I shall not give you any full account of what I saw as I went up the
Waimakiriri, for were I to do so I should only repeat my last letter.
Suffice it that there is a magnificent mountain chain of truly Alpine
character at the head of the river, and that, in parts, the scenery is
quite equal in grandeur to that of Switzerland, but far inferior in
beauty. How one does long to see some signs of human care in the midst
of the loneliness! How one would like, too, to come occasionally across
some little auberge, with its vin ordinaire and refreshing fruit! These
things, however, are as yet in the far future. As for vin ordinaire, I
do not suppose that, except at Akaroa, the climate will ever admit of
grapes ripening in this settlement--not that the summer is not warm
enough, but because the night frosts come early, even while the days are
exceedingly hot. Neither does one see how these back valleys can ever
become so densely peopled as Switzerland; they are too rocky and too
poor, and too much cut up by river-beds.

I saw one saddle low enough to be covered with bush, ending a valley of
some miles in length, through which flowed a small stream with dense
bush on either side. I firmly believe that this saddle will lead to the
West Coast; but as the valley was impassable for a horse, and as, being
alone, I was afraid to tackle the carrying food and blankets, and to
leave Doctor, who might very probably walk off whilst I was on the wrong
side of the Waimakiriri, I shirked the investigation. I certainly ought
to have gone up that valley. I feel as though I had left a stone
unturned, and must, if all is well, at some future time take someone
with me and explore it. I found a few flats up the river, but they were
too small and too high up to be worth my while to take.

April, 1860.--I have made another little trip, and this time have tried
the Rangitata. My companion and myself have found a small piece of