LEAVES FROM A GLOBE TROTTER'S LOG.

Otago Witness, Issue 1933, 25 February 1892, Page 33

LEAVES FROM A GLOBE TROTTER'S LOG.

IV. Tuesday, January 19. — A sad day, for various reasons. After our achievement of yesterday, as the captain anticipated, and no doubt much to his regret, our bones and muscles are demoralised. Cannot think of climbing the Mount Pembroke glacier as we had intended. This a disappointment. But chief grief is in thought that this is our last day in tho sounds, and that our holiday is practically over. Why is life not one long sounds trip for everybody — as it would have been if I had had the ordering of it ? No unemployed ; no over-employed : except, of course, the stewards and the directors of the U.S.S. Company, who would have to provide the universal world with Taraweras. This is a leisurely day. Feel that pleasure-making takes it out of one. So am going to give this last day to idle dawdling and philosophic contemplation. Must write my diary up. All the young ladies on board havo been keeping diaries. Have seen no fewer than three Graces at one time, on one seat, all writing with one tantalising copiousness and ease. Descriptions of the scenery and of the people on board, no doubt, and their manners. Wonder if they have put me and my knickerbockers in. Hope so ; fancy I should make an interesting picture. One rum chap goes about with a little parcel under his arm— 9in square or so, done up in brown paper, with postage marks and stamps upon it, as if it had just come by post. Innocent expression on his face. You look at him and feel he's a man to be trusted. But beware ! What means the small parcel under his arm ? A camera — instantaneous process. You get into some absurd attitude— sitting, sprawling, pitching a quoit, letting an arm stray round some waist that docs or doesn't belong to you— when click ! goes a little lens in the brown paper parcel, and there you are, perpetuated. Worm myself into the gentleman's 'confidence and get a look at a few negatives. Maynifiquc! There is Mr , who knows as well as I do that he's no light weight, flopping down in no elegant attitudecaught just between sky and deck. Then there is Mr , in a very wideawake, lying on a doormat, and looking as he ought to look after a night of champagne and milk-punch A lamp post is required to make the picture complete. To be sure, this was taken when the vessel was on the ocean, and the milkpunch look may have been the effect of the pitching. About that can say nothing. Picture equally charming either way. Then there in Mr , his face sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought — or, it may be, of disturbed bile — wrapped in a rug and immersed in light reading—" Malthus on Population," I believe. There is another gentleman — a rising luminary in one of the learned professions, I .am told, and responsible adviser of countless fathers of families— playing euchre, and going a lone hand. Then there is Mr , taken as he is trolling out one of his charming ditties to his own accompaniment on the banjo. You can see by the position of the lips that he is at the celebrated "Too-looral" chorus. There is our Joker, taken in the middle of a running fire of jokes. An important negative represents a group in the smoking room — four learned gentlemen at "poker" — one of them in his magnificent act of bluff. Another glass shows a game of chess on deck. Two widely travelled young gentlemen are seated at the board, whilst an elderly gentleman draws attention to the fact that they have the red square to the right. Perhaps the most interesting negative is that which shows the main deck occupied by a complete circle of cane chairs, each with its occupant wrapped in a rug. The sly artist calls this "An Antipodean Decameron." The photographic series is likely to bo published, and is sure to be largely bought by searchers after the picturesque. Am envious of the ease with which the ladies fill page after pago of their diaries. No doubt the scenery grows and lives again under their pencils. As for me lam like that idiot, of whom Mr Wordsworth or somebody writes, that The Mitre and the Lion grim Two tallish mountains were to him, And they were nothing more. Cannot for bhe life of me veil them in the pearly grey or sapphire blue sheen of an ethereal and gauzy mist, or drape their sides with undulating folds of green and crimson velvet, whilst, from reservoirs of sombre lake and snowy avalanche, descend over their purple sides millions of ells of finest lawn and softest lace, beside which the most preoious tissues wrought on the looms of Cambrai and Brussels were but as pilgrim's serge or penitential sackcloth. Now, for a short effort, I flatter myself that last sentence is "no that bawd," as Mr Sutherland would say ; but then I could not keep it up and turn out page after page of it, with runuing pen, as I am sure any lady on board could do with ease. All the same am not going to be over-modest. Have my own virtues— chief of which are (1) a passionate love of truth and literal fact, and (2) an ingenuous simplicity, and sensibility to impressions of all kinds— in short a- heart so finely strung that every wind that blows may thrill it to what air it pleases. This, I take it, is what makes me so general a favourite on board : for I suppose lam a general favourite ; else I can't think why everybody should turn round and look after me so, and smile.

There is something delightful in the complebe leisure of to-day — after the violent effort of yesterday. Waterfalls and mountains and things are growing monotonous. Cannot see what there is in that great spouting bit of froth over there — Bowen Fall, I mean — to send people into raptures. Find my chief account in the charming and amusing society of my fellow passengers. Not at all necessary to know them. Indeed they are often most amusing when you don't know them. Much less likely to bore you. Shall henceforth count amongst my most valued friends some of the people I havo never spoken to, but whose perennial companionship I shall have in my instantaneous photographs. Then there's the fishing — and the swearing, — what would a trip be without these ? Don't know which of the two really gives me most pleasure : and feel that my log would be incomplete without some reference to both. Fishing, my great delight. Anchor boat in likely spot and get out line with two hooks and lead binker. Bait hooks with two gobbets of raw beef. Make one of the sailors do this for me. Then drop line over and wait. Need not attempt to describe joy of a nibble. Whoever has felt it understands, and nobody else can. Feel fish bite. Jerk the line, in hopes of sticking the hook into your nibbler's gills. Then pull up. Probably find tho bait gone: but there might be a fish on the hook— a Maori Chief, or blue cod, or John Dory— in which case, to avoid dirtying bands, get a sailor to unhook it : and so on da capo, You way fish in some places a long time without catching anything, but sure to have nibbles, j That's where the true enjoyment lies, Have caught only one fish on the trip myself. *na it va« small and not at for eating ; but the nibbles! Thea as to the swearing) I do not Intend to ?ay much? »wm»q when I set heme and Jefctfo down *fe SfcuU Gr&wae, on? ouiefc pteee la S«« 4 mm fca wiw » trwtisfl on "AuWeaa Swearing,"

Had intended also to write a treatise on fishing, but the Poet tells me that here I am anticipated by a fellow called Galton, or Walton or something, whose first name is Isaac— an Ebrew Jew probably. As regards swearing, however, I shall be first on the ground, .for, I suppose, Mr Christie Murray's slight treatment of the subject need not count for anything. Although I do not care to write anything in this diary that might spoil the freshness of my forthcoming treatise, I may venture to express gratification with my experience, so far, in regard to swearing on this side of the line — on the Sounds trip as elsewhere. Cannot swear myself ; probably for the same reason that I cannot play the bass viol— because I did not begin early enough. But this need bo no bar, I hope, to my informing the world on tho subject. Things would be come to a pretty pass if people, for instance, who could not write or paint were to cease instructing the world about writing and painting ! Where would the publishers be, I wonder ? No, I cannot swear myself : but I hope I know good swearing when I hear it. Put an Otago man and a Victorian into the next room, or even two rooms off, and let them each (very distinctly, of course) say " D n ! " Do you suppose I could not tell you which is which ? In tho Victorian's uttenmco there is an ease, a sincerity, an aplomb, by which you cannot fail to recognise that ho was born swearing. You feel that the word is really part of his vocabulary. Tho Otago man, on the other hand, is a sham and an imitator. lie has not caught the accent. You are aware at once that his early language was that of prayer — tho other subsequently acquired, probably about the time he learned to smoke. It is really pitiful to hear an Otago man d ning. He shuts his eyes and fires into space, as it were—like a woman discharging a gun — afraid of bis own report. The New South Wales man makes a. good second to the Victorian. lam aware that many — and good judges, too, — place him first ; but so do not I, and when the time comes I trust I shall be able to ,give convincing reasons for my opinion. Certainly a "bl y" which I heard from a New South Wales man was given in almost perfect style — with a liquidity and resonance that might, perhaps, be equalled, but hardly surpassed, on a London cab stand. But he was only a common sailor, ■ and. after all, " bl y " is a plebeian term, and hardly gives room for a proper display of breadth and tone. To have s wearingin perfection the artist must belong to a family of standing — one, say, in which the minimum annual income for at least three generations has been L 250. The age I prefer is somewhere about the first half of tho twenties. Earlier than this there is | like to be a want of that deliberation and repose necessary to the best work ; whilst, on the other hand, later than 25 I should fear a disturbing sense of responsibility, or even, in precocious natures, the awakening of good taste, so apt to impair the abandon essential to the best swearing. These are of course only general principles. I know there are exceptions ; and that some gentlemen, in swearing, preserve at 45 all the suppleness and grace of 25. In the time of Squire Weston, gentlemen swore their prettiest oaths without reserve in the presence of ladies ; but such is the degeneracy of these days that if you were to see some of the masters in the society of women you might suppose they could not swear at all, I am afraid, therefore, that in this, as in the other fine arts, modern artists must be held inferior to the old masters : inferior, because less universal. Yet though some pessimists I may think that swearing is in its decadence, and even on the way soon to become a lost art, there is some comfort in thinking that this will not happen yet a while ; and that when the art is as dead as a door-nail in tho Old World it will still survive in the New. It is wonderful how much charm is lent to an expedition like the Sounds trip by the presence of a few youths who can d n with becoming unction. " Pardon me, your sandfly veil is coming undone." " D n it ! So it is. Must get a pin to fasten the d d thing." (< Oh, d nit all ! those fellers are getting ahead of us." " D n ! So they are," &c, kc. Spirited as such dialogues are, what would they .be without the warmth and glow of the "d ns." Some authorities fear that the easy supremacy of Victoria in the matter of swearing may not be without important, and, as they think, deplorable consequences to tho language. They maintain (though, in my opinion, without reasonable grounds) that in the Victorian dialect all the dental sounds "t," "th," &c, are fast tending to become "d" ; and that since Victoria is rapidly taking precedence of all other English-speaking communities, the English language is likely in course of time to become a sort of nigger-English. To my thinking all such alarmist notions are the merest fudge. It would be a hard matter indeed if for some such [visionary fear as this any discouragement were to be offered to the noble art of swearing in that very part of the world where the climate, the genius of the people, and other more occult influences give promise of such mastery and excellence. Wednesday, January 20, 10 a.m.— Our grief on leaving Milford yesterday tempered by enjoyment of the breezy run round to the Bluff, where we arrived this morning about breakfast time. Have just put on fresh togs for the cricket match. Mean to show these Colonial lubbers what cricket means. Fancy look pretty smart in my flannels. Hang these cabin looking glasses ! Can only see my face and neck, which are all very well ; but should like to see further down — how my "elephant skins" hang. Well, here goes for a big scoro ! 11.30 a.m. — Our side won the toss and went to the wickets. Went in first myself with Robinson. Bails sent flying the second ball. A duck, of course. I batted well enough. All j the fault of that Dunedin fellow, who can't bowl properly. Call that bowling, indeed ! Threw down bat in disgust. Worst of it is that those girls were there. Saw them laughing. Am afraid they don't really improve on acquaintance.

Leave Bluff in afternoon for Fort Chalmers. A jolly night on board. Awning down. All snug. Our party occupy one side of deck. Jolly rowdy — laughing, shouting, singing to banjo. Thursday, January 21st. — Port Chalmers about 7 a.m. Train to Dunedin. Our party fill a carriage. Low spirits. To cheer us up, Poet reads his latest. May be poetry for all I know. Cannot make head or tail of it. Bosh, I think :—: —

Sinuosities. i. Par from the furious haste of vexing turb, From jar of human strife to f uge I crave, To quit the mart, excede the ignoble urb, And ride tho azure marc in vapour-nave, Conveyed by favouring vents, my prow I fleet Into the ore of some long sinuous Bine, My Anchor to tho aqueous fund eject, And remlg&te tor shore in apM Uno.

High from the rupes tho thundering terreutscafo. And, bumorousi aparga tho giiparpwdent fofgij, Tii?,pc»nd«atfl densi moti w arbwoui Shasta Whet? wckn curs m fl««ns mn yjlss, '

IV. How suave to auscultate canorous ayes Descant in silve their matutinal hymns, "Where swurc und the verdant littoral laves, Where dolphin hides, and quick oudyptule swims. v. Anon, supine on verdant muscose plane, All prompt my eager fame and site to sate, How dulce to gust the freshly-buttered pane With tomaculc or ovi-lingual cate, VI. To sede quiescent where the rata flame;, Regard the motion of the natant mi bo, To ivude the soft susurrus of the rames, Aud breathe the fumous spiral from the tube ; VII. To err along the marge of dark ravine In languid mood, incogitant, inane ; Or limn the folious splendour of the scene, Or carp the reniformal trichomane. VIII. Ehou ! Unmixed no mundane gaud remains, For some acerb with every dulce combines ; The treble X of Ind has bitter pains, The rosy tloscule most amene has spines. And here the mordant, 'cute, arcnal muse The tortured orbi-cursor circumvoles ; Tho miser jures amid the fages fuse And agitates ensanguined manes ; and doles. At last in sight of a tall tower which raises itself with Flemish grace in airy silhouette against the pepper and salt sky. Am told it is the Town Hall. Railway station — portmanteaux — cab— Wain's Hotel. Finis.