but in order to meet cases of illness and misfortune, with the aid of several, including an old friend of mine in Hokitika, William Evans, who is engaged in the flour milling trade of the place, we have instituted a Benevolent Society, to which the public generally subscribe, and on its committee there are representatives of all religious denominations.
Visiting here is different work to that in Westland, open country, scattered population, but excellent roads, which would do credit to a much older place, the result of a system by which the Board of Works receives a proportion of all money acquired by Government by sale of Crown lands. The Board's affairs have been well cared for by its chairman, Philip Luxmoore, whom you may recollect at Eton, nephew of Dr. Pusey. I do a great deal of walking, with some riding and driving; there is no river trouble to be faced, and the difference between the rainfall here and Westland is immense. There, an average of over a hundred inches, here, a mere twenty-eight, per annum.
Talking of holidays, my idea is this: to stick to work here for some years, and, when the opportunity comes, if possible, to have a year or so in the old world again. I have a great longing to see something of the Continent, and especially of Italy. I have no lack of books, the mails are faster than some years ago, but one feels the want of that quickening of intellectual life which you enjoy in constant contact with cultured minds. After nine years of daily talk of gold and wash-dirt, this pastoral land, where Wool is king, is apt—to quote George Herbert—"to transfuse a sheepishness into my story," and one runs the risk of "being in the pasture lost." So I keep at my habit of study, reading every morning as far as pos-
