I really feel sorry to say goodbye to Wanganui, for it is essentially a place that invites to pleasure in the midst of all that can charm the eye and comfort the body. Sea, river, lake, mountain, forest, and fertile plain. I can quite enter into the feelings of a man whom I met the other day, who, having been a confirmed globe-trotter, came here for a week and stayed two years, only leaving then because he was compelled to. And I feel thus having only seen it in the winter; I find myself wondering what I should feel if I saw it in the summer! But the call to leave was imperative, and I was carried back to Palmerston North, through the golden sunshine and balmy airs of this midwinter's day, feeling glad that the dwellers in New Zealand were thus highly favoured. But as we crossed the Wanganui River I noticed that it was in spate, and I wondered if these beautiful, fat, level lands were ever flooded. There was no one at hand of whom I could ask the question, so I turned to my newspaper—for be it known unto you that each of these small towns will support a morning and evening newspaper—and there I read of the sorrows of Gisborne, the thriving town on the shores of Poverty Bay of which I wrote some time back. It has been the prey of a devastating flood which has overflowed those fertile levels and done enormous damage.
At the hearing of which I feel very grieved, for I learned to know and like much many of the people there. Moreover I read also that the communications have been greatly interrupted, and steamers have been unable to call, or if they had the state of the sea between the two breakwaters would effectually prevent the tender from going out.
The calamity, however, was purely local, for the smiling country through which I was now passing showed nothing of flood, although it looked as if it might be particularly liable to such visitations, being so flat and surrounded by hills. We swung into Palmerston again, and, so rapidly does one make acquaintances in a new country, I found myself welcomed like an old friend. I am not likely to forget that night at the cosy "gentlemen's club," as it was quaintly termed to me, but which I accepted as merely plain statement of fact. Song and story, and, executed by my own blood-kin, a haka, or Maori dance, fearsome in leapings and boundings and yellings, and concluded with fiendish grinning, the mouth gaping wide as possible, so as to show the teeth, and the tongue protruding to the roots. Savage indeed, and I felt that it should certainly be introduced at Adelphi Terrace.
Late though the hour was when I reached my hotel, and sinfully early as the train departed next morning—6.55—there were brave and genial souls awaiting to speed the parting guest. Leave-taking was after our own fashion, entirely undemonstrative, but I felt sad, as I always do on these hurried journeys, knowing that, pleasant as the meeting has been, it is unlikely to be renewed, except by purest chance, in the centre of things, London, whither all roads seem to lead. I am afraid some of my untravelled friends that night thought that I was poking fun at them when I told them of strange meetings, foregatherings from the ends of the earth in the neighbourhood of Piccadilly, and more so than ever when I expressed my conviction that I should probably meet every one of them again in the vicinity of that classic region.
Back again in what the New Zealanders proudly call the Empire City, oblivious entirely of the misnomer. It is a beautiful little city, a well-groomed and orderly city fully worthy of its position and is prospering in a very high degree. But to call it the Empire City is to ape the flapdoodle of the United States citizens, who, like the average users of forceful adjectives, see nothing incongruous or ridiculous in calling a collection of shacks a city, and cannot call a magnificent aggregation like New York or Philadelphia anything else. I would not, for a great deal, say anything that could even seem derogatory of Wellington. It is a place worthy of the utmost love and admiration of its citizens. In its surroundings it is peculiarly happy. They are romantic, picturesque in the extreme, which qualities, in days not so far distant, constituted a serious drawback to the city's expansion. Now, thanks to the electric and cable car service, those encircling hills have become easily accessible to all, and the citizens may and do enjoy, not merely the most delightful of panoramic views over sea and land that can well be imagined, but can pass to and fro between home and business swiftly, easily, and cheaply. True, this case of communication has brought in its train enhanced expenditure, land, on these erstwhile unsaleable hilltops, now fetching fabulous prices; but then these are the conditions which must always obtain whenever art and science step in to assist people to enjoy nature.
And now the time approaches when I must leave Wellington for good.
Therefore it is only just to put on record that all the reports I ever heard of its weather before I came here were base and malignant inventions as far as my personal experience goes. While it is quite true that occasionally the city experiences three days' steady rain without a break, it is false to say that dirty or windy weather is anything like normal—in fact, it would be far truer to say that such climatic conditions are abnormal. Earthquakes do occur undoubtedly, but so infrequently and of such slight importance that they are practically ignored. The old régime of wooden buildings which I had often been assured were the only ones which would stand Wellington's insecure foundations has vanished, and splendidly ornate edifices of great height and imposing size are in evidence throughout the business district, and are also being rapidly added to. The streets of the city proper are beautifully level, paved like a billiard-table and well kept, while the roads up the hills, with all their winding and steep gradients are wonderfully well made. Indeed, taken altogether, Wellington, apart from the delightful character of its citizens, is one of the most desirable places to live in that is to be found in the whole world, in my opinion.