1867? - Thomson, Mrs. Twelve Years in Canterbury New Zealand - CHAPTER V. AUCKLAND--(CONTINUED).

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CHAPTER V,

AUCKLAND--(CONTINUED).

I FEAR this part of my journal is rather dull. But what is to be done? Here I am, doomed to stay for a month in the dullest place on earth; and if it infects me with its dullness and languor, how can I help it? The truth must be told, however dull it may be. Well, there is something at least to be done now, for I discovered to-day--the eighth of my residence here (what an age it seems!)--that the business of the boarding-house in which I am is to be given up, and the house closed in about a fortnight's time. The man says he finds it "too quiet" for him, and he prefers keeping a public-house, "where there will be," as he observes, "more life."

No one has been found to take this concern, or keep it on, so all the inmates will have to turn out. Hearing the people at breakfast this morning discussing the accommodation at the only other decent boarding-house in the place, and talking of going there, I thought I had better try and secure a bed-room for myself in good time, seized my opportunity therefore between the showers, and went to inspect the other house, which is not far from this one. Did not much like the appearance of it --a very old, bad, tumble-down wooden house, smelling extremely damp and musty. Went on, and looked at two different sets of lodgings, but was told they did not wish to take single ladies; they want

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married couples, and expect to furnish board as well as lodging; so that they would not let their bed-room to any single person, unless they would pay as much as two, So, finding no alternative, went back, and secured a room at the new-old boarding-house, from the following Monday, but was told I must at once send a box there, in proof of my intention to come, or they would not undertake to keep a room for me. The terms rather lower than at my present place, but don't expect to be very comfortable--no mosquito-nets. The woman at this house tells me that they are so overrun with rats at the other one, that I shall have to sit up in bed all night throwing things at them to keep them off. I was caught in the rain twice while I was out, but it is easy to find shelter, many of the shops having wide verandahs in front, stretching quite over the pavement, which is a great convenience in so rainy a place, though intended, I suppose, to keep the sun off their windows. Explored a good deal of the town to-day; never saw any place so destitute of handsome, or even good-looking, buildings, but those now in progress promise something better. All the banks, which in other towns vie with each other in handsome exteriors, are here remarkably shabby-looking places, with the one exception before named--the Union Bank. They are just beginning to get good pavements, but this, I am told, where it exists, is quite a recent improvement; there was no attempt at such a thing a few months back. Now, at every few yards you meet with a change of footpath going through every gradation, of good pavement, indifferent, bad, and none --the last predominating.

What little experience I had of the shops did not impress me favourably.. Had I had important purchases to make, I might possibly have found things better; but my wants were small, such as eau de cologne (at a very high price), which turned out to be eau de rien, and some other little matters, all equally failures.

The next day was actually rather fine during the greater part of it, and my friend came to lionize me a

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little about the town; he showed me a good deal more of it than I had yet seen. We went up some steep streets, from the top of which could be seen the great extent of the town, which is spreading out all round the outskirts, up hills, down into valleys, and up again. Observed also more good buildings than I had yet seen. There is a law enforcing the use of stone or brick in future, instead of wood. The middles of the streets are laid down with what appear to be sharp, rough, broken-up stones, but which is, in fact, the scoriae thrown up in former times from Mount Eden. In the outskirts of the town the footpaths in many places are formed with the ashes from the same extinct volcano. The Roman Catholic chapel, and many other places, are built of this scoria, in rather large, irregularly-shaped pieces, and the interstices filled up with smaller bits. The effect is not bad, for the dark (almost black) colour of it is relieved by the quantities of mortar, or white cement, used between the stones. The Convent is a long, low, wooden building, on the side of a hill, not looking very secluded, and without even a wall round the grounds. There are great numbers of Roman Catholics here, and a resident Roman Catholic bishop. We met General Cameron in our walk, and afterwards passed his residence, a low, wooden-verandahed house, with nothing remarkable about it except two white lions couchant, apparently of stone, on pedestals on either side of the entrance to the house, looking rather out of place with the rest of the building.

Nearly all the dwelling-houses have verandahs, and some of them also balconies, with an abundance of luxuriant creeping-plants growing over them. The passion-flower flourishes in great beauty. We passed a good-looking English church, but without any spire, called St. Matthew's. On my admiring this, my companion said he could show me a much better one, almost in English style, with a very pretty steeple, but not yet quite finished. When we reached it, I found it quite worthy of the praises he had bestowed upon it. The

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door stood partly open, and through it we could see a handsome stained-glass window. We entered. The inside was perfectly finished, and evidently in use for service. A very handsomely-carved pulpit faced us, with two flights of steps leading up to it. The roof was light blue, and the arches and rafters supporting it, of stained and varnished wood. It was a wooden building, but very solid-looking. No sooner inside, however, than I discovered it was not a church at all, but a Presbyterian chapel. The beautiful steeple and church-like appearance had completely deceived my companion, as it would have done anyone On coming out I rather uncharitably exclaimed, "What a pity!"--and he very justly at the same moment, "Church people should be ashamed of themselves, letting others outstrip them so completely!" We passed various public institutions. The Emigration Barracks look well and complete; they comprise also a "female home" for women who come out to find places as wives, governesses, or servants. The lunatic asylum is in two divisions, built on the side of a hill; the lower part, with a low wall round, for the worst cases, and the higher separated from it by extensive grounds for the safer patients.

One great advantage to this town is the thickly-wooded hill that rises nearly in the centre of it, the upper part of which is laid out in gardens and pleasure-grounds, and the lower and wooded part in shady walks; the whole thing is called the Domain, and is reserved for public recreation and health; according to present intention this hill is never to be built upon. We did not go into the Domain to-day, nor into the cemeteries which we also passed near to; these I reserve for another occasion.

From an eminence we looked upon the distant mountains far beyond the hills that surround the harbour, and my friend introduced them each to me by name. We could see also the dim outline of the Coromandel coast; there has not yet been sufficient enterprise to work the gold-fields there, but they now talk

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of setting about it, and it is believed it will repay the labour.

We came through the barracks home, after a long walk all up and down hill, and I was pretty tired. The barracks appear to be a very complete work, surrounded with a solid, thick, and high wall of scoria, with loopholes at intervals to fire through in case of attack; it is, in fact, a kind of fortification; there is powder enough in the magazine here to shatter the whole town to pieces should it explode.

How difficult it seems to be for the weather to remain fine in this part of the country, it looked threatening all the time of our walk, and in the evening the threat was fulfilled, when the rain recommenced and continued through the night. The next day, Sunday, I rose to another grey drizzling day, got to church, however (being so close), and was happy to find we had not the town-crier-like gentleman again, but a young deacon who was perfectly inoffensive, being simply monotonous and totally spiritless in his manner of reading; he had to perform the whole service, and gave us a sermon admirable solely for its extreme shortness. The choir mustered rather stronger than on last Sunday, and there were some very good voices among them, both male and female. Jackson's "Te Deum" was extremely well performed by them, but they do not seem to attempt anthems here. The Governor was again present, and also General Cameron. Got home from church only just in time; a regular rainy, stormy day now set in, and the water ran in brooks and rivulets down the road like streams of pea-soup, taking their hue from the yellow, clayey soil, which makes a most tenacious mud, very difficult to remove from one's clothes and boots, as I know from experience, having always to perform this operation for myself. When first I arrived here in my wet, muddy condition, I found my things were left day after day in my room untouched, just as I had taken them off. At last I addressed the housemaid on the subject. "I wish you would take down these

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boots, and dress, and skirt, and get the mud brushed off."

No answer.

"Do you understand?"

"Well, yees."

"Is there any difficulty about it?"

"Well, don' know."

"Is there not a clothes brush in the house?"

"Well, I s'pose so."

"If you mean that you can't do it, or get it done, bring me the clothes brush, and I'll do it myself. "

This conclusion seemed nothing extraordinary to her, she simply brought the brush and left it on my table. Servants here are certainly laughable specimens; to-night (the last I shall be in this house) she came up to my room to ask some question, and stood biting and munching an apple, and talking with her mouth full, taking a fresh bite at every sentence. This has been the first windy day I have seen here; the rain, instead of coming straight down, is driving with great force against the window, and the harbour has been rough for the first time also. It is wonderful that they should not have thought of having any accommodation made for bathing here. Never was a place, I should think, better calculated either for bathing-rooms or machines, but no such idea seems to have struck them; there are beautiful flat level sands, over which the tide rolls up gently, clean and smooth as a pond, and just deep enough to be pleasant. I know this from seeing the horses, which all day long are being taken in and walked about in the water; they go out often a long distance, with the water reaching nearly to their backs and no higher; quite close in, it is more shallow still.

There are smaller bays all round the harbour; this is called Official Bay, another Mechanic's Bay, etc. It is said that there are sharks in these bays, and that they come close in shore. It seemed strange that the men should take their horses in so fearlessly, this being the case; but upon inquiry I was told that sharks

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do not like horse-flesh, and never take a bite at them. I observed that the riders drew their legs up, and sat tailor fashion on their horses' backs. Nevertheless it would be easy to stake off or cover in a piece of the water, as they have done at Lyttelton and also at Wellington, where there is very good bathing accommodation.

I have changed my boarding-house, and a most wretched-looking place, indeed, I have got into. No description could do justice to its dirt, discoloration, and crazy appearance. It would seem as though it were useless to attempt doing anything to it in the way of repair or improvement, as the whole fabric might tumble down if it were touched. My bed-room, an old "lean-to" at one end, is well ventilated with cracks and crevices on all sides, and yet smells like a damp, underground dust-hole; the plank ceiling is all stained with the rain which comes through, but only, as the master assures me, when the wind and rain beat on that side of the house (at other times, I suppose, the other side takes its turn). The dingy papering looks as if it had been thrown on with a pitchfork, totally regardless of the many ins and outs, and queer gratuitous irregularities of the wooden walls beneath; it has stuck on where it could, and in other parts turned back expostulatingly, exposing the still more dingy and tattered paper of former days behind it. This room opens into the public room, and the only other egress is by a glass door into the verandah, which glass forms also the principal window; but as the gentlemen walk up and down, or lounge in the verandah, smoking, etc., the dingy, cobwebby blinds (which bear some little traces of having once been green), must be kept down; besides, it looks also into the street, and the street into it. There is another small window at another side, which will not open when it is shut, nor shut when it is open, and the two parts of it (it is of the lattice make) were evidently never intended to bear each other company, nor has there been any attempt made to deceive one upon this

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point, as there have been no pains taken to make them agree either in colour or fit; one was once painted white, the other grained wood. What horrors the coming night may disclose I know not, nor wish to think of; but the master assures me this is not one of the rat rooms. I had my choice between rain or rats coming in, and of course chose the rain.

It rained nearly all night, and I had nothing to do but listen to it pelting on the roof just above my head, and pattering through it on to the floor of my room; I scarcely slept five minutes, for up to half-past eleven at night I was also kept awake by the edifying conversation, with the somewhat noisy jokes and laughter of the gentlemen in the public-room, from which mine is divided only by a single plank partition.

The weather cleared up in the afternoon, and I went exploring. Certainly the outskirts of the town are very pretty. I walked to-day to a town which joins on to the main town, called Parnell. It is of considerable extent; up hill, of course; and is, in fact, a continuation of Auckland town, as are also the streets and buildings that stretch up the several other hills, though the dwellers in these parts generally call them by some other distinguishing name, such as "New-town," etc. The extent of the whole town, including these localities, is, they say, above two miles each way. There are also various small towns at about six or eight miles' distance, to and from which omnibuses continually run. There are houses scattered here and there along all these roads, and it is supposed that in time the whole will form one continuous town.

There is not quite so large a party here as at the house I have left (and which will be shut up now in a few days), and they are a quieter and more gentlemanlike set. There is one lady, the wife of an officer, with her husband, and another fat, rather homely-looking dame, the mother of a third lady, who keeps to her own room. The master of the house presides at table, takes care of his guests, and sees that they have all

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they want, which is a great improvement after the "grabbing" system, or having to ask for everything, as at the other house.

It would be a fortune to any one to open a respectable boarding-house or good hotel here; every one says there is nothing approaching to good accommodation or attendance anywhere in the town. It is odd that no one should have taken advantage of such an opening, so long as the want has been felt. There is not a house, it seems, in all the place calculated for such a purpose, and no one has been found with capital to invest in building one, save one unfortunate man, who, I am told, did attempt it, and actually had erected a place for a large first-rate hotel, when, just as the roof was on, a fire broke out in a neighbouring shop, the conflagration spread, the unfinished building was totally destroyed, and the poor man ruined, and wholly unable to recommence his project. This happened less than a year ago.

Another day of darkness and rain, and though the rain did not come in the direction against my room, it did come pouring through the roof in abundance, and the master begged me to change it for another. It was now or never; every room in the house was taken, and would be filled to-day. He assured me he had stopped up all the rat-holes in the haunted rooms, and that these unwelcome visitors would not be likely to come again, unless there were eatables in the room, which was, he said, what had previously attracted them. I looked at the room he offered me, and certainly liked it much better, so resolved upon the change, the more willingly because I verily believe there were rats as well as rain in the first one, for I had heard suspicious noises in the night, which I had tried not to attend to, and having a good mosquito-net (which I had borrowed, and brought with me from the other house), I tucked it well in, and considered myself to be pretty secure from their assaults. So now I am established in the rat room, where my first act has been

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carefully to fix up the same invaluable mosquito-net. I shall be far more quiet and comfortable here; the windows look over and up a grassy slope, with the barracks on the top, and down sideways over a large part of the town below (this house being on the same hill as the other one, but on a higher part of it). The hill runs steeply down behind the house, so that, though in the front the single floor is even with the street, at the back the same floor has rooms under it, which also open on a road lower down on the hill side. This sort of thing is common with the houses here, and has rather a pretty effect when they face down the hills, with a terrace walk, perhaps, in front, and the garden sloping deep down into a valley or ravine below.

The papering of this room is nearly (though not quite) as dilapidated as the other, with divers old bits of wood of all shapes and colours nailed here and there to keep it up and the rats down. The whole of the wall on one side is damp and mouldy with the rain, but it does not come through into the room. It has a most ratty smell.

The weather only held up for about an hour late in the afternoon. Tried to get out a little, but the roads too slippery for descending the hill far in any direction. I think I never heard such heavy rain as that which awakened me last night; yes, wakened me: for I did sleep, and pretty comfortably too, for the bed was a decided improvement upon that in the other room (which appeared to be stuffed with cart ropes and cables, and the pillow with twigs, or something like it); but in all these houses they are strangely stingy in the dimensions of their sheets; Auckland is not by any means singular in this matter. If the bed be large, they give you sheets suited to one of the smallest possible size; and if the bed be small, the sheets dwindle to the dimensions of a largish pocket-handkerchief or a broadish ribbon. That they should tuck in at either side, or turn over at top, or reach

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to the bottom, is considered wholly unnecessary; your toes, as a matter of course, find themselves between the blankets only. But for this defect my present bed would be an unusually comfortable one (for a colonial boarding-house). I tried not to think of the rats, and I believe they did not think of me, for I heard nothing of them. I took the precaution of burning a light all night, which, perhaps, was a new idea to them, and may have disarranged their plans. Whatever may have been their reasons, I am most thankful to have been spared their visits.

The weather cleared a little in the morning, and as there was a high wind, I hoped the roads would dry. But it was a vain delusion; down came the rain again, wind and all, and so continues. No getting out at all to-day.

The servants here are comparatively civilized. and attentive, and answer nicely and obligingly when spoken to, forming a pleasant contrast to the uncouthness of those I formerly encountered. Many things are far better managed too, here; so that upon the whole I have decidedly made a change for the better, provided that the house does not tumble about my ears before I get out of it. I was only just in time in securing my room, for all the turned out inmates of the other house are seeking accommodation here in vain. It must not be supposed, however, that I am too comfortable here. I have nothing to write on but my lap, or hand, or anything I can contrive; for the dressing-table and washing-stand (or shelf), though neatly covered with muslin, etc., are nothing more than rough pieces of wood nailed against the wall, and at a height which makes it impossible to sit at them.

There are no fastenings or weights to the windows (sashes); when I open them, I have to prop them up with anything I can lay my hand on. The door has only the remains of what was once a lock; all parts of it being now useless, I have to push a box against it to

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keep it closed, or shut a towel in it, or any other colonial contrivance that comes to hand. The window-blinds have never known lines or pulleys, or any other contrivance for drawing them up; they have to be pinned up, or stuck behind a neighbouring nail. I often think what fun all this primitive state of things and these contrivances would be, if I had but any one to laugh with at them all. What a difference it would make in the view one takes of such petty annoyances!

I have now been in Auckland a fortnight, and I am happy to think that in two weeks more I shall probably be on the waves again, and fairly on my way towards England. I feel that I am losing time sadly here; but, "what can't be cured," etc. There was a storm of thunder and lightning late yesterday afternoon, and I had hoped that the weather might change after it, and give us a few fine days, for a treat; but it does not seem to have made much difference, for there was rain all night again, and showers this morning. As my friend called to-day, I went out a little way with him, for a gentleman's arm helps one over slippery roads, where I could not venture without such support; afraid to go far, however, and were caught, and had to seek shelter, as it was. It is curious how suddenly the showers come down here. When we were out to-day,

Captain F---- had just said, "I do think we shall have a little settled weather now for a few days" (they seldom have more than two or three fine days together here, I am told). I answered, "I felt a spot of rain, though, just as you spoke." We looked round, and there was a black cloud just coming up over our heads, and, before umbrellas could be put up, down it came driving upon us. Not two minutes ago I looked out at my window, and seeing the stars shining brightly, said to myself, "There is some hope of a dry day to-morrow;" but I had scarcely returned to my seat, when, patter, patter, and immediately, rush, rush--in a torrent came the rain again; and so it almost always is, even when the day or night looks the finest, you never can tell what

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is coming. Saw the Wesleyan College to-day, a large red-brick building, not handsome. Tremendous torrents of rain all night, coming every now and then against the wall of my room, more like a wave of the sea striking it than any rain I ever heard before; the crazy windows shook and rattled as if they would be blown in; and should they ever be so, I should think the old roof would fly off with the sudden ingress of the wind. Our landlord is very properly particular; he has this morning turned out two of the late arrivals ("requested them to leave," he says) because they were uncouth and noisy, and drank too much champagne. I begin to fear I shall see nothing of the neighbourhood of Auckland at all, so relentless is the rain and mud; it is useless making any plans or arrangements for the purpose, unless the weather becomes a little settled, or rather a little unsettled from its present mood. Another and another day--stupid work, indeed! The same wet, weary tale, over and over again; rainy, blowy nights, and ditto, ditto days; the only variety being that it has become very cold, and would have been quite pleasant for walking, had one been able to get out. My thermometer as low as 49 deg.. I have been glad to sit with my cloak on at the open window (when the rain did not drive in), and get all the air I could, as I could have no exercise. People told me that when the weather became cold it would be dry, but no such thing; it is as wet as ever. They call this (May) the first month of winter here.

Sunday. --Showery, but able to get to St. Paul's church, being almost as near to it here as I was before. Encountered the same shrieking clergyman as on two Sundays ago; his sermon really a very good one, and I wished I could have heard it delivered more pleasantly, or had it to read by myself, for his voice and manner of delivery are positively so painful to one's ears, that it is quite a relief when he stops. This gentleman, they say, is not the usual clergyman here, and no one I have asked knows his name; the regular clergyman is away,

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I suppose, at the General Synod (at Christchurch); but the people I have to do with seem to know wonderfully little of any church matters--none of them knew that Bishop Selwyn and Bishop Pattison were absent at all; both of them, I am told, often preach at this church, so that I am peculiarly unfortunate to have missed them both at Christchurch (whither they are gone) and here. I wonder why the clergymen here omit the Princess of Wales from the Litany. It may be only a careless oversight, but they also, in the introduced prayer for the "Governor and Superintendents of these Colonies" (as we have it in Canterbury, and elsewhere), leave out the superintendents, and pray only for the Governor.

They appear to have the Holy Communion only once a month; they have the offertory every Sunday, but do not announce for what purpose it is, or affix any notice respecting it on the doors (as we do). The collection is made in massive-looking gilded and embossed plates, forming a rather curious contrast with the many coppers which are placed in it.

The marriage banns are published not after the second lesson, but after the Communion Service, and from the altar. The soldiers all marched past our house this morning to church, at nine o'clock. They have no band at all here, though there are parts of five or six regiments in the town (and ten whole regiments in the province); one of these regiments (the 68th) has two bands belonging to it, and yet neither of them is here. The cheerful sounds of a military band disturbed the deadly dullness of the place too much, I suppose; for there used to be one, and they used to play going to church and returning; also every evening in the Domain, and often in the square of the barracks, but they have been now sent elsewhere. Some of the officers boarding in the house are proposing to try and get up a set of monthly balls for the winter, but are much puzzled what to do for music, for it seems there is not even a town band, neither have the volunteers nor militia one, so that they are much worse off in this respect (as in

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many others) than we Canterburians are, for (even without any military) we have many hands, and extremely good ones too; I don't think they have even any assembly-rooms or town-hall to give their balls in.

The pleasantest five minutes of weather that I have seen since I came here was during my walk home from church this morning; it was so delightful that I felt inclined to go further. Luckily, however, I did not do so, for I had scarcely reached my room before I had to rush and shut the window, to keep out a pelting shower that came driving furiously in; and there were all the folks being drenched in their Sunday clothes in all directions. In about ten minutes it was over, and the sun shining; but I saw another black cloud rising in the south-west, and soon down came another shower, and so on all day since; no sooner has one passed away, than another may be seen rising. The rainbows here are very remarkable; on these showery days there is often a constant succession of them from sunrise till noon. By watching my opportunity just after a shower, and before the next came up, I managed to get to evening church, where I found my friend of the town-crier voice again. I had not imagined that human lungs could go through such an exertion twice in one day, and concluded there would be some one to relieve him tonight. The fatigue was evidently too much for him; the shriek was not so piercing as in the morning, and he had frequently to stop, as if there were some obstacle in his throat. It was a good sermon again; the Princess of Wales is omitted in the evening prayer also; the church is disgracefully ill lighted. This was the first time I had been out after dark, and was surprised to find that the streets are not lighted; at least there is but one solitary lamp at one corner at the top of the street, which, of course, was totally useless at the bottom, or even within a very short distance of its glimmer, which, in the muddy, slippery state of the hill, was not a pleasant or safe arrangement. Most of the people had lanterns, which seems rather an absurd ne-

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cessity in the middle of a large town. I understand that the streets throughout the town are unlighted, save by the reflection from the shop-windows, and are consequently left in darkness on Sunday evenings. 1

28th. -- Oh, be joyful! The steamer is in, and my berth actually secured. Soon after breakfast, Captain F---- appeared to tell me that the "Rangitoto," a new iron steamer, had arrived, and would go direct to Sydney, with the mails, on the first of next month. In spite of rain and mud, I hurried on my things, and went down at once with him to the wharf to secure the best berth I could--a feat I could not possibly have performed alone; but I held tightly on to his arm, and he managed to keep me firmly up. A very good wharf, very long and very broad, but crowded with carts and horses, whose drivers care for nobody. We steered safely through, however, between all the great muddy wheels, and on board the "Rangitoto." A fine large vessel, high out of the water, towering above all others in its neighbourhood, long and narrow, and very neat-looking in its make and finishings; ladies' cabin small, but only three berths in it, which is so far pleasant; no ladies' saloon.

We had to stay a considerable time below, in consequence of the extreme heaviness of the rain; then, after transacting some necessary business with the bank and shipping agent, we finally climbed the hill again in safety. A nice state of wet and mud I found myself in on my return home, the bottom of my dress and my boots completely cased in thick masses of mud. There is not the smallest attempt made to clean the streets, or even to sweep crossings anywhere; you have to flounder through everything, and wade on ankle deep in sheer desperation. It is useless casting your eyes about in the hope of finding any one spot less deep in mire than another: all are alike; through it you must go, and the less you stop to think about it the better.

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This town, though, with the exception of Wellington, the oldest in New Zealand, considered to be the capital, the greatest military station, and, until the last few months, the seat of government (and still the chief residence of the Governor), with a population of about 17,000 souls, 2 is comparatively the least advanced of all the towns in this colony; and until the war and the great influx of military, with the immense expenditure consequent thereupon, was very much more behindhand, than it now is. It was, in fact, they say, almost in a state of bankruptcy before the war broke out, and it may go hard with it again when the troops are all removed; the chief resources will then be the coalmines now being worked in the neighbourhood, producing, it is said, very good coal, and the Coromandel coast gold-fields. It would be a pity that it should not go on redeeming lost time, now that it has taken a start. A far better class of buildings is now rising, new streets are being made, and the ground dug away, so as to avoid the extreme steepness of the old ones. A building is being commenced in Shortland Street, which is to comprise a theatre, an arcade, and a large room above for assemblies, etc., there being no town-hall or large rooms anywhere at present. I saw one shop nearly finished, which promised to be a very grand affair, with a gallery all round the inside, exhibition fashion; I believe it was to be a haberdasher's.

I have heard it observed more than once by the people I have met here, that the first settlers seemed to have lived only for themselves, and never thinking of those who were to come after; nothing was done for embellishment or improvement, no fruit or other trees planted, and so it would certainly appear. The place is wonderfully unadorned, untidy, and scrambling looking; scarcely any trees, excepting those planted by nature in the Domain. Situated as the town is, it ought to be beautiful, had any taste at all been exercised in its

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arrangement. Vegetables and fruits are very scarce; a curious fact in a climate where all things would flourish in such abundance and luxuriance, if they could only get the chance given them. 3

24th of May. --The Queen's birthday. A man-of-war in the harbour fired, some cannon, and the soldiers in the barrack-yard fired four volleys of musketry, and that was all. The latter, I believe, was called "a review," and General Cameron and his staff were to have been present, but the rain came, and they stayed at home. There was no other celebration of the day; the governor gave neither levee nor ball. I suppose the people of Auckland are not less loyal than those of Canterbury (where we make a general holiday and grand gala day of it), but only more dull and stupid. I never thought I could have grown so tired of looking at really beautiful rainbows. As soon as the sun is up in the morning, and any break occurs in the showers, there is the bow. I have daily opportunities of remarking the truth of the old. verse, "A rainbow in the morning," etc.

25th. --By this day next week I shall probably have lost sight of New Zealand; a thought which, in itself, I can scarcely bear to dwell upon; yet there is no small satisfaction in feeling that I shall get away from this part of it. It cleared up sufficiently this afternoon to enable me to get out, and walk up and down a little before Government House, where there is a good footpath, and not far from this. It is a large, handsome-looking white building, composed of a centre and two wings, all of wood (though the centre part is made to look like stone), and extensive grounds round it. There are very few large private houses, the only striking-looking one is near Government House, and is, I behove, really of white stone. It belongs to a Jew tradesman of the town, who built and inhabits it. There was

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a rainbow this evening; we shall see now whether the second line of the verse proves as true as the first, "A rainbow at night," etc.

26th. --Yes, the rainbow last evening was pretty right, for though there was much rain in the night, here is a really fine morning at last. Took a very long walk, and found the roads drying up quickly, excepting in the town, where the principal and most fashionable street still remains in a disgusting state of mud. I heard it remarked that nature does all she can to dry the place, but the people, instead of helping her, do all they can to thwart her, by leaving accumulations of dirt and rubbish, and by every other means of omission and commission, as if they really preferred a state of nastiness to one of cleanliness. No words can tell the barbarous state of the footways (paths they cannot be called) where pavements have not yet been adopted.

The road that I took to-day was the same that I came from Onehunga. I had there seen, in the outskirts of the town, some extensive cemeteries which I had intended to visit, and I now seized this first opportunity of a fine day for the purpose, but cannot say they repaid the inspection. Oh, so different from our beautiful little cemetery at Christchurch! If such things can make any difference to one's feelings at the last moment, one might certainly shudder at the idea of being laid in the damp, dark, unwholesome-looking place I saw to-day. The English cemetery is on the side of a hill, and the Roman Catholic cemetery on the top of the same hill. The high road runs between them, and there is but a low hedge of loose stones between the dead, and the busy noisy thoroughfare of public traffic. The English part lies on the left hand; it has no walks or plantations, no flowers or shrubs (that I could see), on or around any of the graves. The stones, for the most part plain as plain could be, with wooden palings round them, and very close together. I saw but very few with neat iron railings (one very fanciful); the best I observed were those of officers or

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their wives, recently buried there. It is of very great extent, and the greater part of it very much crowded. I was surprised to see no chapel there; The Roman Catholic division was much in the same style, with very little attempt at taste or ornament; but it has the advantage in point of situation, being higher, drier, and more cheerful-looking than the English side, not so much overgrown with the rank weeds, heath, and fern that give so wretched and forlorn a look to the other one. It is also more extensive, and the graves not so closely packed together. I saw no chapel here either, but a large, roughly-made, white wooden cross stands high, surmounting everything else.

One glittering memorial catches the eye from afar in this cemetery; when I got close to it, I found, the inscription was in black letters on a gold ground, behind a glass, exactly as the names on shops are sometimes done. It was placed on a wooden stone (if one may use the term), surrounded by flat wooden balustrades, painted to imitate veined marble; a more trumpery or pretentious thing than this bright and obtrusive memorial could hardly be imagined. I read here, too, several of the old doggrel verses that belong to days quite gone by, though these bore dates of only a year or two back. One of them was the well-known--

Next to the Roman Catholic, comes the Jews' burying-ground, but I did not go into that. I could see that it was in the same style, and as bad or worse than the others. The stones (if there were any) hidden by high thick gorse and heath. In one in closure here, however, I saw one solitary little cypress tree, the only sign of affectionate attention that was visible anywhere; not one single monument (properly to be so called) in any of the three.

27th. --I have really done something to-day--per-

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formed quite a feat! The day was fine, and I determined to make an attempt to reach the top of Mount Eden, a performance which most people accomplish once when they first come to the place. It is a mile to the foot of the hill, and another mile up it, so we had at least a four miles' walk to do. The ascent of the mount was something terrific for steepness, better adapted, I should say, for a goat than for a human being. I found, however, that my friend who conducted me was taking me by the steepest and shortest way, because he, as he said, always found it the quickest when he went pheasant-shooting up there. I should think any one preferring such a mode of ascent would make a good chamois hunter. As I looked up and up before me, and saw the height we had to go without any path, and almost as perpendicular as the side of a house, I kept exclaiming incredulously--

"You don't mean to say you expect me to go up there!"

"Oh, yes," was the cheerful answer, "only hold tight on my arm;" or (going on sideways before me), "Just take my hand, hold fast, and put your feet exactly, step for step, where I take mine up."

And so, by main force, strength of arm, and firmness of footing, he got me up. The top is a flat plateau, covered with short green grass and a very minutely-leaved clover, very smooth and pleasant to walk on. From this we looked down into the crater, no very great depth. It is said by those who have gone down, to have a hollow sound beneath, and evidently to be hollow under the surface. I had no desire to attempt this descent, as there was no path, and nothing to be seen more than from where we stood. It is composed of rock, with fern and grass growing over most parts of it. A few sheep were feeding half-way down.

The view around is very extensive, and quite uninterrupted. We saw right across the island from sea to sea, and then to far-distant mountains beyond these

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bays. There was the great Rangitoto 4 Mountain, with its three peaks, and many others; and the two rivers, the Thames and the Waitamata (a curious medley of English and Maori names). Various small towns are to be seen scattered, about, and many pretty-looking small country houses, innumerable green fields, and much uncultivated land, covered with fern, etc. The sea on both sides of the island runs in so far in one part that the two inlets nearly meet, there being only about three-quarters of a mile of land between them. It seems a pity that they could not be made to join by means of a canal, for at present a ship, to get from one side to the other, would have to go about 600 miles round. Probably, unless some great engineering difficulties stand in the way, this will in time be done. The view from Mount Eden, though a fine one, cannot be said to command any beautiful scenery; there is a bare look about it all, and a want of wood. There are several Maori rifle-pits about the upper parts of this mountain, dug by the rebels during the present war, and deep enough to protect the whole of their bodies, so that they could take secure and deadly aim at any one coming up, without being seen themselves. Some of these pits were large enough to hold a good number of men. I should have judged from the appearance of many of them that they had been formed much longer, but this is what I was told. It was well that we had taken the shortest way up, as the afternoon mists rise early, and would have obscured the full and extensive view that we now had but just time to enjoy. We descended by a much easier, though longer route, consisting of a series of smooth, grassy terraces, with only little zig-zag, steep, stony bits down from one to the other. The soil, where-ever there is any, appears to be very rich, but the

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greater part is solid rough scoria. Numbers of men, horses, and carts are employed, in blasting and carrying away this stone, which is used for building, road-making, etc., and the ashes, or more burnt parts of the scoria, are used for footpaths; the stone is said to be too hard to be worked into shape, or well-squared blocks, and therefore it is always used in rough, unshaped masses in building, and the interstices filled in with smaller bits, and yet it has a very porous appearance, being full of small holes.

The soil is thickly inlaid in many parts with small shells, which we supposed to have been cast up from the sea by the volcanic action by which the mountain itself was produced, and, in fact, all New Zealand. I took some specimens of these shells down with, me as curiosities. On my mentioning this at dinner-time this evening, I was not a little disgusted at finding the general opinion to be that they had been taken up there in ancient times by the natives, who lived principally, as it is supposed, on shell-fish. At first I thought of throwing away my shells as impostors, but upon reflection, I don't believe this version of the matter, for it is not likely the natives would have selected the top of that bleak, unsheltered hill to live upon, or that they would have taken the trouble to carry the shell-fish there to eat instead of eating them down below, neither would they have selected all small ones like these; besides, it would have taken many centuries to imbed them under soil so deep as in many places they are; for in parts where the earth has broken away, leaving a piece of perpendicular side exposed to view, these little shells are to be seen.

The mountain has a curious appearance from a distance, the upper part rising so abruptly that it looks like a steep flat-topped hill on the top of another and larger hill. I may here remark, that the native grass of this part of New Zealand is far superior to that of the south. It is more like English grass, short, fine, and beautifully green, looking like a lawn. The moisture of

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the climate is the cause of this, and not the soil, which is naturally poor for the most part, and cannot be formed into gardens without preparation and manuring. I am told there are very few good private gardens, and no nursery gardens worth mentioning. It is a pity, with so favourable a climate, that they do not set about improving the soil for these purposes.

28th. --My last Sunday in New Zealand. Though the morning looked threatening, I determined to venture to the more distant church of St. Matthew, and was well repaid. The service was most impressively read by an elderly, benevolent-looking man, with a rich, earnest voice. His sermon was eloquent, and delivered with great spirit and zeal; it was, I must suppose, adapted to this place, though it would have been most unsuited to that I came from, and have been so long used to; it was on the necessity of an appointed ministry.

He stated that there were great numbers of people who did not recognize the necessity of either church or priest; that "in this Christian city many had large grown-up families unbaptized; that thousands never received. Holy Communion;" and "they maintained that the Sacraments were non-essentials of our religion." It must be a queer community, indeed, if these things be so, and a fine field for the labours of such a man as he appears to be. This church is not nearly as large as St. Paul's, but much better filled. No organ, but a good harmonium, and excellent performer, with an exceedingly well-taught amateur choir. The building is lined with plain wood, and two rows of wooden octagonal columns support the sky-blue roof; it is in the form of a cross. Having been so well pleased in the morning, I determined to go to St. Matthew's again in the evening, hoping to hear the same clergyman again; but no, to my still greater pleasure and delight, I beheld Bishop Pattison, 5 actually returned from Christchurch in time for me to hear him. His discourse was of a very high-class order, and rather abstruse. I was much

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interested in it, but it was unusually long for a sermon, and was evidently too much for the gentleman who sat next to me, who fidgeted, about to such an annoying degree as to make me almost wish it at an end, in order that this wretched being might be released. The text was, "The body is of Christ" (Col. ii. 17). The argument was intended, to prove that the existence of evil in the world, and the power of Satan, are not inconsistent with the doctrine of the unity and omnipresence of God. It was very late before the service concluded; the psalms were extremely well chanted, and were those so peculiarly well suited for music, of the twenty-eighth evening. A long voluntary was played during the collection, and then the beautiful hymn, "Oft in danger, oft in woe," the harmonium leaving the voices to go on alone, which they did in perfect harmony and accuracy, till the last verse, "Hymns of glory and of praise," when in came the instrument again with a grand burst, making a most inspiring effect. The church was very crowded, and pretty well lighted with kerosine lamps, excepting at the altar, which had but one small, low table-lamp placed upon it. (They did not leave out the Princess of Wales at this church.)

It was a long, dark walk there and back through the town, which was totally dark, save where the public-house lamps shone forth. I took the precaution of keeping close behind other people, so that when they sunk in a quagmire, or tumbled over some great stone (where buildings were going on), I could take warning by their fate, and save myself. I forfeited my tea by my lateness, but it was well lost for such a treat as I had had.

Monday. --Looking much like rain, but I ventured forth to explore the Domain. Some of the walks are rather steep, others nearly level; some parts are thick, wild-looking wood, others thinned out and park-like; some, again, with plants and shrubs, like pleasure-grounds. There is a deep ravine (gully is the New Zealand term), thickly wooded, and with a stream of

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water flowing along its rocky bottom, with occasionally small waterfalls; the water is thick and muddy, but the sound of it is very pleasant. In another part is a serpentine piece of water, with black swans (with their bright red beaks) sailing majestically upon it, and walks, prettily planted, round it, the effect is much marred by the muddiness of the water, which appears to be supplied by the drainage of the land; the overflow from it forms the stream and waterfalls before mentioned. There was a herd of the graceful alpacas grazing here. It is altogether a very pleasant lounge, and must be especially so in hot weather; there are many walks where neither sun nor wind can penetrate, and these are now consequently damp and muddy, but, on a dry summer's day must be delightful. There are plenty of pheasants preserved here, I started some in the course of my walk.

Tuesday. ---Another dull, threatening day, but I went out and took rather a longer walk than I had intended; not knowing at all where I was going. I went first towards Parnell, but turning to the left, up the hill and round Mechanic's Bay, came upon a little, low, shabby, unpainted wooden building, which is an English church belonging to Parnell, then on, and down a long flight of about 120 roughly-formed earthen and wooden steps, to a kind of terrace on the beach, and another bay, called St. George's Bay; then came to a queer, uncouth stile, and steps down, and found myself in a Maori encampment of men, women, and children, in tents on the beach, with their canoes moored close at hand; crossed a little plank bridge over a muddy stream, up a wild, picturesque road, and, coming to where three hill roads met, chose that to the left, up a long flight of steps (made like the former ones), and along a steep road, from whence I saw Parnell behind me, and to the right at some distance, so went on until I found a road leading round in that direction. There seemed now to be a bay on each side of the land, and at length I entered Parnell at the further end, and

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walked right through the town. There are two churches here very much alike, both with steeples and crosses; one of them is Roman Catholic, the other English (called St. Mary's), and I was agreeably surprised to find we had so ecclesiastical and orthodox-looking a building in the place. There is a third building, also with a steeple, having the appearance of another church, only that the steeple stood aloof from the rest of the edifice, with a kind of frightened look, as though it knew not why it was there. This, I was told, was to be Bishop Selwyn's library. The steeple is placed on a round building (something like the house under a windmill), and this part, I suppose, must be the library (there is to be a peal of bells in the steeple); the church-like edifice adjoining, and connected with it apparently by a low covered way, is, they say, to be the bishop's private residence, but is not yet quite finished; he now resides generally, when in this part of his diocese, at a place called Brighton, situated at the extreme end of Parnell. I must have walked nearly six miles, I should think, and, excepting the Maories, I only met one person in the whole distance until I got into Parnell. There was much excitement here to day, in consequence of William Thompson 6 (Wirimu Janihama), the great Maori rebel chief, having "come in," and announced his intention of taking the oath of allegiance to our Queen; good news this, as his example may do much in influencing others. The Governor was just starting for his favourite retreat, the Kawau Island, when this intelligence arrived and stopped him. The Kawau Island is Sir George Grey's own private property; he has built a house there, and keeps a number of curious animals on the place; 7 it is

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supposed to he his intention to settle permanently there when his term of government is at an end. The Kawau is about thirty miles off; it was there that the Governor had the Maori prisoners of war put, upon their promise merely, not to escape, which of course they did as soon as possible, and have enjoyed their freedom, and their laugh at the Pakehas ever since. The Maories of the North Island appear to be generally of a superior race to those elsewhere; many of the men are of a taller and more robust make than any I have seen before, some of them very intelligent-looking, and would be handsome but for the disfigurement of the tattooing. I was surprised to see this custom still so much in use here, with young as well as old, for in the Middle Island it is almost discontinued; you scarcely ever see the younger men or women tattooed there. In this muddy town the Maories certainly show themselves to be the most sensible people here, for even those who dress in every other respect in complete European costume (and many of the men are quite dandies) very generally go without shoes or stockings; this is not, however, an universal custom, for some of the men have grand hessian, or top boots. The women very seldom have any covering on their feet, though many wear crinolines, and dress very stylishly.

Wednesday, 31st. --My last day here, and I intended to have taken a trip to what they call the North shore (i. e., the other side of the harbour), but there is an end now to all excursions or walks, for the rain is making up for the mistake of a few dry days, and redeeming lost time by a furious down-pour, which began in the night, and has continued unceasingly all day long, the atmosphere feeling like a steaming blanket, and looking as if everything was behind thick gauze, or a cloud; it is one of those unhealthy feeling days so common here, which seem to loosen all one's joints, and incapacitate one for all exertion.

The thermometer at sunrise this morning was 20 deg. higher than on the two or three last mornings,

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when the weather was fine; it was then as low as 45 deg., and this morning it was at 65 deg. When I first found I was to remain so long here, I regretted not having brought letters of introduction to several persons whom I might have known in the neighbourhood; but as the weather has turned out, they would have been useless, I could scarcely have called on any one, or any one on me.

I am disappointed at not having seen St. John's College. I believe it is nothing as a building, but as associated with the Bishop and the Milanesian Mission it would have been interesting to me; it is seven miles out of the town.

And now I must wind up with Auckland, and take my leave of it. To-morrow night by this hour, I hope I shall be far out at sea on my way to Sydney.

I think one of the deficiencies that has struck me most in this place is the want of public buildings, and the wonderful shabbiness of those there are. The Government House is the only good-looking one, and even that is but of wood. The government buildings, where the General Assembly has hitherto met until the last year (when the seat of Government was removed to Wellington)--the Parliament House of New Zealand, looks more like an over-grown cottage, or almshouse, than anything else I can compare it to; and when one thinks of the elaborate and costly mass of building we have in Christchurch (so many years younger), and the beautiful and truly elegant edifice at Nelson for government purposes, it does seem marvellous and disgraceful for the so-called capital of New Zealand, and the oldest province, to have such a concern as this.

The other day I caught sight of a telegraph wire. "There," I observed, "is a mark of improvement, approaching to the southern provinces."

"No, it has only been erected since the war, for communication with the camps at Drury, and somewhere beyond. There is the cutting for a railway begun, also to connect the camp at Drury with Auckland town."

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"But peace is expected soon, and the regiments are ordered home."

"Yes, but there are some coal-mines in the neighbourhood of Drury, which they hope to work, and they will, if they can afford it, go on with the railway on that account, in the hope of its paying."

I omitted to mention that yesterday, before I set out upon my long walk, I went on to the Wynyard Pier. It was the first time I had been able to get there, owing to the depth of mud there had been in the street leading to it. From thence I saw that a breakwater was being constructed of scoria. I find it is to form a kind of harbour in this bay, and that it is proposed to make a road from it right across the bay to Parnell, thus avoiding all the up and down-hill road, which is the only one at present. This will, indeed, be a great work, if they can carry it out.

I wonder how long this poor, wretched house, in which I now write, will stand? I should think it must fall to pieces very soon. Nothing can be done for it; the first few blows of a carpenter's hammer would infallibly knock it down; and this is now the only respectable boarding-house in Auckland; and not one good hotel! Farewell, then, to it and to the mosquitoes which are still swarming in my room (though I have effectually kept them off since I became aware of them). Farewell to Auckland!