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Rh some very steep and slippery steps cut in the earth and leading down into the depths of the fernery. We had to descend backwards, and it was only when we reached the lowest step that we were able to see into what manner of place we had come.

It was like the entrance to Aladdin’s palace,—the conservatory but the porch to a wonderful cave of alum. In front of us lay great rocks and boulders and piles of powdered alum and coloured chalks, in green, red, yellow, white, brown, slanting downwards to where a faint mist hid the mouth of the cave, while above it rose a rainbow cliff, like solidified Virginian creeper, in all the lovely autumnal tints.

We clambered over the boulders to go down to the mouth of the cave, and there found that right at the bottom there is a hot spring, or lake, which gives to the place its warm and humid atmosphere. It is a beautiful as well as a wonderful place. Standing at the side of the lake we looked up on our right to the fernery, only a small patch of sky showing between the green roof of tree-fern which met the overarching cliff above us, and below was the half-hidden steaming lake, with all around us the debris of multi-coloured chalks and alum lying just as they had fallen from the sliffcliff [sic].

But what had caused this catastrophe in Aladdin’s palace? It seemed that though so many miles away the disturbances of the Tarawera eruption had shaken the cave so violently that a large portion of the cliff was brought down, and a stranger result was that the water in the lake suddenly became so hot that it was no longer possible to get into it. Once upon a time this cave was a favourite Chambre de bain for visitors to Orakei-korako, who used to walk over the hills to it from Wai-o-tapu. but now they cannot plunge into the refreshing waters any longer.

We were so enchanted with the cave that we lingered there for a long while, coaxing Ramaka to tell us in his halting English stories of the eruption and the legends connected with it. And before we left the sun had granted a finishing touch of blue sky above the fern roof, to add the finishing touch to the loveliness of the place.

The rain was falling again when we started, and continued all the way to Atia-muri. But with our rugs closely wrapped round us we did not mind it very much, and it at least laid the dust so that we were able to do without muffling veils. The road was ever so much more interesting than the other via Wai-o-tapu; it wound in and out among the hills, between and under high cliffs, at the side of the beautiful Waikato, over bridges and through creeks, every yard of it containing new views and unexpected changes. And the driver, who knew the country thoroughly, beguiled the way with tales of the Maoris and of the rabbiters and road-makers, who were the only souls we met. These rabbiters seem to be an odd society, drawn from all classes. Many of them are broken-down gentlemen, poor fellows,—imagine a University man tramping through this desolate country setting poison for rabbits, living in a tiny tent,