KAWAKAWA.

Observer, Volume 4, Issue 85, 29 April 1882, Page 105

KAWAKAWA.

Miss Johnson is going to be married. An Auckland solicitor is named as fclie happy soul. Miss W. is very sick, and I fear -will not be able to sing at the concert. Tom has lost his sweetheart, and is downhearted. Mrs Doughboy dresses very spruce every afternoon now. No wonder 92X likes it. The shorthand sawyer has had his wings clipped at last, so he went for Poor Jones, who wouldn't hurt a fly. There is a man who wears a black belltopper, walking round with a fine sj>ecimen of Maori goods, and rumour sayeth he has a wife and eight children in Auckland. Isn't it awful ? Miss E. looks well, and has just arrived from Auckland to warble at the muffin scramble. She can't make out how people live in such small huts now. Old Salts and Senna, who takes about £2000 annually from, the miners here, thought he was immensely, liberal when he gave five bob in aid of the new church organ. Some folks think little of getting drunk on 20s. A correspondent just arrived from Kawakawa supplies the following : — Oh ! holy horrors ! what shall we do to be saved — from hypocrisy, piebaldocracy, and snobocracy. The noble edifice of St. Paul's Church, Kawaka, must surely tumble. Not the parson and his wife this time. Seat No. 2 nobody daren't enter, because you know it all belongs to Mrs , who is ever inclined to arrive after the gong has gone in order that the latest new hat may be displayed to advantage. Besides, if you're in her seat, and she has to pass through, look out for your bunions, for as sure as cork prop No. 1 comes down upon you, it will cause «uch a prayer as " Grod help me" to escape. Old Bodgers too is a queer sort of fish. He has unwisely (they say) taken to the back kitchen slums, where he cooks the liver and lights over the kerosene stove while the Mrs says the prayers with all the fervour of a motherly nun. The piebald niagpie, owned by the Billy Johnsons, who were born in the good old whalefishing days of Kussell, between 20 and 30 years ago, has been nagging once more. This time it perched upon Kirk's window sill, and said, , You're a dirfcy lot of coalheavers, You're a drunken lot of gumdiggers, You're Maoris, and your half-castes, I won't rub noses with you !