Reminiscences of early days in New Zealand

Redwood, Francis, C.M. Banks, Printers, Wellington, N.Z., 1922

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The original publication details are as follows:

Title: Reminiscences of early days in New Zealand

Author: Redwood, Francis

Published: C.M. Banks, Printers, Wellington, N.Z., 1922

Reminiscences of Early Days in New Zealand

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Reminiscences of Early Days in New Zealand.

Towards the end of the year 1842, the good ship " George (Captain Pyke), after a long but fair passage of five hs, an ived from England at Port Nicholson (Wellington). was slow lua sure—the fast-sailing clipper was not yet invented. She was a vessel of about six hundred tons, and had on board a number of emigrants brought out under the auspices of the lately formed -New Zealand Company, whose noble purpose \.as to bring to New Zealand a selected lot of emigrants of a!' classes, to occupy the laud just purchased, or to be purchased from the Maoris, and thus found a model ny.

1 was among t! • i new arrivals, and so one of the pioneer colonists, dating Le early dawn of the colony. New Zeaiand became a British colony in 1840, and wo were here in 1842, Hie Redwood family, four sons and four daughters, with their parents, Mr. and Mrs. Henry Redwood. The eldest son, Henry Redwoo \ afterwards the well-known sportsman, fitly called " The Fathf r of the New Zealand Turf," was then about twenty years of age. The second son, Joseph Redwood, never came to New 7a iland. He was left a youth in London to complete his studies and become a veterinary surgeon. Afterwards for years he ]>rr ised as a veterinary surgeon in the Army, and married, but di 1 childless at Dorchester, England. Years before starting New Zealand, my mother lost a baby daughter named Est 1 The very youngest of all the family, by name Austin, a haby somewhat over six weeks' old, died at sea, and was b ied in the deep. Then I—the future Archbishop of Wellington—became the Benjamin of the family.

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My age, on my arrival at Nelson in 1842, was three years and a half, and lam now in my 83rd year i 1922 . My sister, Martha, the second by age, had married, just before the voyage, a Mr. Joseph Ward, well-known afterwards for many years as a surveyor in Marlborough, and sonic time member of the House of Representatives, Wellington. My eldest sister, Mary, married a Mr. Greaves, and died twelve months afterwards at Nelson, leaving to my mother's care, a baby daughter, Mary, who died, to our great grief, in her grandmother's home at the age of six months. Her father. Mr. Greaves, then returned to England and married again, bringing up an only daughter. I paid him a visit in 1865, shortly after my ordination to the priesthood, and saw his daughter a child about twelve years old. He died an opulent banker in Worcestershire. The other members of the Eamily, Henry, Thomas. Charles. Ann and Elizabeth, married in due time and had families, some of them large families.—Thomas, Charles and Ann. Martha I Mrs. Ward) had a very large family, and. at one stage of their life, her eight sons, all well mounted on horseback, used to ride their ten miles to Sunday Mass, and were called, from tinfamily home, the " Brookby Cavalry." All my brothers and sisters are now dead, end I am the only survivor of the original family.

Our family came in the aforesaid ship as steerage passengers, because my father wisely determined not to waste in cabin comforts the money —a decent sum—which he had realised from the sale of his farm property in Staffordshire, and which he reserved for future needs and enterprise in this new country. But he made a capital arrangement in our behalf by having all his family together with him in the fore-part of the ship, separated from the other emigrants. This added greatly to our privacy and com fort.

In London, before starting, he had bought, on spec, fifty acres of what, from the description given by the New Zealand Company, he judged to be good land—and good land, excellent land, it proved to be. It had been surveyed only one year before, 1841, and my late brother-in-law, Cyrus Coulter, was one of the survey staff, and. be it said by the way, was very near being poisoned to death by eating a tute-berry pie. After the repast, he went into a sort of madness, and afterwards came to consciousness again, by finding himself in the neighbouring brook. The poison causes its victims to instinctively make for water. All the party that partook of the pi' l were < ill.

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hut all luckily escaped death. They were thus taught the poisonous nature of the seeds of the tute-berries. The red pulp round the seeds makes a harmless and refreshing drink. and. under proper treatment, is converted by the Maoris into a. fairly palatable jam.

Well, the land was fertile and easily cleared, and my father resolved to erect his first New Zealand home upon it. L::',. :• on, he added some hundreds •■;' acres to the original fifty„ To build a substantial and comfortable house for so large a family was no easy task under the circumstances of those early days. Where were the stones, the bricks. Ihe lime, the timber.' They bad to be furnished and soon: and. indeed, they were shortly forthcoming.

The land was situated in Waimea West, thai is to say, West of the Waimea river, which runs into Tasman Bay, then called by Captain Cook, Blind Bay, because lie never sailed to the Nelson end of it. It went for some years 'id least a part of it) by the name of .Massacre Bay, becausi Tasman. who in that bay a century before the arrival of Cook, discovered New Zealand, had two of his crew killed by the hostile -Maoris, and this tragic event caused him to sail away out of danger as soon as possible. The river runs between the Kalibit Island and the Mainland, and al low water is shallow and Eordable, while at high tide ii forms a, good landing-place about seven miles from Nelson by boat. It was at that time much used by boats and canoes.

My father bought the pine timber used to lit up the emigrant quarters in the " (icorge Fyfe," and a considerable quantity of good canvas. Then, with my brother-in-law, Mr. Joseph Ward, and my brother Henry, lie went in a boat beforehand with these materials and oilier requisites, to set up a tent on the small estate, later on called Stafford Place, for the fit accommodation of the whole family, while the house was in course of construction. The house was buill of peasy, that is. a mixture of clay and gravel, and finished inside and out by a coating of white plaster. A lime kiln was built at Stoke, and elsewhere bricks were made for the chimney. A comfortable two storey house was the result, and Eor a number of years it was Hie best house in the Nelson District, and one which stood without a crack through Hie violent earthquakes of 1848 and 1855. The tenl meanwhile was sixty feet long with sufficient width, and divided into compartments by

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boarded partitions, and covered with canvas: the whole d by ropes to stakes sunk in the ground. In this wc lived comfortably for six months.

llov\ did the family get there? We came up in the bo and walked through the fern and manuka for upwards of a mile to the site chosen for the house. It wa a painful walk—painful for me, I know, as they dragged me tired and ough the scrub. An amusing incident happened, as rds learned. The party came to a small clea and the'e were some native daisies in blossom. Now the wild i N'cw Zealand daisy is very small and insignificant to the held daisies of Europe. My mother seeing it broke out into this rather bitter and reproachful exclamaj lather: " Sec what a beggarly country you is to—it cannot even grow a decent daisy." She peat mistake: for in three or four years she lived to rapes ripening on the thriving vine near her parvindow—a thing not to be seen in the colder land she Erom. I may remark, in passing, thai the Waimea P very hot in Summer compared to their present Icmre al its maximum. The clearing away of the scrub and in of the cold winds, combined with the plantations . iy trees, and the covering of the ground with g ral verdure, have lowered the temperature by se so thai grapes will not now ripen except under glass.

ill, we reached at last the site of the new house. A well ~,. tiear the tent, and. at a depth of 17 feet, excellent clear gravel filtered water was found, and with a windlass, rope and bucket easily procured. On finding the water the we d also a totara tree righl across the well. proving thereby that this plain had once been much lower, whi tees and logs, floated down the river, were afterwards casl by the tide upon the beach. The totara wood was in a state of perfect preservation.

When 1 sometimes visit the Waimea Plains, and consider what they arc now and whal I knew them in my childhood and youth, I am astonished at the change and progress they exhibit. I remember them without a single European tree of any kind, having the New Zealand flora exclusively. 1 remember ■si encalypl planted in Waimea West. It was at Doctor o's place (afterwards Sir David Monro). He was our doctor and lived at about a mile from us. His place was afterwards called Berecroft, and is remarkable for its extensive

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and valuable plantations of tine trees due t.i the docto ,! s taste awd foresight. We used to go occasionally to admire tl c wonderfully rapid growth of that eucalypt. It was still unique in the district when 1 left for Europe in 1854. When I returned in 1874, after twenty years absence, 1 found eucalypts all over the district of Nelson and Waimea. and l hey bad already grown to a respectable size. A general idea had prompted the inhabitants to plant these trees in all their properties.

When 1 was a hoy in this district, there were no larks save the small native so-called lark), no sparrows, no blackbirds, no thrushes, no linnets, no goldfinches, nor finches of any sort. When 1 returned from Europe in 1874, I was alike surprised and delighted to find these birds already more numerous than 1 had known them anywhere in Europe. I sometimes say to myself What does a New Zealand child born in pur day known about the flora of the land of his birth.' lie sees all suits of trees and shrubs in garden and field, and fancies they belong to New Zealand native flora, and were always here, whereas the real native shrubs and trees are entirely outnumbered by flora imported from many remote lands. I pride myself, owing to my early arrival in the Colony, in being' able to pick out the genuine New Zealand trees ami shrubs and distinguish them from the imported article. Again, there were no black swans here in my early days: they bad also been introduced during my absence, were put in one island only, but soon flew across the Straits, and visited every laki . lagoon, and pool of any size in both islands. the deer, that now abound in the Nelson Province, wore turned out. while 1 was in Europe, :\nd it was my brother Henry thai loosed the first imported pairs—stag and hind, buck and doe (that is. red deer and fallow deer) in the bills behind Nelson. They took to the back valleys, and were unmolested for thirty years, when they were found to be in considerable herds, and afterwards deer stalking and shooting became allowed by law.

Regarding the first cultivation oi' the soil, we found that bullocks were the best teams for breaking up the land. Slower, indeed, they were than horses, but safer, nut so liable to break the ploughshares againsl stubborn roots. They required of course two men: one to bold the plough and the other to drive the team; and often it, happened that one driver would bring in a dozen or two of New Zealand larks, killed by his long whip as they closely followed the plough to piek up the grubs. These nice tame birds soon became rare, owing to the

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ravages of cats. 1 have known a cat with kittens to bring ii a day to her young over a dozen larks. A similar fate attended the native white-breasted robin, now nearly extinct on the mainland, also the victim of cats.

About eighty yards from our home, my brother-iri-law, Joseph Ward, built his new habitation of wood, procured from the forest that filled, barring a few clearings, the whole valley up to present Springrovc and Belgrove, which valley tapering off to a aarrow vale, was familiarly called the " Tea Kettle Spout;" and the South West wind, furious at times, blowing from that quarter, is still named by the old settlers the 'Spout' wind.

A year after our arrival, Richard Tomlinson, who had worked for my father over twelve years in England, became lonely, and determined to follow his dear master, and so arrived, well-nigh penniless, with his young family, at Waimea West. His coming tilled my father with mingled surprise and joy. Richard was allowed to build a temporary whare on our land, till he could get land of his own, which he soon did.

He went to live on a section just within the aforesaid forest, where fine totara and pine timber trees were in hundreds. Here lie built Ins first lowly dwelling, afterwards, when he had bettered his condition, replaced by a large house of best heart of totara and replete with every comfort. He got a mate and both began to split posts and rails, and to saw. in an ordinary sawpit, timber of various qualities. These articles were much needed and sold well, and so Tomlinson succeeded remarkably well. At first he was economical to an extraordinary degree, as I illustrate by the following funny story, i ine day I visited the family, and, on the mantelpiece, saw a number of objects about the size of a nut. objects dry and -rev. " What's this." I said to Dick's wife Dolly. "Oh only Dick's quids." " Dick's what.'" said I. " Dick's tobacca quids " —she said—" he chews them firsl and smokes them afterwards." This story which I brought home amused my father very much, and smiling he said: " With thrift like that Dick is bound to get on." And get on he did. Years, many years after, he died, not a miser, hut a happy prosperous grandfather, at the good old age of 85. How 1 used to like him, when he came to dig ditches for my father! He was so nice to children! "Of all the men."—my father used to say—" T have known Dick was the best spadesman. To see Mm ditching was a revelation: he was a spado artist. Not a useless;

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stroke did he give, every sod dropping just into its place with the greatest nicety, and the work true and beautifully linished. Why. he challenged the two hest spadesmen in the neighbourhood, and did more roods of perfect ditching, in a long summer day, than the two men together, and easily won his wager, lie was a short spare man. weighing not ten stone, but all muscles ami sinew as hard and tough as wire.

We were three young brothers, Tom. Charley and I, aged respectively five, seven and nine, and there was no school for us to go to. How were we to be educated? -My brother-in-law. Mr. -Joseph Ward, was a surveyor and a good scholar. For a suitable remuneration hje—when not away on survey business —undertook our schooling, and right well be did it. He taught us reading, writing and arithmetic admirably. I learnt my alphabet from .Mrs. Ward, my sister Martha. 1 was rather long, they said, in mastering my A.8.C., hut afterwards improved very fast and soon became, for a boy, a good reader, and I was also proficient in writing and arithmetic—in short, 1 was a well taught boy. And, what is far more, I knew my prayers and my catechism perfectly.

The site of our house was upon a bank overlooking a stretch of water like a stagnant river or lagoon, bordered on both sides with flax and toi-toi. From a nanow gully, about four miles away, near a wood of fine lofty timber trees, issued a si reamlet that, swollen by the winter rains, senl along a considerable volume of water. It entered a winding hollow and formed some miles of deep still stream, which lasted through the neat of summer, and sometimes broadened out. at flood time, into a swam]) which became a temporary lake teeming with wild duel;. Xow all that lias disappeared, leaving only a dry hollow which gives no idea of the extent of water once there. [ remember that, once in a flood, this water was used to float down a large supply of winter firewood to the homestead. At a later period, my father, to get rid of this water, cut a deeper channel near the swamp, so that the mass Hi' water flowed away, and the whole aspect of the landscape changed. For years before this alterat ion. the stream remained. and in a narrow hut deep pari of it, just opposite the house, my father had a large Maire-tree stretched across the water, and with a rope fastened to a scries of poles, formed a convenient and safe foot-bridge. Before this, my brother TTenry used to pass the stream in a tub (one end of a cask) worked by a pulley and rope. What a source of pleasure that stream was

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for us buys! In it. at the age of eight. 1 taught myself tn swim, and what pleasant swims we all had in it. summer after summer I Moreover, mj brothers built a wooden flat-Bottomed boat, to row and sail upon its placid surface, when needed for dock shooting, it! flood ti.. i especially. Oh the happy hours we spent in that boat! How changed now! Xo water remains stagnant there, but flows on. under the bills, to the right, till its joins a clear, running brook which, be' w lined with flax and manuka, reaches the sea.

What, then, was the landscape like when we lived in that lent .' In the far west were the snowy peaks of "Mount Arthur, sixty miles off, and the range of seaward mountains. Tn the direction of Tasman Bay, you saw a dry dullish plain of tern nut] Max and scrub manuka with an occasional lily-palm. Looking inland, you beheld a range of bills Eringed with trees. circling round what is now called " Redwood Valley," terminating with a series nf wooded gullies. Beyoncl the aforesaid placid stream was an arid stony expanse of ativi - and dull thorn hushes, with occasional strips of flax in the hollows. Xo visible human dwellings, no trei lbs to relieve the monotony. In summer the whitenei is so scorched by the heal that it crackled under Eoot, -armed with myriads and myriads of small grasshoppers, a terror in those who crossed these parched spots, especi adies. In Hie air other but larger grasshoppers, a 5, over an inch long, were flying in all directions pursued ami caught ami swallowed by hundreds of large seagulls, catching them just as swallows catch Hies. Xot a vestige of all tl i- is there today: but the eye delights in viewing homesteads and gardens and orchards and line plantations of varied trees from Rurope, Australia and America. It is a dreary desert changed into a paradise. Cultivation has entirely destroyed tin ppers by destroying I heir eggs.

How at Jirsi did we Eare in thai tenl .' Whal sorl [>f Eood liad we? We were never seriously in want. Flour and groceries we purchased in the newly-opened Nelson shops, and we bought potatoes from the .Maoris, unless we Eound some imported from Tasmania; and in the brook we caught fish dirt. No fresh meat of any kind, except of various 'kinds of birds, shot as wanted by my father and brother. In the wood, about four miles away, pigeons were in thousands; wc thought they would supply the colony Eor ever; and to-day their scarcity requires them to be protected by law. Talking

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of pigeons, it is no exaggeration to say that when the Kaikatea (white pine) berries weri' ripe, a man could sit under a Kaikatea and shoot pigeons all day long, so plentiful were they and so hard to scare. A hundred a day was no extraordinary bag. My mot her availed herself of such abundance, to cook us tiie mosl delicious dinners, and, with the feathers carepreserved, she made for all the family warm feather for winter. God bless the pigeons while they lasted! y, alas ! will never come again.

Wild duck of different kinds filled the rivers and swamps, and sheldrakes (commonly misnamed paradise ducks), were very numerous, now- almosl extinct. -Many also were the pukekos and kakas. The grass teamed with quails, the original quail like the Egyptian species, now extinct, I think, in New Zealand, lull still found and shot in parts of Australia. My brother Henry used to bring in twenty brace in an afternoon. They were pleasant to shoot, and on the (able simply delicious, far superior to the present Californian quail. Every day, or as often as needed, the men used to go and shoot dinner, sometimes ene bird and sometimes another, in charming variety.

By degrees cattle came, followed iu due course by sheep and horses. First came working bullocks already broken in to the yoke. My father bought a team of six for £6O. He also 1 used imported drays and ploughs and harrows etc., and set about cultivating the fifty acres, which were soon surrounded by a ditch and bank topped with manuka branches. Soon we got cows and welcome milk. Then sheep, then horses. Regarding horses, the Maoris afforded at times great amusement. At first they were amazed at the sight of a horse—they did not know what to call it—a big dog or what? They learned the name " horse " from the Europeans, but unable to pronounce the " s," their best attempt was " hohio " which remains to this day the Maori name for horse. It was great fun (not for the unfortunate animals )to see the Maoris handling and riding their new steeds which they eagerly bought. How we used to see them scampering and racing up the valley on the way to Motueka! They would, on arrival, turn out the poor exhausted animals all white with foaming sweat; and, of course, in many instances, they caught a chill and died from neglect.

Tn reference to cows, a funny experience, which might, have been tragical, happened to us one night in the tent. A i eighbour had a white bull, fitly named Snowball. We had

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killed a calf, and part of its blood lay a few yards from the tent. Snowball, in his nightly rambles, came along, and. smelling the blood gave, as bulls will at blood, an awful roar, and our attracted cattle joined Snowball in the frightful concert. The women folk were scared beyond description, fearing that the enraged beasts might assail the tent and rip it to ribbons. The incident ended quietly and well, by my father and brother going out, with ready loaded guns, to drive the bull away. Such little incidents helped to sweeten the sameness of daily life.

For two years and more, having no priest, we could not assist at Holy Mass. My father began to feel keenly for himself and his large family the want of a resident priest, and he had made up his mind that, unless a priest should come from somewhere to visit us at least periodically and regularly, pending the time when we should have the blessing of a resident priest, he would sell out and go to Tasmania where Tie believed priests could be found. His anxiety was relieved by the coming of Rev. Father O'Reilly from Wellington with the Bight Rev. Dr. Pompallier, Vicar Apostolic of Oceania, which included New Zealand. Father O'Reilly was a Franciscan capuchin, who, with leave and approval of his superiors, had come from Dublin, as a chaplain of Lord Petre. Once in New Zealand he determined to remain permanently, and he fruitfully spent his holy and zealous life in Wellington, where lie was the first Catholic Priest to celebrate Mass, and he did so on the beach in the open air. Later he used to celebrate in a shed, then in a very small chapel, the historic precursor of the splendid church, St. Mary of the Angels, lately opened. To him it owes its name, St. Mary of the Angels, in Franciscan memory of the great Baseiliea of that name in Assisi, where Saint Francis died, and where he was born. In this first visit Father O'Reilly, whom we venerated almost as an Angel from Heaven. came up to Waimea West, and an appropriate room in our house became the hallowed place of the Holy Sacrifice. All the family—except those too young—gladly availed themselves of the long desired opportunity to go to their duty, and to all of us it was a day of real joy. Bishop Pompallier did not visit the Waimea, hut remained in Nelson, where be was able to address the numerous Maoris in their own language. So I never saw a Catholic Bishop till T arrived, years after, 1855, in France.

When we had no priest, we took the righl moans to keep our faith lively, and our appreciation of religion keen; Every

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.night we had family prayers in common, preceded by the reading of one of Ch&lloner's Meditations for every day in the year. On Sundays we dressed up just as if we were to attend -Mass. and. in the morning, we had what we called " .Mass Prayers." that is. suitable prayers recited while we directed our intentions to some Mass actually being said somewhere in the world. In the evening, we had evening Sunday prayers — the Psalter of Jesus, or a Litany, etc. as a substitute for Church evening service. Father O'Reilly—Coil bless him!— was most faithful and self-sacrificing to visit us once a year; on one occasion he crossed Cook Strait, and came to us in an open whaleboat. Thus we had Mass and the Sacraments seldom but regularly, and that was no small grace.

At last Bishop Viard, my predecessor in the See of Wellington, sent as for our resident priest the venerable and beloved Father Anthony (iarin, S.M. He resided at Nelson, in a of English timber and removed from its first site, on other Catholic ground, to where the present boys' school - in Manuka Street. From Nelson his administrations radiated all through the whole of Nelson and Marlborough districts. Prior to this, he had been, for seven years, a missionary among the .Maoris, in the vicinity of the Bay of Islands and [iokianga, and had endured every kind of hardship, as heroic missionaries in savage lands usually do. He had acquired their age and spoke it well. In English, when he first came. as not so fluent, but lie soon improved, and his sermons. aided by his sanctity, did much to instruct and edit';, bis thick. lie was indeed a saint, and attracted universal respect, a. sincere veneration. He was one of that heroic band of the first Marist fathers lately founded in France. Hi' the glorious apostle and protomartyr, Blessed Chanel, a: emulated his apostolic virtues. To him, under Cod. Tam indebted for my vocation to the priesthood, and all its mo ous consequences in time and eternity. My Brother Tom had made his first Communion in England.

Finding thai my Brother Charles and I knew our catechism perfectly, and seeing our ago. Charles thirteen, and I eleven, Father Garin called us to make our first Communion without delay, and. to prepare us well, lie took us with some other boysj the Sullivans and Dwyers, to Nelson and boarded us for a week in his own house, where we had a regular spiritual retreat —instructions and prayers every day. We made our First Communion on Christmas day. at the Midnight Mass,

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1851, and 1 was chosen to read the acts of faith, hope and charity, just before Communion. There were some Germans-, the Pranks, in Nelson, good Catholics, and they could sing. So the midnight _\lass was sung by Father Garin and his little choir. We had spent our recreations during the week in decorating, to the best of our knowledge and power, under Father Garin's directions, the little lowly, uuliiied wooden chapel mo larger than a good sized room) with ripe cherries and roses, making such sentences as Gloria in excelsis Deo, and like. The little sanctuary was "bright with flower.-, and. redolent of their fragrance.

From that First Communion sprang my vocation. the first vocation to the priesthood in New Zealand. And it may be that I was chosen by God's inscrutable mercy, because 1 was the most unworthy and sinful of the group. However that may be, I was chosen, and my parents soon approved of my desire to be a priest. But how was I to be educated to that holy and exalted dignity and state? i could begin my studies in Nelson, and rely on Providence to supply'the future means rnpleting them in Europe. So I was put as a boarder to begin Father (iarin's boarding-school so highly appreciated for many years. That school had, in his mind, a two-fold object and valuable results. It helped him to live with the very meagre support derived from his very small congregation of Catholics in the Nelson district, and. as years went on. it did an incalculable amount of good by educating in a proper Catholic manner, a number of Catholic youths, who have kept the faith and spread it through the whole Dominion. The d boarder—not a Catholic, but a very good moral boy—was George Bonnington slightly younger than I, afterwards well-known as a prosperous chemist in Christchurch, where, after his death, the firm still flourishes. His name is familiar throughout Australasia by his largely advertised " Bonnington 's Irish .Moss." his vaunted remedy for colds and coughs. In after years I used, as Bishop of Wellington, to pay him a visit unfailingly, whenever I came to Christchurch, which was then included in the Diocese of Wellington, and then we had some delightful chats about old times. He kindly, as a boy, taughl me to play the violin, at least as a beginner. It happened tins way: The Bonningtons, shoemakers by trade, had just arrived from England, and Charles, the eldest son. was a violin artist taught in London. In passing, Tam happy to add. in his praise that, later on, he married a Catholic, and became one himself. He and his family afterwards went to settle m

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San Francisco, where. 1 am told, they prospered. Charles had taught his little hrother the violin, ami. at least in the first position, to play a number of simple tunes of which he had the music. 1 asked George to teach me, and he instantly promised in would, if 1 got another violin. So I borrowed one from a neighbour, and soon, under his tuition (he had been taughl well) I was able to play as he did.

I had leave to go home to Stafford Place once a month. It was distant fourteen miles. I used to walk the distance at my leisure, and wade the Waimea River. I had no fear of water, being a good swimmer. Arriving on the Saturday evening, 1 was at hand to serve Father Garin's .Mass on Sunday, in our house, which then served as the only available church. On the Monday 1 walked back to Nelson in my own way, as Father Garin did in his, he visiting the people as he thought fit. I came home, one Saturday, with my fiddle in a green bag. " What have you got there in that bag, Prank " —they said. " A fiddle " —said I. " A fiddle, what do you know about a fiddle?"—said they. " I will soon show you " —I replied. -And forthwith I began to play a number of favourite familiar tunes. It was a surprise and a revelation. My father was so pleased that, hearing of the artist, Charles Bonnington, he ordered me to take lessons from him. which I did. Afterwards, in France. I had a good professor trained at the Paris Conservatoire, and I won the first prize at the French College, St. diamond. Loire, and became first violin in the college orchestra.

In ray serious studies for the priesthood. T practised the violin very little and occasionally, and it was only when I became Bishop, and wanted something to fall back upon in loneliness and stress of business, that I took to the violin again, and made it a pleasure and solace, particularly after T was fortunate to get a genuine " Strad." George Bonnington never became a Catholic. He kept up his music and. for years was the leader of the Christehurch orchestra.

I spent, as a student of Latin and French, three years at Father Garin’s, 1852-3 and most of 4. During a part of that time Rev. Father Forest, S.M., came to Nelson to recuperate after a severe illness, and he spent about a month at Stafford Place, in my mother’s devoted care. Father Moreau, S.M., was sent by Bishop Viard as an assistant to Father Garin, and he, in regard to teaching me French (while I helped to improve his English) did more than Father Garin, whose time was

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largely taken up by parish concerns. Bui the one who assisted me most in acquiring French was the saintly and ever-remem-bered Brother, Claude Marie Bertram!, who here deserves special mention ami my expression of deepest gratitude. When the Marisl missionary Fathers lirst came to evangelise Oceania, the supply of mere lay-brothers in the Society of .Mary, at its outset, was insufficient. As far as they were available, these Marisl lay-brothers went as companions and aids and cooks and tradesmen to each missioner. Prior to this, Venerable Father Champagnal S.M. had founded the teaching body of the Little Brothers of Mary (commonly now called Marist Brothers . Some of these were allowed to go as companions ami aids to the departing Marisl Father. H was on their part an act of heroism. Now, Brother Claude .Marie Bertrand wa of these, ami. in his own language, a good scholar, while he also knew Latin. I used to sit beside hint in the long studious silent evenings, and. while he read his spiritual hooks. I studied Latin and French, and. many a time, when 1 knew- not the meaning of a French word or found a puzzle in French gramiustead of losing time with my dictionary. I would ask Brother .Marie the meaning or the solution of the difficulty. Thus I gained much time ami made rapid progress. At the end of the three years. I could read an ordinary French hook without the aid of a dictionary, and 1 knew my French grammar, especially the irregular verbs, perfectly. I never had any trouble with them afterwards in France.

At harvest time I had to go home and do my fair .share of work in the harvest Held. Machine reapers and hinders were yet unknown in New Zealand. The crops were gathered by hand. I was. for a boy, a very expert reaper with a sickle. and did my half-acre a day, or thereabouts, as well as the men.

Harvesting in those early days was quite Homeric in its main features and environment, reminding me afterwards of what I saw described by Homer on the wondrous shield of Achilles, the God-like work of Vulcan. There was the master of the held, staff in hand (Homeric style in the person of my father, in the midst of his men and boys, directing and encouraging the reapers. There was the golden wheat gathered in sheaves and stooks. There were the workers round the festive meal, with abundance of good small beer, my father's special brew for the harvest. There were my mother's dainty cakes and fruit pies, and the soothing tea. Ah! 1 shall never forget that tea refreshment at four o'clock in the scorching summer

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afternoon. Nothing like it to allay thirst and mildly stimulate. Unlike the Homeric chieftain, my father often took his sickle ami did his part as a reaper, and meanwhile regaled the company with a good anecdote or story.

Besides being poetical, farming paid well in those days. I remember distinctly that, one year, my father grew, in a hundred acre field just cleared and fallowed, a crop of wheat splendid to behold. It was taller than a standing man, and was reaped by men who had not to stoop. Afterwards the high standing straw was burnt. It yielded sixty bushels to the acre of the very finest sample of wheat —six thousand bushels in all—which my father sold for ten shillings a bushel, because owing to the Australian gold diggings, wheat was wanted at almost any price. With the money thus gained, my father bought an extensive sheep run in Marlborough at ten shillings an acre, the low price then offered to induce persons to settle upon the land.

I now conic to a great crisis of my life, the decisive turn-ing-point of my career. Tt was determined that I should go to France, study completely, and become a priest, the first fruit of the priesthood from this fair adopted land. But how had divine Providence provided the means? They were shown with unexpected suddenness. And in this wise. A small brig, the " Mountain Maid." 150 tons, suddenly arrived from Wellington. She was not a usual trader at Nelson, but she came, because Providence had foredoomed her coming, though sonic emergency cargo was the natural allurement. Father C'omte. a Marist Missioner, was on board, bound to Sydney and from Sydney to London. Father Garin saw at once the unmistakeable hand of Providence. He came to me and said: " Frank, Providence has acted in your behalf in answer to my long wishes and prayers. One of our Fathers is leaving the Maori missions for good, and is retiring to France, lie is a Frenchman, but knows English fairly well. He will take you to Sydney and thence to France. Tie will watch over you. and improve your French on the voyage. Tie will introduce you to one of our colleges, where you can study and so in time, please <Jod. become a priest. The vessel is to sail away on the third day from now. Make up your mind and seize the opportunity held out to you by <lod's favour and mercy, will you go?"—T went to the little chapel, T prayed as T never before prayed, and I made up my mind to face the great sacrifice of home and parents and friends, and to go into an unknown land, guided. T felt, by the call ami hand of God. A great, an extra-

17

ordinary grace was given mc, and that grace was for life, i came to Father Garin and eaid: "I will go." "<iod be praised!"—lie said. And now there is no time to lose. The brig sails in three days. I will prepare a letter for you fat! er, who will come at once in his gig to Nelson, and we will settle with the Bank about your voyage to Sydney and Prance." lie prepared the letter and I prepared myself to start on foot as usual, but not on the usual day of the week. I started at about 9 a.m., with the letter, and 1 hurried on mure briskly than usual to Stafford Place. I tried on arrival to compose my features and temporarily conceal my errand. My. sister Ann (Mrs. Goulter) happened to be staying with her husband at our house. At once she guessed the errand and exclaimed: " Frank, you are going to leave us. you are going to France. I see it in your face;" and she began to cry—womanlike. " yes " 1 said, with tearless eye and firm voice—Grace helping me— Yes, I am come to wish you all goodbye, and 1 am leaving Nelson by the " Mountain .Maid " for Sydney on the day after to-morrow." Shortly after. I handed to my father the fateful letter. He read it; got his gig ready at once, and. taking my brother Charles with him. started with his fast trotter for Nelson, and there arranged all matters with the Bank. I had to wish goodbye to my mother, and in very distressing circumstances. A few days before, unknown to me. she had met with a had accident while driving home with my brother Charles. They were coming full trot along a good road and, near a hollow, were passing close to a post and rail fence, and one rail being turned into the road, the gig wheel ran up it, and the gig was instantly upset. Charley luckily escaped unhurt, but the gig fell upon my mother's leg and broke it. Charley got the doctor's assistance as soon as possible and the leg was set, but badly set, so that my mother was lame for life. I found her in bed with her broken leg. Yet grace sustained me, and I did not cry even then. I resisted all thoughts of not going, as I would a temptation, by prayer and by turning my mind from them. She was a strong-minded woman, and consented to my departure, with tears', indeed, but resolutely, seeing in it the hand of God. But after some moments of reflection, she looked at the matter with her sound practical sense. and said: " But you have no proper outfit for a voyage to Europe. A few shirts and socks won't do, how shall we manage?" And she thought awhile in silence. At length she said: " I have it; 1 see a way to meet your needs." Now. a young English gentleman, a non-Catholic, named Whitehead, had a

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fine outtit left at our house, while he was a hundred miles away learning sheepfarming at our Wairau sheep-run; for on that purpose he had become our guest. 1 used, for practise in letter-writing, to correspond with him. and we were firm friends. .My mother said: " 1 will take what you want from "Whitehead's outfit, ami replace it by articles of equal quality." And this was done: so that much of my linen was marked Whitehead and some marked Redwood. And when, afterwards I was at college in France, the old French laundress said: " How's this.' Some articles are marked Whitehead and others Redwood." " Oh," I said, " Whitehead and Redwood in English must mean to you the same thing. It's all light." She never asked another question; and Whitehead and Redwood served the same purpose admirably, all through my college course.

On the morrow. I left the dear old home, driven to town by my brother-in-law, Cyrus Goulter, and the most terrible pang, the most fearful wrench I felt was when, as 1 passed the last gate, I looked back at the old place. I shall never forget that wrench. All other wrenches—and L have had many—were nothing in comparison. But the great grace sustained me and gave me victory. 1 met my father returning from Nelson, and 1 bade him good-bye in the road, near Appleby, in a new road just cut and metalled through a swamp. 1 know the place to this day. and I never pass it without emotion. When Charley wished me good-bye he said " Frank, what a happy fellow you are to go and see the wide world." lie had at that moment no supernatural views like mine. I never saw my father again. On his death-bed he learned my appointment to the See of Wellington, but was too weak to utter a word about it. My mother, who died at 85, lived five years after my arrival in Xew Zealand as Bishop, and often saw and heard me; on one occasion. I had her. in company and care of Mrs. Tom Redwood, her daughter-in-law, for my precious guest for several weeks in Wellington.

The morrow. Bth December, 1854, was ;i memorable day for me, and a memorable day in the History of the Church, and the annals of eternity, the day of the solemn proclamation to the rejoicing world, of" the dogma of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mother of God, as an article of Catholic faith. On that day I hade farewell to Father Garift, who gave me the following scaled letter to be opened at sea.

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Nelson. Immaculate Conception, 1854.

A.M.

My deai' Prank

I feel happy to think that you undertake your noble career at the time of the festival of Our Immaculate Mother. Such a circumstance puts me in mind that, fourteen years ago, on the very day of the Immaculate ('(inception, we were sailing off from Gravesend, to cross over the vast ocean and come to New Zealand; ami I remember, we took it as a good prognostic, and were happy to think that our guide was the " Star of the Sea."

[ should feel lonesome, my dear Frank, at your departure from me. but I cannot but rejoice in thinking of your design. Oh! yes. your undertaking—and you will sec it—will lie envied by many a soul! Angels themselves would take it as the greatest favour. How do we not admire the dignity and honour conferred upon those heavenly .Messengers, who, from time to time, were sent to deliver to men the Word of God! And when man is called by (hid to be invested with the same office, ought we not to consider that call as the greatest favour man can in this world receive.' The Almighty, to condescend to our own weakness, has decreed that man should he governed and ruled by man; had men to do with Clod alone, or Angels. they would feel overpowered with the majesty and consider the command impracticable. What would soldiers do if. sent to tight by their King, or his ministers, they were left to their own exertions and sagacity? They would have no heart nor courage. But if an officer at the head of a detachment, after having sounded the charge, opens himself the way at the risk of his own life, see how the soldiers will rush after him. under the fire of an enemy even more powerful! Why? Because it. is in the nature of man to follow his fellow. It was therefore, to condescend to our own nature that God ordained that man should be ruled by man.

Now. when man is called by Hod to be a leader of his fellow, God endows him with powers and grace to enable him to do it in a proper manner, and. because be himself is subject to the weakness of human nature, lie must endeavour to make a proper use of those powers and graces. That be will do by a great humility and the spirit of prayer and meditation.

Yes. my dear, 1 feel happy a 1 your calling, niul T trust that you will answer the call by a great submission and docility to the directions of your Ananias. 1 cannot let you go

without giving you some advice, because I, also, have been appointed by divine Providence to be. although unworthy, a guide for you in your tender years; and 1 must give you this, testimony, that 1 found you docile in following my advice; so you must continue to do with the man to wdiom God will send you. as Paul to Ananias.

Your voyage to Prance will be like a usual voyage at sea. As you will feel sick Eor the first few days, so also you will likely feel a Little sick on the first day of arrival at the place of your studies; such a sickness is not in the body but e mind, a sort of loneliness, that students always feel on the iirst days of their entry at the college, and it is caused by the separation from relations and friends; but that will asl long and you will bear it easily, because you know it will likely be the case: as at sea you will have fine days and bad days, so you must expect to have at the college such feelings at times; by times you will feel quite happy in your mind and some other times dull; because you go into a different try and among people of different tongue and habits, you never take in had part what children or youth cannot conceal; their nature is to laugh at everything, hut when you see that it is not with bad intentions, nor with a spirit of mockery, you must not mind it at all. the best you have to do is to laugh with them. 1 never took in had part such little trifles, u could remark it several times even among yourselves. Such differences will make you appreciate more and more the beauty of a religion which unites in one faith and one heart nations which differ in so many other ways, habits and manners.

At sea. sometimes a storm arises when not expected and seems to carry the vessel against the rocks, so if, when you do not think of it. a storm arises in the mind, if a violent temptation arises either against morals or against faith, imitate that prudent anil wise captain who, in the storm, keeps quiet, looking at the compass, firm at the rudder; he quiet, look up to heaven, be firm and stick to the principles of the Church, our rudder.

It' yiiii have to travel by yourself alone, there is no occasion to say what you are going to do. unless yon would think it necessary. It is enough to satisTy thp curiosity of persons. wbi may ask you questions, to say that your business calls you to Prance.

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In any circumstances keep up to your prayers and ual reading. But when you will be for sometime out of Hie troubles of shifting from one place to another, as when on board of the vessel, rule your time so as not to spend it disorderly t?o you might dispose it in this way, or approximately. For your getting up in the morning, sec what hour may be the most proper, so as not to give too much to sleep or too little; when you have fixed your hour to get up, keep it regular; this is most important, for if you do not keep it, all your other exercises of the day will likely suffer.

When you are up and have washed yourself, say your prayers, then give a quarter of an hour, or at least ten minutes to meditation. If you get up early, as I think is most wholesome, and before there is any noise upon the deck, it is a most precious time for meditation, as the sight of the ocean brings more to the mind the idea of the greatness, majesty and power of God, as well as the meanness and weakness of man.

After your prayer and meditation, you may read sorn instructive book; after breakfast take some recreation for on or two hours; then you might either write exercises or trans lations of English into French; after the lunch take also som recreation for two or three hours, then read or write some thing. At night read a spiritual book for a quarter of ai hour, say your Rosary and night prayer, and go to bed carl; at eight, never after nine o'clock.

But you will be better able to regulate your time according to circumstances as they may occur, than I can tell you. The principal is to keep to it when once regulated.

If you are by yourself alone, you may ask the Captain if. upon Fridays, he. could get you fish or something else instead of meat, but, if there is any difficulty, you may eat flesh meat, and say some prayer, as a penitential work, for instance, the " Miserere,"

If you are in company of Protestants, avoid arguing' with them, avoid controversy; yon may. by a general answer, out short with them, for instance: that it is safer to believe what was believed for 15 Centuries by the Church founded by Christ Himself and governed by thousands of bishops who according to the Gospel were appointed by the Holy Ghost to rule the Church, than to believe the opinions of a few individuals who came without any authority.

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It' you are in company of Frenchmen, remember that mg the French there are many good Catholics, but that arc also many infidels, whose company is most dangerous.

[f you are on board of a vessel, do not accept wine of 3, unless through need, and do not offer them the same; are some inexperienced persons who lose a great deal of money, and, more than money, their souls.

Farewell, my dear, pray for me, trust in God

Anthony Garin Ap. Miss

1 put this beautiful, timely, affectionate and wise letter into my coat pocket, and leaving the presbytery, went to bid good-bye to the relations and friends who happened to be in Nelson, among them my sister Betsy, (.Mrs. Bolton), whose husband accompanied me with several friends to the Nelson harbour, about 3 p.m.

Captain Cross, the pilot, a splendid specimen of a British captain, had previously taken out the " Mountain Maid." with Father Comte on board, at high tide; and she was riding hove to beyond the Boulder Bank. The captain of the brig, by name Peacock, had waited on shore with the crew of the pilot's whaleboat, in order to go on board at the last moment, and then, after wishing the pilot good-bye. to let him return ashore in his own boat. I went with the captain. As 1 lie tide was full, osscd the Boulder Bank by a narrow boat passage (now widened and deepened into the present ship-passage of the Nelson Harbour). There was a north-west breeze blowing, and the boat, once in the bay. rocked very uncomfortably for me. who had not been at sea since I arrived as a child in New Zealand. An internal revolution of my vitals was the consequence; I felt faint and ill. After rowing a mile or so, we reached the brig and I in my turn climbed the rope ladder. Her motion was worse for me than the boat's. The steward welcomed me. and. seeing me pale, said: " Would you like a glass of sherry, sir? T did not know- whether sherry was good for seasickness or not, and, boylike, replied: " Thank you." The sherry came, I put it to my lips, and instantly away went sherry and everything else into the sea. I was sea-sick down right. I shook hands with the pilot : and. twenty years after, in 1874, when as Bishop 1 made my first visit to Nelson. Captain Cross, still pilot, was proud to tell everybody that he was the last man in Nelson to shake hands witli me as a schoolboy, and the first to shake hands with me as a Bishop. He fired a

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cannon from the flagstaff in my honour, and got blamed for it; but he said he would do the like again if any man from Nelson returned to honour Nelson as Frank lledwood had done. Sea-sickness, loneliness, grief, and the reaetion after my trying efforts to bravely depart, brought on some agonising moments; but 1 bore them as a penance, and as a necessary trial, and was soon in inward peace again. Fit after fit of sea-sick-ness was endured, and, on the third day, far out on the ocean, 1 was retching in vain, and nothing would come up, when a kind old sailor passed by and said to me. " Sir, my lad. you have got enough up, you must now keep something down." " I would if I could " said I,—" what am 1 to do?" " Look here, sir " he said. "Go and ask the steward for a nobbier (dram) of brandy; soak in it a piece of sea-biscuit; swallow the biscuit; that I think will stick." I did as he directed, and. 1 felt my stomach instantly settled, and myself quite cured of sea-sickness, from that day till my arrival in London. Having now got my sea-legs, I enjoyed the trip. We reached Sydney, eleven hundred miles, in eleven days, a very good passage. We had some head winds, but generally they were fair. One night we met a severe thunderstorm, and the sudden passage, again and again, from the sight of the raging sea. under the lightning flashes, to Hie instant pitchy darkness was for me awful and appalling.

We entered Sydney Harbour in a beautiful clear, summer, starry night, and reached the anchorage at 11 p.m. At the Heads the porpoises were playing merrily round the vessel—a novel sight for me. As the captain wanted all hands to get the brig ready for anchorage, he told me to hold the wheel for a while till he would come and change the course. Tt was an honour and a trust for a boy of fifteen. Sydney Cove (now called Circular Quay) was where we anchored at fifty yards from the land. It had no jetty or quay, no wharf. We stepped from the boat on to the bare rugged rocks.

We landed at 9 a.m. on the 20th December. 1854. Sydney was not much of a city then, not comparable to Wellington ol to-day. I walked one day up George Street, which had n< really fine buildings, right out to the Brick Fields (now An thony Hordern's great store), and beyond into sandhills. Tin south-west wind comes from that quarter, bringing alternate thick dust or heavy rain, and hence is called the " Brick fielder." The present Hyde Park had then its name, but wai only a large enclosure of gum trees, with grass at that seasoi

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parched by the drought till it crackled under foot. Woolloomooloo was a houseless forest. North Shore was covered with trees and scrub. The Botanic Gardens, already beautiful by their site and contents, extended to the harbour, ending in rocks—no enclosing wall nor reclaimed land in those days. It had. even then, some noble and conspicuous Norfolk Pines, high already, but now very lofty and over a century old, with promise of many a year more. Sydney had no wharves of any consequence, only jetties, where lighters from the ships out in the harbour discharged their cargoes. No steamers then in Sydney, save a small paddle-steamer plying betwecen Sydney and Parramatta. to which place a railway was in course of construction. In that steamer with some Marist Fathers, who kindly met us at the landing place, Father Comte and I went to old Villa Maria, now replaced by the present Villa Maria at a mile's distance. From where the steamer landed us to old Villa Maria was about a mile. The site of old Villa Maria has now silted up, and the small inlet of the sea near which it stood has disappeared, in fact, the place is unrecognisable. The present Villa Maria occupies, I think, the spot where the French Consul's house was situated. 1 remember that, one day, passing by that place with my gun, I shot a flying Australian pidgeon, so different from our New Zealand specimen in size and plumage.

During my month's stay with the Marist Fathers, they gave me the use of a good double-barrelled shot-gtm, with no stint of powder, caps and shot, and told me to enjoy myself in the surrounding wild woods to my heart's content. Good shot as T was (all the Redwoods are), and fond of the gun. what could a boy want more? Provided I was in for meals and bedtime, I had-the day to myself, and 1 roamed through that virgin forest, admiring as I went along the successive huge anthills, and shooting every bird I could find, which birds a neighbour naturalist was glad to stuff, when they were not too mangled by shot. On Saturdays, a Mr. Ellis fa young gentleman of twenty) used to come from Sydney, bringing his rifle, and then we had target practice on a selected tree. That same Mr. Ellis, as regularly as clockwork; continued, for over thirty years, to so spend his Saturdays and Sundays With the Marist Fathers, thus acquiring a perfect practical knowledge of the French language, and keeping out of city dangers, lie lived and died an excellent Catholic, and he never married. He was a successful and opulent lawyer. I shall never forget the too short hours I spent in his genial company.

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1 spent Christinas Day in Sydney. The finest building in Sydney was St. .Mary's new Catholic Cathedral, since burnt down and replaced by the present splendid fane now in course of completion. Little at that time did 1 think that I should be privileged to preach the opening sermon, in 1882, at the Triduum celebrated by Archbishop Vaughan. Old St. Mary's was a gotliic church of stone, with some features of beauty, and its lofty polished cedar pillars-were a novelty, and gave much dignity to the interior, which also had many stone statues, the work of a Benedictine, John, father or brother, I don't remem ber which. As I had been introduced to the Sydney clergy in the quality of an aspirant to the priesthood. I met with a hearty welcome at their hands. Archbishop Folding was away in Europe, so I never saw him. 1 was provided with a bedroom in the presbytery, and, on Christmas Day, dined with the clergy, to the number of about a dozen. There was a capital peal of bells in old St. Mary's towers, and they rang out " Adeste Fideles " shortly before midnight. There was also an organ, at the midnight Mass, and, as I had never heard an organ before, I found it delightful, a sort of musical thunder, when at full power.

After a very pleasant month, despite some very hot days when the thermometer registered 112 degrees in the shade, spent with the Fathers at old Villa Maria, Father Comte and I went to fix up our cabins in the " Lady Ami," the ship we selected to take us to London. She was a new wooden ship. 900 tons, declared Al at Lloyd's for 13 years, which meant a ship guaranteed perfectly seaworthy for that period of years.

I took a first class passage to London for £7O. We were eleven passengers all first class (no ladies, as it happened) ; nine of the party being young gentlemen returning to Europe after making their fortune at the gold diggings of Ballarat and Bendigo. They were a very steady lot. As regards drink we were, on the strength of our passage ticket, treated most liberally, and no one ever abused that liberality by imbibing to excess. There was brandy, gin, rum, beer, port and sherry and (in the tropics) claret wine—all gratuitous at discretion; and, on festivals, or when something unusually lucky had happened in the course of the day, the captain (by name Dixon), like a father at the head of his family table, stood first rate champagne all round.

In those days it was customary, before embarking, for intended passengers to go beforehand on board the ship and get

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their single cabins lifted up. at their pleasure, by the ship carpenter; and. if afterwards on the voyage the arrangement was not found satisfactory, the carpenter was always at hand to make required changes and improvements. So Father Comic and 1 fixed up our cabins in thai way. and also the cabin of bather Fonbonne S.M., an invalid Marist Missionary returning to France, where I. in after years, met him as chaplain to a community of nuns at Sainte Foy-les-Lyon 'Rhone') France, lie kept to his cabin and bed for the lirst month of the voyage, lie could not speak English, but I practised speaking French with him. He was very kind and gentle, and. in the beginning, suffered considerably.

As I. being absolutely free from sea-sickness and strong in body for a boy. wanted to climb the rigging, and go aloft wherever ropes and ladders go, and have experienee in that line, i spoke to the captain and asked him leave to do so. The captain was a kind man of advanced years, a married man with his family in Europe, and a perfect seaman, having risen a boy from the mast to bis presenl position, lie said: " You may go aloft in due time at your own peril, if you like; but iiukl lirst pay your footing, else the crew will play tricks on you as an intruder, and. perhaps, tie you up aloft." "What s paying your footing?" I asked. " Why. giving' all the | ie replied—a treat in rum. by a liberal increase of their daily allowance. I will tell you how and when." The crew comprised 36 men. " How many bottles—l asked—will be required?" " About It!, not at once, but on two lit occasions, bottles each time, just enough to cheer them. We shall soon be in rough weather, and I will tell you when your treat will he best relished." I had plenty of money from my father. So I went to the steward and gol 16 bottles of rum. excellent rum and cheap, for it paid no duty, not leaving the skip. All came about as the captain Eoretold; the men got their treat, and I earned their goodwill and friendship. They taught me bow to climb about without undue danger, and in a seamanlike manner. What happy hours and hours I subsequently spent in that rigging! How delightful in the tropics, with my fool round a buldcr-cord. and a book' in my band, to sit behind a sail cool in the breeze ami shade! One day. in answer to the captain's request prompting me to find out how many ships 1 could from aloft sec becalmed like ourselves near the Equator, I counted 19, s ■of them with the tops of their masts peeping over the line of the horizon. 1 spent the days of the voyage (103 to Gtravesend) very pleasantly, varied with

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prayer, meditation, study and a liberal amount of recreation, according to the regulation suggested in Father Garin's letter. The captain liked to play draughts with me; and thereby hangs a tale. An old soldier at Father Garin's in Xelson, a first rate draughtsplayer, had taught me the game, and taught me well, lie put me up to such secrets and combinations as few persons ever know. 1 was therefore immeasurably superior to the captain, a mere ordinary player. One day I beat him six games in succession and, in a fit of vexation, he pitched the board into the sea as being unlucky. On reflection, however, a fresh board was soon, on the captain's order, made by the carpenter, and we played again. 1 had seen my mistake, and resolved to make it no more. 1 could win every game if I thought fit; but I took good care never again to beat the captain more than one game at a time, and often not even that. And so we were the best of friends, lie thought his wins genuine, and I quietly chuckled at his harmless deception and pleasurable wins.

As we had all passed the Equator, at h-ast once before, we had not the usual ceremonies anil sports gol up in honour or Neptune, regarding those persons who cross the Line for the first time, and who have to pay tribute to the majesty of the old surly sea-god.

Some events on the trip deserve mention and description. On the 23rd January, the sixth day after leaving Sydney i 17th. January), we were suddenly caught in a terrific squall, about the latitude of New Zealand. It happened as follows: A strong fair wind was on our quarter, and every stitch of canvas was drawing; we were running 13 knots an hour, as the log told us. just as we went to dinner at (i p.m.. We were joyous and elated, and the captain in his very best humour. At dinner, he stood champagne for the tirst time on the voyage, and we were all as merry as a lark. The first mate had charge of the ship during the dinner. Now. he was a reckless kind of fellow, and loved to carry on and force the ship along. heedless of danger, wind or weather, lie overlooked the coming squall. After dinner, just as we got on the poop, the squall struck- us with the suddenness of a ball from a cannon, amid thunder, lightning and rain. The captain shouted to the men to cut away the sheets holding the sails, and thus ease the strain —too late! There was only one man at the wheel. In the terrific rush through the water, he was unable to control the rudder, and the ship turned broadside to the wind, and over she heeled on her beam-ends. We were tossed as from a

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catapoult against the lower bulwark. Again she heeled deeper still, and down came the main topmast broken in the middle, and it and the topsail with other rigging crashed into the sea, while all the studding-sail booms were snapped asunder, and every sail ripped to ribbons. Had the ship not been so well laden and dee]), she would have turned turtle and been lost. All this happened much quicker than 1 can tell it.

Our elation was changed into sorrow and anxiety. What a wreck we looked! Bui the squall was over, and only a good fair breeze remained. .Means were immediately taken to lift the topmast and other wreckage upon the deck. Fresh sails were got out and set. and before midnight we were running ten knots an hour under all available canvas. Next day a spatwas unloosed from the deck, and the carpenter began to shape it into a topmast. All things were repaired by degrees and soon; the new topmast was set up at sea. with what skill 1 ueed not say. and. in ten days, the ship was all right as though coming out of port. We rounded Cape Horn, despite the delay of the accident, in twenty-nine days, a last passage.

As i 1 was summer, the captain, to obtain strong winds, south of Cape Horn, down to the 57th degree of south latitude, and alas, found the ship unexpectedly surrounded by huge icebergs, which had floated tip north two degrees. since his last passage. Some of these bergs were three hundred, feet high and a couple of miles long, with their blue sides and their roof of snow. The danger was very great at night. Sailing due north we took four days to leave these icebergs safely behind. Though it was February and still summer, the cold he. -aim.' intense, and we had no fire except in the galley: and, one night, after rain, the sails were frozen stiff as buckram. The only means to keep us warm was exercise in the day and a hot drink before going to bed. One day we had to go ten miles out of our course to windward of one huge berg and its debris. Providentially we sighted none during the night, despite the very sharp lookout—men searching the sea with glasses to distinguish the regular ocean waves from waves breaking over ice. We thanked—al least 1 did—the " Star of the Sea " for our preservation.

As a venturesome boy I longed to see a real tempest. Well, we gol one about two hundred miles to the west of the Cape of Good Hope, and, for three days and nights, laboured! in a sea with mountainous waves appalling to behold and feci. The decks were washed again and again with water three feet

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■deep, and more at times. One huge wave, early in the gale, was shipped into the foresail and ripped it to shreds. The ship behaved well, and. under close reefed lopsails. gallantly rode the gale. N'o Eood could be cooked, the galley being deluged with water.

We lived for three days on biscuits, cheese, and cold diet, passed round to us individually, for we could not sit at table, so fearfully was the ship tossed. To go from the cabin to the poop was an adventure full of peril. Mosl of us were soused in the attempt. J was washed off my feet, and swam from side to side till I was able to clutch something, and come out unhurt. I was lucky not to be dashed against a bard thing and hurl, perhaps killed. The ship came out of the gale with comparatively little damage; but 1 was cured for ever of my lousing for a storm at sea.

On Easter Sunday, Bth April (my birthday), I was sixteen years of age. We had a delightful time in the J'air south-east Trade winds, running about 12 knots an hour, for a fortnighl with hardly the change of a sail, and all our canvas spread. But when we neared England we met with strong north-easl liead winds, and -what we gained by tacking we lost by leeway. For over ten days, we kept tacking here and there. heCork and Bordeaux, unable to enter the English Channel. At last we reached Land's End, and the pleasant smell of the land Mas very perceptible. We had been 93 days without sighting land. While lying almost becalmed, about ten miles from land, we sighted the " Vaimira," a ship which left Sydney eight days before us. and about which our captain had bet her captain a dozen of champagne that he would arrive at ■Gravesend before her. It was a race up the English Channel, in light or head winds, for eight days—what is now done by steamers in a few hours. We anchored at Gravesend, after a passage of 103 days, on Ist May, and we were towed next day to St. Katharine's dock. London. We found that we had beaten the " Viamira " by ten hours; so our captain won his wager, -and I trust he enjoyed his champagne.

On our way up the Thames we passed close to one of those vessels, or rather batteries, which were being built for Cronstadt. during the Crimean War. We also saw the huge hull of the "' Great Eastern," 1(1.0(10 tons, then in course of construction. A few day afterwards one of the batteries caught fire and was burned to ashes.

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We stayed Eor ahoul a week with the .Marist Fathers, at St. Ann's. Spitalfields. during which time we went to the Crystal Palace. Westminster Abbey, St. Paul's, the National Gallery, the Thames Tunnel, the Tower. We desired much to \ isit the British .Museum, but it was not open. The places that d me most were the Crystal Palace. Westminster Abbey and llie Tower. The .Marists were erecting a tine gothic church pitalfields, and its walls were about four feet high. In cli 1 was consecrated Bishop by Archbishop "Manning in 1874.

i i our arrival in Paris we went to the house of the Marist Father-. No. 31 -Mont Parnasse, and were there received with every mark of kindness. During our stay there, about a week, our time was not idly employed. We saw the Garden of Plants and tin Palais du Louvre. At the latter place wc saw a great numbei of pictures, many of them masterpieces of the greatest When I saw- the National Gallery London), I gnificent, but it is not comparable to the gallery It is not one-tenth of the size nor are. to my mind, the pictures so good. 1 saw many artists taking copies of the picture-. One of them partic >k my attention 1] as Father Comte's. Ee - ting a picture of the Blessed Virgin with the infant Jesus. The picture en feet lo six broad. I* was so exactly from the original that it w Id me he had been working at if six months.

We wenl to Versailles and saw all the Palace and Park. I think there is hardly anything in Paris more beautiful, if so beautiful, as this Palace and Park. The Park is particularly celebrated Eor its fountains, but when we were there they were not playing. I am told it is one of the finest sights in Europe to see them in full play. Some threw the water 60 feel high. We visited most of the principal churches in Paris, and among them the church of the [nvalides, where we saw Napoleon's tomb. We saw the Pat-is Exhibition (1855), bul not one twentieth p hibits were in view. The Exhibition would not be quite complete before two months. I was particularly pleased with the silks of Lyons. To describe all thai we saw in Paris would take a volume. There are, 1 believe, few of the principal monuments and curiosities we did not see. In my opinion, London is not so nice a city as Paris, Certainly I did not see so much of London as of Paris, but I saw enough. Paris is made for pleasure and London Eor business. I saw the Emperor three times and the Empress twice. The first

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time I saw the Emperor lie was riding in an open carriage drawn by two bay horses; the Empress was not with him. The second time he was with the Empress, going from the Tuileries to open the Exhibition, in a carriage drawn by eight horses. There was a great concourse of people, and a great iriany troops drawn up in two lines, between which the Emperor and Empress passed, and the air rang with shouts of Vive 1' Empereur. It was a magnificent sight, I was within ten yards of the carriage, so that 1 had a very good view of their majesties, who bowed as they passed, while the troops presented arms, and the people, taking off their hats, shouted Vive l'Empereur. On another day Napoleon was shot at by an Italian, who was executed on the 17th May, the day before we left for Lyons. Returning from the exhibition. I saw for the second time the Empress. The Emperor was riding a beautiful bay horse, and the Empress was in an open carriagi. I was about six yards oft both. The Emperor is a fine energetic man, and the Empress is very pretty. (Note: All these appreciations about London and Paris are taken verbatim from my letter, of which I have a copy, dated 19th May at Lyons. 1855. They give a fair specimen of my style and thought when I was just Ki years of age.)

On the 18th of .May. we took the train for Ly we arrived at 7 p.m. I became the guest of the Marist Fathers, and had the great privilege of meeting the Venerable Foi, of the Society of Mary. Father Colin, whose cause for Beatification is already Ear advanced. A lew days afterwards, when I had visited the principal sights of Lyons. I was examined by Father Morcel in Latin. The book chosen was Cornelius Nepos. 1 construed some sentences to his satisfaction, and he declared me fit to enter the fifth class and read Ca Shortly after he conducted me by train to St. Chamond (Loire about 30 miles from Lyons, to become a student in St. Mary's College, conducted by the Marist Fathers. As I arrived at the end of May and the College vacation was to begin early in July, it was not thought fit to put me into any regular class lill the following year. .Meanwhile I spent my tim-e very profitably, improving my French by talking to the boys in their recreations and walks. I spent the vacation at Belfey (Ain,) in the scholasticate of the Marisl Fathers, and we made some delightful excursions in the beautiful hills sloping up to the Alps. The mountain scenery delighted me immensely.

In September, 1850, I entered the fifth class at St. Cha mdnd. I held my own verv well in all except Greek, of which

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1 did not know the alphabet, while the other hoys had studied Creek for a year and a hall'. The problem—a hard one for me was how to reach their level in Greek, as soon as possible. I had already learned how to go about the study of a language, owing to my experience in Latin and French. My fear was that my low place in the Creek compositions would badly lower my standing for general proficiency—called by us " excellence " —and in my notes sent to my parents and Father Garin, 1 wanted my place in excellence to be good. Hence I was in agony at the very thought of the first Creek competition coming off in about two months. These were test competitions and counted much in regulating a boy's position in excellence. How 1 did study, in odd moments, in preparation for the dreaded ordeal! 1 learned the Creek declensions and conjugations thoroughly: and the daily exercises in Greek with the other boys hail trained me somewhat to construe Creek sentences. The competition came—it was a Creek version. 1 thought, of course, that 1 should be the very last in the class when the results were told. To my utter amazement, and that of the other boys. I was not further down than the middle of the class: and this was the case in the subsequent test competitions throughout the year —and, two years afterwards. I won the first yearly prize for Creek.

At the end of my course I 1860) I. with Camille Rousellon, my rival, touts almost all the first and second prizes, and. what was thought wonderful, though quite explainable, 1 won the first prize in Rhetoric for French discourses, as I had. the year before, won the first prize in French narratives. The explanis easy. It was not that L wrote French better than the French boys, hut 1 wrote it well, as well, perhaps, as they, after a training of several years and the study of the best French authors: hut this was my advantage: 1 was somewhat older than they, had seen more of the world, had read some of my Shakespeare and other English authors: so when we were left to our own endeavours, only the subjects and occasion of the speech or narrative being given, T had more thought' than any competitors, and more general acquired knowledge. The substance and thought in my compositions told their tab: and made me winner. 1 have known the like victory of other English students over French in similar circumstances. Thought is what counts in a written speech more than diction.

In the Autumn of 1860, T entered the scholasticate of the Marist Fathers, near Toulon and Hieres. at Montbel, a beauti-

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ful property well tilled and planted, besides being admirably irrigated by a large barrage, where, as a rule, the summer knew no rain for three months or more. Here, to my delight, 1 unexpectedly found several of my college mates, and our agreeable surprise was mutual. We had kept to ourselves, as advised, our desire to become priests, St. diamond being a College that trained in classics for all careers. Here also, 1 found John Ireland (later Archbishop of St. Paul. Minnesota) and Thomas O'Gorman (later Bishop of Sioux Palls). J subsequently formed a friendship with John Ireland, ami, to a certain extent, with Thomas O'Gorman, that lasted our lifetime, growing warmer as linn went on. John Ireland was in theology when O'Gorman and 1 were in philosophy. This was so in the beginning: afterwards we all three read tog the same treatise. Ireland and O'Gorman were never int. to be Marists, whereas I aspired to join that society, of which lam proud to be a member—and the first Archbishop of the same Society.

How came these two seculars to be my fellow-students m a Marist Scholastieate? Here is the explanation. Bishop Cretin, the first Bishop of St. Paul, Minnesota, was a great of the saintly founder of the Society of Alary. Father Colin. John Ireland, and Thomas O'Gorman were boys of slightly different ages from Ireland, and both, in Bishop ' in's mind, were promising candidates for the priesthood. Accordingly, he sent them for their classical course to Meximieux (Ain) Prance. The little Seminary there, which once had Father Colin for its superior, was noted for its good studies; and there, indeed, the two boys got an excellent classical training up to philosophy. Bishop ( rctin. who wanted them looked after more especially than was possible in the Great Seminary of Lyons, appealed to his friend for a great and exceptional favour, namely, that the two boys should follow the Marist course of philosophy and theology, observe the common rule, but should be exempt from the special Marist religious training. For once —to oblige his friend—Father Colin granted the favour, never to be repeated: and thus 1 came to know them. At the end of their Theological course they both were ordained in America, and there finished their glorious careers.

On the advice of my spiritual director, I interrupted my studies in order to settle my vocation and make my year's novitiate at St. Foy near Lyons. And one day. only one day. after its termination, the Provincial of Paris, Father Martin

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S.M., came to claim me, to replace in Dundalk, Ireland, a professor of Latin and Greek, Mr. Reid, who had fallen ill, and a substitute was urgently needed. I was in due time to make my vows and finish my ecclesiastical studies in Ireland, which I afterwards did. We started. Father Martin and T. by the express train for Paris, the next morning, and. by the t'astest possibh trains and steamers, reached Dundalk in May, 1863, There and then 1 took the place vacated by Mr. Reid.

And now. as my career in Ireland and elsewhere from thai day to tiiis. is well-known ami chronicled, I end these Remin. iscences. 1 have written them, at the desire of some friends v. ishing to know my childhood, youth, and early experiences and also some authenic details about my extraordinary vocation, the first of the kind in New Zealand.

One great lesson arises out of them—the immense importance of a prompt and decisive response to God's call, the i nt i 1 is surely heard, for the happy direction of a lifelong career. How wonderful, indeed, have been the ways of i oh! in my behalf! What favours ami graces and dignities 1 have received at His hands! No thanksgiving here below is at all adequate. I must wail for eternity, now not far off. to ring, I hope, the mercies of ibid for evermore. " Misericordias Domini in aeterum eantabo."

Wellington, June "23rd. 1922.

C. M. Banks. Ltd., printers, Wellington.

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