ECHOES OF THE WEEK.

New Zealand Mail, 18 January 1900, Page 29

ECHOES OF THE WEEK.

'Satire's my weapon, but I’m too discreet fo run amuck and tilt at all I meet." —Pope.

(BY SCRUTATOR.)

The Contingent sail on Saturday, when there ought to be a specially enthusiastic sencl-ofr, but our second batch of “boys’' must know full well that they are going to be engaged in some very dangerous work. Brave lads, they will make truly gallant soldiers of the Queen, and do honour alike to themselves and the loyal coiony which sends them forth to do battle for the Empire. The probability is, that, seeing how useful the other colonial troops have been found in the Free State reconnaissance that the second New Zealand contingent, will before many weeks are-pash and gone be fighting their way to Bloemfontein, and so on to that Pretoria, is the ultimate goal of the British forces. May thevjiavo a pleasant trip 'to the Cape, and "cover themselves with glory. God speed to you all, brave young New Zealanders; New Zealand lias every confidence that you will do credit to the land whence you spring, and the fellow countrymen who to-day are so proud of you.

Bravo Mrfeking and Baden Powell! When, the history of the war comes to lie written, one of its most notable chapters will be that in which the story of Mai'eking’s gallant defence is related. It was all short on the ytn insfc., but a further bombardment was threatened'. It is simply marvellous bow Baden Powell and his little band of defenders, volunteers, most of them, have managed to hang out so long, and everyone who admires real British bulldog pluck and pertinacity will hope that tho enemy may still be kept at bay until the long-expec-ted relief readies the Beehuanaland frontier post. It was a mere chance that Baden Powell wont to South Africa. He happened, so the story goes, to be at Home on short leave from India, where his regiment, the Ist Dragoon Guards, then was, and he was met in Piccadilly by no less a powerful personage than tho Comander- in-Ckief. “Hulloa,” said Lord Wclesley, “you ought to be in South Africa. Can you go out at oncer” This was in July last, and Baden Powell started within two days, taking with him one or two choice spirits of the sort ho wanted. Chief amongst them, says "M.A.P.,” was great, big, good-natured Charlie Hore, whose services with mounted iulautry extends over eighteen years, and wlio has been leading them in Mafeking with tho skill of long nractice in Egypt ana the Soudan. Hore, we shall find, has been Baden Powell’s strong right hr.ud throughout the now famous defence.

The gallant little force' of irregular cavalry who have been administering a good drubbing to the Griqualand rebel Dutch arc called “Remington’s Horse” in the cables. As a matter of fact, the name of their leader is Major Reinington—“Mike” Remington, of the InnisJvillin Dragoons. According to T. P. OConuoi’s gossipy little paper, “M.A.P., “Mike” is a tall, athletic soldier, a splendid horseman, and a champion polo playhas seen a lot of service in South Anica. ‘Remington once told me” (writes a, military correspondent of “jI A.P.”) “of a strange experience he had while campaigning in Zululand. He was riding with his squadron on the open veldt in a thick mist-in the early morning. Suddenly, it seemed to him, that the squadron was not moving forward but backward. So strong was the reeling that, he bent down to feel how bis horse’s legs were moving. When he touched it lie knew the step was forward, but when he sat erect again there was again the uncanny nightmare feeling that all the regiment was sliding away backwards. Then in a moment came the explanation. The mist was breaking, and lie preceivcd that until Thou the bank of cloud bad been drifting quickly past the squadron, driven by a strong wind 1 .from the rear. In other words, the squadron and the mist Here travelling in the same direction, .a , ho n,ist was travelling faster. The effect was the same ns one gets in a slow tram when an express passes, and it aopears to one that the motion has been -suddenly reversed.”

, r^’ le . 'Unr French”—Messieurs Gusaus‘ -nip house and Henri have been ™ nciß S round on the news, ab•m <ll.y exaggerated in tho ever gullible presV of the “crushing di- ■ v ’ i 1e!l bhe British have sustaini ho 'LV ,lds 01 tke B °ers and even to sood Gormaus-as a. set-off no doubt sim--, I '" u » I '. s . , latest anti doubtfully ■ J JkP r £r ßn V Sfl i ffish when hobnob'‘'!l grandmamma Vicky the ether 3°l u “e in tho Continental .t ot rejoicings over the recent dist“'v, su PPosedly inevitable lort .'H - f John Bull. The pictorial and the l«f S ‘l f'T lt Qcrnum institution Teutons lat r fc *, ad ' vit;h t,le Auglophobe £t who ' b -y the way, are not in «oodßHti«h eiS m t ? reccmn S stacks of Gcrmanv ” V g + kl for articles “made in cards (If nJ/.f 1 -’ L °, , sei v] cacb other post wr i,f tu lng * lO British side of the Two nf +i? mosfc . unfavourable light, produced n S ° p T rooi ? ns arc ra-Presoiif-n!! R paper. One reof intense 116611 \? Cto ” a in an «ttit/ido intense supplication, whilst Cecil

Rhodes, depicted as a fat boy, is crouching in the branches of a tree from which Uncle Kruger is about to dislodge him with a stoat stick. Underneath is the legend, “Junge, wjllste ’muter von clem Appelboom which-, being roughly trruisluted, is equal to, “Youngster, will vou come down from the apple tree.” The youngster, I may add, is not in the least hurry to come down from his more or less comfortable perch at Kimberley whence neither the- canting Kruger nor the cunning—and ilag-of-truce scorning —Cronje has been as yet able to dislodge lnm.

Another post card, also of Teutonic origin, shows a few scattered houses by the side of the sea, labelled. “Durban,” and commanded by huge guns behind which are the Boevs. On the sea are four frail cockle shells of boats in which Tommy Atkins is embarking with more haste .than dignity. This of course illustrates the ‘Boer plan—which didn’t exactly come off as expected—-of rushing down to. the sea, and sweeping the unwisely contemned roobatjies or ‘redcoats ’ into the ocean. It is a wonder that Teutonic faith in the success of the. Boevs stopped short at the forcible embarkation of Tommy. Why not have shown the Boers noisting their flag on Windsor Castle and forcing the “Lor 5 Mai re.” of London to do homage on bended knee to “Oom Paul?” The “Good Germans ” who again, and don’t forget it, wax fat upon the money we British arc silly enough to spend with their manufacturers, would be delighted were these pictorial post card predictions to, come true. But up to- date the artists have proved but von- paltry prophets.

Apropos to the “good Germans” it is to be noted that- the young man with the carefully trained moustache has been shrewd enougn to make capital out of recent British seizures of German steamers off Delagoa Bay as an argument. to convince the hitherto dubious, not to say scoffing Reichstag of riie necessity for quadrupling the strength of the Deutschland navy. . Kaiser Wilhelm has as many sides to his character as he lias uniforms. At Windsor, in company with Grandmother Vicky, be is everything that is most British, but once safely back in the land of Sausage he must needs, incidentally, have a smack at the very nation wliieh was so recently his host. Let there be no mistake in the British mind about tho Kaiser. It suits him at one time to pose as our friena, but when his navy is big enough and strong enough, let John Bull look to his defences, for the Kaiser will be the first, despite all his recent and fervent protestations of friendship, to fly at John’s throat. If John be wise lie will adhere to his policy of building two warships for everyone that the “good Germans” or the “dear French” may tax themselves to construct with the ultimate, but as I believe, futile idea of humbling tho Mistress of the Seas. Meanwhile poor Tomfool John goes on buying German cutlery, and glassware and hardware and hundreds of other things “made m Germany” and thus supplies his enemies with the money with which to equip a navy to oe used against mm. Tho time will come, and .it is, not, I trust, very far distant, when the Britisher, whether at Home or in the colonies who knowingly buys anything made iu either France or Germany will be voted a traitor to the Empire, that is of course if tho German and French press continue to insult the Mother Country and to jeer at her temporary troubles.

Mr G. H. Reid, the ex-Premicr of New South Wales, was a- noted and notable figure at Newtown Park on Saturday and Sunday last. With his round fat face and double chin, and inseparable single .eye-glass, ho was easily recognisable by those who read the “Bulletin”— and who does not ? Mr Reid has, I believe, been greatly exercised in mind over the wonderfully widespread prosperity which prevails in the colony. Over in Sydney it is astonishing liow many worthy, but ill-informed people have been captured by the clap-trap of the Opposition press about New Zealand going to what the pessimistic Mr Manfcalini was pleased to call “the demnition bow-wows.” When any of these good folk from the “other side” take a trip to Maoriland they can hardly believe their eyes. Instead of depression and poverty they find cheerfulness and prosperity, and oh, what a contrast are the streets of our cities—especially at night— to those of Sydney! There you will see thousands of ragged urchins turned out of foul dens to roam the thoroughfares in search of the coppers they earn by unblushing mendicancy; there tho whine of the loafer and the cry of the honest but poverty-stricken worker rises loud on the air, blit here, in Wellington, in Christchurch, in Dunedin, in Auckland, where will you find a. beggar or an industrious man who need go in want of a, meal or a bed? We have no millionaires, the Lord be thanked, but then, and what is much better, we have no other “residuum,” to quote John Bright’s expression, of poverty ana crime, no such human scum as floats all too palpably on the human pot' of -Sydney... And it is surely idle to deny that some of the credit for this better and happier state of things is due to tho much-abused Government and to- its even more abused “Socialistic” legislation. If George Reid keeps his eyes well open when he is rambling around Maoriland he may learn some useful

wrinkles,-:which will come m remarkably handy when nexiq as ho is bound to in timo, becomes Premier of the Mother Colony.

It was a very jolly evening that “Scrutator,” in common with some four hundred others, spent with the new member for the Suburbs at the Newtown ‘ social” the other night. “Tom”— everyone calls Mr Wilford by liis GiirisUfm name, and I believe tlio new ... It. rather .likes it than otherwise—is a' jovial soul, and the way ho made h ”?t Sol l agreeable, to all the old ladies, with -families, friends—and votes—and hobnobbed with all and sundry, was an object lesson to young politicians of less worldly experience than the gentleman, u ho, to use a sporting term, “knocked out the . Tittle doctor.’ ” It was a sight for sore eyes to see King Richard having a “night off” with his Newtown subjects. Cackle and cant as will’ the Opposition papers about the Premier’s alleged disregard of “dignity,” there is no gainsaying tho fact that Mr Seddon owes Ins immense personal popularity ™ ao , j s ” l all degree to his -utter want of side. Ins ire© and easy, go-as-you-please, enjoyment of a social eveniim spent with the people. There is no affectation, no humbug, about the Pre™lel’s geniality. It is part and parcel of the big man, the big-hearted, big minded man, whose rise to the apex of political power has been so wonderfully rapid, and who laughs cheerily at all attempts of his opponents to belittle hum “Good old Dick,” said an enthusiastic Newtown Liberal, when the Premier trolled out his “Hard Times Come Again no More,’’ and lacking perhaps in (tignrty as is this popular cognomen of Mr oeddon, it is only an echo of the personal good feeling which is expressed towards him by the great mass of the people. And, so long as the Premier enjoys the good will of the masses, what need he care for the carping, captious atrabilious minority p Good old Dick” then, by all means, and more power to him.

A good many who have witnessed that merry piece of fantastic absurdity “A ,P ,° Chinatown,” may have-been not a little bothered by the purely ’Murkan expressions and! allusions to be found scattered about in the dialogue of Messrs Hoyt McKee’s amusing bit of nonsense There is something delightfully quaint and original about the humour which is peculiar to Cousin Jonathan, and in “A Trip to Chinatown” this humour is all the more refreshing in that it is unaccompanied by any of that ‘guessing” and “reckoning” and “calculating winch was at one time—mainly owmg to the exaggerations of Dickens in his Martin Chuzzlewit—supposed to be inseparable from “English as she is spoke m the States. Such American accent as is noticeable in the speech of clever Miss Crater and the two other young ladies who figure most prominently m vhe play, is not in the least pionouncee.; it is an intonation rather tiian. an ?.ccont, and in its way is. to my mind, at least, just as delightfully piquant as that charming “suspicion'” ot the brogue” which you will notice in the speech of a well educated Irish iady. Here at least we have, oh seernmg paradox, stage Americans who are not “stagey ” For this relief, most novel and agreeable, many thanks.

Harry Conor’s song “On the Bowery” has puzzled, I believe, not a few of his Wellington admirers. “Where is the Bowery?” and “What the-ahem—does he mean by the Bowery, the Bowery?” you will hear the Wellington dudedom asking itself, as it smokes its entr’acte cigarette in the lobby at tho Opera House, or engages in that mysterious, but ever popular pastime of “going to see a man about a dog”—at the Royal Oak. If you ever saw the Bowery mv young friends who have not travelled far hom Port Nick, you would remember its curious and special features for the rest fj t your da - ys ; The Bowery is one of Inriw ra e * trao , rdmary st ' reets in the iioiid. It is a long street, fairly wide, K r, S ht n tbr ough the heart of W York, parallel with the Broadway that every one has heard or read of. and parallel also with sundry “avenues,” of various numbers, which also run through the length of New York from the apex of the great city’s triangle at the Battery right up into the open country beyond the Harlem river. New York is thick at one end, and tapers down to a point. I't is built on a triangle, with the Hudson river at one side and the East river on the other, the apex being the emigrant depot. Castle Garden, and tho base—well tho base some twenty years ago when “Scrutator” temporarily soujourned in Gotham, was the Harlem river, but nowadays, I believe, it is much further inland. The avenues run parallel with each other, with Broadway and the Bowery, as avenues all but in name, and crosswise lie the streets. Down near the apex of the triangle, in Old New York, the New Amsterdam of the Dutch who founded the city, you will see the streets named. There is Wall street, abode of tho “gold! bugs ” Pearl street, Fulton street, Bleeckcr and Houston and many others; but as you go further “up town” you strike the numbered streets which should reach well up to 200th street by this time. An easy city to find your way in, especially aa with ail its faults, of Tammany, corruption and others, the municipality has had the'sense to put the number of each street on the lamp posts at the street corners.

But I wander and digress from my now half-forgotten theme of ‘ The Bowery, the Bowery!” It is, Is; id, a marvellous street. On either rid j runs the New York Elevated Railroad, which runs level with the first floor windows; in the roadway is a double line of trains, whilst' “stages” and vehicles innumerable make it as difficult and dangerous to cross as cheapside on a busy day at noon. About every other building is a lager beer shop, and concert halls, “dime museums,” minor theatres, and every possible variety of drinking “saloon” jostle each other the full length of the street. It is the Whitechapel and the Totenhain Court road combined! of New York, but its great feature is the cosmopolitan character of those who are to be found on its side walks. The “Bowery tough” is a _ personage who might be a first cousin to a Sydney larrikin or a Liverpool “corner man,” he is “tough” by name, and t-ough, oh, 'very'tough, by “Jture, and it takes Denis and Pat and Michael and the rest of the gigantio -N°w‘ York “men in blue” all their time —and sometimes all their sticks ar.d revolvers, to keep him in order. ~ “On tho Bowery, on the Bo .very”—just as Kipling s Cockney soldier boy Orfcheris used to long for the “Vauxhall road, and! the lamps, and the orange peel and the sawdust,” so the expatriated New Yorker will always confess to a peculiarly kind remembrance of tli© rough, the very rough, but the decidedly gay and festive Bowery.

Next week’s “Mail’ will be a snecial Contingent Number. 1 1 addition to full reports of tho farewell demonstration, and of the speeches, the “Mail” will contain eight pages of frustrations of the camp life atNewtown Park, the sham fight, and of the departure of the contingent.. Those of o:r subscribers who arc desirous of procuring extra copies ror posting to friends and relations in the Old Country should; and their orders at once to the nearest agent’s, or to the -■raiiager, “Times” and “Mail” office, Lambton quay, Wellington.