Identifier: throughsouthwest00more (find matches)
Title: Through South Westland : A journey to the Haast and Mount Aspiring New Zealand
Year: 1900 (1900s)
Authors: Moreland, A. Maud
Subjects:
Publisher: London : Whitcomb & Tombs
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: Internet Archive

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t least to our eyes—constantlyattracted the attention. What the forest lacksin brilliancy of flowers, it gains in its wonderfulvariety of form. Except the ratas and a redhoneysuckle, most of the flowers are white, orgreen and inconspicuous; but their perfumesare there, and every shade of green and gold andbrown. Between the tall shafts of the trees wecaught glimpses of a shining water, and we madeour way to the shore and sat there entranced.The reflections were perfect: every leaf and twig,mountain summit, and sunset cloud lay there, asin a great looking-glass. The snows of the distant Alps were flushingrosy-pink above the dark hills, clothed always totheir tops with trees. And as we sat and watched,the water at our feet became golden with thereflection of the rosy cloudlets floating in it.Colours like the inside of a pearl-shell blended,and faded, and the evening mists crept over all,and we- -turnesd •baGk -dowA - ttie - darkening forestaisles. Arid as we went, the moonlight laid
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WATERS OF WESTLAND. 25 black bars across the road, and touched the giantferns with silver, and every sound was hushed.Surely it was at Lake lanthe the enchantedforest world began to speak to us, and bid usunderstand ? We heard we should have a forty-two mile ridenext day, because the next stopping-place wasoccupied bj^ a party of bridge-builders, and therewas no room for ladies. So we made an earlystart—only those who have ridden out thus intothe forest in the freshness of early morning, canknow anything of its perfect beauty. It is adifferent beauty from the glory of noon-daj% orwhen the evening shadows fall: it seems to cryaloud and sing for joy. The tuis and the bell-birds were calling with those notes tliat, for me atleast, have far more music than the nightingales—no bird, unless perhaps the bul-bul, has any noteslike them. I only asked to go on and on: giveme more, ever more, of these sights and sounds,these perfumes, this utter loveliness ! As we passed lanthe it lay all bl

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