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 peak, dashing cascade, and calm azure depths of unfathomable sea, heaving gently at the foot of beetling cliffs—the perils of mountain ascent, over glittering glacier and tumbled moraines—the blushing vintage and orchard bounty of the far north—the billowy prairies of rustling grain in the more robust south;—all these we might have witnessed, had time been at our disposal; but all these, and marvels many times multiplied, may be seen by any one possessed of leisure and means, who may, after reading these notes of mine, feel the impulse born within him to follow our example, and pay a visit to this glorious country. I once read a book on the marvels of India entitled, "Wanderings of a Pilgrim in Search of the Picturesque." There be many pilgrims now-a-days after the same quest; but India and all the magnificence and colouring of Oriental pomp and luxury—all the barbaric splendour of "the land of the peacock's throne"—cannot, I think, compare with the majestic prodigality, the lavish adornment with which Nature has so generously and richly attired the mountains, plains, lakes, forests, and coasts of New Zealand. For variety of natural scenery I do not think any country on our planet can vie with it. Little wonder, then, that any one having a soul in harmony with the beautiful in Nature, ever so little, and gifted, if even but sparingly, with the faculty of expression, should revel in description of these wonders. As a countryman of Burns and Scott, I confess I could not resist the impulse, and if I have given any of my readers only a tithe of the