is not now remembered, but we recollect
being impressed with the fact that it was remarkable for a community of
no greater numbers. Throughout New Zealand there are over eight hundred
registered public schools of the various grades. The public buildings,
notably the University, High School, Provincial Council Hall, and the
Presbyterian Church,--this last of a very white stone, nearly as white
as marble,--are all imposing and elegant structures.

These cities have not escaped the nuisance of the "Salvation Army,"
whose principal arguments consist of instrumental noise and torchlight
parades. Here in Dunedin, as in Sydney and Melbourne, Auckland and
elsewhere in the colonies, they constitute a chronic bore. They are
composed of about one third women, and two thirds men and boys; the
women beat crazy tambourines, wear poke bonnets, and sing aloud in
cracked voices, while the men form themselves into instrumental bands,
and produce the most hideous discord. These designing, or deluded,
creatures tramp through the streets, in rain or shine, howling and
uttering meaningless shouts until they are hoarse. The authorities do
not interfere with such demonstrations, though they are clearly a public
nuisance; but the mob deride and jeer them. Doubtless the persistent and
remarkable exhibitions indulged in by these noisy religionists attract
the vulgar imagination, and make followers if not converts. The public
house at which we were stopping--the Grand Hotel--faces upon Prince's
Street, which is the principal thoroughfare of the city, and in which is
a square, ornamented by a monument erected to the memory of Captain
William Cargill, the leading pioneer of this region. About the base of
this well-lighted monument, it being night, a band of Salvationists were
alternately playing upon brass instruments and singing hymns while we
were endeavoring to write. The impression was thus strongly forced upon
us that this open-air piety, this noisy and gratuitous religious
serenading is more disagreeable than efficacious for good.

Having spoken of the Grand Hotel of Dunedin, let us add that it is one
of the best houses of public entertainment we have found in all
Australasia. It is a large, elegantly-appointed freestone building,
under admirable management,--a little in advance perhaps of the present
requirements of the city, but the population is rapidly increasing, to
which end a first-class hotel largely contributes by attracting
stranger