his hat, and addresses me as "sir," when he sees me, quite
forgetting that we are now in the colonies, where such modes are not
practised; regardless also of the fact that I am on my way to just the
same life and work that he is himself. The skipper of the _Gemini_
notices the action, and grins sarcastically, while he tells a
subordinate in a stage-whisper to "just look at them new-chums."

English readers must not suppose from this that colonial manners are
discourteous. Far from it. Colonials will not touch their hats, or use
any form that appears to remind them of servility, flunkeyism, or
inequalities of station. On the other hand, incivility is much more
rarely experienced among even the roughest colonials than it is in many
parts of the old country, in Birmingham, for example. Apart from that,
the new-chum is the incarnate comedy of colonial life. He is eagerly
watched, and much laughed at; yet he is seldom or never subjected to any
actual rudeness. On the contrary, he is generally treated with extra
tenderness and consideration, on account of his helpless and immature
condition. Perhaps I may sum up the analysis by saying, that, if polish
is lacking to the colonial character, so also is boorishness.

Our fellow-emigrant tells us that he has been engaged as a farm labourer
by a settler at Ararimu, near Riverhead, and that his wife is to do
washing and cooking and dairy-work. They are to have thirty shillings a
week, and they, with their child, will have board and lodging provided
for them as well, and that in a style a good deal better than
agriculturals are accustomed to in England. They seem well enough
contented with things, though a trifle daunted by the strangeness of
their surroundings. Dobbs has misgivings as to the work that will be
required of him. He knows, however, that the labourer's day is reckoned
at only eight hours here, and is much consoled thereby. Very likely we
may find him a thriving farmer on his own account, and on his own land,
if we should chance to meet again in a few years' time.

There is little or no attraction in the scenery along the eighteen or
twenty miles of river between Auckland and Riverhead. Great stretches of
mud-bank are visible in many places at low tide, varied by occasional
clumps of mangrove, and by oyster-covered rocks. The land on either side
is mostly of very poor quality, though a good deal of it has been taken
up. Here and there, we pass in sight of some homestead