The New Zealand Railways Magazine, Volume 5, Issue 1 (May 1, 1930)
But let us dry our tears and go with the girl guides to contemplate Nature in hysterics; verily, dear reader, Rotorua is the home-town of Messrs. Brimstone and Treacle; here Mother Nature steps on the gas and takes the corners on her curling pins; she simmers and burbles and boils and bursts; she abandons herself to the “vapours;” she throws her weight about, and is no lady; but she is shamelessly proud of it; she is wild and woolly and wonky; in Rotorua her real nature comes to the surface, and she wots not of the neighbours.
Rotorua, dear reader, had the whole world fried to a cinder. It is an incurable outbreak; a spot which makes Dante's dread-time stories read like a mere Joy-night at the Turkish Baths; compared with Rotorua, Vesuvius is a barber's rash, and Etna a mere wart on the Earth's epidermis. Assuredly the misguided guide who said “See Naples and die,” was indifferently acquainted with his thermaletics, else he would have substituted, “See Rotorua and save your skin.”