Intelligent Vagrant.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 226, 8 January 1876, Page 12

Intelligent Vagrant.

Quis scit an adjiciant hodiernae crastina summfe Tcmpora Di Superi.— Horace.

Gentlemen of the Caledonian Society, you should not have been in such a hurry to accuse the Artillery Band of eating those victuals and drinking that vin ilc groscillc. For as a matter of fact they did neither. I happen to know a little, or rather to be able to give a very fair guess at the cause of all this trouble, and I can assure you that the members of the band are quite blameless. The New Zealand Times’ reporters recognise me as a kind of unattached member of their staff, and on Saturday last they were good enough to invite me to drink with them whilst we were all at the Caledonian games. It was agreed that for the sake of quietness we should leave the grounds and go to the Caledonian Hotel, near at hand. An esteemed member of the dramatic profession was with us. As we were moving off a gentleman connected with the Press (not however with the Times) asked us in an affable manner whether we would not come and have some lunch. We felt that his invitation was kind, nay, considering our numbers, we felt that it was most liberal, but we refused. When we returned from having our drinks we saw this gentleman and some others connected with the Press (still, however, not with the Times), descending the steps of the grand stand and wiping their mouths with an air of appreciation. They informed us that we were very foolish not to have gone and lunched, and when we thanked the gentleman who had invited us, and delicately hinted that we did not care to impose on his kindness, he said that there was nothing to pay, the lunch was provided for the committee, and of course for the Press, and that the food was toothsome and the drink tempting, and they had done justice to both. Now, as a matter of fact, when the Artillery band went for something to cat and drink, they had a sandwich or so apiece and a glass

of beer, ■which cost £1 55., so that from the evidence before me I am inclined to conclude that it was not the band that eat the committee’s lunch. Indeed, this will almost at once be shown by the bill presented to the committee, from which it appears that £1 ss. is charged for nineteen members of the band, and that to the members of committee, and their friends the members of the Press, there were supplied 141 drinks, ten bottles of champagne, two dozen of beer, and thirty-two luncheons. Now, that’s not a bad quantity of meat and drink, and the question is, who consumed it ? The band did not, I know; the members of committee say they did not get the chance, finding only, as it were, fragments before them when their time came. I don t think the united efforts of the members of the Press could have managed it ! It will become, like the authorship of Junius’s letters, an historical mystery.

Some weeks ago I wrote a few little things about the enormous profits made by the men employed under contractors on the railway works. In reference to this, the editor of the Mail has handed me the following, which is sarcastically complimentary to some one—to me or the contractor—one or the other ; I do not know which, but I am certain not both : “ Sir, —The Vagrant of Intelligence (whoever he is), who writes such nasty things about people in your paper, should be thoroughly well ashamed of himself for calling into question, yesterday, the honesty of ‘ A Contractor’ on the Masterton and Wellington railway. If an ignorant workman does get chiselled out of his earnings, and the Vagrant of Intelligence means kindly towards him, let him pitch into the Government for allowing it ; and, please Mr. Editor, don’t let him cast any more reflections upon tis as a body, about bootlaces, &c. (we can’t help it if we cannot afford them); and, hurt by his indelicate remarks, the tender feelings of "A Contractor,’ when the man is only trying to get an honest penny out of the profits, and may perhaps intend to share it with us in the way of Christmas boxes.— One of the Aggrieved Navvies.—December 21, 1875.”

I am delighted when I can sympathise with the motives of a writer in one of your contemporaries. I can therefore fully enter into the feeling which dictated the following paragraph the other evening : —“ It is always pleasant to find any attempt being made to ameliorate the condition, or afford harmless recreation to, the insane.” I read this and felt sure that a special compliment to the journal in which it appeared would follow, as it has been the constant effort of that paper, so it seems to me, to afford harmless recreation to the insane. Indeed, I know no other class whom it could recreate or whose condition it is calculated to ameliorate. I am not without knowing something of Scotchmen. Eor many months I lived in a place where you could not throw a stone in the air without its hitting one when it fell. I like Scotchmen in many respects. Their taste in whisky is undeniable, and firmer friends or better downright honest enemies I do not know. Having premised thus much, it will be understood at once that in attending the Caledonian games I was prepared to go amongst familiar scenes and faces, and names. A constant habit of taking the strongest Scotch snuff has enabled me on a pinch to speak a few of the easier idioms of the language without dislocation of the jaw, and, therefore, as I entered the grounds I found myself unconsciously humming “Ye Banks and Braes.” It gratified me much, then, subsequently to ascertain that there could be no doubt about the thoroughgoing Caledonianiousness of the whole affair. I saw a nice contest at putting the heavy stone, and the chief contestants were named respectively Earley Murphy, and Maloney. Which reminds me of the incident in the last Eranco-Prussian war, when a Zouave was attacked by three German lancers, who intimated in pretty plain pantomime that he had better surrender or get ready to die. The Algerian cried, “ By all the goats in Kerry if you fought me fair I’d never surrender, but what’s a man to do with a pack of thieves that’ll sthick him like pork.” Not being acquainted with the laws affecting bribery and treating at elections, I do not know how they would bear on a case that came under notice on Eriday morning last. A defeated candidate for the Wellington Country Districts, whose love for the old settlers has not gained him their suffrages, met a voter coming into town at 6 o’ clock. The voter was a milkman. The candidate greeted him in the most friendly manner, asked after his cows, and ordering a pint of milk, drank it on the spot. And yet the old settler went afterwards and voted for Brandon. Some of the newer colonists have been asking who is Mr. Wood, the gentleman contesting the Mataura district. A little story, not to his discredit, may, therefore, be interesting. In one of the earlier Parliaments of New Zealand he and a Mr. Cracroft Wilson, C. 8., were members. Mr. Wilson has since developed into Sir Cracroft Wilson, K. 5.1., but in old times was as proud of the C.B. as Sir Dillon Bell or a dog with two tails. Accordingly, Mr. Wilson insisted that in all cases in which his name appeared in the order paper it should be followed by the pretty letters C.B. Now, Mr. Wood had a fine sense of humor, and accordingly he went to the

Government Printer, and one day the same letters came after liis name. Mr. Wilson met him in wrath, and asked how dared he add such letters to his name without any title to their possession. “ The decoration, sir, said Mr. Wilson, “ Was conferred on me by my Sovereign I’’ Replied Mir. Wood, “ The decoration was conferred on me by my customers. C. 8., you know, Carcass Butcher.” They say - that Mr. Wilson grew less particular after that. Mr. Colenso, of Hawke’s Bay,' though a great linguist, should not be in a hurry to air his learning. His name has become so inseparably associated with one particular tongue that even if lie were to quote in Hindoo the people would still think he was talking Maori; for in a recent report of an election meeting I find Mr. Colenso represented as saying that an opponent “seemed to do things on the principle of sic volo, sic jubco ;” and then some one cried out “ Put it in English, Billy; that is Maori.”