Chapter XXV.
CHARLESTON—ITS GROWTH AND PROGRESS.
CHARLESTON was a lovable, but not a lovely, town; though its surrounding parts were of a deep scenic beauty. Its river reaches, its forest stretches and timber-covered terraces, its glittering white-sand beaches, its rugged rocky coast and bold headlands that emphasised the sheen of blue waters, its fern-dressed creeks and gullies, the green heights of Darkie’s Terrace when draped with morning mist or lit by sunset glows—all were of pristine loveliness that delighted the senses.
Its working field, the wide pakihi, its mine-scarred cement flats speckled with dams and lined with water-races, its tailing-dumps and hopper-heaps, were not inspiring; were, in fact, drab and monotonous, of a dull brownness unrelieved by green swards, coloured blossoms, or smiling gardens. It was ugly; yet even its utilitarian ugliness held an appeal, seemed to fascinate rather than repel; was a constant evidence of the field’s prosperity and the labours and activities of its people; the sign of wealth.
The town, with the exception of bank buildings and two or three leading hotels, evidenced the haste with which it had been rushed up to meet immediate needs. Business premises were of various sizes and designs, with presentable fronts and thrown-together back parts, with scant regard to comeliness. Its cottages were of conventional goldfield type; two gable-roofed rooms with or without a lean-to back, and having a small window at each side of the “front door.” Each and all met the requirements of the fast-growing township, so why cavil?
Its streets were but roads, rough and gravel-strewn;
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