Te Anau and Manapouri.

On the next day were provided two excursions—a launch trip on the South Fiord of Te Anau, and a ‘bus trip to Lake Manapouri. At 9.30 a.m. we assembled and embarked on the sturdy little motor vessel, for our sail into another province of the realm of Fairyland. On and on into the mountains we went, turning and twisting as the valley of the fiord delved into the hills. Bush-covered slopes descending to the water's edge, cataracts and waterfalls, mountain peaks—these were the sights to delight the eye. The sun shone and enhanced the glamour of the setting. On the hills rata blossomed in fiery crimson, while the white purity of the ribbonwood shone from the green of, the bush. Photographers were busy, and they were presented with views innumerable. Right to the very end we went, turning in a smooth stretch of water that was the very end of the fiord. Our return was over the same course, and our arrival was timed for I o'clock. For three and a-half hours we revelled in the magic of the scenery of a mountain lake, that would vie with any fiord of Norway.

In the afternoon we paid a visit to the Lake of a Hundred Isles, Manapouri. Our course lay along the lovely Waiau, the outlet of Te Anau. This river, running from Te Anau, flows into Lake Manapouri, and out again from the southern shore. Its course lies between hill and forest, and, sparkling in the sunshine of a clear summer day, it is a memorable sight. Our first view of Manapouri was from the eastern shore, and we could see its mountain-enclosed shores stretching away to the west, to lose themselves in the mountains to which they belonged. In the lake were numerous islands, studding the setting as innumerable rare emeralds.

James Cowan, the distinguished writer of New Zealand, has given pride of place to Lake Manapouri (Lake of a Hundred Isles we are told is the interpretation of the name). As one walks along the Waiau River, or through the forest of the lakeside, or gazes in awe at the mountains surrounding the lake, one appreciates his sentiments, and understands why he loses his heart so eloquently to this particular lake. For Manapouri is beautiful.

There is a spell about these lakes that draws and draws. I felt it, and I am sure many others must have. I am longing and planning for my return to these lakeland gems. One realises that New Zealand has much to offer, but one feels these lakes will rival many of New Zealand's scenic attractions.

As with our other journeys, our return lay along the same course. In no case was this a fault, for it did not by any means detract from the glory and splendour of the trip.

Thus did we cursorily explore Fairyland. On the morrow, we returned to our starting place—Dunedin.

As the ‘bus bore us homewards we cast longing eyes on the beauty that was behind us. The mountains were more real to us now, for we had not only learnt their names, but we had also lived in friendly contact with them. Each member of the party openly stated his or her appreciation of the trip, and, what was a greater test, expressed the intention to return at some other period.

For myself, I should like to return in the winter, to see those same mountains in the mantle of ermine. I am told that the winter is by no means severe, as the lake prevents hard frosts; while the road is in such excellent order that car or 'bus can go into the valley with very little risk.

I might add that, for those who prefer to camp, there are excellent camping grounds provided, with concrete fireplaces built in.

The Railways and Tourist Departments are to be congratulated on their excellent service to this wonderland, and for their loud voice in opening up this new realm.

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