form a very pretty approach to Christchurch, extending a few miles
on all sides: There are large trees bordering most of the streets,
which give a very necessary shade in summer; they are nearly all
English sorts, and have only been planted within a few years.
Poplars, willows, and the blue gum grow quickest, are least affected
by the high winds, and are therefore the most popular. The banks of
the pretty little river Avon, upon which Christchurch is built, are
thickly fringed with weeping willows, interspersed with a few other
trees, and with clumps of tohi, which is exactly like the Pampas
grass you know so well in English shrubberies. I don't think I have
ever told you that it has been found necessary here to legislate
against water-cress. It was introduced a few years since, and has
spread so rapidly as to become a perfect nuisance, choking every
ditch in the neighbourhood of Christchurch, blocking up
mill-streams, causing meadows to be flooded, and doing all kinds of
mischief.

Towards Riccarton, about four miles out of town, the Avon shows like
a slender stream a few inches wide, moving sluggishly between thick
beds of water-cress, which at this time of year are a mass of white
blossom. It looks so perfectly solid that whenever I am at Ilam, an
insane desire to step on it comes over me, much to F---'s alarm,
who says he is afraid to let me out of his sight, lest I should
attempt to do so. I have only seen one native "bush" or forest yet,
and that is at Riccarton. This patch of tall, gaunt pines serves as
a landmark for miles. Riccarton is one of the oldest farms in the
colony, and I am told it possesses a beautiful garden. I can only
see the gable-end of a house peeping out from among the trees as I
pass. This bush is most carefully preserved, but I believe that
every high wind injures it.