Children's Page

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXIV, Issue 21, 27 May 1905, Page 53

Children's Page

COUSINS’ BADGES.

Cousins requiring badges are requested to send an addressed envelope, when the badge will be forwarded by return mail.

COL SI NS’ CORRESPONDENCE.

Dear Cousin Kate, —I am sorry that I was not able to write, but I have not been well. I did not go to Cambridge at Easter. I was rather disappointed, but I will be able to go at some future time. My sister went to Ngaruawahia to see mv auntie, and she liked the plaee. I may go up shortly. I have such a darling black kitten; it came here, so 1 have kept it; I call it Smut. 1 was out at Mt. Eden a few days, and it was very nice. I am going to the annual meeting of the S. John Ambulance Society to-morrow evening. Well, Cousin Kate. I must elose now, as father is going out. and he will post it. —Cousin Muriel H.

[Dear Cousin Muriel, —I am so sorry to hear that you have been ill, and hope you are quite well again now. I expect you were very disappointed at not being able to go to Cambridge after all; you had been' looking forward to it for such a long time; perhaps you will be able to go up in the summer holidays; it will be ever so much nicer then, because it would have been rather cold at Cambridge at Easter time, and the weather was not very bright either, was it? Ngaruawahia is such a pretty place; at least, the river is lovely just there, and every year they have a regatta on the 17th March, I think it is, so you should try and pay your visit there just at that time. Smut is a very good name for a black kitten; did you think of it for yourself? We have four eats at our plaee just now, and only one is our own; the others came and settled themselves down there, and we cannot drive them away. I know the annual meeting of the St. John’s Ambulance is coming off to-night; I want to go to it, but do not know whether I shall be able to; if I don’t you will be able to tell me all about it next week, won’t you?—Cousin Kate.]

Dear ,Cousin Kate, —It is some time since I last wrote to you, but I will now try and make up for keeping you so long. I" have already made several attempts to write to you, but each time I was taken away to do something else. Last Wednesday 1 was one of the poll clerks’ at the voting for Mayor and Councillors here, and I did not get home till twenty-five minutes to one on Thursday morning, as it was very late before we finished tallying up? The Taylor-Carrington Company played here last week a piece entitled ‘’Barnes, of New "York.’ and are going to play “My Sweetheart” next Tuesday. Footbail has started here again, and the club I am in has practise in a hall every Wednesday evening, and some good old fun we do have. But the worst of last week’s practice was that there were some incandescent burners up, and when the ball was being passed out it was thrown rather high; it fell exactly on the top of the globe, and, behold, the

glass fell down and the bull came tumbling after. It is some time since I gave the cousins a trick, so I will give them some here under the title of Legerdemain. The effect of the first trick I give here is as follows: The conjurer steps forward with a strip of paper about six inches long, and tears it in pieces, lie then rubs the pieces together in his hands and runs it out again, when, behold, the pieces are all rejoined. Not satisfied with this illusion, he takes up a matchbox, takes a match therefrom, and lights the paper; then he puts the box on his table again. When the paper is burnt he takes the ashes and rubs them together in his hands, when, again behold! he has a handkerchief in his hand. The secret of the above pretty little trick is as follows: The conjuror will need two pieces of paper, one of which he must roll up and.hold between his fingers, so that, when he has torn up one piece he can roll out the other piece, and the audience will think it is the one piece of paper you are showing them all the time. The matchbox must be half opened, and in one end must he put a silk handkerchief, so that when the match is taken out of the box it is closed and the handkerchief pushed into the hand. Another trick is to lay out a set of dominoes on the table, and tell anyone present that you will leave the room, and when you come back you will tell them the number of spots on the end dominoes, requesting them to arrange the dominoes as if they were playing a game. The secret of the trick lies in taking any one of the dominoes away from the others, unobserved. For instance, say you took away the double five; then the number of spots on the end dominoes will be five: if a four and a six, then one of the numbers will be four and the other will be six. Here is another trick, under the title of ‘‘The King of Money.” Take a quantity of coins and place them in a circle, as shown in the illustration, making a “tail.” Ask some person to think of a number and to count up the number, beginning with the end of the tail and counting around the circle. Then from the coin on which he stops he is to count bark, bur this time ignoring the tail, and following

the circle. You can leave the ro.nn while he does the counting. and can correctly tell where he finally stopped, no matter what number he thought of. The secret is: The final stopping place is determined by your first secretly counting the number of pieces in the tail, then secretly counting up from the head of the tail to the right; the same number of pieces as there are in the appendage. For instance, with the circle and tail here shown, no matter what number is selected, the stopping point will always be the fourth to the right from the top of the tail. To find six times thirteen in twelve, place your figures thus: 12346078

9 10 11 12. And taking always the first and last figure together you say: 1 and 12 make 13. 2 and 11 make 13, 3 and 10 make 13, 4 and 9 make 13, 5 and S make 13, 0 and 7 make 13 —six times. One more trick and I will stop, as I think 1 have already gone past the limit of space. Place a glass of water on the table; put a hat over it and say: “1 will engage to drink the water under hat, and yet I’ll not touch the hat.” You then get under the table, and after giving three knocks you make a noise as if you were swallowing the water. ’Then, getting up. you say: “Now, gentlemen. be pleased to look.” Some one, eager to see if you drank the water, will raise the hat. when you instantly take the glass and drink the contents and say: “Gentlemen. 1 have fulfilled my promise. You are all witnesses that I did not touch the hat.” Q.: If a man was to call you a liar, what would you do? A.: I would not believe him. I must now close, dear Cousin Kate, with love to you and all the cousins.— Carle. West port. April 30. 1905. [Dear Cousin Carle. —It is indeed a verv considerable time since you wrote to me last, and several of Ihe cousins have enquired about you. and wondered if vou were ever going to write any more. You seem to be always so busy that I expect you do find it rather hard to find time to write letters. You must have found it rather interesting being one of the poll clerks. I always think one sees such different types of people at elections, and some of them are very amusing and interesting. Were you not very loath to get up in the morning after being up so late, or so early rather? Did you go to see the TaylorCarrington Company? I have heard of them often, but never seen them, as they only seem to play in the smaller towns and the country districts. Of course you have read “Mr Barnes of New York”; it is by Gunter. and parts of it are very amusing. I liked “Mr Barnes,” though 1 do not care for the st vie of Gunter’s books as a rule. The football season has commenced in Auckland too, but 1 have not. been out yet. I suppose you are playing for the seniors now. are you not? Thank you very much indeed for the tricks you have sent in. I hope the cousins will find them as interesting as 1 did. — Cousin Kate.] 4* 4* 4* l>itr Cousin Kate.—lt is so long since any of us wrote to you that 1 think you will have forgotten we are cousins at all. Dorothie stayed in Gisborne two months, and had to write so many letters home that she got tired of writing; and now she won’t writ.? to anybody. I have been very ill. and was in bed for nine days, and bad nothing hut milk: anti I got so hungry. We go to a new school now—Mrs. Hanna’s. And we like it very much. Our baby is getting so clever, and has got nine tcHh, and can nearly walk. Did you go to the circus when it was here. We did, and also Rickards and “Patience.” We are having three wr -ks holiday, and are going out somewhere nearly every day. Jack go. to school now, but at first he did not want to go at all. Now he is getting used to it, and he likes it very

much. Father is going to take us to Cornwall Park one day. Next time 1 write 1 wifi tell you howe wc liked it. Now, good-bye.—Cousin Tui. j Dear Cousin Tui, —I was >o glad <o find your letter lying on my table vviicn 1 came down to the ollicv this morning. It is such a long time since 1 Icard from any of vou that I quite thought you had all forgotten inc. I am very glad you haven’t. What a delightful holiday Dorothi.* has had. Didn’t you want to lie with her, too? I thought she must be away, hecaus? I have not seen her lately. I am so sorry you have* been ill: what was the matter with you? I don't wonder you were very hungry when you had been living on milk for nine days. It is not very satisfying wh *n •He is allowed to have nothing else. I know a number of little girls who go to Mrs. Hanna's school, and they all seem to like it very much, indeed. You have quite a long way to go ••acli morning, hut I suppose you go to the top of St. George’s Bay Road in the car. Baby certainly must be getting on; I didn’t think he would he uld enough to walk for several months y.?t. I think Dorothie told me his name once. but 1 have forgotten it; will you tell me again next time you write? Yes. I went to the cileus, and to Rickards’ and too. You ar.? getting quite a gay little girl, and go out nearly as much as 1 do. Which do you like the best? I hope you will enjoy your holidays very much, and have a really good time, and perhaps at the end of the three wcr*ks Dorothie will have got over her tiredness and will be able to write to me again. Jack must fr?el quite a big boy. now that lie goes to school. Does he go to Mrs. Hanna's, too? Don't forget to tell me about your trip to Cornwall Park next time you write.—Cousin Katc.J 4-4-4' Dear Cousin Kate, —As it is rather long since I wrote you a letter 1 do not know what I have and What I have not told you. Did I tell you about mother going away to Sydney by the s.s. Sierra? Before mother went away she gave me a hoop and crook, a pair of Japanese sandals, and a threepenny bit, and when 1 went down to see her off the purser gave my sister six or soven 14-ick ribbons with «.s. Sierra printed on them in gold letters, one of which my sister gave me. Therefore, although 1 was very sorry to lose mother, 1 was very glad to go down to see her off. Mother has away six weeks on Wednesday. She has sent me a gun, three lollie cigars, some lollies, a china man filled with chocolates, two and five post-cards. I have now got fiK or 70 post-cards in my album. How was it, d«*ar Cousin Kate, tjiat there were no cousins’ letters in last week’s ‘•Graphic?’’ Was it because no cousins wrote <0 you. or was it. because you did not have time to answer them, and did not put them in until you had time to put both rhe letters amt answers in? Was not Buster Brown very funny in last week’s “Graphic,*” dear Cousin Kate? 1 think he gets funnier every* week. I am afraid if there was ever such a boy aas him he would he considered a very mischievous boy. Now. dear Cousin Kate, as it is getting late I must say good-bye, with heaps of love for all the cousins* not forgetting yourself.—Cousin Harold. | Dear Cousin Harold. —li is some time since you wrote to me last. I don't think I have heard from you since you told me about your visit to the Village Fair at Devonport. and that is a long time ago now. isn’t it? Yon did not tell me your mother had gone to Sydney, and I did not know she had gone. I might have guessed she was ; way though, for I usually s<*e her once or twice a week, ami I haven’t >. o eii her about, for some time now. You must miss her very much. Is she going to make a long stay in Sydney? You had quite a nice lot of pr seats before your inotb.?r went ; it must have been nearly as good as having a birthday. Your album must he very nearly full of postcards now: if your col lection govs on growing at that rah* you will soon have to get another album, won't you? Thf. n as<.n that then* were no cousins’ let* tors in th.-* “Graphic” one week was because there w< re so few that it was hot worth while breaking into part of a page for them. There are more this week. I am glad to say, and I hop* there will continue to he mon*, because I should not like the cousins' page to bo done away with, and the Editor says if you don’t all write more regularly he will linv.? to take it away and fill it up with bumvthing else. —Cousin Kate.j

D ar Cousin Kate, —The “Graphic” has just potm*, and, oh! 1 am so worry » 6vr 1/v ''Vmrr* notrs IJ the cousins that we might have to give- up our page. WiMildn’t it be dreadful? As there Mere no letter* in last week’s “Graphic,” I didn’t in end writing this week, thinking \ «»n would put last week’s letter in n*xt week’s '‘Graphic,” but I st e you have printed them both together. So this will be right, won’t it? Many thanks, dear Cousin Kate, for sending me another badge, at least, 1 haven’t, got it y,*L but suppose it will arrive shortly. Wdl. Cousin Kate. I must say gued night, with love to yourself and the cousins.— Muriel J., Auckland. | Dear Cousin Muriel, —It is some time .since I had such a short letter from you, but “half a loaf, etc.,” is a very good proverb to remember, I think, don't you? \\ •• won’t have to give up our page if the cousins will only write a little more regularly, and 1 do hop* they will for i am sure I should miss not hearing from you all very much, indeed. I was glad you did not miss writing this week, because I want to see how long you can manage to write every week, and you have not missed one week yet. I am sorry I have not posted your badge to you before this, but 1 have had so many things to think of and have been m» busy that Cm afraid I forgot alt about it. 1 will post it to you at once, though. To-day is the first time I have b.en cold this winter, and you cannot think now' I am grumbling to myself beeause my feet feel lik.? stones. I must stop now, as the bell has rung for the lunch hour, and I want to do some chopping before 1 come back.—Cousin Kat .j 4* 4* 4* Dear Cousin Kate-—T returned from nr> Caster holidays a few days ago. nd as I have a little spare time I will try and tell you all about them, ’’hoy were spent at Laidmore, the place ■ told you something about in my Christmas letter. The drive to Kaidmore until it began to get cold was a delightful one. Laidmore is 16 miles tront Amberley, and is situated amongst the hills. The road winds round the

base of high hills and through natron* passes. At one place it was so narrow that there was only room for two horses to walk abreast. If the horses bpd shied at anything I shudder to think what would happen, as a thousand feet below u.s rushed the river, its waters swollen by recent rains and snow from the hills. At last it became too dark to distinguish anything plainly, but 1 knew we Were passing through wiki mountainous country. We toiled up a rocky road, which seemed to me to be up the side of a hill, and raced down the other side, but the horses knew every inch of the road, and 1 was assured there was no danger of their slipping and throwing us all out. as every minute I expected would Ik* tiie case. 1, thought the journey was never coming to an end, but at last it did. After a hot tea Susy (who is the only girl my own age) and I went up to bed. ♦.We planned to have a good long talk, but it didn't come oil', for I went to sleep almost as soon as my head touched the pillow. The next day was also tine, as. indeed, the rest of my stay turned out to be. One day Susy and 1 made up our minds to try and see how far we could get up one of the three mountains known as the Doctors, which rose, almost perpendicularly, at the back of the house. It was very hard climbing. and the sun was so awfully hot. ’There was no track of any description. and here and there large rocks impeded our course. Now and then we passed a huge cabbage-tree, but save for these no other vegetation grew on 1 he rugged mountain side. When we, got up rather less than half-way we rested a while and then went on up. up. until, looking downwards. the cattle in the paddocks at the base of the mountain looked mere specks. The higher we went the cooler grew the air. We were still a long way fiom the lop when we both decided we could go no further, so we sank down on a projecting rock to regain our breath. The view spread out before us was a particularly pleasing one. The homestead lay almost at the base of the mountain on a sort of elevated pin-

teau, white all around it stretched smooth paddocks. A little further away rolled the river winding in and out between high limestone cliffs of chalky whiteness. . which dazzled the eye in-the sunlight. The country all around was scared and broken by rocky ravines and broad deep gullies. Far ayyay in the distance stretched a long line of hills, bush-clad from summit to base, from which Mounts Grey and Brown, with their superior heights, stood out in bold relief against the sky like grim sentinels guarding the valley below—their tops covered with snow and veiled in haze. Through a break in the hills we eaught a glimpse, of the blue waters of the Pacific, lying so still and peaceful "neath the mellow rays of the late autumn sun. Over all was a sky of liquid blue, touched here and there by large white fleecy clouds. We liugerel long drinking in every detail until at last the sun’s rays grew feebler, the air colder, and the hills beyond seemed to melt into thin blue mist. We hurried down, down, stumbling over stones amt tussocks. We could hardly slop ourselves in our mad race. Once I slipped, slid a few yards', and just saved myself from tumbling over a ledge of overhanging rock by clutching wildly at a handful of tussocks. As I had no wish to renew the experience 1 exercised a little more caution. We soon reached the bottom breathless, dishevelled. but warmed by our scramble down the side of the mountain. Another day my Cousin Harry had to go over to Firewood Gully to get some wood, and he asked us if we wanted to go with him as he was going to take the sledge. The sledge was made of several planks joined together, and ran on wheels, and a horse was harnessed to it. Fancy. Cousin Kate, being whirled up and down over small hillocks with the horse going at express speed. Every minute I expected to be lurched out and left on my back on the track. The sensation at first was horrid, but soon I grew used to it and rather liked it. How my cousin managed to stand up and drive the horse remains still a mystery to me. Firewood Gully is a

wide, deep valley' full of pines, mana* kas, and blaek birch trees, the latter being far the most numerous. To stand and look down into the gully one would think it had been once on lire, as the black birch trees have a thick bash, charred stud burnt looking. As 1 wanted some shrubs to take heme with me, the day before 1 came away Susy and I went down a gully at the side of the house to get some. The gullies in summer are a vision of beauty, arid even then, late autumn as it was, the trees, most of them, still kept their green mantle. One tree only was in bloom—a kind of pepper tree. The blossom has a scent not unlike daphne. One spot in the gully I thought especially beautiful. It was a place where three streams mef, and tumbled over some high rocks, making a pretty waterfall. At the foot of the rocks was a huge basin, rounded out of rock, which was formed. I suppose, by the water continually falling. In this basin the water was as clear as crystal. All round the waterfall grew native trees —kinini, matipo, and pepper trees, besides many others, whose names 1 have forgotten. We got as many shrubs as we could conveniently carry, and as it was getting late we left the gully and made our way back to the house. Dear Cousin Kate. 1 will not bore you any more by' this rambling, and. 1 am afraid, badly' put together letter, so I will say an revoir for the present. Willi much love I remain your ever affectionate cousin. Winnie. I’.S. —I am sorry if you had to pay anything on the postcard I sent you. AJd stamp was put on by mistake. Enclosed is Id stamp 1 know you won’t be offended. Cousin Kate.—Winnie.

[Dear Cousin Winnie,—It was so nice to get a letter from you this morning; it seems sucii a long time since I heard from you last. Olive wrote a charming letter a week or two ago describing an excursion she went on Good Friday. She must have had a perfectly delightful day, I think, but you seem to have enjoyed your holidays so much that I don’t suppose you envied her

her "one day in the country.” There seems to be such a number of I'ttads ’*■•’* in New Zea la it'd which’ one drives alflng with one’s heart in one’s mouth. I used not to mind it once, but now I always want to get out and walk. I feel ever so much safer, and. consequently, happier, on my own feet, don’t you? I expect your journey and “perilous” drive had made you very tired, and that was why you could not keep awake for your long talk. No doubt you made up for it afterwards, though. You were lucky to have' good weather for your trip, it is so uncertain at Easter time, usually. You must be more careful, dear Winnie, when you are mountain climbing again, you might have been seriously injured if you had not been lucky enough to catch that tussock. 1 don’t wonder you were more careful afterwards. 1 have had sleigh rides such as you describe; it is a wonderful sensation isn’t it? —a nice one, too, I think, after one has got paht the stage of wildly clutching at anything within reach. I hope your shrubs will all grow—do you think they will? Thank you very much for the postcard, and it didn’t matter in the least only putting a id stamp on it.— Cousin Kate. | •fr 4- 4Bear Cousin Kate,—l hope you will excuse me for not writing to you before now, as I have been busy preparing for an examination. Are there anv cousins residing in Dunedin? I think Dunedin is really the prettiest town in New- Zealand, Cumberland-street is the longest street in Dunedin, but George and Princes streets are the busiest, there are six streets from I’elichef Bay, namely: Kort h-street, Clyde-Street, Cas-tle-street, Leith-Street,' Cumberlandstreet. and King-street. If you were sailing up the Otago Harbour the first thing your eyes would fall upon is a town with hills at one side of it and at the back. As 'you come farther inland you would see a good many churches, hotels, and publie buildings. The principal churches are the Roman Catholic Cathedral, Knox Church. First Church, St. Paul’s Cathedral, and St. Stephen’s. The Grand Hotel is the largest hotel in Dunedin. You would probably visit the Botanical Gardens, which enjoy the reputation of being tire prettiest in New Zealand. The Roman Catholic Cathedral rs not finished yet. In the Gardens you will find two musk deer, one guinea fowl, five Maori hens, six black swans, two emus, and a good many more whose names are unknown to me. There is also a-museum, which is very nice, considering what a short time it has been up. After you had visited these you would visit the Ocean Beach, with its beautiful white sandy stretches. I heard my uncle telling father that in Christchurch you would get 10/ for every ton. Of course you would not walk from Normality to Ocean Beach, but you would take the electric car to the Post Office, and then get on the horse cars, which seems to go so slowly after you have been in the elcetrie cars. There are six suburbs round about Dunedin— N.E. Valley. Glenaven. Glenroy, Normality,"Kaikorai, and Woodhanlgh. There is a’lovely view from Northern Cemetery. and another lovely view from the Southern Cemetery. Now. dear Cousin Kate, I must conclude. With love to all the cousins and yourself.—l remain, Cousin -< lenience. P.S.—-I hope my letter will be interesting. Thanks ever so much for the badges. [Deaf Cousin ( lenience,—Of course I would have liked to have received a letter from you before this, but I would, rather not hear from you for months than that you should neglect your studies for the sake of writing to the Cousins’ Page. Dunedin certainly is a very pretty town, but 1 don’t know whether I should call it the prettiest in New Zealand. Have you visited all the large' centres! It is some years now since I was in Dunedin, and, of course, the Botanical Gardens may have improved very much of late, but when I saw them J wouldn’t have dreamt of comparing them with the Recreation Grounds in New Plymouth, which are lovely. 1 suppose, now, the Gardens at Rotorua are really -the best laid out and the* finest, in Nctv Zealand, though even they must yield .the' palm for picturesqueness to the New Plymouth “Rec.,” as it is called. I used to love going out to Ocean Beach and St. Clair when I was in Dunedin. .Another trip I was very fond of making was to go down the Mornington extension in the cars. It is so steep, and

must be something like tobnggasung. I think. We haven’t any horse earfc in Auckland now, but 1 ■expect we slmnld find them dreadfully slow after the electric service. Don’t you call Mornington, Caversham, and Roslyn suburbs < f Dunedin, too? There are some perfect views to be had, aren’t there? My favourite one was from the top of Sentry Hill, 1 think. I am glad you received the badges safely.—Cousin Kate.]