Impressions of a Tramp.

The following letter, which appears in the Indianopolis Typographical Journal for March under the head of « The Rounders' Paradise, » was not written for publication. Its calm impudence is such, however, that we do not suppose that its appearance, with signature in full, after the free-and-easy manner of American journalism, will disquiet the writer. The editor says it is « of interest as showing the customs of New Zealand printers. » To comps on this side it will be interesting as showing the style of the Yankee tramp compositor:—

Landed at Auckland nearly two month ago and have had but six night's work during that time, and those few nights were purely accidental—a fellow taken suddenly sick! But they have such a red-tape system. When you show up to work you are sent to the foreman or « overseer, » and this worthy must needs consult the business manager. The business manager, I have no doubt, calls a meeting of the directors. A case-holder is not allowed to put you to work. Where subs are needed the sub-list, of course, is in operation. When you ask for work it is two or three days before you know whether you are wanted or not. Tourists are a rarity. When I landed at Auckland I had a little better than ten dollars. Stayed in Auckland a week, took the train back into the country for fifty miles, and then walked two hundred miles, through an almost uninhabited country, to Napier. Struck the town « broke, » got the six nights work and succeeded in getting $15 out of it. Got to Wellington just as Parliament had adjourned. I now began to wonder how I was to get off the blasted island. Stayed in Wellington a few days and then gave up the last « five » to get across to the South Island. Broke again, and this time no work. There was nothing to do but to « pan-handle » for a « lift, » disagreeable as it is. But you may believe I was surprised when from two little one-horse shops, with not over half-a-dozen hands in each, they raised $12. How's that? They have a peculiar system of « panhandling » even. Go and « striken » one of the boys for a quarter, and the chances are you won't get it. But go to the foreman (foreman! how would the boys in the States like that— must be a quiller?) and state your case, ask for a little silver, and he will get it for you. The boys are generous to a fault, considering their wages. If you strike them as « broke » you are treated like a lord and get « stuff. » But begin to hustle them hard for a few weeks' work and they seem to think you are trying to oust them out. Guess I will have to give up asking for work and ask for « stuff » instead. The towns are about four or five days' travel apart if you walk, and it costs $2 a day, at least, to live. Beating the railroads, what few there are, is an impossibility. So you see a fellow is in hard lines when broke. Have been in Greymouth three or four days. Only two shops. The boys are « passing the hat » —do not know how much I will get, but it will be something pretty good. Will add a P.S. Leave here in the morning for a hundred-and-seventy-mile walk across to the east coast. Several good towns over there. Will « do » them, and by the time I reach the last town at the south end of the island I hope to have enough to get to Melbourne. If there is any work in Australia, will « set to » for a ticket to New York viâ Paris and London. Around the world! Costs something like $100 only for steerage from Melbourne to London.—Have just been down to the Argus office to see the boys paid off. The business manager does the paying. As he was paying off he came up to me, handed me four dollars, with the remark that « as it was Saturday night I would probably find it dull trying to entertain myself without any money. » If a person was not dependent on his wages for a living, this would be the finest country in the world to live in. On the North Island they never have snow, and it is never as hot in the summer as it gets in Minneapolis. A climate that could hardly be improved on.— Jas. L. P.S.—Have just come from the office. Raised $16—$5 of it in a cheque from the firm. The right kind of fellows, I call them; don't you?—Jim.