CHAPTER III.
Cambridge—Mixture of races—Our Jehu, Harry—The Waikato river—Novel sheep feed—The Waikato terraces—A town of one building—A dangerous pass—The lonely lovely bush—First glimpse of Rotorua—Ohinemutu—Steams and stenches—The primitive cooking-pot—Striking contrasts—Wailing for the dead—An artless beggar "for the plate"—The baths—Whackarewarewa—A Maori larder—Volcanic marvels—Subterranean activity—Barter—The road maintenance man—Forest wealth—The track of the destroyer—The Blue Lake—Mussel-shell—Lake Wairoa village—Kate the guide—McRae's comfortable home.
At Cambridge there is a commodious hotel kept by Mr. Gillett. In the big garden behind the house I came upon many old friends—the dear wee modest daisy, sweetwilliam, violets, old-fashioned roses, stocks, primroses, and all the favourites of an English garden—gooseberry bushes of something like the home proportions, and cabbages of giant size, all spoke of a cooler climate than that we had just left. The early mornings, with the heavy dew begemming every leaf and blade, and the fresh breeze scattering the liquid pearls at every puff, are most bracing and refreshing after the hot, languid Sydney summer. Cambridge is a neat, though straggling town. It is fairly in the Maori country, and groups
