We now return to the east and leave Hobart, with a westerly wind astern, and following the course of the great Dutch navigator Tasman, steam south-eastward across the deep sea which still bears his name. We are bound for the southern end of New Zealand.

The islands of New Zealand are often compared to the British Islands, but we must be careful not to press this comparison too far. We must notice that their position on the globe corresponds not to that of Britain, but to that of Italy; while the long toe to the north is even nearer to the equator than the toe of Italy. In shape, too, the main islands remind us somewhat of Italy; for Cook Strait is shallow, and we may think of them as forming one continuous land mass. We may notice also that Stewart Island lies on a bank which extends from the mainland southwards as far as the Auckland Islands. There are similar shallows to the northward, with island points upon them projecting above the surface of the sea; so that we may think of the whole area as one great bank below the water, with the higher parts showing as land, while east and west of it lie the deep abysses of the Tasman Sea and the Pacific. So though we have at first sight a group of scattered islands, they have a certain unity if we look at the under-sea platform on which they stand. There are also certain scattered islands, more remote from the New Zealand group, but dependent politically on the Dominion. Of these the chief are the Chatham Islands, 500 miles east of Lyttelton, the Kermadecs, 600 miles north-east of Auckland, and beyond them the Cook Islands, far out in the Pacific.

Though in shape and position New Zealand may resemble Italy, in one important respect it differs alike from Italy and the British Islands. It is surrounded by the open ocean, and there is no great continent near enough to affect its climate or the life of its people. Its plants and animals are largely peculiar to itself; its native races are widely different from the aborigines of Australia; its past development has been on independent lines, and we may remember that it still remains outside the circle of Australian Federation. We may contrast the position of Italy, in a land-locked sea and with a continental frontier; or the close connexion with the neighbouring mainland which has affected all the past history of our own islands.

We are visiting South Island first, since its geography is more simple and easier to grasp than that of the North Island; we shall find, too, that some of the conditions are not unlike those which we have lately seen in Tasmania. Our steamer will land us 1 at Bluff Harbour, in the extreme south of the island. Fifteen miles away, across Foveaux Strait, we can distinguish the hills of Stewart Island, famous for its oysters. Bluff is the port of Invercargill which lies some distance up the estuary of the New River, and is not visited by large vessels. It is a busy little town, and here we see the steamers loading wool, frozen meat, and perhaps oats. The tall chimney in the background belongs to one of the largest meat-freezing factories in the colony, while that smooth green mass is the Bluff itself. The wharves of a seaport are an excellent guide to the district which it serves; and wool, meat, and oats may suggest to us the nature of the country which we are about to visit.

A journey of seventeen miles by rail brings us to Invercargill. We have seen the products of the country at the port; here we shall learn something more of the people who own them. Invercargill is a grey, solid-looking town, with very wide and clean streets and a general air of comfort and prosperity. The town is full of people who have come in for the great summer wool sales. Among the crowd we come across some highland pipers—a rather surprising meeting in the southern hemisphere. Our surprise will not last long. Let us look around us: here are Dee Street and 2 Don Street, whose very names, like that of the town itself, carry us back to Scotland. Or let us look at the people and listen to their talk: we shall find Scots everywhere, not in this town only, but all over the south of the island. In fact, the original settlement at Otago, which we shall visit later, was a Scottish Free Kirk colony.

From Invercargill we can reach the mountains of the south-west and some of the most magnificent scenery in the southern hemisphere; but before we start we 3 must take a brief glance at the island as a whole. The country which is to be surveyed is about the same size as England and Wales. We remember that we approached it from the west but landed in the extreme south; the map may suggest a reason for this. Not far from the west coast, from end to end of the island, runs a backbone of mountains, with a steep face towards the Tasman Sea but a long and more gentle slope to the Pacific. Thus the rivers flowing to the west are short and rapid, for the most part mere mountain torrents, of no use for ships; while their narrow, deep-cut valleys give little space for settlement or roads into the interior. Their mouths also are blocked by sand-bars, owing to the strong winds and currents which sweep along the coast.

In the south-west corner, instead of rivers, we find a whole group of fiords, deep inlets running up between mountain walls and leading nowhere. Here is some of the most beautiful but least known country in New Zealand; there are no railways and practically no settlement, as we shall find on our visit. In short, the island looks to the Pacific and turns its back on the Tasman Sea. On the east side there is more room. The province of Otago is hilly, but further north is the great expanse of the Canterbury Plains. North of the plains are more mountains, the Kaikoura Ranges, lying parallel to the east coast; so that even on this side of the island there is no through communication from end to end. We shall see later that this peculiar grouping of the physical features has had a great deal of influence on the nature and history of settlement in South Island, or Middle Island as some prefer to call it.

We will now start on our trip to the mountains, lakes, and fiords of the south-west. The first part of our journey is by train, past fields of oats and rough grazing land with sheep scattered about, and here and there a clump of firs. Soon we are running through a valley between the hills, and following the line of a grey-looking stream, to the town of Lumsden. We 4 are coming to the end of the railway and must change into a motor car to complete our journey. Our destination is the beautiful Lake Manapouri, one of a group of lakes which wind in and out among the valleys of the western mountains just as the fiords which run in from the sea. Here is a piece of our road, with the mountains in the distance; notice the team of horses 5 carting wool.

We sleep at an accommodation house, and in the early 6 morning go down to the little pier and board the launch which is to take us up the lake. Here we see it lying 7 below one of the tree-clad slopes. In the distance, veiled in cloud, are the Hunter Mountains; here is a 8 nearer view from which we can form some idea of the wonderful colours in which these mountain lakes abound. Further up the lake on the north side we see 9 the Cathedral Peaks, with patches of snow still lying, although it is past midsummer; while all the lower slopes, right down to the water’s edge, are covered with green beech, called birch by the natives, with here and there the scarlet blossoms of the rata tree making a patch of bright colour. Finally we see the end of the northern arm, with Spire Peak shooting up in the 10 background.

From Manapouri we drive across to another lake, Te Anau, where we again find a launch. From the northern end of this long, narrow and somewhat uninteresting lake we must walk the thirty miles over the Milford track, if we wish to see Milford Sound, one of the grandest of all the sea fiords. We are now beginning to realise how very much out of the world we are in this corner of the island.

Our path lies for many miles through a dense forest of beech. From the roots, and far up the trunks, the trees are covered with mosses, lichens, and small ferns. On the ground are more thick mosses and myriads of ferns great and small. Everything is moist and green in this part of the island, where the perpetual westerly winds bring heavy rain all the year round to the mountain slopes. In fact, we shall be lucky if we finish our walk without meeting with a downpour. Here we see part of our track on the way up to the Mackinnon 11 Pass, with the dense bush below and the snow-capped mountains above. All the way through the trees we 12 have glimpses of cataracts, seaming the rugged slopes above the limit of the forest. Many of the torrent beds are dry now, like the one in front of us, but we 13 can easily imagine the force of the flood water from the appearance of the stones and debris strewn about it.

It is a long walk, and we stop for the night, wet and tired, at the Government huts at Pompolona, where we sleep, if we can, in rough wooden bunks fixed round the inside of the walls. In the early morning we start again, making our way by the side of the Clinton River which flows down the pass between dark woods not yet touched by the sunshine. So we 14 go on over the Divide and down the valley of the Arthur River, through more dense jungle of tree ferns, to Sandfly Point, on Milford Sound, where Donald Sutherland is to meet us with his launch. It is growing late, and there are sandflies in plenty, but no sign of the launch or its independent owner. Sutherland was the original discoverer of the Sound and of the famous falls named after him, and for a long time he lived here in sole possession. He is now a kind of guide and guardian of its magnificent scenery, and has the air of a landowner showing visitors over his private estate. Here is his portrait, that of a typical blue-eyed Scot. He arrives at last and takes us by moonlight 15 to the little landing near his house.

In the morning we make a voyage down the Sound. All around us are steep mountain slopes with wisps of cloud hanging upon them not yet dissipated by the sun. At the head of the Sound we can see the Bowen 16 Falls, and our boat will take us right up to their foot for a closer view. We pass Mitre Peak, with its remarkable 17 shape, and then are shown Two Man Beach, where Sutherland landed first with one companion, prospecting 18 for gold, thirty years ago. The rock above is dark purple-grey, with splashes of green and scarlet from the small trees clinging to it and the blossom of the rata. Finally we reach the Heads and the open sea, and 19 turning look back. Notice how the mountain walls close in on the blue-black water. Sheer above the surface they tower for half to three-quarters of a mile, carved and polished by the great glacier which filled the Sound long ages ago. We may see something like this in the West of Scotland, though on a far smaller scale; but to find a close parallel we shall have to search among the fiords of Norway. Here is a map showing the district of the Sounds. When we have 20 seen Milford, we have seen the essence of all the thirteen Sounds; though each has its own special beauty; so we start on our long tramp back, turning aside a mile or two from the Quinton Huts to visit the Sutherland Falls, 21 which claim to be the highest in the world; and so to our motor car for Lumsden and the railway to Dunedin.

Before reaching Dunedin we cross the Clutha, one of the largest of the New Zealand rivers, as it drains three lakes among the mountains, and these in their turn are fed from the snows of the southern Alps. The river flows for the most part through a narrow rock-bound channel, in hilly country, and so has no broad valley for settlement; but its sands are rich in alluvial gold, and we may perhaps catch sight of an 22 ugly floating dredger, moored in the stream. Much of the gold in New Zealand is alluvial, and dredging for it in the river-bed is one of the most common and profitable methods of mining. This part of Otago owes its population and prosperity almost entirely to its gold and the sheep which are scattered everywhere over its rolling downs; in the west, as we have already seen, it is occupied by mountain, fiord, and forest, and is scarcely inhabited.

Dunedin, the Edinburgh of New Zealand, is the most important commercial city in the South Island. It is much larger than Invercargill and has many fine buildings of the Oamaru stone, the best building stone to be found in the island. Here was the original Scottish settlement in 1848, and the natural outlet of the rich gold and pastoral district behind. The city lies at the head of a long inlet, Otago Harbour, which 23 is formed by a narrow peninsula connected only by a small neck with the mainland. The peninsula and the surrounding hills together make a kind of funnel through which sweep the winds from the north-east or south-west. It is always cool and breezy here, a fit place for a strong, healthy, and energetic race; but people coming from the warmer regions of the North Island do not always appreciate the change. Here we have a wide view of the town and harbour, looking northwards, 24 from the Town Belt, a fine stretch of public land on the hillside encircling the city. Here is a nearer view from which we can gain some notion of the size 25 and character of the city itself. Notice the church spires, the tall factory chimneys, the warehouses and offices. Dunedin has its flour mills, its woollen mills, its manufactures of boots and clothing. Here is the interior of one of the large woollen mills, showing the 26 combing and spinning machines; we might easily imagine ourselves in Yorkshire. Another picture gives us a glimpse of one of the many beauty spots on the 27 coast within a short distance of the city.

Just as the ocean trade of Invercargill was carried on at Bluff, so the outlet for Dunedin and the usual landing-place for large steamers is at Port Chalmers, 28 some miles further down the inlet; though a recently dredged channel now enables them to reach the wharves of Dunedin itself. Here we see the port from the west, looking towards the sea. Dunedin is the headquarters of the largest steamship company in the southern hemisphere; the company trades especially with the coast ports of New Zealand and with Australia. It is a curious accident which has given us a fine harbour in this position. The east coast, like the west, takes the form of long, smooth bights, with very few natural harbours. The peninsula which forms Otago Inlet is volcanic in origin, as is the larger Banks Peninsula further north. There are no live volcanoes in South Island; but these interesting relics of past activity have proved of the greatest value to settlement. They even attracted here the Maoris, who confined themselves for the most part to North Island.

We must now resume our journey, by the trunk 29 line of railway, which follows the coast all the way, with occasional branches running inland between the south-eastern spurs of the central mountain chain. We pass Oamaru, whence comes the stone for many of the public buildings of New Zealand, and stop at Timaru, where we change trains. We are going up one of the branch lines to visit another district of magnificent scenery, though quite different from the southern lakes and fiords. This is the district of the New Zealand Alps, the Switzerland of the southern hemisphere. At Fairlie the railway ends and we must once again trust to a motor car. In the distance, as we start in the early morning, we see a great mass of snow-capped mountains: this is our goal.

Our road at first lies across a flat plain, with sheep and cattle, and here and there a field of corn or a clump of trees and an isolated homestead. Then we reach Burke’s Pass, with its firs and poplars and little group 30 of houses. Mount Cook, the highest peak in the island, is just visible in the distance. We are crossing over one of the long spurs which spread eastward from the main chain. Soon we find the mountains, with snow peaks, closing in on either side, as well as in front, and so we come down to Lake Tekapo. 31

Here we cross the end of the lake by a suspension bridge; notice how the light is reflected from the snow on the summit of the mighty range in front of us. Next we come on a sight peculiar to the country; this is a boundary dog, a lonely sentry chained up at a 32 point where the boundary of a sheep run crosses the road and there is no gate to prevent the sheep from straying. Around him is a heap of bones, the remnants of many meals. Then we reach another lake, Pukaki, with its chalky-looking water; and in the distance up 33 the lake we have a view of the great mass of Mount Cook. We drive along the lake side right into the heart of the mountains, and in the evening reach the Hermitage at the foot of Mount Sefton. Here is a view 34 of Mount Sefton and here are the Hermitage and the mountain as we should see them in winter. 35

We sleep at the Hermitage, and in the morning start with a guide and the usual equipment of the climber in Switzerland. We cross the Hooker River by a 36 suspended cage; the water looks quiet enough now, but here it is in flood; a very different picture. All 37 along the west coast there are mountain streams of this kind; and we can easily imagine what a serious barrier they offer to movement from north to south across the line of their channels.

It would be impossible, without a large scale map and plenty of space, to describe the wonders which we can see on a two days’ walk, sleeping at Ball Hut, a long way up the mountain slopes. But we may gain some notion of the different kinds of scenery to be found. All around us are snow-clad peaks, with great glaciers flowing down the valleys between and ending in long moraines—masses of rock and debris with chalk-white streams flowing out from beneath them as in the picture before us. This is the Mueller Glacier with 38 Mount Sefton; and the river coming out from the terminal face is the Hooker, which we crossed earlier 39 at a lower point in its course. Here again we are looking up the famous Tasman Glacier, towards the Minarets, and here is the wonderful scene at the head of the 40 glacier. On the same glacier we find a beautiful specimen of the ice river; and not far away, on the 41 great Hochstetter, we see some magnificent ice falls. In the background is Mount Silberhorn. The picture 42 suggests the origin of the name. Finally we have a view of Mount Cook, the Aorangi of the Maoris, with 43 its topmost peaks rising into the clouds. It is the highest mountain in Australasia, and we have already seen it in various aspects from a distance. Here is 44 the summit, twelve thousand feet above the level of the sea, or nearly three times the height of Ben Nevis. Mount Cook is worthy to stand by the side of the giant peaks of the Alps, and even in Switzerland it would be difficult to find scenery grander than that of these southern mountains.

We must not spend too much time here, so we make our way back to Timaru. Timaru is a small but busy town and port, with flour mills, meat-freezing works, and steamers loading at its wharves. We must pause here for a moment as we are entering on a new region in South Island, very different from those which we have visited. Timaru is the chief outlet for the centre and south of the province of Canterbury. The eastern part of the province consists of a strip of level or gently undulating country, a hundred and fifty miles from north to south and from thirty to forty from east to west. This plain slopes gently from the foothills of the western mountains, and has been built up largely of alluvium brought down by the rivers which now flow across it in shifting channels through wide belts of shingle. It is a sharp contrast to the forest regions of the west: a land of comparatively small rainfall, with pastures, hedgerows, and open cornlands; treeless except for scattered clumps, planted by the settlers. Dropped suddenly in this district we might easily imagine that we were somewhere in the Midlands of England.

On these treeless plains and the eastern slopes of 45 the hills, the early settlers found pasture ready-made for their flocks; as there was no clearing of forest to be done. So, to-day, this part of South Island has still the most important sheep-rearing industry in New Zealand.

Here is a typical farm near the foothills, with 46 cattle feeding on the rich pasture. Again, we have a scene nearer Canterbury, showing a great expanse of 47 grain, with the reapers at work. The rainfall is so small that in some parts of the plain there is not enough water for the farmer, so that artificial irrigation is 48 necessary, and there are now many miles of water races strung across the country. It seems strange to talk of drought and irrigation after our experiences of the west coast, but we may understand it better if we look at the figures of annual rainfall. At Hokitika, and all along the west coast as far north as Greymouth, the fall is a hundred inches or more; while in the extreme south-west corner it is over two hundred. On the other hand, all the low-lying parts of the Canterbury Plains have less than thirty inches; in fact, we may compare them to the east and south-east districts of England. In England, as in South Island, we find heavy rains in the west, and the explanation is similar in both cases. The prevailing moist winds are from the west, so that the eastern plains lie under the lee of the mountains.

If we remember the latitude of South Island we might expect to find it rather warm; but we must take account of other things than latitude. It is true that there are occasional hot winds blowing down from the mountains over the Canterbury Plains, but the island as a whole is cool. The great mass of highland, with its winter covering of snow, the perpetual moist winds and the cool currents of the ocean all help to modify the heat of the sun’s rays, and to give us a climate not in the least enervating for English settlers.

As we approach Christchurch the farms are closer together and the whole country is enclosed and cultivated. For mile after mile we run past green hedgerows as in England; and in the spring these are ablaze with the yellow of the gorse blossom, while the scent hangs heavy in the air. Then, through suburbs with villas and gardens, we reach the city itself. Christchurch is as typically English as Dunedin is Scotch. It was founded by an association of High Churchmen who bought land from the New Zealand Land Company in 1850, and it still boasts the only cathedral in the Dominion. Here is a general view of the city. We 49 shall find much to remind us of England in the social life, the clubs and sports of the city, and its beautiful park planted with English trees. The Avon flows through it, with its riverside houses whose lawns slope down to the banks; there are willows 50 overhanging the water and swans swimming about, and the whole scene might be taken for a quiet 51 backwater on the Thames. It is often said that emigrants from Britain carry a piece of their homeland with them; there can be no better illustration of this than Christchurch and Dunedin.

The cathedral, the parks and gardens and beautiful residences show us one side of English life; but Christchurch has another side. Its people are not idle. We see here warehouses, offices, and busy factories, as befits the chief centre of the whole Canterbury district. In one respect, however, it differs from the other large cities of New Zealand; it is not on the sea. We shall see its trade and shipping at Lyttelton, 52 seven miles away by rail. Lyttelton lies on an arm of the sea to the north of the Banks Peninsula, a volcanic 53 mass breaking the line of the long smooth coast, just as the Otago Peninsula at Dunedin. But the activities of the two cities are not the same: Dunedin, the outlet of the coal and gold-mining area of Otago, has its School of Mines, as well as of medicine and other subjects; while Christchurch, the city of the fertile plain, in addition to a great engineering department, has its Lincoln Agricultural College. Here are the college buildings, and here we see some of the students 54 at practical work, threshing wheat in the fields. Thus we see a contrast which is purely geographical reflected 55 in the world of education.

If we follow the great plain northwards from Christchurch, we shall find that it narrows gradually and comes to an end at last, against the seaward range of the Kaikoura Mountains. Our road north is stopped, but we can follow the railway north-westward to Springfield; thence we go by coach, over the Alps through Arthur’s Pass and down the Otira Gorge, until we strike the short railway which will take us to Greymouth and the west coast. This is the only coach road over the Alps, and we can learn much in the course of our exciting forty mile run.

We climb up, by a twisting road, over open slopes covered with brown tussock grass. Here and there we pass a mountain tarn, and all the time above us are purple mountains capped with dazzling fields of snow. 56 We cross the saddle at the summit of the pass, 3000 feet above the sea, and then plunge down through a deep caÑon gorge, following the narrow bed of a mountain 57 stream. Instead of the open mountain side, all around us are high fern-clad cliffs, steep slopes and dense forest, all ablaze in summer with the scarlet rata blossom. We have seen, on our short journey, the east and the west countries, in the sharpest possible contrast. Soon, the rail-heads on either side will be linked, and a rush through miles of dark tunnel will take the place of the splendid drive on the coach, though doubtless many will still prefer the road to the rail.

From Greymouth another line of rail and coach will take us through another famous gorge on a zigzag course to Nelson on Tasman Bay. We realise that communication in this part of the island is very difficult, and we shall find that the isolation of the different areas of settlement has been an important factor in the political development of New Zealand.

Greymouth, on a small artificial harbour at the mouth of the river, carries on a trade in gold, coal, and timber; Westport, further north, owes its existence mainly to coal, though there are also gold mines in the country behind it. Hokitika, which we can reach by a short railway journey, southward from Greymouth, is also the outlet of a gold district. The coal in this district of Westland is of good quality, and some day may give rise to a large industrial population; at present it is mined chiefly for export. Here we see the little township of Brunner, with its coal mines; notice the 58 forest and mountain in the background. Round Nelson there is a strip of sheltered lowland noted for its agriculture and fruit growing; as it was easily reached, and near the line of traffic through Cook Strait, the district with its fertile soil and mild climate was one of the earliest to attract settlers. Here is a view of Nelson 59 on its little plain ringed in by bare hills.

The mountainous north-east corner of the island, now the district of Marlborough, was difficult of access; so for a long time it had no separate existence, but was 60 merely part of the larger province of Nelson; but now we may reach it easily by steamer and might spend many days exploring the inner coast and bays of the Sounds which penetrate deeply into the land. These Sounds are different from those which we visited in the south-west of the island. They are broad, lake-like expanses of calm water, backed by forested hill slopes, with here and there clearings and farms near the water’s edge. The early whalers established themselves here, and to-day it is a favourite haunt of the yachtsmen. Here is a view of part of Pelorus Sound. 61

If we look at the structure of the island, we now see that there were three detached areas favourable for early settlement; Nelson in the north, Canterbury in the middle, and Otago in the south. All these were occupied separately, between the years 1840 and 1850, and the only means of communication between them was by sea. We can understand why at first these districts formed independent Provinces, each with its own local Parliament. Indeed, for a few years, even the southern part of Otago enjoyed a separate existence as Southland. The provinces still remain as provincial districts for certain purposes of local government, though Westland, between the Alps and the sea, has been split off from Canterbury, and Marlborough, as we have noted, from Nelson.

Among the cities Christchurch and Dunedin still stand alone with over sixty thousand inhabitants and two of the colleges of the University of New Zealand; while the greater part of the trade of the island passes through their ports. The districts behind them also contain the great majority of the sheep reared in the island. Next in importance to these cities is Invercargill, with less than twenty thousand inhabitants; while no other town has more than ten thousand. These numbers may seem small to us, but we must remember that they are large in proportion to the total population of New Zealand, which, including the Maoris, was less than a million in 1906. In Christchurch, in addition to the Cathedral and University College, we find a Supreme Court of the Dominion; and here we may see also the old Provincial Council Buildings, a remnant of the former system of government.

Though these capital cities have attracted relatively large populations, yet there is not that enormous concentration of life and wealth in a single city which we noticed in some of the Australian States. The sea is partly responsible for this. The population tends to scatter in a fringe along the coasts, since the natural means of access to the agricultural and mining districts of the interior is from the nearest point on the sea-board. There is no great concentration of routes at any one point, and though Christchurch and Dunedin have a long start, many of the smaller towns are growing rapidly, through the development of the areas behind them. As we have seen, the whole structure of the country is against concentration, and the scattering of the population may become more rather than less marked as the newer districts are opened up from the coast inwards. The geographical conditions which controlled early settlement are still operative to-day.

We have treated of the settlement of South Island as though the first settlers found the country uninhabited and were free to develop its resources as seemed best to them, with no difficulties in the way except those due to climate and structure. We have made no mention of the aborigines for the good reason that less than five per cent. of them are to be found in South Island; so that the native problem has never been of a serious character. The chief attraction for the Maoris lay in the greenstone for their weapons which the island provided; and though they had a few settlements on the coast, their number was too small to form any real obstacle to white occupation.

The character of the climate alone would give sufficient ground for their avoidance of the island, as they were a race of immigrants from the warmer regions to the north; also, as we shall see later, the structure of the country was not well suited to their habits of life. The case is very different when we come to deal with North Island; we shall find the Maori there a very important element in the history of its development. On our way from Nelson we shall pass through the narrow channel between Rangitoto Island and the mainland, where we shall probably meet “Pelorus Jack,” the huge pilot fish, or rather dolphin, who regularly escorts vessels through the strait. He is protected by Act of Parliament, and is so well known that he has become a subject of Maori legends. A short 62 steam from Pelorus Sound across Cook Strait brings us to North Island and within sight of Wellington.