s, "coo-eeing" as they came along. F---- pointed out to me, with a sort
of "I-told-you-so" air, that there was no light in the drawing-room--so
it was evident our friends had not arrived; and when we dismounted I
found, to my great joy, that the house was empty. All our fatigue was
forgotten in thankfulness that the poor travellers had not been exposed
to such a cold, comfortless reception as would have awaited them if they
had made their journey that day. I must tell you, they arrived quite
safely the next evening, but very tired, especially the poor children;
however, everything was ready, and the little boys were particularly
pleased with their box beds, greatly preferring the difficulties of
getting in and out of them to their own pretty little cribs at home.
Such are boys all over the world!

Next month we leave this for ever, and go down to Christchurch to make
our final arrangements for the long voyage of a hundred days before us.
As the time draws near I realize how strong is the tie which has grown,
even in these few short years, around my heart, connecting it with this
lovely land, and the kind friends I have found in it. F---- feels
the parting more deeply than I do, if possible, though for different
reasons; he has lived so long among these beautiful hills, and is so
accustomed to have before his eyes their grand outlines. He was telling
me this the other day, and has put the same feelings into the following
verses, which I now send you.

A farewell.
The seamen shout once and together,
The anchor breaks up from the ground,
And the ship's head swings to the weather,
To the wind and the sea swings round;
With a clamour the great sail steadies,
In extreme of a storm scarce furled;
Already a short wake eddies,
And a furrow is cleft and curled
To the right and left.

Float out from the harbour and highland
That hides all the region I know,
Let me look a last time on the island
Well seen from the sea to the snow.
The lines of the ranges I follow,
I travel the hills with my eyes,
For I know where they make a deep hollow,
A valley of grass and the rise
Of streams clearer than glass.

That haunt is too far for me wingless,
And the hills of it sink out of sight,
Yet my thought were but broken and stringless,
And the day