That Possessive “S.”

The matter of New Zealand placenames ending with the apostrophe “s” has been discussed recently. The endeavour to eliminate the possessive from such a name as Arthur's Pass has not received popular support. That name, in particular, is well established in its present form, and should continue to have the official sanction given to it by the Canterbury Survey Office in the Sixties. Young Nick's Head is another historic name which it would be absurd to lop of its “s.”

Another example of a good old Coast name is Riley's Look-out, a familiar object on the Coast route south of Kaikoura, on the way to Canterbury. It is a round crag of an islet close to the beach and near an old-time whaling station. It was used as a watch-place by the whalers on the look-out for “a spout” seaward, hence the name. But dock it of its “s” and its meaning would be altered; it could be taken then as a cautionary admonition to Mr. Riley to keep his weather eye lifting.

The Horse's Come-back.

New Zealand is not the only country in which the return of the horse for farm work, and to some extent for general purposes, including pleasure, has been noted with pleasure by horselovers. In the United States the number of horses, especially for riding, has increased greatly during the last few years, in spite of the huge motor car traffic and the increase in roads which horses cannot use. There is a companionship value in a horse. An eminent American, moreover, wrote recently that children who are brought up in the saddle develop an unusual degree of self-confidence, courage and selfcontrol. This is as true of New Zealand as of America. We cannot go back to the horse altogether, but those of us who were reared to the saddle, in the healthy old country way, know that the motor car, however easy and convenient it may be, can never be a satisfying substitute for the company and the pleasure of a good horse, anywhere off those bitumen highways.

Through the Urewera.

A friend who motored through the Urewera Country not long since, from the Waikaremoana side to Rotorua, told me that he really did not see much of the bush, or as much as he would like to have seen, because the whole of his attention was taken up with his steering. He had, naturally, to keep his eye continually on the road of many twists and turns and get but a casual passing impression of the glories of the forest and the ranges. Also, he was pressed for time. (All motorists seem to be pressed for time, I have observed. There is only one traveller more pressed, or oppressed by the demon time and that is the motor-cyclist.)

This is, of course, the one inevitable drawback of the tour on flying wheels. You cannot possibly gather an adequate understanding of such a region as the Urewera from behind the wheel of a motor car, or even as a passenger.

The Simple Way.

Perhaps the ideal way of travelling through and learning to know a wonderful and beautiful and rugged bit of country is to traverse it first on foot or on horseback, camping out and fending for yourself. A summer tour of that character, living awhile in the bush, listening to the bird-song of morning and evening, climbing the ranges, clambering along the banks of the mountain streams, inhaling night and day the fragrance of the bush—that is the only way to enter into the spirit of the wild places. There is, too, the Maori life, and those human associations, the old, old tribal story, the tales and songs of the mountain folk, form at least half the attractions of travel in the Urewera Country or a backblocks tour through some other native district.

Then, if you like, return to the old place, when the new roads permit, and travel it as luxuriously as you like, in your car that takes only an hour to cover the ground that once you measured with your feet in a long day's tramp. There is satisfaction of a kind in contemplating the contrast, as I have done in more districts than one. Inevitably you think with a certain degree of longing of the old camp days. But would you leave your comfortable car and take to the swag and the old black billy and the long foot-slog again? Hardly! You haven't the time, the muscles, or the wind.

Wild Honey.

An old Maori acquaintance whose home is at Peterehema (Bethlehem), in the Tauranga district, who now and again sends me a scrap of local news or legend, discourses this time on the shrubs and flowers of the land, and in particular those which are more or less poisonous at certain times. The honey made by bees which feed on the waoriki and the wharangi is often poisonous, and those who eat it are in great danger. The waoriki is chiefly a swamp plant, the wharangi rangiora and wharangi-piro are familiar shrubs or small trees which many people grow in their gardens.

“The tupakihi or tutu is also poisonous,” says my correspondent; “it is strongest in the month of January. The other flowers are dangerous at all times. People poisoned by the honey made from these flowers become dazed and stagger about as if demented. I have seen many made seriously ill by the waoriki and wharangi honey, and I have frequently cured sufferers. I have treated them with salt. I gave them salt water to drink, and they recovered.”

A useful hint if ever you should chance to sample “wild” honey containing an undue proportion of sweets from the bush blossoms mentioned. The waoriki's botanical classification is Ranunculus rivularis and R. macropus; the wharangi is melicope ternata (Rutaceae), a small bushy tree with greenish flowers, aromatic when bruised. However, most of our honey is clover-nectar; the bush honey is the sometimes risky kind.

As for the tutu, its poisonous properties are well-known; cattle, horses and sheep have often died from eating its leaves.

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