down that pass again; I shall return to Australia by sea."
The next fifty miles to Hokitika took us through the great primæval forest which clothes the western flanks of the Alps from one end of the Island to the other: pines, birch, hard wood trees, tree-ferns, which often reach a height of thirty feet, underwood so thick that without cutting tracks it is impossible to move; a good road only completed a few months ago, intersected by countless streams and rivers. We made good time in this part of the journey, in brilliant weather, whilst I thought of the very different experience which the Bishop met with, and my brother George, on a first expedition to Hokitika, a short time ago before the road was complete, in order to arrange matters for my arrival, and get a general idea of this new part of his Diocese. Riding, with a spare pack-horse to carry tent and blankets and food, they took a whole week to accomplish the journey. The track was in places little better than a quagmire, falling timber and snags barring the way every mile; crowds of travelling miners, engaged by the Surveyors at high wages to push the road through as soon as possible. One of my fellow travellers told me a characteristic story of the Bishop. He got to the banks of the Taipo river, a glacial torrent, a tributary of the Teremakau, in a state of angry flood, worthy of its Maori name—"The Evil One. There he found some forty miners camped for the night, unable to ford the river on foot. The Bishop and his son camped with them, and finding them short of tea and sugar, contributed their share to the common stock for supper. Next morning, with their three horses, they convoyed the miners across the stream, taking six at a time holding on to their
