CASUAL RAMBLINGS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXV, Issue 9150, 4 September 1888, Page 6

CASUAL RAMBLINGS.

[BY a. tramp, esq.]

[FBOM THE AUCKLAND WEEKLY NEWS.]

TAURANGA. First carefully wiping my boots on the cocoanut mat, I turned the polished handle of the door and entered the sanctum. Stepping softly across the thickly-carpeted floor to a plentifully cushioned couch, I sat down and waited the pleasure of the boss of the literary show. The stained-glass window shed a "dim religious light"—very dimon the editorial brow, and tinged the pastepot with a subdued yellow shade. The room was perfumed with the choicest scents of cologne. The boss editor cocked his eye over his gold-rimmed pebbles—He fancies himself still in his guidyjouth, and eschews " Specs." "Tramp," he said, "that last contribution of yours was dreadfully dull and dolorous in tone. It was so heavy that extra clerical assistance was required to help the devil out with the waste basket."

"Nonsense! You must have dropped ' Mercutio' into the wastebasket. I nave known editors commit the mistake of placing the dead matter in. their leading columns, and the live stuff in the wastebasket —which looks extremely like putting the undertaker in the hearse and setting the corpse to lead the procession. I daresay my copv was a bit stiff, but scarcely dead enough for a coffin. But I really can't be gay when I look on the picture of desolation and misery presented by this deserted village—caused by Parliamentary misrepresentation and municipal ignorance and stupidity." " Ton my soul, it was so lugubrious—"

" Wrong again ! Editors haven't any souls."

"It was absolutely painful. What's the use of crying over spilt milk, and going in mourning over our lost shipping, our lost timber, our dying gum trade, our still-born railways, our departing population. It can't be helped. We don't want our readers sent into the dumps ; they must be amused, and their spirits raised."

" Ah, you may have the nerve of a Nero, and fiddle while Rome burns; I can but follow the good old custom of the common herd, and mourn for the lost. But there need be no trouble about raising the spirits of your readers if they will only give us a chance to hoist them. Here's luck, eh."

" I would suggest a visit to the rink as the most likely place to recover your accustomed cheerfulness of tone. " I've tried the rink, but when I thought of the number of servant-maids ruined by the rinking madness, I felt sadder than ever. 'Ere this skating epidemic swept over us, a large-sized tin trunk and a couple of baudboxes were required to contain the possessions of the average slavey. Now, alas, all her earthly belongings can be carried in an ordinary pocket-handkerchief. The demoralising influence of rinkomania may have serious consequences for the succeeding generation. I should not be the least surprised to hear of an early instalment of the unborn millions coming into the world dressed in a pair of roller-skates only. No, I see nothing very funny in the rinks.". "How did Tauranga affect you, melancholily ?" " Not much. It was the trio down in the s.s. lona gave me the dismals." " Then Tauranga is not so dull as represented ?" " N—o— The climate is so superb it can't under any circumstances be dull. Laziness rather than dulness is more like the complaint — delicious climate. There are no skating rinks to make one feel miserable, and Belinda still owns a second under garment. No noisy Salvation Army drum breaks the peace in Tauranga, and her leading citizens are spared the exertion of getting up to swear on Sunday mornings." "I should like to live in Tauranga."

" Oh, there's a lot of joy to be had in the Bay of Plenty. Tauranga is a good place for fish ; the finny tribes swarm there in great variety, and are quite tame. Sometimes they lay their noees on 'the Strand' —that's what they call the front street — and go to sleep without fear of being disturbed. Shell-fish too are in abundance— other hard shells that are not natives also abound. Fish may be seen everywhere about Tauranga except on the tables of the hotels. Early one morning I saw fishermen catching fresh herrings by the barrel a few feet from my hotel door and naturally considered fresh fish for breakfast a certainty. I reckoned without the cook. Imagine my disgust when scanning the bill of fare I found written in a bold round hand under the item fish, ' Picton herrings ' —salt at that. I sat and scowled at the landlord. In Tauranga a fine fat fresh herring, like the prophet, is of no account in his own country. Tauranga obtains the most of its flour from the " Silver Dust" bins of Canterbury. But I think it manages to grow its cabbages without the aid of Chinamen. As the cleanest and sweetest town in the colony Tauranga takes the cake. The supply of shells for road metal is inexhaustible, and her streets, glistening white like garden walks, are never muddy. Built across a narrow promontory, there is an easy and natural drainage to the deep water of the harbour. In the way of harbours, Tauranga is fairly well off; vessels of considerable tonage can lie alongside the wharves which run out from the Strand. In fact, Tauranga is blessed with everything that is needful to make a contented, happy, and prosperous peopleeverything, indeed, except business, which seems to have taken its departure when the Union steamers ceased to call there. Tauranga thought they could support two lines of steamers, and patronised the Northern S. S. Co.—now she is in sackcloth and ashes over it. Trade always follows the flag of U.S.S. The Taurangas were all very good to me. They asked' Are you dry said the able editor as he slid back a panel in the mottled kauri cheffonier, and produced a bottle of dry monopole and a tumbler — we always take our wine in tumblers, long ones. " Thanks, yours. Do you remember Williams, the actor, low comedy man you know ; played it very low in such characters as the 'Artful Dodger.' Watt's his name in Tauranga and he runs a ' pub ' —a comfortable, clean, quiet place—l gave him a turn."

" Good hotels at Tauranga ?" "Yes, some of them too good for present requirements. Mr. Chadwick, the leading citizen, who, besides other property, owns a well-built, convenient, roomy, and com-pletely-furnished hotel, told me it did not pay interest on the money sunk in still, is not the old man depressed ; the climate keeps him up. I visited another big 'pub,' but the only inhabitant I discovered was a small boy, whose nose just reached the counter, keeping the bar warm. At the Masonic Hotel, Whitcombe, proprietor, you will meet a good table, agreeable company, a jolly landlord, and an attentive and good-looking waitress. — I stayed there. Whitcombe, poor fellow, had the gout in his big toe while I was there. A gouty landlord is, I think, the best recommendation possible for an hotel. Were I a licensing commissioner I would grant licenses only to such persons as were subject to attacks of gout. I never yet found a poor table, an inferior cellar, and gout conjoined. Not to go too far from home for instances, where will you find better caterers than host Cairns of the Star or Harry Bennet of the Pier—they are sure to ask me—"

Drink their healths, Mr. Tramp," said the great editor, as he struck a match on the underside of his pants and lighted an eighteen-penny Havana and started on a smoke concert.

"Gouty landlords—'For they are jolly good fellows.'" " How much longer," resumed the chair, " is this tale of Tauranga to be ? I'm getting tired ol Tauranga " " So was I; but the weather being so wet, I could not get out of it. The rain, it rained all the day, Saturday and Sunday. " Why, you said just now it was a delightful climate." " That's what everyone told me ; Maxwell, the chief baker, and other old identities cannot be mistaken about it. They have been there long enough to know. Maxwell has been agent for the Weekly News for a score of years or thereabouts, and the rest of Tauranga have been reading it for about the same period. And you know it is impossible fora constant reader of our journal to give utterance to a statement that is false. They even went so far as to say that nobody ever died there, unless by accident. I am inclined to believe that statement is mostly composed of truth too. I know the stock-in-trade of their town cemetery is mainly

if not entirely made up of the remains of soldiers and sailors inadvertently killed at the Gate Pa. I suppose you have heard of that military bungle where the British army surrounded and took the pa, an< * fired into itself, and drove itself out ot the pa again, while the Maoris squatted m the pits scarcely firmer a shot till they saw the pakeha in retreat, when they emptied their guns and hastened the proceedings. Sad affair, wasn't it? The graves of the slaughtered men are in a very neglected condition, especially those of the soldiers. The sailors' tombs are kept in a tolerably good State of repair by the British man-o - wai'smen who occasionally visit Tauranga for the purpose. Some people are of opinion that Her Majesty's Government should cover the bones of her soldiers, which is unreasonable. When ' Tommy Atkins' contracted with the British Government to walk into a Maori ambuscade or any other hot corner of the globe for eighteenpence a day, there was no clause in the agreement guaranteeing even a decent burial. It would be too great a strain on the British taxpayer to find a coffin for every man who was homicided by the ignorance or blunders of his superior officers. The colony has spent a considerable sum in building a stone wall to keep the bones and coffins and things in this historical place of sepulchre from tumbling into the harbour, and cannot reasonably bo expected to do more. Besides, she has her own dead men's graves to care for, her politicians to pay and pension, and provide with gold passes and other perouisites too numerous to mention. When the day arrives for bursting up big estates let it not be forgotten that the Church Mission Society is the biggest landlord in Tauranga— Church Mission property here, there, choice lots everywhere. It owns more than one fifth of all Tauranga—and the soldiers' graves." " Transeat."

"The bottle stands with you." I paid my respects to Mr. Lundon, the Mayor of Tauranga—a cousin of John and David of that ilk. His Worship was very kind, and drove mo round in his buggy and pair to the Gate Pa, and the racecourse. Tauranga is in no danger of going broke on horse-racing, grand-stands, or totalizators ; only one day in the year is devoted to the sport, and if you don't like the view from the grand-stand, you can bring your own with you, and no extra charge made for the convenience.

We had a peer) at Te Ranga, another historic slaughter house, where the British wiped out the disgrace of the Gate Pah. and also 150 Maoris, one morning before breakfast. This settled the Maori craving for war, and secured the Church Mission quiet possession of Tauranga. No Maori passes Te Ranga without uncovering or bowing his head. Our dead are buried in the Tauranga cemetery. But the Englishman who may desire to visit the graves of his countrymen, will—unless the Church Mission Society awakes to a sense of its duty—have some difficulty in finding them. Coming back, we turned up for a couple of miles or so on to the Ot-umoetai block, which contains some good grass lands carrying, I daresay, half a dozen sheep to the acre all the year round. On the spurs running down to the bay are a number of prettily situated and comfortable home steads, " nestled under the trees"the trees are of their own growing, which makes the nestle all the cozier. Amongst them may be noticed those of Messrs. Lundon, Johnstone, Brabant, and Mathieson. Mr. Mathieson is an old wild Missourian —you remember that Wild Missouri claim at the Thames. It was a bit of a " wild cat" for J. C. Firth —gold was not the article decreed by fate for J. C's fame to rest on ; no, it was " germina." Tauranga is a good country for growing wheat. But I think they consume more flour than they produce wheat. The Maoris, are the principal producers, and the wheat, is always worth 4d to 6d per bushel more than that grown in any other part of the colony. I did not make the acquaintance of the police. Being on the square, I had no occassion to square a bobby. But I presented my pasteboard to the press. The Palladium of British liberty at Tauranga is the Bay of Plenty Times. It is an old-established paper, and has had a varied assortment of proprietors—and also of oppositions which have gradually died out, tne opposition I mean. The present proprietary are alive enough. The chief moulder of public opinion, Mr. Editor Galbraith, is infusing new life into the old corpse, and making things hum a bit. The moulding job he has on hand just now is a canal scheme for the double purpose of reclaiming a valuable swamp, the property of the Crown, and at the same time giving a cheap means of transit for the produce of the T•>. Puke settlers. Messrs. Galbraith were good enough to send their chief reporter with me to explore the Te Puke and the canal. Would you like to hear all about it ? Before we started the remainder of the press came to the Masonic and asked me— Hello ! The editor had fallen asleep and the bottle was as dry as—l was. Sol retired, and told a P. D. to tickle his nose—the Editor's nose—with a straw, and shout in his ear " copy !"