HERE AND THERE.

New Zealand Times, Volume LIV, Issue 9867, 25 March 1893, Page 6 (Supplement)

HERE AND THERE.

Accordin'? to a correspondent of the Spectator, the late Albert \Vay, the arch ecologist, came by a fortune in this wise ; Crossing Pall Mall, he cannoned against an old gentleman, with the result that the two exchanged apologies and cards. On each card were the words ‘ Mr Albert "Way and when the elder Way died ho left his money to the younger. We now understand (the Globe remarks) why ways and means always go together. A well-known theatrical agent (says Lightning) has for some time past had his offices near Covent garden sumptuously fitted up with electric light, and recently had a gas stove put in to warm the hall. Going out one morning he found his doorkeeper and a certain prominent comedian struggling witli the stove, while an awful smell of gas filled the place. ‘ Hullo, what’s wrong ?’ he exclaimed. ‘ Can’t get it to light nohow,’ was the dismal response. • We’ve switched it on and on until the smell was fit to burst the roof oil; but nothing happens.’ ‘ Did you put a match to it ?’ Tableau I Truly ‘ the old order changeth ’ when people have grown so accustomed to electric light that they forget how to light the gas. Mr E. L. Wakeman, the American journalist, who was recently in England, has been telling some of his experiences. In London, he says, the American will notice little signs at street corners in crowded, narrow thoroughfares, in park ways, and at all sudden turning traversed by vehicles, reading ‘ Keep to the Left.’ This at first worried him ; he wanted to understand it, and, like a true American, perhaps to protest about it a little. ‘ One day,’ he continues, ‘ I approached a London policeman, with the earnest inquiry: “ Beg pardon, officer, but might I ask why in London everything goes ‘To the Left’ ?” Like one of MrsJarley’s figures his head moved stately. He regarded me one awful official moment with contemptuous pity. His head moved back again. Then with withering scorn he answered : “ An’ why the dickens shouldn’t it ?” I never thought of that. Apropos of the interest which is now being shewn in the nationality of the Highland regiments, that fine old Scottish officer, Archibald Chisholm of Claoaburn, late captain in the Black Watch—of whom a memoir appears in the Celtic Monthly —tells an amusing story. When this famous regiment was stationed at Malta the officers and men were without exception all Scotchmen, and many of them Gaelic speaking Highlanders. But before leaving Malta an English ensign was appointed. His reception was by no means effusive, several of the younger officers especially resenting his presence. However the difficulty was eventually overcome in the following humorous manner. The Englishman was compelled to swallow a Scotch thistle, prickles and all, and to wash it down with a glass of ‘ mountain dew.’ All then shook hands with him as a brother Scotsman. The Highland costume, according to this gentleman’s experience, is not invariably an advantage. In 1848, when he was sent in charge of a detachment to a great festival at Boston, United States, the Bostonian Scotsmen were enthusiastic in their welcome. But in the evening Capt Chisholm found that the picturesque dress of the Gael did not impress the ladies. He was present at the grand hall in the Mayor’s house, but ho could not get any of the Boston young ladies to dance with him. As he puts it, ‘ they felt so shy and nervous of the kilt.’ One ot the newly-appointed magistrates for a Sussex division, says a London paper, had a curious experience the other day. A prisoner was brought before him, who began to speak in an unknown tongue. Neither the justice nor his clerk could understand him, and after a parley as to what the language might be, they came to the conclusion, from its guttural sounds, that it must be Gorman. Accordingly they sent for the local interpreter, and congratulated themselves that they were able to make the man understand; for he appeared to comprehend what the interpreter said, and gave no more trouble. It was a simple case, and when it was over the magistrate told the interpreter to tell the prisoner that, taking into consideration that he was a stranger in a foreign land, unable to make himself understood, he would deal with the case very leniently; a fine of half-a-crown would bo imposed, with tiie alternative of three days ; whereupon the pseudo German, putting on his best East End accent, exclaimed,_ ‘ Look ’ere, old bloke, I’ll pay the fine this time, but I shall certainly go to quod the next time I come before you.’ Already does Victoria, in Mashonaland, exhibit inany evidences of civilisation. The little town (erstwhile a mere mud fort) is beautifully and extensively laid out—on paper. It has a racecourse (in the main and only street); it has at least one white barmaid; it has a gaol; it has an archdeacon, and it has monkeys—wild ones. The last two mentioned have been recently in evidence in conjunction. One Sunday, about a month ago (says the Globe), the archdeacon was preaching from his pulpit when a monkey appeared at one of the open church windows and jeered at tho clergyman with that marked energy and

vociferation for which simians are notorious. Presently, waxing wroth at not securing that share of attention which he deemed his due, the baboon sprang into the church, escaladed the pulpit, and agilely perched himself on the shoulders ot the archdeacon, whose neck ho reverently and fondly embraced. From this novel and embarrassing position the archdeacon managed to release himself, when the monkey rapiuly climbed up into tho roof of the church, defying capture until the end of the service. From bis post of vantage on high, the baboon continued to address the congregation until both he and the archdeacon left the building, Gladstone is the champion yawner of the House of Commons. He yawns earnestly and deliberately, with the same thoroughness and vigour which is the chief characteristic of his life. Tho new President of the United States lias a fondness for walking sticks with a history, or with some peculiar and eccentric feature. Mr Grover Cleveland will probably take into the White House with him in March a unique private exhibition of canes, shillelaghs, knuckle dusters, and stout patriarchal staffs. The Czar of All the Eussias is reputed to devote attention to tho steady enlargement of his grand collection of birds’ eggs, and to the bettering of the postage stamps in his magnificent albums. Tho Duke of Edinburgh, the Czar’s brother-in-law, is also an ardent philatelist. The late Kev G. IT. Spurgeon had a notable assortment of the comic pictures in which he appeared. It was a staple of amusement for visitors to his home. At one time Mr Gladstone was amongst the anxious and eager collectors of old china. And, true to tho distinguishing trait of his character, he went into the hobby with zeal and enthusiasm. It is understood, liowever, that he has abandoned this particular pursuit and brojien up his collection. Lord Beaconsfield owned an extensive collection of pipes, usually with some notable association clinging thereto. It is, indeed, the ‘ record’ that is behind the items gathered together which often accounts for tho beginning, and then for the continuance of the collector’s fancy. There is this simple and adequate explanation of Mr Henry Irving’s hoard of relies, properties—stage and personal—of Edmond Kean. It accounts for the little bundle of eye-glasses which we are told Miss Ellen Terry preserves with religious care. They have been the close companions of distinguished men and women. Sir Morell Mackenzie’s, Sir Arthur Sullivan’s, Mr Whistler's, Mr Henry Irving's—all are included. The alleged heart of the son of Louis XVI., of France, who died in the Temple Prison, was recently sold at auction in Paris. A fraud, of course. No Bourbon ever bad a heart. Letters received at Madrid from Barcelona (says Dalziel) give a description of an extraordinary scene caused in that city last week by an invasion of bulls. Three hundred American bulls had that morning arrived by steamer, and during the unloading a rope that bound a whole herd together suddenly broke, and between 90 and 100 bulls escaped. Stampeding across tho quay, the animals dispersed in different streets, A formidable battle was waged against the animals; but it was not till evening that the populace succeeded in partly killing and partly capturing the greater number of the beasts. Two people were killed—namely, a young girl, who was trampled to death, and an old lady, who was gored—and nine other persons were injured, four fatally. The damage done to houses, shops, and lampposts is considerable. All through the evening the slaughtered bulls were lying about the streets, and it was curious to see how many of the inhabitants approached the carcases with long butchers' knives, and proceeded to cut off either a fine rib, a haunch, or a fillet for their dinner. Considerable interest was added to the proceedings at the Criminal Court in Adelaide the other "day by the appearance of a wild black fellow, Wanamuohoo, who was charged with murder. Tho prisoner had been brought down 850 miles by a police trooper, with avengers from the injured tribe prowling on bis track to carry out tribal law on the slayer. Wanamuchoo looked wilder and more unkempt than ever, his confinement within four stone walls having evidently told upon the previously free and unfettered savage. The Chief Justice emphasised a remark he had previously made concerning the propriety of leaving the execution of tribal laws against such an offender to the people themselves where the offence was committed beyond the confines of civilisation, and practically did not concern the whites. The jury found that Wanamuchoo was unable to understand the proceedings owing to his ignorance of English. They also found him insane, and he was committed to the lunatic asylum during the Governor's pleasure. The blaokfellow was quite unmoved when taken away. His own countrymen think him insane. One of the funniest sights possible, writes an old Sydney hand from Nice, is to see Honnikor Heaton at the tables at Monte Carlo. A short while ago, when he happened by some strange chance to win a small sum he thought the croupier had not paid him enough. ‘ floug, nong,’ said ho, ‘ vous navvoy donney moi assey de larjong. Jay metty doo lonis sur le UOyre, I ot jay gagaoy plus ouo ca.’

] A terrible wolf story comes from Belgrade. - A pope (as the Bulgarian priests 1 are called) was driving in a sledge in I broad daylight with his young manservant from Svilajuap to Sviiajuar when a herd of wolves burst out of a wood. Tho pope fired into the wolves and one dropped dead, while the others ran away. The pope was anxious to secure his booty, and with the servant went to fetch the wolf. As he dropped it into the sledge the horses, who were trembling on account of the wolves, shied and ran away. The pope cried to the servant, ‘ You must catch the horses, or else we are both lost. My rifle is in tho sledge.’ The young man ran for dear life, but it took him a long time to catch the frightened animals. • When he had driven back with them to the spot where he left the pope ho found the topboots with legs and feet in them, bloodstained tattered clothes, and the long grey board of his master. A girl, aged nine years, the daughter of a grazier named Laverty, residing at Berringama, in Victoria, while on her way to school was chased by a tiger snake. In her flight, the child tripped over a tussock and fell, and the snalce bit her on the leg below the knee, fine girl was a quarter of a mile from home at tho time. On her return home the bitten part was cut out and the patient driven to Corryong for medical aid. She died at 11 o’clock the same night. A second member of the same family, a boy aged 13, was bitten in the leg two days afterwards. He did not perceive the snake, but feeling the bite hurried to the house, where the punctured part was promptly excised, the wound sucked, ai)d the boy conveyed to Dr Bray, at Corryong. Ho is now out of danger. Tennyson, it is alleged, never altogether realised that he was a peer, and used to forget the fact most ot the time. Once, speaking of the defieiences ot the Upper House, he remarked: —‘Now, it I were a lord Then he made a bewildered pause. 1 Wby, of course, I am one.’ A strange story is told by a writer in a London paper of a duel which is said took place at Monaco recently. The writer says:—‘ It is very curious, but I notice that nothing has been said in any of the papers respecting a sensational duel which took place at Monaco some little while since, in which it is asserted that a Count Peter Eomanoff had been shot by an American whom the Eussian accused of having insulted him at the gaming-tables. It can be seen that in view of the possibility of the count’s name having been utilised to conceal the individuality of a member ot the Russian imperial family, conjecture has been rife as to an affair which has been most ingeniously hushed up. The story goes that the American, who had been winning largely at tho table, threw a coin to tho croupier as a pourboire. Tire count, however, chose to consider that tho money had been insultingly tossed to him, and, in spite of the reiterated apologies of the stranger, expressed himself as unsatisfied. Americans are cool hands at revolver practice; when, therefore, the count refused an apology it was a simple matter to arrange a meeting. Tho two men fought in the garden of a neighbouring villa at twenty-five paces, with the liberty to advance two paces and keep on firing till one or the other fell—a duel, in fact, a entrance. At the very first shot the count met his fate, and before many moments breathed his last. The Press on the Riviera is so completely in the pay of the authorities that it is not perhaps wonderful that nothing should have leaked out. But tongues will wag, and the question is being asked, Who is, or rather was, “ Count Peter Romanoff?”’ Dr Alex. Marsden, chairman Of the Medical Committee of the Cancer Hospital, Brompton, writes that the committee have during the last two years been so inundated with letters on the subject, that they will greatly oblige if newspapers will publish their opinion, viz.; —‘ That tomatoes neither predispose to nor excite cancer formation, and that they are not injurious to those suffering from this disease, bnt, on the contrary, are a very wholesome article of diet, particularly so if cooked.’ German papers contain an account of a heavy thunderstorm which occurred at Paderborn, in which a number of living pond mussels were mixed with the rain. A yellowish cloud attracted the attention of several people, both from its colour and the rapidity of its motion, when suddenly it burst, a torrential rain fell with a rattling sound, and immediately afterwards the pavement was found to be covered with hundreds of the mussels. The only possible explanation seems to be that the water in a river in the neighbourhood was drawn up by a passing tornado, and afterwards deposited its living burden at the place in question. In France the latest phase of the gambling mania is the game of ‘ Cardinal,’ which is being publicly played night after night at one of the most fashionable cafda on the Bouievar-d des Capueines, Paris. ‘ Cardinal’ is almost as simple a game as baccarat. The tapis vert is a billiard table, at one end of which are ranged in triple file thirty-one small ivory skittles, the centre one being a litttle higher than the others. The small skittles are white, tire tallest one a ‘ Cardinal ’ red. The player plays off the , cushion about midway up the table, with a white ball or a

red one, which is placed ‘ on spot.’ Then the ball cannons at an angle so as to strike the skittles. If an even number be overset, the bank wins; but if an odd number tumbles over, the punters win. The bank, however, has another chance. If ‘ Cardinal ’ is knocked down, the bank sweeps the board, whether the numbers overthrown be odd or even. The ‘ man of independent mind ’ turned up (says a Glasgow paper) at the bar of a wee pub. in the East End the other morning, and asked the proprietor for a dram on ‘ tick.’ ‘ No,’ said the publican, ‘ I won’t give you whisky on credit, but there's a sixpence. Now, what do you want?’ ‘ Naething here,’ replied the tippler, lifting the ccin, and putting it in his pocket. ‘ The man that refuses me credit ’ll no get my ready cash,’ and with an elevated nose he marched out at the door. It is alleged that most of the people who came to see and attempt to identify Southern, the man with the lost memory, at Melbourne, were hash-house keepers. When the poor hash-house keeper hears f that anybody has been found or captured or drowned, she at once concludes that it must be one of her boarders who didn’t pay up, and she rushes off to see if her bill can be settled out of the effects. A hashwoman in a large way of business is always looking for her escaped lodgers in the morgue or the hospital. She would even attend hangings and floggings, if she were allowed, to see if the convict once boarded with her under an'assumed name, and skipped by the light of the moon. A DalzieTs telegram dated New York, Jan. 28, states :—‘ The American barque Vigilant, which arrived from Kobe, Japan, to-day, after having touched at Pitcairn Island, brings startling news with regard to the islanders. It is feared that the island, which owes its existence to volcanic action, is ‘ drying up.’ There has been no rain for quite two years. The islanders number 180, and they subsist on fruit In some places the island is so hot that it burns the feet of dogs and eats, the only animals on the island.’ Apropos the late King George’s (of Tonga) pre-eminence in feet. About ’73, says the Bulletin, he had built for him, in Sydney, as a yacht, a big brigantine, which cost him .£BOOO, and proved a bad sailer and white elephant. He took in her, as sail-ing-master, an ex-naval man, afterwards in the blaok-birding trade. When the Taufaahau arrived at Nukualofa, the King gave audience to this gentleman, who, the moment he saw the mighty feet, exclaimed, to the horror of the other white men present — ‘ captains, missionaries, traders, and Dutchmen—‘ Good God, what a hoof to get a lift with 1’ In his mild way the King asked for a translation of ‘ hoof ’ and ‘ lift.’ No one volunteered, but, all the same, the gentleman got his lift soon enough, for he was immediately lifted out of his billet, and transferred to a little 20ton schooner, the Jaoijai Vuna. But withal old King George had much human feeling until he was pumped full of bigotry, hatred and all uncharitableness by the godly crew who, in his latter days, turned Tonga into a hell of discord. Christine Nilsson has given .£IOOO toward founding a hospital in France for the treatment of sufferers from throat diseases. This benevolent act is prompted by a childhood vow, assumed during an illness from croup, when the young songtress was only seven years old.. At a dinner given by the the Birmingham branch of the Institute of Journalists, the Eight Hon Joseph Chamberlain mentioned the fact that Ministers in past and present Governments Jiad been contributors to, and even editors of, papers, which was an evidence of the growing importance of the press. He drew a comparison between the American and the English press, much to the advantage of the latter. He did not think an English editor would give full particulars of the death by suspension of a leading citizen accused of horse-stealing, and then, when the leading citizen appeared in person to protest against the whole story as having not the slightest foundation, say to him, • Well, we cannot retract, we never do : but we don't mind saying that the rope broke, and that you escaped with a slight contusion.' Mr Chamberlain admitted that editors had chastened him, but said it was in love rather than in anger, and he hoped he had profited by the chastening. There was still, he said, a warm place in his heart for that American reporter who met him on his first arrival and gave a flattering account of him, in which lie said that if he had only been dressed better he might have passed for an American, and then took his article to his private secretary, and said ‘You know, sir, that my editor told me to give Chamberlain hell, but I think he’s got the making of a I good old fellow about him, and 1 am not going to spoil him in his early years.’ We have now full details of the terrible disaster which was recently reported from Osaka, in Japan. An endless belt used in the machinery of a large cotton mill broke and got entangled in some of the wheels. Through the friction thus caused some light woodwork and then a quantity of cotton waste caught fire, and the flames spread in a few moments in all directions. The top story of the mill, which had three floors, was the part first attacked, and the hands, finding themselves suddenly surrounded with flames and smoke, rushed

pell-mell down the stairs. Some fell, or were thrown down, and then a fearful block arose on the staircase, stopping all egress. So quickly did the fire spread, that the walls began to collapse before those working in the lower storeys know what had happened. The fire raged furiously for five hours, and afterwards the bodies of 88 persons, mostly girls, were taken out.