MRS BROWN ON HER TRAVELS.

Lyttelton Times, Volume LVII, Issue 6509, 6 January 1882, Page 5

MRS BROWN ON HER TRAVELS.

Ho. 11. Mb Editob, —I reelly can't stand Brown much longer, although We been married to him thirty-three years eome next May. But the way he went on yesterday morning at breakfast time when he see my letter in the Times was something hawful. And the languidge he used, which I do say is sinful, and he swore he wouldn't take in the Times no longer if they put in such rubbish. Tea, dear Mr Editor, rubbish was the word, and twaddle, and spoke blasphemiously against the Editor himself! Brown! says I, think what will become of you in the next world if you, go on like this, and supposing I write to the Editor and tell him what you said about him .and he puts you in the paper and shows you up in proper style which-he can do if he chooses, and how should you -like to be held up to the public and pitched into like Mr Hall or Mr Holieston, or any of them pore unfortunates as goes into politics ? And then I said, it's no use, Brown, you'd better let an old woman have her own way without making suoh a deuce of a growl about it, whioh he says, I suppose if a woman ain't doing mischief one way, she will be another, so perhaps you'd better go on as you like, whioh I always intended to by hook or by orook, as hasn't been married nearly thirty-three years without finding out how to have my own way, and I will say this, that though Brown and me has our little tiffs now. and then, there's worse husbands than Brown. Only as he has not any littery capacity or tastes hisself, it's my belief as he s a little jealous of seeing my name in the paper so often, whioh he's taken off with him, and I can't find it nowhere, but I thinks I had got as far as the Otira Gorge in my travels. They makes a great fuss about the Otira Gorge, and they all say the scenery is magnificent, but don't you ever be persuaded to risk them excellent limbs of yours, Mr Editor, on the West Coast road for the sake of seeing the Otira Gorge or any other part of the road. It ain't worth it, or, if I may for onst in a way corrupt my pure English style by a piece of Colonial slang, " it isn't good enough." All the gentlemen on and in the coabh had to get out and walk up the Gorge, whioh it made them sweat I oan tell, you and mop their 'eds with their handkerohers. Of course us ladies and the ohildren stopped in the coach, but there's no mistake about Mr George when he says the gents must git off and walk. He is very purlite, and particularly to ladies, but he is boss of the coach and no mistake I ses to him ses I, Mr George you ought to have been a general hoflioer commanding an army ! And so he, ought if the right men were put in the right places. For if ever a man wanted a quiok eye, a dear head, a firm hand, rapid power of deoiding on the instant what has to be done, and, above all, that power of command which makes others boheve in and obey him—it is in driving four or fire horses with a coaohful of passengers along that HokitikaChriatohuroh road. I ain't a timid old female, and I've been a good many voyages, but never before did I run eich risks of lifo in so many ways for so long. There, we had three leaders and two whoelerß. well, ono of the lenders, tho one on the right-hand side, what grooms and oonchmen oall the offside, would not pull, and the consequence was the wheel on that side didn't go round quito so quick as it ought. So Mr George, says he, as ho stopped tho ooaoh at the bottom of a hill, I'm a going to put that leader where I can have him nearer to me; jest hold tho reins a minute will you, to a gentleman on the box. So he took the leader out of tho harness and put him on the near side as a wheeler. So as he was a doing this, I says, Mr George says I, you ain't a going to whip that pore horse are you P and he says " Oertingly not Mrs Brown, I'm only a going to persuade him to pull a little harder. And then when he got up on the box he jest shortened his whip and gave him about three whaoks on his baok, and we didn't have no more trouble with that horse for the rest of the etßge. But if Mr George is a married gent, whioh I don't think he is,

because he's so polite to the ladies, and has that sort of free look as no married man keeps long, for they all looks subdued and chained like t but if no is a married gent, I hope he does not persuade his wife into obedience same way as he persuaded that horse. But I must say that I never see any driver use the whipao little, or be moro considerate for hit horaos. Only when Mr George is driver he don't understand his horaca not doing what ho tolls thorn. There's places on that road, and scores of them, where everything depends on the horses obeying tho driver's voice and hand instantly. There ain't much room for a hone to bo restive or sluggish when the bars on one side are stioking ugainst tbo rock, and the outside wheel is not moro than a foot from the edge of the preoipico. And in turning corners instead of making the turn broader than thrr rest of the road it is in general narrower. If any body would leavo a hundred thousand as a legacy to complete that road, out off somo of theoorneri, make a few tunnels and improve tho grades, he would ensure for himself the eternal gratitude* of every future traveller. Of course it's all very well to sav that accidents seldom occur. Certingly if the harness all keeps right; if nothing happens to the break, or the wheels, or the pole, or the kingbolt; if none of the horses take to kicking or plunging, or jibbing or shying ; if the driver is never reckless, is always sober, and is a man at naturally edn drive-—far ther's tome men- as can't, they are that pusseylaminous (private—is this spelt right, Mr Editor P)—if no awkward stone happens to fall just in front of the horses' heads, and no part of the road has broken down unexpectedly; if you can see every obstaole before you when going down hill, time enough to stop the coach. If all these things happen you will get to your journey's end safe enough, provided you aint capsized or drownded in crossing the rivers. Now just to see what a little your life depends on. I think it was just after we had gone down Porter's Pass, odo of the leaden took to kicking, and then he bolted. Fortunately it wat at the bottom of a hill, and the driver just let him go up as fast as he liked, and he soon stopped of his own accord; and it was found something had gone wrong with a port of the harness. Now suppose this had happened going down Porter's Gap or the Otira Gorge, where would the coach and passengers have been?

When we got to the top of the Otira Gorge we was nearly in Canterbury. Jest beyond there ia another little hill, and then comes a few hundred yards of flat land, on which there are some tiny lakelets, and then the riven and streams all begin to flow the other way. This is the most curious part of the journey. Ton cm stand on this bit of land and see the Otira creek splashing beneath yon, running on till it reaches the Paoifio on the West Coast; and on the other hand you see little streams which will at last empty themselves into the rivers which fall into the Pacific on the Bast Coast. It struck me that one of them gents as writes poetry might make something out of that, supposing two lovers quarrelling np there, and each going his or her own way and casting the flowers into the streams on either side the range, I can't work out the idea Mr Editor because my style ain't the poetical style. I goes in for 1 fun and common sense, but still every woman is at heart a poet, though may be she cannot make verses.- Perhaps some of your young littery gents at the Times office might take it up and work out the idea. Ther is the gentleman as takes in the advertisements, and looks that forlorn and woebegone at the number of things folks want, as it makes my head aohe to see him, and I'm sure he must be a poet. Well, being new at the journey, I naturally concluded that when we had crossed the saddle, the highest part of the range, all our troubles were over, it would be nothing but easy-going down hill. I never was more mistaken in my life. Ton ain't fairly safe until you're at the bottom of Porter's Pass, and then this is only the ordinary dangers of a coach journey anywhere. We had to cross them Bealeys, don't you go for to correct this and put that Bealey; never no never will I call that dreadful set of rivers by any other than the plurial number for its an abuse of the English languidge to call it' the Bealey, which it sprawls and it spreads, and it curves round, and it makes a new bed for itself; just for all the world like Jemima Ann's eldest when it was first took with the scarlet fever, which it was that restless that when they put it into its mother's bed it was a tossing about all over it, fust in one place and then in another. And every one of them Bealeys makes you hold your breath, and ketoh hold of the rail, and there's putting on the break as you go in, and there's hollering to the horses as you go through, and the water which is beautifully clear and" bright, a splashing up to your eyes as you may say, and then there's a cracking of the whip, and a rush up the other bank—and this goes on scores of times. I reelly can't say it's a dull journey, though it's a long one, for what with the scenery and the risks you run, it keeps you lively enough. We was all mighty glad when Mr Qeorge, pointing with his whip, sayß, "That's the Bealey!" which he meant the township,if township it can be called. We had still about two miles to go over the bed of them blessed Bealeys, but we was thinking (leastways the men was) of our dinner, and I was a thinking of Jemima Ann and those two pore babes of hers, for Beatrice Ethel Florence ain't much more than two years old, and whether we should be able to get milk for the children, which, if I'd thought of it we might have tellygraphted for. But, however, it was all right when we got to the Glacier Hotel, whioh is the name they give it, though why Glacier P for I don't see no glacier nor nothing like a glacier; but whether or no Mrs O'Malley was very kind, and the hotel is very olean and comfortable, though from the fires they keeps they must feel chilly themselves, which, I am sure, we did not packed, as we was in , that coaoh. And we had a firstrate dinner and tea, or whatever you like to call it; hot joints and ceterrar, and we jest did sleep that night, I can tell you. I've got a little more to tell you about our journey, but 1 must defer it for another time, as Brown's dinner ain't quite reidy, and when he comes in at one o'clock and finds the dinner not just ready to pop into his mouth, he goes on furious, and says a woman as can't have her husband's dinner ready at the proper time ain't fit to live; and if "he knew it was late through me writing to the Times, why the house would not hold him. I'm a going to make him a treaole puddin bow, to put him into a good humour. Lawkes! what senshual oreatures you men are! Yours affeokshionately, Maetha Bbown. Christchuroh, Jan. 6. P.S.—Brown says as I ought not to sign Mrs Martha Brown, and I asked him how people would know I was married, and what do you think he said: "Oh, I know you're married, more's the pity, and that's quite enough!"