Chapter IV: Part 4

It was a fair and square fight between conservative people and the labor unions, and the people won. There is a great deal of the same sentiment everywhere in New Zealand and Australia; the people believe the labor unions have become more exacting than circumstances warrant, and that some day, somewhere, the limit will be reached.... This has been a very enjoyable day, because there are no sights to see. Fortunately Thos. Cook & Son didn’t want us to go to the South Islands to see the glaciers; they say we haven’t time. We have walked about in a leisurely way today, and, living far from the sea, the docks attract us everywhere. This afternoon we engaged in conversation with an officer of a ship sailing to London by way of South America, and he took us all over it. He said sea-travel is safer now than ever before, because of the “Titanic” disaster; that every seaman is more careful.... Last night, two bands went by the hotel. The players were neatly uniformed, and there were at least sixty men in the two organizations. They were Mission bands; the Mission is a rival of the Salvation Army, but a little quieter in its methods. The Salvation Army also has a large band here, and both play in the streets every evening. The papers give advance notice of the location of the concerts, and large crowds gather to hear the music. The bands are very creditable; nothing amateurish about them.... The men who work in the slaughter-houses here are on strike, and the papers of this morning say that the Farmers’ Union has adopted resolutions condemning the slaughter-house employees for failure to accept arbitration.... In this country, when a newspaper prints a telegram, it prints the day and hour the telegram was received, as a guarantee that it was received by wire. If an editor prints a faked telegram, he is liable to fine and imprisonment. The idea isn’t a bad one. The government has lately ordered an investigation of the wireless telegraph business. The people desire to know just what is actually being accomplished by wireless. I shall watch the investigation with interest; I should like to know, too.... Tomatoes are generally sold here at fruit stores. Which revives the old conundrum: “Is the tomato a fruit or vegetable?”... A place in Wellington is known as “The American Lounge.” It is a soda-water place, and this sign appears in the window: “Coca-Cola; something entirely new in New Zealand.” The soda fountain is a small one-spout affair that a suburban grocer in America would not tolerate.... In one of the suburbs, this afternoon, children followed us, as though we were Chinese. “They are American people,” the children said, apparently not knowing that we could understand what they said. An old gentleman reprimanded the children, and apologized for their conduct.... The race track is twenty miles from Wellington, as there is not enough level land in the vicinity to accommodate a mile track, and most of the people are out there this afternoon. We were walking in the wholesale district at 3 P. M., and, looking in every direction, were able to see only five people; and they were hurrying to the railroad station. Wellington is very hilly, and mountains are only a stone’s-throw from its main streets.... Yesterday a man named James Cole brought an action against his wife, Fanny, because she failed to properly support him. Cole said he was unable to work because of an accident, whereas his wife had a profitable fish-supper business. Counsel asked Cole:

“How high are you able to lift your arm since the accident which you say disabled you?”

Applicant lifted his arm nearly up to his shoulder.

“How far could you lift it before the accident?” counsel for Mrs. Cole asked.

“Oh, up to here,” Mr. Cole replied, holding the arm high over his head. Whereupon the magistrate dismissed the case. All of which appears in the Wellington _Times_ of this morning; in the local news, and not in the joke department.... We have a mandolin orchestra at this hotel, and the leader is an old gentleman who looks like a member of the Supreme Court of the United States whose picture I have often seen, but whose name I have forgotten. He plays to the lady guests as the first violinist does in a Paris café, and is altogether a very interesting character.

SUNDAY, JANUARY 26.—Australia has nothing to show tourists except a few caves; New Zealand has the geyser district, and a glacier or two, but there is nothing of predominant interest in either country, as you will find in Egypt, or India, and in many other countries. The natives here are not interesting; they remind you a good deal of country-town negroes in the United States, although in a way they are superior to the negroes, and superior to our Indians. After the Maoris have seen the stage, the boat or the railroad train go by, they have apparently completed their work for the day. In the old countries, the tourists are interesting; but there are few tourists here: we have seen only New Zealanders and Australians out for a holiday. Of brides and grooms we have seen hundreds; if a woman never gets another one, she usually gets a trip when she is married. We have seen a few Englishmen, but they are usually here looking for opportunity to make money, not to spend it.... Wherever I have seen natives I have detected a peculiar odor. An Auckland woman with whom we traveled in the mountains, says the odor comes from dried shark-meat, which the natives are always eating.... Last night, while looking out of my window at the lady bartenders in the Empire Hotel, directly across the street, a negro man went by. He is the only negro I have seen since leaving home. He was well-dressed, and seemed to be prosperous.... The streets are somewhat narrow in Wellington, and the Empire Hotel, across the way, greatly interests me; I am more familiar with its guests than with the guests of the Grand. And as soon as darkness sets in, I can see the lady bartenders; the electric lights in the barroom render their every act visible. To me it is indescribably funny to see a woman working on the inside of a bar. Last night a patron gave one of the two a bouquet of flowers, and she handled it as gracefully as a society queen.... In the United States, a hotel or restaurant waiter looks almost as tough as a hackdriver, but here they are fine-appearing men. Many of them are elderly; they seem to have spent their lives as waiters. The man who waits on us in the dining-room of the Grand might be a congressman, so far as looks go, and I have never before known an equally capable man of his calling. How the Grand affords it all at three dollars a day, I cannot understand. The price is 12 and 6, which appears to be $3.12 in our money, but it is really $3, since a shilling is worth only twenty-four cents. The Grand is the best hotel in Wellington, and probably in the Dominion. Wellington is full of hotels, and probably the competition is so strong that the Grand is compelled to keep its prices down.... New Zealand pays a good deal of attention to tourists, and the government extensively advertises the hot lakes and the glaciers; it also has a bureau for selling travelers tickets, and owns resorts, boat lines, etc. But it pays little attention to immigration, as Australia does. Australia does much more for immigrants than the United States, giving them cheap fares to the country, reduced freight rates, etc., and when they arrive, special attention is paid them by a government department created for that purpose. The United States gets more immigrants than any other country, without inducements of any kind on the part of the government: news of the country paying the best wages, and offering the best inducements, will find its way everywhere.... Wirth’s Greatest Show on Earth is billed here. One of its stars is Hillary Long, “the talk of America,” although I do not remember to have heard of him there. Another of Wirth’s stars is Young Buffalo Bill, who competes with Australian cowboys in mastering wild horses and cattle.... The offices of the New Zealand government are housed in what is said to be the largest wooden building in the world. Wellington has many fine structures of stone, but the government buildings were constructed years ago, and are mainly of wood.... This is as sleepy a town on Sunday as I have ever visited. This morning we went down to breakfast at 8:30, and dined alone. At noon, the maid had not yet cleaned up our rooms. But it is just as bad across the street, at the Empire Hotel, into the rooms of which I can look. The beds were not made there at noon, either; indeed, in one room a man was still in bed. The lady bartenders at the Empire are not on duty today; the blinds are down in the bar, and the lady bartenders are probably patronizing some of the numerous excursions we saw advertised in the morning papers. The day is not only Sunday, but rain began falling in the afternoon, and we had no other amusement than watching the bored guests at the Empire.... The maid came in at 2 P. M. to clean up my room, and a fine lot of gossip she brought. She says that one of the girls employed in the office of the Grand died last night, and that the hotel force is demoralized. The girl’s body was taken to the morgue this morning, and the maid thinks the papers will be full of it in the morning. When a man dies, it seems to be regular, but when a woman dies there is a chance for suspicion, particularly if she has been to Sydney three months before on a vacation. The maid also says that the lady bartenders at the Empire, across the street, kiss their customers. Lady bartenders, as a class, according to the maid, do not stand very high socially, a statement I can easily accept.... The maid says an American stopped at the Grand several months ago, and every time he met her, he said: “Go to h—l.” I did not recognize this as an American trait: to tell ladies, without provocation, to go to h—l.... In New Zealand or Australia (or in England, for that matter) the first thing an American notices is the queer pronunciation of words by the residents. I have mentioned this before, but mention it again because I have just come across this statement by Rudyard Kipling:

“The American I have heard up to the present is a tongue as distinct from English as Patagonian.”

From which I imagine that our pronunciations also jar on English ears. I believe I can take their own dictionary, and convince the English that they do not obey its rules of pronunciation. There is not the slightest authority in any English dictionary for many of their pronunciations. The pronunciation of the English people is arbitrary; there is no authority for much of it, as there is no authority for the cockney dialect. At one place on this trip we met two old-maid high-school teachers, and they almost spoke good English. And this is a rule that may be depended upon: the educated English have a better pronunciation than the uneducated. The pronunciation of Americans is nearly always the same, but the English do not themselves use the same pronunciations. Perhaps it is an intonation or quality of the voice, or an inflection, but it is a fact that frequently an American understands them with difficulty. For several days we traveled with an English barrister, a very polite gentleman, and we frequently sat with him at hotel, steamboat and dining-car tables. Half the time we could not understand him. And he found equal difficulty in understanding us, unless we spoke slowly and distinctly. Kipling says the American language has nothing in common with English except the auxiliary verbs, the name of the Creator, and damn.

MONDAY, JANUARY 27.—Although New Zealand is supposed to be an English colony, there are no English soldiers here. A few soldiers are seen in Wellington, but they belong to New Zealand regiments. The young man who showed us about today is seventeen years old, and what we would call an A. D. T. messenger boy. But the telegraph business is a government monopoly here, and this young man is a government employee. There is a mild system of compulsory military service. The young man says he belongs to a military company of postoffice and telegraph employees, and that they drill one hour every week. All young men are compelled to belong to a similar company, from fourteen to twenty-five years of age. They compose a military reserve, and never go into actual camp. New Zealand also has a navy, which is about as much of a joke as its army. Australia, being larger, has a larger establishment, but the system is the same: New Zealand, Australia and Tasmania are exactly alike so far as politics, sheep, and labor unions are concerned. Tasmania is a little place, but it has mighty questions to settle. The Tasmania legislative assembly has been in a deadlock several years, and none of the big questions could be settled. An election was held recently, to break the deadlock; and again the assembly is a tie. Politically, the colonies remind one a little of Cuba, where the political pot boils rather more steadily than anywhere else in the world.... The real event of today has been the arrival of Dr. Beeson, of Chicago, with whom we traveled three weeks on the “Sonoma.” I seem to have known him always; he is my dearest friend, and the meeting apparently pleased him as much as it did me.... In the celebration following my meeting with Dr. Beeson, we went down into the Grand barroom, where we found two bars, exactly alike, on opposite sides of a big room. An old maid known as Polly served us; a younger woman called ‘Arriet presided at the bar across the room. Polly was very amiable, and talked to us about our trip; I suppose she has been a bartender ever since she was eighteen, and attractive, and that was a long time ago. It will surprise you to know that she reminded me of a school teacher; she was as well-behaved as a school teacher, and had a bossy way that is always associated in my mind with the school-room. The Doctor and I talked of going over to see the lady bartenders at the Empire, but Polly coaxed us out of the notion. Liquor is sold here almost entirely by women; the custom of barmaids is more general in New Zealand, I am told, than in England.... Every morning and evening I buy a newspaper. The news is mainly from London, or local; I have not seen a telegram from the United States. Which is not so surprising: you might read the American papers a long time without seeing a telegram from New Zealand.... Wellington has a fine street-car system; considerably better than St. Joseph, Mo., a city of about the same size. One line runs through a tunnel under a mountain to a bathing-beach; another climbs one of the great hills, where are located many fine residences. There are several short cable lines running up the steep mountains. In addition to this means of communication, there are many boats running around and across the harbor, to bathing-beaches and suburbs. Wellington is as fine a town as St. Joseph, and the suburbs of Wellington look better. The streets and roads here are superior to those in the Missouri city, and I saw a grocery store here today that St. Joseph cannot equal.... There is a probability of a strike among the cab-drivers here. The drivers are demanding that passengers handle their own baggage. The city has taken a hand, and decided that it is the duty of cab-drivers to place the baggage of passengers on their cabs; whereupon the Cab Drivers’ Union inquired, in a resolution, “Why should not passengers handle their own luggage?” A district delegate has arrived from Auckland, and last night delivered a fiery speech about the starving poor, the insolent rich, the disposition of capital to wring the last drop of blood from the people, etc., and it will be known in a day or two whether I shall be compelled to carry my own trunks when I go to the ship.... This town is known as Windy Wellington, because the wind blows so steadily. One story is that you may always tell a Wellington man, wherever he may be: when he turns a street corner, he grabs his hat, to keep it from blowing away. Wellington people also have a story on Sydney; they say that when they visit that city they pin a tag on their coats, which reads: “I am much pleased with your harbor.” Sydney people are very proud of their harbor, and Auckland and Wellington are very jealous, as both the last named cities have beautiful harbors, though neither is as large as that at Sydney.... A gentleman who sits at our table at the hotel lived for six months at Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and thinks it a very fine town. He lives in New Zealand now, but Lancaster pleased him very much. Chicago scared him; he was there one night, and the next morning the papers reported six murders. As soon as Dr. Beeson arrived, Chicago had a more capable defender, and I withdrew, to enjoy the scrimmage.... Chinese are admitted to New Zealand on payment of $1,500 per head, and a good many of them run fruit and vegetable stores here.... As the maid predicted, the Monday morning papers mentioned the death at the Grand Hotel Saturday night, but they handled the item very cautiously, saying that the circumstances were suspicious, and that an inquest was necessary.... No doubt the people at the Empire are much exercised; unless I am much mistaken, the people of the Empire are saying: “That rotten outfit across the street is getting what it deserves.” You can’t expect anyone to be fair with his rival in business.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 28.—We took a long street-car ride this morning, and paid sixteen cents for one journey which would have cost only five cents in an American city. But you can ride a short distance for two cents. The fare increases two cents per section. Whether our plan of five cents for a street-railway ride, long or short, is better or worse than this, I do not know. There are no transfers here; if you travel on three different lines, you pay three fares.... Every morning our waiter at the hotel brings us hot cakes, although we do not order them. We discovered the reason today: on the bill of fare they are called “hot cakes, American style.” It is the waiter’s way of announcing that he knows we are Americans.... When you order soft-boiled eggs here, they are brought to you in the shell, and you eat them out of egg cups. This morning I asked the waiter to break mine in a glass, which he did, but he also put in pepper and salt, and stirred them up.... This has been a very chilly day, and the Wellington people are going about wearing overcoats and straw hats. A woman on the street-car informed us that today has been as cold as the weather ever gets here, at any season. At one of the beaches we saw the surf rolling in a very boisterous and menacing way, as the wind was blowing almost a gale. But flowers are in bloom, and vegetables growing in gardens. The vegetable gardens here are in the hands of Chinese, and are wonderfully neat; almost as wonderful as the gardens about Paris, where the gardeners remove the original dirt, and make a new soil.... We hear complaints everywhere of the labor unions. On a street-car today we engaged in conversation with an elderly woman who said she was born in Wellington, and who complained bitterly of the unions, which cause constant disturbances in all branches of business. This was surprising to me, in New Zealand, where we have heard everything is so amiable. I hear the same thing every time I talk with New Zealand people. “It is too much of a good thing,” they say. Possibly it is like our tariff: originally a good thing, it has been overdone, and all of us are now compelled to pay tribute in the shape of a heavy tax.... When we began talking with the woman, she said: “I take it that you are Americans.” We always hear that.... We have discovered that among its other attractions, the Grand Hotel has a roof garden. Even the Chicago doctor is surprised at the excellence of the hotel; and the price is only $3 a day each, including meals and rooms. We have concluded that the necessities of life, on an average, are about one-quarter cheaper here than in the United States. While there are no great tracts of farming land in the vicinity of Wellington or Auckland, near Christchurch, on the other island, there are said to be plains one hundred miles long. People here say that mutton is the one meat they never tire of; and mutton is very plentiful and very cheap.... The New Zealander who sits at our table is a very bold man, to hear him talk. I told him of my experience with snoring men, on the “Maheno,” and he says that under such circumstances he would have raised a row with the disturbers. But I think that possibly he is like many others I have known: a great talker, rather than a great hero. He tells an amusing story of a friend he once invited to his home for a visit of a fortnight. The friend turned out to have the loudest and most disagreeable snore ever heard in New Zealand, and no one in the house slept during the two weeks the visitor was there.... The tipping evil is not as great in New Zealand as it is in many places; the servants here have heard of the custom, but they do not mob travelers who fail to fee them satisfactorily.... The greatest need at present, in all parts of the world, is a library of books of simple information, simply written. Today I bought a book on Africa, by Sir H. H. Johnston. The introduction is interesting, but the remaining hundreds of pages contain a lot of technical information that no one wants. My impression is that Sir H. H. Johnston wrote the introduction, and the remaining pages were taken from old books on the subject. Cyclopedias are made in the same way. Some time ago I read the confession of a cyclopedia editor. He says such books are full of errors, because of the habit of copying, and that there is too little independent investigation. He relates that as an editor he once invented a man, a “noted clergyman,” and sent a “story” about him to the printers. The “story” passed the scrutiny of all the other editors, and was about to be made up into the pages of the cyclopedia, when the joker took it out. That is the way historical books are printed; they are too long, very dull, full of errors, written in a ponderous style that repels readers, and lacking in the simplicity and terseness necessary for the understanding of the average reader. There are several “libraries” of “universal knowledge,” and not one of them is half as good, as useful or as entertaining as it could have been made. The lack in all these books is simplicity; the professors write in fear of the criticism of other professors, and not for busy people. In this book on Africa, about all I found of interest was a statement that the Australoid type of man is almost certainly the parent of the white man in Europe and Asia. The Australoid, represented at present by the indigenous population of Australia (a chocolate-colored people, rather than black) comes nearest of all living men to the basal stock of our race, and behind him lies a long vista of semi-humanity till apehood is reached. This was a new statement to me.... The human genus was evolved somewhere in Asia, most probably in India, according to the best authority. This was a long time ago; human remains at least five hundred thousand years old have been found in the Rhine basin near Heidelberg, and it is believed the race is much older in Asia. But the original man was a black man, or a yellow man; the white man originated much later, and, according to Sir H. H. Johnston, he originated in Australia. So I am visiting the home of my remote ancestors. While man is very old, he ceased only twenty-five or thirty thousand years ago—this is only a guess of scientists, but the best information we have—to live in an absolutely savage condition as a mere hunter of other animals. The present civilized man gradually developed from a start made probably thirty thousand years ago. It was the white man who made this start toward civilization, and he originated in Australia, if Sir H. H. Johnston knows what he is talking about. The white man has always been an adventurer, and, in the course of ages, spread over the earth.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 29.—The New Zealander who sits at our table, and who lived awhile at Lancaster, Pa., said at breakfast this morning:

“The people of the United States are the smartest in the world. No doubt about it. In everything worthy and desirable, they are ahead of any other people.”

This man was born in England, and lived in London many years, but is lately living in New Zealand. He believes the “Pennsylvania Dutch” he knew at Lancaster to be the best type of people he ever knew, and regrets that all the people of the United States are not more like them.... This gentleman also showed us how the English and Scotch eat oatmeal porridge. They salt it, but never use sugar. In the left hand they hold a cup of milk, and into this they dip a spoonful of porridge before eating it.... It seems there was a blizzard yesterday; the thermometer got down to fifty-six above. But we went about in our usual summer clothing, and did not know it was a blizzard until this morning’s papers appeared.... In the botanical garden, this morning, I believe I saw the finest display of flowers I have ever seen. You hear much of the famous gardens of Japan, but I have never seen a Japanese garden as beautiful as that I saw this morning. The Japanese gardens are grotesque rather than beautiful. On the way back to town we visited a big department store, and remained an hour, watching the crowds. Doctor Beeson and I followed Adelaide around among the crowds of women, and enjoyed the experience. There was a special sale on, and postal cards had been reduced to a cent each. The store was a big one, but not nearly so large as the big ones in Kansas City. All the clerks were girls, and it was about the usual thing in special sales, except that prices were in pounds, shillings and pence.... In the public places here, we see this sign very frequently: “Citizens, protect your own property.” That is, everything belongs to the people, therefore why destroy anything? Some people are natural vandals, but people of a little culture and refinement never are.... In New Zealand, a woman has no interest in her husband’s real-estate. If a man desires to transfer a piece of real property here, his wife’s signature to the deed is not necessary, as is the case in the United States. Still women have full suffrage in New Zealand.... Not only the talk is unintelligible here at times, but I see advertisements in the English newspapers I can’t understand. Here is an exact copy of an advertisement in the Wellington _Post_ of this date:

WANTED—A General. Apply Mrs. Focke, 210 The Terrace.

If you know what Mrs. Focke wants, you know more than I do. Here is another advertisement from the same newspaper:

FOR SALE—Butchery business; going concern; average weekly killing, 6 bodies and 30 small. Victor E. Smith, Box 59, Fielding.

I haven’t the remotest notion what the advertisement means.... The newspapers here, of course, have taken after the street-railway company. They demand a universal fare of two cents, instead of two cents a section. It seems impossible to run a newspaper anywhere without abusing the street-railway. One correspondent of _The Post_ says the street-car company is entitled to take in only enough to pay actual running expenses, as the increasing value of the property is profit enough.... At luncheon today, our waiter at the Grand Hotel brought me an extra dish. “American pork and beans,” he announced triumphantly. They never let me forget for a moment that I am an American, or that they have caught me at it.... The dry-goods men here are as big talkers as they are anywhere. In _The Post_ of this afternoon, James Smith, Limited, offers a special sale in summer goods. Here is one price he quotes:

“Ladies’ one-piece washing frocks, in various colors, good value at 18_s._ 6_d._; carry your choice away tomorrow at 5_s._ 11_d._”

It seems that any sane woman would know that an article now offered at 5_s._ 11_d._ (or $1.42) was never good value at 18_s._ 6_d._ (or $4.62). If James Smith ever sold an article at $4.62 and has now cut it to $1.42, he is a robber, and no woman should patronize him. Yet his store will be crowded with women tomorrow, and many of them will buy dry goods they do not need, at prices that afford James Smith, Limited, a fair profit. The manner in which smart merchants fool the women with special sales should receive attention at the next meeting of Congress.... Bob Fitzsimmons, the prizefighter, came from New Zealand, and I think he is rather more popular at home than Melba is in Australia, where she was born. Indeed, I have heard Melba “picked at” a good deal, while Fitz is generally pointed to with pride.

THURSDAY, JANUARY 30.—A hair-cut and shave at the best shop in Wellington costs twenty-four cents. If a man buys a ticket, and pays in advance, for $1.50 he can get a shave every morning for a month, and one hair-cut.... On my way to the barber’s this morning I saw this sign: “Mrs. Jew, private hotel.” Here is another sign I saw: “Jerusalem & Son, jewelers and New Zealand green-stone merchants.” While waiting in the barber shop I saw this advertisement in a newspaper: “Wanted—A Rabbiter; also a saw doctor. Apply to F. P. Welch, Masterton.”... My friend who lived for a time in Lancaster, Pa., and who so greatly admires the “Pennsylvania Dutch,” told of a funny experience this morning. When he first landed in the United States he went into a barber shop, to be shaved. The barber asked him if he wanted a shampoo. The New Zealander, thinking that this was merely a politeness, said he did. Then the barber asked him if he would have a face massage, and the New Zealander accepted that offer, as well as several others, all the while thinking of the politeness of the American barbers. Finally, when the barber presented his bill for $2.90, there was a row, and the New Zealander denounced us all as robbers.... This New Zealander, whom I shall call Mr. A., was very indignant when I told him about the snoring man on the ship, and has been telling ever since what should be done to a man who travels about to disturb his fellow-men. “A man who snores,” said Mr. A., “should remain at home.” Mr. A. is a nervous man himself, and believes that a snoring man should in some way be prohibited. I noticed that Dr. Beeson, my friend from Chicago, did not fully accept Mr. A.’s opinion, and, when we are alone, the Doctor is disposed to rake Mr. A. over the coals. This has convinced me that the Doctor is a snoring man, so at nearly every meal I induce Mr. A. to abuse the man who is so impolite as to go to bed in a room with two others and snore all night. The Doctor and Mr. A. were at first quite friendly, but lately they quarrel most of the time. “That man,” the Doctor said to me today, and referring to Mr. A., “is getting on my nerves.” The Doctor frequently comes up to my room to smoke a cigar, and sometimes I send out for a second cigar, that I may enjoy the aroma of the tobacco, but this is the only weak thing I do, so far as my resolution to quit tobacco is concerned. I no longer temporize; I do not chew toothpicks, or gum, or plug tobacco; I have quit off short, and find it easier. If you are trying to quit tobacco, quit entirely, and do not aggravate yourself with cardamon seed, cloves, no-tobac, or anything else.... I am going away tomorrow, but Mr. A. and the Doctor will remain another week, and after I am gone, and no longer able to keep them apart, I expect them to have a fight, about snoring.... The Doctor is going home by way of South America direct, and will round Cape Horn. He said last evening, while smoking in my room: “Well, I now have absolutely nothing to do for forty-eight days, except to send one cablegram at Buenos Aires.” His statement was a very good illustration of the idleness of travelers. He does not like traveling by sea, but says it does him good, although he does not observe the good effect until he has been at home some time. He will be nineteen days at sea, without sight of land; an experience I will have between Australia and South Africa.... An Englishman I met here today was laughing at Americans because they call one horse a “team.” He was also amused because Americans eat pie in the middle of a meal. That is the way many of the stories about Americans originate: they are made up. I have lived in America considerably more than half a century, and never knew anyone to refer to one horse as a “team,” or eat pie in the middle of a meal.... There is a young man staying at this hotel who doesn’t seem to know much. “I don’t believe,” said Mr. A. today, “that he is a full shilling.” Meaning, “I don’t believe he has good sense.” This young fellow is a “remittance man;” he has a rich father in England, and receives a remittance every month—he is kept in New Zealand in the hope that he will get killed, or drink himself to death.... The officers of small ships, since the big “Titanic” went down, frequently ask travelers: “Well, are you satisfied now that a big ship can sink?” Sailors, like other men, are jealous.... A traveling Englishman is never satisfied unless he shows his pajamas all over a ship or hotel. This morning, at 7:20, I left my room to go down on the street for a walk before breakfast. In the hall I found an Englishman, dressed in pajamas only, quietly drinking tea from a tray held by a maid.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 31.—At 4:20 this afternoon we left the Grand Hotel, and went on board the “Maunganui,” advertised to sail for Sydney at 5. The Chicago doctor went with us, and said he should be very lonesome after our departure. He says he intends to amuse himself by trimming up Mr. A., the gentleman who lived awhile at Lancaster, Pa. This gentleman has very positive notions about everything, particularly about Americans, and the Doctor says he intends to talk the Chicago language to him after we go. “I didn’t like to say anything rough while Miss Adelaide was at the table,” the Doctor said, “but I’ll be mad anyway, because of your going, and he’ll hear from me.” In addition to his liberal notions about punishing men who snore, Mr. A. “makes up” stories about Americans. He says, for example, that when he was in Chicago, the hotel bell-boy who guided him to his room took hold of his coat, looked at it critically, and said: “What funny clothes you Englishmen wear.” The Doctor is certain no such thing ever happened, at Chicago or elsewhere, and proposes to say so to the hero of the incident.... The “Maunganui” is a large ship, nearly new, but instead of two men in my room I found three. The ship has two parlors, very large and fine, the floors covered with Turkish rugs, but its staterooms are very small, and most of them are provided with four beds; and extra beds are made in the dining-room. There are twice as many passengers on the ship as there should be; there are almost as many at the second sitting in the dining-saloon as at the first.... Very much to our surprise, Mr. A. came down to see us off, and, on hearing that I was to occupy a room with three others, said he wouldn’t stand it; that there was a way of avoiding such disagreeable things, and that he always found it. The Doctor nudged me, and, when the row starts, this big talk will probably come up, also. Mr. A. says he has already spoken to the head waiter at the Grand, and given him notice that our places at his table must be taken by pleasant people.... Owing to an extra amount of freight, the ship did not get away until 7 o’clock; the Doctor and Mr. A. left at 6, and, the last we saw of them, they seemed to be getting along amicably.... We finished dinner in time to go on deck and see the ship leave the harbor. A heavy wind had been blowing several days, and we expected bad weather outside, but in this we were disappointed; the sea was as calm as I have ever seen it, and we walked the decks until ten o’clock. Adelaide is not so lucky this trip, and has three women in her room.... The piano-playing began within an hour after dinner, and most of the players were young men. There are more amateur musicians in this section, probably, than in any other part of the world.... Two of the passengers, young Englishmen, are wearing smoking-jackets with their initials embroidered on the left arm. It is an entirely new idea, and it does not seem improbable that other Englishmen will adopt it.... Travel between New Zealand and Australia is enormous. The boats of the Union Steamship Co. are always crowded. And, in saying your prayers at night, ask for a special curse on the Union Steamship Co., as well as on the Standard Oil Co., and the Eastman Kodak Co. It is a monopoly, and does just as it pleases; and it pleases to put four men in a room nine by ten feet, which I regard as a greater outrage than that Decoration day, or Arbor day, or Flag day, are not more generally observed.

SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 1.—I have spent this day in bed, seasick. Early this morning we ran into a rough sea, and not one passenger in twenty appeared at breakfast. Fortunately, the three others in my room are very polite gentlemen, but this did not prevent them from being ill, and four sick men in a room nine by ten feet, with one small window, and that closed, is not pleasant. In our room there is not so much as a chair to sit on, and not as many hooks as one man requires for his clothing, on retiring; I have no hooks at all in my berth, and, when I went to bed, was compelled to pile my clothes on the bed, or under it. There is one washbowl for four men, and, after two have used it, the water in this runs out. And this on the largest and finest ship sailing out of New Zealand. And I paid $5 in addition to the usual tariff, in order that I might have better than the average first-class passenger. I have never before seen four persons placed in a room on a steamship; it occasionally happens that the sofa is used for a third passenger, when a ship is badly crowded, but on the Atlantic this is rare; passengers won’t stand it. But here, six are often placed in first-class cabins, and there does not seem to be much protest. The newspapers are always abusing the railroads, which actually supply very good accommodations; I wonder they do not have something to say about the steamships. The two parlors on the “Maunganui” must be 100 feet long, and as broad as the ship itself; yet they are rarely occupied by more than a dozen, while four people are forced to occupy a room nine by ten. The smoking-room is a fine apartment, and the halls are wide and airy, but the cabins are disgracefully small. If an American is unwise enough to travel, he should not visit this part of the world, where the ships are all small, and where there does not seem to be the slightest protest against four or six in a cabin. The new and fast ships on the Atlantic travel from New York to Queenstown in almost the time required to travel from Australia to New Zealand, for the ships here are slow as well as small. The distances here are great; in Europe, a trip of seven hours, which includes crossing the English channel, takes you from London to Paris. A night takes you from Paris to Switzerland, and another night to Rome. All the big sights there are comparatively close together; but the time from San Francisco to Australia is three weeks, and, if you go by boat from Sydney, the time to South Africa is four weeks. If you have a notion to visit this part of the world, give it up. The people here are always polite, but it is a country an American will find himself familiar with. The Maori wars in New Zealand were like our Indian wars, and the bush-rangers in Australia were like our Western cattle thieves, gamblers, and gun-men. There is nothing picturesque here, as there is in Japan, which may be reached from San Francisco in four days’ less time than is required to reach Australia. Besides, very large ships sail from San Francisco to Japan and China, whereas only small ships sail from San Francisco to Australia or New Zealand.... It is my experience that there is always something unpleasant about a ship. Every ship has some peculiarity of motion at sea, and one trip does not accustom you to another. I waited a week in New Zealand in order to cross in the big “Maunganui,” but the worst spell of seasickness I ever had was in one of the “Maunganui’s” rooms. And three other gentlemen, all experienced travelers, joined me in it, and we grunted, and growled, and swore all day. I refer to this ship as a big one; its tonnage is 7,800; a boat twice as large is considered rather small on the Atlantic. And the idea that the Pacific is smooth and the Atlantic violent, is a fiction. Both are violent at times, and one is not much worse than the other. This is the most favorable season, and we have had much bad weather.... My part of stateroom 15, for which I paid a stiff price, is about as big as a coffin. Next thing, they will put a cot in the space between the four beds, and sell it to a silly man who thinks there is joy in traveling, and discovers his mistake after actually trying it. I am as finicky and fussy as an old maid when it comes to sleeping, but my indignation over four in a room does me no good; no one else seems to object to it. I suppose I will next draw a room for six; but I don’t care—I should as soon have the whole ship’s company in with me as three.... One is treated better everywhere than at sea. In order to travel comfortably, a man should be married, and have his wife with him. Then he could have her in a room with him, and impose on her, as usual.... A woman traveling incognito, and occupying my bed on this ship, would not be shocked by the three other men in the room. They are polite, clean, decent, and considerate. They are Australian commercial travelers, and this morning one of them told an “American story,” for my benefit. A man was standing on a street corner in Chicago, vigorously puffing a big cigar. A good man approached him, and said:

“Do you realize the waste of smoking? How many cigars do you smoke a day?”

The smoker estimated the number at fifteen, and said he had been smoking at least twenty years.

“Had you saved that money,” the good man said, “you might have owned that sky-scraper,” pointing to a big building across the street.

“Do you smoke?” the smoker asked the good man.

“Certainly not,” was the indignant answer.

“Do you own that sky-scraper?”

“No.”

“Well,” replied the smoker, puffing complacently on his cigar, “I do.”

SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 2.—This has been as fine a day as I have ever experienced on a ship. As a rule, the weather is better far out at sea than near land. Yesterday the passengers were confined to their rooms, and everywhere one might hear them trying to get rid of that last meal, but today they are all on deck. It is a polite and agreeable company, and the ship is fine, but I still dislike the sea. I don’t care much for close contact with a lot of people, however polite and agreeable they may be. It is pleasant enough to be in a crowd for an hour or two, and note human characteristics, but four or five days of it is too much.... From the time you start on a trip until you return, you have the same things to eat. Bills of fare on ships are exactly alike, and hotels copy the ships. I am offered a great variety of food on the “Maunganui,” but do not care for it: at dinner today I ordered a plate of soup, and lamb with mint sauce, although the bill of fare showed a very great variety. Meals are announced in the usual way: by a man playing a cornet. The man on the “Maunganui” is unusual in that he plays a part of a selection at every meal, and poses while playing.... In this country, the uglier the man, the more sheep he owns. The ugliest man I have ever seen is on board, and he is said to be the sheep king of New Zealand. It is no unusual thing for a man in New Zealand or Australia to own thirty or forty thousand sheep.... This evening, after dinner, I was amused in watching a smart young fellow in the second-cabin. The second-cabin deck is separated from ours by a rail containing this notice: “Second-cabin passengers not allowed forward of this.” The smart young fellow was amusing a number of companions by walking around the first-cabin deck. His companions thought he was extremely devilish, and laughed boisterously when he returned safely. I sat near them, and could hear their conversation. The bold young man said that if anyone would give him a shilling, he would go up the stairs to the next deck, and spend it in the first cabin smoking-room. The shilling was produced, and I saw the young man disappear up the stairway. Then he offered to speak to the captain for another shilling, and disappeared for that purpose, but whether he did it or not, I do not know. The young men were having a tremendous lot of fun without harming anyone.... Last night there was almost continuous piano-playing in the big parlor of the ship. A man or woman was waiting all the time, with music, for a chance at the piano; it reminded me of passengers waiting around the bathrooms during the rush hour. Two young girls, sisters, sat in the room the entire evening. They pretended to be reading, but they were really watching and talking about people, and their short, quick remarks to each other probably contained a good deal of ginger.... When you can’t do anything else to a boy, you can make him wash his face. There is a man on board with a son seven or eight years old, and certainly every hour I hear the father say to the son: “Go to your room, sir, and wash your face. And use a little extra soap on your hands.”... Seasickness is no disgrace. Governor Crose, of American Samoa, and who is also captain of the warship “Princeton,” told me that he is often seasick; and he has been a sailor twenty-five years.... I heard a man making a long explanation today, and I knew he was not telling the truth; an explanation is never the truth, on sea or land.... A lonesome old woman on board attracts the attention of all the passengers. I talked to her awhile this afternoon, and she made one remark I’ll never forget.

“My children,” she said, “are already reconciled to my death.”

She is traveling alone, is ill, and occupies a room with three young women who don’t want her in with them, and she is very wretched. Will your children be reconciled to your death by the time you are sixty-five or seventy? Probably; maybe earlier.

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 3.—A man on board was born in Warsaw, New York, but has been in business in Sydney for the past thirty years. He says the Australian and New Zealand newspapers are habitually unfair with events in the United States. He often writes to the editors, and corrects their blunders, but they refuse to print his letters. The papers frequently print references to American crooks arriving in Australasia which are palpably unfair and untrue; on one occasion the American obtained a letter from the police authorities saying that certain thieves referred to as Americans, were not Americans, but not a newspaper in Australia would print the American’s indignant denial. All American news in the Australian and New Zealand papers comes from London, although it might be easily obtained direct from American papers. American news coming by way of London is of course unreliable. He says that the middle-class people here admire Americans, but that the Imperialists do not, and always misrepresent them. I asked him what he meant by the term “Imperialist.”

“Well,” he replied, “an Australian or New Zealander will go to London, and be entertained at dinner by a cheap duke or knight. After that, he is an Imperialist, and talks of England as ‘back home.’ Admiration for the rich is often ridiculous, but it is nothing compared with admiration for a title.”

I asked him how the general prosperity here compared with the average prosperity in America. He replied that the farmers here are more prosperous generally than the farmers of New York state.

“But,” I said to him, “the farmers of New York state are not typical American farmers. Our typical farmers are found in Iowa, Kansas, Nebraska, Missouri, Wisconsin, Illinois, Oklahoma, and states of that class.”

“I have heard of the great prosperity of Kansas farmers,” he said; “our farmers are not as prosperous as the Kansas farmers are said to be. And our farmers do not live as well as yours. Not on one farm in fifty here will you find a vegetable garden or fruit tree; I should say your farmers are much superior to ours in culture, too. Certainly the educational test is higher in your rural communities than it is with us. Your working-people, in my judgment, earn better wages than ours.”