But I am en route for Wellington, and my train is timed to catch the ferry-boat Mararoa, a 3,000-ton steamship of fifteen knots an hour, that, leaving Lyttleton (the port of Christchurch) at 5.30 p.m., is timed to be in Wellington at daylight, or, say, about 6.30 a.m., having in the meantime covered a distance of over 170 miles. She is a beautiful vessel, fit for any service in the world, but with the modesty generally attendant upon all such undertakings out here, the voyages which she and her sister ship, the Rotomahana, make on alternate days, are called the Wellington-Lyttleton ferry service. The only similar service that I can think of at present for distance and speed is the Fall River Line from Fall River to New York. But there is really no comparison possible. Those great top-heavy, gorgeously decorated vessels are obviously designed for service in sheltered waters, and are entirely unfit for a sea-voyage, while, for all their gingerbread decorations, I think meanly of the comfort they give for the money that is paid. However, as one is almost a lake service and the other must needs be prepared to encounter some of the worst weather in the world, it is, as I said, impossible to compare them.
The train, halting a very brief space at Christchurch, speeds on through smiling suburbs until it enters the great tunnel under the mountain which shuts off Christchurch from the fine harbour of Port Cooper. It stops for a few minutes at Lyttleton town nestling on the foreshore, then runs right down alongside of the ship so that the passengers have merely to step from the railway car to the gangway of the fine steamer, which will presently slip out to sea, and, in the face of any weather, land them at the wharf at Wellington as soon as they have rubbed the sleep out of their eyes and got ready for business.
And so with the rest I find myself at the capital city again, which, in strong contrast to the stormy South which I left the day before yesterday, lies bathed in golden sunshine, the air balmy as our summer, and the green, encircling hills with their cosy homes peeping out from the rich verdure, giving no hint that this is the winter-time. Truly a goodly land, well-favoured by nature, and in the hands of a people determined to keep its blessings as far as may be under their own control, unable to see any sense in following the example so persistently set them by the purblind people at home, of handing over its choicest benefits to the unthankful alien or the sneering inimical foreigner. It is of no use looking here for any specimens of that great and influential class at home who are the friends of every country but their own, and who, while professing to labour for the good of the people, persistently encourage the efforts of those without, who hate Britain and all her works, leaving no stone unturned to undermine her position in the world and reduce her to a dependency of their own.
The work of the Wellingtonians in developing their city has been astounding. On my previous visit I noted the extension of the residential quarters of the city to the slopes of the encircling hills, but I did not dream of the extent to which this has been carried. It came as a positive shock to me to learn that land in this rugged country, which is really as picturesquely uneven as Switzerland, without, of course, the enormously high mountains closely guarding it, has increased in value within the last generation from almost nothing to a thousand pounds an acre! Of course, engineering science in getting cable and electric cars running up the precipitous slopes of these hills is largely responsible for this inflation of land values, but comparing these values with those obtaining at home within easy reach of our great business centres, I am filled with astonishment at the price of land in New Zealand. I am strongly inclined to think that there is something artificial and temporary in such prices, especially when you remember that upon such enormously expensive land buildings are erected that, although beautiful to look at and entirely in accordance with their romantic environment, are practically all of wood. Still wooden house building has reached a high level of excellence in Wellington. If you can shut your eyes to the material, you will find nothing to gird at in the quality of the houses or their interior finish. In a word, they are beautiful and comfortable as well.
It is not often given to the citizens of an important city to be able to get from their offices in a few minutes to homes that occupy exquisitely beautiful points of advantage as regards scenery, and at the same time commanding an outlook of immense area over the sea and the harbour of their city. This is essentially the case in Wellington, and it is an advantage that is fully appreciated, judging from the extraordinary development that has taken place within the last few years. The amount of land available for the erection of business premises near the wharves was very little, but that has been rectified by reclamation, more evident here than anywhere else in New Zealand, where the extension of foreshores and their conversion into busy business thoroughfares is carried to a greater extent than anywhere else in the world. Here are to be seen splendid avenues of traffic, bounded on both sides by grand buildings, where a generation ago the sullen sea beat incessantly upon long, barren, shallow beaches. The aggregate cost of these great works has been enormous—phenomenal, when it is remembered how small are the numbers of the population that have achieved so great a result; but the returns from this enterprise have undoubtedly justified the keen foresight and business aptitude which has energised them as well as prompted the outlay. It is with no ordinary feeling of satisfaction that I here bear my tribute to the go-ahead qualities and the enduring work of these makers of the Britain of the South.
XXII THE HEART OF THE NORTH ISLAND
And now for a brief spell I have been privileged to go into the interior of the country, although, be it noted, the traveller never gets very far from the sea. I am to-day paying a visit to a town of which I have heard a great deal more than would at first sight seem to be warranted by the official numbers of its population. Palmerston North is on the great central plain, which is, equally with the South Island, a feature of the formation of New Zealand. There are two ways of getting there from Wellington. One direct by the privately owned Manawatu Railway, and the other circuitously by the State Line. And as travellers usually do not care to waste time, however much they may have on their hands, it follows that the privately owned line is extensively patronised. Its chief station in Wellington is not, to say the least of it, at all imposing, being only a collection of humble wooden buildings. But then all these Antipodean railways have followed the example set them by the Yankees in that they do not believe in spending overmuch money upon stations or permanent way, although, to do them justice, they are not nearly so casual in their arrangements as are the Americans, who seem to regard, in railway matters especially, expenditure such as we at home deem a necessity, sheer improvident extravagance. Another thing which I was sorry to see was that the rolling stock was exclusively American, with all the temporary features that implies. But this is, of course, purely a domestic matter in which a visitor from home has no right to interfere.