“During the hot months,” wrote the chaplain, “officers and men were under canvas. * * * Most of these [the tents] have now disappeared, and a small town of whares has sprung up in their place. These whares are extremely comfortable; the coldest wind or the heaviest rain is effectually excluded. The nearest approach we have ever seen to a whare at Home is a Highland bothy, built of turf and heather. One whare affords accommodation for twenty-four men, who have to act as their own architects, carpenters, and builders. A healthy spirit of rivalry is thus produced; each man vies with his neighbour, and surveys the work of his own hand with honest pride. Raupo, a strong, flexible reed, abounding in the neighbouring swamps, has to be cut down and carried into camp on the men’s shoulders. They have often to remain for hours up to the waist in water, and are thus liable to frequent attacks of dysentery and fever. * * * When the whare is finished the men are allowed to have a dance on the wooden floor. The solitary flute strikes up ‘Judy O’Callaghan,’ ‘Garryowen,’ or some equally lively air, and a light-footed Irishman dances a pas de seul amid the vociferous applause of his comrades, who, inspired by his example, take the floor and batter the boards with hearty goodwill. A few of the huts are built of wood, which has been supplied by contract. Most of the primæval forests in the district have disappeared, but clumps of red pine may still occasionally be seen. A party of some two hundred sawyers are employed about six miles from the camp [near Rangiaowhia]; strange, wild-looking men who have lived for years in the bush and hold little intercourse with their fellow-men. Some of the more skilful amongst them can make as much as £15 per week; the poorest workman can make the half of that amount. * * * The furnishings of our hut consist of a camp-bed, a table, two chairs, two wooden stools, two bridles, a riding-whip, a mirror six inches by four, a few paddles, a rifle, a sword, and a lump of bacon suspended from the roof. The mothers and sisters of officers out here are not to suppose that their sons and brothers are equally comfortable; our habits are deemed quite luxurious; our hut is the envy of the whole camp. The rumour has reached us that the Colonial Government, who claim it as their property [the hut was at the mission station], intend to turn us out, but they will find that rather difficult; possession at Te Awamutu is something more than nine points of law; we know our rights and mean to stand by them.”