right up to my chest, the horse's head stretched out level with the stream, his teeth set, and lips drawn back; a fine swimmer, keeping a perfectly level back, and not trying to bottom with his hind feet; it was strange to find that I had to hold on tight to the saddle to prevent the water lifting me out of it. We landed safely on an island, thick with vegetation, and I could find no exit save by a similar performance across another broad bit of water, and then a third stream as wide as the others, but all safely negotiated, thanks to my excellent steed, a quite invaluable companion in this country. Soaked to the skin, and by no means warm, for these glacial rivers are terribly cold, I got off to lead my nag and quicken my blood by walking, and we climbed the southern terrace bank, where stood some Maoris, who had come from a small settlement up the river. They were highly amused, pointing sarcastically to my dripping horse and my sodden clothes, explaining in broken English the joke of it all,—"No cross there! only one cross long way off!" then, patting my horse, "He make fine swim," and handling my wet clothes, "All the same you swim alone." "You go Maori Pah, Moeraki? you come back? you cross river far down then, no much swim there."
After shaking out the water from my clothes, as best I could, and rubbing down my horse with tussock grass, I rode down the valley of the river towards the sea to a sheepfarmer's house, at a place called Papakaia; it was occupied by a Mr. Filleul and his brother, who had emigrated from St. Heliers, Jersey. It was Saturday, and I found there not only a most kindly host, but several settlers, who had come long distances, as their habit is, to spend Sunday with the Filleuls,
