HERE AND THERE.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXVIII, Issue IX, 1 March 1902, Page 400

HERE AND THERE.

Picnics are the order of the day. The butchers, the bakers, the photographers, the jewellers, and half-a-dozen other tratles are all indulging in what may be termed New Zealand's favourite recreation. It would indeed be odd if picnicing and its more serious cousin, camping-out, were not popular in this part of the world. Take Auckland, for example, you may go to a fresh resort every Saturday of the season, and still not have exhausted the repertoire, so to put it. Whether it is inland to the bush, or boating to one of the innumerable bays of the isles of the Hanraki Gulf, there is always some new beauty spot to be visited, and each has a freshness and individuality of its own. These trade picnics are in every way desirable, they bring together employers and employees on an equal footing, and by their social intercourse, the acerbities of business rivalry etc., etc., are toned down. Wherefore, “long live the picnic.”

Dr. Bakewell, of Auckland, is “at it” again. For the benefit of Southern readers, who know- not “the Doctor,” let it be explained that he is the “enfant terrible” of the intellectual portion of the community in Auckland and the delight of those unregenerates who have a pretty taste in humour. The Doctor has a passion for mischieviously and of malice aforethought saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, the thing, that is, which will be most likely to raise a mild storm in the scientific, political, or theological teacup. For example, last Monday evening as ever was that prim and perhaps rather priggish body the Auckland Institute held their annual meeting. Thq Very satisfactory report and balanee-gheet were read, and the extreme propriety, not to say prosiness, which nasally characterises such gatherings seemed to have set in for the night, when the Doctor threw a bomb into the assemblage by

animadverting on the purchase of the Mair collection of Maori carvings anil curios. He declared —in the very halls made sacred to Maoridom—“that a morbid taste was growing up in this part of New Zealand for accumulating horrible, ugly, and even obscene objects because they belonged to the Maoris.” And then, to add blasphemy on blasphemy's head, he called the Maoris a “low race,” and expressed sorrow that they were not dying out, as he evidently considers a savage race should do, and further challenged retort and recrimination by the extravagant assertion that he could carve better than the* Maoris himself. The sensation created may be better imagined than described, and one can picture this “farceur par excellence” walking home, chuckling at having once more been taken seriously, and having once more in the elegant slang of the day “pulled the leg” of an august, scientific body.

The coming scramble for land at Kawhia, in the King Country, in which thousands from all over the colony are to participate, has again drawn attention to the evils of the sly grog selling there. It is rumoured that in the hope of securing a license a certain Auckland liquor dealing firm have given £5OO for a choice township section, and that if prohibition is removed, this will jump to £3OOO in value. Be this as it may, grog is now being sold in Kawhia at the rate of about £7O per week. So, at all events, alleges a non-prq-hi'bition resident. The chances of obtaining a conviction are practically nil, since public sentiment is entirely with the law’ breakers. Surely it would be better to start a Government “bar” and have done with the scandal.

Congratulations to Mr Dionne. Whatever may be the present in that mysterious box from the Prince and Princess of Wales, in memory of their visit here, it is sure to be a pleasant souvenir to Mr Donne, and unquestionably he deserves it.