Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1883-01-24

The New Zealander is as much at
home in his tent of calico as an English.
man within his four walls of brick and
mortar. 1t is cheap, portable, and in
the summer as pleasant a residence us
need be. The rain, let it fall never SO
hard, does not affect him. Should the
wind blow his frail tenement over the
damages are quickly repaired. A tent,
| Il few blankct3-n0 more is needed for a
weeks shooting among the hills or n
fishing expedition along coast or lake.
A few years ago, when great cxcaya
tion work was in progress, scores of lit
tie white tents dotted the hill.sidcs of
Wellington. Here, in this miniature
encampment dwe cit the "navvies," with
their wives and children, with no rent
to pay, and within mile of the luxu,
ries and comforts of town OF some
twenty-five thousand people.
Tho line of railway which runs for
forty miles through the mountainous,
rugged country, near Wellington into
the open plains and pastoral districts OF
the back country winds its way through
black gorges over rocky barriers and
gloomy fastnesses round the sides of
precipitous spurs, through the dense
forests of the Rimutaka ranges. Every
turn reveals the skeleton frame work OF
hundreds OF tents and rude shanties rot.
ting in the rain and sun, where the
small armies Of men have lived, shifting
onward with the work. Limp pieces of
canvas flutter in the wind, the white
poles and weather beaten slabs-tho
refuse of II camp scattered about-old
saddles, worn-out tools, rusty pots and
pans, pieces of blankets, WORKOUT coats
and shirts-all tell The same tale and
add to the weird desolation OF these
gloomy solltudes.
The bushman who has his contract
for cutting ii nber, the splitter and
fencer, each is dweller in tents. But
the camper out in New Zeala is no
sybarite. He has rough work to do,
and often difficult country to traverse
His back must often bear load, his
hands must be ready to turn to any
thing, from telling tree to sewing up
nasty cut in flesh or garment; from
catching horse-not always an easy
task--to shooting his dinner before he
eats it. On the other hand, he spends
his day in bracing air, and o'ten amid
fine scenery, in the finest climate in the
world He works like horse; but
what an appetite he cultivates He
knows not dyspepsia; his eye is clear
and his skin tanned-the picture of
rude health. The true New Zeaanl
nomad, with one exception perhaps the
prospector), is the surveyor-the ex.
plorer, the fossicker for roads, the
pioneer, whose work takes him TO the
little known back country, where he
will probably see few faces but those of
his small party for months at time.
When one piece of work is completed
he moves on to another, perhaps hun
drcd miles away, where he makes new
home and settles down afresh. He may
be lucky and chance upon some "pIum"
some fine piece OF country which no
one knows of, or magnificent bit of
totara bush; CT, if keen hand, pick up
bargains here and there which may
make him rich man. But these
chances come seldom, and by the time
he is forty-fve the surveyor is generally
broken down with rheumatism, aud his
active work has to come to an end. Not
the least of his difficulties is the shift
ing of his camp. He has much baggage,
with a party of eight men; there are
delicate instruments to be carried hither
and thither. The question of supplies,
too, is not always easy to solve. But
long and hard won experience has taught
him his lesson.