_MORE ABOUT AUCKLAND._
The principal street in the city of Auckland, as my reader has been
already told, is Queen Street, terminating seawards in the Queen Street
Wharf.
It is not an imposing-looking thoroughfare. No indeed! and at the
risk of catching it the next time I am down there, I repeat there is
nothing imposing in it at all; neither the street, the houses, nor the
tradesmen. There is little architectural beauty to be seen, and the
shops have for the most part an unsubstantial appearance, particularly
noticeable in the upper portion of the street. The lower, or wharf end,
possesses some substantial-looking buildings of brick and stone, the
most notable in 1883 being the post-office, the New Zealand Insurance
Company's building, and the Bank of New Zealand.
The pavement on the left hand side for a considerable distance is
sheltered by verandahs built from the upper part of the shop fronts,
and extending as far as the roadway, where they are supported by
cast-iron pillars. They form an agreeable protection from the sun, or
from sudden showers of rain, and are remarkable as evincing an effort
to study the public comfort--an effort very seldom made in New Zealand.
Since I landed in 1883 the town has undergone great improvements. A
good-sized railway terminus now stands at the foot of Queen Street.
Tramways run in all directions. A great many brick buildings, some five
stories high, have been run up. The Auckland Freezing Company have
erected very extensive premises of brick on ground reclaimed from the
bay. An art gallery and public library, contained in a really handsome
building, has been opened. _The Star_ newspaper proprietor has built
large new offices; and an arcade with shops almost rivalling in style
and finish those of its elder brother in London--the Burlington--has
lately been completed. On the north shore a magnificent graving dock is
in course of construction, which will be able, when finished, to take
in the largest ships afloat but two, viz., _The Great Eastern_ and _The
City of Rome_.
With the exception, perhaps, that the majority of the houses are of
timber, Auckland may be said to resemble the ordinary run of colonial
cities: it has an unusually fair share of churches and chapels of
all denominations, and a still fairer share of public-houses--I ask
pardon--hotels.
Of places of public amusement, with the exception of a dingy little
theatre very seldom used, and a so-called opera-house where occasional
performances take place, it has virtually none, and to this fact is
undoubtedly to be ascribed the large amount of drunkenness that exists.
The vast number of places where drink can be obtained show what a brisk
liquor trade is done; but if half these places were abolished, it would
not, I believe, lessen the drunkenness by a single man. Gumdiggers,
farmers, bushmen, fishermen, and all sorts and conditions of men
frequent Auckland town when flush of money, and they _will_ have some
amusement! There are no music-halls, concert-rooms, or other places
where they can go and smoke their pipes and enjoy themselves, therefore
they fall back on the hotels.
It may be wrong and wicked, but it's human nature. As Dickens' immortal
Squeers says, "Natur's a rum un;" and all the head shakings and
turning up of the eyes on the part of the pious won't alter the fact.
I was wrong, however, to say there are no places of amusement except
the theatre and opera-house. There is one. It is called the "Sailor's
Rest." Suppose (to use a colonialism) we put in an hour or two there.
After ascending a steep break-neck sort of stair-ladder erected in the
back part of a shop, we stand in a large room hung about with flags. At
one end is a stage, and scattered about are small tables, seated round
which we see marines and blue-jackets from Her Majesty's ship lying in
the harbour, fishermen, shop assistants, and working men of all sorts.
They are chatting and playing at dominoes, draughts, and other games.
Presently "order" is called from the stage, a lady takes her seat at
the piano, which occupies one corner, and a gentleman comes forward,
makes his bow, and sings a very good song to her accompaniment.
Another song follows, then a duet, inspired by which a marine and a
blue-jacket volunteer a second duet, ascend the stage, and sing it
capitally; another sailor follows with a comic song, a gumdigger gives
a recitation, and so the evening wears away. The room is crammed, and
in the back part near the stairs smoking is allowed, so the smoker is
not deprived of half his evening's enjoyment.
Ladies, _real_ Christian ladies--not "eye rollers" and "head
shakers"--flit about ministering to the wants of their visitors. Coffee
is served, and the proceedings close with a hymn, which I must confess
sounds out of place after the comic songs, and I think would have been
better omitted. By the time the audience have dispersed the hotels are
closed.
How those hotel-keepers must _abominate_ that flag-draped room up the
back stairs! If there were a few more such places in Auckland it would
mean _death to them_.
While on the subject of Auckland, let me say a few words about the
shops and the shop-keepers. First the shops. One very noticeable
feature in the majority of them is the absence of taste in the display
of their contents; there is nothing to attract the eye, and however
good the articles may be in themselves, they are seldom shown to
advantage, but are huddled together in the window anyhow.
With regard to their attendants. In the larger shops you always find
civility, but never any approach to servility: the shopman does not
press you to purchase, but if you elect to do so, you may. It is a
_quid pro quo_ transaction, with no obligation on either side. In the
inferior shops you too often miss the civility, and the proprietor
appears to consider he is conferring a favour by allowing you to buy.
No attempt, at any rate, is ever made to push a trade.
The same feeling which pervades the manly tradesman's breast appears
also to influence the lodging-house and boarding-house owners. "_If
you want any article you must come and ask if we've got it_," and "_if
you want apartments you must find out our address--we are not going
to bother_," are the sentiments which I fancy form the basis of the
trading principles of the aristocratic tradesmen and lodging-house
keepers of Auckland. The reader will perhaps recollect the trouble
I had in trying to find rooms when we first arrived, and the awful
place where I eventually deposited my family. Now that I am well
acquainted with the town, I find there are plenty of nice apartments
and boarding-houses, though it would be impossible for a stranger to
discover them: if I were an Irishman, I'd say--he would require to be
in Auckland a month before he arrived in order to do so.