A SUMMER HOLIDAY

Evening Star, Issue 12396, 9 January 1905, Page 7

A SUMMER HOLIDAY

ONE WAY TO SPEND IT. [By, Paterfamilias.] John Gilpin's spow» «ud to her dear: "Though wedded we have been These twice ten tedions years, yet we No holiday have sew." Once a year Paterfamilias (a full-sound-tag word, that confers a dignity upon its wearer he may not otherwise possess)! has to enter into serious consultation with the partner of his joys and salary as to where to take the family and themselves for a change. He wants it, tho wife of his bosom wants it, and their "young barbarians" want it. Let me take a typical family. The "dad," not coming within the scope of legislative, dry nursing, and preferring the shackles of individual effort to the freer air of a copyrighted liberty, works from twelve to fourteen hours a day all the year round; tho mother, having a few old-fashioned, early-imbibed ideas as to keeping out of debt, and making her home and children a pleasure to live in and see, works unceasingly, quietly, and lovingly save for a few hours on Sunday, about sisteen hours a day; and tho youngsters, who may be qualifying for a profession—tho said profession at the end of five years' consistent work entitling them to apply for a position worth £BO a year, which is double what Goldsmith's parson was "passing rich on"—have to burn the midnicrht oil to an extent that should place Mr J. D. Rockefeller, of the Standard Oil Company, under an eternal obligation. Here, then, we have our family, and to them is presented the problem that in time past was put before a certain " citizen of credit and renown" by his "loving wife." It is admitted that they must have a holiday, the main questions being: Where to go? and How to spend it? Shall it be near the railway, so that " hubby " may bo able to run down from Saturday to. Monday? Shall it be to a crowded little townshrp, where the dress and affectations, the humbug and afternoon calls of town are perpetuated and intensified? Where

The cirole formed, we sit in silent state Like figures drawn upon a dial plate; " Yes, ma'am" and " No, ma'am," nttered softly, show Every five minutes how the- minutes go. Or shall it be a return to primitive life, a freedom from restraints and artificialities, a lodge in some vast wilderness near the ocean's roar, where postman and telephones are unknown, where shops are as rtiro as butcher's meaty and your nearest neighbor ie half a. mile away, and not a dozen, all told, in a dozen miles? Well, if Paterfamilias is wise, and in his dwn opinion he is generally the wisest man in Christendom, he will choose solitude and old clothes. What he wants, what she wants, what they all want is rest; a place to loaf in ; a place where, if you like, you can sit on the rocks all day m deshabille and throw 6 tones aimleßaly in the sea; or where, if you like, you may lie on your back on the sand without fear of intrusion, or, if you like—this " if you like " being at all times the supreme test of unquestioned loafing, the lotos-eater's indispensable condition:—where you may read, smoke, shoot, bathe, eat, sleep, and walk at irregular hours in irregular ways ; where, though an early riser, you may stay in bed as long as you want, and where, though rarely in bed when in town before midnight, you commence yawning at nine and disappear at five minutes past, to say nothing of "dozings off" at short intervals during the day? That is the place Paterfamilias wants, that is the place he should look for, and that is the place he can find.

And here he is, not like Dr Syntax on bis solitary nag on big solitary road in search of tho picturesque, but like a gipsy caravan bearing his household god?—i.e. frying and saucepans—and family with him. In a couple of hours civilisation is left behind—that is, what wo term, civilisation —and Nature begins to take a band. But it is Nature refined by man. The sweeping hillsides have been cultivated; the bnght green of the late grain contrasts vividly with the darker foliage of the bush and scrub. The white patches of manuka flower are intermingled with the graceful, rustling cabbage tree—this year everywhere in bloom. Clean white, or brown, cottages nestle among the fir and gum trees; broad stretches of newly-turned earth are sandwiched in between fields of flax and seeding grass, whilst herds of lazily-munching, contented-looking cattle blink indifferently at you from fenco and creek. And on our left long reaches and curving bays, on whose rocks and sands the wares are for ever and ever tossing " One long surge that foams through yonder

cave, Whoso vaults remurmttr to the roaring wave." We catch tho smack and flick of the brine in our eyes and on our palate; we take deeper breaths, and are tempted to smile at everything we see, while a. boy with bare feet on a sadldleless horse is a thing of welcome, and his passing shout is greeted by an answering! chorus of " Hullo, there!" Rabbits scurry acrosg the roadway, and we instinctively discuss in animated rivalry the superiority of rabbit pie to rabbit stew; big blow-flies buzz and bang at us, causing many tongues 4!o shrill forth "Ugh! get out-, you nasty things." The man with the hoe, indifferent to tho 'Act that bis desolation has been proclaimed in touching verse by an American stoops carelessly over his row of potatoes and waits in conscious superiority '■he oncoming of "the missus" with a big ,'ug and a small bundle, and now and again, isut in the field yonder to the right, you will see if you look the right way, a grace. ful figure wearing a lilac sunbonnet, plucking flowers as she slowly wends her way through the feathered masses of softly moving grass which is ripe for the sickle. And, then, tho mind goes back to the far off Homeland and recalls that earlier day, when

"A mayden in a rrsorn« betime Went forth, when May' was in her prime, To get sweet cetywaJl, The honeysuckle, tiie harlocke. The lily and the lady-ttnecke To deck her summer hall. "Thus, as she wandered here and there Y-picking of the bloomed breere, She chanced to espie A ■shepbeard sitting on a bancke, Like canteclere he crowed crancke And pip'd full merrilie."

Sometimes you get up early. But you jnust wake yourself. There is neither milkman nor morning paper. The first you *end for, tie second you <!o without. Empires may fall, bush fires devastate a country, Prime Ministers mako speeches, but they are of far less concern to you tihan the question whether you'll have " burgoo " or eggs and bacon, or both, for breakfast. Generally, if not always, you have both also other things. Eating" is not inconsistent with loafing. On the contrary, it is the essence of the gentle art of doing nothing. You take about an hour over the first meal of the dny, most often longer, and you discover that' you have learned more about your children's doings in that hour than you had gathered in the previous twelve months. After all; the world's comings and goings count for little. I exerted myself sufficiently to walk to the gate to tell a local fanner that Port Arthur had at last fallen. Ho did not seem greatly interested, merely remarking as he unhitched his horse that he had heard some thine about it last night, but "I think we Ehall have a stifSsh breeze before the day's over.' Still, getting up early has advantages. All you need to put on is your bathing trunks, a pair of trousers, a coat a hat, ajid (though this ig not essential) a pair of boots Then you walk straight to the beach, and in one minute and a-half at half-past six in the morning, wet or fine cold or hot, you ore splashing and tumbling in the surf swallowing ozone and salt water as though brought up on them from your mother's knee 1 . The bench Is yours, the eavsa are yours, the long stretch of coastline is youvs, the sea is yours. There is nothing near you in the shape of a human being, as far as eye can tell, for miles. And when you have flopped and floundered and turned over and under there ra a hundred yards' stretch—clean, smooth, the dry-towel business. And after that you may again tfirow your mind back and anagino yourself, another Don Juan on his

solitary beach in the lonian Sea, -who, it will be remembered, . After bathing in the sea, Came always back to coffee and Haidee.

And what if the eyes of tottr Haidee have not the lustre and glow of those of the pirate's daughter, and. her ekin be not so clear and fresh .is it was in the days that are gone, there is, perhaps, for some of us a truer and a finer light, whilst the coffee, we know, can always be depended upon. It figures i n the weekly bills, it is fln P *{ftJ a l Wled can «ter, it's perfume fills the kitchen, and it tastes much the same as the other fellow's. In the late morning your daughters, if you have any, take a dip. They don't, swim, except the youngest, who believes that the whole art oi swimming consists in wetting her toes and running to safety when the waves break, but wisely content themselves with imitations of the Cakewalk and barn dance in the breakers. Here they disport in thorough y healthful and stimulating fashion. Jiut the man who has gained his knowledge ot females bathing from the classics will be apt to change his views. The classics are a fraud in many respects. The Naiads and Dryads, Nymphs and Oreads, Dianas and Atlantas of the twentieth century are doubtless every bit as healthy, clever, and beautiful as those of Homer's day, but I doubt if any of them really walked in the woods or lay on the bankp of a river or wandered along the sea shore' in surh scanty costumes as imagination and the poets paint them without catching cold, getting rheumatics, or. .being uncomfortable. But Nausicaa and her maidens sporting with the ball near the —cisterns where Phceociac dames Wash their fair gartnents in the limpid streams, could not send to the skies happier bursts of unaffected laughter than your modern girls as thoy chase each other along the Pacific shore. » * * * * * » * It is at evening time one feels the charm and beauty of solitude. Then a calm and peace creep over one that harmonise delightfully with the rest one peeks. The rush and the worry of the city cease to fret us, and we can sit long in a. silence that is broken only by the eternal moan of the unresting sea, ■

Now air is hushed, save where tho weakeyed bat, With short, shrill shriek, flits by on leathern wing; Or where the beetle winds His small but sullen horn. . . . And hamlets brown, and dim discovered

spires; And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all .

Thy dewy fingers draw The gradual dusky veil. Away in the next field a solitary figure gives a few final tosses to some scattered heaps of hay. The quack-quack of a homeward bound prooefsion of ducks and the neighing of a horse in a distant stable come pleasantly on the ear, while the sandflies make busy with your hands and neck and wrists. Pipe in mouth, hands in pockets, you tramp through the damp grass and splurge carelessly through shallow creeks and give the farmer a cheerful " Good evening." You chat in the free-and-easy way of the country, and drift round to Government and politics. " Government, d'ye call it?" he says. "I call it government by inspectors." " Do they trouble you much?" "Trouble? I'm sick of 'em."

"Noxious weeds?" I suggest. "Yes, and drains, and scrub, and fences, and rabbits. Darn 'em, Tm sick of 'em." "T suppose they are pretty bad?" loracularlv remark.

" Bad! they make mo tired. Can't go out tf> do a day's work but you find one of 'em on your property." Then ho bad a laugh. "What's the joke?" "Well, I was doing a bit of ploughing one day when I happened to turn- round and found a man at my elbow. He had a book under bis arm, and was staring hard at me. 'An inspector?' says I. 'Not exactly,' says he. Tm looking for the Master's sheep.' 'Oh, are you?' says I. 'Then you'd better go and get a job and keep those darned cattle off the roads.' 'You make a mistake, my friend,' says he_, and then ho began to open his book. 'lt is the Master's sheep who've wandered from the fold that lam in search- ' ' Oh, you want the misms,' I broke in.' 'lf you go up to the house you'll find her, and maybe she'll have a crack with you," and having again laughed he continued his compliments to the inspectors. **♦*•*»»*

When ont loafing it is not the least among one's enjoyments to imitate Mr Gilbert's policeman and "lie abaskin' in the sun." Nor is the enjoyment lessened by watching the irrepressible energies of three lads who have pitched their camp a few miles away up in the bush. They are never still. Clad in anamas, white sweaters, knickerbockers, and canvas shoes, and with bare legs, they climb hills, cut bush, jump creeks, rush backwards and forwards, sborit, coo-co, and chatter; but they never walk, they are never still, and they are never quiet. The contrast is painful. You are on your back, with your toes pointed defiantly to the sun, and they mock your laziness in the superb insolence of youth. Perhaps you mure on your own early climbing in Sussex and Devonshire and Scotland, and so musing you settle yourself yet more comfortably against a friendly tussock. Your daughter—one of your many daughters—suggests climbing "to the top of that hill." You simply grunt your disapproval and decline to stir. Also, you console yourself with thinking sympathetically of something that somebody tells about the author of "The Seasons.' Thomson was responsible for the lines commencing

" Falsely luxurious! will not man awake ?" yet, when found in bed by a visitor at two o'clock mid-day, said, in answer to the query how he came to lie so long: "Ecod, mon, because I had no mot-five to rise." Under pressure, however, I did get up, .and walked towards the youths' tent. Two of therri rushed by me like a whirtwind. full speed for the river. I walked quietly on, and stood looking down at the camp. Suddenly a voice from behind shouted back to his chtim, who was making all secure prior to joining them' "Joe, bring my watch." A cackle of laughter behind caused me to turn. The wife of my bosom and female offspring were shaking with mirth. "What's the matter?" I asked sharply, but they continued to laugh, and did not answer. I know my costume was more in keeping with that of a sundowner than a visitor to a Paderewski concert, but—well, really, some women will laugh at anything.

Have you ever walked six miles in a pouring rain up a very hilly country road? If not, please try it—that is, when you are property equipped. There is nothing more conducive to the making of character. It brings out the noblest traits in one's nature. Clad in a heavy, caped waterproof, with a volume of solid literature in one pocket and your shaving materials in the other, and carrying a fairly weighty handbag, you feel, as your socks become wringing wet and your boots ooze mud and slime, that loafing in out-of-the-way places has some drawbacks. Nothing but a firm belief in the efficacy of suffering to the building up of character, and the justice of the law of compensation in the moral sphere, could sustain a family man who, having left his household behind him, is on the homeward tramp. . Your objective is a railway station—perferably the nearest one—and as you painfully flop-flop, gurglegurgle along, the mud making persistent and consistent attempts to release you of your sodden shoes, and a drenched horseman" giving you, gratis, the splutterings of his beast's heels or hoofs, you think that the three hours and a-half that you have allowed yourself is hardly sufficient" for the sis-mile journey. Sustained, however, by the rectitude of your motives, a dear conscience, and the thought of a hotel bar at the end, you press on; in fact, when the feet are thoroughly reduced to a condition that enables tbera to take mud, grass, swamp, or pools without perceptible change in feeling, and when the rest of your body is parboiled by steam and perspiration, you can at intervals enjoy the scenery. "We made the township and the hotel ill two hours and a-quarter." The hotel proved what some people might term a failure. After knocking, kicking, and playing the devil's tatoo with some tumblers- on the counter of the only hotel in the district without success, /we began te <«M»sider the desiraMty of tak-

jing possession. We were saved this questionable plan by the entrance of the man in charge. "Any whisky?" v "No!" "Beer or wine?" " No! this ia a timprtmce place." "Eh?"

"Timpnmce!" "Oh! Got any gingerale?" "Yes." So we had gingerale after rinsing the glasses. "Any tobacco?" "No!" "Thanks. What time does the train leave?" " Don't know; 'bout seven, I think."

That meant an hour's wait, but as the station was only eight or ten minutes' walk from the township, which is considerably nearer than the Trans-Siberian line'is to the great cities it is supposed to serve, it was not much out of the way. On arrival I examined the various notices with which the "waiting room" was plastered'. "Soon find out everything I want here," I thought. But my first glance at the most likely sheets proved fruitless. I therefore made a systematic search, my time and my feelings being my own. "New Zealand Government 4 per cent. 5/20 Debentures" (don't want that), "Noxious Weeds Act" (nor that), "Letters Patent Inventions" (ditto), "Duhedin Show Week," " Ordinary Tickets," "Intermittent Service," New Zealand Time-table May, 1904," " Lake Wakatipu Service," "To Those About to Marry" (utterly useless either in the way of consolation or information), and then, " Ah, here we have it, patience rewarded."" I stood before a patched,, torn, untidy; much-writ-ten-on "Time-table Alterations, Ist November, 1904." The wits of the fascinating township had been busy with thie particidar official intimation. One had written thereon in blue pencil "BQI Pitz is well named, for he has fits"; another " The wicked shall be burned in hell," to which yet another had added "Shakespeare," and still another "Dick, P— ■ — will be in the club rooms to-night" {so there was, or is, a c!ub there). Amid all these and more I struck my line of mil, and traced the list of stations down from Dan—to—to "Yes! there it is, Hokey-pokey," and eagerly did I follow it along the line, until I came to —an asterisk! This centre of thriving industry and agricultural interests was not honored with a time of arrival and departure. But even railway trains come to those who wait long enough, and mine came, as announced, " 'bout seven o'clock." The distance was only eighteen miles to town, and we did it in the sharp time of lh 15min, which, all things considered, is not bad. It fitly terminated a "loafing holiday."