After the novelty of our savage life began to wear away, I rambled much about the country, in order to form some judgment of its capability of improvement. I never possessed any practical knowledge of farming, and therefore cannot give a scientific opinion or description of the different soils. In whatever direction I travelled, and at this time I had crossed the country in various directions several times, the soil appeared to me to be fat and rich, and also well watered. From every part of it which the natives have cultivated, the produce has been immense. Here, where the finest samples of the human race are to be found, the largest and finest timber grows, and every vegetable (yet planted) thrives, the introduction of European grasses, fruits, etc., etc., would be a great desideratum. Were this done, in a very short time farms would be more eagerly sought after here than they now are in New South Wales. All the fruits and plants hitherto introduced by the missionary establishments have succeeded wonderfully. Peaches and water melons now were in full season; the natives brought baskets full of them to our door every day, which they exchanged with us for the merest trifles, such as a fish-hook, or a button. Indian corn was likewise very abundant, but as the natives did not possess any means or knowledge of grinding it, they were not aware of its full value. Their only method of cooking it was one very disgusting to Europeans. They soaked the ear in water till it was quite soft and sour, the smell from which was exceedingly offensive; they then placed it in their earth ovens to bake, and when they partook of it they seemed to enjoy it very much. In one of my journeys across the island I was accompanied by my Scotch friend, Mr. Shand, who prided himself very much upon his general knowledge of agricultural pursuits; and when I indulged in some sudden bursts of admiration at the beauty of the surrounding prospect, he would invariably check my enthusiasm, by observing that no animals could possibly live in a country so overgrown with fern, and where no grass was indigenous. These observations, often repeated, obliged me to qualify my admiration of this picturesque and beautiful land; but my surprise, and I may say my triumph, were complete when, on approaching the missionary village of Kirikiri, we fell in with a herd of at least a hundred fat cattle, browsing on the sides of the hill, and having nothing else but this very fern to eat; and, on inquiry, we found they gave as good milk, and were in as healthy a condition, as when they grazed on the rich grasses of Lincolnshire.