ECHOES OF THE WEEK.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1222, 2 August 1895, Page 21

ECHOES OF THE WEEK.

Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet To ran amuck and tilt at all I meet. Pojpe. BY SCRUTATOR. The Strand Magazine for June contains an " illustrated interview " —a trifle belated, is it not? —the subject of which is "Lord Onslow in New Zealand." The writer, a Miss Constance Eaglestone, has not, I should imagine, ever resided in this colony. At any rate the " interview " bears many nnmistakeabla signs of having been "written up" in England from details furnished by the Onslows, and the many curios, photos, etc,, which the family retain as mementoes of their sojourn in this colony. The article contains a liberal allowance of what journalistic slang calls " piffle," and one or two of the u facts" related by the interviewer possess, I should say, more novelty than veracity. Here is a little description, for instance, of the landing of His Excellency in the Empire City : The usual display of gunpowder and gold lace followed the landing, the eager curiosity of the crowds collected at the different points was turned into satisfaction and approval, triumphal arches looked down upon the train of carriages filing slowly beneath them, the familiar linos of the Union Jack floated abroad, garlands of lilies and roses, and all the other signs of welcome were duly hung out, and among the more modest offerings at the feet of greatness we read that, after one of the open-air en route receptions, a party of ladies remained behind when His Excellency retired, and each one of these solemnly seated herself in the chair wherein his august form had repooed, and remained there for a few seconds in awed silence before she resigned her place to a sis'ter who performed the rite in the same impressive manner.

Later on Miss Eaglestone tells us that Lady Onslow h:ad all her work cut out to satisfy the local reporters in the way of dress novelties. Thus:—

She had to devise new and pretty eostumes for each time she appeared in public, as the reporters would have been grievously , disappointed if they could not have described the Countess' dove-coloured delaine of Saturday as being far prettier than her eau ds nil silk of Friday, while adding that it altogether left in the shade her peach coloured bengalino of Thursday, or the myrtle crepon of the day before.

I know a good many Wellington reporters, but I confess I never met one yet who would have been grievously disappointed even if it had pleased her ladyship to array herself day after day in a costume made of old sugar bags. And people do say that Lady Onslow's dresses had mostly seen a London season or two before they were worn in Wellington. This, however, may be a calumny.

The interview also contains a long and perfectly thrilling account (thrilling to English readers) of the travels of the gubernatorial pair to the " fastnesses " of the King Country. At one place, we are told, a party of " braves "— u braves " is good—" leapt forth armed with guns and prepared to dispute the further progress of the Governor and his party;" at another " still another band of savages sprang, like Roderick Dhu's Highlanders, out of nothing," &c, &c, and finally Mrs Eagestone touches an even yet higher peak of bathos when she says:—

No man knows what fear is, so it would be words thrown away to compliment His Excellency the Governor on his courage and composure under this ordeal; but if those who now hold this page in hand do not instantly set up the Countess of Onslow in one of those niches they reserve for the heroines of all ages, it is because this account of the advance of the Maoris is altogether inadequate to describe the scone, or that the history of the Aborigines of the colony during the last fifty years has remained unstudied by readers of this magazine.

The article throughout is decidedly amusing, but limits of space permit only one more quotation, that of the concluding sentences, which read: — In time the sojourn in the island of the Governor and Lady Onslow, too, came to an end, though not before they had done much more to deserve th« golden opinions they had already won, and to hoar the words of one of their friends echoed far and wide through the land in the distant south: —

"Go your ways, Earl Onslow ! The best wishes of New Zealand are with you, and when we hear glad tidings of your successes at the other side of the world, we shall feel a thrill of gratified pride as we exclaim ;

" ' That man was our Governor once !' " " Gratified pride " ! Bah!

Tho Marlborough Times of a recent date waxes indignantly virtuous in the following amusing strain: — A paragraph in the Times of Saturday conveyed the information that "the cablerepairing steamer Sherard Osborne left Singapore for New Zealand on Wednesday last." This is a very ordinary - looking announcement; but, to those who can read between the linos, it tells a tale. It is only a couple of years ago since the Government expended a few hundred thousand in purchasing the cable-repairing steamer Terranora. There was a great flourish of congratulatory phrases at the acquirement of the vessel, and the carpers who protested against the expenditure of so much public money in such a channel were supposed to be silenced by the Ministerial assurance that in a few years the vessel would save the colony the cost of her purchase and maintenance by being able to do the work which had previ- j ously necessitated the bringing to the colony of a steamer from Singapore. But now the above-quoted paragraph falls like ! a bomb-shell in the camp of contentment and makes the taxpayer rise up and ask the meaning of it. It is to be feared that the bright promises of a few years ago have been falsified and that yet another " white

elephant" has been ad Jed to the herd already in the possession of the colony.

The Mailborough journalist can possess his soul in peace. Nothing very dreadful has happened, no awful job is being perpetrated, no public money is being extravagantly expended. As a matter of fact I can inform my Blenheim confrere first, that the Government never expended "a few hundred thousand in purchasing the cable repairing steamer Terranora," and secondly that the Colony has not purchased the " Sherrard Osborne," which vessel, I may state for the benefit of the Marlborough writer, if not for that of saner and better informed people, is the property of the Eastern Telegraph Construction and Maintenance Company. The "above quoted paragraph" has not fallen " like a bomb shell" in anybody's "camp of contentment," save that particular " camp of contentment " —with his own ignorance—which is tenanted by the Blenheim journalist aforesaid, to whom I may be pardoned for giving the highly necessary advice to avoid writing upon a subject of which his knowledge is so ludicrously limited.

The Wellington " Daily Sewer "—I beg pardon, Evening Post —has on its staff a genius who is allowed by the editor to contribute weird political fantasies of an allegedly humorous character. In the latest of these I notice there is an elephantine attempt to caricature the editor of the Ntw Zealand Times, the initials of whose name, "R.A.L.," provided the " humourist" in question with the cognomen "Rally." Curiously enough the editor of the Post was a short time ago in a state of semi-raving over the wickedness of the Times in dealing in " personalities." People who live in glass houses should not throw stones. How would the Post editor like to be caricatured in the Times, say, under the thin disguise of " GriU'em "?

"Declined with thanks," "Regret that limits of space will not allow us to use your interesting and valuable article," "Unsuitable for our columns," are amongst the various devices which a New Zealand editor adopts in his " Notices to Correspondents" to allay the wrath and dispel the disappointment of the local sufferers from cacoethes scribendi. But "they manage these things better " —in China. As a choice specimen of editorial grovel before a presumably influential correspondent, the following "Answer to a Correspondent" from a Pekin paper will take, I think, a little beating:—" Illustrious brother of the sun and moon. —Behold thy servant prostrate before thy feet. I kowtow to thee, and beg that of thy graciousness thou mayst grant that I may speak and live. Thy honoured manuscript has deigned to cast the light of its august countenance upon us. With raptures we have perused it. By the bones of my ancestors, never have I encountered such wit, such pathos, such lofty thought. With fear and trembling I return the writing. Were I to publish the treasure you sent me, the Emperor would order that it should be made the standard, and that none be published except such as equalled it. Knowing literature as I do, and that it would be impossible in ten thousand years to equal what you have done, I send your writing back. Ten thousand times I crave your pardon. Behold, my head is at your feet. Do what you will. Your servant's servant. —The Editor." Or was it sarcasm!

Dr Newman's crusade in favour of the admission of women to seats in Parliament has attracted considerable attention already in the Australian press. Rummaging for " scissorable stuff" in the columns of our excellent weekly contemporary. The Queenslander, published at Brisbane, I find the gossippy chroniqueur of that journal, "Allegretto," making the following amusing comments upon the "Female Member" question: —"It begins to look as if the admission of Female members into Parliament were not so very far off, after all. New Zealand, of course, is the first to move. The Parliament of that colony has decided against the Female member by a majority of only nine votes; that is to say, if the women of New Zealand could only capture four and a half men out of these nine, and then annex half a man more, the cause Tiould be won. Surely that is not a very great task for the women of a nation, and such determined women as they have shown themselves to bo. Indeed, if they would only adopt the means which I have heard in song were adopted in Gayland, I am sure they would be able to convert the whole male population. I give the song as it was sung to me by one of their own sex.- —

Three years ag®, all Gayland o'or, Each marriageable maiden swore She'd ne'er consent to marry, However hardly pressed, until " The Admission of Female Members Bill " Its advocates should carry.

We led the men a pretty dance, For ev'n old maids refused the chance Of entering into wedlock : The married women too, they say, Contrived in some depressing way To intensify the deadlock. So well did woman prove her strength, The Bill's become an Act at length: The Bitter war is over ; And ere the election's well begun The Sex are carrying seats like fun " From John o' Groat's to Dover." You see, the recipe took only three years to produce the effect in Gayland. Girls of New Zealand—girls of anywhere—are you not game to keep Cupid locked up for only three years ?"

London correspondents are telling ajlot of good stories, to which si non e vero, e ben trovato may well apply, about the young Afghan prince who is the latest lion of ihe season. Unlike that dusky potentate, the Shah, he appears, from all one can hear, to lead a decent life while under the shroud of "The Big Smoke," for so far there are no yarns of any midnight orgies,

en petit ccmite, with the beraddled " beauties " of the ballet, or other houris of an even more doubtful character. Tha young prince, however, has all the naivete and tendency to be more delighted with the trivial than the important, which wa i so notable a characteristic of the Persian monarch. His particular " weakness" appears to be a wild enthusiasm over that favourite of our childhood's days, the neve;." to be forgotten " Punch and Judy." A London paper waxes philosophical over the subject thuswise : —" The Afghan Prince happened to catch sight of a Punch and Judy show, in the London street?, when he was on his way to Mr Fowler's State dinner at the Indian office, and, insisted on his brougham being stopped so that he might revel in the delight of seeing that old reprobate, Punch, hammer his wile on the head and jam the hangman into the coffin. So the guests at the State banquet were kept waiting forty minutes, and all because the Shahzada had come across a London street puppet show. Hj is going to take one back to Cabul with him if he can get any deluded showman to risk the chance of being stabbed by soma Pathan fanatic, which is very doubtful. His Afghan Highness has seen ironclads, reviews of troops, splendid receptions, Windsor Castle, the Houses of Parliament, most of our royalty, and a good many of our leading politicians—and prefers Punch and Judy! What a satire on our Western civilisation!"

Some few weeks back I gave a very curious example of "English as She i 3 Written," in the circulars sent out to this colony by certain enterprising German firms. A Russian firm has, I see by a Vancouver paper, The Province, been rousing the risible faculties of the Canadian preserved fish shippers by sending them aa epistle couched in the following extraordinary terms: —" I have pleasure to apply to you for ask to distinguish me the best buildings of lobster and salmon into your country, if you can fill it, then I beg you to inform your conditions and to honour me with your correspondence." Another circular politely asked that the firm's cards be handed to Canadian firms in their line of business, and concluded as follows :—" If you will do this for us, we will retalliate." (sic).

Has New Zealand ever had a bachelor Governor ? I can't remember one myself. What makes me ask the question is a curious paragraph which recently appeared in a Singapore paper. The new Colonial Secretary of the Straits Settlement, a Mr Swettenham, is, it appears, a single gentleman, and the local paper evidently considers that he ought to mend his ways, and take unto himself a wife, for it prays him. with an earnestness which is positively pathetic, to marry at once and give tiie Singapore elect a " social leader." The appeal is so comical, whether unwittingly or designedly so I don't know, that I quote it in full:—" The official house is admirably suited for general entertainment. Mr Swettenham, also, is beginning to approach that time of life when a man ought to be married—and settled. Further, he must surely see that marriage is necessary to his promotion; it is absurd to suppose that he can look for a Governorship until he has found a wife. An unmarried colotiial Governor would be almost as unusual a factor a 3 an unmarried doctor. Therefore, since Mr Swettenham has soon to marry, he might just aa well do it at once, and oblige the colony." The match-making mammas of the colony ought to be immensely grateful to the editor, but what Mr Swettenham thinks of the advice it would be difficult to say. I wonder whether the editor himself has an eligible daughter!

Good Mr William Hutchison "Pious William" irreverent Wellingtonians used to call him in the old days, when the famous Hutchison-Fisher duello was in progress—wants, I notice, to " put down " betting of all kinds, and has introduced a bill to effect the desired purpose. Of I course the bill won't pass, for even in such a virtuous Parliament as that which we now possess, the desire to make a little wager now and then is omnipotent with the majority. But there are certain kinds of wagers, more common in America perhaps than elsewhere, which are merely the oiitcome of an insane desire for notoriety, and if legislation can ever prevent men from deliberately acting as lunatics, perhaps Mr Hutchison's bill might occasionally find some warrant for its stringency. The latest examples of the eccentric wager come however, not from the States, where everything that is bizarre appears to be popular, but from France. I read in the Paris correspondence of the London Daily News : " Eccentric bets are all the rage in France just now. The other day we gave an account of a man who undertook to stand upon a pedestal like a statue in a public place in Marseilles for thirty days, with, only one hour's intermission a day, and who followed this up by spending forty-eight hours buried up to his neck in the earth. At Tullins, in the department of the Isere, the arrival of a travelling wild beast show has been the occasion of a no less original wager. A barber in the town made a bat with the proprietor of the show that lie would shave a man inside the lion's cage. The bet was won, the man shaved being a local bootmaker. Instead of resentiag the intrusion, the lions looked on with the utmost indifference at the whole proceedings."