roots, and
dived under the supple-jacks and branches, with perfect ease, while we
were panting after them in vain. The whole way was mountainous. The
climbing up, and then descending, was truly frightful; not a gleam of sky
was to be seen, all was a mass of gigantic trees, straight and lofty,
their wide spreading branches mingling overhead, and producing throughout
the forest an endless darkness and unbroken gloom.

After three or four hours of laborious struggling, we emerged from the
wood, and found ourselves upon an extensive plain, which, as far as the
eye could reach, appeared covered with fern. A small path lay before us,
and this was our road. The New Zealanders always travel on foot, one
after the other, or in Indian file. Their pathways are not more than a
foot wide, which to a European is most painful; but as the natives
invariably walk with the feet turned in, or pigeon-toed, they feel no
inconvenience from the narrowness. When a traveller is once on the path,
it is impossible for him to go astray. No other animal, except man, ever
traverses this country, and _his_ track cannot be mistaken, since none
ever deviate from the beaten footpath, which was in consequence, in some
places (where the soil was light), worn so deep as to resemble a gutter
more than a road. We proceeded for many miles in this unsocial manner;
unsocial, for it precludes all conversation. Our natives occasionally
gave us a song, or, rather, dirge, in which they all joined chorus.
Having at length attained the summit of a hill, we beheld the Bay of
Islands, stretching out in the distance; and at sunset we arrived at the
Kerikeri river, where there is a Church-missionary settlement.

[Illustration: Mission Station, Kerikeri.]

CHAPTER IX.

THE MISSIONARY SETTLEMENT AT KERIKERI.

We had travelled all day through a country in which every object we saw
was of a character that reminded us forcibly of the savage community we
were with. Occasionally we met groups of naked men, trotting along under
immense loads, and screaming their barbarous songs of recognition;
sometimes we beheld an uncouthly carved figure, daubed over with red
ochre, and fixed in the ground, to give notice that one side of the road
was tabooed. An extraordinary contrast was now presented to our view, for
we came suddenly in front of a complete little English village. Wreaths
of white smoke were rising from the chimneys, of neat weather-boarded
houses. The glazed wi