232 CHRISTCHURCH * chap. 
come at the risk of their lives. The road was terrible, 
the horses and harness worse, the rivers were almost 
impassable, but — the scenery was beautiful. This 
decided me, and next morning at ten I was on my 
way. Away again through the hills and into the rich 
Waimea Plains, skirting for many miles an inland bay, 
past some hop gardens where the pickers were busy at 
work, and on to Belgrove, 24 miles away, under the 
brightest of blue skies ; the coach was there waiting for 
us, but it took some time to stow away its many mails 
and miscellaneous freight of boxes, bags, etc. 
Our road went winding round and round the moun- 
tains until we reached the summit at Hope’s Saddle. 
Here all the beautiful bush had been destroyed 
by fire. Smoke made the distant mountains an 
intense blue, and the tall, gaunt stems of the bare trees 
were sometimes gray, sometimes black, and at 
others showed a snowy white ; against such a back- 
ground their very weirdness was beautiful. Once over 
the spur, we went like the wind down into the valley, 
the narrow roadway winding in the most unpleasantly 
sharp turns down the steep inclines. 
We crossed the Hope River, and the finest scenery 
began where the waters from Rotoroa, a small lake 
among the hills, flow into the Buller and Hope Rivers. 
From this point there was dense vegetation, and high 
bush on either side of the road, but it soon grew too 
dark to see more. A cold damp mist had come up from 
the river, and crept over everything, and the sound of 
dogs barking in the distance was very welcome, and 
meant that Longford, our stopping-place for the night, 
was reached. The coach from Westport had arrived 
before us, and everyone was sitting round a huge log- 
fire ; we were in a land of horse -hair sofas and 
primitive china dog ornaments ; an oleograph of “ Sweet 
