In fact, New Zealand is a good instance of growth—not merely mental, or political, or commercial, but physical material growth. Geologists tell us that every year the land encroaches on the sea; and when we see the rivers at work we can see the process for ourselves.
The valley of the Molyneux is much wider and more open; but at this wintry season (May) it is not less bare and desolate-looking than the upper straths and gorges.
Clyde is another languishing little town through which we pass. The new bridge on stone piers is a noticeable feature. The old one, with four others on the river, were swept away entirely by the great flood of 1878.
At Alexandria, the next township, we find sluicing on a small scale still being practised. A substantial dredge is at work in the river bed itself, and the mud-laden Manuherikia rolls down its tribute to swell the swift Molyneux.
The country here presents a picture of chaotic desolation. The rocks are crumbling and rotting. Everything looks ruinous. Sand and withered thistle-stalks seem the prevailing products of the place, and there does not seem even enough herbage to support a rabbit. In fact, we see numbers of dead ones near the road, and the great convoys of gulls are the only live animals we see.
It is a treat from this desolate region to come upon a well-cultivated, well-populated settlement known as Spear Grass Flat. It is also called Bald
