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Variety in Brief

One of the greatest charms of travelling in New Zealand is the store of unexpected treasures one finds tucked away in the nooks and cranies of the virgin forests and hills.

Being plethorically endowed with curiosity, any apparent path leading off the main road creates in me a desire to investigate it. So it happened as we were ambling at our own time through the voluptuous Waiapu Forest, a narrow, overgrown path, stimulated a desire to walk along it.

“It's only an animal track to a spring,” remarked my companion. Indeed this was partly true, it was a track to a spring; but I doubt if quadrupeds quenched their thirst here-by. For no ordinary water issued from it.

It sparkled and effervesced; myriads of tiny bubbles shot up from it like coloured miniature rockets. The size of the spring's basin was about that of a baby's bath, and was lined with rough looking white and fawn pebbles. I stooped to drink some of the water, it effervesced in my hands and mouth, and tasted slightly of soda, but cold and quite pleasant to drink. Here, then, was a natural soda water already aerated for use. A still room in the heart of the forest.

I believe some ingenious travellers have bottled the soda water in anticipation of using it later on when an occasion arose. But the water, after being bottled, loses its buoyancy, and becomes bitter, flat and useless. Maybe Nature, with a possible foresight to interference from an enterprising tradesman, has dedicated the spring in all its piquant entirety, to thirsty travellers only. However that may be, the water is delicious from the spring itself, and its beautiful surroundings make it worth while to make a short detour off the main track.—W.I.H.

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It is, perhaps, because of New Zealand's size, that the idiosyncratical tendencies its speech is allowed to be developing, are not always understood when transferred from one locality to another. Thus a newly arrived farmhand, bringing two dairy cows home from the saleyard, may have been surprised at being told by his employer: “Just shoot them down there by the shed and I'll come and look at them after tea.” And on his way to the inspection the farmer was surprised to meet the new hand carrying a rifle that had just been used. “They're lying there between the shed and the gate. Do you want me to bury them anywhere?” He did not tell me what was his answer.—K.M.

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Is there such a thing as being too careful in protecting our children from sharp knives, scissors, needles, etc? A mother of a large family had such a horror of any of her children using the scissors that she kept them on a nail placed well beyond the reach of small arms. The children were never allowed to use the scissors in case of accidents. One afternoon, when the youngest child was eight years old, the mother was sitting darning, and requiring the scissors, asked the little girl to get them from the nail. The nail was so high up that the child had to jump to reach the scissors. She just managed to tip them off the nail, and as they fell one of the points entered her eye. As a result the child lost the use of this eye. The mother said she always felt trouble would come to some of them with scissors.—M.H.F.

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The rising generation of North Otago experienced its first taste of that nasty feeling when the earth trembled the other day. That was the first time an earth tremor had been felt in Oamaru and its back country for very many years.

This is all the more remarkable when it is considered that at one time Kakanui, which is not far removed from the capital of North Otago, was the centre of several shakes per week.

In those shaky days large meat preserving works were located at Kakanui, and up through the centre of the galvanised iron building ran a tall smoke stack, the terror of every worker on the premises. They bolted for the door every time the earth trembled.

To the works came a hefty tinsmith from England. He was a swift and expert worker and was absorbed in his job—for it was piecework.

There came a ‘quake one afternoon. The new-chum stayed on the job; the others thought him a wonder.

After the third shake an Oamaruvian said to the stranger: “Did'nt you feel it?”

“Feel what?” asked the new-chum.

“The earthquake,” replied the local man. “Didn't you feel the shakes?”

“I did,” was the astonishing reply; “but what does it matter?”

“Haven't you noticed that big brick chimney—aren't you afraid of being crushed under it?”

After that the big fellow from the Old Country was always the first out of the building when it shook.—T.L.M.

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In the “Famous Trials” article in the May issue it is mentioned that the Attorney-General of that day (1886), Sir Robert Stout (of the Stout-Vogel Cabinet) led the Bar against Thomas Hall for the prosecution. In modern times the late Sir John Findlay was the only Attorney-General who donned wig and gown on behalf of the Crown. In the Old Country it is as a law of the Medes and Persians that the Attorney-General page 62 shall be a legal luminary who can plead for the Crown on causes celebre.—Te Ngakara.

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It is the fate of all public men to have stories told about them, and when it happens that the great one is a Maori the crop of anecdotes is stupendous. This one of Sir Apirana Ngata was told many years ago. A Maori was describing Mr. Ngata to a pakeha friend, and was at a loss to think of anybody sufficiently notable to compare with the native leader. “But surely you don't think he is greater than Timi Carroll,” said the pakeha. “Oh yes, he much greater,” was the confident reply. “I suppose you think he is even greater than the Governor,” continued the other, a little surprised at such blind faith in the native race. “Of course,” said the Maori, with even more confidence than before. “But,” said the pakeha, “you would hardly say he was greater than the King of England, would you?” The Maori thought for a moment. “Well, I dunno,” he replied; “Ngata only te young feller yet!“—E.S.A.

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If the State or some philanthropist offered a reward to the person who had done the most unselfish pioneering work in New Zealand during the past thirty or forty years, I venture to say that Mr. James Claridge, ex-printer, of Auckland, would be well in the running with any other claimant.

After working seventeen years on the Hawera “Star” newspaper—from 1880 to 1897—Mr. Claridge left that office, and with another, established the Eltham “Argus.” Later, he sold out his interest, and the subsequent 30 years found him engaged in a career of newspaper-planting which is unequalled in New Zealand and perhaps in Australia, for one man. At intervals of two to four years, on his “lonesome,” he established successively nine country newspapers in the North Island, including in rotation the Martinborough “Star,” Waipukurau “Press,” Taumarunui “Press,” Otorohanga “Times,” Huntly “Press,” Morrinsville “Star,” and Tuakau “Press.” All were more or less successful, and with the exception of one (which was merged into another) are still published.

While he was undertaking this work, Mr. Claridge had a gradually increasing family to support, there being nine children. It is worthy of note that though the family shifted about so much, the children did not suffer in education, for four daughters became school teachers, passing exams, with credit, and the youngest secured a degree.

Mr. Claridge's selection for his ventures were new townships likely to go ahead, as they did. He can tell some entertaining stories about his experiences in the new settlements, and his association with prominent politicians of past days—from Ballance's time to Massey's—brought about, of course, through his owning papers. Mr. and Mrs. Claridge are New Zealand-born; they lost a son in the Great War.—P.L.