and my friend suggested a short cut from the terrace to the river-side, visible over the tree tops below, about a mile distant. Down we went, but were soon entangled in thick growth of tall white pines, where the ground was full of water-holes, partly hidden by moss, into which we floundered, waist deep, in places. The sun sank, and it looked like a night for us perched in a tree, when a dog barked, and following his lead, brought us to a digger's hut. After tea with him, we hit the right track homeward. "That comes," said the Surveyor, "of having for once left my compass at home."
Now for a Sunday's work. A lovely day, such as Westland revels in, when the rainfall has ceased, free from wind and dust, soft as the softest day in Devonshire, and without the sudden changes so prevalent in other parts of New Zealand. After the Early Service, at breakfast I heard voices just outside the open window of my sitting-room, beneath which I had fenced in a tiny garden plot; the rest of the Church site being a mass of fallen timber; in this plot were some primroses in bloom, which I had brought from England. "Look here, Jack, seems like being at home again, don't it, seeing these flowers?" I caught a glimpse of two miners who had left their "claims" for a Sunday in Hokitika. Then came Sunday Morning School, specially valuable to me, as I am always elsewhere in the afternoons. Service in All Saints at 11 a.m.; good choir, lady sopranos, and men, and boys in training. To your eyes All Saints would seem an ecclesiastical barn, with its rough open roof, unlined wooden walls, and no chancel. But it is spacious and well-cared for, and well attended. We use Hymns Ancient and Modern, which I have
