JEROME K. JEROME

New Zealand Mail, Issue 1507, 17 January 1901, Page 59

JEROME K. JEROME

SELECTIONS FROM HIS NEW BOOK, “THREE MEN ON THE Bt AIMER.” “Your German likes Nature; but his idea of nature is a glorified Welsh harp. He takes great interest in his garden. He plants seven rose trees on the north side and seven on the south, and if they do not grow up all the same size and shape it worries him so- that he cannot sleep of nights. Every flower he ties to a stick. This interferes with his view of the flower, but he- has the satisfaction of knowing it is there, and that it is behaving itself. The lake is lined with zinc, and once a week he takes it up, carries it into the kitchen and scours it. In the geometrical centre of the grass plot, which is sometimes as large as a tablecloth and is generally railed round', he places a china dog. The Germans are very fond of dogs, but as a rule they prefer them of china. The china dog never digs holeis in the lawn to buty bones, and never scatters a flower bed to the winds with his hind legs. From the German, point of view lie is the ideal dog. He stops where you nut him, and lie is never where you do not want him. You can have him perfect in all points according to the latest requirements of the Kennel Club, or you can indulge your own fancy and have something unique. You are not, as with other dogs, limited to breed. In china you can have a blue dog or a nink dog. For a little extra you can have a doubleheaded dog. . . . Your German likes the country, but he prefers it, as the lady thought she would the noble savage, more dressed. He likes liis walk through the wood —to a- restaurant. But the pathway must not be too steep , it must ha ve a brick gutter running down one side of it to drain it, and every twenty yards or so it must have its seat on which he can rest and mop his brow, for your German would no more think of sitting on the grass than would an English bishop dream of rolling down One Tree Hill. He likes his view from the summit of the hill, but he likes to find there a stone tablet telling him what to look at, and.a table and bench at which he can sit and partake of the frugal beer and beleq-te Semmel he has been careful

to bring with him. If, in addition, he can find a police notice posted on a tree* forbiddmg him to uo something or other that gives him an extra sense, of comfort and security.” ‘‘Viith the man himself there ivas no fault to be found, but- His horse was the mounsympathetic brute X ever sat behind. He took a dislike to us the moment he saAV us. I was the first to come out of the hotel. He turned his head and looked at me up and down, with a cold, glassy eye, and then he looked across at another horse, a friend of his, that was standing, facing him. I knew A\diat he said. He had an expressive head, and lie made no attemnt to disguise his thought. He said : “Funny things one does come across in the summer, don’t one?” George followed me out the next moment and stood behind me J "^ ie h° rse a 2ain turned his head and looked. I have never knoAvn a horse that could tAvist himself as this horse did. I have seen a tame leopard do tricks with.his. neck that compelled ones attention, but this animal AA’as more like the things one dreams of after a dusty day at Ascot, followed by a dinner with six old chums. If I had seen his eyes looking at me from between his own hind legs I doubt if I should have been surprised. He seemed more amused with George, ii anything, than with mv-elf. Fie turned to his friend again. “Extraordinary, isn’t it?” lie said. ‘I suppose there must be some place where they grow them,” and then he commenced licking flies off his oavu left shoulder. I began to wonder Avhether he had lost his mother when voung, and had been brought up by a cat.”

'‘Berlin, is a disappointing toAvn; its centre overcroAvded, its outlying parts lifeless; its once famous street. Filter den Linden, an attempt to combine Oxford street with the Champs Elvsee, singularly unimposing, being much' too ’wide for its size; its theatres dainty and charming, where acting is considered of more importance than scenery or dress, pieces being played again and again. but never consecutively, so that for a A\ r eek running you may go toi the same Berlin theatre and see a fresh play eA r ery night; its opera house unworthy of it; its two Music Halls, with an unnecessary suggestion of vulgarity and commonness about them, ill-arranged, and much too large for comfort. In the Berlin cafes and restaurants, the busy time is from midnight on till three. Yet- most of the people who frequent, them are up again at seven. Either the Berliner has solved the great problem of modern life, how to do Avithout sleep, or, with Carlyle, he must be looking forward to eternity. Personally, I know of no other town where such late hours are the vogue, except St. Petersburg. But your °St. Petersburger does not get up early in the morning. At St. Petersburg the Music Halls, AA’hich it is the fashionable! thing to attend after the theatre —a drive to them taking half an hour in a swift- sleigh—do not practically begin till twelve. Through, the Neva, at four o'clock in the morning you have to literally push your Avay; and the favourite trains for travellers are those starting about five o’clock in the morning. These trains save, the Russians the trouble of getting up early. He wishes his friends “good-night,” and drives down to the station comfortably after supper, without putting the house; to any inconvenience.” “What is a FBummeF ?” said George. “Hoav Avould you translate it?” "A ‘Bummel/ ” I explained, “I should describe as a. journey, long or short, without an end; the only thing regulating it being the necessity of getting track within a given time to the point from which one started. Sometimes it is through busy streets, and sometimes through the fields and lanes; sometimes we can bq spared l for a. feAv hours, andi sometimes for a few days. But long or short, but here or there, our thoughts are ever bn the running of the sand. We nod and smile to many a.s we pass; with some we stop and talk awhile, and with a few we walk a little way. We have been much interested, and often a little tired. But on the whole we have had a pleasant time, and are sorry Avhen ’tis over.”— Published in Fisher Unwin’s Colonial Library, London.