THE New Zealand Mail. PUBLISHED WEEKLY. FRIDAY, DECEMBER 11, 1891. TABLE TALK.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1032, 11 December 1891, Page 22

THE New Zealand Mail. PUBLISHED WEEKLY. FRIDAY, DECEMBER 11, 1891. TABLE TALK.

GOOD OLD SIR FRDERIC. When the Mail went to press last week Sir Frederick Whitaker was hale and hearty. To-day its melancholy task is to chronicle his death and burial. The sad story will be found in its proper place. As we read it, the familiar face, so firm and cairn, rises up before us, with the cld familiar figure that moved so briskly through the streets for so many winters in succession ; with them rise up many other memories.

The chief of these in point of bulk are the memories of the criticisms of which the old gentleman was the subject. About these the only true thing is that they were not true. “ The Apostle of the Churches of Piako and Paetere ” —that was the ddMiil Ring expression of them all. Round about it there grew by gradual process the picture of a man nursed in Machiavellian traditions, educated in the labyrinths of diplomacy, graduated in the mas’er section of all that is deep and crooked in statecraft —a being of vast ability, consummate skill, intimate knowledge of human character, making use of all his advantages, natural and acquired, for the benefit of gigantic monopolies and the suppression of the “ Liberal” idea.

False in every respect was the picture, as everyone who kuows anything came to see for hinuelf long before the good sturdy much-misunderstood old gentleman laid himself down to rest after that busy chequered career ofkhis, so full of example for his contemporaries aud of lessons for his successors.

As honest a man as ever stepped in the and as true a Libera—las you may find by reading his speeches in Hansard. By the way, he had a horror of long speeches, apropos of which he used to quote Josh Billings with great gusto, “If a man can’t strike ile in less than thirty minutes, either there’s no ile or he can’t bore.” He always said what he had to say briefly, clearly, fully, and to the point ; and when he had done no one who came after him found anything useful to add. The fact did not prevent many men from adding a great many things,

but that is to their detriment and to the detriment of their subject—it is no reflection on Sir Frederick Whitaker. Read his speeches on the Native lands, on the Native land laws, whose name in the book is legion, on the restriction on the alienation of land, a subject he did more to put on a sound footing than any other man who ever came to New Zealand, and you will see what just, enlightened views ho had ; and realise how he was qualified f -r the high and responsible offices he held.

You will begin, in fact, to have some idea of the value of the man’s service to the country. Read him on factory legislation, and your impressions will be deeper. Follow out his career, as set down in Hansard, and you will cleave to your first impression as to the rock of truth. We ought to have his speeches collected and printed separately. They were the speeches of a patriot, not a partisan. That is the key note of his political life.

In the leading position he occupied he had to advise of great matters, he had to conduct important negociations, his was the task of managing the followers of Governments, and getting business done according to the forms made and provided. These duties he performed with a sagacity so remarkable that its results were 3 frequently misrepresented by ignorant friends and disappointed opponents, as the efforts of a diplomacy not too scrupulous in its methods, nor over nice in its inventions of fact. But no man ever went into such work with a more honest spirit or a higher standard of conduct. That was what was meant by the polititian who, when one of his sons had gone over to the other side on a famous occasion, threatened him with the wrath of his father :—“ If the old man was here he would have birched you.” He meant that the old gentleman understood the spirit of duty and was inflexible in getting others to understand it too.

The most famous of all these occasions of discussion was that which grew out of the loan of 1887, when Sir Frederick let fall that memorable expression about filing the schedule. He had merely spoken out of the honesty of his heart, but the clever people insisted that he had forced the loan on the Colony by a bogus threat of repudiation in order to get an advantage for the Bank of New Zealand. However, long before the charges levelled by Mr Hutchison against him in 1890, the public had come to understand the words in their true significance. Furthermore, it did not require the taunts made by Mr Hutchisons old colleagues in the session of 1891 to convince the public that if there were any charges ixi the long winded tirade JVxi Hutchison, they were, so far as Sir F. Whitaker was concerned, as empty as the idle winds that blow unheeded in the wilderness ; and the fame may be said for the others for that matter to.

Another famous occasion of discussion was the celebiated “ Memorandumiad,” the period of correspondence between Sir George Grey and his Advisers of the Whitaker-Fox Ministry, in NovemberDecember, 1864. The episode is unknown to the majority of the present generation of politicians whose memories are unequal to a jump of twenty-seven years. But an opinion still survives that the correspondence about tho conduct of the Waikato War and the disposal of the ©onfiscated lands—the correspondence which gave rise to the title of * memorandumiad” bestowed upon the period—— was in some way discreditable, _as it had made irreconcileable enemies of Mr Whitaker and Sir George Grey. Any one who reads that correspondence will see that it was the result of a perfectly fair difference of opinion on both sides, and he will have no difficulty in understanding that the presence of Sir George Grey at the funeral of Sir Frederick Whitaker is an impressive contradiction to the detrimental views of the prejudiced.

Half a century of political leading! He led Governors and Attorney-Generals in the Pre - Representation days. He was in the first Legislative Council and was its second Speaker. He was years a member of it, and he was many years (fourteen) a member of the Representative House. As Premier or AttorneyGeneral or both, or virtual leader of the Opposition, every Ministry in the list has felt his influence ; and not a volume of the Statute Book but felt the impress of his moulding hand. And all through that half century not a stain on hi 3 character, not a sign of lowering in any of his high standards. It Is a remarkable and wonderful career.

As an enterprising colonist, Sir Frederick Whitaker offers another side of his character for the study of the observant student. He mined for copper in the forties. In the sixties he made a figure in the gold mines ; who does not remember the “Golden Crown, which enriched «o many people, including the Duke of Edinburgh—who has forgotten the day 3 when the price of Moanatairis was more convulsively interesting to the public than the doings of Kings and Kaisers, and local politicians, and commanders in Maori warfare? Later he was wreat among the pastoralists, especially o those whose mission it was to win rich pastures from the wilderness or bush

and fern. In that sort of uphill work liis manly spirit delighted ; and to liis shrewd advice men looked for avoiding the pitfalls before them. Had they always taken that advice they would have fared better. In financial institutions his experience was passing rich. Bank of New Zealand, Loan and Mercantile Association, New Zealand Insurance (fire and marine), these a -id a host of things he was at the birth of. “But he never made any money.” “No, my dear sir, he did not. Neither do the doctors who assist so many of our esteemed fellow citizens to enter into the vale of tears. But is that any detriment to these medical gentlemen ?” _ Among the mining speculations, which he carried on until well into the eighties, Sir Frederick Whitaker was unfortunate ; in the other matters his special misfortune was that his advice was disregarded, and sometimes his high principles forgotten.

As lawyer, he might have made a largo fortune. No lawyer had a better field, no lawyer ever had more clients, or larger interests confided to his care. What is more important, no lawyer on this side of the Line ever was sounder or better informed as to the history of his profession, contemporary or ancient. No one moreover, wa3 more methodical of his time, or had a greater capacity and power of work. How his juniors, the men who took service with him to learn their profession, loved and revered him, is a story which the world _ will probably hear some day. It is my privilege to know some of the details. How he trained them in every branch to be painstaking, industrious, and, above all things, honourable, and how he never suffered them to depart without large equipment of useful maxims culled from his experience of men and clients and Courts, it would take too long to toll. Suffice it to say that no one ever worked under him who did not carry away an enduring respect and esteem for the man and his methods. Money ! I heard one of these say that he could have made thousands more than he did—but that lu literally “ shovelled away the guineas with a long-hand ed shovel.” The meaning of ivhich is that he objected to be mixed up with many cases, and therefore sent the business elsewhere. “You want me to do this,” he once said to an influential client who had brought him something which he disapproved. “ This ! Why I couldn’t possibly have done it when I had not the fear of God before me. But now it is quite impossible.” Which gives you the bey to the man’s character.

The truth is that the fortune of the legal firm of Whitaker-Russell was guided into the speculative lines pleasing to the Russell intellect, when it ought to have remained in the clear light of the dry law supplied by the matchless intellect of Whitaker. Had the firm confined itself to legal business its best member would not have died poor the other day.

It was his fixed rule never to take a case into Court that could be settled outside ; and he thus never made war without having exhausted all the methods of peace. No client ever had to complain that he had been advised to fight for fighting’s sake. That alone is a grand epitaph for a lawyer.

As a man, nobody in New Zealand ever had a finer record. Through all the variations of his fortuues —political, financial, legal—the reputation of liis private life bore an unblemished record, like a pennon proudly waving in every breeze. Honour, independence, manliness, courage, patriotism, these were the virtues which, with those of the specially domestic charact -r, gave him such a commanding position in the opinion of his fellow colonists. Jlis patriotism was seen when he took service and did militia duty in the troublous days of the good city of Auckland, and it shone out in his sons, who had learned the maxims of their sturdy father under the influence of his fine example. With all his grand array.-of virtues, he met misfortune with singular equanimity, a simplicity of dignity bespeaking the true Christian gentleman, who, happy in his blameless life, thinks but little of the dross which men call wealth.

Now that he is gone, we can realise the loss the country has suffered. That he did not forewarn the Colony by a longdrawn lingering illness must to a man of his mettle have been a happy circumstance. In the midst of his work, with all his harness on his back, death found him, and summoned him away without a pang It is the way he would, had he been consulted, have wished to die. One of the strongest, best, noblest of our old men has gone. He is free of tlie storm and the stress, he is above the passion and the pettiness, he realises that he has followed the better part, he has with him the sympathy and sorrow of a whole people to whom he leaves a rich legacy in the example of his life. Peace be to his ashes. SOME LIVE LIONS. From the old Hon we get to some other lions ; live lions, the lion 3, for example, who were seen by that wonderful man and still more wonderful newspaper correspondent—Lord Randolph Churchill. Lord Randolph went off to encounter big game—the descendant of the Duke of Marlborough wanted an enemy worthy of his bullet. Nothing less than a royal brute for him—and he got him. The

prestige of Blenheim and Marlborough suddenly illumined the African sky from the east to the west It revealed Lord Randolph in the wilds on horseback, with the mighty hunter Lee ahead of him, slowly following seven lions.

Suddenly a strange thing happened : Blenheim and Malplaquet were too much for the lions, and the lions were too much for Blenheim and Malplaquet. The mighty hunter who found the task of restraining the heir of glory wonderfully easy, fired a couple of shots and wounded a couple of lions, at which point he persuaded his protegk to gallop ( ,ff the field with him at top speed. The most amusing part of the story is that the descendant of the Great Marlborough, who showed the white feather in the most open way, actually tells the whole story with many smirks of impudent solfapproval, and the snobs of the Graphic have put the wretched little creature into a big picture, under which they haTe plastered a quotation from his awful letter.

His worst enemies used to say of the founder of this poltroon’s family, after they had exhausted themselves upon his vices: “D—m it, after all, Jack Churchill can fight.” It is a thing that nobody has ever said with truth of any of his descendants. The magniloquent little Randolph has reminded us of the fact in the pages of the Graphic without any trace of suspicion on his smug face of what he has done.

Who is Earl Russell ? He’s the grandson of Lord John, the famous statesman of 1832 ; better known than his brother the Duke of Redford, whoso title to fame was (1) that he had inherited all the wealth while Lord John had inherited all the brains, and (2) that he was very stingy to Lord John, whom he wanted to encourage to do the family credit. After all, however, there was not very much in Lord John. If you want to know how much he owed to his cause and how much be owed to himself, read his speeches and dip into the histories of his time.

Tho history of this Bedford family goes back to Henry VIII. An obscure youth the founder was, who, gaining the favour of the King, made his way at Court, catching many a fat abbey and monkish pleasaunce, things which were convenient to “Bluff King Hal” for the rewarding of his faithful subjects.

No name stands out in the whole of the seventeenth century with any kind of warranty for the enormous wealth and high station of the family. In , the eighteenth century one name came to the front, Lord William Russoll, the highminded victim of the Rye House plot, whose wife is one of the most noble, charming figures in English history. She attended him at his trial as his Secretary, she helped him in his defence, she was present to share the horror of the verdict and sentence. She was his constant visitor in prison—what a picture it makes, the wife going in and out, those terrible Bishops, Burnet and Tillotson, following stealthily to hold interviews of a vastly different character with the unhappy prisoner, the petitions to the King, and the refusals. All through that terrible time the steadfastness of the loving, faithful wife shines out into the darkness of history for the admiration of all the ages. Tliat lasfc interview, what a pathetic scene it was! Lady Russell suppressed her emotion that she might not make his grief too bitter to bear like a man, her husband* saying to the Bishop when she was gone, “Thank God, tlie bitterness of death is past.” The story closes with the brave death of one of these rare partners, and the patient, resigned, constant widowhood of the other. After all that may be said about the mistakes of Lord Russell—and they were many and grievous—liis chapter is a noble chapter, of which any family might be proud.

In the nineteenth century, Lord John gave brightness to the family history. “ Hear me for my cause, and be silent that you may hear.” As Mark Anthony spoke, so Lord John Russell might have said too, bub from considerations of prudence (I presume) lie refrained. Bub such as be was he abed lustre over the family history, and he brought a new title, that of Earl Russell, into the family.

A good story i 3 extant which hits off his insignificant personal appearance. It was at a great election fight, Lord John and Colonel Taylor pitted against each other. The Colonel opened the campaign to a very crowded house, in the midst of which was a body of scholars from anoighbouringacademy. The Colonel was tall and portly, he had a rolling rich voice, and bis presence dazzled even more than his oratory ; altogether what our ancestors used to call “ a very pretty fellow.” The boys were carried away, and went home in ecstaoies of delight, all except one, whose father happened to be one of Lord John Russell’s committee. He declared as in duty bound that the Colonel was all very well; “But just wait and see Lord John.” In due course Lord John arrived, and was introduced on the platform. The boy was there with his father. He looked incredulously at the little man. “ Father, is that Lord John ? ” “ Yes, my boy.” “ That!

ugh ! ” And thereupon the boy made a bee-line for the door, and the subsequent proceedings interested him no more. What is more extraordinary a good deal is that tho boy, who there and then became a Tory, remained a Tory to his dying day. Tne story is not written anywhere in choice Italian, but it is extant, and the hero of it (the boy) was well known for years in the city of Dunedin, where he was often heard to tell it.

But Lord John after all made a good record. His grandson has not improved it. Married early to “Giddy” Scott, as she was called, hefailed utterly in the duty of taking care of that frail personage. The result was the wrelched divorca case, with its miserable details, which has during the last few days added itself to the list of things which makes us wonder what on earth an aristocracy could have been ordained for, unless to labour unceasingly for i s own destruction.

Who was she ? ?She is the daughter of Sir Claud Scott, the banker of Cavendish square, and the sister of the lady who left her husband, young Sebright, on coming out of church after her wedding, with a cool “ I’ve changed my mind, sir,” and was, subsequently, much heard of in the famous Sebright nullity suit.

And the Divorce case ? What a pendant it is to the beautiful pictures of Lord and Lady Russell of the time of King Charles! The best of the worst pictures in the family history.

Did you ever hear that truth is stranger than fiction ? Trite it is but true. Here is a story of travel which opens the eyes. A young lady, handsome and rich, parted from her husband at a London railway station the other day. She was bound for Paris to stay with some friends there, and the husband could not go. “I’m awfully sorry, dear, to let you make the journey alone,” he said, tenderly—they had nob been long married, you understand “awfully sorry. In fact I don’t half like it. Good mind to take a ticket and run over with you.” Thus the chivalrous, right thinking Benedict. Bub the wife calmed him pooh-poohed liis fears, declared that, the “Soandso’s” would meet her all right, and as for danger, why tlie idea was absurd. The guards are so very careful and polite and vigilant ; wherein the lady spoke the truth, as I have heard from more than one fair traveller. As a matter of fact all over tho Continent suspicious characters are always bundled unceremoniously out of all railway carriages in which ladies are travelling without escort.

The upshot of it was that the lady departed, and in due course found herself in the Channel steamer. She wore, let me observe, rings, many and valuable. She had in her luggage a palpable jewel case, and anyone might see that her purse was extremely well filled.

On the steamer a gentleman eyed her a good deal, in a way she could not quite make out, shadowing her a good deal in company with a friend with an evil face, so that before the steamer arrived at the French port, she was decidedly alarmed, on the old principle of “I do not like thee, Dr Fell.” On arrival at the port, the gentle man stalked up to her and addressed her in a stage whisper : “ Madame, the voyage is over.” She turned from him with a haughty gesture, and presently had ail inspiration. She would appeal to the captain for protection against this scoundrel.

But she saw her enemy in conversation with the Captain, and evidently about herself. Good Heavens ! What could it mean. The worthy mariner eyed her with much compassion, and when she opened her business smiled gravely. Ho .spoke reassuringly—the gentleman, he declared, meant no harm ; he was acting in her interest ; he would do the best thing possible for her, she might rest assured. Madame must simply make up her mind to go quietly with him and all would be right.

Gracious Powers ! The captain looked upon her as a lunatic, in charge of this villain. That was what the villain had evidently told him, and he believed. It became soon evident that every one on board the ship believed it too.

Before the unfortunate woman could think out a course of action she was gently pushed on to the gangway, and put with all her belongings into a cab. She saw the two ill-looking wretches enter the vehicle ; she fainted dead away.

When she came to herself she was in a comfortably-furnished room, and alone. The ill-looking pair were not visible, neither was her luggage, neither were the rings she had on her fingers when she parted from her husband. Neither was the purse so well filled she had started with on her journey.

“ Would Madame like a nice bouillon ? ; It was the voice of a pleasant little bonne. “ Where am I?” “Oh, madame was at the Hotel d’Angleterre ; two gentlemen had brought her an hour ago ; they had said that madame was sick ; upset by toe dreadful trajet across that terrible sea; madame, they said, was often like that ;

I there was no danger ; she would recover ! in a few hours, and be able te resume her journey by the time they returned. The Messieurs, who were very polite and had given her a handsome little douceur would certainly return and all would bo weU. ”

Needless to say, the Messieurs never returned. The scoundrels had cleverly plundered her of all she possessed, and decamped, fortunately without robbing her of that which is more valuable than jewels. A telegram to the husband ended her story, but the police could find notlrng, of course, and the husband escorted his pretty wife to Paris, as lie ought to have done at first. Bit what an alventure! Do you still think that truth is stranger than fiction in the nineteenth century ?