Our first impressions of Auckland are not imposing. It is a town of moderate size, now in a transition state from the wooden-house period to the brick era. What chiefly strikes me is, that even at this time of the races it is so quiet and orderly, scarcely a symptom of drink, and every one looks so comfortable and so tidily dressed. As yet I have seen no one who looks poor. Yet, on the other hand, we see no symptoms of wealth, such as met us at every turn in Sydney. But then, I fancy, all the rich people live down in the southern provinces, Wellington, Christchurch, and Dunedin, which, I fear, we shall not be able to visit. From what we hear of financial difficulties in these parts, we are beginning to think that our poor little Fiji is, after all, not so exceptionally pauperish. Imagine this young colony having already contracted a national debt of upwards of twenty millions! But she follows the example of her mother, and bears the burden very cheerfully. To-day, being Sunday, I have been at two English churches, each having surpliced choir and bright Christmas decorations. This morning just in front of me sat a body of native police, Maoris. They are fine strapping fellows, like very good specimens of Englishmen, only a shade darker; but their captain, a very handsome man, is richly tattooed on both cheeks with dark-blue lines, like moustaches. They are the first coloured race I have seen who can assume the broadcloth of civilisation without being thereby hopelessly vulgarised. I am also much struck by the beauty of the Anglo-Maori half-castes, all previous experience in other lands having led me in a great measure to sympathise with the aversion commonly felt towards mixed races, who so often unite the worst characteristics of both. Here this rule seems to be reversed, and I am told that the mixed race is as superior intellectually as it is physically. At this season there are a large number of Maoris in town, attracted by the annual gifts so freely dispensed by the English Government. All the men are picturesque, and enliven their civilised costume by some touch of bright colours: a brilliant scarf, thrown round the hat or the shoulders, lends something of Spanish grace to the wearer. But hats trimmed with loads of commonest artificial flowers do not look in keeping with the shock of unkempt hair overhanging the great dark eyes, and long green-stone ear-rings of the girls, whose lips and chins are disfigured by curves of dark-blue tattooing. Many of them wear bright tartan shawls; and all seem sensitive to cold, for they are much wrapped up, even on these hot midsummer days. I have been amused at watching the meeting of several parties of friends. Their form of salutation is neither kissing, as in Europe, nor smelling one another, as in Fiji, but they press their noses together, which to our unaccustomed eye looks truly absurd. * * * * *