black bars across the road, and touched the giant ferns with silver, and every sound was hushed. Surely it was at Lake Ianthe the enchanted forest world began to speak to us, and bid us understand?
We heard we should have a forty-two mile ride next day, because the next stopping-place was occupied by a party of bridge-builders, and there was no room for ladies. So we made an early start—only those who have ridden out thus into the forest in the freshness of early morning, can know anything of its perfect beauty. It is a different beauty from the glory of noon-day, or when the evening shadows fall: it seems to cry aloud and sing for joy. The tuis and the bellbirds were calling with those notes that, for me at least, have far more music than the nightingale’s—no bird, unless perhaps the bul-bul, has any notes like them. I only asked to go on and on: give me more, ever more, of these sights and sounds, these perfumes, this utter loveliness!
As we passed Ianthe it lay all blue and fair in its setting of green, the water just ruffled here and there by a light breeze. Two large rivers, the Little Wanganui and the Big Wanganui were crossed with ease, though as we went south they were getting more turbulent. There is a little settlement here, where we stopped for a ten-o’clock breakfast. Our welcome was, as always, most kindly, and we were given fried trout with new potatoes, apricots and cream—a truly astonishing
