COLONIAL HOTELS.

Waikato Times, Volume VI, Issue 330, 25 June 1874, Page 2

COLONIAL HOTELS.

Colonial Hotels are fine institutions. I like hotels. A fellow pays his money and takes fiis choice. He is a free, and independent citizen, and feels himself so as long as he has money to settle his little account. You come in when you like, and go out when you like. You ( cari make love to the maid and sweat' at the ostler. ' There is no objection raised to placing your feet on the mantelpiece or regarding the floor as a gigantic spittoon. You are fully entitled to address the barman as ' Bill,' and you rise in the estimation of the whole establishment if yon can ingratiate yourself with the housemaid so far as to be permitted to address her by her Christian name. This, so far, is good ; it is positively delicious. A wild sense of communistic freedom takes possession of even the dullest soul. You feel positively ' Monarch of all you survey.' , This is when you know the 'Boss' and his minions, andiare constantly swallowing his nauseous mixtures, and a good hand at shouting. If you are unacquainted with this potentate, and belong to the anti-shouting society, look to it and ingratiate yourself as soon

as possible. If you are a few minutes too late for the meal, on your arrival at the house, instantly ' tip ' the waiter half-n-crown, shout for the landlord, and smile blandly on the barman, at the same time throwing out vague hints about subsequent and repeated visits and consequent dropping of coin. If you don't, look out for half-cold meat with semicongealed gravy, and (if you are lucky), one flabby potato, and rely upon being assisted in your digestion by the sourest of expressions on the countenance of the attendant menial. I knew a man once that went to an hotel in a country district j it was a very nice hotel — outside. It fronted a fine stretch of country, had several approaches, was an imposing structure, and had a fine ornamental front. Now, this man thought, here it is ceutain that Lshall be cosy — a house like this must afford accommodation galore. Visions of a cheerful fire, comfortable sofa, and fresh ' eggs and bacon came rushing across the] untutored intellect of this very simple son of Adam. For this' man was just out from home. The foolish, nntravelled fellow, really believed that he could ' take his ease at his inn.' His mind "was agreeably employed with reflections as to what he should order to best minister to his gastronomic requirements. (This was a country district — this was — somewhere in the province of Auckland, I think.) Full of these pleasant ideas, he entered the hotel ; the poor fellow had never been inside a Colonial pub — or hotel whichever you please. His youthful intelligence received a sudden light — he began to realize what a colonial inn meant, instead of the clean neat lobby which his foolish ignorance led him to suppose was generally at the entrance of an hotel, he saw a dirty square space, tmcarpeted, and covered with mud, with a rickety staircase which he had no doubt were the main approach to the sleeping apartments upstairs. Helping the mud to hide the nakedness of the floor of tliis lobby were some 18 or 20 men, — about onethird of whom were cheerfully drunk — another third, unmistakably tight, and the balance totally inebriated. It was Saturday night, and these were some of the regular customers I suppose.. But my friend was a man of good nerve, and he pressed through the crowd until he reached an individual whose occupation of pouring out nobblers of gin and whiskey denoted him to be a, person in authority. To him my friend straightway applied. 'If you please,' said he, ' shew me a room, and' let me have something to eat. I shall stop here tonight.' ' — Find someone- in passage — daresay you can ' — retorted the person in authority, dashing a whiskey-hot down in front of a seedy-looking customer who answered familiarly, 'Thankee Bill,' and throwing , a nobbier of draught "brandy into a dirty glass, which he immediately handed to an inebriated aboriginal. My friend meekly retired to find out the ' some-one in the passage,' but all his efforts proving unavailing, he sneaked up again to th© important personage in the bar, who was still hard at work dispensing his nobblers, and reiterated his request, and the man with an angry growl, rushed from his lair, slammed the door after him, and yelled ' Mary, d — n it, come here.' Mary, an improvement, certainly, on the nobbier-man, appeared, and received instructions to*' put something on the table foiv this unsophisticated stranger. After the lapse of an hour and a half during which my friend's ideas of the comfort of hotels were rapidly evaporating, there appeared— lst. One chambermaid called Mary. 2nd. One dish of tepid beef, coarse, stringy, raw. 3rd. An antiquated tablecloth, well saturated with spilt gravy. 4th. Some stale bread. l -sth. A dirty knife and fork, and some state ' pickles. , This was almost enough to choke off my untravelled hero. But being a. man of stern determination and unflinching''will, he 1 tackled the uninviting repast. The beef was tough, and the knife blunt' and the pickles were not savouiy enough to assist him to swallow the portion of cow allotted to him, so he 2>rogressed rather slowly with the meal. About five minutes after its commencement ■ a sharp female voice disturbed him in his arduous duties by exclaiming, 'took sharp, there's a-going to be a dance in here.' , :1 Eh/igaspecLmy - astonished friend. ' A what?'' No doubt imagining that he was in England where the rjghtsj of, travellers are to a certain degree respected. * A dance' repeated the damsel with emphasis. 1 'Our cook is' a-going- to give a Highland fling, and a sailor's hornpipe, and an Irish jig, and everybody says as 'ow, 'es, a fine dancer!' Then this unsophisticated youth was floored, arid there was no more strength of msnd left in him, and he. fled, from his unfinished cow' and "left the maid mistress of the situation. The dancing cook took possession of the saloon of this colonial hotel, and the poor traveller, was obliged to retire to rest 'slipperiest, and with the sound of the double shuffle and other saltatory efforts ringing in his ears. Of the further remarkable adventures in this particular hotel of this verdant friend of mine,lmay, perhaps, hereafter dilate, but I shall always maintain that colonial hotels are fine institutions. • , , . . VIATOR.