THE WEEK.

Poverty Bay Herald, Volume X, Issue 2026, 15 September 1883, Page 2

THE WEEK.

A wkkk not to be thought of. One to bo altogether blotted from the memory. A bitter, miserable, wretched week. A succession of gales in full blast. Cold, piercing, cut-throat winds penetrating to the marrow of the bones. For a few seconds at Ion" intervals the sun would show out, and then become hidden in huge folds of thick black clouds. No coming into town ; no goiug out. No trade ; no money ; absolutely noUiiyg doing. One bad day, followed by a worse, and so on it was all through the gloom of a dcit'^fciblu week. Hoofs of houses leaking ; chimneys aiiioking{ back yards in puddles; miniature lago'ona iv the streets, side and front. Heavy breaker* v}} the bar; the beachline covered with acres 0/ foam from the savage rollers, as they followed eijoh other in t.hieir struggle to be first on shoic. Umbrella.'; turned inside-out; overcoat* v fiirce. The biopm knocked off the peach trees ; young lambs, >yherc thorc Mas no shelter, perishing. The low-lying parts

outside the town covered with water. The steamers making bad weather all through ; passengers sick, and no appetite for anything but strong liquids. Commercial travellers showing t;rand displays of samples, bu'< no buyers. The gloom saddened the hearts of tradesmen. There has been no life in the week. The Maoris without money and without credit. That allegorical personage— the oldest inhabitant—never from the depths of his experience can call up such another week to mind. It has been a time for creditors to be merciful, ami the banks generous.