would suffer fine and imprisonment, with extinction of peerage. This is a sure way to undermine the moral fabric of a
cat. Thirty years from now there will not be a moral cat in
New Zealand. Some think there is none there now. In England the poacher is watched, tracked, hunted—he dare not show his face; in Bluff the cat, the weasel, the stoat, and the mongoose go up and down, whither they will, unmolested.
By a law of the legislature, posted where all may read, it is
decreed that any person found in possession of one of these
creatures (dead) must satisfactorily explain the circumstances
or pay a fine of not less than £5, nor more than £20. The
revenue from this source is not large. Persons who want to
pay a hundred dollars for a dead cat are getting rarer and
rarer every day. This is bad, for the revenue was to go to the
endowment of a University. All governments are more or
less short-sighted: in England they fine the poacher, whereas
he ought to be banished to New Zealand. New Zealand
would pay his way, and give him wages.
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LAKE MANAPOURI.
It was from Bluff that we ought to have cut across to the
west coast and visited the New Zealand Switzerland, a land of
superb scenery, made up of snowy grandeurs, and mighty
glaciers, and beautiful lakes; and over there, also, are the
wonderful rivals of the Norwegian and Alaskan fiords; and
for neighbor, a waterfall of 1,900 feet; but we were obliged
to postpone the trip to some later and indefinite time.
November 6. A lovely summer morning; brilliant blue
