NEW ZEALAND A FAIRYLAND.

Manawatu Herald, Volume XXXI, Issue 453, 22 April 1909, Page 3

NEW ZEALAND A FAIRYLAND.

AMERICAN IMPRESSIONS. “New Zealand a fairyland,” writes Mr Franklin Matthews, one of the journalists who accompanied the American fleet in an article in an American paper on the welcome given to the fleet here during the memorable week in August last. “ From the first sight of Auckland Harbour the American fleet seemed at home. Far out came all sorts of vessels, with flags and banners, and cheering multitudes to shout welcome. The ships were greeted with songs as well as with shouts. Warm as was the greeting at San Pedro in California, it did not reach the dimensions of this at Auckland. The harbour itself had a look of welcome. One could almost imagine himself sailing into a Boston suburb. Although it was in the dead of winter, so propitious is the climate that the earth was covered with green. As hill after hill stood out one could see with glasses that it was black with people. Soon the red-roofed houses, built largely in the fashion of New England homes, filled the landscape with a glow. Then the city came into view—a warm, friendly looking place, sloping away on hillsides and into valleys, with suburbs that spoke of contentment and m ros P er Ry- The water-front was thronged. The water was covered with small cratt. Great signs of welcome were strung on bluffs and buildings. Flags were everywhere, and the people seemed crazed with delight. “The great feature of the Dominion welcome was the visit to the famous Rotorua thermal springs, and a peep into the geyser country. It was on the Rotorua trip that the Americans got some idea of what the ancient Maoris must have been as a race and as warriors. One could fill columns with the details of their welcome. It was the most thrilling and savage exhibition any of the party had ever witnessed, and at the same time it was the heartiest greeting of goodwill that they received. “The main party arrived at Rotorua late at night. It is almost in the heart of the North Island. The sulphur fumes filled the air, and in the bright light of the full moon one could see the clouds of steam pouring from the earth in great fog banks all over the district. In the morning the visitors went to the Maori village, walked among the boiling pools, saw the natives doing their cooking in them, put one hand in a stream of cold water and, only a foot away, held their fingers over a boiling pool. The earth’s crust seemed too frail to step upon. On all sides jets of steam spurted into faces. You could paw away the sand in places and at a depth of from three to four inches it would become too hot to handle. It was a gruesome, uncanny place in which to live.”

“ Interesting as was the Maori welcome, the visitors found the natives themselves much more interesting. The beauty of the women astonished them. They are chocolate in colour and the younger ones are lithe. Their features are almost typically Grecian. Their eyes are wonderfully bright and they carry themselves with the air of nobility. The men have long given up the practice of tattooing their faces. It was marvellous bow they worked out those patterns. Some of the women still tattoo their lips and chins. It now indicates a marriage mark, but it mars the beauty of their faces woefully. They are gradually giving up the custom and are beginning to see that they are more beautiful if they forego this painful operation of staining their skins with a shell and the indelible ink they make from a root.

“ The writer went to Rotorua in a car where there was a young Maori matron of high rank. Tike hundreds of the women, she was a graduate of the Maori College. She had as regular features as any Grecian maiden of old, but her chin was stained. You forget it when she smiled and her face lighted up with merriment. She was the life of the car. When she spoke it was with as soft a voice as was ever given to one of her sex. Her English was delightful in its pronounciation and the diction was absolutely free from slang. And if you ever wish to hear speech spoken in the softest, richest, sweetest tones in the world spend an hour in conversation with one of these educated chieftainesses of the Maoris and you’ll never forget it. “It used to be said, ‘ See Paris and die’ says Mr Matthews in conclusion. “ Paraphrasing the saying, ridiculous in these days, one may say in truth to those who seek nature’s glory in its richest beauty, ‘ See New Zealand and live 1 ”