I took a walk round the well-groomed, busy thoroughfares of Wellington as soon as I could get ashore, just for a casual glance in the few hours that I am to remain to-day. My next ship for a short and interesting trip to Picton and Nelson is the Pateena, of 1,212 tons and 2,000 horse-power, which is to sail at one o'clock; so that I must leave any detailed remarks about Wellington for my return here, when I hope to spend a few days. I note, in passing, that the city seems to be as yet completely dazed by the shock of Mr. Seddon's death, but that, I think, is because yesterday the public funeral was carried out, and the remains of New Zealand's idol were laid away to their long rest.

Getting tired, I returned to the wharf and boarded my new ship to enjoy the spectacle of a couple of large steamers getting away in truly British fashion, that is without fuss or bawling, but as if the movements of the ship were directly controlled and regulated from the brain of the master. It was a beautiful sight, and it was hardly over before our ship also glided away from the wharf, and in a quarter of an hour was outside the harbour heading directly across Cook's Straits for the wonderful series of fjords which must be navigated in order to reach Picton. Then I became aware of one of the main difficulties of our modern navigation. Here is a man charged with the care of (on an average) 200 lives, to say nothing of property, who from week end to week end never gets more than three hours' continuous rest. By day the intricate navigation of these wonderful sounds and bays is severe; at night, in fogs, in gales, and pelting rain the strain is terrible. And it is incessant. Talk about business strain! Wherein does it compare with this? To the thinking man the spectacle of this overwrought son of the sea in such a position of authority, watching lynx-like each headland as it looms like some glooming cloud upon his view, making mental combinations of the direction and force of the tides according to the time of day (or night, for people ashore do not understand that the maritime day counts twenty-four hours) taking into the hotchpot the age of the moon, and withal to combine these facts with the temporary contingencies of wind and weather, is fraught with deepest wonder that any man should be equal to it at all. Yet these men are, and by the universal rule that those who do the most get the least are always in what are subordinate positions. Although it must be admitted that compared with our coasting skippers at home such men are well paid. Yet no pay can compensate any man for such a wreckage of manhood as must result from the incessant strain of such a life. It is more than flesh and blood can stand.

I did not see the worst part of it going out, because at Picton I went fishing in the dark, and got so tired that I slept through the passage of the French Pass, in the anticipation, too, that I would see it on my return. So when I awoke in the morning the Pateena was stopped off what I find every one here imagines to be a phenomenon of unique quality, the Boulder Bank. It is a natural bank of pebbles nicely graduated from fine sand at the water's edge up to the huge pebbles weighing a couple of hundredweight at the summit of the ridge and stretching parallel to the foreshore of the port of Nelson. It begins far beyond the limits of the port, having indeed a total length of eight miles or thereabouts, and has, hitherto, compelled all vessels of any size entering the port to wait for tide in order to get round its extremity and between a curious outlying rock perched upon a bunch of reefs of the most dangerous character. Now, however, the harbour board, greatly daring, have cut through the natural bank at a spot nearly opposite to the town and speak of having a channel deep enough to bring in ships like the Athenic and the Corinthic of 12,000 tons. Nous verrons. I hope their enterprise will bear fruit, for here, as elsewhere, the expense of such works falls with tremendous weight upon a population, all told, of some 9,000 souls.

Now comes the joke. This "Boulder Bank," as they call it, is an almost exact replica of the Chesil Beach, which extends from Portland to Weymouth, or vice versâ, according to which way you look at it. In the composition of the Bank itself there is absolutely no difference from that of Portland, but in direction and situation there is a great dissimilarity. Chesil Beach runs directly seaward from Weymouth in a very slight curve, having at its Channel end the English Gibraltar, Portland Bill. As most people know at home, the naval haven of Portland has been constructed by running a massive breakwater from Portland to the western horn of Weymouth Bay, or to leeward of the Beach, with two small openings almost like dock entrances without gates thereto. In Nelson, as I have mentioned, the beach runs parallel with the shores of the port, and the authorities have cut through the beach itself at a point nearer to the wharves already built, in order to bring the big oversea ships in for such modicums of cargo as there are to give them.

Nelson is a typical New Zealand coast town. Its streets are wide, its buildings humble, and the ranges shut it in to its little foothold on a foreshore. Its growth is imperceptible. It seems hardly credible that, remembering the natural advantages of Nelson that after over half a century of enjoyment of these natural privileges it should still remain so small and feeble in point of population. Yet the fact remains, and it is due to the same causes to which I have so often adverted, that I hardly dare to recur to them again, the determination not to have anybody come here who has only his labour to sell. That is beginning to change, but in spite of the progressive legislation in labour questions, for which New Zealand is famous the world over, the Labour member and the labourer already established in a comfortable position looks sourly upon any proposition to introduce a competing element whether of his own blood or alien. And as far as I can see it will ever be thus with Socialistic schemes, so called, because they never seem to realise the individual factor. And until they do every form of legislation adopted is bound to be a failure, as all such schemes must fail which run in opposition to the fixed laws of nature.

One feature of all these New Zealand and Australian towns always strikes a stranger from England at once—the number of huge telegraph posts through the streets, laden with telegraph and telephone wires. No matter how small the town may be, these great mast-like posts bear their complex burden, for the telephone is a necessary of life here as it is in America. Indeed this particular feature reminds a visitor who knows both countries, of the United States, except that out here the people show their British love for order and neatness by having the posts neatly squared or rounded and painted, while the Americans, even in quite large cities, are content to have the rough tree with just the bark off, and sometimes not even that. Nelson, small and sleepy as it seems to be, is no exception to the general rule, but it has puzzled me more than a little to understand what use can possibly be made of all this network of wires. There does not seem business enough done to employ the half of them. Perhaps what business is done requires a much more liberal use of the telephone than is the case with us.

XVIII A NATURAL MARVEL

Many things might doubtless be written about Nelson which would be intensely interesting to people who live there, some indeed who, in spite of the absence of bustle and general air of ease, have managed to make comfortable fortunes there. Of its glorious climate I can unfortunately say nothing, having been favoured during my stay of five days with exceptionally cold and very wet weather, which you are always told in such places is something unknown, even to the oldest inhabitant. But I have no doubt from its beautiful sheltered position that Nelson must for most of the year enjoy a climate almost ideally perfect, and a strong proof of this is to be found in the establishment there of several higher grade schools or colleges for both sexes, to which I am told parents send their children from all over New Zealand. It has, however, one eminently undesirable feature, such as I have noticed nowhere else in New Zealand, a vast foreshore of unpleasant mud flats which are laid bare at low water, looking and smelling most unpleasantly. Of course, the daily lavation by the tides makes even this of no effect upon the health of the town, but it is curious, to say the least of it, that in a coast where steep-to shores are the rule—and it is quite common to get a depth of 50 fathoms almost touching the rocks—that this long stretch of shallows should have been formed. I put it down to the influence of the Boulder Bank; and perhaps some day when Nelson has grown, that mud flat will be reclaimed, as at Auckland and Wellington, and be worth much money for building upon.