painful for a widow or a bereaved mother | ought to have been looked to long ago. to be constantly reminded of the infectious | It will be well to go on to say that it is illness from which she has so sadly suf- reported that the eldest boy can scarcely fered. At the same time we may feel sat- live through the night, while the baby is isfied in our conscience if we are promot- beginning to show the rash. Should the ing the greatest possible happiness of the mother leave the sick-room to seek a greatest possible number. These precau- breath of fresh air, and be met in the tions, and others like them, should be ex-road by a neighbour, the latter will of ercised not only by those who have never course hastily cross over to the other side, had the disorder, but quite as much by and in a loud voice express her regret that those who have already had it. Even if her duty to her own family requires her to we have had the scarlatina, for instance, it keep so far apart, considering in how seis well to remember that perhaps one per- vere a form the fever has appeared. If son in every hundred takes it a second she is assured that the disorder is running time, and that even those who do not take its course very mildly, she will, while exit may convey it to others in their clothing. pressing her delight, not fail at the same Perhaps the best way of completely satis- time to observe that in these mild cases fying our conscience, if we are at all fool- the after consequences are always the most ishly troubled with the neglect of any sup- severe. Such remarks as these are really posed duty, is in each case to repeat con- most kind, as they effectually prevent that stantly that the patient is or has been elation of spirits which is commonly to be suffering from a highly contagious, or ex-noticed in a mother who is nursing three tremely infectious, or most insidious disor- or four children at the same time. While der, and that therefore unusual precautions are required. In like manner, should the young mother of a large family have her children stricken with fever, the utmost that a judicious friend of the family can possibly venture or be expected to do is to send the gardener, or one of the outdoor servants now and then to make a noise and to give trouble by ringing at the bell and leaving his mistress's kind love and inquiries. It might at first sight be thought that a neighbour who had herself nursed all her own children through the fever, and who therefore had nothing to fear, ought to offer her services, and was especially bound by the divine injunctions to visit the sick. It has however in other matters been abundantly shown that many of the precepts of the Gospel, suitable as they may have been to a far simpler form of life, cannot be literally applied to our complex society. Society brings its duties, as well as the bed of sickness, and just as it would be scarcely decent in our crowded thoroughfares to take off one's coat and give it to a man who had taken one's cloak, so it would clearly be contrary to good breeding to render ourselves and our homes an object of suspicion and alarm to our neighbours by visiting the sick.

there should be the utmost carefulness in shunning not only those who nurse the invalids, but also every member of the family, even if they have had the fever before and carefully keep away from the sick-room, there is not the slightest need to be on one's guard against the doctor. It is not to be supposed for a moment that it could ever have been intended that doctors should be deprived of all the pleasures of society, and it is reasonable to suppose that by a special dispensation they do not carry infection with them. No lady therefore need scruple for a moment to invite to a dinner-party all the physicians of the Fever Hospital, provided only that she carefully exclude any of her friends who may in the last month or two have had a case of fever in their family. She must not be foolish enough to think that, after all the anxieties they have gone through, a little pleasant change might be beneficial for them. She will of course write to tell them how much pleasure it would have given her if she could have seen them at her table, but that she feels sure that, under the circumstances, they will not attribute her apparent want of hospitality to any lack of friendliness. Important as these rules are for every one, still more important are they for a paAt the same time, while we can do so rent. He should consider that the oblilittle for our neighbours in their troubles, gation of preserving his own children is we can at all events greatly increase the far above all other obligations. Unmarsympathy felt for them by spreading ex-ried people, of course, may be bound to aggerated reports of the fever. The sur- visit the sick, provided that they are careest way of raising general interest is to ful not at the same time to visit the sound. begin to ask whether there has not been Unmarried people may at once try to comsomething wrong in the drainage which fort widows and orphans, even before the

whitewashers have come in, and before | mark his sense of the great impropriety Condy has done all that Condy can do. But parents, and especially mothers, should remember that there can be no moral duty so strong but that it may be with a safe conscience neglected, provided its fulfilment involves their children in the slightest risk of the remotest danger. Let them remember that selfishness for their children's sake is after all a sort of virtue. Some captious people may possibly object that children who see their parents selfish for their sakes may possibly grow up themselves selfish. But surely a parent can guard against this by general exhortations on the duties we owe to our fellow-creatures, and by taking advantage of every such event as the illness of the Prince of Wales to inculcate the general obligation we are under of feeling for the sick.

It may be the case that a parent is so fortunate as to have his child fall ill of a fever at school. If so, he will not, we trust, neglect to profit by all the advantages which are afforded him. He will at once write to the head-master, and, while acknowledging that of course illnesses are not under our control, but are under the dispensation of a far higher power, he will add that it is really most vexatious that his son should have fallen ill, and that he cannot in the least account for it. He will not fail to add that, as the child has fallen ill at school, he must decline to bear any responsibility in the matter, nor can he, out of consideration to his other children, if he has any, or to himself, if he has none, for a moment think of visiting

him. Still, to show that he is not indifferent to his child's sufferings, he will request that those who are nursing him will find time to send him at least two letters a day, giving him the fullest particulars of his health. There may be some parents who carry their love for their children to such a point of rashness as to venture to offer, if it can be in any way arranged, to look in through the window at their darling son when on his sick-bed. With a view to such displays of parental love, it would be well if all school infirmaries were built on the ground-floor. A parent who thus ventures will no doubt make a point of seeing the nurse, and will promise her half-a-crown if she will look after his son more carefully than after his companions. When the boy is safely through, he will probably remember that after all it is not to human aid that our thanks are due, and will be content with offering her two shillings. Of course he will at the same time remove his son from the school, to

of the occurrence of such an illness. However mild may be the nature of the fever that breaks out in a school, no judicious parent will for a moment hesitate at once to remove his son, at least for a time, provided he has not taken it already. He will not be moved by any such idle considerations as that "the child is father to the man," and that a boy who is taught to flee from the most moderate risks will never grow up into a courageous man. He will not allow any considerations of studies interrupted to have the least weight with him, nor will he for a moment deign to reflect whether it might not be better for his son to incur some slight danger rather than have his habits of industry broken in upon, and his stock of knowledge lessened instead of increased. There will no doubt be some heartless or foolhardy parents who will say that their son must take his chance, and that it is idle to hope that he can always escape risk of infection. The true parent, however, as we have said, will at once remove his son, and will decline to pay the school bill. He will in that case see the youth grow up worthy of him, with the same prudent regard for that chief blessing, health; which, while it will throughout life allow him to feel for the sick, will nevertheless lead him to feel for them most conveniently when they are at a safe distance.

From The Spectator. THE WARM LAKE OF NEW ZEALAND. FROM A CORRESPONDENT.

November 4, 1871.

I HAVE just returned from a visit to Rotomahana, the Warm Lake of New Zealand. I fear I cannot so describe it as to give any adequate idea of the grandeur and beauty of the scenery, but I may succeed in attracting a few travellers, who will feel as I do, that recollections which are never likely to fade are cheaply purchased by a visit to the antipodes.

From Tauranga, on the east coast of the Northern Island, a good bridle road of from fifty to sixty miles takes the traveller to Ohinemutu, on the banks of Lake Rotorua. He is here in the midst of geysers. Hot springs bubble out in every direction, and hot streams run into the lake. There is some little danger in living at Ohinemutu. From time to time some one who imprudently goes out at night wanders out of the small safe track, and sinks

through a thin crust of earth into an abyss | But our concern is not with the lake, but of boiling water or scalding mud. The with the geysers and marble benches on soil is being gradually undermined. Mid- its banks. The first we land at is known dle-aged men remember when what is now as Te Tarota. Imagine a succession of many feet out into the lake was firm land; white marble terraces, fronded with stalacand a "pa" was swallowed some years tites at the sides, holding here and there ago, with all its inhabitants, by a sudden basins of indescribably blue water, now landslip. The Maoris, however, are stiil two feet, now eight feet deep, and ascendnumerous in Ohinemutu, and use the hot ing gradually to a fathomless semi-circular springs for baths and cooking. An Eng- crater, above which a cloud of steam lish speculator is about to build a hotel. broods, and from which a fountain of It will be a capital starting-point to the hot water is constantly welling forth. I greater marvels beyond. should guess the height at which the fountain flows to be some sixty feet above the lake, but this is simple conjecture. What I know is that the whole is on so large a scale as to astonish by its magnificence, and to put human emulation out of the question. As well reproduce Niagara in an English park as the terraces of Rotomahana at Aranjuez or Versailles. Tarota,

From Ohinemutu to Lake Tarawera the road passes through a volcanic district. At one point the track lies between two pools, one a petrifying alum spring, the other a boiling and sulphurous geyser. Turn a few yards off the path, and you come upon an open crater from which steam is always issuing, and which has a miniature eruption every six months. The however, is not the great wonder of the hill-side round is covered with deep layers of silica that has been poured out molten. As these thicken the crater is likely, I believe, to close up, and the whole region will then be exposed to violent earthquakes. At present the shocks are insignificant. A few miles further we come to Terme, the head of Lake Tarawera. It was once a missionary station, and a church and an excellent mission-house are still standing. But the church is closed, the mission-house deserted, and its beautiful garden left to ruin. The Maoris who used to worship have abandoned their Christianity and quitted the settlement. Three miles further we come to Kariki, where the Maoris have put up an accommodation-house for tourists. It was first raised in honour of Prince Alfred. From this point the road to Rotomahana is by water, across the splendid sheet of Lake Tarawera, till we come to the stream Kaiwaka.

Here fairy-land begins. I dip my hands into the water, and find it at a temperature of from 70° to 80%. For a distance of more than two miles this heat scarcely seems to vary, though here and there we pass by a boiling spring, which a bather would do well to avoid. In one part there are rapids, over which it is difficult to force the canoe. The vegetation of the banks is luxuriant, but sombre. Gradually we work up to Rotomahana. It is very like a Highland tarn bosomed amid grey hills, and is of no great size, about a mile long and half a mile broad. Here and there are broad rushes, in which myriads of water-fowl are breeding, protected by Maori law. They know their safety, and scarcely stir at our approach.

lake. On the opposite side is another similar formation, Hokoteratera, which rises higher, with more regular terraces, with pink instead of white marble, and, if possible, with bluer water in its cavities. The steps are as easily climbed as a palace staircase, let us say as the Giant's Staircase at Venice; and even close to the summit the water is not too hot to admit of bathing. Our party all plunged into the pools, but picturesque as the brown Maoris looked, one had a feeling that Haroun Alraschid's ladies were the proper tenants of the spot.

There are of course a host of min marvels, such as a large mud-geyser, the banks of Rotomahana. But it is ifficult to find eyes for what is merely cious and may be seen elsewhere. I was ɔt specially fortunate in the day of my visit. The sky was clouded over, and the weather was so evidently breaking up that I was unable to linger as I could have wished. To see the terraces or to shoot the rapids by moonlight are experiences which I can well believe add a charm even to the glories of Rotomahana. Travellers in coming years are likely to be spared much of the discomfort which at present attend travelling in the New Zealand bush and sleeping in Maori inns. But under all disadvantages, I saw with an unbated sense of delight what I think I shall never forget, never cease to look back upon as perhaps the greatest natural wonder I have known. The Warm Lake lies in the midst of romantic scenery. Some day, when Australasia is fully peopled, this district will be the Switzerland of the Southern Hemisphere.

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