ON THINGS IN GENERAL

New Zealand Herald, Volume XL, Issue 12281, 27 May 1903, Page 1 (Supplement)

ON THINGS IN GENERAL

A BUSY GOVERNOR.

- N one considers the many and varied Laments which it. falls to the lot of 'tr Excellency the Governor to fulfil from fy'to day, one begins to realise what a ay • life the Governor of a colony must ,ad who, like Lord Ranfurly, conscientiously performs all his official and social *' ties. ■ We have had many hard-working Governors in New Zealand, but Lord Ranfurly as roved himself equal to the best J them, and long after he has gone he w jU be remembered with gratitude by all sor and conditions of men, women, and \ildren. His Excellency and Lady Ran{•arlv never spare themselves, and their -eatest pleasure seems to bo found in giving pleasure. In addition to the important Jitters of State which have to receive attention, every day seems to have its full programme, and the hearty, enthusiastic and successful way in which all his duties are fulfilled— whether they be of an ecclesiastical. philanthropic, military, social, or educational character beyond all praise. He does everything so willingly and cheerfully, too, that' it is no wonder every part of the colony is glad to have the pleasure of his presence, and is genuinely sorry when duty calls His Excellency away. We don't want to think of the time when Lord Ranfurly' B term of office as our Governor will have been completed. Sufficient unto tho day is the sadness thereof.

THE MEN WHO SEE VISIONS. The sayings and doings of the new Bishop are" just now the talk of the town, Mid it is .pleasing to know that, everyone feels that in Dr. Neligan we have a real bishop, and an equally real man. His sermon on Sunday night on seeing visions md dreaming dreams was both interesting ind timely. Even those of us who do little to mend* matters will readily though regretfully admit that—

The world is too much with us: late and soon. Getting and spending:, we lay waste our

, powers. It is the men who see visions, not those whose whole time is occupied in getting and spending, that make the world a place worth dwelling in and life worth living. We hare to thank the day-dreamer—the dreamer with open eye and unclouded vision—for nearly all that is best and greatest in poetry, literature, science, polities, and our empire itself. Little Engenders do not dream great dreams nor do they see inspiring visions. The great ideas that have illuminated science, such as the law of gravity and the theory of evolution, were not the result of deductions from a, mass of laboriously-collected facts, but were brilliant visions of the scientific imagination. The facts to prove them were gradually formed and piled together afterwards, converting the vision, if not into fact, at any rate into a splendid working hypothesis. It is the men of ideas and ideals that save us from mental and moral paralysis, and lift us—though we are very hard to lift at times—above the animal world. The community owes a debt of gratitude to any man who is prepared to devote his time and energy to this uplifting process, and if Bishop Neligan is ready to"lend a hand at the work, I say "more power to him." I hope he may live to see the realisation of his brightest dreams (Old most glorious visions. THE WRONG SORT. , ihere is another sort of dreamer, for whom, I for one, have no time. I mean the man who dreams at night in his sleep, aad tells his friends all about it in the morning, or who," whenever anything tinusual comes to pass, is very wise after the event, and says, " I told you so," having -had a, dream about it. I dream myself occasionally ;' foolish dreams they are, but I am not fool enough to tell everybody about them. The man who tells his sleeping dreams is a nuisance and a bore ; in fact The world is full of awful bores, (You may be one yourself. Bo much, so that your friends Avon id like To put you on the shelf). Bui when I pass them in review. From mild ones to extremes, Jmone the verv worst I count. ? The Man Who Tells His Dreams. ''I dreamed the strangest thing last night!" He tells yon when you meet. You heave a sigh. but. wretched man! Politeness chains your feet. Ind then he pours into your ear A farrago that seems Of highest interest to him, The Man Who Tells His Dreams. Jfou try to break away, and cant. 1 He holds you by the coat Until he's told his foolish tale. From common sense remote. , , fill at cares he though his victim writnes And mentally blasphemes? fie thinks of no one but himself, . The Man Who Tells His Dreams. POWER OF POETRY. Every sane man will admit, even if be lias never read the poetry of Shakespere, or Tennyson, or Dante, or Browning, or even the stirring verse of Kipling, that the poet is a benefactor of mankind, and the world would be the poorer for his absence ; but Some may be inclined to protest against the assertion that poetry is a necessity of life, even though the new Bishop says so. To some beef, beer, bread, and sport — other words, "tucker and the races" —are the only necessities of life, and to such people poetry is, of course, only a luxury. For •myself, I would prefer to say that beef and bread are necessities of existence ; for life, that is, the higher life, is more than mere existence, and includes all that which differentiates us from the beasts that perish. Therefore, it may be truly said that to the complete man poetry in the broadest sense of the word is a necessity. The faculty of appreciating poetry well repays cultivation, so that, we may get the fullest meaning out f the masterpieces of poetry. It has been pointed out by a, recent writer that anyone who has learnt to read with ease can understand the descriptive poetry of Sir Walter •Scott, the soothing verses ot Longfellow, and the lovely songs of Robert Burns. The works of these poets will always be popular with the majority of the people, but those poets whose themes are not of brokenhearted lovers, and passing woes and passing pleasures, but the portrayal of the ideal and the eternal principles ol love, truth, and justice—which are capable of being reflected by all men—will command the attention of We minority only. In order to gain the Rift- ot appreciating fii'gh art in poetry the habit of detaching ourselves from the affairs of the world must be scrupulously cultivated. In these busy times this is growing daily more and more difficult, and the influence of Wordsworth—one of the noblest of EngJand's poets—is not so great as it ought to In one of his sonnets, written in September, 1802, probably to Coleridge, he Writes:—. ■

Ob. friend, 1 know not which way I must look *or comfort, being, as I am. oppressed io think that now our life is only dressed for show; mean handiwork of craftsmen, „ cook, J* ffroom!—We must run glittering like a orook hi the open sunshine, or we are unhlest: \r lhe wealthiest man among ns is the best: 2*° .grandeur now in nature or in book Delights us. . . .

How aptly is the spirit of the times portrayed in the Tine. " The wealthiest man among us is the best." Such a state of things naturally brings about the result described in the line. "No grandeur now in >»'ture or in book delights us." It is this grandeur in nature and in books to which ill great poets direct our attention. The General,