Road to the Terraces--The Blue Lake--Wairoa--An evening walk--The rival guides--Native entertainments--Tarawara Lake--A Maori girl --The White Terrace--Geysers--Volcanic mud-heaps--A hot lake-- A canoe ferry--Kate and Marileha--The Pink Terrace--A bath--A boiling pool--Beauty of colour--Return to Wairoa and Ohinemutu.
OHINENUTU was so novel a scene that I could have stayed there indefinitely, and have found something every day new and entertaining to look at. In fact, we meant to stay till we could hear from Sir George Grey about our introduction to the copper-coloured King; but our immediate business was to visit the famous Terraces, the eighth wonder of the world. The natural man resents and rejects extravagant descriptions. He conceives it more likely that describers should exaggerate than that nature should produce anything entirely anomalous. What all the fools in the country professed to admire could not, I thought, be really admirable, and I had made up my mind to be disappointed. However, we were bound to go. The requisite arrangements were made by our hostess, and were rather complicated. The Terraces themselves were twenty-four miles off. We were to drive first through the mountains to a native village which had once been a famous missionary station, called Wairoa. There we were to sleep at an establishment affiliated to the Lake Hotel, and the next day a native boat would take us across Tarawara Lake, a piece of water as large as Rotorua, at the extremity of which the miracle of nature was to be found. We had brought a letter of introduction from Sir George Grey to the chief of Wairoa--a very great chief, we