WISE AND OTHERWISE.

Auckland Star, Volume XXXVII, Issue 146, 20 June 1906, Page 7

WISE AND OTHERWISE.

(By "Old Salt.")

When writing my column last week | during a temporary absence from Auckland, I, with my ; "neighbours, little thought of the irreparable loss which had fallen upon New Zealand and the Empire in the death of Mr Seddon. It was Wednesday afternoon when the weekly steamer brought the sad news, j and only once before haß it fallen within my experience to be while a participator, a witness to the peculiar effect upon a community of the sudden breaking of bad news. The time to which I refer was May of 1902, and the plaee London. At one o'clock'in the day a notice was posted at the Mansion House announcing that the coronation ceremony had been postponed on account of the ' serious illness of the. King, and as soon as the news had been assimilated —the immediate effect was black astonishment—there fell upon London the most?, weird, uncanny stillness that could be imagined. It was not until the nextsday that the heart of the Empire resumed its regular beat and men their usual bearing. Something similar, necessarily upon a smaller scale, but not less in degree', occurred in that Northern riverside settlement when the people heard of their bereavement, incredulity, astonishment and deep, deep sorrow followed each other quickly, then sympathy found voice from 'British, alien and Maori, "Poor old Dick!" Yet why "poor?" Never was man richer in respect amounting almost to reverence, popularity —not the popularity of the music-hall singer or footballer, but that grounded in affection, growing from the heart, and which may well be spelt "love"—rich in the achievement of high purposes and in the duty so well done as to earn what we would have selfishly delayed, the welcome. "Enter into thy rest!" Men of the Northern lands of our country know that when a giant of the forest falls, it is long before Nature, however bountiful, can fill the gap or cloak the scar. Yet the giant, in its new shape, is winning blessing from dwellers afar off as well as near, whether providing support, shelter or warmth. And so, while we deplore our loss as a community, we know that not only individuals but nations will gain from the wisdom and foresight of him we mourn. My pen is better used to commenting upon current events in lighter vein; but a light pen goes ill with a heavy heart, and it is with indeed a heavy heart that I attempt to express the feeling of the North. HE TANGI NO TAHA. KA RARO. Passes the news, with lagging feet, • While Time, with dwindling glass. Shakes out the sands and turns his blade Toward man or woman, youth or maid. For all — all flesh is grass! O'r hill and plain, o'er forest land, O'er wind-torn watershed, • O'er tide-swept creek and yeasty bar. To dwelling near and homestead far— ■> "The one you loved — is dead!" Where scattered houses make a town, Past where the wild fowl sleep. O'er roc.k strewn hill and deep ravine, To whore, amid the ti-tree's green, The tents of white men peep. The silent whare wakes — to grief. In reverent voices low, The Maoris spread the bitter news, Who shared our blessings, can but choose, To share a coinniou woe. The axe-men hear, the bushmon. The lonely digger hears. Where far into the silent night He scrapes his spoil, by flick'ring light, —A bygone monarch's tears! Return then, wind of bitter news, With message that we send. Let State and Empire count the cost Of statesmen, champion they have lost. We mlw, and mourn a friend. Many of my readers will doubtless have been present when a toast has been drunk in silence, and have been impress-

Ed by the solemnity of the occasion; The arrested conversation, the hushed ripple of laughter constitute what appears to be a paradox—an eloquent ; silence, and with the permission of my readers, since my jester's cap sits awry and my bells jangle out of tune, I will pay the respect of silence to the memory of one to whonv the words of Tennyson most aptly, ply"A. life in civic action -warm, A soul on highest mission sent, A potent voice of Parliament, A. pillar steadfast in the storm."