On a May morning, at 8.40, we were leaving the city of Auckland, with its turmoil of noisy trams and bustling crowds, for the quiet content of country scenes. A day's journey, with the quaint little station, Opua, tucked snugly away in one of the many coves of the Bay of Islands, at the end. A few minutes and we were chugging through the water across the bay to that little settlement, slightly altered from the settlement of 1860, the front li?ne of shops and dwellings closely hugging the shore. A veritable haven of rest, until recently undisturbed by the intrusion of the motor. Kororareka in the fading light, with the fishing launches dimly outlined, a stray pearling vessel at anchor, the perfect curve of the beach, and the dim buildings thickly interspersed with the dark tree foliage, is ravishing; but Kororareka, reclining in the full blaze of the morning sun, is a land of enchantment, teeming with tales of ancient lore.