did not grumble, for the drive was most enjoyable, and we had a splendid view over the surrounding country.
In the afternoon we again visited Whakarewarewa, chiefly to see the soaping of Wairoa geyser, which churlishly refuses to play unless so persuaded. It seemed so ridiculous to see a wooden lid taken off the mouth of the geyser and a little soap dropped in, but a few minutes later there was a warning swish and up shot the boiling water to a height of about one hundred feet. It was a very pretty sight, the sun turning the white stream into a rainbow-tinted shower, which fell and poured in a foam over the red and yellow crusty formation of the ground around its mouth.
All the geysers have names, and most of them play at more or less regular intervals, but Wairoa has not been active lately, and they keep it covered to prevent indiscriminate soaping. One is called the Torpedo, because when the boiling mud at its base comes into contact with the cold water just before it plays it makes a noise like the explosion of a submarine mine. Then there are the “Pohotu,” or Splasher, and the “Wai-korohihi,” or Hissing-Water. And the natives at Rotorua speak of them all as “our” Pohutu, “our” Wairoa, in the most affectionate and proprietary way!
As the Bath Pavilion was not open until to-night we had to be satisfied to-day with the “Rachel” Mrs Greendays and I take every night before going to bed. The Rachel water is quite the nicest, and has a most soothing effect, so that after spending the evening on the river we end up the day by engaging two of the private baths and indulging in what we call a “soporific.” It makes me sleep like a dormouse, and I do not believe even an earthquake, unless it happened to be a very severe one, would awaken me. The smell of the sulphur everywhere does not trouble any of us very much now; in fact it only seems to come in whiffs, when the wind blows in a certain direction I suppose.
Monday, 5th.—Mrs Greendays and I drove to Tikitere to-day, with Warbrick as escort and guide, Captain Greendays having gone off fishing very early indeed. The drive was charming, past Whakarewarewa and the tree plantations being made by the State prisoners, and through the sweetest little stretch of road past an ancient mission-station with hawthorn hedges, oak and elm trees, acacias, and a hoary orchard, just like a tiny scrap of home. A little beyond this the road rose to a point whence we had a charming view of Roto-iti and the channel that connects it with Rotorua, and then we turned off to Tikitere, which is as hideous as it is terrible and uncanny. We spent quite a long time over what Warbrick called the Infernal Regions, and if boiling mud and sulphur, frightful whiffs of sulphuretted hydrogen, and alarming noises, are any indication of what we have to expect if we are black sheep in this world I shall certainly try to mend my ways! It was decidedly pleasant to know that the lovely lake and its peaceful clean, cold waters were so close at hand. We crossed it in an oil-launch, picked up Captain Greendays at the Okere Falls,
