MY TRIP TO MAORILAND

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1717, 25 January 1905, Page 16

MY TRIP TO MAORILAND

By Suzette Isabel Riet-h Mu Ilex', (“Nada.”) (Special Contribution to “The New Zealand Mail.”) 11. We bad four passengers in our carriage wnen we left Waiiaugarra an old lady of tiie grande dame type, a pert miss wbo talked incessantly, and an old lady possessed of sucb a broad Scots accent that it was difficult to understand wbat she talked about. —beside - rnwo'f. The pert miss evidently bad a thirst for pifonnation, and when she hu/u cauepiiised the others all she knew she commenced on me. “Was I going farP” “To Sydney?” “Home then?” —“Oh, Queenslander?” and so on until I took refuge in my rug and a corner, fixing my unwavering gaze on the blurred outlines of the trees and hills as tliey flashed past. Then my interrogator arose "briskly, and extricated cake and sandwiches from a basket-, which she ate in a businesslike manner, after which she commenced to knit vigorously. One of those little restless women who must either employ their jaws or their hands, always the jaws for preference. Then the old Scots lady arose and unfolded her tale of woe. It appeared that she was going to Armidale, and had no idea when she would arrive—further, she was haunted by a fear that she would not know' - the place when' we should get there. Visions of being carried along to some strange unknown land far, far beyond Armidale disturbed her, and the solemn -promise of the other ladies to see that she alighted at Armidale, and Armidale only, did not console her much. She was assured that she would not get to her destination before mid-night, but that did not prevent her from making her way to the window at every stopping-place, and demanding “Is this no" Armidale” of any one who happened along. I fell asleep at last to this accompaniment-, and only awakened when we reached the identical place, where the old lady safely disembarked. We took in two more passengers in her stead, and they stood at the open window fare welling their friends. The whole time the train waited. Ugh! it was cold! The draught which came in that window was like a breath, from the Arctic regions, and we slnvered miserably, burrowing deeper, into our rugs and cushions, while we wished most- fervently that the train would go on. At last she was off, and so was I—to the land of sleep from which I only emerged hours later, in the early morning. We breakfasted at Newcastle —smoky Newcastle, with the thick cloudy atmosphere, and the great masted ships, all more or less smoky-looking, lying out on t-he water. An hour or two later we reached the prettiest part of our journey,—l allude to crossing the Hawkesfoury. The sight of the stretch of blue water, rippling and dimpling in the morning sun, with the sandy, shrubcovered banks and bridge away in the distance, is so very charming. Further along, tiie re are rocks-—shelves and mass.' - of them, ever so high, on the one side, while on the other the land slopes down, now gently, now steeply, away down the river. And the grass is so smooth and beautifully green, and the pretty red-tiled cottages look like doll-houses, so tiny do they seem down there.

But every tiling must come to an ena gome time, and so did our journey, foi at about midday we steamed into Sydney. Sydney 1 with its noise and confusion, Avith its crowds of bustling, talking people, with its numerous platforms and flights of steps to descend simply that you might ascend them again (or so it appeared to me) —tramca,s here, hansoms there: finally I am hustled into a surburban train for Summer Hill, where I am to stay until the following Saturday, when I expect to get a boat for Wellington. 1 spent most of the remainder of that day m sleep, and on the following day, —'Wednesday it happened to* be, —I betook myself to the shipping office and told the clerk that I desired to book my passage m the next boat for* Wellington. But the youth smiled in a sweet, superior fashion and said gently ‘‘No room,— she’s full up,—can’t take another passenger.” Oh, that -was a mere bagatelle, “I am sure,” I said smiling in what I meant to he a most ingratiating manner, —‘ : I am sure you could stoAv me in some lioav. I’m not very big you know” and I surveyed my five feet three of femininity in a mirror opposite with much complacency. But the clerk shook his head doubtfully, disappeared, and presently returned and delivered his ultimatum. “Only room for three in the steerage, and that’ll mean a tight fit.”

My friend and T looked at each other blankly. I had made every preparation for going by that particular boat, and noAv, —Avell there was no help For it, and onlv meant ton days in .Sydney iii-

stead of three, for the following boat left no earlier than the Saturday after, the 24th December. But here my friend spoke distressfully. “Oh, no, dear, you can't go on -Christmas Eve, Why yo-u might be sick and unable to have any Christmas dinner on board.” But dearly as I love Christmas dinner, and painful as the thought of missing it was, yet I determined to- sail on the 24th, and accordingly booked my passage in the boat leaving on that date, the “Monowai.”

After all, I did not regret that- the Fates had given me the extra time in Sydney, for there is so much to see, so much to hear, and so many places to go to that the time did not hang a scrap heavily on my hands. The Art Gallery, for instance, with its pictures, statues, and etchings, was a constant delight to me. Longstaff’s (I think) picture of our own Australian poet, Henry Lawson, strong, rugged, vigorous, meets you near the entrance, and then, —"Well, then you lose yourself in the World of Art, landscapes, portraits, studies, with here and there an unpretentious-look-ing sketch, —humourous tilings by the widely-known Phil May and such artists, “really I’d like to stay here for weeks.” I assured my friends, but they unrom anti cal ly asked me whether I would have my meals there, m that case because they didn't think it would be permitted. This was going from the sublime to the commonplace. And we -left t-xie Gallery and made a move in the direction of the gardens. Later on we “did” the Museum, but that did not appeal to- me so much. Shall I tell you what I liked best of all in it-—nothing more than a group of Queensland’s “possums.” Dear, soft, bright-eyed little creatures, —I’d had a tame “poss,” of my very own away in Queensland, but the ill-starred animal met with a sad and untimely end at the jaws of the house dog. So I ga-zed sentimentally at the “possies” and piesen tly startled the others by saying that I was tired of museum explorations, and we promptly made for fresh fields. One afternoon we went to Hyde Park, and wallied through the avenue of lofty trees stretching up to t-lie sky, with the yellow sun light Uttering through the brandies, and lying in patches on the asphalt. And of course we went down to Manly, and then I understood why Sydney folk are so proud of their harbour. Its beauty spots are too wellknown to require further description from my pen, —-all the dear little caves and nooks and islands that made me long to go and picnic at such places. But the Heads, —how impressive, how solemn, how impregnable do they look, raising themselves out of the sea, with their jagged teeth lasc-ora.ting the soft grey sky.

fcfo, what with, sight-seeing and plea-sure-making, the ten days went- all too soon, and then nothing remained but to board my New Zealand boat and wait patiently until we came into port at Wellington.

I was aboard the “Monowai” at eleven a.m. (although she was not billed to sail until noon) and the scene on the boat was a very busy one. Porters, sailors, stewards, and passengers rushed about, stowing luggage and cargo away, finding cabins and berths, —up on deck and down below all was bustle and confusion. Here stood a plump, middle-aged lady With three or four children, —they aie talking earnestly to paterfamilias, who is evidently going to stay behind. Noon approaches, and he bids each a tender farewell, yet stni he lingers. They are going out on the deep, so far, so far, it seems to him . . . they comprise all

his Avorld, and it is very hard to* part AVith them ! There is a young lady saying good-bye to an older one', —here agtun is a whole family Avho are going away together, father, mother, olive branches of assorted sizes, and aunty. They have left their home away in (Queensland’s sunny capital, and are now bound for Wellington, a very merry party they make. It is quite clear that fear of danger or mal de mer does not trouble them. At the end of the boat, apart from the others, stand a lady and gentleman whose manner and general appearance stamp them indelibly as a honeymoon couple. She is a tall dark lady of handsome and haughty countenance, he is fair, smooth-faced, and fat, unromanticaily fat. So on, and so on- It takes all sorts to make a ship’s company. Suddenly the bed rings, “’Visitors must leave t.he boat” and then the farewelling commences m good earnest. My friends have bade me adieu, and left the b at ere this, and now, as I lean over the side and gaze down at the water, fragments of the various “good-byes” float to my ears.

“Good-bye, dear, take care o*f yourself, and write as soon as you can, won’t you p”—“Good-bye, old fellow, good luck and a safe journey?”—“Au revoir, see you back in Sydney soon ?”—‘Merry Christmas, —hope you won’t he v*'ry ill?”—“Well, I must go now, old girl,so good-bye and God bless you?” men the visitors stampede down the gangAvay, and the boat sloAvly moves off. “Handkerchiefs are waving from the ship and from the shore” until the people who waA-e them turn into mere ..pecks, and finally disappear altogether, then we troop doAvn to luncheon and

feel that the voyage has really commenced.