ECHOES OF THE WEEK.

New Zealand Times, Volume LVI, Issue 2270, 28 July 1894, Page 1 (Supplement)

ECHOES OF THE WEEK.

•‘“'V'ro'H mv weapon, but J'in U«o flinflieot 'J'u fun amuck, and tilt at all t meet. Pop®. Tub Uijdobt— A 0 how /.—Tub Political VV 03i am Oiiii Own Scaremonger— Cheat and Nasty Prophecy—Conoebnin(i Book Fiends —The Dangers ok the Telephone—The Latest from Masiieruom —“Ladas ” and "L’Audace " —Lady Ticket Sellers—The Result of a Confidence The Coming Opera Season. Wo have got down at last to the more solid and substantial dishes on the parliamentary m6nu, Tho hors <V oeuvres in the shape of the Speakership and Sergoant-at-Anna appointment wero light and titillating, as hors d'oeuvres ought to be, and a highly spiced entree was found in the banking legislation, but the political critic has a Gargantuan appetito for the sensational, and now ho gets that most imposing, and to tell tho truth, somewhat ponderous dish, tho Financial Statement. Of_ course by this time every daily paper in tho Colony will have hammered away at it, some with tho light tap of approval, others with a smashing, crashing, 00-ton steam-hammer blow of denunciation. For my own part I must leave my excellent friend, tho editor of tho Times, to discuss Mr Ward’s proposals in detail, but personally X cannot adequately express my disappointment that nothing is said in tho Budget of any reduction in the Custom’s duties on tho necessaries of life. It is all expenditure and no relief.

Them is to bo money for private estate resumption down South, money for i'o;kL and bridges in tho North, money for farmers—tho beat item in tho .Budgetmoney fox* tho purchuHO of Nativo lands, monoy for this, that, and tho other project, hut nary a word ol consolation is thcro lor those whoso incomes are fixed, or at any rate are not likely to ho very sensibly increased; not one word of a " free breakfast table," not one word of any relief for tho much over-burdened taxpayer. On the other side," in New South Wales af least, tho people have shown that what they first require is cheaper living, and shnihar relief is what nine-tenths of tho people of New Zealand are looking for, but never find. Of course it is impossible that tho Colonial Treasurer can please and satisfy everybody, blit I certainly think that what at least tho working classes—those who put the present Government in power—want is some reduction in tho heavy indirect taxation to which they are subject through the Custom’s duties. But no, there is to bo more borrowing—it’s useless disguising the fact—much more borrowing, but never a word of relief. Mr Ward, you’re a clever man, an able man, a well-meaning man, a patriotic man, but tho Treasurer who will reduce tho coat of living to tho working classes is the man for me.

It is most sincerely to be hoped that no more will bo heard in the Honso of that, to me, most objectionable person, the Political Woman, for this session at least. For the Political Woman is becoming an unmitigated bore, a downright nuisance. Lot the fair sox vote if they like, and that they do like was proved last December; but women in the House, women members, a woman Speaker, a women’s Ministry—perish the thought. Of course, some of you may call mo old-fogoyish, conservative, fossilized, unjust, opposed to the “ spirit of the ago, and so on, but such is my honest opinion, and this being a free country, and I being a free lance, can express that opinion without fear of any more serious consequences than being the subject of abuse by a few of those who think differently. Were there any widespread desire amongst the women of this Colony that they should enter Parliament and compete with the stonier sex for political honours, I would willingly give way, but beyond a small coterie of “ wild women” who have little to do and lots of spare time to do it in, I question if there are ten women in the whole of the Colony who can honestly say that they consider tho parliamentary benches a fitting place for themselves and their sisters.

That worthy gentleman, tho member for Wellington Suburbs, was largely supported in December last by the ladies, and he has duly shown bis gratitude in what ho no doubt deems to have been tho most suitable manner. His Bill, however, is as dead as Methuselah, and between you and me and the lamp-post, I don’t fancy the audio*, iu liier Uoart of hearts, is sorely grieved over that fact. Let us hope the “ eternal feminine ” will now get a rest. There is much more useful and urgentlyrequired work to bo done by the House than in discussing questions more suitable to a Mock Parliament or a Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Society.

X was in half a mind hot to bother my head about such n purely mundane matter as the scribbling of any "Echoes” for this week, for hath it not been foretold that in a few months’ time Wellington is to sink into the depths of the briny, an earthquake to smash us up, and a tidal wave to cover up the debris with a watery shroud. 'Why trouble to write “ Echoes ” when the journal and city in which " Echoes " are published are doomed to such speedy annihilation ? On second thoughts, however, I determined to fulfill ■ my weekly task, for alas " a prophet hath no honour in his own country,” and certainly I at least shall not feel disquiotenod at the gruesome predictions of the “ magnetic healer” whoso alleged visions into the future have caused so much talk in town of late. lie is not the first who has prophesied falsely, nor will he bo the last. Prophetic quacks and mischief-working charlatans there have been in scores, and will be again in scores, and-I hope to sit down next Sunday and enjoy my pipe and book without the slightest fear ol"anything very awful in the soismological line taking place. Seeing that next Sunday’s little bill of faro is, according to the impudent idiot who has been dealing in cheap and nasty prophecy, to include something " very fine and largo ” in the shape of a tidal wave, I am the more easy in mind in that “ Scrutator’s ” humble home is situated on a hill, oft accursed in wet weather when the family “ gamp ” has been left at homo, but now something to bo distinctly thankful for. Did I live on the flat, perhaps I might bo ass enough to be slightly nervous; but I scarcely think so.

It is a pity that this pestilent prophet of ours cannot bo punished for the anxiety of mind into which ho had undoubtedly thrown a number of nervous people, and more especially a few silly women, who took him as somi-inspirod. On the West Coast of Africa, in Dahomey I believe, it is the fate of a fetish doctor who prophesies falsely to be buried alive. We are more civilized here than in Dahomey, but the dirtiest duck pond which can bo found in or near Wellington seems to me the most suitable place for this scaremonger who has wrought so much mischief.

Mr Hall’s proposed amendments to the Hawkers’ and Pedlars’ Bill, amendments aiming at the virtual extirpation of the “ book fiend” fraternity, may be too severe, and so loosely drawn that if made law they would seriously interfere with legitimate trade, but, nevertheless, his object is a good one aqd something certainly ought to bo done to protect the country settlers against the wily book canvasser and all his tribe. Personally, X should as.soon think of [buying a book in parts ar-I should of buying and swallowing a big dose of “Hough on Hats,” for the vast majority of works sold in parts are the greatest trash imaginable. The wily canvasser has tried mo many a time and oft; tried me with his 11 History of Patagonia ” (in 51 parts at 15s each) —’-a most magnificent work, Illustrated by the greatest American artists, a work in which would be an ornament to your bookshelves, sir”—has tried me with his “Picturesque Portfolio of Polynesia,” tried me with the “Family Doctor’ (peculiarly hideous plates this last possessed), and with many others; but never yet has “ Scrutator ” fallen a victim. For he knows that the canvassed “work” is generally a swindle : illustrated with awful pictorial monstrosities called “ plates," printed in the vilest typo on the vilest paper and garnished with a binding glaring enough to send one colour blind and beat lobster salad as a nightmare producer, if gazed at after sunfali.

Also, when, by chance, a really legitimate work is offered, it is sold at live times its cost in an ordinary shop, and in nino cases out of ten the deluded purchasergrows wearied of it long before the tenth of the forty or fifty parts is reached. I question rery much whether the member for \Vaipawa can wipe the book fiend out of existence, however and whatever he may try as a cure. The remedy for the evil rests with the people themselves. When the book fiend arrives, politely bow . him out with a civil “ No thank you.” and if he won't go—well, I wouldn’t for the world suggest that violence be used, but an observation might be made as- to the ferocity of a real or imaginary bull dog in the back yard, with a twin statement that the animal bad not yet lunched, and that his favourite meal was a ‘'book fiend.” Did you ever read Frank “ Rudder Orange,” the quaintest, funniest, and most really humorous American book ever published 1 If you haven't, just got it, and team how that most delightful of slaveys, the famous “ Pomona ” baffled the “ lightning rod ” man, as great a , plague to the country resident in the States as is the book .fiend " here. P.S. The book is not sold by canvassers, nor in parts, and it costs one shilling. Buy it and learn how to latterly discomfit the wily “ book fiend.”

You require a dog and—but no, I will not spoil your eujovrncntof an immensely funny funny hook— not published in parts.

A good many Wellingtonians got a severe fright the other day through the erratic and alarming behaviour of their telephones during that short but very sharp thunderstorm to which wo were treated. Oddly enough I find the English medical journal The Lancet, lias recently been making some ( grave and serious observations on the j dangers attaching to the use of telephones in a thunderstorm. As a rule The Lancet discovers a new danger to human life every week; it sees tho awful microbe in milk, in cigarettes, in false hair, in wall papers—microbes hero, there and everywhere. Tho microbes however get a long needed rest in tho issue to which 1 refer, the editorial mind being fully taken up with the subject of telephonic dangers. In very forcible language tho Lancet writer paints the terrible results which might quite possibly follow tho uso of a telephono during a thunderstorm. Sight and hearing, I read, might both bo destroyed, and in any case even wore tho consequence not of so very serious a nature, tho nervous system might receive a shock from which it would take some time to recover. But a writer in the Ht. James Gazelle, commenting upon The Lancet article, points out that the worst of the case is that the first intimation ono may have of a thunderstorm is tho very accident ho would guard against if ho had warning. On a long distance lino, ho points out—a thunderstorm might occur of very local area, and before tho operator, say in London, know anything was wrong, wlioi’ talking to a man at a station 20 miios away, ho might receive a very severe shock, lie recommends that “ electric overflow boxes "bo alfixed to all instruments. Tho number of long distance telephones in New Zealand is always increasing, but it is very rarely that wo have a very severe thunderstorm.

That harmless bat amusing creature, the New Zealand masher, generally takes his cue in fashions from the Old ConnUy. Is it tho thing in England to walk about with your pants turned up at tho bot toms, behold our local dudes all parade Lambton Quay, even on tho finest summer day, with trews as carefully tucked uo at the bottoms as if they were ploughing along a “ bush track ” knee deep in mud. Does some titled “Johnny” at ’Omc introduce the carrying about of a stick with a huge shepherd s crook handle, behold, shepherds’ crooks are here to ho seen in all directions—instances might be in. definitely multiplied of tin's sane aping after everything English, whether wise or foolish. But on ’• the other side” it appears Ihedudc goes to America for now ideas and “ Yankee notions” in dress arc as popular with the Victorian “ swell,” who does Collins Street on an afternoon, as Yankee agricultural machinery with the farmers. The very latest freak is, I hear, tho adoption of what is known as tho “ American shoulder.” It has been said that tho tailor makes tho man; certainly in Melbourne just now it is tho tailor who makes tho shoulder. The dude who is weak in the way of shoulders, and most of tho fraternity have been badly treated by Providence in this regard, now comes out on the block with broad, high shoulders ; most absurdly high, some of them. How it is dono the tailors keep to themselves | it is a mystery, a trick of tho trade, but I am told that tho dudes who cannot afford a new coat can “ reconstruct” —tho term is essentially Victorian in moro ways than one and with the aid of tho common or garden-paling or a section of tho domestic broomstick, padded and placed horizontally behind tho hack, can cheaply and easily fashion for themselves tho craze of the moment, tho “ American shoulder.” It will he interesting to notice whether this particular and latest form of sartorial silliness will make itself known in New Zealand. Nous verrons.

The victory of Lord Eosoberry’a horse Ladas, in the'Derby (capitally described by our London correspondent in this issue of the Mail), has caused quite a sensation at Home. That peculiarly sensitive institution, “ the Nonconformist conscience,” has been rudely shocked, but on the other hand there are many who think that tho fact of a Liberal Prime Minister’s horse carrying off the Blue Bibband 'Of the English turf will gain the Liberal party a considerab’e number of votes at tho next general election. This seems on tho back of it an extremely silly assumption, but tho n umber of votes which are given on such platitudinous grounds are more perhaps than most people would imagine, and up to now, the sporting public at Home have generally given a block vote for the Tories. Of course tho comic papers have perpetrated a host of small jokes—very small, some of them—upon tho subject of Ladas and his noble owner, and one smart weekly parodies the name of the horse and works oil a pun about tho Premier’s “audacity ” (it is a Tory weekly), giving “ La as, Ladas, and always Ladas,” an up-to-date Anglicized version of Danton’s famous “ L’andacc, Taudace, ct toujours I’audace." —“Audacity, audacity,and always audacity.”

The concert to he given at the Opera Housa on Saturday night next in aid of the unemployed, will, X hope, be an immense success. The committee have worked manfully, there is a capital array of well known entertainers on the programme, and seats, I hear, are being booked very rapidly. The ladies entrusted with the duty of selling tickets are working famously, and there is every probability of a packed house. The competition between the dear creatures as to who shall get rid of the greatest number of tickets is very keen, and some amusingly sharp practice is being resorted to. Mrs Cashmere struck as she thought a very happy idea in annexing her hubby’s telephone list, and set to work to ring up her acquaintances all and sundry asking them to take tickets. Promises were duly made and in such number that Mrs Cashmere could not contain her joy and mug up her dear friend Mrs Moire Antique, telling her of the great success she had had. “Mr Brown has promised to take five tickets Ay dear, and Mr Jones five, and Mr Fob in sou five—now do mind you work hard to sell a lot. As for Mrs Moire Antique, she laughed softly to herself and forthwith donned hor bonnet and went out on the warpath. Armed with the addresses so artlessly given by Mrs Cashmere, she descended upon Messrs Jones, Brown and Kobinsou, and with graceful smile addressed those gentlemen thusly: “You have kindly promised, I hear, to take so many tickets for tho concert. So good of yon, you know, I can’t tell yon how much we’re obliged to you. Here are the tickets; five at 4s each, a sovereign. Oh, thank you so muchl Good day.” and behold, when poor Mrs Cashmere went hor rounds the next day, [she discovered that Mrs An tique had been before her and had delivered the tickets and collected the casb. She vows she will not count* her chickens till they’re hatched in future, and will beware of telephonic confidences to a friend when tickets are to be sold. Meanwhile Mrs Moire Antique is full of pride over her record as a ticket-seller. That lady ought to bo a sharebroker. She’s missed her vocation. —‘ Scrutator *, in tho N.Z. Man..