hostess, let us stroll from Kinloch along the tram line, where the air is full of the chirping of cricket and grasshopper, and away into the bush beyond, where we may enjoy the shade of the graceful beeches, which adorn the path leading to the picturesque scenery of the Upper Dart and Routeburn. As far as the tram extends, the larger trees have fallen a prey to the devastating saw-mill, their places being now taken by the vigorous growths of mokomoko, young beeches, and koromiko which mark all old clearings. Here and there, leading to the river, are grassy tracks used by the cattle, and if we go along very quietly we shall probably, if we peep down these emerald glades, see master bunny busy nibbling the tempting herbage. On our return towards evening the furry rascals will be visible in dozens, ready to scamper back to cover at the slightest sound. A hundred yards or so to our right is the sandy bed of the Dart River, now wandering here and there in narrow streams which may easily be forded; but in flood time the waters spread as far as the eye can reach, rushing and eddying onward to the lake. On the edge of the Bryant Glacier stream, where it joins the Dart bed, several kowhai trees overhang the toitois grass which fringes the western bank. Here the wood-pigeons used to come in early summer, to pick the tender young leaves; but even pigeons object to saw-mills, and the concurrent hazard of being shot in or out of season, and they have long since almost entirely disappeared, leaving in possession the wealth of song birds, whose music accompanies our march. Tuis, bell-birds, native canaries, or robins, here keep up a succcession of sweet choruses from dawn till dark, save for the hour or two about mid-day, during which the New Zealand bush is noticeably silent. It is quite a mistake to suppose that our soberly dressed representative of robin redbreast is not a songster. Here, as we sit down to rest under a spreading tawai, he certainly betrays no special talent for music, an occasional twitter (emitted when interfered with by one of his brethren) being the only sound which escapes him as he hops about, curiously examining the intruders, and sometimes, with the boldness characteristic of his clan, even perching upon our boots or the gun which leans against the tree. But at sunset Mr. Whitebreast is at his best. Standing upon some old stump or dead bough, he will carol for half an hour together, as sweet a lay as ever canary sang; nay, sweeter, though not so strong as the somewhat piercing notes of the yellow songster. Do you see that wee birdie climbing up the bark of the red birch? That is the golden crested wren of my bush days, and, I think, the smallest of the feathered tribe in New Zealand, though the little gray fly-catcher runs him close. The wren is a pretty little fellow, and easily distinguished by the stripe of yellow on either side of the head, and the wren-like short tail. As yet we have not seen a woodhen, but we will soon call one with the aid of two sticks. The noise resulting from striking them together at certain Α intervals resembles the call of a mother weka to her little ones. gun-stock is an excellent substitute for one of the sticks, as it yields a hollow sound, more in accord with Mrs. Weka's guttural tones. Now, avoid all movement except that necessary to produce the call, and cast your eyes to right and left under the trees; there comes number one, with tail bobbing up and down, and head jerked forward from side to side, keeping a sharp look-out for dogs or any questionable movement on our part which might be interpreted as preliminary to stone throwing. Although unable to fly, the weka is wonderfully clever at dodging missiles, as many a hungry swagger has had reason to remember. Till lately, it seemed as if these birds would soon be extinct, but better times for them are in store, the discovery that they are energetic rabbit-catchers, having won them protection from farmer and shepherd. It would be a great pity were they to become matter of past history, like the plump little quail, which used to afford capital shooting, I remember, in the tussocky ridges overlooking what is now South Dunedin. The weka, woodhen, or Maori hen, as the bird is indifferently called, is a quaint fellow. Not only is he one of the imperfectly winged fowl peculiar to New Zealand, but his manners are also peculiar. Should you leave your tent open in a neighbourhood where woodhens abound, it is ten to one that upon your return you will find they have sampled nearly everything-bread, meat, jewellery, soap, spoons, forks, and jam tins-all alike are thought worthy of inspection by Mr. Weka, and you will be fortunate if he has not permanently mislaid many of the articles lying about when you left camp. As we are close to the clear now, we may as well extend our walk so far, and enjoy the magnificent prospect before retracing our steps to the Glacier Hotel. Observe that common fern on your right, it is the "piko piko," the edible fern of the New Zealand bush. If you look closely, you will observe that on every frond a number of little ones stand up perpendicularly, apparently growing upon the parent leaf, a feature which renders the piko piko readily distinguishable. Emerged from the last clump of trees, we have before us the magnificent outlook of which I spoke. To our left is Upper Peak, over 7000 feet in height; across the Dart, on the right, is Mount Alfred, behind which, again, rise the western buttresses of Earnslaw. These you have seen before from other points, but look ahead-that dark clump of birch indicates the whereabouts of Ludeman's Station, backed up by the mountains, half bush-clad, beneath which flows the picturesque Routeburn, having its source near the Lake Harris Saddle, a spot commanding a panorama which will by-and-bye make a visit there an indispensable item in every tourist programme. At the base of that hill, a little to the right of Ludeman's, lies Sylvan Lake, embedded in forest. Centreing the view is the Valley of the Dart itself, bounded on the left by the rugged chain of lofty peaks, of which Cosmos (8000 feet) is king, and on the right by the rear-guard of the Forbes Mountains. So numerous are the glaciers visible before Mount Cunningham closes the view, that they appear as an almost continuous belt of ice. Forest and river, peak and glacier combine to make a glorious picture, impossible of reproduction, on which we regretfully turn our backs, as the brilliant sunset tints and lengthening shadows warn us that no time must be lost, if we would reach Kinloch before dark. PAKEHA. REVIEWS. [An able staff of reviewers have been engaged, who will not only review books, but also, whenever requested, give written opinions and advice to those whose manuscript may be rejected by the Editor of ZEALANDIA. It has been decided to adopt the American system of signing each review with the full name of the reviewer. On no consideration will any review be published without having a name attached to it.] "The Musical Profession." By Henry Fisher (Mus. Doc.) Dunedin : C. Begg & Co. The title of the book placed in my hands to review at once embraces a very extensive and a very important section of people, and would require more space than that allotted to an ordinary review to do it fair justice, but a few general remarks on the book itself will perhaps in luce persons to secure a copy, and peruse carefully the many very useful suggestions and known facts gathered from the heads of the musical profession in Great Britain. It is written in the form of questions and answers on all the main points of the musical profession. The questions are by Mr. Fisher, and although the names of those sending answers are not mentioned, the author (himself a Doctor of Music) is a sufficient guarantee of the value of the opinions expressed. The book is divided into 24 chapters, each treating of a separate branch of the subject. Much valuable information is given on the subject of musical degrees, their benefit, and their value to the profession. One answer amused me very much, and struck me as containing a great deal of truth. The question was, "What-in your opinion-is the value of musical degree (a) from a musician's point of view, (b) from the general public's point of view?" Answer: "I do not think a musical degree is generally valued by the musical professors who have not got one, but it is by the general public." Another very explicit and correct chapter is taken up with the different schools of music in the United Kingdom, giving the fees charged, the number of professors engaged, and most of the work done, and the hours for study; also a very complete list of text books, useful for professional examinations. Many other chapters contain useful information, such as " Choral and Orchestral Societies," "Musical Performances in Church,' Entering the Profession." I end this notice with a quotation from the last-mentioned :-"Think well before adopting a profession which at present is overcrowded, and bids fair to be more so; and unless you possess decided musical feeling, and plenty of energy and pluck, you are far better out of the musical profession than in it."-ARTHUR J. TOWSEY (Conductor of the Exhibition Choir). "Looking Backward, 2000-1887." By Edward Bellamy. London: Wm. Reeves. This is an excellent book. It is one of the very few modern works that it is a positive moral duty for all who profess to be thinking beings, or to have the slightest regard for their fellow creatures, to read. Let me be understood. The mere tale-reader, who is nothing else, will be disappointed, perchance, in "Looking ing Backward." It is an appeal to brains and hearts, and readers must be possessed of both to appreciate it at its full value. The ordinary novel that projects itself into the future, and airily solves every social difficulty, is an abomination to me. None of the class could I endure to read twice, save Besant's " Revolt of Man," which, indeed, is more of a satire, and not an attempt to solve social problems at all. All these social novels have their raison d'etre founded upon an unthinkable change in human nature. But, in "Looking Backward," the men and women are but ordinary mortals; there are no mysterious forces in operation; no utter impossibilities incite the reader to laughter; no gilded universal emperors stalk across the stage; no aerial machines, or other tricks to catch the fancy, are employed. It is an earnest, serious endeavour to solve the difficulties attending social progress. The author depicts with force and ardour, but soberly and without fights into silly excesses, a state of things in which, with far less interference with individual liberty than at the present day, absolute equality is secured so far as rights in property and enjoyment of life are concerned. Briefly, for it is utterly impossible to give in this notice even an outline of the social system so carefully thought out by Mr. Bellamy, it represents the one solution of all social and industrial trouble in the Government, on behalf of the nation, becoming the sole capitalist, the sole employer of labour, the sole trading concern, the sole industrial centre. With irresistible logic Mr. Bellamy shows that from this one step, as naturally as light dispels darkness, flow the ready solutions to all the anomalies, disparities, and injustices of our present social and industrial systems. This, of course, is no new idea. But the earnest force with which it is placed before the reader; the attention to detail; the clever solution of all the difficulties that arise, place the idea in so new a light that most will agree with me that it comes with all the force of novelty. I feel so strongly the urgent need for all to read "Looking Backward" that were I to express myself as I feel I should be deemed so wildly extravagant that I might possibly defeat my own object and deter others from gaining the good I wish them. But this I must say, that the author's almost painful sympathy with the sufferings of the masses; his largehearted, whole-souled philanthrophy; his able dealing with the subject; and, above all, his intense practicalness (so unusual in writers on social topics), have made an indelible impression upon me. His weakest point is where others of his kind have failed altogether-in suggesting the means by which the good end is to be attained. To depict the large syndicates as growing larger and larger, and fewer and fewer until they merge, almost naturally, in the one huge syndicate of the nation itself, is undoubtedly the most practical method yet suggested, but it infers a lengthy Purgatory before Paradise is reached. The literary style is decidedly good, though by no means perfect. In certain portions the earnestness of the author so carries him away that the mere tale-devourer is almost sure to be wearied; but these portions are rare. As in every tale, in which the future is depicted, the necessary machinery to project the story into the required year is somewhat cumbrous. At least it appears so when reading the first three or four chapters, but all is forgiven when the really able description of a dream within a dream at the end is reached. That alone is worth reading the book for, while even the most exacting will find the love-tale woven through the book as interesting as they could wish. But let the form or style of the book be what it may, the work achieves its end. No one can read "Looking Backward" and not be lifted out of self, and made to feel there are higher ends in life than grasping selfishly at the goods of others, or striving to see how comfortably one can live at the expense of others' misery.-WM. FREEMAN. |