Birds are in great force in the Museum, especially the extinct ones. One blue-looking fellow, almost as big as a small goose, fetches £250 apiece at the British Museum.
Besides the birds there were the usual lot of stuffed sharks and whales which museums provide themselves with. I really believe that a good-sized whale is the best bit of furniture that can be bought for a juvenile museum. You get such a lot for your money, and it’s very attractive to visitors, especially to the nursemaids and children.
There was certainly enough in the Dunedin Museum to occupy a student for a lifetime, and the curator deserves great credit for what he has done towards educating the young New Zealanders about the animal kingdom. A New Zealander, if left to himself, must necessarily conclude that the inhabitants of the world, are few in number. All that New Zealand possessed prior to the introduction of ‘Captain Cook’ was a bat and a rat.
There are no snakes in the country, and if ever any man introduces one he is threatened with an immediate lynching. One felt inclined to tell the Iceland story when I heard that there were no snakes, but I judiciously refrained. It might make a New Zealander cross.
Another interesting place to visit is the University; but the best of all things is to take a ride in a tramcar to the top of one of the mountains, and have a look at the panorama of bay and island down below. Everywhere we went—to railway stations, to hotels, in trains or on trains—we were sure to see half a dozen people called Mac. This led my friend at every opportunity into conversation with his neighbours as to whether there were many Scotchmen in New Zealand.
‘Eh, no, mon; maybe thurs a wee sprinkle o’ Scotus,’ was a typical reply.
This always enabled Mac to tell them that was what he thought. He had been looking out for his countrymen, and was sorry to find that they were so poorly represented. One or two of the casual acquaintances saw the joke, and gently snorted.
We joined our ship at Port Chalmers, which is about eight miles’ ride in the train from Dunedin. Looking back, we saw the hills and valleys of the city we were leaving. One thing which was very striking, was the number of houses built on the top of the highest hills. Judging from the thousand-foot climb that the people who live in these houses must often indulge in, they cannot be very lazy. To live on a pinnacle is indicative of a romantic nature, and I thought Scotch folks were only practical.
At Port Chalmers we began to load up with passengers and assume the character of a coaster. The wharf was crowded, and so were our decks.
‘Good-bye, Mac. Tell Maggie I’ll be up by next boat.’ ‘Mind that hawser there.’ ‘Give my love to Charlie, and send me word how baby is,’ and a thousand other private communications, mixed up with the blustering of sailors, was what we heard. Then there was a lot of crying, and a great deal of kissing. Mac wanted to know how it was that the girls never kissed us when the steamer left.