“There are men and classes of men that stand above the common herd: the soldier, the sailor and the shepherd not infrequently; the artist rarely ….; the physician almost as a rule. He is the flower (such as it is) of our civilisation …. Generosity he has, such as is possible to those who practise an art, never to those who drive a trade; discretion, tested by a hundred secrets; tact, tried in a thousand embarrassments; and, what are more, Heraclean cheerfulness and courage.”

Robert Louis Stevenson in his dedication of “Underwoods” to his doctors.

(S. P. Andrew photo.) Sir Truby King.

Stevenson's tribute to the altruism of the doctor applied to the profession in general; it was addressed to the general practitioner. The debt that the people owe to their skilful and hardworking and generous medical men can never be paid in full or even told in full. Every doctor must be something of a philanthropist at heart, otherwise he would never have adopted such a calling. But there are exceptional men, who stand out like king-trees of the forest above their fellows; men whose love for humanity, devotion to duty, and indifference to selfish considerations invest them with a saint-like character; Sir Frederick Truby King is pre-eminently one of these Father Damiens of the medical world. As I write this Sir Truby lies very ill, his body worn out in the service of the suffering and the weak; his life's work done. He is seventy-eight. His brain is as keen and bright as ever, but there is no need now for him to concern himself about the future of the duty to which he devoted all his powers and all his resources. The work goes on, the helping of women and children, the salving of infant life.

The world-famous system of the Plunket Society, with which the name of King of Karitane is associated, has saved many thousands of infant lives, and it will save many thousands more. It has given an enormous stimulus to better health for the young, it has educated the community in parenthood; its influence is widespread in the building up of strong and healthy men and women, wisely nourished and protected against disease.

The Truby King Karitane Hospital on Melrose Heights, Wellington, where mothers and infants are cared for and where a factory manufactures health food for the little ones, is a wonderful monument of toil and skill and self-sacrifice. With Sir Truby's name is, of course, associated the late Lady King's. For forty years that noble lady shared her husband's work and shaped with him the splendid institution and the methods of nutrition that went to reduce the infant death rate in New Zealand until it is the lowest in the world.

Sir Truby's Early Career.

New Zealanders are proud to remember that this great and wonderful man is a native son. He was born in New Plymouth in 1858, the son of Mr. Thomas King, a bank manager. Young Frederick Truby worked in the uninspiring field of figures for some years, but fortunately for his country he was attracted by the doctor's profession, and when he was twenty-two he went to Edinburgh to study medicine. There he found his place and his soul. He was a distinguished student, he graduated as a doctor and took his B.Sc. degree. The study of public health also engaged him. After graduating he spent some time in gaining experience in private practice as well as in hospitals, before returning to New Zealand in 1888. In Edinburgh he married Isabella Millar—the late Lady King. The care of the insane was one of his most absorbing studies, and for a year he was surgeon superintendent of the Mental Hospital at Porirua. Then the Government appointed him to take charge of the large hospital for the insane at Seacliff, on the Otago Coast, and there he spent many years, afterwards becoming Director-General of Mental Hospitals in the Dominion. He also was a lecturer and professor at Otago University.

The enthusiastic young doctor instituted many reforms at Seacliff, in the more rational treatment of the mentally afflicted. He made a great success of the large farm and orchards belonging to the Hospital, and he bred stock on scientific principles. It was in this asylum that he realised how closely mental trouble was associated with early malnutrition, and his study of cause and effect set him experimenting with the rearing of infants. That was the beginning of his long and increasingly useful efforts for the improvement of the human stock from babyhood.

The Original Karitane.

One of my memories is a first transient meeting with Dr. Truby King in 1903, near the scene of his child-saving activities in its early stages. That was at Puketiraki, the railway station nearest to now-famous Karitane, where the doctor and his wife had a summer home, a few miles from Seacliff. It was an introduction, a few words, and a passing-on at the station; the doctor was bound to Dunedin and I was on the way to explore a place of history and ethnological interest, the massive ancient entrenchments of Te Pa-a-Te-Wera, on Huriawa or Karitane Peninsula. Dr. King was an earnest, thoughtful man, of pleasant, kindly

(Photo. courtesy W. Forsyth, Riverton.) Turning the first sod of the Riverton-Invercargill Railway, by Superintendent J. Macandrew, Otago Provincial Council, 1875. Elaborate preparations are being made for the celebration of Riverton's centenary in January, 1937.

manner, but clearly not a man of robust health. His thoughts all his life were for others, not himself. I met my friend Tame Parata, the Maori member for the South Island electorate, and we walked from his Puketiraki home down to the shore at Karitane, a mile away. That shore of the wide Waikouaiti Bay and its neighbourhood is the most beautiful part of the Otago coastline. The grassy fields go down to the edge of the white sand and the sparkling sea. It is a place of old-time story, the scene of Johnny Jones's whaling station a century ago and of the missionary labours of the Revs. Watkin and Creed. On hilly Huriawa Peninsula, the southern head of Waikouaiti Bay, we explored the olden fortifications. Just at the entrance to the Peninsula, on the sandy neck of land, Mr. Parata showed me Dr. King's house and garden, partly surrounded with tall manuka fences as a sand-barrier and breakwind. It certainly was a well-sunned spot, albeit breezy, a delicious place of warmth and kindly air, I thought, when the winds were at rest. Close by were the massive earth parapets of Te Wera's Pa; there the great gateway called the “Lips of Toretore” stood.

It was there in that sun-drenched corner on Karitane neck that Dr. Truby King carried out his first experiments in the rearing of infants on modern hygienic and dietary principles.

Karitane—a note about that name of fame. It was the name given to the mission establishment of the Rev. Mr. Creed, facing the bay, on a sandy terrace alongside the Maori village and the marae or green called Hau-te-kapakapa. Both words, “Kari” and “tane” are good Maori, but they are meaningless in this conjunction. Enquiry has elucidated the origin. It is a composite name, made up of an abbreviation of “Kariti,” the Maori pronunciation of “Creed,” and “tane,” meaning man. We may, therefore, translate Karitane as “Creed the man”—or, say, “Mr. Creed”—a linguistic memorial to the early-days preacher and teacher.

Baby-rearing at Karitane.

Many boarded out infants in a condition of sickness and semi-starvation came under Dr. King's observation when he was in charge at Seacliff. Wherever he had an opportunity he tried to remedy these blunders in child-rearing. He and Mrs. King resolved to make their Karitane home a little hospital for ill-nurtured babies. They took in a number, treated them with scientific attention to each one, and restored them all to health. The good work went on and gradually spread over a wide field. Dr. King engaged nurses and taught them his methods, and prominent people in New Zealand were interested in the crusade to save the children. He preached the gospel of ante-natal care; it was necessary to educate the mothers as well as tend the children.

The Plunket Society.

He organised a Society for the Health of Women and Children. Lady Plunket and her husband, the Governor of New Zealand at that period, warmly supported the movement, and the new Society was named in their honour. The work went on; the right dietary treatment of babies was extended over New Zealand, and the health-rate of infant life steadily rose. Generous donors in Otago and elsewhere gave assistance, and the first Karitane Hospital was established in a house at Anderson's Bay, near Dunedin. Humanised milk, the necessary of life in the rearing of the infants, was prepared in large quantities under the supervision of the doctor's assistants. Then the work grew Dominion-wide, and eventually the present beautifully-situated Karitane Hospital was built on the sunny and airy hilltop of Melrose. There are sometimes as many as twenty infants in the institution, besides a number of mothers receiving ante-natal care. “Any baby suffering from malnutrition,” says Sir Truby, “is our care.”

The Food Factory.

The Rotary Club was early in the field in rendering generous assistance to the Plunket work and the establishment of its present fine home. But

(Photo. courtesy “Evening Post.”) The Traby King Karitane Hospital on Melrose Heights, Wellington, New Zealand.

the food-factory which is an essential part of the scheme, was begun with the doctor's own money. This attained such dimensions that he could no longer finance it himself. A number of Wellington citizens who appreciated the value of the great work, became guarantors. However, the factory enterprise developed so successfully that they were never called upon to make up a deficit.

The factory makes three tons of emulsion a week and one ton of sugar of milk a day. The emulsion is nutritive; the sugar furnishes energy. Large quantities of this prepared food are sent to England and elsewhere. Sir Truby's system of infant-feeding has been adopted in England, Germany, Canada, South Africa, and Australia; and it is extending.

Distinctive names have been coined for the infant food; they preserve the story of its origin. The emulsion is called “Kariol” and the sugar of milk is “Karilac.”

The example of New Zealand, the noble system of infant salvation that owes its foundation to the doctor and his wife, is a light to the civilised world. Sir Truby himself went to England—his services were lent to the cause there by the New Zealand Government—to organise the Plunket system, and the benefits of his campaign of instruction were soon apparent.

Honours came to this most retiring of men. He was made C.M.G., and in 1930 he was knighted. He was left a poor man by his constant expenditure on the cause nearest to his heart. That was the great joy of his life, to spend all he had in energy and in every other way on the building up of a happy, healthy young generation. His reward is in the visible fruits of his long and tireless toil for the cause, and in the knowledge that he is honoured and revered as the friend and saviour of the babies. Tens of thousands of young New Zealanders are, or have been Plunket babies. That is the wonderful fruit of the tiny beginning on the shore of Karitane.

Few New Zealanders know that in numbers we lead the whole world in the export of thoroughbred animals. Our totals, for instance, are six or seven times those of Great Britain, and often equal all the rest of the world. There are logical reasons for this unique position. It is a commonplace that animals from the Northern Temperate Zone improve in size and quality when they settle in New Zealand. The rich largesse of sunny skies, mild temperatures and ample rainfall, join with the gift of a soil which is the golden sand of fertility. Our country has been fashioned by Nature to be the ideal place on the earth's surface for the development of the best of every type of animal. This article proposes to show that our forebears recognised this wonder at a very early date, and will treat of the stupendous achievement already reached, and the glorious possibilities of the future.

Astately London weekly observed not so long ago, “Someone has said that the reading of detective stories is the recreation of all superior minds. On the contrary, if they were really superior, it would be their only occupation.” I know a better form of this indoor sport, and that is the study of the breeding of the thoroughbred. I do not limit the latter category to the thoroughbred horse, for the breeding of sheep, beef and dairy cattle, dogs and pigs, carries the same blend of crossword puzzle delight and high romance. To the theorist it is a recreation, but for the practical exponent it is another matter. The natural advantages of our country for this specific purpose are overwhelming, but the art or science of breeding depends finally on the skill of its practitioners, their fidelity to purpose and unswerving devotion. Our forebears brought all these qualities with them, and when our centennial year arrives, I believe that the brightest pages of our first century's history will be those that tell of the achievement of our studmasters.

Perhaps, too, by the time our year of celebration arrives, the thoroughbred industry will have had its share of practical encouragement, as has been lately done in Ireland, but even without further stimulus, its growth will continue. The extent, value and importance of our present exports of this category are not known or appreciated. Mr. Charles Robertson, New Zealands' best known figure in this

A well-known Stud Farm in the North Island of New Zealand.

arena, mentioned to me quite casually a day or two ago that his firm had shipped on the previous Saturday, 125 stud sheep whose value was £7,000 or thereabouts. In a year at least 2,500 thoroughbred animals leave these shores for all the lands of the Seven Seas: Chile, Argentina, Soviet Russia, Japan, Peru, and most European countries, and, of course, our great neighbour, Australia, are names taken at random. As a rule, I do not care for figures, but the list set out below is so impressive that it tells its own eloquent story. The stud flocks and herds shown are those officially recognised by the various breed associations who maintain systems of rigorous inspection, constant scrutiny, and jealously guarded standards.

Farm Horses. Clydesdale Breeders 871 Sheep. Corriedale Breeders 157 Merino Breeders 48 Romney Breeders 599 Lincoln Breeders 64 Southdown Breeders 772 Ryeland Breeders 69 South Island Flock Book. English Leicester 107 Border Leicester 156 Shropshire 48 Suffolk 5 Half-bred 23 Milking Cattle. Jersey Breeders 2194 Fresian Breeders 564 Milking Shorthorn Breeders 504 Ayrshire Breeders 291

Palermo—Argentina. New Zealand Champion Sheep.

Beef Cattle.

Aberdeen Angus Breeders 102 Hereford Breeders 57 Shorthorn Breeders 215 Red Poll Breeders 82

You will notice that this list does not include the New Zealand breeders of the thoroughbred horse, but the story of the English horse of to-day contains not only the whole romance of breeding, but also the main principles of its science.

As an old writer said: “The English thoroughbred horse is as little indebted for his excellent qualities to the native horse of our country, as are the present race of Englishmen to the Ancient Britons for their national character.” The evolution of the English running horse had started with Roman and Gothic crosses in the misty past. Athelstan, son of Alfred the Great, left horses by name in his will. King John and Edward I imported stallions, but it was not until the reign of James I that horse racing and its accompaniment, the study of breeding, came into its own. He bought the White Turk, and the Duke of Buckingham and the Helmsley Turk. Charles II bought many Eastern horses, but it was reserved for the time of Queen Anne not only to produce a golden age of literature, but to lay the foundation of the world supremacy of the English thoroughbred horse. It is a long story, but the magic fact remains that the whole English equine peerage traces its ancestry to three animals, the Darley Arabian, the Byerly Turk, and the Godoplhin Arabian. Families that are distinguishable have taken form among the descendants of this great trio and names such as Waxy, Orville, Buzzard, Blacklock, and Partisan, are among the early progenitors of aristocratic clans. It was the judicious crossing and intermingling of these lines of blood that was the study of those early studmasters, and its successful outcome created our modern speed machine, heightened the courage, increased the intelligence, and strengthened the stamina of the whole range of horses. For the benefit of lay readers, let me explain that “inbreeding” is the “pairing of animals within the relationship of second cousins,” and an examination shows that nearly all first-class racehorses unite the same strains of blood within that degree. “Crossbred” simply describes an animal that is not inbred (for four or five generations). Then here is a neat and very old explanation of another breeding problem. “If General

A typical weekly yarding at a New Zealand Sheep Sale.

Grant's son were to marry General McClellan's daughter, and the result were to be another good general, the ‘cross’ would be said to ‘nick’.”

It was certain that in the purely British company of New Zealand pioneers, there would be many horse lovers. Within a decade, the importation of thoroughbreds from England and Australia was in full swing. It was our good fortune that in those days we had many men whose skill was undoubted, their vision clear, and their foresight almost uncanny. To them we largely owe our present proud position, for to-day New Zealand stands as almost the peer of the Motherland and has no superior elsewhere in the world. This ascendancy is mainly due, in my opinion, to our possession of maternal sire lines of surpassing variety and extraordinary richness. I like to think that it was distinctively characteristic of our New Zealand forebears that the first New Zealand Stud Book appeared within ten years of the establishment of horse-breeding, whereas in Australia half a century went by before there was any systematisation of records.

It is thrilling to read in a book made in Nelson over seventy years ago, the pedigree of Flora McIvor, of Stock-well, Sir Hercules and Traducer, and a dozen other kings and queens of the turf during their reigns, and a tabloid library of breeding wisdom. Names such as St. Hill, Harris and Innes, Captain Walmsley, Petre, Dillon, Redwood, Moorehouse, and Clifford are

Fine examples of the Polled Hereford at a Gisborne Stud Farm.

selected at random as pioneers who found time and money to lay the foundations of our own running lines.

In those days, too, times were being closely watched and tables in those yellowing pages show that the speed of colonial races was even then close to the best English standards. The actual times seem quaint to-day, Potentate at Nelson doing a mile and a half in 252, which was seconds faster than the Epsom Derby of the same year. The New Zealand-bred Phar Lap won the Derby in Melbourne and Sydney in a fraction over 2.31, and Wotan, the New Zealander who won the last Melbourne Cup clipped twenty-two seconds off the time and carried a stone more than The Barb, who won in 1866. The latter had beaten the 3,600 guinea colt Fishhook over six furlongs in 1.19 in 1866.

There is not space here to picture the giants who worked over the succeeding years to bring to perfection the New Zealand thoroughbred horse. Every year aristocratic sultans are imported, and throughout the history of our land our studmasters have shown increasing excellence of judgment and expert skill.

The sign and symbol of the success of the years gone by, combine in the Trentham (Wellington) annual yearling sales. These are conducted by the New Zealand firms of Wright, Stephenson, and Pyne, Gould, Guinness, in conjunction with the great Australian house of Inglis. Our picture shows Messrs. Charles Robertson and Derek Gould in the Rostrum. I predict that next January will see the record New Zealand sale of all time. For years past Trentham-sold youngsters have swept the rich prizes on both sides of the Tasman. This year will see a new crop or two, notably that of Beau Pere, and there will be the old reliables such as Hunting Song, Siegfried, Pink Coat, and a dozen others. But, whoever the sire may be, I want to reiterate that the New Zealand advantage always applies. This lies in our heritage of bloodstock built by our first forebears, improved by the devotion and skill of generations, and nurtured in a terrain which is matchless on the whole earth's surface for the growing of the thoroughbred aristocrat. Trentham yearling sales should have the attention of the whole Dominion focussed upon them, for they constitute a national event of vast importance.

Further, on the subject of horses, I expect most readers would get a surprise at the heavy list of Clydesdale breeders. This “best of all” farm horse has been produced by the same intensive breeding system as the racing and hunting thoroughbred. A great horse named “Baron's Pride” is the Byerly Turk or at least the St. Simon of this breed, and no less than ten crosses of his blood can be found in many pedigrees. New Zealand Clydesdale studs rejoice in a plentiful ownership of this strain, our studmasters continually replenish with imported champions, and our Clydesdales are of world parity.

Sheep.

As you will have seen, stud flocks in New Zealand of all classes of sheep, are numbered by the thousand. As a news item, I suppose the most dramatic happening in this sector of the breeding front was the creation here of a new breed, a new type of sheep, the far-famed Corriedale. Mr. James Little, grandfather of the present studmaster, perfected and stabilised this useful new animal, and New Zealand Corriedales now go to all pastoral countries in the world and bring the most amazing prices. In South America in particular, from Ecuador to Patagonia, “Hui Hui” and “Glenorchy” are household names.

Closely approximating the Corriedale in New Zealand distinctiveness are our Lincolns and Romneys. I saw

A shipment of 100 Corriedale stud ewes and rams being shipped from Wellington, New Zealand, to Japan.

in a handsomely illustrated stud stock journal of Buenos Ayres, show-ring pictures of the “Lincoln-New Zealand type.” The wool is finer and a better general utility animal has evolved here than the original Lincoln. Almost the same observation applies to New Zealand's most generally used sheep, the Romney Marsh. The famous Wairongomai flock is the doyen of these snowy aristocrats in the North Island, and its blood is proclaimed by many breeders. It is believed that the influence of the original Merino flocks has produced the superior wool and mutton qualities of the New Zealand Romney. Southdowns, Ryelands, Merinos and the English and Border Leicester, the Shropshire and Suffolk all have their expert breeders and exponents. It is assured that, in the future, all these breeds also will improve in the same way.

Messrs. Robertson and Gould at the Trentham Yearling Sales.

Cattle.

“The Empire's Dairy Farm,” as New Zealand has been so long called, naturally pays attention to bloodstock among its milking cattle, and the figures of the recognised stud herds of Jerseys, Friesians, Ayrshire and Milking Shorthorn are most imposing. World champions have arisen here and our standard rises every year.

But it is in the region of beef cattle that the most fascinating narrative emerges. The importation of the great “Royal Gem” from Canada, by Mr. Humphreys of Ngatapa (with the assistance of the ubiquitous Mr. Charles Robertson) founded the great innovation in beef cattle—the hornless, or polled Hereford. This bull was the “Musket” of this breed, but there are many fine stud herds now, as well as those of the horned Hereford. Also there are the Aberdeen Angus and the Shorthorn which have become so prominent since the advent of chilled beef. The mating of these two produces the famous “Scots Greys.” We have in New Zealand the largest stud herd of Aberdeen Angus in the Southern Hemisphere, and we must not forget either that double utility animal, the Red Poll.

Is it any wonder that stock buying experts come to New Zealand continually from all parts of the world? Without being invidious, I may single out for notice Mr. Charles Robertson as the most efficient publicist, general adviser, technician and guide on this sector of the export front. He has been on the job for fifteen years, and before that was an editor of a farming paper. His enthusiasm is almost of the religious order, and his world travelling puts him in the human encyclopaedia class. Other great firms have their departments also to attend to this rapidly expanding industry.

But whether we go back to the past, to our unique feat of producing Trenton and Carbine, the latter to go to England to re-establish winning families, Sir Modred to leave his mark in U.S.A.; or our production of Phar Lap; whether we turn to the marvel of the world popularity of our thoroughbred cattle and sheep of every kind and type; whether we count our great institutions such as Massey and Lincoln Colleges and the practical and scientific training given in many High Schools; whether we point with pride to the great business organisations that have grown to meet the countless

New Zealand's own sheep creation—the Hui Hui Corriedale.

needs of this great industry, there remains one final and foundational necessity—the human element. Stud management and the breeding art are not lightly learned. They call for years, and even generations of study, work and experience. They bespeak a zeal of genuine intensity and qualities of visual judgment, concentration, specialist ability and endless patience over long years. And not least, financial courage of a high order is just as necessary, for thousands take the place of single pounds when our studmasters are buying the world's best. Our fellow-countrymen have proved their possession of these qualities. It is for the community to appraise them properly, and to support a cause which is such an integral part of New Zealand's march to her place in the sun.

Splendid types of the Aberdeen Angus beef cattle. (Photo., courtesy “N.Z. Farmer.”)

The Miracle Month.

December! The season of sorcery, the birth of mirth; the witching weft of wizardry—the month of miracles

For the age of miracles is not past. In December the magic of the month works miracles in the minds of men and—lo!—where there was moth and rust there is mirth and roist, where there was drudgery there is drollery, where there was “pip” there is “pep.” The heart bowed down is buoyed up, the lame-in-spirit shake a leg, the “broke” are mended, the “groper” is a flying-fish, the down-hearted are upended, and over the face of nature is spread a smile that hurries on from horizon to horizon. Human capacity for food and frivolity extends beyond belief. Throat and heart are opened to give and to receive.

What is this magic that has bewitched the minds of men so that their eyes are opened and they see that there's wisdom in folly and rebirth in revelry?

What thing is this a' happening while we gaze Through eyes that blink and flutter in amaze, What magic has encompassed all mankind And wrought such transmutation in his mind? What wizardry is this that, in a flash, Has bent his thoughts from barter, bills, and cash; And torn his nose from grindstones rude and rough— What is the magic meaning of such stuff? What makes him skip as though his thews and bones Were made of springs from clocks and gramophones? What meaning is there to the circumstance That there's a lilt of laughter in his glance, That something seems to light his words with wit— Although, of course, we don't suggest he's “lit”? What jovial germ has lodged within his pelt, To make his armour-plating thus to melt? What magic is it that, as we remember, Transmogrifies his ego each December Until, instead of what he is, we see The kind of cuss he always ought to be?

Seasonal Symptoms.

If your blood-pressure is so high that it blows off your hat, if your heart feels as strong as a sailor's thirst, if your head is as light as Bluebeard's love, if your temperature singes your eyebrows—don't rush to a doctor! It isn't appendicitis or peritonitis or liveritis, it's Yuletitis. If your pulse dances to a hot harmony jazzed on your heart with a goose's “drumstick,” if your red corpuscles are telegraph boys on motor cycles whisking tempestuous tidings from soul to soles, if your whole interior is a cauldron of simmering sunshine—soup from hat-hanger to trotter-cases—don't be anxious! Your condition is not serious; it calls for levity rather than gravity. You are elated, inflated, and all “lit” up. You have been bitten by the bug of ballyhoo; you glow with frivolity, you burn with the fever of folly, like a fire-fly with heartburn. You will do things that are sanely mad and things that are madly sane. You will commit all those wise futilities that familiarly never stales. You will undo all the futile expediencies that familiarity has staled beyond belief. You will unship the shackles of “shop” and shake a leg into the wide open spaces. You will kick carping Care into the middle of next January. You will challenge the Demon Dyspepsia with “eat, drink and be merry, for to-morrow we diet.” You will over-eat and under-sleep. You will be unwise, but happy. You will send all the wrong gifts to the right people, and will receive even as you give.

“December! The birth of mirth—the month of miracles!”