NOTES FROM LYTTELTON.

Globe, Volume VII, Issue 783, 23 December 1876, Page 3

NOTES FROM LYTTELTON.

Yankee Grab has been the great hero of the week; it has been long known and loved by the Lyttelton public, and when he was executed there was hardly a dry eye in the place. But then, that was to be expected, foa he had often led people to wet the other eye during his long and useful career. We all knew that he was a suspicious character, and that the eyes of the police were on him, but had no idea that he was a villain of so deep a dye till that fearful morning when he was so suddenly brought to justice, and so summarily executed ; but lot us not be censorius, the great bard said, “ The evil that men do lives after them, the good is oft times buried with their bones.” We hope this will not be the case in this instance, and that Yankee Grab will be long and favorably remembered, for there was a lot of good in him. Many who read this have spent hours in his society, and I call upon them to say if he has not occasionally proved a delightful companion—although certainly at other times extremely disagreeabie. His worst fault was his fickleness. You never knew where to have him; but let us bid him adieu; no more will his cheerful rattle resound in the Mitre, the Albion, the British, the Royal, the Lyttelton, the Canterbury, or the Empire. Let us lay his bones peacefully in their narrow box, and leave them to their repose— Not a sound was heard—not a single cough— When his doom by the R.M. was uttered; Not a peeler shrieked out to take hats off, Though the crowd uneasily muttered. They buried him lightly at noon of the day. Not a friend coming forward to aid him ; But little he’ll reek if they let his bones lay In the box where a Donald has laid him. “Sweet Akaroa,” that Betsy sang about in the Star has always been a place of great interest to me. The shipping intelligence from that spot makes it peculiarly interesting. It is entrancing to learn from the columns of the Times, two or three days after the account of the trip of the Hawea to that delightful spot has been recorded, that she really did arrive there and also left with the excursionists as before specified. It confirms one so in one’s opinions to see intelligence repeated, that I always peruse “Akaroa Shipping” with great gusto. It was a great excursion that we had to Akaroa on the Anniversary Day. As the French say, “Britons take their pleasure manfully,” and we were true Britons on that occasion. Our pleasure commenced by having to get up about 4 a.m. to eat a wretchedly hurried breakfast, and then scamper down to the steamer. There was a strong breeze and a dismal black sky. No band had been provided, for there was no competition, and the only attempt at music I heard were some plaintive wails and shreiks that were uttered by Captain Wheeler’s violin at finding itself in the rough grasp of another nautical gentleman. I discovered during the trip that Captain Wheeler can always tell by putting his nose just outside his berth what he is going to have for breakfast, dinner, or tea, as the case may be be; for the galley being just underneath, the savoury odors ascend and completely surround him whilst cooking is going on. A good many ladies went, and when I saw them in the early morning looking so fresh and neat, I grieved to think what limp and draggled looking creatures they would be before many hours were past. Well, we started, most of us were fearfully ill, and the rest appeared extremely proud of not being so. We arrived at Akaroa, looked mournfully at a few races, which, having no key to unravel, appeared to most of us a horrible muddle, and then we started back again, fed a good many of the Peninsula fishes, stuck in the mud on trying to get to the wharf; after a fearful struggle were dragged into a boat, and finally landed worn out and miserable: and this is pleasure ?

Gentlemen, we have gilded our pills. The public meeting was conducted in a most creditable manner; but why we had a public meeting at all I am at a loss to discover. Had there been any particular views to express, I should have understood it; but there were not. The whole of what both the candidates said may be summed up as follows; —Dr Rouse—“ I want to be Mayor; please elect me.” Mr Allwright—“l want to be Mayor; elect me because I have the most spare time.” That’s all. Mr Illingworth’s brilliant display of wit was the only relief one had, and as to the speeches affecting the voting, that is absurd. People go to a public meeting resolved to vote for a certain candidate, and come away of the same opinion. In this hot weather how refreshing it is to think of cool ocean caves. Fancy counting the links of the cable in the clear cool water, or resting on the sand, with the tide gently rippling up some great rock shading one from the sun, whilst myriads of sea birds, so unacquainted with the bloodthirsty iustinots of our race as to trust themselves within our grasp, surround us. Such will be the scenes witnessed by those on board the Gazelle when she arrives at the Auckland Islands on her search for the lost treasure. One can fancy the great cave where, fathoms down, lies the wreck of the unfortunate treasure ship. What strange sights will the divers see if the vessel is ever found, and with what joy will they tear the treasure from the jaws of the insatiable deep. It will be strange Christmas time for them. Let us hope they will achieve success. In Lyttelton, if we are more careful of one thing than another, it is light. We are so economical that when we arrive by the late train from Christchurch on Thursday night we like to stumble down the steps from the station in the dark, at the imminent risk of our lives. As to their being any dark nights during the summer, we reject the idea with bitter scorn, and put all our lamp glasses away. Will no gentleman offer himself up as a sacrifice for the general good. I believe if one disinterested gentleman —or better still, a lady—would only consent to break a leg or an arm, the matter would be remedied. “A merry Christmas and a happy new year to all.” This is Christmas eve, the season of general reconciliation, of peace and joy. Let all Portonians cast aside their petty jealousies, for this is the jolly Yule tide, when there should be peace on earth and goodwill towards men. Recollect what Scrooge said—summon up all the kindly memories of the past, extend mercy and forgiveness, don’t be too good, stretch a point. What if you have been more provident than Tom Jones, is that any reason

for despising him; has he not dozens of good qualities you do not possess. Suppose you are a rich man now and he is poor, what then ? All the more cause to welcome him more heartily. Remember the old times when you were both poor at the diggings together, and the jolly evenings you spent, and when you meet him during this universal season of goodwill don’t pass him by with your head up because he is shabby; don’t recognise him with distant nod if by yourself, or utterly ignore him if you are walking with some great acquaintance, who will gorge at your expense, but would hardly trouble himself to lift a finger for your sake; who ridicules the affectation of your wife, or the pretensions of your children. No, if you are a man, go up to poor old Tom and give him such a hearty grip as will gladden his poor world wearied heart. How happy you will make him; how happy you will feel yourself. Recollect the mission was to the poor and lowly, and try, like your Great Example, to make them glad. PO ETONIAN.