The following notes, written during an interesting cruise to the Southern Pacific Islands in the C.G.S. "Stella," were originally published in the Southland Times. The interest they awakened and the requirement for descriptive matter to accompany the views, the demand for which has exceeded my most sanguine expectations, must be ray excuse for launching my first pamphlet for public patronage.

I cannot do better than dedicate this effort to Captain John Fairchild, to whose good management I owe whatever success has attended my expedition.

William Dougall.

ment to Britain. The interesting process was fully described and we were conducted through the arctic chambers by the genial manager Mr Gray, amidst the corpses of several hundred sheep, which, when struck with a hammer, resound like iron. But it is not frozen mutton I am to speak of, so we must back to our subject and our steamer Regretting the delay of twenty-four hours, we steamed off on Thursday, 19th January, at 9 a.m., and after successfully negotiating Foveaux Straits we made for the south of Stewart Island, where we will anchor, awaiting a rise in the barometer, and let us hope an provement in the weather. For my especial behoof the Captain, who is exceedingly kind and obliging, steamed through Port Adventure (No. 1), and I took an instantaneous view from the bridge, Port Adventure was until comparatively recently the headquarters of the Maori settlement on Stewart Island, but the few natives are now settled at the Neck, where the Government school is located. Post Adventure is memorable as being the place at which Captain Margrave and his companions landed after their enforced residence of twenty months on the Auckland Islands through losing their vessel, the "Grafton," of which more anon. At 1 p.m. we anchored in Lord River, and immediately had the dingy out and away up five miles to the head of this beautiful river. Our party consisted of Professed Reischek, of Vienna (who on his return to Europe is publishing book, "Ten Years in the New Zealand Forests "), the Captain, there youths, and myself, with a couple of seamen to do the rowing and sounding. So, outfitted with camera and plates, and the others with fowling pieces, we rowed away trying to look and feel our happiest in spite of the continuous rain and wind. The banks of Lord's River are densely timbered with ironwood, and the little coves and tributaries of the river are spots often pictured but seldom seen. Scenes of fairy loveliness, the ironwood was in blossom, and the whole body of boat was resplendent in brightest scarlet. Meanwhile I and my landed on a beautiful island near the head of the river and had two shots on the beautiful stream (No. 2) looking up, and (No. 3) looking down, but pop, pop, and I learn that I am not the only shoodtist, although perhaps the least dangerous. My friends returning with the boat, I learn that they have shot two paradise ducks, and our stock of fowl is considerably added to as we descend the river, including several ducks and paradise ducks caught in the recesses of the rocks with out the aid of the gun. It is seldom that these birds are disturbed her or further south, as there are no moans of reaching this unless you charter a cutter or put in here from unfavourable weather. As we near the vessel we see that the crew have got out the whaleboat, and come alongside we learn that they have been very successful in their fishing venture, they having caught trumpeter, blue cod, and a couple of hapuka (or groper), either of which latter would weigh about 80lbs and are excellent eating, so they will help to make our fresh most hold out a day or so longer. The weather is very stormy, bat we an anxious to get on, and after consultation the Captain decided the unless the weather got worse we would start for Port Pegasus at 6 page 5 o'clock next morning; and accordingly there was the usual whir-r-r of the winch, and the engineer's telegraph sounding warned us that we are again under weigh, but as yet only a short sail of 15 miles, and at 8 a.m. we are entering Port Pegasus by the Whale Passage, where we anchored off Evening Cove, amidst the most lovely scenery it is possible to conceive. We enjoyed the prospect very much, the more so perhaps as we only saw it at intermittent intervals on account of the almost incessant rain and hail squalls, which quite obscured the landscape. To get out of the rain we went in and had breakfast, which pleasing duty completed we resolved to land and spy out the land. We also thought that now was the time to see that our water supply was right, as we might not find fresh water for some time to come; so while the Captain and myself ascended the hills the crew filled the water casks and got them aboard. The climbing the hill was no joke, to me at all events, but to the Captain, a man ten years my senior, it seemed just amusement. He cut the way as he went and then kept well ahead of me. He reminded me of a sandfly, here, there, and everywhere. Although the bush here is a perfect tangle and most difficult to traverse, eventually it gets lighter, and after a hard scramble we emerge on the hilltop, and are glad we came. The view is grand, almost at our feet lies the arm of Port Pegasus, named Shipbuilders' Cove, while on our right rise the peculiar bald granite peaks 1400 feet high, known as Frazer Peaks (No. 6). On the summit of the hill where we stand there is no bush, only fern, deadwood, and occasional tussock. So strong was the wind that it was with difficulty we could prevent the camera being blown away. I, however, got a good view (No. 7) and also a stereo. The scenery is grand, and looking down, the water looks very pretty with its dense bush all round, whilst the summits of the hills are bare granite; the soil, if it can be so designated, is very poor, the granite formation being covered by about a foot of peaty matter, which even on the steep sides of the gullies and slopes of the hills holds water like a sponge, so that as you trudge along you go over the boots in this nasty black bog. This renders the travelling bad, and we come to the decision that the locality, with all its luxuriant beauty, will not readily adapt itself to the requirements of settlement. Following the track blazed by the Captain, we find the descent just a little easier than the ascent, the peaty footing being very slippery and our way obstructed with numerous fallen trees. Reaching our boat we embark and are conveyed to a beautiful sandy beach just on the point below Evening Cove and separating it from Shipbuilders' Cove. From this point I took a view across Shipbuilders' Cove and showing Bald Peak, 940 feet (No. 4)—the hill fully justifies the name. I also took a view looking right along Port Pegasus towards Acheron Passage, with the "Stella" in the distance, and Professsor Reischek anatomizing a shag in the foreground (5B). When just about to embark, the Professor discovered a tunnel right through from the one arm to the other, so of course I couldn't resist the temptation to have another shy, and secured (5C) a fine picture of our subject. The tunnel is about 40 feet through, and the bush all but hides the opening until you page 6 approach quite close. The entrance, on Evening Cove, is from a beautiful sandy beach, and the exit on Shipbuilders' Arm is between precipitous rocks. I would have liked to secure a picture from the reverse side, but could not get sufficient distance back on account of the water. The day was passing, however, and the officer in charge gave the order, "all aboard." On reaching the steamer the Captain in formed us that the glass had fallen to 29.10, the lowest reading he has recorded for nearly three years; but to help us along as far as possible he resolved to go to Wilson's Bay, twelve miles further along the south coast of Stewart Island and the last anchorage before leaving for the Snares. At 2 p.m. we moved along, and decided to wait there till morning at all events; and as it is quite contrary to our Captain's nature to be idle we had out the dingy almost before the anchor was down, and away to sound and survey the inner boat harbour. Passing through a narrow and rocky channel we enter one of the most beautiful bays possible to conceive, completely landlocked and perfectly shelled and studded with gems of islands whose foliage dips gracefully the mirror-like water. We notice that the lake is almost fresh, and the usual dark colour of water passing through bush, it is also quit shallow and has a beautiful level sandy bottom. We landed and J cured two views (Nos. 8 and 9) and had a pleasant walk round two sides of the beach. As we returned to our landing place we wade through a field of peppermint waist high, and tons upon tons of it Report has it that at one time whalers frequented this bay and had a miniature settlement here; so, if this is the case, it may account for the great spread of the peppermint. Here, as everywhere in Stewat Island, the bush is very dense. At the north end of the lake a fine stream flows in, altogether it is a scene of fairy loveliness, and would indeed be a pleasant homestead, or a colony on a small scale. The sol is much better than at Port Pegasus or Lord's River, perhaps or account of its being mixed with sand. We feel regret at leaving this lovely spot, but we remember that duty calls us hence, so we return on board, and as the weather looks if anything a little better, we decide to try and make the Snares before the storm breaks upon us, and accordingly we up anchor. Now just here let me say, that our anchor shewed a strong inclination to remain where he was, and we would have saved some coals and a few wet jackets if we had allowed him to do so, but we coaxed him off the rocks around which he had lovingly coiled his cable, and left Wilson's Bay resolving to caution others to be careful when anchoring among rocks. Every mile we travel towards the Snares the sea gets worse, and when the log recorded about had the distance the weather was indeed bad, so with much regret the order went forth, "bout ship;" and as we had had sufficient trouble in our Wilson's Bay anchorage we resolved to return to Port Pegasus. On our way back we passed the brigantine Sarah and Mary under stores canvas, bound for Melbourne. We anchored off Kelp Point at 8 p.m. and all through the night and next day (Sunday) it blew hard, accompanied with bitter, cold squalls. At 6 p.m. The Captain again decided to try and get to the Snares, so our spirits rise and all is bustle; the page 7 weather is not very fine, but time is passing and we must be off. After making a tolerably fair passage, at daybreak these landfalls are dead ahead, and at 4.30 a.m. we anchor half a mile from the shore, and on the east side, in 56 fathoms of water. All around these rocks the water is very deep, and the rocks rise precipitously and sink similarly. There is, however, an excellent boat harbour (No 10), well sheltered from all prevailing winds. As we approach the shelving rocks our humourous faculties are exercised by noticing, or rather staring at, compact masses of penguins, with their peculiar bright yellow plumes, like quills behind their ears, they are like batallions of soldiers arranged for review in columns (No. 11), lines, and detachments (No. 11B), they watched our approach, but like faithful defenders of their island home they moved not, and only when we attacked them did they defend themselves by pinching whatever came nearest to their powerful beaks, regardless whether it was a finger or a leg—the penguins had the honour of drawing first blood however, as several of our party got nips as they essayed to secure some trophies. I don't know that I ever saw a more amusing spectacle than was presented when Captain Fair-child went among them and began filling a bag with them neck and crop, indeed they all but tumbled into the sack voluntarily. The old penguins will not feed, but live on their internal fat for a long period; the young ones, however, can be trained to eat like ducks. The Captain expressed surprise at the scarcity of penguins on this occasion as on any former visit they were much more numerous, at least five times as many, while the water was literally alive with them. Ascending the hill under great difficulty, clambering under and over the branches of the peculiar bush with which the island is clothed, we emerge into a clear space, and look back at the eccentric character of the timber. The trees, which are stunted and storm-beaten, have long, rugged, bare limbs, and grow down hill almost parallel with the ground, the wood is very white and soft, and the leaves are about four inches each way and of a light green-gray colour. There were quite a number of young penguins here, and the Captain secured some for museum purposes. On the Snares the penguins are in what are called farms, that is to say in isolated groups, whereas on the Bounty Islands they are all over. Just as I was about to take a view the Captain cropped up from behind some tussock with his arms full of young ones (No 12), and added to the interest of the picture. We moved along northwards, and came on a perfect cemetery of dead penguins lying rotting amidst black sand—thousands upon thousands—evidently cut off by some epidemic. Almost below us we saw a deep cavern tunnelled into the solid rock (No. 13). I would have liked to explore it but time forbade. Having spent an interesting and amusing morning, we steamed round those great, black rocks, closely watching for any signs of life, and bid our penguin friends farewell at 11 a.m. and off to