making its way actively to the clouds—a smoke which we judged to be from Mr Mansford’s flax-mill. We were not near enough to hear the hoarse whistle of Captain Murray’s steamer, but enough was seen before the end of the voyage to remind us of it, and to inspire a few with the hope—to be realised, of course, at no specific date, but, it may at least be said, before the end of the nineteenth century—that that whistle will not be the only one to be heard in connection with communication from coast to coast. Another smoke observable among the bush was that of the saw-mill at Catlin’s River—a river which, six years ago, was as little known as is now the Hollyford, if not considerably less. By way of parenthesis, I may say that I use the name Hollyford, as applying to the river which flows out of Lake M‘Kerrow, not from any preference, but because it is the name by which it is distinguished on the survey maps of the Province; but why Hollyford, and not Kaduku, which Dr Hector states to be the Maori name, it is difticult to conjecture. In deference to its European discoverer—Mr Alabaster, I think—the stream flowing into the M‘Kerrow Lake might retain the name given to it, doubtfully appropriate as it is, but it is only a part of a whole—a contributor, among other contributors, to the Lake waters, of which the Kaduku is the outflow; and the Native name, it is said, is not only appropriately descriptive, but, unless the vulgar ear is at fault, not especially objectionable in the matter of sound. Of the neighbourhood of Catlin’s River, one of the features is a peninsula of eccentric outline, and which is so much like an island—more so, of course, than a peninsula usually is—that it has received on the chart, as it apparently deserves, the name of False Islet. Another feature, historical more than topographical, is a real island to the southward. A prominent character in local history, we are told, made this isolated spot his occasional home. He was not a passive recluse, but apparently a very active misanthrope, for his name was Bloody Jack, and, for qualities which the expletive implies, his was a name which lived long in the memories of his race, and of the early European visitors to the coast. It is an island which is also recorded as a favourite landing-place with the Natives when they were more nomadic than they are now, and a locality to which they escaped when the Northern Natives came to do more than cæsar—to see, to conquer, and to eat. A feature of the coast line south of Catlin’s is White Point—more a line than a point of stratified rock, white enough certainly, but whether its whiteness is due to the natural colour of the same, or to a top-dressing of lichens, it was impossible, at our distance, to ascertain. From the next point southward—Long Point—the coast trends more to the west. There were only two other bits of this coast of which the note-takers among the party had a chance of making memoranda—Chasland’s Mistake and Brother’s Point. Chasland’s Mistake has this little legend attached to it—that Mr Chasland (still living at Stewart’s Island) was a coasting pilot, or acting as such, on board the survey vessel “Acheron;” that, one day, he said that there were seals to be found at this particular part of the coast; that the crew landed and found no seals; and, verily, they called that place Chasland’s Mistake.
The surroundings of the Strait are not unknown, but it was not often that many of
