wooded shore opposite seems scarcely a stone's throw distant. The smoke
curls lazily up from the fire within the shanty, where men are
breakfasting and girding themselves for the fray.

Outside on the clearings the hum of the crickets is as yet scarcely
perceptible, but a party of turkeys can be seen advancing across the
grass in line of battle, commencing their day's onslaught on the insect
tribes. Cattle and sheep, pigs and poultry, have withdrawn from the
immediate neighbourhood of the shanty, and are assembled in groups at a
respectful distance, wondering and frightened at the unusual gathering
of the human species.

For with the sun come settlers and Maoris from all sides, some brought
by boats and canoes upon the river, some galloping on horseback along
the beach, others on foot struggling through the woods and across the
ranges on either hand, all converging upon the shanty with shouting
salutations, that are responded to with loudly demonstrated welcome.

A rough and wild-looking assemblage we are, I make no doubt, yet fitting
well into the foreground of the scene, with its rude and incipient
civilization insulting the dominant wildness of Nature all around. Long
before the sun has had time to climb above the ranges our muster is
complete, and a larger party assembled than a stranger would imagine it
possible to gather from so sparsely populated a district. Some thirty,
settlers and their workmen, are there, together with about twice as many
natives.

All are equipped for the hunt in the lightest possible marching
order--shirt, trousers and belt, boots and leggings, with an apology for
a hat to crown the whole--such is the costume; a sheath-knife and
tomahawk the weapons; with a store of food, tobacco and matches, to
provide against all emergencies--such is the provision. Our native
allies are attired in much the same guise, only slightly more ragged and
dirty--if that be possible--and, generally speaking, barefooted. They
are in a state of suppressed excitement, shown by their gleaming eyes
and teeth, and in their wild exclamations and gestures.

And I must not forget the most important members of the hunting
party--the dogs. Some two dozen have been collected for the occasion,
most of them belonging to Maoris; of no particular breed, but all large
and heavy, strong-jawed and supple-limbed animals, wolfish-looking
fierce creatures, but all more or less trained to the work before them.
Good pig-dogs are no