VIII.
My dear St. John,
As I expected, my journey to Christchurch to attend the Diocesan Synod was difficult. Heavy snow in the mountain ranges had extended well down the coast, followed by hard frost and clear skies. I secured the box seat on the coach, and we started at an early hour, six passengers in all, well provided, as we thought, for cold weather. The first fifty miles on hard frozen snow was comparatively easy going, but at the foot of the Otira Pass, where horses are changed, and dinner provided, we met with a check. The roadmen in charge of the pass reported very deep drifts, too soft for wheels, and negotiable, if at all, only on horseback. Accordingly, such rough accommodation as the small shanty of an hotel could give us, but with plenty of food and firewood, was our portion for the night. In the morning horses were forthcoming, and, at a foot's pace, in single file, we began the ascent of the pass. Its western side rises nearly two thousand feet in a few miles, a zig-zag road, shut in by mountains covered to a considerable height with trees, snow draped; the track in places hard frozen, and again so soft that the horses sank below their knees; lovely sunshine, and, fortunately,
