SEARCH LIGHTS.

Press, Volume LIII, Issue 9305, 4 January 1896, Page 8

SEARCH LIGHTS.

Everyose would be sorry to see cricket ruined by professionalism—l mean of the bogus, half-ashamed sort—the professional wolf who stalks in the amateur's sheepskin, and makes his living out of the game under the thin disguise of •' travelling allowances," or parades in trousers presented for batting averages by advertising tailors. Happily we have none of that in Christchurch—not at present, anyhow. Bat the genuine professional—tho salaried expert engaged to teach, is the very making of the game, and provided his position is understood, will improve its character as a sport.

But I can't for the life of mc see why his position as a paid coach should not be jlearly understood without resorting to a modified form cf snobbery. The etiquette, for example, which denies a paid cricketer the title of " Mi" has always seemed to mc —not snobbish—but childish. It is an offence against the courtesies of the game. And at the cricket dinner the other day a little incident occurred, as I am informed, which was even more childish and considerably more snobbish. A professional who acted aB umpire was requested to postpone his dinner till the " gentlemen players" had fed. An umpire—-a judicial functionary—should take precedence at any cricket function of any player whatsoever, professional or amateur, host or visitor, aristocrat or plebeian. My informant, it is true, goes on to explain that there was scanty room and someone had to stand out. The someone or someone's ma-in-law should have been members of the home team, and not an official. And I am confident there is not one of that team, be he the biggest cricketing swell in New Zealand, who would not gladly have yielded his seat rather than see a childish and snobbish slight put upon one of the judges in the game. A man who earns his living by coaching the finest of fine games is not to be treated as a menial and asked to wait because he isn't " Mr."

I beturn, with a hundred per cent, added, the greetings of the Christ's College Rifles. The card I have received does equal credit to the good taste and good feeling of the Corps. The three vignettes of its commissioned officers are admirable likenesses, and the whole card is a work of art. In reciprocating these good wishes permit mc to set down right here my humble conviction—which, as opinion, isn't worth a red cent, but is sincere all the same—that tho Christ's College Rifles is the crack Company of Volunteers in Canterbury, if not in the colony. Other Corps, perhaps, may shoot better, some may drill better, but none exhibits such a genuine spirit of military camaraderie — such pride in its joint efficiency and Buch a strong determination to uphold the dignity of Volunteering. And they won't think my New Year's wishes less sincere because I did once, in my awn disagreeable way, poke borax at them over a- certain birthday parade.

This ia the sort of thing a struggling Saturday sallyist has to put up with: — ■'Dear Bohemian, —Some forty years ago, Mi'many old St. Margaret Boys will rejnember, our dear old Principal (the late Mr Tames Temple) brought into the breakfast room a copy of Punch, and showed us the jar toon— A village Rector on his lawn, the butcher boy rides up and says, * Please, sir, master says he's killed hisself this week, and wants to know if you will have a joint.'—Cleft House. If you look up Punch at about the time of the Russian war yon will doubtless find it."

A correspondent of that sort ought to be dealt with, and that summarily, by the Society for Doing Without Some People. What a memory the man has 1 " Time of the Russian War." Why, I was in long clothes in the days of Inkerman. Does he expect mc to have read Punch before I could toddle ? And snrely a joke may be allowed reincarnation after forty years. For a joke, in my opinion, like Milton's Delilah, lives— "A secular bird—ages of lives." By, the way, in a recent exam, a precocious firl, asked to explain the comparison of lelilah to the Phcenix, explained that Delilah is called a secular bird because she is fond of amusements. I fear Mr Collins and the Secularists won't relish this frivolous and flippant view of their tenets.

The forthcoming Fire Brigade Demonstration is running the Brigades round abont to tremendous efforts in the way of practice. I happened to be in a seaside suburb not so long since, and was the amused spectator of • "practice." It had been duly called by notice, posted ab the grocery store—a combined practice of the Fire Brigade and Ambulance Corps. At the time named the respective captains of the Brigade and the Corps turned up and waited for reinforcements.. After half an hour or so a fireman turned up. A little later a member of the Ambulance—a boy—came. These three men and a half set to work; first to light their pipes; then at a signal from the captain they ran down the road and dived into an hotel, where presumably a fire had to be quenched. After a time a stretcher was lowered out of an upstairs window at such an angle that a fly couldn't have hung on to it. The stretcher was deposited on the road, and the three and a-half began the process of " restoring " the imaginary sufferer. Bnt first they relit their pipes and smoked diligently over the stretcher, on the homoeopathic principle, I suppose, since the imaginary sufferer was presumably suffocated. For about ten minutes they pumphandled the imaginary corpse, struck matches to relight their pipes, expectorated under and over the stretcher, and then with a "That'll do for to-day, boys," dived into the hotel again—poaaibly for another corpse reviving. There was ample time during the performance for half the township to be burned, the majority of the inhabitants suffocated in their beds. But then the performance, I suppose, was for " competition only."

I have jusb finished a very readable book, which I feel safe in commending to any of my readers who have not yet come across it. I mean '«A Veldt Official." A capital ■tory for the hot lazy weather, that keeps one interested in spite of the flies. It is a story of a Boer settlement in South Africa, and is as vivid in " local colour" as the South African farm—but in a very different way. It isn't of the sturm und drang, soultorn, soul-tearing school; just a stirring tale full of good adventure—rhybok shooting and Kaffir hunting. Very clumsy as to style, and full of rather stupid mannerisms, but thoroughly interesting. ' It is very gloomy in parts—but it is the wholesome tragedy of circumstances, not the tragedy of nerves, which the Zeitgeist novel is so much given to. Readers who like Stanley Weyman or Anthony Hope will, I am sure, read this book with pleasure.

I HAVE been shown a very pretty Christmas card, which reached the Editor of the Weekly Press yesterday from Wanganni. It was endorsed with the following remarks :— "To the Editor. Dear Sir,—Happy new year to you. Mc and my mates have been longing for one of ' Hotspur's' jolly yarns for nearly a year. When are you going to give us another? Tip the lazy beggar a wine, and tell him to give us a good creepy one soon, and you "and he will greatly oblige your bushwhacker subscribers—F.L., W.P., C.J.W., W.F. and G.G., who have only your paper to amuse themselves with on Sunday. Nukomara, Wanganui." The Editor asks mc to thank the writers for their festive greeting, and to explain that the clever writer of stories whom they refer to is not the well-known sporting scribo of tho Befeiee, who is at present industriously reporting for this journal race meetings on the West Coast of the South Island. I am recommending the editor to send on tho Christmas card to tho other " Hotspur," who ought to feel highly complimented by this outspoken demand for his writings, some ot which I remember as being very powerful and creepy, especially one about a Maori hearing his own death sign. By the way, 1 am rather taken with this idea of asking your newspaper for what you want. It ought to be a valuable guide to the Editor, and where they " tip" the new writer something more bankable than a " wine" it ought to be a real help to the unknown and struggling author. The plebiscite of readers npon the most popular contributor is something of the aamo sort, but modesty forbids mc to recommend that, for well I know that the universal answer from tens of thousands of readers of the Press would be Bohkuiax.