Children's Page

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVI, Issue 17, 28 April 1906, Page 54

Children's Page

COUSINS’ BADGES. ' Cousins requiring badges are requested to send an addressed envelope, when the badge will be forwarded by return mail. i COUSINS CORESPONDENCE. — Dear Cousin Kate.—l read with great interest the description Cousin Hilda gave of the I’igmies. their mode of living and customs. 1 should very much like to read Mrs Fischer’s book, "On the Borders of Pigmy Land": undoubtedly it resembles William Scully’s tale of an African desert, entitled. "Between Sun andSand.” which gives a graphic account of the Trek-Boers, their descent, mode of living, and the part of Africa which they inhabit. Perhaps Scully’s following description will prove interesting to those who have not read the book, but I cannot say whether they have been mentioned in history before-. 1 think not. though. "The region which they inhabit is known as Bushmanland, the name having reference to its former inhabitants, who. proving themselves ’unfit.’ were abolished from the face of the earth. Bushmanland is situated to the south of the Great Orange River for 300 miles of its course before it sinks through the thirsty sands into the Atlantic Ocean, and which is at present intermittently inhabited by a nomadic population of Europeans of Dutch descent, who are called ‘Trek-Boers.’ To ‘trek’ literally means to ‘pull,’ but its colloquial significance is—to move about from place to place. The Trek-Boers are, so he says, poor relations of the sturdy Dutchmen who have done so much towards reclaiming South Africa from savagery. The conditions under which they live are not favourable to moral or physical improvement. These people are dwellers in tents, and beehive-shaped structures known as ‘mat-houses,’ a form of architecture adopted from the Hottentots. The latter habitations are constructed of large mats made of rushes, strung upon strands of bark or other vegetable fibre, and are stretched over wattles stuck by the larger end into the ground in a circle, the diameter of which may vary from 15 to 25 feet, and which have the ends drawn over each other until a dome is formed. These structures can be erected and pulled down within five minutes, and are almost completely watertight. Having not known anything else in the shape of a dwelling, the Trek-Boer harbours contempt for any structure which cannot be moved about to suit the convenience or caprice of its owner. They own no land, but continuously wander with their flocks and herds over the vast un-urveyed tract which is all the world to them. Occasionally they are rich, but every eight or ten years the inevitable drought occurs: then the stock die off from thirst and starvation, and the owner has to liegin the world again a poor man. They are untruthful, prejudiced. superstitious, lazy, and dirty, but very hospitable: but. for all their peculiarities, cannot be known without living loved. The desert life which has filled the Arab with poetry and a sense of higher mysteries has sapped the last remnant of idealism from the Trek-Boer’s nature, and left them without an aspiration or a dream. The usual lack of fresh meat, and the absence of green

vegetables as an item in their diet, has ieacted upon their physique, and made them listless and slouching in gait and deportment, and prone to disease. The Bible is the only book they read, and of that they do not understand more than half the sense. In all essentials, however. they are of the same mould as other men. They live and love, hate and die in very much the same manner as do other human creatures.” In reading the Cousins’ letters I was glad to see that a number of them had found the account of my holiday in the Blue Mountains interesting, and will be pleased to recount my experiences of any future trips I may take. I notice that a number of the cousins are expressing their opinions in regard to conventionality. and in giving mine would like to say that my New South Wales experience of girls proves undoubtedly that, generally speaking, they are conventional to a degree. One has only to travel in trains and trams, or walk the city streets when various factories ami business places are emptying themselves of their female employees to note how even the youngest and smallest apes the prevailing fashions, if it is only done in the cheapest and most tawdry manner. Occasionally the unconventional girl is seen amongst them, when one feels that her presence there can only be temporary, for the possession of courage to be unconventional where conventionality is so strikingly dominant augurs strength of character to fit her for a leader among her sex. Sydney folk are very busy making preparations for the Easter festivities, and the city is crowded already with country people who have come for the show, which is to open on the 11th in-st., and which promises to be something worthy of note. Possibly in my next letter I will be able to tell you something about it. The Broughs staged "Dr. Wake’s Patient” last Saturday night week, which will ever remain in the memory of the residents of Sydney and suburbs on account of the dreadful storm experienced, which lasted over six hours. It has been a great success so far. and the scenery i- truly magnificent. The chief tableau shows the Bay Hotel at Seton Barr, the terrace shaded by stately trees, with a glorious view of the yellow beach that follows the coast line of the white cliffs, overlooking a vast expanse of blue ocean. "Kind hearts are more than coronets, and simple faith than Norman blood,” is the sentiment illustrated in this new-old story of love between people in different rank:, of life. Dr. Wake is captivated by the unknown daughter of an earl (Lady Perania), whose hurts he binds up when thrown from her horse at his parents’ farm. His passion is reciprocated, and after a lieartrending separation the lovers learn each other’s names in bis Harley-street consulting room, and renew their vows a little later by the sea at Seton Barr. But whilst the Countess of St. Olbyn is wondering in which county family’ her daughter’s admirer belongs, the problem is disagreeably -olfed by the unexpected appearance of Mr and Mrs Wake. The dear old folk arrive in their rustic, outlandish garb, with a hamper of eggs, honey, a pork pie. a string of sausages from Henrietta’s eldest ("Henrietta” is a favourite sow'.), and a bottle of elderberry wine, for their beloved boy. The commotion which these hearty, antiquated rustics from Somersetshire cause in a fashionable hotel may be easily understood. The character of Andrew.

Wake (cleverly impersonated by Mr Herbert Flemming), the stout, red-faced old farmer, with his queer Quakerish headgear, his brown velveteen coat and shooting gaiters, the very embodiment of a type fast dying out.. Mr Flemming emphasised the goodhearteducss of the self-important old man, with his alarming manner of talking to his wife in "whoa's” and "ways,” as if she were a plough-horse. Old Wake's firm belief that he alone was responsble for the talent inherited by his son is very amusing. "Wiien our boy’s in Lunnon town, it’s my brais they ’preesate.” Mrs Wake’s meek reply. "You’re always right. Andrew'” brought forth roars of laughter. It is wiien the Earl and Countess, appalled at the revelation of Dr. Wake’s humble beginnings, decline the matrimonial alliance, that Andrew Wake is seen in his true colours as a man of courage and determination, and it is exceedingly pathetic while addressing the Earl he says, "So you’ll break their liearts because we baint good enough?’ and. putting his hand on the family Bible, swears to emigrate rather than stand in the way of the young folks’ happiness: but all ends well, and they live happily ever afterwards. May I. through the medium of this letter. Cousin Kate, thank the cousins and numerous readers of the "Graphic” for post-cards they have sent me? My collection is varied and very extensive, numbering in all about 700. I have received cards from nearly every part of the world, with the exception of Russia and Norway, and, of course, Iceland. I wonder if post-cards are known of there. We are enjoying beautiful autumn weather at present, and all hope that it continues through the Easter vacation. With love to yourself and cousins. —From vour affectionate cousin. DOREEN, Burwood, N.B.W. [|Dear Cousin Doreen.—l am glad to hear that vou were interested in Cousin

Hilda'? description of the Pigmies, an* must thank you very much for the interesting extract from “Between Sun and Sand” that you have given us this week. I am very anxious that the “Cousins* Page” should lieeome instructive as well as interesting, and 1 am very grateful indeed to all who help to make it so. 1 am a little afraid, however, that the elder cousins may forget when writing that there are many very young readers of our page, and write letters a little beyond their understanding, so I am going to ask all you elder cousins to write letters just now and again, say, onee a month, or onee in six weeks, that ouc small readers can understand and appreciate. Do you think that doing this will spoil your pleasure at all? If so, I must hit upon some other way for interesting the little ones. When reading your opinion re conventionality a second time I came to the conclusion that you were giving a rather wider meaning to the word than is usual. Of course, there is conventionality in clothes, but that isn’t quite what Cousin Alison was talking about; she was thinking of the girls themselves, their behaviour, etc., rather than their clothes. For my own part. I think that as long as one dots what one absolutely believes to be right there is not much need to bother about “conventions.”- We have had the most glorious weather for the Easter holidays here. I wonder if you have had the same. Is not the news of the earthquake in San Francisco terrible? —COUSIN KATE.] * + + Dear Cousin Kate.—l suppose you will be thinking I am a nice one. not writng to you. As I wroe to you last week, and have received no answer, I thought I would write and tell you how lam getting on, lam having school holidays now. Are you going anywhere for your holidays? The weather has been very ,wet and cold here the last week, but it is lovely here today. lam going out for a ride this afternoon to see one of my married sisters. The flower garden is not very nice now: for the frost is cutting ’ the flowers down. Have you got any cousins in Wanganui? I have not seen your photograph in the “Graphic” yet. When are you going to put it in? Well, this is a long letter for me. so f will close, with love to you and all the cousins. I remain, your loving cousin. ADA, Wairepo. [Dear Cousin Ada.—l cannot understand what has become of your last letter, for cetrainly I have never received it. lam very glad you wrote instead of waiting for a reply. The Easter holidays are over now for everyone except you lucky school children, and you commence school again on Monday. I suppose. No, I didn’t go out of town for Easter, because there is rather more work than usual in the office at this time, but I couldn't help envying those who could, and did a little, for the weather has been simply perfect. A great many people I know went yachting from Thursday night until Tuesday, They seem to have had

■ most lovely time. We haven’t had any frost here yet, luckily, for the chrysanthemum show opens to-day; it ■would he sueh a pity if it was not as good as usual. I don’t think I have any cousins writ ng from Wanganui now. though there used to be one or two. Why do you ask?—Cousin Kate.] * <• + Dear Cousin Kate, —I hope T am not too precipitate in calling you cousin, but I would like to be one of your many cousins, and I sincerely hope you will allow me to be one. I take great pleasure in reading "Cousins’ Page," and I have at last succeeded in gathering up enough courage to write. I live in the quiet little town (?) of Whakapara. Have you ever been through this way. cousin? Probably you have heard of the Ihneroeks at Waro? We are not four miles from there: but, strange to say, I have never been through them, ■but I hope to do so shortly. In reading some of the cousins’ letters 1 see they (the cousins, I mean) are collecting postcards; I am also, and am getting a nice little collection together. I ■wonder if Cousin Hilda, Ponsonby, ■would mind exchanging postcards with me? Do you think she -would? If nor, and you eould get me her address. I would be delighted. Did you go over H.Mjs. Powerful, Cousin Kate? How I longed to be in Auckland, I think it would be' delightful roaming over her. She must have been a grand sight in the harbour. Did you notice on page • t> in the last "Graphic," pictures of ■Whangaroa and Whangaroa people around a Kapu Maori? Was it not lovely? Really, it made me feel quite hungry while looking at the "Kain.” Have you ever bad the pleasure of eating food cooked in a Kapu Maori? I have, it is delicious; it makes one feel very discontented with common stoves, I can assure you. We lived in Whangaroa for some time, and therefore the pictures were of great interest. ■Well, dear cousin, I think I had better stop writing now, and write a long letter next time. With my love to all the cousins and yourself.—l am. Cousin Zola, age 12. Whakapara. P.S. —Please excuse mistakes and put them down to inexperience. [Dear Cousin Zola, —I shall be very glad, indeed, to have you for one of the "Graphic" Cousins, only before you can be “formally initiated into our ■band," you must send me your full name and address. Did it need a great amount of courage to commence writing to me? I hope not, for I assure you I am not in the least hard to get c-n with. Anyway, now that you have commenced I shall hope to hear front you often. No; I have not been to Whakapara yet, nor to Whangaroa, either lam sorry to say. All my life 1 think I have been hearing of the beauties of the North and after reading the account of "A Holiday Spent at Whangaroa,” in the “Graphic" recently, I am more than ever anxious to see it. I am sure Cousin Hilda would be delighted to exchange postcards with yen. With her permission I will send you her address as soon* as I receive yours. No; 1 didn’t go over the Powerful. I meant to, but in town there always seesns to be so many things to do, that I kept putting it off until it was too late. I have never eaten anything cooked in a "Kapu" yet. I suppose 1 have been unlucky in mV experiences of them. for. between ourselves. I have nver wanted to, in fact, nothing would have induced me to eat anything. ‘ When I was up in the King Country lately. I saw some pork, potatoes, and mussels cooked in one. and it all looked horrid. Don't forget to send your address next time and write a nice long letter soon. — Cousin Kate.l

Another Tale of a Cat, Well, Fluffy, what have you been up to lately? It is some weeks since 1 met you; surely you must have had some adventure since then, for you know you are a most unfortunate cat.” It was my old friend Betty, the dog from next-door, who was speaking. She was looking as perky as ever; nothing ever happens to her. She is petted and made a fuss of, and all just because she is a dog; while I have to rough it just because I am a eat. "Oh,” replied 1, "it is all very well for you to think it funny. Your time may come some day. Then I shall be able to make jokes at your expense.” "Ha! Ha!” laughed she; "fancy you making a joke! Now that is funny, at any rate. But what has happened, for you do look worried?” "Well, keep quiet, don't interrupt, and I will tell you. It is the second time this kind of thing has happened; and 1 shall dread it again next year, now. Some few weeks ago my mistress began to paek up a lot of clothes and things in baskets and bags. 1 wondered if there was another moving job on. Master Bert and his sister Kathleen were very excited, and could not make themselves at all contented cither indoors or out. One morning 1 heard Bert say: "What time does the train start, tomorrow. Mother? We must leave here in good time, and not lose it.” •• ’ Oh, we must leave here about eleven o’clock, Bert,' said his mother. “ ’ And you will eome next week, won’t you. Mother?’ eried Kathleen. ‘I shall not like it until you come down.’ " ‘ Grandma will look after you.’ said my mistress, 'and then there will be Aunt Edie, so you will not be lonely.’ “ ’Oh, that's it,’ thought I, and began to have an idea what was going to happen. The holidays were coming, and I should be packed off for a week or two to what I considered a kind of prison. That would be my holiday! Still, it was better than what some eats have to put up with. where the people leave them to shift for themselves. ‘T remember being sent away last year for a long time to the ‘cats’ meat man. while the family were away. At I say, it might be worse, but I didn’t like it any more for that. ‘‘Well, on the morrow the children, after making a bit of a fuss over me, went away, and I was left in the house alone, for, of course, their mother went with them. After some time my mistress came back, but I found it rather slow work for the next few days. There did not seem to be any life in the place, and I felt very miserable and lonely. I got a bit used to it, however, and wondered when my master and mistress would be going. "Some week or so later there was more packing, and one morning I was not allowed to go out into the garden as usual, so I crept under the table and felt very down in the dumps. Presently there was a knock at the door, and I heard my mistress say:— "‘Now, Fluffy, it is your turn; I cannot help it, you must go. It will be much better than leaving you liehind, and I cannot take you with me!’ ” She went to the front door, and then I heard a man’s voice. Ah! 1 knew the tones. It was the man who brought me my meat, and for whom I had often waited so patiently. I was not pleased at his coming this time, thong'). ‘‘Without another word my mistress came back into the room, picked me up, and carried me to the man. I really believe there were tears in her eyes. t saw he had a big bag. ami memories of that awful time when I was kidnapped came to me. “ Tie’ll be all right, mum,’’ said the man. “ •You haven’t another eat in that bag. have you, though?’ said she. ‘That would be awful!’ •‘‘Oh, no, that wouldn’t do at all.” •was his laughing reply. That showed how much he cared. “ With that I was bundled into the bag. I tried to make a protest, but only managed a faint squeal, and then I was carried away. Struggling was no good, so I thought I had better make the best of it and go with him quietly. “After a long journey I was taken out of the bag and put into a kind of box with wire-work round part of it.

I found afterward- that they called this box a ‘hutch.’ There were several of sueh boxes close by containing some of my cousins—al! iu the same plight as myself. "Well, there is not much to tell as to what happened after this. One day after another went by, all very much the same. The man did give me plenty ♦ o eat, perhaps, but there was very little besides meat and bread, and 1 did not get my nice saucer of milk as I had been used to, but only a mixture of milk and water. If I hadn't got very thirsty and been obliged to drink what 1 eould get, I shouldn't have touched it.” "Ah!” put in Betty, "that's because you had been spoiled. It does one good to have to rough it a bit sometimes.” "Of course, I couldn't expect much sympathy from you. 1 often thought of you,* though, Betty, enjoying your roll on the grass. I can't think why people should shut us cats up in that fashion when they go for their holidays. You dogs are generally taken with them.” "I’ll tell you why." said Betty. "They say, you knMK that a cat only takes a fancy to the house he lives in, not to the people he belongs to; while we dogs always take to the people, and not to the place. That's not particularly complimentary to you. though, is it?” "The idea! As if I didn’t like my mistress and Kathleen! Why, tlo-o make a great fuss of me. I believe you only say that to tease me. Well, days went by—l forgot to count them—and I began to get sick and tired of being shut up, and longed for a run. At last —it was a very wet day —my keeper came to the hutch, and I saw he had the bag in his hand. " ‘Come along, old chap.' said he. and his voince did not seem so unkind. "’What's in the wind now?’ I wondered. It seemed to be too soon for

me to be going back home. 1 was put into the bag again, and carried off likV so much rubbish. It is a most undignified way of taking us about, I must say. You dogs are generally allowed to walk in a respectable manner.'’ "That's your fault,” said Betty; “you would not follow your master, but tried to run off, or jump over the first wall you came to." "Oh, go along wiih your nonsense. At last 1 was put down, still in the bag though, and I thought I heard a knock that had a familiar sound. Then —yes, it really was!—l heard voices 1 knew belonged to Bert and Kathleen. The door was opened, and 1 heard Kathleen exclaim: ■' ’Here he is! Come and let us get him out!’ "1 felt live bag seized, and 1 was pitched out and grabbed by both children at once. Of course, I had to make the most of it, and show them h<|w pleased 1 was to be back home agapi. Didn't 1 have some milk, too’*’ “Ah! cupboard love as usual!*’ interrupted Betty. •'Don’t be so unkind,” T replied. “That’s quite correct, ’’ returned Betty; ‘‘you wouldn’t go home in the evening unless you heard your mistress cry ‘Meat.’ You know you wouldn’t. Here’s mine calling me, however, so I am off. Fl I come and see you another day. my boy. You arc sure to have had another adventure to tell me about.” ( W.IT.