ECHOES OF THE WEEK.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1318, 3 June 1897, Page 23

ECHOES OF THE WEEK.

Satire’s my rveapon, but I’m too discreet To run amuck and tilt at all I meet. IrOPE

BY SCRUTATOR.

There is nothing so dear to the heart of the prohibitionist and so-called “ temperance ” agitator generally as statistics. We all know, that is, all of us who know our Dickens —and who does not ?—how the members of the “ Brick Lane Branch of the United Grand Junction Ebenezer Temperance Association,” presided over by the “ straight-walking Brother Am thony Humm,” were regaled by the Secretary, “Mr Jonas Mudge ” (a Chandler’s shopkeeper, and enthusiastic and disinterested “vessel” who sold tea To the members), with statistics as to certain marvellous “ conversions ” to the Cause. Some of the said “conversions” might be considered by the scoffing and sceptical as being doubtful as to authenticity and permanency, but as far as the members Were Concerned, there were the figures and facts, and, real or alleged, they served their purpose. All this leads me up to the recital of the sad experiences of a latter-day English temperance “ vessel ” who had busied himself in the. good work of “sobering up” Master Tommy Atkins, a gentleman, who,' some have it On the unimpeachable authority of Budyard Kipling, is decidedly partial to “ ’arf-an’-’arf,”. not to say other beverages which rest under the dread taboo of Messrs Isitt, “Tommy” Taylor & Co. Writing for statistics on tcetotalism in India, he received from one regiment the staggering report that at the time they had no teetotallers, As during the previous year 50 per cent, of them had died and 50 per cent, had been invalided. The astonished temperance advocate wrote for more details, enquiring in particular for the number of men who died, and the number of invalids. The reply, if laconic, was explanatory. Two men had been blue ribbon men, of whom one had died and ■ the other had been invalided home !

Here in New Zealand the proceedings before our Arbitration Courts are, I fear, too often devoid of the relieving element of humour. In the Old Country, however, judging by some yarns told in a new monthly magazine, The Land Magazine, a copy of the first number of which has been handed to me by the editor of the Mail, arbitration has sometimes its comical, side. Thus, according to Mr G. M. Freeman, G.C. (alas, ’tis always the lawyer who gets the best of the joke), there w r as recently a case of arbitration between two disputants connected with the cigar trade.—One of the gentlemen in question sliowe to the satisfaction of all concerned that he had made profits for many years of over £IOOO. As he was leaving the inquiry much pleased a quiet person who had been listening tapped him on the shoulder, and observed “ I’m glad yon have been doing so well, and, as collector, I will trouble you for fifteen years arrears of the income-tax you have forgotten to return.” The cigar merchant’s answer is not chronicled. On another occasion a well-known railway manager had one day given the most emphatic evidence in condemnation of a route, depicting all its faults and demonstrating the futility of the scheme. A passage was then read to him by an unfeeling counsel, in which years before, as promoter of a similar line, he had blessed all which he now. cursed, and with equal force had demonstrated the advantages of the line and the assured success of the scheme. As he listened, a sad and pitying smile overspread his countenance :— t: Ah ! ” he exclaimed, “ how young I was then, and what a lot I have learnt since ! ”

One of these fine days some more or less veracious chronicler, in the person of a pressman hungry for 11 copy,” will indulge in what miners would call a little “fossicking” through the “ housenold expenditure” of our New Zeaaind Parliament, and then the more “ pernickclty particular” of the Conservative papers will know the exact amount paid to Mrs Crown, charwoman, of or of not the “right colour ” ; Mr Jones, the lamplighter ; or Mr Robinson, the sweeper-out. There is an .English precedent for this satisfying of curiosity after detail, for in the April number of the IViutlsor JMcujcizine there is an article, “John Bull’s Balance-sheet” a big title for a very small article which lets us into the secrets of the nation’s expenditure in certain directions. The writer of the article in question, a certain Mr J. Holt Schooling, has “ fossicked out ” the curious fact, inter alia, that “the turncock at Lucking -

ham Palace gets £8 a year for “ acting as rat catcher,” and that the rat catcher also

at Windsor Castle is “ down ” in the Estimates for £lO a year. We have rats Up at'our own Parliamentary buildings, but no paid rat-catcher, unless the whips be counted as such.

At one time ifc used to be a standing joke with the brethren of the “ pen -and paragraph ” that no English celebrity ever died without it being claimed by the Wanganui papers that the pretty little West Coast town owned one of the deceased celebrity’s relatives as a resident. I am reminded of this now rather- exploded “ gag ” by reading in a contemporary (not a Wanganui paper) that Mr Skipworth, lately of Wanganui, has fallen in for a legacy—tlie result of the death of Lady Victoria Long Wellesley. Lady Wellesley wfis somewhat of a “ personage ” in her day, being the eldest daughter and heiress of Sir James Tylney-Long, from whom sh. 3 inherited estates the yearly rental of which was LOO,OOO, together with one of tlie finest mansions in England, the famous Wanstead House. Her marriage with Mr William Pole Wellesley, afterwards the fourth Earl of Mornington, was celebrated in 1812 with the splendour befitting a bride whose pin-money alone was £13,000 a year. Her wedding-dress cost 700 guineas, her “ cottage bonnet of lace ” 150 guineas, and she v/ore during the ceremony, among other jewels, a necklace ’worth 25,000 guineas.

Unfortunately all Miss Tylney-Long’s wealth could not purchase happiness, and the story of her married life is a sad onc f In eleven years Mr Wellesley's extravagance had so seriously impaired his wife’s vast fortune that she was compelled to sell Wanstead House (a pabide superior, in some ways, to Blenheim or Houghton) merely for what it would fetch as build-ing-materials. Wanstead, the erection of which cost .£860,000, was sold to a Norwich builder in 1828 for .£IO,OOO, upon the condition that every vestige of the magnificent fabric, even the foundations, should be removed within the following twelve months. Mrs Pole-Wellesley died broken-hearted soon after the sale of Wanstead House, but her husband, who did not succeed to the Earldom of Mornington till 1845, survived her for thirtytwo years. The Lady Victoria was the last remaining member of this branch of the Wellesley family, which is now extinct. With all the above curious and interesting details, to he found in a recent niuqber of the Westminster Gazette, to gloat over, my very worthy friends, the Wanganui sub-editors, ought to be extremely happy.

General Lord Roberts, the Indian hero whom Rudyard Kipling has immortalised under the name of “ Bobs ” is one of the most modest of warriors, as may be seen by his very brief reference in his recently published hook to the gallant deed in the Mutiny times which .won him the V.C. Says “Bobs”: “I saw Younghusband fall, but could not go to his assistance, as at that moment one of his sowars w r as in dire peril from a sepoy, who was attacking him with a fixed bayonet, and had I not helped the man and disposed of his opponent, he must have been killed. The next moment I descried in the distance tw*o sepoys making off with the standard) winch I determined must be captured ; so I rode after the rebels and overtook them, and while wrenching the staff out of the hands of one of them, whom I cut down, the other put his musket close to my body and fired. Fortunately for me it missed fire, and I carried off the standard.”

Tho enormous prices paid for flic privilege of witnessing the Queen’s Jubilee procession form a standing topic for London gossippers. The London corresponr dent of the Manchester Courier writes that Mr Uooley, the latest millionaire, wl:o has made a vast fortune out of floating the Bovril and other companies, has paid .£2,000 for the use of one of the large shops that command a space in front of St. Paul’s Cathedral. Ilis tenure begins at two o’clock on the day before the celebration and ends at two o’clock on the following day, when the service in front of St, Paul’s ends. The Bradley-Martins, whose costume ball provoked so much comment in New York, have also paid <£l,Boo for a point of vantage oh the route. The Daily Telegraph aisohnentions that “A well-known millionaire has just offered 1000 guineas, cash down, to the proprietors of a newspaper which has publishing offices in Ludgate Circus, for the use of the office windows on June 22nd, on the occasion of the Diamond Jubileo Procession to St. Paul’s. The. oiler has been declined,” When one reads stories like

the foregoing one is tempted to declare' in the words of Arthur Orton — a'ias Castro, alias Sir Roger Tiehborne—-“ that unfortunate young nobleman now languishing in Dartmoor ” he used to be called —fill at “ some people are born with plenty money and no 4 branes ’ (as the Claimant wrote it) and some people- with plenty ‘ branes ’ and no money.” Millionaires of the Hooley type have made their pile, presumably, out of the people with “ plenty money and no ‘ branes,’ ” but even a millionaire can hardly be said to be showing much common sense when he spends £2OOO on the enjoyment of a spectacle which will last about, a couple of hours. Perhaps he does it as an “ ad.”

Special features in recent issues of that capital publication* the Windsor Magazine, are the amusing “ ’Varsity Tales ” of Mr Max Pemberton. In the April number he tells how* a “ cheeky ” undergraduate once “bluffed off” an inquisitive proctor by answering him in French, The proctor had found the undergraduate dressed in “ loud checks ” and smoking a cigar in the streets, a high crime and misdemeanour at Oxford. Mr Rembeiion now depicts the following lively scene : “ Sir,” he roared, “ are you a member of this University ?” The freshman shrugged his shoulders, imitating a gentleman of France to perfection. “ Monsieur,” he said, with tremendous politeness, “ combi on prenez-vous par tete '?” The humour and the meaning of this extraordinary retort were utterly lost upon the proctor. Alarmed at the first word of a tongue he did not understand, ashamed to declare his ignorance, he took off his liat and endeavoured to imitate the politeness of the unfortunate stranger. “ Sir,” he said, with great, suavity, “ I see that I have made a mistake ; I bog to apologise, sir.” But now was our actor’s time. Feigning indignation, he answered, sternly—- “ Monsieur, lc chat echaude c-raint l’eau froide.’ The proctor began to wash his hands in the air and to suffer all the shame of ignorance. “ Sir,” he reiterated, “je nc parlc—that is, I have made a mistake, sir ; I apologise.” “ Monsieur,” cried the freshman, savagely, “ vous me riez au nez ; vous m’insultez—certainement; vousm’cxasperez —mes amis, monsieur !” At this point the proctor cried “ Enough.”

Now’ that the papers are so full of gossip about Her Majesty, of panegyrics upon her goodness, her tact, her hundred and one virtues as a monarch, it may not be out of place to reprint a very curious and certainly most amusing letter written by Charles Dickens to Mr Thompson, father of the painter of “ The Roll Call.’’ The letter appears in a biography of Mr Thompson recently published at Home and reads as follow’s :—-

“ My Dear Thompson,—Maclise and I are raving' with love for the Queen, with a hopeless passion, whose extent no tongue can tell, nor mind of man conceive. On Thursday we sailed down to Windsor, prowled about the castle, saw the corridor and their private rooms, lighted up with such a ruddy, homely, brilliant glow, bespeaking so much bliss and happiness, that I, your humble servant, lay down in the mud at the top of the long walk, and refused all comfort, to the immeasurable astonishment of a few straggling passengers who had survived the drunkenness of the previous night. After perpetrating some other extravagances, wc returned home at midnight in a post-chaise, and now we wear marriage medals next our hearts, and go about with pockets full of portraits, which we weep over in secret. “ Forster was with us at Windsor, and (for the joke’s sake) counterfeits a passion, too, but lie does not love her. Don’t mention this unhappy attachment. I fear it is too late to ask you to take this house now that you have made such arrangements of comfort in Pall Mall; but if you will, you shall have it very cheap—furniture at a low valuation —money not being so much an object as escaping from the family. “ For goodness sake turn this matter over in your mind, and please to ask Captain Kincaide what lie asks—his lowest terms, in short, for ready money —for that post of Gentlcman-at-Arms. I must be near her, and see no better way than that for the present. “ I have on hand three numbers of 4 Master Humphrey’s Clock,’ and the two first chapters of 4 Barnaby' —would you like to buy them ? Writing any more in my present state of mind is out of the question. They are written in a pretty fair hand, and when I am in the Serpentine may be considered curious. Name your own terms. “ I know you don’t like trouble, but I have ventured, notwithstanding, to make you an executor of my will. There won’t be a great deal to do, as there is no money. There is a little bequest, haying reference tQ her, which

you might like to execute. I have

heard that she reads my hooks, and is very fond, of them. I think she will be sorry when lam gone. I should wish to be embalmed, and kept (if practicable) on the top of the Triumphal Arch at Buckingham Palace when she is in town, and on the north-east turrets of the Bound Tower when she is at Windsor. “ From your distracted and blighted friend, —C.D. “ Don’t show this to Mr Wakley (the coroner) if it ever comes to that.”

Last week I quoted a good yarn from Mr S. It. Crockett’s last novel “ Lad’s Love.” Another correspondent who signs himself “ Aultl Galloway,” writes as follows: —Dear “ Scrutator,” —Thanks for your yarn out of Crockett’s book. Did you notice when reading “Lad’s Love ” what a wonderfully photographic picture Mr Crockett gives of those well' known old characters, the Scots travelling drapers ! As Mr Crockett says, with his own grim humour, “whatever be the ethics of the (Scots travelling drapers’) trade it is certain it can only thrive where the people are thriftless ” —a nasty smack this at you Southerns. Crockett puts the case very bluntly when he says “ However it ” (the trade) “ may have improved in these latter days, in its essence it used to consist of the victim paying ten shillings in weekly instalments for five shillings worth of goods. But then the sufferer was always of the Southron race, and as the Scottish doctor settled in England said grimly, ‘ It takes a lot to make up for Eloddcn.’ At all events, young Lowland Johnny still sallies forth to plunder the English foe, much as his forefathers rode southward to lift the cattle and to burn the thatch.”

“This is very funny,” continues my correspondent, “ but there is hotter to come, and as many of your readers may not have seen the book I have taken the trouble to copy out Mr Crockett’s really inimitable description of how the cute packman peddler worried himself into the confidence and custom of Iris victims. Surely both Scots and Southrons must chuckle over the sly humour of the following ” : “ Of course the circulating vendor has, on his part, to take the risk of the victim not paying at all. For in districts where the name ‘ Scotchman ’ is a reproach leading to assault and battery, moonlight llittings before settling-day arc not uncommon, and county court summonses fall thick as the leaves in Vallombrosa. . . . ‘ Wool, ye see, Nether Neulc,’ Nathan began, warming himself in the red glow of well-merited appreciation, and the intoxication of talking on equal terms to the father of the famous maicls of Nether Ncuk, ‘to begin with, it behoves to let them easy into your debt. Ye gang amang the wives when the men arc frae home. Ye hae your samples handy a tlioclit better than the webs maybe. Ye flatter and flairdie them a while, a’ the women folk like a guicl-garni tongue. ‘ This would become you daintily, mistress. This would set your bonnio well-fared face —a bonnet, a dress, a watch and chain may be —any one of them would make ye the envy of your neighbours. The money ? Oh, never trouble yourself about the money. What is that amongst friends ? It will lie all right, a paper to sign, a trille every week or so, and you can have the articles now instead of waiting months, and perhaps never getting it at all.’ “ ‘ That’s the start,’ continued Nathan, nursing his knees affectionately, with a pause-for the inward contemplation of his own shrewdness. ‘ Then when ye,hae the silly trouts safe on the hook, ye come round every, week to get the siller. And in a week or two the pair bit wide is no ready. She had had extra to pay out that week. Her man brought her fi\ e .shillings less hamc on payment. Then ye get your second chance. Ye hae some damaged fabrics that ye booclit dirt cheap, and that ye' want desperately to get rid of. Will she hae ten yairds o’ that, fifteen o’ this *? “ No, she does not want it! Does not need the like. ■ “"Well, then, ye are terrible sorry, but ye will hae to press for the instalments o’ the goods bought last. Howsome ver, ye dinna want to be hard, ye call round again when the guidman comes liarne i'rac his'wark. “ And at that, up rises your wife in j deadly fear, for ye may be sure she has said nothing to her man aboot her purchases. “ When ye come oot o’ that hoose ye ' hae soiled ten yairds o’ damaged claitli at a profit o’ three or fow hander percent ! What think ye o’ that ?” Tie the expression “ bonnet laird,” alluded to in last- week’s “ Echoes,” a valued correspondent “ SeJlie,” writes as follows : —“ To one so well acquainted with the writings of Scott and Cali, as T know “Scrutator” to bo, it conies as a surprise to find him confessing his ignorance of the meaning of the term “ bonnet laird ” when used by Oj.'Qcketfc in 911 c of

Ins novels. The term lias long been in use in Lowland Scotland, especially in the south-western districts, and is-applied to a class of small landed proprietors who farm their own land. ■■ In a footnote to chapter IV. of the Antiquary it is stated * A bonnet laird signifies a petty proprietor wearing the dress along with the habits of a ye email.’ Part of the dress of a yeoman, a century ago was a blue bonnet. It was of a broad round, and flat shape, overshadowing the face and neck, and of a dark blue colour excepting a red tuft of wool like a cherry in the centre on the top. The fabric was of thick milled woollen, without seam or lining, and so exceedingly durable that with reasonable care a single bonnet might serve a man liis life time. It could be worn on the top of the head or slouched in front, behind or sidewise as a protective against a cold blast. Tam-o’Shanter wore sueli a bonnet on the night of his famous ride from Ayr. From haling been worn till comparatively late times by these small landed proprietors or ‘ cock lairds,’ it gave to the local notabilities the distinctive appellation of ‘ Bonnet Lairds.’ ”

“ J.T.” writes as follows : — Dear “Scrutator”, —Talking about Bibles, that was a very funny joke Lord Byron played off on John Murray. By many Byron was believed to be a perfect human monster. Between author and publisher there was a close bond of friendship, although Murray was occasionally shocked at the sayings and doings of his lordship. Let me tell the story as told by Curwen in his “ History of Booksellers.” At the time when Byron -was most calumniated, when there were cruel stories about-the life he led and the opinions lie held (though none so cruel as have since been promulgated by a well-known American authoress), Murray’s soul was comforted by the present of a Bible, a gift from tlio illustrious poet. “Could this man ” Murray asked “ be a deist, an atheist or worse when lie.sent Bibles about to his publishers?” Turning it o*-er in wonderment, however,' some inquisitive member of Murray’s four o’clock clique found a marginal correction.—“ Now Barabbas was a robber,” altered into “ Now Barabbas was a 'publisher. There was no end to Byron’s wit and playfulness. As a refutation of Byron’s playful libel on Murray it will be interesting to add *that from 1807 commencing with the “ Hours of Idleness ” to 1823 ending with “ The Age of Bronze,” “ The Island ’* and more cantos of “ Don Juan ” Murray had paid Byron nearly L 20,000. The great publisher always treasured “Byron’s ■ Bible”!