THE LOAFER IN THE STREET.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1984, 3 July 1880, Page 3

THE LOAFER IN THE STREET.

" Non cuivis Tiomini contingit adire corin thum ,”

I don’t know what the above means, but it applies to what's going to follow. I have frequently observed the heading over chapters of thrilling interest. It was written by Horace or Ibid, I forget which. I think the latter. Ibid, judging from the amount of poetry bearing his name, wrote much heaps of poetry. I want to write you a bit about “ Sounds.” Mr W. Shakespeare says wo should be moved by a concord ef sweet sounds. Sight he was. They moved me to some extent. I allude to the watery gulphs situated about Picton and Nelson. Tnoy made me think sometimes the whole Canterbury province had got inside me, and wanted to deposit itself between Nelson and the French Pass. Of this more anon. You recollect Tommy More, don’t yon ? I don’t mean the cricketer. I mean the man who had hia head cut off and wrote the “Utopia.” He commences that interesting publication by stating that he was on a mission as Ambassador to a foreign court. This at once established him with his readers as a person of consequence. It showed spry ness on Tommy’s part. I shall endeavour to follow his example. My mission was to represent the Pebsb newspaper (for terms of advertising and subscription see advertisements), and to find a few benighted men to whom the bliss of reading your journal had hitherto been denied. That I was not over successful was not my fault. Would you believe it when I tell you that the majority of those I interviewed preferred beer to literature, and as they informed mo, with the increased taxation on the former article, they were forced to economy in some shape. Such are the sad results of borrowing money to build railways which could never possibly pay any one except the gentlemen who receive £6OO a-year for doing nothing, and of employing Native Ministers whose ideas of a perfect policy are to give distinguished aboriginals champagne, and spent £SOO a-year in Hansom cabs. I made one mistake before leaving. I ought to have taken a benefit. I was only to bo absent a little over a fortnight, but there might have been a bob or two in it. But then, of course, I’m not a veteran actor, and have not taken 2059 final benefit departures from the stage. These stage valedictory performances are really heartrending. The one comfort of the audience is that in some cases they may feel assured that the recipient of the benefit will again claim their suffrages in a few brief months. Prior to his departure for' Kaiapoi or anywhere else, even the most veteran actor may come to think with Kemble that “ ’T were beat to crave Some rest between the theatre and grave ; That, like the Homan, in the Capitol, He may adjust his mantle ere he fall.” But some veterans take a deuce of a time adjusting, and want so much “ backing up ” from their patrons that one is naturally rei -inded of a class of people who “ lag super, fluously ” somewhere. Is it not on the stage ? This is not “ Sounds ” though, is it ? I was fortunate in going up north with my old friend Captain Malcolm, of the Wellington, for he is in every respect, to use a hackneyed phrase, a genial skipper. Long may he live. I want to tell you a story of his. I often find other people’s anecdotes read so much better than my own. We were talking of moas. The captain thinks it possible that they are still extant near the West Coast Sounds. In fact a party of the name of—not Johnson, but McKay, who is thoroughly reliable, declares that he has seen them. The story I allude to is in connection with McKay. Some years ago a French vessel was lying in one of the Sounds on the West Coast, and some of the crew being ashore entered a big cave. They were prospecting about, looking for greenstone, when the vessel fired a gun as a signal for them to return. They hurried off one of them seeing a shining stone close to the entrance of the cave put it in his pocket. This stone, on subsequent examination, proved to be nearly all gold. The Frenchman came out again to seek for his Eldorado, but died in Nelson Hospital. While lying there ill it seems McKay senior was very kind to him and the Frenchman left him particulars of the whereabouts of the cave. McKay and his son have been seeking it ever since, and are still sanguine of success. Lot us hope that they may be as successful heirs as was Monte Christo to the Abbe Faria. After a pleasant trip we arrived at the Empire City on a Sunday morning. I went in company with a gentleman of your office to see MeNab’s garden at the Hutt. It is a pretty place, full of exotics and lovers. The milk they sell there.is delicious. Wo had a high time, and I hope to have the same companion on a future occasion. I like to mention these things for the benefit of future travellers. The following day I got to Picton, a place, to slightly paraphrase the eloquent language of the lecturer to the Hibernian Panorama, remarkable for the fecundity of its herrings, the flavor of its oysters, and the hospitality of its inhabitants. On this occasion, however, there were no oysters and less herrings. James’ Hotel is a most comfortable hostelrie, and I know, of few places where a man could spend a more pleasant holiday than Picton. Years ago, when I first went from Picton to Blenheim, we travelled by coach. Tho proprietor changed horses about half way. His style was a little peculiar. He used to shift the off side horses to the near side, and the near side horses to the off side. This was real genius, not to add, as the proprietor in. formed me, that it eased the horses wonderful. The train is an improvement. On arrival at Spring Creek I was met by Mr Redwood, who took me round tho thoroughbred horses. The racer is a noble animal. When you look at him in the stable he paweth tho ground and taketh you by the arm with his incisors, to show there is no ill-feeling. He boundeth over the green sward and caracoles nimbly in the hands of his youthful jockey at the post, and then doth he frequently proceed to out up rough, as is the proverbial expression of sportsmen— and he runneth unto.wardly, and doth not strive with great intent, perchance Armstrong, of the tribe of Pullum, being on hand, and so it may befall that he approaches the judge’s seat behind others of his race, of whose qualities the ignorant tipster hath not informed his readers, and so it is that the too credulous plunger doth lose his good sugar, "and maketh good resolutions not to back such goods until—the next opportunity. Your sporting man “ Sinbad ” knows heaps about racehorses. He has a prophetic soul, but his tips would break the Bank of England in a twelvemonth. During the course of the day, Mr Redwood informed me that game is very scarce in Blenheim this season, especially pheasqpts. This is the case also in Canterbury. In Blenheim, I hear there is a well-disciplined corps of seventy-five telegraph officials. They are all gunnists, and they sweep everything off the face of the earth. I should like to observe In this connection that if there is to any game at all in the Middle Island, a Gun License is the only chance. I make a present of the suggestion to the Acclimatisation Societies with much pleasure. Mr Redwood took me out kaka shooting. That’s the sport for me. I tell you, at kakas I’m a deadly shot. You wait under the white pine trees, which contain the berries so popular with the bird. Ton conceal yourself in underwood, and when the kaka perches on a bough about four and a-half feet from the muzzle of the gun —not leas—not a yard less —seize the opportunity and spank both barrels into the centre of tho unsuspecting feeder. How did I drop them. Sometimes when they got even closer to mo I sent pieces of their remains flying all over the forest. Mr Redwood and his sons used to shoot them on the wing, but that I consider to be (as far as I am concerned) a waste oflammunition. Sometimes a kaka will drop in the bush some thirty or forty yards from you, and you think you can retrieve him in 'about three minutes. You start. In ten yards you have sunk into water up to your knees ; three lawyers circle you round, one of them having knocked your hat off ; assistant supplejacks twine around your 1 legs. You struggle and eke you cuss. This is the time your foot selects to slip on a con- [ cealed wet log. You glide quickly on to y our back and think what a day you’re having. ! You know about “ the pleasures of the pathless wood,” which really, so far as I have got, i don’t amount to much. Tho feathered songsters of the woods, >ho are very friendly in their ways, seize tho opporI tunity to visit you. They hop around and sing their little harmonics, which are i exquisite. Their tunes are just like a persot gargling for a sore throat. We may well be ) proud of our songsters, but when I wai ) sitting pensively on a heap of vividly groer • wet moss, interspersed with pointed sticks . their tameness, as well as that of the merry sandflies who mealed on me at the same time 5 was, like that of Mr A. Selkirk’s gay goats « Bhooking to me.” Tho Sandfly is unknowr 1 about Christchurch. It is a sweet boon vn

can dispense with. The Sandfly is a creature of settled impulse. He devours you, gets squashed, but, as Mr H. Flacous predicted of himself, he does nob altogether die. He leaves his sting. Subsequently the bitten one comes out all over lumps—nice symmetrical lumps about the size of a goose egg, and it takes the whole attention of the party concerned for the next few days to keep scratching. There were other parties in the bush who were availing themselves of the advent of the Kakas. One of these gentlemen kept mo company for a while. His gun was peculiar. The stock was tied up with string. The hammer had apparently had misunderstandings with the other portion of the piece, and was only restrained from leaving by some thin twine. In consequence the hammer performed his duties irregularly. Xho shooting iron would go off at half cook, and indeed, so far as I could judge, without being cooked at all. The sportsman himself carried his ammunition loose in his pockets, with tobacco, matches, &o. I thought for a certainty he would give me a big local before it was all over. But ho didn’t, Next season when I see a telegram from those parts announcing the fact that he has blown himself to bits I shall feel quite hurt. But I’m never lucky about those sort of locals. We had a big day bringing back, besides a number we lost through falling in tho trees, 131 i birds. We all shot stunning. I shot the If. The next evening wo left for Pictou to meet the yacht, and before I give a few of my thrilling experiences on “ the glad waters of tho dark blue sea, where our thoughts are boundless and our souls are free,” it may bo as well to describe the craft which for a time was to carry your esteemed correspondent and his fortunes. The Toroa (I called her tho Pinafore) is the Maori name for the Stilt. She was built in Wellington, on the lines of tho well-known English yacht Vanessa, and is about 70ft long, with 10ft beam and about Bft depth of hold. She has very powerful engines, and steams well, besides being a capital sea boat. The saloon is forward, and being close to tho engineroom, is always comfortably warm on the coldest night. The men’s cabin is aft. She carries a big fore staysail, mizen and mainsail, and I think, perhaps, if I go on much further in this nautical style, I shall make a mess of it, though if you could havo eeen me on her fore to’gallant yard, taking in the weather earing, you would think something of my nautical abilities. I think I had better stop for a while, so that tho cruise may come all by itself.