Koriniti.

Hera Ihaka

Proudly—amidst a hum of preparation, and with expressions of pleasurable anticipation on the faces of tourist and traveller—the steamer leaves the wharf and glides swiftly onward between willow-bordered shores, passes under the bridge, and enters the long quiet stretches between the open pasture lands. Soon the hills converge to the water's edge, and the scenery changes like the pages of some fairy book—ever opening and unfolding new visions, and inspiring new thoughts. Bush-crowned hills, studded with graceful fern groups, lead to where the first rapid has to be conquered. From many small pas by the river-side come the quaint callings of the Maori children over the water, while the older people sit, silent as monuments, enjoying their pipes in the sunlight.

At Koriniti we stop to pick up some passengers for a "tangi" up the river, and, the usual greetings over, we listen spellbound to weird reminiscences of old-time war and fighting, and of the brave warrior-fathers who founded the great tribe of the Ngatipamoana.

Koriniti