The Traveller.

Dunstan Times, Issue 990, 8 April 1881, Page 3

The Traveller.

FROM WELLINGTON TO OLYDE. Leaving the portals of the museum, we direct our steps towards Lambton Quay, where Mr Paddy Murphy, the Wellington correspondent of the Public Opinion, is supposed to reside. The quay was, years Since, the boundary of the sea at high tide. When the work of reclamation was concluded,however, Neptune discovered that he had lost a good slice of his dominion. About 20 acres of land were wrenched from his grasp, and where Neptune and his finny satellites once reigned supreme, houses and public buildings now rear their stately heads. One finds a large, miscellaneous assortment of shops, etc, along the quay. Near its centre once resided George North, barber, getter-up-of-sweepa, rogue, etc. Now he’s absent from his rooms,; his ’razor is unsharpened, his glasses dusty, and the people bemoan his absence, wondering when he will return to their—clutches. People might have known that North had a swindle on when he advertised two sweeps at once. £6,000 was a lot of money for the betting public to entrust to his care. I’m very sorry for those who invested a £2O-note in the sweep with the hope of realising a fortune, but experience costs some people very dear, and I learn that one or two Dunstanites were hit rather hard over the affair. North’s £6,000 swindle will teach the gambling public (and they form no inconsiderable portion of a community) to place less faith in the sweeps of the day. If they accept my advice, then they will not have any dear Georges to pray for nightly. We now steer for St. George’s Hall, built on a portion of the reclaimed land, and facing two hotels and a warehouse. This ball is mainly patronised by wizards, professors, and Christy Minstrels. It is peculiarly adapted to their classes of entertainments, and since the opera house was burnt down St. George’s Hall has been the chief place for entertainments. We are now in Willis street, the main thoroughfare of Wellington. Pawnbrokers’ establishments alound profusely. In fact, our venerable uncles are a public nuisance, and are as little required as—lawyers. But mark you, fair reader, a lawyer is not to be preferred to a pawnbroker. The lawyer takes from you your broad fields, houses and money, and gives you in return a few tons of “ professional advice and assistance.” But the pawnbroker is very reasonable indeed. He takes from you your clothing, etc., but he gives you money for what he takes,and,although it may bo a little,it If the storekeepers would accept advice in payment of “ that little account,” then the lawyers would be able to live frr next to nothing. Unfortunately for the world there are lots of Samuel and Miss Sally Brasses. A little beyond St. George’s Hall is the N.Z. Tinus Office, owned by one Chant) ey Harris, who was, some years ago, engaged on the reporting staff of the Otago Daily Times. Chantrey—like a good many more of his sortfancies that he is a ve-ry sharp coon, so he piles on the agony accordingly, This “ piling} on ” amused rather than annoyed two or three literary quacks, who determined to have some sport at “ that cad Chantrey’s expense.” J ones bet Snip that, within a stated period, Chantrey would notify in his paper three different times that ho was an idiot. Shortly after the bet was made the editor published in his paper some verses entitled “ Changed,” and signed “ Cecilia ” The verses were simply an acrostic, notifying that Chantrey was an idiot. One would have thought that a r ter that lot Chantrey would have fought shy of acrostics, and kept his eyes open. But he evidently did not think once was enough to be called an idiot, as a few weeks ago there appeared a letter in the Times on “ The Management of Lunatic Asylums.” In this letter the author quoted what he called a “Japanese proverb,” which ran—“ Tynachre si na todii." The proverb was translated into English, but if the letters are slightly transposed they will read—- “ Chantrey is an idiot.” Thus has he twice called himself an idiot; and once more is ho supposed to repeat the notification before the bet is won. I do not doubt but that he will again commit himself. Anyhow, the result is looked forward to with interest, and the contest is greatly amusing the Wellingtonians. We bid adieu to Chantrey and his Japanese proverb, and take tram for the Te Aro end of the town. I think Government should establish a Tram Accident Company, as when you get on the tram you feel as if you are in the vicinity of Death. As the tram rushes along the street, jolting you to pieces, scattering stones and dispersing boys and their tops, you say your prayers, and close your eyes, expecting every moment to be dashed to pieces by the tram turning over, or to be blown up. One morning I jumped on the tram and before we had gone 200 yards the engine ran into a lemonade cart, smashing the vehicle and wounding the horse. In the evening the same tram wished to have a look at a fruit shop window, and with that object rushed off the rails to within a few feet of the fruiterer’s window, and remained

in that position for some hours, steadfastly gazing in the window, as if it required some of the edibles there displayed* Passing along Willis street, vre come to the notorious (now amongst the things that were) Evening Chronicle Office, which was edited by that prince of libellers, Jock Anderson. Ho is a staunch admirer of the gentle sex, and once his wooings involved him in a court case. Jock went to see a Mrs Blank, but, finding Mr B. at home, he pretended that he (Jock) had come to give him a large order lor some window-blinds. Mr B. left the room for the shop, and J. made the most of the time at his disposal. He kissed and hugged Mrs Blank, and then, both happening to look towards the door, they beheld B. (“ in all the magnificent glory of a towering rage," as the Post said) taking in the whole scene. A row ensued, during which Mrs B. accused Jock of a breach of etiquette, and seized the poker, giving him a heavy tap on his nose. Then he was kicked downstairs, and landed in the street a wiser but a sadder man, and possessing two black eyes and a sanguinary nose. A court case was the result, but Jock lost the case, and his amorous propensities brought to light by a clever lawyer, who made him the laughing-stock of the town. We are now in Cuba street. Just round the corner of this street a large fire occurred two years ago. The opera house was the starting-place of the fire. Besides the opera-house the fire demolished a new church, a spirit store, two public houses, a block of drapery stores, and other buildings. 1 witnessed |a laughable incident at this fire, A thief stole an overcoat from a shop, and 'was clearing off with it when he noticed that Detective Benjamin was shepherding him. Rushing up to the D. he said—•“ Ah, Mr Benjamin, here you are! I picked this coat up in the gutter, and have been looking for you to give it you. Here, take it! ” And, thrusting the coat into the D.’s arms, he meandered, the limb of thelawsorrowfullygazing after his rapidly vanishing form. Cuba street, the second thoroughfare of the city, is one of the pleasantest walks in Wellington. The footpaths are broad and well kept, and the road is kept coo! in summer by refreshing showers from the watercarts. The tram traverses nearly the whole length of Cuba street, and then turns off into Hopper street. We’ll take a trip to the tram terminus; but one is hardly repaid for the trouble of a visit. There is nothing but mud and the Lunatic Asylum to see. Muddy shops, muddy tram cars, and muddy-looking women and children abound on every hand. tbc engineers and guards look as if they had been having a roll in the mud. We get full up of mud, so take our seats in the cars, and in haif-au-bour we reach our destination, the wharf, where we part for the present. Hoping that I have succeeded in interesting the readers of The Times, 1 shall close this letter, and next Friday I will descant upon the virtues of Christchurch and its people. TASMAN.