THIS PASSING SHOW

New Zealand Times, Volume XXXVII, Issue 8339, 27 January 1913, Page 5

THIS PASSING SHOW

Somo little Talk awhile of Mo and Thee There was —and then no more of Theo and Me. —Omar Khayyam. An Easter carnival of gaiety, resulting in a full exchequer in the first place, and a beautified city in the next —that is the programme laid before us. The obvious neglect of our city from any but the utilitarian point of view has been a convenient topic, available in the dullest times for years immemorial. The press would miss it. Many a column of fine writing and finer sentiment has the sorely-pressed journalist, deprived of his daily pabulum of parliamentary prattle, and uncomforted by local themes of “battle, murder, and sudden death," extracted from the well-worn topic of Wellington's ugliness. Therefore the beautifying scheme (when it takes actual form is sure of pen and paper support, and every little wind-scourged tree, every small shrub with a label as big as itself, will have the kindly and interested eyes of a dozen reporters upon it, eager to report progress. That all goes without saying. Let us accept, too, the genial Father Hickson's prediction that the finacial success of the Easter carnival will rival that of tho children’s hospital. Still

There remains the cnricras question, when these pleasant tree-shaded, flowergemmed retreats have been created, will people uso them, and enjoy them? This is a point that at once suggests itself to anyone who frequents our own Botanical Gardens. Time after time, morning or afternoon yon may go there—even in these long sunny holiday hours, and find them practically deserted. One or two old ladies, sitting peacefully sunning themselves on the benches of the long walk; a pair of lovers loitering blissfully through by the longest and most secluded paths, a stray group of strangers, and the gardening staff —these are all the appreciators of our one creditable beauty spot whom you will encounter on an average day. Not a child on the swings or the see-saws, no glimpse of flying feet upon the sunny slopes, no happy little groups of picnickers on the sheltered shoulders of the hill. Yet there is so much both of beauty and interest to be seen and enjoyed in addition to the heartsome gladness of the broad sunshine, and the sweet fresh air with its spring perfume of blossoming goree. its summer “tang” of aromatic manuka.

The truth is, the city and suburban child prefers a day at the seaside, though the wind is blowing, and tho sand is flying, to any gardens or reserves, however fair. Children are not happy, not quite, quite happy without water. Preferably water in which they may disport themselves; failing that, water in which something else splashes and swims, and may be fed.

But having touched upon the Botanical Gardens, is there nothing one can say to lure the flower lover or tho sun worshipper to those beautifully kept parterres, those pleasant vistas of admirably chosen colour? Does it avil to speak of the lovely bit of colour which glows from the bed of begonias just over the little bridge on the main walk? Under the huge old macrocarpa trees, about whose trunks ferns and bush parasites are clinging, the begonias find an ideal calm, and a perfect background at one ana the same time. From that green shade the fiery crimsons, tho clear soft yellows, and pure white show with vivid beauty, while tiny pale blue lobelias wander about their feet.

In the parterre upon the hillside some charming bedding-out effects axe seen, where spaces of pale heliotrope violas are edged with the soft grey-green of cineraria marftima. Along the borders one notices the charming coloun-a soft shade of apricot—of the little Capo daisies, and the large heliotrope flowers of a plant which resembles a single aster, but is of a low and branching habit. The bank of fuchsias bohiudt he resident gardener’s house is worth looking at. and the rock garden reveals many interesting ana flourishing denizens.

Accustomed as we are to look upon the opposite, shores of Day’s Bay and its companion inlets as a sunbathed paradise, radiant with warmth and glowing with colour long after the envious shades of evening have claimed our own shore, I was struck with the charm of a companion view sent me by a correspondent who dwells on those sunny -shoress “Eyes cast across the harbour from the eastern side to-night upon a fading sunset would have seen yellow ochre upon velvet, above the western hills, at eight hours after midday. The harbour reflected the sombre golden glory of the sky, except where dimpled lightly overwards by the faintest breath of eastern breeze. Frowning are the bills of Seatoun and Karaite.; beyond, the soft grey bills of 'ifluakori and Brooklyn. Again, beyond and across the Straits, the inland Kaikouras up Awatere head waters way, bound the horizon, all forming an enchanting scene. In the immediate foreground shadows cast upon the margin of vhe water; to the right, gaunt beeches, many dead, some dying, and some alive, but all of which have fought the good fight for years against southerly blasts. Their battles endear them to the mind. Venus sinks over tho northern, heights.

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and the full moon will ponr her radiance upon us shortly. The discordant notes are rendered by a clattering lawn mower, and the discordant melange uttered by a gramaphone. So one goes indoors with a heart at peace with the world, because beautiful pictures, works of art or feminine beauty, should tend to mate mankind better.” A sentiment in which wo shall all agree, I think. —ZEALANDIA.