LIFE IN TARANAKI

Taranaki Daily News, Volume LIII, Issue 273, 8 April 1911, Page 4

LIFE IN TARANAKI

AND NEW PLYMOUTH IN PAR- ' TICULAE. IMPRESSIONS OF A VISITOR. (By J. Liddcll Kelly). It is a balmy, sunny autumn season, in a land flowing with milk and honey—and petroleum! "A pleasing land of Drowsy-Head" it is, as Thomson described the region in which he placed his Castle of Indolence. But, as in that lotos-land there were "dreams that pasß before the half-shut eyes," so in this Garden of Nw Zealand tiie droning buz* of bees and the lazy lowing of well-fed dairy herds conduce to that state of mind favorable to dreams and visions. And Taranaki dreams of a greatness that is to be hers in the future—dreams placidly and contentedly, as she lies amid her rich pasture land and contemplates her flocks and herds—dreams of a time when

the riches stored by Nature in the bowels of the land shall be hers, with lass labor and with greater result than she has won from the generous surface of Mother Earth. It makes a pleasant picture, bit hardly an inspiring one. It is no doubt sweet to dream away the sultry autumn days, but

THE HABIT OF DREAMING is apt to influce a chronic condition of luthargy. And, while it is true that most great achievements exist at first in the shape of dreams, there comes a time when the poppy fumes must be blown aside, and men must set about the process of realisation—of transmuting Dream into Fact by enterprising and energetic effort. But Taranaki still 'dreams.

The other day, I drove six or seven miles from a rural district, past the nourishing suuurb of Fitzroy, and through the long line of prosperous-look-ing business places in New Plymouth's main street, to the scene of petroleumboring operations at Moturoa. Everywhere there seemed to bo A REIGN OF PEACE AND PLENTY

—and indolence! Herds of sleek cattle browsed lazily, as cattle do when eurt of their sustenance; in a turnip field a flock of fat sheep leisurely munched the succulent roots,- here, at a Maori settlement, a Jersey cow enjoyed a feed in a kumara patch; there, on the opposite side of the road, a heifer stood at ease, ■while a minah perched on its back and deliberately pecked at insects on the animal's towsy hide; settlers drove along the road at a jog-trot, past the saleyards, where a mob of cattle and a dozen prospective purchasers patiently awaited the arrival of a tardy auctioneer; there were no signs of life about the houses and stores; all things went with an easy swing. Into this scene of rural felicity there came, ever and anon, a rushing apparition of green or red or white, and a motor-car dashed past amid a dense cloud of dust. "A land agent," explained my friend on each such occasion.

THE LAND AGENTS OF TARANAKI seem to be very w!de-awake. They have no time for dreaming, with grazing land selling at anything up to £6O an acre, and farms changing hands daily. "'A boom? Lord, bless you, no! Solid, substantial progress, all the same as Aucklanders arc having in city and suburban lots. Bust? Never, with butter and wool and mutton at their present prices." One must needs ask, "Are things what they seem, or are visions about?" "Perish the thought," Teply the land agents. "Are we not making big commissions ? Is not the price of everything steadily rising? Do we look like visionaries?" And, with a defiant toot, the motor-car goes on its way careering—a discord in the peaceful harmony. IN THE TOWN,

though the shops look prosperous and well-painted, business appears to flow placidly and sleepily. Past the railway station we go, where a couple of engines arc lazily shunting, and out again to suburbs that.stretch towards Moturoa. Here, thought I, we shall at last see something like general activity. All the world has heard of the wonderful oil deposits at Moturoa, of the fabulous wealth that is here waiting to flow at a mere touch. Here, surely, we shall witness miracles of human energy and behold how a lethargic people can be stirred into life by the prospect of untold riches to be had for the seeking! As if in response to the thought, the old "moke" that dragged our phaeton put on an extra spurt; but, alas! he quickly subsided into a jog-trot. Then, suddenly, in a little gully beside a meandering stream, we caught sight of an ungainly wooden tower, marking the site of

AN OIL-WELL. This is the ground of the Bonithon Freehold Petroleum Company. The bore is down over 2000 feet in most promising strata; but operations have been suspended for want of capital, and the place is deserted and silent—the structure looks like a dreary monument to wasted energy. Yet, by all indications, a little deeper boring would have yielded a flow of rich oil! On we go, to bore No. 5 of the Taranaki Petroleum Company—the company that Has "struck ile"—where we had been told we should find Mr. Keith, the manager. Calling a halt, wc dismounted and entered the grounds, only to flnfl them a repetition of Bonithon. All «u locked up, silent, deserted—it might have been, from all appearance, months or years since a stroke of work was done on the place. "Let us try No, 2, the bore where the oil has actually been got, and there we shall find the life and energy we have been seeking!" At No. 2 we tied up our fiery steed, for we saw from certain lazy wreaths of smoke that something was going on. A solitary man in charge of the works welcomed us, told us that Mr. Keith would be along presently, and then proceeded, in leisurely Taranaki fashion, to show ui the wonders of the place. What we were shown was fitted to OPEN OUR EYES IN AMAZEMENT AND ADMIRATION. We saw the oil and water flowing; we heard the natural gas singing as it went through the pipes; we gazed into subterranean tanks holding thousands of gallons of the precious oily product-; we looked into the roaring "furnace of the steam boiler, and saw it fed alternately by gas and oil fuel, each producing a devouring flame and a fierce heat fit to provide motive power for a Dreadnought. No army of panting and perspiring stokers is required. A little tap is turned, a spray of oil is thrown on to the red embers, and at once there is a roaring mass of combustion like the flames of Tophet. The supply is turned oil", and soon there is nothing but dull red embers. Then another little tap is touched, a stream of natural gas is ejected, again the bellowing, belching flames leap up and a fierce heat is generated. From here we went to a little laboratory, where a toy refinery ia erected, and where the crude oil* is experimentally treated and analysed. Here, in phials. jars and other receptacles, we inspected the three qualities of lubricating oils, the paraffin wax, the benzine, the vaseline, and the pure, eolorless petroleum, all of which are got from the thick, (Continued on page 3.)