lady dwellers in the bush--how it does delight them to
promote the matrimonial felicity of others! How they do enjoy
matchmaking!

Every settler's wife, so soon as she has got over the exclusiveness of
honeymoon happiness, does her best to induce her girl friends from the
city to come and visit her. She is so lonely, she says--poor thing! No
one but her husband, and his neighbours and workmen; her devoted slaves
every one of them, but still, all rough men, you know. She pines for a
companion of her own sex. Oh yes; very much so! It would be a charity,
indeed, if dear Ada or Fanny would come and stay with her a bit.

Dear Ada or Fanny is only too glad of the opportunity. She did want to
see what the bush was like, for she has never been out of Auckland yet,
except a trip to the hot lakes, or so. In fact, her school-days are
scarcely over yet. And then she is so sorry for her friend's loneliness.
It must be dreadful to be isolated in the bush like that. She will
certainly come and see her.

So Miss Ada or Fanny packs up her box. Sweet, amiable creature! She
flies to alleviate her friend's hard lot. She constrains her
inclinations, and sets out bravely for the bush, solely at friendship's
call; for, of course, there is no _arriere pensee_ in her mind. Oh no;
how could there be?

The young lady was not considered exactly a belle in the city, perhaps;
but the bush receives her as an incarnation of Venus herself. Directly
she gets beyond the confines of the city, into the rough, primitive, and
inchoate wilderness, she finds herself elevated to a rank she never knew
before. Coach-drivers, steamboat-captains, hotel-keepers treat her with
a deference and attention that is quite captivating, rude examples of
male humanity though they may be.

Some settler is introduced, or introduces himself, who is travelling
too. He will be delighted, honoured, to be permitted to act as her
escort. Perhaps he has been deputed by her parents, or by her friend, to
look after her. Whether or no, he almost suffocates with importance if
she graciously accords him permission to act as her courier and footman.

Other men who are journeying on the roads or rivers somehow become
attached to Miss Ada's luggage. It appears that they are going in the
same direction. They say so, at any rate. They form themselves into a
sort of bodyguard to look after this wonderful visitant. Mysterious
dangers, not to be explained, are darkly hinted at, in order tha