used. The portion of the borough of Maori Hill, which we enter after crossing the Belt, where we escape from the jurisdiction of the city magnates, was called by its first purchaser Woodhaugh, and in the course of years a very extensive trade was done at the saw mills, which, as the remains will show, dotted the valley along the river course, but their occupation, if not in every case like Othello's—gone, is very nearly so. The Woodhaugh Paper Mills, the first which were established in the Colony, are situated at the bend of the river crossing, where the road leads off from the main road by the side of the creek to the Dunedin original Waterworks.
From this point the road follows the centre of the valley, and here will be seen the effect produced by disturbance of the ground in removing the timber. A few years ago, during a continuance of wet weather, the Leith stream became so great in its volume and impetuous in force as to tear down its shingly banks, spread over the narrow valley, and form for itself new channels where it had never flowed before. So great was the havoc committed to both the county and borough works, as well as to those of private individuals, as to cause the better filled purse of the Colonial Treasurer to be invoked to have the damages to bridges and roads repaired.
We soon pass an old totara tree, which has for centuries occupied its position, a grand specimen of the kind in its day, and now, even with its broken limbs and noble trunk, a picturesque object, though degraded to the condition of being the bearer of a municipal notice board, instead of being carefully and zealously protected. If the visitor is an artist, it will be hard to drag him beyond this hallowed spot, and when the eye has taken in and recorded all the special points of beauty and interest here to be observed, it will not be long before the pencil of the admirer will be busy in recording his impressions in a more enduring form. But without such artificial aids to memory when our journey has been completed, contemplation and reflection will enable us to realise the truth of the words of the ploughman bard:—
"Still o'er these scenes, my memory wakes
And fondly broods with miser care;
Time, but the impression deeper makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear."
