NEWSY NOTES FROM HERE AND THERE.

New Zealand Times, Volume LXVI, Issue 3256, 13 October 1897, Page 1 (Supplement)

NEWSY NOTES FROM HERE AND THERE.

The story is told of a simple old Swedish farmer living neat Chicago who recently lust a valuable colt on the railway. The claim-agent of the company called on the >.ld man, with a view to effect in amicable settlement if possible, and wound up a long statement by saying, “ >Ve don’t want any litigation, however, if we can help it, and we’d like to arrange a settlement with you on a friendly basis." The old Swede, who had been growing more and more un easy during these remarks, slowly rejoined, “Veil, Ay tal you. Ay bin sorry das fool colt runned on de rail- , road track, but Ay bin poor man. Ay skal give you two tollar."

Some graphic details in the New .Review of Peter the Great’s amusements ought to be useful to Sir Henry Irving, who is about to produce a play in which Peter is to be the leading character: Peter piqued himself on his anatomical knowledge, and loved to practise the dentistry that he had picked up from a mountebank at a fair. A sure way to his heart was to let him wrench a grinder from your jaw ; and if he tapped an unwilling patient for dropsy, he never failed to attend the funeral. His thirst for " useful knowledge " was morbid, and ho scanned all Europe for his musuem specimens. Greyhounds, a two headed calf, chimpanzees, carpenters’ tools, an “ elephant man,” stuffed crocodiles, the “ pig faced lady," monsters and malformations, filled him with undiscerning enthusiasm, and he insisted on others sharing his pleasure. To euro the disgust of those who revolted at a post mortem, Peter—who tainted in presence of a cockroach—made them bite into the corpse. Years later, when his mistress, Mary Hamilton, was executed for stealing Catherine's jewels and—more horrible —for saying that the Tsarina’s nose was red and her face pimply, Peter picked up the bloody head, gave, onlookers a demonstration on the sterno-cleido-mastoid, kissed the dead woman’s lips, and, tossing the head away, departed, crossing himself piously.

There is now living at Leigh, in Lancashire, an old man who forma an interesting link with the past. This man is a bellringer, by name Thomas Hussey, and he can say what no other bellringer can say. He became a bellringer at the age of fifteen, and was one of those who rang the bells for the funeral of George IY. He was at his post in the belfry for the accession, coronation, and Jubilee of Queen Victoria, and completed his record on the 2 2nd of June last at the age of eightyfive by ringing tor Her Majesty’s Diamond Jubilee.

This is how they make love in these days. It is an advertisement from the “ agony " column of tho London Telegraph : MATRIMONY. —Prevention is better . than cure. Enquiries secretly conducted respecting the character, social position, temper, &c, of any person for the information of those contemplating marriage. Consultations free. Then follows the name and address of a well-known detective.

Colonel Noble D. Preston, of Philadelphia, has just completed a remarkable book. Except for some photographs and one or two lithographs, the entire book is the work of the author’s pen. It took Colonel Preston most of his leisure time of eight years to complete it., It is all pen-work, done with a very fine-pointed pan. Each letter is separate. At the heads of the chapters are bits of scrollwoik, done in ink of various colours.

Mr George L. 0. Davidson says', in the Saturday Review, that most of us will live to see the air liners gliding from country to country at a speed of at least 300 miles an hour. Collisions, ho adds, will be fewer that on land or sea. AVhicb, at any rate, is reassuring.

The interesting “anecdolist" in the Manchester Guardian gives some reminiscences of Lord Beaoonsfield. Towards the end of his second Premiership a younger politician asked the Premier to dinner. It was a domestic event of the first importance, and no pains were spared to make the entertainment a success. When the ladies retired,: tho host came and sat where the hostess had been, next to his illustrious guest. “ Will you have some more claret. Lord Beaconsfield ?" “No thank you, my dear fellow. It is admirable wine-true Falernian—but I have already exceeded my prescribed quantity, and the gout holds me in its horrid clutch." When the party had broken up, the host and hostess were talking it over. “ I think the chief enjoyed himself,” said the host, “and I know he liked bis claret,” “ Claret I" ■ exclaimed : the hostess ; “why, he drank brandy and water all dinnertime."

According to the Bookman the following are the hooka moat in demand in London during July last; — The Life of Nelson. By A. T. Mahan. ' The Sign of the Cross. By W. Barrett. : _■ On the Face of. the Waters. By F. . A. Steel. .. Under: Love’s Uule. By M. L. Braddon. The Whirlpoel. By G. Gissing. Uncle Bernao. By A. Canon Doyle. The Massarenea. By Ouida. Daughters of Thespis, By J. Bickerdyke. Flames. ByR. Hichens. The Jessamy Bride. By F. F. Moore. Phroso. By A. Hope. M Under the Red Robe. By S, J. Weyman. The Seats of the Mighty. By G. Rosa' of Dutcher’s Cooly. By H. Garland. The Dagger and the Cross. By J. Hatton. Cakes and Ale. By E. Spencer. Madame Sans-Gene. By E. LepelMatiy Cargoes. By W. W. Jacobs. A Great Agricultural Estate. By the Duke of Bedford. Romance of Lady Burton. The Queen’s Resolve. By C. Bullook/3 These Sixty Years. Our Gracious Queen, By Mrs Walton. Cromwell. By R. F. Horton. A Popular History of Crete. By J. (1. Freese.

The following parody on Longfellow’s “ Village Blacksmith " appeared recently in an Irish cycling paper : Under the spreading chestnut tree, ; The village smithy stands; The smith, a lonely man is he. With large but useless hands. His trade was good in former years At shoeing horses'heels; He has not learned, it now appears. To mend the broken wheels. Mr Andrew Lang tells this story in St. Paul's : When Napoleon was preparing to invade England,' he sent for the Countess of Albany, the widow of Charles Edward.'and, in'the way, of the poet Alfieri. Madame d’Albany was ushered into a vast salon, and was left 'alone there. Suddenly a door opened, Napoleon entered, walked up to her and said, without compliments, or any formula of politeness : “ Madame, had you ever a child?" “ No, sire 1" Napoleon bowed and withdrew, without another word. His idea, doubtless, was to set up a son of Madame • d’Albany on the throne of England, if he conquered our country. But son there was none. An idea of the immense expenditure entailed by the possession of ancestral estates in Great Britain may be gathered from the statement that in several of the great country seats, such as Cbatsworth, belonging to the Duke of Devonshire ; Knowalcy, belonging to the Duke of Atholl, &c, the staff employed on the bouse and grounds, exclusive of agricultural labourers or artisans, amounts to 700 and 800 men. On a number of leas magnificent places the force > f indoor and outdoor servants, gardeners, and gamekeepers exceeds two hundred ; while it is estimated that there are, at least, 1200 country seats of third rate magnitude which require the services of 70 and 80

men apiece. This is not so- surprising when one remembers that at the Duke of Portland’s country seat at Welbeck there are three deer parks, surrounded by twelve miles of iron fences.

What is a “ bounder," and why is it so called. In Messrs Barrero and Leland’a “Slang Dictionary" the term “bounder" is defined as follows : “ Bounder (university)—a student whose manners are despised by the soidisant elite, or who is beyond the boundary of good fellowship. (Society) A swell, a stylish fellow, but of a very vulgar type." This “bounder" has a great deal of style, but it is all bad. According to the Globe the suggested derivation rests upon an entire misconception of the origin of the term. There is absolutely no etymological oonneo'ion between “bounder" and boundary. As the Spectator accurately points out, the adjective “ bounding" is older than the substantive “ bounder." Only we differ from our contemporary when it says that it was as meaningless in quality as it was impressive in sound. When a man was called a “bounding ass," or a “ bounding cad," the adjective implied that the quality of the asininity or caddishness possessed by the effender was of an exuberant and excessive order ; in short, that he was destitute of the virtue of repose. From this the development of the word “ bounder" to indicate an aggressive outsider was a natural and easy step. And it is this aggressive and unmodulated character which is overlooked in the first definition given above —a definition which is much more appropriate to a “smug” than a “ bounder.”

A capital story comes from the Mauritius in connection with the recent disaster to the Indian troopship Warren Hastings. Everyone knows under what difficulties the troops, aided by their splendid discipline, at last reached land and set out upon their weary march for shelter. Upon the -road lay a small village, ruled over by a mayor whose sympathies were well known to he French rather than English. This functionary was suddenly roused from hia slumbers by a band of English soldiers, evidently intent on business. At once hia heart misgave him ; war must have broken out in Europe, and these men had been sent to arrest him as a traitor! Bushing down, he flung himself on hia knees before the officer, crying—“l surrender, I surrender. Have mercy 1” To hia astonishment the troops began laughing. They were merely the advance guard of the survivors of the Warren Hastings in search of food. The next day the mayor resigned hia office.

An Abraham Lincoln story is given in the Century Magazine by General Horace Porter. It is as apropos of a “ sick man in Illinois who was told he probably hadn't many days to live, and he ought to make his peace with any enemies die might have. Ha said the man be hated worst of all was a follow named Brown, in

the -next village, and Ho guessed ho had better begin on him. So Brown was sent for, and when he came the sick man began to say, in a voice as meek as Moses’s, that ho wanted to die at peace with all his fellow-creatures, and he hoped he and Brown could now shake hands and bury all their enmity. The scene was becoming altogether too pathetic for Brown, who had to get out his handkerchief and wipe the gathering tears from his eyes. It wasn’t long before ho melted, and gave his hand to his neighbour, and they had a regular love-feast of forgiveness. After a parting that would have softened the heart of a grindstone, Brown had about reached the room door, when the sick man rose up on his elbow and called out to him, 4 But see here, Brown; if I should happen to get welh mind, that old grudge stands.'"

A thorough-paced burglar is generally a man of iron nerve, who does notknow the meaning of the word danger. This leads to over-confidence, which in turn ocoa. sionally lands him in prison. A London detective, speaking on this subject, says : , _ . . A gang of burglars once broke into a gentleman’s- house, packed up a large amount of jewellery, plaie, &p , and then started to play billiards on a table in one of the rooms. It was a bold, but foolish, thing to do, for it afforded a clue which led to their detection. There' were three of them, and the man who scored left his figures chalked on the board. That was something, for there is character in figure forming just as there is in handwriting. And besides, the score showed that one of the_ men was a tip-top player, and had simply “walked over" his opponent.

The question now was, What burglar was there who played billiards like a professional ? I knew such a man, and in three weeks’ time we had him and his mates in irons. The rest was easy for us, but it went very hard with the sportive burglars.

The Times publishes a poem by Mr William Watson on Jubilee night in Westmoreland. The following are some of the lines Through that majestic and sonorous day; When London was one gaze on her own ioy, I walked where yet Is silence and undoflowered. In tlio lone places of the fells and meres j And afterwards ascended, night being come, . To where, high on a silent coign of crag. Fuel was heaped, as on some altar old. . . . Long watched I, and at last to the sweet dale Went down, with thoughts of two great women, thoughts Of two great women who have ruled this land; Of her, that mirrored a fantastic age, The imperious,vehement,abounding Spirit, Mightily made, but gusty as those winds. Her wild allies that broke the spell ol Spain; And her who sways, how silently ! a world Dwarfing the glorious Tudor’s queenliest dreams ; Who, to her wellnigh more than mortal Hath brought the strength in-sweetness that prevails, The regal will that royally can yield. . .

The Argus special correspondent in London concludes liis latest epistle with the following letter, which, as be says, was sent to the Premiers in a body ; “ Miss presents her compliments to the colonial Preniera, and hopes if they visit Ireland and spend some days in Dublin they will be kind enough to attend a concert of Irish music, which will he arranged to suit their convenience as fat as possible. Foreigners generally like Irish music, and Dublin can produce very fine performances, both by vocalists and instrumentalists. Miss —■ —, as a professional musician, would be glad to have the opinion of the colonial Premiers on her work. When the day of their Irish visit is decided Alisa hopes to arrange a concert for one evening, and perhaps they will be good enough to attend in their native costume."

Writing in the Paris Figaro “ Whist ” contrasts Queen Tictoria’a reign with that of Louis Quatorze. Ho says : “ But while Louis Quatorze, old and worn out, west sadly on towards the grave amid reverses of fortune and under the weight of a formidable coalition. Queer. Victoria still sees at the present moment the daily increase of her immense Empire by some new domains, the British ffag, outside the Continent of Europe, hasalmost become the universal- standard, and the Sovereign, looking around her or glancing at the map of the world, can only find material for satisfaction and pride.” ■

News of the death at 92 of Amelia Kohler, who inspired Mcore to write “ The Last Bose of Summer,’’ has reached: London from Mount Vernon, United States. When 13 she attended school in the Js’e of Wight kept by a sister of Thomas Moore, who used occasionally to visit : them. As Moore was talking one afternoon with his sister, ran into the garden, and, pluckinga solitary rose, exclaimed, “Look, isn’t it beautiful ? This is ihe last rose of summer." “ The last rose of summer," mused the poet, what a beautiful suggestion." Turning to Amelia he said he would write verses, and dedicito them to her rcses, “ and you, my pietty maid, shad slgo be mentioned."