PARIHAKA AND THE MOUNTAIN.

Hawera & Normanby Star, Volume LI, Issue 9066, 11 April 1906, Page 6

PARIHAKA AND THE MOUNTAIN.

A lady correspondent writes to the Wellington Post: — It -was St. Pa/brick's Day in the morning when I got my first glimpse of Mount Egmont, a stately summit of silver and purple rising from a bank of clouds against a pale -blue sky. Since then days have passed, but I seem to have been always looking at it — in adoring admiration It is omnipresent; and what Taranaki would be without it one would not like to imagine. There ia a charm in its very reticence. For months together it wraps itself in its cloud-mantle until visitors to tlie district begin to believe it as legendary as the immortal Mrs 'Arris. And then, some unexpected hour, it flashes forth, a scarf of airy mist across its breasts, lovely, lonely, and impressive, above its girdle of golden green bush. Our first tea in Rahotu was rendered quite staccato by our desire to see all nature's effects. Through the open door, the great golden-red sun was- just dropping into the sea, and on the other side of the house The Moxuitain — which has no rival here, and can claim the definite - article — was changing from rose to purple, and from purple to grey. We dasihed from the front window to the back door, neglectful of food, wrapt with the magnificent sight that is furnished free so con : stantly to the dwellers on this beautiful coast. We had driven all day through fine scenery, always dominated by the mountain. The rich, brown soil, the lush grassj the thriving catttle-^all bear witness to the prosperity of Taranaki. I saw turnips a foot and a half in circumference, and the most wonderful fruit anil flowers, justifying the eulogiums of half a century of "the Garden of New Zealand." The soil is rich, chocolate-tinted, and a baby might dig in it with ease and a wooden spade. The children look plump and happy, and we saw no signs of the - child-slavery so much talked of. They seemed to have a happy time, and it is quaint to watch one swarming up the leg of a patient horse to join the two other children already on its back. Ot Okato, a little township on the road, sports were l-eing h/>ld— one sport an hour, apparently -*rand at the gate of the paddock tliere was a wonderful cluster of Maori belles, bare-headed save for vivid silk handkerchiefs, and costumed in all tine colors of the rainbow. One lady in black" with amber hoops I admired immensely, and a cerise sacque- and pale yellow skirt-^-Vic-torian in its fulnees — was a glorious harmony against the soft greens and blues ox field and forest. On Lambton quay it might have looked outoe, but there it was and absolutely satisfying. The little inn near by was crowded with Maori babies and mothers, and bow tihe cook was' going to get the dinner ready for her many guests was difficult to tell. One Maori lady takes up a great deal of 'room. Often she is voluminous by nature — 'tlhere is a slight young thing of twenty stone in n small whare at Parihaka. I did not see her, so came to the- conclusion she could not get out But their faJhiiion of many clothes accentuates their bulk, and four Maori ladies of mature years form a crowd. There was a concert and dance that evening At Ratoku, and no less than six of Uie performers came from Wellington. Miss Docherty. Miss Brown, and Mi King — the latter were closely connected with music in Wellington for some time— sang, and Were received with great applause; end Mr George Smith's fine voice was heurd in two songs, and immensely appreciated Mr Torn- Smith. also' sang 'extremely well. The chairman was a genial, witty Irishmanr— the ideal presider

over a St. Patrick's Day concert. He is the father of the district, and entertained the Governor. His liberality ia unbounded, and he lias been known to tal« threadbare small boys into the stor© and send them home fitted out from head to foot. He is almost a» prominent a feature in the district as the mountain, and stories of his wit and shrewdness are i recounted with much gusto. We were ! lold that bullock -waggons and milk-carts were to be ordered by ten o'clock, but it was near midnight, and a. great yellow moon was rising over . the shoulder of Mount Egmont, mystically beautiful, be for<; we left the hall, from which the strains of dance miwic still floated out.

Next day we spent at Parihaka — the Maori town of many warlike stories. Old Tedoubts, with the trenches still showing, were on each side of the splendid road that the natives have made themselves. Give a native time — plenty of time—and he can do almost anything in his attempt to prove to the pakeha that he is as good as the white man. If you can imagine a box of variegated houses, of a'l styles and sizes, split haphazard about an uneven pic.cc of ground, with a pretty stream running through it, you have Parihaka, the quaintest, mixture of picturesque old Maori and hideous pa keha. Green, blue, red, yellow, are all combined ir; one house, and the ladies of the mansion are just as variegated, particularly as regards their head kerchiefs. In Parihaka hats are not in vogue, and boots are almost unknown. Now Te Whiti and .Tohu divtftfe honors in Parihaka, and a lady of Te Whiiti's set does not call on a Tohu woman. The former flaunt tfieir allegiance to their prophet chief, * who is said to consider himself a second Moses, his people the deeoendants of the Jews, and the pakehas their Egyptian oppressors. His supporters wear a large tuft of white feathers in tiheir hair. By this is meant peace, whicih Te Whiti probably imagines he has brought about. In the hakas and poi dances that follow on the village green, these feathers look most effective. We are introduced to the old man Te Whiti He is sitting at a window watch ing with keen, hawk-eyes the doings without. A new tweed suit — how are the mighty fallen! — hangs pitifully loose on I his shrunken frame, and a large towei, blued overmuch by his minions, is draped oarelessly about his neck. There is shonewd cunning and cool calculation in the old wrinkled face, which he fears so much, to be photographed that more than one camera has been smashed at Parihaka, and would-be snapshotters have .been maltreated. Te Whiti says lie does not care to have tlhe picture of his face used to wrap up sausages in a possible contingency were it to appear in tlie illustrated papers. He <evien suits half hiding his face as we have our interview — a very one-sided affair, for the old man affects to know no English, and Ms sole contribution to tUie conversation is an nncomplimentarily cheerful "goodbye." When one gets beyond the gaudy verandah cottages, the billiard-rooms, and the unsteady lamp^posts, tliere are charming bits of still life and humanity to be seen — old whares, beautiful women, and enchanting babies. The very little pigs are delighted, tied up to the whare-post, playfellows of the little ones. Here and there are tiny patches of tobacco and kumera, and wandering about are many local celebrities, to wnom we are introduced with great solemnity. One of these was Kemp's "sergeant, and he points to the track of a bullet that passed from near the eye to the jaw, smashing his I nose and making it impossible for him to open his mouth more than a fingerbreadth. Our camera-man takes a perfect bevy of Maori wahines, each with a baby, and half with pipes or cigarettes, handsome olive - cheeked, dark • haired, brown-eyed damsels arrayed in the gaudiest of primary colons. Pairihaka, besides - graphophones, billiard-rooms, and prospective electric light, lias a water supply, and we wander up the pretty stream to where t&e clear flood dashes over tihe dam, and lie on one of the hillocks adoring the mountain, its flashing summit clear-cut against the blue. It has watched some strange sights--bloodshed and cannibalism, tribal wars, and desperate encounters between Maori and pakeha, brave settlers murdered and gallant soldiers, helpers in such weird warfare, destroyed. The yell of the liaka has blended with the rattle of the rifle and the clear call of tlhe bugle in old times. Mount Egmont has looked down on the dastardly murder of Miss Pobk?, the girl-artist who, wandering too far from tihe camp, was stoned to death by a rapacious Maori. In Parihaka there stands a tapu cottage, said to be haunted by the spirit of a lovely girl, done to death because of the old-time cause, jeal-ousy—-one more ghost among the legions the Maoris still believe to hover around their mountain. And yet, in spite of the surge of bloodshed and evil passions that have crept up to its base, it rises calm, pure, and lovely, perhaps— Tas its adorers believe — the most beautiful of New Zealand's mountains.