1825.] BAY OF ISLANDS. 417 
December 19th.—In the evening we saw in the distance New 
Zealand. We may now consider that we have nearly crossed 
the Pacific. It is necessary to sail over this great ocean to com- 
prehend its immensity. Moving quickly onwards for weeks to- 
gether, we meet with nothing but the same blue, profoundly deep, 
ocean. Even within the archipelagoes, the islands are mere 
specks, and far distant one from the other. Accustomed to look 
at maps drawn on a small scale, where dots, shading, and names 
are crowded together, we do not rightly judge how infinitely 
small the proportion of dry land is to the water of this vast ex- 
panse. The meridian of the Antipodes has likewise been passed; 
and now every league, it made us happy to think, was one league 
nearer to England. These Antipodes call to one’s mind old 
recollections of childish doubt and wonder. Only the other day I 
looked forward to this airy barrier as a definite point in our voy- 
age homewards; but now I find it, and all such resting-places 
for the imagination, are like shadows, which a man moving on- 
wards cannot catch. A gale of wind lasting for some days, has 
lately given us full leisure to measure the future stages in our long 
homeward voyage, and to wish most earnestly for its termination. 
December 21st.—Early in the morning we entered the Bay of 
Islands, and being becalmed for some hours near the mouth, we 
did not reach the anchorage till the middle of the day. The 
country is hilly, with a smooth outline, and is deeply intersected 
by numerous arms of the sea extending from the bay. The sur- 
face appears from a distance as if clothed with coarse pasture, 
but this in truth is nothing but fern. On the more distant hills, 
as well as in parts of the valleys, there is a good deal of wood- 
land. The general tint of the landscape is not a bright green ; 
and it resembles the country a short distance to the south of 
Concepcion in Chile. In several parts of the bay, little villages 
of square tidy-looking houses are scattered close down to the 
water’s edge. Three whaling-ships were lying at anchor, and a 
canoe every now and then crossed from shore to shore; with these 
exceptions, an air of extreme quietness reigned over the whole 
district. Only a single canoe came alongside. This, and the 
aspect of the whole scene, afforded a remarkable, and not very 
pleasing contrast, with our joyful and boisterous welcome at 
Tahiti. 
