AT THE FOOT OF THE MOUNTAINS.

Otago Witness, Issue 2242, 18 February 1897, Page 47

AT THE FOOT OF THE MOUNTAINS.

By Edith Seakle Grossmann.

1.-OUK HOME IN SPRINGFIELD. ( Continued.") •

A large country gate near the stable let us out immediately upon those hills, humble kinsfolk of the mountains, upon which some gleam of enchantment had fallen from their loftfer neighbours. Only one born amongst hills and long exiled from them knows what it is to tread once more upon their height*. This slope was covered with manuka, and the first evening I discovered it was snowed over with white blossoms — those blossoms that should be the native bridal flower of New Zealand. But in a week or so the blossoms were gone and the hill eeemert s. | mass of dull green heath over which the wind swept, and against whose top the blue sky and the sunset cloudß rested. It may be a fancy of mine, but when I think of heathclad, mountains in Scotland, or of English i moors, I generally imagine them in full ! flower. I suppose that i» the particular } aspect novelists and travellers love to de- | scribe, but my own experience of a heath it that its flowering time is brief, though beautiful, and its normal aspect sombre and wild, though not without a charm of its own — the indescribable look and scent, the " feeling "of untamed freedom and freshnese. 1 scarcely know whether it be correct *o apeak of maiiuka fcrnb as a heath, but certainly the appearance of the one is very much like that of the other, and especially at dusk a stranger might mistake them. The manuka bashes, however, are taller than the heath around Port Phillip. Tne ascent to our little hill was gradual, and could hardly bo called a climb at all. On the west it formed part of the , chain of hills growing and growing in height j as they reached the mountains. On that j Bide were slopes of manuka and gorsa ; below them a road and the coal mine, beyond another and slightly higher chain of gor«ecovered hills ; beyond these little more than j the summits of the mountains were visible. But on the other side our hilL looked right over the plain— an uninterrupted viaw across some 50 or 60 miles of flat land away to the distant horizon, where night mists rose up from the sea. Yes, we have below our ejes tho whole stretch of tho plains— the east and j ths wes>t boundaries— from our seaside homo to our mountain lodge. Pleasant in the evening cool to sit upon these rocks and look out into tho dim distance. They say in a good light Cathedral Spire can be seen from here, but I deoline to give my own authority to this statement. These are dreary plains, perhaps, to travel through, but delightful to look down upon — iike monotonous years of peace and prosperity seen in some moments of higher coasuromation. Pleasantr land of , yellow com and green, of homesteads nestling in bowers of euoalyptus and fir, of little white township?, of golden tussock and ; roads and lanes. I know no place in New J Zealand that has such an aspect of simple , and peaceful content, auch a glimpse of i homes where poverty and riches are alike unknown, where men may forget to pray for \ their dally bread— ac the Canterbury Plains ; seen from a hilltop on some summer day. j The whole outline of the Port hilla is j distinctly visible, blue in the distance. At the quiet close of a mild nor'-west I once saw the ridges and hollows on their slopes like ascending waves of pale yellow, while all around me was the dusk. A group — the Malyern Hills, I think— ro»e out of the plain near and skirted the view for some distance on the north. Parts of their sides were under cultivation, and bore the same patterns of yellow and green and brown. I must not fail to notice the curious effect of the intersecting gorse badges, bo that the whole plain appeared an odd patchwork, with each I separate patch bordered by dull green. Away to the north-east were the gates of the Waimakariri — two isolated bills that catch the reflections of sunset, a distinct feature in the landscape. The Gorge bridge can, under favourable circumstances, be distinctly seen. I am reluctant to leave my hill where the snnset held its court wb\le tho plains fawned at its feet. The lark neßtod in the grass amoDg the manuka, the red berries and the snow berries bid close to the earth, the gnome rocks peeped out of the ground, the shadows fell over it", and the sunlight too, the barren mountains looked upon it and the stara seamed poised on its crown. Id was there, though the western view was so much intercepted, that I used to come and worship the mountains. A hard noonday light exposes their intolerable barrenness — huge precipiceß and ravineß scarcely covered by the coarsest grass, bald summitß and immense slopes of bare grey shingle — there is something terrific in their barrenness. A few shreds of bush left on the lower slopes seem but BurviviDg witnesses of the destructive forces which have left all the rest barren of life. It is in winter that the stranger should see them, when they are clothed with snow and their desolation is that of unutterable loneliness But the winds, too, have a mantle for them, and will hide them in a shifting veil of blue or in a nor'-west robe of purple and gold and crimson soft as velvet. Now I have torn myself away from my j little hill at last and come back to the garI den and its cottage. I took a nightly j memento away with me, for I made myself a j pillow of cottonwood flowers which wo I gathered up there. It had a carious scent of i lieath at first, and, when it dried, of wine. j The bracken, the usual bed and pillow of ! travellers, grew too scantily on this hill to be | of any use. I do not want to describe Springfield as an earthly paradise— far from it. But it iB a very pleasant place for a holiday of the tame domestic sort. The heroic soul will certainly not pause here. Springfield is the starting point of adventure. It is only a little place for travellers to breathe in before they depart for the West Coast. There is the sound of going and coming in it. Down below our little lodge was the yard of the blacksmith and wheelwright strewn with the wreckage of West Coast coaches, wheels of longdeparted buggies, the sober cart of the farm labourer, the heavy wool waorgon that bad

taken its last journey, the newly-painted spring cart, the brilliant reaper and binder. A lot of tnlea they might baTe told — of weary •travellers, oC disastrous " break-down " in stony river-beds, of weary tramping under hot suns by ths wool bales, of merry picoic parties and of home-ccmiuga at the close cf day. Now and then at the station or on the coach you would see bands of tourists — young college girls perhaps, serious and adventurous, at the same time taking dignified possession of the street ; a band of alpine climber?, ruthlessly bearing off loads of mountain lilies and daisies to droop and die in the heat; alert, smooth Englishmen ; jaded Americans, whose sole purpose in visiting Nsw Zealand evidently was to testify as eye-witnesses to its inferiority to their native land. Springfield is a fairly convenient township for a holiday, being only three hours' journey away from Christchurch. To judgo byourown oxperiance, supplies are somewhat picoaricus, also the extraordinary heat of these last five weeks exhausted the tanks. At the Kowhai Bush settlement I saw children carrying water from a little creek at a considerable distance off. and was told this was now the only source of supply. Springfield i« blest with a. fine water race, and the country tieldß have good canals and ditches, but the water ia not drinkable ; still in spite of these drawbacks the place is deservedly popular. It is 1200 ft above tha level of Ohristchurcb," and the air is of cours« purer. Invalid* are often sent there now, and at Christmas time whole families take up their i emporary residence in any vacant house* they can tiad. It is the mountain resorfc nearetsfc to Christohuccb, Hud is for that reason likely to become more and more popular.