THE TRAVELLER.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1716, 18 January 1905, Page 15

THE TRAVELLER.

MY TRIP TO MAORILAND.

(By Suzette Isabel RiiethrMuller.) (Special Contribution to the “Mail.”) No. 1. It had been my ambition to visit New Zealand, and further to make luy home there, (all being favourable) for quite a year before I actually left Queensland. Something always seemed to crop up which prevented me from going, but at last the day of my departure was fixed and then, then I was quite the centre of attraction in our little town of Dalby. Our local paper, of which I had been a contributor, gave me grand “write ups,” our Literary and Debating Club bemoaned the loss if its originator, and the public generally shook me by the hand and wished me luck “in the land of the moa.”

My last day in Dalby arrived, and r have a recollection—-somewhat vrjgue and hazy, I am afraid, cf gaping trunks and boxes standing on the back verandah, and one of my sisters sitting distractedly amongst piles of dresses, ribbons, hats and knick-knacks, and appealing to me as to where to pack them.

“You know that you are going to stay for a week in Toowoo-mba,” she said absently folding up a pair of goloshes ip my favourite blue silk blouse, “so if yST? trill say what you are likely to require then I can pack it all in one box and you will not need to bother with any of the others while you are there.” Thus brought back abruptly from an agonising calculation as to how many farewell calls I could cram into one afternoon, I collapsed on a stack of photos and papers and gazed at my sister with desperation in my eyes, (for the strain of packing and general preparation was beginning to tell upon me.) “Put in an evening dress—l’m sure to go to some concert or something like that while there—and—a few handkerchiefs and so on,” was my vague response, which brought down a crushing retort on my bewildered head. “An evening dress amd a of handkerchiefs for a week in Toowoomba ! Which do you intend to clothe yourself in, the evening dress or the handkerchiefs? Oh well, I shall pack as seems good to me, as there is no use consulting you; and if you have to turn out every box you possess when ever you want a blouse or a belt ribbon, don’t blame me.” And then the packing continued while I arrayed myself in the only frock that had escaped the general up-heaval, and went cut and got through about seven calls accompanied by as many afternoon teas. What with the heat of the day, the set smile aiid stereotyped answers to good luck wishes, not- to speak of the super-abundance of aforesaid afternoon tea, I arrived home a babbling wreck, but thankful —oh so devoutly thankful -—that so much of the fa rowel ling business was over. (En passant I may remark that I hate saying “good-bve.” I would like to arise in the mirk midnight and steal away silently swiftly, and so escape the pain of farewelling, but never have I been able to carry out. my wish of departing in this manner.) But more was to follow, for the next day saw me aboard the mid-day train for Toowoomba, starting off on the first stage of my journey. Good-bye to father, mother, sisters and brothers —a sob or two—a waving handkerchief and the train bears me off. After a fifty-five mile run we draw up at the Toowoomba platform, where I am taken possession of by an eager, welcoming cousin, who assists meio marshal all my belongings and then joins me in the truly feminine institution of afternoon tea.

Toowoomba is a charming town “the garden of Queensland” it is generally styled. It is really one great garden and ©een from the range you behold the town, as it lies, half buried in trees, at your feet. The streets, however, mostly incline to steep gradients and there being no tram cars you have to do> a good deal of Avalking and really I often got so vei-y tired! Once I became so thoroughly exhausted that I contemplated sitting me down by the wayside, and I then bethought me of a young gentleman with whom I was very well acquainted “in the dim dear past” and whose delight it was to come upon me in an umvary moment and whisk me up on his shoulder, carrying me about in triumph thus —while I kicked and implored him to set me down. I reflected remorsefully, “poor Infant” (for so I had named him on account of his great height and strength) “if you AA'ere only here now!” But having no Alladin’s lamp the Infant did not come consequently I had to gather up the remnants of my strength and courage and trudge along. While there a concert AA r as given by the local Leidertafel Society—some of the items AA'ere particularly fine. Especially a violin solo by one Astley, who is by AA’ay of being a painter as ivell as a maker of music. The confident perfection of the opening notes and the thin tapering SAA'eetness of tlie music as it died aAvay to nothingness AA-as very beautiful—you leaned forward. 1 tearing nothing, knowing nothing, hut the enchantment of those dying notes.

Then as il co counteract the effect, there"was a 'Gypsy chorus by the Leklertafel; one of Reichardt’s compositions, telling in the melody as in the words of the wild, lawless freedom of the'gypsy’s life. The singers were recalled with thunderous applause, for there is something untamed in every one of us that responds to idle right touch, and then, then we feel the shackles, of civilisation press heavily upon us, we want to cast them aside and live as our long ago ancestors lived, when the world was young and very free.

So time went on until one day the Sydney Mail train bore amongst its passengers from Toowoomba a young person who crouched in the corner of her carriage and wept her eyes and her nose red. Myself, oh, reader o’ mine; for ae the train rushed along I kept reflecting that every mile took me further away, and suddenly I felt terribly lonely, we were such a large, merry, noisy family at home: An old lady, a fellow' passenger crossed over to me and said, “Poor child, it’s very hard to part with friends, I know, what a shame you have got to go away when you feel it so.” This remark made my dignity “bristle,” and I retorted with tearful defiance, “But I haven’t got to go, I’m going of my own accord,” to which she responded severely that I had no right to cry if such were the case. This sounded like logic to me and I “dried those tears,” and set to work to recover the contents of a package of sweets provided by my thoughtful cousin, but which in the abandninent of my grief I had allowed to fall unheaded on the carriage floor. I discovered with something of a shock that sweetmeats still retained their old charm for me, so I consumed chocolates contentedly as the train rushed along, through tunnels and mountain cuttings, pasfi hills and 'pliains, ever onward. At Wairwick I received my last Queensland, farewell from a fellow passenger who had travelled thus far, then the train whistled and we were off once more—• past cornfields, and wheatfields yellow with the ripening grain—past orchards, past fallow" land, and past- cultivation, rs-y and bye we left all that- behind and emerged out into the bush, just the dear trees with the clouds above and the grass below, and the wide sandy road winding up-hill and down dale. Then we happened on rocky scenery, great boulders and shelves of rock everywhere, as Stanthorpe, Tenterfield and other stations flashed past. Onward, onw r ard, then nightfall approached, and it commenced to rain, slow r , gray, drizzling rain. We duly macintoshed ourselves for the train change at Wallangarra which is the border station between Queensland and New South Wales. We transfered ourselves and our belongings to> the more comfortable New South Wales carriage with the skies weeping a sad farewell, and so I said good-bye to Queensland.

And now my new Maoriland readers although I have exhausted all the space I am allowed in this issue still I have only arrived at the border-land of New South Wales. But so be it —there are other issues of the “Mail,” and next week 1 shall take you further with me, and so progress by graudal stages until the boat bears mo to your picturesque shores. Wellington, January 7, 1905.