a few shovelfuls, but there was not a speck of the true black sand. The weightiest was sand of a peculiarly light colour, apparently decomposed granite, and possibly containing garnets. Among his gleanings, Mr Wright got specimens of hornblendic and felspathic schists, of gneiss, and of what was at first accepted as crystallised felspar, but which, since experiments have been made in Dunedin, has proved to be limestone or marble. It is the same as some pieces of stone which were recently brought round from the West Coast by the “William Miskin”—obtained, I think, in Anita Bay, not far from this beach, and is stated to be a pure marble, with crystals of considerable size; but one or two specimens were got, in which the grain was very fine. In pulling off from the shore there was just sufficient of commotion, and of cold water about our ears, to communicate a sensation of excitement, without alarm; and with a proper division of labour, in which the Secretary for Land and Works was deputed to attend to the bailing of the boat, we got safely alongside the “Geelong.” Leaving the diggers on shore to continue their prospecting, the steamer steamed to Milford Sound.
It must be with extreme diffidence that any one would address himself to the duty of describing such a sight as that which is presented by the magnificent scenery of Milford Sound. There is a double difficulty to deal with. It is not easy to convince people, and especially those who may have “looked down Vesuvius,” or, for that part, looked down upon the whole world, and “found nothing in it,” that in even indicating its outline there is not a straining of language to achieve an empty effect. And there must be conviction on the part of any one who has seen it, and who has seen other sights with which he can compare it, that to attempt to convey any idea of its sublimity by a mere arrangement of words, is to attempt that in which he can never command success. There is the further danger that in aiming at an expression of his estimate of the sublime, he will degenerate into the ridiculous; for that is marvellously easily done. As we approached the entrance to the Sound, and were just on the eve of realising, according to our own individual conceptions, the sublimity of the scene, one of the party pathetically said—and it was a sufficiently appropriate expression to indicate its comparative greatness:—“If you have tears, prepare to shed them now!” But was there a universal acknowledgment of his appeal? Not a bit of it. The steward rang his bell for lunch, and, for the convenience of the company, brought upon deck his mutton cutlets and pork chops; and there were some among us, who, as aids to digestion, preferred the perusal of the contents of a yellow-covered novel to the “sermons in stones, and books in the running brooks,” which were presented in extravagant abundance along the sides of Milford Sound. It must not be deduced that this was an index of the spirit of the party, practical as was the purpose of their presence on the West Coast. There was no lack of an adequate appreciation of the solemnity of our surroundings; and I only refer to this, in passing, as an incident illustrating the proverbial thinness of the line between the sublime and the ridiculous, and as an excuse for your correspondent not incurring the danger of getting on the wrong side of the line, by attempting a description of the scene. For the second time, I must take refuge for the facts in the
