Dunedin

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My husband has refused any salary, either in his capacity of Resident Magistrate, or Commissioner of Crown lands; for which, at the other settlements, they are paid about £300 a year for each. The Governor did not much like that, for they would have liked a story against him of liking good places, and perhaps you know that he has got his salary as Agent here lowered from £800 to £600, which is quite enough. He thinks all the salaries are fixed at too high a rate, and has just gone through the very disagreeable task of lowering those of the Surveyors, and so on; some are going in consequence, but they were really extravagant, and so many things are wanted at a first start, that money is very precious. Clergymen and schoolmasters, all must be provided with salaries and houses, and find such things much smaller than Mr. Jackson's liberal promises had led them to expect. That, indeed, is a very disagreeable part of the business; meeting with disappointment and discontent, which vague promises at home are sure to lead to, especially when the hopes and expectations have been growing through all the monotony of a three or four months' voyage. However, all goes pretty smoothly for the present, and I am happy to say our incumbent at Lyttelton seems a very good man, though perhaps not clever.

There is, however, one ecclesiastic, the Reverend Puckle by name, not so agreeable. He was a bosom friend of Mr. Jackson's when he was a rich man in trade in London (I forget what kind); he tried some other business (selling prints, I think) and failed; and 'having always had a great wish to be in Orders' he somehow contrived, although he had not been at either of the Universities, to be ordained by the Bishop of Exeter; chiefly, I believe, with the view of his coming out here. So here they came, expecting to get the best of everything; on account, as he told Mr. FitzGerald about his accommodation at first, 'of his having been, for many years, the personal friend of the Bishop Designate'. In appearance he is what you can imagine an ugly retired grocer of nearly fifty, and with such an intriguing, meddling wife! who had a fortune of £30,000

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(being a Miss Smith, sister to the great lace manufacturer at Derby), and who is naturally not pleased with such accommodation as she gets here in the barracks. They are always asking for more, and finding fault with all they get, the house that is being built for them, the place it is built at, etc. Mrs. Puckle wrote the other day to John to beg that instead of adding to the other clergyman's house, who had no children, he would devote all the money available in adding another room to her house, beside the intended additions, because she had five children! And they will take the whole thing as a matter of personal favour, and not at all of trying to do the best with other people's money. It is disagreeable dealing with such people, but not, by the by, a very profitable subject to discant upon to you.

April 28th. I am left again. My husband started this morning for Akaroa, where there are claims to be settled, and expects to be away about ten days. I hope he will have fine weather, for it is a lovely place to see, by all accounts; everyone likens it to the prettiest place he has seen. Mr. Tancred and Mr. Wortley went too, and I shall be very glad when I see them safe back, for there are so many accidents with these boating businesses. They went with the Maori teachers from 'Pigeon Bay', from which place they were to walk over to Akaroa. Mr. and Mrs. Russell were to have gone too, but she dreamt last night she was upset, and as it was very stormy to-day she took fright, remembering their drowning when they first came; so they have stayed at home instead, and I am invited to drink tea there to-morrow. I have not been out in the evening since we came here.

April 29th.. There is such a good opportunity for sending this letter to-day that I think I must let it go. It is, I believe, to go from Wellington by a ship direct to London. How soon shall we have enough sheep here to charter a wool ship for ourselves? Talking of wool, I should be very much obliged if you would send me a dozen pairs of little socks for Arthur; some of fancy colours, if convenient. I am sure you will guess the size near enough, and

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perhaps I could have some of them ribbed. I hope you will not mind this commission (Tom Cocks will pay you). I generally write them all to Louisa, that you may not have the trouble even of reading them. John is, I am thankful to say, still very well, but he says, if he gets less so, he shall go off to a warmer place for the winter, probably Moreton Bay, north of Sydney, and leave me here. This makes me wish, if it were possible, more than ever, that he may keep well.

Elisabeth goes on very well. I have just made her begin to wear caps again, which is very uncolonial, but I like it. Instead of 'Jacky Fly' (who found out, on the plains, he could make more by building houses, and living in the bush with other Maoris, than in doing what we told him, and so left us) we have got a girl called Charity, who is rather nice and does three times as much work as poor Jack. I don't know whether this will arrive before, or after, my letters to Uncle Robert, but please to thank him a great deal in the meantime. A great deal of love to everyone. I am writing to Sara by the other road, and to C. Pollen. Best love to my Father, and to William and Heneage, when you write, and to John, and now my dear Mother, good-bye. God bless you all and please take care of yourself for

Your very affectionate daughter,
CHARLOTTE GODLEY.


LYTTELTON
May 8th, 1851

MY DEAR MOTHER,

I sent my last letter off to you about ten days ago, and two days ago one to Sara, with an enclosure to Uncle Robert; the Duke of Bronte still only 'due'. The only event I have to record is that my husband got back safely from Akaroa the night before last, with Mr. Tancred and Mr. Wortley; they seem to have enjoyed their expedition beyond everything, and had ten of the most perfect days that can be imagined for seeing very beautiful

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scenery. He has come to the conclusion that, if all goes well, we are certainly (D. V.) to spend at least a month of the spring there; but I dare say we shall not; for, besides other hindrances, I expect that 'the main body', as we call the six advertized June ships, will keep arriving and giving more and more business to arrange on the spot, all through that time. June is rather early for them to sail; I am afraid they will, with tolerable passages, arrive before the fine weather does, and we shall have another grand squeeze, too. I hope the new set may prove as good-natured and accommodating as the others, on the whole, have been. My husband is getting very tired of his work, for it is so much interspersed with little personal matters, and it is so disagreeable having people come to him to remind him of all the 'promises' they had from Mr. Jackson and others at home, which his instructions do not notice, or contradict. He minds it, perhaps, as little as anybody would, but it makes his work less pleasant, and in some cases he has to modify, or judge for himself, so as to have more responsibility upon his shoulders than he thinks agreeable, or right. There was an unfortunate 'article' in our papers, about a month ago, too violent against the 'Councils', and present mode of Government, and this is taken as a matter of course to have been written by him, or from his dictation. He had nothing whatever to do with its production, though he did suggest, or advise, the 'explanation', or 'apology', in the next number, and was quite annoyed about it. But the rival papers at Wellington are full of it; the Government one complaining that it is very ungracious of him when everything has been done that was possible to gratify and accommodate him (I suppose making him R. Magistrate, Commissioner of Crown Lands, etc.); and the other saying that it is natural that the officials should not be pleased at the precedent which he affords, of places held without emolument and so on; then the Wellington Spectator answers again, that it is true that he can afford to give up further salary, as he 'bleeds' the Canterbury sheep pretty freely. They are such low papers, both as personal as the

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Eatanswill Gazette, and I am quite vexed and angry to see his name so mixed up in them. The little editor of the Spectator used to be so civil to us at Wellington.

We had with us at dinner, last Sunday, a Mr. Aitken from Port Phillip, in Australia, who, with his partner, a Mr. Hawdon, is coming to settle here immediately, with a good deal of stock. He was very complimentary about the country here, and about the advance we have already made; he was astonished at the size of the port town, and, what is more important, at the great numbers of settlers already out upon their land, and intending to cultivate, and get crops in for next season. Port Phillip has advanced so very rapidly itself, that praise from such a quarter is quite worth having. He has just returned, with two others, from an expedition to Lake Coleridge, which they describe as most beautiful, and they were the first white people to stand on its banks, and catch the innumerable eels, which, although not 'used to it' seem to have come to be 'skinned' very readily. Mr. Torlesse, who was also at dinner, having come for his rest day to the port, had once seen it from a hill at a distance. He has abandoned his old business of surveying, and undertaken the care of some absentees' cattle, which is a much more profitable affair, if he can get full occupation. He has made a good beginning already, and is to get £200 a year for his care of one lot.

May 22nd. We had a grand picnic here on Monday, given by some bachelors, three gentlemen from Port Phillip, and the Captain of the Travancore, and about thirty went, but more were invited. My husband was too busy, and we were both glad of the excuse not to go. The picnic-ians were to cross the harbour in boats, and land in a small sheltered bay opposite, where Mr. Rhodes had his station, in whose wool-shed the entertainment took place. I hear it was extremely well done, every 'delicacy of the season' provided; even salad, which is not to be bought here, and must have come from private gardens among the few old settlers, perhaps Mr. Rhodes himself, and for the ladies they had the only two bottles of Champagne left on board

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the Travancore. The Captain has been getting rid of it as fast as he could, by having a dinner-party on board every day; and walks about the town to see what gentlemen he can persuade to come, each morning. Poor man, he had nothing else to do, for the only hands he had left on board were himself, the cook, and the cuddy servant; exactly the parties required to invite the company, prepare the dinner, and wait upon the guests. Every sailor in the ship, including both his mates, left him when he got here, and although they have been prosecuted according to law, they altogether refuse to return to him. Of course it is difficult to get others in their place, and he has written for hands to Wellington, as he is literally unable to stir from here. He has been more than seven weeks in the port, all his business was finished in about a fortnight, and the rest of the time is so much clear loss. Yet he has only just succeeded in getting one mate, and two sailors, who were so tipsy after the picnic (where they were in attendance) that they had to be put to bed for two hours, before they rowed the ladies home. There was dancing all the evening. Mrs. Russell, who always gets into uproarious spirits on any festive occasion, assured me next morning that she danced forty times and wore out the only tidy pair of thin boots she had (you cannot realize what a misfortune that means here) and did not get home till after eleven. Mrs. FitzGerald, who left soon after five, left her there with a dilapidated dress, and her hair all danced down.

We have lovely clear, frosty weather, and plenty of ice! It is already colder than we ever had it at Wellington. I found ice half an inch thick at noon. My husband said this morning, when he was out soon after seven, the ice was so thick on the puddles, he could hardly break it with his heel.

May 27th. We had, on Saturday, a very gay day for the Queen's birthday. A Regatta, and English sports, and native dances, and a School feast. You will see it all in the papers which we mean to send, but it is a very bad account. The day was only too lovely, not a breath of wind all day, so that the sailing-boats never started. First

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thing in the morning, we had our visitors arrive from 'Pigeon Bay', two daughters of a Mrs. Sinclair there; they are very nice people and great friends of the Bishop's (of N.Z.). My husband had made acquaintance with them by staying at their house, both in going, and returning from, Akaroa, and the two sisters came over to see the races and stay a day or two. They had not been here for a year or two, and were of course very much surprised at the number of houses, the road, and our other signs of progress. They saw Wellington in its infancy, and have been at Akaroa, but otherwise they have literally seen no one but the people who come to their house for hospitality; it is the regular half-way house to Akaroa, and they receive everyone, from the Governor and Bishop, to the poorest man travelling by, who gets near them towards evening. It was very amusing to us to see how much they thought of this place, and all they saw. They said they had never seen so many people together before.

The boat-races, or rather rowing-matches, were very pretty. As there was no wind for the sailing-matches, we had to begin with them. The first was of five-oared whale boats, a sixth man steering, as they do in whale-boats, with a long oar out behind, and standing, which looks very picturesque. Five boats started, and four of them were Maoris'; only one white crew pulled against them, and they broke an oar, which was a very convenient excuse, for they were beaten very easily, and the Maoris were supposed to do it in remarkably short time and came in very fresh, and in great delight, as you may imagine, for they are very excitable. The start was really very pretty. The sun was very hot, and the sea like glass, and the boats full of brown figures, some quite good-looking, and with bare arms and shoulders; such eager faces watching Mr. FitzGerald, who stood by the great ensign on the jetty, with a gun, which was fired for the signal to start; and then off they went, working all over, and the steersman catching the arm of the man next him at each stroke, and lifting him back. The Victoria won, belonging to a chief, who did not go in her,

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but walked up and down, telling people he was just like Mr. Godley, and only looked on. Another boat was the Captain Bailey, owned and steered by 'Bigfellow'. They (the Maoris) have such curious names. The next race was the prettiest, the four-oared rowing match, for which Mr. Ward had entered the pretty little boat he has built here, and which is in constant use, as he now lives on 'Quail Island' at the upper end of the harbour. It is called the Lass of Erin (he is engaged to an Irish young lady at home) and was manned by himself and his three workmen, dressed exactly alike in white jersey and trowsers, and a red handkerchief round their heads. He won very easily, and it was really quite exciting to see him come in, in the midst of 'tremendous applause' from the jetty; my husband loudest of all, for all that is Irish in him comes out on such an occasion, and he owned that he wouldn't have seen him beaten for £100. Mr. Ward you know, is Irish too, a nephew of Lord Bangor's. Then we had some small sculling-matches, duck-hunt and so on, but not a breath of wind all day long that would stir even Arthur's little 'cutter'; so my trouble was wasted, for I had made a lovely flag for Mr. Wortley with the best white silk the town would afford (persian, a little thicker than gauze), and some of my last remains of cerise ribbon. He had got a boat, only for the race, that was called the Charlotte, and had belonged to the Association, and so he said I owed him a flag, as it was called after me. Let no one say that is a small piece of trouble until they have tried to make one, or until persian ceases to stretch and ravel when cut on the cross.

Mrs. Russell had got a little vessel, smarter than the Martha, for Arthur, and so she told him she would race with him, and this also took place, but so little wind was there, that the vessels had to be recovered by a little Maori boy walking into the water (for sixpence) as we could wait no longer; the war dance was to begin and the best part to see of that is the beginning, when the challenger throws a spear, and they all run to pick it up. But the rest of the dancing(?), especially when the women take it up, is very

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unpleasing, and more like a clown in the pantomime, rolling his eyes about to make you laugh, than any real dance.

Then we had luncheon, our own dinner, for about as many as could sit down in our room, and then a soapy pig, and a greased pole, and a wheelbarrow race, and then it was time to go to the schoolchildren, whom we had invited to a tea party, in one of the empty barrack-rooms that before served as a ballroom. There were to have been seventy children (but some did not come), so we made the tea in the boiler of a small furnace we have for washing, and ordered twelve dozen buns and some plum cake from the baker's. I mention this because I think it must be a satisfaction to you to know that we can get buns here. Order was most strictly preserved by the presence of our schoolmaster, a very tremendous gentleman, who however rather took away from our joviality; and then the gentlemen of the Glee Club volunteered to give us some of their performances (really very good) until it got dark, and we could have the magic-lantern, which was to conclude the festivity. There is a very good one amongst the innumerable things that Mr. Jackson brought out, and the children received each new slide with loud shouts of delight, and when they had gone home, and the big children who came to look with them, there was a second exhibition for the Maoris, and we sent them tea and cake too. We had only a few people at tea, and went quietly to bed, but there was a very gay party on board the Travancore, first dinner and then dancing. There were eight ladies on board and about forty gentlemen, and as seems always the case, the fewer the lady-partners were, the more anxious were all the gentlemen to dance; in short it was very successful, and everyone thoroughly tired next day, specially Mrs. Russell.

Mr. Russell has come to a final disagreement with Mr. Macfarlane, who would have ruined him completely if his eyes had not been opened just in time. It is too long a story to write, but my husband is doing what he can for Mr. Russell, and has a good deal of trouble in consequence. But it comes at a lucky moment, for there is less than usual

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to do at 'the Office' from the non-appearance of the Duke of Bronte, although the Travancore has now been in nine weeks, and had not a very quick passage out, herself. We are getting a little uneasy about her, and very wishful for news, as our last is now six months old, and this is not a case in which 'no news is good news' exactly.

I suppose London is now nearly mad, with the Great Exhibition just opened, and so on. I half expect to hear of your taking fright, and not appearing there at all. I suppose you could realize a small fortune by letting the house in floors? What a squeeze it will be. I think we are rather well out of it; it makes me feel quite tired only to think about going to see such a monster exhibition. But perhaps, after all, the grapes are sour. Perhaps, too, a good deal of it may still be to be seen when we may hope to get back, for we hear rumours, I don't know how though, of its lasting 'a year' or 'two years'.

I am afraid that Mr. Evans' friends at Denbigh will not receive very good reports from him. He seemed very well pleased with everything at first, especially his bit of land, which my husband had to choose, only he found things dearer than he expected. At last he came the other day to beg John to lend him money, or at least to back his bills, which he was obliged reluctantly to refuse, and I am afraid Mr. Evans was disappointed and almost hurt; but really, even when you are certain of people being able and willing to pay eventually, still, unless you have a large account at the bank, it may sometimes be very inconvenient to be drawn upon even for small sums, if there are a good many of them; and it is nearly impossible to raise money here in a hurry, even paying 10 per cent; you get 8 per cent on Government debentures. So in short, it is necessary, for your own safety, to make it a rule not to back anyone's bill, and then no one ought to be offended, and especially in a situation like my husband, where everyone thinks him the person to apply to; so he has refused, always excepting in two special and urgent cases, but it is very disagreeable having to do so.

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On May 28th Mr. FitzGerald, who had been to Pigeon Bay on business, and slept at Mr. Sinclair's (of course), came back late on a wet evening with such a magnificent 'topsail schooner', a present from a small Miss Sinclair. One of those who came here is married to the Captain of a Whaler, and he makes these sort of toy ships in his spare time at sea. It came in as we were at our seven o'clock tea and looked so magnificent, being about three feet high, that my husband, in spite of all I could say, crept upstairs when I was attending to someone else, and brought down Arthur in his nightgown and nearly asleep. He was in perfect raptures, as I need not say, at finding himself the owner of a vessel with a rudder, several blocks and eight sails! It had to go upstairs, and he talked himself to sleep over its beauties. Not, however, until he had got Powles to provide herself with lucifer matches, that they might get up before it was light the next morning, which was to be his father's birthday, and he had so much to do, he said; his ship to arrange, and to give his father the picture he had drawn and painted for his birthday present, and to boil one of his hen's eggs for his breakfast.

It was Ascension Day this year, and Royal Oak Day, but nothing in the shape of an oak-leaf could we manage. To be sure how much better and stronger John is, himself, than on his birthday last year. God grant he may continue so. The cold weather so far has done him no apparent harm; he was afraid himself, and so was I, that he would not be so well in the winter; he made such a great start for the better when the warm weather began in earnest in the summer. Arthur's picture was a fine production, and now hangs up in his father's room, and the FitzGeralds came to tea, so we had some music; but Mr. F. has got either one of his old winter coughs, or else the whooping-cough, we do not quite know which, and quite prevents singing. His wife really sings beautifully, I think; I scarcely ever heard anyone say their words so well, and she sings, and understands, French, Italian, German, and Russian; and English best of all. She is come now to stay with us, while her

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husband is away for a day or two's business on the plains, and so I get the practising in the morning extra, which is very satisfactory. I cannot make her sing all day long, because she is not strong, and often not allowed to sing high songs and so on.

June 6th. At last the Duke of Bronte announced inside the Heads! We spent a good deal of a very cold day in going out to watch her beating up the harbour against a biting south-easter, all the high hills round covered with real snow! I wonder what the people on board think of their new country. Mrs. FitzGerald in great excitement, because a brother of hers was to be in her. We watched her till the anchor was dropped just before sunset, and then Mr. Wortley, who had gone on board in spite of the high sea and cold, came in to tell us that he had come, and a little brother of twelve with him, and that we could have no letters till the morning. There was such a great mail that it took two boats to bring the bags and boxes on shore, and the poor postmaster says he must engage an able-bodied man to sort all night, with him, that we may have them in the morning, and as a stopgap he brought some letters that Mr. Draper, Mrs. FitzGerald's brother, had brought for different people; but he could not leave the ship, having come out as 'Surgeon Superintendent'. One of the letters was from Archibald for my husband! and so we made out, negatively, that all must be going well, or he would somehow allude to it in his letter, and we had to go to sleep on that; and now (June 7th) I have been spending a most satisfactory time over four letters, which my husband somehow procured, with some for himself.

Mine were from Sara, Laura, Louisa and Frances, and telling of Xmas and so on, and oh so pleasant to read out here! But letters give me a sad longing to be at home, and in the midst of it; when I have read a good many together, it seems at last as if New Zealand were all a dream, and it is not till I look out at the bare hills, and the bridle path, and the town of wooden houses, and above all 'the Office' door at the bottom of our little green slope, that the dull reality

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comes back to me. But dull I ought not to call it, for, whatever it may be in other respects, it is not that, with such weather as we have, enough to put anyone in spirits, who is at all under such influences; though I do not like the cold we have now at all, or my consequent row of chilblains, and touches of rheumatics, which latter are very common out here.

I am very grateful for all my good news, very glad to hear of the Stokesley plan, and the proposed visit to Ledstone, and now (evening) I have, too, my letter from you, and my parcel. Arthur will get one of the maps (the 'Miracles') to-morrow, which is Whit-Sunday, and Frances' Jack and the Giants (D. V.) on his birthday, in ten days. This has been a great day with him; besides getting three new books, and lots of messages and anecdotes of home, one of our hens has brought out nine little chicks, and our goat has presented us with a little kid, which is named 'Bronte' after the late arrival. I have just found out all about my parcel from Aunt Anne's little note inside. You must thank her a great deal, till my letter comes.

I am hoping to send this by the Travancore, which is at last just off to Sydney. I am very sorry about Tom's great knock in the railway, but I hope by this time he has almost forgotten it. Vernon must be a most capital little child, and I am quite delighted with Frances' portrait of him, which almost makes me laugh, it is so like Tom, and so exactly what his son ought to be. It is quite a pretty little picture too, and I am going to frame and glaze it. I am so glad too at her drawing so well. I wish I could send one of Arthur. Mrs. FitzGerald always declares he is six, because he speaks so plainly and looks so big, but I think that is his dress, the trowsers and shirt look old, unless he is walking with his Father, and then he looks the funniest little miniature you ever saw. He is just now a good deal devoted to the animals, the goat is a novelty, and there is a fat puppy, too, with whom he spends a great deal of his time, and three other dogs, besides Lady Nugent (the horse), who is William's great pet.

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He (William) likes the stable work so much better than any other, that he shirks as much of the indoor work as he can now, and I am amused to see that even the little 'walk' to the stable door is kept carefully cut at the edges and so tidy, while the corresponding one, even more in sight, to 'the Office', is left entirely to itself. He goes on very well, on the whole, and we like him very much, but you would rather laugh to see his present style of dress. Sometimes (on rainy days) he is the 'bushman', in a blue shirt, etc., sometimes the sportsman, in a very antique light velveteen shooting jacket, that was I think once Heneage's, and sometimes he verges upon the 'groom of the chambers' style when on Sunday he brings in dinner in a discarded blue frock coat of my husband's; but always dirty. His general get up though, for bringing in tea, for instance, when we have company or not, is a pair of dirty fustian trowsers, and an old black sort of cut-away morning coat, 'late the property of J. R. G., Esq.' We have sometimes ventured on a remonstrance, but he always shuts John's mouth by alluding to his 'dirty work', stable, etc.

The Travancore is gone; slipped off before we were aware, I believe for fear of any one deserting; but I am not very sorry, as I think we shall have quite as good an opportunity by sending up to Wellington soon, where there is a vessel preparing to go home direct. Captain Brown went off to Sydney, a stormy passage of about three weeks, with only three seamen on board; he was unpopular and no more would go with him. The few other hands he got were landsmen, ordinary labourers, tempted by the idea of getting a peep at Sydney for nothing! We shall be glad to hear of their safe arrival.

The Bronte anchored on Friday evening, and on Monday morning the Steadfast was announced inside the heads; she left London about forty-eight to fifty days after the Bronte and arrived here about as many hours after her, and so then we got all our fresh budget of news and most of it very good. Almost too much it seems, for we shall now have such a long wait and everything so flat, comparatively, and how

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am I to thank you all for the letters! There is no one here whose friends write one half so well, of that I am quite sure. Only I am afraid of whether I can answer them all in time. I have, too, a letter from Mrs. Daly, as she says to 'draw one' from me, and such books and presents for Arthur that I am obliged to put most of them by, and dole them out by degrees, but as he is to be four years old (D. V.) next Tuesday, I shall allow him a good many for that day.

How well I can imagine you all at Stokesley (a great many thanks for my messages, if you please) and it is such a good jolly report of all there, that I can afford to wait now, as we shall doubtless have to do, for it is not likely that the next vessel can have so quick a passage as the Steadfast. As to politics, though, it is very exciting and uncomfortable, as the last we hear is a probability of Graham, Grey, and Cobden, which sounds doleful enough. Church matters are so unsatisfactory that I could almost wish not to hear about them here. They make one very fearful for so many, and cast quite a cloud over the thoughts of being in England again. I am quite glad, though, that for once you all write just after a letter from me had arrived, and it was evidently Lady Clarke's fault, and not ours, that we had seemed less exemplary in that particular. And so my dear Heneage is actually off; well I hope, when I get back, it will be almost leave time, and at all events everyone seems to like Malta. I shall be very anxious to hear about William. When I think of him I cannot remember the great big boy with rather too sporting a waistcoat, and air generally, just going to pass through the ordeal of Cambridge; I always go back to such a nice boy at Voelas, and 'tub-time', as he used to call it, when I used to go up every night to see him into bed! He makes me feel so very old, but indeed so I am.

June 3rd, Monday, was a very busy day here, all the Bronte people on shore, to look about, for it was fine; the Stedfast beating up the harbour, and moreover Council day, and rather a special meeting. Mr. Cholmondeley, too, came in from Port Levi, where he has taken his land, and lives isolated, which seems to be his fancy. He is never strong,

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but looks very well, for him, with plenty of colour in his formerly pale face; which is also much improved by a great beard which he is so gentlemanlike-looking as to be able to wear without looking horrible, as most people do. We had Mr. Tancred at dinner, and two of the new-comers, Mr. and Mrs. White. He is the son of Mr. White, partner to 'G. F. Young', who writes letters in the Chronicle, etc.; someone great in the shipping interest. This son had some thoughts of coming out to N.Z., and then married privately, an innkeeper's daughter, and barmaid, we hear, at Gravesend. I believe they said nothing for six weeks, and then it was revealed, his friends very angry; and in six weeks more they were reconciled, and on board the Bronte on their way out here. I need not say she is not very ladylike, but rather good (or picturesque) looking, with a showy style of dress.

We dined at 1.30, and then I had to walk her about, and so on, till tea-time; but they went back on board at ten, and we had Mr. Russell, who had come in for letters and business, in our spare-room for the night. The next afternoon a storm of wind came on so violently, with rain and hail, that we had to take in Mr. White and Mr. Heathcote; they were obliged to put up with us for the night, day, and another night, too, as the storm was so violent no boats would go off; the only one that tried it was 'stove in' in getting on shore again. It was a fearful gale, worse than has been known here, they say, since the settlers came. One large schooner was driven up on shore, high and dry, but very little damaged fortunately; and another little one, of fifteen tons, belonging to Mr. Wortley and some more gentlemen, was also driven on shore, and a hole knocked in her, and several boats broken to pieces. It was a sad introduction for the new-comers, and accordingly they were all terribly put out, we hear, and nearly all anxious to leave the place. Indeed, if it was not for the idea of getting letters by them, I should be very glad, and so would everyone, that no ships should come out during the winter.

There has been as yet no well-authenticated case of a day's work (unskilled labour even) done for 3s. 6d., but still work

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is slack, that is, people are shy of giving employment at 4s. in these short days; and provisions are all dear; we are threatened with the 2-lb. loaf at 9d. next week, and meat is now 7d. or 7 1/2d. a lb., salt butter 1s. 6d. --2s. a lb. if good. Milk not to be had, for many people, but when it is, the price is 5d. a quart, and everything else in proportion; vegetables of course dear, potatoes 1d. a lb. or more, but they are getting cheaper, and cabbages 6d. a piece, and turnips 1d. a piece, only to be had when the Maoris bring over a boatfull to sell from their gardens at Pigeon Bay. There were three boats, full of them, on their bit of beach here when this bad weather first set in; only camping under their boats, and there were several children. One poor little thing, that could scarcely walk, was toddling round the little fire, with nothing but a cotton handkerchief, on which a pack of cards was gaily depicted, put on it cloak fashion, with the two upper corners tied round its neck, and this on a cold evening when I could not keep my hands warm with ordinary walking. They say the children die in great numbers, and I am sure it is no wonder, from the way they manage them; for a great part of their time they are nearly smothered, tied up on their backs inside one or two blankets; and then, for a change, they run about just naked. I suggested, in this case, that the child must be cold, but the women round gave me a look of supreme contempt, and said: 'Oh, he not want de clothes'. I am rather sorry to hear of your very mild winter, it generally brings a late summer; but no doubt it is very pleasant in the meantime.

To-day, too, June 16th, we have such a warm wind, the thermometer up at 58 before it was quite light. Yesterday, we had a sharp white frost. We hear great accounts of loss from the gale. One ship, eight hundred tons, on its way here from Sydney, has lost more than one hundred horses, besides other things, and is now in Wellington. Another little coaster that has often been here is lost. One of our new-comers, in the Steadfast, is a Mrs. Dysandt, who came out here to be a governess, in hopes of the voyage curing her of a very long illness, which it has done completely; but I

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fear she has arrived here too soon to find anyone ready to receive her, or at least anyone who could make her comfortable. Mr. Brittan's is the only really comfortable house where she would have a chance of a room to herself, however small, and I should be sorry for her if they would take her there; for Mrs. Brittan went out of her mind, about a week after her confinement, just when Mr. and Mrs. Jackson went away, and although she is much better now, she still wanders very much; and they have a nasty set of maids who beat and ill-treat the five children. Mrs. Dysandt has letters to almost everyone in N.Z.; Lady Canning and Lady Caroline Stirling are very much interested for her, and Mr. Adderley and Mr. Simeon wrote to us, and have got letters for her to almost everyone both here and at Wellington; where we are obliged to recommend her to go on, as she can do so free of expense, in the Steadfast. I scarcely know who can take her, even there; but there are at all events more comforts to be had there, and things not quite so dear as they are here. I think she would have a very good chance at Sydney, but she does not like the idea of going there. Another thing, too, is against her, that she is not what you would call accomplished, nowadays; understands music, she says, but plays very little. She is more a nice ladylike person, fitter to be a companion, and that sort of thing is not so often required. We are rather unhappy about her.

June 17th. Arthur's birthday, four years old, and such a lovely day, like one of those very warm mornings in May, the thermometer at 60, before the sun rose; two mornings ago it was 38, and frost in the night. We had a grand day of presents, and other delights; an anchor for the Ann, which I had made for his Father to give; then his Aunt Sara's map of the Zoological Gardens; then his Aunt Charlotte's lovely picture-book of naughty boys. Then Mr. Wortley, as it was his birthday, took us (after Office hours) out in his boat, to sail the Ann, and another 'cutter'; and when we came in from our walk at dark (5 p. m.) there was Vernon's beautiful dinner-set of plates, arranged for a

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tea-party with a small bun for a cake, on the big dish, the salt-cellars filled with sugar, and the sauce-boats acting as cream jugs; and Frances' little 'biscuit' jug, which I am happy to record as quite safe, acting as a reservoir. We each had several cups of rather metallic tea, and everything was perfectly successful, excepting that the evening turned out wet and the FitzGeralds could not come down to us; so we lost our music, and Arthur the very great excitement of seeing Mr. F. draw a ship, which, in consideration of the birthday, he had promised to do, if Arthur could be allowed to sit up. He draws ships just as Heneage does horses, and every part accurately, talking to the child, something, too, like him; so that I quite like to sit by, and look on and listen; and Arthur is quite beside himself with delight, when he sees it come all right, and not, like my ships, full of mistakes, which he can now appreciate. Mr. F. has only drawn for him twice, but the mere idea of his coming again is hailed with intense happiness; the paper, etc., all laid ready long before, and then at every knock (N.B.--The knocker was an offering from Mr. Calvert, small, black, and cockney looking, but I was forced to be grateful, he put it on himself while I was out), out he rushed, silent from suspense, to see who it was. This last page is addressed to Louisa and Frances, who reprove me for not recording enough about Arthur; whereas I am always afraid that I am writing too much a la doting mother; which is a character I do not at all wish to assume, or else I am likely enough to fall into it, from being so much my own nurse and governess. Powles is too busy, and too much, too, with the other servants, for me to be able to get rid of him (so to speak) to her, except for dressing and sometimes not then, and an occasional walk; and my time is so much taken up with visitors, that after a fair amount of attention to them there is very little left upon my hands. For instance, to-day (18th) I had not been at home from 9 o'clock Church more than half an hour, when Mr. Russell came in, to wait for my husband. Then came Mrs. Russell while he was there, in port for a day, and paid a long visit, telling me some of

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her annoyances, and as she went came Mrs. FitzGerald, who generally comes down about 12.30, to take a little walk with us on the beach, which I invite her to do, as she otherwise never walks at all. I then went quickly to carry a present of cauliflower from our own garden to a neighbour, and meantime arrived Mrs. Dysandt, to dine with us again. It is quite a treat to her to be on shore, and when she went a little before six, there was dressing, a little reading and a little playing with Arthur; tea, when he vanishes, a little more reading, as we are alone, and then behold me conversing with you in black and white and a very bad way too, and so good night.

June 19th. To-day we had Mr. John Deans at dinner, and his accounts of the profits on sheep make me very desirous to get some as an investment. Mr. Russell has bought Deans' one station and stock of sheep, and seems likely, after the first year, to grow very rich, in spite of all Mr. Macfarlane's help towards ruination. Miss Mac. has been on the point of marriage ever since she came, but first the intended could not get his house built, and now the hitch is about her dress. I hear she cannot make up her mind to be married in mere book-muslin; it must be silk; and another difficulty is that she must wear white satin shoes, and therefore cannot come to the Church, since we have no carriage, but wishes to have the service performed in their little sitting-room! To which our Church Authorities object. Her father talks of going back to England, now that he is no longer employed for Mr. Russell. I rather expect he will go to Sydney, we hear such wonderful accounts of the new California discovered there. It is, if true, rather a bad thing for us at present, as it makes prices higher, and in fact almost stops our supplies from there, because of the difficulty of getting ships manned in the vicinity of such an El Dorado. The sailors are already asking, and getting, enormous wages, and flour is expected to be £40 a ton.

We are unhappy, too, about our letters, and how we can get them sent home by Sydney. We hear there are six ships advertized there for England, who cannot get hands, and

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have no chance at present. And then my husband says, if he were a single man he would go home now, in the Steadfast and by the overland; stay a month, to arrange some business matters that are going on wrong, and then back again to carry on matters on the new principle. Luckily for me, we can't afford to go home so, en masse, and even he thinks it too long to leave me alone here 'as I have none of my people out here'. So we must trust to the effect of letters, and I have the honour of copying the most important and 'private' ones.

July 1st. We have had, since I wrote, a very sad accident here, which has thrown a great damp over everything. I told you of Mr. Ward having gone over to live in Quail Island, and he used to come over, two or three days a week, to bring his butter to market, and do his business at the Bank, as Churchwarden, etc., for he was Trustee for all kinds of things, and looked up to by everyone for his innumerable good qualities. We made up a party to go there one day, and see the Island, and were to cook our own dinner on the beach. Mr. Wortley was to take us over in his little boat, which just held myself, Arthur and Powles; Mrs. FitzGerald and her little brother, and Mr. Wortley and Mr. Mounsell to row us, and a clothes-basket of food. It was Frances' birthday, which I wanted to keep, and they were all in favour of keeping to the day (though it turned out cold and rough), so we went over, and were to get Mr. Ward to come over for the rest of the party, in his larger boat, which he had said he would do any day. When we arrived there, we heard he was not at home. He had gone over for firewood, with his next brother, to the land up the harbour, several miles from here, and said he would be back to dinner on the Monday, and this was Tuesday, and they had no news of them. The youngest brother, who is a very nice young boy of sixteen, came to meet us, and said they were uneasy, and they were very glad to take our boat and go and see after them.

We were very little alarmed, for people are constantly missing here for a day or two. Our dinner-party was rather

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small and it was very cold, but we sat under shelter near our fire, and got a few shells on the beach, and then began to wonder they did not come back. It was very rough for our little boat; the wind, too, against us going home; and I, who never like going in one if I can help it, was getting a little unhappy about ourselves, when just as it was getting dark, they came, the poor boy crying, and the men, who were extremely fond of their master, almost as bad. They had found nothing but the boat (the same that won the race here) thrown on the beach, bottom upwards, and the oars, one near, and one half a mile off, and the firewood strewed about. It had evidently been upset; one cannot account for the fact that though both could swim, besides having the boat to cling to, yet that neither should be saved, yet so it was. I brought Hamilton, the young brother, home with us, borrowing the larger boat which we were the first to use after the accident; and I was very thankful to feel myself safe on shore, for it was quite a rough evening. There were boats out searching, for two or three days, in vain; but on the Friday we got word that the body of the eldest was washed on shore, at the head of the harbour, and a boat started to fetch it; but such a fearful storm came on, and lasted all Saturday, that the boat could get no further than the Island, and we, in the port, were half afraid that this boatful was lost too.

It was a fearful night and day, four vessels driven on shore, and a little one, or rather boat, sunk. (The large ones, however, moved very little, and there is a Public Meeting to-day, to petition the Government to establish moorings.) Sunday was pretty fine, and then the body was brought in; the other is not yet found. On Monday there was an inquest, and then the funeral. Almost every respectable person in the settlement attended it except two or three on the plains, who mistook the day. My husband walked with poor Hamilton, who is to live with us till he hears from home. John had also the sad task of writing to his father. It would not do for so young a boy to live alone with the labourers, in the Island, so he is to stay here, and attend

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college lectures, which begin on Monday. He is very anxious that his father should consent to leave him out here; they are a family of sixteen, and he says he has no prospects at home. It is very fortunate for us that he is such a nice tractable boy; he does not even, yet, shew any signs of teasing Arthur.

Poor Mr. Ward will be terribly missed, both here and at home; he was the eldest son, and had been for a short time at the Irish Bar; he was a good man of business, very sensible and very much liked by everyone. He used to sing with the Glee Club, and church practisings, dance with the young ladies, talk sensibly, or laugh and smoke with the gentlemen; work with his labourers, and was always good-natured and full of spirits. You have no idea of how much everyone feels his loss. We have thought of scarcely anything else, lately, and the very bad weather makes us all quite low. It is very cold. Everyone complaining of chilblains, and plenty of colds. Still my husband, thank God, keeps as well, and sleeps with an open window; Arthur, too, very flourishing.

Another sad thing, just now, is the state of the poor clergyman who came out in the Steadfast, and who went out of his mind a few weeks after he came on board. He now lodges with the doctor and is harmless, but wishes to kill himself. I hear he is consumptive, and has a bad cough. He looks very ill. He is quite a young man, a Mr. Hodgkinson, and was, I believe, at Cambridge with Mr. FitzGerald. We have another lunatic, who is violent, and no place to put them. One of the vessels here has just declared an intention of going to Valparaiso; the Captain says you may get letters, so, in two months and a half, we shall probably send ours that way; mine to Laura and one of J.'s to C.; it may be a very quick one. There are coasting steamers, every fortnight, from there to Panama, and there the West Indian steamers touch, and get home in six weeks. Arthur drew a large steamer yesterday, quite his own idea 'for Grandmamma'; it was painted, too, and entirely his own performance, but unfortunately an open window blew it into

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the fire! So he is very busy doing another 'original sketch', and as it is very light, I cannot refuse to send it. Pray let Sara see it, for those things always make her laugh. Now I must really stop my writing, for I have two or three letters to finish, and the post closes at three, and so good-bye, God bless you all. I have so many special inquiries to make after people, that in despair of writing all, I shall not begin. Arthur says he has no message, only 'Tell her I'm going to send you a picture'. Best love to everyone and a great deal to Stokesley. I have written to Aunt Anne.

Yours very affectionately,
CHARLOTTE GODLEY.

July 10th, 1851.
N. B.--You must thank William for the oil spilt on this page. This will make such a parcel to send by India, or else the Bronte and Steadfast both expect to go there, the end of next week, and the Indian way seems much the quickest, and I am afraid I must venture it, though I am quite alarmed at the idea of what you may have to pay. How very sorry I am about Coombes, 4 the accounts of him seem quite bad, but I don't know; fancy either Voelas, or P. Sqre., without him. Fancy my being as happy as to be once more at the door, and then some piece of grandeur and pomposity intervening with, 'What name, Ma'am, shall I say?'


LYTTELTON
July 29, 1851

MY DEAR MOTHER,

As usual I must begin by telling you that my last letter went by India, and having been of the usual fat proportions, and thick paper, often gives me twinges of remorse as to what it may make you pay, but I could not write it all over again! We are now waiting and wishing for the Labuan, which is due, having been out 112 days. We have also the additional excitement in prospect of a ball, to 'come off', on the 31st, in the Store of

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our principal merchant; for which all promises well except the weather, and that is still very wet, and very unfavourable for slipping about in the dark, up and down these muddy hills. I have been having a much deeper and pleasanter excitement, in watching a portrait of Arthur growing under the skilful hands of Miss M. Townsend, who has been staying with us to that end. It is in oils, and supposed to be taken at evening, on the seashore; he is sitting on a piece of rock, or stone, and his hat, and a few shells, lying by him on the sand; and on his knee the last new boat, one Mr. Jackson sent him from Sydney. I think it will be a pretty picture, but I fancy, as to the likeness, that I should be a bad judge, from knowing his face too well. Miss M. Townsend is very much like the eldest one that Sara knows, only rather quieter, and her face prettier. It seems she used to take portraits professionally, in London; but she did not expect to be asked for such things here. I don't think I ever saw a better portrait, as far as likeness goes, than one she has done of her father; even Arthur, the first time he came out of their room with me, said 'There was a picture of Mr. Townsend hanging up there'. (N.B.--I may here apologize for a little mistake of his, which led to this alarming blot.)

August 5th. On Sunday we had a slight shock of an earthquake, while we were sitting at breakfast; the first we have felt here. We, who were accustomed to such things, knew instantly what it meant; but most of the new-comers either did not feel it at all, or thought someone had banged a door, or that a cart came by. So you see it is not very bad. Our table was too solid to be moved, but the crockery rattled on the shelves in the kitchen, which are against thin partitions.

The ball at Messrs. Longden & Le Cren's Store turned out very successful, in spite of pouring wet weather, and such muddy roads. Miss Townsend went home that morning, and so, hearing that the FitzGeralds had sent a refusal on account of the terrible state of the hill up to their house, I went up there myself, with Arthur and a long stick

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(without which you must not expect to be able to stand upright anywhere but on level gravel), and I suggested that, as dancing ladies were very scarce, she ought to consider it a sort of duty to attend, and we did, and should go even if it poured; and that she could come down by daylight and dress and sleep at our house. So it was arranged; excepting that, as he is almost always late, they came sliding in after I had dressed and just at tea-time. We were invited, you must know, for eight o'clock, and we meant to go punctually, in spite of the rain, which drizzled all the evening. There was a good deal of groaning, as the time approached for the start; as was to be expected, for it was a great effort! But it ended triumphantly; virtue's reward appeared, in the shape of Mr. Townsend's cart, which had cushions for the occasion, and we were conducted to the door in great style; splashing through the mud, in which our lantern made long lines of light.

The upper floor of the warehouse was our robing room, and the flags of all the ships tapestried the lower one (which was the ballroom), and screened off portions as a recess for the pianoforte, and for the tea room, which included a fireplace. Then we had loads of evergreens, and calico roses, pink and white; and a good many candles, and a tolerable boarded floor, and everything did as well as possible. One of the schoolmasters who is to be organist, played the pianoforte, and one of the policemen (late of the 65th's band at Wellington) played alternately on the flageolet and violin. At twelve we prepared for our walk home, and arrived most prosperously, only Mr. FitzGerald fell over flat on his side, and my husband lost one of his clogs in the mud. But I had on boots with wooden soles, really an inch thick, and though it was raining, and pitch dark, and the road very uneven, there was not even a spot of mud on my gown. The festivities were kept up until four o'clock next morning. There were, in all, fifteen ladies, including the six Miss Townsends, who were all there, and all evidently enjoying it thoroughly, and have all been sleepy ever since, having all danced eight hours without stopping. The weather prevented Mrs.

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Russell's coming, or rather, prevented her husband's allowing it.

There is still a great deal of illness and low fever about, and the wet weather seems to increase it. Poor Mr. Hart is dead. He was the son of Tom Cocks' agent at Reigate, and a very nervous, weak man; and the doctor attributed his death to the state of his mind, which prevented his getting strength to recover. It seems that he fretted very much about his affairs; he came out with literally hardly any money. I believe what he had was all spent on the passage, and as the fifty acres he was to occupy was bought in his sister's, or mother's name, he could not raise money by selling a small part; and then, finding everything so dear, he lost all spirit. We did not know this until after he was dead; but John had been giving him some copying to do at the Office, before he fell ill. Mr. White, whom I mentioned in my last letter as an arrival by the Bronte, is also now dangerously ill in the same way; not exactly from the same causes, but he is a delicate consumptive man, and very nervous about himself, and has such a wife; more thoughtless, helpless, and untidy, than you can imagine, and does nothing but cry, and complain most bitterly of having ever come to such a place, by way of cheering him. Poor Mr. Hodgkinson is to be buried to-day. I think I told you, he was the chaplain of the Steadfast, and went out of his mind soon after they started. It seems he was consumptive and very ill besides that, but, poor man, what a sad end! He was quite harmless, but rather destructive, would throw candles or books in the fire, and at times he would talk sensibly for an hour together.

August 6th. At last we have a fine day, after a spell of the worst weather we have had in N.Z. A fortnight ago it began to rain, and it has rained more or less (generally more) every day, except last Sunday, which was such a sharp white frost that we all knew it could not last. The poor Maoris have as yet got no houses here, so that they are sometimes in great distress, when the bad weather catches them, with their boats of potatoes, turnips, maize, etc., for

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they never venture out to sea except in very smooth weather. They have just got from my husband a promise of a bit of land, enough to build a house on the beach, so that any Maoris here can occupy it, and they can bring the wood over from the Peninsula, where they have plenty. The other day, we felt quite sorry for one poor old man, with very grey hair, and a patchwork coat, and a most hideous old dark face. My husband found him alone on the beach at night, and brought him up to sleep in the hay in the stable-loft. He came, too, and disposed of a good deal of supper, and next morning came back for breakfast, and after that appeared pretty often about eating-time; till one Sunday, when, after breakfast-time, he took a fancy to the copper kettle (which he declared was made of money). When we went to church William thought he would watch him, and saw him go down to the stable and look round, and then put something into his pocket, which turned out to be the stable sponges! --The very last thing one could imagine a Maori having any use or wish for. When William had brought in the dinner he stood still for a minute, and then, in his deadly grave way that you must well remember, he said: 'That old Maori has been stealing the sponges out of the stable'. So John, thinking he was laying the blame on him as a convenience, when perhaps they were only lost, said rather indignantly: 'Oh, but how do you know that, William?' Then indeed, a ghastly smile passed over William's face, and disclosed the few teeth he has left (in front), as he answered: 'I took them out of his pocket, sir'. He is a noted old fellow, it appears, who once, in old times, helped both to kill and eat a whole boat's crew of white men who got on shore somewhere in these parts.

Boomer, Arthur's great dog, has had a terrible accident. As William was chopping wood with an axe a day or two ago, the dog leaped down by him and literally popped his head on the block, and got a blow on his head that has, I believe, actually chipped a piece off his skull; it is tied up, but is a horrible place to look at. However, he seems otherwise quite well, but I can hardly fancy his getting over it.

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He is a very nice, good-tempered dog, but rather too much sometimes for his small master's strength; three times, in playing, he has got him down by running against him, and then he stands over him, making believe to bite his head, and it was not till the last time that Arthur was able to extricate himself without help. We have got a very handsome spaniel, whose name is Finder, and he is just such another dog as poor old Dash, a favourite with everyone and yet perfectly greedy and lazy. I have heard nothing, by the by, of Ruby, for some time. Arthur's portrait is quite finished, and perhaps quite as much like as we could expect, but I am sure, if we were to send it home now, you would imagine him very different from the reality. He looks so fat, and so very grave, for I was obliged to read a very exciting story, Fortunio, which I had kept new till then, in order to keep his face steady, and he listens very earnestly, just as Charlie used, so as quite to alter his whole face. At all events it is a very pretty picture, and I am going to get her (D. V.) to do another of my husband, for Miss Townsend only asks three or five guineas, and we are glad to give her something to do; so we can afford it, even if it should not be quite successful. She did one of Mr. Jacobs that is an exact likeness, but then he was an extremely good sitter.

Mrs. FitzGerald's brother, who came out as Surgeon on board the Bronte, has given up his practice altogether, for which I am sorry; for though he is a very young man, I suspect he knows more than any of our doctors here; but he is quite sick of it, and has gone to a 'station' on the opposite side of the harbour, where he means to keep cows and sheep, etc. The small brother of twelve lives with him, cleans the knives, and fetches wood, and otherwise makes himself useful. Hamilton Ward is a most wonderful boy, for management of his affairs, and looking into expenses, etc. His brother left no will, at least none here, and so, the father being sixteen thousand miles off, there is no one who can legally receive or pay one sixpence in his affairs; but they are straining a point to keep things going at the Island, and no one ever had heart and soul more completely in an

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undertaking than that child, as he is in many respects. He studies an enormous book, Stevens on the Farm, as any other boy would read a story or novel; he is a pretty fair carpenter, and something of a boatman, and thoroughly understands the management of poultry. You should see the face of exultation with which he tells us at dinner that 'the boat' has come over, and brought a pound or two more butter than usual; and that the hens have at last laid, and he has a dozen eggs for the market, for which the price is now 3s.

A baker and confectioner has lately set up business here, with great success; they make excellent rich cakes, etc., and contribute much to keep up the price of eggs. The working-men here (who have no families, let us hope) often crowd his shop, and eat up pastry, etc., faster than he can make it. He told me yesterday they had more than they could do. There is another baker, with whom he has been competing, and this brought the price of bread down from 22d. the four-lb. loaf to a shilling, for a short time. However, I hear it is now again 16d. and likely to rise. We fortunately bought a quantity of flour when it was cheap, and now make our bread at home, and send it to him to be baked, and it is excellent. I wish I could make you try it! Sometimes we bake in our own camp oven, but that is not quite so good.

August 14th. For two days we have had the Labuan, and its sad grievous news, 5 of loss and sickness and sorrow; and for two days I have been longing to say, as it were, something to you about it all, and yet my hand seems tied; what shall I write? how will it find you all? who may read my letter? It is at such times as these that one feels the bitterness of so great a separation, so long and so very far away, and I have been writing to her for months; ordinary, stupid letters (I have one by me, luckily unsent), which I am sadly afraid may go straight to my dear Charles, and add one pain more to all he must suffer. Oh, how much I would give to have been at home, so I could have been

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only of some little use to him, or to those dear children! You may believe I am anxious for the account by the next ship, which I am thankful to say is due now, being a quick sailer. And you, I wonder how you are, and poor Mrs. Pollen and Louie. I am writing alone, with my husband away at a public dinner, succeeding a public meeting, which took place this morning, in furtherance of the constitution of Canterbury into a separate Province. He could not, of course, help going, but you may believe we are very sad. It must have been so very trying to you, knowing that poor Charles was wishing and asking for you and still not able to go at first. I know what grief his must be, too great even to touch upon. But God will be gracious to him and give him true peace, so I hope and pray. But though he is scarcely ever out of my thoughts, I cannot write about him, not knowing when and how my letter may arrive.

August 18th. The Dominion is almost due. We were very glad to hear of our old Lady Nugent coming again, especially if she is still commanded by our dear Captain Parsons. He had had a little disagreement with the owners, we know; and besides, as he means, I believe, to settle out here, at Otago, I don't know how he will persuade them to give him the command, only to bring her out. But we hear a report that it is so arranged. How glad I should be if it were to turn out that he had seen any of you. I wish my box, which Sara mentions as already despatched by this Labuan, had chanced to come by his ship; he would have taken care enough of anything for us, I am sure, but so far no box appears or can be heard of. I had, too, unfortunately, read that part of Louisa's letter to Arthur in which she speaks of the fish coming to him, so he is also in a state of disappointment; and whenever he sees Mr. Gouland (the Customs Officer) now, he says directly: 'Oh, now I dare say he has just been rummaging my fish'. He means in the Custom House. He was not well for one evening a day or two ago, and I was directly afraid he had this low fever, of which we have so many cases, but the next afternoon, I am thankful to say, he was all right again;

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having had only baths and no medicine. I think he got a chill, for we have had very cold weather. Snow lying for nearly two days, that is a partial covering, but it fell with hail and sleet, and everything was so wet that it soon melted when the sun could get a look at it. But the people in the Labuan were somewhat discouraged at the greeting to their new country; it began just after they anchored, on the morning of the 12th. I do not think they seem to be a very nice set, and they have had great quarrels on board; the Captain, and most of the chief cabin passengers being at daggers drawn with the Chaplain, Surgeon and Schoolmaster. There is to be an investigation before my husband, as Resident Magistrate, and soon, to-morrow. The Surgeon may be all that is delightful, but he evidently cannot write or spell good English; and the Chaplain is known here as a 'party' who disgraced himself in Falmouth, drinking, gambling, etc., so I hope he will go home as fast as he came out.

August 10th. We all went up 'the road' this morning, before eight, to see the new vessel that was announced 'inside the heads'. But she does not seem to be an English ship. There is a smaller one arrived from Wellington with a report, that I trust may not be true, of the loss of the Maria, a large barque that sailed from here about three weeks ago, with the eldest Mr. Deans on board. In her passage down she had a narrow escape, and indeed we heard several times that she was lost. He would be a great loss to us, and I hope this account may turn out to be as much exaggerated as such things often are. Mr. White, whom I mentioned as so ill, is getting quite well, although he and his wife, as she often said before him, had quite made up their minds that he would die; and now we have got, as I trust, to some really fine weather, though there is a very sharp frost every night; this morning the road was quite hard, and Arthur 'skating' over all the pools. After all the wet we have had, there are such innumerable springs (as they seem to be) about, that it seems difficult to believe that we can ever be burnt up and parched, as we were last



[Inserted unpaginated illustration]

MARKET SQUARE, CHRISTCHURCH, 1852
The gabled building in the centre of the picture is the Land Office of the Canterbury Association.
Water-colour by J. E. FitzGerald, 10 December 1852.
Canterbury Museum

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summer, and that these roads in which we have had such trouble to find a firm (I don't say clean or dry) place for the soles of our feet, will become troughs of dust in which you cannot hear a footfall; and yet we heard that last year's was considered a wet spring.

I am sorry to say further accounts confirm the report of the Maria's wreck, all on board lost except one man, a Malay sailor, and one boy. It appears that they were in a tremendous gale; and, in trying in the night to get into Wellington harbour, they struck on a rock a little to the North, and the ship went to pieces. Seventeen bodies have already been washed on shore. Poor Mr. Deans is a great loss to us here. Not only from his unfailing kindness and good nature, but from the assistance that his advice and example, in all agricultural matters, gave to all the newcomers. His brother will feel his loss sadly; they were so united and so happy together; indeed I cannot tell what Mr. John Deans will do now; he was only waiting his brother's return from this voyage to Sydney (by Wellington) to get some fresh stock, cattle and sheep, to go home and be married in Scotland. Mr. Hanmer, whom you know, rode over to announce it to him as soon as all was known yesterday. He himself had a most providential escape. The Maria and three other large ships happened all to be ready to sail together, and then were detained by contrary winds for a day or two. One Sunday morning came a strong fair breeze, and they were all ofF and away early. Mr. Hanmer and Mr. Mason, a sort of superior farmer, who is a great ally of Mr. H.'s, were to have gone in the Maria. Poor Mr. Deans, who was, I should think, never too late for anything, managed to get on board; but they were too late, though they tried, with a boat, to catch her, and their bedding, etc., went off in her! We like Mr. Hanmer very much, and so does everyone here, and we see him pretty often now, in the evening, as he is waiting in the port for the winter, while the weather is too bad for farming his station, which is always rather hard work.

There was one very happy letter for me from Wellington

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by this mail, from little Mrs. Dysandt, whom I have mentioned to you as wishing for a situation here as governess; and of course no one was prepared to receive her, those persons who were in a position to do so having brought governesses out with them. She went on to try her fate at Wellington, where I could not even say that I knew anyone likely to want her. She has, however, done much better for herself, and writes me word that the Revd. Robert Cole (Colonial Chaplain, and parish priest) had been asked by Sir George Grey to call upon her; they 'were mutually pleased', and in short, in two months she hopes to be married; and in two months more he gets leave of absence and is to go off home to England for two years. She says she is 'as happy as mortal can be', and as far as I know of him, I think she is very lucky. But it is rather speedy work, for they had scarcely known each other a fortnight when it was all settled. Perhaps widowers and widows (as they are) can, when so disposed, manage those matters more speedily from their former experience. I am sure Mr. Adderley will be pleased, for he seemed to have taken great interest in her.

August 22nd. Yesterday morning arrived a brig from Wellington bringing our new Custom House Officer and Sub-Treasurer, a very nice Mr. Hamilton, whom we knew at Wellington; where he, as a civilian attached to the surveying party, made one of the Acheron staff. He lives with us for the present. You will say where? but we have, by sundry artifices, converted our bathroom into an apartment for Hamilton Ward; and as one bit of my room has long been screened off into a dressing-room, we still contrive to have a spare room; which, having once had, we find it very difficult to do without. Then, at 3 p.m., a new emigrant ship appeared, and anchored in sight from the town. My husband went off to her, and she turned out to be the Bangalore; the mails having been sent by the Dominion, which sailed twelve hours sooner! No small disappointment, as you may believe. However, he came on shore with a box from Sara; which was most joyfully received, although when it came to opening it, I felt very

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sick! There was no word inside, but still it seemed like good news, and so I tried to take it.

Thank God, there came next morning a letter from Sara, out of one of the few odd bags of letters that did come by this ship, and so now I can wait patiently. I hear, too, that there are two boxes for me on board; but it will be, I suppose, some days before I can get them on shore and through the Customs. I suppose the missing box is one of them. Arthur is so much charmed with his new book from Frances, and indeed it is much too good for him. I think I must hide it for fear of accidents; he is meditating a letter to her of thanks, and has selected several of what he considers his best pictures of ships to send in return. The clock picture from Aunt Sara is always carried with him too, and goes very fast. Sometimes he gets a little puzzled amongst so many Aunts whom he knows only by name, and by presents received, and when I say of anything he has had some time, 'Do you remember who sent you that?' he looks a little doubtful and says, 'I forget what is the name of the Aunt'; as if it must be from an Aunt, when sometimes I gave it.

August 25th. I was stopped in my writing on Saturday by poor Hamilton Ward, who came in to tell me that his brother Henry's body was found, and it is to be buried to-day by the other. He was drowned on June 23rd, just two months before. They could only recognize him by his clothes. The bay at the head of the harbour where he was found is seldom visited, so we cannot tell how long it had been washed up. Hamilton generally goes over to his island on the afternoon of Friday, when Lecture is over; stays there all Saturday, to see how things go on, and comes back in time for Church on Sunday morning,

There is great good news in the port this morning; the 4-lb. loaf down at 1s. Just as it had risen to 20d., there came in, by different vessels, about 30 or 35 tons of flour, and so, thanks to the competition among the bakers, it is down again to the lowest that we have

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known it here. The consumption of the settlement is about five and a half tons a week.

The Bangalore is, I hear, a very fine vessel, and all has gone on smoothly on board, and the passengers all in good humour. There is still no news of the Dominion. But we have already so many new faces about, that I am quite puzzled. Do you remember my telling you of a Mr. Birch who arrived in the Cressy, a great invalid? He was carried out of the ship, and laid for four months in bed, without the use of any of his limbs; he could turn his head about, and eat, but was perfectly helpless; and for a great part of the time was given up by all the doctors. Wonderful to say, he is getting well, and slowly recovering the use of his limbs, and can now sit by the fire and read and turn over his book; he sits out of doors for hours every fine day, and has grown quite fat and rosy. It was fortunate that he had some money, and he has now a very respectable good kind of man as a servant, who makes him very comfortable.

I think I have always forgotten to tell you of a visit we had about the middle of July from Mr. Enderby, the Governor of the Auckland Islands. He came up in one of his own whaling vessels, The Black Dog--something especially smart and fast sailing, and he touched here on his way up to Wellington. He had with him a sort of aide-de-camp, or Secretary, much more gentlemanlike-looking than himself; a Mr. King from Sydney, and just going to return there, quite sick of his life at the Auckland Islands. I sent a message by him to Alfred Denison, whom he said he often saw in Sydney. Mr. Enderby himself is an absurd little mixture of a metropolitan, or rather Greenwich, soapboiler, and a would-be rough tar, with a German-looking moustache, and no teeth, and rolling his r's just as Mrs. Hicks does. I do not envy him his governorship at all. The Auckland Islands are really not fit to be inhabited at all, until the world is a great deal more filled up than it is in these parts. They have wretched climate, almost perpetual storms even in summer; and their soil is something like a passable bog even then, and feels, they say, like walking

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on a sponge. Potatoes will grow there, when they are obliged; but everything else, including their supplies of fresh meat, must be brought from N.Z. or Sydney.

They have about ninety-six adults, twenty-four of whom are women (and a very unmanageable lot) to compose their whole society. When anyone does very wrong, he is banished to a small uninhabited island two or three miles from the shore. Mr. Enderby, who is a tremendous talker, told us he had built a hut for his convicts to live in on this island. One day they came and told him that the convicts were unruly, and threatened to burn down the hut, of course by way of frightening him; however, he was quite resigned. The hut was burnt down, and now they live in a large cask with the head off, which they may burn too, if they like. There is one man there now, or at least there was when Mr. E. left, who is to remain for six months. They say that the Governor's life is sometimes in danger, for there are so few respectable characters among them; but he is a most determined little man, and evidently not in any alarm himself--even about the success of his undertaking as a speculation, which if you remember, is a great whaling society, or rather company. But most of his visitors, seem to think that sooner or later he must retreat, at all events as far north as New Zealand; perhaps settling his station on Stewart's Island. Mr. E. J. Wakefield arrived here about the same time, having apparently quite recovered his little disappointment about the young lady, now at Otago, who came out in our ship. I am sure I told you about it. I have had letters from some of our Wellington friends, suggesting that we might easily pay them a visit next summer!!! If I ever do, it must be in our way somewhere; it is too much of an expedition with a child, including sea-sickness, and I should not like either to take or to leave him.

Sir George Grey, instead of being any longer the kind and paternal ruler that we found him down here, has taken a strongly offensive line in certain speeches and attacks upon the Canterbury Association addressed to the 'Council' at Wellington. He is so angry at the great stir about

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'Canterbury', and the great progress already made here without his having anything to do with it. I have had a letter too from our dear Mr. Hadfield, but I am sorry to say not yet promising to come here, though he is our Archdeacon. The Bishop (N.Z.) writes to Mr. Jacobs that he will be down here (D. V.) in November, and bring Mrs. Selwyn. He is so very popular, and Mr. Jackson as much disliked. But you will hear enough about him, I suppose, when he gets back to England.

August 27th. I must be thinking of closing this letter as there is a good opportunity to-day by a vessel to Wellington to meet one, the Laura, that is going home from there direct. Another vessel is to sail from here on Saturday (30th) that will, in all probability, also be in time to catch her, but I shall send this now to make sure, though it is not a very long letter for me. I went to this thin, small paper when we thought the letter must go again by India. I wish I had another week, which would most likely give time to answer the Dominion's letters; but I am afraid of being late, as I was for the Lord William Bentinck. I hope the letter to Sara, which I sent by the Cressy, via India, would explain how that happened, and I hope you saw Mr. Weld. I long to hear of the box arriving, and were the stuffed birds moth-eaten? And now, good-bye. God bless you all, and my dear Charles. How glad I was to hear of William's getting the prize.

Your very affectionate,
CHARLOTTE GODLEY.


LYTTELTON
September 2nd, 1851

MY DEAR MOTHER,

I sent off yesterday a letter to Sara, and to C. Pollen, each with enclosures, and we hope and expect they would be in time for the Laura, the direct ship home from Wellington, by which my last to you was also to go. I can now thank you for a very long letter by the

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Dominion which I received on Friday, and for all the news it contained; and I may also repeat here, although I try to thank them individually, how very much I am obliged to everyone for writing so well. There is no one out here who gets nearly as many (private) letters as we do.

September 3rd. You never used to let us keep your birthday, but here we must do as we like, and Arthur and I must get up some festivity, and I must tell you from 16,000 miles off how much I wish and pray for every blessing you can have, and of how many happy returns I wish for you of this and every other day in the year.... I saw Mrs. Cookson on Saturday, and they have taken a house with four little rooms in it, so small that I do not know where they, and two children, and two servants, will put themselves to. They mean to stay there for some months, and look about for a nice situation where they can make a nice garden. Their youngest child died on board, which makes her look very sad, poor thing, when children are mentioned. It was the only death on board, and I hear it had had something the matter from its birth, and then when it got, like most of the other children on board, first measles, and then whooping-cough, it could not recover. Twenty-nine were ill at once, and I believe the doctor is not thought very clever. However, poor thing, I believe she knows that no amount of good nursing or care could have saved it. But illness with a child, at sea, is wretched; you can get neither quiet, nor space, nor, sometimes, fresh air, nor warmth (unless you are in a warm latitude), nor any of the little etceteras, warm baths and so on, that one imagines so requisite in illness, and it is a miserable feeling that you are not doing the best that can be done. The Cooksons lost another child, just before they left England. I think she seems a nice person, but very decided and anxious-looking, if you know what I mean; I doubt whether she will be very agreeable. He seems very popular and a most amiable, excellent man. In the same ship, came out a little Miss Roberts, to be a governess, and she came to call upon me (and stopped my writing yesterday) and gave me this

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account of the child's death. She came to see if I could help her in finding a situation. But I could only 'wish' and shake my head, and then, by way of a sort of hint gave her a slight sketch of Mrs. Dysandt's history, which I have told you, and of her approaching marriage! But she altogether repudiates the idea of marrying and says she will, and can, undertake anything; governessing in all its branches, even here, to the nursery and dressing department; all kinds of house work, cooking, superintending farming operations, which power of usefulness, in spite of her protest, marks her out for a colonist's wife. The young men here should, I think, draw lots for her.

There was but one lady chief-cabin passenger on board the Bangalore; a Mrs. Tribe. I have not yet seen her; all I know of her is that, Mr. Tribe being unwell, she attended the sale of surplus stores from some of the recently arrived ships; and as it does not often happen that ladies attend sales here, Mr. Longden, who was acting as auctioneer, found that when she bid for anything no one would bid against her. So he perpetrated a small joke, to the effect that she must be considered, for the moment, not in her female capacity, but as the legal representative of--Tribe, Esq. When the sale was over, he, being the most gallant of men, immediately went to Mrs. Tribe to apologise to her and assure her 'duty to his employers', etc. Upon which Mrs. Tribe, to show her perfect forgiveness, called for a pot of beer.

Mr. Bowdery (and Kirby) has not appeared, but in his place a Mr. Bowron, also late bookseller in Oxford Street, also with daughters, and I cannot help thinking you may have heard the name imperfectly. I have only met them in the street as yet, but they look like nice people, and the daughters are rather pretty, but I don't know who can receive any of them at present. They have, I fear, very little capital; and unless he sells his land again (fifty acres) or part of it, in small lots, I don't know how he and all his family are to live, build a house, etc., before the land can produce anything. Some of the people have made a great

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deal of money by selling an acre or two of their land in very small patches to suit the working people, very many of whom have now bought their own little patches, on which they can have a minute cottage and garden. Mr. (the Revd. B.) Dudley, the incumbent of this place, chose his fifty acres on the hill along the 'bridle path', and by selling about nine acres, he got back the whole of his purchase-money (for the fifty acres), and about £200 or more besides. But as he employed a surveyor, an attorney, and an auctioneer, each of a grasping and somewhat suspicious character, I am afraid he will not realize much by the transaction. (I have since heard that he has done very well and not suffered one penny by the failure.) Indeed the auctioneer has just failed, having absorbed the greater part of the proceeds of all his sales. It has made quite a sensation here, but we have not heard yet what he can pay in the pound. He is more than suspected of foul play. He used to adopt the George Robins' style, and send most absurd advertisements to the Lyttelton Times.

Mr. and Mrs. Cookson called yesterday, and stayed to dine with us; they talk of coming on shore the end of this week, into such a tiny house. They seem really nice people, and I liked her much better than the first time. I suspect she is like me, and does not, naturally, like new people. In a Colony, one comes across such curious people; it seems very ungracious to say so, but unconsciously one becomes almost a little afraid of new-comers, unless one knows something about them. If anyone gets into a scrape, or makes a bad marriage--'Oh, go out to New Zealand (or some other very distant Colony) where no one will know anything about it.' One is sometimes disposed to feel a little indignant about it, but in fact, it is a very good and right thing that there should be a place where people can, as it were, begin over again; and if they will only not often call very early in the morning, and not sit very long, I am sure I have no right to complain.

We have such a lovely morning (September 5th), and Arthur has gone with Powles to gather a dish of Maori

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cabbage; it is a kind of weed that grows very abundantly in places, here, and is something between a turnip and a cabbage; but after rain, or in the spring, the fresh sprouts are very good to eat, as a substitute for turnip tops; we dress it like spinach, and think it very good, as one does any vegetable here. Arthur, when he gathers them, is allowed to help them at dinner, which he can do pretty well. Hamilton Ward heard him asking me last night 'how many' some difficult numbers made, so to puzzle him he said, 'How many beans make five?' So Arthur said, quite quick, 'One more than four', which would have done for William's 'sell book,' I think, in old days, it came so pat.

The FitzGeralds are making a very nice garden. They have got such a woman, for their single servant! She is the widow of an emigrant who was killed in the docks, on board, I think, the Bronte, so a subscription was got up for her, to be, I think, invested in land here. No official notice of this came out with her, and she has been once to me, and once to my husband, to scold us, because the money is not at once forthcoming, 'She thought it' (the Association) 'was an honourable Company,' and that we ought to take the two children (of five and two and very naughty) and clothe, feed, and send them to school, and let her be at liberty to go to a place. The FitzGeralds cannot keep her any longer, she is so stupid, but half in charity, and as she had been a London servant, took her at first, children and all. The other day, Mr. F. sent their little boy up to get a few little shrubs from the wood, to see if they would grow into a hedge, so presently he asked, 'Well, Mrs. Waller, did those little plants come?' 'Oh yes, Sir, I've got them drying on the stove.' Then Mrs. FitzGerald had been herself cooking some pigeons with rice, as she cannot cook a bit. 'Oh'--said Mrs. Waller--'that is so like Irish stew.' 'Is it?'--said Mrs. F.--'why do you think so?' 'Oh, because there is so much of it.' It makes one think of Kidderminster and the fleas and of that saying 'about as big as a stone.'

I have just heard that the Labuan mail is to close tomorrow at twelve; and as she goes by India, I think I shall

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send this, on the chance of its being a good way. If this should arrive before the letter that is to go to you (D. V.) in a day or so, direct from Wellington, by the ship Laura, I must tell you, with many thanks understood, that everything has arrived quite safely, and in order, up to the present time, including the last Dominion letters, with an account of the 7th May breakfast. I hope in my next to tell you of the safe arrival of the Lady Nugent and Captain Parsons, and of our having visited the old cabin and thought of your actually being in it.

I am thinking that perhaps I have not yet said enough about E. Lewis. She is a very nice girl in many ways, so very willing and goodnatured to me, but she is like a good many, not at all particular in her work, and will never even dust the room all over unless you watch her; and really the house is so small and so simply furnished, that she has no wonderfully hard work. Generally she has done her work before twelve, and then sits and works; but she washes her own clothes, and a few of Arthur's little things. Her place was much harder at first, when we had the Maori boy, who was a very inefficient help, and she used to fight with him, I hear now, until he beat her a good deal the hardest one day. Now, I believe, she fights, whenever she has the opportunity, with poor Charity, who is a regularly solid girl, good-natured to the greatest degree, and very honest, and only sixteen; so Elisabeth thinks herself so very superior that she is always snubbing her. This I hear from Powles when I have asked how she was getting on, but it has never yet come before me. It seems, too, that Elisabeth has inspired a romantic attachment in one of our policemen; the little Irishman, who plays violin or flageolet, at our balls; but I believe she professes not to smile on him at all. Powles is not displeased at this, and says, 'Well, it's not a bad thing; for Halfpenny (that is his name) is always standing at that corner to watch, so you are sure the house is well guarded.' One morning she had 'some words' with Charity, about lighting the fire, and she followed them up with some blows, which Powles discovered; and as she

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likes her, through all her misdemeanours, she frightened her very much at what is to be done on the next offence, but begged me not to notice it. Both she and Charity have grown very fat since they came, I think I may say that they live better, and have, on the whole, more comfortable places than any other servants out here. I think there is no fear of their going away, except to be married. They each have fifteen pounds a year, which is considered good wages here for anything but an experienced servant, or cook.

Elisabeth has a very respectable cousin here, Henry Jones, who was foreman in some very large establishment in London; he is a carpenter, and married, just before he came out (in the Cressy), a very smart lady who was a cook in London. They built a very good house on 'the Esplanade' that is our High Street, facing the sea, of course. It cost them £200, and they now live in it, and have a workshop, and let the rest for three pounds a week. I don't know what ground rent they pay, but though he is just now much pressed from his first expenses (we have been helping him a little), they are sure, humanly speaking, to be very well off soon.

I have just been out to see one of our old sailors from Lady Nugent, who is going on in the Labuan, to Calcutta. You would have been amused to see how he shook hands with us, quite like old friends, and apologised for not coming to see us sooner, because he was a little afraid of being persuaded into taking too much. Arthur is now showing him his flags. I must say good-bye, and close, for fear of being late. You must give a great deal of love to everyone, and to Heneage when you write. I was expecting to hear that he would soon be tired of Malta. I cannot help hoping to hear of Coombes coming back, for I should be so sorry not to find him. I hope David Gardener is going on well; please give him some message from me, and pray remember me very kindly to Mr. Evans; and when you write, please send much love to Stokesley; but I forget, and perhaps you may be there before this arrives. Wherever it is, God bless

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you, and all you care for, in which number I hope I may include

Your very affectionate daughter,
CHARLOTTE.

Arthur sends you a lovely composition of his; I believe it is called 'The Channel Fleet,' 'at sunset,' I am to add. He has just begged me to send this portrait of me to Uncle Charles; I need not say all his own idea. I forgot, in my note to Frances, to thank her for the F.E.W. tin case, and to wish her joy of Mlle. Sigel's approaching departure.


LYTTELTON
September 8th, 1851

MY DEAR MOTHER,

I sent off another letter to you on the 6th, to go by India, and one the week before to go from Wellington direct. I wonder which will arrive first? We are beginning now to think that Lady Nugent might be in any day. I am so very anxious that she should beat the Duke of Portland. We are getting on very well, considering, and, on the whole, hear less grumbling and discontent than might be expected; and now the fine weather seems to be beginning, and people will be in better humour. Mr. and Mrs. Cookson, to my great comfort, and to their own great credit, take a very cheerful view of all their difficulties. I have told you of our seeing them a few times, and yesterday, being their first day on shore, they and the two children came to dine with us, to avoid the trouble of preparations at home with nothing unpacked. They got on shore the evening before, and I went up to see whether I could do anything for them, and found them in such confusion! The house was not quite finished; two men were still nailing up the calico lining of their principal room, about twelve feet square; and such arrays of boxes, and cabin furniture, looking larger than the rooms they were to go into. Add to which, there had been rain all the morning, and their house had not a bit of gravel round it, so you can imagine the

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dirty floor, people coming in and out. Mr. Cookson had just been promised by his landlord the loan of some knives and forks, for that evening, and the children to be sent to bed forthwith, to be out of the way. (One seven, a boy, and a girl just five.) I went off to see if I could procure for them a pint of milk, disengaged, morning and evening; it can only be done at present by our giving up a pint of our allowance in their favour; but they are very glad to get this! It is a scarce article here just now; but we only pay fivepence a quart when we can get it. You will say, of course, why do not people have cows of their own? But it is not so easy to get one giving milk, and it is a great expense to keep one, as you must have a man to fetch it to be milked, and he has often a wet walk of some miles, before she can be found; besides, the few cow-keepers that we have are always promising an abundance of milk soon to come.

September 9th. Last night, just before bed-time, we had a Captain of the Government Brig, as a certain brig is called, which is always in waiting on the orders of the Governor. He is sent here now to take our prisoners up to Wellington, for trial at the Assizes. We have four at present, three discharged soldiers, who are generally our worst characters, and one runaway sailor. It is very hard upon the witnesses having to leave everything and go up to Wellington, which may easily take them a month, if not more. We rather expected that the brig would have brought down the Judge, Mr. Chapman, to try them here; but for this some legal form must be gone through which is not yet accomplished. Personally, I am very glad, for if the Judge had come, we must have entertained him here, and I do not like him at all, though he is certainly clever. He began life in Canada in a very small way, where he took the rebel side, so strongly that report says that, on one occasion, he narrowly escaped suffering the extreme penalty of the law, which he now passes on other people. But he had a great fancy for the law, and went home to England; tried that, and got on so as to be sent out here, and made Judge; and now he talks, Oh! so grandly--

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plainly telling you that he considers himself too good for his present position. He has a great big faded-looking head, with bristling grey hair, spectacles, and a lame foot; and does not like a bad dinner at all. But much worse than all this, he has two intolerable boys of about eight and ten, besides four or five smaller children, whom he thinks wonderful prodigies, and will talk about by the hour; and who are so completely the terror of all who know them well, that if the Judge takes them with him (which he almost always does) no one else will take their passage by the Government Brig. I suppose, at the next Assizes, we may look forward to the pleasure of a visit in that style.

September 10th. I have just had a visit from Mrs. Bowron (late bookseller in Oxford Street) and three daughters. I said to her that I hoped she was not very much disappointed with the place, so she said, 'Well, she was very well pleased with it now, but she must say, at first, she had expected it to look more like Ramsgate!' However, she is very cheery about it, and the girls seem nice, and are all pretty. There is to be a 'Bachelors' Ball' to-morrow, and unluckily everything they have in the shape of evening dress is just on its road to Christchurch.

We had, yesterday, a meeting of 'members of the Church of England', at which it was decided that we are to have a Church begun here (D. V.) forthwith, and I hope of stone; a wooden church, being so very temporary an affair, is very unsatisfactory. The Association gives £500, which is not enough, of course, but then there are many people here, indeed almost all in Lyttelton, who, having never bought land, have never contributed their share to the Ecclesiastical Fund; and consequently it is very fair that they should now give what they can for Church accommodation. My husband has given £100, and there will be days appointed when the money given at the offertory in Church will be devoted to that purpose. I believe it will be the first stone Church in the Colony. Some of the Committee, however, incline to a wooden frame for the Church, filled in with bricks, which would be much safer in case of earthquakes; and if it were

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built from a good design, it would look very well, and last well, too, if we may judge by those old houses in Cheshire and Shropshire, built in the same way. We had another shock of an earthquake last Sunday. A long low rumble, that lasted perhaps a little more than a minute, and strong enough to make the doors all shake, and even the handle of the pump; but the shock was not severe, though from the length of the shake, I hear of some plates that were piled up being thrown down and broken. Out of doors it was not felt by most people. But it was as bad as the worst they can remember down here.

September 12th. We have such warm weather, all at once, quite warm summer wind and threatenings of dust, so I suppose my chilblains will go at last. The 'Bachelors' Ball' came off last night, and very successfully as far as rooms, etc., were concerned. The principal hotel here, which is almost finished, was the place chosen, and three or four empty rooms, en suite, made very ample room for all who could or would come. Unfortunately, there was a little want of unanimity. Some of the bachelors, Mr. Wortley and his set, thought that they had not been sufficiently consulted, after originating the idea. Mr. E. J. Wakefield did the whole of it, and was supposed to take too much upon himself, the fact being, I think, only that he has so little tact that he does sometimes offend people. However, they all stayed away, and it did make the numbers rather thin, though everything did very well without them. But anything contrary, of that sort, takes off much from the success of any festive occasion. I suspect that some of them thought Mr. Wortley rather too much of a fine gentleman, at the last ball here, and wished to let him see that a ball could go on without him. Mrs. Russell came in for it. She stays at Mrs. Jacobs', and is to remain a few days here, while Mr. Russell goes up to their sheep station, to have a final settling with Mr. Macfarlane, who for a certain number of sheep, and a house for three years, gives up all further claim upon, and connection with, Mr. Russell.

The people from the Plains evidently think the Port quite

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a vortex of dissipation. They say it is like coming back to civilized life, and say it in a tone not altogether unmixed with envy. They tell us we ought to go out and live there, but unless for a few weeks in the summer, I hope we shall not move while we are out here. Besides, I could not bear to be away from the sea, and not to be by when the ships and the letters arrive. The last despatches to my husband say that 'the Powers' refuse to make the reduction he wished in his salary, so he brings it even by charging himself with £200 a year, as rent for this house. Speaking of house rent, you may imagine what a good speculation house-building is just now; Mr. Marshman, the Accountant for the Association at the Office, had a little money which he wished to invest, and after much consideration decided on building some cottages, houses being of course much in demand, when people first land. He bought two town sections, about £25 each, and he has finished two adjoining each other, consisting of four rooms each (two of which have fireplaces), and by good management, and looking after things himself pretty sharply, he has managed to make £190 cover all expenses. We have his own word for it, or I should have thought it impossible; and Mr. Cookson took one, and Mr. Hamilton the other of these houses, before they were quite finished, at £50 a year. If let by the week they would cost more 25s. a week). These houses are built up the hill, some little distance; if they were in a more central position they would let much higher; he has room on the section for two more, which will soon be finished, and no doubt let as quickly as the others. I hear Mr. Dudley finds his land sells so well that he now asks £50 an acre for what cost him £2, and lets it at £12 a year for an acre, for gardens. Captain Morgan, of the Bangalore, has bought fifty acres on the plains, and goes home to fetch his wife, and come out and settle; so much pleased is he with the place.

The hot weather has come on quite suddenly, with wind and dust just like summer, and given me, for one, quite a bad cold. On Saturday, Arthur and I generally dine alone, for my husband goes to Christchurch, H. Ward to his

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island, and Mr. Hamilton, who is with us for the present, can seldom get up from his office (the Custom Office) till the evening. So the day before yesterday we went off gypsying, Powles carrying a basket with materials, and we lighted a fire and boiled our potatoes, under the shade of some flax bushes in a little gully, by a very tiny stream, about half a mile out of what is now the town. Arthur, as you may imagine, very happy and very hot, making a well and a dam in the stream, and a little spout for the water to flow over, with a piece of a flax leaf. Our flax is, as of course you know, very different from your idea of it at home, and only got the name of flax from its having the same kind of fine strong white fibre. The plant looks something like an enormous bulrush, and the flowers grow on black stalks ten or twelve feet high. They are large and red, and would look very handsome if they grew a little closer together, and are full of honey; you may sometimes drink a teaspoonful out of a single one. The bees, however (where there are bees), will not touch or go near this 'ready made' shop.

September 16th. We have a strong warm wind and dust, but still not like summer dust. Now, it is only about as bad as you would feel it if you were living in a turnpike, in a dusty part of England, but that faintly shadows forth the atmosphere that we may look forward to. Did I tell you, I wonder, of what the Miss Townsends assured me was the case, when they were in the barracks? When they got up in the morning, there was the impression of each head plainly drawn on each pillow, with dust lying all round. The Townsends are really building their house now on the plains. Mr. T. has been a very long time making up his mind as to what he will do, and once thought of getting a sheep run, which is much the best investment for anyone who looks forward; but at last he has settled, I believe, to farm; which, though no doubt very good, still will only remain so until prices lower, which everyone agrees they will in two or three years. For wool, there is always a steady demand, though mutton, of course, will not last at 8d. a lb., as it is now; at least we consumers hope not.

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Bread is at 14d. the four-pound loaf, which is very reasonable as times go. I hope you have read Mr. A. de Vere's book. We like him, himself so much, that perhaps we may be rather prejudiced; at all events, you certainly enjoy a book much more when you know the author, and can recognize ideas and opinions that you have heard him express; but I think it is charming, just that poetic prose, which I like better than anything but the 'very best' poetry.

I am afraid after all that it is not quite the thing to be away here, and not see the Exhibition. It is evidently by all descriptions much more splendid and more generally interesting, and more possible to see too, than I had any idea that it would be. Mrs. Cookson (and several others of our last arrivals) had been there, and grow eloquent in the description. My thoughts on the subject are, however, much embittered by the information we have received of our poor 'No. 69' 6 being underlet for the occasion. I am imagining each well-known corner of the drawing-room, nursery, etc., full of dirty Frenchmen, and smoking Germans and so on; filling up the picture from the newspaper, and other accounts of the house-letting effects of the Great Exhibition, 1851. However, if we ever get back safely, I think and hope we shall be too thankful to regard such matters deeply.

September 18th. How much I wish our weather would getno hotter! It is, excepting a little too much wind and dust, especially in the middle of each day, just like the most perfect summer weather at home. John and I climbed yesterday (after Office hours) to the top of one of the cliffs behind the town; a very rocky one, but not quite the highest, and from there, the view was perfectly lovely. We were above the wood, and had it for a foreground, which in itself makes the whole difference, and the rocks and hills closed in so as to give us only a little bit of such blue sea; and far off below lay the town, immensely improved by the distance, indeed looking quite like a town, for we could see, from that height, every house, and could not make out how

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small they were. Arthur could not walk so far, and indeed he is not quite well, having got my cold. I hope, though, it may not be much, but the sudden hot weather is rather trying. He made himself useful, yesterday, by painting the palings of our new chicken-yard, and had done about half one end, most successfully, and without a spot upon his clothes, when unluckily the brush came to pieces! I suppose if we had been at home, and anything of painting was going on, I should have contented myself with telling him not on any account to touch, or go very near, the paintpot, for fear of spoiling his clothes.

September 20th. Not long after the last words I wrote to you, as I was just gardening in the little bit of a bed against the house, under the verandah, I turned round and saw Captain Parsons!!! running up the barrack yard to our back gate. We had heard of a ship, and even that one was anchoring far round the point, but just as we were thinking of going off to see, in case it should be her (though we feared it could not be, as we thought our Captain, knowing the place, would have come in further), when there came our old captain, with a sailor-boy carrying a box, and a book in his hand, and all for us. We had a very affectionate meeting, you may be sure; and then a long talk, for he came in, and had some of the roast beef we had hardly finished eating, and while this was going on, Arthur and I stole off to open the box!! and then came our first view of the cannon!! Such rapture, even the cards it was packed with were quite pleasant to read.

I could imagine myself at the corner of your table, and reading over the latest arrivals in the white and gold plate! And then my beautiful scissors was the next parcel we came to, and the pencils, for which I, too, send my most sincere thanks to Aunt Phillis. They are great treasures out here, and so very useful to a little party so constantly drawing as Arthur is. The next parcel we opened was from Sara; such a lovely trunk, key, and contents!! I could not keep it from him for more than about an hour. I am almost as much pleased as he is, when I see the things opened, one after

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another. I have already made a guess about what the black silk paletot is; but still, I have no letter! Only one from Mrs. Rogers, in all the packet, for me, and a little one in the box from C. Pollen; most satisfactory, for it mentioned you all too, but of course not thoroughly explanatory.

Of course, we talked much of you all, and the breakfast, and Captain Parsons again said how much like me Frances was! so I am very vain. C. Pollen says she is so much grown that she hardly knew her! and what shall I think! (if I am ever to see her). After my husband had run off to business, and we were still sitting talking, there came in by our back gate, walking past the windows, and peeping in at every one, about ten of the new arrivals; so Capt. P., seeing my dismay, said he would carry them off to the Office, and only three insisted on coming in to see me. Mr. Aylmer, the Chaplain, and two big sons; and next day I had Mrs. Aylmer and two daughters and two small sons; and a Mrs. Green, a speculative young widow, whom, however, I have no letter about. We do not think much of the Aylmer party. He is from the North of Ireland, and, as well as all his children, entirely devoid of anything like shyness; enquired for the Bishop as 'when we expected Salwyn', and informed me that he was keeping a curate at his parish in Ireland for two and a half years, in order to return there, if he does not like this place. He was, I believe, not pleased with his first view of Christchurch, but then few people are, as they all expect rows of shops, and trees, and so on.

A very sad thing has happened on the plains. Mr. Mathias, the chaplain of the Dominion, Mrs. Cookson's ship, went over there, as soon as he had made preparations for his large party. Mrs. Mathias was expecting to be confined in a month, and she went to her sister's, Mrs. Earle, who came out in the Randolph, the second ship; and her eight children (the eldest a girl of thirteen) were some there, and some at the house he took for himself, with two servants and a governess (Mrs. Cookson says none of them to be trusted for a moment). I did not see Mrs. Mathias, for she had not time to come here the day she landed, but

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waited, with a lady she knew, until William went with our horse, 'Lady Nugent', for her, to lead her over the hill to her sister's, who is settled about four miles this side of Christchurch. This was a Friday; she was none the worse, as they thought, but I suppose the whole excitement and exertion were too much for her; she was taken ill on the Tuesday, a month before the right time, and died during the next night. It is some comfort to think that at least they had, as they considered, good medical attention; for Mr. Earle is a very clever surgeon, but too stingy to have ordinary comforts in his house. He will scarcely allow any firing and so on; but Mrs. Earle is a very nice person, and so I believe was her sister, and it is a terrible loss for her whole family just at this moment

September 23rd. We were very much astonished to hear of Mr. Henry Bertie on board the Lady Nugent. Perhaps your letters may mention him as coming, but I have still not got one. He came to us yesterday and occupies the spare room, which Mr. Hamilton moved out of that day, as his house is now ready to sleep in; he is to live with us a little longer. I should like Mr. Bertie very much if we were in England, and it is a real treat to have him here, fresh from England, and so very gentlemanlike. He takes, too, a very cheerful view of the place, thinks that we have got on very well, sympathizes in our aspirations after self-government, etc., in spite of his being at home a strong Protectionist; praises, and eats, our home-made brown loaves, and in short makes himself thoroughly agreeable, though he says very little, and is, as you know very quiet. He has come out for his health; the sea always does him so much good; and he intends (D. V.) to see Nelson, and New Plymouth, and then go on to Sydney and so home by Cape Horn, starting about Christmas.

September 25th. We have not seen much of Captain Parsons for a day or two; he has been so much put out by an accident, in which a policeman was drowned just alongside of Lady Nugent. Three or four of his sailors became rebellious, and refused to do their work;

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so application was made to the magistrate, and a policeman was sent to bring them on shore; but a puff of wind capsized the boat, and he was drowned. The others in the boat were all saved, including the captain's son, who was, however, nearly exhausted before they got him out of the water, and he cannot swim. It is very curious how few sailors learn to swim. You would think that they would make a point of knowing how to do it, for it must so often be of use to them, and yet there were not a quarter of those in Lady Nugent who could, and I hear it is usually the case amongst them. Captain Parsons sends us so many presents; a cheese, a box of raisins, another of macaroni, etc., and a mug with the Crystal Palace on it for Arthur. He is much too fond of giving away. Mr. Bertie says he is the most unselfish man he ever met.

September 26th. Captain Parsons came to tea with us last night, and my husband told him that he had been desired by Sir G. Grey to appoint a harbour-master, and that he should like him to undertake it better than anyone else if it suited his plans, and so Captain Parsons was much pleased and accepts; so he will (D. V.) take the ship on to Nelson, where the charter for the Association ends (for his ship), and will then take leave of the ship, and return here, and write home for his wife and children.

We hear that Mr. Aylmer, who came out, you know, as one of the intended 'canons' of Christchurch, has re-sold the hundred acres he had bought here, and means to go on to Nelson; he is so much alarmed at the high price of provisions, and at the general appearance and look of our metropolis. He says he dares say that, in about ten years, he could make a place so as to be comfortable, and that things will be cheap; but that he is too old to look forward to that, and that in short, he cannot make up his mind to such a tremendous effort as the settling here would be. But I am afraid the alternative he intends trying, Nelson, will not quite answer. Besides he is giving up £100 a year which he would receive here. As Mr. Bertie says, he will not be ten years and two months, or whatever time may elapse between

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his arrival here and at Nelson, in getting 'comfortable'. I suppose it must end in his going home, and abusing New Zealand for the rest of his life, and Canterbury in particular. As individuals, I do not regret them at all; I think I never heard anyone speak of the Church so entirely as a mere money-making profession; and as to anything of a Missionary spirit, it does not seem even to cross his thoughts to entertain it for a moment.

September 27th. I fear I must give up the hope of getting any letters by the Lady Nugent. Nothing has appeared yet, except the two I mentioned; which luckily both told me that you were all well, then. One learns perforce to be very patient out here. I know you must have written, or else you would certainly have put on each parcel in the box its own explanation. So I must thank you once more over for my beautiful case scissors, which are indeed so good that I shall quite grudge using them! and once more for Arthur's presents (and Sara, and Aunt P.), and guess on about the rest.

And now too I have one chance more, for the Duke of Portland took us all by surprise, and appeared in the harbour, as soon as we looked out yesterday. So many vessels were sailing then, just together, when she left England, that I only hope for one batch of letters in the three; but perhaps, if the Lady Nugent letters were only a little late, they may be forthcoming to-day, when the D. of P.'s mail will be given out; otherwise, they may have gone by the general post to N.Z., by some other line of vessels to Auckland, and so on. I have again a little bit from C. P., in a letter from Hungerford, which my husband got with his dispatches and business letters; and though it is from Rodbourne, it mentions you again, thank God. Such lovely weather; this day is quite perfection, not in the least hot (indeed, I am almost too cold, not having yet walked at all, or been in the sun), and yet warm enough for any amount of sitting out of doors, etc., with a beautiful haze, and no wind. It is my husband's day for going to Christchurch; Mr. Bertie walked over there yesterday,

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meaning to be back on Monday, and then if he has time, to get a peep at Akaroa. He seems very well. My husband's letters tell us of the arrival of the Ld. Wm. Bentinck, and I am full of fresh regrets about my letters and the box not being in her!! But, however, it was not my fault that they were late. We were promised so good an opportunity that I 'did it for the best' in keeping them a little longer, so as to give you the latest news I could; but I am sadly afraid that your next letters will begin with a few reproaches, unless my letter to Sara 'per Cressy' had arrived, and sufficiently explained it. But I am writing in the dark, and need not expatiate longer upon my imaginings.

September 30th. Another ball last night! Nearly forty people in a room not so big as the Voelas schoolroom, but without the bow (or bay?), and much lower; but two little rooms, six feet by eight, opened out of it, and held, respectively, the music and the tea, and it did rather better than you would imagine. It was given by our doctor (Dr. Donald), who is a very good sort of man, although rather rough at first, and he gave it on the occasion of his thirty-fifth birthday. All our aristocracy were there. Mrs. Russell came in from the Plains. Unfortunately it was a very cold evening, and rained a little, and so the walk home was very disagreeable; and so was the room, or rather loft, over Dr. Donald's house, to which we ascended by an outside staircase, for a sit-down supper. My husband, of course, got out of the way; but I had to go up in state, and it was really very well done. We came away as the gentlemen were sitting down in their turn, but I hear the dancing was kept up till nearly four.

There is a great and general excitement about a number of the New Zealand Journal, which has come out here, containing a letter from Mrs. FitzGerald to her mother. It is a sort of journal, begun before she landed, and giving an account of their visit to us, and of their final move up the hill to their house. You may possibly have seen it. She is, of course, very much annoyed at having little incidents, which she had only repeated to let them know exactly how

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her life passed here, exhibited to the public; not only in this N.Z. Journal, but in two or three other papers at home; but there is really nothing she need care about. Of course, it is great fun for my husband to tease her, though, about her saying, for instance, that he 'knows German and therefore can appreciate her songs' and so on; and that the Bishop (N.Z.) 'preaches first-rate sermons, and makes a very fine Bishop'. My husband is suffering from the same cause himself; for some private letters, full of personal and confidential remarks, which he wrote to certain chiefs of the Association, have been handed round quite publicly, to the very persons who were therein commented upon; and yet they were written to private friends, marked 'private' and all precautions taken. It is excessively annoying. One is so perfectly helpless, out here, only hearing of it four months after the incautiousness (to call it by its smallest name) has done all the mischief that it can; and six months more must generally pass before you can say anything of apology, or indignation, for yourself. We are still in agonies about what may appear next time, or after Mr. Jackson's visit, and so on.

Arthur has gone up to bed very happy with his cannon, for which I have just made a little red bag, fastened on, and meant to contain the 'charge', viz. a marble, one of Captain Parsons' many presents; this, when discharged against a light facade, built with his own little bricks, produced effects of 'mimic war' at once startling and most engaging.

We have been entertaining company to-day; the six sailors on board, belonging to our old Lady Nugent party. They dined, and then had tea, and now, the evening being very bad, three of them have retired to extemporary beds in the kitchen. They all take a most lively interest in Arthur. The other day they observed him in a large sort of parasol straw hat, old and much torn in the brim, and so in the evening they came back with two hats for him. One was from Jack, the Captain's son--an Indian straw, or chip; and the other from Jim Truelove (whom I am sure I mentioned to you before) and is just as he bought it himself from

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Leghorn. Of course they do not exactly fit, but Arthur considers that of no consequence at all, and wears them with great delight. The Leghorn hat, especially, is quite a treasure to us, as you cannot get here anything nice for children; and what with rolling on the grass with the dogs, etc., our hats die very fast. The only good one we have left now is 'Grandpapa's' which had the blue feather, and which comes out on Sundays; but for ordinary wear we are obliged to have something much wider in the brim.

Mr. Bertie returned from Ch. Ch. very much pleased and satisfied. He started two days afterwards to go and take a look at Akaroa, and was to have been back yesterday, but the bad weather altogether prevents the possibility of it. We have to-day (October 4th) still the same 'sou'-wester,' with tremendous hail showers, about as cold as anything we had through the whole winter; and we thought we had almost begun summer. I was to have gone over to Ch. Ch. to-day to witness the first cricket-match, and the grand thing was that I was to have driven in from the 'Ferry', just the other side of the hill, in Mr. Russell's dog-cart; but of course the weather prevents all that, too, though my husband has gone over to his business. Yesterday afternoon I had a visit from three of the Miss Townsends, to announce to me in form that one of them is really going to be married. They keep a sort of open house, at tea-time, for young gentlemen, who are very glad, here, to have a respectable place to spend their evenings in, and of course when anyone was seen to go there two or three times, there was directly a report of a wedding, but nothing came of it till now; and now it is the third, not Sara's friend, who is to be married to Mr. Torlesse, a nephew to Mr. E. G. Wakefield, and one of the surveyors here. He is now taking sheep and cattle 'on thirds,' that is, getting a third of the profits and increase, and so he takes courage, having made a beginning though only a small one, and when the shearing is over, hopes to take unto himself a wife. Mr. Longden, who gave the ball about two months ago, is to be married on Tuesday to a young lady who came out on purpose in the Lady Nugent.

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His partner, Mr. Le Cren, expects one in the Canterbury. I hear Mr. Aylmer has again and again changed his mind, and has at last decided to go and settle at Akaroa, which he has never seen; receiving, of course, £100 a year, and £150 towards building a house.

October 6th. Yesterday, after the afternoon service, seeing the sea very smooth, and one of the boats on shore, we went off--Powles and Arthur and William, in company--to see the old Lady Nugent, peep into our old cabins, walk on the poop, and revive our recollections of sights and smells which were still tolerably fresh. I was not ill, but not so comfortable as I am on shore, although it was such a beautiful smooth day. We had an affectionate greeting from the Captain, and all our old friends on board, and received an invitation to dine on board in state to-morrow if it is smooth enough; and then brought off Mr. Bertie with us, whom we found on board, and had our boat's crew up to tea in the kitchen. They are such nice steady boys, and evidently thought our home-made soft tommy and tea with milk more attractive than the grog shops. The Captain came to breakfast this morning. It is quite funny to see how fond he is of Arthur. Yesterday, when we were on the poop, he was chasing him about just like old times, and at last went head-over-heels backward and forwards, to the great admiration of an audience on the deck below. This morning, as soon as he came, he went up with Arthur to look at his garden, and to cut, for breakfast, the A. of a most lovely 'Arthur' in mustard, which has been very pleasant to watch gradually appearing for the last week. We have been gardening lately, a good deal, but our bit of garden is a very hopeless affair; it is so very much exposed to wind and sun, and, from having deep cuttings all round, is drained of every drop of moisture in a few hours, always, after the rain ceases.

October 9th. Yesterday arrived the Midlothian but, as you know, no letters on board for us, excepting a little bit from Hungerford, who really is a pattern, for he does not let a single ship sail without at least a few lines. From it I hope I may gather that all was well then, but I

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am getting very impatient for real news from yourselves, having had none by either of the last three ships. I suppose the Canterbury will be in (D. V.) in a day or two. It always happens, so far, that when two ships sail together, the one with the mail on board arrives last. Mr. and Mrs. C. Rose, as you know, came in the Midlothian. My husband saw Mr. Rose yesterday, while he was on shore, just as he was starting over the hill to get his first look at the plains. Mrs. Rose I haven't seen, and I think I shall not before this letter must go, for it is so stormy and rough that she will prefer, I think, not running the risk of coming on shore, but I had asked her and the children to come and spend the day here. Unluckily we have not room to take them all in; indeed Mr. Bertie has our only spare room at present. I hear, poor thing, she is just going to be confined; like everyone else, I think, who comes out; and then the babies almost always die. Dr. Donald says he can hardly ever save them. I don't know yet whether they will stay here, or at Ch. Ch., while their house is building. Mrs. C. Simeon, by the Canterbury, is just in the same predicament, and we are desired to have some place ready for her, at which we are sorely puzzled, not knowing whether they would like it here, or on the plains; and they have five or six children already, to be thought of. The Lady Nugent is supposed to sail to-morrow, and this is intended to go by the Duke of Portland, on the same day, to Auckland, and there to meet the Emigrant going home direct; but till the wind changes or falls nothing can get out. Hungerford tells us of poor Charles being gone up to London. How very much I think of him, and of all he must go through. We are supposed to be going home (D. V.) towards the end of '52; but then matters of business may make it much later, and possibly earlier, and so now you know as much as I do, or I believe my husband either. He keeps well, thank God, except a little cold, in spite of the cold water, which will not keep off infection, and almost everyone has had it. Arthur is making a book for you, in which he first writes, and then illustrates with drawing; all, of course, about ships,

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but it is not nearly ready for publication, so you must please to receive his thanks through me, for indeed the cannon is lovely.

I may as well send my letter off, for fear of being late. I cannot help always keeping it open till the last, but I am expecting Mr. Rose every minute, with Mrs. and two children. He was here yesterday and said that they were delicate children, but that the voyage has made them quite strong, so that is a good start. He said too that he saw Sara, quite well, the day before he started. This bit of paper, outside, is to make her laugh at Arthur's rough sea, with the little ships standing miraculously on the very tips of the waves. Mr. Bertie has just taken his passage by the Duke of Portland, to go home by Auckland and Shanghai (China), and the Captain thinks he will be home about the end of April. They expect to sail to-morrow. Mr. Bertie was going by Sydney, but the 'diggings' there make it very difficult to get on, and it will be pleasant to see China, and touch at the Cape. And now I must say good-bye, and God bless you all, and give my love to everyone, severally and individually. Arthur sends this picture to Aunt Sara. Our love, if you please, to Stokesley and to Aunt Ann.

Always yours very affectionately,
CHARLOTTE.

October 10, 1851.



LYTTELTON
October 14th, 1851

MY DEAR MOTHER,

My last letter went off on the 9th by the Duke of Portland, but she had a contrary wind for a day or two, and could not make a start of it. On Friday last, Mr. and Mrs. Rose came on shore and to spend the day with us, with their two children, and their servants. The poor thing speaks in horror of the voyage, and its accompaniments. They had, too, very bad weather for part of the voyage; the dead lights in for six weeks, and one very bad

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storm, so as to be in danger, for one night. Then she was sick every day, even in harbour here; and they had, besides, a very full cuddy, which is a great nuisance, thirty-one, including children (of which there were heaps) in a space little larger than what we thought pretty crowded with thirteen. Some of the passengers, too, not very pleasant; and in short, I think she is fully prepared to like any kind of life on shore. They seemed very glad to sit on our patch of grass in front, and to eat bits of brown bread and fresh butter, and to drink milk; and she went to the evening service, and seemed very much pleased with their first day. On Saturday, they came on shore again, and established themselves at the 'Mitre', our best hotel. Sunday they came to tea with us, and he seemed a little disappointed about his land, on finding it wet; but he has had only a very slight look at it as yet, and it seems doubtful whether he really saw anything beyond a flax swamp which is just on the borders, and which will probably be better land, too, than any other part, when it is brought into cultivation. They were to have come again last night, and met the FitzGeralds, and the Cooksons, and Mr. Tancred, but he got home late, and she sent me word she was too much tired. Mr. Cookson is a very old friend of Mr. Rose, but the ladies had not met before. Mr. Rose's servants, of course, were very much disgusted, and very troublesome on board; and the nurse is dismissed, and is, I believe, to be sent home again directly, but she is still with them. They have taken a house at Christchurch, where they mean to live till their house can be put up on their own land. But he seems as innocent as a baby of any notion about how to set to work on the land, and what notions he has are taken apparently from 'model' farms at home, which will not answer here, with such high wages. I hope, by these very personal remarks, to make you unable to show my letter about, as I find you did with a former one which he tells me he read! and what might there not be in it? You cannot think how foolish one feels, at such a distance, facing once's own private opinions of many months before. But it is of no use complaining. I

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dare say, at home, you will hardly understand what I mean; but a sort of presentiment which I had, has often put a strong check upon my pen.

My husband had the other day a letter from Mr. Eyre, saying that he had wanted to come and pay us a visit for a few weeks (!!) and how that he had written to Sir G. Grey, on hearing that the Government Brig was coming here, to know whether it would be consistent with the public good that he should come down here in that way. This was Saturday, and he and Mrs. Eyre went on packing and making preparations, expecting, of course, to get away, as he has had literally nothing to do since Sir G. G. established himself at Wellington, about nine months ago. On Monday, as the brig was to sail that evening, Mr. Eyre, having had no answer, sent his private secretary to ask Sir G. G. 's private secretary, if he could not get at least a verbal answer. So it arrived about the middle of the day, to say that 'it would not be consistent with the public good that he should have a passage to Port Cooper in the Govt. Brig'. So they had to unpack themselves, and the baby, and to stay where they were. Mr. Eyre pours out his complaints in the most open way to my husband, though as you may believe he has never sought his confidence. I am not personally very sorry about not getting the visit; if they were to come, we should have to entertain them, of course, and then how? We have no dressing-room for Mr. Eyre, nor any accommodation for a nurse and baby; and if we go out of the house, Powles must go with us, for she of course would not stay with strangers; and then what becomes of cooking, etc.?

We have two such cold days, hail, rain and a sou'-wester. To-day it is quite lovely, and I hope the new arrivals will get into better humour. I think in each ship they expect more, and have less and less courage for the first start; it is quite wearying to hear their complaints, and you can imagine how sick my husband gets of it, for half of them complain in the most unthinking way, about things which are the mere necessary accidents of so young a place; if



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VIEW FROM ABOVE THE VILLAGE OF AKAROA
The house in the foreground is that of the Resident Magistrate, J. Watson, with whom the Godley family stayed in November 1851.
Water-colour by J. E. FitzGerald, 17 November 1852.
Canterbury Museum

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they would only complain about the real bad points of the place it would be nothing. They have, I hear, a joke in the house against Elisabeth that when she came she expected to get sugar (lump? or brown?) by merely going out to pick it up with a basin. They told her, too, she said, that she would get raisins and currants so, too; but that she contradicted, for she asked Mrs. Wynne about that, and she said 'No'. So now, when there is snow or hail on the hills, William begs Elisabeth to fetch her basin and go out for sugar.

The Canterbury is not yet come, though the Midlothian, which came with her as far as the Downs, arrived, as I told you in my last, eight days ago, and had not a short passage. I hear several of the people in her talk of going on to Nelson. Even Mr. Rose was reported yesterday very cross, by all those who met him--(you see, I am determined that you shall not show the letter.) Mr. FitzGerald said 'another man from what he was in London'. She seems very well contented, though, still (October 17th); and was sitting here in the afternoon, and promised to come back to tea, but they did not appear. We are very angry with Mr. FitzGerald, for he has, I believe, quite settled to go off in the wildest possible way and join a sort of picnic sheep station. He is always, you know, after something new, and now feels behind-hand because he cannot dive into all the barbarity of a station, for the mere fun of it. There is a certain Mr. Jackson, lately come out, with a daughter of fifteen, and a son a little younger, and niece of thirty or more; and with some capital, which he has been persuaded to invest in a sheep station, about sixty miles up the country. Then, two young gentlemen fellow-passengers are to come and join giving their work; but, I believe, no capital; and Mr. FitzGerald is to sell his house, books, and all he has, in order to raise about £500, if he can, which he is to join to the common fund; and the whole party is to live up at the station together, servants, etc., all in common, and the ladies are to help in the work, all as uncomfortable as possible. Conceive living in the rough, in that way, under other

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people's command; for of course Mr. Jackson will be en chef, and Mrs. FitzGerald, who has known them all since she was a child, and does not like them, or the plan, at all, says he is a most disagreeable man to deal with; though I believe privately that Mr. FitzGerald, being a much cleverer man, and better talker, reckons himself upon taking the lead. I am quite vexed about it for her, but her husband will hear no reason, and for this he gives up £300 a year here, out of which (if he chose to live as roughly here as he must at the station) he might save £200 a year, and each year embark so much capital as a share in one of the many stations where people may get about 20 per cent, or more, for their money. Another consideration is that all his talents will be entirely wasted up there; an honest shepherd at £50 a year would do the work much better. It is a most foolish plan, and, of course, falls most hardly upon her; they had just got their house so comfortable, too, and spent a great deal upon it, and a garden, and got such a nice servant.

October 20th. There is a certain old Colonel Campbell, who had many dealings with the Canterbury Association in early days, and ended by quarrelling with everyone and writing an insulting letter to Lord Lyttelton, after innumerable statements on his part had turned out to be perfectly false. I dare say Tom must remember him at 'the Rooms'. Well, this old gentleman came out to Auckland, and has got into great favour with Sir G. Grey, who has just sent him down here as Commissioner of Crown Lands for the district lying immediately round, and outside, our block. He is naturally predisposed to dislike the plan, and the Colonists, and goes about abusing the place, the land, and all belonging to it, to anyone who will listen to him. The new-comers are his especial prey. As his office is to be at Christchurch I hope we shall not come much across him, but he is a very bad element in our society. He is now going over to Akaroa to decide summarily certain claims of some of the old settlers there, and my husband intends to go over and watch what he is about; he can

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hardly help making mistakes, as he has no knowledge whatever of his subject.

October 21st. Yesterday, after dinner, a vessel was announced, for about the twentieth time, in sight, and then near the heads; so Mr. FitzGerald, and Mr. Charles Bowen, who is now in my husband's office instead of Mr. Wortley (who, I think I told you, is going to 'keep sheep' with Mr. Hanmer) went off to meet her in a boat; but as the vessel was coming from the north, instead of the south, I thought it would turn out to be one expected from Sydney with stock. However, while we were at tea, in walked Captain Simeon and Mr. FitzGerald, with whom he was to spend his first night on shore. He came down here to breakfast, and such a morning we have to meet him; hail, rain and storm after some such warm days! However, he is much too jolly to be cast down by such an accident, and the showers now seem over, and the sun bright. How much like his brother he is, to be sure, voice and manner, exact, and he says, too, just the things his brother would say; we talked as fast as we could, all breakfast-time, and heard all we could, and now he is gone out to 'see the place' with my husband. Edward Lloyd, I hear, is come, but no one, I think, has landed yet, but Captain Simeon. By the by, I saw yesterday Mr. Evans, of Denbigh, come into the port to see Mrs. Rose. He went on, as I told you, very wildly, when he first came; joined some of the same sort, or worse, and at last got into such difficulties that everything belonging to him was sold, and he has been for some time working with his own man that he brought out, who is by trade a blacksmith.

October 22nd. At last, yesterday evening, I did get some letters and a confirmation of what I had heard before indirectly, that all was well, thank God. But they are not very jolly letters, for you are all so much acted upon by the bustle of London in June, which I well know. I expected to hear just what you say about poor Charles, it seems to me so perfectly natural.... I still think that your letters of Lady Nugent's time must have gone by the

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Auckland route, for one or two things are mentioned as if I knew them when I didn't; for instance, I had not heard of Vernon's portrait, and so on. Then, too, I find that a short letter I wrote to Sara, by India, did not explain, as I fancied I had done in it, why my box did not come in the Ld. W. Bentinck. I do hope the Robt. Sayers had a tolerably quick voyage, and that I may hear of it by the Sir George Pollock, which indeed is now due. Mr. Adams came to breakfast to-day; he is a most marvellous boy of eighteen. Tall, you know he is; but his manner is, if possible, still taller. He is not in the least shy, and talks like a very facetious man of thirty or forty, perfectly au fait about everything. He goes to-morrow (D. V.) to the Plains, to look about him, and when he comes back, he is to live with us; but we cannot give him a bed as we have Captain and Mrs. Simeon.

October 23rd. They came to us yesterday. She is to be confined in a month, so they are not going to venture over the hill till that is over. They will have to build a house, too, and in the meantime, I think, they are trying to make an agreement to stay at the Mitre Hotel until they make their final move; and if, as the landlord seems to say, they can be accommodated there for about £5 a week, it is certainly as cheap as anything that they could arrange. (This turned out all a mistake, it was £4 10s. a day.) They have five children, a governess, nurse, cook, housemaid, and footman and ladies-maid and housekeeper. You can scarcely imagine what an alarming party that is to accommodate out here; and then, when servants are displeased, and things in general unsettled, and unlike what people are used to, and uncomfortable, it is difficult not to be 'put out'. The Roses came to tea last night; he is a strong instance of it, and is really unbearably cross and complaining, because he complains about the unavoidable inconveniences, expenses and so on, of a new place, and he is really so cross that it is almost amusing; while she, who was dragged here against her will and judgment, and against all the wishes of her family, makes the best of everything,

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and far from being cross, is if possible more perfectly amiable than ever. Everyone is enraged with him. But Mrs. Cookson says it is always impossible to please him, and Mr. C. has known him well since he was a boy. He complained even of his town sections, which he had, you know, 'into the bargain', and nearly a whole street belongs to him; and he has sold one quarter-acre for £15, and refused £5 a year for another. The children are perfectly well, and so is she since she landed.

[This letter is unsigned. It was enclosed with the one which follows.]


LYTTELTON
November 18th, 1851

MY DEAR MOTHER,

I must begin another letter, it seems so long since I wrote my first part; but we have been away, and not writing, for more than a fortnight, at Akaroa, which I have at last managed to see; and very glad I am to have done, though the going there was quite an undertaking. Colonel Campbell, whom I told you was sent there to decide old land claims under the French Company, by whom Akaroa was originally settled twelve years ago, is a very unsatisfactory person to deal with, and my husband had to go over there, to watch how things were going on, while the claims were being decided; so, as it was a good time of year, it was settled that I should go too, and William, and at last I made up my mind to take Arthur, too. We left Captain and Mrs. Simeon in the house, and started on October 29th, in a Maori boat, sometimes sailing, and sometimes rowing. We went about four miles up this harbour, then eight of open sea, and then four again up Pigeon Bay, where we arrived in the afternoon, and found it quite far enough; for though we had a very smooth day, for this place, there was swell enough to make me perfectly ill nearly all the way, and Arthur had a touch of it, but luckily slept more than half the time.

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We went to stay for the night at Mrs. Sinclair's; I have told you about them, and about the two daughters who came to stay here, at the time of our Regatta. They are very nice simple people, excessively Scotch and old-fashioned, and live a regular Colonial life, according to one's old ideas of it; plenty of cows, and milk and butter and cream, and doing everything for themselves; they have not a servant in the house. They have just built quite a pretty new house in a most lovely spot; it is in a little bay near the head of the harbour, which they have quite to themselves. There is a beautiful stream under the windows, at one side of the house, with cold clear water, that you would not know how to appreciate, but we from Lyttelton do. It is shaded, too, with trees, quite to the beach. There is a garden in front, with a great many common flowers, and some English grass laid down, and another is being made behind the house, where they are clearing away some trees; but the rest of the valley stretches away into very thick bush, with fern trees, and birds singing so loud that they almost wake you in the morning. Arthur was almost wild with delight, and we enjoyed the change just as one does getting into the country, after a long stay in London. The day, too, was lovely, and it was the beginning of a lovely fortnight.

The next morning we started at about ten, in a boat, to the head of the harbour; and there met Frank Sinclair with his pony, on which I was to travel, with Arthur, as much of the road as I could manage to stick on. We began with four miles of a track through thick bush, so that I had to balance myself on a man's saddle with one hand, holding Arthur on in front, and with the other guarding our faces, as well as might be, against the branches and briars, through which we had to duck and dive in the most active way. Every now and then we had large ditches, where the pony must jump, and get through as it could; or a large tree fallen exactly across the path; and a large stream wanders through the valley and crosses the path eleven times. As I am very discreet now, in riding, specially when Arthur is in front, (or, as my husband expresses it, 'the greatest sneak

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he ever saw') I used to dismount at any intimation of a difficult place, not feeling at all prepared for feats of horsemanship; but we did stay on to pass through the stream once, where the water was rather deep and the bank steep and muddy on the other side. I should have stuck on well enough; but the saddle was old, the girths broke with the strain of getting up the bank, and down we both fell, saddle and all, over the pony's tail, I 'lighting on my head and shoulders and Arthur, who scarcely looked surprised, very comfortably on me. I ought to have been hurt, by all natural rules, but somehow or other, I am thankful to say, we were not either of us even scratched, though, of course, it was very unpleasant.

We got on slowly enough, for when we walked the road was rough, and Arthur's legs were not long enough to surmount the obstacles without frequent tumbles. His father carried him sometimes. William carried the bag, with our needful for a fortnight's quiescence, and a cloak in case of bad weather; and a Maori carried my husband's small portmanteau with his needful, and some business papers, for the sum of 10s.; the distance being nine miles. Some of our people at home would have thought that rather high pay, but the Maoris think they cannot ask too much, and we could, besides, get no one else. At the end of the bush we halted for luncheon, and then had a climb up a hill of perhaps a mile and a half; the first part through fern, and very hot, the last half through bush, and so steep that it was difficult enough to get up, even on foot. From the top we had a magnificent view; the whole of the valley and the harbour, and across about ninety miles of sea, beyond, to the snowy Kaikoras; my husband thinks it is the finest view he has seen in N.Z. Then, as you go down on the other side, you catch, through the first opening in the wood, beautiful views of Akaroa harbour, which is very large, and divided into endless smaller bays by rocky points, most of them magnificently wooded. The descent is longer than the ascent, but the view is lovely all the way. Then you ascend another smaller hill, and descend on to the very shores of

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the harbour, through one of the most splendid banks of wood that you can conceive; and then our troubles were at an end, for we saw the boat coming for us, that was to carry us up the harbour to the town (if so it may be called) of Akaroa. It is a delightful journey, except that it is a little too difficult; there is always some little anxiety about getting child and pony safe to the end. If I could have walked all the way independently, with my husband, I cannot fancy any better fun in the way of expedition. However, soon after six, we were all safe on the beach. Arthur, who had thoroughly enjoyed his day, prudently recruited himself by sleeping, for the hour or more that we were in the boat, and we all went up to tea with Mr. and Mrs. Watson.

Mr. W. is the Resident Magistrate there, and I knew him before, as he was staying with us for some days in June. His house is a very snug little cottage of three rooms and a loft, about half a mile from the beach, up such a pretty English-looking road, half grown over with short English grass and clover. Then you go through a very neat gate up a nicely kept little patch of lawn, a beautiful stream on one side, and on the other a high hedge of roses, the monthly ones in full blow, and the cabbage provence, etc., just beginning. You may imagine Arthur's delight with the stream; it is just like our Welsh ones, full of stones and pools and had ducks living on it, and at the steps opposite the back door, a party of tubs which, with a stick and careful guiding, could be made to go through many very interesting nautical movements. I think the stream was quite as attractive to me as to him; it looked so very like home. Here we have no brook; only, as we call it, a gully, dry already, or very nearly so; and the rivers on the plains are quite of a different kind, like deep running canals, as clear as crystal, running very fast, too, and with rather deep banks.

Mrs. Watson is a very nice good-natured little creature, and Mr. Watson pre-eminently so, and quite a gentleman by nature. He had hardly been out of Ireland until he came to N.Z. eight years ago, under Captain Fitzroy's protection;

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and as soon as he was sufficiently settled he wrote to Mrs. Watson to come out to him, and they were married in Wellington three years ago. They were as civil and kind to us as possible, and insisted on our living with them all the day, for the whole time we were there, and at night we retired to a house on the beach, where they had a room to let; a funny little 'lean to', with a transparency all round of light, between the boards and the floor. But it was so warm that this did not signify at all.

William lived at a Coffee House close to us, and when we wanted anything to eat at our apartment used to bring us from there fresh milk and butter, and excellent home-made bread. There is no baker in Akaroa, neither is there a butcher; but those who keep such things now and then slaughter a sheep, or a 'beef', and then people hear of it, and send for what they want, and salt what they cannot eat while it is fresh. The price is lower than it is here, and wild pork, which is excellent there, is to be had at 3d. a lb. Anyone can get it too, for nothing, who will take the trouble to go out hunting with a good dog; you are sure of plenty of sport. So the people live very cheaply and well. There is plenty of fish in the harbour. One man, while we were there, went out in a boat for three hours, and came back with more than a hundred of a kind of rock codling, something like a very large coarse whiting, which is also very good, a little salted. They split them, and dry them in the sun. Milk is 3d. a quart, eggs 1s. a dozen, butter 1s. or 15d. a lb., so that going from here, people feel in the midst of plenty, and the beauty of the place keeps them in good humour. The climate, too, is very pleasant, for they get our beautiful bright days, without our wind and dust. Mr. Aylmer, the chaplain of the Lady Nugent, who was so much horrified with this place and with Christchurch that he meant to go on to Nelson, or home, is now so enchanted with Akaroa that he says he hopes to lay his bones there, and all his family are equally contented.

At Akaroa, we all at once found summer; for some days, it was so hot that we could not attempt to walk until quite

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the evening, and there are delightful walks in every direction. The harbour is made up of an infinity of small bays, in the largest of which the town stands, and it is in every sense a most beautiful one; very safe, and easy to get into. It was a great whaling station, a few years ago; that is, several large whale ships used often to come in together to refit, and they have helped to make the place as large as it is; but it has got on very slowly, as far as actual progress goes. The place seemed to me very foreign, from the people about being mostly French; their houses, too, are somewhat different in pattern from our English wooden houses. They are rather larger, with larger doors and windows; more pretentious and less snug, and now that some of them are getting out of repair, they have a somewhat desolate look. There is a little flax swamp, too near the beach, in what is called the French part of the town, where we were. The English part is still prettier, and you see everywhere gardens, and abundance of fruit-trees. We had asparagus until I was quite tired of it. Plenty of water, too, everywhere; there are four good streams along the bay.

I am a bad hand at describing, though, and what I have written does not look a bit like Akaroa; but you must please to imagine it very pretty, and looking doubly so to us from comparison.

We spent, altogether, a very pleasant time there, and made one expedition in a boat to see some of the distant bays, and made a fire in the bush and toasted, Maori fashion, on a bit of stick, a fish, that we got from a boat we passed. The men in it had been fishing an hour and a half, and caught seventy-five. Mr. Watson talks with a tremendous Carlow brogue, which amused me very much; the simplest things sound so funny when they are said so, and he had staying with him a young lady cousin, just come out from Ireland, direct, with a still worse one; and to hear him laughing at her was inimitable. My husband said hers is a very vulgar one, but I am not yet a connoisseur on the subject, and to me, brogue is brogue, excepting that in the North of Ireland the people seem to speak almost pure Scotch. Poor Mr.

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Watson is sadly put out by Col. Campbell's visit, and his vexatious, underhand way of doing business. The colonel has such an overweening idea of his own importance, too, that he thought fit to treat poor Mr. Watson (who hates anything that interferes with a quiet life) most rudely, but I will spare you on this subject.

We were at Akaroa for very nearly a fortnight, and at last had, for our departure, such a misty, doubtful morning, that we should have put it off, if my husband had not been a little anxious to get back, as he always is; we have been waiting for the arrival of the C. Assoc. Surveyor, and when he came, my husband did not like to lose a day. He is always quite nervous when he is away from business, lest anything should be happening, so that it is scarcely any holiday to him when he is out of the office for a day. However, after we had got to the head of the harbour in our way back, it rained so much that I did not feel inclined to undertake our journey over the hill, where you must go on the whole nine miles without shelter of any kind, except what the dripping bushes may give; and we began to talk to the boatman about the possibility of our sleeping at his house, which is a sort of public house, but of very small pretensions. He did not encourage us, for he said he had nothing fit to offer us, but that if we liked it, we might have bon lit'; as he and his wife could go into the other room, and so it was at last arranged. It cleared before 3 o'clock, and we tried to make our start, but progressed so slowly, and saw so much rain on the hills, that we thought it wiser to return, and it was lucky for us that we did so, for we were ten hours in getting to Mrs. Sinclair's the next day.

We spent the afternoon in walking about, and visiting one or two other settlers, all French, at the same little piece of flat land as the boatman's; and as it got dusk, went back to our 'hotel', where we were promised for the souper the dinner that was not ready before the attempted start, and whose blank we had supplied with an unlimited amount of bread and butter. It was a cock, whom our host had, very soon after our arrival, sallied forth with a gun to attack, but,

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as the gun would miss fire, a dog was at last unchained, and he soon laid him dead at our feet; and in another half hour he was simmering in the pot, in the form of a stew with herbs. Before our start, Madame Lievre, the nice little fat wife, would not let us have it; it was not enough done, and then the cock, as she assured us, was not very young. However, in the evening it was excellent, with a salad dressed with cream, and some coffee. We had such a funny little room, with no window, only a shutter and small spaces in the wall, through which the bright sun shone next morning, and made us all get up very early; however, when we began to think about starting, the pony that was to help us on our way had slipped its tether rope, and it was ten o'clock before it could be recovered, and we all set in movement. Mr. Lievre gave us a little pair of young rabbits, and lent us a donkey to carry the bag, instead of William, and then we began our march, after a very affectionate parting with our hosts and their very jolly little baby, a 'prize child' of five months.

Our progress was very slow. William was not well, and could scarcely walk at all up hill, and then we missed our road, where the track crossed a little swamp, and was not easy to find, and we lost some little time in getting right again. The hill seemed very long, and yet, when my husband, Arthur, and I, got to the top and sat a long time to rest, we still heard and saw nothing of the pony and its boy, William and the donkey. John, at last, went down to see after them, and found that in climbing up the path, in one very steep stony place, the donkey had fairly rolled over backwards, rabbits, bag and all, and they were very long in picking him up again. You can fancy our slow progress when we got down the hill again, and had to push our way through the bush. At last we did get through safely, and without accident, to Pigeon Bay, and then had to get a boat, and go across to the Maori pah, and arrange to have a boat to take us to Lyttelton next day; and by the time we had pushed across again to Mrs. Sinclair's, it was after eight o'clock and quite dark.

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We were very glad to get in, and were most kindly received, of course, for they are the kindest people it is possible to conceive, and we were all tired and very hungry; for we had brought nothing with us but a very little bread, not expecting to be later in arriving than about two. The Sinclair's eldest daughter is married to the captain of a whaler, who had returned from a nine months' voyage while we were at Akaroa, and brought home innumerable curiosities, but alas! no whales or oil; having never been fast to one, as the saying is, during the whole voyage. Most of his time had been spent in Behring Straits, and he had a number of beautiful fur dresses worn by the natives there; one lady's dress (which by the by she took off and presented to him herself) quite surprised us, from its fashionable make. It had a frill round the throat, and down the opening in front, made of a long whitish fur, and the same was applied round the sleeves, which were made exactly in the same shape as the newest shape of open sleeves that we have out here. There were a number of curious arms, etc., but what I think surprised me most was a doll's dress, about six inches in length, made exactly like the big one, frill and all, and lined with feathers. I thought it a great fact that their children should have dolls, for they are amongst the least enlightened of the Esquimaux and are not even cooking animals; they have literally no fuel, and no fire, except what they have in their oil lamps, and live in holes underground, upon raw or dried fish. The voyage home took them to some of the South Sea Islands, and there were other curiosities, from hot climates, and a few pineapples and cocoanuts. Captain Gay himself had gone off to Hobart Town, the very day that we arrived, taking his wife and child with him, for a short trip. She is the nicest of the Sinclairs, I think, and I was quite sorry to miss her. The next day (my birthday) we spent at Mrs. Sinclair's, for the Maoris came early to say that the wind was too strong for them to go out to sea. It was raining, too, and I was not sorry to have another day of country.

We did get safely back to Lyttelton (November 15th),

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starting before eight and arriving a little before twelve, just as the sea breeze set in. The strong wind of the day before had blown from the land, so the sea was perfectly smooth, and I got home without disgracing myself.

Though we had abused Lyttelton amongst the beauty of Akaroa, we were so much delighted to be at home again, with everything, comparatively, so very comfortable and clean, that even the place seemed almost beautiful. The garden, too, had improved wonderfully. Powles had been working there; and Captain Parsons, who had arrived from Nelson soon after we left, and been established by Powles in our spare room, had been up soon after four every morning, watering the garden till breakfast-time, and everything we had sowed was showing the effects of all this labour. I think I told you that our little patch is drained far too completely, and unless much pains is taken in watering, the things gradually die down. Captain Parsons sometimes carried up as many as seventy buckets of water into the garden in one morning, and it was quite cheering to see the garden looking quite green, giving good promise of everything; the little bits of sweet-briar that were sent me some months ago from Wellington were positively sweet, and full of leaf, and so were the rose-trees. We do not aspire to flowers for this year.

The first thing was to get our letter by the Sir George Pollock, which had been in nearly a week, and I don't know why, but I had somehow frightened myself about those letters, and quite dreaded the idea of opening them. At last I saw the daguerreotype that Sara has sent me of Vernon, and that gave me courage to read her letter; and then I went to Frances'. You can imagine my thankfulness to find nothing worse than there was. Though indeed it is far from comfortable to hear of William's scarlet fever 'not bad yet'. But I must hope and pray for the best. The Cornwall is nearly due now (December 1st). I am very sorry, too, for all your trouble about the servants, specially nurse's going, which will be, I am sure, a sad inconvenience to you, and for poor Coombes no better, but worse. I shall

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miss them both very much if I ever do get home; and no schoolroom tea! and Frances so very big, I suppose. I had a letter, too, from Mr. Weld, our friend out here, who went home with Mr. Fox, and promised to call upon you. But I was disappointed to find he had not seen you, as his friends were all in the country, and he of course stayed some time to see them. At the end he said he was just going to London, and would call upon you, but I am afraid found you gone. I hope he may see Sara though. I am so much vexed about that box, it seems as if it would not arrive, and then if you are gone, there will be such a bother in sending after you; but, however, one must resign oneself to such contretemps, and hope for better luck another time. I am glad to hear of poor Charles going to Ireland, and to Killegar; something so different will be good for him, even in health, I hope, but I wish my husband had been there to meet him. For myself, my wishes never can get across the Channel. I cannot get much beyond a certain spot, about twenty miles from Conway, eighteen from Denbigh, and so on. Mr. Weld's description of getting home was sadly tantalizing, and he seemed to find all well.... Homme propose, et Dieu dispose, and so I sometimes think almost with more dread than pleasure of getting back to England, if it is ever to be.

We have here been very sad lately about poor Captain Parsons. He took, as you must know, the appointment of Harbour-Master here; only a little more than £100 a year, but still, with what he has, that made a beginning for his family, and he wrote home for them to come out at once. He himself was to finish off his engagement with the ship at Nelson, and return here, sending on the first mate, in charge of the Lady Nugent, and his son, Jack (about eighteen), to take all messages, etc., home, and to fetch out Mrs. Parsons and the children. His trouble was that, from gold-digging reports in Australia, the wages for seamen were so high, at the time he got to Nelson, that after his men knew that he was going to leave the ship, they every one ran away, except his own son, the mates and Jim

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Truelove. The Captain chartered a small vessel, to bring him down here immediately, about November 1st, and as fresh hands were not to be had there, he engaged twelve men, as soon as he got here, and sent the little vessel back with them, remaining here himself. Well, all seemed right, everything was arranged, and they were going to sea that very afternoon, when the first mate, Jack and some more, went on shore for the last time, with some papers, in the same 'gig' in which we have so often been; and meeting a great swell, though they were only rowing, the boat was swamped, and poor Jack and the first mate were both drowned. The others were saved, with some difficulty, as the boats were afraid of venturing to them; there was so much swell on the bar, just where the accident happened.

The poor Captain had engaged the little vessel for a second trip, to bring down some things that he wanted from Nelson, and she came off directly with the sad news, and I cannot attempt to describe his distress when it arrived. He was so very fond of that boy, as he is indeed of all his family, and then he said his mother thought so much of him; and then he had to give up his prospects here, and go off at once to Nelson, to take the ship home himself, as he had no one to replace the first mate who could be trusted with her; and so, a few days after the news came, he was off, in sad grief, crying like a child when he wished us good-bye, and we not much better. He says he is now so sick of the ship, he would give anything not to be at sea again, and that as soon as ever he gets home, he shall sell and dispose of all he has, and bring his wife and five children out here, and I hope they may do well, for he has something, and a very little goes a long way out here, where money is scarce, and by that time (D. V.) things will be cheaper. He keeps his section in the town here, and is to have a house built on it directly. As they will not require a great deal to make them happy, I think they will most likely find it answer very well, and at all events it will be a great matter that he should go home with some plan fixed, and one that will give them plenty of

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occupation, when he has to break the bad news to his wife.

A day or two before the Captain left us, we got a message one morning at about seven (November 25th) that the Bishop had just anchored and hoped presently 'to introduce Mrs. Selwyn'. At eight o'clock we saw him at the early Service, and he came back with us to breakfast. Then he went on board and brought off Mrs. Selwyn and the little boy Johnnie, who is exactly the Bishop over again, no other difference whatever, except that necessary between seven and forty-two. Mrs. Selwyn is just the same age as the Bishop, within, at least, six months--and exactly the woman you would expect his wife to be, excepting that she is very delicate. She is rather tall and thin, and has very dark, but small-, eyes and a very clear, but sickly, complexion. She has not been well lately, and has quite a faded look, but her features are good, and I think she must have been very pretty; she now looks worn with anxiety, and has quite a painful expression of face. It is true she has enough to make her anxious. Last year, for instance, her husband was away from her, in two expeditions, ten months out of the twelve, and during his absence their little girl of a few months, a great treasure, died. You cannot be with her without seeing that she is perfectly good and charming, and she has quite a lively manner with children; but in general it seems rather an effort to her to mix in society. You feel afraid to speak to her, lest she should have the trouble of answering. I can see her now, as she sat in the evening, at tea and afterwards, in the corner of the sofa, with a piece of paper over her side of the lamp for a shade, and looking as if she would fall asleep, if it were not for some great pain. For the first four nights they were here, the Bishop wished her to sleep on board, lest she should get unseasoned, for she is a bad sailor and only likes better being on board than being left alone at home.

I must not omit to mention another ball which took place on the night of their arrival, and was given on a scale of unrivalled splendour by the four bachelors who live together in what we call Singleton House: Mr. Hanmer, Mr.

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Wortley, Mr. Maunsell and Mr. Bowen. They had taken the greatest possible pains with all their arrangements, had a large porch made over the door, etc., for the night, and quite a smooth floor, which is a most pleasing variety. There was a very recherche supper, too, I believe, but after four dances we came away. Also, the week before, the nicest of the Misses Townsend was married to our Doctor Donald and we, or rather I, had to go to the wedding, and we went to the ball in the evening for about the same time. Also the day before we got home from Akaroa, a grand ball took place on board the Canterbury. I was so glad to find it over, for we should have had to go, and besides all the bother of going off on a rather rough night, I know I should have been ill. Mr. Townsend and some more on board were. But you see we are very gay. You can imagine that our time was pretty well taken, as long as the Bishop was here; I had a very long letter to copy for my husband, and I really had scarcely ever a moment. Now, to give you an idea, I will tell you how Friday passed.

Soon after eight, the Bishop came to breakfast, and at nine, on that day, we went to the Morning Service, which was to open a Clerical Meeting; about half an hour after I got back, Mrs. Cookson, who is one of the nicest people, I think the nicest, we have had out, came in with two children. As she was going, Mrs. Selwyn arrived, so she paid all her visit over again, talked of mutual friends, and so on, and as I was handing her out, in came Mrs. Jacobs, and paid a long visit, and as she went out, in came Mrs. Puckle (I think you must know all the names now) and two gentlemen from Port Phillip, and going back came to say good-bye, she stayed very long, and promised to come back to dinner (at two); and when she went, I got Mrs. Selwyn, who was quite overdone, to come to my room and lie on the bed (Captain Parsons being still in his downstairs) and to stay there until after her dinner; and I came quickly down, and wrote about half a dozen lines, when in came Captain Simeon to receive my congratulations on the birth of a little girl, and his wife so well. Then came, while he

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was still here, Mrs. Puckle back to dinner, and presently the Bishop; and Mrs. Puckle sat till 4.30, and then came back to tea. Well, when she went, I wrote about six lines again, and then the Townsends came, and then Mrs. Selwyn came down, and then I forget what the rest was till tea-time, but I know it was in the same line; and then, in the middle of tea, I had to go out and wish poor Captain Parsons good-bye; and the Clerical Meeting lasted all day, and till 11.30 at night, and so the Bishop and my husband had to go off to it again, and people kept coming in that night till we had to make tea three or four times over, some of them quite strangers. I was as much tired as if I had walked over to Christchurch, with talking and making company all day. For the last four nights of their stay, the Bishop, Mrs. Selwyn and the little boy, slept here, for it was really too great a fatigue for anyone so delicate as she is to begin and end the day with an expedition in a boat, not always on a very smooth sea.

On Sunday, the Bishop had a hurried breakfast here, and went off to the Church for a Maori Service at eight. It lasted very long, for eighteen adults were baptized who had been preparing ever since his former visit here; we did not get in for our service until just eleven. He stayed in the Church and a Confirmation was held; he preached for the Australian Mission; and with the Communion Service, it was over just at two; then he and my husband got on their horses, and rode to Mrs. Puckle's, where they had engaged to dine on their way to Christchurch, where there was a Confirmation also, in the evening, and the Bishop again preached, and they got home to tea here at about nine. He had been eight hours in Church, taking part or all of the services; but he is never tired. He arrived here only a fortnight after leaving Auckland, having been meantime at the Chatham Islands for several days; from here he intended to go to Nelson, and from there to Wellington; and after his business there was finished, Mrs. Selwyn was to go home alone, and he, leaving the ship, is to take a walk of a thousand miles through the country, calling at all different Maori

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stations where there are Christians, and calling at Auckland, for a few days, in his way up to the extreme North of the Island. He spent one long day here at the school, which he was much pleased with. Indeed, he was very complimentary, for him, to us, this time, and seemed very well satisfied with the advance we had made in different ways. Mrs. Selwyn even admired this place very much, but she was not well enough to attempt going over to see Christchurch. One day, when she rode to the top of the hill to see the view of the Plains, the day changed just in time to meet her on the top with a good blow and driving mist, and she was, besides, completely tired, with the shaking of coming down the hill.

The Bishop, I thought, was looking rather older than last year, and he has, besides, taken to wearing trowsers under his long coat, instead of the gaiters he had last year; which is to my eye very incorrect, but I hope it may be only a temporary alteration, from his having hurt one leg very much on the shin, and it is so often knocked that it cannot get well. The first morning he came on shore he knocked it so badly in getting.... (a page here is missing). [His new schooner] is not quite so pretty as the little Undine, which was only twenty-one tons and scarcely safe for some of his long voyages; besides which he could not have Mrs. Selwyn with him, for more than a day or two for the accommodation was so very small and bad. He says she is not to be called a yacht, but belonging to the Australian Mission, which he is so much devoted to. He had been in her for five months, just before he picked up Mrs. Selwyn at Auckland, on his way here, and had been to several of the most savage and 'undiscovered' islands, and had collected altogether thirteen boys, whom these savages had somehow or other been induced to give up to his care, and brought them to his College. He says that in any island from which he has once had a boy, he is always perfectly safe. But he is not fond of allowing that there is much danger at any time. One of the schoolmasters here is anxious to go as a Missionary to some of these places, and when we told him so, he said, 'Well,

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only before he goes he must count the cost well, for anything, even Maori accommodation here, would be luxury compared to what he would find there'; and I added, 'Besides, I suppose, some risk for his life'; 'Oh!', he said, 'the risk would not last long, not more than a year or two! --unless some adverse tribe to the one he lived upon should prove the strongest and carry him off (!!) or unless they happened to ascribe any unforeseen calamity or epidemic to his presence, before he had time to teach them better'-which seemed to me, I must own, a tolerably sufficient amount of risk.

When the Bishop left, we imagined the Governor to be at Nelson, and so Captain Simeon asked, and obtained, a passage for himself to go up there to see him himself, about this business of the Resident Magistrateship. The business has increased so very much, lately, that my husband cannot get through all he has to do, and has had to write sometimes nearly nine hours a day in his office. So he has sent in his resignation. The next thing is, who shall we get instead? Of course, whatever the Canterbury Association may settle and order at home, Sir George Grey is the only person who has the power of appointing the new one. However, I dare say he will give it to Captain Simeon, but I can't imagine how he can all of a sudden be able to perform all its duties; for it is a very different thing from being simply J. P. at home, where you need not do much more than you like, but requires a tolerable knowledge of law. Still he is nothing daunted, only I am selfishly somewhat afraid that my husband may have to go on, in fact, doing a good deal of the business himself. We heard, two days after he sailed, that Sir G. G. was at Wellington again, so he has lost time. Mrs. Simeon was in a great state of excitement about seeing the Bishop, and had been afraid, ever since she came, that she should be confined just when he was here; the time she expected to be taken ill being Advent Sunday. On the Tuesday before, when she was quite well, he came, and they called that afternoon, while the Bishop and Mrs. Selwyn were out, and they went early on board before tea. We asked the Simeons, and some more, to come to tea the next night;

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but the same shower that caught Mrs. Selwyn on the hill, and me at a duty visit a long way off, made the road a little slippery down the hill from Mrs. Simeon's house, and she was afraid to venture down. The next day, at one o'clock, the population of the settlement was increased to the amount of a Miss Simeon; everything doing as well as possible, but, of course, she never saw the Bishop, and was thereby a good deal disappointed. I see her pretty often, and she says she is dull; but it is no wonder, for she never sees her children, hardly; they still only come to her one at a time, and even the one only comes once in the day, I believe. They are all five, with the governess and nurse, at lodgings in the town. Mrs. Simeon preferred having them in a different house from herself, for the time. I never saw anyone so well as she is; she never looked even weak for a moment, and could talk, etc., quite as usual, which, by the by, is saying a good deal.

December 17th. Last Sunday Captain Simeon got back from Wellington with his appointment as R. M. from Sir G. Grey, who was most gracious about it; who even told him himself that he would be sure to make a great many mistakes, but that they should be overlooked, or something to that effect, as much as possible. Yesterday was the anniversary of the arrival of the first ships, and celebrated with many rejoicings at Christchurch; I did not go over, as it was not very easy to manage it, but my husband went, and was one of the gentlemen eleven in the cricket-match. They played the mechanics, by invitation. I hear the day was most successful, and that everything did as well as possible, the weather, even though very hot, very pleasant. Everyone was there; more people, John said, than he thought were in the Settlement; there was a tent, and booths, and horse and foot racing, and sports of all kinds, and in the evening there was to be a public dinner, and to-night a ball, and another very aristocratic one to-morrow. We had such a hot day in the port, with a good deal of dust and blow; but a lovely evening, and Arthur and I went up to tea with Mrs. Cookson, in the tent in front of her house,

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blew soap bubbles, and ate hot girdle-cakes, and that was our anniversary, and we just met my husband coming home, as it got dark. The horse he was on, Lady Nugent, had won one match. There was a Maori horse-race too, in which Jack, our late Maori boy, rode and got a fall.

December 18th. I have now all your last letters to thank you for, and am very thankful to hear of William so much better. Then for your own troubles! I quite groaned at the idea of the linen cupboard without Taylor and her keys, and at the bare idea of starting the whole thing without any of your old helps, for I think even Sermons did not come for a day or two after you. I am glad you got the box and letters, after all, just before you started. But you ought to have had the letters I wrote next, after those in the box, before your last date. I wonder whether you saw Mrs. Jackson after all; she said she would call on you. My husband asked her to do so. But then, when she arrived, you would not be in London, and then, I suppose, when the row comes, they will both be very angry with the Association, and all connected with it. 7 I shall hope to hear that you had nice weather for your 12th of August visitors. I wonder when, if ever, I shall eat another grouse!!! There is a greedy bit of sentiment! but like Mrs. Nickleby's roast pig, the idea brings back a great deal to one's mind. The letters as they come out, each time, make me wish more and more for the next batch! and here are we so hot! and so near Christmas. I must write down my wishes to you now, for this letter must go to-morrow. My third Christmas, if I live to see it, out of England; and three more since my last at Voelas. I shall think of you all a good deal, but that does not happen to me only on Christmas Day. We talk of going over to the Plains in about a fortnight, but this year we are to be, I believe, in a real house, just finished, and intended for Mr. Deans' ploughman eventually, but as he does not want to occupy it immediately, he has offered it to us for as long as we like.

CHARLOTTE GODLEY.


1   Godley and his family made their headquarters at Lyttelton, but at times stayed also on the Plains, generally at the Deans brothers' farm at Riccarton. Apart from his duties at Lyttelton and Christchurch, Godley had several times to go to Akaroa on Banks Peninsula, site of the French settlement established in 1840. There was some conflict between the claims of the Canterbury Association's settlers and those who had bought land from the French Company.
2   Canterbury was planned as a Church of England settlement. The Archbishops of Canterbury and Dublin and seven bishops were members of the Committee of the Canterbury Association. Godley himself was a sound Churchman. It was intended that the first settlers should be accompanied by their bishops, but the appointment required the concurrence of Bishop Selwyn. The Rev. Thomas Jackson, nominated Bishop-designate, arrived at Lyttelton on the Castle Eden, but returned to England and resigned the appointment.
3   Her father-in-law.
4   The family butler.
5   The death of her sister-in-law, Laura Wynne.
6   69 Gloucester Place, their house in London.
7   Mr. Jackson resigned his appointment as Bishop on his return to England, where he accepted a living.

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