d plenty
of means to enable him to do as he liked. In former times some of us
worked for him, and we are all very good friends. But it is a year or
two since most of us visited here, and so we are much struck with the
improvement that has been effected since we last saw the place.

To begin with, we land upon a little wharf or causeway of planks laid
upon piles, which runs out over the mud to low-water mark, and enables
people to land or embark at any time, without struggling through the mud
first of all. For, on all these rivers, mud is the general rule. Shingle
and sand appear in places, and there is often a belt of either above
high-water mark; but below that, and as far as the ebb recedes, is
almost invariably a stretch of greenish-grey sticky ooze. It is in this
that the mangroves flourish, and it contains the shell-fish which the
Maoris largely eat. Our boats are usually built flat-bottomed, so that
they may be readily hauled up from, or shoved down to the water on the
slippery surface of the mud, as may be required.

The Member's house stands close to the beach, but on a little elevation
just above it. It is placed in an irregularly shaped basin, that opens
out upon the river. Round the basin run low ranges, covered still with
their original bush. But all the undulating extent between them and the
river, some seven hundred acres or so, is under grass or cultivation. It
is all enclosed with a boundary fence of strong pig-proof
post-and-rail, and divided off by well cared for hedges, or wire fences.
There are other and newer clearings beyond the ranges and out of sight,
but here all that is visible is very much trimmer and neater in
appearance than our farm.

Over three parts of the basin the plough has passed. About one-half is
under wheat, maize, and other crops, while the grass on the remainder
looks wonderfully rich, freed as it is from stumps, drained, and, to a
measurable extent, levelled. Cattle, sheep, horses, and pigs are feeding
in the paddocks.

We eye the scene with great admiration, and even envy. This is the sort
of thing our farm ought to be, and will be. It is what it might have
been already, perhaps, if we had been capitalists. But then we weren't.

The Member has got beyond the stage where we are still stuck. He is
scarcely a pioneer farmer any longer. He has made his home, and a
beautiful home it is, though shut out, seemingly, from all the world
beside. The ranges, dark with woods, sweep ro