The broad, lake-like expanse of water over which we are moving--four miles across from shore to shore--parts before Te Pahi. It stretches away to the left in a wide reach, to form the Matakohe, out of which opens the Paparoa, hidden from sight at this point. Before us, bearing to the right, is the Pahi river. It is a vista of woodland scenery, glorious in the rays of the declining sun. Its shores are steep, and broken into numberless little bays and promontories, all clothed with bush to the water's edge. Far up, the towering ranges close down and terminate the view. On the left of our position the shore is not so high, and we can see a good deal of grass, with the white homestead of a settler's station. Beyond is what appears to be a chain of distant mountains. Looking to the right an exclamation bursts from our lips, for there is the loveliest view we have yet seen. A deep, semi-circular bay falls back from the river, bordered with a belt of dazzling shingle. Beyond and round it rises a perfect amphitheatre, filled with bush more sumptuous and varied than any we have gazed upon all day. The range seems to rise in terraces, and just one abrupt gap about the centre discloses the peak of a conical hill behind. The whole is a perfect idyllic picture, not to be described in a breath; for this is the showplace of the Kaipara. It is Te Puke Tapu, famous in Maori history as the scene of a great battle. Beautiful as this place is, it would doubtless soon have been marred by the pitiless axe and fire of the settler, but that it is sacred soil. The Maoris will not enter it, and they prohibit Europeans from transgressing within its boundaries. Nor will they sell the land, although its superb fertility has induced some settlers to offer almost fabulous prices. For, under those rich greenwoods, caressed and buried in ferns, lie scattered the bony relics of the flower of Ngatewhatua chivalry. So much and more a fellow-passenger tells us, while we gaze at the view, inwardly wondering whether wandering artist will ever present this glorious landscape now before us to people at home. But the story must be reserved for another time, until we are able to do justice to it. At last the _Lily_ is lying right off the beach of Te Pahi township, and her whistle is echoing among the woods on the ranges above, scaring the shags, kingfishers, and rock-snipe on the oyster-beds and beaches. Very speedily, two or three people appear at the township, and one of them puts off in a boat to board us. To him we are shortly introduced by the Pirate, and handed over to his care, as candidates for a berth in the immigrant barracks. We discuss a nobbler, which is at once a farewell one with Pirate Tom, "The Crew," and the rest of our fellow-passengers, and an introductory ceremony with our new acquaintance, "The Mayor."