TOPICS OF THE WEEK.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XIX, Issue IX, 21 August 1897, Page 258

TOPICS OF THE WEEK.

THE POPE AND THE PREMIER. COMMENTARY has been rife on the Premier’s audience with the Pope, but I had thought everybody’s interest in the subject was exhausted by this time. However, I have discovered that that is not the case. The other day a visitor invaded my sanctum. Backed by the swift and sure insight of a Sherlock Holmes, my first glance told me that he was of Scotch ancestry, and came—not directly, of course—from the north of Ireland ; also that he was an Orangeman of the deepest hue. He came directly from a small country settlement not far from Auckland to ask me, in somewhat forcible language, what the Premier’s interview with the Pope portended. At least, he said he came to ask me what it portended, but it turned out that he had really come to tell me what it portended. He told me—no, truly, I will not harrow my reader’s feelings by placing before their eyes in all its entirety the lurid picture he placed before mine, but I think I may try to briefly indicate some of its features. To begin with, my visitor assured me that the interview of the Autocrat of New Zealand with the Autocrat of the Roman Catholic Church could point to nothing less than the forcible conversion of this colony to the Roman Catholic faith. Richard Seddon was not a man to be baulked in his designs, and what he had made up his mind was to be would be —my visitor evidently placed Mr Seddon’s will and the decrees of fate on one and the same platform. Then my visitor began to paint in lively colours—which smacked strongly of an undigested course of Fox’s ‘ Book of Martyrs ’ —the necessary details of New Zealand’s forcible conversion to the Roman Catholic Church. The details were terrible, and all the more terrible because of their confusion. Courts of Inquisition would be established in all the more prominent towns of the Colony. Manufacturies of thumb-screws, racks, and boots—the two last not to be confounded with the ordinary and innocent articles bearing those names —would be merrily set a-going, and the flames of many new Smithfields would rise from all quarters of the land, bearing aloft to the sunny skies of New Zealand the cries of the faithful who chose rather to die than submit to the iniquitous tyranny of the bigoted priesthood which was crushing fair Zealandia beneath its iron heel. ‘ But these things will not be,’ proceeded my visitor, with a heroic accent in his voice, • until the valiant Orangemen of New Zealand have fought fortheir faith another battle of the Boyne, which, less happy in its issue than the first, does not give to them the victory.’

I gently threw some cold water on my Orangeman’s perfervid oration by begging him to bear in mind that religious persecution was a thing of the past, and that it seemed to me that Protestants had little reason to boast that, in the past, they had been less ready with the flames of persecution than their Roman Catholic contemporaries. Then I attempted to put his mind at ease by assuring him that no results of the kind he feared were likely to follow Mr Seddon’s visit to the Vatican. * But what was he doing there, anyway ?’ asked the Orangeman, suspiciously. I endeavoured to explain to him that Mr Seddon, no doubt, considered himself the Father of his country, and in that capacity had

sought the acquaintance of the Spiritual Father of a large number of his countrymen. This and more to the same effect I explained to him at length, but this man of one idea kept interrupting my lucid explanations in the manner of the bewildered old man in Molibre’s comedy, with his English version of * f)u’ allait il fairs dans eetteqalire ?’ In the end he told me bluntly that he wasn’t born yesterday, but he rather suspected I was, for in last week’s issue of the Graphic had I not got it pictorially stated that Mr Seddon had refused to kiss the Pope’s toe ? *He refuse to kiss the Pope’s toe ! Don’t yon believe it, sir. Since he had gone and got an audience with the Pope, it isn’t to be supposed he’d higgle over a small matter like that. I’ll bet he came prepared to slobber the whole foot if they wanted him to. He’s a deep dog is Seddon, and he isn’t the man to let a few kisses stand in the way if he’s got his reasons for wanting to sell his country to the Pope of Rome.’ Despairing of convincing this pig headed fellow by myself, I called in (through the telephone) the services of our very special reporter. He is a very special reporter indeed, and apparently has means of knowing more of the substance and particulars of any event taking place on any portion of the globe than even the persons concerned in the matter have themselves any knowledge of. I suspect his means of knowing has to do with clairvoyance, or second sight, or something equally uncanny, but still I take the news the reporter provides me.

Now I repeated to the Orangeman, standing by me at the telephone, the answers my questions evoked from this very special reporter of ours. ‘ Are you in possession of the full particulars of Mr Seddon’s audience with the Pope ?’ The most accomplished liar could not have uttered a more unhesitating ‘ I am ’ than that which reached my ears through the telephone. ‘ Then kindly state them now, and as briefly as possible.’ Back came his precise statement, as clear and distinct as a telephonic utterance can be—* The audience was less of Mr Seddon’s seeking than the Pope’s, who wished to honour in Mr Seddon that wonderful new country of remarkably enlightened inhabitants of which he is the Premier. Mr Seddon did, as a fact, sturdily refuse to kiss the toe which the Pope gracefully extended to him on his entrance, but the slight unpleasantness, which our Premier’s praiseworthy contumacy might have given rise to, was happily avoided by the genial tact with which His Holiness quickly thrust the rejected toe into a jewelled slipper and extended a finger instead. The conversation between the two remarkable men ran in a light and pleasant fashion, chiefly upon the latest carnival in Rome, and such kindred subjects as the Rabbit Pest and the Woman’s Franchise in New Zealand. Mr Seddon also entertained the Pope with particulars of the menus of the many banquets given to him in England. Religious topics were avoided with studied courtesy by both. But toward the end of the interview, His Holiness, who had not concealed the favourable impression Mr Seddon had made on him, turned the kindly and reverend refinement of his countenance on our Premier and whispered softly, “ Ah, that thouhadst been of the true Faith and in orders! Methinks a red robe would not have sat unbecomingly on that stalwart figure of thine; or even that this chair of St. Peter’s might have found in thee a not unworthy occupant when I have passed away.” Mr Seddon, in a voice broken with emotion, replied to His Holiness, “ Almost thou persuadest me to be a Roman Catholic.” But even in that supreme moment the strong will so characteristic of our Premier asserted itself, and tearing himself from the too fascinating affability of the Pope’s presence, he left the Vatican as staunch a Protestant as he had entered it.’ ‘Now,’ said I, ringing off the telephone and turning to the Orangeman, * could anything be more eminently satisfactory than that statement of our very special reporter’s ? Surely your suspicions respecting our Premier’s audience with the Pope are forever set at rest ?’ My troublesome visitor answered me neither * Yea ’ nor ‘Nay.’ His face, though looking a trifle bewildered, showed him to be as stubbornly unconvinced as ever, and he stalked out of my office muttering to himself his dogged query, * What the dickens was Seddon doing there anyway ?’

A GOOD FIELD FOR BURGLARS. NEW ZEALAND used to be called the paradise of the working man. It was the capitalist who called it so, not the working man himself. The latter, like most of us since the days of Adam, failed to recognise when he was well off; and now that there are few capitalists in the land and most of us are working men, the phrase has rather fallen into disuse. There still remains a section of the community, however, to the members of which New Zealand is perhaps as near an approach to Paradise as mundane conditions will allow. I mean the policemen. The New Zealand policeman

gives the lie direct to the universally accepted dictum of comic opera that the life of the guardians of the peace is not a happy one. That may be the case with policemen in other lands, but not here, where the man who dons the nniform at once invests himself with dignity and importance in the eyes of his fellow men, and ensures for himself ease with honour. In this law-abiding land distinction in the service can be won at the very least risk of injury to one’s self. There are no desperate and hardened criminals here—dangerous customers to handle at close quarters—and a soldierly bearing, even when allied with a rabbit’s heart, will carry a man a long way on the paths of peace. No wonder that in these days, when the question, What shall we do with our boys ? vexes our households, paterfamilias should bethink himself of the nice genteel billet of constable as an opening for one of his olive branches. Nay, when business is depressed he may secretly covet the office for himself. I know that I have often envied the gentlemen in blue or white in the summer time. When I have been hurrying about my business there were they, delightfully placid and undisturbed, sauntering with an air of aristocratic leisure along the shady pavement, and casting a casual eye of supervision over the orderly passers-by. Nor did the fact that these carefully-gloved hands had occasionally to arrest a drunk or petty thief—though almost incredible—detract from the desirability of the office. Such little activities would come as welcome relaxations, nothing more. It might have been predicted, however, that such an idyllic condition of things could not last for ever, and already there are signs that the end of it is near. The thief and burglar, like the schoolmaster, is abroad in these days. These gentlemen are essentially cosmopolites, and call every country home where their prey is to be had. Was it possible that the existence of a place like New Zealand, with all its advantages in the burglarious eye, could remain a secret ? Cracksmen, like other mortals, often require a change of air, and what better place could there be for such a purpose than this colony, where one has ample opportunities to do a little business just to keep one’s hand in. We are not a wealthy community, and for any enterprising burglar to seriously think of settling down to his trade here would probably be a mistake, but as a place for an occasional tour, playing, say a week or a fortnight in each big town, and a day or two in the smaller centres, I know nothing that is likely to beat it. And if I mistake not Bill Sykes and his friends are beginning to understand this, and are seeking us ont. Some recent sticking up cases in Auckland suggest the presence there of something more than mere local talent, and that suggestion is rather confirmed by the fact that the police have found no clue. They are scarcely likely to find any, I should say, having never had any particular training for the search. Some people I know are indignant with the police for not having laid the offenders by the heels Jong ago. But that is unfair. You must make allowances for the force. It has never had to cope with such cases before. The experience is altogether new to it. And you must not expect, either, that our guardians can suddenly become the ferocious and intrepid man-hunters that are needed to tackle the knights of the sand bag and the jemmy. You would not think of taking a policeman out of a pantomime and setting him down in a street row in Commercial Road, London, expect him to perform prodigies of valour and astuteness. No, no, for a long time yet to come orderly citizens must be contented to be sand bagged or garrotted in patience, according as the passing fancy or convenience of the itinerant footpad may suggest. And after all it is not perhaps the citizens who are to be pitied, but the policemen, whose idyllic existence has been so ruthlessly disturbed, and calls made on them which they never anticipated when they joined the force. If any men have a grievance they surely have.

AN ASSURED INCOME IN THE NEXT WORLD.

THAT very ancient Biblical saying, that we brought nothing into this world and can take nothing out of it, does not seem to be believed in by a well-known London assurance company. In a circular recently issued by them, they gravely make the following statement ‘ An investment yielding 5 per cent, per annum, to begin at death or on attainment of a given age, and to continue for 20 years afterwards, with payment of the full sum assured at end of period.’ It is difficult to know exactly what benefit the 5 per cent, per annum would be to a dead man. The circular does not say that this amount will be annually paid to the heirs of deceased, nor to anyone whom he may appoint to receive it, but it will ‘ begin at death,’ and ‘ continue for 20 years afterwards, with payment of the full sum assured at end of period.’ This clearly means that the money will be paid to the dead man if he prefers to receive it in the next world, or at a given age in this. Now suppose he elects to receive his 5 per annum after death, how is the assurance company going to manage about paying it ? Will they take the cheque to the cemetery and lay it on the grave of the

bad to manage with my fingers, the natives, as usual, sitting round a big camp oven and helping themselves. A native's idea of wealth is not fine living. Give him a horse, a handkerchief, a pipe, and a pair of dungarees and he’s a king. MAORI CHARACTERISTICS. Maoris with all their peculiarities are very good people to deal with it treated the right way, but it is necessary to treat them differently to white people. Those that are better bred are very polite, and there is as much or more difference between a well born and an inferior native as there is between like classes of our own nationality. A rangatira would feel hurt if you offered to reward

him for hospitality, and they never interrupt you in a conversation, or flatly contradict or refuse you. They make funny mistakes in English sometimes. I once saw one of them milking a cow, and noticing that the bucket was rather empty, I remarked that the animal was not blessed with a superabundance of lacteal fluid. He replied, ‘ Oh, he’s got plenty milk inside, but she won’t let them down.’(!) They are, of course, very superstitious—to such an extent, in fact, that they will not steal anything on a Sunday, or go pig-hunting, or lend a boat on a Sunday. Wild pigs, no doubt, wish every day was Sunday. They will never swear while in a boat for fear of accidents, and if the wind dies will use chants to recover it. Of ghosts they are very frightened,

and if there has been a death they will not go outside at night. There is some sense in this, as they really do see ghosts. OneeveningatTaputaputa, when MrL- Yates was sitting in a room with some of the native boys who were there mustering, one of them jumped up, and rushing to the window, exclaimed that he saw the spirit of a certain woman on its way to the Reinga. He was very agitated, as none of them knew she was ill, but sure enough the next day a messenger came down to say that the woman in question had died at the time he saw her spirit! As an example of the fear Maoris still entertain for tapu, I may repeat the following story told to me at a romantic spot on the north coast About three years ago there died at Spirits’ Bay a chief of the Ngatekouri (».e., ‘ The Dogs,’ from their habit of eating dog’s flesh). A relation of his took a cloth from his box to carry kumeras in, and as a consequence she and her daughter were immediately seized of the devil for touching anything belonging to the dead. They together rushed to the creek, in which they kept jumping about all night, as all Maoris in a similar condition will. In the morning two friends found them almost dead, and after kindling a fire sent for the tohunga. The latter said sea water might save their lives, and sent the others off to the coast a couple of miles away. They took four bottles, but succeeded in filling only three, the other refusing to fill despite their best efforts, and to make matters worse, two of the full bottles bumped themselves together and broke. They returned to the beach for more water, but finding a flat fish high and dry flopping about the sand they ran away frightened. The priest said this was the fatal sign and the sufferers must die, and that soon, as the tide had been going out for some time. He then read them a chapter of the Bible—strange idea !—and at the last word, • Amen,’ the elder woman died. The girl temporarily recovered and related how when she got to

Wairata at Te Reinga the old man would not let her across; so she started back, and on the hill behind Taputaputa met the spirit of her brother on its way to the Reinga, and induced it to return with her. The man had been ill from tapu also, but after a fit of lunacy recovered. The girl, however, died in a fortnight, a victim to this remarkable form of superstitious dread. SPORT. When they get a chance the natives charter the * Staffs ’ and go whapuka fishing. The whapuka is a huge fish weighing fifty or more pounds, and is very plentiful round some sunken rocks off the North Cape. Some of the old Maoris know how to find these rocks by means of marks on the mainland, but they will not take white men with them, as they are afraid they would fry the fish and then no more could be caught, as the whapuka. being a fastidious creature, likes to be boiled, or cooked in a Kapa Maori, and feels insulted if it is fried ! Every year a day is set apart for shark-fishing, and they catch and dry hundreds of them. A day is likewise appointed for the opening of the kawaka or godwit season. Those of a sporting disposition then go out with guns, preferably on a stormy day, and lying on a mud bank where they know the birds will settle, kill dozens of them by discharging both barrels of the gun simultaneously. The birds are extremely fat, and make a very tasty dish, which must, however, be taken in moderation.

Concerning their flight to Siberia, as far as I could judge, it is a mere fairy tale. They certainly disappear, but does the presence of similar birds on the Chinese coast prove that they came from Parengarenga ? and if they seek a colder climate, why should they fly 3,000 miles across the tropics to get it instead of going south ? Perhaps they have never heard of the South Pole ! As to their starting all together from the sand hills in Spirits’ Bay on a certain day in April, it is quite absurd. In the first place there are no sand hills at all in Spirits’ Bay, and although I was there all through the time they are supposed to leave, I did not see a single kawaka. They apparently migrate from Parengarenga harbour, as flocks of them of perhaps a couple of thousand maybe seen rising into the air and then darting off, but it is many weeks from the time that they begin to disappear until the last have taken their flight. 1 have seen hundreds of black swans and large flocks of wild ducks in Parengarenga harbour. These also migrate at certain seasons. Pheasants are also plentiful in the district. THE BIG BEACH. The eighty-mile beach is a remarkable part of the far north. One may stand on Scott’s Point and see Ahipara, eighty miles south, nothing but an unbroken stretch of level sand intervening, with a long line of breakers on one side and sand hills from one to four miles deep on the other. It is a peculiar trip down on to this great beach. You ride down a broad gully, or rather creek, in water a few inches deep and full of quicksands, with sand hills hundreds of feet high on both sides of you. Suddenly you emerge on to the beach and become aware that the sun is dimmer, and that you are in a kind of haze caused by the spray. Inquisitive mutton birds come to shriek in your ears, and you are nearly deafened by the roar of breakers stretching far out to sea. The sudden and complete change from the first part of the journey strikesjthe horses also, for they generally want to gallop along the firm level sand. It is an awe-inspir-

ing sight on a rough day to see the waves dashing themselves against Scott’s Point (or as a digger there spells it * Skotch Poynt'), a huge conglomerate cliff at the northern extremity of the beach, bnt distance lends enchantment to the view. We were nearly washed away there once. We had just descended a nasty precipice on to some rocks for the purpose of fishing, when the other members of the party, who were on ahead, screamed out for me to stop where I was. It was lucky I did so, as an enormous wave just then came up close to me, and when it bad passed I found my friends clinging to the rocks, drenched to the skin, and a kit containing our lunch, etc., floating in the sea. We adjourned to a safer place, but after we had been there some time, although the tide was going out, three huge breakers one after the other came over the boulder on which we stood, washing the balance of our belongings away, and they would have taken us also had it got been for the friendly projections of rock to which we hung. We took the hint and cleared, after having caught nothing but five stupid sharks. THK GUMFIELDS. The land for miles to the south of Parengarenga Harbour is dug for kauri gum, and in riding over it one continually comes upon diggers’ camps of from two to fifty men. These diggers are mostly Austrians, who on account of their thrift and honesty, have almost superseded men of our own nationality. Their huts are made of sacks lined with canvas, and the chimney is built of huge sods. A couple of rude bunks are on one side of the interior, and on the other is a box doing duty for table and cupboard. Some diggers do a good deal of reading, but they are mostly ignorant men, especially the foreigners. They are, nevertheless, most hospitable, and always ready to offer you a huge mug of tea, half a tin of meat, and a junk of excellent bread. I read with amusement in an English periodical that a gumdigger dug on an average something over toolbs a day ! At this rate he would be worth about a thousand a year in good times! At all events they are now more than content if they can average I4lbs of clean gum a day, and can then save money if they want to. Of course, a new chum might work for a week without ‘striking a patch,’ and it is hard work for all of them. The poor fellows who, in order to make a living, are exiled to an ugly desert away from all the comforts of home and civilization, are greatly to be pitied. Let us hope that goldmining in this district will one day employ the men who are now searching for gum. There are certainly plenty of quartz reefs about, but it remains for some enterprising capitalist to thoroughly prospect the place. A GUMDIGGEBS’ BALL. Have you ever been to a real up-country dance ? I rode twenty-four miles to attend one, but it will last me for the rest of my life. Having parted with our Colonial Robert, we passed into a rather mossy-looking room, full of Maoris and Austrians. The floor was coated with mud, and slippery enough to satisfy the most fanciful desires, while the walls were bedecked with fine tapestry made by workers with more industry and legs than myself. The whole was illuminated on a brilliant scale by means of two sticks nailed across one another with a candle on every point. Promptly to the first strains of the band (one accordion) the whole assembly of some thirty couples sprang to their feet, and there was a wild struggle for possession of the floor. The master of ceremonies soon appeared with a stick, and standing in the middle of the room, offered to hit anyone who came too close. This parody on dancing continued until daylight, when buckets of beer and pannikins were brought out, and I hope somebody helped those who helped themselves, for most of them were soon snoring, and the remainder fighting. Of course they all danced in heavy boots and many with spurs and gaiters, and after the ball was over it was interesting to see the fantastic designs in candle grease splashwork from the candles on the giddy revellers’ hats. I am satisfied that once in a lifetime is often enough to witness an up-country dance. SHEEP MUSTERING. In February I had the pleasure of joining in the sheep mustering, and it was indeed a novel experience. At about 2.30 a.m , and apparently to the sleepy soul not five minutes after you had retired, you are ruthlessly awakened by the cracking of whips and the barking of dogs, and the Maoris singing out ‘Eara! Eara!' ‘Get up ! Get up !’ With a sigh you turned out, light your candle, and go into breakfast, after which the stable is visited. Here some eight or ten horses are loudly munching their tood, while they are groomed and saddled in the candle light by half a-dozen natives. It always reminds one of the knights of old having their chargers prepared for the fray. It is pleasant to see the sun rising as you ride along the cliffs and hill tops, and to hear the bleating of the sheep wafted towards you by the gentle sea breeze. The landscape gradually unfolds itself, and as the darkness disappears you can see further and further until the eye reaches the cliffs at Mongonui,

a hundred miles south. Sleepy townsfolk who never enjoy these things don’t know what they miss. One evening on the north coast we had a mob of about 3,000 sheep together, and as it was too late to drive them to the station, we decided to stay there all night. After tea we accordingly adjourned with our charge to a beautiful little valley where there was a paddock. The wild cattle, which were amusing themselves in this, soon disappeared over the fence, so we divided into parties, Mr Crane and I commanding the top of the paddock, and set to work. We gathered huge piles of firewood, and having erected breakwinds, made sumptuous beds of ti-tree andf ern, standing our saddles on end at the top, and using our coats for pillows. What a pretty picture it was under the thicket of silver birches in the firelight and starlight! Ihe horses were hobbled, and while some of us lounged round the fires talking or sleeping, others, with the aid of the dogs, looked after the sheep. I paid a call to the Maoris before turning in, and found them, as usual, playing games, until Mr Motur brought the proceedings to a termination by saying ‘Tat’s ’nough games for tis night ’ and making for bed. At 3 a.m. we struck camp, and started home after what had been to me a jolly camping party. Mr Crane has charge of over 6,000 sheep, the increase among them last year being 90 per cent., and any one who sees their good, clean condition, and how round and comfortable the cattle are, will dispel the delusion that the extreme north is nothing but a worthless waste. As regards the future of this estate, it seems to me eminently adapted for a large canning and direct exporting station for supplying foreign markets. It produces the very best mutton and beef, all kinds and any quantity of fish and oysters, game of many sorts, excellent pork, and the choicest fruits, to say nothing of a present average of about 100 cases of gum per week, besides wool, hides, etc. It is a little kingdom in itself.